The Project Gutenberg eBook of Moon of Israel, by H. Rider Haggard

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
using this eBook.

Title: Moon of Israel

Author: H. Rider Haggard

Release Date: October, 2001 [eBook #2856]
[Most recently updated: January 23, 2022]

Language: English

Character set encoding: UTF-8

Produced by: John Bickers, Dagny, Emma Dudding and David Widger

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOON OF ISRAEL ***




Moon of Israel

by H. Rider Haggard


CONTENTS


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






AUTHOR’S NOTE


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

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

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

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



Dear Sir Gaston Maspero,



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

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

Believe me to remain

Your true admirer,

H. Rider Haggard.




CHAPTER I.

SCRIBE ANA COMES TO TANIS


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why is your Highness glad?”

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

Pambasa stared with his mouth open.

“Not wish to be Pharaoh!” he began—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And how did you win it at last?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The man bowed and departed swiftly.

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

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

Just at that moment Seti said to me:

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

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




CHAPTER II.

THE BREAKING OF THE CUP


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

Seti halted to gaze at these wondrous buildings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hold, butcher!” cried the Prince.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Someone answered that he was named Khuaka.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Prince looked at her attentively and asked:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is there no more?” asked Seti.

The girl hesitated, then answered:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thank you, O Prince,” I exclaimed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He lifted his hand and I stopped.

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

“A prince who has no friend!”

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

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

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

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

Flushing with joy I took the cup, saying:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER III.

USERTI


Seti rose, stretching out his arms.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then you did behead the officer?”

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

“Pharaoh will demand an account of the matter.”

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

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

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

“I do not understand, Seti.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would Egypt suffer this, Prince?”

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

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

“None. Moreover she wishes me alone.”

“Why, Prince?”

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

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

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

“Is there perchance some other lady, Prince?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because that is my trade, Chamberlain.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I shook my head.

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

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

“All can see that, Ana. What else?”

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

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

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

“Greeting, Prince.”

Seti turned, looked at him, and answered:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seti started and I began angrily:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As he spoke from far away rose a cry of—

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




CHAPTER IV.

THE COURT OF BETROTHAL


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I give greeting, O King and Father.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Speak, woman,” said Pharaoh.

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

“Say, Seti my son, is this truth?”

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

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

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

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

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

“And if I refuse, what then?”

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

Now a sudden rage seized Meneptah.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pharaoh, watching, saw if he did not hear.

“Who is that man, Son?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now Userti spoke, very earnestly, saying:

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

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

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

“I have none, O Pharaoh,” said Seti.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER V.

THE PROPHECY


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let whoever it is enter,” he exclaimed.

Then I stepped forward into the light, prostrating myself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then Seti grew angry.

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

She turned and answered with cold courtesy:

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

So saying she bowed and vanished through the curtains.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It is but a dream, Princess.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say on, Kherheb.”

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

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

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

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

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

Seti’s face grew very interested.

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

Ki considered him with his strange eyes, and answered:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, Prince, if you live.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We believe so, Prince.”

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




CHAPTER VI.

THE LAND OF GOSHEN


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Loose him,” said the Prince quietly.

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

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

“Tell him,” he said to me.

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

“No, nor care. Lay on, guard.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Merapi!” I whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She hesitated, then in a doubtful voice said:

“No, I do not hate him.”

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

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

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

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

“Why not, if he is here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“None,” she answered angrily.

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

She hung her head and made no answer.

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

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

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

She gazed into his face and uttered a little cry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Drive on,” said Seti.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She glanced at him and burst into tears.

“Why do you weep?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER VII.

THE AMBUSH


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“At sunrise on the third day from this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He brooded a while, then went on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They halted a little and their spokesman shouted:

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

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

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

They withdrew a space and slowly Jabez began to count.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seti looked at him and answered:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Murder!”

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

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

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

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

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

He sprang away like an arrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER VIII.

SETI COUNSELS PHARAOH


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugged his shoulders and answered:

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

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

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

“And the lady Merapi?”

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

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

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

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

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

Her beautiful eyes filled with tears.

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

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

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

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

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

“It is so, but what then?”

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

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

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

“How, Bakenkhonsu?”

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

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

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

“And afterwards, Bakenkhonsu?”

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

“Unless what?”

He dropped his voice.

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

“Never!” I answered angrily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That is a mean faith, Bakenkhonsu.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then the Prince told of my share in the fight, with words that brought
the blood to my brow. He told also how that it was I who, taking the
risk of his wrath, had ordered the guard of twenty men to follow us
unseen, had disguised two seasoned soldiers as chariot runners, and had
thought to send back the driver to summon help at the commencement of
the fray; how I had been hurt also, and was but lately recovered. When
he had finished, Pharaoh said:

“That this story is true I know from others. Scribe, you have done
well. But for you to-day his Highness would lie upon the table of the
embalmers, as indeed for his folly he deserves to do, and Egypt would
mourn from Thebes to the mouths of Nile. Come hither.”

I came with trembling steps, and knelt before his Majesty. Around his
neck hung a beauteous chain of wrought gold. He took it, and cast it
over my head, saying:

“Because you have shown yourself both brave and wise, with this gold I
give you the title of Councillor and King’s Companion, and the right
to inscribe the same upon your funeral stele. Let it be noted. Retire,
Scribe Ana, Councillor and King’s Companion.”

So I withdrew confused, and as I passed Seti, he whispered in my ear:

“I pray you, my lord, do not cease to be Prince’s Companion,
because you have become that of the King.”

Then Pharaoh ordered that the Captain of the guard should be advanced in
rank, and that gifts should be given to each of the soldiers, and
provision be made for the children of those who had been killed, with
double allowance to the families of the two men whom I had disguised as
runners.

This done, once more Pharaoh spoke, slowly and with much meaning, having
first ordered that all attendants and guards should leave the chamber.
I was about to go also, but old Bakenkhonsu caught me by the robe,
saying that in my new rank of Councillor I had the right to remain.

“Prince Seti,” he said, “after all that I have heard, I find
this report of yours strange reading. Moreover, the tenor of it is
different indeed to that of those of the Count Amenmeses and the
officers. You counsel me to let these Israelites go where they will,
because of certain hardships that they have suffered in the past, which
hardships, however, have left them many and rich. That counsel I am not
minded to take. Rather am I minded to send an army to the land of
Goshen with orders to despatch this people, who conspired to murder the
Prince of Egypt, through the Gateway of the West, there to worship
their god in heaven or in hell. Aye, to slay them all from the
greybeard down to the suckling at the breast.”

“I hear Pharaoh,” said Seti, quietly.

“Such is my will,” went on Meneptah, “and those who
accompanied you upon your business, and all my councillors think as I
do, for truly Egypt cannot bear so hideous a treason. Yet, according to
our law and custom it is needful, before such great acts of war and
policy are undertaken, that he who stands next to the throne, and is
destined to fill it, should give consent thereto. Do you consent,
Prince of Egypt?”

“I do not consent, Pharaoh. I think it would be a wicked deed that
tens of thousands should be massacred for the reason that a few fools
waylaid a man who chanced to be of royal blood, because by
inadvertence, he had desecrated their sanctuary.”

Now I saw that this answer made Pharaoh wroth, for never before had his
will been crossed in such a fashion. Still he controlled himself, and
asked:

“Do you then consent, Prince, to a gentler sentence, namely that the
Hebrew people should be broken up; that the more dangerous of them
should be sent to labour in the desert mines and quarries, and the rest
distributed throughout Egypt, there to live as slaves?”

“I do not consent, Pharaoh. My poor counsel is written in yonder roll
and cannot be changed.”

Meneptah’s eyes flashed, but again he controlled himself, and asked:

“If you should come to fill this place of mine, Prince Seti, tell us,
here assembled, what policy will you pursue towards these Hebrews?”

“That policy, O Pharaoh, which I have counselled in the roll. If ever
I fill the throne, I shall let them go whither they will, taking their
goods with them.”

Now all those present stared at him and murmured. But Pharaoh rose,
shaking with wrath. Seizing his robe where it was fastened at the
breast, he rent it, and cried in a terrible voice:

“Hear him, ye gods of Egypt! Hear this son of mine who defies me to my
face and would set your necks beneath the heel of a stranger god. Prince
Seti, in the presence of these royal ones, and these my councillors,
I——”

He said no more, for the Princess Userti, who till now had remained
silent, ran to him, and throwing her arms about him, began to whisper
in his ear. He hearkened to her, then sat himself down, and spoke
again:

“The Princess brings it to my mind that this is a great matter, one
not to be dealt with hastily. It may happen that when the Prince has
taken counsel with her, and with his own heart, and perchance has
sought the wisdom of the gods, he will change the words which have
passed his lips. I command you, Prince, to wait upon me here at this
same hour on the third day from this. Meanwhile, I command all present,
upon pain of death, to say nothing of what has passed within these
walls.”

“I hear Pharaoh,” said the Prince, bowing.

Meneptah rose to show that the Council was discharged, when the Vizier
Nehesi approached him, and asked:

“What of the Hebrew prisoners, O Pharaoh, those murderers who were
captured in the pass?”

“Their guilt is proved. Let them be beaten with rods till they die,
and if they have wives or children, let them be seized and sold as
slaves.”

“Pharaoh’s will be done!” said the Vizier.




CHAPTER IX.

THE SMITING OF AMON


That evening I sat ill at ease in my work-chamber in Seti’s palace,
making pretence to write, I who felt that great evils threatened my lord
the Prince, and knew not what to do to turn them from him. The door
opened, and old Pambasa the chamberlain appeared and addressed me by my
new titles, saying that the Hebrew lady Merapi, who had been my nurse
in sickness, wished to speak with me. Presently she came and stood
before me.

“Scribe Ana,” she said, “I have but just seen my uncle Jabez,
who has come, or been sent, with a message to me,” and she hesitated.

“Why was he sent, Lady? To bring you news of Laban?”

“Not so. Laban has fled away and none know where he is, and Jabez has
only escaped much trouble as the uncle of a traitress by undertaking
this mission.”

“What is the mission?”

“To pray me, if I would save myself from death and the vengeance of
God, to work upon the heart of his Highness, which I know not how to
do——”

“Yet I think you might find means, Merapi.”

“——save through you, his friend and counsellor,” she
went on, turning away her face. “Jabez has learned that it is in the
mind of Pharaoh utterly to destroy the people of Israel.”

“How does he know that, Merapi?”

“I cannot say, but I think all the Hebrews know. I knew it myself
though none had told me. He has learned also that this cannot be done
under the law of Egypt unless the Prince who is heir to the throne and
of full age consents. Now I am come to pray you to pray the Prince not
to consent.”

“Why not pray to the Prince yourself, Merapi——” I
began, when from the shadows behind me I heard the voice of Seti, who
had entered by the private door bearing some writings in his hand,
saying:

“And what prayer has the lady Merapi to make to me? Nay, rise and
speak, Moon of Israel.”

“O Prince,” she pleaded, “my prayer is that you will save the
Hebrews from death by the sword, as you alone have the power to do.”

At this moment the doors opened and in swept the royal Userti.

“What does this woman here?” she asked.

“I think that she came to see Ana, wife, as I did, and as doubtless
you do. Also being here she prays me to save her people from the
sword.”

“And I pray you, husband, to give her people to the sword, which they
have earned, who would have murdered you.”

“And been paid, everyone of them, Userti, unless some still linger
beneath the rods,” he added with a shudder. “The rest are
innocent—why should they die?”

“Because your throne hangs upon it, Seti. I say that if you continue
to thwart the will of Pharaoh, as by the law of Egypt you can do, he
will disinherit you and set your cousin Amenmeses in your place, as by
the law of Egypt he can do.”

“I thought it, Userti. Yet why should I turn my back upon the right
over a matter of my private fortunes? The question is—is it the
right?”

She stared at him in amazement, she who never understood Seti and could
not dream that he would throw away the greatest throne in all the world
to save a subject people, merely because he thought that they should
not die. Still, warned by some instinct, she left the first question
unanswered, dealing only with the second.

“It is the right,” she said, “for many reasons whereof I need
give but one, for in it lie all the others. The gods of Egypt are the
true gods whom we must serve and obey, or perish here and hereafter.
The god of the Israelites is a false god and those who worship him are
heretics and by their heresy under sentence of death. Therefore it is
most right that those whom the true gods have condemned should die by
the swords of their servants.”

“That is well argued, Userti, and if it be so, mayhap my mind will
become as yours in this matter, so that I shall no longer stand between
Pharaoh and his desire. But is it so? There’s the problem. I will not
ask you why you say that the gods of the Egyptians are the true gods,
because I know what you would answer, or rather that you could give no
answer. But I will ask this lady whether her god is a false god, and if
she replies that he is not, I will ask her to prove this to me if she
can. If she is able to prove it, then I think that what I said to
Pharaoh to-day I shall repeat three days hence. If she is not able to
prove it, then I shall consider very earnestly of the matter. Answer
now, Moon of Israel, remembering that many thousands of lives may hang
on what you say.”

“O your Highness,” began Merapi. Then she paused, clasped her hands
and looked upwards. I think that she was praying, for her lips moved. As
she stood thus I saw, and I think Seti saw also, a very wonderful light
grow on her face and gather in her eyes, a kind of divine fire of
inspiration and resolve.

“How can I, a poor Hebrew maiden, prove to your Highness that my God
is the true God and that the gods of Egypt are false gods? I know not,
and yet, is there any one god among all the many whom you worship, whom
you are prepared to set up against him?”

“Of a surety, Israelite,” answered Userti. “There is Amon-Ra,
Father of the gods, of whom all other gods have their being, and from
whom they draw their strength. Yonder his statue sits in the sanctuary
of his ancient temple. Let your god stir him from his place! But what
will you bring forward against the majesty of Amon-Ra?”

“My God has no statues, Princess, and his place is in the hearts of
men, or so I have been taught by his prophets. I have nothing to bring
forward in this war save that which must be offered in all wars—my
life.”

“What do you mean?” asked Seti, astounded.

“I mean that I, unfriended and alone, will enter the presence of
Amon-Ra in his chosen sanctuary, and in the name of my God will
challenge him to kill me, if he can.”

We stared at her, and Userti exclaimed:

“If he can! Hearken now to this blasphemer, and do you, Seti, accept
her challenge as hereditary high-priest of the god Amon? Let her life
pay forfeit for her sacrilege.”

“And if the great god Amon cannot, or does not deign to kill you,
Lady, how will that prove that your god is greater than he?” asked
the Prince. “Perhaps he might smile and in his pity, let the insult
pass, as your god did by me.”

“Thus it shall be proved, your Highness. If naught happens to me, or
if I am protected from anything that does happen, then I will dare to
call upon my god to work a sign and a wonder, and to humble Amon-Ra
before your eyes.”

“And if your god should also smile and let the matter pass, Lady, as
he did by me the other day when his priests called upon him, what shall
we have learned as to his strength, or as to that of Amon-Ra?”

“O Prince, you will have learned nothing. Yet if I escape from the
wrath of Amon and my God is deaf to my prayer, then I am ready to be
delivered over into the hands of the priests of Amon that they may
avenge my sacrilege upon me.”

“There speaks a great heart,” said Seti; “yet I am not minded
that this lady should set her life upon such an issue. I do not believe
that either the high-god of Egypt or the god of the Israelites will
stir, but I am quite sure that the priests of Amon will avenge the
sacrilege, and that cruelly enough. The dice are loaded against you,
Lady. You shall not prove your faith with blood.”

“Why not?” asked Userti. “What is this girl to you, Seti,
that you should stand between her and the fruit of her wickedness, you
who at least in name are the high-priest of the god whom she blasphemes
and who wear his robes at temple feasts? She believes in her god, leave
it to her god to help her as she has dared to say he will.”

“You believe in Amon, Userti. Are you prepared to stake your life
against hers in this contest?”

“I am not so mad and vain, Seti, as to believe that the god of all the
world will descend from heaven to save me at my prayer, as this impious
girl pretends that she believes.”

“You refuse. Then, Ana, what say you, who are a loyal worshipper of
Amon?”

“I say, O Prince, that it would be presumptuous of me to take
precedence of his high-priest in such a matter.”

Seti smiled and answered:

“And the high-priest says that it would be presumptuous of him to push
so far the prerogative of a high office which he never sought.”

“Your Highness,” broke in Merapi in her honeyed, pleading voice,
“I pray you to be gracious to me, and to suffer me to make this trial,
which I have sought, I know not why. Words such as I have spoken cannot
be recalled. Already they are registered in the books of Eternity, and
soon or late, in this way or in that, must be fulfilled. My life is
staked, and I desire to learn at once if it be forfeit.”

Now even Userti looked on her with admiration, but answered only:

“Of a truth, Israelite, I trust that this courage will not forsake you
when you are handed over to the mercies of Ki, the Sacrificer of Amon,
and the priests, in the vaults of the temple you would profane.”

“I also trust that it will not, your Highness, if such should be my
fate. Your word, Prince of Egypt.”

Seti looked at her standing before him so calmly with bowed head, and
hands crossed upon her breast. Then he looked at Userti, who wore a
mocking smile upon her face. She read the meaning of that smile as I
did. It was that she did not believe that he would allow this beautiful
woman, who had saved his life, to risk her life for the sake of any or
all the powers of heaven or hell. For a little while he walked to and
fro about the chamber, then he stopped and said suddenly addressing,
not Merapi, but Userti:

“Have your will, remembering that if this brave woman fails and dies,
her blood is on your hands, and that if she triumphs and lives, I shall
hold her to be one of the noblest of her sex, and shall make study of
all this matter of religion. Moon of Israel, as titular high-priest of
Amon-Ra, I accept your challenge on behalf of the god, though whether
he will take note of it I do not know. The trial shall be made
to-morrow night in the sanctuary of the temple, at an hour that will be
communicated to you. I shall be present to make sure that you meet with
justice, as will some others. Register my commands, Scribe Ana, and let
the head-priest of Amon, Roi, and the sacrificer to Amon, Ki the
Magician, be summoned, that I may speak with them. Farewell, Lady.”

She went, but at the door turned and said:

“I thank you, Prince, on my own behalf, and on that of my people.
Whatever chances, I beseech you do not forget the prayer that I have
made to you to save them, being innocent, from the sword. Now I ask
that I may be left quite alone till I am summoned to the temple, who
must make such preparation as I can to meet my fate, whatever it may
be.”

Userti departed also without a word.

“Oh! friend, what have I done?” said Seti. “Are there any
gods? Tell me, are there any gods?”

“Perhaps we shall learn to-morrow night, Prince,” I answered.
“At least Merapi thinks that there is a god, and doubtless has been
commanded to put her faith to proof. This, as I believe, was the real
message that Jabez her uncle has brought to her.”

It was the hour before the dawn, just when the night is darkest. We
stood in the sanctuary of the ancient temple of Amon-Ra, that was lit
with many lamps. It was an awful place. On either side the great
columns towered to the massive roof. At the head of the sanctuary sat
the statue of Amon-Ra, thrice the size of a man. On his brow, rising
from the crown, were two tall feathers of stone, and in his hands he
held the Scourge of Rule and the symbols of Power and Everlastingness.
The lamplight flickered upon his stern and terrible face staring
towards the east. To his right was the statue of Mut, the Mother of all
things. On her head was the double crown of Egypt and the uræus crest,
and in her hand the looped cross, the sign of Life eternal. To his left
sat Khonsu, the hawk-headed god of the moon. On his head was the
crescent of the young moon carrying the disc of the full moon; in his
right hand he also held the looped cross, the sign of Life eternal, and
in his left the Staff of Strength. Such was this mighty triad, but of
these the greatest was Amon-Ra, to whom the shrine was dedicated.
Fearful they stood towering above us against the background of
blackness.

Gathered there were Seti the Prince, clothed in a priest’s white robe,
and wearing a linen headdress, but no ornaments, and Userti the
Princess, high-priestess of Hathor, Lady of the West, Goddess of Love
and Nature. She wore Hathor’s vulture headdress, and on it the disc
of the moon fashioned of silver. Also were present Roi the head-priest,
clad in his sacerdotal robes, an old and wizened man with a strong,
fierce face, Ki the Sacrificer and Magician, Bakenkhonsu the ancient,
myself, and a company of the priests of Amon-Ra, Mut, and Khonsu. From
behind the statues came the sound of solemn singing, though who sang we
could not see.

Presently from out of the darkness that lay beyond the lamps appeared a
woman, led by two priestesses and wrapped in a long cloak. They brought
her to an open place in front of the statue of Amon, took from her the
cloak and departed, glancing back at her with eyes of hate and fear.
There before us stood Merapi, clad in white, with a simple wimple about
her head made fast beneath her chin with that scarabæus clasp which
Seti had given to her in the city of Goshen, one spot of brightest blue
amid a cloud of white. She looked neither to right nor left of her.
Once only she glanced at the towering statue of the god that frowned
above, then with a little shiver, fixed her eyes upon the pattern of
the floor.

“What does she look like?” whispered Bakenkhonsu to me.

“A corpse made ready for the embalmers,” I answered.

He shook his great head.

“Then a bride made ready for her husband.”

Again he shook his head.

“Then a priestess about to read from the roll of Mysteries.”

“Now you have it, Ana, and to understand what she reads, which few
priestesses ever do. Also all three answers were right, for in this
woman I seem to see doom that is Death, life that is Love, and spirit
that is Power. She has a soul which both Heaven and Earth have
kissed.”

“Aye, but which of them will claim her in the end?”

“That we may learn before the dawn, Ana. Hush! the fight begins.”

The head-priest, Roi, advanced and, standing before the god, sprinkled
his feet with water and with perfume. Then he stretched out his hands,
whereon all present prostrated themselves, save Merapi only, who stood
alone in that great place like the survivor of a battle.

“Hail to thee, Amon-Ra,” he began, “Lord of Heaven,
Establisher of all things, Maker of the gods, who unrolled the skies and
built the foundations of the Earth. O god of gods, appears before thee
this woman Merapi, daughter of Nathan, a child of the Hebrew race that
owns thee not. This woman blasphemes thy might; this woman defies thee;
this woman sets up her god above thee. Is it not so, woman?”

“It is so,” answered Merapi in a low voice.

“Thus does she defy thee, thou Only One of many Forms, saying ‘if
the god Amon of the Egyptians be a greater god than my god, let him
snatch me out of the arms of my god and here in this the shrine of Amon
take the breath from out my lips and leave me a thing of clay.’ Are
these thy words, O woman?”

“They are my words,” she said in the same low voice, and oh! I
shivered as I heard.

The priest went on.

“O Lord of Time, Lord of Life, Lord of Spirits and the Divinities of
Heaven, Lord of Terror, come forth now in thy majesty and smite this
blasphemer to the dust.”

Roi withdrew and Seti stood forward.

“Know, O god Amon,” he said, addressing the statue as though he wee
speaking to a living man, “from the lips of me, thy high-priest, by
birth the Prince and Heir of Egypt, that great things hang upon this
matter here in the Land of Egypt, mayhap even who shall sit upon the
throne that thou givest to its kings. This woman of Israel dares thee
to thy face, saying that there is a greater god than thou art and that
thou canst not harm her through the buckler of his strength. She says,
moreover, that she will call upon her god to work a sign and a wonder
upon thee. Lastly, she says that if thou dost not harm her and if her
god works no sign upon thee, then she is ready to be handed over to thy
priests and die the death of a blasphemer. Thy honour is set against her
 life, O great God of Egypt, and we, thy worshippers, watch to see the
balance turn.”

“Well and justly put,” muttered Bakenkhonsu to me. “Now if
Amon fails us, what will you think of Amon, Ana?”

“I shall learn the high-priest’s mind and think what the
high-priest thinks,” I answered darkly, though in my heart I was
terribly afraid for Merapi, and, to speak truth, for myself also,
because of the doubts which arose in me and would not be quenched.

Seti withdrew, taking his stand by Userti, and Ki stood forward and
said:

“O Amon, I thy Sacrificer, I thy Magician, to whom thou givest power,
I the priest and servant of Isis, Mother of Mysteries, Queen of the
company of the gods, call upon thee. She who stands before thee is but
a Hebrew woman. Yet, as thou knowest well, O Father, in this house she
is more than woman, inasmuch as she is the Voice and Sword of thine
enemy, Jahveh, god of the Israelites. She thinks, mayhap, that she has
come here of her own will, but thou knowest, Father Amon, as I know,
that she is sent by the great prophets of her people, those magicians
who guide her soul with spells to work thee evil and to set thee, Amon,
beneath the heel of Jahveh. The stake seems small, the life of this one
maid, no more; yet it is very great. This is the stake, O Father: Shall
Amon rule the world, or Jahveh. If thou fallest to-night, thou fallest
for ever; if thou dost triumph to-night, thou dost triumph for ever. In
yonder shape of stone hides thy spirit; in yonder shape of woman’s
flesh hides the spirit of thy foe. Smite her, O Amon, smite her to
small dust; let not the strength that is in her prevail against thy
strength, lest thy name should be defiled and sorrows and loss should
come upon the land which is thy throne; lest, too, the wizards of the
Israelites should overcome us thy servants. Thus prayeth Ki thy
magician, on whose soul it has pleased thee to pour strength and
wisdom.”

Then followed a great silence.

Watching the statue of the god, presently I thought that it moved, and
as I could see by the stir among them, so did the others. I thought
that its stone eyes rolled, I thought that it lifted the Scourge of
Power in its granite hand, though whether these things were done by
some spirit or by some priest, or by the magic of Ki, I do not know. At
the least, a great wind began to blow about the temple, stirring our
robes and causing the lamps to flicker. Only the robes of Merapi did
not stir. Yet she saw what I could not see, for suddenly her eyes grew
frightened.

“The god is awake,” whispered Bakenkhonsu. “Now good-bye to
your fair Israelite. See, the Prince trembles, Ki smiles, and the face
of Userti glows with triumph.”

As he spoke the blue scarabæus was snatched from Merapi’s breast as
though by a hand. It fell to the floor as did her wimple, so that now
she appeared with her rich hair flowing down her robe. Then the eyes of
the statue seemed to cease to roll, the wind ceased to blow, and again
there was silence.

Merapi stooped, lifted the wimple, replaced it on her head, found the
scarabæus clasp, and very quietly, as a woman who was tiring herself
might do, made it fast in its place again, a sight at which I heard
Userti gasp.

For a long while we waited. Watching the faces of the congregation, I
saw amazement and doubt on those of the priests, rage on that of Ki,
and on Seti’s the flicker of a little smile. Merapi’s eyes were
closed as though she were asleep. At length she opened them, and
turning her head towards the Prince said:

“O high-priest of Amon-Ra, has your god worked his will on me, or must
I wait longer before I call upon my God?”

“Do what you will or can, woman, and make an end, for almost it is the
moment of dawn when the temple worship opens.”

Then Merapi clasped her hands, and looking upwards, prayed aloud very
sweetly and simply, saying:

“O God of my fathers, trusting in Thee, I, a poor maid of Thy people
Israel, have set the life Thou gavest me in Thy Hand. If, as I believe,
Thou art the God of gods, I pray Thee show a sign and a wonder upon
this god of the Egyptians, and thereby declare Thine Honour and keep my
breath within my breast. If it pleases Thee not, then let me die, as
doubtless for my many sins I deserve to do. O God of my fathers, I have
made my prayer. Hear it or reject it according to Thy Will.”

So she ended, and listening to her, I felt the tears rising in my eyes,
because she was so much alone, and I feared that this god of hers would
never come to save her from the torments of the priests. Seti also
turned his head away, and stared down the sanctuary at the sky over the
open court where the lights of dawn were gathering.

Once more there was silence. Then again that wind blew, very strongly,
extinguishing the lamps, and, as it seemed to me, whirling away Merapi
from where she was, so that now she stood to one side of the statue.
The sanctuary was filled with gloom, till presently the first rays of
the rising sun struck upon the roof. They fell down, down, as minute
followed minute, till at length they rested like a sword of flame upon
the statue of Amon-Ra. Once more that statue seemed to move. I thought
that it lifted its stone arms to protect its head. Then in a moment
with a rending noise, its mighty mass burst asunder, and fell in small
dust about the throne, almost hiding it from sight.

“Behold my God has answered me, the most humble of His servants,”
said Merapi in the same sweet and gentle voice. “Behold the sign and
the wonder!”

“Witch!” screamed the head-priest Roi, and fled away, followed by
his fellows.

“Sorceress!” hissed Userti, and fled also, as did all the others,
save the Prince, Bakenkhonsu, I Ana, and Ki the Magician.

We stood amazed, and while we did so, Ki turned to Merapi and spoke. His
face was terrible with fear and fury, and his eyes shone like lamps.
Although he did but whisper, I who was nearest to them heard all that
was said, which the others could not do.

“Your magic is good, Israelite,” he muttered, “so good that
it has overcome mine here in the temple where I serve.”

“I have no magic,” she answered very low. “I obeyed a
command, no more.”

