[1]Authentic speech of a slave.
[1]Authentic speech of a slave.
“He wishes that this canal be not filled in,” said Eunana.
Herhor shrugged his shoulders and pushed toward the place where they were filling the canal. Then the despairing man seized his feet.
“Away with this creature!” cried his worthiness, pushing back as before the bite of a reptile.
The secretary, Pentuer, turned his head; his lean face had a grayish color. Eunana seized the man by the shoulders and pulled, but, unable to drag him away from the minister’s feet, he summoned warriors. After a while Herhor, now liberated, passed to the other bank of the canal, and the warriors tore away the earth-worker, almost carrying him to the end of the detachment. There they gave the man some tens of blows of fists, and subalterns who always carried canes gave him some tens of blows of sticks, and at last threw him down at the entrance to the ravine.
Beaten, bloody, and above all terrified, the wretched slave sat on the sand for a while, rubbed his eyes, then sprang up suddenly and ran groaning toward the highway,—
“Swallow me, O earth! Cursed be the day in which I saw the light, and the night in which it was said, ‘A man is born!’ In the mantle of justice there is not the smallest shred for a slave. The gods themselves regard not a creature whosehands are for labor, whose mouth was made only for weeping, and whose back is for clubs. O death, rub my body into ashes, so that there, beyond on the fields of Osiris, I be not born into slavery a second time.”
PANTING with anger, Prince Rameses rushed up the hill, while behind him followed Tutmosis. The wig of the exquisite had turned on his head, his false beard had slipped down, and he carried it in his hand. In spite of exertion he would have been pale had it not been for the layers of rouge on his face.
At last Rameses halted at the summit. From the ravine came the outcry of warriors and the rattle of the onrolling balistas; before the two men stretched the immense plain of Goshen, bathed continually in sun-rays. That did not seem land, but a golden cloud, on which the mind painted a landscape in colors of silver, ruby, pearl, and topaz.
“Look,” cried the heir to Tutmosis, stretching out his hand, “those are to be my lands, and here is my army. Over there the loftiest edifices are palaces of priests, and here the supreme chief of the troops is a priest! Can anything like this be suffered?”
“It has always been so,” replied Tutmosis, glancing around with timidity.
“That is not true! I know the history of this country, which is hidden to thee. The leaders of armies and the masters of officials were the pharaohs alone, or at least the most energetic among them. Those rulers did not pass their days in making offerings and prayers, but in managing the state.”
“If it is the desire of his holiness to pass his days that way?” said Tutmosis.
“It is not my father’s wish that nomarchs should govern as they please in the capitals of provinces. Why, the governor of Ethiopia considered himself as almost equal to the king of kings. And it cannot be my father’s wish that his army should march around two golden beetles because the minister of war is a high priest.”
“He is a great warrior,” whispered Tutmosis, with increasing timidity.
“He a great warrior? Because he dispersed a handful of Libyan robbers ready to flee at the mere sight of Egyptians. But see what our neighbors are doing. Israel delays in paying tribute and pays less and less of it. The cunning Phœnician steals a number of ships from our fleet every year. On the east we are forced to keep up a great army against the Hittites, while around Babylon and Nineveh there is such a movement that it is felt throughout all Mesopotamia.
“And what is the outcome of priestly management? This, that while my great-grandfather had a hundred thousand talents of yearly income and one hundred and sixty thousand troops, my father has barely fifty thousand talents and one hundred and twenty thousand troops.
“And what an army! Were it not for the Greek corps, which keeps them in order as a dog watches sheep, the Egyptian soldiers to-day would obey only priests and the pharaoh would sink to the level of a miserable nomarch.”
“Whence hast thou learned this?” asked Tutmosis, with astonishment.
“Am I not of a priestly family? And besides, they taught me when I was not heir to the throne. Oh, when I become pharaoh after my father,—may he live through eternity!—I will put my bronze-sandalled foot on their necks. But first of all I will seize their treasures, which have always been bloated, but which from the time of Rameses the Great have begun to swell out, and to-day are so swollen that the treasure of the pharaoh is invisible because of them.”
“Woe to me and to thee!” sighed Tutmosis. “Thou hast plans under which this hill would bend could it hear and understand them. And where are thy forces, thy assistance, thy warriors? Against thee the whole people will rise, led by a class of men with mighty influence. But who is on thy side?”
Rameses listened and fell to thinking. At last he said,—
“The army—”
“A considerable part of it will follow the priests.”
“The Greek corps—”
“A barrel of water in the Nile.”
“The officials—”
“Half of them belong to the priests.”
The prince shook his head sadly, and was silent.
From the summit they went down by a naked and stony slope to the opposite base of the hill. Then Tutmosis, who had pushed ahead somewhat, cried,—
“Has a charm fallen on my eyes? Look, Rameses! Why, a second Egypt is concealed between these cliffs!”
“That must be an estate of some priest who pays no taxes,” replied the prince, bitterly.
In the depth before their feet lay a rich valley in the form of a fork the tines of which were hidden between cliffs. At the juncture of the tines a number of servants’ huts were visible, and the beautiful little villa of the owner or manager. Palm-trees grew there, grapes, olives, figs with aerial roots, cypresses, even young baobabs. In the centre flowed a rivulet, and at the source of it, some hundreds of yards higher up, small gardens were visible.
When they had gone down among grape-vines covered with ripe clusters, they heard a woman’s voice which called, or rather sang in pensive notes:
“Where art thou gone from me, where art thou, hen of mine? Thou hast fled, thou art gone from me. I give thee drink and clean grain; what I give is so good that slaves envy thee. Where art thou gone, my hen—wilt thou not answer me? Night will come down on thee, think of that; thou wilt not reach thy home, where all are at work for thee. Come; if thou come not, a falcon will fly from the desert and tear the heart out of thee. If he come thou wilt call in vain, as I now call in vain to thee. Give answer, or I shall be angry and leave this place. If I leave thou’lt go home on thy own feet.”
The song came toward the two men. The songstress was a few yards from them when Tutmosis thrust his head from between the bushes, and said,—
“Just look, Rameses, but that is a beautiful maiden!”
Instead of looking, the prince sprang into the path and stopped the road before the songstress. She was really a beautiful maiden, with Grecian features and a complexion like ivory.From under the veil on her head peeped forth an immense mass of dark hair, wound in a knot. She wore a white trailing robe which she held on one side with her hand; under the transparent covering were maiden breasts shaped like apples.
