Such a struggle was taking place in the prince that it seemed to him at one time that he understood everything, at another that he was surrounded by darkness; now he was full of hope, and now he doubted everything. From hour to hour, from day to day, his soul rose and fell like the waters of the Nile in the course of its yearly changes.
Gradually, however, the prince recovered his balance, and when the time came to leave the temple, he had formulated certain views of the problem.
First of all, he understood clearly that Egypt needed more land and more people. Second, he believed that the simplest way to find men was a war with Asia. But Pentuer had proved to him that war could only heighten the disaster. A new question rose then, did Pentuer speak the truth, or was he lying? If he spoke the truth, he plunged the prince in despair, for Ramses saw no means to raise the state except war. Unless war were made, Egypt would lose population yearly, and the treasury of the pharaoh would increase its debts till the whole process would end in some ghastly overthrow, perhaps even in the reign of the coming pharaoh.
"But if Pentuer lied? Why should he lie? Evidently because Herhor, Mefres, and the whole priestly corporation had persuaded him to act thus.
"But why did priests oppose war? What interests had they in opposing?
Every war brought immense profit to them and the pharaoh.
"But would the priests deceive him in an affair so far reaching? It is true that they deceived very often, but in small matters, not when it was a question of the future and the existence of the state. It was not possible to assert that they deceived always. Besides, they were the servants of the gods, and the guardians of great secrets." Spirits resided in their temples; of this Ramses convinced himself on the first night after he had come to that temple of Hator.
"But if the gods did not permit the uninitiated to approach their altars, if they watched so carefully over temples, why did they not watch over Egypt, which is the greatest of all temples?"
When some days later Ramses, after a solemn religious service, left the temple of Hator amid the blessings of the priests, two questions were agitating him,
Could war with Asia really harm Egypt? Could the priests in this question be deceiving him, the heir to the throne?
CHAPTER XXIX
THE prince journeyed on horseback in company with a number of officers to Pi-Bast, the famous capital of the province of Habu.
The month Paoni had passed, Epiphi was beginning (April and May). The sun stood high, heralding the most violent season of heat for Egypt. A mighty wind from the desert had blown in repeatedly; men and beasts fell because of heat, and on fields and trees a gray dust had begun to settle under which vegetation was dying.
Roses had been harvested and turned into oil; wheat had been gathered as well as the second crop of clover. The sweeps and buckets moved with double energy, irrigating the earth with dirty water to fit it for new seed. Men had begun to gather grapes and figs. The Nile had fallen, water in canals was low and of evil odor. Above the whole country a fine dust was borne along in a deluge of burning sun-rays.
In spite of this Prince Ramses rode on and felt gladsome. The life of a penitent in the temple had grown irksome; he yearned for feasts, uproar, and women.
Meanwhile the country, intersected with a net of canals, though flat and monotonous, was pleasing. In the province of Habu lived people of another origin: not the old Egyptians, but descendants of the valiant Hyksos, who on a time had conquered Egypt and governed that laud for a number of generations.
The old Egyptians despised this remnant of a conquering race expelled from power afterward, but Ramses looked on them with satisfaction. They were large and strong, their bearing was proud, and there was manly energy in their faces. They did not fall prostrate before the prince and his officers, like Egyptians, but looked at him without dislike, but also without timidity. Neither were their shoulders covered with scars from beating; the scribes respected them because they knew that if a Hyksos were beaten he would return the blows, and might kill the man who gave them. Moreover the Hyksos enjoyed the pharaoh's favor, for their people furnished the choicest warriors.
As the retinue of the heir approached Pi-Bast, whose temples and palaces were visible through the haze of dust, as through a veil of muslin, the neighborhood grew more active. Along the broad highway and the canals men were taking to market cattle, wheat, fruit, wine, flowers, bread, and a multitude of other articles of daily consumption. The torrent of people and goods moving toward the city was as noisy and dense as that outside Memphis in the holiday season. Around Pi-Bast reigned throughout the whole year the uproar of a market-day, which ceased only in the night time.
The cause of this was simple. In that city stood the renowned and ancient temple of Astarte. This temple was revered throughout Western Asia and attracted throngs of pilgrims. It could be said without exaggeration that outside Pi-Bast thirty thousand strangers camped daily, Arabs, Phoenicians, Jews, Philistines, Hittites, Assyrians, and others. The Egyptian government bore itself kindly toward these pilgrims, who brought it a considerable income; the priests endured them, and the people of neighboring provinces carried on an active trade with them.
For the space of an hour's journey from Pi-Bast the mud huts and tents of strangers covered the open country. As one neared the city, those huts increased in number and transient inhabitants swarmed more and more densely around them. Some were preparing food under the open sky, others were purchasing provisions which came in continually, still others were going in procession to the temple. Here and there were large crowds before places of amusement, where beast-tamers, serpent- charmers, athletes, female dancers, and jugglers exhibited their adroitness.
Above all this multitude of people were heat and uproar.
Before the gate of the city Ramses was greeted by his court and by the nomarch of Habu surrounded by his officials. But the greeting, despite cordiality, was so cold that the astonished viceroy, whispered to Tutmosis,
"What does this mean, that he looks on me as if I had come to measure out punishment?"
"Because Thou hast the face of a man who has been associating with divinity."
He spoke truth. Whether because of ascetic life, or the society of priests, or of long meditation, the prince had changed greatly. He had grown thin, his complexion had darkened, and in his face and bearing much dignity was evident. In the course of weeks he had grown some years older.
On one of the main streets of the city there was such a dense throng of people that the police had to open a way for the heir and his retinue. But these people did not greet the prince; they had merely gathered around a small palace as if waiting for some person.
"What is this?" asked Ramses of the nomarch, for this indifference of the throng touched the prince disagreeably.
"Here dwells Hiram," answered the nomarch, "a prince of Tyre, a man of great charity. Every day he distributes bountiful alms, therefore poor people rush to him."
Ramses turned on his horse, looked, and said,
"I see there laborers of the pharaoh. So they too go for alms to the rich Phoenician?"