He laughed bitterly, and asked:

“Should two of a trade waste time on foolishness? Listen now. Teach me
your secrets, and I will teach you mine, and together we will drive
Egypt like a chariot.”

“I have no secrets, I have only faith,” said Merapi again.

“Woman,” he went on, “woman or devil, will you take me for
friend or foe? Here I have been shamed, since it was to me and not to
their gods that the priests trusted to destroy you. Yet I can still
forgive. Choose now, knowing that as my friendship will lead you to
rule, to life and splendour, so my hate will drive you to shame and
death.”

“You are beside yourself, and know not what you say. I tell you that I
have no magic to give or to withhold,” she answered, as one who did
not understand or was indifferent, and turned away from him.

Thereon he muttered some curse which I could not catch, bowed to the
heap of dust that had been the statue of the god, and vanished away
among the pillars of the sanctuary.

“Oho-ho!” laughed Bakenkhonsu. “Not in vain have I lived to
be so very old, for now it seems we have a new god in Egypt, and there
stands his prophetess.”

Merapi came to the prince.

“O high-priest of Amon,” she said, “does it please you to let
me go, for I am very weary?”




CHAPTER X.

THE DEATH OF PHARAOH


It was the appointed day and hour. By command of the Prince I drove with
him to the palace of Pharaoh, whither her Highness the Princess refused
to be his companion, and for the first time we talked together of that
which had passed in the temple.

“Have you seen the lady Merapi?” he asked of me.

I answered No, as I was told that she was sick within her house and lay
abed suffering from weariness, or I knew not what.

“She does well to keep there,” said Seti, “I think that if
she came out those priests would murder her if they could. Also there
are others,” and he glanced back at the chariot that bore Userti in
state. “Say, Ana, can you interpret all this matter?”

“Not I, Prince. I thought that perhaps your Highness, the high-priest
of Amon, could give me light.”

“The high-priest of Amon wanders in thick darkness. Ki and the rest
swear that this Israelite is a sorceress who has outmatched their
magic, but to me it seems more simple to believe that what she says is
true; that her god is greater than Amon.”

“And if this be true, Prince, what are we to do who are sworn to the
gods of Egypt?”

“Bow our heads and fall with them, I suppose, Ana, since honour will
not suffer us to desert them.”

“Even if they be false, Prince?”

“I do not think that they are false, Ana, though mayhap they be less
true. At least they are the gods of the Egyptians and we are
Egyptians.” He paused and glanced at the crowded streets, then added,
“See, when I passed this way three days ago I was received with
shouts of welcome by the people. Now they are silent, every one.”

“Perhaps they have heard of what passed in the temple.”

“Doubtless, but it is not that which troubles them who think that the
gods can guard themselves. They have heard also that I would befriend
the Hebrews whom they hate, and therefore they begin to hate me. Why
should I complain when Pharaoh shows them the way?”

“Prince,” I whispered, “what will you say to Pharaoh?”

“That depends on what Pharaoh says to me. Ana, if I will not desert
our gods because they seem to be the weaker, though it should prove to
my advantage, do you think that I would desert these Hebrews because
they seem to be weaker, even to gain a throne?”

“There greatness speaks,” I murmured, and as we descended from the
chariot he thanked me with a look.

We passed through the great hall to that same chamber where Pharaoh had
given me the chain of gold. Already he was there seated at the head of
the chamber and wearing on his head the double crown. About him were
gathered all those of royal blood and the great officers of state. We
made our obeisances, but of these he seemed to take no note. His eyes
were almost closed, and to me he looked like a man who is very ill. The
Princess Userti entered after us and to her he spoke some words of
welcome, giving her his hand to kiss. Then he ordered the doors to be
closed. As he did so, an officer of the household entered and said that
a messenger had come from the Hebrews who desired speech with Pharaoh.

“Let him enter,” said Meneptah, and presently he appeared.

He was a wild-eyed man of middle age, with long hair that fell over his
sheepskin robe. To me he looked like a soothsayer. He stood before
Pharaoh, making no salutation.

“Deliver your message and be gone,” said Nehesi the Vizier.

“These are the words of the Fathers of Israel, spoken by my lips,”
cried the man in a voice that rang all round the vaulted chamber. “It
has come to our ears, O Pharaoh, that the woman Merapi, daughter of
Nathan, who has refuged in your city, she who is named Moon of Israel,
has shown herself to be a prophetess of power, one to whom our God has
given strength, in that, standing alone amidst the priests and
magicians of Amon of the Egyptians, she took no harm from their
sorceries and was able with the sword of prayer to smite the idol of
Amon to the dust. We demand that this prophetess be restored to us,
making oath on our part that she shall be given over safely to her
betrothed husband and that no harm shall come to her for any crimes or
treasons she may have committed against her people.”

“As to this matter,” replied Pharaoh quietly, “make your
prayer to the Prince of Egypt, in whose household I understand the woman
dwells. If it pleases him to surrender her who, I take it, is a witch or
a cunning worker of tricks, to her betrothed and her kindred, let him
do so. It is not for Pharaoh to judge of the fate of private slaves.”

The man wheeled round and addressed Seti, saying:

“You have heard, Son of the King. Will you deliver up this woman?”

“Neither do I promise to deliver her up nor not to deliver her up,”
answered Seti, “since the lady Merapi is no member of my household,
nor have I any authority over her. She who saved my life dwells within
my walls for safety’s sake. If it pleases her to go, she can go; if
it pleases her to remain, she can remain. When this Court is finished I
give you safe-conduct to appear and in my presence learn her pleasure
from her lips.”

“You have your answer; now be gone,” said Nehesi.

“Nay,” cried the man, “I have more words to speak. Thus say
the Fathers of Israel: We know the black counsel of your heart, O
Pharaoh. It has been revealed to us that it is in your mind to put the
Hebrews to the sword, as it is in the mind of the Prince of Egypt to
save them from the sword. Change that mind of yours, O Pharaoh, and
swiftly, lest death fall upon you from heaven above.”

“Cease!” thundered Meneptah in a voice that stilled the murmurs of
the court. “Dog of a Hebrew, do you dare to threaten Pharaoh on his
own throne? I tell you that were you not a messenger, and therefore
according to our ancient law safe till the sun sets, you should be hewn
limb from limb. Away with him, and if he is found in this city after
nightfall let him be slain!”

Then certain of the councillors sprang upon the man and thrust him forth
roughly. At the door he wrenched himself free and shouted:

“Think upon my words, Pharaoh, before this sun has set. And you, great
ones of Egypt, think on them also before it appears again.”

They drove him out with blows and the doors were shut. Once more
Meneptah began to speak, saying:

“Now that this brawler is gone, what have you to say to me, Prince of
Egypt? Do you still give me the counsel that you wrote in the roll? Do
you still refuse, as heir of the Throne, to assent to my decree that
these accursed Hebrews be destroyed with the sword of my justice?”

Now all turned their eyes on Seti, who thought a while, and answered:

“Let Pharaoh pardon me, but the counsel that I gave I still give; the
assent that I refused I still refuse, because my heart tells me that so
it is right to do, and so I think will Egypt be saved from many
troubles.”

When the scribes had finished writing down these words Pharaoh asked
again:

“Prince of Egypt, if in a day to come you should fill my place, is it
still your intent to let this people of the Hebrews go unharmed, taking
with them the wealth that they have gathered here?”

“Let Pharaoh pardon me, that is still my intent.”

Now at these fateful words there arose a sigh of astonishment from all
that heard them. Before it had died away Pharaoh had turned to Userti
and was asking:

“Are these your counsel, your will, and your intent also, O Princess
of Egypt?”

“Let Pharaoh hear me,” answered Userti in a cold, clear voice,
“they are not. In this great matter my lord the Prince walks one road
and I walk another. My counsel, will, and intent are those of
Pharaoh.”

“Seti my son,” said Meneptah, more kindly than I had ever heard him
speak before, “for the last time, not as your king but as your father,
I pray you to consider. Remembering that as it lies in your power,
being of full age and having been joined with me in many matters of
government, to refuse your assent to a great act of state, so it lies
in my power with the assent of the high-priests and of my ministers to
remove you from my path. Seti, I can disinherit you and set another in
your place, and if you persist, that and no less I shall do. Consider,
therefore, my son.”

In the midst of an intense silence Seti answered:

“I have considered, O my Father, and whatever be the cost to me I
cannot go back upon my words.”

Then Pharaoh rose and cried:

“Take note all you assembled here, and let it be proclaimed to the
people of Egypt without the gates, that they take note also, that I
depose Seti my son from his place as Prince of Egypt and declare that
he is removed from the succession to the double Crown. Take note that
my daughter Userti, Princess of Egypt, wife of the Prince Seti, I do
not depose. Whatever rights and heritages are hers as heiress of Egypt
let those rights and heritages remain to her, and if a child be born of
her and Prince Seti, who lives, let that child be heir to the Throne of
Egypt. Take note that, if no such child is born or until it is born, I
name my nephew, the count Amenmeses, son of my brother Khaemuas, now
gathered to Osiris, to fill the Throne of Egypt when I am no more. Come
hither, Count Amenmeses.”

He advanced and stood before him. Then Pharaoh lifted from his head the
double crown he wore and for a moment set it on the brow of Amenmeses,
saying as he replaced it on his own head:

“By this act and token do I name and constitute you, Amenmeses, to be
Royal Prince of Egypt in place of my son, Prince Seti, deposed.
Withdraw, Royal Prince of Egypt. I have spoken.”

“Life! Blood! Strength!” cried all the company bowing before
Pharaoh, all save the Prince Seti who neither bowed nor stirred. Only he
cried:

“And I have heard. Will Pharaoh be pleased to declare whether with my
royal heritage he takes my life? If so, let it be here and now. My
cousin Amenmeses wears a sword.”

“Nay, Son,” answered Meneptah sadly, “your life is left to
you and with it all your private rank and your possessions whatsoever
and wherever they may be.”

“Let Pharaoh’s will be done,” replied Seti indifferently,
“in this as in all things. Pharaoh spares my life until such time as
Amenmeses his successor shall fill his place, when it shall be taken.”

Meneptah started; this thought was new to him.

“Stand forth, Amenmeses,” he cried, “and swear now the
threefold oath that may not be broken. Swear by Amon, by Ptah, and by
Osiris, god of death, that never will you attempt to harm the Prince
Seti, your cousin, either in body or in such state and prerogative as
remain to him. Let Roi, the head-priest of Amon, administer the oath
now before us all.”

So Roi spoke the oath in the ancient form, which was terrible even to
hear, and Amenmeses, unwillingly enough as I thought, repeated it after
him, adding however these words at the end, “All these things I swear
and all these penalties in this world and the world to be I invoke upon
my head, provided only that when the time comes the Prince Seti leaves
me in peace upon the throne to which it has pleased Pharaoh to decree
to me.”

Now some there murmured that this was not enough, since in their hearts
there were few who did not love Seti and grieve to see him thus
stripped of his royal heritage because his judgment differed from that
of Pharaoh over a matter of State policy. But Seti only laughed and
said scornfully:

“Let be, for of what value are such oaths? Pharaoh on the throne is
above all oaths who must make answer to the gods only and from the
hearts of some the gods are far away. Let Amenmeses not fear that I
shall quarrel with him over this matter of a crown, I who in truth have
never longed for the pomp and cares of royalty and who, deprived of
these, still possess all that I can desire. I go my way henceforward as
one of many, a noble of Egypt—no more, and if in a day to come it
pleases the Pharaoh to be to shorten my wanderings, I am not sure that
even then I shall grieve so very much, who am content to accept the
judgment of the gods, as in the end he must do also. Yet, Pharaoh my
father, before we part I ask leave to speak the thoughts that rise in
me.”

“Say on,” muttered Meneptah.

“Pharaoh, having your leave, I tell you that I think you have done a
very evil work this day, one that is unpleasing to those Powers which
rule the world, whoever and whatsoever they may be, one too that will
bring upon Egypt sorrows countless as the sand. I believe that these
Hebrews whom you unjustly seek to slay worship a god as great or
greater than our own, and that they and he will triumph over Egypt. I
believe also that the mighty heritage which you have taken from me will
bring neither joy nor honour to him by whom it has been received.”

Here Amenmeses started forward, but Meneptah held up his hand, and he
was silent.

“I believe, Pharaoh—alas! that I must say it—that your days
on earth are few and that for the last time we look on each other
living. Farewell, Pharaoh my father, whom still I love mayhap more in
this hour of parting than ever I did before. Farewell, Amenmeses,
Prince of Egypt. Take from me this ornament which henceforth should be
worn by you only,” and lifting from his headdress that royal circlet
which marks the heir to the throne, he held it to Amenmeses, who took
it and, with a smile of triumph, set it on his brow.

“Farewell, Lords and Councillors; it is my hope that in yonder prince
you will find a master more to your liking that ever I could have been.
Come, Ana, my friend, if it still pleases you to cling to me for a
little while, now that I have nothing left to give.”

For a few moments he stood still looking very earnestly at his father,
who looked back at him with tears in his deep-set, faded eyes.

Then, though whether this was by chance I cannot say, taking no note of
the Princess Userti, who gazed at him perplexed and wrathful, Seti drew
himself up and cried in the ancient form:

“Life! Blood! Strength! Pharaoh! Pharaoh! Pharaoh!” and bowed
almost to the ground.

Meneptah heard. Muttering beneath his breath, “Oh! Seti, my son, my
most beloved son!” he stretched out his arms as though to call him
back or perhaps to clasp him. As he did so I saw his face change. Next
instant he fell forward to the ground and lay there still. All the
company stood struck with horror, only the royal physician ran to him,
while Roi and others who were priests began to mutter prayers.

“Has the good god been gathered to Osiris?” asked Amenmeses
presently in a hoarse voice, “because if it be so, I am Pharaoh.”

“Nay, Amenmeses,” exclaimed Userti, “the decrees have not yet
been sealed or promulgated. They have neither strength nor weight.”

Before he could answer the physician cried:

“Peace! Pharaoh still lives, his heart beats. This is but a fit which
may pass. Begone, every one, he must have quiet.”

So we went, but first Seti knelt down and kissed his father on the brow.

An hour later the Princess Userti broke into the room of his palace
where the Prince and I were talking.

“Seti,” she said, “Pharaoh still lives, but the physicians
say he will be dead by dawn. There is yet time. Here I have a writing,
sealed with his signet and witnessed, wherein he recalls all that he
decreed in the Court to-day, and declares you, his son, to be the true
and only heir of the throne of Egypt.”

“Is it so, wife? Tell me now how did a dying man in a swoon command
and seal this writing?” and he touched the scroll she held in her
hand.

“He recovered for a little while; Nehesi will tell you how,” she
replied, looking him in the face with cold eyes. Then before he could
speak, she added, “Waste no more breath in questions, but act and at
once. The General of the guards waits below; he is your faithful
servant. Through him I have promised a gift to every soldier on the day
that you are crowned. Nehesi and most of the officers are on our side.
Only the priests are against us because of that Hebrew witch whom you
shelter, and of her tribe whom you befriend; but they have not had time
to stir up the people nor will they attempt revolt. Act, Seti, act, for
none will move without your express command. Moreover, no question will
be raised afterwards, since from Thebes to the sea and throughout the
world you are known to be the heir of Egypt.”

“What would you have me do, wife?” asked Seti, when she paused for
lack of breath.

“Cannot you guess? Must I put statecraft into your head as well as a
sword into your hand? Why that scribe of yours, who follows your heels
like a favoured dog, would be more apt a pupil. Hearken then. Amenmeses
has sent out to gather strength, but as yet there are not fifty men
about him whom he can trust.” She leant forward and whispered
fiercely, “Kill the traitor, Amenmeses—all will hold it a righteous
act, and the General waits your word. Shall I summon him?”

“I think not,” answered Seti. “Because Pharaoh, as he has a
right to do, is pleased to name a certain man of royal blood to succeed
him, how does this make that man a traitor to Pharaoh who still lives?
But, traitor or none, I will not murder my cousin Amenmeses.”

“Then he will murder you.”

“Maybe. That is a matter between him and the gods which I leave them
to settle. The oath he swore to-day is not one to be lightly broken.
But whether he breaks it or not, I also swore an oath, at least in my
heart, namely that I would not attempt to dispute the will of Pharaoh
whom, after all, I love as my father and honour as my king, Pharaoh who
still lives and may, as I hope, recover. What should I say to him if he
recovered or, at the worst, when at last we meet elsewhere?”

“Pharaoh never will recover; I have spoken to the physician and he
told me so. Already they pierce his skull to let out the evil spirit of
sickness, after which none of our family have lived for very long.”

“Because, as I hold, thereby, whatever priests and physicians may say,
they let in the good spirit of death. Ana, I pray you if I——”

“Man,” she broke in, striking her hand upon the table by which she
stood, “do you understand that while you muse and moralise your crown
is passing from you?”

“It has already passed, Lady. Did you not see me give it to
Amenmeses?”

“Do you understand that you who should be the greatest king in all the
world, in some few hours if indeed you are allowed to live, will be
nothing but a private citizen of Egypt, one at whom the very beggars
may spit and take no harm?”

“Surely, Wife. Moreover, there is little virtue in what I do, since on
the whole I prefer that prospect and am willing to take the risk of
being hurried from an evil world. Hearken,” he added, with a change
of tone and gesture. “You think me a fool and a weakling; a dreamer
also, you, the clear-eyed, hard-brained stateswoman who look to the
glittering gain of the moment for which you are ready to pay in blood,
and guess nothing of what lies beyond. I am none of these things,
except, perchance, the last. I am only a man who strives to be just and
to do right, as right seems to me, and if I dream, it is of good, not
evil, as I understand good and evil. You are sure that this dreaming of
mine will lead me to worldly loss and shame. Even of that _I_ am not
sure. The thought comes to me that it may lead me to those very baubles
on which you set your heart, but by a path strewn with spices and with
flowers, not by one paved with the bones of men and reeking with their
gore. Crowns that are bought with the promise of blood and held with
cruelty are apt to be lost in blood, Userti.”

She waved her hand. “I pray you keep the rest, Seti, till I have more
time to listen. Moreover if I need prophecies, I think it better to turn
to Ki and those who make them their life-study. For me this is a day of
deeds, not dreams, and since you refuse my help, and behave as a sick
girl lost in fancies, I must see to myself. As while you live I cannot
reign alone or wage war in my own name only, I go to make terms with
Amenmeses, who will pay me high for peace.”

“You go—and do you return, Userti?”

She drew herself to her full height, looking very royal, and answered
slowly:

“I do not return. I, the Princess of Egypt, cannot live as the wife of
a common man who falls from a throne to set himself upon the earth, and
smears his own brow with mud for a uræus crown. When your prophecies
come true, Seti, and you crawl from your dust, then perhaps we may
speak again.”

“Aye, Userti, but the question is, what shall we say?”

“Meanwhile,” she added, as she turned, “I leave you to your
chosen counsellors—yonder scribe, whom foolishness, not wisdom, has
whitened before his time, and perchance the Hebrew sorceress, who can
give you moonbeams to drink from those false lips of hers. Farewell,
Seti, once a prince and my husband.”

“Farewell, Userti, who, I fear, must still remain my sister.”

Then he watched her go, and turning to me, said:

“To-day, Ana, I have lost both a crown and a wife, yet strange to tell
I do not know which of these calamities grieves me least. Yet it is
time that fortune turned. Or mayhap all the evils are not done. Would
you not go also, Ana? Although she gibes at you in her anger, the
Princess thinks well of you, and would keep you in her service.
Remember, whoever falls in Egypt, she will be great till the last.”

“Oh! Prince,” I answered, “have I not borne enough to-day
that you must add insult to my load, you with whom I broke the cup and
swore the oath?”

“What!” he laughed. “Is there one in Egypt who remembers
oaths to his own loss? I thank you, Ana,” and taking my hand he
pressed it.

At that moment the door opened, and old Pambasa entered, saying:

“The Hebrew woman, Merapi, would see you; also two Hebrew men.”

“Admit them,” said Seti. “Note, Ana, how yonder old
time-server turns his face from the setting sun. This morning even it
would have been ‘to see your Highness,’ uttered with bows so low
that his beard swept the floor. Now it is ‘to see you’ and not so
much as an inclination of the head in common courtesy. This, moreover,
from one who has robbed me year by year and grown fat on bribes. It is
the first of many bitter lessons, or rather the second—that of her
Highness was the first; I pray that I may learn them with humility.”

While he mused thus and, having no comfort to offer, I listened sad at
heart, Merapi entered, and a moment after her the wide-eyed messenger
whom we had seen in Pharaoh’s Court, and her uncle Jabez the cunning
merchant. She bowed low to Seti, and smiled at me. Then the other two
appeared, and with small salutation the messenger began to speak.

“You know my demand, Prince,” he said. “It is that this woman
should be returned to her people. Jabez, her uncle, will lead her
away.”

“And you know my answer, Israelite,” answered Seti. “It is
that I have no power over the coming or the going of the lady Merapi, or
at least wish to claim none. Address yourself to her.”

“What is it you wish with me, Priest?” asked Merapi quickly.

“That you should return to the town of Goshen, daughter of Nathan.
Have you no ears to hear?”

“I hear, but if I return, what will you of me?”

“That you who have proved yourself a prophetess by your deeds in
yonder temple should dedicate your powers to the service of your
people, receiving in return full forgiveness for the evils you have
wrought against them, which we swear to you in the name of God.”

“I am no prophetess, and I have wrought no evils against my people,
Priest. I have only saved them from the evil of murdering one who has
shown himself their friend, even as I hear to the laying down of his
crown for their sake.”

“That is for the Fathers of Israel and not for you to judge, woman.
Your answer?”

“It is neither for them nor for me, but for God only.” She paused,
then added, “Is this all you ask of me?”

“It is all the Fathers ask, but Laban asks his affianced wife.”

“And am I to be given in marriage to—this assassin?”

“Without doubt you are to be given to this brave soldier, being
already his.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then, Daughter of Nathan, it is my part to curse you in the name of
God, and to declare you cut off and outcast from the people of God. It
is my part to announce to you further that your life is forfeit, and
that any Hebrew may kill you when and how he can, and take no blame.”

Merapi paled a little, then turning to Jabez, asked:

“You have heard, my uncle. What say you?”

Jabez looked round shiftily, and said in his unctuous voice:

“My niece, surely you must obey the commands of the Elders of Israel
who speak the will of Heaven, as you obeyed them when you matched
yourself against the might of Amon.”

“You gave me a different counsel yesterday, my uncle. Then you said I
had better bide where I was.”

The messenger turned and glared at him.

“There is a great difference between yesterday and to-day,” went on
Jabez hurriedly. “Yesterday you were protected by one who would soon
be Pharaoh, and might have been able to move his mind in favour of your
folk. To-day his greatness is stripped from him, and his will has no
more weight in Egypt. A dead lion is not to be feared, my niece.”

Seti smiled at this insult, but Merapi’s face, like my own, grew red,
as though with anger.

“Sleeping lions have been taken for dead ere now, my uncle, as those
who would spurn them have discovered to their cost. Prince Seti, have
you no word to help me in this strait?”

“What is the strait, Lady? If you wish to go to your people and—to
Laban, who, I understand, is recovered from his hurts, there is naught
between you and me save my gratitude to you which gives me the right to
say you shall not go. If, however, you wish to stay, then perhaps I am
still not so powerless to shield or smite as this worthy Jabez thinks,
who still remain the greatest lord in Egypt and one with those that
love him. Therefore should you desire to remain, I think that you may
do so unmolested of any, and least of all by that friend in whose
shadow it pleases you to sojourn.”

“Those are very gentle words,” murmured Merapi, “words that
few would speak to a maid from whom naught is asked and who has naught
to give.”

“A truce to this talk,” snarled the messenger. “Do you obey
or do you rebel? Your answer.”

She turned and looked him full in the face, saying:

“I do not return to Goshen and to Laban, of whose sword I have seen
enough.”

“Mayhap you will see more of it before all is done. For the last time,
think ere the curse of your God and your people falls upon you, and
after it, death. For fall I say it shall, I, who, as Pharaoh knows
to-day, am no false prophet, and as that Prince knows also.”

“I do not think that my God, who sees the hearts of those that he has
made, will avenge himself upon a woman because she refuses to be wedded
to a murderer whom of her own will she never chose, which, Priest, is
the fate you offer me. Therefore I am content to leave judgment in the
hands of the great Judge of all. For the rest I defy you and your
commands. If I must be slaughtered, let me die, but at least let me die
mistress of myself and free, who am no man’s love, or wife, or
slave.”

“Well spoken!” whispered Seti to me.

Then this priest became terrible. Waving his arms and rolling his wild
eyes, he poured out some hideous curse upon the head of this poor maid,
much of which, as it was spoken rapidly in an ancient form of Hebrew,
we did not understand. He cursed her living, dying, and after death. He
cursed her in her love and hate, wedded or alone. He cursed her in
child-bearing or in barrenness, and he cursed her children after her to
all generations. Lastly, he declared her cut off from and rejected by
the god she worshipped, and sentenced her to death at the hands of any
who could slay her. So horrible was that curse that she shrank away
from him, while Jabez crouched about the ground hiding his eyes with his
 hands, and even I felt my blood turn cold.

At length he paused, foaming at the lips. Then, suddenly, shouting,
“After judgment, doom!” he drew a knife from his robe and sprang at
her.

She fled behind us. He followed, but Seti, crying, “Ah, I thought
it,” leapt between them, as he did so drawing the iron sword which he
wore with his ceremonial dress. At him he sprang and the next thing I
saw was the red point of the sword standing out beyond the priest’s
shoulders.

Down he fell, babbling:

“Is this how you show your love for Israel, Prince?”

“It is how I show my hate of murderers,” answered Seti.

Then the man died.

“Oh!” cried Merapi wringing her hands, “once more I have
caused Hebrew blood to flow and now all this curse will fall on me.”

“Nay, on me, Lady, if there is anything in curses, which I doubt, for
this deed was mine, and at the worst yonder mad brute’s knife did not
fall on you.”

“Yes, life is left if only for a little while. Had it not been for
you, Prince, by now, I——” and she shuddered.

“And had it not been for you, Moon of Israel, by now
I——” and he smiled, adding, “Surely Fate weaves a
strange web round you and me. First you save me from the sword; then I
save you. I think, Lady, that in the end we ought to die together and
give Ana here stuff for the best of all his stories. Friend Jabez,”
he went on to the Israelite who was still crouching in the corner with
the eyes starting from his head, “get you back to your gentle-hearted
people and make it clear to them why the lady Merapi cannot companion
you, taking with you that carrion to prove your tale. Tell them that if
they send more men to molest your niece a like fate awaits them, but
that now as before I do not turn my back upon them because of the deeds
of a few madmen or evil-doers, as I have given them proof to-day. Ana,
make ready, since soon I leave for Memphis. See that the Lady Merapi,
who will travel alone, has fit escort for her journey, that is if it
pleases her to depart from Tanis.”




CHAPTER XI.

THE CROWNING OF AMENMESES


Now, notwithstanding all the woes that fell on Egypt and a certain
secret sorrow of my own, began the happiest of the days which the gods
have given me. We went to Mennefer or Memphis, the white-walled city
where I was born, the city that I loved. Now no longer did I dwell in a
little house near to the enclosure of the temple of Ptah, which is
vaster and more splendid than all those of Thebes or Tanis. My home was
in the beautiful palace of Seti, which he had inherited from his
mother, the Great Royal Wife. It stood, and indeed still stands, on a
piled-up mound without the walls near to the temple of the goddess
Neit, who always has her habitation to the north of the wall, why I do
not know, because even her priests cannot tell me. In front of this
palace, facing to the north, is a great portico, whereof the roof is
borne upon palm-headed, painted columns whence may be seen the most
lovely prospect in Egypt. First the gardens, then the palm-groves, then
the cultivated land, then the broad and gentle Nile and, far away, the
desert.

Here, then, we dwelt, keeping small state and almost unguarded, but in
wealth and comfort, spending our time in the library of the palace, or
in those of the temples, and when we wearied of work, in the lovely
gardens or, perchance, sailing upon the bosom of the Nile. The lady
Merapi dwelt there also, but in a separate wing of the palace, with
certain slaves and servants whom Seti had given to her. Sometimes we
met her in the gardens, where it pleased her to walk at the same hours
that we did, namely before the sun grew hot, or in the cool of the
evening, and now and again when the moon shone at night. Then the three
of us would talk together, for Seti never sought her company alone or
within walls.

Those talks were very pleasant. Moreover they grew more frequent as time
went on, since Merapi had a thirst for learning, and the Prince would
bring her rolls to read in a little summer-house there was. Here we
would sit, or if the heat was great, outside beneath the shadow of two
spreading trees that stretched above the roof of the little
pleasure-house, while Seti discoursed of the contents of the rolls and
instructed her in the secrets of our writing. Sometimes, too, I read
them stories of my making, to which it pleased them both to listen, or
so they said, and I, in my vanity, believed. Also we would talk of the
mystery and the wonder of the world and of the Hebrews and their fate,
or of what passed in Egypt and the neighbouring lands.

