“Who is that man?” said the queen, with a cold curiosity.
“He is the right arm of Thutmose, terrible in battle, full of cunning. The king wants him to march after him in the command and in the council.”
“His name has never been mentioned to me.”
“He comes from Tanis,” said the courier. “At the beginning of the war he commanded a phalanx, but Thutmose, having recognized that he was successful in his enterprises, sent him with a thousand men to the gorge of the Hennar, where Setne surprised a caravan. Then he commanded the right wing in the battle; he overturned five thousand Ninevites. Afterwards, at Sades, he enveloped a third of the Assyrian army. That is why our lord has raised him above the other chiefs of war.”
After a pause, the courier added: “Admirable Queen, the king will follow his couriers at a distance of four months.”
“Withdraw,” said the queen. And she added, for she was not miserly: “You have served well. You will be given three four-year-old oxen; the protection of your masters will extend over you and your race.”
When the courier had left the room, Hatsheput summoned her sister and communicated the news to her. Then she said: “Have you ever heard any mention of this young Tanite warrior?”
Aoura blushed. “Yes,” she replied. “Have I not spoken about him? He is the man I saw teaching your son Amenhotep the use of the bow. His family, it is said, was allied to the old kings.”
“Perhaps Thutmose will finally allow you to know a man,” said Hatsheput, with a sort of vivacity, for she feared that the king might keep that charming sister for himself. “Would you like that chief?”
Divining her sister’s desire, Aoura replied without hesitation: “I would like him.”
Hatsheput’s features relaxed. “Then I will speak in favor of that marriage,” she said.
She dismissed her sister. Aoura fled joyfully and went to find the nomad. She reported the queen’s words to Gaila, who listened with pleasure, and then with pity; she saw that the fate of the princess was now settled.
But a shadow of death, of the jealousy of the queen, hovered over her.
III
At the end of the first moon of Autumn, the rumor spread through the valley of the Nile that the army of Thutmose was approaching the isthmus. Thin and rapid men ran from city to city announcing the great news.
Among the boats of the Nile, the swarming cities, and all the way to the smallest clusters of huts constructed of dry wood and papyrus, Egypt entire soon knew that his army was bringing back an enormous booty, ten thousand captives, horses, donkeys and singular beasts. At the new moon, the standards of the advance guard appeared before Thebes; then the sand was seen rising all the way to the horizon. The soldiers arrived, black, savage, fleshless and indefatigable in tattered, dirty or absent garments. But the weapons were still shining, and the satisfaction of a great booty rendered the faces dignified.
At the gates of Thebes the trumpets sounded. Closer and closer, the fanfares followed one another along the dusty roads. Then the light Theban drums rattled like an innumerable army of cicadas. The carts jolted along the road, sparkling with scythes, harrows and sharp lances.
The phalanges massed, slow and formidable, bristling with points and shadowed by great bucklers. They seemed heavy by comparison with the archers, sling-wielders and swordsmen, but those who carried clubs were marching like stone statues.
The army was not to enter Thebes. It dispersed around it and chose its encampments, while three elite phalanges, which guarded Thutmose, presented themselves before the great pylon.
In a fulgurant cedar-wood chariot, encrusted with suns and moons, the king was standing, covered with a garment as coarse as those of his soldiers, his head shaded by a light woolen pschent. Other chariots followed in which chiefs were seen flamboyant with sardonyxes, beryls or sapphires, with multicolored baldrics, bucklers laminated with gold and silver; for Thutmose, sober, simple and almost a stranger to any sensory joy, showed a disdainful indifference for his person. By contrast, he rejoiced in seeing a magnificent luxury streaming around him in his companions. In order not to displease him, Setne had put on embroidered garments and ardent jewelry.
The first phalanx of guards was engulfed within the pylon, amid the savage clamors of the Thebans.
A frightening crowd expanded, like a foam of faces, a swell of brown bodies, with long waves of violet, crimson, white, green or saffron fabrics, and cries, reinforced by sudden surges of enthusiasm or weakened by long refluxes of curiosity, imitated all the noises of a tempest against rocks and among great trees.
