THE WAY TO THE SEA
Kenkenes did not remain long in the apathy of amazement and
helplessness. Consternation possessed him the instant he roused
himself sufficiently to realize and speculate. He had saved the king
and exposed Har-hat, but the accomplishing of this temporary good had
forced the probable commission of a great evil. If death in some form
did not overtake the fan-bearer he could enrich and strengthen himself
from Israel. Then, even if Meneptah's army did not continue to follow
him, he would be enabled to buy mercenaries and return equipped to do
battle with Meneptah, even as he had vowed. The flower of the military
was with him; the Pharaoh was incapable and Egypt demoralized. The
success of the traitor seemed assured. What then of Rachel, of his own
father, of the faithful ministers, of all whom Kenkenes had loved or
befriended? The thought filled him with resolution and vigor.
"If the Lord God of Israel overtake him not," he said, returning to the
king, "then must I! For, in my good intent, it seems that I have
undone thee. Hotep," he continued, taking the scribe's hands, "let my
father know that I died not with the first-born. Also, thou seest the
danger into which the nation hath descended in this hour. Help thou
the king! I return not. Farewell."
He kissed the scribe on the lips, and freeing himself from his clinging
hands, ran through the broken line of the royal guards.
The army was already a compact cluster in the center of a rolling cloud
of dust to the south.
When Nechutes had aroused him before daybreak, the cup-bearer had
brought Hotep with him, and while the messenger broke his fast, he had
availed himself of the scribe's presence to learn many things. Not the
smallest part of his information was the fact that the Pharaoh's scouts
had located Israel encamped on a sedgy plain at the base of a great
hill on the northern-most arm of the Red Sea. Meneptah's army had
marched twenty-five miles due south of Pithom and pitched its tents for
the night. It was twenty-five miles from that point to Baal-Zephon or
the hill before which Israel had camped. The fugitives had chosen the
smoothest path for travel, keeping along the Bitter Lakes that their
cattle might feed. Their track led in a southeasterly direction.
But Har-hat, making off with the army, had struck due south. He had
chosen this line for more than one advantage it offered. The Arabian
desert approached the sea in a series of plateaux or steps. The most
westerly was surmounted by a ridge of high hills, higher probably than
any other chain within the boundaries of Egypt. The most easterly
overlooked the sea-beach and was originally, it may be, the old sea
margin. At points the table-land advanced within sight of the water;
at other localities an intervening space of several miles lay between
it and the sea. The summit was flat, at least smooth enough for the
passage of horsemen, and at all times it was a good field for strategic
manoeuverings by an army arrayed against anything which might be on the
beach below.
If Meneptah's scouts had reported truly, Israel had behind it a hill,
east of it the sea. West of it the army would approach. South only
could it flee, into a torrid, arid, uninhabited desert.
The slaves were entrapped. The pursuer had but to follow the pursued
in the only open direction, and overtake the starving, thirsting
multitude at last. But from Har-hat's movement he had meant to
continue along this plateau, out of sight of Israel, until he had
posted part of his army in the way of escape to the south. Kenkenes
reached this conclusion without much pondering. He had his own
manoeuverings in mind. Of the captain of Israel, Prince Mesu, he would
discover, first, if the Lord God had prepared him against Har-hat.
This grave question answered to the repose of his mind concerning the
welfare of Israel, the path of his next duty would be clearly laid for
him. He would join the army and take the life of the fan-bearer, for
the sake of all he loved, and Egypt. In the course of the day's events
his motive had been exalted from the personal desire for revenge to the
high intent of a patriot. He felt most confident that he would forfeit
his own life in the act.
Not an instant did he hesitate.
Ahead of him was the narrow bed of a miniature torrent which rolled out
of the desert during the infrequent rains. Now it was dry, packed
hard, free of all obstructions except the great boulders, and led in a
comparatively straight line toward the sea. It was an ideal stretch
for running.
