Morning Star
by H. Rider Haggard · English · Gutenberg #2722 · 470,624 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Morning Star
Author: H. Rider Haggard
Release date: April 4, 2006 [eBook #2722]
Most recently updated: September 23, 2016
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2722
Credits: Produced by John Bickers; Dagny; Emma Dudding; David Widger
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MORNING STAR ***
Produced by John Bickers; Dagny; Emma Dudding; David Widger
MORNING STAR
by H. Rider Haggard
DEDICATION
My dear Budge,--
Only a friendship extending over many years emboldened me, an amateur,
to propose to dedicate a Romance of Old Egypt to you, one of the world’s
masters of the language and lore of the great people who in these
latter days arise from their holy tombs to instruct us in the secrets of
history and faith.
With doubt I submitted to you this story, asking whether you wished
to accept pages that could not, I feared, be free from error, and with
surprise in due course I read, among other kind things, your advice to
me to “leave it exactly as it is.” So I take you at your word, although
I can scarcely think that in paths so remote and difficult I have not
sometimes gone astray.
Whatever may be the shortcomings, therefore, that your kindness has
concealed from me, since this tale was so fortunate as to please and
interest you, its first critic, I offer it to you as an earnest of my
respect for your learning and your labours.
Very sincerely yours,
H. Rider Haggard.
Ditchingham.
To Doctor Wallis Budge,
Keeper of Egyptian and Assyrian Antiquities, British Museum.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
It may be thought that even in a story of Old Egypt to represent a “Ka”
or “Double” as remaining in active occupation of a throne, while the
owner of the said “Double” goes upon a long journey and achieves sundry
adventures, is, in fact, to take a liberty with Doubles. Yet I believe
that this is scarcely the case. The _Ka_ or Double which Wiedermann
aptly calls the “Personality within the Person” appears, according to
Egyptian theory, to have had an existence of its own. It did not die
when the body died, for it was immortal and awaited the resurrection
of that body, with which, henceforth, it would be reunited and dwell
eternally. To quote Wiedermann again, “The _Ka_ could live without the
body, but the body could not live without the _Ka_ . . . . . it was
material in just the same was as the body itself.” Also, it would seem
that in certain ways it was superior to and more powerful than the body,
since the Egyptian monarchs are often represented as making offerings to
their own _Kas_ as though these were gods. Again, in the story of “Setna
and the Magic Book,” translated by Maspero and by Mr. Flinders Petrie
in his “Egyptian Tales,” the _Ka_ plays a very distinct part of its own.
Thus the husband is buried at Memphis and the wife in Koptos, yet the
_Ka_ of the wife goes to live in her husband’s tomb hundreds of miles
away, and converses with the prince who comes to steal the magic book.
Although I know no actual precedent for it, in the case of a
particularly powerful Double, such as was given in this romance to Queen
Neter-Tua by her spiritual father, Amen, the greatest of the Egyptian
gods, it seems, therefore, legitimate to suppose that, in order to save
her from the abomination of a forced marriage with her uncle and her
father’s murderer, the _Ka_ would be allowed to anticipate matters a
little, and to play the part recorded in these pages.
It must not be understood, however, that the fact of marriage with an
uncle would have shocked the Egyptian mind, since these people, and
especially their royal Houses, made a habit of wedding their own
brothers and sisters, as in this tale Mermes wed his half sister Asti.
I may add that there is authority for the magic waxen image which the
sorcerer Kaku and his accomplice used to bewitch Pharaoh. In the days of
Rameses III., over three thousand years ago, a plot was made to murder
the king in pursuance of which such images were used. “Gods of wax . .
. . . . for enfeebling the limbs of people,” which were “great crimes of
death, the great abomination of the land.” Also a certain “magic roll”
was brought into play which enabled its user to “employ the magic powers
of the gods.”
Still, the end of these wizards was not encouraging to others, for they
were found guilty and obliged to take their own lives.
But even if I am held to have stretched the prerogative of the _Ka_,
or of the waxen image which, by the way, has survived almost to our own
time, and in West Africa, as a fetish, is still pierced with pins or
nails, I can urge in excuse that I have tried, so far as a modern may,
to reproduce something of the atmosphere and colour of Old Egypt, as
it has appeared to a traveller in that country and a student of its
records. If Neter-Tua never sat upon its throne, at least another
daughter of Amen, a mighty queen, Hatshepu, wore the crown of the Upper
and the Lower Lands, and sent her embassies to search out the mysteries
of Punt. Of romance also, in high places, there must have been
abundance, though the short-cut records of the religious texts of the
priests do not trouble themselves with such matters.
At any rate, so believing, in the hope that it may interest readers
of to-day, I have ventured to discover and present one such romance,
whereof the motive, we may be sure, is more ancient, by far, than the
old Egyptians, namely, the triumph of true love over great difficulties
and dangers. It is pleasant to dream that the gods are on the side of
such lovers, and deign for their sakes to work the miracles in which for
thousands of years mankind has believed, although the scientist tells us
that they do not happen.
How large a part marvel and magic of the most terrible and exalted kind
played in the life of Old Egypt and of the nations with which she fought
and traded, we need go no further than the Book of Exodus to learn.
Also all her history is full of it, since among the Egyptians it was an
article of faith that the Divinity, which they worshipped under so many
names and symbols, made use of such mysterious means to influence or
direct the affairs of men and bring about the accomplishment of Its
decrees.
H. R. H.
MORNING STAR
by H. Rider Haggard
CHAPTER I
THE PLOT OF ABI
It was evening in Egypt, thousands of years ago, when the Prince Abi,
governor of Memphis and of great territories in the Delta, made fast his
ship of state to a quay beneath the outermost walls of the mighty city
of Uast or Thebes, which we moderns know as Luxor and Karnac on the
Nile. Abi, a large man, very dark of skin, for his mother was one of the
hated Hyksos barbarians who once had usurped the throne of Egypt, sat
upon the deck of his ship and stared at the setting sun which for a few
moments seemed to rest, a round ball of fire, upon the bare and rugged
mountains, that ring round the Tombs of the Kings.
He was angry, as the slave-women, who stood on either side fanning him,
could see well enough by the scowl on his coarse face and the fire in
his large black eyes. Presently they felt it also, for one of them,
staring at the temples and palaces of the wonderful city made glorious
by the light of the setting sun, that city of which she had heard so
often, touched his head with the feathers of her fan. Thereon, as though
glad of an excuse to express his ill-humour, Abi sprang up and boxed her
ears so heavily that the poor girl fell to the deck.
“Awkward cat,” he cried, “do that again and you shall be flogged until
your robe sticks to your back!”
“Pardon, mighty Lord,” she said, beginning to weep, “it was an accident;
the wind caught my fan.”
“So the rod shall catch your skin, if you are not more careful, Merytra.
Stop that snivelling and go send Kaku the Astrologer here. Go, both, I
weary of the sight of your ugly faces.”
The girl rose, and with her fellow slave ran swiftly to the ladder that
led to the waist of the ship.
“He called me a cat,” Merytra hissed through her white teeth to her
companion. “Well, if so, Sekhet the cat-headed is my godmother, and she
is the Lady of Vengeance.”
“Yes,” answered the other, “and he said that we were both ugly--we, whom
every lord who comes near the Court admires so much! Oh! I wish a holy
crocodile would eat him, black pig!”
“Then why don’t they buy us? Abi would sell his daughters, much more his
fan-bearers--at a price.”
“Because they hope to get us for nothing, my dear, and what is more,
if I can manage it one of them shall, for I am tired of this life. Have
your fling while you can, I say. Who knows at which corner Osiris, Lord
of Death, is waiting.”
“Hush!” whispered Merytra, “there is that knave of an astrologer, and he
looks cross, too.”
Then, hand in hand, they went to this lean and learned man and humbly
bowed themselves before him.
“Master of the Stars,” said Merytra, “we have a message for you. No, do
not look at my cheek, please, the marks are not magical, only those of
the divine fingers of the glorious hand of the most exalted Prince Abi,
son of the Pharaoh happily ruling in Osiris, etc., etc., etc., of the
right, royal blood of Egypt--that is on one side, and on the other of
a divine lady whom Khem the Spirit, or Ptah the Creator, thought fit to
dip in a vat of black dye.”
“Hem!” said Kaku glancing nervously over his shoulder. Then, seeing that
there was no one near, he added, “you had better be careful what you
say, my dear. The royal Abi does not like to hear the colour of his late
mother defined so closely. But why did he slap your face?”
She told him.
“Well,” he answered, “if I had been in his place I would rather have
kissed it, for it is pretty, decidedly pretty,” and this learned man
forgot himself so far as to wink at Merytra.
“There, Sister,” said the girl, “I always told you that rough shells
have sweet nuts inside of them. Thank you for your compliment, Master of
learning. Will you tell us our fortune for nothing?”
“Yes, yes,” he answered; “at least the fee I want will cost you nothing.
Now stop this nonsense,” he added, anxiously, “I gather that _he_ is
cross.”
“I never saw him crosser, Kaku. I am glad it is you who reads the stars,
not I. Listen!”
As he spoke an angry roar reached them from the high deck above.
“Where is that accursed astrologer?” said the roar.
“There, what did I tell you? Oh! never mind the rest of the papers, go
at once. Your robe is full of rolls as it is.”
“Yes,” answered Kaku as he ran to the ladder, “but the question is, how
will he like what is in the rolls?”
“The gods be with you!” cried one of the girls after him, “you will need
them all.”
“And if you get back alive, don’t forget your promise about the
fortunes,” said the other.
A minute later this searcher of the heavens, a tall, hook-nosed man, was
prostrating himself before Abi in his pavilion on the upper deck, so low
that his Syrian-shaped cap fell from his bald head.
“Why were you so long in coming?” asked Abi.
“Because your slaves could not find me, royal Son of the Sun. I was at
work in my cabin.”
“Indeed, I thought I heard them giggling with you down there. What did
you call me? Royal Son of the Sun? That is Pharaoh’s name! Have the
stars shown you----?” and he looked at him eagerly.
“No, Prince, not exactly that. I did not think it needful to search them
on a matter which seems established, more or less.”
“More or less,” answered Abi gloomily. “What do you mean by your ‘more
or less’? Here am I at the turning-point of my fortunes, not knowing
whether I am to be Pharaoh of the Upper and Lower Lands, or only the
petty lord of a city and a few provinces in the Delta, and you satisfy
my hunger for the truth with an empty dish of ‘more or less.’ Man, what
do you mean?”
“If your Majesty will be pleased to tell his servant exactly what you
desire to know, perhaps I may be able to answer the question,” replied
Kaku humbly.
“Majesty! Well, I desire to know by what warrant you call me ‘Majesty,’
who am only Prince of Memphis. Did the stars give it to you? Have you
obeyed me and asked them of the future?”
“Certainly, certainly. How could I disobey? I observed them all last
night, and have been working out the results till this moment; indeed,
they are not yet finished. Question and I will answer.”
“You will answer, yes, but what will you answer? Not the truth, I fancy,
because you are a coward, though if anyone can read the truth, it is
you. Man,” he added fiercely, “if you dare to lie to me I will cut your
head off and take it to Pharaoh as a traitor’s; and your body shall
lie, not in that fine tomb which you have made, but in the belly of a
crocodile whence there is no resurrection. Do you understand? Then
let us come to the point. Look, the sun sets there behind the Tombs of
Kings, where the departed Pharaohs of Egypt take their rest till the Day
of Awakening. It is a bad omen for me, I know, who wished to reach this
city in the morning when Ra was in the House of Life, the East, and not
in the House of Death, the West; but that accursed wind sent by Typhon,
held me back and I could not. Well, let us begin at the end which must
come after all. Tell me, you reader of the heavens, shall I sleep at
last in that valley?”
“I think so, Prince; at least, so says your planet. Look, yonder, it
springs to life above you,” and he pointed to an orb that appeared at
the topmost edge of the red glow of the sunset.
“You are keeping something back from me,” said Abi, searching Kaku’s
face with his fierce eyes. “Shall I sleep in the tomb of Pharaoh, in my
own everlasting house that I shall have made ready to receive me?”
“Son of Ra, I cannot say,” answered the astrologer. “Divine One, I will
be frank with you. Though you be wrath, yet will I tell you the truth
as you command me. An evil influence is at work in your House of Life.
Another star crosses and re-crosses your path, and though for a long
time you seem to swallow it up, yet at the last it eclipses you--it and
one that goes with it.”
“What star?” asked Abi hoarsely, “Pharaoh’s?”
“Nay, Prince, the star of Amen.”
“Amen! What Amen?”
“Amen the god, Prince, the mighty father of the gods.”
“Amen the god,” repeated Abi in an awed voice. “How can a man fight
against a god?”
“Say rather against two gods, for with the star of Amen goes the star of
Hathor, Queen of Love. Not for many periods of thousands of years have
they been together, but now they draw near to each other, and so will
remain for all your life. Look,” and Kaku pointed to the Eastern horizon
where a faint rosy glow still lingered reflected from the western sky.
As they watched this glow melted, and there in the pure heavens, lying
just where it met the distant land, seeming to rest upon the land,
indeed, appeared a bright and beautiful star, and so close to it that,
to the eye, they almost touched, a twin star. For a few minutes only
were they seen; then they vanished beneath the line of the horizon.
“The morning star of Amen, and with it the star of Hathor,” said the
astrologer.
“Well, Fool, what of it?” exclaimed Abi. “They are far enough from
my star; moreover, it is they that sink, not I, who ride higher every
moment.”
“Aye, Prince, but in a year to come they will certainly eclipse that
star of yours. Prince, Amen and Hathor are against you. Look, I will
show you their journeyings on this scroll and you shall see where they
eat you up yonder, yes, yonder over the Valley of dead Kings, though
twenty years and more must go by ere then, and take this for your
comfort, during those years you shine alone,” and he began to unfold a
papyrus roll.
Abi snatched it from him, crumpled it up and threw it in his face.
“You cheat!” he said. “Do you think to frighten me with this nonsense
about stars? Here is my star,” and he drew the short sword at his side
and shook it over the head of the trembling Kaku. “This sharp bronze
is the star I follow, and be careful lest it should eclipse _you_, you
father of lies.”
“I have told the truth as I see it,” answered the poor astrologer with
some dignity, “but if you wish, O Prince, that in the future I should
indeed prophesy pleasant things to you, why, it can be done easily
enough. Moreover, it seems to me that this horoscope of yours is not so
evil, seeing that it gives to you over twenty years of life and power,
more by far than most men can expect--at your age. If after that come
troubles and the end, what of it?”
“That is so,” replied Abi mollified. “It was my ill-temper, everything
has gone cross to-day. Well, a gold cup, my own, shall pay the price of
it. Bear me no ill-will, I pray you, learned scribe, and above all tell
me no falsehood as the message of the stars you serve. It is the truth
I seek, the truth. If only she may be seen, and clasped, I care not how
ill-favoured is her face.”
Rejoicing at the turn which things had taken, and especially at the
promise of the priceless cup which he had long coveted, Kaku bowed
obsequiously. He picked up his crumpled roll and was about to retire
when through the gloom of the falling night, some men mounted upon asses
were seen riding over the mud flats that border the Nile at this spot,
towards that bank where the ship was moored.
“The captain of my guard,” said Abi, who saw the starlight gleam upon
a bronze helmet, “who brings me Pharaoh’s answer. Nay, go not, bide and
hear it, Kaku, and give us your counsel on it, your true counsel.”
So the astrologer stood aside and waited, till presently the captain
appeared saluting.
“What says Pharaoh, my brother?” asked the Prince.
“Lord, he says that he will receive you, though as he did not send for
you, he thinks that you can scarcely come upon any necessary errand,
as he has heard long ago of your victory over the desert-dwelling
barbarians, and does not want the offering of the salted heads of their
officers which you bring to him.”
“Good,” said Abi contemptuously. “The divine Pharaoh was ever a woman in
such matters, as in others. Let him be thankful that he has generals who
know how to make war and to cut off the heads of his enemies in defence
of the kingdom. We will wait upon him to-morrow.”
“Lord,” added the captain, “that is not all Pharaoh’s message. He says
that it has been reported to him that you are accompanied by a guard of
three hundred soldiers. These soldiers he refuses to allow within the
gates. He directs that you shall appear before his Majesty attended by
five persons only.”
“Indeed,” answered Abi with a scornful laugh. “Does Pharaoh fear, then,
lest I should capture him and his armies and the great city with three
hundred soldiers?”
“No, Prince,” answered the captain bluntly; “but I think he fears lest
you should kill him and declare yourself Pharaoh as next in blood.”
“Ah!” said Abi, “as next of blood. Then I suppose that there are still
no children at the Court?”
“None, O Prince. I saw Ahura, the royal wife, the Lady of the Two Lands,
that fairest of women, and other lesser wives and beautiful slave girls
without number, but never a one of them had an infant on her breast or
at her knee. Pharaoh remains childless.”
“Ah!” said Abi again. Then he walked forward out of the pavilion whereof
the curtains were drawn back, and stood a while upon the prow of the
vessel.
By now night had fallen, and the great moon, rising from the earth as it
were, poured her flood of silver light over the desert, the mountains,
the limitless city of Thebes, and the wide rippling bosom of the Nile.
The pylons and obelisks, glittering with copper and with gold, towered
to the tender sky. In the window places of palaces and of ten thousand
homes lamps shone like stars. From gardens, streets and the courts of
temples floated the faint sound of singing and of music, while on the
great embattled walls the watchmen called the hour from post to post.
It was a wondrous scene, and the heart of Abi swelled as he gazed upon
it. What wealth lay yonder, and what power. There was the glorious house
of his brother, Pharaoh, the god in human form who for all his godship
had never a child to follow after him when he ascended to Osiris, as he
who was sickly probably must do before so very long.
Yes, but before then a miracle might happen; in this way or in that a
successor to the throne might be found and acknowledged, for were not
Pharaoh and his House beloved by all the priests of Amen, and by the
people, and was not he, Abi, feared and disliked because he was fierce,
and the hated savage blood flowed in his veins? Oh! what evil god had
put it in his father’s heart to give him a princess of the Hyksos for a
mother, the Hyksos, whom the Egyptians loathed, when he had the fairest
women of the world from whom to choose? Well, it was done and could
not be undone, though because of it he might lose his heritage of the
greatest throne in all the earth. Also was it not to this fierce Hyksos
blood that he owed his strength and vigour?
Why should he wait? Why should he not set his fortune on a cast? He had
three hundred soldiers with him, picked men and brave, children of the
sea and the desert, sworn to his House and interests. It was a time of
festival, those gates were ill-guarded. Why should he not force them
at the dead of night, make his way to the palace, cause Pharaoh to be
gathered to his fathers, and at the dawn discover himself seated upon
Pharaoh’s throne? At the thought of it Abi’s heart leapt in his breast,
his wide nostrils spread themselves, and he erected his strong head as
though already he felt upon it the weight of the double crown. Then he
turned and walked back to the pavilion.
“I am minded to strike a blow,” he said. “Say now, my officer, would you
and the soldiers follow me into the heart of yonder city to-night to win
a throne--or a grave? If it were the first, you should be the general
of all my army, and you, astrologer, should become vizier, yes, after
Pharaoh you two should be the greatest men in all the land.”
They looked at him and gasped.
“A venturesome deed, Prince,” said the captain at length; “yet with such
a prize to win I think that I would dare it, though for the soldiers
I cannot speak. First they must be told what is on foot, and out of so
many, how know we that the heart of one or more would not fail? A word
from a traitor and before this time to-morrow the embalmers, or the
jackals, would be busy.”
Abi heard and looked from him to his companion.
“Prince,” said Kaku, “put such thoughts from you. Bury them deep. Let
them rise no more. In the heavens I read something of this business,
but then I did not understand, but now I see the black depths of hell
opening beneath our feet. Yes, hell would be our home if we dared to
lift hand against the divine person of the Pharaoh. I say that the gods
themselves would fight against us. Let it be, Prince, let it be, and you
shall have many years of rule, who, if you strike now, will win nothing
but a crown of shame, a nameless grave, and the everlasting torment of
the damned.”
As he spoke Abi considered the man’s face and saw that all craft had
left it. This was no charlatan that spoke to him, but one in earnest who
believed what he said.
“So be it,” he answered. “I accept your judgment, and will wait upon my
fortune. Moreover, you are both right, the thing is too dangerous,
and evil often falls on the heads of those who shoot arrows at a god,
especially if they have not enough arrows. Let Pharaoh live on while I
make ready. Perhaps to-morrow I may work upon him to name me his heir.”
The astrologer sighed in relief, nor did the captain seem disappointed.
“My head feels firmer on my shoulders than it did just now,” he said:
“and doubtless there are times when wisdom is better than valour.
Sleep well, Prince; Pharaoh will receive you to-morrow two hours after
sunrise. Have we your leave to retire?”
“If I were wise,” said Abi, fingering the hilt of his sword as he spoke,
“you would both of you retire for ever who know all the secret of my
heart, and with a whisper could bring doom upon me.”
Now the pair looked at each other with frightened eyes, and, like his
master, the captain began to play with his sword.
“Life is sweet to all men, Prince,” he said significantly, “and we have
never given you cause to doubt us.”
“No,” answered Abi, “had it been otherwise I should have struck first
and spoken afterwards. Only you must swear by the oath which may not be
broken that in life or death no word of this shall pass your lips.”
