An hour later, Ani, in rich attire, left his father’s tomb, and drove
his brilliant chariot past the witch’s cave, and the little cottage of
Uarda’s father.
Nemu squatted on the step, the dwarf’s usual place. The little man
looked down at the lately rebuilt hut, and ground his teeth, when,
through an opening in the hedge, he saw the white robe of a man, who was
sitting by Uarda.
The pretty child’s visitor was prince Rameri, who had crossed the Nile
in the early morning, dressed as a young scribe of the treasury, to
obtain news of Pentaur--and to stick a rose into Uarda’s hair.
This purpose was, indeed, the more important of the two, for the other
must, in point of time at any rate, be the second.
He found it necessary to excuse himself to his own conscience with
a variety of cogent reasons. In the first place the rose, which lay
carefully secured in a fold of his robe, ran great danger of fading
if he first waited for his companions near the temple of Seti; next, a
hasty return from thence to Thebes might prove necessary; and finally,
it seemed to him not impossible that Bent-Anat might send a master of
the ceremonies after him, and if that happened any delay might frustrate
his purpose.
His heart beat loud and violently, not for love of the maiden, but
because he felt he was doing wrong. The spot that he must tread was
unclean, and he had, for the first time, told a lie. He had given
himself out to Uarda to be a noble youth of Bent-Anat’s train, and, as
one falsehood usually entails another, in answer to her questions he had
given her false information as to his parents and his life.
Had evil more power over him in this unclean spot than in the House of
Seti, and at his father’s? It might very well be so, for all disturbance
in nature and men was the work of Seth, and how wild was the storm in
his breast! And yet! He wished nothing but good to come of it to Uarda.
She was so fair and sweet--like some child of the Gods: and certainly
the white maiden must have been stolen from some one, and could not
possibly belong to the unclean people.
When the prince entered the court of the hut, Uarda was not to be seen,
but he soon heard her voice singing out through the open door. She came
out into the air, for the dog barked furiously at Rameri. When she saw
the prince, she started, and said:
“You are here already again, and yet I warned you. My grandmother in
there is the wife of a paraschites.”
“I am not come to visit her,” retorted the prince, “but you only; and
you do not belong to them, of that I am convinced. No roses grow in the
desert.”
“And yet: am my father’s child,” said Uarda decidedly, “and my poor dead
grandfather’s grandchild. Certainly I belong to them, and those that do
not think me good enough for them may keep away.”
With these words she turned to re-enter the house; but Rameri seized her
hand, and held her back, saying:
“How cruel you are! I tried to save you, and came to see you before I
thought that you might--and, indeed, you are quite unlike the people
whom you call your relations. You must not misunderstand me; but it
would be horrible to me to believe that you, who are so beautiful, and
as white as a lily, have any part in the hideous curse. You charm every
one, even my mistress, Bent-Anat, and it seems to me impossible--”
“That I should belong to the unclean!--say it out,” said Uarda softly,
and casting down her eyes.
Then she continued more excitedly: “But I tell you, the curse is unjust,
for a better man never lived than my grandfather was.”
Tears sprang from her eyes, and Rameri said: “I fully believe it; and
it must be very difficult to continue good when every one despises and
scorns one; I at least can be brought to no good by blame, though I
can by praise. Certainly people are obliged to meet me and mine with
respect.”
“And us with contempt!” exclaimed Uarda. “But I will tell you something.
If a man is sure that he is good, it is all the same to him whether he
be despised or honored by other people. Nay--we may be prouder than you;
for you great folks must often say to yourselves that you are worth less
than men value you at, and we know that we are worth more.”
“I have often thought that of you,” exclaimed Rameri, “and there is one
who recognizes your worth; and that is I. Even if it were otherwise, I
must always--always think of you.”
“I have thought of you too,” said Uarda. “Just now, when I was sitting
with my sick grandmother, it passed through my mind how nice it would
be if I had a brother just like you. Do you know what I should do if you
were my brother?”
“Well?”
“I should buy you a chariot and horse, and you should go away to the
king’s war.”
“Are you so rich?” asked Rameri smiling.
“Oh yes!” answered Uarda. “To be sure, I have not been rich for more
than an hour. Can you read?”
“Yes.”
