Uarda : a Romance of Ancient Egypt — Complete, Georg Ebers [motivational novels .TXT] 📗

lady in the litter shrank in horror as its tones suddenly violated the place of the dead, he cried out—“How long are we to wait here for you—you dirty hound? Come down and open the door and then ask questions. If the torch-light is not bright enough to show you who is waiting, I will score our name on your shoulders with my whip, and teach you how to receive princely visitors.”

While the porter muttered an unintelligible answer and came down the steps within to open the door, the lady in the chariot turned to her impatient companion and said in a pleasant but yet decided voice, “You forget, Paaker, that you are back again in Egypt, and that here you have to deal not with the wild Schasu,—[A Semitic race of robbers in the cast of Egypt.]—but with friendly priests of whom we have to solicit a favor. We have always had to lament your roughness, which seems to me very ill-suited to the unusual circumstances under which we approach this sanctuary.”

Although these words were spoken in a tone rather of regret than of blame, they wounded the sensibilities of the person addressed; his wide nostrils began to twitch ominously, he clenched his right hand over the handle of his whip, and, while he seemed to be bowing humbly, he struck such a heavy blow on the bare leg of a slave who was standing near to him, an old Ethiopian, that he shuddered as if from sudden cold, though-knowing his lord only too well—he let no cry of pain escape him. Meanwhile the gate-keeper had opened the door, and with him a tall young priest stepped out into the open air to ask the will of the intruders.

Paaker would have seized the opportunity of speaking, but the lady in the chariot interposed and said:

“I am Bent-Anat, the daughter of the King, and this lady in the litter is Nefert, the wife of the noble Mena, the charioteer of my father. We were going in company with these gentlemen to the north-west valley of the Necropolis to see the new works there. You know the narrow pass in the rocks which leads up the gorge. On the way home I myself held the reins and I had the misfortune to drive over a girl who sat by the road with a basket full of flowers, and to hurt her—to hurt her very badly I am afraid. The wife of Mena with her own hands bound up the child, and then she carried her to her father’s house—he is a paraschites—[One who opened the bodies of the dead to prepare them for being embalmed.]—Pinem is his name. I know not whether he is known to you.”

“Thou hast been into his house, Princess?”

“Indeed, I was obliged, holy father,” she replied, “I know of course that I have defiled myself by crossing the threshold of these people, but—”

“But,” cried the wife of Mena, raising herself in her litter, “Bent-Anat can in a day be purified by thee or by her house-priest, while she can hardly—or perhaps never—restore the child whole and sound again to the unhappy father.”

“Still, the den of a paraschites is above every thing unclean,” said the chamberlain Penbesa, master of the ceremonies to the princess, interrupting the wife of Mena, “and I did not conceal my opinion when Bent-Anat announced her intention of visiting the accursed hole in person. I suggested,” he continued, turning to the priest, “that she should let the girl be taken home, and send a royal present to the father.”

“And the princess?” asked the priest.

“She acted, as she always does, on her own judgment,” replied the master of the ceremonies.

“And that always hits on the right course,” cried the wife of Mena.

“Would to God it were so!” said the princess in a subdued voice. Then she continued, addressing the priest, “Thou knowest the will of the Gods and the hearts of men, holy father, and I myself know that I give alms willingly and help the poor even when there is none to plead for them but their poverty. But after what has occurred here, and to these unhappy people, it is I who come as a suppliant.”

“Thou?” said the chamberlain.

“I,” answered the princess with decision. The priest who up to this moment had remained a silent witness of the scene raised his right hand as in blessing and spoke.

“Thou hast done well. The Hathors fashioned thy heart and the Lady of Truth guides it. Thou hast broken in on our night-prayers to request us to send a doctor to the injured girl?”

[Hathor was Isis under a substantial form. She is the goddess of the pure, light heaven, and bears the Sun-disk between cow-horns on a cow’s head or on a human head with cow’s ears. She was named the Fair, and all the pure joys of life are in her gift. Later she was regarded as a Muse who beautifies life with enjoyment, love, song, and the dance. She appears as a good fairy by the cradle of children and decides their lot in life. She bears many names: and several, generally seven, Hathors were represented, who personified the attributes and influence of the goddess.]

“Thou hast said.”

“I will ask the high-priest to send the best leech for outward wounds immediately to the child. But where is the house of the paraschites Pinem? I do not know it.”

“Northwards from the terrace of Hatasu,—[A great queen of the 18th dynasty and guardian of two Pharaohs]—close to—; but I will charge one of my attendants to conduct the leech. Besides, I want to know early in the morning how the child is doing.—Paaker.”

The rough visitor, whom we already know, thus called upon, bowed to the earth, his arms hanging by his sides, and asked:

“What dost thou command?”

“I appoint you guide to the physician,” said the princess. “It will be easy to the king’s pioneer to find the little half-hidden house again—

[The title here rendered pioneer was that of an officer whose duties were those at once of a scout and of a Quarter-Master General. In unknown and comparatively savage countries it was an onerous post. —Translator.]

besides, you share my guilt, for,” she added, turning to the priest, “I confess that the misfortune happened because I would try with my horses to overtake Paaker’s Syrian racers, which he declared to be swifter than the Egyptian horses. It was a mad race.”

“And Amon be praised that it ended as it did,” exclaimed the master of the ceremonies. “Packer’s chariot lies dashed in pieces in the valley, and his best horse is badly hurt.”

“He will see to him when he has taken the physician to the house of the paraschites,” said the princess. “Dost thou know, Penbesa—thou anxious guardian of a thoughtless girl—that to-day for the first time I am glad that my father is at the war in distant Satiland?”—[Asia].

“He would not have welcomed us kindly!” said the master of the ceremonies, laughing.

“But the leech, the leech!” cried Bent-Anat. “Packer, it is settled then. You will conduct him, and bring us to-morrow morning news of the wounded girl.”

Paaker bowed; the princess bowed her head; the priest and his companions, who meanwhile had come out of the temple and joined him, raised their hands in blessing,