The throne itself had the shape of a buckler, guarded by two lions,
which rested on each side of it and formed the arms, and supported on
the backs of four Asiatic captives who crouched beneath its weight.
Thick carpets, which seemed to have transported the sea-shore on to the
dry land-for their pale blue ground was strewn with a variety of shells,
fishes, and water plants-covered the floor of the banqueting hall, in
which three hundred seats were placed by the tables, for the nobles of
the kingdom and the officers of the troops.
Above all this splendor hung a thousand lamps, shaped like lilies and
tulips, and in the entrance hall stood a huge basket of roses to be
strewn before the king when he should arrive.
Even the bed-rooms for the king and his suite were splendidly decorated;
finely embroidered purple stuffs covered the walls, a light cloud of
pale blue gauze hung across the ceiling, and giraffe skins were laid
instead of carpets on the floors.
The barracks intended for the soldiers and bodyguard stood nearer to
the city, as well as the stable buildings, which were divided from the
palace by the garden which surrounded it. A separate pavilion, gilt
and wreathed with flowers, was erected to receive the horses which had
carried the king through the battle, and which he had dedicated to the
Sun-God.
The Regent Ani, accompanied by Katuti, was going through the whole of
these slightly built structures.
"It seems to me all quite complete," said the widow.
"Only one thing I cannot make up my mind about," replied Ani, "whether
most to admire your inventive genius or your exquisite taste."
"Oh! let that pass," said Katuti smiling. "If any thing deserves
your praise it is my anxiety to serve you. How many things had to be
considered before this structure at last stood complete on this marshy
spot where the air seemed alive with disgusting insects and now it is
finished how long will it last?"
Ani looked down. "How long?" he repeated. Then he continued: "There is
great risk already of the plot miscarrying. Ameni has grown cool, and
will stir no further in the matter; the troops on which I counted are
perhaps still faithful to me, but much too weak; the Hebrews, who tend
their flocks here, and whom I gained over by liberating them from forced
labor, have never borne arms. And you know the people. They will kiss
the feet of the conqueror if they have to wade up to there through the
blood of their children. Besides--as it happens--the hawk which old Hekt
keeps as representing me is to-day pining and sick--"
"It will be all the prouder and brighter to-morrow if you are a man!"
exclaimed Katuti, and her eyes sparkled with scorn. "You cannot now
retreat. Here in Pelusium you welcome Rameses as if he were a God,
and he accepts the honor. I know the king, he is too proud to be
distrustful, and so conceited that he can never believe himself deceived
in any man, either friend or foe. The man whom he appointed to be his
Regent, whom he designated as the worthiest in the land, he will most
unwillingly condemn. Today you still have the car of the king; to-morrow
he will listen to your enemies, and too much has occurred in Thebes to
be blotted out. You are in the position of a lion who has his keeper on
one side, and the bars of his cage on the other. If you let the moment
pass without striking you will remain in the cage; but if you act and
show yourself a lion your keepers are done for!"
"You urge me on and on," said Ani. "But supposing your plan were to
fail, as Paaker's well considered plot failed?"
"Then you are no worse off than you are now," answered Katuti. "The
Gods rule the elements, not men. Is it likely that you should finish so
beautiful a structure with such care only to destroy it? And we have no
accomplices, and need none."
"But who shall set the brand to the room which Nemu and the slave have
filled with straw and pitch?" asked Ani.
"I," said Katuti decidedly. "And one who has nothing to look for from
Rameses."
"Who is that?"
"Paaker."
"Is the Mohar here?" asked the Regent surprised.
"You yourself have seen him."
"You are mistaken," said Ani. "I should--"
"Do you recollect the one-eyed, grey-haired, blackman, who yesterday
brought me a letter? That was my sister's son."
The Regent struck his forehead--"Poor wretch" he muttered.
"He is frightfully altered," said Katuti. "He need not have blackened
his face, for his own mother would not know him again: He lost an eye in
his fight with Mena, who also wounded him in the lungs with a thrust
of his sword, so that he breathes and speaks with difficulty, his broad
shoulders have lost their flesh, and the fine legs he swaggered about on
have shrunk as thin as a negro's. I let him pass as my servant without
any hesitation or misgiving. He does not yet know of my purpose, but I
am sure that he would help us if a thousand deaths threatened him. For
God's sake put aside all doubts and fears! We will shake the tree for
you, if you will only hold out your hand to-morrow to pick up the fruit.
