Book 2 — XII ÊGIBI & SONS

By noon that day Babylon was ringing with the story of Istar's fall and her miraculous escape from the hands of the mob of priests and the people. The tale, from the first appearance of Amraphel and Vul-Ramân in their chariot on the Â-Ibur-Sabû at so early an hour, down to the arrival of Charmides and Istar at the edge of the royal park on the street of Palaces, was in the mouth of every man. But, strangely enough, the beginning and the end of it all, Beltishazzar the Jew and Belshazzar the prince, were never once mentioned by any one. Amraphel in the temple and Daniel in the street listened, each with his own ears, in his own way, to learn how much was known; and possibly both were relieved that the beginning was unguessed; but certainly both were annoyed to find that they could learn no more of the close of the drama than any one. Istar had simply disappeared. Her Greek guide was known, had even been seen in the afternoon walking from the temple of Sin towards the canal of the New Year. But no move was made towards his apprehension, for he was highly valued by the priesthood of his temple, and no amount of questioning on the part of any one drew from him a single satisfactory reply as to the final disposal of Istar and her child.

Nevertheless, Charmides' mind and heart were full. Not until the afternoon had he an opportunity, or, indeed, the wish, to review the great event in which he had played so important a part that morning. All the circumstances had been shoved into the background and forced to lie still in his subconsciousness throughout the morning, while he performed his regular duties at the temple. And only now was he free to let them come once more to the surface and quietly consider them in his homeward walk. First, there was the errand that had taken him to the temple of Istar at that hour of the morning—a message concerning two oracles that must be identical, to be delivered at the same hour at two temples. Charmides had been more likely than any of the priests to win Istar's consent to the arrangement and to the deceit that it involved. And it was thus that he arrived at the temple of the goddess at the hour of the close of sacrifice, to find an unusual and excited throng assembled round the foot of the ziggurat, upon which, Charmides learned, Istar had slept on the previous night. Entirely ignorant of the portent of this mob, the Greek had joined them—hearing only that Istar was still above. From there, in such wise, he watched her expulsion from the sanctuary; saw her struck by the whip of the high-priest; perceived the burden that she bore; and, finally, knew that she was swallowed up in the mob that had been threatening her life. Then, at last, a furious desire for action came over the Greek. He looked around eagerly. On his right hand stood a company of men that were taking no part in the turmoil, regarding it rather with an expression of anxiety in their faces. These were the eunuchs of Istar's household, wearing her livery: servitors that had been willing slaves. Charmides saw that in them lay his goddess' only chance. He rallied them and brought them together by means of a few sharp words of encouragement and explanation; and with them close-pressed around him, he made an onslaught on the disordered throng.

It was thus that Istar's rescue had been effected. There was little in it that was remarkable; but Istar's endurance in the long walk that followed was certainly little less than miraculous. It was, however, the scene at the end of this walk that had affected Charmides most powerfully. In Belshazzar's reception of her, Charmides had not failed to read something of the history that had made that reception possible. Love for her, this wonderfully fallen woman, helpless, weary, and persecuted as she was, the prince unquestionably bore. She had come to him in her hour of sorest need, and he had not failed her. Could she then, always, in her former glory, have rejected him? It seemed impossible. And at this thought Charmides grew troubled. He could not bear that Istar should be tainted by contact with any mortal. Yet now, alas! he knew that she must be so tainted. With this thought the world grew human again, and Charmides turned his mind to Ramûa, his wife, her who had first made Babylon beautiful to him. In another two or three minutes now he would be with her, for he had nearly finished his homeward walk. Directly opposite him were the palace and gardens of Lord Ribâta, behind whose walls dwelt Baba, that other being whose life had for a moment touched his, and had then flown off again at a tangent that could not but separate them more and more as time went on. For Baba, Charmides felt a lurking tenderness, that had developed since he won his happiness through her; and as he rounded the corner of the tenement of Ut and hastened his pace towards his own door-way, he was not sorry to find three women watching for him in that space—Ramûa, Beltani, and, lastly, Baba herself.

