Winged Pharaoh

by Joan Grant

  Dio smiled and said, “Sekeeta, why will you always ponder on strange immensities? Leave all these thoughts until you need their warmth when you feel cold wind blowing from your tomb. Why spoil the joy of a sycamore tree at noon when it patterns the dust in shadows? What does it matter who made it or why it is there? Rejoice in the sunshine, and do not think of it as one of your ponderous gods; think of the river as clear water in which we can bathe, and not as a symbol of interminable life. While you are young, rejoice and think not of the past. Be grateful for beauty and do not always compare it to a vision, which you think puts it in the shadow. Delight in music, and do not listen for echoes from the stars. When you are old you may have to bemuse your loneliness with memories, but now you do not need them, for the present is glorious before your eyes.

  “One day I shall take you from this ancient land where people are grave with too much wisdom, and take you to Minoas where their hearts sing with youth.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Dio

  When thoughts of the future would have clouded my days, I put them from me, for the flowers of the present were sweet under my feet. When I woke in the morning, I found that my heart was filled with joy, for the sun shone upon a land where Dio and I were together. No longer did I ask Thoth-terra-das to tell me stories of the old wisdom or of great warriors in the Light; but he told me of lovers who, strong in their love, were mighty as the Gods.

  Though Dio and I did not speak of love, we knew that it was living in our hearts. He knew that I would not leave the temple until after my initiation, but he thought that then I would be free to share his life. I was like three people housed in one body; I longed to join Neyah as Pharaoh; but when I was with Dio, I wanted only freedom to find a rich contentment as his wife. Our hours together were dear as a dream untarnished by Earth, free of the shadow of the hurrying days; for I protected my thoughts, so that they should be unspoilt by the fear that this happiness would be cut short if I should die in my initiation.

  When the time of my initiation drew near, my mother, who of her wisdom knew my heart, ordered Dio to be sent for six months to the South to choose new stone for the temple statues. And though I sorrowed that he was to journey from me, I was glad that he would be away from the temple at the time of my initiation.

  On the eve of his going, he told me on the evening of the sixth full moon from then he would return and we should meet down by the marsh, where we had walked so often in the past; and he said that then he would at last be free to tell me of all that was in his heart.

  I wondered whether when he returned he would hold me in his arms, or whether my body would be housed in my sarcophagus, with pulses unstirred by the melody of love, the breath of life no longer in nostrils cold to the scent of bitumen and myrrh.

  Soon after he had travelled south, Dio sent me a poem beautifully scribed in colours on a little roll of papyrus:

  I am a sculptor that has lost his hands,

  And an orchard where no water flows;

  I am a sailing-boat on a still day,

  And a bird that cannot move its wings;

  I am a lotus in a dried-up pool,

  And a bow whose string is broken;

  I am a sanctuary without a god,

  And a night-sky without stars:

  For I had to leave you upon a long journey

  And you gave me not your heart to take with me.

  And later he sent to me:

  The seed is planted

  And the grain springs from the furrow.

  The fisherman casts his net

  And it is leaping with fish.

  The vintagers press out the grapes

  And the wine-jars are filled.

  The throwing-stick flies through the air

  And the bird falls to the hunter.

  The night is long.

  But the day is rekindled by the dawn.

  The noonday sun is hot,

  But the shadows grow long in the cool of the evening.

  I have given you my heart,

  But will you give me yours?

  PART FOUR

  CHAPTER ONE

  Prelude to Initiation

  The Place of Initiation was across the great lake, towards Amenti in the West. It had been built long before our time. It was like a pyramid, though the sides were not smooth, being built in three great steps, symbolising body, soul, spirit. When it sheltered one who away from Earth was proving the flame of his spirit, on the top of it would be kindled a beacon-fire. From the lake a water-channel of stone led to the entrance, where a shaft pierced through to the chamber of initiation, which was shaped like a sarcophagus with a pointed lid. The shaft was closed by three great drop-stones, so that it was sealed like a tomb; for it was as though the initiate died and was born again with wisdom. And many there were who failed in the great ordeals, and this symbolism of the tomb became true upon them.

  The one to undergo initiation would cross the lake upon a gilded boat, in the likeness of the Boat of the Dead, followed by a procession of boats, as at the funeral of a Pharaoh. If they returned with their wings proven, then would the procession homeward be as the return of a great warrior from a victory. And this homeward crossing of the waters was a symbol of a Winged One crossing the Waters of Forgetfulness.

  For seven days before my initiation my mother stayed with me in the temple and shared my room; and I spent my days with her in rest and gentle conversation. At night my sleep was deeply healing, for Ney-sey-ra of his wisdom let me bring back no memory, so that I should be strong for the great ordeals. And on waking and on lying down in the evening, a healer filled me with the life of Ptah, so that my body should take no hurt when for four nights and days I must forsake it.

  On the last morning, I slept until high noon. Then my mother dressed me in the white linen robe of a priestess; and about my waist she put the gold belt of an initiate, and upon my finger she put an amulet carved with the signs of a priest of Anubis. When I returned, these would be my heritage, or they would clothe my body for burial: for if I died I should be buried with the honours of a warrior vanquished in battle. My face was painted in gold, like a death-mask; and on my feet were the golden sandals of one who can walk across the Causeway to the Gods.