“Only think, when I was ill they sent a doctor to me from the House of
Seti. He was very clever, but a strange man. He often looked into my
eyes like a drunken man, and he stammered when he spoke.”
“Is his name Nebsecht?” asked the prince.
“Yes, Nebsecht. He planned strange things with grandfather, and
after Pentaur and you had saved us in the frightful attack upon us he
interceded for us. Since then he has not come again, for I was already
much better. Now to-day, about two hours ago, the dog barked, and an old
man, a stranger, came up to me, and said he was Nebsecht’s brother, and
had a great deal of money in his charge for me. He gave me a ring too,
and said that he would pay the money to him, who took the ring to him
from me. Then he read this letter to me.”
Rameri took the letter and read. “Nebsecht to the fair Uarda.”
“Nebsecht greets Uarda, and informs her that he owed her grandfather
in Osiris, Pinem--whose body the kolchytes are embalming like that of
a noble--a sum of a thousand gold rings. These he has entrusted to his
brother Teta to hold ready for her at any moment. She may trust Teta
entirely, for he is honest, and ask him for money whenever she needs it.
It would be best that she should ask Teta to take care of the money for
her, and to buy her a house and field; then she could remove into it,
and live in it free from care with her grandmother. She may wait a year,
and then she may choose a husband. Nebsecht loves Uarda much. If at the
end of thirteen months he has not been to see her, she had better marry
whom she will; but not before she has shown the jewel left her by her
mother to the king’s interpreter.”
“How strange!” exclaimed Rameri. “Who would have given the singular
physician, who always wore such dirty clothes, credit for such
generosity? But what is this jewel that you have?”
Uarda opened her shirt, and showed the prince the sparkling ornament.
“Those are diamonds---it is very valuable!” cried the prince; “and there
in the middle on the onyx there are sharply engraved signs. I cannot
read them, but I will show them to the interpreter. Did your mother wear
that?”
“My father found it on her when she died,” said Uarda. “She came to
Egypt as a prisoner of war, and was as white as I am, but dumb, so she
could not tell us the name of her home.”
“She belonged to some great house among the foreigners, and the
children inherit from the mother,” cried the prince joyfully. “You are a
princess, Uarda! Oh! how glad I am, and how much I love you!”
The girl smiled and said, “Now you will not be afraid to touch the
daughter of the unclean.”
“You are cruel,” replied the prince. “Shall I tell you what I determined
on yesterday,--what would not let me sleep last night,--and for what I
came here today?”
“Well?”
Rameri took a most beautiful white rose out of his robe and said:
“It is very childish, but I thought how it would be if I might put this
flower with my own hands into your shining hair. May I?”
“It is a splendid rose! I never saw such a fine one.”
“It is for my haughty princess. Do pray let me dress your hair! It
is like silk from Tyre, like a swan’s breast, like golden
star-beams--there, it is fixed safely! Nay, leave it so. If the seven
Hathors could see you, they would be jealous, for you are fairer than
all of them.”
“How you flatter!” said Uarda, shyly blushing, and looking into his
sparkling eyes.
“Uarda,” said the prince, pressing her hand to his heart. “I have now
but one wish. Feel how my heart hammers and beats. I believe it will
never rest again till you--yes, Uarda--till you let me give you one,
only one, kiss.”
The girl drew back.
“Now,” she said seriously. “Now I see what you want. Old Hekt knows men,
and she warned me.”
“Who is Hekt, and what can she know of me?”
“She told me that the time would come when a man would try to make
friends with me. He would look into my eyes, and if mine met his, then
he would ask to kiss me. But I must refuse him, because if I liked
him to kiss me he would seize my soul, and take it from me, and I must
wander, like the restless ghosts, which the abyss rejects, and the
storm whirls before it, and the sea will not cover, and the sky will not
receive, soulless to the end of my days. Go away--for I cannot refuse
you the kiss, and yet I would not wander restless, and without a soul!”
“Is the old woman who told you that a good woman?” asked Rameri.
Uarda shook her head.
“She cannot be good,” cried the prince. “For she has spoken a falsehood.
I will not seize your soul; I will give you mine to be yours, and
you shall give me yours to be mine, and so we shall neither of us be
poorer--but both richer!”
