by Georg Ebers
CHAPTER XXVIII.
An hour later a tall, plainly dressed woman crossed the Nile, with adark-skinned boy and a slender youth by her side. The wrinkles on herbrow and cheeks agreed little with her youthful features; but it wouldhave been difficult to recognize in these three the proud princess, thefair young prince, and the graceful Nefert, who looked as charming asever in the long white robe of a temple-student.
They were followed by two faithful and sturdy head-servants from amongthe litter-bearers of the princess, who were however commanded to appearas though they were not in any way connected with their mistress and hercompanions.
The passage across the Nile had been accomplished but slowly, and thusthe royal personages had experienced for the first time some of the manydifficulties and delays which ordinary mortals must conquer to attainobjects which almost fly to meet their rulers. No one preceded them toclear the river, no other vessel made way for them; on the contrary,all tried to take place ahead of them, and to reach the opposite shorebefore them.
When at last they reached the landing-place, the procession had alreadypassed on to the temple of Seti; Ameni had met it with his chorus ofsingers, and had received the God on the shore of the Nile; the prophetsof the Necropolis had with their own hands placed him in the sacredSam-bark of the House of Seti, which was artistically constructed ofcedar wood and electrum set with jewels; thirty pastophori took theprecious burden on their shoulders, and bore it up the avenue ofSphinxes--which led from the river to the temple--into the sanctuaryof Seti, where Amon remained while the emissaries from the differentprovinces deposited their offerings in the forecourt. On his road fromthe shore kolchytes had run before him, in accordance with ancientcustom, strewing sand in his path.
In the course of an hour the procession once more emerged into the openair, and turning to the south, rested first in the enormous templeof Anienophis III., in front of which the two giant statues stood assentinels--they still remain, the colossi of the Nile valley. Fartherto the south it reached the temple of Thotmes the Great, then, turninground, it clung to the eastern face of the Libyan hills--pierced withtombs and catacombs; it mounted the terraces of the temple of Hatasu,and paused by the tombs of the oldest kings which are in the immediateneighborhood; thus by sunset it had reached the scene of the festivalitself, at the entrance of the valley in which the tomb of Setitt hadbeen made, and in whose westernmost recesses were some of the graves ofthe Pharaohs of the deposed race.
This part of the Necropolis was usually visited by lamp-light, and underthe flare of torches, before the return of the God to his own temple andthe mystery-play on the sacred lake, which did not begin till midnight.
Behind the God, in a vase of transparent crystal, and borne high on apole that all the multitude might see it, was the heart of the sacredram.
Our friends, after they had laid their wreaths on the magnificent altarsof their royal ancestors without being recognized, late in the afternoonjoined the throng who followed the procession. They mounted the easterncliff of the hills close by the tomb of Mena's forefathers, whicha prophet of Amon, named Neferhotep--Mena's great-grandfather--hadconstructed. Its narrow doorway was besieged by a crowd, for within thefirst of the rock-chambers of which it consisted, a harper was singinga dirge for the long-since buried prophet, his wife and his sister. Thesong had been composed by the poet attached to his house; it was gravenin the stone of the second rock-room of the tomb, and Neferhotep hadleft a plot of ground in trust to the Necropolis, with the charge ofadministering its revenues for the payment of a minstrel, who every-yearat the feast of the dead should sing the monody to the accompaniment ofhis lute.
[The tomb of Neferhotep is well preserved, and in it the inscription from which the monody is translated.]
The charioteer well knew this dirge for his ancestor, and had often sungit to Nefert, who had accompanied him on her lute; for in their hoursof joy also--nay especially--the Egyptians were wont to remember theirdead.
Now the three companions listened to the minstrel as he sang:
"Now the great man is at rest, Gone to practise sweeter duties. Those that die are the elect Since the Gods have left the earth. Old men pass and young men come; Yea, a new Sun rises daily When the old sun has found rest In the bosom of the night.
"Hail, O Prophet! on this feast day Odorous balsams, fragrant resins Here we bring--and offer garlands, Throwing flowers down before thee, And before thy much-loved sister, Who has found her rest beside thee.
"Songs we sing, and strike the lyre To thy memory, and thine honor. All our cares are now forgotten, Joy and hope our breasts are filling; For the day of our departure Now draws near, and in the silence Of the farther shore is rest."
