Pentuer had announced with great emphasis, while Herhor had asserted still earlier, that victorious wars were the source of misfortune for the country. From this it resulted that to raise Egypt by a new war was impossible.
“Pentuer is a great sage, and so is Herhor,” thought Rameses. “If they consider war harmful, if the high priest Mefres and other priests judge in the same way, then perhaps war is in fact dangerous. It must be dangerous, if so many holy and wise men insist thus.”
Rameses was deeply disappointed. He had thought out a simple method of elevating Egypt, but the priests maintained that that was the true way to ruin it. The priests are most holy, and they are wise men.
But something happened which cooled the faith of the prince somewhat in the truthful speech of the priests, or rather it roused his previous distrust of them.
Once he was going with a certain leech to the library. The way lay through a dark and narrow corridor from which the heir drew back with repulsion.
“I will not go by this way,” said he.
“Why not?” inquired the leech, with astonishment.
“Dost thou not remember, holy father, that at the end of that corridor is an opening in which a certain traitor was tortured to death without pity.”
“Aha!” answered the leech. “There is an opening there into which we poured boiling pitch at command of Pentuer.”
“And ye killed a man—”
The leech smiled. He was a kindly, gladsome person. So, observing the indignation of the prince, he said after some meditation,—
“It is not permitted to betray temple secrets. Of course, before each of the greater solemnities, we bring this to the mind of younger candidates.”
His tone was so peculiar that Rameses required explanation.
“I cannot betray secrets,” replied the leech; “but promise, worthiness, to hide a story in thy breast, and I will tell thee one.”
Rameses promised. The leech gave this narrative:—
“A certain Egyptian priest, while visiting temples in the unbelieving land of Aram, met at one of them a man who seemed to him in good flesh and satisfied, though he wore wretched garments. ‘Explain to me,’ said the priest to the gladsome poor man, ‘how it is that, though thou art indigent, thy body looks as though thou wert chief of this temple.’
“That man looked around then to see if any one were listening, and answered,—
“‘I am fat, because my voice is very woful; hence I am a martyr at this temple. When people come to service here, I crawl into an opening and groan with all the strength that is in my body; for this they give me food abundantly throughout the year, and a large jug of beer every day when I am tortured.’
“Thus do they manage in the unbelieving land of Aram,” said the leech, as he raised a finger to his lips, and added, “Remember, prince, what thou hast promised, and of boiling pitch in this place think whatever suits thee.”
This story roused the prince anew; he felt relief because a man had not been killed in the temple, but all his earlier distrust of priests sprang into life again.
That they deluded simple people, he knew. He remembered the priests’ procession with the sacred bull Apis, while he was in their school. The people were convinced that Apis led the priests, while every student saw that the divine beast went in whatever direction priests drove him.
Who could tell, therefore, that Pentuer’s discourse was not intended for him, as that procession of Apis for the people? For that matter, it was easy to put on the ground beans of red or other colors, and also it was not difficult to arrange tableaux. How much more splendid were those exhibitions which he had seen, even the struggles of Set with Osiris, in which a number of hundreds of persons assisted. But in that case, too, did not the priests deceive people? That was given as a battle of the gods; meanwhile it was carried on by men in disguise. In it Osiris perished, but the priest who represented Osiris came out as sound as a rhinoceros. What wonders did they not exhibit there! Water rose; there were peals of thunder; the earth trembled and vomited fire. And that was all deception. Why should the exhibition made by Pentuer be true? Besides, the prince had discovered strong indications that they wished to deceive him. The man groaning underground and covered, as it were, with boiling pitch by the priests was deception. But let that pass. The prince had convinced himself frequently that Herhor did not want war; Mefres also did not want it. Pentuer was the assistant of one of them, and the favorite of the other.
Such a struggle was taking place in the prince that it seemed to him at one time that he understood everything, at another that he was surrounded by darkness; now he was full of hope, and now he doubted everything. From hour to hour, from day to day, his soul rose and fell like the waters of the Nile in the course of its yearly changes.
Gradually, however, the prince recovered his balance, and when the time came to leave the temple, he had formulated certain views of the problem.
