BOOK II
I
THE PROPHETS OF THE APURA
"These things are not without the Gods," said the Wanderer, who was
called Eperitus, when he had heard all the tale of Rei the Priest, son
of Pames, the Head Architect, the Commander of the Legion of Amen.
Then he sat silent for a while, and at last raised his eyes and looked
upon the old man.
"Thou hast told a strange tale, Rei. Over many a sea have I wandered,
and in many a land I have sojourned. I have seen the ways of many
peoples, and have heard the voices of the immortal Gods. Dreams have
come to me and marvels have compassed me about. It has been laid upon
me to go down into Hades, that land which thou namest Amenti, and to
look on the tribes of the Dead; but never till now have I known so
strange a thing. For mark thou, when first I beheld this fair Queen of
thine I thought she looked upon me strangely, as one who knew my face.
And now, Rei, if thou speakest truth, /she/ deems that she has met me
in the ways of night and magic. Say, then, who was the man of the
vision of the Queen, the man with dark and curling locks, clad in
golden armour after the fashion of the Achæans whom ye name the
Aquaiusha, wearing on his head a golden helm, wherein was fixed a
broken spear?"
"Before me sits such a man," said Rei, "or perchance it is a God that
my eyes behold."
"No God am I," quoth the Wanderer, smiling, "though the Sidonians
deemed me nothing less when the black bow twanged and the swift shafts
flew. Read me the riddle, thou that art instructed."
Now the aged Priest looked upon the ground, then turned his eyes
upward, and with muttering lips prayed to Thoth, the God of Wisdom.
And when he had made an end of prayer he spoke.
"/Thou/ art the man," he said. "Out of the sea thou hast come to bring
the doom of love on the Lady Meriamun and on thyself the doom of
death. This I knew, but of the rest I know nothing. Now, I pray thee,
oh thou who comest in the armour of the North, thou whose face is
clothed in beauty, and who art of all men the mightiest and hast of
all men the sweetest and most guileful tongue, go back, go back into
the sea whence thou camest, and the lands whence thou hast wandered."
"Not thus easily may men escape their doom," quoth the Wanderer. "My
death may come, as come it must; but know this, Rei, I do not seek the
love of Meriamun."
"Then it well may chance that thou shalt find it, for ever those who
seek love lose, and those who seek not find."
"I am come to seek another love," said the Wanderer, "and I seek her
till I die."
"Then I pray the Gods that thou mayest find her, and that Khem may
thus be saved from sorrow. But here in Egypt there is no woman so fair
as Meriamun, and thou must seek farther as quickly as may be. And now,
Eperitus, behold I must away to do service in the Temple of the Holy
Amen, for I am his High Priest. But I am commanded by Pharaoh first to
bring thee to the feast at the Palace."
Then he led the Wanderer from his chamber and brought him by a side
entrance to the great Palace of the Pharaoh at Tanis, near the Temple
of Ptah. And first he took him to a chamber that had been made ready
for him in the Palace, a beautiful chamber, richly painted with beast-
headed Gods and furnished with ivory chairs, and couches of ebony and
silver, and with a gilded bed.
Then the Wanderer went into the shining baths, and dark-eyed girls
bathed him and anointed him with fragrant oil, and crowned him with
lotus flowers. When they had bathed him they bade him lay aside his
golden armour and his bow and the quiver full of arrows, but this the
Wanderer would not do, for as he laid the black bow down it thrilled
with a thin sound of war. So Rei led him, armed as he was, to a
certain antechamber, and there he left him, saying that he would
return again when the feast was done. Trumpets blared as the Wanderer
waited, drums rolled, and through the wide thrown curtains swept the
lovely Meriamun and the divine Pharaoh Meneptah, with many lords and
ladies of the Court, all crowned with roses and with lotus blooms.
The Queen was decked in Royal attire, her shining limbs were veiled in
broidered silk; about her shoulders was a purple robe, and round her
neck and arms were rings of well-wrought gold. She was stately and
splendid to see, with pale brows and beautiful disdainful eyes where
dreams seemed to sleep beneath the shadow of her eyelashes. On she
swept in all her state and pride of beauty, and behind her came the
Pharaoh. He was a tall man, but ill-made and heavy-browed, and to the
Wanderer it seemed that he was heavy-hearted too, and that care and
terror of evil to come were always in his mind.
Meriamun looked up swiftly.
"Greeting, Stranger," she said. "Thou comest in warlike guise to grace
our feast."
"Methought, Royal Lady," he made answer, "that anon when I would have
laid it by, this bow of mine sang to me of present war. Therefore I am
come armed--even to thy feast."