The nomarch was silent. Happily they approached the official palace, and the prince forgot Hiram.
Feasts in honor of the viceroy continued a number of days in succession, but they did not please him. Gladness was lacking and disagreeable incidents happened.
One day a favorite of the prince was dancing before him; she burst into tears. Ramses seized her in his arms, and asked what her trouble was.
At first she hesitated, but emboldened by the kindness of her lord, she answered, shedding tears in still greater abundance,
"We are thy women, O ruler, we come from great families, and respect is due to us."
"Thou speakest truth," said Ramses.
"Meanwhile thy treasurer stints us in allowance, and would deprive us of serving-maids, without whom we cannot bathe or dress our hair."
Ramses summoned his treasurer, and commanded sternly that his women should have all that belonged to their birth and position. The treasurer fell on his face before the prince, and promised to carry out all commands of the women. A couple of days later, a rebellion broke out among the court slaves, who complained that their wine had been taken. The heir ordered to give them wine. But during a review two days later a deputation from the regiments came to the viceroy with a most humble complaint, that their rations of meat and bread were diminished. The prince commanded that those petitioners be satisfied.
Still, two days later a great uproar at the palace roused him in the morning. Ramses inquired what the cause was; the officer on duty explained that the pharaoh's laborers had assembled and asked for arrears due them.
They summoned the treasurer, whom the prince attacked in great anger.
"What is going on here?" cried he. "Since my return there is no day without complaints of injustice. If anything like this is repeated, I shall order an inquiry and put an end to thy management."
The trembling treasurer fell on his face again, and groaned,
"Slay me, lord! But what am I to do when thy treasury, thy granaries, and thy storehouses are empty?"
In spite of his anger the prince thought that the treasurer might be innocent. He commanded him to withdraw, and then summoned Tutmosis.
"Listen to me," said Ramses to the favorite, "things are done here which I do not understand, and to which I am not accustomed. My women, the slaves, the army, the pharaoh's workmen do not receive what is due them, or their supplies are curtailed. When I asked the treasurer what this means, he answered that the treasury and the storehouses are empty."
"He told truth."
"How is that?" burst out the prince. "For my journey his holiness assigned two hundred talents in gold and goods. Can it be that all this is expended?"
"Yes," answered Tutmosis.
"How is that?" cried the viceroy. "Did not the nomarchs entertain us all the way?"
"Yes, but we paid them for doing so."
"Then they are rogues and robbers if they receive us as guests and then plunder us."
"Be not angry, and I will explain."
"Sit down."
Tutmosis took a seat.
"Dost Thou know," asked he, "that for a month past I have eaten food from thy kitchen, drunk wine from thy pitchers, and dressed from thy wardrobe?"
"Thou hast a right to that privilege."
"But I have never acted thus hitherto. I have lived, dressed, and amused myself at my own expense, so as not to burden thy treasury. It is true that Thou hast paid my debts more than once, but that was only a part of my outlay."
"Never mind the debts!"
"In a similar condition," continued Tutmosis, "are some tens of noble youths of thy court. They maintained themselves so as to uphold the splendor of the government; but now, like myself, they live at thy expense, for they have nothing to pay with."
"Sometime I will reward them."
"Now," continued Tutmosis, "we take from thy treasury, for want is oppressing us; the nomarchs do the same. If they had means they would give feasts and receptions at their own cost; but as they have not the means they receive recompense. Wilt Thou call them rogues now?"
"I condemned them too harshly. Anger, like smoke, covered my eyes," said Ramses. "I am ashamed of my words; none the less I wish that neither courtiers, soldiers, nor working men should suffer injustice. But since my means are exhausted it will be necessary to borrow. Would a hundred talents suffice? What thinkest thou?"
"I think that no one would lend us a hundred talents," whispered
Tutmosis.
The viceroy looked at him haughtily.
"Is that a fit answer to the son of a pharaoh?" asked he.
"Dismiss me from thy presence," said Tutmosis, sadly, "but I have told the truth. At present no one will make us a loan, for there is no one to do so."
"What is Dagon for?" wondered the prince. "He is not near my court; is he dead?"
"Dagon is in Pi-Bast, but he spends whole days with other Phoenician merchants in the temple of Astarte in prayer and penance."
"Why such devotion? Is it because that I was in a temple that my banker thinks he too should take counsel of the gods?"
Tutmosis turned on the stool.
"The Phoenicians," said he, "are alarmed; they are even crushed by the news."
"About what?"
"Some one has spread the report, worthiness, that when Thou shalt mount the throne all Phoenicians will be expelled and their property confiscated."
"Well, they have time enough before that," laughed Ramses.
Tutmosis hesitated further. "They say," continued he, in a lowered voice, "that in recent days the health of his holiness may he live through eternity! has failed notably."
"That is untrue!" interrupted the prince, in alarm. "I should know of it."
"But the priests are performing religious services in secret for the return of health to the pharaoh. I know this to a certainty.'"'
The prince was astonished.
"How! my father seriously ill, the priests are praying for him, but tell me nothing?"
"They say that the illness of his holiness may last a year."
"Oh, Thou hearest fables and art disturbing me. Better tell me about the Phoenicians."
"I have heard," said Tutmosis, "only what every one has heard, that while in the temple Thou wert convinced of the harm done by Phoenicians, and didst bind thyself to expel them."
"In the temple?" repeated the heir. "But who knows what that is of which I convinced myself in the temple, and what I decided to do?"
Tutmosis shrugged his shoulders, and was silent.
"Was there treason, too, in the temple?" thought the prince. "Summon Dagon in every case," said he, aloud. "I must know the source of these lies, and by the gods, I will end them."
"Thou wilt do well, for all Egypt is frightened. Even today there is no one to lend money, and if those reports continue all commerce will cease. Our aristocracy have fallen into trouble from which none see the issue, and even thy court is in want. A month hence the same thing may happen in the palace of his holiness."
"Silence!" interrupted the prince, "and call Dagon this moment."
