FROM the moment when the troops of Lower Egypt marched out of Pi-Bast, the prophet, Mentezufis, who accompanied the prince, received and sent away despatches daily.
One correspondence he conducted with the minister Herhor; Mentezufis sent reports to Memphis touching the advance of the troops, and the activity of the viceroy; of this activity he did not conceal his admiration. On his part, the worthy Herhor stated that every freedom was to be left to the heir, and that if Rameses lost his first battle, the supreme council would not feel angry.
“A slight defeat,” said Herhor, “would be a lesson in humility and caution to the viceroy, who even now, though as yet he has done nothing, considers himself as equal to the most experienced warriors.”
When Mentezufis answered that one could not easily suppose that the heir would meet defeat, Herhor let him understand that in that case the triumph should not be over brilliant.
“The state,” continued he, “will not lose in any way if the warriors and the impulsive heir find amusement for some years along the western border. He will gain skill himself in warfare, while the idle warriors will find their own proper work to do.”
The other correspondence Mentezufis carried on with the holy father Mefres and that seemed to him of more importance. Mefres, offended formerly by the prince, had recently, in the case of Sarah’s child, accused the prince directly of infanticide, committed under Kama’s influence.
When a week had passed, and the viceroy’s innocence was manifest, the high priest grew still more irate, and did not cease his efforts. The prince, he said, was capable of anything; he was hostile to the country’s gods, he was an ally of the vile Phœnicians.
The murder of Sarah’s child seemed so suspicious in the earlier days, that even the supreme council asked Mentezufis what he thought of it.
Mentezufis answered that he had watched the prince for days, and did not think the man a murderer.
Such were the letters which, like birds of prey, whirled around Rameses, while he was sending scouts against the enemy, consulting leaders, or urging on his warriors.
On the fourteenth day the whole army was concentrated on the south of Terenuthis. To the great delight of the heir,Patrokles came with the Greek regiment, and with him the priest Pentuer, sent by Herhor as another guardian near the viceroy.
The multitude of priests in the camp (for there were still others) did not enchant Rameses. But he resolved not to turn attention to the holy men or ask advice of them.
Relations were regulated in some way, for Mentezufis, according to instructions from Herhor, did not force himself on the prince, while Pentuer occupied himself with organizing medical aid for the wounded.
The military game began.
First of all Rameses, through his agents, had spread a report in many boundary villages that the Libyans were pushing forward in great masses, and would destroy and murder. Because of this the terrified inhabitants fled eastward and met the Egyptian warriors. The prince took them in to carry burdens for the army, the women and children he conveyed to the interior of Egypt. Next the commander sent spies to meet the approaching Libyans and discover their number and disposition. These spies returned soon, bringing accurate indications as to where the Libyans were and very exaggerated accounts as to their numbers. They asserted, too, mistakenly, though in great confidence, that at the head of the Libyan columns marched Musawasa with his son Tehenna.
The princely leader was flushed with delight that in his first war he would have such an experienced enemy as Musawasa.
He overestimated, therefore, the danger of the struggle and redoubled every caution. To have all chances on his side he had recourse to stratagem. He sent confidential men to meet the Libyans; he commanded them to feign that they were fugitives, to enter the enemies’ camp and draw from Musawasa his best forces, the disbanded Libyan soldiers.
“Tell them,” said Rameses to his agents, “that I have axes for the insolent, and compassion for obedience. If in the coming battle they will throw their weapons down and leave Musawasa, I will receive them back to the army of his holiness, and command to pay all arrears, as if they had never left the service.”
Patrokles and the other generals saw in this a very prudentmeasure; the priests were silent, Mentezufis sent a despatch to Herhor and next day received an answer.
The neighborhood of the Soda Lakes was a valley some tens of kilometres long, enclosed between two lines of hills, extending from the southeast toward the northwest. The greatest width did not exceed ten kilometres; there were places narrower, almost ravines.
Throughout the whole length of that valley extended one after another about ten swampy lakes filled with bitter, brackish water. Wretched plants and bushes grew there ever coated with sand, ever withering,—plants which no beast would take to its mouth. Along both sides were sticking up jagged limestone hills, or immense heaps of sand in which a man might sink deeply.
The white and yellow landscape had a look of dreadful torpor, which was heightened by the heat, and also by the silence. No bird was ever heard there, and if any sound was given forth it was from a stone rolling down along a hillside.
Toward the middle of the valley rose two groups of buildings a few kilometres from each other; these were a fortress on the east, and glass factories on the west, to which Libyan merchants brought fuel. Both these places had been deserted because of the conflict. Tehenna’s corps was to occupy both these points, and secure the road to Egypt for Musawasa’s army forces.
The Libyans marched slowly from the town of Glaucus southward, and on the evening of the fourteenth day of Hator, they were at the entrance to the valley of the Soda Lakes, feeling sure that they would pass through in two days unmolested. That evening at sunset the Egyptian army moved toward the desert, passed over more than forty kilometres of sand in twelve hours, and next morning was on the hills between the huts and the fortress and hid in the many ravines of that region.
