Baltu in this, did but follow the lead of Pharaoh himself, though Pharaoh, god incarnate, had he but paused to consider it, did but seek to bribe himself, in the person of his celestial counterpart.
Word soon spread through the mart that Baltu the Phoenician was selling, and Baltu was known as a merchant who sold nothing but the best and rarest, whether that best consisted of spices, perfumes, wines, jewels, Babylonian glass or slaves.
Baltu the Phoenician lifted a jeweled hand: “Listen, Thebans! Four months have passed since I have gazed upon the Queen of Cities, Thebes the Glorious! During these four months I have visited Meggido, Charchemish, Tyre and Askelon. My last voyage hither brought ye true lazuli of Babylon, and precious incense from the Incense Land, the waterless land of the East!
“This time we bring ye amethysts and turquoise for your beads and bangles, malachite for the healing of your eyes, incense for your nostrils, precious oils for your anointing, or to mix with those ceremonial cones that custom bids ye place upon your graceful wigs, also”—suddenly his eyes catch the sight of the one man above all others he wished to see. He broke off and addressed the newcomer directly. “For thee, my lord Nebamon, a rose; nay, a human rose, softly pink as a rose of Naharin! Step up, great lord, see for thyself!” With a quick movement Baltu unloosed the gold girdle that supported the heavy robe so gracefully draped about the shrinking Bhanar.
“A rose indeed, Nebamon? Do my lord’s lists boast a form more perfect, a skin more lustrous, hair so long, so like the ruddy gold of Nubia? Should not this damsel, this daughter of a long line of kings, be added to the royal lists? Were the great noble Menna, son of Menna, here now, would he not straightway buy the maiden? Never shall I be content until I see thee take from thy finger the seal that adds this wondrous creature to thy villa yonder.”
Nebamon, typical eunuch and slave-dealer, handsome of face, obese to such an extent that the skin of his torso lay over his jeweled girdle in thick folds, Nebamon nodded his head as his great velvet eyes slowly appraised the many charms of the crouching maiden.
“Thy price, Baltu? And mark thee well! Should she turn out the shrew that fair-skinned Hittite Gadiya proved to be, she shall be returned, or never again will Baltu’s galley pass the northern frontier into Egypt! May the Hound eat her, she is still upon my hands, and like to be!”
“Great lord! Could I know the Hittite for a shrew. Remember, more than three months I had her on my book. With me, as with Darman, she was a very dove, as soft and cooing as the sacred doves of Hathor’s temple yonder! Nay, have done with Gadiya; we will speak of her anon. Thou wouldst know the price of Bhanar the Beautiful, of Bhanar—a daughter of Kings? There are perhaps four whose names allow the purchase of the maid, and these be Pharaoh himself, Rames, your good Vizier, Menna, the King’s Overseer, and, perhaps, thyself! One thousand gold uten and five hundred bags of northern wheat will buy the maid, Nebamon! Make up thy mind, and quickly. Yonder I see approaching the carrying chair of thy most dreaded rival, Menna, son of Menna. What says my lord Nebamon?”
“Five hundred uten, Baltu; all I have is thine for the maid!” The handsome noble shot a hasty glance in the direction of the oncoming chair of Menna, the King’s Overseer. It was plainly visible to all present, as it swung up the garden path, two outrunners with slaves going before, a foreign conceit which Menna had imported from Naharin.
Nebamon drew from his jeweled girdle his writing set. He affected to write out a memorandum.