When the prisoner and his escort were gone, there was yet again stillness in the council. When presently the storm broke out, it was upon Avil.
“Cursed are we, priest,” growled Bilsandan in his beard, “for listening to your counsels. It is you who poured the oil on this fire. It is you that advised the sham treaty, then browbeat the king into arresting the envoy. Whither are we come, indeed? The Pharaoh still holds back. Cyrus knows all, and it will take more than smooth words to stop the charge of his lancers!”
“We have the prince as hostage,” retorted Avil, trying to retain his composure.
“Pliable hostage, indeed!” snarled the vizier; “catch the lion cub, as hostage for the friendliness of the lioness. We may cut off the prince’s head, but such a deed is little suited to make Cyrus more friendly. You temple folk, Avil, will be the first to whimper when your crafty deeds return one and all to nest on your own heads. I love wisdom, but not the wisdom that is like to ruin all ‘Sumer and Akkad.’”
Avil kept his temper by a manifest effort. It had not escaped him that Belshazzar was staring at him very fixedly, a most ominous sign of royal displeasure.
“Noble Sirusur,” spoke the priest, turning to the general, “surely you and all the king’s sword-hands have not waxed so unvalorous that you dread the war. Has his Majesty only harem girls for an army?”
“The sword-hands of the Chaldees,” retorted Sirusur, testily, “are able to fight for their king, and, if needs be, die; but I say only truth when I tell you, the host is in no condition to meet the Persians in pitched battle. Madness to risk it.”
“I congratulate our lord,” flashed back Avil, “on the heroic spirit of his gallant Tartan.”
“Aye!” shouted the “Master of the Host,” “the taunt comes right well from such as you,—you who have lit the blaze, and fain would see others quench it now. I know your prowess. While I was risking my life in that mob, all say the valiant high priest was cowering like a cornered hare.”