“I should like to believe it,” said Uarda thoughtfully, “and I have
thought the same kind of thing. When I was strong, I often had to go
late in the evening to fetch water from the landing-place where the
great water-wheel stands. Thousands of drops fall from the earthenware
pails as it turns, and in each you can see the reflection of a moon, yet
there is only one in the sky. Then I thought to myself, so it must be
with the love in our hearts. We have but one heart, and yet we pour it
out into other hearts without its losing in strength or in warmth. I
thought of my grandmother, of my father, of little Scherau, of the Gods,
and of Pentaur. Now I should like to give you a part of it too.”
“Only a part?” asked Rameri.
“Well, the whole will be reflected in you, you know,” said Uarda, “as
the whole moon is reflected in each drop.”
“It shall!” cried the prince, clasping the trembling girl in his arms,
and the two young souls were united in their first kiss.
“Now do go!” Uarda entreated.
“Let me stay a little while,” said Rameri. “Sit down here by me on the
bench in front of the house. The hedge shelters us, and besides this
valley is now deserted, and there are no passers by.”
“We are doing what is not right,” said Uarda. “If it were right we
should not want to hide ourselves.”
“Do you call that wrong which the priests perform in the Holy of
Holies?” asked the prince. “And yet it is concealed from all eyes.”
“How you can argue!” laughed Uarda. “That shows you can write, and are
one of his disciples.”
“His, his!” exclaimed Rameri. “You mean Pentaur. He was always the
dearest to me of all my teachers, but it vexes me when you speak of him
as if he were more to you than I and every one else. The poet, you
said, was one of the drops in which the moon of your soul finds a
reflection--and I will not divide it with many.”
“How you are talking!” said Uarda. “Do you not honor your father, and
the Gods? I love no one else as I do you--and what I felt when you
kissed me--that was not like moon-light, but like this hot mid-day sun.
When I thought of you I had no peace. I will confess to you now,
that twenty times I looked out of the door, and asked whether my
preserver--the kind, curly-headed boy--would really come again, or
whether he despised a poor girl like me? You came, and I am so happy,
and I could enjoy myself with you to my heart’s content. Be kind
again--or I will pull your hair!”
“You!” cried Rameri. “You cannot hurt with your little hands, though you
can with your tongue. Pentaur is much wiser and better than I, you owe
much to him, and nevertheless I--”
“Let that rest,” interrupted the girl, growing grave. “He is not a man
like other men. If he asked to kiss me, I should crumble into dust, as
ashes dried in the sun crumble if you touch them with a finger, and
I should be as much afraid of his lips as of a lion’s. Though you may
laugh at it, I shall always believe that he is one of the Immortals.
His own father told me that a great wonder was shown to him the very
day after his birth. Old Hekt has often sent me to the gardener with
a message to enquire after his son, and though the man is rough he is
kind. At first he was not friendly, but when he saw how much I liked
his flowers he grew fond of me, and set me to work to tie wreaths and
bunches, and to carry them to his customers. As we sat together, laying
the flowers side by side, he constantly told me something about his son,
and his beauty and goodness and wisdom. When he was quite a little boy
he could write poems, and he learned to read before any one had shown
him how. The high-priest Ameni heard of it and took him to the House of
Seti, and there he improved, to the astonishment of the gardener;
not long ago I went through the garden with the old man. He talked of
Pentaur as usual, and then stood still before a noble shrub with broad
leaves, and said, My son is like this plant, which has grown up close to
me, and I know not how. I laid the seed in the soil, with others that I
bought over there in Thebes; no one knows where it came from, and yet it
is my own. It certainly is not a native of Egypt; and is not Pentaur as
high above me and his mother and his brothers, as this shrub is above
the other flowers? We are all small and bony, and he is tall and slim;
our skin is dark and his is rosy; our speech is hoarse, his as sweet as
a song. I believe he is a child of the Gods that the Immortals have
laid in my homely house. Who knows their decrees?’ And then I often saw
Pentaur at the festivals, and asked myself which of the other priests
of the temple came near him in height and dignity? I took him for a
God, and when I saw him who saved my life overcome a whole mob with
superhuman strength must I not regard him as a superior Being? I look up
to him as to one of them; but I could never look in his eyes as I do in
yours. It would not make my blood flow faster, it would freeze it in
my veins. How can I say what I mean! my soul looks straight out, and
it finds you; but to find him it must look up to the heavens. You are a
fresh rose-garland with which I crown myself--he is a sacred persea-tree
before which I bow.”
