img204.jpgHe had fallen, half-fainting, upon the marble floor, and clung,… around her knees.
He had fallen, half-fainting, upon the marble floor, and clung,… around her knees.
a strange presentiment of some terrible trouble ahead, which as yet I could not explain, cast a chill over my heart. On my friend’s face there was such a look of acute mental and physical suffering, it was so deathly pale, that instinctively I put out my arm to help him, for I feared he would fall in a swoon; but he said quickly, with a forced laugh:
“Only a sudden dizziness, old chap.… The heat, I think. But have pity on her and take that moribund satyr away from her.”
“It would be needless interference, old man,” I replied, “and one for which she would not thank me.”
And I pointed to the picture, which, to my own amazement, had changed as if with the magic touch of a fairy wand. Neit-akrit, sweet and smiling, with tears of pity shining in her softened blue eyes, was bending towards the invalid, while her voice, soft and low, murmured:
“Hush, hush! cousin! remember thou art ill: thy health is precious and thy nerves are overstrained. Canst raise thyself and sit here beside me? See, thou canst pillow thy head upon my shoulder and I can brush away the hair from thy burning forehead with my fingers, which are soft and cool. Or, if thou wilt, I will play for thee upon the harp, and thou shalt watch Sen-tur chase the ibis along the terrace. Hush! do not speak now! Thou shalt tell me thy dream again some other time… but not now.… Now, thou must have rest.”
And with wonderful strength and dexterity she half-lifted, half-supported the Pharaoh and placed him once more upon the couch. Then she sat down beside him and pillowed his head upon her shoulder, and soothingly, as if he were some sick and wayward child, she began to sing and coo to him a simple lullaby. I looked on amazed, not knowing what to do or what to think. Though I watched her closely, I never saw her eyes look anything but sweet, pitying and loving, even though his eyes were closed and his breathing became more and more regular, as if her song had at last rocked him to sleep. I began to think that I must have been mistaken: it seemed impossible to believe that the rigid statue, alive only by the look of horror and repulsion on the stony face, could be the same clinging, loving woman, full of tender pity and girlish compassion for the sick man lying happy and contented in her arms.
I somehowdared not look at Hugh. I felt his presence near me as rigid as a statue, and once my ears caught the sound of a sigh, which ended almost in a sob.
“Is it for the dying Pharaoh thou sighest, oh, my beloved,” suddenly said a harsh voice close behind us, “or for her who deals death and sorrow with so free a hand?”
It was Queen Maat-kha, who had glided noiselessly near, and now stood beside Hugh, tall and imperious, with an ugly look of hatred directed towards the sleeping Pharaoh and his companion. Hugh started as from a dream. He passed his hand over his eyes, as if to dispel some haunting vision, and turned to his handsomefiancée, who returned his look with a curious searching expression in her eyes.
“Thou dost not answer,” she said. “Was the sigh for her?”
“Indeed, my Queen, it is sad to see so young a girl wooed by a man with one foot in the grave,” replied Hugh at last, speaking with a mighty effort.
“Then thou dost not understand the girl before thee, and hast forgotten that the man, though he have one foot in the grave, has the other firmly planted on the throne of Kamt.”
Princess Neit-akrit must have heard every one of Maat-kha’s words, yet she took no notice of them, and remained quietly watching the sleeping Pharaoh.
“Thou hast also forgotten,” added the Queen, “that thou and thy wise counsellor have decided to cure the mighty Pharaoh of his ailments, that, anon, he will once more hold with a firm hand the sceptre of ancient Kamt. Neit-akrit hath thought it worth her while to smile on him again, so that he may extend his other hand, and with it place upon her brow the diadem of a queen. Believe me, there is no sadness in that wooing, save perhaps for a deceived and befooled monarch.”
“Thou speakest harsh words of a woman who hath done thee no wrong,” said Hugh. “Art not satisfied that already by thy intended marriage thou dost threaten to deprive her of that which thou sayest she covets most? Wouldst add to the injustice by heaping calumny upon her?”
“No wrong?” exclaimed the Queen, impulsively. “Dost think that I am blind and cannot see? Dull-witted and cannot understand? Hath she done me no wrong? Ah! that I do not know as yet. Thy face is set and inscrutable; but the gods will open my eyes. That which they gave me, they will not take away. And if she come like a cunning jackal, prowling round my most precious treasure, then let her beware, for Maat-kha is powerful and will know how to hurl vengeance on the thief.”
“What dost thou mean?” asked Hugh, very quietly. “Take care, oh, Queen! lest in thy blindness thou shouldst forget my dignity and thy self-respect.”
“I forget everything,” she said, coming quite close up to him, “save that I love thee and that thou art cold. I did not seek for thee, I did not even ask the gods to place thee across my path; thou didst come and didst stand before me and, with arm outstretched, didst claim me for thy wife. Now, that which thou didst give thou dost surely take away—thy word, thy fealty to me.”
“My Queen,” replied Hugh, gently taking her hand, “in that land from whence I come men have but one word, one pledge. Words such as thou dost speak, thoughts such as thou dost harbour, are an insult; look at me, Maat-kha, and tell me if I can lie.”
She looked up at him, and I, who watched Neit-akrit, saw that she looked too. I did not know if these two strange, impulsive women could judge a man’s character by gazing at his face, but Hugh’s was not a difficult nature to understand; above everything he was upright and true, and whatever presentiments may have assailed me when first I guessed my friend’s secret thoughts, I knew that whatever might happen, his promised bride need have no fear of his loyalty to her.
I thought that the Pharaoh had moved, and I was glad of an excuse to go and attend upon him and leave Queen Maat-kha a moment alone with Hugh. Neit-akrit still looked very pale, and I could see in her eyes that she had been crying. I did not altogether understand her, but there was something strangely pathetic and appealing in the way in which she looked at me, eagerly waiting for some reassuring words concerning the sick man.
“I will send his slaves to him,” I said; “he will need rest.”
And I went within. When I returned I found that Queen Maat-kha had gone and that Hugh was standing beside Neit-akrit.
“I crave it of thee as a favour,” I heard him say.
“So soon?” she replied. “Art already tired of Neit-akrit’s hospitality? Has she forgot aught that would make thy sojourn here a happy one? Tell me, is not my palace beautiful? Are my gardens not fragrant with scent of flowers, the air not sweet with song of birds?”
“Thy dwelling is more beautiful than aught I have ever dreamed of.”
“And yet thou wouldst leave it?”
“I crave of thee to forgive my seeming ingratitude, for though fair be thy palace and fragrant thy garden, I would fain leave them to-day.”
“Leave them and me?” she said sadly.
“Ay! leave them and thee, Princess,” said Hugh, with that same icy calm with which he responded to Neit-akrit’s fascinating ways, “lest if I remained even one day longer, I might leave that behind me which is more precious to me than aught else on earth.”
“What is that?” she asked. “Thou needst not fear, I will guard it for thee, wherever thou goest.”
“Nay, a man is sole guardian of that most precious treasure; women often do not know its worth, and I fear I am proving but a sorry keeper myself, hence the reason why I would go.”
“Wilt say farewell to me before thou goest?”
“I will do that now with thy permission. I have promised the inhabitants of Net-amen that I would visit them, and having gone I will not come back, but go straight to Tanis and await there the coming of Queen Maat-kha for our approaching marriage.”
“So soon?” she asked very quietly.
“In seventy days, Princess.”
“Farewell then, oh, beloved of the gods; thou hast indeed graced the abode of thy kinswoman by dwelling beneath its roof.”
“Hast forgiven me, then?”
“I to thee? What have I to forgive?”