First of all, he understood clearly that Egypt needed more land and more people. Second, he believed that the simplest way to find men was a war with Asia. But Pentuer had proved to him that war could only heighten the disaster. A new question rose then,—did Pentuer speak the truth, or was he lying? If he spoke the truth, he plunged the prince in despair, for Rameses saw no means to raise the state except war. Unless war were made, Egypt would lose population yearly, and the treasury of the pharaoh would increase its debts till the wholeprocess would end in some ghastly overthrow, perhaps even in the reign of the coming pharaoh.
“But if Pentuer lied? Why should he lie? Evidently because Herhor, Mefres, and the whole priestly corporation had persuaded him to act thus.
“But why did priests oppose war? What interests had they in opposing? Every war brought immense profit to them and the pharaoh.
“But would the priests deceive him in an affair so far reaching? It is true that they deceived very often, but in small matters, not when it was a question of the future and the existence of the state. It was not possible to assert that they deceived always. Besides, they were the servants of the gods, and the guardians of great secrets.” Spirits resided in their temples; of this Rameses convinced himself on the first night after he had come to that temple of Hator.
“But if the gods did not permit the uninitiated to approach their altars, if they watched so carefully over temples, why did they not watch over Egypt, which is the greatest of all temples?”
When some days later Rameses, after a solemn religious service, left the temple of Hator amid the blessings of the priests, two questions were agitating him,—
Could war with Asia really harm Egypt? Could the priests in this question be deceiving him, the heir to the throne?
THE prince journeyed on horseback in company with a number of officers to Pi-Bast, the famous capital of the province of Habu.
The month Paoni had passed, Epiphi was beginning (April and May). The sun stood high, heralding the most violent season of heat for Egypt. A mighty wind from the desert had blown in repeatedly; men and beasts fell because of heat, and on fields and trees a gray dust had begun to settle under which vegetation was dying.
Roses had been harvested and turned into oil; wheat hadbeen gathered as well as the second crop of clover. Well-sweeps and buckets moved with double energy, irrigating the earth with dirty water to fit it for new seed. Men had begun to gather grapes and figs. The Nile had fallen, water in canals was low and of evil odor. Above the whole country a fine dust was borne along in a deluge of burning sun-rays.
In spite of this Prince Rameses rode on and felt gladsome. The life of a penitent in the temple had grown irksome; he yearned for feasts, uproar, and women.
Meanwhile the country, intersected with a net of canals, though flat and monotonous, was pleasing. In the province of Habu lived people of another origin: not the old Egyptians, but descendants of the valiant Hyksos, who on a time had conquered Egypt and governed that land for a number of generations.
The old Egyptians despised this remnant of a conquering race expelled from power afterward, but Rameses looked on them with satisfaction. They were large and strong, their bearing was proud, and there was manly energy in their faces. They did not fall prostrate before the prince and his officers, like Egyptians, but looked at him without dislike, but also without timidity. Neither were their shoulders covered with scars from beating; the scribes respected them because they knew that if a Hyksos were beaten he would return the blows, and might kill the man who gave them. Moreover the Hyksos enjoyed the pharaoh’s favor, for their people furnished the choicest warriors.
As the retinue of the heir approached Pi-Bast, whose temples and palaces were visible through the haze of dust, as through a veil of muslin, the neighborhood grew more active. Along the broad highway and the canals men were taking to market cattle, wheat, fruit, wine, flowers, bread, and a multitude of other articles of daily consumption. The torrent of people and goods moving toward the city was as noisy and dense as that outside Memphis in the holiday season. Around Pi-Bast reigned throughout the whole year the uproar of a market-day, which ceased only in the night time.
The cause of this was simple. In that city stood the renowned and ancient temple of Astarte. This temple was reveredthroughout Western Asia and attracted throngs of pilgrims. It could be said without exaggeration that outside Pi-Bast thirty thousand strangers camped daily,—Arabs, Phœnicians, Jews, Philistines, Hittites, Assyrians, and others. The Egyptian government bore itself kindly toward these pilgrims, who brought it a considerable income; the priests endured them, and the people of neighboring provinces carried on an active trade with them.
For the space of an hour’s journey from Pi-Bast the mud huts and tents of strangers covered the open country. As one neared the city, those huts increased in number and transient inhabitants swarmed more and more densely around them. Some were preparing food under the open sky, others were purchasing provisions which came in continually, still others were going in procession to the temple. Here and there were large crowds before places of amusement, where beast-tamers, serpent-charmers, athletes, female dancers, and jugglers exhibited their adroitness.
