Yakhmos had noticed traces of an old path that led to steep cliffs from the shore of a small cove densely overgrown with rushes. The place was far from any village and was never visited by anybody since there was nothing to interest the farmer or the shepherd in those barren, rocky cliffs.
There was no danger in continuing his search and Yakhmos immediately plunged into a narrow canyon strewn with huge boulders. The boulders covered the path and had apparently fallen after it had ceased to serve as a means of communication with the river-bank. For a long time Yakhmos roamed amongst the rocks, hollows washed out by water, and thorn bushes. The canyon was swarming with spiders and their webs, stretching across the path, clung to the perspiring face of the plunderer of royal tombs.
At last the canyon widened to form an enclosed valley amidst the high hills. In the middle there was a small eminence surrounded by double rows of irrigation ditches — apparently there had formerly been a spring there that was used to water the gardens. Silence reigned in the gloom of that stifling, windless valley around which gleaming black cliffs rose in a solid wall. At the far end there was another narrow canyon similar to that by which Yakhmos had entered a place forgotten by all.
The tomb robber climbed up a hill and from there noticed an entry cut in the cliffside that had been hidden before by the eminence. The entry was blocked by fallen stones and Yakhmos had to work for a long time before he could get inside. At last he found himself in the cool darkness of a cave. After he had rested a little, he lit the lamp that he always carried with him and made his way along a high corridor, carefully examining the statues on either side, afraid of cunning traps that threatened him with a tormenting death. His fears, however, were unfounded: either the old-time builders had not prepared any traps, relying on the remoteness of the temple to keep it from the eyes of strangers, or the thousands of years that had elapsed had rendered the traps ineffective. Without any hindrance Yakhmos entered a big, round underground chamber in the centre of which was a statue of the god Thoth, his long beak stretching down from the height of his pedestal. In the walls Yakhmos found ten narrow slits of doorways, arranged at equal distances round the chamber. They led to rooms filled with half-rotted objects: scrolls, papyri and wooden tablets covered with drawings and inscriptions. One of the rooms was filled with dried grasses that turned to dust the moment he touched them; in another lay a pile of stones. In this way Yakhmos inspected eight of the rooms, all of them square, without finding anything that interested him. The ninth doorway lea Yakhmos into a long room surrounded by granite columns. Between the columns were slabs of black diabase covered with writing in the ancient language of Tha-Quem. In the middle of this room stood another statue of the long-beaked, ibis-headed god Thoth; in a flat bronze bowl on the pedestal of the idol lay a precious stone that glittered in the light of the lamp. Yakhmos seized it avariciously, brought it close to the light — and could not restrain an exclamation of disappointment. The stone was not of those that were valued in Tha-Quem. The experienced eye of the tomb robber immediately told him that the stone would be of no value to the merchants. The strange thing was, however, that the more he looked at the stone, the more it pleased him. It was a blue-green fragment of crystal about the size of a spearhead, flat, polished and unusually transparent. Yakhmos grew interested and resolved to read the writing on the walls hoping to find an explanation of the stone’s origin. He still had not forgotten the ancient language of Tha-Quem that he had learned in the school for chief scribes, and set about deciphering hieroglyphs that were in a splendid state of preservation on the hard diabase. There was little air in the underground chamber, the ventilation channels had long since collapsed, the lamp began to burn low, but still Yakhmos read stubbornly on. Gradually the story of a great deed of valour, performed shortly after the building of the Great Pyramid of Cheops, was unfolded before this professional tomb robber. Pharaoh Jedephra (Jedephra — a Pharaoh of the IV Dynasty (2877–2869 B.C.). sent his treasurer Baurjed on an expedition far to the south, to Tha-Nuter, the Land of Spirits, to discover the bounds of the earth and of the Great Arc, the ocean. Baurjed left from the harbour of Suu, on the Blue Waters, (Blue Waters — the Red Sea. Suu — the modern El-Qoseir.) on seven of the biggest ships. For seven years the sons of the Black Land were absent. Half of the men and four of the ships were lost in terrible storms on the Great Arc, but the others sailed on and on to the south, along unknown coasts, until they eventually reached the fabulous Land of Punt. Pharaoh’s orders, however, drove them still farther south. They had to find the end of the earth. The sons of the Black Land left their ships and continued their way south overland.
