“What value do you set upon the whole of them, merchant?” asked Ithobal.

“To the traders of the country so much, but to you, O King, so much only,” and he named a sum twice that which he had paid in the city.

“So be it,” assented Ithobal indifferently; “I do not haggle over wares.  Though your price is large, presently my treasurer shall weigh you out the gold.”

There was a moment’s pause, then Metem said:—­

“The trees in this camp of yours bear evil fruit, O King.  If I might ask, why does that little black monkey hang yonder.”

“Because he tried to do murder with his poisoned arrows,” answered Ithobal sullenly.

“And failed?  Well, it must comfort you to think that he did fail if he was of the number of your servants.  It is strange now that some knave unknown attempted murder last night in the palace gardens, also with poisoned arrows.  I say attempted, but as yet I cannot be sure that he did not succeed.”

“What!” exclaimed Ithobal, “was——­” and he stopped.

“No, King, prince Aziel was not hit; the Lady Elissa took that shaft through her hand, and lies between life and death.  I am doctoring her, and had it not been for my skill she would now be stiff and black—­as the rogue who shot the arrow.”

“Save her,” said Ithobal hoarsely, “and I will pay you a doctor’s fee of a hundred ounces of pure gold.  Oh! had I but known, the clumsy fool should not have died so easily.”

Metem took out his tablets and made a note of the amount.

“Take comfort, King,” he said, “I think that I shall earn the fee.  But to speak truth, this matter looks somewhat ugly, and your name is mentioned in it.  Also it is said that your cousin, the great man whom the prince Aziel slew, was charged to abduct a certain lady by your order.”

“Then false tales are told in Zimboe, and not for the first time,” answered Ithobal coldly.  “Listen, merchant, I have a question to ask of you.  Will the prince Aziel meet me in single combat with whatever weapons he may choose?”

“Doubtless, and—­pardon me if I say it—­slay you as he slew your cousin, for he is a fine swordsman, who has studied the art in Egypt, where it is understood, and your strength would not avail against him.  But your question is already answered, for though the prince would be glad enough to fight you, Sakon will have none of it.  Have you nothing else to ask me, King?”

Ithobal nodded and said:—­

“Listen, merchant.  I know your repute of old, that you love money and will do much to gain it, and that you are craftier than any hill-side jackal.  Now, if you can do my will, you will have more wealth than ever you won in your life before.”

“The offer sounds good in a poor man’s ears, King, but it depends upon what is your will.”

Ithobal went to the door of the tent, and commanded the sentries who stood without to suffer none to disturb him or draw near.  Then he returned and said:—­