Little reassured by the alternative, Arbaces hastened at least to take hold of the royal sceptre, and thus secure himself against the worst consequences of his indiscretion; for pardon was invariably accorded to him for whom the king extended that emblem of sovereignty with his own hand; but he dreaded the old warrior's disappointment to learn there seemed no excuse for a recommencement of the game he loved so well, and it was only because he was a brave man to the core that he looked his lord steadily in the face while he said firmly, but respectfully, "O king, live for ever! I speak not as the lowest of slaves to the highest of masters; I speak as warrior to warrior, as man to man. Arbaces asks Ninus if he has ever deceived him in council, or failed him in the field."
"Never!" exclaimed the king, on whose kindred spirit the other's manly bearing produced such an effect as might have been expected. "Never," he repeated, sitting down again, while the weary look crept over his gray old face. "You have been true to me as the buckle of my belt, the handle of my blade. Old servant, old friend, old comrade, something tells me I shall never tighten one nor draw the other again."
Arbaces burst into tears. The practised warrior, who had seen towns sacked, foes slain, and captives flayed alive without a quiver of sympathy, a throb of pity, was not proof against this unaccustomed mood in his stern old master. Slave as he really was, slave in presence of a fierce and irresponsible despot, his heart filled with a painful, piteous sympathy that unmanned him, and he wept.
The king's harsh laugh, covering, it may be, some kinder sentiment than derision, and hoarse with other weakness besides the cough of age, recalled him to himself.
"Go, get a spindle!" exclaimed Ninus. "Surely, but for that rugged face and grizzled beard, I had believed it was an old woman standing at my footstool with wet eyes to pray for her son's release out of the clutches of Arbaces, rather than the Tartan himself, whom I have seen many a time in haste, anger, and perplexity, but never in sorrow nor in fear."
The other's face brightened with joy and pride; but he had a duty to perform, and neither exultation in his lord's approval, nor dread of his displeasure, would prevent his carrying it out to the end.
Assuming the usual attitude of respect, and thus dropping, as it were, to his proper level of humility, the chief captain demanded meekly,
"Is it the king's pleasure to hearken, while the lowest of his servants makes report concerning the ordering of the host, and setting of the night-watches as in the day of battle?"
"What have I to do with the day of battle?" answered the king testily. "This is the day of priests and prophets, sacrifice and drink-offering, waste of time, treasure, and good wine. May Nisroch consume them all to ashes! Day of battle!—by the beard of Nimrod, day of folly rather, and weariness and shame! Thou too must needs come prating about it. Well, say on."
"The whole army of Egypt has been commanded to encamp without the walls," observed the other curtly. "Is this the pleasure of my lord the king?"