epistle to be written by my slave Sophotatus in an adjoining chamber, as
merely to behold the labor of writing causes cramp in my fingers."

A burst of laughter arose at these words, but Rhodopis said: "This letter
gives me pleasure; it proves that Philoinus is not bad at heart. Brought
up a Sybarite." . . . She was suddenly interrupted by the voice of a
stranger, who had entered unperceived, and, after apologizing to the
venerable hostess and her guests for appearing without invitation among
them, continued thus: "I am Gyges the son of Croesus; and it has not been
merely for pastime, that I have ridden over from Sais in two hours lest I
should arrive too late!"

"Menon, a cushion for our guest!" cried Rhodopis. "Be welcome to my house
and take some repose after your wild, thoroughly Lydian, ride."

"By the dog, Gyges!" exclaimed Croesus.

[An oath of Rhadamanthus used in order to avoid mentioning the names
of the gods. Schol. Aristoph. Aves. 520.]

"What brings thee here at this hour? I begged thee not to quit Bartja's
side. . . .  But how thou look'st! what is the matter? has aught happened?
speak, speak!"

In the first moment Gyges could not answer a word. To see his beloved
father, for whose very life he had been in such anxiety, a safe and happy
guest at this rich banquet, seemed to rob him of his speech a second
time. At last, however, he was able to say: "The gods be praised, my
father, that I see thee safe once more! Think not I forsook my post
thoughtlessly. Alas! I am forced to appear as a bird of evil omen in this
cheerful assembly. Know at once, ye guests, for I dare not lose time in
preparing my words, that a treacherous assault awaits ye!"

They all sprang up as if struck by lightning. Aristomachus silently
loosened his sword in its scabbard; Phanes extended his arms as if to
discern whether the old athletic elasticity still dwelt there.

"What can it be?--what is their design?" echoed from all sides.

"This house is surrounded by Ethiopian soldiers!" answered Gyges. "A
faithful fellow confided to me that the crown-prince had designs on one
of your number; he was to be taken alive if possible, but killed if he
resisted. Dreading lest thou shouldst be this victim, my father, I sped
hither. The fellow had not lied. This house is surrounded. My horse shied
on reaching your garden-gate, Rhodopis, jaded as he was. I dismounted,
and could discern behind every bush the glitter of weapons and the eager
eyes of men lying in ambush. They allowed us, however, to enter
unmolested."

At this moment Knakias rushed in crying, "Important news! On my way to
the Nile to fetch water with which to prepare the wine-cup, I have just
met a man who, in his haste, nearly ran over me.

[The water of the Nile has a very agreeable flavor. It is called by
one traveller the champagne among the waters. The ladies of the
Sultan's harem send for this water even from Constantinople, and the
Arabs say, that if Mahomet had drunk thereof he would have desired
to live for ever.]

It was an Ethiop, one of Phanes' boatmen, and he tells that just as he
sprang out of the boat to bathe, a royal bark came alongside and a
soldier asked the rest of the crew in whose service they were. On the
helmsman answering, 'in Phanes' service,' the royal boat passed on
slowly. He, however, (the rower who was bathing), seated himself in fun
on the rudder of the royal boat, and heard one Ethiopian soldier on board
say to another, 'Keep that craft well in sight; now we know where the
bird sits, and it will be easy to catch him. Remember, Psamtik has
promised us fifty gold rings if we bring the Athenian to Sais dead or
alive.' This is the report of Sebek, who has been in your service seven
years, O Phanes."

To both these accounts Phanes listened calmly. Rhodopis trembled.
Aristomachus exclaimed, "Not a hair of your head shall be touched, if
Egypt perish for it!" Croesus advised prudence. A tremendous excitement
had mastered the whole party.

