CHAPTER II. THE BREAKING OF THE CUP
CHAPTER III. USERTI
CHAPTER IV. THE COURT OF BETROTHAL
CHAPTER V. THE PROPHECY
CHAPTER VI. THE LAND OF GOSHEN
CHAPTER VII. THE AMBUSH
CHAPTER VIII. SETI COUNSELS PHARAOH
CHAPTER IX. THE SMITING OF AMON
CHAPTER X. THE DEATH OF PHARAOH
CHAPTER XI. THE CROWNING OF AMENMESES
CHAPTER XII. THE MESSAGE OF JABEZ
CHAPTER XIII. THE RED NILE
CHAPTER XIV. KI COMES TO MEMPHIS
CHAPTER XV. THE NIGHT OF FEAR
CHAPTER XVI. JABEZ SELLS HORSES
CHAPTER XVII. THE DREAM OF MERAPI
CHAPTER XVIII. THE CROWNING OF MERAPI
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This book suggests that the real Pharaoh of the Exodus was not Meneptah
or Merenptah, son of Rameses the Great, but the mysterious usurper,
Amenmeses, who for a year or two occupied the throne between the death
of Meneptah and the accession of his son the heir-apparent, the
gentle-natured Seti II.
Of the fate of Amenmeses history says nothing; he may well have perished
in the Red Sea or rather the Sea of Reeds, for, unlike those of Meneptah
and the second Seti, his body has not been found.
Students of Egyptology will be familiar with the writings of the scribe
and novelist Anana, or Ana as he is here called.
It was the Author’s hope to dedicate this story to Sir Gaston Maspero,
K.C.M.G., Director of the Cairo Museum, with whom on several occasions
he discussed its plot some years ago. Unhappily, however, weighed down
by one of the bereavements of the war, this great Egyptologist died in
the interval between its writing and its publication. Still, since Lady
Maspero informs him that such is the wish of his family, he adds the
dedication which he had proposed to offer to that eminent writer and
student of the past.
Dear Sir Gaston Maspero,
When you assured me as to a romance of mine concerning ancient Egypt,
that it was so full of the “inner spirit of the old Egyptians”
that, after kindred efforts of your own and a lifetime of study, you
could not conceive how it had been possible for it to spring from the
brain of a modern man, I thought your verdict, coming from such a
judge, one of the greatest compliments that ever I received. It is this
opinion of yours indeed which induces me to offer you another tale of a
like complexion. Especially am I encouraged thereto by a certain
conversation between us in Cairo, while we gazed at the majestic
countenance of the Pharaoh Meneptah, for then it was, as you may
recall, that you said you thought the plan of this book probable and
that it commended itself to your knowledge of those dim days.
With gratitude for your help and kindness and the sincerest homage to
your accumulated lore concerning the most mysterious of all the
perished peoples of the earth,
Believe me to remain
Your true admirer,
H. Rider Haggard.
CHAPTER I.
SCRIBE ANA COMES TO TANIS
This is the story of me, Ana the scribe, son of Meri, and of certain of
the days that I have spent upon the earth. These things I have written
down now that I am very old in the reign of Rameses, the third of that
name, when Egypt is once more strong and as she was in the ancient
time. I have written them before death takes me, that they may be
buried with me in death, for as my spirit shall arise in the hour of
resurrection, so also these my words may arise in their hour and tell
to those who shall come after me upon the earth of what I knew upon the
earth. Let it be as Those in heaven shall decree. At least I write and
what I write is true.
I tell of his divine Majesty whom I loved and love as my own soul, Seti
Meneptah the second, whose day of birth was my day of birth, the Hawk
who has flown to heaven before me; of Userti the Proud, his queen, she
who afterwards married his divine Majesty, Saptah, whom I saw laid in
her tomb at Thebes. I tell of Merapi, who was named Moon of Israel, and
of her people, the Hebrews, who dwelt for long in Egypt and departed
thence, having paid us back in loss and shame for all the good and ill
we gave them. I tell of the war between the gods of Egypt and the god
of Israel, and of much that befell therein.
Also I, the King’s Companion, the great scribe, the beloved of the
Pharaohs who have lived beneath the sun with me, tell of other men and
matters. Behold! is it not written in this roll? Read, ye who shall
find it in the days unborn, if your gods have given you skill. Read, O
children of the future, and learn the secrets of that past which to you
is so far away and yet in truth so near.
As it chanced, although the Prince Seti and I were born upon the same
day and therefore, like the other mothers of gentle rank whose children
saw the light upon that day, my mother received Pharaoh’s gift and I
received the title of Royal Twin in Ra, never did I set eyes upon the
divine Prince Seti until the thirtieth birthday of both of us. All of
which happened thus.
