"There needs not so much ceremony," answered Sarchedon. "Are we not warriors both?—enemies yesterday, perhaps enemies to-morrow, in the mean time friends and comrades to-day?"
"My lord speaks good words to the lowest of his servants, out of the fulness of his own heart. How shall I answer him whom the king delighteth to honour according to his greatness? What am I but dust beneath the feet of my lord?"
While he spoke thus humbly, it was evident to the Assyrian that his conductor did but veil under this affectation of extreme deference a strong professional jealousy and an intense hatred of race. He recognised in the Egyptian warrior's dress and harness the distinctive marks of a certain company, celebrated in Pharaoh's armies for their warlike prowess—a company that the Great King, with a handful of his body-guard, had driven to the very gates of Memphis, during his last campaign. Its captain would fain have been bending a bow to-day against the Assyrian's breast, rather than thus humbling himself at every step before a national enemy; but his first duty was to Pharaoh, and Pharaoh had commanded that the prisoner should be brought to him with all the honours of a prince.
They proceeded in silence through the lofty halls and corridors of the palace, traversing that well-remembered court, in which stood the royal judgment-seat—silent and deserted now but for several cats, arching their backs and rubbing their sides against the pedestal of their own special deity, and a pair of storks, each standing on one slender leg, with head tucked back and wary eye, in the places of accuser and accused, at the steps of Pharaoh's throne.
"I little thought to have come here again," said the light-hearted Assyrian, "save as a doomed man passing naked to the stake; and, behold, I march by in a dress of honour at the head of a hundred archers. Who shall say what a day may bring forth?"
The well-drilled features of the Egyptian forced themselves to smile.
"Man is but a vain thing," he answered sententiously—"a strained shaft, a riven harness, a broken bow! But the king's hand stretches far and wide. He giveth or taketh away, setteth up or casteth down, and Pharaoh lives for ever!"
The last four words he spoke in a loud voice, falling immediately on his face; for they were entering the royal banquet-hall, at the extremity of which the king sat in person, under a canopy of state, attended only by his cup-bearer and the official who carried his fan.
A venerable man, whom Sarchedon recognised as having stood at his right hand while the king administered judgment, now stepped forward, and conducted the guest to a place of honour provided for him, apart from the great lords and captains, who were ranged all down the hall. Passing before the royal table with a low obeisance, the Assyrian could not but be gratified by the reception accorded him: Pharaoh even raised the wine to his lips in acknowledgment of his guest's salute, while in the dark eyes that gleamed over his cup, Sarchedon thought he recognised something of that mocking mirth which had so disturbed him in the magician's gaze, who foretold the term of his captivity. But he was destined to higher honours yet; for no sooner had he taken his seat than a portion of meat and a cup of wine were served him from the king's own table, by no less a person than the old man who had conducted him thither—Phrenes, governor of Egypt, second only in rank and authority to Pharaoh himself.
Adopting a tone of confidential intercourse, as with an equal, this magnate now bade Sarchedon look round amongst these lords and captains for the familiar face of a countryman. Had he not been so accustomed to wonders of late, he could scarcely have believed his eyes when he observed Sethos, gorgeously attired in the Assyrian fashion, seated like himself in a place of honour, and pouring out a drink-offering to the gods of his own land, ere he quenched his thirst with the choicest wine of Egypt from a cup of gold.