Tutmosis ran out, but the banker appeared no earlier than evening.
Around a white mantle he wore a black belt.
"Hast Thou gone mad?" cried the heir, at sight of this. "I will drive off thy sadness immediately. I need a hundred talents at once. Go, and show thyself not till Thou bring them."
The banker covered his face and wept.
"What does this mean?" asked the prince, quickly.
"Lord," exclaimed Dagon, as he fell on his knees, "seize all my property, sell me and my family. Take everything, even our lives but a hundred talents where could I find wealth like that? Neither in Egypt nor Phoenicia," continued he, sobbing.
"Set has seized thee, O Dagon," laughed the heir. "Couldst Thou believe that I thought of expelling thy Phoenicians?"
The banker fell at the prince's feet a second time.
"I know nothing I am a common merchant, and thy slave as many days as there are between the new and the full moon would suffice to make dust of me and spittle of my property."
"But explain what this means," said the prince, again impatient.
"I cannot explain anything, and even were I able I have a great seal on my lips. I do nothing now but pray and lament."
"Do the Phoenicians pray also?" thought the prince.
"Unable to render any service," continued Dagon, "I will give good counsel at least. There is here in Pi-Bast a renowned Syrian, Prince Hiram, an old man, wise and tremendously wealthy. Summon him, Erpatr, ask of him a hundred talents; perhaps he will be able to gratify thee."
Since Ramses could get no explanations from the banker, he dismissed him, and promised to send an embassy to Hiram.
CHAPTER XXX
NEXT day Tutmosis, with a great suite of officers and attendants, paid a visit to the Phoenician prince, and invited him to the viceroy.
In the afternoon Hiram appeared before the palace in a simple litter borne by eight poor Egyptians to whom he gave alms. He was surrounded by the most notable Phoenician merchants, and that same throng of people who stood before his house daily.
Ramses greeted with a certain astonishment the old man out of whose eyes wisdom was gazing and in whose whole bearing there was dignity. He bowed gravely before the viceroy, and raising his hands above his head, pronounced a short blessing. Those present were deeply affected.
When the viceroy indicated an armchair and commanded his courtiers to withdraw, Hiram said,
"Yesterday thy servant Dagon informed me that the prince needs a hundred talents. I sent out my couriers at once to Sabne-Chetam, Sethroe, Pi-Uto, and other cities where there are Phoenician ships, asking them to land all their goods. I think that in a day or two Thou wilt receive this small sum."
"Small!" interrupted Ramses, with a smile. "Thou art happy if Thou call a hundred talents a small sum."
Hiram nodded.
"Thy grandfather, worthiness," said he, after a while, "the eternally living Ramses-sa-Ptah, honored me with his friendship; I know also his holiness, thy father may he live through eternity! and I will even try to lay before him my homage, if I be permitted."
"Whence could a doubt arise?" interrupted the prince.
"There are persons," replied the guest, "who admit some to the face of the pharaoh and refuse others but never mind them. Thou art not to blame for this; hence I venture to lay before thee one question, as an old friend of thy father and his father."
"I am listening."
"What means it," asked Hiram, slowly, "that the heir to the throne and a viceroy must borrow a hundred talents when more than a hundred thousand are due Egypt?"
"Whence?" cried Ramses.
"From the tribute of Asiatic peoples. Phoenicia owes five thousand; well, Phoenicia will pay, I guarantee that, unless some events happen. But, besides, Israel owes three thousand, the Philistines and the Moabites each two thousand, the Hittites thirty thousand. Finally, I do not remember details, but I know that the total reaches a hundred and three or a hundred and five thousand talents."
Ramses gnawed his lips, but on his vivacious countenance helpless anger was evident. He dropped his eyes and was silent.
"It is true," said Hiram, on a sudden, and looking sharply at the viceroy. "Poor Phoenicia but also Egypt."
"What dost Thou say?" asked the prince, frowning. "I understand not thy questions."
"Prince, Thou knowest what it is of which I speak, since Thou dost not answer my question," replied Hiram; and he rose as if to withdraw. "Still, I withdraw not my promise. Thou wilt receive a hundred talents."
He made a low bow, but the viceroy forced him to sit down again.
"Thou art hiding something," said Ramses, in a voice in which offence was evident. "I would hear thee explain what danger threatens Egypt or Phoenicia."
"Hast Thou not heard?" asked Hiram, with hesitation.
"I know nothing. I have passed more than a month in the temple."
"That is just the place in which to learn everything."
"Tell me, worthiness," said the viceroy, striking the table with his fist. "I am not pleased when men are amused at my expense."
"Give a great promise not to betray me to any one and I will tell, though I cannot believe that they have not informed the heir of this."
"Dost Thou not trust me?" asked the astonished prince.
"In this affair I should require a promise from the pharaoh himself," answered Hiram, with decision.
"If I swear on my sword, and the standards of my troops, that I will tell no man."
"Enough," said Hiram.
"I am listening."
"Does the prince know what is happening at this moment in Phoenicia?"
"I know nothing of that, even," interrupted the irritated viceroy.
"Our ships," whispered Hiram, "are coming home from all parts of the earth to convey at the first signal our people and treasures to some place beyond the sea to the west."
"Why?" asked the astounded viceroy.
"Because Assyria is to take us under her dominion."
"Thou hast gone mad, worthy man!" exclaimed Ramses. "Assyria to take
Phoenicia! But we? Egypt what would we say to that?"
"Egypt has consented already."
Blood rushed to the prince's head.
"The heat has disturbed thy mind, aged man," said he, in a calm voice. "Thou hast forgotten, even, that such an affair could not take place without the pharaoh's permission and mine."
"That will follow. Meanwhile the priests have concluded a treaty."
"With whom? What priests?"
"With Beroes, the high priest of Chaldea, at commission of King Assar," said Hiram. "And who from your side? I will not state to a certainty. But it seems to me that his worthiness Herhor, his worthiness Mefres, and the holy prophet Pentuer."
The prince became pale.
"Consider, Phoenician," said he, "that Thou art accusing of treason the highest dignitaries of Egypt."
