Title: Hanit the Enchantress
Author: Pier, Garrett Chatfield
Language: English
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HANIT THE ENCHANTRESS

by

GARRETT CHATFIELD PIER

Author of “Inscriptions of the Nile Monuments,” etc.


[Illustration]


        “_Provided thou art an equipped soul, knowing
     the Secret Name of Thoth, thou shalt pass unharmed
      though that abyss which hath no air, whose depths
                     are illimitable._”



New York
E. P. Dutton & Company
681 Fifth Avenue

Copyright 1921
by E. P. Dutton & Company

All Rights Reserved

Printed in the United States of America



FOREWORD


My reader. Perhaps you have had the good fortune to visit Egypt! If
such be the case, you have undoubtedly stood among the giant columns of
the Temple to the Sun-god Amen in the Northern Apt (Karnak). You have
marveled at the ever changing colors which light up the walls and columns
of the Temple of the Southern Apt (Luxor), so that at one moment they
seem to have been carved from blocks of amber, at another from coral,
jasper, amethyst or, as the last bright rays of the sinking sun fall full
upon them, from colossal bars of red Nubian gold.

You have gazed in awe and reverence at the mummy of King Amenhotep, lying
in his granite sarcophagus, peacefully asleep he seemed, deep down in the
very heart of the Theban Hills.

In an alcove nearby you may recall the three bodies lying, uncoffined,
upon the bare rock of the tomb chamber. You were informed that the
bodies had been removed from their own tombs to this secret chamber of a
dead Pharaoh, that they might be saved from the hands of tomb-robbers.

“The mummies of unknown royal personages,” your Arab guide informed you.

Perhaps the guide permitted you to touch the long black tresses of one
of the three. He pointed out what he called the mark of an arrow, which
caused the death of another. He told you that the boy had undoubtedly met
his death at the hands of a strangler. He hinted at foul murder!

If what he said of the three was true, he might well have attempted to
identify the bodies. They are, perhaps, those of Wazmes, Queen Hanit’s
murdered son, the beautiful slave girl Bhanar, and her one-time mistress,
the Princess Sesen, whose wavy black hair appears as soft to-day as when
Ramses and Menna wooed her, as when Renny the Syrian died for her.

All this, and more, you have doubtless seen.

Yet, it is safe to say, you have never so much as heard of the mystery
surrounding the tomb of Menna, son of Menna, that most baffling among the
many mysterious tombs in and about the great Theban cemeteries.

Undoubtedly, Menna, son of Menna, had in life an enemy, a most vindictive
enemy; one whose malignant hatred followed Menna into his very tomb.

Enter that tomb to-day, and you see at a glance that this enemy sought to
nullify and make ineffectual the entire series of engraved prayers and
magic formulæ which witness to Menna’s hopes for an eternity of bliss
upon the banks of the Celestial Nile. Yes, Menna’s implacable foe sought
to destroy him, both body and soul!

Menna’s body was not found when, recently, his tomb was discovered
and opened. We may thus infer that Menna’s arch-enemy accomplished
the destruction of Menna’s body as successfully, as fiendishly we may
suppose, as he did that of Menna’s soul.

Examine the sculptures upon the walls of his tomb. You will find that
Menna’s eyes have been cut out; that the lips of his servants and field
hands are missing; that the tips of his hunting arrows have been blunted;
that the knots in his “measuring-rope” have been destroyed. Yet, worse
than all, the plumb of the scales, upon which Menna’s heart will be
weighed at the Judgment, has vanished.

Let us suppose that Menna’s mummy _had_ been found, found intact; at the
opening of his tomb. That empty shell would have been of little use to
Menna. Since, following his enemy’s work of desecration upon the ordered
prayers, incantations and scenes painted or engraved upon the walls of
his tomb, Menna’s body was doomed to inevitable destruction, and with it,
that of his _ka_ or “double,” that other self which, from the day of his
birth, awaited him in the heavens.

Without eyes Menna could not find his way among the flint-strewn valleys
and precipitous heights of the Underworld. Without arrows Menna would
be unable to obtain food. Menna’s servants had all perished, as without
mouths they could neither eat nor drink. And Menna might never measure
off an allotted acreage among the ever fertile fields of Heaven if, in
spite of all, he somehow managed to win through to the Celestial Nile.

Alas! this success Menna could never hope to achieve. The breaking of the
plumb of the scales rendered it impossible that Menna’s trembling soul
could pass Osiris, Judge of the Dead, or the fierce hound Amemet, which,
with open mouth, awaited his victims beside that great god’s throne.

No! Menna could never hope to feast at the Table of the Gods. Menna could
never enjoy that eternity of bliss among the Blessed Fields of Aaru which
a beneficent Sun-god had promised to the faithful.

But, Menna’s body was _not_ found at the time of the discovery of his
tomb, though his body had evidently been placed in the white sarcophagus
prepared for it by royal command.

Who so bitterly hated Menna, the King’s Overseer? Who so relentlessly
sought not alone the destruction of his mortal body but the very
annihilation of his soul?



CONTENTS


    CHAPTER                                                           PAGE

           FOREWORD                                                      v

        I. TELLS OF HOW PROFESSOR RANNEY PURCHASED AN ANCIENT
             MANUSCRIPT AND OF WHAT HE FOUND THEREIN                     1

       II. A FALL DOWN THIRTY CENTURIES                                 16

      III. ENANA THE MAGICIAN, WOULD PROVE THAT A RESEMBLANCE BETWEEN
             A QUEEN AND A PRIESTESS MAY BE TURNED TO HIS ADVANTAGE     33

       IV. HOW BHANAR CAME TO THEBES                                    45

        V. THE PLEASURE BARGE OF THI, THE QUEEN-MOTHER                  53

       VI. HOW BHANAR FOUND A HOME IN EGYPT                             66

      VII. HOW RENNY THE SYRIAN ESCAPED THE CROCODILES                  83

     VIII. NŌFERT-ĀRI DANCES BEFORE PHARAOH                             91

       IX. THE LUMINOUS BOOK                                           119

        X. PHARAOH SEEKS TO EXALT A FOREIGN GOD                        138

       XI. THE STATUE OF AMEN DISAPPEARS                               152

      XII. ENANA CALLS TO HIS AID THE GODS JUSTICE AND VENGEANCE       165

     XIII. RAMSES AND SESEN                                            172

      XIV. A RASH PROMISE                                              187

       XV. A STATUE OF HATHOR, GODDESS OF LOVE                         200

      XVI. THE CURSE OF HUY, GREAT HIGH PRIEST OF AMEN                 208

     XVII. WHY MENNA’S CHAIRBEARER STAKED HIS ALL                      218

    XVIII. WHAT HAPPENED WHEN MENNA, SON OF MENNA, WENT A-WOOING       228

      XIX. THE HITTITES ADVANCE                                        239

       XX. HOW BAR AND RENNY MEET FOR THE LAST TIME                    247

      XXI. OF THE CAPTURE OF BELUR, THE HITTITE                        256

     XXII. THE “DOUBLE” OF HANIT                                       266



HANIT THE ENCHANTRESS



CHAPTER I

TELLS OF HOW PROFESSOR RANNEY PURCHASED AN ANCIENT MANUSCRIPT AND OF WHAT
HE FOUND THEREIN.


The shop of Tanos the Greek, “Dealer in Genuine Antiques,” as the sign
above the door advised, might well have been named a museum of ancient
art and curiosities. Entered from the front of the Sharia Kamel, one of
the main thoroughfares of Cairo, the shop appeared at first glance to
consist of but two long narrow rooms, the one immediately behind the
other. Both rooms were filled to the very ceiling with curios of all
sorts, from little agate beads to vast and shapeless mummies of Sacred
Bulls. A half dozen bodies of Egyptian priests, unwrapped and black with
natron, stood propped against the walls of the upper room. The odor of
cinnamon, myrrh and other embalming essences filled the rooms and drifted
out through the open door to blend with the indefinable, but never
forgettable, odor of the Cairene streets.

A nearer view of the upper room disclosed the approach to what Tanos
called the “holy of holies.” This third, or innermost chamber, was
screened from the eyes of the ordinary souvenir hunter by an ivory-inlaid
door of ancient Coptic woodwork.

Connoisseurs generally knew that here were kept the treasures _par
excellence_. Here Tanos would display rare statuettes, bronzes, ivories
and richly glazed potteries for the archæologist; inscriptions on stone
or papyrus for the philologist; diadems or pendants in the precious
metals, necklaces, bracelets and bangles of varicolored gems,—all such
rich treasure from the seemingly inexhaustible storehouse of antiquity
as would be most likely to tempt the antiquarian, or dazzle the mere man
of millions seeking to enrich his curio cabinet or the shelves of his pet
museum or institution.

During the course of an unusually hot afternoon in late March three
Europeans paused at the threshold of Tanos’ shop.

Following their exit from the Ezbekiyeh Gardens their footsteps had
been dogged by that genial soul, Ali Nubi, whose efforts to dispose of
fly-whisks and sunshades were in no wise affected by the temperature. He
was soon joined by a troupe of exceedingly dirty Arab children. These
turned handsprings along the gutter in hopes of some small coin with
which to buy _loukum_.

Finally, the nerves of the three Europeans had been set on edge by the
insistent whine of a deformed Egyptian, whose ceaseless cry for dole,
“_baksheesh, baksheesh, ya khawageh_,” finally caused one of the trio to
turn upon him with an impatient, _Allah yalik, kelb ibn kelb_. This, in
plain English, might be rendered, “May God give to thee, dog, son of a
dog,” at once a pious wish and a curse.

The sound of the guttural Arabic sufficed to scatter at one and the same
instant all three disturbing elements.

The ragged boys fled. Ali Nubi sauntered off to display his merchandise
and his famous smile elsewhere, whilst the cripple, with a frightened
glance up and down the street, made off as fast as his deformities would
allow. The white man was doubtless a _pasha_, a _bey_. Abut Talib felt
the sting of the bastinado upon his withered limbs!

With a laugh the “bey” turned to his companions:

“Enter, Mrs. Gardiner! After you, Clem! I want you to see my latest find.”

Professor Ranney followed his companions into the shop. In answer to his
call Tanos himself appeared at the door of the sanctum. His face lit up
with a smile of genuine pleasure when he recognized his visitors.

He crossed the room with that peculiar crooking of the spine which
appears to be an ineradicable heritage of the ages to Levantines of his
stamp wherever met. How well did the Egyptian sculptor of the late New
Empire catch that deferential abasement of self!

Professor Ranney shook hands with Tanos. Gardiner, too, greeted him,
and introduced the lady of the trio as his bride. For an instant Tanos
searched his fertile brains for a suitable congratulatory quotation from
the Arabian classics. Oriental etiquette demanded that he rise to the
emergency. Finally, bending over Mrs. Gardiner’s hand, Tanos murmured
those charming lines from Abu Selim’s poem on the love of Omar and Leila.

“Oh, Mr. Tanos! What exquisite verses. What a wonderful gift of
improvisation!”

Tanos bowed again. He made a deprecatory gesture, murmuring as he did so
something about the meter of the second line.

Mrs. Gardiner shot a covert glance in the direction of her husband.

The minx, thought he. He well knew that she had recognized the true
authorship of the verses. Mrs. Gardiner had been a former student of her
husband at the University of London, where he taught Semitics.

These small social amenities attended to, Tanos ushered his visitors into
the innermost room. In another moment all four were seated about a low
Turkish table. Upon this reposed two objects, a turquoise-blue goblet of
ancient Egyptian pottery and a linen roll, seemingly of great antiquity,
if one might judge by its condition.

Meeting the Gardiners in the tea-house of the Gardens, Professor Ranney
had urged them to walk over to the shop, in order that they might see the
contents of this linen roll, a papyrus scroll of greatest importance,
not alone on its own account, but, more especially, for the remarkable
document which it contained.

Professor Ranney carefully unrolled the frail, discolored linen in which,
three thousand years before, the scroll had been wrapped. At once the
air was filled with a strange, aromatic perfume.

At sight of the brightly painted vignettes which ornamented each and
every page of the closely written sheets, Mrs. Gardiner burst into
repeated exclamations of rapture. Even Dr. Gardiner, her husband, who may
be said to have lived in an atmosphere charged with the odor of ancient
parchments, could not repress his interest.

This interest was intensified when he read, on the front page of the
manuscript, the names of an ancient Egyptian monarch “_Nibmara Amenhotep,
King of Upper and Lower Egypt, Triumphant_.”

“This is indeed a treasure, Steven! A perfect copy of the Book of the
Dead. You did well to purchase it before I got wind of it. By Jove! It is
in better condition than the Papyrus of Ani in the British Museum!”

Without replying Steven Ranney turned to the last two pages of the
scroll. Inserted between them was a brown stained sheet of hieroglyphics
written in red ink.

“Read this, Clem. To me it appears to be a find of far more importance
than the Ritual itself.”

Gardiner translated aloud the lines of somewhat tremblingly written
hieroglyphics:

    “_A Contract which the Hereditary Prince, the Count, Sole
    Companion of the King, Instructor of the Royal Princess,
    and Chief Royal Architect, Amenhotep, son of Hap, made with
    Hotepra, Great High Priest of Amen._

    “_It is ordained that there be given to the statue of Amenhotep
    which is in his tomb on the western shore, 1,000 loaves of
    bread, 1,000 fatted geese, 1,000 jars of wine and 100 bulls,
    upon the 1st day of the 1st month of the year, what time the
    servants bring presents to their lord, and lights are lit in
    house, in tomb and in temple!_

    “_In payment of this endowment of his tomb, Amenhotep, son of
    Hap, engages to reveal to Hotepa, Great High Priest of Amen,
    the secret hiding-place of the Luminous Book of Thoth, Scribe
    of the Gods!_

    “_Behold! Amenhotep, son of Hap, he saith: ‘By the magic
    incantation contained within this book the Gods are compelled!
    By its hekau-charms the Boat of the Sun is stopped, the Moon is
    darkened!_

    “_Lo, he that reciteth the formulæ contained therein, may
    descend into the Underworld and return to mingle again with
    mortal men._

    “_Lo, the possessor of this Book becomes as the Scribe of the
    Gods, Thoth himself! For Ra hath breathed upon it; Shu hath
    entered it!_

    “_Saith Amenhotep, son of Hap: ‘Behold, as Ra the Sun-god
    liveth, the Magic Book may be found in a box behind the wall
    of the false door built within the western end of my tomb
    chamber!’_

    “_Now, Hotepra heard the oath of Amenhotep and the saying which
    he said._

    “_Lo, Hotepra, Great High Priest of Amen, believed the words of
    the son of Hapi._

    “_Hotepra, Great High Priest of Amen, signed the contract,
    taking the Great Gods, Osiris, Ptah and Ra as witnesses._”

“There, Clem! In all your years of research among ancient documents
have you ever run across the Luminous Book, the Book of Thoth? Could
it, by any chance, be that mysterious book made use of long ago by the
sorcerers and magician attached to the great Temple of Amen at Thebes?
If such be the case, it is an undoubted reference to the book from which
Moses studied, the source of Aaron’s successful attempt to confound the
magicians of Pharaoh. At any rate, Clem, you will agree with me that
this faded sheet, this last will and testament of the old architect, may
turn out to be of far greater interest than even this splendid copy of
the Ritual. I wonder if the will was placed in the Ritual on purpose or
through the carelessness of someone. Hotepra himself it may have been,
three thousand years ago!”

Dr. Gardiner smiled at his friend’s enthusiasm: “One thing at a time,
Steven! Yes, I have met with the Book of Thoth before. And in each and
every case it was referred to as a book containing magical incantations
of great power. In one case an unknown architect states that he ‘_raised
this monument whose pylons reach the dome of heaven by means of the
magic Book of Thoth_.’ Your man, Amenhotep, son of Hap, has left an
inscription, now in the Leiden Museum, in which he affirms that he
‘_possessed the Eye of Horus_’—whatever that may mean—and further that he
was ‘_one who knew all the Wisdom contained in the Book of Thoth, scribe
of the Gods_.’ That this was no empty boast we may sight the stupendous
temples raised by him at Thebes, not forgetting ‘the Colossi,’ which
alone would have assured him undying fame, if indeed he erected them. The
tomb to which he refers in this testament is thought to be beneath the
Temple of Der el-Medinet. Possibly it is included in your concession,
Steven. Your men may stumble upon the mummy of Amenhotep, Magic Book and
all!”

Dr. Gardiner turned to his wife: “Well, Dear! We must be off, to help
Ali with the packing. I hope you have a successful winding up of the
diggings, Steven!”

“And Steven,” broke in his wife, “do let those abominable old brick ruins
alone and hunt for the Book instead. By the way, do you suppose Hotepra
had a wife? The name is similar to that of Potiphar?”

“My dear,” interposed Gardiner, as he assumed an expression of shocked
delicacy, “the subject is hardly one for a bride to discuss, especially
as Great High Priests of Amen, by the uninitiated at least, are
_presumed_ to have had no wives.”

He turned to Ranney: “Steven, we both hope that you can stop over at
‘Sevenoaks’ as usual, for a few days at least, on your way through to
Liverpool. Whew! It is difficult to realize that we shall be enjoying the
Mediterranean breezes to-morrow. Which reminds me. Tanos, don’t forget
to have the Museum authorities place their _visé_ on that statue of Isis.
Bénédict has his eagle eye upon it, and what Bénédict wishes he usually
obtains. A little _baksheesh_ in the clammy palm of Pintsch Pasha will
help to get it through!”

Dr. Gardiner turned again to his wife: “Now, Miriam, don’t drop that
goblet! We could never pay for it, though I read manuscripts until the
crack of doom!”

With exaggerated care Mrs. Gardiner restored the beautiful goblet to its
place. She then shook hands with Tanos, reiterated her husband’s wish
that Professor Ranney visit them in their new home, and left on the arm
of Dr. Gardiner.

Steven Ranney turned to the Greek: “Tanos, put the scroll in your safe
until I return. The will of Amenhotep I will take with me. I want to show
it to Todros Pasha. He’s pretty familiar with the tombs of the western
bank. I’ll see you in about three weeks’ time. Meanwhile, if you manage
to get that statue of Hathor from Nahman, I’ll take it.”

With a friendly nod the young American again braved the heat of the
unprotected sidewalk.

Ranney took his way northward, along the Sharia Kamel, in the direction
of Doctor Braintree’s tree-embowered villa.

During his three days’ relaxation from the strain of acting as
chief-of-excavations amid the heat and dust of work in Upper Egypt,
Ranney had contrived to see more of Susan Braintree than usually fell to
his lot. Ranney had loved her from the very first moment he had seen her,
and that was as far back as February, nearly two months!

It is unnecessary to describe Susan. Ranney did that in every letter he
wrote home to his mother and sister in beautiful Greenwich, Connecticut.
Susan was there described as a paragon of beauty and sweetness. Yet,
there seemed to be a fly in the ointment. A tall and “not a bad looking
sort of chap,” so Ranney described him, a lieutenant of the Seaforth
Highlanders, apparently caused Steven not a little worry. It seemed that
back in their Highland home he lived in the same Scottish village as the
Braintrees, brother and sister.

“By George, I’ll take old Amenhotep’s will to Braintree’s dinner
to-night. I’m sure Susan will be interested; at any rate, she’ll pretend
to be, bless her. Perhaps she’ll find it more to her taste than that
Egyptian flint knife I showed her yesterday. Yet, I am surprised that a
surgeon’s sister, and a head-nurse at that, should evince such horror of
a knife, even though that ancient instrument had served the embalmer to
make the last great incision.”

Late that evening, after a few short but blissful hours spent by Susan’s
side—Lieutenant Angus Hector McPherson being then on duty at the
Garrison—Ranney threw his kitbag into a sleeper of the night train to
Upper Egypt.

After some ten hours of fitful sleep amidst the choking dust and fine
sand which would persist in floating into the compartment, Steven Ranney
found himself once again upon the very modern station platform of Thebes,
the world’s most ancient city.



CHAPTER II

A FALL DOWN THIRTY CENTURIES


The research work conducted by Professor Ranney, as chief of the Yale
expedition to Egypt, had lain in and about the site of the Mortuary
Temple of King Amenhotep the Third, well-named “Magnificent.” The low
depression which to-day marks the site of this once gorgeous edifice lies
well down upon the broad Theban Plain, and immediately fronts that long
line of rocky mounds, refuse heaps and ruined tombs which rises, tier
upon tier, along the lower slopes of the towering Libyan Hills.

It had been a site of rare possibilities from an Egyptologist’s point of
view. On this account excavation privileges hereabouts had been sought by
representatives of every great museum or seat-of-learning both in the Old
World and the New.

When, finally, the news was telegraphed from Cairo that this most coveted
concession had fallen to the Yale Expedition, and that together with a
substantial area of the unexplored mounds to the north and south of the
temple site, great had been Professor Ranney’s joy.

The recent unearthing of the body and rich treasure of Pharaoh
Akhten-aton, son to that Pharaoh by whom the temple was built, and the
discovery of the rich and comprehensive tomb-equipment of Akhten-aton’s
father and mother-in-law, together with the marvelously preserved
mummies of those ancient worthies, had fired the dampened ardor both of
the workers in the field, and, more important still, perhaps, of those
holders of the purse-strings, the sponsors for the expedition at home.

As I have said above, the site of King Amenhotep’s Mortuary Temple had
been freely acknowledged to be a very promising one, and so far these
hopes had been entirely justified.

Many and rare had been the finds during the season’s work now drawing to
a close. And it was not improbable that some other find of the first
importance might still fall to the spades of the excavators during the
next few weeks of work upon the site.

Think what the nearby Temple of Medinet might at this very moment hold
for Professor Ranney! The tomb of Amenhotep, son of Hap; the Magic Book
of the Sorcerers of Pharaoh, the Luminous Book of Thoth!

Had they had the least suspicion of Professor Ranney’s secret it is safe
to say that many of his brother scientists would gladly have bartered
five years of their lives for a chance at the site. And yet, could any
one of those enthusiasts have foreseen the disaster that would here
befall him, not a man among them would have approached it.

But let us take up the tale, as long as we may, in Professor Ranney’s own
words.

I had recently completed my work in and about the site of the Mortuary
Temple of the illustrious Pharoah Amenhotep the Third and had already
promised myself a trial excavation at the nearby tomb of Pharaoh’s
famous architect and namesake, Amenhotep, when something unexpected
occurred to effectually put an end to all my plans. What that something
was you shall now hear!

As near as I can piece together the amazing threads of my story, this is
what happened to me that last eventful evening in Thebes. My diary, in
part, supplies the clue.

Under date of April 28, 1913, and immediately following the rough
translation of a great memorial tablet which had been found the previous
day, I note this entry: “_Sandstorm just blown over. Headache, feverish.
Finished making plan of palace to scale_.”

Now, in spite of the temperature and headache to which I here refer, and
which, had I not been so keen on my work, I should most certainly have
recognized as a symptom of trouble to come, I had evidently sought to
catch up with a somewhat neglected report of the season’s work.

This occupation had apparently kept me at my desk well on towards dawn.
I deduce this from the fact that immediately following the above short
entry, I find a number of fragmentary hieroglyphic inscriptions having to
do with the history of the foundation and erection of Pharaoh’s Mortuary
Temple, upon which I had been so long at work.

One of these entries is of special interest in this connection, since,
after a lapse of some three thousand years, the two colossal statues of
King Amenhotep III, to whom it refers, may still be seen gazing stolidly
and immutably eastward across the broad reaches of the Theban Plain.

The following graphic description of the now vanished building itself, a
literal translation from the original hieroglyphic, is the last entry in
my diary, the last for many a long day, I may add. Further, and for an
excellent reason, this last entry was never completed. The translation
runs in the following somewhat grandiloquent and semi-poetic vein: “It
hath been given me to set up in a holy place two great statues of the
Son of Ra, Amenhotep, Conqueror of Asia. These are they which stand
before the entrance portal of the Mortuary Temple of His Majesty (Life,
Stability and Health to him). Carved from solid blocks of the hard
grit-stone of On, they tower seventy feet into the air. Their golden
headdresses touch the very dome of heaven. On either side, gold-capped
obelisks of red granite reach high above the temple pylons. Four cedar
flag-staffs tipped with gold rise from grooves cut in the sculptured
sandstone of the temple front. The walls of the temple are carved
and richly painted with scenes representing the Asiatic conquests of
Pharaoh, Lord of Might. Its great bronze doors are inlaid in gold with
the figure of the God Min of Coptos. Through this jeweled outline of
his ‘double’ twice daily doth the Great God enter the Holy Sanctuary,
there to partake of the offerings spread upon its jeweled altars. In
his honor are the ceilings covered with true lazuli of Babylon, its
floors enriched with silver and sprinkled with powdered turquoise.
Its gleaming walls are engraved with designs representing the New
Year’s procession of the Sun Barque, from the Northern to the Southern
Apt. Beside the High Altar stands a tablet thirty feet in height,
covered with gold and inlaid with sard and emerald. Thus is marked
‘The-Place-Where-His-Majesty-Stands-at-the-Sacrificing.’ Beq, son of Beq,
carved the statues and erected the obelisks. Renny, the Syrian, overlaid
and enriched the tablet.”

Inserted here was a drawing of the above mentioned tablet, and, upon it,
the following additional fragment: “Memorial-tablet found face downwards.
I enclose drawings and translations. Evidently _mine_ is a very ancient
_name_? All traces of——.”

Here the diary abruptly stops!

Now, I directly trace the mishap which thereafter befell me to the
discovery of this same tablet.

A hot day spent in transcribing to paper its mud-filled inscriptions, and
a night devoted to their decipherment, might well have driven me forth
in search of the cool breezes to be found along the higher slopes of the
nearby Libyan Hills.

Yet, in this connection, I must not forget to mention the contents of a
newspaper-clipping sent me by Gardiner just before he left Alexandria, a
clipping which seems to have a peculiar meaning, especially in the light
of the curious experiences which I shall presently relate.

This clipping was found folded carefully in the page of my Diary opposite
that last incomplete entry to which I have referred.

Beneath a date and the words “Sphinx, Cairo,” the latter added in
Gardiner’s spidery script, there appear the following extraordinary
paragraphs: “In the Museum of the Louvre there is a mummy, Catalogue No.
49. It is the mummy of a woman, and is said to have been found in one
of the Tombs of the Queens, south-west of the Theban acropolis. The man
who found it was crushed to death within twenty-four hours after he had
touched it, and his assistants who hauled it up from the tomb-shaft died
within a few weeks. Three of the carriers who handled it on the Nile boat
died within a short space of time, and one of the men who unpacked it at
Paris died in great agony within less than a week after he had played
his part in the work of getting it to its destination. All these were
seemingly natural deaths, but it is odd that all the men whose fingers
touched the mummy should have died so soon after the handling. The body
of the unknown appears to have been interred with all the elaboration
prescribed for _Queens of the Royal-Blood_! The work of the casemaker
was careful in the extreme. Both granite coffin and gold-covered casing
were of unusual quality and richness. The many gem-incrustations, with
which the gold cases were inlaid, were similarly of the richest and
rarest materials. Yet, the name of Meryt, that of a minor priestess of
the Temple, found beneath the pitch which had been smeared upon the outer
casings, seemed to prove conclusively that the body was that of one of
the chantresses of the Temple of Sekhmet at Karnak.

“But, following the unwinding of the aromatic wrappings which swathed the
body, the curator in charge was surprised to find a second inscription.
This indicated that the mummy was that of Queen Hanit, the first wife of
Amenhotep the Third, whom the King put aside in favor of Thi, a beautiful
Syrian. You may recall how Queen Thi, following Hanit’s incarceration in
the great Temple of Sekhmet, is supposed to have instigated the death
of Hanit’s son, the true heir to the throne, at the hands of Menna, a
favorite of hers. Of the further history of Lady Hanit I personally know
nothing.”

Along the margin Gardiner had added: “I send this to you, Ranney, knowing
your interest in the period which the name of Hanit suggests. Can you
unravel the mystery surrounding the mummy of this Queen who is not a
Queen?

“In regard to the sudden taking off of the seven workmen, and, by the
way, the curator is now dead, I can hear you expatiate at length upon
the fearful ‘_hekau-spells_’ and ‘_magic incantations_’ of the ancients!

“Once more I ask you to prove to me that your ancients ever possessed
such powers, or if they did, that they could by any possible chance have
survived the wear and tear of three thousand years! And, meanwhile, allow
me to submit myself, your unbelieving friend!”

I smile even now, as I shake my head at Gardiner’s careless words.

What can I but think? Childish, you say! A series of remarkable
coincidences! Wait!

It was from Burton that I first heard an account of what he and the other
members of the expedition supposed, and rightly, had happened to me.

It seemed that I left my tent about dawn and started for one of my
favorite walks westward, taking the general direction of a certain
lofty spur of the deep red Libyan Hills. This jutting ledge immediately
overhung the ruins of King Mentuhotep’s temple. So close a part of
the towering cliff is this sadly mutilated structure that one might
easily slip from the shelf above and fall directly upon the great stone
passage-way which conducts to the inner chamber.

To this somewhat dangerous vantage-point, I had sometimes taken
distinguished visitors to our camp, people who had come with letters from
friends at home, or those who I felt sure would be willing to put up with
the discomforts of a night spent beyond the walls of the luxurious Winter
Palace Hotel.

I think I may say truthfully, that not one of my visitors failed of being
more than repaid for any trifling discomfort which was theirs, since
few scenes can equal, certainly none surpass, the view presented by the
extended vista north, south and eastward across the winding Nile Valley
towards Karnak, Luxor, and the deep blue Eastern Hills.

But to return to my story. That memorable morning the fever must
assuredly have had me well within its clutches. Since, of that early
morning walk, I remember but a single incident—Heaven knows, I am never
likely to forget it—a great black void into which I suddenly pitched, a
horrible tingling in all my veins, a shock and a myriad of little flames
that seemed to burst from my very eyeballs!

Was I conscious, I asked myself! I must be, for I seemed to realize at
once what a dreadful thing had happened to me.

Of course, I knew I had pitched headlong into the open mouth of one of
those rock-hewn tombs with which the tumbled slopes below the Libyan
Hills are perforated. Well might those crumbling hills been named a
honey-comb of death!

