Brother Temu
Through long passages and down flights of steps, at the head of
which stood guards, the melancholy procession descended almost to the
foundations of the vast building of the palace. As they went Khian
remembered that, when he was a child, some captain of the guard had
led him by this path to certain cells where, through a grating in the
door, he had looked upon three men who were condemned to die upon the
morrow for the crime of having conspired to murder Pharaoh. These men,
whom he expected to see groaning and in tears, he recalled, were
talking together cheerfully, because, they said, for he heard it
through the grating, their troubles would soon be over and either they
would be justified in the Underworld or fast asleep for ever.
The three of them took different views upon this matter; one of them
believed in the Underworld and redemption through Osiris, one rejected
the gods as fables and expected nothing save eternal sleep, while the
third held that he would be re-born upon the earth and rewarded for
all he had endured by a new and happier life.
The next day Khian heard that all three of them had been hanged and
awhile after he learned from his friend, the captain of the guard,
that they had been proved to be innocent of the offence with which
they were charged. It seemed that a woman of the House of Pharaoh,
having been rejected by one of them, had avenged herself by a false
accusation and for certain reasons had denounced two other men, whom
she hated, as partners in a plot against Pharaoh. Afterwards, when at
the point of death from a sudden sickness, she had revealed all,
though this did not help her victims who were already dead.
The sight of these men and the learning of their story, Khian
recollected as once more he trod those gloomy stairs, had bred in his
mind doubts as to the gods which the Shepherds worshipped and of the
justice decreed by kings and governors, with the result that in the
end he turned his back upon his people’s faith and became one of those
who desired to reform the world and to replace that which is bad if
ancient, by that which is good if new. So indeed he had remained until
fate brought him to the Temple of the Dawn, where he found all he
sought, a pure faith in which he could believe and doctrines of peace,
mercy, and justice such as he desired.
Now, as innocent as those forgotten men, he, the proud Prince of the
North, disgraced and doomed, was about to be cast into the same prison
that had hid their sufferings and those of a thousand others before
and after them. He recalled it all--the stone-vaulted place lit only
by a high-set grating of bronze to which none could climb because of
the curve of the walls; the paved floor damp from the overflowings of
the Nile which, in seasons of flood, rose high above the foundations
of the palace; the stools and table, also of stone; the bronze rings
to which the officer had told him prisoners were tied if they became
violent or went mad; the damp heaps of straw whereon they slept, and
the worn skin rugs that they used for covering against the cold; yes,
even the places where each of the three victims lay or stood and the
very aspect of their faces, especially that of the young and comely
man upon whom the rejected woman had avenged herself. Though to this
hour it had never been re-visited by him, his mind pictured that
horrid hole with all its details.
Now they had trodden the last flight. There was the massive door and
in it the grating through which he had looked and listened. The bolts
were drawn by the jailer who had joined them; it opened. There were
the table and the stone stools, the rings of bronze, the coarse
earthenware vessels, and the rest. Only the men were gone--of these
nothing remained.
Khian entered the dreadful place. At a sign from Anath the guards
saluted and withdrew, looking with pity at the young prince under whom
they had served in war and who was beloved of all of them. Anath
lingered to give certain instructions to the jailer, then as they were
both departing he turned back and inquired of the Prince what garments
he required to be sent to him.
“I think such as are thick and warm, Vizier,” replied Khian, shivering
as the damp cold of the dungeon got a hold of him.
“They shall be sent to your Highness,” said Anath. “May your Highness
forgive me who must fill this sorry office towards you.”
“I forgive you as I forgive all men, Vizier. When hope is dead,
forgiveness is easy.”
Anath glanced behind him and saw that the jailer was standing at a
distance from the door with his back towards them. Then he bowed
deeply as though in farewell, so that his lips came close to the ear
of Khian.
“Hope is _not_ dead,” he whispered. “Trust to me, I will save you if I
can.”
Next moment he, too, was gone and the massive door had shut, leaving
Khian alone. He sat himself down upon one of the stools, placing it so
that the faint light from the grating fell upon him. Awhile later, he
did not know how long, the door opened again and the jailer appeared
accompanied by another man who brought garments, among them a dark,
hooded cloak lined with black sheepskin; also food and wine. Khian
thanked him and put on the cloak gratefully, for the cold of the place
was biting, noting as he did so that it was not one of his own, which
made him wonder; also, that in such a cloak a man might go anywhere
and remain unknown.
The jailer set out the food upon the table and prayed his prisoner to
eat, addressing him as Prince.
“That title belongs to me no more, Friend.”
“Oh, yes! your Highness,” replied the man kindly. “Trouble comes to
all at times but it cannot change the blood in the veins.”
