P roduc ed by J ohn B ic kers ; Dagny; E m m a Dudding; David W idger

MOON OF IS RAE L
A TALE OF THE E X ODUS
by H. Rider Haggard
AUTHOR'S NOTE
T his book s ugges ts that the real P haraoh of the E xodus was not Meneptah or Merenptah, s on of Ram es es the Great, but the m ys terious us urper, A m enm es es , who for a year or two oc c upied the throne between the death of Meneptah and the ac c es s ion of his s on the heir-apparent, the gentle-natured S eti II.
Of the fate of A m enm es es his tory s ays nothing; he m ay well have peris hed in the Red S ea or rather the S ea of Reeds , for, unlike thos e of Meneptah and the s ec ond S eti, his body has not been found.
S tudents of E gyptology will be fam iliar with the writings of the s c ribe and novelis t A nana, or A na as he is here c alled.
It was the A uthor's hope to dedic ate this s tory to S ir Gas ton Mas pero, K .C.M.G., Direc tor of the Cairo Mus eum , with whom on s everal oc c as ions he dis c us s ed its plot s om e years ago. Unhappily, however, weighed down by one of the bereavem ents of the war, this great E gyptologis t died in the interval between its
writing and its public ation. S till, s inc e Lady Mas pero inform s him that s uc h is the wis h of his fam ily, he adds the dedic ation whic h he had propos ed to offer to that em inent writer and s tudent of the pas t.
Dear S ir Gas ton Mas pero,
W hen you as s ured m e as to a rom anc e of m ine c onc erning anc ient E gypt, that it was s o full of the "inner s pirit of the old E gyptians " that, after kindred efforts of your own and a lifetim e of s tudy, you c ould not c onc eive how it had been pos s ible for it to s pring from the brain of a m odern m an, I thought your verdic t,
c om ing from s uc h a judge, one of the greates t c om plim ents that ever I rec eived. It is this opinion of yours indeed whic h induc es m e to offer you another tale of a like c om plexion.
E s pec ially am I enc ouraged thereto by a c ertain c onvers ation between us in Cairo, while we gazed at the m ajes tic c ountenanc e of the P haraoh Meneptah, for then it was , as you m ay rec all, that you s aid you thought the plan of this book probable and that it c om m ended its elf to your knowledge of thos e dim days .
W ith gratitude for your help and kindnes s and the s inc eres t hom age to your ac c um ulated lore c onc erning the m os t m ys terious of all the peris hed peoples of the earth,
B elieve m e to rem ain
Y our true adm irer,
H. Rider Haggard.
MOON OF IS RAE L
CHAP TE R I
S CRIBE ANA COME S TO TANIS
T his is the s tory of m e, A na the s c ribe, s on of Meri, and of c ertain of the days that I have s pent upon the earth. T hes e things I have written down now that I am very old in the reign of Ram es es , the third of that nam e, when E gypt is onc e m ore s trong and as s he was in the anc ient tim e.
I have written them before death takes m e, that they m ay be buried with m e in death, for as m y s pirit s hall aris e in the hour of res urrec tion, s o als o thes e m y words m ay aris e in their hour and tell to thos e who s hall c om e after m e upon the earth of what I knew upon the earth. Let it be as T hos e in heaven s hall dec ree.
A t leas t I write and what I write is true.
I tell of his divine Majes ty whom I loved and love as m y own s oul, S eti Meneptah the s ec ond, whos e day of birth was m y day of birth, the Hawk who has flown to heaven before m e; of Us erti the P roud, his queen, s he who afterwards m arried his divine Majes ty, S aptah, whom I s aw laid in her tom b at T hebes . I tell
of Merapi, who was nam ed Moon of Is rael, and of her people, the Hebrews , who dwelt for long in E gypt and departed thenc e, having paid us bac k in los s and s ham e for all the good and ill we gave them . I tell of the war between the gods of E gypt and the god of Is rael, and of m uc h that befell therein.
A ls o I, the K ing's Com panion, the great s c ribe, the beloved of the P haraohs who have lived beneath the s un with m e, tell of other m en and m atters . B ehold! is it not written in this roll? Read, ye who s hall find in the days unborn, if your gods have given you s kill. Read, O c hildren of the future, and learn the s ec rets
of that pas t whic h to you is s o far away and yet in truth s o near.
A s it c hanc ed, although the P rinc e S eti and I were born upon the s am e day and therefore, like the other m others of gentle rank whos e c hildren s aw the light upon that day, m y m other rec eived P haraoh's gift and I rec eived the title of Royal T win in Ra, never did I s et eyes upon the divine P rinc e S eti until the
thirtieth birthday of both of us . A ll of whic h happened thus .
In thos e days the great P haraoh, Ram es es the s ec ond, and after him his s on Meneptah who s uc c eeded when he was already old, s inc e the m ighty Ram es es was taken to Os iris after he had c ounted one hundred ris ings of the Nile, dwelt for the m os t part at the c ity of Tanis in the des ert, whereas I dwelt with m y
parents at the anc ient, white-walled c ity of Mem phis on the Nile. A t tim es Meneptah and his c ourt vis ited Mem phis , as als o they vis ited T hebes , where this king lies in his royal tom b to-day.
B ut s ave on one oc c as ion, the young P rinc e S eti, the heir-apparent, the Hope of E gypt, c am e not with them , bec aus e his m other, A s nefert, did not favour Mem phis , where s om e trouble had befallen her in youth--they s ay it was a love m atter that c os t the lover his life and her a s ore heart--and S eti s tayed with his
m other who would not s uffer him out of s ight of her eyes .
Onc e he c am e indeed when he was fifteen years of age, to be proc laim ed to the people as s on of his father, as S on of the S un, 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 c alled by nam e to m eet him and to kis s his royal feet. I
m ade ready to go in a fine new robe em broidered in purple with the nam e of S eti and m y own. B ut on that very m orning by the gift of s om e evil god I was s m itten with s pots all over m y fac e and body, a c om m on s ic knes s that affec ts the young. S o it happened that I did not s ee the P rinc e, for before I was well again
he had left Mem phis .
Now m y father Meri was a s c ribe of the great tem ple of P tah, and I was brought up to his trade in the s c hool of the tem ple, where I c opied m any rolls and als o wrote out B ooks of the Dead whic h I adorned with paintings . Indeed, in this bus ines s I bec am e s o c lever that, after m y father went blind s om e years
before his death, I earned enough to keep him , and m y s is ters als o until they m arried. Mother I had none, for s he was gathered to Os iris while I was s till very little. S o life went on from year to year, but in m y heart I hated m y lot. W hile I was s till a boy there ros e up in m e a des ire--not to c opy what others had written,
but to write what others s hould c opy. I bec am e a dream er of dream s .
W alking at night beneath the palm -trees upon the banks of the Nile I watc hed the m oon s hining upon the waters , and in its rays I s eem ed to s ee m any beautiful things . P ic tures appeared there whic h were different from any that I s aw in the world of m en, although in them were m en and wom en and even gods .
Of thes e pic tures I m ade s tories in m y heart and at las t, although that was not for s om e years , I began to write thes e s tories down in m y s pare hours . My s is ters found m e doing s o and told m y father, who s c olded m e for s uc h foolis hnes s whic h he s aid would never furnis h m e with bread and beer. B ut s till I wrote
on in s ec ret by the light of the lam p in m y c ham ber at night. T hen m y s is ters m arried, and one day m y father died s uddenly while he was rec iting prayers in the tem ple. I c aus ed him to be em balm ed in the bes t fas hion and buried with honour in the tom b he had m ade ready for him s elf, although to pay the c os ts I was
obliged to c opy B ooks of the Dead for nearly two years , working s o hard that I found no tim e for the writing of s tories .
W hen at length I was free from debt I m et a m aiden from T hebes with a beautiful fac e that always s eem ed to s m ile, and s he took m y heart from m y breas t into her own. In the end, after I returned from fighting in the war agains t the Nine B ow B arbarians , to whic h I was s um m oned like other m en, I m arried her. A s
for her nam e, let it be, I will not think of it even to m ys elf. W e had one c hild, a little girl whic h died within two years of her birth, and then I learned what s orrow c an m ean to m an. A t firs t m y wife was s ad, but her grief departed with tim e and s he s m iled again as s he us ed to do. Only s he s aid that s he would bear no
m ore c hildren for the gods to take. Having little to do s he began to go about the c ity and m ake friends whom I did not know, for of thes e, being a beautiful wom an, s he found m any. T he end of it was that s he departed bac k to T hebes with a s oldier whom I had never s een, for I was always working at hom e thinking of
the babe who was dead and how happines s is a bird that no m an c an s nare, though s om etim es , of its own will, it flies in at his window-plac e.
It was after this that m y hair went white before I had c ounted thirty years .
Now, as I had none to work for and m y wants were few and s im ple, I found m ore tim e for the writing of s tories whic h, for the m os t part, were s om ewhat s ad. One of thes e s tories a fellow s c ribe borrowed from m e and read aloud to a c om pany, whom it pleas ed s o m uc h that there were m any who as ked leave to
c opy it and publis h it abroad. S o by degrees I bec am e known as a teller of tales , whic h tales I c aus ed to be c opied and s old, though out of them I m ade but little. S till m y fam e grew till on a day I rec eived a m es s age from the P rinc e S eti, m y twin in Ra, s aying that he had read c ertain of m y writings whic h pleas ed
him m uc h and that it was his wis h to look upon m y fac e. I thanked him hum bly by the m es s enger and ans wered that I would travel to Tanis and wait upon his Highnes s . Firs t, however, I finis hed the longes t s tory whic h I had yet written. It was c alled the Tale of T wo B rothers , and told how the faithles s wife of one of
them brought trouble on the other, s o that he was killed. Of how, als o, the jus t gods brought him to life again, and m any other m atters .
T his s tory I dedic ated to his Highnes s , the P rinc e S eti, and with it in the bos om of m y robe I travelled to T anis , having hidden about m e a s um of gold that I had s aved.
S o I c am e to Tanis at the beginning of winter and, walking to the palac e of the P rinc e, boldly dem anded an audienc e. B ut now m y troubles began, for the guards and watc hm en thrus t m e from the doors . In the end I bribed them and was adm itted to the antec ham bers , where were m erc hants , jugglers , danc ing-
wom en, offic ers , and m any others , all of them , it s eem ed, waiting to s ee the P rinc e; folk who, having nothing to do, pleas ed them s elves by m aking m oc k of m e, a s tranger. W hen I had m ixed with them for s everal days , I gained their friends hip by telling to them one of m y s tories , after whic h I was always welc om e
am ong them . S till I c ould c om e no nearer to the P rinc e, and as m y s tore of m oney was beginning to run low, I bethought m e that I would return to Mem phis .
One day, however, a long-bearded old m an, with a gold-tipped wand of offic e, who had a bull's head em broidered on his robe, s topped in front of m e and, c alling m e a white-headed c row, as ked m e what I was doing hopping day by day about the c ham bers of the palac e. I told him m y nam e and bus ines s and he
told m e his , whic h it s eem ed was P am bas a, one of the P rinc e's c ham berlains . W hen I as ked him to take m e to the P rinc e, he laughed in m y fac e and s aid darkly that the road to his Highnes s 's pres enc e was paved with gold. I unders tood what he m eant and gave him a gift whic h he took as readily as a c oc k pic ks
c orn, s aying that he would s peak of m e to his m as ter and that I m us t c om e bac k again.
I c am e thric e and eac h tim e that old c oc k pic ked m ore c orn. A t las t I grew enraged and, forgetting where I was , began to s hout at him and c all him a thief, s o that folks gathered round to lis ten. T his s eem ed to frighten him . A t firs t he looked towards the door as though to s um m on the guard to thrus t m e out; then
c hanged his m ind, and in a grum bling voic e bade m e follow him . W e went down long pas s ages , pas t s oldiers who s tood at watc h in them s till as m um m ies in their c offins , till at length we c am e to s om e broidered c urtains . Here P am bas a whis pered to m e to wait, and pas s ed through the c urtains whic h he left not
quite c los ed, s o that I c ould s ee the room beyond and hear all that took plac e there.
It was a s m all room like to that of any s c ribe, for on the tables were palettes , pens of reed, ink in alabas ter vas es , and s heets of papyrus pinned upon boards . T he walls were painted, not as I was wont to paint the B ooks of the Dead, but after the fas hion of an earlier tim e, s uc h as I have s een in c ertain anc ient
tom bs , with pic tures of wild fowl ris ing from the s wam ps and of trees and plants as they grow. A gains t the walls hung rac ks in whic h were papyrus rolls , and on the hearth burned a fire of c edar-wood.
B y this fire s tood the P rinc e, whom I knew from his s tatues . His years appeared fewer than m ine although we were born upon the s am e day, and he was tall and thin, very fair als o for one of our people, perhaps bec aus e of the S yrian blood that ran in his veins . His hair was s traight and brown like to that of
northern folk who c om e to trade in the m arkets of E gypt, and his eyes were grey rather than blac k, s et beneath s om ewhat prom inent brows s uc h as thos e of his father, Meneptah. His fac e was s weet as a wom an's , but m ade c urious by c ertain wrinkles whic h ran from the c orners of the eyes towards the ears . I think
that thes e c am e from the bending of the brow in thought, but others s ay that they were inherited from an anc es tres s on the fem ale s ide. B akenkhons u m y friend, the old prophet who s erved under the firs t S eti and died but the other day, having lived a hundred and twenty years , told m e that he knew her before s he was
m arried, and that s he and her des c endant, S eti, m ight have been twins .
In his hand the P rinc e held an open roll, a very anc ient writing as I, who am s killed in s uc h m atters that have to do with m y trade, knew from its appearanc e. Lifting his eyes s uddenly from the s tudy of this roll, he s aw the c ham berlain s tanding before him .
"Y ou c am e at a good tim e, P am bas a," he s aid in a voic e that was very s oft and pleas ant, and yet m os t m anlike. "Y ou are old and doubtles s wis e. S ay, are you wis e, P am bas a?"
"Y es , your Highnes s . I am wis e like your Highnes s 's unc le, K haem uas the m ighty m agic ian, whos e s andals I us ed to c lean when I was young."
"Is it s o? T hen why are you s o c areful to hide your wis dom whic h s hould be open like a flower for us poor bees to s uc k at? W ell, I am glad to learn that you are wis e, for in this book of m agic that I have been reading I find problem s worthy of K haem uas the departed, whom I only rem em ber as a brooding, blac k-
browed m an m uc h like m y c ous in, A m enm es es his s on--s ave that no one c an c all A m enm es es wis e."
"W hy is your Highnes s glad?"
"B ec aus e you, being by your own ac c ount his equal, c an now interpret the m atter as K haem uas would have done. You know, P am bas a, that had he lived he would have been P haraoh in plac e of m y father. He died too s oon, however, whic h proves to m e that there was s om ething in this tale of his wis dom , s inc e
no really wis e m an would ever wis h to be P haraoh of E gypt."
P am bas a s tared with his m outh open.
"Not wis h to be P haraoh! " he began--
"Now, P am bas a the W is e," went on the P rinc e as though he had not heard him . "Lis ten. T his old book gives a c harm 'to em pty the heart of its wearines s ,' that it s ays is the oldes t and m os t c om m on s ic knes s in the world from whic h only kittens , s om e c hildren, and m ad people are free.
It appears that the c ure for this s ic knes s , s o s ays the book, is to s tand on the top of the pyram id of K hufu at m idnight at that m om ent when the m oon is larges t in the whole year, and drink from the c up of dream s , rec iting m eanwhile a s pell written here at length in language whic h I c annot read."
"T here is no virtue in s pells , P rinc e, if anyone c an read them ."
"A nd no us e, it would s eem , if they c an be read by none."
"Moreover, how c an any one c lim b the pyram id of K hufu, whic h is c overed with polis hed m arble, even in the day let alone at m idnight, your Highnes s , and there drink of the c up of dream s ?"
"I do not know, P am bas a. A ll I know is that I weary of this foolis hnes s , and of the world. T ell m e of s om ething that will lighten m y heart, for it is heavy."
"T here are jugglers without, P rinc e, one of whom s ays he c an throw a rope into the air and c lim b up it until he vanis hes into heaven."
"W hen he has done it in your s ight, P am bas a, bring him to m e, but not before. Death is the only rope by whic h we c lim b to heaven--or be lowered into hell. For rem em ber there is a god c alled S et, after whom , like m y great-grandfather, I am nam ed by the way--the pries ts alone know why--as well as one c alled
Os iris ."
"T hen there are the danc ers , P rinc e, and am ong them s om e very finely m ade girls , for I s aw them bathing in the palac e lake, s uc h as would have delighted the heart of your grandfather, the great Ram es es ."
"T hey do not delight m y heart who want no naked wom en pranc ing here. T ry again, P am bas a."
"I c an think of nothing els e, P rinc e. Y et, s tay. T here is a s c ribe without nam ed A na, a thin, s harp-nos ed m an who s ays he is your Highnes s 's twin in Ra."
"A na! " s aid the P rinc e. "He of Mem phis who writes s tories ? W hy did you not s ay s o before, you old fool? Let him enter at onc e, at onc e."
Now hearing this I, A na, walked through the c urtains and pros trated m ys elf, s aying,
"I am that s c ribe, O Royal S on of the S un."
"How dare you enter the P rinc e's pres enc e without being bidden----" began P am bas a, but S eti broke in with a s tern voic e, s aying,
"A nd how dare you, P am bas a, keep this learned m an waiting at m y door like a dog? Ris e, A na, and c eas e from giving m e titles , for we are not at Court. T ell m e, how long have you been in T anis ?"
"Many days , O P rinc e," I ans wered, "s eeking your pres enc e and in vain."
"A nd how did you win it at las t?"
"B y paym ent, O P rinc e," I ans wered innoc ently, "as it s eem s is us ual.
T he doorkeepers ----"
"I unders tand," s aid S eti, "the doorkeepers ! P am bas a, you will as c ertain what am ount this learned s c ribe has dis burs ed to 'the doorkeepers ' and refund him double. B egone now and s ee to the m atter."
S o P am bas a went, c as ting a piteous look at m e out of the c orner of his eye.
"T ell m e," s aid S eti when he was gone, "you who m us t be wis e in your fas hion, why does a Court always breed thieves ?"
"I s uppos e for the s am e reas on, O P rinc e, that a dog's bac k breeds fleas . Fleas m us t live, and there is the dog."
"T rue," he ans wered, "and thes e palac e fleas are not paid enough. If ever I have power I will s ee to it. T hey s hall be fewer but better fed.
Now, A na, be s eated. I know you though you do not know m e, and already I have learned to love you through your writings . T ell m e of yours elf."
S o I told him all m y s im ple tale, to whic h he lis tened without a word, and then as ked m e why I had c om e to s ee him . I replied that it was bec aus e he had s ent for m e, whic h he had forgotten; als o bec aus e I brought him a s tory that I had dared to dedic ate to him . T hen I laid the roll before him on the table.
"I am honoured," he s aid in a pleas ed voic e, "I am greatly honoured.
If I like it well, your s tory s hall go to the tom b with m e for m y K a to read and re-read until the day of res urrec tion, though firs t I will s tudy it in the fles h. Do you know this c ity of T anis , A na?"
I ans wered that I knew little of it, who had s pent m y tim e here haunting the doors of his Highnes s .
"T hen with your leave I will be your guide through it this night, and afterwards we will s up and talk."
I bowed and he c lapped his hands , whereon a s ervant appeared, not P am bas a, but another.
"B ring two c loaks ," s aid the P rinc e, "I go abroad with the s c ribe, A na.
Let a guard of four Nubians , no m ore, follow us , but at a dis tanc e and dis guis ed. Let them wait at the private entranc e."
T he m an bowed and departed s wiftly.
A lm os t im m ediately a blac k s lave appeared with two long hooded c loaks , s uc h as c am el-drivers wear, whic h he helped us to put on. T hen, taking a lam p, he led us from the room through a doorway oppos ite to that by whic h I had entered, down pas s ages and a narrow s tair that ended in a c ourtyard. Cros s ing this
we c am e to a wall, great and thic k, in whic h were double doors s heathed with c opper that opened m ys terious ly at our approac h. Outs ide of thes e doors s tood four tall m en, als o wrapped in c loaks , who s eem ed to take no note of us . S till, looking bac k when we had gone a little way, I obs erved that they were following
us , as though by c hanc e.
How fine a thing, thought I to m ys elf, it is to be a P rinc e who by lifting a finger c an thus c om m and s ervic e at any m om ent of the day or night.
J us t at that m om ent S eti s aid to m e:
"S ee, A na, how s ad a thing it is to be a P rinc e, who c annot even s tir abroad without notic e to his hous ehold and c om m anding the s ervic e of a s ec ret guard to s py upon his every ac tion, and doubtles s to m ake report thereof to the polic e of P haraoh."
T here are two fac es to everything, thought I to m ys elf again.
CHAP TE R II
THE BRE AKING OF THE CUP
W e walked down a broad s treet bordered by trees , beyond whic h were lim e-was hed, flat-roofed hous es built of s un-dried bric k, s tanding, eac h of them , in its own garden, till at length we c am e to the great m arket-plac e jus t as the full m oon ros e above the palm -trees , m aking the world alm os t as light as day.
Tanis , or Ram es es as it is als o c alled, was a very fine c ity then, if only half the s ize of Mem phis , though now that the Court has left it I hear it is m uc h des erted. A bout this m arket-plac e s tood great tem ples of the gods , with pylons and avenues of s phinxes , als o that wonder of the world, the c olos s al s tatue of the
s ec ond Ram es es , while to the north upon a m ound was the glorious palac e of P haraoh. Other palac es there were als o, inhabited by the nobles and offic ers of the Court, and between them ran long s treets where dwelt the c itizens , ending, s om e of them , on that branc h of the Nile by whic h the anc ient c ity s tood.
S eti halted to gaze at thes e wondrous buildings .
"T hey are very old," he s aid, "but m os t of them , like the walls and thos e tem ples of A m on and P tah, have been rebuilt in the tim e of m y grandfather or s inc e his day by the labour of Is raelitis h s laves who dwell yonder in the ric h land of Gos hen."
"T hey m us t have c os t m uc h gold," I ans wered.
"T he K ings of E gypt do not pay their s laves ," rem arked the P rinc e s hortly.
T hen we went on and m ingled with the thous ands of the people who were wandering to and fro s eeking res t after the bus ines s of the day. Here on the frontier of E gypt were gathered folk of every rac e; B edouins from the des ert, S yrians from beyond the Red S ea, m erc hants from the ric h Is le of Chittim , travellers
from the c oas t, and traders from the land of P unt and from the unknown c ountries of the north. A ll were talking, laughing and m aking m erry, s ave s om e who gathered in c irc les to lis ten to a teller of tales or wandering m us ic ians , or to watc h wom en who danc ed half naked for gifts .
Now and again the c rowd would part to let pas s the c hariot of s om e noble or lady before whic h went running footm en who s houted, "Make way, Make way! " and laid about them with their long wands . T hen c am e a proc es s ion of white-robed pries ts of Is is travelling by m oonlight as was fitting for the s ervants of the
Lady of the Moon, and bearing aloft the holy im age of the goddes s before whic h all m en bowed and for a little while were s ilent. A fter this followed the c orps e of s om e great one newly dead, prec eded by a troop of hired m ourners who rent the air with their lam entations as they c onduc ted it to the quarter of the
em balm ers .
Las tly, from out of one of the s ide s treets em erged a gang of s everal hundred hook-nos ed and bearded m en, am ong whom were a few wom en, loos ely roped together and es c orted by a c om pany of arm ed guards .
"W ho are thes e?" I as ked, for I had never s een their like.
"S laves of the people of Is rael who return from their labour at the digging of the new c anal whic h is to run to the Red S ea," ans wered the P rinc e.
W e s tood s till to watc h them go by, and I noted how proudly their eyes flas hed and how fierc e was their bearing although they were but m en in bonds , very weary too and s tained by toil in m ud and water. P res ently this happened. A white-bearded m an lagged behind, dragging on the line and c hec king the m arc h.
T hereupon an overs eer ran up and flogged him with a c ruel whip c ut from the hide of the s ea-hors e. T he m an turned and, lifting a wooden s pade that he c arried, s truc k the overs eer s uc h a blow that he c rac ked his s kull s o that he fell down dead. Other overs eers rus hed at the Hebrew, as thes e Is raelites were c alled,
and beat him till he als o fell. T hen a s oldier appeared and, s eeing what had happened, drew his bronze s word. From am ong the throng s prang out a girl, young and very lovely although s he was but roughly c lad.
S inc e then I have s een Merapi, Moon of Is rael, as s he was c alled, c lad in the proud raim ent of a queen, and onc e even of a goddes s , but never, I think, did s he look m ore beauteous than in this hour of her s lavery.
Her large eyes , neither blue nor blac k, c aught the light of the m oon and were as wim with tears . Her plenteous bronze-hued hair flowed in great c urls over the s now-white bos om that her rough robe revealed. Her delic ate hands were lifted as though to ward off the blows whic h fell upon him whom s he s ought to
protec t. Her tall and s lender s hape s tood out agains t a flare of light whic h burned upon s om e m arket s tall. S he was beauteous exc eedingly, s o beauteous that m y heart s tood s till at the s ight of her, yes , m ine that for s om e years had held no thought of wom an s ave s uc h as were blac k and evil.
S he c ried aloud. S tanding over the fallen m an s he appealed to the s oldier for m erc y. T hen, s eeing that there was none to hope for from him , s he c as t her great eyes around until they fell upon the P rinc e S eti.
"Oh! S ir," s he wailed, "you have a noble air. W ill you s tand by and s ee m y father m urdered for no fault?"
"Drag her off, or I s m ite through her," s houted the c aptain, for now s he had thrown hers elf down upon the fallen Is raelite. T he overs eers obeyed, tearing her away.
 "Hold, butc her! " c ried the P rinc e.
"W ho are you, dog, that dare to teac h P haraoh's offic er his duty?" ans wered the c aptain, s m iting the P rinc e in the fac e with his left hand.
T hen s wiftly he s truc k downwards and I s aw the bronze s word pas s through the body of the Is raelite who quivered and lay s till. It was all done in an ins tant, and on the s ilenc e that followed rang out the s ound of a wom an's wail. For a m om ent S eti c hoked--with rage, I think. T hen he s poke a s ingle word--"Guards ! "
T he four Nubians , who, as ordered, had kept at a dis tanc e, burs t through the gathered throng. E re they reac hed us I, who till now had s tood am azed, s prang at the c aptain and gripped him by the throat. He s truc k at m e with his bloody s word, but the blow, falling on m y long c loak, only bruis ed m e on the left thigh.
T hen I, who was s trong in thos e days , grappled with him and we rolled together on the ground.
A fter this there was great tum ult. T he Hebrew s laves burs t their rope and flung them s elves upon the s oldiers like dogs upon a jac kal, battering them with their bare fis ts . T he s oldiers defended them s elves with s words ; the overs eers plied their hide whips ; wom en s c ream ed, m en s houted. T he c aptain whom I
had s eized began to get the better of m e; at leas t I s aw his s word flas h above m e and thought that all was over.
Doubtles s it would have been, had not S eti him s elf dragged the m an bac kwards and thus given the four Nubian guards tim e to s eize him . Next I heard the P rinc e c ry out in a ringing voic e:
"Hold! It is S eti, the s on of P haraoh, the Governor of T anis , with whom you have to do. S ee," and he threw bac k the hood of his c loak s o that the m oon s hone upon his fac e.
Ins tantly there was a great quiet. Now, firs t one and then another as the truth s unk into them , m en began to fall upon their knees , and I heard one s ay in an awed voic e:
"T he royal S on, the P rinc e of E gypt s truc k in the fac e by a s oldier! B lood m us t pay for it."
"How is that offic er nam ed?" as ked S eti, pointing to the m an who had killed the Is raelite and well-nigh killed m e.
S om eone ans wered that he was nam ed K huaka.
"B ring him to the s teps of the tem ple of A m on," s aid S eti to the Nubians who held him fas t. "Follow m e, friend A na, if you have the s trength.
Nay, lean upon m y s houlder."
S o res ting upon the s houlder of the P rinc e, for I was bruis ed and breathles s , I walked with him a hundred pac es or m ore to the s teps of the great tem ple where we c lim bed to the platform at the head of the s tairs . A fter us c am e the pris oner, and after him all the m ultitude, a very great num ber who s tood upon the
s teps and on the flat ground beyond. T he P rinc e, who was very white and quiet, s at him s elf down upon the low granite bas e of a tall obelis k whic h s tood in front of the tem ple pylon, and s aid:
"A s Governor of T anis , the City of Ram es es , with power of life and death at all hours and in all plac es , I dec lare m y Court open."
"T he Royal Court is open! " c ried the m ultitude in the ac c us tom ed form .
"T his is the c as e," s aid the P rinc e. "Yonder m an who is nam ed K huaka, by his dres s a c aptain of P haraoh's arm y, is c harged with the m urder of a c ertain Hebrew, and with the attem pted m urder of A na the s c ribe. Let witnes s es be c alled. B ring the body of the dead m an and lay it here before m e. B ring the wom an
who s trove to protec t him , that s he m ay s peak."
T he body was brought and laid upon the platform , its wide eyes s taring up at the m oon. T hen s oldiers who had gathered thrus t forward the weeping girl.
"Ceas e from tears ," s aid S eti, "and s wear by K ephera the c reator, and by Maat the goddes s of truth and law, to s peak nothing but the truth."
T he girl looked up and s aid in a ric h low voic e that in s om e way rem inded m e of honey being poured from a jar, perhaps bec aus e it was thic k with s trangled s obs :
"O Royal S on of E gypt, I c annot s wear by thos e gods who am a daughter of Is rael."
T he P rinc e looked at her attentively and as ked:
"B y what god then c an you s wear, O Daughter of Is rael?"
"B y J ahveh, O P rinc e, whom we hold to be the one and only God, the Maker of the world and all that is therein."
"T hen perhaps his other nam e is K ephera," s aid the P rinc e with a little s m ile. "B ut have it as you will. S wear, then, by your god J ahveh."
T hen s he lifted both her hands above her head and s aid:
"I, Merapi, daughter of Nathan of the tribe of Levi of the people of Is rael, s wear that I will s peak the truth and all the truth in the nam e of J ahveh, the God of Is rael."
"T ell us what you know of the m atter of the death of this m an, O Merapi."
"Nothing that you do not know yours elf, O P rinc e. He who lies there," and s he s wept her hand towards the c orps e, turning her eyes away, "was m y father, an elder of Is rael. T he c aptain K huaka c am e when the c orn was young to the Land of Gos hen to c hoos e thos e who s hould work for P haraoh.
He wis hed to take m e into his hous e. My father refus ed bec aus e from m y c hildhood I had been affianc ed to a m an of Is rael; als o bec aus e it is not lawful under the law for our people to interm arry with your people.
T hen the c aptain K huaka s eized m y father, although he was of high rank and beyond the age to work for P haraoh, and he was taken away, as I think, bec aus e he would not s uffer m e to wed K huaka. A while later I dream ed that m y father was s ic k. T hric e I dream ed it and ran away to Tanis to vis it him . B ut this
m orning I found him and, O P rinc e, you know the res t."
"Is there no m ore?" as ked S eti.
T he girl hes itated, then ans wered:
"Only this , O P rinc e. T his m an s aw m e with m y father giving him food, for he was weak and overc om e with the toil of digging the m ud in the heat of the s un, he who being a noble of our people knew nothing of s uc h labour from his youth. In m y pres enc e K huaka as ked m y father if now he would give m e to him . My
father ans wered that s ooner would he s ee m e kis s ed by s nakes and devoured by c roc odiles . 'I hear you,' ans wered K huaka. 'Learn, now, s lave Nathan, before to-m orrow's s un aris es , you s hall be kis s ed by s words and devoured by c roc odiles or jac kals .' 'S o be it,' s aid m y father, 'but learn, O K huaka, that if s o, it is
revealed to m e who am a pries t and a prophet of J ahveh, that before to-m orrow's s un you als o s hall be kis s ed by s words and of the res t we will talk at the foot of J ahveh's throne.'
"A fterwards , as you know, P rinc e, the overs eer flogged m y father as I heard K huaka order him to do if he lagged through wearines s , and then K huaka killed him bec aus e m y father in his m adnes s s truc k the overs eer with a m attoc k. I have no m ore to s ay, s ave that I pray that I m ay be s ent bac k to m y own people
there to m ourn m y father ac c ording to our c us tom ."
"T o whom would you be s ent? Y our m other?"
"Nay, O P rinc e, m y m other, a lady of S yria, is dead. I will go to m y unc le, J abez the Levite."
"S tand as ide," s aid S eti. "T he m atter s hall be s een to later. A ppear, O A na the S c ribe. S wear the oath and tell us what you have s een of this m an's death, s inc e two witnes s es are needful."
S o I s wore and repeated all this s tory that I have written down.
"Now, K huaka," s aid the P rinc e when I had finis hed, "have you aught to s ay?"
"Only this , O Royal One," ans wered the c aptain throwing him s elf upon his knees , "that I s truc k you by ac c ident, not knowing that the pers on of your Highnes s was hidden in that long c loak. For this deed it is true that I am worthy of death, but I pray you to pardon m e bec aus e I knew not what I did. T he res t is
nothing, s inc e I only s lew a m utinous s lave of the Is raelites , as s uc h are s lain every day."
"T ell m e, O K huaka, who are being tried for this m an's death and not for the s triking of one of royal blood by c hanc e, under whic h law it is lawful for you to kill an Is raelite without trial before the appointed offic ers of P haraoh."
"I am not learned. I do not know the law, O P rinc e. A ll that this wom an s aid is fals e."
"A t leas t it is not fals e that yonder m an lies dead and that you s lew him , as you yours elf adm it. Learn now, and let all E gypt learn, that even an Is raelite m ay not be m urdered for no offenc e s ave that of wearines s and of paying bac k unearned blow with blow. Your blood s hall ans wer for his blood. S oldiers ! S trike
off his head."
T he Nubians leapt upon him , and when I looked again K huaka's headles s c orps e lay by the c orps e of the Hebrew Nathan and their blood was m ingled upon the s teps of the tem ple.
"T he bus ines s of the Court is finis hed," s aid the P rinc e. "Offic ers , s ee that this wom an is es c orted to her own people, and with her the body of her father for burial. S ee, too, upon your lives that no ins ult or harm is done to her. S c ribe A na, ac c om pany m e henc e to m y hous e where I would s peak with you. Let
guards prec ede and follow m e."
He ros e and all the people bowed. A s he turned to go the lady Merapi s tepped forward, and falling upon her knees , s aid:
"O m os t jus t P rinc e, now and ever I am your s ervant."
T hen we s et out, and as we left the m arket-plac e on our way to the palac e of the P rinc e, I heard a tum ult of voic es behind us , s om e in prais e and s om e in blam e of what had been done. W e walked on in s ilenc e broken only by the m eas ured tram p of the guards . P res ently the m oon pas s ed behind a c loud and the
world was dark. T hen from the edge of the c loud s prang out a ray of light that lay s traight and narrow above us on the heavens . S eti s tudied it a while and s aid:
"T ell m e, O A na, of what does that m oonbeam put you in m ind?"
"Of a s word, O P rinc e," I ans wered, "s tretc hed out over E gypt and held in the blac k hand of s om e m ighty god or s pirit. S ee, there is the blade from whic h fall little c louds like drops of blood, there is the hilt of gold, and look! there beneath is the fac e of the god. Fire s tream s from his eyebrows and his brow is blac k
and awful. I am afraid, though what I fear I know not."
"Y ou have a poet's m ind, A na. S till, what you s ee I s ee and of this I am s ure, that s om e s word of vengeanc e is indeed s tretc hed out over E gypt bec aus e of its evil doings , whereof this light m ay be the s ym bol.
B ehold! it s eem s to fall upon the tem ples of the gods and the palac e of P haraoh, and to c leave them . Now it is gone and the night is as nights were from the beginning of the world. Com e to m y c ham ber and let us eat.
I am weary, I need food and wine, as you m us t after s truggling with that lus tful m urderer whom I have s ent to his own plac e."
T he guards s aluted and were dis m is s ed. W e m ounted to the P rinc e's private c ham bers , in one of whic h his s ervants c lad m e in fine linen robes after a s killed phys ic ian of the hous ehold had doc tored the bruis es upon m y thigh over whic h he tied a bandage s pread with balm .
T hen I was led to a s m all dining-hall, where I found the P rinc e waiting for m e as though I were s om e honoured gues t and not a poor s c ribe who had wondered henc e from Mem phis with m y wares . He c aus ed m e to s it down at his right hand and even drew up the c hair for m e him s elf, whereat I felt abas hed. To this
day I rem em ber that leather-s eated c hair. T he arm s of it ended in ivory s phinxes and on its bac k of blac k wood in an oval was inlaid the nam e of the great Ram es es , to whom indeed it had onc e belonged. Dis hes were handed to us --only two of them and thos e quite s im ple, for S eti was no great eater--by a young
Nubian s lave of a very m erry fac e, and with them wine m ore delic ious than any I had ever tas ted.
W e ate and drank and the P rinc e talked to m e of m y bus ines s as a s c ribe and of the m aking of tales , whic h s eem ed to interes t him very m uc h.
Indeed one m ight have thought that he was a pupil in the s c hools and I the teac her, s o hum bly and with s uc h c are did he weigh everything that I s aid about m y art. Of m atters of s tate or of the dreadful s c ene of blood through whic h we had jus t pas s ed he s poke no word. A t the end, however, after a little paus e during
whic h he held up a c up of alabas ter as thin as an eggs hell, s tudying the light playing through it on the ric h red wine within, he s aid to m e:
"Friend A na, we have pas s ed a s tirring hour together, the firs t perhaps of m any, or m ayhap the las t. A ls o we were born upon the s am e day and therefore, unles s the as trologers lie, as do other m en--and wom en--beneath the s am e s tar. Las tly, if I m ay s ay it, I like you well, though I know not how you like m e, and
when you are in the room with m e I feel at eas e, whic h is s trange, for I know of no other with whom it is s o.
"Now by a c hanc e only this m orning I found in s om e old rec ords whic h I was s tudying, that the heir to the throne of E gypt a thous and years ago, had, and therefore, as nothing ever c hanges in E gypt, s till has , a right to a private librarian for whic h the S tate, that is , the toilers of the land, m us t pay as in the end they
pay for all. S om e dynas ties have gone by, it s eem s , s inc e there was s uc h a librarian, I think bec aus e m os t of the heirs to the throne c ould not, or did not, read. A ls o by c hanc e I m entioned the m atter to the V izier Nehes i who grudges m e every ounc e of gold I s pend, as though it were one taken out of his own pouc h,
whic h perhaps it is . He ans wered with that c rooked s m ile of his :
"'S inc e I know well, P rinc e, that there is no s c ribe in E gypt whom you would s uffer about you for a s ingle m onth, I will s et the c os t of a librarian at the figure at whic h it s tood in the E leventh Dynas ty upon the roll of your Highnes s 's hous ehold and defray it from the Royal T reas ury until he is dis c harged.'
"T herefore, S c ribe A na, I offer you this pos t for one m onth; that is all for whic h I c an prom is e you will be paid whatever it m ay be, for I forget the s um ."
"I thank you, O P rinc e," I exc laim ed.
"Do not thank m e. Indeed if you are wis e you will refus e. You have m et P am bas a. W ell, Nehes i is P am bas a m ultiplied by ten, a rogue, a thief, a bully, and one who has P haraoh's ear. He will m ake your life a torm ent to you and c lip every ring of gold that at length you wring out of his grip. Moreover the plac e is
wearis om e, and I am fanc iful and often ill-hum oured. Do not thank m e, I s ay. Refus e; return to Mem phis and write s tories . S hun c ourts and their plottings . P haraoh him s elf is but a fac e and a puppet through whic h other voic es talk and other eyes s hine, and the s c eptre whic h he wields is pulled by s trings . A nd if
this is s o with P haraoh, what is the c as e with his s on? T hen there are the wom en, A na. T hey will m ake love to you, A na, they even do s o to m e, and I think you told m e that you know s om ething of wom en. Do not ac c ept, go bac k to Mem phis . I will s end you s om e old m anus c ripts to c opy and pay you whatever it is
Nehes i allows for the librarian."
"Y et I ac c ept, O P rinc e. A s for Nehes i I fear him not at all, s inc e at the wors t I c an write a s tory about him at whic h the world will laugh, and rather than that he will pay m e m y s alary."
"Y ou have m ore wis dom than I thought, A na. It never c am e into m y m ind to put Nehes i in a s tory, though it is true I tell tales about him whic h is m uc h the s am e thing."
He bend forward, leaning his head upon his hand, and c eas ing from his bantering tone, looked m e in the eyes and as ked:
"W hy do you ac c ept? Let m e think now. It is not bec aus e you c are for wealth if that is to be won here; nor for the pom p and s how of c ourts ; nor for the c om pany of the great who really are s o s m all. For all thes e things you, A na, have no c raving if I read your heart aright, you who are an artis t, nothing les s and
nothing m ore. T ell m e, then, why will you, a free m an who c an earn your living, linger round a throne and s et your nec k beneath the heel of princ es to be c rus hed into the c om m on m ould of s ervitors and K ing's Com panions and B earers of the Foots tool?"
"I will tell you, P rinc e. Firs t, bec aus e thrones m ake his tory, as his tory m akes thrones , and I think that great events are on foot in E gypt in whic h I would have m y s hare. S ec ondly, bec aus e the gods bring gifts to m en only onc e or twic e in their lives and to refus e them is to offend the gods who gave them thos e
lives to us e to ends of whic h we know nothing. A nd thirdly"--here I hes itated.
"A nd thirdly--out with the thirdly for, doubtles s , it is the real reas on."
"A nd thirdly, O P rinc e--well, the word s ounds s trangely upon a m an's lips --but thirdly bec aus e I love you. From the m om ent that m y eyes fell upon your fac e I loved you as I never loved any other m an--not even m y father. I know not why. Certainly it is not bec aus e you are a princ e."
W hen he heard thes e words S eti s at brooding and s o s ilent that, fearing les t I, a hum ble s c ribe, had been too bold, I added has tily:
"Let your Highnes s pardon his s ervant for his pres um ptuous words . It was his s ervant's heart that s poke and not his lips ."
He lifted his hand and I s topped.
"A na, m y twin in Ra," he s aid, "do you know that I never had a friend?"
"A princ e who has no friend! "
"Never, none. Now I begin to think that I have found one. T he thought is s trange and warm s m e. Do you know als o that when m y eyes fell upon your fac e I loved you als o, the gods know why. It was as though I had found one who was dear to m e thous ands of years ago but whom I had los t and forgotten. P erhaps
this is but foolis hnes s , or perhaps here we have the s hadow of s om ething great and beautiful whic h dwells els ewhere, in the plac e we c all the K ingdom of Os iris , beyond the grave, A na."
"S uc h thoughts have c om e to m e at tim es , P rinc e. I m ean that all we s ee is s hadow; that we ours elves are s hadows and that the realities who c as t them live in a different hom e whic h is lit by s om e s pirit s un that never s ets ."
T he P rinc e nodded his head and again was s ilent for a while. T hen he took his beautiful alabas ter c up, and pouring wine into it, he drank a little and pas s ed the c up to m e.
"Drink als o, A na," he s aid, "and pledge m e as I pledge you, in token that by dec ree of the Creator who m ade the hearts of m en, henc eforward our two hearts are as the s am e heart through good and ill, through trium ph and defeat, till death takes one of us . Henc eforward, A na, unles s you s how yours elf unworthy, I
hide no thought from you."
Flus hing with joy I took the c up, s aying:
"I add to your words , O P rinc e. W e are one, not for this life alone but for all the lives to be. Death, O P rinc e, is , I think, but a s ingle s tep in the pylon s tair whic h leads at las t to that dizzy height whenc e we s ee the fac e of God and hear his voic e tell us what and why we are."
T hen I pledged him , and drank, bowing, and he bowed bac k to m e.
"W hat s hall we do with the c up, A na, the s ac red c up that has held this ric h heart-wine? S hall I keep it? No, it no longer belongs to m e. S hall I give it to you? No, it c an never be yours alone. S ee, we will break the pric eles s thing."
S eizing it by its s tem with all his s trength he s truc k the c up upon the table. T hen what s eem ed to be to m e a m arvel happened, for ins tead of s hattering as I thought it s urely would, it s plit in two from rim to foot. W hether this was by c hanc e, or whether the artis t who fas hioned it in s om e bygone generation had
worked the two halves s eparately and c unningly c em ented them together, to this hour I do not know. A t leas t s o it befell.
"T his is fortunate, A na," s aid the P rinc e, laughing a little in his light way. "Now take you the half that lies neares t to you and I will take m ine. If you die firs t I will lay m y half upon your breas t, and if I die firs t you s hall do the s am e by m e, or if the pries ts forbid it bec aus e I am royal and m ay not be profaned, c as t the
thing into m y tom b.
W hat s hould we have done had the alabas ter s hattered into fragm ents , A na, and what om en s hould we have read in them ?"
"W hy as k, O P rinc e, s eeing that it has befallen otherwis e?"
T hen I took m y half, laid it agains t m y forehead and hid it in the bos om of m y robe, and as I did, s o did S eti.
S o in this s trange fas hion the royal S eti and I s ealed the holy c om pac t of our brotherhood, as I think not for the firs t tim e or the las t.
CHAP TE R III
US E RTI
S eti ros e, s tretc hing out his arm s .
"T hat is finis hed," he s aid, "as everything finis hes , and for onc e I am s orry. Now what next? S leep, I s uppos e, in whic h all ends , or perhaps you would s ay all begins ."
A s he s poke the c urtains at the end of the room were drawn and between them appeared the c ham berlain, P am bas a, holding his gold-tipped wand c erem onious ly before him .
"W hat is it now, m an?" as ked S eti. "Can I not even s up in peac e? S tay, before you ans wer tell m e, do things end or begin in s leep? T he learned A na and I differ on the m atter and would hear your wis dom . B ear in m ind, P am bas a, that before we are born we m us t have s lept, s inc e of that tim e we rem em ber
nothing, and after we are dead we c ertainly s eem to s leep, as any who have looked on m um m ies know. Now ans wer."
T he c ham berlain s tared at the wine flas k on the table as though he s us pec ted his m as ter of having drunk too m uc h. T hen in a hard offic ial voic e he s aid:
"S he c om es ! S he c om es ! S he c om es , offering greetings and adoration to the Royal S on of Ra."
"Does s he indeed?" as ked S eti. "If s o, why s ay it three tim es ? A nd who c om es ?"
"T he high P rinc es s , the heires s of E gypt, the daughter of P haraoh, your Highnes s 's royal half-s is ter, the great lady Us erti."
"Let her enter then. A na, s tand you behind m e. If you grow weary and I give leave you c an depart; the s laves will s how you your s leeping-plac e."
P am bas a went, and pres ently through the c urtain appeared a royal-looking lady s plendidly apparelled. S he was ac c om panied by four waiting wom en who fell bac k on the thres hold and were no m ore s een. T he P rinc e s tepped forward, took both her hands in his and kis s ed her on the brow, then drew bac k again,
after whic h they s tood a m om ent looking at eac h other.
W hile they rem ained thus I s tudied her who was known throughout the land as the "B eautiful Royal Daughter," but whom till now I had never s een.
In truth I did not think her beautiful, although even had s he been c lad in a peas ant's robe I s hould have been s ure that s he was royal. Her fac e was too hard for beauty and her blac k eyes , with a tinge of grey in them , were too s m all. A ls o her nos e was too s harp and her lips were too thin. Indeed, had it not been for
the delic ately and finely-s haped wom an's form beneath, I m ight have thought that a princ e and not a princ es s s tood before m e. For the res t in m os t ways s he res em bled her half-brother S eti, though her c ountenanc e lac ked the kindlines s of his ; or rather both of them res em bled their father, Meneptah.
"Greeting, S is ter," he s aid, eyeing her with a s m ile in whic h I c aught a gleam of m oc kery. "P urple-bordered robes , em erald nec klac e and enam elled c rown of gold, rings and pec toral, everything exc ept a s c eptre--why are you s o royally arrayed to vis it one s o hum ble as your loving brother? You c om e like s unlight
into the darknes s of the herm it's c ell and dazzle the poor herm it, or rather herm its ," and he pointed to m e.
"Ceas e your jes ts , S eti," s he replied in a full, s trong voic e. "I wear thes e ornam ents bec aus e they pleas e m e. A ls o I have s upped with our father, and thos e who s it at P haraoh's table m us t be s uitably arrayed, though I have noted that s om etim es you think otherwis e."
"Indeed. I trus t that the good god, our divine parent, is well to-night as you leave him s o early."
"I leave him bec aus e he s ent m e with a m es s age to you." S he paus ed, looking at m e s harply, then as ked, "W ho is that m an? I do not know him ."
"It is your m is fortune, Us erti, but one whic h c an be m ended. He is nam ed A na the S c ribe, who writes s trange s tories of great interes t whic h you would do well to read who dwell too m uc h upon the outs ide of life. He is from Mem phis and his father's nam e was --I forget what. A na, what was your father's nam e?"
"One too hum ble for royal ears , P rinc e," I ans wered, "but m y grandfather was P entaur the poet who wrote of the deeds of the m ighty Ram es es ."
"Is it s o? W hy did you not tell m e that before? T he des c ent s hould earn you a pens ion from the Court if you c an extrac t it from Nehes i. W ell, Us erti, his grandfather's nam e was P entaur whos e im m ortal vers es you have doubtles s read upon tem ple walls , where our grandfather was c areful to publis h them ."
"I have--to m y s orrow--and thought them poor, boas tful s tuff," s he ans wered c oldly.
"T o be hones t, if A na will forgive m e, s o do I. I c an as s ure you that his s tories are a great im provem ent on them . Friend A na, this is m y s is ter, Us erti, m y father's daughter though our m others were not the s am e."
 "I pray you, S eti, to be s o good as to give m e m y rightful titles in s peaking of m e to s c ribes and other of your s ervants ."
"Your pardon, Us erti. T his , A na, is the firs t Lady of E gypt, the Royal Heires s , the P rinc es s of the T wo Lands , the High-pries tes s of A m on, the Cheris hed of the Gods , the half-s is ter of the Heir-apparent, the Daughter of Hathor, the Lotus B loom of Love, the Queen to be of--Us erti, whos e queen will you be? Have
you m ade up your m ind? For m ys elf I know no one worthy of s o m uc h beauty, exc ellenc e, learning and--what s hall I add--s weetnes s , yes , s weetnes s ."
"S eti," s he s aid s tam ping her foot, "if it pleas es you to m ake a m oc k of m e before a s tranger, I s uppos e that I m us t s ubm it. S end him away, I would s peak with you."
"Make a m oc k of you! Oh! m ine is a hard fate. W hen truth gus hes from the well of m y heart, I am told I m oc k, and when I m oc k, all s ay--he s peaks truth. B e s eated, S is ter, and talk on freely. T his A na is m y s worn friend who s aved m y life but now, for whic h deed perhaps he s hould be m y enem y. His m em ory is
exc ellent als o and he will rem em ber what you s ay and write it down afterwards , whereas I m ight forget. T herefore, with your leave, I will as k him to s tay here."
"My P rinc e," I broke in, "I pray you s uffer m e to go."
"My S ec retary," he ans wered with a note of c om m and in his voic e, "I pray you to rem ain where you are."
S o I s at m ys elf on the ground after the fas hion of a s c ribe, having no c hoic e, and the P rinc es s s at hers elf on a c ouc h at the end of the table, but S eti rem ained s tanding. T hen the P rinc es s s aid:
"S inc e it is your will, B rother, that I s hould talk s ec rets into other ears than yours , I obey you. S till"--here s he looked at m e wrathfully--"let the tongue be c areful that it does not repeat what the ears have heard, les t there s hould be neither ears nor tongue. My B rother, it has been reported to P haraoh, while we ate
together, that there is tum ult in this town. It has been reported to him that bec aus e of a trouble about s om e bas e Is raelite you c aus ed one of his offic ers to be beheaded, after whic h there c am e a riot whic h s till rages ."
"S trange that truth s hould have c om e to the ears of P haraoh s o quic kly.
Now, m y S is ter, if he had heard it three m oons henc e I c ould have believed you--alm os t."
"T hen you did behead the offic er?"
"Y es , I beheaded him about two hours ago."
"P haraoh will dem and an ac c ount of the m atter."
"P haraoh," ans wered S eti lifting his eyes , "has no power to ques tion the jus tic e of the Governor of T anis in the north."
"Y ou are in error, S eti. P haraoh has all power."
"Nay, S is ter, P haraoh is but one m an am ong m illions of other m en, and though he s peaks it is their s pirit whic h bends his tongue, while above that s pirit is a great greater s pirit who dec rees what they s hall think to ends of whic h we know nothing."
"I do not unders tand, S eti."
"I never thought you would, Us erti, but when you have leis ure, as k A na here to explain the m atter to you. I am s ure that he unders tands ."
"Oh! I have borne enough," exc laim ed Us erti ris ing. "Hearken to the c om m and of P haraoh, P rinc e S eti. It is that you wait upon him to-m orrow in full c ounc il, at an hour before noon, there to talk with him of this ques tion of the Is raelitis h s laves and the offic er whom it has pleas ed you to kill. I c am e to s peak other
words to you als o, but as they were for your private ear, thes e c an bide a m ore fitting opportunity.
Farewell, m y B rother."
"W hat, are you going s o s oon, S is ter? I wis hed to tell you the s tory about thos e Is raelites , and es pec ially of the m aid whos e nam e is --what was her nam e, A na?"
"Merapi, Moon of Is rael, P rinc e," I added with a groan.
"A bout the m aid c alled Merapi, Moon of Is rael, I think the s weetes t that ever I have looked upon, whos e father the dead c aptain m urdered in m y s ight."
"S o there is a wom an in the bus ines s ? W ell, I gues s ed it."
"In what bus ines s is there not a wom an, Us erti, even in that of a m es s age from P haraoh. P am bas a, P am bas a, es c ort the P rinc es s and s um m on her s ervants , wom en everyone of them , unles s m y s ens es m oc k m e. Good-night to you, O S is ter and Lady of the T wo Lands , and forgive m e--that c oronet of yours is
s om ewhat awry."
A t las t s he was gone and I ros e, wiping m y brow with a c orner of m y robe, and looking at the P rinc e who s tood before the fire laughing s oftly.
"Make a note of all this talk, A na," he s aid; "there is m ore in it than m eets the ear."
"I need no note, P rinc e," I ans wered; "every word is burnt upon m y m ind as a hot iron burns a tablet of wood. W ith reas on too, s inc e now her Highnes s will hate m e for all her life."
"Muc h better s o, A na, than that s he s hould pretend to love you, whic h s he never would have done while you are m y friend. W om en oftim es res pec t thos e whom they hate and even will advanc e them bec aus e of polic y, but let thos e whom they pretend to love beware. T he tim e m ay c om e when you will yet be
Us erti's m os t trus ted c ounc illor."
Now here I, A na the S c ribe, will s tate that in after days , when this s am e queen was the wife of P haraoh S aptah, I did, as it c hanc ed, bec om e her m os t trus ted c ounc illor. Moreover, in thos e tim es , yes , and even in the hour of her death, s he s wore from the m om ent her eyes firs t fell on m e s he had known m e to be
true-hearted and held m e in es teem as no s elf-s eeker. More, I think s he believed what s he s aid, having forgotten that onc e s he looked upon m e as her enem y. T his indeed I never was , who always held her in high regard and honour as a great lady who loved her c ountry, though one who s om etim es was not wis e. B ut
as I c ould not fores ee thes e things on that night of long ago, I only s tared at the P rinc e and s aid:
"Oh! why did you not allow m e to depart as your Highnes s s aid I m ight at the beginning? S oon or late m y head will pay the pric e of this night's work."
"T hen s he m us t take m ine with it. Lis ten, A na. I kept you here, not to vex the P rinc es s or you, but for a good reas on. Y ou know that it is the c us tom of the royal dynas ties of E gypt for kings , or thos e who will be kings , to wed their near kin in order that the blood m ay rem ain the purer."
"Y es , P rinc e, and not only am ong thos e who are royal. S till, I think it an evil c us tom ."
"A s I do, s inc e the rac e wherein it is prac tis ed grows ever weaker in body and in m ind; whic h is why, perhaps , m y father is not what his father was and I am not what m y father is ."
"A ls o, P rinc e, it is hard to m ingle the love of the s is ter and of the wife."
"V ery hard, A na; s o hard that when it is attem pted both are apt to vanis h. W ell, our m others having been true royal wives , though hers died before m ine was wedded by m y father, P haraoh des ires that I s hould m arry m y half-s is ter, Us erti, and what is wors e, s he des ires it als o.
Moreover, the people, who fear trouble ahead in E gypt if we, who alone are left of the true royal rac e born of queens , rem ain apart and s he takes another lord, or I take another wife, dem and that it s hould be brought about, s inc e they believe that whoever c alls Us erti the S trong his s pous e will one day rule the land."
"W hy does the P rinc es s wis h it--that s he m ay be a queen?"