I could not move; my whole body seemed numb. By gazing upward I found
that I could see the stars! Yes, I recognized the star of Hathor, in all
her radiant beauty.

How my head ached! How my ears roared! Worse than all was the agony of a
ceaseless throb-throb, beat-beat, at the back of my head.

It was as though someone were hitting me with a hammer, rhythmically,
relentlessly.

Perhaps after all I _was_ dead!

No, there were the sharp outlines of the tomb-shaft and the stars above!

I wonder whose tomb it is? Is it charted? Oh, will that throbbing never
stop? Won’t someone come? Help! Help!

As if in answer to my cry, high above me I saw a queer, yet strikingly
familiar figure, a figure silhouetted black against the sky.

The figure leaned over and gazed downwards into the shaft. I noticed its
long and thickly curled wig.

“Ha, ha! A wig of the New Empire,” said I to myself.

Its owner’s face I could not see, but he—or she—yes, it was a woman,
peered long and earnestly into the gloomy depths of the shaft where I lay.

Suddenly, and as though through the medium of some unnatural light, her
face was revealed.

“I was right,” thought I. “It _is_ a woman, and by her robes, a woman of
the New Empire!”

But what features, what an expression! Never shall I forget it. A face of
the most exotic beauty; of a type I knew instantly. It could only have
belonged to one of the ladies of the house of Amenhotep the Magnificent!
Such a face the Royal Sculptor Beq might carve, or Amenhotep,
Superintendent of the Royal Craftsmen.

The beautiful apparition addressed me in the soft tones of the educated
Egyptian.

I found that I could rise without difficulty at her bidding. Struggling
to my feet I pushed a stone at the side of the tomb chamber and passed
through a narrow false door which opened as my hand pressed the secret
block. I found myself once more out under the sunset glow.

All this seemed perfectly natural to me. But, I remember thinking
how strange it was that I should find the pyramids of the Antefs and
Mentuhoteps, the sphinx-lined Causeways, and the many Mortuary Temples
hereabouts, standing clearly defined against the hills, and seemingly
in all their original beauty. Nay, the very cypresses, palms, karobs
and myrrh trees which flanked the ivory-toned Causeway leading to Queen
Hatshepsut’s Temple, were to be seen nodding gracefully in the evening
breeze.

My gaze fell questionably upon the smiling face of my adorable savior.

She must have remarked my bewilderment. Yet, without a word she turned
and started swiftly toward a small white house half-concealed in a dense
grove of feathery acacias.

In response to a quick gesture on the part of my guide, I pulled back the
wooden bolt and opened the door. A tall and strikingly handsome Egyptian
arose from an ivory-inlaid stool as I entered. Carefully rolling up a
manuscript which he had been reading by the light of an oil lamp, and
without otherwise appearing to notice me, he took from the table nearby a
blue glazed goblet, handed it to my rescuer, and re-seated himself.

Once again he picked up the discarded manuscript and continued his
reading as though nothing had happened to interrupt his train of thought.

Perhaps, after all, I had been expected! I heard my charming guide utter
the one softly sibilant Egyptian word: _Drink!_

I lifted the bright blue goblet to my lips and drank deeply,
thirstily....



CHAPTER III

ENANA, THE MAGICIAN, WOULD PROVE THAT A RESEMBLANCE BETWEEN A QUEEN AND A
PRIESTESS MAY BE TURNED TO HIS ADVANTAGE.


The sloping walls of the Temple of Amenra loomed black and forbidding
against the pallid light of early morning.

The tall cedar flag-poles fronting the entrance pylons and the
gold-capped shafts of the four granite obelisks seemed carved in ebony,
so sharply were their dark lines defined.

No sound came from within; no life was apparent in the wide domain of
cultivated fields which surrounded the temple on three sides. There was
no sign of life upon the temple barges moored to the sandstone landing at
the temple front.

A long line of cranes flew slowly, noiselessly, across the moon, now
rapidly sinking into the blue haze which floated above the Western Hills.

Within the temple precinct, in a small chamber lit by the fitful light of
a six-wicked lamp which swung out from the wall at the end of a pole, a
restless figure bent from time to time above a form stretched at length
upon a high couch.

The figure was that of a woman, a woman dead and to a certain extent
disfigured by the scalpel and fat-extracting implements of the embalmer
who now bent over her.

On a low bench beside him were spread out the many bronze and flint
utensils of his craft.

Kathi, the Embalmer, made the last great incision. With a long, flat
and minutely serrated flint knife, he laid open a good six inches of
the flesh immediately above the heart. Having extracted that organ
he carefully placed it in an alabaster jar filled almost to the brim
with aromatic spirits. On top of the jar he set the cover, a cover
crowned with a tinted portrait-head of the deceased. Three similar jars
containing the viscera, brains and other organs liable to rapid decay,
had already been hermetically sealed.

So quickly comes the dawn in Egypt that, by this time, one could readily
distinguish the inscription in letters of dark blue which symmetrically
filled a square at the shoulder of each vase:

“An oblation which the King bestows to the Royal Spouse, His Beloved,
Hanit, Triumphant. Ten thousand oxen and fowl, ten thousand jars of wine,
ten thousand loaves of bread, funerary raiment for the rewrapping of this
body, all things pure and good for the soul of the deceased Queen, His
Beloved, the Lady Hanit, Justified of God.”

Being at one and the same time Embalmer to the King, Chief Surgeon
and Magician, as he macerated the shriveled flesh, Kathi recited the
prescribed Ritual from the Book of the Dead and consecrated the many
amuletic jewels and pendants with which he now proceeded to decorate the
body.

Each limb received at his hand the anointing that rendered it
incorruptible and the magical charms and incantations that should sustain
the spark of life.

This done, Kathi placed a heavy amulet in the cavity whence he had
extracted the heart, a great emerald beetle, inscribed beneath with a
prayer for justification and absolution addressed to the Judge of the
Dead, Osiris.

It did not enter Kathi’s head that he was trying to dupe Osiris by thus
inserting a heavy stone heart in place of the real organ. Kathi merely
wished to be sure that the heart would tip the scales against the great
God’s “Feather of Truth,” when the deceased was led into the Hall of the
Underworld for Judgment.

Having placed the emerald heart in position, the Embalmer set a long oval
plaque of gold immediately above it, drew together the clean-cut flesh
and sewed up the wound.

A small iron amulet, the Two Fingers of Horus, he placed in the hand,
and the delicate jewels of the deceased, chains of minute carnelian
emerald, garnet and amethyst pendants, he strung about the throat. Low
upon the breast he placed a beaded _wesekh_, a broad jeweled pectoral
ornament which, more than a thousand years before his time, King Kufu
had called _the national ornament_ of his people. Upon the head he set
one of the huge pleated wigs of the day, confining it with a diadem of
gold decorated at intervals with gold lotus flowers in high relief.
Gold earrings of rosette form were set in the ears, broad jeweled bands
slipped upon the arms, wrists and ankles, and Kathi, the Embalmer,
commenced to wrap the body in the first few score feet of aromatic linen
bandages.

The Embalmer rested a moment, hand on hip. Humming absently to himself he
turned to trim the spluttering lamp. It was an occupation which consumed
altogether too much of his time.

Kathi’s back being turned for a moment, he failed to see the bent figure
of Enana, the Magician, who glided into the dimly lit room.

“Thou hast succeeded, son of Kathi?”

At his repressed but high-pitched voice, Kathi, son of Kathi, swung
about, startled for an instant out of his wonted calm and immobility. He
turned to close the door before replying. “As thou sayest, Holiness, I
have succeeded. ’Tis but a few short minutes since Thi and Menna stood
where thou standest at this very moment. The Syrian shed real tears above
the body of that poor wench there. To her ’twas Hanit, doubt not.” Kathi
smiled somewhat sadly as he gazed down upon the figure at his feet: “In
death the Lady Meryt’s striking resemblance to Hanit, our beloved Queen,
was most pronounced. And, following my work upon the head, the Lady
Meryt’s own mother could hardly have chosen between them.

“I noted a hint of suspicion in Menna’s eyes the moment he entered the
room. Yet, this instantly vanished, when once he had looked upon the
body. He smiled. Menna no longer fears that Hanit will take vengeance for
the murder of her son. To Menna, as to Thi, the body is that of Hanit.
Their triumph seems to them assured. Hanit and Wazmes, her son, are
dead. Thi’s son reigns! The Syrian sun-god triumphs over Amen!”

Enana, Chief Magician of the Temple of Amen, rubbed together his lean and
shriveled hands. His experiment seemed well on the road to success.

A Pharaoh might set aside one queen for another; the late Pharaoh had
done that. He might depose a queen of the line of the sun-god Ra in favor
of Thi, a Syrian, a commoner. Beguiled by the latter’s crafty wiles he
might close his eyes to the murder of an inconvenient son or so. ’Twas
harem work that! But, to strike at the great God Amenra whom Enana
served—that was a different matter!

Thi, the Queen-Mother, was a foreigner, an idolator. The present
Chancellor was also a Syrian, Yakab of Rabbath.

Was it to be wondered at that the present Pharaoh, Thi’s son, was daily
urged to overthrow the gods whom Egypt worshiped in favor of Aton, the
_Syrian_ god?

But what then would become of the great gods Amen, Ptah and Khonsu; of
Osiris, Isis, Horus, and a host of deities worshiped through countless
ages along the valley of the Nile? And last, but well to the fore in
Enana’s vision, what would become of the innumerable priests, himself
included, who served those powerful gods?

Yes! Menna could strangle Hanit’s only son, the lawful heir; Thi could
seek to poison Hanit! But, touch the cult of Amen of Thebes and, at a
word, the great priestly hierarchy throughout Egypt would rise as one man.

So, at least, thought Enana. So too Huy, First Prophet of Amen, his
brother, and so Kathi, the Embalmer, their hireling.

If it was to resolve itself into a clash between Court and Temple (and,
certainly, recent events had pointed to a rupture) Enana and the Prophets
of Amen were ready.

Enana’s small black eyes fixed themselves upon those of the Embalmer who
perceptibly cringed. He laid one thin hand upon Kathi’s shoulder: “Son of
Kathi, thy skill is that of thy revered father (peace in Aaru be his),
nay, more excellent! For what man was ever called upon to do the work
that thou hast done?” Enana pointed to the figure lying half-concealed in
the shadows of the room. “Verily in thee hath Amen a faithful follower,
one whose reward shall surely find him.

“Listen, son of Kathi. The long-expected hour has come. Pharaoh, Thi and
the Syrians about them can no longer conceal their plan to bring about a
civil war. Jealous of our power, Thi and Yakab have decided to challenge
the supremacy of all-mighty Amen. The priesthood of Egypt is to be
overthrown. Hook-nosed Syrians and Canaanites are to be installed in our
stead, and our beloved banks of Hapi are to be overrun with the kinsmen
of Yakab, the Chancellor, may the twenty-four demigods blast him!

“Yet, mark my words, son of Kathi. Though Aton seem to triumph yet, in
the end, shall Amen find his own. Though all the powers of the conjurers
of Amen be counted in vain, yet shall Amen triumph through Enana, his
servant. More I cannot tell thee at this time. Yet, through troublous
days to come, remember my words.”

With a muttered farewell the aged Magician shuffled off down the narrow
acacia-bordered path which led to the landing-stage by the side of the
river.

Kathi stood watching Enana’s bent figure until it disappeared down the
sandstone steps which led to the ferry.

Like Enana, his master, Kathi was above all a devoted follower of the
great god Amen, whose worship the Queen-Mother now sought to destroy.

Yet, of late, there had been many moments such as this when Kathi had
felt the bow-string at his throat, the arms of the strangler about his
neck. Kings deal harshly with conspirators and Kathi, the Embalmer, whose
horizon might well be said to have been circumscribed by death, feared to
die.

Kathi’s fears were somewhat dissipated at sight of the onrushing sun-god,
now vaulting higher and higher above the rosy Eastern Hills. He
stretched forth his hands, palms upward, in that appealing attitude of
prayer so suggestive of a spiritual offering.

On the river below him the boatmen burst into the Hymn to Ra at his
Rising, which had been first sung by the Sage and Prophet Imhotep, two
thousand years before their time!

Nature, too, added her welcome to the nurturing sun-god. The falcons
sailed in great circles above the flashing waters of the river. To their
shrill and quavering notes, intermingled with the joyous twitterings
and flitterings back and forth of other birds, there was added the soft
lowing of the sacred cows and the shrill chattering of the apes belonging
to the Temple of Mut in Asheru.

Beams of light seemed to dance upon the gold caps of the lofty obelisks.
Huge streamers rose upon the flag-poles which fronted the great portal of
the sun-god’s mightiest temple.

Along the walls of the temple of the deified King Thomes, a phyle of
chanting priests moved slowly, the _keri heb_ with his tube-like censer
at their head. Kathi found it next to impossible to believe that a
hideous civil war was about to burst upon such peace as this.

Kathi shook his head. He turned once more to his unfinished task within.



CHAPTER IV

HOW BHANAR CAME TO THEBES


It was about the third hour of the auspicious sixteenth day of Athyr. On
the river a high-prowed galley of foreign cut could be seen attempting
to gain the western landing under her own sail. This great sail,
picturesquely marked with broad stripes of green and dull red, spread
itself to the fitful breeze with but little effect.

Suddenly a raucous command rang out. At once, as if the command had been
momentarily expected, twenty oars were thrust out from the vessel’s
sides, twenty lusty throats called aloud upon the name of some god or
beneficent demon, and at each shout the great blades took the water and
the vessel sprang shoreward, a line of bubbles and swirling eddies in her
wake.

A pilot stood at prow and stern. The bow pilot held a mooring-stake
and mallet ready in his hand. A pair of buffers already hung over the
vessel’s sides. It was often a dangerous matter to pick a path through
the many barges, war-galleys, sea-going vessels and lesser river craft
which were strung out as far as the eye could see along the western bank
of the Nile.

“By Hathor,” said Nakht, a fieldhand, as he fixed his tired eyes upon the
oncoming galley, “a man who can scull, row, and swim as can I, should
have a place upon some such vessel. Think of the life those dirty Amu
lead!” All foreigners were Amu to Nakht, sand-dwellers and loathed for
their filthy habits and the lice that covered them.

“Aye, Nakht! Thou mayest well envy them. Think of the days and nights
in port, ever with gold _uten_ to spend. Think of Thethi’s wine, Aua’s
dancing girls, a brawl with the city watchmen—more damned foreigners!

“Ai, ai! Once I knew it well! See this scar. ’Twas Thethi himself gave it
me. We were young men then, both as quick as southern panthers.

“Breath of Ra! How many maidens and hapless youths think you Baltu
brings to Thebes this trip?”

A sharp blow from the staff of the overseer cut short this soliloquy.
Once again began the splashing of waters mingled with the droning song of
the irrigation worker: “Life to this seed, O Waters, Breath of Osiris,
Blood of Isis! Life to these our seedlings that we may eat and live to
sing thy praises.”

The galley drifted slowly to the bank. The oars were drawn in; the great
steering-oars alone guided her.

The emblem at the prow of the vessel showed her to hail from Tyre. Her
freight, as Nakht had hinted, consisted in the main of hapless youths
and maidens torn from the arms of their murdered parents, enveigled from
their homes by false promises or bought outright in foreign slave-marts.

Among the jostling crowds gathered upon the embankment and overlooking
the clustered vessels, stood Renny, the Syrian. His gaze was fixed upon
the forms of two little children busily occupied in modeling dolls from
the plastic Nile mud of the river bank. The children’s occupation had
interested him since Renny, the Syrian, was a sculptor.

Renny was startled out of his state of artistic introspection by the
harsh voices of a number of the foreign sailors. They had jumped ashore
from the Tyrian galley and now sought to jostle their way up the steep
and crowded bank.

While these swarthy adventurers drove in the mooring-stake, Renny’s eyes
roamed along the deck of the galley itself. As he gazed at the ordered
cases of merchandise, which had but recently been brought up on deck
preparatory to their unloading, three figures emerged from a cabin door
placed toward the stern of the vessel.

Renny instantly decided that the first of the three, a huge man heavily
bearded and with a commanding eye and voice of thunder, was the master
and probable owner of the vessel. The second was a dainty youth, of a
nation unknown to Renny; the third a woman, by her robes a Syrian like
himself.

The merchant made some remark in a tongue unknown to Renny and, at the
same time, pointed shoreward. The trembling youth replied by throwing the
long sleeve of his rich robe over his head, a gesture indicative of grief
or despair.

But Renny was far more interested in the figure of the Syrian, his
countrywoman.

What heartless parent had sold that drooping figure into harsh captivity?
What disastrous war had resulted in her present plight? Or had this
hook-nosed Semite filched her from her nest high up above some gentle
Syrian valley?

The sculptor’s heart ached for her. Thoughts of his own beloved vineyard
flashed through his mind. For an instant he visualized the purple hills
which encircled Ribba, his native village, the clear blue sky, the
sparkling stream, his father’s white-walled house and the little temple
which stood, well nigh hidden, near the edge of an ancient grove.

Poor little exile! Never had Renny so longed for power, for heavy golden
_uten_, as he did at that moment. Instinctively he gripped the single
bar that encircled his left wrist. He smiled sadly. Fifty, nay, a hundred
such, might not buy her freedom, and this single golden bar represented
the fruits of two years’ untiring labor under the patronage of a great,
if capricious, noble.

Suddenly his gaze riveted itself more intently upon the drooping figure
of the Syrian woman. It could not be! Yes! He knew her! ’Twas Bhanar, a
maid of Ribba, of Ribba itself, his dear Syrian village!

Could his eyes have played him false? He sauntered carelessly toward the
Phoenician vessel. Yes! It was Bhanar, playmate of his boyhood, Bhanar
whom his dead sister had loved so devotedly.

In vain he sought to attract her attention. Finally, through an
inspiration, Renny turned towards the east and gave the shrill cry of the
Syrian hillmen when danger threatened.

The effect was instantaneous. Bhanar’s drooping form slowly raised
itself. Astonishment, joy and instant recognition passed rapidly over
her beautiful face.

She had seen him; she knew him! With a warning gesture Renny slowly
reclimbed the embankment.

How to save her? To whom could he turn for help?

His master—the noble Menna? Small hope there! The Queen-Mother, herself
a Syrian? Yes, he would attempt to reach the ear of the powerful
Queen-Mother herself!

To do so, he must act quickly. Yakab, her Syrian chancellor, should be
seen and quickly. Yakab was an importation of the Queen-Mother, and a
favorite of hers.

Renny found Yakab seated beside the pool in his garden. He affected to be
absorbed in a game of draughts with his youngest daughter.

In a few hurried words Renny acquainted him with the plight of their
countrywoman and begged his instant help. He drew the golden bracelet
from his wrist but Yakab, smiling, stopped him.

The latter rose and in a few short words set Renny’s mind at rest.

In fact, within the minute, they had parted at Yakab’s stucco gate, Yakab
to take a short cut to the palace, Renny to take his way along the river
bank toward the vast estates of Menna, the Royal Superintendent, his
exalted protector.



CHAPTER V

THE PLEASURE BARGE OF THI, THE QUEEN-MOTHER


During his reign, Pharaoh Amenhotep, the Magnificent, had set aside or
infringed upon many an established precedent or custom. It almost seemed
as if he had thus sought to prove to his subjects his utter infatuation
for Thi, the Syrian, his second wife.

For the late Pharaoh had done nothing without Thi’s cooperation. Though
of common extraction, her name and titles had appeared upon all state
documents beside his own. This was at once a new and a radical innovation.

Amenhotep’s infatuation for the beautiful Thi had produced, among many
other marvels, a vast pleasure lake, an artificial body of water, which
now stretched its placid reaches on three sides of the villa-palace of
the former monarch. This villa was now occupied by Thi and the new
Pharaoh, her son.

About the banks of the broad lake waved feathery acacia, sweet scented
mimosa, marsh flowers, and tall papyrus plants. Upon its pellucid waters
rested white and blue lotus flowers. Great cranes, pink and white
flamingos and pure white ibises pecked leisurely among the lily pads or
spread their wings to dry in the rays of the late afternoon sun.

A sheltered landing-stage opened on a causeway whose granite flagging
led up to the door of the palace, the Per-aoh or “Great House” as both
the palace and its august master were called. To the left of this
causeway stood a small building set apart by the art-loving Pharaoh for
experiments in glass and fayence. To the right lay the series of rooms
reserved to Auta, the Royal Sculptor, and his pupils. Counted among the
latter were the then reigning Pharaoh, Akhten-aton, and Noferith, his
wife.

Akhten-aton has a great admiration for his valiant ancestor Thothmes,
third of the name. He counted among his most prized possessions a gold
goblet said to have been designed and fashioned by the hand of that
gifted Pharaoh.

All Egyptians knew how well the hand of the great “Conqueror of Asia” had
wielded the curved sword of Amen, and with what marvelous results alike
for the enrichment of Egypt and for the prestige of her name. Few had
ever guessed that Thothmes’ rare moments of relaxation had been spent in
the studio of his Chief Goldsmith.

To-day, Akhten-noferu, the “pleasure barge” of the Queen, was drawn up
beside the landing-stage in anticipation of Thi’s arrival.

Less than a hundred cubits in length, its cedar beams were covered
throughout with thin plates of pure gold. Its linen sail was ornamented
with squares of blue and red. The blades of the light cedar oars were
tipped with silver; the two great steering-oars were entirely sheathed
in the same bright metal. A portrait head of the late Pharaoh was carved
upon the handle of each of the steering-oars. Two elongated eyes at the
prow of the barge were inlaid with alabaster and deep Babylonian lazuli.
The name of the vessel appeared inlaid in pale green emerald from Suan in
the south. In the after part of the vessel a low dais was covered with
red and blue checkered tapestry, to match the great sail.

With half-suppressed giggles of excitement and whispered jests, the
“sailors” now appeared. Noisily trooping down the causeway they took
their places at the oar benches, as their leader indicated. Their
leader, Princess Sesen, was as amusingly disguised as her “sailors,” the
handmaidens of the Queen-Mother herself.

Queen Thi now appeared. As her short figure passed from the dark
shadows of the passage into the glare of day, two ebony black Nubians
dropped in an arch above her large and profusely curled wig, a pair of
ostrich-feather sunshades dyed in brilliant tones of red and blue. The
servants fell prostrate at sight of her and so remained, muttering wishes
for “long life and health,” until she was safely seated upon her gilded
cedar chair, and a cushion placed at her feet by little Ata, youngest of
her maidens.

At her approach the “sailors” had been silenced by a warning gesture from
the Princess.

Suddenly the momentary decorum of these little maids was interrupted by a
wailing cry from one of their number, who, without apparent reason, burst
into a violent fit of weeping.

For a few moments she was unable to explain the reason of her distress.
But finally, her sisters gathered that her turquoise pendant had slipped
from her neck and fallen into the water. This pendant, a gift from the
Princess herself, the tearful little maiden vowed she must have. She
could not row, she would not row, until it was found.

After much delay her fears were somewhat allayed by the Chief Eunuch, who
promised to send for Enana, the Magician. Enana’s incantations would soon
bring to the surface her missing jewel. He promised that she would find
it awaiting her when the barge returned to the landing-stage. Thus, in
part reassured, little Thutu dried her eyes and again bent over her oar
in anticipation of the signal to start.

A trumpeter in the prow blew a shrill note upon his long instrument (a
new importation from Syria), a group of singing women from the temple
of Sekhmet burst into song; Rahotep, the Chief Eunuch, clapped his fat
hands; the ropes were cast off, and the forty maidens dipped their light
cedar oars in the placid waters. The barge “Beauties of the Sun Disc”
drew out slowly into the dancing waters of the lake.

Seated in the shadow of the great checkered sail, Queen Thi smiled her
appreciation of the novel surprise which her maidens had prepared for
her. As the vessel drew out through the nodding lotus flowers Kema’s
flute made soft music which seemed to mingle with the pearling ripples of
the waters. Kema, it seems, played the flute so well that the cranes and
water-fowl often lit upon the sides of the barge to hear him.

Queen Thi was not aware that novel entertainments such as this had been
customary with the Egyptian court from days immemorial. She was now to
hear of just such a method of distraction as had been practiced under
the great Egyptian monarch Senefru, who had lived, died and been laid to
rest, high up in his colossal pyramid, some twenty centuries before her
time.

For Sianekh, the story-teller, suddenly appeared and seated herself
upon the deck in front of the Queen’s chair. As was her custom, she
neglected both the prostration and the formulæ of greeting. Sianekh was
a privileged character at Court, a favorite with the late King, both on
account of her inexhaustible fund of stories and because of the fact that
Pepi, her husband, had lost his life while defending his royal master
from the attack of a wounded lion.

Yes! Thi’s obese and indolent husband, the late Pharaoh, had once been
inordinately fond of lion-hunting. One hundred and two lions he had
killed with his own arrows. One had gone down upon the very expedition
so fatal to his chariot-driver, Pepi. But it was the last animal of that
great hunt which had sent Sianekh’s husband to the Valley of Shadows.
Pharaoh never forgot Pepi’s sacrifice. Pepi’s tomb never lacked its
offerings of beer, wine and milk, flesh and fowl or of fresh white linens
for the rewrapping of his mummy.

Sianekh, the story-teller, slipped from the sleeve of her loose white
mantle a small ebony wand tipped with electrum.

Without preamble she commenced a tale of King Senefru’s days, a tale of
the epoch of those gods of old, the pyramid-builders.

In her monotonous singsong she told how the good king, tired with the
cares of state and oppressed by the great heat of noonday, sought a cool
spot in which to rest, and found it not. How his son flew upstream in the
fleetest royal barge in search of a famous magician. How he found him
fishing in the Nile without a hook, and finally persuaded him to come to
his father’s court.

She told of the wonders performed there by the aged seer. Of wine
turned to honey. Of bees which went into a little hive only to emerge
as brilliantly colored birds resembling those of distant Punt. Of the
goose’s head which he restored to its body so that it sprang once more to
its feet and rushed cackling and hissing from their midst.

Finally she told of Senefru’s pleasure-barge, of the little maidens who
rowed it and of one of their number who dropped her pendant into the
water, even as had Thutu, and of the magician of old who parted the
waters and descended dryshod to the finding of the pendant.

“But see, O Queen. Enough of the doings of the ancients. There is the
tablet to the faithful Nakht, a hero of our own day and generation.”
Sianekh pointed to a tall shaft which rose high above the bank. “That
tall shaft marks the stake where Nakht met his death. The story goes that
Isis, only daughter of the Vizier Rames, made an appointment to meet
the son of Nakht at this spot. Yonder inlet was filled to overflowing
with the waters of the inundation. But Nakht, son of Nakht, rather than
abandon his tryst, let the swirling waters of the inundation flow over
his devoted head. Isis threw herself into the waters with him. To this
date lovers hang garlands about the shaft and breathe a prayer to Hathor
for sons and daughters like Nakht and Isis.”

As Sianekh rose to her feet the Queen thanked her and presented her
with a pair of gold earrings which she unfastened from her own ears, an
unheard of honor, and one which even the story-teller appreciated.

The Eunuchs showed their approbation by loud cries of affected
astonishment, for the stories were not new to them. But the little
maidens, who had rested on their oars during the recital, showed their
keen delight in the tales by frequent “oh’s” and “ah’s” of astonishment
and approval scattered throughout the telling.

On the barge the hours slipped by unnoted. To Yakab the Chancellor, who
now anxiously awaited the return of the Queen, each minute seemed an
hour.

Yakab had hurried off to acquaint the Queen of Bhanar’s plight, and to
beg her to come to the assistance of one of her unfortunate country-women.

Hour after hour Yakab was compelled to sit beneath the striped awning
which fronted the palace door. Hour after hour he pretended to listen to
the doorkeeper’s account of his exploits amidst the Nubian goldfields,
in the arid Turquoise Country, among the hills of Mitanni or beyond the
Great Bend of the Euphrates.

Pentaur, the Doorkeeper, had served three successive Pharaohs. Already
was he popularly supposed to have exceeded the one hundred and ten years
customarily prayed for by all pious Egyptians. Yet, Pentaur seemed to
have the key to some mysterious _hekau_-charm, which kept his well-worn
teeth in his head, his deep-set eyes clear and his head erect. Though
Pentaur walked with a jackal-headed cane, it was from choice, and not
necessity.

Like all men, Pentaur had his failings. Next to the somewhat colored
recital of his own travels and successes, Pentaur loved to recount the
exploits, narrow escapes and journeyings of his famous ancestor and
namesake, Pentaur, companion and histographer of that greatest of all
Pharaohs, Thothmes the Great. As he listened, perforce, to this garrulous
descendant of Pentaur, Yakab wondered if it had indeed been the fiery
Thothmes who had crushed Nubia and the whole of Asia, or whether the
first Pentaur had not in point of fact been the true instrument of
Pharaoh’s worldwide successes.

Yet, much of what the Doorkeeper said of his ancestor was true. Was not
Pentaur the Historian’s account of Pharaoh’s exploits written in good
hieroglyphic and graphically pictured upon the walls of Amen’s temple
nearby? Indeed, Pentaur, the Doorkeeper, had good cause for his pride of
ancestry.

The weary Yakab was on the point of relinquishing his long vigil when the
notes of a trumpet announced the return of the royal barge. Soon after
Pentaur sent in Yakab’s crumpled note to the Queen-Mother’s apartment.

Once the acknowledgment was in his hands, Yakab picked up his long staff
and rose to depart. As his gaunt form passed beneath the outer pylon,
Pentaur motioned him back to the ebony stool. Pentaur considered Yakab an
excellent conversationalist, for the reason, perhaps, that Pentaur’s flow
of anecdote had not once been interrupted.

But Yakab smilingly shook his head. He could not resist following up
his heart-felt expressions of farewell with a sarcastic prayer for the
repose of the souls of Pentaur’s ancestry, as far as he could recall it,
commencing with Den, one of the valiant “Followers of Horus” of the days
of the gods.

Yakab feared that he had failed a member of his race. He had been too
late. Yakab loved riches; Yakab loved power. But, above all else, Yakab
loved his home, his family, his people. And was not Bhanar one of his
people?

That night Yakab could not sleep.



CHAPTER VI

HOW BHANAR FOUND A HOME IN EGYPT


Baltu the Phoenician left his bales of merchandise and returned to the
side of the trembling Bhanar. Erdu, his steersman could count the bales
as well as he. As each tenth bale passed over the vessel’s side, Erdu
sang out the tally. He checked it with a mark upon a piece of potsherd
which he held in his hand.