"Thou art mistaken, prince, this is no treason: the high priest of Egypt and the minister of his holiness have the right to make treaties with neighboring states. Besides, how dost Thou know, worthiness, that all this is not done with consent of the pharaoh?"
Ramses was obliged to confess in his soul that such a treaty would not be treason, but disregard toward him, the erpatr.
So then the priests treated him in this way, him who might be the pharaoh a year hence? That is why Pentuer criticized war, and Mefres supported him.
"When could that have happened, and where?" asked the prince.
"Very likely they concluded the treaty at night in the temple of Set at Memphis," answered Hiram. "And when? I know not exactly, but it seems to me that it took place when Thou wert setting out from Memphis."
"The wretches!" thought the viceroy. "That is how they respect my position! Some kind god made me doubt in the temple of Hator."
After a time of internal conflict he added,
"Impossible! I shall not believe till proof be given."
"Proof there will be," replied Hiram. "One of these days a great lord will come to Pi-Bast from Assyria, Sargon, the friend of King Assar. He will come under pretext of a pilgrimage to the temple of Astaroth, he will bring gifts to thee and to his holiness; then he will make a treaty. Ye will in fact put seals to that which the priests have determined to the ruin of Phoenicia, and perhaps to your own great misfortune."
"Never! What return could Assyria give Egypt?"
"That speech is worthy of a pharaoh. What return would Egypt get? Every treaty is good for a state if only something be gained through it. I am astonished specially by this," continued Hiram, "that Egypt should conclude a bad transaction: besides Phoenicia, Assyria will take almost all Asia, and to you will be left, in the form of a favor, the Israelites, the Philistines, and the peninsula of Sinai. In that case the tributes belonging to Egypt will be lost, and the pharaoh will never receive those hundred and five thousand talents."
The viceroy shook his head.
"Thou dost not know Egyptian priests," said he; "not one of them would accept such a treaty."
"Why not? The Phoenician proverb says: 'Better barley in the granary than gold in the desert.' Should Egypt feel very weak she might prefer Sinai and Palestine to a war with Assyria. But this is what sets me to thinking: Not Egypt, but Assyria, is easy to conquer. Assyria has a quarrel on the northwest; Assyria has few troops, and those of poor quality. Were Egypt to attack she would destroy Assyria, seize immense treasures in Babylon and Nineveh, and establish her authority in Asia at once and securely."
"Such a treaty cannot exist, as Thou seest," interrupted Ramses.
"In one case alone could I understand such a treaty," continued Hiram. "If 'tis the plan of the priests to set aside kingly power in Egypt; and toward this, O prince, they have been striving since the days of thy grandfather."
"Thou art speaking aside from the question," said Ramses, but he felt alarm in his heart.
"Perhaps I am mistaken," answered Hiram, looking into his eyes quickly.
"But hear me out, worthiness."
He moved up his armchair to the prince, and said in a lowered voice,
"If the pharaoh should make war on Assyria, he would have a great army attached to his person; a hundred thousand talents of tribute in arrears, about two hundred thousand talents from Nineveh and Babylon, finally about a hundred thousand talents yearly from conquered countries. Such immense wealth would enable him to redeem the property mortgaged to the priests, and put an end at once and forever to their meddling."
The prince's eyes glittered, and Hiram continued,
"Today the army depends on Herhor, and therefore on the priests; remove the foreign regiments, and the pharaoh, in case of war, could not depend on his warriors.
"Besides, the royal treasury is empty, and the greater part of the pharaoh's property belongs to the temples. He must contract new debts yearly even to maintain his household; and since there will be no Phoenicians among you, ye must borrow of the temples. In this way, when ten years have passed, his holiness may he live through eternity! will lose what is left of his property, and then what?"
On the forehead of Ramses perspiration came out in drops.
"Thou seest then, worthy lord," continued Hiram, "the priests might and even would be forced in one case to accept the most disgraceful treaty with Assyria: if they are working to lower and destroy the power of the pharaoh well, there may be another case: if Egypt were so weak as to need peace at any price."
The prince sprang up.
"Silence!" cried he. "I should prefer treason on the part of my most faithful servants, to such weakness in the country. Egypt yield to Assyria why, a year later Egypt herself would fall under the yoke of Assyria, for by subscribing to such infamy she would confess her own helplessness."
He walked up and down the room, with indignation, while Hiram looked at him with compassion or with sympathy.
All at once Ramses halted before the Phoenician,
"This is false! Some adroit villain has deceived thee, O Hiram, with the semblance of truth, and Thou hast believed him. If such a treaty existed, they would have kept it in the closest secrecy. In the present case one of the four priests whom Thou hast mentioned is a traitor, not only to his own sovereign, but to his co-conspirators."
"There might have been some fifth man who overheard them," interrupted
Hiram.
"And who sold the secret to thee?"
"It is a wonder to me," said Hiram, "that the prince has not discovered the power of gold."
"But stop, worthiness, our priests have more gold than thou, though
Thou art wealthy beyond the wealthy!"
"Still I am not angry when a drachma comes to me. Why should others refuse a talent?"
"They would because they are servants of the gods," said the prince, passionately; "they would fear divine punishment."
The Phoenician laughed.
"I have seen," said he, "many temples of various nations, and in those temples great and small statues, of wood, stone, and gold even. But gods I have never met."
"Blasphemer!" exclaimed Ramses. "I have seen a divinity, I have felt its hand on my person, I have heard its voice."
"In what place?"
"In the temple of Hator, in its hall of entrance, and in my cell."
"In the daytime?"
"In the night," replied the prince; and he stopped.
"At night the prince heard speeches of the gods, and felt their hands," replied the Phoenician, emphasizing word after word. "At night it is possible to see many things. What happened?"
"In the temple I was seized by the head, by the shoulders, by the legs; and I swear
"Phst!" interrupted Hiram, with a smile. "It is not proper to swear in vain."