He summoned all his forces, gathering, in a mighty mental effort, all
that depended on his speed, and took the path with a leap. The dazed
king and his ministers saw him with whom they had that moment talked
stretch a vast and ever-widening breach between them with a bat-like
swoop, and while they watched he was swallowed up in distance.
The bed of the torrent served him for the first few miles. Then it
turned abruptly toward the Bitter Lakes. He left it and entered the
rougher country. Thereafter no great bursts of speed were possible,
because the runner had to pick his way. He ran, not with a steady
pace, each stride equal to the preceding, but with bounds, aside and
forward, dimly calculating the safety of the footfall.
Suddenly a column of sand rose under his feet, and he dashed through
it. Blinded and choking, he cleared his eyes, caught his breath and
ran on. A gust of wind, like a breath of flame, met him from the east
and passed. Then he realized that the atmosphere had thickened, as if
an opaque cloud of heat had enveloped the earth. He glanced at the sky
and saw that it was strewn with fragmentary clouds, but a little south
and east of him was the pillar, unmoving and gilded royally.
There was storm in the air.
Finally the region began to grow level, proving the proximity to the
sea. In another moment he came upon the old sea bed. It was sandy,
sedge-grown, with here and there a palm, and tremendously trampled.
Israel had passed this way.
The clash and ring of meeting metal fell on his ear. He looked and saw
ahead of him two men fighting with a third. Three horses with empty
saddles nervously watched the fray.
The single combatant was a soldier in the uniform of a common fighting
man. One of the pair was a tall Nubian in a striped tunic; the other
was an Egyptian, short, fat, purple of countenance--Unas!
With a furious exclamation, Kenkenes slackened his pace only long
enough to undo the falchion at his side and rushed to the fight. It
did not matter to him who the soldier was or what his cause. The fact
that he was fighting the emissaries of Har-hat was sufficient
indorsement of the lone soldier. But even as he sprang forward, Unas
sank on the sand, moved convulsively once or twice and lay still.
The soldier staggered back from the second servitor and fell. The
Nubian, standing over him, swung his heavy weapon aloft, but Kenkenes
thrust his falchion over the fallen man and caught the blow, as it
descended, upon the broad back of the blade.
"Set receive your cursed soul," the Nubian snarled. Kenkenes leaped
across the prostrate soldier, and simultaneously the weapons went up,
descended and clashed. Then followed a wild and fearful battle.
The Egyptian falchion was nothing more than a sword-shaped ax.
Therefore, these were not tongues of steel which would whip their
supple length one across the other and fill the air with the lightning
of their play and the devilish beauty of their music. The vanquished
would not taste the nice death of a spitted heart. There was yet the
method of the stone-ax warriors in this battle, and he who fell would
be a fearful thing to see.
Perhaps it was because Kenkenes was stronger and more agile; perhaps he
remembered Deborah at that moment, or perhaps he was simply a better
fighter. Whatever the cause his blade went up and descended at last,
before the Nubian could parry, and the second servitor of Har-hat fell
on his face and died.
Chilled by the instant sobering, which follows the taking of life, the
young man sickened and whirled away from the quivering flesh. Plunging
his falchion in the sand to hide its stain, he went back to the fallen
soldier.
He knew by the look on the gray face, by the dark pool that had grown
beside him, that the warrior had fought his last fight. Kenkenes
raised the man's head, and heard these words, faintly spoken:
"He sent them in pursuit. I knew he meant to do it, but I could not
get near to kill him. So I followed them. But thou art her lover; do
thou protect her now."
"Her! Rachel?" Kenkenes cried. "Who art thou?"
"Atsu, once her taskmaster, always her--" the voice died away.
"Where is she?" Kenkenes implored. "In the name of thy gods, go not
yet! Where is she?"
The lips parted in answer, but no sound came. The arm went up as if to
point, but it fell limp without indicating direction, and with a sigh
the soldier turned his face away.
Sobbing, wild with anxiety and grief, Kenkenes shook the inert body,
pleading frantically for some sign to guide him to Rachel. But there
was no response, for the dead speak not out of Amenti.
