“Ah!” chirruped Binit, “for that we must thank the excellent Tabni. Luck sent him a letter from Isaiah his way; and even you must confess that he imitated the hand cleverly, and cut a new seal that would pass in the faint light when we showed it to Imbi-Ilu.”
A third groan, and for a long time Ruth gave not another sound. It was a long drive across the breadth of Babylon, from the Borsippa suburb on the extreme southwest, to the river. Ruth hoped against hope that there might be a rescue. Imbi-Ilu was not a man to sit down helpless before a fraud like this. But as the carriage sped onward, this tiny gleam of hope sank to a faint spark indeed.
Once, in fact, as the horses’ hoofs beat hollow upon the bridge crossing a canal, they were suddenly halted. It was the guard-house marking the octroi limit to the inner city. Voices sounded and a lantern light flashed through the wicker body of the carriage.
“You are late,” a gruff soldier’s voice was grumbling. “Few honest people drive at such an hour. I must search your carriage, lest you bring in something liable to ‘gate money.’”
Ruth started from her lethargy, opened her lips for a scream, when, before a sound could escape, Binit’s fingers squeezed her neck.
“Not a twitter!” murmured the wailer, hoarsely, “though you strangle.”
“Friend,” spoke Gudea, naught abashed, “I have nothing taxable and am in great haste.”
They heard the chink of a bit of silver, an appeased grunt from the official, the lash whistled, and the horses went forward with a bound. Ruth was gasping before Binit relaxed her hold.
“Fool,” snapped the latter, “had the guard taken you, what profit to you? Would he not have sent you straight to the king?”
So they hastened onward, Ruth seeing nothing of all the silent streets and market squares they threaded. Presently they rattled over brick pavements, and she knew they were on the quays. Then the carriage halted with a jerk, voices sounded again, and Gudea thrust open the door.