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Moon of Israel: A Tale of the Exodus

by H. Rider Haggard · English · Gutenberg #2856 · 482,032 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Moon of Israel: A Tale of the Exodus

Author: H. Rider Haggard


        
Release date: April 4, 2006 [eBook #2856]
                Most recently updated: January 23, 2022

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2856

Credits: John Bickers, Dagny, Emma Dudding and David Widger


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOON OF ISRAEL: A TALE OF THE EXODUS ***




Moon of Israel

by H. Rider Haggard


CONTENTS


CHAPTER I. SCRIBE ANA COMES TO TANIS
CHAPTER II. THE BREAKING OF THE CUP
CHAPTER III. USERTI
CHAPTER IV. THE COURT OF BETROTHAL
CHAPTER V. THE PROPHECY
CHAPTER VI. THE LAND OF GOSHEN
CHAPTER VII. THE AMBUSH
CHAPTER VIII. SETI COUNSELS PHARAOH
CHAPTER IX. THE SMITING OF AMON
CHAPTER X. THE DEATH OF PHARAOH
CHAPTER XI. THE CROWNING OF AMENMESES
CHAPTER XII. THE MESSAGE OF JABEZ
CHAPTER XIII. THE RED NILE
CHAPTER XIV. KI COMES TO MEMPHIS
CHAPTER XV. THE NIGHT OF FEAR
CHAPTER XVI. JABEZ SELLS HORSES
CHAPTER XVII. THE DREAM OF MERAPI
CHAPTER XVIII. THE CROWNING OF MERAPI






AUTHOR’S NOTE


This book suggests that the real Pharaoh of the Exodus was not Meneptah
or Merenptah, son of Rameses the Great, but the mysterious usurper,
Amenmeses, who for a year or two occupied the throne between the death
of Meneptah and the accession of his son the heir-apparent, the
gentle-natured Seti II.

Of the fate of Amenmeses history says nothing; he may well have perished
in the Red Sea or rather the Sea of Reeds, for, unlike those of Meneptah
and the second Seti, his body has not been found.

Students of Egyptology will be familiar with the writings of the scribe
and novelist Anana, or Ana as he is here called.

It was the Author’s hope to dedicate this story to Sir Gaston Maspero,
K.C.M.G., Director of the Cairo Museum, with whom on several occasions
he discussed its plot some years ago. Unhappily, however, weighed down
by one of the bereavements of the war, this great Egyptologist died in
the interval between its writing and its publication. Still, since Lady
Maspero informs him that such is the wish of his family, he adds the
dedication which he had proposed to offer to that eminent writer and
student of the past.



Dear Sir Gaston Maspero,



When you assured me as to a romance of mine concerning ancient Egypt,
that it was so full of the “inner spirit of the old Egyptians”
that, after kindred efforts of your own and a lifetime of study, you
could not conceive how it had been possible for it to spring from the
brain of a modern man, I thought your verdict, coming from such a
judge, one of the greatest compliments that ever I received. It is this
opinion of yours indeed which induces me to offer you another tale of a
like complexion. Especially am I encouraged thereto by a certain
conversation between us in Cairo, while we gazed at the majestic
countenance of the Pharaoh Meneptah, for then it was, as you may
recall, that you said you thought the plan of this book probable and
that it commended itself to your knowledge of those dim days.

With gratitude for your help and kindness and the sincerest homage to
your accumulated lore concerning the most mysterious of all the
perished peoples of the earth,

Believe me to remain

Your true admirer,

H. Rider Haggard.




CHAPTER I.

SCRIBE ANA COMES TO TANIS


This is the story of me, Ana the scribe, son of Meri, and of certain of
the days that I have spent upon the earth. These things I have written
down now that I am very old in the reign of Rameses, the third of that
name, when Egypt is once more strong and as she was in the ancient
time. I have written them before death takes me, that they may be
buried with me in death, for as my spirit shall arise in the hour of
resurrection, so also these my words may arise in their hour and tell
to those who shall come after me upon the earth of what I knew upon the
earth. Let it be as Those in heaven shall decree. At least I write and
what I write is true.

I tell of his divine Majesty whom I loved and love as my own soul, Seti
Meneptah the second, whose day of birth was my day of birth, the Hawk
who has flown to heaven before me; of Userti the Proud, his queen, she
who afterwards married his divine Majesty, Saptah, whom I saw laid in
her tomb at Thebes. I tell of Merapi, who was named Moon of Israel, and
of her people, the Hebrews, who dwelt for long in Egypt and departed
thence, having paid us back in loss and shame for all the good and ill
we gave them. I tell of the war between the gods of Egypt and the god
of Israel, and of much that befell therein.

Also I, the King’s Companion, the great scribe, the beloved of the
Pharaohs who have lived beneath the sun with me, tell of other men and
matters. Behold! is it not written in this roll? Read, ye who shall
find it in the days unborn, if your gods have given you skill. Read, O
children of the future, and learn the secrets of that past which to you
is so far away and yet in truth so near.

As it chanced, although the Prince Seti and I were born upon the same
day and therefore, like the other mothers of gentle rank whose children
saw the light upon that day, my mother received Pharaoh’s gift and I
received the title of Royal Twin in Ra, never did I set eyes upon the
divine Prince Seti until the thirtieth birthday of both of us. All of
which happened thus.

In those days the great Pharaoh, Rameses the second, and after him his
son Meneptah who succeeded when he was already old, since the mighty
Rameses was taken to Osiris after he had counted one hundred risings of
the Nile, dwelt for the most part at the city of Tanis in the desert,
whereas I dwelt with my parents at the ancient, white-walled city of
Memphis on the Nile. At times Meneptah and his court visited Memphis,
as also they visited Thebes, where this king lies in his royal tomb
to-day. But save on one occasion, the young Prince Seti, the
heir-apparent, the Hope of Egypt, came not with them, because his
mother, Asnefert, did not favour Memphis, where some trouble had
befallen her in youth—they say it was a love matter that cost the
lover his life and her a sore heart—and Seti stayed with his mother
who would not suffer him out of sight of her eyes.

Once he came indeed when he was fifteen years of age, to be proclaimed
to the people as son of his father, as Son of the Sun, as the future
wearer of the Double Crown, and then we, his twins in Ra—there were
nineteen of us who were gently born—were called by name to meet him
and to kiss his royal feet. I made ready to go in a fine new robe
embroidered in purple with the name of Seti and my own. But on that
very morning by the gift of some evil god I was smitten with spots all
over my face and body, a common sickness that affects the young. So it
happened that I did not see the Prince, for before I was well again he
had left Memphis.

Now my father Meri was a scribe of the great temple of Ptah, and I was
brought up to his trade in the school of the temple, where I copied
many rolls and also wrote out Books of the Dead which I adorned with
paintings. Indeed, in this business I became so clever that, after my
father went blind some years before his death, I earned enough to keep
him, and my sisters also until they married. Mother I had none, for she
was gathered to Osiris while I was still very little. So life went on
from year to year, but in my heart I hated my lot. While I was still a
boy there rose up in me a desire—not to copy what others had written,
but to write what others should copy. I became a dreamer of dreams.
Walking at night beneath the palm-trees upon the banks of the Nile I
watched the moon shining upon the waters, and in its rays I seemed to
see many beautiful things. Pictures appeared there which were different
from any that I saw in the world of men, although in them were men and
women and even gods.

Of these pictures I made stories in my heart and at last, although that
was not for some years, I began to write these stories down in my spare
hours. My sisters found me doing so and told my father, who scolded me
for such foolishness which he said would never furnish me with bread
and beer. But still I wrote on in secret by the light of the lamp in my
chamber at night. Then my sisters married, and one day my father died
suddenly while he was reciting prayers in the temple. I caused him to
be embalmed in the best fashion and buried with honour in the tomb he
had made ready for himself, although to pay the costs I was obliged to
copy Books of the Dead for nearly two years, working so hard that I
found no time for the writing of stories.

When at length I was free from debt I met a maiden from Thebes with a
beautiful face that always seemed to smile, and she took my heart from
my breast into her own. In the end, after I returned from fighting in
the war against the Nine Bow Barbarians, to which I was summoned like
other men, I married her. As for her name, let it be, I will not think
of it even to myself. We had one child, a little girl which died within
two years of her birth, and then I learned what sorrow can mean to man.
At first my wife was sad, but her grief departed with time and she
smiled again as she used to do. Only she said that she would bear no
more children for the gods to take. Having little to do she began to go
about the city and make friends whom I did not know, for of these, being
a beautiful woman, she found many. The end of it was that she departed
back to Thebes with a soldier whom I had never seen, for I was always
working at home thinking of the babe who was dead and how happiness is
a bird that no man can snare, though sometimes, of its own will, it
flies in at his window-place.

It was after this that my hair went white before I had counted thirty
years.

Now, as I had none to work for and my wants were few and simple, I found
more time for the writing of stories which, for the most part, were
somewhat sad. One of these stories a fellow scribe borrowed from me and
read aloud to a company, whom it pleased so much that there were many
who asked leave to copy it and publish it abroad. So by degrees I
became known as a teller of tales, which tales I caused to be copied
and sold, though out of them I made but little. Still my fame grew till
on a day I received a message from the Prince Seti, my twin in Ra,
saying that he had read certain of my writings which pleased him much
and that it was his wish to look upon my face. I thanked him humbly by
the messenger and answered that I would travel to Tanis and wait upon
his Highness. First, however, I finished the longest story which I had
yet written. It was called the Tale of Two Brothers, and told how the
faithless wife of one of them brought trouble on the other, so that he
was killed. Of how, also, the just gods brought him to life again, and
many other matters. This story I dedicated to his Highness, the Prince
Seti, and with it in the bosom of my robe I travelled to Tanis, having
hidden about me a sum of gold that I had saved.

So I came to Tanis at the beginning of winter and, walking to the palace
of the Prince, boldly demanded an audience. But now my troubles began,
for the guards and watchmen thrust me from the doors. In the end I
bribed them and was admitted to the antechambers, where were merchants,
jugglers, dancing-women, officers, and many others, all of them, it
seemed, waiting to see the Prince; folk who, having nothing to do,
pleased themselves by making mock of me, a stranger. When I had mixed
with them for several days, I gained their friendship by telling to
them one of my stories, after which I was always welcome among them.
Still I could come no nearer to the Prince, and as my store of money
was beginning to run low, I bethought me that I would return to
Memphis.

One day, however, a long-bearded old man, with a gold-tipped wand of
office, who had a bull’s head embroidered on his robe, stopped in
front of me and, calling me a white-headed crow, asked me what I was
doing hopping day by day about the chambers of the palace. I told him
my name and business and he told me his, which it seemed was Pambasa,
one of the Prince’s chamberlains. When I asked him to take me to the
Prince, he laughed in my face and said darkly that the road to his
Highness’s presence was paved with gold. I understood what he meant
and gave him a gift which he took as readily as a cock picks corn,
saying that he would speak of me to his master and that I must come
back again.

I came thrice and each time that old cock picked more corn. At last I
grew enraged and, forgetting where I was, began to shout at him and
call him a thief, so that folks gathered round to listen. This seemed
to frighten him. At first he looked towards the door as though to
summon the guard to thrust me out; then changed his mind, and in a
grumbling voice bade me follow him. We went down long passages, past
soldiers who stood at watch in them still as mummies in their coffins,
till at length we came to some broidered curtains. Here Pambasa
whispered to me to wait, and passed through the curtains which he left
not quite closed, so that I could see the room beyond and hear all that
took place there.

It was a small room like to that of any scribe, for on the tables were
palettes, pens of reed, ink in alabaster vases, and sheets of papyrus
pinned upon boards. The walls were painted, not as I was wont to paint
the Books of the Dead, but after the fashion of an earlier time, such
as I have seen in certain ancient tombs, with pictures of wild fowl
rising from the swamps and of trees and plants as they grow. Against
the walls hung racks in which were papyrus rolls, and on the hearth
burned a fire of cedar-wood.

By this fire stood the Prince, whom I knew from his statues. His years
appeared fewer than mine although we were born upon the same day, and
he was tall and thin, very fair also for one of our people, perhaps
because of the Syrian blood that ran in his veins. His hair was
straight and brown like to that of northern folk who come to trade in
the markets of Egypt, and his eyes were grey rather than black, set
beneath somewhat prominent brows such as those of his father, Meneptah.
His face was sweet as a woman’s, but made curious by certain wrinkles
which ran from the corners of the eyes towards the ears. I think that
these came from the bending of the brow in thought, but others say that
they were inherited from an ancestress on the female side. Bakenkhonsu
my friend, the old prophet who served under the first Seti and died but
the other day, having lived a hundred and twenty years, told me that he
knew her before she was married, and that she and her descendant, Seti,
might have been twins.

In his hand the Prince held an open roll, a very ancient writing as I,
who am skilled in such matters that have to do with my trade, knew from
its appearance. Lifting his eyes suddenly from the study of this roll,
he saw the chamberlain standing before him.

“You came at a good time, Pambasa,” he said in a voice that was
very soft and pleasant, and yet most manlike. “You are old and
doubtless wise. Say, are you wise, Pambasa?”

“Yes, your Highness. I am wise like your Highness’s uncle, Khaemuas
the mighty magician, whose sandals I used to clean when I was young.”

“Is it so? Then why are you so careful to hide your wisdom which
should be open like a flower for us poor bees to suck at? Well, I am
glad to learn that you are wise, for in this book of magic that I have
been reading I find problems worthy of Khaemuas the departed, whom I
only remember as a brooding, black-browed man much like my cousin,
Amenmeses his son—save that no one can call Amenmeses wise.”

“Why is your Highness glad?”

“Because you, being by your own account his equal, can now interpret
the matter as Khaemuas would have done. You know, Pambasa, that had he
lived he would have been Pharaoh in place of my father. He died too
soon, however, which proves to me that there was something in this tale
of his wisdom, since no really wise man would ever wish to be Pharaoh
of Egypt.”

Pambasa stared with his mouth open.

“Not wish to be Pharaoh!” he began—

“Now, Pambasa the Wise,” went on the Prince as though he had not
heard him. “Listen. This old book gives a charm ‘to empty the heart
of its weariness,’ that it says is the oldest and most common sickness
in the world from which only kittens, some children, and mad people are
free. It appears that the cure for this sickness, so says the book, is
to stand on the top of the pyramid of Khufu at midnight at that moment
when the moon is largest in the whole year, and drink from the cup of
dreams, reciting meanwhile a spell written here at length in language
which I cannot read.”

“There is no virtue in spells, Prince, if anyone can read them.”

“And no use, it would seem, if they can be read by none.”

“Moreover, how can any one climb the pyramid of Khufu, which is
covered with polished marble, even in the day let alone at midnight,
your Highness, and there drink of the cup of dreams?”

“I do not know, Pambasa. All I know is that I weary of this
foolishness, and of the world. Tell me of something that will lighten
my heart, for it is heavy.”

“There are jugglers without, Prince, one of whom says he can throw a
rope into the air and climb up it until he vanishes into heaven.”

“When he has done it in your sight, Pambasa, bring him to me, but not
before. Death is the only rope by which we climb to heaven—or be
lowered into hell. For remember there is a god called Set, after whom,
like my great-grandfather, I am named by the way—the priests alone
know why—as well as one called Osiris.”

“Then there are the dancers, Prince, and among them some very finely
made girls, for I saw them bathing in the palace lake, such as would
have delighted the heart of your grandfather, the great Rameses.”

“They do not delight my heart who want no naked women prancing here.
Try again, Pambasa.”

“I can think of nothing else, Prince. Yet, stay. There is a scribe
without named Ana, a thin, sharp-nosed man who says he is your
Highness’s twin in Ra.”

“Ana!” said the Prince. “He of Memphis who writes stories?
Why did you not say so before, you old fool? Let him enter at once, at
once.”

Now hearing this I, Ana, walked through the curtains and prostrated
myself, saying,

“I am that scribe, O Royal Son of the Sun.”

“How dare you enter the Prince’s presence without being
bidden——” began Pambasa, but Seti broke in with a stern
voice, saying,

“And how dare you, Pambasa, keep this learned man waiting at my door
like a dog? Rise, Ana, and cease from giving me titles, for we are not
at Court. Tell me, how long have you been in Tanis?”

“Many days, O Prince,” I answered, “seeking your presence and
in vain.”

“And how did you win it at last?”

“By payment, O Prince,” I answered innocently, “as it seems
is usual. The doorkeepers——”

“I understand,” said Seti, “the doorkeepers! Pambasa, you
will ascertain what amount this learned scribe has disbursed to ‘the
doorkeepers’ and refund him double. Begone now and see to the
matter.”

So Pambasa went, casting a piteous look at me out of the corner of his
eye.

“Tell me,” said Seti when he was gone, “you who must be wise
in your fashion, why does a Court always breed thieves?”

“I suppose for the same reason, O Prince, that a dog’s back breeds
fleas. Fleas must live, and there is the dog.”

“True,” he answered, “and these palace fleas are not paid
enough. If ever I have power I will see to it. They shall be fewer but
better fed. Now, Ana, be seated. I know you though you do not know me,
and already I have learned to love you through your writings. Tell me
of yourself.”

So I told him all my simple tale, to which he listened without a word,
and then asked me why I had come to see him. I replied that it was
because he had sent for me, which he had forgotten; also because I
brought him a story that I had dared to dedicate to him. Then I laid
the roll before him on the table.

“I am honoured,” he said in a pleased voice, “I am greatly
honoured. If I like it well, your story shall go to the tomb with me for
my Ka to read and re-read until the day of resurrection, though first I
will study it in the flesh. Do you know this city of Tanis, Ana?”

I answered that I knew little of it, who had spent my time here haunting
the doors of his Highness.

“Then with your leave I will be your guide through it this night, and
afterwards we will sup and talk.”

I bowed and he clapped his hands, whereon a servant appeared, not
Pambasa, but another.

“Bring two cloaks,” said the Prince, “I go abroad with the
scribe, Ana. Let a guard of four Nubians, no more, follow us, but at a
distance and disguised. Let them wait at the private entrance.”

The man bowed and departed swiftly.

Almost immediately a black slave appeared with two long hooded cloaks,
such as camel-drivers wear, which he helped us to put on. Then, taking
a lamp, he led us from the room through a doorway opposite to that by
which I had entered, down passages and a narrow stair that ended in a
courtyard. Crossing this we came to a wall, great and thick, in which
were double doors sheathed with copper that opened mysteriously at our
approach. Outside of these doors stood four tall men, also wrapped in
cloaks, who seemed to take no note of us. Still, looking back when we
had gone a little way, I observed that they were following us, as
though by chance.

How fine a thing, thought I to myself, it is to be a Prince who by
lifting a finger can thus command service at any moment of the day or
night.

Just at that moment Seti said to me:

“See, Ana, how sad a thing it is to be a Prince, who cannot even stir
abroad without notice to his household and commanding the service of a
secret guard to spy upon his every action, and doubtless to make report
thereof to the police of Pharaoh.”

There are two faces to everything, thought I to myself again.




CHAPTER II.

THE BREAKING OF THE CUP


We walked down a broad street bordered by trees, beyond which were
lime-washed, flat-roofed houses built of sun-dried brick, standing,
each of them, in its own garden, till at length we came to the great
market-place just as the full moon rose above the palm-trees, making
the world almost as light as day. Tanis, or Rameses as it is also
called, was a very fine city then, if only half the size of Memphis,
though now that the Court has left it I hear it is much deserted. About
this market-place stood great temples of the gods, with pylons and
avenues of sphinxes, also that wonder of the world, the colossal statue
of the second Rameses, while to the north upon a mound was the glorious
palace of Pharaoh. Other palaces there were also, inhabited by the
nobles and officers of the Court, and between them ran long streets
where dwelt the citizens, ending, some of them, on that branch of the
Nile by which the ancient city stood.

Seti halted to gaze at these wondrous buildings.

“They are very old,” he said, “but most of them, like the
walls and those temples of Amon and Ptah, have been rebuilt in the time
of my grandfather or since his day by the labour of Israelitish slaves
who dwell yonder in the rich land of Goshen.”

“They must have cost much gold,” I answered.

“The Kings of Egypt do not pay their slaves,” remarked the Prince
shortly.

Then we went on and mingled with the thousands of the people who were
wandering to and fro seeking rest after the business of the day. Here
on the frontier of Egypt were gathered folk of every race; Bedouins
from the desert, Syrians from beyond the Red Sea, merchants from the
rich Isle of Chittim, travellers from the coast, and traders from the
land of Punt and from the unknown countries of the north. All were
talking, laughing and making merry, save some who gathered in circles
to listen to a teller of tales or wandering musicians, or to watch
women who danced half naked for gifts.

Now and again the crowd would part to let pass the chariot of some noble
or lady before which went running footmen who shouted, “Make way,
Make way!” and laid about them with their long wands. Then came a
procession of white-robed priests of Isis travelling by moonlight as
was fitting for the servants of the Lady of the Moon, and bearing aloft
the holy image of the goddess before which all men bowed and for a
little while were silent. After this followed the corpse of some great
one newly dead, preceded by a troop of hired mourners who rent the air
with their lamentations as they conducted it to the quarter of the
embalmers. Lastly, from out of one of the side streets emerged a gang
of several hundred hook-nosed and bearded men, among whom were a few
women, loosely roped together and escorted by a company of armed guards.

“Who are these?” I asked, for I had never seen their like.

“Slaves of the people of Israel who return from their labour at the
digging of the new canal which is to run to the Red Sea,” answered the
Prince.