“Who art thou?” cried Rameses.
The threatening furrows vanished from his forehead and his eyes flashed.
“O Jehovah! O Father!” cried she, frightened, halting motionless on the path.
But she grew calm by degrees, and her velvety eyes resumed their expression of mild sadness.
“Whence hast thou come?” inquired she of Rameses, with a voice trembling a little. “I see that thou art a soldier, but it is not permitted soldiers to come here.”
“Why is it not permitted?”
“Because this is the land of a great lord named Sesofris.”
“Ho! ho!” laughed Rameses.
“Laugh not, for thou wilt grow pale soon. The lord Sesofris is secretary to the lord Chaires, who carries his fan for the most worthy nomarch of Memphis. My father has seen him and fallen on his face before him.”
“Ho! ho! ho!” repeated Rameses, laughing continually.
“Thy words are very insolent,” said the maiden, frowning. “Were kindness not looking from thy face, I should think thee a mercenary from Greece or a bandit.”
“He is not a bandit yet, but some day he may become the greatest bandit this land has ever suffered,” said Tutmosis the exquisite, arranging his wig.
“And thou must be a dancer,” answered the girl, grown courageous. “Oh! I am even certain that I saw thee at the fair in Pi-Bailos, enchanting serpents.”
The two young men fell into perfect humor.
“But who art thou?” asked Rameses of the girl, taking her hand, which she drew back.
“Be not so bold. I am Sarah, the daughter of Gideon, the manager of this estate.”
“A Jewess,” said Rameses; and a shadow passed over his face.
“What harm in that? what harm in that?” cried Tutmosis.“Dost think that Jewesses are less sweet than Egyptian girls? They are only more modest and more difficult, which gives their love an uncommon charm.”
“So ye are pagans,” said Sarah, with dignity. “Rest, if ye are tired, pluck some grapes for yourselves, and go with God. Our servants are not glad to see guests like you.”
She wished to go, but Rameses detained her.
“Stop! Thou hast pleased me, and may not leave us in this way.”
“The evil spirit has seized thee; no one in this valley would dare to speak thus to me,” said Sarah, now indignant.
“Yes; for, seest thou,” interrupted Tutmosis, “this young man is an officer of the priestly regiment of Ptah, and a secretary of the secretary of a lord who carries his fan over the fan-carrier of the nomarch of Habu.”
“Surely he must be an officer,” answered Sarah, looking with thoughtfulness at Rameses. “Maybe he is a great lord himself?” added she, putting her finger on her lips.
“Whoever I am, thy beauty surpasses my dignity,” answered he, suddenly. “But tell me, is it true that the Jews eat pork?”
Sarah looked at him offended; and Tutmosis added,—
“How evident it is that thou knowest not Jewesses! I tell thee that a Jew would rather die than eat pork, which, for my part, I do not consider as the worst—”
“But do they eat cats?” insisted Rameses, pressing Sarah’s hand and looking into her eyes.
“And that is a fable, a vile fable!” exclaimed Tutmosis. “Thou mightst have asked me about those things instead of talking nonsense. I have had three Jewish mistresses.”
“So far thou hast told the truth, but now thou art lying,” called out Sarah. “A Jewess would not be any man’s mistress,” added she, proudly.
“Even the mistress of the secretary of a lord who carries the fan for the nomarch of Memphis?” asked Tutmosis, jeeringly.
“Even—”
“Even the mistress of the lord who carries the fan?”
Sarah hesitated, but answered,—
“Even.”
“Then perhaps she would not become the mistress of the nomarch?”
The girl’s hands dropped. With astonishment she looked in turn at the young men; her lips quivered, and her eyes filled with tears.
“Who are ye?” inquired she, alarmed. “Ye have come down from the hills, like travellers who wish bread and water, but ye speak to me as might the greatest lords. Who are ye? Thy sword,” said she, turning to Rameses, “is set with emeralds, and on thy neck is a chain of such work as even our lord, the great Sesofris, has not in his treasury.”
“Better tell me if I please thee,” insisted Rameses, pressing her hand and looking into her eyes tenderly.
“Thou art beautiful, as beautiful as the angel Gabriel; but I fear thee, for I know not who thou art.”
Then from beyond the hilltop was heard the sound of a trumpet.
“They are calling thee!” cried Tutmosis.
“And if I were as great a lord as thy Sesofris?” asked Rameses.
“Then maybe—” answered Sarah.
“And if I carried the fan of the nomarch of Memphis?”
“Thou mayest be even as great as that—”
Somewhere beyond the hill was heard the second trumpet.
“Come, Rameses!” insisted the frightened Tutmosis.
“But if I were—heir to the throne, wouldst thou come to me?” cried the prince.
“O Jehovah!” exclaimed Sarah, dropping on her knees.
From various points trumpets summoned, now urgently.
“Let us run!” cried Tutmosis, in desperation. “Dost thou not hear the alarm in the camp?”
Rameses took the chain from his neck quickly and threw it on Sarah.
“Give this to thy father. I will buy thee from him. Be in health.”
He kissed her lips passionately, and she embraced his knees. He tore away, ran a couple of paces, turned again, and again fondled her beautiful face and dark hair with kisses, as if he heard not those impatient calls to the army.
“In the name of his holiness the pharaoh, I summon thee, follow me!” cried Tutmosis; and he seized the prince’s hand.
They ran toward the trumpet-calls. Rameses tottered at moments like a drunken man, and turned his head. At last they were climbing the opposite hill.
“And this man,” thought Tutmosis, “wants to battle with the priesthood!”
RAMESES and his comrade ran about a quarter of an hour along the rocky ridge of the hill, drawing ever nearer to the trumpets, which sounded more and more urgently. At last they reached a point where they took in at a glance the whole region. Toward the left stretched the highway; beyond that were seen clearly the city of Pi-Bailos, the regiments of the heir drawn up behind it, and an immense cloud of dust which rose above his opponent hastening forward from the east.
On the right yawned a broad ravine, along the middle of which the Greek regiment was dragging military engines. Not far from the road the ravine was lost in another and a broader one which began in the depth of the desert.
At this point something uncommon was happening. The Greeks stood unoccupied not far from the junction of the two ravines; but at the juncture itself, and between the highway and the staff of Rameses, marched out four dense lines of some other army, like four fences, bristling with glittering darts.
