But Renny was far more interested in the figure of the Syrian, his countrywoman.
What heartless parent had sold that drooping figure into harsh captivity? What disastrous war had resulted in her present plight? Or had this hook-nosed Semite filched her from her nest high up above some gentle Syrian valley?
The sculptor’s heart ached for her. Thoughts of his own beloved vineyard flashed through his mind. For an instant he visualized the purple hills which encircled Ribba, his native village, the clear blue sky, the sparkling stream, his father’s white-walled house and the little temple which stood, well nigh hidden, near the edge of an ancient grove.
Poor little exile! Never had Renny so longed for power, for heavy golden _uten_, as he did at that moment. Instinctively he gripped the single bar that encircled his left wrist. He smiled sadly. Fifty, nay, a hundred such, might not buy her freedom, and this single golden bar represented the fruits of two years’ untiring labor under the patronage of a great, if capricious, noble.
Suddenly his gaze riveted itself more intently upon the drooping figure of the Syrian woman. It could not be! Yes! He knew her! ’Twas Bhanar, a maid of Ribba, of Ribba itself, his dear Syrian village!
Could his eyes have played him false? He sauntered carelessly toward the Phoenician vessel. Yes! It was Bhanar, playmate of his boyhood, Bhanar whom his dead sister had loved so devotedly.
In vain he sought to attract her attention. Finally, through an inspiration, Renny turned towards the east and gave the shrill cry of the Syrian hillmen when danger threatened.
The effect was instantaneous. Bhanar’s drooping form slowly raised itself. Astonishment, joy and instant recognition passed rapidly over her beautiful face.
She had seen him; she knew him! With a warning gesture Renny slowly reclimbed the embankment.
How to save her? To whom could he turn for help?
His master—the noble Menna? Small hope there! The Queen-Mother, herself a Syrian? Yes, he would attempt to reach the ear of the powerful Queen-Mother herself!
To do so, he must act quickly. Yakab, her Syrian chancellor, should be seen and quickly. Yakab was an importation of the Queen-Mother, and a favorite of hers.