Confounding his god and the vile Jewish demon:
We praise thee, and with us all Babylon worships!”
The chant ended with a terrific clap of cymbals and thunder of drums. Then the wonted cry was spreading: “The knee! the knee! Hail! Hail! Belshazzar!” Soldiers again: the chosen sword-hands of the guard, the golden scales of the armour flashing: scarlet pennons trailing from every spear-head. Behind them on a lofty litter rode Belshazzar the king,—never more kingly than now, never arrayed before in costlier robes and tiara. And at sight of him a great shout rose spontaneously from the multitude.
“A god and not a man! Marduk appears on earth! Happy Babylon—your king was begotten in heaven!”
Belshazzar looked neither to one side nor the other, the faces of the stone bulls more mobile than his. “The king was indeed half god—what part had the son of Marduk with the life of vulgar men!” so his thought ran.
Under the firm steps of twelve great noblemen moved the litter. Right behind was a second, not so high, yet lofty also, and she that rode therein exposed to common sight. And now there was a titter here, a taunt there, and yonder silence.
“The daughter of Cyrus!” “Joyful day for her!” “Away with the chalk-white Persian!”
White indeed was Atossa, but Belshazzar gave the multitude no less heed than she. Where better to show her Aryan pride and courage, than before these dæva-worshippers!
“Fie, Persian wench!” hissed the tipsy Nabua, “your eyes turn green as a cat’s with rage!” But a great hand clapped ungently upon his mouth.
“Peace, fool,” Khatin whispered hoarsely. “Persian or Chaldee, I know a true man or a true maid. Where is the Babylonish hussy who could bear herself in Susa thus?”