At last Phanes broke silence, saying: "Reflection is never more necessary
than in a time of danger. I have thought the matter over, and see clearly
that escape will be difficult. The Egyptians will try to get rid of me
quietly. They know that I intend going on board a Phoecean trireme, which
sets sail for Sigeum at a very early hour to-morrow morning, and have
therefore no time to lose, if they will seize me. Your garden, Rhodopis,
is entirely surrounded, and were I to remain here, your house would no
longer be respected as a sanctuary; it would be searched and I taken in
it. There can be no doubt that a watch has been set over the Phoecean
ship also. Blood shall not be shed in vain on my account."

"But you dare not surrender!" cried Aristomachus.

"No, no, I have a plan," shouted Theopompus the Milesian merchant. "At
sunrise to-morrow a ship sails for Miletus laden with Egyptian corn, but
not from Naukratis, from Canopus. Take the noble Persian's horse and ride
thither. We will cut a way for you through the garden."

"But," said Gyges, "our little band is not strong enough to carry out
such an attempt. We number in all ten men, and of these only three have
swords; our enemies, on the other hand, number at least a hundred, and
are armed to the teeth."

"Lydian!" cried Aristomachus, "wert thou ten times more fainthearted than
thou art, and were our enemies double their number, I at least, will
fight them!"

Phanes grasped his friend's hand. Gyges turned pale. This brave warrior
had called him fainthearted; and again he could find no words to answer;
for at every stirring emotion his tongue failed him. Suddenly the blood
mounted to his face; his words came quickly and with decision: "Athenian,
follow me! and thou, Spartan, who art not wont to use words heedlessly,
call no man fainthearted again before thou knowest him. Friends, Phanes
is safe, Farewell, father!"

The remaining guests surveyed these two departing men in silent wonder.
As they stood there, silently listening, the sound of two horses
galloping swiftly away fell on their ear, and after a longer interval a
prolonged whistle from the Nile and a cry of distress.

"Where is Knakias?" said Rhodopis to one of her slaves.

"He went into the garden with Phanes and the Persian," was the answer,
and as it was being spoken, the old slave re-entered, pale and trembling.

"Have you seen my son?" cried Croesus. "Where is Phanes?"

"I was to bid you farewell from them both."

"Then they are gone.--Whither? How was it possible?" . . .

"The Athenian and the Persian," began the slave, "had a slight dispute in
the anteroom. This over, I was told to divest both of their robes. Phanes
then put on the stranger's trousers, coat and girdle; on his own curls he
placed the pointed Persian cap. The stranger wrapped himself in the
Athenian's chiton and mantle, placed the golden circlet above his brow,
caused the hair to be shaved from his upper lip, and ordered me to follow
him into the garden. Phanes, whom in his present dress, none could
imagine to be other than a Persian, mounted one of the horses still
waiting before the gate; the stranger called after him, 'Farewell Gyges,
farewell beloved Persian, a pleasant journey to thee, Gyges!' The
servant, who had been waiting, followed on the other horse. I could hear
the clatter of arms among the bushes, but the Athenian was allowed to
depart unmolested, the soldiers, without doubt, believing him to be a
Persian.

"On returning to the house the stranger's orders were: 'Accompany me to
Phanes' bark, and cease not to call me by the Athenian's name.' 'But the
boatmen will betray you,' I said. 'Then go alone to them,' he answered,
'and command them to receive me as their master, Phanes.' Then I prayed
him to allow me to take the dress of the fugitive and become a prey to
the pursuers; but he would by no means allow this, and said my gait and
carriage would betray me. There alas! he spoke truly, for only the free
man can walk erect; the neck of the slave is bent; the schools in which
the noble and the freeborn learn grace and beauty of movement are not for
him. And so it must remain, the children must be even as the fathers; can
the unclean onion-root produce a rose, or the unsightly radish a
hyacinth? Constant bondage bows the neck of the slave, but the
consciousness of freedom gives dignity to the stature."

"But what has become of my son?" interrupted Croesus.

