Читать книгу The Tales of Ancient Egypt (10 Historical Novels) - Георг Эберс - Страница 68

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While Nefert, frozen with horror, could not find a word of greeting for her royal friend, Bent-Anat with native dignity laid before the widow her choice of Nefert to fill the place of her lost companion, and desired that Mena’s wife should go to the palace that very day.

She had never before spoken thus to Katuti, and Katuti could not overlook the fact that Bent-Anat had intentionally given up her old confidential tone.

“Nefert has complained of me to her,” thought she to herself, “and she considers me no longer worthy of her former friendly kindness.”

She was vexed and hurt, and though she understood the danger which threatened her, now her daughter’s eyes were opened, still the thought of losing her child inflicted a painful wound. It was this which filled her eyes with tears, and sincere sorrow trembled in her voice as she replied:

“Thou hast required the better half of my life at my hand; but thou hast but to command, and I to obey.” Bent-Anat waved her hand proudly, as if to confirm the widow’s statement; but Nefert went up to her mother, threw her arms round her neck, and wept upon her shoulder.

Tears glistened even in the princess’s eyes when Katuti at last led her daughter towards her, and pressed yet one more kiss on her forehead.

Bent-Anat took Nefert’s hand, and did not release it, while she requested the widow to give her daughter’s dresses and ornaments into the charge of the slaves and waiting-women whom she would send for them.

“And do not forget the case with the dried flowers, and my amulets, and the images of the Gods,” said Nefert. “And I should like to have the Neha tree which my uncle gave me.”

Her white cat was playing at her feet with Paaker’s flowers, which she had dropped on the floor, and when she saw her she took her up and kissed her.

“Bring the little creature with you,” said Bent-Anat. “It was your favorite plaything.”

“No,” replied Nefert coloring.

The princess understood her, pressed her hand, and said while she pointed to Nemu:

“The dwarf is your own too: shall he come with you?”

“I will give him to my mother,” said Nefert. She let the little man kiss her robe and her feet, once more embraced Katuti, and quitted the garden with her royal friend.

As soon as Katuti was alone, she hastened into the little chapel in which the figures of her ancestors stood, apart from those of Mena. She threw herself down before the statue of her husband, half weeping, half thankful.

This parting had indeed fallen heavily on her soul, but at the same time it released her from a mountain of anxiety that had oppressed her breast. Since yesterday she had felt like one who walks along the edge of a precipice, and whose enemy is close at his heels; and the sense of freedom from the ever threatening danger, soon got the upperhand of her maternal grief. The abyss in front of her had suddenly closed; the road to the goal of her efforts lay before her smooth and firm beneath her feet.

The widow, usually so dignified, hastily and eagerly walked down the garden path, and for the first time since that luckless letter from the camp had reached her, she could look calmly and clearly at the position of affairs, and reflect on the measures which Ani must take in the immediate future. She told herself that all was well, and that the time for prompt and rapid action was now come.

When the messengers came from the princess she superintended the packing of the various objects which Nefert wished to have, with calm deliberation, and then sent her dwarf to Ani, to beg that he would visit her. But before Nemu had left Mena’s grounds he saw the out-runners of the Regent, his chariot, and the troop of guards following him.

Very soon Katuti and her noble friend were walking up and down in the garden, while she related to him how Bent-Anat had taken Nefert from her, and repeated to him all that she had planned and considered during the last hour.

“You have the genius of a man,” said Ani; “and this time you do not urge me in vain. Ameni is ready to act, Paaker is to-day collecting his troops, to-morrow he will assist at the feast of the Valley, and the next day he goes to Syria.”

“He has been with you?” Katuti asked.

“He came to the palace on leaving your house,” replied Ani, “with glowing cheeks, and resolved to the utmost; though he does not dream that I hold him in my hand.”