When the song ceased, several people pressed into the little oratory toexpress their gratitude to the deceased prophet by laying a few flowerson his altar. Nefert and Rameri also went in, and when Nefert hadoffered a long and silent prayer to the glorified spirits of her dead,that they might watch over Mena, she laid her garland beside the gravein which her husband's mother rested.
Many members of the court circle passed close to the royal party withoutrecognizing them; they made every effort to reach the scene of thefestival, but the crowd was so great that the ladies had several timesto get into a tomb to avoid it. In each they found the altar loaded withofferings, and, in most, family-parties, who here remembered theirdead, with meat and fruits, beer and wine, as though they were departedtravellers who had found some far off rest, and whom they hoped sooneror later to see again.
The sun was near setting when at last the princess and her companionsreached the spot where the feast was being held. Here stood numbers ofstalls and booths, with eatables of every sort, particularly sweet cakesfor the children, dates, figs, pomegranates, and other fruits. Underlight awnings, which kept off the sun, were sold sandals and kerchiefsof every material and hue, ornaments, amulets, fans, and sun-shades,sweet essences of every kind, and other gifts for offerings or forthe toilet. The baskets of the gardeners and flower-girls were alreadyempty, but the money-changers were full of business, and the tavern andgambling booths were driving a brisk trade.
Friends and acquaintances greeted each other kindly, while the childrenshowed each other their new sandals, the cakes they had won at thegames, or the little copper rings they had had given to them, andwhich must now be laid out. The largest crowd was gathered to see themagicians from the House of Seti, round which the mob squatted on theground in a compact circle, and the children were good-naturedly placedin the front row.
When Bent-Anat reached the place all the religious solemnity was ended.
There stood the canopy under which the king and his family were usedto listen to the festal discourse, and under its shade sat to-daythe Regent Ani. They could see too the seats of the grandees, andthe barriers which kept the people at a distance from the Regent, thepriests, and the nobles.
Here Ameni himself had announced to the multitude the miracle of thesacred heart, and had proclaimed that a new Apis had been found amongthe herds of the Regent Ani.
His announcement of these divine tokens had been repeated from mouth tomouth; they were omens of peace and happiness for the country throughthe means of a favorite of the Gods; and though no one said it, thedullest could not fail to see that this favorite was none other thanAni, the descendant of the great Hatasu, whose prophet had been gracedby the transfer to him of the heart of the sacred rain. All eyes werefixed on Ani, who had sacrificed before all the people to the sacredheart, and received the high-priest's blessing.
Pentaur, too, had ended his discourse when Bent-Anat reached the sceneof the festival. She heard an old man say to his son:
"Life is hard. It often seems to me like a heavy burden laid on ourpoor backs by the cruel Gods; but when I heard the young priest from theHouse of Seti, I felt that, after all, the Immortals a
re good, and wehave much to thank them for."
In another place a priest's wife said to her son:
"Could you see Pentaur well, Hor-Uza? He is of humble birth, but hestands above the greatest in genius and gifts, and will rise to highthings."
Two girls were speaking together, and one said to the other:
"The speaker is the handsomest man I ever saw, and his voice sounds likesoft music."
"And how his eyes shone when he spoke of truth as the highest of allvirtues!" replied the other. "All the Gods, I believe, must dwell inhim."
Bent-Anat colored as these words fell on her ear. It was growing dark,and she wished to return home but Rameri wished to follow the processionas it marched through the western valley by torch-light, so that thegrave of his grandfather Seti should also be visited. The princessunwillingly yielded, but it would in any case have been difficult toreach the river while every one was rushing in the opposite direction;so the two ladies, and Rameri, let themselves be carried along by thecrowd, and by the time the daylight was gone, they found themselvesin the western valley, where to-night no beasts of prey dared showthemselves; jackals and hyenas had fled before the glare of the torches,and the lanterns made of colored papyrus.
The smoke of the torches mingled with the dust stirred by a thousandfeet, and the procession moved along, as it were, in a cloud, which alsoshrouded the multitude that followed.
The three companions had labored on as far as the hovel of theparaschites Pinem, but here they were forced to pause, for guardsdrove back the crowd to the right and left with long staves, to clear apassage for the procession as it approached.
"See, Rameri," said Bent-Anat, pointing out the little yard of the hutwhich stood only a few paces from them. "That is where the fair, whitegirl lives, whom I ran over. But she is much better. Turn round; there,behind the thorn-hedge, by the little fire which shines full in your(her? D.W.) face--there she sits, with her grandfather."