“Everything. I came and the double crown of Kamt, which already hovered over thy brow, was ruthlessly snatched from thee. My presence deprived thee of a throne. It were meet that thou shouldst seek revenge upon the intruder, instead of which thou didst bid him welcome.”
“Nay,” she said sweetly, “I have naught to forgive, and revenge is in the hands of the gods.” Then she added, “Farewell, oh, son of Ra!”
He bent his tall figure before her, then turned as if to go.
“Wilt thou not kiss me?” she said. “In Kamt a kiss denotes friendship, and if thou goest without a kiss, I shall fear that thou art my enemy.”
“By all the gods of Kamt, I swear to thee that I am no enemy. But wilt pardon me if I do not give thee the kiss of friendship?”
“Why? A kiss is so soon given. It has so little meaning, for it is as swift as the flight of the bird through the air. Thou didst kiss me when thou camest, why wilt not kiss me now?”
“Because thou art beautiful above all things on earth,” he said very quietly, “and because in my dazed mind there is still a glimmer of reason, which the perfume of thy hair would quickly dispel.”
She blushed suddenly as if for the first time in her life she had been told that she was fair. How strange women are! When I told Neit-akrit that she was more beautiful than anything on earth, she smiled and looked pleased. When the Pharaoh fell half-fainting at her feet she became as white and rigid as a statue carved in stone. And now when Hugh Tankerville told her, with frigid calm, and I thought with a singular want of conviction, that she was beautiful, she suddenly became a thousand times more so, for she blushed and the heightened colour became her well.
“Farewell, then, oh, thou who art of the gods beloved!” she said once more very gently.
The next moment Hugh had gone and Neit-akrit had thrown herself on the couch in a passionate fit of weeping.
Hughwent away that same day. He was going to Net-amen, together with the gorgeous retinue which had, as it were, sprung up round him and escorted him everywhere. Queen Maat-kha did not accompany him this time: she was unprepared for the journey, she said. She would proceed to Tanis alone, there to meet him for the wedding ceremony.
Hugh took a very brief farewell of me. I could see that he dared not trust himself to speak, and, even before me, he shrank from breaking down. I could not go with him, for my patient demanded my immediate attention. He was undoubtedly worse since this morning: the strong emotion had done him an infinity of harm. Yet I was torn between my affection for Hugh and my duty to the sick man. It seemed to me that Hugh needed my care as much as the sick Pharaoh. His sufferings were mental, but I felt that they were keen. And did I not love him as much as my prosy nature was capable of loving? and did I not know him, and his ardent, passionate nature, forcibly hardened by years of dry, scientific research, all the more ready to fall a prey to strong impressions, such as the strange and fascinating girl had undoubtedly made upon it?
Hugh had never been in love. During his early youth he had had no opportunity of meeting any woman who would appeal to his keen sense of the mystic and the picturesque. Such women are rare in Western Europe, and none had come across the recluse student’s path. Then, suddenly, Fate and his own choosing threw him into this land of mysticism and beauty, where the atmosphere was fragrant and intoxicating with the scent of exotic flowers, where the air was filled with the twitter of birds, busy in making their nests. And, framed by these picturesque surroundings, which in themselves palpitated with youth and with life, there was the poetic, mystic, yet intensely feminine vision of an exquisitely beautiful woman who was irresistibly drawn towards him, and with the artless impulse of her own untrammelled nature showed to his enthusiastic mind visions of ardent and reciprocated love, such as he had never dreamed of. What wonder if for the moment Hugh forgot?—forgot that he had pledged himself to another woman and only remembered when it was too late?
The first few days after his departure were terribly wearisome to me. My patient, fretful and irritable, would not allow me to leave his bedside, and, even at night, I was forced to take what rest I could, rolled in a rug, at the foot of his couch.
I saw little of Princess Neit-akrit, but, once or twice, when I caught sight of Queen Maat-kha in the gardens of the palace, I was shocked to see the change in her face. All its beauty had vanished to my mind: it looked hard and set, nay, worse, positively evil. On the night which followed Hugh’s departure, when I strolled out to get a breath of fresh air, having at last soothed my patient to sleep, I saw Maat-kha in close conversation with Ur-tasen. To me this boded no good. I could not understand why the Queen and the high priest should choose the hours of the night for their meeting. I could not get near enough to them to hear what they were saying—which I should most unblushingly have done—but in the shadows where they stood, I could see that Queen Maat-kha had buried her face in her hands, and that Ur-tasen seemed to tower over her as if he were dictating some commands.
My mind, filled with thoughts of my absent friend, dwelt persistently on fears for his safety. The high priest was his enemy, of that I had no doubt, and I thought that he was trying to work upon the Queen’s jealousy, for evil purposes of his own. I felt terribly helpless to be of any use to him, and vowed that when at last I could join him again, nothing would separate me from him. After all, the sick Pharaoh of this modern Egypt was but a secondary consideration to me.
Eight days after Hugh’s departure a runner came in with a letter for me from him.
“Dear old Mark:—Thank goodness that I can write to you and know that this letter will reach you safely. I am fagged to death bodily and long to have you near me, to talk over some of my wondrous experiences. The city of Net-amen is picturesque. It lies on the side of a hill and is a city of industry: the applied arts reign supreme, and I am looking forward to renewing my visit to it with you later on, and showing you the paintings and carvings on the walls and pillars of the houses, which to my mind are as beautiful as any we have seen. This is a wonderful country, Mark, and its people have lost none of the mysterious powers which have astonished Europe for so long. Will you believe me when I tell you that in the very heart of the city a palace has been built expressly for me?—yes! for me, the beloved of the gods!—and I have only been in the land less than a month! And yet, there my palace stands, of rose-coloured granite, with massive pillars and exquisite carvings, and a figure of my sire Ra presiding in the courtyard—all built in less than a month by a hundred thousand workmen, who worked night and day in relays. The granite works are just outside the city, but still think of it, Mark, and remember how long it takes to put up a block of flats in London.“Still, there is the sorrowful aspect of my palace: all the hard work was done by slaves, and these people use their slaves shockingly. This is the ugliest trait in their character. They are cruel, Mark, both to man and beast. The men are cruel! and the women more so. We have seen one or two instances of that already, but there is a thing I have learned which to me is horrible beyond words. You know of course that the Egyptians are monogamous—you have noticed in what high esteem they hold their women folk; as a consequence of this, their laws against adultery are barbarous beyond what words can describe, and in one respect hideously unjust, for it is invariably the woman who is punished—the man is allowed to go scot free.“I saw a woman in the streets of Net-amen yesterday. She was blind, both her ears had been cut off, all her teeth drawn out, and her hair had been pulled out by the roots. Turned out from her home, she is obliged to live by the charity of the passers-by, and is driven from street to street as an example of sin and its punishment. She had been convicted of appropriating to herself the husband of a friend. Think of it, old Mark! What about European society? And the man, who had allowed himself to be… appropriated, is one of the town councillors and much respected; he is a good-looking man, very pompous and self-satisfied. I gave myself the not very productive satisfaction of kicking him in the face when he grovelled before me, but I don’t know if he guessed why he received that kick. Somehow it eased my conscience.“The runner will bring back the message from you. Make it long, Mark, old fellow—I want plenty of words from you. I think I should feel better after I had read your letter. I admire these people; they are delightfully picturesque, but somehow I have no real sympathy with them—have you?—and at times I positively hate them. Especially when I learn some of their laws. I wonder now what devil framed them. No brain of man could conceive such horrors.Nous devons changer tout cela!You and I, eh? old chap.—Yours affectionately,“Hugh Tankerville.”