At last Kenkenes laid the body down and stood up. It had come to him
very plainly that, but for Atsu, already these dead servitors would
have been beyond overtaking in pursuit of his love. Though a worshiper
of Israel's God, Kenkenes was still Egyptian in his instincts. The man
who had died to save Rachel he could not bury uncoffined in a grave of
sand, where the natural processes of dissolution would destroy him
utterly. His and Rachel's debts to Atsu were great, and the demand was
made upon him now to discharge all that was possible in the one act of
caring for the dead soldier's remains. Kenkenes could not bear the
body back to the group he had left about the king, for he had a mission
which concerned all the living who were dear to him. Furthermore the
sky was threatening, the desert was a terrible place during high winds,
and he dared not delay.
Suddenly a thought struck him. Travelers and sea-faring men had told
him that there were settlements along the Red Sea. Might he not go
forward, on his way after Israel, till he found one of these?
He led the largest horse past the dead servitors, and persuading it to
stand, lifted the body of Atsu upon its back. With difficulty he
mounted, and supporting the limp burden with one arm, turned again
toward the southeast.
As he went forward, Kenkenes meditated on the signs of this recent and
tragic event. He had searched throughout the length and breadth of
Goshen for Rachel and none had seen her or heard of her since she had
fled from Har-hat into the desert, eight months before he had seen her
last. Israel was more ignorant of the whereabouts of Rachel than he.
He could not tell whether Har-hat knew where she was, nor could he
guess from the position of the fighters in which direction the servants
had meant to ride. The tracks of their horses were not to be
discovered in the great trampled roadway Israel had made.
Of this thing Kenkenes was sure. If Rachel were with Israel she had
joined it after he had left Goshen. In that case he was going to her,
to ask after her safety, when he inquired after all Israel. If she
were still in Egypt he would stop Har-hat's search for ever. This
recollection added to his determination and intensified his zeal.
At the beginning of the great fields of sea-grass he came upon a little
hamlet. It was a considerable distance inland, and the chief industry
of the people could have been only the gathering of sedge for hay, or
the curing of herb and root for medicines. Some of the villagers were
in sight but the most of them were out in the direction of the lakes,
laboring in the marsh grass.
In the course of the past year's events Kenkenes had learned to be a
cautious and skilful fugitive. He did not care to be caught and taxed
with the death of the man whose body he bore. The village shrine was
the structure nearest to him. It was built of sun-dried brick, with
three walls, the fourth side open to the sunrise. Kenkenes dismounted
and reconnoitered. The shrine was empty, and none of the villagers was
near.
He lifted the dead man from the horse and bore the body into the
sanctuary. Before the image of Athor was a long table overlaid with a
slab of red sandstone. Here the offerings were left and here Kenkenes
laid Atsu, a true sacrifice to the love deity. Reverently the young
man closed the eyes and straightened the chilling limbs. Going into
his patrimony of jewels sewn in his belt, he took an emerald, and
putting it in the hands, crossed them above the breast. Then he laid
his mantle over the bier.
At the threshold he found a soft stone and with that he wrote upon the
head of the long table the name of the dead man, and Mendes, his native
city. Under this he wrote further to the villagers, charging them, in
the name of the goddess, to care for the body reverently and return it
to the tomb of Atsu's fathers. Having made note of the emerald as
remuneration for their labors, he completed the inscription without
signature.
Thus he insured the safety and preservation of the bones of Atsu, and
in the eye of the average Egyptian he had served the soldier well. But
Kenkenes was not satisfied.
As he left the shrine he muttered with trembling lips:
"Bless him! The fate is not kind which yields to such goodness no
reward save gratitude. There must be, because of the great God's
justness, some especial blessing laid up for Atsu."
In the time he had spent in the sanctuary the atmosphere had grown hazy
and the sun shone obscurely. To the east were tumbled and darkening
masses, which gathered even as he looked and joined till they stretched
in a vast and unillumined sweep about the horizon. The wind had died
and the heat bathed him in perspiration.
Once again his eyes sought the pillar and found it above him, still
somewhat to the east, yet in form unchanged, in hue undimmed.