Nor was Merapi altogether lonesome, seeing that there dwelt in Memphis
certain ladies who had Hebrew blood in their veins, or were born of the
Israelites and had married Egyptians against their law. Among these she
made friends, and together they worshipped in their own fashion with
none to say them nay, since here no priests were allowed to trouble
them.

For our part we held intercourse with as many as we pleased, since few
forgot that Seti was by blood the Prince of Egypt, that is, a man
almost half divine, and all were eager to visit him. Also he was much
beloved for his own sake and more particularly by the poor, whose wants
it was his delight to relieve to the full limit of his wealth. Thus it
came about that whenever he went abroad, although against his will, he
was received with honours and homage that were almost royal, for though
Pharaoh could rob him of the Crown he could not empty his veins of the
blood of kings.

It was on this account that I feared for his safety, since I was sure
that through his spies Amenmeses knew all and would grow jealous of a
dethroned prince who was still so much adored by those over whom of
right he should have ruled. I told Seti of my doubts and that when he
travelled the streets he should be guarded by armed men. But he only
laughed and answered that, as the Hebrews had failed to kill him, he
did not think that any others would succeed. Moreover he believed there
were no Egyptians in the land who would lift a sword against him, or
put poison in his drink, whoever bade them. Also he added these words:

“The best way to escape death is to have no fear of death, for then
Osiris shuns us.”

Now I must tell of the happenings at Tanis. Pharaoh Meneptah lingered
but a few hours and never found his mind again before his spirit flew
to Heaven. Then there was great mourning in the land, for, if he was
not loved, Meneptah was honoured and feared. Only among the Israelites
there was open rejoicing, because he had been their enemy and their
prophets had foretold that death was near to him. They gave it out that
he had been smitten of their God, which caused the Egyptians to hate
them more than ever. There was doubt, too, and bewilderment in Egypt,
for though his proclamation disinheriting the Prince Seti had been
published abroad, the people, and especially those who dwelt in the
south, could not understand why this should have been done over a matter
of the shepherd slaves who dwelt in Goshen. Indeed, had the Prince but
held up his hand, tens of thousands would have rallied to his standard.
Yet this he refused to do, which astonished all the world, who thought
it marvellous that any man should refuse a throne which would have
lifted him almost to the level of the gods. Indeed, to avoid their
importunities he had set out at once for Memphis, and there remained
hidden away during the period of mourning for his father. So it came
about that Amenmeses succeeded with none to say him nay, since without
her husband Userti could not or would not act.

After the days of embalmment were accomplished the body of Pharaoh
Meneptah was carried up the Nile to be laid in his eternal house, the
splendid tomb that he had made ready for himself in the Valley of Dead
Kings at Thebes. To this great ceremony the Prince Seti was not bidden,
lest, as Bakenkhonsu told me afterwards, his presence should cause some
rising in his favour, with or without his will. For this reason also
the dead god, as he was named, was not suffered to rest at Memphis on
his last journey up the Nile. Disguised as a man of the people the
Prince watched his father’s body pass in the funeral barge guarded by
shaven, white-robed priests, the centre of a splendid procession. In
front went other barges filled with soldiers and officers of state,
behind came the new Pharaoh and all the great ones of Egypt, while the
sounds of lamentation floated far over the face of the waters. They
appeared, they passed, they disappeared, and when they had vanished
Seti wept a little, for in his own fashion he loved his father.

“Of what use is it to be a king and named half-divine, Ana,” he
said to me, “seeing that the end of such gods as these is the same as
that of the beggar at the gate?”

“This, Prince,” I answered, “that a king can do more good
than a beggar while the breath is in his nostrils, and leave behind him
a great example to others.”

“Or more harm, Ana. Also the beggar can leave a great example, that of
patience in affliction. Still, if I were sure that I should do nothing
but good, then perhaps I would be a king. But I have noted that those
who desire to do the most good often work the greatest harm.”

“Which, if followed out, would be an argument for wishing to do evil,
Prince.”

“Not so,” he answered, “because good triumphs at the last.
For good is truth and truth rules earth and heaven.”

“Then it is clear, Prince, that you should seek to be a king.”

“I will remember the argument, Ana, if ever time brings me an
opportunity unstained by blood,” he answered.

When the obsequies of Pharaoh were finished, Amenmeses returned to
Tanis, and there was crowned as Pharaoh. I attended this great
ceremony, bearing coronation gifts of certain royal ornaments which the
Prince sent to Pharaoh, saying it was not fit that he, as a private
person, should wear them any longer. These I presented to Pharaoh, who
took them doubtfully, declaring that he did not understand the Prince
Seti’s mind and actions.

“They hide no snare, O Pharaoh,” I said. “As you rejoice in
the glory that the gods have sent you, so the Prince my master rejoices
in the rest and peace which the gods have given him, asking no more.”

“It may be so, Scribe, but I find this so strange a thing, that
sometimes I fear lest the rich flowers of this glory of mine should
hide some deadly snake, whereof the Prince knows, if he did not set it
there.”

“I cannot say, O Pharaoh, but without doubt, although he could work no
guile, the Prince is not as are other men. His mind is both wide and
deep.”

“Too deep for me,” muttered Amenmeses. “Nevertheless, say to
my royal cousin that I thank him for his gifts, especially as some of
them were worn, when he was heir to Egypt, by my father Khaemuas, who I
would had left me his wisdom as well as his blood. Say to him also that
while he refrains from working me harm upon the throne, as I know he
has done up to the present, he may be sure that I will work him none in
the station which he has chosen.”

Also I saw the Princess Userti who questioned me closely concerning her
lord. I told her everything, keeping naught back. She listened and
asked:

“What of that Hebrew woman, Moon of Israel? Without doubt she fills my
place.”

“Not so, Princess,” I answered. “The Prince lives alone.
Neither she nor any other woman fills your place. She is a friend to
him, no more.”

“A friend! Well, at least we know the end of such friendships. Oh!
surely the Prince must be stricken with madness from the gods!”

“It may be so, your Highness, but I think that if the gods smote more
men with such madness, the world would be better than it is.”

“The world is the world, and the business of those who are born to
greatness is to rule it as it is, not to hide away amongst books and
flowers, and to talk folly with a beautiful outland woman, and a scribe
however learned,” she answered bitterly, adding, “Oh! if the Prince
is not mad, certainly he drives others to madness, and me, his spouse,
among them. That throne is his, his; yet he suffers a cross-grained
dolt to take his place, and sends him gifts and blessings.”

“I think your Highness should wait till the end of the story before
you judge of it.”

She looked at me sharply, and asked:

“Why do you say that? Is the Prince no fool after all? Do he and you,
who both seem to be so simple, perchance play a great and hidden game,
as I have known men feign folly in order to do with safety? Or has that
witch of an Israelite some secret knowledge in which she instructs you,
such as a woman who can shatter the statue of Amon to fine dust might
well possess? You make believe not to know, which means that you will
not answer. Oh! Scribe Ana, if only it were safe, I think I could find
a way to wring the truth out of you, although you do pretend to be but
a babe for innocence.”

“It pleases your Highness to threaten and without cause.”

“No,” she answered, changing her voice and manner, “I do not
threaten; it is only the madness that I have caught from Seti. Would you
not be mad if you knew that another woman was to be crowned to-morrow
in your place, because—because——” and she began to weep, which
frightened me more than all her rough words.

Presently she dried her tears, and said:

“Say to my lord that I rejoice to hear that he is well and send him
greetings, but that never of my own wish will I look upon his living
face again unless indeed he takes another counsel, and sets himself to
win that which is his own. Say to him that though he has so little care
for me, and pays no heed to my desires, still I watch over his welfare
and his safety, as best I may.”

“His safety, Princess! Pharaoh assured me not an hour ago that he had
naught to fear, as indeed he fears naught.”

“Oh! which of you is the more foolish,” she exclaimed stamping her
foot, “the man or his master? You believe that the Prince has naught
to fear because that usurper tells you so, and he believes it—well,
because he fears naught. For a little while he may sleep in peace. But
let him wait until troubles of this sort or of that arise in Egypt and,
understanding that the gods send them on account of the great
wickedness that my father wrought when death had him by the throat and
his mind was clouded, the people begin to turn their eyes towards their
lawful king. Then the usurper will grow jealous, and if he has his way,
the Prince will sleep in peace—for ever. If his throat remains uncut,
it will be for one reason only, that I hold back the murderer’s hand.
Farewell, I can talk no more, for I say to you that my brain is
afire—and to-morrow he should have been crowned, and I with him,”
and she swept away, royal as ever, leaving me wondering what she meant
when she spoke of troubles arising in Egypt, or if the words were but
uttered at hazard.

Afterwards Bakenkhonsu and I supped together at the college of the
temple of Ptah, of which because of his age he was called the father,
when I heard more of this matter.

“Ana,” he said, “I tell you that such gloom hangs over Egypt
as I have never known even when it was thought that the Ninebow
Barbarians would conquer and enslave the land. Amenmeses will be the
fifth Pharaoh whom I have seen crowned, the first of them when I was
but a little child hanging to my mother’s robe, and not once have I
known such joylessness.”

“That may be because the crown passes to one who should not wear it,
Bakenkhonsu.”

He shook his head. “Not altogether. I think this darkness comes from
the heavens as light does. Men are afraid they know not of what.”

“The Israelites,” I suggested.

“Now you are near to it, Ana, for doubtless they have much to do with
the matter. Had it not been for them Seti and not Amenmeses would be
crowned to-morrow. Also the tale of the marvel which the beautiful
Hebrew woman wrought in the temple yonder has got abroad and is taken
as an omen. Did I tell you that six days gone a fine new statue of the
god was consecrated there and on the following morning was found lying
on its side, or rather with its head resting on the breast of Mut?”

“If so, Merapi is blameless, because she has gone away from this
city.”

“Of course she has gone away, for has not Seti gone also? But I think
she left something behind her. However that may be, even our new divine
lord is afraid. He dreams ill, Ana,” he added, dropping his voice,
“so ill that he has called in Ki, the Kherheb,[1]
to interpret his visions.”

[1]“Kherheb” was the title of the chief official magician in ancient
Egypt.

“And what said Ki?”

“Ki could say nothing or, rather, that the only answer vouchsafed to
him and his company, when they made inquiry of their Kas, was that this
god’s reign would be very short and that it and his life would end
together.”

“Which perhaps did not please the god Amenmeses, Bakenkhonsu?”

“Which did not please the god at all. He threatened Ki. It is a
foolish thing to threaten a great magician, Ana, as the Kherheb Ki,
himself indeed told him, looking him in the eyes. Then he prayed his
pardon and asked who would succeed him on the throne, but Ki said he
did not know, as a Kherheb who had been threatened could never remember
anything, which indeed he never can—except to pay back the
threatener.”

“And did he know, Bakenkhonsu?”

By way of answer the old Councillor crumbled some bread fine upon the
table, then with his finger traced among the crumbs the rough likeness
of a jackal-headed god and of two feathers, after which with a swift
movement he swept the crumbs onto the floor.

“Seti!” I whispered, reading the hieroglyphs of the Prince’s
name, and he nodded and laughed in his great fashion.

“Men come to their own sometimes, Ana, especially if they do not seek
their own,” he said. “But if so, much must happen first that is
terrible. The new Pharaoh is not the only man who dreams, Ana. Of late
years my sleep has been light and sometimes I dream, though I have no
magic like to that of Ki.”

“What did you dream?”

“I dreamed of a great multitude marching like locusts over Egypt.
Before them went a column of fire in which were two hands. One of these
held Amon by the throat and one held the new Pharaoh by the throat.
After them came a column of cloud, and in it a shape like to that of an
unwrapped mummy, a shape of death standing upon water that was full of
countless dead.”

Now I bethought me of the picture that the Prince and I had seen in the
skies yonder in the land of Goshen, but of it I said nothing. Yet I
think that Bakenkhonsu saw into my mind, for he asked:

“Do _you_ never dream, Friend? You see visions that come
true—Amenmeses on the throne, for instance. Do you not also dream at
times? No? Well, then, the Prince? You look like men who might, and the
time is ripe and pregnant. Oh! I remember. You are both of you
dreaming, not of the pictures that pass across the terrible eyes of Ki,
but of those that the moon reflects upon the waters of Memphis, the
Moon of Israel. Ana, be advised by me, put away the flesh and increase
the spirit, for in it alone is happiness, whereof woman and all our
joys are but earthly symbols, shadows thrown by that mortal cloud which
lies between us and the Light Above. I see that you understand, because
some of that light has struggled to your heart. Do you remember that
you saw it shining in the hour when your little daughter died? Ah! I
thought so. It was the gift she left you, a gift that will grow and grow
 in such a breast as yours, if only you will put away the flesh and make
room for it, Ana. Man, do not weep—laugh as I do, Oho-ho! Give me my
staff, and good-night. Forget not that we sit together at the crowning
to-morrow, for you are a King’s Companion and that rank once
conferred is one which no new Pharaoh can take away. It is like the
gift of the spirit, Ana, which is hard to win, but once won more
eternal than the stars. Oh! why do I live so long who would bathe in
it, as when a child I used to bathe in Nile?”

On the following day at the appointed hour I went to the great hall of
the palace, that in which I had first seen Meneptah, and took my stand
in the place allotted to me. It was somewhat far back, perhaps because
it was not wished that I, who was known to be the private scribe of
Seti, should remind Egypt of him by appearing where all could see me.

Great as was the hall the crowd filled it to its furthest corners.
Moreover no common man was present there, but rather every noble and
head-priest in Egypt, and with them their wives and daughters, so that
all the dim courts shone with gold and precious gems set upon festal
garments. While I was waiting old Bakenkhonsu hobbled towards me, the
crowd making way for him, and I could see that there was laughter in
his sunken eyes.

“We are ill-placed, Ana,” he said. “Still if any of the many
gods there are in Egypt should chance to rain fires on Pharaoh, we shall
be the safer. Talking of gods,” he went on in a whisper, “have you
heard what happened an hour ago in the temple of Ptah of Tanis whence I
have just come? Pharaoh and all the Blood-royal—save one—walked
according to custom before the statue of the god which, as you know,
should bow its head to show that he chooses and accepts the king. In
front of Amenmeses went the Princess Userti, and as she passed the head
of the god bowed, for I saw it, though all pretended that they did not
see. Then came Pharaoh and stood waiting, but it would not bow, though
the priests called in the old formula, ‘The god greets the king.’

“At length he went on, looking as black as night, and others of the
blood of Rameses followed in their order. Last of all limped Saptah
and, behold! the god bowed again.”

“How and why does it do these things?” I asked, “and at the
wrong time?”

“Ask the priests, Ana, or Userti, or Saptah. Perhaps the divine neck
has not been oiled of late, or too much oiled, or too little oiled, or
prayers—or strings—may have gone wrong. Or Pharaoh may have been
niggard in his gifts to that college of the great god of his House. Who
am I that I should know the ways of gods? That in the temple where I
served at Thebes fifty years ago did not pretend to bow or to trouble
himself as to which of the royal race sat upon the throne. Hush! Here
comes Pharaoh.”

Then in a splendid procession, surrounded by princes, councillors,
ladies, priests, and guards, Amenmeses and the Royal Wife, Urnure, a
large woman who walked awkwardly, entered the hall, a glittering band.
The high-priest, Roi, and the chancellor, Nehesi, received Pharaoh and
led him to his throne. The multitude prostrated itself, trumpets blew
and thrice the old salute of “Life! Blood! Strength! Pharaoh!
Pharaoh! Pharaoh!” was cried aloud.

Amenmeses rose and bowed, and I saw that his heavy face was troubled and
looked older. Then he swore some oath to gods and men which Roi
dictated to him, and before all the company put on the double crown and
the other emblems, and took in his hands the scourge and golden sickle.
Next homage was paid. The Princess Userti came first and kissed
Pharaoh’s hand, but bent no knee. Indeed first she spoke with him a
while. We could not hear what was said, but afterwards learned that she
demanded that he should publicly repeat all the promises which her
father Meneptah had made to her before him, confirming her in her place
and rights. This in the end he did, though it seemed to me unwillingly
enough.

So with many forms and ancient celebrations the ceremony went on, till
all grew weary waiting for that time when Pharaoh should make his
speech to the people. That speech, however, was never made, for
presently, thrusting past us, I saw those two prophets of the
Israelites who had visited Meneptah in this same hall. Men shrank from
them, so that they walked straight up to the throne, nor did even the
guards strive to bar their way. What they said there I could not hear,
but I believe that they demanded that their people should be allowed to
go to worship their god in their own fashion, and that Amenmeses refused
as Meneptah had done.

Then one of them cast down a rod and it turned to a snake which hissed
at Pharaoh, whereon the Kherheb Ki and his company also cast down rods
that turned to snakes, though I could only hear the hissing. After this
a great gloom fell upon the hall, so that men could not see each
other’s faces and everyone began to call aloud till the company broke
up in confusion. Bakenkhonsu and I were borne together to the doorway
by the pressure of the people, whence we were glad enough to see the
sky again.

Thus ended the crowning of Amenmeses.




CHAPTER XII.

THE MESSAGE OF JABEZ


That night there were none who rejoiced in the streets of the city, and
save in the palace and houses of those of the Court, none who feasted.
I walked abroad in the market-place and noted the people going to and
fro gloomily, or talking together in whispers. Presently a man whose
face was hidden in a hood began to speak with me, saying that he had a
message for my master, the Prince Seti. I answered that I took no
messages from veiled strangers, whereon he threw back his hood, and I
saw that it was Jabez, the uncle of Merapi. I asked him whether he had
obeyed the Prince, and borne the body of that prophet back to Goshen and
 told the elders of the manner of the man’s death.

“Yes,” he answered, “nor were the Elders angry with the
Prince over this matter. They said that their messenger had exceeded his
authority, since they had never told him to curse Merapi, and much less
attempt to kill her, and that the Prince did right to slay one who
would have done murder before his royal eyes. Still they added that the
curse, having once been spoken by this priest, would surely fall upon
Merapi in this way or in that.”

“What then should she do, Jabez?”

“I do not know, Scribe. If she returns to her people, perchance she
will be absolved, but then she must surely marry Laban. It is for her
to judge.”

“And what would you do if you were in her place, Jabez?”

“I think that I should stay where I was, and make myself very dear to
Seti, taking the chance that the curse may pass her by, since it was not
lawfully decreed upon her. Whichever way she looks, trouble waits, and
at the worst, a woman might wish to satisfy her heart before it falls,
especially if that heart should happen to turn to one who will be
Pharaoh.”

“Why do you say ‘who will be Pharaoh,’ Jabez?” I asked,
for we were standing in an empty place alone.

“That I may not tell you,” he replied cunningly, “yet it will
come about as I say. He who sits upon the throne is mad as Meneptah was
mad, and will fight against a strength that is greater than his until
it overwhelms him. In the Prince’s heart alone does the light of
wisdom shine. That which you saw to-day is only the first of many
miracles, Scribe Ana. I can say no more.”

“What then is your message, Jabez?”

“This: Because the Prince has striven to deal well with the people of
Israel and for their sake has cast aside a crown, whatever may chance to
others, let him fear nothing. No harm shall come to him, or to those
about him, such as yourself, Scribe Ana, who also would deal justly by
us. Yet it may happen that through my niece Merapi, on whose head the
evil word has fallen, a great sorrow may come to both him and her.
Therefore, perhaps, although setting this against that, she may be wise
to stay in the house of Seti, he, on the balance, may be wise to turn
her from his doors.”

“What sorrow?” I asked, who grew bewildered with his dark talk, but
there was no answer, for he had gone.

Near to my lodging another man met me, and the moonlight shining on his
face showed me the terrible eyes of Ki.

“Scribe Ana,” he said, “you leave for Memphis to-morrow at
the dawn, and not two days hence as you purposed.”

“How do you know that, Magician Ki?” I answered, for I had told my
change of plan to none, not even to Bakenkhonsu, having indeed only
determined upon it since Jabez left me.

“I know nothing, Ana, save that a faithful servant who has learned all
you have learned to-day will hurry to make report of it to his master,
especially if there is some other to whom he would also wish to make
report, as Bakenkhonsu thinks.”

“Bakenkhonsu talks too much, whatever he may think,” I exclaimed
testily.

“The aged grow garrulous. You were at the crowning to-day, were you
not?”

“Yes, and if I saw aright from far away, those Hebrew prophets seemed
to worst you at your own trade there, Kherheb, which must grieve you,
as you were grieved in the temple when Amon fell.”

“It does not grieve me, Ana. If I have powers, there may be others who
have greater powers, as I learned in the temple of Amon. Why therefore
should I feel ashamed?”

“Powers!” I replied with a laugh, for the strings of my mind seemed
torn that night, “would not craft be a better word? How do you turn a
stick into a snake, a thing which is impossible to man?”

“Craft might be a better word, since craft means knowledge as well as
trickery. ‘Impossible to man!’ After what you saw a while ago in
the temple of Amon, do you hold that there is anything impossible to man
or woman? Perhaps you could do as much yourself.”

“Why do you mock me, Ki? I study books, not snake-charming.”

He looked at me in his calm fashion, as though he were reading, not my
face, but the thoughts behind it. Then he looked at the cedar wand in
his hand and gave it to me, saying:

“Study this, Ana, and tell me, what is it.”

“Am I a child,” I answered angrily, “that I should not know a
priest’s rod when I see one?”

“I think that you are something of a child, Ana,” he murmured, all
the while keeping those eyes of his fixed upon my face.

Then a horror came about. For the rod began to twist in my hand and when
I stared at it, lo! it was a long, yellow snake which I held by the
tail. I threw the reptile down with a scream, for it was turning its
head as though to strike me, and there in the dust it twisted and
writhed away from me and towards Ki. Yet an instant later it was only a
stick of yellow cedar-wood, though between me and Ki there was a
snake’s track in the sand.

“It is somewhat shameless of you, Ana,” said Ki, as he lifted the
wand, “to reproach me with trickery while you yourself try to confound
a poor juggler with such arts as these.”

Then I know not what I said to him, save the end of it was that I
supposed he would tell me next that I could fill a hall with darkness
at noonday and cover a multitude with terror.

“Let us have done with jests,” he said, “though these are
well enough in their place. Will you take this rod again and point it to
the moon? You refuse and you do well, for neither you nor I can cover
up her face. Ana, because you are wise in your way and consort with one
who is wiser, and were present in the temple when the statue of Amon
was shattered by a certain witch who matched her strength against mine
and conquered me, I, the great magician, have come to ask
_you_—whence came that darkness in the hall to-day?”

“From God, I think,” I answered in an awed whisper.

“So I think also, Ana. But tell me, or ask Merapi, Moon of Israel, to
tell me—from what god? Oh! I say to you that a terrible power is afoot
in this land and that the Prince Seti did well to refuse the throne of
Egypt and to fly to Memphis. Repeat it to him, Ana.”

Then he too was gone.

Now I returned in safety to Memphis and told all these tidings to the
Prince, who listened to them eagerly. Once only was he greatly stirred;
it was when I repeated to him the words of Userti, that never would she
look upon his face again unless it pleased him to turn it towards the
throne. On hearing this tears came into his eyes, and rising, he walked
up and down the chamber.

“The fallen must not look for gentleness,” he said, “and
doubtless, Ana, you think it folly that I should grieve because I am
thus deserted.”

“Nay, Prince, for I too have been abandoned by a wife and the pain is
unforgotten.”

“It is not of the wife I think, Ana, since in truth her Highness is no
wife to me. For whatever may be the ancient laws of Egypt, how could it
happen otherwise, at any rate in my case and hers? It is of the sister.
For though my mother was not hers, she and I were brought up together
and in our way loved each other, though always it was her pleasure to
lord it over me, as it was mine to submit and pay her back in jests.
That is why she is so angry because now of a sudden I have thrown off
her rule to follow my own will whereby she has lost the throne.”

“It has always been the duty of the royal heiress of Egypt to marry
the Pharaoh of Egypt, Prince, and having wed one who would be Pharaoh
according to that duty, the blow cuts deep.”

“Then she had best thrust aside that foolish wife of his and wed him
who is Pharaoh. But that she will never do; Amenmeses she has always
hated, so much that she loathed to be in the same place with him. Nor
indeed would he wed her, who wishes to rule for himself, not through a
woman whose title to the crown is better than his own. Well, she has
put me away and there’s an end. Henceforth I must go lonely,
unless—unless——Continue your story, friend. It is kind of her in
her greatness to promise to protect one so humble. I should remember
that, although it is true that fallen heads sometimes rise again,” he
added bitterly.

“So at least Jabez thinks, Prince,” and I told him how the
Israelites were sure that he would be Pharaoh, whereat he laughed and
said:

“Perhaps, for they are good prophets. For my part I neither know or
care. Or maybe Jabez sees advantage in talking thus, for as you know he
is a clever trader.”

“I do not think so,” I answered and stopped.

“Had Jabez more to say of any other matter, Ana? Of the lady Merapi,
for instance?”

Now feeling it to be my duty, I told him every word that had passed
between Jabez and myself, though somewhat shamefacedly.

“This Hebrew takes much for granted, Ana, even as to whom the Moon of
Israel would wish to shine upon. Why, friend, it might be you whom she
desires to touch with her light, or some youth in Goshen—not
Laban—or no one.”

“Me, Prince, me!” I exclaimed.

“Well, Ana, I am sure you would have it so. Be advised by me and ask
her mind upon the matter. Look not so confused, man, for one who has
been married you are too modest. Come tell me of this Crowning.”

So glad enough to escape from the matter of Merapi, I spoke at length of
all that had happened when Pharaoh Amenmeses took his seat upon the
throne. When I described how the rod of the Hebrew prophet had been
turned to a snake and how Ki and his company had done likewise, the
Prince laughed and said that these were mere jugglers’ tricks. But
when I told of the darkness that had seemed to gather in the hall and
of the gloom that filled the hearts of all men and of the awesome dream
of Bakenkhonsu, also of the words of Ki after he had clouded my mind
and played his jest upon me, he listened with much earnestness and
answered:

“My mind is as Ki’s in this matter. I too think that a terrible
power is afoot in Egypt, one that has its home in the land of Goshen,
and that I did well to refuse the throne. But from what god these
fortunes come I do not know. Perhaps time will tell us. Meanwhile if
there is aught in the prophesies of these Hebrews, as interpreted by
Jabez, at least you and I may sleep in peace, which is more than will
chance to Pharaoh on the throne that Userti covets. If so, this play
will be worth the watching. You have done your mission well, Ana. Go
rest you while I think over all that you have said.”

It was evening and as the palace was very hot I went into the garden and
making my way to that little pleasure-house where Seti and I were wont
to study, I sat myself down there and, being weary, fell asleep. When I
awoke from a dream about some woman who was weeping, night had fallen
and the full moon shone in the sky, so that its rays fell on the garden
before me.

Now in front of this little house, as I have said, grew trees that at
this season of the year were covered with white and cup-like blossoms,
and between these trees was a seat built up of sun-dried bricks. On
this seat sat a woman whom I knew from her shape to be Merapi. Also she
was sad, for although her head was bowed and her long hair hid her face
I could hear her gentle sighs.

The sight of her moved me very much and I remembered what the Prince had
said to me, telling me that I should do well to ask this lady whether
she had any mind my way. Therefore if I did so, surely I could not be
blamed. Yet I was certain that it was not to me that her heart turned,
though to speak the truth, much I wished it otherwise. Who would look
at the ibis in the swamp when the wide-winged eagle floated in heaven
above?

An evil thought came into my mind, sent by Set. Suppose that this
watcher’s eyes were fixed upon the eagle, lord of the air. Suppose
that she worshipped this eagle; that she loved it because its home was
heaven, because to her it was the king of all the birds. And suppose
one told her that if she lured it down to earth from the glorious
safety of the skies, she would bring it to captivity or death at the
hand of the snarer. Then would not that loving watcher say: “Let it
go free and happy, however much I long to look upon it,” and when it
had sailed from sight, perhaps turn her eyes to the humble ibis in the
mud?

Jabez had told me that if this woman and the Prince grew dear to each
other she would bring great sorrow on his head. If I repeated his words
to her, she who had faith in the prophecies of her people would
certainly believe them. Moreover, whatever her heart might prompt,
being so high-natured, never would she consent to do what might bring
trouble on Seti’s head, even if to refuse him should sink her soul in
sorrow. Nor would she return to the Hebrews there to fall into the
hands of one she hated. Then perhaps I——. Should I tell her? If
Jabez had not meant that the matter must be brought to her ears, would
he have spoken of it at all? In short was it not my duty to her, and
perhaps also to the Prince who thereby might be saved from miseries to
come, that is if this talk of future troubles were anything more than an
idle story.