"Y es , A na, though were s he to wed m y c ous in, A m enm es es , the s on of P haraoh's elder brother K haem uas , s he m ight s till be a queen, if I c hos e to s tand as ide as I would not be loth to do."
"W ould E gypt s uffer this , P rinc e?"
"I do not know, nor does it m atter s inc e s he hates A m enm es es , who is s trong-willed and am bitious , and will have none of him . A ls o he is already m arried."
"Is there no other royal one whom s he m ight take, P rinc e?"
"None. Moreover s he wis hes m e alone."
"W hy, P rinc e?"
"B ec aus e of anc ient c us tom whic h s he wors hips . A ls o bec aus e s he knows m e well and in her fas hion is fond of m e, whom s he believes to be a gentle-m inded dream er that s he c an rule. Las tly, bec aus e I am the lawful heir to the Crown and without m e to s hare it, s he thinks that s he would never be s afe upon
the T hrone, es pec ially if I s hould m arry s om e other wom an, of whom s he would be jealous . It is the T hrone s he des ires and would wed, not the P rinc e S eti, her half-brother, whom s he takes with it to be in nam e her hus band, as P haraoh c om m ands that s he s hould do.
Love plays no part in Us erti's breas t, A na, whic h m akes her the m ore dangerous , s inc e what s he s eeks with a c old heart of polic y, that s he will s urely find."
"T hen it would s eem , P rinc e, that the c age is built about you. A fter all it is a very s plendid c age and m ade of gold."
"Yes , A na, yet not one in whic h I would live. S till, exc ept by death how c an I es c ape from the threefold c hain of the will of P haraoh, of E gypt, and of Us erti? Oh! " he went on in a new voic e, one that had in it both s orrow and pas s ion, "this is a m atter in whic h I would have c hos en for m ys elf who in all others m us t
be a s ervant. A nd I m ay not c hoos e! "
"Is there perc hanc e s om e other lady, P rinc e?"
"None! B y Hathor, none--at leas t I think not. Y et I would have been free to s earc h for s uc h a one and take her when I found her, if s he were but a fis hergirl."
"T he K ings of E gypt c an have large hous eholds , P rinc e."
"I know it. A re there not s till s c ores whom I s hould c all aunt and unc le? I think that m y grands ire, Ram es es , bles s ed E gypt with quite three hundred c hildren, and in s o doing in a way was wis e, s inc e thus he m ight be s ure that, while the world endures , in it will flow s om e the blood that onc e was his ."
"Y et in life or death how will that help him , P rinc e? S om e m us t beget the m ultitudes of the earth, what does it m atter who thes e m ay have been?"
"Nothing at all, A na, s inc e by good or evil fortune they are born.
T herefore, why talk of large hous eholds ? T hough, like any m an who c an pay for it, P haraoh m ay have a large hous ehold, I s eek a queen who s hall reign in m y heart as well as on m y throne, not a 'large hous ehold,' A na.
Oh! I am weary. P am bas a, c om e hither and c onduc t m y s ec retary, A na, to the em pty room that is next to m y own, the painted c ham ber whic h looks toward the north, and bid m y s laves attend to all his wants as they would to m ine."
"W hy did you tell m e you were a s c ribe, m y lord A na?" as ked P am bas a, as he led m e to m y beautiful s leeping-plac e.
"B ec aus e that is m y trade, Cham berlain."
He looked at m e, s haking his great head till the long white beard waved ac ros s his breas t like a tem ple banner in the faint evening breeze, and ans wered:
"You are no s c ribe, you are a m agic ian who c an win the love and favour of his Highnes s in an hour whic h others c annot do between two ris ings of the Nile. Had you s aid s o at onc e, you would have been differently treated yonder in the hall of waiting. Forgive m e therefore what I did in ignoranc e, and, m y lord, I
pray it m ay pleas e you not to m elt away in the night, les t m y feet s hould ans wer for it beneath the s tic ks ."
It was the fourth hour from s unris e of the following day that, for the firs t tim e in m y life I found m ys elf in the Court of P haraoh s tanding with other m em bers of his hous ehold in the train of his Highnes s , the P rinc e S eti. It was a very great plac e, for P haraoh s at in the judgm ent hall, whereof the roof is upheld by
round and s c ulptured c olum ns , between whic h were s et s tatues of P haraohs who had been. S ave at the throne end of the hall, where the light flowed down through c leres tories , the vas t c ham ber was dim alm os t to darknes s ; at leas t s o it s eem ed to m e entering there out of the brilliant s uns hine. T hrough this gloom
m any folk m oved like s hadows ; c aptains , nobles , and s tate offic ers who had been s um m oned to the Court, and am ong them white-robed and s haven pries ts . A ls o there were others of whom I took no c ount, s uc h as A rab headm en from the des ert, traders with jewels and other wares to s ell, farm ers and even
peas ants with petitions to pres ent, lawyers and their c lients , and I know not who bes ides , through whic h of all thes e none were s uffered to advanc e beyond a c ertain m ark where the light began to fall. S peaking in whis pers all of thes e folk flitted to and fro like bats in a tom b.
W e waited between two Hathor-headed pillars in one of the ves tibules of the hall, the P rinc e S eti, who was c lad in purple-broidered garm ents and wore upon his brow a fillet of gold from whic h ros e the uraeus or hooded s nake, als o of gold, that royal ones alone m ight wear, leaning agains t the bas e of a s tatue,
while the res t of us s tood s ilent behind him .
For a tim e he was s ilent als o, as a m an m ight be whos e thoughts were otherwhere. A t length he turned and s aid to m e:
"T his is weary work. W ould I had as ked you to bring that new tale of yours , S c ribe A na, that we m ight have read it together."
"S hall I tell you the plot of it, P rinc e?"
"Y es . I m ean, not now, les t I s hould forget m y m anners lis tening to you.
Look," and he pointed to a dark-browed, fierc e-eyed m an of m iddle age who pas s ed up the hall as though he did not s ee us , "there goes m y c ous in, A m enm es es . Y ou know him , do you not?"
I s hook m y head.
"T hen tell m e what you think of him , at onc e before the firs t judgm ent fades ."
"I think he is a royal-looking lord, obs tinate in m ind and s trong in body, hands om e too in his way."
"A ll c an s ee that, A na. W hat els e?"
"I think," I s aid in a low voic e s o that none m ight overhear, "that his heart is as blac k as his brow; that he has grown wic ked with jealous y and hate and will do you evil."
"Can a m an grow wic ked, A na? Is he not as he was born till the end? I do not know, nor do you. S till you are right, he is jealous and will do m e evil if it brings him good. B ut tell m e, whic h of us will trium ph at the las t?"
W hile I hes itated what to ans wer I bec am e aware that s om eone had joined us . Looking round I perc eived a very anc ient m an c lad in a white robe.
He was broad-fac ed and bald-headed, and his eyes burned beneath his s haggy eyebrows like two c oals in as hes . He s upported him s elf on a s taff of c edar-wood, gripping it with both hands that for thinnes s were like to thos e of a m um m y. For a while he c ons idered us both as though he were reading our s ouls , then
s aid in a full and jovial voic e:
"Greeting, P rinc e."
S eti turned, looked at him , and ans wered:
"Greeting, B akenkhons u. How c om es it that you are s till alive? W hen we parted at T hebes I m ade s ure----"
"T hat on your return you would find m e in m y tom b. Not s o, P rinc e, it is I who s hall live to look upon you in your tom b, yes , and on others who are yet to s it in the s eat of P haraoh. W hy not? Ho! ho! W hy not, s eeing that I am but a hundred and s even, I who rem em ber the firs t Ram es es and have played with his
grands on, your grands ire, as a boy? W hy s hould I not live, P rinc e, to nurs e your grands on--if the gods s hould grant you one who as yet have neither wife nor c hild?"
"B ec aus e you will get tired of life, B akenkhons u, as I am already, and the gods will not be able to s pare you m uc h longer."
"T he gods c an endure yet a while without m e, P rinc e, when s o m any are floc king to their table. Indeed it is their des ire that one good pries t s hould be left in E gypt. K i the Magic ian told m e s o only this m orning.
He had it s traight from Heaven in a dream las t night."
"W hy have you been to vis it K i?" as ked S eti, looking at him s harply. "I s hould have thought that being both of a trade you would have hated eac h other."
"Not s o, P rinc e. On the c ontrary we add up eac h other's ac c ount; I m ean, c hec k and interpret eac h other's vis ions , with whic h we are both of us m uc h troubled jus t now. Is that young m an a s c ribe from Mem phis ?"
"Y es , and m y friend. His grands ire was P entaur the poet."
"Indeed. I knew P entaur well. Often has he read m e to s leep with his long poem s , rank s tuff that grew like c oars e gras s upon a deep but half-drained s oil. A re you s ure, young m an, that P entaur was your grandfather? You are not like him . Quite a different kind of herbage, and you know that it is a m atter upon
whic h we m us t take a wom an's word."
S eti burs t out laughing and I looked at the old pries t angrily, though now that I c am e to think of it m y father always s aid that his m other was one of the bigges t liars in E gypt.
"W ell, let it be," went on B akenkhons u, "till we find out the truth before T hoth. K i was s peaking of you, young m an. I did not pay m uc h attention to him , but it was s om ething about a s udden vow of friends hip between you and the P rinc e here. T here was a c up in the s tory too, an alabas ter c up that s eem ed fam iliar
to m e. K i s aid it was broken."
S eti s tarted and I began angrily:
"W hat do you know of that c up? W here were you hid, O P ries t?"
"Oh, in your s ouls , I s uppos e," he ans wered dream ily, "or rather K i was .
B ut I know nothing, and am not c urious . If you had broken the c up with a wom an now, it would have been m ore interes ting, even to an old m an.
B e s o good as to ans wer the P rinc e's ques tion as to whether he or his c ous in A m enm es es will trium ph at the las t, for on that m atter both K i and I are c urious ."
"A m I a s eer," I began again s till m ore angrily, "that I s hould read the future?"
"I think s o, a little, but that is what I want to find out."
He hobbled towards m e, laid one of his c law-like hands upon m y arm , and s aid in a new voic e of c om m and:
"Look now upon that throne and tell m e what you s ee there."
I obeyed him bec aus e I m us t, s taring up the hall at the em pty throne. A t firs t I s aw nothing. T hen figures s eem ed to flit around it. From am ong thes e figures em erged the s hape of the Count A m enm es es . He s at upon the throne, looking about him proudly, and I noted that he was no longer c lad as a princ e but as
P haraoh him s elf. P res ently hook-nos ed m en appeared who dragged him from his s eat. He fell, as I thought, into water, for it s eem ed to s plas h up above him . Next S eti the P rinc e appeared to m ount the throne, led thither by a wom an, of whom I c ould only s ee the bac k. I s aw him dis tinc tly wearing the double c rown
and holding a s c eptre in his hand. He als o m elted away and others c am e whom I did not know, though I thought that one of them was like to the P rinc es s Us erti.
Now all were gone and I was telling B akenkhons u everything I had witnes s ed like a m an who s peaks in his s leep, not by his own will.
S uddenly I woke up and laughed at m y own foolis hnes s . B ut the other two did not laugh; they regarded m e very gravely.
"I thought that you were s om ething of a s eer," s aid the old pries t, "or rather K i thought it. I c ould not quite believe K i, bec aus e he s aid that the young pers on whom I s hould find with the P rinc e here this m orning would be one who loved him with all the heart, and it is only a wom an who loves with all the heart, is it
not? Or s o the world believes . W ell, I will talk the m atter over with K i. Hus h! P haraoh c om es ."
A s he s poke from far away ros e a c ry of--
"Life! B lood! S trength! P haraoh! P haraoh! P haraoh! "
CHAP TE R IV
THE COURT OF BE TROTHAL
"Life! B lood! S trength! " ec hoed everyone in the great hall, falling to their knees and bending their foreheads to the ground. E ven the P rinc e and the aged B akenkhons u pros trated them s elves thus as though before the pres enc e of a god. A nd, indeed, P haraoh Meneptah, pas s ing through the patc h of s unlight at
the head of the hall, wearing the double c rown upon his head and arrayed in royal robes and ornam ents , looked like a god, no les s , as the m ultitude of the people of E gypt held him to be. He was an old m an with the fac e of one worn by years and c are, but from his pers on m ajes ty s eem ed to flow.
W ith him , walking a s tep or two behind, went Nehes i his V izier, a s hrivelled, parc hm ent-fac ed offic er whos e c unning eyes rolled about the plac e, and Roy the High-pries t, and Hora the Cham berlain of the Table, and Meranu the W as her of the K ing's Hands , and Y uy the private s c ribe, and m any others whom
B akenkhons u nam ed to m e as they appeared. T hen there were fan-bearers and a gorgeous band of lords who were c alled K ing's Com panions and Head B utlers and I know not who bes ides , and after thes e guards with s pears and helm s that s hone like god, and blac k s words m en from the s outhern land of K es h.
B ut one wom an ac c om panied his Majes ty, walking alone im m ediately behind him in front of the V izier and the High-pries t. S he was the Royal Daughter, the P rinc es s Us erti, who looked, I thought, prouder and m ore s plendid than any there, though s om ewhat pale and anxious .
P haraoh c am e to the s teps of the throne. T he V izier and the High-pries t advanc ed to help him up the s teps , for he was feeble with age. He waved them as ide, and bec koning to his daughter, res ted his hand upon her s houlder and by her aid m ounted the throne. I thought that there was m eaning in this ; it was as
though he would s how to all the as s em bly that this princ es s was the prop of E gypt.
For a little while he s tood s till and Us erti s at hers elf down on the topm os t s tep, res ting her c hin upon her jewelled hand. T here he s tood s earc hing the plac e with his eyes . He lifted his s c eptre and all ros e, hundreds and hundreds of them throughout the hall, their garm ents rus tling as they ros e like leaves in a
s udden wind. He s eated him s elf and onc e m ore from every throat went up the regal s alutation that was the king's alone, of--
"Life! B lood! S trength! P haraoh! P haraoh! P haraoh! "
In the s ilenc e that followed I heard him s ay, to the P rinc es s , I think:
"A m enm es es I s ee, and others of our kin, but where is m y s on S eti, the P rinc e of E gypt?"
"W atc hing us no doubt from s om e ves tibule. My brother loves not c erem onials ," ans wered Us erti.
T hen, with a little s igh, S eti s tepped forward, followed by B akenkhons u and m ys elf, and at a dis tanc e by other m em bers of his hous ehold. A s he m arc hed up the long hall all drew to this s ide or that, s aluting him with low bows . A rriving in front of the throne he bent till his knee touc hed the ground, s aying:
"I give greeting, O K ing and Father."
"I give greeting, O P rinc e and S on. B e s eated," ans wered Meneptah.
 S eti s eated him s elf in a c hair that had been m ade ready for him at the foot of the throne, and on its right, and in another c hair to the left, but s et farther from the s teps , A m enm es es s eated him s elf als o. A t a m otion from the P rinc e I took m y s tand behind his c hair.
T he form al bus ines s of the Court began. A t the bec koning of an us her people of all s orts appeared s ingly and handed in petitions written on rolled-up papyri, whic h the V izier Nehes i took and threw into a leathern s ac k that was held open by a blac k s lave. In s om e c as es an ans wer to his petition, whereof this
was only the form al delivery, was handed bac k to the s uppliant, who touc hed his brow with the roll that perhaps m eant everything to him , and bowed him s elf away to learn his fate. T hen appeared s heiks of the des ert tribes , and c aptains from fortres s es in S yria, and traders who had been harm ed by enem ies , and
even peas ants who had s uffered violenc e from offic ers , eac h to m ake his prayer. Of all of thes e s upplic ations the s c ribes took notes , while to s om e the V izier and c ounc illors m ade ans wer. B ut as yet P haraoh s aid nothing. T here he s at s ilent on his s plendid throne of ivory and gold, like a god of s tone above the
altar, s taring down the long hall and through the open doors as though he would read the s ec rets of the s kies beyond.
"I told you that c ourts were wearis om e, friend A na," whis pered the P rinc e to m e without turning his head. "Do you not already begin to wis h that you were bac k writing tales at Mem phis ?"
B efore I c ould ans wer s om e m ovem ent in the throng at the end of the hall drew the eyes of the P rinc e and of all of us . I looked, and s aw advanc ing towards the throne a tall, bearded m an already old, although his blac k hair was but grizzled with grey. He was arrayed in a white linen robe, over whic h hung a
woollen c loak s uc h as s hepherds wear, and he c arried in his hand a long thornwood s taff. His fac e was s plendid and very hands om e, and his blac k eyes flas hed like fire. He walked forward s lowly, looking neither to the left nor the right, and the throng m ade way for him as though he were a princ e. Indeed, I thought
that they s howed m ore fear of him than of any princ e, s inc e they s hrank from him as he c am e. Nor was he alone, for after him walked another m an who was very like to him , but as I judged, s till older, for his beard, whic h hung down to his m iddle, was s now-white as was the hair on his head. He als o was dres s ed in
a s heeps kin c loak and c arried a s taff in his hand.
Now a whis per ros e am ong the people and the whis per s aid:
"T he prophets of the m en of Is rael! T he prophets of the m en of Is rael! "
T he two s tood before the throne and looked at P haraoh, m aking no obeis anc e. P haraoh looked at them and was s ilent. For a long s pac e they s tood thus in the m ids t of a great quiet, but P haraoh would not s peak, and none of his offic ers s eem ed to dare to open their m ouths . A t length the firs t of the prophets
s poke in a c lear, c old voic e as s om e c onqueror m ight do.
"Y ou know m e, P haraoh, and m y errand."
"I know you," ans wered P haraoh s lowly, "as well I m ay, s eeing that we played together when we were little. You are that Hebrew whom m y s is ter, s he who s leeps in Os iris , took to be as a s on to her, giving to you a nam e that m eans 'drawn forth' bec aus e s he drew you forth as an infant from am ong the reeds of
Nile. A ye, I know you and your brother als o, but your errand I know not."
"T his is m y errand, P haraoh, or rather the errand of J ahveh, God of Is rael, for whom I s peak. Have you not heard it before? It is that you s hould let his people go to do s ac rific e to him in the wildernes s ."
"W ho is J ahveh? I know not J ahveh who s erve A m on and the gods of E gypt, and why s hould I let your people go?"
"J ahveh is the God of Is rael, the great God of all gods whos e power you s hall learn if you will not hearken, P haraoh. A s for why you s hould let the people go, as k it of the P rinc e your s on who s its yonder. A s k him of what he s aw in the s treets of this c ity but las t night, and of a c ertain judgm ent that he pas s ed upon
one of the offic ers of P haraoh. Or if he will not tell you, learn it from the lips of the m aiden who is nam ed Merapi, Moon of Is rael, the daughter of Nathan the Levite. S tand forward, Merapi, daughter of Nathan."
T hen from the throng at the bac k of the hall c am e forward Merapi, c lad in a white robe and with a blac k veil thrown about her head in token of m ourning, but not s o as to hide her fac e. Up the hall s he glided and m ade obeis anc e to P haraoh, as s he did s o, c as ting one s wift look at S eti where he s at. T hen s he
s tood s till, looking, as I thought, wonderfully beautiful in that s im ple robe of white and the evil of blac k.
"S peak, wom an," s aid P haraoh.
S he obeyed, telling all the tale in her low and honeyed voic e, nor did any s eem to think it long or wearis om e. A t length s he ended, and P haraoh s aid:
"S ay, S eti m y s on, is this truth?"
"It is truth, O m y Father. B y virtue of m y powers as Governor of this c ity I c aus ed the c aptain K huaka to be put to death for the c rim e of m urder done by him before m y eyes in the s treets of the c ity."
"P erc hanc e you did right and perc hanc e you did wrong, S on S eti. A t leas t you are the bes t judge, and bec aus e he s truc k your royal pers on, this K huaka des erved to die."
A gain he was s ilent for a while s taring through the open doors at the s ky beyond. T hen he s aid:
"W hat would ye m ore, P rophets of J ahveh? J us tic e has been done upon m y offic er who s lew the m an of your people. A life has been taken for a life ac c ording to the s tric t letter of the law. T he m atter is finis hed.
Unles s you have aught to s ay, get you gone."
"B y the c om m and of the Lord our God," ans wered the prophet, "we have this to s ay to you, O P haraoh. Lift the heavy yoke from off the nec k of the people of Is rael. B id that they c eas e from the labour of the m aking of bric ks to build your walls and c ities ."
"A nd if I refus e, what then?"
"T hen the c urs e of J ahveh s hall be on you, P haraoh, and with plague upon plague s hall he s m ite this land of E gypt."
Now a s udden rage s eized Meneptah.
"W hat! " he c ried. "Do you dare to threaten m e in m y own palac e, and would ye c aus e all the m ultitude of the people of Is rael who have grown fat in the land to c eas e from their labours ? Hearken, m y s ervants , and, s c ribes , write down m y dec ree. Go ye to the c ountry of Gos hen and s ay to the Is raelites that the
bric ks they m ade they s hall m ake as aforetim e and m ore work s hall they do than aforetim e in the days of m y father, Ram es es . Only no m ore s traw s hall be given to them for the m aking of the bric ks . B ec aus e they are idle, let them go forth and gather the s traw them s elves ; let them gather it from the fac e of the fields ."
T here was s ilenc e for a while. T hen with one voic e both the prophets s poke, pointing with their wands to P haraoh:
"In the Nam e of the Lord God we c urs e you, P haraoh, who s oon s hall die and m ake ans wer for this s in. T he people of E gypt we c urs e als o. Ruin s hall be their portion; death s hall be their bread and blood s hall they drink in a great darknes s . Moreover, at the las t P haraoh s hall let the people go."
T hen, waiting no ans wer, they turned and s trode away s ide by s ide, nor did any m an hinder them in their goings . A gain there was s ilenc e in the hall, the s ilenc e of fear, for thes e were awful words that the prophets had s poken. P haraoh knew it, for his c hin s ank upon his breas t and his fac e that had been red with
rage turned white. Us erti hid her eyes with her hand as though to s hut out s om e evil vis ion, and even S eti s eem ed ill at eas e as though that awful c urs e had found a hom e within his heart.
A t a m otion of P haraoh's hand the V izier Nehes i s truc k the ground thric e with his wand of offic e and pointed to the door, thus giving the ac c us tom ed s ign that the Court was finis hed, whereon all the people turned and went away with bent heads s peaking no words one to another.
P res ently the great hall was em ptied s ave for the offic ers and guards and thos e who attended upon P haraoh. W hen everyone had gone S eti the P rinc e ros e and bowed before the throne.
"O P haraoh," he s aid, "be pleas ed to hearken. W e have heard very evil words s poken by thes e Hebrew m en, words that threaten your divine life, O P haraoh, and c all down a c urs e upon the Upper and the Lower Land.
P haraoh, thes e people of Is rael hold that they s uffer wrong and are oppres s ed. Now give m e, your s on, a writing under your hand and s eal, by virtue of whic h I s hall have power to go down to the Land of Gos hen and inquire of this m atter, and afterwards m ake report of the truth to you.
T hen, if it s eem s to you that the P eople of Is rael are unjus tly dealt by, you m ay lighten their burden and bring the c urs e of their prophets to nothing. B ut if it s eem s to you that the tales they tell are idle then your words s hall s tand."
Now, lis tening, I, A na, thought that P haraoh would onc e m ore be angry.
B ut it was not s o, for when he s poke again it was in the voic e of one who is c rus hed by grief or wearines s .
"Have your will, S on," he s aid. "Only take with you a great guard of s oldiers les t thes e hook-nos ed dogs s hould do you m is c hief. I trus t them not, who, like the Hyks os whos e blood runs in m any of them , were ever the foes of E gypt. Did they not c ons pire with the Ninebow B arbarians whom I c rus hed in the great
battle, and do they not now threaten us in the nam e of their outland god? S till, let the writing be prepared and I will s eal it. A nd s tay. I think, S eti, that you, who were ever gentle-natured, have s om ewhat too s oft a heart towards thes e s hepherd s laves . T herefore I will not s end you alone. A m enm es es your c ous in s hall
go with you, but under your c om m and. It is s poken."
"Life! B lood! S trength! " s aid both S eti and A m enm es es , thus ac knowledging the king's c om m and.
Now I thought that all was finis hed. B ut it was not s o, for pres ently P haraoh s aid:
"Let the guards withdraw to the end of the hall and with them the s ervants . Let the K ing's c ounc illors and the offic ers of the hous ehold rem ain."
Ins tantly all s aluted and withdrew out of hearing. I, too, m ade ready to go, but the P rinc e s aid to m e:
"S tay, that you m ay take note of what pas s es ."
P haraoh, watc hing, s aw if he did not hear.
"W ho is that m an, S on?" he as ked.
"He is A na m y private s c ribe and librarian, O P haraoh, whom I trus t. It was he who s aved m e from harm but las t night."
"Y ou s ay it, S on. Let him rem ain in attendanc e on you, knowing that if he betrays our c ounc il he dies ."
Us erti looked up frowning as though s he were about to s peak. If s o, s he c hanged her m ind and was s ilent, perhaps bec aus e P haraoh's word onc e s poken c ould not be altered. B akenkhons u rem ained als o as a Counc illor of the K ing ac c ording to his right.
W hen all had gone P haraoh, who had been brooding, lifted his head and s poke s lowly but in the voic e of one who gives a judgm ent that m ay not be ques tioned, s aying:
"P rinc e S eti, you are m y only s on born of Queen A s t-Nefert, royal S is ter, royal Mother, who s leeps in the bos om of Os iris . It is true that you are not m y firs t-born s on, s inc e the Count Ram es s u"--here he pointed to a s tout m ild-fac ed m an of pleas ing, rather foolis h appearanc e--"is your elder by two years . B ut, as he
knows well, his m other, who is s till with us , is a S yrian by birth and of no royal blood, and therefore he c an never s it upon the throne of E gypt. Is it not s o, m y s on Ram es s u?"
"It is s o, O P haraoh," ans wered the Count in a pleas ant voic e, "not do I s eek ever to s it upon that throne, who am well c ontent with the offic es and wealth that P haraoh has been pleas ed to c onfer upon m e, his firs t-born."
"Let the words of the Count Ram es s u be written down," s aid P haraoh, "and plac ed in the tem ple of P tah of this c ity, and in the tem ples of P tah at Mem phis and of A m on at T hebes , that hereafter they m ay never be ques tioned."
T he s c ribes in attendanc e wrote down the words and, at a s ign from the P rinc e S eti, I als o wrote them down, s etting the papyrus I had with m e on m y knee. W hen this was finis hed P haraoh went on.
"T herefore, O P rinc e S eti, you are the heir of E gypt and perhaps , as thos e Hebrew prophets s aid, will ere long be c alled upon to s it in m y plac e on its throne."
"May the K ing live for ever! " exc laim ed S eti, "for well he knows that I do not s eek his c rown and dignities ."
"I do know it well, m y s on; s o well that I wis h you thought m ore of that c rown and thos e dignities whic h, if the gods will, m us t c om e to you. If they will it not, next in the order of s uc c es s ion s tands your c ous in, the Count A m enm es es , who is als o of royal blood both on his father's and his m other's s ide, and after
him I know not who, unles s it be m y daughter and your half-s is ter, the royal P rinc es s Us erti, Lady of E gypt."
Now Us erti s poke, very earnes tly, s aying:
"O P haraoh, s urely m y right in the s uc c es s ion, ac c ording to anc ient prec edent, prec edes that of m y c ous in, the Count A m enm es es ."
A m enm es es was about to ans wer, but P haraoh lifted his hand and he was s ilent.
"It is m atter for thos e learned in s uc h lore to dis c us s ," Meneptah replied in a s om ewhat hes itating voic e. "I pray the gods that it m ay never be needful that this high ques tion s hould be c ons idered in the Counc il. Nevertheles s , let the words of the royal P rinc es s be written down. Now, P rinc e S eti," he went on when
this had been done, "you are s till unm arried, and if you have c hildren they are not royal."
"I have none, O P haraoh," s aid S eti.
"Is it s o?" ans wered Meneptah indifferently. "T he Count A m enm es es has c hildren I know, for I have s een them , but by his wife Unuri, who als o is of the royal line, he has none."
Here I heard A m enm es es m utter, "B eing m y aunt that is not s trange," a s aying at whic h S eti s m iled.
"My daughter, the P rinc es s , is als o unm arried. S o it s eem s that the fountain of the royal blood is running dry----"
"Now it is c om ing," whis pered S eti below his breath s o that only I c ould hear.
"T herefore," c ontinued P haraoh, "as you know, P rinc e S eti, for the royal P rinc es s of E gypt by m y c om m and went to s peak to you of this m atter las t night, I m ake a dec ree----"
"P ardon, O P haraoh," interrupted the P rinc e, "m y s is ter s poke to m e of no dec ree las t night, s ave that I s hould attend at the c ourt here to-day."
"B ec aus e I c ould not, S eti, s eeing that another was pres ent with you whom you refus ed to dis m is s ," and s he let her eyes res t on m e.
"It m atters not," s aid P haraoh, "s inc e now I will utter it with m y own lips whic h perhaps is better. It is m y will, P rinc e, that you forthwith wed the royal P rinc es s Us erti, that c hildren of the true blood of the Ram es s ides m ay be born. Hear and obey."
Now Us erti s hifted her eyes from m e to S eti, watc hing him very c los ely.
S eated at his s ide upon the ground with m y writing roll s pread ac ros s m y knee, I, too, watc hed him c los ely, and noted that his lips turned white and his fac e grew fixed and s trange.
"I hear the c om m and of P haraoh," he s aid in a low voic e m aking obeis anc e, and hes itated.
"Have you aught to add?" as ked Meneptah s harply.
"Only, O P haraoh, that though this would be a m arriage dec reed for reas ons of the S tate, s till there is a lady who m us t be given in m arriage, and s he m y half-s is ter who heretofore has only loved m e as a relative. T herefore, I would know from her lips if it is her will to take m e as a hus band."
Now all looked at Us erti who replied in a c old voic e:
"In this m atter, P rinc e, as in all others I have no will but that of P haraoh."
"Y ou have heard," interrupted Meneptah im patiently, "and as in our Hous e it has always been the c us tom for kin to m arry kin, why s hould it not be her will? A ls o, who els e s hould s he m arry? A m enm es es is already wed.
T here rem ains only S aptah his brother who is younger than hers elf----"
"S o am I," m urm ured S eti, "by two long years ," but happily Us erti did not hear him .
"Nay, m y father," s he s aid with dec is ion, "never will I take a deform ed m an to hus band."
Now from the s hadow on the further s ide of the throne, where I c ould not s ee him , there hobbled forward a young noble, s hort in s tature, light-haired like S eti, and with a s harp, c lever fac e whic h put m e in m ind of that of a jac kal (indeed for this reas on he was nam ed T hoth by the c om m on people, after the jac kal-
headed god). He was very angry, for his c heeks were flus hed and his s m all eyes flas hed.
"Mus t I lis ten, P haraoh," he s aid in a little voic e, "while m y c ous in the Royal P rinc es s reproac hes m e in public for m y lam e foot, whic h I have bec aus e m y nurs e let m e fall when I was s till in arm s ?"
"T hen his nurs e let his grandfather fall als o, for he too was c lub-footed, as I who have s een him naked in his c radle c an bear witnes s ," whis pered old B akenkhons u.
"It s eem s s o, Count S aptah, unles s you s top your ears ," replied P haraoh.
"S he s ays s he will not m arry m e," went on S aptah, "m e who from c hildhood have been a s lave to her and to no other wom an."
"Not by m y wis h, S aptah. Indeed, I pray you to go and be a s lave to any wom an whom you will," exc laim ed Us erti.
"B ut I s ay," c ontinued S aptah, "that one day s he s hall m arry m e, for the P rinc e S eti will not live for ever."
"How do you know that, Cous in?" as ked S eti. "T he High-pries t here will tell you a different s tory."
Now c ertain of thos e pres ent turned their heads away to hide the s m ile upon their fac es . Yet on this day s om e god s poke with S aptah's voic e m aking him a prophet, s inc e in a year to c om e s he did m arry him , in order that s he m ight s tay upon the throne at a tim e of trouble when E gypt would not s uffer that a
wom an s hould have s ole rule over the land.
B ut P haraoh did not s m ile like the c ourtiers ; indeed he grew angry.
"P eac e, S aptah! " he s aid. "W ho are you that wrangle before m e, talking of the death of kings and s aying that you will wed the Royal princ es s ? One m ore s uc h word and you s hall be driven into banis hm ent. Hearken now. A lm os t am I m inded to dec lare m y daughter, the Royal P rinc es s , s ole heires s to the throne,
s eeing that in her there is m ore s trength and wis dom than in any other of our Hous e."
"If s uc h be P haraoh's will, let P haraoh's will be done," s aid S eti m os t hum bly. "W ell I know m y own unworthines s to fill s o high a s tation, and by all the gods I s wear that m y beloved s is ter will find no m ore faithful s ubjec t than m ys elf."
"Y ou m ean, S eti," interrupted Us erti, "that rather than m arry m e you would abandon your right to the double c rown. T ruly I am honoured. S eti, whether you reign or I, I will not m arry you."
"W hat words are thes e I hear?" c ried Meneptah. "Is there indeed one in this land of E gypt who dares to s ay that P haraoh's dec ree s hall be dis obeyed? W rite it down, S c ribes , and you, O Offic ers , let it be proc laim ed from T hebes to the s ea, that on the third day from now at the hour of noon in the tem ple of Hathor
in this c ity, the P rinc e, the Royal Heir, S eti Meneptah, B eloved of Ra, will wed the Royal P rinc es s of E gypt, Lily of Love, B eloved of Hathor, Us erti, Daughter of m e, the god."
"Life! B lood! S trength! " c alled all the Court.
T hen, guided by s om e high offic er, the P rinc e S eti was led before the throne and the P rinc es s Us erti was s et bes ide him , or rather fac ing him .
A c c ording to the anc ient c us tom a great gold c up was brought and filled with red wine, to m e it looked like blood. Us erti took the c up and, kneeling, gave it to the P rinc e, who drank and gave it bac k to her that s he m ight als o drink in s olem n token of their betrothal. Is not the s c ene graven on the broad brac elets of
gold whic h in after days S eti wore when he s at upon the throne, thos e s am e brac elets that at a future tim e I with m y own hands c las ped about the wris ts of dead Us erti?
T hen he s tretc hed out his hand whic h s he touc hed with her lips , and bending down he kis s ed her on the brow. Las tly, P haraoh, des c ending to the lowes t s tep of the throne, laid his s c eptre, firs t upon the head of the P rinc e, and next upon that of the P rinc es s , bles s ing them both in the nam e of him s elf, of his K a
or Double, and of the s pirits and K as of all their forefathers , kings and queens of E gypt, thus appointing them to c om e after him when he had been gathered to the bos om of the gods .
T hes e things done, he departed in s tate, s urrounded by his c ourt, prec eded and followed by his guards and leaning on the arm of the P rinc es s Us erti, whom he loved better than anyone in the world.
A while later I s tood alone with the P rinc e in his private c ham ber, where I had firs t s een him .
"T hat is finis hed," he s aid in a c heerful voic e, "and I tell you, A na, that I feel quite, quite happy. Have you ever s hivered upon the bank of a river of a winter m orning, fearing to enter, and yet, when you did enter, have you not been pleas ed to find that the ic y water refres hed you and m ade you not c old but hot?"
"Y es , P rinc e. It is when one c om es out of the water, if the wind blows and no s un s hines , that one feels c older than before."
"T rue, A na, and therefore one m us t not c om e out. One s hould s top there till one--drowns or is eaten by a c roc odile. B ut, s ay, did I do it well?"
"Old B akenkhons u told m e, P rinc e, that he had been pres ent at m any royal betrothals , I think he s aid eleven, and had never s een one c onduc ted with m ore grac e. He added that the way in whic h you kis s ed the brow of her Highnes s was perfec t, as was all your dem eanour after the firs t argum ent."
"A nd s o it would rem ain, A na, if I were never c alled upon to do m ore than kis s her brow, to whic h I have been ac c us tom ed from boyhood.
Oh! A na, A na," he added in a kind of c ry, "already you are bec om ing a c ourtier like the res t of them , a c ourtier who c annot s peak the truth.
W ell, nor c an I, s o why s hould I blam e you? T ell m e again all about your m arriage, A na, of how it began and how it ended."
CHAP TE R V
THE P ROP HE CY
W hether or no the P rinc e S eti s aw Us erti again before the hour of his m arriage with her I c annot s ay, bec aus e he never told m e. Indeed I was not pres ent at the m arriage, for the reas on that I had been granted leave to return to Mem phis , there to s ettle m y affairs and s ell m y hous e on entering upon m y
appointm ent as private s c ribe to his Highnes s . T hus it c am e about that fourteen full days went by from that of the holding of the Court of B etrothal before I found m ys elf s tanding onc e m ore at the gate of the P rinc e's palac e, attended by a s ervant who led an as s on whic h were laden all m y m anus c ripts and c ertain
pos s es s ions that had des c ended to m e from m y anc es tors with the title-deeds of their tom bs .
Different indeed was m y rec eption on this m y s ec ond c om ing. E ven as I reac hed the s teps the old c ham berlain P am bas a appeared, running down them s o fas t that his white robes and beard s tream ed upon the air.
"Greeting, m os t learned s c ribe, m os t honourable A na," he panted. "Glad indeed am I to s ee you, s inc e very hour his Highnes s as ks if you have returned, and blam es m e bec aus e you have not c om e. V erily I believe that if you had s tayed upon the road another day I s hould have been s ent to look for you, who have
had s harp words s aid to m e bec aus e I did not arrange that you s hould be ac c om panied by a guard, as though the V izier Nehes i would have paid the c os ts of a guard without the direc t order of P haraoh. O m os t exc ellent A na, give m e of the c harm whic h you have doubtles s us ed to win the love of our royal m as ter,
and I will pay you well for it who find it eas ier to earn his wrath."
"I will, P am bas a. Here it is --write better s tories than I do ins tead of telling them , and he will love you m ore than he does m e. B ut s ay--how went the m arriage? I have heard upon the way that it was very s plendid."
"S plendid! Oh! it was ten tim es m ore than s plendid. It was as though the god Os iris were onc e m ore wed to the goddes s Is is in the very halls of heaven. Indeed his Highnes s , the bridegroom , was dres s ed as a god, yes , he wore the robes and the holy ornam ents of A m on. A nd the proc es s ion! A nd the feas t that
P haraoh gave! I tell you that the P rinc e was s o overc om e with joy and all this weight of glory that, before it was over, looking at him I s aw that his eyes were c los ed, being dazzled by the gleam of gold and jewels and the lovelines s of his royal bride. He told m e that it was s o him s elf, fearing perhaps les t I s hould
have thought that he was as leep. T hen there were the pres ents , s om ething to everyone of us ac c ording to his degree. I got--well it m atters not. A nd, learned A na, I did not forget you. K nowing well that everything would be gone before you returned I s poke your nam e in the ear of his Highnes s , offering to keep your
gift."
"Indeed, P am bas a, and what did he s ay?"
that he m us t take it off to m ake room for another and m uc h finer ring whic h her Highnes s has given him ."
Now, by this tim e, the as s having been unloaded by the s laves and led away, we had pas s ed through the hall where m any were idling as ever, and were c om e to the private apartm ents of the palac e.
"T his way," s aid P am bas a. "T he orders are that I am to take you to the P rinc e wherever he m ay be, and jus t now he is s eated in the great apartm ent with her Highnes s , where they have been rec eiving hom age and deputations from dis tant c ities . T he las t left about half an hour ago."
"Firs t I will prepare m ys elf, worthy P am bas a," I began.
"No, no, the orders are ins tant, I dare not dis obey them . E nter," and with a c ourtly flouris h he drew a ric h c urtain.
"B y A m on," exc laim ed a weary voic e whic h I knew as that of the P rinc e, "here c om e m ore c ounc illors or pries ts . P repare, m y s is ter, prepare! "
"I pray you, S eti," ans wered another voic e, that of Us erti, "to learn to c all m e by m y right nam e, whic h is no longer s is ter. Nor, indeed, am I your full s is ter."
"I c rave your pardon," s aid S eti. "P repare, Royal W ife, prepare! "
B y now the c urtain was fully drawn and I s tood, travel-s tained, forlorn and, to tell the truth, trem bling a little, for I feared her Highnes s , in the doorway, hes itating to pas s the thres hold. B eyond was a s plendid c ham ber full of light, in the c entre of whic h upon a c arven and golden c hair, one of two that were s et
there, s at her Highnes s m agnific ently apparelled, faultles s ly beautiful and c alm . S he was engaged in s tudying a painted roll, left no doubt by the las t deputation, for others s im ilar to it were laid neatly s ide by s ide upon a table.
T he s ec ond c hair was em pty, for the P rinc e was walking res tles s ly up and down the c ham ber, his c erem onial robe s om ewhat dis arrayed and the uraeus c irc let of gold whic h he wore, tilted bac k upon his head, bec aus e of his habit of running his fingers through his brown hair. A s I s till s tood in the dark s hadow,
for P am bas a had left m e, and thus rem ained uns een, the talk went on.
"I am prepared, Hus band. P ardon m e, it is you who look otherwis e. W hy would you dis m is s the s c ribes and the hous ehold before the c erem ony was ended?"
"B ec aus e they wearied m e," s aid S eti, "with their c ontinual bowing and prais ing and form alities ."
"In whic h I s aw nothing unus ual. Now they m us t be rec alled."
"Let whoever it is enter," he exc laim ed.
T hen I s tepped forward into the light, pros trating m ys elf.
"W hy," he c ried, "it is A na returned from Mem phis ! Draw near, A na, and a thous and welc om es to you. Do you know I thought that you were another high-pries t, or governor of s om e Nom e of whic h I had never heard."
"A na! W ho is A na?" as ked the P rinc es s . "Oh! I rem em ber that s c ribe----.
W ell, it is plain that he has returned from Mem phis ," and s he eyed m y dus ty robe.
"Royal One," I m urm ured abas hed, "do not blam e m e that I enter your pres enc e thus . P am bas a led m e here agains t m y will by the direc t order of the P rinc e."
"Is it s o? S ay, S eti, does this m an bring tidings of im port from Mem phis that you needed his pres enc e in s uc h has te?"
"Y es , Us erti, at leas t I think s o. Y ou have the writings s afe, have you not, A na?"
"Quite s afe, your Highnes s ," I ans wered, though I knew not of what writings he s poke, unles s they were the m anus c ripts of m y s tories .
"T hen, m y Lord, I will leave you to talk of the tidings from Mem phis and thes e writings ," s aid the P rinc es s .
"Y es , yes . W e m us t talk of them , Us erti. A ls o of the journey to the land of Gos hen on whic h A na s tarts with m e to-m orrow."
"T o-m orrow! W hy this m orning you told m e it was fixed for three days henc e."
"Did I, S is ter--I m ean W ife? If s o, it was bec aus e I was not s ure whether A na, who is to be m y c hariot c om panion, would be bac k."
"A s c ribe your c hariot c om panion! S urely it would be m ore fitting that your c ous in A m enm es es ----"
"T o S et with A m enm es es ! " he exc laim ed. "Y ou know well, Us erti, that the m an is hateful to m e with his c unning yet em pty talk."
"Indeed! I grieve to hear it, for when you hate you s how it, and A m enm es es m ay be a bad enem y. T hen if not our c ous in A m enm es es who is not hateful to m e, there is S aptah."
"I thank you; I will not travel in a c age with a jac kal."
"J ac kal! I do not love S aptah, but one of the royal blood of E gypt a jac kal! T hen there is Nehes i the V izier, or the General of the es c ort whos e nam e I forget."
"Do you think, Us erti, that I wis h to talk about s tate ec onom ies with that old m oney-s ac k, or to lis ten to boas tings of deeds he never did in war from a half-bred Nubian butc her?"
"I do not know, Hus band. Yet of what will you talk with this A na? Of poem s , I s uppos e, and s illines s . Or will it be perc hanc e of Merapi, Moon of Is rael, whom I gather both of you think s o beautiful. W ell, have your way. You tell m e that I am not to ac c om pany you upon this journey, I your new-m ade wife, and now I
find that it is bec aus e you wis h m y plac e to be filled by a writer of tales whom you pic ked up the other day--your 'twin in Ra' fors ooth! Fare you well, m y Lord," and s he ros e from her s eat, gathering up her robes with both hands .
T hen S eti grew angry.
"Us erti," he s aid, s tam ping upon the floor, "you s hould not us e s uc h words . Y ou know well that I do not take you with m e bec aus e there m ay be danger yonder am ong the Hebrews . Moreover, it is not P haraoh's wis h."
S he turned and ans wered with c old c ourtes y:
"T hen I c rave your pardon and thank you for your kind thought for the s afety of m y pers on. I knew not this m is s ion was s o dangerous . B e c areful, S eti, that the s c ribe A na c om es to no harm ."
S o s aying s he bowed and vanis hed through the c urtains .
"A na," s aid S eti, "tell m e, for I never was quic k at figures , how m any m inutes is it from now till the fourth hour to-m orrow m orning when I s hall order m y c hariot to be ready? A ls o, do you know whether it is pos s ible to travel from Gos hen ac ros s the m ars hes and to return by S yria? Or, failing that, to travel ac ros s the
des ert to T hebes and s ail down the Nile in the s pring?"
"Oh! m y P rinc e, m y P rinc e," I s aid, "I pray you to dis m is s m e. Let m e go anywhere out of the reac h of her Highnes s 's tongue."
"It is s trange how alike we think upon every m atter, A na, even of Merapi and the tongues of royal ladies . Hearken to m y c om m and. Y ou are not to go. If it is a ques tion of going, there are others who will go firs t.
Moreover, you c annot go, but m us t s tay and bear your burdens as I bear m ine. Rem em ber the broken c up, A na."
"I rem em ber, m y P rinc e, but s ooner would I be s c ourged with rods than by s uc h words as thos e to whic h I m us t lis ten."
Yet that very night, when I had left the P rinc e, I was des tined to hear m ore pleas ant words from this s am e c hangeful, or perc hanc e politic , royal lady. S he s ent for m e and I went, m uc h afraid. I found her in a s m all c ham ber alone, s ave for one old lady of honour who s at the end of the room and appeared to be
deaf, whic h perhaps was why s he was c hos en.
Us erti bade m e be s eated before her very c ourteous ly, and s poke to m e thus , whether bec aus e of s om e talk s he had held with the P rinc e or not, I do not know.
"S c ribe A na, I as k your pardon if, being vexed and wearied, I s aid to you and of you to-day what I now wis h I had left uns aid. I know well that you, being of the gentle blood of E gypt, will m ake no report of what you heard outs ide thes e walls ."
"May m y tongue be c ut out firs t," I ans wered.
"It s eem s , S c ribe A na, that m y lord the P rinc e has taken a great love of you. How or why this c am e about s o s uddenly, you being a m an, I do not unders tand, but I am s ure that as it is s o, it m us t be bec aus e there is m uc h in you to love, s inc e never did I know the P rinc e to s how deep regard for one who was not
m os t honourable and worthy. Now things being s o, it is plain that you will bec om e the favourite of his Highnes s , a m an who does not c hange his m ind in s uc h m atters , and that he will tell you all his s ec ret thoughts , perhaps s om e that he hides from the Counc illors of S tate, or even from m e. In s hort you will grow
into a power in the land and perhaps one day be the greates t in it--after P haraoh--although you m ay s till s eem to be but a private s c ribe.
"I do not pretend to you that I s hould have wis hed this to be s o, who would rather that m y hus band had but one real c ounc illor--m ys elf. Yet s eeing that it is s o, I bow m y head, hoping that it m ay be dec reed for the bes t. If ever any jealous y s hould overc om e m e in this m atter and I s hould s peak s harply to you, as I
did to-day, I as k your pardon in advanc e for that whic h has not happened, as I have as ked it for that whic h has happened. I pray of you, S c ribe A na, that you will do your bes t to influenc e the m ind of the P rinc e for good, s inc e he is eas ily led by any whom he loves . I pray you als o being quic k and thoughtful, as I s ee
you are, that you will m ake a s tudy of s tatec raft, and of the polic ies of our royal Hous e, c om ing to m e, if it be needful, for ins truc tion therein, s o that you m ay be able to guide the feet of the P rinc e aright, s hould he turn to you for c ouns el."
"A ll of this I will do, your Highnes s , if by any c hanc e it lies in m y power, though who am I that I s hould hope to m ake a path for the feet of kings ? Moreover, I would add this , although he is s o gentle-natured, I think that in the end the P rinc e is one who will always c hoos e his own path."
"It m ay be s o A na. A t the leas t I thank you. I pray you to be s ure als o that in m e you will always have a friend and not an enem y, although at tim es the quic knes s of m y nature, whic h has never been c ontrolled, m ay lead you to think otherwis e. Now I will s ay one m ore thing that s hall be s ec ret between us . I know
that the P rinc e loves m e as a friend and relative rather than as a wife, and that he would not have s ought this m arriage of him s elf, as is perhaps natural. I know, too, that other wom en will c om e into his life, though thes e m ay be fewer than in the c as e of m os t kings , bec aus e he is m ore hard to pleas e. Of s uc h I
c annot c om plain, as this is ac c ording to the c us tom s of our c ountry. I fear only one thing--nam ely that s om e wom an, c eas ing to be his toy, m ay take S eti's heart and m ake him altogether hers . In this m atter, S c ribe A na, as in others I as k your help, s inc e I would be queen of E gypt in all ways , not in nam e only."
"Y our Highnes s , how c an I s ay to the P rinc e--'S o m uc h s hall you love this or that wom an and no m ore?' Moreover, why do you fear that whic h has not and m ay never c om e about?"
"I do not know how you c an s ay s uc h a thing, S c ribe, s till I as k you to s ay it if you c an. A s to why I fear, it is bec aus e I s eem to feel the near s hadow of s om e wom an lying c old upon m e and building a wall of blac knes s between his Highnes s and m ys elf."
"It is but a dream , P rinc es s ."
"Mayhap. I hope s o. Yet I think otherwis e. Oh! A na, c annot you, who s tudy the hearts of m en and wom en, unders tand m y c as e? I have m arried where I c an never hope to be loved as other wom en are, I who am a wife, yet not a wife. I read your thought; it is --why then did you m arry? S inc e I have told you s o m uc h I
will tell you that als o. Firs t, it is bec aus e the P rinc e is different to other m en and in his own fas hion above them , yes , far above any with whom I c ould have wed as royal heires s of E gypt. S ec ondly, bec aus e being c ut off from love, what rem ains to m e but am bition? A t leas t I would be a great queen, as was
Hats hepu in her day, and lift m y c ountry out of the m any troubles in whic h it is s unk and write m y nam e large upon the books of his tory, whic h I c ould only do by taking P haraoh's heir to hus band, as is m y duty."
S he brooded a while, then added, "Now I have s hown you all m y thought.
W hether I have been wis e to do s o the gods know alone and tim e will tell m e."
"P rinc es s ," I s aid, "I thank you for trus ting m e and I will help you if I m ay. Yet I am troubled. I, a hum ble m an if of good blood, who a little while ago was but a s c ribe and a s tudent, a dream er who had known trouble als o, have s uddenly by c hanc e, or s om e divine dec ree, been lifted high in the favour of the heir of
E gypt, and it would s eem have even won your trus t. Now I wonder how I s hall bear m ys elf in this new plac e whic h in truth I never s ought."
"I do not know, who find the pres ent and its troubles enough to c arry.
B ut, doubtles s , the dec ree of whic h you s peak that s et you there has als o written down what will be the end of all. Meanwhile, I have a gift for you. S ay, S c ribe, have you ever handled any weapon bes ides a pen?"
"Yes , your Highnes s , as a lad I was s killed in s word play. Moreover, though I do not love war and bloods hed, s om e years ago I fought in the great battle between the Ninebow B arbarians , when P haraoh c alled upon the young m en of Mem phis to do their part. W ith m y own hands I s lew two in fair fight, though one
nearly brought m e to m y end," and I pointed to a s c ar whic h s howed red through m y grey hair where a s pear had bitten deep.
"It is well, or s o I think, who love s oldiers better than s tainers of papyrus pith."
T hen, going to a painted c hes t of reeds , s he took from it a wonderful s hirt of m ail fas hioned of bronze rings , and a s hort s word als o of bronze, having a golden hilt of whic h the end was s haped to the likenes s of the head of a lion, and with her own hands gave them to m e, s aying:
"T hes e are s poils that m y grands ire, the great Ram es es , took in his youth from a princ e of the K hitah, whom he s m ote with his own hands in S yria in that battle whereof your grandfather m ade the poem . W ear the s hirt, whic h no s pear will pierc e, beneath your robe and gird the s word about you when you go down
yonder am ong the Is raelites , whom I do not trus t. I have given a like c oat to the P rinc e. Let it be your duty to s ee that it is upon his s ac red pers on day and night. Let it be your duty als o, if need aris es , with this s word to defend him to the death.
Farewell."
"May all the gods rejec t m e from the Fields of the B les s ed if I fail in this trus t," I ans wered, and departed wondering, to s eek s leep whic h, as it c hanc ed, I was not to find for a while.
For as I went down the c orridor, led by one of the ladies of the hous ehold, whom s hould I find waiting at the end of it but old P am bas a to inform m e with m any bows that the P rinc e needed m y pres enc e. I as ked how that c ould be s eeing he had dis m is s ed m e for the night. He replied that he did not know, but he
was c om m anded to c onduc t m e to the private c ham ber, the s am e room in whic h I had firs t s een his Highnes s . T hither I went and found him warm ing him s elf at the fire, for the night was c old.
Looking up he bade P am bas a adm it thos e who were waiting, then noting the s hirt of m ail and the s word I c arried in m y hand, s aid:
"You have been with the P rinc es s , have you not, and s he m us t have had m uc h to s ay to you for your talk was long? W ell, I think I c an gues s its purport who from a c hild have known her m ind. S he told you to watc h m e well, body and heart and all that c om es from the heart--oh! and m uc h els e. A ls o s he gave you
that S yrian gear to wear am ong the Hebrews as s he has given the like to m e, being of a c areful m ind whic h fores ees everything. Now, hearken, A na; I grieve to keep you from your res t, who m us t be weary both with talk and travel. B ut old B akenkhons u, whom you know, waits without, and with him K i the great
m agic ian, whom I think you have not s een. He is a m an of wonderful lore and in s om e ways not altogether hum an. A t leas t he does s trange feats of m agic , and at tim es both the pas t and the future s eem to be open to his s ight, though as we know neither the one nor the other, who c an tell whether he reads them
truly. Doubtles s he has , or thinks he has , s om e m es s age to m e from the heavens , whic h I thought you m ight wis h to hear."
"I wis h it m uc h, P rinc e, if I am worthy, and you will protec t m e from the anger of this m agic ian whom I fear."
"A nger s om etim es turns to trus t, A na. Did you not find it s o jus t now in the c as e of her Highnes s , as I told you m ight very well happen? Hus h! T hey c om e. B e s eated and prepare your tablets to m ake rec ord of what they s ay."
T he c urtains were drawn and through them c am e the aged B akenkhons u leaning upon his s taff, and with him another m an, K i him s elf, c lad in a white robe and having his head s haven, for he was an hereditary pries t of A m on of T hebes and an initiate of Is is , Mother of Mys teries . A ls o his offic e was that of
K herheb, or c hief m agic ian of E gypt. A t firs t s ight there was nothing s trange about this m an. Indeed, he m ight well have been a m iddle-aged m erc hant by his looks ; in body he was s hort and s tout; in fac e fat and s m iling. B ut in this jovial c ountenanc e were s et two very s trange eyes , grey-hued rather than blac k.
W hile the res t of the fac e s eem ed to s m ile thes e eyes looked s traight into nothingnes s as do thos e of a s tatue. Indeed they were like to the eyes or rather the eye-plac es of a s tone s tatue, s o deeply were they s et into the head. For m y part I c an only s ay I thought them awful, and by their look judged that whatever K i
m ight be he was no c heat.
T his s trange pair bowed to the P rinc e and s eated them s elves at a s ign from him , B akenkhons u upon a s tool bec aus e he found it diffic ult to ris e, and K i, who was younger, s c ribe fas hion on the ground.
"W hat did I tell you, B akenkhons u?" s aid K i in a full, ric h voic e, ending the words with a c urious c huc kle.
"You told m e, Magic ian, that we s hould find the P rinc e in this c ham ber of whic h you des c ribed every detail to m e as I s ee it now, although neither of us have entered it before. You s aid als o that s eated therein on the ground would be the s c ribe A na, whom I know but you do not, having in his hands waxen tablets
and a s tylus and by him a c oat of c urious m ail and a lion-hilted s word."
"T hat is s trange," interrupted the P rinc e, "but forgive m e, B akenkhons u s ees thes e things . If you, O K i, would tell us what is written upon A na's tablets whic h neither of you c an s ee, it would be s tranger s till, that is if anything is written."
K i s m iled and s tared upwards at the c eiling. P res ently he s aid:
"T he s c ribe A na us es a s horthand of his own that is not eas y to dec ipher. Yet I s ee written on the tablets the pric e he obtained for s om e hous e in a c ity that is not nam ed--it is s o m uc h. A ls o I s ee the s um s he dis burs ed for him s elf, a s ervant, and the food of an as s at two inns where he s topped upon a journey.