Thus speaking they entered the veranda, in which Nemu had remained, and he now hid himself as usual behind the ornamental shrubs to overhear them. They sat down near each other, by Nefert’s breakfast table, and Ani asked Katuti whether the dwarf had told her his mother’s secret. Katuti feigned ignorance, listened to the story of the love-philter, and played the part of the alarmed mother very cleverly. The Regent was of opinion, while he tried to soothe her, that there was no real love-potion in the case; but the widow exclaimed:

“Now I understand, now for the first time I comprehend my daughter. Paaker must have poured the drink into her wine, for she had no sooner drunk it this morning than she was quite altered her words to Paaker had quite a tender ring in them; and if he placed himself so cheerfully at your disposal it is because he believes himself certainly to be beloved by my daughter. The old witch’s potion was effectual.”

“There certainly are such drinks—” said Ani thoughtfully. “But will they only win hearts to young men! If that is the case, the old woman’s trade is a bad one, for youth is in itself a charm to attract love. If I were only as young as Paaker! You laugh at the sighs of a man—say at once of an old man! Well, yes, I am old, for the prime of life lies behind me. And yet Katuti, my friend, wisest of women—explain to me one thing. When I was young I was loved by many and admired many women, but not one of them—not even my wife, who died young, was more to me than a toy, a plaything; and now when I stretch out my hand for a girl, whose father I might very well be—not for her own sake, but simply to serve my purpose—and she refuses me, I feel as much disturbed, as much a fool as-as that dealer in love-philters, Paaker.”

“Have you spoken to Bent-Anat?” asked Katuti.

“And heard again from her own lips the refusal she had sent me through you. You see my spirit has suffered!”

“And on what pretext did she reject your suit?” asked the widow.

“Pretext!” cried Ani. “Bent-Anat and pretext! It must be owned that she has kingly pride, and not Ma—[The Goddess of Truth]—herself is more truthful than she. That I should have to confess it! When I think of her, our plots seem to me unutterably pitiful. My veins contain, indeed, many drops of the blood of Thotmes, and though the experience of life has taught me to stoop low, still the stooping hurts me. I have never known the happy feeling of satisfaction with my lot and my work; for I have always had a greater position than I could fill, and constantly done less than I ought to have done. In order not to look always resentful, I always wear a smile. I have nothing left of the face I was born with but the mere skin, and always wear a mask. I serve him whose master I believe I ought to be by birth; I hate Rameses, who, sincerely or no, calls me his brother; and while I stand as if I were the bulwark of his authority I am diligently undermining it. My whole existence is a lie.”

“But it will be truth,” cried Katuti, “as soon as the Gods allow you to be—as you are—the real king of this country.”

“Strange!” said Ani smiling, Ameni, “this very day, used almost exactly the same words. The wisdom of priests, and that of women, have much in common, and they fight with the same weapons. You use words instead of swords, traps instead of lances, and you cast not our bodies, but our souls, into irons.”

“Do you blame or praise us for it?” said the widow. “We are in any case not impotent allies, and therefore, it seems to me, desirable ones.”

“Indeed you are,” said Ani smiling. “Not a tear is shed in the land, whether it is shed for joy or for sorrow, for which in the first instance a priest or a woman is not responsible. Seriously, Katuti—in nine great events out of ten you women have a hand in the game. You gave the first impulse to all that is plotting here, and I will confess to you that, regardless of all consequences, I should in a few hours have given up my pretensions to the throne, if that woman Bent-Anat had said ‘yes’ instead of ‘no.’ ”

“You make me believe,” said Katuti, “that the weaker sex are gifted with stronger wills than the nobler. In marrying us you style us, ‘the mistress of the house,’ and if the elders of the citizens grow infirm, in this country it is not the sons but the daughters that must be their mainstay. But we women have our weaknesses, and chief of these is curiosity.—May I ask on what ground Bent-Anat dismissed you?”