Only one thing I must beg. Command the head butler not to stint the
wine, so that the guards may give us no trouble. I know that you gave
the order that only three of the five ships which brought the contents
of your winelofts should be unloaded. I should have thought that the
future king of Egypt might have been less anxious to save!"
Katuti's lips curled with contempt as she spoke the last words. Ani
observed this and said:
"You think I am timid! Well, I confess I would far rather that much
which I have done at your instigation could be undone. I would willingly
renounce this new plot, though we so carefully planned it when we built
and decorated this palace. I will sacrifice the wine; there are jars of
wine there that were old in my father's time--but it must be so! You are
right! Many things have occurred which the king will not forgive! You
are right, you are right--do what seems good to you. I will retire after
the feast to the Ethiopian camp."
"They will hail you as king as soon as the usurpers have fallen in the
flames," cried Katuti. "If only a few set the example, the others will
take up the cry, and even though you have offended Ameni he will attach
himself to you rather than to Rameses. Here he comes, and I already see
the standards in the distance."
"They are coming!" said the Regent. "One thing more! Pray see yourself
that the princess Bent-Anat goes to the rooms intended for her; she must
not be injured."
"Still Bent-Anat?" said Katuti with a smile full of meaning but without
bitterness. "Be easy, her rooms are on the ground floor, and she shall
be warned in time."
Ani turned to leave her; he glanced once more at the great hall, and
said with a sigh. "My heart is heavy--I wish this day and this night
were over!"
"You are like this grand hall," said Katuti smiling, "which is now
empty, almost dismal; but this evening, when it is crowded with guests,
it will look very different. You were born to be a king, and yet are not
a king; you will not be quite yourself till the crown and sceptre are
your own."
Ani smiled too, thanked her, and left her; but Katuti said to herself:
"Bent-Anat may burn with the rest: I have no intention of sharing my
power with her!"
Crowds of men and women from all parts had thronged to Pelusium, to
welcome the conqueror and his victorious army on the frontier. Every
great temple-college had sent a deputation to meet Rameses, that from
the Necropolis consisting of five members, with Ameni and old Gagabu
at their head. The white-robed ministers of the Gods marched in solemn
procession towards the bridge which lay across the eastern-Pelusiac-arm
of the Nile, and led to Egypt proper--the land fertilized by the waters
of the sacred stream.
The deputation from the temple of Memphis led the procession; this
temple had been founded by Mena, the first king who wore the united
crowns of Upper and Lower Egypt, and Chamus, the king's son, was the
high-priest. The deputation from the not less important temple of
Heliopolis came next, and was followed by the representatives of the
Necropolis of Thebes.
A few only of the members of these deputations wore the modest
white robe of the simple priest; most of them were invested with the
panther-skin which was worn by the prophets. Each bore a staff decorated
with roses, lilies, and green branches, and many carried censers in the
form of a golden arm with incense in the hollow of the hand, to be burnt
before the king. Among the deputies from the priesthood at Thebes were
several women of high rank, who served in the worship of this God, and
among them was Katuti, who by the particular desire of the Regent had
lately been admitted to this noble sisterhood.
Ameni walked thoughtfully by the side of the prophet Gagabu.
"How differently everything has happened from what we hoped and
intended!" said Gagabu in a low voice. "We are like ambassadors with
sealed credentials--who can tell their contents?"
"I welcome Rameses heartily and joyfully," said Ameni. "After that which
happened to him at Kadesh he will come home a very different man to what
he was when he set out. He knows now what he owes to Amon. His favorite
son was already at the head of the ministers of the temple at Memphis,
and he has vowed to build magnificent temples and to bring splendid
offerings to the Immortals. And Rameses keeps his word better than that
smiling simpleton in the chariot yonder."
"Still I am sorry for Ani," said Gagabu.
"The Pharaoh will not punish him--certainly not," replied the
high-priest. "And he will have nothing to fear from Ani; he is a feeble
reed, the powerless sport of every wind."
"And yet you hoped for great things from him!"
