Uarda : a Romance of Ancient Egypt — Complete

by Georg Ebers

  CHAPTER XXXVI.

  The inhabitants of the oasis had for centuries been subject to thePharaohs, and paid them tribute; and among the rights granted to themin return, no Egyptian soldier might cross their border and territorywithout their permission.

  The Ethiopians had therefore pitched Bent-Anat's tents and their owncamp outside these limits; but various transactions soon took placebetween the idle warriors and the Amalekites, which now and then led toquarrels, and which one evening threatened serious consequences, whensome drunken soldiers had annoyed the Amalekite women while they weredrawing water.

  This morning early one of the drivers on awaking had missed Pentaur andNebsecht, and he roused his comrades, who had been rejoined by Uarda'sfather. The enraged guard of the gang of prisoners hastened to thecommandant of the Ethiopians, and informed him that two of his prisonershad escaped, and were no doubt being kept in concealment by theAmalekites.

  The Amalekites met the requisition to surrender the fugitives, of whomthey knew nothing, with words of mockery, which so enraged the officerthat he determined to search the oasis throughout by force, and when hefound his emissaries treated with scorn he advanced with the larger partof his troops on to the free territory of the Amalekites.

  The sons of the desert flew to arms; they retired before the close orderof the Egyptian troops, who followed them, confident of victory, to apoint where the valley widens and divides on each side of a rockyhill. Behind this the larger part of the Amalekite forces were lying inambush, and as soon as the unsuspicious Ethiopians had marched pastthe hill, they threw themselves on the rear of the astonished invaders,while those in front turned upon them, and flung lances and arrows atthe soldiers, of whom very few escaped.

  Among them, however, was the commanding officer, who, foaming with rageand only slightly wounded, put himself at the head of the remainderof Bent-Anat's body-guard, ordered the escort of the prisoners also tofollow him, and once more advanced into the oasis.

  That the princess might escape him had never for an instant occurred tohim, but as soon as the last of her keepers had disappeared, Bent-Anatexplained to her chamberlain and her companions that now or never wasthe moment to fly.

  All her people were devoted to her; they loaded themselves with the mostnecessary things for daily use, took the litters and beasts of burdenwith them, and while the battle was raging in the valley, Salich guidedthem up the heights of Sinai to his father's house.

  It was on the way thither that Uarda had prepared the princess for themeeting she might expect at the hunter's cottage, and we have seen howand where the princess found the poet.

  Hand in hand they wandered together along the mountain path till theycame to a spot shaded by a projection of the rock, Pentaur pulled somemoss to make a seat, they reclined on it side by side, and there openedtheir hearts, and told each other of their love and of their sufferings,their wanderings and escapes.

  At noonday the hunter's daughter came to offer them a pitcher full ofgoat's milk, and Bent-Anat filled the gourd again and again for the manshe loved; and waiting upon him thus, her heart overflowed with pride,and his with the humble desire to be permitted to sacrifice his bloodand life for her.

  Hitherto they had been so absorbed in the present and the past, thatthey had not given a thought to the future, and while they repeated ahundred times what each had long since known, and yet could never tireof hearing, they forgot the immediate changes which was hanging overthem.

  After their humble meal, the surging flood of feeling which, ever sincehis morning devotions, had overwhelmed the poet's soul, grew calmer; hehad felt as if borne through the air, but now he set foot, so to speak,on the earth again, and seriously considered with Bent-Anat what stepsthey must take in the immediate future.

  The light of joy, which beamed in their eyes, was little in accordancewith the grave consultation they held, as, hand in hand, they descendedto the hut of their humble host.

  The hunter, guided by his daughter, met them half way, and with him atall and dignified man in the full armor of a chief of the Amalekites.