Misunderstanding the signs of excitement which appeared in the face of
the trembling Bhanar, following Renny’s signal, the Phoenician merchant
sought to interest her in the sights about her. In a few moments she
would be off his hands forever. She must not be allowed to break down at
this juncture.

In a voice which he sought to make sympathetic Baltu pointed out the
wonders of the Western Bank.

He named the builders of the various temples, shrines and gold-capped
obelisks; the owners of the more important villas whose gardens lined the
river bank. He even attempted to give some chronological sequence to the
intricate maze of rock-hewn tombs which rose, vast and imposing, from the
edge of the Theban Plain to a point high up beneath the crumbling cliffs
of the western hills.

Yet, Bhanar found little of interest in her surroundings. Her eyes dwelt
fearfully upon the treeless hills, upon the mud-walled villages and
gloomy temples. She noted that each and all of the Theban temples were
guarded from the eyes of mortals by high and forbidding walls of solid
masonry.

How different was this to the hospitality of her own little temple,
whose snowy colonnades were open to every passerby; its great wooden
doors thrown open from sunrise to sunset! Again, in contradistinction
to these sun-baked hills her native village nestled in an olive grove,
its encircling hills were green with pastures and crowned with thickly
growing trees. At this very season its fields were yellow with the
fragrant Syrian crocus. Over all was a sky blue as a turquoise, an
atmosphere pure and limpid. How different from the blazing heat of Egypt
and that great throbbing cauldron of molten brass which the Egyptians
called their sky!

Presently she would be swallowed up in one of those forbidding temples,
palaces or villas! She thought that the well of her tears had dried, yet
now the tears sprang hot and blinding to her eyes.

Fearing that she might ruin his chances if she lost that soft rose
coloring he so prized, to divert her Baltu led her to the cabin door and
bade her robe herself to go ashore. Baltu took from his long fringed gown
two small gold-capped jars of obsidian and placed them in her hands:
“Descend to thy cabin, my Rose-bud. Bid Darman let down that glossy hair
of thine. Let her sprinkle a little of this perfumed oil and gold dust
upon it. The oil is more precious than the gold. Let her not waste a
drop. Now haste thee, my Syrian Crocus! We go ashore immediately.”

Soon Bhanar was arrayed in a cream-colored robe, a golden girdle
encircled her slender waist, a diadem gleamed in her perfumed hair.

Darman stood back to admire the effect of her ministrations. Darman,
like Bhanar, snatched from some distant village, was short, fat and
continually sniffling or weeping outright. She had often assured Bhanar,
as indeed she had assured other unfortunates whom it had been her lot to
serve in a like capacity, that the love and devotion which she bore her,
alone prevented her from throwing herself overboard.

In the present case it may well have been the truth, for Darman had
conceived an utter infatuation for the beautiful Syrian. On the contrary,
Darman loathed her loud-voiced master, though her abject fear of him was
cause for jest with the whole crew, including Baltu himself.

In spite of her threats to do away with herself Darman had now spent
six years upon the Tyrian’s vessel. During this time she had prepared
hundreds of timorous maidens for their first, and last, appearance upon
the slave-traders’ dais. When the owner grew tired of his new plaything,
like the playthings of infancy, it disappeared. No one knew whither, no
one cared.

Bhanar reappeared on deck to find Baltu in the act of teasing the
unfortunate youth, who now lay prostrate at his feet in an agony of fear
and apprehension.

“Up! Dry those woman’s tears, Page of Pharaoh! Dost wish a tombkeeper
to purchase thee? Queen Ataho’s page servitor to a mummy! Pull thyself
together, boy! Otherwise”—Baltu closed his eyes, folded his hands across
his chest and assumed the rigid pose of a mummy.

As his eyes opened he caught sight of the advancing Bhanar: “Astar’s
doves! Did I not tell thee Darman, ‘A robe of cream, transparent,
bordered with green and gold, dainty sandals of pink and gold, a simple
gold diadem and the hair parted in the center—so!’ Seen through such
Syrian byssus that rosy form proclaims thee Astar’s daughter. Ah,
Nebamon, what a treat for thine eyes!”

Hardly waiting for the unfortunate Hittite youth to gather himself
together, Baltu, trembling with excitement and cupidity, led his two
victims to the long cedar gangplank. Once on shore he pushed aside the
sweating carriers, and pulling along his two charges with him, started
off down the street.

Presently they passed the common slaver’s block. Two brilliantly painted
booths were at the moment in use. Upon one stood a stolid Nubian woman
and two weeping children; upon the other a troop of half-starved Amu,
whom the priests of Karnak, their original owners, were now selling.

Baltu’s great fist thundered at the door of the last house southward
along the waterfront. He slid back the bolt and threw open the door,
waving his two charges into a narrow corridor. In a stentorian voice he
shouted a command or greeting to the unseen inhabitants of the dwelling
and stalked off down the corridor, and then up a short flight of stairs
to a room in the harem or second story.

This room turned a blank wall to the river front—as indeed did all three
stories of the house—but it overlooked a broad and well-kept garden. Its
painted cedar door gave upon an awning-covered balcony which immediately
overlooked the customary lotus-pool. A giant sycamore spread its shady
branches far and wide above the flower-dotted water.

In the shade of this aged tree Baltu’s Egyptian wife, an enormously fat
but strikingly handsome Theban, was taking a short walk supported on the
arms of two Nubian women. Her pet gosling rested upon her capacious bosom.

At the sudden appearance of their lord and master the latter dropped
Bentamen’s arms and commenced dancing, clapping their hands, and sending
out upon the quiet morning air the shrill “welcome cry” of their race, in
which the beaming Bentamen, Baltu’s spouse, attempted to join. Tears of
joy the while dropped in a shower upon the head of her devoted pet.

However, Baltu had no time for greetings. In response to his directions
Bentamen, supported by her maids, waddled slowly toward a little kiosk
in the rear of the garden, a summer house almost buried in a circle of
ragged date and dôm palm. Though in his rough way, Baltu devotedly loved
his fat wife, business always consigned her to second place in her lord’s
heart.

During this little scene Bhanar had had time to gaze about her. The room
in which they stood was decorated with painted designs of hunting scenes,
boomerang-hunting amidst the marshes, a common pastime with the wealthier
Egyptians. The ceiling decoration consisted of a painted band of spiral
grape vines, whose dainty tendrils met and intertwined immediately above
her head.

In one corner the artist had introduced a cat crouching to spring upon an
unsuspecting field mouse. The latter was busily engaged in eating its way
into a fat bunch of luscious purple grapes.

Puns being the Egyptian’s stock in trade, his common form of wit, the
artist had scrawled in minute hieroglyphics below: “Oh, guest, whosoever
thou art, what do you think of this for a vignette?”

Bhanar, it is true, could not read the inscription, but she could
appreciate the charm of the little apartment, its brilliant frescoes and
its floors powdered with finest white sand, gold dust, lapis lazuli and
turquoise.

A scent as of some sweet pungent incense floated in the air. Scented
woods from the Incense Country had been stocked in the center of the
little brazier which glowed fitfully at the edge of a low dais hung with
richly embroidered linen.

This dais stood well back against the eastern wall of the room. Upon it
stood a light wicker-work couch, its head and back of ebony, its four
high feet of ivory carved to represent panther’s claws.

Clapping his hands, Baltu gave certain sharp directions to an obsequious
Nubian, who appeared as if by magic at his summons. Thereafter Baltu
smiled, stroked his long beard and, taking a small bottle of wine from
a niche in the wall, shook a few drops into the brazier. He muttered
a prayer to Bar, Baal and Isis as he poured out the wine. Could his
two hearers have understood his words, they would have heard the old
slaver bribe his gods, foreign and Egyptian alike, with promises of rich
libations, of oxen and geese, should his bait be taken at the figure he
had fixed.

Baltu in this, did but follow the lead of Pharaoh himself, though
Pharaoh, god incarnate, had he but paused to consider it, did but seek to
bribe himself, in the person of his celestial counterpart.

Word soon spread through the mart that Baltu the Phoenician was selling,
and Baltu was known as a merchant who sold nothing but the best and
rarest, whether that best consisted of spices, perfumes, wines, jewels,
Babylonian glass or slaves.

Baltu the Phoenician lifted a jeweled hand: “Listen, Thebans! Four months
have passed since I have gazed upon the Queen of Cities, Thebes the
Glorious! During these four months I have visited Meggido, Charchemish,
Tyre and Askelon. My last voyage hither brought ye true lazuli of
Babylon, and precious incense from the Incense Land, the waterless land
of the East!

“This time we bring ye amethysts and turquoise for your beads and
bangles, malachite for the healing of your eyes, incense for your
nostrils, precious oils for your anointing, or to mix with those
ceremonial cones that custom bids ye place upon your graceful wigs,
also”—suddenly his eyes catch the sight of the one man above all others
he wished to see. He broke off and addressed the newcomer directly.
“For thee, my lord Nebamon, a rose; nay, a human rose, softly pink as a
rose of Naharin! Step up, great lord, _see for thyself_!” With a quick
movement Baltu unloosed the gold girdle that supported the heavy robe so
gracefully draped about the shrinking Bhanar.

“A rose indeed, Nebamon? Do my lord’s lists boast a form more perfect, a
skin more lustrous, hair so long, so like the ruddy gold of Nubia? Should
not this damsel, this daughter of a long line of kings, be added to the
royal lists? Were the great noble Menna, son of Menna, here now, would he
not straightway buy the maiden? Never shall I be content until I see thee
take from thy finger the seal that adds this wondrous creature to thy
villa yonder.”

Nebamon, typical eunuch and slave-dealer, handsome of face, obese to such
an extent that the skin of his torso lay over his jeweled girdle in thick
folds, Nebamon nodded his head as his great velvet eyes slowly appraised
the many charms of the crouching maiden.

“Thy price, Baltu? And mark thee well! Should she turn out the shrew that
fair-skinned Hittite Gadiya proved to be, she shall be returned, or never
again will Baltu’s galley pass the northern frontier into Egypt! May the
Hound eat her, she is still upon my hands, and like to be!”

“Great lord! Could I know the Hittite for a shrew. Remember, more than
three months I had her on my book. With me, as with Darman, she was a
very dove, as soft and cooing as the sacred doves of Hathor’s temple
yonder! Nay, have done with Gadiya; we will speak of her anon. Thou
wouldst know the price of Bhanar the Beautiful, of Bhanar—a daughter
of Kings? There are perhaps four whose names allow the purchase of the
maid, and these be Pharaoh himself, Rames, your good Vizier, Menna, the
King’s Overseer, and, perhaps, thyself! One thousand gold _uten_ and five
hundred bags of northern wheat will buy the maid, Nebamon! Make up thy
mind, and quickly. Yonder I see approaching the carrying chair of thy
most dreaded rival, Menna, son of Menna. What says my lord Nebamon?”

“Five hundred _uten_, Baltu; all I have is thine for the maid!” The
handsome noble shot a hasty glance in the direction of the oncoming chair
of Menna, the King’s Overseer. It was plainly visible to all present, as
it swung up the garden path, two outrunners with slaves going before, a
foreign conceit which Menna had imported from Naharin.

Nebamon drew from his jeweled girdle his writing set. He affected to
write out a memorandum.

“One thousand _uten_ and five hundred bags of wheat will buy the maid,
Nebamon, nothing less.”

Arriving just in time to hear the repetition of the price Menna descended
from his chair, crossed the room and stood before the shrinking Bhanar.
Menna never haggled. He bought outright or he signaled his bearers and
was borne away without a word.

On this occasion Menna took a hasty look at Bhanar, turned to Baltu and
cried: “Done, the girl is mine!”

With a scowl upon his handsome face Nebamon haughtily withdrew, followed
by a half score of excited Theban nobles and the usual group of hangers
on, those “flies on meat” who customarily attached themselves to the
more reckless nobles of the resident city.

Within the hour the delighted Bhanar found herself attached as maid
to the person of the Princess Sesen, attendant of Noferith, the young
Queen. All her fears in this direction were instantly dispelled when
the Princess advised her of her simple duties in Syrian as pure as her
own. From that hour Bhanar adored the very ground her beautiful mistress
walked on. From that day Bhanar became the very shadow of the little
Princess.

The secret of Bhanar’s present good fortune was due to the fact that
Menna, son of Menna, loved the Princess Sesen. Menna felt that such a
gift as that of the beautiful slave-girl would go far to impress the
haughty little maiden with the sincerity of his suit. Possibly this
lavish expenditure would touch her hard little heart.

The price was indeed a high one, even for a Royal Overseer. But it was
the first time in all Menna’s thirty-odd years that a woman had not
smiled upon his suit.

Stranger still, perhaps, for the first time, Menna truly loved a woman.
True, Menna’s love by now was closely akin to madness, since the little
maid continually frowned upon his suit. The youthful general, Ramses, he
knew, was ever in her thoughts.

Yet, Menna never despaired. In earlier years he had often been on the
point of relinquishing some tirelessly pursued quarry, of a similarly
serenely unruffled type, when lo, the pomegranate had suddenly fallen
into his hands.

But what of Renny, Bhanar’s would-be rescuer? Returning overjoyed from
his visit to Yakab, the Chancellor, Renny had reached the acacia grove
fronting Thethi’s Tavern when something suddenly descended upon his head
and the last thing he remembered was a stunning blow and then—oblivion.

Could Renny the Syrian but have had some slight premonition of what next
would happen to his poor unconscious body, he would certainly have rubbed
that small green crocodile pendant at his neck, the gift of an Egyptian
friend, and uttered the formula which drives that voracious creature
from its prey.

But Renny was a Syrian. He wore that little green charm merely to please
his friend. Renny put no trust in feathers of ibis or blood of lizard; he
smiled at charms and magic incantations. Renny’s own simple religion was
a religion of love, not of fear.

Yet, who knows, perhaps the little charm was to assist him, and this in
spite of himself.



CHAPTER VII

HOW RENNY THE SYRIAN ESCAPED THE CROCODILES


We have already alluded to the violent sandstorm which had raged over
Thebes. As Kham-hat had truthfully said, such a storm had not been
known since that memorable day when Thi the Beautiful, had been brought
up-river to Egypt’s capital, there to become the favorite wife of the
late Pharaoh.

The storm had been especially severe in the immediate vicinity of the
capital, or so at least, it had seemed to the disgusted Thebans. Their
loud complaints as to the hideous damage done were not unduly emphasized,
since the baleful effects of this storm, both in and about the resident
city, were apparent on every hand.

Many of the famous palms and giant sycamores in Pharaoh’s palace garden
had been uprooted or despoiled of their finest branches. Many of the
Abyssinian trees and Lebanus cedars, that lined the causeway leading
to Hatshepsut’s ivory-toned chapel, now lay prone across its well-paved
incline, or, loosened at the roots, hung shriveled, torn and dejected,
far out across its brightly painted parapets.

Dust, a foot or more in depth, had drifted against the gates of the
villas, many of which seemed as if they might rather have opened upon
some gloomy mortuary-garden than upon the dainty gardens of exalted
nobles, with their wealth of tamarisks, acacias, myrrh, sandalwood and
stately Lebanus cedars.

Not a sign of life was visible along the sloping walls of the city, not a
living thing stirred in its dark and narrow streets. Covered by the same
gray pall of dust, Thebes had seemingly united herself with her immense
burial-ground to the westward. Thebes appeared to have become one vast
city of the dead!

A swirl of the fine impalpable Egyptian dust rose into the shimmering
air, a whirling and ever-widening cone—part sand, part river-silt, part
_human_ ashes. Yes, throughout the Nile Valley, an Egyptian might be
said to breathe the very ashes of his ancestors.

Suddenly the sun leaped above the Eastern Hills. The city awoke. Smoke
rose upon the heavy morning air and drifted slowly, like a blue-gray
streamer, up the curving shores of the Theban Valley.

Kathi, the embalmer, on his way to the landing stage leading to the
Temple of Karnak, paused to watch the maneuvers of the war-vessels, as
they sought their berths along the western bank.

At this moment, one vessel’s huge square sail, a picturesque
checker-board of green and white, flapped madly, as its head flew up
suddenly in the wind. It seemed that Duādmochef, the Wind-god, was not to
be cheated out of a few parting puffs from his lusty lungs!

The look-out-man, standing in the prow, pole in hand, shouted a hasty
warning to the captain aft, but, before his raucous order could be
understood, the heavy boat had buried its nose, with the ghastly trophies
it bore, deep in a hidden sand-bar. For a time it seemed that the
stiffly swaying forms of the wretched foreign chieftains lashed to the
prow would break the thongs which held them in place. It availed nothing
that Ranuf, the captain, cursed the look-out-man, his father and his
forebears since Egypt emerged from the primordial _Nu_! And the unhappy
Ameni suffered the irate captain’s curses in silence, as it was the sixth
mishap of the kind since leaving the sandstone quays of Enet, sacred to
the Goddess Hathor.

As Ranuf hurled at the bent head of his look-out-man a last fearful
_hekau_, a potent spell intended to consign the soul of his discomfited
assistant to the voracious maw of Osiris’s hound, he noticed a dark patch
floating upon the water below. A white face gazed up into his:

“Abdi, quick! A drowning man; a countryman of thine; if I mistake not.”

The Syrian addressed strode quickly to the captain’s side, took one
look at the slowly drifting body and, casting aside his sandals and
loin-cloth, disappeared headlong into the river. Cautiously the captain
extended a long pole in the direction of the swimming sailor. In another
moment, Abdi was drawn safely to the deck, and, with him, the apparently
lifeless figure of the man he had attempted to save.

Abdi rose to his feet, seemingly none the worse for his adventure. He
clasped the captain’s hand: “Adon! I thought a devil had me by the heels!
Truly the eddies hereabouts have a deadly grip! Dost know the lad? A
fellow countryman by those blue eyes of his! See, they open! Breath of
Adon, ’tis an ugly crack he hath! Cut the thongs that bind him! Verily,
’tis dangerous work to meddle with Syrians, as they who planned this
treacherous attack will find, should Thi get wind of it! Thou knowest in
such a case, even the ‘tried, judged, found his bitter doom!’ is omitted
from the records, since ‘thus we save the government’s ink,’ says that
wag Thethi!”

The captain bent over the still motionless form of the unknown. He tried
to recall the face but failed.

At this moment the Syrian presented a most woeful appearance. The
long, slim form lay inert; the eyes from time to time opened and closed
wearily. Blood still trickled slowly from a slight cut along one side of
his forehead.

By now he was surrounded by half a score of curious, yet sympathetic
sailors. One bound up his wound, another provided him with a striped
headcloth, another placed a dry robe about his shoulders.

As he once more fluttered back to consciousness, a sailor addressed him
in the Egyptian tongue:

“Stranger, how comest thou in such a strait? Verily had it not been for
that patch of reeds, the crocodiles that swarm about the temple quay had
sighted thy bobbing form, or the gripping whirlpools around the Southern
Bend had drawn thee to the river’s slimiest depths? Breath of Sebek! Thy
pendant did indeed protect thee!”

The question was understood, as was evident from the color that rushed to
the pale face, and the intelligence that lit up the bright blue eyes.

No doubt the question recalled to the Syrian’s brain the memory of the
attack which had so nearly cost him his life. He struggled to his feet.
A draught of wine, and, in a few moments, he seemed little the worse for
his experience.

“Friends, ’tis a tale of jealousy. I am named Renny, a Syrian, a sculptor
attached to the house of the Lord Menna, son of Menna, Overseer of
Pharaoh (health to him). I know not who hath planned this murderous
attack upon me. No enemies have I to my knowledge.”

He turned to Abdi: “Fellow countryman, I thank thee that thou dids’t so
opportunely go to my rescue. May this bar requite thee!” Renny slipped
from his arm a broad band of gold and handed it to Abdi.

Whether the excitement of the rescue and rush of all hands to the side
had had anything to do with it or not no one could say, but at this
moment the clumsy barge suddenly yielded itself to the renewed efforts of
the chanting polers, and swung around into mid-stream.

As it drew alongside the western landing-stage, Renny leaped ashore.
With a wave of the hand to his rescuers, he abruptly disappeared among
the bales of hides and serried ranks of great empty water jars, which
were piled up high along the shore, awaiting shipment to the north.

Renny had seen a company of Royal Guardsmen drawn up before the
colonnaded portico of the royal landing-stage.

He had nothing to fear from the soldiers. These, he well knew, waited to
escort the victorious General Ramses into Pharaoh’s presence.

Yet, at their head, idly swinging a jeweled scarab which hung upon a
long gold chain, stood Bar, a spy in the service of Menna, the King’s
Overseer, Renny’s powerful patron.

Renny had his reasons for seeking to avoid the Prince’s servant at this
juncture. He could not shake off the feeling that Bar, the spy, was
concerned, in some way, with the attack that had so nearly cost him his
life.



CHAPTER VIII

NŌFERT-ĀRI DANCES BEFORE PHARAOH


In chariots or carrying-chairs members of the Court were hurrying to the
Palace, to assist at the feast planned to honor, at one and the same
time, Belur, the newly arrived Hittite Ambassador, and the victorious
Egyptian general, Ramses, but now returned from Nubia.

According to precedent Ramses would present himself before Pharaoh and
the Court in order to receive the customary favors bestowed upon a
victorious Egyptian leader, those “favors which the King bestows” and
“the gold order of valor.”

Throughout the long day the excitable Theban populace had yelled itself
hoarse, as one after another the war-barges swung around the great bend
of the river, south of Thebes.

Each boat was marked by its standard-of-cognizance, and no sooner was its
mooring-stake driven into the bank than a yelling, gesticulating and
joyfully-weeping hoard of relatives and friends of the crew burst upon
its decks.

From that moment, all signs of discipline utterly vanished. Men, women
and children entered upon one of those inevitable carouses which, in
Egypt, ever followed such a home-coming.

Everyone was coming up to Thebes in order to witness the great
celebration in honor of victory. It being festival time even the indigent
passengers at the western bank were to-day allowed to work their way
across the river by bailing the leaky ferryboats.

Thi, the Queen-Mother, in company with the weak but pretty young queen,
left the Women’s Apartments early, on her way to the Banquet-hall. As she
passed the various courts and columned porticos the watchful eunuchs,
guards and servants, hurled themselves prostrate at sight of her. On
knees and elbows they groveled, prayers for “health” and “long life” upon
their trembling lips.

To the dreaded Thi, as to Pharaoh himself, honors were rendered as to the
gods.

And she whom Egypt feared, and Enana the Magician dared; she who had
been called by her friends Thi the Beautiful, by her enemies Thi the
Foreigner, Thi the Commoner, how shall we best describe her?

The Queen-Mother’s head was small, her low forehead slightly retreated.
Her nose was of the delicate Syrian type, the tip somewhat rounded, the
nostrils well opened. From beneath artificially prolonged eyebrows,
eyebrows shaved close and lightly penciled with black antimony paste,
glowed two large and lustrous eyes. Thi’s lips were full, but well-cut.
Cruelty showed in the drooping corners.

At this moment Thi was clad in one of the richest costumes of the
extravagant New Empire, a pale-green robe minutely plaited and studded
at intervals with lotus-flowers in beaten gold. Gold plumes, which rose
above a gem-encrusted headdress of vulture form, seemed to give height
and dignity to one who was in reality a short and slender woman.

About the great Queen’s throat, wrist and ankles were broad bands of
alternate gold bars and minute cylinders of beryl and amethyst. The names
of Aton, the Syrian sun-god, stamped in rich blue fayence, hung from a
long chain well down upon her high bosom.

Though now no longer in the dazzling beauty of her youth, Thi still
possessed many a charm of face and form. Yet, had she been devoid of
such, her voice had served to win for her the great and powerful empire
that was hers. At the sound of it, one knew at once why in Akhmin, where
first her parents had settled, men had called her Nightingale; why, at
a later date, poets and singers of the Theban court had vied with one
another to do her honor.

No mere doll-faced beauty had caused the former monarch to set aside
Queen Hanit, an exalted lady of the line of Egypt’s royal house and a
lineal descendant of Ra the sun-god, yes, and to cause the death of the
unhappy Prince Wazmes whom she had borne him.

Thi’s face and form had been enough to set kings and princes warring.
Yet, to those prized gifts of Hathor, Beauty’s Goddess, had Ptah of
Memphis added the voice of a ten-stringed lute, and Khnum, Fashioner of
Mankind, an intellect that had quickly won to her by far the greater
number of the nobles of the court.

Thus had Thi, a foreigner, a woman sprung, by descent at least, from
common Syrian stock, usurped the rightful place of the great Queen Hanit,
descendant of kings and a king’s wife.

At the foot of a short flight of steps leading to the festival hall, Thi
and Menna met. They exchanged the customary string of effusive greetings
and honorifics.

As the Queen-Mother swept on she found her way blocked by the crooked
form of Enana. The wizened old Magician stood leaning upon his
jackal-headed staff immediately in the center of the narrow passage.

Enana’s sole garment consisted of a long kilt or tunic fastened at the
waist by a jeweled belt, and faced in front with squares of fine gold.
This was an affectation of a fashion long since forgotten.

At Thi’s cold greeting the puckered and heavily-lined face of this
animated mummy trembled with what might equally well have answered for
a smile or a grimace. Yet, beneath his shaven eyebrows, his half-veiled
eyes glittered ominously, as they lifted for a second to those of the
frowning queen. Enana ignored her greeting.

Involuntarily Thi shuddered, yet inwardly cursed herself for a fool. It
was only Enana, a fellow who lived, nay, had lived for centuries, ’twas
said, upon the credulity and superstition of the Thebans!

Thi swept past him and out upon the balcony overlooking the long hall.
There she found Noferith, her son’s wife, the Princess Sesen, and others
of the maids of honor, awaiting her.

As Thi seated herself, Menna passed below her balcony. He bowed to the
two queens, yet his eyes sought those of the Princess Sesen.

Menna, the King’s Overseer, had again yielded himself to the spell of a
pair of lustrous eyes and dimpled cheeks. He loved the little Princess,
as he had never loved before.

For the past few weeks, Menna had wooed the Princess assiduously. Thi,
the Queen-Mother, for reasons of her own, had sought to aid him in his
suit.

All in vain.

The little Princess would have none of him. Thi knew well, as in fact
did Menna, that Sesen’s heart was filled with thoughts of Ramses, with
hopes of his speedy return. Menna’s servant, Bar, called by many “Menna’s
shadow,” as lean and hungry looking as a neglected _ka_, sought to
convince his master that her indifference was due to a present lover,
some favorite among the courtiers. Menna knew better, yet affected
to believe him. Meanwhile, unused to failure in such enterprises, he
continued to besiege the Princess with well-turned couplets, rich and
ever-varied presents, and courtly flatteries.

At this moment, his restless black eyes sought to attract those of the
all-unconscious object of his affections. His glance dwelt with delight
upon her spotless white gala robes. He noted the graceful wig confined by
a rose-colored fillet from which drooped fragrant white lotus-flowers;
the huge circular gold earrings, and the flashing pectoral ornament—a
glitter of jeweled inlays—which rose and fell at every breath.

Sesen’s cheeks and lips were artificially reddened, her eyebrows shaved
and lightly penciled with kohl, like those of the Queen and Queen-Mother.
Yet, unlike them, her tongue was silent, her smiles had vanished. Sesen’s
somber eyes evinced little interest in the bustle and joyful preparations
about her. Twice did Noferith the Queen touch her with the dainty little
scent-tube she carried, in an effort to recall her to her laughter-loving
self.

Finally, after the sweet-scented lotus which each lady carried had been
changed but once, the Princess Sesen rose, pleading faintness. The
sympathetic Queen whom she served, allowed her to retire without exacting
the formal prostration.

At her withdrawal Menna’s disappointment was intense. He sank back deep
into his painted cedar chair. For Menna the feast was at an end.

But not for the noisy revelers about him. Even the haughty members of the
Hittite ambassador’s suite forgot for a moment their lofty attitude of
detachment.

For the corpulent Mentu, son of the Vizier Kena, had whetted the
appetites of these Asiatics. Through the somewhat hesitating medium of a
sibilant Canaanitic dialect, the garrulous Mentu had somehow managed to
make them understand that the entire kitchen forces of the governor of
Thinis and of Hotepra, Prince of On, had been brought upstream to assist
the royal cooks.

“Indeed,” said Mentu, “though whirling sandstorms bury us; though drought
and pestilence stalk the blistered banks of Hapi, yet shall we enjoy the
choicest viands, the rarest wines,” he clicked his purple tongue; “wines
whose seals have stood intact since good King Ahmes’ time! But, wait
until thou seest Nōfert-āri! Breath of Ra! Then shalt thou say, ‘Baal
forgive me! Our country is afar off! Between us lies the raging sea!
Egypt is a land of pleasure and delight! Here let us tarry!’”

And so it proved. For marvel followed marvel with almost bewildering
rapidity.

A dish that won the plaudits of all was an enormous platter of Syrian
craftsmanship. Upon this gold dish, in the midst of gold reeds and
papyrus, swam ducks, plover, and other aquatic birds. In a miniature
skiff, a diminutive Egyptian boatman propelled his silver craft over
perfumed water. An Egyptian noble, standing upright in the bow, aimed a
jeweled throw-stick at a flock of egrets which, with wings outspread,
quivered upon gold wires high above a thicket of feathery papyrus.

The realistic little figures were of pastry, the birds cooked with all
their feathers on!

Dishes of this sort were countless in number, the design of the last more
astonishing than that of the first, since each jealous cook had sought
to outshine his rival, both in originality of design and richness of
material.

But now, at a signal from Pennūt the Usher, Pharaoh rose from the throne
and advanced to the edge of the dais. To his feet the Usher led the
youthful Ramses.

And there, to the accompaniment of a deepening roar of applause from
the onlookers, Pharaoh slipped about his victorious general’s neck that
coveted distinction of the Egyptian military, the necklace of gold lions
and flies.