“No, Friend, but it can empty the veins of the blood.”
“The gods forbid!” said the jailer, shuddering, from which Khian
learned that he had rightly named him friend, and again thanked him.
“It is I who should thank your Highness. Your Highness has forgotten
that when my wife and child were sick in the season of fever three
years ago, you yourself visited them in the servants’ huts and brought
them medicines and other things.”
“I think I remember,” said Khian, “though I am not sure for I have
visited so many sick, who, had I not been what I am, or rather was,
would, I think, have turned physician.”
“Yes, your Highness, and the sick do not forget, nor do those to whom
they are dear. I am charged to tell you that you will not be left
alone in this place, lest your mind should fail and you should go mad,
as many here have done before you.”
“What! is another unfortunate to be sent to join me, Friend?”
“Yes, but one whose company it is believed will please you. Now I must
go,” and he departed before Khian could ask him when this other
prisoner would come. After the door had shut behind him Khian ate and
drank heartily enough, for he was starving, having touched no food
since the afternoon before upon the ship which brought him to Tanis.
When he had finished his meal he fell to thinking and his thoughts
were sad enough, for it was evident that it was in his father’s mind
utterly to destroy the Brotherhood of the Dawn and to drag Nefra away
to be made his wife by violence, for, having by evil fortune looked
upon her beauty, nothing now would turn him from his purpose of making
her his own. This, however, Khian knew would never happen, for the
reason that first Nefra would choose to die. Therefore it would seem
that both of them were doomed to death. Oh! if only he could warn them
by throwing his spirit afar, as it was said that Roy and some of the
higher members of the Order had the power to do. Indeed, had he not
felt the thought of Roy strike upon him that morning when he stood
before Pharaoh in the hall of audience? He would try, who had been
taught the secrets of the “Sending of the Soul” as it was called,
though he had never practised them before.
Try he did according to the appointed form and with the appointed
prayers as well as he could remember them, saying:
“Hear me, Holy Father. Danger threatens the Queen and all of you. Hide
or fly, for I am in the toils and cannot help you.”
Again and again he said it in his heart, fixing the eyes of his mind
upon Roy and Nefra till he grew faint with the soul struggle and even
in that bitter place the sweat burst out upon him. Then of a sudden a
strange calm fell on him to whom it seemed that these arrows of
thought had found their mark, yes, that his warnings had been heard
and understood.
An utter weariness fell upon him and he slept.
He must have slept for long, for when he woke all light had faded from
the grating and he knew that it was night.
The door opened and through it came the jailer bearing more food,
quantities of food, and bringing with him another man clothed like
Khian himself in a dark, hooded cloak. The stranger bowed and without
speaking took his stand in a corner of the cell.
“Behold your servant, Prince, who is appointed to wait upon you. You
will find him a good man and true,” said the jailer. Then he removed
the broken meats and went, having first lit lamps which he left
burning in the prison.
Khian looked at the meats and wine; then he looked at the hooded
figure in the corner and said:
“Will you not eat, my brother in misfortune?”
The man threw back his hood:
“Surely,” said Khian, “I have seen that face before.”
The man made a certain sign, which, by habit as it were, Khian
answered. The man made more signs and Khian answered them all, then
uttered a secret sentence which the man, speaking for the first time,
completed with another sentence still more secret.
“Will you not eat, Priest of the Dawn?” he asked again meaningly.
“In hope of the Food Eternal I eat bread. In hope of the Water of Life
I drink wine,” replied the man.
Then Khian was sure, for in these very words those of the Order of the
Dawn were accustomed to consecrate their meat.
“Who are you, Brother?” he asked.
“I am Temu, a priest of the Order of the Dawn whom you saw but once in
the Temple of the Sphinx, Scribe Rasa, when you came thither on a
certain embassy, though then I did not know that you were sworn of the
Brotherhood, Scribe Rasa, if that indeed be your name.”
“It is not my name and at that time I was not sworn of the
Brotherhood, Priest Temu, who, I think, are the messenger sent by the
holy Roy with letters for Apepi, King of the North. We heard that you
were dead of sickness, Priest Temu.”
“Nay, Brother, it pleased Apepi to keep me prisoner, that is all. Had
I died, my spirit, as it departed, would have whispered in the ear of
Roy.”
“I remember now that so the Prophet said. But how come you here, and
why?”
“I come because I am sent to help another in distress, by some Great
One who visited me in my prison. He gave no name, or if he did I have
forgotten it, as we of the Order forget many things. Nor did he tell
me whom I was to help, yet I can guess, as we of the Order guess many
things. I see that you wear a royal ring, Scribe Rasa. It is enough.”