“Dear old Mark:—Thank goodness that I can write to you and know that this letter will reach you safely. I am fagged to death bodily and long to have you near me, to talk over some of my wondrous experiences. The city of Net-amen is picturesque. It lies on the side of a hill and is a city of industry: the applied arts reign supreme, and I am looking forward to renewing my visit to it with you later on, and showing you the paintings and carvings on the walls and pillars of the houses, which to my mind are as beautiful as any we have seen. This is a wonderful country, Mark, and its people have lost none of the mysterious powers which have astonished Europe for so long. Will you believe me when I tell you that in the very heart of the city a palace has been built expressly for me?—yes! for me, the beloved of the gods!—and I have only been in the land less than a month! And yet, there my palace stands, of rose-coloured granite, with massive pillars and exquisite carvings, and a figure of my sire Ra presiding in the courtyard—all built in less than a month by a hundred thousand workmen, who worked night and day in relays. The granite works are just outside the city, but still think of it, Mark, and remember how long it takes to put up a block of flats in London.
“Still, there is the sorrowful aspect of my palace: all the hard work was done by slaves, and these people use their slaves shockingly. This is the ugliest trait in their character. They are cruel, Mark, both to man and beast. The men are cruel! and the women more so. We have seen one or two instances of that already, but there is a thing I have learned which to me is horrible beyond words. You know of course that the Egyptians are monogamous—you have noticed in what high esteem they hold their women folk; as a consequence of this, their laws against adultery are barbarous beyond what words can describe, and in one respect hideously unjust, for it is invariably the woman who is punished—the man is allowed to go scot free.
“I saw a woman in the streets of Net-amen yesterday. She was blind, both her ears had been cut off, all her teeth drawn out, and her hair had been pulled out by the roots. Turned out from her home, she is obliged to live by the charity of the passers-by, and is driven from street to street as an example of sin and its punishment. She had been convicted of appropriating to herself the husband of a friend. Think of it, old Mark! What about European society? And the man, who had allowed himself to be… appropriated, is one of the town councillors and much respected; he is a good-looking man, very pompous and self-satisfied. I gave myself the not very productive satisfaction of kicking him in the face when he grovelled before me, but I don’t know if he guessed why he received that kick. Somehow it eased my conscience.
“The runner will bring back the message from you. Make it long, Mark, old fellow—I want plenty of words from you. I think I should feel better after I had read your letter. I admire these people; they are delightfully picturesque, but somehow I have no real sympathy with them—have you?—and at times I positively hate them. Especially when I learn some of their laws. I wonder now what devil framed them. No brain of man could conceive such horrors.Nous devons changer tout cela!You and I, eh? old chap.—Yours affectionately,
“Hugh Tankerville.”
The letter was hideously unsatisfactory. It told me nothing about himself, and I fancied that he had purposely avoided even telling me about his health. I did not carry out his wishes in the matter of writing him a long letter, but only scribbled a few words:
“My dear Girlie:—Twenty-four hours after you have received this by messenger, you will see me in your new palace at Net-amen.—Yours, etc.,“Mark Emmett.”
“My dear Girlie:—Twenty-four hours after you have received this by messenger, you will see me in your new palace at Net-amen.—Yours, etc.,
“Mark Emmett.”
Then I set to work to drill into the heads of two shaven medical idiots all that they were to do, and all they were to leave undone, with regard to my patient. They vowed by all their gods that the wise counsellor should be implicitly obeyed. I brought out every resource of my limited Egyptian vocabulary to impress upon them that he had better be, and then I sought an audience of my young hostess.
I found her in her favourite place, beneath the turquoise silk canopy, amidst a bower of cushions, overlooking the lake.
“I hope thou dost bring me good news of my kinsman, oh, wise counsellor,” she said, turning to me with an anxious look in her eyes; “he hath seemed somewhat more cheerful of late.”
“My news concerning the holy Pharaoh is no worse, Princess,” I replied. “Thou knowest how serious is his illness, and ‘no worse’ with him hath become good news. It is not about him that I have sad tidings to-day.”
I watched her very closely as I said this, but she seemed not the least moved, and she said indifferently:
“Hast had sad tidings? Of whom?”
“I am a lonely man, Princess; there is but one being in this world who is infinitely dear to me. It is of him that I have sad tidings.”
“Dost speak of the son of Ra?”
“Even of him, Princess.”
“How can aught that is sad come to him who is of the gods beloved?” she asked in astonishment.
“He is but mortal, and there are so many sorrows, even in this fair land. Suffering has overtaken him, I fear, and I have sought this audience of thee, Neit-akrit, to crave of thy goodness that thou wouldst allow me to depart and go to my friend, lest he have need of me and the comfort I alone can give him.”
“Art so devoted, then, to thy friend that, if he call, thou must needs leave everything and go to him?”
“I have known and loved him ever since a tiny lad; we shared childish joys and sorrows together.”
“Was that at the foot of the throne of Ra?” she asked with a touch of satire.
“In the land where first Ra whispered to his beloved to go forth and rule over the land of Kamt,” I said, “and where the gods bade me follow him.”
“And is he worthy of thy devotion, thinkest thou?”
“Nay, Princess, in that same land we do not pause to think if men and women be worthy before we give them our love. The son of Ra is dearer to me than ever brother was to brother, or son to father. Therefore I crave of thee again to allow thy slaves to guide me to where he now is, for I feel that he has need of me.”
“My slaves and my house are at thy command, oh, wise counsellor! Order what thou wilt. Fan-tu, who has charge of my slaves, will obey thy every word.”
I thanked her, then as she was silent I turned to go, but she stopped me.
“Stay!” she said; “hast reflected that the holy Pharaoh can ill spare thee? He is very sick, and thou leavest him without regret.”
“The holy Pharaoh is in no immediate bodily danger; and even if he were, Princess, my duty is to my friend.”
“How strange,” she said. “I have never heard of love and duty spoken of as between man and man. Is that love a product of that land where dwelleth Osiris, and whence thou and His emissary do come?”
“It is held as sacred there as the love given by man to woman.”
“Do men give love to women too, then, in that land?”
“Once only in their lives, Princess. Men have one love as they have one word, and part with their life sometimes because of either.”
“I will not detain thee further, oh, wise counsellor!” she said with sudden coldness. “Deign to give thy orders to Fan-tu, and what boat or escort thou dost need shall await thy commands.”
The Pharaoh took the news of my departure very quietly; nothing seemed ever to disturb his sullen, sarcastic equanimity. He listened quite patiently to my various recommendations concerning his health, and actually stretched out a hand to me, in token of a promise that he would follow them.
I asked for an audience of Queen Maat-kha, but she sent me a somewhat curt message that she was sick and could see no one.
In the late afternoon a boat and an escort had been prepared for me, and with a sigh of relief I saw the fairy palace of Princess Neit-akrit gradually fade away into the distance.
Net-amenis certainly the prettiest of the cities of this ancient land. It has been built on an undulating slope which rises upwards, with tier upon tier of palms and sycamores, mimosas and giant fuchsias. It is essentially an industrial city: the houses are not so imposing as those of Men-ne-fer, which is the royal residence and the abode of the wealthy. In Net-amen the houses are built of a species of burnt clay: there is less sculpture and very little marble: before each doorstep the householders squat and ply their trade or craft. The goldsmith, with brazier and minute instruments, fashions necklaces of exquisite workmanship, pendants in imitation of birds and beetles, daintily chased and covered with enamel, the gorgeous colours of which these people alone know how to produce. Then the potters, who turn the soft clay jars, fashioning them into every kind of fanciful shapes, and then passing them on to the limner, who, with fine brush and colours, draws upon the vases those quaint figures which delight the antiquarian, and which—as I have learned since I have caught a glimpse of Egypt as it was or is—are an exact rendering of the people of Kamt. Then there are the women, with their rough spinning-wheels and tall spindles made of rush, or sitting at the looms, weaving those gossamer tissues with which the noble ladies of the land only half hide their voluptuous charms.
