THE BATHS OF BRONZE
Even out of this night of dread the morning rose, and with it came Rei,
bearing a message from the King. But he did not find the Wanderer in
his chamber. The Palace eunuchs said that he had risen and had asked
for Kurri, the Captain of the Sidonians, who was now the Queen’s
Jeweller. Thither Rei went, for Kurri was lodged with the servants in a
court of the Royal House, and as the old man came he heard the sound of
hammers beating on metal. There, in the shadow which the Palace wall
cast into a little court, there was the Wanderer; no longer in his
golden mail, but with bare arms, and dressed in such a light smock as
the workmen of Khem were wont to wear.
The Wanderer was bending over a small brazier, whence a flame and a
light blue smoke arose and melted into the morning light. In his hand
he held a small hammer, and he had a little anvil by him, on which lay
one of the golden shoulder-plates of his armour. The other pieces were
heaped beside the brazier. Kurri, the Sidonian, stood beside him, with
graving tools in his hands.
“Hail to thee, Eperitus,” cried Rei, calling him by the name he had
chosen to give himself. “What makest thou here with fire and anvil?”
“I am but furbishing up my armour,” said the Wanderer, smiling. “It has
more than one dint from the fight in the hall;” and he pointed to his
shield, which was deeply scarred across the blazon of the White Bull,
the cognizance of dead Paris, Priam’s son. “Sidonian, blow up the
fire.”
Kurri crouched on his hams and blew the blaze to a white heat with a
pair of leathern bellows, while the Wanderer fitted the plates and
hammered at them on the anvil, making the jointures smooth and strong,
talking meanwhile with Rei.
“Strange work for a prince, as thou must be in Alybas, whence thou
comest,” quoth Rei, leaning on his long rod of cedar, headed with an
apple of bluestone. “In our country chiefs do not labour with their
hands.”
“Different lands, different ways,” answered Eperitus. “In my country
men wed not their sisters as your kings do, though, indeed, it comes
into my mind that once I met such brides in my wanderings in the isle
of the King of the Winds.”
For the thought of the Æolian isle, where King Æolus gave him all the
winds in a bag, came into his memory.
“My hands can serve me in every need,” he went on. “Mowing the deep
green grass in spring, or driving oxen, or cutting a clean furrow with
the plough in heavy soil, or building houses and ships, or doing
smith’s work with gold and bronze and grey iron—they are all one to
me.”
“Or the work of war,” said Rei. “For there I have seen thee labour.
Now, listen, thou Wanderer, the King Meneptah and the Queen Meriamun
send me to thee with this scroll of their will,” and he drew forth a
roll of papyrus, bound with golden threads, and held it on his
forehead, bowing, as if he prayed.
“What is that roll of thine?” said the Wanderer, who was hammering at
the bronze spear-point, that stood fast in his helm.
Rei undid the golden threads and opened the scroll, which he gave into
the Wanderer’s hand.
“Gods! What have we here?” said the Wanderer. “Here are pictures, tiny
and cunningly drawn, serpents in red, and little figures of men sitting
or standing, axes and snakes and birds and beetles! My father, what
tokens are these?” and he gave the scroll back to Rei.
“The King has made his Chief Scribe write to thee, naming thee Captain
of the Legion of Pasht, the Guard of the Royal House, for last night
the Captain was slain. He gives thee a high title, and he promises thee
houses, lands, and a city of the South to furnish thee with wine, and a
city of the North to furnish thee with corn, if thou wilt be his
servant.”
“Never have I served any man,” said the Wanderer, flushing red, “though
I went near to being sold and to knowing the day of slavery. The King
does me too much honour.”
“Thou wouldest fain begone from Khem?” asked the old man, eagerly.
“I would fain find her I came to seek, wherever she may be,” said the
Wanderer. “Here or otherwhere.”
“Then, what answer shall I carry to the King?”
“Time brings thought,” said the Wanderer; “I would see the city if thou
wilt guide me. Many cities have I seen, but none so great as this. As
we walk I will consider my answer to your King.”
He had been working at his helm as he spoke, for the rest of his armour
was now mended. He had drawn out the sharp spear-head of bronze, and
was balancing it in his hand and trying its edge.
“A good blade,” he said; “better was never hammered. It went near to
doing its work, Sidonian,” and he turned to Kurri as he spoke. “Two
things of thine I had: thy life and thy spear-point. Thy life I gave
thee, thy spear-point thou didst lend me. Here, take it again,” and he
tossed the spear-head to the Queen’s Jeweller.
