Book 2 — XV SIPPAR

Sippar, the northernmost city of Babylonia, lay a day's journey from the capital. Although five Sippars could have been placed within the towering circuit of Nimitti-Bel, and room have been left for Ur besides, still, thirty thousand people, besides Shamash the sun-god, made it their home. Nebuchadrezzar, the great king, had thought it a town of no little importance; for he had expended upon it as much money as the treasury held and his conquered nations would give for tribute, in making those vast reservoirs and the machinery by means of which the course of the river Euphrates could be turned out of its channel and into Sippar, and thence sent forth into a thousand cross-country canals, leaving the river-bed, for the rest of its southward course, as dry as a brick. On account of these vast works of primitive engineers, the little place had for the past fifty years been famous from Agade to Terredou, from Kutha to the desert; till, from being a dilapidated mud-village, its pilgrim visitors had turned it, with their yearly wealth, into a well-built and well-kept city clustered round three celebrated buildings—the astronomical ziggurat, the temple of the sun, and the college of the Chaldees.

These last could be grouped under one head, since all three of them were ruled by one master—not Shamash, but the high-priest of Shamash, the first astronomer of the kingdom and the president of this college of sciences, and these combined dignities caused him to be known as the first priest in the kingdom. As a matter of fact, the religious house and its attachments were as old as—a little older than—the city of Sippar. Sun-worship had been instituted here as long ago as tradition knew; just as moon-worship began in Ur, according to Berossus, about thirty thousand years before the day of the Mighty Hunter! The house attached to the temple for the purpose of training its priests had gradually, through three or four centuries, come to be the great school of education for the priests of all Babylonia. It was the home of tradition and of sedition; the breeder of anti-monarchical ideas, the advocate of a hierarchical government. Nabonidus' father, a member of this college and high-priest of a Babylonian temple, having married the daughter of Nebuchadrezzar, made double claim to the throne of Chaldea; and, though he never came into the place of his mighty father-in-law, yet his son, the young Nabu-Nahid, educated in his father's college and early admitted to the priesthood, was brought up in the full belief that he was king by right of Heaven. Five years on the throne had changed him in many respects. Amraphel had come down from Sippar to administer to Bel-Marduk, and to keep watch over the general priesthood and the ruler of the Great City; and Nabu-Nahid had grown more accustomed to the crown than to the goat-skin. Moreover, the education of the prince royal was continued along very unpriestly lines. Therefore, though the king had never entirely severed his connection with the great institution where he had spent his youth, his attitude towards it was indeterminate, and its feeling for him one of well-disguised but none the less bitter hostility.

At this time of the middle of June in the seventeenth year of the king's reign, Sippar was in a frenzy of excitement. The town was filled to overflowing with troops assembled a month ago from every city and village within a radius of sixty miles. Nânâ-Babilû, commander-in-chief of the army, was lodged with Sharrukin, governor of the city; and these two men were loyal, heart and soul, to the king. As a consequence, they were also bitterly inimical to the priesthood. The college, on the contrary, bristling as it was with full-fledged priests and half-fledged students, waited to give Cyrus himself, or Gobryas by proxy, a royal welcome. The men of the army were divided into factions. As for the rest of the city, it was a little Babylon in its general uneasiness and disturbance.

Three weeks after the home army occupied Sippar, came word of the rapid advancement of Gobryas from the northeast; and the town was hurriedly prepared for a siege. Finally, on the night of the thirteenth, the arrival of two despatches, one from the north, the other from the south, brought consternation to the far-seeing mind of Nânâ-Babilû, and a dramatic sense of triumph to the members of the college. As the news became known in the city, the town quickly took on an air of festivity. The night was lighted by bonfires. The streets were alive with people. A great clamor of singing, of shouting, of drinking, and general riot rang through the twisting streets. And men, women, and children, soldiers and citizens, were still up and dressed in holiday garments, when, at dawn on the morning of the fourteenth of the month, Nabu-Nahid drove in at the southern gate of the city.