The first aspect of Net-amen fascinated me. There was less grandeur but more of real humanity about it. The weavers, the potters, the goldsmiths seemed to me much more tangible than the gorgeous and fantastic personages who in wondrous pageant had, in Men-ne-fer, moved before my eyes.
On the summit of the hills, surrounded by trees and flowers, stood the miracle palace, which one hundred thousand workmen had built in seventeen days for the beloved of the gods.
Hugh did not expect to see me quite so soon, and I was told on landing that the son of Ra was in the palace, resting after the many festivities given in his honour. My advent had caused a stir, and from the houses along the quay people came rushing out to have a look at the wise counsellor, and hundreds of willing feet were ready to guide me to the palace, while others rushed forward to take the news of my arrival to the beloved of the gods.
Tiny brightly-painted chariots, drawn by a couple of sturdy white donkeys, are the best means of locomotion in this hilly city. As soon as I could free myself from the chattering crowd I hailed one of these, and was soon pulled leisurely up the long steep road which led to the palace, the naked driver, hot and panting, pushing from behind.
It was a fearful shock to me to see Hugh. I could not conceive how any man could possibly have changed so terribly in so short a time. His eyes looked hollow and circled with dark purple rings, which told of sleepless nights, his mouth looked drawn and tightly set, without a vestige of that sunny smile which always used to brighten his dark, serious face.
When he saw me, however, a look of the deepest joy, and—I thought—gratitude, for a moment softened the hard set expression in his eyes, and my ears caught the faintly whispered, “God bless you, old chap!”
The hand he gave me was hot and dry, and it needed no medical knowledge to guess that his pulse was quick and throbbing.
He soon dismissed the attendants, and when we were alone he said:
“I never knew how much I had missed you, old Mark, until the moment when I caught sight of you just now.”
I did not say anything then, but quietly watched him for a moment, then I put my hand on his shoulder and forced him to look at me.
“What is the matter, old man?” I said.
“Matter? Oh, fever, malaria, I suppose. I can’t sleep, and seem as weak as a rat. Is there such a thing as nostalgia, do you think?—stupid, foolish home-sickness?—because if there is, I have got a touch of it, I think.”
“There is every kind of mental ailment, I am sorry to say, Girlie, and they can all be described to a fellow who has your welfare at heart more than his own.”
“Fever, Mark, I tell you,” he said with a frown. “Take out your watch and feel my pulse. It is fever, is it not? Malarial, do you think? or has the fashionable influenza travelled with us across the desert? I want a dose of quinine, I think.”
“You want a dose of confidence, Girlie,” I replied drily. “Your pulse is quick, your temperature is high; I can soon remedy that, if…”
“If what?” he asked abruptly, for I had paused, hesitating, strangely enough, for the first time in my life not daring to touch upon a point openly with Hugh.
“If you will tell me what you think of when you lie awake at night,” I said at last, looking straight and searchingly in his eyes.
“Mostly of what a confounded fool your friend Hugh Tankerville is, old chap,” he replied with a laugh.
“Is that all?”
“Yes! I think that is all. It embraces a very vast section of my life—its future. But I don’t know why you should put me to such rigorous catechism, Mark. I am ever so glad that you came, and it will do me more good than all the medicines in the world.”
“Nothing will do you good, Girlie,” I said earnestly, “except one thing.”
“What is that?”
“To talk to me—if only at random—of Princess Neit-akrit.”
He did not say anything. His face became, if possible, even more pale, more careworn than before. I did not think that he was offended with my seeming importunity, and I continued:
“Girlie, you and I have gone through a great deal together: we nearly starved side by side in the desert, not so very long ago. We can therefore hardly measure our intercourse together by the same standard as other men. Besides being your friend, I am also a medical man, and…”
“And you would be interested to see before you, lying bare, as the dissected body underneath your scalpel, all the follies, the madness, the cowardice of which a fellow-man’s brain is capable. It is not a pleasant sight, Mark, believe me; you are my friend—you had best not try to see.”
“You misunderstand, Girlie; I have no wish to cause you needless pain by forcing a confidence which, I dare say, you do not care to give, but I have studied the nervous organisation of man long enough to know that where there is an outlet for thoughts in speech, they become less injurious to bodily health.”
“Yes, that’s it, old Mark,” he said with quite an ugly, sneering laugh. “Confession, as the Catholics say, is good for the soul. You think I would ease my brain by telling you that I, Hugh Tankerville, lie awake at night like a cowardly fool, making loathsome compacts with my conscience and bargains with my honour; that, when at last a heavy dreamless sleep falls over me, I awake from it wondering whether I am not covered with some hideous leprosy, a fitting bodily ailment to clothe the cowardly vileness of my soul.”
“Girlie,” I said, for he had paused and was resting his burning forehead against the cool granite pillar, and was gazing out across the lovely flower garden with a wild, feverish, almost mad, gaze. I went up to him and placed my hand once more upon his shoulder.
“I ought never to have let you go away by yourself out of a mistaken sense of duty to a patient who, after all, is nothing to me. You have been brooding over your trouble and have worked yourself into a morbid state of self-analysis. I can assure you that I know you better than you know yourself, and know that you are absolutely incapable of any act of cowardliness or disloyalty.”
“I think I was… at one time,” he said dreamily. “I seem to have changed all of a sudden. Why, Mark! even temptation in this case is vile and base. We Englishmen, who pride ourselves on our national honour—our inalienable characteristic, we proudly assert. Never was there a greater fallacy than man’s belief in his own integrity. Here am I, the first Englishman who trod this foreign soil, and already my national honour is scattered to the four winds, since I have started a series of hideous compacts with it—at nights.”
“Do you love her so much as all that?” I asked with a certain ill-defined feeling of jealousy and wrath. His hard, set expression relaxed, a look of infinite tenderness crept into his eyes, and it was with a softened voice, more like the voice I knew of old, that he said:
“Like a madman, Mark; like a base coward, if you will.”
I shook my head.
“You would not look as you do, Girlie, if you did that. Compacts with one’s honour are easy of making and do not bring fever and insomnia along with them. Tell me what you mean to do.”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Do?” he said with a forced laugh. “That is exactly what I have been wondering these last few days. I ran away from her like a coward, but I was a fool to think I could so easily escape—not in this land, at least, where everything speaks of her. Why, the very scent of the lotus flower which penetrates into my room at night…”
He stopped abruptly and bit his lip, as if determined to say no more—not even to me. I saw that he was making great efforts to contain himself, for his lips and hands were shaking as if with ague.
“You are killing yourself, Girlie,” I said.
He laughed.
“And yet I don’t want to die, old Mark. Not at any rate until I have made some arrangement for getting you safely out of this land.”
“Not until you have gone back yourself, Girlie, and have shown to the world your discovery of this land, the truth of ‘mad Tankerville’s hobby,’ ” I said, trying to bring his mind back to its old enthusiasm.
“Yes!” he said with a weary sigh. “I came here for that purpose, didn’t I? For that I toiled for years, studied, gave up home and country, everything—even dragged you away in my train. And now…”
“Well? and now that you have succeeded beyond your keenest hopes?”
“Now, Mark? Laugh at me if you like; I deserve it for the terrible fool that I am. Now I feel that I would gladly give up all that and more, toil again, slave again, find every glory the world can bestow, and lose it all again, in exchange for the certainty that one woman, out of all the millions who people this earth, loves me as I love her.”
I shook my head.
“I know, I know, old fellow,” he said. “I almost think that if I had the certainty that she merely made a fool of me, I should—perhaps—get over my folly.”
