Prexaspes, the king's messenger, and one of the highest officials at
court, had brought Gaumata, Mandane's lover, whose likeness to Bartja
was really most wonderful, to Babylon, sick and wounded as he was. He
was now awaiting his sentence in a dungeon, while Boges, the man who
had led him into crime, was nowhere to be found, notwithstanding all
the efforts of the police. His escape had been rendered possible by the
trap-door in the hanging-gardens, and greatly assisted by the enormous
crowds assembled in the streets.
Immense treasures were found in his house. Chests of gold and jewels,
which his position had enabled him to obtain with great ease, were
restored to the royal treasury. Cambyses, however, would gladly have
given ten times as much treasure to secure possession of the traitor.
To Phaedime's despair the king ordered all the inhabitants of the harem,
except his mother, Atossa and the dying Nitetis, to be removed to Susa,
two days after the accused had been declared innocent. Several eunuchs
of rank were deposed from their offices. The entire caste was to suffer
for the sins of him who had escaped punishment.
Oropastes, who had already entered on his duties as regent of the
kingdom, and had clearly proved his non-participation in the crime of
which his brother had been proved guilty, bestowed the vacant places
exclusively on the Magi. The demonstration made by the people in favor
of Bartja did not come to the king's ears until the crowd had long
dispersed. Still, occupied as he was, almost entirely, by his anxiety
for Nitetis, he caused exact information of this illegal manifestation
to be furnished him, and ordered the ringleaders to be severely
punished. He fancied it was a proof that Bartja had been trying to
gain favor with the people, and Cambyses would perhaps have shown his
displeasure by some open act, if a better impulse had not told him that
he, not Bartja, was the brother who stood in need of forgiveness. In
spite of this, however, he could not get rid of the feeling that Bartja,
had been, though innocent, the cause of the sad events which had just
happened, nor of his wish to get him out of the way as far as might be;
and he therefore gave a ready consent to his brother's wish to start at
once for Naukratis.
Bartja took a tender farewell of his mother and sister, and started two
days after his liberation. He was accompanied by Gyges, Zopyrus, and
a numerous retinue charged with splendid presents from Cambyses for
Sappho. Darius remained behind, kept back by his love for Atossa. The
day too was not far distant, when, by his father's wish, he was to marry
Artystone, the daughter of Gobryas.
Bartja parted from his friend with a heavy heart, advising him to be
very prudent with regard to Atossa. The secret had been confided to
Kassandane, and she had promised to take Darius' part with the king.
If any one might venture to raise his eyes to the daughter of Cyrus,
assuredly it was the son of Hystaspes; he was closely connected
by marriage with the royal family, belonged like Cambyses to the
Pasargadae, and his family was a younger branch of the reigning dynasty.
His father called himself the highest noble in the realm, and as such,
governed the province of Persia proper, the mother-country, to which
this enormous world-empire and its ruler owed their origin. Should the
family of Cyrus become extinct, the descendants of Hystaspes would have
a well-grounded right to the Persian throne. Darius therefore, apart
from his personal advantages, was a fitting claimant for Atossa's hand.
And yet no one dared to ask the king's consent. In the gloomy state of
mind into which he had been brought by the late events, it was likely
that he might refuse it, and such an answer would have to be regarded as
irrevocable. So Bartja was obliged to leave Persia in anxiety about the
future of these two who were very dear to him.
Croesus promised to act as mediator in this case also, and before Bartja
left, made him acquainted with Phanes.
The youth had heard such a pleasant account of the Athenian from Sappho,
that he met him with great cordiality, and soon won the fancy of the
older and more experienced man, who gave him many a useful hint, and a
letter to Theopompus, the Milesian, at Naukratis. Phanes concluded by
asking for a private interview.
Bartja returned to his friends looking grave and thoughtful; soon,
however, he forgot his cause of anxiety and joked merrily with them over
a farewell cup. Before he mounted his horse the next morning, Nebenchari
asked to be allowed an audience. He was admitted, and begged Bartja to
take the charge of a large written roll for king Amasis. It contained a
detailed account of Nitetis' sufferings, ending with these words: "Thus
the unhappy victim of your ambitious plans will end her life in a few
hours by poison, to the use of which she was driven by despair. The
arbitrary caprices of the mighty can efface all happiness from the life
of a human creature, just as we wipe a picture from the tablet with a
sponge. Your servant Nebenchari is pining in a foreign land, deprived of
home and property, and the wretched daughter of a king of Egypt dies a
miserable and lingering death by her own hand. Her body will be torn to
pieces by dogs and vultures, after the manner of the Persians. Woe
unto them who rob the innocent of happiness here and of rest beyond the
grave!"
