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Updated: May 1, 2025
The slave bent before the lad. "How wast thou where I saw thee?" demanded Heraklas. "I was attending to the salted quail. Thou knowest they are drying on the roof," explained Athribis, meekly. Heraklas felt compelled to accept the excuse. There were quail drying, according to the custom of lower Egypt. "But what was it that I read in his face, as he looked down at me?" Heraklas asked himself.
Athribis bent eagerly forward, scanning one worn countenance after another. "Hold the light this way more this side here!" he said. Athribis laid his hand on one sleeper's shoulder, and turned him, slightly. "This is he!" joyfully exclaimed Athribis. "This is he! I had feared he was not among these, after all. This is he! I would know him anywhere! I never saw that brand, though.
They think I am guarding these prisoners safely." "Small time wilt thou spend guarding them, if thou knowest where aught is to drink!" responded Athribis sarcastically. "How much hast thou drank today?" The wearied Timokles slumbered on, regardless of the light and talking. Back in the dark, Heraklas clasped his hands. A mighty sob rose in his throat. The Christian was indeed Timokles!
A quiver passed over his lips. Athribis reminded him of home. "Is my mother here?" asked Timokles. A sorrow deeper than tears looked from his eyes. Athribis smiled. "Thy mother!" he said. The tone was a sufficient answer. Timokles' eyes fell. "Thou wilt never see her again," went on Athribis. "Thy mother hateth thee! She is faithful to Egypt's gods, if thou art not!
If only he could lay hands on that very papyrus! If he could have time to show it to somebody who could read! Deeply had Athribis regretted that he had not been more cautious in his first spying. But now, what hope was there? Athribis had set some of the other slaves of the house to watch, but they had discovered nothing save the old papyri that bad been in the house for years.
Thou art worthy to be forever praised by holy voices, O Son of God; thou givest life to us, And therefore doth the world glorify thee." Mocking cries arose from the mob. Not daring to linger longer, Athribis ran out of the house, and hastened homeward, full of apprehension as to what might await him.
The sight of any papyrus, however, had been distasteful to him since the night of his adventure on the roof, but he thought the papyri of that escapade safely burned long ago. He knew that Heraklas' mother had ordered those destroyed that were found on the roof. Athribis supposed the one also burnt that had fallen into the court. What else should have become of it?
I was gone but a moment! Surely she cannot know! If I find treasure in my rolls, I will give some to the slave by the threshold. Surely, treasure is as dumbness to a man!" The footsteps of the mother of Heraklas drew near. The servant bowed over his work, and dared not lift his eyes. She did not stop! And Athribis looked breathlessly after the woman, as she passed majestically on.
"I go to the market to get some lentiles," glibly replied Athribis; and, passing, he quickly gained the portal and the street. "One, may find that which is better than lentiles," Athribis communed with himself, as he wound hither and thither through the excited crowds. "Should a Christian have jewels, and I none? I, who am faithful to the gods!"
Thus his heart was at Athribis, his backbone at Busiris, his neck at Letopolis, and his head at Memphis. As often happens in such cases, some of his divine limbs were miraculously multiplied. His head, for example, was at Abydos as well as at Memphis, and his legs, which were remarkably numerous, would have sufficed for several ordinary mortals. In this respect, however, Osiris was nothing to St.
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