At the same hour a chamberlain was ushering Hosea into the audience
chamber.
Usually subjects summoned to the presence of the king were kept waiting
for hours, but the Hebrew’s patience was not tried long. During this
period of the deepest mourning the spacious rooms of the palace,
commonly tenanted by a gay and noisy multitude, were hushed to the
stillness of death; for not only the slaves and warders, but many men
and women in close attendance on the royal couple had fled from the
pestilence, quitting the palace without leave.
Here and there a solitary priest, official, or courtier leaned against
a pillar or crouched on the floor, hiding his face in his hands, while
awaiting some order. Sentries paced to and fro with lowered weapons,
lost in melancholy thoughts. Now and then a few young priests in
mourning robes glided through the infected rooms, silently swinging
silver censers which diffused a pungent scent of resin and juniper.
A nightmare seemed to weigh upon the palace and its occupants; for in
addition to grief for their beloved prince, which saddened many a heart,
the dread of death and the desert wind paralyzed alike the energy of
mind and body.
Here in the immediate vicinity of the throne where, in former days,
all eyes had sparkled with hope, ambition, gratitude, fear, loyalty, or
hate, Hosea now encountered only drooping heads and downcast looks.
Bai, the second prophet of Amon, alone seemed untouched alike by sorrow,
anxiety, or the enervating atmosphere of the day; he greeted the
warrior in the ante-room as vigorously and cheerily as ever, and assured
him--though in the lowest whisper--that no one thought of holding him
responsible for the misdeeds of his people. But when Hosea volunteered
the acknowledgment that, at the moment of his summons to the king, he
had been in the act of going to the commander-in-chief to beg a release
from military service, the priest interrupted him to remind him of the
debt of gratitude he, Bai, owed to him as the preserver of his life.
Then he added that he would make every effort in his power to keep him
in the army and show that the Egyptians--even against Pharaoh’s will,
or which he would speak farther with him privately--knew how to honor
genuine merit without distinction of person or birth.
The Hebrew had little time to repeat his resolve; the head chamberlain
interrupted them to lead Hosea into the presence of the “good god.”
The sovereign awaited Hosea in the smaller audience-room adjoining the
royal apartments.
It was a stately chamber, and to-day looked more spacious than when, as
of yore, it was filled with obsequious throngs. Only a few courtiers and
priests, with some of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting, all clad in
deep mourning, stood in groups near the throne. Opposite to Pharaoh,
squatting in a circle on the floor, were the king’s councillors and
interpreters, each adorned with an ostrich plume.
All wore tokens of mourning, and the monotonous, piteous plaint of the
wailing women, which ever and anon rose into a loud, shrill, tremulous
shriek, echoed through the silent rooms within to this hall, announcing
that death had claimed a victim even in the royal dwelling.
The king and queen sat on a gold and ivory couch, heavily draped with
black. Instead of their usual splendid attire, both wore dark robes,
and the royal consort and mother, who mourned her first-born son, leaned
motionless, with drooping head, against her kingly husband’s shoulder.
Pharaoh, too, gazed fixedly into space, as though lost in a dream. The
sceptre had slipped from his hand and lay in his lap.
The queen had been torn away from the corpse of her son, which was
now delivered to the embalmers, and it was not until she reached the
entrance of the audience-chamber that she had succeeded in checking her
tears. She had no thought of resistance; the inexorable ceremonial of
court etiquette required the queen to be present at any audience of
importance. To-day she would gladly have shunned the task, but Pharaoh
had commanded her presence, and she knew and approved the course to
be pursued; for she was full of dread of the power of the Hebrew Mesu,
called by his own people Moses, and of his God, who had brought such
terrible woe on the Egyptians. She had other children to lose, and she
had known Mesu from her childhood, and was well aware how highly the
great Rameses, her husband’s father and predecessor, had prized the
wisdom of this stranger who had been reared with his own sons.