T hey are s o m uc h and s o m uc h. A ls o there is a lis t of papyrus rolls and the words , 'blue c loak,' and then an eras ure."
"Is that right, A na?" as ked the P rinc e.
"Quite right," I ans wered with awe, "only the words 'blue c loak,' whic h it is true I wrote upon the tablet, have als o been eras ed."
K i c huc kled and turned his eyes from the c eiling to m y fac e.
"W ould your Highnes s wis h m e to tell you anything of what is written upon the tablets of this s c ribe's m em ory as well as upon thos e of wax whic h he holds in his hand? T hey are eas ier to dec ipher than the others and I s ee on them m any things of interes t. For ins tanc e, s ec ret words that s eem to have been s aid
to him by s om e Great One within an hour, m atters of high polic y, I think. For ins tanc e, a c ertain s aying, I think of your Highnes s 's , as to s hivering upon the edge of water on a c old day, whic h when entered produc ed heat, and the ans wer thereto. For ins tanc e, words that were s poken in this palac e when an alabas ter
c up was broke. B y the way, S c ribe, that was a very good plac e you c hos e in whic h to hide one half of the c up in the fals e bottom of a c hes t in your c ham ber, a c hes t that is fas tened with a c ord and s ealed with a s c arab of the tim e of the s ec ond Ram es es . I think that the other half of the c up is s om ewhat nearer at
hand," and turning, he s tared at the wall where I c ould s ee nothing s ave s labs of alabas ter.
Now I s at open-m outhed, for how c ould this m an know thes e things , and the P rinc e laughed outright, s aying:
"A na, I begin to think you keep your c ouns el ill. A t leas t I s hould think s o, were it not that you have had no tim e to tell what the P rinc es s yonder m ay have s aid to you, and c an s c arc ely know the tric k of the s liding panel in that wall whic h I have never s hown to you."
K i c huc kled again and a s m ile grew on old B akenkhons u's broad and wrinkled fac e.
"O P rinc e," I began, "I s wear to you that never has one word pas s ed m y lips of aught----"
"I know it, friend," broke in the P rinc e, "but it s eem s there are s om e who do not wait for words but c an read the B ook of T hought. T herefore it is not well to m eet them too often, s inc e all have thoughts that s hould be known only to them and God. Magic ian, what is your bus ines s with m e? S peak on as though we
were alone."
"T his , P rinc e. You go upon a journey am ong the Hebrews , as all have heard. Now, B akenkhons u and I, als o two s eers of m y College, s eeing that we all love you and that your welfare is m uc h to E gypt, have s eparately s ought out the future as regards the is s ue of this journey. A lthough what we have learned
differs in s om e m atters , on others it is the s am e.
T herefore we thought it our duty to tell you what we have learned."
"S ay on, K herheb."
"Firs t, then, that your Highnes s 's life will be in danger."
"Life is always in danger, K i. S hall I los e it? If s o, do not fear to tell m e."
"W e do not know, but we think not, bec aus e of the res t that is revealed to us . W e learn that it is not your body only that will be in danger.
Upon this journey you will s ee a wom an whom you will c om e to love. T his wom an will, we think, bring you m uc h s orrow and als o m uc h joy."
"T hen perhaps the journey is worth m aking, K i, s inc e m any travel far before they find aught they c an love. T ell m e, have I m et this wom an?"
"T here we are troubled, P rinc e, for it would s eem --unles s we are dec eived--that you have m et her often and often; that you have known her for thous ands of years , as you have known that m an at your s ide for thous ands of years ."
S eti's fac e grew very interes ted.
"W hat do you m ean, Magic ian?" he as ked, eyeing him keenly. "How c an I who am s till young have known a wom an and a m an for thous ands of years ?"
K i c ons idered him with his s trange eyes , and ans wered:
"Y ou have m any titles , P rinc e. Is not one of them 'Lord of Rebirths ,' and if s o, how did you get it and what does it m ean?"
"It is . W hat it m eans I do not know, but it was given to m e bec aus e of s om e dream that m y m other had the night before I was born. Do y ou tell me what it m eans , s inc e you s eem to know s o m uc h."
"I c annot, P rinc e. T he s ec ret is not one that has been s hown to m e. Y et there was an aged m an, a m agic ian like m ys elf from whom I learned m uc h in m y youth--B akenkhons u knew him well--who m ade a s tudy of this m atter.
He told m e he was s ure, bec aus e it had been revealed to him , that m en do not live onc e only and then depart henc e for ever. He s aid that they live m any tim es and in m any s hapes , though not always on this world, and that between eac h life there is a wall of darknes s ."
"If s o, of what us e are lives whic h we do not rem em ber after death has s hut the door of eac h of them ?"
"T he doors m ay open again at las t, P rinc e, and s how us all the c ham bers through whic h our feet have wandered from the beginning."
"Our religion teac hes us , K i, that after death we live eternally els ewhere in our own bodies , whic h we find again on the day of res urrec tion. Now eternity, having no end, c an have no beginning; it is a c irc le. T herefore if the one be true, nam ely that we live on, it would s eem that the other m us t be true, nam ely that
we have always lived."
"T hat is well reas oned, P rinc e. In the early days , before the pries ts froze the thought of m an into bloc ks of s tone and built of them s hrines to a thous and gods , m any held that this reas oning was true, as then they held that there was but one god."
"A s do thes e Is raelites whom I go to vis it. W hat s ay you of their god, K i?"
"T hat he is the s am e as our gods , P rinc e. T o m en's eyes God has m any fac es , and eac h s wears that the one he s ees is the only true god. Y et they are wrong, for all are true."
"Or perc hanc e fals e, K i, unles s even fals ehood is a part of truth. W ell, you have told m e of two dangers , one to m y body and one to m y heart. Has any other been revealed to your wis dom ?"
"Y es , P rinc e. T he third is that this journey m ay in the end c os t you your throne."
"If I die c ertainly it will c os t m e m y throne."
"No, P rinc e, if you live."
 "E ven s o, K i, I think that I c ould endure life s eated m ore hum bly than on a throne, though whether her Highnes s c ould endure it is another m atter. T hen you s ay that if I go upon this journey another will be P haraoh in m y plac e."
"W e do not s ay that, P rinc e. It is true that our arts have s hown us another filling your plac e in a tim e of wizardry and wonders and of the death of thous ands . Y et when we look again we s ee not that other but you onc e m ore filling your own plac e."
Here I, A na, bethought m e of m y vis ion in P haraoh's hall.
"T he m atter is even wors e than I thought, K i, s inc e having onc e left the c rown behind m e, I think that I s hould have no wis h to wear it any m ore," s aid S eti. "W ho s hows you all thes e things , and how?"
"Our K as , whic h are our s ec ret s elves , s how them to us , P rinc e, and in m any ways . S om etim es it is by dream s or vis ions , s om etim es by pic tures on water, s om etim es by writings in the des ert s and. In all thes e fas hions , and by others , our K as , drawing from the infinite well of wis dom that is hidden in the being
of every m an, give us glim ps es of the truth, as they give us who are ins truc ted power to work m arvels ."
"Of the truth. T hen thes e things you tell m e are true?"
"W e believe s o, P rinc e."
"T hen being true m us t happen. S o what is the us e of your warning m e agains t what m us t happen? T here c annot be two truths . W hat would you have m e do? Not go upon this journey? W hy have you told m e that I m us t not go, s inc e if I did not go the truth would bec om e a lie, whic h it c annot? You s ay it is fated
that I s hould go and bec aus e I go s uc h and s uc h things will c om e about. A nd yet you tell m e not to go, for that is what you m ean. Oh! K herheb K i and B akenkhons u, doubtles s you are great m agic ians and s trong in wis dom , but there are greater than you who rule the world, and there is a wis dom to whic h yours is
but as a drop of water to the Nile. I thank you for your warnings , but to-m orrow I go down to the land of Gos hen to fulfil the c om m ands of P haraoh. If I c om e bac k again we will talk m ore of thes e m atters here upon the earth. If I do not c om e bac k, perc hanc e we will talk of them els ewhere. Farewell."
CHAP TE R V I
THE LAND OF GOS HE N
T he P rinc e S eti and all his train, a very great c om pany, c am e in s afety to the land of Gos hen, I, A na, travelling with him in his c hariot. It was then as now a ric h land, quite flat after the las t line of des ert hills through whic h we travelled by a narrow, tortuous path. E verywhere it was watered by c anals , between
whic h lay the grain fields wherein the s eed had jus t been s own. A ls o there were other fields of green fodder whereon were tethered beas ts by the hundred, and beyond thes e, upon the drier s oil, grazed floc ks of s heep. T he town Gos hen, if s o it c ould be c alled, was but a poor plac e, num bers of m ud huts , no m ore,
in the c entre of whic h s tood a building, als o of m ud, with two bric k pillars in front of it, that we were told was the tem ple of this people, into the inner parts of whic h none m ight enter s ave their High-pries t. I laughed at the s ight of it, but the P rinc e reproved m e, s aying that I s hould not judge the s pirit by the body, or of
the god by his hous e.
W e c am ped outs ide this town and s oon learned that the people who dwelt in it or els ewhere in other towns m us t be num bered by the ten thous and, for m ore of them than I c ould c ount wandered round the c am p to look at us . T he m en were fierc e-eyed and hook-nos ed; the young wom en well-s haped and pleas ant
to behold; the older wom en for the m os t part s tout and s om ewhat unwieldy, and the c hildren very beautiful. A ll were roughly c lad in robes of loos ely-woven, dark-c oloured c loth, beneath whic h the wom en wore garm ents of white linen. Notwiths tanding the wealth we s aw about us in c orn and c attle, their ornam ents
s eem ed to be few, or perhaps thes e were hidden from our s ight.
It was eas y to s ee that they hated us E gyptians , and even dared to des pis e us . Hate s hone in their glittering eyes , and I heard them c alling us the 'idol-wors hippers ' one to the other, and as king where was our god, the B ull, for being ignorant they thought that we wors hipped A pis (as m ayhap s om e of the c om m on
people do) ins tead of looking upon the s ac red beas t as a s ym bol of the powers of Nature. Indeed they did m ore, for on the firs t night after our c om ing they s laughtered a bull m arked m uc h as A pis is , and in the m orning we found it lying near the gate of the c am p, and pinned to its hide with s harp thorns great
num bers of the s c arabaeus beetle s till living. For again they did not know that am ong us E gyptians this beetle is no god but an em blem of the Creator, bec aus e it rolls a ball of m ud between its feet and s ets therein its eggs to hatc h, as the Creator rolls the world that s eem s to be round, and c aus es it to produc e
life.
Now all were angry at thes e ins ults exc ept the P rinc e, who laughed and s aid that he thought the jes t c oars e but c lever. B ut wors e was to happen. It s eem s that a s oldier with wine in him had done ins ult to a Hebrew m aiden who c am e alone to draw water at a c anal. T he news s pread am ong the people and s om e
thous ands of them rus hed to the c am p, s houting and dem anding vengeanc e in s o threatening a m anner that it was nec es s ary to form up the regim ents of guards .
T he P rinc e being s um m oned c om m anded that the girl and her kin s hould be adm itted and s tate their c as e. S he c am e, weeping and wailing and tearing her garm ents , throwing dus t on her head als o, though it appeared that s he had taken no great harm from the s oldier from whom s he ran away. T he P rinc e bade
her point out the m an if s he c ould s ee him , and s he s howed us one of the bodyguard of the Count A m enm es es , whos e fac e was s c ratc hed as though by a wom an's nails . On being ques tioned he s aid he c ould rem em ber little of the m atter, but c onfes s ed that he had s een the m aiden by the c anal at m oonris e and
jes ted with her.
T he kin of this girl c lam oured that he s hould be killed, bec aus e he had offered ins ult to a high-born lady of Is rael. T his S eti refus ed, s aying that the offenc e was not one of death, but that he would order him to be public ly beaten. T hereupon A m enm es es , who was fond of the s oldier, a good m an enough when
not in his c ups , s prang up in a rage, s aying that no s ervant of his s hould be touc hed bec aus e he had offered to c ares s s om e light Is raelitis h wom an who had no bus ines s to be wandering about alone at night. He added that if the m an were flogged he and all thos e under his c om m and would leave the c am p and
m arc h bac k to m ake report to P haraoh.
Now the P rinc e, having c ons ulted with the c ounc illors , told the wom an and her kin that as P haraoh had been appealed to, he m us t judge of the m atter, and c om m anded them to appear at his c ourt within a m onth and s tate their c as e agains t the s oldier. T hey went away very ill-s atis fied, s aying that A m enm es es
had ins ulted their daughter even m ore than his s ervant had done. T he end of this m atter was that on the following night this s oldier was dis c overed dead, pierc ed through and through with knife thrus ts . T he girl, her parents and brethren c ould not be found, having fled away into the des ert, nor was there any evidenc e
to s how by whom the s oldier had been m urdered. T herefore nothing c ould be done in the bus ines s exc ept bury the vic tim .
On the following m orning the Inquiry began with due c erem ony, the P rinc e S eti and the Count A m enm es es taking their s eats at the head of a large pavilion with the c ounc illors behind them and the s c ribes , am ong whom I was , s eated at their feet. T hen we learned that the two prophets whom I had s een at
P haraoh's c ourt were not in the land of Gos hen, having left before we arrived "to s ac rific e to God in the wildernes s ," nor did any know when they would return. Other elders and pries ts , however, appeared and began to s et out their c as e, whic h they did at great length and in a fierc e and turbulent fas hion, s peaking
often all of them at onc e, thus m aking it diffic ult for the interpreters to render their words , s inc e they pretended that they did not know the E gyptian tongue.
Moreover they told their s tory from the very beginning, when they had entered E gypt hundreds of years before and were s uc c oured by the vizier of the P haraoh of that day, one Y us uf, a powerful and c lever m an of their rac e who s tored c orn in a tim e of fam ine and low Niles . T his P haraoh was of the Hyks os people,
one of the S hepherd kings whom we E gyptians hated and after m any wars drove out of K hem . Under thes e S hepherd kings , being joined by m any of their own blood, the Is raelites grew ric h and powerful, s o that the P haraohs who c am e after and who loved them not, began to fear them .
T his was as far as the s tory was taken on the firs t day.
On the s ec ond day began the tale of their oppres s ion, under whic h, however, they s till m ultiplied like gnats upon the Nile, and grew s o s trong and num erous that at length the great Ram es es did a wic ked thing, ordering that their m ale c hildren s hould be put to death. T his order was never c arried out, bec aus e his
daughter, s he who found Mos es am ong the reeds of the river, pleaded for them .
A t this point the P rinc e, wearied with the nois e and heat in that c rowded plac e, broke off the s itting until the m orrow. Com m anding m e to ac c om pany him , he ordered a c hariot, not his own, to be m ade ready, and, although I prayed him not to do s o, s et out unguarded s ave for m ys elf and the c harioteer, s aying that
he would s ee how thes e people laboured with his own eyes .
Taking a Hebrew lad to run before the hors es as our guide, we drove to the banks of a c anal where the Is raelites m ade bric ks of m ud whic h, after drying in the s un, were laden into boats that waited for them on the c anal and taken away to other parts of E gypt to be us ed on P haraoh's works . T hous ands of m en
were engaged upon this labour, toiling in gangs under the c om m and of E gyptian overs eers who kept c ount of the bric ks , c utting their num ber upon tally s tic ks , or s om etim es writing them upon s herds . T hes e overs eers were brutal fellows , for the m os t part of the low c las s , who us ed vile language to the s laves . Nor
were they c ontent with words . Noting a c rowd gathered at one plac e and hearing c ries , we went to s ee what pas s ed. Here we found a lad s tretc hed upon the ground being c ruelly beaten with hide whips , s o that the blood ran down him .
A t a s ign from the P rinc e I as ked what he had done and was told roughly, for the overs eers and their guards did not know who we were, that during the pas t s ix days he had only m ade half of his allotted tale of bric ks .
"Loos e him ," s aid the P rinc e quietly.
"W ho are you that give m e orders ?" as ked the head overs eer, who was helping to hold the lad while the guards flogged him . "B egone, les t I s erve you as I s erve this idle fellow."
S eti looked at him , and as he looked his lips turned white.
"T ell him ," he s aid to m e.
"Y ou dog! " I gas ped. "Do you know who it is to whom you dare to s peak thus ?"
"No, nor c are. Lay on, guard."
T he P rinc e, whos e robes were hidden by a wide-s leeved c loak of c om m on s tuff and m ake, threw the c loak open revealing beneath it the pec toral he had worn in the Court, a beautiful thing of gold whereon were ins c ribed his royal nam es and titles in blac k and red enam el. A ls o he held up his right hand on whic h
was a s ignet of P haraoh's that he wore as his c om m is s ioner. T he m en s tared, then one of them who was m ore learned than the res t c ried:
"B y the gods ! this is his Highnes s the P rinc e of E gypt! " at whic h words all of them fell upon their fac es .
"Ris e," s aid S eti to the lad who looked at him , forgetting his pain in his wonderm ent, "and tell m e why you have not delivered your tale of bric ks ."
"S ir," s obbed the boy in bad E gyptian, "for two reas ons . Firs t, bec aus e I am a c ripple, s ee," and he held up his left arm whic h was withered and thin as a m um m y's , "and therefore c annot work quic kly. S ec ondly, bec aus e m y m other, whos e only c hild I am , is a widow and lies s ic k in bed, s o that there are no
wom en or c hildren in our hom e who c an go out to gather s traw for m e, as P haraoh has c om m anded that we s hould do. T herefore I m us t s pend m any hours in s earc hing for s traw, s inc e I have no m eans wherewith to pay others to do this for m e."
"A na," s aid the P rinc e, "write down this youth's nam e with the plac e of his abode, and if his tale prove true, s ee that his wants and thos e of his m other are relieved before we depart from Gos hen. W rite down als o the nam es of this overs eer and his fellows and c om m and them to report them s elves at m y c am p to-
m orrow at s unris e, when their c as e s hall be c ons idered. S ay to the lad als o that, being one afflic ted by the gods , P haraoh frees him from the m aking of bric ks and all other labour of the S tate."
Now while I did thes e things the overs eer and his c om panions beat their heads upon the ground and prayed for m erc y, being c owards as the c ruel always are. His Highnes s ans wered them never a word, but only looked at them with c old eyes , and I noted that his fac e whic h was s o kind had grown terrible. S o
thos e m en thought als o, for that night they ran away to S yria, leaving their fam ilies and all their goods behind them , nor were they ever s een again in E gypt.
W hen I had finis hed writing the P rinc e turned and, walking to where the c hariot waited, bade the driver c ros s the c anal by a bridge there was here. W e drove on a while in s ilenc e, following a trac k whic h ran between the c ultivated land and the des ert. A t length I pointed to the s inking s un and as ked if it were not
tim e to return.
"W hy?" replied the P rinc e. "T he s un dies , but there ris es the full m oon to give us light, and what have we to fear with s words at our s ides and her Highnes s Us erti's m ail beneath our robes ? Oh! A na, I am weary of m en with their c ruelties and s houts and s trugglings , and I find this wildernes s a plac e of res t, for in
it I s eem to draw nearer to m y own s oul and the Heaven whenc e it c am e, or s o I hope."
"Y our Highnes s is fortunate to have a s oul to whic h he c ares to draw near; it is not s o with all of us ;" I ans wered laughing, for I s ought to c hange the c urrent of his thoughts by provoking argum ent of a s ort that he loved.
J us t then, however, the hors es , whic h were not of the bes t, c am e to a halt on a s lope of heavy s and. Nor would S eti allow the driver to flog them , but c om m anded him to let them res t a s pac e. W hile they did s o we des c ended from the c hariot and walked up the des ert ris e, he leaning on m y arm . A s we reac hed
its c res t we heard s obs and a s oft voic e s peaking on the further s ide. W ho it was that s poke and s obbed we c ould not s ee, bec aus e of a line of tam aris k s hrubs whic h onc e had been a fenc e.
"More c ruelty, or at leas t m ore s orrow," whis pered S eti. "Let us look."
S o we c rept to the tam aris ks , and peeping through their feathery tops , s aw a very s weet s ight in the pure rays of that des ert m oon. T here, not five pac es away, s tood a wom an c lad in white, young and s hapely in form .
Her fac e we c ould not s ee bec aus e it was turned from us , als o the long dark hair whic h s tream ed about her s houlders hid it. S he was praying aloud, s peaking now in Hebrew, of whic h both of us knew s om ething, and now in E gyptian, as does one who is ac c us tom ed to think in either tongue, and s topping from tim e
to tim e to s ob.
"O God of m y people," s he s aid, "s end m e s uc c our and bring m e s afe hom e, that T hy c hild m ay not be left alone in the wildernes s to bec om e the prey of wild beas ts , or of m en who are wors e than beas ts ."
T hen s he s obbed, knelt down on a great bundle whic h I s aw was s tubble s traw, and again began to pray. T his tim e it was in E gyptian, as though s he feared les t the Hebrew s hould be overheard and unders tood.
"O God," s he s aid, "O God of m y fathers , help m y poor heart, help m y poor heart! "
W e were about to withdraw, or rather to as k her what s he ailed, when s uddenly s he turned her head, s o that the light fell full upon her fac e. S o lovely was it that I c aught m y breath and the P rinc e at m y s ide s tarted. Indeed it was m ore than lovely, for as a lam p s hines through an alabas ter vas e or a s hell of pearl
s o did the s pirit within this wom an s hine through her tear-s tained fac e, m aking it m ys terious as the night.
T hen I unders tood, perhaps for the firs t tim e, that it is the s pirit whic h gives true beauty both to m aid and m an and not the fles h. T he white vas e of alabas ter, however s hapely, is s till a vas e alone; it is the hidden lam p within that grac es it with the glory of a s tar. A nd thos e eyes , thos e large, dream ing eyes as wim
with tears and hued like ric hes t lapis -lazuli, oh! what m an c ould look on them and not be s tirred?
"Merapi! " I whis pered.
"Moon of Is rael! " m urm ured S eti, "filled with the m oon, lovely as the m oon, m ys tic as the m oon and wors hipping the m oon, her m other."
"S he is in trouble; let us help her," I s aid.
"Nay, wait a while, A na, for never again s hall you and I s ee s uc h a s ight as this ."
Low as we s poke beneath our breath, I think the lady heard us . A t leas t her fac e c hanged and grew frightened. Has tily s he ros e, lifted the great bundle of s traw upon whic h s he had been kneeling and plac ed it on her head. S he ran a few s teps , then s tum bled and s ank down with a little m oan of pain. In an ins tant
we were at her s ide. S he s tared at us affrighted, for who we were s he c ould not s ee bec aus e of the wide hoods of our c om m on c loaks that m ade us look like m idnight thieves , or s lave-dealing B edouin.
"Oh! S irs ," s he babbled, "harm m e not. I have nothing of value on m e s ave this am ulet."
"W ho are you and what do you here?" as ked the P rinc e dis guis ing his voic e.
"S irs , I am Merapi, the daughter of Nathan the Levite, he whom the ac c urs ed E gyptian c aptain, K huaka, m urdered at T anis ."
"How do you dare to c all the E gyptians ac c urs ed?" as ked S eti in tones m ade gruff to hide his laughter.
"Oh! S irs , bec aus e they are--I m ean bec aus e I thought you were A rabs who hate them , as we do. A t leas t this E gyptian was ac c urs ed, for the high P rinc e S eti, P haraoh's heir, c aus ed him to be beheaded for that c rim e."
"A nd do you hate the high P rinc e S eti, P haraoh's heir, and c all him ac c urs ed?"
S he hes itated, then in a doubtful voic e s aid:
"No, I do not hate him ."
"W hy not, s eeing that you hate the E gyptians of whom he is one of the firs t and therefore twic e worthy of hatred, being the s on of your oppres s or, P haraoh?"
"B ec aus e, although I have tried m y bes t, I c annot. A ls o," s he added with the joy of one who has found a good reas on, "he avenged m y father."
"T his is no c aus e, girl, s eeing that he only did what the law forc ed him to do. T hey s ay that this dog of a P haraoh's s on is here in Gos hen upon s om e m is s ion. Is it true, and have you s een him ? A ns wer, for we of the des ert folk des ire to know."
"I believe it is true, S ir, but I have not s een him ."
"W hy not, if he is here?"
"B ec aus e I do not wis h to, S ir. W hy s hould a daughter of Is rael des ire to look upon the fac e of a princ e of E gypt?"
"In truth I do not know," replied S eti forgetting his feigned voic e.
T hen, s eeing that s he glanc ed at him s harply, he added in gruff tones :
"B rother, either this wom an lies or s he is none other than the m aid they c all Moon of Is rael who dwells with old J abez the Levite, her unc le.
W hat think you?"
"I think, B rother, that s he lies , and for three reas ons ," I ans wered, falling into the jes t. "Firs t, s he is too fair to be of the blac k Hebrew blood."
"Oh! S ir," m oaned Merapi, "m y m other was a S yrian lady of the m ountains , with a s kin as white as m ilk, and eyes blue as the heavens ."
"S ec ondly," I went on without heeding her, "if the great P rinc e S eti is really in Gos hen and s he dwells there, it is unnatural that s he s hould not have gone to look upon him . B eing a wom an only two things would have kept her away, one--that s he feared and hated him , whic h s he denies , and the other--that s he
liked him too well, and, being prudent, thought it wis es t not to look upon him m ore."
W hen s he heard the firs t of thes e words , Merapi glanc ed up with her lips parted as though to ans wer. Ins tead, s he dropped her eyes and s uddenly s eem ed to c hoke, while even in the m oonlight I s aw the red blood pour to her brow and along her white arm s .
"S ir," s he gas ped, "why s hould you affront m e? I s wear that never till this m om ent did I think s uc h a thing. S urely it would be treas on."
"W ithout doubt," interrupted S eti, "yet one of a s ort that kings m ight pardon."
"T hirdly," I went on as though I had heard neither of them , "if this girl were what s he dec lares , s he would not be wandering alone in the des ert at night, s eeing that I have heard am ong the A rabs that Merapi, daughter of Nathan the Levite, is a lady of no m ean blood am ong the Hebrews and that her fam ily has
wealth. S till, however m uc h s he lies , we c an s ee for ours elves that s he is beautiful."
"Y es , B rother, in that we are fortunate, s inc e without doubt s he will s ell for a high pric e am ong the s lave traders beyond the des ert."
"Oh! S ir," c ried Merapi s eizing the hem of his robe, "s urely you who I feel, I know not why, are no evil thief, you who have a m other and, perc hanc e, s is ters , would not doom a m aiden to s uc h a fate. Mis judge m e not bec aus e I am alone. P haraoh has c om m anded that we m us t find s traw for the m aking of bric ks .
T his m orning I c am e far to s earc h for it on behalf of a neighbour whos e wife is ill in c hildbed. B ut towards s undown I s lipped and c ut m ys elf upon the edge of a s harp s tone. S ee," and holding up her foot s he s howed a wound beneath the ins tep from whic h the blood s till dropped, a s ight that m oved both of us not a
little, "and now I c annot walk and c arry this heavy s traw whic h I have been at s uc h pains to gather."
"P erc hanc e s he s peaks truth, B rother," s aid the P rinc e, "and if we took her hom e we m ight earn no s m all reward from J abez the Levite. B ut firs t tell m e, Maiden, what was that prayer whic h you m ade to the m oon, that Hathor s hould help your heart?"
"S ir," s he ans wered, "only the idolatrous E gyptians pray to Hathor, the Lady of Love."
"I thought that all the world prayed to the Lady of Love, Maiden. B ut what of the prayer? Is there s om e m an whom you des ire?"
"None," s he ans wered angrily.
"T hen why does your heart need s o m uc h help that you as k it of the air? Is there perc hanc e s om eone whom you do not des ire?"
S he hung her head and m ade no ans wer.
"Com e, B rother," s aid the P rinc e, "this lady is weary of us , and I think that if s he were a true wom an s he would ans wer our ques tions m ore readily. Let us go and leave her. A s s he c annot walk we c an take her later if we wis h."
"S irs ," s he s aid, "I am glad that you are going, s inc e the hyenas will be s afer c om pany than two m en who c an threaten to s ell a helples s wom an into s lavery. Yet as we part to m eet no m ore I will ans wer your ques tion. In the prayer to whic h you were not as ham ed to lis ten I did not pray for any lover, I prayed to be
rid of one."
"Now, A na," s aid the P rinc e burs ting into laughter and throwing bac k his dark c loak, "do you dis c over the nam e of that unhappy m an of whom the lady Merapi wis hes to be rid, for I dare not."
S he gazed into his fac e and uttered a little c ry.
"A h! " s he s aid, "I thought I knew the voic e again when onc e you forget your part. P rinc e S eti, does your Highnes s think that this was a kind jes t to prac tis e upon one alone and in fear?"
"Lady Merapi," he ans wered s m iling, "be not wroth, for at leas t it was a good one and you have told us nothing that we did not know. Y ou m ay rem em ber that at T anis you s aid that you were affianc ed and there was that in your voic e----. S uffer m e now to tend this wound of yours ."
T hen he knelt down, tore a s trip from his c erem onial robe of fine linen, and began to bind up her foot, not uns kilfully, being a m an full of s trange and unexpec ted knowledge. A s he worked at the tas k, watc hing them , I s aw their eyes m eet, s aw too that ric h flood of c olour c reep onc e m ore to Merapi's brow. T hen I
began to think it uns eem ly that the P rinc e of E gypt s hould play the leec h to a wom an's hurts , and to wonder why he had not left that hum ble tas k to m e.
P res ently the bandaging was done and m ade fas t with a royal s c arabaeus m ounted on a pin of gold, whic h the P rinc e wore in his garm ents . On it was c ut the uraeus c rown and beneath it were the s igns whic h read "Lord of the Lower and the Upper Land," being P haraoh's s tyle and title.
"S ee now, Lady," he s aid, "you have E gypt beneath your foot," and when s he as ked him what he m eant, he read her the writing upon the jewel, whereat for the third tim e s he c oloured to the eyes . T hen he lifted her up, ins truc ting her to res t her weight upon his s houlder, s aying he feared les t the s c arab, whic h he
valued, s hould be broken.
T hus we s tarted, I bearing the bundle of s traw behind as he bade m e, s inc e, he s aid, having been gathered with s uc h toil, it m us t not be los t. On reac hing the c hariot, where we found the guide gone and the driver as leep, he s at her in it upon his c loak, and wrapped her in m ine whic h he borrowed, s aying I
s hould not need it who m us t c arry the s traw.
T hen he m ounted als o and they drove away at a foot's pac e. A s I walked after the c hariot with the s traw that fell about m y ears , I heard nothing of their further talk, if indeed they talked at all whic h, the driver being pres ent, perhaps they did not. Nor in truth did I lis ten who was engaged in thought as to the hard lot of
thes e poor Hebrews , who m us t c ollec t this dirty s tuff and bear it s o far, m ade heavy as it was by the c lay that c lung about the roots .
E ven now, as it c hanc ed, we did not reac h Gos hen without further trouble. J us t as we had c ros s ed the bridge over the c anal I, toiling behind, s aw in the c lear m oonlight a young m an running towards us . He was a Hebrew, tall, well-m ade and very hands om e in his fas hion. His eyes were dark and fierc e, his nos e
was hooked, his teeth where regular and white, and his long, blac k hair hung down in a m as s upon his s houlders .
He held a wooden s taff in his hand and a naked knife was girded about his m iddle. S eeing the c hariot he halted and peered at it, then as ked in Hebrew if thos e who travelled had s een aught of a young Is raelitis h lady who was los t.
"If you s eek m e, Laban, I am here," replied Merapi, s peaking from the s hadow of the c loak.
"W hat do you there alone with an E gyptian, Merapi?" he s aid fierc ely.
W hat followed I do not know for they s poke s o quic kly in their unfam iliar tongue that I c ould not unders tand them . A t length Merapi turned to the P rinc e, s aying:
 "Lord, this is Laban m y affianc ed, who c om m ands m e to des c end from the c hariot and ac c om pany him as bes t I c an."
"A nd I, Lady, c om m and you to s tay in it. Laban your affianc ed c an ac c om pany us ."
Now at this Laban grew angry, as I c ould s ee he was prone to do, and s tretc hed out his hand as though to pus h S eti as ide and s eize Merapi.
"Have a c are, m an,' s aid the P rinc e, while I, throwing down the s traw, drew m y s word and s prang between them , c rying:
"S lave, would you lay hands upon the P rinc e of E gypt?"
"P rinc e of E gypt! " he s aid, drawing bac k as tonis hed, then added s ullenly, "W ell what does the P rinc e of E gypt with m y affianc ed?"
"He helps her who is hurt to her hom e, having found her helples s in the des ert with this ac c urs ed s traw," I ans wered.
"Forward, driver," s aid the P rinc e, and Merapi added, "P eac e, Laban, and bear the s traw whic h his Highnes s 's c om panion has c arried s uc h a weary way."
He hes itated a m om ent, then s natc hed up the bundle and s et it on his head.
A s we walked s ide by s ide, his evil tem per s eem ed to get the better of him . W ithout c eas ing, he grum bled bec aus e Merapi was alone in the c hariot with an E gyptian. A t length I c ould bear it no longer.
"B e s ilent, fellow," I s aid. "Leas t of all m en s hould you c om plain of what his Highnes s does , s eeing that already he has avenged the killing of this lady's father, and now has s aved her from lying out all night am ong the wild beas ts and m en of the wildernes s ."
"Of the firs t I have heard m ore than enough," he ans wered, "and of the s ec ond doubtles s I s hall hear m ore than enough als o. E ver s inc e m y affianc ed m et this princ e, s he has looked on m e with different eyes and s poken to m e with another voic e. Yes , and when I pres s for m arriage, s he s ays it c annot be for a
long while yet, bec aus e s he is m ourning for her father; her father fors ooth, whom s he never forgave bec aus e he betrothed her to m e ac c ording to the c us tom of our people."
"P erhaps s he loves s om e other m an?" I queried, wis hing to learn all I c ould about this lady.
"S he loves no m an, or did not a while ago. S he loves hers elf alone."
"One with s o m uc h beauty m ay look high in m arriage."
"High! " he replied furious ly. "How c an s he look higher than m ys elf who am a lord of the line of J udah, and therefore greater far than an ups tart princ e or any other E gyptian, were he P haraoh him s elf?"
"S urely you m us t be trum peter to your tribe," I m oc ked, for m y tem per was ris ing.
"W hy?" he as ked. "A re not the Hebrews greater than the E gyptians , as thos e oppres s ors s oon s hall learn, and is not a lord of Is rael m ore than any idol-wors hipper am ong your people?"
I looked at the m an c lad in m ean garm ents and foul from his labour in the bric kfield, m arvelling at his ins olenc e. T here was no doubt but that he believed what he s aid; I c ould s ee it in his proud eye and bearing.
He thought that his tribe was of m ore im port in the world than our great and anc ient nation, and that he, an unknown youth, equalled or s urpas s ed P haraoh him s elf. T hen, being enraged by thes e ins ults , I ans wered:
"Y ou s ay s o, but let us put it to the proof. I am but a s c ribe, yet I have s een war. Linger a little that we m ay learn whether a lord of Is rael is better than a s c ribe of E gypt."
"Gladly would I c has tis e you, W riter," he ans wered, "did I not s ee your plot. Y ou wis h to delay m e here, and perhaps to m urder m e by s om e foul m eans , while your m as ter bas ks in the s m iles of the Moon of Is rael.
T herefore I will not s tay, but another tim e it s hall be as you wis h, and perhaps ere long."
Now I think that I s hould have s truc k him in the fac e, though I am not one of thos e who love brawling. B ut at this m om ent there appeared a c om pany of E gyptian hors e led by none other than the Count A m enm es es .
S eeing the P rinc e in the Chariot, they halted and gave the s alute.
A m enm es es leapt to the ground.
"W e are c om e out to s earc h for your Highnes s ," he s aid, "fearing les t s om e hurt had befallen you."
"I thank you, Cous in," ans wered the P rinc e, "but the hurt has befallen another, not m e."
"T hat is well, your Highnes s ," s aid the Count, s tudying Merapi with a s m ile. "W here is the lady wounded? Not in the breas t, I trus t."
"No, Cous in, in the foot, whic h is why s he travels with m e in this c hariot."
"Y our Highnes s was ever kind to the unfortunate. I pray you let m e take your plac e, or s uffer m e to s et this girl upon a hors e."
"Drive on," s aid S eti.
S o, es c orted by the s oldiers , whom I heard m aking jes ts to eac h other about the P rinc e and the lady, as I think did the Hebrew Laban als o, for he glared about him and ground his teeth, we c am e at las t to the town.
Here, guided by Merapi, the c hariot was halted at the hous e of J abez her unc le, a white-bearded old Hebrew with a c unning eye, who rus hed from the door of his m ud-roofed dwelling c rying he had done no harm that s oldiers s hould c om e to take him .
"It is not you whom the E gyptians wis h to c apture, it is your niec e and m y betrothed," s houted Laban, whereat the s oldiers laughed, as did s om e wom en who had gathered round. Meanwhile the P rinc e was helping Merapi to des c end out of the c hariot, from whic h indeed he lifted her. T he s ight s eem ed to m adden
Laban, who rus hed forward to tear her from his arm s , and in the attem pt jos tled his Highnes s . T he c aptain of the s oldiers --he was an offic er of P haraoh's bodyguard--lifted his s word in a fury and s truc k Laban s uc h a blow upon the head with the flat of the blade that he fell upon his fac e and lay there groaning.
"A way with that Hebrew dog and s c ourge him ! " c ried the c aptain. "Is the royal blood of E gypt to be handled by s uc h as he?"
S oldiers s prang forward to do his bidding, but S eti s aid quietly:
"Let the fellow be, friends ; he lac ks m anners , that is all. Is he hurt?"
A s he s poke Laban leapt to his feet and, fearing wors e things , fled away with a c urs e and a glare of hate at the P rinc e.
"Farewell, Lady," s aid S eti. "I wis h you a quic k rec overy."
"I thank your Highnes s ," s he ans wered, looking about her c onfus edly. "B e pleas ed to wait a little while that I m ay return to you your jewel."
"Nay, keep it, Lady, and if ever you are in need or trouble of any s ort, s end it to m e who know it well and you s hall not lac k s uc c our."
S he glanc ed at him and burs t into tears .
"W hy do you weep?" he as ked.
"Oh! your Highnes s , bec aus e I fear that trouble is near at hand. My affianc ed, Laban, has a revengeful heart. Help m e to the hous e, m y unc le."
"Lis ten, Hebrew," s aid S eti, rais ing his voic e; "if aught that is evil befalls this niec e of yours , or if s he is forc ed to walk whither s he would not go, s orrow s hall be your portion and that of all with whom you have to do. Do you hear?"
"O m y Lord, I hear, I hear. Fear nothing. S he s hall be guarded c arefully as --as s he will doubtles s guard that trinket on her foot."
"A na," s aid the P rinc e to m e that night, when I was talking with him before he went to res t, "I know not why, but I fear that m an Laban; he has an evil eye."
"I too think it would have been better if your Highnes s had left him to be dealt with by the s oldiers , after whic h there would have been nothing to fear from him in this world."
"W ell, I did not, s o there's an end. A na, s he is a fair wom an and a s weet."
"T he faires t and the s weetes t that ever I s aw, m y P rinc e."
"B e c areful, A na. I pray you be c areful, les t you s hould fall in love with one who is already affianc ed."
I only looked at him in ans wer, and as I looked I bethought m e of the words of K i the Magic ian. S o, I think, did the P rinc e; at leas t he laughed not unhappily and turned away.
For m y part I res ted ill that night, and when at las t I s lept, it was to dream of Merapi m aking her prayer in the rays of the m oon.
CHAP TE R V II
THE AMBUS H
E ight full days went by before we left the land of Gos hen. T he s tory that the Is raelites had to tell was long, s ad als o. Moreover, they gave evidenc e as to m any c ruel things that they had s uffered, and when this was finis hed the tes tim ony of the guards and others m us t be c alled, all of whic h it was nec es s ary to
write down. Las tly, the P rinc e s eem ed to be in no hurry to be gone, as he s aid bec aus e he hoped that the two prophets would return from the wildernes s , whic h they never did. During all this tim e S eti s aw no m ore of Merapi, nor indeed did he s peak of her, even when the Count A m enm es es jes ted him as to his
c hariot c om panion and as ked him if he had driven again in the des ert by m oonlight.
I, however, s aw her onc e. W hen I was wandering in the town one day towards s uns et, I m et her walking with her unc le J abez upon one s ide and her lover, Laban, on the other, like a pris oner between two guards . I thought s he looked unhappy, but her foot s eem ed to be well again; at leas t s he m oved without
lim ping.
I s topped to s alute her, but Laban s c owled and hurried her away. J abez s tayed behind and fell into talk with m e. He told m e that s he was rec overed of her hurt, but that there had been trouble between her and Laban bec aus e of all that happened on that evening when s he c am e by it, ending in his enc ounter with
the c aptain.
"T his young m an s eem s to be of a jealous nature," I s aid, "one who will m ake a hars h hus band for any wom an."
"Y es , learned s c ribe, jealous y has been his c urs e from youth as it is with s o m any of our people, and I thank God that I am not the wom an whom he is to m arry."
"W hy, then, do you s uffer her to m arry him , J abez?"
"B ec aus e her father affianc ed her to this lion's whelp when s he was s c arc e m ore than a c hild, and am ong us that is a bond hard to break.
For m y own part," he added, dropping his voic e, and glanc ing round with s hifting eyes , "I s hould like to s ee m y niec e in s om e different plac e to that of the wife of Laban. W ith her great beauty and wit, s he m ight bec om e anything--anything if s he had opportunity. B ut under our laws , even if Laban died, as m ight
happen to s o violent a m an, s he c ould wed no one who is not a Hebrew."
"I thought s he told us that her m other was a S yrian."
"T hat is s o, S c ribe A na. S he was a beautiful c aptive of war whom Nathan c am e to love and m ade his wife, and the daughter takes after her. S till s he is Hebrew and of the Hebrew faith and c ongregation. Had it not been s o, s he m ight have s hone like a s tar, nay, like the very m oon after whic h s he is nam ed,
perhaps in the c ourt of P haraoh him s elf."
"A s the great queen T aia did, s he who c hanged the religion of E gypt to the wors hip of one god in a bygone generation," I s ugges ted.
"I have heard of her, S c ribe A na. S he was a wondrous wom an, beautiful too by her s tatues . W ould that you E gyptians c ould find s uc h another to turn your hearts to a purer faith and to s often them towards us poor aliens . W hen does his Highnes s leave the land of Gos hen?"
"A t s unris e on the third day from this ."
"P rovis ion will be needed for the journey, m uc h provis ion for s o large a train. I deal in s heep and other foods tuffs , S c ribe A na."
"I will m ention the m atter to his Highnes s and to the V izier, J abez."
"I thank you, S c ribe, and will in waiting at the c am p to-m orrow m orning.
S ee, Laban returns with Merapi. One word, let his Highnes s beware of Laban. He is very revengeful and has not forgotten that s word-blow on the head."
"Let Laban be c areful," I ans wered. "Had it not been for his Highnes s the s oldiers would have killed him the other night bec aus e he dared to offer affront to the royal blood. A s ec ond tim e he will not es c ape.
Moreover, P haraoh would avenge aught he did upon the people of Is rael."
"I unders tand. It would be s ad if Laban were killed, very s ad. B ut the people of Is rael have One who c an protec t them even agains t P haraoh and all his hos ts . Farewell, learned S c ribe. If ever I c om e to T anis , with your leave we will talk m ore together."
T hat night I told the P rinc e all that had pas s ed. He lis tened, and s aid:
"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 s hould s ee no m ore of her who is s ure to bring trouble wherever s he goes . T hat wom an has a fac e whic h haunts the m ind, as the K a haunts the tom b, and for m y part I do not wis h to
look upon it again."
"I am glad to hear it, P rinc e, and for m y part, I have done with wom en, however s weet. I will tell this J abez that the provis ions for the journey will be bought els ewhere."
"Nay, buy them from him , and if Nehes i grum bles at the pric e, pay it on m y ac c ount. T he way to a Hebrew's heart is through his treas ure bags .
If J abez is well treated, it m ay m ake him kinder to his niec e, of whom I s hall always have a pleas ant m em ory, for whic h I am grateful am ong this s our folk who hate us , and with reas on."
S o the s heep and all the foods tuffs for the journey were bought from J abez at his own pric e, for whic h he thanked m e m uc h, and on the third day we s tarted. A t the las t m om ent the P rinc e, whos e m ood s eem ed to be pervers e that evening, refus ed to travel with the hos t upon the m orrow bec aus e of the nois e and
dus t. In vain did the Count A m enm es es reas on with him , and Nehes i and the great offic ers im plore him alm os t on their knees , s aying that they m us t ans wer for his s afety to P haraoh and the P rinc es s Us erti. He bade them begone, replying that he would join them at their c am p on the following night. I als o prayed
him to lis ten, but he told m e s harply that what he s aid he had s aid, and that he and I would journey in his c hariot alone, with two arm ed runners and no m ore, adding that if I thought there was danger I c ould go forward with the troops . T hen I bit m y lip and was s ilent, whereon, s eeing that he had hurt m e, he turned
and c raved m y pardon hum bly enough as his kind heart taught him to do.
"I c an bear no m ore of A m enm es es and thos e offic ers ," he s aid, "and I love to be in the des ert alone. Las t tim e we journeyed there we m et with adventures that were pleas ant, A na, and at Tanis doubtles s I s hall find others that are not pleas ant. A dm it that Hebrew pries t who is waiting to ins truc t m e in the
m ys teries of his faith whic h I des ire to unders tand."
S o I bowed and left him to m ake report that I had failed to s hake his will. T aking the ris k of his wrath, however, I did this --for had I not s worn to the P rinc es s that I would protec t him ? In plac e of the runners I c hos e two of the bes t and braves t s oldiers to play their part.
Moreover, I ins truc ted that c aptain who s m ote down Laban to hide away with a s c ore of pic ked m en and enough c hariots to c arry them , and to follow after the P rinc e, keeping jus t out of s ight.
S o on the m orrow the troops , nobles , and offic ers went on at daybreak, together with the baggage c arriers ; nor did we follow them till m any hours had gone by. S om e of this tim e the P rinc e s pent in driving about the town, taking note of the c ondition of the people. T hes e, as I s aw, looked on us s ullenly enough,
m ore s o than before, I thought, perhaps bec aus e we were unguarded. Indeed, turning round I c aught s ight of a m an s haking his fis t and of an old hag s pitting after us , and wis hed that we were out of the land of Gos hen. B ut when I reported it to the P rinc e he only laughed and took no heed.
"A ll c an s ee that they hate us E gyptians ," he s aid. "W ell, let it be our tas k to try to turn their hate to love."
"T hat you will never do, P rinc e, it is too deep-rooted in their hearts ; for generations they have drunk it in with their m other's m ilk.
Moreover, this is a war of the gods of E gypt and of Is rael, and m en m us t go where their gods drive them ."
"Do you think s o, A na? T hen are m en nothing but dus t blown by the winds of heaven, blown from the darknes s that is before the dawn to be gathered at las t and for ever into the darknes s of the grave of night?"
He brooded a while, then went on.
"Y et if I were P haraoh I would let thes e people go, for without doubt their god has m uc h power and I tell you that I fear them ."
"W hy will he not let them go?" I as ked. "T hey are a weaknes s , not a s trength to E gypt, as was s hown at the tim e of the invas ion of the B arbarians with whom they s ided. Moreover, the value of this ric h land of theirs , whic h they c annot take with them , is greater than that of all their labour."
"I do not know, friend. T he m atter is one upon whic h m y father keeps his own c ouns el, even from the P rinc es s Us erti. P erhaps it is bec aus e he will not c hange the polic y of his father, Ram es es ; perhaps bec aus e he is s tiff-nec ked to thos e who c ros s his will. Or it m ay be that he is held in this path by a m adnes s
s ent of s om e god to bring los s and s ham e on E gypt."
"T hen, P rinc e, all the pries ts and nobles are m ad als o, from Count A m enm es es down."
"W here P haraoh leads pries ts and nobles follow. T he ques tion is , who leads P haraoh? Here is the tem ple of thes e Hebrews ; let us enter."
S o we des c ended from the c hariot, where, for m y part, I would have rem ained, and walked through the gateway in the s urrounding m ud wall into the outer c ourt of the tem ple, whic h on this the holy s eventh day of the Hebrews was full of praying wom en, who feigned not to s ee us yet watc hed us out of the c orners
of their eyes . P as s ing through them we c am e to a doorway, by whic h we entered another c ourt that was roofed over. Here were m any m en who m urm ured as we appeared. T hey were engaged in lis tening to a preac her in a white robe, who wore a s trange s haped c ap and s om e ornam ents on his breas t. I knew the
m an; he was the pries t K ohath who had ins truc ted the P rinc e in s o m uc h of the m ys teries of the Hebrew faith as he c hos e to reveal. On s eeing us he c eas ed s uddenly in his dis c ours e, uttered s om e has ty bles s ing and advanc ed to greet us .
I waited behind the P rinc e, thinking it well to watc h his bac k am ong all thos e fierc e m en, and did not hear what the pries t s aid to him , as he whis pered in that holy plac e. K ohath led him forward, to free him from the throng, I thought, till they c am e to the head of the little tem ple that was m arked by s om e s teps ,
above whic h hung a thic k and heavy c urtain. T he P rinc e, walking on, did not s ee the lowes t of thes e s teps in the gloom , whic h was deep. His foot c aught on it; he fell forward, and to s ave him s elf gras ped at the c urtain where the two halves of it m et, and dragged it open, revealing a c ham ber plain and s m all beyond,
in whic h was an altar. T hat was all I had tim e to s ee, for next ins tant a roar of rage rent the air and knives flas hed in the gloom .
"T he E gyptian defiles the tabernac le! " s houted one. "Drag him out and kill him ! " s c ream ed another.
"Friends ," s aid S eti, turning as they s urged towards him , "if I have done aught wrong it was by c hanc e----"
He c ould add no m ore, s eeing that they were on him , or rather on m e who had leapt in front of him . A lready they had gras ped m y robes and m y hand was on m y s word-hilt, when the pries t K ohath c ried out:
"Men of Is rael, are you m ad? W ould you bring P haraoh's vengeanc e on us ?"
T hey halted a little and their s pokes m an s houted:
"W e defy P haraoh! Our God will protec t us from P haraoh. Drag him forth and kill him beyond the wall! "
A gain they began to m ove, when a m an, in whom I rec ognized J abez, the unc le of Merapi, c alled aloud:
"Ceas e! If this P rinc e of E gypt has done ins ult to J ahveh by will and not by c hanc e, it is c ertain that he will avenge him s elf upon him . S hall m en take the judgm ent of God into their own hands ? S tand bac k and wait awhile. If J ahveh is affronted, the E gyptian will fall dead. If he does not fall dead, let him pas s
henc e unharm ed, for s uc h is J ahveh's will.
S tand bac k, I s ay, while I c ount threes c ore."
T hey withdrew a s pac e and s lowly J abez began to c ount.
A lthough at that tim e I knew nothing of the power of the god of Is rael, I will s ay that I was filled with fear as one by one he c ounted, paus ing at eac h ten. T he s c ene was very s trange. T here by the s teps s tood the P rinc e agains t the bac kground of the c urtain, his arm s folded and a little s m ile of wonder m ixed with
c ontem pt upon his fac e, but not a s ign of fear. On one s ide of him was I, who knew well that I s hould s hare his fate whatever it m ight be, and indeed des ired no other; and on the other the pries t K ohath, whos e hands s hook and whos e eyes s tarted from his head. In front of us old J abez c ounted, watc hing the fierc e-
fac ed c ongregation that in a dead s ilenc e waited for the is s ue. T he c ount went on. T hirty. Forty. Fifty--oh! it s eem ed an age.
A t length s ixty fell from his lips . He waited a while and all watc hed the P rinc e, not doubting but that he would fall dead. B ut ins tead he turned to K ohath and as ked quietly if this ordeal was now finis hed, as he des ired to m ake an offering to the tem ple, whic h he had been invited to vis it, and begone.
"Our God has given his ans wer," s aid J abez. "A c c ept it, m en of Is rael.
W hat this P rinc e did he did by c hanc e, not of des ign."
T hey turned and went without a word, and after I had laid the offering, no m ean one, in the appointed plac e, we followed them .
"It would s eem that yours is no gentle god," s aid the P rinc e to K ohath, when at length we were outs ide the tem ple.
"A t leas t he is jus t, your Highnes s . Had it been otherwis e, you who had violated his s anc tuary, although by c hanc e, would ere now be dead."
"T hen you hold, P ries t, that J ahveh has power to s lay us when he is angry?"
"W ithout a doubt, your Highnes s --as , if our P rophets s peak truth, I think that E gypt will learn ere all be done," he added grim ly.
S eti looked at him and ans wered:
"It m ay be s o, but all gods , or their pries ts , c laim the power to torm ent and s lay thos e who wors hip other gods . It is not only wom en who are jealous , K ohath, or s o it s eem s . Yet I think that you do your god injus tic e, s eeing that even if this s trength is his , he proved m ore m erc iful than his wors hippers who knew
well that I only gras ped the veil to s ave m ys elf from falling. If ever I vis it your tem ple again it s hall be in the c om pany of thos e who c an m atc h m ight agains t m ight, whether of the s pirit or the s word. Farewell."
S o we reac hed the c hariot, near to whic h s tood J abez, he who had s aved us .
 "P rinc e," he whis pered, glanc ing at the c rowd who lingered not far away, s ilent and glowering, "I pray you leave this land s wiftly for here your life is not s afe. I know it was by c hanc e, but you have defiled the s anc tuary and s een that upon whic h eyes m ay not look s ave thos e of the highes t pries ts , an offenc e no
Is raelite c an forgive."
"A nd you, or your people, J abez, would have defiled this s anc tuary of m y life, s pilling m y heart's blood and not by c hanc e. S urely you are a s trange folk who s eek to m ake an enem y of one who has tried to be your friend."
"I do not s eek it," exc laim ed J abez. "I would that we m ight have P haraoh's m outh and ear who s oon will him s elf be P haraoh upon our s ide.
O P rinc e of E gypt, be not wroth with all the c hildren of Is rael bec aus e their wrongs have m ade s om e few of them s tubborn and hard-hearted.
B egone now, and of your goodnes s rem em ber m y words ."
"I will rem em ber," s aid S eti, s igning to the c harioteer to drive on.
Y et s till the P rinc e lingered in the town, s aying that he feared nothing and would learn all he c ould of this people and their ways that he m ight report the better of them to P haraoh. For m y part I believed that there was one fac e whic h he wis hed to s ee again before he left, but of this I thought it wis e to s ay nothing.
A t length about m idday we did depart, and drove eas twards on the trac k of A m enm es es and our c om pany. A ll the afternoon we drove thus , prec eded by the two s oldiers dis guis ed as runners and followed, as a dis tant c loud of dus t told m e, by the c aptain and his c hariots , whom I had s ec retly c om m anded to keep
us in s ight.
Towards evening we c am e to the pas s in the s tory hills whic h bounded the land of Gos hen. Here S eti des c ended from the c hariot, and we c lim bed, ac c om panied by the two s oldiers whom I s igned to follow us , to the c res t of one of thes e hills that was s trewn with huge boulders and lined with ridges of
s ands tone, between whic h gullies had been c ut by the winds of thous ands of years .
Leaning agains t one of thes e ridges we looked bac k upon a wondrous s ight. Far away ac ros s the fertile plain appeared the town that we had left, and behind it the s un s ank. It would s eem as though s om e s torm had broken there, although the firm am ent above us was c lear and blue.
A t leas t in front of the town two huge pillars of c loud s tretc hed from earth to heaven like the c olum ns of s om e m ighty gateway. One of thes e pillars was as though it were m ade of blac k m arble, and the other like to m olten gold. B etween them ran a road of light ending in a glory, and in the m ids t of the glory the round
ball of Ra, the S un, burned like the eye of God. T he s pec tac le was as awes om e as it was s plendid.
"Have you ever s een s uc h a s ky in E gypt, P rinc e?" I as ked.
"Never," he ans wered, and although he s poke low, in that great s tillnes s his voic e s ounded loud to m e.
For a while longer we watc hed, till s uddenly the s un s ank, and only the glory about it and above rem ained, whic h took s hapes like to the palac es and tem ples of a c ity in the heavens , a far c ity that no m ortal c ould reac h exc ept in dream s .
"I know not why, A na," s aid S eti, "but for the firs t tim e s inc e I was a m an I feel afraid. It s eem s to m e that there are om ens in the s ky and I c annot read them . W ould that K i were here to tell us what is s ignified by the pillar of blac knes s to the right and the pillar of fire to the left, and what god has his hom e in the
c ity of glory behind, and how m an's feet m ay walk along the s hining road whic h leads to its pylon gates . I tell you that I am afraid; it is as though Death were very near to m e and all his wonders open to m y m ortal s ight."
"I too am afraid," I whis pered. "Look! T he pillars m ove. T hat of fire goes before; that of blac k c loud follows after, and between them I s eem to s ee a c ountles s m ultitude m arc hing in unending c om panies . S ee how the light glitters on their s pears ! S urely the god of the Hebrews is afoot."