Above all this multitude of people were heat and uproar.
Before the gate of the city Rameses was greeted by his court and by the nomarch of Habu surrounded by his officials. But the greeting, despite cordiality, was so cold that the astonished viceroy whispered to Tutmosis,—
“What does this mean, that he looks on me as if I had come to measure out punishment?”
“Because thou hast the face of a man who has been associating with divinity.”
He spoke truth. Whether because of ascetic life, or the society of priests, or of long meditation, the prince had changed greatly. He had grown thin, his complexion had darkened, and in his face and bearing much dignity was evident. In the course of weeks he had grown some years older.
On one of the main streets of the city there was such a dense throng of people that the police had to open a way for the heir and his retinue. But these people did not greet the prince; they had merely gathered around a small palace as if waiting for some person.
“What is this?” asked Rameses of the nomarch, for this indifference of the throng touched the prince disagreeably.
“Here dwells Hiram,” answered the nomarch, “a prince of Tyre, a man of great charity. Every day he distributes bountiful alms, therefore poor people rush to him.”
Rameses turned on his horse, looked, and said,—
“I see there laborers of the pharaoh. So they too go for alms to the rich Phœnician?”
The nomarch was silent. Happily they approached the official palace, and the prince forgot Hiram.
Feasts in honor of the viceroy continued a number of days in succession, but they did not please him. Gladness was lacking and disagreeable incidents happened.
One day a favorite of the prince was dancing before him; she burst into tears. Rameses seized her in his arms, and asked what her trouble was.
At first she hesitated, but emboldened by the kindness of her lord, she answered, shedding tears in still greater abundance,—
“We are thy women, O ruler, we come from great families, and respect is due to us.”
“Thou speakest truth,” said Rameses.
“Meanwhile thy treasurer stints us in allowance, and would deprive us of serving-maids, without whom we cannot bathe or dress our hair.”
Rameses summoned his treasurer, and commanded sternly that his women should have all that belonged to their birth and position. The treasurer fell on his face before the prince, and promised to carry out all commands of the women. A couple of days later, a rebellion broke out among the court slaves, who complained that their wine had been taken. The heir ordered to give them wine. But during a review two days later a deputation from the regiments came to the viceroy with a most humble complaint, that their rations of meat and bread were diminished. The prince commanded that those petitioners be satisfied.
Still, two days later a great uproar at the palace roused him in the morning. Rameses inquired what the cause was; the officer on duty explained that the pharaoh’s laborers had assembled and asked for arrears due them.
They summoned the treasurer, whom the prince attacked in great anger.
“What is going on here?” cried he. “Since my return there is no day without complaints of injustice. If anything like this is repeated, I shall order an inquiry and put an end to thy management.”
The trembling treasurer fell on his face again, and groaned,—
“Slay me, lord! But what am I to do when thy treasury, thy granaries, and thy storehouses are empty?”
In spite of his anger the prince thought that the treasurer might be innocent. He commanded him to withdraw, and then summoned Tutmosis.
“Listen to me,” said Rameses to the favorite, “things are done here which I do not understand, and to which I am not accustomed. My women, the slaves, the army, the pharaoh’s workmen do not receive what is due them, or their supplies are curtailed. When I asked the treasurer what this means, he answered that the treasury and the storehouses are empty.”
“He told truth.”
“How is that?” burst out the prince. “For my journey his holiness assigned two hundred talents in gold and goods. Can it be that all this is expended?”
“Yes,” answered Tutmosis.
“How is that?” cried the viceroy. “Did not the nomarchs entertain us all the way?”
“Yes, but we paid them for doing so.”
“Then they are rogues and robbers if they receive us as guests and then plunder us.”
“Be not angry, and I will explain.”
“Sit down.”
Tutmosis took a seat.
“Dost thou know,” asked he, “that for a month past I have eaten food from thy kitchen, drunk wine from thy pitchers, and dressed from thy wardrobe?”
“Thou hast a right to that privilege.”
“But I have never acted thus hitherto. I have lived, dressed, and amused myself at my own expense, so as not to burden thy treasury. It is true that thou hast paid my debts more than once, but that was only a part of my outlay.”
“Never mind the debts!”
