Rameses felt pain in his heart. For the first time it had happened that a woman had preferred another man to him; besides, a man who was almost old, and, moreover, an Assyrian.
Meanwhile a murmur rose in the audience. On the arena a man armed with a sword gave command to tie his left hand to his breast; others looked at their darts—a second bull was let in. When an armed man tore the cloth from his eyes, the bull turned and looked around as if to count his opponents. But when they began to prick him, he withdrew to the paling to secure the rear; then he lowered his head and followed the movements of those attacking.
At first the armed men stole up guardedly from both sides to prick him. But when the beast remained motionless, they gained courage, and began to run across in front, nearer and nearer.
The bull inclined his head still more, but stood as if fixed to the earth. The audience laughed; but their joyousness was turned to a cry of fear suddenly. The bull chose the moment, rushed forward, struck some man who held a dart, and with one motion of his horns hurled him upward.
The man struck the earth with broken bones; the bull galloped to the other side of the arena and stood in a defensive position.
The men with darts surrounded the bull again, and began to irritate the animal; but now servants of the amphitheatre rushed to the arena to carry off the wounded man, who was groaning. The bull, in spite of the redoubled pricks of darts, stood motionless; but when three servants had taken the wounded man in their arms, he rushed at that group with the swiftness of a whirlwind, overturned it, and began to dig the ground with his forefeet tremendously.
There was confusion in the audience: women screamed, men imprecated, and hurled at the bull whatever each one found nearest. Sticks, knives, even bench tops fell on the arena. Then a man with a sword rushed at the raging bull. But the dart men lost their heads and left him unsupported; hence the bull tossed him and pursued the others. A thing unparalleled in amphitheatres took place then: five men were lying on the arena; others, defending themselves badly, were fleeing before the beast, while the audience was roaring from fear or from anger.
Next there was perfect silence; the spectators rose and bentforward out of their places, the terrified Hiram grew pale and crossed his hands. Down to the arena, from the boxes of dignitaries, sprang two men,—Prince Rameses, with a drawn sword, and Sargon, with a short-handled axe.
The bull, with head down and tail in the air, was racing around the arena, leaving clouds of dust behind him. The beast rushed straight toward the prince, but, as if repulsed by the majesty of the youth, avoided him, made directly at Sargon, and dropped to the earth. The Assyrian, adroit and immensely strong, stretched him with one blow of his axe, given between the eyes.
The audience howled with delight, and threw flowers at Sargon and his victim. Rameses stood still with drawn sword, astonished and angry, seeing how Kama snatched flowers from her neighbors and threw them to the Assyrian.
Sargon received expressions of public delight with indifference. He pushed the bull with his foot to be sure that the beast was lifeless; and then, going a couple of steps toward the prince, said something in his own speech, and bowed with the dignity of a magnate.
A bloody mist passed before the prince’s eyes; he would have buried his sword in the victor’s breast gladly. But he conquered himself, thought a moment, and taking a gold chain from his neck gave it to Sargon.
The Assyrian bowed again, kissed the chain, and put it around his neck. But the prince, with a bluish flush on his cheeks, returned to the door by which actors entered the arena, and amid plaudits of the audience left the amphitheatre with a feeling of deep humiliation.
IT was the month Thoth. In the city of Pi-Bast and its environs the concourse of people had begun, because of heat, to diminish. But the court of Rameses amused itself always, and people talked of what had happened in the amphitheatre.
Courtiers praised the courage of the prince, maladroit menwondered at the strength of Sargon, the priests whispered with important mien that in every case the heir to the throne should not involve himself in bull-fights: for that there were men who were hired, or who, at least, did not possess public veneration.
Either Rameses did not hear these various opinions, or did not consider them. As to the spectacle, two episodes were fixed in his memory: victory over the bull had been snatched from him by the Assyrian, who had also paid court to Kama, and she had received his attentions most willingly.
Since he might not bring the Phœnician priestess to his palace, he sent one day a letter to her in which he declared that he wished to see her, and inquired when she would receive him. Through the same messenger Kama replied that she would wait for him that evening.
Barely had the stars shown themselves, when the prince (with the greatest secrecy, as he thought) slipped out of the palace, and went to the villa. The garden of the temple of Astaroth was almost empty, especially near the house of the priestess. The building was silent, and inside only two tapers were burning.
When the prince knocked timidly, the priestess herself drew the door open. In the dark antechamber she kissed his hand, whispering that she would have died had the raging bull injured him in the arena.
“But now thou must be at rest, since thy lover saved me,” said the prince.
When they entered the lighted chamber, Rameses saw that Kama was weeping.
“What does this mean?” inquired he.
“The heart of my lord has turned from me,” said she; “but perhaps justly.”
The heir laughed bitterly in answer.
“Then, sacred virgin, thou art already his mistress, or about to be?”
“Mistress? Never! But I may become the wife of that dreadful Assyrian.”
Rameses sprang from his seat.
“Am I dreaming,” cried he, “or has Set cast his curse onme? Thou, a priestess, guarding the fire before the altar of Astaroth,—thou, who under the threat of death must be a virgin, art thou going to marry? In truth, Phœnician deceit is worse than people’s account of it.”
“Hear me, lord,” said Kama, wiping her tears away, “and condemn if I deserve it. Sargon wishes to take me as his first wife. According to our laws a priestess may, in very exceptional cases, become a wife, but only if the man is of kingly origin. Sargon is a relative of King Assar.”
“And wilt thou marry him?”
“If the supreme council of Tyrian priests command me, what can I do?” replied she, bursting into tears again.
“And what is Sargon to that council?” asked the prince.
“Very much, perhaps,” said Kama, with a sigh. “The Assyrians will take Phœnicia in all likelihood, and Sargon will be its satrap.”
