“We have waited two ‘double hours,’” swore the master, “for your wife and her accursed wench. Another half shekel, or I thrust you all ashore!”
“With gladness, good captain,” quoth Gudea, complying, and feeling very generous with so much of the king’s silver prospectively his own.
“And you will not promise to give the king our treasure,” enjoined Binit, in a whisper, “for less than ten talents, not though he rage, and talk of calling for Khatin.”
“By Nergal, surely not! I will begin by demanding twenty—”
His words ended with a cry. There was a splash over the low gunwale into the sluggish water that crept around the quay, and a wide ripple spread out under the starlight. In a trice the three friends began to tear their hair and howl piteously.
“Overboard!” groaned Tabni, rending his mantle. “Lost!”
“No, madness,” exhorted the captain, coolly, “it was only your maid that missed her balance. She will drift beneath the quay and drown. But another as good is only ten shekels in the market!”
“Ten talents!” shrieked Binit; and she would have leaped in after, but the boatman dragged her back fiercely.
“Do not rave,” he commanded; “none of you can swim. She rises yonder a second time. Well, I will save her for five shekels.”
“Yours! Yours! Only save!” came from the three in a breath; while Binit threw her mantle over her head, and screamed and moaned.