Ah, if it were only possible to conciliate this man. But Mesu had
departed with the Israelites, and she knew his iron will and had
learned that the terrible prophet was armed, not alone against Pharaoh’s
threats, but also against her own fervent entreaties.
She was now expecting Hosea. He, the son of Nun, the foremost man of all
the Hebrews in Tanis, would succeed, if any one could, in carrying out
the plan which she and her royal husband deemed best for all parties,--a
plan supported also by Rui, the hoary high-priest and first prophet of
Amon, the head of the whole Egyptian priesthood, who held the offices
of chief judge, chief treasurer, and viceroy of the kingdom, and had
followed the court from Thebes to Tanis.
Ere going to the audience hall, she had been twining wreaths for her
loved dead and the lotus flowers, larkspurs, mallow and willow-leaves,
from which she was to weave them, had been brought there by her desire.
They were lying on a small table and in her lap; but she felt paralyzed,
and the hand she stretched toward them refused to obey her will.
Rui, the first prophet of Amon, an aged man long past his ninetieth
birthday, squatted on a mat at Pharaoh’s left hand. A pair of bright
eyes, shaded by bushy white brows, glittered in his brown face--seamed
and wrinkled like the bark of a gnarled oaklike gay flowers amid
withered leaves, forming a strange contrast to his lean, bowed, and
shrivelled form.
The old man had long since resigned the management of business affairs
to the second prophet, Bai, but he held firmly to his honors, his seat
at Pharaoh’s side, and his place in the council, where, though he
said little, his opinion was more frequently followed than that of the
eloquent, ardent second prophet, who was many years his junior.
The old man had not quitted Pharaoh’s side since the plague entered
the palace, yet to-day he felt more vigorous than usual; the hot desert
wind, which weakened others, refreshed him. He was constantly shivering,
despite the panther-skin which hung over his back and shoulders, and the
heat of the day warmed his chilly old blood.
Moses, the Hebrew, had been his pupil, and never had he instructed
a nobler nature, a youth more richly endowed with all the gifts
of intellect. He had initiated the Israelite into all the highest
mysteries, anticipating the greatest results for Egypt and the
priesthood, and when the Hebrew one day slew an overseer who had
mercilessly beaten one of his race, and then fled into the desert, Rui
had secretly mourned the evil deed as if his own son had committed it
and must suffer the consequences. His intercession had secured Mesu’s
pardon; but when the latter returned to Egypt and the change had
occurred which other priests termed his “apostasy,” the old man had
grieved even more keenly than over his flight. Had he, Rui, been
younger, he would have hated the man who had thus robbed him of his
fairest hopes; but the aged priest, who read men’s hearts like an open
book and could judge the souls of his fellow-mortals with the calm
impartiality of an unclouded mind, confessed that he had been to blame
in failing to foresee his pupil’s change of thought.
Education and precept had made Mesu an Egyptian priest according to his
own heart and that of the divinity; but after having once raised his
hand in the defence of his own people against those to whom he had been
bound only by human craft and human will, he was lost to the Egyptians
and became once more a true son of his race. And where this man of the
strong will and lofty soul led the way, others could not fail to follow.
Rui knew likewise full well what the renegade meant to give to his race;
he had confessed it himself to the priest-faith in the one God. Mesu had
rejected the accusation of perjury, declaring that he would never betray
the mysteries to the Hebrews, his sole desire was to lead them back
to the God whom they had worshipped ere Joseph and his family came to
Egypt. True, the “One” of the initiated resembled the God of the
Hebrews in many things, but this very fact had soothed the old sage; for
experience had taught him that the masses are not content with a single
invisible God, an idea which many, even among the more advanced of his
own pupils found difficult to comprehend. The men and women of the lower
classes needed visible symbols of every important thing whose influence
they perceived in and around them, and the Egyptian religion supplied
these images. What could an invisible creative power guiding the course
of the universe be to a love-sick girl? She sought the friendly Hathor,
whose gentle hands held the cords that bound heart to heart, the
beautiful mighty representative of her sex--to her she could trustingly
pour forth all the sorrows that burdened her bosom. What was the petty
grief of a mother who sought to snatch her darling child from death, to
the mighty and incomprehensible Deity who governed the entire universe?