“Art thou demented?” exclaimed the prince.
“I say what I know. In our temple we have begun prayers the second time to avert misfortune from Phœnicia. We had our first prayers before thou didst come to us.”
“Why do ye pray now?”
“Because the Chaldean priest Istubar has just come to Egypt with letters, in which King Assar appoints Sargon his ambassador to conclude a treaty with you about the taking of Phœnicia—”
“But I—” interrupted the prince.
He wished to say, “know nothing,” but he restrained himself, laughed, and answered,—
“Kama, I swear to thee, on the honor of my father, that while I live Assyria will not take Phœnicia. Is that enough?”
“Oh, lord, lord!” cried she, falling at his feet.
“Then thou wilt not become the wife of that rude fellow?”
“Oh,” shuddered she, “canst thou ask such a question?”
“And thou wilt be mine,” whispered the prince.
“Dost thou wish my death?” asked she, terrified. “Well, if thou wish it, I am ready.”
“I wish thee to live,” whispered he, impassioned,—“to live, belonging to me.”
“That cannot be.”
“But the supreme council of Tyrian priests?”
“They can permit nothing but marriage.”
“But thou wilt enter my house.”
“If I enter it not as thy wife, I shall die. But I am ready even not to see to-morrow’s sun.”
“Be at rest,” replied the prince, seriously. “Whoso has my favor will not experience injustice.”
Kama knelt before him a second time.
“How can that be?” asked she, clasping her hands.
Rameses was so roused that he had forgotten his position and his duties; he was ready to promise the priestess even marriage. He was restrained from that step, not by judgment, but by some dumb instinct.
“How can this be? How can this be?” whispered Kama, devouring him with her glances and kissing his feet.
The prince raised her, seated her at a distance from him, and said with a smile,—
“Thou askest how this can be—I will explain immediately. My last teacher, before I reached maturity, was a certain old priest, who knew a multitude of marvellous histories from the lives of gods, kings, priests, even lower officials and laborers.
“This old man, famed for devotion and miracles, did not like women, I know not why; he even dreaded them. Very frequently he described the perversity of women, and once, to show how great the power is which ye wield over men, he told me the following history:—
“A certain scribe, young and indigent, who had not an uten in his purse, who had nothing save a barley cake, travelled down from Thebes to Lower Egypt while seeking for employment. Men said that in the north dwelt the richest lords and merchants, and that in case of luck he would find a place in which he might acquire extensive property.
“He walked along the Nile, for he had no coin with which to hire a boat, and he pondered,—
“‘How improvident are men inheriting a talent or two, or even ten talents! Instead of adding to their wealth by traffic, or by lending at high interest,’ thought he, ‘these men waste what they have, to no purpose. Had I a drachma,—well, one drachma is too little,—but had I one talent, or, better, aplot of land, I would increase it yearly, and toward the end of life I should be as wealthy as the wealthiest nomarch.
“‘But how begin!’ said he, sighing. ‘Only fools are favored by the gods; and I am filled with wisdom from my wig to my two naked heels. If in my heart a grain of dulness lurks, it is perhaps my inability to squander, and I should not even know how to set about a work so godless in its object.’
“As the needy scribe was thus musing, he passed a mud hut at which sat some man, neither old nor young, with a very keen glance, which reached to the depth of whatever heart came before him. The scribe, as wise as a stork, thought at once that this must be some divinity; so he bowed down and said to him,—
“‘I greet thee, worthy master of this splendid mansion. I grieve that I have neither meat nor wine, so as to divide them between us, in sign that I respect thee, and that whatever I own is thy property.’
“This kindness of the scribe was pleasing to Amon, for he it was, in human aspect. He looked at the scribe, and inquired of him,—
“‘Of what wert thou thinking while passing along here? for I see wisdom on thy forehead, and I am of those who seize words of truth as partridges pick up wheat kernels.’
“The scribe sighed.
“‘I was thinking,’ said he, ‘of my misery, and of those frivolous rich men who spend their wealth without knowing why or in what manner.’
“‘And wouldst thou not waste wealth?’ inquired the god, retaining human semblance.
“‘Look at me, lord,’ said the scribe. ‘I have a tattered rag around my hips, and on the road I have lost my sandals; but my papyrus and reed I bear with me at all times, as I do the heart in my body. Both while rising in the morning and lying down at night, I repeat that wise poverty is far better than foolish riches. If I know how to express myself in two kinds of writing and to solve the most complicated problems, if I know all plants and every beast beneath the sky, thou mayst judge whether I, the master of such lore, am capable of wasting property.’
“The god pondered awhile, and continued,—
“‘Thy speech flows as vigorously as the Nile at Memphis; but if thou art so wise, indeed, write for me the name of Amon in two manners.’
“The scribe took his reed and brush, and in no long time he wrote the name Amon in two manners on the door of the hut, and so clearly that even dumb creatures would have stopped to give Lord Amon homage.
“The god was satisfied, and answered,—
“‘If thou art as skilled in reckoning as in writing, reckon for me the following problem: If they give me four hen eggs for one partridge, how many hen eggs should they give me for seven partridges?’
“The scribe gathered pebbles, placed them in various rows, and before the sun had set, he answered that they should give twenty-eight eggs for seven partridges.
“The almighty Amon smiled when he saw before him a sage of such uncommon proportions, and answered,—
“‘I recognize that thou hast spoken truth concerning thy wisdom. If thou shalt appear equally enduring in virtue I will so arrange that thou shalt be happy to the end of life, and after death thy sons shall place thy shade in a beautiful tomb. But now tell me: what wealth dost thou wish,—wealth which thou wouldst not merely refrain from wasting, but wouldst increase?’
“The scribe fell to the feet of the generous deity, and answered,—
“‘If I had even this hut and three measures of land, I should be wealthy.’