If some man that night had told the Libyans that palm-trees and wheat were growing in the valley of the Soda Lakes they would have been astonished less than if he had declared that the Egyptians had barred the way to it.
After a short rest, during which the priests had discoveredand cleared out a few wells of water somewhat endurable for drinking, the Egyptian army began to occupy the hills extending along the northern side of the valley.
The viceroy’s plan was quite simple. He was to cut off the Libyans from their country, and push them southward into the desert, where heat and hunger would kill them.
With this object he disposed his army on the northern side of the valley and divided it into three corps. The right wing, that which extended most toward Libya, was led by Patrokles, who was to cut off the invaders from their own town of Glaucus. The left wing, that nearest to Egypt, commanded by Mentezufis, was to stop the Libyans from advancing. Finally, the direction of the centre, at the glass huts, was taken by Rameses, who had Pentuer near his person.
On the fifteenth of Hator about seven in the morning, some tens of Libyan horsemen moved at a brisk trot through the valley. They stopped a moment at the huts, looked around, and, seeing nothing suspicious, rode back again.
At about ten in the forenoon in a heat which seemed to suck sweat and draw blood from men’s bodies, Pentuer said to the viceroy,—
“The Libyans have entered the valley and passed Patrokles’ division. They will be here in an hour from now.”
“Whence knowest thou this?” asked the astonished prince.
“The priests know everything,” replied Pentuer, smiling.
Then he ascended one of the cliffs cautiously, took from a bag a very bright object and turning it in the direction of the holy Mentezufis began to give certain signs with his hand.
“Mentezufis is informed already,” said Pentuer.
The prince could not recover from astonishment and answered,—
“My eyes are better than thine, and my hearing is not worse, I think; still I see nothing, I hear nothing. How, then, dost thou see the enemy and converse with Mentezufis?”
Pentuer directed the prince to look at a distant hill, on the summit of which was a thornbush. Rameses looked at that point and shaded his eyes on a sudden. In the bush something flashed brightly.
“What unendurable glitter is that?” cried he. “It might blind a man.”
“That is the priest who is aiding the worthy Patrokles; he is giving us signs,” replied Pentuer. “Thou seest, then, worthy lord, that we, too, can be useful in war time.”
He was silent. From the distance of the valley came a certain sound; at first low, gradually it grew clearer. At this sound the Egyptian soldiers hidden at the sides of the hill began to spring up, look at their weapons, and whisper. But the sharp commands of officers quieted them, and again the silence was deathlike along the cliffs on the north side.
Meanwhile that distant sound in the valley increased and passed into an uproar in which, on the bases of thousands of voices a man could distinguish songs, sounds of flutes, squeaks of chariots, the neighing of horses, and the cries of commanders. The prince’s heart was now beating with violence; he could not resist his curiosity, and he clambered up to a rocky height whence a large part of the valley was visible.
Surrounded by rolls of yellow dust the Libyan corps was approaching deliberately, and seemed like a serpent some miles in length, with blue, white, and red spots on its body.
At its head marched from ten to twenty horsemen, one of whom, wearing a white mantle, was sitting on his horse as on a bench, both his legs on the left side of the animal. Behind the horsemen marched a crowd of slingers in gray shirts, then some dignitary in a litter, over whom a large parasol was carried. Farther was a division of spearmen in blue and red shirts, then a great band of men almost naked, armed with clubs, again slingers and spearmen, behind them a red division with scythes and axes. They came on more or less in ranks of four; but in spite of shouts of officers, that order was interrupted, and each four treading on others, broke ranks continually.
Singing and talking loudly, the Libyan serpent crawled out into the broadest part of the valley, opposite the huts and the Soda Lakes. Order was disturbed now more considerably. Those marching in advance stopped, for it had been said that there would be a halt at that point; the columns behind hurried so as to reach the halt and rest all the earlier. Some ran out of the ranks, and laying down their weapons, rushed into thelake, or took up in their palms its malodorous water; others, sitting on the ground, took dates from bags, or drank vinegar and water from their bottles.
High above the camp floated a number of vultures.
Unspeakable sadness and terror seized Rameses at this spectacle. Before his eyes flies began to circle; for the twinkle of an eye he lost consciousness; it seemed to him that he would have yielded his throne not to be at that place, and not to see what was going to happen. He hurried down from the cliff looking with wandering eyes straight out in front of him.
At that moment Pentuer approached and pulled him by the arm vigorously.
“Recover, leader,” said he; “Patrokles is waiting for orders.”
“Patrokles?” repeated the prince, and he looked around quickly.
Before him stood Pentuer, deathly pale, but collected. A couple of steps farther on was Tutmosis, also pale; in his trembling hand was an officer’s whistle. From behind the hill bent forth soldiers, on whose faces deep emotion was evident.
“Rameses,” repeated Pentuer, “the army is waiting.”
The prince looked at the priest with desperate decision.
“Begin!” said he in a stifled whisper.