“I thank thee, lord,” answered the Sidonian, thrusting it in his
girdle; but he muttered between his teeth, “The gifts of enemies are
gifts of evil.”
The Wanderer did on his mail, set the helmet on his head, and spoke to
Rei. “Come forth, friend, and show me thy city.”
But Rei was watching the smile on the face of the Sidonian, and he
deemed it cruel and crafty and warlike, like the laugh of the Sardana
of the sea. He said nought, but called a guard of soldiers, and with
the Wanderer he passed the Palace gates and went out into the city.
The sight was strange, and it was not thus that the old man, who loved
his land, would have had the Wanderer see it.
From all the wealthy houses, and from many of the poorer sort, rang the
wail of the women mourners as they sang their dirges for the dead.
But in the meaner quarters many a hovel was marked with three smears of
blood, dashed on each pillar of the door and on the lintel; and the
sound that came from these dwellings was the cry of mirth and festival.
There were two peoples; one laughed, one lamented. And in and out of
the houses marked with the splashes of blood women were ever going with
empty hands, or coming with hands full of jewels, of gold, of silver
rings, of cups, and purple stuffs. Empty they went out, laden they came
in, dark men and women with keen black eyes and the features of birds
of prey. They went, they came, they clamoured with delight among the
mourning of the men and women of Khem, and none laid a hand on them,
none refused them.
One tall fellow snatched at the staff of Rei.
“Lend me thy staff, old man,” he said, sneering; “lend me thy jewelled
staff for my journey. I do but borrow it; when Yakûb comes from the
desert thou shalt have it again.”
But the Wanderer turned on the fellow with such a glance that he fell
back.
“I have seen _thee_ before,” he said, and he laughed over his shoulder
as he went; “I saw thee last night at the feast, and heard thy great
bow sing. Thou art not of the folk of Khem. They are a gentle folk, and
Yakûb wins favour in their sight.”
“What passes now in this haunted land of thine, old man?” said the
Wanderer, “for of all the sights that I have seen, this is the
strangest. None lifts a hand to save his goods from the thief.”
Rei the Priest groaned aloud.
“Evil days have come upon Khem,” he said. “The Apura spoil the people
of Khem ere they fly into the Wilderness.”
Even as he spoke there came a great lady weeping, for her husband was
dead, and her son and her brother, all were gone in the breath of the
pestilence. She was of the Royal House, and richly decked with gold and
jewels, and the slaves who fanned her, as she went to the Temple of
Ptah to worship, wore gold chains upon their necks. Two women of the
Apura saw her and ran to her, crying:
“Lend to us those golden ornaments thou wearest.”
Then, without a word, she took her gold bracelets and chains and rings,
and let them all fall in a heap at her feet. The women of the Apura
took them all and mocked her, crying:
“Where now is thy husband and thy son and thy brother, thou who art of
Pharaoh’s house? Now thou payest us for the labour of our hands and for
the bricks that we made without straw, gathering leaves and rushes in
the sun. Now thou payest for the stick in the hand of the overseers.
Where now is thy husband and thy son and thy brother?” and they went
still mocking, and left the lady weeping.
But of all sights the Wanderer held this strangest, and many such there
were to see. At first he would have taken back the spoil and given it
to those who wore it, but Rei the Priest prayed him to forbear, lest
the curse should strike them also. So they pressed on through the
tumult, ever seeing new sights of greed and death and sorrow. Here a
mother wept over her babe, here a bride over her husband—that night the
groom of her and of death. Here the fierce-faced Apura, clamouring like
gulls, tore the silver trinkets from the children of those of the baser
sort, or the sacred amulets from the mummies of those who were laid out
for burial, and here a water-carrier wailed over the carcass of the ass
that won him his livelihood.
At length, passing through the crowd, they came to a temple that stood
near to the Temple of the God Ptah. The pylons of this temple faced
towards the houses of the city, but the inner courts were built against
the walls of Tanis and looked out across the face of the water. Though
not one of the largest temples, it was very strong and beautiful in its
shape. It was built of the black stone of Syene, and all the polished
face of the stone was graven with images of the Holy Hathor. Here she
wore a cow’s head, and here the face of a woman, but she always bore in
her hands the lotus-headed staff and the holy token of life, and her
neck was encircled with the collar of the gods.
“Here dwells that Strange Hathor to whom thou didst drink last night,
Eperitus,” said Rei the Priest. “It was a wild pledge to drink before
the Queen, who swears that she brings these woes on Khem. Though,
indeed, she is guiltless of this, with all the blood on her beautiful
head. The Apura and their apostate sorcerer, whom we ourselves
instructed, bring the plagues on us.”
