“Are you become senseless as a sick sheep?” cried she, scornfully. “What was Khatin about to say at the beer-house? You know the chief priest would love nothing so much as some ground for new accusations against the Jews. Go to him boldly. Accuse Isaiah of murder by means of sorceries. Say he hated Saruch because he adored our gods of Babylon. The moment your spell begins to work, the sick man falls dead. Isaiah appears the next instant. Clearest proof! If Avil-Marduk can be persuaded to make your cause his own, an accusation supported by him will be true as an oracle; though all the city might mock if you brought the charge alone.”
The wizard’s eyes were shining with relief and glee, as the inspiration came to him.
“Ah! my Binit,” cried he, merrily, “happy the day when Istar made you my wife! Not Ea himself could counsel more craftily.”
So it befell that the wizard wended his way in the cool of the evening northward to the precinct of Bel-Marduk, guardian god of Babylon.
The temple of Bel was far more than a shrine perched on the crest of a ziggurat. Its walls, outbuildings, and priests’ houses covered many “large acres.” It occupied a site with the river on the west, the great “Eastern Canal” to north, and on south and east there was ready entrance through the towering gateways, guarded, like the king’s palace, by stone lions and winged bulls. Here sleepy priests on watch gave not a glance to the exorcist as he entered. Once past, he found himself in a broad court girdled by a façade of lofty pillars glittering with silver plating and brilliant enamel, and behind the columns all the walls shone with brightly glazed bricks. Burnished bronze glistered on the doors of the many rooms, and Gudea could just see the sheen of jewels inside the “dark room,” the great sanctuary at the end of the court, where was guarded the ark of Bel, of which the portal chanced to be open.
Through a noisy crowd of priests, priests’ wives, children, and visitors, Gudea wormed his way to the west side of the court, till almost under the shadow of the towering ziggurat. Here he was halted by a serving-man guarding a private doorway.
“Hold, friend! Your business.”
Gudea made a lowly salaam.
“Excellent sir, be so gracious as to tell whether the high priest, Avil-Marduk, my lord never-to-be-too-much-praised, is willing to listen to one of his slaves who craves his compassion.”
The sentinel put his hands on his hips.