Pentuer raised his glittering talisman, and made some signs in the air with it. Tutmosis gave a low whistle; that whistle was repeated in distant ravines on the right and the left. Egyptian slingers began to climb up the hillsides.
It was about midday.
Rameses recovered gradually from his first impressions and looked around carefully. He saw his staff, a division of spearmen and axemen under veteran officers, finally slingers, advancing along the cliff leisurely. And he was convinced that not one of those men had the wish to die or even to fight and move around in that heat, which was terrible.
All at once, from the height of some hill was heard a mighty voice, louder than the roar of a lion,—
“Soldiers of the pharaoh, slay those Libyan dogs! The gods are with you.”
To this unearthly voice answered two voices no less powerful:the prolonged shout of the Egyptian army, and the immense outcry of the Libyans.
The prince had no need to conceal himself longer, and ascended an eminence whence he could see the hostile forces distinctly. Before him stretched a long line of Egyptian slingers who seemed as if they had grown up from the earth, and a couple of hundred yards distant the Libyan column moving forward in dust clouds. The trumpets, the whistles, the curses of barbarian officers were heard calling to order. Those who were sitting sprang up; those who were drinking snatched their weapons and ran to their places; chaotic throngs developed into ranks, and all this took place amid outcries and tumult. Meanwhile the Egyptian slingers cast a number of missiles each minute. They were as calm and well ordered as at a manœuvre. The decurions indicated to their men the hostile crowds against which they must strike, and in the course of some minutes they covered them with a shower of stones and leaden bullets. The prince saw that after every such shower a Libyan crowd scattered and very often one man remained on the earth behind the others.
Still the Libyan ranks formed and withdrew outside the reach of missiles, then their slingers pushed forward and with equal swiftness and coolness replied to the Egyptians. At times there were bursts of laughter in their ranks and shouts of delight at the fall of some Egyptian slinger.
Soon above the heads of the prince and his retinue stones began to whizz and whistle. One, cast adroitly, struck the arm of an adjutant, and broke the bone in it; another knocked the helmet from a second adjutant; a third, falling at the prince’s feet, was broken against the cliff and struck the leader’s face with fragments as hot as boiling water.
The Libyans laughed loudly and shouted out something: apparently they were abusing the viceroy.
Fear and, above all, compassion and pity left the soul of Rameses in an instant. He saw before him no longer people threatened by death and anguish, but lines of savage beasts which he had to kill or deprive of weapons. Mechanically he reached for his sword to lead on the spearmen awaiting command, but he was restrained by contempt of the enemy. Was he to stainhimself with the blood of that rabble? Warriors were there for that purpose.
Meanwhile the battle continued, and the brave Libyan slingers, while shouting and even singing, began to press forward. From both sides missiles whizzed like beetles, buzzed like bees, sometimes they struck one another in the air with a crack, and every minute or two on this side or that some warrior went to the rear groaning, or fell dead immediately. But this did not spoil the humor of others: they fought with malicious delight, which gradually changed to rage and self-oblivion.
Then from afar on the right wing were heard sounds of trumpets, and shouts repeated frequently. That was the unterrified Patrokles; drunk since daylight, he was attacking the rear guard of Libya.
“Charge!” said the prince.
Immediately that order was repeated by one, two, ten trumpets, and after a moment the Egyptian companies pushed out from all the ravines. The slingers disposed on the hilltops redoubled their efforts, while in the valley, without haste, but also without disorder, the Egyptian spearmen and axemen arranged in four columns moved forward gradually.
“Strengthen the centre,” said the prince.
A trumpet repeated the command. Behind two columns of the first line two new columns were placed. Before the Egyptians had finished that manœuvre, under a storm of missiles, the Libyans, following their example, had arranged themselves in eight columns against the main corps of Egypt.
“Forward, reserves!” shouted the prince. “See,” said he, turning to one of the adjutants, “whether the left wing is ready.”
To see the valley at a glance, and more accurately, the adjutant rushed in among the slingers, and fell immediately, but beckoned with his hand. Another rushed to replace him and returned quickly to state that both wings of the prince’s division were drawn up in order.
From the division commanded by Patrokles came an increasing uproar, and higher than the hill dense rolls of dark smoke were rising.
An officer from Pentuer ran to the prince reporting that the Libyan camp had been fired by the Greek regiments.
“Force the centre!” cried Rameses.
Trumpet after trumpet sounded the attack, and when they had ceased the command was heard in the central column, and then followed the rhythmic roll of drums and the beat of the infantry step, marching slowly and in time: one—two! one—two! one—two! The command was repeated on the right and on the left wing; again drums rolled and the wing columns moved forward: one—two! one—two!
The Libyan slingers began to withdraw, showering stones on the marching Egyptians. But though one warrior fell after another, the columns moved on without stopping; they marched slowly, regularly, one—two! one—two! one—two!
The yellow cloud, growing ever denser, indicated the march of the Egyptian battalions. The slingers could hurl stones no longer, and there came a comparative quiet in the midst of which were heard sobs and groans from wounded warriors.
