"Even though Thou wert speaking truth," interrupted Mentezufis, "even if the prince wished to go to Nineveh, he will not go."
"But who will detain him when he is the pharaoh?"
"We."
"Ye? ye? Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Sargon. "Ye think always that that young man does not feel this treaty. But I but I ha! ha! ha! I will let the skin be torn from me, and my body be impaled if he does not know everything."
"Would the Phoenicians be so quiet if they possessed not the certainty that your young lion of Egypt would shield them before the bull of Assyria?"
Mentezufis and Mefres looked at each other stealthily. The genius of the barbarian almost terrified them; he had given bold utterance to that which they had not thought of. What would the result be, indeed, if the heir had divined their plans and wished to cross them?
But Istubar, silent thus far, rescued them from momentary trouble.
"Sargon," said he, "Thou art interfering in affairs not thy own. Thy duty is to conclude with Egypt a treaty of the kind that our lord wishes. But what the heir knows or does not know, what he will do or will not do, is not thy affair, since the supreme, eternally existent priestly council assures us that the treaty will be executed. In what way it will be executed is not a question for our heads."
The dry tone with which Istubar declared this calmed the riotous joy of the ambassador. He nodded and muttered,
"A pity for the man in that case! He is a grand warrior, and magnanimous."