"He, or s om e other god, or no god at all, who knows ? Com e, A na, let us be going if we would reac h that c am p ere dark."
S o we des c ended from the ridge, and re-entering the c hariot, drove on towards the nec k of the pas s . Now this nec k was very narrow, not m ore than four pac es wide for a c ertain dis tanc e, and, on either s ide of the roadway were tum bled s ands tone boulders , between whic h grew des ert plants , and gullies that had
been c ut by s torm -water, while beyond thes e ros e the s ides of the m ountain. Here the hors es went at a walk towards a turn in the path, at whic h point the land began to fall again.
W hen we were about half a s pear's throw from this turn of a s udden I heard a s ound and, glanc ing to the right, perc eived a wom an leaping down the hills ide towards us . T he c harioteer s aw als o and halted the hors es , and the two runner guards turned and drew their s words . In les s than half a m inute the wom an
had reac hed us , c om ing out of the s hadow s o that the light fell upon her fac e.
"Merapi! " exc laim ed the P rinc e and I, s peaking as though with one breath.
Merapi it was indeed, but in evil c as e. Her long hair had broken loos e and fell about her, the c loak s he wore was torn, and there were blood and foam upon her lips . S he s tood gas ping, s inc e s peak s he c ould not for breathles s nes s , s upporting hers elf with one hand upon the s ide of the c hariot and with the other
pointing to the bend in the road. A t las t a word c am e, one only. It was :
"Murder! "
"S he m eans that s he is going to be m urdered," s aid the P rinc e to m e.
"No," s he panted, "you--you! T he Hebrews . Go bac k! "
"T urn the hors es ! " I c ried to the c harioteer.
He began to obey helped by the two guards , but bec aus e of the narrownes s of the road and the s teepnes s of the banks this was not eas y. Indeed they were but half round in s uc h fas hion that they bloc ked the pathway from s ide to s ide, when a wild yell of 'J ahveh' broke upon our ears , and from round the bend, a
few pac es away, rus hed a horde of fierc e, hook-nos ed m en, brandis hing knives and s words . S c arc ely was there tim e for us to leap behind the s helter of the c hariot and m ake ready, when they were on us .
"Hearken," I s aid to the c harioteer as they c am e, "run as you never ran before, and bring up the guard behind! "
He s prang away like an arrow.
"Get bac k, Lady," c ried S eti. "T his is no wom an's work, and s ee here c om es Laban to s eek you," and he pointed with his s word at the leader of the m urderers .
S he obeyed, s taggering a few pac es to a s tone at the roads ide, behind whic h s he c rouc hed. A fterwards s he told m e that s he had no s trength to go further, and indeed no will, s inc e if we were killed, it were better that s he who had warned us s hould be killed als o.
Now they had reac hed us , the whole flood of them , thirty or forty m en.
T he firs t who c am e s tabbed the frightened hors es , and down they went agains t the bank, s truggling. On the c hariot leapt the Hebrews , s eeking to c om e at us , and we m et them as bes t we m ight, tearing off our c loaks and throwing them over our left arm s to s erve as s hields .
Oh! what a fight was that. In the open, or had we not been prepared, we m us t have been s lain at onc e, but, as it was , the plac e and the barrier of the c hariot gave us s om e advantage. S o narrow was the roadway, the walls of whic h were here too s teep to c lim b, that not m ore than four of the Hebrews c ould s trike
at us at onc e, whic h four m us t firs t s urm ount the c hariot or the s till living hors es .
B ut we als o were four, and thanks to Us erti, two of us were c lad in m ail beneath our robes --four s trong m en fighting for their lives . A gains t us c am e four of the Hebrews . One leapt from the c hariot s traight at S eti, who rec eived him upon the point of his iron s word, whereof I heard the hilt ring agains t his breas t-
bone, that s am e fam ous iron s word whic h to-day lies buried with him in his grave.
Down he c am e dead, throwing the P rinc e to the ground by the weight of his body. T he Hebrew who attac ked m e c aught his foot on the c hariot pole and fell forward, s o I killed him eas ily with a blow upon the head, whic h gave m e tim e to drag the P rinc e to his feet again before another followed. T he two guards
als o, s turdy fighters both of them , killed or m ortally wounded their m en. B ut others were pres s ing behind s o thic k and fas t that I c ould keep no c ount of all that happened afterwards .
P res ently I s aw one of the guards fall, s lain by Laban. A s tab on the breas t s ent m e reeling bac kwards ; had it not been for that m ail I was s ped. T he other guard killed him who would have killed m e, and then him s elf was killed by two who c am e on him at onc e.
Now only the P rinc e and I were left, fighting bac k to bac k. He c los ed with one m an, a very great fellow, and wounded him on the hand, s o that he dropped his s word. T his m an gripped him round the m iddle and they rolled together on the ground. Laban appeared and s tabbed the P rinc e in the bac k, but the c urved
knife he was us ing s napped on the S yrian m ail.
I s truc k at Laban and wounded him on the head, dazing him s o that he s taggered bac k and s eem ed to fall over the c hariot. T hen others rus hed at m e, and but for Us erti's arm our three tim es at leas t I m us t have died. Fighting m adly, I s taggered agains t the roc k, and whils t waiting for a new ons et, s aw that S eti, hurt
by Laban's thrus t, was now beneath the great Hebrew who had him by the throat, and was c hoking the life out of him .
I s aw s om ething els e als o--a wom an holding a s word with both hands and s tabbing downward, after whic h the grip of the Hebrew loos ened from S eti's throat.
"T raitres s ! " c ried one, and s truc k at her, s o that s he reeled bac k hurt.
T hen when all s eem ed finis hed, and beneath the rain of blows m y s ens es were failing, I heard the thunder of hors es ' hoofs and the s hout of "E gy pt! E gy pt!" from the throats of s oldiers . T he flas h of bronze c aught m y dazed eyes , and with the roar of battle in m y ears I s eem ed to fall as leep jus t as the light of day
departed.
CHAP TE R V III
S E TI COUNS E LS P HARAOH
Dream upon dream . Dream s of voic es , dream s of fac es , dream s of s unlight and of m oonlight and of m ys elf being borne forward, always forward; dream s of s houting c rowds , and, above all, dream s of Merapi's eyes looking down on m e like two watc hing s tars from heaven. T hen at las t the awakening, and with it
throbs of pain and qualm s of s ic knes s .
A t firs t I thought that I was dead and lying in a tom b. T hen by degrees I s aw that I was in no tom b but in a darkened room that was fam iliar to m e, m y own room in S eti's palac e at Tanis . It m us t be s o, for there, near to the bed on whic h I lay, was m y own c hes t filled with the m anus c ripts that I had brought from
Mem phis . I tried to lift m y left hand, but c ould not, and looking down s aw that the arm was bandaged like to that of a m um m y, whic h m ade m e think again that I m us t be dead, if the dead c ould s uffer s o m uc h pain. I c los ed m y eyes and thought or s lept a while.
A s I lay thus I heard voic es . One of them s eem ed to be that of a phys ic ian, who s aid, "Yes , he will live and ere long rec over. T he blow upon the head whic h has m ade him s ens eles s for s o m any days was the wors t of his wounds , but the bone was but bruis ed, not s hattered or driven in upon the brain. T he fles h
c uts on his arm s are healing well, and the m ail he wore protec ted his vitals from being pierc ed."
"I am glad, phys ic ian," ans wered a voic e that I knew to be that of Us erti, "s inc e without a doubt, had it not been for A na, his Highnes s would have peris hed. It is s trange that one whom I thought to be nothing but a dream ing s c ribe s hould have s hown him s elf s o brave a warrior. T he P rinc e s ays that this A na killed
three of thos e dogs with his own hands , and wounded others ."
"It was well done, your Highnes s ," ans wered the phys ic ian, "but s till better was his forethought in providing a rear-guard and in des patc hing the c harioteer to c all it up. It s eem s to have been the Hebrew lady who really s aved the life of his Highnes s , when, forgetting her s ex, s he s tabbed the m urderer who had him
by the throat."
"T hat is the P rinc e's tale, or s o I unders tand," s he ans wered c oldly.
"Y et it s eem s s trange that a weak and worn-out girl c ould have pierc ed a giant through from bac k to breas t."
"A t leas t s he warned him of the am bus h, your Highnes s ."
"S o they s ay. P erhaps A na here will s oon tell us the truth about thes e m atters . T end him well, phys ic ian, and you s hall not lac k for your reward."
T hen they went away, s till talking, and I lay quiet, filled with thankfulnes s and wonder, for now everything c am e bac k to m e.
A while later, as I lay with m y eyes s till s hut, for even that low light s eem ed to hurt them , I bec am e aware of a wom an's s oft s tep s tealing round m y bed and of a fragranc e s uc h as c om es from a wom an's robes and hair. I looked and s aw Merapi's s tar-like eyes gazing down on m e jus t as I had s een them in m y
dream s .
"Greeting, Moon of Is rael," I s aid. "Of a truth we m eet again in s trange c as e."
"Oh! " s he whis pered, "are you awake at las t? I thank God, S c ribe A na, who for three days thought that you m us t die."
"A s , had it not been for you, Lady, s urely I s hould have done--I and another. Now it s eem s that all three of us will live."
"W ould that but two lived, the P rinc e and you, A na. W ould that I had died," s he ans wered, s ighing heavily.
"W hy?"
"Cannot you gues s ? B ec aus e I am outc as t who has betrayed m y people.
B ec aus e their blood flows between m e and them . For I killed that m an, and he was m y own kins m an, for the s ake of an E gyptian--I m ean, E gyptians . T herefore the c urs e of J ahveh is on m e, and as m y kins m an died doubtles s I s hall die in a day to c om e, and afterwards --what?"
"A fterwards peac e and great reward, if there be jus tic e in earth or heaven, O m os t noble am ong wom en."
"W ould that I c ould think s o! Hus h, I hear s teps . Drink this ; I am the c hief of your nurs es , S c ribe A na, an honourable pos t, s inc e to-day all E gypt loves and prais es you."
"S urely it is you, lady Merapi, whom all E gypt s hould love and prais e," I ans wered.
T hen the P rinc e S eti entered. I s trove to s alute him by lifting m y les s injured arm , but he c aught m y hand and pres s ed it tenderly.
"Hail to you, beloved of Menthu, god of war," he s aid, with his pleas ant laugh. "I thought I had hired a s c ribe, and lo! in this s c ribe I find a s oldier who m ight be an arm y's boas t."
A t this m om ent he c aught s ight of Merapi, who had m oved bac k into the s hadow.
"Hail to you als o, Moon of Is rael," he s aid bowing. "If I nam e A na here a warrior of the bes t, what nam e c an both of us find for you to whom we owe our lives ? Nay, look not down, but ans wer."
"P rinc e of E gypt," s he replied c onfus edly, "I did but little. T he plot c am e to m y ears through J abez m y unc le, and I fled away and, knowing the s hort paths from c hildhood, was jus t in tim e. Had I s tayed to think perc hanc e I s hould not have dared."
"A nd what of the res t, Lady? W hat of the Hebrew who was c hoking m e and of a c ertain s word thrus t that loos ed his hands for ever?"
"Of that, your Highnes s , I c an rec all nothing, or very little," then, doubtles s rem em bering what s he had jus t s aid to m e, s he m ade obeis anc e and pas s ed from the c ham ber.
"S he c an tell fals ehoods as s weetly as s he does all els e," s aid S eti, when he had watc hed her go. "Oh! what a wom an have we here, A na. P erfec t in beauty, perfec t in c ourage, perfec t in m ind. W here are her faults , I wonder? Let it be your part to s earc h them out, s inc e I find none."
"A s k them of K i, O P rinc e. He is a very great m agic ian, s o great that perhaps his art m ay even avail to dis c over what a wom an s eeks to hide.
A ls o you m ay rem em ber that he gave you c ertain warnings before we journeyed to Gos hen."
"Y es --he told m e that m y life would be in danger, as c ertainly it was .
T here he was right. He told m e als o that I s hould s ee a wom an whom I s hould c om e to love. T here he was wrong. I have s een no s uc h wom an. Oh! I know well what is pas s ing in your m ind. B ec aus e I hold the lady Merapi to be beautiful and brave, you think that I love her. B ut it is not s o.
I love no wom an, exc ept, of c ours e, her Highnes s . A na, you judge m e by yours elf."
"K i s aid 'c om e to love,' P rinc e. T here is yet tim e."
"Not s o, A na. If one loves , one loves at onc e. S oon I s hall be old and s he will be fat and ugly, and how c an one love then? Get well quic kly, A na, for I wis h you to help m e with m y report to P haraoh. I s hall tell him that I think thes e Is raelites are m uc h oppres s ed and that he s hould m ake them am ends and let
them go."
"W hat will P haraoh s ay to that after they have jus t tried to kill his heir?"
"I think P haraoh will be angry, and s o will the people of E gypt, who do not reas on well. He will not s ee that, believing what they do, Laban and his band were right to try to kill m e who, however unwittingly, des ec rated the s anc tuary of their god. Had they done otherwis e they would have been no good Hebrews , and
for m y part I c annot bear them m alic e. Y et all E gypt is afire about this bus ines s and c ries out that the Is raelites s hould be des troyed."
"It s eem s to m e, P rinc e, that whatever m ay be the c as e with K i's s ec ond prophec y, his third is in the way of fulfilm ent--nam ely that this journey to Gos hen m ay c aus e you to ris k your throne."
He s hrugged his s houlders and ans wered:
"Not even for that, A na, will I s ay to P haraoh what is not in m y m ind.
B ut let that m atter be till you are s tronger."
"W hat c hanc ed at the end of the fight, P rinc e, and how c am e I here?"
"T he guard killed m os t of the Hebrews who rem ained alive. S om e few fled and es c aped in the darknes s , am ong them Laban their leader, although you had wounded him , and s ix were taken alive. T hey await their trial. I was but little hurt and you, whom we thought dead, were but s ens eles s , and s ens eles s or
wandering you have rem ained till this hour. W e c arried you in a litter, and here you have been thes e three days ."
"A nd the lady Merapi?"
"W e s et her in a c hariot and brought her to the c ity, s inc e had we left her s he would c ertainly have been m urdered by her people. W hen P haraoh heard what s he had done, as I did not think it well that s he s hould dwell here, he gave her the s m all hous e in this garden that s he m ight be guarded, and with it s lave
wom en to attend upon her. S o there s he dwells , having the freedom of the palac e, and all the while has filled the offic e of your nurs e."
A t this m om ent I grew faint and s hut m y eyes . W hen I opened them again, the P rinc e had gone. S ix m ore days went by before I was allowed to leave m y bed, and during this tim e I s aw m uc h of Merapi. S he was very s ad and lived in fear of being killed by the Hebrews . A ls o s he was troubled in her heart bec aus e
s he thought s he had betrayed her faith and people.
"A t leas t you are rid of Laban," I s aid.
"Never s hall I be rid of him while we both live," s he ans wered. "I belong to him and he will not loos e m y bond, bec aus e his heart is s et on m e."
"A nd is your heart s et on him ?" I as ked.
Her beautiful eyes filled with tears .
"A wom an m ay not have a heart. Oh! A na, I am unhappy," s he ans wered, and went away.
A ls o I s aw others . T he P rinc es s c am e to vis it m e. S he thanked m e m uc h bec aus e I had fulfilled m y prom is e to her and guarded the P rinc e.
Moreover s he brought m e a gift of gold from P haraoh, and other gifts of fine raim ent from hers elf. S he ques tioned m e c los ely about Merapi, of whom I c ould s ee s he was already jealous , and was glad when s he learned that s he was affianc ed to a Hebrew. Old B akenkhons u c am e too, and as ked m e m any things
about the P rinc e, the Hebrews and Merapi, es pec ially Merapi, of whos e deeds , he s aid, all E gypt was talking, ques tions that I ans wered as bes t I c ould.
"Here we have that wom an of whom K i told us ," he s aid, "s he who s hall bring s o m uc h joy and s o m uc h s orrow to the P rinc e of E gypt."
"W hy s o?" I as ked. "He has not taken her into his hous e, nor do I think that he m eans to do s o."
"Yet he will, A na, whether he m eans it or not. For his s ake s he betrayed her people, whic h am ong the Is raelites is a deadly c rim e. T wic e s he s aved his life, onc e by warning him of the am bus h, and again by s tabbing with her own hands one of her kins m en who was m urdering him . Is it not s o? Tell m e; you were
there."
"It is s o, but what then?"
"T his : that whatever s he m ay s ay, s he loves him ; unles s indeed, it is you whom s he loves ," and he looked at m e s hrewdly.
"W hen a wom an has a princ e, and s uc h a princ e to her hand, would s he trouble hers elf to s et s nares to c atc h a s c ribe?" I as ked, with s om e bitternes s .
"Oho! " he s aid, with one of his great laughs , "s o things s tand thus , do they? W ell, I thought it, but, friend A na, be warned in tim e. Do not try to c onjure down the Moon to be your hous ehold lam p les t s he s hould s et, and the S un, her lord, s hould grow wroth and burn you up. W ell, s he loves him , and therefore s oon
or late s he will m ake him love her, being what s he is ."
"How, B akenkhons u?"
"W ith m os t m en, A na, it would be s im ple. A s igh, s om e half-hidden tears at the right m om ent, and the thing is done, as I have known it done a thous and tim es . B ut this princ e being what he is , it m ay be otherwis e.
S he m ay s how him that her nam e is gone from him ; that bec aus e of him s he is hated by her people, and rejec ted by her god, and thus s tir his pity, whic h is Love's own s is ter. Or m ayhap, being als o, as I am told, wis e, s he will give him c ouns el as to all thes e m atters of the Is raelites , and thus c reep into his heart
under the guis e of friends hip, and then her s weetnes s and her beauty will do the res t in Nature's way. A t leas t by this road or by that, ups tream or downs tream , thither s he will c om e."
"If s o, what of it? It is the c us tom of the kings of E gypt to have m ore wives than one."
"T his , A na; S eti, I think, is a m an who in truth will have but one, and that one will be this Hebrew. Y es , a Hebrew wom an will rule E gypt, and turn him to the wors hip of her god, for never will s he wors hip ours .
Indeed, when they s ee that s he is los t to them , her people will us e her thus . Or perc hanc e her god him s elf will us e her to fulfil his purpos e, as already he m ay have us ed her."
"A nd afterwards , B akenkhons u?"
"A fterwards --who knows ? I am not a m agic ian, at leas t not one of any ac c ount, as k it of K i. B ut I am very, very old and I have watc hed the world, and I tell you that thes e things will happen, unles s ----" and he paus ed.
"Unles s what?"
He dropped his voic e.
"Unles s Us erti is bolder than I think, and kills her firs t or, better s till, proc ures s om e Hebrew to kill her--s ay, that c as t-off lover of hers . If you would be a friend to P haraoh and to E gypt, you m ight whis per it in her ear, A na."
 "Never! " I ans wered angrily.
"I did not think you would, A na, who als o s truggle in this net of m oonbeam s that is s tronger and m ore real than any twis ted out of palm or flax. W ell, nor will I, who in m y age love to watc h s uc h hum an s port and, being s o near to them , fear to thwart the s c hem es of gods . Let this s c roll unroll its elf as it will, and
when it is open, read it, A na, and rem em ber what I s aid 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 m e frightened.
Moreover the P rinc e vis ited m e every day, and even before I left m y bed began to dic tate to m e his report to P haraoh, s inc e he would em ploy no other s c ribe. T he s ubs tanc e of it was what he had fores hadowed, nam ely that the people of Is rael, having s uffered m uc h for generations at the hands of the E gyptians ,
s hould now be allowed to depart as their prophets dem anded, and go whither they would unharm ed. Of the attac k upon us in the pas s he m ade light, s aying it was the evil work of a few zealots wrought on by fanc ied ins ult to their god, a deed for whic h the whole people s hould not be c alled upon to s uffer. T he las t
words of the report were:
"Rem em ber, O P haraoh, I pray thee, that A m on, god of the E gyptians , and J ahveh, the god of the Is raelites , c annot rule together in the s am e land. If both abide in E gypt there will be a war of the gods wherein m ortals m ay be ground to dus t. T herefore, I pray thee, let Is rael go."
A fter I had ris en and was rec overed, I c opied out this report in m y faires t writing, refus ing to tell any of its purport, although all as ked, am ong them the V izier Nehes i, who offered m e a bribe to dis c los e its s ec ret. T his c am e to the ears of S eti, I know not how, and he was m uc h pleas ed with m e about the m atter,
s aying he rejoic ed to find that there was one s c ribe in E gypt who c ould not be bought. Us erti als o ques tioned m e, and when I refus ed to ans wer, s trange to s ay, was not angry, bec aus e, s he dec lared, I only did m y duty.
A t las t the roll was finis hed and s ealed, and the P rinc e with his own hand, but without s peaking, laid it on the knees of P haraoh at a public Court, for this he would trus t no one els e to do. A m enm es es als o brought up his report, as did Nehes i the V izier, and the Captain of the guard whic h s aved us from death.
E ight days later the P rinc e was s um m oned to a great Counc il of S tate, as were all others of the royal Hous e, together with the high offic ers . I too rec eived a s um m ons , as one who had been c onc erned in thes e m atters .
T he P rinc e, ac c om panied by the P rinc es s , drove to the palac e in P haraoh's golden c hariot, drawn by two m ilk-white hors es of the blood of thos e fam ous s teeds that had s aved the life of the great Ram es es in the S yrian war. A ll down the s treets , that were filled with thous ands of the people, they were rec eived
with s houts of welc om e.
"S ee," s aid the old c ounc illor B akenkhons u, who was m y c om panion in a s ec ond c hariot, "E gypt is proud and glad. It thought that its P rinc e was but a dream er of dream s . B ut now it has heard the tale of the am bus h in the pas s and learned that he is a m an of war, a warrior who c an fight with the bes t. T herefore it
loves him and rejoic es ."
"T hen, by the s am e rule, B akenkhons u, a butc her s hould be m ore great than the wis es t of s c ribes ."
"S o he is , A na, es pec ially if the butc her be one of m en. T he writer c reates , but the s layer kills , and in a world ruled of death he who kills has m ore honour than he who c reates . Hearken, now they are s houting out your nam e. Is that bec aus e you are the author of c ertain writings ? I tell you, No. It is bec aus e you
killed three m en yonder in the pas s . If you would bec om e fam ous and beloved, A na, c eas e from the writing of books and take to the c utting of throats ."
"Y et the writer s till lives when he is dead."
"Oho! " laughed B akenkhons u, "you are even m ore foolis h than I thought.
How is a m an advantaged by what happens when he is dead? W hy, to-day that blind beggar whining on the tem ple s teps m eans m ore to E gypt than all the m um m ies of all the P haraohs , unles s they c an be robbed. Take what life c an give you, A na, and do not trouble about the offerings whic h are laid in the tom bs
for tim e to c rum ble."
"T hat is a m ean faith, B akenkhons u."
"V ery m ean, A na, like all els e that we c an tas te and handle. A m ean faith s uited to m ean hearts , am ong whom s hould be rec koned all s ave one in every thous and. Y et, if you would pros per, follow it, and when you are dead I will c om e and laugh upon your grave, and s ay, 'Here lies one of whom I had hoped higher
things , as I hope them of your m as ter.'"
"A nd not in vain, B akenkhons u, whatever m ay happen to the s ervant."
"T hat we s hall learn, and ere long, I think. I wonder who will ride at his s ide before the next Nile flood. B y then, perc hanc e, he will have c hanged P haraoh's golden c hariot for an ox-c art, and you will goad the oxen and talk to him of the s tars --or, m ayhap of the m oon. W ell, you m ight both be happier thus , and s he
of the m oon is a jealous goddes s who loves wors hip. Oho-ho! Here are the palac e s teps . Help m e to des c end, P ries t of the Lady of the Moon."
W e entered the palac e and were led through the great hall to a s m aller c ham ber where P haraoh, who did not wear his robes of s tate, awaited us , s eated in a c edar c hair. Glanc ing at him I s aw that his fac e was s tern and troubled; als o it s eem ed to m e that he had grown older. T he P rinc e and P rinc es s m ade
obeis anc e to him , as did we les s er folk, but he took no heed. W hen all were pres ent and the doors had been s hut, P haraoh s aid:
"I have read your report, S on S eti, c onc erning your vis it to the Is raelites , and all that c hanc ed to you; and als o the reports of you, nephew A m enm es es , and of you, Offic ers , who ac c om panied the P rinc e of E gypt. B efore I s peak of them , let the S c ribe A na, who was the c hariot c om panion of his Highnes s when the
Hebrews attac ked him , s tand forward and tell m e all that pas s ed."
S o I advanc ed, and with bowed head repeated that tale, only leaving out s o far as was pos s ible any m ention of m ys elf. W hen I had finis hed, P haraoh s aid:
"He who s peaks but half the truth is s om etim es m ore m is c hievous than a liar. Did you then s it in the c hariot, S c ribe, doing nothing while the P rinc e battled for his life? Or did you run away? S peak, S eti, and s ay what part this m an played for good or ill."
T hen the P rinc e told of m y s hare in the fight, with words that brought the blood to m y brow. He told als o how that it was I who, taking the ris k of his wrath, had ordered the guard of twenty m en to follow us uns een, had dis guis ed two s eas oned s oldiers as c hariot runners , and had thought to s end bac k the driver to
s um m on help at the c om m enc em ent of the fray; how I had been hurt als o, and was but lately rec overed. W hen he had finis hed, P haraoh s aid:
"T hat this s tory is true I know from others . S c ribe, you have done well. B ut for you to-day his Highnes s would lie upon the table of the em balm ers , as indeed for his folly he des erves to do, and E gypt would m ourn from T hebes to the m ouths of Nile. Com e hither."
I c am e with trem bling s teps , and knelt before his Majes ty. A round his nec k hung a beauteous c hain of wrought gold. He took it, and c as t it over m y head, s aying:
"B ec aus e you have s hown yours elf both brave and wis e, with this gold I give you the title of Counc illor and K ing's Com panion, and the right to ins c ribe the s am e upon your funeral s tele. Let it be noted. Retire, S c ribe A na, Counc illor and K ing's Com panion."
S o I withdrew c onfus ed, and as I pas s ed S eti, he whis pered in m y ear:
"I pray you, m y lord, do not c eas e to be P rinc e's Com panion, bec aus e you have bec om e that of the K ing."
T hen P haraoh ordered that the Captain of the guard s hould be advanc ed in rank, and that gifts s hould be given to eac h of the s oldiers , and provis ion be m ade for the c hildren of thos e who had been killed, with double allowanc e to the fam ilies of the two m en whom I had dis guis ed as runners .
T his done, onc e m ore P haraoh s poke, s lowly and with m uc h m eaning, having firs t ordered that all attendants and guards s hould leave the c ham ber. I was about to go als o, but old B akenkhons u c aught m e by the robe, s aying that in m y new rank of Counc illor I had the right to rem ain.
"P rinc e S eti," he s aid, "after all that I have heard, I find this report of yours s trange reading. Moreover, the tenor of it is different indeed to that of thos e of the Count A m enm es es and the offic ers . You c ouns el m e to let thes e Is raelites go where they will, bec aus e of c ertain hards hips that they have s uffered in the
pas t, whic h hards hips , however, have left them m any and ric h. T hat c ouns el I am not m inded to take. Rather am I m inded to s end an arm y to the land of Gos hen with orders to des patc h this people, who c ons pired to m urder the P rinc e of E gypt, through the Gateway of the W es t, there to wors hip their god in heaven or
in hell.
A ye, to s lay them all from the greybeard down to the s uc kling at the breas t."
"I hear P haraoh," s aid S eti, quietly.
"S uc h is m y will," went on Meneptah, "and thos e who ac c om panied you upon your bus ines s , and all m y c ounc illors think as I do, for truly E gypt c annot bear s o hideous a treas on. Y et, ac c ording to our law and c us tom it is needful, before s uc h great ac ts of war and polic y are undertaken, that he who s tands next to
the throne, and is des tined to fill it, s hould give c ons ent thereto. Do you c ons ent, P rinc e of E gypt?"
"I do not c ons ent, P haraoh. I think it would be a wic ked deed that tens of thous ands s hould be m as s ac red for the reas on that a few fools waylaid a m an who c hanc ed to be of royal blood, bec aus e by inadvertenc e, he had des ec rated their s anc tuary."
Now I s aw that this ans wer m ade P haraoh wroth, for never before had his will been c ros s ed in s uc h a fas hion. S till he c ontrolled him s elf, and as ked:
"Do you then c ons ent, P rinc e, to a gentler s entenc e, nam ely that the Hebrew people s hould be broken up; that the m ore dangerous of them s hould be s ent to labour in the des ert m ines and quarries , and the res t dis tributed throughout E gypt, there to live as s laves ?"
"I do not c ons ent, P haraoh. My poor c ouns el is written in yonder roll and c annot be c hanged."
Meneptah's eyes flas hed, but again he c ontrolled him s elf, and as ked:
"If you s hould c om e to fill this plac e of m ine, P rinc e S eti, tell us , here as s em bled, what polic y will you purs ue towards thes e Hebrews ?"
"T hat polic y, O P haraoh, whic h I have c ouns elled in the roll. If ever I fill the throne, I s hall let them go whither they will, taking their goods with them ."
Now all thos e pres ent s tared at him and m urm ured. B ut P haraoh ros e, s haking with wrath. S eizing his robe where it was fas tened at the breas t, he rent it, and c ried in a terrible voic e:
"Hear him , ye gods of E gypt! Hear this s on of m ine who defies m e to m y fac e and would s et your nec ks beneath the heel of a s tranger god. P rinc e S eti, in the pres enc e of thes e royal ones , and thes e m y c ounc illors , I----"
He s aid no m ore, for the P rinc es s Us erti, who till now had rem ained s ilent, ran to him , and throwing her arm s about him , began to whis per in his ear. He hearkened to her, then s at him s elf down, and s poke again:
"T he P rinc es s brings it to m y m ind that this is a great m atter, one not to be dealt with has tily. It m ay happen that when the P rinc e has taken c ouns el with her, and with his own heart, and perc hanc e has s ought the wis dom of the gods , he will c hange the words whic h have pas s ed his lips .
I c om m and you, P rinc e, to wait upon m e here at this s am e hour on the third day from this . Meanwhile, I c om m and all pres ent, upon pain of death, to s ay nothing of what has pas s ed within thes e walls ."
"I hear P haraoh," s aid the P rinc e, bowing.
Meneptah ros e to s how that the Counc il was dis c harged, when the V izier Nehes i approac hed him , and as ked:
"W hat of the Hebrew pris oners , O P haraoh, thos e m urderers who were c aptured in the pas s ?"
"T heir guilt is proved. Let them be beaten with rods till they die, and if they have wives or c hildren, let them be s eized and s old as s laves ."
"P haraoh's will be done! " s aid the V izier.
CHAP TE R IX
THE S MITING OF AMON
T hat evening I s at ill at eas e in m y work-c ham ber in S eti's palac e, m aking pretenc e to write, I who felt that great evils threatened m y lord the P rinc e, and knew not what to do to turn them from him . T he door opened, and old P am bas a the c ham berlain appeared and addres s ed m e by m y new titles , s aying that the
Hebrew lady Merapi, who had been m y nurs e in s ic knes s , wis hed to s peak with m e. P res ently s he c am e and s tood before m e.
"S c ribe A na," s he s aid, "I have but jus t s een m y unc le J abez, who has c om e, or been s ent, with a m es s age to m e," and s he hes itated.
"W hy was he s ent, Lady? T o bring you news of Laban?"
"Not s o. Laban has fled away and none know where he is , and J abez has only es c aped m uc h trouble as the unc le of a traitres s by undertaking this m is s ion."
"W hat is the m is s ion?"
"T o pray m e, if I would s ave m ys elf from death and the vengeanc e of God, to work upon the heart of his Highnes s , whic h I know not how to do----"
"Y et I think you m ight find m eans , Merapi."
"----s ave through you, his friend and c ouns ellor," s he went on, turning away her fac e. "J abez has learned that it is in the m ind of P haraoh utterly to des troy the people of Is rael."
"How does he know that, Merapi?"
"I c annot s ay, but I think all the Hebrews know. I knew it m ys elf though none had told m e. He has learned als o that this c annot be done under the law of E gypt unles s the P rinc e who is heir to the throne and of full age c ons ents . Now I am c om e to pray you to pray the P rinc e not to c ons ent."
"W hy not pray to the P rinc e yours elf, Merapi----" I began, when from the s hadows behind m e I heard the voic e of S eti, who had entered by the private door bearing s om e writings in his hand, s aying:
"A nd what prayer has the lady Merapi to m ake to m e? Nay, ris e and s peak, Moon of Is rael."
"O P rinc e," s he pleaded, "m y prayer is that you will s ave the Hebrews from death by the s word, as you alone have the power to do."
A t this m om ent the doors opened and in s wept the royal Us erti.
"W hat does this wom an here?" s he as ked.
"I think that s he c am e to s ee A na, wife, as I did, and as doubtles s you do. A ls o being here s he prays m e to s ave her people from the s word."
"A nd I pray you, hus band, to give her people to the s word, whic h they have earned, who would have m urdered you."
"A nd been paid, everyone of them , Us erti, unles s s om e s till linger beneath the rods ," he added with a s hudder. "T he res t are innoc ent--why s hould they die?"
"B ec aus e your throne hangs upon it, S eti. I s ay that if you c ontinue to thwart the will of P haraoh, as by the law of E gypt you c an do, he will dis inherit you and s et your c ous in A m enm es es in your plac e, as by the law of E gypt he c an do."
"I thought it, Us erti. Y et why s hould I turn m y bac k upon the right over a m atter of m y private fortunes ? T he ques tion is --is it the right?"
S he s tared at him in am azem ent, s he who never unders tood S eti and c ould not dream that he would throw away the greates t throne in all the world to s ave a s ubjec t people, m erely bec aus e he thought that they s hould not die. S till, warned by s om e ins tinc t, s he left the firs t ques tion unans wered, dealing only
with the s ec ond.
"It is the right," s he s aid, "for m any reas ons whereof I need give but one, for in it lie all the others . T he gods of E gypt are the true gods whom we m us t s erve and obey, or peris h here and hereafter. T he god of the Is raelites is a fals e god and thos e who wors hip him are heretic s and by their heres y under s entenc e
of death. T herefore it is m os t right that thos e whom the true gods have c ondem ned s hould die by the s words of their s ervants ."
"T hat is well argued, Us erti, and if it be s o, m ayhap m y m ind will bec om e as yours in this m atter, s o that I s hall no longer s tand between P haraoh and his des ire. B ut is it s o? T here's the problem . I will not as k you why you s ay that the gods of the E gyptians are the true gods , bec aus e I know what you would
ans wer, or rather that you c ould give no ans wer. B ut I will as k this lady whether her god is a fals e god, and if s he replies that he is not, I will as k her to prove this to m e if s he c an. If s he is able to prove it, then I think that what I s aid to P haraoh to-day I s hall repeat three days henc e. If s he is not able to prove it, then I
s hall c ons ider very earnes tly of the m atter. A ns wer now, Moon of Is rael, rem em bering that m any thous ands of lives m ay hang on what you s ay."
"O your Highnes s ," began Merapi. T hen s he paus ed, c las ped her hands and looked upwards . I think that s he was praying, for her lips m oved. A s s he s tood thus I s aw, and I think S eti s aw als o, a very wonderful light grow on her fac e and gather in her eyes , a kind of divine fire of ins piration and res olve.
"How c an I, a poor Hebrew m aiden, prove to your Highnes s that m y God is the true God and that the gods of E gypt are fals e gods ? I know not, and yet, is there any one god am ong all the m any whom you wors hip, whom you are prepared to s et up agains t him ?"
"Of a s urety, Is raelite," ans wered Us erti. "T here is A m on-Ra, Father of the gods , of whom all other gods have their being, and from whom they draw their s trength. Yonder his s tatue s its in the s anc tuary of his anc ient tem ple. Let your god s tir him from his plac e! B ut what will you bring forward agains t the m ajes ty
of A m on-Ra?"
"My God has no s tatues , P rinc es s , and his plac e is in the hearts of m en, or s o I have been taught by his prophets . I have nothing to bring forward in this war s ave that whic h m us t be offered in all wars --m y life."
"W hat do you m ean?" as ked S eti, as tounded.
"I m ean that I, unfriended and alone, will enter the pres enc e of A m on-Ra in his c hos en s anc tuary, and in the nam e of m y God will c hallenge him to kill m e, if he c an."
W e s tared at her, and Us erti exc laim ed:
"If he c an! Hearken now to this blas phem er, and do you, S eti, ac c ept her c hallenge as hereditary high-pries t of the god A m on? Let her life pay forfeit for her s ac rilege."
"A nd if the great god A m on c annot, or does not deign to kill you, Lady, how will that prove that your god is greater than he?" as ked the P rinc e.
"P erhaps he m ight s m ile and in his pity, let the ins ult pas s , as your god did by m e."
"T hus it s hall be proved, your Highnes s . If naught happens to m e, or if I am protec ted from anything that does happen, then I will dare to c all upon m y god to work a s ign and a wonder, and to hum ble A m on-Ra before your eyes ."
"A nd if your god s hould als o s m ile and let the m atter pas s , Lady, as he did by m e the other day when his pries ts c alled upon him , what s hall we have learned as to his s trength, or as to that of A m on-Ra?"
"O P rinc e, you will have learned nothing. Y et if I es c ape from the wrath of A m on and m y God is deaf to m y prayer, then I am ready to be delivered over into the hands of the pries ts of A m on that they m ay avenge m y s ac rilege upon m e."
"T here s peaks a great heart," s aid S eti; "yet I am not m inded that this lady s hould s et her life upon s uc h an is s ue. I do not believe that either the high-god of E gypt or the god of the Is raelites will s tir, but I am quite s ure that the pries ts of A m on will avenge the s ac rilege, and that c ruelly enough. T he dic e are
loaded agains t you, Lady. Y ou s hall not prove your faith with blood."
"W hy not?" as ked Us erti. "W hat is this girl to you, S eti, that you s hould s tand between her and the fruit of her wic kednes s , you who at leas t in nam e are the high-pries t of the god whom s he blas phem es and who wear his robes at tem ple feas ts ? S he believes in her god, leave it to her god to help her as s he has
dared to s ay he will."
"Y ou believe in A m on, Us erti. A re you prepared to s take your life agains t hers in this c ontes t?"
"I am not s o m ad and vain, S eti, as to believe that the god of all the world will des c end from heaven to s ave m e at m y prayer, as this im pious girl pretends that s he believes ."
"Y ou refus e. T hen, A na, what s ay you, who are a loyal wors hipper of A m on?"
"I s ay, O P rinc e, that it would be pres um ptuous of m e to take prec edenc e of his high-pries t in s uc h a m atter."
S eti s m iled and ans wered:
"A nd the high-pries t s ays that it would be pres um ptuous of him to pus h s o far the prerogative of a high offic e whic h he never s ought."
"Your Highnes s ," broke in Merapi in her honeyed, pleading voic e, "I pray you to be grac ious to m e, and to s uffer m e to m ake this trial, whic h I have s ought, I know not why. W ords s uc h as I have s poken c annot be rec alled. A lready they are regis tered in the books of E ternity, and s oon or late, in this way or in that,
m us t be fulfilled. My life is s taked, and I des ire to learn at onc e if it be forfeit."
Now even Us erti looked on her with adm iration, but ans wered only:
"Of a truth, Is raelite, I trus t that this c ourage will not fors ake you when you are handed over to the m erc ies of K i, the S ac rific er of A m on, and the pries ts , in the vaults of the tem ple you would profane."
"I als o trus t that it will not, your Highnes s , if s uc h s hould be m y fate. Y our word, P rinc e of E gypt."
S eti looked at her s tanding before him s o c alm ly with bowed head, and hands c ros s ed upon her breas t. T hen he looked at Us erti, who wore a m oc king s m ile upon her fac e. S he read the m eaning of that s m ile as I did. It was that s he did not believe that he would allow this beautiful wom an, who had s aved his
life, to ris k her life for the s ake of any or all the powers of heaven or hell. For a little while he walked to and fro about the c ham ber, then he s topped and s aid s uddenly addres s ing, not Merapi, but Us erti:
"Have your will, rem em bering that if this brave wom an fails and dies , her blood is on your hands , and that if s he trium phs and lives , I s hall hold her to be one of the nobles t of her s ex, and s hall m ake s tudy of all this m atter of religion. Moon of Is rael, as titular high-pries t of A m on-Ra, I ac c ept your c hallenge on
behalf of the god, though whether he will take note of it I do not know. T he trial s hall be m ade to-m orrow night in the s anc tuary of the tem ple, at an hour that will be c om m unic ated to you. I s hall be pres ent to m ake s ure that you m eet with jus tic e, as will s om e others . Regis ter m y c om m ands , S c ribe A na, and let the
head-pries t of A m on, Roi, and the s ac rific er to A m on, K i the Magic ian, be s um m oned, that I m ay s peak with them . Farewell, Lady."
S he went, but at the door turned and s aid:
"I thank you, P rinc e, on m y own behalf, and on that of m y people.
W hatever c hanc es , I bes eec h you do not forget the prayer that I have m ade to you to s ave them , being innoc ent, from the s word. Now I as k that I m ay be left quite alone till I am s um m oned to the tem ple, who m us t m ake s uc h preparation as I c an to m eet m y fate, whatever it m ay be."
Us erti departed als o without a word.
"Oh! friend, what have I done?" s aid S eti. "A re there any gods ? T ell m e, are there any gods ?"
"P erhaps we s hall learn to-m orrow night, P rinc e," I ans wered. "A t leas t Merapi thinks that there is a god, and doubtles s has been c om m anded to put her faith to proof. T his , as I believe, was the real m es s age that J abez her unc le has brought to her."
It was the hour before the dawn, jus t when the night is darkes t. W e s tood in the s anc tuary of the anc ient tem ple of A m on-Ra, that was lit with m any lam ps . It was an awful plac e. On either s ide the great c olum ns towered to the m as s ive roof. A t the head of the s anc tuary s at the s tatue of A m on-Ra, thric e the s ize
of a m an. On his brow, ris ing from the c rown, were two tall feathers of s tone, and in his hands he held the S c ourge of Rule and the s ym bols of P ower and E verlas tingnes s . T he lam plight flic kered upon his s tern and terrible fac e s taring towards the eas t. To his right was the s tatue of Mut, the Mother of all things . On
her head was the double c rown of E gypt and the uraeus c res t, and in her hand the looped c ros s , the s ign of Life eternal. To his left s at K hons u, the hawk-headed god of the m oon. On his head was the c res c ent of the young m oon c arrying the dis c of the full m oon; in his right hand he als o held the looped c ros s , the
s ign of Life eternal, and in his left the S taff of S trength. S uc h was this m ighty triad, but of thes e the greates t was A m on-Ra, to whom the s hrine was dedic ated. Fearful they s tood towering above us agains t the bac kground of blac knes s .
Gathered there were S eti the P rinc e, c lothed in a pries t's white robe, and wearing a linen headdres s , but no ornam ents , and Us erti the P rinc es s , high-pries tes s of Hathor, Lady of the W es t, Goddes s of Love and Nature. S he wore Hathor's vulture headdres s , and on it the dis c of the m oon fas hioned of s ilver. A ls o
were pres ent Roi the head-pries t, c lad in his s ac erdotal robes , an old and wizened m an with a s trong, fierc e fac e, K i the S ac rific er and Magic ian, B akenkhons u the anc ient, m ys elf, and a c om pany of the pries ts of A m on-Ra, Mut, and K hons u. From behind the s tatues c am e the s ound of s olem n s inging, though who
s ang we c ould not s ee.
 P res ently from out of the darknes s that lay beyond the lam ps appeared a wom an, led by two pries tes s es and wrapped in a long c loak. T hey brought her to an open plac e in front of the s tatue of A m on, took from her the c loak and departed, glanc ing bac k at her with eyes of hate and fear.
T here before us s tood Merapi, c lad in white, with a s im ple wim ple about her head m ade fas t beneath her c hin with that s c arabaeus c las p whic h S eti had given to her in the c ity of Gos hen, one s pot of brightes t blue am id a c loud of white. S he looked neither to right nor left of her. Onc e only s he glanc ed at the
towering s tatue of the god that frowned above, then with a little s hiver, fixed her eyes upon the pattern of the floor.
"W hat does s he look like?" whis pered B akenkhons u to m e.
"A c orps e m ade ready for the em balm ers ," I ans wered.
He s hook his great head.
"T hen a bride m ade ready for her hus band."
A gain he s hook his head.
"T hen a pries tes s about to read from the roll of Mys teries ."
"Now you have it, A na, and to unders tand what s he reads , whic h few pries tes s es ever do. A ls o all three ans wers were right, for in this wom an I s eem to s ee doom that is Death, life that is Love, and s pirit that is P ower. S he has a s oul whic h both Heaven and E arth have kis s ed."
"A ye, but whic h of them will c laim her in the end?"
"T hat we m ay learn before the dawn, A na. Hus h! the fight begins ."
T he head-pries t, Roi, advanc ed and, s tanding before the god, s prinkled his feet with water and with perfum e. T hen he s tretc hed out his hands , whereon all pres ent pros trated them s elves , s ave Merapi only, who s tood alone in that great plac e like the s urvivor of a battle.
"Hail to thee, A m on-Ra," he began, "Lord of Heaven, E s tablis her of all things , Maker of the gods , who unrolled the s kies and built the foundations of the E arth. O god of gods , appears before thee this wom an Merapi, daughter of Nathan, a c hild of the Hebrew rac e that owns thee not. T his wom an blas phem es thy
m ight; this wom an defies thee; this wom an s ets up her god above thee. Is it not s o, wom an?"
"It is s o," ans wered Merapi in a low voic e.
"T hus does s he defy thee, thou Only One of m any Form s , s aying 'if the god A m on of the E gyptians be a greater god than m y god, let him s natc h m e out of the arm s of m y god and here in this the s hrine of A m on take the breath from out m y lips and leave m e a thing of c lay.' A re thes e thy words , O wom an?"
"T hey are m y words ," s he s aid in the s am e low voic e, and oh! I s hivered as I heard.
T he pries t went on.
"O Lord of T im e, Lord of Life, Lord of S pirits and the Divinities of Heaven, Lord of T error, c om e forth now in thy m ajes ty and s m ite this blas phem er to the dus t."
Roi withdrew and S eti s tood forward.
"K now, O god A m on," he s aid, addres s ing the s tatue as though he wee s peaking to a living m an, "from the lips of m e, thy high-pries t, by birth the P rinc e and Heir of E gypt, that great things hang upon this m atter here in the Land of E gypt, m ayhap even who s hall s it upon the throne that thou gives t to its kings .
T his wom an of Is rael dares thee to thy fac e, s aying that there is a greater god than thou art and that thou c ans t not harm her through the buc kler of his s trength. S he s ays , m oreover, that s he will c all upon her god to work a s ign and a wonder upon thee. Las tly, s he s ays that if thou dos t not harm her and if her god
works no s ign upon thee, then s he is ready to be handed over to thy pries ts and die the death of a blas phem er. T hy honour is s et agains t her life, O great God of E gypt, and we, thy wors hippers , watc h to s ee the balanc e turn."
"W ell and jus tly put," m uttered B akenkhons u to m e. "Now if A m on fails us , what will you think of A m on, A na?"
"I s hall learn the high-pries t's m ind and think what the high-pries t thinks ," I ans wered darkly, though in m y heart I was terribly afraid for Merapi, and, to s peak truth, for m ys elf als o, bec aus e of the doubts whic h aros e in m e and would not be quenc hed.
S eti withdrew, taking his s tand by Us erti, and K i s tood forward and s aid:
"O A m on, I thy S ac rific er, I thy Magic ian, to whom thou gives t power, I the pries t and s ervant of Is is , Mother of Mys teries , Queen of the c om pany of the gods , c all upon thee. S he who s tands before thee is but a Hebrew wom an. Yet, as thou knowes t well, O Father, in this hous e s he is m ore than wom an, inas m uc h
as s he is the V oic e and S word of thine enem y, J ahveh, god of the Is raelites . S he thinks , m ayhap, that s he has c om e here of her own will, but thou knowes t, Father A m on, as I know, that s he is s ent by the great prophets of her people, thos e m agic ians who guide her s oul with s pells to work thee evil and to s et thee,
A m on, beneath the heel of J ahveh. T he s take s eem s s m all, the life of this one m aid, no m ore; yet it is very great. T his is the s take, O Father: S hall A m on rule the world, or J ahveh. If thou falles t to-night, thou falles t for ever; if thou dos t trium ph to-night, thou dos t trium ph for ever. In yonder s hape of s tone hides thy
s pirit; in yonder s hape of wom an's fles h hides the s pirit of thy foe. S m ite her, O A m on, s m ite her to s m all dus t; let not the s trength that is in her prevail agains t thy s trength, les t thy nam e s hould be defiled and s orrows and los s s hould c om e upon the land whic h is thy throne; les t, too, the wizards of the Is raelites
s hould overc om e us thy s ervants . T hus prayeth K i thy m agic ian, on whos e s oul it has pleas ed thee to pour s trength and wis dom ."
T hen followed a great s ilenc e.
W atc hing the s tatue of the god, pres ently I thought that it m oved, and as I c ould s ee by the s tir am ong them , s o did the others . I thought that its s tone eyes rolled, I thought that it lifted the S c ourge of P ower in its granite hand, though whether thes e things were done by s om e s pirit or by s om e pries t, or by the
m agic of K i, I do not know. A t the leas t, a great wind began to blow about the tem ple, s tirring our robes and c aus ing the lam ps to flic ker. Only the robes of Merapi did not s tir. Y et s he s aw what I c ould not s ee, for s uddenly her eyes grew frightened.
"T he god is awake," whis pered B akenkhons u. "Now good-bye to your fair Is raelite. S ee, the P rinc e trem bles , K i s m iles , and the fac e of Us erti glows with trium ph."
A s he s poke the blue s c arabaeus was s natc hed from Merapi's breas t as though by a hand. It fell to the floor as did her wim ple, s o that now s he appeared with her ric h hair flowing down her robe. T hen the eyes of the s tatue s eem ed to c eas e to roll, the wind c eas ed to blow, and again there was s ilenc e.
Merapi s tooped, lifted the wim ple, replac ed it on her head, found the s c arabaeus c las p, and very quietly, as a wom an who was tiring hers elf m ight do, m ade it fas t in its plac e again, a s ight at whic h I heard Us erti gas p.
For a long while we waited. W atc hing the fac es of the c ongregation, I s aw am azem ent and doubt on thos e of the pries ts , rage on that of K i, and on S eti's the flic ker of a little s m ile. Merapi's eyes were c los ed as though s he were as leep. A t length s he opened them , and turning her head towards the P rinc e s aid:
"O high-pries t of A m on-Ra, has your god worked his will on m e, or m us t I wait longer before I c all upon m y God?"
"Do what you will or c an, wom an, and m ake an end, for alm os t it is the m om ent of dawn when the tem ple wors hip opens ."
T hen Merapi c las ped her hands , and looking upwards , prayed aloud very s weetly and s im ply, s aying:
"O God of m y fathers , trus ting in T hee, I, a poor m aid of T hy people Is rael, have s et the life T hou gaves t m e in T hy Hand. If, as I believe, T hou art the God of gods , I pray T hee s how a s ign and a wonder upon this god of the E gyptians , and thereby dec lare T hine Honour and keep m y breath within m y breas t. If it
pleas es T hee not, then let m e die, as doubtles s for m y m any s ins I des erve to do. O God of m y fathers , I have m ade m y prayer. Hear it or rejec t it ac c ording to T hy W ill."
S o s he ended, and lis tening to her, I felt the tears ris ing in m y eyes , bec aus e s he was s o m uc h alone, and I feared that this god of hers would never c om e to s ave her from the torm ents of the pries ts . S eti als o turned his head away, and s tared down the s anc tuary at the s ky over the open c ourt where the lights of
dawn were gathering.
Onc e m ore there was s ilenc e. T hen again that wind blew, very s trongly, extinguis hing the lam ps , and, as it s eem ed to m e, whirling away Merapi from where s he was , s o that now s he s tood to one s ide of the s tatue. T he s anc tuary was filled with gloom , till pres ently the firs t rays of the ris ing s un s truc k upon the
roof. T hey fell down, down, as m inute followed m inute, till at length they res ted like a s word of flam e upon the s tatue of A m on-Ra. Onc e m ore that s tatue s eem ed to m ove. I thought that it lifted its s tone arm s to protec t its head. T hen in a m om ent with a rending nois e, its m ighty m as s burs t as under, and fell in s m all
dus t about the throne, alm os t hiding it from s ight.
"B ehold m y God has ans wered m e, the m os t hum ble of His s ervants ," s aid Merapi in the s am e s weet and gentle voic e. "B ehold the s ign and the wonder! "
"W itc h! " s c ream ed the head-pries t Roi, and fled away, followed by his fellows .
"S orc eres s ! " his s ed Us erti, and fled als o, as did all the others , s ave the P rinc e, B akenkhons u, I A na, and K i the Magic ian.
W e s tood am azed, and while we did s o, K i turned to Merapi and s poke.
His fac e was terrible with fear and fury, and his eyes s hone like lam ps .
A lthough he did but whis per, I who was neares t to them heard all that was s aid, whic h the others c ould not do.
"Y our m agic is good, Is raelite," he m uttered, "s o good that it has overc om e m ine here in the tem ple where I s erve."
"I have no m agic ," s he ans wered very low. "I obeyed a c om m and, no m ore."
He laughed bitterly, and as ked:
"S hould two of a trade was te tim e on foolis hnes s ? Lis ten now. T eac h m e your s ec rets , and I will teac h you m ine, and together we will drive E gypt like a c hariot."
"I have no s ec rets , I have only faith," s aid Merapi again.
"W om an," he went on, "wom an or devil, will you take m e for friend or foe? Here I have been s ham ed, s inc e it was to m e and not to their gods that the pries ts trus ted to des troy you. Yet I c an s till forgive. Choos e now, knowing that as m y friends hip will lead you to rule, to life and s plendour, s o m y hate will drive you
to s ham e and death."
"Y ou are bes ide yours elf, and know not what you s ay. I tell you that I have no m agic to give or to withhold," s he ans wered, as one who did not unders tand or was indifferent, and turned away from him .
T hereon he m uttered s om e c urs e whic h I c ould not c atc h, bowed to the heap of dus t that had been the s tatue of the god, and vanis hed away am ong the pillars of the s anc tuary.
"Oho-ho! " laughed B akenkhons u. "Not in vain have I lived to be s o very old, for now it s eem s we have a new god in E gypt, and there s tands his prophetes s ."
Merapi c am e to the princ e.
"O high-pries t of A m on," s he s aid, "does it pleas e you to let m e go, for I am very weary?"
CHAP TE R X
THE DE ATH OF P HARAOH
It was the appointed day and hour. B y c om m and of the P rinc e I drove with him to the palac e of P haraoh, whither her Highnes s the P rinc es s refus ed to be his c om panion, and for the firs t tim e we talked together of that whic h had pas s ed in the tem ple.
"Have you s een the lady Merapi?" he as ked of m e.
I ans wered No, as I was told that s he was s ic k within her hous e and lay abed s uffering from wearines s , or I knew not what.
"S he does well to keep there," s aid S eti, "I think that if s he c am e out thos e pries ts would m urder her if they c ould. A ls o there are others ," and he glanc ed bac k at the c hariot that bore Us erti in s tate. "S ay, A na, c an you interpret all this m atter?"
"Not I, P rinc e. I thought that perhaps your Highnes s , the high-pries t of A non, c ould give m e light."
"T he high-pries t of A m on wanders in thic k darknes s . K i and the res t s wear that this Is raelite is a s orc eres s who has outm atc hed their m agic , but to m e it s eem s m ore s im ple to believe that what s he s ays is true; that her god is greater than A m on."
"A nd if this be true, P rinc e, what are we to do who are s worn to the gods of E gypt?"
"B ow our heads and fall with them , I s uppos e, A na, s inc e honour will not s uffer us to des ert them ."
"E ven if they be fals e, P rinc e?"
"I do not think that they are fals e, A na, though m ayhap they be les s true. A t leas t they are the gods of the E gyptians and we are E gyptians ." He paus ed and glanc ed at the c rowded s treets , then added, "S ee, when I pas s ed this way three days ago I was rec eived with s houts of welc om e by the people. Now they are
s ilent, every one."
"P erhaps they have heard of what pas s ed in the tem ple."
"Doubtles s , but it is not that whic h troubles them who think that the gods c an guard them s elves . T hey have heard als o that I would befriend the Hebrews whom they hate, and therefore they begin to hate m e. W hy s hould I c om plain when P haraoh s hows them the way?"
"P rinc e," I whis pered, "what will you s ay to P haraoh?"
"T hat depends on what P haraoh s ays to m e. A na, if I will not des ert our gods bec aus e they s eem to be the weaker, though it s hould prove to m y advantage, do you think that I would des ert thes e Hebrews bec aus e they s eem to be weaker, even to gain a throne?"
"T here greatnes s s peaks ," I m urm ured, and as we des c ended from the c hariot he thanked m e with a look.