“‘Well,’ said the god, ‘but first look around and see if it would suffice thee.’
“He led him into the hut, and said,—
“‘Thou hast four caps and skirts, two mantles for bad weather, and two pairs of sandals. Here is a fire, here a bench on which thou mayst sleep, a mortar for crushing wheat, and a pan for dough.’
“‘But what is this?’ asked the scribe, pointing to a certain figure covered with linen.
“‘That is one thing which thou must not touch; if thou do, thou wilt lose all thy property.’
“‘Ai!’ cried the scribe. ‘That may remain a thousand years there; I will not trouble it. With permission of thy honor, what estate is that over there?’ and he bent through the hut window.
“‘Thou hast spoken wisely,’ said Amon, ‘for that is an estate, and even a fine one. It is composed of fifty measures of land. There is a spacious house on it, some tens of cattle, and ten slaves belong to the establishment. If thou prefer that estate—’
“The scribe fell at the feet of the deity.
“‘Is there,’ inquired he, ‘a man under the sun who instead of a barley cake would not prefer a loaf of wheaten bread?’
“When he heard this, Amon repeated a formula, and that moment both were in the mansion.
“‘Here thou hast,’ said the god, ‘a carved bed, five tables, and ten armchairs; thou hast embroidered clothing, thou hast pitchers, and glass bottles for wine, a lamp for olive oil, and a litter.’
“‘And what is this?’ asked the scribe, pointing to a figure robed in muslin and standing in a corner.
“‘Thou must not touch that or thou wilt lose all thy property.’
“‘Were I to live ten thousand years I would not touch it. For, after wisdom, I consider wealth the highest blessing.’
“‘But what do I see?’ inquired he after a while, pointing to an immense palace in a garden.
“‘Over there is a princely estate,’ replied the god. ‘That is a palace, five hundred measures of land, one hundred slaves, and two hundred head of cattle. That is a grand property; but if thou think thy wisdom sufficient to manage it—’
“The scribe fell again at the feet of Amon, and covered himself with tears of delight.
“‘O lord,’ said he, ‘is there on earth a mad man who instead of a goblet of beer would not take a cask of wine?’
“‘Thy words are worthy of the sage who can make the most difficult reckonings,’ said Amon.
“He pronounced the mighty words of the formula; the god and the scribe found themselves in the palace.
“‘Here thou hast,’ said the kind god, ‘a dining-hall; in itgold and gilded curtains, and armchairs, also tables inlaid with woods of various colors. In the lower story is a kitchen for five cooks; a storehouse where thou wilt find all kinds of meat, fish, bread; finally, a cellar with perfect wines in it. Thou hast a bedchamber with a movable roof, with which thy slaves will cool thee while thou art sleeping. I turn attention to the bed, which is made of cedar wood, and rests on four lion legs cast from bronze skilfully. Thou hast a wardrobe filled with linen and woollen garments; in caskets thou wilt find rings, chains, and bracelets.’
“‘But what is this?’ asked the scribe, pointing to a figure covered with a veil embroidered in gold and purple.
“‘Thou must guard thyself from this most carefully,’ warned the god. ‘If thou touch this, thy immense estate will vanish. And there are few such estates in Egypt, I assure thee. Moreover, I must say that in the treasury here there are ten talents in gold and precious stones in addition.’
“‘My sovereign,’ cried the scribe, ‘permit that the first place in this palace be held by thy sacred statue, before which I will burn incense three times daily.’
“‘But avoid that,’ replied Amon, pointing to the veiled figure.
“‘Should I lose my wisdom, and be worse than a wild boar, for which wine is no better than swill,’ said the scribe; ‘let that veiled figure do penance here for a hundred millenniums, I will not touch it.’
“‘Remember that if thou do thou wilt lose all thou hast,’ cried the god; and he vanished.
“The scribe, now made happy, walked up and down through his palace and looked out through the windows. He examined the treasury and tried the gold in his hands; it was heavy. He looked at the precious stones; they were genuine. He commanded to serve him with food; in rushed slaves immediately, bathed him, shaved him, arrayed him in fine garments. He ate and drank as he never had drunk and eaten; his hunger joined with the perfection of the food gave a marvellous taste to it. He burnt incense before the statue of Amon, and wreathed it with fresh flowers. Later he sat down at a window.
“In the courtyard a pair of horses were neighing; they were harnessed to a carved chariot. In another place a crowd of men with darts and nets were keeping down eager dogs which were tearing away to chase animals. Before a granary one scribe was receiving grain from earth-tillers; before the stable another scribe was receiving reckoning from the overseer of the shepherds.
“In the distance were visible an olive grove, high hills covered with grape-vines, wheat-fields, and on every field were date palms set out thickly.
“‘In truth,’ said he to himself, ‘I am rich to-day, just as was proper; and I only wonder how I endured life so long in abasement and misery. I must confess, too, that I do not know whether I can increase this immense property, for I need no more now, and I shall not have time to run after investments.’
“But after a while it was tedious in the house for him; so he looked at the garden, went around the fields, talked with the servants, who fell on their faces in his presence, though they were dressed in such style that yesterday he would have thought it an honor to kiss the hands of any one of them; but he was bored in the field even, so he went back to the house, and examined the supplies in his storehouses and cellars, also the furniture in the chambers.
“‘They are beautiful,’ said he to himself; ‘but it would be better if the furniture were made of gold, and the pitchers of jewels.’
“His eyes turned mechanically toward the corner where the figure was concealed under an embroidered veil—and it sighed.
“‘Sigh!’ said he, taking a censer to burn incense before the statue of Amon.
