But in spite of the shouts of agitators, and wine given for nothing, the crowd hesitated. Laborers looked at the artisans; the artisans and all were waiting for something.
Suddenly, about one in the afternoon, from side streets a drunken band poured forth toward the temple of Ptah; it was armed with poles and axes and was made up of fishermen, Greek sailors, shepherds, and Libyan vagrants, even convicts from the quarries in Turra. At the head of this band went a laborer of gigantic stature, with a torch in his hand. He stood before the gate of the temple and cried with an immense voice to the people,
"Do ye know, right believers, what the high priests and the nomarchs are preparing here? They wish to force his holiness, Ramses XIII, to deprive laborers of a barley cake a day, and to impose new taxes on the people, a drachma each man. I say, then, that ye are committing a low and stupid deed by standing here with your arms crossed. We must catch these temple rats at last and give them into the hands of our lord, the pharaoh, against whom these godless wretches are conspiring. If our lord yields to priests, who will take the part of honest people?"
"He speaks truth!" called out voices from the multitude.
"Our lord will command to give us the seventh day for rest."
"And will give us land."
"He had compassion always for the common people. Remember how he freed those who, two years ago, were under judgment for attacking the house of the Jewess."
"I myself saw him beat a scribe, when the man was dragging an unjust tax from laborers."
"May he live through eternity, our lord, Ramses XIII, the guardian of oppressed laborers!"
"But look!" called out some voice from afar, "the cattle are coming from pasture, as if evening were near."