“You know so much that you may know all,” replied Ani. “She admitted me to speak to her alone. It was yet early, and she had come from the temple, where the weak old prophet had absolved her from uncleanness; she met me, bright, beautiful and proud, strong and radiant as a Goddess, and a princess. My heart throbbed as if I were a boy, and while she was showing me her flowers I said to myself: ‘You are come to obtain through her another claim to the throne.’ And yet I felt that, if she consented to be mine, I would remain the true brother, the faithful Regent of Rameses, and enjoy happiness and peace by her side before it was too late. If she refused me then I resolved that fate must take its way, and, instead of peace and love, it must be war for the crown snatched from my fathers. I tried to woo her, but she cut my words short, said I was a noble man, and a worthy suitor but—”

“There came the but.”

“Yes—in the form of a very frank ‘no.’ I asked her reasons. She begged me to be content with the ‘no;’ then I pressed her harder, till she interrupted me, and owned with proud decision that she preferred some one else. I wished to learn the name of the happy man—that she refused. Then my blood began to boil, and my desire to win her increased; but I had to leave her, rejected, and with a fresh, burning, poisoned wound in my heart.”

“You are jealous!” said Katuti, “and do you know of whom?”

“No,” replied Ani. “But I hope to find out through you. What I feel it is impossible for me to express. But one thing I know, and that is this, that I entered the palace a vacillating man—that I left it firmly resolved. I now rush straight onwards, never again to turn back. From this time forward you will no longer have to drive me onward, but rather to hold me back; and, as if the Gods had meant to show that they would stand by me, I found the high-priest Ameni, and the chief pioneer Paaker waiting for me in my house. Ameni will act for me in Egypt, Paaker in Syria. My victorious troops from Ethiopia will enter Thebes to-morrow morning, on their return home in triumph, as if the king were at their head, and will then take part in the Feast of the Valley. Later we will send them into the north, and post them in the fortresses which protect Egypt against enemies coming from the east Tanis, Daphne, Pelusium, Migdol. Rameses, as you know, requires that we should drill the serfs of the temples, and send them to him as auxiliaries. I will send him half of the body-guard, the other half shall serve my own purposes. The garrison of Memphis, which is devoted to Rameses, shall be sent to Nubia, and shall be relieved by troops that are faithful to me. The people of Thebes are led by the priests, and tomorrow Ameni will point out to them who is their legitimate king, who will put an end to the war and release them from taxes. The children of Rameses will be excluded from the solemnities, for Ameni, in spite of the chief-priest of Anion, still pronounces Bent-Anat unclean. Young Rameri has been doing wrong and Ameni, who has some other great scheme in his mind, has forbidden him the temple of Seti; that will work on the crowd! You know how things are going on in Syria: Rameses has suffered much at the hands of the Cheta and their allies; whole legions are weary of eternally lying in the field, and if things came to extremities would join us; but, perhaps, especially if Paaker acquits himself well, we may be victorious without fighting. Above all things now we must act rapidly.”

“I no longer recognize the timid, cautious lover of delay!” exclaimed Katuti.

“Because now prudent hesitation would be want of prudence,” said Ani.

“And if the king should get timely information as to what is happening here?” said Katuti.

“I said so!” exclaimed Ani; “we are exchanging parts.”

“You are mistaken,” said Katuti. “I also am for pressing forwards; but I would remind you of a necessary precaution. No letters but yours must reach the camp for the next few weeks.”

“Once more you and the priests are of one mind,” said Ani laughing; “for Ameni gave me the same counsel. Whatever letters are sent across the frontier between Pelusium and the Red Sea will be detained. Only my letters—in which I complain of the piratical sons of the desert who fall upon the messengers—will reach the king.”

“That is wise,” said the widow; “let the seaports of the Red Sea be watched too, and the public writers. When you are king, you can distinguish those who are affected for or against you.”

Ani shook his head and replied:

“That would put me in a difficult position; for it I were to punish those who are now faithful to their king, and exalt the others, I should have to govern with unfaithful servants, and turn away the faithful ones. You need not color, my kind friend, for we are kin, and my concerns are yours.”