"Not from him, but through him--with us for his guides," replied Ameni
in a low voice but with emphasis. "It is his own fault that I have
abandoned his cause. Our first wish--to spare the poet Pentaur--he would
not respect, and he did not hesitate to break his oath, to betray us,
and to sacrifice one of the noblest of God's creatures, as the poet
was, to gratify a petty grudge. It is harder to fight against cunning
weakness than against honest enmity. Shall we reward the man who has
deprived the world of Pentaur by giving him a crown? It is hard to quit
the trodden way, and seek a better--to give up a half-executed plan and
take a more promising one; it is hard, I say, for the individual man,
and makes him seem fickle in the eyes of others; but we cannot see to
the right hand and the left, and if we pursue a great end we cannot
remain within the narrow limits which are set by law and custom to the
actions of private individuals. We draw back just as we seem to have
reached the goal, we let him fall whom we had raised, and lift him,
whom we had stricken to the earth, to the pinnacle of glory, in short
we profess--and for thousands of years have professed--the doctrine that
every path is a right one that leads to the great end of securing to the
priesthood the supreme power in the land. Rameses, saved by a miracle,
vowing temples to the Gods, will for the future exhaust his restless
spirit not in battle as a warrior, but in building as an architect. He
will make use of us, and we can always lead the man who needs us. So I
now hail the son of Seti with sincere joy."
Ameni was still speaking when the flags were hoisted on the standards by
the triumphal arches, clouds of dust rolled up on the farther shore of
the Nile, and the blare of trumpets was heard.
First came the horses which had carried Rameses through the fight, with
the king himself, who drove them. His eyes sparkled with joyful triumph
as the people on the farther side of the bridge received him with shouts
of joy, and the vast multitude hailed him with wild enthusiasm and tears
of emotion, strewing in his path the spoils of their gardens-flowers,
garlands, and palm-branches.
Ani marched at the head of the procession that went forth to meet
him; he humbly threw himself in the dust before the horses, kissed
the ground, and then presented to the king the sceptre that had
been entrusted to him, lying on a silk cushion. The king received it
graciously, and when Ani took his robe to kiss it, the king bent down
towards him, and touching the Regent's forehead with his lips, desired
him to take the place by his side in the chariot, and fill the office of
charioteer.
The king's eyes were moist with grateful emotion. He had not been
deceived, and he could re-enter the country for whose greatness and
welfare alone he lived, as a father, loving and beloved, and not as
a master to judge and punish. He was deeply moved as he accepted the
greetings of the priests, and with them offered up a public prayer. Then
he was conducted to the splendid structure which had been prepared for
him gaily mounted the outside steps, and from the top-most stair
bowed to his innumerable crowd of subjects; and while he awaited the
procession from the harbor which escorted Bent-Anat in her litter, he
inspected the thousand decorated bulls and antelopes which were to
be slaughtered as a thank-offering to the Gods, the tame lions and
leopards, the rare trees in whose branches perched gaily-colored birds,
the giraffes, and chariots to which ostriches were harnessed, which all
marched past him in a long array.
[The splendor of the festivities I make Ani prepare seems pitiful
compared with those Ptolemy Philadelphus, according to the report of
an eye witness, Callexenus, displayed to the Alexandrians on a
festal occasion.]
Rameses embraced his daughter before all the people; he felt as if he
must admit his subjects to the fullest sympathy in the happiness and
deep thankfulness which filled his soul. His favorite child had never
seemed to him so beautiful as this day, and he realized with deep
emotion her strong resemblance to his lost wife.--[Her name was Isis
Nefert.]
Nefert had accompanied her royal friend as fanbearer, and she knelt
before the king while he gave himself up to the delight of meeting his
daughter. Then he observed her, and kindly desired her to rise. "How
much," he said, "I am feeling to-day for the first time! I have already
learned that what I formerly thought of as the highest happiness
is capable of a yet higher pitch, and I now perceive that the most
beautiful is capable of growing to greater beauty! A sun has grown from
Mena's star."
Rameses, as he spoke, remembered his charioteer; for a moment his brow
was clouded, and he cast down his eyes, and bent his head in thought.
Bent-Anat well knew this gesture of her father's; it was the omen of
some kindly, often sportive suggestion, such as he loved to surprise his
friends with.
He reflected longer than usual; at last he looked up, and his full eyes
rested lovingly on his daughter as he asked her:
"What did your friend say when she heard that her husband had taken a
pretty stranger into his tent, and harbored her there for months? Tell
me the whole truth of it, Bent-Anat."
"I am indebted to this deed of Mena's, which must certainly be quite
excusable if you can smile when you speak of it," said the princess,
"for it was the cause of his wife's coming to me. Her mother blamed her
husband with bitter severity, but she would not cease to believe in him,
and left her house because it was impossible for her to endure to hear
him blamed."
"Is this the fact?" asked Rameses.
Nefert bowed her pretty head, and two tears ran down her blushing
cheeks.