But the good Isis, who herself had wept her eyes red in bitter anguish,
could understand her woe. And how often in Egypt it was the wife who
determined her husband’s relations to the gods!
Rui had frequently seen Hebrew men and women praying fervently in
Egyptian temples. Even if Mesu should induce them to acknowledge his
God, the experienced sage clearly foresaw that they would speedily
turn from the invisible Spirit, who must ever remain aloof and
incomprehensible, and return by hundreds to the gods they understood.
Now Egypt was threatened with the loss of the laborers and builders she
so greatly needed, but Rui believed that they might be won back.
“When fair words will answer our purpose, put aside sword and bow,” he
had replied to Bai, who demanded that the fugitives should be pursued
and slain. “We have already too many corpses in our country; what we
want is workers. Let us hold fast what we seem on the verge of losing.”
These mild words were in full harmony with the mood of Pharaoh, who
had had sufficient sorrow, and would have thought it wiser to venture
unarmed into a lion’s cage than to again defy the wrath of the terrible
Hebrew.
So he had closed his ears to the exhortations of the second prophet,
whose steadfast, energetic will usually exercised all the greater
influence upon him on account of his own irresolution, and upheld old
Rui’s suggestion that the warrior, Hosea, should be sent after his
people to deal with them in Pharaoh’s name--a plan that soothed his mind
and renewed his hopes.
The second prophet, Bai, had finally assented to the plan; for
it afforded a new chance of undermining the throne he intended to
overthrow. If the Hebrews were once more settled in the land, Prince
Siptah, who regarded no punishment too severe for the race he hated,
might perhaps seize the sceptre of the cowardly king Menephtah.
But the fugitives must first be stopped, and Hosea was the right man
to do this. But in Bai’s eyes no one would be more able to gain the
confidence of an unsuspicious soldier than Pharaoh and his royal
consort. The venerable high-priest Rui, though wholly unaware of the
conspiracy, shared this opinion, and thus the sovereigns had been
persuaded to interrupt the mourning for the dead and speak in person to
the Hebrew.
Hosea had prostrated himself before the throne and, when he rose,
the king’s weary face was bent toward him, sadly, it is true, yet
graciously.
According to custom, the hair and beard of the father who had lost his
first-born son had been shaven. Formerly they had encircled his face in
a frame of glossy black, but twenty years of anxious government had made
them grey, and his figure, too, had lost its erect carriage and seemed
bent and feeble, though he had scarcely passed his fifth decade. His
regular features were still beautiful in their symmetry, and there was a
touch of pathos in their mournful gentleness, so evidently incapable of
any firm resolve, especially when a smile lent his mouth a bewitching
charm.
The languid indolence of his movements scarcely impaired the natural
dignity of his presence, yet his musical voice was wont to have a
feeble, beseeching tone. He was no born ruler; thirteen older brothers
had died ere the throne of Pharaoh had become his heritage, and up to
early manhood he had led a careless, joyous existence--as the handsomest
youth in the whole land, the darling of women, the light-hearted
favorite of fortune. Then he succeeded his father the great Rameses,
but he had scarcely grasped the sceptre ere the Libyans, with numerous
allies, rebelled against Egypt. The trained troops and their leaders,
who had fought in his predecessor’s wars, gained him victory, but during
the twenty years which had now passed since Rameses’ death, the soldiers
had rarely had any rest. Insurrections constantly occurred, sometimes
in the East, anon in the West and, instead of living in Thebes, where
he had spent many years of happiness, and following the bent of his
inclination by enjoying in the splendid palace the blessing of peace
and the society of the famous scholars and poets who then made that city
their home, he was compelled sometimes to lead his armies in the field,
sometimes to live in Tanis, the capital of Lower Egypt, to settle the
disturbances of the border land.