  Both bowed and kissed the earth before Bent-Anat and Pentaur. Theyhad heard that the princess was detained in the oasis by force by theEthiopian troops, and the desert-prince, Abocharabos, now informed them,not without pride, that the Ethiopian soldiers, all but a few who werehis prisoners, had been exterminated by his people; at the same timehe assured Pentaur, whom he supposed to be a son of the king, andBent-Anat, that he and his were entirely devoted to the Pharaoh Rameses,who had always respected their rights.

  "They are accustomed," he added, "to fight against the cowardly dogs ofKush; but we are men, and we can fight like the lions of our wilds. Ifwe are outnumbered we hide like the goats in clefts of the rocks."

  Bent-Anat, who was pleased with the daring man, his flashing eyes,his aquiline nose, and his brown face which bore the mark of a bloodysword-cut, promised him to commend him and his people to her father'sfavor, and told him of her desire to proceed as soon as possible to theking's camp under the protection of Pentaur, her future husband.

  The mountain chief had gazed attentively at Pentaur and at Bent-Anatwhile she spoke; then he said: "Thou, princess, art like the moon, andthy companion is like the Sun-god Dusare. Besides Abocharabos," and hestruck his breast, "and his wife, I know no pair that are like you two.I myself will conduct you to Hebron with some of my best men of war. Buthaste will be necessary, for I must be back before the traitor who nowrules over Mizraim,--[The Semitic name of Egypt]--and who persecutesyou, can send fresh forces against us. Now you can go down again to thetents, not a hen is missing. To-morrow before daybreak we will be off."

  At the door of the hut Pentaur was greeted by the princess's companions.

  The chamberlain looked at him not without anxious misgiving.

  The king, when he departed, had, it is true, given him orders to obeyBent-Anat in every particular, as if she were the queen herself; but herchoice of such a husband was a thing unheard of, and how would the kingtake it?

  Nefert rejoiced in the splendid person of the poet, and frequentlyrepeated that he was as like her dead uncle--the father of Paaker, thechief-pioneer--as if he were his younger brother.

  Uarda never wearied of contemplating him and her beloved princess.She no longer looked upon him as a being of a higher order; but thehappiness of the noble pair seemed to her an embodied omen of happinessfor Nefert's love--perhaps too for her own.

  Nebsecht kept modestly in the background. The headache, from which hehad long been suffering, had disappeared in the fresh mountain air. WhenPentaur offered him his hand he exclaimed:

  "Here is an end to all my jokes and abuse! A strange thing is this fateof men. Henceforth I shall always have the worst of it in any disputewith you, for all the discords of your life have been very prettilyresolved by the great master of harmony, to whom you pray."

  "You speak almost as if you were sorry; but every thing will turn outhappily for you too."

  "Hardly!" replied the surgeon, "for now I see it clearly. Every man isa separate instrument, formed even before his birth, in an occultworkshop, of good or bad wood, skilfully or unskilfully made, of thisshape or the other; every thing in his life, no matter what we call it,plays upon him, and the instrument sounds for good or evil, as it iswell or ill made. You are an AEolian harp--the sound is delightful,whatever breath of fate may touch it; I am a weather-cock--I turnwhichever way the wind blows, and try to point right, but at the sametime I creak, so that it hurts my own ears and those of other people. Iam content if now and then a steersman may set his sails rightly bymy indication; though after all, it is all the same to me. I will turnround and round, whether others look at me or no--What does it signify?"

  When Pentaur and the princess took leave of the hunter with many gifts,the sun was sinking, and the toothed peaks of Sinai glowed like rubies,through which shone the glow of half a world on fire.

  The journey to the royal camp was begun the next morning. Abocharabos,the Am
alekite chief, accompanied the caravan, to which Uarda's fatheralso attached himself; he had been taken prisoner in the struggle withthe natives, but at Bent-Anat's request was set at liberty.

  At their first halting place he was commanded to explain how he hadsucceeded in having Pentaur taken to the mines, instead of to thequarries of Chennu.

