"Guess what I have in my hand, worthiness."
"What?" repeated Ramses, with astonishment.
"Guess quickly and truly," insisted the priest, "for if Thou art mistaken two of thy regiments perish."
"Thou hast a ring," said the heir, who had grown joyous.
Mentezufis opened his hand; there was a bit of papyrus in it.
"But what have I now?" asked the priest again.
"A ring."
"Well, not a ring, but an amulet of the divine Hator. Dost see, lord, that is a battle? In time of battle Fate holds out her hand every moment, and commands us to guess at the very quickest the surprise enclosed in it. We succeed, or we fail; but woe to the man who fails oftener than he guesses; and a hundredfold more to those on whom Fate turns her back and forces into blunders."
"But still I believe, and I feel here," cried the heir, striking his breast, "that Assyria must be trampled."
"Oh, that the god Amon might speak through thy mouth," said Mentezufis. "What Thou sayst is true; Assyria will be humbled, perhaps even with thy hands, but not immediately not immediately."