I don’t know if his talk to me had done him good. I felt like a cruel brute to have forced his confidence, and yet I think that it was for the best. I could not fancy Hugh Tankerville falling a prey to morbid pangs of conscience; I knew that he would never fail in deed. It was not in his power to keep temptation away. A word is easily broken, and I believe that Neit-akrit would have been willing, out of pride or ambition—perhaps out of love for Hugh: in either case she would not pause, I think, for the sake of any soft thoughts for Queen Maat-kha. Oh! that we could have got away—out of this country altogether—where, as he said—everything spoke ofher. Was she not, as it were, the embodiment of everything that was fascinating, mysterious, poetic in this land? Somehow I believe that Hugh was as much in love with his own conception of what a daughter of Egypt would be. Though intensely enthusiastic, his nature was a sensuous one. The exotic beauty of Kamt, the scent of the flowers, the artistic charm of the life, all had prepared his mind for the strong impression to which an exquisitely beautiful woman gave the finishing touch. How strange a thing is man! Why was it not Queen Maat-kha—beautiful, picturesque, womanly—who had succeeded in arousing in Hugh that love, which might then have proved a happiness to him? whereas, now, tied as he was by every tie of loyalty and honour, it was slowly killing him by inches. There was no doubt that he looked terribly ill, and that a kind of low fever, brought by brooding and insomnia, was already beginning to undermine his robust constitution.
I did not like to say anything more just now. We had been silent for some time, and Hugh gradually had conquered his emotion and seemed more like himself. He asked after the health of the Pharaoh and my first impression of the city of Net-amen. But it was my turn to be moody. I felt more anxious than I cared to admit. I knew that we were surrounded with enemies, and truly did not know whether among these we should count the beautiful woman over whom Hugh Tankerville was busy breaking his heart. But this was mere unreasoning instinct. It would have been worse than useless to give him a warning in that direction; though he might be blind as to her coquetry, he would probably not admit even the remotest possibility that she might be false. And I… well, though I admired them, I quietly mistrusted the beautiful blue eyes and fascinating ways of Princess Neit-akrit.
Happy, beautiful Tanis! the city of love and romance and poetry. Even now, after all these years, as I write, the perfume of a bunch of gardenias and tuberoses placed on my writing-table brings back to my memory visions of the snow-white city, where the air is oppressive with the scent of exotic flowers, and Isis, clad in immaculate garments, silent and white, gives her blessing on those of her children who would worship at her shrine—the shrine of love, for Tanis is the bridal city.
All is white in Tanis: the houses of spotless stone or marble, the bowers of sweet-scented flowers, the barges on the canals, even the beasts of burden—cows and donkeys—all are white, and coquettishly throw that whiteness against a background of grey-green foliage or the dull, heavy leafage of palms. And in the midst of the city the temple of Isis, high aloft upon a hill, built of alabaster and silver, all white, with massive columns and gigantic steps, surrounded by groves of monster orange trees and tuberoses, amidst which the small apes—sacred to the moon—run chattering to and fro.
I loved Tanis. Men-ne-fer was gorgeous and rich, Net-amen was picturesque and bright, but Tanis was poetry, romance, and above all, living voluptuousness.
The penetrating scent of flowers rendered the temple gardens almost unbearable at nights, so overpowering was the odour of gardenia and orange blossom: that garden filled with the quaint and dainty forms of the priestesses vowed to the goddess and to love! I seem to see it before me now, in one vast tangle of palms and flowers, with shady nooks beneath showers of overhanging blossoms. Sensuous, voluptuous Tanis! where every refinement which art and civilisation could devise is brought to bear in order to throw a halo of romance and picturesqueness over the passion which makes gods or beasts of mankind. And Isis, silent, cold and immaculate, smiles from the sanctuary of her temple upon the loves which last a lifetime, the passions which live a day.
Men and women swear before her altar to cherish one another and be true, until the day when Anubis, the jackal-headed god, at last leads one or the other soul before the throne of Osiris: and all the while, outside, in the garden, under the same protection of the goddess, lithe young arms encircle the passer-by and give freely of those kisses which are forgotten on the morrow.
Sensuous Tanis! who dost place a crown of glory on the heads of thy courtesans, and makest a virtue of unchastity. Lovely, poetic Tanis! within whose sacred walls the holiest vows of truth and honour are spoken, in spite of all I love thee still. I shut my eyes and see thy snow-white walls, thy women clad in clinging folds of spotless white, hear the melancholy sound of sistrum and of harp, and above all smell the intoxicating odour of thy flower gardens and feel the delicious languor which thy heavy air doth give.
Strange people! Strange customs! Strange and sensuous Tanis! Within its walls is the temple of Isis, wherein bridegroom vows to bride honour, fealty and truth, as solemn, as binding, as the vows we swear in England unto those that we love; and within the selfsame walls, surrounding the same hymeneal temple, are the gardens of Isis. Here he who would pronounce matrimonial vows must dwell for a day and a night before his wedding, alone and unattended, in a tiny pavilion, overgrown with climbing tuberoses, which stands in the middle of the garden. Here, at the evening, when the image of the goddess shines cold and pure upon the groves of cacti and orange blossoms, sweet music lures the would-be bridegroom without, and as he walks through the sweet-scented alleys, dreaming of future homely and legitimate bliss, the dainty forms of Isis’s priestesses whisper of things he would fain not hear: white arms beckon to him, and red mouths, framed for kisses, sing with sweet voices quaint, licentious songs. It is the mission—honoured, respected, almost held sacred—of these priestesses, recruited among the fairest in the land, to dissuade the bridegroom from contracting indissoluble ties.
There is a subtle morality in this strange custom. None but the strong, the true, should wed in ancient Kamt: the marriage tie is a divine one, the oath an all-embracing one, and sweet voices whisper to the weak to pause and reflect, bidding him beware of bonds which later he cannot break.
When first we heard of this curious custom, expounded to us by a couple of solemn Egyptians dressed in snow-white robes, with a wreath of white roses over their funny shaven heads, for the first time, since many days, I saw Hugh’s eyes twinkling with merriment, but he preserved perfect outward gravity and assured the people of Tanis that he would follow the ancient custom of the land and take possession of the lonely pavilion in the garden of Isis.
Then, when we were alone, we both burst into a fit of laughter, and Hugh’s laugh sounded as infectious, as sunny as of yore. Of course he had to stand a good deal of chaff from me.
“For the credit of old England,” I adjured him with mock solemnity as, late one evening, I accompanied him to the abode of temptation, “do not disgrace us both, Girlie.”
“Well! I think I may safely promise not to do that, old chap,” he said with a laugh.
Together we explored the pavilion and garden, which before moonrise were silent and deserted. The pavilion itself was built of alabaster and divided into two rooms—one room in which to eat, and one in which to sleep, when one could. Every drapery in it was white, the curtains, the couches, the seats; it was lighted from above, as well as from the sides, so that the rays of the moon could at all times penetrate within. Here the lonely and expectant bridegroom heard but little of the din and noise of the city, busy in preparations for the coming marriage festivities, and of course Hugh would see nothing of the deputations from every corner of the vast empire which poured into Tanis, streams of people, men and women and children, who came to catch a glimpse of the most blessed in the land, the son of Ra, the well-beloved of the gods.