He looked fixedly at Ramses with his quick and wise eyes, and seeing that doubt was rising in the young man, he continued,
"I will tell thee something, lord. Thou art inexperienced, though surrounded by a net of intrigues, but I have been the friend of thy grandfather and thy father. Now I will render thee a service: Come in the night to the temple of Astaroth, but bind thyself to keep the secret. Come alone, and Thou wilt be convinced as to who the gods are who speak in the temples and touch us."
"I will come," said Ramses, after some meditation.
"Forewarn me, prince, on the morning of the day, and I will give thee the evening password; Thou wilt be admitted. Only betray neither me nor thyself," said the Phoenician, with a kindly smile. "Men never pardon betrayal of their secrets, though gods pardon sometimes." He bowed, raised his eyes and hands, while he whispered a blessing.
"Deceivers!" cried the prince. "Thou prayest to gods, and dost not believe in them."
Hiram finished the blessing, and said,
"It is true that I have no belief in Egyptian or Assyrian, or even in Phoenician gods, but I believe in One who dwells not in temples and whose name is unknown to us."
"Our priests believe also in One," said Ramses.
"So do the Chaldeans, but they and your priests have conspired against us. There is no truth in this world, prince."
After Hiram's departure the heir shut himself up in the most remote chamber under pretext of reading sacred papyruses.
Almost in the twinkle of an eye the information received recently arranged itself in the fiery imagination of Ramses, and he formed a plan. First of all, he understood that a secret battle for life and death was raging between the priests and the Phoenicians. About what? Naturally about wealth and influence. Hiram said truly, that should the Phoenicians be expelled from Egypt, all the estates of the pharaoh, and even of the nomarchs and the entire aristocracy, would pass into possession of the temples.
Ramses had never liked the priests, and he had known and seen for a long time that the greater part of Egypt belonged to them, that their cities were the richest, their fields the best tilled, their people satisfied. He understood too that one-half the treasures which belonged to the temples would suffice to rescue the pharaoh from ceaseless troubles and give back power to him.
The prince knew this, and more than once he had said so with bitterness. But when through the influence of Herhor he became viceroy and received the corps in Memphis, he grew reconciled with the priests and stifled his previous dislike of them.
All that dislike had revived again.
Not only had the priests not told him of their negotiations with Assyria, they had not even forewarned him of the embassy of Sargon. This question might indeed be the great secret of the state and the temples. But why did they conceal the amount of tributes from various Asiatic nations, unpaid thus far? One hundred thousand talents why, that was a sum which might restore immediately the financial status of the pharaoh! Why had they concealed from him that which even a prince of Tyre knew, a man who was of the council in that city .'
What a shame for him, the heir to the throne, and the viceroy, that his eyes were first opened by foreigners! But there was something worse still: Pentuer and Mef res had proved to him in every way that Egypt must avoid war. In the temple of Hator that emphasis had seemed to him suspicious, since a war might obtain for the state thousands of legions of slaves, and raise the general prosperity of the country. Today this seemed the more necessary since Egypt ought to receive unpaid sums and gain still more tribute.
The prince rested his arms on the table and calculated,
"We," thought he, "should receive a hundred thousand talents. Hiram calculates that the plunder of Nineveh and Babylon would give about two hundred thousand; together, three hundred thousand. With such a sum we might cover the cost of the mightiest war, and there would remain besides several hundred thousand as profit, and captives and a hundred thousand yearly tribute from newly conquered regions. After that," concluded the prince, "we could reckon with the priesthood!"
Ramses was excited. Still reflection came to him,
"But if Egypt was unable to wage a victorious war against Assyria?" His blood boiled at this question. "How Egypt? Why should Egypt not trample Assyria, when he appeared at the head of its armies, he a descendant of Ramses the Great, who had hurled himself single-handed on the Hittite war chariots and scattered them."
The prince could understand everything save this, that man might conquer him and that he could not snatch victory from the greatest enemy. He felt in himself endless daring, and he would have been astounded if any enemy whatever had not fled at sight of his steeds in full onrush. Did not the gods themselves stand on the war-chariot of the pharaoh to defend his shield and smite with heavenly bolts his enemies?
"But what did this Hiram say to me about gods?" thought the prince.
"And what will he show me in the temple of Astaroth? We shall see."
CHAPTER XXXI
THE old man kept his promise. Every day to the prince's palace in Pi- Bast came crowds of slaves and long rows of asses bearing wheat, barley, dried meat, woven stuffs, and wine. Phoenician merchants brought gold and precious stones under inspection of Hiram's assistants.
In this manner the heir received in the course of five days the hundred talents promised. Hiram accounted a lower per cent to himself, one talent for four, in a year. He asked no pledge, but was satisfied with the receipt of the prince, certified before a tribunal.
The needs of the court were satisfied bountifully. Three favorites of the viceroy received new robes, a number of special perfumes, and female slaves of various colors. The servants had abundance of food and wine, the pharaoh's laborers received arrears of pay, unusual rations were issued to the army.
The court was delighted, the more since Tutmosis and other noble youths, at the command of Hiram, received rather large loans, while the nomarch of Habu and his higher officials received costly presents.
So feast followed feast and amusement amusement, though the heat increased always. Seeing this general delight, the viceroy was satisfied. He was troubled, however, by the bearing of Mefres and other priests. Ramses thought that those dignitaries would reproach him for having become so indebted to Hiram in spite of those lessons which he had received in the temple. Meanwhile the holy fathers were silent and did not even show themselves.
"What does this mean?" asked the prince one day of Tutmosis; "the priests do not reproach us? We have never indulged in such excesses before. Music is sounding from morning till evening; we drink, beginning with sunrise, and we fall asleep with women in our arms or pitchers at our heads."
"Why should they reproach us?" answered the indignant Tutmosis. "Are we not sojourning in the city of Astarte, [Astaroth] for whom amusement is the most pleasing service, and love the most coveted sacrifice? Moreover the priests understand that after such privations and fasts rest is due thee."
"Have they said anything?" asked the prince, with disquiet.