So they swore, both of them, by the holy name of Osiris, the judge and
the redeemer.
“Captain,” said Abi, “you have served me well. Your pay is doubled, and
I confirm the promise that I made to you--should I ever rule yonder you
shall be my general.”
While the soldier bowed his thanks, the prince said to Kaku,
“Master of the stars, my gold cup is yours. Is there aught else of mine
that you desire?”
“That slave,” answered the learned man, “Merytra, whose ears you boxed
just now----”
“How do you know that I boxed her ears?” asked Abi quickly. “Did the
stars tell you that also? Well, I am tired of the sly hussy--take her.
Soon I think she will box yours.”
But when Kaku sought Merytra to tell her the glad tidings that she was
his, he could not find her.
Merytra had disappeared.
CHAPTER II
THE PROMISE OF THE GOD
It was morning at Thebes, and the great city glowed in the rays of
the new-risen sun. In a royal barge sat Abi the prince, splendidly
apparelled, and with him Kaku, his astrologer, his captain of the guard
and three other of his officers, while in a second barge followed slaves
who escorted two chiefs and some fair women captured in war, also the
chests of salted heads and hands, offerings to Pharaoh.
The white-robed rowers bent to their oars, and the swift boat shot
forward up the Nile through a double line of ships of war, all of them
crowded with soldiers. Abi looked at these ships which Pharaoh had
gathered there to meet him, and thought to himself that Kaku had given
wise counsel when he prayed him to attempt no rash deed, for against
such surprises clearly Pharaoh was well prepared. He thought it again
when on reaching the quay of cut stones he saw foot and horse-men
marshalled there in companies and squadrons, and on the walls above
hundreds of other men, all armed, for now he saw what would have
happened to him, if with his little desperate band he had tried to
pierce that iron ring of watching soldiers.
At the steps generals met him in their mail and priests in their full
robes, bowing and doing him honour. Thus royally escorted, Abi passed
through the open gates and the pylons of the splendid temple dedicated
to the Trinity of Thebes, “the House of Amen in the Southern Apt,”
where gay banners fluttered from the pointed masts, up the long street
bordered with tall houses set in their gardens, till he came to the
palace wall. Here more guards rolled back the brazen gates which in
his folly of a few hours gone he had thought that he could force, and
through the avenues of blooming trees he was led to the great pillared
hall of audience.
After the brightness without, that hall seemed almost dark, only a ray
of sunshine flowing from an unshuttered space in the clerestory above,
fell full on the end of it, and revealed the crowned Pharaoh and his
queen seated in state upon their thrones of ivory and gold. Gathered
round and about him also were scribes and councillors and captains, and
beyond these other queens in their carved chairs and attended, each of
them, by beautiful women of the household in their gala dress. Moreover,
behind the thrones, and at intervals between the columns, stood the
famous Nubian guard of two hundred men, the servants of the body of
Pharaoh as they were called, each of them chosen for faithfulness and
courage.
The centre of all this magnificence was Pharaoh, on him the sunlight
beat, to him every eye was turned, and where his glance fell there heads
bowed and knees were bent. A small thin man of about forty years of age
with a puckered, kindly and anxious face, and a brow that seemed to
sink beneath the weight of the double crown that, save for its royal
snake-crest of hollow gold, was after all but of linen, a man with
thin, nervous hands which played amongst the embroideries of his golden
robe--such was Pharaoh, the mightiest monarch in the world, the ruler
whom millions that had never seen him worshipped as a god.
Abi, the burly framed, thick-lipped, dark-skinned, round-eyed Abi, born
of the same father, stared at him with wonderment, for years had passed
since last they met, and in the palace when they were children a gulf
had been set between the offspring of a royal mother and the child of a
Hyksos concubine taken into the Household for reasons of state. In his
vigour, and the might of his manhood, he stared at this weakling, the
son of a brother and a sister, and the grandson of a brother and a
sister. Yet there was something in that gentle eye, an essence of
inherited royalty, before which his rude nature bowed. The body might be
contemptible, but within it dwelt the proud spirit of the descendant of
a hundred kings.
Abi advanced to the steps of the throne and knelt there, till after a
little pause Pharaoh stretched out the sceptre in his hand for him to
kiss. Then he spoke in his light, quick voice.
“Welcome, Prince and my brother,” he said. “We quarrelled long ago,
did we not, and many years have passed since we met, but Time heals all
wounds and--welcome, son of my father. I need not ask if you are well,”
and he glanced enviously at the great-framed man who knelt before him.
“Hail to your divine Majesty!” answered Abi in his deep voice. “Health
and strength be with you, Holder of the Scourge of Osiris, Wearer of the
Feathers of Amen, Mortal crowned with the glory of Ra.”
“I thank you, Prince,” answered Pharaoh gently, “and that health and
strength I need, who fear that I shall only find them when I have
yielded up the Scourge of Osiris whereof you speak to him who lent it
me. But enough of myself. Let us to business, afterwards we will talk
of such matters together. Why have you left your government at Memphis
without leave asked, to visit me here in my City of the Gates?”
“Be not wrath with me,” answered Abi humbly. “A while ago, in obedience
to your divine command, I attacked the barbarians who threatened your
dominions in the desert. Like Menthu, god of war, I fell upon them.
I took them by surprise, I smote them, thousands of them bit the dust
before me. Two of their kings I captured with their women--they wait
without, to be slain by your Majesty. I bring with me the heads of
a hundred of their captains and the hands of five hundred of their
soldiers, in earnest of the truth of my word. Let them be spread out
before you. I report to your divine Majesty that those barbarians are no
more, that for a generation, at least, I have made the land safe to your
uttermost dominions in the north. Suffer that the heads and the hands be
brought in and counted out before your Majesty, that the smell of them
may rise like incense to your divine nostrils.”
“No, no,” said Pharaoh, “my officers shall count them without, for I
love not such sights of death, and I take your word for the number. What
payment do you ask for this service, my brother, for with great gifts
would I reward you, who have done so well for me and Egypt?”
Before he answered Abi looked at the beautiful queen, Ahura, who sat at
Pharaoh’s side, and at the other royal consorts and women.
“Your Majesty,” he said, “I see here many wives and ladies, but royal
children I do not see. Grant--for doubtless they are in their own
chambers--grant, O Pharaoh, that they may be led hither that my eyes may
feed upon their loveliness, and that I may tell of them, each of them,
to their cousins who await me at Memphis.”
At these words a flush as of shame spread itself over the lovely face of
Ahura, the royal wife, the Lady of the Two Lands; while the women turned
their heads away whispering to each other bitterly, for the insult hurt
them. Only Pharaoh set his pale face and answered with dignity.
“Prince Abi, to affront those whom the gods have smitten, be they kings
or peasants, is an unworthy deed which the gods will not forget. You
know well that I have no children. Why then do you ask me to show you
their loveliness?”
“I had heard rumours, O Pharaoh,” answered the Prince, “no more. Indeed,
I did not believe them, for where there are so many wives I was certain
that there would be some mothers. Therefore I asked to be sure before
I proffered a petition which now I will make to you not for my own sake
but for Egypt’s and yours, O Pharaoh. Have I your leave to speak here in
public?”
“Speak on,” said Pharaoh sternly. “Let aught that is for the welfare of
Egypt be heard by Egypt.”
“Your Majesty has told me,” replied Abi bowing, “that the gods, being
wrath, have denied you children. Not so much as one girl of your blood
have they given to you to fill your throne after you when in due season
it pleases you to depart to Osiris. Were it otherwise, were there even
but a single woman-child of your divine race, I would say nothing, I
would be silent as the grave. But so it is, and though your queens be
fair and many, so it would seem that it must remain, since the ears of
the gods having been deaf to your pleadings for so long, although you
have built them glorious temples and made them offerings without count,
will scarcely now be opened. Even Amen your father, Amen, whose name you
bear, will perform no miracle for you, O Pharaoh, who are so great that
he has decreed that you shall shine alone like the full moon at night,
not sharing your glory with a single star.”
Now Ahura the Queen, who all this while had been listening intently,
spoke for the first time in a quick angry voice, saying,
“How know you that, Prince of Memphis? Sometimes the gods relent and
that which they have withheld for a space, they give. My lord lives, and
I live, and a child of his may yet fill the throne of Egypt.”
“It may be so, O Queen,” said Abi bowing, “and for my part I pray that
it will be so, for who am I that I should know the purpose of the kings
of heaven? If but one girl be born of you and Pharaoh, then I take
back my words and give to you that title which for many years has been
written falsely upon your thrones and monuments, the title of Royal
Mother.”
Now Ahura would have answered again, for this sneering taunt stung her
to the quick. But Pharaoh laid his hand upon her knee and said,
“Continue, Prince and brother. We have heard from you that which we
already know too well--that I am childless. Tell us what we do not know,
the desire of your heart which lies hid beneath all these words.”
“Pharaoh, it is this--I am of your holy blood, sprung of the same divine
father----”
“But of a mother who was not divine,” broke in Ahura; “of a mother taken
from a race that has brought many a curse upon Khem, as any mirror will
show you, Prince of Memphis.”
“Pharaoh,” went on Abi without heeding her, “you grow weak; heaven
desires you, the earth melts beneath you. In the north and in the south
many dangers threaten Egypt. Should you die suddenly without an heir,
barbarians will flow in from the north and from the south, and the great
ones of the land will struggle for your place. Pharaoh, I am a warrior;
I am built strong; my children are many; my house is built upon a rock;
the army trusts me; the millions of the people love me. Take me then to
rule with you and in the hearing of all the earth name me and my sons
as your successors, so that our royal race may continue for generation
after generation. So shall you end your days in peace and hope. I have
spoken.”
Now, as the meaning of this bold request sank into their hearts, all the
court there gathered gasped and whispered, while the Queen Ahura in her
anger crushed the lotus flower which she held in her hand and cast it to
the floor. Only Pharaoh sat still and silent, his head bent and his eyes
shut as though in prayer. For a minute or more he sat thus, and when he
lifted his pale, pure face, there was a smile upon it.
“Abi, my brother,” he said in his gentle voice, “listen to me. There are
those who filled this throne before me, who on hearing such words would
have pointed to you with their sceptres, whereon, Abi, those lips of
yours would have grown still for ever, and you and your name and the
names of all your House would have been blotted out by death. But, Abi,
you were ever bold, and I forgive you for laying open the thoughts of
your heart to me. Still, Abi, you have not told us all of them. You have
not told us, for instance,” he went on slowly, and in the midst of an
intense silence, “that but last night you debated whether it would not
be possible with that guard of yours to break into my palace and put me
to the sword and name yourself Pharaoh--by right of blood, Abi; yes, by
right of blood--my blood shed by you, my brother.”
As these words left the royal lips a tumult arose in the hall, the women
and the great officers sprang up, the captains stepped forward drawing
their swords to avenge so horrible a sacrilege. But Pharaoh waved his
sceptre, and they were still, only Abi cried in a great voice.
“Who has dared to whisper a lie so monstrous?” And he glared first at
Kaku and then at the captain of his guard who stood behind him, and
choked in wrath, or fear, or both.
“Suspect not your officers, Prince,” went on the Pharaoh, still smiling,
“for on my royal word they are innocent. Yet, Abi, a pavilion set upon
the deck of a ship is no good place to plot the death of kings. Pharaoh
has many spies, also, at times, the gods, to whom as you say he is so
near, whisper tidings to him in his sleep. Suspect not your officers,
Abi, although I think that to yonder Master of the Stars who stands
behind you, I should be grateful, since, had you attempted to execute
this madness, but for him I might have been forced to kill you, Abi,
as one kills a snake that creeps beneath his mat. Astrologer, you shall
have a gift from me, for you are a wise man. It may take the place,
perhaps, of one that you have lost; was it not a certain woman slave
whom your master gave to you last night--after he had punished her for
no fault?”
Kaku prostrated himself before the glory of Pharaoh, understanding at
last that it was the lost girl Merytra who had overheard and betrayed
them. But heeding him no more, his Majesty went on.
“Abi, Prince and brother, I forgive you a deed that you purposed but
did not attempt. May the gods and the spirits of our fathers forgive
you also, if they will. Now as to your demand. You are my only living
brother, and therefore I will weigh it. Perchance, if I should die
without issue, although you are not all royal, although there flows in
your veins a blood that Egypt hates; although you could plot the murder
of your lord and king, it may be well that when I am gone you should
fill my place, for you are brave and of the ancient race on one side,
if base-born on the other. But I am not yet dead, and children may still
come to me. Abi, will you be a prisoner until Osiris calls me, or will
you swear an oath?”
“I will swear an oath,” answered the Prince hoarsely, for he knew his
shame and danger.
“Then kneel here, and by the dreadful Name swear that you will lift no
hand and plot no plot against me. Swear that if a child, male or female,
should be given to me, you will serve such a child truly as your lord
and lawful Pharaoh. In the presence of all this company, swear, knowing
that if you break the oath in letter or in spirit, then all the gods of
Egypt shall pour their curse upon your head in life, and in death shall
give you over to the everlasting torments of the damned.”
So, having little choice, Abi swore by the Name and kissed the sceptre
in token of his oath.
It was night. Dark and solemn was the innermost shrine of the vast
temple, the “House of Amen in the Northern Apt,” which we call Karnak,
the very holy of holies where, fashioned of stone, and with the
feathered crown upon his head, stood the statue of Amen-ra, father of
the gods. Here, where none but the high-priest and the royalties of
Egypt might enter, Pharaoh and his wife Ahura, wrapped in brown cloaks
like common folk, knelt at the feet of the god and prayed. With tears
and supplications did they pray that a child might be given to them.
There in the sacred place, lit only by a single lamp which burned from
age to age, they told the story of their grief, whilst high above them
the cold, calm countenance of the god seemed to stare through the gloom,
as for a thousand years, in joy or sorrow, it had stared at those that
went before them. They told of the mocking words of Abi who had demanded
to see their children, the children that were not; they told of their
terror of the people who demanded that an heir should be declared; they
told of the doom that threatened their ancient house, which from Pharaoh
to Pharaoh, all of one blood, for generations had worshipped in this
place. They promised gifts and offerings, stately temples and wide
lands, if only their desire might be fulfilled.
“Let me no more be made a mock among men,” cried the beautiful queen,
beating her forehead upon the stone feet of the god. “Let me bear a
child to fill the seat of my lord the King, and then if thou wilt, take
my life in payment.”
But the god made no answer, and wearied out at length they rose and
departed. At the door of the sanctuary they found the high-priest
awaiting them, a wizened, aged man.
“The god gave no sign, O High-priest,” said Pharaoh sadly; “no voice
spoke to us.”
The old priest looked at the weeping queen, and a light of pity crept
into his eyes.
“To me, watching without,” he said, “a voice seemed to speak, though
what it said I may not reveal. Go to your palace now, O Pharaoh, and O
Queen Ahura, and take your rest side by side. I think that in your sleep
a sign will come to you, for Amen is pitiful, and loves his children
who love him. According to that sign so speak to the Prince Abi, speak
without fear or doubt, since for good or ill it shall be fulfilled.”
Then like shadows, hand in hand, this royal pair glided down the vast,
pillared halls till at the pylon gates, which were opened for them, they
found their litters, and were borne along the great avenue of ram-headed
sphinxes back to a secret door in the palace wall.
It was past midnight. Deep darkness and heavy silence lay upon Thebes,
broken only by dogs howling at the stars and the occasional challenge
of soldiers on the walls. Side by side in their golden bed the wearied
Pharaoh and his queen slept heavily. Presently Ahura woke. She started
up in the bed; she stared at the darkness about her with frightened
eyes; she stretched out her hand and clasping Pharaoh by the arm,
whispered in a thrilling voice,
“Awake, awake! I have that which I must tell you.”
Pharaoh roused himself, for there was something in Ahura’s voice which
swept away the veils of sleep.
“What has chanced, Ahura?” he asked.
“O Pharaoh, I have dreamed a dream, if indeed it were but a dream. It
seemed to me that the darkness opened, and that standing in the darkness
I saw a Glory which had neither shape nor form. Yet a voice spoke from
the Glory, a low, sweet voice: ‘Queen Ahura, my daughter,’ it said, ‘I
am that Spirit to whom thou and thy husband did pray this night in
the sanctuary of my temple. It seemed to both of you that your prayers
remained unheard, yet it was not so, as my priest knew well. Queen
Ahura, thou and Pharaoh thy husband have put your trust in me these many
years, and not in vain. A daughter shall be given to thee and Pharaoh,
and my Spirit shall be in that child. She shall be beautiful and
glorious as no woman was before her, for I clothe her with health and
power and wisdom. She shall rule over the Northern and the Southern
Lands; yea, for many years the double crown shall rest upon her brow,
and no king that went before her, and no king that follows after her,
shall be more great in Egypt. Troubles and dangers shall threaten her,
but the Spirit that I give to her shall protect her in them all, and she
shall tread her enemy beneath her feet. A royal lover shall come to her
also, and she shall rejoice in his love and from it shall spring many
kings and princes. Neter-Tua, Morning Star, shall be her name, and
high-priestess of Amen--no less--shall be her office, for she is my
child whom I have taken from heaven and sent down to earth; the child
that I have given to Pharaoh and to thee, and I love her and appoint the
good goddesses to be her companions, and command Osiris to receive her
at the last.
“‘Behold, in token of these things I lay my symbol on thy breast, and on
her breast also shall that symbol be. When I lift it from thee and thou
dost open thy eyes, then awaken Pharaoh at thy side and let these my
words be written in a roll, so that none of them are forgotten.’
“Then, O Pharaoh,” went on Ahura, “from the Glory there came forth a
hand, and in the hand was the Symbol of Life shining as though with
fire, and the hand laid it upon my breast and it burned me as though
with fire, and I awoke and lo! darkness was all about me, nothing but
darkness, and at my side I heard you sleeping.”
Now when Pharaoh had listened to this dream, he kissed the queen and
blessed her because of its good omen, and clapped his hands to summon
the women of honour who slept without. They ran in bearing lights, and
by the lights he saw that beneath the throat of the Queen upon her fair
skin, appeared a red mark, and the shape of it was the shape of the Sign
of Life; yes, there was the loop, and beneath the loop the cross.
Then Pharaoh commanded that the chief of his scribes should come to him
with papyrus and writing tools, and that the high-priest of Amen
should be brought swiftly from the temple. So the scribe came to the
bed-chamber of the King, and in the presence of the high-priest all
the words of Amen were written down, not one of them was omitted, and
Pharaoh and the Queen signed the roll, and the high-priest witnessed
it and, copies having been made, bore it away to hide it in the secret
treasury of Amen. But the mark of the Cross of Life remained upon the
breast of the Queen Ahura till the day that she died.
Now in the morning Pharaoh summoned his Court and commanded that the
Prince Abi should be brought before him. So the Prince came and Pharaoh
addressed him kindly.
“Son of my father,” he said, “I have considered your request that I
should take you to rule with me on the throne of Egypt, and name you and
your sons to be Pharaohs after me, and it is refused. Know that it has
been revealed to me and to the royal wife, Ahura, by the greatest of the
gods, that a daughter shall be born to us in due season, who shall be
called Morning Star of Amen, and that she and her seed shall be Pharaohs
after me. Therefore rejoice with us and return to your government,
Prince Abi, and be happy in our love, and in the goods and greatness
that the gods have given you.”
Now Abi shook with anger, for he thought that all this tale was a trick
and a snare. But knowing that his peril was great there in the hand of
Pharaoh, he answered only that when this Morning Star arose, his
star should do it reverence, though as the words passed his lips he
remembered the prophecy of his astrologer Kaku, that the Morning Star of
Amen should blot out that star of his.
“You think that I speak falsely, Prince Abi, yes, that I stain my lips
with lies,” said Pharaoh with indignation. “Well, I forgive you this
also. Go hence and await the issue and know by this sign that truth is
in my heart. When the Princess Neter-Tua is born, upon her breast shall
be seen the symbol of the Sign of Life. Depart now, lest I grow angry.
The gifts I have promised shall follow you to Memphis.”
So Abi returned to the white-walled city of Memphis and sat there
sullenly, putting it about that a plot was on foot to deprive him of
his heritage. But Kaku shook his head, saying in secret that the Star,
Neter-Tua, would arise, for so it was decreed by Amen, father of the
gods.
CHAPTER III
RAMES, THE PRINCESS, AND THE CROCODILE
At the appointed time to Ahura, the royal wife, was born a child, a
girl with a fresh and lovely face and waving hair and eyes that from the
first were blue like the summer sky at even. Also on her breast was a
mole of the length of a finger nail, which mole was shaped like the holy
Sign of Life.
Now Pharaoh and his house and the priests in every temple, and indeed
all Egypt went mad with joy, though there were many who in secret
mourned over the sex of the infant, whispering that a man and not a
woman should wear the Double Crown. But in public they said nothing,
since the story of this child had gone abroad and folk declared that it
was sent by the gods, and divine, and that the goddesses, Isis, Nepthys,
and Hathor, with Khemu, the Maker of Mankind, were seen in the birth
chamber, glowing like gold.
Also Pharaoh issued a decree that wherever the name of the Queen Ahura
was graven in all the land, to it should be added the title “By the
will of Amen, Mother of his Morning Star,” and that a new hall should be
built in the temple of Amen in the Northern Apt, and all about it carved
the story of the coming of Prince Abi and of the vision of the Queen.