It was evident that news of the great happening of the morning had already reached this remote corner of the city; for the instant that he was within speaking distance of his family, the Greek was assailed with such a volley of questions as only women could have marshalled under a single breath. It must be confessed that Charmides heard them with something like despair. Yet he knew also that he would do best to submit to the inevitable without protest. Therefore, seating himself upon a new stool in the living-room, he proceeded to utilize the moments unoccupied by women's voices in explaining as lucidly as possible the morning's adventure. Baba alone was silent during his recital. She stood perfectly still, her hands folded in front of her, her large eyes fixed solemnly on his face, listening, with an eagerness that he could not but perceive, to his every syllable. Immediately upon the end she turned, with a rustle of silk and a jingle of golden chains, towards the door. Then, beckoning Charmides to come with her, she led him along for a few yards, and, fixing her gaze upon him, said, seriously:

"Charmides, you must know that you have incurred danger by this act. The eyes of all the priesthood, of Amraphel, of Vul-Ramân, of Beltishazzar the Jew, will from this time forth be upon you. Take care that, though you have won the love of every woman in Babylon by your act, you do not also receive some mortal injury from these others. I warn you as one that loves you. Remember it."

And with these words, and a nod to her sister behind, Baba let Charmides go, and went on alone towards her pleasant prison-house.

There was no reluctance in Baba's gait as she approached the palace of Ribâta; for the unhappiness of the first months of her new life was gone. In its place had come a contentment that was as near akin to happiness as anything she had ever known. By her own tact and wisdom she had made for herself an enviable place in Lord Ribâta's household. Every one in it, from the first wife to the newest dancing-girl and the humblest slave, liked her. She had never been known to do one of them an unkindness; and none of them had ever borne a complaint of her to their lord. For this, if for nothing else, Bit-Shumukin would have regarded her as a paragon. But my lord had other cause for keeping a close companionship with her after her novelty had worn off. Baba was no fool; and, young as she was, began, under Ribâta's experimental tuition, to develop no mean abilities in the way of politics and political diplomacy. She had begun by having explained to her the unimportant things—dark secrets known to everybody in the state world, and to anybody else that cared to go into them. Finding from these that she possessed that unheard-of thing in woman, a bridled tongue, Ribâta trusted her further, began to make some little use of her in a statesman's way, and found that she had unusual talent in that unusual line. Finally, she had ended by becoming an unfailing necessity to him in his broad outer life. Baba went to houses, knew people, heard things repeated, received confidences that no other woman in Babylon dreamed of. In many cases she was able to save her lord's dignity in a pleasant way. She formed friendships with certain people whom he suggested to her, and obtained from them a world of amusement for herself, and an unfathomable fund of information for her master. She found Babylon to be a seething mass of plots and counterplots, little and great, honorable, ignoble, loyal and traitorous. The government was fighting its enemies with their own weapons, and intrigued vigorously, sometimes in the light of knowledge, far more often in hopeless darkness. Ribâta, as Belshazzar's closest friend, dwelt in the very midst of this world of craft, and how valuable to him and to his prince so versatile and so truthful an agent as Baba was, none but Ribâta himself knew. But it was in this way that life had grown interesting again to the little creature; and it was in this way that she gained a satisfaction in her existence, knowing that she was worthy, that she was serving a great cause well. Indeed, from her heart, in the light of all her knowledge, Baba was body and soul loyal to the king and to the prince-governor of the city. Autocratic as they were and wished to be, it took little understanding to perceive how infinitely more selfish, how infinitely more tyrannical would be the other side, that great opposing element of which Amraphel was the recognized head, and Daniel the Jew the unrecognized but not less important right hand.