We stood still to watch them go by, and I noted how proudly their eyes
flashed and how fierce was their bearing although they were but men in
bonds, very weary too and stained by toil in mud and water. Presently
this happened. A white-bearded man lagged behind, dragging on the line
and checking the march. Thereupon an overseer ran up and flogged him
with a cruel whip cut from the hide of the sea-horse. The man turned
and, lifting a wooden spade that he carried, struck the overseer such a
blow that he cracked his skull so that he fell down dead. Other
overseers rushed at the Hebrew, as these Israelites were called, and
beat him till he also fell. Then a soldier appeared and, seeing what
had happened, drew his bronze sword. From among the throng sprang out a
girl, young and very lovely although she was but roughly clad.

Since then I have seen Merapi, Moon of Israel, as she was called, clad
in the proud raiment of a queen, and once even of a goddess, but never,
I think, did she look more beauteous than in this hour of her slavery.
Her large eyes, neither blue nor black, caught the light of the moon
and were aswim with tears. Her plenteous bronze-hued hair flowed in
great curls over the snow-white bosom that her rough robe revealed. Her
delicate hands were lifted as though to ward off the blows which fell
upon him whom she sought to protect. Her tall and slender shape stood
out against a flare of light which burned upon some market stall. She
was beauteous exceedingly, so beauteous that my heart stood still at
the sight of her, yes, mine that for some years had held no thought of
woman save such as were black and evil.

She cried aloud. Standing over the fallen man she appealed to the
soldier for mercy. Then, seeing that there was none to hope for from
him, she cast her great eyes around until they fell upon the Prince
Seti.

“Oh! Sir,” she wailed, “you have a noble air. Will you stand
by and see my father murdered for no fault?”

“Drag her off, or I smite through her,” shouted the captain, for
now she had thrown herself down upon the fallen Israelite. The overseers
obeyed, tearing her away.

“Hold, butcher!” cried the Prince.

“Who are you, dog, that dare to teach Pharaoh’s officer his
duty?” answered the captain, smiting the Prince in the face with his
left hand.

Then swiftly he struck downwards and I saw the bronze sword pass through
the body of the Israelite who quivered and lay still. It was all done
in an instant, and on the silence that followed rang out the sound of a
woman’s wail. For a moment Seti choked—with rage, I think. Then he
spoke a single word—“Guards!”

The four Nubians, who, as ordered, had kept at a distance, burst through
the gathered throng. Ere they reached us I, who till now had stood
amazed, sprang at the captain and gripped him by the throat. He struck
at me with his bloody sword, but the blow, falling on my long cloak,
only bruised me on the left thigh. Then I, who was strong in those
days, grappled with him and we rolled together on the ground.

After this there was great tumult. The Hebrew slaves burst their rope
and flung themselves upon the soldiers like dogs upon a jackal,
battering them with their bare fists. The soldiers defended themselves
with swords; the overseers plied their hide whips; women screamed, men
shouted. The captain whom I had seized began to get the better of me;
at least I saw his sword flash above me and thought that all was over.
Doubtless it would have been, had not Seti himself dragged the man
backwards and thus given the four Nubian guards time to seize him. Next
I heard the Prince cry out in a ringing voice:

“Hold! It is Seti, the son of Pharaoh, the Governor of Tanis, with
whom you have to do. See,” and he threw back the hood of his cloak so
that the moon shone upon his face.

Instantly there was a great quiet. Now, first one and then another as
the truth sunk into them, men began to fall upon their knees, and I
heard one say in an awed voice:

“The royal Son, the Prince of Egypt struck in the face by a soldier!
Blood must pay for it.”

“How is that officer named?” asked Seti, pointing to the man who
had killed the Israelite and well-nigh killed me.

Someone answered that he was named Khuaka.

“Bring him to the steps of the temple of Amon,” said Seti to the
Nubians who held him fast. “Follow me, friend Ana, if you have the
strength. Nay, lean upon my shoulder.”

So resting upon the shoulder of the Prince, for I was bruised and
breathless, I walked with him a hundred paces or more to the steps of
the great temple where we climbed to the platform at the head of the
stairs. After us came the prisoner, and after him all the multitude, a
very great number who stood upon the steps and on the flat ground
beyond. The Prince, who was very white and quiet, sat himself down upon
the low granite base of a tall obelisk which stood in front of the
temple pylon, and said:

“As Governor of Tanis, the City of Rameses, with power of life and
death at all hours and in all places, I declare my Court open.”

“The Royal Court is open!” cried the multitude in the accustomed
form.

“This is the case,” said the Prince. “Yonder man who is named
Khuaka, by his dress a captain of Pharaoh’s army, is charged with the
murder of a certain Hebrew, and with the attempted murder of Ana the
scribe. Let witnesses be called. Bring the body of the dead man and lay
it here before me. Bring the woman who strove to protect him, that she
may speak.”

The body was brought and laid upon the platform, its wide eyes staring
up at the moon. Then soldiers who had gathered thrust forward the
weeping girl.

“Cease from tears,” said Seti, “and swear by Kephera the
creator, and by Maat the goddess of truth and law, to speak nothing but
the truth.”

The girl looked up and said in a rich low voice that in some way
reminded me of honey being poured from a jar, perhaps because it was
thick with strangled sobs:

“O Royal Son of Egypt, I cannot swear by those gods who am a daughter
of Israel.”

The Prince looked at her attentively and asked:

“By what god then can you swear, O Daughter of Israel?”

“By Jahveh, O Prince, whom we hold to be the one and only God, the
Maker of the world and all that is therein.”

“Then perhaps his other name is Kephera,” said the Prince with a
little smile. “But have it as you will. Swear, then, by your god
Jahveh.”

Then she lifted both her hands above her head and said:

“I, Merapi, daughter of Nathan of the tribe of Levi of the people of
Israel, swear that I will speak the truth and all the truth in the name
of Jahveh, the God of Israel.”

“Tell us what you know of the matter of the death of this man, O
Merapi.”

“Nothing that you do not know yourself, O Prince. He who lies
there,” and she swept her hand towards the corpse, turning her eyes
away, “was my father, an elder of Israel. The captain Khuaka came
when the corn was young to the Land of Goshen to choose those who
should work for Pharaoh. He wished to take me into his house. My father
refused because from my childhood I had been affianced to a man of
Israel; also because it is not lawful under the law for our people to
intermarry with your people. Then the captain Khuaka seized my father,
although he was of high rank and beyond the age to work for Pharaoh,
and he was taken away, as I think, because he would not suffer me to
wed Khuaka. A while later I dreamed that my father was sick. Thrice I
dreamed it and ran away to Tanis to visit him. But this morning I found
him and, O Prince, you know the rest.”

“Is there no more?” asked Seti.

The girl hesitated, then answered:

“Only this, O Prince. This man saw me with my father giving him food,
for he was weak and overcome with the toil of digging the mud in the
heat of the sun, he who being a noble of our people knew nothing of
such labour from his youth. In my presence Khuaka asked my father if
now he would give me to him. My father answered that sooner would he
see me kissed by snakes and devoured by crocodiles. ‘I hear you,’
answered Khuaka. ‘Learn, now, slave Nathan, before to-morrow’s sun
arises, you shall be kissed by swords and devoured by crocodiles or
jackals.’ ‘So be it,’ said my father, ‘but learn, O Khuaka,
that if so, it is revealed to me who am a priest and a prophet of
Jahveh, that before to-morrow’s sun you also shall be kissed by
swords and of the rest we will talk at the foot of Jahveh’s
throne.’

“Afterwards, as you know, Prince, the overseer flogged my father as I
heard Khuaka order him to do if he lagged through weariness, and then
Khuaka killed him because my father in his madness struck the overseer
with a mattock. I have no more to say, save that I pray that I may be
sent back to my own people there to mourn my father according to our
custom.”

“To whom would you be sent? Your mother?”

“Nay, O Prince, my mother, a lady of Syria, is dead. I will go to my
uncle, Jabez the Levite.”

“Stand aside,” said Seti. “The matter shall be seen to later.
Appear, O Ana the Scribe. Swear the oath and tell us what you have seen
of this man’s death, since two witnesses are needful.”

So I swore and repeated all this story that I have written down.

“Now, Khuaka,” said the Prince when I had finished, “have you
aught to say?”

“Only this, O Royal One,” answered the captain throwing himself
upon his knees, “that I struck you by accident, not knowing that the
person of your Highness was hidden in that long cloak. For this deed it
is true that I am worthy of death, but I pray you to pardon me because
I knew not what I did. The rest is nothing, since I only slew a
mutinous slave of the Israelites, as such are slain every day.”

“Tell me, O Khuaka, who are being tried for this man’s death and
not for the striking of one of royal blood by chance, under which law it
is lawful for you to kill an Israelite without trial before the
appointed officers of Pharaoh.”

“I am not learned. I do not know the law, O Prince. All that this
woman said is false.”

“At least it is not false that yonder man lies dead and that you slew
him, as you yourself admit. Learn now, and let all Egypt learn, that
even an Israelite may not be murdered for no offence save that of
weariness and of paying back unearned blow with blow. Your blood shall
answer for his blood. Soldiers! Strike off his head.”

The Nubians leapt upon him, and when I looked again Khuaka’s headless
corpse lay by the corpse of the Hebrew Nathan and their blood was
mingled upon the steps of the temple.

“The business of the Court is finished,” said the Prince.
“Officers, see that this woman is escorted to her own people, and with
her the body of her father for burial. See, too, upon your lives that no
insult or harm is done to her. Scribe Ana, accompany me hence to my
house where I would speak with you. Let guards precede and follow
me.”

He rose and all the people bowed. As he turned to go the lady Merapi
stepped forward, and falling upon her knees, said:

“O most just Prince, now and ever I am your servant.”

Then we set out, and as we left the market-place on our way to the
palace of the Prince, I heard a tumult of voices behind us, some in
praise and some in blame of what had been done. We walked on in silence
broken only by the measured tramp of the guards. Presently the moon
passed behind a cloud and the world was dark. Then from the edge of the
cloud sprang out a ray of light that lay straight and narrow above us
on the heavens. Seti studied it a while and said:

“Tell me, O Ana, of what does that moonbeam put you in mind?”

“Of a sword, O Prince,” I answered, “stretched out over Egypt
and held in the black hand of some mighty god or spirit. See, there is
the blade from which fall little clouds like drops of blood, there is
the hilt of gold, and look! there beneath is the face of the god. Fire
streams from his eyebrows and his brow is black and awful. I am afraid,
though what I fear I know not.”

“You have a poet’s mind, Ana. Still, what you see I see and of this
I am sure, that some sword of vengeance is indeed stretched out over
Egypt because of its evil doings, whereof this light may be the symbol.
Behold! it seems to fall upon the temples of the gods and the palace of
Pharaoh, and to cleave them. Now it is gone and the night is as nights
were from the beginning of the world. Come to my chamber and let us
eat. I am weary, I need food and wine, as you must after struggling
with that lustful murderer whom I have sent to his own place.”

The guards saluted and were dismissed. We mounted to the Prince’s
private chambers, in one of which his servants clad me in fine linen
robes after a skilled physician of the household had doctored the
bruises upon my thigh over which he tied a bandage spread with balm.
Then I was led to a small dining-hall, where I found the Prince waiting
for me as though I were some honoured guest and not a poor scribe who
had wandered hence from Memphis with my wares. He caused me to sit down
at his right hand and even drew up the chair for me himself, whereat I
felt abashed. To this day I remember that leather-seated chair. The
arms of it ended in ivory sphinxes and on its back of black wood in an
oval was inlaid the name of the great Rameses, to whom indeed it had
once belonged. Dishes were handed to us—only two of them and those
quite simple, for Seti was no great eater—by a young Nubian slave of a
 very merry face, and with them wine more delicious than any I had ever
tasted.

We ate and drank and the Prince talked to me of my business as a scribe
and of the making of tales, which seemed to interest him very much.
Indeed one might have thought that he was a pupil in the schools and I
the teacher, so humbly and with such care did he weigh everything that
I said about my art. Of matters of state or of the dreadful scene of
blood through which we had just passed he spoke no word. At the end,
however, after a little pause during which he held up a cup of
alabaster as thin as an eggshell, studying the light playing through it
on the rich red wine within, he said to me:

“Friend Ana, we have passed a stirring hour together, the first
perhaps of many, or mayhap the last. Also we were born upon the same
day and therefore, unless the astrologers lie, as do other men—and
women—beneath the same star. Lastly, if I may say it, I like you
well, though I know not how you like me, and when you are in the room
with me I feel at ease, which is strange, for I know of no other with
whom it is so.

“Now by a chance only this morning I found in some old records which I
was studying, that the heir to the throne of Egypt a thousand years ago,
had, and therefore, as nothing ever changes in Egypt, still has, a
right to a private librarian for which the State, that is, the toilers
of the land, must pay as in the end they pay for all. Some dynasties
have gone by, it seems, since there was such a librarian, I think
because most of the heirs to the throne could not, or did not, read.
Also by chance I mentioned the matter to the Vizier Nehesi who grudges
me every ounce of gold I spend, as though it were one taken out of his
own pouch, which perhaps it is. He answered with that crooked smile of
his:

“‘Since I know well, Prince, that there is no scribe in Egypt whom
you would suffer about you for a single month, I will set the cost of a
librarian at the figure at which it stood in the Eleventh Dynasty upon
the roll of your Highness’s household and defray it from the Royal
Treasury until he is discharged.’

“Therefore, Scribe Ana, I offer you this post for one month; that is
all for which I can promise you will be paid whatever it may be, for I
forget the sum.”

“I thank you, O Prince,” I exclaimed.

“Do not thank me. Indeed if you are wise you will refuse. You have met
Pambasa. Well, Nehesi is Pambasa multiplied by ten, a rogue, a thief, a
bully, and one who has Pharaoh’s ear. He will make your life a
torment to you and clip every ring of gold that at length you wring out
of his grip. Moreover the place is wearisome, and I am fanciful and
often ill-humoured. Do not thank me, I say. Refuse; return to Memphis
and write stories. Shun courts and their plottings. Pharaoh himself is
but a face and a puppet through which other voices talk and other eyes
shine, and the sceptre which he wields is pulled by strings. And if
this is so with Pharaoh, what is the case with his son? Then there are
the women, Ana. They will make love to you, Ana, they even do so to me,
and I think you told me that you know something of women. Do not accept,
go back to Memphis. I will send you some old manuscripts to copy and
pay you whatever it is Nehesi allows for the librarian.”

“Yet I accept, O Prince. As for Nehesi I fear him not at all, since at
the worst I can write a story about him at which the world will laugh,
and rather than that he will pay me my salary.”

“You have more wisdom than I thought, Ana. It never came into my mind
to put Nehesi in a story, though it is true I tell tales about him
which is much the same thing.”

He bent forward, leaning his head upon his hand, and ceasing from his
bantering tone, looked me in the eyes and asked:

“Why do you accept? Let me think now. It is not because you care for
wealth if that is to be won here; nor for the pomp and show of courts;
nor for the company of the great who really are so small. For all these
things you, Ana, have no craving if I read your heart aright, you who
are an artist, nothing less and nothing more. Tell me, then, why will
you, a free man who can earn your living, linger round a throne and set
your neck beneath the heel of princes to be crushed into the common
mould of servitors and King’s Companions and Bearers of the
Footstool?”

“I will tell you, Prince. First, because thrones make history, as
history makes thrones, and I think that great events are on foot in
Egypt in which I would have my share. Secondly, because the gods bring
gifts to men only once or twice in their lives and to refuse them is to
offend the gods who gave them those lives to use to ends of which we
know nothing. And thirdly”—here I hesitated.

“And thirdly—out with the thirdly for, doubtless, it is the real
reason.”

“And thirdly, O Prince—well, the word sounds strangely upon a
man’s lips—but thirdly because I love you. From the moment that my
eyes fell upon your face I loved you as I never loved any other
man—not even my father. I know not why. Certainly it is not because
you are a prince.”

When he heard these words Seti sat brooding and so silent that, fearing
lest I, a humble scribe, had been too bold, I added hastily:

“Let your Highness pardon his servant for his presumptuous words. It
was his servant’s heart that spoke and not his lips.”

He lifted his hand and I stopped.

“Ana, my twin in Ra,” he said, “do you know that I never had
a friend?”

“A prince who has no friend!”

“Never, none. Now I begin to think that I have found one. The thought
is strange and warms me. Do you know also that when my eyes fell upon
your face I loved you also, the gods know why. It was as though I had
found one who was dear to me thousands of years ago but whom I had lost
and forgotten. Perhaps this is but foolishness, or perhaps here we have
the shadow of something great and beautiful which dwells elsewhere, in
the place we call the Kingdom of Osiris, beyond the grave, Ana.”

“Such thoughts have come to me at times, Prince. I mean that all we
see is shadow; that we ourselves are shadows and that the realities who
cast them live in a different home which is lit by some spirit sun that
never sets.”

The Prince nodded his head and again was silent for a while. Then he
took his beautiful alabaster cup, and pouring wine into it, he drank a
little and passed the cup to me.

“Drink also, Ana,” he said, “and pledge me as I pledge you,
in token that by decree of the Creator who made the hearts of men,
henceforward our two hearts are as the same heart through good and ill,
through triumph and defeat, till death takes one of us. Henceforward,
Ana, unless you show yourself unworthy, I hide no thought from you.”

Flushing with joy I took the cup, saying:

“I add to your words, O Prince. We are one, not for this life alone
but for all the lives to be. Death, O Prince, is, I think, but a single
step in the pylon stair which leads at last to that dizzy height whence
we see the face of God and hear his voice tell us what and why we
are.”

Then I pledged him, and drank, bowing, and he bowed back to me.

“What shall we do with the cup, Ana, the sacred cup that has held this
rich heart-wine? Shall I keep it? No, it no longer belongs to me. Shall
I give it to you? No, it can never be yours alone. See, we will break
the priceless thing.”

Seizing it by its stem with all his strength he struck the cup upon the
table. Then what seemed to me to be a marvel happened, for instead of
shattering as I thought it surely would, it split in two from rim to
foot. Whether this was by chance, or whether the artist who fashioned
it in some bygone generation had worked the two halves separately and
cunningly cemented them together, to this hour I do not know. At least
so it befell.

“This is fortunate, Ana,” said the Prince, laughing a little in his
light way. “Now take you the half that lies nearest to you and I will
take mine. If you die first I will lay my half upon your breast, and if
I die first you shall do the same by me, or if the priests forbid it
because I am royal and may not be profaned, cast the thing into my
tomb. What should we have done had the alabaster shattered into
fragments, Ana, and what omen should we have read in them?”

“Why ask, O Prince, seeing that it has befallen otherwise?”

Then I took my half, laid it against my forehead and hid it in the bosom
of my robe, and as I did, so did Seti.

So in this strange fashion the royal Seti and I sealed the holy compact
of our brotherhood, as I think not for the first time or the last.




CHAPTER III.

USERTI


Seti rose, stretching out his arms.

“That is finished,” he said, “as everything finishes, and for
once I am sorry. Now what next? Sleep, I suppose, in which all ends, or
perhaps you would say all begins.”

As he spoke the curtains at the end of the room were drawn and between
them appeared the chamberlain, Pambasa, holding his gold-tipped wand
ceremoniously before him.

“What is it now, man?” asked Seti. “Can I not even sup in
peace? Stay, before you answer tell me, do things end or begin in sleep?
The learned Ana and I differ on the matter and would hear your wisdom.
Bear in mind, Pambasa, that before we are born we must have slept,
since of that time we remember nothing, and after we are dead we
certainly seem to sleep, as any who have looked on mummies know. Now
answer.”

The chamberlain stared at the wine flask on the table as though he
suspected his master of having drunk too much. Then in a hard official
voice he said:

“She comes! She comes! She comes, offering greetings and adoration to
the Royal Son of Ra.”

“Does she indeed?” asked Seti. “If so, why say it three
times? And who comes?”

“The high Princess, the heiress of Egypt, the daughter of Pharaoh,
your Highness’s royal half-sister, the great lady Userti.”

“Let her enter then. Ana, stand you behind me. If you grow weary and I
give leave you can depart; the slaves will show you your
sleeping-place.”

Pambasa went, and presently through the curtain appeared a royal-looking
lady splendidly apparelled. She was accompanied by four waiting women
who fell back on the threshold and were no more seen. The Prince
stepped forward, took both her hands in his and kissed her on the brow,
then drew back again, after which they stood a moment looking at each
other. While they remained thus I studied her who was known throughout
the land as the “Beautiful Royal Daughter,” but whom till now I had
never seen. In truth I did not think her beautiful, although even had
she been clad in a peasant’s robe I should have been sure that she
was royal. Her face was too hard for beauty and her black eyes, with a
tinge of grey in them, were too small. Also her nose was too sharp and
her lips were too thin. Indeed, had it not been for the delicately and
finely-shaped woman’s form beneath, I might have thought that a
prince and not a princess stood before me. For the rest in most ways she
 resembled her half-brother Seti, though her countenance lacked the
kindliness of his; or rather both of them resembled their father,
Meneptah.

“Greeting, Sister,” he said, eyeing her with a smile in which I
caught a gleam of mockery. “Purple-bordered robes, emerald necklace
and enamelled crown of gold, rings and pectoral, everything except a
sceptre—why are you so royally arrayed to visit one so humble as your
loving brother? You come like sunlight into the darkness of the
hermit’s cell and dazzle the poor hermit, or rather hermits,” and
he pointed to me.