But Ahura never lived to see this glorious place, since from the hour of
her daughter’s birth she began to sink. On the fourteenth day, the day
of purification, she bade the nurse bring the beautiful babe, and gazed
at it long and blessed it, and spoke with the Ka or Double of the child,
which she said she saw lying on her arm beside it, bidding that Ka
protect it well through the dangers of life and death until the hour of
resurrection. Then she said that she heard Amen calling to her to pay
the price which she had promised for the gift of the divine child, the
price of her own life, and smiled upon Pharaoh her husband, and died
happily with a radiant face.
Now joy was turned to mourning, and during all the days of embalming
Egypt wept for Ahura until, at length, the time came when her body was
rowed across the Nile to the splendid tomb which she had made ready in
the Valley of the Queens, causing masons and artists to labour at it
without cease. For Ahura knew from the day of her vision that she was
doomed to die, and remembered that the tombs of the dead remain as the
live hands leave them, since few waste gold and toil upon the eternal
house of one who is dead.
So Ahura was buried with great pomp and all her jewels, and Pharaoh, who
mourned her truly, made splendid offerings in the chapel of her tomb,
and having laid in the mouth of it the funeral boat in which she was
borne across the Nile, he built it up for ever, and poured sand over the
rock, so that none should find its place until the Day of Awakening.
Meanwhile, the infant grew and flourished, and when it was six months
old, was taken to the college of the priestesses of Amen, there to be
reared and taught.
Now on the day of the birth of the Princess Neter-Tua, there happened
another birth with which our story has to do. The captain of the
guard of the temple of Amen was one Mermes, who had married his own
half-sister, Asti, the enchantress. As was well known, this Mermes was
by right and true descent the last of that house of Pharaohs which had
filled the throne of Egypt until their line was cast down generations
before by the dynasty that now ruled the land, whereof the reigning
Pharaoh and his daughter Neter-Tua alone remained. A long while past, in
the early days of his reign, his council has whispered in Pharaoh’s ear
that he should kill Mermes and his sister, lest a day should come when
they rebelled against him, proclaiming that they did so by right of
blood. But Pharaoh, who was gentle and hated murder, instead of slaying
Mermes sent for him and told him all.
Then Mermes, a noble-looking man as became the stock from which he
sprang, prostrated himself and said,
“O Pharaoh, why should you kill me? It has pleased the gods to debase
my House and to set up yours. Have I ever lifted up my heel against you
because my forefathers were kings, or plotted with the discontent to
overthrow you! See, I am satisfied with my station, which is that of a
noble and a soldier in your army. Therefore let me and my half-sister,
the wise lady Asti whom I purpose to marry, dwell on in peace as your
true and humble servants. Dip not your hands in our innocent blood,
O Pharaoh, lest the gods send a curse upon you and your House and our
ghosts come back from the grave to haunt you.”
When Pharaoh heard these words, his heart was moved in him, and he
stretched out his sceptre for Mermes to kiss, thereby granting to him
life and protection.
“Mermes,” he said, “you are an honourable man, and my equal in blood if
not in place. For their own purposes the gods raise up one and cast down
another that at last their ends may be fulfilled. I believe that you
will work no harm against me and mine, and, therefore, I will work no
harm against you and your sister Asti, Mistress of Magic. Rather shall
you be my friend and counsellor.”
Then Pharaoh offered high rank and office to him, but Mermes would not
take them, answering that if he did, envy would be stirred up against
him, and in this way or that bring him to his death, since tall trees
are the first to fall. So in the end Pharaoh made Mermes Captain of the
Guard of Amen, and gave him land and houses enough to enable him to
live as a noble of good estate, but no more. Also he became a friend of
Pharaoh and one of his inner Council, to whose voice he always listened,
for Mermes was a true-hearted man.
Afterwards Mermes married Asti, but like Pharaoh for a long while he
remained childless, since he took no other wives. On the day of the
birth of the Princess Tua, the Morning Star of Amen, however, Asti bore
a son, a royal-looking child of great strength and beauty and very fair
in colour, as tradition said that the kings of his race had been before
him, but with black and shining eyes.
“See,” said the midwife, “here is a head shaped to wear a crown.”
Whereon Asti, his mother, forgetting her caution in her joy, or perhaps
inspired by the gods, for from her childhood she was a prophetess,
answered,
“Yes, and I think that this head and a crown will come close together,”
and she kissed him and named him Rames after her royal forefather, the
founder of their line.
As it chanced a spy overheard this saying and reported it to the
Council, and the Council urged Pharaoh to cause the boy to be put away,
as they had urged in the case of his father, Mermes, because of the
words of omen that Asti had spoken, and because she had given her son a
royal name, naming him after the majesty of Ra, as though he were indeed
the child of a king. But Pharaoh would not, asking with his soft smile
whether they wished him to baptise his daughter in the blood of another
infant who drew his first breath upon the same day, and adding:
“Ra sheds his glory upon all, and this high-born boy may live to be a
friend in need to her whom Amen has given to Egypt. Let things befall as
the gods decree. Who am I that I should make myself a god and destroy a
life that they have fashioned?”
So the boy Rames lived and throve, and Mermes and Asti, when they came
to hear of these things, thanked Pharaoh and blessed him.
Now the house of Mermes, as Captain of the Guard, was within the wall of
the great temple of Amen, near to the palace of the priestesses of Amen
where the Princess Neter-Tua was nurtured. Thus it came about that when
the Queen Ahura died, the lady Asti was named as nurse to the Princess,
since Pharaoh said that she should drink no milk save that of one in
whose veins ran royal blood. So Asti was Tua’s foster mother, and
night by night she slept in her arms together with her own son, Rames.
Afterwards, too, when they were weaned the babes were taught to walk and
speak together, and later, as children, they became playmates.
Thus from the first these two loved each other, as brother and sister
love when they are twins. But although the boy was bold and brave, this
little princess always had the mastery of him, not because she was a
princess and heir to the throne of Egypt--for all the high titles
they gave her fell idly on her ears, nor did she think anything of
the bowings of courtiers and of priests--but from some strength within
herself. She it was that set the games they played, and when she talked
he was obliged to listen, for although she was so sound and healthy,
this Tua differed from other children.
Thus she had what she called her “silent hours” when she would suffer no
one to come near her, not her ladies or her foster-mother, Asti herself,
nor even Rames. Then, followed by the women at a distance, she would
wander among the great columns of the temple and study the sculptures
on the walls; and, since all places were open to her, Pharaoh’s child,
enter the sanctuaries, and stare at the gods that sat in them fashioned
in granite and in alabaster. This she would do even in the solemn
moonlight when mortals were afraid to approach these sacred shrines, and
come thence unconcerned and smiling.
“What do you see there, O Morning Star?” asked little Rames of her once.
“They are dull things, those stone gods that have never moved since the
beginning of the world; also they frighten me, especially when Ra is
set.”
“They are not dull, and they do not frighten me,” answered Tua; “they
talk to me, and although I cannot understand all they say, I am happy
with them.”
“Talk!” he said contemptuously, “how can stones talk?”
“I do not know. I think it is their spirits that talk, telling me
stories which happened before I was born and that shall happen after
I am dead, yes, and after _they_ seem to be dead. Now be silent--I say
that they talk to me--it is enough.”
“For me it would be more than enough,” said the boy, “but then I am not
called Child of Amen, who only worship Menthu, God of War.”
When Rames was seven years of age, every morning he was taken to school
in the temple, where the priests taught him to write with pens of reed
upon tablets of wood, and told him more about the gods of Egypt than he
ever wanted to hear again. During these hours, except when she was being
instructed by the great ladies of the Court, or by high-priestesses,
Tua was left solitary, since by the command of Pharaoh no other children
were allowed to play with her, perhaps because there were none in the
temple of her age whose birth was noble.
Once when he came back from his school in the evening Rames asked her
if she had not been lonely without him. She answered, No, as she had
another companion.
“Who is it?” he asked jealously. “Show me and I will fight him.”
“No one that you can see, Rames,” she replied. “Only my own Ka.”
“Your Ka! I have heard of Kas, but I never saw one. What is it like?”
“Just like me, except that it throws no shadow, and only comes when I
am quite by myself, and then, although I hear it often, I see it rarely,
for it is mixed up with the light.”
“I don’t believe in Kas,” exclaimed Rames scornfully, “you make them up
out of your head.”
A little while after this talk something happened that caused Rames to
change his mind about Kas, or at any rate the Ka of Tua. In a hidden
court of the temple was a deep pool of water with cemented sides, where,
it was said, lived a sacred crocodile, an enormous beast that had
dwelt there for hundreds of years. Rames and Tua having heard of this
crocodile, often talked of it and longed to see it, but could not for
there was a high wall round the tank, and in it a door of copper that
was kept locked, except when once in every eight days the priests took
in food to the crocodile--living goats and sheep, and sometimes a calf,
none of which ever came back again.
Now one day Rames watching them return, saw the priest, who was called
Guardian of the Door, put his hand behind him to thrust the key with
which he had just locked the door, into his wallet, and missing the
mouth of the wallet, let it fall upon the sand, then go upon his way
knowing nothing of what he had done.
When he had gone in a great hurry, for he was a fat old priest and the
dinner hour was at hand, Rames pounced upon the key and hid it in his
robe. Then he sought out the princess and said,
“Morning Star, this evening, when I come back from school and am allowed
to play with you, we can look at the wonderful beast in the tank, for
look, I have the key which that fat priest will not search for till
seven days are gone by, before which I can take it to him, saying that I
found it in the sand, or perhaps put it back into his wallet.”
When she heard this Tua’s eyes shone, since above all things she desired
to see this holy monster. But in the evening when the boy came running
to her eagerly--for he had thought of nothing but the crocodile all
day, and had bought a pigeon from a school-fellow with which to feed the
brute--he found Tua in a different mood.
“I don’t think that we will go to see the holy crocodile, Rames,” she
said, looking at him thoughtfully.
“Why not?” he asked amazed. “There is no one about, and I have put fat
upon the key so that it will make no noise.”
“Because my Ka has been with me, Rames, and told me that it is a bad act
and if we do trouble will come to us.”
“Oh! may the fiend Set take your Ka,” replied the lad in a rage. “Show
it to me and I will talk with it.”
“I cannot, Rames, for it is _me_. Moreover, if Set took it, he would
take me also, and you are wicked to wish such a thing.”
Now the boy began to cry with vexation, sobbing out that she was not to
be trusted, and that he had paid away his bronze knife, which Pharaoh
had given him when last he visited the temple, for a pigeon to tempt the
beast to the top of the water, so that they might see it, although the
knife was worth many pigeons, and Pharaoh would be angry if he heard
that he had parted with it.
“Why should we take the life of a poor pigeon to please ourselves?”
asked Tua, softening a little at the sight of his grief.
“It’s taken already,” he answered. “It fluttered so that I had to sit on
it to hide it from the priest, and when he had gone it was dead. Look,”
and he opened the linen bag he held, and showed her the dove cold and
stiff.
“As you did not mean to kill it, that makes a difference,” said Tua
judicially. “Well, perhaps my Ka did not mean that we should not have
one peep, and it is a pity to waste the poor pigeon, which then will
have died for nothing.”
Rames agreed that it would be the greatest of pities, so the two
children slipped away through the trees of the garden into the shadow of
the wall, along which they crept till they came to the bronze door. Then
guiltily enough Rames put the great key into the lock, and with the help
of a piece of wood which he had also made ready, that he set in the ring
of the key to act as a lever, the two of them turning together shot back
the heavy bolts.
Taking out the key lest it should betray them, they opened the door
a little and squeezed themselves through into the forbidden place. No
sooner had they done so than almost they wished themselves back again,
for there was something about the spot that frightened them, to say
nothing of the horrible smell which made Tua feel ill. It was a great
tank, with a little artificial island in its centre, full of slimy water
that looked almost black because of the shadow of the high walls, and
round it ran a narrow stone path. At one spot in this path, however,
where grew some dank-looking trees and bushes, was a slope, also of
stone, and on the slope with its prow resting in the water a little
boat, and in the boat, oars. But of the crocodile there was nothing to
be seen.
“It is asleep somewhere,” whispered Tua, “let us go away, I do not like
this stench.”
“Stench,” answered Rames. “I smell nothing except the lilies on the
water. Let us wake it up, it would be silly to go now. Surely you are
not afraid, O Star.”
“Oh, no! I am not afraid,” answered Tua proudly. “Only wake it up
quickly, please.”
What Rames did not add was that it would be impossible to retreat as the
door had closed behind them, and there was no keyhole on its inner side.
So they walked round the tank, but wherever it might lurk, the sleeping
crocodile refused to wake.
“Let us get into the boat and look for it,” suggested Rames. “Perhaps it
is hiding on the island.”
So he led her to the stone slope, where to her horror Tua saw the
remains of the crocodile’s last meal, a sight that caused her to forget
her doubts and jump into the boat very quickly. Then Rames gave it a
push and sprang in after her, so that they found themselves floating
on the water. Now, standing in the bow, the boy took an oar and paddled
round the island, but still there were no signs of the crocodile.
“I don’t believe it is here at all,” he said, recovering his courage.
“You might try the pigeon,” suggested Tua, who, now that there was less
smell, felt her curiosity returning.
This was a good thought upon which Rames acted at once. Taking the dead
bird from the bag he spread out its wings to make it look as though
it were alive, and threw it into the water, exclaiming, “Arise, O Holy
Crocodile!”
Then with fearful suddenness, whence they knew not, that crocodile
arose. An awful scaly head appeared with dull eyes and countless
flashing fangs, and behind the head cubit upon cubit of monstrous form.
The fangs closed upon the pigeon and everything vanished.
“That was the Holy Crocodile,” said Rames abstractedly as he stared at
the boiling waters, “which has lived here during the reigns of eight
Pharaohs, and perhaps longer. Now we have seen it.”
“Yes,” answered Tua, “and I never want to see it again. Get me away
quick, or I will tell your father.”
Thus adjured the boy, nothing loth, seized his oar, when suddenly
the ancient crocodile, having swallowed the dove, thrust up its snout
immediately beneath them and began to follow the boat. Now Tua screamed
aloud and said something about her Ka.
“Tell it to keep off the crocodile,” shouted Rames as he worked the oar
furiously. “Nothing can hurt a Ka.”
But the crocodile would not be kept off. On the contrary, it thrust its
grey snout and one of its claws over the stern of the boat in such a
fashion that Rames could no longer work the oar, dragging it almost
under water, and snapped with its horrible jaws.
“Oh! it is coming in; we are going to be eaten,” cried Tua.
At that moment the boat touched the landing-place and swung round, so
that its bow, where Tua was, struck the head of the crocodile, which
seemed to infuriate the beast. At least, it hurled itself upon the boat,
causing the fore part to heel over, fill with water, and begin to sink.
Then the little lad, Rames, showed the courage that was in him. Shouting
to Tua:
“Get on shore, get on shore!” he plunged past her and smote the huge
reptile upon the head with the blade of his oar. It opened its hideous
mouth, and he thrust the oar into it and held on.
“Leave go,” cried Tua, as she scrambled to land.
But Rames would not leave go, for in his brave little heart he thought
that if he did the crocodile would follow Tua and eat her. So he clung
to the handle till it was wrenched from him. Indeed he did more, for
seeing that the crocodile had bitten the wooden blade in two and,
having dropped it, was still advancing towards the slope where it was
accustomed to be fed, he leapt into the water and struck it in the eye
with his little fist. Feeling the pain of the blow the monster snapped
at him, and catching him by the hand began to sink back into deep water,
dragging the lad after it.
Rames said nothing, but Tua, who already was at the head of the stage,
looked round and saw the agony on his face.
“Help me, Amen!” she cried, and flying back, grasped Rames by his left
arm just as he was falling over, then set her heels in a crack of
the rock and held on. For one moment she was dragged forward till she
thought that she must fall upon her face and be drowned or eaten with
Rames, but the next something yielded, and she and the boy tumbled in a
heap upon the stones. They rose and staggered together to the terrace.
As they went Tua saw that Rames was looking at his right hand curiously;
also that it was covered with blood, and that the little finger was torn
off it. Then she remembered nothing further, except a sound of shouts
and of heavy hammering at the copper door.
When she recovered it was to find herself in the house of Mermes with
the lady Asti bending over her and weeping.
“Why do you weep, Nurse?” she asked, “seeing that I am safe?”
“I weep for my son, Princess,” she answered between her sobs.
“Is he dead of his wounds, then, Asti?”
“No, O Morning Star, he lies sick in his chamber. But soon Pharaoh will
kill him because he led her who will be Queen of Egypt into great danger
of her life.”
“Not so,” said Tua, springing up, “for he saved my life.”
As she spoke the door opened and in came Pharaoh himself, who had been
summoned hastily from the palace. His face was white and he shook with
fear, for it had been reported to him that his only child was drowned.
When he saw that she lived and was not even hurt, he could not contain
his joy, but casting his arms about her, sank to his knees giving thanks
to the gods and the guardian spirits. She kissed him, and studying his
face with her wise eyes, asked why he was so much afraid.
“Because I thought you had been killed, my daughter.”
“Why did you think that, O my father, seeing that the great god, Amen,
before I was born promised to protect me always, though it is true that
had it not been for Rames----”
Now at the mention of this name Pharaoh was filled with rage.
“Speak not of that wicked lad,” he exclaimed, “now or ever more, for he
shall be scourged till he dies!”
“My father,” answered Tua, springing up, “forget those words, for if
Rames dies I will die also. It is I who am to blame, not he, for my
Ka warned me not to look upon the beast, but to Rames no Ka spoke.
Moreover, when that evil god would have eaten me it was Rames who fought
with it and offered himself to its jaws in my place. Listen, my father,
while I tell you all the story.”
So Pharaoh listened, and when it was done he sent for Rames. Presently
the boy was carried in, for he had lost so much blood that he could not
walk, and was placed upon a stool before him.
“Slay me now, O Pharaoh,” he said in a weak voice, “for I have sinned.
Moreover, I shall die happy since my spirit gave me strength to beat off
the evil beast from the Princess whom I led into trouble.”
“Truly you have done wickedly,” said Pharaoh, shaking his head at him,
“and, therefore, perhaps, you will lose your hand and even your life.
Yet, child, you have a royal heart, who first saved your playmate and
then, even in my presence, take all the blame upon yourself. Therefore
I forgive you, son of Mermes; moreover, I see that I was wise not to
listen to those who counselled that you should be put away at birth,”
and bending over the boy, Pharaoh kissed him on the brow.
Also he gave orders that the greatest physicians in the land should
attend upon him and purge the poison of the crocodile’s teeth from
his body, and when he recovered--which save for the loss of the little
finger of his right hand, he did completely--he sent him a sword with
a handle of gold fashioned to the shape of a crocodile, in place of the
knife which he had paid away for the pigeon, bidding him use it bravely
all his life in defence of her who would be his queen. Further, although
he was still so young, he gave to him the high title of Count in earnest
of his love and favour, and with it a name that meant Defender of the
Royal Lady.
After he had gone Asti the prophetess looked at the sword which Pharaoh
had given to her son.
“I see royal blood on it,” she said, and handed it back to Rames.
But Rames and Tua were no more allowed to play together alone, for
always after this the Princess was accompanied by women of honour and an
armed guard. Also, within a year or two the boy was placed in charge
of a general to be brought up as a soldier, a trade that he liked well
enough, so that from this time forward he and Neter-Tua met but seldom.
Still there was a bond between them which could not be broken by
absence, for already they loved each other, and every night and morning
when Tua made her petitions to Amen, after praying for Pharaoh her
father, and for the spirit of her royal mother, Ahura, she prayed for
Rames, and that they might meet soon. For the months when her eyes did
not fall upon his face were wearisome to Tua.
CHAPTER IV
THE SUMMONING OF AMEN
The years went by and the Princess Neter-Tua, who was called Morning
Star of Amen, came at length to womanhood, and went through the
ceremonies of Purification. In all Egypt there was no maiden so wise and
spirited or so lovely. Tall and slender was her shape, blue as the sea
were her eyes, rosy like the dawn were her cheeks, and when she did not
wear it in a net of gold, her black and curling hair fell almost to her
waist. Also she was very learned, for priests and priestesses taught her
all things that she ought to know, together with the arts of playing
on the harp and of singing and dancing, while her own excellent Spirit,
that Ka which Amen had given her, instructed her in a deeper wisdom
which she gathered unconsciously in sleep and waking dreams, as the
slumbering earth gathers dew at night.
Moreover, her father, the wise old Pharaoh, opened to her the craft of
statesmanship, by help of which she might govern men and overthrow her
enemies. Indeed, he did more, for when her education was finished, he
joined her with him in the government of Egypt, saying:
“I who always lacked bodily strength, grow aged and feeble. This mighty
crown is too heavy for me to bear alone. Daughter, you must share its
weight.”
So the young Neter-Tua became a queen, and great was the ceremony of her
coronation. The high priests and priestesses, clothed in the robes
and symbols of their gods and goddesses, addressed speeches to her and
blessed her in their names, giving her every good gift and promising to
her eternal life. Princes and nobles made her offerings; foreign chiefs
and kings bowed before her by their ambassadors. The Counts and headmen
of the Two Lands swore allegiance to her, and, finally, in the presence
of all the Court, Pharaoh himself set the double crown upon her brow
and gave her her throne-names of “Glorious in Ra and Hathor Strong in
Beauty.”