“‘He is a kind god,’ thought he, ‘who values the qualities of sages, even when barefoot, and deals out to them justice. What a beautiful estate he has given me! It is true that I showed him honor by writingAmonon the door of that hut in two manners. And how beautifully I reckoned how many hen eggs he would get for seven partridges. My teachers were right when they said that wisdom opens the lips of gods even.’
“He turned again toward the corner. The veiled figure sighed again.
“‘I am curious to know,’ thought the scribe, ‘why my friend Amon forbade me to touch that thing over there in the corner. Well, for such a property he had a right to impose conditions; though I should not have imposed them on him. For if all this palace is my property, if I may use all that is here, why should I not even touch this thing— I may not touch it, but I may look at it.’
“He approached the figure, drew the veil aside carefully, looked; it was indeed beautiful. It resembled a boy, but was not a boy. It had hair reaching to its knees, delicate features, and a look full of sweetness.
“‘Who art thou?’ asked the scribe of the figure.
“‘I am a woman,’ answered the figure, with a voice that penetrated his heart like a Phœnician dagger.
“‘Woman?’ thought the scribe. ‘They did not tell me about woman in the priests’ school. Woman?’ repeated he. ‘But what hast thou here?’
“‘Those are my eyes.’
“‘Eyes? What canst thou see with eyes which would melt before any light?’
“‘Those are not eyes made for me to look from, but thou must look into them.’
“‘Wonderful eyes!’ thought the scribe to himself; and he walked through the chamber.
“Again he stood before the figure, and asked,—
“‘But what hast thou here?’
“‘Those are my lips.’
“‘By the gods, thou wilt die of hunger,’ cried he, ‘for with such little lips thou couldst take in no food whatever.’
“‘They are not for eating,’ answered the figure, ‘but thou art to kiss them.’
“‘To kiss,’ repeated the scribe. ‘They did not tell me in the priests’ school of kissing. But these—what are they?’
“‘Those are my hands.’
“‘Hands? It is well that thou hast told me, for with those hands thou couldst not do anything; thou couldst not milk sheep even.’
“‘My hands are not for work.’
“‘But for what?’ wondered the scribe, spreading apart her fingers (as I do thine, Kama,” said the prince, fondling the small hands of the priestess). “‘But what are those arms for?’ inquired the scribe of the figure.
“‘To put around thy neck.’
“‘Thou wishest to say shoulder,’ cried the frightened scribe, whom the priest always seized by the shoulder when he was to get stripes.
“‘Not by the shoulder,’ said the figure, ‘but this way;’ and she put her arms around his neck thus,” said the prince (here he put his arms around the priestess), “and she nestled up to his breast thus” (here he nestled up to Kama).
“Lord, what art thou doing?” whispered Kama. “But this is my death.”
“Have no fear,” replied the prince; “I was only showing thee what the statue did to that scribe in his palace. The moment she embraced him the earth trembled, the palace disappeared, dogs, horses, slaves vanished. The hill covered with grape-vines turned into a cliff, the olive-trees into thorns, the wheat into sand. The scribe, when he recovered in the embrace of his love, understood that he was as poor as he had been on the highroad a day earlier. But he did not regret his wealth, since he had a woman who loved and who clung to him.”
“So everything vanished but the woman!” exclaimed Kama, naïvely.
“The compassionate Amon left her to the scribe to console him,” said the viceroy.
“Then Amon is compassionate only to scribes,” answered Kama. “But what does that story signify?”
“Guess. But thou hast just heard what the poor scribe yielded up for the kiss of a woman—”
“But he would not yield up a throne,” interrupted the priestess.
“Who knows? if he were implored greatly to do so,” whispered Rameses, with passion.
“Oh, no!” cried Kama, tearing away from him; “let not the throne go so easily, for what would become then of thy promise to Phœnicia?”
They looked into each other’s eyes for a long time. The prince felt a wound in his heart, and felt as if through that wound some feeling had gone from him. It was not passion, for passion remained; but it was esteem for Kama, and faith in her.
“Wonderful are these Phœnicians,” thought the heir; “one may go wild for them, but ’tis not possible to trust them.”
He felt wearied, and took farewell of the priestess. He looked around the chamber as though it were difficult to leave the place; and while going, he said to himself,—
“And still thou wilt be mine, and Phœnician gods will not kill thee, if they regard their own priests and temples.”
Barely had Rameses left Kama’s villa, when into the chamber of the priestess rushed a young Greek who was strikingly beautiful, and strikingly similar to Rameses. Rage was depicted on his face.
“Lykon!” cried the terrified Kama. “What art thou doing here?”
“Vile reptile!” replied the Greek, in his resonant voice. “A month has not passed since thy oath, declaring thy love, and that thou wouldst flee to Greece with me, and now thou art falling on the neck of another. Are the gods dead? Has justice deserted them?”
“Thou art mad with thy jealousy,” interrupted the priestess; “thou wilt kill me.”
“It is sure that I, and not thy stone goddess, will kill thee. With these two hands,” cried he, stretching out his fingers, like talons, “I will choke thee if thou hast become the mistress—”
“Of whom?”
“Do I know? Of course, of both,—of that old Assyrian and this princeling, whose head I will split with a stone should he prowl about this place any longer. The prince! he has all the women of Egypt, and still he wants foreign priestesses. The priestesses are for priests, not for foreigners.”
Kama recovered her coolness.
“But for us art thou not a foreigner?” asked she, haughtily.
“Reptile!” burst out the Greek, a second time. “I cannot be a foreigner for you Asiatics, since that gift of voice withwhich the gods have endowed me is turned to the use of your divinities. But how often, by means of my figure, have ye deceived dull Asiatics by telling them that the heir to the throne of Egypt belongs to your faith in secret?”
“Silence! silence!” hissed the priestess, closing his mouth with her hand.
There must have been something enchanting in her touch, for the Greek grew calm, and spoke lower.
