Lost in thought, Pandion struck his neighbour’s oar with his own.
“Hi, Ekwesha, wake up, look out for yourself!”
At night the slaves were shut up in the prisons that stood in the vicinity of each township or temple.
Pharaoh’s sculptor was everywhere treated with respect by the local authorities and he went away to his rest accompanied by two trusted servants.
On the fifth day the boat turned a bend formed by outjutting. river-washed rocks. Beyond the bend lay an extensive plain cut off from the river by rows of tall palms and sycamores. The boat approached a stone-paved embankment with two wide staircases leading down to the water. A massive tower rose behind a crenellated wall on the river-bank. The heavy gates stood half-open and through them could be seen a garden with ponds and flower-dotted lawns beyond which stood a white building decorated with colourful designs.
This was the house of the High Priest of the local temples.
The royal sculptor, before whom the sentries bowed in servile humility, entered the gates while the slaves remained outside under the surveillance of two soldiers. They did not have to wait long, for the sculptor soon returned with another man who carried a scroll of papyrus and led the slaves past the temples and dwelling houses to a big site occupied by ruined walls and a forest of columns, the roof over which had collapsed. Amongst the ruins of this dead town there were, here and there, small buildings in a better state of preservation. An occasional tree stump indicated the site of former gardens; dried up ponds, basins and canals were filled with sand, a thick layer of sand covered the stone-paved roads and piled up against walls eroded by time. Not a living soul was to be seen anywhere, deadly silence reigned in the blazing heat.
The sculptor explained to Pandion in a few words that these were the ruins of the once beautiful capital of the Heretic Pharaoh (The Heretic Pharaoh — Amenhotep IV who tried to introduce into Egypt a new religion with only one god — the sun disc Aton.)whom the gods had cursed. No true son of the Black Land dare pronounce his name.
Pandion could not discover what this Pharaoh, who had reigned four centuries earlier, had done and why he had built a new capital.
The newcomer unrolled his papyrus and the two Egyptians studied the drawing on it to discover the whereabouts of a long building with the columns at its entrance lying on the ground. The interior walls of this building were faced with azure-blue stones with veins of gold in them.
Pandion and the other slaves were given the job of removing these thin stone slabs that had been firmly cemented to the walls. The job took them several days to complete and they spent the night there amidst the ruins, food and water being brought to them from the neighbouring dwellings.
When they had finished their job Pandion, Kidogo and four other slaves were ordered to search the ruins in any direction they liked and look for any works of art that might have been left there and which could be taken as gifts for Pharaoh’s palace. The Negro and Pandion set out together, the first time without escort and away from the keen eye of the overseer.
The two friends climbed on to the gate turret of some large building in order to get a view of their surroundings. From the east sand crept up to and into the ruins and stretched away in a desert of rolling dunes and piles of stone as far as the eye could reach.
Pandion looked over the silent ruins and in his excitement grasped Kidogo’s arm tightly.
“Let’s run, we won’t be missed for a long time, nobody can see us,” he whispered.
The Negro’s good-natured face spread in a smile.
“Don’t you know what the desert is?” he asked in astonishment. “At this hour tomorrow the soldiers of the search party would find our dead bodies already dried up by the sun. They,” Kidogo meant the Egyptians, “know what they are doing. There is only one road to the east, it follows the water-holes and they are guarded. In this place the desert holds us tighter than any chains…”
Pandion nodded his head gloomily — his momentary excitement had passed. In silence the two friends left the turret and set out in different directions, looking through holes in the walls and entering rooms through their dark doorways.
Inside a small, well-preserved, two-storied palace, where there were remains of the wooden lattice-work on the windows, Kidogo had the good fortune to find a small statue of an Egyptian girl carved from hard yellow limestone. He called Pandion and together they examined the work of some unknown master. The girl’s pretty face was typically Egyptian, such as Pandion already knew — the low forehead, narrow eyes slanting upwards towards the temples, protruding cheek-bones and thick lips with dimples at the corners of the mouth.