Knowing this religious body as she did, Baba's warning to Charmides had been no idle one; and on her way home she was occupied in reviewing the position of the man whom she revered as well as loved. It caused her no little anxiety, this plight of his; for, though no definite result of his generous action could be foretold, that there would be some result the little diplomatist was very sure. It was her intention, on reaching the palace, to demand audience of Ribâta at once. But when she came to the outer gate of the zenana she found a eunuch watching for her coming, and he hurried forward to her with the command that she repair instantly to the presence of her lord.

Ribâta was alone at table when Baba came to him. He greeted her arrival with extreme satisfaction, and, before dismissing the slaves, had a place made for her beside him, and food and wine brought for her refreshment. Baba watched the arrangements placidly. She was accustomed to such consideration, though no other woman of Ribâta's household had ever been treated in this way. And when the two of them were finally left alone, she began quietly to eat, asking no questions, forbearing to introduce the topic near her own heart, waiting, without the least appearance of curiosity, for Ribâta to begin the conversation.

On the instant of their being left alone, Ribâta's face lost its expression of cheerful nonchalance and took on the look of one that labors wearily in a hopeless cause. He ceased to eat and drink, and lay back on his couch with a deep sigh. It was many minutes before he spoke, and during that time Baba played steadily at eating, never once noticing his languor or commenting on his mood; for she knew her lord, and she took the only possible method of pleasing him.

"Baba," he said at last, "we have lost what should be reckoned as an army this day."

Baba slowly lifted her eyes to his. "Istar?" she said, quietly.

Ribâta nodded. There was a little pause, and then he asked again: "You know, do you not, the man that saved her from the mob?"

"Why—thou knowest, my lord, he is—"

"Charmides, thy Greek. Say it, Baba."

"He is the husband of my sister."

"But once beloved of thee?"

Baba looked at him.

"Warn thy Greek, then, that Amraphel and the Jew will not again let any act of his pass unnoticed. His life is endangered, I think."

Still Baba was silent. At Ribâta's words she merely bowed her head.

"And now, my Baba, now hear the rest of the day's happenings. The Great City is coming into the evening of her day. That thing that was Nabu-Nahid's greatest safeguard, because it alone was feared by the priesthood, is taken from us. In the days when Istar of Babylon shone like Shamash in her temple, Amraphel himself laid his face in the dust before her. But now, for many months, yea, since that journey to Erech, her glory has departed from her. I have looked on her long and despairingly of late weeks. This is the end that from the first I have feared. She is become no more than any woman; and with her going our power fails. Yet, Baba, this Istar is wonderfully beloved. This day, in the palace of the king, she was united in marriage with Belshazzar by word of the priest of Sin, who thereby, to all Babylonia, proclaimed her a woman."

"Wife of Belshazzar!" gasped Baba.

"Yes, verily. And I have not marvelled less than thou. Yet Belshazzar loves her with a love that is beyond approach: holding her dearer than half the kingdom—nay, then, than the whole, I think. I spake out before him of the danger of her fall to our cause, and his answer frightened me; and after that, through the whole day, he spoke to me no more.

"But by the blood of my father that flows in my veins, neither for Istar nor for any other shall Belshazzar lose his kingdom to Amraphel, Beltishazzar, and Kurush the Elamite, till my spirit is fled to Ninkigal, and my blood waters the streets of the city. And till the time when the madness of the prince my brother shall be ended, I alone will uphold the state against her enemies."

He came to an abrupt and thoughtful pause, which Baba softly filled.

"My lord knows that his will is also mine."

Ribâta drew a quick sigh and then smiled at her words. Afterwards he rose from his couch and seated himself on the great pile of rugs and cushions in a corner, at the same time motioning Baba to join him. She went, obediently, and seated herself at his feet, her eyes resting inquiringly on his face, her chin on her hands. Before he began to speak, he placed one hand caressingly on her hair, much as one would have patted the head of a little child, for, in spite of her precocious discretion and level-headedness, Baba always impressed one first with her childlike personality.

"Now, Baba, there is something for thee to do, whereby we may gain much for our king. Thou knowest the woman Bunanitû, and the great house of Êgibi, of which she is mistress?"