So for a while Tua sat splendid on her golden seat while the people
adored her, but in that triumphant hour her eyes searched for one face
only, that of the tall and gallant captain, Rames, her foster-brother,
and for a moment rested there content. Yes, their eyes met, those of
the new-crowned Empress on her throne and of the youthful noble in the
throng below. Short was the greeting, for next instant she looked away,
yet more full of meaning than whole days of speech.
“The Queen does not forget what the child remembered, the goddess is
still a woman,” it seemed to say. And so sweet was that message that
Rames staggered from the Court like one stricken by the sun.
Night came at last, and having dismissed her secretaries, scribes and
tire-women the weary girl, now clad in simple white, sat in her chamber
alone. She thought of all the splendours through which she had passed;
she thought of the glories of her imperial state, of the power that she
wielded, and of the proud future which stretched before her feet.
But most of all she thought of the face of the young Count Rames, the
playmate of her childhood, the man she loved, and wondered, ah! how she
wondered, if with all her power she could ever draw him to her side.
If not, of what use was this rule over millions, this dominion of her
world? They called her a goddess, and in truth, at times, she believed
that she was half-divine, but if so, why did her heart ache like that of
any common maid?
Moreover, was she really set above the misfortunes of her race? Could
a throne, however bright with gold, lift her above the sorrows of human
kind? She desired to learn the truth, the very truth. Her mind was
urgent, it drove her on to search out things to come, to stand face to
face with them, even if they were evil. Well, she believed she had the
strength, although, as yet, she had never called it to her aid.
Also this thing could not be done alone. Tua thought a while, then going
to the door of her chamber she bade a woman who waited without summon to
her the Lady Asti, priestess of Amen, Interpreter of Heaven. Presently
Asti came, for now, as always, she was in attendance upon the
new-crowned queen, a tall and noble-looking woman with fine-cut features
and black hair, that although she was fifty years of age, still showed
no trace of grey.
“I was in the Sanctuary when your Majesty summoned me,” she said,
pointing to the sacred robe she wore. “Let your Majesty pardon me,
therefore, if I have been long in coming,” and she bowed low before her.
But the Queen lifted her up and kissed her, saying,
“I am weary of those high titles whereof I have heard more than enough
to-day. Call me Tua, O my mother, for so you have ever been to me, from
whose breast I drew the milk of life.”
“What ails you, my child?” asked Asti. “Was the crown too heavy for this
young head of yours?” she added, stretching out her delicate hand and
stroking the black and curling hair.
“Aye, Mother, the weight of it seemed to crush me with its gems and
gold. I am weary and yet I cannot sleep. Tell me, why did Pharaoh summon
that Council after the feast? Mermes was one of them, so you must know.
And why was not I, who henceforth rule with Pharaoh, present with him?”
“Would you learn?” said Asti with a little smile. “Well, as Queen
you have the right. It was because they discussed the matter of your
marriage.”
For a moment a light shone upon Tua’s face. Then she asked anxiously:
“My marriage, and with whom?”
“Oh! many names were mentioned, Child, since she who rules Egypt does
not lack for suitors.”
“Tell me them quick, Asti.”
So she told them, there were seven in all, the Prince of Kesh, the sons
of foreign kings, great nobles, and a general of the army who claimed
descent from a former Pharaoh.
As each name fell from Asti’s lips Tua waved her hand, saying scornful
words, such as “I know him not,” “Too old,” “Fat and hideous,” “A
foreign dog who spits upon our gods,” and so forth, adding at last:
“Go on.”
“That is all, Lady, no other name was mentioned, and the Council
adjourned to consider these.”
“No other name?”
“Do you then miss one, perchance, Tua?”
She made no answer, only her lips seemed to shape themselves to a
certain sound that they did not utter. The two women looked each other
in the eyes, then Asti shook her head.
“It may not be,” she whispered, “for many reasons, and amongst them that
by the solemn decree of long ago whereof I have told you, our blood is
barred for ever from the throne. None would dare to break it, not even
the Pharaoh himself. You would bring my son to his death, Tua, which
such another look as you gave him in yonder hall would surely do.”
“No,” she answered slowly, “I would not bring him to his death, but to
life and honour and--love, and one day _I_ shall be Pharaoh. Only, Asti,
if you betray me to him I swear that I will bring you to your death,
although you are so dear.”
“I shall not betray you,” answered the priestess, smiling again. “In
truth, most Beautiful, I do not think there is any need, even if I
would. Say now, why did a certain captain turn faint and leave the hall
to-day when your eyes chanced to fall on him?”
“The heat,” suggested Tua, colouring.
“Yes, it was hot, but he is stronger than most men and had borne it
long--like others. Still there are fires----”
“Because he was afraid of my majesty,” broke in Tua hurriedly. “You know
I looked very royal there, Mother.”
“Yes, doubtless fear moved him--or some other passion. Yet, Beloved,
put that thought from your heart as I do. When you are Pharaoh you will
learn that a monarch is a slave to the people and to the law. Breathe
but his name in love, and never will you see him more till you meet
before Osiris.”
Tua hid her eyes in her hands for a moment, then she glanced up and
there was another look upon her face, a strange, new look.
“When I am Pharaoh,” she answered, “there are certain matters in which
I will be my own law, and if the people do not like it, they may find
another Pharaoh.”
Asti started at her words, and a light of joy shone in her deep eyes.
“Truly your heart is high,” she said; “but, oh! if you love me--and
another--bury that thought, bury it deep, or he will never live to see
you placed alone upon the golden seat. Know, Lady, that already from
hour to hour I fear for him--lest he should drink a poisoned cup,
lest at night he should chance to stumble against a spear, lest an
arrow--shot in sport--should fall against his throat and none know
whence it came.”
Tua clenched her hands.
“If so, there should be such vengeance as Egypt has not heard of since
Mena ruled.”
“Of what use is vengeance, Child, when the heart is empty and the tomb
is sealed?”
Again Tua thought. Then she said:
“There are other gods besides Osiris. Now what do men call me, Mother?
Nay, not my royal names.”
“They call you Morning Star of Amen; they call you Daughter of Amen.”
“Is that story true, Asti the Magician?”
“Aye, at least your mother dreamed the dream, for she told it to me and
I have read its record, who am a priestess of Amen.”
“Then this high god should love me, should he not? He should hear my
prayers and give me power--he should protect those who are dear to me.
Mother, they say that you, the Mistress of secret things, can open the
ears of the gods and cause their mouths to speak. Mother, I command you
as your Queen, call up my father Amen before me, so that I may talk with
him, for I have words to which he must listen.”
“Are you not afraid?” asked Asti, looking at her curiously. “He is the
greatest of all the gods, and to summon him lightly is a sacrilege.”
“Should a daughter fear her father?” answered Tua.
“When the divine Queen your mother and Pharaoh knelt before him in his
shrine, praying that a child might be given to them, Amen did not deign
to appear to them, save afterwards in a dream. Will you dare more than
they? Lie down and dream, O Star of the Morning.”
“Nay, I trust no dreams which change like summer clouds and pass as
soon,” answered the girl boldly. “If the god is my father, in the spirit
or the flesh, I know not which, let him appear before me face to face.
I ask his wisdom for myself and his favour for another. Call him, if you
have the power, Asti. Call him even if he slay me. Better that I should
die than----”
“Hush!” said Asti, laying her hand upon her lips, “speak not that name.
Well, I have some skill, and for your sake--and another’s--I will try,
but not here. Perchance he may listen, perchance not, or, perchance, if
he comes you and I must pay the price. Put on your robes, now, O Queen,
and over them this veil, and follow me--if you dare.”
Along narrow passages they crept and down many a secret-stair, till at
length they came to a door at the foot of a long slope of rock.
This door Asti unlocked and thrust open, then when they had entered,
re-locked it behind them.
“What is this place?” whispered Tua.
“The burial crypt of the high priestesses of Amen, where it is said that
the god watches. None have entered it for hard on thirty years. See here
in the dust run the footsteps of those who bore the last priestess to
her rest.”
She held up her lamp, and by the light of it Tua saw that they were in a
great cave painted with figures of the gods which had on either side of
it recesses. In each of these was set a coffin with a gilded face, and
behind it an alabaster statue of her who lay therein, and in front of
it a table of offerings. At the head of the crypt stood a small altar of
black stone, for the rest the place was empty.
Asti led Tua to a step in front of the altar and bidding her kneel,
departed with the lamp which she hid away in some side chapel, so that
now the darkness was intense. Presently, through the utter silence, Tua
heard her creep back towards her, for although she walked so softly the
dust seemed to cry beneath her feet, and her every footstep echoed round
the vaulted walls. Moreover, a glow came from her, the glow of her life
in that place of death. She passed Tua and knelt by the altar and the
echo of her movements died away. Only it seemed to Tua that from each of
the tombs to the right and to the left rose the Ka of her who was buried
there, and drew near to watch and listen. She could not see them, she
could not hear them, yet she knew that they were there and was able to
count their number--thirty and two in all--while within herself rose
a picture of them, each differing from the other, but all white,
expectant, solemn.
Now Tua heard Asti murmuring secret invocations that she did not
understand. In that place and silence they sounded weird and dreadful,
and as she hearkened to them, for the first time fear crept over her.
Kneeling there upon her knees she bent her head almost to the dust
and put up prayers to Amen that he might be pleased to hear her and to
satisfy the longings of her heart. She prayed and prayed till she grew
faint and weary, while always Asti uttered her invocations. But no
answer came, no deity appeared, no voice spoke. At length Asti rose, and
coming to her, whispered in her ear:
“Let us depart ere the watching spirits, whose rest we have broken, grow
wrath with us. The god has shut his ears.”
So Tua rose, clinging to Asti, for now, she knew not why, her fear grew
and deepened. For a moment she stood upon her feet, then sank to her
knees again, for there at the far end of the great tomb, near to the
door by which they had entered, appeared a glow upon the darkness.
Slowly it took form, the form of a woman clad in the royal robes of
Egypt, and bearing in its hand a sceptre. The figure of light advanced
towards them, so that presently they saw its face. Tua did not know the
face, though it seemed to her to be like her own, but Asti knew it, and
at the sight sank to the ground.
Now the figure stood in front of them, a thing of light framed in the
thick darkness, and now in a sweet, low voice it spoke.
“Hail! Queen of Egypt,” it said. “Hail! Neter-Tua, Daughter of Amen. Art
thou afraid to look on the spirit of her who bore thee, thou that didst
dare to summon the Father of the gods to do thy bidding?”
“I am afraid,” answered Tua, shaking in all her limbs.
“And thou, Asti the Magician, art thou afraid also, who but now wast
bold enough to cry to Amen-Ra--‘Come from thy high heaven and make
answer’?”
“It is even so, O Queen Ahura,” murmured Asti.
“Woman,” went on the voice, “thy sin is great, and great is the sin of
this royal one at thy side. Had Amen hearkened, how would the two of you
have stood before his glory, who at the sight of this shape of mine that
once was mortal like yourselves, crouch choking to the earth? I tell
you both that had the god arisen, as in your wickedness ye willed,
there where ye knelt, there ye would have died. But he who knows all is
merciful, and in his place has sent me his messenger that ye may live to
look upon to-morrow’s sun.”
“Let Amen pardon us!” gasped Tua, “it was my sin, O Mother, for I
commanded Asti and she obeyed me. On me be the blame, not on her, for I
am torn with doubts and fears, for myself and for another. I would know
the future.”
“Why, O Queen Neter-Tua, why wouldst thou know the future? If hell yawns
beneath thy feet, why wouldst thou peep through its golden doors before
the time? The future is hid from mortals because, could they pierce its
veil, it would crush them with its terrors. If all the woes of life and
death lay open the gaze, who would dare to live and who--oh! who could
dare to die?”
“Then woes await me, O thou who wast my mother?”
“How can it be otherwise? Light and darkness make the day, joy and
sorrow make the life. Thou art human, be content.”
“Divine also, O Ahura, if all tales be true.”
“Then pay for thy divinity in tears and be satisfied. Content is the
guerdon of the beast, but gods are wafted upwards on the wings of pain.
How can that gold be pure which has not known the fire?”
“Thou tellest me nothing,” wailed Tua, “and it is not for myself I ask.
I am fair, I am Amen’s daughter, and splendid is my heritage. Yet, O
Dweller in Osiris, thou who once didst fill the place I hold to-day, I
tell thee that I would pay away this pomp, could I but be sure that I
shall not live loveless, that I shall not be given as a chattel to one
whom I hate, that one--whom I do not hate--will live to call me--wife.
Great dangers threaten him--and me, Amen is mighty; he is the potter
that moulds the clay of men; if I be his child, if his spirit is
breathed into me, oh! let him help me now.”
“Let thine own faith help thee. Are not the words of Amen, which he
spake concerning thee, written down? Study them and ask no more. Love
is an arrow that does not miss its mark; it is the immortal fire from on
high which winds and waters cannot quench. Therefore love on. Thou shalt
not love in vain. Queen and Daughter, fare thee well awhile.”
“Nay, nay, one word, Immortal. I thank thee, thou Messenger of the
gods, but when these troubles come upon me--and another, when the sea
of dangers closes o’er our heads, when shame is near and I am lonely, as
well may chance, then to whom shall I turn for succour?”
“Then thou hast one within thee who is strong to aid. It was given to
thee at thy birth, O Star of Amen, and Asti can call it forth. Come
hither, thou Asti, and swiftly, for I must be gone, and first I would
speak with thee.”
Asti crept forward, and the glowing shape in the royal robe bent over
her so that the light of it shone upon her face. It bent over her and
seemed to whisper in her ear. Then it held out its hands towards Tua as
though in blessing, and instantly was not.
Once more the two women stood in Tua’s chamber. Pale and shaken they
looked into each other’s eyes.
“You have had your will, Queen,” said Asti; “for if Amen did not come,
he sent a messenger, and a royal one.”
“Interpret me this vision,” answered Tua, “for to me, at any rate, that
Spirit said little.”
“Nay, it said much. It said that love fails not of its reward, and what
more went you out to seek?”
“Then I am glad,” exclaimed Tua joyfully.
“Be not too glad, Queen, for to-night we have sinned, both of us, who
dared to summon Amen from his throne, and sin also fails not of its
reward. Blood is the price of that oracle.”
“Whose blood, Asti? Ours?”
“Nay, worse, that of those who are dear to us. Troubles arise in Egypt,
Queen.”
“You will not leave me when they break, Asti?”
“I may not if I would. The Fates have bound us together till the end,
and that I think is far away. I am yours as once you were mine when you
lay upon my breast, but bid me no more to summon Amen from his throne.”
CHAPTER V
HOW RAMES FOUGHT THE PRINCE OF KESH
Now for a whole moon there were great festivals in Thebes, and in all of
these Neter-Tua, “Glorious in Ra, Hathor Strong in Beauty, Morning
Star of Amen,” must take her part as new-crowned Queen of Egypt. Feast
followed feast, and at each of them one of the suitors of her hand was
the guest of honour.
Then after it was done, Pharaoh her father and his councillors would
wait upon her and ask if this man was pleasing to her. Being wise, Tua
would give no direct answer, only of most of them she was rid in this
way.
She demanded that the writing of the dream of her mother, Ahura, should
be brought and read before her, and when it had been read she pointed
out that Amen promised to her a royal lover, and that these chiefs and
generals were not royal, therefore it was not of them that Amen spoke,
nor did she dare to turn her eyes on one whom the god had forbidden to
her.
Of others who declared that they were kings, but who, being unable to
leave their countries, were represented by ambassadors, she said that
not having seen them she could say nothing. When they appeared at the
Court of Egypt, she would consider them.
So at length only one suitor was left, the man whom she knew well
Pharaoh and his councillors desired that she should take as husband.
This was Amathel, the Prince of Kesh, whose father, an aged king, ruled
at Napata, a great city far to the south, situated in a land that was
called an island because the river Nile embraced it in its two arms.
It was said that after Egypt this country was the richest in the whole
world, for there gold was so plentiful that men thought it of less value
than copper and iron; also there were mines in which beautiful stones
were found, and the soil grew corn in abundance.
Moreover, once in the far past, a race of Pharaohs sprung from this city
of Napata, had sat on the throne of Egypt, until at length the people of
Egypt, headed by the priests, had risen and overthrown them because
they were foreigners and had introduced Nubian customs into the land.
Therefore it was decreed by an unalterable law that none of their race
should ever again wear the Double Crown. Of the descendants of these
Pharaohs, Rames, Tua’s playmate, was the last lawful child.
But although the Egyptians had cast them down, at heart they always
grieved over the rich territory of Napata, which was lost to them, for
when those Pharaohs fell Kesh declared itself independent and set up
another dynasty to rule over it, of which dynasty Amathel Prince of Kesh
was the heir.
Therefore they hoped that it might come back to them by marriage between
Amathel and the young Queen Neter-Tua. Ever since she was born the great
lords and councillors of Egypt, yes, and Pharaoh himself, seeing that he
had no son to whom he might marry her after the fashion of the country,
had been working to this end. It was by secret treaty that the Prince
Amathel was present at the crowning of the Queen, of whose hand he had
been assured on the sole condition that he came to dwell with her at
Thebes. It is true that there were other suitors, but these, as all of
them knew well, were but pawns in a game played to amuse the people.
The king destined to take the great queen captive was Amathel and no
other. Tua knew it, for had not Asti told her, and was it not because of
her fear of this man and her love for Rames that she had dared to commit
the sacrilege of attempting to summon Amen from the skies? Still, as
yet, the Pharaoh had not spoken to her of Amathel, nor had she met him.
It was said that he had been present at her crowning in disguise, for
this proud prince gave out that were she ten times Queen of Egypt,
he would not pledge himself to wed as his royal wife, one who was
displeasing to him, and that therefore he must see her before he pressed
his suit.
Now that he had seen her in her loveliness and glory, he announced that
he was well satisfied, which was but half the truth, for, in fact, she
had set all his southern blood on fire, and there was nothing that he
desired more than to call her wife.
On the night which had been appointed for Amathel to meet his destined
bride, a feast had been prepared richer by far than any that went
before. Tua, feigning ignorance, on entering the great unroofed hall lit
with hundreds of torches down all its length, and seeing the multitudes
at the tables, asked of the Pharaoh, her father, who was the guest that
he would welcome with such magnificence which seemed worthy of a god
rather than of a man.
“My daughter,” answered the old monarch nervously, “it is none other
than the Prince of Kesh, who in his own country they worship as divine,
as we are worshipped here in Egypt, and who, in truth, is, or will be,
one of the greatest of kings.”
“Kesh!” she answered, “I thought that we claimed sovereignty over that
land.”
“Once it was ours, Daughter,” said her father with a sigh, “or rather
the kings of Kesh were also kings of Egypt, but their dynasty fell
before my great-great-grandfather was called to the throne, and now but
three of their blood are left, Mermes, Captain of the Guard of Amen;
Asti, the Seer and Priestess, his wife, your foster-mother and waiting
lady, and the young Count Rames, a soldier in our army, who was your
playmate, and as you may remember saved you from the sacred crocodile.”
“Yes, I remember,” said Tua. “But then why is not Mermes King of Kesh?”
“Because the people of the city of Napata raised up another house to
rule over them, of whom Amathel is the heir.”
“A usurping heir, surely, my father, if there be anything in blood.”
“Say not that, Tua,” replied Pharaoh sharply, “for then Mermes should be
Pharaoh in our place also.”
Tua made no reply, only as they took their seats in the golden chairs at
the head of the hall, she asked carelessly:
“Is this Prince of Kesh also a suitor for my hand, O Pharaoh?”
“What else should he be, my daughter? Did you not know it? Be gracious
to him now, since it is decreed that you shall take him as a husband.
Hush! answer not. He comes.”
As he spoke a sound of wild music arose, and at the far end of the great
hall appeared a band of players gorgeously attired, who blew horns made
from small tusks of the elephant, clashed brazen cymbals and beat gilded
drums. These advanced a little way up the hall and stood there playing,
while after them marched a bodyguard of twenty gigantic Nubian soldiers
who carried broad-bladed spears with shields of hippopotamus hide
curiously worked, and were clothed in tunics and caps of leopard-skin.
Next appeared the Prince of Kesh himself, a short, stout,
broad-shouldered young man, thick-featured, heavy-faced, and having
large, rolling eyes. He was clad in festal garments, and hung about with
heavy chains of gold fastened with clasps of glittering stones,
while from his crisp, black hair rose a tall plume of nodding ostrich
feathers. Fan bearers walked beside him, and the train of his long cloak
was borne by two black and hideous dwarfs, full-grown men but no taller
than a child of eight.
With one swift glance, while he was yet far away, Tua studied the man
from head to foot, and hated him as she had never hated anyone before.
Then she looked over his head, as from her raised seat upon the dais she
was able to do, and saw that behind him came a second guard of picked
Egyptian soldiers, and that in command of them, simply clad in his
scaled armour of bronze, and wearing upon his thigh the golden-handled
sword that Pharaoh had given him, was none other than the young Count
Rames, her playmate and foster-brother, the man whom her heart loved. At
the sight of his tall and noble form and fine-cut face rising above the
coarse, squat figure of the Ethiopian prince, Tua blushed rosy red, but
Pharaoh noting it, only thought, as others did, that it was because now
for the first time her eyes fell upon him who would be her husband.