Then, as the king passed by, there was a long silence, of which the density of beings made something strangely material. The simplicity of the formidable master disconcerted the people every time. They searched therein for a symbol, a myth, a mystery, experiencing at first an obscure disappointment, but very rapidly, a reaction as violent as thunder rumbled in their souls, and then, immense, frantic and irresistible, the entire adoration of a people for the victorious chief, all the confused life of a crowd sensing its unity, all the passionate servitude of a nation that can only exist by virtue of a powerful authority, agitated that great human flood, drawing inexhaustible cries therefrom.
Thutmose traversed that hurricane of emotion with a visage as hard as granite; but a gleam of arrogant joy filtered into his gaze. The guards drove back the audacious. One man, mad with enthusiasm, succeeded in getting through the hedge of lances and threw himself upon the king’s chariot with a savage affection. It would be his death if he touched Thutmose, but a glorious death, which entailed, for those who believed themselves in a state to appear before the infernal judges, exemption from several ordeals.
The king, annoyed, gestured to the fanatic to withdraw. The other took no account of the order. With an extraordinary leap he reached the platform of the chariot. There, prostrate, holding the master’s feet, he requested with loud cries that his life be cut short by the royal sword. Already, soldiers were about to seize the man. Thutmose, no longer able to save him without falling in the eyes of the Thebans, drew his weapon with a smile and plunged it into the heart of the supplicant. Roars of joy saluted that execution; a long tempest of enthusiasm rose from the depths of the multitude, and a thousand furious creatures rushed forward to touch the bloody dust.
The escort reached the palace. Thutmose entered it with the ten great chiefs of his army. The queen was waiting in a hall strewn with herbs, roses and lotuses, with cut palm leaves, myrtles and great Nile seeds. Hatsheput displayed herself on red petals, with pale rubies and beryls in her hair, stout and heavy, her eyes enveloped by thick lids, and Thutmose, who had loved her dearly, found her still desirable.
“Here you are, finally,” she said, “conqueror of the vast earth. Egypt was sad and miserable during your absence. But like the beneficent Nile, your return makes your people cry out with joy.”
Less inclined than her to emphasis, he replied: “I’ve brought you a thousand slaves, coffers full of embroidered cloth, gold and silver jewelry, fiery stones, enamels, precious leather and perfumes without number...”
His gaze, moving sideways, encountered the elegant body of Aoura. She was standing on herbs mingled with young nelumbos, so tightly clad in gold and hyacinth cloth that every contour was perceptible. Her black hair was a night constellated with amber stars; her proud eyes, soft and more changeable than the evening sky, astonished Thutmose.
“How beautiful you are, my sister!” he said. “There is nothing about you that is not delightful to see.” His nostrils flared; a heavy frisson of lust ran through the entire body of the man, sensible to the beauty of women.
Hatsheput went pale, her slow soul filled with murder, while Aoura, charmed at first and then anxious, turned her eyes toward Setne, standing at the back of the room in front of the other war chiefs.
Already, the king, an energetic master of his will, had postponed his desire until later. He went on, gravely: “For you also, Aoura, I have brought sla
ves, precious stones, gold, silver, and the perfumes of the Euphrates and Syria.”
Then he made a sign to Setne, who advanced and prostrated himself before the queen.
“This,” said the king, “is my beloved servant. His strength has been half of my strength, his arm has brought victory everywhere. I want him to have the first place after the king and the queen, and let everyone incline to his commands.”
He placed his hand gently on Setne’s head, and declared: “You have not asked me for anything yet. I would like to do for you whatever you desire.”
“The king has heaped me with benefits,” replied the Tanite. “He has recompensed me a thousand times.”
“But you have not asked me for anything,” repeated Thutmose. “Let me know your desire.”
Setne darted his gaze at Aoura. She went pale; their faces confessed then that they loved one another, but they understood immediately that the time had not come, and Setne said: “My lord will permit me to wait for a few days. I am not yet ready to express a desire.”
