Uarda : a Romance of Ancient Egypt Part 36

"I will stay," said Bent-Anat in a low but decided tone, and she kept her eyes on the floor, while her heart beat violently, for the murmur of voices told her that Pentaur was entering the hall. He wore the long white robe of a priest of the temple of Seti, and on his forehead the ostrich-feather which marked him as one of the initiated. He did not raise his eyes till he stood close before the king; then he prostrated himself before him, and awaited a sign from the Pharaoh before he rose again.

But Rameses hesitated a long time, for the youthful figure before him, and the glance that met his own, moved him strangely. Was not this the divinity of the fight? Was not this his preserver? Was he again deluded by a resemblance, or was he in a dream?

The guests gazed in silence at the spellbound king, and at the poet; at last Rameses bowed his head, Pentaur rose to his feet, and the bright color flew to his face as close to him he perceived Bent-Anat.

"You fought at Kadesh?" asked the king. "As thou sayest," replied Pentaur.

"You are well spoken of as a poet," said Rameses, "and we desire to hear the wonderful tale of my preservation celebrated in song. If you will attempt it, let a lute be brought and sing."

The poet bowed. "My gifts are modest," he said, "but I will endeavor to sing of the glorious deed, in the presence of the hero who achieved it, with the aid of the G.o.ds."

Rameses gave a signal, and Ameni caused a large golden harp to be brought in for his disciple. Pentaur lightly touched the strings, leaned his head against the top of the tall bow of the harp, for some time lest in meditation; then he drew himself up boldly, and struck the chords, bringing out a strong and warlike music in broad heroic rhythm.

Then he began the narrative: how Rameses had pitched his camp before Kadesh, how he ordered his troops, and how he had taken the field against the Cheta, and their Asiatic allies. Louder and stronger rose his tones when he reached the turning-point of the battle, and began to celebrate the rescue of the king; and the Pharaoh listened with eager attention as Pentaur sang:-[A literal translation of the ancient Egyptian poem called "The Epos of Pentaur"]

"Then the king stood forth, and, radiant with courage, He looked like the Sun-G.o.d armed and eager for battle.

The n.o.ble steeds that bore him into the struggle 'Victory to Thebes' was the name of one, and the other Was called 'contented Nura'-were foaled in the stables Of him we call 'the elect,' 'the beloved of Amon,'

'Lord of truth,' the chosen vicar of Ra.

Up sprang the king and threw himself on the foe, The swaying ranks of the contemptible Cheta.

He stood alone-alone, and no man with him.

As thus the king stood forth all eyes were upon him, And soon he was enmeshed by men and horses, And by the enemy's chariots: two thousand five hundred.

The foe behind hemmed him in and enclosed him.

Dense the array of the contemptible Cheta, Dense the swarm of warriors out of Arad, Dense the Mysian host, the Pisidian legions.

Every chariot carried three bold warriors, All his foes, and all allied like brothers.

"Not a prince is with me, not a captain, Not an archer, none to guide my horses!

Fled the riders! fled my troops and horse By my side not one is now left standing."

Thus the king, and raised his voice in prayer.

"Great father Amon, I have known Thee well.

And can the father thus forget his son?

Have I in any deed forgotten Thee?

Have I done aught without Thy high behest Or moved or staid against Thy sovereign will?

Great am I-mighty are Egyptian kings But in the sight of Thy commanding might, Small as the chieftain of a wandering tribe.

Immortal Lord, crush Thou this unclean people; Break Thou their necks, annihilate the heathen.

And I-have I not brought Thee many victims, And filled Thy temple with the captive folk?

And for thy presence built a dwelling place That shall endure for countless years to come?

Thy garners overflow with gifts from me.

I offered Thee the world to swell Thy glory, And thirty thousand mighty steers have shed Their smoking blood on fragrant cedar piles.

Tall gateways, flag-decked masts, I raised to Thee, And obelisks from Abu I have brought, And built Thee temples of eternal stone.

For Thee my ships have brought across the sea The tribute of the nations. This I did- When were such things done in the former time?

