The prince was frowning darkly.
“Ariathes,” said he, “you are a man of nimble wit. Do you think Belshazzar is sincere in seeking peace with Cyrus?”
The other smiled grimly.
“I am only my lord’s slave. Who am I to meddle in the affairs of princes?”
“Well, you have a throat that will cut as quickly as any man’s; and know this well, if you walk in the steps of Igas-Ramman and chatter loud enough, you will forswear palm-wine forever.”
Ariathes grinned and was about to salaam before withdrawing, but the prince spoke again. “Look you; we have been for days in Babylon, yet no courier comes from Susa with despatches. What does it mean?”
“Have I not said I am blind to affairs of state?”
“Then receive sight; for, as you love me and as you love Cyrus, you need two wide-open eyes, as well as a ruly tongue. Cast about and find some means of sending a letter from Babylon without Belshazzar or Avil-Marduk smelling it. My last messenger travelled openly. Do you understand?”
Ariathes replied with a low bow. Darius returned to his seat, took his writing tablet, and deliberately mutilated the letter just completed. In its stead he stamped a very brief message, which he did not place in the chest by the wall, but wrapped in linen and hid in his own bosom; for an uneasy suspicion was beginning to haunt him that the very pictures enamelled on the bricks could see all that befell in this palace of Belshazzar.