“Cease your jests, Seti,” she replied in a full, strong voice.
“I wear these ornaments because they please me. Also I have supped
with our father, and those who sit at Pharaoh’s table must be
suitably arrayed, though I have noted that sometimes you think
otherwise.”

“Indeed. I trust that the good god, our divine parent, is well
to-night as you leave him so early.”

“I leave him because he sent me with a message to you.” She paused,
looking at me sharply, then asked, “Who is that man? I do not know
him.”

“It is your misfortune, Userti, but one which can be mended. He is
named Ana the Scribe, who writes strange stories of great interest
which you would do well to read who dwell too much upon the outside of
life. He is from Memphis and his father’s name was—I forget what.
Ana, what was your father’s name?”

“One too humble for royal ears, Prince,” I answered, “but my
grandfather was Pentaur the poet who wrote of the deeds of the mighty
Rameses.”

“Is it so? Why did you not tell me that before? The descent should
earn you a pension from the Court if you can extract it from Nehesi.
Well, Userti, his grandfather’s name was Pentaur whose immortal
verses you have doubtless read upon temple walls, where our grandfather
was careful to publish them.”

“I have—to my sorrow—and thought them poor, boastful
stuff,” she answered coldly.

“To be honest, if Ana will forgive me, so do I. I can assure you that
his stories are a great improvement on them. Friend Ana, this is my
sister, Userti, my father’s daughter though our mothers were not the
same.”

“I pray you, Seti, to be so good as to give me my rightful titles in
speaking of me to scribes and other of your servants.”

“Your pardon, Userti. This, Ana, is the first Lady of Egypt, the Royal
Heiress, the Princess of the Two Lands, the High-priestess of Amon, the
Cherished of the Gods, the half-sister of the Heir-apparent, the
Daughter of Hathor, the Lotus Bloom of Love, the Queen to be
of—Userti, whose queen will you be? Have you made up your mind? For
myself I know no one worthy of so much beauty, excellence, learning
and—what shall I add—sweetness, yes, sweetness.”

“Seti,” she said stamping her foot, “if it pleases you to
make a mock of me before a stranger, I suppose that I must submit. Send
him away, I would speak with you.”

“Make a mock of you! Oh! mine is a hard fate. When truth gushes from
the well of my heart, I am told I mock, and when I mock, all say—he
speaks truth. Be seated, Sister, and talk on freely. This Ana is my
sworn friend who saved my life but now, for which deed perhaps he
should be my enemy. His memory is excellent also and he will remember
what you say and write it down afterwards, whereas I might forget.
Therefore, with your leave, I will ask him to stay here.”

“My Prince,” I broke in, “I pray you suffer me to go.”

“My Secretary,” he answered with a note of command in his voice,
“I pray you to remain where you are.”

So I sat myself on the ground after the fashion of a scribe, having no
choice, and the Princess sat herself on a couch at the end of the
table, but Seti remained standing. Then the Princess said:

“Since it is your will, Brother, that I should talk secrets into other
ears than yours, I obey you. Still”—here she looked at me
wrathfully—“let the tongue be careful that it does not repeat what
the ears have heard, lest there should be neither ears nor tongue. My
Brother, it has been reported to Pharaoh, while we ate together, that
there is tumult in this town. It has been reported to him that because
of a trouble about some base Israelite you caused one of his officers
to be beheaded, after which there came a riot which still rages.”

“Strange that truth should have come to the ears of Pharaoh so
quickly. Now, my Sister, if he had heard it three moons hence I could
have believed you—almost.”

“Then you did behead the officer?”

“Yes, I beheaded him about two hours ago.”

“Pharaoh will demand an account of the matter.”

“Pharaoh,” answered Seti lifting his eyes, “has no power to
question the justice of the Governor of Tanis in the north.”

“You are in error, Seti. Pharaoh has all power.”

“Nay, Sister, Pharaoh is but one man among millions of other men, and
though he speaks it is their spirit which bends his tongue, while above
that spirit is a yet greater spirit who decrees what they shall think
to ends of which we know nothing.”

“I do not understand, Seti.”

“I never thought you would, Userti, but when you have leisure, ask Ana
here to explain the matter to you. I am sure that _he_ understands.”

“Oh! I have borne enough,” exclaimed Userti rising. “Hearken
to the command of Pharaoh, Prince Seti. It is that you wait upon him
to-morrow in full council, at an hour before noon, there to talk with
him of this question of the Israelitish slaves and the officer whom it
has pleased you to kill. I came to speak other words to you also, but
as they were for your private ear, these can bide a more fitting
opportunity. Farewell, my Brother.”

“What, are you going so soon, Sister? I wished to tell you the story
about those Israelites, and especially of the maid whose name is—what
was her name, Ana?”

“Merapi, Moon of Israel, Prince,” I added with a groan.

“About the maid called Merapi, Moon of Israel, I think the sweetest
that ever I have looked upon, whose father the dead captain murdered in
my sight.”

“So there is a woman in the business? Well, I guessed it.”

“In what business is there not a woman, Userti, even in that of a
message from Pharaoh. Pambasa, Pambasa, escort the Princess and summon
her servants, women everyone of them, unless my senses mock me.
Good-night to you, O Sister and Lady of the Two Lands, and forgive
me—that coronet of yours is somewhat awry.”

At last she was gone and I rose, wiping my brow with a corner of my
robe, and looking at the Prince who stood before the fire laughing
softly.

“Make a note of all this talk, Ana,” he said; “there is more
in it than meets the ear.”

“I need no note, Prince,” I answered; “every word is burnt
upon my mind as a hot iron burns a tablet of wood. With reason too,
since now her Highness will hate me for all her life.”

“Much better so, Ana, than that she should pretend to love you, which
she never would have done while you are my friend. Women oftimes
respect those whom they hate and even will advance them because of
policy, but let those whom they pretend to love beware. The time may
come when you will yet be Userti’s most trusted councillor.”

Now here I, Ana the Scribe, will state that in after days, when this
same queen was the wife of Pharaoh Saptah, I did, as it chanced, become
her most trusted councillor. Moreover, in those times, yes, and even in
the hour of her death, she swore from the moment her eyes first fell on
me she had known me to be true-hearted and held me in esteem as no
self-seeker. More, I think she believed what she said, having forgotten
that once she looked upon me as her enemy. This indeed I never was, who
always held her in high regard and honour as a great lady who loved her
country, though one who sometimes was not wise. But as I could not
foresee these things on that night of long ago, I only stared at the
Prince and said:

“Oh! why did you not allow me to depart as your Highness said I might
at the beginning? Soon or late my head will pay the price of this
night’s work.”

“Then she must take mine with it. Listen, Ana. I kept you here, not to
vex the Princess or you, but for a good reason. You know that it is the
custom of the royal dynasties of Egypt for kings, or those who will be
kings, to wed their near kin in order that the blood may remain the
purer.”

“Yes, Prince, and not only among those who are royal. Still, I think
it an evil custom.”

“As I do, since the race wherein it is practised grows ever weaker in
body and in mind; which is why, perhaps, my father is not what his
father was and I am not what my father is.”

“Also, Prince, it is hard to mingle the love of the sister and of the
wife.”

“Very hard, Ana; so hard that when it is attempted both are apt to
vanish. Well, our mothers having been true royal wives, though hers died
before mine was wedded by my father, Pharaoh desires that I should
marry my half-sister, Userti, and what is worse, she desires it also.
Moreover, the people, who fear trouble ahead in Egypt if we, who alone
are left of the true royal race born of queens, remain apart and she
takes another lord, or I take another wife, demand that it should be
brought about, since they believe that whoever calls Userti the Strong
his spouse will one day rule the land.”

“Why does the Princess wish it—that she may be a queen?”

“Yes, Ana, though were she to wed my cousin, Amenmeses, the son of
Pharaoh’s elder brother Khaemuas, she might still be a queen, if I
chose to stand aside as I would not be loth to do.”

“Would Egypt suffer this, Prince?”

“I do not know, nor does it matter since she hates Amenmeses, who is
strong-willed and ambitious, and will have none of him. Also he is
already married.”

“Is there no other royal one whom she might take, Prince?”

“None. Moreover she wishes me alone.”

“Why, Prince?”

“Because of ancient custom which she worships. Also because she knows
me well and in her fashion is fond of me, whom she believes to be a
gentle-minded dreamer that she can rule. Lastly, because I am the
lawful heir to the Crown and without me to share it, she thinks that
she would never be safe upon the Throne, especially if I should marry
some other woman, of whom she would be jealous. It is the Throne she
desires and would wed, not the Prince Seti, her half-brother, whom she
takes with it to be in name her husband, as Pharaoh commands that she
should do. Love plays no part in Userti’s breast, Ana, which makes
her the more dangerous, since what she seeks with a cold heart of
policy, that she will surely find.”

“Then it would seem, Prince, that the cage is built about you. After
all it is a very splendid cage and made of gold.”

“Yes, Ana, yet not one in which I would live. Still, except by death
how can I escape from the threefold chain of the will of Pharaoh, of
Egypt, and of Userti? Oh!” he went on in a new voice, one that had in
it both sorrow and passion, “this is a matter in which I would have
chosen for myself who in all others must be a servant. And I may not
choose!”

“Is there perchance some other lady, Prince?”

“None! By Hathor, none—at least I think not. Yet I would have been
free to search for such a one and take her when I found her, if she were
but a fishergirl.”

“The Kings of Egypt can have large households, Prince.”

“I know it. Are there not still scores whom I should call aunt and
uncle? I think that my grandsire, Rameses, blessed Egypt with quite
three hundred children, and in so doing in a way was wise, since thus
he might be sure that, while the world endures, in it will flow some of
the blood that once was his.”

“Yet in life or death how will that help him, Prince? Some must beget
the multitudes of the earth, what does it matter who these may have
been?”

“Nothing at all, Ana, since by good or evil fortune they are born.
Therefore, why talk of large households? Though, like any man who can
pay for it, Pharaoh may have a large household, I seek a queen who
shall reign in my heart as well as on my throne, not a ‘large
household,’ Ana. Oh! I am weary. Pambasa, come hither and conduct my
secretary, Ana, to the empty room that is next to my own, the painted
chamber which looks toward the north, and bid my slaves attend to all
his wants as they would to mine.”

“Why did you tell me you were a scribe, my lord Ana?” asked
Pambasa, as he led me to my beautiful sleeping-place.

“Because that is my trade, Chamberlain.”

He looked at me, shaking his great head till the long white beard waved
across his breast like a temple banner in the faint evening breeze, and
answered:

“You are no scribe, you are a magician who can win the love and favour
of his Highness in an hour which others cannot do between two risings
of the Nile. Had you said so at once, you would have been differently
treated yonder in the hall of waiting. Forgive me therefore what I did
in ignorance, and, my lord, I pray it may please you not to melt away
in the night, lest my feet should answer for it beneath the sticks.”

It was the fourth hour from sunrise of the following day that, for the
first time in my life I found myself in the Court of Pharaoh standing
with other members of his household in the train of his Highness, the
Prince Seti. It was a very great place, for Pharaoh sat in the judgment
hall, whereof the roof is upheld by round and sculptured columns,
between which were set statues of Pharaohs who had been. Save at the
throne end of the hall, where the light flowed down through
clerestories, the vast chamber was dim almost to darkness; at least so
it seemed to me entering there out of the brilliant sunshine. Through
this gloom many folk moved like shadows; captains, nobles, and state
officers who had been summoned to the Court, and among them white-robed
and shaven priests. Also there were others of whom I took no count,
such as Arab headmen from the desert, traders with jewels and other
wares to sell, farmers and even peasants with petitions to present,
lawyers and their clients, and I know not who besides, though of all
these none were suffered to advance beyond a certain mark where the
light began to fall. Speaking in whispers all of these folk flitted to
and fro like bats in a tomb.

We waited between two Hathor-headed pillars in one of the vestibules of
the hall, the Prince Seti, who was clad in purple-broidered garments
and wore upon his brow a fillet of gold from which rose the uræus or
hooded snake, also of gold, that royal ones alone might wear, leaning
against the base of a statue, while the rest of us stood silent behind
him. For a time he was silent also, as a man might be whose thoughts
were otherwhere. At length he turned and said to me:

“This is weary work. Would I had asked you to bring that new tale of
yours, Scribe Ana, that we might have read it together.”

“Shall I tell you the plot of it, Prince?”

“Yes. I mean, not now, lest I should forget my manners listening to
you. Look,” and he pointed to a dark-browed, fierce-eyed man of
middle age who passed up the hall as though he did not see us, “there
goes my cousin, Amenmeses. You know him, do you not?”

I shook my head.

“Then tell me what you think of him, at once before the first judgment
fades.”

“I think he is a royal-looking lord, obstinate in mind and strong in
body, handsome too in his way.”

“All can see that, Ana. What else?”

“I think,” I said in a low voice so that none might overhear,
“that his heart is as black as his brow; that he has grown wicked with
jealousy and hate and will do you evil.”

“Can a man grow wicked, Ana? Is he not as he was born till the end? I
do not know, nor do you. Still you are right, he is jealous and will do
me evil if it brings him good. But tell me, which of us will triumph at
the last?”

While I hesitated what to answer I became aware that someone had joined
us. Looking round I perceived a very ancient man clad in a white robe.
He was broad-faced and bald-headed, and his eyes burned beneath his
shaggy eyebrows like two coals in ashes. He supported himself on a
staff of cedar-wood, gripping it with both hands that for thinness were
like to those of a mummy. For a while he considered us both as though
he were reading our souls, then said in a full and jovial voice:

“Greeting, Prince.”

Seti turned, looked at him, and answered:

“Greeting, Bakenkhonsu. How comes it that you are still alive? When we
parted at Thebes I made sure——”

“That on your return you would find me in my tomb. Not so, Prince, it
is I who shall live to look upon you in your tomb, yes, and on others
who are yet to sit in the seat of Pharaoh. Why not? Ho! ho! Why not,
seeing that I am but a hundred and seven, I who remember the first
Rameses and have played with his grandson, your grandsire, as a boy?
Why should I not live, Prince, to nurse your grandson—if the gods
should grant you one who as yet have neither wife nor child?”

“Because you will get tired of life, Bakenkhonsu, as I am already, and
the gods will not be able to spare you much longer.”

“The gods can endure yet a while without me, Prince, when so many are
flocking to their table. Indeed it is their desire that one good priest
should be left in Egypt. Ki the Magician told me so only this morning.
He had it straight from Heaven in a dream last night.”

“Why have you been to visit Ki?” asked Seti, looking at him
sharply. “I should have thought that being both of a trade you would
have hated each other.”

“Not so, Prince. On the contrary we add up each other’s account; I
mean, check and interpret each other’s visions, with which we are both
of us much troubled just now. Is that young man a scribe from
Memphis?”

“Yes, and my friend. His grandsire was Pentaur the poet.”

“Indeed. I knew Pentaur well. Often has he read me to sleep with his
long poems, rank stuff that grew like coarse grass upon a deep but
half-drained soil. Are you sure, young man, that Pentaur was your
grandfather? You are not like him. Quite a different kind of herbage,
and you know that it is a matter upon which we must take a woman’s
word.”

Seti burst out laughing and I looked at the old priest angrily, though
now that I came to think of it my father always said that his mother
was one of the biggest liars in Egypt.

“Well, let it be,” went on Bakenkhonsu, “till we find out the
truth before Thoth. Ki was speaking of you, young man. I did not pay
much attention to him, but it was something about a sudden vow of
friendship between you and the Prince here. There was a cup in the
story too, an alabaster cup that seemed familiar to me. Ki said it was
broken.”

Seti started and I began angrily:

“What do you know of that cup? Where were you hid, O Priest?”

“Oh, in your souls, I suppose,” he answered dreamily, “or
rather Ki was. But I know nothing, and am not curious. If you had broken
the cup with a woman now, it would have been more interesting, even to
an old man. Be so good as to answer the Prince’s question as to
whether he or his cousin Amenmeses will triumph at the last, for on
that matter both Ki and I are curious.”

“Am I a seer,” I began again still more angrily, “that I
should read the future?”

“I think so, a little, but that is what I want to find out.”

He hobbled towards me, laid one of his claw-like hands upon my arm, and
said in a new voice of command:

“Look now upon that throne and tell me what you see there.”

I obeyed him because I must, staring up the hall at the empty throne. At
first I saw nothing. Then figures seemed to flit around it. From among
these figures emerged the shape of the Count Amenmeses. He sat upon the
throne, looking about him proudly, and I noted that he was no longer
clad as a prince but as Pharaoh himself. Presently hook-nosed men
appeared who dragged him from his seat. He fell, as I thought, into
water, for it seemed to splash up above him. Next Seti the Prince
appeared to mount the throne, led thither by a woman, of whom I could
only see the back. I saw him distinctly wearing the double crown and
holding a sceptre in his hand. He also melted away and others came whom
I did not know, though I thought that one of them was like to the
Princess Userti.

Now all were gone and I was telling Bakenkhonsu everything I had
witnessed like a man who speaks in his sleep, not by his own will.
Suddenly I woke up and laughed at my own foolishness. But the other two
did not laugh; they regarded me very gravely.

“I thought that you were something of a seer,” said the old priest,
“or rather Ki thought it. I could not quite believe Ki, because he
said that the young person whom I should find with the Prince here this
morning would be one who loved him with all the heart, and it is only a
woman who loves with all the heart, is it not? Or so the world
believes. Well, I will talk the matter over with Ki. Hush! Pharaoh
comes.”

As he spoke from far away rose a cry of—

“Life! Blood! Strength! Pharaoh! Pharaoh! Pharaoh!”




CHAPTER IV.

THE COURT OF BETROTHAL


“Life! Blood! Strength!” echoed everyone in the great hall, falling
to their knees and bending their foreheads to the ground. Even the
Prince and the aged Bakenkhonsu prostrated themselves thus as though
before the presence of a god. And, indeed, Pharaoh Meneptah, passing
through the patch of sunlight at the head of the hall, wearing the
double crown upon his head and arrayed in royal robes and ornaments,
looked like a god, no less, as the multitude of the people of Egypt
held him to be. He was an old man with the face of one worn by years
and care, but from his person majesty seemed to flow.

With him, walking a step or two behind, went Nehesi his Vizier, a
shrivelled, parchment-faced officer whose cunning eyes rolled about the
place, and Roy the High-priest, and Hora the Chamberlain of the Table,
and Meranu the Washer of the King’s Hands, and Yuy the private
scribe, and many others whom Bakenkhonsu named to me as they appeared.
Then there were fan-bearers and a gorgeous band of lords who were
called King’s Companions and Head Butlers and I know not who besides,
and after these guards with spears and helms that shone like gold, and
black swordsmen from the southern land of Kesh.

But one woman accompanied his Majesty, walking alone immediately behind
him in front of the Vizier and the High-priest. She was the Royal
Daughter, the Princess Userti, who looked, I thought, prouder and more
splendid than any there, though somewhat pale and anxious.

Pharaoh came to the steps of the throne. The Vizier and the High-priest
advanced to help him up the steps, for he was feeble with age. He waved
them aside, and beckoning to his daughter, rested his hand upon her
shoulder and by her aid mounted the throne. I thought that there was
meaning in this; it was as though he would show to all the assembly
that this princess was the prop of Egypt.

For a little while he stood still and Userti sat herself down on the
topmost step, resting her chin upon her jewelled hand. There he stood
searching the place with his eyes. He lifted his sceptre and all rose,
hundreds and hundreds of them throughout the hall, their garments
rustling as they rose like leaves in a sudden wind. He seated himself
and once more from every throat went up the regal salutation that was
the king’s alone, of—

“Life! Blood! Strength! Pharaoh! Pharaoh! Pharaoh!”

In the silence that followed I heard him say, to the Princess, I think:

“Amenmeses I see, and others of our kin, but where is my son Seti, the
Prince of Egypt?”

“Watching us no doubt from some vestibule. My brother loves not
ceremonials,” answered Userti.

Then, with a little sigh, Seti stepped forward, followed by Bakenkhonsu
and myself, and at a distance by other members of his household. As he
marched up the long hall all drew to this side or that, saluting him
with low bows. Arriving in front of the throne he bent till his knee
touched the ground, saying:

“I give greeting, O King and Father.”

“I give greeting, O Prince and Son. Be seated,” answered Meneptah.

Seti seated himself in a chair that had been made ready for him at the
foot of the throne, and on its right, and in another chair to the left,
but set farther from the steps, Amenmeses seated himself also. At a
motion from the Prince I took my stand behind his chair.

The formal business of the Court began. At the beckoning of an usher
people of all sorts appeared singly and handed in petitions written on
rolled-up papyri, which the Vizier Nehesi took and threw into a
leathern sack that was held open by a black slave. In some cases an
answer to his petition, whereof this was only the formal delivery, was
handed back to the suppliant, who touched his brow with the roll that
perhaps meant everything to him, and bowed himself away to learn his
fate. Then appeared sheiks of the desert tribes, and captains from
fortresses in Syria, and traders who had been harmed by enemies, and
even peasants who had suffered violence from officers, each to make his
prayer. Of all of these supplications the scribes took notes, while to
some the Vizier and councillors made answer. But as yet Pharaoh said
nothing. There he sat silent on his splendid throne of ivory and gold,
like a god of stone above the altar, staring down the long hall and
through the open doors as though he would read the secrets of the skies
beyond.

“I told you that courts were wearisome, friend Ana,” whispered the
Prince to me without turning his head. “Do you not already begin to
wish that you were back writing tales at Memphis?”

