"Bring him in," she cried. "I am his nurse."
"Take him, then," the soldiers said roughly, irritated by the delay. "He owes us fifty darics for bringing him off, and we have our own to save."
Upheld by the trembling arms of the old woman, Phradates staggered across the threshold. He could no longer feel the earth beneath his feet. If he could only rest a little!
"Is it you, mother?" he asked faintly. "I must sleep."
"Yes, yes, master," the old woman replied through her sobs, "but not here. Come to your own chamber."
She tried to urge him toward the banqueting hall, but his steps grew more uncertain and his weight became too great for her feeble strength.
"Mena!" she called. "Mena, here is your master. Come and help him!"
The Egyptian ran in furiously and closed the door that she had left open in her anxiety.
"Do you want to have us all killed?" he demanded, turning upon the old woman. "Take that, my master, for the beatings you have given me!"
He plunged his dagger into the young man's defenceless side, and Phradates sank to the floor.