“Does the Hathor manifest herself this day?” asked the Wanderer.
“That we will ask of the priests, Eperitus. Follow thou me.”
Now they passed down the avenue of sphinxes within the wall of brick,
into the garden plot of the Goddess, and so on through the gates of the
outer tower. A priest who watched there threw them wide at the sign
that was given of Rei, the Master-Builder, the beloved of Pharaoh, and
they came to the outer court. Before the second tower they halted, and
Rei showed to the Wanderer that place upon the pylon roof where the
Hathor was wont to stand and sing till the hearers’ hearts were melted
like wax. Here they knocked once more, and were admitted to the Hall of
Assembly where the priests were gathered, throwing dust upon their
heads and mourning those among them who had died with the Firstborn.
When they saw Rei, the instructed, the Prophet of Amen, and the
Wanderer clad in golden armour who was with him, they ceased from their
mourning, and an ancient priest of their number came forward, and,
greeting Rei, asked him of his errand. Then Rei took the Wanderer by
the hand and made him known to the priest, and told him of those deeds
that he had done, and how he had saved the life of Pharaoh and of those
of the Royal House who sat at the feast with Pharaoh.
“But when will the Lady Hathor sing upon her tower top?” said Rei, “for
the Stranger desires to see her and hear her.”
The temple priest bowed before the Wanderer, and answered gravely:
“On the third morn from now the Holy Hathor shows herself upon the
temple’s top,” he said; “but thou, mighty lord, who art risen from the
sea, hearken to my warning, and if, indeed, thou art no god, dare not
to look upon her beauty. If thou dost look, then thy fate shall be as
the fate of those who have looked before, and have loved and have died
for the sake of the Hathor.”
“No god am I,” said the Wanderer, laughing, “yet, perchance, I shall
dare to look, and dare to face whatever it be that guards her, if my
heart bids me see her nearer.”
“Then there shall be an end of thee and thy wanderings,” said the
priest. “Now follow me, and I will show thee those men who last sought
to win the Hathor.”
He took him by the hand and led him through passages hewn in the walls
till they came to a deep and gloomy cell, where the golden armour of
the Wanderer shone like a lamp at eve. The cell was built against the
city wall, and scarcely a thread of light came into the chink between
roof and wall. All about the chamber were baths fashioned of bronze,
and in the baths lay dusky shapes of dark-skinned men of Egypt. There
they lay, and in the faint light their limbs were being anointed by
some sad-faced attendants, as folk were anointed by merry girls in the
shining baths of the Wanderer’s home. When Rei and Eperitus came near,
the sad-faced bath-men shrank away in shame, as dogs shrink from their
evil meat at night when a traveller goes past.
Marvelling at the strange sight, the bathers and the bathed, the
Wanderer looked more closely, and his stout heart sank within him. For
all these were dead who lay in the baths of bronze, and it was not
water that flowed about their limbs, but evil-smelling natron.
“Here lie those,” said the priest, “who last strove to come near the
Holy Hathor, and to pass into the shrine of the temple where night and
day she sits and sings and weaves with her golden shuttle. Here they
lie, the half of a score. One by one they rushed to embrace her, and
one by one they were smitten down. Here they are being attired for the
tomb, for we give them all rich burial.”
“Truly,” quoth the Wanderer, “I left the world of Light behind me when
I looked on the blood-red sea and sailed into the black gloom off
Pharos. More evil sights have I seen in this haunted land than in all
the cities where I have wandered, and on all the seas that I have
sailed.”
“Then be warned,” said the priest, “for if thou dost follow where they
went, and desire what they desired, thou too shalt lie in yonder bath,
and be washed of yonder waters. For whatever be false, this is true,
that he who seeks love ofttimes finds doom. But here he finds it most
speedily.”
The Wanderer looked again at the dead and at their ministers, and he
shuddered till his harness rattled. He feared not the face of Death in
war, or on the sea, but this was a new thing. Little he loved the sight
of the brazen baths and those who lay there. The light of the sun and
the breath of air seemed good to him, and he stepped quickly from the
chamber, while the priest smiled to himself. But when he reached the
outer air, his heart came back to him, and he began to ask again about
the Hathor—where she dwelt, and what it was that slew her lovers.
