“Men and horses are exhausted,” he said, “and we shall get on very slowly in the dark.  Let the beasts feed for an hour, and the men get rested and warm; by that time the moon will be up, and we shall make up for the delay by having fresh horses, and light enough to see the road.”

“The man is right,” said Horus; and he led Kaschta to a cave in the rocks, where barley and dates for the horses, and a few jars of wine, had been preserved.  They soon had lighted a fire, and while some of the men took care of the horses, and others cooked a warm mess of victuals, Horus and Pentaur walked up and down impatiently.

“Had you been long bound in those thongs when we came?” asked Pentaur.

“Yesterday my brother fell upon me,” replied Horus.  “He is by this time a long way ahead of us, and if he joins the Cheta, and we do not reach the Egyptian camp before daybreak, all is lost.”

“Paaker, then, is plotting treason?”

“Treason, the foulest, blackest treason!” exclaimed the young man.  “Oh, my lost father!—­”

“Confide in me,” said Pentaur going up to the unhappy youth who had hidden his face in his hands.  “What is Paaker plotting?  How is it that your brother is your enemy?”

“He is the elder of us two,” said Horus with a trembling voice.  “When my father died I had only a short time before left the school of Seti, and with his last words my father enjoined me to respect Paaker as the head of our family.  He is domineering and violent, and will allow no one’s will to cross his; but I bore everything, and always obeyed him, often against my better judgment.  I remained with him two years, then I went to Thebes, and there I married, and my wife and child are now living there with my mother.  About sixteen months afterwards I came back to Syria, and we travelled through the country together; but by this time I did not choose to be the mere tool of my brother’s will, for I had grown prouder, and it seemed to me that the father of my child ought not to be subservient, even to his own brother.  We often quarrelled, and had a bad time together, and life became quite unendurable, when—­about eight weeks since—­Paaker came back from Thebes, and the king gave him to understand that he approved more of my reports than of his.  From my childhood I have always been softhearted and patient; every one says I am like my mother; but what Paaker made me suffer by words and deeds, that is—­I could not—­” His voice broke, and Pentaur felt how cruelly he had suffered; then he went on again: 

“What happened to my brother in Egypt, I do not know, for he is very reserved, and asks for no sympathy, either in joy or in sorrow; but from words he has dropped now and then I gather that he not only bitterly hates Mena, the charioteer—­who certainly did him an injury—­but has some grudge against the king too.  I spoke to him of it at once, but only once, for his rage is unbounded when he is provoked, and after all he is my elder brother.