"I swear!" answered Ramses.
"Then I swear that Thou wilt be the most famous of all pharaohs; before thee the fame of Ramses the Great, will grow pale!" cried the priest, mastering himself no longer.
The prince fell to thinking, then asked,
"What can we two do against those priests who hate me?"
"They fear thee, lord," answered Pentuer. "They fear lest Thou begin war too soon against Assyria?"
"What is that to them if the war be successful?"
The priest bent his head and spread his hands, but was silent.
"Then I will tell thee," cried the prince, in anger. "They want no war! They fear that I might return from it a conqueror, laden with treasures, urging on slaves in front of me. They fear this because they wish every pharaoh to be a weak tool in their grasp, a utensil of no real value, a utensil to be thrown aside when the wish comes. But this will not happen in my case. Either I shall do what I plan, and which I, as the son and heir of the gods have the right to do, or I shall perish."
Pentuer drew back, and muttered an exorcism.
"Speak not thus, worthy lord," said he, in confusion, "lest evil spirits circling through the desert may seize thy words. A word, remember this, ruler, is like a stone sent from a sling; it may strike a wall, rebound, and hit the man who hurled it."