In those days the great Pharaoh, Rameses the second, and after him his
son Meneptah who succeeded when he was already old, since the mighty
Rameses was taken to Osiris after he had counted one hundred risings of
the Nile, dwelt for the most part at the city of Tanis in the desert,
whereas I dwelt with my parents at the ancient, white-walled city of
Memphis on the Nile. At times Meneptah and his court visited Memphis,
as also they visited Thebes, where this king lies in his royal tomb
to-day. But save on one occasion, the young Prince Seti, the
heir-apparent, the Hope of Egypt, came not with them, because his
mother, Asnefert, did not favour Memphis, where some trouble had
befallen her in youth—they say it was a love matter that cost the
lover his life and her a sore heart—and Seti stayed with his mother
who would not suffer him out of sight of her eyes.
Once he came indeed when he was fifteen years of age, to be proclaimed
to the people as son of his father, as Son of the Sun, as the future
wearer of the Double Crown, and then we, his twins in Ra—there were
nineteen of us who were gently born—were called by name to meet him
and to kiss his royal feet. I made ready to go in a fine new robe
embroidered in purple with the name of Seti and my own. But on that
very morning by the gift of some evil god I was smitten with spots all
over my face and body, a common sickness that affects the young. So it
happened that I did not see the Prince, for before I was well again he
had left Memphis.
Now my father Meri was a scribe of the great temple of Ptah, and I was
brought up to his trade in the school of the temple, where I copied
many rolls and also wrote out Books of the Dead which I adorned with
paintings. Indeed, in this business I became so clever that, after my
father went blind some years before his death, I earned enough to keep
him, and my sisters also until they married. Mother I had none, for she
was gathered to Osiris while I was still very little. So life went on
from year to year, but in my heart I hated my lot. While I was still a
boy there rose up in me a desire—not to copy what others had written,
but to write what others should copy. I became a dreamer of dreams.
Walking at night beneath the palm-trees upon the banks of the Nile I
watched the moon shining upon the waters, and in its rays I seemed to
see many beautiful things. Pictures appeared there which were different
from any that I saw in the world of men, although in them were men and
women and even gods.
Of these pictures I made stories in my heart and at last, although that
was not for some years, I began to write these stories down in my spare
hours. My sisters found me doing so and told my father, who scolded me
for such foolishness which he said would never furnish me with bread
and beer. But still I wrote on in secret by the light of the lamp in my
chamber at night. Then my sisters married, and one day my father died
suddenly while he was reciting prayers in the temple. I caused him to
be embalmed in the best fashion and buried with honour in the tomb he
had made ready for himself, although to pay the costs I was obliged to
copy Books of the Dead for nearly two years, working so hard that I
found no time for the writing of stories.
When at length I was free from debt I met a maiden from Thebes with a
beautiful face that always seemed to smile, and she took my heart from
my breast into her own. In the end, after I returned from fighting in
the war against the Nine Bow Barbarians, to which I was summoned like
other men, I married her. As for her name, let it be, I will not think
of it even to myself. We had one child, a little girl which died within
two years of her birth, and then I learned what sorrow can mean to man.
At first my wife was sad, but her grief departed with time and she
smiled again as she used to do. Only she said that she would bear no
more children for the gods to take. Having little to do she began to go
about the city and make friends whom I did not know, for of these, being
a beautiful woman, she found many. The end of it was that she departed
back to Thebes with a soldier whom I had never seen, for I was always
working at home thinking of the babe who was dead and how happiness is
a bird that no man can snare, though sometimes, of its own will, it
flies in at his window-place.
It was after this that my hair went white before I had counted thirty
years.
Now, as I had none to work for and my wants were few and simple, I found
more time for the writing of stories which, for the most part, were
somewhat sad. One of these stories a fellow scribe borrowed from me and
read aloud to a company, whom it pleased so much that there were many
who asked leave to copy it and publish it abroad. So by degrees I
became known as a teller of tales, which tales I caused to be copied
and sold, though out of them I made but little. Still my fame grew till
on a day I received a message from the Prince Seti, my twin in Ra,
saying that he had read certain of my writings which pleased him much
and that it was his wish to look upon my face. I thanked him humbly by
the messenger and answered that I would travel to Tanis and wait upon
his Highness. First, however, I finished the longest story which I had
yet written. It was called the Tale of Two Brothers, and told how the
faithless wife of one of them brought trouble on the other, so that he
was killed. Of how, also, the just gods brought him to life again, and
many other matters. This story I dedicated to his Highness, the Prince
Seti, and with it in the bosom of my robe I travelled to Tanis, having
hidden about me a sum of gold that I had saved.