Sharrukin the governor, Nânâ-Babilû, and Ludar Bit-Shamash, the sun-priest, each in his state chariot, each the acme of stiff courtesy, came together at the gate to greet the king their lord. The governor and the general regarded the arrival of the high-priest with no little surprise and some resentment. Sharrukin's palace had been carefully prepared for the reception of the royal master; and his chagrin at the idea of Nabonidus' going to lodge at the college of the Chaldees, overcame his appreciation of the policy and the daring of that act.

Nabonidus came attended by a very small suite. He had travelled from Babylon with no more pretension than any petty nobleman. A charioteer drove him, but he himself held his umbrella over his head. He was dressed in the same simple white robes in which he had bidden his son farewell. His retinue consisted of two chariots, containing his secretaries and his favorite slave, while a group of six horsemen followed. His manner, on arriving, was as simple as his dress. Seeing Sharrukin and Nânâ-Babilû, his mild eyes lighted with pleasure; but it was to Ludar that he gave his first greeting. The little party proceeded slowly through the principal streets of Sippar on its way to the college, Nabonidus and Ludar first, side by side in their chariots, the governor and general just behind. Nabonidus' manner was unemotional, rather matter-of-fact. Ludar himself never dreamed how closely the king was watching the effect of his coming on the people, and the nature of his reception by them. Certainly his path was thronged—and by townsmen only. The soldiers had been ordered to their barracks and were not to appear till the afternoon's review. As they proceeded, however, Nânâ began bitterly to regret that at least one loyal regiment had not been scattered among the people with the command to force their neighbors into giving the customary loyal greeting to the king. Silence, utter, unbreakable, significant, reigned over the crowd. A thousand black eyes were every moment fixed unwinkingly on Nabonidus, but not a mouth was opened to speak a welcome to him. Here and there, indeed, was the suggestion of a muttered threat that came quickly to the ears of Ludar. But whether the king heard, or, hearing, understood these expressions, no one could tell.

Shamash was scarcely an hour up the sky when the four chariots and the little guard drew rein before the gate of the great college, and Nabonidus entered the institution between two long lines of white-robed priests, who gave the salute to Patêsi when he passed.

Nânâ and the governor left their lord at the gate, with the understanding that they should return to escort him to the review of troops early in the afternoon. Ludar alone accompanied the king to the room assigned to him—the room in which he had passed his youth—a small, oblong, white-tiled place, with a high image of Shamash at one end of it, and two tiny, square windows high in the opposite wall. A narrow bed, two stools, an ivory chair, and an immovable table, furnished the little place; and the king, seeing it again after some years, looked about him with a faint smile of pleasure.

"Is it pleasing to the king that he should be thus humbly lodged?" inquired Ludar, behind him. "Or will he choose to occupy the royal apartments that are at his command?"

"The king, Ludar, is no less a king because he lives humbly. Let this pleasant place be my abode while I am here."

Ludar wondered for a moment whether the king had intended the double meaning in his words; and, not knowing, he yet resented the possibility. His voice, however, was no less smooth and quiet when he said again: "It is near the hour of sacrifice in the great temple, father king. Will you attend it, or is it fitting that you sleep after the journey?"

Nabonidus sighed inaudibly, but his eyes never strayed to the couch. "I come to the sacrifice, Ludar. Yet first bid them bring me milk from the goat to be offered for sacrifice, for I need refreshment after the weary night. Then let my slave bring to me two jars of water, that I may make my ablutions, removing from my body the dust of the way and the sand blown up from the desert. Then I will come to the sacrifice."

Ludar, unsuccessful in his scheme of petty torment, left the room, smarting under the indignity of being asked to carry orders to a slave—orders that, for reasons of policy, he could not disobey. His only method of revenge was to prolong the sacrifice for two weary hours, while Nabonidus, faint for food and dropping with weariness, was obliged to stand over the sacrificial altar, chanting Sumerian prayers and feeding the flames with oil, while the savory goat's flesh slowly broiled before him.