Kidogo took his find to the master of the workshops while Pandion penetrated farther into the ruins. He wandered on, stepping mechanically over wreckage and heaps of stones, taking no note of his direction, and soon he found himself in the shade of a length of wall that was still standing. Right in front of him he saw a tightly closed door leading to underground premises. Pandion pressed on the bronze door handle, the rotten boards collapsed under his weight and he entered a room whose only light came from a narrow chink in the ceiling.
It was a small room built in a thick wall of excellently dressed stone. Two light armchairs of ebony inlaid with ivory were covered with a layer of dust. In one corner lay a half-rotten casket. Against the opposite wall a grey stone statue stood on a block of rose-hued granite, a full-size female figure, the lower part of which had been left unfinished.
Two lithe panthers of black stone, one on either side of the statue, stood as though on guard. Pandion carefully brushed the dust from the statue and stepped back in dumb admiration.
The skill of the craftsman had reproduced in stone the transparent material that enveloped the girl’s body. With her left hand she pressed a lotus bloom firmly to her breast. Her thick hair, braided in a number of fine plaits, framed her face in a heavy coiffure divided by a straight parting and falling over her shoulders. The charming girl did not resemble an Egyptian. Her face was rounder, her nose small and straight and she had a high forehead and big eyes set wide apart.
Pandion glanced at the statue from one side and was amazed at the strange and subtle mockery which the sculptor had given to the girl’s face. Never had he seen such an expression of verve and intellect in a statue; the artists of Aigyptos loved majestic and indifferent immobility more than anything else.
The girl was more like the women of Oeniadae or even more like the beautiful inhabitants of the islands of his native sea.
The bright, intelligent face of the statue was far removed from the sullen beauty of Egyptian works of art and was carved with such great skill that Pandion once again felt the torture of nostalgia. The young Hellene wrung his hands and tried to imagine the model from which the statue had been carved, a girl that somehow seemed near to him, a girl that had found her way to Aigyptos by unknown roads four centuries ago. Had she been a captive like himself or had she come from some distant country of her own free will?
A ray of sunlight, falling through the crack in the ceiling, cast a dusty light on the statue. It seemed to Pandion that the expression on the girl’s face had changed — the eyes blazed, the lips trembled as though a flutter of mysterious, hidden life had reached the stone surface of the statue.
Yes, that was the way to carve a statue… here was the master from whom he could learn to depict living beauty… from this master who had long been dead!
Reverently Pandion laid careful fingers on the face of the statue, feeling for the tiny and elusive details that made the statue a living thing.
For a long time he remained standing before the statue of the beautiful maiden who smiled at him in mocking friendliness. It seemed to him that he had found a new friend whose smile lightened the burden of the endless succession of joyless days.
Unconsciously the youth’s thoughts turned to Thessa, and her living image rose before him again.
Pandion’s eyes wandered over the ornament on the ceiling an
d walls where stars, bunches of lotus flowers and curving lilies were intermingled with bull’s heads. Suddenly Pandion shuddered: the vision of Thessa disappeared and before him, on the wall, stood a picture of captives tied back to back, being dragged to the feet of Pharaoh. Pandion remembered that it was late and that he must hurry back and take something with him to justify his long absence. He took another look at the statue and realized that he could not place it in the hands of the master sculptor. He regarded such an act as tantamount to treachery, it would be like delivering the girl into slavery for a second time. Looking round, he suddenly remembered the casket he had seen in the corner. Pandion knelt down and removed from it four faience drinking cups, shaped like lotus blossoms and covered with bright blue enamel. That would be enough. Pandion took his last look at the statue of the girl, trying to fix in his memory every detail of her face, and with a deep sigh carried the four cups outside. He looked round to make sure that he was not observed and hurriedly covered the entrance to the room with big boulders and then filled all the spaces between them with rubble so that it looked like part of the damaged wall. He wrapped the cups up carefully in his loin-cloth, made an involuntary gesture of farewell in the direction of the statue, safe in its asylum, and hurried off to join the others. The shouts of the slaves showed him the direction, loudest amongst them being the strong, resonant voice of Kidogo.
