By the Gods Beloved
By
Baroness Orczy
Author of
“The Scarlet Pimpernel,”
“The Emperor’s Candlesticks,”
etc., etc.
_Illustrated By
The Kinneys_
New York
Dodd, Mead & Company
1921
[IMAGE: images/img184.jpg
CAPTION: “Wilt tell me what lies beyond the Hills of Kamt?”]
[COPYRIGHT]
Copyright, 1905, by
The Knickerbocker Press
Copyright, 1907, by
Dodd, Mead & Company
as “The Gates of Kamt”
[DEDICATION]
_TO_
ELIZABETH, AMY and FLORA BARSTOW
_of Garrow Hill, York,
whose friendship has helped to render the land
of my adoption doubly dear to me,
this book is inscribed
in token of lasting affection_
CONTENTS
PART I
THE GATES OF KAMT
I. Tankerville’s Hobby
II. The Shade of Neit-akrit
III. The Tomb of the Greek Priest
IV. The Rock of Anubis
V. The Gates of Kamt
VI. The Temple of Ra
VII. The Temple of Ra
PART II
MEN-NE-FER
VIII. The Idol of the People
IX. The Messenger of Princess Neit-akrit
X. The Judgment-Hall of Men-ne-fer
XI. The Trial of Kesh-ta, the Slave
XII. The Crown of Kamt
XIII. The Iridescent Scarabæus
XIV. The making of an Enemy
PART III
THE PALACE OF NEIT-AKRIT
XV. Neit-akrit, Princess of Kamt
XVI. Divinely Fair
XVII. Danger
XVIII. Love or Hate?
XIX. A Kiss
XX. A Letter from Hugh
XXI. A Debt of Honour
PART IV
TANIS
XXII. The Bridal City
XXIII. The Crime
XXIV. The Alternative
XXV. Helpless
XXVI. The Marriage
XXVII. White Rosemary
XXVIII. The Threat
XXIX. The Departure from Tanis
XXX. Rosemary for Remembrance
XXXI. The End
ILLUSTRATIONS
“Wilt tell me what lies beyond the hills of Kamt?”
“Remember that this broken wand might prove the future emblem of… thy
power.”
He had fallen, half-fainting, upon the marble floor, and clung,…
around her knees.
“I will cause all my wealth,… to be left to thee,… if thou wilt part
my lover and Neit-akrit forever.”
PART I.
THE GATES OF KAMT
CHAPTER I.
TANKERVILLE’S HOBBY
It is a curious fact that, although Hugh Tankerville was destined to
play such an all-absorbing part in the strange and mystic drama which
filled both our lives, I have no distinct recollection of my first
meeting with him.
We were at St. Paul’s School together, and I, a boisterous schoolboy
of the usual pattern, have but a vague memory of the silent, dark-eyed
lad, who hated football, and was generally voted to be a “bookworm,”
called “Sawnie Girlie,” and was, without exception, the most unpopular
boy in the school.
The masters must have thought a great deal of him, for, in recreation
time, we often saw him go to one of their rooms and emerge thence,
when the bell rang, in close conversation with old Foster, or
Crabtree, the Greek or history master. This, together with the fact
that he carried off every prize and scholarship with utmost ease, did
not tend to make him more popular. I, for one, who was captain of our
football team and the champion boxer of the school, held the taciturn
bookworm in withering contempt, until one day--and this is my first
distinct recollection of him--he and I had… well! a few words;--I
forget what about. I think that I wanted him to join in a tug-of-war
and he wouldn’t; anyway, I indulged in the words--grand, sound,
British schoolboy vocabulary it was, too--and he indulged in
contemptuous silence for fully five minutes, while the floods of my
eloquence were poured over his dark, unresisting head. Yes,
contemptuous, if you please, towards _me_! the captain of the football
team, the champion boxer of the school. I could hear that ass, Snipey,
and Bathroom Slippers sniggering behind me like a pair of apes; and
contempt in the front, derision in the rear, soon became more than
schoolboy nature could bear.
Well, I don’t know exactly how it happened. Did my language wax more
forcibly eloquent still, or did my champion fist actually come in aid
to my words? I cannot say; certain it is that there was a shout, a
draught that sent my cap flying to the other end of the schoolroom, a
whirlwind which caught both sides of my head at once, and Sawnie
Girlie was all over me in a minute. Where I was during that minute I
would not venture to state definitely. I was vaguely conscious of a
pair of dark eyes blazing down at me like the hall gas, and of a husky
voice hissing at intervals, “How dare you? how dare you?” whilst I,
blinded, breathless, bruised and sore, contrived to wonder how,
indeed, I had dared.
When the whirlwind had at last subsided, I found myself in an
unaccustomed position on the floor, underneath one of the forms; those
blithering cowards, Snipey and Bathroom Slippers, were disappearing
through the door, and Sawnie Girlie was quietly knocking the dust off
his nether garments.
Well! after that interesting downfall of the champion boxer of St.
Paul’s, nobody who knows anything of schoolboy nature will wonder that
Sawnie Girlie and I became the closest of chums, and that, with that
well-deserved licking, Hugh Tankerville laid the foundations of that
friendship and admiration which has lasted throughout my life.
Silent and taciturn he remained towards the others, but from the
moment that I--having struggled to my feet, after my ignominious
downfall--went up to him and offered him my hand, in token of my
admiration for his prowess, he and I were practically inseparable.
Gradually the strange influence, which savoured of the mystical, and
which he seemed to exercise over all those with whom he came in
contact, asserted itself over me, and I began to find pleasure in
other things besides football and boxing. It was he who kindled in me
a spark of that enthusiasm for the great past which was so
overwhelming in him, and after a few months of our friendship I had
one or two fairly stiff tussles with him for a top place in Classics
or History. I will do myself the justice to say that never once did I
succeed in getting that top place, but it certainly was not for want
of trying.
Never shall I forget the memorable day when Sawnie Girlie--for so I
still continued to call him--asked me to go home with him to afternoon
tea one Saturday.
He lived in Hammersmith, he told me, and I, whose parents lived in
Kensington, vaguely wondered what sort of mud-hut or hovel could be
situated in such an out-of-the-way suburb as Hammersmith. I had never
been down King Street, and as we two boys picked our way through the
barrows on the edge of the kerb, and among the dense, not altogether
sober crowd, I marvelled more and more how any civilised being could
live in this extraordinary neighbourhood, when suddenly, having left
King Street behind us, Sawnie Girlie stopped before a large,
old-fashioned iron gate, behind which tall chestnuts and oak trees
threw a delightfully mysterious shadow on the ground.
“Here we are!” he said, as he pushed open the gate, and I followed,
astonished at this quaint bit of old-world garden in the midst of the
turmoil and tawdriness of suburban London. Beyond those gates
everything seemed cool, peaceful, silent; only a few birds twittered
in the great trees. The ground was covered with the first fallen
leaves of autumn, and they made a curious, sweet-sounding “Hush-sh-sh”
as we walked. Obviously the place had been, from a strictly
landscape-gardening point of view, sadly neglected, but I did not
notice this. I only saw the great, tall trees, smelt the delicious
aroma of the damp, fallen leaves, and stopped a moment, anxious and
awed, expecting to see down the cool alley some cavalier with plume
and sword walking arm-in-arm with his lady, in great hooped skirt and
farthingale.
Hugh Tankerville had taken no notice of me. He walked on ahead towards
the house, which must have lain far back from the road, for it was not
discernible from the gates. The scene was, of course, familiar to him,
and he knew that no plumes or farthingales were left anywhere about,
but from the moment that he had pushed those great gates open his
whole being seemed to have changed. He walked more erect, he threw
back his head, opened wide his nostrils and seemed, as it were, to
breathe freedom in at every pore.
I was but a mere raw school lad at the time, and no doubt my
impression of the old-fashioned house and garden was exaggerated in my
mind, through its very unexpectedness after the picture of sordid
Saturday afternoon Hammersmith. The house itself was as picturesque as
the garden, with a quaint terrace and stone stairs leading up to a
glass door. Sawnie Girlie led me through this and across a hall, and
presently I found myself in the most wonderful spot which up to that
moment it had been my happy lot to see.
The room into which I followed Hugh Tankerville was low and square,
with a great bow window that looked out onto another bit of tangled,
old-fashioned garden; but to my delighted fancy it was crammed with
everything that could fill a boy’s soul with delight.
There were great cases filled with all sorts of strange arms and
shields, spears with flint heads, axes and quivers of arrows; there
were great slabs of stone, covered with curious writing and adorned
with weird and wonderful images; there were strange little figures of
men and women in funny garbs, some with heads of beasts on their
shoulders, others with human heads on fantastic bodies; but what
seemed to me more strange than all, and made me stop awestruck at the
door, was that the whole length of two walls there stood a row of
mummies, such as I had once seen in the British Museum, some in their
coffins, but others showing their human shape distinctly through the
linen bandages--dark and discoloured with age--that covered them.
Hugh’s voice roused me from my stupor. “Father, this is Mark,” he
said, and at the further end of the room, from behind a huge desk,
littered with ponderous books and pyramids of papers, there emerged a
head which I, in my excited imagination, fancied to be one of those
mummies come temporarily to life. It was yellow and wrinkled all over,
and a reading lamp which, in spite of the daylight, stood burning on
the table, threw a weird blue light on the thin, sharp features. The
eyes, however, bright and small, looked across very kindly at us both
and a voice said:
“Well! you two boys had better go and get your tea, and after that you
may come up and Mark shall see the museum.”
I was delighted; I had no idea that this was the treat my newly-found
friend had prepared for me. Even with me he had been strangely
reserved about his home and about his father. I knew nothing of
either.
We had a delicious tea, and were waited on by a dear old thing, who
evidently was more a friend than a servant, for she hugged and kissed
Hugh as if he were her greatest treasure; and though she did not kiss
me, she shook hands and said how anxious she had been to see me,
having heard so much about me from “the young master.” I blushed and
wondered if Sawnie Girlie had also told of that memorable whirlwind
episode, and did not enjoy my first slice of sally-lunn in
consequence.
But it was a glorious tea, and I, no doubt, in true schoolboy fashion,
would have contrived to stow most of the delicious cakes and muffins
away had I had time to do so; but I remembered that after tea we were
to go up and see the museum, so after my third cup and seventh slice
of cake I stopped.
Oh, the delights of that museum! A real museum all to yourself, where
there is no horrid attendant behind you to tell you not to touch, but
where every piece is actually put into your hands and you are allowed
to turn it over, and look at every one of its sides, just as you
please. I shall never forget the feeling of delicious horror that
crept over me when first I absolutely touched one of the mummies with
my hand. Mr. Tankerville was more than kind. He answered every one of
my schoolboy questions with cheerful patience, explained everything,
showed everything. It was--I think I may safely say--the happiest day
of my life.
From that eventful afternoon I became--for as long as we were
schoolfellows together--a constant visitor at The Chestnuts. Mr.
Tankerville, who was one of the greatest archæologists and
Egyptologists of his generation, took a keen delight in initiating us
boys into the half-veiled mysteries of ancient Egyptian history. We
were never tired of hearing about Ra and Horus, about the building of
the great Pyramids, about the tombs and the wonders of Thebes and
Memphis. But above all did he delight our ears with tales of that
mysterious period which immediately followed the death of Queen
Neit-akrit and the close of the Sixth Dynasty. This, so far as the
scientific world is concerned, also marks the close of the old Empire.
Strangers appear to have overrun the country, and for over 400 years
the history of ancient Egypt is a blank; neither tombs nor temples
mark the changes and vicissitudes which befel that wonderful nation,
only a few royal names appear on scarabs, or tablets, but of the great
people themselves, and of their ancient civilisation, the people who
built the great Pyramids and carved the immortal Sphinx, of them there
is not a trace.
When once more the veil is lifted from Egyptian history the whole
aspect of the land is changed; we see a new Empire, and it is a new
people that dwells along the banks of the sacred Nile.
What had happened to the old? This blank page in Egyptian history Mr.
Tankerville had reconstructed on a theory all his own, and his fancy
had filled it with warriors and conquests, with downfalls and
regeneration. Open-eyed, open-mouthed, we listened to him for hours,
while, sitting round the huge, old-fashioned grate, with the light of
the great log fire illumining his shrivelled features, he told us of
Neit-akrit and of the strangers who overran the land, and of the great
Egyptian people, the old, original builders of the most ancient
monuments, they who disappeared, no one knew whither, to make way for
the new Empire, with its new art, its new architecture, its new
religion.
This point in history was his hobby, and I learned long afterwards
with what derision the scientific world looked upon it; but we boys
listened to these tales as if to the words of a prophet preaching the
Gospel. Hugh’s eyes would then begin to glow, his hands would be
tightly clenched, he would hang on every word his father uttered; and
I too listened, awed and amazed, while before my eyes Cheops and
Khefren and the mysterious Neit-akrit wandered in gorgeous and
ghost-like procession.
Then, as we both grew older, gradually Mr. Tankerville extended our
knowledge of that most ancient of all histories. His erudition was
perfectly amazing, but his hobby--at least I looked upon it as a hobby
then--was the language of ancient Kamt. Upon Dr. Young’s and
Champollion’s methods he had constructed a complete, though somewhat
complicated, grammar, and this, with marvellous patience, he began
slowly and thoroughly to teach to us, together with the hieroglyphic
and cuneiform writings practised by the ancient Egyptians.
In the literal sense of the word, he put new life into the dead
language; no word in it, no construction of sentence was a mystery to
him. He read it all as easily as he did his Latin and Greek. Hugh,
naturally, was a most apt pupil. He worshipped his father, and was
passionately enthusiastic about the mystic science. I tried to follow
Hugh in his ardour and aptitude, and I don’t think that I was often
left far behind.
I remember that my uncle, who had charge of my education since I had
lost both my parents, shrugged his shoulders very contemptuously when
I spoke to him of Mr. Tankerville. “That old fool,” was my Aunt
Charlotte’s more forcible comment; “I hope to goodness you are not
wasting your time cramming _his_ nonsense into your head.” After that
I never mentioned my friend’s name to either of them, but spent more
and more time at The Chestnuts, imbibing that fascinating and
semi-mystic lore of the great people of the past.
Such as Mr. Tankerville had reconstructed it, ancient Egyptian was not
a difficult language, not nearly so difficult as Greek, for instance,
and, certainly to me, in no sense as complicated as German. By the
time that we were lads of about sixteen we could read almost any
inscription on steles or potteries of old Egypt, more readily than we
could have read a French poem, and Hugh was not quite seventeen when
he translated parts of the Gospel of St. John into ancient Egyptian.
No wonder then that after some five years of that happy time my heart
well-nigh broke when the exigencies of my future demanded that I
should go to college. I was destined for the medical profession and
was to spend three years at Oxford, while Hugh meant to remain as an
active help to his father in his scientific researches. With many
protestations of eternal friendship I bade good-bye to the museum, the
mummies and the phantom of Queen Neit-akrit.
When at the first vacation my eager thought was to go and see my kind
friends at once, I learned with much sorrow that Mr. Tankerville was
seriously ill. Hugh came to the door to speak to me for a moment. He
looked pale and worn from long-continued night watches.
During the weary period of his father’s terrible illness, through
which he nursed him with heroic patience and devotion, I saw
practically nothing of Hugh. While I was at college I frequently wrote
him long letters, to which he barely sent a short reply. Then I read
of Mr. Tankerville’s death, and to my horror and amazement read also
in various papers satirical and seldom kind comments on the scientific
visionary who had just passed away. It seemed to me as if profane
hands had dared to touch at my most cherished illusions. I had
imagined that the whole of the scientific world would go into mourning
for the illustrious antiquarian gone to where all nations, young and
old, mingle in the vast mansions; and lo and behold! a shrug of the
shoulders was the only tribute paid to his memory. I sincerely hoped
that Hugh would be too busy to read the obituary notices about his
father. I longed for the vacation so that I might go and see him. I
knew he would preserve intact the old chestnut trees, the old-world
garden, the museum and the mummies, and I looked forward to once more
watching in imagination by the fitful light of the great log fire the
shade of Queen Neit-akrit wandering before my enraptured gaze.
CHAPTER II.
THE SHADE OF NEIT-AKRIT
My uncle died soon after my return from college. After that I was
supposed to be busy laying the foundations of a good consulting
practice in Harley Street, but in reality was enjoying life and the
newly-acquired delights of a substantial fortune left to me by a
distant relative.
My Aunt Charlotte kept house for me and tyrannised over me to her
heart’s content. To her I had not yet begun to grow up; I was still
the raw schoolboy, prone to mischief and to catching cold, who was in
need of sound advice since he no longer had the inestimable boon of
the birch-rod vigorously applied by loving hands.
Dear Aunt Charlotte!--she really was a very worthy soul, but she held
most uncomfortable views on the subject of duty, which, according to
her code, chiefly consisted in making oneself disagreeable to other
people “for their own good.” She had those twin characteristics
peculiar to Englishwomen of a certain stamp and an uncertain
age--self-righteousness and a narrow mind.
She ruled my servants, my household, my one or two patients and me
with a rod of iron, and it never seriously entered my head to dispute
her rule. I was born with a temperament which always preferred to
follow rather than to lead. Had I ever married I should have been
hopelessly henpecked; as it was, my Aunt Charlotte decided how many
servants I should keep, and what entertainments I should give. She
said the final word on the subject of my suggested holidays and on the
price of my new pyjamas.
Still, with all her faults, she was a good sort, and as she took all
household cares from off my shoulders, I was duly grateful to her for
that.
I saw less and less of Hugh Tankerville during all this time. At
first, whenever I could, I found my way to the silent and cool
Chestnuts, but as often as not Hugh seemed absorbed in thoughts or in
work; his mind, evidently, while I chatted and we smoked, seemed so
far removed from his surroundings that by-and-by I began to wonder
whether my visits were as welcome as they used to be, and I took to
spacing them out at longer intervals. Once--I remember I had not been
to see him for over two months--I was bidding him good-bye after a
very short and silent visit; he placed his hand on my shoulder, and
said, with some of his old wonted cordiality:
“I am not as inhospitable as I seem, old chap, and soon, very soon
now, you will see me quite myself again. It is always delightful to
see you, but the work I am doing now is so great, so absorbing, that I
must appear hideously unresponsive to your kindness to me.”
“I guessed, old Girlie,” I said, with a laugh, “that you must be busy
over something terribly scientific. But,” I added, noting suddenly how
hot his hand felt, and how feverishly his eyes seemed to glow, “it
strikes me that you are overworking yourself, and that as a fully
qualified medical man I have the right to advise you…”
“Advise nothing just now, old chap,” he said, very seriously, “I
should not follow it. Give me two years more, and my work will be
done. Then…”
“Two years, at this sort of work? Girlie, you’ll be a dead man before
then at this rate.”
He shook his head.
“Ah! but it’s no use shaking your head, old man! The dinners you do
not eat, the bed you don’t sleep in, the fresh air you do not breathe,
all will have their revenge upon you for your studied neglect. Look
here! you say you want to do another two years’ work; I say your
health will not stand the strain if you do. Will you pander to our old
friendship to the extent of listening to me for once, and coming away
with me for one month to the sea--preferably Margate--and after that I
promise you I shall not say a word about your health for the next
half-year at least.”
Again he shook his head.
“I could not live if you parted me from my work now.”
And he looked so determined, his eyes glowed with such a strange
inward fire, while there was such indomitable will expressed in his
whole being, that I was not fool enough to pursue my point.
“Look here, Hugh,” I said, “I don’t want, of course, to interfere in
your secrets. You have never thought fit to tell me what this
all-absorbing work is that you pursue at risk of physical damage to
yourself. But I want you to remember, Girlie, that I have independent
means, that my time is my own, and that your father often used to tell
me, when I was a great many years younger, of some of his labours, and
of his work; once I helped him--do you remember?--over some…”
“My father was too fond of talking about his work,” he interrupted. “I
don’t mean to offend you by saying this, old chap, but you must
remember the purport of most of the obituary notices written about one
of the most scientific men that ever lived. He toiled all his life,
contracted the illness of which he died, wore himself out, body and
soul, in pursuit of one great object: when he died, with that great
object unattained, the world shrugged its shoulders and called him a
fool for his pains. But I am here now. I am still young. What he could
not complete I have already almost accomplished. Give me two years,
old chap, and the world will stand gaping round in speechless
amazement at the tearing asunder of its own veil of ignorance, torn by
me from before its eyes, by me, and by my father: ‘mad Tankerville’
they called him! Then it will bow and fawn at my feet, place laurel
wreaths on my father’s tomb, and confer all the honours it can upon
his memory; and I…”
“You will be sadly in need of laurel wreaths too, Girlie, by then,” I
said half crossly, half in grudging admiration at his enthusiasm, “for
you will have worked yourself into your grave long before that halcyon
time.”
He pulled himself together as if he were half-ashamed of his outburst,
and said, with a mirthless laugh:
“You are talking just like your Aunt Charlotte, old Mark.”
I suppose my flippancy had jarred on him in his present highly nervous
state. Before I finally went, I said to him:
“Promise me one thing, Girlie.”
“What is it?”
“How cautious you are! Will you promise? It is for your good and for
mine.”
“In that case I will promise.”
“Promise me that, if you want any kind of help in your work, you will
send for me.”
“I promise.”
I did not see him for the whole of those two years. I wrote: he did
not reply. I called: he would not leave his study to see me. It was
useless being offended with him. I waited.
Then one day I had a telegram:--
“Come at once if you can.”
I jumped into a hansom, and half an hour later was seated in the dear
old museum once more, beside the great log fire, which burned
cheerfully in the grate. I had said nothing when first I saw Hugh. I
was too much shocked at his altered, emaciated appearance: he looked
like his own ghost, wandering about among the mummies. I could see
that he was terribly excited: he was pacing about the room, muttering
strange and incoherent words. For a moment I had feared that his
reason had begun to give way under the terrible strain of absorbing
brain work.
“It was good of you to come, Mark.”
“I was only too happy that you sent for me, old Girlie,” I said sadly.
“I have done the work.”
“Thank God for that!”
“And now I must have your help.”
“Thank God again, Girlie! What is it?”
Silently he took my hand and led me across the room, behind the
ponderous desk which I remembered so well in his father’s lifetime.
“Here is the work, it took forty years--my father’s whole life and my
own youth--to complete.”
He pointed to a large flat case, placed slanting on the desk, so as to
receive the full light from the window. The top of the case was a
sheet of clear plate-glass, beneath which I saw, what I at first took
to be a piece of brown rag, frayed and irregular at the edges and full
of holes. Again the terrible thought flashed across my mind that Hugh
Tankerville had suffered from nerve tension and that his reason had
given way under the strain.
“You don’t see what this is?” he asked in reproachful amazement.
I looked again while he turned the strong light of the reading-lamp on
the case, and then I realised that I had before me a piece of
parchment rendered brown with age, made up of an infinity of
fragments, some too minute even to see with the naked eye, and covered
with those strange Egyptian hieroglyphics with which dear old Mr.
Tankerville had originally rendered me familiar. Inquiringly I looked
up at Hugh.
“When my father first found this parchment,” he said, while strong
excitement seemed to choke the words as they rose in his throat, “it
was little else than a handful of dust, with a few larger pieces among
it, interesting enough to encourage his desire to know its contents
and to whet his enthusiasm. At first, for he was then but a young man,
though already considered a distinguished Egyptologist, he amused
himself by placing the larger fragments together, just as a child
would be amused by piecing a Chinese puzzle; but gradually the secrets
that these fragments revealed were so wonderful, and yet so
incomplete, that restlessly, by day and by night, with the help of the
strongest magnifying glasses money could procure, he continued the
task of evolving from that handful of dust a page of history which for
thousands of years has remained an impenetrable mystery.”
He paused a moment as his hand, which was trembling with inward fever,
wandered lovingly over the glass that covered the precious parchment.
“Illness and death overtook him in the midst of a task but half
accomplished, but before he died he initiated me into the secrets of
his work; it was not necessary that he should request me to continue
it. One glance at the parchment, then still in a very fragmentary
condition, was sufficient to kindle in me the same mad enthusiasm for
the secrets it revealed which had animated, then exhausted, him. I was
young, my sight was at its prime, my patience unbounded. He had all
his life helped me to a knowledge of hieroglyphics as great as his
own. The sneer of the scientific Press at what it called ‘mad
Tankerville’s hobby,’ his visions, acted but as a spur to my
enthusiasm. It is six years since my father died, and to-day I fitted
the last fragment of the parchment into its proper place.”
Amazed, I listened to this wonderful tale of toil and patience,
extending over the greater part of half a century, and amazed, I
looked down at the result of this labour of Sisyphus, the fragments of
brown dust--they could have been little else--which now, after
thousands of years, had revealed secrets which Hugh said would set the
world gaping. My knowledge of Egyptology and hieroglyphics had become
somewhat rusty since the happy days when, sitting in the room in the
fitful light of the fire, I used to hear from the dear old man’s lips
the wonders of Khefren and the mysteries of Queen Neit-akrit; but, as
I looked, suddenly the old familiar cartouche, the name of the Queen,
caught my eye. There it was
[IMAGE: images/img017.jpg]
Neit-akrit, Child of the Sun, my queen as I called her then; and as
Hugh was silent and the shades of evening began to draw in, I thought
I saw, as I did in my schoolboy days, the glorious procession of
Pharaohs, priests and gods pass before my eyes again.
Then Hugh began to tell me of the contents of the parchment. His voice
sounded distant and muffled, as if the very shades that peopled this
dear old museum were themselves telling me their history. It was the
same old theme, so familiar and yet so mysterious still, with which
Mr. Tankerville used to rejoice our schoolboy hearts; the blank page
in Egyptian history when, after the reign of Queen Neit-akrit and the
close of the Sixth Dynasty, the grand old people, who built the great
Pyramid and carved the mystic Sphinx, disappeared from the scene,
gone--no one knows whither--to make way some hundreds of years later
for a new people with new ideas, new kings, new art, new gods.
To me it seemed, as Hugh was speaking, that it was the shade of
Neit-akrit herself who was telling me in that soft, sing-song Egyptian
tongue how her Empire had been run over by the stranger. How she was
weak, being a woman, and how she allowed herself to be dominated by
him, for he was handsome, brave and masterful. Then I seemed to hear
the voice of the high priest of Ra, bewailing the influence of the
stranger and his hordes over the great people of Egypt, whose origin
was lost in the rolling billows of primæval chaos: and I saw the
uprising of the multitude, the bloody battles, I saw the ultimate
triumph of the stranger, as he spread his conquest from Net-amen to
Men-ne-fer, from Tanis to Assuan; and at last I saw the people, the
owners of that land which had once been so great, which they had
covered with monuments that stood towering skywards, defying the
rolling ages, that same people I saw, as Hugh still spoke, wandering
off in one dense horde, driven onwards by the remorseless hand of the
usurping stranger,--homeless, on, ever on, across the vast wilderness,
to be heard of no more.
“No more until this day,” now sounded Hugh’s voice, clear and distinct
in my ears, “until I, and my father before me, have lifted the veil
which hid this strange and mysterious past, and are prepared to show
the world once more this great people, whose work, whose art, whose
science has set it agape since hundreds of years.”
He seemed like a prophet inspired, whilst I, having forcibly aroused
myself from my stupor and my visions, was gradually returning to the
prosy realities of life. It seemed suddenly absurd that two sane
Englishmen--at least I could vouch for the sanity of one of
them--should get into a state of excitement over the fact as to
whether a certain people five thousand years ago had had a war, been
licked and had wandered across the desert or not.
I even caught myself wondering in what light Aunt Charlotte--as being
a good typical example of the narrow and sane-minded, unimaginative
Englishwoman--in what light she would regard the disappearance of the
most ancient, civilised people of this world, and what importance she
would attach to their problematical wanderings across the desert.
Personally, though the subject had had a weird and unaccountable
fascination for me, I soon felt that I did not care much whether Mr.
Tankerville or other historians were correct about the Seventh, Eighth
or Tenth Dynasty or not, and I asked, with a last semblance of
interest:
“Then this parchment sets forth all these historical facts, no doubt;
they are invaluable to the scientific world, but personally I, as one
of the vulgar, do not consider that they were worth either your father
or you wearing yourselves into your coffins about them.”
He looked at me in complete amazement, and passed his hand across his
forehead once or twice, as if to collect his thoughts.
“Ah, yes! I see, of course, you do not understand. How could you? You
have not spent years in this work, till it has become a part and
parcel of your very life.”
“Well, I certainly do not understand, old man, why you should work
yourself into a brain fever for the sake of a people, however
interesting, who have disappeared from this world for the last five
thousand years.”
“Disappeared?” he almost shrieked. “I see now why you did not
understand. But come, old chap, sit here by the fire. Have a pipe,
I’ll have one too.… I’ll tell you all about it, quite calmly. Of
course, you thought me mad--a maniac… Matches? Here you are. Shall we
have the lamps?”
He rang the bell. Old Janet, more wrinkled and pleasant than ever,
brought in the lamp. She threw a log on the fire and left a delicious
atmosphere of prosy cheerfulness behind her as she left. We were now
both comfortably installed by the fire, smoking. Hugh seemed quite
calm, only his eyes stared, large and glowing, into the fire.
CHAPTER III.
THE TOMB OF THE GREEK PRIEST
“I don’t wonder that you think me mad, Mark, old chap,” began Hugh
very calmly after a little while; “the work has been so close, that no
doubt it did get on to my nerves a bit. When I actually put the
finishing touches on it to-day, my only other thought, besides that of
exultant triumph, was that of sharing my delights with you. Then you
came, so ready to help me since I had called to you, and I, like a
foolish enthusiast, never reflected on the all-important necessity of
putting the facts clearly and coherently before you.”
He pointed to one of the mummies that stood upright in a glass case at
the further end of the museum. The human outline was clear and
distinct under the few linen wrappings, painted all over with designs
and devices and the portrait of the deceased, after the fashion
introduced into Egypt by the Greeks.
“When you and I were schoolboys together all those mummies were our
friends, and our imaginations ran riot when my father, in his
picturesque way, explained to us the meaning of the various
inscriptions which recorded their lives. We knew in those days that
this particular mummy had once been a Greek priest and scribe of
Assuan, who had expressed a desire to be buried in a peculiarly lonely
spot in the desert land, opposite what is now Wady-Halfa. A pious
friend or relative had evidently carried out this wish, for it was in
that desolate spot that my father found this mummy in its solitary
tomb. I remember how, for my part, I loved to think of that pious
friend sailing down the silent Nile, with the body of the dead scribe
lying at rest in the prow of his dahabijeh, while the great goddess
Isis smiled down approvingly at the reverent deed, and the sacred
crocodiles watched curiously the silent craft, flitting ghost-like
amidst the lotus leaves. More than two thousand years later my father
visited this lonely desert tomb. It was before the days that a strict
surveillance was kept over tourists and amateur explorers, and he was
alone, save for an old and faithful fellah--dead now--who was his
constant attendant in his scientific researches. Beside the mummy of
the dead scribe stood the four canopic jars, dedicated to the children
of Horus and containing the heart and other entrails of the deceased;
my father, with less reverence than scientific enthusiasm, had with
his penknife loosened the top of one of the jars, when, to his
astonishment, he saw that it contained in addition to the embalmed
heart a papyrus closely written in Greek.”
“In Greek? Not this one, then?”
“No, another, equally priceless, equally valuable, but only as a
solution, a complement of the first.”
He went up to the desk, and from one of the drawers took out a
papyrus, faded and yellow with age, and placed it before me.
“I have made a translation of it, old fellow,” he said with a smile,
seeing my look of perplexity; “you were a pretty good classic scholar,
though, at one time, and you will be able to verify that mine is a
correct rendering of the original.”
He took a paper out of his pocket-book and began to read, whilst I
listened more and more amazed and bewildered, still wondering why Hugh
Tankerville had worked himself to such a pitch of excitement for the
sake of a dead and vanished past.
“_I pray to Osiris and to Isis that I may be buried on the spot where
my footsteps led me that day, when I was still young. Oh, mother Isis!
what was thy sacred wish when thou didst guide mine eyes to read the
mysteries of thy people? I pray to be buried within that same tomb
where I found the papyrus, that guided my way to the land of wheat and
barley of ancient Kamt, that lies beyond the wilderness of the sand
from the east to the west. I stood upon the spot and I, too, shot my
arrow into the heart of Osiris as he disappears behind Manou, into the
valley of perpetual night, on the first day that Hapi gives forth
goodness to the land. I, too, crossed the sands from the east to the
west, and I, too, rejoiced when I saw the Rock of Anubis, and found
the way no longer barred to me, to that land of plenty, wherein dwell
the chosen people of Ra, secure from all enemies--great, solitary and
eternal. But, alas! it was not for me to dwell in their midst! Enough!
They are! and Ra and his children have surrounded them with a barrier,
which no child of man can traverse._”
I had to confess that after hearing the contents of this so-called
explanatory papyrus I was more perplexed than before.
“You don’t understand this, do you, old Mark?” resumed Hugh, “any more
than my father did; but the whole thing seemed so enigmatical to him,
and yet so real, so strange, that he looked round him eagerly for a
solution. One by one he opened each of the other three canopic jars,
and it was in the last one that he found the priceless papyrus, of a
date some three thousand years previous to the existence of the scribe
in whose tomb it rested. Here was obviously the key to the puzzle
propounded in the Greek priest’s writing, and the explanation of his
mysterious statements; but alas! the moment the outer air reached the
ancient treasure, it fell before my father’s very eyes into more than
a thousand minute fragments.”
He paused, then added, as if he wished every one of his words to
impress itself indelibly on my mind:
“It has taken forty years of ceaseless toil to solve that great and
glorious mystery, but now at last it is done, and I, Hugh Tankerville,
am ready, with your help, to prove to the world that those great
people, who were driven off by the stranger across the desert, did not
perish in the wilderness: that they found a land which lies beyond the
rolling billows of sand and shingle, where they formed an empire more
great and vast, more wonderful and glorious, than aught we have
dreamed of in our so-called science.”
“This is a theory,” I said with a smile.
“It is a fact,” he replied earnestly; “at least it was a fact two
thousand years ago, when that same Greek priest wandered across the
wilderness in search of the vanished hordes of Egypt: when he with
simple conviction, perhaps with his dying breath, pronounced, ‘Enough!
They are!’”
“Then do you mean to tell me?…” I began.
“I tell you, Mark, that beyond those inaccessible sand dunes that
surround the Libyan desert, in that so-called arid wilderness, there
live at the present moment the descendants of those same people who
built the Pyramid of Ghizeh and carved the mysterious majesty of the
Sphinx.”
“Let them live in peace,” I said flippantly, “since no one can get at,
or to, them. You have said it yourself, they are--if they are at
all--beyond the inaccessible dunes.”
“Inaccessible only to the ignorant, but not to those who know. They
were not inaccessible to the scribe who wrote this parchment over
three thousand years after the great emigration into the wilderness.”
“Do you maintain then,” I said still incredulously, “that the writer
of parchment No. 2 actually set out on a desert journey and verified
the truth, as set forth in parchment No. 1?”
“How he came possessed of the original papyrus he does not very
clearly say, but, as soon as he had deciphered it, he started forth
across the Libyan desert, and crossed those inaccessible dunes, using
those landmarks which are clearly explained on the old Egyptian
document, and which proved, in every instance, to be absolutely
correct in indicating a way across the impassable wilderness.”
“Well! but he never got there.”
“That we do not know.… His MS. ends abruptly, and…”
“Like Poe’s _Arthur Gordon Pym_, eh, old Girlie? It is a way narrators
of adventure have.”
“His is not a narration; he set out to verify certain facts. He
verified them. We do not know what caused him to turn back in sight of
goal.”
“Hm! that turning back in sight of goal does not carry conviction to
the mind of an obstinate Britisher.”
“No!… Nothing would deter us, Mark, old chap, would it?” he said
calmly. “_We_ will not turn back.”
“_We_?”
I jumped up in bewildered amazement, the object of Hugh’s excitement,
of his patient explanations to my dull intellect, suddenly dawning on
me. I gave a long whistle, buried my hands in my pockets, fixed Hugh
with my most professional eye, and said:
“You are absolutely and unmistakably cracked, Girlie!”
He came up to me, put his hand on my shoulder, and looked at me. I
have said it before, he was a man of boundless influence over his
fellow-creatures, whenever he chose to exert it.
“Come and look at the papyrus,” he said.
“D---- the papyrus. The whole thing is too preposterous for words.”
He said very simply, “Why?”
“Because.… Because.… Damn it, Hugh,” I said very crossly… and… I went
to have a look at the papyrus.
It was still very fragmentary, of course, as in places quite large
pieces were missing, but certain passages were peculiarly clear; for
instance, the part which described the way the wandering hordes of
Egypt took when in search of a home.
“You see, they wandered down the Nile,” explained Hugh, eagerly,
showing me the drawing of the river and of the multitude following its
course; “and then it was that from the lonely spot where the Greek
scribe lay buried they went forth towards the west.”
“That is a mere surmise,” I objected.
“The scribe says, ‘_Let me be buried there where I found the
papyrus!_’ and later, ‘_I stood upon the spot, and I, too, shot my
arrow into the heart of Osiris_,’ etc. Osiris is the sun, and a figure
shooting an arrow is one of the simplest hieroglyphics known, meaning
a perfectly straight course.”
“Yes! and here,” I exclaimed suddenly, “is the figure shooting an
arrow at the setting sun.”
In spite of myself a very little of Hugh’s enthusiasm was beginning to
filtrate into my mind. The whole thing was preposterous, of course,
but the old fascination which ancient Egypt, with its gorgeousness,
its mysteries, its glorious art had ever excited, even in my raw
schoolboy mind, began to hold me enthralled.
“Remember, Mark, too, that due west, line for line with Wady-Halfa, a
couple of thousand miles away, lies the high peak of Uj-en-ari, and
that almost at its very base Rholfs found traces of an ancient way
which he took to have once led to, and therefore from, Egypt.”
“And the arrow which the hieroglyphic person is shooting is depicted
in the next sign as being stuck in a high and precipitous mountain,
which might easily be Uj-en-ari,” I added excitedly.
There was no doubt that my common sense was lulling itself to rest.
Hugh took hold of my coatsleeve and made me turn to where a large map
of Egypt and the Libyan desert hung against the wall.
“There lies the land,” he said, running his fingers round the vast
blank space on the map, “and that is where I mean to go.”
And common sense gave another dying gasp.
“Rholfs and Caillaud both found that inaccessible and shifting dunes,
running from north to south, barred any way across the Libyan desert,”
I objected.
“If we go due west from that one spot I feel convinced that we shall
find a way through those inaccessible sand dunes,” replied Hugh,
emphatically.
He was so sure, so convinced, there was so much power in his whole
personality, that the conviction very soon dawned upon me that, if I
did not choose to accompany him in his wild search after his
Egyptians, he would risk the dangerous desert journey alone.
With an impatient sigh I turned to the papyrus.