The prince stood on tip-toe, looked into the humble plot of ground, andthen said in a subdued voice "What a lovely creature! But what is shedoing with the old man? He seems to be praying, and she first holdsa handkerchief before his mouth, and then rubs his temples. And howunhappy she looks!"
"The paraschites must be ill," replied Bent-Anat. "He must have had toomuch wine down at the feast," said Rameri laughing. "No doubt of it!Only look how his lips tremble, and his eyes roll. It is hideous--helooks like one possessed."
[It was thought that the insane were possessed by demons. A stele admirably treated by F. de Rouge exists at Paris, which relates that the sister-in law of Rameses III., who was possessed by devils, had them driven out by the statue of Chunsu, which was sent to her in Asia.]
"He is unclean too!" said Nefert.
"But he is a good, kind man, with a tender heart," exclaimed theprincess eagerly. "I have enquired about him. He is honest and sober,and I am sure he is ill and not drunk."
"Now she is standing up," said Rameri, and he dropped the paper-lanternwhich he had bought at a booth. "Step back, Bent-Anat, she must beexpecting some one. Did you ever see any one so very fair, and with sucha pretty little head. Even her red hair becomes her wonderfully; butshe staggers as she stands--she must be very weak. Now she has sat downagain by the old man, and is rubbing his forehead. Poor souls! look howshe is sobbing. I will throw my purse over to them."
"No, no!" exclaimed Bent-Anat. "I gave them plenty of money, and thetears which are shed there cannot be staunched with gold. I will sendold Asnath over to-morrow to ask how we can help them. Look, here comesthe procession, Nefert. How rudely the people press! As soon as the Godis gone by we will go home."
"Pray do," said Nefert. "I am so frightened!" and she pressed tremblingto the side of the princess.
"I wish we were at home, too," replied Bent-Anat.
"Only look!" said Rameri. "There they are. Is it not splendid? And howthe heart shines, as if it were a star!"
All the crowd, and with them our three friends, fell on their knees.
The procession paused opposite to them, as it did at every thousandpaces; a herald came forward, and glorified, in a loud voice, the greatmiracle, to which now another was added--the sacred heart since thenight had come on had begun to give out light.
Since his return home from the embalming house, the paraschites hadtaken no nourishment, and had not answered a word to the anxiousquestions of the two frightened women. He stared blindly, muttered a fewunintelligible words, and often clasped his forehead in his hand. A fewhours before he had laughed loud and suddenly, and his wife, greatlyalarmed, had gone at once to fetch the physician Nebsecht.
During her absence Uarda was to rub her grandfather's temples with theleaves which the witch Hekt had laid on her bruises, for as they hadonce proved efficacious they might perhaps a second time scare away thedemon of sickness.
When the procession, with its thousand lamps and torches, paused beforethe hovel, which was almost invisible in the dusk, and one citizen saidto another: "Here comes the sacred heart!" the old man started, andstood up. His eyes stared fixedly at the gleaming relic in its crystalcase; slowly, trembling in every limb, and with outstretched neck hestood up.
The herald began his eulogy of the miracle.
Then, while all the people were prostrate in adoration, listeningmotionless to the loud voice of the speaker, the paraschites rushedout of his gate, striking his forehead with his fists, and opposite thesacred heart, he broke out into a mad, loud fit of scornful laughter,which re-echoed from the bare cliffs that closed in the valley.
Horror full on the crowd, who rose timidly from their knees.
Ameni, who too, was close behind the heart, started too and looked roundon the author of this hideous laugh. He had never seen the paraschites,but he perceived the glimmer of his little fire through the dust andgloom, and he knew that he lived in this place. The whole case struckhim at once; he whispered a few significant words to one of the officerswho marched with the troops on each side of the procession; then he gavethe signal, and the procession moved on as if nothing had happened.
The old man tried with still more loud and crazy laughter to reach andseize the heart, but the crowd kept him back; and while the last groupspassed on after the priests, he contrived to slip back as far as thedoor of his hovel, though much damaged and hurt.
There he fell, and Uarda rushed out and threw herself over the old man,who lay on the earth, scarcely recognizable in the dust and darkness.
"Crush the scoffer!"
"Tear him in pieces!"
"Burn down the foul den!"
"Throw him and the wench into the fire!" shouted the people who had beendisturbed in their devotions, with wild fury.
