WHY MENNA’S CHAIRBEARER STAKED HIS ALL
Menna, Overseer of the King’s Estates, was known to the Court as a
hard and self-seeking man, and this in spite of his sleekness of skin,
his luxurious habits and his untiring efforts to outshine the other
“followers of the king” both in beauty of person, knowledge of literature
and the arts, indeed, in all those visible evidences of culture which
distinguished the Egyptian court.
In spite of this outward display and ostentation Menna, son of Menna, was
appreciated at his full value by courtier, priest and peasant alike. Well
they knew that but a tithe of the fat revenues which Menna collected for
the king or had formerly collected for the unhappy Huy, Great High Priest
of Amen, went to swell the royal “treasuries of gold and silver” or the
“treasure of the god.” As yet, however, through fear of the Overseer’s
“eyes and ears”—spies, native and foreign—no one had dared to inform upon
him at the Palace.
In spite of all Menna could do to ingratiate himself with her, the Lady
Sesen ever sought to avoid him. Yet Menna never despaired. His attentions
were pressed upon her, in spite of all she could do to prevent. Recently
the fringed Asiatic garments of his servants, an affectation of the
much-traveled Prince, were seldom absent from her sight.
Yet to-day something had happened which might bring it well within the
realms of possibility that she might break with the persistent Overseer
once and for all.
During the course of one of her visits to the home of Ramses’
grandparents Enana had confided to her a secret which appeared to her
astonished ears well-nigh incredible. For from him she learned the
astounding news that Hanit, her former beloved mistress, Queen Hanit
whom she had but yesterday it seemed, seen laid to rest yonder in the
Valley of the Tombs, was alive, alive!
Rendered fairly dumb at once with amazement and joy, Sesen sat at
Enana’s knees as if fascinated, her cheeks aglow, her eyes dancing with
excitement, her lips parted as if she would drink in his every word.
This, then, was the reason of Enana’s feverish restlessness of late.
Queen Thi herself, whom nothing escaped, had remarked it, had even
commented upon it to Sesen.
Naturally, Sesen at the time could give no adequate explanation of the
unusual behavior, the ill-restrained excitement, which seemed to agitate
the wizened body of the old magician. And Queen Thi finally set it down
as being due to loss of favor at court.
In fact, Enana had suddenly withdrawn entirely from all court functions.
A faithful adherent of the great god, Amen of Thebes, and a brother of
Huy, late High Priest of Amen, Enana could not but see in Thi and Pharaoh
the murderers of Huy, his brother, and the implacable foes of Amen whom
he loved and served.
So the shriveled body which Kathi had sworn was that of Hanit had been
another’s. Sesen recalled that Enana had often remarked the striking
resemblance which existed between the ex-Queen Hanit and the Lady Meryt.
It was Meryt’s body then which lay in its rock-hewn tomb back yonder
swathed in yards of milk-white linens, encased in a triple cedar coffin
glowing with gold and gem-incrustations! It was Meryt’s body which now
rested in its huge granite sarcophagus, deep beneath the crumbling
Western Hills! It was Meryt’s mummified form upon which she herself had
placed that last sad offering, a chaplet of flowers, berries and leaves!
Hanit, her beloved mistress, still lived!
Sesen could hardly follow Enana through the astounding threads of his
story. She gathered that the ruse by which her mistress had been saved
from certain death at Queen Thi’s hands had been Enana’s own, though its
successful accomplishment had been due to the faithful Kathi.
Sesen begged to be allowed to visit Hanit, but Enana restrained her.
He spoke of the terrible change in the demeanor of the once gentle and
studious Queen. He spoke of her vindictive hatred of Pharaoh, of Thi and,
more than these perhaps, of Menna, son of Menna, whom she considered the
murderer of the prince, her son.
Since her escape from the Temple all her time had been spent in study,
and that with but one end in view. Vengeance upon the trio whom she had
such cause to hate had become with her an obsession.
It appeared that in the realms of black art Hanit had become the equal
of Enana himself. Day and night had she pored over the lector’s rolls of
papyrus, until each and every one of their incantations had become hers.
