“Priestess, you are mine,” cried King Tenes in triumph. “Make ready to sail with me for Sidon within an hour.”
“Do you think that I am yours, King Tenes?” I asked in a musing voice as I fastened the folds of my veil and arranged the hood. “If so, I hold otherwise. I hold that I, Ayesha, a free-born lady of the ancient Arab blood, am not the slave of any Phœnician who for a little while chances to be a king, but of her who is the Queen of kings, Isis the Mother. Nay, Tenes, I am more, I am Isis herself, Isis-come-to-Earth. It seems that go with you I must, since such is the will of the goddess, but, Phœnician, take heed. Should you dare to befoul me even with a touch, I tell you that I have strength at my command and that ere long Sidon shall lack a king and Set shall gain a subject. For your own sake therefore and for that of Sidon, think again and let me be!”
Now the great jaws of Tenes fell and he stared at me open-mouthed.
“Yet you shall go with me,” he muttered thickly, “and for the rest Ashtoreth rules in Sidon, not Isis, for know that there are two Queens of Heaven.”
“Aye, Tenes, a false queen and a true, and let the false beware of the true.”
Then I turned to Nectanebes and said,
“Is it still your command, O Pharaoh, that I accompany this ally of yours to Sidon? Bethink you ere you answer, since much hangs upon your words.”
“Yea, Priestess, it must be so. I have spoken and my decree is recorded. The fate of Egypt is more than that of any priestess and doubtless King Tenes will treat you well. If not, you say that you have strength to defend yourself against him.”
Now as I answered, I laughed lightly and the sound of my laughter was like the tinkle of falling silver.
“So be it, Pharaoh. To me it is nothing; indeed I would see Sidon, the glorious city, while she still is Sidon, home of merchants, mistress of the seas. Still ere I go, shall I tell you something, Pharaoh, of what was shewn to me in yonder bowl before its water was turned to blood—by dye from that vase which none of you has found? If I remember right, for as you who practise magic, know, Pharaoh, such visions fade quickly like dreams at dawn—I say that if I remember right, it had to do with the fate of a great king. Have you ever seen a king, O Pharaoh, when in place of the chain of royalty a collar of rope is set about his throat and drawn hard till the tongue is thrust from the royal mouth and the royal eyes start from their sockets? Nay? Then shall I draw his picture? Perchance in days to come you would know it again?”