"Has thy bow such foresight, Eperitus?" said the Queen. "I have heard
but once of such a weapon, and that in a minstrel's tale. He came to
our Court with his lyre from the Northern Sea, and he sang of the Bow
of Odysseus."
"Minstrel or not, thou does well to come armed, Wanderer," said the
Pharaoh; "for if thy bow sings, my own heart mutters much to me of war
to be."
"Follow me, Wanderer, however it fall out," said the Queen.
So he followed her and the Pharaoh till they came to a splendid hall,
carven round with images of fighting and feasting. Here, on the
painted walls, Rameses Miamun drove the thousands of the Khita before
his single valour; here men hunted wild-fowl through the marshes with
a great cat for their hound. Never had the Wanderer beheld such a hall
since he supped with the Sea King of the fairy isle. On the daïs,
raised above the rest, sat the Pharaoh, and by him sat Meriamun the
Queen, and by the Queen sat the Wanderer in the golden armour of
Paris, and he leaned the black bow against his ivory chair.
Now the feast went on and men ate and drank. The Queen spoke little,
but she watched the Wanderer beneath the lids of her deep-fringed
eyes.
Suddenly, as they feasted and grew merry, the doors at the end of the
chamber were thrown wide, the Guards fell back in fear, and behold, at
the end of the hall, stood two men. Their faces were tawny, dry,
wasted with desert wandering; their noses were hooked like eagles'
beaks, and their eyes were yellow as the eyes of lions. They were clad
in rough skins of beasts, girdled about their waists with leathern
thongs, and fiercely they lifted their naked arms, and waved their
wands of cedar. Both men were old, one was white-bearded, the other
was shaven smooth like the priests of Egypt. As they lifted the rods
on high the Guards shrank like beaten hounds, and all the guests hid
their faces, save Meriamun and the Wanderer alone. Even Pharaoh dared
not look on them, but he murmured angrily in his beard:
"By the name of Osiris," he said, "here be those Soothsayers of the
Apura once again. Now Death waits on those who let them pass the
doors."
Then one of the two men, he who was shaven like a priest, cried with a
great voice:
"/Pharaoh! Pharaoh! Pharaoh!/ Hearken to the word of Jahveh. Wilt thou
let the people go?"
"I will not let them go," he answered.
"/Pharaoh! Pharaoh! Pharaoh!/ Hearken to the word of Jahveh. If thou
wilt not let the people go, then shall all the firstborn of Khem, of
the Prince and the slave, of the ox and the ass, be smitten of Jahveh.
Wilt thou let the people go?"
Now Pharaoh hearkened, and those who were at the feast rose and cried
with a loud voice:
"O Pharaoh, let the people go! Great woes are fallen upon Khem because
of the Apura. O Pharaoh, let the people go!"
Now Pharaoh's heart was softened and he was minded to let them go, but
Meriamun turned to him and said:
"Thou shalt not let the people go. It is not these slaves, nor the God
of these slaves, who bring the plagues on Khem, but it is that strange
Goddess, the False Hathor, who dwells here in the city of Tanis. Be
not so fearful--ever hadst thou a coward heart. Drive the False Hathor
thence if thou wilt, but hold these slaves to their bondage. I still
have cities that must be built, and yon slaves shall build them."
Then the Pharaoh cried: "Hence! I bid you. Hence, and to-morrow shall
your people be laden with a double burden and their backs shall be red
with stripes. I will not let the people go!"
Then the two men cried aloud, and pointing upward with their staffs
they vanished from the hall, and none dared to lay hands on them, but
those who sat at the feast murmured much.
Now the Wanderer marvelled why Pharaoh did not command the Guards to
cut down these unbidden guests, who spoiled his festival. The Queen
Meriamun saw the wonder in his eyes and turned to him.
"Know thou, Eperitus," she said, "that great plagues have come of late
on this land of ours--plagues of lice and frogs and flies and
darkness, and the changing of pure waters to blood. And these things
our Lord the Pharaoh deems have been brought upon us by the curse of
yonder magicians, conjurers and priests among certain slaves who work
in the land at the building of our cities. But I know well that the
curses come on us from Hathor, the Lady of Love, because of that woman
who hath set herself up here in Tanis, and is worshipped as the
Hathor."
"Why then, O Queen," said the Wanderer, "is this false Goddess
suffered to abide in your fair city? for, as I know well, the immortal
Gods are ever angered with those who turn from their worship to bow
before strange altars."