Why, Tua wondered, was Rames chosen to attend upon the Prince Amathel?
At once the answer rose in her mind. Doubtless it had been done to
gratify the pride of Amathel, not by Pharaoh, who would know nothing
of such matters, but by some bribed councillor, or steward of the
household. Rames was of more ancient blood than Amathel, and by right
should be the King of Kesh, as he should also be Pharaoh of Egypt;
therefore, to humble him he was set to wait upon Amathel.
Moreover, it was guessed that the young Queen looked kindly upon this
Count Rames with whom she had been nursed, and who, like herself, was
beautiful to behold. Therefore, to abase him in her eyes he had been
commanded to appear walking in the train of Amathel and given charge
over his sacred person at the feast.
In a moment Tua understood it all, and made a vow before her father
Amen that soon or late those who had planned this outrage should pay its
price, nor did she forget that promise in the after days.
Now the Prince had mounted the dais and was bowing low to Pharaoh and to
her, and they must rise and bow in answer. Then Pharaoh welcomed him to
Egypt in few, well-chosen words, giving him all his titles and speaking
meaningly of the ancient ties which had linked their kingdoms, ties
which, he prayed, might yet draw them close again.
He ceased and looked at Tua who, as Queen, had also a speech to deliver
that had been given to her in writing. Although she remembered this well
enough, for the roll lay beside her, never a word would she read, but
turned round and bade one of her waiting-ladies bring her a fan.
So after a pause that seemed somewhat long Amathel delivered his answer
that was learned by rote, for it replied to “gentle words from the lips
of the divine Queen that made his heart to flower like the desert after
rain,” not one of which had she spoken. Thereon Tua, looking over
the top of her fan, saw Rames smile grimly, while unable to restrain
themselves, some of the great personages at the feast broke out
laughing, and bowed down their heads to hide their merriment.
With an angry scowl the Prince turned and commanded that the gifts
should be brought. Now slaves advanced bearing cups of worked gold,
elephants and other beasts fashioned in gold, and golden vases full of
incense, which he presented to Pharaoh on behalf of his father, the King
of Kesh and himself, saying boastfully that in his country such things
were common, and that he would have brought more of them had it not been
for their weight.
When Pharaoh had thanked him, answering gently that Egypt too was not
poor, as he hoped that he would find upon the morrow, the Prince, on
his own behalf alone, offered to the Queen other presents, among
them pectorals and necklaces without price fashioned of amethysts and
sapphires. Also, because she was known to be the first of musicians and
the sweetest-voiced lady in the land--for these were the greatest of the
gifts that Tua had from Amen--he gave to her a wonderfully worked harp
of ivory with golden strings, the frame of the harp being fashioned to
the shape of a woman, and two black female slaves laden with ornaments,
who were said to be the best singers in the Southern Land.
Now Pharaoh whispered to Tua to put on one of the necklaces, but she
would not, saying that the colour of the stones did not match her white
robe and the blue lotus flowers which she wore. Instead, she thanked
Amathel coldly but courteously, and without looking at his gifts, told
the royal Nurse, Asti, who stood behind her, to bear them away and to
place them at a distance, as the perfumes that had been poured over
them, oppressed her. Only, as though by an afterthought, she bade them
leave the ivory harp.
Thus inauspiciously enough the feast began. At it Amathel drank much of
the sweet wine of Asi or Cyprus, commanding Rames, who stood behind him,
to fill his cup again and again, though whether he did this because he
was nearest to him, or to lower him to the rank of a butler, Tua did not
know. At least, having no choice, Rames obeyed, though cup-filling was
no fitting task for a Count of Egypt and an officer of Pharaoh’s guard.
When the waiting women, clad in net worked with spangles of gold,
had borne away the meats, conjurers appeared who did wonderful feats,
amongst other things causing a likeness of Queen Neter-Tua wearing her
royal robes and having a star upon her brow, to arise out of a vase.
Then, as they had arranged, they strove to do the same for the Prince
Amathel, but Asti who had more magic than all of them, watching behind
Tua’s chair, put out her strength and threw a spell upon them.
Behold! instead of the form of the Prince, which these conjurers
summoned loudly and by name, there appeared out of the vase a monkey
wearing a crown and feathers that yet resembled him somewhat, which
black and hideous ape stood there for a while seeming to gibber at them,
then fell down and vanished away.
Now some of the audience laughed and some were silent, but Pharaoh, not
knowing whether this were a plot or an evil omen from the gods, frowned
and looked anxiously at his guest. As it chanced, however, the Prince,
fired with wine, was so engaged in staring at the loveliness of Tua,
that he took no note of the thing, while the Queen looked upwards and
seemed to see nothing. As for the conjurers, they fled from the hall,
fearing for their lives, and wondering what strong spirit had entered
into the vase and spoilt the trick which they had prepared.
As they went singers and dancing women hurriedly took their place, till
Tua, wearying of the stare of Amathel, waved her hand and said that she
wished to hear those two Nubian slaves whose voices were said to be so
wonderful. So they were brought forward with their harps, and having
prostrated themselves, began to play and sing very sweetly, Nubian songs
melancholy and wild, whereof few could understand the meaning. So well
did they sing, indeed, that when they had done, Neter-Tua said:
“You have pleased me much, and in payment I give you a royal gift. I
give you your freedom, and appoint that henceforth you shall sing before
the Court, if you think fit to stay here, not as slaves but for hire.”
Then the two women prostrated themselves again before her Majesty and
blessed her, for they knew that they could earn wealth by their gift,
and the rich courtiers taking the Queen’s cue, flung rings and ornaments
to them, so that in a minute they got more gold than ever they had
dreamed of, who were but kidnapped slaves. But Prince Amathel grew angry
and said:
“Some might have been pleased to keep the priceless gift of the best
singers in the world.”
“Do you say that these sweet-voiced women are the best singers in the
world, O Prince?” asked Tua, speaking to him for the first time. “Now
if you will be pleased to listen, you provoke me to make trial of my own
small skill that I may learn how far I fall short of ‘the best singers
in the world.’”
Then she lifted up the ivory harp with the strings of gold and swept
her fingers over it, trying its notes and adjusting them with the agate
screws, looking at Amathel all the while with a challenge in her lovely
eyes.
“Nay, nay, my daughter,” said Pharaoh, “it is scarcely fitting that a
queen of Egypt should sing before all this noble company.”
“Why not, my father?” she asked. “To-night we all do honour to the heir
of his Majesty of Kesh. Pharaoh receives him, Pharaoh’s daughter accepts
his gifts, the highest in the land surround him,” then she paused and
added slowly, “one of blood more ancient than his own waits on him as
cup-bearer, one whose race built up the throne his father fills,” and
she pointed to Rames, who stood near by holding the vase of wine. “Why,
then, should not Egypt’s queen seek to please our royal guest as best
she may--since she has no other gift to give him?”
Then in the dead silence which followed this bold speech, whereof none
could mistake the meaning, Neter-Tua, Morning Star of Amen, rose from
her seat. Pressing the ivory harp against her young breast, she
bent over it, her head crowned with the crown of Upper Egypt whereon
glistened the royal _uræus_, a snake about to strike, and swept the
well-tuned strings.
Such magic was in her touch that instantly all else was forgotten, even
the Pharaoh leaned back in his golden chair to listen. Softly she struck
at first, then by slow degrees ever louder till the music of the harp
rang through the pillared hall. Now, at length, she lifted up her
heavenly voice and began to sing in a strain so wild and sweet that it
seemed to pierce to the watching stars.
It was a sad and ancient love-tale that she sang, which told how a
priestess of Hathor of high degree loved and was beloved by a simple
scribe whom she might not wed. It told how the scribe, maddened by his
passion, crept at night into the very sanctuary of the temple hoping to
find her there, and for his sacrilege was slain by the angry goddess.
It told how the beautiful priestess, coming alone to make prayer in the
sanctuary for strength to resist her love, stumbled over the lover’s
corpse and, knowing it, died of grief. It told how Hathor, goddess
of love, melted by the piteous sight, breathed back life into their
nostrils, and since they might not remain upon earth, wafted them to the
Under-world, where they awoke and embraced and dwell on for ever and for
aye, triumphant and rejoicing.
All had heard this old, old story, but none had ever heard it so
divinely sung. As Tua’s pure and lovely voice floated over them the
listeners seemed to see that lover, daring all in his desire, creep into
the solemn sanctuary of the temple. They saw Hathor appear in her wrath
and smite him cold in death. They saw the beauteous priestess with her
lamp, and heard her wail her life away upon her darling’s corpse; saw,
too, the dead borne by spirits over the borders of the world.
Then came that last burst of music thrilling and divine, and its rich,
passionate notes seemed to open the heavens to their sight. There in the
deep sky they perceived the awakening of the lovers and their embrace
of perfect joy, and when a glory hid them, heard the victorious chant of
the priestess of love sighing itself away, faint and ever fainter, till
at length its last distant echoes died in the utter silence of the place
of souls.
Tua ceased her music. Resting her still quivering harp upon the board,
she sank back in her chair of state, outworn, trembling, while in her
pale face the blue eyes shone like stars. There was stillness in
the hall; the spell of that magical voice lay on the listeners; none
applauded, it seemed even that none dared to move, for men remembered
that this wonderful young Queen was said to be daughter of Amen, Master
of the world, and thought that it had been given to them to hearken, not
to a royal maiden, but to a goddess of the skies.
Quiet they sat as though sleep had smitten them, only every man of their
number stared at the sweet pale face and at those radiant eyes. Drunk
with passion and with wine, Amathel, Prince of Kesh, leaned his heavy
head upon his hand and stared like the rest. But those eyes did not stay
on him. Had he been a stone they could not have noted him less; they
passed over him seeking something beyond.
Slowly he turned to see what it might be at which the Morning Star of
Amen gazed, and perceived that the young captain who waited on him, he
who was said to be of a race more ancient and purer than his own, he
whose house had reigned in the Southern Land when his ancestors were but
traffickers in gold, was also gazing at this royal singer. Yes, he bent
forward to gaze as though a spell drew him, a spell, or the eyes of
the Queen, and there was that upon his face which even a drunken Nubian
could not fail to understand.
In the hands of Rames was the tall, golden vase of wine, and as Amathel
thrust back his chair its topmost ivory bar struck the foot of the
vase and tilted it, so that the red wine poured in a torrent over the
Prince’s head and gorgeous robes, staining him from his crest of plumes
to his feet as though with blood. Up sprang the Prince of Kesh roaring
with fury.
“Dog-descended slave!” he shouted. “Hog-headed brother of swine, is it
thus that you wait upon my Royalty?” and with the cup in his hand he
smote Rames on the face, then drew the sword at his side to kill him.
But Rames also wore a sword, that sword hafted with the golden crocodile
which Pharaoh had given him long ago--that sword which Asti the
foresighted had seen red with royal blood. With a wild, low cry he
snatched it from its sheath, and to avoid the blow that Amathel struck
at him before he could guard himself, sprang backwards from the dais
to the open space in the hall that had been left clear for the dancers.
After him leapt Amathel calling him “Coward,” and next instant the
pillars echoed, not with Tua’s music but with the stern ringing of
bronze upon bronze.
Now in their fear and amaze men looked up to Pharaoh, waiting his word,
but Pharaoh, overcome by the horror of the scene, appeared to have
swooned; at least, he lay back in his chair with his eyes shut like one
asleep. Then they looked to the Queen, but Tua made no sign, only with
parted lips and heaving breast watched, watched and waited for the end.
As for Rames he forgot everything save that he, a soldier and a noble
of royal race, had been struck across the mouth by a black Nubian who
called himself a prince. His blood boiled up in him, and through a
red haze as it were, he saw Tua’s glorious eyes beckoning him on to a
victory. He saw and sprang as springs the lion of the desert, sprang
straight at the throat of Amathel. The blow went high, an ostrich plume
floated to the ground--no more, and Amathel was a sturdy fighter and had
the strength of madness. Moreover, his was the longer weapon; it fell
upon the scales of armour of Rames and beat him back, it fell again
on his shoulder and struck him to his knee. It fell a third time,
and glancing from the mail wounded him in the thigh so that the blood
flowed. Now a soldier of Pharaoh’s guard shouted to encourage his
captain, and the Nubians shouted back, crying to their prince to slit
the hog’s throat.
Then Rames seemed to awake. He leapt from his knees, he smote and the
blow went home, though the iron which the Nubian wore beneath his robe
stayed it. He smote again more fiercely, and now it was the blood
of Amathel that flowed. Then bending almost to the ground before the
answering stroke, he leapt and thrust with all the strength of young
limbs trained to war. He thrust and behold! between the broad shoulders
of Amathel pierced from breast to back, appeared the point of the
Egyptian’s sword. For a moment the prince stood still, then he fell
backwards heavily and lay dead.
Now, with a shout of rage the giants of the Nubian guard rushed at Rames
to avenge their master’s death, so that he must fly backwards before
their spears, backwards into the ranks of the Pharaoh’s guard. In a
flash the Nubians were on them also and, how none could tell, a fearful
fray began, for these soldiers hated each other, as their fathers had
done before them, and there were none who could come between them,
since at this feast no man bore weapons save the guards. Fierce was the
battle, but the Nubians lacked a captain while Rames led veterans of
Thebes picked for their valour.
The giants began to give. Here and there they fell till at length but
three of them were left upon their feet, who threw down their arms and
cried for mercy. Then it was for the first time that Rames understood
what he had done. With bent head, his red sword in his hand, he climbed
the dais and knelt before the throne of Pharaoh, saying:
“I have avenged my honour and the honour of Egypt. Slay me, O Pharaoh!”
But Pharaoh made no answer for his swoon still held him.
Then Rames turned to Tua and said:
“Pharaoh sleeps, but in your hand is the sceptre. Slay me, O Queen!”
Now Tua, who all this while had watched like one frozen into stone,
seemed to thaw to life again. Her danger was past. She could never be
forced to wed that coarse, black-souled Nubian, for Rames had killed
him. Yonder he lay dead in all his finery with his hideous giants about
him like fallen trees, and oh! in her rebellious human heart she blessed
Rames for the deed.
But as she, who was trained in statecraft, knew well enough, if he had
escaped the sword of Prince Amathel, it was but to fall into a peril
from which there seemed to be no escape. This dead prince was the heir
of a great king, of a king so great that for a century Egypt had dared
to make no war upon his country, for it was far away, well-fortified and
hard to come at across deserts and through savage tribes. Moreover, the
man had been slain at a feast in Pharaoh’s Court, and by an officer of
Pharaoh’s guard, which afterwards had killed his escort under the eyes
of Egypt’s monarchs, the hand of one of whom he sought in marriage. Such
a deed must mean a bitter war for Egypt, and to those who struck the
blow--death, as Rames himself knew well.
Tua looked at him kneeling before her, and her heart ached. Fiercely,
despairingly she thought, throwing her soul afar to seek out wisdom and
a way of escape for Rames. Presently in the blackness of her mind there
arose a plan and, as ever was her fashion, she acted swiftly. Lifting
her head she commanded that the doors should be locked and guarded so
that none might go in or out, and that those physicians who were amongst
the company should attend to the wounded, and to Pharaoh, who was
ill. Then she called the High Council of the Kingdom, all of whom were
gathered there about her, and spoke in a cold, calm voice, while the
company flocked round to listen.
“Lords and people,” she said, “the gods for their own purposes have
suffered a fearful thing to come to pass. Egypt’s guest and his guard
have been slain before Egypt’s kings, yes, at their feast and in their
very presence, and it will be said far and wide that this has been done
by treachery. Yet you know well, as I do, that it was no treachery,
but a mischance. The divine prince who is dead, as all of you saw,
grew drunken after the fashion of his people, and in his drunkenness he
struck a high-born man, a Count of Egypt and an officer of Pharaoh, who
to do him greater honour was set to wait upon him, calling him by vile
names, and drew his sword upon him to kill him. Am I right? Did you see
and hear these things?”
“Aye,” answered the Council and the audience.
“Then,” went on Tua, “this officer, forgetting all save his outraged
honour, dared to fight for his life even against the Prince of Kesh, and
being the better man, slew him. Afterwards the servants of the Prince of
Kesh attacked him and Pharaoh’s guard, and were conquered and the most
of them killed, since none here had arms wherewith to part them. Have I
spoken truth?”
“Yea, O Queen,” they answered again by their spokesman. “Rames and the
royal guard have little blame in the matter,” and from the rest of them
rose a murmur of assent.
“Now,” went on Tua with gathering confidence, for she felt that all saw
with her eyes, “to add to our woes Pharaoh, my father, has been smitten
by the gods. He sleeps; he cannot speak; I know not whether he will live
or die, and therefore it would seem that I, the duly-crowned Queen of
Egypt, must act for him as was provided in such a case, since the matter
is very urgent and may not be delayed. Is it your will,” she added,
addressing the Council, “that I should so act as the gods may show me
how to do?”
“It is right and fitting,” answered the Vizier, the King’s companion, on
behalf of all of them.
“Then, priests, lords and people,” continued the Queen, “what course
shall we take in this sore strait? Speaking with the voice of all of
you and on your behalf, I can command that the Count Rames and all those
other chosen men whom Pharaoh loves, who fought with him, shall be slain
forthwith. This, indeed,” she added slowly, “I should wish to do, since
although Rames had suffered intolerable insult such as no high-born man
can be asked to bear even from a prince, and he and all of them were
but fighting to save their lives and to show the Nubians that we are not
cowards here in Egypt, without doubt they have conquered and slain the
heir of Kesh and his black giants who were our guests, and for this deed
their lives are forfeit.”
She paused watching, while although here and there a voice answered
“Yes” or “They must die,” from the rest arose a murmur of dissent. For
in their hearts the company were on the side of Rames and Pharaoh’s
guards. Moreover, they were proud of the young captain’s skill and
courage, and glad that the Nubians, whom they hated with an ancient
hate, had been defeated by the lesser men of Egypt, some of whom were
their friends or relatives.
Now, while they argued among themselves Tua rose from her chair and
went to look at Pharaoh, whom the physicians were attending, chafing his
hands and pouring water on his brow. Presently she returned with tears
standing in her beautiful eyes, for she loved her father, and said in a
heavy voice:
“Alas! Pharaoh is very ill. Set the evil has smitten him, and it is
hard, my people, that he perchance may be taken from us and we must
bear such woe, because of the ill behaviour of a royal foreigner, for I
cannot forget that it was he who caused this tumult.”
The audience agreed that it was very hard, and looked angrily at the
surviving Nubians, but Tua, conquering herself, continued:
“We must bear the blows that the fates rain on us, nor suffer our
private grief to dull the sword of justice. Now, as I have said, even
though we love them as our brothers or our husbands, yet the Count Rames
and his brave comrades should perish by a death of shame, such a death
as little befits the flower of Pharaoh’s guard.”
Again she paused, then went on in the midst of an intense silence, for
even the physicians ceased from their work to hearken to her decree, as
supreme judge of Egypt.
“And yet, and yet, my people, even as I was about to pass sentence upon
them, uttering the doom that may not be recalled, some guardian spirit
of our land sent a thought into my heart, on which I think it right
to take your judgment. If we destroy these men, as I desire to destroy
them, will they not say in the Southern Country and in all the nations
around, that first they had been told to murder the Prince of Kesh and
his escort, and then were themselves executed to cover up our crime?
Will it not be believed that there is blood upon the hands of Pharaoh
and of Egypt, the blood of a royal guest who, it is well known, was
welcomed here with love and joy, that he might--oh! forgive me, I am but
a maiden, I cannot say it. Nay, pity me not and answer not till I have
set out all the case as best I may, which I fear me is but ill. It is
certain that this will be said--aye, and believed, and we of Egypt all
called traitors, and that these men, who after all, however evil has
been their deed, are brave and upright, will be written in all the books
of all the lands as common murderers, and go down to Osiris with that
ill name branded on their brows. Yes, and their shame will cling to the
pure hands of Pharaoh and his councillors.”
Now at this picture the people murmured, and some of the noble women
there began to weep outright.
“But,” proceeded Tua with her pleading voice, “how if we were to take
another course? How if we commanded this Count Rames and his companions
to journey, with an escort such as befits the Majesty of Pharaoh, to the
far city of Napata, and there to lay before the great king of that land
by writings and the mouths of witnesses, all the sad story of the death
of his only son? How if we sent letters to this Majesty of Kesh, saying,
‘Thou hast heard our tale, thou knowest all our woe. Now judge. If thou
art noble-hearted and it pleases thee to acquit these men, acquit them
and we will praise thee. But if thou art wroth and stern and it pleases
thee to condemn these men, condemn them, and send them back to us for
punishment, that punishment which thou dost decree.’ Is that plan good,
my people? Can his Majesty of Kesh complain if he is made judge in his
own cause? Can the kings and captains of other lands then declare that
in Egypt we work murder on our guests? Tell me, who have so little
wisdom, if this plan is good, as I dare to say to you, it seems to me.”
Now with one voice the Council and all the guests, and especially the
guards themselves who were on their trial, save Rames, who still knelt
in silence before the Queen, cried out that it was very good. Yes; they
clapped their hands and shouted, vowing to each other that this young
Queen of theirs was the Spirit of Wisdom come to earth, and that her
excellent person was filled with the soul of a god.
