“You mean that our people will kill me?”

“No, not our people.  Still you will die.”

She took a step towards him, and looked him in the eyes.

“You are certain that I shall die, my uncle?”

“I am, or at least others are certain.”

Now she laughed; it was the first time I had seen her laugh for several moons.

“Then I will stay here,” she said.

Jabez stared at her.

“I thought that you loved this Egyptian, who indeed is worthy of any woman’s love,” he muttered into his beard.

“Perhaps it is because I love him that I wish to die.  I have given him all I have to give; there is nothing left of my poor treasure except what will bring trouble and misfortune on his head.  Therefore the greater the love—­and it is more great than all those pyramids massed to one—­the greater the need that it should be buried for a while.  Do you understand?”

He shook his head.

“I understand only that you are a very strange woman, different from any other that I have known.”

“My child, who was slain with the rest, was all the world to me, and I would be where he is.  Do you understand now?”

“You would leave your life, in which, being young, you may have more children, to lie in a tomb with your dead son?” he asked slowly, like one astonished.

“I only care for life while it can serve him whom I love, and if a day comes when he sits upon the throne how will a daughter of the hated Israelites serve him then?  Also I do not wish for more children.  Living or dead, he that is gone owns all my heart; there is no room in it for others.  That love at least is pure and perfect, and having been embalmed by death, can never change.  Moreover, it is not in a tomb that I shall lie with him, or so I believe.  The faith of these Egyptians which we despise tells of a life eternal in the heavens, and thither I would go to seek that which is lost, and to wait that which is left behind awhile.”

“Ah!” said Jabez.  “For my part I do not trouble myself with these problems, who find in a life temporal on the earth enough to fill my thoughts and hands.  Yet, Merapi, you are a rebel, and whether in heaven or on earth, how are rebels received by the king against whom they have rebelled?”

“You say I am rebel,” she said, turning on him with flashing eyes.  “Why?  Because I would not dishonour myself by marrying a man I hate, one also who is a murderer, and because while I live I will not desert a man whom I love to return to those who have done me naught but evil.  Did God then make women to be sold like cattle of the field for the pleasure and the profit of him who can pay the highest?”

“It seems so,” said Jabez, spreading out his hands.

“It seems that you think so, who fashion God as you would wish him to be, but for my part I do not believe it, and if I did, I should seek another king.  My uncle, I appeal from the priest and the elder to That which made both them and me, and by Its judgment I will stand or fall.”