Such was the evil reasoning with which Set assailed my spirit. How I
beat it down I do not know. Not by my own goodness, I am sure, since at
the moment I was aflame with love for the sweet and beautiful lady who
sat before me and in my foolishness would, I think, have given my life
to kiss her hand. Not altogether for her sake either, since passion is
very selfish. No, I believe it was because the love that I bore the
Prince was more deep and real than that which I could feel for any
woman, and I knew well that were she not in my sight no such treachery
would have overcome my heart. For I was sure, although he had never
said so to me, that Seti loved Merapi and above all earthly things
desired her as his companion, while if once I spoke those words,
whatever my own gain or loss and whatever her secret wish, that she
would never be.

So I conquered, though the victory left me trembling like a child, and
wishing that I had not been born to know the pangs of love denied. My
reward was very swift, for just then Merapi unfastened a gem from the
breast of her white robe and held it towards the moon, as though to
study it. In an instant I knew it again. It was that royal scarab of
lapis-lazuli with which in Goshen the Prince had made fast the bandage
on her wounded foot, which also had been snatched from her breast by
some power on that night when the statue of Amon was shattered in the
temple.

Long and earnestly she looked at it, then having glanced round to make
sure she was alone, she pressed it to her lips and kissed it thrice
with passion, muttering I know not what between the kisses. Now the
scales fell from my eyes and I knew that she loved Seti, and oh! how I
thanked my guardian god who had saved me from such useless shame.

I wiped the cold damp from my brow and was about to flee away,
discovering myself with as few words as might be, when, looking up, I
saw standing behind Merapi the figure of a man, who was watching her
replace the ornament in her robe. While I hesitated a moment the man
spoke and I knew the voice for that of Seti. Then again I thought of
flight, but being somewhat timid by nature, feared to show myself until
it was too late, thinking that afterward the Prince would make me the
target of his wit. So I sat close and still, hearing and seeing all
despite myself.

“What gem is that, Lady, which you admire and cherish so tenderly?”
asked Seti in his slow voice that so often hid a hint of laughter.

She uttered a little scream and springing up, saw him.

“Oh! my lord,” she exclaimed, “pardon your servant. I was
sitting here in the cool, as you gave me leave to do, and the moon was
so bright—that—I wished to see if by it I could read the writing on
this scarab.”

Never before, thought I to myself, did I know one who read with her
lips, though it is true that first she used her eyes.

“And could you, Lady? Will you suffer me to try?”

Very slowly and colouring, so that even the moonlight showed her
blushes, she withdrew the ornament again and held it towards him.

“Surely this is familiar to me? Have I not seen it before?” he
asked.

“Perhaps. I wore it that night in the temple, your Highness.”

“You must not name me Highness, Lady. I have no longer any rank in
Egypt.”

“I know—because of—my people. Oh! it was noble.”

“But about the scarabæus——” he broke in, with a wave
of his hand. “Surely it is the same with which the bandage was made
fast upon your hurt—oh! years ago?”

“Yes, it is the same,” she answered, looking down.

“I thought it. And when I gave it to you, I said some words that
seemed to me well spoken at the time. What were they? I cannot
remember. Have you also forgotten?”

“Yes—I mean—no. You said that now I had all Egypt beneath my
foot, speaking of the royal cartouche upon the scarab.”

“Ah! I recall. How true, and yet how false the jest, or prophecy.”

“How can anything be both true and false, Prince?”

“That I could prove to you very easily, but it would take an hour or
more, so it shall be for another time. This scarab is a poor thing, give
it back to me and you shall have a better. Or would you choose this
signet? As I am no longer Prince of Egypt it is useless to me.”

“Keep the scarab, Prince. It is your own. But I will not take the ring
because it is——”

“——useless to me, and you would not have that which is
without value to the giver. Oh! I string words ill, but they were not
what I meant.”

“No, Prince, because your royal ring is too large for one so small.”

“How can you tell until you have tried? Also that is a fault which
might perhaps be mended.”

Then he laughed, and she laughed also, but as yet she did not take the
ring.

“Have you seen Ana?” he went on. “I believe he set out to
search for you, in such a hurry indeed that he could scarcely finish his
report to me.”

“Did he say that?”

“No, he only looked it. So much so that I suggested he should seek you
at once. He answered that he was going to rest after his long journey,
or perhaps I said that he ought to do so. I forget, as often one does,
on so beauteous a night when other thoughts seem nearer.”

“Why did Ana wish to see me, Prince?”

“How can I tell? Why does a man who is still young—want to see a
sweet and beautiful lady? Oh! I remember. He had met your uncle at Tanis
who inquired as to your health. Perhaps that is why he wanted to see
you.”

“I do not wish to hear about my uncle at Tanis. He reminds me of too
many things that give pain, and there are nights when one wishes to
escape pain, which is sure to be found again on the morrow.”

“Are you still of the same mind about returning to your people?” he
asked, more earnestly.

“Surely. Oh! do not say that you will send me hence
to——”

“Laban, Lady?”

“Laban amongst others. Remember, Prince, that I am one under a curse.
If I return to Goshen, in this way or in that, soon I shall die.”

“Ana says that your uncle Jabez declares that the mad fellow who tried
to murder you had no authority to curse and much less to kill you. You
must ask him to tell you all.”

“Yet the curse will cling and crush me at the last. How can I, one
lonely woman, stand against the might of the people of Israel and their
priests?”

“Are you then lonely?”

“How can it be otherwise with an outcast, Prince?”

“No, it cannot be otherwise. I know it who am also an outcast.”

“At least there is her Highness your wife, who doubtless will come to
comfort you,” she said, looking down.

“Her Highness will not come. If you had seen Ana, he would perhaps
have told you that she has sworn not to look upon my face again, unless
above it shines a crown.”

“Oh! how can a woman be so cruel? Surely, Prince, such a stab must cut
you to the heart,” she exclaimed, with a little cry of pity.

“Her Highness is not only a woman; she is a Princess of Egypt which is
different. For the rest it does cut me to the heart that my royal sister
should have deserted me, for that which she loves better—power and
pomp. But so it is, unless Ana dreams. It seems therefore that we are
in the same case, both outcasts, you and I, is it not so?”

She made no answer but continued to look upon the ground, and he went on
very slowly:

“A thought comes into my mind on which I would ask your judgment. If
two who are forlorn came together they would be less forlorn by half,
would they not?”

“It would seem so, Prince—that is if they remained forlorn at all.
But I do not understand the riddle.”

“Yet you have answered it. If you are lonely and I am lonely apart, we
should, you say, be less lonely together.”

“Prince,” she murmured, shrinking away from him, “I spoke no
such words.”

“No, I spoke them for you. Hearken to me, Merapi. They think me a
strange man in Egypt because I have held no woman dear, never having
seen one whom I could hold dear.” Here she looked at him searchingly,
and he went on, “A while ago, before I visited your land of
Goshen—Ana can tell you about the matter, for I think he wrote it
down—Ki and old Bakenkhonsu came to see me. Now, as you know, Ki is
without doubt a great magician, though it would seem not so great as
some of your prophets. He told me that he and others had been searching
out my future and that in Goshen I should find a woman whom it was
fated I must love. He added that this woman would bring me much joy.”
Here Seti paused, doubtless remembering this was not all that Ki had
said, or Jabez either. “Ki told me also,” he went on slowly,
“that I had already known this woman for thousands of years.”

She started and a strange look came into her face.

“How can that be, Prince?”

“That is what I asked him and got no good answer. Still he said it,
not only of the woman but of my friend Ana as well, which indeed would
explain much, and it would appear that the other magicians said it
also. Then I went to the land of Goshen and there I saw a
woman——”

“For the first time, Prince?”

“No, for the third time.”

Here she sank upon the bench and covered her eyes with her hands.

“——and loved her, and felt as though I had loved her for
‘thousands of years.’”

“It is not true. You mock me, it is not true!” she whispered.

“It is true for if I did not know it then, I knew it afterwards,
though never perhaps completely until to-day, when I learned that
Userti had deserted me indeed. Moon of Israel, you are that woman. I
will not tell you,” he went on passionately, “that you are fairer
than all other women, or sweeter, or more wise, though these things you
seem to me. I will only tell you that I love you, yes, love you,
whatever you may be. I cannot offer you the Throne of Egypt, even if
the law would suffer it, but I can offer you the throne of this heart
of mine. Now, Lady Merapi, what have you to say? Before you speak,
remember that although you seem to be my prisoner here at Memphis, you
have naught to fear from me. Whatever you may answer, such shelter and
such friendship as I can give will be yours while I live, and never
shall I attempt to force myself upon you, however much it may pain me
to pass you by. I know not the future. It may happen that I shall give
you great place and power, it may happen that I shall give you nothing
but poverty and exile, or even perhaps a share in my own death, but
with either will go the worship of my body and my spirit. Now,
speak.”

She dropped her hands from her face, looking up at him, and there were
tears shining in her beautiful eyes.

“It cannot be, Prince,” she murmured.

“You mean you do not wish it to be?”

“I said that it cannot be. Such ties between an Egyptian and an
Israelite are not lawful.”

“Some in this city and elsewhere seem to find them so.”

“And I am married, I mean perhaps I am married—at least in
name.”

“And I too am married, I mean——”

“That is different. Also there is another reason, the greatest of all,
I am under a curse, and should bring you, not joy as Ki said, but
sorrow, or, at the least, sorrow with the joy.”

He looked at her searchingly.

“Has Ana——” he began, then continued, “if so what
lives have you known that are not compounded of mingled joy and
sorrow?”

“None. But the woe I should bring would outweigh the joy—to you.
The curse of my God rests upon me and I cannot learn to worship yours.
The curse of my people rests upon me, the law of my people divides me
from you as with a sword, and should I draw close to you these will be
increased upon my head, which matters not, but also upon yours,” and
she began to sob.

“Tell me,” he said, taking her by the hand, “but one thing,
and if the answer is No, I will trouble you no more. Is your heart
mine?”

“It is,” she sighed, “and has been ever since my eyes fell
upon you yonder in the streets of Tanis. Oh! then a change came into me
and I hated Laban, whom before I had only misliked. Moreover, I too
felt that of which Ki spoke, as though I had known you for thousands of
years. My heart is yours, my love is yours; all that makes me woman is
yours, and never, never can turn from you to any other man. But still
we must stay apart, for your sake, my Prince, for your sake.”

“Then, were it not for me, you would be ready to run these hazards?”

“Surely! Am I not a woman who loves?”

“If that be so,” he said with a little laugh, “being of full
age and of an understanding which some have thought good, by your leave
I think I will run them also. Oh! foolish woman, do you not understand
that there is but one good thing in the world, one thing in which self
and its miseries can be forgot, and that thing is love? Mayhap troubles
will come. Well, let them come, for what do they matter if only the
love or its memory remains, if once we have picked that beauteous
flower and for an hour worn it on our breasts. You talk of the
difference between the gods we worship and maybe it exists, but all
gods send their gifts of love upon the earth, without which it would
cease to be. Moreover, my faith teaches me more clearly perhaps than
yours, that life does not end with death and therefore that love, being
life’s soul, must endure while it endures. Last of all, I think, as
you think, that in some dim way there is truth in what the magicians
said, and that long ago in the past we have been what once more we are
about to be, and that the strength of this invisible 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 matter of what we wish to do, Merapi, it
is a matter of what Fate has decreed we shall do. Now, answer again.”

But she made no answer, and when I looked up after a little moment she
was in his arms and her lips were upon his lips.

Thus did Prince Seti of Egypt and Merapi, Moon of Israel, come together
at Memphis in Egypt.




CHAPTER XIII.

THE RED NILE


On the morrow of this night I found the Prince alone for a little while,
and put him in mind of certain ancient manuscripts that he wished to
read, which could only be consulted at Thebes where I might copy them;
also of others that were said to be for sale there. He answered that
they could wait, but I replied that the latter might find some other
purchaser if I did not go at once.

“You are over fond of long journeys upon my business, Ana,” he
said. Then he considered me curiously for a while, and since he could
read my mind, as indeed I could his, saw that I knew all, and added in
a gentle voice:

“You should have done as I told you, and spoken first. If so, who
knows——”

“You do, Prince,” I answered, “you and another.”

“Go, and the gods be with you, friend, but stay not too long copying
those rolls, which any scribe can do. I think there is trouble at hand
in Egypt, and I shall need you at my side. Another who holds you dear
will need you also.”

“I thank my lord and that other,” I said, bowing, and went.

Moreover, while I was making some humble provision for my journey, I
found that this was needless, since a slave came to tell me that the
Prince’s barge was waiting to sail with the wind. So in that barge I
travelled to Thebes like a great noble, or a royal mummy being borne to
burial. Only instead of wailing priests, until I sent them back to
Memphis, musicians sat upon the prow, and when I willed, dancing girls
came to amuse my leisure and, veiled in golden nets, to serve at my
table.

So I journeyed as though I were the Prince himself, and as one who was
known to have his ear was made much of by the governors of the Nomes,
the chief men of the towns, and the high priests of the temples at
every city where we moored. For, as I have said, although Amenmeses sat
upon the throne, Seti still ruled in the hearts of the folk of Egypt.
Moreover, as I sailed further up the Nile to districts where little was
known of the Israelites, and the troubles they were bringing on the
land, I found this to be so more and more. Why is it, the Great Ones
would whisper in my ear, that his Highness the Prince Seti does not
hold his father’s place? Then I would tell them of the Hebrews, and
they would laugh and say:

“Let the Prince unfurl his royal banner here, and we will show him
what we think of the question of these Israelitish slaves. May not the
Heir of Egypt form his own judgment on such a matter as to whether they
should abide there in the north, or go away into that wilderness which
they desire?”

To all of which, and much like it, I would only answer that their words
should be reported. More I did not, and indeed did not dare to say,
since everywhere I found that I was being followed and watched by the
spies of Pharaoh.

At length I came to Thebes and took up my abode in a fine house that was
the property of the Prince, which I found that a messenger had
commanded should be made ready for me. It stood near by the entrance to
the Avenue of Sphinxes, which leads to the greatest of all the Theban
temples, where is that mighty columned hall built by the first Seti and
his son, Rameses II, the Prince’s grandfather.

Here, having entrance to the place, I would often wander at night, and
in my spirit draw as near to heaven as ever it has been my lot to
travel. Also, crossing the Nile to the western bank, I visited that
desolate valley where the rulers of Egypt lie at rest. The tomb of
Pharaoh Meneptah was still unsealed, and accompanied by a single priest
with torches, I crept down its painted halls and looked upon the
sarcophagus of him whom so lately I had seen seated in glory upon the
throne, wondering, as I looked, how much or how little he knew of all
that passed in Egypt to-day.

Moreover, I copied the papyri that I had come to seek, in which there
was nothing worth preserving, and some of real value that I discovered
in the ancient libraries of the temples, and purchased others. One of
these indeed told a very strange tale that has given me much cause for
thought, especially of late years now when all my friends are dead.

Thus I spent two months, and should have stayed longer had not
messengers reached me from the Prince saying that he desired my return.
Of these, one followed within three days of the other, and his words
were:

“Think you, Scribe Ana, that because I am no more Prince of Egypt I am
no longer to be obeyed? If so, bear in mind that the gods may decree
that one day I shall grow taller than ever I was before, and then be
sure that I will remember your disobedience, and make you shorter by a
head. Come swiftly, my friend, for I grow lonely, and need a man to
talk with.”

To which I replied, that I returned as fast as the barge would carry me,
being so heavily laden with the manuscripts that I had copied and
purchased.

So I started, being, to tell truth, glad to get away, for this reason.
Two nights before, when I was walking alone from the great temple of
the house, a woman dressed in many colours appeared and accosted me as
such lost ones do. I tried to shake her off, but she clung to me, and I
saw that she had drunk more than enough of wine. Presently she asked,
in a voice that I thought familiar, if I knew who was the officer that
had come to Thebes on the business of some Royal One and abode in the
dwelling that was known as House of the Prince. I answered that his
name was Ana.

“Once I knew an Ana very well,” she said, “but I left
him.”

“Why?” I asked, turning cold in my limbs, for although I could not
see her face because of a hood she wore, now I began to be afraid.

“Because he was a poor fool,” she answered, “no man at all,
but one who was always thinking about writings and making them, and
another came my way whom I liked better until he deserted me.”

“And what happened to this Ana?” I asked.

“I do not know. I suppose he went on dreaming, or perhaps he took
another wife; if so, I am sorry for her. Only, if by chance it is the
same that has come to Thebes, he must be wealthy now, and I shall go
and claim him and make him keep me well.”

“Had you any children?” I asked.

“Only one, thank the gods, and that died—thank the gods again, for
otherwise it might have lived to be such as I am,” and she sobbed once
in a hard fashion and then fell to her vile endearments.

As she did so, the hood slipped from her head and I saw that the face
was that of my wife, still beauteous in a bold fashion, but grown
dreadful with drink and sin. I trembled from head to foot, then said in
the disguised voice that I had used to her.

“Woman, I know this Ana. He is dead and you were his ruin. Still,
because I was his friend, take this and go reform your ways,” and I
drew from my robe and gave to her a bag containing no mean weight of
gold.

She snatched it as a hawk snatches, and seeing its contents by the
starlight, thanked me, saying:

“Surely Ana dead is worth more than Ana alive. Also it is well that he
is dead, for he is gone where the child went, which he loved more than
life, neglecting me for its sake and thereby making me what I am. Had
he lived, too, being as I have said a fool, he would have had more
ill-luck with women, whom he never understood. Farewell, friend of Ana,
who have given me that which will enable me to find another husband,”
and laughing wildly she reeled off behind a sphinx and vanished into
the darkness.

For this reason, then, I was glad to escape from Thebes. Moreover, that
miserable one had hurt me sorely, making me sure of what I had only
guessed, namely, that with women I was but a fool, so great a fool that
then and there I swore by my guardian god that never would I look with
love on one of them again, an oath which I have kept well whatever
others I may have broken. Again she stabbed me through with the talk of
our dead child, for it is true that when that sweet one took flight to
Osiris my heart broke and in a fashion has never mended itself again.
Lastly, I feared lest it might also be true that I had neglected the
mother for the sake of this child which was the jewel of my worship,
yes, and is, and thereby helped her on to shame. So much did this
thought torment me that through an agent whom I trusted, who believed
that I was but providing for one whom I had wronged, I caused enough to
be paid to her to keep her in comfort.

She did marry again, a merchant about whom she had cast her toils, and
in due course spent his wealth and brought him to ruin, after which he
ran away from her. As for her, she died of her evil habits in the third
year of the reign of Seti II. But, the gods be thanked she never knew
that the private scribe of Pharaoh’s chamber was that Ana who had
been her husband. Here I will end her story.

Now as I was passing down the Nile with a heart more heavy than the
great stone that served as anchor on the barge, we moored at dusk on
the third night by the side of a vessel that was sailing up Nile with a
strong northerly wind. On board this boat was an officer whom I had
known at the Court of Pharaoh Meneptah, travelling to Thebes on duty.
This man seemed so much afraid that I asked him if anything weighed
upon his mind. Then he took me aside into a palm grove upon the bank,
and seating himself on the pole whereby oxen turned a waterwheel, told
me that strange things were passing at Tanis.

It seemed that the Hebrew prophets had once more appeared before
Pharaoh, who since his accession had left the Israelites in peace, not
attacking them with the sword as Meneptah had wished to do, it was
thought through fear lest if he did so he should die as Meneptah died.
As before, they had put up their prayer that the people of the Hebrews
should be suffered to go to worship in the wilderness, and Pharaoh had
refused them. Then when he went down to sail upon the river early in
the morning of another day, they had met him and one of them struck the
water with his rod, and it had turned to blood. Whereon Ki and Kherheb
and his company also struck the water with their rods, and it turned to
blood. That was six days ago, and now this officer swore to me that the
blood was creeping up the Nile, a tale at which I laughed.

“Come then and see,” he said, and led me back to his boat, where
all the crew seemed as fearful as he was himself.

He took me forward to a great water jar that stood upon the prow and,
behold! it seemed to be full of blood, and in it was a fish dead,
and—stinking.

“This water,” said he, “I drew from the Nile with my own
hands, not five hours sail to the north. But now we have outsped the
blood, which follows after us,” and taking a lamp he held it over the
prow of the boat and I saw that all its planks were splashed as though
with blood.

“Be advised by me, learned scribe,” he added, “and fill every
jar and skin that you can gather with sweet water, lest to-morrow you
and your company should go thirsty,” and he laughed a very dreary
laugh.

Then we parted without more words, for neither of us knew what to say,
and about midnight he sailed on with the wind, taking his chance of
grounding on the sandbanks in the darkness.

For my part I did as he bade me, though my rowers who had not spoken
with his men, thought that I was mad to load up the barge with so much
water.

At the first break of day I gave the order to start. Looking over the
side of the barge it seemed to me as though the lights of dawn had
fallen from the sky into the Nile whereof the water had become
pink-hued. Moreover, this hue, which grew ever deeper, was travelling
up stream, not down, against the course of nature, and could not
therefore have been caused by red soil washed from the southern lands.
The bargemen stared and muttered together. Then one of them, leaning
over the side, scooped up water in the hollow of his hand and drew some
into his mouth, only to spit it out again with a cry of fear.

“’Tis blood,” he cried. “Blood! Osiris has been slain
afresh, and his holy blood fills the banks of Nile.”

So much were they afraid, indeed, that had I not forced them to hold to
their course they would have turned and rowed up stream, or beached the
boat and fled into the desert. But I cried to them to steer on
northwards, for thus perhaps we should sooner be done with this horror,
and they obeyed me. Ever as we went the hue of the water grew more red,
almost to blackness, till at last it seemed as though we were
travelling through a sea of gore in which dead fish floated by the
thousand, or struggled dying on the surface. Also the stench was so
dreadful that we must bind linen about our nostrils to strain the foetid
air.

We came abreast of a town, and from its streets one great wail of terror
rose to heaven. Men stood staring as though they were drunken, looking
at their red arms which they had dipped in the stream, and women ran to
and fro upon the bank, tearing their hair and robes, and crying out
such words as—

“Wizard’s work! Bewitched! Accursed! The gods have slain each
other, and men too must die!” and so forth.

Also we saw peasants digging holes at a distance from the shore to see
perchance if they might come to water that was sweet and wholesome. All
day long we travelled thus through this horrible flood, while the spray
driven by the strong north wind spotted our flesh and garments, till we
were like butchers reeking from the shambles. Nor could we eat any food
because of the stench from this spray, which made it to taste salt as
does fresh blood, only we drank of the water which I had provided, and
the rowers who had held me to be mad now named me the wisest of men;
one who knew what would befall in the future.

At length towards evening we noted that the water was growing much less
red with every hour that passed, which was another marvel, seeing that
above us, upstream, it was the colour of jasper, whereon we paused from
our rowing and, all defiled as we were, sang a hymn and gave thanks to
Hapi, god of Nile, the Great, the Secret, the Hidden. Before sunset,
indeed, the river was clean again, save that on the bank where we made
fast for the night the stones and rushes were all stained, and the dead
fish lay in thousands polluting the air. To escape the stench we
climbed a cliff that here rose quite close to Nile, in which we saw the
mouths of ancient tombs that long ago had been robbed and left empty,
purposing to sleep in one of them.

A path worn by the feet of men ran to the largest of these tombs,
whence, as we drew near, we heard the sound of wailing. Looking in, I
saw a woman and some children crouched upon the floor of the tomb,
their heads covered with dust who, when they perceived us, cried more
loudly than before, though with harsh dry voices, thinking no doubt
that we were robbers or perhaps ghosts because of our bloodstained
garments. Also there was another child, a little one, that did not cry,
because it was dead. I asked the woman what passed, but even when she
understood that we were only men who meant her no harm, she could not
speak or do more than gasp “Water! Water!” We gave her and the
children to drink from the jars which we had brought with us, which
they did greedily, after which I drew her story from her.

She was the wife of a fisherman who made his home in this cave, and said
that seven days before the Nile had turned to blood, so that they could
not drink of it, and had no water save a little in a pot. Nor could
they dig to find it, since here the ground was all rock. Nor could they
escape, since when he saw the marvel, her husband in his fear had leapt
from his boat and waded to land and the boat had floated away.

I asked where was her husband, and she pointed behind her. I went to
look, and there found a man hanging by his neck from a rope that was
fixed to the capital of a pillar in the tomb, quite dead and cold.
Returning sick at heart, I inquired of her how this had come about. She
answered that when he saw that all the fish had perished, taking away
his living, and that thirst had killed his youngest child, he went mad,
and creeping to the back of the tomb, without her knowledge hung
himself with a net rope. It was a dreadful story.

Having given the widow of our food, we went to sleep in another tomb,
not liking the company of those dead ones. Next morning at the dawn we
took the woman and her children on board the barge, and rowed them
three hours’ journey to a town where she had a sister, whom she
found. The dead man and the child we left there in the tomb, since my
men would not defile themselves by touching them.

So, seeing much terror and misery on our journey, at last we came safe
to Memphis. Leaving the boatmen to draw up the barge, I went to the
palace, speaking with none, and was led at once to the Prince. I found
him in a shaded chamber seated side by side with the lady Merapi, and
holding her hand in such a fashion that they remind me of the
life-sized Ka statues of a man and his wife, such as I have seen in the
ancient tombs, cut when the sculptors knew how to fashion the perfect
likenesses of men and women. This they no longer do to-day, I think
because the priests have taught them that it is not lawful. He was
talking to her in a low voice, while she listened, smiling sweetly as
she ever did, but with eyes, fixed straight before her that were, as it
seemed to me, filled with fear. I thought that she looked very
beautiful with her hair outspread over her white robe, and held back
from her temples by a little fillet of god. But as I looked, I rejoiced
to find that my heart no longer yearned for her as it had upon that
night when I had seen her seated beneath the trees without the
pleasure-house. Now she was its friend, no more, and so she remained
until all was finished, as both the Prince and she knew well enough.

When he saw me Seti sprang from his seat and came to greet me, as a man
does the friend whom he loves. I kissed his hand, and going to Merapi,
kissed hers also noting that on it now shone that ring which once she
had rejected as too large.

“Tell me, Ana, all that has befallen you,” he said in his pleasant,
eager voice.

“Many things, Prince; one of them very strange and terrible,” I
answered.

“Strange and terrible things have happened here also,” broke in
Merapi, “and, alas! this is but the beginning of woes.”

So saying, she rose, as though she could trust herself to speak no more,
bowed first to her lord and then to me, and left the chamber.

I looked at the Prince and he answered the question in my eyes.

“Jabez has been here,” he said, “and filled her heart with
forebodings. If Pharaoh will not let the Israelites go, by Amon I wish
he would let Jabez go to some place whence he never could return. But
tell me, have you also met blood travelling against the stream of Nile?
It would seem so,” and he glanced at the rusty stains that no washing
would remove from my garments.

I nodded and we talked together long and earnestly, but in the end were
no wiser for all our talking. For neither of us knew how it came about
that men by striking water with a rod could turn it into what seemed to
be blood, as the Hebrew prophet and Ki both had done, or how that blood
could travel up the Nile against the stream and everywhere endure for a
space of seven days; yes, and spread too to all the canals in Egypt, so
that men must dig holes for water and dig them fresh each day because
the blood crept in and poisoned them. But both of us thought that this
was the work of the gods, and most of all of that god whom the Hebrews
worship.

“You remember, Ana,” said the Prince, “the message which you
brought to me from Jabez, namely that no harm should come to me because
of these Israelites and their curses. Well, no harm has come as yet,
except the harm of Jabez, for he came. On the day before the news of
this blood plague reached us, Jabez appeared disguised as a merchant of
Syrian stuffs, all of which he sold to me at three times their value.
He obtained admission to the chambers of Merapi, where she is
accustomed to see whom she wills, and under pretence of showing her his
stuffs, spoke with her and, as I fear, told her what you and I were so
careful to hide, that she would bring trouble on me. At the least she
has never been quite the same since, and I have thought it wise to make
her swear by an oath, which I know she will never break, that now we
are one she will not attempt to separate herself from me while we both
have life.”

“Did he wish her to go away with him, Prince?”

“I do not know. She never told me so. Still I am sure that had he come
with his evil talk before that day when you returned from Tanis, she
would have gone. Now I hope that there are reasons that will keep her
where she is.”

“What then did he say, Prince?”

“Little beyond what he had already said to you, that great troubles
were about to fall on Egypt. He added that he was sent to save me and
mine from these troubles because I had been a friend to the Hebrews in
so far as that was possible. Then he walked through this house and all
round its gardens, as he went reciting something that was written on a
roll, of which I could not understand the meaning, and now and again
prostrating himself to pray to his god. Thus, where the canal enters
the garden and where it leaves the garden he stayed to pray, as he did
at the well whence drinking water is drawn. Moreover, led by Merapi, he
visited all my cornlands and those where my cattle are herded, reciting
and praying until the servants thought that he was mad. After this he
returned with her and, as it chanced, I overheard their parting. She
said to him:

“‘The house you have blessed and it is safe; the fields you have
blessed and they are safe; will you not bless me also, O my Uncle, and
any that are born of me?’

