“Hold, friend!” shouted Khatin, a ponderous hand clapping on Igas’s shoulders; “your business? The headsman is better than the king. Give him the news first!”
“Allat wither you!” growled Igas, writhing out of his clutch. “Do not stop me! Such tidings for his Majesty!”
“Speak, rascal!” Khatin was thundering, when the door suddenly opened, and Bilsandan, the vizier, admitted the messenger instantly, then slammed it in the others’ faces. Those without stared at one another for many minutes, until the door reopened suddenly as before, and Bilsandan called for Khatin by name.
“Your slave waits my lord’s orders,” began the executioner, gleefully expecting the vizier was going to ask for a head.
“Go with Igas to the chambers of Darius the Persian. There is no time to summon a regular guard; but on your life do not let the prince escape you. He is active and daring. Watch him well.”
“Be he strong as Tiamat the dragon,” laughed Khatin, gruffly, “he shall find me almighty as Bel.” Then he strode away after Igas, wondering vainly what this strange summons of the Persian might mean.
Since his arrest Darius had been confined in easy captivity in the tower of the northeast angle of the palace. The king’s eunuchs had supplied every physical want; but he had been separated from his suite, and allowed no communication with the outside world. At sight of the royal signet borne by Igas, the subaltern commanding the squad of troops guarding the tower promptly led forth his prisoner. Darius appeared little the worse for his imprisonment. He bore himself haughtily, and was silent when Khatin croaked in his ear, “that, in his opinion, the king was about to have the envoy’s throat sundered.” In fact, the Persian carried himself so arrogantly, and showed his guards such supreme contempt, that they in turn had come to feel some little awe of a man who dared treat them thus; and they were glad when they had marched their captive into the council-chamber, where Khatin, to his great delight, was bidden to remain and witness the scene to follow.
Neither the room nor its company was large. Belshazzar occupied an ivory chair on a low dais. At his right hand two white-robed scribes were ready with clay tablet and stylus to take down all that passed. On other stools facing the dais were seated the coterie of magnates who made up the privy council—Avil-Marduk, Bilsandan, Mermaza, Sirusur the general, and a few colleagues. Behind the king stood the inevitable pair of eunuchs with their fly-flappers. As for Darius, he had been placed directly facing the king; and to the surprise of all he remained standing with folded arms, without any obeisance, during a silence that soon became awkward.
Belshazzar had heavy rings beneath his eyes, as if he had drunk overdeeply the night before; and when he turned to motion to Bilsandan, his hand was seen to tremble. Seemingly, he was deeply moved. Then, while the vizier was feeling around for words, Darius broke forth rudely:—