“Khatin,” admonished Gudea, rising in his dignity, “you call yourself my friend; understand that if you call down the wrath of the gods by your blasphemies, you need expect no help from me to avert their rage.”
“No offence, brother,” responded the headsman, as soothingly as he knew how. “Here, girl, fill the noble exorcist’s jug again, and put it on my reckoning. A long pull now,—to the confusion of every Jew and traducer of the gods! Ha! What a happy life this would be, if it were all one round of quaffing palm-wine.”
“You are very generous,” remarked Gudea, appeased. “I swear these last skins Nur-Samas had sent up from Sirgulla are delightfully heady. My crown already begins to go round like a chariot wheel. You are an excellent man, my lovely Khatin, a most excellent man! By Marduk, I love you!” He had pulled his stool beside that of Khatin, put his arm around the executioner, and rocked to and fro, displaying his affection.
Khatin likewise, feeling the liquor loosening his tongue, began to grow confidential.
“Hist!” admonished he, “I am in a great way to be consoled. Do you know there is a rumour around the palace, about Daniel—”
“Daniel the ‘civil-minister,’ the great Jew?” demanded Binit, jerking her nose out of her jug.
“The very same,” grunted Khatin, chuckling again; “it is reported that Avil-Marduk—”
Before he could finish the sentence, which all around had stopped drinking and talking that they might hear, a call came down the stairway from the street entrance.
“Where is Gudea the exorcist?” The wizard rose, not too tipsy to answer:—
“I am he. Who are you? What do you wish?”