“Another feast! Angra-Mainyu, arch fiend, confound them!” fumed Darius; “these Babylonians boast many gods. In truth they have but two—the mouth and the belly. Praised be Mithra, the king goes hunting to-morrow, which will give some respite!” But just as the prince was about to let Ariæus lead him away to the bath, his eye lit on a newcomer among the knot of attendants by the door. His tone changed to that of good-natured banter, for he saw his favourite body-servant, a sharp-tongued, keen-witted Persian of about his own age. “Ha, Ariathes! So you have been roaming about the city once more. Tell me, is there one beer-house in all Babylon you left unvisited? Where did you find the most heady liquor?” “My lord wrongs his slave,” quoth the fellow, demurely. “See! I am quite sober.” “By Ahura, that is true. Surely the throne of Cyrus must totter, now a marvel like this can befall!” “My prince,” answered Ariathes, very respectfully, “I have heard something that made me in no mood for palm-wine. And I think my lord should hear it also.” There was something in the rascal’s eye that made Darius bid all the others stand back, while he led Ariathes to the upper end of the chamber, after drawing close the door-curtain. “Well, fellow,” began he lightly, “your tales are commonly of witching black eyes and the bottoms of deep wine pots. What now—a strapping lass slapped you?” But Ariathes did not smile at the sally. “My lord,” he said, “I have quite another story. Does the prince remember Igas-Ramman, the captain who flogged the old Jew?” “Assuredly. I curse myself I did not require his head.” “I have hatched a great friendship with him. He has been taking me about the city. To-day we went to the temple and grove of Istar, and the girls who serve the goddess brought wine enough to make us stagger till the great day. But it was too sweet for me, and I took little; though Igas would never cease pulling at his beaker. At last, when he seemed well filled, he led me to the summit of the great temple tower to have a sight of the wide city. The tower stands by the northern wall, where Ai-bur-shabou Street passes through the Gate of Istar, close by the canal. There is a marvellous view to all sides; but what made me wonder most was the sight of many squadrons of horsemen drilling in the open country before the Gate of Bel—ten thousand lances, to my thinking.” “Ha!” and Darius’s jaw dropped involuntarily. “My lord is interested? Shall I go on?” “Yes, by every archangel!” “I said to Igas, ‘Brother, what are all these horsemen? Your king is at peace. To maintain so many cavalry will make his treasury as empty as a leaky water-skin.’ Thereupon he began to laugh, then, clapping his hand across my eyes, he cried, ‘Ah, my dear Persian, your sight is too keen! Ask no troublesome questions, for friendship’s sake. Come, let us go back to the maids and the wine.’” “And you followed him?” asked Darius.