“It is rare that they march on review so well,” cried Rameses to the staff officers.
“They are not afraid of sticks this time,” grumbled a veteran officer.
The space between the dust cloud around the Egyptians and that on the Libyan side decreased every minute, but the barbarians, halting, stood motionless, and behind their line a second cloud made its appearance. Evidently some reserve was strengthening the central column, which was threatened by the wildest of onsets.
The heir ran down from his eminence and mounted; the last Egyptian reserves poured out of the ravines, fixed themselves in ranks, and waited for the order. Behind the infantry pushed out some hundreds of Asiatic horsemen on small but enduring horses.
The prince hurried after the columns advancing to attack, and when he had gone a hundred yards he found a new eminence, not high, but from which he could see the whole field of battle. The retinue, the Asiatic cavalry, and the reserve column hurried after him.
The prince looked impatiently toward the left wing whenceMentezufis had to come, but he was not coming. The Libyans stood immovable, the situation seemed more and more serious.
The viceroy’s division was the stronger, but against it were arrayed almost all the Libyan forces. The two sides were equal as to numbers; the prince had no doubt of victory, but he dreaded the immense loss since his opponent was so manful.
Besides, battle has caprices.
Over men who have gone to attack, the leader’s influence has ceased, he controls them no longer; Rameses has only a regiment of reserves, and a handful of cavalry. If one of the Egyptian columns is beaten, or if reinforcements come to the foe unexpectedly!
The prince rubbed his forehead at this thought. He felt all the responsibility of a leader. He was like a dice thrower who has staked all he owns, cast his dice, and asks, “How will they come out?”
The Egyptians are a few tens of yards from the Libyan columns. The command, the trumpets, the drums sound hurriedly, and the troops move at a run: one—two—three! one—two—three! But on the side of the enemy also a trumpet is heard, two ranks of spears are lowered, drums beat. At a run! New rolls of dust rise, then they unite in one immense cloud. The roar of human voices, the rattle of spears, the biting of scythes, then a shrill groan which is soon lost in one general uproar.
Along the whole line of battle neither men, nor weapons, nor even columns are visible, nothing but a line of yellow dust stretching along like a giant serpent. The denser cloud signifies places where the columns are struggling; the thinner, where there are breaks in the columns.
After some minutes of satanic uproar the heir sees that the dust on his left wing is bending back very slowly.
“Strengthen the left wing!” shouts Rameses.
One half of the reserve runs to the place pointed out, and disappears in the sand cloud; the left wing straightens itself, the right goes forward slowly always in one direction.
“Strengthen the centre!” cries Rameses.
The second half of the reserve advances and vanishes in thesand cloud. The shout increased for a moment, but no forward movement is visible.
“Those wretches fight desperately,” said an old officer of the suite to Rameses. “It is high time that Mentezufis were here.”
The prince summoned the leader of the Asiatic cavalry.
“But look to the right,” said he; “there must be a bend there.”
“Go cautiously so as not to trample our warriors and attack those dogs in their central column, on the flank.”
“They must be chained, for somehow they stand too long,” replied the Asiatic, smiling.
The prince has now about two hundred of his own cavalry, and these advance, with the others, at a trot, crying,—
“May our chief live forever!”
The heat passes description. The prince strains eyes and ears to see through the sand cloud. He waits—and waits. All at once he shouts with delight. The centre of the cloud quivers and moves forward slightly.
Again it stops, again it moves forward—slowly, very slowly, but still it moves forward.
The din is so tremendous that no one can decide what it means: rage, defeat, or victory.
Now the right wing begins to bend outward and withdraw in a strange manner. In the rear of the wing appears a new dust cloud. At the same moment Pentuer races up, dismounts, and shouts,—
“Patrokles is engaging the rear of the Libyans!”
The confusion on the right wing increases, and is passing to the centre. It is clear that the Libyans are beginning to withdraw, and that panic is seizing even their main column.
The whole staff of the prince, roused to the uttermost, follows the movements of the yellow dust, feverishly. In a few minutes alarm appears on the left wing. The Libyans have begun to flee in that quarter.
“May I never see another sun, if this is not a victory!” cried a veteran officer.
A courier rushes in from the priests, who from the highest hill had followed the course of the battle, and reports that onthe left wing the troops of Mentezufis are visible, and that the Libyans are surrounded on three sides.
“They would fly like deer if the sand did not hinder them.”
“Victory! May our chief live forever!” cried Pentuer.
It was only two hours after midday.
The Asiatic cavalry sing loudly, and send arrows into the air in honor of Rameses. The staff officers dismount, and rush to kiss the hands and feet of the viceroy; at last they take him from the saddle, raise him in the air, shouting,—
“Here is a mighty leader! He has trampled the enemies of Egypt! Amon is on his right, and on his left, who can oppose him?”
Meanwhile the Libyans, pushing back all the time, had ascended the sandy hills on the south, and after them Egyptians. From out the cloud came horsemen every minute and rushed to Rameses.