Bartja had not been told the contents of this letter, but promised to
take it with him; he then, amid the joyful shouts of the people, set
up outside the city-gate the stones which, according to a Persian
superstition, were to secure him a prosperous journey, and left Babylon.
Nebenchari, meanwhile, prepared to return to his post by Nitetis'
dying-bed.
Just as he reached the brazen gates between the harem-gardens and the
courts of the large palace, an old man in white robes came up to him.
The sight seemed to fill Nebenchari with terror; he started as if the
gaunt old man had been a ghost. Seeing, however, a friendly and familiar
smile on the face of the other, he quickened his steps, and, holding out
his hand with a heartiness for which none of his Persian acquaintances
would have given him credit, exclaimed in Egyptian: "Can I believe my
eyes? You in Persia, old Hib? I should as soon have expected the sky to
fall as to have the pleasure of seeing you on the Euphrates. But now, in
the name of Osiris, tell me what can have induced you, you old ibis,
to leave your warm nest on the Nile and set out on such a long journey
eastward."
While Nebenchari was speaking, the old man listened in a bowing posture,
with his arms hanging down by his side, and when he had finished,
looked up into his face with indescribable joy, touched his breast with
trembling fingers, and then, falling on the right knee, laying one hand
on his heart and raising the other to heaven, cried: "Thanks be unto
thee, great Isis, for protecting the wanderer and permitting him to see
his master once more in health and safety. Ah, child, how anxious I have
been! I expected to find you as wasted and thin as a convict from the
quarries; I thought you would have been grieving and unhappy, and here
you are as well, and handsome and portly as ever. If poor old Hib had
been in your place he would have been dead long ago."
"Yes, I don't doubt that, old fellow. I did not leave home of my own
will either, nor without many a heartache. These foreigners are all the
children of Seth. The good and gracious gods are only to be found in
Egypt on the shores of the sacred, blessed Nile."
"I don't know much about its being so blessed," muttered the old man.
"You frighten me, father Hib. What has happened then?"
"Happened! Things have come to a pretty pass there, and you'll hear of
it soon enough. Do you think I should have left house and grandchildren
at my age,--going on for eighty,--like any Greek or Phoenician vagabond,
and come out among these godless foreigners (the gods blast and destroy
them!), if I could possibly have staid on in Egypt?"
"But tell me what it's all about."
"Some other time, some other time. Now you must take me to your own
house, and I won't stir out of it as long as we are in this land of
Typhon."
The old man said this with so much emphasis, that Nebenchiari could not
help smiling and saying: "Have they treated you so very badly then, old
man?"
"Pestilence and Khamsin!" blustered the old man.
[The south-west wind, which does so much injury to the crops in the
Nile valley. It is known to us as the Simoom, the wind so perilous
to travellers in the desert.]
"There's not a more good-for-nothing Typhon's brood on the face of the
earth than these Persians. I only wonder they're not all red-haired and
leprous. Ah, child, two whole days I have been in this hell already, and
all that time I was obliged to live among these blasphemers. They said
no one could see you; you were never allowed to leave Nitetis' sick-bed.
Poor child! I always said this marriage with a foreigner would come to
no good, and it serves Amasis right if his children give him trouble.
His conduct to you alone deserves that."
"For shame, old man!"
"Nonsense, one must speak one's mind sometimes. I hate a king, who comes
from nobody knows where. Why, when he was a poor boy he used to steal
your father's nuts, and wrench the name-plates off the house-doors. I
saw he was a good-for-nothing fellow then. It's a shame that such people
should be allowed to...."
"Gently, gently, old man. We are not all made of the same stuff, and if
there was such a little difference between you and Amasis as boys, it,
is your own fault that, now you are old men, he has outstripped you so
far.
"My father and grandfather were both servants in the temple, and of
course I followed in their footsteps."
"Quite right; it is the law of caste, and by that rule, Amasis ought
never to have become anything higher than a poor army-captain at most."
"It is not every one who's got such an easy conscience as this upstart
fellow."