In a brief lull the words of Pharaoh echoed through the resplendent hall:

“Welcome, thrice welcome, Ramses! Let the praises of thy lord expand
thy heart! Mei has recounted the story of thy skill and energy in the
conducting of this most bitterly fought campaign. Where now are the
chieftains of Nubia? They have been ground down as the seed of the date
beneath the crusher, as eye-paint upon the palette. Yea, they have become
as grain which the mill has crushed! Now are the chieftains of Wawat
forced to sulk in the caves of the hyena. As a fly hast thou worried
them, as a lion hast thou destroyed them! We place these precious
orders about thy throat. From this day thy renown is fragrant as the
perfume of the Incense Country. Arise! Take thy place beside us as
‘Fan-bearer-on-the-right-of-Pharaoh, thy Lord!’”

At his elevation to this coveted position, renewed applause seemed to
shake the painted roof.

Friends pressed forward to kiss the jeweled chains and ornaments that had
but now left the hand of the god-king. Some hurled themselves prostrate
before these rewards which only Pharaohs might bestow.

The King shot a covert glance in the direction of the Balcony reserved
for the royal harem. The Queen-Mother shook her jeweled _menat_ in
company with the other ladies. Yet, in Thi’s case, the action represented
far more than mere applause or acclamation.

The tactful Belur, Prince of the Hittites, in turn, rose and added a
few well chosen words of praise for a difficult task so promptly and
bloodlessly accomplished.

Pharaoh, watching him from beneath his richly painted canopy, doubted
the sincerity of the smile that played about the handsome lips of
the Hittite. Again he resolved in his mind the probable cause of the
Hittite’s inopportune visit.

A space was cleared in the center of the hall. The tables, still groaning
under the burden of their barely glanced at dainties, disappeared as
if by magic. The well-woven mats and glossy panther-skins were lifted
from the stucco floor, and out upon the space so made sprang a troupe of
lotus-wreathed girls, naked save for the beaded cincture of maidenhood
which encircled their slender hips.

Scattering Syrian crocuses and the pure white petals of the lotus, these
coffee-colored little maids, the very embodiment of childish grace,
pelted one another with the perfumed shower until their little ankles
were well-nigh hidden.

As if this had been a signal, the bright blue warbonnet of Pharaoh was
lifted from his head; an Asiatic slave-boy bathed the royal fingers
and Pharaoh, with a nervous twitch to his long, thin features, leaned
back wearily against the embroidered cushions placed at his back by the
attentive Dedu.

The last scene of what had proved a veritable feast of marvels was about
to commence.

The sudden entrance of the merry little children had been the prelude to
“the King’s dance.”

This dance was a far different performance from that series of posturing
and tumbling commonly provided by the acrobats of old.

And it was thought that “the King’s dance” could only be performed by
Nōfert-āri, claimed as daughter by the blind Tutīya, though known to the
irreverent youth of Thebes as the child of Hathor, of the Goddess of
Beauty, sprung from the head of Ra.

At one end of the flowery carpet left by the little children knelt three
heavily-cloaked women. Behind them squatted eight shaven-headed harpers,
clutching to their naked breasts the gilded frames of their ten-stringed
instruments. Back of these again were flute-players, players on the
hand drum, players on the ivory castanets, and a group of men and women
whose duty it was to mark the syncopated time by clapping their hands,
agitating _menats_ of jeweled beads, or shaking sistra of silver or gold.

Suddenly, like the blood-curdling cry of a savage desert-dweller, the
high-pitched call of Tutīya thrilled the heated frames of the expectant
onlookers.

Instantly the harpers, in a soft and minor key, commenced an air at once
slow in measure, plaintive and sad, an air that sounded distant amid
the confused murmur of a thousand voices, the clatter of dishes and the
distant tap-tap of the butlers’ hurrying sandals.

The shrill cry of Tutīya had brought two of the three women to their
feet. Dropping the cloaks that had enveloped them, they took their places
at some distance in front of the third figure.

Turning toward the royal dais the two dancers sank down in a slowly
executed courtesy, until the nodding lotus-flowers that wreathed their
curling wigs swept the flower-strewn floor below him.

Then, in answer to Pharaoh’s scarcely perceptible acknowledgment, slowly
they rose upon their slender feet and, with a “life and health, lords”
placed themselves once more beside the still motionless central figure.

All eyes were centered upon this well-cloaked figure. It, too, now rose.

Was it motionless? It called to mind the birth of some glorious
butterfly or moth. The undulating movement that one sees in the soon to
be discarded shell best described the bursting of Nōfert-āri upon the
delighted vision of her audience as, shivering with the peculiar motion
seen but in those creatures of a day, she suddenly dropped the dull-brown
cloak that enveloped her, and appeared fresh and smiling to their view.

In the dancer Nōfert-āri we see a slim, though willowy form, a form and
countenance that represented the very arch-type of all that an Egyptian
held beautiful in women. A pair of sparkling eyes, elongated, obliquely
set, gleamed in frames of blue-black antimony, which served to accentuate
the striking whiteness in which swam their fathomless pupils.

On Nōfert-āri’s head was set a dark brown wig which, covered thickly as
it was with a myriad little knots and curls, dropped in well-regulated
layers until it grazed the tips of her thin and high-set shoulders. This
dainty perruque, fringing with its line of dancing curls a forehead
that rivaled polished jasper, and touching as it did at every move and
gesture the outer pencilings of her shaven and thickly kohl-stained
eyebrows, seemed to soften the rather prominent cheekbones and perhaps
too pointed chin. The quiver of her wide though delicate nostrils,
bespoke a passionate nature, which the faintest of dimples and the ivory
flash of small though regular teeth, did their best to contradict. The
dancer’s full round throat, her arms, wrists, and well-formed bust, were
ablaze with jewels, amid which pale green beryl, dew-like crystal, rose
carnelian, gold, electrum and silver, gleamed in opulent splendor, as her
bosom rose and fell.

As she stood, a pale blue lotus drooping above each hidden ear, a jeweled
_menat_ in one hand, her coffee-colored and well oiled skin agleam with
the reflected light of innumerable prismatic colors, she seemed less an
animated human form than a figure carved, by Ptah the god of sculptors
himself, from a block of glowing opal.

With her first perceptible motions the music rose to the major key. The
time-beaters accentuated the broken rhythm more and more, while Tutīya,
her heavy though sightless eyes glowing in their painted depths—she too
had once been hailed a Theban favorite—burst ever and anon into the
“Nubian cry,” that blood-stirring cry which acted as an incentive to her
now posturing daughter.

In the center of the flowery carpet stood Nōfert-āri, languidly shaking
her jeweled _menat_. Slowly she turned upon herself, the muscles of her
lithe little body seeming to quiver in measure with the vibrant thrumming
of the many stringed harps.

When again she faced the Egyptian monarch’s dais, unlike the impassive
gaze of Pharaoh, her features seemed to have become transformed. The
“King’s dance,” into which she now threw all her fascination, all her
mesmeric charm and unrivaled ability, portrayed by movement of the body
and gesture alone the meeting and stolen tryst of a pair of lovers.

At first she affected the love-smitten beauty, a coy beauty, mindful of
her many charms.

Suddenly with a start, a pigeon-like coo of delight, she appeared to
throw herself into her lover’s arms.

Again, with all the abandon of an artless coquetry, she stretched out her
long arms and supple fingered hands as if to push him from her.

Finally, with one or two graceful little steps, accompanied by an arch
glance over her shoulder, Nōfert-āri advanced to the very edge of the
royal dais and commenced that portion of the dance for which she was so
famed.

Into this every muscle of her supple body was forced to move in unison or
singly as she willed. Her lustrous eyes gleamed beneath their darkened
eyebrows, her expanded nostrils quivered, her full vermilioned lips were
parted, the very veins in her forehead throbbed in measure with the
refrain. As her supple arms, wrists, and hands played about her body
with a wavelike—an indescribable motion—her jeweled bust and firm, yet
flexible hips, swayed to the spasmodic movements natural to the dance.

The music ever increased in volume and, as if to add contrast to the
grace and beauty of the peerless dancer, a hideous naked pigmy, beating
a tiny onoga-skin drum, leaped out upon the floor beside her, and
grotesquely imitated her every move and gesture.

Thus, to a chorus of wild staccato yells from Tutīya and the excited
time-beaters, Nōfert-āri, her form seeming to undulate in fierce
spasmodic waves from breast to hip, with arms thrown high above her
head, fingers clenched and eyes fast closed, sank slowly to the stucco
floor.

Presently, as she rose, still trembling, and while the echoes of that
clamorous applause still reverberated amid the flaring lotus-capitals, a
royal usher hurried to her side, and in the name of Pharaoh, presented
her with a blue fayence goblet of lotiform design. Inlaid in green, white
and red about the foot was an inscription revealing her euphonious and
happily—chosen name, Nōfert-āri, “She who is made of beauty.”

Following the dance, Pharaoh had retired within himself. He had assumed
an air of studied abstraction and aloofness.

Yet, Dedu remarked signs of nervousness in the twitching of the jaw. Dedu
had been born in the palace, in the self-same year as his exalted master.
Dedu might well have been called, as indeed at times he was, his master’s
“double,” his other self.

In Pharaoh’s slightly twitching hands and in the covert glances which
from time to time he directed toward the haughty leader of the Hittites,
Dedu spelled expectancy and, withal, a nameless fear.

Then it was the Hittite, not Enana the Magician, his royal master feared!
Dedu knew there had been much speculation as to the true meaning of
Belur’s sudden and quite unexpected visit to the Egyptian capital.

So far, oriental courtesy—coupled with the Egyptian’s inherent regard
for the rights of hospitality—had forbidden any outward evidences of
impatience on the part of Pharaoh or his august Mother.

And Pharaoh did well to distrust the wily Hittite. With the pause that
had followed the withdrawal of Nōfert-āri and her assistants, the Asiatic
prince rose to his feet, slowly lifting his jeweled hand to command
attention. His keen glance swept the heads of the swaying crowd which
craned its neck the better to see him and to hear his words.

The Prince of Charchemish bowed to Pharaoh. Slowly he arranged the
sash which served to hold in place his fringed robes and the little
ivory-handled dagger which rested in its folds.

Silence fell upon the noisy revelers, an ominous silence. It seemed as if
Pharaoh’s nervousness had somehow mysteriously communicated itself to the
various groups of Egyptian nobles gathered about him.

Belur the Hittite began to speak. He dwelt at length upon the many
occasions during which Egyptian ships had brought grain and other food
to famine-stricken Asia. He thanked Great Pharaoh for his present
hospitality and the courteous consideration which had been shown him
since first he landed upon the fertile soil of Egypt. He dwelt upon the
power for good exerted by Egypt, not only in Asia, but among the savage
tribes of Nubia, as witness the victorious campaign just brought to a
close, and which they were at that moment celebrating.

Knowing the might of Pharaoh, lord of Egypt, Rimur, King of Charchemish,
his brother, had sent him down into Egypt, that he might effect an
alliance with the throne of Egypt, an alliance which he was sure would
eventually prove of mutual benefit to Thebes and Charchemish alike.

In token of his fraternal esteem Rimur had sent to Egypt a full shipload
of the treasure of his country and of the countries adjacent thereto.
Its hold was filled with the gold and silver vessels of Zahi, with
swords and daggers cunningly damascened with gold, the work of Megiddan
craftsmen. Inlaid corselets were there, jeweled quivers, gauntlets
worked with gold and silver threads, and shawls for the ladies of the
courts, so finely woven that they might be passed with ease through
Pharaoh’s golden signet-ring. To the Queen, the Hittite King had sent a
covered carrying-chair, of stamped leather richly gilded; to the august
Queen-Mother, a golden goblet from the hands of Ilg of Kadesh; and
lastly, to Pharaoh, his kingly brother, three fully equipped chariots,
together with nine Syrian horses, swifter than the north-wind, to draw
them! In the name of King Rimur, his brother, he asked for the hand of
the eldest daughter of Pharaoh his brother, the Princess Aten-merit, in
marriage!

During this speech Pharaoh’s nervous fears had gradually given place to
astonishment and finally to anger. This new-found arrogance and assurance
among the “little people” was an entirely new departure.

As he rose to his feet to reply there was a look upon his face which
neither Belur nor his own courtiers had expected to see. Before that look
even Belur’s assumed effrontery slowly dissolved.

“Son of Rabatta, it is now less than a year since a Hittite embassy
stood within this very hall! Like thee, it came freighted With the
rarest and richest products of the Asiatics! If we remember rightly its
offerings included one hundred logs of Lebanus cedar, five hundred pounds
of Cilician silver, three hundred pounds of the true lapis-lazuli of
Babylon, two hundred gold and electrum goblets, with choice silver vases
of the workmanship of Zahi! In comparison with this, thy meager offerings
seem to prove that Charchemish hath lost its hold upon the Lebanus, upon
the Cilician mines, upon the princes of Zahi, of Kadesh and Megiddo? Or
perhaps thy brother hath forgotten the circumstances which prompted his
father’s princely gift! Not with gifts for favors to be received came
Rabatta thy father! Nay, with _tribute_, with the tribute of a _vassal_
did he come! With tribute exacted through fear of Egypt’s might.

“Take back this message to Rimur thy brother! Thus saith Pharaoh of
Egypt: ‘’Tis but a breath of time since Rabatta knelt at Pharaoh’s knee,
swearing fealty! Wherefore hath Rimur, his son, failed to do the like?’

“As to thy insolent proposal, when hath a Daughter of the Sun left the
land of Egypt at the beck and call of rebel princelings? ’Tis in our mind
to hold thee hostage for thy brother’s quick return to reason. Yet, go!
And with thee take thy gifts, fit only to dazzle some savage Amu!”

At Pharaoh’s words Belur the Hittite took a step nearer to the royal
dais. A covert sneer played about his well-cut lips, though his eyes were
hard, his cheek pale. Raising his hand with a gesture almost threatening
once again he addressed the trembling monarch:

“Hear me, Pharaoh! One other word my august brother sends to Pharaoh,
king of Egypt. The Hittite army is to-day one hundred thousand strong.
The princes of Zahi and Naharin, the kings of Kadesh, Gezer and Megiddo,
have joined their forces unto his! Of thy Syrian vassals half have left
thee! The Khabiri are up! Ribaddi alone stands true to thee and, even he
by now doubtless has fed a vulture’s maw.

“Hearken to the words of Rimur, my brother! Thy present state is well
known to us! Thy plague-stricken land stands on the brink of a great
religious war! In Nubia to the south, as in thy Asiatic possessions to
the north, thy vassal-states have risen in revolt against thee! Nay,
Pharaoh, heed the words of Rimur my brother, or thy Asiatic possessions
are lost to thee! Great Kheta, the combined armies of all the Asiatic
principalities, stand at thy very gates ready to devour thee! Thus saith
Rimur, Lord of lords, King of kings, Lion that Devoureth Lions!”

Pharaoh’s face was terrible to see. His jaws worked, the veins upon his
forehead stood out like knotted ropes, his large eyes flashed with fires
of wrath. He quickly raised his golden scepter as if he would have felled
the audacious Hittite at his feet. The wand of sard and gold snapped
between his clenched fingers.

Controlling himself by a mighty effort Pharaoh pointed to the door and
somehow managed to articulate the one word: “Begone!”



CHAPTER IX

THE LUMINOUS BOOK


High up among the tombs lived Unis, neophyte of the Temple of Amen. The
abandoned tomb-chapel which served to shelter him immediately overlooked
the tree-embowered villa of Enana the Magician, for whom, at times, the
youthful prophet worked. His only attendant was Bata, an aged Ethiopian,
not so long ago his nurse.

Bata was seen almost daily in the market-place. Here she not only
collected the various offerings of the simple herdsmen and peasants, but
acted as go-between in the affairs of the superstitious farmers, herdsmen
and petty officials who were in the habit of consulting her master.
For Unis carried on a desultory practice in necromancy, astrology and
divination. Bata collected the fees, which were generally paid in kind.

Unis spent the few “auspicious days” which the Egyptian calendar allowed
to each month, seated upon a low bench beneath a sycamore tree on the
border of a narrow canal, immediately opposite Enana’s island home. Here
he listened to those who came to consult him or wrote letters for those
who required it.

In his character of seer, Unis had found it necessary to act in many
varied capacities. During the course of a single day, he was often called
upon to act as scribe, physician, exorcist, diviner, faith-healer and
farmer.

Unis was supposed to know the past; he could foretell the future. He
could “see” one who had tampered with his neighbor’s landmarks or altered
the flow of water in his neighbor’s dykes. He could forewarn of an
approaching sandstorm—that nine days’ terror of the traveler. He could
provide the necessary amulets against the bite of snake or scorpion. He
could tell the whereabouts of lost cattle or name that man or woman who
had made off with the offerings to the dead.

Thus, a timid maiden, desirous of a love-charm, was advised to drink the
ashes of a lizard dissolved in water and to swallow it, with a prayer to
Hathor, some auspicious evening when Aah, the silver moon, shone at her
brightest.

Consulted by some young gallant of the city, on similar, though less
wholesome lines, Unis would draw a circle in the sand. A circle, a gold
bangle! Money can open many a door!

The circle might be readily understood, but the outline of the jackal
above it—death’s emblem, spiritual and physical—was generally beyond the
young man’s powers of comprehension.

To the aged Teta, desirous of a potion which would assure to him the
wished for one hundred and ten years, Unis replied: “I see the _ba_-bird
poised above thy tomb.” Teta was found dead upon his couch the following
morning.

To Benta the ambitious Unis had taught the value of patience by pointing
to Auta hard at work upon his granite statue of the Princess Bekit-aton.

Six months of cutting, chiseling, rubbing and burnishing had the
persevering Auta lavished upon his masterpiece, and, throughout those
weary months, but three simple implements had served him for his
difficult task—a wooden mallet, a bronze chisel and a flint burnisher.
Apart from this, sand, water and emery-dust were Auta’s only helpers.

Though Unis was consulted by peasant and petty official, peasant and
official alike considered him mad. As such he became a person to be
pitied and cared for, as one afflicted by the gods, yet one through whom
the gods spoke. Thus, Unis could come and go wheresoever and whensoever
he pleased.

Except for his periodic visits to the sycamore, Unis was rarely seen. All
his time was spent in the great temple library or amidst the crumbling
shrines and half-choked tombs of the necropolis.

To the guards of the cemetery he was someone’s animated _ka_, a restless
‘soul’ seeking, perhaps, to identify his ruined tomb or to find and
become reunited to the lost ‘souls’ of his wife and children. He was
constantly on the lips of the public-storytellers as an ever-present
example of the truth of one of the oldest and most familiar of Egyptian
wondertales, the Adventures of Menti.

In point of fact, Unis was as much flesh and blood as anyone. Yet none,
whether courtier, priest or peasant, could have guessed the reason of his
tireless researches among the open shafts and ruined chapels of the older
part of the great Theban cemetery.

However, the very fact that the Thebans were so frequently regaled with
the story of Menti might well have given them a clue as to the true
reason of Unis’ occupation in that haunted spot.

It seems that Menti’s “spirit” returned from enjoying a few hours among
living men and reentered his mummy to find that the bodies of his wife
and child were missing from their coffins. Menti at once compelled their
restoration by means of his knowledge of the names, charms and talismans
contained in the magic Book of Thoth.

Written, ’twas said, by the God Thoth himself, this wonder-working
Book had once belonged to that Architect and Seer of old, Imhotep. It
was a common saying in Unis’ day that the Great Step Pyramid west of
white-walled Memphis, could never have been raised had it not been for
the compelling incantations—recited in the prescribed attitude and with
the proper tone of voice—by that now deified architect of the godkings of
old, Imhotep.

Before the death of Imhotep, it was said that he had hidden the Magic
Book behind the sarcophagus in which lay King Zozer, his master, deep
within his stupendous pyramid. A thousand years later its hiding place
had been revealed to Amenhotep, son of Hap, in a dream.

Amenhotep’s possession of the Book must have been a fact. How else could
he have erected the colossal Temple to the “spirit” of the late Pharaoh;
how otherwise could he have built the Temple at Kha-en-Mat, the beautiful
Temple on the Island and the great colonnaded Temple of Amen, upon
which, at the command of Pharaoh Akhten-aton, work had but recently been
relinquished.

Indeed, without Thoth to assist him, who could have raised the two great
statues of the late Pharaoh, over seven hundred tons in weight. Who could
have lifted above the court the stupendous architraves of his Mortuary
Temple, two hundred tons of stone, and, finally, who could have perfected
the huge stone tablet, thirty feet in height, and covered it with gold
and gems? None but the God Thoth, of course!

But, would Thoth willingly stop the Sunboat and descend to earth merely
to raise for men monuments that should rival the very halls of the gods
themselves?

Not unless compelled thereto by the fact that his _Names_ were known to
mortals, his stolen _Talismans_ in the possession of some inhabitant of
earth.

One object alone on earth contained those Hidden Names and Talismans,
together with the “Utterances” which could compel both Thoth and Set to
leave their appointed places in the sky and descend to earth.

This series of irresistible “incantations,” these compelling
“utterances” which could thus drag the very gods from heaven, were all
contained in the “Luminous Book of Thoth.”

Herein were inscribed the Hidden Names of all the Gods, the Triads, the
Enneads of the Sky. Herein were the Mysterious Names of the Keepers of
the Double Gates of Heaven; of the Serpents that guard the approaches of
Duat, of Ra in his Boat, of Osiris on his Throne!

So awe-inspiring a hold upon the imagination of the Thebans had the
legend of this mysterious Book that its name was never mentioned. Rarely,
indeed, was it alluded to by the priests.

Like that of Pharaoh, the sun-god manifest in the flesh, like that of
the Unseen Statue of the Great Temple of Amen, like that of the abhorred
Crocodile God of Ombos, its name was never taken upon the lips.

When the architect Amenhotep, son of Hap, was gathered to his fathers,
Pharaoh commanded that he should be buried beneath a little temple which
stood somewhat to the south of his own stupendous mortuary temple.

Here, for a time, Unis had acted as lector, intoning the prayers and
offering to the hidden _ka_-statue of the dead architect the various
portions of meat, bread and wine with which Pharaoh had endowed the tomb,
out of taxes received from the nearby town of Onit. In so doing, Unis
stood immediately above the subterranean chamber in which the mummy of
Amenhotep lay.

Unis had been called from his duties at the son of Hap’s tomb by Enana,
and set to work among the ancient manuscripts of the great library of
Amen.

Enana would have him find some clue to the present whereabouts of the
Book of Thoth. As he loved life and feared death he was told to keep for
his master’s ears alone any news to this effect.

Unis soon became an initiate of the Sorcerers of Amen, then minor prophet
of Amen. With such a powerful master as Enana, first Magician of the
Temple, Unis felt that he should go far. He gave himself up wholly to the
work in hand. Certain hints gleaned from the documents led him to believe
that the Book had, as of old, been secreted in a tomb, in this case an
unnamed tomb on the western shore.

Unis took up his residence in one of the abandoned tombs. With
unremitting assiduity and stoical fortitude he spent day after day among
the excoriated boulders, the dusty mounds, the bat-infested shafts and
tumbled-in shrines which constituted the older corner of the Theban
necropolis.

In this fruitless search the Gods Hunger and Thirst were his only
companions.

Unis turned once more to the library. With indomitable patience he
continued his researches among its unending shelves of musty documents.

Soon he noticed that the name of Amenhotep, the son of Hap, was very
frequently coupled with that of the lost Book. In fact, Unis finally
convinced himself that the Book lay buried with the body of that old
sage, in the subterranean vault of the little temple at which he had
formerly served.

Armed with permission to spend a night in the temple, Unis waited until
Ahmes, the present _ka_-priest, had retired into the outer forecourt,
in an alcove of which he slept. When the aged priest had snuffed
out his lamp, Unis descended into the vault immediately beneath the
offering-tablet and altar.

With determined perseverance, Unis tapped walls and floor, slowly,
systematically. In the western corner of the floor his work met with
success. The pavement thereabouts emitted a hollow sound. In a few
moments Unis had lifted a square slab which fitted so nicely to the
floor that the joints had been invisible. Lamp in hand, Unis descended a
short flight of steps, picked his way along an uneven rocky passage, and
presently stood in the vaulted tomb-chamber of the son of Hap.

For an instant unreasoning fear clutched at the heart of the reckless
priest. There stood the alabaster sarcophagus which held the body of the
sage. Unis read the inscription engraved upon the side: “Amenhotep, born
of Yatu; his father Hap, son of Hap, Justified of Osiris.” There lay
Amenhotep and, with him, the Book.

The Book! Unis’ fears vanished. Trembling with excitement and high
hopes the young priest set himself to his self-imposed task. It was an
auspicious night in the calendar of the prophets of Amen! The Star of
Thoth was in the ascendent!

Unis set to work with a short, stout bronze bar. Hour after hour went by
unnoted by the feverishly excited youth.

At last the stone cover yielded to his efforts. Unis’ eyes gleamed with
joy and anticipation. Enana, his master, would be hailed as one with
Imhotep, builder of the pyramids, with Ptahhotep the Philosopher, with
Amenhotep, son of Hap, himself! Perhaps he too would compel the gods to
do his bidding!

Unis gave a last push to the great cover. It fell to the sand-covered
floor with a dull thud. He lowered the lamp. There before him was the
outer coffin of the old sage. This, in turn, Unis lifted and found,
beneath, the gem-crusted coffin—solid gold it seemed—in which Amenhotep’s
royal master had caused the son of Hap to be placed.

The heat in the little chamber was intense. The blood in Unis’ temples
throbbed with his exertions. His body gleamed in the flickering light;
perspiration ran from every pore. For a time the youth returned to the
upper chamber where he could fill his lungs with the purer and cooler air.

But not for long. In a few moments he returned to the tomb chamber. He
lifted the gorgeous coffin-lid from the linen-swathed form it concealed.
At once the stifling odor of myrrh, liquidambar, cinnamon, and other
strong essences again almost overcame him.

Unis bent down. With an effort he lifted the mummified figure. He
felt about underneath the head. Nothing! Unis tried the feet of the
tightly-draped figure. No book!

Then Unis did something for which he knew punishment on earth was
severe. What might be his fate in the hereafter Unis did not dare to
think! Lifting the body from the coffin altogether, he commenced slowly
and methodically to unwrap it. Yard upon yard of aromatic linens he
loosened, until finally nothing but the blackened form of Amenhotep lay
before him.

No eyes had Unis for the jewels with which Amenhotep’s sorrowing
master had covered the dead architect. The throbbing brain of Unis was
concentrated upon but one thing, the Magic Book.

It was not in the wrappings. It was not between the knees of the
deceased, where, as Unis knew, so often documents are placed. It was not
between the folded hands of Amenhotep. It was neither at his head nor at
his feet.

Unis replaced the body in its coffin, throwing the linens in upon it
pellmell. He covered it with its two wooden covers. The great stone outer
cover he knew must stay where it had fallen. He could have that replaced
by others, following his report on the present condition of the extra
wrappings of the son of Hap, which had been his ostensible reason for
entering the tomb.

Unis once again took mallet in hand. He carefully and methodically
examined both walls and floor.

He dared not rap upon the False Door. Behind it slept Amenhotep’s living
self, as represented by his statue.

Unis had far more terror of that enchanted wooden portrait of the dead
man than he had of the body; the shell, of Amenhotep itself.

Alas, all his efforts were in vain. The Book of Books was not in the tomb.

Bitterly disappointed, Unis stooped to pick up his flickering lamp. As
he did so his eyes fell upon a gleaming object which was almost hidden
in the sand at his feet. Mechanically he picked it up and glanced at the
blue and green inlays. The _tat_-emblem and solar-disc upon its gold base
showed it to be the scarab-ring of Amenhotep, son of Hap.

From that date, Unis spent all the daylight hours among the tombs of the
Theban cemetery. He systematically covered every foot of the hill-side,
entering both the ancient tombs, and the modern, as far as he was
allowed. At night he delved among the ancient scrolls of the library of
Amen.

Each night upon his return he had been met by the impatient Enana. Every
night, week in, week out, he had perforce to shake his head, to spread
his scratched and often bleeding hands deprecatingly.

Of late Unis’ step had lost its elasticity. An unnatural brightness
glistened in his sunken eyes. To-night, especially, Enana’s mind had been
filled with anxiety for his safety.

Unis should have rounded the point by the tamarisk grove hours ago.
Enana’s anxiety was not for Unis. His one thought was of the Book. The
Book he must have, if he would put his present plans into effect.

Had the young priest but known it, he was the third person sacrificed by
Enana, the Magician, to the finding of the Book.

As Enana turned to enter the low doorway of the tomb in which Unis had
recently taken up his quarters, an unusual light in the valley below
caught his attention. He paused. At the foot of the steep incline, at the
upper reaches of which he stood, moved an unnatural pinkish flame. It
seemed to palpitate, to wax and wane as it moved, for move it did.

Nearer, ever nearer, it came, constantly growing larger and brighter,
until suddenly by its light Enana recognized the pallid face of Unis, his
assistant.

As Unis came towards him the overjoyed Enana noticed that his long thin
arms were held straight out before him, that there, upon his upturned
palms lay—the Luminous Book!

It needed no word of Unis to tell him what it was. The light that glowed
about its pure white leather cover proved it the Book of Books.

The overjoyed Magician advanced toward the young priest, but suddenly
halted, as he caught the horrible expression which distorted the latter’s
livid face. It was as if Unis was being compelled against his will to
hold the Book.

Unis’ eyes were open, but they did not seem to see. His feet carried him
along, whither he seemed not to care. Foam flecked his blackened lips;
beads of perspiration stood out upon his forehead.

Gazing straight before him, slowly Unis advanced. Hesitating for a bare
second at the threshold of the doorway—one might have supposed that
he was unfamiliar with it—he slowly entered the chamber, set the Book
carefully down upon a cedar table near the upper wall, turned and left as
silently as he had entered.

The room, which had formerly been in total darkness, was now illumined as
though by a temple lamp. For a moment Unis paused, turned his unseeing
eyes full upon his master, the next he had vanished behind a great stone
stela which stood beside the ancient tomb which had been his dwelling
place.

Far better it had been for Unis had he continued to fear the pursuing
fury of the _ka_-statue of the son of Hap!

Alas for Unis! Searching one day through the manuscripts of the library
of Hotephra, Great High Priest of Amen, he had stumbled upon the son of
Hap’s will. It lay folded in the High Priest’s copy of the temple ritual.
The secret hiding-place of the Book was thus revealed to him.