W e pas s ed through the great hall to that s am e c ham ber where P haraoh had given m e the c hain of gold. A lready he was there s eated at the head of the c ham ber and wearing on his head the double c rown. A bout him were gathered all thos e of royal blood and the great offic ers of s tate. W e m ade our obeis anc es ,
but of thes e he s eem ed to take no note. His eyes were alm os t c los ed, and to m e he looked like a m an who is very ill.
T he P rinc es s Us erti entered after us and to her he s poke s om e words of welc om e, giving her his hand to kis s . T hen he ordered the doors to be c los ed. A s he did s o, an offic er of the hous ehold entered and s aid that a m es s enger had c om e from the Hebrews who des ired s peec h with P haraoh.
"Let him enter," s aid Meneptah, and pres ently he appeared.
He was a wild-eyed m an of m iddle age, with long hair that fell over his s heeps kin robe. T o m e he looked like a s ooths ayer. He s tood before P haraoh, m aking no s alutation.
"Deliver your m es s age and be gone," s aid Nehes i the V izier.
"T hes e are the words of the Fathers of Is rael, s poken by m y lips ," c ried the m an in a voic e that rang all round the vaulted c ham ber. "It has c om e to our ears , O P haraoh, that the wom an Merapi, daughter of Nathan, who has refuged in your c ity, s he who is nam ed Moon of Is rael, has s hown hers elf to be a
prophetes s of power, one to whom our God has given s trength, in that, s tanding alone am ids t the pries ts and m agic ians of A m on of the E gyptians , s he took no harm from their s orc eries and was able with the s word of prayer to s m ite the idol of A m on to the dus t. W e dem and that this prophetes s be res tored to us ,
m aking oath on our part that s he s hall be given over s afely to her betrothed hus band and that no harm s hall c om e to her for any c rim es or treas ons s he m ay have c om m itted agains t her people."
"A s to this m atter," replied P haraoh quietly, "m ake your prayer to the P rinc e of E gypt, in whos e hous ehold I unders tand the wom an dwells . If it pleas es him to s urrender her who, I take it, is a witc h or a c unning worker of tric ks , to her betrothed and her kindred, let him do s o. It is not for P haraoh to judge of the fate
of private s laves ."
T he m an wheeled round and addres s ed S eti, s aying:
"Y ou have heard, S on of the K ing. W ill you deliver up this wom an?"
"Neither do I prom is e to deliver her up nor not to deliver her up," ans wered S eti, "s inc e the lady Merapi is no m em ber of m y hous ehold, nor have I any authority over her. S he who s aved m y life dwells within m y walls for s afety's s ake. If it pleas es her to go, s he c an go; if it pleas es her to rem ain, s he c an rem ain.
W hen this Court is finis hed I give you s afe-c onduc t to appear and in m y pres enc e learn her pleas ure from her lips ."
"Y ou have your ans wer; now be gone," s aid Nehes i.
"Nay," c ried the m an, "I have m ore words to s peak. T hus s ay the Fathers of Is rael: W e know the blac k c ouns el of your heart, O P haraoh. It has been revealed to us that it is in your m ind to put the Hebrews to the s word, as it is in the m ind of the P rinc e of E gypt to s ave them from the s word. Change that m ind of
yours , O P haraoh, and s wiftly, les t death fall upon you from heaven above."
"Ceas e! " thundered Meneptah in a voic e that s tilled the m urm urs of the c ourt. "Dog of a Hebrew, do you dare to threaten P haraoh on his own throne? I tell you that were you not a m es s enger, and therefore ac c ording to our anc ient law s afe till the s un s ets , you s hould be hewn lim b from lim b. A way with him , and if
he is found in this c ity after nightfall let him be s lain! "
T hen c ertain of the c ounc illors s prang upon the m an and thrus t him forth roughly. A t the door he wrenc hed him s elf free and s houted:
"T hink upon m y words , P haraoh, before this s un has s et. A nd you, great ones of E gypt, think on them als o before it appears again."
T hey drove him out with blows and the doors were s hut. Onc e m ore Meneptah began to s peak, s aying:
"Now that this brawler is gone, what have you to s ay to m e, P rinc e of E gypt? Do you s till give m e the c ouns el that you wrote in the roll? Do you s till refus e, as heir of the T hrone, to as s ent to m y dec ree that thes e ac c urs ed Hebrews be des troyed with the s word of m y jus tic e?"
Now all turned their eyes on S eti, who thought a while, and ans wered:
"Let P haraoh pardon m e, but the c ouns el that I gave I s till give; the as s ent that I refus ed I s till refus e, bec aus e m y heart tells m e that s o it is right to do, and s o I think will E gypt be s aved from m any troubles ."
W hen the s c ribes had finis hed writing down thes e words P haraoh as ked again:
"P rinc e of E gypt, if in a day to c om e you s hould fill m y plac e, is it s till your intent to let this people of the Hebrews go unharm ed, taking with them the wealth that they have gathered here?"
"Let P haraoh pardon m e, that is s till m y intent."
Now at thes e fateful words there aros e a s igh of as tonis hm ent from all that heard them . B efore it had died away P haraoh had turned to Us erti and was as king:
"A re thes e your c ouns el, your will, and your intent als o, O P rinc es s of E gypt?"
"Let P haraoh hear m e," ans wered Us erti in a c old, c lear voic e, "they are not. In this great m atter m y lord the P rinc e walks one road and I walk another. My c ouns el, will, and intent are thos e of P haraoh."
"S eti m y s on," s aid Meneptah, m ore kindly than I had ever heard him s peak before, "for the las t tim e, not as your king but as your father, I pray you to c ons ider. Rem em bering that as it lies in your power, being of full age and having been joined with m e in m any m atters of governm ent, to refus e your as s ent to a great
ac t of s tate, s o it lies in m y power with the as s ent of the high-pries ts and of m y m inis ters to rem ove you from m y path. S eti, I c an dis inherit you and s et another in your plac e, and if you pers is t, that and no les s I s hall do. Cons ider, therefore, m y s on."
In the m ids t of an intens e s ilenc e S eti ans wered:
"I have c ons idered, O m y Father, and whatever be the c os t to m e I c annot go bac k upon m y words ."
T hen P haraoh ros e and c ried:
"Take note all you as s em bled here, and let it be proc laim ed to the people of E gypt without the gates , that they take note als o, that I depos e S eti m y s on from his plac e as P rinc e of E gypt and dec lare that he is rem oved from the s uc c es s ion to the double Crown. Take note that m y daughter Us erti, P rinc es s of
E gypt, wife of the P rinc e S eti, I do not depos e. W hatever rights and heritages are hers as heires s of E gypt let thos e rights and heritages rem ain to her, and if a c hild be born of her and P rinc e S eti, who lives , let that c hild be heir to the T hrone of E gypt. Take note that, if no s uc h c hild is born or until it is born, I nam e
m y nephew, the c ount A m enm es es , s on of by brother K haem uas , now gathered to Os iris , to fill the T hrone of E gypt when I am no m ore. Com e hither, Count A m enm es es ."
He advanc ed and s tood before him . T hen P haraoh lifted from his head the double c rown he wore and for a m om ent s et it on the brow of A m enm es es , s aying as he replac ed it on his own head:
"B y this ac t and token do I nam e and c ons titute you, A m enm es es , to be Royal P rinc e of E gypt in plac e of m y s on, P rinc e S eti, depos ed.
W ithdraw, Royal P rinc e of E gypt. I have s poken."
"Life! B lood! S trength! " c ried all the c om pany bowing before P haraoh, all s ave the P rinc e S eti who neither bowed nor s tirred. Only he c ried:
"A nd I have heard. W ill P haraoh be pleas ed to dec lare whether with m y royal heritage he takes m y life? If s o, let it be here and now. My c ous in A m enm es es wears a s word."
"Nay, S on," ans wered Meneptah s adly, "your life is left to you and with it all your private rank and your pos s es s ions whats oever and wherever they m ay be."
"Let P haraoh's will be done," replied S eti indifferently, "in this as in all things . P haraoh s pares m y life until s uc h tim e as A m enm es es his s uc c es s or s hall fill his plac e, when it s hall be taken."
Meneptah s tarted; this thought was new to him .
"S tand forth, A m enm es es ," he c ried, "and s wear now the threefold oath that m ay not be broken. S wear by A m on, by P tah, and by Os iris , god of death, that never will you attem pt to harm the P rinc e S eti, your c ous in, either in body or in s uc h s tate and prerogative as rem ain to him . Let Roi, the head-pries t of A m on,
adm inis ter the oath now before us all."
S o Roi s poke the oath in the anc ient form , whic h was terrible even to hear, and A m enm es es , unwillingly enough as I thought, repeated it after him , adding however thes e words at the end, "A ll thes e things I s wear and all thes e penalties in this world and the world to be I invoke upon m y head, provided only that
when the tim e c om es the P rinc e S eti leaves m e in peac e upon the throne to whic h it has pleas ed P haraoh to dec ree to m e."
Now s om e there m urm ured that this was not enough, s inc e in their hearts there were few who did not love S eti and grieve to s ee him thus s tripped of his royal heritage bec aus e his judgm ent differed from that of P haraoh over a m atter of S tate polic y. B ut S eti only laughed and s aid s c ornfully:
"Let be, for of what value are s uc h oaths ? P haraoh on the throne is above all oaths who m us t m ake ans wer to the gods only and from the hearts of s om e the gods are far away. Let A m enm es es not fear that I s hall quarrel with him over this m atter of a c rown, I who in truth have never longed for the pom p and c ares
of royalty and who, deprived of thes e, s till pos s es s all that I c an des ire. I go m y way henc eforward as one of m any, a noble of E gypt--no m ore, and if in a day to c om e it pleas es the P haraoh to be to s horten m y wanderings , I am not s ure that even then I s hall grieve s o very m uc h, who am c ontent to ac c ept the
judgm ent of the gods , as in the end he m us t do als o. Y et, P haraoh m y father, before we part I as k leave to s peak the thoughts that ris e in m e."
"S ay on," m uttered Meneptah.
 "P haraoh, having your leave, I tell you that I think you have done a very evil work this day, one that is unpleas ing to thos e P owers whic h rule the world, whoever and whats oever they m ay be, one too that will bring upon E gypt s orrows c ountles s as the s and. I believe that thes e Hebrews whom you unjus tly s eek to
s lay wors hip a god as great or greater than our own, and that they and he will trium ph over E gypt. I believe als o that the m ighty heritage whic h you have taken from m e will bring neither joy nor honour to him by whom it has been rec eived."
Here A m enm es es s tarted forward, but Meneptah held up his hand, and he was s ilent.
"I believe, P haraoh--alas ! that I m us t s ay it--that your days on earth are few and that for the las t tim e we look on eac h other living.
Farewell, P haraoh m y father, whom s till I love m ayhap m ore in this hour of parting than ever I did before. Farewell, A m enm es es , P rinc e of E gypt.
T ake from m e this ornam ent whic h henc eforth s hould be worn by you only," and lifting from his headdres s that royal c irc let whic h m arks the heir to the throne, he held it to A m enm es es , who took it and, with a s m ile of trium ph, s et it on his brow.
"Farewell, Lords and Counc illors ; it is m y hope that in yonder princ e you will find a m as ter m ore to your liking that ever I c ould have been.
Com e, A na, m y friend, if it s till pleas es you to c ling to m e for a little while, now that I have nothing left to give."
For a few m om ents he s tood s till looking very earnes tly at his father, who looked bac k at him with tears in his deep-s et, faded eyes .
T hen, though whether this was by c hanc e I c annot s ay, taking no note of the P rinc es s Us erti, who gazed at him perplexed and wrathful, S eti drew him s elf up and c ried in the anc ient form :
"Life! B lood! S trength! P haraoh! P haraoh! P haraoh! " and bowed alm os t to the ground.
Meneptah heard. Muttering beneath his breath, "Oh! S eti, m y s on, m y m os t beloved s on! " he s tretc hed out his arm s as though to c all him bac k or perhaps to c las p him . A s he did s o I s aw his fac e c hange. Next ins tant he fell forward to the ground and lay there s till. A ll the c om pany s tood s truc k with horror, only
the royal phys ic ian ran to him , while Roi and others who were pries ts began to m utter prayers .
"Has the good god been gathered to Os iris ?" as ked A m enm es es pres ently in a hoars e voic e, "bec aus e if it be s o, I am P haraoh."
"Nay, A m enm es es ," exc laim ed Us erti, "the dec rees have not yet been s ealed or prom ulgated. T hey have neither s trength nor weight."
B efore he c ould ans wer the phys ic ian c ried:
"P eac e! P haraoh s till lives , his heart beats . T his is but a fit whic h m ay pas s . B egone, every one, he m us t have quiet."
S o we went, but firs t S eti knelt down and kis s ed his father on the brow.
A n hour later the P rinc es s Us erti broke into the room of his palac e where the P rinc e and I were talking.
"S eti," s he s aid, "P haraoh s till lives , but the phys ic ians s ay he will be dead by dawn. T here is yet tim e. Here I have a writing, s ealed with his s ignet and witnes s ed, wherein he rec alls all that he dec reed in the Court to-day, and dec lares you, his s on, to be the true and only heir of the throne of E gypt."
"Is it s o, wife? T ell m e now how did a dying m an in a s woon c om m and and s eal this writing?" and he touc hed the s c roll s he held in her hand.
"He rec overed for a little while; Nehes i will tell you how," s he replied, looking him in the fac e with c old eyes . T hen before he c ould s peak, s he added, "W as te no m ore breath in ques tions , but ac t and at onc e. T he General of the guards waits below; he is your faithful s ervant. T hrough him I have prom is ed a gift to
every s oldier on the day that you are c rowned. Nehes i and m os t of the offic ers are on our s ide.
Only the pries ts are agains t us bec aus e of that Hebrew witc h whom you s helter, and of her tribe whom you befriend; but they have not had tim e to s tir up the people nor will they attem pt revolt. A c t, S eti, ac t, for none will m ove without your expres s c om m and. Moreover, no ques tion will be rais ed afterwards , s inc e from
T hebes to the s ea and throughout the world you are known to be the heir of E gypt."
"W hat would you have m e do, wife?" as ked S eti, when s he paus ed for lac k of breath.
"Cannot you gues s ? Mus t I put s tatec raft into your head as well as a s word into your hand? W hy that s c ribe of yours , who follows your heels like a favoured dog, would be m ore apt a pupil. Hearken then. A m enm es es has s ent out to gather s trength, but as yet there are not fifty m en about him whom he c an trus t."
S he leant forward and whis pered fierc ely, "K ill the traitor, A m enm es es --all will hold it a righteous ac t, and the General waits your word. S hall I s um m on him ?"
"I think not," ans wered S eti. "B ec aus e P haraoh, as he has a right to do, is pleas ed to nam e a c ertain m an of royal blood to s uc c eed him , how does this m ake that m an a traitor to P haraoh who s till lives ? B ut, traitor or none, I will not m urder m y c ous in A m enm es es ."
"T hen he will m urder you."
"Maybe. T hat is a m atter between him and the gods whic h I leave them to s ettle. T he oath he s wore to-day is not one to be lightly broken. B ut whether he breaks it or not, I als o s wore an oath, at leas t in m y heart, nam ely that I would not attem pt to dis pute the will of P haraoh whom , after all, I love as m y father and
honour as m y king, P haraoh who s till lives and m ay, as I hope, rec over. W hat s hould I s ay to him if he rec overed or, at the wors t, when at las t we m eet els ewhere?"
"P haraoh never will rec over; I have s poken to the phys ic ian and he told m e s o. A lready they pierc e his s kull to let out the evil s pirit of s ic knes s , after whic h none of our fam ily have lived for very long."
"B ec aus e, as I hold, thereby, whatever pries ts and phys ic ians m ay s ay, they let in the good s pirit of death. A na, I pray you if I----"
"Man," s he broke in, s triking her hand upon the table by whic h s he s tood, "do you unders tand that while you m us e and m oralis e your c rown is pas s ing from you?"
"It has already pas s ed, Lady. Did you not s ee m e give it to A m enm es es ?"
"Do you unders tand that you who s hould be the greates t king in all the world, in s om e few hours if indeed you are allowed to live, will be nothing but a private c itizen of E gypt, one at whom the very beggars m ay s pit and take no harm ?"
"S urely, W ife. Moreover, there is little virtue in what I do, s inc e on the whole I prefer that pros pec t and am willing to take the ris k of being hurried from an evil world. Hearken," he added, with a c hange of tone and ges ture. "You think m e a fool and a weakling; a dream er als o, you, the c lear-eyed, hard-brained
s tates wom an who look to the glittering gain of the m om ent for whic h you are ready to pay in blood, and gues s nothing of what lies beyond. I am none of thes e things , exc ept, perc hanc e, the las t. I am only a m an who s trives to be jus t and to do right, as right s eem s to m e, and if I dream , it is of good, not evil, as I
unders tand good and evil. You are s ure that this dream ing of m ine will lead m e to worldly los s and s ham e. E ven of that I am not s ure. T he thought c om es to m e that it m ay lead m e to thos e very baubles on whic h you s et your heart, but by a path s trewn with s pic es and with flowers , not by one paved with the bones
of m en and reeking with their gore.
Crowns that are bought with the prom is e of blood and held with c ruelty are apt to be los t in blood, Us erti."
S he waved her hand. "I pray you keep the res t, S eti, till I have m ore tim e to lis ten. Moreover if I need prophec ies , I think it better to turn to K i and thos e who m ake them their life-s tudy. For m e this is a day of deeds , not dream s , and s inc e you refus e m y help, and behave as a s ic k girl los t in fanc ies , I m us t s ee to
m ys elf. A s while you live I c annot reign alone or wage war in m y own nam e only, I go to m ake term s with A m enm es es , who will pay m e high for peac e."
"Y ou go--and do you return, Us erti?"
S he drew hers elf to her full height, looking very royal, and ans wered s lowly:
"I do not return. I, the P rinc es s of E gypt, c annot live as the wife of a c om m on m an who falls from a throne to s et him s elf upon the earth, and s m ears his own brow with m ud for a uraeus c rown. W hen your prophec ies c om e true, S eti, and you c rawl from your dus t, then perhaps we m ay s peak again."
"A ye, Us erti, but the ques tion is , what s hall we s ay?"
"Meanwhile," s he added, as s he turned, "I leave you to your c hos en c ouns ellors --yonder s c ribe, whom foolis hnes s , not wis dom , has whitened before his tim e, and perc hanc e the Hebrew s orc eres s , who c an give you m oonbeam s to drink from thos e fals e lips of hers . Farewell, S eti, onc e a princ e and m y hus band."
"Farewell, Us erti, who, I fear, m us t s till rem ain m y s is ter."
T hen he watc hed her go, and turning to m e, s aid:
"To-day, A na, I have los t both a c rown and a wife, yet s trange to tell I do not know whic h of thes e c alam ities grieves m e leas t. Yet it is tim e that fortune turned. Or m ayhap all the evils are not done. W ould you not go als o, A na? A lthough s he gibes at you in her anger, the P rinc es s thinks well of you, and would
keep you in her s ervic e. Rem em ber, whoever falls in E gypt, s he will be great till the las t."
"Oh! P rinc e," I ans wered, "have I not borne enough to-day that you m us t add ins ult to m y load, you with whom I broke the c up and s wore the oath?"
"W hat! " he laughed. "Is there one in E gypt who rem em bers oaths to his own los s ? I thank you, A na," and taking m y hand he pres s ed it.
A t that m om ent the door opened, and old P am bas a entered, s aying:
"T he Hebrew wom an, Merapi, would s ee you; als o two Hebrew m en."
"A dm it them ," s aid S eti. "Note, A na, how yonder old tim e-s erver turns his fac e from the s etting s un. T his m orning even it would have been 'to s ee your Highnes s ,' uttered with bows s o low that his beard s wept the floor. Now it is 'to s ee you' and not s o m uc h as an inc lination of the head in c om m on c ourtes y. T his ,
m oreover, from one who has robbed m e year by year and grown fat on bribes . It is the firs t of m any bitter les s ons , or rather the s ec ond--that of her Highnes s was the firs t; I pray that I m ay learn them with hum ility."
W hile he m us ed thus and, having no c om fort to offer, I lis tened s ad at heart, Merapi entered, and a m om ent after her the wide-eyed m es s enger whom we had s een in P haraoh's Court, and her unc le J abez the c unning m erc hant. S he bowed low to S eti, and s m iled at m e. T hen the other two appeared, and with
s m all s alutation the m es s enger began to s peak.
"Y ou know m y dem and, P rinc e," he s aid. "It is that this wom an s hould be returned to her people. J abez, her unc le, will lead her away."
"A nd you know m y ans wer, Is raelite," ans wered S eti. "It is that I have no power over the c om ing or the going of the lady Merapi, or at leas t wis h to c laim none. A ddres s yours elf to her."
"W hat is it you wis h with m e, P ries t?" as ked Merapi quic kly.
"T hat you s hould return to the town of Gos hen, daughter of Nathan. Have you no ears to hear?"
"I hear, but if I return, what will you of m e?"
"T hat you who have proved yours elf a prophetes s by your deeds in yonder tem ple s hould dedic ate your powers to the s ervic e of your people, rec eiving in return full forgivenes s for the evils you have wrought agains t them , whic h we s wear to you in the nam e of God."
"I am no prophetes s , and I have wrought no evils agains t m y people, P ries t. I have only s aved them from the evil of m urdering one who has s hown him s elf their friend, even as I hear to the laying down of his c rown for their s ake."
"T hat is for the Fathers of Is rael and not for you to judge, wom an. Y our ans wer?"
"It is neither for them nor for m e, but for God only." S he paus ed, then added, "Is this all you as k of m e?"
"It is all the Fathers as k, but Laban as ks his affianc ed wife."
"A nd am I to be given in m arriage to--this as s as s in?"
"W ithout doubt you are to be given to this brave s oldier, being already his ."
"A nd if I refus e?"
"T hen, Daughter of Nathan, it is m y part to c urs e you in the nam e of God, and to dec lare you c ut off and outc as t from the people of God. It is m y part to announc e to you further that your life is forfeit, and that any Hebrew m ay kill you when and how he c an, and take no blam e."
Merapi paled a little, then turning to J abez, as ked:
"Y ou have heard, m y unc le. W hat s ay you?"
J abez looked round s hiftily, and s aid in his unc tuous voic e:
"My niec e, s urely you m us t obey the c om m ands of the E lders of Is rael who s peak the will of Heaven, as you obeyed them when you m atc hed yours elf agains t the m ight of A m on."
"Y ou gave m e a different c ouns el yes terday, m y unc le. T hen you s aid I had better bide where I was ."
T he m es s enger turned and glared at him .
"T here is a great differenc e between yes terday and to-day," went on J abez hurriedly. "Yes terday you were protec ted by one who would s oon be P haraoh, and m ight have been able to m ove his m ind in favour of your folk. To-day his greatnes s is s tripped from him , and his will has no m ore weight in E gypt. A dead
lion is not to be feared, m y niec e."
S eti s m iled at this ins ult, but Merapi's fac e, like m y own, grew red, as though with anger.
"S leeping lions have been taken for dead ere now, m y unc le, as thos e who would s purn them have dis c overed to their c os t. P rinc e S eti, have you no word to help m e in this s trait?"
"W hat is the s trait, Lady? If you wis h to go to your people and--to Laban, who, I unders tand, is rec overed from his hurts , there is naught between you and m e s ave m y gratitude to you whic h gives m e the right to s ay you s hall not go. If, however, you wis h to s tay, then perhaps I am s till not s o powerles s to s hield or
s m ite as this worthy J abez thinks , who s till rem ain the greates t lord in E gypt and one with thos e that love him . T herefore s hould you des ire to rem ain, I think that you m ay do s o unm oles ted of any, and leas t of all by that friend in whos e s hadow it pleas es you to s ojourn."
"T hos e are very gentle words ," m urm ured Merapi, "words that few would s peak to a m aid from whom naught is as ked and who has naught to give."
"A truc e to this talk," s narled the m es s enger. "Do you obey or do you rebel? Y our ans wer."
S he turned and looked him full in the fac e, s aying:
"I do not return to Gos hen and to Laban, of whos e s word I have s een enough."
"Mayhap you will s ee m ore of it before all is done. For the las t tim e, think ere the c urs e of your God and your people falls upon you, and after it, death. For fall I s ay it s hall, I, who, as P haraoh knows to-day, am no fals e prophet, and as that P rinc e knows als o."
"I do not think that m y God, who s ees the hearts of thos e that he has m ade, will avenge him s elf upon a wom an bec aus e s he refus es to be wedded to a m urderer whom of her own will s he never c hos e, whic h, P ries t, is the fate you offer m e. T herefore I am c ontent to leave judgm ent in the hands of the great J udge
of all. For the res t I defy you and your c om m ands . If I m us t be s laughtered, let m e die, but at leas t let m e die m is tres s of m ys elf and free, who am no m an's love, or wife, or s lave."
"W ell s poken! " whis pered S eti to m e.
T hen this pries t bec am e terrible. W aving his arm s and rolling his wild eyes , he poured out s om e hideous c urs e upon the head of this poor m aid, m uc h of whic h, as it was s poken rapidly in an anc ient form of Hebrew, we did not unders tand. He c urs ed her living, dying, and after death.
He c urs ed her in her love and hate, wedded or alone. He c urs ed her in c hild-bearing or in barrennes s , and he c urs ed her c hildren after her to all generations . Las tly, he dec lared her c ut off from and rejec ted by the god s he wors hipped, and s entenc ed her to death at the hands of any who c ould s lay her. S o horrible
was that c urs e that s he s hrank away from him , while J abez c rouc hed about the ground hiding his eyes with his hands , and even I felt m y blood turn c old.
A t length he paus ed, foam ing at the lips . T hen, s uddenly, s houting, "A fter judgm ent, doom ! " he drew a knife from his robe and s prang at her.
S he fled behind us . He followed, but S eti, c rying, "A h, I thought it," leapt between them , as he did s o drawing the iron s word whic h he wore with his c erem onial dres s . A t him he s prang and the next thing I s aw was the red point of the s word s tanding out beyond the pries t's s houlders .
Down he fell, babbling:
"Is this how you s how your love for Is rael, P rinc e?"
"It is how I s how m y hate of m urderers ," ans wered S eti.
T hen the m an died.
"Oh! " c ried Merapi wringing her hands , "onc e m ore I have c aus ed Hebrew blood to flow and now all this c urs e will fall on m e."
"Nay, on m e, Lady, if there is anything in c urs es , whic h I doubt, for this deed was m ine, and at the wors t yonder m ad brute's knife did not fall on you."
"Y es , life is left if only for a little while. Had it not been for you, P rinc e, by now, I----" and s he s huddered.
"A nd had it not been for you, Moon of Is rael, by now I----" and he s m iled, adding, "S urely Fate weaves a s trange web round you and m e.
Firs t you s ave m e from the s word; then I s ave you. I think, Lady, that in the end we ought to die together and give A na here s tuff for the bes t of all his s tories . Friend J abez," he went on to the Is raelite who was s till c rouc hing in the c orner with the eyes s tarting from his head, "get you bac k to your gentle-hearted people
and m ake it c lear to them why the lady Merapi c annot c om panion you, taking with you that c arrion to prove your tale. Tell them that if they s end m ore m en to m oles t your niec e a like fate awaits them , but that now as before I do not turn m y bac k upon them bec aus e of the deeds of a few m adm en or evil-doers , as I
have given them proof to-day. A na, m ake ready, s inc e s oon I leave for Mem phis .
S ee that the Lady Merapi, who will travel alone, has fit es c ort for her journey, that is if it pleas es her to depart from T anis ."
CHAP TE R X I
THE CROW NING OF AME NME S E S
Now, notwiths tanding all the woes that fell on E gypt and a c ertain s ec ret s orrow of m y own, began the happies t of the days whic h the gods have given m e. W e went to Mennefer or Mem phis , the white-walled c ity where I was born, the c ity that I loved. Now no longer did I dwell in a little hous e near to the enc los ure
of the tem ple of P tah, whic h is vas ter and m ore s plendid than all thos e of T hebes or T anis . My hom e was in the beautiful palac e of S eti, whic h he had inherited from his m other, the Great Royal W ife. It s tood, and indeed s till s tands , on a piled-up m ound without the walls near to the tem ple of the goddes s Neit, who
always has her habitation to the north of the wall, why I do not know, bec aus e even her pries ts c annot tell m e. In front of this palac e, fac ing to the north, is a great portic o, whereof the roof is borne upon palm -headed, painted c olum ns whenc e m ay be s een the m os t lovely pros pec t in E gypt. Firs t the gardens , then
the palm -groves , then the c ultivated land, then the broad and gentle Nile and, far away, the des ert.
Here, then, we dwelt, keeping s m all s tate and alm os t unguarded, but in wealth and c om fort, s pending our tim e in the library of the palac e, or in thos e of the tem ples , and when we wearied of work, in the lovely gardens or, perc hanc e, s ailing upon the bos om of the Nile. T he lady Merapi dwelt there als o, but in a
s eparate wing of the palac e, with c ertain s laves and s ervants whom S eti had given to her. S om etim es we m et her in the gardens , where it pleas ed her to walk at the s am e hours that we did, nam ely before the s un grew hot, or in the c ool of the evening, and now and again when the m oon s hone at night. T hen the
three of us would talk together, for S eti never s ought her c om pany alone or within walls .
T hos e talks were very pleas ant. Moreover they grew m ore frequent as tim e went on, s inc e Merapi had a thirs t for learning, and the P rinc e would bring her rolls to read in a little s um m er-hous e there was . Here we would s it, or if the heat was great, outs ide beneath the s hadow of two s preading trees that s tretc hed
above the roof of the little pleas ure-hous e, while S eti dis c ours ed of the c ontents of the rolls and ins truc ted her in the s ec rets of our writing. S om etim es , too, I read them s tories of m y m aking, to whic h it pleas ed them both to lis ten, or s o they s aid, and I, in m y vanity, believed. A ls o we would talk of the m ys tery and
the wonder of the world and of the Hebrews and their fate, or of what pas s ed in E gypt and the neighbouring lands .
Nor was Merapi altogether lones om e, s eeing that there dwelt in Mem phis c ertain ladies who had Hebrew blood in their veins , or were born of the Is raelites and had m arried E gyptians agains t their law. A m ong thes e s he m ade friends , and together they wors hipped in their own fas hion with none to s ay them nay,
s inc e here no pries ts were allowed to trouble them .
For our part we held interc ours e with as m any as we pleas ed, s inc e few forgot that S eti was by blood the P rinc e of E gypt, that is , a m an alm os t half divine, and all were eager to vis it him . A ls o he was m uc h beloved for his own s ake and m ore partic ularly by the poor, whos e wants it was his delight to relieve to the
full lim it of his wealth. T hus it c am e about that whenever he went abroad, although agains t his will, he was rec eived with honours and hom age that were alm os t royal, for though P haraoh c ould rob him of the Crown he c ould not em pty his veins of the blood of kings .
It was on this ac c ount that I feared for his s afety, s inc e I was s ure that through his s pies A m enm es es knew all and would grow jealous of a dethroned princ e who was s till s o m uc h adored by thos e over whom of right he s hould have ruled. I told S eti of m y doubts and that when he travelled the s treets he s hould
be guarded by arm ed m en. B ut he only laughed and ans wered that, as the Hebrews had failed to kill him , he did not think that any others would s uc c eed. Moreover he believed there were no E gyptians in the land who would lift a s word agains t him , or put pois on in his drink, whoever bade them . A ls o he added thes e
words :
"T he bes t way to es c ape death is to have no fear of death, for then Os iris s huns us ."
Now I m us t tell of the happenings at Tanis . P haraoh Meneptah lingered but a few hours and never found his m ind again before his s pirit flew to Heaven. T hen there was great m ourning in the land, for, if he was not loved, Meneptah was honoured and feared. Only am ong the Is raelites there was open rejoic ing,
bec aus e he had been their enem y and their prophets had foretold that death was near to him . T hey gave it out that he had been s m itten of their God, whic h c aus ed the E gyptians to hate them m ore than ever. T here was doubt, too, and bewilderm ent in E gypt, for though his proc lam ation dis inheriting the P rinc e S eti
had been publis hed abroad, the people, and es pec ially thos e who dwelt in the s outh, c ould not unders tand why this s hould have been done over a m atter of the s hepherd s laves who dwelt in Gos hen. Indeed, had the P rinc e but held up his hand, tens of thous ands would have rallied to his s tandard. Yet this he
refus ed to do, whic h as tonis hed all the world, who thought it m arvellous that any m an s hould refus e a throne whic h would have lifted him alm os t to the level of the gods . Indeed, to avoid their im portunities he had s et out at onc e for Mem phis , and there rem ained hidden away during the period of m ourning for his
father. S o it c am e about that A m enm es es s uc c eeded with none to s ay him nay, s inc e without her hus band Us erti c ould not or would not ac t.
A fter the days of em balm m ent were ac c om plis hed the body of P haraoh Meneptah was c arried up the Nile to be laid in his eternal hous e, the s plendid tom b that he had m ade ready for him s elf in the Valley of Dead K ings at T hebes . To this great c erem ony the P rinc e S eti was not bidden, les t, as B akenkhons u
told m e afterwards , his pres enc e s hould c aus e s om e ris ing in his favour, with or without his will. For this reas on als o the dead god, as he was nam ed, was not s uffered to res t at Mem phis on his las t journey up the Nile. Dis guis ed as a m an of the people the P rinc e watc hed his father's body pas s in the funeral
barge guarded by s haven, white-robed pries ts , the c entre of a s plendid proc es s ion. In front went other barges filled with s oldiers and offic ers of s tate, behind c am e the new P haraoh and all the great ones of E gypt, while the s ounds of lam entation floated far over the fac e of the waters . T hey appeared, they pas s ed,
they dis appeared, and when they had vanis hed S eti wept a little, for in his own fas hion he loved his father.
"Of what us e is it to be a king and nam ed half-divine, A na," he s aid to m e, "s eeing that the end of s uc h gods as thes e is the s am e as that of the beggar at the gate?"
"T his , P rinc e," I ans wered, "that a king c an do m ore good than a beggar while the breath is in his nos trils , and leave behind him a great exam ple to others ."
"Or m ore harm , A na. A ls o the beggar c an leave a great exam ple, that of patienc e in afflic tion. S till, if I were s ure that I s hould do nothing but good, then perhaps I would be a king. B ut I have noted that thos e who des ire to do the m os t good often work the greates t harm ."
"W hic h, if followed out, would be an argum ent for wis hing to do evil, P rinc e."
 "Not s o," he ans wered, "bec aus e good trium phs at the las t. For good is truth and truth rules earth and heaven."
"T hen it is c lear, P rinc e, that you s hould s eek to be a king."
"I will rem em ber the argum ent, A na, if ever tim e brings m e an opportunity uns tained by blood," he ans wered.
W hen the obs equies of P haraoh were finis hed, A m enm es es returned to Tanis , and there was c rowned as P haraoh. I attended this great c erem ony, bearing c oronation gifts of c ertain royal ornam ents whic h the P rinc e s ent to P haraoh, s aying it was not fit that he, as a private pers on, s hould wear them any longer.
T hes e I pres ented to P haraoh, who took them doubtfully, dec laring that he did not unders tand the P rinc e S eti's m ind and ac tions .
"T hey hide no s nare, O P haraoh," I s aid. "A s you rejoic e in the glory that the gods have s ent you, s o the P rinc e m y m as ter rejoic es in the res t and peac e whic h the gods have given him , as king no m ore."
"It m ay be s o, S c ribe, but I find this s o s trange a thing, that s om etim es I fear les t the ric h flowers of this glory of m ine s hould hide s om e deadly s nake, whereof the P rinc e knows , if he did not s et it there."
"I c annot s ay, O P haraoh, but without doubt, although he c ould work no guile, the P rinc e is not as are other m en. His m ind is both wide and deep."
"Too deep for m e," m uttered A m enm es es . "Nevertheles s , s ay to m y royal c ous in that I thank him for his gifts , es pec ially as s om e of them were worn, when he was heir to E gypt, by m y father K haem uas , who I would had left m e his wis dom as well as his blood. S ay to him als o that while he refrains from working
m e harm upon the throne, as I know he has done up to the pres ent, he m ay be s ure that I will work him none in the s tation whic h he has c hos en."
A ls o I s aw the P rinc es s Us erti who ques tioned m e c los ely c onc erning her lord. I told her everything, keeping naught bac k. S he lis tened and as ked:
"W hat of that Hebrew wom an, Moon of Is rael? W ithout doubt s he fills m y plac e."
"Not s o, P rinc es s ," I ans wered. "T he P rinc e lives alone. Neither s he nor any other wom an fills your plac e. S he is a friend to him , no m ore."
"A friend! W ell, at leas t we know the end of s uc h friends hips . Oh! s urely the P rinc e m us t be s tric ken with m adnes s from the gods ! "
"It m ay be s o, your Highnes s , but I think that if the gods s m ote m ore m en with s uc h m adnes s , the world would be better than it is ."
"T he world is the world, and the bus ines s of thos e who are born to greatnes s is to rule it as it is , not to hide away am ongs t books and flowers , and to talk folly with a beautiful outland wom an, and a s c ribe however learned," s he ans wered bitterly, adding, "Oh! if the P rinc e is not m ad, c ertainly he drives others to
m adnes s , and m e, his s pous e, am ong them . T hat throne is his , his ; yet he s uffers a c ros s -grained dolt to take his plac e, and s ends him gifts and bles s ings ."
"I think your Highnes s s hould wait till the end of the s tory before you judge of it."
S he looked at m e s harply, and as ked:
"W hy do you s ay that? Is the P rinc e no fool after all? Do he and you, who both s eem to be s o s im ple, perc hanc e play a great and hidden gam e, as I have known m en feign folly in order to do with s afety? Or has that witc h of an Is raelite s om e s ec ret knowledge in whic h s he ins truc ts you, s uc h as a wom an who
c an s hatter the s tatue of A m on to fine dus t m ight well pos s es s ? Y ou m ake believe not to know, whic h m eans that you will not ans wer. Oh! S c ribe A na, if only it were s afe, I think I c ould find a way to wring the truth out of you, although you do pretend to be but a babe for innoc enc e."
"It pleas es your Highnes s to threaten and without c aus e."
"No," s he ans wered, c hanging her voic e and m anner, "I do not threaten; it is only the m adnes s that I have c aught from S eti. W ould you not be m ad if you knew that another wom an was to be c rowned to-m orrow in your plac e, bec aus e--bec aus e----" and s he began to weep, whic h frightened m e m ore than all her
rough words .
P res ently s he dried her tears , and s aid:
"S ay to m y lord that I rejoic e to hear that he is well and s end him greetings , but that never of m y own wis h will I look upon his living fac e again unles s indeed he takes another c ouns el, and s ets him s elf to win that whic h is his own. S ay to him that though he has s o little c are for m e, and pays no heed to m y
des ires , s till I watc h over his welfare and his s afety, as bes t I m ay."
"His s afety, P rinc es s ! P haraoh as s ured m e not an hour ago that he had naught to fear, as indeed he fears naught."
"Oh! whic h of you is the m ore foolis h," s he exc laim ed s tam ping her foot, "the m an or his m as ter? You believe that the P rinc e has naught to fear bec aus e that us urper tells you s o, and he believes it--well, bec aus e he fears naught. For a little while he m ay s leep in peac e. B ut let him wait until troubles of this s ort
or of that aris e in E gypt and, unders tanding that the gods s end them on ac c ount of the great wic kednes s that m y father wrought when death had him by the throat and his m ind was c louded, the people begin to turn their eyes towards their lawful king.
T hen the us urper will grow jealous , and if he has his way, the P rinc e will s leep in peac e--for ever. If his throat rem ains unc ut, it will be for one reas on only, that I hold bac k the m urderer's hand. Farewell, I c an talk no m ore, for I s ay to you that m y brain is afire--and to-m orrow he s hould have been c rowned, and I with
him ," and s he s wept away, royal as ever, leaving m e wondering what s he m eant when s he s poke of troubles aris ing in E gypt, or if the words were but uttered at hazard.
A fterwards B akenkhons u and I s upped together at the c ollege of the tem ple of P tah, of whic h bec aus e of his age he was c alled the father, when I heard m ore of this m atter.
"A na," he s aid, "I tell you that s uc h gloom hangs over E gypt as I have never known even when it was thought that the Ninebow B arbarians would c onquer and ens lave the land. A m enm es es will be the fifth P haraoh whom I have s een c rowned, the firs t of them when I was but a little c hild hanging to m y m other's
robe, and not onc e have I known s uc h joyles s nes s ."
"T hat m ay be bec aus e the c rown pas s es to one who s hould not wear it, B akenkhons u."
He s hook his head. "Not altogether. I think this darknes s c om es from the heavens as light does . Men are afraid they know not of what."
"T he Is raelites ," I s ugges ted.
"Now you are near to it, A na, for doubtles s they have m uc h to do with the m atter. Had it not been for them S eti and not A m enm es es would be c rowned to-m orrow. A ls o the tale of the m arvel whic h the beautiful Hebrew wom an wrought in the tem ple yonder has got abroad and is taken as an om en. Did I tell you that
s ix days gone a fine new s tatue of the god was c ons ec rated there and on the following m orning was found lying on its s ide, or rather with its head res ting on the breas t of Mut?"
"If s o, Merapi is blam eles s , bec aus e s he has gone away from this c ity."
"Of c ours e s he has gone away, for has not S eti gone als o? B ut I think s he left s om ething behind her. However that m ay be, even our new divine lord is afraid. He dream s ill, A na," he added, dropping his voic e, "s o ill that he has c alled in K i, the K herheb,[*] to interpret his vis ions ."
[*] "K herheb" was the title of the c hief offic ial m agic ian in anc ient E gypt.
"A nd what s aid K i?"
"K i c ould s ay nothing or, rather, that the only ans wer vouc hs afed to him and his c om pany, when they m ade inquiry of their K as , was that this god's reign would be very s hort and that it and his life would end together."
"W hic h perhaps did not pleas e the god A m enm es es , B akenkhons u?"
"W hic h did not pleas e the god at all. He threatened K i. It is a foolis h thing to threaten a great m agic ian, A na, as the K herheb K i, him s elf indeed told him , looking him in the eyes . T hen he prayed his pardon and as ked who would s uc c eed him on the throne, but K i s aid he did not know, as a K herheb who had
been threatened c ould never rem em ber anything, whic h indeed he never c an--exc ept to pay bac k the threatener."
"A nd did he know, B akenkhons u?"
B y way of ans wer the old Counc illor c rum bled s om e bread fine upon the table, then with his finger trac ed am ong the c rum bs the rough likenes s of a jac kal-headed god and of two feathers , after whic h with a s wift m ovem ent he s wept the c rum bs onto the floor.
"S eti! " I whis pered, reading the hieroglyphs of the P rinc e's nam e, and he nodded and laughed in his great fas hion.
"Men c om e to their own s om etim es , A na, es pec ially if they do not s eek their own," he s aid. "B ut if s o, m uc h m us t happen firs t that is terrible. T he new P haraoh is not the only m an who dream s , A na. Of late years m y s leep has been light and s om etim es I dream , though I have no m agic like to that of K i."
"W hat did you dream ?"
"I dream ed of a great m ultitude m arc hing like loc us ts over E gypt. B efore them went a c olum n of fire in whic h were two hands . One of thes e held A m on by the throat and one held the new P haraoh by the throat. A fter them c am e a c olum n of c loud, and in it a s hape like to that of an unwrapped m um m y, a s hape of
death s tanding upon water that was full of c ountles s dead."
Now I bethought m e of the pic ture that the P rinc e and I had s een in the s kies yonder in the land of Gos hen, but of it I s aid nothing. Y et I think that B akenkhons u s aw into m y m ind, for he as ked:
"Do y ou never dream , Friend? You s ee vis ions that c om e true--A m enm es es on the throne, for ins tanc e. Do you not als o dream at tim es ? No? W ell, then, the P rinc e? You look like m en who m ight, and the tim e is ripe and pregnant. Oh! I rem em ber. You are both of you dream ing, not of the pic tures that pas s
ac ros s the terrible eyes of K i, but of thos e that the m oon reflec ts upon the waters of Mem phis , the Moon of Is rael. A na, be advis ed by m e, put away the fles h and inc reas e the s pirit, for in it alone is happines s , whereof wom an and all our joys are but earthly s ym bols , s hadows thrown by that m ortal c loud whic h lies
between us and the Light A bove. I s ee that you unders tand, bec aus e s om e of that light has s truggled to your heart. Do you rem em ber that you s aw it s hining in the hour when your little daughter died? A h! I thought s o. It was the gift s he left you, a gift that will grow and grow in s uc h a breas t as yours , if only you will
put away the fles h and m ake room for it, A na. Man, do not weep--laugh as I do, Oho-ho! Give m e m y s taff, and good-night. Forget not that we s it together at the c rowning to-m orrow, for you are a K ing's Com panion and that rank onc e c onferred is one whic h no new P haraoh c an take away. It is like the gift of the s pirit,
A na, whic h is hard to win, but onc e won m ore eternal than the s tars . Oh! why do I live s o long who would bathe in it, as when a c hild I us ed to bathe in Nile?"
On the following day at the appointed hour I went to the great hall of the palac e, that in whic h I had firs t s een Meneptah, and took m y s tand in the plac e allotted to m e. It was s om ewhat far bac k, perhaps bec aus e it was not wis hed that I, who was known to be the private s c ribe of S eti, s hould rem ind E gypt of him
by appearing where all c ould s ee m e.
Great as was the hall the c rowd filled it to its furthes t c orners .
Moreover no c om m on m an was pres ent there, but rather every noble and head-pries t in E gypt, and with them their wives and daughters , s o that all the dim c ourts s hone with gold and prec ious gem s s et upon fes tal garm ents . W hile I was waiting old B akenkhons u hobbled towards m e, the c rowd m aking way for him ,
and I c ould s ee that there was laughter in his s unken eyes .
"W e are ill-plac ed, A na," he s aid. "S till if any of the m any gods there are in E gypt s hould c hanc e to rain fires on P haraoh, we s hall be the s afer. Talking of gods ," he went on in a whis per, "have you heard what happened an hour ago in the tem ple of P tah of Tanis whenc e I have jus t c om e? P haraoh and all the
B lood-royal--s ave one--walked ac c ording to c us tom before the s tatue of the god whic h, as you know, s hould bow its head to s how that he c hoos es and ac c epts the king. In front of A m enm es es went the P rinc es s Us erti, and as s he pas s ed the head of the god bowed, for I s aw it, though all pretended that they did not
s ee. T hen c am e P haraoh and s tood waiting, but it would not bow, though the pries ts c alled in the old form ula, 'T he god greets the king.'
"A t length he went on, looking as blac k as night, and others of the blood of Ram es es followed in their order. Las t of all lim ped S aptah and, behold! the god bowed again."
"How and why does it do thes e things ?" I as ked, "and at the wrong tim e?"
"A s k the pries ts , A na, or Us erti, or S aptah. P erhaps the divine nec k has not been oiled of late, or too m uc h oiled, or too little oiled, or prayers --or s trings --m ay have gone wrong. Or P haraoh m ay have been niggard in his gifts to that c ollege of the great god of his Hous e. W ho am I that I s hould know the ways of
gods ? T hat in the tem ple where I s erved at T hebes fifty years ago did not pretend to bow or to trouble him s elf as to whic h of the royal rac e s at upon the throne. Hus h! Here c om es P haraoh."
T hen in a s plendid proc es s ion, s urrounded by princ es , c ounc illors , ladies , pries ts , and guards , A m enm es es and the Royal W ife, Urnure, a large wom an who walked awkwardly, entered the hall, a glittering band.
T he high-pries t, Roi, and the c hanc ellor, Nehes i, rec eived P haraoh and led him to his throne. T he m ultitude pros trated its elf, trum pets blew and thric e the old s alute of "Life! B lood! S trength! P haraoh! P haraoh! P haraoh! " was c ried aloud.
A m enm es es ros e and bowed, and I s aw that his heavy fac e was troubled and looked older. T hen he s wore s om e oath to gods and m en whic h Roi dic tated to him , and before all the c om pany put on the double c rown and the other em blem s , and took in his hands the s c ourge and golden s ic kle. Next hom age was
paid. T he P rinc es s Us erti c am e firs t and kis s ed P haraoh's hand, but bent no knee. Indeed firs t s he s poke with him a while. W e c ould not hear what was s aid, but afterwards learned that s he dem anded that he s hould public ly repeat all the prom is es whic h her father Meneptah had m ade to her before him , c onfirm ing
her in her plac e and rights . T his in the end he did, though it s eem ed to m e unwillingly enough.
S o with m any form s and anc ient c elebrations the c erem ony went on, till all grew weary waiting for that tim e when P haraoh s hould m ake his s peec h to the people. T hat s peec h, however, was never m ade, for pres ently, thrus ting pas t us , I s aw thos e two prophets of the Is raelites who had vis ited Meneptah in this
s am e hall. Men s hrank from them , s o that they walked s traight up to the throne, nor did even the guards s trive to bar their way. W hat they s aid there I c ould not hear, but I believe that they dem anded that their people s hould be allowed to go to wors hip their god in their own fas hion, and that A m enm es es refus ed as
Meneptah had done.
T hen one of them c as t down a rod and it turned to a s nake whic h his s ed at P haraoh, whereon the K herheb K i and his c om pany als o c as t down rods that turned to s nakes , though I c ould only hear the his s ing. A fter this a great gloom fell upon the hall, s o that m en c ould not s ee eac h other's fac es and everyone
began to c all aloud till the c om pany broke up in c onfus ion. B akenkhons u and I were borne together to the doorway by the pres s ure of the people, whenc e we were glad enough to s ee the s ky again.
T hus ended the c rowning of A m enm es es .
CHAP TE R X II
THE ME S S AGE OF JABE Z
T hat night there were none who rejoic ed in the s treets of the c ity, and s ave in the palac e and hous es of thos e of the Court, none who feas ted. I walked abroad in the m arket-plac e and noted the people going to and fro gloom ily, or talking together in whis pers . P res ently a m an whos e fac e was hidden in a hood
began to s peak with m e, s aying that he had a m es s age for m y m as ter, the P rinc e S eti. I ans wered that I took no m es s ages from veiled s trangers , whereon he threw bac k his hood, and I s aw that it was J abez, the unc le of Merapi. I as ked him whether he had obeyed the P rinc e, and borne the body of that prophet bac k
to Gos hen and told the elders of the m anner of the m an's death.
"Yes ," he ans wered, "nor were the E lders angry with the P rinc e over this m atter. T hey s aid that their m es s enger had exc eeded his authority, s inc e they had never told him to c urs e Merapi, and m uc h les s attem pt to kill her, and that the P rinc e did right to s lay one who would have done m urder before his royal eyes .
S till they added that the c urs e, having onc e been s poken by this pries t, would s urely fall upon Merapi in this way or in that."
"W hat then s hould s he do, J abez?"
"I do not know, S c ribe. If s he returns to her people, perc hanc e s he will be abs olved, but then s he m us t s urely m arry Laban. It is for her to judge."
"A nd what would you do if you were in her plac e, J abez?"
"I think that I s hould s tay where I was , and m ake m ys elf very dear to S eti, taking the c hanc e that the c urs e m ay pas s her by, s inc e it was not lawfully dec reed upon her. W hic hever way s he looks , trouble waits , and at the wors t, a wom an m ight wis h to s atis fy her heart before it falls , es pec ially if that heart s hould
happen to turn to one who will be P haraoh."
"W hy do you s ay 'who will be P haraoh,' J abez?" I as ked, for we were s tanding in an em pty plac e alone.
"T hat I m ay not tell you," he replied c unningly, "yet it will c om e about as I s ay. He who s its upon the throne is m ad as Meneptah was m ad, and will fight agains t a s trength that is greater than his until it overwhelm s him . In the P rinc e's heart alone does the light of wis dom s hine. T hat whic h you s aw to-day is only
the firs t of m any m irac les , S c ribe A na. I c an s ay no m ore."
"W hat then is your m es s age, J abez?"
"T his : B ec aus e the P rinc e has s triven to deal well with the people of Is rael and for their s ake has c as t as ide a c rown, whatever m ay c hanc e to others , let him fear nothing. No harm s hall c om e to him , or to thos e about him , s uc h as yours elf, S c ribe A na, who als o would deal jus tly by us . Yet it m ay happen that
through m y niec e Merapi, on whos e head the evil word has fallen, a great s orrow m ay c om e to both him and her.
T herefore, perhaps , although s etting this agains t that, s he m ay be wis e to s tay in the hous e of S eti, he, on the balanc e, m ay be wis e to turn her from his doors ."
"W hat s orrow?" I as ked, who grew bewildered with his dark talk, but there was no ans wer, for he had gone.
Near to m y lodging another m an m et m e, and the m oonlight s hining on his fac e s howed m e the terrible eyes of K i.
"S c ribe A na," he s aid, "you leave for Mem phis to-m orrow at the dawn, and not two days henc e as you purpos ed."
"How do you know that, Magic ian K i?" I ans wered, for I had told m y c hange of plan to none, not even to B akenkhons u, having indeed only determ ined upon it s inc e J abez left m e.
"I know nothing, A na, s ave that a faithful s ervant who has learned all you have learned to-day will hurry to m ake report of it to his m as ter, es pec ially if there is s om e other to whom he would als o wis h to m ake report, as B akenkhons u thinks ."
"B akenkhons u talks too m uc h, whatever he m ay think," I exc laim ed tes tily.
"T he aged grow garrulous . Y ou were at the c rowning to-day, were you not?"
"Y es , and if I s aw aright from far away, thos e Hebrew prophets s eem ed to wors t you at your own trade there, K herheb, whic h m us t grieve you, as you were grieved in the tem ple when A m on fell."
"It does not grieve m e, A na. If I have powers , there m ay be others who have greater powers , as I learned in the tem ple of A m on. W hy therefore s hould I feel as ham ed?"
"P owers ! " I replied with a laugh, for the s trings of m y m ind s eem ed torn that night, "would not c raft be a better word? How do you turn a s tic k into a s nake, a thing whic h is im pos s ible to m an?"
"Craft m ight be a better word, s inc e c raft m eans knowledge as well as tric kery. 'Im pos s ible to m an! ' A fter what you s aw a while ago in the tem ple of A m on, do you hold that there is anything im pos s ible to m an or wom an? P erhaps you c ould do as m uc h yours elf."
"W hy do you m oc k m e, K i? I s tudy books , not s nake-c harm ing."
He looked at m e in his c alm fas hion, as though he were reading, not m y fac e, but the thoughts behind it. T hen he looked at the c edar wand in his hand and gave it to m e, s aying:
"S tudy this , A na, and tell m e, what is it."
"A m I a c hild," I ans wered angrily, "that I s hould not know a pries t's rod when I s ee one?"
"I think that you are s om ething of a c hild, A na," he m urm ured, all the while keeping thos e eyes of his fixed upon m y fac e.
T hen a horror c am e about. For the rod began to twis t in m y hand and when I s tared at it, lo! it was a long, yellow s nake whic h I held by the tail. I threw the reptile down with a s c ream , for it was turning its head as though to s trike m e, and there in the dus t it twis ted and writhed away from m e and towards K i. Yet an
ins tant later it was only a s tic k of yellow c edar-wood, though between m e and K i there was a s nake's trac k in the s and.
"It is s om ewhat s ham eles s of you, A na," s aid K i, as he lifted the wand, "to reproac h m e with tric kery while you yours elf try to c onfound a poor juggler with s uc h arts as thes e."
T hen I know not what I s aid to him , s ave the end of it was that I s uppos ed he would tell m e next that I c ould fill a hall with darknes s at noonday and c over a m ultitude with terror.
"Let us have done with jes ts ," he s aid, "though thes e are well enough in their plac e. W ill you take this rod again and point it to the m oon? Y ou refus e and you do well, for neither you nor I c an c over up her fac e.
A na, bec aus e you are wis e in your way and c ons ort with one who is wis er, and were pres ent in the tem ple when the s tatue of A m on was s hattered by a c ertain witc h who m atc hed her s trength agains t m ine and c onquered m e, I, the great m agic ian, have c om e to as k y ou--whenc e c am e that darknes s in the hall to-
day?"
"From God, I think," I ans wered in an awed whis per.
"S o I think als o, A na. B ut tell m e, or as k Merapi, Moon of Is rael, to tell m e--from what god? Oh! I s ay to you that a terrible power is afoot in this land and that the P rinc e S eti did well to refus e the throne of E gypt and to fly to Mem phis . Repeat it to him , A na."
T hen he too was gone.
Now I returned in s afety to Mem phis and told all thes e tidings to the P rinc e, who lis tened to them eagerly. Onc e only was he greatly s tirred; it was when I repeated to him the words of Us erti, that never would s he look upon his fac e again unles s it pleas ed him to turn it towards the throne. On hearing this tears
c am e into his eyes , and ris ing, he walked up and down the c ham ber.
"T he fallen m us t not look for gentlenes s ," he s aid, "and doubtles s , A na, you think it folly that I s hould grieve bec aus e I am thus des erted."
"Nay, P rinc e, for I too have been abandoned by a wife and the pain is unforgotten."
