“Wait, Amorges,” she cried, “do not harm this man till we learn his mission!” Turning to Zopyrus she said, “Speak stranger, what would you in the harem of Artabazus?”
Zopyrus glanced quickly about him at the silken hangings richly broidered; at the heavy woven tapestries which adorned the sides of the tent; at panels composed of the variegated plumage of birds, and gloriously flashing jewels; the beautifully gowned women who surveyed him with unabashed curiosity, their shining black eyes flashing their appreciation of the unusual over the tops of fans of ostrich feathers. He turned again to Phædime.
“I seek one Ladice by name, a Greek girl brought here against her will.”
“Just a moment, I will bring her.” To the eunuch she whispered aside, “I will fetch a gag. Do not touch him yet.”
She returned shortly with Ladice whose appearance of unutterable wretchedness wrung Zopyrus’ heart.
“This officer says he has come to take you away, Ladice,” said Phædime giving a sidelong glance at the girl to observe her reception of the news.
The Greek maiden took a step forward, gazing earnestly into Zopyrus’ face. “It is not he, no it is not he! But tell me he is not dead!”
Zopyrus spoke gently, “I must confirm the ill news, fair maiden. Masistius died heroically on the field of battle and I am to succeed him in an attempt to rescue you.”
Amorges and Phædime exchanged glances, the former intimating by a nod that it was time to produce the gag, but Phædime still hesitated, for the girl, Ladice, flung herself with a sob at Zopyrus’ feet.
“It can’t be true,” she cried, “I loved him and he promised to return, oh tell me it isn’t true!”