Baba smiled. "Hast thou not many times bidden me go to her? And hath she not come here to visit me? Ugh! My lord knows that I do not love her and her race."

Ribâta smiled. "My Baba, the king's treasury has never in its richest time held half the wealth of the house of Êgibi. With them is that power of gold without which Amraphel himself would soon be helpless. There, Baba, in that house of Jews, is where more than half the secret meetings of the traitors are held. It is from there, and from the house of Zicarû, near the temple of Marduk, that Babylon may look for its doom to come forth. Listen, then, to me. If any meeting ever hath been held by our enemies—and, by thy goat, there have been a hundred of them!—there will be one to-morrow, either in the monastery or in this house of Êgibi: and I think 'twill be in the last. Their best time is noon, after sacrifice and before mercy, when business ceases and the city dines. Now, there will be a eunuch temple servant that is in my pay in the house of Zicarû, waiting, at the same hour that I would have you go to the house of Êgibi. You must enter it, Baba, as a female visitor to Bunanitû, veiled and on foot, carrying embroidery, or a lute, or something that womankind fancies, creating no suspicion that you come from me or my house. Only greet Bunanitû, and tell her you are come to pay a visit and to gossip with her for an hour. Then, being in that house, keep thou watch. Tell me the men that are to be seen about the place, or, if there is none to see, look for any chance event that may befall to give a clew to the traitors' workings. If you be shut away from the men's rooms, cry out for faintness or with heat, and so run out into the shop where moneys are changed. Or make you any excuse to look and learn—I care not what it may be, or what you do. But, my Baba, for every fact you bring me, there shall be a golden hairpin for your hair on your return."

Baba looked up at him quickly. "My lord will learn in time that I love not gold. I do my lord's bidding for love of his work. Let him not pay me like a servant."

Ribâta smiled and took up her two hands. "Baba is good, and also wise. Let her bear always in mind that the Achæmenian threatens the Great City; and that before him, if there works treachery inside the walls, I and thou, Belshazzar and the king, Istar of Babylon and thy pale-eyed Greek, must surely fall. I shall not see thee again ere thou go; but the household is at thy command, to do with as thou wilt in preparation for thy adventure."

Then Ribâta tapped her forehead in token of dismissal, and watched her as she jumped to her feet, made her reverence, and went away with her hands folded on her breast.

Though the evening was young, Baba retired straightway, but without any intention of sleeping. Once in her bed she was not liable to interruptions of women or children, who clamored lustily round her in her waking hours. Now she was eager to think out her plans for the morrow, and how best to accomplish the most important mission ever intrusted to her. It was full three hours, and the whole zenana had grown sleepy-still, before at last she turned upon her side and closed her eyes in the satisfaction of knowing that, of all the plans she could think of, the one she had finally decided on held out the greatest chance of success.

Next morning, the twenty-second of the fair month, found the city still wrought up over the strange happenings of the day before. Istar's fall was not a matter of rejoicing to Babylon in general. Many a woman had wept, and many a workman turned silent and solemn on hearing of her expulsion from the temple. In one quarter of the city only was there a universal sense of delight. This was in the extreme southwest, south of the canal of the Prophet, and accessible from the outside only by the gate of the Maskim. This little spot was a settlement of an alien race, and its inhabitants enjoyed a mode of life peculiarly their own. It was the quarter that had been assigned, fifty years before, to the Jewish people, when Nebuchadrezzar had brought them, ten thousand strong, from their far, barren country, to be a menace and a curse unto his descendant.