Something within him associated the column of cloud with Israel and
Israel's God.
He went to his horse and found him terrified and unmanageable. After
vain efforts to soothe the creature, he walked away a little space,
clasping his hands.
"O Thou mysterious God! By these tokens Thy hand is upon the earth and
upon the heavens. Even as Thou hast shielded me thus far, withdraw not
Thy sheltering hand from about me, Thy worshiper, in this, Thy latest
hour of mystery."
He skirted the village, now filling with frightened peasants, and took
the path of Israel.
It led in a southeasterly direction toward a far-off hill, barely
outlined through the haze of the distance. Meanwhile the darkness
settled and over the sea the somber bastion of cloud heaved its sooty
bulk up the sky. The air stagnated and the whole desert was soundless.
A round and tumbled mass, blue-black but attended by a copper-colored
rack, detached itself from a shelf-like stratum of cloud, and
elongating, seemed to descend to the surface of the sea. Daylight went
out instantly and a prolonged moan came from the distant east.
Blinding flashes of lightning illuminated the whirling mass and almost
absolute darkness fell after each bolt. Out of the inky midnight
toward the east came an ever-increasing sound of a maddened sea,
gathering in volume and fury and menace. Kenkenes flung himself on his
face and waited.
He did not have long to wait.
With a noise of mighty rending, reinforced by a continuous roll of
savage thunder, the storm struck. A spinning cone of wind caught a
great expanse of sand, and lifting the loose covering, carried a huge
twisting column inland--death and entombment for any living thing it
met. With it went a great blast of spray, stones, sea-weed, masses of
sedge uprooted bodily, much wreckage, palm trees, small huts which went
to pieces as they were carried along, wild and domestic animals,
anything and everything that lay in the path of the storm.
The rotatory movement passed with the first whirl, but a hurricane,
blowing with overcoming velocity, pressed like a wall against anything
that strove to face it. Its hoarse raving filled Kenkenes' ears with
titanic sound. The breath was snatched from his nostrils; his eyelids,
tightly closed, were stung with sharply driven sand. Though he
struggled to his feet and attempted to proceed, he staggered and
wandered and was prone to turn away from the solid breast of the mighty
blast. He could not hope to make headway blinded, yet he dared not
lift his face to the sand. He could make a shelter over his eyes that
he might watch his feet, but he could not discover path and direction
in this manner.
The day was far advanced, and already the army had outstripped him.
Might not Har-hat at this hour be descending with his veterans,
seasoned against the simoons of Arabia, upon Israel, demoralized in the
storm?
Desperate, the young man dropped his hands and flung up his head.
He was standing in a soft light, very faintly diffused about him but
narrowing ahead of him, brightening, as it contracted, into almost
daytime brilliance to the south. The illuminated strip was not wide;
the plateau to the west was dark; the farther east likewise
storm-obscured. Taking courage, he raised his eyes for an instant.
The drifting sand would not permit a longer contemplation, but in that
fleeting glimpse he discovered the source of the supernatural radiance.
The pillar was tinged like a cloud in the sunset, with a mellow and
benign fire.
Kenkenes did not marvel and was not perplexed. The miracles no longer
amazed him, but he had not become indifferent or unthankful. Each
forward step he took was a declaration of faith; the thrill of relief
in his veins, a psalm of thanksgiving. The stones were as many and as
sharp, the way as untender, and the mighty tempest strove against him
as powerfully, but he followed the ray, trusting it implicitly.
Night fell unnoticed for it merged with the supernatural darkness of
the day.
At the summit of the slope which led down to the water's edge, he
paused. Below him was a gentle declivity ending to the south in
darkness. There was not a glimmer of radiance on the sea. Far to the
east could be heard the sound of infuriated surges, storming the rocks,
but dense darkness shrouded all the distance. Only the beach directly
under him was alight. The shadows cast were blacker than daylight
shadows, and the radiance had a touch of gold, which gilded everything
beneath it. The poorest object was enriched, the gaudiest subdued.
