“In ruling this people the Prince of Egypt stands alone,” answered David. “There is no one between him and the people. There is no Parliament.”
“It is in my hand, then, to give or to withhold, to make or to break?” Kaid chuckled to have this tribute, as he thought, from a Christian, who did not blink at Oriental facts, and was honest.
David bowed his head to Kaid’s words.
“Then if it be my hand that lifts up or casts down, that rewards or that punishes, shall my arm not stretch into the darkest corner of Egypt to bring forth a traitor? Shall it not be so?”
“It belongs to thy power,” answered David. “It is the ancient custom of princes here. Custom is law, while it is yet the custom.”
Kaid looked at him enigmatically for a moment, then smiled grimly—he saw the course of the lance which David had thrown. He bent his look fiercely on Achmet and Higli. “Ye have heard. Truth is on his lips. I have stretched out my arm. Ye are my arm, to reach for and gather in Nahoum and all that is his.” He turned quickly to David again. “I have given this hawk, Achmet, till to-morrow night to bring Nahoum to me,” he explained.
“And if he fails—a penalty? He will lose his place?” asked David, with cold humour.
“More than his place,” Kaid rejoined, with a cruel smile.
“Then is his place mine, Effendina,” rejoined David, with a look which could give Achmet no comfort. “Thou will bring Nahoum—thou?” asked Kaid, in amazement.
“I have brought him,” answered David. “Is it not my duty to know the will of the Effendina and to do it, when it is just and right?”