Rameri listened to her in silence, and then said, “I am still young, and
have done nothing yet, but the time shall come in which you shall
look up to me too as to a tree, not perhaps a sacred tree, but as to a
sycamore under whose shade we love to rest. I am no longer gay; I will
leave you for I have a serious duty to fulfil. Pentaur is a complete
man, and I will be one too. But you shall be the rose-garland to grace
me. Men who can be compared to flowers disgust me!”
The prince rose, and offered Uarda his hand.
“You have a strong hand,” said the girl. “You will be a noble man, and
work for good and great ends; only look, my fingers are quite red with
being held so tightly. But they too are not quite useless. They have
never done anything very hard certainly, but what they tend flourishes,
and grandmother says they are ‘lucky.’ Look at the lovely lilies and the
pomegrenate bush in that corner. Grandfather brought the earth here from
the Nile, Pentaur’s father gave me the seeds, and each little plant that
ventured to show a green shoot through the soil I sheltered and nursed
and watered, though I had to fetch the water in my little pitcher, till
it was vigorous, and thanked me with flowers. Take this pomegranate
flower. It is the first my tree has borne; and it is very strange, when
the bud first began to lengthen and swell my grandmother said, ‘Now your
heart will soon begin to bud and love.’ I know now what she meant, and
both the first flowers belong to you--the red one here off the tree,
and the other, which you cannot see, but which glows as brightly as this
does.”
Rameri pressed the scarlet blossom to his lips, and stretched out his
hand toward Uarda; but she shrank back, for a little figure slipped
through an opening in the hedge.
It was Scherau.
His pretty little face glowed with his quick run, and his breath was
gone. For a few minutes he tried in vain for words, and looked anxiously
at the prince.
Uarda saw that something unusual agitated him; she spoke to him kindly,
saying that if he wished to speak to her alone he need not be afraid of
Rameri, for he was her best friend.
“But it does not concern you and me,” replied the child, “but the good,
holy father Pentaur, who was so kind to me, and who saved your life.”
“I am a great friend of Pentaur,” said the prince. “Is it not true,
Uarda? He may speak with confidence before me.”
“I may?” said Scherau, “that is well. I have slipped away; Hekt may come
back at any moment, and if she sees that I have taken myself off I shall
get a beating and nothing to eat.”
“Who is this horrible Hekt?” asked Rameri indignantly.
“That Uarda can tell you by and by,” said the little one hurriedly. “Now
only listen. She laid me on my board in the cave, and threw a sack over
me, and first came Nemu, and then another man, whom she spoke to as
Steward. She talked to him a long time. At first I did not listen, but
then I caught the name of Pentaur, and I got my head out, and now
I understand it all. The steward declared that the good Pentaur was
wicked, and stood in his way, and he said that Ameni was going to
send him to the quarries at Chennu, but that that was much too small
a punishment. Then Hekt advised him to give a secret commission to
the captain of the ship to go beyond Chennu, to the frightful
mountain-mines, of which she has often told me, for her father and her
brother were tormented to death there.”
“None ever return from thence,” said the prince. “But go on.”
“What came next, I only half understood, but they spoke of some drink
that makes people mad. Oh! what I see and hear!--I would he contentedly
on my board all my life long, but all else is too horrible--I wish that
I were dead.”
And the child began to cry bitterly.
Uarda, whose cheeks had turned pale, patted him affectionately; but
Rameri exclaimed:
“It is frightful! unheard of! But who was the steward? did you not hear
his name? Collect yourself, little man, and stop crying. It is a case
of life and death. Who was the scoundrel? Did she not name him? Try to
remember.”
Scherau bit his red lips, and tried for composure. His tears ceased, and
suddenly he exclaimed, as he put his hand into the breast of his ragged
little garment: “Stay, perhaps you will know him again--I made him!”
“You did what?” asked the prince.
“I made him,” repeated the little artist, and he carefully brought out
an object wrapped up in a scrap of rag, “I could just see his head quite
clearly from one side all the time he was speaking, and my clay lay by
me. I always must model something when my mind is excited, and this
time I quickly made his face, and as the image was successful, I kept it
about me to show to the master when Hekt was out.”
