Indeed, the ragged frantic crew did not question for one moment
that he was a member of the Clan of Priests, the Clan which
from time out of numbering had given rulers for the land, and even
in their loudest clamours they freely acknowledged his powers.
"You may kill us with your magic, if you choose," they screamed at
him. But stubbornly they refused to come back to their old
allegiance. "We have suffered too many things these later years,"
they cried. "We are done with rulers now for always."

But for myself I saw the old man with a different emotion.
Here was Zaemon that was father to Nais, Zaemon that had seen me
yesterday seated on the divan at Phorenice's elbow, and who to-day
could denounce me as Deucalion if so he chose. These rebels had
expended a navy in their wish to kill me four days earlier, and if
they knew of my nearness, even though Nais were my advocate, her
cold reasoning would have had little chance of an audience now.
The High Gods who keep the tether of our lives hide Their secrets
well, but I did not think it impious to be sure that mine was very
near the cutting then.

The beautiful woman saw this too. She even went so far as to
twine her fingers in mine and press them as a farewell, and I
pressed hers in return, for I was sorry enough not to see her more.
Still I could not help letting my thoughts travel with a grim
gloating over the fine mound of dead I should build before these
ragged, unskilled rebels pulled me down. And it was inevitable
this should be so. For of all the emotions that can ferment in the
human heart, the joy of strife is keenest, and none but an old
fighter, face to face with what must necessarily be his final