AN OFFERING TO THE GODS
About six weeks after he had said farewell to Edith at Charing Cross
Station, Rupert found himself once more upon the banks of the Nile and
staring by the light of the full moon at the colossal statues that sit
upon the façade of Abu-Simbel. So much had happened to him since last he
contemplated their gentle, stony smile that its unvarying sameness
struck him as irritating and almost strange. Somehow, he expected that
they would look different.
Certainly Rupert looked different; so much so, that if they had been
endowed with remembrance, the statues would scarcely have known him
again, for now he was dressed in the flowing robes of an Arab sheik.
These could not, as he knew, suffice to disguise his Western origin.
Still, in a desert land, devastated by war, through which few travelled,
they might, he hoped, render him less conspicuous to the keen eyes of
wandering Arabs, or even of spies surveying his little caravan from the
shelter of a bush or the top of a sand-hill a mile or two away.
For the rest, it was his intention, if accused, to declare himself a
European, of the German race, making a journey to sell merchandise to
certain sheiks whom he had been informed were anxious to buy at good
prices. For this purpose he had a licence to trade, signed by the
authorities at Cairo, in favour of one Mahommed, a German who had turned
Mussulman, and whose European name was Carl Gottschalk. This merchandise
of his, which was loaded upon eight camels, consisted of cotton goods,
sugar, copper wire, and oddly enough, a certain quantity of guns and
ammunition, also what was a strange possession for a trader setting out
upon a trip, about £1,000 in gold. All these things, it is scarcely
necessary to explain, were in reality designed to be used as presents to
propitiate the wavering frontier chiefs, to whom he was the accredited
envoy, and to dispose them to assist instead of opposing the forward
movement which was then in contemplation as a first step in the
re-conquest of the Soudan.
He had started some days before from Derr, opposite to Korosko, with his
caravan of about thirty camels and some five-and-twenty trained and
trusted men, most of them Soudanese, all of whom had seen military
service, although they were disguised as drivers and attendants. At
Abu-Simbel he was to receive certain reports from spies, who had been
sent on to collect information, and then to strike out into the desert
to fulfil the object of his mission.
In order that he might be able to think over the hazardous details of
the work before him in quiet—for even at night the grumbling of the
camels about his camp, which was pitched a few hundred yards away,
disturbed him—Rupert entered the hypostyle hall of the rock-hewn temple
and seated himself upon the dry sand that had drifted into it, resting
his back against the third of the northern row of the huge effigies of
Rameses II., which are clothed in the wrappings of Osiris and bear his
crook and scourge. Here the darkness was relieved only by a faint ray of
moonlight, which crept up the solemn, central aisle, and the silence was
that of a tomb.
When he had been in the place for half an hour or so, weary with
thinking, Rupert began to doze, but was awakened suddenly by the sound
of feet moving over sand, and looking up, saw two figures glide past
him, one of them somewhat taller than the other, to vanish into the
recesses of the temple so quietly that they might well have been ghosts
of its ancient worshippers. For a while he remained still, wondering who
these were, and what they could be doing in such a place at midnight, or
near it, when all men slept.
At first he thought that he would follow them, then remembered that he
was not seeking adventures, and that, after all, it was no business of
his to interfere with them, so long as they left him alone. Therefore,
being now wide awake again, he pursued his cogitations, purposing to
rise presently and return to his camp to sleep. A few minutes later, ten
perhaps, chancing to glance up the great temple, Rupert perceived far,
far away, a tiny star of light. From where he was it looked no stronger
than that of a distant planet in a cloudy sky, or of a glow-worm amongst
the tall grasses of a bank. This light roused his curiosity, as he
guessed that it must have to do with the figures that had passed him.
Probably they were treasure-seekers, he reflected, engaged in digging in
the sanctuary, which in the day-time they did not dare to do. They might
even have found the secret of the crypt that he always believed to exist
under Abu-Simbel, wherein very possibly its gold and silver treasures
were still hidden from the eyes of men. The thought excited him who, as
Edith had good cause to know, was an ardent Egyptologist.
For a moment Rupert hesitated, then remembering that there were but two
of them and that he was armed, yielded to impulse, or to the pressure of
Destiny, and began very cautiously to creep towards that light. Down the
long hall he went, feeling his way from column to column, through the
doorway to the smaller hall, and guided by the star of flame, down that
also into a narrow transverse chamber that gives access to the central
sanctuary and the apartments on its either side. At the entrance of the
holy place he stopped, and cautiously looked round the projecting rock
that once had supported its massive door. Then—for this sanctuary is not
large—he saw a very strange and interesting sight.