“He answered, shaking his head, ‘I have no command, my Niece,
either to bless or to curse you, as did that fool whom the Prince slew.
You have chosen your own path apart from your people. It may be well,
or it may be ill, or perhaps both, and henceforth you must walk it
alone to wherever it may lead. Farewell, for perhaps we shall meet no
more.’

“Thus speaking they passed out of earshot, but I could see that still
she pleaded and still he shook his head. In the end, however, she gave
him an offering, of all that she had I think, though whether this went
to the temple of the Hebrews or into his own pouch I know not. At least
it seemed to soften him, for he kissed her on the brow tenderly enough
and departed with the air of a happy merchant who has sold his wares.
But of all that passed between them Merapi would tell me nothing. Nor
did I tell her of what I had overheard.”

“And then?”

“And then, Ana, came the story of the Hebrew prophet who made the
water into blood, and of Ki and his disciples who did likewise. The
latter I did not believe, because I said it would be more reasonable
had Ki turned the blood back into water, instead of making more blood
of which there was enough already.”

“I think that magicians have no reason.”

“Or can do mischief only, Ana. At any rate after the story came the
blood itself and stayed with us seven whole days, leaving much sickness
behind it because of the stench of the rotting fish. Now for the
marvel—here about my house there was no blood, though above and below
the canal was full of it. The water remained as it has always been and
the fish swam in it as they have always done; also that of the well
kept sweet and pure. When this came to be known thousands crowded to
the place, clamouring for water; that is until they found that outside
the gates it grew red in their vessels, after which, although some
still came, they drank the water where they stood, which they must do
quickly.”

“And what tale do they tell of this in Memphis, Prince?” I asked
astonished.

“Certain of them say that not Ki but I am the greatest magician in
Egypt—never, Ana, was fame more lightly earned. And certain say that
Merapi, of whose doings in the temple at Tanis some tale has reached
them, is the real magician, she being an Israelite of the tribe of the
Hebrew prophets. Hush! She returns.”




CHAPTER XIV.

KI COMES TO MEMPHIS


Now of all the terrors of which this turning of the water into blood was
the beginning in Egypt, I, Ana, the scribe, will not write, for if I
did so, never in my life-days should I, who am old, find time to finish
the story of them. Over a period of many, many moons they came, one by
one, till the land grew mad with want and woe. Always the tale was the
same. The Hebrew prophets would visit Pharaoh at Tanis and demand that
he should let their people go, threatening him with vengeance if he
refused. Yet he did refuse, for some madness had hold of him, or
perhaps the god of the Israelites laid an enchantment on him, why I
know not.

Thus but a little while after the terror of blood came a plague of frogs
that filled Egypt from north to south, and when these were taken away
made the air to stink. This miracle Ki and his company worked also,
sending the frogs into Goshen, where they plagued the Israelites. But
however it came about, at Seti’s palace at Memphis and on the land
that he owned around it there were no frogs, or at least but few of
them, although at night from the fields about the sound of their
croaking went up like the sound of beaten drums.

Next came a plague of lice, and these Ki and his companions would have
also called down upon the Hebrews, but they failed, and afterwards
struggled no more against the magic of the Israelites. Then followed a
plague of flies, so that the air was black with them and no food could
be kept sweet. Only in Seti’s palace there were no flies, and in the
garden but a few. After this a terrible pest began among the cattle,
whereof thousands died. But of Seti’s great herd not one was even
sick, nor, as we learned, was there a hoof the less in the land of
Goshen.

This plague struck Egypt but a little while after Merapi had given birth
to a son, a very beautiful child with his mother’s eyes, that was
named Seti after his father. Now the marvel of the escape of the Prince
and his household and all that was his from these curses spread abroad
and made much talk, so that many sent to inquire of it.

Among the first came old Bakenkhonsu with a message from Pharaoh, and a
private one to myself from the Princess Userti, whose pride would not
suffer her to ask aught of Seti. We could tell him nothing except what
I have written, which at first he did not believe. Having satisfied
himself, however, that the thing was true, he said that he had fallen
sick and could not travel back to Tanis. Therefore he asked leave of
the Prince to rest a while in his house, he who had been the friend of
his father, his grandfather, and his great-grandfather. Seti laughed,
as indeed did the cunning old man himself, and there with us
Bakenkhonsu remained till the end, to our great joy, for he was the most
 pleasant of all companions and the most learned. As for his message,
one of his servants took back the answer to Pharaoh and to Userti, with
the news of his master’s grievous sickness.

Some eight days or so later, as I stood one morning basking in the sun
at that gate of the palace gardens which overlooks the temple of Ptah,
idly watching the procession of priests passing through its courts and
chanting as they went (for because of the many sicknesses at this time
I left the palace but rarely), I saw a tall figure approaching me
draped against the morning cold. The man drew near, and addressing me
over the head of the guard, asked if he could see the lady Merapi. I
answered No, as she was engaged in nursing her son.

“And in other things, I think,” he said with meaning, in a voice
that seemed familiar to me. “Well, can I see the Prince Seti?”

I answered No, he was also engaged.

“In nursing his own soul, studying the eyes of the lady Merapi, the
smile of his infant, the wisdom of the scribe Ana, and the attributes
of the hundred and one gods that are known to him, including that of
Israel, I suppose,” said the familiar voice, adding, “Then can I
see this scribe Ana, who I understand, being lucky, holds himself
learned.”

Now, angered at the scoffing of this stranger (though all the time I
felt that he was none), I answered that the scribe Ana was striving to
mend his luck by the pursuit of the goddess of learning in his study.

“Let him pursue,” mocked the stranger, “since she is the only
woman that he is ever likely to catch. Yet it is true that once one
caught him. If you are of his acquaintance ask him of his talk with her
in the avenue of the Sphinxes outside the great temple at Thebes and of
what it cost him in gold and tears.”

Hearing this I put my hand to my forehead and rubbed my eyes, thinking
that I must have fallen into a dream there in the sunshine. When I
lifted it again all was the same as before. There stood the sentry,
indifferent to that which had no interest for him; the cock that had
moulted its tail still scratched in the dirt; the crested hoopoe still
sat spreading its wings on the head of one of the two great statues of
Rameses which watched the gate; a water-seller in the distance still
cried his wares, but the stranger was gone. Then I knew that I had been
dreaming and turned to go also, to find myself face to face with him.

“Man,” I said, indignantly, “how in the name of Ptah and all
his priests did you pass a sentry and through that gate without my
seeing you?”

“Do not trouble yourself with a new problem when already you have so
many to perplex you, friend Ana. Say, have you yet solved that of how a
rod like this turned itself into a snake in your hand?” and he threw
back his hood, revealing the shaved head and the glowing eyes of the
Kherheb Ki.

“No, I have not,” I answered, “and I thank you,” for
here he proffered me the staff, “but I will not try the trick again.
Next time the beast might bite. Well, Ki, as you can pass in here
without my leave, why do you ask it? In short, what do you want with
me, now that those Hebrew prophets have put you on your back?”

“Hush, Ana. Never grow angry, it wastes strength, of which we have so
little to spare, for you know, being so wise, or perhaps you do not
know, that at birth the gods give us a certain store of it, and when
that is used we die and have to go elsewhere to fetch more. At this
rate your life will be short, Ana, for you squander it in emotions.”

“What do you want?” I repeated, being too angry to dispute with him.

“I want to find an answer to the question you asked so roughly: Why
the Hebrew prophets have, as you say, put me on my back?”

“Not being a magician, as you pretend you are, I can give you none,
Ki.”

“Never for one moment did I suppose that you could,” he replied
blandly, stretching out his hands, and leaving the staff which had
fallen from them standing in front of him. (It was not till afterwards
that I remembered that this accursed bit of wood stood there of itself
without visible support, for it rested on the paving-stone of the
gateway.) “But, as it chances, you have in this house the master, or
rather the mistress of all magicians, as every Egyptian knows to-day,
the lady Merapi, and I would see her.”

“Why do you say she is a mistress of magicians?” I asked
indignantly.

“Why does one bird know another of its own kind? Why does the water
here remain pure, when all other water turns to blood? Why do not the
frogs croak in Seti’s halls, and why do the flies avoid his meat?
Why, also, did the statue of Amon melt before her glance, while all my
magic fell back from her breast like arrows from a shirt of mail? Those
are the questions that Egypt asks, and I would have an answer to them
from the beloved of Seti, or of the god Set, she who is named Moon of
Israel.”

“Then why not go seek it for yourself, Ki? To you, doubtless, it would
be a small matter to take the form of a snake or a rat, or a bird, and
creep or run or fly into the presence of Merapi.”

“Mayhap it would not be difficult, Ana. Or, better still, I might
visit her in her sleep, as I visited you on a certain night at Thebes,
when you told me of a talk you had held with a woman in the avenue of
the Sphinxes, and of what it cost you in gold and tears. But, as it
chances, I wish to appear as a man and a friend, and to stay a while.
Bakenkhonsu tells me that he finds life here at Memphis very pleasant,
free too from the sicknesses which just now seem to be so common in
Egypt; so why should not I do the same, Ana?”

I looked at his round, ripe face, on which was fixed a smile unchanging
as that worn by the masks on mummy coffins, from which I think he must
have copied it, and at the cold, deep eyes above, and shivered a
little. To tell truth I feared this man, whom I felt to be in touch
with presences and things that are not of our world, and thought it
wisest to withstand him no more.

“That is a question which you had best put to my master Seti who owns
this house. Come, I will lead you to him,” I said.

So we went to the great portico of the palace, passing in and out
through the painted pillars, towards my own apartments, whence I
purposed to send a message to the Prince. As it chanced this was
needless, since presently we saw him seated in a little bay out of
reach of the sun. By his side was Merapi, and on a woven rug between
them lay their sleeping infant, at whom both of them gazed adoringly.

“Strange that this mother’s heart should hide more might than can
be boasted by all the gods of Egypt. Strange that those mother’s eyes
can rive the ancient glory of Amon into dust!” Ki said to me in so
low a voice that it almost seemed as though I heard his thought and not
his words, which perhaps indeed I did.

Now we stood in front of these three, and the sun being behind us, for
it was still early, the shadow of the cloaked Ki fell upon a babe and
lay there. A hateful fancy came to me. It looked like the evil form of
an embalmer bending over one new dead. The babe felt it, opened its
large eyes and wailed. Merapi saw it, and snatched up her child. Seti
too rose from his seat, exclaiming, “Who comes?”

Thereon, to my amazement, Ki prostrated himself and uttered the
salutation which may only be given to the King of Egypt: “Life!
Blood! Strength! Pharaoh! Pharaoh! Pharaoh!”

“Who dares utter those words to me?” said Seti. “Ana, what
madman do you bring here?”

“May it please the Prince, _he_ brought _me_ here,” I
replied faintly.

“Fellow, tell me who bade you say such words, than which none were
ever less welcome.”

“Those whom I serve, Prince.”

“And whom do you serve?”

“The gods of Egypt.”

“Then, man, I think the gods must need your company. Pharaoh does not
sit at Memphis, and were he to hear of them——”

“Pharaoh will never hear them, Prince, until he hears all things.”

They stared at each other. Then, as I had done by the gate Seti rubbed
his eyes, and said:

“Surely this is Ki. Why, then, did you look otherwise just now?”

“The gods can change the fashion of their messenger a thousand times
in a flash, if so they will, O Prince.”

Now Seti’s anger passed, and turned to laughter.

“Ki, Ki,” he said, “you should keep these tricks for Court.
But, since you are in the mood, what salutation have you for this lady
by my side?”

Ki considered her, till she who ever feared and hated him shrank before
his gaze.

“Crown of Hathor, I greet you. Beloved of Isis, shine on perfect in
the sky, shedding light and wisdom ere you set.”

Now this saying puzzled me. Indeed, I did not fully understand it until
Bakenkhonsu reminded me that Merapi’s name was Moon of Israel, that
Hathor, goddess of love, is crowned with the moon in all her statues,
that Isis is the queen of mysteries and wisdom, and that Ki who thought
Merapi perfect in love and beauty, also the greatest of all
sorceresses, was likening her to these.

“Yes,” I answered, “but what did he mean when he talked about
her setting?”

“Does not the moon always set, and is it not sometimes eclipsed?”
he asked shortly.

“So does the sun,” I answered.

“True; so does the sun! You are growing wise, very wise indeed, friend
Ana. Oho—ho!”

To return: When Seti heard these words, he laughed again, and said:

“I must think that saying over, but it is clear that you have a pretty
turn for praise. Is it not so, Merapi, Crown of Hathor, and Holder of
the wisdom of Isis?”

But Merapi, who, I think, understood more than either of us, turned
pale, and shrank further away, but outwards into the sunshine.

“Well, Ki,” went on Seti, “finish your greetings. What for
the babe?”

Ki considered it also.

“Now that it is no longer in the shadow, I see that this shoot from
the royal root of Pharaoh grows so fast and tall that my eyes cannot
reach its crest. He is too high and great for greetings, Prince.”

Then Merapi uttered a little cry, and bore the child away.

“She is afraid of magicians and their dark sayings,” said Seti,
looking after her with a troubled smile.

“That she should not be, Prince, seeing that she is the mistress of
all our tribe.”

“The lady Merapi a magician? Well, after a fashion, yes—where the
hearts of men are concerned, do you not think so, Ana? But be more
plain, Ki. It is still early, and I love riddles best at night.”

“What other could have shattered the strong and holy house where the
majesty of Amon dwells on earth? Not even those prophets of the Hebrews
as I think. What other could fence this garden round against the curses
that have fallen upon Egypt?” asked Ki earnestly, for now all his
mocking manner had departed.

“I do not think she does these things, Ki. I think some Power does
them through her, and I know that she dared to face Amon in his temple
because she was bidden so to do by the priests of her people.”

“Prince,” he answered with a short laugh, “a while ago I sent
you a message by Ana, which perhaps other thoughts may have driven from
his memory. It was as to the nature of that Power of which you speak.
In that message I said that you were wise, but now I perceive that you
lack wisdom like the rest of us, for if you had it, you would know that
the tool which carves is not the guiding hand, and the lightning which
smites is not the sending strength. So with this fair love of yours,
and so with me and all that work marvels. We do not the things we seem
to do, who are but the tool and the lightning. What I would know is who
or what guides her hand and gives her the might to shield or to
destroy.”

“The question is wide, Ki, or so it seems to me who, as you say, have
little wisdom, and whoever can answer it holds the key of knowledge.
Your magic is but a small thing which seems great because so few can
handle it. What miracle is it that makes the flower to grow, the child
to be born, the Nile to rise, and the sun and stars to shine in heaven?
What causes man to be half a beast and half a god and to grow downward
to the beast or upward to the god—or both? What is faith and what is
unbelief? Who made these things, through them to declare the purposes
of life, of death, and of eternity? You shake your head, you do not
know; how then can I know who, as you point out, am but foolish? Go get
your answer from the lady Merapi’s self, only mayhap you will find
your questions countered.”

“I’ll take my chance. Thanks to Merapi’s lord! A boon, O
Prince, since you will not suffer that other name which comes easiest to
the lips of one to whom the Present and the Future are sometimes much
alike.”

Seti looked at him keenly, and for the first time with a tinge of fear
in his eyes.

“Leave the Future to itself, Ki,” he exclaimed. “Whatever may
be the mind of Egypt, just now I hold the Present enough for me,” and
he glanced first at the chair in which Merapi had been seated and then
at the cloth upon which his son had lain.

“I take back my words. The Prince is wiser than I thought. Magicians
know the future because at times it rushes down upon them and they
must. It is that which makes them lonely, since what they know they
cannot say. But only fools will seek it.”

“Yet now and again they lift a corner of the veil, Ki. Thus I remember
certain sayings of your own as to one who would find a great treasure in
the land of Goshen and thereafter suffer some temporal loss, and—I
forget the rest. Man, cease smiling at me with your face and piercing
me through with your sword-like eyes. You can command all things, what
boon then do you seek from me?”

“To lodge here a little while, Prince, in the company of Ana and
Bakenkhonsu. Hearken, I am no more Kherheb. I have quarrelled with
Pharaoh, perhaps because a little breath from that great wind of the
future blows through my soul; perhaps because he does not reward me
according to my merits—what does it matter which? At least I have
come to be of one mind with you, O Prince, and think that Pharaoh would
do well to let the Hebrews go, and therefore no longer will I attempt
to match my magic against theirs. But he refuses, so we have parted.”

“Why does he refuse, Ki?”

“Perhaps it is written that he must refuse. Or perhaps because,
thinking himself the greatest of all kings instead of but a plaything
of the gods, pride locks the doors of his heart that in a day to come
the tempest of the Future, whereof I have spoken, may wreck the house
which holds it. I do not know why he refuses, but her Highness Userti
is much with him.”

“For one who does not know, you have many reasons and all of them
different, O instructed Ki,” said Seti.

Then he paused, walking up and down the portico, and I who knew his mind
guessed that he was wondering whether he would do well to suffer Ki,
whom at times he feared because his objects were secret and never
changed, to abide in his house, or whether he should send him away. Ki
also shivered a little, as though he felt the shadow cold, and
descended from the portico into the bright sunshine. Here he held out
his hand and a great moth dropped from the roof and lit upon it,
whereon he lifted it to his lips, which moved as though he were talking
to the insect.

“What shall I do?” muttered Seti, as he passed me.

“I do not altogether like his company, nor, I think, does the lady
Merapi, but he is an ill man to offend, Prince,” I answered. “Look,
he is talking with his familiar.”

Seti returned to his place, and shaking off the moth which seemed loth
to leave him, for twice it settled on his head, Ki came back into the
shadow.

“Where is the use of your putting questions to me, Ki, when, according
to your own showing, already you know the answer that I will give? What
answer shall I give?” asked the Prince.

“That painted creature which sat upon my hand just now, seemed to
whisper to me that you would say, O Prince, ‘Stay, Ki, and be my
faithful servant, and use any little lore you have to shield my house
from ill.’”

Then Seti laughed in his careless fashion, and replied:

“Have your way, since it is a rule that none of the royal blood of
Egypt may refuse hospitality to those who seek it, having been their
friends, and I will not quote against your moth what a bat whispered in
my ears last night. Nay, none of your salutations revealed to you by
insects or by the future,” and he gave him his hand to kiss.

When Ki was gone, I said:

“I told you that night-haunting thing was his familiar.”

“Then you told me folly, Ana. The knowledge that Ki has he does not
get from moths or beetles. Yet now that it is too late I wish that I
had asked the lady Merapi what her will was in this matter. You should
have thought of that, Ana, instead of suffering your mind to be led
astray by an insect sitting on his hand, which is just what he meant
that you should do. Well, in punishment, day by day it shall be your
lot to look upon a man with a countenance like—like what?”

“Like that which I saw upon the coffin of the good god, your divine
father, Meneptah, as it was prepared for him during his life in the
embalmer’s shop at Tanis,” I answered.

“Yes,” said the Prince, “a face smiling eternally at the
Nothingness which is Life and Death, but in certain lights, with eyes of
fire.”

On the following day, by her invitation, I walked with the lady Merapi
in the garden, the head nurse following us, bearing the royal child in
her arms.

“I wish to ask you about Ki, friend Ana,” she said. “You know
he is my enemy, for you must have heard the words he spoke to me in the
temple of Amon at Tanis. It seems that my lord has made him the guest
of this house—oh look!” and she pointed before her.

I looked, and there a few paces away, where the shadow of the
overhanging palms was deepest, stood Ki. He was leaning on his staff,
the same that had turned to a snake in my hand, and gazing upwards like
one who is lost in thought, or listens to the singing of birds. Merapi
turned as though to fly, but at that moment Ki saw us, although he
still seemed to gaze upwards.

“Greeting, O Moon of Israel,” he said bowing. “Greeting, O
Conqueror of Ki!”

She bowed back, and stood still, as a little bird stands when it sees a
snake. There was a long silence, which he broke by asking:

“Why seek that from Ana which Ki himself is eager to give? Ana is
learned, but is his heart the heart of Ki? Above all, why tell him that
Ki, the humblest of your servants, is your enemy?”

Now Merapi straightened herself, looked into his eyes, and answered:

“Have I told Ana aught that he did not know? Did not Ana hear the last
words you said to me in the temple of Amon at Tanis?”

“Doubtless he heard them, Lady, and therefore I am glad that he is
here to hear their meaning. Lady Merapi, at that moment, I, the
Sacrificer to Amon, was filled—not with my own spirit, but with the
angry spirit of the god whom you had humbled as never before had
befallen him in Egypt. The god through me demanded of you the secret of
your magic, and promised you his hate, if you refused. Lady, you have
his hate, but mine you have not, since I also have his hate because I,
and he through me, have been worsted by your prophets. Lady, we are
fellow-travellers in the Valley of Trouble.”

She gazed at him steadily, and I could see that of all that passed his
lips she believed no one word. Making no answer to him and his talk of
Amon, she asked only:

“Why do you come here to do me ill who have done you none?”

“You are mistaken, Lady,” he replied. “I come here to refuge
from Amon, and from his servant Pharaoh, whom Amon drives on to ruin. I
know well that, if you will it, you can whisper in the ear of the
Prince and presently he will put me forth. Only then——” and he
looked over her head to where the nurse stood rocking the sleeping
child.

“Then what, Magician?”

Giving no answer, he turned to me.

“Learned Ana, do you remember meeting me at Tanis one night?”

I shook my head, though I guessed well enough what night he meant.

“Your memory weakens, learned Ana, or rather is confused, for we met
often, did we not?”

Then he stared at the staff in his hand. I stared also, because I could
not help it, and saw, or thought I saw, the dead wood begin to swell
and curve. This was enough for me and I said hastily:

“If you mean the night of the Coronation, I do recall——”

“Ah! I thought you would. You, learned Ana, who like all scribes
observe so closely, will have noted how little things—such as the
scent of a flower, or the passing of a bird, or even the writhing of a
snake in the dust—often bring back to the mind events or words it has
forgotten long ago.”

“Well—what of our meeting?” I broke in hastily.

“Nothing at all—or only this. Just before it you were talking with
the Hebrew Jabez, the lady Merapi’s uncle, were you not?”

“Yes, I was talking with him in an open place, alone.”

“Not so, learned Scribe, for you know we are never alone—quite.
Could you but see it, every grain of sand has an ear.”

“Be pleased to explain, O Ki.”

“Nay, Ana, it would be too long, and short jests are ever the best. As
I have told you, you were not alone, for though there were some words
that I did not catch, _I_ heard much of what passed between you and
Jabez.”

“What did you hear?” I asked wrathfully, and next instant wished
that I had bitten through my tongue before it shaped the words.

“Much, much. Let me think. You spoke about the lady Merapi, and
whether she would do well to bide at Memphis in the shadow of the
Prince, or to return to Goshen into the shadow of a certain—I forget
the name. Jabez, a well-instructed man, said he thought that she might
be happier at Memphis, though perhaps her presence there would bring a
great sorrow upon herself and—another.”

Here again he looked at the child, which seemed to feel his glance, for
it woke up and beat the air with its little hands.

The nurse felt it also, although her head was turned away, for she
started and then took shelter behind the bole of one of the palm-trees.
Now Merapi said in a low and shaken voice:

“I know what you mean, Magician, for since then I have seen my uncle
Jabez.”

“As I have also, several times, Lady, which may explain to you what
Ana here thinks so wonderful, namely that I should have learned what
they said together when he thought they were alone, which, as I have
told him, no one can ever be, at least in Egypt, the land of listening
gods——”

“And spying sorcerers,” I exclaimed.

“——And spying sorcerers,” he repeated after me,
“and scribes who take notes, and learn them by heart, and priests with
ears as large as asses, and leaves that whisper—and many other
things.”

“Cease your gibes, and say what you have to say,” said Merapi, in
the same broken voice.

He made no answer, but only looked at the tree behind which the nurse
and child had vanished.

“Oh! I know, I know,” she exclaimed in tones that were like a cry.
“My child is threatened! You threaten my child because you hate me.”

“Your pardon, Lady. It is true that evil threatens this royal babe, or
so I understood from Jabez, who knows so much. But it is not I that
threaten it, any more than I hate you, in whom I acknowledge a fellow
of my craft, but one greater than myself that it is my duty to obey.”

“Have done! Why do you torment me?”

“Can the priests of the Moon-goddess torment Isis, Mother of Magic,
with their prayers and offerings? And can I who would make a prayer and
an offering——”

“What prayer, and what offering?”

“The prayer that you will suffer me to shelter in this house from the
many dangers that threaten me at the hands of Pharaoh and the prophets
of your people, and an offering of such help as I can give by my arts
and knowledge against blacker dangers which threaten—another.”

Here once more he gazed at the trunk of the tree beyond which I heard
the infant wail.

“If I consent, what then?” she asked, hoarsely.

“Then, Lady, I will strive to protect a certain little one against a
curse which Jabez tells me threatens him and many others in whom runs
the blood of Egypt. I will strive, if I am allowed to bide here—I do
not say that I shall succeed, for as your lord has reminded me, and as
you showed me in the temple of Amon, my strength is smaller than that
of the prophets and prophetesses of Israel.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then, Lady,” he answered in a voice that rang like iron, “I
am sure that one whom you love—as mothers love—will shortly be
rocked in the arms of the god whom we name Osiris.”

“_Stay_,” she cried and, turning, fled away.

“Why, Ana, she is gone,” he said, “and that before I could
bargain for my reward. Well, this I must find in your company. How
strange are women, Ana! Here you have one of the greatest of her sex,
as you learned in the temple of Amon. And yet she opens beneath the sun
of hope and shrivels beneath the shadow of fear, like the touched
leaves of that tender plant which grows upon the banks of the river;
she who, with her eyes set on the mystery that is beyond, whereof she
hears the whispering winds, should tread both earthly hope and fear
beneath her feet, or make of them stepping stones to glory. Were she a
man she would do so, but her sex wrecks her, she who thinks more of the
kiss of a babe than of all the splendours she might harbour in her
breast. Yes, a babe, a single wretched little babe. You had one once,
did you not, Ana?”

“Oh! to Set and his fires with you and your evil talk,” I said, and
left him.

When I had gone a little way, I looked back and saw that he was
laughing, throwing up his staff as he laughed, and catching it again.

“Set and his fires,” he called after me. “I wonder what they
are like, Ana. Perhaps one day we shall learn, you and I together,
Scribe Ana.”

So Ki took up his abode with us, in the same lodgings as Bakenkhonsu,
and almost every day I would meet them walking in the garden, since I,
who was of the Prince’s table, except when he ate with the lady
Merapi, did not take my food with them. Then we would talk together
about many subjects. On those which had to do with learning, or even
religion, I had the better of Ki, who was no great scholar or master of
theology. But always before we parted he would plant some arrow in my
ribs, at which old Bakenkhonsu laughed, and laughed again, yet ever
threw over me the shield of his venerable wisdom, just because he loved
me I think.

It was after this that the plague struck the cattle of Egypt, so that
tens of thousands of them died, though not all as was reported. But, as
I have said, of the herds of Seti none died, nor, as we were told, did
any of those of the Israelites in the land of Goshen. Now there was
great distress in Egypt, but Ki smiled and said that he knew it would
be so, and that there was much worse to come, for which I could have
smitten him over the head with his own staff, had I not feared that, if
I did so, it might once more turn to a serpent in my hand.

Old Bakenkhonsu looked upon the matter with another face. He said that
since his last wife died, I think some fifty years before, he had found
life very dull because he missed the exercises of her temper, and her
habit of presenting things as these never had been nor could possibly
ever be. Now, however, it grew interesting again, since the marvels
which were happening in Egypt, being quite contrary to Nature, reminded
him of his last wife and her arguments. All of which was his way of
saying that in those years we lived in a new world, whereof for the
Egyptians Set the Evil One seemed to be the king.

But still Pharaoh would not let the Hebrews go, perhaps because he had
vowed as much to Meneptah who set him on the throne, or perhaps for
those other reasons, or one of them, which Ki had given to the Prince.

Then came the curse of sores afflicting man, woman, and child throughout
the land, save those who dwelt in the household of Seti. Thus the
watchman and his family whose lodge was without the gates suffered, but
the watchman and his family who lived within the gates, not twenty
paces away, did not suffer, which caused bitterness between their
women. In the same way Ki, who resided as a guest of the Prince at
Memphis, suffered from no sores, whereas those of his College who
remained at Tanis were more heavily smitten than any others, so that
some of them died. When he heard this, Ki laughed and said that he had
told them it would be so. Also Pharaoh himself and even her Highness
Userti were smitten, the latter upon the cheek, which made her
unsightly for a while. Indeed, Bakenkhonsu heard, I know not how, that
so great was her rage that she even bethought her of returning to her
lord Seti, in whose house she had learned people were safe, and the
beauty of her successor, Moon of Israel, remained unscarred and was
even greater than before, tidings that I think Bakenkhonsu himself
conveyed to her. But in the end this her pride, or her jealousy,
prevented her from doing.

