Читать книгу The Pharaoh and the Priest - Bolesław Prus - Страница 8

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RAMESES and his comrade ran about a quarter of an hour along the rocky ridge of the hill, drawing ever nearer to the trumpets, which sounded more and more urgently. At last they reached a point where they took in at a glance the whole region. Toward the left stretched the highway; beyond that were seen clearly the city of Pi-Bailos, the regiments of the heir drawn up behind it, and an immense cloud of dust which rose above his opponent hastening forward from the east.

On the right yawned a broad ravine, along the middle of which the Greek regiment was dragging military engines. Not far from the road the ravine was lost in another and a broader one which began in the depth of the desert.

At this point something uncommon was happening. The Greeks stood unoccupied not far from the junction of the two ravines; but at the juncture itself, and between the highway and the staff of Rameses, marched out four dense lines of some other army, like four fences, bristling with glittering darts.

In spite of the steep road the prince rushed down at full speed to his division, to the place where the minister of war stood surrounded by officers.

“What is happening?” called he, threateningly. “Why sound an alarm instead of marching?”

“We are cut off,” said Herhor.

“By whom?”

“Our division by three regiments of Nitager, who has marched out of the desert.”

“Then the enemy is there, near the highway?”

“Yes, the invincible Nitager himself.”

It seemed in that moment that the heir to the throne had gone mad. His lips were contorted, his eyes were starting out of their sockets. He drew his sword, rushed to the Greeks, and cried,—

“Follow me against those who bar the road to us.”

“O heir, live forever!” cried Patrokles, who drew his sword also. “Forward, descendants of Achilles!” said he, turning to his men. “We will teach those Egyptian cowkeepers not to stop us!”

Trumpets sounded the attack. Four short but erect Greek columns rushed forward, a cloud of dust rose, and a shout in honor of Rameses.

After a couple of minutes the Greeks found themselves in the presence of the Egyptian regiments, and hesitated.

“Forward!” cried the heir, rushing on, sword in hand.

The Greeks lowered their spears. On the opposing side there was a movement, a murmur flew along the ranks, and spears also were lowered.

“Who are ye, madmen?” asked a mighty voice.

“The heir to the throne!” shouted Patrokles.

A moment of silence.

“Open ranks!” commanded the same voice, mighty as before.

The regiments of the eastern army opened slowly, like heavy folding-doors, and the Greek division passed between them.

Then a gray-haired warrior in golden helmet and armor approached Prince Rameses and said with a low obeisance,—

“Erpatr,[2] thou hast conquered. Only a great warrior could free himself from difficulty in that way.”

[2] Heir.

“Thou art Nitager, the bravest of the brave!” cried the prince.

At that moment Herhor approached. He had heard the conversation, and said abruptly,—

“Had there been on your side such an awkward leader as the erpatr, how could we have finished the manœuvres?”

“Let the young warrior alone!” answered Nitager. “Is it not enough for thee that he has shown the iron claws, as was proper for a son of the pharaoh?”

Tutmosis, noting the turn which the conversation had taken, asked Nitager,—

“Whence hast thou come, that thy main forces are in front of our army?”

“I knew how incompetently the division was marching from Memphis, when the heir was concentrating his regiments near Pi-Bailos, and for sport I wished to capture you young lords. To my misfortune the heir was here and spoiled my plans. Act that way always, Rameses, of course in presence of real enemies.”

“But if, as to-day, he meets a force three times superior?” inquired Herhor.

“Daring keenness means more than strength,” replied the old leader. “An elephant is fifty times stronger than a man; still he yields to him, or dies at his hands.”

Herhor listened in silence.

The manœuvres were declared finished. Prince Rameses with the minister and commanders went to the army near Pi-Bailos. There he greeted Nitager’s veterans, took farewell of his own regiments, commanded them to march eastward, and wished success to them.

Then, surrounded by a great suite, he returned by the highway to Memphis amid crowds from the land of Goshen, who with green garlands and in holiday robes congratulated the conqueror.

When the highway turned toward the desert, the crowd became thinner, and when they approached the place where the staff of the heir had entered the ravine because of the scarabs, there was no one.

Rameses nodded to Tutmosis, and pointing to the naked hill, whispered,—

“Thou wilt go to Sarah—”

“I understand.”

“Tell her father that I will give him land outside Memphis.”

“I understand. Thou wilt have her to-morrow.”

After this conversation Tutmosis withdrew to the troops marching behind the suite, and vanished.

Almost opposite the ravine along which the army had passed in the morning, some tens of steps from the road, stood a tamarind-tree which, though old, was not large. At this point a halt was made by the guard which had preceded the suite.

“Shall we meet scarabs again?” asked Rameses, with a laugh.

“We shall see,” answered Herhor.

They looked; on the slender tree a naked man was hanging.

“What does this mean?” asked the heir, with emotion.

Adjutants ran to the tree, and saw that the hanging man was that old slave whose canal they had closed in the morning.

“He did right to hang himself!” cried Eunana among the officers. “Could ye believe it, that wretch dared to seize the feet of his holiness the minister!”