On the square, solid altar where, for more than a thousand years,
offerings had once been made to the gods of Egypt, and to the great
Rameses, who, when he hewed this temple, placed himself among their
number, stood a lamp, having at the back of it a piece of rock fallen
from the ceiling, and set edgeways in such a fashion as to throw the
most of its light forward. This light struck upon the shattered, seated
figures of the four gods that were worshipped here, and still remain
staring down their desolated shrine: Ptah, Ammon-Ra, Rameses himself,
and Harmachis, god of Dawn, crowned with the emblem of the disc of the
sun. Also they struck upon what, under the circumstances, seemed more
wonderful even than they are, the figures of two women standing face to
face on either side of the line of gods, to whom they appeared to be
making invocations.
Rupert knew one of them at once—it was the old gipsy Bakhita, of whom,
until he passed her house that afternoon and noticed some fine white
dromedaries tethered by it, he had not thought for months, not since the
night of his betrothal indeed, when she thrust her shadow among the
company gathered at Devene to welcome the New Year. She was clothed in a
dark, clinging gown, with a close-fitting wimple upon her head, that
gave her the air of a priestess, which, indeed, as he guessed at once,
was the part she played. But on her Rupert’s glance did not linger long,
for it flew to her companion and there remained.
She was a young woman—perhaps two- or three-and-twenty years of
age—small, delicate, slender, but beautifully fashioned, and so light in
colour as to be almost white. For dress she wore thin draperies—so thin
that her rounded shape and limbs were visible through them, and so white
that they gleamed like snow. About her waist was a girdle of silver, and
set upon the dark, curling hair that rested stiffly on her shoulders,
like that of some sculptured Egyptian queen, a circlet of gold, from
which rose the symbol of the sun’s disc, and in front of it the hooded
asp.
Rupert saw these things and gasped, as well he might, for unless his
eyes deceived him or he dreamed, he beheld what no man had seen for more
than a thousand years—one of the royal race of Egypt making offering to
her gods. There could be no doubt about it. The dress, though
simplified, was the same, and the _uræus_ on her brow—which none that
were not of the direct family of the Pharaohs, or tied to him as lawful
wife, would have dared to wear—told their own tale. Moreover, in one
hand she held a bowl of glass, and in the other a jar of alabaster, and
from the jar she poured a libation into the bowl and offered it to
Harmachis, saying, in a sweet voice, and in Arabic, Bakhita prompting
her to the words:
“Grant, I pray thee, O thou clothed with the sun, which is the symbol of
the spirit, a safe journey to me, by blood the last of thy priestesses,
and to this woman, thy worshipper, who is of my kin!”
As she spoke she turned her head, and the light of the lamp fell full
upon her face, and it was lovely as a flower, clothed with a kind of
beauty that was new to Rupert, for never had he seen its like. The large
eyes—dark, liquid, and lustrous—the broad and noble brow, the lips
somewhat full and red, in type purely Eastern, the fine-cut nose
spreading a little at the nostrils, the rounded, childish cheeks, the
firm yet dimpled chin, were all set like a framed picture in the
straight-trimmed, formal masses of that curling hair. Taken separately,
there was nothing wonderful about these features, but together, animated
and illumined by that sweet, slow smile and the tremulous mystery of the
proud yet pleading eyes, ah! who had ever seen their fellow?
In his anxiety to witness more of this most fascinating spectacle,
Rupert thrust himself further forward. In so doing the hand that
supported the weight of his body slipped on the rock, against which his
signet-ring grated, making a loud noise in the utter silence of that
dead place.
Bakhita, whose ears were quick as those of any fox, heard it, and
wheeling round, sprang to the lamp, snatched it from the altar, and
rushed to the doorway. Rupert attempted to retreat across the corridor,
purposing to take refuge in one of the side-chambers which open out of
the inner hall. It was too late. She was on him, so realising the danger
of leaving his back exposed, he turned, and they came face to face.
“Bakhita,” he said, “it is I,” for already a knife flashed in her hand.
She let her arm fall and scanned him.
“Rupert Bey!” she exclaimed. “So you are back again. Well, I have heard,
also I always knew that you would come. But what do you here disguised
as an Arab sheik? And why do you spy upon us at our rites? Oh! I tell
you that had you not been Rupert Bey, by now you were a dead man.”
Meanwhile, the younger woman, who had followed Bakhita, not knowing the
cause of the disturbance, actually stumbled against him, then recoiling,
stood still, and in her amazement slowly let her hand sink, thereby
emptying upon his feet the contents of the bowl she held.
It was a very curious sight—this big Englishman in his Arab robe,
standing quite still and upright, lest any show of fear should bring
about a knife-thrust, and the beautiful Eastern woman in her sacred but
diaphanous garb, wearing the disc and the imposing emblem of Egyptian
royalty, and slowly pouring her involuntary libation upon his feet. Its
setting also was strange. All around were the great columns and carven
walls, and staring down at them from beyond the altar those mutilated
but still awful gods.