This was the desire of the venerable Rui, and the king willingly
followed his guidance. During the latter years of Rameses’ reign, the
temple at Thebes, and with it the chief priest, had risen to power and
wealth greater than that possessed by royalty itself, and Menephtah’s
indolent nature was better suited to be a tool than a guiding hand, so
long as he received all the external honors due to Pharaoh. These he
guarded with a determination which he never roused himself to display in
matters of graver import.
The condescending graciousness of Pharaoh’s reception awakened feelings
of mingled pleasure and distrust in Hosea’s mind, but he summoned
courage to frankly express his desire to be relieved from his office and
the oath he had sworn to his sovereign.
Pharaoh listened quietly. Not until Hosea confessed that he was
induced to take this step by his father’s command did he beckon to the
high-priest, who began in low, almost inaudible tones:
“The son who resigns great things to remain obedient to his father will
be the most loyal of the ‘good god’s’ servants. Go, obey the summons
of Nun. The son of the sun, the Lord of Upper and Lower Egypt, sets
you free; but through me, the slave of his master, he imposes one
condition.”
“What is that?” asked Hosea.
Pharaoh signed to Rui a second time and, as the monarch sank back upon
his throne, the old man, fixing his keen eyes on Hosea, replied:
“The demand which the lord of both worlds makes upon you by my lips is
easy to fulfil. You must return to be once more his servant and one
of us, as soon as your people and their leader, who have brought such
terrible woe upon this land, shall have clasped the divine hand which
the son of the sun extends to them in reconciliation, and shall have
returned to the beneficent shadow of his throne. He intends to attach
them to his person and his realm by rich tokens of his favor, as soon as
they return from the desert to which they have gone forth to sacrifice
to their God. Understand me fully! All the burdens which have oppressed
the people of your race shall be removed. The ‘great god’ will secure
to them, by a new law, privileges and great freedom, and whatever we
promise shall be written down and witnessed on our part and yours as
a new and valid covenant binding on our children and our children’s
children. When such a compact has been made with an honest purpose on
our part to keep it for all time, and your tribes have consented to
accept it, will you promise that you will then be one of us again?”
“Accept the office of mediator, Hosea,” the queen here interrupted in a
low tone, with her sorrowful eyes fixed imploringly on Hosea’s face.
“I dread the fury of Mesu, and everything in our power shall be done to
regain his old friendship. Mention my name and recall the time when he
taught little Isisnefert the names of the plants she brought to him
and explained to her and her sister their beneficial or their harmful
qualities, during his visits to the queen, his second mother, in the
women’s apartments. The wounds he has dealt our hearts shall be pardoned
and forgotten. Be our envoy. Hosea, do not deny us.”
“Such words from royal lips are a strict mandate,” replied the Hebrew.
“And yet they make the heart rejoice. I will accept the office of
mediator.”
The hoary high-priest nodded approvingly, exclaiming:
“I hope a long period of blessing may arise from this brief hour. But
note this. Where potions can aid, surgery must be shunned. Where a
bridge spans the stream, beware of swimming through the whirlpool.”
“Yes, by all means shun the whirlpool,” Pharaoh repeated, and the queen
uttered the same words, then once more bent her eyes on the flowers in
her lap.
A council now began.
Three private scribes took seats on the floor close by Rui, in order
to catch his low tones, and the scribes and councillors in the circle
before the throne seized their writing-materials and, holding the
papyrus in their left hands, wrote with reed or brush; for nothing which
was debated and determined in Pharaoh’s presence was suffered to be left
unrecorded.
During the continuance of this debate no voice in the audience chamber
was raised above a whisper; the courtiers and guards stood motionless at
their posts, and the royal pair gazed mutely into vacancy as though lost
in reverie.
