But the pinioned Persians were led straight forward. Cords had been fastened to rings in their lips, by which their guards could drag them. Around the necks of many dangled unsightly objects—the heads of comrades whose bodies had fallen into the Chaldees’ hands. A thousand jeers flew around them; but no Persian repaid with so much as a shake of the head or a curse. Even the most drunken of all that throng felt a small mite of respect, if not of pity, for these men, who showed their foes that where an Aryan could not conquer, he at least knew how to die. Silently they were arrayed inside the barriers, to await the royal pleasure. And now all forgot them, as, with more musicians accompanying into the court, marched the priests of Bel-Marduk, bearing glaring flambeaux. The ruddy light flickered on the white dresses and sleek goatskins of the priests, and their mitres set with bullocks’ horns. The company ranged itself before the soldiers, that the king might pass up a lighted way. Loudly now rose their triumph song—for was this not the night of Bel-Marduk’s own victory? “O Ruler Eternal! O Lord of all being! Smiter of the foes of Belshazzar thy servant: Who stillest the ragings of Cyrus the Persian: Hast broken his spear, hast shattered his quiver: Confounding his god and the vile Jewish demon: We praise thee, and with us all Babylon worships!” The chant ended with a terrific clap of cymbals and thunder of drums. Then the wonted cry was spreading: “The knee! the knee! Hail! Hail! Belshazzar!” Soldiers again: the chosen sword-hands of the guard, the golden scales of the armour flashing: scarlet pennons trailing from every spear-head. Behind them on a lofty litter rode Belshazzar the king,—never more kingly than now, never arrayed before in costlier robes and tiara. And at sight of him a great shout rose spontaneously from the multitude. “A god and not a man! Marduk appears on earth! Happy Babylon—your king was begotten in heaven!” Belshazzar looked neither to one side nor the other, the faces of the stone bulls more mobile than his. “The king was indeed half god—what part had the son of Marduk with the life of vulgar men!” so his thought ran. Under the firm steps of twelve great noblemen moved the litter. Right behind was a second, not so high, yet lofty also, and she that rode therein exposed to common sight. And now there was a titter here, a taunt there, and yonder silence. “The daughter of Cyrus!” “Joyful day for her!” “Away with the chalk-white Persian!” White indeed was Atossa, but Belshazzar gave the multitude no less heed than she. Where better to show her Aryan pride and courage, than before these _dæva_-worshippers! “Fie, Persian wench!” hissed the tipsy Nabua, “your eyes turn green as a cat’s with rage!” But a great hand clapped ungently upon his mouth.