"What is this concerning the Israelites?" he demanded.
The spare man turned and the two artisans gazed at the young sculptor with open mouths.
"The news is not to be cried abroad," the spare man replied shortly.
"Thou hast become cautious too late," Kenkenes retorted. "The most of thy talk have I heard. I would know the rest of it."
"By Bast, thou art imperious! In my great days the nobles groveled to me. Now, am I commanded by them. How thou art fallen, Jambres!
"The Israelites, my Lord," he continued mockingly, "departed out of the land of Goshen, in the early morning hours of this day, but the Pharaoh hath repented, and will pursue them—to turn them back, or to destroy them." The old man's voice lost its sarcasm and became anxious.
"But the signs are ominous, the portents are evil. I know, I know, for I am no less a mystic because I have fallen from state. His seers are liars, they can not guide the king. He must not pursue them, for death shadows him the hour he leaves the gates of Tanis. He must not go! I love him yet, and I can not see him overthrown."
"Thou art no more eager to stay him than I," Kenkenes answered quickly.
"Thou art in need of a runner. I am one."
The eye of the sorcerer fell on the young man's dress.
"A runner among the nobility?" he commented suspiciously.