Had the number of Israel been ten thousand or even a hundred thousand,
Kenkenes might have had some conception of the multitude. The millions
massed below him on the sand were not to be looked on except as a vast
unit.
The tribes were divided, the herds were collected at the rear or inland
side, and the lepers were isolated, but no order in detail was
possible. Tents were down, goods were being gathered, and much
commotion was apparent. Even at a distance Kenkenes could see that
consternation and dismay were rife among Israel. The whole valley was
murmurous with subdued outcry, and a multitudinous lowing and bleating
of the herds swept up, blown wildly by the hurricane.
The senses, too, are limited in their grasp, even as the brain has
bounds upon its conception. The dimensions, movement and sound of the
multitude over-taxed the eye and ear.
Was it the storm or the army that had frightened them?
Slipping and sliding in his haste, he descended the slope without care
for the sound he made. The hillocks and hollows that interposed
irritated him. His impatience made him forget his great weariness.
Israel's helpless ones to the sword, Israel's treasure open to the
enrichment of a traitor, Israel's fighting-men driven to rally to his
standard--Rachel's people, to be mastered by Har-hat!
Great was his intent and its scope, and how cheaply attained if it cost
but two lives--his enemy's and his own! How much depended upon him!
His enthusiasm and zeal put out of his sight all his young reluctance
to surrender life and the world. He could have explained, truthfully,
from his own feelings, what it is that enables men to suffer an eager
martyrdom.
Two Hebrews outside the limits of the camp halted him.
"I bring tidings to your captain," he explained. The answer was swept
from the speaker's lips and carried astray by the wind, but he caught
these words.
"Thou art an Egyptian. Thy kind hath no friendship for Israel."
"I am of Egypt, but I am one with you in faith. Conduct me to the
prince, I pray you."
"Take him," said one to the other. "He is but one."
The Hebrew, thus addressed, motioned Kenkenes to follow him, and turned
toward the encampment.
They passed through a lane between two tribes. Kenkenes guessed,
looking first upon one and then the other, that there were one hundred
thousand in the two. Strip a city of her plan and shape, her houses,
her pleasures and commerce; leave only her people, their smallest
possessions, and all their fears; beset such a city with an army on
three sides, the sea on the fourth and a furious hurricane over
all--and in such state and of such appearance were these two tribes.
Kenkenes fortified himself and resisted with all his might the
contagious panic that seemed about to attack him. As well as he might,
he concentrated his mind upon other things. He noted that the shadows
were long like those of afternoon. Turning his head, he saw that the
pillar stood behind the encampment and that its light was thrown
forward and downward, not backward and outward. Very manifestly, the
benefits of the miracle were only for the believers in Jehovah. The
marvel brought into the young man's mind some natural speculation
concerning the great miracle-worker to whom his guide was leading him.
What manner of man was he about to look upon,--a sorcerer, a trafficker
in horrors, a confounder of men?
Ahead, particularly illumined by the celestial light, was a group of
elders--great, grave men, misted in the flying fleeces of their own
beards. They bent firmly against the blast and the broad streaming of
their ample drapings added much to the idea of supernatural power and
resistance they inspired.
The Hebrew leading Kenkenes slackened his step as if hesitating to
approach so venerable a council, when suddenly the group separated,
revealing a majestic man about whom it had been clustered.
After a word in his own tongue, delivered with bent head and
deferential attitude, the Hebrew stood aside.
Kenkenes prepared to meet a prince of Egypt, whatever the personality
of the Israelite. He dropped on one knee, bent his head and extended
his hand with the palm toward Moses. The great man took the fingers
and bade the young Egyptian arise. Forty years a courtier, forty years
a shepherd, but the graces of the one had not been forgotten in the
simplicities of the other. When Kenkenes gained his feet, lo! he faced
the wondrous stranger he had seen in the tomb of the Incomparable
Pharaoh.
At a sign from Moses Kenkenes came near to him, that the howl of the
tempest and the turmoil of Israel might not drown their voices.
