THE COURT OF BETROTHAL "Life! Blood! Strength!" echoed everyone in the great hall, falling to their knees and bending their foreheads to the ground.

Even the Prince and the aged Bakenkhonsu prostrated themselves thus as though before the presence of a god.

And, indeed, Pharaoh Meneptah, passing through the patch of sunlight at the head of the hall, wearing the double crown upon his head and arrayed in royal robes and ornaments, looked like a god, no less, as the multitude of the people of Egypt held him to be.

He was an old man with the face of one worn by years and care, but from his person majesty seemed to flow.
With him, walking a step or two behind, went Nehesi his Vizier, a shrivelled, parchment-faced officer whose cunning eyes rolled about the place, and Roy the High-priest, and Hora the Chamberlain of the Table, and Meranu the Washer of the King's Hands, and Yuy the private scribe, and many others whom Bakenkhonsu named to me as they appeared.

Then there were fan-bearers and a gorgeous band of lords who were called King's Companions and Head Butlers and I know not who besides, and after these guards with spears and helms that shone like god, and black swordsmen from the southern land of Kesh.
But one woman accompanied his Majesty, walking alone immediately behind him in front of the Vizier and the High-priest.