“Yes, lord; but not until I had counted the number of the squadrons and seen that chariot brigades were drilling with them.” “But why should Igas try to conceal this from you? Belshazzar is a great king. We all know Babylon has a powerful garrison ever on duty.” “True; but let my lord take what my bucket drew up from Igas-Ramman’s well. He began by vowing he would peril his head if he chirped once about the army of his master; then straightway all this comes out—the garrison of Babylon is being increased, extra chariots are being built, and war horses collected. The troops in Eridhu and Larsam are being sent north to strengthen the frontier posts of Sippar and Kutha. There is a great gang of labourers at work enclosing Borsippa within the outer defences of Babylon. Finally, the militia of the country districts are being armed.” “For what enemy?” “My lord can guess better than I. When I pressed Igas on this point, he only laughed and brayed tenfold louder than common; but he had become very drunken, and before long fell over upon the bricks.” The prince was frowning darkly. “Ariathes,” said he, “you are a man of nimble wit. Do you think Belshazzar is sincere in seeking peace with Cyrus?” The other smiled grimly. “I am only my lord’s slave. Who am I to meddle in the affairs of princes?” “Well, you have a throat that will cut as quickly as any man’s; and know this well, if you walk in the steps of Igas-Ramman and chatter loud enough, you will forswear palm-wine forever.” Ariathes grinned and was about to salaam before withdrawing, but the prince spoke again. “Look you; we have been for days in Babylon, yet no courier comes from Susa with despatches. What does it mean?” “Have I not said I am blind to affairs of state?” “Then receive sight; for, as you love me and as you love Cyrus, you need two wide-open eyes, as well as a ruly tongue. Cast about and find some means of sending a letter from Babylon without Belshazzar or Avil-Marduk smelling it. My last messenger travelled openly. Do you understand?” Ariathes replied with a low bow. Darius returned to his seat, took his writing tablet, and deliberately mutilated the letter just completed. In its stead he stamped a very brief message, which he did not place in the chest by the wall, but wrapped in linen and hid in his own bosom; for an uneasy suspicion was beginning to haunt him that the very pictures enamelled on the bricks could see all that befell in this palace of Belshazzar. “It grows late, my lord,” admonished the chamberlain, after a discreet interval; “will you go to the vizier’s feast?” “I will go,” replied the master, testily, and he suffered the servants to dress him.