She knew all the hidden spells of the Conjurers of Amen. She could part
the waters at a word. Her ebony wand could cause grass to grow where no
vegetation had lived before. Behead a bird or animal and, at a word from
Hanit, it would spring to its feet alive and whole. Even the secrets of
the masons and royal architects were hers. She knew the secret blocks of
stone which, touched by even the weakest hand, opened or closed many a
ponderous granite door of tomb or shrine.
Yes! She would have vengeance upon Pharaoh, upon Thi, upon Menna...!
At the mention of Menna’s name Sesen thoughtfully drew from the folds of
her robe a small roll of papyrus, delicately scented and inscribed in
black and red with another effusive expression of the Overseer’s undying
passion and his plea for a tryst. Enana read it twice, then carefully
rolled it up and placed it securely beneath his leather girdle, saying as
he did so:
“Here may be found the bait to lure Prince Menna to his bitter doom! It
reaches Hanit’s hands this very night! Verily, what said that sage of
old, Imhotep? ‘Love is the greatest ally of the gods!’”
Trembling with suppressed excitement the old magician rose. He placed a
caressing hand upon the head of the little Princess and departed somewhat
abruptly, leaving her to marvel at the miraculous escape of her former
mistress and to speculate as to the nature of Hanit’s vengeance upon
Menna.
And Menna? Not long after Enana had left the little Princess the
overjoyed Menna felt that he could, at last, afford to ignore the
reports brought in by Bar and his other spies. Menna no longer feared
the existence of an understanding between Renny and the little Princess.
A note from Sesen, a note most tenderly inscribed, rested at the moment
between Menna’s thumb and forefinger. He smiled as he placed the note
to his lips. He inhaled the perfume of myrrh-paste, where Sesen’s
fingers had touched the smooth papyrus. Sesen the Haughty, Sesen the
Unapproachable, Sesen whom the great Ramses loved, had yielded to his
attentions and passionate appeals. It had been a far longer siege than
usually fell to the lot of the Overseer, but, at last, the usual stream
of presents, poems, and entreaties had done its work. Sesen had agreed to
meet him amidst the ruins near Mentuhotep’s shrine!
“Mentuhotep’s shrine? That forgotten ruin! An extraordinary place,” mused
the Prince. For a moment he doubted the missive; a hint of suspicion
clouded the gleam of triumph which glowed in his eyes.
Somewhat thoughtfully he reread the note. The next he had stretched his
jeweled hand toward a little bronze mirror which rested upon an ivory
rack at his elbow. It was a small mirror, its handle a maiden standing
with arms outstretched as if to support the disk above.
But half conscious of what he was doing, Menna gazed at his handsome
features as reflected in the burnished oval of the mirror. Slowly his
features relaxed. He smiled, and, laying down the mirror, clapped his
hands. He gave direction to the obsequious Syrian who immediately
appeared, that Bentu, chief of his chair-bearers, be sent to him
immediately.
Soon after, Bentu left his master’s presence, his face, wreathed
in smiles, his ivory teeth flashing. Bentu walked on air, he could
hardly refrain from snapping his fingers and dancing his joy like “the
curly-headed ones,” as he hurried down the quiet corridors. An excursion
such as his master planned for the morrow customarily ended well for
Bentu, chief of the carriers.
Throughout the long night following, while Menna tossed upon his
ivory-footed couch, Bentu gambled away his last worldly possessions.
At first Bentu lost three heifers at a throw. Then seven sheep went to
Beq, the sculptor. Quickly followed the loss of thirty geese, the two
gold _uten_ which encircled his wrist, his hound Antef, and finally, most
prized possession of all, his bright blue scarab-seal. All passed to Beq,
the sculptor.
But what cared Bentu, the Carrier! In his master’s explicit directions
as to clothes for the carriers, as to food and drink, Bentu scented an
assignation. The new hood was to be put on the carrying-chair. It was a
beautiful hood, made of the finest linen, in stripes of green and gold. A
love affair without a doubt! There was a woman in it, and women—as Bentu
knew full well—women paid well for messengers and—carriers!
Bentu curled himself up in a corner of Beq’s studio and went promptly to
sleep. He feared to go home; his wife might ask questions, and Bentu was
in mortal dread of Sebekmeryt his Nubian wife.