For dark the fate of him who would rebel Against Thee: though Thy sway is just and mild.

My father, Amon-as an earthly son His earthly father-so I call on Thee.

Look down from heaven on me, beset by foes, By heathen foes-the folk that know Thee not.

The nations have combined against Thy son; I stand alone-alone, and no man with me.

My foot and horse are fled, I called aloud And no one heard-in vain I called to them.

And yet I say: the sheltering care of Amon Is better succor than a million men, Or than ten thousand knights, or than a thousand Brothers and sons though gathered into one.

And yet I say: the bulwarks raised by men However strong, compared to Thy great works Are but vain shadows, and no human aid Avails against the foe-but Thy strong hand.

The counsel of Thy lips shall guide my way; I have obeyed whenever Thou hast ruled; I call on Thee-and, with my fame, Thy glory Shall fill the world, from farthest east to west."

Yea, his cry rang forth even far as Hermonthis, And Amon himself appeared at his call; and gave him His hand and shouted in triumph, saying to the Pharaoh: "Help is at hand, O Rameses. I will uphold thee- I thy father am he who now is thy succor, Bearing thee in my hands. For stronger and readier I than a hundred thousand mortal retainers; I am the Lord of victory loving valor?

I rejoice in the brave and give them good counsel, And he whom I counsel certainly shall not miscarry."

Then like Menth, with his right he scattered the arrows, And with his left he swung his deadly weapon, Felling the foe-as his foes are felled by Baal.

The chariots were broken and the drivers scattered, Then was the foe overthrown before his horses.

None found a hand to fight: they could not shoot Nor dared they hurl the spear but fled at his coming Headlong into the river."

[I have availed myself of the help of Prof. Lushington's translation in "Records of the past," edited by Dr. S. Birch. Translator.]

A silence as of the grave reigned in the vast hall, Rameses fixed his eyes on the poet, as though he would engrave his features on his very soul, and compare them with those of another which had dwelt there unforgotten since the day of Kadesh. Beyond a doubt his preserver stood before him.

Seized by a sudden impulse, he interrupted the poet in the midst of his stirring song, and cried out to the a.s.sembled guests: "Pay honor to this man! for the Divinity chose to appear under his form to save your king when he 'alone, and no man with him,' struggled with a thousand."

"Hail to Pentaur!" rang through the hall from the vast a.s.sembly, and Nefert rose and gave the poet the bunch of flowers she had been wearing on her bosom.

The king nodded approval, and looked enquiringly at his daughter; Bent-Anat's eyes met his with a glance of intelligence, and with all the simplicity of an impulsive child, she took from her head the wreath that had decorated her beautiful hair, went up to Pentaur, and crowned him with it, as it was customary for a bride to crown her lover before the wedding.

Rameses observed his daughter's action with some surprise, and the guests responded to it with loud cheering.

The king looked gravely at Bent-Anat and the young priest; the eyes of all the company were eagerly fixed on the princess and the poet. The king seemed to have forgotten the presence of strangers, and to be wholly absorbed in thought, but by degrees a change came over his face, it cleared, as a landscape is cleared from the morning mists under the influence of the spring sunshine. When he looked up again his glance was bright and satisfied, and Bent-Anat knew what it promised when it lingered lovingly first on her, and then on her friend, whose head was still graced by the wreath that had crowned hers.

At last Rameses turned from the lovers, and said to the guests: "It is past midnight, and I will now leave you. To-morrow evening I bid you all-and you especially, Pentaur-to be my guests in this banqueting hall. Once more fill your cups, and let us empty them-to a long time of peace after the victory which, by the help of the G.o.ds, we have won. And at the same time let us express our thanks to my friend Ani, who has entertained us so magnificently, and who has so faithfully and zealously administered the affairs of the kingdom during my absence."

The company pledged the king, who warmly shook hands with the Regent, and then, escorted by his wandbearers and lords in waiting, quitted the hall, after he had signed to Mena, Ameni, and the ladies to follow him.