So entirely distinctive a life did these captives live, that their quarter was not greatly frequented by Babylonians. But there was one house, standing near the traders' square, covering a large plot of ground, and much more richly tiled than any of its neighbors, that had been and was frequented by the greatest men in Babylon—prince and priest, judge and minister—and the business of which was on a greater scale than that of any similar native house, and which was in the end destined to become famous in the annals of Babylonish history. This was the great banking-firm of Êgibi & Sons; and it was managed at the present time by three generations of the family: Bunanitû, a remarkable old woman of more than sixty years of age; Kalnea, her son, a man something over forty; and Kabtiya, her grandson, a youth in his twentieth year and still unmarried. The establishment that was run by these three to tremendous advantage to themselves, and not a little to that of some others, had become, through the influence of Daniel, the rendezvous for the priestly traitors of the city. Both Kalnea and his son were dangerously implicated in the schemes of Amraphel; and, though Bunanitû had always shrunk a little from the councils held within her walls, her racial prejudices against the reigning family were too strong for her not to be wholly in sympathy with their enemies.

An hour after its accomplishment the news of the fall of Istar had reached this household, through a message from Amraphel himself, who commanded them to prepare for a meeting at noon on the following day—the very obvious consequence that Ribâta had foreseen. The message made no difference in the usual business of the morning; and at noon, as a matter of course, trade was relaxed for the dinner-hour. Few people were in the streets, and no customers haunted the various small shops in the quarter. The house of Êgibi, however, was more fortunate than its neighbors. Between twelve and half-past no fewer than seven men passed in the door of the bank; and, more unusual still, when the last one of them went in, the first had not yet come out. A little peculiar, certainly; but to the single person who witnessed the arrivals from a safe retreat behind a great pile of porous water-jars displayed for sale in the street near by, the event appeared to have less of the strange than of the satisfactory in it. This watcher was a small, half-robed letter-carrier, who had loitered about the neighborhood for half an hour, unseen by a single soul. He waited for five or ten minutes after the entrance of the last of the seven, made his way round the corner behind the house, and was presently to be seen dashing round it at break-neck speed, up to the open door of the establishment.

Bunanitû was alone in the large room, and she came to the door, looking out with some anxiety at the small, black creature that stood panting before her.

"Thy business, boy?" she demanded, sharply.

The boy peered up at her, giving her eye for eye suspiciously. "Who are you?" he croaked.

"Bunanitûm Bit-Êgibi."

"Mother of Kalnea?"

"Yea."

"Oho! Then I give thee this, to be"—the boy put a mysterious finger to one side of his nose and whispered so softly that the woman bent over to catch his words—"to be delivered to Amraphel, my lord, in council—if thou knowest the place." And he held up a neat little brick, covered with exquisitely minute writing and elaborately sealed.

Bunanitûm, growing rather large over the affair, took the epistle with a nod. "I know," she whispered, in return, and the boy, with an answering look, turned as if to go away.

The woman, hasty with her new importance, did not stay to watch his departure. She turned about and started for the back part of the house, leaving the outer room quite empty for the space of three minutes. And during that three minutes Baba brought her plan to a successful issue.

No one saw the little letter-carrier enter the shop. Still less did any one know when he darted out of it and back into the maze of corridors and rooms behind. Here, in a well-chosen corner, very dimly lighted, Baba huddled herself up, to await the return of Bunanitû to her post of duty, which would leave the whole rear of the house open to inspection. Shortly the Jewess could be seen passing quickly along an adjoining hall-way, on her way back to the shop, whither she had been hastily sent by her son. And when she was gone, Baba, with a long breath, left her hiding-place. The most uncertain and perhaps the most dangerous part of her work was over; but the important half of it remained still to be done. She was confident of the efficacy of her disguise; and she was free to move rapidly in her scant tunic with her black-stained, bare limbs, and her flowing hair crammed under a woolly, black wig. Nevertheless her heart beat violently as she left her corner and began to search for the room where the secret council would sit, or for some hiding-place where the sound of voices would come to her ears. She had proceeded nearly to the back wall of the house, and was beginning to fear that the council-room was too well concealed for discovery, when a faint murmur of talking reached her ears. It came, apparently, from somewhere below, and, with the first murmurous sound, Baba stopped short to look about.