So I came to Tanis at the beginning of winter and, walking to the palace
of the Prince, boldly demanded an audience. But now my troubles began,
for the guards and watchmen thrust me from the doors. In the end I
bribed them and was admitted to the antechambers, where were merchants,
jugglers, dancing-women, officers, and many others, all of them, it
seemed, waiting to see the Prince; folk who, having nothing to do,
pleased themselves by making mock of me, a stranger. When I had mixed
with them for several days, I gained their friendship by telling to
them one of my stories, after which I was always welcome among them.
Still I could come no nearer to the Prince, and as my store of money
was beginning to run low, I bethought me that I would return to
Memphis.
One day, however, a long-bearded old man, with a gold-tipped wand of
office, who had a bull’s head embroidered on his robe, stopped in
front of me and, calling me a white-headed crow, asked me what I was
doing hopping day by day about the chambers of the palace. I told him
my name and business and he told me his, which it seemed was Pambasa,
one of the Prince’s chamberlains. When I asked him to take me to the
Prince, he laughed in my face and said darkly that the road to his
Highness’s presence was paved with gold. I understood what he meant
and gave him a gift which he took as readily as a cock picks corn,
saying that he would speak of me to his master and that I must come
back again.
I came thrice and each time that old cock picked more corn. At last I
grew enraged and, forgetting where I was, began to shout at him and
call him a thief, so that folks gathered round to listen. This seemed
to frighten him. At first he looked towards the door as though to
summon the guard to thrust me out; then changed his mind, and in a
grumbling voice bade me follow him. We went down long passages, past
soldiers who stood at watch in them still as mummies in their coffins,
till at length we came to some broidered curtains. Here Pambasa
whispered to me to wait, and passed through the curtains which he left
not quite closed, so that I could see the room beyond and hear all that
took place there.
It was a small room like to that of any scribe, for on the tables were
palettes, pens of reed, ink in alabaster vases, and sheets of papyrus
pinned upon boards. The walls were painted, not as I was wont to paint
the Books of the Dead, but after the fashion of an earlier time, such
as I have seen in certain ancient tombs, with pictures of wild fowl
rising from the swamps and of trees and plants as they grow. Against
the walls hung racks in which were papyrus rolls, and on the hearth
burned a fire of cedar-wood.
By this fire stood the Prince, whom I knew from his statues. His years
appeared fewer than mine although we were born upon the same day, and
he was tall and thin, very fair also for one of our people, perhaps
because of the Syrian blood that ran in his veins. His hair was
straight and brown like to that of northern folk who come to trade in
the markets of Egypt, and his eyes were grey rather than black, set
beneath somewhat prominent brows such as those of his father, Meneptah.
His face was sweet as a woman’s, but made curious by certain wrinkles
which ran from the corners of the eyes towards the ears. I think that
these came from the bending of the brow in thought, but others say that
they were inherited from an ancestress on the female side. Bakenkhonsu
my friend, the old prophet who served under the first Seti and died but
the other day, having lived a hundred and twenty years, told me that he
knew her before she was married, and that she and her descendant, Seti,
might have been twins.
In his hand the Prince held an open roll, a very ancient writing as I,
who am skilled in such matters that have to do with my trade, knew from
its appearance. Lifting his eyes suddenly from the study of this roll,
he saw the chamberlain standing before him.
“You came at a good time, Pambasa,” he said in a voice that was
very soft and pleasant, and yet most manlike. “You are old and
doubtless wise. Say, are you wise, Pambasa?”
“Yes, your Highness. I am wise like your Highness’s uncle, Khaemuas
the mighty magician, whose sandals I used to clean when I was young.”
“Is it so? Then why are you so careful to hide your wisdom which
should be open like a flower for us poor bees to suck at? Well, I am
glad to learn that you are wise, for in this book of magic that I have
been reading I find problems worthy of Khaemuas the departed, whom I
only remember as a brooding, black-browed man much like my cousin,
Amenmeses his son—save that no one can call Amenmeses wise.”
“Why is your Highness glad?”
“Because you, being by your own account his equal, can now interpret
the matter as Khaemuas would have done. You know, Pambasa, that had he
lived he would have been Pharaoh in place of my father. He died too
soon, however, which proves to me that there was something in this tale
of his wisdom, since no really wise man would ever wish to be Pharaoh
of Egypt.”
Pambasa stared with his mouth open.
“Not wish to be Pharaoh!” he began—
“Now, Pambasa the Wise,” went on the Prince as though he had not
heard him. “Listen. This old book gives a charm ‘to empty the heart
of its weariness,’ that it says is the oldest and most common sickness
in the world from which only kittens, some children, and mad people are
free. It appears that the cure for this sickness, so says the book, is
to stand on the top of the pyramid of Khufu at midnight at that moment
when the moon is largest in the whole year, and drink from the cup of
dreams, reciting meanwhile a spell written here at length in language
which I cannot read.”