“Mentezufis has taken them in the rear!” cried one.
“Two hundred have surrendered!” cried another.
“Patrokles has taken them in the rear!”
“Three Libyan standards are captured: the ram, the lion, and the sparrow-hawk!”
More and more men gathered round the staff: it was surrounded by warriors who were bloody and dust-covered.
“May he live through eternity! May he live through eternity, our leader!”
The prince was so excited, that he laughed and cried in turn and said to his retinue,—
“The gods have been compassionate. I feared that we had lost. Evil is the plight of a leader; without drawing a sword and even without seeing, he must answer for everything!”
“Live thou, O conquering commander, live through eternity!” cried the warriors.
“A fine victory for me!” laughed Rameses. “I do not know even how they won it.”
“He wins a victory, and wonders how it came!” cried some one in the retinue.
“I say that I saw not the face of the battle,” explained the prince.
“Be at rest, our commander,” said Pentuer. “Thou didstdispose the army so wisely that the enemy had to be beaten. And in what way? Just as if that did not belong to thee, but the regiments.”
“I did not even draw a sword. I do not see one Libyan,” complained the prince.
On the southern heights there was a struggling and a seething, but in the valley the dust had begun to settle here and there, and a crowd of Egyptian soldiers were visible as through a mist, their spears pointed upward.
Rameses turned his horse in that direction and rode out to the deserted field of battle, where just recently had been, the struggle of the central column. It was a place some hundreds of yards in width, with deep furrows filled with bodies of the dead and wounded. On the side along which the prince was approaching, Egyptians and Libyans lay intermixed, in a long line, still farther on there were almost none except Libyans.
In places bodies lay close to bodies; sometimes on one spot three or four were piled one on another. The sand was stained with brownish blood patches; the wounds were ghastly. Both hands were cut from one man, another had his head split to the body, from a third man, the entrails were dropping. Some were howling in convulsions, and from their mouths, filled with sand, came forth curses, or prayers imploring some one to slay them.
Rameses passed along hastily, not looking around, though some of the wounded men shouted feebly in his honor.
Not far from that place he met the first crowd of prisoners. They fell on their faces before him and begged for compassion.
“Proclaim pardon to the conquered and the obedient,” said he to his staff.
A number of horsemen rushed off in various directions. Soon a trumpet was heard, and after it a piercing voice,—
“By the order of his worthiness the prince in command, prisoners and wounded are not to be slain!”
In answer came wild shouts, evidently from prisoners.
“At command of the prince,” a second voice cried in singing tones in another direction, “prisoners and wounded are not to be slain!”
Meanwhile on the southern heights the battle ceased and two of the largest Libyan divisions laid down their arms before the Greek regiments.
The valiant Patrokles, in consequence of the heat, as he said himself—of ardent drink, as thought others—barely held himself in the saddle. He rubbed his tearful eyes, and turned to the prisoners.
“Mangy dogs!” cried he, “who raise sinful hands on the army of his holiness (may the worms devour you)! Ye will perish like lice under the nail of a pious Egyptian, if ye do not tell this minute where your leader is,—may leprosy eat off his nose and drink his blear eyes out!”
At that moment the prince appeared. The general greeted him with respect, but did not stop his investigation.
“I will have belts cut from your bodies! I will impale you on stakes, if I do not learn this minute where that poisonous reptile is, that son of a wild boar.”
“Ei! where our leader is?” cried one of the Libyans, pointing to a little crowd on horseback which was advancing slowly in the depth of the desert.
“What is that?” inquired the prince.
“The wretch Musawasa is fleeing!” said Patrokles, and he almost fell to the ground.
The blood rushed to Rameses’ head.
Then Musawasa was here and escaped?
“Hei! whoso has the best horse, follow me!”
“Well,” said Patrokles, laughing, “that sheep-stealer himself will bleat now!”
Pentuer stopped the way to the prince.
“It is not for thee to hunt fugitives, worthiness.”
“What?” cried the heir. “During this whole battle I did not raise a hand on any man, and now I am to give up the Libyan leader? What would be said by the warriors whom I have sent out under spears and axes?”
“The army cannot remain without a leader.”
“But are not Patrokles, Tutmosis, and finally Mentezufis, here? For what purpose am I commander if I cannot hunt the enemy? They are a few hundred yards from us and have tired horses.”
“We will come back in an hour with him. He is only an arm’s length from us!” whispered some Asiatic.
“Patrokles, Tutmosis, I leave the army to you!” cried the heir. “Rest. I will come back immediately.”
He put spurs to his horse and advanced at a trot, sinking in the sand, and behind him about twenty horsemen, with Pentuer.
“Why art thou here, O prophet?” asked Rameses. “Better sleep—to-day thou hast rendered good service.”
“I may be of use yet,” added Pentuer.
“But remain—I command thee—”
“The supreme council commands me not to go one step from thee, worthiness.”
Rameses shook himself angrily.
“But if we fall into an ambush?”
“I will not leave thee in ambush,” answered the priest.
