“Take care, dæva; come within reach, and chained though I be, I can kill you!”
“I will keep a safe distance from your Highness,” was Avil’s undisturbed reply.
“And now, son of Hystaspes,” he continued, dropping the catlike purring from his voice, “let us understand one another. You are utterly in our power. By this time, at least, you will begin to confess it.”
He heard the chains begin to rattle from the corner.
“By this time, O Prince of Treachery, you begin to hear the roar of the Persian lion. Do you confess it? Has the news that comes of late to Babylon been sweet as Assyrian honey?”
Avil let a moment pass before he answered:—
“It is true that Cyrus is massing soldiers,” he admitted.
“It is true that Kutha has surrendered, and Sirusur the Tartan suffered a defeat. Make your toads, these jailers, keep tighter mouths, if you would have them leak no news to me.”
“If those turnkeys chatter, the stakes are ready to impale them,” cursed Avil, under breath. Then, returning to the charge boldly: “Yes, it is true, war has blazed forth. No profit to deny. But nothing decisive has befallen. The king leads his host into the field in a few days. If Cyrus be the first to attack—”
“I shall be put to death?”