“I will show thee,” answered the priest, and brought him through the
Hall of Assembly to a certain narrow way that led to a court. In the
centre of the court stood the holy shrine of the Hathor. It was a great
chamber, built of alabaster, lighted from the roof alone, and shut in
with brazen doors, before which hung curtains of Tyrian web. From the
roof of the shrine a stairway ran overhead to the roof of the temple
and so to the inner pylon tower.
“Yonder, Stranger, the holy Goddess dwells within the Alabaster
Shrine,” said the priest. “By that stair she passes to the temple roof,
and thence to the pylon top. There by the curtains, once in every day,
we place food, and it is drawn into the sanctuary, how we know not, for
none of us have set foot there, nor seen the Hathor face to face. Now,
when the Goddess has stood upon the pylon and sung to the multitude
below, she passes back to the shrine. Then the brazen outer doors of
the temple court are thrown wide and the doomed rush on madly, one by
one, towards the drawn curtains. But before they pass the curtains they
are thrust back, yet they strive to pass. Then we hear a sound of the
clashing of weapons and the men fall dead without a word, while the
song of the Hathor swells from within.”
“And who are her swordsmen?” said the Wanderer.
“That we know not, Stranger; no man has lived to tell. Come, draw near
to the door of the shrine and hearken, maybe thou wilt hear the Hathor
singing. Have no fear; thou needst not approach the guarded space.”
Then the Wanderer drew near with a doubting heart, but Rei the Priest
stood afar off, though the temple priests came close enough. At the
curtains they stopped and listened. Then from within the shrine there
came a sound of singing wild and sweet and shrill, and the voice of it
stirred the Wanderer strangely, bringing to his mind memories of that
Ithaca of which he was Lord and which he should see no more; of the
happy days of youth, and of the God-built walls of windy Ilios. But he
could not have told why he thought on these things, nor why his heart
was thus strangely stirred within him.
“Hearken! the Hathor sings as she weaves the doom of men,” said the
priest, and as he spoke the singing ended.
Then the Wanderer took counsel with himself whether he should then and
there burst the doors and take his fortune, or whether he should
forbear for that while. But in the end he determined to forbear and see
with his own eyes what befell those who strove to win the way.
So he drew back, wondering much; and, bidding farewell to the aged
priest, he went with Rei, the Master Builder, through the town of
Tanis, where the Apura were still spoiling the people of Khem, and he
came to the Palace where he was lodged. Here he turned over in his mind
how he might see the strange woman of the temple, and yet escape the
baths of bronze. There he sat and thought till at length the night drew
on, and one came to summon him to sup with Pharaoh in the Hall. Then he
rose up and went, and meeting Pharaoh and Meriamun the Queen in the
outer chamber, passed in after them to the Hall, and on to the daïs
which he had held against the rabble, for the place was clear of dead,
and, save for certain stains upon the marble floor that might not be
washed away, and for some few arrows that yet were fixed high up in the
walls or in the lofty roof, there was nothing to tell of the great fray
that had been fought but one day gone.
Heavy was the face of Pharaoh, and the few who sat with him were sad
enough because of the death of so many whom they loved, and the shame
and sorrow that had fallen upon Khem. But there were no tears for her
one child in the eyes of Meriamun the Queen. Anger, not grief, tore her
heart because Pharaoh had let the Apura go. For ever as they sat at the
sad feast there came a sound of the tramping feet of armies, and of
lowing cattle, and songs of triumph, sung by ten thousand voices, and
thus they sang the song of the Apura:—
A lamp for our feet the Lord hath litten,
Signs hath He shown in the Land of Khem.
The Kings of the Nations our Lord hath smitten,
His shoe hath He cast o’er the Gods of them.
He hath made Him a mock of the heifer of Isis,
He hath broken the chariot reins of Ra,
On Yakûb He cries, and His folk arises,
And the knees of the Nation are loosed in awe.
He gives us their goods for a spoil to gather,
Jewels of silver, and vessels of gold;
For Yahveh of old is our Friend and Father,
And cherisheth Yakûb He chose of old.
The Gods of the Peoples our Lord hath chidden,
Their courts hath He filled with His creeping things;
The light of the face of the Sun he hath hidden,
And broken the scourge in the hands of kings.
He hath chastened His people with stripes and scourges,
Our backs hath He burdened with grievous weights,
But His children shall rise as a sea that surges,
And flood the fields of the men He hates.
The Kings of the Nations our Lord hath smitten,
His shoe hath He cast o’er the Gods of them,
But a lamp for our feet the Lord hath litten,
Wonders hath he wrought in the Land of Khem.
