The rumbling in the streets drowned further words. Long before the bull came in sight appeared four long lines of panting men, naked save for loincloths, dusty, sullen. Each man tugged at a short cord, made fast in turn to one of the four heavy cables stretching far behind them. At times the march would come to dead halt; then every back would bend, and at a shout from the rear the hundreds would pull as one, and start forward with a jerk. The laggards were spurred on by the prick of the lances of the spearmen outside the lines, or felt the staffs of the overseers who walked between the cables. Young boys ran in and out with water jars, and now and then a weary wretch would drop from the line to gulp down a draught, and run back to his toil. So the long snake wound down the street, groaning, panting, cursing. Behind this thundered the bull. The stone monster was upon a boat-shaped sledge, itself the height of a man. Busy hands laid rollers before it. To steady its mass, men ran beside, holding taut the cords fixed to the tips of the huge wings. On the front of the sledge stood the guard’s captain, bellowing orders through a speaking trumpet. The bull reared above him to thrice his height. Last of all came many toiling from behind, with heavy wooden levers. “Ah, noble Avil,” called the guard’s captain, familiarly, “who would say the chief priest makes way for Igas-Ramman, captain of a fifty?” And Avil, recognizing a friend, called back, “Beware, or I beg your head of the king! Make the Jews give full service.” “They shall, by Nabu!” And Igas trumpeted, “Faster now! Wings of eagles! Feet of hares, or your backs smart!” The overseers’ blows doubled, the bull swayed as it leaped forward, but suddenly Igas cursed. “Now, by the Maskim, foul genii of the deep, what is this? Down again, worthless ox!” An old man had fallen from line. Overcome by weariness he lay on the stone slabs while the strokes of the overseers’ staffs made him writhe. Rise he could not. Neriglissor recognized him. “A Jew named Abiathar, a great blasphemer of Marduk. Ha! Smite again, again!” Igas leaped into the throng, waving a terrific Ethiopian whip of rhinoceros hide. At the second blow blood reddened the flags. The Hebrew groaned, tried vainly to rise. “Beast,” raged Igas, swinging again, “you shall indeed be taught not to lag!” The great whip whisked on high, but just as it fell, a heavy hand sent the captain sprawling. Young Isaiah stood above the prostrate Igas, his eyes burning with righteous wrath, his form erect. “Coward! You will not strike twice a man of your own age!” The spearmen stood blinking at Isaiah in sheer astonishment. Igas crawled to his feet; rage choked the curses in his throat, then flowed forth a torrent of imprecations. In his wrath he forgot even to call for help.