At ten o'clock, however, he was able to make a dignified retreat from his religious duties; and then, reaching his own room, and putting his faithful eunuch on guard at the door, he left an order that he should be awakened only on the arrival of Nânâ-Babilû, when that dignitary came to escort him to the review of troops. This would be about two hours after midday; and until that time Nabonidus threw himself down upon his couch. The tired eyelids closed over the tired eyes. For a little time earth-troubles faded from him, while in his dreams the beloved dead were restored to him again.

When he awoke, Nânâ was at his side, looking down at him solemnly, his arms folded across his breast. The king started up, annoyed at having been left undisturbed for so long. The room was wrapped in twilight, and the face of the visitor was in shadow. Something in his general's manner, or perhaps in his attitude, caught Nabonidus' attention, and presently, having risen from his couch, he said, tentatively:

"You are late—very late, Nânâ. Evening is upon us. Surely the review—"

"There was no review, Nabu-Nahid, my lord. I bade thy servant not disturb thy rest. There was no need. I came to quiet thy fears—if, indeed, there is fear in thee. Yet Chaldea knows thy race for a brave one."

"Speak, Nânâ—speak! These words of thine come strangely to me. Or do I dream?"

Nânâ smiled grimly. "There is no dream in this, O king, that Gobryas and his army of Medes and Persians are encamped before the city, and that half my troops refuse to obey my commands."

Nabonidus went back to his couch and seated himself on the edge of it. "At what hour did the enemy come?" he asked, quietly.

"At four hours after sunrise, about the time for the close of the sacrifice, they were observed by the men in the north watch-towers. They marched around the city, out of the reach of arrows, and are now encamped before the south gate."

"And there has been no move to draw them into battle? There has been no sortie? The old form of war—"

Nânâ-Babilû bent his head upon his breast, and all of a sudden Nabonidus came to himself and realized their situation. Before the slow, orderly procession of thoughts that passed through his mind he did not lower his head nor take his eyes from the form of his general. After a little while he rose again, without any appearance of agitation, crossed the room, pushed aside the curtain of the door, and gave certain orders to the statue-like eunuch who waited before it. Then, returning, he sat down in the ivory chair to wait, while, in obedience to a gesture, Nânâ took one of the tabourets at a little distance from the bed. Then the two men sat together, waiting silently. Presently a slave entered the room bearing two lighted lamps, which he hung upon their accustomed hooks in the wall. In the new light the king turned to his officer.

"When have you eaten?" he said, kindly.

"A little before dawn to-day, lord," was the reply.

"Bring thou food and wine for both, then," commanded the king; and the eunuch, bowing, left the room.

When they were alone Nânâ's figure drooped back into its place; but the king, with a sudden nervous spasm, got up and began jerkily to pace the room. The general's eyes followed his movements questioningly, but for some moments Nabonidus did not speak. Then, very suddenly, so that his companion started, he burst out:

"Thou, too, Nânâ! Thou, too, Nânâ-Babilû! Dost thou also betray me?"

"My lord!" The commander sprang to his feet. "My lord!" he said again.

"Tell me truly, tell me plainly," went on the king, tumultuously, "is there left in my kingdom one man that I dare trust? Is there still one that I know to be true?"

Nânâ-Babilû looked at his king straightforwardly, grimly, honestly. "My life belongs to the kingdom, to thy house," he said. "And in my ranks of men there are many to be trusted. But there are also those that have taken the bribes of Ludar and the college. Therefore the true from the false among my own I cannot tell. How many there are of the one, how many of the other, I do not know. When it is necessary we will strive with our lives to defend the city; but how it will go with us, only the great gods know."

Nabonidus heard him and sighed. He could not but believe this man, this friend, this faithful servant of his; and his moment of passion was over. As he came back to his chair three slaves entered the room, bringing with them trays of food and a jar of wine. These were placed on the fixed table, and a light couch was brought in and set before it for the king. Nânâ was supposed to sit in his lord's presence. When at length the slaves had been dismissed, Nabonidus lay down at table with an air of mild pleasure at which Nânâ stared a little. Nabonidus had, indeed, a reputation for courage principally because of the apathetic manner that invariably came to him in times of real stress. And yet Nabonidus realized to the full the gravity of his position.

