In her country’s dress, Aryenis sat by the fountain from which the palace took its name—the Palace of the Fountain. It was a great marvel, the fountain, and by ancient prescription held to belong to the chief wife, the favourite in the seraglio, the woman lifted by favour to the highest rank a woman might attain. It had been called Aryenis’s since her bringing to the seraglio.
Meranes came and Aryenis made obeisance. The satrap raised her and held her in his arms. Far off there was music playing, the fountain bubbled, tinkled, sent its spray where fell upon it coloured light. The place that was a great and richly carven room, held eunuchs, slave-women, ministers and attendants of pleasure. “Go from hearing,” said Meranes, and the lines fell back, leaving the fountain and a rich carpet spread beside it. The one man and woman sat embraced by the talking water.
“You are going against Egypt?”
“Yes.”
“Nitetis will not like that!”
“This land is Nitetis’s land.”
“True, true!—Your land, Meranes.”
“Is Alyattes sleeping?”
“Yes.... Would you look?”
Rising she led him through curtained archways to where, watched by slave-women, the child lay sleeping upon a golden bed. “Alyattes!...”