On hearing this, Rameses reined in his horse, dismounted, and walked up to the ominous tree.

The slave was hanging with his head stretched forward; his mouth was opened widely, his hands turned toward the spectators, and terror was in his eyes. He looked like a man who had wished to say something, but whose voice had failed him.

“The unfortunate!” sighed Rameses, with compassion.

On returning to the retinue he gave command to relate to him the history of the man, and then he rode a long time in silence.

Before his eyes was the picture of the suicide, and in his heart was the feeling that a great wrong had been done,—such a wrong that even he, the son and the heir of the pharaoh, might halt in face of it.

The heat was unendurable, the dust dried up the water and pierced the eyes of man and beast. The division was detained for a short rest, and meanwhile Nitager finished his conversation with the minister.

“My officers,” said the old commander, “never look under their feet, but always straight forward.”

“That is the reason, perhaps, why no enemy has ever surprised me.”

“Your worthiness reminds me, by these words, that I am to pay certain debts,” remarked Herhor; and he commanded the officers and soldiers who were near by to assemble.

“And now,” said the minister, “summon for me Eunana.”

The officer covered with amulets was found as quickly as if he had been waiting for this summons a long time. On his countenance was depicted delight, which he restrained through humility, but with effort.

Herhor, seeing Eunana before him, began,—

“By the will of his holiness, supreme command of the army comes into my hands again with the ending of the manœuvres.”

Those present bowed their heads.

“It is my duty to use this power first of all in meting out justice.”

The officers looked at one another.

“Eunana,” said the minister, “I know that thou hast always been one of the most diligent officers.”

“Truth speaks through thy lips, worthy lord,” replied Eunana. “As a palm waits for dew, so do I for the commands of superiors. And when I do not receive them, I am like an orphan in the desert when looking for a pathway.”

Nitager’s scar-covered officers listened with astonishment to the ready speech of Eunana, and thought, “He will be raised above others!”

“Eunana,” said the minister, “thou art not only diligent, but pious; not only pious, but watchful as an ibis over water. The gods have poured out on thee every virtue: they have given thee serpent cunning, with the eye of a falcon.”

“Pure truth flows from thy lips, worthiness,” added Eunana. “Were it not for my wonderful sight, I should not have seen the two scarabs.”

“Yes, and thou wouldst not have saved our camp from sacrilege. For this deed, worthy of the most pious Egyptian, I give thee—”

Here the minister took a gold ring from his finger.

“I give thee this ring with the name of the goddess Mut, whose favor and prudence will accompany thee to the end of thy worldly wandering, if thou deserve it.”

His worthiness delivered the ring to Eunana, and those present uttered a great shout in honor of the pharaoh, and rattled their weapons.

As Herhor did not move, Eunana stood and looked him in the eyes, like a faithful dog which having received one morsel from his master is wagging his tail and waiting.

“And now,” continued the minister, “confess, Eunana, why thou didst not tell whither the heir to the throne went when the army was marching along the ravine with such difficulty. Thou didst an evil deed, for we had to sound the alarm in the neighborhood of the enemy.”

“The gods are my witnesses that I know nothing of the most worthy prince,” replied the astonished Eunana.

Herhor shook his head.

“It cannot be that a man gifted with such sight, a man who at some tens of yards away sees sacred scarabs in the sand, should not see so great a personage as the heir to the throne is.”

“Indeed I did not see him!” explained Eunana, beating his breast. “Moreover no one commanded me to watch Rameses.”

“Did I not free thee from leading the vanguard? Did I assign to thee an office?” asked the minister. “Thou wert entirely free, just like a man who is called to important deeds. And didst thou accomplish thy task? For such an error in time of war thou shouldst suffer death surely.”

The ill-fated officer was pallid.

“But I have a paternal heart for thee, Eunana,” said Herhor, “and, remembering the great service which thou hast rendered by discovering the scarabs, I, not as a stern minister, but as a mild priest, appoint to thee a very small punishment. Thou wilt receive fifty blows of a stick on thy body.”

“Worthiness!”

“Eunana, thou hast known how to be fortunate, now be manful and receive this slight remembrance as becomes an officer in the army of his holiness.”

Barely had the worthy Herhor finished when the officers oldest in rank placed Eunana in a commodious position at the side of the highroad. After that one of them sat on his neck, another on his feet, while a third and a fourth counted out fifty blows of pliant reeds on his naked body.

The unterrified warrior uttered no groan; on the contrary, he hummed a soldier song, and at the end of the ceremony wished to rise. But his stiffened legs refused obedience, so he fell face downward on the sand; they had to take him to Memphis on a two-wheeled vehicle. While lying on this cart and smiling at the soldiers, Eunana considered that the wind does not change so quickly in Lower Egypt as fortune in the life of an inferior officer.

When, after the brief halt, the retinue of the heir to the throne moved on its farther journey, Herhor mounted his horse and riding at the side of Nitager, spoke in an undertone about Asiatic nations and, above all, about the awakening of Assyria.