In spite of the steep road the prince rushed down at full speed to his division, to the place where the minister of war stood surrounded by officers.
“What is happening?” called he, threateningly. “Why sound an alarm instead of marching?”
“We are cut off,” said Herhor.
“By whom?”
“Our division by three regiments of Nitager, who has marched out of the desert.”
“Then the enemy is there, near the highway?”
“Yes, the invincible Nitager himself.”
It seemed in that moment that the heir to the throne had gone mad. His lips were contorted, his eyes were starting out of their sockets. He drew his sword, rushed to the Greeks, and cried,—
“Follow me against those who bar the road to us.”
“O heir, live forever!” cried Patrokles, who drew his sword also. “Forward, descendants of Achilles!” said he, turning to his men. “We will teach those Egyptian cowkeepers not to stop us!”
Trumpets sounded the attack. Four short but erect Greek columns rushed forward, a cloud of dust rose, and a shout in honor of Rameses.
After a couple of minutes the Greeks found themselves in the presence of the Egyptian regiments, and hesitated.
“Forward!” cried the heir, rushing on, sword in hand.
The Greeks lowered their spears. On the opposing side there was a movement, a murmur flew along the ranks, and spears also were lowered.
“Who are ye, madmen?” asked a mighty voice.
“The heir to the throne!” shouted Patrokles.
A moment of silence.
“Open ranks!” commanded the same voice, mighty as before.
The regiments of the eastern army opened slowly, like heavy folding-doors, and the Greek division passed between them.
Then a gray-haired warrior in golden helmet and armor approached Prince Rameses and said with a low obeisance,—
“Erpatr,[2]thou hast conquered. Only a great warrior could free himself from difficulty in that way.”
[2]Heir.
[2]Heir.
“Thou art Nitager, the bravest of the brave!” cried the prince.
At that moment Herhor approached. He had heard the conversation, and said abruptly,—
“Had there been on your side such an awkward leader as the erpatr, how could we have finished the manœuvres?”
“Let the young warrior alone!” answered Nitager. “Is it not enough for thee that he has shown the iron claws, as was proper for a son of the pharaoh?”
Tutmosis, noting the turn which the conversation had taken, asked Nitager,—
“Whence hast thou come, that thy main forces are in front of our army?”
“I knew how incompetently the division was marching from Memphis, when the heir was concentrating his regiments near Pi-Bailos, and for sport I wished to capture you young lords. To my misfortune the heir was here and spoiled my plans. Act that way always, Rameses, of course in presence of real enemies.”
“But if, as to-day, he meets a force three times superior?” inquired Herhor.
“Daring keenness means more than strength,” replied the old leader. “An elephant is fifty times stronger than a man; still he yields to him, or dies at his hands.”
Herhor listened in silence.
The manœuvres were declared finished. Prince Rameses with the minister and commanders went to the army near Pi-Bailos. There he greeted Nitager’s veterans, took farewell of his own regiments, commanded them to march eastward, and wished success to them.
Then, surrounded by a great suite, he returned by the highway to Memphis amid crowds from the land of Goshen, who with green garlands and in holiday robes congratulated the conqueror.
When the highway turned toward the desert, the crowd became thinner, and when they approached the place where the staff of the heir had entered the ravine because of the scarabs, there was no one.
Rameses nodded to Tutmosis, and pointing to the naked hill, whispered,—
“Thou wilt go to Sarah—”
“I understand.”
“Tell her father that I will give him land outside Memphis.”
“I understand. Thou wilt have her to-morrow.”
After this conversation Tutmosis withdrew to the troops marching behind the suite, and vanished.
Almost opposite the ravine along which the army had passed in the morning, some tens of steps from the road, stood a tamarind-tree which, though old, was not large. At this point a halt was made by the guard which had preceded the suite.
“Shall we meet scarabs again?” asked Rameses, with a laugh.
“We shall see,” answered Herhor.
They looked; on the slender tree a naked man was hanging.
“What does this mean?” asked the heir, with emotion.
Adjutants ran to the tree, and saw that the hanging man was that old slave whose canal they had closed in the morning.
“He did right to hang himself!” cried Eunana among the officers. “Could ye believe it, that wretch dared to seize the feet of his holiness the minister!”
On hearing this, Rameses reined in his horse, dismounted, and walked up to the ominous tree.
The slave was hanging with his head stretched forward; his mouth was opened widely, his hands turned toward the spectators, and terror was in his eyes. He looked like a man who had wished to say something, but whose voice had failed him.
“The unfortunate!” sighed Rameses, with compassion.
On returning to the retinue he gave command to relate to him the history of the man, and then he rode a long time in silence.
Before his eyes was the picture of the suicide, and in his heart was the feeling that a great wrong had been done,—such a wrong that even he, the son and the heir of the pharaoh, might halt in face of it.
The heat was unendurable, the dust dried up the water and pierced the eyes of man and beast. The division was detained for a short rest, and meanwhile Nitager finished his conversation with the minister.
“My officers,” said the old commander, “never look under their feet, but always straight forward.”
“That is the reason, perhaps, why no enemy has ever surprised me.”
“Your worthiness reminds me, by these words, that I am to pay certain debts,” remarked Herhor; and he commanded the officers and soldiers who were near by to assemble.
“And now,” said the minister, “summon for me Eunana.”
The officer covered with amulets was found as quickly as if he had been waiting for this summons a long time. On his countenance was depicted delight, which he restrained through humility, but with effort.
Herhor, seeing Eunana before him, began,—
“By the will of his holiness, supreme command of the army comes into my hands again with the ending of the manœuvres.”
Those present bowed their heads.
“It is my duty to use this power first of all in meting out justice.”
The officers looked at one another.
“Eunana,” said the minister, “I know that thou hast always been one of the most diligent officers.”
“Truth speaks through thy lips, worthy lord,” replied Eunana. “As a palm waits for dew, so do I for the commands of superiors. And when I do not receive them, I am like an orphan in the desert when looking for a pathway.”
Nitager’s scar-covered officers listened with astonishment to the ready speech of Eunana, and thought, “He will be raised above others!”
“Eunana,” said the minister, “thou art not only diligent, but pious; not only pious, but watchful as an ibis over water. The gods have poured out on thee every virtue: they have given thee serpent cunning, with the eye of a falcon.”