For more than two years they continued their journey through dark forests, crossed gigantic plains and high mountains — the home of the lightning — and, by the time their strength was almost exhausted, reached a big river on which lived a powerful people, builders of stone temples. Here they discovered that the end of the earth was still immeasurably distant — far, far away to the south, across plains of blue grass and through forests of silver-leaved trees. It was there, beyond the ends of the earth, that the Great Arc flowed, the ocean, whose bounds were known to no man. The travellers, realizing that they were helpless to carry out Pharaoh’s orders to the letter, returned to the Land of Punt and built and equipped a new ship in place of their old ones, worm-eaten and battered by storms on the Great Arc. There were scarcely enough survivors to man one ship. The bold adventurers, however, loaded the vessel with gifts from Punt and set out on their unbelievably difficult journey. The urge to return to their native land lent them strength — they conquered wind and waves, sandstorms and submerged rocks, hunger and thirst and returned to the harbour of Sun in the Blue Waters seven years after their departure.
Much had changed in the Black Land: the new Pharaoh, the ruthless Khafre, made the country forget everything except the building of a second gigantic pyramid that was to exalt his name for thousands of years. The return of the travellers was quite unexpected and Pharaoh was disappointed to learn that the earth and the ocean were immeasurable and that the peoples inhabiting the regions to the south were numerous and strong. Baurjed showed Pharaoh, who considered himself the ruler of the world, that the Land of Quemt was nothing but a tiny corner of a huge world, abounding in forests and rivers, fruits and animals, and inhabited by numerous peoples skilled in all manner of work and hunting.
The wrath of Pharaoh descended upon the travellers and Baurjed’s companions were exiled to distant provinces.” It was forbidden, on pain of death, to make any mention of the journey; passages in the writings left by Jedephra where the dispatch of the expedition southwards to the Land of Spirits was mentioned, were all expunged. Baurjed himself would have been a victim of the wrath of Pharaoh and all memory of his journey would have disappeared for all time, had it not been for a wise old priest of Thoth, the god of learning, art and writing. This was the priest who had inspired the dead Pharaoh to investigate the bounds of the earth and seek new sources of wealth for a country that had become impoverished by the building of a huge pyramid. He was forced to leave the court of the new Pharaoh by the priests of Ra (Ra — the sun god, chief deity of the Egyptians in the Pyramid period.) and helped the traveller by offering him asylum in a hidden Temple of Thoth where secret books, plans and samples of stones and plants from distant lands were stored. On the orders of the priest, Baurjed’s great journey was recorded on stone slabs so that it might be preserved in an unapproachable underground chamber until such times as the country stood in need of that knowledge. Baurjed brought a blue-green transparent stone, unknown to the people of Tha-Quem, from the most distant land he reached beyond the great southern river. Such stones were obtained in the Land of the Blue Plains, three months journey south of the great river. Baurjed offered this symbol of the extreme ends of the earth to the god Thoth — this was the stone Yakhmos had taken from the pedestal of the statue.
Yakhmos was unable to read the story of the journey to the end. He had just c
ome to a description of the wonderful submarine gardens seen by the travellers in the Blue Waters when the lamp went out and the plunderer had the greatest difficulty in getting out of the underground chamber, taking with him only the unusual stone.
In the light of day the crystal from the distant land seemed even more beautiful; Yakhmos would not part with the stone but it did not bring him good luck.
Pandion had a great journey to his native land ahead of him and Yakhmos hoped that the stone with which Baurjed had returned from an unheard of distance would help the Hellene, too.
“Didn’t you know anything about that journey before?” asked Pandion.