Two old women snatched the lanterns froth the posts, and flung them atthe unfortunate creatures, while an Ethiopian soldier seized Uarda bythe hair, and tore her away from her grandfather.
At this moment Pinem's wife appeared, and with her Pentaur. She hadfound not Nebsecht, but Pentaur, who had returned to the temple afterhis speech. She had told him of the demon who had fallen upon herhusband, and implored him to come with her. Pentaur immediately followedher in his working dress, just as he was, without putting on the whitepriest's robe, which he did not wish to wear on this expedition.
When they drew near to the paraschites' hovel, he perceived the tumultamong the people, and, loud above all the noise, heard Uarda's shrillcry of terror. He hurried forward, and in the dull light of thescattered fire-brands and colored lanterns, he saw the black hand of thesoldier clutching the hair of the helpless child; quick as thought hegripped the soldier's throat with his iron fingers, seized him round thebody, swung him in the air, and flung him like a block of stone rightinto the little yard of the hut.
The people threw themselves on the champion in a frenzy of rage, but hefelt a sudden warlike impulse surging up in him, which he had neverfelt before. With one wrench he pulled out the heavy wooden pole, whichsupported the awning which the old paraschites had p
ut up for his sickgrandchild; he swung it round his head, as if it were a reed, drivingback the crowd, while he called to Uarda to keep close to him.
"He who touches the child is a dead man!" he cried. "Shame onyou!--falling on a feeble old man and a helpless child in the middle ofa holy festival!"
For a moment the crowd was silent, but immediately after rushed forwardwith fresh impetus, and wilder than ever rose the shouts of:
"Tear him to pieces! burn his house down!"
A few artisans from Thebes closed round the poet, who was notrecognizable as a priest. He, however, wielding his tent-pole, felledthem before they could reach him with their fists or cudgels, and downwent every man on whom it fell. But the struggle could not last long,for some of his assailants sprang over the fence, and attacked him inthe rear. And now Pentaur was distinctly visible against a background offlaring light, for some fire-brands had fallen on the dry palm-thatch ofthe hovel behind him, and roaring flames rose up to the dark heavens.
The poet heard the threatening blaze behind him. He put his left handround the head of the trembling girl, who crouched beside him, andfeeling that now they both were lost, but that to his latest breath hemust protect the innocence and life of this frail creature, with hisright hand he once more desperately swung the heavy stake.
But it was for the last time; for two men succeeded in clutching theweapon, others came to their support, and wrenched it from his hand,while the mob closed upon him, furious but unarmed, and not withoutgreat fear of the enormous strength of their opponent.
Uarda clung to her protector with shortened breath, and trembling likea hunted antelope. Pentaur groaned when he felt himself disarmed, butat that instant a youth stood by his side, as if he had sprung from theearth, who put into his hand the sword of the fallen soldier--who laynear his feet--and who then, leaning his back against Pentaur's, facedthe foe on the other side. Pentaur pulled himself together, sent out abattle-cry like some fighting hero who is defending his last stronghold,and brandished his new weapon. He stood with flaming eyes, like a lionat bay, and for a moment the enemy gave way, for his young ally Rameri,had taken a hatchet, and held it up in a threatening manner.
"The cowardly murderers are flinging fire-brands," cried the prince."Come here, girl, and I will put out the pitch on your dress."
He seized Uarda's hand, drew her to him, and hastily put out the flame,while Pentaur protected them with his sword.
The prince and the poet stood thus back to back for a few moments, whena stone struck Pentaur's head; he staggered, and the crowd were rushingupon him, when the little fence was torn away by a determined hand,a tall womanly form appeared on the scene of combat, and cried to theastonished mob:
"Have done with this! I command you! I am Bent-Anat, the daughter ofRameses."
The angry crowd gave way in sheer astonishment. Pentaur had recoveredfrom the stunning blow, but he thought he must be under some illusion.He felt as if he must throw himself on his knees before Bent-Anat, buthis mind had been trained under Ameni to rapid reflection; he realized,in a flash of thought, the princess's position, and instead of bowingbefore her he exclaimed:
"Whoever this woman may be, good folks, she is not Bent-Anat theprincess, but I, though I have no white robe on, am a priest of Seti,named Pentaur, and the Cherheb of to-day's festival. Leave this spot,woman, I command you, in right of my sacred office."
And Bent-Anat obeyed.