"How good a man must be," cried the king, "on whom the Gods bestow such
happiness! My lord Chamberlain, inform Mena that I require his services
at dinner to-day--as before the battle at Kadesh. He flung away the
reins in the fight when he saw his enemy, and we shall see if he can
keep from flinging down the beaker when, with his own eyes, he sees
his beloved wife sitting at the table.--You ladies will join me at the
banquet."
Nefert sank on her knees before the king; but he turned from her to
speak to the nobles and officers who had come to meet him, and then
proceeded to the temple to assist at the slaughter of the victims, and
to solemnly renew his vow in the presence of the priests and the people,
to erect a magnificent temple in Thebes as a thank-offering for his
preservation from death. He was received with rapturous enthusiasm; his
road led to the harbor, past the tents in which lay the wounded, who had
been brought home to Egypt by ship, and he greeted them graciously from
his chariot.
Ani again acted as his charioteer; they drove slowly through the long
ranks of invalids and convalescents, but suddenly Ani gave the reins an
involuntary pull, the horses reared, and it was with difficulty that he
soothed them to a steady pace again.
Rameses looked round in anxious surprise, for at the moment when the
horses had started, he too had felt an agitating thrill--he thought he
had caught sight of his preserver at Kadesh.
Had the sight of a God struck terror into the horses? Was he the victim
of a delusion? or was his preserver a man of flesh and blood, who had
come home from the battle-field among the wounded!
The man who stood by his side, and held the reins, could have informed
him, for Ani had recognized Pentaur, and in his horror had given the
reins a perilous jerk.
CHAPTER XLI.
The king did not return to the great pavilion till after sun-down; the
banqueting hall, illuminated with a thousand lamps, was now filled with
the gay crowd of guests who awaited the arrival of the king. All bowed
before him, as he entered, more or less low, each according to his rank;
he immediately seated himself on his throne, surrounded by his children
in a wide semicircle, and his officers and retainers all passed before
him; for each he had a kindly word or glance, winning respect from all,
and filling every one with joy and hope.
"The only really divine attribute of my royal condition," said he
to himself, "is that it is so easy to a king to make men happy.
My predecessors chose the poisonous Uraeus as the emblem of their
authority, for we can cause death as quickly and certainly as the
venomous snake; but the power of giving happiness dwells on our own
lips, and in our own eyes, and we need some instrument when we decree
death."
"Take the Uraeus crown from my head," he continued aloud, as he seated
himself at the feast. "Today I will wear a wreath of flowers."
During the ceremony of bowing to the king, two men had quitted the
hall--the Regent Ani, and the high-priest Ameni.
Ani ordered a small party of the watch to go and seek out the priest
Pentaur in the tents of the wounded by the harbor, to bring the poet
quietly to his tent, and to guard him there till his return. He still
had in his possession the maddening potion, which he was to have given
to the captain of the transport-boat, and it was open to him still to
receive Pentaur either as a guest or as a prisoner. Pentaur might injure
him, whether Katuti's project failed or succeeded.
Ameni left the pavilion to go to see old Gagabu, who had stood so long
in the heat of the sun during the ceremony of receiving the conqueror,
that he had been at last carried fainting to the tent which he shared
with the high-priest, and which was not far from that of the Regent. He
found the old man much revived, and was preparing to mount his chariot
to go to the banquet, when the Regent's myrmidons led Pentaur past in
front of him. Ameni looked doubtfully at the tall and noble figure of
the prisoner, but Pentaur recognized him, called him by his name, and
in a moment they stood together, hand clasped in hand. The guards showed
some uneasiness, but Ameni explained who he was.
The high-priest was sincerely rejoiced at the preservation and
restoration of his favorite disciple, whom for many months he had
mourned as dead; he looked at his manly figure with fatherly tenderness,
and desired the guards, who bowed to his superior dignity, to conduct
his friend, on his responsibility; to his tent instead of to Ani's.
There Pentaur found his old friend Gagabu, who wept with delight at his
safety. All that his master had accused him of seemed to be forgotten.
Ameni had him clothed in a fresh white robe, he was never tired of
looking at him, and over and over again clapped his hand upon his
shoulder, as if he were his own son that had been lost and found again.
Pentaur was at once required to relate all that had happened to him, and
the poet told the story of his captivity and liberation at Mount Sinai,
his meeting with Bent-Anat, and how he had fought in the battle of
Kadesh, had been wounded by an arrow, and found and rescued by the
faithful Kaschta. He concealed only his passion for Bent-Anat, and the
fact that he had preserved the king's life.
