“I cannot arrest the envoy of Amon in my territory,” he said to the men of Dor.  “But I will send him away, and you shall pursue him and arrest him.”

The plan seems to have appealed to the sporting instincts of the Sicilians, for it appears that they drew off from the harbour to await their quarry.  Wenamon was then informed of the scheme, and one may suppose that he showed no relish for it.  To be chased across a bilious sea by sporting men of hardened stomach was surely a torture for the damned; but it is to be presumed that Zakar-Baal left the Egyptian some chance of escape.  Hastily he was conveyed on board a ship, and his misery must have been complete when he observed that outside the harbour it was blowing a gale.  Hardly had he set out into the “Great Syrian Sea” before a terrific storm burst, and in the confusion which ensued we lose sight of the waiting fleet.  No doubt the Sicilians put in to Byblos once more for shelter, and deemed Wenamon at the bottom of the ocean as the wind whistled through their own bare rigging.

The Egyptian had planned to avoid his enemies by beating northwards when he left the harbour, instead of southwards towards Egypt; but the tempest took the ship’s course into its own hands and drove the frail craft north-westwards towards Cyprus, the wooded shores of which were, in course of time, sighted.  Wenamon was now indeed ’twixt the devil and the deep sea, for behind him the waves raged furiously, and before him he perceived a threatening group of Cypriots awaiting him upon the wind-swept shore.  Presently the vessel grounded upon the beach, and immediately the ill-starred Egyptian and the entire crew were prisoners in the hands of a hostile mob.  Roughly they were dragged to the capital of the island, which happened to be but a few miles distant, and with ignominy they were hustled, wet and bedraggled, through the streets towards the palace of Hetebe, the Queen of Cyprus.

As they neared the building the queen herself passed by, surrounded by a brave company of nobles and soldiers.  Wenamon burst away from his captors, and bowed himself before the royal lady, crying as he did so, “Surely there is somebody amongst this company who understands Egyptian.”  One of the nobles, to Wenamon’s joy, replied, “Yes, I understand it.”

“Say to my mistress,” cried the tattered envoy, “that I have heard even in far-off Thebes, the abode of Amon, that in every city injustice is done, but that justice obtains in the land of Cyprus.  Yet see, injustice is done here also this day.”

This was repeated to the queen, who replied, “Indeed!—­what is this that you say?”

Through the interpreter Wenamon then addressed himself to Hetebe.  “If the sea raged,” he said, “and the wind drove me to the land where I now am, will you let these people take advantage of it to murder me, I who am an envoy of Amon?  I am one for whom they will seek unceasingly.  And as for these sailors of the prince of Byblos, whom they also wish to kill, their lord will undoubtedly capture ten crews of yours, and will slay every man of them in revenge.”