“In a similar condition,” continued Tutmosis, “are sometens of noble youths of thy court. They maintained themselves so as to uphold the splendor of the government; but now, like myself, they live at thy expense, for they have nothing to pay with.”
“Some time I will reward them.”
“Now,” continued Tutmosis, “we take from thy treasury, for want is oppressing us; the nomarchs do the same. If they had means they would give feasts and receptions at their own cost; but as they have not the means they receive recompense. Wilt thou call them rogues now?”
“I condemned them too harshly. Anger, like smoke, covered my eyes,” said Rameses. “I am ashamed of my words; none the less I wish that neither courtiers, soldiers, nor working men should suffer injustice. But since my means are exhausted it will be necessary to borrow. Would a hundred talents suffice? What thinkest thou?”
“I think that no one would lend us a hundred talents,” whispered Tutmosis.
The viceroy looked at him haughtily.
“Is that a fit answer to the son of a pharaoh?” asked he.
“Dismiss me from thy presence,” said Tutmosis, sadly, “but I have told the truth. At present no one will make us a loan, for there is no one to do so.”
“What is Dagon for?” wondered the prince. “He is not near my court; is he dead?”
“Dagon is in Pi-Bast, but he spends whole days with other Phœnician merchants in the temple of Astarte in prayer and penance.”
“Why such devotion? Is it because that I was in a temple that my banker thinks he too should take counsel of the gods?”
Tutmosis turned on the stool.
“The Phœnicians,” said he, “are alarmed; they are even crushed by the news—”
“About what?”
“Some one has spread the report, worthiness, that when thou shalt mount the throne all Phœnicians will be expelled and their property confiscated.”
“Well, they have time enough before that,” laughed Rameses.
Tutmosis hesitated further. “They say,” continued he, in a lowered voice, “that in recent days the health of his holiness—may he live through eternity!—has failed notably.”
“That is untrue!” interrupted the prince, in alarm. “I should know of it.”
“But the priests are performing religious services in secret for the return of health to the pharaoh. I know this to a certainty.”
The prince was astonished.
“How! my father seriously ill, the priests are praying for him, but tell me nothing?”
“They say that the illness of his holiness may last a year.”
“Oh, thou hearest fables and art disturbing me. Better tell me about the Phœnicians.”
“I have heard,” said Tutmosis, “only what every one has heard,—that while in the temple thou wert convinced of the harm done by Phœnicians, and didst bind thyself to expel them.”
“In the temple?” repeated the heir. “But who knows what that is of which I convinced myself in the temple, and what I decided to do?”
Tutmosis shrugged his shoulders, and was silent.
“Was there treason, too, in the temple?” thought the prince. “Summon Dagon in every case,” said he, aloud. “I must know the source of these lies, and by the gods, I will end them.”
“Thou wilt do well, for all Egypt is frightened. Even to-day there is no one to lend money, and if those reports continue all commerce will cease. Our aristocracy have fallen into trouble from which none see the issue, and even thy court is in want. A month hence the same thing may happen in the palace of his holiness—”
“Silence!” interrupted the prince, “and call Dagon this moment.”
Tutmosis ran out, but the banker appeared no earlier than evening. Around a white mantle he wore a black belt.
“Hast thou gone mad?” cried the heir, at sight of this. “I will drive off thy sadness immediately. I need a hundred talents at once. Go, and show thyself not till thou bring them.”
The banker covered his face and wept.
“What does this mean?” asked the prince, quickly.
“Lord,” exclaimed Dagon, as he fell on his knees, “seize all my property, sell me and my family. Take everything, even our lives—but a hundred talents—where could I find wealth like that? Neither in Egypt nor Phœnicia,” continued he, sobbing.
“Set has seized thee, O Dagon,” laughed the heir. “Couldst thou believe that I thought of expelling thy Phœnicians?”
The banker fell at the prince’s feet a second time.
“I know nothing—I am a common merchant, and thy slave—as many days as there are between the new and the full moon would suffice to make dust of me and spittle of my property.”
“But explain what this means,” said the prince, again impatient.
“I cannot explain anything, and even were I able I have a great seal on my lips—I do nothing now but pray and lament.”
“Do the Phœnicians pray also?” thought the prince.