Before I could answer some movement in the throng at the end of the hall
drew the eyes of the Prince and of all of us. I looked, and saw
advancing towards the throne a tall, bearded man already old, although
his black hair was but grizzled with grey. He was arrayed in a white
linen robe, over which hung a woollen cloak such as shepherds wear, and
he carried in his hand a long thornwood staff. His face was splendid
and very handsome, and his black eyes flashed like fire. He walked
forward slowly, looking neither to the left nor the right, and the
throng made way for him as though he were a prince. Indeed, I thought
that they showed more fear of him than of any prince, since they shrank
from him as he came. Nor was he alone, for after him walked another man
who was very like to him, but as I judged, still older, for his beard,
which hung down to his middle, was snow-white as was the hair on his
head. He also was dressed in a sheepskin cloak and carried a staff in
his hand. Now a whisper rose among the people and the whisper said:

“The prophets of the men of Israel! The prophets of the men of
Israel!”

The two stood before the throne and looked at Pharaoh, making no
obeisance. Pharaoh looked at them and was silent. For a long space they
stood thus in the midst of a great quiet, but Pharaoh would not speak,
and none of his officers seemed to dare to open their mouths. At length
the first of the prophets spoke in a clear, cold voice as some
conqueror might do.

“You know me, Pharaoh, and my errand.”

“I know you,” answered Pharaoh slowly, “as well I may, seeing
that we played together when we were little. You are that Hebrew whom my
sister, she who sleeps in Osiris, took to be as a son to her, giving to
you a name that means ‘drawn forth’ because she drew you forth as
an infant from among the reeds of Nile. Aye, I know you and your
brother also, but your errand I know not.”

“This is my errand, Pharaoh, or rather the errand of Jahveh, God of
Israel, for whom I speak. Have you not heard it before? It is that you
should let his people go to do sacrifice to him in the wilderness.”

“Who is Jahveh? I know not Jahveh who serve Amon and the gods of
Egypt, and why should I let your people go?”

“Jahveh is the God of Israel, the great God of all gods whose power
you shall learn if you will not hearken, Pharaoh. As for why you should
let the people go, ask it of the Prince your son who sits yonder. Ask
him of what he saw in the streets of this city but last night, and of a
certain judgment that he passed upon one of the officers of Pharaoh. Or
if he will not tell you, learn it from the lips of the maiden who is
named Merapi, Moon of Israel, the daughter of Nathan the Levite. Stand
forward, Merapi, daughter of Nathan.”

Then from the throng at the back of the hall came forward Merapi, clad
in a white robe and with a black veil thrown about her head in token of
mourning, but not so as to hide her face. Up the hall she glided and
made obeisance to Pharaoh, as she did so, casting one swift look at
Seti where he sat. Then she stood still, looking, as I thought,
wonderfully beautiful in that simple robe of white and the veil of
black.

“Speak, woman,” said Pharaoh.

She obeyed, telling all the tale in her low and honeyed voice, nor did
any seem to think it long or wearisome. At length she ended, and
Pharaoh said:

“Say, Seti my son, is this truth?”

“It is truth, O my Father. By virtue of my powers as Governor of this
city I caused the captain Khuaka to be put to death for the crime of
murder done by him before my eyes in the streets of the city.”

“Perchance you did right and perchance you did wrong, Son Seti. At
least you are the best judge, and because he struck your royal person,
this Khuaka deserved to die.”

Again he was silent for a while staring through the open doors at the
sky beyond. Then he said:

“What would ye more, Prophets of Jahveh? Justice has been done upon my
officer who slew the man of your people. A life has been taken for a
life according to the strict letter of the law. The matter is finished.
Unless you have aught to say, get you gone.”

“By the command of the Lord our God,” answered the prophet,
“we have this to say to you, O Pharaoh. Lift the heavy yoke from off
the neck of the people of Israel. Bid that they cease from the labour
of the making of bricks to build your walls and cities.”

“And if I refuse, what then?”

“Then the curse of Jahveh shall be on you, Pharaoh, and with plague
upon plague shall he smite this land of Egypt.”

Now a sudden rage seized Meneptah.

“What!” he cried. “Do you dare to threaten me in my own
palace, and would ye cause all the multitude of the people of Israel who
have grown fat in the land to cease from their labours? Hearken, my
servants, and, scribes, write down my decree. Go ye to the country of
Goshen and say to the Israelites that the bricks they made they shall
make as aforetime and more work shall they do than aforetime in the
days of my father, Rameses. Only no more straw shall be given to them
for the making of the bricks. Because they are idle, let them go forth
and gather the straw themselves; let them gather it from the face of
the fields.”

There was silence for a while. Then with one voice both the prophets
spoke, pointing with their wands to Pharaoh:

“In the Name of the Lord God we curse you, Pharaoh, who soon shall die
and make answer for this sin. The people of Egypt we curse also. Ruin
shall be their portion; death shall be their bread and blood shall they
drink in a great darkness. Moreover, at the last Pharaoh shall let the
people go.”

Then, waiting no answer, they turned and strode away side by side, nor
did any man hinder them in their goings. Again there was silence in the
hall, the silence of fear, for these were awful words that the prophets
had spoken. Pharaoh knew it, for his chin sank upon his breast and his
face that had been red with rage turned white. Userti hid her eyes with
her hand as though to shut out some evil vision, and even Seti seemed
ill at ease as though that awful curse had found a home within his
heart.

At a motion of Pharaoh’s hand the Vizier Nehesi struck the ground
thrice with his wand of office and pointed to the door, thus giving the
accustomed sign that the Court was finished, whereon all the people
turned and went away with bent heads speaking no words one to another.
Presently the great hall was emptied save for the officers and guards
and those who attended upon Pharaoh. When everyone had gone Seti the
Prince rose and bowed before the throne.

“O Pharaoh,” he said, “be pleased to hearken. We have heard
very evil words spoken by these Hebrew men, words that threaten your
divine life, O Pharaoh, and call down a curse upon the Upper and the
Lower Land. Pharaoh, these people of Israel hold that they suffer wrong
and are oppressed. Now give me, your son, a writing under your hand and
seal, by virtue of which I shall have power to go down to the Land of
Goshen and inquire of this matter, and afterwards make report of the
truth to you. Then, if it seems to you that the People of Israel are
unjustly dealt by, you may lighten their burden and bring the curse of
their prophets to nothing. But if it seems to you that the tales they
tell are idle then your words shall stand.”

Now, listening, I, Ana, thought that Pharaoh would once more be angry.
But it was not so, for when he spoke again it was in the voice of one
who is crushed by grief or weariness.

“Have your will, Son,” he said. “Only take with you a great
guard of soldiers lest these hook-nosed dogs should do you mischief. I
trust them not, who, like the Hyksos whose blood runs in many of them,
were ever the foes of Egypt. Did they not conspire with the Ninebow
Barbarians whom I crushed in the great battle, and do they not now
threaten us in the name of their outland god? Still, let the writing be
prepared and I will seal it. And stay. I think, Seti, that you, who
were ever gentle-natured, have somewhat too soft a heart towards these
shepherd slaves. Therefore I will not send you alone. Amenmeses your
cousin shall go with you, but under your command. It is spoken.”

“Life! Blood! Strength!” said both Seti and Amenmeses, thus
acknowledging the king’s command.

Now I thought that all was finished. But it was not so, for presently
Pharaoh said:

“Let the guards withdraw to the end of the hall and with them the
servants. Let the King’s councillors and the officers of the household
remain.”

Instantly all saluted and withdrew out of hearing. I, too, made ready to
go, but the Prince said to me:

“Stay, that you may take note of what passes.”

Pharaoh, watching, saw if he did not hear.

“Who is that man, Son?” he asked.

“He is Ana my private scribe and librarian, O Pharaoh, whom I trust.
It was he who saved me from harm but last night.”

“You say it, Son. Let him remain in attendance on you, knowing that if
he betrays our council he dies.”

Userti looked up frowning as though she were about to speak. If so, she
changed her mind and was silent, perhaps because Pharaoh’s word once
spoken could not be altered. Bakenkhonsu remained also as a Councillor
of the King according to his right.

When all had gone Pharaoh, who had been brooding, lifted his head and
spoke slowly but in the voice of one who gives a judgment that may not
be questioned, saying:

“Prince Seti, you are my only son born of Queen Ast-Nefert, royal
Sister, royal Mother, who sleeps in the bosom of Osiris. It is true
that you are not my first-born son, since the Count Ramessu”—here
he pointed to a stout mild-faced man of pleasing, rather foolish
appearance—“is your elder by two years. But, as he knows well, his
mother, who is still with us, is a Syrian by birth and of no royal
blood, and therefore he can never sit upon the throne of Egypt. Is it
not so, my son Ramessu?”

“It is so, O Pharaoh,” answered the Count in a pleasant voice,
“nor do I seek ever to sit upon that throne, who am well content with
the offices and wealth that Pharaoh has been pleased to confer upon me,
his first-born.”

“Let the words of the Count Ramessu be written down,” said Pharaoh,
“and placed in the temple of Ptah of this city, and in the temples of
Ptah at Memphis and of Amon at Thebes, that hereafter they may never be
questioned.”

The scribes in attendance wrote down the words and, at a sign from the
Prince Seti, I also wrote them down, setting the papyrus I had with me
on my knee. When this was finished Pharaoh went on.

“Therefore, O Prince Seti, you are the heir of Egypt and perhaps, as
those Hebrew prophets said, will ere long be called upon to sit in my
place on its throne.”

“May the King live for ever!” exclaimed Seti, “for well he
knows that I do not seek his crown and dignities.”

“I do know it well, my son; so well that I wish you thought more of
that crown and those dignities which, if the gods will, must come to
you. If they will it not, next in the order of succession stands your
cousin, the Count Amenmeses, who is also of royal blood both on his
father’s and his mother’s side, and after him I know not who,
unless it be my daughter and your half-sister, the royal Princess
Userti, Lady of Egypt.”

Now Userti spoke, very earnestly, saying:

“O Pharaoh, surely my right in the succession, according to ancient
precedent, precedes that of my cousin, the Count Amenmeses.”

Amenmeses was about to answer, but Pharaoh lifted his hand and he was
silent.

“It is matter for those learned in such lore to discuss,” Meneptah
replied in a somewhat hesitating voice. “I pray the gods that it may
never be needful that this high question should be considered in the
Council. Nevertheless, let the words of the royal Princess be written
down. Now, Prince Seti,” he went on when this had been done, “you
are still unmarried, and if you have children they are not royal.”

“I have none, O Pharaoh,” said Seti.

“Is it so?” answered Meneptah indifferently. “The Count
Amenmeses has children I know, for I have seen them, but by his wife
Unuri, who also is of the royal line, he has none.”

Here I heard Amenmeses mutter, “Being my aunt that is not strange,”
a saying at which Seti smiled.

“My daughter, the Princess, is also unmarried. So it seems that the
fountain of the royal blood is running dry——”

“Now it is coming,” whispered Seti below his breath so that only I
could hear.

“Therefore,” continued Pharaoh, “as you know, Prince Seti,
for the royal Princess of Egypt by my command went to speak to you of
this matter last night, I make a decree——”

“Pardon, O Pharaoh,” interrupted the Prince, “my sister spoke
to me of no decree last night, save that I should attend at the court
here to-day.”

“Because I could not, Seti, seeing that another was present with you
whom you refused to dismiss,” and she let her eyes rest on me.

“It matters not,” said Pharaoh, “since now I will utter it
with my own lips which perhaps is better. It is my will, Prince, that
you forthwith wed the royal Princess Userti, that children of the true
blood of the Ramessides may be born. Hear and obey.”

Now Userti shifted her eyes from me to Seti, watching him very closely.
Seated at his side upon the ground with my writing roll spread across
my knee, I, too, watched him closely, and noted that his lips turned
white and his face grew fixed and strange.

“I hear the command of Pharaoh,” he said in a low voice making
obeisance, and hesitated.

“Have you aught to add?” asked Meneptah sharply.

“Only, O Pharaoh, that though this would be a marriage decreed for
reasons of the State, still there is a lady who must be given in
marriage, and she my half-sister who heretofore has only loved me as a
relative. Therefore, I would know from her lips if it is her will to
take me as a husband.”

Now all looked at Userti who replied in a cold voice:

“In this matter, Prince, as in all others I have no will but that of
Pharaoh.”

“You have heard,” interrupted Meneptah impatiently, “and as
in our House it has always been the custom for kin to marry kin, why
should it not be her will? Also, who else should she marry? Amenmeses
is already wed. There remains only Saptah his brother who is younger
than herself——”

“So am I,” murmured Seti, “by two long years,” but
happily Userti did not hear him.

“Nay, my father,” she said with decision, “never will I take
a deformed man to husband.”

Now from the shadow on the further side of the throne, where I could not
see him, there hobbled forward a young noble, short in stature,
light-haired like Seti, and with a sharp, clever face which put me in
mind of that of a jackal (indeed for this reason he was named Thoth by
the common people, after the jackal-headed god). He was very angry, for
his cheeks were flushed and his small eyes flashed.

“Must I listen, Pharaoh,” he said in a little voice, “while
my cousin the Royal Princess reproaches me in public for my lame foot,
which I have because my nurse let me fall when I was still in arms?”

“Then his nurse let his grandfather fall also, for he too was
club-footed, as I who have seen him naked in his cradle can bear
witness,” whispered old Bakenkhonsu.

“It seems so, Count Saptah, unless you stop your ears,” replied
Pharaoh.

“She says she will not marry me,” went on Saptah, “me who
from childhood have been a slave to her and to no other woman.”

“Not by my wish, Saptah. Indeed, I pray you to go and be a slave to
any woman whom you will,” exclaimed Userti.

“But I say,” continued Saptah, “that one day she shall marry
me, for the Prince Seti will not live for ever.”

“How do you know that, Cousin?” asked Seti. “The High-priest
here will tell you a different story.”

Now certain of those present turned their heads away to hide the smile
upon their faces. Yet on this day some god spoke with Saptah’s voice
making him a prophet, since in a year to come she did marry him, in
order that she might stay upon the throne at a time of trouble when
Egypt would not suffer that a woman should have sole rule over the
land.

But Pharaoh did not smile like the courtiers; indeed he grew angry.

“Peace, Saptah!” he said. “Who are you that wrangle before
me, talking of the death of kings and saying that you will wed the Royal
princess? One more such word and you shall be driven into banishment.
Hearken now. Almost am I minded to declare my daughter, the Royal
Princess, sole heiress to the throne, seeing that in her there is more
strength and wisdom than in any other of our House.”

“If such be Pharaoh’s will, let Pharaoh’s will be
done,” said Seti most humbly. “Well I know my own unworthiness to
fill so high a station, and by all the gods I swear that my beloved
sister will find no more faithful subject than myself.”

“You mean, Seti,” interrupted Userti, “that rather than marry
me you would abandon your right to the double crown. Truly I am
honoured. Seti, whether you reign or I, I will not marry you.”

“What words are these I hear?” cried Meneptah. “Is there
indeed one in this land of Egypt who dares to say that Pharaoh’s
decree shall be disobeyed? Write it down, Scribes, and you, O Officers,
let it be proclaimed from Thebes to the sea, that on the third day from
now at the hour of noon in the temple of Hathor in this city, the
Prince, the Royal Heir, Seti Meneptah, Beloved of Ra, will wed the
Royal Princess of Egypt, Lily of Love, Beloved of Hathor, Userti,
Daughter of me, the god.”

“Life! Blood! Strength!” called all the Court.

Then, guided by some high officer, the Prince Seti was led before the
throne and the Princess Userti was set beside him, or rather facing
him. According to the ancient custom a great gold cup was brought and
filled with red wine, to me it looked like blood. Userti took the cup
and, kneeling, gave it to the Prince, who drank and gave it back to her
that she might also drink in solemn token of their betrothal. Is not
the scene graven on the broad bracelets of gold which in after days
Seti wore when he sat upon the throne, those same bracelets that at a
future time I with my own hands clasped about the wrists of dead Userti?

Then he stretched out his hand which she touched with her lips, and
bending down he kissed her on the brow. Lastly, Pharaoh, descending to
the lowest step of the throne, laid his sceptre, first upon the head of
the Prince, and next upon that of the Princess, blessing them both in
the name of himself, of his Ka or Double, and of the spirits and Kas of
all their forefathers, kings and queens of Egypt, thus appointing them
to come after him when he had been gathered to the bosom of the gods.

These things done, he departed in state, surrounded by his court,
preceded and followed by his guards and leaning on the arm of the
Princess Userti, whom he loved better than anyone in the world.

A while later I stood alone with the Prince in his private chamber,
where I had first seen him.

“That is finished,” he said in a cheerful voice, “and I tell
you, Ana, that I feel quite, quite happy. Have you ever shivered upon
the bank of a river of a winter morning, fearing to enter, and yet,
when you did enter, have you not been pleased to find that the icy
water refreshed you and made you not cold but hot?”

“Yes, Prince. It is when one comes out of the water, if the wind blows
and no sun shines, that one feels colder than before.”

“True, Ana, and therefore one must not come out. One should stop there
till one—drowns or is eaten by a crocodile. But, say, did I do it
well?”

“Old Bakenkhonsu told me, Prince, that he had been present at many
royal betrothals, I think he said eleven, and had never seen one
conducted with more grace. He added that the way in which you kissed
the brow of her Highness was perfect, as was all your demeanour after
the first argument.”

“And so it would remain, Ana, if I were never called upon to do more
than kiss her brow, to which I have been accustomed from boyhood. Oh!
Ana, Ana,” he added in a kind of cry, “already you are becoming a
courtier like the rest of them, a courtier who cannot speak the truth.
Well, nor can I, so why should I blame you? Tell me again all about
your marriage, Ana, of how it began and how it ended.”




CHAPTER V.

THE PROPHECY


Whether or no the Prince Seti saw Userti again before the hour of his
marriage with her I cannot say, because he never told me. Indeed I was
not present at the marriage, for the reason that I had been granted
leave to return to Memphis, there to settle my affairs and sell my
house on entering upon my appointment as private scribe to his
Highness. Thus it came about that fourteen full days went by from that
of the holding of the Court of Betrothal before I found myself standing
once more at the gate of the Prince’s palace, attended by a servant
who led an ass on which were laden all my manuscripts and certain
possessions that had descended to me from my ancestors with the
title-deeds of their tombs. Different indeed was my reception on this my
second coming. Even as I reached the steps the old chamberlain Pambasa
appeared, running down them so fast that his white robes and beard
streamed upon the air.

“Greeting, most learned scribe, most honourable Ana,” he panted.
“Glad indeed am I to see you, since every hour his Highness asks if
you have returned, and blames me because you have not come. Verily I
believe that if you had stayed upon the road another day I should have
been sent to look for you, who have had sharp words said to me because
I did not arrange that you should be accompanied by a guard, as though
the Vizier Nehesi would have paid the costs of a guard without the
direct order of Pharaoh. O most excellent Ana, give me of the charm
which you have doubtless used to win the love of our royal master, and
I will pay you well for it who find it easier to earn his wrath.”

“I will, Pambasa. Here it is—write better stories than I do instead
of telling them, and he will love you more than he does me. But
say—how went the marriage? I have heard upon the way that it was very
splendid.”

“Splendid! Oh! it was ten times more than splendid. It was as though
the god Osiris were once more wed to the goddess Isis in the very halls
of heaven. Indeed his Highness, the bridegroom, was dressed as a god,
yes, he wore the robes and the holy ornaments of Amon. And the
procession! And the feast that Pharaoh gave! I tell you that the Prince
was so overcome with joy and all this weight of glory that, before it
was over, looking at him I saw that his eyes were closed, being dazzled
by the gleam of gold and jewels and the loveliness of his royal bride.
He told me that it was so himself, fearing perhaps lest I should have
thought that he was asleep. Then there were the presents, something to
everyone of us according to his degree. I got—well it matters not.
And, learned Ana, I did not forget you. Knowing well that everything
would be gone before you returned I spoke your name in the ear of his
Highness, offering to keep your gift.”

“Indeed, Pambasa, and what did he say?”

“He said that he was keeping it himself. When I stared wondering what
it might be, for I saw nothing on him, he added, ‘It is here,’ and
touched the private signet guard that he has always worn, an ancient
ring of gold, but of no great value I should say, with ‘Beloved of
Thoth and of the King’ cut upon it. It seems that he must take it off
to make room for another and much finer ring which her Highness has
given him.”

Now, by this time, the ass having been unloaded by the slaves and led
away, we had passed through the hall where many were idling as ever,
and were come to the private apartments of the palace.

“This way,” said Pambasa. “The orders are that I am to take
you to the Prince wherever he may be, and just now he is seated in the
great apartment with her Highness, where they have been receiving
homage and deputations from distant cities. The last left about half an
hour ago.”

“First I will prepare myself, worthy Pambasa,” I began.

“No, no, the orders are instant, I dare not disobey them. Enter,”
and with a courtly flourish he drew a rich curtain.

“By Amon,” exclaimed a weary voice which I knew as that of the
Prince, “here come more councillors or priests. Prepare, my sister,
prepare!”

“I pray you, Seti,” answered another voice, that of Userti,
“to learn to call me by my right name, which is no longer sister. Nor,
indeed, am I your full sister.”

“I crave your pardon,” said Seti. “Prepare, Royal Wife,
prepare!”