"Thou art weary, my son," the Israelite said, glancing at the tired
face and dusty raiment. "Hast thou come from afar?"
"From Goshen to Tanis, and hither, O Prince."
"Afoot?"
"Even so."
"Thou hast journeyed farther than Israel, and Israel is most weary. I
trust thy journey is done."
And this was the confounder of Egypt, the vicar of God--this kindly
noble!
"Not yet, O Prince; but its dearest mission endeth here. I come of the
blood of the oppressors, but I am full of pity for thy people's wrongs.
Knowest thou that the Egyptians pursue thee? Is thy hand made strong
with resource? Hath the Lord God prepared thee against them?"
"From whom art thou sent?" the Israelite asked pointedly.
"I am come of mine own accord."
"Wherefore?"
"Because I am one with Israel in faith."
The great Lawgiver surveyed him in silence for a moment, but the
penetrative brilliance in his eyes softened.
"Wast thou taught?" he asked at last.
"In casting away the idols, nay; in finding the true God, I was."
In the pause that followed, Israel lifted up its voice, and to Kenkenes
it seemed that the people besought their great captain, urgingly and
chidingly. The Lawgiver listened for a little space. His gaze was
absent, the lines of his face were sad. Something in his attitude
seemed to say, "What profiteth all Thy care, O Lord? Behold Thy
chosen--these men of little faith!"
Then, as if some thought of the young proselyte, the Egyptian, arose in
contrast, his eyes came back to Kenkenes again.
"Thou hast filled me with gladness, my son," he said simply.
Kenkenes bowed his head and made no answer. Presently the Israelite
spoke to the panic-stricken people nearest to him. In the tone and the
words he used there was a world of paternal kindliness--a composite of
confidence, reassurance, and implied protection, that should have
soothed.
"Fear ye not; stand still and see the salvation of the Lord. For the
Egyptians ye have seen this day, ye shall see again no more for ever."
At the words, Kenkenes lifted his head quickly. The Hebrew had
answered his question, but how enigmatically! Was Israel to escape, or
Har-hat to be destroyed? In either case, the young man wondered
concerning himself. Again the eyes of the Lawgiver returned to him, as
if the sight of the young Egyptian was grateful to him.
"Abide with us," he said. "Saith not thy faith, 'Fear not; the Lord
shall fight for thee?'"
Kenkenes' face wore a startled expression; how had the Israelite
divined his purpose? "Saith not thy faith?" Faith? He confessed
faith, but faith had not spoken that thing to him. Slowly and little
by little it began to manifest itself to him, that he had wavered in
his trust; that the purpose of his visit to Israel had questioned the
fidelity of his God's care; that so surely had he doubted, he had
defied danger and fought with death to ask after the intent of the
Lord; that he had meant to perform the duty which the Lord had left
undone. The realization came with a rush of shame. In the asking he
had betrayed his wavering, and Moses had tactfully told him of it. A
surge of color swept over his face.
"Thou hast recalled my trust to me, my Prince," he said in a lowered
tone. "Till now, I knew not that it had failed me. But remember thou,
it was my love for Israel--O, and my love for mine own--that made me
fear. Forgive me, I pray thee."
The Lawgiver laid his hand on the young man's shoulder but did not
answer at once. The growing clamor about them had reached the acme of
insistence. The nearest people pressed through the tribal lines and,
rushing forward, began to throw themselves on their knees, tumbling in
circles about the majestic Hebrew. Others kept their feet, and with
arms and clenched hands above their heads, shouted vehemently. Their
cries were partly in Egyptian, partly in their own tongue, but the
cause of their terror and the burden of their supplications were the
same. The Egyptians were upon them! Even the dumb beasts were swept
into the panic and the illuminated beach shook with sound.
After a little sad contemplation of the clamoring horde about him, the
Lawgiver drew nearer to Kenkenes and said in his ear, because the
tumult drowned his voice:
"The Lord will fight for thee; thine enemy can not flee His strong
hand. Wait upon Him and behold His triumph."
Kenkenes bowed his head in acquiescence.