“See how clear are the directions,” resumed Hugh. “Having started from
the spot, we evidently have many days’ march before us, due west,
across the desert, for we see the multitudes wandering, and one or two
dead on the way, but soon we come to this figure, a man rejoicing--can
you see it? it is very clear--look at the arms! and now the words:
‘_Then when to be seen is the Rock of Anubis not is barred against him
the way, and opened are before him the gates of ground of wheat and
barley of the land of Kamt._’”
“How do you explain that, Girlie?” I asked.
“The Greek priest saw that rock. I imagine its shape is something like
a jackal’s head--Anubis, old Mark, was the jackal-headed god of
ancient Egypt--or there may actually be a figure of the god carved
into the living rock. We shall see when we get there.”
It was a fairy tale, of course. My reason stood up confronting me, and
telling me that the idea was preposterous beyond what words could say;
it told me that, even granting that those Egyptians had found and
established themselves, in some distant and fertile oasis, in the
heart of the most arid wilderness on the globe, future generations
would have heard about or from them, and recorded their existence or
extinction. It told me that no people could have lived on any one spot
on earth for five thousand years and have been content not to extend
their dominions, with their growing population; that they could not
have gone there without wanting to come back; that Rholfs, Caillaud,
Cat, any of the great desert explorers, would have found some traces
of the route to this unknown land, if route there was. It told me
that, and a hundred other arguments besides, and yet, as Hugh
Tankerville talked, explained and argued, I listened more and more
eagerly; his influence, which he himself knew to be boundless, and
which he was endeavouring to exert to its full, was beginning to
pervade me; my objections became more and more feeble.
“You cannot bring forward one single positive argument against my
elaborate scaffolding of facts, Mark! You are not going to tell me
that two people, one living more than three thousand years before the
other, have joined hands across thirty centuries to concoct the same
lie. What object would a Greek priest have in corroborating the
falsehoods of an Egyptian, whose existence even he would ignore?”
“I cannot make that Greek priest of yours out,” I argued. “What made
him turn back?”
“He may not have been sufficiently provisioned for any further
journey; having ascertained that the landmarks did exist, he may have
gone back with a view to making a fresh and more elaborate start. He
may…”
“He may have been a confounded liar, as most inhabitants--notably the
priests--of those countries generally are,” I laughed.
Hugh frowned, and said at last, with a trifle less enthusiasm:
“Of course, old chap, I have no desire to persuade you against your
will. When I wired to you I was merely fulfilling my promise, and…”
“Well?”
“I can always go alone.”
What was the use of further argument? I had known all along that I
should ultimately give in. After all, I had independent means, was my
own master--in spite of Aunt Charlotte; I had nothing to do, and was
barely thirty years of age. Is it great wonder that the love of
adventure, inherent in every Englishman, had by now completely
annihilated my reason? After all, I’d just as soon go and hunt for
ancient Egyptians in impossible desert regions with Hugh Tankerville
as wait for problematical patients in Harley Street.
I stretched out my hand to Sawnie Girlie and said:
“No, you don’t, Girlie. When do we start?”
CHAPTER IV.
THE ROCK OF ANUBIS
We started about a week afterwards; personally, I should find it
difficult to say exactly how much of Hugh’s wild theories I believed.
The whole thing fascinated me immensely, and although I never for a
moment credited the notion that we should find any living beings,
other than wild Bedouins and Tibestis, in that part of the Libyan
desert which we meant to traverse, yet I certainly did hope that we
might find a few interesting relics of a great and vanished past.
Hugh had made a good photographic reproduction of the two papyri,
leaving the originals safely locked up in a ponderous fire-proof safe,
which had been screwed to the floor of the museum in the dear old
Chestnuts. Old Janet with her daughter and son-in-law were to take
care of the house in the master’s absence, and… we started.
No one who met us, either at Charing Cross or Paris, or subsequently
at Marseilles or Cairo, could have guessed, in our thoroughly
matter-of-fact form of procedure, that we were aught but a pair of
young, enthusiastic tourists visiting the glorious country for the
first time, and with no other object in view save that of our own
selfish pleasures. And we were bent on crossing half a continent to
find a people who had disappeared from the history of the world since
nigh upon five thousand years.
The dragoman from whom we hired the dahabijeh and its crew, which were
to take us up the Nile as far as Wady-Halfa, was struck, with
speechless wonder at the two mad English who obstinately refused to do
more than cursorily glance at the glories of Thebes and Luxor, and
seemed impelled by some chasing spirit which forbade them to land or
to waste time. I could not, of course, very accurately estimate Hugh’s
thoughts and feelings, as our little craft slowly and silently flitted
up the sacred and historic river. At eventime, when the waters lay
dark and peaceful, and the moon shone silvery and radiant on date
palms and distant mosques, on sandy shores and majestic ruins, the
boatmen, whom we had provided with tambourines and darabukas, would
crouch on deck and intone some of their half-melancholy, monotonous
tunes. Then I would see Hugh’s eyes fixed longingly and searchingly on
that distant horizon towards the west, and I myself, quiet,
matter-of-fact Britisher as I was, would begin to dream of the great
people whom we had set forth to seek. I saw, as the dahabijeh glided
noiselessly along, the great procession of the wandering hordes
quitting their homes, polluted by the conquering stranger, and seeking
a new and glorious resting-place in the west far away.
The great and mysterious immensities of the Libyan desert became
peopled in my mind with high priests in flowing robes and leopards’
skins, with priestesses in heavy plaited wigs, and priests with shaven
crowns, with men and women, angular and gaunt, dark and high
cheek-boned, flat-footed and large-eyed, such as we see depicted on
ancient tombs and papyri. I seemed to hear the monotonous, sing-song
tones of the ancient Egyptian language with which dear old Mr.
Tankerville had rendered me familiar; the air became filled with
sounds of the sistrum and the drum, and the tall papyrus grass, as we
passed, seemed to send forth in the evening air a long-drawn sigh for
the glories past and gone.
In the daytime we pored over Champollion’s and Mr. Tankerville’s
Egyptian grammar; and if at times I smiled indulgently at Hugh’s
patience and ardent study of a language I believed to be dead, yet I
tried to emulate him in my eagerness to master its many difficulties.
We set each other daily tasks in conversation, and we each kept a
diary written in hieroglyphic and cuneiform characters.
Before we reached Wady-Halfa, however, reason, as represented by my
humble self, made a final compact with enthusiasm, as personified by
Hugh.
“Look here, Girlie,” I said to him one evening, as we sat lazily
smoking on the deck of the dahabijeh, “I am only too delighted to join
you in any mad adventure upon this dark and interesting continent, and
the Libyan desert is as good as any other place for me in which to
spend six months in your company; at the same time, I am not
sufficiently devoted to science to risk perishing of hunger and thirst
in the midst of some terrible wilderness. Now, when Rholfs tried to do
the journey which you and I propose to start on, he had to give it up
because he found a line of inaccessible and shifting dunes right
across his path in the desert.”
“He started from Beni-Adin, and Assuan, and…”
“I know. We start from a given point--the tomb of the defunct
priest--and you are absolutely convinced that in a straight line due
west from that tomb we shall find that the said line of inaccessible
dunes is not inaccessible.”
“I am absolutely convinced that the Greek priest crossed them.”
“Very well; this is my point. If, having started from that tomb and
travelled due west, we find that we cannot effect a crossing straight
ahead, you must give me your solemn word of honour that you will not
entertain any foolish idea of roaming about the desert in search of
imaginary ways, which may after all have vanished, nor risk a
miserable and inglorious death in the mazes of the arid immensity.”
He looked at me and smiled. I was half ashamed of my eagerness and
pompous diction, for I had spoken very solemnly.
“I can safely promise you that, old chap, for I am sure we shall find
the way.”
Hugh had already given me his views on the subject of taking
attendants with us on the desert journey.
“What in the world is the good of them?” he asked. “They do not know
the way any better than we do, and they would, of course, terribly
increase our responsibilities and anxiety. Their only advantage, as
far as I can see, is that they look after the camels. Well, old Mark,
will you tell me if there is anything in the world that a set of
beastly niggers can do, which two resolute and practical Englishmen
cannot do equally well, and a great deal better?”
I must confess that I fully endorsed these views. We both were ready
to rough it, both had plenty of gumption, and both hated niggers about
our persons. The result of our decision was that we elected to spend
a month quietly in Wady-Halfa, where we lodged with an old Arab
store-dealer and his family, whose ways of talking and walking, of
scraping and shuffling, we set ourselves to study and were soon able
to closely imitate. We had, of course, decided to start on our desert
journey, dressed in the burnous and general rig-out of Arab small
traders, this costume being far more cool and comfortable for our
purpose than any European suit of ducks, besides being so much less
likely to attract attention.
Hugh spoke Arabic like a native, and by the time that our month’s
probation at Wady-Halfa was over, we both looked as brown, red and
other colours of the rainbow as any actual son of the desert soil.
Our host’s eldest son, who was a camel-dealer by occupation and a
thief by nature, was of great service to us in the choice of the four
beasts we would require for our journey. He looked upon us as the most
crack-brained Englishmen he had ever come across. He tried hard to
cheat us, but as he did not succeed he conceived a violent admiration
for us both, and I believe was genuinely sorry to see us go so
cheerfully to certain death.
By his aid, and acting under his guidance, we spent that month
practically living in constant companionship with the four camels
which were to bear us and our equipment on the great journey. We
learned their ways, their manners and customs, their wants and
requirements, and after the first fortnight could look after a camel
better than most Englishmen can look after a horse; and--as we had
selected two strong, healthy milchers--we solemnly and conscientiously
(oh, shade of Aunt Charlotte!) learned the gentle art of milking, so
as to have the delicious and nourishing commodity on our way.
Our equipment was not complicated: we were not going to make
astronomical observations, take altitudes, or catalogue the fauna and
flora of the wilderness. Our own supply of provisions was as
concentrated as modern scientific grocery could make it--meat lozenges
and essences of all kinds constituting its main portion: there was our
supply of water in gourds, plenty of tobacco and matches, half-a-dozen
bottles of brandy, all to last us sixty clear days, by which time, if
we had not found the land of wheat and barley of ancient Kamt, we
hoped at least to strike the point where the great caravan route to
Wadai crosses the interior of the Libyan desert.
Then, if our expedition had proved to be--well! a wild-goose chase, we
could perhaps fall in with a caravan, and in a chastened and humbled
spirit attach ourselves to it, and in its train travel southwards or
northwards as the case might be. This was, of course, very
problematical; caravans do not travel along that route very
frequently, and it was just as likely as not that, if we ever reached
that point, we could comfortably starve by the wayside before we
caught sight of a single human soul. Still, as a concession to common
sense, this plan served well enough.
We also provided ourselves with sundry soaps and shaving creams, also
with a rather more gorgeous change of attire than the one in which we
meant to travel, all with a view of presenting a respectable
appearance before the highly-civilised people we meant to visit. A
good light folding tent and a magnificent compass completed our simple
equipment. Moreover, we each carried a rifle and a revolver and a
hundred rounds of ammunition, and--well!--we started.
Up to the last moment I fancy that our hosts thought that we would
give up our mad undertaking, but when they actually saw us depart, and
realised that we seriously meant to cross the desert with four camels
and no escort, they shrugged their shoulders with true Oriental
placidity. “Our lives,” they said, “were our own to throw away.”
The tomb of the Greek priest, from which we were, in our turn, to
shoot the arrow from the east to the west, was about a couple of miles
from Wady-Halfa, and faced straight out across the desert towards the
setting sun. Mr. Tankerville had explained to Hugh exactly how to get
to it, and late one evening we found our way there, ready to start. It
was carved out of the living rock, and, of course, was empty, now that
the secrets it had guarded for over two thousand years were safely
lodged in The Chestnuts. The paintings on the walls recorded that the
priest had been a good and pious man who had offered sacrifices to the
gods, and who, I concluded, would be above leading his fellow-men
astray.
By the time night came we had pitched our tent four miles from
Wady-Halfa. Already we seemed in another world: London, civilisation,
hansom cabs and top hats, even the dear old Chestnuts and the museum
of mummies and papyri had become akin to dreamland. Hugh looked
magnificent in his abajah and white burnous: the Eastern clothes
seemed to suit his romantic personality. I am afraid I looked somewhat
less impressive than he did, and I felt that in the distant and
mysterious land which we were about to visit I should be looked upon
merely as Hugh’s satellite.
At first I enjoyed the journey immensely. The romance of the
adventure, the delightful peace of the vast wilderness, the novelty of
the whole thing, and above all, Hugh’s companionship, made day follow
day in agreeable monotony.
For it was monotony of the most absolute, unvarying order. Day after
day the same sky, the same sand and shingle, the same tufts of coarse
grass and clumps of seedy palms, the same pools of brackish water, the
same glittering pieces of rock, smoothed and polished with the roll of
ages, the same, the same, always the same. After a while I got to hate
the colour of the sky, the interminable billows of sand, which seemed
never to vary in shape or size, but to repeat themselves in weary
numbers day after day, week after week. Soon I lost count of time,
while we wandered on straight towards the setting sun. Yes, straight!
Though sand dunes rose before and round us, steep, rocky tableland,
moving shingle, inaccessible heights, yet, straight before us as the
arrow flies, from the tomb of the Greek priest to the heart of Osiris,
we always found a mountain pass, a way up or round a boulder--a way,
in fact, straight on towards the west.
We went forward in the early mornings and late afternoons, and rested
during the hot parts of the day and the darker hours of the night. Our
worst foe decidedly was _ennui_, at least it was so as far as I was
concerned, though Hugh helped me to pass many weary hours by plunging
into his endless store of knowledge about the people we had set out to
seek. I could see that, as we wandered on, his belief and enthusiasm
never for a moment flagged, and when I expressed my abhorrence of the
interminable expanse of shingle and sand he would rouse my spirits by
glowing descriptions of what lay beyond.
After the first week we had ceased to perceive the slightest trace of
animal life, and this terrible silence, which hangs over the desert
like a pall, was more oppressive than words can say. So oppressive was
it that one almost longed for the weird cries of the hyenas, which had
made the nights hideous in the beginning of our journey.
Then the day came when exactly one-half of our provisions which we had
taken with us had been consumed by us and by the beasts, the day after
which the question of turning back would become more and more
difficult to answer; and still before us sand and shingle, and rising
upland, and monotony, and slowly-creeping mortal _ennui_.
I fought against it honestly as hard as I could. I was ashamed that I,
the stronger physically when we started, should be the first to show
signs of weakness, but somehow this _ennui_, caused by the ceaseless,
terrible, appalling monotony of the wilderness, and of the slow
shambling gait of the camels, developed into a malady which robbed me
totally of sleep. Still, I said nothing to Hugh, but I could see that
he knew what ailed me, for the efforts he made to distract my thoughts
became positively touching.
One night, when we crouched as usual under our tents smoking, I asked:
“Girlie, how long is it since we left Wady-Halfa?”
“Thirty-one days,” he replied quietly.
Yes, quietly. He could speak with equanimity of thirty-one times
twenty-four hours, of thirty-one times 1440 minutes spent in gazing at
the same sand, the same scraps of coarse grass, the same limitless
blue sky, the same horizon far away.
“And how many miles do you reckon that we have travelled due west?”
“Nearly six hundred, I should say.”
I said nothing more, and he went outside the tent, where I could see
him presently gazing out longingly towards the west. I went up to him
and put my hand on his shoulder.
“Girlie,” I said, “we have wandered thirty-one days in the wilderness.
If everything goes at its best, and if we are very economical with our
food, we can perhaps wander another thirty and no more.”
He did not reply, and I had not the courage or the cowardice to
continue with what was going on in my mind. But I knew that he guessed
it, for later on in the evening, when we made a fresh start, I saw him
examining the various packages on the camels’ backs, and, when he
thought I was not looking, he hastily passed his hand across his eyes
as if he wished to chase away a persistent, unpleasant thought.
Two more days elapsed without any change, save that one of our camels,
the one which had given us the best milk, suddenly sickened and died.
We left her by the wayside and continued to wander on, but a couple of
hours later, when we took our customary midnight rest, Hugh said to
me:
“Mark, old fellow, there are three sound camels left. Will you take
two and a sufficient amount of provisions and return eastward
to-night?”
“And you?”
“I am going on, of course.”
“So am I, Girlie.”
“I refuse to take you any further, Mark.”
“I was not aware that I was being taken, Girlie.”
“I was a fool to persuade you to come. I feel morally responsible for
your welfare, and…”
“And?”
“The game is becoming dangerous.”
“So much the better, Girlie, it was getting deuced monotonous.”
“Will you turn back, Mark?”
“No! I won’t. Not without you, at least.”
We laid ourselves down to sleep after that, but I don’t think that
either of us found much rest. I, for one, never closed an eye, and I
could hear Hugh tossing about restlessly in his rug on the ground.
Towards early dawn I got up and looked out on the ever-monotonous
landscape, when, from afar, towards the west, high over head, I saw
three or four tiny black specks approaching--birds, of course. I gazed
astonished, for it was over three weeks since we had seen any sign of
bird or beast. The specks came nearer, and soon I recognised a flight
of vultures, attracted, no doubt, by the dead camel we had left on the
way, while at the same time, through the oppressive silence around, my
ears caught the dismal sound of a pack of hyenas crying in the
wilderness. As I turned I saw that Hugh stood behind me; he, too, had
seen the carrion beast and heard the melancholy cry. His whole face
beamed with a sudden reawakened enthusiasm, and he laid his hand on my
shoulder, saying:
“Will you come with me for another five days, Mark? and I promise you
that if at the end of that time we have found no further traces that
we are on the right track, I will accompany you back to Wady-Halfa. We
can be a little more economical with our provisions and make them last
out a few days longer than we had intended.”
Strangely enough, with the dismal advent of the birds of prey, my
enthusiasm seemed to have revived. I think it must have been owing to
the sound of other life than ours, through the terrible, unvarying
silence. Hugh’s promise also comforted me, and for the next three days
I delighted him with my reawakened spirits.
One morning, at break of day, as we were loading the camels, Hugh
pointed westward.
“The enemy at last, Mark. It is no use attempting to make a start; he
will overtake us before we are well on our way. I have been wondering
how it was that he has avoided us all this while.”
I had read a great deal about sandstorms, and had, when we first
started, spoken about the chances of our meeting with one with perfect
equanimity. We made what preparations were necessary to meet the
enemy: the camels, poor things, were trembling from head to foot. We
spread the canvas of our tent right over them and us, and our heads
well protected with cloaks and rugs, we could but wait and trust our
lives to a higher keeping.
The experience was a terrible one, one that made me forget my _ennui_
and Hugh his visionary dreams. The stunning blows from sand and
shingle, the darkness, the fright of the camels, the suffocation, all
helped to make me long for that monotony of calm desert sand which I
had railed against for so many days.
I think I must have been hit on the back of the head by some sharp
loose stone, for I can remember the sensation of a terrible blow and
then nothing more. When I recovered consciousness it was with the
sensation of brandy trickling down my throat, of an even blue sky
above me, and of Hugh’s cheerful voice asking me how I felt.
“Just like one gigantic and collapsed sand dune,” I murmured.
Indeed it seemed to me as if it ought to be impossible for any one
human being to hold as much sand about their person as I did. It was
absolutely everywhere: in my mouth, in my eyes, in the brandy which I
drank, at the back of my throat, in my shoes, and under the roots of
my hair.
“How are the camels?” I asked.
“Badly, I am afraid. One of them refuses to stir.”
“Not our milcher, I hope?”
“Unfortunately, yes!”
This was bad business, for the milk had been very delicious and
nourishing, and the water, which had been stored in goats’ skins, was
but a very unpalatable substitute.
The question of going back the way we came was thus finally settled:
we had been on the road since thirty-four days, the last pool of
stagnant water we had seen was thirty days ago, and that was
undrinkable, and we certainly had not water enough to last us another
thirty-four days.
“It is obviously a case of ‘Forward does it!’ old man,” I said, “and
the sooner we reach that fertile and elusive land the better I shall
be pleased.”
We covered another fifteen miles westward that day, and as night drew
on, it seemed to me as if I had never breathed such delicious and
invigorating air as reached us through the folds of our tent. The moon
had risen and looked down placidly at the unvarying monotony beneath
her, and I, in spite of the peace and silence of the night, could not
get to sleep, but tossed about restlessly on my rug, with intervals of
short, troubled unconsciousness.
Suddenly something roused me and caused me to sit up listening and
wide awake; the cry of the vultures, perhaps, or of a hyena rendered
bold in the night. Hugh, too, had jumped up, and I followed him
outside the tent, with an unaccountable feeling of something strange
in the air round me.
The wilderness, arid and desolate, looked almost poetic as it lay
bathed in the moonlight. The stars shone down bright and mysterious
overhead; to the south we could see the summits of a long range of
hills dimly outlined against the deep indigo of the sky, and before us
the great and immeasurable vastness, with its secrets and its
mysteries, its evenness and peace, which we had learned to know so
well, and yet I could not say what it was that seemed so strange, so
unaccountable in the air.
“Can you smell it, Mark?” asked Hugh, suddenly.
Smell it! Yes, that was it! I realised it now; my nostrils had been so
long accustomed to the smell of sand, and rugs, and camels that they
did not recognise the strange and penetrating scent which filled the
air. It was sweet, yet pungent, like a gigantic bouquet of lotus
blossoms; the very atmosphere, clear and cool, had become oppressive
with this curious scent.
“Where does it come from?” I asked.
We strolled out farther and climbed up the low hillock, at the base of
which we had pitched our tent.
When we reached the top of the boulder, and our eyes, as usual,
searched the horizon longingly towards the west, we both uttered a cry
and gazed outwards, not daring to trust to our senses. There, far
ahead, outlined clearly against the dark, starlit canopy of the sky,
towered, some thousand feet above the surrounding tableland, a white
solitary rock, the summit of which, carved by almighty nature in a
moment of playful fancy, was a perfect stone image of a jackal’s head:
the black cloud of the sirocco had hidden it from our view this
morning, and even now we stood, wondering whether our excited brain
was not playing our wearied eyes a cruel and elusive trick.
“The Rock of Anubis,” whispered Hugh.
All around us the same deathlike silence reigned; the shingle and sand
glittered in the moonlight like myriads of diamonds, the rugged upland
rose in majestic billows, while the midnight air was filled with the
strange, pungent odour of a thousand lotus blossoms, and a score of
miles ahead, dominating this wilderness with awesome and mysterious
majesty, the Rock of Anubis stood before us as the first tangible sign
that Hugh’s conjectures were no empty dreams. Perforce we had to wait
until dawn to start once more upon our way; the night, lovely as it
was, seemed interminably long, and the first streak of light found us
loading our two remaining camels. We were both keenly excited now that
the end of our journey was near. The ground was very rough, rising
over precipitous boulders and crags at times, but nevertheless with a
decided downward slope towards the valley in which stood the Rock of
Anubis. Our camels were tired and weakened with sparse food; at midday
we seemed only to have covered half the distance, and the base of the
rock was still hidden from our view.
“Do you notice, Girlie, those white specks which lie dotted about on
the ground to the south of the rock?” I remarked to Hugh later in the
day.
“Yes, I have been wondering what they are.”
The sun was just setting when we at last reached the top of the last
boulder that divided us from the valley. The Rock of Anubis now stood
before us in its entirety, with the jackal’s head sharply silhouetted
against the ruddy sky not two miles away.
From its base a path led due south towards the distant long range of
hills: it was easily traceable by the numerous white specks which
glittered on it, clear and distinct, against the yellow sand. As we
emerged with our camels over the crest of the hill a great noise
suddenly rent the deathlike stillness of the air, and a gigantic black
cloud seemed to rise from the ground. It was a flight of vultures
which flew with dismal croaking upwards, while, terrified, a pack of
hyenas fled screeching into the wilderness.
Then we saw that the white specks on the ground were human bones, and
that the Rock of Anubis towered over a gigantic graveyard.
CHAPTER V.
THE GATES OF KAMT
We were forced to encamp in the very midst of this weird desolation.
A thousand conflicting conjectures chased one another in our
bewildered minds. What was the explanation of this strange and
solitary abode of the dead? who were these whose whitening bones were
left to mingle with the sand and shingle of the desert?
“The wandering hordes of Egypt, who found death on this spot after
ceaseless roaming in the desert,” was my first suggestion; obviously a
foolish one, for Hugh quietly pointed to one or two skeletons on which
the flesh still hung.
“None of these skeletons have been here more than ten years, I should
say,” he remarked.
“A battle-field, then, where some wild tribes of the desert have
lately fought a bloody battle.”
But he shook his head.
“There is not a single skeleton of beast among them.”
“Anyhow, it is horrible,” I said.
“Horrible? Well! perhaps it is. But I feel convinced that it marks the
end of our journey.”
“Do you think, then, that we shall add our British bones to this
interesting collection?” I asked.
“No, I don’t, Mark. But I think that after we have had a night’s rest
we shall follow this path, which obviously leads southward to that
distant range of hills.”
“About another twenty miles?”
“Behind it lies the land of wheat and barley of ancient Kamt.”
I looked across the horizon, where the crests of those distant hills
caught the last rays of the setting sun, and again I could smell the
strange and pungent odour of lotus blossoms, which brought back to my
memory visions of the great people in gorgeous garments and gems, and
of palaces and temples, such as sober, twentieth-century moderns can
hardly conceive.
I wanted to start at once, the path seemed so clear.
“Am I to be the cautious one this time, Mark?” said Hugh, with a
smile. “We are not going to jeopardise success, just when it lies so
near.”
“That’s so, old man,” I replied with my old flippancy. “I had better
occupy myself with brushing up those Egyptian prepositions and
personal pronouns. I feel I shall have need of them soon, if I don’t
want to disgrace myself.”
I am afraid that that night we spent a considerable amount of time in
foolish vanity. We dared not waste our minute provision of water, but
we indulged in a shave with the patent cream, brushed our clothes, and
generally endeavoured to assume a respectable appearance. The poor
camels were very sick, and we were much afraid that one of them at
least might not manage another day’s march. However, neither of us
felt as if we could leave the poor creature behind, and lightening its
load as much as possible, we all four started to walk southward in the
early morning. I must say it was not cheerful walking on the road:
skulls and skeletons lay in great numbers, and black ravens and
vultures, disturbed in their grim meal by our footsteps, hovered over
our heads, filling the air with their dismal croaking; but, against
that, each step brought us nearer to that range of hills behind which,
both our convictions told us, there lived the people who used the
wilderness as a burying-place for their dead.
Hugh felt convinced that those people would appear before us in all
the glory of ancient Egypt: I, less sanguine, dared hope no more than
that they would prove to be a friendly desert tribe, who would give us
the means of returning to civilisation once more.
The road, at first, had wound round a number of low and rugged
boulders, but now, after a last sharp turn southward, it lay even and
flat, stretching out for many miles before us; and as I looked
straight along it, it seemed to me as if I saw an object moving in the
distance.
“Can you see it too, Girlie?” I asked. But there was no need for a
reply, for Hugh was staring, with eyes literally blazing with
excitement, on that moving object.
“A bird?” I suggested.
“No, a man!”
“Yes, a man! He seems to be gesticulating furiously.”
“Now he has started to run.”
“It is becoming decidedly exciting, Girlie,” I said.
We had paused beside our camels, who, hungry and half dead with
thirst, had lain down in the road. We waited, hardly daring to speak.
Already we could see clearly the silhouette of the man, tall and
gaunt, with long, thin arms, which he waved frantically in the air,
brandishing what I at first took to be a club or axe. Then, through
the silence of the air, we suddenly heard his cries, which seemed to
me like the dismal howls of the carrion beasts of the desert. His
hair, which was long, and looked dark, flew about his head. He was
naked save for a tattered loin-cloth around him. A few more minutes of
suspense and the next moment the man--or apparition, so gaunt and
weird was it--had rushed up towards us, and throwing out his arms had
fallen on his knees, uttering hoarse and piercing cries:
“Osiris! Anubis! Mercy! Pardon!”
Without a word Hugh turned towards me with a look it were impossible
to describe: _the words the poor wretch uttered were unmistakably
ancient Egyptian_. The creature, which seemed hardly human, had
crawled at our feet, and his great dark eyes stared upwards at us with
a mixture of awe and maniacal terror, and as he crouched before us, to
my horror I noticed that what he held in his hand was a human
thighbone, half covered with flesh, which he began to gnaw, while
uttering the desolate shrieks of a hyena, mingled with the appealing
sounds:
“Osiris! Anubis! Pardon! Mercy!”
I must confess that I felt absolutely paralysed with the horror of the
situation and the awful dread, which struck me with the chillness of
death. Had we toiled and travelled a thousand miles across the
terrible wilderness only to find some half-human creatures who lived
on the flesh of their kindred, almost deprived of reason through their
brutishness, who had forgotten the glorious civilisation of the past
in a present of suffering and scantily-eked-out livelihood? I
remembered the golden visions of art and majesty which the name of
ancient Egypt always evokes, then I looked down upon the creature who
babbled that vanished tongue and wondered if, after five thousand
years, its people had come to this.
Some such thoughts must have crossed Hugh’s mind too, for it was some
time before he brought himself to speak to the thing at his feet.
“Be at peace, my son, thou art pardoned.”
No wonder the poor creature, as it looked up, mistook Hugh Tankerville
for one of its gods. He looked simply magnificent. His face, worn thin
and ascetic through the privations of the past few weeks, appeared
strangely impressive and ethereal; his eyes were very large and dark,
and his great height and breadth of shoulders were further enhanced by
the long, white burnous which draped him from head to foot. Still, I
thought that it was a decidedly bold thing to do for a born Londoner
to suddenly assume the personality of an Egyptian god, and to
distribute mercy and pardon with a free hand on the first comer who
happened to ask for it.
The poor wretch, somewhat comforted, had turned again to his loathsome
meal.
“Whence comest thou?” asked Hugh.
“I was cast out from Kamt,” moaned the unfortunate creature, as,
evidently overcome by some terrible recollections, he threw himself
down once more at our feet and repeated his piteous cry:
“Osiris! Anubis! Mercy! Pardon!”
Thus it was that from this poor dying maniac we first heard with
absolute certainty that the papyrus had not lied. Evidently he, like
the other unfortunate wretches whose bones littered the desert sands,
had been driven out of the fertile land beyond the hills and left to
become a prey to the vultures of the wilderness, and slowly to die in
the midst of terrible tortures of hunger, thirst and isolation.
“They don’t seem to be very pleasant people to deal with out there,” I
remarked, “if this is an example of their retributive justice.”
Hugh looked down at the man at his feet.
“Why wast thou cast out?” he asked.
The maniac looked up, astonished, perhaps, that a god should have need
to ask such questions. I could see in his eyes that he was making a
vigorous effort to recollect something in the past, then he said:
“How beautiful is thy temple, oh, all-creating Ra!… so beautiful… and
so dark… so jealously guarded… no one knows what lies beyond.… I tried
to know… to learn thy secrets. I know now!… the valley of death,
whence no man returns, the valley of earth and sky, where hunger gnaws
the vitals and thirst burns the throat… where evil birds croak of
eternal darkness, and vile beasts prowl at night…”
He was trembling from head to foot, and his eyes, quite wild with
terror, watched a black raven close by, which had alighted on a skull
and was picking some débris of flesh out of the hollow sockets of the
eyes.
“Give me sleep, oh Anubis!” he moaned, “and rest… eternal sleep… and
rest… and rest…”
“He is dying,” I said, kneeling down beside the maniac and supporting
his head. “Give me some brandy, Girlie.”
“I think it would be kinder to knock him on the head; this prolonged
agony is terrible. What fiends, I wonder, invented this awful mode of
dealing with criminals?”
“Well! we shall know soon enough. I wish he could manage to tell us
how he came across those hills, and how best we can find our way.”
I had poured a few drops of brandy down the dying maniac’s throat; it
revived him momentarily, for he gave a gasp and murmured:
“Is this thy fire, oh! Osiris?”
“It is life,” said Hugh.
“Life is a curse outside the gates of Kamt.”
“Then thou must endeavour to go back to Kamt.”
And the dying man whispered, after a pause, while his head rolled from
side to side upon his shoulders:
“The gates are closed for ever that cast out the evil-doer.… No one
can enter Kamt, but thou, oh! Osiris, on thy crested eagle, or thou,
Anubis, astride on thy winged jackal.”
He had begun to wander again in the realms of merciful oblivion; his
eyes gradually closed, while his lips continued to murmur:
“Take thou my soul, oh! Anubis.… Pardon.… Mercy.… The gates are
guarded… I cannot return.… Oh, great and glorious land of Kamt… where
eternal streams flow between marble dwellings and gardens of lotus and
lilies… where at night Isis smiles down on the beautiful daughters of
Kamt… dark-eyed and slim as the white gazelles of the fields… I shall
not behold thy loveliness again… my soul flies from my body… already…
I feel thy hand… oh! Anubis! guiding me to that mysterious land… where
dwelleth Ra… and where thou sittest in judgment, oh, Osiris, the Most
High.…”
===
Obviously it would have been inhuman to try and drag the flitting soul
back to earth and suffering. I even thought that it was cruelty to try
and prolong his life with brandy and restoratives. I shuddered as I
looked round at the terrible wilderness, and as the conviction was
forced upon me that these skeletons and débris of human creatures
were the records of thousands of such lonely tragedies as we were now
witnessing, since the great hordes of Egypt had found a home in the
mysterious oasis of the desert.
For of this fact now there could be no doubt. The dying maniac had,
with his last breath, blown away the few remaining clouds of doubt
that sat upon my mind.
“I think he is dead,” I said after a long pause, whilst I looked
around for some hollow where I could put the body in safety from the
carrion.
“May God have more mercy on his soul than human justice has had on his
body,” said Hugh, looking down compassionately on the gaunt form of
the dead criminal.
We improvised a grave for him. At least he, who had drawn before us
the first picture of the land we had come out to seek, should not
become a prey to the vultures. It certainly had not been a cheerful
picture: people who would invent so terrible a form of punishment, and
carry it out wholesale, were not likely to be very kindly disposed
towards strangers.
“I cannot understand our late friend’s talk about the gates being
closed for ever. Surely an entire country cannot be closed up with
gates!” I said, after we had thrown a few handfuls of earth and
shingle over the body of the unfortunate wretch.
“I imagine that those hills are very precipitous, probably very
difficult of access, save perhaps through some passes or valleys
across which the gates may have been built.”
“Anyhow, we had better go straight on and trust to the same good luck
which has brought us so far.”
“Do you wonder that an elderly Greek priest should at such a juncture
have retraced his steps homewards?”
“No, I don’t.… But our late friend drew such a picture of marble halls
and dark-eyed girls, that I, for one, am determined to demand
admittance into that jealously-guarded land, in my new capacity as one
of its gods.”
Unfortunately, as already we had feared, one of our camels now
absolutely refused to make a move. It meant, therefore, that we should
have to make the rest of the journey on foot, with as small a supply
of food and water as possible, as our sole surviving beast of burden
was too weak to be very heavily loaded, and would also probably break
down in a few hours. Distances are terribly delusive in the desert,
and the hills, which at one time had appeared but a few miles from us,
seemed no nearer after a whole day’s march. Darkness overtook us,
seemingly without our having made much progress southward. We were
tired out, and pitched our tent on the wayside. In the early morning
our first look was for the hills beyond; they did not appear more than
five miles away, and as the sun rose higher in the east its rays
suddenly caught one spot on those distant rocks: a large square patch,
some hundred feet from the valley beneath, which glistened like a
sheet of gold.
“The gates of Kamt, I am sure,” said Hugh.
We started with renewed vigour, and late in the afternoon we reached
the foot of the hills. But gradually, as we drew nearer, we realised
the truth of the mysterious sayings of the doomed criminal cast out
into the desert: “None can enter Kamt, but thou, Osiris, on thy
crested eagle, or thou, Anubis, astride on thy winged jackal!”
The range of hills which surrounded the mystic land, an oasis in the
midst of the awful wilderness, rose abrupt and precipitous to a height
of two and even three hundred feet; they rose side by side in one
uninterrupted chain of heights. Like the other rocks of the desert
which we had traversed, the incessant action of the sand had polished
the stone till every boulder had worn away, leaving a smooth and
slippery surface which defied the foot of man.
Immediately facing the road, across the wilderness, there had once
been a wide valley between two hills: now it had been built in--by
those same hands which had fashioned the pyramid of Ghizeh--with
monstrous blocks of granite, placed tier upon tier till they formed a
gigantic inverted pyramid sloping out towards the desert from the
ground on which its apex rested, while its two sides were encased in
the rock right and left.
Some hundred feet above us, in the wall of this mammoth inverted
pyramid, there was a huge, solid slab of burnished copper, which
glittered with a hundred ruddy colours in the morning sun. As far as
our eyes could reach, where Nature had failed to make the chain of
rocks uninterrupted, where any break in the line of hills, or any
valley occurred, the great people, who had been cast forth by the
stranger into the wilderness, and had found beyond it a paradise, had
blocked it with gigantic slabs of granite, which barred every entrance
to the new home they were so jealous to guard.
“Unless we fly, old man, we cannot get in by this gate,” I remarked.
“No! and I expect that every entrance to this mysterious land is
guarded in the same impenetrable way.”
“We must try and get over these hills somehow. Surely there is a
valley or mountain pass somewhere.”
“I am absolutely convinced that there is none.”
“Then what do you propose to do?”
“For the present, nothing… wait…”
“We have provisions here which, with the strictest economy, will last
us six or eight days,” I remarked casually.
“Exactly. And that is why we cannot afford to go wandering at random
in search of imaginary entrances to the stronghold. This entrance is
here, above us; we know it, it stands before us, and that is the way
we must try to get in.”
“But it seems very hermetically closed.”
“But it will open again,” said Hugh, eagerly. “Listen, Mark. I have
reckoned it all out. The poor starving wretch had been cast out say
ten or twelve days before we met him, which was two days ago. Ten more
days say, during which we can still manage to hold out, making
twenty-four days altogether or thereabouts from the time that the
copper gate was last opened. Now, assuming that this Elysium has an
average of not less than one evil-doer a month, I propose that we wait
here until the next unfortunate wretch is hurled out onto the ground
where we stand.”
“Even granting,” I objected, “that everything will happen exactly as
you imagine--which, by the way, things never do--the gate when it
opens will still be a hundred feet above us, and we can neither of us
fly.”
“Mark, old chap, reflect a moment. Had our late informant any broken
bones?”
“No.”
“Therefore he was not dropped from an altitude of a hundred feet, and
the same object which lowers the criminal into the valley of death
will be the means of our effecting an entrance into the fortress.”
Hugh was quite right, of course. Obviously there was nothing else we
could do but wait. I had no other suggestion to make, and set to work
to revise our commissariat. We found that, by the strictest economy,
we could divide our water and food supply into eight equal parts.
Eight days we could sit and wait opposite that slab of burnished
copper, waiting for admittance to the strange and mysterious land
which, now that we were near it, seemed farther off than ever. It was
a curious vigil, for we never moved out of sight of the glowing gate,
but watched it ceaselessly, never both sleeping at the same time. But
day followed day in endless monotony beneath hot noonday sun and cool
silvery moon. At times we thought that our ears caught strange sounds
of sweet music, and every now and then the air was filled with the
penetrating odour of myrrh and lotus blossom.