The royal sculptor met Pandion at first with threats but calmed down the moment he saw the treasure Pandion had brought him.
The return journey took three days longer as the rowers had to fight against the current of the river. Pandion told Kidogo about the statue and the Negro approved his action, adding that the girl had probably come from the Mashuashi, a people living on the northern edge of the Great Western Desert.
Pandion tried to persuade Kidogo to flee, but his friend only shook his head in reply, rejecting all the plans suggested by the Hellene.
During the seven days of the journey Pandion failed to convince his friend but he, himself, was unable to remain inactive; it seemed that he would not be able to hold out much longer and must inevitably perish. He longed for his companions who had remained on the building jobs and in the shehne. He felt that these men were the force that could bring liberation and which gave him hopes for the future. Here there was no hope of liberation and that made Pandion pant in helpless fury.
Two days after their return to the workshops the royal sculptor took Pandion to the palace of the Chief Builder, where a festival was being prepared. Pandion was ordered to fashion clay statuettes and from them make moulds for the shaping of sweet biscuits.
When Pandion had finished his work he was told to remain at the palace to carry home the palanquin of the royal sculptor when the feast was over. Pandion did not pay any attention to the other slaves, men and women, that filled the palace, but went off by himself in the garden.
It had grown dark, bright stars lit up the sky, but still the feast went on. Sheaves of yellow light piercing the darkness of the garden from the open windows illuminated the trunks of trees, the foliage and flowers of the shrubs and were reflected in patches of glowing red from the mirror-like surfaces of the ponds. The guests were assembled in a big hall on the ground-floor decorated with pillars of polished cedar wood. From the hall came sounds of music. For a long time Pandion had heard nothing in the way of music with the exception of mournful and unknown songs, and he gradually drew closer to the big, low window, hid himself in the bushes and watched what was going on.
A heavy aroma of sweet oils came from the crowded room. The walls, pillars and window-frames were hung with garlands of fresh flowers, mostly lotus blossoms, Pandion noticed. Brightly-coloured jugs of wine, baskets and bowls of fruit stood on low tables near the seats. The guests, excited with the wine they had drunk and anoint-, ed with perfumed unguents, were crowded along the walls, while in the space between the columns girls in long garments were dancing. Their black hair, braided into numerous thin plaits, swung about the shoulders of the dancers, wide bracelets of coloured beads covered their wrists, and girdles”of similar design shone through the thin material of their raiment. Pandion could not help noticing a certain angularity in the bodies of the Egyptian dancing girls who differed very greatly from the strong women of his own country. At one end of the room young Egyptian girls played on a variety of musical instruments: two girls played flutes, another played on a harp of many strings and still two others extracted harsh rattling notes from long two-stringed instruments.
The dancing girls carried thin leaves of gleaming bronze in their hands and from time to time interrupted the rhythm of the dance melody with abrupt, ringing blows on them. Pandion’s ear was unaccustomed to the abrupt changes from high tones to low, to the poignantly moaning notes with a constantly changing tempo. The dances ended and the tired dancing girls gave up the floor to the singers. Pandion listened attentively, trying to understand the words, and found that when the melody was slow and low in tone he could understand the purport of the song.
The first song glorified a journey to the southern part of Quemt. “There you will meet a pretty girl who will offer you the flowers of her bosom,” Pandion understood.
Another song exalted the military valour of the sons of Quemt with loud shouts and expressions so tortuous they seemed meaningless to Pandion. He left the window with feelings of irritation.
“The names of the brave will never die — “ the last words of the song drifted towards him as the singing came to an end and was followed by sounds of laughter and bustle; Pandion again looked into the window.