Somehow I did not like parting from him. These twenty-four hours, the last before he took the irrevocable step, were sure to be trying for him; but we had all through our stay in this interesting land most solemnly decided to follow all its laws and customs, and after all, my wish to be with Hugh was mere sentimentality. He himself, I think, preferred to be alone. We never had spoken ofhersince the day when I forced Hugh’s confidence. I don’t think he could have borne it, and Sawnie Girlie was the last man in the world ever to break down, even before me. His word was a fetish to him. He had given it to a woman and demanded hers in return, and he meant to carry to the end the burden which his own hands had placed upon his life. There was no doubt that he was eating his heart out with longing and with love for the beautiful girl who could be nothing to him, and I could do nothing to help or save him. Outwardly he was cheerful, even enthusiastic at times, but to my ears and eyes, rendered acute by my affection for him, there was always a false ring in his laugh, a jarring discord in his enthusiasm.
He seemed to have aged all of a sudden, and on the temples, for the first time, to-day, I had noticed a few streaks of grey.
When the shades of evening began to draw in round the poetic retreat where Hugh was to spend the last night of his bachelorhood, I at last reluctantly decided to go.
“When do you suppose we shall meet again, Girlie?”
“Ah! that I don’t know. The marriage ceremony is an hour after midnight to-morrow; I go straight to the temple from here, and it appears that it is against all etiquette that I should wander outside this garden of Eden until then. Perhaps you can find your way as far as my loneliness, some time during the day.”
But I was doubtful.
“I can try. What happens after the wedding ceremony?”
“Another strange custom, Mark, old chap,” replied Hugh, with a smile. “All those present in the temple during the ceremony, including the bride, retire, leaving the unfortunate bridegroom alone: he is supposed to pray and to worship Isis, until he sees the first streak of dawn through the marble gateway. Then he goes out to meet his bride. But these people, ever seeking for the poetic and the picturesque, ever sensuous and ever voluptuous, have a custom by which the royal bridegroom meets his bride in a special bower in the very middle of this garden.”
“Under the vault of heaven?”
“At dawn, old Mark, and near a tiny waterfall which is sacred to Isis. You can hear the ripple of the water now.”
“It is indeed poetic.”
“This pretty spot is surrounded with walls and closed in by a gate which is never opened, save when a royal marriage has taken place. Then at dawn the bridegroom, having completed his vigil, goes into the garden, finds that gate open, and there he waits until…”
“I understand. How sensuous these people are! Even in their marriages, which I believe are as solemn, as earnest, though not as dull as our English weddings, they contrive to introduce a savour of romance and transfigure the bride, if only momentarily, into a courtesan.”
“At any rate, during the few hours before dawn, when I am all alone and supposed to be worshipping the pagan goddess, I am sure you can remain behind and bear me company. The day after my marriage we return to Men-ne-fer, and you and I, old Mark, can seriously set to work to govern our interesting subjects.”
“Good-bye then, old Girlie!” I said, feeling a nasty, uncomfortable lump in my throat. “If I cannot get to you to-morrow, then I shall not see you again till after you are Queen Maat-kha’s husband.”
“In any case, Mark, in the temple you will be somewhere near, I know.”
“Unless the holy Pharaoh claims me altogether. You know he is an arbitrary patient.”
I shook him by the hand, and we parted, he still standing in the doorway of the snow-white pavilion, his dark head clearly silhouetted against the alabaster walls, and I hurrying quickly and regretfully through the tuberose-scented gardens of Isis, the voluptuous goddess.
The Pharaoh had entered Tanis earlier in the day with all the pomp and glitter of his gorgeous retinue. I went to meet him, and was shocked to see him looking much more ill than when I left him. I felt a little remorseful, and now feared that through my desertion of him I might have lost what influence I had gained over his irritable temper. However, to my astonishment, he seemed quite pleased to see me, and as usual, once he had me by his side, refused to allow me to leave him even for an instant.
It was only during a brief interval while he was asleep that I had had the chance of accompanying Hugh to the pavilion of Isis.
Queen Maat-kha had accompanied the Pharaoh in his solemn entry into Tanis. She was closely veiled when she alighted from her boat, and vouchsafed no recognition of me, and quickly disappeared, followed by her women.
I believe that she had a special palace, close to the temple of Isis, where as a royal bride she would reside until her wedding day.
I saw nothing of Princess Neit-akrit, nor did I know if she meant to be present at the marriage ceremony. I sincerely hoped that she would not, and that Hugh would be spared the pain of seeing her until all was irrevocably over. Perhaps when finally wedded to another woman, in the midst of the many tasks which would naturally devolve upon him, he would begin to forget the poetic romance which threatened to destroy his future happiness.
AsI expected, the holy Pharaoh proved more exacting, more arbitrary than ever. He was really so weak and ill that I had not the heart to leave him. His mind seemed to wander at times, and he would babble of Neit-akrit, of the throne of Kamt, of his mother, and of the stranger who was usurping the crown. He seemed to have vowed special hatred against his mother, more so even than against Hugh; and his screams of rage, whenever he mentioned her name, were terrible to hear, and all day, with half-articulate words, he would make weird plans as to how best he could destroy her happiness.
Once he took my hand feverishly in both his own and asked with eagerness:
“Dost think she knows that the stranger hath no love for her?”
I tried to soothe him, but he persisted:
“If she only knew how he loves Neit-akrit!”
“Thou dost him wrong, oh, mighty Pharaoh!” I retorted. “The beloved of the gods will plight his troth to Queen Maat-kha. And he never breaks his word.”
The invalid laughed his nasty, sarcastic laugh, and muttered several times to himself:
“If she only knew how he loves Neit-akrit… she would suffer… ay! and I think I would make him suffer, too.”
Late in the evening, at last, he dropped into a troubled sleep; and I, feeling momentary peace and freedom, went out upon the terrace. The Pharaoh’s palace faced the temple of Isis, behind which lay the mysterious garden with the lonely snow-white pavilion, and the sacred nook, beside the cataract, with beyond it the palace of the royal bride.
The night was exquisitely still, the moon was not yet up, and the shadows were not as yet very dark. It was a perfect evening, and my thoughts flew out across the poetic garden to the lonely spot where, in the midst of this picturesque and pagan land, an Englishman was preparing to sacrifice his happiness for the sake of his honour. An infinite sadness crept over me: I longed for dear old England and for peace, and above all I longed for sight of Hugh before the awful, the irrevocable had actually happened. Somehow I could not believe that the preposterous thing was really about to be accomplished; that, within the next few hours, a man so good, so true as Hugh Tankerville could be called upon to wreck his whole life without a protest. We were obviously doomed to remain in this exotic land for the whole term of our natural lives. I was willing enough to remain: I had no ties, save those which bound me to my friend, and if Hugh could but marry the woman he loved, I know he would have craved for nothing more. But we were among people as high-minded and more civilised than ourselves: a woman here was as sacred, as much worthy of respect, as in our own distant homes, and conscience has an unhappy knack of following one wherever one may go. All this I knew and felt; and now, at the eleventh hour, I, too, in my inmost heart began to argue with my conscience, to bandy words with my friend’s honour, and to try and find a loophole through which I could drag Hugh Tankerville away from the very foot of the hymeneal altar.
The longing to speak to Hugh, if only for a moment, became imperative. I was not sure whether I should find the way open through the temple gardens to his pavilion, but at any rate I resolved to try. Wrapping a dark cloak round me, I found my way out of the Pharaoh’s palace, and soon reached the outer precincts of the temple close.
The sacred edifice, in its severely imposing architecture, with massive columns, such as the Egyptians love, towered high above me, square and broad, upon a gigantic flight of marble steps. Hugh and I had visited it the day before, and I loved its simple magnificence, its gorgeous proportions, its great snow-white columns, the exquisite tracery, picked out in silver inlay, which gleamed in the gathering shadows of evening, looking singularly ethereal and ghostlike.