Day followed day, while we lived, as it were, only through our eyes;
we were no longer conscious of heat or cold, of the terrible
wilderness around us, the thousands of skeletons which told a tale of
inexorable justice and vengeance, of a great people, indomitable and
masterful, of the weird cries of the hyenas, and the vultures which
hovered over our heads, scenting the approach of death. We fought
against Nature, who tried to conquer us by hunger and thirst, by
weakened nerves and by drowsiness; we allowed our minds free play, and
through that grey and frowning barrier, our eyes rendered far-seeing
by suffering and enforced asceticism, we saw the marble halls, the
gardens of lotus blossoms, the endless rivers and fragrant glades; we
saw the procession of priests and priestesses, heard the sound of the
sistrum and the harp, smelled the incense, and gazed at the dark-eyed
dwellers of this land of paradise, and in these visions and these
dreams forgot the awful doom which, with slow and sure footsteps,
approached stealthily and threatened to close our eyes for ever in the
sight of the opening paradise.
CHAPTER VI.
THE TEMPLE OF RA
I have no wish to dwell over that vigil in sight of goal. The
sufferings of two men, tortured morally and physically, by anxiety and
vanishing hope, by hunger and by thirst, by heat and by cold, are
neither pleasant nor interesting reading. Personally, all through
those dreadful days I never once lost the belief that we should
succeed in the end. As a medical student, my faith in an all-guiding
Providence, in the God of our childhood, had necessarily become sadly
mauled about by my own dissecting knife, but I had spent now nearly
sixty days in the desert between earth and sky, away from
civilisation, twentieth century, and modern thought, and in the
wilderness had forgotten how to scoff, and begun once more to learn
how to believe and how to pray; and now in the face of coming success
I refused to believe that the same hand which had guided us unerringly
so far, would snatch the glorious prize from us, at the moment when
our enfeebled arms were stretched out ready to grasp it.
Throughout the long days of suffering, when gnawing hunger and raging
thirst made paltry creatures of us both, Hugh’s wonderful buoyancy of
spirits never forsook him entirely, and many a weary hour did he help
to lighten with his picturesque descriptions of the people, whom all
the world believed to be dead, but which we knew to be living behind
those impenetrable walls.
As I said before, I have no wish to dwell on those ten days during
which we incessantly watched that brilliant copper gate glistening
with a myriad golden tints in the rising and the setting sun, but my
thoughts love to linger on that memorable dawn when, suddenly, as the
first rays of the sun peeped out across the immensity of the desert,
our ears caught a sound, soft, and low, and distant, which made our
hearts stop beating and made our weakened pulses thrill with a
newly-awakened hope.
It was a chant, melancholy and monotonous, which reached us like the
noise of a swarm of myriads of bees, while at intervals there came the
roll of muffled drums far away.
“Can you hear it, Mark?” whispered Hugh.
I nodded.
“It sounds like a funeral dirge.”
“Mark! they are bringing a criminal to execution.”
I almost caught myself saying “God grant it!” but felt that such a
speech would be doubtful in its morality.
The chant came no nearer, but suddenly it seemed as if a vigorous arm
struck a ponderous metal gong. Then there was silence, while we waited
and looked…
Looked! and saw that the massive copper door was slowly dropping from
out its granite frame, throwing out innumerable sparks of glistening
light as it moved; it was gradually being lowered by unseen hands,
like a drawbridge in one of our ancient Norman castles, until it
remained suspended over our heads like a gigantic and glowing canopy.
The chant died away, the sound of muffled drums had ceased, but from
where we stood we became aware of shuffling footsteps on the bridge
above, and of something weighty being dragged along; there was also
the sound of heavy metal, and presently, over the edge, the body of a
man was slowly lowered into space.
He was supported round the waist by a broad metal belt; there was a
bandage over his eyes, and his arms and legs hung downward, rigid and
inert, as if he were dead or in a drugged sleep.
Gradually the body was lowered to the ground until the feet touched
it, quite close to where we stood watching, breathless and appalled,
this silent and inexorable act of vengeful justice. Then one of the
ropes was jerked from above: the criminal, still wrapped in
unconsciousness, rolled in the sand at our feet.
There was no time to think of aught save of swift and sudden action.
“Ready, Mark?” whispered Hugh.
And I knew what he meant. With one bound we had jumped over the body
of the condemned man, had passed our arms through the metal belt, and
as it was dragged upwards again, it bore two enterprising and
victorious Britishers right into the precincts of the
jealously-guarded land.
We had managed to get a foothold on the bridge, and to loosen our
grasp of the belt, just before it was vigorously jerked over its edge,
and was dragged away into the darkness before us by the same invisible
hands which had presided over the execution. Before us there yawned
what looked like a dark and gigantic tunnel. There was no time for
hesitation, nor any desire on our part to delay. Quickly we walked
across the bridge; already it was beginning to be raised upwards. Soon
the light from outside became more and more narrow, then disappeared
altogether. There was no sound, no clash as the ponderous gate shut
to; everything remained as silent as the vast grave behind it, but we
were for good or for evil--for ever, probably--prisoners in ancient
Kamt!
We could see nothing at first, but we seemed to be in a tunnel or
cave, so dark was it, and it was only after a few moments that, our
eyes becoming accustomed to the gloom, we saw that we were standing on
a platform of granite, while before us a flight of steps led
downwards. At irregular intervals a thin fillet of light filtrated
down from above. The atmosphere was hot and heavy, a faint and
penetrating scent, as of some burning aromatic herbs, rendering it
peculiarly oppressive. In the far distance we could hear the sound of
retreating, shuffling footsteps, those of the executioners, no doubt,
who had done the grim work of execution, and as they died away we
became aware of a strange, hissing sound, which seemed to come from
somewhere below where we stood.
“Welcome to Kamt, old fellow,” said Hugh in a whisper; “there is no
turning back now. Here we are!”
“Go ahead, Girlie,” I rejoined; “the adventure has become decidedly
interesting.”
“Will you follow me, Mark?”
“To the death, Girlie!” I said.
“Silence, then, till further orders!”
And cautiously, in the darkness, we began to descend. The hissing
sound had become louder. I obeyed and followed Hugh, but my hand was
on his arm, ready to drag him back, for I had a presentiment of what
was to come. We had gone down some twenty steps or so, when suddenly
before us, just beneath the shaft of light which illumined their sleek
and shiny bodies, two cobras rose, hissing and beating the air with
their heads. We had instinctively drawn back before the grim and
loathsome guardians of the secrets of Kamt, but obviously hesitation
was death. Already the reptiles were creeping up the granite steps
towards us; in the thin streak of light we could see their forked
tongues glistening like tiny darts of silver. Hugh had quickly torn
the burnous from off his shoulders; I had done likewise.
“Swiftly does it, Mark,” he said.
“I’ll tackle the left one, Girlie, you the right,” I replied, “and let
us hope to God there are no more of them below.”
As Hugh had said, it was a case of “Swiftly does it!” Our burnouses
were large and heavy, fortunately, and violently we threw them right
over the venomous reptiles and smothered their hisses in the ample
folds of the draperies: then, without looking behind us, we fled down
the steps.
Soon the staircase began to widen, and from below a strange blue light
reached upwards. We could distinguish the walls on either side of us,
of black, polished granite, like the steps, on which our feet slipped
as we flew. We were evidently nearing the bottom, for we could see a
wide archway before us, which seemed to frame in a flood of weird,
blue light, and presently we found ourselves on a circular landing,
supported all round by enormous, massive columns of the same black
granite, smooth and funereal-looking, without a trace of carving or
ornamentation of any kind.
Each side of the stairway we could dimly distinguish the monstrous
feet and legs of some huge figures, the bodies of which were lost
above us in the gloom. In the centre stood a massive tripod of bronze,
supporting a bowl of the same dark metal from which issued a blue
flame, that flickered weird and ghostlike over the polished stone,
leaving dark, impenetrable shadows behind the pillars, and making the
air oppressive with the penetrating fumes of incense and burning
herbs.
At the farther end of this hall a curtain made of some dull black
stuff hung in heavy folds, and beyond it we could faintly hear the
murmur of a distant chant, accompanied by some stringed instruments
and drums.
“There is nothing for it, Mark, but to go straight on,” said Hugh;
“the burning incense and the pillars suggest to me the rear of some
temple through which probably the condemned criminals have to pass on
their last journey. We must trust to our good luck that we are not
discovered in the very place where we have the least right to be.”
We crossed the great black hall, and Hugh pushed aside the curtain!…
It seemed like the sudden bursting of golden dawn after a dark night.
Behind and all round us, black granite, dull bronze, dense shadows,
the atmosphere of a threshold to the grave; before us, a glittering
radiance of gorgeous colours, a vista of marble columns and golden
pillars, a vision of splendours in enamels and gems such as we, in our
sober, Western civilisation, have never even dreamed of.
Immediately in front of us, occupying the centre of an inner
sanctuary, there towered upon a pedestal of burnished copper and gold
a mammoth figure carved in rose-coloured spotless marble. As we were
behind the figure we could only see high above us, half lost in a
hovering cloud of incense, the gigantic head crowned with a tiara
which literally blazed with gems. A flight of steps covered with
sheets of polished copper led up to the statue of the god, and on each
step an immense bronze candelabrum stood, supporting great bowls, from
which a flickering blue flame emerged, throwing fantastic and ghostly
lights on the dull red of the copper, the purity of the marble, the
jewels on the head of the god.
The roof above us was lost in the clouds of incense and burning herbs,
but from it somewhere high above our heads there hung on metal chains
innumerable lamps of exquisite design and workmanship. A solemn peace
reigned in the majestic vastness of the temple, only from somewhere,
not very far, a sweet, monotonous chant reached our ears, sung by many
young, high-pitched voices, and accompanied by occasional touches on
stringed instruments and beating of muffled drums.
Cautiously we advanced round the pedestal of the god and looked
straight before us. The inner sanctuary was divided from the main body
of the temple by a gossamer veil of silver tissue, which looked almost
like a tall cloud of incense, rising up to the invisible roof and
floating backwards and forwards with a gentle, sighing sound when it
was fanned by a sudden current of air. Through it we could only
vaguely see row upon row of massive marble pillars of the same
rose-hued marble, stretching out before us in seemingly interminable
lengths, and here and there great tripods of bronze, with bowls filled
with many-coloured lights, which flickered on the granite floor and on
the columns, bringing at times into bold relief bits of delicate
tracery or quaint designs in bright-coloured enamels. The picture, low
in tone, delicately harmonious, in a blending of blue and green and
purple, was a perfect feast to the eye.
Hugh had left the protection of the great pedestal and had just
stepped forward with a view to exploring further the beautiful
building into which Fate had so kindly led us, when the chant we had
heard all along suddenly sounded dangerously near, and hastily we both
retreated up the copper flight of stairs, and each found shelter
immediately behind the huge marble tibias of the presiding god.
In spite of danger and risks of discovery, I could not resist the
temptation of craning my neck to try and catch sight at last of the
inhabitants of this strange and mystic land, and I could see that
Hugh’s dark head also emerged out of his safe hiding-place.
Beyond the filmy, gossamer veil something seemed to have detached
itself from the gloom and the massive pillars and was slowly coming
towards us. I almost held my breath, wondering what my first
impression would be of the great people we had come so far to find.
They advanced in single file, and gradually the outline of the most
forward became clearer and more distinct. They were young girls draped
in clinging folds of something soft and low-toned in colour; they
walked very slowly towards the inner sanctuary--straight towards us,
as I thought. Some held quaint, crescent-shaped harps, from which
their fingers drew low, monotonous chords. Others beat the sistrum or
a small drum, and all were chanting with sweet, young voices the same
invocation or prayer, which had been the first sound of life that had
greeted us from beyond the gates of Kamt. There were a hundred or more
of these fair daughters of the mysterious land, and fascinated, I
gazed upon them and listened to their song, heedless of the danger we
were running should we be discovered. They looked to me as if they had
been carved out of an old piece of ivory; their skins looked matt and
smooth, and their eyes--abnormally large and dark--stared straight
before them as they approached.
The foremost one I thought must be looking absolutely at me, and I, as
if enthralled, did not attempt to move; and then I saw that those
eyes, so brilliant and so dark, stared unseeing, sightless before
them.
The first songstress had passed and turned, still leaving the gossamer
veil between us; the second followed, and then another and another.
They all filed past us, walking slowly and beating their instruments,
and grouped themselves on the steps of the sanctuary, some crouching,
others standing, and each as she turned and passed stared straight
before her towards the god, with the same lifeless, sightless gaze.
I shuddered and looked towards Hugh. He too had noticed the vacant
look of the young girls; he too stared at them, pale and appalled, and
I guessed that he too wondered whether Nature had smitten all these
young beings in the same remorseless way, or whether the same hands
that cast out their fellow-creatures from their homes and doomed them
to slow starvation in the wilderness had taken this terrible
precaution to further guard the mysteries of the land of Kamt.
But we had no leisure to dwell for any length of time upon a single
train of thought. The picture, full of animation and gorgeousness,
changed incessantly before our eyes, like a glittering pageant and
ever-moving, brilliant kaleidoscope. Now it was a group of men in
flowing yellow robes, tall and gaunt, with sharp features, and heads
shorn of every hair, till their crowns looked like a number of ivory
balls; now a procession of grotesque masks representing heads of
beasts--crocodiles, rams, or cows, with the full moon between their
horns; now a number of women with gigantic plaited wigs, which gave
their bodies a grotesque and distorted appearance; and now stately
figures carrying tall, golden wands headed with sundry devices wrought
in enamel and gems. And among them all there towered one great,
imposing, central figure, who, after he had stood for awhile with arms
stretched upwards facing the mammoth god, now turned towards the
multitude of priests and priestesses, and in a loud voice pronounced
over them an invocation or a blessing. He was an old man, for his face
was a mass of wrinkles, but his eyes, dark and narrow, shone with a
wonderful air of mastery and domination. His crown was shaved, as was
also his face, but on his chin there was a short tuft of curly hair
standing straight out--an emblem of power in ancient Egypt. Over his
white flowing robes he wore a leopard’s skin, the head of which hung
over his chest, with eyes formed of a pair of solitary rubies.
Fortunately the gossamer veil still hung between us and the group of
priests. The sanctuary itself was more dimly lighted than the main
body of the temple; we therefore had not yet been discovered, and if
no one pushed aside the protecting curtain we were evidently safe for
the moment.
Suddenly a terrific fanfare of silver trumpets and beating of metal
gongs, accompanied by prolonged shouting from thousands of throats,
prepared us for another tableau in the picturesque series.
CHAPTER VII.
THE TEMPLE OF RA
This time it was a litter, which, borne on the shoulders of swarthy,
abnormally tall men, detached itself from the distant shadows, and as
it approached, suddenly one and all, priests and priestesses,
songsters and harpists, prostrated themselves on the ground, touching
the granite floor with their foreheads. Only the tall central
figure--the high priest evidently--remained standing with arms
outstretched, as if in benediction, towards the approaching litter. On
it, in the midst of rose-silk cushions and draperies, which helped to
enhance the ghastly pallor of his face, there reclined a man--little
more than a youth, yet with the foreshadowing of death marked in every
line of his countenance: in the deep, sunken eyes, the wax-like tone
of the skin, the damp, matted hair which clung to the high forehead,
polished like a slab of ivory. He looked strangely pathetic as he lay
there, surrounded by so much richness and pomp, his head trembling
beneath the weight of a gigantic diadem--the double crown of Egypt, in
crimson and white enamel chased with gold, with the royal uræus
encircling the pallid brow--the crown, in fact, which is so familiar
to every reader of Egyptian mysteries, the crown which told us more
plainly than any of the wonders we had seen hitherto that we had
penetrated in very truth to the midst of the great people who gave to
the astonished world the first glimpses of a wonderful and vanished
civilisation.
Hugh, I could see, was, with sheer excitement, almost as pale as the
great Pharaoh who lay upon his gorgeous litter; for Pharaoh he was,
ruler of a Lower and Upper Egypt, the same as those of his ancestors,
of whom we poor Western folk have known, and as all those of whom we
know nothing must have been, since they brought their high
civilisation, their gorgeous art, their knowledge and beauty to this
mysterious oasis in the midst of the ocean of wilderness.
Heavily enough did the noble diadem seem to rest upon the head of the
present scion of a thousand kings. Half-fainting he lay among the
cushions, while his hands, which were covered with rings and gems,
toyed listlessly with a pair of tiny apes, who disturbed the solemn
majesty of the temple by their shrill and incessant chatter, while I
felt my very brain reeling when I realised that I, Mark Emmett, M.D.,
of London, a prosy British medical practitioner, was absolutely gazing
with my own eyes at a living, a breathing, a real Pharaoh.
A large retinue of trumpeters and gorgeous attendants, too numerous
and wonderful for my poor reeling senses to take in all at once, were
standing round the Pharaoh’s litter, which was placed a little to the
left of the solemn high priest; then suddenly, once again, all those
present beat the ground with their foreheads, and I saw a second
litter approach, borne by eight men of almost negro-like complexion.
This litter was draped in funereal black, with here and there a glint
of gold and jewels, and on it there half crouched, half lay a most
beautiful woman. She could not have been very young, for there was an
obvious look of maturity about her voluptuous figure and graceful
pose, but the black of the draperies set off to perfection the ivory
whiteness of her shoulders and arms. (A fact of which I doubt not but
that the lady was fully aware, for surely the daughters of this mystic
country have some of the charming weaknesses of their more
sophisticated sisters of the North.) Her small head looked regal
beneath the lovely diadem, in shape like a crouching ibis, which we
all know so well, and from the top of her head to her tiny sandalled
feet she seemed one gorgeous glittering mass of gems. Her garment--the
little of it there was--was clinging soft and silky, and of the same
most becoming funereal hue.
Her litter had been placed beside that of the Pharaoh, of whom I
vaguely wondered if he were her husband, for he seemed, in spite of
his ailing look, to be a great deal younger than she. Round the two
central personages I caught sight of a great many people, some with
tall wands, others with garments covered with devices and
hieroglyphics, of groups of naked slaves, and of musicians with
sistrum and harps.
The high priest and his satellites were standing with their backs
towards us, in a dense group facing the Pharaoh and the royal lady. I
could not see what they were doing, but heard the high priest recite
one after another a number of short invocations, and presently I heard
the bleating of a lamb, while the priestesses again intoned one of
their monotonous chants. I was thankful then that I could not see what
was going on--a sacrifice, no doubt, to the deity behind whose tibia
we crouched. Then the high priest raised his voice, and even my
unscholarly ears caught, clearly and distinctly, the words, which he
uttered slowly and solemnly in the language which the scientific world
of Europe has believed to be dead:
“_Oh, arise, Ammon-Ra! Thou self-creating God!_
“_Isis and Nephthys attend upon Thee!_
“_Ra! Thou, who givest all goodness, Ra! who dost Thyself create!_
“_Thou hast caused the vault of heaven to rejoice, by the greatness of
Thy soul!_
“_The earth of Kamt doth fear Thee, oh, Sparrowhawk, that art thrice
holy! oh, Eagle, that art blessed!_
“_Oh, great lion, who defendest Thyself, and dost ope the way to the
ship of Sekti!_
“_King of Heaven! Lord of the Earth! Great image in the two horizons
of Heaven!_
“_Ra! Creator of the world!_
“_May the son of Osiris, Pharaoh, the Holy, be reverenced through Thy
merits!_
“_Hail to Thee!_
“_Descend on the Pharaoh! Give him thy merits in Heaven, Thy powers
upon earth!_
“_Oh, Ra, Who hast made the heavens rejoice, and made the earth
tremble with holy fear!_”
I did not understand every word, but caught the general tone of the
invocation, which went on in similar short sentences for some
considerable time, while a smell of burnt flesh began to fill the air,
quickly smothered by a pungent odour of aromatic herbs.
“Behold! Ra has accepted thy sacrifice, oh! Maat-kha, and thine, oh!
holy Pharaoh! He has opened wide the portals of his wisdom to his High
Priest, who stands ready to answer thee, and to advise if thou wilt
question him.”
Then a woman’s voice, deep and musical--that of the Queen--replied:
“Dismiss thy priests and priestesses, then, for I would be alone with
thee!”
And as solemnly as they had entered, at a sign from the high priest
all rose to their feet and slowly filed out of the temple, till there
remained in the vast building no one, besides ourselves, save the high
priest, and the Pharaoh and the Queen upon their litters, borne high
on the shoulders of their black slaves. (These, I concluded, were deaf
or mute, or both, for they stood as rigid as statues, with a vacant,
semi-idiotic look on their dark faces.)
When the Queen was fully satisfied that her entire entourage had gone,
she raised herself a little on her litter and began eagerly:
“My son is sick unto death, Ur-tasen. Yesterday again a veil like that
of death lay over him for nigh upon an hour. His physicians are
ignorant fools. I wish to know if he will live.”
“Thy son will live for a year and a day,” replied the high priest,
solemnly.
I don’t know where he had gathered this somewhat enigmatical piece of
information. Certainly, if it related to the sick youth before him, it
did not need any spiritual powers to gain knowledge of so obvious a
fact. The Pharaoh, however, if it was his chance of life which was
being so openly discussed, seemed not to trouble himself about it at
all. He yawned once or twice very audibly, and amused himself by
teasing his hideous little apes, taking no heed whatever of the solemn
high priest, nor of the royal lady, his mother.
“Thou art ever ready with evasive answers, Ur-tasen,” said the Queen,
with an impatient frown. “It is meet that the Pharaoh, when he attains
his twenty-first year, shall take unto himself a princess of royal
blood for wife. But if Ra has decreed that the sickness of which he
suffers shall ultimately cause his death, then it is _not_ meet that
he continue ruling over the great people of Kamt, for his hand will
soon be too weak to safely guide their destinies.”
“Ra has placed thee beside the throne of the holy Pharaoh to guide his
hand when it begins to tremble,” said the high priest.
“But when the hand is stiff and cold, Ur-tasen, I have no other son to
share the throne of Kamt with me.”
“Then thy hour will have come, oh, Queen! A woman cannot rule over
Kamt, if there be no husband or son to sit upon the throne beside her.
Thy hour will have come, together with that peace which Isis doth give
to those she loves, and thou wilt be happy, far from the turmoil of
thy court and the glitter of thy crown.”
But this charming prospect did not seem to appeal to the royal lady,
for she leaned forward on her litter, while her small hands nervously
clutched at the black silk cushions.
“There would be no peace for me, Ur-tasen; for if the Pharaoh die
childless, which I fear is Ra’s decree, then my crown and his shall
pass on to the heads of those whom I abhor.”
“If the Pharaoh die childless,” repeated the high priest, calmly, “the
crown must inevitably fall from thy head on to that of Neit-akrit of
the house of Usem-Ra.”
How strange that name sounded in the mouth of the high priest!
Neit-akrit! My Queen, as I used to call her! Neit-akrit, of whom Mr.
Tankerville originally spoke! She had a namesake then in this land
which was her own; or had her shade come wandering back after the
lapse of centuries, to fascinate our senses and our minds with the
mystic charm of her personality? Evidently, however, Queen Maat-kha
was not under the magic spell of that name as I was, for a look of
violent rage and hatred suddenly marred all the beauty of her face.
“Thou liest, Ur-tasen!” she said.
“Woman! Queen though thou be,” retorted the high priest, “hold thy
sacrilegious tongue, lest thou see the heavenly thunder crush thee and
thy throne before the feet of Ra!”
Humbly Maat-kha bowed her proud head at this severe reprimand, and it
was with softened, almost appealing tones that she said:
“I hate Neit-akrit of the house of Usem-Ra.”
“The gods care naught for human loves or hates,” pronounced the high
priest, coldly.
“Neit-akrit is young…”
“And the gods have made her fair to look upon,” said the high priest,
with more enthusiasm, I thought, than his venerable appearance
warranted.
“She is vain and frivolous,” added the Queen, with unconcern, which
was obviously affected, for I could see that she was watching the
effect of her words upon the priest’s face, “and she seldom gives
offerings to the gods and their priests.”
“Age will bring wisdom,” he replied quietly.
“It will not, Ur-tasen,” she began with more vehemence, while she
raised herself on her litter and drew closer to the priest. “See! I
have brought here rich offerings for Ra; emeralds from my mines beyond
Se-veneh, sapphires and rubies from Ta-bu. I have brought ostrich
feathers as long as a man’s arm, and oil from the sacred tree of Hana,
in the garden of my palace. I have brought thee rare pigeons from my
aviaries, and an ibis whose plumage is like the opening petals of the
lotus blossom. I have brought thee enough gold dust to strew the steps
of the altar of the god. Rich gifts and rare, sweet herbs and
brilliant gems, that thou mayest pray to Osiris, that he find some
other head on which to place the crown of Kamt, than that of hated
Neit-akrit.”
“But she is thine own sister’s child! Thou canst not hate her. Thou
wouldst not see the crown of Kamt on the head of a stranger?”
I thought this a very weak speech on the part of the high priest.
Evidently the visions of those emeralds and sweet-scented herbs, or
perhaps the pigeons from the royal garden, had shaken his enthusiasm
for the absent Neit-akrit.
“I humbled myself before her and asked her to wed my son. She laughed
at me and vouchsafed no answer.”
At this point, for the first time, the sick youth showed some interest
in the conversation; he pushed the chattering apes roughly to one
side, and over his pale, wan face there came such a look of acute
mental suffering that, for the first time since I had trodden upon
this strange land, my heart felt the presence of a fellow-being and
went out to him accordingly.
Then the Queen made a sign to one of the black giants who stood behind
her, and he came forward carrying a gold casket, which he placed on
the ground before the high priest. I could not see its contents, but
noticed how Ur-tasen made pretence of looking above and beyond it, and
concluded that they must have been very tempting.
“Ten white oxen await outside, oh, Ur-tasen,” whispered the Queen;
“each is laden with two caskets, the contents of which are richer far
than these.”
“But what dost thou ask of me?”
“Give life to my son!”
“The gods alone can do that. I am but mortal. Death is in my hands,
but not life.”
“Let me wed again; I am still young, still beautiful; while my son
lives, I am still a queen.”
“I cannot forbid thee to do what thou wilt; but the people of Kamt
will rise against thee if thou placest one of thy subjects in the bed
of Hortep-ra, the most holy. There are no royal princes old enough to
wed with thee.”
“They will not rise,” she urged, “if thou wilt but tell them that it
is the will of Ra that I should wed again.”
“Woman, wouldst thou urge me to blaspheme?” he retorted in holy wrath,
but she repeated:
“Ten more white oxen await at my palace, and in the caves beneath my
chambers there are bars of gold which I would give to thee.”
“And Osiris would smite me for the blasphemy,” said the priest. “What
good are thy treasures to me if my bones lay whitening in the grave?”
“Ur-tasen!” she pleaded.
But the high priest turned suddenly towards the mammoth figure behind
which we crouched, and holding aside the gossamer veil of silver
tissue which divided the inner sanctuary from the suppliant Queen, he
pointed upwards at the gigantic majesty of the god and said:
“I tell thee, woman, that, Queen as thou art, thou canst not change
the thread of thy destiny. The crown of Kamt, after hovering on the
head of thy ailing son, will descend on that of Princess Neit-akrit.
Ra, who sits up there enthroned, guarding the gates of the valley of
death, could alone, through some awful and terrible upheaval, change
the course of the future of this land by descending himself to sit
upon its throne.”
The priest had spoken very solemnly, and his voice, sonorous and
clear, went echoing through the majestic vault of the temple. The
Queen, who evidently, in spite of her petty hatred and arrogance, was
a devout worshipper of the god, had looked upwards with awe and
reverence, while in her eyes I could see that she had realised the
crumbling of her last, most cherished hope.
Suddenly, as she looked, I saw a curious change pass over her face;
her eyes gradually dilated, her lips were parted as if to utter a cry,
her cheeks from ashy pale turned to vivid red, and, stretching forth
her jewel-laden arm, she pointed towards the god with trembling hand.
The sickly youth, too, was looking in our direction with face as pale
as death, while the high priest appeared to tremble from head to foot,
as his hand grasped the gossamer tissue of the veil. Then I saw that
Hugh Tankerville, with head bare and erect, had come forward from his
hiding-place and was standing facing the temple, on the very pedestal
of its god. Each side of him, from the bronze tripods, a blue and a
purple light threw a flickering radiance upon his tall, commanding
figure and his fine dark head, and I must confess that had I not known
that he was my old friend, Hugh Tankerville, I should most willingly
have admitted that he might be the personification of a pagan deity.
There was a long and awful pause, during which I almost could hear the
anxious beating of five human hearts, then the high priest murmured:
“Who, and what, art thou?”
“Thou spakest of Ra,” replied Hugh. “He sent me.”
“Whence comest thou?”
“I come from the land where dwelleth Osiris and his bride, the
glorious Isis, where Ra sitteth in judgment, and where Horus
intercedes for the dead, whom jackal-headed Anubis has guided to the
judgment throne of the Most High.”
“And what is thy will, oh, stranger, who hailest from the land where
dwelleth Osiris?”
Hugh calmly pointed towards the Queen, who was still looking at him,
wrapt in superstitious ecstasy.
“To wed that woman and sit upon the throne of Kamt.”
PART II.
MEN-NE-FER
CHAPTER VIII.
THE IDOL OF THE PEOPLE
When I look back, dispassionately now, upon the awful moment when
Hugh Tankerville so suddenly thrust himself into the political turmoil
of this strange land, I quite see that he then seized, with
characteristic presence of mind and boldness, the only opportunity
there was of saving both our lives. Knowing the priests of Ra as I did
subsequently, with their almost maniacal hatred and terror of the
unknown, their dread of the stranger, whose existence, after five
thousand years of isolation, the most learned amongst them only dimly
guessed, I feel convinced that, had Hugh then not assumed the daring
_rôle_, which he kept up afterwards with such marvellous histrionic
powers, our lives would, at that moment, not have been worth two
minutes’ purchase. But at the time I was literally staggered by the
sublime insolence of his proceeding. To have hoodwinked a dying maniac
in the wilderness was one thing, but to think of leading an entire
population--of the size of which we had not the faintest
conception--by the nose, including the somewhat aggressive feminine
ruler thereof and a host of priests, was quite another matter.
Breathlessly I waited when Hugh had formulated his modest request. The
high priest, with one trembling hand still holding back the gossamer
veil, was staring at the intruder with great, wondering eyes, while in
the Queen’s face a look of superstitious dread and one of
slowly-awakening hope struggled for mastery. The Pharaoh’s thin sallow
face was inscrutable as a waxen image. He, too, stared at Hugh for a
moment, then presently he yawned audibly, as if the advent of any
celestial emissary was a matter of complete indifference to him, and
turned to the more congenial companionship of his bald-faced
chattering apes.
A few minutes--an eternity I thought them then--elapsed in this
breathless silence, while to my excited fancy it seemed as if I could
hear the beating of my own heart; then Hugh, beckoning to me to follow
him, walked down the metal steps and stood at the foot of the
sanctuary, framed in by the clouds of the gossamer veil, himself the
most impressive thing in this strangely impressive place. His great
height, his fine erect carriage, his air of indomitable will and
masterfulness, his handsome head, rendered almost spiritual-looking by
the long fast and enforced asceticism, seemed all to tower over this
land, which was still unknown to him, and over its few awestruck
representatives.
He took no heed of the priest, but looked straight at the woman,
throwing into his gaze that strange, almost mystic attraction which I
myself had so often felt. After a while we heard like a soft sigh, an
appealing whisper, a woman’s voice repeating:
“Who art thou?”
“The wandering soul of Khefren, come back to Kamt to claim his own
again.”
“Khefren?”
“Far out, oh, Queen, beyond the valley of death, where flows the
sacred river, by whose shores thy ancestors were born and were great,
Khefren left a record of his glory and his might, and to-day, after
five thousand times the seasons of the year have been and have gone
again, Osiris sent his soul back into my body that I, too, might bring
glory and might to the beloved land.”
“And this?” she asked, pointing to where I, puzzled, amused and
humble, stood waiting to know what my share in this wonderful drama
was to be.
“He is my second self,” said Hugh, “placed by my side by Ra himself,
to love, to counsel and to protect.”
The Queen raised herself from her litter, and placing her tiny
sandalled feet upon the marble floor she walked slowly but
unhesitatingly towards Hugh. She certainly was exceedingly beautiful,
tall above the average, with queenly bearing, magnificent eyes, and
rich, voluptuous figure: but somehow, as she walked, with the
shimmering folds of her black gown clinging tightly round her, she
reminded me of the two grim guardians at the gates of Kamt, up there
beyond the granite halls, and I did not envy Hugh his luck.
Immediately in front of us stood the sacrificial altar, on which the
lamb had been offered up to Ra with such astonishing results, and on
it was the casket with which the Queen had tried to win over the high
priest to her views. She skirted the altar, and coming close to Hugh,
she knelt down at his feet, and looking up at him, she said:
“The will of Ra be accomplished upon thy servant;” and she added,
turning to the high priest: “The sacrifice thou hast offered for me to
the gods has brought me peace and happiness. Command the slaves of the
temple to bring forth the oxen, laden with the gifts which I, in my
gratitude, do offer thee.”
It was impossible to conjecture what the thoughts of the solemn and
learned Ur-tasen were during this brief scene. Superstition struggled
vigorously with reason beneath that shaven crown of his; greed too, I
thought, played an important part in the workings of his conscience.
He certainly was more than puzzled as to how we had got into the inner
sanctuary, while our fair skins obviously disclaimed any idea that we
were natives of his own country. How much he knew of the existence of
a great world beyond the wilderness and outside the gates of Kamt, I
only found out afterwards; for the moment superstition, after a brief
struggle, obtained the upper hand, and after a few seconds of terribly
anxious suspense, I saw that the high priest of Ra was prepared, at
any rate outwardly, to accept the stranger as the emissary of the
gods, which he had proclaimed himself to be. Silently he dropped the
gossamer curtain, which closed in with a soft rustle behind us, making
a shimmering background for Hugh’s tall figure, with the beautiful
woman kneeling at his feet.
Then Ur-tasen walked up to the middle of the temple, where on a tall
pedestal there stood a gigantic gong: he took the mighty clapper, and
with vigorous arm thrice struck the metal, till the sound went echoing
in deafening clamour, like continued claps of thunder, through the
vastness of the building. And, as he struck, from everywhere doors
were opened, and curtains pushed aside, letting in floods of light
into the gloom. The shorn priests, in their robes, and those with
marks of beasts, returned, followed by the blind priestesses, who
chanted in monotonous tones their invocation to the god. And from
everywhere crowds of people poured in, men and women, tall and
slenderly built, with dark, almond-shaped eyes, and warm olive
complexions. They filed in, in hundreds and thousands, some in
gorgeous garments, others with but a loin-cloth round their waists,
rich and poor, evidently, humble and mighty, but all stood still as
they caught sight of Hugh at the foot of the altar of their god,
standing erect, while their Queen knelt humbly at his feet.
Then the high priest, who was on the left of the altar surrounded by
his priests, began to speak in loud and solemn tones:
“Oh, people of Kamt, ye specially citizens of Men-ne-fer, behold the
great and glorious mysteries of Ra! Lo! Osiris has given you the great
privilege of being the first to set eyes on him who is beloved of the
gods! The Most High has not willed that the great house of Memmoun-ra
be erased from the face of the earth, and from the foot of his throne
Osiris has sent us his well-beloved. Khefren, who ruled over the land
when the sacred river, of which your forefathers spoke, flowed from
the north to the south, hath come back from the regions where dwelleth
Anubis, to sit upon the throne of Kamt once more. It is the will of
Osiris, of Ra himself, transmitted to you by my mouth, that you should
honour and obey his beloved as you would himself. People of Kamt,
behold your future king!”
The blind priestesses intoned a sort of triumphal hymn. The people had
prostrated themselves face downwards and kissed the granite floor. I
looked across to where, in the midst of rose-tinted draperies, the
sick Pharaoh leaned back against the cushions toying with his two
bald-faced apes. Then, once again in this region of dreamland, among
these people who had seemed so strangely unreal, I saw that I had
before me a bit of genuine human nature. On the pale face of the
invalid, as he looked up at Hugh from under his heavy lids, a look of
absolutely deadly hatred and of contempt appeared. He had seemingly
taken not the slightest notice or interest in the proceedings, since
the first moment of astonishment when we arrived upon the scene; he
seemed entirely engrossed in the difficult task of slipping a diamond
ring over the foot of one of the little apes. The look had been
momentary, and no one, I think, saw it but I. The next instant he had
again yawned audibly and laughed his wonted sarcastic, dry laugh, as
the ugly little beast bit him savagely in the hand.
A complicated and solemn ritual ensued, with much chanting and beating
of the sistrum and drum. The people, I could see, looked at Hugh and
at my humble self with the same superstitious reverence and awe with
which the Queen had accepted our mystical appearance. I wondered what
passed in the high priest’s mind. The ten oxen, laden with emeralds,
pigeons and other treasures, had evidently outwardly silenced his
doubts, for, at a given moment, he and all his priests knelt at Hugh’s
feet and in turn kissed the ground immediately in front of him. Then
two priests led a sweet little lion cub by a chain and put it upon the
altar, and to my horror I saw the high priest place a large
dagger-like knife into Hugh’s hand. Poor old Hugh! When he was a boy
he could not bear to see me crush a beetle, and obviously, in virtue
of his self-assumed _rôle_, he was expected to murder that pretty
little creature which, playful as a kitten, was running round after
its own tail, in the very middle of the sacred altar. I saw he had
become very white, and that the sick youth opposite him was viewing
him with a malicious and sarcastic look, while the high priest and all
the people waited. It was a very palpitating moment, for I was
terrified lest Hugh, who must have been very weak for want of food and
the strain of the excitement of the past few hours, should faint
ignominiously at the very foot of the throne of the god whose beloved
he was. What would ensue was pretty evident. The “casting-out” process
of the two defrauding evil-doers would be swift and sure.
“Shut your eyes, Girlie, it must be done,” I whispered.
And Hugh did shut his eyes and pulled himself together with an almost
superhuman effort. I followed him to the altar, and held the little
creature for him, ready to guide the knife, so that death might be
instantaneous. But though he was as pale as death, Hugh’s hand was
quite firm; only when the blood flowed freely from the cub’s throat on
to his hand, he tottered and his lips became livid. Fortunately I was
near him, and imperceptibly was able to support him, while everyone
was engrossed in listening to the solemn invocation, or rather
commands, which the high priest spoke over the accomplished sacrifice.
“People of Kamt, in the name of Osiris I enjoin you to reverence his
beloved!
“In the name of Isis, the goddess whose image illumines the nights of
Kamt, and makes them beautiful above all, I enjoin you to look upon
him as your future lord and king!
“And in the name of Ra, the great and awesome mystery, who buildeth up
every throne and maketh every empire, I enjoin you to swear fealty to
him, to his children and to his children’s children as the ages roll
away!”
Then he raised his hands aloft and pronounced a solemn blessing over
the assembled multitude.