"There you are again! For shame, Hib! As long as I can remember, and
that is nearly half a century, every other word with you has been an
abusive one. When I was a child your ill-temper was vented on me, and
now the king has the benefit of it."
"Serves him right! All, if you only knew all! It's now seven months
since ..."
"I can't stop to listen to you now. At the rising of the seven stars I
will send a slave to take you to my rooms. Till then you must stay in
your present lodging, for I must go to my patient."
"You must?--Very well,--then go and leave poor old Hib here to die. I
can't possibly live another hour among these creatures."
"What would you have me do then?"
"Let me live with you as long as we are in Persia."
"Have they treated you so very roughly?"
"I should think they had indeed. It is loathsome to think of. They
forced me to eat out of the same pot with them and cut my bread with the
same knife. An infamous Persian, who had lived many years in Egypt,
and travelled here with us, had given them a list of all the things and
actions, which we consider unclean. They took away my knife when I
was going to shave myself. A good-for-nothing wench kissed me on the
forehead, before I could prevent it. There, you needn't laugh; it will
be a month at least before I can get purified from all these pollutions.
I took an emetic, and when that at last began to take effect, they all
mocked and sneered at me. But that was not all. A cursed cook-boy
nearly beat a sacred kitten to death before my very eyes. Then an
ointment-mixer, who had heard that I was your servant, made that godless
Bubares ask me whether I could cure diseases of the eye too. I said yes,
because you know in sixty years it's rather hard if one can't pick up
something from one's master. Bubares was interpreter between us, and the
shameful fellow told him to say that he was very much disturbed about
a dreadful disease in his eyes. I asked what it was, and received for
answer that he could not tell one thing from another in the dark!"
"You should have told him that the best remedy for that was to light a
candle."
"Oh, I hate the rascals! Another hour among them will be the death of
me!"
"I am sure you behaved oddly enough among these foreigners," said
Nebenchiari smiling, "you must have made them laugh at you, for the
Persians are generally very polite, well-behaved people. Try them again,
only once. I shall be very glad to take you in this evening, but I can't
possibly do it before."
"It is as I thought! He's altered too, like everybody else! Osiris is
dead and Seth rules the world again."
"Farewell! When the seven stars rise, our old Ethiopian slave, Nebununf,
will wait for you here."
"Nebununf, that old rogue? I never want to see him again."
"Yes, the very same."
"Him--well it's a good thing, when people stay as they were. To be sure
I know some people who can't say so much of themselves, and who instead
of minding their own business, pretend to heal inward diseases, and when
a faithful old servant..."
"Hold your tongue, and wait patiently till evening." These last words
were spoken seriously, and produced the desired impression. The old man
made another obeisance, and before his master left him, said: "I came
here under the protection of Phanes, the former commander of the Greek
mercenaries. He wishes very much to speak with you."
"That is his concern. He can come to me."
"You never leave that sick girl, whose eyes are as sound as..."
"Hib!"
"For all I care she may have a cataract in both. May Phanes come to you
this evening?"
"I wished to be alone with you."
"So did I; but the Greek seems to be in a great hurry, and he knows
nearly everything that I have to tell you."
"Have you been gossiping then?"
"No--not exactly--but..."
"I always thought you were a man to be trusted."
"So I was. But this Greek knows already a great deal of what I know, and
the rest..."
"Well?"
"The rest he got out of me, I hardly know how myself. If I did not wear
this amulet against an evil eye, I should have been obliged..."
"Yes, yes, I know the Athenian--I can forgive you. I should like him
to come with you this evening. But I see the sun is already high in
the heavens. I have no time to lose. Tell me in a few words what has
happened."
"I thought this evening..."
"No, I must have at least a general idea of what has happened before I
see the Athenian. Be brief."
"You have been robbed!"
"Is that all?"
"Is not that enough?"
"Answer me. Is that all?"
"Yes!"
"Then farewell."
"But Nebenchari!"
The physician did not even hear this exclamation; the gates of the harem
had already closed behind him.
When the Pleiades had risen, Nebenchari was to be found seated alone in
one of the magnificent rooms assigned to his use on the eastern side
of the palace, near to Kassandane's apartments. The friendly manner in
which he had welcomed his old servant had given place to the serious
expression which his face usually wore, and which had led the cheerful
Persians to call him a morose and gloomy man.
Nebenchari was an Egyptian priest through and through; a member of that
caste which never indulged in a jest, and never for a moment forgot
to be dignified and solemn before the public; but when among their
relations and their colleagues completely threw off this self-imposed
restraint, and gave way at times even to exuberant mirth.