“Pure truth flows from thy lips, worthiness,” added Eunana. “Were it not for my wonderful sight, I should not have seen the two scarabs.”
“Yes, and thou wouldst not have saved our camp from sacrilege. For this deed, worthy of the most pious Egyptian, I give thee—”
Here the minister took a gold ring from his finger.
“I give thee this ring with the name of the goddess Mut, whose favor and prudence will accompany thee to the end of thy worldly wandering, if thou deserve it.”
His worthiness delivered the ring to Eunana, and those present uttered a great shout in honor of the pharaoh, and rattled their weapons.
As Herhor did not move, Eunana stood and looked him in the eyes, like a faithful dog which having received one morsel from his master is wagging his tail and waiting.
“And now,” continued the minister, “confess, Eunana, why thou didst not tell whither the heir to the throne went when the army was marching along the ravine with suchdifficulty. Thou didst an evil deed, for we had to sound the alarm in the neighborhood of the enemy.”
“The gods are my witnesses that I know nothing of the most worthy prince,” replied the astonished Eunana.
Herhor shook his head.
“It cannot be that a man gifted with such sight, a man who at some tens of yards away sees sacred scarabs in the sand, should not see so great a personage as the heir to the throne is.”
“Indeed I did not see him!” explained Eunana, beating his breast. “Moreover no one commanded me to watch Rameses.”
“Did I not free thee from leading the vanguard? Did I assign to thee an office?” asked the minister. “Thou wert entirely free, just like a man who is called to important deeds. And didst thou accomplish thy task? For such an error in time of war thou shouldst suffer death surely.”
The ill-fated officer was pallid.
“But I have a paternal heart for thee, Eunana,” said Herhor, “and, remembering the great service which thou hast rendered by discovering the scarabs, I, not as a stern minister, but as a mild priest, appoint to thee a very small punishment. Thou wilt receive fifty blows of a stick on thy body.”
“Worthiness!”
“Eunana, thou hast known how to be fortunate, now be manful and receive this slight remembrance as becomes an officer in the army of his holiness.”
Barely had the worthy Herhor finished when the officers oldest in rank placed Eunana in a commodious position at the side of the highroad. After that one of them sat on his neck, another on his feet, while a third and a fourth counted out fifty blows of pliant reeds on his naked body.
The unterrified warrior uttered no groan; on the contrary, he hummed a soldier song, and at the end of the ceremony wished to rise. But his stiffened legs refused obedience, so he fell face downward on the sand; they had to take him to Memphis on a two-wheeled vehicle. While lying on this cart and smiling at the soldiers, Eunana considered that the wind does not change so quickly in Lower Egypt as fortune in the life of an inferior officer.
When, after the brief halt, the retinue of the heir to the throne moved on its farther journey, Herhor mounted his horse and riding at the side of Nitager, spoke in an undertone about Asiatic nations and, above all, about the awakening of Assyria.
Then two servants of the minister, the adjutant carrying his fan and the secretary Pentuer, began a conversation also.
“What dost thou think of Eunana’s adventure?” asked the adjutant.
“And what thinkest thou of the slave who hanged himself?”
“It seems to me that this was his best day, and the rope around his neck the softest thing that has touched him in life. I think, too, that Eunana from this time on will watch the heir to the throne very closely.”
“Thou art mistaken,” answered Pentuer. “Eunana from this time on will never see a scarab, even though it were as large as a bullock. As to that slave, dost thou not think that in every case it must have been very evil for him—very evil in this sacred land of Egypt?”
“Thou knowest not slaves, hence speakest thus—”
“But who knows them better?” asked Pentuer, gloomily. “Have I not grown up among them? Have I not seen my father watering land, clearing canals, sowing, harvesting, and, above all, paying tribute? Oh, thou knowest not the lot of slaves in Egypt.”
“But if I do not, I know the lot of the foreigner. My great-grandfather or great-great-grandfather was famous among the Hyksos, but he remained here, for he grew attached to this country. And what wilt thou say? Not only was his property taken from him, but the stain of my origin rests on me at present. Thou thyself knowest what I bear frequently from Egyptians by race, though I have a considerable position. How, then, can I take pity on the Egyptian earth-worker, who, seeing my yellow complexion, mutters frequently, ‘Pagan! foreigner!’ The earth-worker is neither a pagan nor a foreigner.”
“Only a slave,” added Pentuer,—“a slave whom they marry, divorce, beat, sell, slay sometimes, and command always to work, with a promise besides that in the world to come he will be a slave also.”
“Thou art a strange man, though so wise!” said the adjutant, shrugging his shoulders. “Dost thou not see that each man of us occupies some position, low, less low, or very low, in which he must labor? But dost thou suffer because thou art not pharaoh, and thy tomb will not be a pyramid? Thou dost not ponder at all over this, for thou knowest it to be the world’s condition. Each creature does its own duty: the ox ploughs, the ass bears the traveller, I cool his worthiness, thou rememberest and thinkest for him, while the earth-worker tills land and pays tribute. What is it to us that some bull is born Apis, to whom all render homage, and some man a pharaoh or a nomarch?”
“The ten years’ toil of that man was destroyed,” whispered Pentuer.
“And does not the minister destroy thy toil?” asked the adjutant. “Who knows that thou art the manager of the state, not the worthy Herhor?”
“Thou art mistaken. He manages really. He has power and will; I have only knowledge. Moreover, they do not beat thee, nor me, like that slave.”
“But they have beaten Eunana, and they may beat us also. Hence there is need to be brave and make use of the position assigned us; all the more since, as is known to thee, our spirit, the immortalKa, in proportion as it is purified rises to a higher plane, so that after thousands or millions of years, in company with spirits of pharaohs and slaves, in company with gods even, it will be merged into the nameless and all-mighty father of existence.”
“Thou speakest like a priest,” answered Pentuer, with bitterness. “I ought rather to have this calm! But instead of it I have pain in my soul, for I feel the wretchedness of millions—”
“Who tells it to thee?”
“My eyes and my heart. My heart is like a valley between mountains which never can be silent, when it hears a cry, but must answer with an echo.”
“I say to thee, Pentuer, that thou thinkest too much over dangerous subjects. It is impossible to walk safely along precipices of the eastern mountains, for thou mayst fall at anymoment; or to wander through the western desert, where hungry lions are prowling, and where the raging simoom springs up unexpectedly.”