“_May the blessing of Ra rest upon your heads!_
“_May Osiris make your land fruitful and rich!_
“_May Isis give you grace and wisdom, and to your daughters beauty
above all the children of men!_
“_And at your death may Horus intercede for you before the awesome
judgment seat of the forty-two judges!_
“_Whilst the hand of Anubis guides your souls to eternal rest and
peace!_”
The blind priestesses swung their golden censers towards us, and very
soon Hugh stood enveloped in a sweet-scented cloud, through which his
tall figure appeared swathed in the white drapery, and dimly lighted
from behind by the sanctuary lamps, which threw flickering blue rays
round his head, like some ghostly halo.
After a few moments of absolute silence in the vast and crowded
building, the Queen rose to her feet and said to Hugh:
“Will my lord honour the dwelling of his servant by his presence?”
And she led him to her litter, where she invited him to sit beside
her. I followed and stood close to Hugh, for he had contrived to
whisper, as he brushed past me:
“Keep near me, old chap. Don’t let them divide us whatever happens!”
The eight black giants had already raised the Pharaoh’s litter aloft,
and he was being borne away among a crowd of prostrate figures, across
the vast aisle of the temple. He took no notice, however, of his
adoring subjects; contemptuously he passed them by, and as his litter
disappeared through the wide portals beyond, I could still hear his
audible yawns and his loud, sharp, sarcastic laugh.
The Queen and Hugh were also hoisted upon the shoulders of the
bearers, and I was allowed to walk by his side, while a crowd of
gorgeous personages, with wands of office, of attendants and of
slaves, closed in behind us and followed in solemn procession.
If the picture of the temple of Ra, with its antechamber of black
granite, its mysterious vastness, its blind priestesses and solemn
priests, had been impressive and majestic, certainly that which lay
before us, as we emerged through the open portals, was radiant and
bright and beautiful above all: the air was sweet and balmy as an
English June, and filled with the penetrating and pungent odour of
thousands of mimosa trees and acacia blossoms, and with the sounds of
innumerable songs from myriads of bird throats. The sky was cloudless
and blue, and from the top of the gigantic marble steps where we stood
we could see the city nestling at the foot of the range of frowning
hills which divided it from the arid desert waste. The houses were
tall and square, with flat roofs supported on massive columns, which
glittered with quaint arabesques and devices in tones of exquisite
enamel, and between them, forming the streets, broad canals were cut,
the waters of which, clear and blue, scintillated as with myriads of
gems; on the canals innumerable boats, with tall prow and poop high
above the water’s edge, in shape like a crescent moon, flitted busily
along. Some were laden with piles of orange and scarlet fruit, and
mountains of flowers, all of which threw vivid patches of colour on
the canvas as they glided swiftly by. The granite of the houses was a
soft-toned pink, and over some of the ponderous gateways huge
carvings, covered with enamel, towered between clumps of date palms
and acacia trees; and far ahead before us, sharply outlined against
the dome of the sky, there rose, awesome, mysterious, majestic, the
great and wonderful pyramids, the tombs of the kings of Egypt.
Ay! the picture was truly gorgeous, a realisation of all the beauties,
the art, the colours of which scientists tell us, in words which, as I
recalled them then, seemed hollow and tame. A picture such as dear old
Mr. Tankerville alone knew how to paint before our delighted schoolboy
eyes, when he spoke of the temples of Khefren, the sphinxes of Kheops,
of the mysterious Neit-akrit, and the beautiful land over which a pall
of oblivion had lain for so long. Here it was new and fresh, alive as
ever, and we two prosy Britishers were here to enjoy its beauties. The
crescent-shaped boats, with bright-coloured sails, the naked boatmen,
whose skins shone beneath the sun like pieces of yellow marble, their
scarlet tight-fitting caps, their metal collars, the life, the
movement, the beauty, the colour, intoxicated me and made me feel as
if this were, at last, life and beauty indeed.
I looked at Hugh: he had thrown back his head, and, raised on his
elbow, was looking out upon the land he had so daringly decided to
rule and which he found so fair. As for the Queen, there was in the
midst of all this beauty, this gorgeousness, but one sight which to
her eyes was worth the seeing, and which gave a singular softness to
her fine voluptuous face, and that was the sight of the mystic
stranger who had demanded to share her throne with her, the envoy of
Osiris and of Ra, the beloved of the gods.
The invalid Pharaoh had been taken onto one of the boats, and was
already being rowed along the canal, followed by his gorgeous retinue;
the Queen’s litter had also stopped at the foot of the temple steps,
and Hugh helped her to alight and to step into her own boat. She
seemed very unwilling to part from him, and prolonged her “sweet
sorrow” with many whisperings, which my imperfect knowledge of the
language prevented me from catching. At last she waved us a last
adieu, the eight oarsmen dropped their sculls into the water, and with
slow and rhythmic movement the royal craft, draped in the Queen’s
favourite black hangings, and glittering with ornaments of gold,
disappeared down the canal, and I at last was, comparatively speaking,
alone with Hugh.
A boat was evidently waiting for us, for, prostrate on the ground,
eight swarthy-looking men seemed to be waiting for us and to be
requesting us to step into it, which we did. From the temple the
stream of people had poured out, and stood in dense and picturesque
masses on the tall steps, watching from a respectful distance every
movement of the beloved of the gods.
“Perhaps you will tell me, old man, how all this is going to end,” I
remarked as soon as we, in our turn, were being rowed down the canal
some half a dozen lengths behind the Queen’s boat, and I felt that, at
last, I was alone with Hugh.
He turned round to me, and the sunniest of smiles drove all the
solemnity from his face.
“I don’t know, old chap, and I don’t care,” he said with a merry
laugh. “Tell me if this isn’t the most glorious, the most beautiful
thing mortal man can conceive?”
“It certainly is the most magnificent picture I have ever set eyes on,
Girlie; but tell me what on earth you propose to do.”
“Do? old chap!” he said, in his quiet, convinced way. “Why! rule over
this gorgeous country, with you as my prime minister.”
“I know your wants are modest, old man,” I laughed, “but I should like
to know how you propose to accomplish this laudable object, and
whether the fund of deception from which you drew the wondrous history
of your origin is inexhaustible, for you will need plenty of it.”
“That was a capital idea of mine, now, wasn’t it, old fellow? Another
moment and we were bound to be found out, and you can guess as well as
I what would have been the summary proceeding by which we should have
made our forcible exit from this beautiful land.”
“It was a bold stroke, Girlie; worthy of you. But I want to know where
it will all lead to.”
“To the most glorious discoveries the world of antiquity has ever
dreamed of,” he replied enthusiastically, his eyes literally glowing
with buoyancy of spirit. “Discoveries of which my dear father used to
dream, over which he broke his heart when he realised that they would
be made by other eyes, other hands than his. I mean to rule over these
people, Mark, study them, know them, love them, conquer them; then,
having learned all their secrets, go back to England and set the world
gaping with the treasures which I shall place before its wondering
eyes.”
“Go back to England, Girlie,” I said with a laugh; “that sounds
feasible, doesn’t it? You forget that Hammersmith lies some
considerable distance from this picturesque Elysium, that the last
’bus to the Broadway has gone, and the tramway service is interrupted
for the present. There is only one exit from this fairyland, and that
is the one through which malefactors are cast out, without food or
water, into the desert wilderness; unless you propose to cross those
hills over there in a balloon.”
“Propose? I propose nothing at present, old Mark, but to enjoy
ourselves to our hearts’ content. I as king-regent of this land, and
you as my guide, philosopher, etc. After that--presently--a long time
ahead, I hope, when you and I are tired of this place, and are ready
to let the world know some of these wondrous secrets, then…”
“Yes? then?” I said, for he had paused a while, letting his gaze roam
over the distant pyramids far away.
“Oh, well, then, old chap,” he said with his sublime self-reliance,
“then something will happen, I am sure--something
wonderful--stupendous--I don’t yet know what. The upheaval of those
rocks, perhaps--a general chaos somewhere--to allow _me_ to pass. What
does it matter? Is not the present glorious enough that you want
already to think of a future?”
How could I help admiring him, with his grand belief in himself and
all the world, his enthusiasm, his faith, ready to kick aside a
mountain if it happened to stand in his way, his set purpose, which
defied alike earth and sky, atmosphere, sun and universe?
“In any case,” I said with a smile, “the present for you has one
additional charm: you are already provided with a very beautiful
bride.”
“Yes, she is beautiful,” he said quietly, “though I should say she was
somewhat unpleasant at times.”
“A genuine Cleopatra, Girlie; in looks at any rate.”
“And probably in character. Think of it, Mark! Cleopatra alive to-day!
The Cleopatra we all read of, all fell in love with, when we were in
our teens, actually alive! and the Pharaoh, Kheops! Khefren! Mena
himself! and these people still building to-day tombs which rival the
pyramids of Ghizeh, and carve sphinxes and mammoth gods beside which
the figures at Abu-Simnel are mere students’ work!”
“And think of a real Pharaoh, Girlie, who is a real direct enemy.”
Hugh frowned a little, then he laughed.
“Yes; he is no friend. He was the only one who did not believe the
story of my interesting origin.”
“He may be scientifically inclined, or perhaps his illness has made
him more sharp-witted than his fellow-men. I wonder what the high
priest thought of it all?”
“It is difficult to say. We shall find it out by-and-by; but in any
case he has burned his boats, since he solemnly declared at the foot
of his own god, to a very large crowd of people, that I was indeed the
envoy and beloved of the gods. He cannot go back on that now without
proclaiming himself a liar.”
“I wonder what his position is in the government of the country?”
“Paramount, I should say. If you remember he practically forbade Queen
Maat-kha to wed one of her own subjects, and she was quite prepared to
obey, when I, the beloved of Osiris, appeared upon the scene.”
His eyes twinkled with the humour of the situation, and he added:
“What do you think Aunt Charlotte would say, old Mark, if she saw you
in your new character as a defunct Egyptian come to life again, to
gladden the hearts of the great people of Kamt? How do you feel, eh?”
“About the same as you do, Girlie, in your character of usurper of
some one else’s property. Now you can’t get away from the fact that by
your assumption of a semi-divine _rôle_ you have helped to defraud a
lady of her just rights, and she, to judge from the enthusiastic
eulogies of that old rip, the high priest, is young and beautiful.”
“And moreover is called Neit-akrit,” added Hugh, musingly, “a name
which to you and me is associated with the most cherished memories of
childhood, with the dear old Chestnuts, the museum, where the shade of
the mysterious queen used to wander before our excited fancy, conjured
into life by the picturesque story told by my father, and rendered
glowing by the fitful light of the great log fire as it flickered on
the old-fashioned hearth. Perhaps, after all, old Mark, this is all a
dream; you and I are not really here, and presently I for one shall
wake up and find myself sitting beside that hearth, trying to decipher
by those dying embers the last few lines of a sneering article
vilifying the memory of mad Tankerville and his hobby.”
We had left the temple of Ra far behind us now, and our boat, as Hugh
was talking, turned into a wider canal, on each side of which the
houses were more imposing, more luxurious than heretofore. Beneath the
peristyles of massive columns, and in the gateways, we caught sight of
groups of people, richly dressed, who followed our boat with eager
gaze as it glided swiftly by. Evidently the great and mystic news had
spread throughout the city, and in the houses of rich and poor alike
all were anxious to be among the first to set eyes on the emissary of
Ra.
We passed an island which was evidently a market-place, for gigantic
piles of pomegranates, melons and dates stood everywhere, together
with mountains of golden mimosa, snow-white acacia, spotted orange and
flame-coloured lilies and pink aloes, behind which sat enthroned women
in gay draperies, and striped kerchiefs floating over their dark hair;
while between this wealth of fruit and blossom busy figures flitted to
and fro. But at sight of the royal boats pomegranates and dates, aloes
and palms were abandoned and an excited throng rushed to the water’s
edge. Presently one little maiden, more venturesome than her elders,
took up a bunch of mimosa, and, with wonderful dexterity, flung it
with all her might towards our boat, where it alighted right on Hugh’s
shoulder, deluging us both with a sweet-scented shower of golden dust.
Then a loud shout of delight rent the air, and in a moment we, the
boat and the boatmen, nearly came to grief beneath a veritable
avalanche of blossoms--lotus flowers and honeysuckle, branches of
papyrus and bouquets of iris, penetrating tuberoses and sprays of
orange blossom--till we had much to do to keep up a dignified
appearance under this persistent and uncomfortable shower.
“No doubt, Girlie, that this is no dream,” I said as soon as we had
left the enthusiastic market-square behind, “and no doubt that you
won’t find it difficult to exact veneration and obedience from these
excitable people. They look upon you already as one of their deity.”
“They fascinate me, Mark. They are so intensely picturesque. But it
strikes me there is a terrible vein of cold-blooded cruelty in those
that rule them.”
“Perfect monsters, I should say, remembering the awful doom they mete
out to criminals.”
“I am going to try my hand at that amount of civilisation, anyhow.
Civilising!” he added, with a laugh. “A strange word indeed to use in
connection with people who build such cities and carve such temples.
But they have yet one thing to learn.”
“Christianity?” I said. “You are bold.”
“Christianity?--No, old chap, you and I are not cut out for missionary
work. I suppose there is a something wanting in our education for
that, something out of tune--perhaps our sense of humour--but we can
pave the way for worthier men than we are, whose prosy minds will be
above the petty scruples which I confess would stay my hand from
destroying these pagan yet gorgeous temples, these false, yet oh! such
picturesque deities. Then, presently, when the world, guided by us,
will have revelled long enough in the picturesqueness of this great
and unknown land, the Western nations can begin their endless fight as
to who shall best desecrate it.”
There was no time to prolong our chat, for the boat was slowing
towards an island which lay in the middle of the stream. On it, amidst
shady groves of giant fuchsias and drooping clematis, we saw
glistening the gilt and copper roofs of a vast palace, half-hidden in
the bower of many-coloured blooms. Gradually, as we approached, we saw
its noble proportions, its walls and columns of alabaster-like marble,
covered with arabesques and tracings of several tones of gold. It
stood close to the water’s edge, above a flight of marble steps, up
and down which there stalked in stately majesty a number of pink
flamingoes. In the branches of acacias and palms many apes chattered
shrilly, and beneath the shadows of overhanging leaves we caught sight
of a herd of snow-white cows with tall slender horns. A crowd of tiny
girls, in turquoise-blue dresses, lined the long flight of steps, and
as the Queen’s boat was moored below, they all began to sing a
sweet-sounding greeting.
“It seems that we are to be the royal lady’s guests,” I remarked as
our boat also drew to the side. “I don’t know what you feel, old
Girlie, but I, for my part, am ready to collapse if I don’t get some
food within the next hour.”
As soon as we had landed the Queen came up to Hugh and said some
pretty words of welcome to him; then, at last, she deigned to take
notice of me.
“Wilt thou accompany my lord beneath the humble roof which he will
honour with his presence?” she asked.
Now I felt that in reply to this invitation it would have been
ill-mannered to nod, and again, at that moment, I could not for the
life of me recollect a single word of my Egyptian vocabulary. Innate
British shyness, when placed face to face with foreign modes of
speech, had completely paralysed my tongue and my memory, and all I
could do to save appearances was to bow silently and somewhat clumsily
before the lady.
“Is thy counsellor dumb?” she asked, turning to Hugh with
astonishment.
“He speaks but seldom,” he replied with characteristic presence of
mind--impudence I called it, “for his words are pearls of wisdom,
treasures given to him by Horus, the most learned, and as such most
precious.”
She seemed satisfied, for she smiled very sweetly at me as we all
began to mount the steps to the palace, but she did not address her
words directly to me afterwards.
In the inner hall of her palace she parted from us, but not before she
had placed herself and her house, her advisers, ministers and slaves
unreservedly at Hugh’s command. One portion of the palace was
evidently to be given over exclusively for us. A gorgeous personage,
carrying a wand of office and wearing a belt emblazoned with writing,
led us through many rooms, at the threshold of each of which he
solemnly knelt down in front of Hugh, and kissing the ground before
him, bade him welcome. Not the least attractive among the grand halls
we traversed was one in which the marble floor was sunk some six feet
below the level and the basin filled with sweet-smelling,
slightly-steaming water. It suggested the most delicious vision of a
swimming-bath my excited fancy could conceive, and only the sense of
my dignity, as chief counsellor of the gods, prevented my giving way
to the overwhelming temptation of then and there plunging into that
inviting basin. However, the gorgeous official having welcomed us a
few times more, and shown us our sleeping-apartments, which led one
into the other, where he salaamed again, until I was ready to kick him
out of our godly presence, we were at last left in the hands of some
dark-complexioned attendants, face to face with the sweet-smelling,
steaming water!--and the rest is silence! save for the splash and the
groans of content--silence and infinite bliss!
Then, afterwards, arrayed in wonderful garments, which seemed to have
dropped down from heaven, and the fit of which was apparently of no
consequence, for they consisted mostly of cloaks, we were solemnly led
to another earthly paradise. In the centre of one of the halls, where
a number of solemn personages welcomed us in various fantastic ways,
there stood a low table covered with everything that could delight
nostril and palate of two starving creatures whose last meal, partaken
of some eight hours ago, had consisted of a piece of raw vulture’s
leg. Great baskets of fruit and olives, bread and cakes of different
kinds, and above all, occupying the centre of the table--a happiness
to the eye, a joy to the heart--a gigantic roast goose, with brown,
crisp skin, and a delicious odour of aromatic, sweet herb stuffing.
And didn’t we enjoy that goose, in spite of the fact that we had to
carve it with blunt bronze knives, and to convey the pieces to our
mouths with a spoon? I should not like to have to state how much of it
there was left by the time we really considered that we had finished
with it. The gorgeous personages had fortunately most discreetly
retired when we began our repast, and our attendants consisted of the
sweetest little army of dark-eyed waitresses I personally have ever
known to hand sauces and fruits. They were very picturesquely but, I
blush to say, very scantily attired in a collar of leather studded
with turquoise, and a deep blue kerchief held round their tiny heads
with a circlet of dull metal; but I am bound to confess that this
unconventional uniform by no means took away our appetites--even, I
thought that it added a very special, piquant flavouring to that roast
goose--and when the pretty maidens poured the wine into our cups, out
of great stone jars, I thought that never had juice of grape tasted
half so sweet.
CHAPTER IX.
THE MESSENGER OF PRINCESS NEIT-AKRIT
The next day only exists in my mind as a memory of one long and
gorgeous pageant: triumphal processions through the city, shouts of
enthusiastic people, messengers sent flying in every direction
throughout the land, to announce the great news to the inhabitants of
its most outlying corners, with a promise to some of the more
important cities that they should soon in their turn be gladdened by
the sight of the beloved of Ra, the son of Osiris, the messenger of
the Most High. It was a wearying day to us both, who, occupying a
comparatively humble position in our own country, were unaccustomed to
the pomp and glitter of courts, and to the worship and salaaming of
innumerable picturesque people. I, for one, found my long flowing
robes very difficult to manage, and my belt of lapis-lazuli, on which
were engraved sundry characters denoting my dignity, exceedingly
uncomfortable. Hugh seemed to take a keen delight in wilfully
upsetting my gravity at the most solemn moments by making irreverent
remarks about the elderly dignitaries, who looked for all the world
like mummies out of the British Museum escaped from their glass cases.
In the precincts of the temple of Osiris, raised aloft upon a golden
throne, Hugh Tankerville received the homage of the nobles of the
land, the functionaries, the priests, the scribes and servants of the
court. The “mob,” as the traders and agriculturists were
contemptuously called by the more elevated personages, were not
admitted to this impressive function. They, however, showed their
reverence for the emissary of the gods by making a carpet of
themselves on the temple steps, the terraces and embankments, on which
the beloved of the gods and his wise counsellor were expected to
tread. (A process which I, for one, found exceedingly uncomfortable,
especially when I had to tread on the daintier portions of this novel
carpet; the dark eyes which then peered up at me in half-awed,
half-inquisitive fashion were very disconcerting.)
Truly reverential and adoring! Good old Hugh! It amused him, I know,
for I could see his eyes twinkling in merriment, but his gravity was
unshakable and his dignity superb. The Pharaoh did not appear at these
solemn processions--perhaps he felt that his own importance was being
put in the shade--but Queen Maat-kha never left Hugh’s side throughout
that long day. I could not of course hear the sweet whisperings with
which she helped to beguile the gorgeous monotony of the festivals,
but when I had an opportunity of watching Hugh closely, I could not
detect the faintest sign of enthusiasm on his part in response to her
blandishments.
There was an official banquet in the latter part of the afternoon, at
which the Pharaoh, sarcastic, ailing and silent, presided. I looked at
him as often as I could during the interminable repast, beginning to
guess the nature of the disease from which he was suffering, and
wondering what physicians there were in this strange land to alleviate
his pains and give him relief. He contemptuously ignored the
obsequious greetings of his entourage, as each in their turn, having
entered the banqueting-hall, knelt down before him and kissed the
ground. He seemed to have but one interest in life, and that was in
his two apes, which never left his side, and which appeared to cause
him endless delight. My still imperfect knowledge of the language
prevented me from venturing on an animated conversation with my
neighbour, a pompous, abnormally fat old man, who reeked of aromatic
pomades, and was fed from a spoon by a young girl, who tasted of every
morsel before handing it to him. Hugh sat next to me on the other
side, and in one of the few intervals of rest which his interesting
bride granted him we contrived to exchange a few words together.
By this time I had got very tired of my robes and my lapis-lazuli
belt. I longed for a clean shirt, a stiff collar, anything firm about
my body, in place of all the flapping, swathing garments which always
got in my way whenever I tried to cross my legs. Now I always had a
habit of tilting my chair back and crossing my legs in good, honest,
insular manner, and I had not yet realised that, in a sort of Roman
toga and petticoats, this attitude was far from elegant; and when in
addition to this I vainly groped for my trousers pockets in which to
bury my hands, like the true-born Englishman I was, and found that not
only I had no pockets but also no… well! I said “Damn!” loudly and
emphatically.
No sooner was this useful and impressive portion of the English
language out of my mouth than I perceived that in the vast hall a
deathlike silence had succeeded the noise of talk and laughter, and
three hundred pairs of ears were straining to catch the strange word
I had uttered, while the Pharaoh’s keen dark eyes were fixed mockingly
upon me.
But it certainly would take a great deal more than just one good
British “Damn!” spoken in an inopportune moment, to ruffle Hugh
Tankerville’s supreme dignity and composure.
“Ye know not the secrets of the tongue which Osiris teacheth his
beloved to speak,” he said with perfect impudence, “and my counsellor
and I speak many words which it is not meet ye people of Kamt shall
hear, unless indeed the gods do grant you leave. Only those who lead a
just and blameless life, who pardon their enemies and relieve the
oppressed, can hope to understand the veiled mysteries of Osiris’s
tongue.”
I tried not to smile. I tried to imitate Hugh’s dignity, and in a
measure I succeeded; but the idea that the true understanding of a
British swear-word could only be the reward of virtue nearly upset my
utmost endeavours at gravity.
Respectful silence had greeted the wonderful announcement, and three
hundred pairs of eyes gazed with awed superstition at the expounder
thereof. Only from the head of the table there came a low and
sarcastic chuckle. Hugh affected not to notice it, and did not even
glance towards the mighty Pharaoh, but from that moment I had a strong
suspicion that, however ignorant on the subject of the outer world the
people of Kamt might be, their ruler at any rate had but little belief
in our divine origin.
What his attitude in the future towards us might be, it was impossible
to guess; but weak and ill as he was, he evidently for the present had
no intention of breaking into open enmity against the beloved of the
gods, who was also the idol of his people.
However, after this little episode, Hugh and I tacitly decided that it
would be best only to speak English when we were alone.
The shades of evening were beginning to draw in when at last we all
rose from the table. Queen Maat-kha led us into the gardens, while the
guests followed or still loitered round the tables, drinking wine or
nibbling honey cakes. The Pharaoh’s litter had disappeared beyond the
alleys, and I for one felt much relieved by his absence.
“The evening is young yet, oh, my beloved,” said the Queen, clinging
affectionately to Hugh. “Isis hath not yet risen beyond the hills, and
the hour is still far when thou must leave me to preside over the
court of judgment at Kamt. Wilt stay with me alone and try to find, in
that mysterious language which Osiris hath taught thee, words which
would convey to me the thought that thou dost think me fair?”
“Fair above all, my Queen,” said Hugh, earnestly.
“Yet thou knowest not how much fairer I will be the day when thou
standest by my side at the foot of the throne of Isis, in Tanis, when
clouds of incense hover round us, hiding us from the gaping multitude,
and the high priest raises his hand over our heads to give us a
supreme benediction.”
“Thou couldst not be fairer than thou art,” he said, with a certain
want of conviction, which no doubt the lady perceived, for she said a
little sadly:
“How silent thou art, oh, my beloved! Already, perchance, the
destinies of Kamt sit heavily upon thy shoulders. The Pharaoh is sick,
he has no will save for rest and peace, and his enemies have become
powerful in the land.”
“The ruler of Kamt should have no enemies, oh, Queen! for his rule
should be merciful and just; justice disarmeth an enemy’s hand.”
“Nay, but there are the jealous, the envious,” she said, with the
sweetest of smiles, “those who stand so near to the Pharaoh that with
a touch of the hand they might easily reach the crown which sits so
lightly upon his head.”
“My place, oh, Queen, will be beside the Pharaoh, to protect his crown
from the hands of the jealous and the envious!”
“Ay! I know! and thy protection is great, oh, beloved of the gods! But
is it not meet,” she added pensively, “that some one who is near and
dear to him should pray to the gods night and day, that their
continued blessing may rest upon his head?”
I was beginning to wonder why Queen Maat-kha was suddenly showing such
unwonted solicitude for her son; her sweet manners, her fascinations
exercised to the full, led me to think that she was playing some
hidden game. From the first, the fascinating, exotic queen had deeply
interested me. I was always a keen observer and earnest student of
human nature, and the one or two incidents in which Maat-kha had been
the central figure had already shown me that, in spite of the many
thousands of miles that lay between them, in spite of barriers of
desert waste and inaccessible heights, this radiant product of an
ancient civilisation and her Western twentieth-century sister had the
same feminine, capricious, un-understandable heart.
That she was even at this moment playing some little game of her own
there could be no doubt; that there was some little feminine cruelty
hidden behind her solicitude for her son was clearly shown by her
almond-shaped eyes, which had gradually narrowed until they were
merely two glittering slits, that again brought back to my mind the
two grim guardians of the gates of Kamt.
The same thought had evidently struck Hugh, for he said, with a smile:
“Art already tired of thy future lord, oh, my Queen, that thou turnest
thy thoughts to daily and nightly prayers?”
“I?” she said, astonished. “Nay, I was not thinking of myself. There
is truly no one more near or dear to the Pharaoh than his mother, but
my mission is greater and more important in the land than that I
should spend my days and nights in prayer. Nay! there are others.”
“I do not understand.”
“Is it not meet,” she said, speaking rapidly and eagerly, “that one
who, besides being kith and kin to the holy Pharaoh, is also young and
pure--a maiden--beloved of Isis--should devote that young and still
blameless life to the service of the Most High? Her prayers, like the
fragrance of the spotted lily, would rise heavenwards, pure and
undefiled by thoughts or memories of the past. Thou, who has dwelt
among the gods, thou knowest that Ra loveth the songs and worship of a
maid. His priestesses are indeed privileged, for they can sing to him
at all times, praise and worship him, and he always grants their
prayers.”
“Privileged dost thou say? Hast forgotten, oh, Queen! that some cruel
and godless decree of this land doth deprive the priestesses of Ra of
his most precious gift?”
“What is eyesight beside the purity of the soul? The maids of Kamt vie
with each other for the privilege of being among the chosen
priestesses of Ra, who, alone among all women, kneel within the inner
sanctuary of the god. And now when the Pharaoh is sick, when he hath
most need of prayers, there is not one maid of the house of Memmoun-ra
who mingles her song with their song, who kneels with them, entreating
at the foot of the throne of the Most High.”
“Young girls of the royal house, no doubt, have no desire for such a
sacrifice.”
“Girls are thoughtless and selfish,” she said sweetly; “it is for the
older and the wise to counsel them.”
“Dost propose then to counsel one of thy young kinswomen to give up
her life, and what is dearer than life, for the sake of praying for
thy sick son?” asked Hugh, who, I think, as well as I, was beginning
to perceive the subtle game his bride was playing.
“I cannot counsel, I am but a woman, and the Pharaoh’s kinswoman is
wilful and proud,” she said with a sweet smile.
“The Pharaoh’s kinswoman? Art speaking of _one_ young maiden then?”
“What other being is there in this fair land more worthy of the honour
to be priestess of Ra than my sister’s child, the Princess Neit-akrit?
I cannot counsel her, for, alas! she hath hatred for me, but thou, oh,
son of Ra! canst give her the message which emanates from the god
himself. Thou canst command, and she will not disobey. Then, when shut
off from all temptations, all turmoil and strife of this world, she
will soon forget that she was once young and fair, and killed the
souls of men by her wiles and her beauty; then she will bless thee for
that command, and cherish thy name in her heart as she would a god’s.”
So that was the hidden game Queen Maat-kha was playing. She was madly,
barbarously jealous of her young kinswoman, and in that passionate,
exotic nature love and hate were absolute, simple and paramount.
She had fallen a ready prey to Hugh’s mystic personality; his handsome
presence, his supposed supernatural origin had invested him with a
halo of romance. But she knew that Princess Neit-akrit was young and
beautiful, she scented a probable rival, and being a woman, a simple,
ardent, semi-barbaric creature of flesh and blood, her instinct was to
render that rival helpless, before it was too late.
That her suggestion was cruel and abominable goes without saying; that
it would have no effect upon Hugh I felt, of course, quite sure; he
turned to her and said, with quiet sarcasm:
“Dost hate thy young kinswoman so deeply, then, that thou dost ask me
to formulate so monstrous a command?”
But like a cat who has shown her claws before she is ready to spring,
and hides them again under the velvety paw, Queen Maat-kha said, with
the sweetest of smiles and a look of childish astonishment:
“Thou makest a mock of thy servant, oh, my beloved! Thy words are but
a jest, I know. I hate no one, least of all my sister’s child.”
“Dost fear her then?”
“Not as long as thou art near me,” she said, throwing, with sudden
impulse, a pair of very beautiful arms round Hugh’s neck. “Wilt tell
me that thou dost love me?”
“I claimed thee as my bride before the throne of Ra,” he answered
quietly.
“Wilt prove thy love for me?”
“It needs no other proof.”
“Wilt bind thyself to grant me a request?”
“Command, oh, queen; I will obey if the gods allow.”
“Stay by my side in the palace,” she pleaded; “go not forth by night
or by day beyond the walls of Men-ne-fer. Men-ne-fer is beautiful and
great; it shall be a feast to thine eyes, until the day when our
barges will bear us to Tanis, there to be made man and wife.”
“Wilt hold me a prisoner of love?” he said, smiling. “I know not if I
can thus bind myself to thy feet, beautiful as thou art. My counsellor
will tell thee that it is meet I shall visit my people and see the
cities wherein dwell my future subjects. Dost begrudge them that,
which already messengers have gone forth to announce?”
“Ay, I begrudge every moment which takes thee away from me. Presently,
to-night, when Isis has risen to illumine the night, thou wilt go to
sit beside the Pharaoh, in the judgment-hall of Kamt, to pronounce
sentence of life and death on all those who have erred or sinned
against our laws. That hour will be martyrdom to me. Think of what I
should suffer if thou wert absent for a day and a night.”
I could see that Hugh, like myself, was much amused by her strange
persistence and her sudden change of tactics. She was evidently bent
on gaining this point, having apparently lost the other, for she put
forth before him all the charms and artifices which a woman, loved or
loving, alone knows how to use. It was getting very dark, and in the
east a faint streak of greyish light heralded the rise of the moon,
but in the semi-darkness I could see the beautiful Queen’s eyes fixed
with a truly magnetic look upon Hugh, while she half-offered,
half-pleaded for a kiss. I think it would have required a very
adamantine or very worn-out old heart to resist such charming
pleading, or refuse so flattering a request, and I doubt not but that
in spite of her earlier, decidedly unpleasant, tactics Hugh was ready
enough to yield and promise all she asked, but unfortunately at this
moment the poetic little scene was suddenly interrupted by a fanfare
of metal trumpets, and from a distance we heard the cry:
“Make way for the messenger of Princess Neit-akrit!”
Even in the darkness I could see that Queen Maat-kha had become very
pale, and a dark frown appeared between her eyes.
“Thou hast not yet promised,” she whispered hurriedly. “Promise, my
beloved, promise.”
“Make way for the messenger of Princess Neit-akrit!”
The sound of the trumpets, the repeated cries, drowned the words in
Hugh’s mouth.
“Promise thou wilt not go,” she entreated for the last time; “promise
thou wilt not leave my side!”
But it was too late, for the trumpets now sounded quite close in the
garden, and preceded by some of the Queen’s servants, a messenger, in
shining tunic and silver helmet, with winged sandals on his feet--an
emblem of his speed--was rapidly approaching towards us. Impatiently
Maat-kha turned to him.
“What dost thou want?” she said imperiously. “Who has given thee leave
to intrude on the presence of thy Queen? Thou deservedst a whipping at
the hands of my slaves for thy daring impudence.”
The messenger, however, seemed well accustomed to this inhospitable
greeting, or in any case was very indifferent to it, for he knelt down
and kissed the ground, then rising again, he quietly waited until the
flood of the lady’s wrath had passed over his head. Then he began,
solemnly:
“From the Most High the Princess Neit-akrit, of the house of
Memmoun-ra, to the beloved of the gods, greeting.”
And again he knelt and presented Hugh with a dainty tablet, on which a
few words had been engraved upon a sheet of wax. I thought for one
moment that the Queen would snatch it out of his hand, but evidently,
mindful of her own dignity, she thought better of it and stood a
little on one side, pale and frowning, while a slave brought a torch
close to Hugh and held it over his head to enable him to read.
“From the humblest of thy worshippers, greeting, oh, well-beloved of
Ra, envoy of Osiris. This is to apprise thee that the dwelling of thy
servant will be ready to receive thee on the day after to-morrow, and
Neit-akrit will be waiting to welcome thee when Isis is high in the
heavens. Wilt honour her and her house by setting thy foot upon its
threshold?”
“Do not go, my beloved,” whispered the Queen, excitedly.
“Tell thy mistress, messenger,” said Hugh, calmly, “that on the day
after to-morrow, when Isis is high in the heavens, I and my counsellor
will lay our homage at her feet, according to her will.”
The messenger salaamed again. Queen Maat-kha, among her many powers,
had evidently not the one of killing with a look, for probably
otherwise the unfortunate messenger would have paid dearly for the
privilege of bringing Princess Neit-akrit’s greeting. As it was, he
was allowed to depart in peace, and a few very uncomfortable moments
followed--uncomfortable, at least, as far as two of us were concerned,
for good old Hugh seemed highly amused at the episode, and even had
the heartless impudence to give me a nudge, which fortunately the
Queen did not see.
“Wilt thou not bid me farewell, my Queen?” he said, trying to keep up
a sentimental tone. “It is time I went to the judgment-hall, for Isis
will appear anon.”
But without another word she had turned away before Hugh could stop
her, and had disappeared among the trees, while we both heard a heavy,
almost heart-broken sob, which I think ought to have filled Hugh’s
heart with remorse.
CHAPTER X.
THE JUDGMENT-HALL OF MEN-NE-FER
Half an hour later we were being rowed down the canal by moonlight
on our way to the judgment-hall of Men-ne-fer, and had full leisure to
discuss the funny little incident in the garden.
“It was a damnable idea,” said Hugh, with true British emphasis. “She
must have taken me for a fool to think that I should not see through
her artful game.”
“Queen Maat-kha seems certainly to have vowed deadly hatred to her
royal niece. I wonder why.”
“Feminine jealousy, I suppose. All the more serious as the lady seems
to have very few scruples hidden about her fine person. It strikes me
that I shall have to extend a protecting hand over my defrauded
kinswoman.”
“My dear Girlie, it strikes me that that young woman will need no
protection, and that, for aught you know, she bids fair to be your
most dangerous enemy. She is evidently very beautiful, and a beautiful
woman deprived of her rights, justly or unjustly, always has a large
following.”
“A statement worthy of your best college days, oh, Doctor Sagacissime.
Well! we will not despise an enemy worthy of our steel. So far we have
had nothing but triumph, and easy conquests might begin to pall. But
I’ll tell you what we can do, old chap,” he added with his merry,
infectious laugh, “that which shall disarm our bitterest foe, if
indeed she be one. _You_ shall enter the lists for Princess
Neit-akrit’s hand, marry her, and when presently I leave this fair
land to return to the foot of the throne of Ra, I shall solemnly
appoint you and your heirs my successors to the double crown of Kamt.”
“I’ll tell you what you had better _not_ do,” I rejoined half crossly,
“and that is to fall in love yourself with the fascinating lady.
Everyone seems to be doing it about here.”
“Oh, I?” he said, suddenly becoming serious, and with a touch of
sadness. “I am here with a purpose, altogether besides my own self. I
have to prove to the world that neither my father nor I were fools or
liars. I must study the life, the government, the art of the men; my
heart is crusted over with fragments of papyrus and mummies, it is
impervious even to the beauty of these warm-blooded women.”
“For shame, Girlie! at your age!”
“I have no age, Mark, only a number of wasted years behind me, and a
few on ahead, which I am determined shall be well filled.”
It was a beautiful starlit night, and the crescent moon shone
wonderfully bright over the ancient city, with its marble edifices,
its water-streets, which wound in and out among mimosa and acacia
groves like a bright blue ribbon covered with glistening gems. As they
rowed the boatmen sang a sweet, monotonous barcarolle, and from east
and west, and north and south, at regular intervals, fanfares of
trumpets greeted the crescent moon as she rose.
The great judgment-hall of Men-ne-fer stood--a gigantic circular,
roofless building--high above a flight of dull grey granite steps.
Open to the sky above, it was only lighted by the brilliant yet weird
rays of the moon, which threw into bold relief the semi-circular rows
of seats on which, when we entered, were seated a number of
solemn-looking Egyptians in long flowing robes. They all rose as
Hugh’s figure appeared in the massive, square archway, and he and I
paused a moment to take in the strange picture which lay before our
eyes.
It would be impossible for me to give any definite facts as to the
proportions of this vast coliseum. It looked probably larger than it
really was, owing to the dense shadows into which one-half of it was
plunged and which looked almost limitless. There were several tiers of
stone seats, placed in semi-circle each side of a tall throne, on
which, propped up with cushions, the mighty Pharaoh reclined. On his
left, a foot lower than the kingly throne, sat Ur-tasen, the high
priest of Ra, and at the foot of the throne sat three old men, in one
of whom I recognised my fat neighbour at the banqueting table. They
also rose when Hugh entered, and I noticed that they wore round their
waists heavy belts of lapis-lazuli, on which was engraved the device:
“Justice. Mercy.”
A seat had been placed on the right of the Pharaoh, with a low one
close behind it. These were for the beloved of the gods and his wise
counsellor.