By now the curtain was fully drawn and I stood, travel-stained, forlorn
and, to tell the truth, trembling a little, for I feared her Highness,
in the doorway, hesitating to pass the threshold. Beyond was a splendid
chamber full of light, in the centre of which upon a carven and golden
chair, one of two that were set there, sat her Highness magnificently
apparelled, faultlessly beautiful and calm. She was engaged in studying
a painted roll, left no doubt by the last deputation, for others
similar to it were laid neatly side by side upon a table.

The second chair was empty, for the Prince was walking restlessly up and
down the chamber, his ceremonial robe somewhat disarrayed and the
uræus circlet of gold which he wore, tilted back upon his head,
because of his habit of running his fingers through his brown hair. As
I still stood in the dark shadow, for Pambasa had left me, and thus
remained unseen, the talk went on.

“I am prepared, Husband. Pardon me, it is you who look otherwise. Why
would you dismiss the scribes and the household before the ceremony was
ended?”

“Because they wearied me,” said Seti, “with their continual
bowing and praising and formalities.”

“In which I saw nothing unusual. Now they must be recalled.”

“Let whoever it is enter,” he exclaimed.

Then I stepped forward into the light, prostrating myself.

“Why,” he cried, “it is Ana returned from Memphis! Draw near,
Ana, and a thousand welcomes to you. Do you know I thought that you were
another high-priest, or governor of some Nome of which I had never
heard.”

“Ana! Who is Ana?” asked the Princess. “Oh! I remember that
scribe——. Well, it is plain that he has returned from
Memphis,” and she eyed my dusty robe.

“Royal One,” I murmured abashed, “do not blame me that I
enter your presence thus. Pambasa led me here against my will by the
direct order of the Prince.”

“Is it so? Say, Seti, does this man bring tidings of import from
Memphis that you needed his presence in such haste?”

“Yes, Userti, at least I think so. You have the writings safe, have
you not, Ana?”

“Quite safe, your Highness,” I answered, though I knew not of what
writings he spoke, unless they were the manuscripts of my stories.

“Then, my Lord, I will leave you to talk of the tidings from Memphis
and these writings,” said the Princess.

“Yes, yes. We must talk of them, Userti. Also of the journey to the
land of Goshen on which Ana starts with me to-morrow.”

“To-morrow! Why this morning you told me it was fixed for three days
hence.”

“Did I, Sister—I mean Wife? If so, it was because I was not sure
whether Ana, who is to be my chariot companion, would be back.”

“A scribe your chariot companion! Surely it would be more fitting that
your cousin Amenmeses——”

“To Set with Amenmeses!” he exclaimed. “You know well,
Userti, that the man is hateful to me with his cunning yet empty
talk.”

“Indeed! I grieve to hear it, for when you hate you show it, and
Amenmeses may be a bad enemy. Then if not our cousin Amenmeses who is
not hateful to me, there is Saptah.”

“I thank you; I will not travel in a cage with a jackal.”

“Jackal! I do not love Saptah, but one of the royal blood of Egypt a
jackal! Then there is Nehesi the Vizier, or the General of the escort
whose name I forget.”

“Do you think, Userti, that I wish to talk about state economies with
that old money-sack, or to listen to boastings of deeds he never did in
war from a half-bred Nubian butcher?”

“I do not know, Husband. Yet of what will you talk with this Ana? Of
poems, I suppose, and silliness. Or will it be perchance of Merapi, Moon
of Israel, whom I gather both of you think so beautiful. Well, have
your way. You tell me that I am not to accompany you upon this journey,
I your new-made wife, and now I find that it is because you wish my
place to be filled by a writer of tales whom you picked up the other
day—your ‘twin in Ra’ forsooth! Fare you well, my Lord,” and
she rose from her seat, gathering up her robes with both hands.

Then Seti grew angry.

“Userti,” he said, stamping upon the floor, “you should not
use such words. You know well that I do not take you with me because
there may be danger yonder among the Hebrews. Moreover, it is not
Pharaoh’s wish.”

She turned and answered with cold courtesy:

“Then I crave your pardon and thank you for your kind thought for the
safety of my person. I knew not this mission was so dangerous. Be
careful, Seti, that the scribe Ana comes to no harm.”

So saying she bowed and vanished through the curtains.

“Ana,” said Seti, “tell me, for I never was quick at figures,
how many minutes is it from now till the fourth hour to-morrow morning
when I shall order my chariot to be ready? Also, do you know whether it
is possible to travel from Goshen across the marshes and to return by
Syria? Or, failing that, to travel across the desert to Thebes and sail
down the Nile in the spring?”

“Oh! my Prince, my Prince,” I said, “I pray you to dismiss
me. Let me go anywhere out of the reach of her Highness’s tongue.”

“It is strange how alike we think upon every matter, Ana, even of
Merapi and the tongues of royal ladies. Hearken to my command. You are
not to go. If it is a question of going, there are others who will go
first. Moreover, you cannot go, but must stay and bear your burdens as
I bear mine. Remember the broken cup, Ana.”

“I remember, my Prince, but sooner would I be scourged with rods than
by such words as those to which I must listen.”

Yet that very night, when I had left the Prince, I was destined to hear
more pleasant words from this same changeful, or perchance politic,
royal lady. She sent for me and I went, much afraid. I found her in a
small chamber alone, save for one old lady of honour who sat at the end
of the room and appeared to be deaf, which perhaps was why she was
chosen. Userti bade me be seated before her very courteously, and spoke
to me thus, whether because of some talk she had held with the Prince
or not, I do not know.

“Scribe Ana, I ask your pardon if, being vexed and wearied, I said to
you and of you to-day what I now wish I had left unsaid. I know well
that you, being of the gentle blood of Egypt, will make no report of
what you heard outside these walls.”

“May my tongue be cut out first,” I answered.

“It seems, Scribe Ana, that my lord the Prince has taken a great love
of you. How or why this came about so suddenly, you being a man, I do
not understand, but I am sure that as it is so, it must be because
there is much in you to love, since never did I know the Prince to show
deep regard for one who was not most honourable and worthy. Now things
being so, it is plain that you will become the favourite of his
Highness, a man who does not change his mind in such matters, and that
he will tell you all his secret thoughts, perhaps some that he hides
from the Councillors of State, or even from me. In short you will grow
into a power in the land and perhaps one day be the greatest in
it—after Pharaoh—although you may still seem to be but a private
scribe.

“I do not pretend to you that I should have wished this to be so, who
would rather that my husband had but one real councillor—myself. Yet
seeing that it is so, I bow my head, hoping that it may be decreed for
the best. If ever any jealousy should overcome me in this matter and I
should speak sharply to you, as I did to-day, I ask your pardon in
advance for that which has not happened, as I have asked it for that
which has happened. I pray of you, Scribe Ana, that you will do your
best to influence the mind of the Prince for good, since he is easily
led by any whom he loves. I pray you also being quick and thoughtful,
as I see you are, that you will make a study of statecraft, and of the
policies of our royal House, coming to me, if it be needful, for
instruction therein, so that you may be able to guide the feet of the
Prince aright, should he turn to you for counsel.”

“All of this I will do, your Highness, if by any chance it lies in my
power, though who am I that I should hope to make a path for the feet of
kings? Moreover, I would add this, although he is so gentle-natured, I
think that in the end the Prince is one who will always choose his own
path.”

“It may be so Ana. At the least I thank you. I pray you to be sure
also that in me you will always have a friend and not an enemy,
although at times the quickness of my nature, which has never been
controlled, may lead you to think otherwise. Now I will say one more
thing that shall be secret between us. I know that the Prince loves me
as a friend and relative rather than as a wife, and that he would not
have sought this marriage of himself, as is perhaps natural. I know,
too, that other women will come into his life, though these may be
fewer than in the case of most kings, because he is more hard to please.
 Of such I cannot complain, as this is according to the customs of our
country. I fear only one thing—namely that some woman, ceasing to be
his toy, may take Seti’s heart and make him altogether hers. In this
matter, Scribe Ana, as in others I ask your help, since I would be
queen of Egypt in all ways, not in name only.”

“Your Highness, how can I say to the Prince—‘So much shall
you love this or that woman and no more?’ Moreover, why do you fear
that which has not and may never come about?”

“I do not know how you can say such a thing, Scribe, still I ask you
to say it if you can. As to why I fear, it is because I seem to feel
the near shadow of some woman lying cold upon me and building a wall of
blackness between his Highness and myself.”

“It is but a dream, Princess.”

“Mayhap. I hope so. Yet I think otherwise. Oh! Ana, cannot you, who
study the hearts of men and women, understand my case? I have married
where I can never hope to be loved as other women are, I who am a wife,
yet not a wife. I read your thought; it is—why then did you marry?
Since I have told you so much I will tell you that also. First, it is
because the Prince is different to other men and in his own fashion
above them, yes, far above any with whom I could have wed as royal
heiress of Egypt. Secondly, because being cut off from love, what
remains to me but ambition? At least I would be a great queen, as was
Hatshepu in her day, and lift my country out of the many troubles in
which it is sunk and write my name large upon the books of history,
which I could only do by taking Pharaoh’s heir to husband, as is my
duty.”

She brooded a while, then added, “Now I have shown you all my thought.
Whether I have been wise to do so the gods know alone and time will tell
me.”

“Princess,” I said, “I thank you for trusting me and I will
help you if I may. Yet I am troubled. I, a humble man if of good blood,
who a little while ago was but a scribe and a student, a dreamer who
had known trouble also, have suddenly by chance, or some divine decree,
been lifted high in the favour of the heir of Egypt, and it would seem
have even won your trust. Now I wonder how I shall bear myself in this
new place which in truth I never sought.”

“I do not know, who find the present and its troubles enough to carry.
But, doubtless, the decree of which you speak that set you there has
also written down what will be the end of all. Meanwhile, I have a gift
for you. Say, Scribe, have you ever handled any weapon besides a
pen?”

“Yes, your Highness, as a lad I was skilled in sword play. Moreover,
though I do not love war and bloodshed, some years ago I fought in the
great battle between the Ninebow Barbarians, when Pharaoh called upon
the young men of Memphis to do their part. With my own hands I slew two
in fair fight, though one nearly brought me to my end,” and I pointed
to a scar which showed red through my grey hair where a spear had
bitten deep.

“It is well, or so I think, who love soldiers better than stainers of
papyrus pith.”

Then, going to a painted chest of reeds, she took from it a wonderful
shirt of mail fashioned of bronze rings, and a short sword also of
bronze, having a golden hilt of which the end was shaped to the
likeness of the head of a lion, and with her own hands gave them to me,
saying:

“These are spoils that my grandsire, the great Rameses, took in his
youth from a prince of the Khitah, whom he smote with his own hands in
Syria in that battle whereof your grandfather made the poem. Wear the
shirt, which no spear will pierce, beneath your robe and gird the sword
about you when you go down yonder among the Israelites, whom I do not
trust. I have given a like coat to the Prince. Let it be your duty to
see that it is upon his sacred person day and night. Let it be your
duty also, if need arises, with this sword to defend him to the death.
Farewell.”

“May all the gods reject me from the Fields of the Blessed if I fail
in this trust,” I answered, and departed wondering, to seek sleep
which, as it chanced, I was not to find for a while.

For as I went down the corridor, led by one of the ladies of the
household, whom should I find waiting at the end of it but old Pambasa
to inform me with many bows that the Prince needed my presence. I asked
how that could be seeing he had dismissed me for the night. He replied
that he did not know, but he was commanded to conduct me to the private
chamber, the same room in which I had first seen his Highness. Thither
I went and found him warming himself at the fire, for the night was
cold. Looking up he bade Pambasa admit those who were waiting, then
noting the shirt of mail and the sword I carried in my hand, said:

“You have been with the Princess, have you not, and she must have had
much to say to you for your talk was long? Well, I think I can guess its
purport who from a child have known her mind. She told you to watch me
well, body and heart and all that comes from the heart—oh! and much
else. Also she gave you that Syrian gear to wear among the Hebrews as
she has given the like to me, being of a careful mind which foresees
everything. Now, hearken, Ana; I grieve to keep you from your rest, who
must be weary both with talk and travel. But old Bakenkhonsu, whom you
know, waits without, and with him Ki the great magician, whom I think
you have not seen. He is a man of wonderful lore and in some ways not
altogether human. At least he does strange feats of magic, and at times
both the past and the future seem to be open to his sight, though as we
know neither the one nor the other, who can tell whether he reads them
truly. Doubtless he has, or thinks he has, some message to me from the
heavens, which I thought you might wish to hear.”

“I wish it much, Prince, if I am worthy, and you will protect me from
the anger of this magician whom I fear.”

“Anger sometimes turns to trust, Ana. Did you not find it so just now
in the case of her Highness, as I told you might very well happen?
Hush! They come. Be seated and prepare your tablets to make record of
what they say.”

The curtains were drawn and through them came the aged Bakenkhonsu
leaning upon his staff, and with him another man, Ki himself, clad in a
white robe and having his head shaven, for he was an hereditary priest
of Amon of Thebes and an initiate of Isis, Mother of Mysteries. Also
his office was that of Kherheb, or chief magician of Egypt. At first
sight there was nothing strange about this man. Indeed, he might well
have been a middle-aged merchant by his looks; in body he was short and
stout; in face fat and smiling. But in this jovial countenance were set
two very strange eyes, grey-hued rather than black. While the rest of
the face seemed to smile these eyes looked straight into nothingness as
do those of a statue. Indeed they were like to the eyes or rather the
eye-places of a stone statue, so deeply were they set into the head.
For my part I can only say I thought them awful, and by their look
judged that whatever Ki might be he was no cheat.

This strange pair bowed to the Prince and seated themselves at a sign
from him, Bakenkhonsu upon a stool because he found it difficult to
rise, and Ki, who was younger, scribe fashion on the ground.

“What did I tell you, Bakenkhonsu?” said Ki in a full, rich voice,
ending the words with a curious chuckle.

“You told me, Magician, that we should find the Prince in this chamber
of which you described every detail to me as I see it now, although
neither of us have entered it before. You said also that seated therein
on the ground would be the scribe Ana, whom I know but you do not,
having in his hands waxen tablets and a stylus and by him a coat of
curious mail and a lion-hilted sword.”

“That is strange,” interrupted the Prince, “but forgive me,
Bakenkhonsu sees these things. If you, O Ki, would tell us what is
written upon Ana’s tablets which neither of you can see, it would be
stranger still, that is if anything is written.”

Ki smiled and stared upwards at the ceiling. Presently he said:

“The scribe Ana uses a shorthand of his own that is not easy to
decipher. Yet I see written on the tablets the price he obtained for
some house in a city that is not named—it is so much. Also I see the
sums he disbursed for himself, a servant, and the food of an ass at two
inns where he stopped upon a journey. They are so much and so much.
Also there is a list of papyrus rolls and the words, ‘blue cloak,’
and then an erasure.”

“Is that right, Ana?” asked the Prince.

“Quite right,” I answered with awe, “only the words
‘blue cloak,’ which it is true I wrote upon the tablet, have also
been erased.”

Ki chuckled and turned his eyes from the ceiling to my face.

“Would your Highness wish me to tell you anything of what is written
upon the tablets of this scribe’s memory as well as upon those of wax
which he holds in his hand? They are easier to decipher than the others
and I see on them many things of interest. For instance, secret words
that seem to have been said to him by some Great One within an hour,
matters of high policy, I think. For instance, a certain saying, I
think of your Highness’s, as to shivering upon the edge of water on a
cold day, which when entered produced heat, and the answer thereto. For
instance, words that were spoken in this palace when an alabaster cup
was broke. By the way, Scribe, that was a very good place you chose in
which to hide one half of the cup in the false bottom of a chest in
your chamber, a chest that is fastened with a cord and sealed with a
scarab of the time of the second Rameses. I think that the other half of
 the cup is somewhat nearer at hand,” and turning, he stared at the
wall where I could see nothing save slabs of alabaster.

Now I sat open-mouthed, for how could this man know these things, and
the Prince laughed outright, saying:

“Ana, I begin to think you keep your counsel ill. At least I should
think so, were it not that you have had no time to tell what the
Princess yonder may have said to you, and can scarcely know the trick
of the sliding panel in that wall which I have never shown to you.”

Ki chuckled again and a smile grew on old Bakenkhonsu’s broad and
wrinkled face.

“O Prince,” I began, “I swear to you that never has one word
passed my lips of aught——”

“I know it, friend,” broke in the Prince, “but it seems there
are some who do not wait for words but can read the Book of Thought.
Therefore it is not well to meet them too often, since all have
thoughts that should be known only to them and God. Magician, what is
your business with me? Speak on as though we were alone.”

“This, Prince. You go upon a journey among the Hebrews, as all have
heard. Now, Bakenkhonsu and I, also two seers of my College, seeing that
we all love you and that your welfare is much to Egypt, have separately
sought out the future as regards the issue of this journey. Although
what we have learned differs in some matters, on others it is the same.
Therefore we thought it our duty to tell you what we have learned.”

“Say on, Kherheb.”

“First, then, that your Highness’s life will be in danger.”

“Life is always in danger, Ki. Shall I lose it? If so, do not fear to
tell me.”

“We do not know, but we think not, because of the rest that is
revealed to us. We learn that it is not your body only that will be in
danger. Upon this journey you will see a woman whom you will come to
love. This woman will, we think, bring you much sorrow and also much
joy.”

“Then perhaps the journey is worth making, Ki, since many travel far
before they find aught they can love. Tell me, have I met this woman?”

“There we are troubled, Prince, for it would seem—unless we are
deceived—that you have met her often and often; that you have known
her for thousands of years, as you have known that man at your side for
thousands of years.”

Seti’s face grew very interested.

“What do you mean, Magician?” he asked, eyeing him keenly.
“How can I who am still young have known a woman and a man for
thousands of years?”

Ki considered him with his strange eyes, and answered:

“You have many titles, Prince. Is not one of them ‘Lord of
Rebirths,’ and if so, how did you get it and what does it mean?”

“It is. What it means I do not know, but it was given to me because of
some dream that my mother had the night before I was born. Do _you_ tell
_me_ what it means, since you seem to know so much.”

“I cannot, Prince. The secret is not one that has been shown to me.
Yet there was an aged man, a magician like myself from whom I learned
much in my youth—Bakenkhonsu knew him well—who made a study of this
matter. He told me he was sure, because it had been revealed to him,
that men do not live once only and then depart hence for ever. He said
that they live many times and in many shapes, though not always on this
world, and that between each life there is a wall of darkness.”

“If so, of what use are lives which we do not remember after death has
shut the door of each of them?”

“The doors may open again at last, Prince, and show us all the
chambers through which our feet have wandered from the beginning.”

“Our religion teaches us, Ki, that after death we live eternally
elsewhere in our own bodies, which we find again on the day of
resurrection. Now eternity, having no end, can have no beginning; it is
a circle. Therefore if the one be true, namely that we live on, it
would seem that the other must be true, namely that we have always
lived.”

“That is well reasoned, Prince. In the early days, before the priests
froze the thought of man into blocks of stone and built of them shrines
to a thousand gods, many held that this reasoning was true, as then
they held that there was but one god.”

“As do these Israelites whom I go to visit. What say you of their god,
Ki?”

“That _he_ is the same as our gods, Prince. To men’s eyes God
has many faces, and each swears that the one he sees is the only true
god. Yet they are wrong, for all are true.”

“Or perchance false, Ki, unless even falsehood is a part of truth.
Well, you have told me of two dangers, one to my body and one to my
heart. Has any other been revealed to your wisdom?”

“Yes, Prince. The third is that this journey may in the end cost you
your throne.”

“If I die certainly it will cost me my throne.”

“No, Prince, if you live.”

“Even so, Ki, I think that I could endure life seated more humbly than
on a throne, though whether her Highness could endure it is another
matter. Then you say that if I go upon this journey another will be
Pharaoh in my place.”

“We do not say that, Prince. It is true that our arts have shown us
another filling your place in a time of wizardry and wonders and of the
death of thousands. Yet when we look again we see not that other but
you once more filling your own place.”

Here I, Ana, bethought me of my vision in Pharaoh’s hall.

“The matter is even worse than I thought, Ki, since having once left
the crown behind me, I think that I should have no wish to wear it any
more,” said Seti. “Who shows you all these things, and how?”

“Our _Kas_, which are our secret selves, show them to us, Prince,
and in many ways. Sometimes it is by dreams or visions, sometimes by
pictures on water, sometimes by writings in the desert sand. In all
these fashions, and by others, our _Kas_, drawing from the infinite
well of wisdom that is hidden in the being of every man, give us
glimpses of the truth, as they give us who are instructed power to work
marvels.”

“Of the truth. Then these things you tell me are true?”

“We believe so, Prince.”

“Then being true must happen. So what is the use of your warning me
against what must happen? There cannot be two truths. What would you
have me do? Not go upon this journey? Why have you told me that I must
not go, since if I did not go the truth would become a lie, which it
cannot? You say it is fated that I should go and because I go such and
such things will come about. And yet you tell me not to go, for that is
what you mean. Oh! Kherheb Ki and Bakenkhonsu, doubtless you are great
magicians and strong in wisdom, but there are greater than you who rule
the world, and there is a wisdom to which yours is but as a drop of
water to the Nile. I thank you for your warnings, but to-morrow I go
down to the land of Goshen to fulfil the commands of Pharaoh. If I come
back again we will talk more of these matters here upon the earth. If I
do not come back, perchance we will talk of them elsewhere. Farewell.”




CHAPTER VI.