Meanwhile the valiant Eunana moved on in the vehicle, which only added to his pain. But to show that he was valiant he requested food and drink; and when he had eaten a dry cake rubbed with garlic and had drunk sour beer from a thick-bellied pot, he begged the driver to take a branch and drive the flies from his wounded body.
Thus lying on the bags and packs in that squeaking car, with his face toward the earth, the unfortunate Eunana sang with a groaning voice the grievous lot of the inferior officer,—
“Why dost thou say that the scribe’s lot is worse than the officer’s? Come and see my blue stripes and swollen body; meanwhile I will tell thee the tale of a downtrodden officer.
“I was a boy when they brought me to the barracks. For breakfast I had blows of fists in the belly, till I fainted; for dinner fists in the eyes, till my mouth gaped; and for supper I had a head covered with wounds and almost split open.
“Go on! let me tell how I made the campaign to Syria. Food and drink I had to carry on my back, I was bent down with weight as an ass is bent. My neck became stiff, like an ass’s neck, and the joints of my back swelled. I drank rotten water, I was like a captive bird in the face of the enemy.
“I returned to Egypt, but here I am like a tree into which a worm is boring always. For any trifle they put me on the ground and beat me till I am breaking. I am sick and must lie at full length; they carry me in a car, meanwhile serving-men steal my mantle and escape with it.
“So change thy mind, O scribe, about the happiness of officers.”[3]
[3]Authentic.
[3]Authentic.
Thus sang the brave Eunana; and his tearful song has outlived the Egyptian kingdom.
AS the suite of the heir approached Memphis, the sun was near its setting, while from countless canals and the distant sea came a wind filled with cool moisture. The road descended again to the fertile region, where on fields and among bushes continuous ranks of people were working, a rosy gleam was falling on the desert, and the mountain summits were in a blaze of sunlight.
Rameses halted and turned his horse. His suite surrounded him quickly, the higher officers approached with some leisure, while the marching regiments drew nearer slowly and with even tread. In the purple rays of the setting sun, the prince had the seeming of a divinity, the soldiers gazed at him with affection and pride, the chiefs looked admiringly.
He raised his hand. All were silent.
“Worthy leaders,” began he, “brave officers, obedient soldiers! To-day the gods have given me the pleasure of commanding you. Delight has filled my heart. And since it is my will that leaders, officers, and soldiers should share my happiness at all times, I assign one drachma to each soldier of those who have gone to the east, and to those who return with us from the eastern boundary; also one drachma each to the Greek soldiers who to-day, under my command, opened a passage out of the ravine; and one drachma to each man in the regiments of the worthy Nitager who wished to cut off the way to us.”
There was a shout in the army.
“Be well, our leader! Be well, successor of the pharaoh, may he live eternally!” cried the soldiers; and the Greeks cried the loudest.
The prince continued,—
“I assign five talents to be divided among the lower officers of my army and that of the worthy Nitager. And finally I assign ten talents to be divided between his worthiness the minister and the chief leaders—”
“I yield my part for the benefit of the army,” answered Herhor.
“Be well, O heir!—be well, O minister!” cried the officers and the soldiers.
The ruddy circle of the sun had touched the sands of the western desert. Rameses took farewell of the army and galloped towards Memphis; but his worthiness Herhor, amid joyous shouts, took a seat in his litter and commanded also to go in advance of the marching divisions.
When they had gone so far that single voices were merged into one immense murmur, like the sound of a cataract, the minister, bending toward the secretary, asked of him,—
“Dost thou remember everything?”
“Yes, worthy lord.”
“Thy memory is like granite on which we write history, and thy wisdom like the Nile, which covers all the country and enriches it,” said Herhor. “Besides, the gods have granted thee the greatest of virtues,—wise obedience.”
The secretary was silent.
“Hence thou mayest estimate more accurately than others the acts and reasons of the heir, may he live through eternity!”
The minister stopped awhile, and then added,—
“It has not been his custom to speak so much. Tell me then, Pentuer, and record this: Is it proper that the heir to the throne should express his will before the army? Only a pharaoh may act thus, or a traitor, or—a frivolous stripling, who with the same heedlessness will do hasty deeds or belch forth words of blasphemy.”
The sun went down, and soon after a starry night appeared. Above the countless canals of Lower Egypt a silvery mist began to thicken,—a mist which, borne to the desert by a gentle wind, freshened the wearied warriors, and revived vegetation which had been dying through lack of moisture.
“Or tell me, Pentuer,” continued the minister, “and inquire: whence will the heir get his twenty talents to keep the promise which he made this day to the army with such improvidence? Besides, it seems to me, and certainly to thee, a dangerous step for an heir to make presents to the army, especially now, when his holiness has nothing with which to payNitager’s regiments returning from the Orient. I do not ask what thy opinions are, for I know them, as thou knowest my most secret thoughts. I only ask thee to the end that thou remember what thou hast seen, so as to tell it to the priests in council.”
“Will they meet soon?” inquired Pentuer.
“There is no reason yet to summon them. I shall try first to calm this wild young bull through the fatherly hand of his holiness. It would be a pity to lose the boy, for he has much ability and the energy of a southern whirlwind. But if the whirlwind, instead of blowing away Egypt’s enemies, blows down its wheat and tears up its palm-trees!—”
The minister stopped conversation, and his retinue vanished in the dark alley of trees which led to Memphis.
Meanwhile Rameses reached the palace of the pharaoh.
This edifice stood on an elevation in a park outside the city. Peculiar trees grew there: baobabs from the south; pines, oaks, and cedars from the north. Thanks to the art of gardeners, these trees lived some tens of years and reached a considerable height.
The shady alley led to a gate which was as high as a house of three stories. From each side of the gate rose a solid building like a tower in the form of a truncated pyramid, forty yards in width with the height of five stories. In the night they seemed like two immense tents made of sandstone. These peculiar buildings had on the ground and the upper stories square windows, and the roofs were flat. From the top of one of these pyramids without apex, a watch looked at the country; from the other the priest on duty observed the stars.
At the right and left of these towers, called pylons, extended walls, or rather long structures of one story, with narrow windows and flat roofs, on which sentries paced back and forth. On both sides of the main gate were two sitting statues fifteen feet in height. In front of these statues moved other sentries.
