“But how darest thou use evil words against the warriors of his holiness?” asked Eunana, who stood there.

“Thou must be an Egyptian and a great person, I see that,” said the slave; “so I answer thee that this canal belongs to a mighty lord; he is the manager and secretary of one who bears the fan for his worthiness the nomarch of Memphis. Be on thy guard or misfortune will strike thee!”

“Do your work,” said Eunana, with a patronizing tone, to the Greek soldiers who began to look at the slave.

They did not understand his speech, but the tone of it arrested them.

“They are filling in all the time!” said the slave, with rising fear. “Woe to thee!” cried he, rushing at one of the Greeks with his pickaxe.

The Greek pulled it from the man, struck him on the mouth, and brought blood to his lips; then he threw sand into the canal again.

The slave, stunned by the blow, lost courage and fell to imploring.

“Lord,” said he, “I dug this canal alone for ten years, in the night time and during festivals! My master promised that if I should bring water to this little valley he would make me a servant in it, give me one fifth of the harvests, and grant me freedom—do you hear? Freedom to me and my three children!—O gods!”

He raised his hands and turned again to Eunana,—

“They do not understand me, these vagrants from beyond the sea, descendants of dogs, brothers to Jews and Phœnicians! But listen, lord, to me! For ten years, while other men went to fairs and dances or sacred processions, I stole out into this dreary ravine. I did not go to the grave of my mother, I only dug; I forgot the dead so as to give freedom with laud to my children, and to myself even one free day before death. Ye, O gods, be my witnesses how many times has night found me here! how many times have I heard the wailing cries of hyenas in this place, and seen the green eyes of wolves! But I did not flee, for whither was I, the unfortunate, to flee, when at every path terror was lurking, and in this canal freedom held me back by the feet? Once, beyond that turn there, a lion came out against me, the pharaoh of beasts. The pickaxe dropped from my hands, I knelt down before him, and I, as ye see me, said these words: ‘O lord! is it thy pleasure to eat me? I am only a slave.’ But the lion took pity, the wolf also passed by; even the treacherous bats spared my poor head; but thou, O Egyptian—”

The man stopped; he saw the retinue of Herhor approaching. By the fan he knew him to be a great personage, and by the panther skin, a priest. He ran to the litter, therefore, knelt down, and struck the sand with his forehead.

“What dost thou wish, man?” asked the dignitary.

“O light of the sun, listen to me!” cried the slave. “May there be no groans in thy chamber, may no misfortune follow thee! May thy works continue, and may the current not be interrupted when thou shalt sail by the Nile to the other shore—”

“I ask what thy wish is,” repeated Herhor.

“Kind lord,” said the man, “leader without caprice, who conquerest the false and createst the true, who art the father of the poor, the husband of the widow, clothing for the motherless, permit me to spread thy name as the equal of justice, most noble of the nobles.”[1]