“Daniel? Namtar, the plague-fiend, destroy him! Is the tunnel flooded?”
“Not so wrathful, lord.” Sirusur was still trembling. “Your slaves did all in their power. The old man Daniel remained in the entrance to the tunnel with Shaphat, his one-time accuser; they made desperate resistance.”
“Shaphat defend Daniel? You are mad, Sirusur.”
“Alas! no. Shaphat slew with his own hand two men, and as Bel reigns his master fought valiantly as Gilgamesh the hero. You will not believe there was such might in so old an arm. We killed Shaphat at last, and disarmed Daniel, after nearly every man in the squad had his wound. Then finally we were able to flood the tunnel, but I fear too late. The Persian had a long start. The exit is poorly guarded. The bridge is raised, so we sent soldiers across the river by boat. Nergal grant they nip Darius ere he pass the city gate!”
“Bring Daniel the Jew before me!” and Belshazzar’s teeth shone white, hateful. The men obeyed silently. The king stood in the palace gallery, the light of one red torch touching the blood of the slaughtered eunuch on his sword-blade. The anger on his face was fearful. The old Jew’s dress had been torn to shreds, his white hair fouled by blood and mire, his left arm hung limp at his side. Two petty officers upbore him. They thought to hear Belshazzar cry “Slay” at first sight; but the king reined his passion enough to taunt bitterly:—
“Ha! is it custom to quit the king’s house with so scant leave-taking?”
The old man shook back his bloody locks and looked straight into Belshazzar’s rage-shot eyes. “As you have kept faith to me and mine, so have I to you, O king!”
“Revile me now!” Belshazzar’s sword whistled as he brandished. Before a mere reed Daniel might have winced not less.
“I do not revile. True servant have I been to you and your fathers. My reward is this!” He held up his right arm, with the red ring marked by the fetter.
“And this”—Belshazzar swung the sword higher—“one last mercy—death.”