The luckless man fell on his knees, tearing his beard: his one groan was, “Mercy.” Belshazzar heeded little. “You other priests,—you the chief ‘demon-ejector,’—do you speak! The meaning?”
A second wretch cast himself before the king. “Pity, Ocean of Generosity, pity! I do not know.”
The king wasted no curse. “You, Kalduin, ‘master of the star-gazers,’ who boast to be wisest astrologer in Babylon,—look on the writing. I declare that if you, or any other, can read these letters, and make known to me the interpretation, he shall be clothed in scarlet, and a chain of gold put about his neck, and he shall be third ruler of the kingdom, next to Avil and myself.”
But Kalduin also fell on his knees, groaning and moaning. Belshazzar turned to Avil-Marduk, who had not spoken since the apparition, and who was still exceeding pale. “Avil!” the accent of the king was icy chill, “if you are truly the mouthpiece of your god, prove your power. Interpret!”
Then came a wondrous thing, even on that night of wonders. For the chief priest, to whom Babylon had cringed as almost to the king, cowered on the rugs by the royal couch. “Lord! Lord!” he moaned in fear, “I know not. I cannot tell. Mercy! Spare!”
Belshazzar shook his kingly head as might a desert lion, he alone steadfast, while a thousand were trembling.
“And is there no man in all Babylon who can read this writing?” was his thunder.
There was a rustling beside him. From her chair the aged queen-mother, Tavat-Hasina, leaned forward. “Your Majesty,” she whispered, from pale lips, “live forever. Let not your thoughts trouble you. There is a man in your kingdom in whom is the spirit of the holy gods.”