No one spoke a word in the vast and crowded building, as we made our
way down into the arena first, and then up the gradients to the seats
allotted to us. In the shadows behind and all around, my eyes,
becoming accustomed to the gloom, distinguished a crowd of moving
figures, with here and there a glint of helmet and shield.
The silence was becoming weird and almost oppressive. We were all
standing, except the Pharaoh, who looked terribly cadaverous beneath
the gorgeous diadem which he wore. At last Ur-tasen, raising has hands
up towards the starlit sky, began to recite a long and solemn prayer.
It was an invocation to all the gods of Egypt--of whom I noticed there
was a goodly number--for righteousness, justice and impartiality. The
solemn Egyptians in white robes, who, I concluded, were perhaps the
jury, spoke the responses in nasal, sleepy tones.
While Ur-tasen prayed, a number of slaves, who were naked save for a
white veil wound tightly round their heads, were going about carrying
large trays, from which each member of the jury one by one took
something, which I discovered to be a branch of lotus blossom. This
each man touched with his forehead as he spoke the responses, and then
held solemnly in his right hand.
We were, of course, deeply interested in the proceedings: the mode of
administering justice in every country is the surest keynote to the
character of its people. Here a decided savour of mysticism
accompanied it; the peculiar hour of the night, the weird light of the
moon, the white draperies, the hooded slaves even, all spoke of a
people whose every thought tended towards the picturesque.
But now Ur-tasen had finished speaking. The last response had been
uttered, and silence once again reigned within the mysterious hall. A
herald came forth with long silver trumpet, and stood in the centre of
the arena, with the light of the moon shining full upon him. He raised
his trumpet skywards and blew a deafening blast. Then three times he
called a name in a loud voice,--“Har-sen-tu! Har-sen-tu! Har-sen-tu!”
and every time he called he was answered by a flourish of trumpets
from three different ends of the buildings, accompanied by the loud
cry:
“Is he there? Is he there? Is he there?”
The herald then added:
“Let him come forthwith, with all his sins, before the judgment-seat
of the holy Pharaoh, and in the immediate presence of him whom Osiris
has sent down from heaven, the son of Ra, the beloved of the gods. Let
him come without fear, but let him come covered with remorse.”
Evidently Har-sen-tu was the first criminal to be tried in our
presence in the great hall of Men-ne-fer. There was a stir among the
crowd, and from out the shadows a curious group detached itself and
came forward slowly and silently. There were men and women, also two
or three children, all dressed in black, and some had their heads
entirely swathed in thick dark veils. In the midst of them, carried by
four men, was the criminal, he who, covered with sins, was to stand
forth before the Pharaoh for judgment, mercy or pardon. _That criminal
was the dead body of a man_, swathed in white linen wrappings, through
which the sharp features were clearly discernible. The men who had
carried it propped the corpse up in the middle of the building, facing
the Pharaoh, until it stood erect, weird and ghostlike, stiff and
white, sharply outlined by the brilliant moon against the dense black
of the shadows behind, while round, in picturesque groups, a dozen or
so men and women knelt and stood, the women weeping, the children
crouching awed and still, the men solemn and silent.
And the Pharaoh, with his high priest, the three learned judges, the
numerous jury, sat in solemn judgment upon the dead.
From amidst the group a man came forward, and in quiet, absolutely
passionless tones, began recounting the sins of the deceased.
“He owned three houses,” he said, “and twenty-five oxen; he had at one
time seventy sheep, and his cows gave him milk in plenty. His fields
were rich in barley and wheat, and he found gold dust amidst the
shingle by the stream close to his house. And yet,” continued the
accuser, “I, his mother’s sister’s child, asked him to lend me a few
pieces of money, also the loan of his cow since my child was sick and
needed the milk, and he refused me, though I asked him thrice; and all
the while he loaded Suem-ka, his concubine, with jewels and with gold,
although Isis had pronounced no marriage blessing upon their union.”
It took this speaker some little time to recount all the misdeeds of
the dead man, his hardness of heart, his negligences, and the frauds
he had perpetrated: and, above all, his unlawful passion for Suem-ka,
who had been his slave and had become his mistress.
When he had finished a woman came forward, and she, in her turn,
related how she had vainly begged of the rich man to repent him of his
sins and cast the vile slave from him, but he had driven her away,
though he was her own brother, roughly from his door. There were
several accusers who spoke of the dead man’s sins, and each, when they
had finished their tale, added solemnly:
“Therefore do I crave of thee, oh, most holy Pharaoh! of thee, who
dost deliver judgment in the name of Ra, all-creating, of Horus,
all-interceding, and of Osiris, bounty-giving, that thou dost decree
that Har-sen-tu’s body is unfit for preservation, lest it should
remain as an abode for his villainous soul and allow it to rise again
in after years to perpetrate further frauds and cruelties.”
While the accusers spoke there were no protestations on the part of
the mourners, who crowded round their dead. Once or twice a sob,
quickly checked, escaped one of the women’s throats. Judges and jury
listened in solemn silence, and when no more was forthcoming to speak
of the sins of Har-sen-tu, the defenders of the silent criminal had
their say.
His friends and relations evidently, those who had benefited by his
wealth or had not suffered through his hardness. Those too, perhaps,
who had something to gain through the rich man’s death. The most
interesting witness for this strange defence was undoubtedly Suem-ka,
the slave. She was a fine, rather coarse-looking girl, with large dark
eyes and full figure. She was entirely wrapped in the folds of a thick
black veil, but her arms and hands, as she raised them imploringly
towards the Pharaoh, and swore before Isis that she had never been
aught but a lowly handmaiden to her dead master, were, I noticed,
covered with rings and gems.
The rich man had many friends. They formed a veritable phalanx round
his corpse, defying the outraged relatives, confronting his enemies,
and entreating for him the right of embalming, of holy sepulture, so
that his body might be kept pure and undefiled from decay, ready to
once more receive the soul, when it had concluded its wanderings in
the shadowland where dwelleth Anubis and Hor, and Ra, the Most High.
I felt strangely impressed by this curious pleading for one so silent
and so still, who seemed to stand there in awesome majesty, hearing
accusation and defence with the same contemptuous solemnity, the same
dignity of eternal sleep.
When accusers and defenders had had their say, there was a long moment
of silence: then the three judges rose and recapitulated the sins and
virtues of the dead man. Personally, I must confess that, had I been
on the jury, I should have found it very difficult to give any opinion
on the case. Suem-ka, the slave, with her arms and hands covered with
jewels, was, to my mind, the strongest witness against the master whom
she tried to shield. But then it did not transpire that the deceased
had had a wife, or had any children. The numerous jury, however,
seemed to have made up their minds very quickly. When the last of the
judges had finished speaking, they all rose from their seats and some
held the lotus flower, which they had in their hand, high over their
heads, while the others--and I noticed that these were decidedly in
the minority--dropped the blossom to the ground.
The judges took count and pronounced a solemn “Ay,” and Suem-ka,
overcome with emotion, fell sobbing at the feet of the dead man.
After this Ur-tasen rose and delivered judgment upon the dead.
“Har-sen-tu! Har-sen-tu! Har-sen-tu! rejoice! The holy Pharaoh has
heard thy sins! But the gods have whispered mercy into the air. Isis
smileth down in joy upon thee.
“Har-sen-tu! Har-sen-tu! Har-sen-tu! go forth from the judgment-seat
of the holy Pharaoh, to face fearlessly the more majestic, more
mysterious throne of Osiris!
“Har-sen-tu! Har-sen-tu! Har-sen-tu! may Anubis, the jackal-headed
god, guide thee! may Horus intercede for thee and Osiris receive thee
in the glorious vault of heaven, where dwelleth Ra, and where is
neither sin nor disease, sorrow nor tears! Har-sen-tu, thou art pure!”
A scribe handed him a document which he placed before the Pharaoh, who
with his usual contemptuous listlessness placed his seal upon it. Then
I saw the high priest hesitate one moment, while the scribe waited and
the Pharaoh shrugged his shoulders, laughing in his derisive way. Hugh
smiled. I think we both guessed the cause of the high priest’s
hesitation. Ur-tasen was frowning, and looking now at Hugh, and now at
the document in his hand; but Suem-ka, the slave, happy in her
triumph, ended the suspense by shouting:
“Thy hand upon the seal, oh, beloved of the gods!”
With a slight frown Ur-tasen ordered the scribe to hand the document
across to Hugh, who placed his name beside that of the Pharaoh in bold
hieroglyphic characters:
[IMAGE: images/img119.jpg]
Then the parchment was handed over by one of the judges to the
relatives of the deceased, who, as silently as they had come, retired,
bearing their dead away with them. The laws of Kamt had granted them
leave to perform the last and solemn rites of embalming the body of
their kinsman, and making the body a fitting habitation for the soul
until such time as it should return once more upon earth from the land
of shadows.
And the herald again called thrice upon a name, and again the dead was
arraigned before the living, his virtues extolled by his friends, his
sins magnified by his enemies; but in this case he was deemed unworthy
of embalming; the soul should find no more that dwelling-place which
had been the abode of cruelty and of fraud, of lying and of cheating,
and it should be left to wander homeless in the dark shadows of death
till it had sunk, a lifeless atom, merged in the immeasurable depths
of Nu, the liquid chaos which is annihilation. The wailing of the
relatives of this condemned corpse was truly pitiable: the law had
decreed upon the evil-doer the sentence of eternal death.
Two more cases were dealt with in the same way. Mr. Tankerville had
often in his picturesque way related to us this judgment of the dead
practised in ancient Egypt, and I remember once having seen a picture
representing the circular hall, the judges and the accused; but, as in
everything else in this wonderful land, how infinitely more mystic,
more poetic was the reality than the imagining. The hour of the night,
the crescent moon above, the silent and solemn corpse, the most
dignified in still majesty amidst all those who dared to judge him,
all this made a picture which has remained one of the most vivid, the
most cherished, in my mind.
CHAPTER XI.
THE TRIAL OF KESH-TA, THE SLAVE
Then came the turn of the living.
Once more the herald called a name--a woman’s--three times:
“Kesh-ta! Kesh-ta! Kesh-ta!” and thrice the cry resounded:
“Is she there? Is she there? Is she there?”
But this time there were no reassuring words about mercy and
fearlessness. The living evidently were more harshly dealt with in
Kamt than the dead.
Pushed and jostled by a couple of men, her hands tied behind her back,
a rope round her neck, a woman suddenly appeared in the circle of
light. Her eyes roamed wildly round, half-defiant, half-terrified; her
hair hung tangled over her shoulders, and the whole of one side of her
face was one ugly gaping wound.
“Who and what art thou?” demanded the judges.
The woman did not reply. She looked to me half a maniac, and wholly
irresponsible; but the men behind her prodded her with their spears,
till she fell upon her knees. Hugh had frowned, his own special ugly
frown. I could see that he would not stand this sort of thing very
long, and I held myself ready to restrain him, if I could, from doing
anything rash, or to lend him a helping hand if he refused to be
restrained.
Suddenly his attention and mine was arrested by a name, and wondering,
we listened, spell-bound by its strange and unaccountable magic.
The judges had peremptorily repeated:
“Answer! Who and what art thou?”
“I am Kesh-ta,” replied the woman, with surly defiance, “and I am a
slave of Princess Neit-akrit.”
“Why art thou here?”
“Because I hate her,” she half hissed, half shouted, as she turned her
ghastly wounded face to the moonlight, as if to bear witness to the
evil passion in her heart.
“Take care, woman,” warned the judges, “lest thy sacrilegious tongue
bring upon thee judgment more terrible than thou hast hitherto
deserved.”
She laughed a strange, weird, maniacal laugh, and said:
“That cannot be, oh, learned and wisest of the judges of Kamt. Dost
think perchance that thy mind can conceive or thy cruelty devise a
more horrible punishment than that which I endured yesterday, when my
avenging hands tried to reach her evil form and failed, for want of
strength and power?”
“Be silent! and hear from the lips of thy accusers the history of the
heinous sin which thou didst commit yesterday, and for which the high
priest of Ra will anon deliver judgment upon thee.”
“Nay! I will not be silent, and I will not hear! I will tell thee and
the holy Pharaoh, and him who has come from heaven to live amongst the
people of Kamt, I will tell them all of my sin. Let them hate and
loathe me, let them punish me if they will; the Pharaoh is mighty and
the gods are great, but all the powers of heaven and the might of the
throne cannot inflict more suffering on Kesh-ta than she has already
endured.”
“Be silent!” again thundered the judges; and at a sign from them the
two men quickly wound a cloth round the unfortunate woman’s mouth and
a few yards of rope round her body. Thus forcibly silent, pinioned and
helpless, she knelt there before her judges, defiant and, I thought,
crazy, while her accuser began slowly to read the indictment.
“Kesh-ta, the low-born slave, who has neither father nor mother, nor
brother nor sister, for she is the property of the most pure and
great, the Princess Neit-akrit of the house of Memmoun-ra.
“The gods gave her a son, who through the kindness of the noble
princess became versed in many arts, and being a skilled craftsman was
much esteemed by the great Neit-akrit, of the house of Memmoun-ra.
“Yesterday, whilst Sem-no-tha knelt before the great princess, whilst
she deigned to speak to her slave, Kesh-ta, his mother, crept close
behind him, and slew her son with her own hand before the eyes of
Neit-akrit, the young and pure princess, and then with the blood of
the abject slave his murderess smeared the garments of Neit-akrit,
causing her to turn sick and faint with loathing.
“Therefore I, the public accuser, do hereby demand, in the name of the
people of Kamt, both freeborn and slave, that this woman, for this
grievous sin she committed, be for ever cast out from the boundaries
of the land; that her body be given as a prey to the carrion that
dwell in the wilderness of the valley of death, so that the jackals
and the vultures might consume the very soul which, abject and base,
had conceived so loathsome a crime.”
There was dead silence after this; I could see Hugh, with clenched
hands and lips tightly set, ready at any cost to prevent the terrible
and awful deed, the consequences of which we had already witnessed in
the lonely desert beyond the gates of Kamt. The Pharaoh had turned
positively livid; amidst his white draperies he looked more ghostlike
and dead than the corpses which had just now stood before us;
Khefaran’s face was still impassive.
Then the judges said solemnly:
“Take the gag off the woman’s mouth; it is her turn to speak now.”
I heaved a sigh of relief. There was a great sense of fairness in this
proceeding, which, for the moment, relieved the tension on my
overwrought nerves. I saw that Hugh, too, was prepared to wait and
listen to what the woman would have to say.
The gag had been removed, and yet Kesh-ta did not speak; it seemed as
if she had ceased to be conscious of her surroundings.
“Woman, thou hast heard the accusation pronounced against thee: what
hast thou to say?”
She looked at the judges, and at the crowd of men, on whose faces she
could see nothing but loathing and horror, then suddenly her wild and
wandering gaze rested upon Hugh, and with a loud shriek she wrenched
her arms from out her bonds, and stretched them towards him, crying:
“Thou, beloved of the gods, hear me! I ask for no pardon, no mercy!
Remember death, however horrible, is life to me; the arid wilderness,
wherein the gods do not dwell, where bones of evil-doers lie rotting
beneath the sun, will be to me an abode of bliss, for inaccessible
mountains will lie between me and _her_. There, before grim and
slowly-creeping death overtakes me, I shall have time to rejoice that
I, with my own hands, saved Sem-no-tha, my son, my beloved, from the
same terrible doom. He was a slave, abject at her feet, but he was
tall and handsome, and she smiled on him. And dost know what happens
when Neit-akrit smiles upon a man, be he freeborn or be he slave? He
loses his senses, he becomes intoxicated, a coward and a perjurer, and
his reason goeth forth--a vagabond--out of his body. Hast heard of
Amen-het, the architect, oh, beloved of the gods? hast heard that for
a smile from her he perjured himself and committed such dire sacrilege
that Osiris himself veiled his countenance for one whole day because
of it, until Amen-het was cast out of Kamt, to perish slowly and
miserably body and soul. And I saw Sem-no-tha at the feet of
Neit-akrit! I saw her smile on him, and knew that he was doomed; knew
that to see her smile again he would lie and he would cheat, would
sell his soul for her and die an eternal death, and I, his mother, who
loved him above all, who had but him in all the world, preferred to
see him dead at my feet, than damned before the judgment-seat of the
Most High!
“Ay! I am guilty of murder,” she continued more excitedly than ever,
“I have nothing to say! I slew Sem-no-tha, the slave of
Neit-akrit!--Her property!--Not mine!--I am only his mother--and am
too old, too weary to smile! Beloved of the gods, they did not tell
thee all my sins; they did not tell thee that when I saw Sem-no-tha
lying dead at my feet, and Neit-akrit kneeling by his side, while a
tear of pity for her handsome slave fell upon his white and rigid
form, that with the knife still warm with his blood, I tried to mar
for ever the beauty of her face. I had no wish to kill her, only to
make upon that ivory white flesh a hideous scar that would make her
smile seem like the grimace of death. But Fano-tu stopped my arm ready
to strike, and to punish me he, with his own hand, made upon my face
this gaping wound, such as I had longed to make on that of Neit-akrit.
You may condemn me--nay, you _must_ cast me out of Kamt, for if you do
not I tell you that were you to bury me beneath the tallest pyramid
the proud Pharaohs have built for themselves, and set the entire
population of Kamt to guard it and me, I yet would creep out and find
my way to her, and I tell you Kesh-ta would not fail twice.”
Exhausted, she sank back, half fainting, on the ground, while
deathlike silence reigned around; one by one every member of the jury
dropped his lotus flower before him, and the judges, having taken
count, pronounced solemnly the word “Guilty!”
Then Ur-tasen rose and delivered judgment.
“Kesh-ta! Kesh-ta! Kesh-ta! thou art accursed! Thy crime is heinous
before the gods! Thy very thoughts pollute the land of Kamt.
“Kesh-ta! Kesh-ta! Kesh-ta! thou art accursed. Be thy name for ever
erased from the land that bare thee. May the memory of thee be cast
out of the land, for thou art trebly accursed.
“Kesh-ta! Kesh-ta! Kesh-ta! thou are accursed! The gods decree that
thou be cast out for ever beyond the gates of Kamt, into the valley of
death, where dwell neither bird nor beast, where neither fruit nor
tree doth grow, and where thy soul and body, rotting in the arid sand,
shall become a prey for ever to the loathsome carrion of the desert.”
Kesh-ta’s answer to this terrible fiat was one loud and prolonged
laugh. I felt almost paralysed with the horror of the scene. My mind
persistently conjured up before me the vision of the lonely desert
strewn with whitening bones, the vultures and screeching jackals, and
the loathsome cannibal who once had been just such a living,
breathing, picturesque man as these now before me. The woman’s crime
was horrible, but she was human, and above all, she was a woman.
Trouble seemed to have unhinged her mind, and the thought to me was
loathsome that so irresponsible a being should suffer such appalling
punishment.
Already Ur-tasen had handed up to the Pharaoh the document that
confirmed the awful sentence, and the sick, almost dying, man
prepared, with trembling hand, to give his royal assent to the
monstrous deed, when, in a moment, Hugh was on his feet: he had shaken
off the torpor, which, with grim horror, had also paralysed his
nerves, and drawing his very tall British stature to its full height,
he placed a restraining hand on that of the priest.
“Man!” he said in loud tones, which went echoing through the vastness
of the building, “where is thy justice? Look at that woman whom thou
hast just condemned to tortures so awful which not even thou, learned
as thou art, canst possibly conceive.”
The judges and the jury had one and all risen from their seats and
were staring awestruck at Hugh, who at this moment, tall and white
amidst these dark sons of the black land, looked truly like some being
of another world. The Pharaoh had, after the first moment of
astonishment, quietly shrugged his shoulders, as if he cared little
what the issue of this strange dispute might be between the stranger
and the all-powerful high priest. Ur-tasen alone had preserved perfect
composure and dignified solemnity. Quietly he folded his arms across
his chest and said:
“I, who am vowed to the service of Ra, am placed here upon earth that
I might enforce obedience to his laws.”
“Nay! not to the word, man, to the spirit,” rejoined Hugh. “Remember
Ra’s decree transmitted to Mena, the founder of this great kingdom,
through the mouth of Horus himself:--‘Be just, oh, man! but, above
all, be merciful!’”
“Remember, too, oh, well-beloved of the gods, that same decree which
sayeth:--‘Let no man shed the blood of man, in quarrel, revenge, or
any other cause, for he who sheddeth the blood of man, his blood, too,
shall be shed.’”
“But Kesh-ta is irresponsible, half deprived of her reason by sorrow
and the terrible mutilation which the hand of an inhuman slave-driver
inflicted upon her. To throw a human creature in such a state in the
midst of an arid wilderness without food or drink, as a punishment for
a crime which her hand committed, but not her mind, is barbarous,
monstrous, cruel, unworthy the great people of Kamt.”
“Let no man shed the blood of man,” repeated the high priest,
solemnly, “in quarrel, revenge, or any other cause. Hast mission, oh,
beloved of Osiris, to upset the decrees of the gods?”
“Nay! I am here to follow the laws of the gods, as well as all the
people of Kamt, but thou, oh, Pharaoh,” he added, turning to the sick
man, “knowest what physical ailments are, knowest how terrible they
are to bear. Think of the moments of the worst pain thou hast ever
endured, and think of them magnified a thousandfold, and then thou
wilt fall far short of the slow and lingering torture to which thou
wouldst subject this half-crazed woman.”
“Let no man shed the blood of man,” repeated the high priest for the
third time, with more solemnity and emphasis, for he noticed, just as
I did, that Hugh’s powerful appeal, his picturesque--to them,
mysterious--presence was strongly influencing the judges and the jury
and all the spectators. One by one the pink lotus blossoms were lifted
upwards, the judges whispered to one another, the men ceased to buffet
and jostle the unfortunate woman.
“Oh, ye who are called upon to decide if a criminal be guilty or not,”
adjured Ur-tasen, stretching his long gaunt arms towards the
multitude, “pause, before you allow cowardly sentiment to mar your
justice and your righteousness. Who is there among you here who hath
not seen our beautiful Princess Neit-akrit? Who hath not gazed with
love and reverence upon the young and exquisite face which Isis
herself hath given her? And who is there among you who, remembering
her beauty, doth not shudder with infinite loathing at the thought of
that face disfigured by the sacrilegious hand of a low-born slave, of
those eyes rendered sightless, of the young lips stilled by death? Oh,
well-beloved of Osiris,” he added, turning again towards Hugh, “from
the foot of the throne of the gods perchance thou didst not perceive
how exquisitely fair is this greatest of the daughters of Kamt whom
_thy_ presence hath deprived of a throne. Is not thy godlike sire,
whose emissary thou art, satisfied? And in addition to wrenching the
double crown of Kamt from her queenly brow, wouldst take her life, her
smile, her sweetness, too?”
Ur-tasen, with wonderful cunning, had played a trump-card, and no
doubt poor old Hugh was in a tight corner. His position towards the
defrauded princess was at best a very ticklish one, and on the
principle that the son of Ra could do no wrong, it was imperative that
not the faintest suspicion should fasten on him that he bore any
ill-will towards his future kinswoman. I wondered what Hugh would do.
I knew my friend out and out, and there was that in his face which
told me plainly that the unfortunate Kesh-ta would _not_ be “cast out”
from the gates of Kamt.
There must have been some subtle magic in the name of Neit-akrit, for
Ur-tasen’s appeal had quickly and completely done its work. One by one
the lotus blossoms had again been dropped, and the judges
simultaneously repeated:
“Death! Death! Death!”
The wretched woman alone among those present seemed not to take the
slightest interest in the proceedings. She crouched in a heap in the
centre of the hall, and the moonlight showed us at fitful intervals
her great, wild eyes, her quivering mouth, and the hideous wound made
by the cruel hand of Fano-tu.
“Death be it then,” said Hugh, determinedly. “She has killed, and
dreams yet to kill. Sinful and dangerous, let her be removed from
Kamt, but by a quick and sudden act of justice, not by the slow
tortures of inhuman revenge.”
“Let no man shed the blood of man,” once again repeated the high
priest with obvious triumph, “in quarrel, revenge, _or any other
cause_.”
These last words he emphasised with cutting directness, then he added:
“Thou sayest, oh, well-beloved of the gods, that thou dost honour the
laws of thy sire; remember that he who sheddeth the blood of man, his
blood, too, shall be shed.”
And placing the document once again before the Pharaoh, he said
commandingly, though with outward humility:
“Wilt deign to place thy seal, oh, holy Pharaoh, on this decree which
shall expel from out the gates of Kamt the murdering vermin that even
now crawls at thy feet?”
But with characteristic impulsiveness, and before I could restrain
him, Hugh had snatched the paper from out the high priest’s hand, and
tearing it across he threw it on the ground and placed his foot upon
it.
“Not while I stand on the black soil of Kamt,” he said quietly.
Breathless all had watched the stirring scene before them.
Superstition, reverence, terror, all were depicted on the faces of the
spectators. No one had dared to raise a voice or a finger, even when
Hugh committed this daring act. The Pharaoh had turned, if possible,
even more livid than before, and I could see a slight froth appearing
at the corners of his mouth; he made no movement, however, and after a
while took up his apes and began teasing them, laughing loudly and
drily to himself. I fancied that he a little bit enjoyed Ur-tasen’s
subtle position. The high priest still stood impassive, with folded
arms, and repeated for the fourth time:
“The laws of Ra given unto Mena commandeth that he who sheds the blood
of man, his blood, too, shall be shed. By no hand of man can the
criminal’s blood be shed. The vultures of the wilderness, the hyenas
and the jackals that dwell in the valley of death must shed the blood
of the murderess, that the decrees of Ra and Osiris and Horus be
implicity fulfilled.”
Then he turned to the Pharaoh and added:
“Is it thy will, oh, holy Pharaoh, that the laws prescribed by the
gods follow their course, as they have done since five times a
thousand years? Is it thy will that the base and low vermin which
crawleth at thy feet be allowed to go free and fulfill her murderous
promises, and be a living danger to thy illustrious kinswoman, whom it
is the duty of _all_ the rulers of Kamt to cherish and protect? Or
dost thou decree that in accordance with the will of Ra, who alloweth
no man to shed the blood of man, she shall be cast out for ever from
the land of Kamt, and her sinful blood feed the carrion birds and
beasts of the arid valley of death?”
The Pharaoh gave an indifferent shrug of the shoulders, as if the
matter had ceased to concern him at all. This Ur-tasen interpreted as
a royal assent, for he commanded:
“Take the woman away and bind her with ropes. Let twenty men stand
round to guard her, lest she fulfil her impious threat. Let her
neither sleep, nor eat, nor drink. To-morrow, at break of day, when
the first rays of Osiris peep behind the hills, she shall be led forth
through the mysterious precincts of the temple of Ra and cast out
through the gates of Kamt for ever into the wilderness.”
“By all the gods of heaven, earth or hell,” said Hugh, very quietly,
“I declare unto you that she shall _not_.”
And before I could stop him he had literally bounded forward, and
slipping past the dumfounded judge and jury had reached the centre of
the hall and was stooping over the prostrate woman.
It was a terrible moment, an eternity of awful suspense to me. I did
not know what Hugh would do, dared not think of what any rashness on
his part might perhaps entail.
“Touch her not, oh, beloved of the gods,” shouted Ur-tasen, warningly;
“she has been judged and found guilty; her touch is pollution. The
gods by my mouth have decreed her fate.”
“Her fate is beyond thy ken and thy decree, oh, man,” said Hugh, with
proud solemnity, as once again his tall stature towered above them
all, “and she now stands before a throne where all is mercy and there
is no revenge.”
The men round had stooped and tried to lift the prostrate woman. She
turned her face upwards to Hugh; the ashen shade over it was
unmistakable; it was that of the dying, but in her eyes, as she looked
at him, there came, as a last flicker of life, a spark of the deepest,
the most touching, gratitude.
Then softly at first, but gradually more and more distinctly, the
whisper was passed round:
“She is dead!”
And in the moonlight all of us there could see on the woman’s dress a
fast-spreading, large stain of blood.
“He who sheddeth the blood of man,” came in thundering accents from
the high priest, “his blood shall be shed. People of Kamt, who stand
here before the face of Isis, I command ye to tell me whose hand spilt
the blood of that woman.”
“Mine,” said Hugh, quietly, throwing his knife far from him, which
fell, with weird and metallic jingle, upon the granite floor. “The
hand of him whom Ra has sent among you all, the hand of him whom
Osiris loveth, who has come to rule over you, bringing you a message
from the foot of the throne of your god. Touch him, any of you, if you
dare!”
Shuddering, awestruck, all gazed upon him, while I, blindly,
impetuously, rushed to his side, to be near him, to ward off the blow
which I felt convinced would fall upon his daring head, or share it
with him if I were powerless to save. I don’t think that I ever
admired him so much as I did then--I who had often seen him recoil
with horror at thought of killing a beast, who understood the
extraordinary, almost superhuman sacrifice it must have cost him, to
free with his own hand this wretched woman from her awful doom.
But with all his enthusiasm, scientific visionary as he was, Hugh
Tankerville knew human nature well, knew that, awestruck with their
own superstition, they no more would have dared to touch him then than
they would have desecrated one of their own gods. There was long and
deathlike silence while Hugh stood before them all with hand raised
upwards in a gesture of command and defiance; then, slowly, one by
one, the judges and the jury and all the assembled multitude fell
forward upon their faces and kissed the granite floor, while a low
murmur went softly echoing through the pillars of the hall:
“Oh, envoy of Osiris! Beloved of the gods!”
Then I looked towards Ur-tasen and saw that the high priest, too, had
knelt down like the others. Hugh had conquered for the moment, through
the superstition of these strange people and the magic of his
personality, but I dared not think of what the consequences of his
daring act might be.
Without another word he beckoned to me to follow him, and together we
went out of the judgment-hall of Men-ne-fer.
CHAPTER XII.
THE CROWN OF KAMT
Hugh needed much of my skill when we got back to the palace that
night and were rid of our attendants, safe in our own privacy. The
strain must have been terrible for him to bear. His constitution was a
veritable bundle of nerves; these had been strained almost to
breaking, both in his fight with Ur-tasen and during the awful moment
when, for the sake of a principle, he stained his hand with the blood
of a fellow-creature.
As soon as we were alone I went up to him and grasped that hand with
all the warmth and affection which my admiration for him commanded,
and I felt strangely moved when, in response, I saw in his great dark
eyes a soft look of tenderness and of gratitude. He knew I had
understood him, and I think he was satisfied. Gently, as a sick child,
he allowed me to attend to him; fortunately, through the many
vicissitudes which ultimately brought us to this wondrous land, I had
never discarded my small, compact, portable medicine-chest, and I soon
found a remedy for the poor, tired-out aching nerves.
“There now, that’s better, isn’t it, Girlie?” I said when he was at
last lying, quietly and comfortably, on the couch, and there was less
unnatural brilliancy in his eyes.
“You are awfully good to me, Mark, old chap,” he said. “I am ashamed
to have broken down so completely. You will think that I deserve more
than ever my old schoolboy nickname.”
“Yes! Sawnie Girlie you are,” I said with a laugh, “and Sawnie Girlie
you have ever proved yourself--particularly lately. But now I forbid
you to talk--most emphatically--and command you to go to sleep. I will
not have you ill, remember. Where should I be without you?”
“Oh, I shall be all right. Don’t worry about me, old chap, and I
assure you that I have every intention of going to sleep, particularly
if you will do ditto. But, Mark, is it not strange how the mysterious
personality of Neit-akrit seems to haunt every corner of this land?”
“That old Ur-tasen seems to me, somehow, to play a double game, and I
am positively shocked at so old and venerable a personage getting so
enthusiastic over the beauty of a girl young enough to be his
granddaughter. I call him a regular old rip.”
“She certainly seems to have the power to arouse what is basest in
every woman, be she queen like my bride, or slave like poor Kesh-ta,
to make fools of men and cowards of the Pharaoh and his priest.”
“I think that after all your queen may have had the best idea: a woman
who has so much power is best put out of harm’s way. There are no
nunneries in this pagan land, but you had best accede to Queen
Maat-kha’s wish, and command Princess Neit-akrit to become the
priestess of some god.”
“Then she would set to work to demoralise all the priests,” said Hugh,
with a laugh, “and finally upset the gravity of the high priest. I
must find her a husband, Mark; the cares of maternity will sober her
soon enough. I wish you would take her off my hands.”
The next day, at a solemn council, at which the Queen, Ur-tasen and
ourselves were present, and which was held within the precincts of the
temple of Ra, the high priest seemed entirely to have forgotten the
events of the night. He greeted Hugh with solemn and dignified
respect, and it was impossible to read on his parchment-like face what
his thoughts were with regard to the beloved of the gods. I could not
make up my mind whether he did or did not believe the story of Ra and
of the soul of Khefren, and at times I would see his shrewd eyes fixed
upon Hugh and myself with an expression I could not altogether define.
Somehow I mistrusted him, in spite of the fact that his manner towards
Hugh, throughout the council, was deferential and respectful, even to
obsequiousness. Hugh, I could see, was on his guard and spoke little.
Affairs of finance were mostly discussed. It evidently was Ur-tasen’s
business to collect the reports of the governors and officials on
matters agricultural, financial or religious, and to lay them before
his sovereign. He seemed to be the “Bismarck” of this picturesque
land, and to my mind it was unlikely that he meant to share the power
which he had wielded for so long with any stranger, be he descended
from the heavens above or not, and in the great trial of the
unfortunate slave he had been publicly and absolutely discomfited.
At the same time, whatever might be the game he meant to play, he hid
his cards well for the present, and neither made suggestion nor
offered criticism, without referring both to Hugh.
Queen Maat-kha, attired in her sombre yet gorgeous black, looked more
radiant and beautiful than ever. She made no effort to hide the deep
and passionate love she felt for her future lord; she had probably
heard of the episode of the night, but, if she had, Hugh’s daring
action had but enhanced her pride in him.
Most of the day was again spent in visiting temples and public
buildings, and in receiving various dignitaries of the city. The
representatives of various crafts and trades came in turn to offer to
the beloved of the gods some exquisite piece of their workmanship, or
object of art, fashioned by their hands: goldsmiths’ and jewellers’
work, smiths’ or turners’ treasures, which, I felt, would one day
adorn the cases of the British Museum, and the barbarous splendours of
which were a veritable feast to the eye.
We did not see the sick Pharaoh throughout the whole of that day. Once
or twice we caught sight of his rose-coloured litter, with its
gorgeous crown of gold, being borne along among the acacia alleys of
the park, and we heard his harsh, sarcastic laugh echoing down the
alabaster corridors; but he took no notice of either Hugh or myself,
and did not appear at either council or reception. The mighty Pharaoh
was sick unto death, and men with shaven crowns, in long green
robes--the representatives of the medical profession of Kamt--were
alone admitted to his presence.
Late that night we sat at table in the vast supper-hall. At the head
of it, on a raised daïs covered with heavy folds of rich black
tissue, Queen Maat-kha sat, with Hugh by her side. I was at her right,
and behind each of us a tall swarthy slave waved a gigantic ostrich
feather fan of many colours, stirring the air gently over our heads.
Through the massive alabaster columns there stretched out before us
the bower of palms and acacias, among which the newly-risen moon threw
dark and mysterious shadows. On the marble floor there stalked about
majestic pink flamingoes, while around the columns fair musicians
squatted, drawing forth from their quaint crescent-shaped harps sweet
and monotonous tones. Only one lamp, low and dim, in which burned
sweet-scented oil, illumined with fitful light the hall in which we
sat, together with the vessels of gold and exquisite fruit which
littered the table, while around us dainty maidens flitted, filling
and refilling our goblets with aromatic wines from great stone jars,
which they carried on their graceful heads: their smooth dark skins
glittered at times like bits of old carved ivory. I confess that in
the midst of this gorgeousness and plenty I was just thinking how
delightful a good cigar would be, when, quite involuntarily--for I was
gradually training myself to become a very efficient gooseberry--I
caught a few words which Queen Maat-kha was whispering half audibly to
Hugh.
“Art thou not happy then with me?”
Hugh whispered something in reply, which I did not catch, but which
evidently was not altogether satisfactory, for she shook her head and
said:
“Then why dost thou wish to go? I would fain pray the gods to bid time
stand still and Osiris to cease his daily wanderings on the vault of
heaven. I but long that day should follow day in this same sweet,
unvarying monotony.”
“It is necessary that I should see my people, sweet,” said Hugh, “and
necessary I should pay my humble respects to the Princess Neit-akrit,
whom my presence has deprived of a throne.”
“Yes, I know. Ur-tasen has devised it. He nourishes in his heart a
fond regret that he will not place the crown of Kamt on the head of
Neit-akrit.”
“I think thou dost him wrong; he is devoted to thee and to thy house.”
“Because I load him with gifts,” she said drily, “and because he fears
the gods, whose beloved thou art; but Neit-akrit is young; some call
her fair… and…”
“Is she then so very fair, this mysterious Neit-akrit whom I have
never seen, but who will be my kinswoman when thou art my wife? Tell
me about her.”
I thought that this was a false move on Hugh’s part. It is never safe
to express interest in one lady in the presence of another, and I was
not surprised to see Queen Maat-kha’s eyes flash with anger, and--I
thought--jealous suspicion.
“What can I tell thee,” she said indifferently, “save that some have
called her fair?”
“Is she young?”
“She is little more than a child; her body is straight and angular;
she has large eyes, but they are not dark, and her hair is of a
peculiar colour. What can I tell thee of her?”
“Tell him that Neit-akrit is beautiful beyond what man born of woman
can conceive,” suddenly said a harsh and sarcastic voice immediately
behind us; “that her eyes are blue and mysterious as is the light of
Isis, when she rises silent and solitary in the night, that her hair
is like the rays with which Osiris bathes the heavens when he himself
has sunk to rest. Tell him that her body is tall and lithe as the
graceful papyrus grass which sways gently in the wind, and that her
feet are white and transparent like the polished tusks of the young
elephant. Tell him that her voice is sweeter than the song of birds or
chorus of goddesses around Ra’s throne, and that her cheeks would
shame the lotus blossom in their tints. Then, when thou hast described
all this and more to him, who is beloved of the gods, tell him that,
though his soul be descended direct from the foot of the throne of Ra,
and his heart was fashioned by the hand of Osiris himself, he cannot
kindle one spark of life in the heart and soul of beautiful
Neit-akrit, but that he will see his own, bruised and chilled unto
death, trampled beneath the ivory white feet of the most exquisite
daughter of this fair land of Kamt, while the very apes in the trees
of her palace will laugh to scorn his lost manhood and the gnawing
pain in his heart.”
We had all turned towards the further end of the room, where stood the
Pharaoh, supported on either side by two of his shorn physicians, his
pale face emaciated by suffering, looking weirdly grotesque beneath
the gigantic double crown of gold, studded with jewels, of Upper and
Lower Kamt. Each side of him two torch-bearers stood, holding aloft a
burning torch, the flickering light of which made his face appear
strangely demoniacal in its expression of hatred and contempt, while
with one long clawlike finger he pointed derisively at Hugh. It was
the first time I had heard him speak, and his voice sounded strangely
harsh and high-pitched. Suddenly he broke into loud and unnatural
laughter.