“No, it has remained hidden from the sons of Quemt,” answered Yakhmos. “Punt has long been known to us, the ships of Quemt have made many journeys there at various times, but the lands farther south still remain, for us, the mysterious Land of the Spirits.”
“Can it be possible that there have been no other attempts to reach those countries? Could not somebody else have read those inscriptions, as you did, and have told others about them?”
Yakhmos thought for a while, he did not know how to answer the foreigner.
“The princes of the south, the governors of the southern provinces of Tha-Quem, have often penetrated into the interior of the southern countries, but they only wrote about their spoils, about the ivory, gold and fish they brought to Pharaoh, so the road remains unknown. And then, nobody has tried to sail farther south than Punt. It is too dangerous — there are no such brave people today as there were in ancient times.”
“But why hasn’t anybody read those inscriptions?” insisted Pandion.
“I don’t know, I can’t answer that question,” admitted the Egyptian.
Yakhmos, of course, could not know that the priests, whom the people believed to be great scholars, the holders of ancient secrets, had long since ceased to be any such thing. Learning had degenerated into religious ceremony and magic formulas, the papyri that contained the wisdom of past ages were rotting away in the tombs. The temples were deserted and in ruins, nobody was interested in the history of the country as told by countless inscriptions on hard stone. Yakhmos could not know that such is the inevitable fate of all science that alienates itself from the invigorating strength of the people and becomes the property of a narrow circle of the initiated…
Dawn was drawing nigh. With a feeling of despondency Pandion bade farewell to the unfortunate Egyptian to whom no hope of salvation was left.
The young Hellene wanted to take the dagger and leave the stone to Yakhmos.
“Can’t you understand that I need nothing any more?” said the Egyptian. “Why do you want to throw away such a beautiful stone in this foul hole of a shehne?”
Pandion took the dagger between his teeth, grasped the stone in his hand and, crawling in the shadows, reached his own cell in safety.
Until daylight broke he lay sleepless. His cheeks burned and shudders ran over his whole body. He lay thinking of the great change that was to enter his life, of the imminent end of the monotonous stream of weary days of sorrow and despair.
The hole that formed the entrance to his cell turned grey and the pitiful objects that constituted his entire possessions gradually emerged from the darkness. Pandion held the dagger in the morning light. The broad blade of black bronze (Black bronze — a specially hard alloy of copper and one of the’ rare metals. The metallurgists of antiquity were able to obtain alloys of exceptional hardness by adding zinc, cadmium and other metals to the bronze.) with a high rib down the middle was sharpened to a fine edge. The massive hilt was carved in the form of a lioness, the savage goddess Sekhrnet. Using the dagger, Pandion dug a hole under the wall and was hiding the Egyptian’s gift in it, when suddenly he remembered the stone. Fumbling in the straw he found it and took it to the light to examine it more thoroughly.
The flat fragment of crystal with rounded edges was about the size of a spearhead. It was hard, extremely clear and transparent and its colour seemed to be a greyish blue in the darkness that precedes the dawn.
As Pandion laid the stone on the palm of his hand the rays of the rising sun suddenly struck it. The stone was transformed — it lay on Pandion’s hand in all its brilliance, its blue-green colour” was unexpectedly joyous, bright and deep, with a warm tinge of transparent, golden wine. The mirror-like surface of the stone had apparently been polished by the hand of man.
The colouring of the stone reminded Pandion of something that was very familiar to him, its reflection brought warmth to the youth’s heavy heart. Thalassa! The sea. It was exactly that colour, far from the shore, at the time when the sun hung high in the blue heavens. Natura’e, the divine stone, is what the unfortunate Yakhmos had called it!
The miraculous sparkle of the crystal on the morning of a joyless day was a good omen to Pandion.
Yakhmos’ farewell gifts were magnificent — a dagger and a stone of unknown properties. Pandion believed that the stone portended his return to the sea, to the sea that would not betray him, that would bring him back to liberty and his native land. The young Hellene peered intently into the stone out of whose transparent depths rolled the waves of his native shores…
The menacing roll of the big drum thundered over the cells — this was the signal arousing the slaves for their day’s work.