"He would not accept my poor offer, and took his seat in the bark,
sending a thousand greetings unto thee, O king! I cried after him,
'Farewell Phanes! I wish thee a prosperous journey, Phanes!' At that
moment a cloud crossed the moon; and from out the thick darkness I heard
screams, and cries for help; they did not, however, last long, a shrill
whistle followed, then all was silent; and the measured strokes of oars
were the only sounds that fell on my ear. I was on the point of returning
to relate what I had seen, when the boatman Sebek swam up once more and
told as follows: The Egyptians had caused a leak to be made in Phanes'
boat, and at a short distance from land it had filled and began to sink.
On the boatmen crying for help, the royal bark, which was following, had
come up and taken the supposed Phanes on board, but had prevented the
rowers from leaving their benches. They all went down with the leaking
boat, the daring Sebek alone excepted. Gyges is on board the royal boat;
Phanes has escaped, for that whistle must have been intended for the
soldiers in ambush at the garden-gate. I searched the bushes, the
soldiers were gone, and I could hear the sound of their voices and
weapons on their way back to Sais."

The guests listened with eager attention to this tale. At its close a
mingled feeling of relief and anxiety was felt by all; relief that their
favorite companion had escaped so fearful a danger, anxiety for the brave
young Lydian who had risked his life to save him. They praised his
generosity, congratulated Croesus on possessing such a son, and finally
agreed in the conclusion, that, when the crown-prince discovered the
error into which his emissaries had fallen, he must certainly release
Gyges, and even make him compensation for what he had suffered at their
hands.

The friendship already shown by Amasis, and the fear in which he
evidently stood of the Persian power, were the thoughts which had power
to calm Croesus, who soon left, in order to pass the night at the house
of Theopompus, the Milesian merchant. At parting, Aristomachus said:
"Salute Gyges in my name; tell him I ask his forgiveness, and hope one
day either to enjoy his friendship, or, if that cannot be, to meet him as
a fair foe on the field of battle."

"Who knows what the future may bring?" answered Croesus giving his hand
to the Spartan.




CHAPTER IX.

The sun of a new day had risen over Egypt, but was still low in the east;
the copious dew, which, on the Nile, supplies the place of rain, lay
sparkling like jewels on the leaves and blossoms, and the morning air,
freshened by a north-west wind, invited those to enjoy it who could not
bear the heat of mid-day.

Through the door of the country-house, now so well known to us, two
female figures have just passed; Melitta, the old slave, and Sappho, the
grandchild of Rhodopis.

The latter is not less lovely now, than when we saw her last, asleep. She
moves through the garden with a light quick step, her white morning robe
with its wide sleeves falling in graceful drapery over her lithe limbs,
the thick brown hair straying from beneath the purple kerchief over her
head, and a merry, roguish smile lurking round her rosy mouth and in the
dimples of her cheeks and chin.

She stooped to pick a rose, dashed the dew from it into the face of her
old nurse, laughing at her naughty trick till the clear bell-like tones
rang through the garden; fixed the flower in her dress and began to sing
in a wonderfully rich and sweet voice--

Cupid once upon a bed
Of roses laid his weary head;
Luckless urchin! not to see
Within the leaves a slumbering bee.
The bee awak'd--with anger wild
The bee awak'd, and stung the child.
Loud and piteous are his cries;
To Venus quick he runs, he flies;
"Oh mother! I am wounded through--
"I die with pain--in sooth I do!
"Stung by some little angry thing.
"Some serpent on a tiny wing,
"A bee it was--for once, I know,
"I heard a rustic call it so."

"Isn't that a very pretty song?" asked the laughing girl. "How stupid of
little Eros to mistake a bee for a winged snake! Grandmother says that
the great poet Anacreon wrote another verse to this song, but she will
not teach it me. Tell me, Melitta, what can there be in that verse?
There, you are smiling; dear, darling Melitta, do sing me that one verse.
Perhaps though, you don't know it yourself? No? then certainly you can't
teach it me."

"That is a new song," answered the old woman, evading her darling's
question, "I only know the songs of the good old times. But hark! did not
you hear a knock at the gate?"

