But neither desert glare nor flashing water could detain Prince Menna. Within the hour Atum, the evening sun, would sink below the southern hills; the cool north breeze would spring up, as was its custom. Menna’s chair-bearers had stood before his villa door an hour ahead of time. Bentu, their chief, placed his hands upon his heart and gazed heavenward, simulating the ardent lover. Another love-affair, without a doubt. Such missions meant _uten_, necklaces or rings; a spree at Hentiu’s at any rate, and Bentu loved the very sight of a bursting wine-skin! Bentu’s speculations were interrupted by the sudden appearance of the doorkeeper. With a knowing wink at Bentu the latter obsequiously bowed, as Menna strode through the curtained door. Another moment and Menna, Superintendent of the King’s estates, high above the shoulders of six stalwart Nubians, was borne swiftly along the highway which led to the northern end of the curving Theban Plain. Taking his cue from the gorgeous costume scarcely concealed beneath his master’s fringed and brightly colored Syrian cloak, Bentu launched into one of Ata’s love-songs. His grinning comrades punctuated each verse with a staccato “ha-ha, o-ay!” Menna sank back against his cushions; he smiled. It pleased him that this black shadow of his had divined his mission. Nay, Menna felt himself so at peace with the world that he gave command to allow a peasant’s all too-heavily laden donkey to pass unchallenged, an unheard of proceeding on the part of a Theban noble! Bentu’s hopes rose. Under such circumstances all things were possible. He might receive a jeweled necklace, golden bars; a small farm, perhaps. Indeed, Bentu’s expectations assumed so rosy an aspect, that he broke into a dance, clapping his hands or snapping his fingers in time to his leapings and posturings, quite in the manner of the Nubians, the curly-headed people to the south. With the sudden disappearance of the swollen sun-disk behind the deep blue hills of Erment, song and dance abruptly ceased. Menna indicated that he would descend from his chair, and all, master and men together, addressed a short prayer for the success of the Sun-god in his ceaseless conflict with Apep, Fiend of Darkness. Piety was a habit with Menna, as with Bentu and the rest. This done, once more Menna’s chair swung along the high embankment. Once again the warning shouts or blows from the forked staff of Bentu kept the narrow way free. Arrived before the tree-set entrance to the Temple of Thothmes, Menna left his servants and continued westward, past Amenhotep the Second’s temple, on foot. Soon his tall figure was lost among the groves of cedars, karobs and acacias with which the tomb precincts of the nobles Senmut, Ra, and Rekmara, were thickly planted.