“Hear me, Kama. Soon to the bay of Sebenico will come a Greek ship, commanded by my brother. Make the high priest send thee to Pi-Uto; we shall flee thence to northern Greece, to a place which has never yet seen a Phœnician—”
“It will see them if I hide there,” interrupted the priestess.
“Should a hair fall from thy head,” whispered the raging Greek, “I swear that Dagon, that all the Phœnicians here will lose their heads, or die in the stone quarries. They will learn what a Greek can do.”
“But I say to thee,” answered Kama, in the same tone, “that until I collect twenty talents I will not leave here. I have now only eight.”
“Where wilt thou get the other twelve?”
“Sargon and the viceroy will give them.”
“I will let Sargon give, but not the prince.”
“Foolish Lykon, dost thou not know why that stripling pleases me a little? He reminds me of thee—”
The Greek was perfectly quieted.
“Well, well,” muttered he, “I understand that when a woman has the choice between the heir to the throne and a man with my voice I have no need to tremble. But I am jealous and violent, so I beg thee to let him approach thee as little as possible.”
He kissed her, slipped out of the villa, and vanished in the dark garden.
Kama stretched her clinched fist after him.
“Worthless buffoon!” whispered she; “thou who art hardly fit to be a singing slave in my mansion.”
WHEN Rameses on the following morning visited his son, he found Sarah weeping. He asked what the cause was. She answered at first that nothing troubled her; then she said that she was sad. At last she fell at his feet and cried bitterly.
“My lord,” whispered she, “I know that thou hast ceased to love me, but at least avoid danger.”
“Who said that I have ceased to love thee?” asked Rameses, astonished.
“Thou hast in thy house three new women—ladies of high family.”
“Ah, so that is the trouble?”
“Besides, thou art exposing thyself for a fourth,—a wicked Phœnician.”
The prince was confused. Whence could Sarah know of Kama, and know that she was wicked?
“As dust squeezes into caskets, so scandals work into the quietest houses,” said Rameses. “Who has spoken to thee of a Phœnician?”
“Do I know who? My heart and an evil omen.”
“Then are there omens?”
“Terrible. One old priestess learned, I suppose from a crystal ball, that we shall all perish through Phœnicians, especially I and—my son,” burst out Sarah.
“And thou who believest in One, in Jehovah, fearest the fictions of some stupid old woman who is perhaps intriguing? Where is thy great Deity?”
“My God is only mine, but those others are thine; so I must revere them.”
“Then that old woman spoke to thee of Phœnicians?” asked Rameses.
“She told me long ago, while in Memphis, that I should guard against a Phœnician woman,” answered Sarah. “Here all are speaking of a Phœnician priestess. I cannot tell; maybe it is only something wandering in my troubled head.People say even that were it not for her spell thou wouldst not have sprung into the arena. Oh, if the bull had killed thee! Even to-day, when I think of the evil which might have happened, the heart grows cold in my bosom.”
“Laugh, Sarah,” interrupted Rameses, joyously. “She whom I take to myself stands so high that no fear should reach her, still less, stupid scandal.”
“But misfortune? Is there a mountain top so high that the missile of misfortune may not reach it?”
“Thy sickness has wearied thee, and fever has disturbed thy mind; that is why thou art troubled without reason. Be quiet, and watch over my son. A man,” said he, in deep thought, “be he Greek or Phœnician, can harm only beings like himself, but not us, who are gods of this world.”
“What didst thou say of a Greek? What Greek?” asked Sarah, alarmed.
“Did I say Greek? I know nothing of a Greek. Such a word may have slipped from me; perhaps thou didst not hear correctly.”
He kissed Sarah and his son, and took farewell of them; but he did not expel fear.
“We must say once, and decisively,” thought he, “that in Egypt no secret is hidden. The priests and my attendants follow me, even when they are drunk, or pretend to be, and the serpent eyes of Phœnicia are gazing at Kama. If they have not hidden her before me thus far, they must have small regard for her virtue. Moreover, before whom?—Before me, to whom they themselves discovered the deceptions of their own temple. Kama will belong to me. They are too much involved in this to think of bringing my anger on their heads by opposition.”
A couple of days later the holy Mentezufis, assistant of the worthy Herhor, came to the erpatr. Rameses, looking at the pale face and downcast eyes of the prophet, divined that he too knew of the Phœnician woman, and perhaps wished, as a priest, to reprimand the viceroy. But this time Mentezufis did not mention affairs touching the heart of the heir.
When he had greeted the prince, with an official mien, the prophet took the seat indicated, and began,—
“From the Memphis palace of the lord of eternity they have informed me that in recent days the Chaldean high priest Istubar, the court astrologer and counsellor of his grace King Assar, has come to Pi-Bast.”
The prince desired to tell Mentezufis the reason of Istubar’s coming, but he bit his lips and was silent.
“The renowned Istubar,” continued the priest, “has brought documents in virtue of which the worthy Sargon, a satrap, and a relative of King Assar, remains with us as ambassador of that mighty sovereign.”
The prince was near bursting into laughter. The seriousness with which Mentezufis had thought fit to lay bare a small part of the secrets long known to Rameses filled him with contempt and delight also.
“This trickster,” thought the prince, “has not an inkling in his heart that I know all their villainy.”
“The worthy Sargon and the revered Istubar,” continued Mentezufis, “will go to Memphis to kiss the feet of his holiness. But first, worthiness, thou, as viceroy, wilt be pleased to receive both these dignitaries graciously, and their suite also.”
“Very willingly,” answered the prince, “and on that occasion I shall ask them when Assyria will pay the arrears of tribute?”
“Wouldst thou do that, worthiness?” asked the priest, looking him in the eyes.
“That first of all; our treasury needs tribute.”