"About an hour ago," he added, "I was sitting alone in my tent, watching
the lights in the palace yonder, when the watch who are outside brought
me an order from the Regent to accompany them to his tent. What can he
want with me? I always thought he owed me a grudge."
Gagabu and Ameni glanced meaningly at each other, and the high-priest
then hastened away, as already he had remained too long away from the
banquet. Before he got into his chariot he commanded the guard to return
to their posts, and took it upon himself to inform the Regent that his
guest would remain in his tent till the festival was over; the soldiers
unhesitatingly obeyed him.
Ameni arrived at the palace before them, and entered the banqueting-hall
just as Ani was assigning a place to each of his guests. The high-priest
went straight up to him, and said, as he bowed before him:
"Pardon my long delay, but I was detained by a great surprise. The poet
Pentaur is living--as you know. I have invited him to remain in my tent
as my guest, and to tend the prophet Gagabu."
The Regent turned pale, he remained speechless and looked at Ameni with
a cold ghastly smile; but he soon recovered himself.
"You see," he said, "how you have injured me by your unworthy
suspicions; I meant to have restored your favorite to you myself
to-morrow."
"Forgive me, then, for having anticipated your plan," said Ameni, taking
his seat near the king. Hundreds of slaves hurried to and fro loaded
with costly dishes. Large vessels of richly wrought gold and silver were
brought into the hall on wheels, and set on the side-boards. Children
were perched in the shells and lotus-flowers that hung from the painted
rafters; and from between the pillars, that were hung with cloudy
transparent tissues, they threw roses and violets down on the company.
The sounds of harps and songs issued from concealed rooms, and from an
altar, six ells high, in the middle of the hall, clouds of incense were
wafted into space.
The king-one of whose titles was "Son of the Sun,"--was as radiant as
the sun himself. His children were once more around him, Mena was his
cupbearer as in former times, and all that was best and noblest in the
land was gathered round him to rejoice with him in his triumph and his
return. Opposite to him sat the ladies, and exactly in front of him,
a delight to his eyes, Bent-Anat and Nefert. His injunction to Mena to
hold the wine cup steadily seemed by no means superfluous, for his looks
constantly wandered from the king's goblet to his fair wife, from whose
lips he as yet had heard no word of welcome, whose hand he had not yet
been so happy as to touch.
All the guests were in the most joyful excitement. Rameses related the
tale of his fight at Kadesh, and the high-priest of Heliopolis observed,
"In later times the poets will sing of thy deeds."
"Their songs will not be of my achievements," exclaimed the king,
"but of the grace of the Divinity, who so miraculously rescued your
sovereign, and gave the victory to the Egyptians over an innumerable
enemy."
"Did you see the God with your own eyes? and in what form did he appear
to you?" asked Bent-Anat. "It is most extraordinary," said the king,
"but he exactly resembled the dead father of the traitor Paaker. My
preserver was of tall stature, and had a beautiful countenance; his
voice was deep and thrilling, and he swung his battle-axe as if it were
a mere plaything."
Ameni had listened eagerly to the king's words, now he bowed low before
him and said humbly: "If I were younger I myself would endeavor, as was
the custom with our fathers, to celebrate this glorious deed of a God
and of his sublime son in a song worthy of this festival; but melting
tones are no longer mine, they vanish with years, and the car of the
listener lends itself only to the young. Nothing is wanting to thy
feast, most lordly Ani, but a poet, who might sing the glorious deeds
of our monarch to the sound of his lute, and yet--we have at hand the
gifted Pentaur, the noblest disciple of the House of Seti."
Bent-Anat turned perfectly white, and the priests who were present
expressed the utmost joy and astonishment, for they had long thought the
young poet, who was highly esteemed throughout Egypt, to be dead.
The king had often heard of the fame of Pentaur from his sons and
especially from Rameri, and he willingly consented that Ameni should
send for the poet, who had himself borne arms at Kadesh, in order that
he should sing a song of triumph. The Regent gazed blankly and uneasily
into his wine cup, and the high-priest rose to fetch Pentaur himself
into the presence of the king.
During the high-priest's absence, more and more dishes were served to
the company; behind each guest stood a silver bowl with rose water, in
which from time to time he could dip his fingers to cool and clean them;
the slaves in waiting were constantly at hand with embroidered napkins
to wipe them, and others frequently changed the faded wreaths, round the
heads and shoulders of the feasters, for fresh ones.