CHAPTER X

PHARAOH SEEKS TO EXALT A FOREIGN GOD


Pharoah stirred.

At once two ebony black Nubians recommenced to wave their ostrich-feather
fans above his restless head.

Again did Shamash, an Asiatic eunuch, hold to his master’s nose a small
glass phial of somnific poppy-oil.

Once again did Bekit, his little daughter, chafe with fragrant sandal oil
his fleshless ankles.

All in vain! Pharaoh’s frame failed to relax.

Suddenly, with an impatient gesture, Pharaoh pushed aside the ivory
head-rest and summoned Dedu, Keeper of the Royal Linen.

The rebuffed, but smiling Bekit, held to her father’s lips a blue glazed
goblet filled to its lotiform brim with sparkling Thinite wine. As he
drank, the swaying forms of Ata and Mai, youngest of the court dancers,
rose from the floor beyond him. Barely had they assumed a single graceful
posture before the gold seal-ring upon Pharaoh’s hand flashed in the
semi-gloom. He waved them impatiently aside.

Entering softly, Dedu, Keeper of the Royal Linen, carefully drew back
the curtains from the windows. These green byssus draperies had served
to keep out the brilliant rays of the sun, as reflected from Queen Thi’s
“pleasure lake,” on the northern shore of which Perao, the royal palace,
stood.

Thus, one might admire the charming decoration of the room, with its
green tiled walls, its cedar columns, its elaborately designed ceiling,
and its painted stucco floor covered with powdered lazuli and gold dust.

In answer to a hasty motion on the part of his silent master, Dedu
commenced to bind him in the long, flaring-skirted gala robes of the
day, things of wonder for the seemingly innumerable ramifications of
their softly rippling white pleats. A gem-encrusted belt of ruddy Nubian
gold was clasped about his slender waist, a girdle broad in the back and
tapering towards the front, where a fiercely charging oryx, carved from
a solid block of Babylonian lazuli, served to conceal the mechanism of
the clasp. The restless monarch’s feet were bound in soft gazelle-hide
sandals, sandals dyed a rich rose-pink, gilded and turned up at the toe.
Over a padded linen skull-cap was set the royal warbonnet, a magnificent
dome-shaped headdress of a brilliant sky blue. From the center of
this regal head-covering, and immediately above the monarch’s low and
unnaturally retreating forehead, the red jasper eyes of two golden asps
glittered like spots of hidden fire, as they quivered upon flexible wires
with every movement of the impatient monarch.

In public, the vain and indolent monarchs who had followed Thothmes,
Conqueror of Asia, had ever affected the Warbonnet above all other
headdresses. At sight of its bright blue inlays the discreet and
sycophantic courtiers invariably burst into vociferous applause; the
soldiers, with howls of delight, broke into stirring war-dances. With
the people at large it was hailed with delight. To them it symbolized
Imperial Egypt, an Egypt to which tribute arrived from Nubia to the
“great bend” of the distant Euphrates. Thus, policy had dictated the
Linen Keeper’s choice, for the fiction of Pharaoh as world-conqueror
_must_ be maintained.

Deftly the fawning Dedu encircled Pharaoh’s emaciated arms and wrists
with jeweled bands, his hollow chest with the _wesekh_, a broad, flat
band of jewels composed of alternate strands of varicolored stones. The
tender green of Nubian emerald, the soft rose of native carnelian, the
violet or rich purple of Asiatic amethyst and the several red tones of
translucent sard and banded agate, were intensified as much by Pharaoh’s
swarthy countenance as by the pure white linen tunic over which they were
spread.

Finally, the scepter of gold, banded with deep red sardonyx, was placed
in Pharaoh’s nervously twitching hand, and Akhten-aton, “Terror of
Asia,” shuffled to the door, where his ivory carrying-chair, his sixteen
priestly bearers, his sun-shade and fan-bearers, and his pet lion,
awaited him.

With the inevitable prayer for “health and long life” upon their lips,
one and all saluted the god-king by raising their right hands and
crooking their lean backs in the obsequious Syrian mode, but recently
introduced.

In the columned forecourt of the Great Hall, the stentorian voice of the
Court Herald warned of Pharaoh’s approach and Akhten-aton, Son of the
Sun-god, Lord of the Two Lands, Ruler of Rulers, Bull that Goreth Bulls,
gave the looked-for signal that should start the forward movement of that
great procession which would usher him into the Double Audience Hall with
all the dignity of a ruler, whose sway, nominally at least, extended from
the further confines of Nubia to the Great River of Mitanni.

Soon, no one but Wozer, Keeper of the Gates, his spearmen and the cooks
and butlers, remained within the palace walls. It was with a sigh of
satisfaction that Wozer heard the ever-receding tones of the chanting
prophets and priestesses of the temple who headed the procession.

As Ptah the Cellarer rolled heavily by, Wozer made a gesture expressive
at once of thirst and a good game. Thereafter, Ptah and he forgot, for a
time, that there was a gate to watch or fragrant jars of wine to seal.
Skull-cap to headcloth, both lost themselves in a high-staked game of
draughts!

The Great Double Hall to which Pharaoh had been conducted consisted of a
long, high nave. On either side this gigantic lotus-columned nave stood
smaller aisles. Both nave and aisles were bathed in the subdued light
which filtered through pierced alabaster gratings.

The dimly seen roof was composed of huge flat slabs of sandstone painted
blue, and dotted with myriads of little gold stars. The bulging shafts
of the columns which supported it—gigantic pillars covered from capital
to base with brilliantly colored representations of Egypt’s host of
deities—glowed in the shimmering light with a thousand prismatic colors.
The floor was of beaten gold, its high walls a glitter of yellow tiles
inlaid with varicolored paste hieroglyphs. These seemingly unending lines
of inscription extolled the late Pharaoh for gifts which he had given,
perforce, to the temples, or lauded him for certain imaginary deeds of
prowess performed in unknown campaigns in Nubia and Asia.

At the upper end of the hall, raised upon a low dais, stood the throne of
Egypt, the “golden throne of Horus.” As was fitting, its curved arms were
supported by the bent backs of pinioned Nubians and Asiatics.

To the right, and immediately overlooking the royal dais, was a balcony
reserved for Noferith, the Queen; for Thi, the all-powerful Queen-Mother,
and for a few favored ladies of their suites. This balcony, at the
moment, was hung with rich embroideries.

In front of Pharaoh’s throne stood painted cedar vase-stands, from whose
blue-glazed jars drooped sprays of feathery acacia, sweet-scented mimosa
and nodding papyrus. To the left, high upon a lotus-festooned stand,
stood a huge oryx-handled bowl of solid gold, part of the Asiatic spoil
of Pharaoh’s warlike ancestor Thothmes, the conqueror of Asia. From its
fitfully glowing interior rose a thin blue line of aromatic incense,
which broke and spread in gray, semi-transparent rings as it touched the
gold stars which dimly flashed amidst the deep blue of its lofty ceiling.

The herald’s announcement of the approach of Pharaoh stopped for a
moment the sibilant whispers of the ladies, as the court nobles, a
line of white-robed figures, ranged themselves about the dais in
order of precedence. Soon after, to the acclaiming shouts of the
multitude, Akhten-aton, himself, appeared. Assisted by Shamash and the
ever-attentive Dedu, Pharaoh slowly seated himself upon the throne of his
ancestors.

Following a motion from his long thin hand, an usher threw wide the
cedar doors at the end of the hall and, standing upon its granite
threshold, cried to the vast concourse of restless figures now visible in
the court:

“Long live Pharaoh, our Lord!

“Millions of millions of years to him, even so long as the sun endureth!”

With a roar the accustomed royal salutation was taken up:

“Life, health, abundance and fullness of joy be to Pharaoh, our Lord,
forever and forever!”

The crowd of petty nobles, counts, monarchs and captains now pressed
forward. With heads bent, spines arched, right hands raised, slowly and
reverently they ranged themselves about the lower end of the hall. Were
it possible, the forms of these white-robed newcomers flashed with the
glitter of well-nigh as many jewels and gold or silver orders as did
those of the more exalted nobles gathered about Pharaoh’s throne.

Those who were unable, for lack of space, to gain access to the hall, had
perforce, to stand outside in the unprotected court and exposed to the
blinding shafts of the vaulting sun. Yet, few complained, so momentous
was the step now contemplated by the fanatical young Pharaoh.

Anticipation and, it may well have been fear of the result, explained the
unusual sternness of expression visible upon the faces of all present, a
tension seldom seen upon the faces of this pleasure-loving people.

For weeks past the Theban capital, nay, Egypt itself, had been a seething
maelstrom of riotous priests, mutinous soldiery, and piteously clamorous
slaves and petty farmers.

With the speed of a hungry jackal the news had spread that Pharaoh had at
last determined upon the final break with the priests of Amen in Karnak.

Pharaoh’s keen interest in the Syrian cult of Thi, his mother, was well
known. The new Sun cult already had a certain following, at least among
the nobles of the court. At this very moment many members of the nobility
had recently bound themselves to support their royal master in the
revolutionary step he now contemplated.

It is true that the more exalted members of Pharaoh’s court still
continued their visits to the great temple of Amen in Karnak. But the
nasal intonation of Ameni, the ibis-nosed lector, had of late merely
served to amuse them. As to Pharaoh, himself, the over-powering reek of
incense, flowers, fresh-baked bread, and blood, did but sicken him. The
glitter in the silver eyes of a host of granite statues, ancestors of
his, _ka_-figures of a long line of loyal and devout followers of Amen,
both unnerved and repelled him.

From his golden throne Pharaoh’s prominent eyes swept the oil-coned heads
of his subjects. One and all were dressed, be-jeweled and anointed as for
a gala day. Their loyal shouts of welcome had warmed his heart. At the
same time, their enthusiasm seemed to give him the necessary strength for
his momentous task.

No sooner was he seated, and the jeweled scepter placed upon a stand at
his side, than the nobles on his right, ever the most exalted, pressed
about him. Some prostrated themselves before him; some kissed the pointed
tip of his gilded sandal, while others, in this case the aged members of
his court or blood relations, embraced the pleated skirt that tightly
bound his knees.

Suddenly Pharaoh signaled that he would hear no more, and immediately,
with a wave of his scepter, rose to his feet.

At once, as if by magic, whisperings ceased. No one so much as breathed.
Such a hush fell upon that crowded hall that one could hear without the
shrill cries of the quarrelsome hawks, that flew in circles back and
forth from the eaves of the roof.

As one, that vast audience sank to its knees. As one, it broke into the
stirring shout of welcome:

“Hail, Life-giver! Hail, Electrum of Kings! Hail, Thou who art the very
breath of our nostrils! Life, health and peace be thine, so long as Ra
endures!”

Then again the same expectant hush fell upon that shimmering hall.
Pharaoh raised his hand. His soft, but resonant voice filled the long
hall:

“My children! We have summoned you before us that you may hear the words
of Pharaoh, which change not! For centuries past hath Egypt been a jest
in the mouths of strangers who cried:

“These be the sons of the Egyptians that have raised to themselves
more gods than they have days in which to worship them.’ Had we not
been hindered by the priests of Amen yonder, long ago, yea, even in
our fathers’ time, this reproach had been removed from amongst us!
Henceforth, my children, cease to cry upon the Triads; upon Amen, Mut,
and Khonsu; upon Horus, Set and Ausar!

“As you all know, the gods of Thebes, of On, of white-walled Memphis, are
but attributes of the one beneficent sun-god, of Aton the Glorious, the
Life-giver, who dwelleth within the Sun!

“Henceforth, let Aton, not Amen, be upon your lips! Let Aton, not Amen,
be upon the lips of your children! Thus, as in times past, Egypt shall
worship one god from Nubia to Suan of the North. May Aton’s bright beams
embrace you! May Aton’s rays forever enfold you!”

Across the flashing waters of the Nile, where the great temple of Karnak
raised its giant pylons high above the palm groves which fronted it,
Huy, Great High Priest of Amen, frowned darkly as the sound of the loud
applause which followed Pharaoh’s speech, reached his ears.

To Huy and the prophets of Amen that sound heralded the beginning of a
war to the death.

But Enana, the Magician, did but smile.



CHAPTER XI

THE STATUE OF AMEN DISAPPEARS


In Thebes a religious drama was enacted annually, a drama in which was
portrayed the eternal conflict waged between Amen, the sun-god, and Apep,
Prince of Darkness.

Unknown to the peasant, as indeed to many a priestly participant, the
story of the drama, in truth, perpetuated the prehistoric invasion of
Egypt by those “Followers of Horus” who had subdued, and, eventually,
become absorbed by the original inhabitants of the Nile Valley.

At that early date, Thebes had been but a small village, a cluster of
mud huts and a small shrine, over whose walls rose the emblem of the
primitive cult.

Since that time, three thousand years had come and gone, and Thebes had
become the richest and most powerful city of the ancient world.

Now, since Horus, son of Hathor, was the leader of the victorious
invaders, and the two great battles had taken place at Nekhen and
Abdu—Thebes being entirely outside the field of operations—the various
incidents enacted in this great religious spectacle had nothing whatever
to do with Thebes nor, indeed, with its famed local deity, the sun-god
Amen.

But the priests of Amen’s great temple at Thebes had always looked with
envy at the popularity of the yearly spectacle as enacted in the two
rival cities. Thus, when finally a Theban prince became Pharaoh, the
first care of the Chief Prophet of Amen had been to get the royal seal
affixed to a permit looking toward the perpetual endowment of a similar
festival in his own city of Thebes, a six days’ wonder that should
utterly eclipse anything of which Nekhen, Abdu or any other rival god or
city could boast.

In the drama as presented at Thebes, the son of Hathor became the sun-god
Amen of Thebes. The “Followers of Horus” were personified by Theban
priests, local notables and others.

As to the “Followers of Set,” the enemies in the drama, such miscreants
were portrayed by unhappy foreign slaves, criminals and the like, many
of whom were sacrificed before the altar of the sun-god, following the
conclusion of the customary mimic battle and mock attempt to carry off
the holy statue of Amen.

The great Theban festival called for a full week of continued
merrymaking. Military tournaments were instituted, athletic contests
took place; boat races were a daily occurrence along the river front. In
the palace magical contests were held, the wisdom of ancient sages was
discussed, or great prophets of the day were brought before Pharaoh’s
throne.

In the latter case Pharaoh heard, at first hand, of the marvelous deeds
of magic under the ancestors of the Pyramid Age, or was admonished to
give more thought to his oppressed and hungry people.

One stalwart hermit had had the temerity to prophesy the overthrow of
Pharaoh and the coming of “a righteous king,” under whom Egypt would
return to the blissful state of long ago, “before death was,” and
mankind, both native and foreign, would become united in an international
brotherhood which would make one the lands of men and the Blessed fields
of Aaru, the abode of the gods!

The rash prophet was not handed to the strangler, but led courteously
from the Presence. An order for a tomb, a fine limestone coffin, and a
tomb-statue, followed him to his distant home. During the Feast of the
Apts, one might speak one’s true mind, even before Majesty.

To-day, the day of “bringing in the god,” crowds jostled and pushed along
every Theban lane and alley. Everyone sought the Avenue of Sphinxes, or
the River Road. The latter route, which extended from the main pylon of
the Temple to the Sacred Quay, was policed along its short extent by a
double line of foreign spearmen.

The two-horse chariot of the chief of these mercenaries dashed madly up
the well guarded course, turned and disappeared down the long Avenue of
Sphinxes which led to the Southern Temple. The Chief would take one last
survey of the flower-strewn route before the “Appearance of the sun-god”
should commence.

The gold statue of Amen the Hidden One, would presently be taken from
the Holy of Holies in the dim shrine of the Northern Apt, and escorted
upstream on the Sacred Barge to the jeweled sanctuary of the Temple of
the Southern Apt.

Before the open cedar doors of the temple Pharaoh himself might be seen
upon his portable throne of gold and ivory, high above the shoulders of
twenty-four priestly bearers. As usual, his tame lion stood upon the dais
at its royal master’s side.

The grand procession now moved forward. It was headed by a priest, who
solemnly burned incense in a long hawk-headed bronze censer. All about
him musicians played and women-of-the-temple, women playing to the
mystical harem of the god, sang the adorations to the sun-god. Two other
groups marked time by clapping of hands and playing of ivory castanets.

Immediately in front of the king’s throne marched serried ranks of
kilted Egyptian soldiers, singing as they went. Their raw-hide shields
moved across their naked breasts in time with the music. At the close of
each verse they lifted their short spears or axes above their heads and
shouted a short but resounding: “Hai! Amen! Ya—hai! Amen!”

Soon the long lines of onlookers had taken up the refrain, and the limpid
air of the Capital thrilled to the wild cries of “Hai! Amen! Ya—hai!
Amen!” As the gold throne of the Monarch advanced, groups of White-robed
nobles fell into line behind it.

Then followed a long line of women from the Temples of Amen, Mut and
Khonsu, who marked the time of the hymn of praise by shaking golden
sistra and rattling _menats_, short but thick necklaces of beryl,
amethyst and carnelian beads. With much beating of drums and clicking of
castanets a group of feathered negroes pressed close after the singers.

There followed another long line of soldiers, Egyptian, Asiatic, Nubian,
Libyan, and, finally, a little group of Cretans, remarkable not so much
for the breadth of their shoulders as for the slimness of their waists,
“hornet waisted” they had been nicknamed by the Thebans. These latter
were almost lost behind their enormous ox-hide shields.

Each group carried its own special type of weapon, since there were
definite regiments of archers, axemen, spearmen and slingers, and each
company was headed by its own device or standard bearer.

At last the heavy bronze doors of the Temple of Amen slowly opened and
a seemingly unending line of white-robed priests issued from the deep
shadows of the stupendous pylons.

High upon their gleaming shoulders rested portable barques containing
the various sacred deities belonging to the various temples which were
well-nigh hidden by the lofty enclosure walls. Certain priests offered
incense to these gods, at intervals, along the whole extent of the route.

In the midst of one group might be seen a number of spirited bulls, with
horns decorated in gold. Great yokes of flowers and sweet-smelling leaves
were hung about their throats.

Trailing out behind these last followed a long line of priests carrying
the standards of the gods, since the whole company of the Blessed Gods
marched, unseen, in this great procession.

A renewed wave of cheering went up as the linen-draped shrine of Amen
appeared. A vacant place was kept clear behind it, in which marched the
“souls” of dead kings! Thirty-six tall priests carried this Holy of
Holies towards a gleaming barge, moored to the water’s edge at the Sacred
Quay. Over two hundred feet long, this barge was built throughout its
entire extent of cedar from the Lebanus Terraces. Its sides were covered
to the water’s edge with pure Nubian gold. Enormous necklaces of gold
were hung at prow and stern. The “Two eyes of Horus,” at the prow, were
inlaid in brilliant blue lazuli from Babylon. The great checkered linen
sail, which lay furled upon the silver deck, was of the square Egyptian
type. It was decorated with squares of red and blue embroidery.

There was now as much noise and excitement on the river as on shore. The
captains of fifty great painted barges awaited the signal to pull up
their mooring-stakes as soon as the Sacred Barge should be well under
way. Were it possible, the startled air trembled to still louder shouts
as excited overseers, taskmasters and men commenced to pull at the great
towing ropes. The swift Nile current made it necessary that the barge be
dragged upstream by a whole army of young and lusty Egyptians.

Along the line of route people began to disappear from the gayly
decorated windows. The last scene of the day’s ceremony was about to take
place within the still unfinished forecourt of the Southern Temple of
Amen.

Carrying-chairs were frantically demanded, but soon abandoned, as who
could make headway in that fashion in the midst of such a crowd? A few
fortunate people managed to squeeze through the broad square lined with
its rows of booths, where slaves were hastily preparing wine, fruit,
flowers and incense or cutting up the unfortunate bulls as part of the
“beautiful festival of the Apt.”

Pharaoh offered incense to his father Amen as four exalted members of the
priesthood poured out wine from festooned jars of painted pottery. With
the exception of these four noblemen, high initiates of the Sorcerers
of Amen and Huy, the Great High Priest, no one could witness the taking
of the image of Amen from its jeweled shrine and its transference to
the silver tabernacle within the granite naos which stood, beside “the
position which the king takes,” deep within the gloom of the upper temple.

Pharaoh himself, though the personification of Amen, dare not venture
beyond that fixed “position,” a spot marked by a huge block of turquoise
from the Sinaitic mines, set in the richly painted wall of the upper
temple.

Around the great forecourt, the nobles knelt or stood, according as they
belonged to the two rival factions of Amen or Aton.

To the latter group, this marked what was no doubt the very last
procession of its kind. Hence these adherents of Aton, the Syrian God,
stood stiffly in the background. A covert smile might have been noted on
many a swarthy face among them.

Pharaoh’s expression was one of cold indifference.

Throughout the whole scene the apathetic monarch seemed not to be
conscious of where he was or of what he was doing. It is true, he
successfully finished each and every detail of the exacting ritual of
Amen. But, what he did, he did mechanically.

The last mock-reverence finished, Pharaoh retired.

As his throne was borne swiftly toward the royal barge, his mask of
impassibility vanished. He sank back and allowed his gaze to travel from
one side to the other. There was an air of expectancy in each turn of his
head. He even went so far as to bow to the acclamations of his people,
and this not a little to their bewilderment, since Pharaohs, in public,
were customarily, at best, but breathing statues.

Scarcely had the king set foot upon the deck of his beautiful barge,
“Star of the Gods,” when a frightful tumult broke out along the bank,
immediately fronting the great barge of Amen. Wild shrieks from the
women-of-the-temple, hoarse and angry cries from the men, intermingled
with mocking laughter and shouts of derision.

A great crowd of angry priests of Amen might be seen pushing their way
through the dense crowd which was massed in front of the giant statues of
Thothmes, whose temple stood near by. Frantic attempts were being made
by the priests of Amen to burst through this crowd. Yet each insistent
attempt ended in failure, as did a last charge in one serried block.

The crowd itself was by now so divided into factions that blows were
falling right and left, and hapless people were constantly being trampled
under foot.

Shrieking: “Sacrilege! Sacrilege!” the priests turned and rushed headlong
to their boats.

The Holy figure of the Hidden One, the sacred Statue of Amen, the
sun-god, had disappeared.

The followers of Aton had scored their first success, and that success
one of tremendous import!



CHAPTER XII

ENANA CALLS TO HIS AID THE GODS JUSTICE AND VENGEANCE


The nameless horror that had driven the youthful Unis from his side had
no terrors for Enana the Magician.

Enana stood bathed in the palpitating glow of the self-illuminated Book.
Slowly he approached his hands to its cover, a cover as white as the
sandals of the gods themselves.

The instant Enana’s shriveled fingers came in contact with its radiance,
a sudden change came over him. Enana’s face glowed; a circle of light
played about his head. His eyes blazed with a light of triumph.

Holding the Magic Book before him, he commenced to sway back and forth,
back and forth, like some mystic of the temple about to prophesy.

The aged Magician began to speak, softly at first, but with a flow of
words that scarcely waited for breath.

“What saith the son of Hap? Seek the Book of Thoth. Eat not, drink not,
sleep not, until the Book is found! Two magic formulæ hath the Book!
Recite the first and thou shalt charm the sky, the earth, the moon, the
heights, the depths! Thou shalt converse with the birds. Thou shalt
understand the sayings of the fish and reptiles!

“Recite the second and, even though thy desire be among the Silent Ones,
the Dead, yet shall thou have power to raise them upon their feet in the
forms and with the hearts their mothers gave them.

“By the Double Spell thou shalt produce a Rising of the Moon at will.
Thou shalt be enabled to stop the Sun’s Ascension. Yea, thou shalt darken
the faces of both Sun and Moon. By the Double Spell thou shalt see the
Ascension of Ra and the Cycle of the Gods.

“Recited at the full of the Moon, thou shalt master the Hidden Names
of the Gods, whereby thou shalt become possessed of their amulets and
talismans. Yea, thou shalt become greater than Ra himself!”

Slowly Enana the Magician opened the Book. In characters of gold the
secret incantations of the gods were spread before him. Here appeared
the Secret Names of the Six White Gods of Day and the Six Black Gods
of Night. Here were the irresistible words of power that could stop
the planets in their courses and Ra in his passage of the sky. Here
again were the Mystic Names of Thoth and Set. Here were the dread
_hekau_-spells that could revivify the dead or consign the living to
annihilation and their “doubles” to extinction.

Enana closed the magic book. Carefully he placed it in his bosom. The
soft effulgence at once disappeared.

Leaving the little chamber, Enana stood upon the terrace. Below and about
him stretched the city, the city of the dead. A rift of dully gleaming
waters and, beyond it, lay another city, the city of the living.

A dull roar, a deep murmur, as of many voices, came up to him where he
stood. In honor of the annual Feast of the Apts, lights were breaking out
alike in temple, palace and peasant hut.

To-night the doors would be left open. Thus would the living welcome the
“souls” of their dead.

Already lines of flickering torches showed where many a devout
_ka_-servant, together with priests to assist him, could be seen winding
along the well-beaten paths or marching up the inclined planes of the
sphinx or tree-bordered avenues by which the royal mortuary-temples were
approached.

The Feast of the Apts was indeed, as it was often styled, a veritable
“Feast of Lights.”

Enana gazed northward. Across the river, a bright circle of lights showed
where his brother-priests of Amen had commenced the encircling of the
walls of Amen’s temple. Huy and his brother-priests still put on a bold
front.

Fires were lit at intervals along the Nile embankments. The river itself
now reflected many a fire that leaped, died, and leaped into life again,
along the great quay fronting the temple of the Southern Apt.

Nearer, scarcely a stone’s throw away, it seemed, appeared the lights
of the innumerable lamps which served to illuminate the pleasure-barge
of Thi, the Queen-Mother. As Enana well knew, Pharaoh and his immediate
family were accustomed to join the nightly fête from this point of
vantage.

Enana raised his hands in the direction of the broad patch of buildings
and trees which marked at once the royal palace and the nearby villa of
Menna, the Overseer.

Suddenly a brilliant meteor shot from the highest zenith and seemed to
bury itself in the waters of the palace lake. Enana’s voice rose upon the
night air:

    An omen, Pharaoh! an omen Thi! an omen Menna!
    By the Power of the Book, closed to ye are
    The gates of the Sky. Closed to ye are
    The Double Doors of Heaven!
    Ye shall not cross the Lily Lake of the Sky,
    Ye shall not sail upon the Boat with Ra!
    The Magic Vestments shall not be spread for ye!
    The White Sandals shall be hidden from ye!
    Yea, by the Secret Names I know, by the
    Hidden Talismans I possess, your bodies
    Shall be destroyed; your tombs shall know
    Them not! Your _kas_ shall not stand behind ye!
    Your _bas_ shall not sit upon your tombs!
    Annihilation is your portion; obliteration
    Your destiny!

Enana’s voice rose to a shrill falsetto; his whole form seemed to tremble
as he cried aloud the first dread incantation:

    Thoth! Thoth! Thoth!
    Come to my aid in thy name of Wisdom!
    Set! Set! Set!
    Descend to me in thy name of Evil!
    Turn thy face earthward, O Thoth!
    Turn thy face earthward, O Set!
    Enter my heart, Ye Gods; let thy
    Hearts become my heart; thy wisdom
    My Wisdom.
    I know thy Hidden Names, O Thoth!
    Thy Talismans are before me, O Set!
    Thoth thou art compelled, Set thou art
    Compelled. Hither to me, O Wisdom! Hither
    To me, O Evil!
    Send inspiration, O Thoth! Grant opportunity, O Set!

As the aged Magician’s voice shrilled out upon the night air Bata, the
unhappy Unis’ aged nurse, suddenly awoke.

Softly she stole down the corridor from a chamber at the rear of the
tomb, where she usually slept. Bata reached the open door just in time to
hear Enana command the very gods to descend to earth. The horrified Bata
fell in a faint across the threshold.

When at length Bata returned to consciousness, she somehow managed
to crawl back to her room, dumb with terror. Bata had seen the old
Magician’s trembling form aglow with a mystic light, his upturned face
shining with some inward flame. Before him, out of the gloom there had
suddenly appeared two heavily cloaked figures. Bata never doubted but
that the tall forms were those of the great gods Thoth and Set.



CHAPTER XIII

RAMSES AND SESEN


The youthful Ramses, leader of the recent successful expedition against
the Nubians, had won for himself many titles of distinction. Yet,
chief among these undoubtedly, was his new appointment to the rank of
Fan-Bearer-on-the-Right-of-Pharaoh.

The post of Fan-Bearer was an office eagerly sought by the more exalted
nobles, since it gave one the ear of Pharaoh, as did perhaps no other
position at Court. The one possible exception was the post held by Dedu,
son of Den, through four generations at least, the coveted post of
Keeper-of-the-King’s-Robes.

The title of Fan-Bearer had been given Ramses by Pharaoh at Thi’s earnest
solicitation. The Queen-Mother had been prompted to this step through
no love she bore the youthful soldier, but as part of a plan which was
intended to lull the stubborn adherents of Amen into a sense of false
security.

The aged Enana, grandfather to Ramses, was the subject of the
Queen-Mother’s especial detestation. Indeed, detestation was by far too
mild a word to express her feelings in respect to the old magician.

By conferring the title of Fan-Bearer upon Enana’s grandson, Thi hoped to
put Enana and the other followers of Amen off their guard. For, would not
the very title imply a definite and continuous sojourn in the capital?

Yet, of late, Thi felt that the attempt to keep the young soldier near
the Court had been ill-advised. For various rumors, vague hints of an
alarming nature, had reached the ears of Menna the Overseer.

These ill-defined rumors had been promptly reported to Thi, with various
embellishments, of course, on the part of Menna, son of Menna.

Without a doubt, someone who knew the Court, someone who was familiar
with the secret intrigues of harem life in the palace, had been quietly
spreading broadcast palace secrets of a most terrifying nature.

One report had it that the present Pharaoh was a Syrian, born before
Thi’s parents came down into Egypt.

It was hinted that Yakab the Chancellor was his true father. Had they
not both the same extraordinarily attenuated figure? Did not both suffer
from the same racking cough? Did not both speak with a marked lisp? Thi,
the Queen-Mother, was almost stout; the late Pharaoh had been a corpulent
man, in his youth possessed of unusual strength. The face was that of
Thi, perhaps, but the body that of Yakab the Chancellor!