“Unable to render any service,” continued Dagon, “I will give good counsel at least. There is here in Pi-Bast a renowned Syrian, Prince Hiram, an old man, wise and tremendously wealthy. Summon him, Erpatr, ask of him a hundred talents; perhaps he will be able to gratify thee.”
Since Rameses could get no explanations from the banker, he dismissed him, and promised to send an embassy to Hiram.
NEXT day Tutmosis, with a great suite of officers and attendants, paid a visit to the Phœnician prince, and invited him to the viceroy.
In the afternoon Hiram appeared before the palace in a simple litter borne by eight poor Egyptians to whom he gave alms. He was surrounded by the most notable Phœnician merchants, and that same throng of people who stood before his house daily.
Rameses greeted with a certain astonishment the old man out of whose eyes wisdom was gazing and in whose whole bearing there was dignity. He bowed gravely before the viceroy, and raising his hands above his head, pronounced a short blessing. Those present were deeply affected.
When the viceroy indicated an armchair and commanded his courtiers to withdraw, Hiram said,—
“Yesterday thy servant Dagon informed me that the prince needs a hundred talents. I sent out my couriers at once to Sabne-Chetam, Sethroe, Pi-Uto, and other cities where there are Phœnician ships, asking them to land all their goods. I think that in a day or two thou wilt receive this small sum—”
“Small!” interrupted Rameses, with a smile. “Thou art happy if thou call a hundred talents a small sum.”
Hiram nodded.
“Thy grandfather, worthiness,” said he, after a while, “the eternally living Rameses-sa-Ptah, honored me with his friendship; I know also his holiness, thy father—may he live through eternity!—and I will even try to lay before him my homage, if I be permitted.”
“Whence could a doubt arise?” interrupted the prince.
“There are persons,” replied the guest, “who admit some to the face of the pharaoh and refuse others—but never mind them. Thou art not to blame for this; hence I venture to lay before thee one question, as an old friend of thy father and his father.”
“I am listening.”
“What means it,” asked Hiram, slowly, “that the heir to the throne and a viceroy must borrow a hundred talents when more than a hundred thousand are due Egypt?”
“Whence?” cried Rameses.
“From the tribute of Asiatic peoples. Phœnicia owes five thousand; well, Phœnicia will pay, I guarantee that, unless some events happen. But, besides, Israel owes three thousand, the Philistines and the Moabites each two thousand, the Hittites thirty thousand. Finally, I do not remember details, but I know that the total reaches a hundred and three or a hundred and five thousand talents.”
Rameses gnawed his lips, but on his vivacious countenancehelpless anger was evident. He dropped his eyes and was silent.
“It is true,” said Hiram, on a sudden, and looking sharply at the viceroy. “Poor Phœnicia—but also Egypt.”
“What dost thou say?” asked the prince, frowning. “I understand not thy questions.”
“Prince, thou knowest what it is of which I speak, since thou dost not answer my question,” replied Hiram; and he rose as if to withdraw. “Still, I withdraw not my promise. Thou wilt receive a hundred talents.”
He made a low bow, but the viceroy forced him to sit down again.
“Thou art hiding something,” said Rameses, in a voice in which offence was evident. “I would hear thee explain what danger threatens Egypt or Phœnicia.”
“Hast thou not heard?” asked Hiram, with hesitation.
“I know nothing. I have passed more than a month in the temple.”
“That is just the place in which to learn everything.”
“Tell me, worthiness,” said the viceroy, striking the table with his fist. “I am not pleased when men are amused at my expense.”
“Give a great promise not to betray me to any one and I will tell, though I cannot believe that they have not informed the heir of this.”
“Dost thou not trust me?” asked the astonished prince.
“In this affair I should require a promise from the pharaoh himself,” answered Hiram, with decision.
“If I swear on my sword, and the standards of my troops, that I will tell no man—”
“Enough,” said Hiram.
“I am listening.”
“Does the prince know what is happening at this moment in Phœnicia?”
“I know nothing of that, even,” interrupted the irritated viceroy.
“Our ships,” whispered Hiram, “are coming home from all parts of the earth to convey at the first signal our people and treasures to some place—beyond the sea—to the west.”
“Why?” asked the astounded viceroy.
“Because Assyria is to take us under her dominion.”
“Thou hast gone mad, worthy man!” exclaimed Rameses. “Assyria to take Phœnicia! But we?—Egypt—what would we say to that?”