[The last lines which contain the point of this song are:

Thus he spoke, and she, the while,
Heard him with a soothing smile;
Then said, "My infant, if so much
"Thou feel the little wild bee's touch,
"How must the heart, ah! Cupid be,
"The hapless heart that's stung by thee?"

--Translation from one of Anacreon's songs]

"Yes, of course I did, and I think the sound of horses' hoofs too. Go and
see who seeks admission so early. Perhaps, after all, our kind Phanes did
not go away yesterday, and has come to bid us farewell once more."

"Phanes is gone," said Melitta, becoming serious, "and Rhodopis has
ordered me to send you in when visitors arrive. Go child, that I may open
the gate. There, they have knocked again."

Sappho pretended to run in, but instead of obeying her nurse's orders,
stopped and hid herself behind a rose-bush, hoping to catch sight of
these early guests. In the fear of needlessly distressing her, she had
not been told of the events of the previous evening, and at this early
hour could only expect to see some very intimate friend of her
grandmother's.

Melitta opened the gate and admitted a youth splendidly apparelled, and
with fair curling hair.

It was Bartja, and Sappho was so lost in wonder at his beauty, and the
Persian dress, to her so strange, that she remained motionless in her
hiding-place, her eyes fixed on his face. Just so she had pictured to
herself Apollo with the beautiful locks, guiding the sun-chariot.

As Melitta and the stranger came nearer she thrust her little head
through the roses to hear what the handsome youth was saying so kindly in
his broken Greek.

She heard him ask hurriedly after Croesus and his son; and then, from
Melitta's answer, she gathered all that had passed the evening before,
trembled for Phanes, felt so thankful to the generous Gyges, and again
wondered who this youth in royal apparel could possibly be. Rhodopis had
told her about Cyrus's heroic deeds, the fall of Croesus and the power
and wealth of the Persians, but still she had always fancied them a wild,
uncultivated people. Now, however, her interest in Persia increased with
every look at the handsome Bartja. At last Melitta went in to wake her
grandmother and announce the guest, and Sappho tried to follow her, but
Eros, the foolish boy whose ignorance she had been mocking a moment
before, had other intentions. Her dress caught in the thorns, and before
she could disengage it, the beautiful Bartja was standing before her,
helping her to get free from the treacherous bush.

Sappho could not speak a word even of thanks; she blushed deeply, and
stood smiling and ashamed, with downcast eyes.

Bartja, too, generally so full of fun and spirit, looked down at her
without speaking, the color mounting to his cheeks.

The silence, however, did not last long, for Sappho, recovering from her
fright, burst into a laugh of childish delight at the silent stranger and
the odd scene, and fled towards the house like a timid fawn.

In a moment Bartja was himself again; in two strides he reached the young
girl, quick as thought seized her hand and held it fast, notwithstanding
all her struggles.

"Let me go!" she cried half in earnest and half laughing, raising her
dark eyes appealingly to him.

"Why should I?" he answered. "I took you from the rose-bush and shall
hold you fast until you give me your sister there, the other rose, from
your bosom, to take home with me as a keepsake."

"Please let me go," repeated Sappho, "I will promise nothing unless you
let my hand go."

"But if I do, you will not run away again?"

"Certainly not."

"Well, then, I will give you your liberty, but now you must give me your
rose."

"There are plenty on the bush yonder, and more beautiful ones; choose
whichever you like. Why do you want just this one?"

"To keep it carefully in remembrance of the most beautiful maiden I ever
saw."

"Then I shall certainly not give it to you; for those are not my real
friends who tell me I am beautiful, only those who tell me I am good."

"Where did you learn that?"

"From my grandmother Rhodopis."

"Very well, then I will tell you you are better than any other maiden in
the whole world."

"How can you say such things, when you don't know me at all? Oh,
sometimes I am very naughty and disobedient. If I were really good I
should be indoors now instead of talking to you here. My grandmother has
forbidden me ever to stay in the garden when visitors are here, and
indeed I don't care for all those strange men who always talk about
things I cannot understand."