  When all was ready my mother kissed me upon the forehead and told me that she but waited to welcome me in victory. Then I lay upon a bier, whose sides were in the form of two jackals of Anubis, and it was borne by four priests through long avenues of people—I had seen others go upon this journey and I knew what must be about me, though my eyes were shut. The sun beat down on my closed eyelids, which must not flicker: for how could they who watched me believe that I was a Mirror of the Gods if even my body did not obey my will?

  When I reached the lake my bier was put upon the Boat of the Dead, at whose prow was an Anubis head, and at whose stern was a gilded Ape of Thoth holding the steering-oar. Then I heard the creaking of the oars and knew that the leading boat had left the shore.

  I thought of all that Ney-sey-ra had told me of what I was so soon to undergo.…I must go to the places where are the Dwellers upon the Heights. I must walk through the Caverns of the Underworld, alone. I must give wise counsel to those who know not, and make them listen. I must fight a great one upon the left-hand path, no longer as one of a great company, but standing alone. I must undergo the great ordeals, in which I shall see my oldest fears in their most horrible reality; and I must combat them, not with the wisdom that I have away from Earth, but bound in my earthly limitations. These things that will bar my path I shall not know for the creations of another’s will, for it is my will upon Earth that must be tempered before I can bear the name of priest. And if when I return I can record what I have seen, then shall I be a Priest of Anubis.

  Ra was shining his long rays before the sound of the oars had stopped and I had entered the final watery road. Then, as my bier was lifted from the boat, I heard the echoing footsteps of the priests going down the shaft, and I felt the chill of st
one upon me.

  When the bier came to rest, all the old terror, a thousand times increased, of my first night in the temple as a child swept down upon me. My courage flickered like a draughty lamp. I longed to cry out that I could not face the perils I must undergo. Yet pride is sometimes the strongest of our shields, and it saved me from thus betraying Ney-sey-ra.

  Then I heard the whisper of their robes, as they left me, so utterly alone. One by one the drop-stones fell and closed me in this living tomb, which echoed to their fall, and it was as though I were in a mighty gong.

  Wrapped in this living silence, I knew that now I must be as the dead: no longer could my body be a friendly refuge to which I could fly when the Powers of Evil were too strong for me to combat. Would it ever obey me gently and pleasantly again, or would it hold me an unwilling captive? Should I be as Hekket, who failed yet did not die, and who sits in the courtyard with blind eyes and wet sagging lips?

  Fear stood beside me in the dark. I drove him from me with my will, and I seemed to hear the thin rattle of his bones.…

  I must think of quiet, gentle things, to make me still.

  I will think of cooking-fires, with their smoke gently rising at sunset; think of them until I can feel their warmth and their shelter.

  I will think of birds leaving the reeds at sunrise upon a quiet morning, until I can hear the whirring of their wings through peace.

  I will think of flowers, smoothly unfurling their petals to the new day.

  I will think of children lightly breathing beside their mothers in gentle sleep.

  I will think of warriors, their swords shining with the Light for which they fight; their courage shall be my shield and the memory of them shall give me strength. And the love of my mother shall be as a cloak about me.

  I will remember the wisdom of Ney-sey-ra, my teacher, and his words shall be to me as is the guidance of the stars to a traveller across the desert by night.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Torturers

  And then I went to the Caverns of the Underworld.

  Here all is grey, and no light shines unto this place where people expiate those crimes which are too manifold to be freed on Earth. Many times they have been taught, by reaping the bitter harvest they have sown, that their actions were against the Laws of the Gods. Yet they listened not; and now, chained in the shackles they have forged themselves, they suffer in all intensity and in one time what they once did to others upon Earth.

  First I went to the place of torturers. Here upon the rims of mighty wheels are men outstretched and tied by their hands and feet to ropes, which pull them backwards into a hoop of pain. And stretching them into this agony are twenty of their fellow torturers. When the tortured one has reached the utmost pinnacle of pain, then he must join the others straining on the rope, while another takes his place upon the wheel.

  They know that they are dead, and they wear that image of death which they hold in their minds; some are like skeletons, and some have shreds of putrefying flesh upon their bones, and some are like corpses bloated in the sun.

  There is no sound of groans or shrieks of pain, but only the sullen creaking of the ropes and the sharp crack of arms being torn out of joint.

  Among them there was a woman who had reached the limit of the experience that she must undergo to free herself of her old evil. She had been the leader of a tribe of woman warriors, whom she had joined because her lover had deserted her. To avenge her pain upon his fellow-men, when she took a prisoner in battle or captured a herdsman as he tended his flocks, she would tie his hands to a tree and his feet to an ox; then would she beat the ox with thorned rods until, maddened with pain, it broke its living bond.

  When I took her by the hand, I felt the rustle of her long-dead bones; and as I led her from this hell, I saw her beautiful in youth, as she had been two thousand years before. And now she will sleep until she is reborn, compassionate to all who suffer pain.