Nefert greeted her husband, but she immediately parted from the royal party, as she had yielded to the urgent entreaty of Katuti that she should for this night go to her mother, to whom she had so much to tell, instead of remaining with the princess. Her mother's chariot soon took her to her tent.

Rameses dismissed his attendants in the ante-room of his apartments; when they were alone he turned to Bent-Anat and said affectionately.

"What was in your mind when you laid your wreath on the poet's brow?"

"What is in every maiden's mind when she does the like," replied Bent-Anat with trustful frankness.

"And your father?" asked the king.

"My father knows that I will obey him even if he demands of me the hardest thing-the sacrifice of all my-happiness; but I believe that he-that you love me fondly, and I do not forget the hour in which you said to me that now my mother was dead you would be father and mother both to me, and you would try to understand me as she certainly would have understood me. But what need between us of so many words. I love Pentaur-with a love that is not of yesterday-with the first perfect love of my heart and he has proved himself worthy of that high honor. But were he ever so humble, the hand of your daughter has the power to raise him above every prince in the land."

"It has such power, and you shall exercise it," cried the king. "You have been true and faithful to yourself, while your father and protector left you to yourself. In you I love the image of your mother, and I learned from her that a true woman's heart can find the right path better than a man's wisdom. Now go to rest, and to-morrow morning put on a fresh wreath, for you will have need of it, my n.o.ble daughter."

CHAPTER XLII

The cloudless vault of heaven spread over the plain of Pelusium, the stars were bright, the moon threw her calm light over the thousands of tents which shone as white as little hillocks of snow. All was silent, the soldiers and the Egyptians, who had a.s.sembled to welcome the king, were now all gone to rest.

There had been great rejoicing and jollity in the camp; three enormous vats, garlanded with flowers and overflowing with wine, which spilt with every movement of the trucks on which they were drawn by thirty oxen, were sent up and down the little streets of tents, and as the evening closed in tavern-booths were erected in many spots in the camp, at which the Regent's servants supplied the soldiers with red and white wine. The tents of the populace were only divided from the pavilion of the Pharaoh by the hastily-constructed garden in the midst of which it stood, and the hedge which enclosed it.

The tent of the Regent himself was distinguished from all the others by its size and magnificence; to the right of it was the encampment of the different priestly deputations, to the left that of his suite; among the latter were the tents of his friend Katuti, a large one for her own use, and some smaller ones for her servants. Behind Ani's pavilion stood a tent, enclosed in a wall or screen of canvas, within which old Hekt was lodged; Ani had secretly conveyed her hither on board his own boat. Only Katuti and his confidential servants knew who it was that lay concealed in the mysteriously shrouded abode.

While the banquet was proceeding in the great pavilion, the witch was sitting in a heap on the sandy earth of her conical canvas dwelling; she breathed with difficulty, for a weakness of the heart, against which she had long struggled, now oppressed her more frequently and severely; a little lamp of clay burned before her, and on her lap crouched a sick and ruffled hawk; the creature shivered from time to time, closing the filmy lids of his keen eyes, which glowed with a dull fire when Hekt took him up in her withered hand, and tried to blow some air into his hooked beak, still ever ready to peck and tear her.

At her feet little Scherau lay asleep. Presently she pushed the child with her foot. "Wake up," she said, as he raised himself still half asleep. "You have young ears-it seemed to me that I heard a woman scream in Ani's tent. Do you hear any thing?"

"Yes, indeed," exclaimed the little one. "There is a noise like crying, and that-that was a scream! It came from out there, from Nemu's tent."

"Creep through there," said the witch, "and see what is happening!"

The child obeyed: Hekt turned her attention again to the bird, which no longer perched in her lap, but lay on one side, though it still tried to use its talons, when she took him up in her hand.

"It is all over with him," muttered the old woman, "and the one I called Rameses is sleeker than ever. It is all folly and yet-and yet! the Regent's game is over, and he has lost it. The creature is stretching itself-its head drops-it draws itself up-one more clutch at my dress-now it is dead!"