"Nânâ," and there was the shadow of a smile in the king's face—"Nânâ, if it comes that the city should fall, how wilt thou defend me from the blood-thirsty Gobryas?"

"O King, I would have spoken with thee on this matter, for thou, like all those in Babylonia, art in great danger. If Gobryas knows that thou art in Sippar the city will surely be assaulted, and will as surely fall. Therefore it is Sharrukin's wish, and mine, that, for thine own sake, thou shouldst leave Sippar secretly as soon as possible—to-night, if thou wilt. A disguise may be sent here to thee. Thine own guard shall follow thee; and I think thou canst still take the road to Babylon without undue risk. But if thou wait—wait till Gobryas learns thy presence here—thou and Sippar, ay, and thus Babylonia, are lost."

"I and Sippar, but not Babylonia, Nânâ. Bel-shar-uzzur rules over the Great City now, and he is stronger than I. He will make a good king for this troubled land. For me—éhu! I am full of years, and weary—weary for the silver sky. Matters it greatly how soon I go? Nay! Speak no more of it. I forbid it, and I am the king. Tell Sharrukin that I remain in Sippar—until the end."

Nânâ, daring to say no more, looked regretfully into the faded eyes of the old man before him. Of every one that he had ever known, Nabonidus was the last whom he would have expected to take this attitude. But eddying shallows sometimes hide treasures as rare and as beautiful as those that lie in the deep, smooth-flowing waters of greater streams. This little pearl of courage, then, was not less admirable because it was the treasure of a brook rather than of deep river or the sea. And Nânâ tried no more to persuade the king to leave Sippar, though, indeed, he felt what the end must be.

The conversation, when it revived between them, strayed away into winding paths, through Nabonidus' fads of poetry, archæology, and architecture, to the inevitable highway of priestcraft. With this road Nânâ was as familiar as the king, knowing more of its detail in this part of the land than his master.

"Let it be forgiven that I ask of thee a question, O king! Hast thou faith in thy safety in this house? Dost thou believe that Ludar may be trusted to keep thy person from harm?"

Nabonidus looked at his companion thoughtfully. "To this house I came," he said, "because I would have defied its dwellers. Now, indeed, that Gobryas is before the city, my safety is not assured. Yet here I will remain."

"Ludar—knows he that I am here?"

"I do not know. Let us call Ludar hither, Nânâ, and speak with him of Gobryas."

"Thou wilt never read Ludar's mind by his words, O king. Yet—let him be summoned."

"Kudashû!" shouted the king, accordingly, and at the cry the waiting eunuch came quickly in. "Kudashû, bear word to the priest Ludar that I would talk with him. Let him return with thee here."

There was a prostration and an exit, and then silence. Neither the king nor Nânâ said anything till, ten minutes later, the slave returned alone.

"Ludar follows thee?" asked Nabonidus, quickly.

"May the king regard me with favor—Ludar is not in the college. He is gone forth into the city, none knows why."

The man was dismissed with a nod, and the two were left alone again. Presently Nânâ rose and made his obeisance.

"Lord king, I must go forth. The hour is late, and I have not yet numbered the night-guards. Before I go—let it please thee to take up thy abode from to-morrow in the palace of Sharrukin. Everything there was prepared for thee. Here, with Ludar, thou art not safe. If thou wilt not escape from Sippar, come thou and take up thy dwelling with those that regard thee with loyalty and devotion." Nânâ was not an emotional man, but the feeling in these words was genuine, and Nabonidus was touched.

"The gods send thee peace of heart," he said, gently.

"My lord king will not come?" persisted the soldier.

Nabonidus shook his head with a faint, stubborn smile, and, a moment later, he was alone. For some time after his general's departure the king sat looking vaguely into space, his lips straightening more and more and the lines round his mouth growing stern. Presently the eunuch glided quietly into the room and took up his position by the door, standing there as he was trained to do when the king was alone. Nabu-Nahid regarded him reflectively for a moment and then said:

"Kudashû, Ludar and Nânâ are gone into the city. I also will go. Bring to me my mantle, and come thou behind me. I will behold Sippar by night."

