Egypt -- History -- Fiction; German fiction -- Translations into English
She then explained that the man, being such a good linguist, had already
been offered an engagement to conduct a caravan to Ctesiphon. This
would be a year’s pay to him, and he was not inclined to break off his
negotiations with the merchant Hanno and search the deserts of Arabia
Petraea for less than two thousand drachmae.
“Two thousand drachmae!” echoed Paula, looking down in distress
and confusion; but she presently looked up and exclaimed with angry
determination: “How dare they keep from me that which is my own? If my
uncle refuses what I have to ask, and will ask, then the inevitable must
happen, though for his sake it will grieve me; I must put my affairs in
the hands of the judges.”
“The judges?” Perpetua smiled. “But you cannot lay a complaint without
your kyrios, and your uncle is yours. Besides: before they have settled
the matter the messenger may have been to Ctesiphon and back, far as it
is.”
Again her nurse entreated her to have patience till the horse-fair
should be over. Paula fixed her eyes on the ground. She seemed quite
crushed; but Perpetua started violently and Hiram drew back a step when
she suddenly broke out in a loud, joyful cry of “Father in Heaven, I
have what we need!”
“How, child, what?” asked the nurse, pressing her hand to her heart. But
Paula vouchsafed no information; she turned quickly to the Syrian:
“Is the outer court-yard clear yet? Are the people gone?” she asked.
The reply was in the affirmative. The freed servants had retired when
Hiram left them. The officials would not break up for some time yet, but
there was less difficulty in passing them.
“Very good,” said the girl. “Then you, Hiram, lead the way and wait for
me by the little side door. I will give you something in my room
which will pay the Nabathaean’s charges ten times over. Do not look so
horrified, Betta. I will give him the large emerald out of my mother’s
necklace.” The woman clasped her hands, and cried out in dismay and
warning.
“Child, child! That splendid gem! an heirloom in the family--that stone
which came to you from the saintly Emperor Theodosius--to sell that of
all things! Nay-to throw it away; not to rescue your father either,
but merely--yes child, for that is the truth, merely because you lack
patience to wait two little weeks!”
“That is hard, that is unjust, Betta,” Paula broke in reprovingly. “It
will be a question of a month, and we all know how much depends on
the messenger. Do you forget how highly Hiram spoke of this very man’s
intelligence? And besides--must I, the younger, remind you?--What is the
life of man? An instant may decide his life or death; and my father is
an old man, scarred from many wounds even before the siege. It may make
just the difference between our meeting, or never meeting again.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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