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."