“He! he! he! thou beloved of the gods! what exquisite torments await
thee! for thou wilt love her, I tell thee, and she will laugh and mock
thee! Didst thou not know that Isis gave her a stone when she was
born, instead of a heart? Ay! my lady mother! thou dost right to dread
that thy beloved leave thy side to behold the fairness of Neit-akrit.
I shall not live a year and a day, saith thy High Chancellor; well!
perhaps not! but I shall live long enough to see the beloved of the
gods, the future king of Kamt, a weak and puling mortal rendered akin
to the fools, and kicked at by the white feet of a woman. Thou
desirest my crown, thou soul of Khefren?” now shrieked the unfortunate
man, while he began to tremble from head to foot and tried to walk
towards Hugh. “Thou wishest to wed a queen? and sit upon the throne of
Kamt? I tell thee that before that time comes thou wilt lie with thy
pale head in the dust of the valley of death, and pray that thy
sacrilegious foot had never dared to step upon the pedestal of Ra,
since _thy_ presence deprived _her_ of a throne! Here! take thou my
crown! My head has ached long enough with the weight of it! Take it, I
say! and may every jewel it contains burn into thy flesh and make thy
martyrdom doubly hideous to bear, since it will make of thee, who art
beloved of the gods, the abhorred and loathed usurper of the throne of
Neit-akrit!”
He had with trembling hands torn the massive golden crown from off his
head, and with a final shriek of execration and blasphemy hurled it at
Hugh Tankerville’s feet, where it fell with a loud crash, while some
of the rubies, loosened from their settings by the vigour of the
shock, rolled about on the floor like glittering drops of blood.
But the effort had been too much for the enfeebled frame: the
physicians, completely paralysed by the frenzy of their patient,
seemed unable to support him, for with a wild cry the mighty Pharaoh
fell forward, prostrate before the man on whom he had hurled his
malediction.
Hugh had jumped up, fortunately in good time to break the fall of the
unfortunate man, and his vigorous chest received the main shock of the
inanimate body. Then, lightly, as if the great Pharaoh had been a
feather, he lifted him from the ground, and giving me a wink, he
carried him across the hall in his arms, commanding the astonished
physicians and torch-bearers to lead the way. As I followed him, and
helped to support the inanimate body, I looked back and, in the dim
light of the lamp, caught sight of the face of Queen Maat-kha. It was
as pale as death, and in her large eyes, which rested on the inert
form of her son, there was a look of bitter hatred, coupled with an
eager and terrible hope, which made me almost shudder.
Gently we conveyed the fainting man to his own apartments, and
imperiously Hugh ordered physicians and attendants out of the room.
They were far too frightened not to obey, and together we set to work
to undress the great Pharaoh and to lay him on his couch.
“I think now is your chance, Mark, or never, to examine the poor man
and see what he really suffers from,” said Hugh, when we had laid the
bloodless, emaciated body on the gorgeous couch and rested the pale
head on the rose silk cushion, which made the face appear more weird
and livid than before.
“If those two bald idiots in yellow robes are a specimen of the
medical profession in this highly-enlightened country, I, for one,
must pray to be preserved from any ailment in which I cannot attend on
myself,” I said, as I first of all endeavoured to administer such
restoratives to the patient as I usually carried about me. I had
examined the yellow, parchment-like skin, covered with pimples and
blotches, the eyes circled with deep purple rings, the sunken temples
and pinched nostrils, and, though I have no pretensions at vast
experience in medical practice, yet I am an M.D. of London, and had
done some creditable work at St. Mary’s, and I was not very long in
coming to the conclusion what malady was undermining the very life of
the young monarch.
“I should say he is suffering from advanced diabetes: though, of
course, I cannot be sure till I have examined him more thoroughly. If
my surmises are correct, then those shaven fools are doing their level
best to kill him in the shortest possible period of time.” And I
pointed to the fine wheaten bread, the fruit and sweet cakes, which
lay on a tray ready to the invalid’s hand. “At the same time I think
we should find it difficult to interfere with his medical entourage.”
“Do you think you can save him?” asked Hugh, eagerly.
“Save him? No! Only stay the rapid course of the malady, perhaps. I
cannot tell offhand how far it has gone, and, of course, I cannot
thrust myself into the case without consulting the physicians who have
charge of it.”
“Does it not strike you, Mark, old chap,” interrupted Hugh, with a
smile, “that your _exposé_ of professional etiquette, as prescribed
by the R. C. S., is a little out of place in this particular instance?
Look here!” he added with his usual impulsive energy, “if your
suppositions are correct, do you or do you not consider that this
unfortunate man is being wrongly treated?”
“Yes! That I do most emphatically consider.”
“Very well, then! From this moment you must look after him, and those
bald niggers have got to do as _you_ tell them.”
“But…”
“There is no ‘but,’ Mark. We are not going to see this poor wretch die
in agony, under our very eyes, if your skill can alleviate his
sufferings. I appoint you my future son’s physician-extraordinary;
this shall be the first act of my autocratic rule.”
“Hush!” I warned, “he is moving.”
I hurriedly whispered to Hugh to go, for I was afraid the sight of him
would upset the patient.
“Send his own attendants in, old man; they can see to him for the
present, till we have decided what is to be done.”
Shuffling and humble, the two yellow-robed personages obeyed Hugh’s
orders to go and see to their illustrious patient. The Pharaoh was
slowly recovering consciousness, and I thought it prudent to leave him
alone with faces that were familiar and more welcome to him than mine.
I think we were both heartily sorry for the unfortunate youth, so
helpless in the midst of all his pomp and glory, and I was only too
ready to devote myself to him, if the thing was feasible.
“Will you mention it to the Queen to-night?” I suggested.
“Not to-night,” he replied, “but at the Cabinet Council to-morrow when
Ur-tasen is present.”
When we returned to the dining-hall the Queen had retired with her
attendants, and we were left alone for the remainder of the evening to
stroll about under the acacia alleys of the park.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE IRIDESCENT SCARABÆUS
Neither of us felt like sleep. The night was peculiarly balmy and
fragrant, even for this fair land where all flowers smelled doubly
sweet, all bird song sounded more melodious than anywhere else in the
world. There was only one flaw in this land of poetry and of art, but
that was a serious flaw. The people did not grow tobacco, and on this
beautiful evening, as we wandered aimlessly along the moonlit walks,
we could not smoke a good cigar, and our delight did not reach supreme
beatitude.
How far England seemed from us at that moment! London, Piccadilly, the
Strand, hansom cabs--these were dreams, or rather nightmares I should
say, for in these few brief days--so adaptable is the human
creature--this gorgeous land, the shaven priests, the sickly Pharaoh,
had somehow already become a part of our existence. I could no longer
picture myself hailing an omnibus at Piccadilly Circus and getting out
at Hammersmith Broadway; I could not think of myself sitting in a
stall at His Majesty’s Theatre and watching one of Mr. Beerbohm Tree’s
beautiful scenic productions. The individual who used to sit opposite
Aunt Charlotte at the breakfast-table in Harley Street, reading the
_Daily Telegraph_, was not I myself; he was a sort of spook who still
haunted me now and again, but who had really nothing to do with me,
the counsellor of Osiris’s son, the confidant of the beloved of the
gods.
I cannot attempt to explain this psychological phase of my sojourn in
the land of Kamt. I can but record it, and do so chiefly because I
know that Hugh experienced the same sensation as I did, only in a much
more intense form.
He walked and looked as if he had never done anything all his life but
rule over strange and picturesque nations. He never found his robes
uncomfortable, nor got entangled in the intricacies of the native
tongue, and he met the great Pharaoh’s sarcastic chuckles, and the
high priest’s hypocritical obsequiousness, with the same unruffled
composure and truly regal dignity.
To-night, having dismissed our tiresome attendants, we gave ourselves
over, heart and soul, to the beauty of the scene around us. To our
right and left, in the dark shadows ghostly forms of birds or beasts
fled frightened at our approach, and the white cows in the tall
papyrus grass, disturbed by our tread, gave forth long and melancholy
plaints, while overhead the crowd of monkeys in the branches of the
acacia trees pelted us in wanton mischief with showers of white
sweet-scented petals as we passed.
We had reached the edge of the canal and looked out across it on the
majesty of the sleeping city, which, with its alabaster steps, its
roofs of copper and of gold, its mammoth temples and gigantic
carvings, looked more than ever like a city of dreamland. Beyond, far
away, stretched the line of mystic hills which divided this habitation
of beauty from the vast graveyard in the wilderness. One by one we saw
the lights of the city flicker and die out: on the canal one or two
belated boats flitted ghostlike and swift, crescent-shaped, with a
burning lamp at prow and poop; the boatmen, as they dipped their oars
into the water, sang their monotonous _barcarolle_, and beneath the
gaily-striped awnings we could catch sight at times of young couples
sitting with their dark heads close together--just the same as is
customary in dear old England on the Thames. Soon the last light had
gone out, the last boat flitted away in the distance, the dream city
was at rest; only from the great temple of Ra came, faintly echoing,
the sound of the midnight chant intoned by the blind priestesses of
the god.
We had stretched ourselves out on the soft bed of velvety grass which
sloped down to the water’s edge, terminating with a low white marble
parapet, and had each become silent, wrapped in our own thoughts and
watching the mystic reflections cast by the moon into the canal when,
suddenly, from the opposite side, we saw a dark head appearing in the
water and approaching swiftly towards us. We watched with much
interest, and soon by the light of the moon saw that the head was that
of a young girl, with long dark hair streaming in two thick plaits
behind her in the water; the thin girlish arms struck with much vigour
against the current, and very soon the edge of the parapet hid her
from our view. Very much interested, I was about to jump up, to
further watch the graceful evolutions of the midnight swimmer, when
Hugh’s hand was placed upon my arm and a warning “Hush!” caused me to
sit still.
Above the edge of the parapet, some fifty yards away from where we
lay, the dark young head had appeared, and the same vigorous, yet
slender, arms helped to hoist the girlish figure up onto the marble
ledge. We hardly dared to breathe, wondering what was the purpose of
this young and daring midnight prowler, as, for the space of a few
seconds, she sat still, listening and peering into the shadows where
we lay, silent and expectant, while the moon shone full upon her
ivory-coloured skin, making the water on it glisten like a network of
diamonds. One of her hands was tightly clutched, while with the other
she wrapped more tightly round her the dripping and transparent folds
of her white garment. After an instant’s hesitation she jumped off the
parapet onto the grass, and the next moment was running swiftly and
noiselessly towards us, shaking the water out of her hair as she ran,
and holding a warning finger to her mouth.
“Hush-sh-sh!” she whispered as soon as she was close enough and we
could hear. Then she stood still straight before us, beneath the
brilliant light of the moon, like an exquisite piece of
delicately-carved ivory. She was looking at Hugh out of her great
almond-shaped eyes, with a strange mixture of awe and pity.
“Hush-sh-sh!” she said again, as once more warningly she placed a
finger to her mouth. “They must not hear… and I can but stay a
moment.… I have watched since three times Isis rose and illumined the
night… to see if thou, oh, beloved of the gods, wouldst come, and
wouldst come alone. For what I would say to thee none other must
hear.”
Hugh had jumped to his feet, but she immediately drew back a step or
two, and put out both her arms with a pretty gesture of pride and of
warning.
“Nay! I am not worthy that thou, oh, beloved of the gods, shouldst
step near to one so humble and poor as I. I have but a moment and the
hours fly so fast.… See! Isis already turns towards the bed of clouds
wherein she rests.… To-morrow, when Osiris is high in the heavens,
thou wilt leave ancient Men-ne-fer, to shed the light of thy
countenance on thy people who dwell far away. They will fall at thy
feet and worship thee: for Ra and his high priest have said it: thou
art the messenger and beloved of the gods. But lo! when once again
Isis sheds her cold light on the waving papyrus and the crests of the
tall sycamore, thou wilt look into a pair of eyes as blue, as
impenetrable as the dark vault of heaven which cradles the goddess;
thou wilt smell the perfume of tresses as golden as the rays of Osiris
when he sinks to rest.”
As once more the strange and poetic simile struck our ears--for the
second time to-night, and spoken by two such different pairs of
lips--Hugh and I both involuntarily murmured:
“Neit-akrit!”
“Nay! do not breathe it!” she entreated, and for the first time a
shiver, as that of cold, shook her young figure, “for her very name is
so sweet-sounding to the ear that every bird song after it sounds
harsh and out of tune: and yet to-morrow, at this selfsame hour, Isis
will watch from above, and will hear thee whisper it in her ear, while
eagerly thine eyes, which have seen the majesty of the gods, will gaze
into those deep blue eyes, fringed by heavy lashes, and read therein
her strength and thine own weakness, her glory and thine abasement.”
“I should be weak indeed,” said Hugh at last, with a slight laugh, “if
after such repeated warnings, from so many different quarters, I
succumbed to the charms of the fair princess. I thank thee, pretty
one, for thy concern in my welfare, but it is ill-timed and
ill-advised, and my future happiness is not worth that thou shouldst
dip thy pretty shoulders and arms in the cold waters of the canal, at
this late hour of the night.”
“Nay! I did not come to warn,” she said reproachfully, while her hands
wandered absently over her body, as if wondering to find it wet, “it
is for the gods to warn and protect their beloved. I saw thee in the
temple of Ra, the day when thou didst descend from the foot of the
throne of Osiris to dwell amongst the people of Kamt, and as I saw
thee I found thee beautiful beyond all sons of men.… Hush! do not
speak! It was no sin to find thee fair! I had come to weep in the
temple, for Amen-het, whom I had loved, was lost to me for ever.”
I had already begun to think that the strange little person who had
indulged in this rash swimming feat, in order to make pretty speeches
to Hugh, was a little demented within that pretty, dripping head of
hers. Her last words suggested to me that perhaps there was some cause
for her strange frame of mind. She hid her face in her hands, and the
drops, which escaped from between her fingers and trickled down upon
her breasts, did not come from the waters of the canal. It was a very
pathetic situation, and we did not quite know what to do. Here was a
very pretty maiden, who had risked--to say the least--a very severe
cold for the sake of speaking to us (or rather to Hugh, for as usual I
was but a secondary personage). She was evidently in sad distress, and
yet any attempt on our part at consolation by word or deed was
promptly and coldly repelled. However, she soon looked up again, as if
ashamed of her emotion, and spoke quickly and nervously.
“Wilt thou forgive me? I am weak, and Amen-het was very dear to me. We
had loved one another from the days when my mother’s foot rocked both
our cradles side by side. He was motherless and fatherless, but he
knew that I would be all in all to him: mother and sister, and wife
and friend. We were happy, for we loved one another. He was a skilful
artisan and carved exquisite images in the temples of the gods, and
already his fame had spread far and wide, from Men-ne-fer to
Se-ven-neh, and thence to Tanis. Then the princess, she whom they call
Neit-akrit, built herself a palace more gorgeous and beautiful than
aught the people of Kamt had ever seen, and hearing of the fame of
Amen-het she bade him come and carve beautiful sculptures on the
terraces of her garden, and upon the steps of her palace.”
She paused, and in her eyes I saw that same look of deadly hatred
which I had seen on the first day distorting the regal face of
Maat-kha.
“Oh, beloved of the gods! thou does not know yet--how couldst thou?
since thou art so fair--what it is to love and see thy love become a
weariness to the beloved! Thou hast not craved for a look, a smile, a
touch, and found nothing but an aching cold which chills the heart,
and makes the brain dizzy with evil and jealous thoughts. Oh, Mother
Isis! she has all that thou and the gods could give! She has beauty
beyond the praise of song, she is great and rich above us all, while
the land of Kamt lies prostrate at her feet. I had but him in all the
world, but his love to me was more priceless than all the emeralds of
Te-bu and all the rubies of Se-ven-neh, and yet, though Amen-het was
humble and an artisan, she smiled on him and he forgot.”
We were strangely impressed by this simple yet pathetic little
story--so old and yet ever new--which the dainty little ivory carving
with the dripping, childlike shoulders was whispering to us in the
moonlight. She told it all in the peculiar, monotonous, sing-song way
which is the characteristic of these people, and we both listened, for
we both felt that there was something more to come, something that
would explain why this demure little maiden stood half naked before us
in order to tell us her life’s tragedy.
“Didst thou know that she is proud? and in her pride she wished that
the hall wherein she daily takes her perfumed bath should be illumined
by a lamp exactly like in design to the one which lights the inner
sanctuary of the temple of Ra at Men-ne-fer. And Neit-akrit smiled on
Amen-het until he was ready to sin for a look from her blue eyes, and
would willingly have died for the sake of feeling her tiny naked foot
rest for one instant upon his neck. Then she told him of her wish. The
lamp--could he copy it?--ay! he could, if he but saw it. But ’tis
sacrilege to dare to lift the veil which hides the sanctuary of Ra
from all but his priests. Then she frowned and would not smile,
refused to look on him again, vowed a more devoted artisan would in
future receive her commands. And he, poor weak fool, swore an oath
that he would do her bidding. After that she smiled again and Amen-het
went to Men-ne-fer, and at dead of night his sacrilegious foot trod
the inner sanctuary of Ra, the all-creating god, in order to find a
graceful design for a lamp for the bathroom of Princess Neit-akrit.”
Again she paused, then added slowly, while her voice almost choked in
her throat:
“Scarce twenty days had passed before I saw thy holy presence in the
temple of Ra, oh, beloved of the gods! and before the high priest told
us that thou hadst been sent by Osiris to be our king and ruler, I had
seen Amen-het, pinioned and blinded, led forth towards the gates which
mortal eyes have never seen, and beyond which lies the mysterious
valley of death, where dwell neither birds nor beasts, and from whence
no man can return.”
She sank upon her knees, and her small round arms were raised upwards
to the cold and silent moon, while we, with a shudder, looked at one
another and remembered the awful tragedy we had witnessed, in the vast
and silent immensities of the wilderness, where the weird maniac
gloated over his loathsome meal, where a half-human, wholly bestial
creature was all that remained of him who had once been Amen-het.
Thank all the gods of ancient Egypt! the little maid who mourned her
beloved dead had no conception of what he became before we finally
laid him beneath a few handfuls of sand and shingle.
“Canst wonder,” she resumed, turning once more to Hugh, “that, seeing
thee so fair, I have prayed to Isis that she may protect thee from the
beauty of Neit-akrit’s eyes? And see! the goddess did hear me, for as
I wandered out in my mother’s garden I found at the very root of the
sacred poppy this precious treasure which I have brought for thee. It
is a sacred scarabæus, and thou knowest that he who beholds it, when
Isis’s face is turned towards the earth, and holds it tightly in the
palm of his hand, sees no beauty save that of its exquisite body, sees
naught that is blue save the iridescence of its wings. Then, when I
had found it, I was happy. I waited, for I dared not approach thee
while thy slaves were round thee, ready to drive me away; but to-night
as I watched, again I saw thee and thy counsellor wander alone beneath
the acacia trees, and I came across to lay my priceless offering in
thy hands.”
Graceful and exquisitely chaste, she now came towards Hugh and held
out to him, in the palm of her small hand, a beautiful iridescent
beetle of many hues of blue and green and gold. She looked so
innocent, so confiding and trustful, and withal so pathetic in her
grief, that, without a smile, and quite gently, Hugh took the simple
offering, and, as he did so, respectfully kissed the tips of her
trembling fingers.
Before we had time to realise what had happened, before we could say
anything, or even stir, the little maiden had with one bound reached
the marble parapet. We heard a splash, and the slow rhythmic movement
of her strong young arms in the water, and through it all a faint and
warning “Hush-sh-sh!” still lingering like the echo of a sigh in the
sweet-scented air.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE MAKING OF AN ENEMY
Is there such a thing as instinct, prescience? call it what you
will. Nay! I know not. In my student days I had often dissected the
human brain and studied its component parts, and wondered which of the
numerous cells of fibrous tissue contained that inward feeling which
at times so plainly warns and foretells.
There _was_ an instinct which told me that Neit-akrit, the beautiful
and mysterious princess whom we, the usurpers, had deprived of the
double crown of Kamt, was already a part of our very life. Her name
haunted this place; it was whispered by the trees and murmured by the
waters of the canal; it filled the air with its mystic and oppressive
magnetism. Hugh felt it, I know. I think he is more impressionable
than I am, and, of course, he is more enthusiastic, more inclined to
poetry and visions. Even when wrapped in the most dry researches of
science, he would clothe hard facts in picturesque guise.
To-night he talked a great deal of Neit-akrit. From a scientific point
of view she interested him immensely, but, as a woman, she possessed
no charm for him. _No_ woman had ever done that. Above everything, he
was a scientific enthusiast, and even in his own fair country he had
never had so much as a schoolboy love. His friendship for me was, I
think, his most tender emotion. He admired the picturesque, the
poetic, above all, the mystic, and no woman, as yet, had embodied
these three qualities in his eyes.
For the moment we discussed Neit-akrit as we would a coming foe. I
refused to believe that a woman, young and fascinating, would without
murmur or struggle resign her chances of a throne. Accustomed to rule
by her beauty, she must love power, and surely would not resign
herself patiently to a secondary position in the land.
We were looking forward to a preliminary battle on the morrow. Hugh
was determined that the Pharaoh should be placed under my charge, and
we both much wondered whether the arbitrary high priest would allow
himself to give way to the stranger upon every point.
“My one hold upon these people,” argued Hugh, “is through their
superstition. They look upon me as a being of another world, and any
weakness would hopelessly endanger that position.”
“Every conflict with that powerful and arbitrary high priest might
prove a fatal one, remember,” I warned.
“I know that; but the Pharaoh is dying for want of proper medical
treatment. It would be a sheer physical impossibility to me to watch
him dying by inches and not raise a finger to help him. Having raised
a finger, if it must mean hand and arm as well, then we shall see who
is the stronger--Ur-tasen or I.”
But whatever the feelings of the high-priest may have been, he knew
the art of concealing them to the full. The next morning, at the
Cabinet Council, he was deferential, nay, obsequious to Hugh, and
hardly spoke, but stood humbly with his tall golden wand in his hand,
and only gave advice when directly spoken to.
Then, when it was almost time to go, and I had begun to think that
Hugh, on the whole, had thought it wiser to make no mention for the
present of the Pharaoh’s sickness, the Queen suddenly said:
“My lord goes to-day to visit his future kinswoman, but the Pharaoh is
sick, Ur-tasen; I know not if he will accompany us.”
“I think he will,” said the high priest, with a sarcastic smile. “He
will surely wish to be present in order to see the happy greeting of
his young cousin to the future ruler of Kamt.”
“He is too ill to bear the fatigue,” said Hugh, peremptorily.
“Too ill, I fear,” rejoined the high priest, drily, “to bear the long
days of impatience waiting for thy home-coming, oh, beloved of the
gods!”
“Ay! thou sayest truly, Ur-tasen; the holy Pharaoh is too ill to bear
much, and my counsellor and I have consulted together, and together
have decided that the hands which tend him are not sufficiently
skilful to be entrusted with the care of so precious a life.”
“A life, however precious, is always in the hands of the gods,”
retorted Ur-tasen. “None should know that better than thou, who
hailest from the foot of their throne.”
The duel had fairly begun. Hugh was determined to keep his temper, in
spite of the high priest’s obvious sarcasm and mock deference.
“The gods,” he said, “like to see such lives well looked after on this
earth, and it will be my care in the future that wise counsels preside
over the sick-bed of the Pharaoh.”
I thought that the high priest’s parchment-like face had become a
shade or two more sallow than before; the Queen, too, looked pale, but
it might have been from fright at Hugh’s audacity. She had been
accustomed throughout her life to accept the dictates of the high
priest of Ra as if they emanated from the gods themselves. Ur-tasen
had raised his shorn head and, with slightly elevated eyebrows, was
looking at Hugh.
“And how will the beloved of the gods ensure this laudable aim?” he
asked with the same mock deference.
“By appointing my counsellor to be the Pharaoh’s physician and
adviser; those who now fawn round him have no understanding of the
terrible malady which is threatening to terminate his life, when he is
yet scarcely out of boyhood. My counsellor is well versed in the
science of drugs and herbs. He will advise the Pharaoh as to what he
should eat and what he should avoid.”
“The Pharaoh, though scarcely yet out of boyhood, is not one so easily
counselled, oh, Beloved of the gods! and those who have now gained his
confidence were appointed to the high honour by the will of Ra
himself.”
“As expressed by _thy_ mouth, Ur-tasen, and though thy counsels may be
wise in the administration of religion and the offering of sacrifice,
I know not if they are worthy to be followed where a serious malady
threatens the descendant of kings.”
“Such as they are they have been followed in this glorious land of
Kamt, long before _thy_ foot trod its soil, oh, beloved of the gods!”
said the high priest, still trying to contain himself, though his
voice shook with passion and his hand clutched the heavy wand of
office till the sinews of his gaunt arms creaked with the effort.
“Yet, nevertheless, in this matter _my_ counsel shall prevail,” said
Hugh, with sublime calm, “and I solemnly declare that my counsellor
here shall in future have constant access to the bedside of the
Pharaoh, and that whatever he orders for the monarch’s welfare shall
be blindly and implicitly obeyed.”
“And how dost thou propose to enforce this declaration, oh, beloved of
the gods?” asked the priest, with a contemptuous smile.
“By ruthlessly crushing beneath my heel him who should dare to disobey
my orders,” replied Hugh, slowly, as he rose from the litter and stood
confronting the high priest in all the glory of his youth and his
powerful personality.
Ur-tasen had turned positively livid. He had been accustomed
throughout his life to dictate his will to Queen Maat-kha and to the
country. His commands had probably never been gainsaid, but at this
moment he too felt, I think, that the next few minutes would decide as
to who--he or the stranger--was to be master in the land.
“Beware,” he said solemnly, his voice quaking with rage while he
raised aloft the heavy wand of gold, emblem of his sacerdotal power,
“lest thou thyself be crushed beneath the power against which thou
hast dared to raise thy sacrilegious voice.”
But without a word Hugh turned and went up to the curtain which shut
out the view of the city from the council chamber, and pushing it
aside, he pointed to where, lining the temple steps, thousands of men
and women waited--as they did every morning--to catch sight of him
who, until a few days ago, had sat at the very foot of the throne of
Osiris. Some of the younger men and women were lying on the ground so
that his foot might tread upon their bodies. Hugh waited a moment
quietly while Ur-tasen, who had followed him, was also looking out
upon the populace. Suddenly in the crowd there was a shriek; some one
had caught sight of Hugh, and the next moment all had knelt, turning
their dark faces with awe and reverence towards him, while the women
began to chant a hymn of praise as they would to a god.
Hugh waited quietly while the flood of enthusiasm
[IMAGE: images/img160.jpg
CAPTION: “Remember that this broken wand might prove the future
emblem of thy power”]
spread over the entire crowd, till the clamour became deafening, till
the hymns sounded like an ode of triumph, then he calmly dropped the
curtain and, smiling, turned to Ur-tasen.
“Didst _thou_ speak of power, oh, mighty priest of Ra?” he asked.
“Wouldst thou defy the might that made thee?” thundered the high
priest, advancing threateningly towards Hugh and brandishing the
massive wand over his head. “Beware, I tell thee, thou stranger in the
land, lest the same hands which set thee above all the people of Kamt
should hurl thee from that throne and send thee bruised and bleeding
into the dark valley of death, a prey to the carrion of the wilderness
from whence thou camest, followed by the maledictions of that same
populace which is now ready to proclaim thee akin to the gods!”
The old man was still vigorous, and I had jumped forward, seriously
fearing that the next instant the heavy gold wand would descend on
Hugh’s skull, with a strength which might have silenced this dispute
for mastery for ever. Queen Maat-kha, too, had put out both her arms
imploringly towards the high priest, who seemed to have lost all
self-control; but it was evident that, with all his wisdom, the old
gentleman knew nothing about the temperament of a son of prosy old
England. Hugh looked down on him from his full altitude of six feet
two inches and, with an impatient frown and a shrug of the shoulders,
he quietly wrenched the massive wand of office from out Ur-tasen’s
nervous hands and, apparently without the slighest effort, bent it
right across his knee till with a dull metallic sound the golden wand
broke clean in half; then he threw the pieces on the marble floor at
the astonished priest’s feet and, smiling, shook the dust from off his
hands.
“Thy age and thy weakness make thee sacred at my hands,” he said as he
calmly returned to his place beside the Queen, “but thou wouldst do
well to remember that this broken wand might prove the future emblem
of thyself and of thy power. The hour is late, my Queen,” he added,
turning to his _fiancée_, who was still speechless with terror and
amazement, “and it is time we prepared ourselves for our journey. Pick
up thy golden wand, Ur-tasen, and salute thy Queen!”
He gave a signal and the eight deaf-mute slaves hoisted up the litter
ready to bear it away. The high priest had silently picked up the
golden wand as he was bid and silently had made humble obeisance
before Hugh and the Queen. As I followed them out of the council
chamber, I saw the high priest still standing, gazing in amazement at
the broken bar of gold and at Hugh’s retreating figure with
superstitious terror; then, as the first wild shouts of enthusiasm of
the populace, at sight of the Beloved of the gods, reached his ears,
he fell upon his knees and stretched out his arms with a shriek
towards the sanctuary of Ra.
PART III.
THE PALACE OF NEIT-AKRIT
CHAPTER XV.
NEIT-AKRIT, PRINCESS OF KAMT
“There is no doubt now, Girlie, but you have made an enemy of that
man,” I said, as soon as I had a chance of speaking to Hugh alone.
“It could not be helped, Mark. It was a choice between an enemy and a
master. I see it clearly now, that after the first shock of surprise
it was Ur-tasen’s idea to use me as a puppet with which to further
play upon the superstition of the people, and to consolidate his own
power over Queen Maat-kha. I suppose that, with a woman at the head of
affairs and a Pharaoh too ill to attend to anything seriously, the old
fox has had it pretty much his own way.”
“And when she asked him to allow her to marry again, he naturally did
not cotton to the idea of a possible new master,” I added
thoughtfully, “or he never would have refused the cartloads of gold
dust or whatever other bribes the fair Queen offered for his consent.
Then you appeared upon the scene…”
“And the old humbug was staggered for a moment, I daresay, but he
knows well enough that we have come from somewhere on this earth, and
not from heaven. I suppose that he suddenly saw possibilities of
making me his tool and keeping the power in his own hands, while on
the other hand the Queen might have rebelled against his wishes and
married again in spite of him. Weighing one consideration with
another, as W. S. Gilbert’s policeman says, Ur-tasen thought he could
make most capital out of me in my semi-divine capacity, and now I have
taught him the salutary lesson that I have not come all this way in
order to become a priest-ridden tool for the furtherance of pagan
superstitions, and of course he is not altogether pleased.”
“You certainly have the people at your command, old man, but the
priests, I should imagine, are treacherous.”
“And that arch-humbug, Ur-tasen, the most treacherous of the lot,”
replied Hugh, with a laugh. “Of course he hates me now, and having
found out that I simply will not dance to his piping, he will, no
doubt, take the first possible opportunity of effectively getting rid
of me.”
“He dare not do that just at present.”
“Of course not. But these picturesque and excitable people are only
human after all. This enthusiasm is bound to cool down after a bit,
and then ’ware of traps and plots.”
“I cannot help thinking, Girlie,” I added, “that Princess Neit-akrit
will prove a source of great danger.”
“To what, old croaker?--to our heads or to our hearts?” he said, with
a laugh.
“I am inclined to think to both,” I replied earnestly. “Do you feel at
all impressionable just now?”
“I? Not the least bit in the world. Has not the dear little swimmer’s
talisman rendered me invulnerable? Besides, this land, fair as it is,
is neither my home nor my country. At present it is a great and
gorgeous prison, and I should not be such a fool as to court sorrow
and misery within it.”
“Do you know, old man, that if those are your sentiments your attitude
towards your future wife is doubtful in its morality?”
“You don’t understand what I mean, Mark. Marriage is a sacred tie,
whether contracted in Christian or in pagan land. My word is pledged
to Queen Maat-kha, and I will keep my word to her as much as I should
if I were pledged to a woman English-born like myself. And if ever I
return to dusty old London, even if she did not choose to accompany
me, I should still consider the tie which binds me to her
indissoluble, so long as she chooses to hold me to it. But, believe
me, she has no love for me; to her I merely represent the
stranger--human or semi-divine--who has helped to keep the crown upon
her head and prevented it from falling upon that of Neit-akrit, whom
she hates. The Pharaoh is doomed, and by the curious constitution of
this land a woman can only sit upon the throne of Kamt if a husband or
a son share that throne with her. That arbitrary old Ur-tasen would
not allow her to wed one of her own subjects; he was surprised into
accepting me. As soon as a son is born to her, she will release me
from my word and see me depart without a pang.”
“In the meanwhile, how are you going to induce the Pharaoh to accept
me as his medical adviser?”
“I don’t think it will be difficult, for I expect to-day he will be
too ill to have much will of his own. Do you know that somehow I have
had the feeling all along that neither Queen Maat-kha nor Ur-tasen
_want_ the unfortunate man to get well. He is no friend of mine, but I
hope to goodness you can cure him, if only to annoy my arch-enemy, the
high priest.”
The difficult problem was unexpectedly and suddenly solved when, just
as the sun was setting, our usual gorgeous retinue came to fetch us in
order to escort us to the boats which were ready for the journey.
Gay-coloured sails, wrought in scarlet and blue designs, were attached
to the crafts, which were manned by sixteen boatmen in scarlet leather
skull-caps, collars and belts, their naked bodies shining with some
perfumed ointment with which they were smeared.
In the centre of each boat a pavilion was erected, with turquoise blue
and green awnings, the gigantic double crown of Kamt glittering aloft
at prow and poop. Queen Maat-kha, swathed in the clinging folds of her
black kalasiris, wore the royal uræus round her dark hair, which was
thickly plaited with strings of emeralds and half hidden beneath a
veil of dull blue and purple stripes. She looked very beautiful,
though strangely excited and pale. As soon as she saw us she whispered
for a while eagerly to Hugh, then she came up to me and said:
“Will my lord’s counsellor deign to step into the mighty Pharaoh’s
boat? He himself will be here anon.”
“Is the Pharaoh well enough to travel?” I asked, astonished.
“He has expressed the wish to see his royal kinswoman; and, as my lord
desired, I have ordered that thou, oh, wise counsellor, shouldst be
beside the mighty Pharaoh, to be a help to him in his sickness.”
Hugh had triumphed; evidently the Queen, like Ur-tasen, had thought it
best to obey the beloved of the gods, who had the whole of the
population of Kamt grovelling at his feet. The Pharaoh himself, I
think, felt too ill to care whether my insignificant self or his
shaven, yellow-robed attendants sat opposite to him under the awning.
He looked more cadaverous than ever amidst his rose silk cushions as
he was brought in his litter to the water’s edge and lifted into the
boat. He gave me an astonished look as I arranged his pillows more
comfortably for him, and without a word took the heavy diadem from off
his aching forehead and placed it by his side. He seemed like an
automaton this morning and took no notice of anybody or anything round
him. Complete apathy and drowsiness had succeeded his outburst of fury
of the night before; even when he saw Hugh coming down the steps,
looking positively regal in his mantle of shimmering green and gold,
he turned his eyes listlessly away. On the alabaster steps the tiny
musicians were playing upon harps and drums, while on the opposite
shore the people had assembled in dense masses to watch the departure.
Young athletes, among whom were many of the fair sex, had dived into
the water, and were swimming about round the royal boats, peeping with
bright, inquisitive eyes beneath the canopy, to catch sight of the
beloved of the gods. I remembered our pretty visitor of last night and
wondered what Hugh had done with the iridescent beetle which was
supposed to keep him from harm. Then, as the sun disappeared behind
the hills in the west, slowly at first the boatmen dipped their
scarlet oars into the water to the accompaniment of a low, monotonous
_barcarolle_, and gracefully the crescent-shaped boats glided down the
stream, while a prolonged cry of farewell came from thousands of
enthusiastic throats. Soon the wind swelled the sails, the boatmen
plied their oars more vigorously, and the city of Men-ne-fer, with its
rose-tinted palaces catching the last lingering rays of the setting
sun, passed away before our eyes like a gigantic and gorgeous
panorama.
It was long before the sound of sistrum and harp died away in the
distance, long before the shouts of farewell ceased to echo from afar.
One by one the sturdy swimmers dropped behind and returned to the
city. I had given the Pharaoh a soothing draught, which, to my
astonishment, he had taken obediently, and he was lying back against
the pillows, with the gentle breeze fanning the matted hair on his
forehead.
The city was soon far behind us; great fields stretched out on either
side of the canal, covered with waving crops of barley and wheat, with
groves of palms and fruit trees, and bowers of lilies, fuchsias and
clematis. From time to time in the distance I caught sight of teams of
white oxen walking leisurely homewards after the day’s work was done;
beside them the brown chest and back of a sturdy labourer of Kamt
seemed to glisten in the evening light. Then at times, half-hidden
among groves of palms and giant aloes, there peeped out the white or
rose-tinted walls of some country mansion, or towering above the water
there would rise, majestic and gorgeous, a temple dedicated to some
protecting deity. As the royal procession sailed along the stream,
from between the pillars would emerge a band of priests in flowing
robes of white or yellow, and behind them a group of priestesses would
intone a hymn as we passed.
I felt strangely anxious and excited, my mind dwelling persistently on
the mysterious and poetic personality of the young princess, who
seemed to create such unreasoning love in all male hearts of Kamt, and
who had chosen this hour of night--mystic, poetic as she was
herself--in which to receive him for the first time--_him_ whose
advent had deprived her of her throne.
The canal had considerably widened, and presently we drifted into a
large inland lake. Night had entirely closed in, and I could not see
the shore on either side, only the lights high aloft on the prow of
the boats threw fantastic glints in the water. All was peaceful and
silent, save for the rhythmic clap of the oars as they rose and fell
in the water and the flapping of the sails in the breeze. Then
gradually from the horizon in the west a blue radiance illumined the
sky, and slow and majestic the silver moon rose above the fairy-like
landscape; and as she rose the boatmen began to intone the hymn of
greeting to rising Isis. Softly at first, and hardly discernible above
the sighing of the reeds and papyrus grass in the wind, the chant rose
louder and louder, as the silver disc appeared above the line of
hills.
The Pharaoh had roused himself from his sleep, and impatiently he
pushed aside the curtain which hid the distance from his view. I, too,
looked out towards the west and saw that we were rapidly nearing an
island, which rose like a veritable bower of flowers and palms from
the middle of the lake, and the outline of which gradually detached
itself from out the gloom. Then suddenly, in response to the chant of
the boatmen, there came faintly echoing from that fairy island a
flourish of silver trumpets.
The Pharaoh’s face looked terribly set and hard; his dark eyes, framed
by purple rings, appeared literally to glow as they gazed incessantly
afar.
“It is there!” he whispered.
