We brought the news to the king. He is all anxiety. There will be a special council and consulting of the oracles. We trust, by laying extra burdens on these stubborn Jews, we can in some measure avert the wrath of heaven. Yet this is a fearful portent, just as his Majesty is about to marry a Persian.”
Itti was still shaking his head, when an increased din rising from the street warned Avil that there would be no passing at present for his chariot.
“Way! way!” a squad of spearmen were bawling, forcing back the traffickers to either side. The banker and his guests stared forth curiously.
“Way! way!” the shout grew louder, and behind sounded a creaking and a rumbling. The chief priest glanced toward the gate.
“The new stone bull,” commented he, “comes from Karkhemish. They landed it above the bridge; now they drag it to the old palace of Nabupolassar, which the king is repairing.”
“Then the Jews,” remarked Itti shrewdly, “are already being rewarded for their impiety. Has not the labour gang been taken from their nation?”
“You are right,” said Avil, “they will fast learn that to keep clear of forced labour they must go to the ziggurat and the grove of Istar.”
“Strange people,” declared Itti, “so steadfast to their helpless god!”
“If Marduk gives me life,” swore Avil, “I will bend their stiff necks. His Majesty promises the indulgence of former reigns shall end forever.”