“There is no virtue in spells, Prince, if anyone can read them.”
“And no use, it would seem, if they can be read by none.”
“Moreover, how can any one climb the pyramid of Khufu, which is
covered with polished marble, even in the day let alone at midnight,
your Highness, and there drink of the cup of dreams?”
“I do not know, Pambasa. All I know is that I weary of this
foolishness, and of the world. Tell me of something that will lighten
my heart, for it is heavy.”
“There are jugglers without, Prince, one of whom says he can throw a
rope into the air and climb up it until he vanishes into heaven.”
“When he has done it in your sight, Pambasa, bring him to me, but not
before. Death is the only rope by which we climb to heaven—or be
lowered into hell. For remember there is a god called Set, after whom,
like my great-grandfather, I am named by the way—the priests alone
know why—as well as one called Osiris.”
“Then there are the dancers, Prince, and among them some very finely
made girls, for I saw them bathing in the palace lake, such as would
have delighted the heart of your grandfather, the great Rameses.”
“They do not delight my heart who want no naked women prancing here.
Try again, Pambasa.”
“I can think of nothing else, Prince. Yet, stay. There is a scribe
without named Ana, a thin, sharp-nosed man who says he is your
Highness’s twin in Ra.”
“Ana!” said the Prince. “He of Memphis who writes stories?
Why did you not say so before, you old fool? Let him enter at once, at
once.”
Now hearing this I, Ana, walked through the curtains and prostrated
myself, saying,
“I am that scribe, O Royal Son of the Sun.”
“How dare you enter the Prince’s presence without being
bidden——” began Pambasa, but Seti broke in with a stern
voice, saying,
“And how dare you, Pambasa, keep this learned man waiting at my door
like a dog? Rise, Ana, and cease from giving me titles, for we are not
at Court. Tell me, how long have you been in Tanis?”
“Many days, O Prince,” I answered, “seeking your presence and
in vain.”
“And how did you win it at last?”
“By payment, O Prince,” I answered innocently, “as it seems
is usual. The doorkeepers——”
“I understand,” said Seti, “the doorkeepers! Pambasa, you
will ascertain what amount this learned scribe has disbursed to ‘the
doorkeepers’ and refund him double. Begone now and see to the
matter.”
So Pambasa went, casting a piteous look at me out of the corner of his
eye.
“Tell me,” said Seti when he was gone, “you who must be wise
in your fashion, why does a Court always breed thieves?”
“I suppose for the same reason, O Prince, that a dog’s back breeds
fleas. Fleas must live, and there is the dog.”
“True,” he answered, “and these palace fleas are not paid
enough. If ever I have power I will see to it. They shall be fewer but
better fed. Now, Ana, be seated. I know you though you do not know me,
and already I have learned to love you through your writings. Tell me
of yourself.”
So I told him all my simple tale, to which he listened without a word,
and then asked me why I had come to see him. I replied that it was
because he had sent for me, which he had forgotten; also because I
brought him a story that I had dared to dedicate to him. Then I laid
the roll before him on the table.
“I am honoured,” he said in a pleased voice, “I am greatly
honoured. If I like it well, your story shall go to the tomb with me for
my Ka to read and re-read until the day of resurrection, though first I
will study it in the flesh. Do you know this city of Tanis, Ana?”
I answered that I knew little of it, who had spent my time here haunting
the doors of his Highness.
“Then with your leave I will be your guide through it this night, and
afterwards we will sup and talk.”
I bowed and he clapped his hands, whereon a servant appeared, not
Pambasa, but another.
“Bring two cloaks,” said the Prince, “I go abroad with the
scribe, Ana. Let a guard of four Nubians, no more, follow us, but at a
distance and disguised. Let them wait at the private entrance.”
The man bowed and departed swiftly.
Almost immediately a black slave appeared with two long hooded cloaks,
such as camel-drivers wear, which he helped us to put on. Then, taking
a lamp, he led us from the room through a doorway opposite to that by
which I had entered, down passages and a narrow stair that ended in a
courtyard. Crossing this we came to a wall, great and thick, in which
were double doors sheathed with copper that opened mysteriously at our
approach. Outside of these doors stood four tall men, also wrapped in
cloaks, who seemed to take no note of us. Still, looking back when we
had gone a little way, I observed that they were following us, as
though by chance.
How fine a thing, thought I to myself, it is to be a Prince who by
lifting a finger can thus command service at any moment of the day or
night.
Just at that moment Seti said to me:
“See, Ana, how sad a thing it is to be a Prince, who cannot even stir
abroad without notice to his household and commanding the service of a
secret guard to spy upon his every action, and doubtless to make report
thereof to the police of Pharaoh.”
There are two faces to everything, thought I to myself again.