Mentezufis rose suddenly from his seat, and said, in solemn though lowered accents,—
“O viceroy of our lord, and giver of life, in the name of his holiness I forbid thee to speak with anyone of tribute, but, above all, with Sargon, Istubar, or any man of their suite.”
The prince grew pale.
“Priest,” said he, standing up also, “on what basis dost thou speak to me as a superior?”
Mentezufis drew aside his robe, and took from his neck a chain on which was one of the pharaoh’s rings.
The viceroy looked at the ring, kissed it with devotion, returned it to the priest, and answered,—
“I will fulfil the command of his holiness, my lord and father.”
Again both sat down, and the prince asked the priest,—
“Canst thou explain to me, worthiness, why Assyria should not pay us tribute which would save the state treasury from embarrassment?”
“Because we have not the power to force Assyria to pay us tribute,” answered Mentezufis, coldly. “We have an army of a hundred and twenty thousand, Assyria has three hundred thousand warriors. I say this to thee, worthiness, in perfect confidence, as to a high state official.”
“I understand. But why did the ministry of war, in which thou servest, decrease our valiant army sixty thousand men?”
“To increase the income of his holiness twenty thousand talents,” replied the priest.
“Aha! Tell me, then, worthiness,” continued the prince, “with what object is Sargon going to the feet of the pharaoh?”
“I know not.”
“Aha! But why should I not know,—I, who am heir to the throne?”
“Because there are state secrets which barely a few dignitaries know.”
“And which even my most worthy father may not know?”
“Assuredly he may not, for there are things which even his holiness may not know, since he does not possess the highest priestly consecration.”
“It is wonderful!” said the prince, after some thought. “Egypt is the property of the pharaoh, and still things may be done in it which are unknown to him. Explain this to me, worthiness.”
“Egypt is first of all, and even only and exclusively, the property of Amon,” said the priest. “There is absolute need, therefore, that only those should know the highest secrets to whom Amon has declared his plans and purposes.”
The prince, while listening, felt as if people were turning him on a bed of dagger points under which fire was burning.
Mentezufis wished to rise; Rameses detained him.
“One word more,” said he, mildly. “Is Egypt so weak that she cannot even mention the Assyrian tribute?”
He panted.
“If Egypt is so wretched,” continued he, “then what assurance is there that Assyria will not attack us?”
“We may assure ourselves by a treaty,” answered the priest.
The heir waved his hand.
“There are no treaties for the weak!” said he. “Silver tablets inscribed with agreements will not guard boundaries unless spears and swords stand behind them.”
“But who has told thee, worthiness, that they will not stand on our land?”
“Thou thyself. One hundred and twenty thousand men must yield before three hundred thousand. Were Assyrians to come here, Egypt would be turned into a desert.”
Mentezufis’ eyes flashed.
“If they were to invade us,” cried he, “their bones would never touch their own country! We should arm all the nobles, all the regiments of laborers, even convicts in the quarries. We should take the treasures from all temples. And Assyria would meet five hundred thousand Egyptian warriors.”
Rameses was delighted at this outburst of patriotism in Mentezufis. He seized him by the hand, and said,—
“Then, if we are able to have such an army, why do we not attack Babylon? Is not the great warrior Nitager imploring us for years to do so? Is not his holiness alarmed by the movement in Assyria? If we let them concentrate their forces, the struggle will be most difficult; but if we begin ourselves—”
The priest interrupted him,—
“Dost thou know, prince, what a war is to which one must go through a desert? Who will assure us that before we could reach the Euphrates half our army and carriers would not perish from hardship?”
“That would be cured by one battle,” interrupted Rameses.
“A battle!” repeated the priest. “But does the prince know what a battle is?”
“I hope so!” replied the heir, striking his sword.
Mentezufis shrugged his shoulders.
“But I say, lord, that thou dost not know what a battle is; thou hast even an entirely false idea of it from manœuvres atwhich thou hast always been the victor, though more than once thou shouldst have been conquered.”
The prince frowned. The priest put his hand beneath his robe, and said quickly,—
“Guess what I have in my hand, worthiness.”
“What?” repeated Rameses, with astonishment.
“Guess quickly and truly,” insisted the priest, “for if thou art mistaken two of thy regiments perish.”
“Thou hast a ring,” said the heir, who had grown joyous.
Mentezufis opened his hand; there was a bit of papyrus in it.
“But what have I now?” asked the priest again.
“A ring.”
“Well, not a ring, but an amulet of the divine Hator. Dost see, lord, that is a battle? In time of battle Fate holds out her hand every moment, and commands us to guess at the very quickest the surprise inclosed in it. We succeed, or we fail; but woe to the man who fails oftener than he guesses; and a hundredfold more to those on whom Fate turns her back and forces into blunders.”
“But still I believe, and I feel here,” cried the heir, striking his breast, “that Assyria must be trampled.”
“Oh, that the god Amon might speak through thy mouth,” said Mentezufis. “What thou sayst is true; Assyria will be humbled, perhaps even with thy hands, but not immediately—not immediately.”
The priest took farewell; Rameses remained alone. In his head and his heart raged a hurricane.
“So Hiram was right in saying that they deceive us,” thought he. “I am certain now that our priests have made a treaty with the Chaldeans which his holiness will be forced to sanction. Has anyone ever heard of a thing so monstrous? He, the lord of the living, and of the western world, must sign a treaty invented by intriguers!”
Breath failed him.
“The holy Mentezufis has betrayed himself. It is true, then, that in case of need Egypt can put forth an army of half a million? I did not even dream of such forces. Still they think that I fear their fables about fate, which commandsus to solve riddles. Only let me have two hundred thousand men, trained like Greek and Libyan regiments, and I would undertake to solve all riddles on earth and in the heavens.”
