He had kept the wrappings that his mother had applied round his still aching hand.
“Are you wounded?” asked the Regent.
“Nothing of importance,” answered the pioneer. “I was helping my mother into the boat, and it happened—”
“It happened,” interrupted an old school-fellow of the Mohar’s, who himself held a high appointment as officer of the city-watch of Thebes—“It happened that an oar or a stake fell on his fingers.”
“Is it possible!” cried the Regent.
“And quite a youngster laid hands on him,” continued the officer. “My people told me every detail. First the boy killed his dog—”
“That noble Descher?” asked the master of the hunt in a tone of regret. “Your father was often by my side with that dog at a boar-hunt.”
Paaker bowed his head; but the officer of the watch, secure in his position and dignity, and taking no notice of the glow of anger which flushed Paaker’s face, began again:
“When the hound lay on the ground, the foolhardy boy struck your dagger out of your hand.”
“And did this squabble lead to any disturbance?” asked Ameni earnestly.