“The woman raves!” declared the Amorite, and he ordered his men to gag Binit and Tabni, and haste away, for there was no telling how soon a king’s bireme might be up the river, and their situation become awkward.
Therefore three captives spent the morning very disconsolately, paddling northward by hidden canals and watercourses in the bandits’ skiffs. The sun was broiling them at noon when the robbers landed at a squalid mud village, where the Arab caravan train was halting. Fifty odd grumbling, dirty-brown camels were kneeling on the slough of the little square, while their drivers adjusted the last bales of Babylonish carpets and Indian muslins that had just come up from the gulf. The Amorite marched his prisoners before the master of the troop, and the bargain was not long in making.
“These people were come by honestly?” quoth the merchant, with one eye in his head, for he knew his man.
“Honestly, by Moloch!” and the Amorite swore an oath loud enough to make up for all its other shortcomings.
“But these two,” objected the Arab, jerking a thumb towards Binit and Tabni, “are too old for hard toil. The risk on the desert is great. I can spare little water. Of the three, one is sure to die.”
“Consider how cheaply you get them. The three, and only forty shekels!”
“Not unreasonable, but they look most sluggish for field work.”
“‘Much scourging, much labour!’” answered the chief, “so runs the old proverb.”
“The Egyptian taskmasters remember that, by Baal!” cried the Arab, gleefully, while he counted out the sum; then, with a sudden glance at one of his subordinates, a low-browed young fellow: “Verily, what ails you, Shaphat? Have these creatures the evil eye, that you gape at them so?”
The man addressed only shuffled away, remarking “that he had known something about the prisoners in Babylon, and would tell the leader later.”