The priest led the children up the steps till they all stood before the throne; and then, suddenly, he fell on his face with hands outstretched. The others did the same, Anthea falling very carefully because of the Psammead.
“Raise them,” said the voice of Pharaoh, “that they may speak to me.”
The officers of the King’s household raised them.
“Who are these strangers?” Pharaoh asked, and added very crossly, “And what do you mean, Rekh-marā, by daring to come into my presence while your innocence is not established?”
“Oh, great King,” said the young priest, “you are the very image of Rā, and the likeness of his son Horus in every respect. You know the thoughts of the hearts of the gods and of men, and you have divined that these strangers are the children of the children of the vile and conquered Kings of the Empire where the sun never sets. They know a magic not known to the Egyptians. And they come with gifts in their hands as tribute to Pharaoh, in whose heart is the wisdom of the gods, and on his lips their truth.”
“That is all very well,” said Pharaoh, “but where are the gifts?”
The children, bowing as well as they could in their embarrassment at finding themselves the centre of interest in a circle more grand, more golden and more highly coloured than they could have imagined possible, pulled out the padlock, the _Nécessaire_, and the tie-clip. “But it’s not tribute all the same,” Cyril muttered. “England doesn’t pay tribute!”
Pharaoh examined all the things with great interest when the chief of the household had taken them up to him. “Deliver them to the Keeper of the Treasury,” he said to one near him. And to the children he said—
“A small tribute, truly, but strange, and not without worth. And the magic, O Rekh-marā?”
“These unworthy sons of a conquered nation...” began Rekh-marā.
“Nothing of the kind!” Cyril whispered angrily.
“... of a vile and conquered nation, can make fire to spring from dry wood—in the sight of all.”
“I should jolly well like to see them do it,” said Pharaoh, just as the priest had done.
“Do more magic,” said the King, with simple appreciation.
“He cannot do any more magic,” said Anthea suddenly, and all eyes were turned on her, “because of the voice of the free people who are shouting for bread and onions and beer and a long mid-day rest. If the people had what they wanted, he could do more.”