"It is not of the wife I think, A na, s inc e in truth her Highnes s is no wife to m e. For whatever m ay be the anc ient laws of E gypt, how c ould it happen otherwis e, at any rate in m y c as e and hers ? It is of the s is ter.
For though m y m other was not hers , s he and I were brought up together and in our way loved eac h other, though always it was her pleas ure to lord it over m e, as it was m ine to s ubm it and pay her bac k in jes ts .
T hat is why s he is s o angry bec aus e now of a s udden I have thrown off her rule to follow m y own will whereby s he has los t the throne."
"It has always been the duty of the royal heires s of E gypt to m arry the P haraoh of E gypt, P rinc e, and having wed one who would be P haraoh ac c ording to that duty, the blow c uts deep."
"T hen s he had bes t thrus t as ide that foolis h wife of his and wed him who is P haraoh. B ut that s he will never do; A m enm es es s he has always hated, s o m uc h that s he loathed to be in the s am e plac e with him . Nor indeed would he wed her, who wis hes to rule for him s elf, not through a wom an whos e title to the
c rown is better than his own. W ell, s he has put m e away and there's an end. Henc eforth I m us t go lonely, unles s --unles s ----Continue your s tory, friend. It is kind of her in her greatnes s to prom is e to protec t one s o hum ble. I s hould rem em ber that, although it is true that fallen heads s om etim es ris e again," he added
bitterly.
"S o at leas t J abez thinks , P rinc e," and I told him how the Is raelites were s ure that he would be P haraoh, whereat he laughed and s aid:
"P erhaps , for they are good prophets . For m y part I neither know or c are. Or m aybe J abez s ees advantage in talking thus , for as you know he is a c lever trader."
"I do not think s o," I ans wered and s topped.
"Had J abez m ore to s ay of any other m atter, A na? Of the lady Merapi, for ins tanc e?"
Now feeling it to be m y duty, I told him every word that had pas s ed between J abez and m ys elf, though s om ewhat s ham efac edly.
 "T his Hebrew takes m uc h for granted, A na, even as to whom the Moon of Is rael would wis h to s hine upon. W hy, friend, it m ight be you whom s he des ires to touc h with her light, or s om e youth in Gos hen--not Laban--or no one."
"Me, P rinc e, m e! " I exc laim ed.
"W ell, A na, I am s ure you would have it s o. B e advis ed by m e and as k her m ind upon the m atter. Look not s o c onfus ed, m an, for one who has been m arried you are too m odes t. Com e tell m e of this Crowning."
S o glad enough to es c ape from the m atter of Merapi, I s poke at length of all that had happened when P haraoh A m enm es es took his s eat upon the throne. W hen I des c ribed how the rod of the Hebrew prophet had been turned to a s nake and how K i and his c om pany had done likewis e, the P rinc e laughed and
s aid that thes e were m ere jugglers ' tric ks . B ut when I told of the darknes s that had s eem ed to gather in the hall and of the gloom that filled the hearts of all m en and of the awes om e dream of B akenkhons u, als o of the words of K i after he had c louded m y m ind and played his jes t upon m e, he lis tened with m uc h
earnes tnes s and ans wered:
"My m ind is as K i's in this m atter. I too think that a terrible power is afoot in E gypt, one that has its hom e in the land of Gos hen, and that I did well to refus e the throne. B ut from what god thes e fortunes c om e I do not know. P erhaps tim e will tell us . Meanwhile if there is aught in the prophes ies of thes e Hebrews ,
as interpreted by J abez, at leas t you and I m ay s leep in peac e, whic h is m ore than will c hanc e to P haraoh on the throne that Us erti c ovets . If s o, this play will be worth the watc hing. Y ou have done your m is s ion well, A na. Go res t you while I think over all that you have s aid."
It was evening and as the palac e was very hot I went into the garden and m aking m y way to that little pleas ure-hous e where S eti and I were wont to s tudy, I s at m ys elf down there and, being weary, fell as leep. W hen I awoke from a dream about s om e wom an who was weeping, night had fallen and the full m oon
s hone in the s ky, s o that its rays fell on the garden before m e.
Now in front of this little hous e, as I have s aid, grew trees that at this s eas on of the year were c overed with white and c up-like blos s om s , and between thes e trees was a s eat built up of s un-dried bric ks . On this s eat s at a wom an whom I knew from her s hape to be Merapi. A ls o s he was s ad, for although her head
was bowed and her long hair hid her fac e I c ould hear her gentle s ighs .
T he s ight of her m oved m e very m uc h and I rem em bered what the P rinc e had s aid to m e, telling m e that I s hould do well to as k this lady whether s he had any m ind m y way. T herefore if I did s o, s urely I c ould not be blam ed. Yet I was c ertain that it was not to m e that her heart turned, though to s peak the truth,
m uc h I wis hed it otherwis e. W ho would look at the ibis in the s wam p when the wide-winged eagle floated in heaven above?
A n evil thought c am e into m y m ind, s ent by S et. S uppos e that this watc her's eyes were fixed upon the eagle, lord of the air. S uppos e that s he wors hipped this eagle; that s he loved it bec aus e its hom e was heaven, bec aus e to her it was the king of all the birds . A nd s uppos e one told her that if s he lured it down
to earth from the glorious s afety of the s kies , s he would bring it to c aptivity or death at the hand of the s narer. T hen would not that loving watc her s ay: "Let it go free and happy, however m uc h I long to look upon it," and when it had s ailed from s ight, perhaps turn her eyes to the hum ble ibis in the m ud?
J abez had told m e that if this wom an and the P rinc e grew dear to eac h other s he would bring great s orrow on his head. If I repeated his words to her, s he who had faith in the prophec ies of her people would c ertainly believe them . Moreover, whatever her heart m ight prom pt, being s o high-natured, never would s he
c ons ent to do what m ight bring trouble on S eti's head, even if to refus e him s hould s ink her s oul in s orrow.
Nor would s he return to the Hebrews there to fall into the hands of one s he hated. T hen perhaps I----. S hould I tell her? If J abez had not m eant that the m atter m us t be brought to her ears , would he have s poken of it at all? In s hort was it not m y duty to her, and perhaps als o to the P rinc e who thereby m ight be s aved
from m is eries to c om e, that is if this talk of future troubles were anything m ore than an idle s tory.
S uc h was the evil reas oning with whic h S et as s ailed m y s pirit. How I beat it down I do not know. Not by m y own goodnes s , I am s ure, s inc e at the m om ent I was aflam e with love for the s weet and beautiful lady who s at before m e and in m y foolis hnes s would, I think, have given m y life to kis s her hand. Not
altogether for her s ake either, s inc e pas s ion is very s elfis h. No, I believe it was bec aus e the love that I bore the P rinc e was m ore deep and real than that whic h I c ould feel for any wom an, and I knew well that were s he not in m y s ight no s uc h treac hery would have overc om e m y heart. For I was s ure, although he had
never s aid s o to m e, that S eti loved Merapi and above all earthly things des ired her as his c om panion, while if onc e I s poke thos e words , whatever m y own gain or los s and whatever her s ec ret wis h, that s he would never be.
S o I c onquered, though the vic tory left m e trem bling like a c hild, and wis hing that I had not been born to know the pangs of love denied. My reward was very s wift, for jus t then Merapi unfas tened a gem from the breas t of her white robe and held it towards the m oon, as though to s tudy it. In an ins tant I knew it
again. It was that royal s c arab of lapis -lazuli with whic h in Gos hen the P rinc e had m ade fas t the bandage on her wounded food, whic h als o had been s natc hed from her breas t by s om e power on that night when the s tatue of A m on was s hattered in the tem ple.
Long and earnes tly s he looked at it, then having glanc ed round to m ake s ure s he was alone, s he pres s ed it to her lips and kis s ed it thric e with pas s ion, m uttering I know not what between the kis s es . Now the s c ales fell from m y eyes and I knew that s he loved S eti, and oh! how I thanked m y guardian god who
had s aved m e from s uc h us eles s s ham e.
I wiped the c old dam p from m y brow and was about to flee away, dis c overing m ys elf with as few words as m ight be, when, looking up, I s aw s tanding behind Merapi the figure of a m an, who was watc hing her replac e the ornam ent in her robe. W hile I hes itated a m om ent the m an s poke and I knew the voic e for
that of S eti. T hen again I thought of flight, but being s om ewhat tim id by nature, feared to s how m ys elf until it was too late, thinking that afterward the P rinc e would m ake m e the target of his wit. S o I s at c los e and s till, hearing and s eeing all des pite m ys elf.
"W hat gem is that, Lady, whic h you adm ire and c heris h s o tenderly?" as ked S eti in his s low voic e that s o often hid a hint of laughter.
S he uttered a little s c ream and s pringing up, s aw him .
"Oh! m y lord," s he exc laim ed, "pardon your s ervant. I was s itting here in the c ool, as you gave m e leave to do, and the m oon was s o bright--that--I wis hed to be s ee if by it I c ould read the writing on this s c arab."
Never before, thought I to m ys elf, did I know one who read with her lips , though it is true that firs t s he us ed her eyes .
"A nd c ould you, Lady? W ill you s uffer m e to try?"
V ery s lowly and c olouring, s o that even the m oonlight s howed her blus hes , s he withdrew the ornam ent again and held it towards him .
"S urely this is fam iliar to m e? Have I not s een it before?" he as ked.
"P erhaps . I wore it that night in the tem ple, your Highnes s ."
"Y ou m us t not nam e m e Highnes s , Lady. I have no longer any rank in E gypt."
"I know--bec aus e of--m y people. Oh! it was noble."
"B ut about the s c arabaeus ----" he broke in, with a wave of his hand.
"S urely it is the s am e with whic h the bandage was m ade fas t upon your hurt--oh! years ago?"
"Y es , it is the s am e," s he ans wered, looking down.
"I thought it. A nd when I gave it to you, I s aid s om e words that s eem ed to m e well s poken at the tim e. W hat were they? I c annot rem em ber. Have you als o forgotten?"
"Y es --I m ean--no. Y ou s aid that now I had all E gypt beneath m y foot, s peaking of the royal c artouc he upon the s c arab."
"A h! I rec all. How true, and yet how fals e the jes t, or prophec y."
"How c an anything be both true and fals e, P rinc e?"
"T hat I c ould prove to you very eas ily, but it would take an hour or m ore, s o it s hall be for another tim e. T his s c arab is a poor thing, give it bac k to m e and you s hall have a better. Or would you c hoos e this s ignet? A s I am no longer P rinc e of E gypt it is us eles s to m e."
"K eep the s c arab, P rinc e. It is your own. B ut I will not take the ring bec aus e it is ----"
"----us eles s to m e, and you would not have that whic h is without value to the giver. Oh! I s tring words ill, but they were not what I m eant."
"No, P rinc e, bec aus e your royal ring is too large for one s o s m all."
"How c an you tell until you have tried? A ls o that is a fault whic h m ight perhaps be m ended."
T hen he laughed, and s he laughed als o, but as yet s he did not take the ring.
"Have you s een A na?" he went on. "I believe he s et out to s earc h for you, in s uc h a hurry indeed that he c ould s c arc ely finis h his report to m e."
"Did he s ay that?"
"No, he only looked it. S o m uc h s o that I s ugges ted he s hould s eek you at onc e. He ans wered that he was going to res t after his long journey, or perhaps I s aid that he ought to do s o. I forget, as often one does , on s o beauteous a night when other thoughts s eem nearer."
"W hy did A na wis h to s ee m e, P rinc e?"
"How c an I tell? W hy does a m an who is s till young--want to s ee a s weet and beautiful lady? Oh! I rem em ber. He had m et your unc le at T anis who inquired as to your health. P erhaps that is why he wanted to s ee you."
"I do not wis h to hear about m y unc le at T anis . He rem inds m e of too m any things that give pain, and there are nights when one wis hes to es c ape pain, whic h is s ure to be found again on the m orrow."
"A re you s till of the s am e m ind about returning to your people?" he as ked, m ore earnes tly.
"S urely. Oh! do not s ay that you will s end m e henc e to----"
"Laban, Lady?"
"Laban am ongs t others . Rem em ber, P rinc e, that I am one under a c urs e. If I return to Gos hen, in this way or in that, s oon I s hall die."
"A na s ays that your unc le J abez dec lares that the m ad fellow who tried to m urder you had no authority to c urs e and m uc h les s to kill you. Y ou m us t as k him to tell you all."
"Y et the c urs e will c ling and c rus h m e at the las t. How c an I, one lonely wom an, s tand agains t the m ight of the people of Is rael and their pries ts ?"
"A re you then lonely?"
"How c an it be otherwis e with an outc as t, P rinc e?"
"No, it c annot be otherwis e. I know it who am als o an outc as t."
"A t leas t there is her Highnes s your wife, who doubtles s will c om e to c om fort you," s he s aid, looking down.
"Her Highnes s will not c om e. If you had s een A na, he would perhaps have told you that s he has s worn not to look upon m y fac e again, unles s above it s hines a c rown."
"Oh! how c an a wom an be s o c ruel? S urely, P rinc e, s uc h a s tab m us t c ut you to the heart," s he exc laim ed, with a little c ry of pity.
"Her Highnes s is not only a wom an; s he is a P rinc es s of E gypt whic h is different. For the res t it does c ut m e to the heart that m y royal s is ter s hould have des erted m e, for that whic h s he loves better--power and pom p. B ut s o it is , unles s A na dream s . It s eem s therefore that we are in the s am e c as e, both
outc as ts , you and I, is it not s o?"
S he m ade no ans wer but c ontinued to look upon the ground, and he went on very s lowly:
"A thought c om es into m y m ind on whic h I would as k your judgm ent. If two who are forlorn c am e together they would be les s forlorn by half, would they not?"
"It would s eem s o, P rinc e--that is if they rem ained forlorn at all. B ut I do not unders tand the riddle."
"Y et you have ans wered it. If you are lonely and I am lonely apart, we s hould, you s ay, be les s lonely together."
"P rinc e," s he m urm ured, s hrinking away from him , "I s poke no s uc h words ."
"No, I s poke them for you. Hearken to m e, Merapi. T hey think m e a s trange m an in E gypt bec aus e I have held no wom an dear, never having s een one whom I c ould hold dear." Here s he looked at him s earc hingly, and he went on, "A while ago, before I vis ited your land of Gos hen--A na c an tell you about the m atter,
for I think he wrote it down--K i and old B akenkhons u c am e to s ee m e. Now, as you know, K i is without doubt a great m agic ian, though it would s eem not s o great as s om e of your prophets . He told m e that he and others had been s earc hing out m y future and that in Gos hen I s hould find a wom an whom it was fated I
m us t love.
He added that this wom an would bring m e m uc h joy." Here S eti paus ed, doubtles s rem em bering this was not all that K i had s aid, or J abez either. "K i told m e als o," he went on s lowly, "that I had already known this wom an for thous ands of years ."
S he s tarted and a s trange look c am e into her fac e.
"How c an that be, P rinc e?"
"T hat is what I as ked him and got no good ans wer. S till he s aid it, not only of the wom an but of m y friend A na as well, whic h indeed would explain m uc h, and it would appear that the other m agic ians s aid it als o.
T hen I went to the land of Gos hen and there I s aw a wom an----"
"For the firs t tim e, P rinc e?"
"No, for the third tim e."
Here s he s ank upon the benc h and c overed her eyes with her hands .
"----and loved her, and felt as though I had loved her for 'thous ands of years .'"
"It is not true. Y ou m oc k m e, it is not true! " s he whis pered.
"It is true for if I did not know it then, I knew it afterwards , though never perhaps c om pletely until to-day, when I learned that Us erti had des erted m e indeed. Moon of Is rael, you are that wom an. I will not tell you," he went on pas s ionately, "that you are fairer than all other wom en, or s weeter, or m ore wis e, though
thes e things you s eem to m e. I will only tell you that I love you, yes , love you, whatever you m ay be.
I c annot offer you the T hrone of E gypt, even if the law would s uffer it, but I c an offer you the throne of this heart of m ine. Now, Lady Merapi, what have you to s ay? B efore you s peak, rem em ber that although you s eem to be m y pris oner here at Mem phis , you have naught to fear from m e.
W hatever you m ay ans wer, s uc h s helter and s uc h friends hip as I c an give will be yours while I live, and never s hall I attem pt to forc e m ys elf upon you, however m uc h it m ay pain m e to pas s you by. I know not the future. It m ay happen that I s hall give you great plac e and power, it m ay happen that I s hall give you
nothing but poverty and exile, or even perhaps a s hare in m y own death, but with either will go the wors hip of m y body and m y s pirit. Now, s peak."
S he dropped her hands from her fac e, looking up at him , and there were tears s hining in her beautiful eyes .
"It c annot be, P rinc e," s he m urm ured.
"Y ou m ean you do not wis h it to be?"
"I s aid that it c annot be. S uc h ties between an E gyptian and an Is raelite are not lawful."
"S om e in this c ity and els ewhere s eem to find them s o."
"A nd I am m arried, I m ean perhaps I am m arried--at leas t in nam e."
"A nd I too am m arried, I m ean----"
"T hat is different. A ls o there is another reas on, the greates t of all, I am under a c urs e, and s hould bring you, not joy as K i s aid, but s orrow, or, at the leas t, s orrow with the joy."
He looked at her s earc hingly.
"Has A na----" he began, then c ontinued, "if s o what lives have you known that are not c om pounded of m ingled joy and s orrow?"
"None. B ut the woe I s hould bring would outweigh the joy--to you. T he c urs e of m y God res ts upon m e and I c annot learn to wors hip yours . T he c urs e of m y people res ts upon m e, the law of m y people divides m e from you as with a s word, and s hould I draw c los e to you thes e will be inc reas ed upon m y head,
whic h m atters not, but als o upon yours ," and s he began to s ob.
"T ell m e," he s aid, taking her by the hand, "but one thing, and if the ans wer is No, I will trouble you no m ore. Is your heart m ine?"
"It is ," s he s ighed, "and has been ever s inc e m y eyes fell upon you yonder in the s treets of Tanis . Oh! then a c hange c am e into m e and I hated Laban, whom before I had only m is liked. Moreover, I too felt that of whic h K i s poke, as though I had known you for thous ands of years . My heart is yours , m y love is yours ;
all that m akes m e wom an is yours , and never, never c an turn from you to any other m an. B ut s till we m us t s tay apart, for your s ake, m y P rinc e, for your s ake."
"T hen, were it not for m e, you would be ready to run thes e hazards ?"
"S urely! A m I not a wom an who loves ?"
"If that be s o," he s aid with a little laugh, "being of full age and of an unders tanding whic h s om e have thought good, by your leave I think I will run them als o. Oh! foolis h wom an, do you not unders tand that there is but one good thing in the world, one thing in whic h s elf and its m is eries c an be forgot, and that
thing is love? Mayhap troubles will c om e. W ell, let them c om e, for what do they m atter if only the love or its m em ory rem ains , if onc e we have pic ked that beauteous flower and for an hour worn it on our breas ts . You talk of the differenc e between the gods we wors hip and m aybe it exis ts , but all gods s end their gifts
of love upon the earth, without whic h it would c eas e to be. Moreover, m y faith teac hes m e m ore c learly perhaps than yours , that life does not end with death and therefore that love, being life's s oul, m us t endure while it endures . Las t of all, I think, as you think, that in s om e dim way there is truth in what the
m agic ians s aid, and that long ago in the pas t we have been what onc e m ore we are about to be, and that the s trength of this invis ible tie has drawn us together out of the whole world and will bind us together long after the world is dead. It is not a m atter of what we wis h to do, Merapi, it is a m atter of what Fate has
dec reed we s hall do. Now, ans wer again."
B ut s he m ade no ans wer, and when I looked up after a little m om ent s he was in his arm s and her lips were upon his lips .
T hus did P rinc e S eti of E ngland and Merapi, Moon of Is rael, c om e together at Mem phis in E gypt.
CHAP TE R X III
THE RE D NILE
On the m orrow of this night I found the P rinc e alone for a little while, and put him in m ind of c ertain anc ient m anus c ripts that he wis hed to read, whic h c ould only be c ons ulted at T hebes where I m ight c opy them ; als o of others that were s aid to be for s ale there. He ans wered that they c ould wait, but I replied that
the latter m ight find s om e other purc has er if I did not go at onc e.
"Y ou are over fond of long journeys upon m y bus ines s , A na," he s aid.
T hen he c ons idered m e c urious ly for a while, and s inc e he c ould read m y m ind, as indeed I c ould his , s aw that I knew all, and added in a gentle voic e:
"Y ou s hould have done as I told you, and s poken firs t. If s o, who knows ----"
"Y ou do, P rinc e," I ans wered, "you and another."
"Go, and the gods be with you, friend, but s tay not too long c opying thos e rolls , whic h any s c ribe c an do. I think there is trouble at hand in E gypt, and I s hall need you at m y s ide. A nother who holds you dear will need you als o."
"I thank m y lord and that other," I s aid, bowing, and went.
Moreover, while I was m aking s om e hum ble provis ion for m y journey, I found that this was needles s , s inc e a s lave c am e to tell m e that the P rinc e's barge was waiting to s ail with the wind. S o in that barge I travelled to T hebes like a great noble, or a royal m um m y being borne to burial. Only ins tead of wailing
pries ts , until I s ent them bac k to Mem phis , m us ic ians s at upon the prow, and when I willed, danc ing girls c am e to am us e m y leis ure and, veiled in golden nets , to s erve at m y table.
S o I journeyed as though I were the P rinc e him s elf, and as one who was known to have his ear was m ade m uc h of by the governors of the Nom es , the c hief m en of the towns , and the high pries ts of the tem ples at every c ity where we m oored. For, as I have s aid, although A m enm es es s at upon the throne, S eti
s till ruled in the hearts of the folk of E gypt.
Moreover, as I s ailed further up the Nile to dis tric ts where little was known of the Is raelites , and the troubles they were bringing on the land, I found this to be s o m ore and m ore. W hy is it, the Great Ones would whis per in m y ear, that his Highnes s the P rinc e S eti does not hold his father's plac e? T hen I would tell
them of the Hebrews , and they would laugh and s ay:
"Let the P rinc e unfurl his royal banner here, and we will s how him what we think of the ques tion of thes e Is raelitis h s laves . May not the Heir of E gypt form his own judgm ent on s uc h a m atter as to whether they s hould abide there in the north, or go away into that wildernes s whic h they des ire?"
T o all of whic h, and m uc h like it, I would only ans wer that their words s hould be reported. More I did not, and indeed did not dare to s ay, s inc e everywhere I found that I was being followed and watc hed by the s pies of P haraoh.
A t length I c am e to T hebes and took up m y abode in a fine hous e that was the property of the P rinc e, whic h I found that a m es s enger had c om m anded s hould be m ade ready for m e. It s tood near by the entranc e to the A venue of S phinxes , whic h leads to the greates t of all the T heban tem ples , where is that
m ighty c olum ned hall built by the firs t S eti and his s on, Ram es es II, the P rinc e's grandfather.
Here, having entranc e to the plac e, I would often wander at night, and in m y s pirit draw as near to heaven as ever it has been m y lot to travel. A ls o, c ros s ing the Nile to the wes tern bank, I vis ited that des olate valley where the rulers of E gypt lie at res t. T he tom b of P haraoh Meneptah was s till uns ealed, and
ac c om panied by a s ingle pries t with torc hes , I c rept down its painted halls and looked upon the s arc ophagus of him whom s o lately I had s een s eated in glory upon the throne, wondering, as I looked, how m uc h or how little he knew of all that pas s ed in E gypt to-day.
Moreover, I c opied the papyri that I had c om e to s eek, in whic h there was nothing worth pres erving, and s om e of real value that I dis c overed in the anc ient libraries of the tem ples , and purc has ed others . One of thes e indeed told a very s trange tale that has given m e m uc h c aus e for thought, es pec ially of late years
now when all m y friends are dead.
T hus I s pent two m onths , and s hould have s tayed longer had not m es s engers reac hed m e from the P rinc e s aying that he des ired m y return.
Of thes e, one followed within three days of the other, and his words were:
"T hink you, S c ribe A na, that bec aus e I am no m ore P rinc e of E gypt I am no longer to be obeyed? If s o, bear in m ind that the gods m ay dec ree that one day I s hall grow taller than ever I was before, and then be s ure that I will rem em ber your dis obedienc e, and m ake you s horter by a head. Com e s wiftly, m y friend,
for I grow lonely, and need a m an to talk with."
T o whic h I replied, that I returned as fas t as the barge would c arry m e, being s o heavily laden with the m anus c ripts that I had c opied and purc has ed.
S o I s tarted, being, to tell truth, glad to get away, for this reas on.
T wo nights before, when I was walking alone from the great tem ple of the hous e, a wom an dres s ed in m any c olours appeared and ac c os ted m e as s uc h los t ones do. I tried to s hake her off, but s he c lung to m e, and I s aw that s he had drunk m ore than enough of wine. P res ently s he as ked, in a voic e that I thought
fam iliar, if I knew who was the offic er that had c om e to T hebes on the bus ines s of s om e Royal One and abode in the dwelling that was known as Hous e of the P rinc e. I ans wered that his nam e was A na.
"Onc e I knew an A na very well," s he s aid, "but I left him ."
"W hy?" I as ked, turning c old in m y lim bs , for although I c ould not s ee her fac e bec aus e of a hood s he wore, now I began to be afraid.
"B ec aus e he was a poor fool," s he ans wered, "no m an at all, but one who was always thinking about writings and m aking them , and another c am e m y way whom I liked better until he des erted m e."
"A nd what happened to this A na?" I as ked.
"I do not know. I s uppos e he went on dream ing, or perhaps he took another wife; if s o, I am s orry for her. Only, if by c hanc e it is the s am e that has c om e to T hebes , he m us t be wealthy now, and I s hall go and c laim him and m ake him keep m e well."
"Had you any c hildren?" I as ked.
"Only one, thank the gods , and that died--thank the gods again, for otherwis e it m ight have lived to be s uc h as I am ," and s he s obbed onc e in a hard fas hion and then fell to her vile endearm ents .
A s s he did s o, the hood s lipped from her head and I s aw that the fac e was that of m y wife, s till beauteous in a bold fas hion, but grown dreadful with drink and s in. I trem bled from head to foot, then s aid in the dis guis ed voic e that I had us ed to her.
"W om an, I know this A na. He is dead and you were his ruin. S till, bec aus e I was his friend, take this and go reform your ways ," and I drew from m y robe and gave to her a bag c ontaining no m ean weight of gold.
S he s natc hed it as a hawk s natc hes , and s eeing its c ontents by the s tarlight, thanked m e, s aying:
"S urely A na dead is worth m ore than A na alive. A ls o it is well that he is dead, for he is gone where the c hild went, whic h he loved m ore than life, neglec ting m e for its s ake and thereby m aking m e what I am . Had he lived, too, being as I have s aid a fool, he would have had m ore ill-luc k with wom en, whom he
never unders tood. Farewell, friend of A na, who have given m e that whic h will enable m e to find another hus band," and laughing wildly s he reeled off behind a s phinx and vanis hed into the darknes s .
For this reas on, then, I was glad to es c ape from T hebes . Moreover, that m is erable one had hurt m e s orely, m aking m e s ure of what I had only gues s ed, nam ely, that with wom en I was but a fool, s o great a fool that then and there I s wore by m y guardian god that never would I look with love on one of them again,
an oath whic h I have kept well whatever others I m ay have broken. A gain s he s tabbed m e through with the talk of our dead c hild, for it is true that when that s weet one took flight to Os iris m y heart broke and in a fas hion has never m ended its elf again.
Las tly, I feared les t it m ight als o be true that I had neglec ted the m other for the s ake of this c hild whic h was the jewel of m y wors hip, yes , and is , and thereby helped her on to s ham e. S o m uc h did this thought torm ent m e that through an agent whom I trus ted, who believed that I was but providing for one whom I had
wronged, I c aus ed enough to be paid to her to keep her in c om fort.
S he did m arry again, a m erc hant about whom s he had c as t her toils , and in due c ours e s pent his wealth and brought him to ruin, after whic h he ran away from her. A s for her, s he died of her evil habits in the third year of the reign of S eti II. B ut, the gods be thanked s he never knew that the private s c ribe of
P haraoh's c ham ber was that A na who had been her hus band. Here I will end her s tory.
Now as I was pas s ing down the Nile with a heart m ore heavy than the great s tone that s erved as anc hor on the barge, we m oored at dus k on the third night by the s ide of a ves s el that was s ailing up Nile with a s trong northerly wind. On board this boat was an offic er whom I had known at the Court of P haraoh
Meneptah, travelling to T hebes on duty.
T his m an s eem ed s o m uc h afraid that I as ked him if anything weighed upon his m ind. T hen he took m e as ide into a palm grove upon the bank, and s eating him s elf on the pole whereby oxen turned a waterwheel, told m e that s trange things were pas s ing at T anis .
It s eem ed that the Hebrew prophets had onc e m ore appeared before P haraoh, who s inc e his ac c es s ion had left the Is raelites in peac e, not attac king them with the s word as Meneptah had wis hed to do, it was thought through fear les t if he did s o he s hould die as Meneptah died.
A s before, they had put up their prayer that the people of the Hebrews s hould be s uffered to go to wors hip in the wildernes s , and P haraoh had refus ed them . T hen when he went down to s ail upon the river early in the m orning of another day, they had m et him and one of them s truc k the water with his rod, and it had
turned to blood. W hereon K i and K herheb and his c om pany als o s truc k the water with their rods , and it turned to blood. T hat was s ix days ago, and now this offic er s wore to m e that the blood was c reeping up the Nile, a tale at whic h I laughed.
"Com e then and s ee," he s aid, and led m e bac k to his boat, where all the c rew s eem ed as fearful as he was him s elf.
He took m e forward to a great water jar that s tood upon the prow and, behold! it s eem ed to be full of blood, and in it was a fis h dead, and--s tinking.
"T his water," s aid he, "I drew from the Nile with m y own hands , not five hours s ail to the north. B ut now we have outs ped the blood, whic h follows after us ," and taking a lam p he held it over the prow of the boat and I s aw that all its planks were s plas hed as though with blood.
"B e advis ed by m e, learned s c ribe," he added, "and fill every jar and s kin that you c an gather with s weet water, les t to-m orrow you and your c om pany s hould go thirs ty," and he laughed a very dreary laugh.
T hen we parted without m ore words , for neither of us knew what to s ay, and about m idnight he s ailed on with the wind, taking his c hanc e of grounding on the s andbanks in the darknes s .
For m y part I did as he bade m e, though m y rowers who had not s poken with his m en, thought that I was m ad to load up the barge with s o m uc h water.
A t the firs t break of day I gave the order to s tart. Looking over the s ide of the barge it s eem ed to m e as though the lights of dawn had fallen from the s ky into the Nile whereof the water had bec om e pink-hued. Moreover, this hue, whic h grew ever deeper, was travelling up s tream , not down, agains t the c ours e of
nature, and c ould not therefore have been c aus ed by red s oil was hed from the s outhern lands . T he bargem en s tared and m uttered together. T hen one of them , leaning over the s ide, s c ooped up water in the hollow of his hand and drew s om e into his m outh, only to s pit it out again with a c ry of fear.
"'T is blood," he c ried. "B lood! Os iris has been s lain afres h, and his holy blood fills the banks of Nile."
S o m uc h were they afraid, indeed, that had I not forc ed them to hold to their c ours e they would have turned and rowed up s tream , or beac hed the boat and fled into the des ert. B ut I c ried to them to s teer on northwards , for thus perhaps we s hould s ooner be done with this horror, and they obeyed m e. E ver as we
went the hue of the water grew m ore red, alm os t to blac knes s , till at las t it s eem ed as though we were travelling through a s ea of gore in whic h dead fis h floated by the thous and, or s truggled dying on the s urfac e. A ls o the s tenc h was s o dreadful that we m us t bind linen about our nos trils to s train the foetid air.
W e c am e abreas t of a town, and from its s treets one great wail of terror ros e to heaven. Men s tood s taring as though they were drunken, looking at their red arm s whic h they had dipped in the s tream , and wom en ran to and fro upon the bank, tearing their hair and robes , and c rying out s uc h words as --
"W izard's work! B ewitc hed! A c c urs ed! T he gods have s lain eac h other, and m en too m us t die! " and s o forth.
A ls o we s aw peas ants digging holes at a dis tanc e from the s hore to s ee perc hanc e if they m ight c om e to water that was s weet and wholes om e. A ll day long we travelled thus through this horrible flood, while the s pray driven by the s trong north wind s potted our fles h and garm ents , till we were like butc hers
reeking from the s ham bles . Nor c ould we eat any food bec aus e of the s tenc h from this s pray, whic h m ade it to tas te s alt as does fres h blood, only we drank of the water whic h I had provided, and the rowers who had held m e to be m ad now nam ed m e the wis es t of m en; one who knew what would befall in the future.
A t length towards evening we noted that the water was growing m uc h les s red with every hour that pas s ed, whic h was another m arvel, s eeing that above us , ups tream , it was the c olour of jas per, whereon we paus ed from our rowing and, all defiled as we were, s ang a hym n and gave thanks to Hapi, god of Nile,
the Great, the S ec ret, the Hidden. B efore s uns et, indeed, the river was c lean again, s ave that on the bank where we m ade fas t for the night the s tones and rus hes were all s tained, and the dead fis h lay in thous ands polluting the air. T o es c ape the s tenc h we c lim bed a c liff that here ros e quite c los e to Nile, in whic h
we s aw the m ouths of anc ient tom bs that long ago had been robbed and left em pty, purpos ing to s leep in one of them .
A path worn by the feet of m en ran to the larges t of thes e tom bs , whenc e, as we drew near, we heard the s ound of wailing. Looking in, I s aw a wom an and s om e c hildren c rouc hed upon the floor of the tom b, their heads c overed with dus t who, when they perc eived us , c ried m ore loudly than before, though with
hars h dry voic es , thinking no doubt that we were robbers or perhaps ghos ts bec aus e of our bloods tained garm ents .
A ls o there was another c hild, a little one, that did not c ry, bec aus e it was dead. I as ked the wom an what pas s ed, but even when s he unders tood that we were only m en who m eant her no harm , s he c ould not s peak or do m ore than gas p "W ater! W ater! " W e gave her and the c hildren to drink from the jars whic h we
had brought with us , whic h they did greedily, after whic h I drew her s tory from her.
S he was the wife of a fis herm an who m ade his hom e in this c ave, and s aid that s even days before the Nile had turned to blood, s o that they c ould not drink of it, and had no water s ave a little in a pot. Nor c ould they dig to find it, s inc e here the ground was all roc k. Nor c ould they es c ape, s inc e when he s aw the
m arvel, her hus band in his fear had leapt from his boat and waded to land and the boat had floated away.
I as ked where was her hus band, and s he pointed behind her. I went to look, and there found a m an hanging by his nec k from a rope that was fixed to the c apital of a pillar in the tom b, quite dead and c old.
Returning s ic k at heart, I inquired of her how this had c om e about. S he ans wered that when he s aw that all the fis h had peris hed, taking away his living, and that thirs t had killed his younges t c hild, he went m ad, and c reeping to the bac k of the tom b, without her knowledge hung him s elf with a net rope. It was a
dreadful s tory.
Having given the widow of our food, we went to s leep in another tom b, not liking the c om pany of thos e dead ones . Next m orning at the dawn we took the wom an and her c hildren on board the barge, and rowed them three hours ' journey to a town where s he had a s is ter, whom s he found. T he dead m an and the
c hild we left there in the tom b, s inc e m y m en would not defile them s elves by touc hing them .
S o, s eeing m uc h terror and m is ery on our journey, at las t we c am e s afe to Mem phis . Leaving the boatm en to draw up the barge, I went to the palac e, s peaking with none, and was led at onc e to the P rinc e. I found him in a s haded c ham ber s eated s ide by s ide with the lady Merapi, and holding her hand in s uc h a
fas hion that they rem ind m e of the life-s ized K a s tatues of a m an and his wife, s uc h as I have s een in the anc ient tom bs , c ut when the s c ulptors knew how to fas hion the perfec t likenes s es of m en and wom en. T his they no longer do to-day, I think bec aus e the pries ts have taught them that it is not lawful. He was
talking to her in a low voic e, while s he lis tened, s m iling s weetly as s he ever did, but with eyes , fixed s traight before her that were, as it s eem ed to m e, filled with fear. I thought that s he looked very beautiful with her hair outs pread over her white robe, and held bac k from her tem ples by a little fillet of god. B ut as I
looked, I rejoic ed to find that m y heart no longer yearned for her as it had upon that night when I had s een her s eated beneath the trees without the pleas ure-hous e. Now s he was its friend, no m ore, and s o s he rem ained until all was finis hed, as both the P rinc e and s he knew well enough.
W hen he s aw m e S eti s prang from his s eat and c am e to greet m e, as a m an does the friend whom he loves . I kis s ed his hand, and going to Merapi, kis s ed hers als o noting that on it now s hone that ring whic h onc e s he had rejec ted as too large.
"T ell m e, A na, all that has befallen you," he s aid in his pleas ant, eager voic e.
"Many things , P rinc e; one of them very s trange and terrible," I ans wered.
"S trange and terrible things have happened here als o," broke in Merapi, "and, alas ! this is but the beginning of woes ."
S o s aying, s he ros e, as though s he c ould trus t hers elf to s peak no m ore, bowed firs t to her lord and then to m e, and left the c ham ber.
I looked at the P rinc e and he ans wered the ques tion in m y eyes .
"J abez has been here," he s aid, "and filled her heart with forebodings .
If P haraoh will not let the Is raelites go, by A m on I wis h he would let J abez go to s om e plac e whenc e he never c ould return. B ut tell m e, have you als o m et blood travelling agains t the s tream of Nile? It would s eem s o," and he glanc ed at the rus ty s tains that no was hing would rem ove from m y garm ents .
I nodded and we talked together long and earnes tly, but in the end were no wis er for all our talking. For neither of us knew how it c am e about that m en by s triking water with a rod c ould turn it into what s eem ed to be blood, as the Hebrew prophet and K i both had done, or how that blood c ould travel up the Nile
agains t the s tream and everywhere endure for a s pac e of s even days ; yes , and s pread too to all the c anals in E gypt, s o that m en m us t dig holes for water and dig them fres h eac h day bec aus e the blood c rept in and pois oned them . B ut both of us thought that this was the work of the gods , and m os t of all of that god
whom the Hebrews wors hip.
"You rem em ber, A na," s aid the P rinc e, "the m es s age whic h you brought to m e from J abez, nam ely that no harm s hould c om e to m e bec aus e of thes e Is raelites and their c urs es . W ell, no harm as c om e as yet, exc ept the harm of J abez, for he c am e. On the day before the news of this blood plague reac hed us ,
J abez appeared dis guis ed as a m erc hant of S yrian s tuffs , all of whic h he s old to m e at three tim es their value. He obtained adm is s ion to the c ham bers of Merapi, where s he is ac c us tom ed to s ee whom s he wills , and under pretenc e of s howing her his s tuffs , s poke with her and, as I fear, told her what you and I
were s o c areful to hide, that s he would bring trouble on m e. A t the leas t s he has never been quite the s am e s inc e, and I have thought it wis e to m ake her s wear by an oath, whic h I know s he will never break, that now we are one s he will not attem pt to s eparate hers elf from m e while we both have life."
"Did he wis h her to go away with him , P rinc e?"
"I do not know. S he never told m e s o. S till I am s ure that had he c om e with his evil talk before that day when you returned from T anis , s he would have gone. Now I hope that there are reas ons that will keep her where s he is ."
"W hat then did he s ay, P rinc e?"
"Little beyond what he had already s aid to you, that great troubles were about to fall on E gypt. He added that he was s ent to s ave m e and m ine from thes e troubles bec aus e I had been a friend to the Hebrews in s o far as that was pos s ible. T hen he walked through this hous e and all round its gardens , as he went
rec iting s om ething that was written on a roll, of whic h I c ould not unders tand the m eaning, and now and again pros trating him s elf to pray to his god. T hus , where the c anal enters the garden and where it leaves the garden he s tayed to pray, as he did at the well whenc e drinking water is drawn. Moreover, led by
Merapi, he vis ited all m y c ornlands and thos e where m y c attle are herded, rec iting and praying until the s ervants thought that he was m ad. A fter this he returned with her and, as it c hanc ed, I overheard their parting. S he s aid to him :
"'T he hous e you have bles s ed and it is s afe; the fields you have bles s ed and they are s afe; will you not bles s m e als o, O m y Unc le, and any that are born of m e?'
"He ans wered, s haking his head, 'I have no c om m and, m y Niec e, either to bles s or to c urs e you, as did that fool whom the P rinc e s lew. You have c hos en your own path apart from your people. It m ay be well, or it m ay be ill, or perhaps both, and henc eforth you m us t walk it alone to wherever it m ay lead. Farewell,
for perhaps we s hall m eet no m ore.'
"T hus s peaking they pas s ed out of ears hot, but I c ould s ee that s till s he pleaded and s till he s hook his head. In the end, however, s he gave him an offering, of all that s he had I think, though whether this went to the tem ple of the Hebrews or into his own pouc h I know not. A t leas t it s eem ed to s often him , for he
kis s ed her on the brow tenderly enough and departed with the air of a happy m erc hant who has s old his wares .
B ut of all that pas s ed between them Merapi would tell m e nothing. Nor did I tell her of what I had overheard."
"A nd then?"
"A nd then, A na, c am e the s tory of the Hebrew prophet who m ade the water into blood, and of K i and his dis c iples who did likewis e. T he latter I did not believe, bec aus e I s aid it would be m ore reas onable had K i turned the blood bac k into water, ins tead of m aking m ore blood of whic h there was enough already."
"I think that m agic ians have no reas on."
"Or c an do m is c hief only, A na. A t any rate after the s tory c am e the blood its elf and s tayed with us s even whole days , leaving m uc h s ic knes s behind it bec aus e of the s tenc h of the rotting fis h. Now for the m arvel--here about m y hous e there was no blood, though above and below the c anal was full of it. T he water
rem ained as it has always been and the fis h s wam in it as they have always done; als o that of the well kept s weet and pure. W hen this c am e to be known thous ands c rowded to the plac e, c lam ouring for water; that is until they found that outs ide the gates it grew red in their ves s els , after whic h, although s om e s till
c am e, they drank the water where they s tood, whic h they m us t do quic kly."
"A nd what tale do they tell of this in Mem phis , P rinc e?" I as ked as tonis hed.
"Certain of them s ay that not K i but I am the greates t m agic ian in E gypt--never, A na, was fam e m ore lightly earned. A nd c ertain s ay that Merapi, of whos e doings in the tem ple at Tanis s om e tale has reac hed them , is the real m agic ian, s he being an Is raelite of the tribe of the Hebrew prophets . Hus h! S he
returns ."
CHAP TE R X IV
KI COME S TO ME MP HIS
Now of all the terrors of whic h this turning of the water into blood was the beginning in E gypt, I, A na, the s c ribe, will not write, for if I did s o, never in m y life-days s hould I, who am old, find tim e to finis h the s tory of them . Over a period of m any, m any m oons they c am e, one by one, till the land grew m ad with want
and woe. A lways the tale was the s am e.
T he Hebrew prophets would vis it P haraoh at T anis and dem and that he s hould led their people go, threatening him with vengeanc e if he refus ed. Y et he did refus e, for s om e m adnes s had hold of him , or perhaps the god of the Is raelites laid an enc hantm ent on him , why I know not.
T hus but a little while after the terror of blood c am e a plague of frogs that filled E gypt from north to s outh, and when thes e were taken away m ade the air to s tink. T his m irac le K i and his c om pany worked als o, s ending the frogs into Gos hen, where they plagued the Is raelites . B ut however it c am e about, at S eti's
palac e at Mem phis and on the land that he owned around it there were no frogs , or at leas t but few of them , although at night from the fields about the s ound of their c roaking went up like the s ound of beaten drum s .
Next c am e a plague of lic e, and thes e K i and his c om panions would have als o c alled down upon the Hebrews , but they failed, and afterwards s truggled no m ore agains t the m agic of the Is raelites . T hen followed a plague of flies , s o that the air was blac k with them and no food c ould be kept s weet. Only in S eti's
palac e there were no flies , and in the garden but a few. A fter this a terrible pes t began am ong the c attle, whereof thous ands died. B ut of S eti's great herd not one was even s ic k, nor, as we learned, was there a hoof the les s in the land of Gos hen.
T his plague s truc k E gypt but a little while after Merapi had given birth to a s on, a very beautiful c hild with his m other's eyes , that was nam ed S eti after his father. Now the m arvel of the es c ape of the P rinc e and his hous ehold and all that was his from thes e c urs es s pread abroad and m ade m uc h talk, s o that
m any s ent to inquire of it.
A m ong the firs t c am e old B akenkhons u with a m es s age from P haraoh, and a private one to m ys elf from the P rinc es s Us erti, whos e pride would not s uffer her to as k aught of S eti. W e c ould tell him nothing exc ept what I have written, whic h at firs t he did not believe. Having s atis fied him s elf, however, that the
thing was true, he s aid that he had fallen s ic k and c ould not travel bac k to Tanis . T herefore he as ked leave of the P rinc e to res t a while in his hous e, he who had been the friend of his father, his grandfather, and his great-grandfather. S eti laughed, as indeed did the c unning old m an him s elf, and there with us
B akenkhons u rem ained till the end, to our great joy, for he was the m os t pleas ant of all c om panions and the m os t learned. A s for his m es s age, one of his s ervants took bac k the ans wer to P haraoh and to Us erti, with the news of his m as ter's grievous s ic knes s .
S om e eight days or s o later, as I s tood one m orning bas king in the s un at that gate of the palac e gardens whic h overlooks the tem ple of P tah, idly watc hing the proc es s ion of pries ts pas s ing through its c ourts and c hanting as they went (for bec aus e of the m any s ic knes s es at this tim e I left the palac e but rarely),
I s aw a tall figure approac hing m e draped agains t the m orning c old. T he m an drew near, and addres s ing m e over the head of the guard, as ked if he c ould s ee the lady Merapi. I ans wered No, as s he was engaged in nurs ing her s on.
"A nd in other things , I think," he s aid with m eaning, in a voic e that s eem ed fam iliar to m e. "W ell, c an I s ee the P rinc e S eti?"
I ans wered No, he was als o engaged.
"In nurs ing his own s oul, s tudying the eyes of the lady Merapi, the s m ile of his infant, the wis dom of the s c ribe A na, and the attributes of the hundred and one gods that are known to him , inc luding that of Is rael, I s uppos e," s aid the fam iliar voic e, adding, "T hen c an I s ee this s c ribe A na, who I unders tand, being
luc ky, holds him s elf learned."
Now, angered at the s c offing of this s tranger (though all the tim e I felt that he was none), I ans wered that the s c ribe A na was s triving to m end his luc k by the purs uit of the goddes s of learning in his s tudy.
"Let him purs ue," m oc ked the s tranger, "s inc e s he is the only wom an that he is ever likely to c atc h. Y et it is true that onc e one c aught him . If you are of his ac quaintanc e as k him of his talk with her in the avenue of the S phinxes outs ide the great tem ple at T hebes and of what it c os t him in gold and tears ."
Hearing this I put m y hand to m y forehead and rubbed m y eyes , thinking that I m us t have fallen into a dream there in the s uns hine. W hen I lifted it again all was the s am e as before. T here s tood the s entry, indifferent to that whic h had no interes t for him ; the c oc k that had m oulted its tail s till s c ratc hed in the dirt;
the c res ted hoopoe s till s at s preading its wings on the head of one of the two great s tatues of Ram es es whic h watc hed the gate; a water-s eller in the dis tanc e s till c ried his wares , but the s tranger was gone. T hen I knew that I had been dream ing and turned to go als o, to find m ys elf fac e to fac e with him .
"Man," I s aid, indignantly, "how in the nam e of P tah and all his pries ts did you pas s a s entry and through that gate without m y s eeing you?"
"Do not trouble yours elf with a new problem when already you have s o m any to perplex you, friend A na. S ay, have you yet s olved that of how a rod like this turned its elf into a s nake in your hand?" and he threw bac k his hood, revealing the s haved head and the glowing eyes of the K herheb K i.
"No, I have not," I ans wered, "and I thank you," for here he proffered m e the s taff, "but I will not try the tric k again. Next tim e the beas t m ight bite. W ell, K i, as you c an pas s in here without m y leave, why do you as k it? In s hort, what do you want with m e, now that thos e Hebrew prophets have put you on your bac k?"
"Hus h, A na. Never grow angry, it was tes s trength, of whic h we have s o little to s pare, for you know, being s o wis e, or perhaps you do not know, that at birth the gods give us a c ertain s tore of it, and when that is us ed we die and have to go els ewhere to fetc h m ore. A t this rate your life will be s hort, A na, for you
s quander it in em otions ."
"W hat do you want?" I repeated, being too angry to dis pute with him .
"I want to find an ans wer to the ques tion you as ked s o roughly: W hy the Hebrew prophets have, as you s ay, put m e on m y bac k?"
"Not being a m agic ian, as you pretend you are, I c an give you none, K i."
"Never for one m om ent did I s uppos e that you c ould," he replied blandly, s tretc hing out his hands , and leaving the s taff whic h had fallen from them s tanding in front of him . (It was not till afterwards that I rem em bered that this ac c urs ed bit of wood s tood there of its elf without vis ible s upport, for it res ted on the
paving-s tone of the gateway.) "B ut, as it c hanc es , you have in this hous e the m as ter, or rather the m is tres s of all m agic ians , as every E gyptian knows to-day, the lady Merapi, and I would s ee her."
"W hy do you s ay s he is a m is tres s of m agic ians ?" I as ked indignantly.
"W hy does one bird know another of its own kind? W hy does the water here rem ain pure, when all other water turns to blood? W hy do not the frogs c roak in S eti's halls , and why do the flies avoid his m eat? W hy, als o, did the s tatue of A m on m elt before her glanc e, while all m y m agic fell bac k from her breas t like
arrows from a s hirt of m ail? T hos e are the ques tions that E gypt as ks , and I would have an ans wer to them from the beloved of S eti, or of the god S et, s he who is nam ed Moon of Is rael."
"T hen why not go s eek it for yours elf, K i? T o you, doubtles s , it would be a s m all m atter to take the form of a s nake or a rat, or a bird, and c reep or run or fly into the pres enc e of Merapi."
"Mayhap it would not be diffic ult, A na. Or, better s till, I m ight vis it her in her s leep, as I vis ited you on a c ertain night at T hebes , when you told m e of a talk you had held with a wom an in the avenue of the S phinxes , and of what it c os t you in gold and tears . B ut, as it c hanc es , I wis h to appear as a m an and a
friend, and to s tay a while. B akenkhons u tells m e that he finds life here at Mem phis very pleas ant, free too from the s ic knes s es whic h jus t now s eem to be s o c om m on in E gypt; s o why s hould not I do the s am e, A na?"
I looked at his round, ripe fac e, on whic h was fixed a s m ile unc hanging as that worn by the m as ks on m um m y c offins , from whic h I think he m us t have c opied it, and at the c old, deep eyes above, and s hivered a little. To tell truth I feared this m an, whom I felt to be in touc h with pres enc es and things that are not
of our world, and thought it wis es t to withs tand him no m ore.
"T hat is a ques tion whic h you had bes t put to m y m as ter S eti who owns this hous e. Com e, I will lead you to him ," I s aid.
S o we went to the great portic o of the palac e, pas s ing in and out through the painted pillars , towards m y own apartm ents , whenc e I purpos ed to s end a m es s age to the P rinc e. A s it c hanc ed this was needles s , s inc e pres ently we s aw him s eated in a little bay out of reac h of the s un. B y his s ide was Merapi, and
on a woven rug between them lay their s leeping infant, at whom both of them gazed adoringly.
"S trange that this m other's heart s hould hide m ore m ight than c an be boas ted by all the gods of E gypt. S trange that thos e m other's eyes c an rive the anc ient glory of A m on into dus t! " K i s aid to m e in s o low a voic e that it alm os t s eem ed as though I heard his thought and not his words , whic h perhaps indeed I
did.
Now we s tood in front of thes e three, and the s un being behind us , for it was s till early, the s hadow of the c loaked K i fell upon a babe and lay there. A hateful fanc y c am e to m e. It looked like the evil form of an em balm er bending over one new dead. T he babe felt it, opened its large eyes and wailed. Merapi s aw
it, and s natc hed up her c hild. S eti too ros e from his s eat, exc laim ing, "W ho c om es ?"
T hereon, to m y am azem ent, K i pros trated him s elf and uttered the s alutation whic h m ay only be given to the K ing of E gypt: "Life! B lood! S trength! P haraoh! P haraoh! P haraoh! "
 "W ho dares utter thos e words to m e?" s aid S eti. "A na, what m adm an do you bring here?"
"May it pleas e the P rinc e, he brought me here," I replied faintly.
"Fellow, tell m e who bade you s ay s uc h words , than whic h none were ever les s welc om e."
"T hos e whom I s erve, P rinc e."
"A nd whom do you s erve?"
"T he gods of E gypt."
"T hen, m an, I think the gods m us t need your c om pany. P haraoh does not s it at Mem phis , and were he to hear of them ----"
"P haraoh will never hear them , P rinc e, until he hears all things ."
T hey s tared at eac h other. T hen, as I had done by the gate S eti rubbed his eyes , and s aid:
"S urely this is K i. W hy, then, did you look otherwis e jus t now?"
"T he gods c an c hange the fas hion of their m es s enger a thous and tim es in a flas h, if s o they will, O P rinc e."
Now S eti's anger pas s ed, and turned to laughter.
"K i, K i," he s aid, "you s hould keep thes e tric ks for Court. B ut, s inc e you are in the m ood, what s alutation have you for this lady by m y s ide?"
K i c ons idered her, till s he who ever feared and hated him s hrank before his gaze.
"Crown of Hathor, I greet you. B eloved of Is is , s hine on perfec t in the s ky, s hedding light and wis dom ere you s et."
Now this s aying puzzled m e. Indeed, I did not fully unders tand it until B akenkhons u rem inded m e that Merapi's nam e was Moon of Is rael, that Hathor, goddes s of love, is c rowned with the m oon in all her s tatues , that Is is is the queen of m ys teries and wis dom , and that K i who thought Merapi perfec t in love and
beauty, als o the greates t of all s orc eres s es , was likening her to thes e.
"Y es ," I ans wered, "but what did he m ean when he talked about her s etting?"
"Does not the m oon always s et, and is it not s om etim es ec lips ed?" he as ked s hortly.
"S o does the s un," I ans wered.
"T rue; s o does the s un! Y ou are growing wis e, very wis e indeed, friend A na. Oho--ho! "
T o return: W hen S eti heard thes e words , he laughed again, and s aid:
"I m us t think that s aying over, but it is c lear that you have a pretty turn for prais e. Is it not s o, Merapi, Crown of Hathor, and Holder of the wis dom of Is is ?"
B ut Merapi, who, I think, unders tood m ore than either of us , turned pale, and s hrank further away, but outwards into the s uns hine.
"W ell, K i," went on S eti, "finis h your greetings . W hat for the babe?"
K i c ons idered it als o.
"Now that it is no longer in the s hadow, I s ee that this s hoot from the royal root of P haraoh grows s o fas t and tall that m y eyes c annot reac h its c res t. He is too high and great for greetings , P rinc e."
T hen Merapi uttered a little c ry, and bore the c hild away.
"S he is afraid of m agic ians and their dark s ayings ," s aid S eti, looking after her with a troubled s m ile.
"T hat s he s hould not be, P rinc e, s eeing that s he is the m is tres s of all our tribe."
"T he lady Merapi a m agic ian? W ell, after a fas hion, yes --where the hearts of m en are c onc erned, do you not think s o, A na? B ut be m ore plain, K i. It is s till early, and I love riddles bes t at night."
"W hat other c ould have s hattered the s trong and holy hous e where the m ajes ty of A m on dwells on earth? Not even thos e prophets of the Hebrews as I think. W hat other c ould fenc e this garden round agains t the c urs es that have fallen upon E gypt?" as ked K i earnes tly, for now all his m oc king m anner had
departed.
"I do not think s he does thes e things , K i. I think s om e P ower does them through her, and I know that s he dared to fac e A m on in his tem ple bec aus e s he was bidden s o to do by the pries ts of her people."
"P rinc e," he ans wered with a s hort laugh, "a while ago I s ent you a m es s age by A na, whic h perhaps other thoughts m ay have driven from his m em ory. It was as to the nature of that P ower of whic h you s peak. In that m es s age I s aid that you were wis e, but now I perc eive that you lac k wis dom like the res t of us , for
if you had it, you would know that the tool whic h c arves is not the guiding hand, and the lightning whic h s m ites is not the s ending s trength. S o with this fair love of yours , and s o with m e and all that work m arvels . W e do not the things we s eem to do, who are but the tool and the lightning. W hat I would know is who
or what guides her hand and gives her the m ight to s hield or to des troy."
"T he ques tion is wide, K i, or s o it s eem s to m e who, as you s ay, have little wis dom , and whoever c an ans wer it holds the key of knowledge.