Though he had known Phanes in Sais, he received him with cold
politeness, and, after the first greeting was ended, told Hib to leave
them alone.
"I have come to you," said the Athenian, "to speak about some very
important affairs."
"With which I am already acquainted," was the Egyptian's curt reply.
"I am inclined to doubt that," said Phanes with an incredulous smile.
"You have been driven out of Egypt, persecuted and insulted by Psamtik,
and you have come to Persia to enlist Cambyses as an instrument of
revenge against my country."
"You are mistaken. I have nothing against your country, but all the more
against Amasis and his house. In Egypt the state and the king are one,
as you very well know."
"On the contrary, my own observations have led me to think that the
priests considered themselves one with the state."
"In that case you are better informed than I, who have always looked on
the kings of Egypt as absolute. So they are; but only in proportion
as they know how to emancipate themselves from the influence of your
caste.--Amasis himself submits to the priests now."
"Strange intelligence!"
"With which, however, you have already long been made acquainted."
"Is that your opinion?"
"Certainly it is. And I know with still greater certainty that once--you
hear me--once, he succeeded in bending the will of these rulers of his
to his own."
"I very seldom hear news from home, and do not understand what you are
speaking of."
"There I believe you, for if you knew what I meant and could stand there
quietly without clenching your fist, you would be no better than a dog
who only whimpers when he's kicked and licks the hand that torments
him."
The physician turned pale. "I know that Amasis has injured and insulted
me," he said, "but at the same time I must tell you that revenge is far
too sweet a morsel to be shared with a stranger."
"Well said! As to my own revenge, however, I can only compare it to a
vineyard where the grapes are so plentiful, that I am not able to gather
them all myself."
"And you have come hither to hire good laborers."
"Quite right, and I do not even yet give up the hope of securing you to
take a share in my vintage."
"You are mistaken. My work is already done. The gods themselves have
taken it in hand. Amasis has been severely enough punished for banishing
me from country, friends and pupils into this unclean land."
"You mean by his blindness perhaps?"
"Possibly."
"Then you have not heard that Petammon, one of your colleagues, has
succeeded in cutting the skin, which covered the pupil of the eye and so
restoring Amasis' sight?"
The Egyptian started and ground his teeth; recovered his presence of
mind, however, in a moment, and answered: "Then the gods have punished
the father through the children."
"In what way? Psamtik suits his father's present mood very well. It is
true that Tachot is ill, but she prays and sacrifices with her father
all the more for that; and as to Nitetis, you and I both know that her
death will not touch him very closely."
"I really do not understand you."
"Of course not, so long as you fancy that I believe your beautiful
patient to be Amasis' daughter."
The Egyptian started again, but Phanes went on without appearing to
notice his emotion: "I know more than you suppose. Nitetis is the
daughter of Hophra, Amasis' dethroned predecessor. Amasis brought her
up as his own child-first, in order to make the Egyptians believe that
Hophra had died childless; secondly, in order to deprive her of her
rights to the throne; for you know women are allowed to govern on the
Nile."
"These are mere suppositions."
"For which, however, I can bring irrefragable proofs. Among the papers
which your old servant Hib brought with him in a small box, there must
be some letters from a certain Sonnophre, a celebrated accoucheur, your
own father, which..."
[To judge from the pictures on the monuments and from the 1st Chap.
of Exodus, it would seem that in ancient, as in modern Egypt,
midwives were usually called in to assist at the birth of children;
but it is also certain, that in difficult cases physicians were
employed also. In the hieratic medical papyrus in Berlin, women are
often spoken of as assisting at such times. In the medical Papyrus
Ebers certain portions are devoted to diseases peculiar to women.
"There were special rooms set aside in private houses for the birth
of children, as symbolical ones were reserved in the temples. These
chambers were called meschen, and from them was derived the name
given to midwives, to meschennu.]
"If that be the case, those letters are my property, and I have not the
slightest intention of giving them up; besides which you might search
Persia from one end to the other without finding any one who could
decipher my father's writing."
"Pardon me, if I point out one or two errors into which you have fallen.
First, this box is at present in my hands, and though I am generally
accustomed to respect the rights of property, I must assure you that, in
the present instance, I shall not return the box until its contents have
served my purpose. Secondly, the gods have so ordained, that just at
this moment there is a man in Babylon who can read every kind of writing
known to the Egyptian priests. Do you perhaps happen to know the name of
Onuphis?"