“That is a hot head,” thought the worthy Mentezufis, while returning to his cell,—“a woman hunter, an adventurer, but strong. After the weak pharaoh of to-day he reminds us rather of Rameses the Great. In ten years the stars may change; he will ripen and crush Assyria. Of Nineveh there will remain only ruins, sacred Babylon will find its true place, and the one supreme God, the God of Egyptian and Chaldean prophets, will reign from the Libyan desert to the sacred Ganges.”
“If our youth would not make himself ridiculous by night pilgrimages to the Phœnician priestess; if he should be seen in the garden of Astaroth, or if people should think that the erpatr was inclining his ear to the faith of Phœnicia— Not much is needed in Lower Egypt to reject the ancient gods. What a mixture there is of nations here!”
Some days later the worthy Sargon informed the viceroy officially of his position as ambassador, declared the wish to salute him, and begged for an Egyptian escort which might conduct him with all safety and honor to the feet of the pharaoh.
The prince deferred his answer two days, and appointed an audience to Sargon at the expiration of two other days. The Assyrian, accustomed to eastern delay in journeys and business, was offended in no way, and wasted no time. He drank from morning till evening, played dice with Hiram and other rich men from Asia. In free moments he slipped away, like Rameses, to Kama.
As an elderly and a practical man, he offered the priestess rich presents at every visit. His feelings he explained as follows:—
“O Kama, why sit in Pi-Bast and grow thin here? While young, the service of Astaroth may please thee; but when old, a wretched fate will present itself. They will take thy costly robes from thee, and put a younger woman in the temple; thou wilt earn, then, a handful of roasted barley by telling fortunes, or by nursing women in childbirth. Had the gods in punishmentcreated me a woman, I should choose to be the mother and not the nurse attending her.”
“Hence I say,” continued Sargon, “leave the temple and join my household. I will give thee ten talents in gold; I will give forty cows, and of wheat a hundred measures. The priests will fear chastisement from the gods, so as to gain from me a better bargain. But I shall not yield a drachma; I may add, at most, a few sheep to let them celebrate a solemn service. The heavenly Astaroth will appear then, and will free thee from vows if I add a gold chain or a goblet.”
While listening to these statements Kama bit her lips to restrain laughter; and he continued,—
“If thou go with me to Nineveh, thou wilt be a great lady. Thou shall have a palace; I will give thee also horses, a litter, slaves, and servants. In one month thou wilt pour out on thy person more perfume than thou offerest here in one year to thy goddess. And who knows,” concluded he, “thou mayst please King Assar; if so, he would take thee to his palace. Thou wouldst be the happiest of women, and I should get back what I had spent on thee.”
At the palace of the heir, on the day appointed to receive Sargon, Egyptian troops were drawn up, and a throng of people were standing near, eager for spectacles.
The Assyrian retinue appeared about midday, the hour when heat is greatest. In front marched policemen armed with swords and sticks; behind them a number of naked swift runners, and three horses. Those were trumpeters and a herald. At the corner of each street the trumpeters sounded a signal, and the herald called in a loud voice: “Behold, Sargon is approaching; the ambassador of the mighty Assar, a relative of the king, a lord of immense wealth, a conqueror in battles, a ruler of provinces. Give him, O people, due homage as a friend of the ruler of Egypt!”
After the trumpeters rode Assyrian cavalry, with pointed caps, in narrow skirts and jackets. Their shaggy and enduring horses had on their foreheads and breasts bronze armor patterned as fish-scales. Next appeared infantry in helmets, and long mantles reaching the earth. One division was armed with heavy clubs, the next with bows, the third with spearsand shields. Each man had, besides, a sword, and was armored.
After the soldiers came Sargon’s horses, chariots, and litters, surrounded by servants in white, red, and green garments. After them came five elephants with litters on their backs; on one rode Sargon, on another the Chaldean priest Istubar.
The procession was closed by warriors on horseback and on foot, and by harsh Assyrian music, produced by trumpets, drums, metallic plates, and pipes squealing shrilly.
Prince Rameses, surrounded by priests, nobility, and officers, dressed in various colors, and richly, was awaiting the ambassador in the great hall of audience, which was open on all sides. The heir was gladsome, knowing that the Assyrians were bringing gifts which, in the eyes of Egyptians, might pass as tribute. But when he heard the immense voice of a herald in the court praising the might of Sargon, he frowned. When the expression flew to his ears, that King Assar was the friend of the pharaoh, he grew angry. His nostrils dilated like those of an angry bull, and sparks flashed in his eyeballs. Seeing this, the officers and nobility began to assume threatening faces, and put hands to their sword-hilts. The holy Mentezufis noted their looks, and cried,—
“In the name of his holiness, I command nobles and officers to receive the worthy Sargon with the respect due a great king’s ambassador!”
The heir frowned, and strode impatiently along the raised platform where his viceregal chair was standing. But the disciplined officers and the nobles grew silent, knowing that they could not trifle with the assistant of the war minister.
Meanwhile, in the court the immense and heavily armed Assyrian warriors stood in three ranks, opposite the half-naked and slender warriors of Egypt. The two sides looked at each other like a band of tigers at a herd of rhinoceroses. In the hearts of each ancient hatred was smouldering. But command towered above hatred.
At that moment the elephants entered, the Egyptian and Assyrian trumpets roared, the troops of both armies raised their weapons, the people fell on their faces, while theAssyrian dignitaries, Sargon and Istubar, were descending from their litters.
In the hall Prince Rameses sat on an elevated chair beneath a baldachin, while at the entrance door appeared the herald.
“Most worthy lord,” said he, turning to the heir, “the ambassador of the great King Assar, the renowned Sargon, and his associate, the pious prophet Istubar, desire to salute thee and render thee honor as viceroy and heir to the pharaoh,—may he live through eternity!”