"Yes, more than once. Only yesterday the holy Mefres smiled, and said that amusement attracted a young man like thee more than religion or the labor of ruling a state."
Ramses fell to thinking,
"So the priests looked on him as a frivolous stripling, though he, thanks to Sarah, would become a father today or to-morrow. But they would have a surprise when he spoke to them in his own manner."
In truth the prince reproached himself somewhat. From the time that he left the temple of Hator he had not occupied himself one day with the affairs of Habu. The priests might suppose that he was either entirely satisfied with Pentuer's explanations, or that he was tired of interfering in government.
"So much the better!" whispered he. "So much the better!"
Under the influence of the endless intrigues of those around him, or suspicious of those intrigues, the instinct to deceive began in his young spirit to rouse itself. Ramses felt that the priests did not divine the subject of his conversation with Hiram, nor the plans which were forming in his head. It sufficed those blinded persons, that he was amusing himself; from this they inferred that the management of the state would remain in their hands forever.
"Have the gods so darkened their minds," thought Ramses, "that they do not even ask themselves why Hiram gave me a loan so considerable? And perhaps that crafty Tyrian has been able to lull their suspicious hearts? So much the better! So much the better!"
He had a marvelously agreeable feeling when he thought that the priests had blundered. He determined to keep them in that blunder for the future; hence he amused himself madly.
Indeed the priests were mistaken, both in Ramses and Hiram. The artful
Tyrian gave himself out before them as very proud of his relations with
Ramses, and the prince with no less success played the role of a
riotous stripling.
Mefres was even convinced that the prince was thinking seriously of expelling the Phoenicians, that meanwhile he and his courtiers were contracting debts and would never pay them.
But the temple of Astaroth with its numerous courts and gardens was filled with devotees all the time. Every day, if not every hour, though the heat was excessive, some company of pilgrims to the great goddess arrived from the depth of Asia.
Those were strange pilgrims. Wearied, streaming with perspiration, covered with dust, they advanced with music, and dancing, and songs sometimes of a very lewd character. The day passed for them in unbridled license in honor of the goddess. It was possible not only to recognize every such company from afar, but to catch its odor, since those people always brought immense bouquets of fresh flowers in their hands, and in bundles all the male cats that had died in the course of the current year. The devotees gave these cats to dissectors in Pi-Bast to be stuffed or embalmed, and bore them home later on as valued relics.
On the first day of the month Mesori (May-June), Prince Hiram informed Ramses that he might appear at the temple of Astaroth that evening. When it had grown dark on the streets after sunset, the viceroy girded a short sword to his side, put on a mantle with a hood, and unobserved by any servant, slipped away to the house of Hiram.
The old magnate was waiting for the viceroy.
"Well," said he, with a smile, "art Thou not afraid, prince, to enter a Phoenician temple where cruelty sits on the altar and perversity ministers?"
"Fear?" repeated Ramses, looking at him almost contemptuously. "Astaroth is not Baal, nor am I a child which they might throw into your god's red-hot belly."
"But does the prince believe this story?"
Ramses shrugged his shoulders.
"An eyewitness and a trustworthy person," answered he, "told me how ye sacrifice children. Once a storm wrecked a number of tens of your vessels. Immediately the Tyrian priests announced a religious ceremony at which throngs of people collected." The prince spoke with evident indignation. "Before the temple of Baal situated on a lofty place was an immense bronze statue with the head of a bull. Its belly was red hot. At command of your priests the foolish Phoenician mothers put their most beautiful children at the feet of this cruel divinity."
"Only boys," interrupted Hiram.
"Only boys," continued Ramses. "The priests sprinkled each boy with perfumes, decked him with flowers, and then the statue seized him with bronze hands, opened its jaws, and devoured the child, whose screams meanwhile were heaven piercing. Flames burst each time from the mouth of the deity."
Hiram laughed in silence.
"And dost Thou believe this, worthiness?"
"I repeat what a man told me who has never lied."
"He told what he saw. But did it not surprise him that no mother whose children they burned was weeping?"
"He was astonished, indeed, at such indifference in women, since they are always ready to shed tears even over a dead hen. But it shows great cruelty in your people."
The old Phoenician nodded.
"Was that long ago?" asked he.
"A few years."
"Well," said Hiram, deliberately, "shouldst Thou wish to visit Tyre some day, I shall have the honor to show thee a solemnity like that one."
"I have no wish to see it."
"After the ceremony we shall go to another court of the temple, where the prince will see a very fine school, and in it, healthy and gladsome, those very same boys who were burnt a few years ago."
"How is that?" exclaimed Ramses; "then did they not perish?"
"They are living, and growing up to be sturdy mariners. When Thou shalt be pharaoh, mayst Thou live through eternity! perhaps more than one of them will be sailing thy ships."
"Then ye deceive your people?" laughed the prince.
"We deceive no one," answered the Tyrian, with dignity. "Each man deceives himself when he does not seek the explanation of a solemnity which he does not understand."
"I am curious," said Ramses.
"In fact," continued Hiram, "we have a custom that indigent mothers wishing to assure their sons a good career give them to the service of the state. In reality, those children are taken across the statue of Baal, in which there is a heated stove. This ceremony does not mean that the children are really burnt, but that they have been given to the temple, and so are as much lost to their mothers as if they had fallen into fire.
"In truth, however, they do not go to the stove, but to nurses and women who rear them for some years. When they have grown up sufficiently, the school of priests of Baal receives and educates them. The most competent become priests or officials; the less gifted go to the navy and obtain great wealth frequently. Now I think the prince will not wonder that Tyrian mothers do not mourn for their children. I will say more: Thou wilt understand, lord, why there is no punishment for parents who kill their children, as there is in Egypt."
"Wretches are found in all lands," replied the prince.
"But there is no child murder in our country," continued Hiram, "for with us children, when their mothers are unable to support them, are taken to the temple by the state."
The prince fell to thinking; suddenly he embraced Hiram, and said with emotion,
"Ye are much better than those who tell tales of you. I am greatly rejoiced at this."
