Sakon knew his daughter well, and it did not need that he should glance at her face to learn that she meant her words.  Also he loved her, his only child, more dearly than anything on earth.

“In truth my strait is hard, and I know not which way to turn,” he said, covering his face with his hand.

“Father,” she replied, laying her fingers lightly on his shoulder, “what need is there to answer him at once?  Take a month, or if he will not give it, a week.  Much may happen in that time.”

“The counsel is wise,” he said, catching at this straw.  “Daughter, be in the great hall of audience with your attendants three hours after noon, for then we must receive Ithobal boldly in all pomp, and deal with him as best we may.  And now I go to ask peace for the Levite from the priests of El, and to discover whom the sacred colleges desire to nominate as the new Baaltis.  Doubtless it will be Mesa, the daughter of her who is dead, though many are against her.  Oh! if there were no priests and no women, this city would be easier to govern,” and with an impatient gesture Sakon left the room.

*****

It was three o’clock in the afternoon, and the great hall of audience in Zimboe was crowded with a brilliant assemblage.  There sat Sakon, the governor, and with him his council of the notables of the city; there were prince Aziel and among his retinue, Issachar the prophet, fierce-eyed as ever, though hardly recovered from the rough handling he had experienced in the temple.  There were representatives of the college of the priests of El.  There were many ladies, wives and daughters of dignitaries and wealthy citizens, and with them a great crowd of spectators of all classes gathered in the lower part of the hall, for a rumour had spread about that the farewell audience given by Sakon to King Ithobal was likely to be stormy.

When all were gathered, a herald announced that Ithobal, King of the Tribes, waited to take his leave of Sakon, Governor of Zimboe, before departing to his own land on the morrow.

“Let him be admitted,” said Sakon, who looked weary and ill at ease.  Then as the herald bowed and left, he turned and whispered something into the ear of his daughter Elissa, who stood behind his chair, her face immovable as that of an Egyptian Sphinx, but magnificently apparelled in gleaming robes and jewelled ornaments—­which Metem, looking on them, reflected with satisfaction were now his property.

Presently, preceded by a burst of savage music, Ithobal entered.  He was gorgeously arrayed in a purple Tyrian robe decked with golden chains, while on the brow, in token of his royalty, he wore a golden circlet in which was set a single blood-red stone.  Before him walked a sword-bearer carrying a sword of ceremony, a magnificent ivory-handled weapon encrusted with rough gems and inlaid with gold, while behind him, clad in barbaric pomp, marched a number of counsellors and attendants, huge and half-savage men who glared wonderingly at the splendour of the place and its occupants.  As the king came, Sakon rose from his chair of state and, advancing down the hall, took him by the hand and led him to a similar chair placed at a little distance.