A paved road, with a row of Sphinxes on each side, led from the Greek
temple of Serapis to the rock-hewn tombs of Apis, and the temples and
chapels built over them, and near them; in these the Apis bull after its
death--or “in Osiris” as the phrase went--was worshipped, while, so long
as it lived, it was taken care of and prayed to in the temple to which
it belonged, that of the god Ptah at Memphis. After death these sacred
bulls, which were distinguished by peculiar marks, had extraordinarily
costly obsequies; they were called the risen Ptah, and regarded as the
symbol of the soul of Osiris, by whose procreative power all that dies
or passes away is brought to new birth and new life--the departed soul
of man, the plant that has perished, and the heavenly bodies that have
set. Osiris-Sokari, who was worshipped as the companion of Osiris,
presided over the wanderings which had to be performed by the seemingly
extinct spirit before its resuscitation as another being in a new form;
and Egyptian priests governed in the temples of these gods, which were
purely Egyptian in style, and which had been built at a very early date
over the tomb-cave of the sacred bulls. And even the Greek ministers of
Serapis, settled at Memphis, were ready to follow the example of their
rulers and to sacrifice to Osiris-Apis, who was closely allied to
Serapis--not only in name but in his essential attributes. Serapis
himself indeed was a divinity introduced from Asia into the Nile
valley by the Ptolemies, in order to supply to their Greek and Egyptian
subjects alike an object of adoration, before whose altars they could
unite in a common worship. They devoted themselves to the worship of
Apis in Osiris at the shrines, of Greek architecture, and containing
stone images of bulls, that stood outside the Egyptian sanctuary, and
they were very ready to be initiated into the higher significance of
his essence; indeed, all religious mysteries in their Greek home bore
reference to the immortality of the soul and its fate in the other
world.
Just as two neighboring cities may be joined by a bridge, so the Greek
temple of Serapis--to which the water-bearers belonged--was connected
with the Egyptian sanctuary of Osiris-Apis by the fine paved road for
processions along which Klea now rapidly proceeded. There was a shorter
way to Memphis, but she chose this one, because the mounds of sand on
each side of the road bordered by Sphinxes--which every day had to
be cleared of the desert-drift--concealed her from the sight of her
companions in the temple; besides the best and safest way into the
city was by a road leading from a crescent, decorated with busts of
the philosophers, that lay near the principal entrance to the new Apis
tombs.
She looked neither at the lion-bodies with men’s heads that guarded the
way, nor at the images of beasts on the wall that shut it in; nor did
she heed the dusky-hued temple-slaves of Osiris-Apis who were sweeping
the sand from the paved way with large brooms, for she thought of
nothing but Irene and the difficult task that lay before her, and she
walked swiftly onwards with her eyes fixed on the ground.
But she had taken no more than a few steps when she heard her name
called quite close to her, and looking up in alarm she found herself
standing opposite Krates, the little smith, who came close up to her,
took hold of her veil, threw it back a little before she could prevent
him, and asked:
“Where are you off to, child?”
“Do not detain me,” entreated Klea. “You know that Irene, whom you are
always so fond of, has been carried off; perhaps I may be able to save
her, but if you betray me, and if they follow me--”
“I will not hinder you,” interrupted the old man. “Nay, if it were not
for these swollen feet I would go with you, for I can think of nothing
else but the poor dear little thing; but as it is I shall be glad enough
when I am sitting still again in my workshop; it is exactly as if a
workman of my own trade lived in each of my great toes, and was dancing
round in them with hammer and file and chisel and nails. Very likely you
may be so fortunate as to find your sister, for a crafty woman succeeds
in many things which are too difficult for a wise man. Go on, and if
they seek for you old Krates will not betray you.”
He nodded kindly at Klea, and had already half turned his back on her
when he once more looked round, and called out to her:
“Wait a minute, girl--you can do me a little service. I have just
fitted a new lock to the door of the Apis-tomb down there. It answers
admirably, but the one key to it which I have made is not enough; we
require four, and you shall order them for me of the locksmith Heri,
to be sent the day after to-morrow; he lives opposite the gate of
Sokari--to the left, next the bridge over the canal--you cannot miss it.
I hate repeating and copying as much as I like inventing and making new
things, and Heri can work from a pattern just as well as I can. If it
were not for my legs I would give the man my commission myself, for he
who speaks by the lips of a go-between is often misunderstood or not
understood at all.”
“I will gladly save you the walk,” replied Klea, while the Smith sat
down on the pedestal of one of the Sphinxes, and opening the leather
wallet which hung by his side shook out the contents. A few files,
chisels, and nails fell out into his lap; then the key, and finally a
sharp, pointed knife with which Krates had cut out the hollow in the
door for the insertion of the lock; Krates touched up the pattern-key
for the smith in Memphis with a few strokes of the file, and then,
muttering thoughtfully and shaking his head doubtfully from side to
side, he exclaimed:
“You still must come with me once more to the door, for I require
accurate workmanship from other people, and so I must be severe upon my
own.”