THE LAND OF GOSHEN


The Prince Seti and all his train, a very great company, came in safety
to the land of Goshen, I, Ana, travelling with him in his chariot. It
was then as now a rich land, quite flat after the last line of desert
hills through which we travelled by a narrow, tortuous path. Everywhere
it was watered by canals, between which lay the grain fields wherein
the seed had just been sown. Also there were other fields of green
fodder whereon were tethered beasts by the hundred, and beyond these,
upon the drier soil, grazed flocks of sheep. The town Goshen, if so it
could be called, was but a poor place, numbers of mud huts, no more, in
the centre of which stood a building, also of mud, with two brick
pillars in front of it, that we were told was the temple of this people,
 into the inner parts of which none might enter save their High-priest.
I laughed at the sight of it, but the Prince reproved me, saying that I
should not judge the spirit by the body, or of the god by his house.

We camped outside this town and soon learned that the people who dwelt
in it or elsewhere in other towns must be numbered by the ten thousand,
for more of them than I could count wandered round the camp to look at
us. The men were fierce-eyed and hook-nosed; the young women
well-shaped and pleasant to behold; the older women for the most part
stout and somewhat unwieldy, and the children very beautiful. All were
roughly clad in robes of loosely-woven, dark-coloured cloth, beneath
which the women wore garments of white linen. Notwithstanding the
wealth we saw about us in corn and cattle, their ornaments seemed to be
few, or perhaps these were hidden from our sight.

It was easy to see that they hated us Egyptians, and even dared to
despise us. Hate shone in their glittering eyes, and I heard them
calling us the ‘idol-worshippers’ one to the other, and asking
where was our god, the Bull, for being ignorant they thought that we
worshipped Apis (as mayhap some of the common people do) instead of
looking upon the sacred beast as a symbol of the powers of Nature.
Indeed they did more, for on the first night after our coming they
slaughtered a bull marked much as Apis is, and in the morning we found
it lying near the gate of the camp, and pinned to its hide with sharp
thorns great numbers of the scarabæus beetle still living. For again
they did not know that among us Egyptians this beetle is no god but an
emblem of the Creator, because it rolls a ball of mud between its feet
and sets therein its eggs to hatch, as the Creator rolls the world that
seems to be round, and causes it to produce life.

Now all were angry at these insults except the Prince, who laughed and
said that he thought the jest coarse but clever. But worse was to
happen. It seems that a soldier with wine in him had done insult to a
Hebrew maiden who came alone to draw water at a canal. The news spread
among the people and some thousands of them rushed to the camp,
shouting and demanding vengeance in so threatening a manner that it was
necessary to form up the regiments of guards.

The Prince being summoned commanded that the girl and her kin should be
admitted and state their case. She came, weeping and wailing and tearing
her garments, throwing dust on her head also, though it appeared that
she had taken no great harm from the soldier from whom she ran away.
The Prince bade her point out the man if she could see him, and she
showed us one of the bodyguard of the Count Amenmeses, whose face was
scratched as though by a woman’s nails. On being questioned he said
he could remember little of the matter, but confessed that he had seen
the maiden by the canal at moonrise and jested with her.

The kin of this girl clamoured that he should be killed, because he had
offered insult to a high-born lady of Israel. This Seti refused, saying
that the offence was not one of death, but that he would order him to
be publicly beaten. Thereupon Amenmeses, who was fond of the soldier, a
good man enough when not in his cups, sprang up in a rage, saying that
no servant of his should be touched because he had offered to caress
some light Israelitish woman who had no business to be wandering about
alone at night. He added that if the man were flogged he and all those
under his command would leave the camp and march back to make report to
Pharaoh.

Now the Prince, having consulted with the councillors, told the woman
and her kin that as Pharaoh had been appealed to, he must judge of the
matter, and commanded them to appear at his court within a month and
state their case against the soldier. They went away very
ill-satisfied, saying that Amenmeses had insulted their daughter even
more than his servant had done. The end of this matter was that on the
following night this soldier was discovered dead, pierced through and
through with knife thrusts. The girl, her parents and brethren could
not be found, having fled away into the desert, nor was there any
evidence to show by whom the soldier had been murdered. Therefore
nothing could be done in the business except bury the victim.

On the following morning the Inquiry began with due ceremony, the Prince
Seti and the Count Amenmeses taking their seats at the head of a large
pavilion with the councillors behind them and the scribes, among whom I
was, seated at their feet. Then we learned that the two prophets whom I
had seen at Pharaoh’s court were not in the land of Goshen, having
left before we arrived “to sacrifice to God in the wilderness,” nor
did any know when they would return. Other elders and priests, however,
appeared and began to set out their case, which they did at great
length and in a fierce and turbulent fashion, speaking often all of
them at once, thus making it difficult for the interpreters to render
their words, since they pretended that they did not know the Egyptian
tongue.

Moreover they told their story from the very beginning, when they had
entered Egypt hundreds of years before and were succoured by the vizier
of the Pharaoh of that day, one Yusuf, a powerful and clever man of
their race who stored corn in a time of famine and low Niles. This
Pharaoh was of the Hyksos people, one of the Shepherd kings whom we
Egyptians hated and after many wars drove out of Khem. Under these
Shepherd kings, being joined by many of their own blood, the Israelites
grew rich and powerful, so that the Pharaohs who came after and who
loved them not, began to fear them.

This was as far as the story was taken on the first day.

On the second day began the tale of their oppression, under which,
however, they still multiplied like gnats upon the Nile, and grew so
strong and numerous that at length the great Rameses did a wicked
thing, ordering that their male children should be put to death. This
order was never carried out, because his daughter, she who found Moses
among the reeds of the river, pleaded for them.

At this point the Prince, wearied with the noise and heat in that
crowded place, broke off the sitting until the morrow. Commanding me to
accompany him, he ordered a chariot, not his own, to be made ready,
and, although I prayed him not to do so, set out unguarded save for
myself and the charioteer, saying that he would see how these people
laboured with his own eyes.

Taking a Hebrew lad to run before the horses as our guide, we drove to
the banks of a canal where the Israelites made bricks of mud which,
after drying in the sun, were laden into boats that waited for them on
the canal and taken away to other parts of Egypt to be used on
Pharaoh’s works. Thousands of men were engaged upon this labour,
toiling in gangs under the command of Egyptian overseers who kept count
of the bricks, cutting their number upon tally sticks, or sometimes
writing them upon sherds. These overseers were brutal fellows, for the
most part of the low class, who used vile language to the slaves. Nor
were they content with words. Noting a crowd gathered at one place and
hearing cries, we went to see what passed. Here we found a lad
stretched upon the ground being cruelly beaten with hide whips, so that
the blood ran down him. At a sign from the Prince I asked what he had
done and was told roughly, for the overseers and their guards did not
know who we were, that during the past six days he had only made half
of his allotted tale of bricks.

“Loose him,” said the Prince quietly.

“Who are you that give me orders?” asked the head overseer, who was
helping to hold the lad while the guards flogged him. “Begone, lest I
serve you as I serve this idle fellow.”

Seti looked at him, and as he looked his lips turned white.

“Tell him,” he said to me.

“You dog!” I gasped. “Do you know who it is to whom you dare
to speak thus?”

“No, nor care. Lay on, guard.”

The Prince, whose robes were hidden by a wide-sleeved cloak of common
stuff and make, threw the cloak open revealing beneath it the pectoral
he had worn in the Court, a beautiful thing of gold whereon were
inscribed his royal names and titles in black and red enamel. Also he
held up his right hand on which was a signet of Pharaoh’s that he
wore as his commissioner. The men stared, then one of them who was more
learned than the rest cried:

“By the gods! this is his Highness the Prince of Egypt!” at which
words all of them fell upon their faces.

“Rise,” said Seti to the lad who looked at him, forgetting his pain
in his wonderment, “and tell me why you have not delivered your tale
of bricks.”

“Sir,” sobbed the boy in bad Egyptian, “for two reasons.
First, because I am a cripple, see,” and he held up his left arm which
was withered and thin as a mummy’s, “and therefore cannot work
quickly. Secondly, because my mother, whose only child I am, is a widow
and lies sick in bed, so that there are no women or children in our
home who can go out to gather straw for me, as Pharaoh has commanded
that we should do. Therefore I must spend many hours in searching for
straw, since I have no means wherewith to pay others to do this for
me.”

“Ana,” said the Prince, “write down this youth’s name
with the place of his abode, and if his tale prove true, see that his
wants and those of his mother are relieved before we depart from
Goshen. Write down also the names of this overseer and his fellows and
command them to report themselves at my camp to-morrow at sunrise, when
their case shall be considered. Say to the lad also that, being one
afflicted by the gods, Pharaoh frees him from the making of bricks and
all other labour of the State.”

Now while I did these things the overseer and his companions beat their
heads upon the ground and prayed for mercy, being cowards as the cruel
always are. His Highness answered them never a word, but only looked at
them with cold eyes, and I noted that his face which was so kind had
grown terrible. So those men thought also, for that night they ran away
to Syria, leaving their families and all their goods behind them, nor
were they ever seen again in Egypt.

When I had finished writing the Prince turned and, walking to where the
chariot waited, bade the driver cross the canal by a bridge there was
here. We drove on a while in silence, following a track which ran
between the cultivated land and the desert. At length I pointed to the
sinking sun and asked if it were not time to return.

“Why?” replied the Prince. “The sun dies, but there rises the
full moon to give us light, and what have we to fear with swords at our
sides and her Highness Userti’s mail beneath our robes? Oh! Ana, I am
weary of men with their cruelties and shouts and strugglings, and I
find this wilderness a place of rest, for in it I seem to draw nearer
to my own soul and the Heaven whence it came, or so I hope.”

“Your Highness is fortunate to have a soul to which he cares to draw
near; it is not so with all of us;” I answered laughing, for I sought
to change the current of his thoughts by provoking argument of a sort
that he loved.

Just then, however, the horses, which were not of the best, came to a
halt on a slope of heavy sand. Nor would Seti allow the driver to flog
them, but commanded him to let them rest a space. While they did so we
descended from the chariot and walked up the desert rise, he leaning on
my arm. As we reached its crest we heard sobs and a soft voice speaking
on the further side. Who it was that spoke and sobbed we could not see,
because of a line of tamarisk shrubs which once had been a fence.

“More cruelty, or at least more sorrow,” whispered Seti. “Let
us look.”

So we crept to the tamarisks, and peeping through their feathery tops,
saw a very sweet sight in the pure rays of that desert moon. There, not
five paces away, stood a woman clad in white, young and shapely in
form. Her face we could not see because it was turned from us, also the
long dark hair which streamed about her shoulders hid it. She was
praying aloud, speaking now in Hebrew, of which both of us knew
something, and now in Egyptian, as does one who is accustomed to think
in either tongue, and stopping from time to time to sob.

“O God of my people,” she said, “send me succour and bring me
safe home, that Thy child may not be left alone in the wilderness to
become the prey of wild beasts, or of men who are worse than beasts.”

Then she sobbed, knelt down on a great bundle which I saw was stubble
straw, and again began to pray. This time it was in Egyptian, as though
she feared lest the Hebrew should be overheard and understood.

“O God,” she said, “O God of my fathers, help my poor heart,
help my poor heart!”

We were about to withdraw, or rather to ask her what she ailed, when
suddenly she turned her head, so that the light fell full upon her
face. So lovely was it that I caught my breath and the Prince at my
side started. Indeed it was more than lovely, for as a lamp shines
through an alabaster vase or a shell of pearl so did the spirit within
this woman shine through her tear-stained face, making it mysterious as
the night. Then I understood, perhaps for the first time, that it is
the spirit which gives true beauty both to maid and man and not the
flesh. The white vase of alabaster, however shapely, is still a vase
alone; it is the hidden lamp within that graces it with the glory of a
star. And those eyes, those large, dreaming eyes aswim with tears and
hued like richest lapis-lazuli, oh! what man could look on them and not
be stirred?

“Merapi!” I whispered.

“Moon of Israel!” murmured Seti, “filled with the moon,
lovely as the moon, mystic as the moon and worshipping the moon, her
mother.”

“She is in trouble; let us help her,” I said.

“Nay, wait a while, Ana, for never again shall you and I see such a
sight as this.”

Low as we spoke beneath our breath, I think the lady heard us. At least
her face changed and grew frightened. Hastily she rose, lifted the
great bundle of straw upon which she had been kneeling and placed it on
her head. She ran a few steps, then stumbled and sank down with a
little moan of pain. In an instant we were at her side. She stared at
us affrighted, for who we were she could not see because of the wide
hoods of our common cloaks that made us look like midnight thieves, or
slave-dealing Bedouin.

“Oh! Sirs,” she babbled, “harm me not. I have nothing of
value on me save this amulet.”

“Who are you and what do you here?” asked the Prince disguising his
voice.

“Sirs, I am Merapi, the daughter of Nathan the Levite, he whom the
accursed Egyptian captain, Khuaka, murdered at Tanis.”

“How do you dare to call the Egyptians accursed?” asked Seti in
tones made gruff to hide his laughter.

“Oh! Sirs, because they are—I mean because I thought you were Arabs
who hate them, as we do. At least this Egyptian was accursed, for the
high Prince Seti, Pharaoh’s heir, caused him to be beheaded for that
crime.”

“And do you hate the high Prince Seti, Pharaoh’s heir, and call him
accursed?”

She hesitated, then in a doubtful voice said:

“No, I do not hate him.”

“Why not, seeing that you hate the Egyptians of whom he is one of the
first and therefore twice worthy of hatred, being the son of your
oppressor, Pharaoh?”

“Because, although I have tried my best, I cannot. Also,” she added
with the joy of one who has found a good reason, “he avenged my
father.”

“This is no cause, girl, seeing that he only did what the law forced
him to do. They say that this dog of a Pharaoh’s son is here in
Goshen upon some mission. Is it true, and have you seen him? Answer,
for we of the desert folk desire to know.”

“I believe it is true, Sir, but I have not seen him.”

“Why not, if he is here?”

“Because I do not wish to, Sir. Why should a daughter of Israel desire
to look upon the face of a prince of Egypt?”

“In truth I do not know,” replied Seti forgetting his feigned
voice. Then, seeing that she glanced at him sharply, he added in gruff
tones:

“Brother, either this woman lies or she is none other than the maid
they call Moon of Israel who dwells with old Jabez the Levite, her
uncle. What think you?”

“I think, Brother, that she lies, and for three reasons,” I
answered, falling into the jest. “First, she is too fair to be of the
black Hebrew blood.”

“Oh! Sir,” moaned Merapi, “my mother was a Syrian lady of the
mountains, with a skin as white as milk, and eyes blue as the
heavens.”

“Secondly,” I went on without heeding her, “if the great
Prince Seti is really in Goshen and she dwells there, it is unnatural
that she should not have gone to look upon him. Being a woman only two
things would have kept her away, one—that she feared and hated him,
which she denies, and the other—that she liked him too well, and,
being prudent, thought it wisest not to look upon him more.”

When she heard the first of these words, Merapi glanced up with her lips
parted as though to answer. Instead, she dropped her eyes and suddenly
seemed to choke, while even in the moonlight I saw the red blood pour
to her brow and along her white arms.

“Sir,” she gasped, “why should you affront me? I swear that
never till this moment did I think such a thing. Surely it would be
treason.”

“Without doubt,” interrupted Seti, “yet one of a sort that
kings might pardon.”

“Thirdly,” I went on as though I had heard neither of them,
“if this girl were what she declares, she would not be wandering alone
in the desert at night, seeing that I have heard among the Arabs that
Merapi, daughter of Nathan the Levite, is a lady of no mean blood among
the Hebrews and that her family has wealth. Still, however much she
lies, we can see for ourselves that she is beautiful.”

“Yes, Brother, in that we are fortunate, since without doubt she will
sell for a high price among the slave traders beyond the desert.”

“Oh! Sir,” cried Merapi seizing the hem of his robe, “surely
you who I feel, I know not why, are no evil thief, you who have a mother
and, perchance, sisters, would not doom a maiden to such a fate.
Misjudge me not because I am alone. Pharaoh has commanded that we must
find straw for the making of bricks. This morning I came far to search
for it on behalf of a neighbour whose wife is ill in childbed. But
towards sundown I slipped and cut myself upon the edge of a sharp
stone. See,” and holding up her foot she showed a wound beneath the
instep from which the blood still dropped, a sight that moved both of
us not a little, “and now I cannot walk and carry this heavy straw
which I have been at such pains to gather.”

“Perchance she speaks truth, Brother,” said the Prince, “and
if we took her home we might earn no small reward from Jabez the Levite.
But first tell me, Maiden, what was that prayer which you made to the
moon, that Hathor should help your heart?”

“Sir,” she answered, “only the idolatrous Egyptians pray to
Hathor, the Lady of Love.”

“I thought that all the world prayed to the Lady of Love, Maiden. But
what of the prayer? Is there some man whom you desire?”

“None,” she answered angrily.

“Then why does your heart need so much help that you ask it of the
air? Is there perchance someone whom you do _not_ desire?”

She hung her head and made no answer.

“Come, Brother,” said the Prince, “this lady is weary of us,
and I think that if she were a true woman she would answer our questions
more readily. Let us go and leave her. As she cannot walk we can take
her later if we wish.”

“Sirs,” she said, “I am glad that you are going, since the
hyenas will be safer company than two men who can threaten to sell a
helpless woman into slavery. Yet as we part to meet no more I will
answer your question. In the prayer to which you were not ashamed to
listen I did not pray for any lover, I prayed to be rid of one.”

“Now, Ana,” said the Prince bursting into laughter and throwing
back his dark cloak, “do you discover the name of that unhappy man of
whom the lady Merapi wishes to be rid, for I dare not.”

She gazed into his face and uttered a little cry.

“Ah!” she said, “I thought I knew the voice again when once
you forget your part. Prince Seti, does your Highness think that this
was a kind jest to practise upon one alone and in fear?”

“Lady Merapi,” he answered smiling, “be not wroth, for at
least it was a good one and you have told us nothing that we did not
know. You may remember that at Tanis you said that you were affianced
and there was that in your voice——. Suffer me now to tend this
wound of yours.”

Then he knelt down, tore a strip from his ceremonial robe of fine linen,
and began to bind up her foot, not unskilfully, being a man full of
strange and unexpected knowledge. As he worked at the task, watching
them, I saw their eyes meet, saw too that rich flood of colour creep
once more to Merapi’s brow. Then I began to think it unseemly that
the Prince of Egypt should play the leech to a woman’s hurts, and to
wonder why he had not left that humble task to me.

Presently the bandaging was done and made fast with a royal scarabæus
mounted on a pin of gold, which the Prince wore in his garments. On it
was cut the uræus crown and beneath it were the signs which read
“Lord of the Lower and the Upper Land,” being Pharaoh’s style and
title.

“See now, Lady,” he said, “you have Egypt beneath your
foot,” and when she asked him what he meant, he read her the writing
upon the jewel, whereat for the third time she coloured to the eyes.
Then he lifted her up, instructing her to rest her weight upon his
shoulder, saying he feared lest the scarab, which he valued, should be
broken.

Thus we started, I bearing the bundle of straw behind as he bade me,
since, he said, having been gathered with such toil, it must not be
lost. On reaching the chariot, where we found the guide gone and the
driver asleep, he sat her in it upon his cloak, and wrapped her in mine
which he borrowed, saying I should not need it who must carry the
straw. Then he mounted also and they drove away at a foot’s pace. As
I walked after the chariot with the straw that fell about my ears, I
heard nothing of their further talk, if indeed they talked at all
which, the driver being present, perhaps they did not. Nor in truth did
I listen who was engaged in thought as to the hard lot of these poor
Hebrews, who must collect this dirty stuff and bear it so far, made
heavy as it was by the clay that clung about the roots.

Even now, as it chanced, we did not reach Goshen without further
trouble. Just as we had crossed the bridge over the canal I, toiling
behind, saw in the clear moonlight a young man running towards us. He
was a Hebrew, tall, well-made and very handsome in his fashion. His
eyes were dark and fierce, his nose was hooked, his teeth were regular
and white, and his long, black hair hung down in a mass upon his
shoulders. He held a wooden staff in his hand and a naked knife was
girded about his middle. Seeing the chariot he halted and peered at it,
then asked in Hebrew if those who travelled had seen aught of a young
Israelitish lady who was lost.

“If you seek me, Laban, I am here,” replied Merapi, speaking from
the shadow of the cloak.

“What do you there alone with an Egyptian, Merapi?” he said
fiercely.

What followed I do not know for they spoke so quickly in their
unfamiliar tongue that I could not understand them. At length Merapi
turned to the Prince, saying:

“Lord, this is Laban my affianced, who commands me to descend from the
chariot and accompany him as best I can.”

“And I, Lady, command you to stay in it. Laban your affianced can
accompany us.”

Now at this Laban grew angry, as I could see he was prone to do, and
stretched out his hand as though to push Seti aside and seize Merapi.

“Have a care, man,’ said the Prince, while I, throwing down the
straw, drew my sword and sprang between them, crying:

“Slave, would you lay hands upon the Prince of Egypt?”

“Prince of Egypt!” he said, drawing back astonished, then added
sullenly, “Well what does the Prince of Egypt with my affianced?”

“He helps her who is hurt to her home, having found her helpless in
the desert with this accursed straw,” I answered.

“Forward, driver,” said the Prince, and Merapi added, “Peace,
Laban, and bear the straw which his Highness’s companion has carried
such a weary way.”

He hesitated a moment, then snatched up the bundle and set it on his
head.