"Then perhaps you would like me to go away too?"

"Oh no, I can understand you quite well; though you cannot speak half so
beautifully as our poor Phanes for example, who was obliged to escape so
miserably yesterday evening, as I heard Melitta saying just this minute."

"Did you love Phanes?"

"Love him? Oh yes,--I was very fond of him. When I was little he always
brought me balls, dolls ninepins from Memphis and Sais; and now that I am
older he teaches me beautiful new songs."

[Jointed dolls for children. Wilkinson II. 427. Note 149. In the
Leyden Museum one of these jointed toys is to be seen, in very good
preservation.]

"As a parting gift he brought me a tiny Sicilian lapdog, which I am going
to call Argos, because he is so white and swiftfooted. But in a few days
we are to have another present from the good Phanes, for. . . .  There, now
you can see what I am; I was just going to let out a great secret. My
grandmother has strictly forbidden me to tell any one what dear little
visitors we are expecting; but I feel as if I had known you a long time
already, and you have such kind eyes that I could tell you everything.
You see, when I am very happy, I have no one in the whole world to talk
to about it, except old Melitta and my grandmother, and, I don't know how
it is, that, though they love me so much, they sometimes cannot
understand how trifles can make me so happy."

"That is because they are old, and have forgotten what made them happy in
their youth. But have you no companions of your own age that you are fond
of?"

"Not one. Of course there are many other young girls beside me in
Naukratis, but my grandmother says I am not to seek their acquaintance,
and if they will not come to us I am not to go to them."

"Poor child! if you were in Persia, I could soon find you a friend. I
have a sister called Atossa, who is young and good, like you."

"Oh, what a pity that she did not come here with you!--But now you must
tell me your name."

"My name is Bartja."

"Bartja! that is a strange name! Bartja-Bartja. Do you know, I like it.
How was the son of Croesus called, who saved our Phanes so generously?"

"Gyges. Darius, Zopyrus and he are my best friends. We have sworn never
to part, and to give up our lives for one another," and that is why I
came to-day, so early and quite in secret, to help my friend Gyges, in
case he should need me."

"Then you rode here for nothing."

"No, by Mithras, that indeed I did not, for this ride brought me to you.
But now you must tell me your name."

"I am called Sappho."

"That is a pretty name, and Gyges sings me sometimes beautiful songs by a
poetess called Sappho. Are you related to her?"

"Of course. She was the sister of my grandfather Charaxus, and is called
the tenth muse or the Lesbian swan. I suppose then, your friend Gyges
speaks Greek better than you do?"

"Yes, he learnt Greek and Lydian together as a little child, and speaks
them both equally well. He can speak Persian too, perfectly; and what is
more, he knows and practises all the Persian virtues."

"Which are the highest virtues then according to you Persians?"

"Truth is the first of all; courage the second, and the third is
obedience; these three, joined with veneration for the gods, have made us
Persians great."

"But I thought you worshipped no gods?"

"Foolish child! who could live without a god, without a higher ruler?
True, they do not dwell in houses and pictures like the gods of the
Egyptians, for the whole creation is their dwelling. The Divinity, who
must be in every place, and must see and hear everything, cannot be
confined within walls."

"Where do you pray then and offer sacrifice, if you have no temples?"

"On the grandest of all altars, nature herself; our favorite altar is the
summit of a mountain. There we are nearest to our own god, Mithras, the
mighty sun, and to Auramazda, the pure creative light; for there the
light lingers latest and returns earliest."