For the third time the Egyptian turned pale. "Are you certain," he said,
"that this man is still among the living?"
"I spoke to him myself yesterday. He was formerly, you know, high-priest
at Heliopolis, and was initiated into all your mysteries there. My wise
countryman, Pythagoras of Samos, came to Egypt, and after submitting to
some of your ceremonies, was allowed to attend the lessons given in the
schools for priests. His remarkable talents won the love of the great
Onuphis and he taught him all the Egyptian mysteries, which Pythagoras
afterwards turned to account for the benefit of mankind. My delightful
friend Rhodopis and I are proud of having been his pupils. When the rest
of your caste heard that Onuphis had betrayed the sacred mysteries, the
ecclesiastical judges determined on his death. This was to be caused by
a poison extracted from peach-kernels. The condemned man, however, heard
of their machinations, and fled to Naukratis, where he found a safe
asylum in the house of Rhodopis, whom he had heard highly praised by
Pythagoras, and whose dwelling was rendered inviolable by the king's
letter. Here he met Antimenidas the brother of the poet Alcarus of
Lesbos, who, having been banished by Pittakus, the wise ruler of
Mitylene, had gone to Babylon, and there taken service in the army of
Nebuchadnezzar, the King of Assyria. Antimenidas gave him letters to the
Chaldians. Onuphis travelled to the Euphrates, settled there, and was
obliged to seek for some means of earning his daily bread, as he had
left Egypt a poor man. He is now supporting himself in his old age, by
the assistance which his superior knowledge enables him to render the
Chaldoeans in their astronomical observations from the tower of Bel.
Onuphis is nearly eighty, but his mind is as clear as ever, and when I
saw him yesterday and asked him to help me, his eyes brightened as he
promised to do so. Your father was one of his judges, but he bears you
no malice and sends you a greeting."
Nebenchari's eyes were fixed thoughtfully on the ground during this
tale. When Phanes had finished, he gave him a penetrating look and said:
"Where are my papers?"
"They are in Onuphis' hands. He is looking among them for the document I
want."
"I expected to hear that. Be so good as to tell me what the box is like,
which Hib thought proper to bring over to Persia?"
"It is a small ebony trunk, with an exquisitely-carved lid. In the
centre is a winged beetle, and on the four corners..."
"That contains nothing but a few of my father's notices and
memorandums," said Nebenchari, drawing a deep breath of relief.
"They will very likely be sufficient for my purpose. I do not know
whether you have heard, that I stand as high as possible in Cambyses'
favor."
"So much the better for you. I can assure you, however, that the paper.
which would have been most useful to you have all been left behind in
Egypt."
"They were in a large chest made of sycamore-wood and painted in
colors."
"How do you know that?"
"Because--now listen well to what I am going to say, Nebenchari--because
I can tell you (I do not swear, for our great master Pythagoras forbade
oaths), that this very chest, with all it contained, was burnt in the
grove of the temple of Neith, in Sais, by order of the king."
Phanes spoke slowly, emphasizing every syllable, and the words seemed
to strike the Egyptian like so many flashes of lightning. His quiet
coolness and deliberation gave way to violent emotion; his cheeks glowed
and his eyes flashed. But only for one single minute; then the strong
emotion seemed to freeze, his burning cheeks grew pale. "You are trying
to make me hate my friends, in order to gain me as your ally," he said,
coldly and calmly. "I know you Greeks very well. You are so intriguing
and artful, that there is no lie, no fraud, too base, if it will only
help to gain your purpose."
"You judge me and my countrymen in true Egyptian fashion; that is,
they are foreigners, and therefore must be bad men. But this time your
suspicions happen to be misplaced. Send for old Hib; he will tell you
whether I am right or not."
Nebenchari's face darkened, as Hib came into the room.
"Come nearer," said he in a commanding tone to the old man.
Hib obeyed with a shrug of the shoulders.
"Tell me, have you taken a bribe from this man? Yes or no? I must know
the truth; it can influence my future for good or evil. You are an old
and faithful servant, to whom I owe a great deal, and so I will forgive
you if you were taken in by his artifices, but I must know the truth. I
conjure you to tell me by the souls of your fathers gone to Osiris!"
The old man's sallow face turned ashy pale as he heard these words.