“Ask those dignitaries to enter and comfort my heart by the sight of their persons,” answered the viceroy.
Sargon entered the hall with a clattering and clinking. He was dressed in a long green robe, thickly embroidered with gold. At his side, in a snow-white mantle, walked the devout Istubar, and behind them stately Assyrian lords carried gifts for the viceroy.
Sargon approached the elevation, and said in the Assyrian language, which an interpreter repeated in Egyptian immediately,—
“I, Sargon, a leader, a satrap, and a relative of the most mighty King Assar, come to salute thee, O viceroy of the most mighty pharaoh, and in sign of eternal friendship I offer gifts to thee.”
The heir rested his palms on his knees, and sat as motionless as the statues of his ancestors.
“Interpreter,” said Sargon, “hast thou repeated badly to the prince my kindly greeting?”
Mentezufis, standing near the elevation, turned toward Rameses.
“Prince,” whispered he, “the Lord Sargon is waiting for a gracious answer.”
“Then answer him that I do not understand by what right he speaks to me as if he were my equal in dignity.”
Mentezufis was confused, which still more angered the prince, whose lips began to tremble; and again his eyes flashed. But the Chaldean, Istubar, understanding Egyptian, said quickly to Sargon,—
“Let us fall on our faces.”
“Why should I fall on my face?” inquired the indignant Sargon.
“Fall, unless thou wish to lose the favor of King Assar, and perhaps thy head also.”
Thus speaking, Istubar lay on the floor at full length, and Sargon next to him.
“Why should I lie on my belly before that stripling?” muttered Sargon, indignantly.
“Because he is viceroy,” answered Istubar.
“Have I not been viceroy of my lord?”
“But he will be king, and thou wilt not.”
“What are the ambassadors of the most mighty King Assar discussing?” inquired the prince, now satisfied, of the interpreter.
“This: whether they are to show thy worthiness the gifts intended for the pharaoh, or only to give those sent to thee,” replied the dextrous interpreter.
“I wish to see the gifts intended for his holiness my father,” said the prince, “and I permit the ambassadors to rise.”
Sargon rose, purple from rage or weariness, and sat down on the floor cross-legged.
“I knew not,” said he, “that I, a relative and an ambassador of the great Assar, should be forced to wipe with my garments dust from the pavement of an Egyptian viceroy.”
Mentezufis knew Assyrian, and commanded, without asking Rameses, to bring immediately two benches covered with cushions, on which sat at once the panting Sargon and the calm Istubar.
When Sargon had puffed himself quiet, he gave command to produce a great glass goblet, a steel sword, and to lead up before the entrance two horses decked with gold housings. When his command was obeyed he rose and, inclining, addressed Rameses,—
“My lord, King Assar sends thee, O prince, two wonderful horses,—may they bear thee only to victory! He sends also a goblet,—may gladness always flow to thy heart from it!—and a sword the like of which thou wilt not find in the armory of the mightiest ruler.”
He drew from its scabbard a rather long sword, shining like silver, and bent it. The sword bent like a bow, and then sprang out straight again.
“A wonderful weapon, indeed,” said Rameses.
“If thou permit, O viceroy, I will show thee another of its qualities,” said Sargon, who, with the chance to praise Assyrian arms, which at that time were excellent, forgot his anger.
At his request one of the Egyptian officers unsheathed a bronze sword and held it as if to attack. Then Sargon raised his steel blade, struck and cut a slice from the weapon of the other man.
In the hall rose a murmur of astonishment, and an intense flush came out on the face of Rameses.
“That foreigner,” thought he, “took the bull from me in the circus, he wishes to marry Kama, and now he shows a sword which cuts our blades into shavings.”
And he felt a still deeper hatred toward King Assar, toward all Assyrians in general, and toward Sargon especially. But he endeavored to command himself, and with politeness begged the envoy to show those gifts intended for the pharaoh.
They brought immediately immense packs made of fragrant wood; from one of these the higher Assyrian officials took articles,—goblets, pitchers, steel weapons, bows made of goat horns, gilded weapons, and shields set with jewels.
But the most splendid gift was a model of King Assar’s palace in gold and silver. It looked like three edifices,—the second smaller than the first, the third smaller than the second; the second built upon the first, the third upon the second. Each was surrounded thickly by columns, and instead of a roof had a flat pavement. Each entrance was guarded by lions or winged bulls with human heads. On both sides of the stairs stood statues of vassals of the king, bearing gifts; on both sides of the entrance were carved horses in various positions. Sargon removed one wall of the model, and showed rich chambers filled with priceless furniture. Special wonder was roused by the audience hall, where were figures representing the king on a lofty throne, and near him courtiers, warriors, and vassals giving homage.
The entire model was as long as twice the height of a man, and almost as high as the height of one man. The Egyptianswhispered that that gift alone was worth a hundred and fifty talents.
When the packs were carried out, the heir invited the ambassadors and their retinue to a feast, during which abundant gifts were bestowed on the Assyrians. Rameses pushed his politeness so far that when one of the women pleased Sargon the prince presented her to the ambassador, of course with her consent and the permission of her mother.
The prince was polite and bountiful, but his face was still clouded. And when Tutmosis asked him if King Assar had not a beautiful palace, the prince answered,—.
“Its ruins on the ashes of Nineveh would be more beautiful to my eyes.”
At that feast the Assyrians were very abstemious. Notwithstanding the abundance of wine, they drank little, and did not shout greatly. Sargon did not even once burst into loud laughter, though that was his custom; he cast down his eyes and thought deeply.
But the two priests—Istubar, the Chaldean, and Mentezufis, the Egyptian—were calm, like men to whom the future is known, and who command it.