In fact, Charmian, conscious that no one else at court would have ventured to do so, had never grown weary, spite of many a rebuff, of pleading Barine’s cause until, the day before, Cleopatra, in a sudden fit of anger, had commanded her not to mention the mischief-maker again.

When Charmian soon after requested permission to let Iras take her place the following day, the Queen already regretted the harsh reproof she had given her friend, and, while cordially granting the desired leave, begged her to attribute her angry impatience to the cares which burdened her.  “And when you show me your kind, faithful face again,” she concluded, “you will have remembered that a true friend withholds from an unhappy woman whom she loves whatever will shadow more deeply her already clouded life.  This Barine’s very name sounds like a jeer at the composure I maintain with so much difficulty.  I do not wish to hear it again.”

The words were uttered in a tone so affectionate and winning, that Charmian’s vexation melted like ice in the sun.  Yet she left the Queen’s presence anxious and troubled; for ere she quitted the room Cleopatra remarked that she had committed the singer’s affairs to Alexas.  She was now doubly eager to obtain a day’s freedom, for she knew the unprincipled favourite’s feelings towards the young beauty, and longed to discuss with Archibius the best means of guarding her from the worst perils.

When at a late hour she went to rest, she was served by the Nubian maid, who had accompanied her to the court from her parents’ home.  She came from the Cataract, where she had been bought when the family of Alypius accompanied the child Cleopatra to the island of Philae.  Anukis was given to Charmian, who at the time was just entering womanhood, as the first servant who was her sole property, and she had proved so clever, skilful, apt to learn, and faithful, that her mistress took her, as her personal attendant, to the palace.

Charmian’s warm, unselfish love for the Queen was equalled by Anukis’s devotion to the mistress who had long since made her free, and had become so strongly attached to her that the Nubian’s interests were little less regarded than her own.  Her sound, keen judgment and natural wit had gained a certain renown in the palace, and as Cleopatra often condescended to rouse her to an apt answer, Antony had done so, too; and since the slight crook in the back, which she had from childhood, had grown into a hump, he gave her the name of Aisopion—­the female AEsop.  All the Queen’s attendants now used it, and though others of lower rank did the same, she permitted it, though her ready wit would have supplied her tongue with a retort sharp enough to respond to any word which displeased her.

But she knew the life and fables of AEsop, who had also once been a slave, and deemed it an honour to be compared with him.