He gulped and wheezed some time before he could find an answer, and at
last, after choking down the tears which had forced their way to his
eyes, said, in a half-angry, half-whining tone: "Didn't I say so?
they've bewitched him, they've ruined him in this wicked land. Whatever
a man would do himself, he thinks others are capable of. Aye, you may
look as angry as you like; it matters but little to me. What can it
matter indeed to an old man, who has served the same family faithfully
and honestly for sixty years, if they call him at last a rogue, a knave,
a traitor, nay even a murderer, if it should take their fancy."
And the scalding tears flowed down over the old man's cheeks, sorely
against his will.
The easily-moved Phanes clapped him on the shoulder and said, turning
to Nebenchari: "Hib is a faithful fellow. I give you leave to call me a
rascal, if he has taken one single obolus from me."
The physician did not need Phanes' assurance; he had known his old
servant too well and too long not to be able to read his simple, open
features, on which his innocence was written as clearly as in the pages
of an open book. "I did not mean to reproach you, old Hib," he said
kindly, coming up to him. "How can any one be so angry at a simple
question?"
"Perhaps you expect me to be pleased at such a shameful suspicion?"
"No, not that; but at all events now you can tell me what has happened
at our house since I left."
"A pretty story that is! Why only to think of it makes my mouth as
bitter, as if I were chewing wormwood."
"You said I had been robbed."
"Yes indeed: no one was ever so robbed before. There would have been
some comfort if the knaves had belonged to the thieves' caste, for then
we should have got the best part of our property back again, and should
not after all have been worse off than many another; but when..."
[The cunning son of the architect, who robbed the treasure-house of
Rhampsinitus was, according to Herodotus, (II. 120), severely
punished; but in Diod. I. 80. we see that when thieves acknowledged
themselves to the authorities to be such, they were not punished,
though a strict watch was set over them. According to Diodorus,
there was a president of the thieves' caste, from whom the stolen
goods could be reclaimed on relinquishment of a fourth part of the
same. This strange rule possibly owed its rise to the law, which
compelled every Egyptian to appear once in each year before the
authorities of his district and give an account of his means of
subsistence. Those who made false statements were punished with
death. Diod. I. 77. Thus no one who valued his life could escape
the watchful eye of the police, and the thief sacrificed the best
part of his gains in order to save his life.]
"Keep to the point, for my time is limited."
"You need not tell me that; I see old Hib can't do anything right here
in Persia. Well, be it so, you're master; you must give orders; I am
only the servant, I must obey. I won't forget it. Well, as I was saying,
it was just at the time when the great Persian embassy came over to
Sais to fetch Nitetis, and made everybody stare at them as if they were
monsters or prodigies, that this shameful thing happened. I was sitting
on the mosquito-tower just as the sun was setting, playing with my
little grandson, my Baner's eldest boy--he's a fine strapping little
lad now, wonderfully sharp and strong for his age. The rogue was just
telling me how his father, the Egyptians do that when their wives leave
the children too much alone--had hidden his mother's shoes, and I was
laughing heartily, because my Baner won't let any of the little ones
live with me, she always says I spoil them, and so I was glad she should
have the trick played her--when all of a sudden there was such a loud
knocking at the house-door, that I thought there must be a fire and let
the child drop off my lap. Down the stairs I ran, three steps at a time,
as fast as my long legs would carry me, and unbarred the door. Before I
had time to ask them what they wanted, a whole crowd of temple-servants
and policemen--there must have been at least fifteen of them--forced
their way into the house. Pichi,--you know, that impudent fellow from
the temple of Neith,--pushed me back, barred the door inside and told
the police to put me in fetters if I refused to obey him. Of course I
got angry and did not use very civil words to them--you know that's my
way when I'm put out--and what does that bit of a fellow do--by our god
Thoth, the protector of knowledge who must know all, I'm speaking the
truth--but order them to bind my hands, forbid me--me, old Hib--to
speak, and then tell me that he had been told by the high-priest to
order me five-and-twenty strokes, if I refused to do his bidding. He
showed me the high-priest's ring, and so I knew there was nothing for it
but to obey the villain, whether I would or no. And what was his modest
demand? Why, nothing less than to give him all the written papers you
had left behind. But old Hib is not quite so stupid as to let himself
be caught in that way, though some people, who ought to know better, do
fancy he can be bribed and is no better than the son of an ass. What did
I do then? I pretended to be quite crushed into submission by the sight
of the signet-ring, begged Pichi as politely as I could to unfasten my
hands, and told him I would fetch the keys. They loosened the cords,
I flew up the stairs five steps at a time, burst open the door of your
sleeping-room, pushed my little grandson, who was standing by it, into
the room and barred it within. Thanks to my long legs, the others were
so far behind that I had time to get hold of the black box which you had
told me to take so much care of, put it into the child's arms, lift him
through the window on to the balcony which runs round the house towards
the inner court, and tell him to put it at once into the pigeon-house.