The room where she stood was large, almost dark, and scantily furnished. Its walls, however, were hung with elaborate draperies, and its floors covered with costly rugs. Save for two or three inlaid chairs, with embroidered cushions and carven feet, the room was empty of furniture. But from somewhere, and somewhere below, came that unceasing murmur of conversation. The intruder examined her surroundings from floor to ceiling. Then she looked all round the walls, and finally back again to the floor. Here, on a certain spot, her eyes stopped. It was where the corner of a great crimson rug was turned up, as if it had been hastily laid. And by this upturned corner was a black spot that was not shadow. In the dim light Baba could distinguish nothing very clearly; but she moved noiselessly across to this place, and found when she came to it that the voices had become definite, and she could hear what was being said. There was a square opening in the floor, all but four or five inches of which was quite concealed by the rug.

Without any hesitation Baba threw herself flat down, and then, realizing to the full the risk that she ran, pushed the rug yet farther away from the opening, put her face close to it, and looked down.

Below was a good-sized vault, made, probably, in the brick platform on which the house stood. It was well lighted with torches and lamps, hung with richly embroidered tapestry, and ceiled with glazed bricks of bright colors. Its furniture consisted of piles of rugs and cushions on which, seated in an orderly circle, sat, not nine, but fourteen men, all but four of whom wore the goat-skin. Baba did not know them all, even by sight; but half were familiar figures, and the other half—well, Ribâta should tell her their names to-night, after her description. Those that she knew were Amraphel, Vul-Ramân of Nebo and Nergal, Larissib-Sin of Marduk, Zir-Iddin of Shamash at Sippar, Siatû-Sin, Itti-Bel, and Gûla-Zir, together with Beltishazzar the Jew and his fellows Kalnea and young Kabtiya of the house of Êgibi; and the rest were one more hawk-eyed fellow of the tribe of Judah, and five priests, none of them above the rank of elder.

In her first downward glance Baba perceived that Amraphel had in his hand the brick letter that she herself had sent him; and evidently its contents had been surprising enough to displace the former topic of discussion and to raise a storm of talk. Amraphel and Beltishazzar were silent, waiting, with more or less patience, for a chance of being heard. After a little time this opportunity came, for the majority of those present were too ignorant of their subject to be particularly instructive; and at last they quieted, one by one, and turned to the place where their leaders sat.

Amraphel spoke the first words that Baba was able to catch definitely, and from that time on there was nothing that she did not hear and remember.

"Now that ye take council with silence, men of emptiness, learn of me that there is little enough danger in the fact, even if it be true, that Belshazzar has taken the woman of Babylon to wife. Answer me severally one by one, if there has been in any of your temples a rumor of such a marriage made by any of its priests. Siatû-Sin—dost thou remember?"

"Nay, Lord Amraphel."

This answer was repeated by every priest present. Then, in the little pause that followed before Amraphel went on, Daniel, with a faint smile, observed:

"Yesterday, at four hours after noon, Kasmani, second sacrificial priest of the temple of Sin, entered the gates of Nabu-Nahid's palace, and drove away again in an hour in the golden chariot of Prince Belshazzar."

Every one looked to Amraphel for his idea of this information. The high-priest only smiled, in slow indifference, and continued: "The woman of Babylon desires, then, to be queen in the Great City. A queen is not a goddess; and yet I say unto you that she shall never be queen. She whom I drove forth yesterday from the temple is fallen ill under her disgrace. This morning at dawn came to me Nergal-Yukin, rab-mag of the king's household, for a charm to ward off a fever from a divine lady."

Here Amraphel hesitated for the fraction of a second, while a thin smile spread over Daniel's keen face. "That charm—" he urged.

"That charm," said Amraphel, carefully, "was what the great Elamite would have desired."

"The sword?" demanded Vul-Ramân, bluntly.

"Ten drops of the liquor from an adder's fang, to be rubbed upon a prick in the left wrist at sunset to-day."