"Among us, too, there is no little evil," answered Hiram; "but we are all ready to be thy faithful servants shouldst Thou call us."
"Is this true?" asked the prince, looking him in the eyes.
The old man put his hand on his heart.
"I swear to thee, O heir to the throne of Egypt and future pharaoh, that if Thou begin at any time a struggle with our common enemy, Phoenicia will hasten as one man to assist thee. But receive this as a reminder of our conversation."
He drew from beneath his robe a gold medal covered with mysterious characters, and, muttering a prayer, hung it on the neck of Prince Ramses.
"With this amulet," continued Hiram, "Thou mayst travel the whole world through, and if Thou meet a Phoenician he will serve thee with advice, with gold, with his sword even. But now let us go."
Some hours had passed since sunset, but the night was clear, for the moon had risen. The terrible heat of the day had yielded to coolness. In the pure air was floating no longer that gray dust which bit the eyes and poisoned respiration. In the blue sky here and there twinkled stars which were lost in the deluge of moonbeams.
Movement had stopped on the streets, but the roofs of all the houses were filled with people occupied in amusement. Pi-Bast seemed from edge to edge to be one hall filled with music, singing, laughter, and the sound of goblets.
The prince and the Phoenician went speedily to the suburbs, choosing the less lighted sides of the streets. Still, people feasting on terraces saw them at intervals, and invited them up, or cast flowers down on their heads.
"Hei, ye strollers!" cried they, from the roofs. "If ye are not thieves called out by the night to snatch booty, come hither, come up to us. We have good wine and gladsome women."
The two wanderers made no answer to those hospitable invitations; they hurried on in their own way. At last they came to a quarter where the houses were fewer, the gardens more frequent, the trees, thanks to damp sea-breezes, more luxuriant and higher than in the southern provinces of Egypt.
"It is not far now," said Hiram.
The prince raised his eyes, and over the dense green of trees he saw a square tower of blue color; on it a more slender tower, which was white. This was the temple of Astaroth. Soon they entered the garden, whence they could take in at a glance the whole building.
It was composed of a number of stories. The top of the lowest was a square platform with sides four hundred yards long; its walls were a few meters high, and all of black color. At the eastern side was a projection to which came two wide stairways. Along the other three sides of this first story were small towers, ten on each side; between each pair of towers were five windows.
More or less in the centre of this lowest platform rose a quadrangular building with sides two hundred yards long. This had a single stairway, towers at the comers, and was purple. On the top of this building was another of golden color, and above it, one upon the other, two towers one blue, the other white.
The whole building looked as if some power had placed on the earth one enormous black dice, on it a smaller one of purple, on that a golden one, on that a blue, and, highest of all, a silver dice. To each of these elevations stairs led, either double flights along the sides or single front stairs, always on the eastern walls.
At the sides of the stairs and doors stood, alternately, great Egyptian sphinxes, or winged Assyrian human-headed bulls.
The viceroy looked with delight at this edifice, which in the moonlight and against the background of rich vegetation had an aspect of marvelous beauty. It was built in Chaldean style, and differed essentially from the temples of Egypt, first, by the system of stories, second, by the perpendicular walls.
Among the Egyptians every great building had sloping sides receding inward as they rose.
The garden was not empty. At various points small villas and houses were visible, lights were flashing, songs and music were heard. From time to time among trees appeared shadows of loving couples.
All at once an old priest approached them, exchanged a few words with
Hiram, and said to the prince with a low obeisance,
"Be pleased, lord, to come with me."
"And may the gods watch over thee, worthiness," added Hiram, as he left him.
Ramses followed the priest. Somewhat aside from the temple, in the thickest of the grove, was a stone bench, and perhaps a hundred rods from it a villa of no great size at which was heard singing.
"Are people praying there?" asked the prince.
"No," answered the priest, without concealing his dislike; "at that house assemble the worshippers of Kama, our priestess who guards the fire before the altar of Astaroth."
"Whom does she receive today?"
"No one at any time," answered the guide, offended. "Were the priestess of the fire not to observe her vow of chastity she would have to die."
"A cruel law," observed Ramses.
"Be pleased, lord, to wait at this bench," said the Phoenician priest, coldly; "but on hearing three blows against the bronze plate, go to the temple, ascend to the first platform, and thence to the purple story."
"Alone?"
"Yes."
The prince sat down on the bench, in the shadow of an olive tree, and heard the laughter of women in the villa.
"Kama," thought he, "is a pretty name. She must be young, and perhaps beautiful, and those dull Phoenicians threaten her with death. Do they wish in this way to assure themselves even a few virgins in the whole country?"
He laughed, but was sad. It was uncertain why he pitied that unknown woman for whom love would be a passage to the grave.
"I can imagine to myself Tutmosis if he were appointed priestess of Astaroth," thought Ramses. "He would have to die, poor fellow, before he could light one lamp before the face of the goddess."
At that moment a flute was heard in the villa, and some one played a plaintive air, which was accompanied by female singers, "Aha-a! aha-a!" as in the lullaby of infants.
The flute stopped, the women were silent, and a splendid male voice was heard, in the Greek language:
"When thy robe gleams on the terrace, the stars pale and the nightingales cease to sing, but in my heart there is stillness like that which is on earth when the clear dawn salutes it."
"Aha-a! aha-a!" continued the women. The flute played again.
"When Thou goest to the temple, violets surround thee in a cloud of fragrance, butterflies circle near thy lips, palms bend their heads to thy beauty."
"aha-a! aha-a!"
"When Thou art not before me, I look to the skies to recall the sweet calm of thy features. Vain labor! The heavens have no calm like thine, and their heat is cold when compared with the flame which is turning my heart into ashes."
"Aha-a! aha-a!"
"One day I stood among roses, which the gleam of thy glances clothe in white, gold, and scarlet. Each leaf of them reminded me of one hour, each blossom of one month passed at thy feet. The drops of dew are my tears, which are drunk by the merciless wind of the desert.