Yes, it was plain that Thi had done away with Pharaoh’s former wife, the
Lady Hanit; that Menna and Thi had planned the murder of the true heir
to the throne, the Lady Hanit’s son, in order that Yakab’s son, by Thi,
might ascend the Egyptian throne.

Finally it was whispered that the murdered Prince still lived; that he
had escaped from Menna, son of Menna, into whose baleful charge he had
been placed.

All unwittingly, Ramses had been drawn into this maelstrom of palace
intrigue. His name was frequently mentioned in connection with the
probable succession to the throne.

The subject of a successor to the Horus Throne was one of great
importance at this moment. Queen Noferith had borne the king but
girls—“five little beams of Shu the sun-god” their royal father had
playfully called them. And of these one had recently become the perfume
of the heavenly lotus which the sun-god holds to his august face!

Pharaoh felt sure that Ramses himself knew nothing of these rumors. In
many a bitter discussion with his mother and Menna the Overseer Pharaoh
had frequently stated his conviction that Ramses would utterly condemn
such traitorous thoughts should they ever come to his ears.

Pharaoh had loved Ramses like a brother. He had admired him as some
superior being. For a time neither Menna’s craftily embellished reports
nor Thi’s openly avowed hatred of Enana’s grandson could turn Pharaoh
from his blind trust in the good faith of his boyhood’s hero.

Himself ever a sickly child, Pharaoh had sighed for his coming of age,
that he might take the field with Ramses, and be himself a witness of the
latter’s many deeds of valor.

For years had Pharaoh pictured himself in the famous Warbonnet of the
Pharaohs, that bright blue headdress which Thothmes and a long line of
heroic forebears had carried far into the ranks of their stricken foes
and, with one exception, returned in safety to their acclaiming people.
Yes, even King Sequenen’s horrible death, at the hands of the Hyksos
invaders, was better far than his present life of inaction, a life varied
only by tiresome harem plots, counterplots and the probabilities of a
general religious or civil upheaval.

But Pharaoh, under Thi’s baleful influence, was as pliable as the clay in
the deft fingers of the potter. The Queen-Mother presently took fright
at these oft-repeated and ever highly-colored rumors, and it was not long
before she and Menna had convinced Pharaoh that the grandson of Enana, at
Thebes, was a constant menace.

Thus, when “the rewards of the King” were yet warm in Ramses’ hands, that
happy young warrior was dismayed to receive a roll of papyrus, straight
from the hands of Majesty, a brief note whose finely written contents
necessitated another exile from Sesen, from Thebes and the home he so
dearly loved, the villa of Enana the Magician, his grandsire. Ramses was
commanded to depart for the north with the setting of the morrow’s sun,
there to take over the Egyptian army guarding the hostile frontier in
Asia. Bitter disappointment, and somewhat of anger, caused the voice of
Ramses to tremble as he directed his chairmen to set him down at Enana’s
villa.

The home of Ramses’ grandsire was built upon a circular island on the
western side of the Nile. Seen from a distance, this island appeared to
float upon the quiet waters. The low white walls which surrounded its
garden, its branching cedars, full crested palms and feathery mimosa
trees, were mirrored in the waters of the inundation.

Enana the Magician had felt called upon to live comparatively near to
Semet, Thebes’ unending burial ground, since, during the former monarch’s
lifetime he had been appointed “Guardian of the Royal Tombs.”

Enana was proud of his skill in necromancy; Enana was even more proud
of his knowledge of astrology, botany, medicine and of his intimate
acquaintance with the Magic Scrolls of the Conjurers and Sorcerers of
Amen. But, above all else, Enana enjoyed hearing himself addressed as
Guardian of the Ancestors, whenever a summons from Majesty or a Court
Function had necessitated his presence at the Palace. Alas, as far as
Enana and Renet, his wife, were concerned, such functions had long since
ceased!

Nevertheless, to-day was a gala day with Enana, a day of rejoicing to
his entire household. For to-day Enana, son of Enana, had arrived at the
ever-prayed for one hundred and ten years!

One other living person alone could boast of such a record and that was
the father of Thi, the Queen-Mother. But Iuya was only a nobleman by
courtesy, an Asiatic, an heretical believer in Aton. Enana scorned Iuya
as a pretentious old scoundrel, who spent the major part of his time
decrying everything Egyptian and lauding Syria, and all things Syrian.

All morning had the aged Magician, and the Lady Renet, his wife, sat
beside the garden pool listening to the effusive congratulations of his
friends, his neighbors, and the many members of his house and wide domain.

All that morning his bustling servants had been busy arranging the
various presents along the awning-shaded corridor which faced the
tree-set garden.

Bars and collarettes of gold, electrum and silver; bead stands of lazuli,
malachite, crystal, carnelian, amethyst, beryl, jasper; great pendants
in gold, silver or bright blue fayence; finger-rings of gold encrusted
with colored pastes or set with little green glazed beetles, carved in
stone and engraved below with felicitous expressions; treasures big and
little were piled high in seemingly innumerable vessels and exposed on
brightly painted wooden tables or stands along the halls and corridors.

Clusters of white, soft pink or pale blue lotus flowers were bound about
frames bent to represent the _anekh_ or sign of “longevity.” The _nofer_
or sign of “happiness,” in the shape of little lutes, hung from every
branch in the garden.

There had been but one thing lacking in a morning of
never-to-be-forgotten successes. As Khufu the Butler had remarked, not a
single member of the Royal House had visited their honored master; not
even a Royal Usher had come with the customary messages of felicitation
or with the usual “gold of honor.” To Khufu, as to the other devoted
servants of the aged Magician, this neglect was the occasion of grave
concern.

Not so to Enana! Well he knew the reason of this breach of courtesy, this
public affront.

Enana’s early training had been behind the walls of Amen’s great temple
in the Apt. There for years had he served Amen, God of Thebes, as
chorister, incense-bearer, lector, _keri heb_ and, lastly, as Chief
Magician.

Enana was known as a devoted follower of Amen, as an ardent and
incorruptible believer in the power of the greatest of all gods, Amen
of Thebes. As such he knew well that he had incurred the undying hatred
of Thi the Syrian, whose one ambition in life, now that her son was
established on the throne, was the overthrow of Amen and the destruction
of all the other local gods of Egypt. If Thi could compass it, Aton, the
Syrian sun-god, should be the sole object of worship from Suan of the
north to Suan of the south.

At the present moment, however, Enana had pushed from his mind all
thoughts of Thi. All his present enjoyment was centered in the scheme
next his heart and in his anticipation of seeing Ramses, his grandson,
whom it mostly concerned.

At any moment the young soldier might dash through the gate in that
impetuous way so dear to the frail old man.

Enana sat with his wrinkled hands resting upon the squares of gold leaf
with which his tunic was faced. His beady black eyes were fixed upon the
open door, his ears alert to catch the first shout of Ramses’ bearers,
as they rounded the great Mortuary Temple near by. From time to time his
hand went to his bosom where rested the magic book.

But the sun-god began his descent into the realms of darkness, lights
broke out in the distant city, a line of chanting priests bearing torches
appeared upon the walls of Amenhotep’s temple, the light upon the high
stand at Enana’s elbow was lit. Yet Ramses did not come.

Ah, Enana, but a little patience! Magician though thou art, the Goddess
Hathor is more powerful than thou!

Even as Ramses had finished reading the royal command and set his hand to
the arm of his carrying-chair, Seneb the Usher advanced bowing and handed
him a second note.

Joy lit up the stern face of the young soldier as he read; a sudden
animation seemed to fill his whole being. Bidding his chairmen await him
in the outer court, he turned and followed Seneb, the Usher, through the
columned aisles of the Audience Hall.

Arrived before the line of granite sphinxes which fronted the Treasury of
Silver, Seneb bowed again, turned on his heel and left him.

Three women stood beneath a doorway which fronted the innermost court.
Eagerly Ramses advanced as the form of the Princess Sesen stepped out
from its shadows:

“Sesen, they told me thou wert with thy Father in Thinis! Had I known, in
truth, that the Palace held thee, I would have come to claim thy promised
reward.

“By Hathor! Thou are more radiantly beautiful than when I left thee last!
How often have I lain awake at night thinking of thee. The hot nights
upon the desert sand passed quickly, restfully, for dreams of thee!

“Sesen, thou knowest all my love; all my hopes are centered in thee.
What are the rewards of Majesty to the reward that thou hast promised
me—thyself. Look! I have kept my word. I found the famous jewel which
Enana told thee of and—it is thine!”

Slowly Ramses drew from his girdle a great emerald set in gold. A
rose-colored band of fine gazelle hide showed it to have been worn about
the forehead of its former owner, the Nubian King.

King Shaba will need “the panther’s eye” no more. His ashes lie beneath
the smouldering ruins of his palace. Vultures hover above the demolished
houses of Napata, his Capital.

Sesen clasped her hands upon her bosom with delight. Without replying she
took the jewel from Ramses’ hand and bound it about her gold-filleted
wig. Ramses smiled down upon the happy little maid, as she sank into his
arms. The great jewel seemed to glow upon her forehead, as if it pulsed
to the rapid beating of her heart:

“Sesen, my Lotus! I love thee, I love thee!”

“And I, Ramses, my hero, feared for thee. Hathor’s altar has groaned
beneath the burden of my offerings for thy safe return.”

Her words brought to Ramses’ mind the command of Pharaoh. He had found
her but to lose her.

“Dove of Hathor, but a few short weeks and I return to claim thee for the
Lady of my House.”

“Thou returnest? Whither goest thou?”

“Alas, my Dove! The King commands that I head the Egyptian host which now
stands facing Kheta and her allies in Syria. By to-morrow’s sunset I must
leave to help old Noferhotep with his task. Yet, have no fear for me. The
Little People, I think, do but try out Noferhotep. He, poor man, grows
weary of the task of waiting, with nothing but patrol work at best to
break the monotony of his years of frontier life. Fear not for me. I have
thy love, my Sesen! If need be, I could cut my way through Asia, with thy
name my battle-cry. To-morrow I will see thee after the morning service.
The Lady Renet and her maids will come to escort thee to our house for
the betrothal. Breath of Ra, how happy will she be, she and Enana, my
grandsire. Now must I hurry to them. As thou knowest, ’tis a gala day
with my grandsire. May Hathor bless thee, my Sesen; may Aah cast her
protecting beams about thee.”

For an instant the lovers held one another in a close embrace. The next,
Ramses had mounted his chair. As he did so, twinkling lights broke out
among the dark patch of trees in which stood Enana’s distant villa.



CHAPTER XIV

A RASH PROMISE


In his wooing of the Lady Sesen, Menna, son of Menna, worked tirelessly.
Menna had been born upon the fifth of Paophi, and who does not know that
a child born upon that auspicious day is ever successful in affairs of
the heart!

Following his gift to her of Bhanar, the beautiful Syrian, each day
brought to Sesen bunches of grapes, bursting pomegranates or succulent
dates from Menna’s famous gardens. Frequently there were left at her
door bags of powdered gold or lazuli for the floor of her rooms, or the
choicest of fragrant oils and perfumes for her toilet. These last were
sealed in little jars of rich blue glass or in black obsidian vases
capped with gold.

To-day Sesen opened an ebony coffer richly inlaid with ivory and gold.
Enclosed within she found a frail wooden spoon, an incense spoon, carved
to represent a little maiden stretched at full length in the attitude of
a swimmer. The names and titles of Menna, the Overseer, appeared upon
this exquisite work of art, yet, if truth be told, Renny the Syrian had
fashioned it.

As with Menna’s other gifts, a closely written sheet of fine papyrus
accompanied the gift, whereon Sesen read of Menna’s passionate desire for
a meeting. Enana had advised her to fan the flame of Menna’s passion for
reasons he kept to himself. What would he say to this effusion!

The lines were written alternately in letters of red and black:

    The cool zephyrs of the Northland can alone extinguish the flame of
       my love!
    I am become like the dried mimosa, ripe for the baker’s oven,
    The fire of her eyes hath withered it.
    When the dove pours forth its plaintive song, Sesen appears beneath
       the sycamore.
    Her slender form is mirrored in the garden pool.
    Seeing her, the Moon-goddess pines away with jealousy; the Sun-god
       bids her shine in his stead.
    A full moon is her gleaming face;
    The brightness of day glows upon her forehead;
    Her full throat gleams like the crystals which encircle it;
    The rose of the flamingo’s wing is upon her cheek;
    Her eyes, painted with black Thinite kohl, were the gift of Hathor
       at her birth,
    The fires that burn within them scatter flaming darts;
    Countless as the desert sands are the victims of those eyes!
    Waving is her slender form, like the palm trees of Erment.
    The dark shades of night hide in her hair, fragrant with musk and
       myrrh.
    A pomegranate is her mouth, her little teeth bright mother-of-pearl.
    By day she perfumes the air with the odors of the Incense Land.
    Her luster illuminates the darkest night!
    Ah, deign to heed my pleading, Daughter of Hathor!
    As apart from thee, I am as one among the Silent Ones; as one whose
       mouth has not been opened.
    Ask the Moon-goddess of my bitter state.
    She will tell thee that I am indeed the ally of sorrow and anguish.

With a frown Sesen tore the note into little pieces and went on with her
interrupted game of draughts with Merit-aton, Pharaoh’s eldest daughter.

Until Menna had stumbled upon Renny, the Syrian, hawking his despised
figurines in the inhospitable streets of Thinis, Beq, an Egyptian
sculptor attached to his house, had served Menna the Overseer as
messenger.

For Menna, when not on duty at the Palace, was accustomed to rise late.
Menna’s mornings were spent at the bath. Indeed, it not infrequently
happened that the sun had begun his downward flight across the
heavens before the lordly Overseer had succeeded in escaping from the
ministrations of his slaves.

For several hours he must perforce suffer the attentions of his
body-servants, his wig-keeper, sandal-bearer, perfumer, and the keeper of
his jewels.

Thus, one stalwart Ethiopian, having finished rubbing his handsome frame
with aromatic oils, another slipped about him the tunic and over-dress
of the day. And what to an ordinary mortal constituted a tight tunic,
appeared to Benkhu, the Prince’s body-servant, positively loose and
ill-fitting.

And since Menna affected extremes, his tunic fitted far more closely,
his voluminous and richly plaited over-dress swung out in far more ample
folds, than those of any other of the foppish members of the Theban Court.

Indeed, Menna left Benkhu’s nimble fingers dressed as few others of the
courtiers could be dressed.

His costuming completed, Menna listened to the reports of his farm
overseers, and to those of his spies both of court, bazaar and temple.
For Menna, though outwardly faithful to Aton, still continued to hold the
honorific post of Scribe of the Estates of Amen.

His business attended to, Menna essayed a game of draughts with one of
his friends, or rowed about the lake in Thi’s pleasure-barge. It was the
policy of Menna never to be far from Thi, the Queen-Mother.

When Renny, the Syrian, had been enrolled among the retainers of Menna,
the Overseer had affected to see much of him. He went to the length of
separating Renny from Beq and the native Egyptian craftsmen attached to
his house. He even provided Renny with a studio to himself.

To this workshop Menna himself would come at times, ostensibly to seek
instruction in modeling, sculpture and wood-carving. As a matter of fact
his visits were prompted by the desire to use Renny and _his_ art as in
former times he had that of Beq and the native craftsmen.

Renny fell in with this whim of his powerful patron. Many a minor
ornament, such as a small lotus bowl, incense-spoon or sacred image,
had Renny produced, without neglecting to leave some slight detail for
the handsome Overseer to finish. Renny’s artistic productions Menna
incontinently made his own, adding _his_ name and titles together with
the date of its completion.

Coming from the hand of such a critical student of the arts, these small,
but ever choice mementoes were eagerly sought at Court. No one doubted
but that they were the work of the gifted Overseer himself.

Of late gifts and mementoes of this sort had suddenly ceased to
materialize, and Menna, taxed with laziness by his friends at Court,
gave it to be understood that a far more important undertaking now
engaged his time. But the true reason of the present inaction of the
Overseer was due to Renny, the Syrian.

That unhappy youth, in his constant visits to the Palace to deliver his
masters’ gifts and notes to Sesen, had seen all too much of the beautiful
Princess.

Yet, a single visit, and that his first, had proved more than enough
to cause the beauty-loving Renny to come beneath the spell of Sesen’s
haunting loveliness.

Do what he would to conceal his senseless passion, Renny felt that the
fire at his heart would mount to his eyes, the surging blood, that seemed
ever about to burst his heart, would flame into his cheeks.

At one moment Renny soared into the highest heavens; the next found him
plunged into the gloomiest despair. He, an unknown sculptor, a despised
foreigner, dared to lift his eyes to an exalted lady of the Egyptian
Court!

Knowing too well the hopelessness of his present position, Renny sought
to hide his passion.

Unluckily for the distracted sculptor, his burning hand had come in
contact with the tapering fingers of the Princess.

Straightway Renny had thrown himself upon his knees and poured out to her
startled ears the torrent of passionate words which had so long trembled
upon his lips. Renny lost his head; his discretion vanished to the four
winds of Heaven.

Sesen gazed down at the bowed head of the young sculptor in utter
bewilderment. She could not have said whether she was more surprised,
angered or amused. She clapped her hands twice; she would hand him to
the guards. Yet, as the archers appeared from behind the columns of the
courtyard, she changed her mind. A sudden wave of tenderest sympathy for
Bhanar swept over the Princess. So it was not Bhanar he had sought so
eagerly. Her heart ached for the quiet little maid standing so still and
mute behind her. She turned to Bhanar:

“So this is that Renny, the Incomparable, of whom thou hast so often
spoken, my Bhanar! Dare men so address a Princess of the Blood in thine
own country and live? Like master, like man!”

Renny leaped to his feet, his face aflame with various emotions, amongst
which wounded pride, perhaps was not the least.

“Lady! Since when is it considered a deed ill-done that a man should
speak the love and reverence which he bears a maid? The mirror in thy
hand should tell thee that few could look upon a face so fair, a form
that Hathor’s self must envy, and not be stricken with that malady which
not even the King’s physician hath power to cure! That I love thee I
cannot help. My heart beats to thoughts of thee; thy image is stamped
upon my very eyes!

“As to my master, the Lord Menna, I serve the Prince from gratitude. He
found me well nigh starving in the streets of Thinis and gave me food
and shelter. All my work he purchased and put me in the place of Beq, a
sculptor whose work is excellent, according to your Egyptian standard.
His portrait of thee I myself have much admired.

“Yet, Most Beautiful, ’tis not thee! ’Twould answer as well for any
Lady of the Court. Were _I_ to model thee, Fragrance of the Gods, thou
shouldst see a living, breathing ‘double’ of thyself, thy very _ka_ in
stone. This I could prove to thee as could no other.”

During this conversation Bhanar had continued to ply the ostrich-feather
fan above her mistress’s head. Anguish for Renny, pity for herself,
showed in her beautiful eyes.

Sesen’s heart bled for her. Sesen knew Bhanar’s history well. Bhanar
never tired of talking about her beloved village, of her dear Rippa,
nestled among the distant Syrian hills.

The little Princess had soon perceived that Bhanar’s girlish love for her
childhood’s companion had ripened into something stronger.

She had soon noticed how artfully Bhanar managed to forestall Sesen’s
other maids whenever Renny’s name was announced by the usher.

Renny’s joy and relief at finding her in the household of the Princess
had been genuine, since for a time, he had felt that he and Yakab had
failed her. Thereafter, at each and every visit to the Palace, he had
quite naturally sought his beautiful countrywoman. He knew that through
her he would the more readily reach the lady of his master’s infatuation.

Renny had strict orders to deliver his master’s notes into the hand of
Sesen in person. This at first he could never have accomplished, had it
not been for Bhanar’s assistance.

This insistence of Renny to reach her through Bhanar alone Sesen had
misinterpreted.

Then came that fatal day when Bhanar listened to Renny as he poured out
his tale of love for her mistress. Bhanar’s heart seemed to stop its
beating. From that moment she realized that she loved Renny with all the
love that he—that he, alas, felt for Sesen, her mistress.

At this moment an agonizing sympathy for Renny seemed to freeze her
heart. She knew that Renny at best did but provide distraction for the
Princess. And now, in this statue of which he talked, Renny held out
still further hopes of diversion. From her frequent visits to Enana’s
villa, Bhanar knew that the absent Ramses was ever in Sesen’s mind,
though never once had the little maid referred to him. In vain had she
confided her knowledge of the mutual love of Sesen and Ramses to the
unheeding Renny.

Sesen turned from the sculptor as if to leave. At the threshold of the
steps she paused for a moment:

“Syrian, if you can indeed model such a portrait as that of which you
speak, gladly will I purchase it of thee, and with it thy freedom.”

The overjoyed Renny kissed the hand she gave him:

“Within the month, Most Beauteous One! Give me but four short weeks and
thou shalt see thyself as no one within the confines of the four iron
pillars could ever hope to model thee. As to payment, I seek it not.
Freedom might lead me away from thee!”

Renny again passionately kissed the jeweled fingers of the little
Princess and dashed from the Court. How he finally managed to reach his
studio door, he never knew.

Alas, for Renny and his promise. Even as he left the outer corridor, Bar,
chief of his master’s spies, glided noiselessly from behind one of the
great painted columns nearby.

Thereafter, Menna the Overseer saw to it that Renny sped upon no more
missions to the Palace. On the contrary he was sternly warned to keep
within his master’s villa-garden, and the little workshop which had been
provided for him.

Yet, as luck would have it, in order to keep him busily occupied, Menna
commanded him to model a statue of Hathor, Goddess of Beauty. This
statue, when completed, Menna intended to present to the late Pharaoh’s
shrine at Amada to the south. But to Renny he omitted to mention that
_his_ name and his alone would appear upon its ivory pedestal!



CHAPTER XV

A STATUE OF HATHOR, GODDESS OF LOVE


Menna the Overseer had little conception of the torture he had inflicted
upon the mind of the youthful Renny when he forbade him his liberty.
Hollow-cheeked and well nigh mad, Renny so far disobeyed his patron’s
orders that he sat for hours, nay, for days at a time, huddled like a
beggar at the Palace gate.

Not even the gentle Bhanar could console him whenever, as so frequently
happened, a day went by without its being possible for the distracted
youth to catch a glimpse of his idol.

Then, suddenly, he remembered his promise to the Princess. He sought out
Khnum, the royal quarryman, who had but now moored to the western bank
with a cargo consisting in the main of the precious alabaster of Hatnub.
He bribed Khnum to procure him a giant block of purest alabaster, a mass
of the creamiest material which the alabaster quarries could provide.

For days did master-quarryman Khnum seek a block of the unusual
proportions demanded by the impatient sculptor. A week went by, an
eternity to the tortured artist.

Finally, just as he was about to despatch a second expedition northward,
and during the heat of one of the first days of the great sandstorm,
Khnum and his sweating assistants hauled a wooden sledge before his
dust-covered threshold. And there, high upon the friction-charred
vehicle, stood the glossiest block of Hatnub’s finest alabaster which the
distracted Renny had ever seen.

For many years men spoke of that never-to-be-forgotten sandstorm, a storm
which ushered in days of blinding heat, days in which the flints that
strewed the desert plateau cracked beneath the excoriating heat; days in
which the ocher-hued river banks, confining a blinding reach of sluggish
water, the shriveled and blasted sycamore, tamarisks and palms, nay, the
very capital itself, seemed to be confined within the sun-god’s fiery
furnace.

Day in, day out, those death-dealing rays shot from a changeless vault
of steely blue. Down sank the tortured cattle; the birds gasped among
the shriveled leaves of the trees. The very soil, by now as hard as any
southern granite, yawned with wide-thrown crevices many cubits deep. Far
to the south the broad-winged vultures circled slowly earthward from
their lofty posts, as if they too feared the darts of the outraged Amen.

It was a sudden and appalling visitation which luckily blew itself out
within but four of the customary nine days of blinding wind and sand.

Yet, throughout those four memorable days and thereafter Renny worked as
he had never worked before.

Now, there came a day when Menna ordered his carrying-chair and bade his
bearers set him down before the door of Renny’s workshop.

At the Overseer’s repeated knocks the bolts were slowly drawn. Through
the barely opened door Renny, blinded by the glare, gazed unseeingly
toward the extended hand of his smiling patron:

“How now, Syrian? Hast turned magician? Bar tells me thou must needs have
conned the _hekau_-spell that bringeth food and drink, since all the food
that is brought thee stands untasted. Breath of the Goddess! Why hast
sulked behind barred doors these weeks and more?” Menna made as if to
step within.

“Ah, master, most noble lord, I do beseech thee, go not within! Bethink
thee, Splendor of Thebes, when first I came to thee, thou didst assure
to me that privacy which, far more than thy golden _uten_, I did ask of
thee! Continue now thy favor some little time, I pray. Thy statue of the
Goddess Hathor is...!”

“Amemet eat me! Days, nay weeks, have we waited for a sight of it! Now is
our sore-tried patience at an end.”

With a firmness unexpected in the customarily indolent Menna, the
Overseer pushed the trembling Renny aside and entered the workshop.

At first, so sudden was the change from the glare of noonday to the murky
shadows of the room, that Menna could distinguish nothing. When at last
his eyes grew somewhat accustomed to the gloom, he found himself staring
at the tinted statue of a regally robed woman, a life-sized figure so
startlingly realistic that for a moment he instinctively drew back.

Upon a pedestal festooned with drooping lotus and fragrant mimosa stood
the smiling figure of the Princess Sesen. So lifelike did the statue
appear to the bewildered noble, that for a space of a full minute, he
waited, expecting her lips to part, her tongue to utter the customary
greetings.

Once his jeweled fingers had assured him that the figure was but tinted
stone, Menna burst into voluble exclamations of wonder and delight.

“Verily, said I not that thou hadst learned some potent charm, some
mighty _hekau_, known but to the blessed gods alone?

“Breath of Hathor! ’Tis the work of Ptah, nay, of Khnum himself,
Fashioner of Mankind! None but a god could thus turn stone to flesh, put
breath in the nostrils, life in the eye!

“Ah Syrian! if this be Syrian art, my heated arguments were but wasted
breath! Compared to our Egyptian figures, shackled, mummified, as
lifeless as the granite they are carved in, here stands grace and
freedom, life itself!

“By the Theban Triad, the very blind would know this figure for the
Princess, the Lady Sesen...!”

Menna broke off abruptly. Sesen?

Suddenly Menna’s face flamed in anger. Could there indeed be something
between the Princess and this slave, this nobody?

Nay, as far as the Princess was concerned, Menna felt sure that Bar’s
reports of Renny’s heedless temerity were false. At the moment Menna felt
sure that he had good cause to trust the Princess. He fingered a scented
note tucked in his jeweled belt.

But Renny...?

Menna shook his perfumed wig, and turning, spoke the young man’s name.
Thrice he called, then strode to the half opened door.

Renny had vanished.

With a threatening imprecation the irate Overseer turned once more to the
statue.

Yes, here was Hathor, Goddess of Beauty, Goddess of Love, as none in
Egypt had ever conceived her!

Menna’s brain worked fast. The statue he vowed to make his own. Bar and
his minions were despatched to do away with Renny!

What a sensation would this work produce at Court, and especially upon
the mind of the art-loving Pharaoh! Menna allowed himself visions of a
naturalistic school modeled upon the Syrian, an essentially realistic
school which should utterly banish the hieratic canons imposed upon the
Egyptian craftsmen by the dictates of precedent and the will of an
all-powerful priesthood.

Meantime, thought the Overseer, the statue must be kept from sight, at
least, until Renny was safely out of the way.

He sent off a chairman to bring clay, string and his signet ring. With
his own hands he covered the statue with the quarryman’s mats which still
clustered in one corner of the little chamber.

In less time than it takes to tell it the tinted figure of the little
Princess disappeared from sight. Menna closed the door and, slipping to
the bronze bolt, bound it with cord and set his scarab-seal upon a clay
pellet which he fastened thereto. This done, he hurried home. To-day was
a momentous day with Menna, Overseer of the King’s Estates.



CHAPTER XVI

THE CURSE OF HUY, GREAT HIGH PRIEST OF AMEN


What Belur the Hittite Ambassador had said, concerning the expected
outbreak of a religious war throughout Egypt, was true. Moreover, no
one was greatly surprised at his report of the disaffection of Egypt’s
Asiatic vassals.

In his efforts to establish the cult of the Syrian sun-god, in place of
that of the various Egyptian deities, Pharaoh had little time to attend
to the exacting affairs of his country’s vast empire abroad.

However, Belur’s words cannot have taken him altogether by surprise,
since runners had brought letters daily from the few faithful
vassal-kings along his Syrian border, letters begging help from Egypt.

Indeed, of late, these hints of troubles to come had resolved themselves
into the most urgent appeals for troops to assist in stemming the
advance of the dreaded Hittites. Two messengers had Noferhotep sent from
the frontier on a like errand. After a protracted delay Pharaoh had
despatched one division of Ethiopian troops to his support.

Yet, not until this moment, when a swift cedar boat was carrying
Belur and his suite northward, did Pharaoh appreciate to the full the
significance of those despairing cries for aid. As he now saw it, Belur
had come as spokesman for a combined array of Egypt’s Asiatic foes, the
very mention of whose names froze the blood in Pharaoh’s veins.

Thereafter Pharaoh’s spies were very active, along the border.

Time went by, yet nothing happened. Perhaps the boastful words of the
Hittite were but intended to intimidate him. Or could it have been that
the bold front which he had assumed had in turn deceived the Hittite?

Hearing nothing further of Rimur of Charchemish, or of the kings of
Kadesh and Megiddo, Pharaoh again took up the work so near his heart. All
his best efforts were now centered upon the establishment of the Syrian
solar-cult throughout Egypt.

To this drastic move Pharaoh was incited by Yakab and by his mother, Thi,
not so much on account of any real love they had for Aton, the Syrian
deity, but mainly as a means of ridding themselves of the obstructive
influence of Huy, Enana and the powerful priesthood of Amen in Karnak.

Realizing that the vast buildings of Amen’s temples in Karnak could never
be moved, Thi pointed out to Pharaoh how comparatively easy it would be
for him to forsake Thebes and the Palace of Amenhotep, his father, and to
erect a new palace, a new city, elsewhere.