“Quite enough, Priest Temu. But tell me, why were you sent to me? In
such a hole as this even a Pharaoh would need no servant.”
“No, Brother, yet he might need a companion and--a deliverer.”
“Very much indeed, both of them, especially the last. But, Temu, how
could even Roy himself open that door or break through these walls?”
“Quite easily, Scribe Rasa, by means of which we know nothing, and if
only we have faith perhaps I can do the same, though not so easily and
in another fashion. Hearken. During the many days I have spent in
prison, bettering my soul with prayers and meditations, from time to
time I have given instructions to that humble man who is our jailer,
setting his feet in the way of truth. Thus in the end he has become
well affected to those who profess our faith, to which I have promised
that he shall be gathered in days to come. In reward he has imparted a
certain secret to me which, as neither he nor any other will visit
this place again to-night, I will now show to you, Brother Rasa. Help
me, if it pleases you, to move this table.”
With difficulty it was dragged aside, for it was of massive stone.
Then Temu took from his robe a piece of papyrus on which were marks
and lines. By aid of these he made certain measurements and at length
in the roughly paved floor found a stone for which he seemed to have
been searching. At this stone he pushed from left to right, for there
was a roughness on it against which he could rest the palm of his
hand, thereby, it would appear, loosing some spring or bolt. Suddenly
a section of the floor, a pace wide or more, tilted up, revealing a
shaft cut in the rock, of which the bottom could not be seen, and
against its side, also cut from the rock, stone bars set at intervals
one above the other, down which it would be possible for an active man
to climb.
“Is it a well?” asked Khian.
“Aye, Brother, a well of death, or so I think, though perhaps of that
we shall learn more later. At least all is as the Great One whose face
was veiled, told me, for it was he who gave me the plan and bade me
trust the jailer and do as he instructed me.”
“And what is that, Temu?”
“Descend by this ladder, Brother, until at the foot of it we come to a
tunnel; then follow the tunnel until it ends in what seems to be the
mouth of a drain in the stone embankment of the river. Beneath this
hole or drain-mouth a boat should be waiting, and in it a fisherman
following his trade by night when the largest fish are caught. Into
that boat we must enter and be gone swiftly before it is discovered
that this place is empty.”
“Do we fly at once?” asked Khian.
“No, Brother, not for another hour, for so I was instructed; why I do
not know. Help me now to close the trap, but not quite lest the spring
should refuse to work again, and to replace the table over it exactly
as it stood before. Who knows that some officer or spy might not be
moved to pay us a visit, although the jailer said that none would
come.”
“Aye, who knows, Temu?”
So they closed the trap, setting a piece of reed from a food basket
between its edges so that it did not shut altogether, and dragged back
the table to its place. Then they sat down to eat. Scarcely had they
done so when Temu pressed Khian’s foot and looked towards the door.
He looked also and, though he heard nothing, saw, or thought that he
saw, a white face and two glowing eyes set against the grating and
watching them, a sight that made his blood turn cold. In an instant it
was gone again.
“Was it a man?” whispered Khian.
“A man, or perchance a ghost, Brother, for I heard no footfall, and of
such this place may well be a home.”
Then he rose, and taking a linen cloth that had been laid over the
food, he thrust it into the grating.
“Is that not dangerous?” asked Khian.
“Aye, Brother, but to be watched is more dangerous.”
To Khian it seemed as though that hour would never end. Moment by
moment he feared lest the door would open and all be discovered. Yet
no one came, and indeed they never learned whether they had seen a
face at the grating or whether its appearance was but a trick of their
minds.
“Whither would you fly, Brother?” asked Temu.
“Up Nile,” whispered Khian, “to warn our brethren who are in great
danger.”
“I felt it,” said Temu. Then he rose and packed the most of the food,
of which, as has been said, there was much more than they could eat,
into two of the baskets wherein it had been brought which were made of
reeds and had handles that could be slipped on to the arm.
“It is time to go, Brother. Faith, have faith!” said Temu.
They rose and for a moment stood still to put up a prayer to the
Spirit they worshipped for help and guidance, as was the custom of
their Brotherhood before they entered on any undertaking.
“I will go first, Brother, carrying one of the lamps in my teeth--the
second we must leave burning--and one basket on my arm. Do you follow
with the other.”