[From Herodotus (I. 131 and 132.), and from many other sources, we
see clearly that at the time of the Achaemenidae the Persians had
neither temples nor images of their gods. Auramazda and
Angramainjus, the principles of good and evil, were invisible
existences filling all creation with their countless train of good
and evil spirits. Eternity created fire and water. From these
Ormusd (Auramazda), the good spirit, took his origin. He was
brilliant as the light, pure and good. After having, in the course
of 12000 years, created heaven, paradise and the stars, he became
aware of the existence of an evil spirit, Ahriman (Angramainjus),
black, unclean, malicious and emitting an evil odor. Ormusd
determined on his destruction, and a fierce strife began, in which
Ormusd was the victor, and the evil spirit lay 3000 years
unconscious from the effects of terror. During this interval Ormusd
created the sky, the waters, the earth, all useful plants, trees and
herbs, the ox and the first pair of human beings in one year.
Ahriman, after this, broke loose, and was overcome but not slain.
As, after death, the four elements of which all things are composed,
Earth, Air, Fire and Water, become reunited with their primitive
elements; and as, at the resurrection-day, everything that has been
severed combines once more, and nothing returns into oblivion, all
is reunited to its primitive elements, Ahriman could only have been
slain if his impurity could have been transmuted into purity, his
darkness into light. And so evil continued to exist, and to produce
impurity and evil wherever and whenever the good spirit created the
pure and good. This strife must continue until the last day; but
then Ahriman, too, will become pure and holy; the Diws or Daewa
(evil spirits) will have absorbed his evil, and themselves have
ceased to exist. For the evil spirits which dwell in every human
being, and are emanations from Ahriman, will be destroyed in the
punishment inflicted on men after death. From Vuller's Ulmai Islam
and the Zend-Avesta.]

"Light alone is pure and good; darkness is unclean and evil. Yes, maiden,
believe me, God is nearest to us on the mountains; they are his favorite
resting-place. Have you never stood on the wooded summit of a high
mountain, and felt, amid the solemn silence of nature, the still and
soft, but awful breath of Divinity hovering around you? Have you
prostrated yourself in the green forest, by a pure spring, or beneath the
open sky, and listened for the voice of God speaking from among the
leaves and waters? Have you beheld the flame leaping up to its parent the
sun, and bearing with it, in the rising column of smoke, our prayers to
the radiant Creator? You listen now in wonder, but I tell you, you would
kneel and worship too with me, could I but take you to one of our
mountain-altars."

"Oh! if I only could go there with you! if I might only once look down
from some high mountain over all the woods and meadows, rivers and
valleys. I think, up there, where nothing could be hidden from my eyes, I
should feel like an all-seeing Divinity myself. But hark, my grandmother
is calling. I must go."

"Oh, do not leave me yet!"

"Is not obedience one of the Persian virtues?"

"But my rose?"

"Here it is."

"Shall you remember me?"

"Why should I not?"

"Sweet maiden, forgive me if I ask one more favor."

"Yes, but ask it quickly, for my grandmother has just called again."

"Take my diamond star as a remembrance of this hour."

"No, I dare not."

"Oh, do, do take it. My father gave it me as a reward, the first time
that I killed a bear with my own hand, and it has been my dearest
treasure till to-day, but now you shall have it, for you are dearer to me
than anything else in the world."

Saying this, he took the chain and star from his breast, and tried to
hang it round Sappho's neck. She resisted, but Bartja threw his arms
round her, kissed her forehead, called her his only love, and looking
down deep into the eyes of the trembling child, placed it round her neck
by gentle force.

Rhodopis called a third time. Sappho broke from the young prince's
embrace, and was running away, but turned once more at his earnest
entreaty and the question, "When may I see you again?" and answered
softly, "To-morrow morning at this rose-bush."

"Which held you fast to be my friend."

Sappho sped towards the house. Rhodopis received Bartja, and communicated
to him all she knew of his friend's fate, after which the young Persian
departed for Sais.

When Rhodopis visited her grandchild's bed that evening, she did not find
her sleeping peacefully as usual; her lips moved, and she sighed deeply,
as if disturbed by vexing dreams.

On his way back, Bartja met Darius and Zopyrus, who had followed at once
on hearing of their friend's secret departure. They little guessed that
instead of encountering an enemy, Bartja had met his first love. Croesus
reached Sais a short time before the three friends. He went at once to
the king and informed him without reserve of the events of the preceding
evening. Amasis pretended much surprise at his son's conduct, assured his
friend that Gyges should be released at once, and indulged in some
ironical jokes at the discomfiture of Psamtik's attempt to revenge
himself.