The evening sacrifice was just over, for I heard behind the temple the sound of sistrum and harp, dying away in the distance; and the song of Isis’s sacred courtesans, as they took possession of their enchanted gardens, sounded more and more remote. From the gardens an overpowering scent of flowers was wafted towards me, and I could see on my right the pavilion where Hugh probably at this moment was pacing up and down the marble hall like some caged lion, nestling behind a clump of orange trees: and far beyond, the canals, like shimmering ribbons, wound in graceful curves towards Tanis and Net-amen, Men-ne-fer and Het-se-fent.
I had already turned towards the pavilion and was following a long path, which led away from the temple, when my ear caught the sound of stealthy footsteps upon the sandy walk, some distance behind me. Astonished, I turned to see who my companion was in this evening stroll, and to my amazement recognised my patient, the mighty Pharaoh, who, like myself, wrapped in a dark cloak, was softly walking at right angles from the path which I myself was following, straight towards the temple, and the next moment had disappeared from my view behind a piece of sculpture.
An instinct, which I could not have accounted for at the time, prompted me not to run after him, nor to shout, but to follow him quietly and see what he would do.
Keeping well within the shadows, I retraced my steps, and once more found myself at the foot of the temple, just in time to see the Pharaoh disappearing up above me, somewhere among the pillars.
I could not imagine that he had chosen this evening hour in order to perform some tardy act of devotion, and a little anxious about his safety now, I followed up the massive stairs.
I had completely lost sight of the sick man, and having reached the last of the marble steps I peered round eagerly between the pillars. The façade of the temple was silent, dark and deserted. Immediately in front of me was the ponderous gateway, built of marble tracery, which opened into the sacred edifice. It was closed, but I went up to it, and through the tracery saw the interior of the building. The main body of the temple was dimly lighted by a single hanging lamp, which threw an uncertain, flickering light on floor and pillars; at the farther end hung the usual heavy, semi-transparent curtain which hid the inner sanctuary of the goddess. This being brilliantly illuminated, the curtain formed a kind of shimmering wall, against which I saw suddenly silhouetted the figure of the Pharaoh not far from me, and that of a woman, Queen Maat-kha, by his side.
I could not see into the dark corners of the temple, but, as far as I could ascertain, the rest of the building was deserted and the royal bride-elect was unattended. The Pharaoh had evidently just finished speaking, for he was leaning exhausted against one of the pillars: he looked so very cadaverous and ill that I was seriously anxious for him, and at the risk of interrupting a private conclave between mother and son, I tried to get to him, but the marble gateway was closed. After the manner peculiar to Egyptian architects, it had been made to work with a secret spring, by which a child could set it in motion if he knew its working, but which the strongest man in the world, if he were ignorant, could not even shake; and I, of course, had no idea where and how that secret spring worked.
Suddenly I heard Queen Maat-kha’s voice:
“Was it to tell me all this, oh, my son,” she said, “that thou didst come, like a snake in the night, to pour thy poison into my ear, even while I worshipped at Isis’s shrine?”
He laughed his usual sarcastic laugh.
“My poison?” he retorted. “Nay! sweet mother, that potion which thou must drink to the full is none of my mixing. Already thou didst taste a few of its bitter drops; I but add the last thought of deadly aconite to make it more unpalatable still.”
“And art satisfied?” she asked quietly.
“Not quite,” he replied with sudden vehemence, coming a step or two closer to her, “not quite, for that evil hand which, with arrogant pride, will snatch the kingdom of Kamt from my dying grasp hath already taken from me the priceless treasure which was the only joy of my life.”
“I do not understand.”
“He came,” hissed the sick man close to her ear, “and with one look, one word, won that which I would have given my double crown, my life, my honour to possess.”
“Dost mean the love of thy people?”
“No! the love of Neit-akrit.”
Queen Maat-kha shrugged her shoulders and laughed a low, derisive laugh.
“ ’Twere better thou didst go back to thy sick-bed, oh, mighty Pharaoh! and didst take some of the soothing potions thy medicine men do order thee. Thy mind doth indeed begin to wander. Love! and Neit-akrit!… was there ever a more impossible union? Why, ’twere easier to credit the jackals of the wilderness with pity for the corpses they devour than Neit-akrit with human love!”
“Were it easier too,” sneered the Pharaoh, “to credit the son of Ra with love for Neit-akrit?”
But Maat-kha turned upon her son as if she had been stung.
“Beware, oh, most holy Pharaoh!” she whispered between her clenched teeth, “beware of the might of the gods, and rouse not the dormant passions in a woman’s heart.”
He laughed.
“Nay! it was to rouse these dormant passions that I came to-night, oh, mother mine! Didst think, perchance, that I meant to leave thee in peace and happiness, taking away from me all that the gods did give? I had a crown. Thy lover came, and with one blow struck it from off my head. Am I the Pharaoh? Ask my people whom it is they love, and whom they obey. Who sits upon the throne of Kamt? Not I, surely, forhishands deal favours and sign the decrees of justice.
“I am sick and of no account; my open enmity could but heighten thy lover’s fame. But my hatred has been nurtured in the dark, and, like a foul snake, hath thriven well, the while thou didst rejoice and didst think of wedding the stranger, so as to oust thy son from the throne. But, I tell thee, thou didst rejoice too soon. I am not dead yet, and the beloved of the gods is hated by many mortals: by those whose arrogancehisarrogance did curb, whose pridehispride did humble, and amongst these thou must reckon the woman whom thou wilt defraud as thou didst defraud thy son.”
“Thou talkest at random,” she said with another shrug of the shoulders. “Just now thou didst say that she loved him, and now thou speakest of hate.”
“And is not hate the twin of love, mother mine? And didst thou not feel hatred for him whom thou lovest so well when thou didst see him standing beside Neit-akrit? his eyes devouring her young and ardent beauty, her eyes turned to him, moist and tender, ready to respond to the first word of passion? Didst see how he trembled when she asked him for a kiss?”
“Hold thy babbling tongue,” she commanded. “I will not listen to the ravings of a lunatic.”
“But thou wilt listen, for I will tell thee that, at nights, when Isis hid her face, and darkness threw a merciful pall over the garden of Neit-akrit’s palace, she would creep out, and her arms filled with masses of lotus blossoms, she would go tothylover’s couch. I have seen her on the terrace, at nights, standing like the carved image of voluptuous grace, with moist lips and shimmering eyes, and he…”
“Thou liest!” said Maat-kha in a hoarse whisper, raising an imperious hand, as if ready to strike the son who with evil tongue hissed the cruel words into her ear, delighting with fiendish glee in goading her into jealous frenzy.
I could not understand what the man’s object could be in the strange game he was playing. Was it revenge for his own wrongs, or merely the natural outburst of an evil mischief-making mind? I knew he hated his mother, but thought the game a dangerous one, for in this country passions run high, and a woman’s love or hate is deadly and uncontrolled.
I could not tear myself away from my point of vantage; an unaccountable feeling or presentiment, which since then I have been so well able to explain, kept me rooted to the spot, with my face glued against the massive marble carving.
Maat-kha’s face had become positively livid with rage; she was strong and muscular, and she tried with both her hands to smother the evil words in her son’s mouth.
But this half-human creature repeated, with a truly demoniacal chuckle:
“I tell thee I saw them both.… Dost think perchance he cares forthee, beyond thy throne and thy riches? Look at Neit-akrit and then at thyself. Is she not made for love? young, ardent and exquisitely beautiful. She hath consumed my soul with wild passion, mad, unreasoning love, and he… hast seen him to-day? He is dying of the same complaint which has sappedmymanhood, made a weak coward of the Pharaoh, the descendant of Ammoun-ra.… Hast seen his burning eyes, his hollow cheeks? He is dying, I tell thee! he will die in thy arms one day… soon… die of love for Neit-akrit.”