When the prince, with a number of horsemen, approached the palace, the sentry knew him in spite of the darkness. Soon an official of the court ran out of the pylon. He was clothed in a white skirt and dark mantle, and wore a wig as large as a headdress.
“Is the palace closed already?” inquired the prince.
“Thou art speaking truth, worthy lord,” said the official. “His holiness is preparing the god for sleep.”
“What will he do after that?”
“He will be pleased to receive the war minister, Herhor.”
“Well, and later?”
“Later his holiness will look at the ballet in the great hall, then he will bathe and recite evening prayers.”
“Has he not commanded to receive me?” inquired Rameses.
“To-morrow morning after the military council.”
“What are the queens doing?”
“The first queen is praying in the chamber of her dead son, and thy worthy mother is receiving the Phœnician ambassador, who has brought her gifts from the women of Tyre.”
“Did he bring maidens?”
“A number of them. Each has on her person treasures to the value of ten talents.”
“Who is moving about down there with torches?” asked the prince, pointing to the lower park.
“They are taking thy brother, worthiness, from a tree where he has been sitting since midday.”
“Is he unwilling to come down?”
“He will come down now, for the first queen’s jester has gone for him, and has promised to take him to the inn where dissectors are drinking.”
“And hast thou heard anything of the manœuvres of to-day?”
“They say that the staff was cut off from the corps.”
“And what more?”
The official hesitated.
“Tell what thou hast heard.”
“We heard, moreover, that because of this five hundred blows of a stick were given to a certain officer at thy command, worthiness.”
“It is all a lie!” said one of the adjutants of the heir in an undertone.
“The soldiers, too, say among themselves that it must be a lie,” returned the official, with growing confidence.
Rameses turned his horse and rode to the lower part of the park where his small palace was situated. It had a ground and an upper story and was built of wood. Its form was that of an immense hexagon with two porticos, an upper and a lower one which surrounded the building and rested on a multitude of pillars. Lamps were burning in the interior; hence it was possible to see that the walls were formed of planks perforated like lace, and that these walls were protected from the wind by curtains of various colors. The roof of the building was flat, surrounded by a balustrade; on this roof stood a number of tents.
Greeted heartily by half-naked servitors, some of whom ran out with torches, while others prostrated themselves before him, the heir entered his residence. On the ground floor he removed his dusty dress, bathed in a stone basin, and put on a kind of great sheet which he fastened at the neck and bound round his waist with a cord for a girdle. On the first floor he ate a supper consisting of a wheaten cake, dates, and a glass of light beer. Then he went to the terrace of the building, and lying on a couch covered with a lion skin, commanded the servants to withdraw and to bring up Tutmosis the moment he appeared there.
About midnight a litter stopped before the residence, and out of it stepped the adjutant. When he walked along the terrace heavily yawning as he went, the prince sprang up from the couch and cried,—
“Art thou here? Well, what?”
“Then art thou not sleeping yet?” replied Tutmosis. “O gods, after so many days of torture! I think that I should sleep until sunrise.”
“What of Sarah?”
“She will be here the day after to-morrow, or thou wilt be with her in the house beyond the river.”
“Only after to-morrow!”
“Only? I beg thee, Rameses, to sleep. Thou hast taken too much bad blood to thy heart, fire will strike to thy head.”
“What about her father?”
“He is honorable and wise. They call him Gideon. When I told him that thou hadst the wish to take his daughter, he fellon the ground and tore his hair. Of course I waited till this outburst of fatherly suffering was over; I ate a little, drank some wine, and at last proceeded to bargaining. The weeping Gideon swore first of all that he would rather see his daughter dead than the mistress of any man. Then I told him that near Memphis, on the Nile, he would receive land which gives two talents of yearly income and pays no taxes. He was indignant. Then I stated that he might receive another talent yearly in gold and silver. He sighed and declared that his daughter had spent three years at school in Pi-Bailos; I added another talent. Then Gideon, still disconsolate, remembered that he would lose his very good position of manager for the lord Sesofris. I told him that he need not lose that place, and added ten milch cows from thy stables. His forehead cleared somewhat; then he confessed to me, as a profound secret, that a certain very great lord, Chaires, who bears the fan of the nomarch of Memphis, was turning attention toward Sarah. I promised then to add a young bull, a medium chain of gold, and a large bracelet. In this way thy Sarah will cost thee land, two talents yearly in money, ten cows, a young bull, a chain and a gold bracelet, immediately. These thou wilt give to her father, the honest Gideon; to her thou wilt give whatever pleases thee.”
“What did Sarah say to this?”
“While we were bargaining she walked among the trees. When we had finished the matter and settled it by drinking good Hebrew wine, she told her father—dost thou know what?—that if he had not given her to thee, she would have gone up the cliff and thrown herself down head foremost. Now thou mayst sleep quietly, I think,” ended Tutmosis.
“I doubt it,” answered Rameses, leaning on the balustrade and looking into the emptiest side of the park. “Dost thou know that on the way back we found a man hanging from a tree?”
“Oh! that is worse than the scarabs!”
“He hanged himself from despair because the warriors filled the canal which he had been digging for ten years in the desert.”
“Well, that man is sleeping now quietly. So it is time for us.”
“That man was wronged,” said the prince. “I must find his children, ransom them, and rent a bit of land to them.”
“But thou must do this with great secrecy,” remarked Tutmosis, “or all slaves will begin to hang themselves, and no Phœnician will lend us, their lords, a copper uten.”
“Jest not. Hadst thou seen that man’s face, sleep would be absent to-night from thy eyes as it is from mine.”
Meanwhile from below, among the bushes, was heard a voice, not over-powerful, but clear,—
“May the One, the All-Powerful, bless thee, Rameses,—He who has no name in human speech, or statue in a temple.”
Both young men bent forward in astonishment.
“Who art thou?” called out the prince.
“I am the injured people of Egypt,” replied the voice, slowly and with calmness.
Then all was silent. No motion, no rustle of branches betrayed human presence in that place.
At command of Rameses servants rushed out with torches, the dogs were unchained, and every bush around the house was searched. But they found no one.
“Who could that have been, Tutmosis?” asked the prince, with emotion. “Perhaps it was the ghost of that slave who hanged himself?”
“I have never heard ghosts talking, though I have been on guard at temples and tombs more than once. I should think, rather, that he who has just called to us is some friend of thine.”
“Why should he hide?”
