"Let me hide speedily!" Timokles warned himself.
He ran, but shouts arose behind, and before he could conceal
himself, two men came running after him. The woman's shrill cry was
audible. The men came up with Timokles, and laying hold of him in a
manner not wholly rough but still imperative; they brought him back
with them to the spot where the woman still stood.
The three looked at him with curious yet not wholly unfriendly eyes,
and Timokles felt relieved on seeing that he was not recognized as
any one whom they had seen before. This spot was so far from that on
which the building stood where he had been given to the leopard,
that the lad concluded these people had not witnessed that scene.
Pentaur's caravan would have left the oasis before now. Probably the
merchant was about to renew his journey at the time of his visit to
the leopard's den.
The woman pointed to Timokles' branded cheek. Taking heart from the
apparent lack of real hostility in the manner of his captors,
Timokles asked for something to eat. He was understood, and the
three, taking Timokles, turned from the hills, and proceeded
eastward, till, coming to a black tent near some palms, the woman
went in and brought Timokles some barley cakes.
While the boy ate, the two men, still watching him, betook
themselves to work. They seemed to be makers of idols. The father
was carving a small wooden statuette of the god Thoth. The son
worked on a larger idol, the goddess Apet, or Thoueris, in the shape
of a hippopotamus walking upright on hind feet. The idol was of
green serpentine, and the mother watched with evident pride the
skill with which her son worked.
Timokles moved to rise, and instantly the suspicious eyes of the
young hippopotamus-sculptor flashed. The father dropped his
statuette, and, fiercely springing forward, forced Timokles to the
ground, bound him, and went back to the carving of the ibis-head of
Thoth.
Beneath the hand of the younger idol-maker, the hippopotamus grew in
hideous perfection. Helplessly Timokles watched the process. The
mouth of the hippopotamus-goddess was almost shut, but the teeth of
the lower jaw were visible, and it was upon their making, as well as
upon that of the wide nostrils, that the young man was expending his
skill. The huge ears of the goddess descended on the fore-feet,
which were placed on the sides of the upright animal, as a man's
arms hang by his sides when he walks, and from each of the
hippopotamus' arms there descended to the level of her feet the
Egyptian emblem of protection, called "Sa."
As Timokles looked at those emblems of protection, a new thought
grew within him.
"Women will worship that hippopotamus-goddess and think themselves
safe! I worship the God of heaven, and yet I am afraid! Shall I not
put as much trust in the delivering, protecting power of my God, as
the idol-worshiper will put in this hippopotamus?"
There came the sound of hurried footsteps, and a young girl ran by
the black tent, and spoke gayly to the woman. From the resemblance
of the maiden to the worker on the hippopotamus, Timokles had no
doubt she was his sister. But when the girl, turning her brilliant,
laughing face toward Timokles, first saw him, her dark eyes dilated
with a look of startled horror.
Timokles knew, as well as if she had spoken, that she was one of
those who had seen him dragged to the leopard's home. He looked
beseechingly at her now, as she stood transfixed, the shocked
expression deepening in her eyes. If she should say a word! Timokles
could feel himself tremble. She had thought him dead! She knew him!
If she should say so!
The silent appeal of Timokles' beseeching face seemed to find its
answer for the moment. The girl turned toward the work of the idol-makers.
No one beside Timokles had noticed her frightened gaze. Now,
with assumed carelessness, she watched her brother's busy fingers,
yet Timokles felt that her thoughts were of him. She had only to
speak; to say, "This is the Christian who was thrown to the
leopard," and father and son would drop their work, spring upon him,
drag him back all the way to the building from which he had escaped,
and toss him, bound and helpless, to the leopard.
It was not till nearly dark that the idol-makers ceased their work.
Having eaten dried dates and barley bread, the father and the son,
first tightening Timokles' thongs, went away in the direction of the
far distant village. During their absence, the girl came to
Timokles, bringing him water and dried dates.
"Tell me, O Christian," she whispered in the tongue of Egypt, "art
thou not he?"
She needed not to make the question more explicit.
"I am, O maiden," answered Timokles. The girl's awe-struck eyes
searched his face.
"Did thy God deliver thee?" she questioned, whispering still.
"Yea," replied Timokles reverently and truly. "Yea, O maiden, my God
delivered me from the leopard."
The girl looked alarmed. She drew back.
"Did he come to thee?" she asked in a terrified whisper. "O
Christian, no one ever before came back from the House of the
Leopard! O Christian; I am afraid of thy God!"
There was real terror in her voice. Timokles was moved with
compassion. He leaned forward, eager to explain to her the truth.
What should he say?
"He is a great God, the only God!" whispered Timokles, reverently.
"O maiden, he is not like an idol! He is the only God. Thou canst
not see him, yet he seeth and loveth thee. Speak to him, and he will
hear. He loveth us. He sent his Son to die for our sins. For that
Son's sake, O maiden, he will blot out our sins, if we entreat him.