“But I want so much to reach Memphis before dark,” besought Klea.
“The whole thing will not take a minute, and if you will give me your
arm I shall go twice as fast. There are the files, there is the knife.”
“Give it me,” Klea requested. “This blade is sharp and bright, and as
soon as I saw it I felt as if it bid me take it with me. Very likely I
may have to come through the desert alone at night.”
“Aye,” said the smith, “and even the weakest feels stronger when he has
a weapon. Hide the knife somewhere about you, my child, only take care
not to hurt yourself with it. Now let me take your arm, and on we will
go--but not quite so fast.”
Klea led the smith to the door he indicated, and saw with admiration
how unfailingly the bolt sprang forward when one half of the door closed
upon the other, and how easily the key pushed it back again; then, after
conducting Krates back to the Sphinx near which she had met him, she
went on her way at her quickest pace, for the sun was already very low,
and it seemed scarcely possible to reach Memphis before it should set.
As she approached a tavern where soldiers and low people were accustomed
to resort, she was met by a drunken slave. She went on and past him
without any fear, for the knife in her girdle, and on which she kept her
hand, kept up her courage, and she felt as if she had thus acquired
a third hand which was more powerful and less timid than her own. A
company of soldiers had encamped in front of the tavern, and the wine of
Kbakem, which was grown close by, on the eastern declivity of the Libyan
range, had an excellent savor. The men were in capital spirits, for at
noon today--after they had been quartered here for months as guards of
the tombs of Apis and of the temples of the Necropolis--a commanding
officer of the Diadoches had arrived at Memphis, who had ordered them
to break up at once, and to withdraw into the capital before nightfall.
They were not to be relieved by other mercenaries till the next morning.
All this Klea learned from a messenger from the Egyptian temple in
the Necropolis, who recognized her, and who was going to Memphis,
commissioned by the priests of Osiris-Apis and Sokari to convey a
petition to the king, praying that fresh troops might be promptly sent
to replace those now withdrawn.
For some time she went on side by side with this messenger, but soon she
found that she could not keep up with his hurried pace, and had to fall
behind. In front of another tavern sat the officers of the troops,
whose noisy mirth she had heard as she passed the former one; they were
sitting over their wine and looking on at the dancing of two Egyptian
girls, who screeched like cackling hens over their mad leaps, and who
so effectually riveted the attention of the spectators, who were beating
time for them by clapping their hands, that Klea, accelerating her step,
was able to slip unobserved past the wild crew. All these scenes,
nay everything she met with on the high-road, scared the girl who was
accustomed to the silence and the solemn life of the temple of Serapis,
and she therefore struck into a side path that probably also led to the
city which she could already see lying before her with its pylons, its
citadel and its houses, veiled in evening mist. In a quarter of an hour
at most she would have crossed the desert, and reach the fertile meadow
land, whose emerald hue grew darker and darker every moment. The sun
was already sinking to rest behind the Libyan range, and soon after, for
twilight is short in Egypt, she was wrapped in the darkness of night.
The westwind, which had begun to blow even at noon, now rose higher,
and seemed to pursue her with its hot breath and the clouds of sand it
carried with it from the desert.
She must certainly be approaching water, for she heard the deep pipe of
the bittern in the reeds, and fancied she breathed a moister air. A few
steps more, and her foot sank in mud; and she now perceived that she was
standing on the edge of a wide ditch in which tall papyrus-plants were
growing. The side path she had struck into ended at this plantation, and
there was nothing to be done but to turn about, and to continue her walk
against the wind and with the sand blowing in her face.
The light from the drinking-booth showed her the direction she must
follow, for though the moon was up, it is true, black clouds swept
across it, covering it and the smaller lights of heaven for many minutes
at a time. Still she felt no fatigue, but the shouts of the men and the
loud cries of the women that rang out from the tavern filled her with
alarm and disgust. She made a wide circuit round the hostelry, wading
through the sand hillocks and tearing her dress on the thorns and
thistles that had boldly struck deep root in the desert, and had grown
up there like the squalid brats in the hovel of a beggar. But still, as
she hurried on by the high-road, the hideous laughter and the crowing
mirth of the dancing-girls still rang in her mind’s ear.
Her blood coursed more swiftly through her veins, her head was on fire,
she saw Irene close before her, tangibly distinct--with flowing hair
and fluttering garments, whirling in a wild dance like a Moenad at a
Dionysiac festival, flying from one embrace to another and shouting and
shrieking in unbridled folly like the wretched girls she had seen on her
way. She was seized with terror for her sister--an unbounded dread such
as she had never felt before, and as the wind was now once more behind
her she let herself be driven on by it, lifting her feet in a swift run
and flying, as if pursued by the Erinnyes, without once looking round
her and wholly forgetful of the smith’s commission, on towards the city
along the road planted with trees, which as she knew led to the gate of
the citadel.