Slaves had brought in a fair-skinned girl with closely cut, wavy hair and pushed her into the middle of the room. She stood there confused and afraid amidst flowers ‘trodden underfoot by the dancers. A man came out of the crowd and said a few angry words to the girl. Obediently she took the ivory lute that was offered her and the fingers of her tiny hands ran over the strings. Silence fell as the girl’s low clear voice rang out through the room. It was not the jerky, suddenly rising and falling melody of the Egyptians but a song that flowed freely and sadly. At first the sounds fell slowly, like the splashing of separate drops of water, then they merged into regularly rising and falling waves, that rolled and whispered like the waves of the sea and carried with them such unrestrained sorrow that Pandion stood stock-still. He could hear the free, open sea rolling through the song and in the incomprehensible sounds of that magic voice. The sea, unknown and unloved here in Aigyptos, was so near and dear to Pandion that at first he stood aghast as all that was hidden deep in his soul burst suddenly out. That longing for freedom that Pandion knew so well was weeping and wailing in the song. He put his fingers to his ears and clenched his teeth to keep screaming and ran away to the far end of the garden. Throwing himself en to the ground in the shadow of the trees, Pandion gave way to a fit of irrepressible sobbing.
“Hi, Ekwesha, come here! Ekwesha!” shouted Pandion’s master. The young Hellene had not noticed that the feast was over.
Pharaoh’s sculptor was very obviously drunk. Leaning on Pandion’s arm and supported on the other side by his own slave, born in bondage, the Master of the Royal Workshops refused to enter his palanquin and expressed the desire to walk home.
Halfway home, occasionally stumbling over irregularities in the road, he began to praise Pandion, prophesying a great future for him. Pandion was still under the impression created by the song and did not hear what his master was saying. In this way they walked to the, brightly-coloured portico of the Egyptian’s house. His wife and two slave girls, bearing lamps, appeared in the doorway. The royal sculptor stumbled up the steps and slapped Pandion on the shoulder. The latter went down again as no slave from the workshops was allowed to enter the house.
“Wait a minute, Ekwesha!” said the master gleefully, trying to bend his face into the semblance of a cunning smile. “Give that to me!” He almost snatched the lamp out of the hand of one of the slave girls and whispered something to her. The girl d
isappeared into the darkness.
The Egyptian pushed Pandion through the door and led him into the reception-room. On the left, between the windows, stood a beautiful vase with a fine, dark red design. Pandion had seen such vases in Crete and once more the youth’s heart pained him.
“His Majesty, life, health, strength,” the sculptor pronounced in solemn tones, “has ordered me to make seven vases like the one brought from the islands of your seas. (Life, health, strength — these three words had always to be added to any mention of Pharaoh.) Only we must change those barbaric colours for the blue colour favoured in Tha-Quem… If you earn distinction in this work I’ll mention your name in the Great House… And now…” The master raised his voice and turned towards two dark figures that were approaching them.
They were the slave girl who had left at his behest and another girl wrapped in a long striped cloak.
“Come closer,” ordered the Egyptian impatiently, lifting the lamp to the face of the girl in the cloak.
Her big, bulging black eyes looked fearfully at Pandion, her puffed, childish lips opened in a fluttering sigh. Pandion saw wavy locks protruding from under the cloak, a delicate nose with nervously twitching nostrils — the slave girl was undoubtedly of Asiatic origin, from one of the tribes in the east.
“Look, Ekwesha,” said the Egyptian, with an unsteady but strong movement pulling the cloak off the girl. She gave a faint cry and covered her face with her hands as she stood there stark naked.
“Take her as your wife.” The royal sculptor pushed the girl towards Pandion and she, trembling all over, pressed herself close to the young Hellene.
Pandion moved slightly back and stroked the tangled hair of the young captive, submitting to a mixed feeling of pity and tenderness for this pretty, scared creature.
The Land of Foam Page 10