Pandion made a momentary decision — he would not part with that unusual stone, he would not leave that symbol of the free sea in the dusty earth of the shehne. Let the stone remain with him always.
After a few futile attempts he eventually found a way to hide the stone in his loin-cloth and, although he lost no time in burying the dagger, was almost late for the morning meal.
On the journey and during their work in the gardens Pandion watched Cavius carefully and noticed that the latter was constantly exchanging short phrases first with one and then with another of the shehne leaders known to Pandion. These immediately went away from the Etruscan and talked to their followers.
Pandion chose a safe moment and drew near Cavius. The Etruscan did not raise his head from the stone he was dressing but spoke softly and quickly, without even taking breath.
“Tonight, before the moon rises, in the end gallery of the northern wall…”
Pandion returned to his work. On the way back to the shehne he passed Cavius’ message on to Kidogo.
Pandion spent the evening in anticipation — for a long time he had not been in such high spirits and so well prepared to fight.
As soon as the compound had quietened down and the sentries on the wall were dozing, Kidogo appeared in the darkness of Pandion’s cell.
The two friends crawled quickly to the wall and turned into the narrow corridor between the cells. They reached the north wall where the shadows in the corridor were deepest of all. The sentries rarely walked along this wall, they could observe the compound more easily from the western and eastern walls, looking along the corridors between the cells. There was, therefore, no danger that the sentries above would hear their whispered conversation.
No less than sixty slaves lay in two rows in the corridor, their feet pressed against the walls and their heads together. Cavius and Remdus were in the middle. The elder Etruscan called Pandion and Kidogo to him in a whisper.
Feeling for the Etruscan’s hand, Pandion passed to him the dagger he had brought with him. Cavius felt the cold metal in some perplexity, cut his hand on the sharp blade and then avidly gripped the weapon, whispering his thanks.
The experienced old soldier had yearned for weapons and the dagger brought joy to his heart. He also realized that by handing the precious dagger over to him the Hellene recognized his seniority and had, without words, elected him the leader.
He did not stop to ask Pandion where he had got the-dagger, but began to talk in whispers, making long pauses so that those near him could pass his words on to their more distant comrades who were out of hearing.
The conference of the leaders had begun — the question of the life an
d liberty of five hundred slaves, imprisoned in the shehne, was to be decided.
Cavius said that the rebellion could not be put off any longer, that there was no hope in the future, the situation would only get worse if the slaves were again broken up into groups and sent in different directions.
“The strength that is our only guarantee of success in struggle is being undermined by the heavy drudgery required by our taskmasters; every month in captivity means loss of health and vitality. Death in battle is honourable and joyful; it is a thousand times easier to die in battle than to die under the blows of a whip.”
A unanimous whisper of approval passed along the rows of invisible listeners.
“We must not delay the revolt,” continued Cavius, “but there is one condition that must be fulfilled: we must find a way out of this accursed country. Even if we are joined by two or three other shehne, even if we are able to get weapons, our forces will still be small and we shall not be able to hold out for long. Ever since the Great Revolt of the slaves the rulers of Quemt have done everything possible to keep the slaves divided in separate compounds, we have no contact with the others and we shall not be able to arouse a large number of people simultaneously. We are right in the capital, where there are many soldiers, and we shall not be able to fight our way through the country. The archers of Aigyptos are a te-rri-ble force; we shall not have many bows, and not everybody will be able to use them. Let us think whether we can make our way through the desert to the east or the west. We may find ourselves in the desert shortly after leaving the shehne. If we are unable to cross the desert, then I think we must drop the idea of a revolt — it will be a useless waste of effort and a tormenting death. Then let only those of us flee that are prepared to make the attempt to pass through certain death with a faint hope of liberty. I, for example, will make the attempt.”
The Land of Foam Page 12