Then he stepped to the door, pulled out the food-cloth from the
grating, and having listened awhile, returned, and taking the smaller
of the lamps, set its flat handle between his teeth. Next he crawled
beneath the table, pushed upon the stone so that it tilted up and
stood edge in air, climbed through the hole on to the stone ladder,
and began to descend. Khian followed. As it chanced when he had taken
some three steps down the ladder, the peaked hood of his cloak touched
the stone, disturbing its balance. Instantly it swung to, releasing
the spring or catch, so that now there was no hope of return, since
this could not be opened from beneath. Even then the purpose of this
trap came into Khian’s mind. When it was desired to destroy some
unhappy captive, unknown to him the spring or bolt was set back. Then
shortly, as the doomed one tramped that gloomy cave he would tread
upon the swinging stone and vanish into the gulf beneath, for when
this was purposed doubtless the heavy table stood elsewhere. Or if his
secret end was desired very swiftly, jailers would hurl him down the
pit. Khian shuddered as he thought of it, remembering that this fate
might well have been his own. Down, down he climbed, the feeble little
lamp which Temu carried in his teeth lighting his way. It seemed a
long journey, for the pit was deep, but at length Temu called to him
that he had reached its bottom. Presently he was at his side perched
upon a white and moving pile that crackled beneath his feet. He looked
down and by the lamplight perceived that they stood upon a pyramid of
bones, the bones of the victims who in past days had fallen or been
cast down the shaft. Moreover, some of them had fallen not so very
long before, as his senses told him, which caused him to remember
certain friends of his own who had incurred the wrath of Pharaoh and,
as it was said, were vanished. Now he guessed to what land they had
been banished.
“Lead on, Temu,” he said. “I choke and grow faint.”
Temu obeyed, turning to the right as he had been told that he must do,
and holding the lamp near the ground lest there should be pitfalls in
the path, which ran down a tunnel so low and narrow that they must
walk it doubled up with their shoulders brushing against its walls.
For forty or fifty paces they followed this winding burrow, till at
length Temu whispered that he saw light ahead, whereon Khian answered
that it would be well to extinguish the lamp lest it should betray
them. This was done, and creeping forward cautiously for another ten
or twelve paces, they came at last to an opening in the great
embankment wall built of granite blocks, upon which the palace stood,
so small an opening that few would notice it in the roughness of the
blocks, and, twice the height of a man beneath them, saw the waters of
the Nile gleaming blackly in the starlight.
They thrust their heads out of the hole and looked down, also to right
and left.
“Here is the river,” said Khian, “but I see no boat.”
“As all the rest of the tale has proved true, Brother, doubtless the
boat will appear also. Faith, have faith!” answered Temu to whom the
gods had given a trusting soul, and when they had waited half an hour
or more, he repeated his words.
“I hope so,” answered Khian, “since otherwise we must swim before dawn
and hereabout are many crocodiles that feed upon the refuse from the
palace.”
As he spoke they heard the sound of oars and in the deep shadow of the
wall saw a small masted boat creeping towards them. This boat came to
a halt beneath their hole. There was a man in it who threw out a
fishing line, looked upwards and whistled very softly. Temu whistled
back, whereon the man began to hum a tune, such as fishers use, then
at the end of it sang softly:
“_Leap into my boat, O Fish._”
Khian scrambled out of the hole and climbed down the surface of the
rough wall, which, being accustomed to such work, was easy to him, and
presently was safe in the boat. Temu, having first thrown the lamp
into the Nile lest it should be found in the tunnel, followed after
him, but more awkwardly; indeed, had not Khian caught him he would
have fallen into the river.
“Help me to hoist the sail. The wind blows strongly from the north,
therefore you must fly southwards; there is no choice,” said the man.
As he obeyed, Khian saw his face. It was that of the jailer himself.
“Be swift,” he went on. “I see lights moving; perhaps the dungeon has
been found empty. Many spies are about.”
Then Khian bethought him of the glowing eyes he had seen at the
grating.
With an oar the jailer pushed the boat away from the wall; the wind
caught the sail and it began to move through the water, so that
presently they were in the middle of the Nile and gliding up it
swiftly.
“Do you come with us?” asked Khian.
“Nay, Prince, I have my wife and child to mind.”
“The gods reward you,” said Khian.
“I am already rewarded, Prince. Know that for this night’s work I have
earned more than I have done in ten long years--never mind who paid.
Fear not for me who have a sure hiding place, though it is not one
that you could share.”
As he spoke, with the oar he steered the boat near to the farther
shore of the river, where at this spot were hundreds of mean
dwellings.
“Now go your ways and may your Spirit be your guide,” said the jailer.
“There is fishing gear in the boat, also you will find such garments
as men use who live by it. Put them on ere dawn, by which time with
this wind you should be far away from Tanis, for she sails swiftly.
Farewell and pray to your gods for me as I will pray for you. Prince,
take the steering oar and stand out into the middle of the river where
in this stormy night you will not be seen.”
As he spoke the man slipped over the stern of the boat. For a moment
they saw his head a dark blot on the water, then he vanished.
“At last I have found one who is good and honest, although of an evil
trade,” said Khian.