Then I opened the door as if nothing had happened, told Pichi the child
had had a knife in his mouth, and that that was the reason I had run
upstairs in such a hurry, and had put him out on the balcony to punish
him. That brother of a hippopotamus was easily taken in, and then
he made me show him over the house. First they found the great
sycamore-chest which you had told me to take great care of too, then
the papyrus-rolls on your writing-table, and so by degrees every written
paper in the house. They made no distinction, but put all together
into the great chest and carried it downstairs; the little black box,
however, lay safe enough in the pigeon-house. My grandchild is the
sharpest boy in all Sais!
"When I saw them really carrying the chest downstairs, all the anger I'd
been trying so hard to keep down burst out again. I told the impudent
fellows I would accuse them before the magistrates, nay, even before the
king if necessary, and if those confounded Persians, who were having the
city shown them, had not come up just then and made everybody stare at
them, I could have roused the crowd to take my side. The same evening
I went to my son-in-law-he is employed in the temple of Neith too, you
know,--and begged him to make every effort to find out what had become
of the papers. The good fellow has never forgotten the handsome dowry
you gave my Baner when he married her, and in three days he came and
told me he had seen your beautiful chest and all the rolls it contained
burnt to ashes. I was so angry that I fell ill of the jaundice, but
that did not hinder me from sending in a written accusation to the
magistrates. The wretches,--I suppose only because they were priests
too,--refused to take any notice of me or my complaint. Then I sent in
a petition to the king, and was turned away there too with the shameful
threat, that I should be considered guilty of high treason if I
mentioned the papers again. I valued my tongue too much to take any
further steps, but the ground burnt under my feet; I could not stay in
Egypt, I wanted to see you, tell you what they had done to you, and
call on you, who are more powerful than your poor servant, to revenge
yourself. And besides, I wanted to see the black box safe in your hands,
lest they should take that from me too. And so, old man as I am, with
a sad heart I left my home and my grandchildren to go forth into this
foreign Typhon's land. Ah, the little lad was too sharp! As I was
kissing him, he said: 'Stay with us, grandfather. If the foreigners make
you unclean, they won't let me kiss you any more.' Baner sends you a
hearty greeting, and my son-in-law told me to say he had found out that
Psamtik, the crown-prince, and your rival, Petammon, had been the sole
causes of this execrable deed. I could not make up my mind to trust
myself on that Typhon's sea, so I travelled with an Arabian trading
caravan as far as Tadmor,--[Palmyra]--the Phoenician palm-tree station
in the wilderness, and then on to Carchemish, on the Euphrates, with
merchants from Sidon. The roads from Sardis and from Phoenicia meet
there, and, as I was sitting very weary in the little wood before the
station, a traveller arrived with the royal post-horses, and I saw at
once that it was the former commander of the Greek mercenaries."
"And I," interrupted Phanes, "recognized just as soon in you, the
longest and most quarrelsome old fellow that had ever come across my
path. Oh, how often I've laughed to see you scolding the children,
as they ran after you in the street whenever you appeared behind your
master with the medicine-chest. The minute I saw you too I remembered a
joke which the king once made in his own way, as you were both passing
by. 'The old man,' he said, reminds me of a fierce old owl followed by
a flight of small teasing birds, and Nebenchari looks as if he had a
scolding wife, who will some day or other reward him for healing other
people's eyes by scratching out his own!'"
"Shameful!" said the old man, and burst into a flood of execrations.