Katuti took the hand he offered her and said:

“It is so. And I ask no further reward than to see my father’s house once more in the enjoyment of its rights.”

“Perhaps we shall achieve it,” said Ani; “but in a short time if—if—Reflect, Katuti; try to find out, ask your daughter to help you to the utmost. Who is it that she—you know whom I mean—Who is it that Bent-Anat loves?”

The widow started, for Ani had spoken the last words with a vehemence very foreign to his usual courtliness, but soon she smiled and repeated to the Regent the names of the few young nobles who had not followed the king, and remained in Thebes. “Can it be Chamus?” at last she said, “he is at the camp, it is true, but nevertheless—”

At this instant Nemu, who had not lost a word of the conversation, came in as if straight from the garden and said:

“Pardon me, my lady; but I have heard a strange thing.”

“Speak,” said Katuti.

“The high and mighty princess Bent-Anat, the daughter of Rameses, is said to have an open love-affair with a young priest of the House of Seti.”

“You barefaced scoundrel!” exclaimed Ani, and his eyes sparkled with rage. “Prove what you say, or you lose your tongue.”

“I am willing to lose it as a slanderer and traitor according to the law,” said the little man abjectly, and yet with a malicious laugh; “but this time I shall keep it, for I can vouch for what I say. You both know that Bent-Anat was pronounced unclean because she stayed for an hour and more in the house of a paraschites. She had an assignation there with the priest. At a second, in the temple of Hatasu, they were surprised by Septah, the chief of the haruspices of the House of Seti.”

“Who is the priest?” asked Ani with apparent calmness.

“A low-born man,” replied Nemu, “to whom a free education was given at the House of Seti, and who is well known as a verse-maker and interpreter of dreams. His name is Pentaur, and it certainly must be admitted that he is handsome and dignified. He is line for line the image of the pioneer Paaker’s late father. Didst thou ever see him, my lord?”

The Regent looked gloomily at the floor and nodded that he had. But Katuti cried out; “Fool that I am! the dwarf is right! I saw how she blushed when her brother told her how the boys had rebelled on his account against Ameni. It is Pentaur and none other!”

“Good!” said Ani, “we will see.”

With these words he took leave of Katuti, who, as he disappeared in the garden, muttered to herself: “He was wonderfully clear and decided to-day; but jealousy is already blinding him and will soon make him feel that he cannot get on without my sharp eyes.”

Nemu had slipped out after the Regent.

He called to him from behind a fig-tree, and hastily whispered, while he bowed with deep respect:

“My mother knows a great deal, most noble highness! The sacred Ibis97 wades through the fen when it goes in search of prey, and why shouldst thou not stoop to pick up gold out of the dust? I know how thou couldst speak with the old woman without being seen.”

“Speak,” said Ani.

“Throw her into prison for a day, hear what she has to say, and then release her—with gifts if she is of service to you—if not, with blows. But thou wilt learn something important from her that she obstinately refused to tell me even.”

“We will see!” replied the Regent. He threw a ring of gold to the dwarf and got into his chariot.

So large a crowd had collected in the vicinity of the palace, that Ani apprehended mischief, and ordered his charioteer to check the pace of the horses, and sent a few police-soldiers to the support of the out-runners; but good news seemed to await him, for at the gate of the castle he heard the unmistakable acclamations of the crowd, and in the palace court he found a messenger from the temple of Seti, commissioned by Ameni to communicate to him and to the people, the occurrence of a great miracle, in that the heart of the ram of Anion, that had been torn by wolves, had been found again within the breast of the dead prophet Rui.

Ani at once descended from his chariot, knelt down before all the people, who followed his example, lifted his arms to heaven, and praised the Gods in a loud voice. When, after some minutes, he rose and entered the palace, slaves came out and distributed bread to the crowd in Ameni’s name.