Pentaur was saved; for just as the people began to recover from theirastonishment just as those whom he had hurt were once more inciting themob to fight just as a boy, whose hand he had crushed, was crying out:"He is not a priest, he is a sword's-man. Down with the liar!"
A voice from the crowd exclaimed:
"Make way for my white robe, and leave the preacher Pentaur alone, he ismy friend. You most of you know me."
"You are Nebsecht the leech, who set my broken leg," cried a sailor.
"And cured my bad eye," said a weaver.
"That tall handsome man is Pentaur, I know him well," cried the girl,whose opinion had been overheard by Bent-Anat.
"Preacher this, preacher that!" shouted the boy, and he would haverushed forward, but the people held him back, and divided respectfullyat Nebsecht's command to make way for him to get at those who had beenhurt.
First he stooped over the old paraschites.
"Shame upon you!" he exclaimed.--"You have killed the old man."
"And I," said Pentaur, "Have dipped my peaceful hand in blood to savehis innocent and suffering grandchild from a like fate."
"Scorpions, vipers, venomous reptiles, scum of men!" shrieked Nebsecht,and he sprang wildly forward, seeking Uarda. When he saw her sittingsafe at the feet of old Hekt, who had made her way into the courtyard,he drew a deep breath of relief, and turned his attention to thewounded.
"Did you knock down all that are lying here?" he whispered to hisfriend.
Pentaur nodded assent and smiled; but not in triumph, rather in shame;like a boy, who has unintentionally squeezed to death in his hand a birdhe has caught.
Nebsecht looked round astonished and anxious. "Why did you not say whoyou were?" he asked. "Because the spirit of the God Menth possessed me,"answered Pentaur. "When I saw that accursed villain there with his handin the girl's hair, I heard and saw nothing, I--"
"You did right," interrupted Nebsecht. "But where will all this end?"
At this moment a flourish of trumpets rang through the little valley.The officer sent by Ameni to apprehend the paraschites came up with hissoldiers.
Before he entered the court-yard he ordered the crowd to disperse; therefractory were driven away by force, and in a few minutes the valleywas cleared of the howling and shouting mob, and the burning house wassurrounded by soldiers. Bent-Anat, Rameri, and Nefert were obliged toquit their places by the fence; Rameri, so soon as he saw that Uarda wassafe, had rejoined his sister.
Nefert was almost fainting with fear and excitement. The two servants,who had kept near them, knit their hands together, and thus carriedher in advance of the princess. Not one of them spoke a word, not evenRameri, who could not forget Uarda, and the look of gratitude she bidsent after him. Once only Bent-Anat said:
"The hovel is burnt down. Where will the poor souls sleep to-night?"
When the valley was clear, the officer entered the yard, and foundthere, besides Uarda and the witch Hekt, the poet, and Nebsecht, who wasengaged in tending the wounded.
Pentaur shortly narrated the affair to the captain, and named himself tohim.
The soldier offered him his hand.
"If there were many men in Rameses' army," said he, "who could strikesuch a blow as you, the war with the Cheta would soon be at an end. Butyou have struck down, not Asiatics, but citizens of Thebes, and, much asI regret it, I must take you as a prisoner to Ameni."
"You only do your duty," replied Pentaur, bowing to the captain, whoordered his men to take up the body of the paraschites, and to bear itto the temple of Seti.
"I ought to take the girl in charge too," he added, turning to Pentaur.
"She is ill," replied the poet.
"And if she does not get some rest," added Nebsecht, "she will be dead.Leave her alone; she is under the particular protection of the princessBent-Anat, who ran over her not long ago."
"I will take her into my house," said Hekt, "and will take care of her.Her grandmother is lying there; she was half choked by the flames, butshe will soon come to herself--and I have room for both."
"Till to-morrow," replied the surgeon. "Then I will provide anothershelter for her."
The old woman laughed and muttered: "There are plenty of folks to takecare of her, it seems."
The soldiers obeyed the command of their leader, took up the wounded,and went away with Pentaur, and the body of Pinem.
Meanwhile, Bent-Anat and her party had with much difficulty reachedthe river-bank. One of the bearers was sent to find the boat which waswaiting for them, and he was enjoined to make haste, for already t
heycould see the approach of the procession, which escorted the God on hisreturn journey. If they could not succeed in finding their boat withoutdelay, they must wait at least an hour, for, at night, not a boatthat did not belong to the train of Amon--not even the barge of anoble--might venture from shore till the whole procession was safeacross.