Your m agic is but a s m all thing whic h s eem s great bec aus e s o few c an handle it. W hat m irac le is it that m akes the flower to grow, the c hild to be born, the Nile to ris e, and the s un and s tars to s hine in heaven? W hat c aus es m an to be half a beas t and half a god and to grow downward to the beas t or upward to the
god--or both? W hat is faith and what is unbelief? W ho m ade thes e things , through them to dec lare the purpos es of life, of death, and of eternity? You s hake your head, you do not know; how then c an I know who, as you point out, am but foolis h? Go get your ans wer from the lady Merapi's s elf, only m ayhap you will
find your ques tions c ountered."
"I'll take m y c hanc e. T hanks to Merapi's lord! A boon, O P rinc e, s inc e you will not s uffer that other nam e whic h c om es eas ies t to the lips of one to whom the P res ent and the Future are s om etim es m uc h alike."
S eti looked at him keenly, and for the firs t tim e with a tinge of fear in his eyes .
"Leave the Future to its elf, K i," he exc laim ed. "W hatever m ay be the m ind of E gypt, jus t now I hold the P res ent enough for m e," and he glanc ed firs t at the c hair in whic h Merapi had been s eated and then at the c loth upon whic h his s on had lain.
"I take bac k m y words . T he P rinc e is wis er than I thought. Magic ians know the future bec aus e at tim es it rus hes down upon them and they m us t.
It is that whic h m akes them lonely, s inc e what they know they c annot s ay. B ut only fools will s eek it."
"Yet now and again they lift a c orner of the veil, K i. T hus I rem em ber c ertain s ayings of your own as to one who would find a great treas ure in the land of Gos hen and thereafter s uffer s om e tem poral los s , and--I forget the res t. Man, c eas e s m iling at m e with your fac e and pierc ing m e through with your s word-like
eyes . Y ou c an c om m and all things , what boon then do you s eek from m e?"
"To lodge here a little while, P rinc e, in the c om pany of A na and B akenkhons u. Hearken, I am no m ore K herheb. I have quarrelled with P haraoh, perhaps bec aus e a little breath from that great wind of the future blows through m y s oul; perhaps bec aus e he does not reward m e ac c ording to m y m erits --what does it
m atter whic h? A t leas t I have c om e to be of one m ind with you, O P rinc e, and think that P haraoh would do well to let the Hebrews go, and therefore no longer will I attem pt to m atc h m y m agic agains t theirs . B ut he refus es , s o we have parted."
"W hy does he refus e, K i?"
"P erhaps it is written that he m us t refus e. Or perhaps bec aus e, thinking him s elf the greates t of all kings ins tead of but a plaything of the gods , pride loc ks the doors of his heart that in a day to c om e the tem pes t of the Future, whereof I have s poken, m ay wrec k the hous e whic h holds it. I do not know why he
refus es , but her Highnes s Us erti is m uc h with him ."
"For one who does not know, you have m any reas ons and all of them different, O ins truc ted K i," s aid S eti.
T hen he paus ed, walking up and down the portic o, and I who knew his m ind gues s ed that he was wondering whether he would do well to s uffer K i, whom at tim es he feared bec aus e his objec ts were s ec ret and never c hanged, to abide in his hous e, or whether he s hould s end him away. K i als o s hivered a little,
as though he felt the s hadow c old, and des c ended from the portic o into the bright s uns hine. Here he held out his hand and a great m oth dropped from the roof and lit upon it, whereon it lifted it to his lips , whic h m oved as though he were talking to the ins ec t.
"W hat s hall I do?" m uttered S eti, as he pas s ed m e.
"I do not altogether like his c om pany, nor, I think, does the lady Merapi, but he is an ill m an to offend, P rinc e," I ans wered. "Look, he is talking with his fam iliar."
S eti returned to his plac e, and s haking off the m oth whic h s eem ed loth to leave him , for twic e it s ettled on his head, K i c am e bac k into the s hadow.
"W here is the us e of your putting ques tions to m e, K i, when, ac c ording to your own s howing, already you know the ans wer that I will give? W hat ans wer s hall I give?" as ked the P rinc e.
"T hat painted c reature whic h s at upon m y hand jus t now, s eem ed to whis per to m e that you would s ay, O P rinc e, 'S tay, K i, and be m y faithful s ervant, and us e any little lore you have to s hield m y hous e from ill.'"
T hen S eti laughed in his c areles s fas hion, and replied:
"Have your way, s inc e it is a rule that none of the royal blood of E gypt m ay refus e hos pitality to thos e who s eek it, having been their friends , and I will not quote agains t your m oth what a bat whis pered in m y ears las t night. Nay, none of your s alutations revealed to you by ins ec ts or by the future," and he gave him
his hand to kis s .
W hen K i was gone, I s aid:
"I told you that night-haunting thing was his fam iliar."
"T hen you told m e folly, A na. T he knowledge that K i has he does not get from m oths or beetles . Yet now that it is too late I wis h that I had as ked the lady Merapi what her will was in this m atter. You s hould have thought of that, A na, ins tead of s uffering your m ind to be led as tray by an ins ec t s itting on his hand,
whic h is jus t what he m eant that you s hould do. W ell, in punis hm ent, day by day it s hall be your lot to look upon a m an with a c ountenanc e like--like what?"
"Like that whic h I s aw upon the c offin of the good god, your divine father, Meneptah, as it was prepared for him during his life in the em balm er's s hop at T anis ," I ans wered.
"Y es ," s aid the P rinc e, "a fac e s m iling eternally at the Nothingnes s whic h is Life and Death, but in c ertain lights , with eyes of fire."
On the following day, by her invitation, I walked with the lady Merapi in the garden, the head nurs e following us , bearing the royal c hild in her arm s .
"I wis h to as k you about K i, friend A na," s he s aid. "Y ou know he is m y enem y, for you m us t have heard the words he s poke to m e in the tem ple of A m on at T anis . It s eem s that m y lord has m ade him the gues t of this hous e--oh look! " and s he pointed before her.
I looked, and there a few pac es away, where the s hadow of the overhanging palm s was deepes t, s tood K i. He was leaning on his s taff, the s am e that had turned to a s nake in m y hand, and gazing upwards like one who is los t in thought, or lis tens to the s inging of birds . Merapi turned as though to fly, but at that
m om ent K i s aw us , although he s till s eem ed to gaze upwards .
"Greeting, O Moon of Is rael," he s aid bowing. "Greeting, O Conqueror of K i! "
S he bowed bac k, and s tood s till, as a little bird s tands when it s ees a s nake. T here was a long s ilenc e, whic h he broke by as king:
"W hy s eek that from A na whic h K i him s elf is eager to give? A na is learned, but is his heart the heart of K i? A bove all, why tell him that K i, the hum bles t of your s ervants , is your enem y?"
Now Merapi s traightened hers elf, looked into his eyes , and ans wered:
"Have I told A na aught that he did not know? Did not A na hear the las t words you s aid to m e in the tem ple of A m on at T anis ?"
"Doubtles s he heard them , Lady, and therefore I am glad that he is here to hear their m eaning. Lady Merapi, at that m om ent, I, the S ac rific er to A m on, was filled--not with m y own s pirit, but with the angry s pirit of the god whom you had hum bled as never before had befallen him in E gypt. T he god through m e
dem anded of you the s ec ret of your m agic , and prom is ed you his hate, if you refus ed. Lady, you have his hate, but m ine you have not, s inc e I als o have his hate bec aus e I, and he through m e, have been wors ted by your prophets . Lady, we are fellow-travellers in the V alley of T rouble."
S he gazed at him s teadily, and I c ould s ee that of all that pas s ed his lips s he believed no one word. Making no ans wer to him and his talk of A m on, s he as ked only:
"W hy do you c om e here to do m e ill who have done you none?"
"You are m is taken, Lady," he replied. "I c om e here to refuge from A m on, and from his s ervant P haraoh, whom A m on drives on to ruin. I know well that, if you will it, you c an whis per in the ear of the P rinc e and pres ently he will put m e forth. Only then----" and he looked over her head to where the nurs e s tood roc king
the s leeping c hild.
"T hen what, Magic ian?"
Giving no ans wer, he turned to m e.
"Learned A na, to you rem em ber m eeting m e at T anis one night?"
I s hook m y head, though I gues s ed well enough what night he m eant.
"Y our m em ory weakens , learned A na, or rather is c onfus ed, for we m et often, did we not?"
T hen he s tared at the s taff in his hand. I s tared als o, bec aus e I c ould not help it, and s aw, or thought I s aw, the dead wood begin to s well and c urve. T his was enough for m e and I s aid has tily:
"If you m ean the night of the Coronation, I do rec all----"
"A h! I thought you would. Y ou, learned A na, who like all s c ribes obs erve s o c los ely, will have noted how little things --s uc h as the s c ent of a flower, or the pas s ing of a bird, or even the writhing of a s nake in the dus t--often bring bac k to the m ind events or words it has forgotten long ago."
"W ell--what of our m eeting?" I broke in has tily.
"Nothing at all--or only this . J us t before it you were talking with the Hebrew J abez, the lady Merapi's unc le, were you not?"
"Y es , I was talking with him in an open plac e, alone."
"Not s o, learned S c ribe, for you know we are never alone--quite. Could you but s ee it, every grain of s and has an ear."
"B e pleas ed to explain, O K i."
"Nay, A na, it would be too long, and s hort jes ts are ever the bes t. A s I have told you, you were not alone, for though there were s om e words that I did not c atc h, I heard m uc h of what pas s ed between you and J abez."
"W hat did you hear?" I as ked wrathfully, and next ins tant wis hed that I had bitten through m y tongue before it s haped the words .
"Muc h, m uc h. Let m e think. You s poke about the lady Merapi, and whether s he would do well to bide at Mem phis in the s hadow of the P rinc e, or to return to Gos hen into the s hadow of a c ertain--I forget the nam e. J abez, a well-ins truc ted m an, s aid he thought that s he m ight be happier at Mem phis , though perhaps
her pres enc e there would bring a great s orrow upon hers elf and--another."
Here again he looked at the c hild, whic h s eem ed to feel his glanc e, for it woke up and beat the air with its little hands .
T he nurs e felt it als o, although her head was turned away, for s he s tarted and then took s helter behind the bole of one of the palm -trees .
Now Merapi s aid in a low and s haken voic e:
"I know what you m ean, Magic ian, for s inc e then I have s een m y unc le J abez."
"A s I have als o, s everal tim es , Lady, whic h m ay explain to you what A na here thinks s o wonderful, nam ely that I s hould have learned what they s aid together when he thought they were alone, whic h, as I have told him , no one c an ever be, at leas t in E gypt, the land of lis tening gods ----"
"A nd s pying s orc erers ," I exc laim ed.
"----A nd s pying s orc erers ," he repeated after m e, "and s c ribes who take notes , and learn them by heart, and pries ts with ears as large as as s es , and leaves that whis per--and m any other things ."
"Ceas e your gibes , and s ay what you have to s ay," s aid Merapi, in the s am e broken voic e.
He m ade no ans wer, but only looked at the tree behind whic h the nurs e and c hild had vanis hed.
"Oh! I know, I know," s he exc laim ed in tones that were like a c ry. "My c hild is threatened! Y ou threaten m y c hild bec aus e you hate m e."
"Y our pardon, Lady. It is true that evil threatens this royal babe, or s o I unders tood from J abez, who knows s o m uc h. B ut it is not I that threaten it, any m ore than I hate you, in whom I ac knowledge a fellow of m y c raft, but one greater than m ys elf that it is m y duty to obey."
"Have done! W hy do you torm ent m e?"
"Can the pries ts of the Moon-goddes s torm ent Is is , Mother of Magic , with their prayers and offerings ? A nd c an I who would m ake a prayer and an offering----"
"W hat prayer, and what offering?"
"T he prayer that you will s uffer m e to s helter in this hous e from the m any dangers that threaten m e at the hands of P haraoh and the prophets of your people, and an offering of s uc h help as I c an give by m y arts and knowledge agains t blac ker dangers whic h threaten--another."
Here onc e m ore he gazed at the trunk of the tree beyond whic h I heard the infant wail.
"If I c ons ent, what then?" s he as ked, hoars ely.
"T hen, Lady, I will s trive to protec t a c ertain little one agains t a c urs e whic h J abez tells m e threatens him and m any others in whom runs the blood of E gypt. I will s trive, if I am allowed to bide here--I do not s ay that I s hall s uc c eed, for as your lord has rem inded m e, and as you s howed m e in the tem ple of A m on,
m y s trength is s m aller than that of the prophets and prophetes s es of Is rael."
"A nd if I refus e?"
"T hen, Lady," he ans wered in a voic e that rang like iron, "I am s ure that one whom you love--as m others love--will s hortly be roc ked in the arm s of the god whom we nam e Os iris ."
"S tay ," s he c ried and, turning, fled away.
"W hy, A na, s he is gone," he s aid, "and that before I c ould bargain for m y reward. W ell, this I m us t find in your c om pany. How s trange are wom en, A na! Here you have one of the greates t of her s ex, as you learned in the tem ple of A m on. A nd yet s he opens beneath the s un of hope and s hrivels beneath the s hadow
of fear, like the touc hed leaves of that tender plant whic h grows upon the banks of the river; s he who, with her eyes s et on the m ys tery that is beyond, whereof s he hears the whis pering winds , s hould tread both earthly hope and fear beneath her feet, or m ake of them s tepping s tones to glory. W ere s he a m an s he
would do s o, but her s ex wrec ks her, s he who thinks m ore of the kis s of a babe than of all the s plendours s he m ight harbour in her breas t. Y es , a babe, a s ingle wretc hed little babe. Y ou had one onc e, did you not, A na?"
"Oh! to S et and his fires with you and your evil talk," I s aid, and left him .
W hen I had gone a little way, I looked bac k and s aw that he was laughing, throwing up his s taff as he laughed, and c atc hing it again.
"S et and his fires ," he c alled after m e. "I wonder what they are like, A na. P erhaps one day we s hall learn, you and I together, S c ribe A na."
S o K i took up his abode with us , in the s am e lodgings as B akenkhons u, and alm os t every day I would m eet them walking in the garden, s inc e I, who was of the P rinc e's table, exc ept when he ate with the lady Merapi, did not take m y food with them . T hen we would talk together about m any s ubjec ts . On thos e
whic h had to do with learning, or even religion, I had the better of K i, who was no great s c holar or m as ter of theology.
B ut always before we parted he would plant s om e arrow in m y ribs , at whic h old B akenkhons u laughed, and laughed again, yet ever threw over m e the s hield of his venerable wis dom , jus t bec aus e he loved m e I think.
It was after this that the plague s truc k the c attle of E gypt, s o that tens of thous ands of them died, though not all as was reported. B ut, as I have s aid, of the herds of S eti none died, nor, as we were told, did any of thos e of the Is raelites in the land of Gos hen. Now there was great dis tres s in E gypt, but K i s m iled
and s aid that he knew it would be s o, and that there was m uc h wors e to c om e, for whic h I c ould have s m itten him over the head with his own s taff, had I not feared that, if I did s o, it m ight onc e m ore turn to a s erpent in m y hand.
Old B akenkhons u looked upon the m atter with another fac e. He s aid that s inc e his las t wife died, I think s om e fifty years before, he had found life very dull bec aus e he m is s ed the exerc is es of her tem per, and her habit of pres enting things as thes e never had been nor c ould pos s ibly ever be. Now, however, it grew
interes ting again, s inc e the m arvels whic h were happening in E gypt, being quite c ontrary to Nature, rem inded him of his las t wife and her argum ents . A ll of whic h was his way of s aying that in thos e years we lived in a new world, whereof for the E gyptians S et the E vil One s eem ed to be the king.
B ut s till P haraoh would not let the Hebrews go, perhaps bec aus e he had vowed as m uc h to Meneptah who s et him on the throne, or perhaps for thos e other reas ons , or one of them , whic h K i had given to the P rinc e.
T hen c am e the c urs e of s ores afflic ting m an, wom an, and c hild throughout the land, s ave thos e who dwelt in the hous ehold of S eti. T hus the watc hm an and his fam ily whos e lodge was without the gates s uffered, but the watc hm an and his fam ily who lived within the gates , not twenty pac es away, did not s uffer,
whic h c aus ed bitternes s between their wom en.
In the s am e way K i, who res ided as a gues t of the P rinc e at Mem phis , s uffered from no s ores , whereas thos e of his College who rem ained at Tanis were m ore heavily s m itten than any others , s o that s om e of them died. W hen he heard this , K i laughed and s aid that he had told them it would be s o. A ls o P haraoh
him s elf and even her Highnes s Us erti were s m itten, the latter upon the c heek, whic h m ade her uns ightly for a while. Indeed, B akenkhons u heard, I know not how, that s o great was her rage that s he even bethought her of returning to her lord S eti, in whos e hous e s he had learned people were s afe, and the beauty of
her s uc c es s or, Moon of Is rael, rem ained uns c arred and was even greater than before, tidings that I think B akenkhons u him s elf c onveyed to her. B ut in the end this her pride, or her jealous y, prevented her from doing.
Now the heart of E gypt began to turn towards S eti in good earnes t.
T he P rinc e, they s aid, had oppos ed the polic y of the oppres s ion of the Hebrews , and bec aus e he c ould not prevail had abandoned his right to the throne, whic h P haraoh A m enm es es had purc has ed at the pric e of ac c epting that polic y whereof the fruits had been proved to be des truc tion.
T herefore, they reas oned, if A m enm es es were depos ed, and the P rinc e reigned, their m is eries would c eas e. S o they s ent deputations to him s ec retly, praying him to ris e agains t A m enm es es and prom is ing him s upport. B ut he would lis ten to none of them , telling them that he was happy as he was and s ought no
other s tate. S till P haraoh grew jealous , for all thes e things his s pies reported to him , and s et about plots to des troy S eti.
Of the firs t of thes e Us erti warned m e by a m es s enger, but the s ec ond and wors e K i dis c overed in s om e s trange way, s o that the m urderer was trapped at the gate and killed by the watc hm an, whereon S eti s aid that after all he had been wis e to give hos pitality to K i, that is , if to c ontinue to live were wis dom . T he
lady Merapi als o s aid as m uc h to m e, but I noted that always s he s hunned K i, whom s he held in m is trus t and fear.
CHAP TE R X V
THE NIGHT OF FE AR
T hen c am e the hail, and s om e m onths after the hail the loc us ts , and E gypt went m ad with woe and terror. It was known to us , for with K i and B akenkhons u in the palac e we knew everything, that the Hebrew prophets had prom is ed this hail bec aus e P haraoh would not lis ten to them .
T herefore S eti c aus ed it to be put about through all the land that the E gyptians s hould s helter their c attle, or s uc h as were left to them , at the firs t s ign of s torm . B ut P haraoh heard of it and is s ued a proc lam ation that this was not to be done, inas m uc h as it would be an ins ult to the gods of E gypt. S till m any did s o
and thes e s aved their c attle. It was s trange to s ee that wall of jagged ic e s tretc hing from earth to heaven and des troying all upon whic h it fell. T he tall date-palm s were s tripped even of their bark; the s oil was c hurned up; m en and beas ts if c aught abroad were s lain or s hattered.
I s tood at the gate and watc hed it. T here, not a yard away, fell the white hail, turning the world to wrec k, while here within the gate there was not a s ingle s tone. Merapi watc hed als o, and pres ently c am e K i as well, and with him B akenkhons u, who for onc e had never s een anything like this in all his long life. B ut
K i watc hed Merapi m ore than he did the hail, for I s aw him s earc hing out her very s oul with thos e m erc iles s eyes of his .
"Lady," he s aid at length, "tell your s ervant, I bes eec h you, how you do this thing?" and he pointed firs t to the trees and flowers within the gate and then to the wrec k without.
A t firs t I thought that s he had not heard him bec aus e of the roar of the hail, for s he s tepped forward and opened the s ide wic ket to adm it a poor jac kal that was s c ratc hing at the bars . S till this was not s o, for pres ently s he turned and s aid:
"Does the K herheb, the greates t m agic ian in E gypt, as k an unlearned wom an to teac h him of m arvels ? W ell, K i, I c annot, bec aus e I neither do it nor know how it is done."
B akenkhons u laughed, and K i's painted s m ile grew as it were brighter than before.
"T hat is not what they s ay in the land of Gos hen, Lady," he ans wered, "and not what the Hebrew wom en s ay here in Mem phis . Nor is it what the pries ts of A m on s ay. T hes e dec lare that you have m ore m agic than all the s orc erers of the Nile. Here is the proof of it," and he pointed to the ruin without and the peac e
within, adding, "Lady, if you c an protec t your own hom e, why c annot you protec t the innoc ent people of E gypt?"
"B ec aus e I c annot," s he ans wered angrily. "If ever I had s uc h power it is gone from m e, who am now the m other of an E gyptian's c hild. B ut I have none. T here in the tem ple of A m on s om e S trength worked through m e, that is all, whic h never will vis it m e again bec aus e of m y s in."
"W hat s in, Lady?"
"T he s in of taking the P rinc e S eti to lord. Now, if any god s poke through m e it would be one of thos e of the E gyptians , s inc e He of Is rael has c as t m e out."
K i s tarted as though s om e new thought had c om e to him , and at this m om ent s he turned and went away.
"W ould that s he were high-pries tes s of Is is that s he m ight work for us and not agains t us ," he s aid.
B akenkhons u s hook his head.
"Let that be," he ans wered. "B e s ure that never will an Is raelitis h wom an offer s ac rific e to what s he would c all the abom ination of the E gyptians ."
"If s he will not s ac rific e to s ave the people, let her be c areful les t the people s ac rific e her to s ave them s elves ," s aid K i in a c old voic e.
T hen he too went away.
"I think that if ever that hour c om es , then K i will have his s hare in it," laughed B akenkhons u. "W hat is the good of a s hepherd who s helters here in c om fort, while outs ide the s heep are dying, eh, A na?"
It was after the plague of loc us ts , whic h ate all there was left to eat in E gypt, s o that the poor folk who had done no wrong and had naught to s ay to the dealings of P haraoh with the Is raelites s tarved by the thous and, and during that of the great darknes s , that Laban c am e. Now this darknes s lay upon the land like
a thic k c loud for three whole days and nights . Nevertheles s , though the s hadows were deep, there was no true darknes s over the hous e of S eti at Mem phis , whic h s tood in a funnel of grey light s tretc hing from earth to s ky.
Now the terror was inc reas ed tenfold, and it s eem ed to m e that all the hundreds of thous ands of Mem phis were gathered outs ide our walls , s o that they m ight look upon the light, s uc h as it was , if they c ould do no m ore. S eti would have adm itted as m any as the plac e would hold, but K i bade him not, s aying, that
if he did s o the darknes s would flow in with them . Only Merapi did adm it s om e of the Is raelitis h wom en who were m arried to E gyptians in the c ity, though for her pains they only c urs ed her as a witc h. For now m os t of the inhabitants of Mem phis were c ertain that it was Merapi who, keeping hers elf s afe, had brought
thes e woes upon them bec aus e s he was a wors hipper of an alien god.
"If s he who is the love of E gypt's heir would but s ac rific e to E gypt's gods , thes e horrors would pas s from us ," s aid they, having, as I think, learned their les s on from the lips of K i. Or perhaps the em is s aries of Us erti had taught them .
Onc e m ore we s tood by the gate watc hing the people flitting to and fro in the gloom without, for this s ight fas c inated Merapi, as a s nake fas c inates a bird. T hen it was that Laban appeared. I knew his hooked nos e and hawk-like eyes at onc e, and s he knew him als o.
"Com e away with m e, Moon of Is rael," he c ried, "and all s hall yet be forgiven you. B ut if you will not c om e, then fearful things s hall overtake you."
S he s tood s taring at him , ans wering never a word, and jus t then the P rinc e S eti reac hed us and s aw him .
"T ake that m an," he c om m anded, flus hing with anger, and guards s prang into the darknes s to do his bidding. B ut Laban was gone.
On the s ec ond day of the darknes s the tum ult was great, on the third it was terrible. A c rowd thrus t the guard as ide, broke down the gates and burs t into the palac e, hum bly dem anding that the lady Merapi would c om e to pray for them , yet s howing by their m ien that if s he would not c om e they m eant to take her.
"W hat is to be done?" as ked S eti of K i and B akenkhons u.
"T hat is for the P rinc e to judge," s aid K i, "though I do not s ee how it c an harm the lady Merapi to pray for us in the open s quare of Mem phis ."
"Let her go," s aid B akenkhons u, "les t pres ently we s hould all go further than we would."
"I do not wis h to go," c ried Merapi, "not knowing for whom I am to pray or how."
"B e it as you will, Lady," s aid S eti in his grave and gentle voic e.
"Only, hearken to the roar of the m ob. If you refus e, I think that very s oon every one of us will have reac hed a land where perhaps it is not needful to pray at all," and he looked at the infant in her arm s .
"I will go," s he s aid.
S he went forth c arrying the c hild and I walked behind her. S o did the P rinc e, but in that darknes s he was c ut off by a rus h of thous ands of folk and I s aw him no m ore till all was over. B akenkhons u was with m e leaning on m y arm , but K i had gone on before us , for his own ends as I think. A huge m ob m oved
through the dens e darknes s , in whic h here and there lights floated like lam ps upon a quiet s ea. I did not know where we were going until the light of one of thes e lam ps s hone upon the knees of the c olos s al s tatue of the great Ram es es , revealing his c artouc he.
T hen I knew that we were near the gateway of the vas t tem ple of Mem phis , the larges t perhaps in the whole world.
W e went on through c ourt after pillared c ourt, pries ts leading us by the hand, till we c am e to a s hrine c om m anding the bigges t c ourt of all, whic h was pac ked with m en and wom en. It was that of Is is , who held at her breas t the infant Horus .
"O friend A na," c ried Merapi, "give help. T hey are dres s ing m e in s trange garm ents ."
I tried to get near to her but was thrus t bac k, a voic e, whic h I thought to be that of K i, s aying:
"On your life, fool! "
P res ently a lam p was held up, and by the light of it I s aw Merapi s eated in a c hair dres s ed like a goddes s , in the s ac erdotal robes of Is is and wearing the vulture c ap headdres s --beautiful exc eedingly. In her arm s was the c hild dres s ed as the infant Horus .
"P ray for us , Mother Is is ," c ried thous ands of voic es , "that the c urs e of blac knes s m ay be rem oved."
T hen s he prayed, s aying:
"O m y God, take away this c urs e of blac knes s from thes e innoc ent people," and all of thos e pres ent, repeated her prayer.
A t that m om ent the s ky began to lighten and in les s than half an hour the s un s hone out. W hen Merapi s aw how s he and the c hild were arrayed s he s c ream ed aloud and tore off her jewelled trappings , c rying:
"W oe! W oe! W oe! Great woe upon the people of E gypt! "
B ut in their joy at the new found light few hearkened to her who they were s ure had brought bac k the s un. A gain Laban appeared for a m om ent.
"W itc h! T raitres s ! " he c ried. "Y ou have worn the robes of Is is and wors hipped in the tem ple of the gods of the E gyptians . T he c urs e of the God of Is rael be on you and that whic h is born of you."
I s prang at him but he was gone. T hen we bore Merapi hom e s wooning.
S o this trouble pas s ed by, but from that tim e forward Merapi would not s uffer her s on to be taken out of her s ight.
"W hy do you m ake s o m uc h of him , Lady?" I as ked one day.
"B ec aus e I would love him well while he is here, Friend," s he ans wered, "but of this s ay nothing to his father."
A while went by and we heard that s till P haraoh would not let the Is raelites go. T hen the P rinc e S eti s ent B akenkhons u and m ys elf to T anis to s ee P haraoh and to s ay to him :
"I s eek nothing for m ys elf and I forget thos e evils whic h you would have worked on m e through jealous y. B ut I s ay unto you that if you will not let thes e s trangers go great and terrible things s hall befall you and all E gypt. T herefore, hear m y prayer and let them go."
Now B akenkhons u and I c am e before P haraoh and we s aw that he was greatly aged, for his hair had gone grey about his tem ples and the fles h hung in bags beneath his eyes . A ls o not for one m inute c ould he s tay s till.
"Is your lord, and are you als o of the s ervants of this Hebrew prophet whom the E gyptians wors hip as a god bec aus e he has done them s o m uc h ill?" he as ked. "It m ay well be s o, s inc e I hear that m y c ous in S eti keeps an Is raelitis h witc h in his hous e, who wards off from him all the plagues that have s m itten the
res t of E gypt, and that to him has fled als o K i the K herheb, m y m agic ian. Moreover, I hear that in paym ent for thes e wizardries he has been prom is ed the throne of E gypt by m any fic kle and fearful ones am ong m y people. Let him be c areful les t I lift him up higher than he hopes , who already have enough traitors in
this land; and you two with him ."
Now I s aid nothing, who s aw that the m an was m ad, but B akenkhons u laughed out loud and ans wered:
"O P haraoh, I know little, but I know this although I be old, nam ely, that after m en have c eas ed to s peak your nam e I s hall s till hold c onvers e with the wearer of the Double Crown in E gypt. Now will you let thes e Hebrews go, or will you bring death upon E gypt?"
P haraoh glared at him and ans wered, "I will not let them go."
"W hy not, P haraoh? T ell m e, for I am c urious ."
"B ec aus e I c annot," he ans wered with a groan. "B ec aus e s om ething s tronger than m ys elf forc es m e to deny their prayer. B egone! "
S o we went, and this was the las t tim e that I looked upon A m enm es es at T anis .
A s we left the c ham ber I s aw the Hebrew prophet entering the pres enc e.
A fterwards a rum our reac hed us that he had threatened to kill all the people in E gypt, but that s till P haraoh would not let the Is raelites depart. Indeed, it was s aid that he had told the prophet that if he appeared before him any m ore he s hould be put to death.
Now we journeyed bac k to Mem phis with all thes e tidings and m ade report to S eti. W hen Merapi heard them s he went half m ad, weeping and wringing her hands . I as ked her what s he feared. S he ans wered death, whic h was near to all of us . I s aid:
"If s o, there are wors e things , Lady."
"For you m ayhap you are faithful and good in your own fas hion, but not for m e. Do you not unders tand, friend A na, that I am one who has broken the law of the God I was taught to wors hip?"
"A nd whic h of us is there who has not broken the law of the god we were taught to wors hip, Lady? If in truth you have done anything of the s ort by flying from a m urderous villain to one who loves you well, whic h I do not believe, s urely there is forgivenes s for s uc h s ins as this ."
"A ye, perhaps , but, alas ! the thing is blac ker far. Have you forgotten what I did? Dres s ed in the robes of Is is I wors hipped in the tem ple of Is is with m y boy playing the part of Horus on m y bos om . It is a c rim e that c an never be forgiven to a Hebrew wom an, A na, for m y God is a jealous God. Yet it is true that K i
tric ked m e."
"If he had not, Lady, I think there would have been none of us left to tric k, s eeing that the people were c razed with the dread of the darknes s and believed that it c ould be lifted by you alone, as indeed happened," I added s om ewhat doubtfully.
"More of K i's tric ks ! Oh! do you not unders tand that the lifting of the darknes s at that m om ent was K i's work, bec aus e he wis hed the people to believe that I am indeed a s orc eres s ."
"W hy?" I as ked.
"I do not know. P erhaps that one day he m ay find a vic tim to bind to the altar in his plac e. A t leas t I know well that it is I who m us t pay the pric e, I and m y fles h and blood, whatever K i m ay prom is e," and s he looked at the s leeping c hild.
"Do not be afraid, Lady," I s aid. "K i has left the palac e and you will s ee him no m ore."
"Yes , bec aus e the P rinc e was angry with him about the tric k in the tem ple of Is is . T herefore s uddenly he went, or pretended to go, for how c an one tell where s uc h a m an m ay really be? B ut he will c om e bac k again. B ethink you, K i was the greates t m agic ian in E gypt; even old B akenkhons u c an rem em ber none
like to him . T hen he m atc hes him s elf agains t the prophets of m y people and fails ."
"B ut did he fail, Lady? W hat they did he did, s ending am ong the Is raelites the plagues that your prophets had s ent am ong us ."
"Yes , s om e of them , but he was outpac ed, or feared to be outpac ed at las t. Is K i a m an to forget that? A nd if K i c hanc es really to believe that I am his advers ary and his m as ter at this blac k work, as bec aus e of what happened in the tem ple of A m on thous ands believe to-day, will he not m ete m e m y own m eas ure
s oon or late? Oh! I fear K i, A na, and I fear the people of E gypt, and were it not for m y lord beloved, I would flee away into the wildernes s with m y s on, and get m e out of this haunted land! Hus h! he wakes ."
From this tim e forward until the s word fell there was great dread in E gypt. None s eem ed to know exac tly what they dreaded, but all thought that it had to do with death. P eople went about m ournfully looking over their s houlders as though s om eone were following them , and at night they gathered together in knots
and talked in whis pers . Only the Hebrews s eem ed to be glad and happy. Moreover, they were m aking preparations for s om ething new and s trange. T hus thos e Is raelitis h wom en who dwelt in Mem phis began to s ell what property they had and to borrow of the E gyptians . E s pec ially did they as k for the loan of jewels ,
s aying that they were about to c elebrate a feas t and wis hed to look fine in the eyes of their c ountrym en. None refus ed them what they as ked bec aus e all were afraid of them . T hey even c am e to the palac e and begged her ornam ents from Merapi, although s he was a c ountrywom an of their own who had s howed them
m uc h kindnes s . Y es , and s eeing that her s on wore a little gold c irc let on his hair, one of them begged that als o, nor did s he s ay her nay. B ut, as it c hanc ed, the P rinc e entered, and s eeing the wom an with this royal badge in her hand, grew very angry and forc ed her to res tore it.
"W hat is the us e of c rowns without heads to wear them ?" s he s neered, and fled away laughing, with all that s he had gathered.
A fter s he had heard that s aying Merapi grew even s adder and m ore dis traught than s he was before, and from her the trouble c rept to S eti.
He too bec am e s ad and ill at eas e, though when I as ked him why he vowed he did not know, but s uppos ed it was bec aus e s om e new plague drew near.
"Y et," he added, "as I have m ade s hift to live through nine of them , I do not know why I s hould fear a tenth."
S till he did fear it, s o m uc h that he c ons ulted B akenkhons u as to whether there were any m eans by whic h the anger of the gods c ould be averted.
B akenkhons u laughed and s aid he thought not, s inc e always if the gods were not angry about one thing they were angry about another. Having m ade the world they did nothing but quarrel with it, or with other gods who had a hand in its fas hioning, and of thes e quarrels m en were the vic tim s .
"B ear your woes , P rinc e," he added, "if any c om e, for ere the Nile has ris en another fifty tim es at m os t, whether they have or have not been, will be the s am e to you."
"T hen you think that when we go wes t we die indeed, and that Os iris is but another nam e for the s uns et, B akenkhons u."
T he old Counc illor s hook his great head, and ans wered:
"No. If ever you s hould los e one whom you greatly love, take c om fort, P rinc e, for I do not think that life ends with death. Death is the nurs e that puts it to s leep, no m ore, and in the m orning it will wake again to travel through another day with thos e who have c om panioned it from the beginning."
"W here do all the days lead it to at las t, B akenkhons u?"
"A s k that of K i; I do not know."
"T o S et with K i, I am angered with him ," s aid the P rinc e, and went away.
"Not without reas on, I think," m us ed B akenkhons u, but when I as ked him what he m eant, he would not or c ould not tell m e.
S o the gloom deepened and the palac e, whic h had been m erry in its way, bec am e s ad. None knew what was c om ing, but all knew that s om ething was c om ing and s tretc hed out their hands to s trive to protec t that whic h they loved bes t from the s troke of the warring gods . In the c as e of S eti and Merapi this was
their s on, now a beautiful little lad who c ould run and prattle, one too of a s trange health and vigour for a c hild of the inbred rac e of the Ram es s ids . Never for a m inute was this boy allowed to be out of the s ight of one or other of his parents ; indeed I s aw little of S eti in thos e days and all our learned s tudies c am e to
nothing, bec aus e he was ever c onc erned with Merapi in playing nurs e to this s on of his .
W hen Us erti was told of it, s he s aid in the hearing of a friend of m ine:
"W ithout a doubt that is bec aus e he trains his bas tard to fill the throne of E gypt."
B ut, alas ! all that the little S eti was doom ed to fill was a c offin.
It was a s till, hot evening, s o hot that Merapi had bid the nurs e bring the c hild's bed and s et it between two pillars of the great portic o.
T here on the bed he s lept, lovely as Horus the divine. S he s at by his s ide in a c hair that had feet s haped like to thos e of an antelope.
S eti walked up and down the terrac e beyond the portic o leaning on m y s houlder, and talking by s natc hes of this or that. Oc c as ionally as he pas s ed he would s tay for a while to m ake s ure by the bright m oonlight that all was well with Merapi and the c hild, as of late it had bec om e a habit with him to do. T hen without
s peaking, for fear les t he s hould awake the boy, he would s m ile at Merapi, who s at there brooding, her head res ting on her hand, and pas s on.
T he night was very s till. T he palm leaves did not rus tle, no jac kals were s tirring, and even the s hrill-voic ed ins ec ts had c eas ed their c ries . Moreover, the great c ity below was quiet as a hom e of the dead.
It was as though the pres age of s om e advanc ing doom s c ared the world to s ilenc e. For without doubt doom was in the air. A ll felt it down to the nurs e wom an, who c owered c los e as s he dared to the c hair of her m is tres s , and even in that heat s hivered from tim e to tim e.
P res ently little S eti awoke, and began to prattle about s om ething he had dream ed.
"W hat did you dream , m y s on?" as ked his father.
"I dream ed," he ans wered in his baby talk, "that a wom an, dres s ed as Mother was in the tem ple, took m e by the hand and led m e into the air. I looked down, and s aw you and Mother with white fac es and c rying. I began to c ry too, but the wom an with the feather c ap told m e not as s he was taking m e to a beautiful
big s tar where Mother would s oon c om e to find m e."
T he P rinc e and I looked at eac h other and Merapi feigned to bus y hers elf with hus hing the c hild to s leep again. It drew towards m idnight and s till no one s eem ed m inded to go to res t. Old B akenkhons u appeared and began to s ay s om ething about the night being very s trange and unres tful, when, s uddenly, a
little bat that was flitting to and fro above us fell upon his head and thenc e to the ground. W e looked at it, and s aw that it was dead.
"S trange that the c reature s hould have died thus ," s aid B akenkhons u, when, behold! another fell to the ground near by. T he blac k kitten whic h belonged to Little S eti s aw it fall and darted from bes ide his bed where it was s leeping. B efore ever it reac hed the bat, the c reature wheeled round, s tood upon its hind
legs , s c ratc hing at the air about it, then uttered one pitiful c ry and fell over dead.
W e s tared at it, when s uddenly far away a dog howled in a very pierc ing fas hion. T hen a c ow began to bale as thes e beas ts do when they have los t their c alves . Next, quite c los e at hand but without the gates , there aros e the ear-c urdling c ry of a wom an in agony, whic h on the ins tant s eem ed to be ec hoed from
every quarter, till the air was full of wailing.
"Oh, S eti! S eti! " exc laim ed Merapi, in a voic e that was rather a his s than a whis per, "look at your s on! "
W e s prang to where the babe lay, and looked. He had awakened and was s taring upward with wide-opened eyes and frozen fac e. T he fear, if s uc h it were, pas s ed from his features , though s till he s tared. He ros e to his little feet, always looking upwards . T hen a s m ile c am e upon his fac e, a m os t beautiful s m ile;
he s tretc hed out his arm s , as though to c las p one who bent down towards him , and fell bac kwards --quite dead.
S eti s tood s till as a s tatue; we all s tood s till, even Merapi. T hen s he bend down, and lifted the body of the boy.
 "Now, m y lord," s he s aid, "there has fallen on you that s orrow whic h J abez m y unc le warned you would c om e, if ever you had aught to do with m e. Now the c urs e of Is rael has pierc ed m y heart, and now our c hild, as K i the evil prophes ied, has grown too great for greetings , or even for farewells ."
T hus s he s poke in a c old and quiet voic e, as one m ight s peak of s om ething long expec ted or fores een, then m ade her reverenc e to the P rinc e, and departed, bearing the body of the c hild. Never, I think, did Merapi s eem m ore beautiful to m e than in this , her hour of bereavem ent, s inc e now through her wom an's
lovelines s s hone out s om e s hadow of the s oul within. Indeed, s uc h were her eyes and s uc h her m ovem ents that well m ight have been a s pirit and not a wom an who departed from us with that whic h had been her s on.
S eti leaned on m y s houlder looking at the em pty bed, and at the s c ared nurs e who s till s at behind, and I felt a tear drop upon m y hand. Old B akenkhons u lifted his m as s ive fac e, and looked at him .
"Grieve not over m uc h, P rinc e," he s aid, "s inc e, ere as m any years as I have lived out have c om e and gone, this c hild will be forgotten and his m other will be forgotten, and even you, O P rinc e, will live but as a nam e that onc e was great in E gypt. A nd then, O P rinc e, els ewhere the gam e will begin afres h, and what
you have los t s hall be found anew, and the s weeter for it s heltering from the vile breath of m en. K i's m agic is not all a lie, or if his is , m ine holds s om e s hadow of the truth, and when he s aid to you yonder in T anis that not for nothing were you nam ed 'Lord of Rebirths ,' he s poke words that you s hould find c om fortable
to-night."
"I thank you, Counc illor," s aid S eti, and turning, followed Merapi.
"Now I s uppos e we s hall have m ore deaths ," I exc laim ed, hardly knowing what I s aid in m y s orrow.
"I think not, A na," ans wered B akenkhons u, "s inc e the s hield of J abez, or of his god, is over us . A lways he foretold that trouble would c om e to Merapi, and to S eti through Merapi, but that is all."
I glanc ed at the kitten.
"It s trayed here from the town three days ago, A na. A nd the bats als o m ay have flown from the town. Hark to the wailing. W as ever s uc h a s ound heard before in E gypt?"
CHAP TE R X V I
JABE Z S E LLS HORS E S
B akenkhons u was right. S ave the s on of S eti alone, none died who dwelt in or about his hous e, though els ewhere all the firs t-born of E gypt lay dead, and the firs t-born of the beas ts als o. W hen this c am e to be known throughout the land a rage s eized the E gyptians agains t Merapi who, they rem em bered, had
c alled down woe on E gypt after s he had been forc ed to pray in the tem ple and, as they believed, to lift the darknes s from Mem phis .
B akenkhons u and I and others who loved her pointed out that her own c hild had died with the res t. To this it was ans wered, and here I thought I s aw the fingers of Us erti and of K i, that it was nothing, s inc e witc hes did not love c hildren. Moreover, they s aid s he c ould have as m any as s he liked and when s he
liked, m aking them to look like c hildren out of c lay figures and to grow up into evil s pirits to torm ent the land. Las tly, people s wore that s he had been heard to s ay that, although to do it s he m us t kill her own lord's s on, s he would not on that ac c ount forego her vengeanc e on the E gyptians , who onc e had treated her
as a s lave and m urdered her father. Further, the Is raelites them s elves , or s om e of them , m ayhap Laban am ong them , were reported to have told the E gyptians that it was the s orc eres s who had bewitc hed P rinc e S eti who brought s uc h great troubles on them .
S o it happened that the E gyptians c am e to hate Merapi, who of all wom en was the s weetes t and the m os t to be loved, and to her other s uppos ed c rim es , added this als o, that by her witc heries s he had s tolen the heart of S eti away from his lawful wife and m ade him to turn that lady, the Royal P rinc es s of E gypt,
even from his gates , s o that s he was forc ed to dwell alone at Tanis . For in all thes e m atters none blam ed S eti, whom everyone in E gypt loved, bec aus e it was known that he would have dealt with the Is raelites in a very different fas hion, and thus averted all the woes that had des olated the anc ient land of K hem . A s
for this m atter of the Hebrew girl with the big eyes who c hanc ed to have thrown a s pell upon him , that was his ill-fortune, nothing m ore. A m ongs t the m any wom en with whom they believed he filled his hous e, as was the way of princ es , it was not s trange that one favourite s hould be a witc h. Indeed, I am c ertain that
only bec aus e he was known to love her, was Merapi s aved from death by pois on or in s om e other s ec ret fas hion, at any rate for a while.
Now c am e the glad tidings that the pride of P haraoh was broken at las t (for his firs t-born c hild had died with the others ), or that the c loud of m adnes s had lifted from his brain, whic hever it m ight be, and that he had dec reed that the Children of Is rael m ight depart from E gypt when and whither they would. T hen the
people breathed again, s eeing hope that their m is eries m ight end.
It was at this tim e that J abez appeared onc e m ore at Mem phis , driving a num ber of c hariot hors es , whic h he s aid he wis hed to s ell to the P rinc e, as he did not des ire them to pas s into any other hands . He was adm itted and s tated the pric e of his hors es , ac c ording to whic h they m us t have been beas ts of great
value.
"W hy do you wis h to s ell your hors es ?" as ked S eti.
"B ec aus e I go with m y people into lands where there is little water and there they m ight die, O P rinc e."
"I will buy the hors es . S ee to it, A na," s aid S eti, although I knew well that already he had m ore than he needed.
T he P rinc e ros e to s how that the interview was ended, whereon J abez, who was bowing his thanks , s aid hurriedly:
"I rejoic e to learn, O Royal One, that things have befallen as I foretold, or rather was bidden to foretell, and that the troubles whic h have afflic ted E gypt have pas s ed by your dwelling."
"T hen you rejoic e to learn a fals ehood, Hebrew, s inc e the wors t of thos e troubles has m ade its hom e here. My s on is dead," and he turned away.
J abez lifted his s hifty eyes from the floor and glanc ed at him .
"P rinc e," he s aid, "I know and grieve bec aus e this los s has c ut you to the heart. Y et it was no fault of m ine or of m y people. If you think, you will rem em ber that both when I built a wall of protec tion about this plac e bec aus e of your good deeds to Is rael, O P rinc e, and before, I warned, and c aus ed you to be warned,
that if you and m y niec e, Moon of Is rael, c am e together a great trouble m ight fall on you through her who, having bec om e the wom an of an E gyptian in defianc e of c om m and, m us t bear the fate of E gyptian wom en."
"It m ay be s o," s aid the P rinc e. "T he m atter is not one of whic h I c are to talk. If this death were wrought by the m agic of your wizards I have only this to s ay--that it is an ill paym ent to m e in return for all that I have s triven to do on behalf of the Hebrews . Yet, what els e c ould I expec t from s uc h a people in s uc h a
world? Farewell."
"One prayer, O P rinc e. I would as k your leave to s peak with m y niec e, Merapi."
"S he is veiled. S inc e the m urder of her c hild by wizardry, s he s ees no m an."
"S till I think s he will s ee her unc le, O P rinc e."
"W hat then do you wis h to s ay to her?"
"O P rinc e, through the c lem enc y of P haraoh we poor s laves are about to leave the land of E gypt never to return. T herefore, if m y niec e rem ains behind, it is natural that I s hould wis h to bid her farewell, and to c onfide to her c ertain m atters c onnec ted with our rac e and fam ily, whic h s he m ight des ire to pas s on to
her c hildren."
Now when he heard this word "c hildren" S eti s oftened.
"I do not trus t you," he s aid. "Y ou m ay be c harged with m ore of your Hebrew c urs es agains t Merapi, or you m ay s ay words to her that will m ake her even unhappier than s he is . Y et if you would wis h to s ee her in m y pres enc e----"
"My lord P rinc e, I will not trouble you s o far. Farewell. B e pleas ed to c onvey----"
"Or if that does not s uit you," interrupted S eti, "in the pres enc e of A na here you c an do s o, unles s s he refus es to rec eive you."
J abez reflec ted for a m om ent, and ans wered:
"T hen in the pres enc e of A na let it be, s inc e he is a m an who knows when to be s ilent."
J abez m ade obeis anc e and departed, and at a s ign from the P rinc e I followed him . P res ently we were us hered into the c ham ber of the lady Merapi, where s he s at looking m os t s ad and lonely, with a veil of blac k upon her head.
"Greeting, m y unc le," s he s aid, after glanc ing at m e, whos e pres enc e I think s he unders tood. "A re you the bearer of m ore prophec ies ? I pray not, s inc e your las t were overtrue," and s he touc hed the blac k veil with her finger.
"I am the bearer of tidings , and of a prayer, Niec e. T he tidings are that the people of Is rael are about to leave E gypt. T he prayer, whic h is als o a c om m and, is --that you m ake ready to ac c om pany them ----"
"T o Laban?" s he as ked, looking up.
"No, m y niec e. Laban would not wis h as a wife one who has been the m is tres s of an E gyptian, but to play your part, however hum ble, in the fortunes of our people."
"I am glad that Laban does not wis h what he never c ould obtain, m y unc le. T ell m e, I pray you, why s hould I hearken to this prayer, or this c om m and?"
"For a good reas on, Niec e--that your life hangs on it. Heretofore you have been s uffered to take your heart's des ire. B ut if you bide in E gypt where you have no longer a m is s ion to fulfil, having done all that was s ought of you in keeping with the m ind of your lover, the P rinc e S eti, true to the c aus e of Is rael, you will
s urely die."
"Y ou m ean that our people will kill m e?"
"No, not our people. S till you will die."
S he took a s tep towards him , and looked him in the eyes .
"Y ou are c ertain that I s hall die, m y unc le?"
"I am , or at leas t others are c ertain."
Now s he laughed; it was the firs t tim e I had s een her laugh for s everal m oons .
"T hen I will s tay here," s he s aid.
J abez s tared at her.
"I thought that you loved this E gyptian, who indeed is worthy of any wom an's love," he m uttered into his beard.
"P erhaps it is bec aus e I love him that I wis h to die. I have given him all I have to give; there is nothing left of m y poor treas ure exc ept what will bring trouble and m is fortune on his head. T herefore the greater the love--and it is m ore great than all thos e pyram ids m as s ed to one--the greater the need that it s hould be
buried for a while. Do you unders tand?"
He s hook his head.
"I unders tand only that you are a very s trange wom an, different from any other that I have known."
"My c hild, who was s lain with the res t, was all the world to m e, and I would be where he is . Do you unders tand now?"
"Y ou would leave your life, in whic h, being young, you m ay have m ore c hildren, to lie in a tom b with your dead s on?" he as ked s lowly, like one as tonis hed.
"I only c are for life while it c an s erve him whom I love, and if a day c om es when he s its upon the throne how will a daughter of the hated Is raelites s erve him then? A ls o I do not wis h for m ore c hildren. Living or dead, he that is gone owns all m y heart; there is no room in it for others . T hat love at leas t is pure and
perfec t, and having been em balm ed by death, c an never c hange. Moreover, it is not in a tom b that I s hall lie with him , or s o I believe. T he faith of thes e E gyptians whic h we des pis e tells of a life eternal in the heavens , and thither I would go to s eek that whic h is los t, and to wait that whic h is left behind awhile."
"A h! " s aid J abez. "For m y part I do not trouble m ys elf with thes e problem s , who find in a life tem poral on the earth enough to fill m y thoughts and hands . Y et, Merapi, you are a rebel, and whether in heaven or on earth, how are rebels rec eived by the king agains t whom they have rebelled?"
"You s ay I am rebel," s he s aid, turning on him with flas hing eyes . "W hy? B ec aus e I would not dis honour m ys elf by m arrying a m an I hate, one als o who is a m urderer, and bec aus e while I live I will not des ert a m an whom I love to return to thos e who have done m e naught but evil. Did God then m ake wom en to be
s old like c attle of the field for the pleas ure and the profit of him who c an pay the highes t?"
"It s eem s s o," s aid J abez, s preading out his hands .
"It s eem s that you think s o, who fas hion God as you would wis h him to be, but for m y part I do not believe it, and if I did, I s hould s eek another king. My unc le, I appeal from the pries t and the elder to T hat whic h m ade both them and m e, and by Its judgm ent I will s tand or fall."
"A lways a very dangerous thing to do," reflec ted J abez aloud, "s inc e the pries t is apt to take the law into his own hands before the c aus e c an be pleaded els ewhere. S till, who am I that I s hould s et up m y reas onings agains t one who c an grind A m on to powder in his own s anc tuary, and who therefore m ay have
warrant for all s he thinks and does ?"
Merapi s tam ped her foot.
"Y ou know well it was you who brought m e the c om m and to dare the god A m on in his tem ple. It was not I----" s he began.
"I do know," replied J abez waving his hand. "I know als o that is what every wizard s ays , whatever his nation or his gods , and what no one ever believes . T hus bec aus e, having faith, you obeyed the c om m and and through you A m on was s m itten, am ong both the Is raelites and the E gyptians you are held to be the
greates t s orc eres s that has looked upon the Nile, and that is a dangerous repute, m y niec e."
"One to whic h I lay no c laim , and never s ought."
"J us t s o, but whic h all the s am e has c om e to you. W ell, knowing as without doubt you do all that will s oon befall in E gypt, and having been warned, if you needed warning, of the danger with whic h you yours elf are threatened, you s till refus e to obey this s ec ond c om m and whic h it is m y duty to deliver to you?"
"I refus e."
"T hen on your own head be it, and farewell. Oh! I would add that there is a c ertain property in c attle, and the fruit of lands whic h des c ends to you from your father. In the event of your death----"
"T ake it all, unc le, and m ay it pros per you. Farewell."
"A great wom an, friend A na, and a beautiful," s aid the old Hebrew, after he had watc hed her go. "I grieve that I s hall never s ee her again, and, indeed, that no one will s ee her for very long; for, rem em ber, s he is m y niec e of whom I am fond. Now I too m us t be going, having c om pleted m y errand. A ll good fortune to
you, A na. Y ou are no longer a s oldier, are you? No? B elieve m e, it is as well, as you will learn. My hom age to the P rinc e. T hink of m e at tim es , when you grow old, and not unkindly, s eeing that I have s erved you as bes t I c ould, and your m as ter als o, who I hope will s oon find again that whic h he los t awhile ago."
"Her Highnes s , P rinc es s Us erti," I s ugges ted.
"T he P rinc es s Us erti am ong other things , A na. T ell the P rinc e, if he s hould deem them c os tly, that thos e hors es whic h I s old him are really of the fines t S yrian blood, and of a s train that m y fam ily has owned for generations . If you s hould c hanc e to have any friend whos e welfare you des ire, let him not go into the
des ert s oldiering during the next few m oons , es pec ially if P haraoh be in c om m and. Nay, I know nothing, but it is a s eas on of great s torm . Farewell, friend A na, and again farewell."
"Now what did he m ean by that?" thought I to m ys elf, as I departed to m ake m y report to S eti. B ut no ans wer to the ques tion ros e in m y m ind.
V ery s oon I began to unders tand. It appeared that at length the Is raelites were leaving E gypt, a vas t horde of them , and with them tens of thous ands of A rabs of various tribes who wors hipped their god and were, s om e of them , des c ended from the people of the Hyks os , the s hepherds who onc e ruled in E gypt.
T hat this was true was proved to us by the tidings whic h reac hed us that all the Hebrew wom en who dwelt in Mem phis , even thos e of them who were m arried to E gyptians , had departed from the c ity, leaving behind them their m en and s om etim es their c hildren. Indeed, before thes e went, c ertain of them who had
been friends vis ited Merapi, and as ked her if s he were not c om ing als o. S he s hook her head as s he replied:
"W hy do you go? A re you s o fond of journeyings in the des ert that for the s ake of them you are ready never again to look upon the m en you love and the c hildren of your bodies ?"
"No, Lady," they ans wered, weeping. "W e are happy here in white-walled Mem phis and here, lis tening to the m urm ur of the Nile, we would grow old and die, rather than s trive to keep hous e in s om e des ert tent with a s tranger or alone. Y et fear drives us henc e."
"Fear of what?"
"Of the E gyptians who, when they c om e to unders tand all that they have s uffered at our hands in return for the wealth and s helter whic h they have given us for m any generations , whereby we have grown from a handful into a great people, will c ertainly kill any Is raelite whom they find left am ong them . A ls o we fear
the c urs es of our pries ts who bid us to depart."
"T hen I s hould fear thes e things als o," s aid Merapi.
"Not s o, Lady, s eeing that being the only beloved of the P rinc e of E gypt who, rum our tells us , will s oon be P haraoh of E gypt, by him you will be protec ted from the anger of the E gyptians . A nd being, as we all know well, the greates t s orc eres s in the world, the overthrower of A m on-Ra the m ighty, and one who by
s ac rific ing her c hild was able to ward away every plague from the hous ehold where s he dwelt, you have naught to fear from pries ts and their m agic ."
T hen Merapi s prang up, bidding them to leave her to her fate and to be gone to their own, whic h they did has tily enough, fearing les t s he s hould c as t s om e s pell upon them . S o it c am e about that pres ently the fair Moon of Is rael and c ertain c hildren of m ixed blood were all of the Hebrew rac e that were left in
E gypt. T hen, notwiths tanding the m is eries and m is fortunes that during the pas t few years by terror, death, and fam ine had reduc ed them to perhaps one half of their num ber, the people of E gypt rejoic ed with a great joy.
In every tem ple of every god proc es s ions were held and offerings m ade by thos e who had anything left to offer, while the s tatues of the gods were dres s ed in fine new garm ents and hung about with garlandings of flowers .