Kudashû obeyed promptly, but a few seconds later, as the king was donning his white coronet and cloak, he ventured to say: "O king, live forever! Let me summon for thee some of the soldiers of thy guard, that they may follow thee on thy way."

"Is thy body weary, Kudashû?"

"Nay, lord my king; but my arms are weak to strike for thee."

"By Ninip! is the whole world waiting to slay me? Stay thou here, then, with thy arm, weak one! I will go alone."

"Nay, nay, father of Babylon! I go gladly. Yet, fearing for thy safety, I—"

"Be silent, foolish one. I go alone. Behold, I have spoken. It is my will."

And in the face of plea, protest, and remonstrance, go forth alone Nabonidus did, into the city of Sippar.

The streets were quiet. Early though it was, lacking yet two hours to midnight, few towns-people were moving about. A general weariness had followed the merry-making of the past night, and this, added to the feeling of solemnity attendant on the actual arrival of the long-expected invading army, had closed the doors of many a house at an unwonted hour, and caused citizens of an ordinarily convivial temperament to betake themselves to an early couch. Most of those abroad in the streets were soldiers, on their way to or from the watch-towers. It was a curious condition for the first night of a siege, and Nabonidus could not but wonder, as he proceeded, at the extraordinary calm of the people; for he had known many a beleaguered city, but never one that presented a spectacle of such quiet on its first night of defence.

The night was fair, and with the coming of darkness there had sprung up a faint breeze that came from the east, across two rivers, bearing with it a breath of cooling fragrance. The moon was just past its second quarter and hung suspended, in a soft, golden aureole, over the western walls of the city. By its light the houses and towers of the town stood out in wavering outlines against the grayish, star-strewn sky. The stillness that wrapped the city trembled, when, occasionally, it was pierced by a distant shout of laughter or a command called out by one of the guards on the walls.

Nabonidus went on and on, unheeding the distance that he traversed, allowing himself to be permeated with the night. The spotless white of his robes caused him to be taken for a priest by the few whom he passed. None offered to molest him. None gave him more than a fleeting glance as he went along. After what he could hardly realize had been an hour of walking, he found himself standing before the great south gate of the city, through which he had come that morning. It was closed now, and guarded with soldiers, some of whom stood or lay on the ground before it, while others could be seen on top of the wall, walking to and from the watch-tower, whence the confused camp of Gobryas' army could be made out across the plain. No hostility had as yet passed between besieged and besiegers. Not an arrow had been shot, not a javelin hurled.

The king stood off at a little distance from the gate, reflecting on the scene before him. Presently there came a shout from some one outside the gate, a word that was heard and answered from inside. There was a question from the captain of the watch, to which an answer, inaudible to Nabonidus, was returned. Then the small door in the gate opened. A figure appeared from outside, and at sight of it Nabonidus moved swiftly back into the shadow of the wall. The door was closed and barred again. He who had come in paused to place something in the hand of one of the soldiers. Then, without a word, he moved rapidly off in the direction from which, a little while before, the king had come. Nabonidus stared after him for a moment. His thoughts were in a whirl. Considering all that he had known before, this incident had an unnecessarily strong effect on him. It was only by means of a physical effort that he finally pulled himself together and started on his return, a hundred paces back of that other. In this fashion the two traversed the length of the city, arriving at the college of the Chaldees in the same relative positions as those in which they had started.

When, a few minutes after midnight, the king re-entered the building and turned up the passage leading to his room, he found Ludar, wrapped in a gray cloak, standing in the door-way talking with Kudashû. He hailed Nabu-Nahid's appearance rather effusively.

"O king, live forever. What imprudence does he commit that wanders abroad at night in the city streets!"

"And thou—wast thou guarded on thy way?" inquired the king, rather sharply.