“But what harm is that to thee? Each one of us has tens, if not hundreds, of invisible enemies. Thank the gods, then, that thou hast even one invisible friend.”
“I shall not sleep to-night,” whispered the excited prince.
“Be calm. Instead of running along the terrace listen to me and lie down. Thou wilt see Sleep—that is a deliberate divinity, and it does not befit him to chase after those who run with the pace of a deer. If thou wilt lie down on a comfortable couch, Sleep, who loves comfort, will sit near thee and cover thee with his great mantle, which covers not only men’s eyes, but their memories.”
Thus speaking, Tutmosis placed Rameses on a couch; then he brought an ivory pillow shaped like a crescent, and arranging the prince, placed his head on this pillow.
Then he let down the canvas walls of the tent, laid himself on the floor, and both were asleep in some minutes.
THE entrance to the pharaoh’s palace at Memphis was through a gate placed between two lofty towers or pylons. The external walls of these buildings were of gray sandstone covered from foundation to summit with bas-reliefs.
At the top of the gate rose the arms of the state, or its symbol: a winged globe, from behind which appeared two serpents. Lower down sat a series of gods to which the pharaohs were bringing offerings. On side pillars images of the gods were cut out also in five rows, one above the other, while below were hieroglyphic inscriptions.
On the walls of each pylon the chief place was occupied by a flat sculpture of Rameses the Great, who held in one hand an uplifted axe and grasped in the other, by the hair of the head, a crowd of people tied in a bundle, like parsley. Above the king stood or sat two rows of gods; still higher, a line of people with offerings; at the very summit of the pylons were winged serpents intertwined with scarabs.
Those pylons with walls narrowing toward the top, the gate which connected them, the flat sculptures in which order was mingled with gloomy fantasy and piety with cruelty, produced a tremendous impression. It seemed difficult to enter that place, impossible to go out, and a burden to live there.
From the gate, before which stood troops and a throng of small officials, those who entered came into a court surrounded by porticos resting on pillars. That was an ornamental garden, in which were cultivated aloes, palms, pomegranates, and cedars in pots, all placed in rows and selected according to size. In the middle shot up a fountain; the paths were sprinkled with colored sand.
Under the gallery sat or walked higher officials of the state, speaking in low tones.
From the court, through a high door, the visitor passed to a hall of twelve lofty columns. The hall was large, but as the columns also were large, the hall seemed diminutive. It was lighted by small windows in the walls and through a rectangular opening in the roof. Coolness and shade prevailed there; the shade was almost a gloom, which did not, however, prevent him who entered from seeing the yellow walls and pillars, covered with lines of paintings. At the top leaves and flowers were represented; lower down, the gods; still lower, people who carried their statues or brought them offerings; and between these groups were lines of hieroglyphs.
All this was painted in clear, almost glaring colors,—green, red, and blue.
In this hall, with its varied mosaic pavement, stood in silence, white robed and barefoot, the priests, the highest dignitaries of State, Herhor, the minister of war, also the leaders Nitager and Patrokles, who had been summoned to the presence of the pharaoh.
His holiness Rameses XII., as usual before he held council, was placing offerings before the gods in his chapel. This continued rather long. Every moment some priest or official ran in from the more distant chambers and communicated news touching the course of the service.
“The lord has broken the seal to the chapel— He is washing the sacred divinity— Now he is putting it away— Now he has closed the door—”
On the faces of courtiers, notwithstanding their offices, concern and humility were evident. But Herhor was indifferent, Patrokles impatient, and Nitager now and then disturbed with his deep voice the solemn silence. After every such impolite sound from the old leader, the courtiers moved, like frightened sheep, and looked at one another, as if saying,—
“This rustic has been hunting barbarians all his life, we may pardon him.”
From remoter chambers were heard the sound of bells and the clatter of weapons. Into the hall came in two ranks some tens of the guard in gilt helmets, in breastplates, and with drawn swords, next two ranks of priests, and at last appeared the pharaoh, carried in a litter, surrounded by clouds of smoke and incense.
The ruler of Egypt, Rameses XII., was nearly sixty years old. His face was withered. He wore a white mantle; on his head was a red and white cap with a golden serpent; in his hand he held a long staff.
When the retinue showed itself, all present fell on their faces, except Patrokles, who, as a barbarian, stopped at a low bow, while Nitager knelt on one knee, but soon rose again.
The litter stopped before a baldachin under which was an ebony throne on an elevation. The pharaoh descended slowly from the litter, looked awhile at those present, and then, taking his seat on the throne, gazed fixedly at the cornice on which was painted a rose-colored globe with blue wings and green serpents.
On the right of the pharaoh stood the chief scribe, on the left a judge with a staff; both wore immense wigs.
At a sign from the judge all sat down or knelt on the pavement, while the scribe said to the pharaoh,—
“Our lord and mighty ruler! Thy servant Nitager, the great guard on the eastern boundary, has come to render thee homage, and has brought tribute from conquered nations: a vase of green stone filled with gold, three hundred oxen, a hundred horses, and the fragrant wood teshep.”
“That is a mean tribute, my lord,” said Nitager. “Real treasures we can find only on the Euphrates, where splendid kings, though weak so far, need much to be reminded of Rameses the Great.”
“Answer my servant Nitager,” said the pharaoh to the scribe, “that his words will be taken under careful consideration. But now ask him what he thinks of the military ability of my son and heir, whom he had the honor of meeting near Pi-Bailos yesterday.”
“Our lord, the master of nine nations, asks thee, Nitager—” began the scribe.
But the leader interrupted quickly, to the great dissatisfaction of the courtiers,—
“I hear myself what my lord says. Only the heir to the throne could be his mouth when he turns to me; not thou, chief scribe.”
The scribe looked with consternation at the daring leader, but the pharaoh answered,—
“My faithful Nitager speaks truth.”
The minister of war bowed.
Now the judge announced to all present—to the priests, the officials, and the guards that—they might go to the palace courtyard; and he himself, bowing to the throne, was the first to go thither. In the hall remained only the pharaoh, Herhor, and the two leaders.
“Incline thy ears, O sovereign, and listen to complaints,” began Nitager. “This morning the official priest, who came at thy command to anoint my hair, told me that in going to thee I was to leave my sandals in the entrance hall. Meanwhile it is known, not only in Upper and Lower Egypt, but in the Hittite country, Libya, Phœnicia, and the land of Punt, that twenty years ago thou didst give me the right to stand before thee in sandals.”
