“Bow down! The knee! The knee!” rang the shout, and the multitude (all that had room) knelt on the stone pavement, while from a distance sounded a mighty rumbling as of clumsy wheels. Soon there lumbered into view an enormous wain, dragged by long cables like those for a stone bull, but no sullen labour gang was tugging now. Many leaped from their knees and contended with the priests who were toiling at the ropes, for the honour of drawing the god. Upon the wain rode Nabu’s “Ship of the Deep,” a goodly-sized galley, fitted with a towering mast and tackle. Upon her decks swarmed a score of priests in lieu of crew, and perched upon the upcurved stern was the idol of the god, a block of black stone, human size, but with features of such ugliness that the very fiends beholding might well have trembled. Yet at sight of that image even Gabarruru bowed his head, for it had been the guardian genius of Babylon and Borsippa for more generations than the wisest could tell. Yet a great wail of wrath and disappointment seemed rising from the people. “Nabu’s priests are threadbare! Where are their robes of honour? Where are the jewels once on the gunwales of the ship? Where are the golden dresses of the image?” The three in the barber’s shop rubbed their eyes. In the crowd they saw Hasba and others, doubtless fellow-priests, bustling about, whispering in the ear of this burgher and of that. Imbi-Ilu, second pontiff of the realm, the friend of Daniel and the arch-foe of Avil, stood handsome and erect beside the image of his god; but there was no tiara on his head, his robe was torn and sombre. “Marduk is robbing Nabu!” some bold spirit in the crowd was shouting. “The priests of Bel-Marduk grow fat; those of Nabu starve! Down with Avil!” But the servants of the Borsippa god marched on in silence, each man smiling grimly when he saw how their pitiful display was working on the crowd, and pressing his mantle around his hidden sword. And there were other cries at times:— “Release Daniel! Release the good minister! Release! Down with Avil!” “Evil times!” muttered Itti. “While Nabonidus was king the processions were suspended; now they become mere occasion for tumult.” “Well,” protested the cheerful barber, “here comes his Majesty and the car of Bel-Marduk. We shall soon see now.” A new corps of musicians, new guards. A second boat creaked past on its many wheels. High above the noise of the crowd sounded the hymn chanted by the choir of chosen priests and priestesses in praise of Bel-Marduk, smiter of the great dragon. “Look favourably upon thy dwelling-place, Look favourably upon thy city, O Lord of quietness! May Babylon salute thee, and thy temple, May the city find safety under thee!”