“The Regent has an open hand,” said a joiner to his neighbor; “only look how white the bread is. I will put it in my pocket and take it to the children.”

“Give me a bit!” cried a naked little scamp, snatching the cake of bread from the joiner’s hand and running away, slipping between the legs of the people as lithe as a snake.

“You crocodile’s brat!” cried his victim. “The insolence of boys gets worse and worse every day.”

“They are hungry,” said the woman apologetically. “Their fathers are gone to the war, and the mothers have nothing for their children but papyrus-pith and lotus-seeds.”

“I hope they enjoy it,” laughed the joiner. “Let us push to the left; there is a man with some more bread.”

“The Regent must rejoice greatly over the miracle,” said a shoemaker. “It is costing him something.”

“Nothing like it has happened for a long time,” said a basket-maker. “And he is particularly glad it should be precisely Rui’s body, which the sacred heart should have blessed. You ask why?—Hatasu is Ani’s ancestress, blockhead!”

“And Rui was prophet of the temple of Hatasu,” added the joiner.

“The priests over there are all hangers-on of the old royal house, that I know,” asserted a baker.

“That’s no secret!” cried the cobbler. “The old times were better than these too. The war upsets everything, and quite respectable people go barefoot because they cannot pay for shoe-leather. Rameses is a great warrior, and the son of Ra, but what can he do without the Gods; and they don’t seem to like to stay in Thebes any longer; else why should the heart of the sacred ram seek a new dwelling in the Necropolis, and in the breast of an adherent of the old—”

“Hold your tongue,” warned the basket-maker. “Here comes one of the watch.”

“I must go back to work,” said the baker. “I have my hands quite full for the feast to-morrow.”

“And I too,” said the shoemaker with a sigh, “for who would follow the king of the Gods through the Necropolis barefoot.”

“You must earn a good deal,” cried the basket-maker. “We should do better if we had better workmen,” replied the shoemaker, “but all the good hands are gone to the war. One has to put up with stupid youngsters. And as for the women! My wife must needs have a new gown for the procession, and bought necklets for the children. Of course we must honor the dead, and they repay it often by standing by us when we want it—but what I pay for sacrifices no one can tell. More than half of what I earn goes in them—”

“In the first grief of losing my poor wife,” said the baker, “I promised a small offering every new moon, and a greater one every year. The priests will not release us from our vows, and times get harder and harder. And my dead wife owes me a grudge, and is as thankless as she was is her lifetime; for when she appears to me in a dream she does not give me a good word, and often torments me.”

“She is now a glorified all-seeing spirit,” said the basket-maker’s wife, “and no doubt you were faithless to her. The glorified souls know all that happens, and that has happened on earth.”

The baker cleared his throat, having no answer ready; but the shoemaker exclaimed:

“By Anubis, the lord of the under-world, I hope I may die before my old woman! for if she finds out down there all I have done in this world, and if she may be changed into any shape she pleases, she will come to me every night, and nip me like a crab, and sit on me like a mountain.”

“And if you die first,” said the woman, “she will follow you afterwards to the under-world, and see through you there.”

“That will be less dangerous,” said the shoemaker laughing, “for then I shall be glorified too, and shall know all about her past life. That will not all be white paper either, and if she throws a shoe at me I will fling the last at her.”

“Come home,” said the basket-maker’s wife, pulling her husband away. “You are getting no good by hearing this talk.”

The bystanders laughed, and the baker exclaimed:

“It is high time I should be in the Necropolis before it gets dark, and see to the tables being laid for to-morrow’s festival. My trucks are close to the narrow entrance to the valley. Send your little ones to me, and I will give them something nice. Are you coming over with me?”

“My younger brother is gone over with the goods,” replied the shoemaker. “We have plenty to do still for the customers in Thebes, and here am I standing gossiping. Will the wonderful heart of the sacred ram be exhibited to-morrow do you know?”

“Of course—no doubt,” said the baker, “good-bye, there go my cases!”