HOW RENNY THE SYRIAN ESCAPED THE CROCODILES
We have already alluded to the violent sandstorm which had raged over
Thebes. As Kham-hat had truthfully said, such a storm had not been
known since that memorable day when Thi the Beautiful, had been brought
up-river to Egypt’s capital, there to become the favorite wife of the
late Pharaoh.
The storm had been especially severe in the immediate vicinity of the
capital, or so at least, it had seemed to the disgusted Thebans. Their
loud complaints as to the hideous damage done were not unduly emphasized,
since the baleful effects of this storm, both in and about the resident
city, were apparent on every hand.
Many of the famous palms and giant sycamores in Pharaoh’s palace garden
had been uprooted or despoiled of their finest branches. Many of the
Abyssinian trees and Lebanus cedars, that lined the causeway leading
to Hatshepsut’s ivory-toned chapel, now lay prone across its well-paved
incline, or, loosened at the roots, hung shriveled, torn and dejected,
far out across its brightly painted parapets.
Dust, a foot or more in depth, had drifted against the gates of the
villas, many of which seemed as if they might rather have opened upon
some gloomy mortuary-garden than upon the dainty gardens of exalted
nobles, with their wealth of tamarisks, acacias, myrrh, sandalwood and
stately Lebanus cedars.
Not a sign of life was visible along the sloping walls of the city, not a
living thing stirred in its dark and narrow streets. Covered by the same
gray pall of dust, Thebes had seemingly united herself with her immense
burial-ground to the westward. Thebes appeared to have become one vast
city of the dead!
A swirl of the fine impalpable Egyptian dust rose into the shimmering
air, a whirling and ever-widening cone—part sand, part river-silt, part
_human_ ashes. Yes, throughout the Nile Valley, an Egyptian might be
said to breathe the very ashes of his ancestors.
Suddenly the sun leaped above the Eastern Hills. The city awoke. Smoke
rose upon the heavy morning air and drifted slowly, like a blue-gray
streamer, up the curving shores of the Theban Valley.
Kathi, the embalmer, on his way to the landing stage leading to the
Temple of Karnak, paused to watch the maneuvers of the war-vessels, as
they sought their berths along the western bank.
At this moment, one vessel’s huge square sail, a picturesque
checker-board of green and white, flapped madly, as its head flew up
suddenly in the wind. It seemed that Duādmochef, the Wind-god, was not to
be cheated out of a few parting puffs from his lusty lungs!
The look-out-man, standing in the prow, pole in hand, shouted a hasty
warning to the captain aft, but, before his raucous order could be
understood, the heavy boat had buried its nose, with the ghastly trophies
it bore, deep in a hidden sand-bar. For a time it seemed that the
stiffly swaying forms of the wretched foreign chieftains lashed to the
prow would break the thongs which held them in place. It availed nothing
that Ranuf, the captain, cursed the look-out-man, his father and his
forebears since Egypt emerged from the primordial _Nu_! And the unhappy
Ameni suffered the irate captain’s curses in silence, as it was the sixth
mishap of the kind since leaving the sandstone quays of Enet, sacred to
the Goddess Hathor.
As Ranuf hurled at the bent head of his look-out-man a last fearful
_hekau_, a potent spell intended to consign the soul of his discomfited
assistant to the voracious maw of Osiris’s hound, he noticed a dark patch
floating upon the water below. A white face gazed up into his:
“Abdi, quick! A drowning man; a countryman of thine; if I mistake not.”
The Syrian addressed strode quickly to the captain’s side, took one
look at the slowly drifting body and, casting aside his sandals and
loin-cloth, disappeared headlong into the river. Cautiously the captain
extended a long pole in the direction of the swimming sailor. In another
moment, Abdi was drawn safely to the deck, and, with him, the apparently
lifeless figure of the man he had attempted to save.
Abdi rose to his feet, seemingly none the worse for his adventure. He
clasped the captain’s hand: “Adon! I thought a devil had me by the heels!
Truly the eddies hereabouts have a deadly grip! Dost know the lad? A
fellow countryman by those blue eyes of his! See, they open! Breath of
Adon, ’tis an ugly crack he hath! Cut the thongs that bind him! Verily,
’tis dangerous work to meddle with Syrians, as they who planned this
treacherous attack will find, should Thi get wind of it! Thou knowest in
such a case, even the ‘tried, judged, found his bitter doom!’ is omitted
from the records, since ‘thus we save the government’s ink,’ says that
wag Thethi!”
The captain bent over the still motionless form of the unknown. He tried
to recall the face but failed.
At this moment the Syrian presented a most woeful appearance. The
long, slim form lay inert; the eyes from time to time opened and closed
wearily. Blood still trickled slowly from a slight cut along one side of
his forehead.
By now he was surrounded by half a score of curious, yet sympathetic
sailors. One bound up his wound, another provided him with a striped
headcloth, another placed a dry robe about his shoulders.
As he once more fluttered back to consciousness, a sailor addressed him
in the Egyptian tongue:
“Stranger, how comest thou in such a strait? Verily had it not been for
that patch of reeds, the crocodiles that swarm about the temple quay had
sighted thy bobbing form, or the gripping whirlpools around the Southern
Bend had drawn thee to the river’s slimiest depths? Breath of Sebek! Thy
pendant did indeed protect thee!”
The question was understood, as was evident from the color that rushed to
the pale face, and the intelligence that lit up the bright blue eyes.
No doubt the question recalled to the Syrian’s brain the memory of the
attack which had so nearly cost him his life. He struggled to his feet.
A draught of wine, and, in a few moments, he seemed little the worse for
his experience.
“Friends, ’tis a tale of jealousy. I am named Renny, a Syrian, a sculptor
attached to the house of the Lord Menna, son of Menna, Overseer of
Pharaoh (health to him). I know not who hath planned this murderous
attack upon me. No enemies have I to my knowledge.”
He turned to Abdi: “Fellow countryman, I thank thee that thou dids’t so
opportunely go to my rescue. May this bar requite thee!” Renny slipped
from his arm a broad band of gold and handed it to Abdi.
Whether the excitement of the rescue and rush of all hands to the side
had had anything to do with it or not no one could say, but at this
moment the clumsy barge suddenly yielded itself to the renewed efforts of
the chanting polers, and swung around into mid-stream.
As it drew alongside the western landing-stage, Renny leaped ashore.
With a wave of the hand to his rescuers, he abruptly disappeared among
the bales of hides and serried ranks of great empty water jars, which
were piled up high along the shore, awaiting shipment to the north.
Renny had seen a company of Royal Guardsmen drawn up before the
colonnaded portico of the royal landing-stage.
He had nothing to fear from the soldiers. These, he well knew, waited to
escort the victorious General Ramses into Pharaoh’s presence.
Yet, at their head, idly swinging a jeweled scarab which hung upon a
long gold chain, stood Bar, a spy in the service of Menna, the King’s
Overseer, Renny’s powerful patron.
Renny had his reasons for seeking to avoid the Prince’s servant at this
juncture. He could not shake off the feeling that Bar, the spy, was
concerned, in some way, with the attack that had so nearly cost him his
life.