Now the heart of Egypt began to turn towards Seti in good earnest. The
Prince, they said, had opposed the policy of the oppression of the
Hebrews, and because he could not prevail had abandoned his right to
the throne, which Pharaoh Amenmeses had purchased at the price of
accepting that policy whereof the fruits had been proved to be
destruction. Therefore, they reasoned, if Amenmeses were deposed, and
the Prince reigned, their miseries would cease. So they sent
deputations to him secretly, praying him to rise against Amenmeses and
promising him support. But he would listen to none of them, telling them
 that he was happy as he was and sought no other state. Still Pharaoh
grew jealous, for all these things his spies reported to him, and set
about plots to destroy Seti.

Of the first of these Userti warned me by a messenger, but the second
and worse Ki discovered in some strange way, so that the murderer was
trapped at the gate and killed by the watchman, whereon Seti said that
after all he had been wise to give hospitality to Ki, that is, if to
continue to live were wisdom. The lady Merapi also said as much to me,
but I noted that always she shunned Ki, whom she held in mistrust and
fear.




CHAPTER XV.

THE NIGHT OF FEAR


Then came the hail, and some months after the hail the locusts, and
Egypt went mad with woe and terror. It was known to us, for with Ki and
Bakenkhonsu in the palace we knew everything, that the Hebrew prophets
had promised this hail because Pharaoh would not listen to them.
Therefore Seti caused it to be put about through all the land that the
Egyptians should shelter their cattle, or such as were left to them, at
the first sign of storm. But Pharaoh heard of it and issued a
proclamation that this was not to be done, inasmuch as it would be an
insult to the gods of Egypt. Still many did so and these saved their
cattle. It was strange to see that wall of jagged ice stretching from
earth to heaven and destroying all upon which it fell. The tall
date-palms were stripped even of their bark; the soil was churned up;
men and beasts if caught abroad were slain or shattered.

I stood at the gate and watched it. There, not a yard away, fell the
white hail, turning the world to wreck, while here within the gate
there was not a single stone. Merapi watched also, and presently came
Ki as well, and with him Bakenkhonsu, who for once had never seen
anything like this in all his long life. But Ki watched Merapi more
than he did the hail, for I saw him searching out her very soul with
those merciless eyes of his.

“Lady,” he said at length, “tell your servant, I beseech you,
how you do this thing?” and he pointed first to the trees and flowers
within the gate and then to the wreck without.

At first I thought that she had not heard him because of the roar of the
hail, for she stepped forward and opened the side wicket to admit a
poor jackal that was scratching at the bars. Still this was not so, for
presently she turned and said:

“Does the Kherheb, the greatest magician in Egypt, ask an unlearned
woman to teach him of marvels? Well, Ki, I cannot, because I neither do
it nor know how it is done.”

Bakenkhonsu laughed, and Ki’s painted smile grew as it were brighter
than before.

“That is not what they say in the land of Goshen, Lady,” he
answered, “and not what the Hebrew women say here in Memphis. Nor is
it what the priests of Amon say. These declare that you have more magic
than all the sorcerers of the Nile. Here is the proof of it,” and he
pointed to the ruin without and the peace within, adding, “Lady, if
you can protect your own home, why cannot you protect the innocent
people of Egypt?”

“Because I cannot,” she answered angrily. “If ever I had such
power it is gone from me, who am now the mother of an Egyptian’s
child. But I have none. There in the temple of Amon some Strength
worked through me, that is all, which never will visit me again because
of my sin.”

“What sin, Lady?”

“The sin of taking the Prince Seti to lord. Now, if any god spoke
through me it would be one of those of the Egyptians, since He of
Israel has cast me out.”

Ki started as though some new thought had come to him, and at this
moment she turned and went away.

“Would that she were high-priestess of Isis that she might work for us
and not against us,” he said.

Bakenkhonsu shook his head.

“Let that be,” he answered. “Be sure that never will an
Israelitish woman offer sacrifice to what she would call the abomination
of the Egyptians.”

“If she will not sacrifice to save the people, let her be careful lest
the people sacrifice her to save themselves,” said Ki in a cold voice.

Then he too went away.

“I think that if ever that hour comes, then Ki will have his share in
it,” laughed Bakenkhonsu. “What is the good of a shepherd who
shelters here in comfort, while outside the sheep are dying, eh, Ana?”

It was after the plague of locusts, which ate all there was left to eat
in Egypt, so that the poor folk who had done no wrong and had naught to
say to the dealings of Pharaoh with the Israelites starved by the
thousand, and during that of the great darkness, that Laban came. Now
this darkness lay upon the land like a thick cloud for three whole days
and nights. Nevertheless, though the shadows were deep, there was no
true darkness over the house of Seti at Memphis, which stood in a
funnel of grey light stretching from earth to sky.

Now the terror was increased tenfold, and it seemed to me that all the
hundreds of thousands of Memphis were gathered outside our walls, so
that they might look upon the light, such as it was, if they could do
no more. Seti would have admitted as many as the place would hold, but
Ki bade him not, saying, that if he did so the darkness would flow in
with them. Only Merapi did admit some of the Israelitish women who were
married to Egyptians in the city, though for her pains they only cursed
her as a witch. For now most of the inhabitants of Memphis were certain
that it was Merapi who, keeping herself safe, had brought these woes
upon them because she was a worshipper of an alien god.

“If she who is the love of Egypt’s heir would but sacrifice to
Egypt’s gods, these horrors would pass from us,” said they, having,
as I think, learned their lesson from the lips of Ki. Or perhaps the
emissaries of Userti had taught them.

Once more we stood by the gate watching the people flitting to and fro
in the gloom without, for this sight fascinated Merapi, as a snake
fascinates a bird. Then it was that Laban appeared. I knew his hooked
nose and hawk-like eyes at once, and she knew him also.

“Come away with me, Moon of Israel,” he cried, “and all shall
yet be forgiven you. But if you will not come, then fearful things shall
overtake you.”

She stood staring at him, answering never a word, and just then the
Prince Seti reached us and saw him.

“Take that man,” he commanded, flushing with anger, and guards
sprang into the darkness to do his bidding. But Laban was gone.

On the second day of the darkness the tumult was great, on the third it
was terrible. A crowd thrust the guard aside, broke down the gates and
burst into the palace, humbly demanding that the lady Merapi would come
to pray for them, yet showing by their mien that if she would not come
they meant to take her.

“What is to be done?” asked Seti of Ki and Bakenkhonsu.

“That is for the Prince to judge,” said Ki, “though I do not
see how it can harm the lady Merapi to pray for us in the open square of
Memphis.”

“Let her go,” said Bakenkhonsu, “lest presently we should all
go further than we would.”

“I do not wish to go,” cried Merapi, “not knowing for whom I
am to pray or how.”

“Be it as you will, Lady,” said Seti in his grave and gentle voice.
“Only, hearken to the roar of the mob. If you refuse, I think that
very soon every one of us will have reached a land where perhaps it is
not needful to pray at all,” and he looked at the infant in her arms.

“I will go,” she said.

She went forth carrying the child and I walked behind her. So did the
Prince, but in that darkness he was cut off by a rush of thousands of
folk and I saw him no more till all was over. Bakenkhonsu was with me
leaning on my arm, but Ki had gone on before us, for his own ends as I
think. A huge mob moved through the dense darkness, in which here and
there lights floated like lamps upon a quiet sea. I did not know where
we were going until the light of one of these lamps shone upon the
knees of the colossal statue of the great Rameses, revealing his
cartouche. Then I knew that we were near the gateway of the vast temple
of Memphis, the largest perhaps in the whole world.

We went on through court after pillared court, priests leading us by the
hand, till we came to a shrine commanding the biggest court of all,
which was packed with men and women. It was that of Isis, who held at
her breast the infant Horus.

“O friend Ana,” cried Merapi, “give help. They are dressing
me in strange garments.”

I tried to get near to her but was thrust back, a voice, which I thought
to be that of Ki, saying:

“On your life, fool!”

Presently a lamp was held up, and by the light of it I saw Merapi seated
in a chair dressed like a goddess, in the sacerdotal robes of Isis and
wearing the vulture cap headdress—beautiful exceedingly. In her arms
was the child dressed as the infant Horus.

“Pray for us, Mother Isis,” cried thousands of voices, “that
the curse of blackness may be removed.”

Then she prayed, saying:

“O my God, take away this curse of blackness from these innocent
people,” and all of those present, repeated her prayer.

At that moment the sky began to lighten and in less than half an hour
the sun shone out. When Merapi saw how she and the child were arrayed
she screamed aloud and tore off her jewelled trappings, crying:

“Woe! Woe! Woe! Great woe upon the people of Egypt!”

But in their joy at the new found light few hearkened to her who they
were sure had brought back the sun. Again Laban appeared for a moment.

“Witch! Traitress!” he cried. “You have worn the robes of
Isis and worshipped in the temple of the gods of the Egyptians. The
curse of the God of Israel be on you and that which is born of you.”

I sprang at him but he was gone. Then we bore Merapi home swooning.

So this trouble passed by, but from that time forward Merapi would not
suffer her son to be taken out of her sight.

“Why do you make so much of him, Lady?” I asked one day.

“Because I would love him well while he is here, Friend,” she
answered, “but of this say nothing to his father.”

A while went by and we heard that still Pharaoh would not let the
Israelites go. Then the Prince Seti sent Bakenkhonsu and myself to
Tanis to see Pharaoh and to say to him:

“I seek nothing for myself and I forget those evils which you would
have worked on me through jealousy. But I say unto you that if you will
not let these strangers go great and terrible things shall befall you
and all Egypt. Therefore, hear my prayer and let them go.”

Now Bakenkhonsu and I came before Pharaoh and we saw that he was greatly
aged, for his hair had gone grey about his temples and the flesh hung
in bags beneath his eyes. Also not for one minute could he stay still.

“Is your lord, and are you also of the servants of this Hebrew prophet
whom the Egyptians worship as a god because he has done them so much
ill?” he asked. “It may well be so, since I hear that my cousin
Seti keeps an Israelitish witch in his house, who wards off from him all
the plagues that have smitten the rest of Egypt, and that to him has
fled also Ki the Kherheb, my magician. Moreover, I hear that in payment
for these wizardries he has been promised the throne of Egypt by many
fickle and fearful ones among my people. Let him be careful lest I lift
him up higher than he hopes, who already have enough traitors in this
land; and you two with him.”

Now I said nothing, who saw that the man was mad, but Bakenkhonsu
laughed out loud and answered:

“O Pharaoh, I know little, but I know this although I be old, namely,
that after men have ceased to speak your name I shall still hold
converse with the wearer of the Double Crown in Egypt. Now will you let
these Hebrews go, or will you bring death upon Egypt?”

Pharaoh glared at him and answered, “I will not let them go.”

“Why not, Pharaoh? Tell me, for I am curious.”

“Because I cannot,” he answered with a groan. “Because
something stronger than myself forces me to deny their prayer.
Begone!”

So we went, and this was the last time that I looked upon Amenmeses at
Tanis.

As we left the chamber I saw the Hebrew prophet entering the presence.
Afterwards a rumour reached us that he had threatened to kill all the
people in Egypt, but that still Pharaoh would not let the Israelites
depart. Indeed, it was said that he had told the prophet that if he
appeared before him any more he should be put to death.

Now we journeyed back to Memphis with all these tidings and made report
to Seti. When Merapi heard them she went half mad, weeping and wringing
her hands. I asked her what she feared. She answered death, which was
near to all of us. I said:

“If so, there are worse things, Lady.”

“For you mayhap who are faithful and good in your own fashion, but not
for me. Do you not understand, friend Ana, that I am one who has broken
the law of the God I was taught to worship?”

“And which of us is there who has not broken the law of the god we
were taught to worship, Lady? If in truth you have done anything of the
sort by flying from a murderous villain to one who loves you well,
which I do not believe, surely there is forgiveness for such sins as
this.”

“Aye, perhaps, but, alas! the thing is blacker far. Have you forgotten
what I did? Dressed in the robes of Isis I worshipped in the temple of
Isis with my boy playing the part of Horus on my bosom. It is a crime
that can never be forgiven to a Hebrew woman, Ana, for my God is a
jealous God. Yet it is true that Ki tricked me.”

“If he had not, Lady, I think there would have been none of us left to
trick, seeing that the people were crazed with the dread of the darkness
and believed that it could be lifted by you alone, as indeed
happened,” I added somewhat doubtfully.

“More of Ki’s tricks! Oh! do you not understand that the lifting of
the darkness at that moment was Ki’s work, because he wished the
people to believe that I am indeed a sorceress.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I do not know. Perhaps that one day he may find a victim to bind to
the altar in his place. At least I know well that it is I who must pay
the price, I and my flesh and blood, whatever Ki may promise,” and
she looked at the sleeping child.

“Do not be afraid, Lady,” I said. “Ki has left the palace and
you will see him no more.”

“Yes, because the Prince was angry with him about the trick in the
temple of Isis. Therefore suddenly he went, or pretended to go, for how
can one tell where such a man may really be? But he will come back
again. Bethink you, Ki was the greatest magician in Egypt; even old
Bakenkhonsu can remember none like to him. Then he matches himself
against the prophets of my people and fails.”

“But did he fail, Lady? What they did he did, sending among the
Israelites the plagues that your prophets had sent among us.”

“Yes, some of them, but he was outpaced, or feared to be outpaced at
last. Is Ki a man to forget that? And if Ki chances really to believe
that I am his adversary and his master at this black work, as because
of what happened in the temple of Amon thousands believe to-day, will
he not mete me my own measure soon or late? Oh! I fear Ki, Ana, and I
fear the people of Egypt, and were it not for my lord beloved, I would
flee away into the wilderness with my son, and get me out of this
haunted land! Hush! he wakes.”

From this time forward until the sword fell there was great dread in
Egypt. None seemed to know exactly what they dreaded, but all thought
that it had to do with death. People went about mournfully looking over
their shoulders as though someone were following them, and at night
they gathered together in knots and talked in whispers. Only the
Hebrews seemed to be glad and happy. Moreover, they were making
preparations for something new and strange. Thus those Israelitish
women who dwelt in Memphis began to sell what property they had and to
borrow of the Egyptians. Especially did they ask for the loan of
jewels, saying that they were about to celebrate a feast and wished to
look fine in the eyes of their countrymen. None refused them what they
asked because all were afraid of them. They even came to the palace and
begged her ornaments from Merapi, although she was a countrywoman of
their own who had showed them much kindness. Yes, and seeing that her
son wore a little gold circlet on his hair, one of them begged that
also, nor did she say her nay. But, as it chanced, the Prince entered,
and seeing the woman with this royal badge in her hand, grew very angry
and forced her to restore it.

“What is the use of crowns without heads to wear them?” she
sneered, and fled away laughing, with all that she had gathered.

After she had heard that saying Merapi grew even sadder and more
distraught than she was before, and from her the trouble crept to Seti.
He too became sad and ill at ease, though when I asked him why he vowed
he did not know, but supposed it was because some new plague drew near.

“Yet,” he added, “as I have made shift to live through nine
of them, I do not know why I should fear a tenth.”

Still he did fear it, so much that he consulted Bakenkhonsu as to
whether there were any means by which the anger of the gods could be
averted.

Bakenkhonsu laughed and said he thought not, since always if the gods
were not angry about one thing they were angry about another. Having
made the world they did nothing but quarrel with it, or with other gods
who had a hand in its fashioning, and of these quarrels men were the
victims.

“Bear your woes, Prince,” he added, “if any come, for ere the
Nile has risen another fifty times at most, whether they have or have
not been, will be the same to you.”

“Then you think that when we go west we die indeed, and that Osiris is
but another name for the sunset, Bakenkhonsu.”

The old Councillor shook his great head, and answered:

“No. If ever you should lose one whom you greatly love, take comfort,
Prince, for I do not think that life ends with death. Death is the nurse
that puts it to sleep, no more, and in the morning it will wake again
to travel through another day with those who have companioned it from
the beginning.”

“Where do all the days lead it to at last, Bakenkhonsu?”

“Ask that of Ki; I do not know.”

“To Set with Ki, I am angered with him,” said the Prince, and went
away.

“Not without reason, I think,” mused Bakenkhonsu, but when I asked
him what he meant, he would not or could not tell me.

So the gloom deepened and the palace, which had been merry in its way,
became sad. None knew what was coming, but all knew that something was
coming and stretched out their hands to strive to protect that which
they loved best from the stroke of the warring gods. In the case of
Seti and Merapi this was their son, now a beautiful little lad who
could run and prattle, one too of a strange health and vigour for a
child of the inbred race of the Ramessids. Never for a minute was this
boy allowed to be out of the sight of one or other of his parents;
indeed I saw little of Seti in those days and all our learned studies
came to nothing, because he was ever concerned with Merapi in playing
nurse to this son of his.

When Userti was told of it, she said in the hearing of a friend of mine:

“Without a doubt that is because he trains his bastard to fill the
throne of Egypt.”

But, alas! all that the little Seti was doomed to fill was a coffin.

It was a still, hot evening, so hot that Merapi had bid the nurse bring
the child’s bed and set it between two pillars of the great portico.
There on the bed he slept, lovely as Horus the divine. She sat by his
side in a chair that had feet shaped like to those of an antelope. Seti
walked up and down the terrace beyond the portico leaning on my
shoulder, and talking by snatches of this or that. Occasionally as he
passed he would stay for a while to make sure by the bright moonlight
that all was well with Merapi and the child, as of late it had become a
habit with him to do. Then without speaking, for fear lest he should
awake the boy, he would smile at Merapi, who sat there brooding, her
head resting on her hand, and pass on.

The night was very still. The palm leaves did not rustle, no jackals
were stirring, and even the shrill-voiced insects had ceased their
cries. Moreover, the great city below was quiet as a home of the dead.
It was as though the presage of some advancing doom scared the world to
silence. For without doubt doom was in the air. All felt it down to the
nurse woman, who cowered close as she dared to the chair of her
mistress, and even in that heat shivered from time to time.

Presently little Seti awoke, and began to prattle about something he had
dreamed.

“What did you dream, my son?” asked his father.

“I dreamed,” he answered in his baby talk, “that a woman,
dressed as Mother was in the temple, took me by the hand and led me into
the air. I looked down, and saw you and Mother with white faces and
crying. I began to cry too, but the woman with the feather cap told me
not as she was taking me to a beautiful big star where Mother would
soon come to find me.”

The Prince and I looked at each other and Merapi feigned to busy herself
with hushing the child to sleep again. It drew towards midnight and
still no one seemed minded to go to rest. Old Bakenkhonsu appeared and
began to say something about the night being very strange and
unrestful, when, suddenly, a little bat that was flitting to and fro
above us fell upon his head and thence to the ground. We looked at it,
and saw that it was dead.

“Strange that the creature should have died thus,” said
Bakenkhonsu, when, behold! another fell to the ground near by. The black
kitten which belonged to Little Seti saw it fall and darted from beside
his bed where it was sleeping. Before ever it reached the bat, the
creature wheeled round, stood upon its hind legs, scratching at the air
about it, then uttered one pitiful cry and fell over dead.

We stared at it, when suddenly far away a dog howled in a very piercing
fashion. Then a cow began to bale as these beasts do when they have lost
their calves. Next, quite close at hand but without the gates, there
arose the ear-curdling cry of a woman in agony, which on the instant
seemed to be echoed from every quarter, till the air was full of
wailing.

“Oh, Seti! Seti!” exclaimed Merapi, in a voice that was rather a
hiss than a whisper, “look at your son!”

We sprang to where the babe lay, and looked. He had awakened and was
staring upward with wide-opened eyes and frozen face. The fear, if such
it were, passed from his features, though still he stared. He rose to
his little feet, always looking upwards. Then a smile came upon his
face, a most beautiful smile; he stretched out his arms, as though to
clasp one who bent down towards him, and fell backwards—quite dead.

Seti stood still as a statue; we all stood still, even Merapi. Then she
bent down, and lifted the body of the boy.

“Now, my lord,” she said, “there has fallen on you that
sorrow which Jabez my uncle warned you would come, if ever you had aught
to do with me. Now the curse of Israel has pierced my heart, and now
our child, as Ki the evil prophesied, has grown too great for
greetings, or even for farewells.”

Thus she spoke in a cold and quiet voice, as one might speak of
something long expected or foreseen, then made her reverence to the
Prince, and departed, bearing the body of the child. Never, I think,
did Merapi seem more beautiful to me than in this, her hour of
bereavement, since now through her woman’s loveliness shone out some
shadow of the soul within. Indeed, such were her eyes and such her
movements that well might it have been a spirit and not a woman who
departed from us with that which had been her son.

Seti leaned on my shoulder looking at the empty bed, and at the scared
nurse who still sat behind, and I felt a tear drop upon my hand. Old
Bakenkhonsu lifted his massive face, and looked at him.

“Grieve not over much, Prince,” he said, “since, ere as many
years as I have lived out have come and gone, this child will be
forgotten and his mother will be forgotten, and even you, O Prince,
will live but as a name that once was great in Egypt. And then, O
Prince, elsewhere the game will begin afresh, and what you have lost
shall be found anew, and the sweeter for it sheltering from the vile
breath of men. Ki’s magic is not all a lie, or if his is, mine holds
some shadow of the truth, and when he said to you yonder in Tanis that
not for nothing were you named ‘Lord of Rebirths,’ he spoke words
that you should find comfortable to-night.”

“I thank you, Councillor,” said Seti, and turning, followed Merapi.

“Now I suppose we shall have more deaths,” I exclaimed, hardly
knowing what I said in my sorrow.

“I think not, Ana,” answered Bakenkhonsu, “since the shield
of Jabez, or of his god, is over us. Always he foretold that trouble
would come to Merapi, and to Seti through Merapi, but that is all.”

I glanced at the kitten.

“It strayed here from the town three days ago, Ana. And the bats also
may have flown from the town. Hark to the wailing. Was ever such a
sound heard before in Egypt?”




CHAPTER XVI.

JABEZ SELLS HORSES


Bakenkhonsu was right. Save the son of Seti alone, none died who dwelt
in or about his house, though elsewhere all the first-born of Egypt lay
dead, and the first-born of the beasts also. When this came to be known
throughout the land a rage seized the Egyptians against Merapi who,
they remembered, had called down woe on Egypt after she had been forced
to pray in the temple and, as they believed, to lift the darkness from
Memphis.

Bakenkhonsu and I and others who loved her pointed out that her own
child had died with the rest. To this it was answered, and here I
thought I saw the fingers of Userti and of Ki, that it was nothing,
since witches did not love children. Moreover, they said she could have
as many as she liked and when she liked, making them to look like
children out of clay figures and to grow up into evil spirits to
torment the land. Lastly, people swore that she had been heard to say
that, although to do it she must kill her own lord’s son, she would
not on that account forego her vengeance on the Egyptians, who once had
treated her as a slave and murdered her father. Further, the Israelites
themselves, or some of them, mayhap Laban among them, were reported to
have told the Egyptians that it was the sorceress who had bewitched
Prince Seti who brought such great troubles on them.

So it happened that the Egyptians came to hate Merapi, who of all women
was the sweetest and the most to be loved, and to her other supposed
crimes, added this also, that by her witcheries she had stolen the
heart of Seti away from his lawful wife and made him to turn that lady,
the Royal Princess of Egypt, even from his gates, so that she was
forced to dwell alone at Tanis. For in all these matters none blamed
Seti, whom everyone in Egypt loved, because it was known that he would
have dealt with the Israelites in a very different fashion, and thus
averted all the woes that had desolated the ancient land of Khem. As
for this matter of the Hebrew girl with the big eyes who chanced to have
thrown a spell upon him, that was his ill-fortune, nothing more.
Amongst the many women with whom they believed he filled his house, as
was the way of princes, it was not strange that one favourite should be
a witch. Indeed, I am certain that only because he was known to love
her, was Merapi saved from death by poison or in some other secret
fashion, at any rate for a while.

Now came the glad tidings that the pride of Pharaoh was broken at last
(for his first-born child had died with the others), or that the cloud
of madness had lifted from his brain, whichever it might be, and that
he had decreed that the Children of Israel might depart from Egypt when
and whither they would. Then the people breathed again, seeing hope
that their miseries might end.

It was at this time that Jabez appeared once more at Memphis, driving a
number of chariot horses, which he said he wished to sell to the
Prince, as he did not desire them to pass into any other hands. He was
admitted and stated the price of his horses, according to which they
must have been beasts of great value.

“Why do you wish to sell your horses?” asked Seti.

“Because I go with my people into lands where there is little water
and there they might die, O Prince.”

“I will buy the horses. See to it, Ana,” said Seti, although I knew
well that already he had more than he needed.

The Prince rose to show that the interview was ended, whereon Jabez, who
was bowing his thanks, said hurriedly:

“I rejoice to learn, O Royal One, that things have befallen as I
foretold, or rather was bidden to foretell, and that the troubles which
have afflicted Egypt have passed by your dwelling.”

“Then you rejoice to learn a falsehood, Hebrew, since the worst of
those troubles has made its home here. My son is dead,” and he turned
away.

Jabez lifted his shifty eyes from the floor and glanced at him.

“Prince,” he said, “I know and grieve because this loss has
cut you to the heart. Yet it was no fault of mine or of my people. If
you think, you will remember that both when I built a wall of
protection about this place because of your good deeds to Israel, O
Prince, and before, I warned, and caused you to be warned, that if you
and my niece, Moon of Israel, came together a great trouble might fall
on you through her who, having become the woman of an Egyptian in
defiance of command, must bear the fate of Egyptian women.”

“It may be so,” said the Prince. “The matter is not one of
which I care to talk. If this death were wrought by the magic of your
wizards I have only this to say—that it is an ill payment to me in
return for all that I have striven to do on behalf of the Hebrews. Yet,
what else could I expect from such a people in such a world?
Farewell.”

“One prayer, O Prince. I would ask your leave to speak with my niece,
Merapi.”

“She is veiled. Since the murder of her child by wizardry, she sees no
man.”

“Still I think she will see her uncle, O Prince.”

“What then do you wish to say to her?”

“O Prince, through the clemency of Pharaoh we poor slaves are about to
leave the land of Egypt never to return. Therefore, if my niece remains
behind, it is natural that I should wish to bid her farewell, and to
confide to her certain matters connected with our race and family,
which she might desire to pass on to her children.”

Now when he heard this word “children” Seti softened.

“I do not trust you,” he said. “You may be charged with more
of your Hebrew curses against Merapi, or you may say words to her that
will make her even unhappier than she is. Yet if you would wish to see
her in my presence——”

“My lord Prince, I will not trouble you so far. Farewell. Be pleased
to convey——”

“Or if that does not suit you,” interrupted Seti, “in the
presence of Ana here you can do so, unless she refuses to receive
you.”

Jabez reflected for a moment, and answered:

“Then in the presence of Ana let it be, since he is a man who knows
when to be silent.”

Jabez made obeisance and departed, and at a sign from the Prince I
followed him. Presently we were ushered into the chamber of the lady
Merapi, where she sat looking most sad and lonely, with a veil of black
upon her head.

“Greeting, my uncle,” she said, after glancing at me, whose
presence I think she understood. “Are you the bearer of more
prophecies? I pray not, since your last were overtrue,” and she
touched the black veil with her finger.

“I am the bearer of tidings, and of a prayer, Niece. The tidings are
that the people of Israel are about to leave Egypt. The prayer, which
is also a command, is—that you make ready to accompany them——”

“To Laban?” she asked, looking up.

“No, my niece. Laban would not wish as a wife one who has been the
mistress of an Egyptian, but to play your part, however humble, in the
fortunes of our people.”

“I am glad that Laban does not wish what he never could obtain, my
uncle. Tell me, I pray you, why should I hearken to this prayer, or
this command?”

“For a good reason, Niece—that your life hangs on it. Heretofore
you have been suffered to take your heart’s desire. But if you bide in
Egypt where you have no longer a mission to fulfil, having done all that
was sought of you in keeping the mind of your lover, the Prince Seti,
true to the cause of Israel, you will surely die.”

“You mean that our people will kill me?”

“No, not our people. Still you will die.”

She took a step towards him, and looked him in the eyes.

“You are certain that I shall die, my uncle?”

“I am, or at least others are certain.”

Now she laughed; it was the first time I had seen her laugh for several
moons.

“Then I will stay here,” she said.

Jabez stared at her.

“I thought that you loved this Egyptian, who indeed is worthy of any
woman’s love,” he muttered into his beard.

“Perhaps it is because I love him that I wish to die. I have given him
all I have to give; there is nothing left of my poor treasure except
what will bring trouble and misfortune on his head. Therefore the
greater the love—and it is more great than all those pyramids massed
to one—the greater the need that it should be buried for a while. Do
you understand?”