“Very well,” said Thutmose, with a smile. “I will wait until the day of Osiris.”
He raised Setne up himself, and sent out all the chiefs. And while he sat down beside the queen, he was still considering her younger sister with an ardent covetousness.
Thutmose spent the night with Hatsheput and rendered his duty to her. He took scarcely any pleasure in it.
The queen, anxious and vindictive, knew that her brother desired another woman. She would have passed over a slave carelessly, or even a free daughter of Thebes, but she could not suffer the idea of sharing with her sister. Only Aoura, in Egypt or in the lands conquered by Thutmose, was her equal, and against her alone. Hatsheput experienced an insupportable jealousy.
The king got up early in the morning, dressed with his usual simplicity, and then, having made a meal of fish and papyrus stems, he picked up an ivory staff in order to go out.
“Where is my lord going?” asked Hatsheput, softly.
Thutmose never lied to his family, his servants or his soldiers. He only masked the truth with enemies. Above all, he had never hidden anything from his wife. This time he hesitated, imperceptibly, for he was not unaware of Hatsheput’s jealousy.
“I’m going to visit the gardens and the works,” he said. “I shall also go to see our sister Aoura.”
She could not contain herself. She demanded: “And what do you want with our sister?”
Thutmose no longer hesitated. His sovereign will did not want to fear obstacles. “It is time,” he said, “that she knew a man.”
“And who will you give her?” said Hatsheput, very pale.
“She will have the same master as you.”
Although, in the reign of Thutmose III, everything bowed down before royal authority, even the formidable power of the priests, the legitimate wife retained almost intact the prerogatives that would be successively weakened thereafter.
Hatsheput rebelled. “I do not want to have a rival!” she cried. “Take any other, and I will say nothing. But for her, Thutmose, it is necessary to give her a husband.”
“No will can rise above mine!” said the king, forcefully. “You will not have a rival. Only you will be my wife. But it is good that our sister has children of the blood of Ahmose. Ours might perish.”
She replied vehemently: “Why give vain reasons? You are only thinking of your desire; that is unworthy of you. No king of our dynasty has coveted more than one of his sisters, and all of them, however, have counted them in great number. Such was the will of Ahmose. Be careful, in defying it, of attracting the anger of Ammon and ending your magnificent reign in defeat or shame!”
“I have done as much as Ahmose,” he said, angrily. “Why should I not have a will equal to his?”
She feigned a profound dejection. “Woe betide whoever scorns the ancestral law! Thutmose, are you forgetting that that man founded our dynasty? Are you forgetting that he labored for our glory, that he delivered us from filthy slavery?”
“I’m forgetting nothing!” he replied, with a more violent anger. “I shall erect a new temple to the sacred memory of Ahmose, and our royalty, magnified by my hands, will accept a few new customs, without the souls of the ancestors being offended…”
She was about to reply, but he did not want to listen any longer; he disappeared into the gardens without her daring to follow him.
IV
Setne, trembling with amour and dread, had retired to his house. He knew that he was loved by Aoura, but he carried away, like a wound, the covetous gaze that the king had cast upon his sister. He wanted to see Gaila very quickly, thirsty for her face, her body and her advice.
An old slave had opened the door. Setne listened distractedly to his salutations. He marched through the rooms and the garden, impatient to see the woman he desired appear. He came to the enclosure of date palms and sycamores where he loved to repose. The water, faint and fresh, was murmuring very softly; memories rose up in the young man, abundant, luminous and so precise that his heart groaned with lust. He thought he could see once again, on the grassy banks, in the penumbra constellated with rays of amber and amethyst, the delightful form of his slave. Everything that she had predicted had been accomplished on the battlefields of Mesopotamia, as in the palace of Thebes; but had she foreseen Thutmose’s desire?