While he spoke he had carefully unwrapped the figure with trembling
fingers, and had given it to Uarda.
“Ani!” cried the prince. “He, and no other! Who could have thought it!
What spite has he against Pentaur? What is the priest to him?”
For a moment he reflected, then he struck his hand against his forehead.
“Fool that I am!” he exclaimed vehemently. “Child that I am! of course,
of course; I see it all. Ani asked for Bent-Anat’s hand, and she--now
that I love you, Uarda, I understand what ails her. Away with deceit! I
will tell you no more lies, Uarda. I am no page of honor to Bent-Anat;
I am her brother, and king Rameses’ own son. Do not cover your face with
your hands, Uarda, for if I had not seen your mother’s jewel, and if I
were not only a prince, but Horus himself, the son of Isis, I must have
loved you, and would not have given you up. But now other things have to
be done besides lingering with you; now I will show you that I am a man,
now that Pentaur is to be saved. Farewell, Uarda, and think of me!”
He would have hurried off, but Scherau held him by the robe, and said
timidly: “Thou sayst thou art Rameses’ son. Hekt spoke of him too. She
compared him to our moulting hawk.”
“She shall soon feel the talons of the royal eagle,” cried Rameri. “Once
more, farewell!”
He gave Uarda his hand, she pressed it passionately to her lips, but he
drew it away, kissed her forehead, and was gone.
The maiden looked after him pale and speechless. She saw another man
hastening towards her, and recognizing him as her father, she went
quickly to meet him. The soldier had come to take leave of her, he had
to escort some prisoners.
“To Chennu?” asked Uarda.
“No, to the north,” replied the man.
His daughter now related what she had heard, and asked whether he could
help the priest, who had saved her.
“If I had money, if I had money!” muttered the soldier to himself.
“We have some,” cried Uarda; she told him of Nebsecht’s gift, and said:
“Take me over the Nile, and in two hours you will have enough to make a
man rich.
[It may be observed that among the Egyptian women were qualified to
own and dispose of property. For example a papyrus (vii) in the
Louvre contains an agreement between Asklepias (called Semmuthis),
the daughter or maid-servant of a corpse-dresser of Thebes, who is
the debtor, and Arsiesis, the creditor, the son of a kolchytes; both
therefore are of the same rank as Uarda.]
But no; I cannot leave my sick grandmother. You yourself take the ring,
and remember that Pentaur is being punished for having dared to protect
us.”
“I remember it,” said the soldier. “I have but one life, but I will
willingly give it to save his. I cannot devise schemes, but I know
something, and if it succeeds he need not go to the gold-mines. I will
put the wine-flask aside--give me a drink of water, for the next few
hours I must keep a sober head.”
“There is the water, and I will pour in a mouthful of wine. Will you
come back and bring me news?”
“That will not do, for we set sail at midnight, but if some one returns
to you with the ring you will know that what I propose has succeeded.”
Uarda went into the hut, her father followed her; he took leave of his
sick mother and of his daughter. When they went out of doors again, he
said: “You have to live on the princess’s gift till I return, and I do
not want half of the physician’s present. But where is your pomegranate
blossom?”
“I have picked it and preserved it in a safe place.”
“Strange things are women!” muttered the bearded man; he tenderly kissed
his child’s forehead, and returned to the Nile down the road by which he
had come.
The prince meanwhile had hurried on, and enquired in the harbor of the
Necropolis where the vessel destined for Chennu was lying--for the ships
loaded with prisoners were accustomed to sail from this side of the
river, starting at night. Then he was ferried over the river, and
hastened to Bent-Anat. He found her and Nefert in unusual excitement,
for the faithful chamberlain had learned--through some friends of the
king in Ani’s suite--that the Regent had kept back all the letters
intended for Syria, and among them those of the royal family.
A lord in waiting, who was devoted to the king, had been encouraged by
the chamberlain to communicate to Bent-Anat other things, which hardly
allowed any doubts as to the ambitious projects of her uncle; she was
also exhorted to be on her guard with Nefert, whose mother was the
confidential adviser of the Regent.
Bent-Anat smiled at this warning, and sent at once a message to Ani
to inform him that she was ready to undertake the pilgrimage to the
“Emerald-Hathor,” and to be purified in the sanctuary of that Goddess.