“Put up that knife,” he said, “and come into this side-chamber and I
will tell you.”
Bakhita stooped, and lifting a dark, camel-hair cloak from where it lay
on the floor near to the altar, threw it about the shoulders of her
companion, drawing its hood over her head. Then taking her by the hand,
she said to Rupert:
“We follow!” and led the way between the columns to the first chamber
that opened on their right. It was a rough place, which probably in past
ages had served as a storeroom of the temple, peopled with many bats
that flittered to and fro unceasingly, uttering thin cries. Setting down
the lamp upon one of the stone benches or tables with which it was
furnished on either side, she said: “We are your servants, Rupert Bey,”
adding, with her grim smile: “Have we not poured a libation to you?” and
she looked at his feet wet with the contents of the glass bowl.
“It was not to me that you came here to pour libations,” he answered,
laughing. “Now tell me, friend. What was this lady doing?” and he bowed
towards the younger woman, “for never have I been more curious to learn
anything upon earth.”
“Tell us first what you were doing, Rupert Bey? Nay, not about your
business—I know all that—but why you followed us into the sanctuary?”
“For the same reason that you followed me into the temple—by pure
accident. I was seated at the feet of one of the columns when you passed
me, though who you were I did not guess. Afterwards, seeing the light, I
came to look. That is my story; now for yours.”
“Mea,” she said, “tell him what you will. He has seen; but he is a true
man, and I think will keep our secrets if he promises, especially as he
knows that if he does not, then I will do my best to kill him.”
Rupert laughed, for he was not frightened at Bakhita’s threats.
Meanwhile the lady called Mea was searching his face with those wondrous
eyes of hers. Then she spoke in a low, rich voice and in English, not
Arabic.
“Will you promise to be true to me, Gentleman?” she asked, in a curious
idiom and speaking with a strong accent.
“If you mean not to tell your secrets, certainly!” he answered, smiling.
“My secrets, they are very little ones, only babies so high,” and she
held her hand near to the floor. “You see, Bey, I live far out in the
desert, and my people and I, we still old Egyptians though we cannot
read their writings, and only remember a little—a very little, about the
gods and what they mean. Now, dressed like my mothers when they pray, I
come here to-night with Bakhita, my aunt, your friend, to make offering
to that god with the sun upon his head, because I in much danger and
wish to ask him to bring me safe back to my own place.”
“Where, then, do you come from, lady?”
“I? I come from school—Mission School at Luxor. I tired of living in the
stupid dark, so I go there two year ago to learn all about the white
people, and the English talk, and—” she added with triumph, “you hear, I
learned him.”
“Yes,” he said, “you learned him very well. And what else did you
learn?”
“Much. Reading, writing, ’rithmetic, gography, history of U.S.A.,
British Empire, and old Egypt, especially old Egypt, because I one of
him, though they no know that who think me common girl, no one know that
but you, Bey, who catch me in act of worship. I learn religion too, and
think it very good, much the same as mine, only different.”
“Are you a Christian, then, lady?” asked Rupert again.
She shook her head, causing the disc and little golden snake she wore to
glisten in the lamp-light.
“No, not quite Christian, only half, not baptized. I afraid if baptized,
make old fellows—” and she pointed towards the gods in the sanctuary,
“angry and bring bad luck.”
“I perceive that in all things you are too superstitious,” said Rupert,
quoting aloud to himself.
She looked puzzled, then her face brightened as the meaning of the last
word came home to her.
“No,” she said, “not superstitious like beastly Mahommedan, only afraid.
That why I come here in not decent night-dress,” and she held out her
little foot naked except for the sandal, and again shook her head as
though in regret for a state of affairs over which she had no control.
Rupert laughed loudly, causing the bats which had settled to flitter
from the roof again, and Mea, who seemed to be a merry little soul,
joined in his laughter. This made old Bakhita angry, and she reproved
them both in a stern voice.
“Do not cackle here,” she said, in Arabic, “in the very house of the
gods, though it is true that to one of you they are no gods, and already
the other has a foot set in that same path,” and she glanced wrathfully
at Mea. “Listen, Bey! I make a request of you. I do not ask for myself,
who am old and ugly, but for this lady. I have heard that you ride
to-morrow at night-fall. Now our road is yours, for I know the sheiks to
whom you go. Give us and our two servants leave to ride with you. We
have good camels of our own,” and she looked at him with anxious eyes.
“Why do you want my escort, and whither?” he asked doubtfully.
“Why? For this reason. Do you remember the Sheik Ibrahim, he of the
Sweet Wells? Yes, I see you do. Well, he is an old enemy of our house.
He asked for the lady here in marriage, and was refused. Yes, the dog,
he dared to ask that after once, by ill chance, he had seen her beauty.