O maiden, pray no more to idols! Lo, I tell you of the true God!"
He hardly knew whether she understood or not. She gazed at him as if
half comprehending his words, and then the fact of his having
returned from the House of the Leopard seemed to overwhelm every
other thought, and she murmured, "O Christian, I am afraid of thy
God and thee!"
She fled back to the black tent. Timokles' bound hands made but
awkward work of eating. He could hear the voices of the mother and
the daughter talking in the mother's tongue, but what they said he
knew not. Would the father or the son learn something about their
captive?
The voices hushed within the tent. The hours of sleep came on.
The night had grown black. There were footsteps audible.
"They have come back!" thought Timokles.
The father and the son had returned, and with them came another man.
Timokles heard and understood something of what was said at the
tent's door in the dark.
"If I may but see his face, I shall know whether he hath been here
before," declared the new voice eagerly. "I have seen all who have
come to our village."
"Thou shalt see him in the morning," impatiently answered the maker
of the hippopotamus. "Knowest thou not that on this day I cannot
make a flame by which thou shouldest see? It is the eleventh day of
Tybi, concerning which it is commanded by the priests of Egypt,
'Approach not any flame on this day; Ra is there for the purpose of
destroying the wicked.'"
"I fear no flame!" muttered the new voice discontentedly. "Let me
but see the stranger!"
"There shall no flame be kindled!" burst out in wrath the
superstitious father. "Bide thou till morning! Then shalt thou see
the branded one."
Silence followed. The discontented villager did not dare say more.
After a short time, the quietness of slumber seemed to envelop the
black tent.
Concealed by the dark, Timokles endeavored with his teeth to loosen
the bonds of his wrists. After prolonged attempts, he undid one
knot, and by successive wearisome trials he at length entirely
released his left hand.
Timokles was near the black tent. It seemed to him that he heard the
faintest stir within. But a long silence followed, and he thought he
had been mistaken.
Timokles tugged at the thongs of his right hand. His arm was lame
from the leopard's claws, and he could not reach the knots that held
him. He struggled mightily, till at last he lay exhausted, no nearer
free than before.
"I cannot do it!" he despaired.
He must wait for dawn, for recognition, and for death, such death as
was thought meet for a Christian. Timokles shut his eyes, and
prayed.
"Be with me, be with me, O Lord!" besought Timokles.
Again within the tent he conjectured there might be a faint stir.
"My enemy cometh!" he thought.
But there was silence. Timokles waited, yet there came no sound.
Remembrances of what he had heard concerning former martyrs crowded
upon him. He thought of Pothinus, the ninety-years-old bishop of
Lyons, who, in answer to the legate's question, "Who is the God of
the Christians?" boldly answered, "If thou art worthy, thou shalt
know," and was tortured so severely that he died in prison. Timokles
remembered hearing of Ponticus, the boy who, in the same
persecution, bore all the tortures unflinchingly, though he was but
fifteen years old. And Blandina, the maiden, who, tortured,
bleeding, mangled, still persisted in her declaration, "I am a
Christian! Among us no wickedness is committed," came to Timokles'
mind. His thoughts turned to the martyr Christians of four years ago
at Carthage, and he remembered the words of one of those Christians:
"We will die joyfully for Christ our Lord."
Timokles prayed long and fervently. His heart went back to his
beloved Alexandrian home. Heaven would be sweet, but would his dear
ones ever know the only way there? Would they ever accept Jesus
Christ as their Savior?
"O Lord, help Heraklas to know thee!" prayed Timokles with dropping
tears.
Nothing did Timokles know of the roll of the Book of the Christians,
the papyrus that had swung from the palm tree in the court at home!
Something made him turn his head. He started, for he saw, stretched
out toward him from beneath the black tent, an arm. No more was
visible. The black tent descended to the very ground. Looking more
closely, he discerned in the hand a knife. For an instant, Timokles
thought his enemy was upon him. But it was a small hand, and it was
the handle of the knife, not its blade, that was offered to him!
Timokles stretched out his one free hand, and took the knife. The
arm disappeared beneath the black tent so swiftly and so noiselessly
that Timokles would almost have thought that the sight of the arm
had been an illusion had he not held the knife in his left hand. He
remembered the girl's words, "O Christian, I am afraid of thy God
and thee!"
"Would that I might have told her more of Him!" wished the young
Egyptian, as he awkwardly cut at his bonds with the knife.
He was free again! He crept softly away after pushing the knife's
handle back under the edge of the black tent. He felt that in the
secrecy of the tent one listened who knew he was free.
"Thou didst put it into her heart to save me!" whispered Timokles
with a reverent look at the sky.
He knew that as soon as his escape should be discovered there would
be instant pursuit, therefore he sought to travel as swiftly as
possible.