THERE was in his voice so much kindliness that the astonished prince was silent and let him go.
They were in the desert; a couple of hundred yards behind them was an army; in front were fugitives several hundred yards in advance. But though they beat and urged on their horses, the fleeing, as well as the pursuers, advanced with great difficulty. The sun poured from above dreadful heat on them, the fine but sharp dust pushed itself into their mouths, into their nostrils, into their eyes above all; under their horses’ feet the burning sand gave way at every step. In the air reigned a deathlike silence.
“But it will not continue like this,” said Rameses.
“It will be worse and worse,” answered Pentuer. “Dost thou see, worthiness,”—he indicated the fugitives,—“their horses are in sand to their knees?”
The prince laughed, for at that moment they came out on ground which was firmer, and trotted about a hundred yards. But soon their road was confronted by a sea of sand, and again they advanced step by step slowly.
Sweat poured from the men, there was foam on the horses.
“It is hot!” whispered the heir.
“Listen, lord,” said Pentuer, “this is not a good day for hunting in the desert. This morning the sacred insects showed great disquiet, then dropped into lethargy. Also my knife of a priest went down very little in the earthen scabbard, which means intense heat. Both these phenomena—the heat, and the lethargy of insects—may announce a tempest. Let us return, for not only have we lost sight of the camp, but even sounds from there do not reach to us.”
Rameses looked at the priest almost contemptuously.
“And dost thou think, O prophet,” said he, “that I, having once commanded the capture of Musawasa, can return empty-handed because I fear heat and a tempest?”
They went on without stopping. At one place there was hard ground again, thanks to which they approached the fugitives to within the distance of a sling cast.
“Hei, ye there!” cried the heir, “yield.”
The Libyans did not even look behind, and waded on through the sand with great effort. After a while one might suppose that they would be overtaken. Soon again, however, the prince’s party struck on deep sand while the Libyans hastening forward vanished beyond an elevation.
The Asiatics cursed, the prince gritted his teeth.
At last the horses began to stumble more and to be weary, so the riders had to dismount and go on foot. All at once an Asiatic grew purple, and fell on the sand. The prince commanded to cover him with a mantle, and said,—
“We will take him on the way back.”
After great toil they reached the top of the sand height, and saw the Libyans. For them too the road had been murderous, two of their horses had stopped.
The camp of the Egyptian army was hidden completely behind the rolling land, and if Pentuer and the Asiatics had not known how to guide themselves by the sun they could not have gone back to the camping-place. In the prince’s party another man fell, and threw bloody foam from his mouth. He was left, with his horse. To finish their trouble, on theoutline of the sands stood a group of cliffs; among these the Libyans vanished.
“Lord,” said Pentuer, “that may be an ambush.”
“Let it be death, and let it take me!” replied the heir, in a changed voice.
The priest gazed at him with wonder; he had not supposed such resolve in Rameses.
The cliffs were not distant, but the road was laborious beyond description. They had not only to walk themselves, but to drag their horses out of the soft sand. They waded, sinking below their ankles; they sank to their knees even in some places.
Meanwhile the sun was flaming above them,—that dreadful sun of the desert,—every ray of which not only baked and blinded, but pricked also. The men dropped from weariness: in one, tongue and lips were swollen; another had a roaring in his head, and saw black patches before his eyes; drowsiness seized a third,—all felt pain in their joints, and lost the sensation of heat. Had any one asked if it were hot, they would not have answered.
The ground grew firm under their feet again, and the party passed in between the cliffs.
The prince, who had more presence of mind than those who were with him, heard the snorting of horses; he turned to one side, and in the shade cast by the cliff saw a crowd of people lying as each man had dropped. Those were the Libyans.
One of them, a youth of twenty years, wore an embroidered purple shirt, a gold chain was around his neck, and he carried a sword richly mounted. He seemed unconscious; the eyes were turned in his head, and there was foam on his lips. In him Rameses recognized the chief. He approached him, drew the chain from his neck, and unfastened his sword.
Some old Libyan who seemed less wearied than others, seeing this, called out,—
“Though thou art victor, Egyptian, respect the prince’s son, who is chief.”
“Is he the son of Musawasa?” asked Rameses.
“Thou hast spoken truth,” replied the Libyan. “This is Tehenna, the son of Musawasa; he is our leader; he is worthy to be even prince of Egypt.”
“But where is Musawasa?”
“In Glaucus. He will collect a great army and avenge us.”
The other Libyans said nothing; they did not even look at their conquerors.
At command of Rameses the Asiatics disarmed them without the least trouble, and sat down in the shade themselves.
At that moment they were all neither enemies nor friends, only men who were mortally wearied. Death was hovering over all, but beyond rest they had no desire.
Pentuer, seeing that Tehenna remained unconscious, knelt near him and bent above his head so that no one saw what he was doing. Soon Tehenna sighed, struggled, and opened his eyes; then he sat up, rubbed his forehead, as if roused from a deep sleep, which had not yet left him.
“Tehenna, leader of the Libyans, thou and thy people are prisoners of his holiness,” said Rameses.