He shook his head.

“I understand only that you are a very strange woman, different from
any other that I have known.”

“My child, who was slain with the rest, was all the world to me, and I
would be where he is. Do you understand now?”

“You would leave your life, in which, being young, you may have more
children, to lie in a tomb with your dead son?” he asked slowly, like
one astonished.

“I only care for life while it can serve him whom I love, and if a day
comes when he sits upon the throne how will a daughter of the hated
Israelites serve him then? Also I do not wish for more children. Living
or dead, he that is gone owns all my heart; there is no room in it for
others. That love at least is pure and perfect, and having been
embalmed by death, can never change. Moreover, it is not in a tomb that
I shall lie with him, or so I believe. The faith of these Egyptians
which we despise tells of a life eternal in the heavens, and thither I
would go to seek that which is lost, and to wait that which is left
behind awhile.”

“Ah!” said Jabez. “For my part I do not trouble myself with
these problems, who find in a life temporal on the earth enough to fill
my thoughts and hands. Yet, Merapi, you are a rebel, and whether in
heaven or on earth, how are rebels received by the king against whom
they have rebelled?”

“You say I am a rebel,” she said, turning on him with flashing
eyes. “Why? Because I would not dishonour myself by marrying a man I
hate, one also who is a murderer, and because while I live I will not
desert a man whom I love to return to those who have done me naught but
evil. Did God then make women to be sold like cattle of the field for
the pleasure and the profit of him who can pay the highest?”

“It seems so,” said Jabez, spreading out his hands.

“It seems that you think so, who fashion God as you would wish him to
be, but for my part I do not believe it, and if I did, I should seek
another king. My uncle, I appeal from the priest and the elder to That
which made both them and me, and by Its judgment I will stand or
fall.”

“Always a very dangerous thing to do,” reflected Jabez aloud,
“since the priest is apt to take the law into his own hands before the
cause can be pleaded elsewhere. Still, who am I that I should set up my
reasonings against one who can grind Amon to powder in his own
sanctuary, and who therefore may have warrant for all she thinks and
does?”

Merapi stamped her foot.

“You know well it was you who brought me the command to dare the god
Amon in his temple. It was not I——” she began.

“I do know,” replied Jabez waving his hand. “I know also that
is what every wizard says, whatever his nation or his gods, and what no
one ever believes. Thus because, having faith, you obeyed the command
and through you Amon was smitten, among both the Israelites and the
Egyptians you are held to be the greatest sorceress that has looked
upon the Nile, and that is a dangerous repute, my niece.”

“One to which I lay no claim, and never sought.”

“Just so, but which all the same has come to you. Well, knowing as
without doubt you do all that will soon befall in Egypt, and having been
warned, if you needed warning, of the danger with which you yourself are
threatened, you still refuse to obey this second command which it is my
duty to deliver to you?”

“I refuse.”

“Then on your own head be it, and farewell. Oh! I would add that there
is a certain property in cattle, and the fruit of lands which descends
to you from your father. In the event of your death——”

“Take it all, uncle, and may it prosper you. Farewell.”

“A great woman, friend Ana, and a beautiful,” said the old Hebrew,
after he had watched her go. “I grieve that I shall never see her
again, and, indeed, that no one will see her for very long; for,
remember, she is my niece of whom I am fond. Now I too must be going,
having completed my errand. All good fortune to you, Ana. You are no
longer a soldier, are you? No? Believe me, it is as well, as you will
learn. My homage to the Prince. Think of me at times, when you grow
old, and not unkindly, seeing that I have served you as best I could,
and your master also, who I hope will soon find again that which he
lost awhile ago.”

“Her Highness, Princess Userti,” I suggested.

“The Princess Userti among other things, Ana. Tell the Prince, if he
should deem them costly, that those horses which I sold him are really
of the finest Syrian blood, and of a strain that my family has owned
for generations. If you should chance to have any friend whose welfare
you desire, let him not go into the desert soldiering during the next
few moons, especially if Pharaoh be in command. Nay, I know nothing,
but it is a season of great storm. Farewell, friend Ana, and again
farewell.”

“Now what did he mean by that?” thought I to myself, as I departed
to make my report to Seti. But no answer to the question rose in my
mind.

Very soon I began to understand. It appeared that at length the
Israelites were leaving Egypt, a vast horde of them, and with them tens
of thousands of Arabs of various tribes who worshipped their god and
were, some of them, descended from the people of the Hyksos, the
shepherds who once ruled in Egypt. That this was true was proved to us
by the tidings which reached us that all the Hebrew women who dwelt in
Memphis, even those of them who were married to Egyptians, had departed
from the city, leaving behind them their men and sometimes their
children. Indeed, before these went, certain of them who had been
friends visited Merapi, and asked her if she were not coming also. She
shook her head as she replied:

“Why do you go? Are you so fond of journeyings in the desert that for
the sake of them you are ready never again to look upon the men you
love and the children of your bodies?”

“No, Lady,” they answered, weeping. “We are happy here in
white-walled Memphis and here, listening to the murmur of the Nile, we
would grow old and die, rather than strive to keep house in some desert
tent with a stranger or alone. Yet fear drives us hence.”

“Fear of what?”

“Of the Egyptians who, when they come to understand all that they have
suffered at our hands in return for the wealth and shelter which they
have given us for many generations, whereby we have grown from a
handful into a great people, will certainly kill any Israelite whom
they find left among them. Also we fear the curses of our priests who
bid us to depart.”

“Then _I_ should fear these things also,” said Merapi.

“Not so, Lady, seeing that being the only beloved of the Prince of
Egypt who, rumour tells us, will soon be Pharaoh of Egypt, by him you
will be protected from the anger of the Egyptians. And being, as we all
know well, the greatest sorceress in the world, the overthrower of
Amon-Ra the mighty, and one who by sacrificing her child was able to
ward away every plague from the household where she dwelt, you have
naught to fear from priests and their magic.”

Then Merapi sprang up, bidding them to leave her to her fate and to be
gone to their own, which they did hastily enough, fearing lest she
should cast some spell upon them. So it came about that presently the
fair Moon of Israel and certain children of mixed blood were all of the
Hebrew race that were left in Egypt. Then, notwithstanding the miseries
and misfortunes that during the past few years by terror, death, and
famine had reduced them to perhaps one half of their number, the people
of Egypt rejoiced with a great joy.

In every temple of every god processions were held and offerings made by
those who had anything left to offer, while the statues of the gods
were dressed in fine new garments and hung about with garlandings of
flowers. Moreover, on the Nile and on the sacred lakes boats floated to
and fro, adorned with lanterns as at the feast of the Rising of Osiris.
As titular high-priest of Amon, an office of which he could not be
deprived while he lived, Prince Seti attended these demonstrations,
which indeed he must do, in the great temple of Memphis, whither I
accompanied him. When the ceremonies were over he led the procession
through the masses of the worshippers, clad in his splendid sacerdotal
robes, whereon every throat of the thousands present there greeted him
in a shout of thunder as “Pharaoh!” or at least as Pharaoh’s
heir.

When at length the shouting died, he turned upon them and said:

“Friends, if you would send me to be of the company that sits at the
table of Osiris and not at Pharaoh’s feasts, you will repeat this
foolish greeting, whereof our Lord Amenmeses will hear with little
joy.”

In the silence that followed a voice called out:

“Have no fear, O Prince, while the Hebrew witch sleeps night by night
upon your bosom. She who could smite Egypt with so many plagues can
certainly shelter you from harm;” whereon the roars of acclamation
went up again.

It was on the following day that Bakenkhonsu the aged returned with more
tidings from Tanis, where he had been upon a visit. It seemed that a
great council had been held there in the largest hall of one of the
largest temples. At this council, which was open to all the people,
Amenmeses had given report on the matter of the Israelites who, he
stated, were departing in their thousands. Also offerings were made to
appease the angry gods of Egypt. When the ceremony was finished, but
before the company broke up in a heavy mood, her Highness the Princess
Userti rose in her place, and addressed Pharaoh:

“By the spirits of our fathers,” she cried, “and more
especially by that of the good god Meneptah, my begetter, I ask of you,
Pharaoh, and I ask of you, O people, whether the affront that has been
put upon us by these Hebrew slaves and their magicians is one that the
proud land of Egypt should be called upon to bear? Our gods have been
smitten and defied; woes great and terrible, such as history tells not
of, have fallen upon us through magic; tens of thousands, from the
first-born child of Pharaoh down, have perished in a single night. And
now these Hebrews, who have murdered them by sorcery, for they are
sorcerers all, men and women together, especially one of them who sits
at Memphis, of whom I will not speak because she has wrought me private
harm, by the decree of Pharaoh are to be suffered to leave the land.
More, they are to take with them all their cattle, all their threshed
corn, all the treasure they have hoarded for generations, and all the
ornaments of price and wealth that they have wrung by terror from our
own people, borrowing that which they never purpose to return.
Therefore I, the Royal Princess of Egypt, would ask of Pharaoh, is this
the decree of Pharaoh?”

“Now,” said Bakenkhonsu, “Pharaoh sat with hanging head upon
his throne and made no answer.”

“Pharaoh does not speak,” went on Userti. “Then I ask, is
this the decree of the Council of Pharaoh and of the people of Egypt?
There is still a great army in Egypt, hundreds of chariots and
thousands of footmen. Is this army to sit still while these slaves
depart into the desert there to rouse our enemies of Syria against us
and return with them to butcher us?”

“At these words,” continued Bakenkhonsu, “from all that
multitude there went up a shout of ‘No.’”

“The people say No. What saith Pharaoh?” cried Userti.

There followed a silence, till suddenly Amenmeses rose and spoke:

“Have it as you will, Princess, and on your head and the heads of all
these whom you have stirred up let the evil fall if evil comes, though I
think it is your husband, the Prince Seti, who should stand where you
stand and put up this prayer in your place.”

“My husband, the Prince Seti, is tied to Memphis by a rope of
witch’s hair, or so they tell me,” she sneered, while the people
murmured in assent.

“I know not,” went on Amenmeses, “but this I know that always
the Prince would have let these Hebrews go from among us, and at times,
as sorrow followed sorrow, I have thought that he was right. Truly more
than once I also would have let them go, but ever some Strength, I know
not what, descended on my heart, turning it to stone, and wrung from me
words that I did not desire to utter. Even now I would let them go, but
all of you are against me, and, perchance, if I withstand you, I shall
pay for it with my life and throne. Captains, command that my armies be
made ready, and let them assemble here at Tanis that I myself may lead
them after the people of Israel and share their dangers.”

Then with a mighty shouting the company broke up, so that at the last
all were gone and only Pharaoh remained seated upon his throne, staring
at the ground with the air, said Bakenkhonsu, rather of one who is dead
than of a living king about to wage war upon his foes.

To all these words the Prince listened in silence, but when they were
finished he looked up and asked:

“What think you, Bakenkhonsu?”

“I think, O Prince,” answered the wise old man, “that her
Highness did ill to stir up this matter, though doubtless she spoke with
the voices of the priests and of the army, against which Pharaoh was
not strong enough to stand.”

“What you think, I think,” said Seti.

At this moment the lady Merapi entered.

“I hear, my lord,” she said, “that Pharaoh purposes to pursue
the people of Israel with his host. I come to pray my lord that he will
not join himself to the host of Pharaoh.”

“It is but natural, Lady, that you should not wish me to make war upon
your kin, and to speak truth I have no mind that way,” replied Seti,
and, turning, left the chamber with her.

“She is not thinking of her king but of her lover’s life,”
said Bakenkhonsu. “She is not a witch as they declare, but it is true
that she knows what we do not.”

“Yes,” I answered, “it is true.”




CHAPTER XVII.

THE DREAM OF MERAPI


A while went by; it may have been fourteen days, during which we heard
that the Israelites had started on their journey. They were a mighty
multitude who bore with them the coffin and the mummy of their prophet,
a man of their blood, Vizier, it is reported, to that Pharaoh who
welcomed them to Egypt hundreds of years before. Some said they went
this way and some that, but Bakenkhonsu, who knew everything, declared
that they were heading for the Lake of Crocodiles, which others name
Sea of Reeds, whereby they would cross into the desert beyond, and
thence to Syria. I asked him how, seeing that at its narrowest part,
this lake was six thousand paces in width, and that the depth of its mud
 was unfathomable. He replied that he did not know, but that I might do
well to inquire of the lady Merapi.

“So you have changed your mind, and also think her a witch,” I
said, to which he answered:

“One must breathe the wind that blows, and Egypt is so full of
witchcraft that it is difficult to say. Also it was she and no other
who destroyed the ancient statue of Amon. Oh! yes, witch or no witch,
it might be well to ask her how her people purpose to cross the Sea of
Reeds, especially if Pharaoh’s chariots chance to be behind them.”

So I did ask her, but she answered that she knew nothing of the matter,
and wished to know nothing, seeing that she had separated from her
people, and remained in Egypt.

Then Ki came, I know not whence, and having made his peace with Seti as
to the dressing of Merapi in the robes of Isis which, he vowed, was
done by the priests against his wish, told us that Pharaoh and a great
host had started to pursue the Israelites. The Prince asked him why he
had not gone with the host, to which he replied that he was no soldier,
also that Pharaoh hid his face from him. In return he asked the Prince
why _he_ had not gone.

Seti answered, because he had been deprived of his command with his
other officers and had no wish to take share in this business as a
private citizen.

“You are wise, as always, Prince,” said Ki.

It was on the following night, very late, while the Prince, Ki,
Bakenkhonsu and I, Ana, sat talking, that suddenly the lady Merapi
broke in upon us as she had risen from her bed, wild-eyed, and with her
hair flowing down her robes.

“I have dreamed a dream!” she cried. “I dreamed that I saw
all the thousands of my people following after a flame that burned from
earth to heaven. They came to the edge of a great water and behind them
rushed Pharaoh and all the hosts of the Egyptians. Then my people ran
on to the face of the water, and it bore them as though it were sound
land. Now the soldiers of the Pharaoh were following, but the gods of
Egypt appeared, Amon, Osiris, Horus, Isis, Hathor, and the rest, and
would have turned them back. Still they refused to listen, and dragging
the gods with them, rushed out upon the water. Then darkness fell, and
in the darkness sounds of wailing and of a mighty laughter. It passed,
the moon rose, shining upon emptiness. I awoke, trembling in my limbs.
Interpret me this dream if you can, O Ki, Master of Magic.”

“Where is the need, Lady,” he answered, awaking as though from
sleep, “when the dreamer is also the seer? Shall the pupil venture to
instruct the teacher, or the novice to make plain the mysteries to the
high-priestess of the temple? Nay, Lady, I and all the magicians of
Egypt are beneath your feet.”

“Why will you ever mock me?” she said, and as she spoke, she
shivered.

Then Bakenkhonsu opened his lips, saying:

“The wisdom of Ki has been buried in a cloud of late, and gives no
light to us, his disciples. Yet the meaning of this dream is plain,
though whether it be also true I do not know. It is that all the host
of Egypt, and with it the gods of Egypt, are threatened with
destruction because of the Israelites, unless one to whom they will
hearken can be found to turn them from some purpose that I do not
understand. But to whom will the mad hearken, oh! to whom will they
hearken?” and lifting his great head, he looked straight at the
Prince.

“Not to me, I fear, who now am no one in Egypt,” said Seti.

“Why not to you, O Prince, who to-morrow may be everyone in Egypt?”
asked Bakenkhonsu. “Always you have pleaded the cause of the Hebrews,
and said that naught but evil would befall Egypt because of them, as
has happened. To whom, then, will the people and the army listen more
readily?”

“Moreover, O Prince,” broke in Ki, “a lady of your household
has dreamed a very evil dream, of which, if naught be said, it might be
held that it was no dream, but a spell of power aimed against the
majesty of Egypt; such a spell as that which cast great Amon from his
throne, such a spell as that which has set a magic fence around this
house and field.”

“Again I tell you that I weave no spells, O Ki, who with my own child
have paid the price of them.”

“Yet spells were woven, Lady, and as has been known from of old,
strength is perfected in sacrifice alone,” Ki answered darkly.

“Have done with your talk of spells, Magician,” exclaimed the
Prince, “or if you must speak of them, speak of your own, which are
many. It was Jabez who protected us here against the plagues, and the
statue of Amon was shattered by some god.”

“I ask your pardon, Prince,” said Ki bowing, “it was
_not_ this lady but her uncle who fenced your house against the plagues
which ravaged Egypt, and it was _not_ this lady but some god working in
her which overthrew Amon of Tanis. The Prince has said it. Yet this lady
has dreamed a certain dream which Bakenkhonsu has interpreted although
I cannot, and I think that Pharaoh and his captains should be told of
the dream, that on it they may form their own judgment.”

“Then why do you not tell them, Ki?”

“It has pleased Pharaoh, O Prince, to dismiss me from his service as
one who failed and to give my office of Kherheb to another. If I appear
before the face of Pharaoh I shall be killed.”

Now I, Ana, listening, wished that Ki would appear before the face of
Pharaoh, although I did not believe that he could be killed by him or
by anybody else, since against death he had charms. For I was afraid of
Ki, and felt in myself that again he was plotting evil to Merapi whom I
knew to be innocent.

The Prince walked up and down the chamber as was his fashion when lost
in thought. Presently he stopped opposite to me and said:

“Friend Ana, be pleased to command that my chariots be made ready with
a general’s escort of a hundred men and spare horses to each chariot.
We ride at dawn, you and I, to seek out the army of Pharaoh and pray
audience of Pharaoh.”

“My lord,” said Merapi in a kind of cry, “I pray you go not,
leaving me alone.”

“Why should I leave you, Lady? Come with me if you will.” She shook
her head, saying:

“I dare not. Prince, there has been some charm upon me of late that
draws me back to my own people. Twice in the night I have awakened and
found myself in the gardens with my face set towards the north, and
heard a voice in my ears, even that of my father who is dead, saying:

“‘Moon of Israel, thy people wander in the wilderness and need thy
light.’

“It is certain therefore that if I came near to them I should be
dragged down as wood is dragged of an eddy, nor would Egypt see me any
more.”

“Then I pray you bide where you are, Merapi,” said the Prince,
laughing a little, “since it is certain that where you go I must
follow, who have no desire to wander in the wilderness with your Hebrew
folk. Well, it seems that as you do not wish to leave Memphis and will
not come with me, I must stay with you.”

Ki fixed his piercing eyes upon the pair of them.

“Let the Prince forgive me,” he said, “but I swear it by the
gods that never did I think to live to hear the Prince Seti Meneptah set
a woman’s whims before his honour.”

“Your words are rough,” said Seti, drawing himself up, “and
had they been spoken in other days, mayhap, Ki——”

“Oh! my lord,” said Ki prostrating himself till his forehead
touched the ground, “bethink you then how great must be the need which
makes me dare to speak them. When first I came hither from the court of
Tanis, the spirit that is within me speaking through my lips gave
certain titles to your Highness, for which your Highness was pleased to
reprove me. Yet the spirit in me cannot lie and I know well, and bid
all here make record of my words, that to-night I stand in the presence
of him who ere two moons have passed will be crowned Pharaoh.”

“Truly you were ever a bearer of ill-tidings, Ki, but if so, what of
it?”

“This your Highness: Were it not that the spirits of Truth and Right
compel me for their own reasons, should I, who have blood that can be
shed or bones that can be broken, dare to hurl hard words at him who
will be Pharaoh? Should I dare to cross the will of the sweet dove who
nestles on his heart, the wise, white dove that murmurs the mysteries
of heaven, whence she came, and is stronger than the vulture of Isis
and swifter than the hawk of Ra; the dove that, were she angry, could
rend me into more fragments than did Set Osiris?”

Now I saw Bakenkhonsu begin to swell with inward laughter like a frog
about to croak, but Seti answered in a weary voice:

“By all the birds of Egypt with the sacred crocodiles thrown in, I do
not know, since that mind of yours, Ki, is not an open writing which
can be read by the passer-by. Still, if you would tell me what is the
reason with which the goddesses of Truth and Justice have inspired
you——”

“The reason is, O Prince, that the fate of all Egypt’s army may be
hidden in your hand. The time is short and I will be plain. Deny it as
she will this lady here, who seems to be but a thing of love and
beauty, is the greatest sorceress in Egypt, as I whom she has mastered
know well. She matched herself against the high god of Egypt and smote
him to the dust, and has paid back upon him, his prophets, and his
worshippers the ills that he would have worked to her, as in the like
case any of our fellowship would do. Now she has dreamed a dream, or
her spirit has told her that the army of Egypt is in danger of
destruction, and I know that this dream is true. Hasten then, O Prince,
to save the hosts of Egypt, which you will surely need when you come to
sit upon its throne.”

“I am no sorceress,” cried Merapi, “and yet—alas! that
I must say it—this smiling-featured, cold-eyed wizard’s words are
true. _The sword of death hangs over the hosts of Egypt!_”

“Command that the chariots be made ready,” said Seti again.

Eight days had gone by. It was sunset and we drew rein over against the
Sea of Reeds. Day and night we had followed the army of Pharaoh across
the wilderness on a road beaten down by his chariot wheels and
soldiers, and by the tens of thousands of the Israelites who had passed
that way before them. Now from the ridge where we had halted we saw it
encamped beneath us, a very great army. Moreover, stragglers told us
that beyond, also encamped, was the countless horde of the Israelites,
and beyond these the vast Sea of Reeds which barred their path. But we
could not see them for a very strange reason. Between these and the
army of Pharaoh rose a black wall of cloud, built as it were from earth
to heaven. One of those stragglers of whom I have spoken, told us that
this cloud travelled before the Israelites by day, but at night was
turned into a pillar of fire. Only on this day, when the army of
Pharaoh approached, it had moved round and come between the people of
Israel and the army.

Now when the Prince, Bakenkhonsu, and I heard these things we looked at
each other and were silent. Only presently the Prince laughed a little,
and said:

“We should have brought Ki with us, even if we had to carry him bound,
that he might interpret this marvel, for it is sure that no one else
can.”

“It would be hard to keep Ki bound, Prince, if he wished to go
free,” answered Bakenkhonsu. “Moreover, before ever we entered the
chariots at Memphis he had departed south for Thebes. I saw him go.”

“And I gave orders that he should not be allowed to return, for I hold
him an ill guest, or so thinks the lady Merapi,” replied Seti with a
sigh.

“Now that we are here what would the Prince do?” I asked.

“Descend to the camp of Pharaoh and say what we have to say, Ana.”

“And if he will not listen, Prince?”

“Then cry our message aloud and return.”

“And if he will not suffer us to return, Prince?”

“Then stand still and live or die as the gods may decree.”

“Truly our lord has a great heart!” exclaimed Bakenkhonsu,
“and though I feel over young to die, I am minded to see the end of
this matter with him,” and he laughed aloud.

But I who was afraid thought that _O-ho-ho_ of his, which the sky seemed
to echo back upon our heads, a strange and indeed a fearful sound.

Then we put on robes of ceremony that we had brought with us, but
neither swords nor armour, and having eaten some food, drove on with
the half of our guard towards the place where we saw the banners of
Pharaoh flying about his pavilion. The rest of our guard we left
encamped, bidding them, if aught happened to us, to return and make
report at Memphis and in the other great cities. As we drew near to the
camp the outposts saw us and challenged. But when they perceived by the
light of the setting sun who it was that they challenged, a murmur went
through them, of:

“The Prince of Egypt! The Prince of Egypt!” for so they had never
ceased to name Seti, and they saluted with their spears and let us pass.

So at length we came to the pavilion of Pharaoh, round about which a
whole regiment stood on guard. The sides of it were looped up high
because of the heat of the night which was great, and within sat
Pharaoh, his captains, his councillors, his priests, his magicians, and
many others at meat or serving food and drink. They sat at a table that
was bent like a bow, with their faces towards the entrance, and Pharaoh
was in the centre of the table with his fan-bearers and butlers behind
him.

We advanced into the pavilion, the Prince in the centre, Bakenkhonsu
leaning on his staff on the right hand, and I, wearing the gold chain
that Pharaoh Meneptah had given me, on the left, but those with us
remained among the guard at the entrance.

“Who are these?” asked Amenmeses, looking up, “who come here
unbidden?”

“Three citizens of Egypt who have a message for Pharaoh,” answered
Seti in his quiet voice, “which we have travelled fast and far to
speak in time.”

“How are you named, citizens of Egypt, and who sends your message?”

“We are named, Seti Meneptah aforetime Prince of Egypt, and heir to
its crown; Bakenkhonsu the aged Councillor, and Ana the scribe and
King’s Companion, and our message is from the gods.”

“We have heard those names, who has not?” said Pharaoh, and as he
spoke all, or very nearly all, the company rose, or half rose, and bowed
towards the Prince. “Will you and your companions be seated and eat,
Prince Seti Meneptah?”

“We thank the divine Pharaoh, but we have already eaten. Have we
Pharaoh’s leave to deliver our message?”

“Speak on, Prince.”

“O Pharaoh, many moons have gone by, since last we looked upon each
other face to face, on that day when my father, the good god Meneptah,
disinherited me, and afterwards fled hence to Osiris. Pharaoh will
remember why I was thus cut off from the royal root of Egypt. It was
because of the matter of these Israelites, who in my judgment had been
evilly dealt by, and should be suffered to leave our land. The good god
Meneptah, being so advised by you and others, O Pharaoh, would have
smitten the Israelites with the sword, making an end of them, and to
this he demanded my assent as the Heir of Egypt. I refused that assent
and was cast out, and since then, you, O Pharaoh, have worn the double
crown, while I have dwelt as a citizen of Memphis, living upon such
lands and revenues as are my own. Between that hour and this, O
Pharaoh, many griefs have smitten Egypt, and the last of them cost you
your first-born, and me mine. Yet through them all, O Pharaoh, you have
refused to let these Hebrews go, as I counselled should be done at the
beginning. At length after the death of the first-born, your decree was
issued that they might go. Yet now you follow them with a great army
and purpose to do to them what my father, the good god Meneptah, would
have done, had I consented, namely—to destroy them with the sword.
Hear me, Pharaoh!”

“I hear; also the case is well if briefly set. What else would the
Prince Seti say?”

“This, O Pharaoh. That I pray you to return with all your host from
the following of these Hebrews, not to-morrow or the next day, but at
once—this night.”

“Why, O Prince?”

“Because of a certain dream that a lady of my household who is Hebrew
has dreamed, which dream foretells destruction to you and the army of
Egypt, unless you hearken to these words of mine.”

“I think that we know of this snake whom you have taken to dwell in
your bosom, whence it may spit poison upon Egypt. It is named Merapi,
Moon of Israel, is it not?”

“That is the name of the lady who dreamed the dream,” replied Seti
in a cold voice, though I felt him tremble with anger at my side, “the
dream that if Pharaoh wills my companions here shall set out word for
word to his magicians.”

“Pharaoh does not will it,” shouted Amenmeses smiting the board
with his fist, “because Pharaoh knows that it is but another trick to
save these wizards and thieves from the doom that they have earned.”

“Am I then a worker of tricks, O Pharaoh? If I had been such, why have
I journeyed hither to give warning, when by sitting yonder at Memphis
to-morrow, I might once more have become heir to the double crown? For
if you will not hearken to me, I tell you that very soon you shall be
dead, and with you these”—and he pointed to all those who sat at
table—“and with them the great army that lies without. Ere you
speak, tell me, what is that black cloud which stands before the camp of
the Hebrews? Is there no answer? Then I will give you the answer. It is
the pall that shall wrap the bones of every one of you.”

Now the company shivered with fear, yes, even the priests and the
magicians shivered. But Pharaoh went mad with rage. Springing from his
seat, he snatched at the double crown upon his head, and hurled it to
the ground, and I noted that the golden uræus band about it, rolled
away, and rested upon Seti’s sandalled foot. He tore his robes and
shouted:

“At least our fate shall be your fate, Renegade, who have sold Egypt
to the Hebrew witch in payment of her kisses. Seize this man and his
companions, and when we go down to battle against these Israelites
to-morrow after the darkness lifts, let them be set with the captains
of the van. So shall the truth be known at last.”

Thus Pharaoh commanded, and Seti, answering nothing, folded his arms
upon his breast and waited.

Men rose from their seats as though to obey Pharaoh and sank back to
them again. Guards started forward and yet remained standing where they
were. Then Bakenkhonsu burst into one of his great laughs.

“O-ho-ho,” he laughed, “Pharaohs have I seen come and go, one
and two and three, and four and five, but never yet have I seen a
Pharaoh whom none of his councillors or guards could obey however much
they willed it. When you are Pharaoh, Prince Seti, may your luck be
better. Your arm, Ana, my friend, and lead on, Royal Heir of Egypt. The
truth is shown to blind eyes that will not see. The word is spoken to
deaf ears that will not hearken, and the duty done. Night falls. Sleep
ye well, ye bidden of Osiris, sleep ye well!”