To this end Thi had urged Pharaoh to abandon Thebes and had prevailed
upon him to erect a new capital, the City of the Sun, far to the north.

It was to raise this new capital, together with all the houses and
villas surrounding it, that thousands of captive slaves were now put to
work deep within the quarries of Hatnub, quarries famed alike on account
of the superb quality of their fine white limestone and the translucency
of their striated alabasters.

In building Pharaoh’s new city gigantic blocks in both of these rich
materials were brought down from the hills along a specially leveled
causeway. Each giant block had been secured upon great wooden sleds of
hardened sycamore, and hauled to the new site by the concerted efforts of
sweating oxen and groaning sleds.

Overseers were told of to prod the oxen; others to lash the scarred backs
of the unhappy Asiatic slaves. The chief of each section occupied himself
in pouring water upon the ground to prevent the sled from taking fire by
friction, or oil to facilitate the movement of the sled.

When not so engaged the chief sang a love-song in time to the thwack of
the overseers’ staves, as they further lacerated the bloody backs of the
staggering captives. It was commonly said of a chief of a quarry-gang
that he needed but _three_ canopic jars at _his_ entombment, since he
lacked—a heart.

At the site of the new city other dull-eyed Asiatics, similarly flogged
into line, worked waist-deep in sandy pits or muddy ditches. Day in, day
out, the heavy wooden brick-carriers bit into the cracked and blistered
shoulders of emasculated Amu.

Indeed, long before the quickening rays of Aton had mounted above the
low hills which shut in the City of the Sun to the east, sweat, mud and
blood had baked upon the naked backs of Ethiopian, Libyan, Canaanite and
Kheftiu alike. Nay, Egyptians themselves, the down-trodden herdsmen,
were as like as not torn from their ripening fields to toil perhaps at
pressing bricks for Pharaoh’s palace, library and villa, or, cursed,
cuffed and beaten by the shrieking taskmasters, to crack their thews at
the well-nigh smoking ropes which encircle some colossal shaft, shrine or
statue intended for the great temple of the sun-god Aton.

From their lofty posts above the valley watchful vultures craned their
necks, as they slowly circled earthward. Such a stupendous undertaking
exacted a heavy toll of death.

But what of deserted Thebes, of Huy and the priests of Amen?

Ever since the theft of the cultus-statue of the temple by the Atonites
the priests at Karnak had shut themselves up behind the great walls of
the Temple of Amen. Behind those massive walls they had continued to
intone the ritual of Amen to an empty shrine and the Theban Recention of
the Book of the Dead to deserted courts and forgotten offering-tables.
Aton and its ritual they anathematized, though an Aton shrine had, for a
time, been forced upon them.

In their present extremity Huy, the great High Priest of Amen, relied
for support upon the people, as did indeed his brother hierophants of
Memphis, Thinis and Abydos.

Yet, no help came from the priests of Ptah, of Atum, of Osiris. The
starving and plague-stricken peasants in whom they trusted failed to
assist them.

For their part the peasants well knew that no matter which of the
opposing factions gained the upper hand, _their_ present state of utter
wretchedness would remain unchanged.

What cared they for Amen, Ptah or Aton, when the Nile-god failed them,
when Hapi neglected to pour his life-giving waters over their parched and
stricken fields!

What was Amen or Aton to them, as they watched their ashen, granite-hard
soil crack beneath the pitiless shafts of a ruthless sun-god! ’Twas an
ill time to pray to him under any one of his three hundred names.

And so it happened that, at Pharaoh’s command, an Atonite force attacked
the battlemented walls of Amen’s temple in Karnak.

As a result, the ancient temple of Sesostris was utterly destroyed.
Oldest of all the temples within the encircling walls, its cedar columns,
its silver floors, its walls of gold inlaid with malachite and lazuli,
together with its hundreds of gold and silver statues of the kings of
old, all were lost in a conflagration started by the overturning of a
colossal incense-bowl which stood in front of the shadow of the god Min,
outlined in silver in the panels of the sanctuary door.

That night Huy, great High Priest of Amen, lay dead, the poisoned cup
clenched in his hand.

Yet, before he went forth upon his last long journey across the rocky
heights of Duat and the demon-haunted valleys of the Underworld, Huy had
arrayed himself in full regalia and taken his stand before the yellow
curtain which screened the now empty shrine of the great god Amen.

Aloud he cried, “O Ancient One, Primordial God! By the power of thy
Hidden Name, by the Heads of the Demigods that surround thee, hear the
prayer of Huy, thy servant!

“Grant that the line of Ahmes be broken! Grant that no child of Pharaoh
sit upon thy golden throne!

“Let Pharaoh’s name be blotted from remembrance! Let Pharaoh’s _ka_ be
forced to wander among the dunghills of forgotten cities!”

Slowly Huy raised the poisoned cup: “And now, O nameless One, before I go
forth upon the way of trial, a token that thou dost grant my prayer. Give
me a sign, O Holy One, a sign, O Amen, Lord of Lords!”

As if in answer to the High Priest’s cry, there came a sound as of
the shaking of distant sistra and silver cymbals. There followed the
thrumming of many harps and the sound of reed pipes. Suddenly, through
the yellow curtain, there was seen a light which slowly increased in
brightness.

In terror the awe-struck priests surrounding Huy hid their eyes. When
again they dared to open them, they saw that the great curtain had been
rent in two and, below it, stretched at full length, lay the white-robed
figure of Huy, their leader.

In sorrow, Antefy, his successor, commanded his bearers to carry him to
the chariot of Mei, the Atonite, where seven and seventy times seven at
the feet of Pharaoh’s victorious representative, in words at least, he
fell.

The other disheartened ministers of Amen nominally embraced the Aton
creed then and there, or, with Antefy, their new leader, retired to a
self-imposed exile among the arid sands of Nubia far to the south.

The fall of Huy and the priests of Amen, seeming to prove the strength
and determination of Pharaoh, Memphis, Thinis and Abydos, and thereafter,
nearly every local shrine throughout Egypt, at once raised altars to
Aton, the Syrian sun-god.

Once again fortune favored the Atonites!



CHAPTER XVII

WHY MENNA’S CHAIRBEARER STAKED HIS ALL


Menna, Overseer of the King’s Estates, was known to the Court as a
hard and self-seeking man, and this in spite of his sleekness of skin,
his luxurious habits and his untiring efforts to outshine the other
“followers of the king” both in beauty of person, knowledge of literature
and the arts, indeed, in all those visible evidences of culture which
distinguished the Egyptian court.

In spite of this outward display and ostentation Menna, son of Menna, was
appreciated at his full value by courtier, priest and peasant alike. Well
they knew that but a tithe of the fat revenues which Menna collected for
the king or had formerly collected for the unhappy Huy, Great High Priest
of Amen, went to swell the royal “treasuries of gold and silver” or the
“treasure of the god.” As yet, however, through fear of the Overseer’s
“eyes and ears”—spies, native and foreign—no one had dared to inform upon
him at the Palace.

In spite of all Menna could do to ingratiate himself with her, the Lady
Sesen ever sought to avoid him. Yet Menna never despaired. His attentions
were pressed upon her, in spite of all she could do to prevent. Recently
the fringed Asiatic garments of his servants, an affectation of the
much-traveled Prince, were seldom absent from her sight.

Yet to-day something had happened which might bring it well within the
realms of possibility that she might break with the persistent Overseer
once and for all.

During the course of one of her visits to the home of Ramses’
grandparents Enana had confided to her a secret which appeared to her
astonished ears well-nigh incredible. For from him she learned the
astounding news that Hanit, her former beloved mistress, Queen Hanit
whom she had but yesterday it seemed, seen laid to rest yonder in the
Valley of the Tombs, was alive, alive!

Rendered fairly dumb at once with amazement and joy, Sesen sat at
Enana’s knees as if fascinated, her cheeks aglow, her eyes dancing with
excitement, her lips parted as if she would drink in his every word.

This, then, was the reason of Enana’s feverish restlessness of late.
Queen Thi herself, whom nothing escaped, had remarked it, had even
commented upon it to Sesen.

Naturally, Sesen at the time could give no adequate explanation of the
unusual behavior, the ill-restrained excitement, which seemed to agitate
the wizened body of the old magician. And Queen Thi finally set it down
as being due to loss of favor at court.

In fact, Enana had suddenly withdrawn entirely from all court functions.
A faithful adherent of the great god, Amen of Thebes, and a brother of
Huy, late High Priest of Amen, Enana could not but see in Thi and Pharaoh
the murderers of Huy, his brother, and the implacable foes of Amen whom
he loved and served.

So the shriveled body which Kathi had sworn was that of Hanit had been
another’s. Sesen recalled that Enana had often remarked the striking
resemblance which existed between the ex-Queen Hanit and the Lady Meryt.

It was Meryt’s body then which lay in its rock-hewn tomb back yonder
swathed in yards of milk-white linens, encased in a triple cedar coffin
glowing with gold and gem-incrustations! It was Meryt’s body which now
rested in its huge granite sarcophagus, deep beneath the crumbling
Western Hills! It was Meryt’s mummified form upon which she herself had
placed that last sad offering, a chaplet of flowers, berries and leaves!
Hanit, her beloved mistress, still lived!

Sesen could hardly follow Enana through the astounding threads of his
story. She gathered that the ruse by which her mistress had been saved
from certain death at Queen Thi’s hands had been Enana’s own, though its
successful accomplishment had been due to the faithful Kathi.

Sesen begged to be allowed to visit Hanit, but Enana restrained her.
He spoke of the terrible change in the demeanor of the once gentle and
studious Queen. He spoke of her vindictive hatred of Pharaoh, of Thi and,
more than these perhaps, of Menna, son of Menna, whom she considered the
murderer of the prince, her son.

Since her escape from the Temple all her time had been spent in study,
and that with but one end in view. Vengeance upon the trio whom she had
such cause to hate had become with her an obsession.

It appeared that in the realms of black art Hanit had become the equal
of Enana himself. Day and night had she pored over the lector’s rolls of
papyrus, until each and every one of their incantations had become hers.
She knew all the hidden spells of the Conjurers of Amen. She could part
the waters at a word. Her ebony wand could cause grass to grow where no
vegetation had lived before. Behead a bird or animal and, at a word from
Hanit, it would spring to its feet alive and whole. Even the secrets of
the masons and royal architects were hers. She knew the secret blocks of
stone which, touched by even the weakest hand, opened or closed many a
ponderous granite door of tomb or shrine.

Yes! She would have vengeance upon Pharaoh, upon Thi, upon Menna...!

At the mention of Menna’s name Sesen thoughtfully drew from the folds of
her robe a small roll of papyrus, delicately scented and inscribed in
black and red with another effusive expression of the Overseer’s undying
passion and his plea for a tryst. Enana read it twice, then carefully
rolled it up and placed it securely beneath his leather girdle, saying as
he did so:

“Here may be found the bait to lure Prince Menna to his bitter doom! It
reaches Hanit’s hands this very night! Verily, what said that sage of
old, Imhotep? ‘Love is the greatest ally of the gods!’”

Trembling with suppressed excitement the old magician rose. He placed a
caressing hand upon the head of the little Princess and departed somewhat
abruptly, leaving her to marvel at the miraculous escape of her former
mistress and to speculate as to the nature of Hanit’s vengeance upon
Menna.

And Menna? Not long after Enana had left the little Princess the
overjoyed Menna felt that he could, at last, afford to ignore the
reports brought in by Bar and his other spies. Menna no longer feared
the existence of an understanding between Renny and the little Princess.
A note from Sesen, a note most tenderly inscribed, rested at the moment
between Menna’s thumb and forefinger. He smiled as he placed the note
to his lips. He inhaled the perfume of myrrh-paste, where Sesen’s
fingers had touched the smooth papyrus. Sesen the Haughty, Sesen the
Unapproachable, Sesen whom the great Ramses loved, had yielded to his
attentions and passionate appeals. It had been a far longer siege than
usually fell to the lot of the Overseer, but, at last, the usual stream
of presents, poems, and entreaties had done its work. Sesen had agreed to
meet him amidst the ruins near Mentuhotep’s shrine!

“Mentuhotep’s shrine? That forgotten ruin! An extraordinary place,” mused
the Prince. For a moment he doubted the missive; a hint of suspicion
clouded the gleam of triumph which glowed in his eyes.

Somewhat thoughtfully he reread the note. The next he had stretched his
jeweled hand toward a little bronze mirror which rested upon an ivory
rack at his elbow. It was a small mirror, its handle a maiden standing
with arms outstretched as if to support the disk above.

But half conscious of what he was doing, Menna gazed at his handsome
features as reflected in the burnished oval of the mirror. Slowly his
features relaxed. He smiled, and, laying down the mirror, clapped his
hands. He gave direction to the obsequious Syrian who immediately
appeared, that Bentu, chief of his chair-bearers, be sent to him
immediately.

Soon after, Bentu left his master’s presence, his face, wreathed
in smiles, his ivory teeth flashing. Bentu walked on air, he could
hardly refrain from snapping his fingers and dancing his joy like “the
curly-headed ones,” as he hurried down the quiet corridors. An excursion
such as his master planned for the morrow customarily ended well for
Bentu, chief of the carriers.

Throughout the long night following, while Menna tossed upon his
ivory-footed couch, Bentu gambled away his last worldly possessions.

At first Bentu lost three heifers at a throw. Then seven sheep went to
Beq, the sculptor. Quickly followed the loss of thirty geese, the two
gold _uten_ which encircled his wrist, his hound Antef, and finally, most
prized possession of all, his bright blue scarab-seal. All passed to Beq,
the sculptor.

But what cared Bentu, the Carrier! In his master’s explicit directions
as to clothes for the carriers, as to food and drink, Bentu scented an
assignation. The new hood was to be put on the carrying-chair. It was a
beautiful hood, made of the finest linen, in stripes of green and gold. A
love affair without a doubt! There was a woman in it, and women—as Bentu
knew full well—women paid well for messengers and—carriers!

Bentu curled himself up in a corner of Beq’s studio and went promptly to
sleep. He feared to go home; his wife might ask questions, and Bentu was
in mortal dread of Sebekmeryt his Nubian wife.



CHAPTER XVIII

WHAT HAPPENED WHEN MENNA, SON OF MENNA, WENT A-WOOING


The ruined Shrine of Mentuhotep lay somewhat to the north of the great
sandstone mortuary-temple of Amenhotep III.

Fronting it stood a dwarf pyramid surrounded by brightly-painted columned
porticos. Far to the south stretched Queen Thi’s beautiful “pleasure
lake,” which seemed, at this distance, a veritable bowl of gold rimmed
with emeralds. The glowing walls and avenues of stately trees which
marked Queen Hatshepsut’s terraced temple, shut it in toward the north.
High above, and seemingly ever in danger of crashing down upon it,
towered the precipitous and ever crumbling masses of the purple Libyan
Hills.

The way thither led along the Necropolis Route, a high-banked road which
passed immediately in front of the obelisks and twin statues fronting
the granite threshold of Amenhotep’s stupendous mortuary-temple.

At this season of the year the wayfarer might appreciate the full height
of the waters of the inundation, since their turgid reaches now swirled
about the walls of the Royal Palace to the south, and lapped the high
walls of Amenhotep’s mortuary temple itself, though the latter’s massive
walls and pylons stood well back upon the edge of that crescent-shaped
strip of land whose upper reaches had been set apart by the Thebans from
time immemorial, as their place of burial.

This late afternoon the waters flashed like streams of fire as the sun
sank ever lower, ever more rapidly it seemed, toward the low blue line
of the southern hills which sheltered Erment, city of the falcon-headed
Wargod.

The arid sand-drifts, which stretched along the lower slopes of the
Theban hills, seemed composed rather of snow than sand, so brilliant was
the glare, so clear the atmosphere.

Most welcome to the eye were the villa-gardens of the nobles, with their
deep green groves of date palm, sycamore and acacia. Many resembled
little islands that seemed to float upon the flashing waters.

But neither desert glare nor flashing water could detain Prince Menna.
Within the hour Atum, the evening sun, would sink below the southern
hills; the cool north breeze would spring up, as was its custom.

Menna’s chair-bearers had stood before his villa door an hour ahead of
time. Bentu, their chief, placed his hands upon his heart and gazed
heavenward, simulating the ardent lover. Another love-affair, without a
doubt.

Such missions meant _uten_, necklaces or rings; a spree at Hentiu’s at
any rate, and Bentu loved the very sight of a bursting wine-skin!

Bentu’s speculations were interrupted by the sudden appearance of the
doorkeeper. With a knowing wink at Bentu the latter obsequiously bowed,
as Menna strode through the curtained door.

Another moment and Menna, Superintendent of the King’s estates, high
above the shoulders of six stalwart Nubians, was borne swiftly along the
highway which led to the northern end of the curving Theban Plain.

Taking his cue from the gorgeous costume scarcely concealed beneath his
master’s fringed and brightly colored Syrian cloak, Bentu launched into
one of Ata’s love-songs. His grinning comrades punctuated each verse with
a staccato “ha-ha, o-ay!”

Menna sank back against his cushions; he smiled. It pleased him that this
black shadow of his had divined his mission. Nay, Menna felt himself so
at peace with the world that he gave command to allow a peasant’s all
too-heavily laden donkey to pass unchallenged, an unheard of proceeding
on the part of a Theban noble!

Bentu’s hopes rose. Under such circumstances all things were possible. He
might receive a jeweled necklace, golden bars; a small farm, perhaps.

Indeed, Bentu’s expectations assumed so rosy an aspect, that he broke
into a dance, clapping his hands or snapping his fingers in time to
his leapings and posturings, quite in the manner of the Nubians, the
curly-headed people to the south.

With the sudden disappearance of the swollen sun-disk behind the deep
blue hills of Erment, song and dance abruptly ceased. Menna indicated
that he would descend from his chair, and all, master and men together,
addressed a short prayer for the success of the Sun-god in his ceaseless
conflict with Apep, Fiend of Darkness.

Piety was a habit with Menna, as with Bentu and the rest.

This done, once more Menna’s chair swung along the high embankment. Once
again the warning shouts or blows from the forked staff of Bentu kept the
narrow way free.

Arrived before the tree-set entrance to the Temple of Thothmes, Menna
left his servants and continued westward, past Amenhotep the Second’s
temple, on foot. Soon his tall figure was lost among the groves of
cedars, karobs and acacias with which the tomb precincts of the nobles
Senmut, Ra, and Rekmara, were thickly planted.

Passing the great monument of the architect Senmut, from which vantage
point the great cedar which marked the tomb precinct of his father
and mother was visible, Menna turned towards the yellow terraces of
Hatshepsut’s ivory-columned temple. To the left, he could already
distinguish the little pyramid and the terraced colonades of the
Mentuhotep Shrine, near which was the spot he sought. A few minutes more
and he had crossed the ruined forecourt of that ancient king’s memorial
shrine.

For a moment Menna looked about him. He consulted a memorandum which he
took from his jeweled belt. Then again, with an anticipatory smile, he
ascended to the highest terrace and suddenly vanished into a dark opening
which seemed to lead into the very face of the stupendous cliffs which
towered above.

Menna was soon in total darkness. He felt himself descending a long,
narrow passage-way pitched at a very steep incline. He must have gone
some two hundred paces when he felt, rather than saw the glow of a light.
Soon he could distinguish the polished surface of the granite slabs with
which the narrow walls were faced.

All was well! The Princess awaited him!

Standing in the opening of the doorway, Menna softly spoke her name.
The Princess did not answer, but stood well back within the shadows of
an alabaster naos, a shrine which, centuries before, had held a statue
of the deified king, Mentuhotep. At the right he saw a dark and narrow
doorway in which were visible a few ascending steps cut in the rock.

The slim figure of the Princess was concealed beneath a long Memphite
cloak. She appeared not to have heard his greeting.

Again Menna softly called her name: “Sesen! My Lily, My Lotus! Behold thy
lover, O Daughter of Hathor!”

Still the figure was silent. Smilingly Menna drew near; he understood.
With a wealth of flattering phrases on his lips, he sought to catch her
to him. As he did so, the figure turned, and revealed to his astounded
gaze the burning eyes of Hanit, of Hanit the former Queen!

Yet, Hanit was dead! He had seen her embalmed body laid away in her
rock-hewn tomb!

With a hoarse and inarticulate cry Menna turned and fled. ’Twas the
visible _ka_ of the outraged queen, ’twas Hanit’s vindictive _double_!
Nay, it ’twas Hanit herself, whose mummified form he himself had seen,
what time Huy, the Great High Priest, had performed the last rites, with
the ceremonial opening of the eyes, the ears, the mouth! Had not he
himself placed a wreath upon her well-swathed form, and thereafter seen
the coffin lowered in her rock-hewn tomb?

As Menna stumbled up the steep incline of the rock-hewn passage, black
horror seized upon him; a paralyzing terror rose from his throbbing heart
and mounted to his numbed brain. He tore the heavy gold chains and the
jeweled _wesekh_ from his throat. He felt that he was choking.

“Breath of Ra! The doorway, air, light, the blessed daylight!”

As Menna groped his way up the passage he heard in front of him, a dull
thud as of some heavy falling body. For a moment his headlong flight was
arrested. The solid rock beneath his feet seemed to tremble. He rushed up
the last few yards of the narrow corridor and came suddenly in violent
contact with an immovable block of polished granite.

A cold perspiration burst out upon his forehead; his knees trembled
beneath him. He was trapped.

The overseer made a last attempt to think clearly. For a few moments he
succeeded in stifling the terror that gripped his heart.

Menna carefully felt the walls over and over again to left, to right,
in front! Not a crack nor a crevice. Always that granite door! In an
agony of fear Menna hurled himself against it. He shrieked, he raved, he
cursed.

Finally the Overseer, no longer human, turned and crept back along the
granite passage-way. The dust of centuries rose into his throat and
filled his lungs. Its fine, impalpable particles got into his eyes. The
droppings of innumerable bats covered his robes; his scented wig had
fallen from his head.

Slowly Menna scrambled down the passage, now in a crouching position, now
on all fours. His blood-red eyes gleamed in the gloomy obscurity like
those of a savage panther of the south. Blood trickled slowly from his
inflamed nostrils; his lips were drawn far back upon the gums, as if he
snarled.

Menna stood again in the shrine-chamber. The light still flickered
along its granite sides, upon the ivory-toned naos and the figures and
hieroglyphs with which it was decorated. The prince gazed wildly about
him. Even the ponderous inner door had now swung into place.

Stretching out his bleeding hands he approached the huge shrine. He would
cast himself upon the mercy of Hanit’s vengeful spirit, for by now Menna
was long past fear of _bas_ or _kas_, of “_ghosts_” or “_doubles_!” He
called her name as, with outstretched hands he shuffled hesitatingly
towards the shrine.

Hanit had vanished!

With a low moan Menna crumpled up and pitched headlong at the foot of the
shrine. Above his head the light brightened for an instant, then slowly
sank and, suddenly, vanished. Once again the painted forms of gods and
demons alone reigned supreme amidst the fetid heat and darkness.



CHAPTER XIX

THE HITTITES ADVANCE


Pharaoh’s recently completed City of the Sun stretched at some length
along both sides of the Nile, about sixty miles north of the ancient city
of Siut, sacred to the Wolf-god.

To-day, fronting its white quay, a fleet of barges swung idly at anchor.
From the high poop of one, a large temple-barge by its decoration,
Merira, High Priest of Aton, was about to disembark. At the landward end
of its gangplank, which had been stretched to the well-built limestone
wall of the quay, a knot of white-robed priests of Aton bowed a fawning
welcome to their portly brother hierophant. Sixteen stalwart lay-brothers
stood expectantly beside the dignitary’s hooded-chair. Soon, Merira, High
Priest of Aton, high above the gleaming heads of his chanting followers,
vanished down the avenue of criosphinxes which led toward the massive
pylons of the imposing Aton Temple.

Parallel with the well-planted gardens and vineyards of the Temple of
the Sun ran the northern wall of Pharaoh’s new palace. The southern wall
divided it from the gardens which hedged in the home of the General
Mei, a favorite of Pharaoh. Both the grounds about the Aton Temple, the
palace, villa, and library of Pharaoh and the house of Mei, ran backward
from the Nile bank to the first rise of the low hills to the east.

Pharaoh’s gardens, both of villa, library and palace, were already
thickly planted with the rarest of native trees and vines, but myrrh,
sandalwood, dôm-palm and young Lebanus cedar from the terraces, might be
seen both in the gardens of the monarch and in those of his favorites.

At this moment the huge limestone palace glowed in the heat of
midafternoon like a piece of painted ivory. The sun’s rays turned to
fire the gold caps of the lofty cedar flag-posts which towered above the
walls.

At the end of a long avenue of young acacias one could distinguish the
archers-of-the-guard, as they paced to and fro before the palace gates. A
pair of Syrian horses, harnessed to a light chariot, pawed the sandstone
flagging before the entrance-pylon, or reared high in air, did the
iron-wristed _katana_ show the least sign of relaxing his grip upon the
gilded reins.

Queen Noferith was about to visit the hillset tomb of one of her
daughters, who had died shortly after the royal family had taken up its
residence in the new city. The royal-nurse, Thuya, and the three sisters
of the dead Princess, were already well on their way to the tomb, bearing
offerings of food, flowers and cosmetics for the use of the _ka_.

Within the interior of the palace, Pharaoh was busily engaged with that
corpulent official, the chief-scribe, Enei. At the moment Enei was
squatting cross-legged among the reeds and water-fowl painted upon the
stucco floor of the room. Upon his kilted knees lay the open sheet of a
long leather-roll already closely written in red and black with lines of
deftly inscribed hieratic.

Enei held a long reed pen in one hand; two others stuck out behind his
elephantine ears. He had been occupied all morning transcribing from
Pharaoh’s own lips the “Hymn to Aton,” which for weeks had engrossed his
fanatical master.

Famine and pestilence at home, revolt in Nubia, new mutterings of trouble
along the Asiatic frontier, one and all had to give place now to the
completion of this Sun-hymn, and the ritual of the Aton cult.

The ritual had already been chanted in the Temple of the Sun. Indeed, it
had been intoned for the first time in a little chapel erected among the
now well-nigh deserted temples of Amen at Karnak. Here was bitter hearing
for the exiled priest of Amen!

Pharaoh was extremely anxious to hear the High Priest Merira chant his
“Hymn to the Sun,” a composition which Pharaoh had written for the
express use of the Priests of the Temple of Aton. In order to finish
the hymn Pharaoh had shut himself up in his library with orders that on
no account should he be disturbed. Ambassadors, envoys, nobles of the
empire, spies and messengers, all must wait who sought an audience of the
engrossed monarch.

But a few moments before, Pentu, Chief Court Physician, had backed from
his master’s presence, loaded down with chains and bracelets of gold.

Pentu had gained some real or fancied ascendancy over Enei the Scribe
in a heated argument as to a probable connection between the sun-god
Ra of Heliopolis, Aton, and Adon, the Syrian God of Fertility. Pentu’s
bald head glistened like the mirror clasped in the hand of his waiting
daughter. Pentu’s broad smile widened, if indeed that might be, as his
waiting servants hurled themselves into the dust at sight of his gleaming
decorations, those “gifts which the king bestows.”

“What stiff campaign hath earned such rich rewards?” asks the
travel-worn Rabba, messenger of Ribaddi, one of Egypt’s vassals in Asia.

“Peace, peace, soldier! Hold thy tongue, fit but to frighten lousy
Sand-dwellers! Hast thou not heard? Egypt hath done with war! Corn grows
upon our spearshafts, boys swim in our shields; our curved swords cut
wheat and spelt, our slings kill reed-birds. The ‘gifts of Majesty’ now
reach priests, poets and potters. Breath of Ra—ahem—Aton, I should have
said, a soldier now must stand aside that shaven-headed sucklings from
the new religious school may pass! Amemet seize me! Five hours’ waiting
is enough for me! Honors to thy son’s son,” and the officer passes out.

Some three hours later, Ribaddi’s urgent call for assistance, that small
clay tablet upon whose safe and speedy deliverance into the hands of the
Egyptian king hung the fate of Syria, Ribaddi’s last despairing cry for
help, still rested in its metal tube about the impatient Rabba’s neck.

Tired of his long vigil, Rabba had addressed a few somewhat pointed
remarks in the direction of the painted ceiling, but intended for the
large ears of Seneb the Court Usher. As a not unnatural sequel, another
moment found him on the wrong side of the palace door.

From the threshold of the courtyard two giggling pages made the
infuriated Rabba mock bows and salutations in the Syrian manner.

Thereafter, Rabba wandered aimlessly about and finally disappeared behind
the deep red curtains which blew in and out of Thethi’s tavern-door.

The following morning, Rabba awoke to find himself seated upon the edge
of a wine-stained couch. In one hand he clasped a faded spray of mimosa.
He pulled a chaplet of dried and blackened lotus-flowers from his aching
head. Not a bar remained about his arms, not a strand of beads flashed
upon his massive chest. Neith, a full-lipped Theban dancer, had them all!

Rabba’s hand went to his throat hesitatingly, despairingly. The case that
had held his master’s message, his credentials and his master’s seal,
all had vanished with that velvet-eyed traitress.

Ten days ago should the precious letter have been added to the thousands
of clay tablets which lined the alcoves of Pharaoh’s library and
registry. Ten days ago, Rabba the Messenger should have been well on his
way back to Gebal, his hillset station, with Pharaoh’s reply.

Alas! At the moment, Ribaddi’s devoted city lay a mass of smouldering
ruins, in the midst of which were scattered the ashes of Ribaddi,
Pharaoh’s most loyal vassal, his family, and those of the entire squadron
of Baal, to which the unhappy Rabba himself belonged. Feeling that the
Egyptian monarch had lulled himself into a sense of security, the hosts
of the Khabiri and Hittites, headed by Rimur of Charchemish and the
kings of Kadesh and Megiddo, had suddenly swooped upon the territory of
Pharaoh’s Syrian vassal, Ribaddi the Loyal.



CHAPTER XX

HOW BAR AND RENNY MEET FOR THE LAST TIME


Reflected in the quiet reaches of the Nile, a brilliant planet hung, like
a silver ball, in the green and gold of Egypt’s long-continued afterglow.
Below it Aah, the pale young moon, seemed as if it sought to catch that
scintillating jewel in the hollow of its crescent cup.

