Har-hat, who had been perched on the arm of Ta-meri's chair, broke in.
"Mayhap the young man is not dead," he surmised.
"All the Memphian nome hath been searched, my Lord," Menes protested.
"Aye, but these flighty geniuses are not to be measured by doings of other men. Perhaps he hath gone to teach the singing girls at Abydos or Tape."
"Ah, my Lord!" protested Ta-meri, horrified.
"Nay, now," Har-hat responded, bending over her. "I but give his friends hope. To prove my sincerity I will wager my biggest diamond against thy three brightest smiles that thou wilt hear of Kenkenes again, alive and dreamy as ever, led into this strange absence by some moonshine caprice."
"I would give more than my biggest diamond to believe thee," Nechutes muttered, turning away.
"Wilt thou wager?" the fan-bearer demanded with animation.
"Nay!" was the cup-bearer's blunt reply. Har-hat shrugged his shoulders and lapsed into silence. Rameses leaned toward Masanath again. The expression on his face during the talk and the tone he chose now showed that he had not heard, nor was even conscious of the silence that had fallen. His words were low-spoken, but each of his companions heard.
"In warfare it is common for a foe to hedge his adversary about so that fight he must. Thou art a woman and cunning, and lest thou join thyself to another and elude me ere the battle is on, I would better treat thee to a strategy. I shall wed thee first and woo thee afterward."