Meanwhile, the king turned hither and thither, essayed to speak and
cautiously refrained, grew paler of face and wider of eye, panted,
trembled and broke out recklessly at last.
"Gods! Trapped! Hemmed like a wild beast in a circle of spears! Nay,
not so honestly beset. Ringed about by vipers ready to strike at every
step! And this from mine own people, whom I have cherished and hovered
over as they were my children--" His voice broke, but he continued his
lament, growing unintelligible as he talked:
"Not enough that mine enemies menace me, but mine own must stab me in
my straits! Not even is the identity of mine assassin revealed, and
there is none on whom I may call with safety and ask protection--"
"Nay, nay, Beloved of Ptah," Kenkenes interrupted. "There be true men
among thy courtiers."
"Not one--not one whom I may trust," Meneptah declared hysterically.
"Here am I, then."
Meneptah, with the inordinate suspicion of the hard-pressed, backed
hurriedly away from Kenkenes.
"Who art thou?" he demanded. "How may I know thou art not mine enemy?"
"Not so," Kenkenes protested. "Give me ear, I pray thee. Would I have
brought thee thy warning, knowing it such, were I thine enemy? And
further, did not Jambres, the mystic, who readeth men's souls, trust
me?"
"Aye, so it seems," the king admitted, glad to be won by such physical
magnificence.
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