“Better slay me here,” said Tehenna, “if I must lose my freedom.”
“If thy father, Musawasa, will submit and make peace with Egypt, thou wilt be free and happy.”
The Libyan turned his face aside, and lay down careless of everything; he seemed to be sleeping.
He came to himself, in a quarter of an hour, somewhat fresher. He gazed at the desert and cried out with delight: on the horizon a green country was visible,—water, many palms, and somewhat higher, a town and a temple.
Around him all were sleeping, both Asiatics and Libyans. But Pentuer, standing on a rock, had shaded his eyes with his hand and was looking in some direction.
“Pentuer! Pentuer!” cried Rameses. “Dost thou see that oasis?”
He sprang up and ran to the priest, whose face was full of anxiety.
“Dost thou see the oasis?”
“That is no oasis,” said Pentuer; “that is the ghost of some region which is wandering about through the desert—a region no longer in existence. But over there—over there—is reality!” added he, pointing southward.
“Are they mountains?”
“Look more sharply.”
The prince looked, and saw something suddenly.
“It seems to me that a dark mass is rising—my sight must be dulled.”
“That is Typhon,” whispered the priest. “The gods alone have power to save us, if only they have the wish.”
Indeed, Rameses felt on his face a breath, which amid the heat of the desert seemed all at once hot to him. That breath, at first very delicate, increased, growing hotter and hotter, and at the same time the dark streak rose in the sky with astonishing swiftness.
“What shall we do?” asked Rameses.
“These cliffs,” said the priest, “will shelter us from being covered with sand, but they will not keep away dust or the heat which is increasing continually. But in a day or two days—”
“Does Typhon blow that long?”
“Sometimes three and four days. But sometimes he springs up for a couple of hours, and drops suddenly, like a vulture pierced with an arrow. That happens very rarely.”
The prince became gloomy, though he did not lose courage. The priest, drawing from under his mantle a little green flask, said,—
“Here is an elixir. It should last thee a number of days. Whenever thou art afraid, or feel drowsy, drink a drop. In that way thou wilt be strengthened and endure.”
“But thou, and the others?”
“My fate is in the hands of the One. As to the rest of the people, they are not heirs to the throne of Egypt.”
“I do not wish this liquid!” cried the prince, pushing away the little bottle.
“Thou must take it!” said Pentuer. “Remember that the Egyptian people have fixed their hopes on thee. Remember that on thee is their blessing.”
The black cloud had covered half the sky, and the hot wind blew with such force that the prince and priest had to go to the foot of the cliff.
“The Egyptian people—their blessing?” repeated Rameses.
All at once he called out,—
“Was it thou who conversed with me a year ago in the garden? That was immediately after the manœuvres—”
“That same day, when thou hadst compassion on the man who hanged himself through despair because his canal was destroyed,” answered the priest.
“Thou didst save my house and the Jewess Sarah from the rabble who wished to stone her.”
“I did,” said Pentuer. “And soon after thou didst free the innocent laborers from prison, and didst not permit Dagon to torture thy people with new tribute.”
“For this people,” continued the priest in a louder voice, “for the compassion which thou hast always shown them I bless thee again to-day. Perhaps thou art the only one who will be saved here, but remember that the oppressed people of Egypt will save thee, they who look to thee for redemption.”
Hereupon it grew dark; from the south came a shower of hot sand, and such a mighty wind rose that it threw down a horse that was standing in the open. The Asiatics and the Libyan prisoners all woke, but each man merely pressed up to the cliff more closely, and possessed by great fear remained silent.
In nature something dreadful was happening. Night covered the earth, and through the sky black or ruddy clouds of sand rushed with mad impetus. It seemed as though all the sand of the desert, now alive, had sprung up and was flying to some place with the speed of a stone whirled from the sling of a warrior.
The heat was like that in a bath: on the hands and feet the skin burst, the tongue dried, breath produced a pricking in the breast. The fine grains of sand burnt like fire sparks.
Pentuer forced the bottle to the prince’s lips. Rameses drank a couple of drops and felt a marvellous change: the pain and heat ceased to torment him; his thought regained freedom.
“And this may last a couple of days?” asked he.
“It may last four,” replied Pentuer.
“But ye sages, favorites of the gods, have ye no means of saving people from such a tempest?”
The priest thought awhile, and answered,—
“In the world there is only one sage who can struggle with evil spirits. But he is not here.”
Typhon had been blowing for half an hour with inconceivable fury. It had become almost like night. At moments the wind weakened, the black clouds pushed apart; in the sky was a bloody sun, on the earth an ominous light of ruddy color. The hot stifling wind grew more violent, the clouds of sand thicker. The ghastly light was extinguished, and in the air were heard sounds and noises to which human ears are not accustomed.
It was near sunset, but the violence of the tempest increased, and the unendurable heat rose continually. From time to time a gigantic bloody spot appeared above the horizon, as if a world fire were coming.