She purposed sending a message to her father from thence, and if he
permitted it, joining him at the camp.
She imparted this plan to her friend, and Nefert thought any road best
that would take her to her husband.
Rameri was soon initiated into all this, and in return he told them all
he had learned, and let Bent-Anat guess that he had read her secret.
So dignified, so grave, were the conduct and the speech of the boy who
had so lately been an overhearing mad-cap, that Bent-Anat thought to
herself that the danger of their house had suddenly ripened a boy into a
man.
She had in fact no objection to raise to his arrangements. He proposed
to travel after sunset, with a few faithful servants on swift horses as
far as Keft, and from thence ride fast across the desert to the Red Sea,
where they could take a Phoenician ship, and sail to Aila. From thence
they would cross the peninsula of Sinai, and strive to reach the
Egyptian army by forced marches, and make the king acquainted with Ani’s
criminal attempts.
To Bent-Anat was given the task of rescuing Pentaur, with the help of
the faithful chamberlain.
Money was fortunately not wanting, as the high treasurer was on their
side. All depended on their inducing the captain to stop at Chennu; the
poet’s fate would there, at the worst, be endurable. At the same time,
a trustworthy messenger was to be sent to the governor of Chennu,
commanding him in the name of the king to detain every ship that might
pass the narrows of Chennu by night, and to prevent any of the prisoners
that had been condemned to the quarries from being smuggled on to
Ethiopia.
Rameri took leave of the two women, and he succeeded in leaving Thebes
unobserved.
Bent-Anat knelt in prayer before the images of her mother in Osiris,
of Hathor, and of the guardian Gods of her house, till the chamberlain
returned, and told her that he had persuaded the captain of the ship to
stop at Chennu, and to conceal from Ani that he had betrayed his charge.
The princess breathed more freely, for she had come to a resolution that
if the chamberlain had failed in his mission, she would cross over
to the Necropolis forbid the departure of the vessel, and in the last
extremity rouse the people, who were devoted to her, against Ani.
The following morning the Lady Katuti craved permission of the princess
to see her daughter. Bent-Anat did not show herself to the widow, whose
efforts failed to keep her daughter from accompanying the princess on
her journey, or to induce her to return home. Angry and uneasy, the
indignant mother hastened to Ani, and implored him to keep Nefert at
home by force; but the Regent wished to avoid attracting attention, and
to let Bent-Anat set out with a feeling of complete security.
“Do not be uneasy,” he said. “I will give the ladies a trustworthy
escort, who will keep them at the Sanctuary of the ‘Emerald-Hathor’ till
all is settled. There you can deliver Nefert to Paaker, if you still
like to have him for a son-in-law after hearing several things that I
have learned. As for me, in the end I may induce my haughty niece to
look up instead of down; I may be her second love, though for that
matter she certainly is not my first.”
On the following day the princess set out.
Ani took leave of her with kindly formality, which she returned with
coolness. The priesthood of the temple of Amon, with old Bek en Chunsu
at their head, escorted her to the harbor. The people on the banks
shouted Bent-Anat’s name with a thousand blessings, but many insulting
words were to be heard also.
The pilgrim’s Nile-boat was followed by two others, full of soldiers,
who accompanied the ladies “to protect them.”
The south-wind filled the sails, and carried the little procession
swiftly down the stream. The princess looked now towards the palace of
her fathers, now towards the tombs and temples of the Necropolis. At
last even the colossus of Anienophis disappeared, and the last houses
of Thebes. The brave maiden sighed deeply, and tears rolled down her
checks. She felt as if she were flying after a lost battle, and yet not
wholly discouraged, but hoping for future victory. As she turned to go
to the cabin, a veiled girl stepped up to her, took the veil from her
face, and said: “Pardon me, princess; I am Uarda, whom thou didst run
over, and to whom thou hast since been so good. My grandmother is dead,
and I am quite alone. I slipped in among thy maid-servants, for I wish
to follow thee, and to obey all thy commands. Only do not send me away.”
“Stay, dear child,” said the princess, laying her hand on her hair.
Then, struck by its wonderful beauty, she remembered her brother, and
his wish to place a rose in Uarda’s shining tresses.