"Nay, truly. But for me there is no danger. I am—"

"You say well, Ludar. For you, indeed, there is no danger! Shamash guard your sleep!" And with this curt good-night, Nabonidus brushed past the priest, closed the curtain of his room, flung off his mantle and coronet, and threw himself down upon the chair that still stood before the brick table. He was in a state of tremulous anger, of discouragement, of heart-sickness, and his head drooped lower and lower, and his hands clasped themselves on the table before him in the tightness of mental pain. The light from the still burning lamp above his head fell over his white figure, and a ray of it glinted off a jewel that hung on a thin, golden chain from his neck. A refracted ray of this presently shone in his eye and caused him to look down upon the gem that he was accustomed to wear inside his tunic, next his skin. It was a charm—a holy charm, blessed and consecrated to be a sure protection against all bodily disease or danger. In some way, the fact that it came to his sight now, unexpectedly, seemed an omen of good-fortune; and with a brow less clouded, the old man rose, took the jewel in his hands, and, falling on his knees before the image of the sun-god in his room, poured forth a piteous prayer for rest and peace. And the sun-god heard him doubly well.

It was not till early dawn began to peer from the east that the great king, seeking his narrow couch, dropped into an untroubled sleep.

The following day, the fourteenth of the month, was a busy one. Nabonidus again conducted the sacrifice. Then he returned to the college and spent two or three long hours with a class of acolytes of the highest order of embryonic priesthood. The noon meal he partook with Ludar, and immediately afterwards was driven in his chariot to the house of Sharrukin, where the afternoon passed quickly in a council over military affairs.

It was half an hour to sunset when the king returned to his room in the college and commanded his evening meal. He was drooping with fatigue, as the result of his short night and his crowded day. Kudashû, therefore, was ordered to refuse admittance to any one that should seek audience with the king that night. After a change of garments, a bath, and more prayers to Shamash, the king lay down on his couch, much refreshed in body and mind, and eager for the food that was presently brought him. He ate in the twilight, for that hour of the day always brought calm to his spirit, and even at the close of the meal, when the room was nearly dark, he still refused lights, but lay, immovable and alone, with the ghost of the dead day whose golden bier had been borne across the shadowy threshold of the night.

Gradually the king sank into a profound and vividly imaged reverie. His thoughts went back into many long-past scenes of his youth and young manhood; and, as he afterwards remembered, the last of these was something apart from his own life. In the twilight there rose before him clearly and distinctly the room in which he had said farewell to his son. Here, under the glow of the hanging-lamp, clad in her crimson and gold, with the veil of black hair drawn back from her face, was Istar of Babylon, Belshazzar's wife. Beside her, transformed by the new power of his life and love, was the storm-eyed prince, holding Istar's infant in his arms. Nabonidus' eyes looked again into those of his son, and found there something that now only he understood. A smile stole over the childlike face of the old man. Belshazzar had found a heart-home. Belshazzar was a king in spirit. What mattered it how soon in truth? The vision grew brighter still, till the three figures were aureoled with a divine light. Istar spoke to her husband, held out her arms for the child. Then suddenly there came, from the passage outside the door, a low murmur of voices and a quick cry. The vision crumbled. Nabonidus started up. His ears were pierced by the sound of a shrill scream, and the words spoken by Kudashû: "My lord! My king! Save thys—" Then came a heavy thud as of a body fallen, and Nabu-Nahid leaped to his feet as three men burst into the room.

Two of them were soldiers in armor. The third, who carried a lighted torch, was in the garb of a priest. It was Ludar, the president of the college.

"How do ye thus enter my presence?" demanded Nabonidus, glaring about him wrathfully.

Ludar shot a sharp glance at him, and the hands of the soldiers tightened on their dripping pikes.

Nabonidus' question was fully answered, and he asked no more; but his manner did not change. Perhaps he drew himself up a little, became a little more royal, a little more angry, a little brighter of eye, a little whiter of face. The soldiers stood mute and motionless, waiting evidently for their next move to be ordered by Ludar, their leader. He, after a moment or two, nodded to them.

"Do what is commanded to be done," he said.