As we walked side by side, his evil temper seemed to get the better of
him. Without ceasing, he grumbled because Merapi was alone in the
chariot with an Egyptian. At length I could bear it no longer.

“Be silent, fellow,” I said. “Least of all men should you
complain of what his Highness does, seeing that already he has avenged
the killing of this lady’s father, and now has saved her from lying
out all night among the wild beasts and men of the wilderness.”

“Of the first I have heard more than enough,” he answered,
“and of the second doubtless I shall hear more than enough also. Ever
since my affianced met this prince, she has looked on me with different
eyes and spoken to me with another voice. Yes, and when I press for
marriage, she says it cannot be for a long while yet, because she is
mourning for her father; her father forsooth, whom she never forgave
because he betrothed her to me according to the custom of our
people.”

“Perhaps she loves some other man?” I queried, wishing to learn all
I could about this lady.

“She loves no man, or did not a while ago. She loves herself alone.”

“One with so much beauty may look high in marriage.”

“High!” he replied furiously. “How can she look higher than
myself who am a lord of the line of Judah, and therefore greater far
than an upstart prince or any other Egyptian, were he Pharaoh
himself?”

“Surely you must be trumpeter to your tribe,” I mocked, for my
temper was rising.

“Why?” he asked. “Are not the Hebrews greater than the
Egyptians, as those oppressors soon shall learn, and is not a lord of
Israel more than any idol-worshipper among your people?”

I looked at the man clad in mean garments and foul from his labour in
the brickfield, marvelling at his insolence. There was no doubt but
that he believed what he said; I could see it in his proud eye and
bearing. He thought that his tribe was of more import in the world than
our great and ancient nation, and that he, an unknown youth, equalled
or surpassed Pharaoh himself. Then, being enraged by these insults, I
answered:

“You say so, but let us put it to the proof. I am but a scribe, yet I
have seen war. Linger a little that we may learn whether a lord of
Israel is better than a scribe of Egypt.”

“Gladly would I chastise you, Writer,” he answered, “did I
not see your plot. You wish to delay me here, and perhaps to murder me
by some foul means, while your master basks in the smiles of the Moon
of Israel. Therefore I will not stay, but another time it shall be as
you wish, and perhaps ere long.”

Now I think that I should have struck him in the face, though I am not
one of those who love brawling. But at this moment there appeared a
company of Egyptian horse led by none other than the Count Amenmeses.
Seeing the Prince in the Chariot, they halted and gave the salute.
Amenmeses leapt to the ground.

“We are come out to search for your Highness,” he said,
“fearing lest some hurt had befallen you.”

“I thank you, Cousin,” answered the Prince, “but the hurt has
befallen another, not me.”

“That is well, your Highness,” said the Count, studying Merapi with
a smile. “Where is the lady wounded? Not in the breast, I trust.”

“No, Cousin, in the foot, which is why she travels with me in this
chariot.”

“Your Highness was ever kind to the unfortunate. I pray you let me
take your place, or suffer me to set this girl upon a horse.”

“Drive on,” said Seti.

So, escorted by the soldiers, whom I heard making jests to each other
about the Prince and the lady, as I think did the Hebrew Laban also,
for he glared about him and ground his teeth, we came at last to the
town. Here, guided by Merapi, the chariot was halted at the house of
Jabez her uncle, a white-bearded old Hebrew with a cunning eye, who
rushed from the door of his mud-roofed dwelling crying he had done no
harm that soldiers should come to take him.

“It is not you whom the Egyptians wish to capture, it is your niece
and my betrothed,” shouted Laban, whereat the soldiers laughed, as
did some women who had gathered round. Meanwhile the Prince was helping
Merapi to descend out of the chariot, from which indeed he lifted her.
The sight seemed to madden Laban, who rushed forward to tear her from
his arms, and in the attempt jostled his Highness. The captain of the
soldiers—he was an officer of Pharaoh’s bodyguard—lifted his
sword in a fury and struck Laban such a blow upon the head with the
flat of the blade that he fell upon his face and lay there groaning.

“Away with that Hebrew dog and scourge him!” cried the captain.
“Is the royal blood of Egypt to be handled by such as he?”

Soldiers sprang forward to do his bidding, but Seti said quietly:

“Let the fellow be, friends; he lacks manners, that is all. Is he
hurt?”

As he spoke Laban leapt to his feet and, fearing worse things, fled away
with a curse and a glare of hate at the Prince.

“Farewell, Lady,” said Seti. “I wish you a quick
recovery.”

“I thank your Highness,” she answered, looking about her
confusedly. “Be pleased to wait a little while that I may return to
you your jewel.”

“Nay, keep it, Lady, and if ever you are in need or trouble of any
sort, send it to me who know it well and you shall not lack succour.”

She glanced at him and burst into tears.

“Why do you weep?” he asked.

“Oh! your Highness, because I fear that trouble is near at hand. My
affianced, Laban, has a revengeful heart. Help me to the house, my
uncle.”

“Listen, Hebrew,” said Seti, raising his voice; “if aught
that is evil befalls this niece of yours, or if she is forced to walk
whither she would not go, sorrow shall be your portion and that of all
with whom you have to do. Do you hear?”

“O my Lord, I hear, I hear. Fear nothing. She shall be guarded
carefully as—as she will doubtless guard that trinket on her foot.”

“Ana,” said the Prince to me that night, when I was talking with
him before he went to rest, “I know not why, but I fear that man
Laban; he has an evil eye.”

“I too think it would have been better if your Highness had left him
to be dealt with by the soldiers, after which there would have been
nothing to fear from him in this world.”

“Well, I did not, so there’s an end. Ana, she is a fair woman and a
sweet.”

“The fairest and the sweetest that ever I saw, my Prince.”

“Be careful, Ana. I pray you be careful, lest you should fall in love
with one who is already affianced.”

I only looked at him in answer, and as I looked I bethought me of the
words of Ki the Magician. So, I think, did the Prince; at least he
laughed not unhappily and turned away.

For my part I rested ill that night, and when at last I slept, it was to
dream of Merapi making her prayer in the rays of the moon.




CHAPTER VII.

THE AMBUSH


Eight full days went by before we left the land of Goshen. The story
that the Israelites had to tell was long, sad also. Moreover, they gave
evidence as to many cruel things that they had suffered, and when this
was finished the testimony of the guards and others must be called, all
of which it was necessary to write down. Lastly, the Prince seemed to
be in no hurry to be gone, as he said because he hoped that the two
prophets would return from the wilderness, which they never did. During
all this time Seti saw no more of Merapi, nor indeed did he speak of
her, even when the Count Amenmeses jested him as to his chariot
companion and asked him if he had driven again in the desert by
moonlight.

I, however, saw her once. When I was wandering in the town one day
towards sunset, I met her walking with her uncle Jabez upon one side
and her lover, Laban, on the other, like a prisoner between two guards.
I thought she looked unhappy, but her foot seemed to be well again; at
least she moved without limping.

I stopped to salute her, but Laban scowled and hurried her away. Jabez
stayed behind and fell into talk with me. He told me that she was
recovered of her hurt, but that there had been trouble between her and
Laban because of all that happened on that evening when she came by it,
ending in his encounter with the captain.

“This young man seems to be of a jealous nature,” I said,
“one who will make a harsh husband for any woman.”

“Yes, learned scribe, jealousy has been his curse from youth as it is
with so many of our people, and I thank God that I am not the woman whom
he is to marry.”

“Why, then, do you suffer her to marry him, Jabez?”

“Because her father affianced her to this lion’s whelp when she was
scarce more than a child, and among us that is a bond hard to break. For
my own part,” he added, dropping his voice, and glancing round with
shifting eyes, “I should like to see my niece in some different place
to that of the wife of Laban. With her great beauty and wit, she might
become anything—anything if she had opportunity. But under our laws,
even if Laban died, as might happen to so violent a man, she could wed
no one who is not a Hebrew.”

“I thought she told us that her mother was a Syrian.”

“That is so, Scribe Ana. She was a beautiful captive of war whom
Nathan came to love and made his wife, and the daughter takes after
her. Still she is Hebrew and of the Hebrew faith and congregation. Had
it not been so, she might have shone like a star, nay, like the very
moon after which she is named, perhaps in the court of Pharaoh
himself.”

“As the great queen Taia did, she who changed the religion of Egypt to
the worship of one god in a bygone generation,” I suggested.

“I have heard of her, Scribe Ana. She was a wondrous woman, beautiful
too by her statues. Would that you Egyptians could find such another to
turn your hearts to a purer faith and to soften them towards us poor
aliens. When does his Highness leave the land of Goshen?”

“At sunrise on the third day from this.”

“Provision will be needed for the journey, much provision for so large
a train. I deal in sheep and other foodstuffs, Scribe Ana.”

“I will mention the matter to his Highness and to the Vizier,
Jabez.”

“I thank you, Scribe, and will be in waiting at the camp to-morrow
morning. See, Laban returns with Merapi. One word, let his Highness
beware of Laban. He is very revengeful and has not forgotten that
sword-blow on the head.”

“Let Laban be careful,” I answered. “Had it not been for his
Highness the soldiers would have killed him the other night because he
dared to offer affront to the royal blood. A second time he will not
escape. Moreover, Pharaoh would avenge aught he did upon the people of
Israel.”

“I understand. It would be sad if Laban were killed, very sad. But the
people of Israel have One who can protect them even against Pharaoh and
all his hosts. Farewell, learned Scribe. If ever I come to Tanis, with
your leave we will talk more together.”

That night I told the Prince all that had passed. He listened, and said:

“I grieve for the lady Merapi, for hers is like to be a hard fate.
Yet,” he added laughing, “perhaps it is as well for you, friend,
that you should see no more of her who is sure to bring trouble wherever
she goes. That woman has a face which haunts the mind, as the Ka haunts
the tomb, and for my part I do not wish to look upon it again.”

“I am glad to hear it, Prince, and for my part, I have done with
women, however sweet. I will tell this Jabez that the provisions for
the journey will be bought elsewhere.”

“Nay, buy them from him, and if Nehesi grumbles at the price, pay it
on my account. The way to a Hebrew’s heart is through his treasure
bags. If Jabez is well treated, it may make him kinder to his niece, of
whom I shall always have a pleasant memory, for which I am grateful
among this sour folk who hate us, and with reason.”

So the sheep and all the foodstuffs for the journey were bought from
Jabez at his own price, for which he thanked me much, and on the third
day we started. At the last moment the Prince, whose mood seemed to be
perverse that evening, refused to travel with the host upon the morrow
because of the noise and dust. In vain did the Count Amenmeses reason
with him, and Nehesi and the great officers implore him almost on their
knees, saying that they must answer for his safety to Pharaoh and the
Princess Userti. He bade them begone, replying that he would join them
at their camp on the following night. I also prayed him to listen, but
he told me sharply that what he said he had said, and that he and I
would journey in his chariot alone, with two armed runners and no more,
adding that if I thought there was danger I could go forward with the
troops. Then I bit my lip and was silent, whereon, seeing that he had
hurt me, he turned and craved my pardon humbly enough as his kind heart
taught him to do.

“I can bear no more of Amenmeses and those officers,” he said,
“and I love to be in the desert alone. Last time we journeyed there we
met with adventures that were pleasant, Ana, and at Tanis doubtless I
shall find others that are not pleasant. Admit that Hebrew priest who
is waiting to instruct me in the mysteries of his faith which I desire
to understand.”

So I bowed and left him to make report that I had failed to shake his
will. Taking the risk of his wrath, however, I did this—for had I not
sworn to the Princess that I would protect him? In place of the runners
I chose two of the best and bravest soldiers to play their part.
Moreover, I instructed that captain who smote down Laban to hide away
with a score of picked men and enough chariots to carry them, and to
follow after the Prince, keeping just out of sight.

So on the morrow the troops, nobles, and officers went on at daybreak,
together with the baggage carriers; nor did we follow them till many
hours had gone by. Some of this time the Prince spent in driving about
the town, taking note of the condition of the people. These, as I saw,
looked on us sullenly enough, more so than before, I thought, perhaps
because we were unguarded. Indeed, turning round I caught sight of a
man shaking his fist and of an old hag spitting after us, and wished
that we were out of the land of Goshen. But when I reported it to the
Prince he only laughed and took no heed.

“All can see that they hate us Egyptians,” he said. “Well,
let it be our task to try to turn their hate to love.”

“That you will never do, Prince, it is too deep-rooted in their
hearts; for generations they have drunk it in with their mother’s
milk. Moreover, this is a war of the gods of Egypt and of Israel, and
men must go where their gods drive them.”

“Do you think so, Ana? Then are men nothing but dust blown by the
winds of heaven, blown from the darkness that is before the dawn to be
gathered at last and for ever into the darkness of the grave of
night?”

He brooded a while, then went on.

“Yet if I were Pharaoh I would let these people go, for without doubt
their god has much power and I tell you that I fear them.”

“Why will he not let them go?” I asked. “They are a weakness,
not a strength to Egypt, as was shown at the time of the invasion of the
Barbarians with whom they sided. Moreover, the value of this rich land
of theirs, which they cannot take with them, is greater than that of
all their labour.”

“I do not know, friend. The matter is one upon which my father keeps
his own counsel, even from the Princess Userti. Perhaps it is because
he will not change the policy of his father, Rameses; perhaps because
he is stiff-necked to those who cross his will. Or it may be that he is
held in this path by a madness sent of some god to bring loss and shame
on Egypt.”

“Then, Prince, all the priests and nobles are mad also, from Count
Amenmeses down.”

“Where Pharaoh leads priests and nobles follow. The question is, who
leads Pharaoh? Here is the temple of these Hebrews; let us enter.”

So we descended from the chariot, where, for my part, I would have
remained, and walked through the gateway in the surrounding mud wall
into the outer court of the temple, which on this the holy seventh day
of the Hebrews was full of praying women, who feigned not to see us yet
watched us out of the corners of their eyes. Passing through them we
came to a doorway, by which we entered another court that was roofed
over. Here were many men who murmured as we appeared. They were engaged
in listening to a preacher in a white robe, who wore a strange shaped
cap and some ornaments on his breast. I knew the man; he was the priest
Kohath who had instructed the Prince in so much of the mysteries of the
Hebrew faith as he chose to reveal. On seeing us he ceased suddenly in
his discourse, uttered some hasty blessing and advanced to greet us.

I waited behind the Prince, thinking it well to watch his back among all
those fierce men, and did not hear what the priest said to him, as he
whispered in that holy place. Kohath led him forward, to free him from
the throng, I thought, till they came to the head of the little temple
that was marked by some steps, above which hung a thick and heavy
curtain. The Prince, walking on, did not see the lowest of these steps
in the gloom, which was deep. His foot caught on it; he fell forward,
and to save himself grasped at the curtain where the two halves of it
met, and dragged it open, revealing a chamber plain and small beyond,
in which was an altar. That was all I had time to see, for next instant
a roar of rage rent the air and knives flashed in the gloom.

“The Egyptian defiles the tabernacle!” shouted one. “Drag him
out and kill him!” screamed another.

“Friends,” said Seti, turning as they surged towards him, “if
I have done aught wrong it was by chance——”

He could add no more, seeing that they were on him, or rather on me who
had leapt in front of him. Already they had grasped my robes and my
hand was on my sword-hilt, when the priest Kohath cried out:

“Men of Israel, are you mad? Would you bring Pharaoh’s vengeance on
us?”

They halted a little and their spokesman shouted:

“We defy Pharaoh! Our God will protect us from Pharaoh. Drag him forth
and kill him beyond the wall!”

Again they began to move, when a man, in whom I recognized Jabez, the
uncle of Merapi, called aloud:

“Cease! If this Prince of Egypt has done insult to Jahveh by will and
not by chance, it is certain that he will avenge himself upon him.
Shall men take the judgment of God into their own hands? Stand back and
wait awhile. If Jahveh is affronted, the Egyptian will fall dead. If he
does not fall dead, let him pass hence unharmed, for such is Jahveh’s
will. Stand back, I say, while I count threescore.”

They withdrew a space and slowly Jabez began to count.

Although at that time I knew nothing of the power of the god of Israel,
I will say that I was filled with fear as one by one he counted,
pausing at each ten. The scene was very strange. There by the steps
stood the Prince against the background of the curtain, his arms folded
and a little smile of wonder mixed with contempt upon his face, but not
a sign of fear. On one side of him was I, who knew well that I should
share his fate whatever it might be, and indeed desired no other; and
on the other the priest Kohath, whose hands shook and whose eyes
started from his head. In front of us old Jabez counted, watching the
fierce-faced congregation that in a dead silence waited for the issue.
The count went on. Thirty. Forty. Fifty—oh! it seemed an age.

At length sixty fell from his lips. He waited a while and all watched
the Prince, not doubting but that he would fall dead. But instead he
turned to Kohath and asked quietly if this ordeal was now finished, as
he desired to make an offering to the temple, which he had been invited
to visit, and begone.

“Our God has given his answer,” said Jabez. “Accept it, men
of Israel. What this Prince did he did by chance, not of design.”

They turned and went without a word, and after I had laid the offering,
no mean one, in the appointed place, we followed them.

“It would seem that yours is no gentle god,” said the Prince to
Kohath, when at length we were outside the temple.

“At least he is just, your Highness. Had it been otherwise, you who
had violated his sanctuary, although by chance, would ere now be
dead.”

“Then you hold, Priest, that Jahveh has power to slay us when he is
angry?”

“Without a doubt, your Highness—as, if our Prophets speak truth, I
think that Egypt will learn ere all be done,” he added grimly.

Seti looked at him and answered:

“It may be so, but all gods, or their priests, claim the power to
torment and slay those who worship other gods. It is not only women who
are jealous, Kohath, or so it seems. Yet I think that you do your god
injustice, seeing that even if this strength is his, he proved more
merciful than his worshippers who knew well that I only grasped the
veil to save myself from falling. If ever I visit your temple again it
shall be in the company of those who can match might against might,
whether of the spirit or the sword. Farewell.”

So we reached the chariot, near to which stood Jabez, he who had saved
us.

“Prince,” he whispered, glancing at the crowd who lingered not far
away, silent and glowering, “I pray you leave this land swiftly for
here your life is not safe. I know it was by chance, but you have
defiled the sanctuary and seen that upon which eyes may not look save
those of the highest priests, an offence no Israelite can forgive.”

“And you, or your people, Jabez, would have defiled this sanctuary of
my life, spilling my heart’s blood and _not_ by chance. Surely you
are a strange folk who seek to make an enemy of one who has tried to be
your friend.”

“I do not seek it,” exclaimed Jabez. “I would that we might
have Pharaoh’s mouth and ear who soon will himself be Pharaoh upon our
side. O Prince of Egypt, be not wroth with all the children of Israel
because their wrongs have made some few of them stubborn and
hard-hearted. Begone now, and of your goodness remember my words.”

“I will remember,” said Seti, signing to the charioteer to drive on.

Yet still the Prince lingered in the town, saying that he feared nothing
and would learn all he could of this people and their ways that he
might report the better of them to Pharaoh. For my part I believed that
there was one face which he wished to see again before he left, but of
this I thought it wise to say nothing.

At length about midday we did depart, and drove eastwards on the track
of Amenmeses and our company. All the afternoon we drove thus, preceded
by the two soldiers disguised as runners and followed, as a distant
cloud of dust told me, by the captain and his chariots, whom I had
secretly commanded to keep us in sight.

Towards evening we came to the pass in the stony hills which bounded the
land of Goshen. Here Seti descended from the chariot, and we climbed,
accompanied by the two soldiers whom I signed to follow us, to the
crest of one of these hills that was strewn with huge boulders and
lined with ridges of sandstone, between which gullies had been cut by
the winds of thousands of years.

Leaning against one of these ridges we looked back upon a wondrous
sight. Far away across the fertile plain appeared the town that we had
left, and behind it the sun sank. It would seem as though some storm
had broken there, although the firmament above us was clear and blue.
At least in front of the town two huge pillars of cloud stretched from
earth to heaven like the columns of some mighty gateway. One of these
pillars was as though it were made of black marble, and the other like
to molten gold. Between them ran a road of light ending in a glory, and
in the midst of the glory the round ball of Ra, the Sun, burned like
the eye of God. The spectacle was as awesome as it was splendid.

“Have you ever seen such a sky in Egypt, Prince?” I asked.

“Never,” he answered, and although he spoke low, in that great
stillness his voice sounded loud to me.

For a while longer we watched, till suddenly the sun sank, and only the
glory about it and above remained, which took shapes like to the
palaces and temples of a city in the heavens, a far city that no mortal
could reach except in dreams.

“I know not why, Ana,” said Seti, “but for the first time
since I was a man I feel afraid. It seems to me that there are omens in
the sky and I cannot read them. Would that Ki were here to tell us what
is signified by the pillar of blackness to the right and the pillar of
fire to the left, and what god has his home in the city of glory
behind, and how man’s feet may walk along the shining road which
leads to its pylon gates. I tell you that I am afraid; it is as though
Death were very near to me and all his wonders open to my mortal
sight.”

“I too am afraid,” I whispered. “Look! The pillars move. That
of fire goes before; that of black cloud follows after, and between them
I seem to see a countless multitude marching in unending companies. See
how the light glitters on their spears! Surely the god of the Hebrews
is afoot.”

“He, or some other god, or no god at all, who knows? Come, Ana, let us
be going if we would reach that camp ere dark.”