  "I knew," said the soldier in his homely way, "from Uarda where thisman, who had risked his life for us poor folks, was to be taken, andI said to myself--I must save him. But thinking is not my trade, andI never can lay a plot. It would very likely have come to some violentact, that would have ended badly, if I had not had a hint from anotherperson, even before Uarda told me of what threatened Pentaur. This ishow it was.

  "I was to convoy the prisoners, who were condemned to work in the Mafkatmines, across the river to the place they start from. In the harbor ofThebes, on the other side, the poor wretches were to take leave of theirfriends; I have seen it a hundred times, and I never can get used to it,and yet one can get hardened to most things! Their loud cries, and wildhowls are not the worst--those that scream the most I have always foundare the first to get used to their fate; but the pale ones, whose lipsturn white, and whose teeth chatter as if they were freezing, and whoseeyes stare out into vacancy without any tears--those go to my heart.There was all the usual misery, both noisy and silent. But the man I wasmost sorry for was one I had known for a long time; his name was Huni,and he belonged to the temple of Amon, where he held the place ofoverseer of the attendants on the sacred goat. I had often met himwhen I was on duty to watch the laborers who were completing the greatpillared hall, and he was respected by every one, and never failed inhis duty. Once, however, he had neglected it; it was that very nightwhich you all will remember when the wolves broke into the temple,and tore the rams, and the sacred heart was laid in the breast of theprophet Rui. Some one, of course, must be punished, and it fell on poorHuni, who for his carelessness was condemned to forced labor in themines of Mafkat. His successor will keep a sharp look out! No one cameto see him off, though I know he had a wife and several children. Hewas as pale as this cloth, and was one of the sort whose grief eats intotheir heart. I went up to him, and asked him why no one came with him.He had taken leave of them at home, he answered, that his children mightnot see him mixed up with forgers and murderers. Eight poor little bratswere left unprovided for with their mother, and a little while before afire had destroyed everything they possessed. There was not a crumb tostop their little squalling mouths. He did not tell me all this straightout; a word fell from him now and then, like dates from a torn sack. Ipicked it up bit by bit, and when he saw I felt for him he grew fierceand said: 'They may send me to the gold mines or cut me to pieces,as far as I am concerned, but that the little ones should starvethat--that,' and he struck his forehead. Then I left him to say good byeto Uarda, and on the way I kept repeating to myself 'that-that,' and sawbefore me the man and his eight brats. If I were rich, thought I, thereis a man I would help. When I got to the little one there, she told mehow much money the leech Nebsecht had given her, and offered to give itme to save Pentaur; then it passed through my mind--that may go to Hum'schildren, and in return he will let himself be shipped off to Ethiopia.I ran to the harbor, spoke to the man, found him ready and willing, gavethe money to his wife, and at night when the prisoners were shipped Icontrived the exchange Pentaur came with me on my boat under the name ofthe other, and Huni went to the south, and was called Pentaur. I had notdeceived the man into thinking he would stop at Chennu. I told him hewould be taken on to Ethiopia, for it is always impossible to play a manfalse when you know it is quite easy to do it. It is very strange! It isa real pleasure to cheat a cunning fellow or a sturdy man, but who wouldtake in a child or a sick person? Huni certainly would have goneinto the fire-pots of hell without complaining, and he left me quitecheerfully. The rest, and how we got here, you yourselves know. In Syriaat this time of year you will suffer a good deal from rain. I know thecountry, for I have escorted many prisoners of war into Egypt, and I wasthere five years with the troops of the great Mohar, father of the chiefpioneer Paaker."

  Bent-Anat thanked the brave fellow, and Pentaur and Nebsecht continuedthe narrative.

  "During the voyage," said Nebsecht, "I was uneasy about Pentaur, for Isaw how he was pining, but in the desert he seemed to rouse himself,and often whispered sweet little songs that he had composed while wemarched."

  "That is strange," said Bent-Anat, "for I also got better in thedesert."