“Thou liest! thou liest! thou liest!” she shouted. “I forbid thee to speak, thou liest!”
“He loves her, I tell thee, and thou wilt wed him to-morrow; but he will hate thee, for his heart belongs to Neit-akrit. Ay! mother mine, thou hast stolen my throne from me, but at least, in exchange for that throne, I think I have succeeded in stealing from thee the last shred of thy happiness.”
But the semi-demented creature who ruled over the kingdom of Kamt had pursued his cruel game just a little too far. I was absolutely helpless to intervene, even had I thought of venturing to do so, for the heavy marble gates were between me and that mother and son, who were hissing words of hate in one another’s ears.
“Thou liest!” repeated the Queen, but yet she listened, as if longing to drink to the last dregs of the poisonous cup which her son was holding to her mouth.
“Thou art old, mother mine,” added the creature, with truly satanic fiendishness. “Of thee he will have but thy throne. I tell thee that as soon as he has wedded thee he will forget thy very existence: and Neit-akrit, the divine Neit-akrit, whom I, the Pharaoh, adore, will forget her rank, her maidenhood, and vow herself to Isis, that she may on moonlit nights put her white arms round his neck, and show him how well the women of Kamt have learnt how to kiss.”
With a hoarse cry Maat-kha, whose whole body seemed to tremble with mad, uncontrolled rage, literally sprang upon her son. With both hands she gripped him round the neck, and she held him there, tightly clutched, before her, until perforce his evil words died, choked within his throat. His head fell back, livid and ghastly, his arms beat the air once or twice, while his whole being shook in a violent convulsion.
Aghast, horror-struck, I shouted with all the force of which my lungs were capable: I threw my body against the marble gate, only to fall back bruised, sore and helpless. The mad woman heeded me not; the wild mania of blind jealousy must have closed her ears. My voice went echoing among the massive pillars of the building, but nothing answered it save, far away, the song of the priestesses of Isis amidst the flowers and the balmy midnight air.
The Pharaoh’s head had fallen back inert, and over him bent the woman—his mother—still furiously hissing at the livid face beneath her: “Thou liest! thou liest!” Then the body became rigid and still, there was a final convulsion, the head rolled from side to side. Maat-kha ceased her shouting; she still held the dying man by the neck, but her eyes, now large and terrified, were fastened upon him. Gradually a look of indescribable horror spread over her face, a look which almost froze the blood in my veins, so appalling was it. The momentary mania had disappeared and in its stead came the terrible realisation of what she had done. Again I shouted to her to let me in, but she seemed not to hear, for she did not even turn towards me, though I screamed myself absolutely hoarse. For one moment I thought of turning towards the garden and shouting for help in that direction, then the idea of Hugh hearing my voice, of seeing what I had seen without warning or preparation, struck me with unspeakable horror, and stupidly, unreasoningly, I threw myself again with all my might against the stone gate, hoping to attract some attention.
I must have done it very clumsily, for I caught my head a nasty blow which stunned me for a moment, and, half-unconscious, I fell down on my knees against the gate.
WhenI came to myself after a few minutes, the scene inside the temple had changed. The Pharaoh was lying rigid upon the marble floor and the hanging lamp overhead threw a weird, flickering light upon his livid, hideously distorted face. Beside him, ghastly pale, with eyes staring full of horror upon the dead body of her son, Queen Maat-kha stood silent, with arms folded across her bosom, her lips tightly set. She was listening to the high priest of Ra, who was speaking to her in slow and solemn tones, while he pointed upwards to the sanctuary of the goddess.
“Thy sin, Maat-kha, is beyond forgiveness. Thou knowest it; thy body and thy soul are doomed to eternal death. Thy very memory will be accursed in Kamt as the centuries roll slowly away.”
She did not reply. I think she was absolutely dazed. No doubt that even a British jury would have found extenuating circumstances for her crime. She had been provoked beyond what her reason could stand. Momentarily it had fled, escaped her body, leaving her a prey to all the furious passions which her maddened jealousy had roused within her. Now reason had returned, and with it horror, repulsion, and hideous, terrible remorse.
I was still very shaky on my legs, and somehow instinct kept me where I was, waiting to see the sequel to this awful and weird tragedy. There was dead silence after the high priest had spoken, and the echo of his last solemn words still reverberated in the vast and mysterious temple. From afar the last sounds of life and bustle from the bridal city reached this lonely, poetic spot only as a murmur from dreamland.
Maat-kha stood as rigid and inert as her dead son, only from time to time a nervous shiver went right through her, and she gathered her veil close to her as if she felt cold.
“I am waiting for thy answer, Maat-kha,” said the high priest.
She looked up at him, half-appealing, half-defiant. There was no sorrow on her face for the dead son whom she had never loved, no fear of the punishment with which the high priest threatened her. She said very quietly:
“What answer dost thou expect of me?”
“I wish to know if, after thy madness, thou dost understand the hideousness of thy crime, and dost fear the vengeance of the goddess whose temple thou didst desecrate?”
“My hands did act, but not my will. He taunted me and my reason fled. I had no wish to kill him, only to silence his poisonous tongue.”
“Hold thy peace, woman! Do not slander the dead and heap more sorrow and humiliation upon thy doomed head.”
“What wouldst thou have me do, Ur-tasen? Madness seized me. I am accursed. Wilt thou give me the boon of a dagger with which to send my sinful soul to the foot of the throne of Osiris? who perhaps will understand, and understanding, pardon.”
“Thy soul is not worthy to appear before the gods. Judgment would decree that thy body be allowed to rot, lest so vile a soul find once more habitation upon earth and live to commit other most horrible crimes.”
A shudder went through her; for the first time she seemed to realise that some awful punishment would inevitably follow her sin. She looked wildly round her as if in search of help or sympathy, then again appealingly at the high priest before her.
“There is no help for thee, woman. Look not around. The very walls of the temple of Isis frown shuddering down upon thee. Nay! look not for help, for not even he, whom thou deemest all-powerful, could save thee if he would.”
The words of Ur-tasen recalled me to myself. I realised that in a moment the whole aspect of Hugh’s future had changed, and it was but just that he should be apprised of the tragedy which had taken place, and of the awful doom which suddenly threatened Queen Maat-kha. There was no object in my staying here any longer to hear Ur-tasen’s solemn invectives against the unfortunate woman, and I had almost turned to go, when it seemed to me that in the remote corner of the temple, behind Queen Maat-kha, there was some one standing and like myself watching the weird and terrible scene. I could only see a dim outline thrown darkly against the light curtain, but somehow that outline, the heavy hair, the quaint, straight attitude, forcibly reminded me of Princess Neit-akrit.
Surely I was mistaken. What could Neit-akrit be doing alone at night in the temple of Isis? and why should she have stood motionless and still while so awful a tragedy was being enacted before her? And yet, persistently I looked at the slight and upright figure and continued myrôleof eavesdropping, scenting vaguely danger hovering in the air.
At mention of Hugh’s name Maat-kha had closed her eyes. A look of infinite pain spread over her face, and slowly two heavy tears rolled down her cheeks.
But Ur-tasen was merciless.
“How he will loathe thee, Maat-kha,” he said very quietly. “Hast thought of that? He never loved thee dearly: thy beauty had not even the power to ensnare his senses, but I think he honoured thee as a woman and as a queen: whereas now he will turn from thee as from a noisome reptile. With his own hand he will sign the decree which will cast thee out of Kamt, and as thy flesh begins to wither on thy bones, out there in the valley of death, thy dying soul can contemplate the picture of happy, prosperous Kamt, wherein the stranger, the well-beloved of the gods, dispenses justice and wisdom beside Neit-akrit of the house of Usem-ra.”