Now he has found out that we are going to make this journey, and his
plan is to take her as already he has tried to take her at Luxor. But if
we were with you, that he would not dare to do, for he has prostrated
himself to the Government since you were away, and will not touch one
whom he knows to be their envoy, although you may call yourself
Mahommed, and be dressed like an Arab.”
“I am not sure of that,” answered Rupert. “Friend Ibrahim does not love
me.”
“No; but he fears you, which is better. With you we should be safe.”
“How long do you wish to travel with me?”
“Two days only, till you come to the pass in the Jebal Marru. There you
will follow along the mountains, but we cross them, and go on into the
desert that is called Tebu till we come to more mountains and a certain
secret oasis among them, which we name Tama, where no white man has ever
set his foot. A while ago, Bey, you asked me of the lost temple. It
stands there in our home, and I promise you this—let us ride in your
shadow, and whenever you have leisure I will show you that temple in
payment. Yes; and the wonders of the burying-place of the kings of the
desert who once ruled there, and whose child, the lady Tama, stands at
your side. Refuse, and I swear that you shall never see them.”
“The bribe is great,” said Rupert, “but, mother, I must not take
bribes.”
“No,” she answered, “it is your business to offer them, is it not, else
why do you carry so much gold in your baggage? Ah! you see I have good
spies.”
“So good,” he said, “that evidently on this point they have misinformed
you,” for he was sure that she was but guessing. “Well,” he repeated, “I
must not be bribed, and pleasant as would be the company of both of you,
I have other game to hunt.”
Mea drew herself up, looking wonderfully dignified notwithstanding her
lack of height, and said in Arabic:
“My aunt, our request is refused; it is not seemly that we should ask
again. We will go down the Nile a little, and hide till our messengers
bring us an escort. Let us bid this Bey farewell; we keep him from his
sleep.”
“Perhaps the Bey has not done speaking,” said Bakhita, who saw that
Rupert had but paused in his words.
“You are right, mother, as usual,” he went on, “and you know so much
that I do not mind telling you a little more. It is my object to travel
as a merchant; in fact,” he added, “I have taken to that business which
is more profitable than fighting.”
Bakhita waved her hand to indicate that to attempt to throw dust in her
eyes was mere waste of time, and he continued, smiling:
“Now merchants often take women with them, calling them their wives or
daughters, purposing to sell or to make gifts of them to great emirs or
sultans, whereas soldiers never do. Therefore, perhaps if you were in my
company I should look more like a merchant, so I think that if you wish
it I will take you. No, no, do not bow to me, for my own sake, not
yours, especially as we are not sure of the way to the Jebal Marru, and
doubtless you can guide us. Also have no fear; all that I have seen and
heard is secret, though one day I hope that you will show me that temple
in the oasis. Now I ride to-morrow at moonrise as I wish to pass the
Sweet Wells the next night when men are asleep. You and your two
servants can meet me where the path joins the road beyond the hill.”
Bakhita seized his hand and kissed it. Evidently her mind was much
relieved, and she was very grateful. Fearing lest her companion should
follow her example, Rupert, who disliked such displays, said to her:
“Now that this is settled, are you not going to finish pouring your
libations on the feet of the god yonder?”
Mea shook her head and answered:
“That I no can do; the libation is all poured on the feet of the man. I
hope the god will not be, what you call it, jealous, and make you pay,”
and lifting the alabaster vessel she turned it upside down to show that
it was empty.
“Then I will say good-night,” said Rupert, “as perhaps it is best that
we should not leave this place together. To-morrow, half an hour after
moonrise, at the cross-paths, unless you should change your minds and go
alone. Remember, I cannot wait,” and bowing to Mea he left the chamber
and groped his way down the hall towards the faint light that flowed
through the door-place of the temple.
When he had gone the two women looked at each other.
“My aunt,” said the younger, “have we done well? Shall we not bring that
Bey into danger at the hands of the cursed Ibrahim?”
“Perhaps,” answered Bakhita coolly. “If so, he takes us for his own
sake, not for ours; you heard his words.”
“Yes; but I do not believe them. It is for your sake that he does this
because he thinks that you are his friend. If Ibrahim knows that we are
with him, he will attack him and then—”
“And then,” answered Bakhita; “well, I am told that Rupert Bey fights
very well, and his men are brave and trained to war. Also it is
necessary for us to find an escort. Had you come when you said you would
a hundred of your own tribe would have brought you safely across the
desert, but being frightened because Ibrahim tried to steal you at
Luxor, you chose otherwise, and now it is not safe for you to bide here
till we can send for them. Still, if you do not wish to travel with this
Englishman, put on a blue robe and a yashmak and go to his tent
to-morrow as if to sell corn, and tell him so, for I will not.”
Mea thought a while, then looked up and said:
“Nay; I do wish to travel with him, for Fate made me pour the libation
of the god upon his feet, and therefore is it that I wish to travel with
him.”