  "Repeat the verses on the Beytharan plant," said Nebsecht.

  "Do you know the plant?" asked the poet. "It grows here in many places;here it is. Only smell how sweet it is if you bruise the fleshy stem andleaves. My little verse is simple enough; it occurred to me like manyother songs of which you know all the best."

  "They all praise the same Goddess," said Nebsecht laughing.

  "But let us have the verses," said Bent-Anat. The poet repeated in a lowvoice:

  "How often in the desert I have seen The small herb, Beytharan, in modest green! In every tiny leaf and gland and hair Sweet perfume is distilled, and scents the air. How is it that in barren sandy ground This little plant so sweet a gift has found? And that in me, in this vast desert plain, The sleeping gift of song awakes again?"

  "Do you not ascribe to the desert what is due to love?" said Nefert.

  "I owe it to both; but I must acknowledge that the desert is a wonderfulphysician for a sick soul. We take refuge from the monotony thatsurrounds us in our own reflections; the senses are at rest; and here,undisturbed and uninfluenced from without, it is given to the mind tothink out every train of thought to the end, to examine and exhaustevery feeling to its finest shades. In the city, one is always a mereparticle in a great whole, on which one is dependent, to which onemust contribute, and from which one must accept something. The solitarywanderer in the desert stands quite alone; he is in a manner freed fromthe ties which bind him to any great human community; he must fill upthe void by his own identity, and seek in it that which may give hisexistence significance and consistency. Here, where the present retiresinto the background, the thoughtful spirit finds no limits howeverremote."

  "Yes; one can think well in the desert," said Nebsecht. "Much has becomeclear to me here that in Egypt I only guessed at."

  "What may that be?" asked Pentaur.

  "In the first place," replied Nebsecht, "that we none of us really knowanything rightly; secondly that the ass may love the rose, but therose will not love the ass; and the third thing I will keep to myself,because it is my secret, and though it concerns all the world no onewould trouble himself about it. My lord chamberlain, how is this? Youknow exactly how low people must bow before the princess in proportionto their rank, and have no idea how a back-bone is made."

  "Why should I?" asked the chamberlain. "I have to attend to outwardthings, while you are contemplating inward things; else your hair mightbe smoother, and your dress less stained."

  The travellers reached the old Cheta city of Hebron without accident;there they took leave of Abocharabos, and under the safe escort ofEgyptian troops started again for the north. At Hebron Pentaur partedfrom the princess, and Bent-Anat bid him farewell without complaining.

  Uarda's father, who had learned every path and bridge in Syria,accompanied the poet, while the physician Nebsecht remained with theladies, whose good star seemed to have deserted them with Pentaur'sdeparture, for the violent winter rains which fell in the mountains ofSamaria destroyed the roads, soaked through the tents, and condemnedthem frequently to undesirable delays. At Megiddo they were receivedwith high honors by the commandant of the Egyptian garrison, and theywere compelled to linger here some days, for Nefert, who had beenparticularly eager to hurry forward, was taken ill, and Nebsecht wasobliged to forbid her proceeding at this season.

  Uarda grew pale and thoughtful, and Bent-Anat saw with anxiety that thetender roses were fading from the cheeks of he
r pretty favorite; butwhen she questioned her as to what ailed her she gave an evasive answer.She had never either mentioned Rameri's name before the princess, norshown her her mother's jewel, for she felt as if all that had passedbetween her and the prince was a secret which did not belong to heralone. Yet another reason sealed her lips. She was passionately devotedto Bent-Anat, and she told herself that if the princess heard it all,she would either blame her brother or laugh at his affection as ata child's play, and she felt as if in that case she could not loveRameri's sister any more.