“Egypt has consented already.”
Blood rushed to the prince’s head.
“The heat has disturbed thy mind, aged man,” said he, in a calm voice. “Thou hast forgotten, even, that such an affair could not take place without the pharaoh’s permission and mine.”
“That will follow. Meanwhile the priests have concluded a treaty.”
“With whom? What priests?”
“With Beroes, the high priest of Chaldea, at commission of King Assar,” said Hiram. “And who from your side? I will not state to a certainty. But it seems to me that his worthiness Herhor, his worthiness Mefres, and the holy prophet Pentuer.”
The prince became pale.
“Consider, Phœnician,” said he, “that thou art accusing of treason the highest dignitaries of Egypt.”
“Thou art mistaken, prince, this is no treason: the high priest of Egypt and the minister of his holiness have the right to make treaties with neighboring states. Besides, how dost thou know, worthiness, that all this is not done with consent of the pharaoh?”
Rameses was obliged to confess in his soul that such a treaty would not be treason, but disregard toward him, the erpatr.
So then the priests treated him in this way,—him who might be the pharaoh a year hence? That is why Pentuer criticised war, and Mefres supported him.
“When could that have happened, and where?” asked the prince.
“Very likely they concluded the treaty at night in the temple of Set at Memphis,” answered Hiram. “And when?—I know not exactly, but it seems to me that it took place when thou wert setting out from Memphis.”
“The wretches!” thought the viceroy. “That is how they respect my position! Some kind god made me doubt in the temple of Hator.”
After a time of internal conflict he added,—
“Impossible! I shall not believe till proof be given.”
“Proof there will be,” replied Hiram. “One of these days a great lord will come to Pi-Bast from Assyria, Sargon, the friend of King Assar. He will come under pretext of a pilgrimage to the temple of Astaroth, he will bring gifts to thee and to his holiness; then he will make a treaty. Ye will in fact put seals to that which the priests have determined to the ruin of Phœnicia, and perhaps to your own great misfortune.”
“Never! What return could Assyria give Egypt?”
“That speech is worthy of a pharaoh. What return would Egypt get? Every treaty is good for a state if only something be gained through it. I am astonished specially by this,” continued Hiram, “that Egypt should conclude a bad transaction: besides Phœnicia, Assyria will take almost all Asia, and to you will be left, in the form of a favor, the Israelites, the Philistines, and the peninsula of Sinai. In that case the tributes belonging to Egypt will be lost, and the pharaoh will never receive those hundred and five thousand talents.”
The viceroy shook his head.
“Thou dost not know Egyptian priests,” said he; “not one of them would accept such a treaty.”
“Why not? The Phœnician proverb says: ‘Better barley in the granary than gold in the desert.’ Should Egypt feel very weak she might prefer Sinai and Palestine to a war with Assyria. But this is what sets me to thinking: Not Egypt, but Assyria, is easy to conquer. Assyria has a quarrel on the northwest; Assyria has few troops, and those of poor quality. Were Egypt to attack she would destroy Assyria, seize immense treasures in Babylon and Nineveh, and establish her authority in Asia at once and securely—”
“Such a treaty cannot exist, as thou seest,” interrupted Rameses.
“In one case alone could I understand such a treaty,” continued Hiram. “If ’tis the plan of the priests to set aside kingly power in Egypt; and toward this, O prince, they have been striving since the days of thy grandfather.”
“Thou art speaking aside from the question,” said Rameses, but he felt alarm in his heart.
“Perhaps I am mistaken,” answered Hiram, looking into his eyes quickly. “But hear me out, worthiness.”
He moved up his armchair to the prince, and said in a lowered voice,—
“If the pharaoh should make war on Assyria, he would have a great army attached to his person; a hundred thousand talents of tribute in arrears, about two hundred thousand talents from Nineveh and Babylon, finally about a hundred thousand talents yearly from conquered countries. Such immense wealth would enable him to redeem the property mortgaged to the priests, and put an end at once and forever to their meddling.”
The prince’s eyes glittered, and Hiram continued,—
“To-day the army depends on Herhor, and therefore on the priests; remove the foreign regiments, and the pharaoh, in case of war, could not depend on his warriors.