"How pale you are, my child!" said Rameses turning to Bent-Anat. "If you
are tired, your uncle will no doubt allow you to leave the hall; though
I think you should stay to hear the performance of this much-lauded
poet. After having been so highly praised he will find it difficult to
satisfy his hearers. But indeed I am uneasy about you, my child--would
you rather go?" The Regent had risen and said earnestly, "Your presence
has done me honor, but if you are fatigued I beg you to allow me to
conduct you and your ladies to the apartments intended for you."
"I will stay," said Bent-Anat in a low but decided tone, and she kept
her eyes on the floor, while her heart beat violently, for the murmur
of voices told her that Pentaur was entering the hall. He wore the long
white robe of a priest of the temple of Seti, and on his forehead the
ostrich-feather which marked him as one of the initiated. He did not
raise his eyes till he stood close before the king; then he prostrated
himself before him, and awaited a sign from the Pharaoh before he rose
again.
But Rameses hesitated a long time, for the youthful figure before him,
and the glance that met his own, moved him strangely. Was not this the
divinity of the fight? Was not this his preserver? Was he again deluded
by a resemblance, or was he in a dream?
The guests gazed in silence at the spellbound king, and at the poet; at
last Rameses bowed his head,
Pentaur rose to his feet, and the bright color flew to his face as close
to him he perceived Bent-Anat.
"You fought at Kadesh?" asked the king. "As thou sayest," replied
Pentaur.
"You are well spoken of as a poet," said Rameses, "and we desire to hear
the wonderful tale of my preservation celebrated in song. If you will
attempt it, let a lute be brought and sing."
The poet bowed. "My gifts are modest," he said, "but I will endeavor to
sing of the glorious deed, in the presence of the hero who achieved it,
with the aid of the Gods."
Rameses gave a signal, and Ameni caused a large golden harp to be
brought in for his disciple. Pentaur lightly touched the strings, leaned
his head against the top of the tall bow of the harp, for some time lest
in meditation; then he drew himself up boldly, and struck the chords,
bringing out a strong and warlike music in broad heroic rhythm.
Then he began the narrative: how Rameses had pitched his camp before
Kadesh, how he ordered his troops, and how he had taken the field
against the Cheta, and their Asiatic allies. Louder and stronger rose
his tones when he reached the turning-point of the battle, and began to
celebrate the rescue of the king; and the Pharaoh listened with eager
attention as Pentaur sang:--[A literal translation of the ancient
Egyptian poem called "The Epos of Pentaur"]
"Then the king stood forth, and, radiant with courage,
He looked like the Sun-god armed and eager for battle.
The noble steeds that bore him into the struggle
'Victory to Thebes' was the name of one, and the other
Was called 'contented Nura'--were foaled in the stables
Of him we call 'the elect,' 'the beloved of Amon,'
'Lord of truth,' the chosen vicar of Ra.
Up sprang the king and threw himself on the foe,
The swaying ranks of the contemptible Cheta.
He stood alone-alone, and no man with him.
As thus the king stood forth all eyes were upon him,
And soon he was enmeshed by men and horses,
And by the enemy's chariots: two thousand five hundred.
The foe behind hemmed him in and enclosed him.
Dense the array of the contemptible Cheta,
Dense the swarm of warriors out of Arad,
Dense the Mysian host, the Pisidian legions.
Every chariot carried three bold warriors,
All his foes, and all allied like brothers.
"Not a prince is with me, not a captain,
Not an archer, none to guide my horses!
Fled the riders! fled my troops and horse
By my side not one is now left standing."
Thus the king, and raised his voice in prayer.
"Great father Amon, I have known Thee well.
And can the father thus forget his son?
Have I in any deed forgotten Thee?
Have I done aught without Thy high behest
Or moved or staid against Thy sovereign will?
Great am I--mighty are Egyptian kings
But in the sight of Thy commanding might,
Small as the chieftain of a wandering tribe.
Immortal Lord, crush Thou this unclean people;
Break Thou their necks, annihilate the heathen.
And I--have I not brought Thee many victims,
And filled Thy temple with the captive folk?
And for thy presence built a dwelling place
That shall endure for countless years to come?
Thy garners overflow with gifts from me.
I offered Thee the world to swell Thy glory,
And thirty thousand mighty steers have shed
Their smoking blood on fragrant cedar piles.
Tall gateways, flag-decked masts, I raised to Thee,
And obelisks from Abu I have brought,
And built Thee temples of eternal stone.
For Thee my ships have brought across the sea
The tribute of the nations. This I did--
When were such things done in the former time?
For dark the fate of him who would rebel
Against Thee: though Thy sway is just and mild.
My father, Amon--as an earthly son
His earthly father--so I call on Thee.