All at once the prince saw that Pentuer was not before him. He strained his ear and heard a voice, crying,—
“Beroes! Beroes! If thou cannot help us, who can? Beroes! in the name of the One, the Almighty, who knows neither end nor beginning, I call on thee.”
On the northern extremity of the desert, thunder was heard. The prince was frightened, since thunder for an Egyptian was almost as rare a phenomenon as a comet.
“Beroes! Beroes!” repeated the priest in a deep voice. Rameses strained his eyes in the direction of the voice, and saw a dark human figure with arms uplifted. From the head, the fingers, and even from the clothing of that figure, light bluish sparks were flashing.
“Beroes! Beroes!”
A prolonged roar of thunder was heard nearer; lightning gleamed amid clouds of sand, and filled the desert with lurid flashes.
A fresh peal of thunder, and again lightning.
The prince felt that the violence of the tempest was decreasing, and the heat also. The sand which had been whirled through the air began to fall to the earth now, the sky became ashen gray, next ruddy, next milk-colored. At last all was silent, and after a while thunder was heard again, and a cool breeze from the north appeared.
The Asiatics and Libyans, tormented by heat, regained consciousness.
“Warriors of the pharaoh,” said the old Libyan on a sudden, “do ye hear that noise in the desert?”
“Will there be another tempest?”
“No; that is rain.”
In fact some cold drops fell from the sky, then more of them, till at last there was a downpour accompanied by thunder.
Among the soldiers of Rameses and their prisoners mad delight sprang up suddenly. Without caring for the thunder and lightning the men, who a moment before had been scorched with heat, and tormented by thirst, ran under the rain like small children. In the dark they washed themselves and their horses, they caught water in their caps and leather bags, and above all they drank and drank eagerly.
“Is not this a miracle?” cried Rameses. “Were it not for this blessed rain we should all perish here in the burning grasp of Typhon.”
“It happens,” said the old Libyan, “that the southern sandy wind rouses a wind from the sea and brings heavy rain to us.”
Rameses was touched disagreeably by these words, for he had attributed the downpour to Pentuer’s prayers. He turned to the Libyan, and asked,—
“And does it happen that sparks flash from people’s bodies?”
“It is always so when the wind blows from the desert,” answered the Libyan. “Just now we saw sparks jumping not only from men, but from horses.”
In his voice there was such conviction that the prince approaching an officer of his cavalry whispered,—
“But look at the Libyans.”
When he had said this some one made a noise in the darkness, and after a while tramping was heard. When a flash lighted up the desert they saw a man escaping on horseback.
“Bind these wretches!” cried the prince, “and kill any one who resists you. Woe to thee, Tehenna, if that scoundrel bringsthy brethren against us. Ye will perish in dreadful tortures, thou and thy men here.”
In spite of rain, darkness, and thunder the prince’s soldiers hurried to bind the Libyans, who made no resistance.
Perhaps they were waiting for Tehenna’s command, but he was so crushed that he had not even thought of fleeing.
The storm subsided gradually, and instead of that heat of the daytime a piercing cold seized the desert. The men and horses had drunk all they wanted; the bags were full of water; there were dates and cakes in abundance, so a good disposition prevailed. The thunder grew weak; at last even noiseless lightning flashed less and less frequently; on the northern sky the clouds parted; here and there stars twinkled.
Pentuer approached Rameses,—
“Let us return to the camp,” said he. “In a couple of hours we shall be there, before the man who has escaped can lead forth an enemy.”
“How shall we find the camp in such darkness?” asked Rameses.
“Have ye torches?” asked the priest of the Asiatics.
Torches, or long cords soaked in an inflammable substance they had; but there was no fire, for their wooden fire-drills were rain soaked.
“We must wait till morning,” said Rameses, impatiently.
Pentuer made no answer. He took a small instrument from his bag, took a torch from one of the soldiers, and went to one side. After a while there was a low hissing, and the torch was lighted.
“He is a great magician, that priest,” muttered the old Libyan.
“Before my eyes thou hast performed a second miracle,” said the prince. “Canst thou explain to me how that was done?”
The priest shook his head.
“Ask of me anything, lord, and I will answer. But ask not to explain temple secrets.”
“Not even if I were to name thee my counsellor?”
“Not even then. Never shall I be a traitor, and even if I desired to be one I should be terrified by punishment.”
“Punishment?” repeated Rameses. “Aha! I remember inthe temple of Hator, that man hidden under the pavement, on whom the priests were pouring burning pitch. Did they do that, indeed, and did that man die really in tortures?”
Pentuer was silent, as if not hearing the question, and drew out slowly from his wonderful bag a small statue of a divinity with crossed arms. The statue depended from a string; the priest let it hang, and whispered a prayer, while he watched it. The statue, after some turnings and quiverings, hung without motion.
Rameses, by the light of the torch, looked at these acts with astonishment.
“What art thou doing?” asked he.
“I can only say this much to thee, worthiness,” replied Pentuer, “that this divinity points with one hand at the star Eshmun.[19]This hand leads Phœnician ships through the sea during night hours.”