He stamped his feet, impatiently, while the sun began to decline from the zenith. He had been careful to send a soldier with a message to the house of the old women where Gaila was living. Perhaps the nomad had been absent or the soldier had fulfilled his mission poorly? The idea came to him abruptly that she had quit Egypt, weary of such a long wait. He glimpsed the agile form gliding through the cities and solitary lances, prey to need, giving her body to men in exchange for nourishment or shelter.
That imagination, by torturing him with fury and jealousy, made him understand more fully how much he loved his slave. He could not remain in the dwelling any longer, and he was already heading toward the pylon when he heard youthful and silvery laughter, which he recognized as easily as if he had seen a face.
“Gaila!” he cried.
And, turning round, he saw the beautiful black fire of her pupils and the Bedouin’s red lips. Then he forgot his dread; King Thutmose ceased to dominate his soul like a menacing shadow. Nothing remained but that delectable flesh. With a cry of joy he drew Gaila to his heart...
He got up again with the melancholy that the slave’s indifference left him, but he did not express it. He said: “Your predictions are realized, Gaila. I have triumphed over enemies, gained the favor of the Thutmose, and...”
“And the love of Aoura!” she interrupted, with a smile. “Yes, the signs did not lie.”
He took the young woman’s hand with a joyful ardor. “But it’s by you that I knew the signs, and you’ve aided me so well! My strength belongs to you, daughter of the Gulf.”
“Keep your word and we’ll go on to the end!”
He considered her with an eye suddenly filled with anxiety.
“Are you sure of that? This morning, I perceived an obstacle that might become insurmountable...”
She remained silent, full of shadows; her eyelids fluttered at intervals. He respected her silence, because he believed that she was consulting her mysterious science.
“Yes,” she replied, “the danger is great, my master, if you intend to have Aoura for your wife. But remember that I haven’t promised you that. I said that you would know her. Perhaps it will only be after Thutmose. Perhaps also, the king, his desire slaked, will give her to you without difficulty, for he does not love the same woman for long, and he will yield quickly to the anger of Hatsheput. You’re not jealous of your king?”
That question embarrassed Setne. Any other sentiment than the dread and love of Thutmose seemed sacrilegious to him; and yet, an obscure bitterness swelled in his breast.
“How could I be jealous of the king?” he exclaimed, finally. “He sanctifies everything he touches. I only
fear that he will not want to give me Aoura.”
She feared that too. In truth, Thutmose was scarcely occupied with women. He knew few caprices, and all were brief; but how much more seductive might the princess of Thebes, his sister, seen to him than all the daughters of Asia, Egypt and Kush?
Gaila’s will had a brief weakness. She sensed against her the star of the man who overturned empires. Then, her Bedouin temerity returned, and enabled hope, and she said: “Let us rest, my master. Thutmose will do nothing before the coming night has passed. Any action would be futile.”
“Can you not interrogate your signs?” he said, with anguish.
“I have interrogated them. They are obscure. They will not speak before tomorrow.”
He resigned himself. Momentarily, he saw again all the perils that he had traversed and vanquished, the favor of Thutmose conquered, the amour surprised in Aoura’s eyes; then, fatalistically, he abandoned himself to destiny, and, turning his eyes toward his beautiful slave, he became disinterested again in everything but touching her red lips.
V
Thutmose spent more than an hour walking through the gardens. He stopped several times beside artisans and questioned them, for the king, curious about everything that men do, took almost as much interest in the works of the sculptor, the mason and the laborer as in his soldiers. Hard and just, he liked to punish by surprise, or recompense abruptly, but that morning he forgot to do either. The image of Aoura persisted in tormenting him. It had been presented to him at the precise moment when, weary of triumphs and voyages, weary of war itself, which had become too facile, Thutmose was prepared to welcome some new form of desire or domination. The only thing that gave him pause, more acutely than he would have thought, was the tradition of Ahmose. On the other hand, the jealousy of Hatsheput drove him to infringe the custom, not because he had the intention of sacrificing his wife, but because hers was the only will that could contest his, the only one before which he had sometimes yielded.
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