Thus they sang, and the singing was so wild that the Wanderer craved
leave to go and stand at the Palace gate, lest the Apura should rush in
and spoil the treasure-chamber.
The King nodded, but Meriamun rose, and went with the Wanderer as he
took his bow and passed to the great gates.
There they stood in the shadow of the gates, and this is what they
beheld. A great light of many torches was flaring along the roadway in
front. Then came a body of men, rudely armed with pikes, and the
torchlight shone on the glitter of bronze and on the gold helms of
which they had spoiled the soldiers of Khem. Next came a troop of wild
women, dancing, and beating timbrels, and singing the triumphant hymn
of scorn.
Next, with a space between, tramped eight strong black-bearded men,
bearing on their shoulders a great gilded coffin, covered with carven
and painted signs.
“It is the body of their Prophet, who brought them hither out of their
land of hunger,” whispered Meriamun. “Slaves, ye shall hunger yet in
the wilderness, and clamour for the flesh-pots of Khem!”
Then she cried in a loud voice, for her passion overcame her, and she
prophesied to those who bare the coffin, “Not one soul of you that
lives shall see the land where your conjurer is leading you! Ye shall
thirst, ye shall hunger, ye shall call on the Gods of Khem, and they
shall not hear you; ye shall die, and your bones shall whiten the
wilderness. Farewell! Set go with you. Farewell!”
So she cried and pointed down the way, and so fierce was her gaze, and
so awful were her words, that the people of the Apura trembled and the
women ceased to sing.
The Wanderer watched the Queen and marvelled. “Never had woman such a
hardy heart,” he mused; “and it were ill to cross her in love or war!”
“They will sing no more at my gates,” murmured Meriamun, with a smile.
“Come, Wanderer; they await us,” and she gave him her hand that he
might lead her.
So they went back to the banquet hall.
They hearkened as they sat till far in the night, and still the Apura
passed, countless as the sands of the sea. At length all were gone, and
the sound of their feet died away in the distance. Then Meriamun the
Queen turned to Pharaoh and spake bitterly:
“Thou art a coward, Meneptah, ay, a coward and a slave at heart. In thy
fear of the curse that the False Hathor hath laid on us, she whom thou
dost worship, to thy shame, thou hast let these slaves go. Otherwise
had our father dealt with them, great Rameses Miamun, the hammer of the
Khita. Now they are gone hissing curses on the land that bare them, and
robbing those who nursed them up while they were yet a little people,
as a mother nurses her child.”
“What then might I do?” said Pharaoh.
“There is nought to do: all is done,” answered Meriamun.
“What is thy counsel, Wanderer?”
“It is ill for a stranger to offer counsel,” said the Wanderer.
“Nay, speak,” cried the Queen.
“I know not the Gods of this land,” he answered. “If these people be
favoured of the Gods, I say sit still. But if not,” then said the
Wanderer, wise in war, “let Pharaoh gather his host, follow after the
people, take them unawares, and smite them utterly. It is no hard task,
they are so mixed a multitude and cumbered with much baggage!”
This was to speak as the Queen loved to hear. Now she clapped her hands
and cried:
“Listen, listen to good counsel, Pharaoh.”
And now that the Apura were gone, his fear of them went also, and as he
drank wine Pharaoh grew bold, till at last he sprang to his feet and
swore by Amen, by Osiris, by Ptah, and by his father—great Rameses—that
he would follow after the Apura and smite them. And instantly he sent
forth messengers to summon the captains of his host in the Hall of
Assembly.
Thither the captains came, and their plans were made and messengers
hurried forth to the governors of other great cities, bidding them send
troops to join the host of Pharaoh on its march.
Now Pharaoh turned to the Wanderer and said:
“Thou hast not yet answered my message that Rei carried to thee this
morning. Wilt thou take service with me and be a captain in this war?”
The Wanderer little liked the name of service, but his warlike heart
was stirred within him, for he loved the delight of battle. But before
he could answer yea or nay, Meriamun the Queen, who was not minded that
he should leave her, spoke hastily:
“This is my counsel, Meneptah, that the Lord Eperitus should abide here
in Tanis and be the Captain of my Guard while thou art gone to smite
the Apura. For I may not be here unguarded in these troublous times,
and if I know he watches over me, he who is so mighty a man, then I
shall walk safely and sleep in peace.”
Now the Wanderer bethought him of his desire to look upon the Hathor,
for to see new things and try new adventures was always his delight. So
he answered that if it were pleasing to Pharaoh and the Queen he would
willingly stay and command the Guard. And Pharaoh said that it should
be so.