Nebamon, typical eunuch and slave-dealer, handsome of face, obese to such an extent that the skin of his torso lay over his jeweled girdle in thick folds, Nebamon nodded his head as his great velvet eyes slowly appraised the many charms of the crouching maiden.
“Thy price, Baltu? And mark thee well! Should she turn out the shrew that fair-skinned Hittite Gadiya proved to be, she shall be returned, or never again will Baltu’s galley pass the northern frontier into Egypt! May the Hound eat her, she is still upon my hands, and like to be!”
“Great lord! Could I know the Hittite for a shrew. Remember, more than three months I had her on my book. With me, as with Darman, she was a very dove, as soft and cooing as the sacred doves of Hathor’s temple yonder! Nay, have done with Gadiya; we will speak of her anon. Thou wouldst know the price of Bhanar the Beautiful, of Bhanar—a daughter of Kings? There are perhaps four whose names allow the purchase of the maid, and these be Pharaoh himself, Rames, your good Vizier, Menna, the King’s Overseer, and, perhaps, thyself! One thousand gold _uten_ and five hundred bags of northern wheat will buy the maid, Nebamon! Make up thy mind, and quickly. Yonder I see approaching the carrying chair of thy most dreaded rival, Menna, son of Menna. What says my lord Nebamon?”
“Five hundred _uten_, Baltu; all I have is thine for the maid!” The handsome noble shot a hasty glance in the direction of the oncoming chair of Menna, the King’s Overseer. It was plainly visible to all present, as it swung up the garden path, two outrunners with slaves going before, a foreign conceit which Menna had imported from Naharin.
Nebamon drew from his jeweled girdle his writing set. He affected to write out a memorandum.
“One thousand _uten_ and five hundred bags of wheat will buy the maid, Nebamon, nothing less.”
Arriving just in time to hear the repetition of the price Menna descended from his chair, crossed the room and stood before the shrinking Bhanar. Menna never haggled. He bought outright or he signaled his bearers and was borne away without a word.
On this occasion Menna took a hasty look at Bhanar, turned to Baltu and cried: “Done, the girl is mine!”
With a scowl upon his handsome face Nebamon haughtily withdrew, followed by a half score of excited Theban nobles and the usual group of hangers on, those “flies on meat” who customarily attached themselves to the more reckless nobles of the resident city.