She contemplated the dead hawk in her lap for some minutes, then she took it up, flung it into a corner of the tent, and exclaimed: "Good-bye, King Ani. The crown is not for you!" Then she went on: "What project has he in hand now, I wonder? Twenty times he has asked me whether the great enterprise will succeed; as if I knew any more than he! And Nemu too has hinted all kinds of things, though he would not speak out. Something is going on, and I-and I? There it comes again."

The old woman pressed her hand to her heart and closed her eyes, her features were distorted with pain; she did not perceive Scherau's return, she did not hear him call her name, or see that, when she did not answer him, he left her again. For an hour or more she remained unconscious, then her senses returned, but she felt as if some ice-cold fluid slowly ran through her veins instead of the warm blood.

"If I had kept a hawk for myself too," she muttered, "it would soon follow the other one in the corner! If only Ani keeps his word, and has me embalmed!

"But how can he when he too is so near his end. They will let me rot and disappear, and there will be no future for me, no meeting with a.s.sa."

The old woman remained silent for a long time; at last she murmured hoa.r.s.ely with her eyes fixed on the ground: "Death brings release, if only from the torment of remembrance. But there is a life beyond the grave. I do not, I will not cease to hope. The dead shall all be equally judged, and subject to the inscrutable decrees.-Where shall I find him? Among the blest, or among the d.a.m.ned? And I? It matters not! The deeper the abyss into which they fling me the better. Can a.s.sa, if he is among the blest, remain in bliss, when he sees to what he has brought me? Oh! they must embalm me-I cannot bear to vanish, and rot and evaporate into nothingness!"

While she was still speaking, the dwarf Nemu had come into the tent; Scherau, seeing the old woman senseless, had run to tell him that his mother was lying on the earth with her eyes shut, and was dying. The witch perceived the little man.

"It is well," she said, "that you have come; I shall be dead before sunrise."

"Mother!" cried the dwarf horrified, "you shall live, and live better than you have done till now! Great things are happening, and for us!"

"I know, I know," said Hekt. "Go away, Scherau-now, Nemu, whisper in my ear what is doing?" The dwarf felt as if he could not avoid the influence of her eye, he went up to her, and said softly-"The pavilion, in which the king and his people are sleeping, is constructed of wood; straw and pitch are built into the walls, and laid under the boards. As soon as they are gone to rest we shall set the tinder thing on fire. The guards are drunk and sleeping."

"Well thought of," said Hekt. "Did you plan it?" "I and my mistress," said the dwarf not without pride. "You can devise a plot," said the old woman, "but you are feeble in the working out. Is your plan a secret? Have you clever a.s.sistants?"

"No one knows of it," replied the dwarf, "but Katuti, Paaker, and I; we three shall lay the brands to the spots we have fixed upon. I am going to the rooms of Bent-Anat; Katuti, who can go in and out as she pleases, will set fire to the stairs, which lead to the upper story, and which fall by touching a spring; and Paaker to the king's apartments."

"Good-good, it may succeed," gasped the old woman. "But what was the scream in your tent?" The dwarf seemed doubtful about answering; but Hekt went on: "Speak without fear-the dead are sure to be silent." The dwarf, trembling with agitation, shook off his hesitation, and said: "I have found Uarda, the grandchild of Pinem, who had disappeared, and I decoyed her here, for she and no other shall be my wife, if Ani is king, and if Katuti makes me rich and free. She is in the service of the Princess Bent-Anat, and sleeps in her anteroom, and she must not be burnt with her mistress. She insisted on going back to the palace, so, as she would fly to the fire like a gnat, and I would not have her risk being burnt, I tied her up fast."

"Did she not struggle?" said Hekt.

"Like a mad thing," said the dwarf. "But the Regent's dumb slave, who was ordered by his master to obey me in everything to-day, helped me. We tied up her mouth that she might not be heard screaming!"

"Will you leave her alone when you go to do your errand?"

"Her father is with her!"

"Kaschta, the red-beard?" asked the old woman in surprise. "And did he not break you in pieces like an earthenware pot?"