"But what a battle! Besides, fear increases our army in their eyes.
They fear invasion and death."
"Let us see if this is a military stratagem," answered the prince, after some thought. "How are our men?"
"They are in good health, they have eaten and drunk, they have rested and are gladsome. But."
"But what?"
"Patrokles died in the night," whispered Tutmosis.
"How?" cried the prince, springing up.
"Some say that he drank too much, some that it was the punishment of the gods. His face was blue and his mouth full of foam."
"Like that captive in Atribis, Thou rememberest him? His name was
Bakura; he broke into the feasting hall with complaints against the
nomarch. He died that same night from drunkenness, of course. What dost
Thou think?"
Tutmosis dropped his head.
"We must be very careful, my lord," whispered he.