Croesus had no sooner quitted the king than the crown-prince was
announced.




CHAPTER X.

Amasis received his son with a burst of laughter, and without noticing
Psamtik's pale and troubled countenance, shouted: "Did not I tell thee,
that a simple Egyptian would find it no easy task to catch such a Greek
fox? I would have given ten cities to have been by, when thy captive
proved to be the stammering Lydian instead of the voluble Athenian."

Psamtik grew paler and paler, and trembling with rage, answered in a
suppressed voice: "Is it well, my father, thus to rejoice at an affront
offered to thy son? I swear, by the eternal gods, that but for Cambyses'
sake that shameless Lydian had not seen the light of another day. But
what is it to thee, that thy son becomes a laughing-stock to these
beggarly Greeks!"

"Abuse not those who have outwitted thee."

"Outwitted! my plan was so subtly laid, that . . .

"The finer the web, the sooner broken."

"That that intriguing Greek could not possibly have escaped, if, in
violation of all established precedents; the envoy of a foreign power had
not taken it upon himself to rescue a man whom we had condemned."

"There thou art in error, my son. We are not speaking of the execution of
a judicial sentence, but of the success or failure of an attempt at
personal revenge."

"The agents employed were, however, commissioned by the king, and
therefore the smallest satisfaction that I can demand of thee, is to
solicit from Cambyses the punishment of him who has interfered in the
execution of the royal decrees. In Persia, where men bow to the king's
will as to the will of a god, this crime will be seen in all its
heinousness. The punishment of Gyges is a debt which Cambyses owes us."

"But I have no intention of demanding the payment of this debt," answered
Amasis. "On the contrary, I am thankful that Phanes has escaped. Gyges
has saved my soul from the guilt of shedding innocent blood, and thine
from the reproach of having revenged thyself meanly on a man, to whom thy
father is indebted."

"Wilt thou then conceal the whole affair from Cambyses?"

"No, I shall mention it jestingly in a letter, as my manner is, and at
the same time caution him against Phanes. I shall tell him that he has
barely escaped my vengeance, and will therefore certainly endeavor to
stir up the power of Persia against Egypt; and shall entreat my future
son-in-law to close his ears to this false accuser. Croesus and Gyges can
help us by their friendship more than Phanes can injure by his hatred."

"Is this then thy final resolve? Can I expect no satisfaction?"

"None. I abide by what I have said."

"Then tremble, not alone before Phanes, but before another--before one
who holds thee in his power, and who himself is in ours."

"Thou thinkest to alarm me; thou wouldst rend the bond formed only
yesterday? Psamtik, Psamtik, I counsel thee to remember, that thou
standest before thy father and thy king."

"And thou, forget not that I am thy son! If thou compell'st me to forget
that the gods appointed thee to be my father--if I can hope for no help
from thee, then I will resort to my own weapons."

"I am curious to learn what these may be."

"And I need not conceal them. Know then that the oculist Nebenchari is in
our power."

Amasis turned pale.

"Before thou couldst possibly imagine that Cambyses would sue for the
hand of thy daughter, thou sentest this man to the distant realm of
Persia, in order to rid thyself of one who shared thy knowledge of the
real descent of my, so-called, sister Nitetis. He is still there, and at
a hint from the priests will disclose to Cambyses that he has been
deceived, and that thou hast ventured to send him, instead of thine own,
the child of thy dethroned predecessor Hophra. All Nebenchari's papers
are in our possession, the most important being a letter in thine own
hand promising his father, who assisted at Nitetis' birth, a thousand
gold rings, as an inducement to secrecy even from the priests."

"In whose hands are these papers?" asked Amasis in a freezing tone.

"In the hands of the priesthood."

"Who speak by thy mouth?"

"Thou hast said it."

"Repeat then thy requests."