“Besides, the royal treasury is empty, and the greater part of the pharaoh’s property belongs to the temples. He must contract new debts yearly even to maintain his household; and since there will be no Phœnicians among you, ye must borrow of the temples. In this way, when ten years have passed, his holiness—may he live through eternity!—will lose what is left of his property, and then what?”
On the forehead of Rameses perspiration came out in drops.
“Thou seest then, worthy lord,” continued Hiram, “the priests might and even would be forced in one case to accept the most disgraceful treaty with Assyria: if they are working to lower and destroy the power of the pharaoh—well, there may be another case: if Egypt were so weak as to need peace at any price—”
The prince sprang up.
“Silence!” cried he. “I should prefer treason on the part of my most faithful servants, to such weakness in the country. Egypt yield to Assyria—why, a year later Egypt herself would fall under the yoke of Assyria, for by subscribing to such infamy she would confess her own helplessness.”
He walked up and down the room, with indignation, while Hiram looked at him with compassion or with sympathy.
All at once Rameses halted before the Phœnician,—
“This is false! Some adroit villain has deceived thee, O Hiram, with the semblance of truth, and thou hast believed him. If such a treaty existed, they would have kept it in the closest secrecy. In the present case one of the four priests whom thou hast mentioned is a traitor, not only to his own sovereign, but to his co-conspirators—”
“There might have been some fifth man who overheard them,” interrupted Hiram.
“And who sold the secret to thee?”
“It is a wonder to me,” said Hiram, “that the prince has not discovered the power of gold.”
“But stop, worthiness, our priests have more gold than thou, though thou art wealthy beyond the wealthy!”
“Still I am not angry when a drachma comes to me. Why should others refuse a talent?”
“They would because they are servants of the gods,” said the prince, passionately; “they would fear divine punishment.”
The Phœnician laughed.
“I have seen,” said he, “many temples of various nations, and in those temples great and small statues, of wood, stone, and gold even. But gods I have never met.”
“Blasphemer!” exclaimed Rameses. “I have seen a divinity, I have felt its hand on my person, I have heard its voice.”
“In what place?”
“In the temple of Hator, in its hall of entrance, and in my cell.”
“In the daytime?”
“In the night,” replied the prince; and he stopped.
“At night the prince heard speeches of the gods, and felt their hands,” replied the Phœnician, emphasizing word after word. “At night it is possible to see many things. What happened?”
“In the temple I was seized by the head, by the shoulders, by the legs; and I swear—”
“Phst!” interrupted Hiram, with a smile. “It is not proper to swear in vain.”
He looked fixedly at Rameses with his quick and wise eyes, and seeing that doubt was rising in the young man, he continued,—
“I will tell thee something, lord. Thou art inexperienced, though surrounded by a net of intrigues, but I have been the friend of thy grandfather and thy father. Now I will render thee a service: Come in the night to the temple of Astaroth, but bind thyself to keep the secret. Come alone, and thou wilt be convinced as to who the gods are who speak in the temples and touch us.”
“I will come,” said Rameses, after some meditation.
“Forewarn me, prince, on the morning of the day, and I will give thee the evening password; thou wilt be admitted. Only betray neither me nor thyself,” said the Phœnician, with a kindly smile. “Men never pardon betrayal of their secrets, though gods pardon sometimes.” He bowed, raised his eyes and hands, while he whispered a blessing.
“Deceivers!” cried the prince. “Thou prayest to gods, and dost not believe in them.”
Hiram finished the blessing, and said,—
“It is true that I have no belief in Egyptian or Assyrian, or even in Phœnician gods, but I believe in One who dwells not in temples and whose name is unknown to us.”
“Our priests believe also in One,” said Rameses.
“So do the Chaldeans, but they and your priests have conspired against us. There is no truth in this world, prince.”
After Hiram’s departure the heir shut himself up in the most remote chamber under pretext of reading sacred papyruses.
Almost in the twinkle of an eye the information received recently arranged itself in the fiery imagination of Rameses, and he formed a plan. First of all, he understood that a secret battle for life and death was raging between the priests and the Phœnicians. About what? Naturally about wealth and influence. Hiram said truly, that should the Phœnicians be expelled from Egypt, all the estates of the pharaoh, and even of the nomarchs and the entire aristocracy, would pass into possession of the temples.
