Karema sped from the tent and presently returned with bread and wine of which Tanofir partook almost greedily.
“This is the first strong drink that I have tasted for many a year,” he said as he drained the goblet; “but better a broken vow than broken wits when one has much to plan and do. At least I hope the gods will think so when I meet them presently. There—I am strong again. Now, say, what is your force?”
We told him.
“Good. And what is your plan?”
We shook our heads, having none.
“Bes,” he said sternly, “I think you grow dull since you became a king—or perhaps it is marriage that makes you so. Why, in bygone years schemes would have come so fast that they would have choked each other between those thick lips of yours. And Shabaka, tell me, have you lost all your generalship whereof once you had plenty, in the soft air of Ethiopia? Or is it that even the shadow of marriage makes you dull? Well, I must turn to the woman, for that is always the lot of man. Your plan, Karema, and quickly for there is no time to lose.”
Now the face of Karema grew fixed and her eyes dreamy as she spoke in a slow, measured voice like one who knows not what she says.
“My plan is to destroy the armies of the Great King and to relieve the city of Amada.”
“A very good plan,” said holy Tanofir, “but the question is, how?”
“I think,” went on Karema, “that about a league above this place there is a spot where at this season the Nile can be forded by tall men without the wetting of their shoulders. First then, I would send five thousand swordsmen across that ford and let them creep down on the navy of the Great King where the sailors revel in safety, or sleep sound, and fire the ships. The wind blows strongly from the south and the flames will leap fast from one of them to the other. Most of their crews will be burned and the rest can be slain by our five thousand.”