But she frowned at their praises and, holding up her sceptre, sternly
commanded silence.
“Such is your decree, O my Council,” she cried, “and the decree of all
you here present, who are the noblest of my people, and I, as I am bound
by my oath of crowning, proclaim and ratify it, I, Neter-Tua, who am
named Star and Daughter of Amen, who am named Glorious in Ra, who am
named Hathor, Strong in Beauty, who am crowned Queen of the Upper and
the Lower Land. I proclaim--write it down, O Scribes, and let it
be registered this night that the decree may stand while the world
endures--that two thousand of the choicest troops of Egypt shall sail up
Nile, forthwith, for Kesh, and that in command of them, so that all
may know his crime, shall go the young Count Rames, and with him those
others who also did the deed of blood.”
Now at this announcement, which sounded more like promotion than
disgrace, some started and Rames looked up, quivering in all his limbs.
“I proclaim,” went on Tua quickly, “that when they are come to Napata
they shall kneel before its king and submit themselves to the judgment
of his Majesty, and having been judged, shall return and report to us
the judgment of his Majesty, that it may be carried out as his Majesty
of Kesh shall appoint. Let the troops and the ships be made ready this
very night, and meanwhile, save when he appears before us to take his
orders as general, in token of our wrath, we banish the Count Rames from
our Court and Presence, and place his companions under guard.”
So spoke Tua, and the royal decree having been written down swiftly and
read aloud, she sealed and signed with her sign-manual as Queen, that it
might not be changed or altered, and commanded that copies of it should
be sent to all the Governors of the Nomes of Egypt, and a duplicate
prepared and despatched with this royal embassy, for so she named it, to
be delivered to the King of Kesh with the letters of condolence, and the
presents of ceremony, and the body of Amathel, the Prince of Kesh, now
divine in Osiris.
Then, at length, the doors were thrown open and the company dispersed,
Rames and the guard being led away by the Council and placed in safe
keeping. Also Pharaoh, still senseless but breathing quietly, was
carried to his bed, and the dead were taken to the embalmers, whilst
Tua, so weary that she could scarcely walk, departed to her chambers
leaning on the shoulder of the royal Nurse, Asti, the mother of Rames.
CHAPTER VI
THE OATH OF RAMES AND OF TUA
Still robed Tua lay upon a couch, for she would not seek her bed, while
Asti stood near to her, a dark commanding figure.
“Your Majesty has done strange things to-night,” said Asti in her quiet
voice.
Tua turned her head and looked at her, then answered:
“Very strange, Nurse. You see, the gods and that troublesome son of
yours and Pharaoh’s sudden sickness threw the strings of Fate into
my hand, and--I pulled them. I always had a fancy for the pulling of
strings, but the chance never came my way before.”
“It seems to me that for a beginner your Majesty pulled somewhat hard,”
said Asti drily.
“Yes, Nurse, so hard that I think I have pulled your son off the
scaffold into a place of some honour, if he knows how to stay there,
though it was the Council and the lords and the ladies, who thought that
_they_ pulled. You see one must commence as one means to go on.”
“Your Majesty is very clever; you will make a great Queen--if you do not
overpull yourself.”
“Not half so clever as you were, Asti, when you made that monkey come
out of the vase,” answered Tua, laughing somewhat hysterically. “Oh! do
not look innocent, I know it was your magic, for I could feel it passing
over my head. How did you do it, Asti?”
“If your Majesty will tell me how you made the lords of Egypt consent to
the sending of an armed expedition to Napata under the command of a lad,
a mere captain who had just killed its heir-apparent before their eyes,
which decree, if I know anything of Rames, will mean a war between Kesh
and Egypt, I will tell you how I made the monkey come out of the vase.”
“Then I shall never learn, Nurse, for I can’t because I don’t know. It
came into my mind, as music comes into my throat, that is all. Rames
should have been beheaded at once, shouldn’t he, for not letting that
black boar tusk him? Do you think he poured the wine over Amathel’s head
on purpose?” and again she laughed.
“Yes, I suppose that he should have been killed, as he would have been
if your Majesty had not chanced to be so fond----”
“Talking of wine,” broke in Tua, “give me a cup of it. The divine Prince
of Kesh who was to have been my husband--did you understand, Asti, that
they really meant to make that black barbarian my husband?--I say that
the divine Prince, who now sups with Osiris, drank so much that I could
not touch a drop, and I am tired and thirsty, and have still some things
to do to-night.”
Asti went to a table where stood a flagon of wine wreathed in vine
leaves, and by it cups of glass, and filling one of them brought it to
Tua.
“Here’s to the memory of the divine prince, and may he have left the
table of Osiris before I come there. And here’s to the hand that sent
him thither,” said Tua recklessly. Then she drained the wine, every drop
of it, and threw the cup to the marble floor where it shattered into
bits.
“What god has entered into your Majesty to-night?” asked Asti quietly.
“One that knows his own mind, I think,” replied Tua. “There, I feel
strong again, I go to visit Pharaoh. Come with me, Asti.”
When Tua arrived at the bedside of Pharaoh she found that the worst of
the danger was over. Fearing for his life the physicians had bled him,
and now the fit had passed away and his eyes were open, although he was
unable to speak and did not know her or anyone. She asked whether he
would live or die, and was told that he would live, or so his doctors
believed, but that for a long while he must lie quite quiet, seeing as
few people as possible, and above all being troubled with no business,
since, if he were wearied or excited, the fit would certainly return
and kill him. So, rejoicing at this news which was better than she had
expected, Tua kissed her father and left him.
“Now will your Majesty go to bed?” asked Asti when she had returned to
her own apartments.
“By no means,” answered Tua, “I wear Pharaoh’s shoes and have much
business left to do to-night. Summon Mermes, your husband.”
So Mermes came and stood before her. He was still what he had been
in the old days when Tua played as an infant in his house, stern,
noble-looking and of few words, but now his hair had grown white and his
face was drawn with grief, both for the sake of Rames, whose hot blood
had brought him into so much danger, and because Pharaoh, who was his
friend, lay between life and death.
Tua looked at him and loved him more than ever, for now that he was
troubled some new likeness to Rames appeared upon his face which she had
never seen before.
“Take heart, noble Mermes,” she said gently, “they say that Pharaoh
stays with us yet a while.”
“I thank Amen,” he answered, “for had he died, his blood would have been
upon the hands of my House.”
“Not so, Mermes; it would have been upon the hands of the gods. You
spring from a royal line; say, what would you have thought of your son
if after being struck by that fat Nubian, he had cowered at his feet and
prayed for his life like any slave?”
Mermes flushed and smiled a little, then said:
“The question is rather---What would you have thought, O Queen?”
“I?” answered Tua. “Well, as a queen I should have praised him much,
since then Egypt would have been spared great trouble, but as a woman
and a friend I should never have spoken to him again. Honour is more
than life, Mermes.”
“Certainly honour is more than life,” replied Mermes, staring at the
ceiling, perhaps to hide the look upon his face, “and for a little while
Rames seems to be in the way of it. But those who are set high have far
to fall, O Queen, and--forgive me--he is my only child. Now when Pharaoh
recovers----”
“Rames will be far away,” broke in Tua. “Go, bring him here at once, and
with him the Vizier and the chief scribe of the Council. Take this ring,
it will open all doors,” and she drew the signet from her finger and
handed it to him.
“At this hour, your Majesty?” said Mermes in a doubtful voice.
“Have I not spoken,” she answered impatiently. “When the welfare of
Egypt is at stake I do not sleep.”
So Mermes bowed and went, and while he was gone Tua caused Asti to
smooth her hair and change her robe and ornaments for others which,
although she did not say so, she thought became her better. Then she
sat her down in a chair of state in her chamber of audience, and waited,
while Asti stood beside her asking no questions, but wondering.
At length the doors were opened, and through them appeared Mermes and
the Vizier and the chief of the scribes, both of them trying to hide
their yawns, for they had been summoned from their beds who were not
wont to do state business at such hours. After them limped Rames, for
his wound had grown stiff, who looked bewildered, but otherwise just as
he had left the feast.
Now, without waiting for the greetings of ceremony, Tua began to
question the Vizier as to what steps had been taken in furtherance of
her decrees, and when he assured her that the business was on foot, went
into its every detail with him, as to the ships and the officers and the
provisioning of the men, and so forth. Next she set herself to dictate
despatches to the captains and barons who held the fortresses on the
Upper Nile, communicating to them Pharaoh’s orders on this matter, and
the commission of Rames, whereby he, whose hands had done the ill, was
put in command of the great embassy that went to make amends.
These being finished, she sent away the scribe to spend the rest of the
night in writing them in duplicate, bidding him bring them to her in the
early morning to be sealed. Next addressing Rames, she commanded him to
start on the morrow with those troops which were ready to Takensit
above the first Cataract of the Nile, which was the frontier fortress of
Egypt, and there wait until the remainder of the soldiers joined them,
bearing with them her presents to the King of Kesh, and the embalmed
body of the Prince Amathel.
Rames bowed and said that her orders should be obeyed, and the audience
being finished, still bowing and supported by Mermes, began to walk
backwards towards the door, his eyes fixed upon the face of Tua, who sat
with bent head, clasping the arms of her chair like one in difficulty
and doubt. When he had gone a few steps she seemed to come to some
determination, for with an effort she raised herself and said:
“Return, Count Rames, I have a message to give you for the King of Kesh
who, unhappy man, has lost his son and heir, and it is one that no other
ears must hear. Leave me a while with this captain, O Mermes and Asti,
and see that none listen to our talk. Presently I will summon you to
conduct him away.”
They hesitated, for this thing seemed strange, then noting the look she
gave them, departed through the doors behind the royal seat.
Now Rames and the Queen were left alone in that great, lighted chamber.
With bent head and folded arms he stood before her while she looked at
him intently, yet seemed to find no words to say. At length she spoke in
a sweet, low voice.
“It is many years since we were playmates in the courts of the temple
yonder, and since then we have never been alone together, have we,
Rames?”
“No, Great Lady,” answered Rames, “for you were born to be a queen, and
I am but a humble soldier who cannot hope to consort with queens.”
“Who cannot hope! Would you wish to then if you could?”
“O Queen,” answered Rames, biting his lips, “why does it please you to
make a mock of me?”
“It does not please me to do any such thing, for by my father Amen,
Rames, I wish that we were children once more, for those were happy
days before they separated us and set you to soldiering and me to
statecraft.”
“You have learnt your part well, Star of the Morning,” said Rames,
glancing at her quickly.
“Not better than you, playmate Rames, if I may judge from your
sword-play this night. So it seems that we both of us are in the way of
becoming masters of our trades.”
“What am I to say to your Majesty? You have saved my life when it was
forfeit----”
“As once you saved mine when it was forfeit, and at greater risk. Look
at your hand, it will remind you. It was but tit for tat. And, friend
Rames, this day I came near to being eaten by a worse crocodile than
that which dwells in the pool yonder.”
“I guessed as much, Queen, and the thought made me mad. Had it not been
for that I should only have thrown him down. Now that crocodile will eat
no more maidens.”
“No,” answered Tua, rubbing her chin, “he has gone to be eaten by Set,
Devourer of Souls, has he not? But I think there may be trouble between
Egypt and Kesh, and what Pharaoh will say when he recovers I am sure I
do not know. May the gods protect me from his wrath.”
“Tell me, if it pleases your Majesty, what is my fate? I have been
named General of this expedition over the heads of many, I who am but
a captain and a young man and an evil-doer. Am I to be killed on the
journey, or am I to be executed by the King of Kesh?”
“If any kill you on the journey, Rames, they shall render me an account,
be it the gods themselves, and as for the vengeance of the King of
Kesh--well, you will have two thousand picked men with you and the means
to gather more as you go. Listen now, for this is not in the decree or
in the letters,” she added, bending towards him and whispering. “Egypt
has spies in Kesh, and, being industrious, I have read their reports.
The people there hate the upstart race that rules them, and the king,
who alone is left now that Amathel is dead, is old and half-witted, for
all that family drink too much. So if the worst comes to the worst, do
you think that you need be killed, you,” she added meaningly, “who, if
the House of Amathel were not, would by descent be King of Kesh, as, if
I and my House were not, you might be Pharaoh of Egypt?”
Rames studied the floor for a little, then looked up and asked:
“What shall I do?”
“It seems that is for you to find out,” replied Tua, in her turn
studying the ceiling. “Were I in your place, I think that, if driven to
it, _I_ should know what to do. One thing, however, I should _not_ do.
Whatever may be the judgment of the divine King of Kesh upon you, and
that can easily be guessed, I should not return to Egypt with my escort,
until I was quite sure of my welcome. No, I think that I should stop in
Napata, which I am told is a rich and pleasant city, and try to put its
affairs in order, trusting that Egypt, to which it once belonged, would
in the end forgive me for so doing.”
“I understand,” said Rames, “that whatever happens, I alone am to
blame.”
“Good, and of course there are no witnesses to this talk of ours. Have
you also been taking lessons in statecraft in your spare hours, Rames,
much as I have tried to learn something of the art of war?”
Rames made no answer, only these two strange conspirators looked at each
other and smiled.
“Your Majesty is weary. I must leave your Majesty,” he said presently.
“You must be wearier than I am, Rames, with that wound, which I think
has not been dressed, although it is true that we have both fought
to-night. Rames, you are going on a far journey. I wonder if we shall
ever meet again.”
“I do not know,” he answered with a groan, “but for my sake it is better
that we should not. O Morning Star, why did you save me this night, who
would have been glad to die? Did not that Ka of yours tell you that I
should have been glad to die, or my mother, who is a magician?”
“I have seen nothing of my Ka, Rames, since we played together in the
temple--ah! those were happy days, were they not? And your mother is a
discreet lady who does not talk to me about you, except to warn me not
to show you any favour, lest others should be jealous and murder you.
Shall you then be sorry if we do not meet again? Scarcely, I suppose,
since you seem so anxious to die and be rid of me and all things that we
know.”
Now Rames pressed his hand upon his heart as though to still its
beating, and looked round him in despair. For, indeed, that heart of his
felt as though it must burst.
“Tua,” he gasped desperately, “can you for a minute forget that you are
Queen of the Upper and the Lower Land, who perhaps will soon be Pharaoh,
the mightiest monarch in the world, and remember only that you are a
woman, and as a woman hear a secret and keep it close?”
“We have been talking secrets, Rames, as we used to do, you remember,
long ago, and you will not tell mine which deal with the State. Why,
then, should I tell yours? But be short, it grows late, or rather early,
and as you know, we shall not meet again.”
“Good,” he answered. “Queen Neter-Tua, I, your subject, dare to love
you.”
“What of that, Rames? I have millions of subjects who all profess to
love me.”
He waved his hand angrily, and went on:
“I dare to love you as a man loves a woman, not as a subject loves a
queen.”
“Ah!” she answered in a new and broken voice, “that is different, is it
not? Well, all women love to be loved, though some are queens and some
are peasants, so why should I be angry? Rames, now, as in past days, I
thank you for your love.”
“It is not enough,” he said. “What is the use of giving love? Love
should be lent. Love is an usurer that asks high interest. Nay, not the
interest only, but the capital and the interest to boot. Oh, Star! what
happens to the man who is so mad as to love the Queen of Egypt?”
Tua considered this problem as though it were a riddle to which she was
seeking an answer.
“Who knows?” she replied at length in a low voice. “Perhaps it costs
him his life, or perhaps--perhaps he marries her and becomes Pharaoh of
Egypt. Much might depend on whether the queen chanced to care about such
a man.”
Now Rames shook like a reed in the evening wind, and he looked at her
with glowing eyes.
“Tua,” he whispered, “can it be possible--do you mean that I am welcome
to you, or are you but drawing me to shame and ruin?”
She made no answer to him in words, only with a certain grave
deliberation, laid down the little ivory sceptre that she held, and
suffering her troubled eyes to rest upon his eyes, bent forward and
stretched out her arms towards him.
“Yes, Rames,” she murmured into his ear a minute later, “I am drawing
you to whatever may be found upon this breast of mine, love, or majesty,
or shame, or ruin, or the death of one or both of us, or all of them
together. Are you content to take the chances of this high game, Rames?”
“Ask it not, Tua. You know, you know!”
She kissed him on the lips, and all her heart and all her youth were in
that kiss. Then, gently enough, she pushed him from her, saying:
“Stand there, I would speak with you, and as I have said, the time is
short. Hearken to me, Rames, you are right; I know, as I have always
known, and as you would have known also had you been less foolish than
you are. You love me and I love you, for so it was decreed where souls
are made, and so it has been from the beginning and so it shall be to
the end. You, a gentleman of Egypt, love the Queen of Egypt, and she is
yours and no other man’s. Such is the decree of him who caused us to
be born upon the same day, and to be nursed upon the same kind breast.
Well, after all, why not? If love brings death upon us, as well may
chance, at least the love will remain which is worth it all, and beyond
death there is something.”
“Only this, Tua, I seek the woman not a throne, and alas! through me you
may be torn from your high place.”
“The throne goes with the woman, Rames, they cannot be separated. But,
say, something comes over me; if that happened, if I were an outcast, a
wanderer, with nothing save this shape and soul of mine, and it were you
that sat upon a throne, would you still love me, Rames?”
“Why ask such questions?” he replied indignantly. “Moreover, your talk
is childish. What throne can I ever sit on?”
A change fell upon her at his words. She ceased to be the melting,
passionate woman, and became once more the strong, far-seeing queen.
“Rames,” she said, “you understand why, although it tears my heart, I am
sending you so far away and into so many dangers, do you not? It is to
save your life, for after what has chanced to-night in this fashion or
in that here you would certainly die, as, had it not been for that plan
of mine you must have died two hours ago. There are many who hate
you, Rames, and Pharaoh may recover, as I pray the gods he will, and
over-ride my will, for you have slain his guest who was brought here to
marry me.”
“I understand all of these things, Queen.”
“Then awake, Rames, look to the future and understand that also, if, as
I think, you have the wit. I am sending you with a strong escort, am
I not? Well, that King of Kesh is old and feeble, and you have a claim
upon his crown. Take it, man, and set it on your head, and as King of
Kesh ask the hand of Egypt’s Queen in marriage. Then who would say you
nay--not Egypt’s Queen, I think, or the people of Egypt who hunger for
the rich Southern Land which they have lost.”
So she spoke, and as these high words passed her lips she looked so
splendid and so royal that, dazzled by the greatness of her majesty.
Rames bowed himself before her as before the presence of a god. Then,
aware that she was trying him in the balance of her judgment, he
straightened himself and spoke to her as prince speaks to prince.
“Star of Amen,” he said, “it is true that though here we are but your
humble subjects, the blood of my father and of myself is as high as
yours, and perhaps more ancient, and it is true that now yonder Amathel
is dead, after my father, in virtue of those who went before us I have
more right than any other to the inheritance of Kesh. Queen, I hear your
words, I will take it if I can, not for its own sake, but to win you,
and if I fail you will know that I died doing my best. Queen, we part
and this is a far journey. Perhaps we may never meet again; at the best
we must be separated for long. Queen, you have honoured me with your
love, and therefore I ask a promise of you, not as a woman only, but
as Queen. I ask that however strait may be the circumstances, whatever
reasons of State may push you on, while I live you will take no other
man to husband--no, not even if he offers you half the world in dower.”
“I give it,” she answered. “If you should learn that I am wed to any man
upon the earth then spit upon my name as a woman, and as Queen cast me
off and overthrow me if you can. Deal with me, Rames, as in such a case
I will deal with you. Only be sure of your tidings ere you believe them.
Now there is nothing more to say. Farewell to you, Rames, till we meet
again beneath or beyond the sun. Our royal pact is made. Come, seal it
and begone.”
She rose and stretched out her sceptre to him, which he kissed as her
faithful subject. Next, with a swift movement, she lifted the golden
_uræus_ circlet from her brow and for a moment set it on his head,
crowning him her king, and while it rested there she, the Queen of
Egypt, bent the knee before him and did him homage. Then she cast down
crown and sceptre, and as woman fell upon her lover’s breast while
the bright rays of morning, flowing suddenly through the eastern
window-place of that splendid hall, struck upon them both, clothing them
in a robe of glory and of flame.
Soon, very soon, it was done and Tua, seated there in light, watched
Rames depart into the outer shadow, wondering when and how she would
see him come again. For her heart was heavy within her, and even in this
hour of triumphant love she greatly feared the future and its gifts.
CHAPTER VII
TUA COMES TO MEMPHIS
So that day Rames departed for Takensit with what ships and men could be
got together in such haste. There, at the frontier post, he waited till
the rest of the soldiers should join him, bringing with them the hastily
embalmed body of Prince Amathel whom he had slain, and the royal
gifts to the King of Kesh. Then, without a moment’s delay, he sailed
southwards with his little army on the long journey, fearing lest if he
tarried, orders might come to him to return to Thebes. Also he desired
to reach Napata before the heavy news of the death of the King’s son,
and without warning of the approach of Egypt’s embassy.
With Tua he had no more speech, although as his galley was rowed under
the walls of the palace, at a window of the royal apartments he saw
a white draped figure that watched them go by. It was standing in the
shadow so that he could not recognise the face, but his heart told him
that this was none other than the Queen herself, who appeared there to
bid him farewell.