Baba gasped; but from the men assembled below there was only a quick round of applause.

"By dawn to-morrow there will be no more of 'Istar of Babylon,'" observed Daniel, satisfaction oiling his tone.

"And the Great City is open to its savior," concluded Siatû-Sin.

Now Baba was in a sudden agony to escape, for she felt that the life of Istar rested in her hands. Yet sunset was still many hours away, and the talk that was beginning gave signs of proving exactly what Ribâta had told her to hear. Therefore from minute to minute she lingered on in her place, while the story of treachery and blood-guiltiness was made clear to her, and it seemed as if, with the evidence in her hands, it must soon be possible to have these men put to death without imprisonment and with a mere form of trial. And had it been two centuries earlier this might perhaps have been arranged. But Babylon was not Nineveh, and the power of Nabonidus was not that of the old monarchs of Chaldea; neither was the king by nature a tyrant, or even a strict ruler. And possibly because of these things, and only because of them, these councils were ventured at all.

"What is the last word from Kurush?" demanded Salathiel the Jew, of Amraphel.

There was a general little murmur of interest, and a settling down upon the cushions as if for a lengthy talk.

"Kurush," said Amraphel, with all the authority of Cyrus himself, "is now in the marsh country south of Teredou, and from there he despatches a letter to us. Ye shall hear it."

Amraphel drew from the pocket of his broad girdle a clay tablet, slightly larger than those in general use for letters, and covered with neatly pressed cuneiform characters. This, with the aid of a small, round magnifying-glass, always used in correspondence, he read aloud to those assembled—and to Baba above:

"'Unto Amraphel, high servant of the ancient gods of Babylon, and to those that are with him, thus saith Kurush the Achæmenian: With me it is well. With thee and thy houses may it be exceeding well. Now I, the king, lie secretly in the country to the south of the city of Teredou, not far from the gulf of the setting sun. And here, from the east and from the north, the army will assemble about me. The people in the land are poor and ill-content. Little grain have they to eat, and short measure of milk to drink. The king their lord knows them not. To me they turn, in their extremity. Soon shall ye learn of revolts among the dwellers in the lowlands: know, then, that it will be by my hand. After this we will march northward, towards the gates of the Great City.

"'Gobryas, my general, the governor of Gutium, is in the north. Before him, in the month of Duzu (June), Sippar and its works shall fall.

"'Look to it only that ye hold Babylon estranged from its king. She whom we have feared—doth she bear herself yet divinely? The captive Jews that are in the city, greet them well for me. Tell them that, after my coming, those that open to me the Great City shall know again the land of their fathers and their fathers' fathers. And those of the Babylonians that shall acclaim me master, to each of these shall be given out of the public moneys thirty shekels of silver; but to the great that bow before shall be given high offices, honor, and much wealth. And in the month of Ab, Queen of the Bow, shall Babylon know me.'"

The seal of Cyrus was affixed to the end of the epistle; and the brick was passed round the circle, that each man present might be sure that it was genuine.

Now began a discussion that proved tedious and scarcely comprehensible to Baba. It was about numbers and divisions of men, and was accompanied by the reading of endless lists of names, and the checking of each as true or untrue to the cause of rebellion. And after listening to this talk until she found that it would be utterly hopeless for her to attempt to remember anything valuable in it, Baba rose, pulled the rug carefully back to its original place, listened for a moment to make sure that she was undiscovered, and then, with the utmost caution, made her way to the rear door of the house, which she unfastened, and through which she safely passed. Once outside, in the glare of day, her heart afire with anxiety for Istar, she started away, in a light-running pace, up through the city that she knew so well. Through the Traders' square, across the canal of the Prophet, along the river-bank for an endless distance she ran, till she came to the great bridge, across which loomed the high, blue walls of the new palace.

The sun was swinging down towards the horizon now, and the life of Istar swung with it in its balance, when the dishevelled figure of Ribâta's slave halted at the palace gates and demanded the admission that her disguise gained for her.