“Nothing else, by Marduk! But I imagine there is likely to be another part to the tale. Imbi-Ilu, the chief priest of Nabu, is Daniel’s good friend. Mark my words, the priests of Nabu and of Samas and Nergal of Kisch hate Avil, and his designs to make all their temples subordinate to his own, more than they do the harmless Jehovah worship of the minister. I look for a spark on the firewood in Babylon, and strange sights this very day.” “Ramman protect us!” muttered the banker, uneasily. “I have put down fresh loans only last night. I shall lose all.” “Yes,” continued Mulis, who was happiest when peddling bad news that did not touch himself, “we must prepare for grievous times. Now that the king has clapped the Persian envoy in durance, and keeps him prisoner in his chambers at the palace, I think we may see a war the like of which was not since the brave days of Nebuchadnezzar. Ea, the God of Wisdom, alone knows what it was that befell during the royal hunt. Forth goes his Majesty and Darius, boon companions as Gilgamesh and Eabani; they come back eying each other like two cocks in the farmer’s yard. The next thing we hear, the Persian is a state prisoner. Woe, what wretched times!” A groan cut the barber short, for a hot curling iron had tingled on Gabarruru’s neck. “Nergal blast you, chattering sparrow!” was his curse. “Must I be roasted like a stalled ox every time I seek your shop?” “Mercy, gentle sir,” soothed Mulis; “I was but saying to the noble Itti, that the evil omens which have plagued the city of late, seem too nigh fulfilment. Piety declines, the gods are neglected—” “Small loss!” growled the corn merchant, who was a very impious man; “the gods are of little use. They may be all-wise, and know each secret we would give everything to learn, but they are most inconveniently silent when they might serve us. My brother spent half his estate on priests and exorcists; much favour heaven gave him—he died childless and poor! While I, who have not given one of Avil’s cattle two shekels in ten years, wax prosperous and fat!” “Hush,” exhorted Itti, horrified, “do not blaspheme before me! Doubtless heaven will, with one clap, smite you down for your wickedness—” A second touch of the iron and renewed curses interrupted the broker. And before the conversation resumed, into the shop came Hasba, the tall, gaunt priest of Nabu, his costume very threadbare, and his eyes glittering as if with ill-concealed excitement. “Well, Hasba,” cried Mulis, pausing in his curling for the twentieth time, “you are in a strange robe for a festival day. Is Nabu so poor a god he can give his priests nothing better?” “Nabu is very poor and hungry—to-day,” responded Hasba, with a significant cough, which made Itti look at him very hard. “But not yesterday or to-morrow?” pressed Mulis, pricking his ears. “Quietly.” Hasba’s voice sank very low. “You are all good friends, and will leak nothing. See!” He showed a short sword girded under his mantle.