“My lord,” answered Isaiah, sadly, “below this door, on the staircase, is machinery to the sluice, whereby the tunnel can be flooded. We cannot bar this entrance from within. To descend means drowning beneath the river.”
The drunken sentinel stirred in his slumber, but did not waken; yet the others heard the nearing shouting. The sleepy soldiers were tumbling from their barracks. The five heard the clangour of the great brass gong at the palace gate. The Lord God knew how soon a “ten” of infantry would be on the fugitives. Darius had possessed himself of the helpless watchman’s sword.
“By Ahura Most High!” was his desperate oath, “it is better to mount aloft with seven foes sped on before me, than to drown beneath the river. They shall not take me unresisting!”
Feet approached rapidly. A new cry was rising, “The state captives, the Persian and Daniel! Escaped! Pursue!”
Isaiah dashed to the door of the tunnel-house and bolted it. It would take a few moments to force. Darius had turned to the others.
“I am a man of war, and know the look of death. If two men were to remain in the narrow entrance to this stairway, they could defend it long. Five must not perish where two suffice.” He was stripping the drunkard of helm and shield. “I and one other will defend against pursuit, the rest flee!”
But Isaiah threw up his hands in dismay. “Folly, my prince. Your life is worth a thousand such as mine. I am no weakling. Shaphat shall guide you to safety. Leave the defence to Zerubbabel and to me!”
A thunderous beating on the door, and Igas-Ramman, the captain, was clamouring, “Open! Open! In the king’s name!”
Isaiah reached to pluck the sword from Darius’s hands. “Haste!” he exhorted, but another hand caught his.
“Folly again.” It was Daniel who cried it. “You are all young. Life is sweet. God will give you many days and power to do great deeds. I will defend the entrance.”