The Cat of Bubastes (Historical Novel). G. A. Henty

the line, and Amuba saw that he was going to choose another, and threw himself on his knees before him.

      “Will my lord pardon my boldness,” he said, “but may I implore you to choose yonder man who stood next beside me? He has been my friend from childhood, he covered me with his shield in battle, he has been a father to me since I have lost my own. Do not, I implore you, my lord, separate us now. You will find us both willing to labor at whatsoever you may give us to do.”

      The priest listened gravely.

      “It shall be as you wish,” he said; “it is the duty of every man to give pleasure to those around him if it lies in his power, and as your friend is a man of thews and sinews, and has a frank and honest face, he will assuredly suit me as well as another; do you therefore both follow me to my house.”

      The other captives saluted Amuba as he and Jethro turned to follow. The priest observed the action, and said to the lad:

      “Were you a person of consequence among your people that they thus at parting salute you rather than your comrade, who is older than you?”

      “I am the son of him who was their king,” Amuba said. “He fell in action with your troops, and had not our city been taken, and the nation subdued by the Egyptians, I should have inherited the throne.”

      “Is it so?” the priest said. “Truly the changes and fortunes of life are strange. I wonder that, being the son of their king, you were not specially kept by Thotmes himself.”

      “I think that he knew it not,” Amuba said. “We knew not your customs, and my fellow-captives thought that possibly I might be put to death were it known that I was a son of their king, and therefore abstained from all outward marks of respect, which, indeed, would to one who was a slave like themselves have been ridiculous.”

      “Perhaps it is best so,” the priest said thoughtfully. “You would not have been injured, for we do not slay our captives taken in war; still maybe your life will be easier to bear as the servant of a priest than in the household of the king. You had better, however, mention to no one the rank you have borne, for it might be reported to the king, and then you might be sent for to the palace; unless indeed you would rather be a spectator of the pomp and gayety of the court than a servant in a quiet household.”

      “I would far rather remain with you, my lord,” Amuba said eagerly. “You have already shown the kindness of your heart by granting my request, and choosing my comrade Jethro as my fellow-slave, and I feel already that my lot will be a far happier one than I had ventured to hope.”

      “Judge not hastily by appearances,” the priest said. “At the same time, here in Egypt, slaves are not treated as they are among the wild peoples of Nubia and the desert. There is a law for all, and he who kills a slave is punished as if he took the life of an Egyptian. However, I think I can say that your life will not be a hard one; you have intelligence, as is shown by the fact that you have so rapidly acquired sufficient knowledge of our tongue to speak it intelligibly. Can you, too, speak our language?” he asked Jethro.

      “I can speak a little,” Jethro said; “but not nearly so well as Amuba. My lips are too old to fashion a strange tongue as rapidly as can his younger ones.”

      “You speak sufficiently well to understand,” the priest said, “and doubtless will in time acquire our tongue perfectly. This is my house.”

      The priest entered an imposing gateway, on each side of which stretched a long and lofty wall. At a distance of fifty yards from the gate stood a large dwelling, compared to which the royal abode which Amuba had been brought up in was but a miserable hut. Inclosed within the walls was a space of ground some three hundred yards square, which was laid out as a garden. Avenues of fruit trees ran all round it, a portion was laid out as a vineyard, while separated from the rest by an avenue of palm trees was a vegetable garden.

      In front of the house was a large piece of water in which floated a gayly-painted boat; aquatic plants of all kinds bordered its edges. Graceful palms grouped their foliage over it, the broad flat leaves of lilies floated on its surface, while the white flowers which Amuba had seen carried in all the religious processions and by large numbers of people of the upper rank, and which he heard were called the lotus, rose above them. The two captives were struck with surprise and admiration at the beauty of the scene, and forgot for a moment that they were slaves as they looked round at a vegetation more beautiful than they had ever beheld. A smile passed over the countenance of the priest.

      “Perfect happiness is for no man,” he said, “and yet methinks that you may in time learn at least contentment here.”

      Chapter IV.

       An Easy Servitude.

       Table of Contents

      Just as the priest finished speaking, a lad of about the same age as Amuba appeared at the portico of the house, and ran down to his father.

      “Oh, father!” he exclaimed, “have you brought two of those strange captives home? We saw them in the procession, and marveled greatly at the color of their hair and eyes. Mysa and I particularly noticed this lad, whose hair is almost the color of gold.”

      “As usual, Chebron, your tongue outruns your discretion. This youth understands enough Egyptian to know what you are saying, and it is not courteous to speak of a person’s characteristics to his face.”

      The lad flushed through his olive cheeks.

      “Pardon me,” he said courteously to Amuba. “I did not think for a moment that one who had but newly arrived among us understood our language.”

      “Do not apologize,” Amuba replied with a smile. “Doubtless our appearance is strange to you, and indeed even among the peoples of Lydia and Persia there are few whose hair and eyes are as fair as ours. Even had you said that you did not like our appearance I should not have felt hurt, for all people I think like that to which they are accustomed; in any case, it is good of you to say that you regret what you said; people do not generally think that captives have feelings.”

      “Chebron’s apology was right,” his father said. “Among us politeness is the rule, and every Egyptian is taught to be considerate to all people. It is just as easy to be polite as to be rude, and men are served better for love than for fear.”

      “And are they to stay here, father,” Chebron asked, “or have you only brought them for to-day?”

      “They are to stay here, my son. I have chosen them from those set aside for our temple. I selected the younger because he was about your age, and it is good for a man to have one near him who has been brought up with him, and is attached to him; who, although circumstances may not have made them equal in condition, can yet be a comrade and a friend, and such, I hope, you will find in Amuba, for such he tells me is his name. I have said whom circumstances have placed in an inferior position, for after all circumstances are everything. This youth, in his own country, held a position even higher than you do here, for he was the son of the king; and, since his father fell in battle, would now be the king of his people had they not been subjected to us. Therefore, Chebron, bear it always in mind that although misfortune has placed him a captive among us, he is in birth your superior, and treat him as you yourself would wish to be treated did you fall a captive into the hands of a hostile nation.”

      “I will gladly treat you as my friend,” the young Egyptian said frankly to Amuba. “Although you are so different from me in race, I can see in your face that you are true and loyal. Besides,” he added, “I am sure that my father would not have bade me so trust you had he not read your character and been certain that you will be a fit friend for me.”

      “You and your father are both good,” Amuba replied. “I know how hard is the lot of captives taken in war, for we Rebu had many slaves whom we took in various expeditions, and I was prepared to suffer. You can judge, then, how grateful I feel to our gods that they have placed me in hands so different from those I had looked for,