Neither Pharaoh nor his queen could possibly have heard the muttered
conversation between the men; yet the Egyptians, at the close of every
sentence, glanced upward at the king as if to ensure his approbation.
Hosea, to whom the custom was perfectly familiar, did the same and, like
the rest, lowered his tones. Whenever the voices of Bai or of the
chief of the scribes waxed somewhat louder, Pharaoh raised his head and
repeated the words of Rui: “Where a bridge spans the stream, beware of
swimming through the whirlpool;” for this saying precisely expressed his
own desires and those of the queen. No strife! Let us live at peace with
the Hebrews, and escape from the anger of their awful leader and his
God, without losing the thousands of industrious workers in the departed
tribes.
So the discussion went on, and when the murmuring of the debaters and
the scratching of the scribes’ reeds had continued at least an hour the
queen remained in the same position; but Pharaoh began to move and lift
up his voice, fearing that the second prophet, who had detested the man
whose benedictions he had implored and whose enmity seemed so terrible,
was imposing on the mediator requirements impossible to fulfil.
Yet he said nothing save to repeat the warning about the bridge, but his
questioning look caused the chief of the scribes to soothe him with the
assurance that everything was progressing as well as possible. Hosea had
only requested that, in future, the overseers of the workmen should
not be of Libyan birth, but Hebrews themselves, chosen by the elders of
their tribes with the approval of the Egyptian government.
Pharaoh cast a glance of imploring anxiety at Bai, the second prophet,
and the other councillors; but the former shrugged his shoulders
deprecatingly and, pretending to yield his own opinion to the divine
wisdom of Pharaoh, acceded to Hosea’s request.
The divinity on the throne of the world accepted, with a grateful
bend of the head, this concession from a man whose wishes had so often
opposed his own, and after the “repeater” or herald had read aloud all
the separate conditions of the agreement, Hosea was forced to make a
solemn vow to return in any case to Tanis, and report to the Sublime
Porte how his people had received the king’s proposals.
But the wary chief, versed in the wiles and tricks with which the
government was but too well supplied, uttered the vow with great
reluctance, and only after he had received a written assurance that,
whatever might be the result of the negotiations, his liberty should not
be restricted in any respect, after he had proved that he had used
his utmost efforts to induce the leader of the Hebrews to accept the
compact.
At last Pharaoh extended his hand for the warrior to kiss, and when the
latter had also pressed his lips to the edge of the queen’s garments,
Rui signed to the head-chamberlain, who made obeisance to Pharaoh, and
the sovereign knew that the hour had come when he might retire. He did
so gladly and with a lighter heart; for he believed that he had done his
best to secure his own welfare and that of his people.
A sunny expression flitted across his handsome, worn features, and when
the queen also rose and saw his smile of satisfaction it was reflected
on her face. Pharaoh uttered a sigh of relief as he crossed the
threshold of the audience chamber and, accosting his wife, said:
“If Hosea wins his cause, we shall cross the bridge safely.”
“And need not swim through the whirlpool,” the queen answered in the
same tone.
“And if the chief succeeds in soothing Mesu, and induces the Hebrews to
stay in the land,” Pharaoh added:
“Then you will enrol this Hosea--he looks noble and upright--among the
kindred of the king,” Isisnefert interrupted.
But upon this Pharaoh drew up his languid, drooping figure, exclaiming
eagerly:
“How can I? A Hebrew! Were we to admit him among the ‘friends’ or
‘fan-bearers’ it would be the highest favor we could bestow! It is no
easy matter in such a case to choose between too great or too small a
recompense.”
The farther the royal pair advanced toward the interior of the palace,
the louder rose the wailing voices of the mourning women. Tears once
more filled the eyes of the queen; but Pharaoh continued to ponder over
what office at court he could bestow on Hosea, should his mission prove
successful.