"Why is she suffered? Nay, ask of Pharaoh my Lord. Methinks it is
because her beauty is more than the beauty of women, so the men say
who have looked on it, but I have not seen it, for only those men see
it who go to worship at her shrine, and then from afar. It is not meet
that the Queen of all the Lands should worship at the shrine of a
strange woman, come--like thyself, Eperitus--from none knows where: if
indeed she be a woman and not a fiend from the Under World. But if
thou wouldest learn more, ask my Lord the Pharaoh, for he knows the
Shrine of the False Hathor, and he knows who guard it, and what is it
that bars the way."
Now the Wanderer turned to Pharaoh saying: "O Pharaoh, may I know the
truth of this mystery?"
Then Meneptah looked up, and there was doubt and trouble on his heavy
face.
"I will tell thee readily, thou Wanderer, for perchance such a man as
thou, who hast travelled in many lands and seen the faces of many
Gods, may understand the tale, and may help me. In the days of my
father, the holy Rameses Miamun, the keepers of the Temple of the
Divine Hathor awoke, and lo! in the Sanctuary of the temple was a
woman in the garb of the Aquaiusha, who was Beauty's self. But when
they looked upon her, none could tell the semblance of her beauty, for
to one she seemed dark and to the other fair, and to each man of them
she showed a diverse loveliness. She smiled upon them, and sang most
sweetly, and love entered their hearts, so that it seemed to each man
that she only was his Heart's Desire. But when any man would have come
nearer and embraced her, there was that about her which drove him
back, and if he strove again, behold, he fell down dead. So at last
they subdued their hearts, and desired her no more, but worshipped her
as the Hathor come to earth, and made offerings of food and drink to
her, and prayers. So three years passed, and at the end of the third
year the keepers of the temple looked and the Hathor was gone. Nothing
remained of her but a memory. Yet there were some who said that this
memory was dearer than all else that the world has to give.
"Twenty more seasons went by, and I sat upon the throne of my father,
and was Lord of the Double Crown. And, on a day, a messenger came
running and cried:
"'Now is Hathor come back to Khem, now is Hathor come back to Khem,
and, as of old, none may draw near her beauty!' Then I went to see,
and lo! before the Temple of Hathor a great multitude was gathered,
and there on the pylon brow stood the Hathor's self shining with
changeful beauty like the Dawn. And as of old she sang sweet songs,
and, to each man who heard, her voice was the voice of his own
beloved, living and lost to him, or dead and lost. Now every man has
such a grave in his heart as that whence Hathor seems to rise in
changeful beauty. Month by month she sings thus, one day in every
month, and many a man has sought to win her and her favour, but in the
doorways are they who meet him and press him back; and if he still
struggles on, there comes a clang of swords and he falls dead, but no
wound is found on him. And, Wanderer, this is truth, for I myself have
striven and have been pressed back by that which guards her. But I
alone of men who have looked on her and heard her, strove not a second
time, and so saved myself alive."
"Thou alone of men lovest life more than the World's Desire!" said the
Queen. "Thou hast ever sickened for the love of this strange Witch,
but thy life thou lovest even better than her beauty, and thou dost
not dare attempt again the adventure of her embrace. Know, Eperitus,
that this sorrow is come upon the land, that all men love yonder witch
and rave of her, and to each she wears a different face and sings in
another voice. When she stands upon the pylon tower, then thou wilt
see the madness with which she has smitten them. For they will weep
and pray and tear their hair. Then they will rush through the temple
courts and up to the temple doors, and be thrust back again by that
which guards her. But some will yet strive madly on, and thou wilt
hear the clash of arms and they will fall dead before thee. Accursed
is the land, I tell thee, Wanderer; because of that Phantom it is
accursed. For it is she who brings these woes on Khem; from her, not
from our slaves and their mad conjurers, come plagues, I say, and all
evil things. And till a man be found who may pass her guard, and come
face to face with the witch and slay her, plagues and woes and evil
things shall be the daily bread of Khem. Perchance, Wanderer, thou art
such a man," and she looked on him strangely. "Yet if so, this is my
counsel, that thou go not up against her, lest thou also be bewitched,
and a great man be lost to us."
Now the Wanderer turned the matter over in his heart and made answer:
"Perchance, Lady, my strength and the favour of the Gods might serve
me in such a quest. But methinks that this woman is meeter for words
of love and the kisses of men than to be slain with the sharp sword,
if, indeed, she be not of the number of the immortals."
Now Meriamun flushed and frowned.
"It is not fitting so to talk before me," she said. "Of this be sure,
that if the Witch may be come at, she shall be slain and given to
Osiris for a bride."
Now the Wanderer saw that the Lady Meriamun was jealous of the beauty
and renown and love of her who dwelt in the temple, and was called the
Strange Hathor, and he held his peace, for he knew when to be silent.
