"But hath she no favourites, this bold and beautiful archer?" pursued the other, turning his lamp so as to mark every line and shade of the prisoner's countenance. "None that share her sports and influence her counsels? The Great King waxes old; does the queen look kindly on none of all the fair and noble warriors about the palace or in the host?"
Not a quiver of his eyelid would have escaped the Egyptian's notice, but Sarchedon's brow was open and unconcerned, as his tone was loyal, while he replied,
"I am a prisoner, alone here in a dungeon; you are—what are you? A priest, an enchanter, a magician, backed, for all I can tell, by a company of Pharaoh's archers and a host of spirits from the Southern mountains. But were you and I standing two naked men in the market-place, that question had been answered with a buffet; were we in harness on the plain, it were well worth push of spear and clash of steel."
The Egyptian laughed once more—heartily this time, and without disguise.
"I am your friend," said he, "and you will not believe it. A powerful friend, too, as I have shown you, and one who, while able to crush you as a man crushes a locust beneath his hand, would yet lend you all the resources of his art for your solace here and your deliverance from captivity hereafter."
"You cannot set me free!" exclaimed Sarchedon, a delightful hope breaking in to cheer him like the dawn of day.
"I can foretell the future," answered the magician, "clearly, certainly, as you can relate the past. Behold this lamp: see, I darken it to a faint pale gleam. Look on it, and tell me what it shows."
In vain Sarchedon strained his eyes.
"A line of waving gold within the crystal," said he; "no more."
"Such is the blindness of him whose sight has not been sharpened by learning," replied the magician. "You are as the rower labouring at the oar, who can but see the ripple he leaves behind, and the banks on the river-side that he has passed. I am the steersman who scans the coming rapids, the rocks in mid-stream, the calm and comely reach of smooth water that sleeps beyond. I look into the crystal, and I behold a youth stretching his arms in freedom, rubbing, with unfettered hands, his eyes dazzled by the light of day. I follow him into the presence of Pharaoh. I behold him on the king's right hand, clad in a dress of honour, drinking costly wine of the South from a cup of gold. He mounts a goodly steed, he talks joyfully with one of dress and bearing like his own, a troop of the sons of Ashur close round him, he rides away into the desert, and I see him no more. That youth bears a strange resemblance to him who stands before me now, with clasped hands and wondering eyes, a captive in the strongest dungeon ever built at the command of Pharaoh by a nation of slaves."