Before us, above a gigantic flight of marble steps rising straight
from out the water, there towered a massive building, its heavy
pillars, covered in delicate sculpture, supporting the ponderous flat
roof, which seemed to my strangely excited fancy to be made of massive
gold. At the foot of the steps two mammoth sphinxes of white granite,
mysterious and immense, frowned majestically across the lake.
As we approached, once again the silver trumpets sent a flourish
through the evening air, and then I saw that the terraces high above
us, the palm groves, and even the massive roof, were densely covered
with people, while the whole gigantic flight of steps was lined with
rows of slaves, dark and immovable as statues.
The Pharaoh’s boat had scraped its side against the marble; his
attendants had jumped out ready to help him to alight. But he pushed
them almost brutally aside and stepped on shore, leaning heavily on my
shoulder. He was trembling from head to foot, and I could see great
beads of perspiration glistening on his forehead. I could not help
feeling vaguely nervous too. This arrival by moonlight, the poetic
fairy palace, the trembling man by my side, all helped to make my
nerves tingle with the presentiment of something strange to come.
A song of welcome had greeted the arrival of the Pharaoh, and from
above a shower of lilies and iris fell like a sweet-scented carpet at
his feet. He looked round to where Queen Maat-kha had just alighted,
closely followed by Hugh; then I saw his trembling hand wander to the
short metal dagger at his side and clutch it with a nervous grip,
while a hissing sound escaped his throat. But the next moment he had
looked upwards, and quietly he began to mount the marble steps.
At sight of the beloved of the gods a terrific shout of welcome had
rent the air, and, as I looked behind me for a moment, I could see
that the whole length of the marble steps was--according to the
strange custom of this land--literally carpeted with the bodies of
young girls, eager that _his_ foot should tread upon them. They
crowded round him, kissing the tips of his sandals or the corner of
his mantle, the more venturesome ones touching his foot or hand as he
walked with Queen Maat-kha by his side.
Then suddenly from above a strong and flickering light, from a hundred
torches borne high aloft, changed the night into day. There was a
moment of silence and expectancy, and then _she came_.
It would be an impossible task for me to attempt to put into words my
first impression of Princess Neit-akrit, as she stood there on the
edge of the marble terrace with a background of shadows behind her,
the flickering light of the torches and the blue rays of the moon
alternately playing upon the vivid gold of her hair.
Very tall and slender, almost a child, she embodied in her graceful
person the highest conceived ideal of a _queen_.
She wore the quaint and picturesque garb of the country with
unequalled grace. The great and heavy plaits of her hair hung on each
side of her face down to her knees. The clinging folds of her straight
and transparent kalasiris moulded every line of her figure; it was
pure white and was held up over the shoulders by two silvery bands. It
seemed to cling closely round her ankles and to slightly impede her
movements, for she walked slowly and with halting steps. On her tiny
feet she wore a pair of pointed sandals. In absolute contrast to Queen
Maat-kha she had not a single jewel. Her arms, neck and bust were
bare; on her head there was no diadem save that of her ardent hair,
and in her hand she held the fitting sceptre to her kingdom of youth
and beauty--a tall snow-white lily. Beside her there walked proudly a
beautiful white panther, who fawned round her tiny hand and playfully
rubbed himself against her knees.
She came close up to the Pharaoh, who seemed hardly able to stand, and
held up her young face to his for the customary cousinly kiss. It was
then that I saw how intensely blue were her eyes, and how deep the
gold of her hair.
The next moment her voice, sweet and low, murmured, as Hugh reached
the top of the steps:
“Welcome, oh, son of Ra! the beloved of Osiris, to the humble abode of
thy kinswoman.”
And she, too, like her slaves, knelt down to kiss the hem of Hugh
Tankerville’s garment.
“Then wilt thou not greet me as thy kinsman, princess?” he said as he
raised her to her feet and waited for the cousinly kiss.
She stood before him and looked at him for fully ten seconds, while I
could see that he was watching her with undisguised astonishment and
admiration: then, resting her little hand very firmly on the head of
her white panther, she said:
“If it is thy wish, oh, messenger of Ra.”
Fortunately I had a very tight hold of the mighty Pharaoh at that
moment, for I doubt not that but for this and his own physical
weakness, he would have made Hugh atone then and there for that
cousinly kiss. His hand had once again clutched the dagger at his
belt, and with a hoarse cry, like some wounded beast at bay, had tried
to jump forward, but fell back panting in my arms.
Princess Neit-akrit had turned quietly to him.
“My kinsman is very sick. The journey must have been too fatiguing.
Art thou his physician, oh, stranger?” she asked of me.
“I am deputed to alleviate the mighty Pharaoh’s sufferings,” I
replied.
“Dost think thou wilt succeed?” she asked, looking at me with great
wondering blue eyes.
“I can cure, I hope, the ailments of his body,” I replied with a
smile.
“Then I will kiss thee, too,” she said, with a merry girlish laugh,
“for if thou restore my kinsman to health, thou wilt become very dear
to me.”
And I was given the top of a beautiful, smooth, young forehead to
kiss--and I, prosy old Mark Emmett, was satisfied.
CHAPTER XVI.
DIVINELY FAIR
I had failed to notice, in my anxiety for the Pharaoh, how the two
royal ladies had greeted one another; but now, at the gorgeous banquet
with which our young hostess made us welcome in her palace, I saw that
the Princess sat beside the Queen, and that she had commanded her
torch-bearers to stand close behind her, so as to throw a flood of
light upon herself and her royal guest. The two women were a strange
contrast--both beautiful beyond the average: one in all the pomp and
magnificence of her regal attire, and the voluptuous charm of her
mature beauty; the other in something white and clinging, with no
crown save that of her ardent hair, no ornament save that of her own
youth.
On luxurious couches, covered with white and silver hangings, we all
reclined round the table, on which were spread the most wonderful and
aromatic delicacies this lavish land could produce: peacocks’ tongues
and eggs of rare birds, petals of roses and lilies cooked in honey,
and great crystal goblets filled with the rich wine of the soil--both
red and white. All the while sweet little musicians crouched in
various corners beside their tall crescent-shaped harps and sang us
sweet songs while we supped, and pretty waitresses tempted us with
dainty morsels.
The beautiful white panther lay at the feet of Neit-akrit, and she fed
him with dates and figs, which she held for him between her teeth. The
powerful creature would take the fruit from her lips as gently as a
bird. Hugh and I sat opposite to her. It was impossible not to admire
the beautiful girl before us, the most exquisite product of this
lovely, exotic land. There was a magnetic charm about every one of her
movements which recalled those of the panther beside her. After the
first five minutes she had wrought hideous havoc in my dull old heart,
and I was suddenly assailed with the wild temptation to make an
egregious ass of myself. I was quite annoyed with Hugh that he did not
seem very enthusiastic about her: he was surveying her as critically
as he would have viewed a newly-unearthed mummy.
“Isn’t she lovely, Girlie?” I contrived to whisper once during the
banquet.
He did not reply, but with an inward smile, which made his eyes
twinkle with merriment, he quietly slipped his hand beneath his cloak
and drew out a tiny box which he handed over to me. It contained the
iridescent scarabæus, of which the little midnight swimmer had said
that it would prove a subtle charm against Neit-akrit’s beauty.
“Don’t you want it?” I whispered again, astonished.
He shook his head, still smiling, and at that moment I looked up and
saw Neit-akrit’s eyes, more blue and iridescent than the beetle’s
wings, gazing across at Hugh with a strange, inquiring expression.
“What a beautiful jewel!” she said. Then, with the gesture of a spoilt
child, “Wilt thou let me look at it?”
“Nay, Princess, it is no jewel,” said Hugh, hiding the box again under
his mantle, “and thou must forgive if I cannot allow even thy dainty
fingers to touch it. It is a charm and its subtle virtue might
vanish.”
“A charm? Against what?”
“Against many serious evils and many grievous sins.”
“I do not understand.”
“I brought it with me from the foot of the throne of Ra, where a poor
wandering soul, who had sinned deeply and suffered much, gave it to me
when he knew that I was about to dwell among the fairest of the
daughters of Kamt, so that it might preserve me from the same sin and
the same suffering.”
“But wilt thou not tell me what those sins and those sufferings are?”
“Nay! thou art too young to understand, but I will tell thee the name
of the wandering soul who gave me the blue charm. He was a sculptor,
far famed in ancient Kamt, and his name was Amen-het.”
I gave Hugh a violent nudge, for I felt very much annoyed with him. To
put it mildly, it was a singular want of good manners to rake up the
terribly sad story of Amen-het, the sculptor, while partaking of the
Princess’s lavish hospitality. Amen-het had undoubtedly been a fool,
and was punished for his folly according to the barbarous law of this
beautiful country; but since time immemorial men have committed
follies of the worst kind for women far less attractive and
fascinating than was the Princess Neit-akrit.
To begin with, she was very young; she may, in a moment of
thoughtlessness, have expressed a vague wish to possess some lamps
similar in design to those which burned in the sanctuary of Ra. The
sculptor, like a fool, took her at her word and went there, where all
the people of Kamt are strictly forbidden to go, within the inner
sanctuary of the temple. Surely she could not be blamed for his folly,
and no doubt she had suffered horribly when…
But at this point my brief reflections were interrupted by Princess
Neit-akrit’s voice, truly the most melodious sound I had ever heard.
“How strange,” she was saying, while her blue eyes gazed as innocently
as before, as unconcernedly across at Hugh. “I knew a sculptor once
whose name was Amen-het, but he offended the gods by his presumption,
and I know not what punishment they meted out to him. Perhaps it was
his soul which thou didst meet before the judgment-seat of Osiris, oh,
thou who sittest at the foot of His throne!”
“Perhaps it was. In that case the blue charm will save me from
Amen-het’s presumption, and from the punishment meted out to him by
the gods--for that was terrible!”
“Poor Amen-het,” she said sweetly, “I spoke to him once or twice. He
was a clever sculptor.”
“But was too presumptuous, as thou sayest,” said Hugh, who seemed
suddenly to have grown irritable. “I saw him before he was quite ready
to stand before Osiris. His flesh had withered on his bones, his voice
was choked within his throat, burning hunger and thirst had made a
beast of him, and the carrion had begun to gnaw his living flesh.”
“Poor Amen-het,” she repeated, and she selected a large juicy date
from the dish, and, holding it between her tiny sharp teeth, she
called to her white panther, and the graceful, feline creature, as
quiet as a kitten, took the ripe fruit from between her dainty lips.
I could see that Hugh was strangely irritated. He remained silent
during the rest of the feast, in spite of the fact that the Queen made
every effort to rouse him from his silence. As usual, the Pharaoh
reclined, surly and silent, on his couch, which had been covered with
a cloth of gold; obedient to my suggestion, he was taking only milk
and left all the delicious fruit untasted. He avoided looking at the
Princess or at Hugh; only when the story of Amen-het had been
recounted, he laughed satirically to himself.
Long after every one had retired and the fairy palace was wrapped in
sleep, Hugh and I wandered beneath the gigantic overhanging fuchsia
trees. It was a beautiful night and we were both singularly wakeful.
The lake lay peaceful in the moonlight and, descending the great steps
to the foot of the sphinxes, we found a small boat moored close to our
hand. Though the crescent-shaped little crafts are very difficult to
manage at first, we enjoyed a row all round the beautiful island,
which seemed like the enchanted domain of a fairy princess. Beneath
the trees large white peacocks slept, their tails shimmering like
streams of diamonds, while in the branches myriads of birds had built
their nests. We disturbed a troop of white gazelles from their sleep
in the tall grass and a family of marmosets in the branches of the
doum; golden tench and carp swam all round our boat, not the least
frightened at the clap of the oars, and opening their mouths for a
crumb.
We did not speak much, and then only about the beautiful dumb objects
round us. I must confess that a strange love for this picturesque land
was beginning to entwine itself round my heart, and as our boat glided
so peacefully between the large clumps of lotus and water-lilies, I
liked to feel that all this beauty, this peace, this poetry was truly
my own. Busy Europe, with its politics, its squabbles, its socialism,
its trades-unions and workingmen’s clubs, seemed altogether another
world now, different and unreal; even the old Chestnuts was becoming a
dream, beside the glorious visions of marble terraces and alabaster
halls which had become so real.
For once in my life I was not in complete harmony with Hugh. I wanted
to talk of our journey, our poetic arrival, of our fair young hostess,
with her large innocent eyes and her pet white panther; but he seemed
moody, and I felt that my enthusiasm for beautiful Neit-akrit would
not find an echo in his heart.
The first streak of dawn was visible in the east when we reached the
palace steps again, tired yet refreshed with the midnight trip on the
lake.
Our sandals made no noise on the white marble steps, and we kept in
the shadow of the parapet, for we had no wish to be mistaken for
midnight prowlers and rouse the slaves who guarded the palace.
All the lights had been put out, only the gilt roof glittered beneath
the sinking rays of the moon. We skirted the palace, for the rooms
which had been assigned to us opened out on to the broad terrace
overlooking a garden of white roses. We were about to cross the
garden, when suddenly Hugh put a hand on my arm and pointed to the
terrace. Between the pillars which formed the entrance to our bedroom
a figure stood holding back the heavy curtain. We could only see the
graceful outline, clear and sharp against the bright light which
burned within.
“Who is it?” I whispered.
“The Princess,” replied Hugh, as the figure detached itself from the
gateway and glided slowly and cautiously across the terrace in the
ghostlike, roseate light of dawn.
It was indeed the Princess Neit-akrit, alone and unattended; she had
wrapped a veil close round her figure, but her head was bare, and the
colour of her hair was unmistakable.
She came straight towards us and presently caught sight of us both.
She stopped, looking round her as if she wished to flee, then she put
a finger to her mouth and came up quite close to Hugh.
“Hush!” she whispered. “Dost wonder, I know, to see me here alone at
this hour, without even Sen-tur by my side. And yet I came because I
wished to speak to thee alone.”
“Thou dost indeed honour me,” said Hugh, quietly, while I made a
discreet movement to retire.
“Tell thy counsellor he need not go,” she said. “I know that thou and
he are one, and I am not ashamed of that which I would say.”
“Wilt go within then, Princess? The morning is cold.”
“Nay! what I would say will not take long; yet I could not sleep till
I had told it thee. The night seemed oppressive. I wandered into the
garden, and Isis led my steps to thy church. I thought thou wast
asleep, and that I would sit beside thee, not waking thee, yet telling
thee of this thing which lies so heavy on my heart. I thought to
whisper it gently lest thou wake, to murmur it so that thou, half
dreaming, shouldst hear my voice, and hearing it, dream on.”
She certainly had that indefinable charm--an exquisite voice--and both
Hugh and I listened to her strange words, charmed by its
sweet-sounding melody.
“Nay, Princess,” said Hugh, as she had paused; “sweet as the dream
would have been then, I much prefer the reality, and as long as thou
wilt speak I will listen.”
“I came to tell thee… that…”
There was a little catch in her throat, but she tried to conquer her
emotion and put out both her hands in a pretty, almost childlike
appeal.
“Ah, I know! some one has told thee evil of me, and I longed to speak
to thee… about… about Amen-het.… They told thee that I am vain and
cruel… but… but… wilt believe me if I say… that I am beset with
calumnies… and…”
Hugh came a little closer and took one of her tiny, trembling hands in
his, and there was no doubt that in his voice, too, there was a slight
catch.
“Sweet Princess,” he said gently, “believe _me_ when I say that I have
heard no calumny about thee which thy presence hath not by now
dispelled.”
She turned her face fully up to his and asked:
“Dost truly mean what thou sayest?”
“I swear it,” he said earnestly.
“Nay! I will believe thee, for thou art great and good. I will believe
thee if thou wilt look straight into mine eyes and if thou wilt kiss
me between the brows, in token that thou art my friend.”
She raised herself on tiptoe, for Hugh Tankerville is very tall, and
British, and stiff-backed. There was a curious, half-dazed look in his
eyes as he looked down at the sweet face turned up to his. The veil
had slipped down from her shoulders. The quaint Egyptian kalasiris,
half transparent and clinging, gave her young figure the appearance of
one of those precious idols which are preserved in European museums. A
perfume of lotus blossom seemed to emanate from her, and about her
whole being there was an exquisite savour of poetry and mysticism,
mingled with truly human, charming womanhood.
For that brief moment I felt wildly, madly, stupidly jealous, and at
the same time enraged with Hugh, who seemed to me so cold and
impassive, when I would have given… well!… a great deal to stand in
his place. At last he bent his tall six feet two inches and gave the
kiss as she had begged.
The next instant she was gone and I had dragged Hugh away into our own
room. A penetrating scent of lotus blossoms seemed entirely to fill
it, and as we raised a lamp over our heads we saw that Hugh’s couch
was one vast bower of the sweet blooms, covering pillow and coverlet;
but from the table where he had put it before we strolled out earlier
in the evening, the iridescent scarabæus, which was to guard him
against the magic of Neit-akrit’s beauty, had disappeared.
CHAPTER XVII.
DANGER
All through my stay in the beautiful land of Kamt I never found that
its balmy, fragrant air acted as a soporific, and it became really
wonderful with how little sleep we both contrived to keep up our
health. That night, or rather morning, after our quaint little
adventure, I hardly managed to close an eye, and I am sure that Hugh,
who had as usual a room opening out of mine, was as restless as
myself. I found the scent of the lotus oppressive and penetrating, and
the memories it brought back to me very disturbing and harassing.
The sun was high in the heavens when I at last contrived to snatch a
brief hour’s sleep, and when I woke it was to find that Hugh had
stolen a march on me, and had already gone out. The morning looked
perfect, and after my delicious bath I felt thoroughly rested and at
peace with this picturesque world and its fascinating women. It was
one of those mornings when a book and a cigar on a verandah facing the
sea would have been perfect bliss in the dear old country. But on this
beautiful morning in Kamt, the scent of flowers, the songs of birds,
the exotic beauty of the land gave mind and body so much to enjoy that
not even the cigar and the book were much missed.
I tried to pick my way through the labyrinth of alleys and walks to
the terrace that faced the lake, and just as I stepped on to it I saw
Hugh and Princess Neit-akrit there together.
She looked more lovely, I thought, by day than even she had been by
moonlight. She was lying under a canopy of turquoise blue silk which
vied in colour and brilliancy with the sky above it. Beneath it her
hair looked like living copper, and her skin white and polished like
the alabaster. Her beautiful panther lay at her feet, and Hugh stood
on the steps which led up to the throne-like couch on which she
reclined. Neither of them saw me, and I stood for a while looking at
the dainty picture.
“I have oft wondered,” she was saying, “what lies beyond those hills.
Ur-tasen says that there is naught but the valley of death, where foot
of man ne’er treads, but where carrion beasts prowl at night, and
vultures fly screeching overhead. When he talks like that my flesh
creeps with horror, and for days I cannot bear to look upon those
hills; then, a lovely morning comes like to-day, Osiris emerges in his
golden barge more radiant than ever from out that valley of death, and
then all day I long to follow him in his course and disappear with him
behind the hills in Ma-nu, so that I might see the glories that lie
beyond.”
I was debating with myself whether I should discreetly retire or
interrupt this _tête-à-tête_, which my reason suggested was
dangerous somehow to my friend.
“Thou who comest from the foot of the throne of Osiris,” she resumed,
turning eagerly towards Hugh, “thou must know whither he wanders every
night, whilst Isis his bride reigneth in the heavens. Wilt tell me
what lies beyond the hills of Kamt?”
“Ur-tasen has told thee: the valley of death; the desert wilderness,
where no man can live, no bird sing, nor flower blossom.”
“Ay! But beyond that?”
“Beyond it?”
“Yes! after death surely must come life again; after the darkness,
light; after desolation, joy unspeakable. Oh! thou canst not know,”
she added, stretching out her arms longingly towards the distant
horizon, “how I long to break the hideous fetters that bind me, and
when Osiris shines so brightly, the flowers smell so sweet, and the
birds’ chorus of harmony fills the air, how I hate then the splendours
of my palace, the marble halls and temples of Kamt, the very sight of
the people almost worshipping at my feet, and long to run up those
inaccessible hills and see what lies far away beyond this land, beyond
the valley of death, beyond the pillars that support the vault of
heaven. Wilt thou not tell me,” she pleaded, “or, better still, wilt
take me there one night when Kamt is wrapped in sleep?”
Hugh looked almost wildly down at her, and then round him with that
curious dazed expression which had puzzled me already last night. Then
he caught sight of me and seemed relieved, for he said very quietly:
“Nay, Princess, it is not for me to teach thee the secrets of this
earth. But here comes my counsellor; he is wise, and if thou wilt he
will tell thee all about Osiris and the vault of heaven, and even of
the land which lies beyond the gates of Kamt.”
She turned to me with a sweet smile, but I thought that there was a
shade of disappointment in her eyes.
“It is always a joy to speak to the learned counsellor,” she said
evasively, “and soon, when he has leisure, when the holy Pharaoh is
cured of his ailments, he will no doubt teach me much which I do not
know; and in the meanwhile I will go roaming with Sen-tur, and perhaps
if I sit on his back he will carry me there, where foot of man doth
not tread.”
She began playing with the panther, who seemed much disinclined for a
game, and made sundry attempts at keeping his comfortable lazy
position at her feet. But his mistress suddenly seemed in a teasing
mood, for she tore a branch of roses from a great bush which stood in
a vase close beside her and began to playfully prick with it the
kingly Sen-tur on the nose.
Soon his majesty’s temper was up, and lazily at first, then more and
more viciously, he made great dabs at the branch and then at
Neit-akrit’s hand with his ponderous paw.
“A dangerous game surely, Princess,” said Hugh, after a while.
“Sen-tur might lose control over his temper and might do thee an
injury.”
“An injury? Sen-tur?” she said, with a laugh. “Thou speakest in jest,
or thou dost not know Sen-tur. At a word from me he becomes as furious
as the maddest bull in Kamt, and his roar is like the thunder, and at
a whisper from me he will again be as quiet as a lamb. But never would
Sen-tur’s wrath turn against his mistress.”
“Thou holdest him in bondage,” I said, with a somewhat clumsy attempt
at gallantry, “as thou dost all men, high and low. Sen-tur is favoured
indeed.”
“Sen-tur loves me, and I love Sen-tur,” she said drily; “he is the
most precious treasure I possess, for he is wholly mine, and he has no
cares, no affections, no thought save for me. He is dearer to me than
the kingdom of Kamt.”
“It is a merciful decree of Ra, then,” said Hugh, with a smile, “that
he sent me to take the kingdom of Kamt from thee and not Sen-tur.”
“Believe me,” she rejoined, looking steadfastly at him, “that
all-powerful Ra showed his love for Neit-akrit the day that he decreed
that the double crown of Kamt should never sit upon her brow.”
Somehow, in spite of this earnest assurance, I did not think that she
was sincere, and I did not altogether understand the look which she
gave to Hugh as she spoke. She certainly began to tease Sen-tur more
viciously than ever, till the great creature fairly roared and foamed
at the mouth.
Suddenly we heard the sound of trumpets and of drums, and from beneath
the terrace we heard the usual cry which always preceded the arrival
of an important messenger.
“Make way for the messenger of the city of Net-amen, and of Hesh-ka,
its governor!”
“What does he want?” asked the Princess, with a frown, as half a dozen
slaves and a group of attendants began to emerge from everywhere, and
stood waiting to receive the emissary of the great city, with the full
complement of honours prescribed by the complicated ceremonial of this
country.
A young Egyptian, dark and good-looking, had come forward, and after
kissing the ground before Princess Neit-akrit, had turned straightway
to Hugh.
“To the beloved of the gods, to the son of Ra, do I bring greeting
from the city of Net-amen.”
There was absolutely no doubt in my mind at this moment that the fair
Neit-akrit frowned very darkly: the red of her lips almost
disappeared, so tightly were they set, and poor Sen-tur received an
ugly blow with the prickly branch right upon his nose.
“Greeting, oh, well-beloved,” resumed the messenger. “The council of
the city of Net-amen, and Hesh-ka, our noble governor, desire to lay
their homage at thy feet. To-morrow, if thou wilt deign to set thy
foot within its gates, one hundred thousand inhabitants will line its
streets to bid thee welcome. The maids of Net-amen will draw thy barge
along the canal; the youths and athletes will fight as to who shall be
the first to kiss the sole of thy sandals, and the city awaits thee
with gifts of incense, gold and lapis-lazuli, for they will greet in
thee the coming ruler of Kamt, the well-beloved whose presence has
blessed the land.”
He began a long account of wonderful festivals and sacrifices which
the important city was organising for the entertainment of the
proposed guest. Hugh was barely listening to the messenger’s words;
he, as well as I, was watching, fascinated, yet horrified, Princess
Neit-akrit’s more and more dangerous game with her panther. She seemed
to take a cruel delight now in pricking the beast with the thorn, for
great drops of blood appeared on the snowy whiteness of his fur; and
yet Sen-tur, apparently beside himself with rage, made no attempt to
retaliate. I felt terribly helpless in case she did pursue her
dangerous game too far, for I had no weapon about me, but looking up
at Hugh I saw that underneath his cloak he was clutching his knife,
ready to use it if emergency required.
The emissary had evidently finished his message, for now he knelt down
with his head on the ground and said:
“Wilt deign to allow thy slave, oh, beloved of the gods, to touch with
his lips the sole of thy foot?”
At this moment I heard a short, sharp cry from Princess Neit-akrit,
and a roar more ominous than before: the next there was a bound and an
agonised shriek which froze the blood in my veins. Sen-tur, goaded to
madness at last by the merciless teasing, had turned and sprung upon
the unfortunate messenger who was nearest to him, and before I or
anyone else present had realised the full horror of the situation, the
powerful beast was rolling the wretched man underneath him on the
floor. I thought he was doomed, although after the first second of
surprise Hugh and I had sprung to his rescue. But before we could
reach the group where the powerful beast was, with mighty jaws,
tearing bits of flesh from the shoulders and thighs of his victim,
Neit-akrit was already by Sen-tur’s side.
With utmost calm she placed her tiny hand upon his collar, and said,
in a quiet, gentle voice:
“Sen-tur! Sen-tur! come!”
And, unresisting, suddenly as gentle as a kitten, with great jaws
still covered in blood which he was licking with a smothered growl,
the powerful creature allowed her to lead him away; and when she once
more took her seat beneath the turquoise blue canopy, he lay down with
a final snarl at her feet.
I was hastily examining the arms, shoulders and thighs of the injured
man. They were terribly lacerated by the monstrous teeth of the brute,
and I whispered to Hugh that I thought in one instance amputation
would be necessary.
I had never seen so dark a scowl on Hugh Tankerville’s face as I did
then; he looked positively evil, and I was quite sorry for the poor
little girl who, to my mind, was after all only guilty of
thoughtlessness. Two shorn, yellow-robed medicoes had sprung up from
somewhere: I directed them how to bandage the wounds, and ordered my
patient to be removed to an airy room, where I could presently attend
to him.
General gloom seemed to have settled on all those present; Neit-akrit
was stroking Sen-tur’s head with a defiant look at Hugh.
“Wilt allow me to speak to thee alone?” he said abruptly.
To my astonishment she immediately ordered her slaves and attendants
away, and when they had gone she said quite humbly:
“I know what thou wouldst say. Do not chide me; I could not bear it.
I… I…” and great tears gathered in her eyes.
Then with sudden impulse, from out the folds of her dress she drew a
short dagger and held it towards Hugh.
“Do thou do it,” she said, while great sobs choked her throat. “I know
that that is what thou wouldst say. Sen-tur has sinned. Sen-tur must
die! for perhaps now he might sin again. But _I_ could not kill
Sen-tur, for he trusts me, and he would not expect a blow from me.”
She was holding the dagger out towards Hugh, while he looked at her,
astonished, as I was, by the quick and varying moods of this strange
and fascinating girl.
“Do it quickly,” she said, “lest I repent; for, believe me, it is not
of my own free will that I have asked thee to kill Sen-tur. I would
sooner see him kill every one of my slaves,” she added naïvely, “than
that harm should come to him.”
Then, as Hugh would not take the dagger from her, she placed it
quietly at his feet, then threw her arms passionately round the
panther’s neck, while great tears fell from her eyes onto his fur.
“Farewell, Sen-tur, my beauty, my loved one,” she whispered. “I know
that thou art not afraid to die, for thou, like Neit-akrit, dost long
for that glorious land which lies beyond the valley of death. Come
back, Sen-tur, to me at nights, and tell me what thou hast seen.
Sen-tur is ready, oh, beloved of the gods,” she added; “thou needst
not fear, he will not even struggle. Make haste. I wish it.”
“Dost really wish me to kill Sen-tur?” asked Hugh at last.
“Yes, really! I wish it.”
“Why?”
“Because Sen-tur has sinned grievously, and sinning, will surely sin
again. He hath tasted the blood of a slave, he liked the taste and
will wish to drink again.”
“But will it not grieve thee to see Sen-tur die?”
“More than thou canst conceive,” she replied earnestly. “Sen-tur is my
only friend, but it would grieve me even more if thou didst leave my
presence now with evil thoughts of me in thy heart.”
She looked divinely pretty, this exquisite product of a strange and
mystic land: quaint as one of those images on ancient tombs, dainty as
the lotus blossom and roses in her garden. She was--my reason told
me--flirting outrageously, desperately, with Hugh, even to the extent
of endangering the life of innocent Sen-tur. Had she but known him as
I did--the scientific enthusiast, blind even to such beauty as
hers--she would have realised how she was wasting her time. In spite
of her pretty speech, her sweet, appealing look, Hugh was singularly
unresponsive, and it was in a very matter-of-fact, prosy way that he
picked up the small dagger and gave it back to her.
“Thou must punish Sen-tur in the way thou thinkest fit. I am no good
hand at killing beasts.”
“Thou dost confine thyself to killing women then,” she retorted with
one of those sudden changes in her mood, which to me were so puzzling.
“Thou art too young to understand the purport of thy words,” rejoined
Hugh, who had become very pale. “The motive which led me to kill
Kesh-ta, thy slave, in the judgment-hall of Men-ne-fer, was one for
which I have not to answer to any one, least of all to thee. But the
hour is late, Princess; wilt deign to allow me to follow my
counsellor? He will wish to visit the holy Pharaoh, and I would fain
pay my respects to Queen Maat-kha.”
And having bowed to her, Hugh took my arm and quickly led me away from
the terrace.
I wish I had been a more subtle reader of feminine character, for
then, perhaps, I could have interpreted the look with which Princess
Neit-akrit followed Hugh’s retreating figure.
CHAPTER XVIII.
LOVE OR HATE?
Eh! you dull old Mark Emmett, what a difficult task you have set
yourself! Do you really imagine that you can convey to the minds of
strangers an adequate idea of a woman, young, exotic, voluptuous and
divinely pretty, and with it all changeable, impenetrable as the
waters of the lake?
I suppose if I had been born a woman I should have been able to
understand the various moods of Princess Neit-akrit. As a mere
straightforward male creature, I must confess that I was completely at
sea.
Of course, originally, she must have hated the idea of any man--be he
beloved of all the gods or not--coming between her and the crown of
Kamt, which already she must have looked upon as her own.
She was so absolutely queen of this land by her beauty, her
fascination, her wonderful personality, that it must have been
terribly galling to her suddenly to see a stranger placed, in virtue
of his mystic descent, immeasurably above her in the hearts of the
entire population of Kamt.
So much I understood and appreciated. Neit-akrit was a woman; she
would have been more than human if she had not resented the intrusion
of the beloved of the gods. I suppose that she hated Hugh at first,
hated his power over the people, hated the very messenger who knelt at
his feet and brought homage to him from distant cities--homage which
in future and in his presence was denied to her.
So, womanlike, seeing that a master was placed above her, she tried to
make him her slave. Being superstitious, she had stolen the talisman
which was destined to guard him against her fascination. Then she
brought to her aid all the gifts which bountiful Nature had lavished
upon her. Her exquisite voice became more melodious and more gentle as
she whispered words of clinging, womanly humility into his ear; her
blue eyes melted into tears when they met his. Alternately she tried
to charm and to irritate him, to attract him by her tenderness and to
repulse him by her cruelty.
Poor Hugh! I wondered how long he would be adamant. Inwardly I prayed
that he might remain so always. If the beautiful Neit-akrit succeeded
in her dangerous game of capturing his heart… well!… what could result
but misery for him, since his word was pledged to Maat-kha?
Fortunately, so far, I had detected no sign of change in his frigid
attitude towards her. She certainly seemed to have the power of
irritating him and making him say--against his will, I am sure--some
very unkind words to her.
But there! how could I guess what went on in the minds of these two
young people whom Nature in a freakish mood seemed to have fashioned
for one another? Both ardent, passionate, poetic, mystic, both as
beautiful specimens of Heaven’s handiwork as it was ever granted to my
eyes to see.
Princess Neit-akrit talked to me a great deal during the next few
days, and I was fascinated with her strange questionings, the
unaccountable and mystic longings she felt, in the midst of her
ignorance.
“Tell me of that land beyond,” she would beg, and I did not know what
to say. Was it for my clumsy hands to roughly tear asunder the veil
which fifty centuries of priest-craft had woven, thick and dark,
before the eyes of all the children of Kamt?
There was no moonlight one evening. The sky was heavily overcast, and
after the evening banquet, when we followed her on to the terrace,
Neit-akrit leaned against the marble balustrade and spoke as if to
herself.
“How strange that Isis should veil her countenance when she might
behold the beloved of the gods!”
“It is a sight she has oft witnessed, Princess,” said Hugh, with a
laugh, “and therefore, probably, it has no overpowering charm!”
“Yes, of course! I know when thou didst dwell at the foot of the
throne of the gods thou must have often seen the majesty of Isis
herself, whose image up on the vault of heaven is all we poor mortals
are allowed to see. Tell me about her.”
“Nay, Princess, there is naught to tell thee which thou dost not know
thyself. Her beauty is all before thee in those lovely nights of Kamt
when she shines upon sleeping Nature and throws diamond sparks upon
the lake.”
She shook her head.
“Ah, then I am wiser than thou art, for I know something more about
the goddess than merely her cold image up there.”
“Wilt tell me, Princess?”
Queen Maat-kha had remained within; she said that the night looked
dark and cold, but personally I thought that she would have been wiser
to look after her own property, which was being strangely and wilfully
toyed with, and in grave danger of being stolen.
“I learnt it all in a dream,” began Neit-akrit, looking dreamily out
towards the hills. “It was just such a night as this, and I could not
rest, for the wind was whistling through the fuchsia trees, making
each bell-shaped blossom tinkle like innumerable short, sharp sighs.
It was a dream, remember! I rose from my couch and went out beneath
the solitary alleys of the park; not even Sen-tur walked by my side. I
felt unspeakably lonely and desolate, and the darkness weighed upon me
like a pall. Suddenly I felt that some one… something took my hand,
while a voice whispered, ‘Come!’ I followed, and the unseen hand
guided me over the canals and cities of Kamt, above those hills yonder
which mark the boundaries of the living world, and right across the
valley of death, where, in the darkness, I heard the cry of the
carrion and the moaning of the dying souls.”
She stood--a quaint, rigid, infinitely graceful image--dimly outlined
in the gloom, slightly bent forward as if her eyes were trying to meet
through the darkness those of Hugh fixed upon her. I could see his
tall figure, very straight, with arms crossed over his chest, and I
longed to take him away, far from this strange and voluptuous girl
whose every motion was poetry and every word an intoxicating charm.
“I knew that the valley of death lay at my feet,” she resumed in the
same monotonous, sing-song tone, dreamy and low. “I knew that all
round me was desolation, sorrow and waste, but I did not see it, for
my eyes sought the distance beyond, and what I saw there, far away,
was so glorious and fair, that ever since my memory has dwelt upon
that vision and my feet longed to wander there again.”
“What didst thou see?”
“I saw a bower of tangled flowers drooping beneath the sun, whose rays
I thought I had never seen so glorious and so hot, and between the
roses and the lilies, the laurel and the mimosa, innumerable birds
chirruped and sang. The ghostly hand still led me on, and presently I
stood among the flowers and saw that each little bird had a nest, and
each by his side a mate; and beneath the tangled trees of fuchsias and
acacias men and women wandered two by two. Their heads were close
together, their arms were intertwined, even the trees above their
heads mingled their branches and bent their trunks towards each other.
The air was filled with sounds of whispers murmured low and sweet, of
kisses exchanged, of fond sighs and endearing words. Then a great
sorrow filled my heart, for I, whom men have called so fair, was all
alone in this abode of love; no one stood near me to caress me, no one
was whispering in my ear, and as I passed the young couples would
pause a moment in their love-making and gaze at me with astonishment,
whilst some of them would whisper, ‘Behold! ’tis Neit-akrit, Princess
of Kamt! Is she not fair?’ And others would add, ‘Yea! so fair, so
high and so mighty, but she knoweth not the abode of Isis!’ And all
would sigh, ‘Alas! poor Neit-akrit!’ And I was so overwhelmed with
sorrow that I fell on the soft dewy grass and cried bitter tears.”
I thought that Hugh must have felt very sure of himself to dare
venture on such a subject of conversation with a woman who was
beautiful and fascinating beyond words. He could not see her, for the
night was very dark, only an outline and a warm glow round her head,
as of living gold.
“Then,” she began once more, “while I cried suddenly I felt as if two
arms encircled me, as if something undefinable and immeasurably sweet
filled the air, and I was borne through the roses and the lilies to a
bower of blossoms, which smelt more sweet than anything on earth. And
there in the deep shadows, peeped at only by tiny eyes of birds, there
dwelt the majesty of Isis herself, and suddenly in the presence of the
goddess I ceased to be Neit-akrit, forgot all pomp and glitter,
remembered only that I was young and fair, and when the arms which
bore me had laid me down on the sweet-scented carpet, I and the owner
of those arms knelt down and worshipped before the shrine of Isis.”
She paused, and for a few moments there was deep silence in the
darkness; only the splash of the water against the marble steps
sounded at regular intervals like a faint murmur from below.
“Dost wonder that ever since I have longed to visit that spot again;
that I have begged Sen-tur to guide me there, for I believe _he_ knows
that I have prayed sweet Death to lead me through that dark valley, so
that I might behold Isis once again and worship at her feet… with some
one else… who would be a part… nay! the whole of my life… who would
love! and yet not worship… ’tis I who would worship, who would live
for a smile, who would die for a kiss. I, who would be coward and
weak, and prouder of that weakness than of the double crown of Kamt.
But the throne of Isis is hidden from my view. It stands before the
poor and lowly. The rich princess may not enter there.”
===
Hugh said nothing, and presently we heard a footfall on the flooring,
a frou-frou of silks and jewels, a last lingering sigh on the evening
air, and she was gone, leaving behind her an aroma of exotic flowers,
of delicious young ripe fruit, of voluptuous womanly charm, which in
this strange land spoke to us of country and of home.
