“It may be so,” answered Aziel, “yet I would rather die than do it, and may my curse lie heavy upon the heads of those who have so wrought that it must be done.  Now, I pray you, deliver this scroll into the hands of her you know, and bring me the answer if there be any, betraying it to none, for I will double whatever sum is offered for that treachery.”

“Have no fear, Prince,” said Metem quietly, but without taking offence, “this errand is undertaken for friendship, not for profit.  The risk is mine alone; the gain—­or loss—­is yours.”

*****

An hour later the Phoenician stood in the palace of the gods, demanding, under permit from Sakon, governor of the city, to be admitted into the presence of the Baaltis, to whom he desired to sell certain sacred images cunningly fashioned in gold.  Presently it was announced that he was allowed to approach, and the officers of the temple led him through guarded passages, to the private chambers of the priestesses.  Here he found Elissa in a long, low hall, sweet with scented woods, rich with gold, and supported by pillars of cedar.

She was seated alone at the far end of this hall, beneath the window-plate, clad in her white robes of office, richly broidered with emblems of the moon.  Her women, most of whom were employed in needle-work, though some whispered idly to each other, were gathered at the lower end of the hall near to its door.

Metem saluted them as he entered, and they detained him, answering his greeting by requests for news and with jests, not too refined, or by demands for presents of jewels, in return for which they promised him the blessings of the goddess.  To each he made some apt reply, for even the priestesses of Baaltis could not abash Metem.  But while he bandied words, his quick eyes noted one of their number who did not join in this play.  She was a spare, thin-lipped woman whom he knew for Mesa, the daughter of the dead Baaltis, who had been a rival candidate for the throne of the high-priestess when Elissa was chosen in her place.

When he entered the hall Mesa was seated upon a canvas stool, a little apart from the others, her chin resting upon her hand, staring with an evil look towards the place where Elissa was enthroned.  Nor did her face grow more gentle at the sight of the cunning merchant, for she knew well it was through his plots and bribery that she had been ousted from her mother’s place.

“A woman to be feared,” thought Metem to himself as, shaking off the priestesses, he passed her upon his way up the long chamber.  Presently he had reached the end of it, and was saluting the presence of the Baaltis by kneeling and touching the carpet with his brow.

“Rise, Metem,” said Elissa, “and set out your business, for the hour of the sunset prayer is at hand, and I cannot talk long with you.”

So he rose, and, looking at her while he laid out his store of images, saw that her face was sad, and that her eyes were full of a strange fear.