“Beware to boast; the Persian memories are long. They will not forget revenge in a year or a generation.”
“Long truly if they would wait the crumbling of Imgur-Bel and Nimitti-Bel!” But here the king halted, for Bilsandan approached his couch once more.
“May the king’s liver increase, his heart find rest!” saluted the vizier. “I crave his compassion. A messenger from my palace: my youngest daughter lies grievously ill—a sudden torment sent by the ‘Maskim.’ Be gracious, and suffer me to quit the feast.”
Belshazzar frowned. “You and Sirusur both away? I like it little. Yet go; I can refuse no boon to-night.”
But the vizier had another request. “Lord, these Persian captives are a doleful sight at so gay a feast. Command that they be taken away.”
The king nodded carelessly. Bilsandan whispered to the prisoners’ guards and was gone; a moment later the captives were removed also, followed by the hoots of many. Mermaza, who was serving the royal party, laid his head beside Avil’s for an instant.
“First the general and then the vizier. Strange! I would stake five wine-skins these excuses are lies!”
“I believe you,” was the guarded answer; “but what mischief can hatch to-night? Yet I mourn that the king dismissed Bilsandan so readily.”
“Ha!” interrupted Belshazzar; “enough of fowl and oxen; bring on the wine. Wine, the true gift of the gods, is the crowning of the feast!”
The music crashed again. The nimble eunuchs cleared away the viands in a trice, and as quickly brought in the great mixing-bowls of chased gold and silver. One huge tankard of perfumed Damascus they set beside the king; and Avil, taking a jewelled cup, stood pouring libation and praying loudly: “Grant, O Istar, O Nabu, O Bel, mighty deities whose power is over Babylon, that Belshazzar your servant may reign ten thousand years. Let his foes stumble, their weapons break, their bodies grow fruit for his sword. And so will we offer you sacrifice forever!”