Rameses had never liked the priests, and he had known and seen for a long time that the greater part of Egypt belonged to them, that their cities were the richest, their fields the best tilled, their people satisfied. He understood too that one-half the treasures which belonged to the temples would suffice torescue the pharaoh from ceaseless troubles and give back power to him.
The prince knew this, and more than once he had said so with bitterness. But when through the influence of Herhor he became viceroy and received the corps in Memphis, he grew reconciled with the priests and stifled his previous dislike of them.
All that dislike had revived again.
Not only had the priests not told him of their negotiations with Assyria, they had not even forewarned him of the embassy of Sargon. This question might indeed be the great secret of the state and the temples. But why did they conceal the amount of tributes from various Asiatic nations, unpaid thus far? One hundred thousand talents—why, that was a sum which might restore immediately the financial status of the pharaoh! Why had they concealed from him that which even a prince of Tyre knew, a man who was of the council in that city?
What a shame for him, the heir to the throne, and the viceroy, that his eyes were first opened by foreigners! But there was something worse still: Pentuer and Mefres had proved to him in every way that Egypt must avoid war. In the temple of Hator that emphasis had seemed to him suspicious, since a war might obtain for the state thousands of legions of slaves, and raise the general prosperity of the country. To-day this seemed the more necessary since Egypt ought to receive unpaid sums and gain still more tribute.
The prince rested his arms on the table and calculated,—
“We,” thought he, “should receive a hundred thousand talents. Hiram calculates that the plunder of Nineveh and Babylon would give about two hundred thousand; together, three hundred thousand. With such a sum we might cover the cost of the mightiest war, and there would remain besides several hundred thousand as profit, and captives and a hundred thousand yearly tribute from newly conquered regions. After that,” concluded the prince, “we could reckon with the priesthood!”
Rameses was excited. Still reflection came to him,—
“But if Egypt was unable to wage a victorious war against Assyria?” His blood boiled at this question. “How Egypt?Why should Egypt not trample Assyria, when he appeared at the head of its armies, he a descendant of Rameses the Great, who had hurled himself single-handed on the Hittite war-chariots and scattered them.”
The prince could understand everything save this, that man might conquer him and that he could not snatch victory from the greatest enemy. He felt in himself endless daring, and he would have been astounded if any enemy whatever had not fled at sight of his steeds in full onrush. Did not the gods themselves stand on the war-chariot of the pharaoh to defend his shield and smite with heavenly bolts his enemies?
“But what did this Hiram say to me about gods?” thought the prince. “And what will he show me in the temple of Astaroth? We shall see.”
THE old man kept his promise. Every day to the prince’s palace in Pi-Bast came crowds of slaves and long rows of asses bearing wheat, barley, dried meat, woven stuffs, and wine. Phœnician merchants brought gold and precious stones under inspection of Hiram’s assistants.
In this manner the heir received in the course of five days the hundred talents promised. Hiram accounted a lower per cent to himself,—one talent for four, in a year. He asked no pledge, but was satisfied with the receipt of the prince, certified before a tribunal.
The needs of the court were satisfied bountifully. Three favorites of the viceroy received new robes, a number of special perfumes, and female slaves of various colors. The servants had abundance of food and wine, the pharaoh’s laborers received arrears of pay, unusual rations were issued to the army.
The court was delighted, the more since Tutmosis and other noble youths, at the command of Hiram, received rather large loans, while the nomarch of Habu and his higher officials received costly presents.
So feast followed feast and amusement amusement, thoughthe heat increased always. Seeing this general delight, the viceroy was satisfied. He was troubled, however, by the bearing of Mefres and other priests. Rameses thought that those dignitaries would reproach him for having become so indebted to Hiram in spite of those lessons which he had received in the temple. Meanwhile the holy fathers were silent and did not even show themselves.
“What does this mean?” asked the prince one day of Tutmosis; “the priests do not reproach us? We have never indulged in such excesses before. Music is sounding from morning till evening; we drink, beginning with sunrise, and we fall asleep with women in our arms or pitchers at our heads.”
“Why should they reproach us?” answered the indignant Tutmosis. “Are we not sojourning in the city of Astarte,[16]for whom amusement is the most pleasing service, and love the most coveted sacrifice? Moreover the priests understand that after such privations and fasts rest is due thee.”