So we descended from the ridge, and re-entering the chariot, drove on
towards the neck of the pass. Now this neck was very narrow, not more
than four paces wide for a certain distance, and, on either side of the
roadway were tumbled sandstone boulders, between which grew desert
plants, and gullies that had been cut by storm-water, while beyond
these rose the sides of the mountain. Here the horses went at a walk
towards a turn in the path, at which point the land began to fall
again.

When we were about half a spear’s throw from this turn of a sudden I
heard a sound and, glancing to the right, perceived a woman leaping down
the hillside towards us. The charioteer saw also and halted the horses,
and the two runner guards turned and drew their swords. In less than
half a minute the woman had reached us, coming out of the shadow so
that the light fell upon her face.

“Merapi!” exclaimed the Prince and I, speaking as though with one
breath.

Merapi it was indeed, but in evil case. Her long hair had broken loose
and fell about her, the cloak she wore was torn, and there were blood
and foam upon her lips. She stood gasping, since speak she could not
for breathlessness, supporting herself with one hand upon the side of
the chariot and with the other pointing to the bend in the road. At
last a word came, one only. It was:

“Murder!”

“She means that she is going to be murdered,” said the Prince to me.

“No,” she panted, “you—you! The Hebrews. Go back!”

“Turn the horses!” I cried to the charioteer.

He began to obey helped by the two guards, but because of the narrowness
of the road and the steepness of the banks this was not easy. Indeed
they were but half round in such fashion that they blocked the pathway
from side to side, when a wild yell of ‘Jahveh’ broke upon our
ears, and from round the bend, a few paces away, rushed a horde of
fierce, hook-nosed men, brandishing knives and swords. Scarcely was
there time for us to leap behind the shelter of the chariot and make
ready, when they were on us.

“Hearken,” I said to the charioteer as they came, “run as you
never ran before, and bring up the guard behind!”

He sprang away like an arrow.

“Get back, Lady,” cried Seti. “This is no woman’s work,
and see here comes Laban to seek you,” and he pointed with his sword
at the leader of the murderers.

She obeyed, staggering a few paces to a stone at the roadside, behind
which she crouched. Afterwards she told me that she had no strength to
go further, and indeed no will, since if we were killed, it were better
that she who had warned us should be killed also.

Now they had reached us, the whole flood of them, thirty or forty men.
The first who came stabbed the frightened horses, and down they went
against the bank, struggling. On the chariot leapt the Hebrews, seeking
to come at us, and we met them as best we might, tearing off our cloaks
and throwing them over our left arms to serve as shields.

Oh! what a fight was that. In the open, or had we not been prepared, we
must have been slain at once, but, as it was, the place and the barrier
of the chariot gave us some advantage. So narrow was the roadway, the
walls of which were here too steep to climb, that not more than four of
the Hebrews could strike at us at once, which four must first surmount
the chariot or the still living horses.

But we also were four, and thanks to Userti, two of us were clad in mail
beneath our robes—four strong men fighting for their lives. Against us
came four of the Hebrews. One leapt from the chariot straight at Seti,
who received him upon the point of his iron sword, whereof I heard the
hilt ring against his breast-bone, that same famous iron sword which
to-day lies buried with him in his grave.

Down he came dead, throwing the Prince to the ground by the weight of
his body. The Hebrew who attacked me caught his foot on the chariot
pole and fell forward, so I killed him easily with a blow upon the
head, which gave me time to drag the Prince to his feet again before
another followed. The two guards also, sturdy fighters both of them,
killed or mortally wounded their men. But others were pressing behind
so thick and fast that I could keep no count of all that happened
afterwards.

Presently I saw one of the guards fall, slain by Laban. A stab on the
breast sent me reeling backwards; had it not been for that mail I was
sped. The other guard killed him who would have killed me, and then
himself was killed by two who came on him at once.

Now only the Prince and I were left, fighting back to back. He closed
with one man, a very great fellow, and wounded him on the hand, so that
he dropped his sword. This man gripped him round the middle and they
rolled together on the ground. Laban appeared and stabbed the Prince in
the back, but the curved knife he was using snapped on the Syrian mail.
I struck at Laban and wounded him on the head, dazing him so that he
staggered back and seemed to fall over the chariot. Then others rushed
at me, and but for Userti’s armour three times at least I must have
died. Fighting madly, I staggered against the rock, and whilst waiting
for a new onset, saw that Seti, hurt by Laban’s thrust, was now
beneath the great Hebrew who had him by the throat, and was choking the
life out of him.

I saw something else also—a woman holding a sword with both hands and
stabbing downward, after which the grip of the Hebrew loosened from
Seti’s throat.

“Traitress!” cried one, and struck at her, so that she reeled back
hurt. Then when all seemed finished, and beneath the rain of blows my
senses were failing, I heard the thunder of horses’ hoofs and the
shout of “_Egypt! Egypt!_” from the throats of soldiers. The flash
of bronze caught my dazed eyes, and with the roar of battle in my ears
I seemed to fall asleep just as the light of day departed.




CHAPTER VIII.

SETI COUNSELS PHARAOH


Dream upon dream. Dreams of voices, dreams of faces, dreams of sunlight
and of moonlight and of myself being borne forward, always forward;
dreams of shouting crowds, and, above all, dreams of Merapi’s eyes
looking down on me like two watching stars from heaven. Then at last
the awakening, and with it throbs of pain and qualms of sickness.

At first I thought that I was dead and lying in a tomb. Then by degrees
I saw that I was in no tomb but in a darkened room that was familiar to
me, my own room in Seti’s palace at Tanis. It must be so, for there,
near to the bed on which I lay, was my own chest filled with the
manuscripts that I had brought from Memphis. I tried to lift my left
hand, but could not, and looking down saw that the arm was bandaged
like to that of a mummy, which made me think again that I must be dead,
if the dead could suffer so much pain. I closed my eyes and thought or
slept a while.

As I lay thus I heard voices. One of them seemed to be that of a
physician, who said, “Yes, he will live and ere long recover. The
blow upon the head which has made him senseless for so many days was
the worst of his wounds, but the bone was but bruised, not shattered or
driven in upon the brain. The flesh cuts on his arms are healing well,
and the mail he wore protected his vitals from being pierced.”

“I am glad, physician,” answered a voice that I knew to be that of
Userti, “since without a doubt, had it not been for Ana, his Highness
would have perished. It is strange that one whom I thought to be nothing
but a dreaming scribe should have shown himself so brave a warrior. The
Prince says that this Ana killed three of those dogs with his own
hands, and wounded others.”

“It was well done, your Highness,” answered the physician,
“but still better was his forethought in providing a rear-guard and in
despatching the charioteer to call it up. It seems to have been the
Hebrew lady who really saved the life of his Highness, when, forgetting
her sex, she stabbed the murderer who had him by the throat.”

“That is the Prince’s tale, or so I understand,” she answered
coldly. “Yet it seems strange that a weak and worn-out girl could have
pierced a giant through from back to breast.”

“At least she warned him of the ambush, your Highness.”

“So they say. Perhaps Ana here will soon tell us the truth about these
matters. Tend him well, physician, and you shall not lack for your
reward.”

Then they went away, still talking, and I lay quiet, filled with
thankfulness and wonder, for now everything came back to me.

A while later, as I lay with my eyes still shut, for even that low light
seemed to hurt them, I became aware of a woman’s soft step stealing
round my bed and of a fragrance such as comes from a woman’s robes
and hair. I looked and saw Merapi’s star-like eyes gazing down on me
just as I had seen them in my dreams.

“Greeting, Moon of Israel,” I said. “Of a truth we meet again
in strange case.”

“Oh!” she whispered, “are you awake at last? I thank God,
Scribe Ana, who for three days thought that you must die.”

“As, had it not been for you, Lady, surely I should have done—I and
another. Now it seems that all three of us will live.”

“Would that but two lived, the Prince and you, Ana. Would that _I_
had died,” she answered, sighing heavily.

“Why?”

“Cannot you guess? Because I am an outcast who has betrayed my people.
Because their blood flows between me and them. For I killed that man,
and he was my own kinsman, for the sake of an Egyptian—I mean,
Egyptians. Therefore the curse of Jahveh is on me, and as my kinsman
died doubtless I shall die in a day to come, and afterwards—what?”

“Afterwards peace and great reward, if there be justice in earth or
heaven, O most noble among women.”

“Would that I could think so! Hush, I hear steps. Drink this; I am the
chief of your nurses, Scribe Ana, an honourable post, since to-day all
Egypt loves and praises you.”

“Surely it is you, lady Merapi, whom all Egypt should love and
praise,” I answered.

Then the Prince Seti entered. I strove to salute him by lifting my less
injured arm, but he caught my hand and pressed it tenderly.

“Hail to you, beloved of Menthu, god of war,” he said, with his
pleasant laugh. “I thought I had hired a scribe, and lo! in this
scribe I find a soldier who might be an army’s boast.”

At this moment he caught sight of Merapi, who had moved back into the
shadow.

“Hail to you also, Moon of Israel,” he said bowing. “If I
name Ana here a warrior of the best, what name can both of us find for
you to whom we owe our lives? Nay, look not down, but answer.”

“Prince of Egypt,” she replied confusedly, “I did but little.
The plot came to my ears through Jabez my uncle, and I fled away and,
knowing the short paths from childhood, was just in time. Had I stayed
to think perchance I should not have dared.”

“And what of the rest, Lady? What of the Hebrew who was choking me and
of a certain sword thrust that loosed his hands for ever?”

“Of that, your Highness, I can recall nothing, or very little,”
then, doubtless remembering what she had just said to me, she made
obeisance and passed from the chamber.

“She can tell falsehoods as sweetly as she does all else,” said
Seti, when he had watched her go. “Oh! what a woman have we here, Ana.
Perfect in beauty, perfect in courage, perfect in mind. Where are her
faults, I wonder? Let it be your part to search them out, since I find
none.”

“Ask them of Ki, O Prince. He is a very great magician, so great that
perhaps his art may even avail to discover what a woman seeks to hide.
Also you may remember that he gave you certain warnings before we
journeyed to Goshen.”

“Yes—he told me that my life would be in danger, as certainly it
was. There he was right. He told me also that I should see a woman whom
I should come to love. There he was wrong. I have seen no such woman.
Oh! I know well what is passing in your mind. Because I hold the lady
Merapi to be beautiful and brave, you think that I love her. But it is
not so. I love no woman, except, of course, her Highness. Ana, you
judge me by yourself.”

“Ki said ‘come to love,’ Prince. There is yet time.”

“Not so, Ana. If one loves, one loves at once. Soon I shall be old and
she will be fat and ugly, and how can one love then? Get well quickly,
Ana, for I wish you to help me with my report to Pharaoh. I shall tell
him that I think these Israelites are much oppressed and that he should
make them amends and let them go.”

“What will Pharaoh say to that after they have just tried to kill his
heir?”

“I think Pharaoh will be angry, and so will the people of Egypt, who
do not reason well. He will not see that, believing what they do, Laban
and his band were right to try to kill me who, however unwittingly,
desecrated the sanctuary of their god. Had they done otherwise they
would have been no good Hebrews, and for my part I cannot bear them
malice. Yet all Egypt is afire about this business and cries out that
the Israelites should be destroyed.”

“It seems to me, Prince, that whatever may be the case with Ki’s
second prophecy, his third is in the way of fulfilment—namely that
this journey to Goshen may cause you to risk your throne.”

He shrugged his shoulders and answered:

“Not even for that, Ana, will I say to Pharaoh what is not in my mind.
But let that matter be till you are stronger.”

“What chanced at the end of the fight, Prince, and how came I here?”

“The guard killed most of the Hebrews who remained alive. Some few
fled and escaped in the darkness, among them Laban their leader,
although you had wounded him, and six were taken alive. They await
their trial. I was but little hurt and you, whom we thought dead, were
but senseless, and senseless or wandering you have remained till this
hour. We carried you in a litter, and here you have been these three
days.”

“And the lady Merapi?”

“We set her in a chariot and brought her to the city, since had we
left her she would certainly have been murdered by her people. When
Pharaoh heard what she had done, as I did not think it well that she
should dwell here, he gave her the small house in this garden that she
might be guarded, and with it slave women to attend upon her. So there
she dwells, having the freedom of the palace, and all the while has
filled the office of your nurse.”

At this moment I grew faint and shut my eyes. When I opened them again,
the Prince had gone. Six more days went by before I was allowed to
leave my bed, and during this time I saw much of Merapi. She was very
sad and lived in fear of being killed by the Hebrews. Also she was
troubled in her heart because she thought she had betrayed her faith
and people.

“At least you are rid of Laban,” I said.

“Never shall I be rid of him while we both live,” she answered.
“I belong to him and he will not loose my bond, because his heart is
set on me.”

“And is your heart set on him?” I asked.

Her beautiful eyes filled with tears.

“A woman may not have a heart. Oh! Ana, I am unhappy,” she
answered, and went away.

Also I saw others. The Princess came to visit me. She thanked me much
because I had fulfilled my promise to her and guarded the Prince.
Moreover she brought me a gift of gold from Pharaoh, and other gifts of
fine raiment from herself. She questioned me closely about Merapi, of
whom I could see she was already jealous, and was glad when she learned
that she was affianced to a Hebrew. Old Bakenkhonsu came too, and asked
me many things about the Prince, the Hebrews and Merapi, especially
Merapi, of whose deeds, he said, all Egypt was talking, questions that
I answered as best I could.

“Here we have that woman of whom Ki told us,” he said, “she
who shall bring so much joy and so much sorrow to the Prince of
Egypt.”

“Why so?” I asked. “He has not taken her into his house, nor
do I think that he means to do so.”

“Yet he will, Ana, whether he means it or not. For his sake she
betrayed her people, which among the Israelites is a deadly crime.
Twice she saved his life, once by warning him of the ambush, and again
by stabbing with her own hands one of her kinsmen who was murdering
him. Is it not so? Tell me; you were there.”

“It is so, but what then?”

“This: that whatever she may say, she loves him; unless indeed, it is
you whom she loves,” and he looked at me shrewdly.

“When a woman has a prince, and such a prince to her hand, would she
trouble herself to set snares to catch a scribe?” I asked, with some
bitterness.

“Oho!” he said, with one of his great laughs, “so things
stand thus, do they? Well, I thought it, but, friend Ana, be warned in
time. Do not try to conjure down the Moon to be your household lamp
lest she should set, and the Sun, her lord, should grow wroth and burn
you up. Well, she loves him, and therefore soon or late she will make
him love her, being what she is.”

“How, Bakenkhonsu?”

“With most men, Ana, it would be simple. A sigh, some half-hidden
tears at the right moment, and the thing is done, as I have known it
done a thousand times. But this prince being what he is, it may be
otherwise. She may show him that her name is gone for him; that because
of him she is hated by her people, and rejected by her god, and thus
stir his pity, which is Love’s own sister. Or mayhap, being also, as
I am told, wise, she will give him counsel as to all these matters of
the Israelites, and thus creep into his heart under the guise of
friendship, and then her sweetness and her beauty will do the rest in
Nature’s way. At least by this road or by that, upstream or
downstream, thither she will come.”

“If so, what of it? It is the custom of the kings of Egypt to have
more wives than one.”

“This, Ana; Seti, I think, is a man who in truth will have but one,
and that one will be this Hebrew. Yes, a Hebrew woman will rule Egypt,
and turn him to the worship of her god, for never will she worship
ours. Indeed, when they see that she is lost to them, her people will
use her thus. Or perchance her god himself will use her to fulfil his
purpose, as already he may have used her.”

“And afterwards, Bakenkhonsu?”

“Afterwards—who knows? I am not a magician, at least not one of any
account, ask it of Ki. But I am very, very old and I have watched the
world, and I tell you that these things will happen, unless——”
and he paused.

“Unless what?”

He dropped his voice.

“Unless Userti is bolder than I think, and kills her first or, better
still, procures some Hebrew to kill her—say, that cast-off lover of
hers. If you would be a friend to Pharaoh and to Egypt, you might
whisper it in her ear, Ana.”

“Never!” I answered angrily.

“I did not think you would, Ana, who also struggle in this net of
moonbeams that is stronger and more real than any twisted out of palm or
flax. Well, nor will I, who in my age love to watch such human sport
and, being so near to them, fear to thwart the schemes of gods. Let
this scroll unroll itself as it will, and when it is open, read it,
Ana, and remember what I said to you this day. It will be a pretty
tale, written at the end with blood for ink. Oho! O-ho-ho!” and,
laughing, he hobbled from the room, leaving me frightened.

Moreover the Prince visited me every day, and even before I left my bed
began to dictate to me his report to Pharaoh, since he would employ no
other scribe. The substance of it was what he had foreshadowed, namely
that the people of Israel, having suffered much for generations at the
hands of the Egyptians, should now be allowed to depart as their
prophets demanded, and go whither they would unharmed. Of the attack
upon us in the pass he made light, saying it was the evil work of a few
zealots wrought on by fancied insult to their god, a deed for which the
whole people should not be called upon to suffer. The last words of the
report were:

“Remember, O Pharaoh, I pray thee, that Amon, god of the Egyptians,
and Jahveh, the god of the Israelites, cannot rule together in the same
land. If both abide in Egypt there will be a war of the gods wherein
mortals may be ground to dust. Therefore, I pray thee, let Israel
go.”

After I had risen and was recovered, I copied out this report in my
fairest writing, refusing to tell any of its purport, although all
asked, among them the Vizier Nehesi, who offered me a bribe to disclose
its secret. This came to the ears of Seti, I know not how, and he was
much pleased with me about the matter, saying he rejoiced to find that
there was one scribe in Egypt who could not be bought. Userti also
questioned me, and when I refused to answer, strange to say, was not
angry, because, she declared, I only did my duty.

At last the roll was finished and sealed, and the Prince with his own
hand, but without speaking, laid it on the knees of Pharaoh at a public
Court, for this he would trust no one else to do. Amenmeses also
brought up his report, as did Nehesi the Vizier, and the Captain of the
guard which saved us from death. Eight days later the Prince was
summoned to a great Council of State, as were all others of the royal
House, together with the high officers. I too received a summons, as
one who had been concerned in these matters.

The Prince, accompanied by the Princess, drove to the palace in
Pharaoh’s golden chariot, drawn by two milk-white horses of the blood
of those famous steeds that had saved the life of the great Rameses in
the Syrian war. All down the streets, that were filled with thousands
of the people, they were received with shouts of welcome.

“See,” said the old councillor Bakenkhonsu, who was my companion in
a second chariot, “Egypt is proud and glad. It thought that its Prince
was but a dreamer of dreams. But now it has heard the tale of the ambush
in the pass and learned that he is a man of war, a warrior who can
fight with the best. Therefore it loves him and rejoices.”

“Then, by the same rule, Bakenkhonsu, a butcher should be more great
than the wisest of scribes.”

“So he is, Ana, especially if the butcher be one of men. The writer
creates, but the slayer kills, and in a world ruled of death he who
kills has more honour than he who creates. Hearken, now they are
shouting out your name. Is that because you are the author of certain
writings? I tell you, No. It is because you killed three men yonder in
the pass. If you would become famous and beloved, Ana, cease from the
writing of books and take to the cutting of throats.”

“Yet the writer still lives when he is dead.”

“Oho!” laughed Bakenkhonsu, “you are even more foolish than I
thought. How is a man advantaged by what happens when he is dead? Why,
to-day that blind beggar whining on the temple steps means more to
Egypt than all the mummies of all the Pharaohs, unless they can be
robbed. Take what life can give you, Ana, and do not trouble about the
offerings which are laid in the tombs for time to crumble.”

“That is a mean faith, Bakenkhonsu.”

“Very mean, Ana, like all else that we can taste and handle. A mean
faith suited to mean hearts, among whom should be reckoned all save one
in every thousand. Yet, if you would prosper, follow it, and when you
are dead I will come and laugh upon your grave, and say, ‘Here lies
one of whom I had hoped higher things, as I hope them of your
master.’”

“And not in vain, Bakenkhonsu, whatever may happen to the servant.”

“That we shall learn, and ere long, I think. I wonder who will ride at
his side before the next Nile flood. By then, perchance, he will have
changed Pharaoh’s golden chariot for an ox-cart, and you will goad
the oxen and talk to him of the stars—or, mayhap of the moon. Well,
you might both be happier thus, and she of the moon is a jealous
goddess who loves worship. Oho-ho! Here are the palace steps. Help me
to descend, Priest of the Lady of the Moon.”

We entered the palace and were led through the great hall to a smaller
chamber where Pharaoh, who did not wear his robes of state, awaited us,
seated in a cedar chair. Glancing at him I saw that his face was stern
and troubled; also it seemed to me that he had grown older. The Prince
and Princess made obeisance to him, as did we lesser folk, but he took
no heed. When all were present and the doors had been shut, Pharaoh
said:

“I have read your report, Son Seti, concerning your visit to the
Israelites, and all that chanced to you; and also the reports of you,
nephew Amenmeses, and of you, Officers, who accompanied the Prince of
Egypt. Before I speak of them, let the Scribe Ana, who was the chariot
companion of his Highness when the Hebrews attacked him, stand forward
and tell me all that passed.”

So I advanced, and with bowed head repeated that tale, only leaving out
so far as was possible any mention of myself. When I had finished,
Pharaoh said:

“He who speaks but half the truth is sometimes more mischievous than a
liar. Did you then sit in the chariot, Scribe, doing nothing while the
Prince battled for his life? Or did you run away? Speak, Seti, and say
what part this man played for good or ill.”

Then the Prince told of my share in the fight, with words that brought
the blood to my brow. He told also how that it was I who, taking the
risk of h

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