So Rames rose from the chair in which he was seated on account of the
hurt to his leg and saluted with his sword, and ordered the crew to
do likewise by lifting up their oars. Then the slender figure bowed in
answer, and he went on to fulfil his destiny, leaving Neter-Tua, Morning
Star of Amen, to fulfil hers.
Before he sailed, however, Mermes his father and Asti his mother visited
him in a place apart.
“You were born under a strange star, my son,” said Mermes, “and I know
not whither it will lead you, who pray that it may not be a meteor which
blazes suddenly in the heavens and disappears to return no more. All
the people talk of the favour the Queen has shown you who, instead of
ordering you to be executed for the deed you did which robbed her of a
royal husband, has set you in command of an army, you, a mere youth,
and received you in secret audience, an honour granted to very few. Fate
that has passed me by gives the dice to your young hand, but how the
cast will fall I know not, nor shall I live to see, or so I believe.”
“Speak no such evil-omened words, my father,” answered Rames tenderly,
for these two loved each other. “To me it seems more likely that it is
I who shall not live, for this is a strange and desperate venture upon
which I go, to tell to a great king the news of the death of his only
son at my own hand. Mother, you are versed in the books of wisdom and
can see that which is hidden to our eyes. Have you no word of comfort
for us?”
“My son,” answered Asti, “I have searched the future, but with all my
skill it will open little of its secrets to my sight. Yet I have learned
something. Great fortunes lie before you, and I believe that you and I
shall meet again. But to your beloved father bid farewell.”
At these words Rames turned his head aside to hide his tears, but Mermes
bade him not to grieve, saying:
“Great is the mystery of our fates, my son. Some there be who tell us
that we are but bubbles born of the stream to be swallowed up by the
stream, clouds born of the sky to be swallowed up by the sky, the
offspring of chance like the beasts and the birds, gnats that dance for
an hour in the sunlight and are gone. But I believe it not, who hold
that the gods clothe us with this robe of flesh for their own purpose,
and that the spirit within us has been from the beginning and eternally
will be. Therefore I love not life and fear not death, knowing that
these are but doors leading to the immortal house that is prepared for
us. The royal blood you have came to you from your mother and myself,
but that our lots should have been humble, while yours, mayhap, will be
splendid, does not move me to envy who perchance have been that you may
be. You go forth to fulfil your fortunes which I believe are great, I
bide here to fulfil mine which lead me to the tomb. I shall never see
you in your power, if power comes to you, nor will your triumphant
footsteps stir my sleep.
“Yet, Rames, remember that though you tread on cloth of gold and the
bowed necks of your enemies, though love be your companion and diadems
your crown, though flatteries float about you like incense in a shrine
till, at length, you deem yourself a god, those footsteps of yours still
lead to that same dark tomb and through it on to Judgment. Be great if
you can, but be good as well as great. Take no man’s life because
you have the strength and hate him; wrong no woman because she is
defenceless or can be bought. Remember that the beggar child playing in
the sand may have a destiny more high than yours when all the earthly
count is reckoned. Remember that you share the air you breathe with
the cattle and the worm. Go your road rejoicing in your beauty and your
youth and the good gifts that are given you, but know, Rames, that at
the end of it I, who wait in the shadow of Osiris, I your father, shall
ask an account thereof, and that beyond me stand the gods of Justice to
test the web that you have woven. Now, Rames, my son, my blessing and
the blessing of him who shaped us be with you, and farewell.”
Then Mermes kissed him on the brow and, turning, left the room, nor did
they ever meet again.
But Asti stayed awhile, and coming to him presently, looked Rames in the
eyes, and said:
“Mourn not. Separations are no new thing, death is no new thing; all
these sorrows have been on the earth for millions of years, and for
millions of years yet shall be. Live out your life, rejoicing if the
days be good, content if they be but ill, regretting nothing save your
sins, fearing nothing, expecting nothing, since all things are appointed
and cannot be changed.”
“I hear,” he answered humbly, “and I will not forget. Whether I succeed
or fail you shall not be ashamed for me.”
Now his mother turned to go also, but paused and said:
“I have a gift for you, Rames, from one whose name may not be spoken.”
“Give it to me,” he said eagerly, “I feared that it was all but a
dream.”
“Oh!” replied Asti scanning his face, “so there was a dream, was
there? Did it fall upon you last night when the daughter of Amen, my
foster-child, instructed you in secret?”
“The gift,” said Rames, stretching out his hand.
Then, smiling in her quiet fashion, his mother drew from the bosom
of her robe some object that was wrapped in linen and, touching her
forehead with the royal seal that fastened it, gave it to Rames. With
trembling fingers he broke the seal and there within the linen lay a
ring which for some years, as Rames knew, Tua had worn upon the first
finger of her right hand. It was massive and of plain gold, and upon the
bezel of it was cut the symbol of the sun, on either side of which knelt
a man and a woman crowned with the double crown of Egypt, and holding
in their right hands the looped Sign of Life which they stretched up
towards the glory of the sun.
“Do you know who wore that ring in long past days?” asked Asti of Rames
who pressed it to his lips.
He shook his head who remembered only that Tua had worn it.
“It was your forefather and mine, Rames, the last of the royal rulers of
our line, who reigned over Egypt and also over the Land of Kesh. A
while ago the embalmers re-clothed his divine body in the tomb, and the
Princess, who was present there with your father and myself, drew this
ring off his dead hand and offered it to Mermes, who would not take it,
seeing that it is a royal signet. So she wore it herself, and now for
her own reasons she sends it to you, perhaps to give you authority in
Kesh where that mighty seal is known.”
“I thank the Queen,” he murmured. “I shall wear it always.”
“Then let it be on your breast till you have passed the frontier, lest
some should ask questions that you find it hard to answer. My son,” she
went on quickly, “you dare to love this queen of ours.”
“In truth I do, Mother. Did not you, who know everything, know that?
Also it is your fault who brought us up together.”
“Nay, my son, the fault of the gods who have so decreed. But--does she
love you?”
“You are always with her, Mother, ask her yourself, if you need to ask.
At least, she has sent me her own ring. Oh! Mother, Mother, guard her
night and day, for if harm comes to her, then I die. Mother, queens
cannot give themselves where they will as other women can; it is policy
that thrusts their husbands on them. Keep her unwed, Mother. Though it
should cost her her throne, still I say let her not be cast into the
arms of one she hates. Protect her in her trial, if such should come;
and if strength fails and the gods desert her, then hide her in the web
of the magic that you have, and preserve her undefiled, for so shall I
bless your name for ever.”
“You fly at a rare bird, Rames, and there are many stronger hawks about
besides that one you slew; yes, royal eagles who may strike down the
pair of you. Yet I will do my best, who have long foreseen this hour,
and who pray that before my eyes shut in death, they may yet behold you
seated on the throne of your forefathers, crowned with power and with
such love and beauty as have never yet been given to man. Now hide that
ring upon your heart and your secret in it, as I shall, lest you should
return no more to Egypt. Moreover, follow your royal Star and no other.
Whatever counsel she may have given you, follow it also, stirring not to
right or left, for I say that in that maiden breast of hers there dwells
the wisdom of the gods.”
Then holding up her hands over his head as though in blessing, Asti,
too, turned and left him.
So Rames went and was no more seen, and by degrees the talk as to the
matter of his victory over the Prince of Kesh, and as to his appointment
by the whim of the maiden Queen to command the splendid embassy of
atonement which she had despatched to the old King, the dead man’s
father, died away for lack of anything to feed on.
Tua kept her counsel well, nor was aught known of that midnight
interview with the young Count her general. Moreover, Napata was far
away, so far that starting at the season when it did, the embassy could
scarce return till two years had gone by, if ever it did return. Also
few believed that whoever came back, Rames would be one of them, since
it was said openly that so soon as he was beyond the frontiers of
Egypt, the soldiers had orders to kill him and take on his body as a
peace-offering.
Indeed, all praised the wit and wisdom of the Queen, who by this politic
device, had rid herself of a troublesome business with as little scandal
as possible, and avoided staining her own hands in the blood of a
foster-brother. Had she ordered his death forthwith, they said, it would
have been supposed also that she had put him away because he was of a
royal race, one who, in the future, might prove a rival, or at least
cause some rebellion.
Meanwhile greater questions filled the mouths of men. Would Pharaoh die
and leave Neter-Tua, the young and lovely, to hold his throne, and if
so, what would happen? It was a thousand years since a woman had reigned
in Egypt, and none had reigned who were not wed. Therefore it seemed
necessary that a husband should be found for her as soon as might be.
But Pharaoh did not die. On the contrary, though very slowly, he
recovered and was stronger than he had been for years, for the fit that
struck him down seemed to have cleared his blood. For some three months
he lay helpless as a child, amusing himself as a child does with little
things, and talking of children whom he had known in his youth, or when
some of these chanced to visit him as old men, asking them to play with
him with tops or balls.
Then one day came a change, and rising from his bed he commanded the
presence of his Councillors, and when they came, inquired of them what
had happened, and why he could remember nothing since the feast.
They put him off with soft words, and soon he grew weary and dismissed
them. But after they had gone and he had eaten he sent for Mermes, the
Captain of the Guard of Amen and his friend, and questioned him.
“The last thing I remember,” he said, “was seeing the drunken Prince of
Kesh fighting with your son, that handsome, fiery-eyed Count Rames whom
some fool, or enemy, had set to wait upon him at table. It was a dog’s
trick, Mermes, for after all your blood is purer and more ancient than
that of the present kings of Kesh. Well, the horror of the sight of my
royal guest, the suitor for my daughter’s hand, fighting with an officer
of my own guard at my own board, struck me as a butcher strikes an ox,
and after it all was blackness. What chanced, Mermes?”
“This, Pharaoh: My son killed Amathel in fair fight, then those black
Nubian giants in their fury attacked your guard, but led by Rames the
Egyptians, though they were the lesser men, overcame them and slew most
of them. I am an old soldier, but never have I seen a finer fray----”
“A finer fray! A finer fray,” gasped Pharaoh. “Why this will mean a
war between Kesh and Egypt. And then? Did the Council order Rames to be
executed, as you must admit he deserved, although you are his father?”
“Not so, O Pharaoh; moreover, I admit nothing, though had he played a
coward’s part before all the lords of Egypt, gladly would I have slain
him with my own hand.”
“Ah!” said Pharaoh, “there speaks the soldier and the parent. Well, I
understand. He was affronted, was he not, by that bedizened black man?
Were I in your place I should say as much. But--what happened?”
“Your Majesty having become unconscious,” explained Mermes, “her Majesty
the Queen Neter-Tua, Glorious in Ra, took command of affairs according
to her Oath of Crowning. She has sent an embassy of atonement of two
thousand picked soldiers to the King of Kesh, bearing with them the
embalmed body of the divine Amathel and many royal gifts.”
“That is good enough in its way,” said Pharaoh. “But why two thousand
men, whereof the cost will be very great, when a score would have
sufficed? It is an army, not an embassy, and when my royal brother of
Kesh sees it advancing, bearing with it the ill-omened gift of his only
son’s body, he may take alarm.”
Mermes respectfully agreed that he might do so.
“What general is in command of this embassy, as it pleases you to call
it?”
“The Count Rames, my son, is in command, your Majesty.”
Now weak as he was still, Pharaoh nearly leapt from his chair:
“Rames! That young cut-throat who killed the Prince! Rames who is the
last of the old rightful dynasty of Kesh! Rames, a mere captain, in
command of two thousand of my veterans! Oh, I must still be mad! Who
gave him the command?”
“The Queen Neter-Tua, Star of Amen, she gave him the command, O Pharaoh.
Immediately after the fray in the hall she uttered her decree and caused
it to be recorded in the usual fashion.”
“Send for the Queen,” said Pharaoh with a groan.
So Tua was summoned, and presently swept in gloriously arrayed, and on
seeing her father sitting up and well, ran to him and embraced him and
for a long time refused to listen to his talk of matters of State. At
length, however, he made her sit by him still holding his hand, and
asked her why in the name of Amen she had sent that handsome young
firebrand, Rames, in command of the expedition to Kesh. Then she
answered very sweetly that she would tell him. And tell him she did, at
such length that before she had finished, Pharaoh, whose strength as yet
was small, had fallen into a doze.
“Now, you understand,” she said as he woke up with a start. “The
responsibility was thrust upon me, and I had to act as I thought best.
To have slain this young Rames would have been impossible, for all
hearts were with him.”
“But surely, Daughter, you might have got him out of the way.”
“My father, that is what I have done. I have sent him to Napata, which
is very much out of the way--many months’ journey, I am told.”
“But what will happen, Tua? Either the King of Kesh will kill him and
my two thousand soldiers, or perhaps he will kill the King of Kesh as he
killed his son, and seize the throne which his own forefathers held for
generations. Have you thought of that?”
“Yes, my father, I thought of it, and if this last should happen through
no fault of ours, would Egypt weep, think you?”
Now Pharaoh stared at Tua, and Tua looked back at Pharaoh and smiled.
“I perceive, Daughter,” he said slowly, “that in you are the makings of
a great queen, for within the silken scabbard of a woman’s folly I see
the statesman’s sword of bronze. Only run not too fast lest you should
fall upon that sword and it should pierce you.”
Now Tua, who had heard such words before from Asti, smiled again but
made no answer.
“You need a husband to hold you back,” went on Pharaoh; “some great man
whom you can love and respect.”
“Find me such a man, my father, and I will wed him gladly,” answered Tua
in a sweet voice. “Only,” she added, “I know not where he may be sought
now that the divine Amathel is dead at the hand of the Count Rames, our
general and ambassador to Kesh.”
So when he grew stronger Pharaoh renewed his search for a husband meet
to marry the Queen of Egypt. Now, as before, suitors were not lacking,
indeed, his ambassadors and councillors sent in their names by twos and
threes, but always when they were submitted to her, Tua found something
against everyone of them, till at last it was said that she must be
destined for a god since no mere mortal would serve her turn. But when
this was reported to her, Tua only answered with a smile that she was
destined to that royal lover of whom Amen had spoken to her mother in a
dream; not to a god, but to the Chosen of the god, and that when she saw
him, she felt sure she would know him at once and love him much.
After some months had gone by Pharaoh, quite weary of this play, asked
the advice of his Council. They suggested to him that he should journey
through the great cities of Egypt, both because the change might
completely re-establish his divine health, and in the hope that on her
travels the Queen Neter-Tua would meet someone of royal blood with whom
she could fall in love. For by now it was evident to all of them that
unless she did fall in love, she would not marry.
So that very night Pharaoh asked his daughter if she would undertake
such a journey.
She answered that nothing would please her better, as she wearied of
Thebes, and desired to see the other great cities of the land, to make
herself known to those who dwell in them, and in each to be proclaimed
as its future ruler. Also she wished to look upon the ocean whereof she
had heard that it was so big that all the waters of the Nile flowing
into it day and night made no difference to its volume.
Thus then began that pilgrimage which afterwards Tua recorded in the
history of her reign on the walls of the wonderful temples that she
built. Her own wish was that they should sail south to the frontiers of
Egypt, since there she hoped that she might hear some tidings of Rames
and his expedition, whereof latterly no certain word had come. This
project, however, was over-ruled because in the south there were
no great towns, also the inhabitants of the bordering desert were
turbulent, and might choose that moment to attack.
So in the end they went down and not up the Nile, tarrying for a while
at every great city, and especially at Atbu, the holy place where the
head of Osiris is buried, and tens of thousands of the great men of
Egypt have their tombs. Here Tua was crowned afresh in the very shrine
of Osiris amidst the rejoicings of the people.
Then they sailed away to On, the City of the Sun, and thence to make
offerings at the Great Pyramids which were built by some of the early
kings who had ruled Egypt, to serve them as their tombs.
Neter-Tua entered the Pyramids to look upon the bodies of these Pharaohs
who had been dead for thousands of years, and whose deeds were all
forgotten, though her father would not accompany her there because the
ways were so steep that he did not dare to tread them. Afterwards, with
Asti and a small guard of the Arab chiefs of the desert, she mounted a
dromedary and rode round them in the moonlight, hoping that she would
meet the ghosts of those kings, and that they would talk with her as the
ghost of her mother had done. But she saw no ghosts, nor would Asti try
to summon them from their sleep, although Tua prayed her to do so.
“Leave them alone,” said Asti, as they paused in the shadow of the
greatest of the pyramids and stared at its shining face engraved from
base to summit with many a mystic writing.
“Leave them alone lest they should be angry as Amen was, and tell your
Majesty things which you do not wish to hear. Contemplate their mighty
works, such as no monarch can build to-day, and suffer them to rest
therein undisturbed by weaker folk.”
“Do you call these mighty works?” asked Tua contemptuously, for she was
angry because Asti would not try to raise the dead. “What are they after
all, but so many stones put together by the labour of men to satisfy
their own vanity? And of those who built them what story remains? There
is none at all save some vain legends. Now if _I_ live I will rear a
greater monument, for history shall tell of me till time be dead.”
“Perhaps, Neter-Tua, if you live and the gods will it, though for
my part I think that these old stones will survive the story of most
deeds.”
On the morrow of this visit to the Pyramids Pharaoh and the Queen his
daughter made their state entry into the great white-walled city of
Memphis, where they were royally received by Pharaoh’s brother, the
Prince Abi, who was still the ruler of all this town and district. As
it chanced these two had not met since Abi, many years before, came to
Thebes, asking a share in the government of Egypt and to be nominated as
successor to the throne.
Like every other lord and prince, he had been invited to be present at
the great ceremony of the Crowning of Neter-Tua, but at the last moment
sent his excuses, saying that he was ill, which seemed to be true. At
any rate, the spies reported that he was confined to his bed, though
whether sickness or his own will took him thither at this moment, there
was nothing to show. At the time Pharaoh and his Council wondered a
little that he had made no proposal for the marriage of one of his sons,
of whom he had four, to their royal cousin, Neter-Tua, but decided that
he had not done so because he was sure that it would not be accepted.
For the rest, during all this period Abi had kept quiet in his own
Government, which he ruled well and strongly, remitting his taxes to
Thebes at the proper time with a ceremonial letter of homage, and even
increasing the amount of them.
So it came about that Pharaoh, who by nature was kindly and
unsuspicious, had long ago put away all mistrust of his brother, whose
ambitions, he was sure, had come to an end with the birth of an heiress
to the throne.
Yet, when escorted only by five hundred of his guard, for this was
a peaceful visit, Pharaoh rode into the mighty city and saw how
impregnable were its walls and how strong its gates; saw also that the
streets were lined with thousands of well-armed troops, doubts which he
dismissed as unworthy, did creep into his heart. But if he said nothing
of them, Tua, who rode in the chariot with him, was not so silent.
“My father,” she said in a low voice while the crowds shouted their
welcome, for they were alone in the chariot, the horses of which were
led, “this uncle of mine keeps a great state in Memphis.”
“Yes, Daughter, why should he not? He is its governor.”
“A stranger who did not know the truth might think he was its king,
my father, and to be plain, if I were Pharaoh, and had chosen to enter
here, it would have been with a larger force.”
“We can go away when we like, Tua,” said Pharaoh uneasily.
“You mean, my father, that we can go away when it pleases the Prince
your brother to open those great bronze gates that I heard clash behind
us--then and not before.”
At this moment their talk came to an end, for the chariot was stayed
at the steps of the great hall where Abi waited to receive his royal
guests. He stood at the head of the steps, a huge, coarse, vigorous man
of about sixty years of age, on whose fat, swarthy face there was
still, oddly enough, some resemblance to the delicate, refined-featured
Pharaoh.
Tua summed him up in a single glance, and instantly hated him even more
than she had hated Amathel, Prince of Kesh. Also she who had not feared
the empty-headed, drunken Amathel, was penetrated with a strange terror
of this man whom she felt to be strong and intelligent, and whose
great, greedy eyes rested on her beauty as though they could not tear
themselves away.
Now they were ascending the steps, and now Prince Abi was welcoming them
to his “humble house,” giving them their throne names, and saying
how rejoiced he was to see them, his sovereigns, within the walls of
Memphis, while all the time he stared at Tua.
Pharaoh, who was tired, made no reply, but the young Queen, staring back
at him, answered:
“We thank you for your greeting, but then, my uncle Abi, why did you
not meet us outside the gates of Memphis where we expected to find
its governor waiting to deliver up the keys of Pharaoh’s city to the
officers of Pharaoh?”
Now Abi, who had thought to see some shrinking child clothed in the
emblems of a queen, looked astonished at this tall and royal maiden who
had so sharp a tongue, and found no words to answer her. So she swept
past him and commanded to be shown where she should lodge in Memphis.
They led her to its greatest palace that had been prepared for Pharaoh
and herself, a place surrounded by palm groves in the midst of the city,
but having studied it with her quick eyes, she said that it did not
please her. So search was made elsewhere, and in the end she chose
another smaller palace that once had been a temple of Sekhet, the
tiger-headed goddess of vengeance and of chastity, whereof the pylon
towers fronted on the Nile which at its flood washed against them.
Indeed, they were now part of the wall of Memphis, for the great unused
gateway between them had been built up with huge blocks of stone.
Surrounding this palace and outside its courts, lay the old gardens of
the temple where the priests of Sekhet used to wander, enclosed within a
lofty limestone wall. Here, saying that the air from the river would be
more healthy for him, Tua persuaded Pharaoh to establish himself and his
Court, and to encamp the guards under the command of his friend Mermes,
in the outer colonnades and gardens.
