*****

At dawn upon the following day an embassy, headed by Sakon, governor of the city, in whose train were Metem and Aziel, went to the camp of Ithobal.  The mission of these envoys was to give the king answer to his suit, for he refused to come to Zimboe unless he were allowed to bring a larger force than it was thought prudent to admit into the city gates.  At some distance from the tents they halted, while messengers were sent forward inviting Ithobal to a conference on the plain, as it seemed scarcely safe to trust themselves within the stout thorn fence which had been built about the camp.  Metem, who said that he had no fear of the king, went with these men, and on reaching the zeriba was at once bidden to the pavilion of Ithobal.  He found the great man pacing its length sullenly.

“What seek you here, Phoenician?” he asked, glancing at him over his shoulder.

“My fee, King.  The king was pleased to promise me a hundred ounces of gold if I saved the life of the Lady Elissa.  I come, therefore, to assure him that my skill has prevailed against the poisoned arrow of that treacherous dog of the desert, which pierced her hand as she spoke with the prince Aziel the other night, and to claim my reward.  Here is a note of the amount,” and he produced his tablets.

“If half of what I hear is true, rogue,” answered Ithobal savagely, “the tormentor and the headsman alone could satisfy all my debt to you.  Say, merchant, what return have you made me for that sackful of gold which you bore hence some few days gone?”

“The best of all returns, King,” answered Metem cheerfully, although in truth he began to feel afraid.  “I have kept my word, and fulfilled the command of the king.  I have made it impossible that the prince Aziel should wed the daughter of Sakon.”

“Yes, rogue, you have made it impossible by causing her to be consecrated Baaltis, and thus building a barrier which even I shall find too hard to climb.  It is scarcely to be hoped that now she will choose me of her own will, and to offer violence to the Baaltis is a sacrilege from which any man—­yes, even a king—­may shrink, for such deeds draw the curse of Heaven.  Know that for this service I am minded to settle my account with you in a fashion of which you have not thought.  Have you heard, Phoenician, that the chiefs of certain of my tribes love to decorate their spear-shafts with the hide of white men, and to bray their flesh into a medicine which gives courage to its eater?”

With this pleasing and suggestive query Ithobal paused, and looked towards the door of the tent as though he were about to call his guard.

Now Metem’s blood ran cold, for he knew that this royal savage was not one who uttered idle threats.  Yet the coolness and cunning which had so often served him well did not fail him in his need.