Look down from heaven on me, beset by foes,
By heathen foes--the folk that know Thee not.
The nations have combined against Thy son;
I stand alone--alone, and no man with me.
My foot and horse are fled, I called aloud
And no one heard--in vain I called to them.
And yet I say: the sheltering care of Amon
Is better succor than a million men,
Or than ten thousand knights, or than a thousand
Brothers and sons though gathered into one.
And yet I say: the bulwarks raised by men
However strong, compared to Thy great works
Are but vain shadows, and no human aid
Avails against the foe--but Thy strong hand.
The counsel of Thy lips shall guide my way;
I have obeyed whenever Thou hast ruled;
I call on Thee--and, with my fame, Thy glory
Shall fill the world, from farthest east to west."
Yea, his cry rang forth even far as Hermonthis,
And Amon himself appeared at his call; and gave him
His hand and shouted in triumph, saying to the Pharaoh:
"Help is at hand, O Rameses. I will uphold thee--
I thy father am he who now is thy succor,
Bearing thee in my hands. For stronger and readier
I than a hundred thousand mortal retainers;
I am the Lord of victory loving valor?
I rejoice in the brave and give them good counsel,
And he whom I counsel certainly shall not miscarry."
Then like Menth, with his right he scattered the arrows,
And with his left he swung his deadly weapon,
Felling the foe--as his foes are felled by Baal.
The chariots were broken and the drivers scattered,
Then was the foe overthrown before his horses.
None found a hand to fight: they could not shoot
Nor dared they hurl the spear but fled at his coming
Headlong into the river."
[I have availed myself of the help of Prof. Lushington's translation
in "Records of the past," edited by Dr. S. Birch. Translator.]
A silence as of the grave reigned in the vast hall, Rameses fixed his
eyes on the poet, as though he would engrave his features on his very
soul, and compare them with those of another which had dwelt there
unforgotten since the day of Kadesh. Beyond a doubt his preserver stood
before him.
Seized by a sudden impulse, he interrupted the poet in the midst of his
stirring song, and cried out to the assembled guests:
"Pay honor to this man! for the Divinity chose to appear under his form
to save your king when he 'alone, and no man with him,' struggled with a
thousand."
"Hail to Pentaur!" rang through the hall from the vast assembly, and
Nefert rose and gave the poet the bunch of flowers she had been wearing
on her bosom.
The king nodded approval, and looked enquiringly at his daughter;
Bent-Anat's eyes met his with a glance of intelligence, and with all the
simplicity of an impulsive child, she took from her head the wreath that
had decorated her beautiful hair, went up to Pentaur, and crowned him
with it, as it was customary for a bride to crown her lover before the
wedding.
Rameses observed his daughter's action with some surprise, and the
guests responded to it with loud cheering.
The king looked gravely at Bent-Anat and the young priest; the eyes of
all the company were eagerly fixed on the princess and the poet. The
king seemed to have forgotten the presence of strangers, and to be
wholly absorbed in thought, but by degrees a change came over his face,
it cleared, as a landscape is cleared from the morning mists under the
influence of the spring sunshine. When he looked up again his glance
was bright and satisfied, and Bent-Anat knew what it promised when it
lingered lovingly first on her, and then on her friend, whose head was
still graced by the wreath that had crowned hers.
At last Rameses turned from the lovers, and said to the guests:
"It is past midnight, and I will now leave you. To-morrow evening I bid
you all--and you especially, Pentaur--to be my guests in this banqueting
hall. Once more fill your cups, and let us empty them--to a long time of
peace after the victory which, by the help of the Gods, we have won.
And at the same time let us express our thanks to my friend Ani, who has
entertained us so magnificently, and who has so faithfully and zealously
administered the affairs of the kingdom during my absence."
The company pledged the king, who warmly shook hands with the Regent,
and then, escorted by his wandbearers and lords in waiting, quitted the
hall, after he had signed to Mena, Ameni, and the ladies to follow him.
Nefert greeted her husband, but she immediately parted from the royal
party, as she had yielded to the urgent entreaty of Katuti that she
should for this night go to her mother, to whom she had so much to tell,
instead of remaining with the princess. Her mother's chariot soon took
her to her tent.
Rameses dismissed his attendants in the ante-room of his apartments;
when they were alone he turned to Bent-Anat and said affectionately.
"What was in your mind when you laid your wreath on the poet's brow?"
"What is in every maiden's mind when she does the like," replied
Bent-Anat with trustful frankness.