The evening’s stillness was broken at intervals by the snarls of
marauding hyenas, the barks of jackals and the hooting of the little
golden-brown owls which haunted the over-hanging eaves of the massive
Temple of Khonsu.

Dusky forms stole stealthily along the narrow alleys of the half-deserted
city of Thebes. As they hurried past, the paling afterglow reflected upon
the low white walls caused their nodding shadows to appear unnaturally
enlarged, menacing, terrifying.

Within Renny’s workshop the more immediate shadows were at times revealed
by the light from a deep bronze bowl, a brazier filled with glowing
incense-wood. The bowl stood upon a low stand immediately in front of
Renny’s statue of the Princess Sesen.

Once again relieved of its encircling ropes and mattings, the beautiful
statue of the Princess stood revealed in all its grace and freedom.
Following Menna’s sudden and mysterious disappearance Renny had come
again to his workshop to claim the statue which was his. The little
crocodile amulet at his throat had, indeed, saved him from Bar’s
murderous attack. Bar himself felt this to be a fact.

In the center of the room stood the Princess herself. Her gaze was fixed
upon the statue with a mingled expression of awe, pride and delight. At
her feet knelt Renny the sculptor, his upturned face transfigured.

Bhanar, trembling with fear, frequently opened the door and gazed
anxiously, impatiently it seemed, down the length of the garden path. As
she slipped to the lock the broken seals tapped softly against the wooden
panels.

Why so impatient, Bhanar? Why that gleam of hatred in those eyes, ever so
gentle, ever so beautiful, as they rest upon the figure of thy mistress?

To account for Bhanar’s attitude, we must revert once more to Bar,
servant to Menna. All unwitting of his master’s horrible fate, Bar had
set spies about the Princess. He engaged a servant attached to the
villa to report day by day the doings of the little Princess, hoping to
surprise her in some unguarded evidence of affection for the infatuated
Renny. He himself sought and gained the confidence of the jealous Bhanar.

The beautiful slave-girl, now envenomed by a sudden jealousy of her
mistress, confided to the sympathetic Bar a note which Renny had bribed
Baquit, the Gate-Keeper, to deliver to the Princess. Bhanar, after many
a vain attempt, had managed to abstract it from her mistress’s ebony
jewel-box.

In return for this, the overjoyed Bar had promised her that this very
night should see Sesen and Renny parted forever.

Thus it happened, that when, towards sun-down, Sesen commanded Bhanar to
get her long Memphite cloak for an outing in the gardens, Bhanar trembled
with anticipation. She barely glanced at the ducks, the gazelle’s hearts,
the Delta wine and the lotus-seed bread, which composed the evening meal.
The meal being over and the low tabourets removed, Prince Wozer, Sesen’s
father, was carried off upon the shoulders of six chair-bearers in the
direction of the Theban cemetery. It was the anniversary of the death of
a life-long friend and, as had been his habit, he himself would light
the first torch preparatory to the service held in the dead man’s honor,
he with his own hands would place the gifts of food and drink upon the
offering-table of the dead noble’s tomb. For the last five years Prince
Wozer had thus acted the part of _ka_-servant to Surera the Justified.

When once the long procession of offering-bearers which regularly
accompanied her father on such occasions was well on its way, Sesen and
Bhanar descended into the palace gardens.

Arrived at a little postern gate which connected with the villa-garden
of Thi’s favorite, the unhappy Menna, the Princess pushed back the
barlock, and both passed through. Another moment and they had entered the
dimly-lit room of Renny’s former workshop.

All unsuspecting of Bhanar’s treachery, Sesen had placed the little slave
at the door to watch. Bhanar’s heart beat so violently that it well-nigh
suffocated her. A glimpse of her mistress reaching out her fingers toward
the statue, her mistress’ other self, struck suddenly a tardy repentance
into the very soul of the despairing slave-girl.

Suddenly Bhanar started. Three figures had turned into the narrow
garden-path and were rapidly approaching. In the foremost of the three
Bhanar recognized Bar the Memphite. Menna’s former spy was speaking in
loud tones and violently gesticulating as he hurried the others up the
path. Two archers of Prince Wozer’s guard strode behind him.

Forgetful of herself, her jealousy and treachery, Bhanar shrieked aloud;
“Renny! My Renny! Bar is here, Menna’s spy! Fly, while there is yet time!”

At her first words, Renny leaped to the door. A glance showed him his old
enemy. Who could have betrayed them?

Hardly knowing what he would do, he drew the Princess down behind the
festooned pedestal, covering her at the same time with its heavy wreaths
and flowers.

Even as he paused, rapidly scanning the effect, the outer door was burst
violently open and the giant Bar pushed headlong into the room.

In the doorway, looming large against the afterglow, Renny beheld the
sturdy forms of the two archers.

Bar shot a hasty glance at the statue, then ripped out an oath: “Dog, son
of a dog, the Princess. Where is she?”

With a smile upon his pale face, Renny slowly raised his hand and pointed
to the statue. Then suddenly as Bar turned, he sprang straight at the
Memphite and struck, alas, in vain, for his dagger broke short off
against Bar’s hidden leather corslet.

Realizing that his last moment had come, Renny slowly drew his long
Asiatic sleeve across his bowed head. Motionless, he anticipated the
arrow that trembled between the thumb and forefinger of one of the
guardsmen who, at his sudden attack upon the Memphite, had moved up into
the room.

The twang of the bow thrummed in his ears, and, with it, a choking sob
and the thud of a falling body.

Quickly Renny threw aside the light covering from his face, dreading
what his trembling heart too truly warned him he should see. With a cry
of agony he dropped beside the limp body of the dead Bhanar. Gently he
lifted her head, scanned her face, breathed her name. In vain! Too well
had Wenamon’s arrow done its work! A few red feathers and an inch of
reed showed just above the white robe of his little countrywoman. The
rest of the long shaft was buried in her breast.

Renny rose slowly to his feet. His gaze swept the terrified archers
to the threshold of the door. With a roar like that of some southern
panther maddened with its wounds, once more he hurled himself upon the
treacherous Bar.

His onslaught hurled the dagger from the nerveless hand of the
horror-struck Memphite. For that worthy stood gazing, as if fascinated,
at the upturned face of the dead Bhanar.

They grappled, tripped and fell, rolling over and over, now one seeming
to gain the mastery, now the other. Above their writhing forms the
archers awaited their opportunity.

Kneeling at the base of the pedestal the terrified little Princess alone
made outcry, sending out upon the still evening air shriek upon shriek,
intermingled with peals of frenzied laughter.

A slight lessening of the grip and Renny’s powerful hand stole towards
Bar’s jeweled throat. A snap, a quiver of the big limbs and the Memphite
lay motionless.

Renny staggered like a drunken man to his feet. Stealthily Wenamon the
archer approached, with somewhat of the caution with which one might
beard a wounded lion in its den. His bow had been cast aside. A dagger
gleamed in his raised hand.

Renny’s swaying figure lurched heavily towards the statue of the
Princess, to the base of which the Princess herself still clung. As his
fingers gripped its flower-festooned base, Wenamon’s dagger flashed.

Renny suddenly straightened himself. His bloodshot eyes sought those of
the Princess, who stood rooted to the spot.

“Sesen! Sesen,” he cried, and fell dead at her feet.



CHAPTER XXI

OF THE CAPTURE OF BELUR, THE HITTITE


The city of Kadesh lay gleaming in the evening sunlight at the upper end
of that vast plain which stretched northward to the Lake Country. As
viewed from Shabtuna, where the Egyptian army was now encamped, it seemed
a veritable city of towers.

Along the eastern front of this Asiatic city the waters of the Orontes
glittered like a straight Hittite sword. The high, machicolated
gate-towers, on the eastern side, were approached by a causeway and a
broad flight of stone steps. Protected by a white wall on either side,
these steps rose from the very waters of the turgid Orontes itself.

The city towers were black with people, frenzied women for the most part.
Their piercing shrieks, now of exultation, now of despair, floated out
upon the flashing waters of the broad river. The sounds reached the ears
of Ramses, the Egyptian general, where he stood.

Along the city walls youths and old men peered anxiously southward,
across the level plain. Men, women and children stood with faces glued to
the openings which capped the city walls.

The eyes of the people of Kadesh were riveted upon the ebb and flow of
a gigantic conflict, which had raged throughout the day back and forth
across the broad reaches of the plain below.

The mighty hosts of the Hittites, led by Rimur of Charchemish in person,
had struggled since daybreak with the forces of Egypt.

The battle had opened auspiciously for the Hittites, though the ninth
of Khoiak was a favorable day alike to Egyptian and Hittite. To the
Egyptians it meant that the very gods would lend their aid in the
conflict, for was not this the day in which the god Thoth gained his
memorable victory over Set!

Yet, so far, matters had gone badly for the Egyptians. The Division
of Sutekh, led by old Noferhotep, had been surprised at the ford near
Shabtuna, and cut to pieces. Noferhotep himself had been drowned in the
blood-red waters and his body had not been recovered.

Alas, O Noferhotep, the harpers will not sing before thy silent form;
“the feathered dancers” will not join thy funeral dance!

It appeared that the spies sent out by the Egyptians had been deceived as
to the numerical superiority of the Hittite host. An unknown force of the
enemy had been enabled to steal up on Noferhotep’s infantry as it crossed
the ford.

A few wounded stragglers from this unequal action had managed to reach
the main Egyptian camp, where their distorted accounts of the recent
disaster well-nigh caused a panic. However, at this juncture the arrival
of Yankhamu with a division of Ethiopian troops, had put new heart into
the Egyptian host.

Thus, then, it had been since daybreak. The tide of battle had leaned now
toward the Hittite, now toward Egypt.

The main affray had resolved itself into a frontal attack, which extended
right across the plain to the very foothills.

The Egyptian chariots had endeavored to cut around the right flank of the
enemy, hoping to drive them into a swamp which lay to the south-west.

Across the broad plains serried ranks of infantry pressed to the attack.
The reserves of both armies were now brought into action. Thus commenced
the final stage of the conflict, a last desperate onslaught which should,
once and for all, decide the fate of one of the two opposing armies.

The non-combatants high upon the battlemented walls of Kadesh broke into
Wild shouts of triumph, as the right wing of the Egyptian army was seen
to bend, to break and, finally, to rush, in wildest disorder, towards a
slight curve in the Orontes river eastward. A mass of the howling sons of
Kheta pressed hard upon its heels.

The people of the city could contain themselves no longer. For them
the battle was as good as won. The youths flew down to the great gates
which opened as if by magic, and in another moment hot-footed youth,
halting old-age, women and little children could be seen spreading in a
fan-shaped wave across the dusty expanse which separated the contending
forces from the city walls.

Suddenly, from behind a low ridge to the westward, there appeared a long
line of two-horse chariots. In the center, easily recognized by his
bright red leather doublet and gilded warbonnet, stood the young Egyptian
general, Ramses. A huge Ethiopian _katana_, leaning well out over the
leather body of the chariot, urged on Ramses’ horses by word of mouth and
lash of whip. At the right of the chariot bounded a lean Nubian panther.

The onrushing chariots aligned themselves upon that of their young and
impetuous leader. With ever quickening pace the long line swept across
the well-nigh deserted right flank, turned, and hurled a devastating
avalanche of arrows into the wavering center of the enemy’s line.

Without pausing an instant the gleaming line crashed into the very heart
of the Hittite army. Thereafter Charchemish, Kadesh, Megiddo, On, Thebes
and Napata, were mingled in an indescribable whirl of choking yellow
dust, rearing and screaming horses, yelling and cursing men, and flashing
weapons.

The right flank of the Egyptian army, which had feinted at retreat, now
turned upon its pursuers. Many they hurled into the river; many they
slew out of hand. The majority, panic-stricken, took to flight in the
direction of the city.

Scenting disaster, Rimur, King of Charchemish, fled headlong from the
stricken field. The King of Kadesh hurled his wounded companion, Belur
the Hittite, from his chariot, and urged his tired horses toward the
southern gate.

Seeing their King take to flight, the forces of Kadesh broke. One and all
followed their royal master as fast as chariot, horse or limbs could
carry them.

In a moment the fleeing soldiers had burst into the densely-massed body
composed of their distracted wives, mothers, grandsires and wailing
children. These likewise attempted now to turn and again to seek shelter
within the city walls.

There ensued a state of indescribable confusion in which terror reigned
supreme. And this state of utter panic was not confined to those
unfortunates upon the plain, but communicated itself to the few people
who still remained within the city. Fearing the fury of the Egyptian
soldiers, these now shut and barred the ponderous city gates.

There followed such a slaughter of the miserable sons of Kheta as had not
been witnessed in the Orontes Valley since the day Great Thothmes had
first taken Kadesh by assault.

Fifteen full days was Pahura the Scribe occupied in listing the spoils of
gilded chariots, jeweled breast-plates, gold and silver temple-vessels,
and the treasure of Belil, King of Kadesh.

As to Belil himself, his obese form was ignominiously pierced by an
arrow, as he dangled at the end of a rope half-way up the city walls.

Once the Ethiopian division had burst in the city gate, those who had
attempted to save their King, and others who had been driven to the
battlements surrounding the palace, were hurled over its parapet and met
their death either upon the flagging of the court or in the waters of the
moat which surround it.

Rimur, King of Charchemish, fled night and day by means of relays. Not
a night did he rest until he found himself once again behind the giant
walls of his capital.

Belur, his brother, badly wounded on the field, was brought, a pale and
sullen captive, to the chariot of the victorious Ramses. At the present
plight of the once haughty ambassador to Egypt Ramses allowed the
faintest indication of a sneer to break the stony indifference of his
glance.

Following his commands the Prince of Kheta was led away that his wounds
might be attended to. Belur was reserved for a fate far worse than
death. Indeed, death would come as a welcome relief to the indignities
and tortures that would presently be meted out to him. He was destined
to swing from the prow of Ramses’ galley head down, where he would be
lightly fed, yet, were it possible, not allowed to die, until Pharaoh
himself should despatch him.

According to custom, a captive chief must be presented to the great god
Amen of Thebes. Established precedent required that he be killed before
the temple portals of the god himself. Whether Aton would scorn such a
blood-thirsty offering, Ramses did not pause to think.

The irruption of the victorious Egyptian army into Kadesh was followed
by wholesale loot, division of the women among the soldiery, riotous
drunkenness, child-murder and the apportioning of the manhood of
the vanquished among the temples of Egypt. There followed the utter
obliteration of the conquered city in a holocaust of fire.

Within twenty days from the time Pahura had commenced to list the first
golden ewer, the once famous city of Kadesh with its gilded towers and
blue-glazed walls, its palace ablaze with lazuli, silver and ivory, and
the great temple to the Sun-god, a veritable treasure-house of richly
colored tiles and bricks, gold, turquoise, silver, ebony, Lebanus
cedar and sweet-smelling woods from the Incense Country, lay a mass
of smouldering ruins, encircled during the day by a veritable ring of
vultures, throughout the night by droves of snarling and quarreling
hyenas.

But, by this time, the victorious host of Egypt was well on its way
up the straight highroad to the frontier, where it was hailed by the
acclaiming vanguard of the overjoyed Egyptian populace.

At the first Egyptian city, Suan-of-the-North, it was rumored that the
aged Magician Enana, Ramses’ grandsire, together with two unknown and
mysterious personages, had been seen to enter Ramses’ tent. Thereafter
they accompanied him.



CHAPTER XXII

THE “DOUBLE” OF HANIT


A feeling, closely akin to panic, had settled upon the Egyptian Court.
Its members, of whom by far the greater number were, outwardly at least,
firm adherents of Aton, had now received a second violent shock to their
already perplexed minds.

Following her safe return from one of her periodic visits to Pharaoh’s
new capital to the north, Thi the Queen-Mother, had suddenly and most
mysteriously vanished.

The Women’s Quarter of the palace was in an uproar. Consternation and,
withal a nameless dread, was stamped upon the faces of courtier and
servant alike. The remembrance of Menna’s unaccountable, and still
unsolved disappearance, was still fresh in their minds.

Upon the evening in which the Queen-Mother had so suddenly vanished, the
Princess Bekit-aton had left her side for a few moments in order to warm,
with her own hands, a cup of old Thinite wine. When the little Princess
returned it was to find the Queen-Mother gone.

She chanced to look out of the window and was astonished to see Queen
Thi, in company with another lady of the court, the Lady Renenet she
thought, about to round the bend of the road which led to the Temple of
Sekhmet. It was the first time in her experience that the Queen-Mother
had gone out so little attended.

Bekit-aton returned to the harem. She did not suspect that anything
was amiss until darkness descended upon the palace. Then and not
until then, according to the rigid court etiquette, she again entered
the Queen-Mother’s room—upon this occasion accompanied by the other
ladies-in-waiting—in order to assist the Queen-Mother to the Banquet
Hall. Among the ladies she was surprised to see the Lady Renenet. Upon
inquiry she found that Renenet had not left the Women’s Quarters that
day. And it was the same with respect to the other ladies. Not one had
left the Palace walls during the entire day.

Yet, one lady asserted that she had seen Queen Thi enter the palace
within the hour. Somewhat relieved by this, the Princess Bekit-aton
sought the Queen-Mother in each and every room of the Women’s Quarter.
Yet this search, similarly, proved unsuccessful.

Once again she entered the Queen’s robing-room. She found no sign of
disorder. Queen Thi had apparently left of her own free will. The
mystified little Princess called to her assistance Queen Noferit and
other ladies of the harem.

Again the rooms were searched. Led by the Princess the searchers
descended into the gardens. They entered the quarters of the cooks and
butlers. They explored the dark shadows of the various columned courts
and the murkier gloom of the side aisles, together with their innumerable
storerooms.

Finally, when panic seized upon them, they called to their assistance
the Steward of the Palace. At the news Soken’s changed expression did
little to allay their fears. With a gesture he swept them all back in the
direction of the harem.

In turn the Palace Steward and the other eunuchs once again carefully
searched palace, court, garden and lakeside. Darkness descended upon a
house filled with grief and consternation on the part of the women, and
deadly fear on the part of Soken and the other eunuchs of the palace.

The fate of Prince Menna, Pharaoh’s Overseer, was still upon the lips of
palace-servant, priest and peasant alike. Menna’s enemies were many. It
might well be that someone whom Menna had misused or wronged had at last
struck back and that successfully.

But the sudden disappearance of the Queen-Mother from the midst of
her ladies, from a mighty building guarded within and without, caused
a thrill of horror and a nameless fear to run through palace and
countryside alike. It was inexplicable.

The Temple of Sekhmet, the lake, the palace and the palace-gardens, were
searched and researched again and again. Not a spot was overlooked. When
at last it became necessary to send the evil tidings to the new capital,
the City of the Sun, Pharaoh himself came hurriedly back to Thebes.

As, day after day, the searching parties returned empty-handed, Pharaoh
lost patience. Hundreds were slain. Soken and many of the palace eunuchs
met their death at the strangler’s hands. Men soon went to the task of
searching for the lost Queen as criminals already condemned to death.

For a full week the search was renewed. Fresh men were called up for the
task. Finally, the soldiers of the Divisions of Khonsu, Ptah and Sutekh
were pressed into service. All in vain.

One remarkable circumstance was discovered, following the disappearance
of the Queen-Mother, and that by the Princess Bekit-aton. The portrait
of the Ex-Queen Hanit, which had been painted on a column in the Audience
Hall of the late Pharaoh, had been carefully and completely obliterated.
This had been done just prior to or immediately following the
Queen-Mother’s disappearance. Nothing remained, where once the portrait
stood, but six words written in red in roughly drawn hieratic: “By the
Power of the Book of Thoth.”

No one could explain this desecration of the former Queen’s portrait.
Mention of the magic Book of Thoth struck terror into every heart, not
excepting that of Pharaoh himself.

Thenceforth Pharaoh’s fanatical zeal in the interest of Aton, his Syrian
sun-cult, slowly waned and finally ceased. The innumerable gifts to
the many new Aton shrines throughout Egypt—one had been set up against
the very walls of the Temple of Amen in the Apt—the gorgeous religious
processions, the ceaseless theological studies and debates, all were
suddenly abandoned.

With the change Pharaoh himself seemed to fade. Little nourishment passed
his lips. Within the dim shadows of his private chapel, hour after hour
the hollow-eyed monarch stood in prayer before the gold and gem-encrusted
statue of Aton, the sun-god. At times the statue appeared to his
distracted mind to mock him with a smile half-pitying, half-contemptuous!

Verily, the curse of Huy, High Priest of Amen was upon him! Noferith, his
wife, had borne him no heir, no son to follow him upon the gold Horus
Throne of Egypt! The scepter must go to others, to that hollow cousin of
his, whom Thi had been wont to call _the mirage_.

As for old Ay, another distant relative and possible claimant to the
Throne, Pharaoh suspected that Ay was even now in secret correspondence
with the exiled priests of Amen, whose influence was again making itself
felt, not alone in Thebes, but as far north as the new capital, the City
of the Sun itself.

To whom then could he turn? Among the courtiers about him there was not
one in whom he could trust. Not one could help him. Alas, too late, he
bethought him of the exiled Ramses!

In the midst of a rising on the part of his famine-stricken people in the
south, an insurrection started by the exiled priests of Amen, Pharaoh
took to his ivory couch.

Thereafter few saw him. He held no more audiences. Dedu, Keeper of the
Robes, alone attended him. Even Pentu, his physician, was dismissed
and shortly after strangled, together with Mei, Chief of the Military
Forces in the new capital. Mei and Pentu had both been found in secret
correspondence with the priests of Amen in distant Nubia.

Dedu, Keeper of the Robes, entered his royal master’s apartment late one
morning to find him sitting bolt upright, his prominent eyes fixed in a
horrified stare upon the curtain which screened the door. A single word
fell from Pharaoh’s trembling lips as he sank back fainting in Dedu’s
outstretched arms. That single word the wondering Dedu swore was ...
_Hanit!_

Thereafter, Pharaoh in terror bade his guards drive all visitors,
petitioners and beggars from the palace gates. Pharaoh shut himself up
within its brightly painted courts and allowed things without to take
their course.

The silver-embossed doors remained fast closed. No watchman paced the
battlemented walls and pylons. No plumed Syrian horses pawed the flagging
before the outer gates. The gay bannerettes no longer rose upon the
gold-tipped poles fronting the main entrance to the palace forecourt.
Hushed were the voices of the guards and other palace servants. Even
the birds which flitted back and forth among the trees seemed to have
forgotten their cheerful songs.

Finally, one memorable evening, when the dying Pharaoh lay propped up
high upon his couch, he beckoned to Prince Antef, Lord of Thebes, who
stood in the center of the awe-struck group before him.

Dropping the hairless lids of a pair of vulture-like eyes, eyes filled at
the moment with a joy which the Prince tried in vain to conceal, Antef
fell upon his knees beside the dying Pharaoh’s couch. He already felt the
gold diadem of kings about his wig, the royal asps about his forehead.

Silence descended upon the little room. Silence seemed to fall upon
the entire building, both within and without. The wails of the women
ceased, the chanting of the priests and the sobs and cries of the palace
servants, all abruptly stopped.

So long continued was the sudden hush that the expectant Antef slowly
raised his head.

As his questioning eyes met those of his royal master, Antef there beheld
such a look of terror, a look reflected he saw upon the faces of the
nobles behind the dying monarch, that the astounded Theban himself felt
somewhat of the chill that seemed to have changed his master and his
friends to stone.

He caught the whispered sound of a once familiar name. It seemed to be on
everyone’s lips: Hanit! Hanit! Hanit!

Antef turned himself about. At once that same nameless terror held him
also in its grip.

In the doorway stood Queen Hanit, Hanit upon whose mummified form he
himself had placed a wreath of flowers! Antef stumbled to his feet and
there remained, his eyes fixed upon this apparition of the Ex-Queen, as
if he likewise had been turned to stone.

A richly plaited robe covered Queen Hanit’s form. About her head was set
the vulture diadem, that circlet of gold which queens of the royal blood
alone may wear. Her throat was hidden by a necklace of bright blue beads.
Upon one finger she wore a blue glazed ring, a ring such as is worn by
the dead alone! Before her she held a Book which seemed to glow, as if by
some preternatural light.

By now Antef and the horrified nobles had backed to the furthest corner
of the room, whence they continued to gaze at this apparition of the
former Queen, believing it to be in very fact the visible “double” of
Thi’s murdered rival.

Hanit’s black eyes glittered like those of some poisonous snake. She
fixed them threateningly upon the shrunken features of the terrified
monarch:

“Dost know me, son of Thi?”

The trembling monarch tried in vain to speak.

“Dost know me, Syrian?”

Again Pharaoh essayed to find his nerveless tongue. At last, in a hoarse
and breathless whisper, he managed to articulate the one word ... Hanit!

Again the soft and unearthly voice of Hanit thrilled their ears:

“Son of Thi, thou that art about to wander forth upon the steep and stony
hills of Duat, hearken unto the utterance of Amen, king of gods! By the
power of this Magic Book, thy Hidden Names are revealed to me! Known to
me are the Mystic Names of the Genii that protect thee! By the Power of
the Book, thy _ka_ hath been destroyed! Thy soul is destroyed!

“Awake, awake! Pass not forth until I have shown thee a marvel, saith
Amen, king of gods! Stand forth, Son of Amen! Receive the Scepter of
Amen which is thine!”

With this the apparition slowly moved back, and there before them,
arrayed in the full regalia of kings, the curved sword of Amen clasped in
his hand, stood Ramses, the conqueror of Rimur and the Hittites.

The seeming “double” of the dead Queen raised the Luminous Book high
above her head:

“Hearken, Egyptians! Hearken to the words of Amen, king of gods! With
this sword divine hath Ramses, my son, hurled back the Hittites from your
borders! With this sword divine hath he won a glorious victory! Rimur
grovels in the dust before him; Belur awaits his bitter doom! Of a truth
is this my son, born of my will, essence of my essence, saith Amen, king
of gods! Salute your king! Salute him, Electrum of Kings, Essence of a
God!”

She ceased, and vanished as abruptly as she had appeared. In her place
stood a figure arrayed in the regalia of the great god Amen. In his hand
he held the Double Crown of Egypt.

As if overcome at this manifestation of the power of the great God Amen,
Mei-amen, new leader of the Prophets of Amen, slowly and reverently
advanced and, falling at Ramses’ knees, kissed the hem of his garment. As
he rose, few noted the look that passed between them.

Thereafter, the dead Pharaoh was forgotten. Indeed, as the cries of
the palace-women broke out once more, the assembled nobles burst into
a shout, new to those resplendent walls, a shout which brought the
terrified servants to the door:

“Hail to thee, Ramses, chosen of Amen! Life, Satisfaction and Health to
Pharaoh, our lord, forever and ever!”

       *       *       *       *       *

“Let me see, how do the Egyptians express it? O, I remember! Now of the
coming to the throne of Ramses, of his marriage to the Princess Sesen, of
the cutting out of the hated name of Aton from temple, tomb and dwelling,
is it not written in letters of red and black upon a leather scroll and
stored within the Temple of Amen in the Apt unto this day!

“You know this to be true, Clem! But do you know that Seneb, the mason,
was sent to cut out all mention of Menna upon the walls of his tomb!
Menna, son of Menna, never reached the Blessed fields of Aaru, of that
you may be sure.

“Yes, I know what your next question will be! The Luminous Book!

“Listen! What I am going to tell you is interesting and true. I can vouch
for the story, as I had it from the lips of Enana himself.

“Enana placed the Magic Book in a cauldron of boiling water drawn from
the Sacred Lake by a virgin of the Temple of the Mother-goddess. Thus the
mystic powers with which the Book had been imbued became incorporated in
the holy water.

“A draught of this enchanted water Queen Hanit drank and, drinking,
died. The remainder, according to her wish, was sprinkled over her body,
immediately following the placing of her mummy in the tomb.

“Thereafter Enana ‘said that which he said,’ Enana ‘intoned that which he
intoned,’ and the immutable curse of the Conjurers of Amen was repeated
before the door of her tomb:

“‘Behold! As Ra, the Sun-god, liveth! Whosoever seeketh to desecrate this
tomb dieth! Whosoever toucheth this body to remove it dieth! On earth
death is his portion! In the underworld annihilation is his destiny! In
the Hidden Name of Amen, king of gods, this curse remaineth, yea, so long
as Ra, the Sun-god, endureth!’

“You see, Clem! It is not to be wondered at that those men died so
suddenly, or that the curator, who likewise handled mummy No. 49, himself
succumbed. It proves, without the shadow of a doubt, that the curse of
the Conjurers of Amen _did_ endure. Sesen can tell you....”

“Steven, please lie down and stop talking. Don’t worry about things. Try
to compose yourself.”

As I sank dutifully back upon the pillows, I was aware of a soft and
deliciously cool hand which gently pressed my throbbing head. A smiling
face bent over me.

My bewildered eyes wandered from a trim little white cap to a spotless
white dress and shoes, White canvas shoes!

“Where are her pretty gilded sandals?” thought I.

I tried to speak to her. I even made an effort to catch the soothing hand
at my forehead.

At this the white figure vanished, and in its place, stood Braintree, the
Seaforth’s doctor.

“Great Scott, I have it. I am in the hospital! That was Susan....”

“That’s just where you are, Steven. And I must ask you not to excite
yourself about it. Here you are and here you have been for some time.
Tribe, Dunn and I have slaved over you and won out, at last.

“But who, may I ask, is Menna! No friend of yours, I’d swear! Susan is
equally interested in some lady friend of your acquaintance, Sesen I
think her name was! Well, never mind that now. Turn over and rest.”

Then it was a dream; the vision of a fevered brain! Enana, Hanit, Sesen,
Menna, and Renny—could I have been Renny—all were dreams! Hanit! Why such
a person never existed. And Ramses! As yet he wasn’t born!

I tried to smile at the busy little figure in white. I recognized her
now. It was Susan Braintree, my Susan!

I caught myself repeatedly murmuring: “Susan the Lily, Sesen the Lotus,
one and the same name, one and the same person perhaps. Ah, my Beautiful
Princess! I can smell the sweet unguents which Bhanar has sprinkled upon
your dainty Wig, the myrrh upon your supple hands...!”

Susan presses a little phial to my nostrils. A few short breaths and—I
sleep.





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Hanit the Enchantress" ***

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