Then we turned and walked from that pavilion. At its entrance I looked
back, and in the low light that precedes the darkness, it seemed to me
as though all seated there were already dead. Blue were their faces and
hollow shone their eyes, and from their lips there came no word. Only
they stared at us as we went, and stared and stared again.

Without the door of the pavilion, by command of the Prince, I called
aloud the substance of the lady Merapi’s dream, and warned all within
earshot to cease from pursuing the people of Israel, if they would
continue to live to look upon the sun. Yet even now, although to speak
thus was treason against Pharaoh, none lifted a hand against the
Prince, or against me his servant. Often since then I have wondered why
this was so, and found no answer to my questionings. Mayhap it was
because of the majesty of my master, whom all knew to be the true
Pharaoh, and loved at heart. Mayhap it was because they were sure that
he would not have travelled so far and placed himself in the power of
Amenmeses save to work the armies of Egypt good, and not ill, and to
bring them a message that had been spoken by the gods themselves.

Or mayhap it was because he was still hedged about by that protection
which the Hebrews had vowed to him through their prophets with the
voice of Jabez. At least so it happened. Pharaoh might command, but his
servants would not obey. Moreover, the story spread, and that night
many deserted from the host of Pharaoh and encamped about us, or fled
back towards the cities whence they came. Also with them were not a few
councillors and priests who had talked secretly with Bakenkhonsu. So it
chanced that even if Pharaoh desired to make an end of us, as perhaps
he purposed to do in the midnight watches, he thought it wisest to let
the matter lie until he had finished with the people of Israel.

It was a very strange night, silent, with a heavy, stirless air. There
were no stars, but the curtain of black cloud which seemed to hang
beyond the camp of the Egyptians was alive with lightnings which
appeared to shape themselves to letters that I could not read.

“Behold the Book of Fate written in fire by the hand of God!” said
Bakenkhonsu, as he watched.

About midnight a mighty east wind began to blow, so strongly that we
must lie upon our faces under the lea of the chariots. Then the wind
died away and we heard tumult and shoutings, both from the camp of
Egypt, and from the camp of Israel beyond the cloud. Next there came a
shock as of earthquake, which threw those of us who were standing to
the ground, and by a blood-red moon that now appeared we perceived that
all the army of Pharaoh was beginning to move towards the sea.

“Whither go they?” I asked of the Prince who clung to my arm.

“To doom, I think,” he answered, “but to what doom I do not
know.”

After this we said no more, because we were too much afraid.

Dawn came at last, showing the most awful sight that was ever beheld by
the eye of man.

The wall of cloud had disappeared, and in the clear light of the
morning, we perceived that the deep waters of the Sea of Reeds had
divided themselves, leaving a raised roadway that seemed to have been
cleared by the wind, or perchance to have been thrown up by the
earthquake. Who can say? Not I who never set foot upon that path of
death. Along this wide road streamed the tens of thousands of the
Israelites, passing between the water on the right hand, and the water
on the left, and after them followed all the army of Pharaoh, save
those who had deserted, and stood or lay around us, watching. We could
even see the golden chariots that marked the presence of Pharaoh
himself, and of his bodyguard, deep in the heart of the broken host
that struggled forward without discipline or order.

“What now? Oh! what now?” murmured Seti, and as he spoke there was
a second shock of earthquake. Then to the west on the sea there arose a
mighty wave, whereof the crest seemed to be high as a pyramid. It
rolled forward with a curved and foaming head, and in the hollow of it
for a moment, no more, we saw the army of Egypt. Yet in that moment I
seemed to see mighty shapes fleeing landwards along the crest of the
wave, which shapes I took to be the gods of Egypt, pursued by a form of
light and glory that drove them as with a scourge. They came, they
went, accompanied by a sound of wailing, and the wave fell.

But beyond it, the hordes of Israel still marched—upon the further
shore.

Dense gloom followed, and through the gloom I saw, or thought I saw,
Merapi, Moon of Israel, standing before us with a troubled face and
heard or thought I heard her cry:

“_Oh! help me, my lord Seti! Help me, my lord Seti!_”

Then she too was gone.

“Harness the chariots!” cried Seti, in a hollow voice.




CHAPTER XVIII.

THE CROWNING OF MERAPI


Fast as sped our horses, rumour, or rather the truth, carried by those
who had gone before us, flew faster. 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 women rushed upon us
crying:

“Is it true, O travellers, is it true that Pharaoh and his host are
perished in the sea?”

Then old Bakenkhonsu would call in answer:

“It is true that he who _was_ Pharaoh and his host are perished in
the sea. But lo! here is he who _is_ Pharaoh,” and he pointed to the
Prince, who took no heed and said nothing, save:

“On! On!”

Then forward we would plunge again till once more the sound of wailing
died into silence.

It was sunset, and at length we drew near to the gates of Memphis. The
Prince turned to me and spoke.

“Heretofore I have not dared to ask,” he said, “but tell me,
Ana. In the gloom after the great cliff of water fell and the shapes of
terror swept by, did you seem to see a woman stand before us and did
you seem to hear her speak?”

“I did, O Prince.”

“Who was that woman and what did she say?”

“She was one who bore a child to you, O Prince, which child is not,
and she said, ‘Oh! help me, my lord Seti. Help me, my lord
Seti!’”

His face grew ashen even beneath its veil of dust, and he groaned.

“Two who loved her have seen and two who loved her have heard,” he
said. “There is no room for doubt. Ana, she is dead!”

“I pray the gods——”

“Pray not, for the gods of Egypt are also dead, slain by the god of
Israel. Ana, who has murdered her?”

With my finger I who am a draughtsman drew in the thick dust that lay on
the board of the chariot the brows of a man and beneath them two deep
eyes. The gilt on the board where the sun caught it looked like light
in the eyes.

The Prince nodded and said:

“Now we shall learn whether great magicians such as Ki can die like
other men. Yes, if need be, to learn that I will put on Pharaoh’s
crown.”

We halted at the gates of Memphis. They were shut and barred, but from
within the vast city rose a sound of tumult.

“Open!” cried the Prince to the guard.

“Who bids me open?” answered the captain of the gate peering at us,
for the low sun lay behind.

“Pharaoh bids you open.”

“Pharaoh!” said the man. “We have sure tidings that Pharaoh
and his armies are slain by wizardry in the sea.”

“Fool!” thundered the Prince, “Pharaoh never dies. Pharaoh
Amenmeses is with Osiris but the good god Seti Meneptah who _is_ Pharaoh
bids you open.”

Then the bronze gates rolled back, and those who guarded them prostrated
themselves in the dust.

“Man,” I called to the captain, “what means yonder
shouting?”

“Sir,” he answered, “I do not know, but I am told that the
witch who has brought woe on Egypt and by magic caused the death of
Pharaoh Amenmeses and his armies, dies by fire in the place before the
temple.”

“By whose command?” I cried again as the charioteer flogged the
horses, but no answer reached our ears.

We rushed on up the wide street to the great place that was packed with
tens of thousands of the people. We drove the horses at them.

“Way for Pharaoh! Way for the Mighty One, the good god, Seti Meneptah,
King of the Upper and the Lower Land!” shouted the escort.

The people turned and saw the tall shape of the Prince still clad in the
robes of state which he had worn when he stood before Amenmeses in the
pavilion by the sea.

“Pharaoh! Pharaoh! Hail to Pharaoh!” they cried, prostrating
themselves, and the cry passed on through Memphis like a wind.

Now we were come to the centre of the place, and there in front of the
great gates of the temple burned a vast pyre of wood. Before the pyre
moved figures, in one of whom I knew Ki dressed in his magician’s
robe. Outside of these there was a double circle of soldiers who kept
the people back, which these needed, for they raved like madmen and
shook their fists. A group of priests near the fire separated, and I
saw that among them stood a man and a woman, the latter with
dishevelled hair and torn robes as though she had been roughly handled.
At this moment her strength seemed to fail her and she sank to the
ground, lifting her face as she did so. It was the face of Merapi, Moon
of Israel.

So she was not dead. The man at her side stooped as though to lift her
up, but a stone thrown out of the shadow struck him in the back and
caused him to straighten himself, which he did with a curse at the
thrower. I knew the voice at once, although the speaker was disguised.

It was that of Laban the Israelite, he who had been betrothed to Merapi,
and had striven to murder us in the land of Goshen. What did he here? I
wondered dimly.

Ki was speaking. “Hark how the Hebrew cat spits,” he said.
“Well, the cause has been tried and the verdict given, and I think
that the familiar should feed the flames before the witch. Watch him
now, and perhaps he will change into something else.”

All this he said, smiling in his usual pleasant fashion, even when he
made a sign to certain black temple slaves who stood near. They leapt
forward, and I saw the firelight shone upon their copper armlets as
they gripped Laban. He fought furiously, shouting:

“Where are your armies, Egyptians, and where is your dog of a Pharaoh?
Go dig them from the Sea of Reeds. Farewell, Moon of Israel. Look how
your royal lover crowns you at the last, O faithless——”

He said no more, for at this moment the slaves hurled him headlong into
the heart of the great fire, which blackened for a little and burned
bright again.

Then it was that Merapi struggled to her feet and cried in a ringing
voice those very words which the Prince and I had seemed to hear her
speak far away by the Sea of Reeds—“_Oh! help me, my lord Seti!
Help me, my lord Seti!_” Yes, the same words which had echoed in our
ears days before they passed her lips, or so we believed.

Now all this while our chariots had been forcing their way foot by foot
through the wall of the watching crowd, perhaps while a man might count
a hundred, no more. As the echoes of her cry died away at length we
were through and leaping to the ground.

“The witch calls on one who sups to-night at the board of Osiris with
Pharaoh and his host,” sneered Ki. “Well, let her go to seek him
there if the guardian gods will suffer it,” and again he made a sign
to the black slaves.

But Merapi had seen or felt Seti advancing from the shadows and seeing
flung herself upon his breast. He kissed her on the brow before them
all, then bade me hold her up and turned to face the people.

“Bow down. Bow down. Bow down!” cried the deep voice of
Bakenkhonsu. “Life! Blood! Strength! Pharaoh! Pharaoh! Pharaoh!”
and what he said the escort echoed.

Then of a sudden the multitude understood. To their knees they fell and
from every side rose the ancient salutation. Seti held up his hand and
blessed them. Watching, I saw Ki slip towards the darkness, and
whispered a word to the guards, who sprang upon him and brought him
back.

Then the Prince spoke:

“Ye name me Pharaoh, people of Memphis, and Pharaoh I fear I am by
descent of blood to-day, though whether I will consent to bear the
burdens of government, should Egypt wish it of me, as yet I know not.
Still he who wore the double crown is, I believe, dead in the midst of
the sea; at the least I saw the waters overwhelm him and his army.
Therefore, if only for an hour, I will be Pharaoh, that as Pharaoh I
may judge of certain matters. Lady Merapi, tell me, I pray you, how
came you to this pass?”

“My lord,” she answered, in a low voice, “after you had gone
to warn the army of Pharaoh because of that dream I dreamed, Ki, who
departed on the same day, returned again. Through one of the women of
the household, over whom he had power, or so I think, he obtained
access to me when I was alone in my chamber. There he made me this
offer:

“‘Give me,’ he said, ‘the secret of your magic that I
may be avenged upon the wizards of the Hebrews who have brought about my
downfall, and upon the Hebrews themselves, and also upon all my other
enemies, and thus once more become the greatest man in Egypt. In turn I
will fulfil all your desires, and make you, and no other, Queen of
Egypt, and be your faithful servant, and that of your lord Seti who
shall be Pharaoh, until the end of your lives. Refuse, and I will stir
up the people against you, and before ever the Prince returns, if he
returns at all, they who believe you to be an evil sorceress shall mete
out to you the fate of a sorceress.’

“My lord, I answered to Ki what I have often told him before, that I
had no magic to reveal to him, I who knew nothing of the black arts of
sorcery, seeing that it was not I who destroyed the statue of Amon in
the temple at Tanis, but that same Power which since then has brought
all the plagues on Egypt. I said, too, that I cared nothing for the
gifts he offered to me, as I had no wish to be Queen of Egypt. My lord,
he laughed in my face, saying I should find that he was one ill to
mock, as others had found before me. Then he pointed at me with his
wand and muttered some spell over me, which seemed to numb my limbs and
voice, holding me helpless till he had been gone a long while, and
could not be found by your servants, whom I commanded in your name to
seize, and keep him till your return.

“From that hour the people began to threaten me. They crowded about
the palace gates in thousands, crying day and night that they were
going to kill me, the witch. I prayed for help, but from me, a sinner,
heaven has grown so far away that my prayers seem to fall back unheard
upon my head. Even the servants in the palace turned against me, and
would not look upon my face. I grew mad with fear and loneliness, since
all fled before me. At last one night towards the dawn I went on to the
terrace, and since no god would hear me, I turned towards the north
whither I knew that you had gone, and cried to you to help me in those
same words which I cried again just now before you appeared.” (Here
the Prince looked at me and I Ana looked at him.) “Then it was that
from among the bushes of the garden appeared a man, hidden in a long,
sheepskin cloak, so that I could not see his face, who said to me:

“‘Moon of Israel, I have been sent by his Highness, the Prince
Seti, to tell you that you are in danger of your life, as he is in
danger of his, wherefore he cannot come to you. His command is that you
come to him, that together you may flee away out of Egypt to a land
where you will both be safe until all these troubles are finished.’

“‘How know I that you of the veiled face are a true
messenger?’ I asked. ‘Give me a sign.’

“Then he held out to me that scarabæus of lapis-lazuli which your
Highness gave to me far away in the land of Goshen, the same that you
asked back from me as a love token when we plighted troth, and you gave
me your royal ring, which scarabæus I had seen in your robe when you
drove away with Ana.”

“I lost it on our journey to the Sea of Reeds, but said nothing of it
to you, Ana, because I thought the omen evil, having dreamed in the
night that Ki appeared and stole it from me,” whispered the Prince to
me.

“‘It is not enough,’ I answered. ‘This jewel may have
been thieved away, or snatched from the dead body of the Prince, or
taken from him by magic.’

“The cloaked man thought a while and said, ‘This night, not an hour
ago, Pharaoh and his chariots were overwhelmed in the Sea of Reeds. Let
that serve as a sign.’

“‘How can this be?’ I answered, ‘since the Sea of Reeds
is far away, and such tidings cannot travel thence in an hour. Get you
gone, false tempter.’

“‘Yet it is so,’ he answered.

“‘When you prove it to me, I will believe, and come.’

“‘Good,’ he said, and was gone.

“Next day a rumour began to run that this awful thing had happened. It
grew stronger and stronger, until all swore that it had happened. Now
the fury of the people rose against me, and they ravened round the
palace like lions of the desert, roaring for my blood. Yet it was as
though they could not enter here, since whenever they rushed at the
gates or walls, they fell back again, for some spirit seemed to protect
the place. The days went by; the night came again and at the dawn, this
dawn that is past, once more I stood upon the terrace, and once more
the cloaked man appeared from among the trees.

“‘Now you have heard, Moon of Israel,’ he said, ‘and
now you must believe and come, although you think yourself safe because
at the beginning of the plagues this, the home of Seti, was enchanted
against evil, so that none within it can be harmed.’

“‘I have heard, and I think that I believe, though how the tidings
reached Memphis in an hour I do not understand. Yet, stranger, I say to
you that it is not enough.’

“Then the man drew a papyrus roll from his bosom and threw it at my
feet. I opened it and read. The writing was the writing of Ana as I
knew well, and the signature was the signature of you, my lord, and it
was sealed with your seal, and with the seal of Bakenkhonsu as a
witness. Here it is,” and from the breast of her garment, she drew
out a roll and gave it to me upon whom she rested all this while.

I opened it, and by the light of torches the Prince, Bakenkhonsu, and I
read. It was as she had told us in what seemed to be my writing, and
signed and sealed as she had said. The words ran:

“To Merapi, Moon of Israel, in my house at Memphis.

“Come, Lady, Flower of Love, to me your lord, to whom the bearer of
this will guide you safely. Come at once, for I am in great danger, as
you are, and together only can we be safe.”

“Ana, what means this?” asked the Prince in a terrible voice.
“If you have betrayed me and her——”

“By the gods,” I began angrily, “am I a man that I should
live to hear even your Highness speak thus to me, or am I but a dog of
the desert?”

I ceased, for at that moment Bakenkhonsu began to laugh.

“Look at the letter!” he laughed. “Look at the letter.”

We looked, and as we looked, behold the writing on it turned first to
the colour of blood and then faded away, till presently there was
nothing in my hand but a blank sheet of papyrus.

“Oho-ho!” laughed Bakenkhonsu. “Truly, friend Ki, you are the
first of magicians, save those prophets of the Israelites who have
brought you—Whither have they brought you, friend Ki?”

Then for the first time the painted smile left the face of Ki, and it
became like a block of stone in which were set two angry jewels that
were his eyes.

“Continue, Lady,” said the Prince.

“I obeyed the letter. I fled away with the man who said he had a
chariot waiting. We passed out by the little gate.

“‘Where is the chariot?’ I asked.

“‘We go by boat,’ he answered, and led the way towards the
river. As we threaded the big palm grove men appeared from between the
trees.

“‘You have betrayed me,’ I cried.

“‘Nay,’ he answered, ‘I am myself betrayed.’

“Then for the first time I knew his voice for that of Laban.

“The men seized us; at the head of them was Ki.

“‘This is the witch,’ he said, ‘who, her wickedness
finished, flies with her Hebrew lover, who is also the familiar of her
sorceries.’

“They tore the cloak and the false beard from him and there before me
stood Laban. I cursed him to his face. But all he answered was:

“‘Merapi, what I have done I did for love of you. It was my purpose
to take you away to our people, for here I knew that they would kill
you. This magician promised you to me if I could tempt you from the
safety of the palace, in return for certain tidings that I have given
him.’

“These were the only words that passed between us till the end. They
dragged us to the secret prison of the great temple where we were
separated. Here all day long Ki and the priests tormented me with
questions, to which I gave no answer. Towards the evening they brought
me out and led me here with Laban at my side. When the people saw me a
great cry went up of ‘Sorceress! Hebrew witch!’ They broke through
the guard; they seized me, threw me to the ground and beat me. Laban
strove to protect me but was torn away. At length the people were
driven off, and oh! my lord, you know the rest. I have spoken truth, I
can no more.”

So saying her knees loosened beneath her and she swooned. We bore her to
the chariot.

“You have heard, Ki,” said the Prince. “Now, what
answer?”

“None, O Pharaoh,” he replied coldly, “for Pharaoh you are,
as I promised that you should be. My spirit has deserted me, those
Hebrews have stolen it away. That writing should have faded from the
scroll as soon as it was read by yonder lady, and then I would have
told you another story; a story of secret love, of betrayal and
attempted flight with her lover. But some evil god kept it there until
you also had read, you who knew that you had not written what appeared
before your eyes. Pharaoh, I am conquered. Do your will with me, and
farewell. Beloved you shall always be as you have always been, but
happy never in this world.”

“O People,” cried Seti, “I will not be judge in my own cause.
You have heard, do you judge. For this wizard, what reward?”

Then there went up a great cry of “Death! Death by fire. The death he
had made ready for the innocent!”

That was the end, but they told me afterwards that, when the great pyre
had burned out, in it was found the head of Ki looking like a red-hot
stone. When the sunlight fell on it, however, it crumbled and faded
away, as the writing had faded from the roll. If this be true I do not
know, who was not present at the time.

We bore Merapi to the palace. She lived but three days, she whose body
and spirit were broken. The last time I saw her was when she sent for
me not an hour before death came. She was lying in Seti’s arms
babbling to him of their child and looking very sweet and happy. She
thanked me for my friendship, smiling the while in a way which showed
me that she knew it was more than friendship, and bade me tend my
master well until we all met again elsewhere. Then she gave me her hand
to kiss and I went away weeping.

After she was dead a strange fancy took Seti. In the great hall of the
palace he caused a golden throne to be put up, and on this throne he
set her in regal garments, with pectoral and necklaces of gems, crowned
like a queen of Egypt, and thus he showed her to the lords of Memphis.
Then he caused her to be embalmed and buried in a secret sepulchre, the
place of which I have sworn never to reveal, but without any rites
because she was not of the faith of Egypt.

There then she sleeps in her eternal house until the Day of
Resurrection, and with her sleeps her little son.

It was within a moon of this funeral that the great ones of Egypt came
to Memphis to name the Prince as Pharaoh, and with them came her
Highness, the Queen Userti. I was present at the ceremony, which to me
was very strange. There was the Vizier Nehesi; there was the
high-priest Roi and with him many other priests; and there was even the
old chamberlain Pambasa, pompous yet grovelling as before, although he
had deserted the household of the Prince after his disinheritance for
that of the Pharaoh Amenmeses. His appearance with his wand of office
and long white beard, of which he was so proud because it was his own,
drew from Seti the only laugh I had heard him utter for many weeks.

“So you are back again, Chamberlain Pambasa,” he said.

“O most Holy, O most Royal,” answered the old knave, “has
Pambasa, the grain of dust beneath your feet, ever deserted the House of
Pharaoh, or that of him who will be Pharaoh?”

“No,” replied Seti, “it is only when you think that he will
not be Pharaoh that you desert. Well, get you to your duties, rogue, who
perhaps at bottom are as honest as the rest.”

Then followed the great and ancient ceremony of the Offering of the
Crown, in which spoke priests disguised as gods and other priests
disguised as mighty Pharaohs of the past; also the nobles of the Nomes
and the chief men of cities. When all had finished Seti answered:

“I take this, my heritage,” and he touched the double crown,
“not because I desire it but because it is my duty, as I swore that I
would to one who has departed. Blow upon blow have smitten Egypt which,
I think, had my voice been listened to, would never have fallen. Egypt
lies bleeding and well-nigh dead. Let it be your work and mine to try
to nurse her back to life. For no long while am I with you, who also
have been smitten, how it matters not, yet while I am here, I who seem
to reign will be your servant and that of Egypt. It is my decree that
no feasts or ceremonials shall mark this my accession, and that the
wealth which would have been scattered upon them shall be distributed
among the widows and children of those who perished in the Sea of
Reeds. Depart!”

They went, humble yet happy, since here was a Pharaoh who knew the needs
of Egypt, one too who loved her and who alone had shown himself wise of
heart while others were filled with madness. Then her Highness entered,
splendidly apparelled, crowned and followed by her household, and made
obeisance.

“Greeting to Pharaoh,” she cried.

“Greeting to the Royal Princess of Egypt,” he answered.

“Nay, Pharaoh, the Queen of Egypt.”

By Seti’s side there was another throne, that in which he had set dead
Merapi with a crown upon her head. He turned and looked at it a while.
Then, he said:

“I see that this seat is empty. Let the Queen of Egypt take her place
there if so she wills.”

She stared at him as if she thought that he was mad, though doubtless
she had heard something of that story, then swept up the steps and sat
herself down in the royal chair.

“Your Majesty has been long absent,” said Seti.

“Yes,” she answered, “but as my Majesty promised she would
do, she has returned to her lawful place at the side of Pharaoh—never
to leave it more.”

“Pharaoh thanks her Majesty,” said Seti, bowing low.

Some six years had gone by, when one night I was seated with the Pharaoh
Seti Meneptah in his palace at Memphis, for there he always chose to
dwell when matters of State allowed.

It was on the anniversary of the Death of the Firstborn, and of this
matter it pleased him to talk to me. Up and down the chamber he walked
and, watching him by the lamplight, I noted that of a sudden he seemed
to have grown much older, and that his face had become sweeter even
than it was before. He was more thin also, and his eyes had in them a
look of one who stares at distances.

“You remember that night, Friend, do you not,” he said;
“perhaps the most terrible night the world has ever seen, at least in
the little piece of it called Egypt.” He ceased, lifted a curtain,
and pointed to a spot on the pillared portico without. “There she
sat,” he went on; “there you stood; there lay the boy and there
crouched his nurse—by the way, I grieve to hear that she is ill. You
are caring for her, are you not, Ana? Say to her that Pharaoh will come
to visit her—when he may, when he may.”

“I remember it all, Pharaoh.”

“Yes, of course you would remember, because you loved her, did you
not, and the boy too, and even me, the father. And so you will love us
always when we reach a land where sex with its walls and fires are
forgotten, and love alone survives—as we shall love you.”

“Yes,” I answered, “since love is the key of life, and those
alone are accursed who have never learned to love.”

“Why accursed, Ana, seeing that, if life continues, they still may
learn?” He paused a while, then went on: “I am glad that he died,
Ana, although had he lived, as the Queen will have no children, he might
have become Pharaoh after me. But what is it to be Pharaoh? For six
years now I have reigned, and I think that I am beloved; reigned over a
broken land which I have striven to bind together, reigned over a sick
land which I have striven to heal, reigned over a desolated land which
I have striven to make forget. Oh! the curse of those Hebrews worked
well. And I think that it was my fault, Ana, for had I been more of a
man, instead of casting aside my burden, I should have stood up against
my father Meneptah and his policy and, if need were, have raised the
people. Then the Israelites would have gone, and no plagues would have
smitten Egypt. Well, what I did, I did because I must, perhaps, and what
 has happened, has happened. And now my time comes to an end, and I go
hence to balance my account as best I may, praying that I may find
judges who understand, and are gentle.”

“Why does Pharaoh speak thus?” I asked.

“I do not know, Ana, yet that Hebrew wife of mine has been much in my
mind of late. She was wise in her way, as wise as loving, was she not,
and if we could see her once again, perhaps she would answer the
question. But although she seems so near to me, I never can see her,
quite. Can you, Ana?”

“No, Pharaoh, though one night old Bakenkhonsu vowed that he perceived
her passing before us, and looking at me earnestly as she passed.”

“Ah! Bakenkhonsu. Well, he is wise too, and loved her in his fashion.
Also the flesh fades from him, though mayhap he will live to make
offerings at both our tombs. Well, Bakenkhonsu is at Tanis, or is it at
Thebes, with her Majesty, whom he ever loves to observe, as I do. So he
can tell us nothing of what he thought he saw. This chamber is hot,
Ana, let us stand without.”

So we passed the curtain, and stood upon the portico, looking at the
garden misty with moonlight, and talking of this and that—about the
Israelites, I think, who, as we heard, were wandering in the deserts of
Sinai. Then of a sudden we grew silent, both of us.

A cloud floated over the face of the moon, leaving the world in
darkness. It passed, and I became aware that we were no longer alone.
There in front of us was a mat, and on the mat lay a dead child, the
royal child named Seti; there by the mat stood a woman with agony in
her eyes, looking at the dead child, the Hebrew woman named Moon of
Israel.

Seti touched me, and pointed to her, and I pointed to the child. We
stood breathless. Then of a sudden, stooping down, Merapi lifted up the
child and held it towards its father. But, lo! now no longer was it
dead; nay, it laughed and laughed, and seeing him, seemed to throw its
arms about his neck, and to kiss him on the lips. Moreover, the agony
in the woman’s eyes turned to joy unspeakable, and she became more
beautiful than a star. Then, laughing like the child, Merapi turned to
Seti, beckoned, and was gone.

“We have seen the dead,” he said to me presently, “and, oh!
Ana, _the dead still live!_”

That night, ere dawn, a cry rang through the palace, waking me from my
sleep. This was the cry:

“The good god Pharaoh is no more! The hawk Seti has flown to
heaven!”

At the burial of Pharaoh, I laid the halves of the broken cup upon his
breast, that he might drink therefrom in the Day of Resurrection.

Here ends the writing of the Scribe Ana, the Counsellor and Companion of
the King, by him beloved.




THE END




*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOON OF ISRAEL ***

Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will
be renamed.

Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the
United States without permission and without paying copyright
royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following
the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very
easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project
Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may
do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected
by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark
license, especially commercial redistribution.

START: FULL LICENSE

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.

Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works

1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the
person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph
1.E.8.

1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this
agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the
Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual
works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting
free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm
works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily
comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when
you share it without charge with others.

1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country other than the United States.

1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear
prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work
on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the
phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed,
performed, viewed, copied or distributed:

  This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
  most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
  restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
  under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
  eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
  United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
  you are located before using this eBook.

1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is
derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works
posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
beginning of this work.

1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.

1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.

1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format
other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm website
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain
Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
provided that:

* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
  the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
  you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
  to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has
  agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
  Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
  within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
  legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
  payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
  Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
  Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
  Literary Archive Foundation."

* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
  you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
  does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
  License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
  copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
  all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm
  works.

* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
  any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
  electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
  receipt of the work.

* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
  distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.

1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than
are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.

1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.

1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
without further opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.

1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in
accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.

Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm

Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future
generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at
www.gutenberg.org

Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.

The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West,
Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up
to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's website
and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact

Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without
widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular
state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate

Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works

Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of
volunteer support.

Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.

Most people start at our website which has the main PG search
facility: www.gutenberg.org

This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.