Nebenchari had been listening to his servant's tale in silence and
thought. He had changed color from time to time and on hearing that the
papers which had cost him so many nights of hard work had been burnt,
his fists clenched and he shivered as if seized by biting frost. Not one
of his movements escaped the Athenian. He understood human nature; he
knew that a jest is often much harder to bear than a grave affront, and
therefore seized this opportunity to repeat the inconsiderate joke which
Amasis had, it is true, allowed himself to make in one of his merry
moods. Phanes had calculated rightly, and had the pleasure of seeing,
that as he uttered the last words Nebenchari pressed his hand on a rose
which lay on the table before him, and crushed it to pieces. The Greek
suppressed a smile of satisfaction, and did not even raise his eyes
from the ground, but continued speaking: "Well, now we must bring the
travelling adventures of good old Hib to a close. I invited him to share
my carriage. At first he refused to sit on the same cushion with such
a godless foreigner, as I am, gave in, however, at last, had a good
opportunity at the last station of showing the world how many clever
processes of manipulation he had learnt from you and your father, in his
treatment of Oropastes' wounded brother; he reached Babylon at last safe
and sound, and there, as we could not get sight of you, owing to the
melancholy poisoning of your country-woman, I succeeded in obtaining him
a lodging in the royal palace itself. The rest you knew already."
Nebenchari bowed assent and gave Hib a sign to leave the room, which
the old man obeyed, grumbling and scolding in a low tone as he departed.
When the door had closed on him, Nebenchari, the man whose calling was
to heal, drew nearer to the soldier Phanes, and said: "I am afraid we
cannot be allies after all, Greek."
"Why not?"
"Because I fear, that your revenge will prove far too mild when compared
with that which I feel bound to inflict."
"On that head there is no need for solicitude," answered the Athenian.
"May I call you my ally then?"
"Yes," answered the other; "but only on one condition."
"And that is--?"
"That you will procure me an opportunity of seeing our vengeance with my
own eyes."
"That is as much as to say you are willing to accompany Cambyses' army
to Egypt?"
"Certainly I am; and when I see my enemies pining in disgrace and misery
I will cry unto them, 'Ah ha, ye cowards, the poor despised and exiled
physician, Nebenchari, has brought this wretchedness upon you!' Oh, my
books, my books! They made up to me for my lost wife and child. Hundreds
were to have learnt from them how to deliver the blind from the dark
night in which he lives, and to preserve to the seeing the sweetest
gift of the gods, the greatest beauty of the human countenance, the
receptacle of light, the seeing eye. Now that my books are burnt I have
lived in vain; the wretches have burnt me in burning my works. O my
books, my books!" And he sobbed aloud in his agony. Phanes came up and
took his band, saying: "The Egyptians have struck you, my friend, but
me they have maltreated and abused--thieves have broken into your
granaries, but my hearth and home have been burnt to ashes by
incendiaries. Do you know, man, what I have had to suffer at their
hands? In persecuting me, and driving me out of Egypt, they only did
what they had a right to do; by their law I was a condemned man; and I
could have forgiven all they did to me personally, for I loved Amasis,
as a man loves his friend. The wretch knew that, and yet he suffered
them to commit a monstrous, an incredible act--an act that a man's brain
refuses to take in. They stole like wolves by night into a helpless
woman's house--they seized my children, a girl and boy, the pride, the
joy and comfort of my homeless, wandering life. And how think you, did
they treat them? The girl they kept in confinement, on the pretext that
by so doing they should prevent me from betraying Egypt to Cambyses.
But the boy--my beautiful, gentle boy--my only son--has been murdered
by Psamtik's orders, and possibly with the knowledge of Amasis. My
heart was withered and shrunk with exile and sorrow, but I feel that it
expands--it beats more joyfully now that there is a hope of vengeance."
Nebenchari's sullen but burning glance met the flashing eye of the
Athenian as he finished his tale; he gave him his hand and said: "We are
allies."
The Greek clasped the offered hand and answered: "Our first point now is
to make sure of the king's favor."
"I will restore Kassandane's sight."
"Is that in your power?"
"The operation which removed Amasis' blindness was my own discovery.
Petammon stole it from my burnt papers."
"Why did you not exert your skill earlier?"
"Because I am not accustomed to bestow presents on my enemies."
Phanes shuddered slightly at these words, recovered himself, however,
in a moment, and said: "And I am certain of the king's favor too. The
Massagetan envoys have gone home to-day; peace has been granted them
and...."
While he was speaking the door was burst open and one of Kassandane's
eunuchs rushed into the room crying: "The Princess Nitetis is dying!
Follow me at once, there is not a moment to lose."
The physician made a parting sign to his confederate, and followed the
eunuch to the dying-bed of the royal bride.