  Then I went to one who had been a priest of evil in the land they call Peru. In his temple of dark sacrifice, upon a mighty tower shaped like a cone, he had torn the living hearts from thousands of slaves, splitting them open with a leaf-shaped knife, and had felt their hearts’ blood beating in his hands.

  Now he lies naked, bound upon his own altar, watching a figure like unto himself make dedication to an evil one. Then does he feel the knife first mark his skin in a thin line of scarlet, and then, as it rips upwards through his breast, he feels taloned fingers clawing for his heart. Ten thousand times, again ten thousand times he feels this done to him by one he knows is what he once had been. Yet does he think it is some horrid twin, and he knows not that he sees but a vision of himself and it is his own cruelty that tortures him.

  Then I saw one who had been the chief of a great tribe in a country of marshes. The people who were in his power feared him greatly, for those who angered him he punished with the death by water. They were weighted by heavy stones in the shallow water at the edge of the marsh, and into their mouths were put two hollow reeds, a thumb-joint in thickness, through which they could suck air. Every day the mouth of the reed was made smaller with wet clay, so that they must struggle ever more fiercely to appease the torment of their lungs; but some lived three days and four nights before they died. When the time came that the chief died, his body was put into a stone coffin. But before he was buried, his people, who for so long had hated him, revolted; and they carried his coffin not to the burial-place, but to where he had tortured others. There they sank it into the muddy water, and into his mouth they put two hollow reeds. And they thought it was but an empty puppet upon which they took their vengeance.

  But though he was dead, his spirit was still bound in his body. Chained in the semblance of the newly dead, he fought for air, though long ago his body had joined the slime at the bottom of the marsh.

  I went to him and took him up out of the water. And I told him that his time had come to be born again on Earth, and that he would be a fisherman and become wise in the ways of the sea. And he who had killed people through water would learn to feed others with its fish.

  Then I went to one of the Dragon People, who had sought to find the tones and depths of pain, and had delighted to play the discords of cruelty upon the living bodies of others.

  First every tooth is wrenched out of his jaws. Then are his nails pulled from his fingers and the bleeding stumps fretted against coarse wool. Then each hair is plucked from his head, one by one, and it is as though his scalp were assailed by stinging flies. Then joint by joint his fingers are cut off and plunged into boiling fat to check the blood. Then are his lids meticulously slit, so that horror is before his ever open eyes. Then is his body eaten by hungry rats, and as they fatten on his cringing flesh, they seem those that he once skinned alive.

  Then I saw one who had burnt others and made fire the enemy of man. Now fire has forsaken him and he is alone in a land of grinding cold. Naked he wanders over ice that cuts his feet like knives. And the cold holds his veins in the crushing grip of its icy fingers. Often he sees before him a camp fire and runs towards it longing for warmth, but as he reaches it, it turns to icicles.

  Here he must stay until he will never again misuse fire, which man should cherish as his friend: for it is the first gift, unshared by animals, that Earth gives to all mankind.

  Then I went to where there were animals writhing in their pain. Oxen with gaping sores upon their sides; and starving dogs, some with their ribs crushed in by heavy blows; a monkey with its paws cut off; and a bird without its wings.

  And as I watched, I saw there were human beings looking through their eyes, prisoned in the likeness of them who should have been their little brothers, but who had been their slaves.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Speakers of Evil

  Then I went to that place where those whose tongues had been a poisoned weapon suffer the pain that their venom gave to others. Among them are not those whose speech was foolish or without thought, but only those who m
aliciously echoed the cruelty in their hearts.

  First I saw a man who lay upon his face, and upon the soles of his feet fell the cutting blows of a thin rod, faster than the hooves of a running ibex. He had stolen a flawless pearl, and to conceal what he had done he had accused his servant of the theft. And the servant had been beaten until he died.

  Then I saw a woman who had been one of the lesser wives of the king of an eastern people. The royal wife had been as pure in heart as she was in body; but for jealousy of her this concubine had filled the king’s heart with hatred, telling him that when he was away from the palace, the royal wife pleasured herself with any whom she found desirable, even if they were of low caste. The queen was too proud to defend herself, and because her husband believed this of her, she wished for nothing except that he should put her to death. The king was blinded by his jealousy, and he drove her forth from her body, not with a dagger or with poison, but by rape. And to the concubine he gave fifty sacks of gold pieces.

  Now the concubine lies stretched upon the ground, her widespread hands and ankles tied to wooden posts. Beside her there is a jar, and one by one the gold pieces that once she delighted to run through her fingers fall into it; and each time she hears the chink of gold, again she suffers this unending rape: an Asiatic of the lowest caste; a filthy leper rotting with his sores; a slave, his limbs deep-eaten by his chains.

  Then I saw a woman whose presence in a house had always disturbed the quiet of them who shared it with her, until it was as though their rest was tormented with stinging insects. Now she is beset with hornets. They have stung her hands until they are like the webbed feet of a duck; her eyes are narrow slits in the swollen flesh of her lids, her tongue is thick between her cracked lips, and she is bearded with flies.