During the next few days the changeable and capricious girl spoke not
a single word to Hugh. She seemed altogether to ignore his very
presence, and all her charms, her fascinations were lavished with a
free hand upon the holy Pharaoh. I had become deeply interested in my
illustrious patient, and had even begun to sympathise with him in his
mental troubles. He hated Hugh, who was the person on earth to whom I
was most attached, and yet how could I help acknowledging that he had
a just cause for hatred? But now Neit-akrit seemed to have set herself
the task of making him forget every one of his troubles, and succeeded
fully by lavishing all her powers of fascination and sweetness upon
him. Once more I fell into my _rôle_ of gooseberry, and although the
Pharaoh insisted on my presence near him at all hours of the day, and
even night, there were many moments when I thought it more prudent to
keep out of earshot. It was a curious kind of lovemaking, and
throughout those few memorable days a strange feeling would now and
then creep into my prosy old heart at sight of the beautiful girl
radiant with youth and health, side by side with the sickly, emaciated
man with one foot in the grave.
He was as silent as ever, but the ugly frown had almost disappeared
from between his eyes, and he too avoided being near Hugh or speaking
to him.
Half that day and the next Neit-akrit sat beside him on the couch
which overlooked the lake, and prattled to him in a merry way of a
thousand nothings, which delighted him more than a chorus of
nightingales; or she would take a harp and would let her slim young
fingers glide gently along the chords, and sing to him sweet and
quaint lullabies which soothed him into quiet, dreamless sleep.
Then when he slept she still remained by his side, softly humming her
low monotonous tunes, ready to greet him with a sunny smile the moment
he opened his eyes; if then I tried to speak to her she would place a
warning finger to her mouth, and I sat and watched her while she
watched the mighty Pharaoh, and once or twice I saw great tears rise
to her eyes and trickle slowly down her cheeks. She puzzled me. I
could not bring myself to believe that she was suddenly beginning to
care for her ailing kinsman, who, but for his rank, must have been
very unattractive to a young and beautiful girl: nor did I wish to
admit to myself that I feared she was playing a cruel game, in order
to arouse jealousy in Hugh.
As for old Girlie, he was strangely reticent about the Princess, and
once or twice when I mentioned her name he very abruptly changed the
subject. I thought that the excitement, or perhaps the oppressive air
of Kamt, was beginning to tell on him. He looked strangely pale and
worn, and I knew he did not sleep at nights. His hand felt hot and
feverish, as it had done during those terrible years when he took it
upon himself to complete his father’s work, and when I seemed anxious
about him, he only laughed in a dry, sarcastic way, quite unlike his
usually bright and sunny laugh.
Late one afternoon I at last contrived to be alone with him. He had
received many deputations, made speeches and heard others all the
morning; no wonder that he felt tired and glad mentally to quit Egypt
and wander in England for a while with me.
“Maat-kha has expressed a wish,” he said very suddenly, “that we
should be married in a month. The town of Tanis sent a deputation
to-day to say that already they are prepared to receive us. I
understand that the temple of Isis, in which the royalties of this
land are always married, is in Tanis, and I have no wish to postpone
my marriage.”
“Girlie, I wonder if you realise what a terribly earnest step you are
taking. Though the rites may be pagan, marriage is always a sacred
tie, and though you live away from your native land, your home must
always be beside your wife, whoever she may be.”
“I know, old Mark, I know. I have thought more about the matter
lately, but you must remember that there are things as sacred as
marriage, and one of these is an Englishman’s word.”
“I don’t like to hear you talk like this, Girlie. I am afraid that in
this wild adventure you are risking some of your happiness.”
“Oh, what tragedy, old Mark!” he said with a forced laugh. “My
happiness? Why, it is complete! Have I not accomplished the aim of my
life? Can I not now prove to the world that mad Tankerville and his
fool of a son were neither visionaries nor liars? Am I not virtually
king of the fairest land on earth? Why, old Mark, we came here for the
sake of science, not for such paltry objects as my happiness.”
“That is all very well, Girlie; but with all your scientific
enthusiasm you have got a great and good heart somewhere about you,
and that does not seem to me to be quite satisfied.”
“It will be satisfied presently, old chap, when all these pageants,
processions and welcomes are over and I can set to work to guide the
destinies of these picturesque people, and gradually teach them the
mysteries of an outer world. And when they have begun to understand,
and my influence over them is absolutely established, then I can begin
to destroy and pierce through those insurmountable barriers which
divide them from Europe and modern civilisation. Then gradually we
shall see my picturesque subjects take to wearing top hats and patent
leather boots, and Queen Maat-kha look superb in a Paris gown. We
shall build railways from Men-ne-fer to Tanis, and steamboats will ply
the canals. There is plenty to dream of, old friend, never fear. My
life will lack no excitement from now till its close, and there will
be no room in it for sentiment or happiness.”
We had reached one end of the terrace, and close to us we saw the
daïs, where I had left the Pharaoh asleep an hour before, with his
young cousin softly cooing to him like a pigeon, and fanning his
forehead gently with a large palm leaf. They neither of them heard our
footsteps, and we both stopped with the same instinct of curiosity
watching the strangely ill-assorted pair. The Pharaoh was awake and
speaking, but some inward emotion had made his deepset eyes glow with
unnatural brilliancy and taken every drop of blood from out his cheeks
and lips. His mouth seemed parched, and his throat half choked as he
spoke, while she, a radiant picture of youth and beauty, with fresh
colour in her cheeks, a wondering look in her blue eyes, looked like a
nymph beside a satyr.
“I do not often dream, Neit-akrit,” the Pharaoh was saying, “when thou
sittest by my side. I think Anubis chases dreams away and renders my
sleep as refreshing as death. But just now I had a dream.”
“Wilt tell me, cousin?”
“I dreamt, Neit-akrit, that I stood within the sacred temple of Isis,
at Tanis. All round me the incense rose in great and dense clouds, so
that I could not distinguish my people, but only dimly saw Ur-tasen,
the high priest, with his shaven crown, robed in his most gorgeous
garments, standing before me, with arms outstretched, as if
pronouncing a blessing.”
“He blessed thee, Pharaoh, no doubt, for some great good thou hadst
done to thy people, now that health is once again restored to thee.”
“So I thought at first, Neit-akrit, in my dream,” he replied, bending
his head closer to her, “but soon Ur-tasen came up to me and whispered
something which made my pulses thrill with a joy that almost made me
faint. Ur-tasen had whispered that I should take thy hand.”
She turned her head away from him, and from where I stood I could see
that every vestige of colour had left her cheeks, and that her lips
were trembling and absolutely bloodless. I thought that we had no
right to stand where we did, or to listen any longer to a conversation
which was evidently drifting into very intimate channels, and I had
just turned to go, when something in Hugh’s face made me stop. He,
too, was gazing at the picture before us of the young girl and the
sick, almost dying man, but in his eyes there was an expression I
could not define.
“At first,” resumed the Pharaoh, in the same harsh, trembling voice,
“I hardly dared to obey Ur-tasen. That I should take thy hand, at the
foot of the throne of Isis, before all my people assembled there,
seemed to me a joy so great that death would be easier to bear than
the agony of so wild a happiness. But Ur-tasen waited, and I turned my
head, and thou, Neit-akrit, wert standing by my side. Thy head, with
its ruddy tresses, was hidden beneath the diadem which belongs to the
rulers of Kamt, and from it down to thy tiny feet thou wast covered
with a golden veil, through which I, in my dream, could see gleaming
visions of thy blue eyes, which made me swoon with delight. Then
Ur-tasen whispered again, and I took thy hand in mine, at the foot of
the throne of Isis, before all my people assembled there… for they had
come to see the mighty Pharaoh take Neit-akrit… as his wife.”
His voice broke almost into a sob, he had glided down from the couch
on to his knees, and was lying half-fainting with the emotion which,
weak as he was, was overmastering him, while his arms tremblingly
sought to clasp the young girl. She was as pale as death. Her blue
eyes stared at him, strangely terrified, with a look which, to me,
seemed almost like loathing. But he could not see. His eyes were half
closed. I am sure he was not conscious of his acts: his hands,
trembling and clawlike, wandered round her shoulders and her waist,
while he murmured more and more inarticulately:
“Thou art beautiful, Neit-akrit… and at the throne of Isis thy hair
gleamed red and hot, and made my eyes ache with its glow: thy veil but
partly covered thee… and when I looked upon thee… it seemed to me that
I would forfeit my double crown of Kamt to be allowed to look again,
and perhaps see thee smile. And thou didst promise to be my wife… and
Isis smiled down upon me. And she whispered that in the night… when
she peeped through the fuchsia alleys… and looked on the lilies and
lotus blossoms… thou and thy loveliness would be wholly mine.”
He had fallen, half-fainting, upon the marble floor, and clung, still
babbling inarticulate words, round her knees. Neit-akrit had stood up,
rigid as a marble image: it were impossible to describe the look of
horror and loathing with which she looked down on the unfortunate man
at her feet.
“For God’s sake take him away from her, Mark!”
It was Hugh Tankerville’s voice whispering in my ear, but I hardly
recognised it, so hoarse and choked was it. Astonished, I looked up at
him, and suddenly
[IMAGE: images/img204.jpg
CAPTION: He had fallen, half-fainting, upon the marble floor, and
clung,… around her knees.]
a strange presentiment of some terrible trouble ahead, which as yet I
could not explain, cast a chill over my heart. On my friend’s face
there was such a look of acute mental and physical suffering, it was
so deathly pale, that instinctively I put out my arm to help him, for
I feared he would fall in a swoon; but he said quickly, with a forced
laugh:
“Only a sudden dizziness, old chap.… The heat, I think. But have pity
on her and take that moribund satyr away from her.”
“It would be needless interference, old man,” I replied, “and one for
which she would not thank me.”
And I pointed to the picture, which, to my own amazement, had changed
as if with the magic touch of a fairy wand. Neit-akrit, sweet and
smiling, with tears of pity shining in her softened blue eyes, was
bending towards the invalid, while her voice, soft and low, murmured:
“Hush, hush! cousin! remember thou art ill: thy health is precious and
thy nerves are overstrained. Canst raise thyself and sit here beside
me? See, thou canst pillow thy head upon my shoulder and I can brush
away the hair from thy burning forehead with my fingers, which are
soft and cool. Or, if thou wilt, I will play for thee upon the harp,
and thou shalt watch Sen-tur chase the ibis along the terrace. Hush!
do not speak now! Thou shalt tell me thy dream again some other time…
but not now.… Now, thou must have rest.”
And with wonderful strength and dexterity she half-lifted,
half-supported the Pharaoh and placed him once more upon the couch.
Then she sat down beside him and pillowed his head upon her shoulder,
and soothingly, as if he were some sick and wayward child, she began
to sing and coo to him a simple lullaby. I looked on amazed, not
knowing what to do or what to think. Though I watched her closely, I
never saw her eyes look anything but sweet, pitying and loving, even
though his eyes were closed and his breathing became more and more
regular, as if her song had at last rocked him to sleep. I began to
think that I must have been mistaken: it seemed impossible to believe
that the rigid statue, alive only by the look of horror and repulsion
on the stony face, could be the same clinging, loving woman, full of
tender pity and girlish compassion for the sick man lying happy and
contented in her arms.
CHAPTER XIX.
A KISS
I somehow dared not look at Hugh. I felt his presence near me as
rigid as a statue, and once my ears caught the sound of a sigh, which
ended almost in a sob.
“Is it for the dying Pharaoh thou sighest, oh, my beloved,” suddenly
said a harsh voice close behind us, “or for her who deals death and
sorrow with so free a hand?”
It was Queen Maat-kha, who had glided noiselessly near, and now stood
beside Hugh, tall and imperious, with an ugly look of hatred directed
towards the sleeping Pharaoh and his companion. Hugh started as from a
dream. He passed his hand over his eyes, as if to dispel some haunting
vision, and turned to his handsome _fiancée_, who returned his look
with a curious searching expression in her eyes.
“Thou dost not answer,” she said. “Was the sigh for her?”
“Indeed, my Queen, it is sad to see so young a girl wooed by a man
with one foot in the grave,” replied Hugh at last, speaking with a
mighty effort.
“Then thou dost not understand the girl before thee, and hast
forgotten that the man, though he have one foot in the grave, has the
other firmly planted on the throne of Kamt.”
Princess Neit-akrit must have heard every one of Maat-kha’s words, yet
she took no notice of them, and remained quietly watching the sleeping
Pharaoh.
“Thou hast also forgotten,” added the Queen, “that thou and thy wise
counsellor have decided to cure the mighty Pharaoh of his ailments,
that, anon, he will once more hold with a firm hand the sceptre of
ancient Kamt. Neit-akrit hath thought it worth her while to smile on
him again, so that he may extend his other hand, and with it place
upon her brow the diadem of a queen. Believe me, there is no sadness
in that wooing, save perhaps for a deceived and befooled monarch.”
“Thou speakest harsh words of a woman who hath done thee no wrong,”
said Hugh. “Art not satisfied that already by thy intended marriage
thou dost threaten to deprive her of that which thou sayest she covets
most? Wouldst add to the injustice by heaping calumny upon her?”
“No wrong?” exclaimed the Queen, impulsively. “Dost think that I am
blind and cannot see? Dull-witted and cannot understand? Hath she done
me no wrong? Ah! that I do not know as yet. Thy face is set and
inscrutable; but the gods will open my eyes. That which they gave me,
they will not take away. And if she come like a cunning jackal,
prowling round my most precious treasure, then let her beware, for
Maat-kha is powerful and will know how to hurl vengeance on the
thief.”
“What dost thou mean?” asked Hugh, very quietly. “Take care, oh,
Queen! lest in thy blindness thou shouldst forget my dignity and thy
self-respect.”
“I forget everything,” she said, coming quite close up to him, “save
that I love thee and that thou art cold. I did not seek for thee, I
did not even ask the gods to place thee across my path; thou didst
come and didst stand before me and, with arm outstretched, didst claim
me for thy wife. Now, that which thou didst give thou dost surely take
away--thy word, thy fealty to me.”
“My Queen,” replied Hugh, gently taking her hand, “in that land from
whence I come men have but one word, one pledge. Words such as thou
dost speak, thoughts such as thou dost harbour, are an insult; look at
me, Maat-kha, and tell me if I can lie.”
She looked up at him, and I, who watched Neit-akrit, saw that she
looked too. I did not know if these two strange, impulsive women could
judge a man’s character by gazing at his face, but Hugh’s was not a
difficult nature to understand; above everything he was upright and
true, and whatever presentiments may have assailed me when first I
guessed my friend’s secret thoughts, I knew that whatever might
happen, his promised bride need have no fear of his loyalty to her.
I thought that the Pharaoh had moved, and I was glad of an excuse to
go and attend upon him and leave Queen Maat-kha a moment alone with
Hugh. Neit-akrit still looked very pale, and I could see in her eyes
that she had been crying. I did not altogether understand her, but
there was something strangely pathetic and appealing in the way in
which she looked at me, eagerly waiting for some reassuring words
concerning the sick man.
“I will send his slaves to him,” I said; “he will need rest.”
And I went within. When I returned I found that Queen Maat-kha had
gone and that Hugh was standing beside Neit-akrit.
“I crave it of thee as a favour,” I heard him say.
“So soon?” she replied. “Art already tired of Neit-akrit’s
hospitality? Has she forgot aught that would make thy sojourn here a
happy one? Tell me, is not my palace beautiful? Are my gardens not
fragrant with scent of flowers, the air not sweet with song of birds?”
“Thy dwelling is more beautiful than aught I have ever dreamed of.”
“And yet thou wouldst leave it?”
“I crave of thee to forgive my seeming ingratitude, for though fair be
thy palace and fragrant thy garden, I would fain leave them to-day.”
“Leave them and me?” she said sadly.
“Ay! leave them and thee, Princess,” said Hugh, with that same icy
calm with which he responded to Neit-akrit’s fascinating ways, “lest
if I remained even one day longer, I might leave that behind me which
is more precious to me than aught else on earth.”
“What is that?” she asked. “Thou needst not fear, I will guard it for
thee, wherever thou goest.”
“Nay, a man is sole guardian of that most precious treasure; women
often do not know its worth, and I fear I am proving but a sorry
keeper myself, hence the reason why I would go.”
“Wilt say farewell to me before thou goest?”
“I will do that now with thy permission. I have promised the
inhabitants of Net-amen that I would visit them, and having gone I
will not come back, but go straight to Tanis and await there the
coming of Queen Maat-kha for our approaching marriage.”
“So soon?” she asked very quietly.
“In seventy days, Princess.”
“Farewell then, oh, beloved of the gods; thou hast indeed graced the
abode of thy kinswoman by dwelling beneath its roof.”
“Hast forgiven me, then?”
“I to thee? What have I to forgive?”
“Everything. I came and the double crown of Kamt, which already
hovered over thy brow, was ruthlessly snatched from thee. My presence
deprived thee of a throne. It were meet that thou shouldst seek
revenge upon the intruder, instead of which thou didst bid him
welcome.”
“Nay,” she said sweetly, “I have naught to forgive, and revenge is in
the hands of the gods.” Then she added, “Farewell, oh, son of Ra!”
He bent his tall figure before her, then turned as if to go.
“Wilt thou not kiss me?” she said. “In Kamt a kiss denotes friendship,
and if thou goest without a kiss, I shall fear that thou art my
enemy.”
“By all the gods of Kamt, I swear to thee that I am no enemy. But wilt
pardon me if I do not give thee the kiss of friendship?”
“Why? A kiss is so soon given. It has so little meaning, for it is as
swift as the flight of the bird through the air. Thou didst kiss me
when thou camest, why wilt not kiss me now?”
“Because thou art beautiful above all things on earth,” he said very
quietly, “and because in my dazed mind there is still a glimmer of
reason, which the perfume of thy hair would quickly dispel.”
She blushed suddenly as if for the first time in her life she had been
told that she was fair. How strange women are! When I told Neit-akrit
that she was more beautiful than anything on earth, she smiled and
looked pleased. When the Pharaoh fell half-fainting at her feet she
became as white and rigid as a statue carved in stone. And now when
Hugh Tankerville told her, with frigid calm, and I thought with a
singular want of conviction, that she was beautiful, she suddenly
became a thousand times more so, for she blushed and the heightened
colour became her well.
“Farewell, then, oh, thou who art of the gods beloved!” she said once
more very gently.
The next moment Hugh had gone and Neit-akrit had thrown herself on the
couch in a passionate fit of weeping.
CHAPTER XX.
A LETTER FROM HUGH
Hugh went away that same day. He was going to Net-amen, together
with the gorgeous retinue which had, as it were, sprung up round him
and escorted him everywhere. Queen Maat-kha did not accompany him this
time: she was unprepared for the journey, she said. She would proceed
to Tanis alone, there to meet him for the wedding ceremony.
Hugh took a very brief farewell of me. I could see that he dared not
trust himself to speak, and, even before me, he shrank from breaking
down. I could not go with him, for my patient demanded my immediate
attention. He was undoubtedly worse since this morning: the strong
emotion had done him an infinity of harm. Yet I was torn between my
affection for Hugh and my duty to the sick man. It seemed to me that
Hugh needed my care as much as the sick Pharaoh. His sufferings were
mental, but I felt that they were keen. And did I not love him as much
as my prosy nature was capable of loving? and did I not know him, and
his ardent, passionate nature, forcibly hardened by years of dry,
scientific research, all the more ready to fall a prey to strong
impressions, such as the strange and fascinating girl had undoubtedly
made upon it?
Hugh had never been in love. During his early youth he had had no
opportunity of meeting any woman who would appeal to his keen sense of
the mystic and the picturesque. Such women are rare in Western Europe,
and none had come across the recluse student’s path. Then, suddenly,
Fate and his own choosing threw him into this land of mysticism and
beauty, where the atmosphere was fragrant and intoxicating with the
scent of exotic flowers, where the air was filled with the twitter of
birds, busy in making their nests. And, framed by these picturesque
surroundings, which in themselves palpitated with youth and with life,
there was the poetic, mystic, yet intensely feminine vision of an
exquisitely beautiful woman who was irresistibly drawn towards him,
and with the artless impulse of her own untrammelled nature showed to
his enthusiastic mind visions of ardent and reciprocated love, such as
he had never dreamed of. What wonder if for the moment Hugh
forgot?--forgot that he had pledged himself to another woman and only
remembered when it was too late?
The first few days after his departure were terribly wearisome to me.
My patient, fretful and irritable, would not allow me to leave his
bedside, and, even at night, I was forced to take what rest I could,
rolled in a rug, at the foot of his couch.
I saw little of Princess Neit-akrit, but, once or twice, when I caught
sight of Queen Maat-kha in the gardens of the palace, I was shocked to
see the change in her face. All its beauty had vanished to my mind: it
looked hard and set, nay, worse, positively evil. On the night which
followed Hugh’s departure, when I strolled out to get a breath of
fresh air, having at last soothed my patient to sleep, I saw Maat-kha
in close conversation with Ur-tasen. To me this boded no good. I could
not understand why the Queen and the high priest should choose the
hours of the night for their meeting. I could not get near enough to
them to hear what they were saying--which I should most unblushingly
have done--but in the shadows where they stood, I could see that Queen
Maat-kha had buried her face in her hands, and that Ur-tasen seemed to
tower over her as if he were dictating some commands.
My mind, filled with thoughts of my absent friend, dwelt persistently
on fears for his safety. The high priest was his enemy, of that I had
no doubt, and I thought that he was trying to work upon the Queen’s
jealousy, for evil purposes of his own. I felt terribly helpless to be
of any use to him, and vowed that when at last I could join him again,
nothing would separate me from him. After all, the sick Pharaoh of
this modern Egypt was but a secondary consideration to me.
Eight days after Hugh’s departure a runner came in with a letter for
me from him.
“Dear old Mark:--Thank goodness that I can write to you and know
that this letter will reach you safely. I am fagged to death bodily
and long to have you near me, to talk over some of my wondrous
experiences. The city of Net-amen is picturesque. It lies on the side
of a hill and is a city of industry: the applied arts reign supreme,
and I am looking forward to renewing my visit to it with you later on,
and showing you the paintings and carvings on the walls and pillars of
the houses, which to my mind are as beautiful as any we have seen.
This is a wonderful country, Mark, and its people have lost none of
the mysterious powers which have astonished Europe for so long. Will
you believe me when I tell you that in the very heart of the city a
palace has been built expressly for me?--yes! for me, the beloved of
the gods!--and I have only been in the land less than a month! And
yet, there my palace stands, of rose-coloured granite, with massive
pillars and exquisite carvings, and a figure of my sire Ra presiding
in the courtyard--all built in less than a month by a hundred thousand
workmen, who worked night and day in relays. The granite works are
just outside the city, but still think of it, Mark, and remember how
long it takes to put up a block of flats in London.
“Still, there is the sorrowful aspect of my palace: all the hard work
was done by slaves, and these people use their slaves shockingly. This
is the ugliest trait in their character. They are cruel, Mark, both to
man and beast. The men are cruel! and the women more so. We have seen
one or two instances of that already, but there is a thing I have
learned which to me is horrible beyond words. You know of course that
the Egyptians are monogamous--you have noticed in what high esteem
they hold their women folk; as a consequence of this, their laws
against adultery are barbarous beyond what words can describe, and in
one respect hideously unjust, for it is invariably the woman who is
punished--the man is allowed to go scot free.
“I saw a woman in the streets of Net-amen yesterday. She was blind,
both her ears had been cut off, all her teeth drawn out, and her hair
had been pulled out by the roots. Turned out from her home, she is
obliged to live by the charity of the passers-by, and is driven from
street to street as an example of sin and its punishment. She had been
convicted of appropriating to herself the husband of a friend. Think
of it, old Mark! What about European society? And the man, who had
allowed himself to be… appropriated, is one of the town councillors
and much respected; he is a good-looking man, very pompous and
self-satisfied. I gave myself the not very productive satisfaction of
kicking him in the face when he grovelled before me, but I don’t know
if he guessed why he received that kick. Somehow it eased my
conscience.
“The runner will bring back the message from you. Make it long, Mark,
old fellow--I want plenty of words from you. I think I should feel
better after I had read your letter. I admire these people; they are
delightfully picturesque, but somehow I have no real sympathy with
them--have you?--and at times I positively hate them. Especially when
I learn some of their laws. I wonder now what devil framed them. No
brain of man could conceive such horrors. _Nous devons changer tout
cela!_ You and I, eh? old chap.--Yours affectionately,
“Hugh Tankerville.”
The letter was hideously unsatisfactory. It told me nothing about
himself, and I fancied that he had purposely avoided even telling me
about his health. I did not carry out his wishes in the matter of
writing him a long letter, but only scribbled a few words:
“My dear Girlie:--Twenty-four hours after you have received this by
messenger, you will see me in your new palace at Net-amen.--Yours,
etc.,
“Mark Emmett.”
Then I set to work to drill into the heads of two shaven medical
idiots all that they were to do, and all they were to leave undone,
with regard to my patient. They vowed by all their gods that the wise
counsellor should be implicitly obeyed. I brought out every resource
of my limited Egyptian vocabulary to impress upon them that he had
better be, and then I sought an audience of my young hostess.
I found her in her favourite place, beneath the turquoise silk canopy,
amidst a bower of cushions, overlooking the lake.
“I hope thou dost bring me good news of my kinsman, oh, wise
counsellor,” she said, turning to me with an anxious look in her eyes;
“he hath seemed somewhat more cheerful of late.”
“My news concerning the holy Pharaoh is no worse, Princess,” I
replied. “Thou knowest how serious is his illness, and ‘no worse’ with
him hath become good news. It is not about him that I have sad tidings
to-day.”
I watched her very closely as I said this, but she seemed not the
least moved, and she said indifferently:
“Hast had sad tidings? Of whom?”
“I am a lonely man, Princess; there is but one being in this world who
is infinitely dear to me. It is of him that I have sad tidings.”
“Dost speak of the son of Ra?”
“Even of him, Princess.”
“How can aught that is sad come to him who is of the gods beloved?”
she asked in astonishment.
“He is but mortal, and there are so many sorrows, even in this fair
land. Suffering has overtaken him, I fear, and I have sought this
audience of thee, Neit-akrit, to crave of thy goodness that thou
wouldst allow me to depart and go to my friend, lest he have need of
me and the comfort I alone can give him.”
“Art so devoted, then, to thy friend that, if he call, thou must needs
leave everything and go to him?”
“I have known and loved him ever since a tiny lad; we shared childish
joys and sorrows together.”
“Was that at the foot of the throne of Ra?” she asked with a touch of
satire.
“In the land where first Ra whispered to his beloved to go forth and
rule over the land of Kamt,” I said, “and where the gods bade me
follow him.”
“And is he worthy of thy devotion, thinkest thou?”
“Nay, Princess, in that same land we do not pause to think if men and
women be worthy before we give them our love. The son of Ra is dearer
to me than ever brother was to brother, or son to father. Therefore I
crave of thee again to allow thy slaves to guide me to where he now
is, for I feel that he has need of me.”
“My slaves and my house are at thy command, oh, wise counsellor! Order
what thou wilt. Fan-tu, who has charge of my slaves, will obey thy
every word.”
I thanked her, then as she was silent I turned to go, but she stopped
me.
“Stay!” she said; “hast reflected that the holy Pharaoh can ill spare
thee? He is very sick, and thou leavest him without regret.”
“The holy Pharaoh is in no immediate bodily danger; and even if he
were, Princess, my duty is to my friend.”
“How strange,” she said. “I have never heard of love and duty spoken
of as between man and man. Is that love a product of that land where
dwelleth Osiris, and whence thou and His emissary do come?”
“It is held as sacred there as the love given by man to woman.”
“Do men give love to women too, then, in that land?”
“Once only in their lives, Princess. Men have one love as they have
one word, and part with their life sometimes because of either.”
“I will not detain thee further, oh, wise counsellor!” she said with
sudden coldness. “Deign to give thy orders to Fan-tu, and what boat or
escort thou dost need shall await thy commands.”
The Pharaoh took the news of my departure very quietly; nothing seemed
ever to disturb his sullen, sarcastic equanimity. He listened quite
patiently to my various recommendations concerning his health, and
actually stretched out a hand to me, in token of a promise that he
would follow them.
I asked for an audience of Queen Maat-kha, but she sent me a somewhat
curt message that she was sick and could see no one.
In the late afternoon a boat and an escort had been prepared for me,
and with a sigh of relief I saw the fairy palace of Princess
Neit-akrit gradually fade away into the distance.
CHAPTER XXI.
A DEBT OF HONOUR
Net-amen is certainly the prettiest of the cities of this ancient
land. It has been built on an undulating slope which rises upwards,
with tier upon tier of palms and sycamores, mimosas and giant
fuchsias. It is essentially an industrial city: the houses are not so
imposing as those of Men-ne-fer, which is the royal residence and the
abode of the wealthy. In Net-amen the houses are built of a species of
burnt clay: there is less sculpture and very little marble: before
each doorstep the householders squat and ply their trade or craft. The
goldsmith, with brazier and minute instruments, fashions necklaces of
exquisite workmanship, pendants in imitation of birds and beetles,
daintily chased and covered with enamel, the gorgeous colours of which
these people alone know how to produce. Then the potters, who turn the
soft clay jars, fashioning them into every kind of fanciful shapes,
and then passing them on to the limner, who, with fine brush and
colours, draws upon the vases those quaint figures which delight the
antiquarian, and which--as I have learned since I have caught a
glimpse of Egypt as it was or is--are an exact rendering of the people
of Kamt. Then there are the women, with their rough spinning-wheels
and tall spindles made of rush, or sitting at the looms, weaving those
gossamer tissues with which the noble ladies of the land only half
hide their voluptuous charms.
The first aspect of Net-amen fascinated me. There was less grandeur
but more of real humanity about it. The weavers, the potters, the
goldsmiths seemed to me much more tangible than the gorgeous and
fantastic personages who in wondrous pageant had, in Men-ne-fer, moved
before my eyes.
On the summit of the hills, surrounded by trees and flowers, stood the
miracle palace, which one hundred thousand workmen had built in
seventeen days for the beloved of the gods.
Hugh did not expect to see me quite so soon, and I was told on landing
that the son of Ra was in the palace, resting after the many
festivities given in his honour. My advent had caused a stir, and from
the houses along the quay people came rushing out to have a look at
the wise counsellor, and hundreds of willing feet were ready to guide
me to the palace, while others rushed forward to take the news of my
arrival to the beloved of the gods.
Tiny brightly-painted chariots, drawn by a couple of sturdy white
donkeys, are the best means of locomotion in this hilly city. As soon
as I could free myself from the chattering crowd I hailed one of
these, and was soon pulled leisurely up the long steep road which led
to the palace, the naked driver, hot and panting, pushing from behind.
It was a fearful shock to me to see Hugh. I could not conceive how any
man could possibly have changed so terribly in so short a time. His
eyes looked hollow and circled with dark purple rings, which told of
sleepless nights, his mouth looked drawn and tightly set, without a
vestige of that sunny smile which always used to brighten his dark,
serious face.
When he saw me, however, a look of the deepest joy, and--I
thought--gratitude, for a moment softened the hard set expression in
his eyes, and my ears caught the faintly whispered, “God bless you,
old chap!”
The hand he gave me was hot and dry, and it needed no medical
knowledge to guess that his pulse was quick and throbbing.
He soon dismissed the attendants, and when we were alone he said:
“I never knew how much I had missed you, old Mark, until the moment
when I caught sight of you just now.”
I did not say anything then, but quietly watched him for a moment,
then I put my hand on his shoulder and forced him to look at me.
“What is the matter, old man?” I said.
“Matter? Oh, fever, malaria, I suppose. I can’t sleep, and seem as
weak as a rat. Is there such a thing as nostalgia, do you
think?--stupid, foolish home-sickness?--because if there is, I have
got a touch of it, I think.”
“There is every kind of mental ailment, I am sorry to say, Girlie, and
they can all be described to a fellow who has your welfare at heart
more than his own.”
“Fever, Mark, I tell you,” he said with a frown. “Take out your watch
and feel my pulse. It is fever, is it not? Malarial, do you think? or
has the fashionable influenza travelled with us across the desert? I
want a dose of quinine, I think.”
“You want a dose of confidence, Girlie,” I replied drily. “Your pulse
is quick, your temperature is high; I can soon remedy that, if…”
“If what?” he asked abruptly, for I had paused, hesitating, strangely
enough, for the first time in my life not daring to touch upon a point
openly with Hugh.
“If you will tell me what you think of when you lie awake at night,” I
said at last, looking straight and searchingly in his eyes.
“Mostly of what a confounded fool your friend Hugh Tankerville is, old
chap,” he replied with a laugh.
“Is that all?”
“Yes! I think that is all. It embraces a very vast section of my
life--its future. But I don’t know why you should put me to such
rigorous catechism, Mark. I am ever so glad that you came, and it will
do me more good than all the medicines in the world.”
“Nothing will do you good, Girlie,” I said earnestly, “except one
thing.”
“What is that?”
“To talk to me--if only at random--of Princess Neit-akrit.”
He did not say anything. His face became, if possible, even more pale,
more careworn than before. I did not think that he was offended with
my seeming importunity, and I continued:
“Girlie, you and I have gone through a great deal together: we nearly
starved side by side in the desert, not so very long ago. We can
therefore hardly measure our intercourse together by the same standard
as other men. Besides being your friend, I am also a medical man,
and…”
“And you would be interested to see before you, lying bare, as the
dissected body underneath your scalpel, all the follies, the madness,
the cowardice of which a fellow-man’s brain is capable. It is not a
pleasant sight, Mark, believe me; you are my friend--you had best not
try to see.”
“You misunderstand, Girlie; I have no wish to cause you needless pain
by forcing a confidence which, I dare say, you do not care to give,
but I have studied the nervous organisation of man long enough to know
that where there is an outlet for thoughts in speech, they become less
injurious to bodily health.”
“Yes, that’s it, old Mark,” he said with quite an ugly, sneering
laugh. “Confession, as the Catholics say, is good for the soul. You
think I would ease my brain by telling you that I, Hugh Tankerville,
lie awake at night like a cowardly fool, making loathsome compacts
with my conscience and bargains with my honour; that, when at last a
heavy dreamless sleep falls over me, I awake from it wondering whether
I am not covered with some hideous leprosy, a fitting bodily ailment
to clothe the cowardly vileness of my soul.”
“Girlie,” I said, for he had paused and was resting his burning
forehead against the cool granite pillar, and was gazing out across
the lovely flower garden with a wild, feverish, almost mad, gaze. I
went up to him and placed my hand once more upon his shoulder.
“I ought never to have let you go away by yourself out of a mistaken
sense of duty to a patient who, after all, is nothing to me. You have
been brooding over your trouble and have worked yourself into a morbid
state of self-analysis. I can assure you that I know you better than
you know yourself, and know that you are absolutely incapable of any
act of cowardliness or disloyalty.”
“I think I was… at one time,” he said dreamily. “I seem to have
changed all of a sudden. Why, Mark! even temptation in this case is
vile and base. We Englishmen, who pride ourselves on our national
honour--our inalienable characteristic, we proudly assert. Never was
there a greater fallacy than man’s belief in his own integrity. Here
am I, the first Englishman who trod this foreign soil, and already my
national honour is scattered to the four winds, since I have started a
series of hideous compacts with it--at nights.”
“Do you love her so much as all that?” I asked with a certain
ill-defined feeling of jealousy and wrath. His hard, set expression
relaxed, a look of infinite tenderness crept into his eyes, and it was
with a softened voice, more like the voice I knew of old, that he
said:
“Like a madman, Mark; like a base coward, if you will.”
I shook my head.
“You would not look as you do, Girlie, if you did that. Compacts with
one’s honour are easy of making and do not bring fever and insomnia
along with them. Tell me what you mean to do.”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Do?” he said with a forced laugh. “That is exactly what I have been
wondering these last few days. I ran away from her like a coward, but
I was a fool to think I could so easily escape--not in this land, at
least, where everything speaks of her. Why, the very scent of the
lotus flower which penetrates into my room at night…”
He stopped abruptly and bit his lip, as if determined to say no
more--not even to me. I saw that he was making great efforts to
contain himself, for his lips and hands were shaking as if with ague.
“You are killing yourself, Girlie,” I said.
He laughed.
“And yet I don’t want to die, old Mark. Not at any rate until I have
made some arrangement for getting you safely out of this land.”
“Not until you have gone back yourself, Girlie, and have shown to the
world your discovery of this land, the truth of ‘mad Tankerville’s
hobby,’” I said, trying to bring his mind back to its old enthusiasm.
“Yes!” he said with a weary sigh. “I came here for that purpose,
didn’t I? For that I toiled for years, studied, gave up home and
country, everything--even dragged you away in my train. And now…”
“Well? and now that you have succeeded beyond your keenest hopes?”
“Now, Mark? Laugh at me if you like; I deserve it for the terrible
fool that I am. Now I feel that I would gladly give up all that and
more, toil again, slave again, find every glory the world can bestow,
and lose it all again, in exchange for the certainty that one woman,
out of all the millions who people this earth, loves me as I love
her.”
I shook my head.
“I know, I know, old fellow,” he said. “I almost think that if I had
the certainty that she merely made a fool of me, I
should--perhaps--get over my folly.”
I don’t know if his talk to me had done him good. I felt like a cruel
brute to have forced his confidence, and yet I think that it was for
the best. I could not fancy Hugh Tankerville falling a prey to morbid
pangs of conscience; I knew that he would never fail in deed. It was
not in his power to keep temptation away. A word is easily broken, and
I believe that Neit-akrit would have been willing, out of pride or
ambition--perhaps out of love for Hugh: in either case she would not
pause, I think, for the sake of any soft thoughts for Queen Maat-kha.
Oh! that we could have got away--out of this country
altogether--where, as he said--everything spoke of _her_. Was she not,
as it were, the embodiment of everything that was fascinating,
mysterious, poetic in this land? Somehow I believe that Hugh was as
much in love with his own conception of what a daughter of Egypt would
be. Though intensely enthusiastic, his nature was a sensuous one. The
exotic beauty of Kamt, the scent of the flowers, the artistic charm of
the life, all had prepared his mind for the strong impression to which
an exquisitely beautiful woman gave the finishing touch. How strange a
thing is man! Why was it not Queen Maat-kha--beautiful, picturesque,
womanly--who had succeeded in arousing in Hugh that love, which might
then have proved a happiness to him? whereas, now, tied as he was by
every tie of loyalty and honour, it was slowly killing him by inches.
There was no doubt that he looked terribly ill, and that a kind of low
fever, brought by brooding and insomnia, was already beginning to
undermine his robust constitution.
I did not like to say anything more just now. We had been silent for
some time, and Hugh gradually had conquered his emotion and seemed
more like himself. He asked after the health of the Pharaoh and my
first impression of the city of Net-amen. But it was my turn to be
moody. I felt more anxious than I cared to admit. I knew that we were
surrounded with enemies, and truly did not know whether among these we
should count the beautiful woman over whom Hugh Tankerville was busy
breaking his heart. But this was mere unreasoning instinct. It would
have been worse than useless to give him a warning in that direction;
though he might be blind as to her coquetry, he would probably not
admit even the remotest possibility that she might be false. And I…
well, though I admired them, I quietly mistrusted the beautiful blue
eyes and fascinating ways of Princess Neit-akrit.
PART IV.
TANIS