“Thou speakest truth,” said the pharaoh. “Various disorders have crept into the court ceremonial.”
“Only give command, O king, and my veterans will produce order immediately,” added Nitager.
At a sign given by the minister of war, a number of officials ran in: one brought sandals and put them on Nitager’s feet; others put down costly stools for the minister and leaders.
When the three dignitaries were seated, Rameses XII. said,—
“Tell me, Nitager, dost thou think that my son will be a leader?—But tell pure truth.”
“By Amon of Thebes, by the glory of my ancestors in whom was blood royal, I swear that thy heir, Prince Rameses, will be a great leader, if the gods permit,” replied Nitager. “He is a young man, a lad yet; still he concentrated his regiments, eased their march, and provided for them. He pleased me most of all by this, that he did not lose his head when I cut off the road before him, but led his men to the attack. He will be a leader, and will conquer the Assyrians, whom we must vanquish to-day if they are not to be seen on the Nile by our grandchildren.”
“What dost thou say to that?” inquired the pharaoh of Herhor.
“As to the Assyrians, I think that the worthy Nitager is concerned about them too early. We must strengthenourselves well before we begin a new war. As to the heir, Nitager says justly that the young man has the qualities of a leader: he is as keen as a fox, and has the energy of a lion. Still he made many blunders yesterday.”
“Who among us has not made them?” put in Patrokles, silent thus far.
“The heir,” continued the minister, “led the main corps wisely, but he neglected his staff; through this neglect we marched so slowly and in such disorder that Nitager was able to cut off the road before us.”
“Perhaps Rameses counted on your dignity,” said Nitager.
“In government and war we must count on no man: one unreckoned little stone may overturn everything,” said the minister.
“If thou, worthiness,” answered Patrokles, “had not pushed the columns from the road because of those scarabs—”
“Thou, worthiness, art a foreigner and an unbeliever,” retorted Herhor, “hence this speech. But we Egyptians understand that when the people and the soldiers cease to reverence the scarabs, their sons will cease to fear the ureus (the serpent). From contempt of the gods is born revolt against the pharaohs.”
“But what are axes for?” asked Nitager. “Whoso wishes to keep a head on his shoulders let him listen to the supreme commander.”
“What then is your final opinion of the heir?” asked the pharaoh of Herhor.
“Living image of the sun, child of the gods,” replied the minister. “Command to anoint Rameses, give him a grand chain and ten talents, but do not appoint him yet to command the corps in Memphis. The prince is too young for that office, too passionate and inexperienced. Can we recognize him as the equal of Patrokles, who has trampled the Ethiopians and the Libyans in twenty battles? Or can we place him at the side of Nitager, whose name alone brings pallor to our northern and eastern enemies?”
The pharaoh rested his head on his hand, meditated, and said,—
“Depart with my favor and in peace. I will do what is indicated by wisdom and justice.”
The dignitaries bowed low, and Rameses XII., without waiting for his suite, passed to remoter chambers.
When the two leaders found themselves alone in the entrance hall, Nitager said to Patrokles,—
“Here priests rule as in their own house. I see that. But what a leader that Herhor is! He vanquished us before we spoke; he does not grant a corps to the heir.”
“He praised me so that I dared not utter a word,” said Patrokles.
“He is far seeing, and does not tell all he thinks. In the wake of the heir various young lords who go to war taking singers would have shoved themselves into the corps, and they would occupy the highest places. Naturally old officers would fall into idleness from anger, because promotion had missed them; the exquisites would be idle for the sake of amusement, and the corps would break up without even meeting an enemy. Oh, Herhor is a sage!”
“May his wisdom not cost thee more than the inexperience of Rameses,” whispered Patrokles.
Through a series of chambers filled with columns and adorned with paintings, where at each door priests and palace officials gave low obeisances before him, the pharaoh passed to his cabinet. That was a lofty hall with alabaster walls on which in gold and bright colors were depicted the most famous events in the reign of Rameses XII., therefore homage given him by the inhabitants of Mesopotamia, the embassy from the King of Buchten, and the triumphal journey of the god Khonsu through the land of that potentate.
In this hall was the malachite statue of the bird-headed Horus, adorned with gold and jewels. In front of the statue was an altar shaped as a truncated pyramid, the king’s armor, costly armchairs and stools, also tables covered with trifles and small objects.
When the pharaoh appeared, one of the priests burnt incense before him, and one of the officials announced Prince Rameses, who soon entered and bowed low before his father. On the expressive face of the prince feverish disquiet was evident.
“Erpatr, I rejoice,” said the pharaoh, “that thou hast returned in good health from a difficult journey.”
“Mayst thou live through eternity, holiness, and thy affairs fill the two worlds!” replied Rameses.
“My military advisers have just informed me of thy labor and prudence.”
The heir’s face quivered and changed. He fixed great eyes on the pharaoh and listened.
“Thy deeds will not remain without reward. Thou wilt receive ten talents, a great chain, and two Greek regiments with which thou wilt exercise.”
Rameses was amazed, but after a while he asked with a stifled voice,—
“But the corps in Memphis?”
“In a year we will repeat the manœuvres, and if thou make no mistake in leading the army thou wilt get the corps.”
“I know that Herhor did this!” cried the prince, hardly restraining his anger.
He looked around, and added, “I can never be alone with thee, my father; strangers are always between us.”
The pharaoh moved his brows slightly, and his suite vanished, like a crowd of shadows.
“What hast thou to tell me?”
“Only one thing, father. Herhor is my enemy. He accused me to thee and exposed me to this shame!”
In spite of his posture of obedience the prince gnawed his lips and balled his fists.
“Herhor is thy friend and my faithful servant. It was his persuasion that made thee heir to the throne. But—I—will not confide a corps to a youthful leader who lets himself be cut off from his army.”
“I joined it,” answered the crushed heir; “but Herhor commanded to march around two beetles.”
“Dost thou wish that a priest should make light of religion in the presence of the army?”
“My father,” whispered Rameses, with quivering voice, “to avoid spoiling the journey of the beetles a canal was destroyed, and a man was killed.”
“That man raised his own hands on himself.”
“But that was the fault of Herhor.”
“In the regiments which thou didst concentrate near Pi-Bailos thirty men died from over-exertion, and several hundred are sick.”
The prince dropped his head.