Then two servants of the minister, the adjutant carrying his fan and the secretary Pentuer, began a conversation also.

“What dost thou think of Eunana’s adventure?” asked the adjutant.

“And what thinkest thou of the slave who hanged himself?”

“It seems to me that this was his best day, and the rope around his neck the softest thing that has touched him in life. I think, too, that Eunana from this time on will watch the heir to the throne very closely.”

“Thou art mistaken,” answered Pentuer. “Eunana from this time on will never see a scarab, even though it were as large as a bullock. As to that slave, dost thou not think that in every case it must have been very evil for him—very evil in this sacred land of Egypt?”

“Thou knowest not slaves, hence speakest thus—”

“But who knows them better?” asked Pentuer, gloomily. “Have I not grown up among them? Have I not seen my father watering land, clearing canals, sowing, harvesting, and, above all, paying tribute? Oh, thou knowest not the lot of slaves in Egypt.”

“But if I do not, I know the lot of the foreigner. My great-grandfather or great-great-grandfather was famous among the Hyksos, but he remained here, for he grew attached to this country. And what wilt thou say? Not only was his property taken from him, but the stain of my origin rests on me at present. Thou thyself knowest what I bear frequently from Egyptians by race, though I have a considerable position. How, then, can I take pity on the Egyptian earth-worker, who, seeing my yellow complexion, mutters frequently, ‘Pagan! foreigner!’ The earth-worker is neither a pagan nor a foreigner.”

“Only a slave,” added Pentuer,—“a slave whom they marry, divorce, beat, sell, slay sometimes, and command always to work, with a promise besides that in the world to come he will be a slave also.”

“Thou art a strange man, though so wise!” said the adjutant, shrugging his shoulders. “Dost thou not see that each man of us occupies some position, low, less low, or very low, in which he must labor? But dost thou suffer because thou art not pharaoh, and thy tomb will not be a pyramid? Thou dost not ponder at all over this, for thou knowest it to be the world’s condition. Each creature does its own duty: the ox ploughs, the ass bears the traveller, I cool his worthiness, thou rememberest and thinkest for him, while the earth-worker tills land and pays tribute. What is it to us that some bull is born Apis, to whom all render homage, and some man a pharaoh or a nomarch?”

“The ten years’ toil of that man was destroyed,” whispered Pentuer.

“And does not the minister destroy thy toil?” asked the adjutant. “Who knows that thou art the manager of the state, not the worthy Herhor?”

“Thou art mistaken. He manages really. He has power and will; I have only knowledge. Moreover, they do not beat thee, nor me, like that slave.”

“But they have beaten Eunana, and they may beat us also. Hence there is need to be brave and make use of the position assigned us; all the more since, as is known to thee, our spirit, the immortal Ka, in proportion as it is purified rises to a higher plane, so that after thousands or millions of years, in company with spirits of pharaohs and slaves, in company with gods even, it will be merged into the nameless and all-mighty father of existence.”

“Thou speakest like a priest,” answered Pentuer, with bitterness. “I ought rather to have this calm! But instead of it I have pain in my soul, for I feel the wretchedness of millions—”

“Who tells it to thee?”

“My eyes and my heart. My heart is like a valley between mountains which never can be silent, when it hears a cry, but must answer with an echo.”

“I say to thee, Pentuer, that thou thinkest too much over dangerous subjects. It is impossible to walk safely along precipices of the eastern mountains, for thou mayst fall at any moment; or to wander through the western desert, where hungry lions are prowling, and where the raging simoom springs up unexpectedly.”

Meanwhile the valiant Eunana moved on in the vehicle, which only added to his pain. But to show that he was valiant he requested food and drink; and when he had eaten a dry cake rubbed with garlic and had drunk sour beer from a thick-bellied pot, he begged the driver to take a branch and drive the flies from his wounded body.

Thus lying on the bags and packs in that squeaking car, with his face toward the earth, the unfortunate Eunana sang with a groaning voice the grievous lot of the inferior officer,—

“Why dost thou say that the scribe’s lot is worse than the officer’s? Come and see my blue stripes and swollen body; meanwhile I will tell thee the tale of a downtrodden officer.

“I was a boy when they brought me to the barracks. For breakfast I had blows of fists in the belly, till I fainted; for dinner fists in the eyes, till my mouth gaped; and for supper I had a head covered with wounds and almost split open.

“Go on! let me tell how I made the campaign to Syria. Food and drink I had to carry on my back, I was bent down with weight as an ass is bent. My neck became stiff, like an ass’s neck, and the joints of my back swelled. I drank rotten water, I was like a captive bird in the face of the enemy.

“I returned to Egypt, but here I am like a tree into which a worm is boring always. For any trifle they put me on the ground and beat me till I am breaking. I am sick and must lie at full length; they carry me in a car, meanwhile serving-men steal my mantle and escape with it.

“So change thy mind, O scribe, about the happiness of officers.”[3]

[3] Authentic.

Thus sang the brave Eunana; and his tearful song has outlived the Egyptian kingdom.