When it was pointed out to the Queen that, owing to the lack of
dwelling-rooms, none which were fitting were left for her to occupy, she
replied that this mattered nothing, since in the old pylon tower were
two small chambers hollowed in the thickness of its walls, which were
very pleasing to her, because of the prospect of the Nile and the wide
flat lands and the distant Pyramids commanded from the lofty roof
and window-places. So these chambers, in which none had dwelt for
generations, were hastily cleaned out and furnished, and in them Tua and
Asti her foster-mother, took up their abode.
CHAPTER VIII
THE MAGIC IMAGE
That night Pharaoh and Tua rested in privacy with those members of the
Court whom they had brought with them, but on the morrow began a round
of festivals such as history scarcely told of in Egypt. Indeed, the
feast with which it opened was more splendid than any Tua had seen at
Thebes even at the time of her crowning, or on that day of blood and
happiness when Amathel and his Nubian guards were slain and she and
Rames declared their love. At this feast Pharaoh and the young Queen sat
in chairs of gold, while the Prince Abi was placed on her right hand,
and not on that of Pharaoh as he should have been as host and subject.
“I am too much honoured,” said Tua, looking at him sideways. “Why do you
not sit by Pharaoh, my uncle?”
“Who am I that I should take the seat of honour when my sovereigns come
to visit me?” answered Abi, bowing his great head. “Let it be reserved
for the high-priest of Osiris, that Holy One whom, after Ptah, we
worship here above all other deities, for he is clothed with the majesty
of the god of death.”
“Of death,” said Tua. “Is that why you put him by my father?”
“Indeed not,” replied Abi, spreading out his hands, “though if a choice
must be made, I would rather that he sat near one who is old and must
soon be called the ‘ever-living,’ than at the side of the loveliest
queen that Egypt has ever seen, to whom it is said that Amen himself has
sworn a long life,” and again he bowed.
“You mean that you think Pharaoh will soon die. Nay, deny it not,
Prince Abi, I can read your thoughts, and they are ill-omened,” said Tua
sharply and, turning her head away, began to watch those about her.
Soon she noticed that behind Abi amongst his other officers stood a
tall, grizzled man clad in the robes and cap of an astrologer, who
appeared to be studying everything, and especially Pharaoh and herself,
for whenever she looked round it was to find his quick, black eyes fixed
upon her.
“Who is that man?” she whispered presently to Asti, who waited on her.
“The famous astrologer, Kaku, Queen. I have seen him before when he
visited Thebes with the Prince before your birth. I will tell you of him
afterwards. Watch him well.”
So Tua watched and discovered several things, among them that Kaku
observed everything that she and Pharaoh did, what they ate, to whom
they spoke, and any words which fell from their lips, such as those that
she had uttered about the god Osiris. All of these he noted down from
time to time on his waxen tablets, doubtless that he might make use of
them afterwards in his interpretation of the omens of the future.
Now, among the ladies of the Court who fanned Pharaoh and waited on him
was that dancing girl of Abi’s who many years before had betrayed him at
Thebes, Merytra, Lady of the Footstool, now a woman of middle age, but
still beautiful, of whom, although Tua disliked her, Pharaoh was fond
because she was clever and witty of speech and amused him. For this
reason, in spite of her history, he had advanced her to wealth and
honour, and kept her about his person as a companion of his lighter
hours. Something in this woman’s manner attracted Tua’s attention, for
continually she looked at the astrologer, Kaku, who suddenly awoke to
her presence and smiled as though he recognised an old friend. Then,
when it was the turn of another to take her place behind Pharaoh,
Merytra drew alongside of Kaku, and under shelter of her broad fan,
spoke to him quickly, as though she were making some arrangement with
him, and he nodded in assent, after which they separated again.
The feast wore on its weary course till, at length, the doors opened and
slaves appeared bearing the mummy of a dead man, which they set upon its
feet in the centre of the hall, whereon a toast-master cried:
“Drink and be merry, all ye great ones of the earth, who know not how
soon ye shall come to this last lowly state.”
Now this bringing in of the mummy was a very ancient rite, but one that
had fallen into general disuse, so that as it chanced Tua, who had never
seen it practised before, looked on it with curiosity not unmingled with
disgust.
“Why is a dead king dragged from his sepulchre back into the world of
life, my Uncle?” she asked, pointing to the royal emblems with which the
corpse was clothed.
“It is no king, your Majesty,” answered Abi, “but only the bones of some
humble person, or perhaps a block of wood that wears the _uræus_ and
carries the sceptre in honour of Pharaoh, our chief guest.”
Now Tua frowned, and Pharaoh, who had overheard the talk, said, smiling
sadly:
“A somewhat poor compliment, my brother, to one who, like myself, is
old and sickly and not far from his eternal habitation. Yet why should I
grumble at it who need no such reminder of that which awaits me and all
of us?” and he leaned back in his chair and sighed, while Tua looked at
him anxiously.
Then Abi ordered the mummy to be removed, declaring, with many
apologies, that it had been brought there only because such was the
ancient custom of Memphis, which, unlike Thebes, did not change its
fashions. He added that this same body or figure, for he knew not which
it was, having never troubled to inquire, had been looked upon by at
least thirty Pharaohs, all as dead as it to-day, since it was the
same that was used at the royal feasts before, long ago, the seat of
government was moved to Thebes.
“If so,” broke in Tua, who was angry, “it is time that it should be
buried, if flesh and bone, or burned if wood. But Pharaoh is wearied.
Have we your leave to depart, my Uncle?”
Without answering, Abi rose, as she thought to dismiss the company. But
it was not so, for he raised a great, golden cup of wine and said:
“Before we part, my guests, let Memphis drink a welcome to the mighty
Lord of the Two Lands who, for the first time in his long and glorious
reign, honours it with his presence here to-day. As he said to me but
now, my royal brother is weak and aged with sickness, nor can we hope
that once his visit is ended, he will return again to the White-walled
City. But as it chances the gods have given him a boon which they denied
for long, the lovely daughter who shares his throne, and who, as we
believe and pray, will reign after him when it pleases him to ascend
into the kingdom of Osiris. Yet, my friends, it is evil that the safe
and lawful government of Egypt should hang on one frail life. Therefore
this is the toast to which I drink--that the Queen Neter-Tua, Morning
Star of Amen, Hathor Strong in Beauty, who has rejected so many suitors,
may before she departs from among us, find one to her liking, some
husband of royal blood, skilled in the art of rule, whose strength and
knowledge may serve to support her woman’s weakness and inexperience in
that sad hour when she finds herself alone.”
Now the audience, who well understood the inner meaning and objects of
this speech, rose and cheered furiously, as they had been schooled to
do, emptying their cups to Pharaoh and to Tua and shouting:
“We know the man. Take him, glorious Queen, take him, Daughter of Amen,
and reign for ever.”
“What do they mean?” muttered Pharaoh, “I do not understand. Thank them,
my daughter, my voice is weak, and let us begone.”
So Tua rose when at length there was silence and, looking round her
with flashing eyes, said in her clear voice that reached the furthest
recesses of the hall:
“The Pharaoh, my father, and I, the Queen of the Upper and the Lower
Lands, return thanks to you, our people of this city, for your loyal
greetings. But as for the words that the Prince Abi has spoken, we
understand them not. My prayer is that the Pharaoh may still reign in
glory for many years, but if he departs and I remain, learn, O people,
that you have naught to fear from the weakness and inexperience of your
Queen. Learn also that she seeks no husband, nor when she seeks will she
ever find one within the walls of Memphis. Rest you well, O people and
you, my Uncle Abi, as now with your good leave we will do also.”
Then, turning, she took her father by the hand and went without more
words, leaving Abi staring at his guests while his guests stared back at
him.
When Tua had reached the pylon tower, where she lodged, and her ladies
had unrobed her and gone, she called Asti to her from the adjoining
chamber and said:
“You are wise, my nurse, tell me, what did Abi mean?”
“If your Majesty cannot guess, then you are duller than I thought,”
answered Asti in her quick, dry fashion, adding; “however, I will try to
translate. The Prince Abi, your noble uncle, means that he has trapped
you here, and that you shall not leave these walls save as his wife.”
Now fury took hold of Tua.
“How dare he speak such words?” she gasped, springing to her feet. “I,
the wife of that old river-hog, my father’s brother who might be my
grandfather, that hideous, ancient lump of wickedness who boasts that he
has a hundred sons and daughters; I, the Queen of Egypt, whose birth was
decreed by Amen, I--how dare you?” and she ceased, choking in her wrath.
“The question is--how he dares, Queen. Still, that is his plot which
he will carry through if he is able. I suspected it from the first,
and that is why I always opposed this visit to Memphis, but you will
remember that you bade me be silent, saying that you had determined to
see the most ancient city in Egypt.”
“You should not have been silent. You should have said what was in your
mind, even if I ordered you from my presence. Neither Abi nor any of his
sons proposed for my hand when the others did, therefore _I_ suspected
nothing----”
“After the fashion of women who have already given their hearts, Queen,
and forget that they have other things to give--a kingdom, for instance.
The snake does not roar like the lion, yet it is more to be feared.”
“Once I am out of this place it is the snake that shall have cause
to fear, Asti, for I will break its back and throw it writhing to the
kites. Nurse, we must leave Memphis.”
“That is not easy, Queen, since some ceremony is planned for each of the
next eight days. If Pharaoh were to go away without attending them, he
would anger all the people of the North which he has not visited since
he was crowned.”
“Then let them be angered; Pharaoh can do as he wills.”
“Yes, Queen, at least, that is the saying. But do you think that Pharaoh
wishes to bring about a civil war and risk his crown and yours? Listen:
Abi is very strong, and under his command he has a greater army than
Pharaoh can muster in these times of peace, for in addition to his
trained troops, all the thousands of the Bedouin tribes of the desert
look on him as lord, and at his word will fall on the wealth of Egypt
like famished vultures on a fatted ox. Moreover, here you have but a
guard of five hundred men, whereas Abi’s regiments, summoned to do you
honour, and his ships of war block the river and the southern road. How
then will you leave Memphis without his good leave; how will you even
send messengers to summon aid which could not reach you under fifty
days?”
Now when she saw the greatness of the danger, Tua grew quite calm and
answered:
“You have done wrong, Asti; if you foresaw all these things of which I
never thought, you should have warned Pharaoh and his Council.”
“Queen, I did warn them, and Mermes warned them also, but they would not
listen, saying that they were but the idle dreams of one who strives to
peep into the future and sees false pictures there. More, Pharaoh sent
for me himself, and whilst thanking me and Mermes my husband, told me
that he had inquired into the matter and found no cause to distrust Abi
or those under his command. Moreover, he forbade me to speak to your
Majesty about it, lest, being but young and a woman, you might be
frightened and your pleasure spoilt.”
“Who was his counsellor?” asked Tua.
“A strange one, I think, Queen. You know his waiting-woman, Merytra, she
of whom he is so fond, and who stood behind him with a fan this night.”
“Aye, I know her,” replied Tua, with emphasis. “She was ever whispering
with that tall astrologer at the feast. But does Pharaoh take counsel
with waiting-ladies of his private household?”
“With this waiting-lady, it seems, Queen. Perhaps you have not heard all
her story, in the year before your birth Merytra came up the Nile with
Abi. She was then quite young and very pretty; one of Abi’s women. It
seems that the Prince struck her for some fault, and being clever she
determined to be revenged upon him. Soon she got her chance, for she
heard Abi disclose to the astrologer Kaku, that same man whom you saw
to-night talking with her, a plan that he had made to murder Pharaoh and
declare himself king, from which Kaku dissuaded him. Having this secret
and being bold, she fled at once from the ship of Abi, and that night
told Pharaoh everything. But he forgave Abi, and sent him home again
with honour who should have slain him for his treason. Only Merytra
remained in the Court, and from that time forward Pharaoh, who trusted
her and was caught by her wit and beauty, made it a habit to send for
her when he wished to have news of Memphis where she was born, because
she seemed always to know even the most secret things that were passing
in that city. Moreover, often her information proved true.”
“That is not to be wondered at, Nurse, seeing that doubtless it came
from this Kaku, Abi’s astrologer and magician.”
“No, Queen, it is not to be wondered at, especially as she paid back
secret for secret. Well, I believe that after I had warned Pharaoh of
what I knew, never mind how, he sent for Merytra, who laughed the tale
to scorn, and told him that Abi his brother had long ago abandoned all
ambitions, being well content with his great place and power which one
of his sons would inherit after him. She told him also that the troops
were but assembled to do the greater honour to your Majesties who had no
more loyal or loving subject than the Prince Abi, whom for her part she
hated with good cause, as she loved Pharaoh and his House--with good
cause. If there were any danger, she asked would she dare to put herself
within the reach of Abi, the man that she had once betrayed because her
heart was pure and true, and she was faithful to her king. So Pharaoh
believed her, and I obeyed the orders of Pharaoh, knowing that if I
did not do so he would grow angry and perhaps separate me from you, my
beloved Queen and fosterling, which, now that Rames has gone, would, I
think, have meant my death. Yet I fear that I have erred.”
“Yes, I fear also that you have erred, Asti, but everything is forgiven
to those who err through love,” answered Tua kindly and kissing her.
“Oh, my father, Pharaoh! What god fashioned you so weak that an evil
spirit in a woman’s shape can play the rudder to your policy! Leave me
now, Asti, for I must sleep and call on Amen to aid his daughter. The
snare is strong and cunning, but, perchance, in my dreams he will show
me how it may be broke.”
That night when the feast was ended Merytra, Pharaoh’s favoured
waiting-maid, did not return with the rest of the royal retinue to
the temple where he lodged. As they went from the hall in state she
whispered a few words into the ear of the chief Butler of the Household
who, knowing that she had the royal pass to come in and out as she
would, answered that the gate should be opened to her, and let her go.
So covering her head with a dark cloak Merytra slipped behind a certain
statue in the ante-hall and waited till presently a tall figure, also
wrapped in a dark cloak, appeared and beckoned to her. She followed it
down sundry passages and up a narrow stair that seemed almost endless,
until, at length, the figure unlocked a massive door, and when they had
passed it, locked it again behind them.
Now Merytra found herself in a very richly furnished room lit by
hanging-lamps, that evidently was the abode of one who watched the
stars and practised magic, for all about were strange-looking brazen
instruments and rolls of papyrus covered with mysterious signs, and
suspended above the table a splendid divining ball of crystal. Merytra
sank into a chair, throwing off her dark cloak.
“Of a truth, friend Kaku,” she said, so soon as she had got her breath,
“you dwell very near the gods.”
“Yes, dear Merytra,” he answered with a dry chuckle, “I keep a kind of
half-way house to heaven. Perched here in my solitude I see and make
note of what goes on above,” and he pointed to the skies, “and retail
the information, or as much of it as I think fit, to the groundlings
below.”
“At a price, I suppose, Kaku.”
“Most certainly at a price, and I may add, a good price. No one thinks
much of the physician who charges low fees. Well, you have managed to
get here, and after all these years I am glad to see you again, looking
almost as young and pretty as ever. Tell me your secret of eternal
youth, dear Merytra.”
Merytra, who was vain, smiled at this artful flattery, although, in
truth, it was well deserved, for at an age when many Egyptians are old,
she remained fresh and fair.
“An excellent conscience,” she answered, “a good appetite and the
virtuous, quiet life, which is the lot of the ladies of Pharaoh’s
Court--there you have the secret, Kaku. I fear that you keep too late
hours, and that is why you grow white and withered like a mummy--not but
that you look handsome enough in those long robes of yours,” she added
to gild the pill.
“It is my labours,” he replied, making a wry face, for he too was vain.
“My labours for the good of others, also indigestion and the draughts
in this accursed tower where I sit staring at the stars, which give me
rheumatism. I have got both of them now, and must take some medicine,”
and filling two goblets from a flask, he handed her one of them, saying,
“drink it, you don’t get wine like that in Thebes.”
“It is very good,” said Merytra when she had drunk, “but heavy. If I
took much of that I think I should have ‘rheumatism,’ too. Now tell me,
old friend, am I safe, in this place? No, not from Pharaoh, he trusts
me and lets me go where I will upon his business--but from his royal
brother. He used to have a long memory, and from the look of him I do
not think that his temper has improved. You may remember a certain slap
in the face and how I paid him back for it.”
“He never knew it was you, Merytra. Being a mass of self-conceit, he
thought that you ran away because he had banished you from his royal
presence and presented you--to me.”
“Oh, he thought that, did he! What a vain fool!”
“It was a very dirty trick you played me, Merytra,” went on Kaku with
indignation, for the rich wine coursing through his blood revived the
sting of his loss. “You know how fond I always was of you, and indeed am
still,” he added, gazing at her admiringly.
“I felt that I was not worthy of so learned and distinguished a man,”
she replied, looking at him with her dark eyes. “I should only have
hampered your life, dear Kaku, so I went into the household of that poor
creature, Pharaoh, instead--Pharaoh’s Nunnery we call it. But you will
not explain the facts to Abi, will you?”
“No, I think not, Merytra, if we continue to get on as well as we do
at present. But now you are rested, so let us come to business, for
otherwise you will have to stop here all night and Pharaoh would be
angry.”
“Oh, to Set with Pharaoh! Though it is true that he is a good paymaster,
and knows the value of a clever woman. Now, what is this business?”
The old astrologer’s face grew hard and cunning. Going to the door he
made sure that it was locked and drew a curtain over it. Then he took a
stool and sat himself down in front of Merytra, in such a position that
the light fell on her face while his own remained in shadow.
“A big business, Merytra, and by the gods I do not know that I should
trust you with it. You tricked me once, you have tricked Pharaoh for
years; how do I know that you will not play the same game once more
and earn me an order to cut my own throat, and so lose life and soul
together?”
“If you think that, Kaku, perhaps you will unlock the door and give me
an escort home, for we are only wasting time.”
“I don’t know what to think, for you are as cunning as you are
beautiful. Listen, woman,” he continued in a savage whisper, and
clasping her by the wrist. “If you are false, I tell you that you shall
die horribly, for if the knife and poison fail, I am no charlatan, I
have arts. I can make you turn loathsome to the sight and waste away, I
can haunt you at nights so that you may never sleep a wink, save in
full sunshine, and I will do it all and more. If I die, Merytra, we go
together. Now will you swear to be true, will you swear it by the oath
of oaths?”
The spy looked about her. She knew Kaku’s power which was famous
throughout Egypt, and that it was said to be of the most evil sort, and
she feared him.
“It seems that this is a dangerous affair,” she replied uneasily, “and I
think that I can guess your aim. Now if I help you, Kaku, what am _I_ to
get?”
“Me,” he answered.
“I am flattered, but what else?”
“After Pharaoh the greatest place and the most power in Egypt, as the
wife of Pharaoh’s Vizier.”
“The wife? Doubtless from what I have heard of you, Kaku, there would be
other wives to share these honours.”
“No other wife--upon the oath, none, Merytra.”
She thought a moment, looking at the wizened but powerful-faced old
magician, then answered:
“I will take the oath and keep my share of it. See that you keep yours,
Kaku, or it will be the worse for you, for women have their own evil
power.”
“I know it, Merytra, and from the beginning the wise have held that the
spirit dwells, not in the heart or brain or liver, but in the female
tongue. Now stand up.”
She obeyed, and from some hidden place in the wall Kaku produced a book,
or rather a roll of magical writings, that was encased in iron, the
metal of the evil god, Typhon.
“There is no other such book as this,” he said, “for it was written by
the greatest of wizards who lived before Mena, when the god-kings ruled
in Egypt, and I, myself, took it from among his bones, a terrible task
for his Ka rose up in the grave and threatened me. He who can read in
that book, as I can, has much strength, and let him beware who breaks an
oath taken on that book. Now press it to your heart, Merytra, and swear
after me.”
Then he repeated a very terrible oath, for should it be violated it
consigned the swearer to shame, sickness and misfortune in this world,
and to everlasting torments in the next at the claws and fangs
of beast-headed demons who dwell in the darkness beyond the sun,
appointing, by name, those beings who should work the torments, and
summoning them as witnesses to the bond.
Merytra listened, then said,
“You have left out your part of the oath, Friend, namely, that you
promise that I shall be the only wife of Pharaoh’s Vizier and hold equal
power with him.”
“I forgot,” said Kaku, and added the words.
Then they both swore, touching their brows with the book, and as she
looked up again, Merytra saw a strange, flame-like light pulse in
the crystal globe that hung above her head, which became presently
infiltrated with crimson flowing through it as blood might flow from a
wound, till it glowed dull red, out of which redness a great eye watched
her. Then the eye vanished and the blood vanished, and in place of them
Queen Neter-Tua sat in glory on her throne, while the nations worshipped
her, and by her side sat a man in royal robes whose face was hidden in a
cloud.
“What do you see?” asked Kaku, following her gaze to the crystal.
She told him, and he pondered a while, then answered doubtfully:
“I think it is a good omen; the royal consort sits beside her. Only why
was his face hidden?”
“I am sure I do not know,” answered Merytra. “I think that strong, red
wine of yours was doctored and has got into my head. But, come, we have
sworn this oath, which I dare say will work in more ways than we guess,
for such accursed swords have two edges to
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