Moreover, on the Nile and on the s ac red lakes boats floated to and fro, adorned with lanterns as at the feas t of the Ris ing of Os iris . A s titular high-pries t of A m on, an offic e of whic h he c ould not be deprived while he lived, P rinc e S eti attended thes e dem ons trations , whic h indeed he m us t do, in the great tem ple of
Mem phis , whither I ac c om panied him .
W hen the c erem onies were over he led the proc es s ion through the m as s es of the wors hippers , c lad in his s plendid s ac erdotal robes , whereon every throat of the thous ands pres ent there greeted him in a s hout of thunder as "P haraoh! " or at leas t as P haraoh's heir.
W hen at length the s houting died, he turned upon them and s aid:
"Friends , if you would s end m e to be of the c om pany that s its at the table of Os iris and not at P haraoh's feas ts , you will repeat this foolis h greeting, whereof our Lord A m enm es es will hear with little joy."
In the s ilenc e that followed a voic e c alled out:
"Have no fear, O P rinc e, while the Hebrew witc h s leeps night by night upon your bos om . S he who c ould s m ite E gypt with s o m any plagues c an c ertainly s helter you from harm ;" whereon the roars of ac c lam ation went up again.
It was on the following day that B akenkhons u the aged returned with m ore tidings from Tanis , where he had been upon a vis it. It s eem ed that a great c ounc il had been held there in the larges t hall of one of the larges t tem ples . A t this c ounc il, whic h was open to all the people, A m enm es es had given report on
the m atter of the Is raelites who, he s tated, were departing in their thous ands . A ls o offerings were m ade to appeas e the angry gods of E gypt. W hen the c erem ony was finis hed, but before the c om pany broke up in a heavy m ood, her Highnes s the P rinc es s Us erti ros e in her plac e, and addres s ed P haraoh:
"B y the s pirits of our fathers ," s he c ried, "and m ore es pec ially by that of the good god Meneptah, m y begetter, I as k of you, P haraoh, and I as k of you, O people, whether the affront that has been put upon us by thes e Hebrew s laves and their m agic ians is one that the proud land of E gypt s hould be c alled upon to
bear? Our gods have been s m itten and defied; woes great and terrible, s uc h as his tory tells not of, have fallen upon us through m agic ; tens of thous ands , from the firs t-born c hild of P haraoh down, have peris hed in a s ingle night. A nd now thes e Hebrews , who have m urdered them by s orc ery, for they are s orc erers
all, m en and wom en together, es pec ially one of them who s its at Mem phis , of whom I will not s peak bec aus e s he has wrought m e private harm , by the dec ree of P haraoh are to be s uffered to leave the land. More, they are to take with them all their c attle, all their thres hed c orn, all the treas ure they have hoarded for
generations , and all the ornam ents of pric e and wealth that they have wrung by terror from our own people, borrowing that whic h they never purpos e to return. T herefore I, the Royal P rinc es s of E gypt, would as k of P haraoh, is this the dec ree of P haraoh?"
"Now," s aid B akenkhons u, "P haraoh s at with hanging head upon his throne and m ade no ans wer."
"P haraoh does not s peak," went on Us erti. "T hen I as k, is this the dec ree of the Counc il of P haraoh and of the people of E gypt? T here is s till a great arm y in E gypt, hundreds of c hariots and thous ands of footm en. Is this arm y to s it s till while thes e s laves depart into the des ert there to rous e our enem ies of S yria
agains t us and return with them to butc her us ?"
"A t thes e words ," c ontinued B akenkhons u, "from all that m ultitude there went up a s hout of 'No.'"
"T he people s ay No. W hat s aith P haraoh?" c ried Us erti.
T here followed a s ilenc e, till s uddenly A m enm es es ros e and s poke:
"Have it as you will, P rinc es s , and on your head and the heads of all thes e whom you have s tirred up let the evil fall if evil c om es , though I think it is your hus band, the P rinc e S eti, who s hould s tand where you s tand and put up this prayer in your plac e."
"My hus band, the P rinc e S eti, is tied to Mem phis by a rope of witc h's hair, or s o they tell m e," s he s neered, while the people m urm ured in as s ent.
"I know not," went on A m enm es es , "but this I know that always the P rinc e would have let thes e Hebrews go from am ong us , and at tim es , as s orrow followed s orrow, I have thought that he was right. T ruly m ore than onc e I als o would have let them go, but ever s om e S trength, I know not what, des c ended on m y
heart, turning it to s tone, and wrung from m e words that I did not des ire to utter. E ven now I would let them go, but all of you are agains t m e, and, perc hanc e, if I withs tand you, I s hall pay for it with m y life and throne. Captains , c om m and that m y arm ies be m ade ready, and let them as s em ble here at Tanis that I
m ys elf m ay lead them after the people of Is rael and s hare their dangers ."
T hen with a m ighty s houting the c om pany broke up, s o that at the las t all were gone and only P haraoh rem ained s eated upon his throne, s taring at the ground with the air, s aid B akenkhons u, rather of one who is dead than of a living king about to wage war upon his foes .
T o all thes e words the P rinc e lis tened in s ilenc e, but when they were finis hed he looked up and as ked:
"W hat think you, B akenkhons u?"
"I think, O P rinc e," ans wered the wis e old m an, "that her Highnes s did ill to s tir up this m atter, though doubtles s s he s poke with the voic es of the pries ts and of the arm y, agains t whic h P haraoh was not s trong enough to s tand."
"W hat you think, I think," s aid S eti.
A t this m om ent the lady Merapi entered.
"I hear, m y lord," s he s aid, "that P haraoh purpos es to purs ue the people of Is rael with his hos t. I c om e to pray m y lord that he will not join him s elf to the hos t of P haraoh."
"It is but natural, Lady, that you s hould not wis h m e to m ake war upon your kin, and to s peak truth I have no m ind that way," replied S eti, and, turning, left the c ham ber with her.
 "S he is not thinking of her king but of her lover's life," s aid B akenkhons u. "S he is not a witc h as they dec lare, but it is true that s he knows what we do not."
"Y es ," I ans wered, "it is true."
CHAP TE R X V II
THE DRE AM OF ME RAP I
A while went by; it m ay have been fourteen days , during whic h we heard that the Is raelites had s tarted on their journey. T hey were a m ighty m ultitude who bore with them the c offin and the m um m y of their prophet, a m an of their blood, V izier, it is reported, to that P haraoh who welc om ed them to E gypt hundreds of
years before. S om e s aid they went this way and s om e that, but B akenkhons u, who knew everything, dec lared that they were heading for the Lake of Croc odiles , whic h others nam e S ea of Reeds , whereby they would c ros s into the des ert beyond, and thenc e to S yria. I as ked him how, s eeing that at its narrowes t part,
this lake was s ix thous and pac es in width, and that the depth of its m ud was unfathom able. He replied that he did not know, but that I m ight do well to inquire of the lady Merapi.
"S o you have c hanged your m ind, and als o think her a witc h," I s aid, to whic h he ans wered:
"One m us t breathe the wind that blows , and E gypt is s o full of witc hc raft that it is diffic ult to s ay. A ls o it was s he and no other who des troyed the anc ient s tatue of A m on. Oh! yes , witc h or no witc h, it m ight be well to as k her how her people purpos e to c ros s the S ea of Reeds , es pec ially if P haraoh's c hariots
c hanc e to be behind them ."
S o I did as k her, but s he ans wered that s he knew nothing of the m atter, and wis hed to know nothing, s eeing that s he had s eparated from her people, and rem ained in E gypt.
T hen K i c am e, I know not whenc e, and having m ade his peac e with S eti as to the dres s ing of Merapi in the robes of Is is whic h, he vowed, was done by the pries ts agains t his wis h, told us that P haraoh and a great hos t had s tarted to purs ue the Is raelites . T he P rinc e as ked him why he had not gone with the
hos t, to whic h he replied that he was no s oldier, als o that P haraoh hid his fac e from him . In return he as ked the P rinc e why he had not gone.
S eti ans wered, bec aus e had been deprived of his c om m and with his other offic ers and had no wis h to take s hare in this bus ines s as a private c itizen.
"Y ou are wis e, as always , P rinc e," s aid K i.
It was on the following night, very late, while the P rinc e, K i, B akenkhons u and I, A na, s at talking, that s uddenly the lady Merapi broke in upon us as s he had ris en from her bed, wild-eyed, and with her hair flowing down her robes .
"I have dream ed a dream ! " s he c ried. "I dream ed that I s aw all the thous ands of m y people following after a flam e that burned from earth to heaven. T hey c am e to the edge of a great water and behind them rus hed P haraoh and all the hos ts of the E gyptians . T hen m y people ran on to the fac e of the water, and it
bore them as though it were s ound land.
Now the s oldiers of the P haraoh were following, but the gods of E gypt appeared, A m on, Os iris , Horus , Is is , Hathor, and the res t, and would have turned them bac k. S till they refus ed to lis ten, and dragging the gods with them , rus hed out upon the water. T hen darknes s fell, and in the darknes s s ounds of wailing and
of a m ighty laughter. It pas s ed, the m oon ros e, s hining upon em ptines s . I awoke, trem bling in m y lim bs .
Interpret m e this dream if you c an, O K i, Mas ter of Magic ."
"W here is the need, Lady," he ans wered, awaking as though from s leep, "when the dream er is als o the s eer? S hall the pupil venture to ins truc t the teac her, or the novic e to m ake plain the m ys teries to the high-pries tes s of the tem ple? Nay, Lady, I and all the m agic ians of E gypt are beneath your feet."
"W hy will you ever m oc k m e?" s he s aid, and as s he s poke, s he s hivered.
T hen B akenkhons u opened his lips , s aying:
"T he wis dom of K i has been buried in a c loud of late, and gives no light to us , his dis c iples . Yet the m eaning of this dream is plain, though whether it be als o true I do not know. It is that all the hos t of E gypt, and with it the gods of E gypt, are threatened with des truc tion bec aus e of the Is raelites , unles s one to
whom they will hearken c an be found to turn them from s om e purpos e that I do not unders tand. B ut to whom will the m ad hearken, oh! to whom will they hearken?" and lifting his great head, he looked s traight at the P rinc e.
"Not to m e, I fear, who now am no one in E gypt," s aid S eti.
"W hy not to you, O P rinc e, who to-m orrow m ay be everyone in E gypt?" as ked B akenkhons u. "A lways you have pleaded the c aus e of the Hebrews , and s aid that naught but evil would befall E gypt bec aus e of them , as has happened. T o whom , then, will the people and the arm y lis ten m ore readily?"
"Moreover, O P rinc e," broke in K i, "a lady of your hous ehold has dream ed a very evil dream , of whic h, if naught be s aid, it m ight be held that it was no dream , but a s pell of power aim ed agains t the m ajes ty of E gypt; s uc h a s pell as that whic h c as t great A m on from his throne, s uc h a s pell as that whic h has s et a
m agic fenc e around this hous e and field."
"A gain I tell you that I weave no s pells , O K i, who with m y own c hild have paid the pric e of them ."
"Y et s pells were woven, Lady, and has been known from of old, s trength is perfec ted in s ac rific e alone," K i ans wered darkly.
"Have done with your talk of s pells , Magic ian," exc laim ed the P rinc e, "or if you m us t s peak of them , s peak of your own, whic h are m any. It was J abez who protec ted us here agains t the plagues , and the s tatue of A m on was s hattered by s om e god."
"I as k your pardon, P rinc e," s aid K i bowing, "it was not this lady but her unc le who fenc ed your hous e agains t the plagues whic h ravaged E gypt, and it was not this lady but s om e god working in her whic h overthrew A m on of Tanis . T he P rinc e has s aid it. Yet this lady has dream ed a c ertain dream whic h
B akenkhons u has interpreted although I c annot, and I think that P haraoh and his c aptains s hould be told of the dream , that on it they m ay form their own judgm ent."
"T hen why do you not tell them , K i?"
"It has pleas ed P haraoh, O P rinc e, to dis m is s m e from his s ervic e as one who failed and to give m y offic e of K herheb to another. If I appear before the fac e of P haraoh I s hall be killed."
Now I, A na, lis tening, wis hed that K i would appear before the fac e of P haraoh, although I did not believe that he c ould be killed by him or by anybody els e, s inc e agains t death he had c harm s . For I was afraid of K i, and felt in m ys elf that again he was plotting evil to Merapi whom I knew to be innoc ent.
T he P rinc e walked up and down the c ham ber as was his fas hion when los t in thought. P res ently he s topped oppos ite to m e and s aid:
"Friend A na, be pleas ed to c om m and that m y c hariots be m ade ready with a general's es c ort of a hundred m en and s pare hors es to eac h c hariot.
W e ride at dawn, you and I, to s eek out the arm y of P haraoh and pray audienc e of P haraoh."
"My lord," s aid Merapi in a kind of c ry, "I pray you go not, leaving m e alone."
"W hy s hould I leave you, Lady? Com e with m e if you will." S he s hook her head, s aying:
"I dare not. P rinc e, there has been s om e c harm upon m e of late that draws m e bac k to m y own people. T wic e in the night I have awakened and found m ys elf in the gardens with m y fac e s et towards the north, and heard a voic e in m y ears , even that of m y father who is dead, s aying:
"'Moon of Is rael, thy people wander in the wildernes s and need thy light.'
"It is c ertain therefore that if I c am e near to them I s hould be dragged down as wood is dragged of an eddy, nor would E gypt s ee m e any m ore."
"T hen I pray you bide where you are, Merapi," s aid the P rinc e, laughing a little, "s inc e it is c ertain that where you go I m us t follow, who have no des ire to wander in the wildernes s with your Hebrew folk. W ell, it s eem s that as you do not wis h to leave Mem phis and will not c om e with m e, I m us t s tay with you."
K i fixed his pierc ing eyes upon the pair of them .
"Let the P rinc e forgive m e," he s aid, "but I s wear it by the gods that never did I think to live to hear the P rinc e S eti Meneptah s et a wom an's whim s before his honour."
"Y our words are rough," s aid S eti, drawing him s elf up, "and had they been s poken in other days , m ayhap, K i----"
"Oh! m y lord," s aid K i pros trating him s elf till his forehead touc hed the ground, "bethink you then how great m us t be the need whic h m akes m e dare to s peak them . W hen firs t I c am e hither from the c ourt of Tanis , the s pirit that is within m e s peaking through m y lips gave c ertain titles to your Highnes s , for whic h
your Highnes s was pleas ed to reprove m e.
Y et the s pirit in m e c annot lie and I know well, and bid all here m ake rec ord of m y words , that to-night I s tand in the pres enc e of him who ere two m oons have pas s ed will be c rowned P haraoh."
"T ruly you were ever a bearer of ill-tidings , K i, but if s o, what of it?"
"T his your Highnes s : W ere it not that the s pirits of T ruth and Right c om pel m e for their own reas ons , s hould I, who have blood that c an be s hed or bones that c an be broken, dare to hurl hard words at him who will be P haraoh? S hould I dare to c ros s the will of the s weet dove who nes tles on his heart, the wis e,
white dove that m urm urs the m ys teries of heaven, whenc e s he c am e, and is s tronger than the vulture of Is is and s wifter than the hawk of Ra; the dove that, were s he angry, c ould rend m e into m ore fragm ents than did S et Os iris ?"
Now I s aw B akenkhons u begin to s well with inward laughter like a frog about to c roak, but S eti ans wered in a weary voic e:
"B y all the birds of E gypt with the s ac red c roc odiles thrown in, I do not know, s inc e that m ind of yours , K i, is not an open writing whic h c an be read by the pas s er-by. S till, if you would tell m e what is the reas on with whic h the goddes s es of T ruth and J us tic e have ins pired you----"
"T he reas on is , O P rinc e, that the fate of all E gypt's arm y m ay be hidden in your hand. T he tim e is s hort and I will be plain. Deny it as s he will this lady here, who s eem s to be but a thing of love and beauty, is the greates t s orc eres s in E gypt, as I whom s he has m as tered know well. S he m atc hed hers elf agains t
the high god of E gypt and s m ote him to the dus t, and has paid bac k upon him , his prophets , and his wors hippers the ills that he would have worked to her, as in the like c as e any of our fellows hip would do. Now s he has dream ed a dream , or her s pirit has told her that the arm y of E gypt is in danger of des truc tion,
and I know that this dream is true. Has ten then, O P rinc e, to s ave the hos ts of E gypt, whic h you will s urely need when you c om e to s it upon its throne."
"I am no s orc eres s ," c ried Merapi, "and yet--alas ! that I m us t s ay it--this s m iling-featured, c old-eyed wizard's words are true. The s w ord of death hangs ov er the hos ts of E gy pt!"
"Com m and that the c hariots be m ade ready," s aid S eti again.
E ight days had gone by. It was s uns et and we drew rein over agains t the S ea of Reeds . Day and night we had followed the arm y of P haraoh ac ros s the wildernes s on a road beaten down by his c hariot wheels and s oldiers , and by the tens of thous ands of the Is raelites who had pas s ed that way before them . Now
from the ridge where we had halted we s aw it enc am ped beneath us , a very great arm y. Moreover, s tragglers told us that beyond, als o enc am ped, was the c ountles s horde of the Is raelites , and beyond thes e the vas t S ea of Reeds whic h barred their path. B ut we c ould not s ee them for a very s trange reas on. B etween
thes e and the arm y of P haraoh ros e a blac k wall of c loud, built as it were from earth to heaven. One of thos e s tragglers of whom I have s poken, told us that this c loud travelled before the Is raelites by day, but at night was turned into a pillar of fire. Only on this day, when the arm y of P haraoh approac hed, it had m oved
round and c om e between the people of Is rael and the arm y.
Now when the P rinc e, B akenkhons u, and I heard thes e things we looked at eac h other and were s ilent. Only pres ently the P rinc e laughed a little, and s aid:
"W e s hould have brought K i with us , even if we had to c arry him bound, that he m ight interpret this m arvel, for it is s ure that no one els e c an."
"It would be hard to keep K i bound, P rinc e, if he wis hed to go free," ans wered B akenkhons u. "Moreover, before ever we entered the c hariots at Mem phis he had departed s outh for T hebes . I s aw him go."
"A nd I gave orders that he s hould not be allowed to return, for I hold him an ill gues t, or s o thinks the lady Merapi," replied S eti with a s igh.
"Now that we are here what would the P rinc e do?" I as ked.
"Des c end to the c am p of P haraoh and s ay what we have to s ay, A na."
"A nd if he will not lis ten, P rinc e?"
"T hen c ry our m es s age aloud and return."
"A nd if he will not s uffer us to return, P rinc e?"
"T hen s tand s till and live or die as the gods m ay dec ree."
"T ruly our lord has a great heart! " exc laim ed B akenkhons u, "and though I feel over young to die, I am m inded to s ee the end of this m atter with him ," and he laughed aloud.
B ut I who was afraid thought that O-ho-ho of his , whic h the s ky s eem ed to ec ho bac k upon our heads , a s trange and indeed a fearful s ound.
T hen we put on robes of c erem ony that we had brought with us , but neither s words nor arm our, and having eaten s om e food, drove on with the half of our guard towards the plac e where we s aw the banners of P haraoh flying about his pavilion. T he res t of our guard we left enc am ped, bidding them , if aught
happened to us , to return and m ake report at Mem phis and in the other great c ities . A s we drew near to the c am p the outpos ts s aw us and c hallenged. B ut when they perc eived by the light of the s etting s un who it was that they c hallenged, a m urm ur went through them , of:
"T he P rinc e of E gypt! T he P rinc e of E gypt! " for s o they had never c eas ed to nam e S eti, and they s aluted with their s pears and let us pas s .
S o at length we c am e to the pavilion of P haraoh, round about whic h a whole regim ent s tood on guard. T he s ides of it were looped up high bec aus e of the heat of the night whic h was great, and within s at P haraoh, his c aptains , his c ounc illors , his pries ts , his m agic ians , and m any others at m eat or s erving food
and drink. T hey s at at a table that was bent like a bow, with their fac es towards the entranc e, and P haraoh was in the c entre of the table with his fan-bearers and butlers behind him .
W e advanc ed into the pavilion, the P rinc e in the c entre, B akenkhons u leaning on his s taff on the right hand, and I, wearing the gold c hain that P haraoh Meneptah had given m e, on the left, but thos e with us rem ained am ong the guard at the entranc e.
"W ho are thes e?" as ked A m enm es es , looking up, "who c om e here unbidden?"
"T hree c itizens of E gypt who have a m es s age for P haraoh," ans wered S eti in his quiet voic e, "whic h we have travelled fas t and far to s peak in tim e."
"How are you nam ed, c itizens of E gypt, and who s ends your m es s age?"
"W e are nam ed, S eti Meneptah aforetim e P rinc e of E gypt, and heir to its c rown; B akenkhons u the aged Counc illor, and A na the s c ribe and K ing's Com panion, and our m es s age is from the gods ."
"W e have heard thos e nam es , who has not?" s aid P haraoh, and as he s poke all, or very nearly all, the c om pany ros e, or half ros e, and bowed towards the P rinc e. "W ill you and your c om panions be s eated and eat, P rinc e S eti Meneptah?"
"W e thank the divine P haraoh, but we have already eaten. Have we P haraoh's leave to deliver our m es s age?"
"S peak on, P rinc e."
"O P haraoh, m any m oons have gone by, s inc e las t we looked upon eac h other fac e to fac e, on that day when m y father, the good god Meneptah, dis inherited m e, and afterwards fled henc e to Os iris . P haraoh will rem em ber why I was thus c ut off from the royal root of E gypt. It was bec aus e of the m atter of thes e
Is raelites , who in m y judgm ent had been evilly dealt by, and s hould be s uffered to leave our land. T he good god Meneptah, being s o advis ed by you and others , O P haraoh, would have s m itten the Is raelites with the s word, m aking an end of them , and to this he dem anded m y as s ent as the Heir of E gypt. I refus ed
that as s ent and was c as t out, and s inc e then, you, O P haraoh, have worn the double c rown, while I have dwelt as a c itizen of Mem phis , living upon s uc h lands and revenues as are m y own. B etween that hour and this , O P haraoh, m any griefs have s m itten E gypt, and the las t of them c os t you your firs t-born, and m e
m ine. Yet through them all, O P haraoh, you have refus ed to let thes e Hebrews go, as I c ouns elled s hould be done at the beginning. A t length after the death of the firs t-born, your dec ree was is s ued that they m ight go. Yet now you follow them with a great arm y and purpos e to do to them what m y father, the good god
Meneptah, would have done, had I c ons ented, nam ely--to des troy them with the s word. Hear m e, P haraoh! "
"I hear; als o the c as e is well if briefly s et. W hat els e would the P rinc e S eti s ay?"
"T his , O P haraoh. T hat I pray you to return with all your hos t from the following of thes e Hebrews , not to-m orrow or the next day, but at onc e--this night."
"W hy, O P rinc e?"
"B ec aus e of a c ertain dream that a lady of m y hous ehold who is Hebrew has dream ed, whic h dream foretells des truc tion to you and the arm y of E gypt, unles s you hearken to thes e words of m ine."
"I think that we know of this s nake whom you have taken to dwell in your bos om , whenc e it m ay s pit pois on upon E gypt. It is nam ed Merapi, Moon of Is rael, is it not?"
"T hat is the nam e of the lady who dream ed the dream ," replied S eti in a c old voic e, though I felt him trem ble with anger at m y s ide, "the dream that if P haraoh wills m y c om panions here s hall s et out word for word to his m agic ians ."
"P haraoh does not will it," s houted A m enm es es s m iting the board with his fis t, "bec aus e P haraoh knows that it is but another tric k to s ave thes e wizards and thieves from the doom that they have earned."
"A m I then a worker of tric ks , O P haraoh? If I had been s uc h, why have I journeyed hither to give warning, when by s itting yonder at Mem phis to-m orrow, I m ight onc e m ore have bec om e heir to the double c rown? For if you will not hearken to m e, I tell you that very s oon you s hall be dead, and with you thes e"--and he
pointed to all thos e who s at at table--"and with them the great arm y that lies without. E re you s peak, tell m e, what is that blac k c loud whic h s tands before the c am p of the Hebrews ? Is there no ans wer? T hen I will give you the ans wer. It is the pall that s hall wrap the bones of every one of you."
Now the c om pany s hivered with fear, yes , even the pries ts and the m agic ians s hivered. B ut P haraoh went m ad with rage. S pringing from his s eat, he s natc hed at the double c rown upon his head, and hurled it to the ground, and I noted that the golden uraeus band about it, rolled away, and res ted upon S eti's
s andalled foot. He tore his robes and s houted:
"A t leas t our fate s hall be your fate, Renegade, who have s old E gypt to the Hebrew witc h in paym ent of her kis s es . S eize this m an and his c om panions , and when we go down to battle agains t thes e Is raelites to-m orrow after the darknes s lifts , let them be s et with the c aptains of the van. S o s hall the truth be
known at las t."
T hus P haraoh c om m anded, and S eti, ans wering nothing, folded his arm s upon his breas t and waited.
Men ros e from their s eats as though to obey P haraoh and s ank bac k to them again. Guards s tarted forward and yet rem ained s tanding where they were. T hen B akenkhons u burs t into one of his great laughs .
"O-ho-ho," he laughed, "P haraohs have I s een c om e and go, one and two and three, and four and five, but never yet have I s een a P haraoh whom none of his c ounc illors or guards c ould obey however m uc h they willed it. W hen you are P haraoh, P rinc e S eti, m ay your luc k be better. Your arm , A na, m y friend, and
lead on, Royal Heir of E gypt. T he truth is s hown to blind eyes that will not s ee. T he word is s poken to deaf ears that will not hearken, and the duty done. Night falls . S leep ye well, ye bidden of Os iris , s leep ye well! "
T hen we turned and walked from that pavilion. A t its entranc e I looked bac k, and in the low light that prec edes the darknes s , it s eem ed to m e as though all s eated there were already dead. B lue were their fac es and hollow s hone their eyes , and from their lips there c am e no word. Only they s tared at us as we
went, and s tared and s tared again.
W ithout the door of the pavilion, by c om m and of the P rinc e, I c alled aloud the s ubs tanc e of the lady Merapi's dream , and warned all within ears hot to c eas e from purs uing the people of Is rael, if they would c ontinue to live to look upon the s un. Yet even now, although to s peak thus was treas on agains t P haraoh,
none lifted a hand agains t the P rinc e, or agains t m e his s ervant. Often s inc e then I have wondered why this was s o, and found no ans wer to m y ques tionings . Mayhap it was bec aus e of the m ajes ty of m y m as ter, whom all knew to be the true P haraoh, and loved at heart. Mayhap it was bec aus e they were s ure that he
would not have travelled s o far and plac ed him s elf in the power of A m enm es es s ave to work the arm ies of E gypt good, and not ill, and to bring them a m es s age that had been s poken by the gods them s elves .
Or m ayhap it was bec aus e he was s till hedged about by that protec tion whic h the Hebrews had vowed to him through their prophets with the voic e of J abez. A t leas t s o it happened. P haraoh m ight c om m and, but his s ervants would not obey. Moreover, the s tory s pread, and that night m any des erted from the hos t
of P haraoh and enc am ped about us , or fled bac k towards the c ities whenc e they c am e. A ls o with them were not a few c ounc illors and pries ts who had talked s ec retly with B akenkhons u. S o it c hanc ed that even if P haraoh des ired to m ake an end of us , as perhaps he purpos ed to do in the m idnight watc hes , he
thought it wis es t to let the m atter lie until he had finis hed with the people of Is rael.
It was a very s trange night, s ilent, with a heavy, s tirles s air. T here were no s tars , but the c urtain of blac k c loud whic h s eem ed to hang beyond the c am p of the E gyptians was alive with lightnings whic h appeared to s hape them s elves to letters that I c ould not read.
"B ehold the B ook of Fate written in fire by the hand of God! " s aid B akenkhons u, as he watc hed.
A bout m idnight a m ighty eas t wind began to blow, s o s trongly that we m us t lie upon our fac es under the lea of the c hariots . T hen the wind died away and we heard tum ult and s houtings , both from the c am p of E gypt, and from the c am p of Is rael beyond the c loud. Next there c am e a s hoc k as of earthquake, whic h
threw thos e of us who were s tanding to the ground, and by a blood-red m oon that now appeared we perc eived that all the arm y of P haraoh was beginning to m ove towards the s ea.
"W hither go they?" I as ked of the P rinc e who c lung to m y arm .
"T o doom , I think," he ans wered, "but to what doom I do not know."
A fter this we s aid no m ore, bec aus e we were too m uc h afraid.
Dawn c am e at las t, s howing the m os t awful s ight that was ever beheld by the eye of m an.
T he wall of c loud had dis appeared, and in the c lear light of the m orning, we perc eived that the deep waters of the S ea of Reeds had divided them s elves , leaving a rais ed roadway that s eem ed to have been c leared by the wind, or perc hanc e to have been thrown up by the earthquake. W ho c an s ay? Not I who
never s et foot upon that path of death. A long this wide road s tream ed the tens of thous ands of the Is raelites , pas s ing between the water on the right hand, and the water on the left, and after them followed all the arm y of P haraoh, s ave thos e who had des erted, and s tood or lay around us , watc hing. W e c ould even
s ee the golden c hariots that m arked the pres enc e of P haraoh him s elf, and of his bodyguard, deep in the heart of the broken hos t that s truggled forward without dis c ipline or order.
"W hat now? Oh! what now?" m urm ured S eti, and as he s poke there was a s ec ond s hoc k of earthquake. T hen to the wes t on the s ea there aros e a m ighty wave, whereof the c res t s eem ed to be high as a pyram id. It rolled forward with a c urved and foam ing head, and in the hollow of it for a m om ent, no m ore, we
s aw the arm y of E gypt. Y et in that m om ent I s eem ed to s ee m ighty s hapes fleeing landwards along the c res t of the wave, whic h s hapes I took to be the gods of E gypt, purs ued by a form of light and glory that drove them as with a s c ourge. T hey c am e, they went, ac c om panied by a s ound of wailing, and the wave fell.
B ut beyond it, the hordes of Is rael s till m arc hed--upon the further s hore.
Dens e gloom followed, and through the gloom I s aw, or thought I s aw, Merapi, Moon of Is rael, s tanding before us with a troubled fac e and heard or thought I heard her c ry:
"Oh! help me, my lord S eti! Help me, my lord S eti!"
T hen s he too was gone.
"Harnes s the c hariots ! " c ried S eti, in a hollow voic e.
CHAP TE R X V III
THE CROW NING OF ME RAP I
Fas t as s ped our hors es , rum our, or rather the truth, c arried by thos e who had gone before us , flew fas ter. Oh! that journey was as a dream begotten by the evil gods . On we galloped through the day and through the night and lo! at every town and village wom en rus hed upon us c rying:
"Is it true, O travellers , is it true that P haraoh and his hos t are peris hed in the s ea?"
 T hen old B akenkhons u would c all in ans wer:
"It is true that he who w as P haraoh and his hos t are peris hed in the s ea. B ut lo! here is he who is P haraoh," and he pointed to the P rinc e, who took no heed and s aid nothing, s ave:
"On! On! "
T hen forward we would plunge again till onc e m ore the s ound of wailing died into s ilenc e.
It was s uns et, and at length we drew near to the gates of Mem phis . T he P rinc e turned to m e and s poke.
"Heretofore I have not dared to as k," he s aid, "but tell m e, A na. In the gloom after the great c liff of water fell and the s hapes of terror s wept by, did you s eem to s ee a wom an s tand before us and did you s eem to hear her s peak?"
"I did, O P rinc e."
"W ho was that wom an and what did s he s ay?"
"S he was one who bore a c hild to you, O P rinc e, whic h c hild is not, and s he s aid, 'Oh! help m e, m y lord S eti. Help m e, m y lord S eti! '"
His fac e grew as hen even beneath its veil of dus t, and he groaned.
"T wo who loved her have s een and two who loved her have heard," he s aid.
"T here is no room for doubt. A na, s he is dead! "
"I pray the gods ----"
"P ray not, for the gods of E gypt are als o dead, s lain by the god of Is rael. A na, who has m urdered her?"
W ith m y finger I who am a draughts m an drew in the thic k dus t that lay on the board of the c hariot the brows of a m an and beneath them two deep eyes . T he gilt on the board where the s un c aught it looked like light in the eyes .
T he P rinc e nodded and s aid:
"Now we s hall learn whether great m agic ians s uc h as K i c an die like other m en. Y es , if need be, to learn that I will put on P haraoh's c rown."
W e halted at the gates of Mem phis . T hey were s hut and barred, but from within the vas t c ity ros e a s ound of tum ult.
"Open! " c ried the P rinc e to the guard.
"W ho bids m e open?" ans wered the c aptain of the gate peering at us , for the low s un lay behind.
"P haraoh bids you open."
"P haraoh! " s aid the m an. "W e have s ure tidings that P haraoh and his arm ies are s lain by wizardry in the s ea."
"Fool! " thundered the P rinc e, "P haraoh never dies . P haraoh A m enm es es is with Os iris but the good god S eti Meneptah who is P haraoh bids you open."
T hen the bronze gates rolled bac k, and thos e who guarded them pros trated them s elves in the dus t.
"Man," I c alled to the c aptain, "what m eans yonder s houting?"
"S ir," he ans wered, "I do not know, but I am told that the witc h who has brought woe on E gypt and by m agic c aus ed the death of P haraoh A m enm es es and his arm ies , dies by fire in the plac e before the tem ple."
"B y whos e c om m and?" I c ried again as the c harioteer flogged the hors es , but no ans wer reac hed our ears .
W e rus hed on up the wide s treet to the great plac e that was pac ked with tens of thous ands of the people. W e drove the hors es at them .
"W ay for P haraoh! W ay for the Mighty One, the good god, S eti Meneptah, K ing of the Upper and the Lower Land! " s houted the es c ort.
T he people turned and s aw the tall s hape of the P rinc e s till c lad in the robes of s tate whic h he had worn when he s tood before A m enm es es in the pavilion by the s ea.
"P haraoh! P haraoh! Hail to P haraoh! " they c ried, pros trating them s elves , and the c ry pas s ed on through Mem phis like a wind.
Now we were c om e to the c entre of the plac e, and there in front of the great gates of the tem ple burned a vas t pyre of wood. B efore the pyre m oved figures , in one of whom I knew K i dres s ed in his m agic ian's robe.
Outs ide of thes e there was a double c irc le of s oldiers who kept the people bac k, whic h thes e needed, for they raved like m adm en and s hook their fis ts . A group of pries ts near the fire s eparated, and I s aw that am ong them s tood a m an and a wom an, the latter with dis hevelled hair and torn robes as though s he had
been roughly handled. A t this m om ent her s trength s eem ed to fail her and s he s ank to the ground, lifting her fac e as s he did s o. It was the fac e of Merapi, Moon of Is rael.
S o s he was not dead. T he m an at her s ide s tooped as though to lift her up, but a s tone thrown out of the s hadow s truc k him in the bac k and c aus ed him to s traighten him s elf, whic h he did with a c urs e at the thrower. I knew the voic e at onc e, although the s peaker was dis guis ed.
It was that of Laban the Is raelite, he who had been betrothed to Merapi, and had s triven to m urder us in the land of Gos hen. W hat did he here? I wondered dim ly.
K i was s peaking. "Hark how the Hebrew c at s pits ," he s aid. "W ell, the c aus e has been tried and the verdic t given, and I think that the fam iliar s hould feed the flam es before the witc h. W atc h him now, and perhaps he will c hange into s om ething els e."
A ll this he s aid, s m iling in his us ual pleas ant fas hion, even when he m ade a s ign to c ertain blac k tem ple s laves who s tood near. T hey leapt forward, and I s aw the firelight s hone upon their c opper arm lets as they gripped Laban. He fought furious ly, s houting:
"W here are your arm ies , E gyptians , and where is your dog of a P haraoh? Go dig them from the S ea of Reeds . Farewell, Moon of Is rael. Look how your royal lover c rowns you at the las t, O faithles s ----"
He s aid no m ore, for at this m om ent the s laves hurled him headlong into the heart of the great fire, whic h blac kened for a little and burned bright again.
T hen it was that Merapi s truggled to her feet and c ried in a ringing voic e thos e very words whic h the P rinc e and I had s eem ed to hear her s peak far away by the S ea of Reeds --"Oh! help me my lord S eti! Help me, my lord S eti!" Yes , the s am e words whic h had ec hoed in our ears days before they pas s ed her lips , or
s o we believed.
Now all this while our c hariots had been forc ing their way foot by foot through the wall of the watc hing c rowd, perhaps while a m an m ight c ount a hundred, no m ore. A s the ec hoes of her c ry died away at length we were through and leaping to the ground.
"T he witc h c alls on one who s ups to-night at the board of Os iris with P haraoh and his hos t," s neered K i. "W ell, let her go to s eek him there if the guardian gods will s uffer it," and again he m ade a s ign to the blac k s laves .
B ut Merapi had s een or felt S eti advanc ing from the s hadows and s eeing flung hers elf upon his breas t. He kis s ed her on the brow before them all, then bade m e hold her up and turned to fac e the people.
"B ow down. B ow down. B ow down! " c ried the deep voic e of B akenkhons u.
"Life! B lood! S trength! P haraoh! P haraoh! P haraoh! " and what he s aid the es c ort ec hoed.
T hen of a s udden the m ultitude unders tood. T o their knees they fell and from every s ide ros e the anc ient s alutation. S eti held up his hand and bles s ed them . W atc hing, I s aw K i s lip towards the darknes s , and whis pered a word to the guards , who s prang upon him and brought him bac k.
T hen the P rinc e s poke:
"Y e nam e m e P haraoh, people of Mem phis , and P haraoh I fear I am by des c ent of blood to-day, though whether I will c ons ent to bear the burdens of governm ent, s hould E gypt wis h it of m e, as yet I know not.
S till he who wore the double c rown is , I believe, dead in the m ids t of the s ea; at the leas t I s aw the waters overwhelm him and his arm y.
T herefore, if only for an hour, I will be P haraoh, that as P haraoh I m ay judge of c ertain m atters . Lady Merapi, tell m e, I pray you, how c am e you to this pas s ?"
"My lord," s he ans wered, in a low voic e, "after you had gone to warn the arm y of P haraoh bec aus e of that dream I dream ed, K i, who departed on the s am e day, returned again. T hrough one of the wom en of the hous ehold, over whom he had power, or s o I think, he obtained ac c es s to m e when I was alone in m y
c ham ber. T here he m ade m e this offer:
"'Give m e,' he s aid, 'the s ec ret of your m agic that I m ay be avenged upon the wizards of the Hebrews who have brought about m y downfall, and upon the Hebrews them s elves , and als o upon all m y other enem ies , and thus onc e m ore bec om e the greates t m an in E gypt. In turn I will fulfil all your des ires , and m ake
you, and no other, Queen of E gypt, and be your faithful s ervant, and that of your lord S eti who s hall be P haraoh, until the end of your lives . Refus e, and I will s tir up the people agains t you, and before ever the P rinc e returns , if he returns at all, they who believe you to be an evil s orc eres s s hall m ete out to you the fate
of a s orc eres s .'
"My lord, I ans wered to K i what I have often told him before, that I had no m agic to reveal to him , I who knew nothing of the blac k arts of s orc ery, s eeing that it was not I who des troyed the s tatue of A m on in the tem ple at Tanis , but that s am e P ower whic h s inc e then has brought all the plagues on E gypt. I s aid,
too, that I c ared nothing for the gifts he offered to m e, as I had no wis h to be Queen of E gypt. My lord, he laughed in m y fac e, s aying I s hould find that he was one ill to m oc k, as others had found before m e. T hen he pointed at m e with his wand and m uttered s om e s pell over m e, whic h s eem ed to num b m y lim bs and
voic e, holding m e helples s till he had been gone a long while, and c ould not be found by your s ervants , whom I c om m anded in your nam e to s eize, and keep him till your return.
"From that hour the people began to threaten m e. T hey c rowded about the palac e gates in thous ands , c rying day and night that they were going to kill m e, the witc h. I prayed for help, but from m e, a s inner, heaven has grown s o far away that m y prayers s eem to fall bac k unheard upon m y head. E ven the s ervants
in the palac e turned agains t m e, and would not look upon m y fac e. I grew m ad with fear and lonelines s , s inc e all fled before m e. A t las t one night towards the dawn I went on to the terrac e, and s inc e no god would hear m e, I turned towards the north whither I knew that you had gone, and c ried to you to help m e in
thos e s am e words whic h I c ried again jus t now before you appeared." (Here the P rinc e looked at m e and I A na looked at him .) "T hen it was that from am ong the bus hes of the garden appeared a m an, hidden in a long, s heeps kin c loak, s o that I c ould not s ee his fac e, who s aid to m e:
"'Moon of Is rael, I have been s ent by his Highnes s , the P rinc e S eti, to tell you that you are in danger of your life, as he is in danger of his , wherefore he c annot c om e to you. His c om m and is that you c om e to him , that together you m ay flee away out of E gypt to a land where you will both be s afe until all thes e
troubles are finis hed.'
"'How know I that you of the veiled fac e are a true m es s enger?' I as ked.
'Give m e a s ign.'
"T hen he held out to m e that s c arabaeus of lapis -lazuli whic h your Highnes s gave to m e far away in the land of Gos hen, the s am e that you as ked bac k from m e as a love token when we plighted troth, and you gave m e your royal ring, whic h s c arabaeus I had s een in your robe when you drove away with A na."
"I los t it on our journey to the S ea of Reeds , but s aid nothing of it to you, A na, bec aus e I thought the om en evil, having dream ed in the night that K i appeared and s tole it from m e," whis pered the P rinc e to m e.
"'It is not enough,' I ans wered. 'T his jewel m ay have been thieved away, or s natc hed from the dead body of the P rinc e, or taken from him by m agic .'
"T he c loaked m an thought a while and s aid, 'T his night, not an hour ago, P haraoh and his c hariots were overwhelm ed in the S ea of Reeds . Let that s erve as a s ign.'
"'How c an this be?' I ans wered, 's inc e the S ea of Reeds is far away, and s uc h tidings c annot travel thenc e in an hour. Get you gone, fals e tem pter.'
"'Y et it is s o,' he ans wered.
"'W hen you prove it to m e, I will believe, and c om e.'
"'Good,' he s aid, and was gone.
"Next day a rum our began to run that this awful thing had happened. It grew s tronger and s tronger, until all s wore that it had happened. Now the fury of the people ros e agains t m e, and they ravened round the palac e like lions of the des ert, roaring for m y blood. Yet it was as though they c ould not enter here, s inc e
whenever they rus hed at the gates or walls , they fell bac k again, for s om e s pirit s eem ed to protec t the plac e. T he days went by; the night c am e again and at the dawn, this dawn that is pas t, onc e m ore I s tood upon the terrac e, and onc e m ore the c loaked m an appeared from am ong the trees .
"'Now you have heard, Moon of Is rael,' he s aid, 'and now you m us t believe and c om e, although you think yours elf s afe bec aus e at the beginning of the plagues this , the hom e of S eti, was enc hanted agains t evil, s o that none within it c an be harm ed.'
"'I have heard, and I think that I believe, though how the tidings reac hed Mem phis in an hour I do not unders tand. Y et, s tranger, I s ay to you that it is not enough.'
"T hen the m an drew a papyrus roll from his bos om and threw it at m y feet. I opened it and read. T he writing was the writing of A na as I knew well, and the s ignature was the s ignature of you, m y lord, and it was s ealed with your s eal, and with the s eal of B akenkhons u as a witnes s .
Here it is ," and from the breas t of her garm ent, s he drew out a roll and gave it to m e upon whom s he res ted all this while.
I opened it, and by the light of torc hes the P rinc e, B akenkhons u, and I read. It was as s he had told us in what s eem ed to be m y writing, and s igned and s ealed as s he had s aid. T he words ran:
"T o Merapi, Moon of Is rael, in m y hous e at Mem phis .
"Com e, Lady, Flower of Love, to m e your lord, to whom the bearer of this will guide you s afely. Com e at onc e, for I am in great danger, as you are, and together only c an we be s afe."
"A na, what m eans this ?" as ked the P rinc e in a terrible voic e. "If you have betrayed m e and her----"
"B y the gods ," I began angrily, "am I a m an that I s hould live to hear even your Highnes s s peak thus to m e, or am I but a dog of the des ert?"
I c eas ed, for at that m om ent B akenkhons u began to laugh.
"Look at the letter! " he laughed. "Look at the letter."
W e looked, and as we looked, behold the writing on it turned firs t to the c olour of blood and then faded away, till pres ently there was nothing in m y hand but a blank s heet of papyrus .
"Oho-ho! " laughed B akenkhons u. "T ruly, friend K i, you are the firs t of m agic ians , s ave thos e prophets of the Is raelites who have brought you--W hither have they brought you, friend K i?"
T hen for the firs t tim e the painted s m ile left the fac e of K i, and it bec am e like a bloc k of s tone in whic h were s et two angry jewels that were his eyes .
"Continue, Lady," s aid the P rinc e.
"I obeyed the letter. I fled away with the m an who s aid he had a c hariot waiting. W e pas s ed out by the little gate.
"'W here is the c hariot?' I as ked.
"'W e go by boat,' he ans wered, and led the way towards the river. A s we threaded the big palm grove m en appeared from between the trees .
"'Y ou have betrayed m e,' I c ried.
"'Nay,' he ans wered, 'I am m ys elf betrayed.'
"T hen for the firs t tim e I knew his voic e for that of Laban.
"T he m en s eized us ; at the head of them was K i.
"'T his is the witc h,' he s aid, 'who, her wic kednes s finis hed, flies with her Hebrew lover, who is als o the fam iliar of her s orc eries .'
"T hey tore the c loak and the fals e beard from him and there before m e s tood Laban. I c urs ed him to his fac e. B ut all he ans wered was :
"'Merapi, what I have done I did for love of you. It was m y purpos e to take you away to our people, for here I knew that they would kill you.
T his m agic ian prom is ed you to m e if I c ould tem pt you from the s afety of the palac e, in return for c ertain tidings that I have given him .'
"T hes e were the only words that pas s ed between us till the end. T hey dragged us to the s ec ret pris on of the great tem ple where we were s eparated. Here all day long K i and the pries ts torm ented m e with ques tions , to whic h I gave no ans wer. Towards the evening they brought m e out and led m e here with Laban
at m y s ide. W hen the people s aw m e a great c ry went up of 'S orc eres s ! Hebrew witc h! ' T hey broke through the guard; they s eized m e, threw m e to the ground and beat m e. Laban s trove to protec t m e but was torn away. A t length the people were driven off, and oh! m y lord, you know the res t. I have s poken truth, I c an
no m ore."
S o s aying her knees loos ened beneath her and s he s wooned. W e bore her to the c hariot.
"Y ou have heard, K i," s aid the P rinc e. "Now, what ans wer?"
"None, O P haraoh," he replied c oldly, "for P haraoh you are, as I prom is ed that you s hould be. My s pirit has des erted m e, thos e Hebrews have s tolen it away. T hat writing s hould have faded from the s c roll as s oon as it was read by yonder lady, and then I would have told you another s tory; a s tory of s ec ret love, of
betrayal and attem pted flight with her lover. B ut s om e evil god kept it there until you als o had read, you who knew that you had not written what appeared before your eyes .
P haraoh, I am c onquered. Do your will with m e, and farewell. B eloved you s hall always be as you have always been, but happy never in this world."
"O P eople," c ried S eti, "I will not be judge in m y own c aus e. Y ou have heard, do you judge. For this wizard, what reward?"
T hen there went up a great c ry of "Death! Death by fire. T he death he had m ade ready for the innoc ent! "
T hat was the end, but they told m e afterwards that, when the great pyre had burned out, in it was found the head of K i looking like a red-hot s tone. W hen the s unlight fell on it, however, it c rum bled and faded away, as the writing had faded from the roll. If this be true I do not know, who was not pres ent at the tim e.
W e bore Merapi to the palac e. S he lived but three days , s he whos e body and s pirit were broken. T he las t tim e I s aw her was when s he s ent for m e not an hour before death c am e. S he was lying in S eti's arm s babbling to him of their c hild and looking very s weet and happy. S he thanked m e for m y friends hip,
s m iling the while in a way whic h s howed m e that s he knew it was m ore than friends hip, and bade m e tend m y m as ter well until we all m et again els ewhere. T hen s he gave m e her hand to kis s and I went away weeping.
A fter s he was dead a s trange fanc y took S eti. In the great hall of the palac e he c aus ed a golden throne to be put up, and on this throne he s et her in regal garm ents , with pec toral and nec klac es of gem s , c rowned like a queen of E gypt, and thus he s howed her to the lords of Mem phis . T hen he c aus ed her to be
em balm ed and buried in a s ec ret s epulc hre, the plac e of whic h I have s worn never to reveal, but without any rites bec aus e s he was not of the faith of E gypt.
T here then s he s leeps in her eternal hous e until the Day of Res urrec tion, and with her s leeps her little s on.
It was within a m oon of this funeral that the great ones of E gypt c am e to Mem phis to nam e the P rinc e as P haraoh, and with them c am e her Highnes s , the Queen Us erti. I was pres ent at the c erem ony, whic h to m e was very s trange. T here was the V izier Nehes i; there was the high-pries t Roi and with him m any
other pries ts ; and there was even the old c ham berlain P am bas a, pom pous yet grovelling as before, although he had des erted the hous ehold of the P rinc e after his dis inheritanc e for that of the P haraoh A m enm es es . His appearanc e with his wand of offic e and long white beard, of whic h he was s o proud bec aus e it
was his own, drew from S eti the only laugh I had heard him utter for m any weeks .
"S o you are bac k again, Cham berlain P am bas a," he s aid.
"O m os t Holy, O m os t Royal," ans wered the old knave, "has P am bas a, the grain of dus t beneath your feet, ever des erted the Hous e of P haraoh, or that of him who will be P haraoh?"
"No," replied S eti, "it is only when you think that he will not be P haraoh that you des ert. W ell, get you to your duties , rogue, who perhaps at bottom are as hones t as the res t."
T hen followed the great and anc ient c erem ony of the Offering of the Crown, in whic h s poke pries ts dis guis ed as gods and other pries ts dis guis ed as m ighty P haraohs of the pas t; als o the nobles of the Nom es and the c hief m en of c ities . W hen all had finis hed S eti ans wered:
"I take this , m y heritage," and he touc hed the double c rown, "not bec aus e I des ire it but bec aus e it is m y duty, as I s wore that I would to one who has departed. B low upon blow have s m itten E gypt whic h, I think, had m y voic e been lis tened to, would never have fallen. E gypt lies bleeding and well-nigh dead. Let it
be your work and m ine to try to nurs e her bac k to life. For no long while am I with you, who als o have been s m itten, how it m atters not, yet while I am here, I who s eem to reign will be your s ervant and that of E gypt. It is m y dec ree that no feas ts or c erem onials s hall m ark this m y ac c es s ion, and that the wealth whic h
would have been s c attered upon them s hall be dis tributed am ong the widows and c hildren of thos e who peris hed in the S ea of Reeds . Depart! "
T hey went, hum ble yet happy, s inc e here was a P haraoh who knew the needs of E gypt, one too who loved her and who alone had s hown him s elf wis e of heart while others were filled with m adnes s . T hen her Highnes s entered, s plendidly apparelled, c rowned and followed by her hous ehold, and m ade obeis anc e.
"Greeting to P haraoh," s he c ried.
"Greeting to the Royal P rinc es s of E gypt," he ans wered.
"Nay, P haraoh, the Queen of E gypt."
B y S eti's s ide there was another throne, that in whic h he had s et dead Merapi with a c rown upon her head. He turned and looked at it a while.
T hen, he s aid:
"I s ee that this s eat is em pty. Let the Queen of E gypt take her plac e there if s o s he wills ."
S he s tared at him as if s he thought that he was m ad, though doubtles s s he had heard s om ething of that s tory, then s wept up the s teps and s at hers elf down in the royal c hair.
"Y our Majes ty has been long abs ent," s aid S eti.
"Y es ," s he ans wered, "but as m y Majes ty prom is ed s he would do, s he has returned to her lawful plac e at the s ide of P haraoh--never to leave it m ore."
"P haraoh thanks her Majes ty," s aid S eti, bowing low.
S om e s ix years had gone by, when one night I was s eated with the P haraoh S eti Meneptah in his palac e at Mem phis , for there he always c hos e to dwell when m atters of S tate allowed.
 It was on the annivers ary of the Death of the Firs tborn, and of this m atter it pleas ed him to talk to m e. Up and down the c ham ber he walked and, watc hing him by the lam plight, I noted that of a s udden he s eem ed to have grown m uc h older, and that his fac e had bec om e s weeter even than it was before. He was
m ore thin als o, and his eyes had in them a look of one who s tares at dis tanc es .
"You rem em ber that night, Friend, do you not," he s aid; "perhaps the m os t terrible night the world has ever s een, at leas t in the little piec e of it c alled E gypt." He c eas ed, lifted a c urtain, and pointed to a s pot on the pillared portic o without. "T here s he s at," he went on; "there you s tood; there lay the boy and there
c rouc hed his nurs e--by the way, I grieve to hear that s he is ill. Y ou are c aring for her, are you not, A na? S ay to her that P haraoh will c om e to vis it her--when he m ay, when he m ay."
"I rem em ber it all, P haraoh."
"Y es , of c ours e you would rem em ber, bec aus e you loved her, did you not, and the boy too, and even m e, the father. A nd s o you will love us always when we reac h a land where s ex with its walls and fires are forgotten, and love alone s urvives --as we s hall love you."
"Y es ," I ans wered, "s inc e love is the key of life, and thos e alone are ac c urs ed who have never learned to love."
"W hy ac c urs ed, A na, s eeing that, if life c ontinues , they s till m ay learn?" He paus ed a while, then went on: "I am glad that he died, A na, although had he lived, as the Queen will have no c hildren, he m ight have bec om e P haraoh after m e. B ut what is it to be P haraoh? For s ix years now I have reigned, and I think
that I am beloved; reigned over a broken land whic h I have s triven to bind together, reigned over a s ic k land whic h I have s triven to heal, reigned over a des olated land whic h I have s triven to m ake forget. Oh! the c urs e of thos e Hebrews worked well. A nd I think that it was m y fault, A na, for had I been m ore of a m an,
ins tead of c as ting as ide m y burden, I s hould have s tood up agains t m y father Meneptah and his polic y and, if need were, have rais ed the people. T hen the Is raelites would have gone, and no plagues would have s m itten E gypt.
W ell, what I did, I did bec aus e I m us t, perhaps , and what has happened, has happened. A nd now m y tim e c om es to an end, and I go henc e to balanc e m y ac c ount as bes t I m ay, praying that I m ay find judges who unders tand, and are gentle."
"W hy does P haraoh s peak thus ?" I as ked.
"I do not know, A na, yet that Hebrew wife of m ine has been m uc h in m y m ind of late. S he was wis e in her way, as wis e as loving, was s he not, and if we c ould s ee her onc e again, perhaps s he would ans wer the ques tion. B ut although s he s eem s s o near to m e, I never c an s ee her, quite. Can you, A na?"
"No, P haraoh, though one night old B akenkhons u vowed that he perc eived her pas s ing before us , and looking at m e earnes tly as s he pas s ed."
"A h! B akenkhons u. W ell, he is wis e too, and loved her in his fas hion.
A ls o the fles h fades from him , though m ayhap he will live to m ake offerings at both our tom bs . W ell, B akenkhons u is at T anis , or is it at T hebes , with her Majes ty, whom he ever loves to obs erve, as I do. S o he c an tell us nothing of what he thought he s aw. T his c ham ber is hot, A na, let us s tand without."
S o we pas s ed the c urtain, and s tood upon the portic o, looking at the garden m is ty with m oonlight, and talking of this and that--about the Is raelites , I think, who, as we heard, were wandering in the des erts of S inai. T hen of a s udden we grew s ilent, both of us .
A c loud floated over the fac e of the m oon, leaving the world in darknes s . It pas s ed, and I bec am e aware that we were no longer alone.
T here in front of us was a m at, and on the m at lay a dead c hild, the royal c hild nam ed S eti; there by the m at s tood a wom an with agony in her eyes , looking at the dead c hild, the Hebrew wom an nam ed Moon of Is rael.
S eti touc hed m e, and pointed to her, and I pointed to the c hild. W e s tood breathles s . T hen of a s udden, s tooping down, Merapi lifted up the c hild and held it towards its father. B ut, lo! now no longer was it dead; nay, it laughed and laughed, and s eeing him , s eem ed to throw its arm s about his nec k, and to kis s
him on the lips . Moreover, the agony in the wom an's eyes turned to joy uns peakable, and s he bec am e m ore beautiful than a s tar. T hen, laughing like the c hild, Merapi turned to S eti, bec koned, and was gone.
"W e have s een the dead," he s aid to m e pres ently, "and, oh! A na, the dead s till liv e!"
T hat night, ere dawn, a c ry rang through the palac e, waking m e from m y s leep. T his was the c ry:
"T he good god P haraoh is no m ore! T he hawk S eti has flown to heaven! "
A t the burial of P haraoh, I laid the halves of the broken c up upon his breas t, that he m ight drink therefrom in the Day of Res urrec tion.
Here ends the writing of the S c ribe A na, the Couns ellor and Com panion of the K ing, by him beloved.