A lovely night for a drive, for young people particularly. Only the roaring of the confined beasts, with the calling of the frogs in the papyrus reeds, could be heard. Serene and mellow the moon looked down from a cloudless sky upon the restful city, the empty wharfs and stairs, and the fringe-lined lake, where also slept their god-ships, the crocodiles. It was a splendid country for women, cats, crocodiles, serpents, and other sacred and venerated things, but not so favourable to men. Our adventurers were leaving it gladly.
At the outer gate they had a little trouble, as Pylea had expected.
The commandress chanced to be one of the ladies who had decided to compete in the lists on the morrow. She had fixed her discriminating eyes upon Cocoeni, and when roused up by a subordinate, regarded the exodus with gloomy suspicion.
The order, however, was so definite, and the signet-ring beyond dispute; yet she wanted some particulars.
“It is the written command of Queen Isori, that these strangers pass through without delay. They go to offer sacrifice to their gods in the desert before the contest,” added Pylea, with a dig of her heel at Ned, who crouched behind.
“Yes, dauntless captain,” said Ned. “Your gods are not our gods, nor your customs ours.”
“Are these the sacrifices you take with you?” asked the stately amazon, pointing to the packages.
“Yes,” answered Ned, brazenly, “our offerings are all there.”
“It is strange, for I was with the queen before supper, and she said nothing of this. Let me send a messenger to her.”
“By no means. See, it is written here that she is not to be disturbed this night on pain of death. She is weary with her journey, and wishes to prepare also against the morning.”