  A messenger had been sent on from the first frontier station to theking's camp to enquire by which road the princess, and her party shouldleave Megiddo. But the emissary returned with a short and decided thoughaffectionate letter written by the king's own hand, to his daughter,desiring her not to quit Megiddo, which was a safe magazine and arsenalfor the army, strongly fortified and garrisoned, as it commandedthe roads from the sea into North and Central Palestine. Decisiveencounters, he said, were impending, and she knew that the Egyptiansalways excluded their wives and daughters from their war train, andregarded them as the best reward of victory when peace was obtained.

  While the ladies were waiting in Megiddo, Pentaur and his red-beardedguide proceeded northwards with a small mounted escort, with which theywere supplied by the commandant of Hebron.

  He himself rode with dignity, though this journey was the first occasionon which he had sat on horseback. He seemed to have come into the worldwith the art of riding born with him. As soon as he had learned from hiscompanions how to grasp the bridle, and had made himself familiar withthe nature of the horse, it gave him the greatest delight to tame andsubdue a fiery steed.

  He had left his priest's robes in Egypt. Here he wore a coat of mail,a sword, and battle-axe like a warrior, and his long beard, which hadgrown during his captivity, now flowed down over his breast. Uarda'sfather often looked at him with admiration, and said:

  "One might think the Mohar, with whom I often travelled these roads, hadrisen from the dead. He looked like you, he spoke like you, he calledthe men as you do, nay he sat as you do when the road was too bad forhis chariot,

  [The Mohars used chariots in their journeys. This is positively known from the papyrus Anastasi I. which vividly describes the hardships experienced by a Mohar while travelling through Syria.]

  and he got on horseback, and held the reins."

  None of Pentaur's men, except his red-bearded friend, was more to himthan a mere hired servant, and he usually preferred to ride alone, apartfrom the little troop, musing on the past--seldom on the future--andgenerally observing all that lay on his way with a keen eye. They soonreached Lebanon; between it and and Lebanon a road led through the greatSyrian valley. It rejoiced him to see with his own eyes the distantshimmer of the white snow-capped peaks, of which he had often heardwarriors talk.

  The country between the two mountain ranges was rich and fruitful, andfrom the heights waterfalls and torrents rushed into the valley. Manyvillages and towns lay on his road, but most of them had been damagedin the war. The peasants had been robbed of their teams of cattle, theflocks had been driven off from the shepherds, and when a vine-dresser,who was training his vine saw the little troop approaching, he fled tothe ravines and forests.

  The traces of the plough and the spade were everywhere visible, but thefields were for the most part not sown; the young peasants were underarms, the gardens and meadows were trodden down by soldiers, the housesand cottages plundered and destroyed, or burnt. Everything bore thetrace of the devastation of the war, only the oak and cedar forestslorded it proudly over the mountain-slopes, planes and locust-treesgrew in groves, and the gorges and rifts of the thinly-wooded limestonehills, which bordered the fertile low-land, were filled with evergreenbrushwood.

  At this time of year everything was moist and well-watered, and Pentaurcompared the country with Egypt, and observed how the same results wereattained here as there, but by different agencies. He remembered thatmorning on Sinai, and said to himself again: "Another God than oursrules here, and the old masters were not wrong who reviled godlessstrangers, and warned the uninitiated, to whom the secret of the Onemust remain unrevealed, to quit their home."

  The nearer he approached the king's camp, the more vividly he thoughtof Bent-Anat, and the faster his heart beat from time to time whenhe thought of his meeting with the king. On the whole he was full ofcheerful confidence, which he felt to be folly, and which neverthelesshe could not repress.

  Ameni had often blamed him for his too great diffidence and his want ofambition, when he had willingly let others pass him by. He rememberedthis now, and smiled and understood himself less than ever, forthough he resolutely repeated to himself a hundred times that he wasa low-born, poor, and excommunicated priest, the feeling would not besmothered that he had a right to claim Bent-Anat for his own.

  And if the king refused him his daughter--if he made him pay for hisaudacity with his life?

  Not an eyelash, he well knew, would tremble under the blow of the axe,and he would die content; for that which she had granted him was his,and no God could take it from him!