In a breath Nabonidus of Babylon lay on his back on the floor, while the two soldiers worked to bind him about with heavy thongs till he was unable to move so much as a finger alone. Lastly the gag was put upon him; but there was no need of it. During the whole business the old man remained perfectly passive, perfectly still, gazing steadily up into the face of Ludar, who presently refused to meet his glance, though he could not, in that small room, get out of range of the pale, fixed eyes.

When their captive was perfectly secure, the soldiers lifted him in their arms and carried him roughly out of the room, past the bloody body of Kudashû, along the silent passage and out into the night, where, before the door of the college, waited a cart, one of the rude vehicles of the common people, drawn by a water-buffalo. Into this lowliest of all conveyances the king was lifted and laid down. There was a word of command from the soldier that clambered in beside him. The driver gave a long shout, and the cart clattered away from the door of the college in which, with his still burning torch, stood white-robed Ludar, left alone with his triumph.

As they went along, the king, his gaze turned upward to the sky, could see nothing of what was happening in the streets around him. But that something unusual had occurred was only too apparent, and what that something was, was not difficult to surmise. The city was filled with soldiers, half of them in the uniform of the Babylonish guards, and half of them in the dress of those that had entered the presence of the king. Yet there was very evidently no hostility between them. Men, women, and children were also in the streets, the last making an especial clamor over this unexpected holiday night. Here and there bonfires burned in the heat. In every direction torches flitted through the moonlight. And still to the strained ears of the king came not one sound of combat, no single clash of swords or whistling of stones from the sling. No. Sippar had fallen, had fallen to Elam, without blood, without a suggestion of defence, without one blow for this, Nabu-Nahid's, country, the country over which he had ruled as justly and as gently as he could for seventeen proud years. No. He had been left alone, utterly alone, without a single hand to hold him back when others pushed him ruthlessly forward to face the rainbow gates of the silver sky.

Through the city and out of the gate of Babylon and over the shadowy plain for half a mile or more, the slow cart passed till it came to a halt in the camp of the invader, in front of a great, crimson tent that stood in the midst of a host of smaller ones, and on top of which, from the head of a spear fastened to the central pole, hung suspended the Persian sun-standard. Nabonidus saw this, rising against the shadowy sky; and seeing it, he realized where they were.

There were two soldiers guarding the door of this tent; and, as the cart halted before it, a short colloquy passed between them and Nabonidus' captors. Then one of the soldiers disappeared inside, to come forth again an instant later with an order. Nabonidus was lifted from the vehicle and carried inside the temporary domicile of the general. He was greeted by a glare of light so bright that, involuntarily, his weak eyes closed before it. When he opened them again to look about, he had been placed on his feet, and found himself facing a tall, heavily armored, black-bearded fellow, with piercing eyes and an air of undeniable dignity, who performed an obeisance due from a nobleman of rank to a sovereign.

"Lord Nabonidus of Babylon, I bid you welcome to my tent in the name of Bel, your god. I am Gobryas, general of the army of Kurush of Elam."

Nabonidus slowly bent his head. "I am your prisoner. Do your will with me," he said, faintly.

"It is my wish, O king, that you sleep here to-night in peace. By rule of war you are my prisoner. Yet know that I and all that is mine to give, save only freedom, are at the king's command."

Again Nabonidus bowed his head; and then, lifting it slowly, he gazed at Gobryas with a question in his eyes.

"I ask of you to speak, lord king!" said the general, with all courtesy in his tone.

Nabonidus drew a quick breath. Then, with an effort, he said: "Sippar—is fallen—to you?"

Gobryas bowed, with regret in his attitude.

"And my servants—Nânâ-Babilû, and Sharrukin, the former governor of the city, where are they?"

"O king, they have suffered the fate of the conquered. They alone, out of all Sippar, were killed in defending their palaces."

"They alone," whispered the king to himself, wearily. "They alone? Nay, there was one other—one other faithful servant had I in my kingdom. I pray that Bel—re—ceive—" The old man reeled where he stood. Gobryas sprang quickly forward, catching him before he fell. And as he gazed upon the helpless, innocent face of the fallen king, Gobryas was constrained to wonder a little whether the part he had played in this game of unwarlike war were quite worth the suffering it inflicted upon others.