They awaited the messenger's signal in the greatest anxiety, for Nefertwas perfectly exhausted, and Bent-Anat, on whom she leaned, felt hertrembling in every limb.
At last the bearer gave the signal; the swift, almost invisible bark,which was generally used for wild fowl shooting, shot by--Rameri seizedone end of an oar that the rower held out to him, and drew the littleboat up to the landing-place.
The captain of the watch passed at the same moment, and shouting out,"This is the last boat that can put off before the passage of the God!"
Bent-Anat descended the steps as quickly as Nefert's exhausted statepermitted. The landing-place was now only dimly lighted by dulllanterns, though, when the God embarked, it would be as light as daywith cressets and torches. Before she could reach the bottom step, withNefert still clinging heavily to her arm, a hard hand was laid on hershoulder, and the rough voice of Paaker exclaimed:
"Stand back, you rabble! We are going first." The captain of the watchdid not stop him, for he knew the chief pioneer and his overbearingways. Paaker put his finger to his lips, and gave a shrill whistle thatsounded like a yell in the silence.
The stroke of oars responded to the call, and Paaker called out to hisboatmen:
"Bring the boat up here! these people can wait!" The pioneer's boat waslarger and better manned than that of the princess.
"Jump into the boat!" cried Rameri.
Bent-Anat went forward without speaking, for she did not wish to makeherself known again for the sake of the people, and for Nefert's; butPaaker put himself in her way.
"Did I not tell you that you common people must wait till we are gone.Push these people's boat out into the stream, you men."
Bent-Anat felt her blood chill, for a loud squabble at once began on thelanding-steps.
Rameri's voice sounded louder than all the rest; but the pioneerexclaimed:
"The low brutes dare to resist? I will teach them manners! Here,Descher, look after the woman and these boys!"
At his call his great red hound barked and sprang forward, which, as ithad belonged to his father, always accompanied him when he went with hismother to visit the ancestral tomb. Nefert shrieked with fright, butthe dog at once knew her, and crouched against her with whines ofrecognition.
Paaker, who had gone down to his boat, turned round in astonishment,and saw his dog fawning at the feet of a boy whom he could not possiblyrecognize as Nefert; he sprang back, and cried out:
"I will teach you, you young scoundrel, to spoil my dog with spells--orpoison!"
He raised his whip, and struck it across the shoulders of Nefert, who,with one scream of terror and anguish, fell to the ground.
The lash of the whip only whistled close by the cheek of the poorfainting woman, for Bent-Anat had seized Paaker's arm with all hermight.
Rage, disgust, and scorn stopped her utterance; but Rameri had heardNefert's shriek, and in two steps stood by the women.
"Cowardly scoundrel!" he cried, and lifted the oar in his hand. Paakerevaded the blow, and called to the dog with a peculiar hiss:
"Pull him down, Descher."
The hound flew at the prince; but Rameri, who from his childhood, hadbeen his father's companion in many hunts and field sports, gave thefurious brute such a mighty blow on the muzzle that he rolled over witha snort.
Paaker believed that he possessed in the whole world no more faithfulfriend than this dog, his companion on all his marches across deserttracts or through the enemy's country, and when he saw him writhing onthe ground his rage knew no bounds, and he flew at the youngster withhis whip; but Rameri--madly excited by all the events of the night, fullof the warlike spirit of his fathers, worked up to the highest pitchby the insults to the two ladies, and seeing that he was their onlyprotector--suddenly felt himself endowed with the strength of a man; hedealt the pioneer such a heavy blow on the left hand, that he droppedhis whip, and now seized the dagger in his girdle with his right.
Bent-Anat threw herself between the man and the stripling, who washardly more than a boy, once more declared her name, and this time herbrother's also, and commanded Paaker to make peace among the boatmen.Then she led Nefert, who remained unrecognized, into the boat, enteredit herself with her companions, and shortly after landed at the palace,while Paaker's mother, for whom he had called his boat, had yet a longtime to wait before it could start. Setchem had seen the struggle fromher litter at the top of the landing steps, but without understandingits origin, and without recognizing the chief actors.
The dog was dead. Paaker's hand was very painful, and fresh rage wasseething in his soul.
"That brood of Rameses!" he muttered. "Adventurers! They shall learn toknow me. Mena and Rameses are closely connected--I will sacrifice themboth."