"And your father?" asked the king.
"My father knows that I will obey him even if he demands of me the
hardest thing--the sacrifice of all my--happiness; but I believe that
he--that you love me fondly, and I do not forget the hour in which you
said to me that now my mother was dead you would be father and mother
both to me, and you would try to understand me as she certainly would
have understood me. But what need between us of so many words. I love
Pentaur--with a love that is not of yesterday--with the first perfect
love of my heart and he has proved himself worthy of that high honor.
But were he ever so humble, the hand of your daughter has the power to
raise him above every prince in the land."
"It has such power, and you shall exercise it," cried the king. "You
have been true and faithful to yourself, while your father and protector
left you to yourself. In you I love the image of your mother, and I
learned from her that a true woman's heart can find the right path
better than a man's wisdom. Now go to rest, and to-morrow morning put on
a fresh wreath, for you will have need of it, my noble daughter."
CHAPTER XLII
The cloudless vault of heaven spread over the plain of Pelusium, the
stars were bright, the moon threw her calm light over the thousands of
tents which shone as white as little hillocks of snow. All was silent,
the soldiers and the Egyptians, who had assembled to welcome the king,
were now all gone to rest.
There had been great rejoicing and jollity in the camp; three enormous
vats, garlanded with flowers and overflowing with wine, which spilt with
every movement of the trucks on which they were drawn by thirty oxen,
were sent up and down the little streets of tents, and as the evening
closed in tavern-booths were erected in many spots in the camp, at which
the Regent's servants supplied the soldiers with red and white wine. The
tents of the populace were only divided from the pavilion of the Pharaoh
by the hastily-constructed garden in the midst of which it stood, and
the hedge which enclosed it.
The tent of the Regent himself was distinguished from all the others by
its size and magnificence; to the right of it was the encampment of the
different priestly deputations, to the left that of his suite; among the
latter were the tents of his friend Katuti, a large one for her own use,
and some smaller ones for her servants. Behind Ani's pavilion stood a
tent, enclosed in a wall or screen of canvas, within which old Hekt was
lodged; Ani had secretly conveyed her hither on board his own boat. Only
Katuti and his confidential servants knew who it was that lay concealed
in the mysteriously shrouded abode.
While the banquet was proceeding in the great pavilion, the witch was
sitting in a heap on the sandy earth of her conical canvas dwelling; she
breathed with difficulty, for a weakness of the heart, against which she
had long struggled, now oppressed her more frequently and severely; a
little lamp of clay burned before her, and on her lap crouched a sick
and ruffled hawk; the creature shivered from time to time, closing the
filmy lids of his keen eyes, which glowed with a dull fire when Hekt
took him up in her withered hand, and tried to blow some air into his
hooked beak, still ever ready to peck and tear her.
At her feet little Scherau lay asleep. Presently she pushed the child
with her foot. "Wake up," she said, as he raised himself still half
asleep. "You have young ears--it seemed to me that I heard a woman
scream in Ani's tent. Do you hear any thing?"
"Yes, indeed," exclaimed the little one. "There is a noise like crying,
and that--that was a scream! It came from out there, from Nemu's tent."
"Creep through there," said the witch, "and see what is happening!"
The child obeyed: Hekt turned her attention again to the bird, which no
longer perched in her lap, but lay on one side, though it still tried to
use its talons, when she took him up in her hand.
"It is all over with him," muttered the old woman, "and the one I called
Rameses is sleeker than ever. It is all folly and yet--and yet! the
Regent's game is over, and he has lost it. The creature is stretching
itself--its head drops--it draws itself up--one more clutch at my
dress--now it is dead!"
She contemplated the dead hawk in her lap for some minutes, then she
took it up, flung it into a corner of the tent, and exclaimed:
"Good-bye, King Ani. The crown is not for you!" Then she went on: "What
project has he in hand now, I wonder? Twenty times he has asked me
whether the great enterprise will succeed; as if I knew any more than
he! And Nemu too has hinted all kinds of things, though he would not
speak out. Something is going on, and I--and I? There it comes again."
The old woman pressed her hand to her heart and closed her eyes, her
features were distorted with pain; she did not perceive Scherau's
return, she did not hear him call her name, or see that, when she did
not answer him, he left her again. For an hour or more she remained
unconscious, then her senses returned, but she felt as if some ice-cold
fluid slowly ran through her veins instead of the warm blood.
"If I had kept a hawk for myself too," she muttered, "it would soon
follow the other one in the corner! If only Ani keeps his word, and has me embalmed! |
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