When, once more he had eaten and was conducted from his tent, Menon found the camp astir with the life and bustle of moving warriors, of shifting sentinels, and horsemen who led their steeds to water and provided feed. Through groves of palms he could see a vast array of tents which stretched away to the uttermost edges of the green oasis, while on the plains beyond white clouds of riders wheeled and darted to and fro. The great red sun arose, and with its coming Menon and his men-at-arms were led before Arabia's Prince.
Boabdul Ben Hutt stood waiting in the opening of his royal tent, a youth of lordly mien, with a proud, disdainful beauty stamped upon his beardless face. About his head was wound the folds of a milk-white turban whose tall aigret was caught in the clasp of a splendid emerald. His robe was wrought with precious gems and threads of gold, while a jeweled scimitar swung from his studded belt.
In Assyria's tongue he greeted Menon and his followers, bidding them welcome to his couch and board, for the Prince was schooled in the speech of many lands. He questioned them as to the health of the King, their master, and sought to know if the messengers had rested from their tedious march; and then, when the rind of courtesy was pealed away, Boabdul demanded that the meat of Assyria's quest be laid upon the palate of his understanding.
So Menon spoke as Ninus had desired, calmly, craftily, setting forth the marked advantage of a union with his lord. He touched with truth upon Assyria's wants, yet pointed out Arabia's crying needs. He laid the terms of treaty before the Prince till the scales of justice balanced to a grain of sand; then, he called Boabdul brother in his monarch's name and asked for stallions from the plains of Barbary.
The Arab listened in the patience of his race, albeit a frown of anger now rode upon his brow, while his fingers fluttered about the hilt of his keen-edged scimitar. When Menon ceased to speak Boabdul spurned the gifts of Ninus with his foot and loosed the bridle of his fiery tongue.
"What!" he stormed. "Is Arabia's Prince an owl? Shall he blink at the glory of Assyria's sun, while foxes pluck out feathers from his tail? My stallions! No! Go back to thy master who would pillage where he conquereth not, and lead him a bridled jackal for his stud. Go! Say that Boabdul knoweth not a brother of his name, and bear him as my gift thy two palms heaped with dust!"
