there
is a man I would help. When I got to the little one there, she told me
how much money the leech Nebsecht had given her, and offered to give it
me to save Pentaur; then it passed through my mind--that may go to Hum's
children, and in return he will let himself be shipped off to Ethiopia.
I ran to the harbor, spoke to the man, found him ready and willing, gave
the money to his wife, and at night when the prisoners were shipped I
contrived the exchange Pentaur came with me on my boat under the name of
the other, and Huni went to the south, and was called Pentaur. I had not
deceived the man into thinking he would stop at Chennu. I told him he
would be taken on to Ethiopia, for it is always impossible to play a man
false when you know it is quite easy to do it. It is very strange! It is
a real pleasure to cheat a cunning fellow or a sturdy man, but who would
take in a child or a sick person? Huni certainly would have gone
into the fire-pots of hell without complaining, and he left me quite
cheerfully. The rest, and how we got here, you yourselves know. In Syria
at this time of year you will suffer a good deal from rain. I know the
country, for I have escorted many prisoners of war into Egypt, and I was
there five years with the troops of the great Mohar, father of the chief
pioneer Paaker."

Bent-Anat thanked the brave fellow, and Pentaur and Nebsecht continued
the narrative.

"During the voyage," said Nebsecht, "I was uneasy about Pentaur, for I
saw how he was pining, but in the desert he seemed to rouse himself,
and often whispered sweet little songs that he had composed while we
marched."

"That is strange," said Bent-Anat, "for I also got better in the
desert."

"Repeat the verses on the Beytharan plant," said Nebsecht.

"Do you know the plant?" asked the poet. "It grows here in many places;
here it is. Only smell how sweet it is if you bruise the fleshy stem and
leaves. My little verse is simple enough; it occurred to me like many
other songs of which you know all the best."

"They all praise the same Goddess," said Nebsecht laughing.

"But let us have the verses," said Bent-Anat. The poet repeated in a low
voice:

"How often in the desert I have seen
The small herb, Beytharan, in modest green!
In every tiny leaf and gland and hair
Sweet perfume is distilled, and scents the air.
How is it that in barren sandy ground
This little plant so sweet a gift has