"Give a sign; I will seize thee, I will bear thee away to my birthplace, beloved. The sea will divide us from pursuers, myrtle groves will conceal our fondling, and gods, more compassionate toward lovers, will watch over our happiness."
"Aha-a! aha-a!"
The prince dropped his eyelids and imagined. Through his drooping lashes he could not see the garden, he saw only the flood of moonlight in which were mingled shadows and the song of the unknown man to the unknown woman. At instants that song seized him to such a degree, and forced itself into his spirit so deeply, that Ramses wished to ask: "Am I not the singer myself? nay, am I not that love song?"
At this moment his title, his power, the burdensome problems of state, all seemed to him mean, insignificant in comparison with that moonlight and those calls of a heart which is enamored. If the choice had been given him to take the whole power of the pharaoh, or that spiritual condition in which he then found himself, he would have preferred that dreaming, in which the whole world, he himself, even time, disappeared, leaving nothing behind but desire, which was now rushing forth to infinity borne on the wings of song and of music.
Meanwhile the prince recovered, the song had ended, the lights in the villa had vanished, the white walls, the dark vacant windows were sharply outlined. One might have thought that no person had ever been in that house there. The garden was deserted and silent, even the slight breath of air stirred the leaves no longer.
One! two! three! From the temple were heard three mighty sounds from bronze.
"Ah! I must go," thought the prince, not knowing well whither he was to go or for what purpose.
He turned, however, in the direction of the temple, the silver tower of which rose above the trees as if summoning him.
He went as in a trance, filled with strange wishes. Among the trees it was narrow for him; he wished to ascend to the top of that tower, to draw breath, to take in with his glance some wider horizon. Again he remembered that it was the month Mesori, that a year had passed since the maneuvers; he felt a yearning for the desert. How gladly would he mount his light chariot drawn by two horses, and fly away to some place where it was not so stifling, and trees did not hide the horizon!
He was at the steps of the temple, so he mounted to the platform. It was quiet and empty there, as if all had died; but from afar the water of a fountain was murmuring. At the second stairway he threw aside his burnous and sword; once more he looked at the garden, as if he were sorry to leave the moonlight behind, and entered the temple. There were three stories above him.
The bronze doors were open; at both sides of the entrance stood winged figures of bulls with human heads; on the faces of these was dignified calmness.
"Those are kings of Assyria," thought the prince, looking at their beards plaited in tiny tresses.
The interior of the temple was as black as night when 't is blackest. The darkness was intensified more by white streaks of moonlight falling in through narrow high windows.
In the depth of the temple two lamps were burning before the statue of Astaroth. Some strange illumination from above caused the statue to be perfectly visible. Ramses gazed at it. That was a gigantic woman with the wings of an ostrich. She wore a long robe in folds; on her head was a pointed cap, in her right hand she held a pair of doves. On her beautiful face and in her downcast eyes was an expression of such sweetness and innocence that astonishment seized the prince, for she was the patroness of revenge and of license the most unbridled.
"Phoenicia has shown me one more of her secrets. A strange people," thought Ramses. "Their man-eating gods do not eat, and their lewdness is guarded by virgin priestesses and by a goddess with an innocent face."
Thereupon he felt that something had slipped across his feet quickly, as it were a great serpent. Ramses drew back and stood in the streak of moonlight.
"A vision!" said he to himself.
Almost at that moment he heard a whisper,
"Ramses! Ramses!"
It was impossible to discover whether that was a man's or a woman's voice, or whence it issued.
"Ramses! Ramses!" was heard a whisper, as if from the ceiling.
The prince went to an un-illuminated place and, while looking, bent down.
All at once he felt two delicate hands on his head.
He sprang up to grasp them, but caught only air.
"Ramses!" was whispered from above.
He raised his head, and felt on his lips a lotus flower; and when he stretched his hands to it some one leaned on his arm lightly.
"Ramses!" called a voice from the altar.
The prince turned and was astounded. In the streak of light, a couple of steps distant, stood a most beautiful man, absolutely like the heir to the throne of Egypt. The same face, eyes, youthful stature, the same posture, movements, and dress.
The prince thought for a while that he was before some great mirror, such a mirror as even the pharaoh could not have. But soon he convinced himself that his second was a living man, not a picture.
At that moment he felt a kiss on his neck. Again he turned, but there was no one; meanwhile his second self vanished.
"Who is here? I wish to know!" cried the angry prince.
"It is I 'Kama," answered a sweet voice.
And in the strip of light appeared a most beautiful woman, naked, with a golden girdle around her waist.
Ramses ran up and seized her by the hands. She did not flee.
"Art Thou Kama? No, Thou art Yes, Dagon sent thee on a time, but then
Thou didst call thyself Fondling."
"But I am Fondling, too," replied she, naively.
"Is it Thou who hast touched me with thy hands?"
UJ
"How?"
"Ao! in this way," answered she, throwing her arms around his neck, and kissing him.
Ramses seized her in his arms, but she tore herself free with a force which no one could have suspected in such a slight figure.
"Art Thou then the priestess Kama? Was it to thee that that Greek sang to-night?" asked the prince, pressing her hands passionately. "What sort of man is that singer?"
Kama shrugged her shoulders contemptuously.
"He is attached to our temple," was the answer.
Ramses' eyes flamed, his nostrils dilated, there was a roaring in his head. That same woman a few months before had made on him only a slight impression; but today he was ready to commit some mad deed because of her. He envied the Greek, and felt also indescribable sorrow at the thought that if she became his she must perish.
"How beautiful Thou art," said he. "Where dost Thou dwell? Ah, I know; in that villa. Is it possible to visit thee? Of course it is. If Thou receive singers, Thou must receive me. Art Thou really the priestess guarding the fire of this temple?"
"I am."
"And are the laws so severe that they do not permit thee to love? Ei, those are threats! For me Thou wilt make exception."
"All Phoenicia would curse me; the gods would take vengeance," replied she, with a smile.
Ramses drew her again toward him; again she tore herself free.
"Have a care, prince," said she, with a challenging look. "Phoenicia is mighty, and her gods."
"What care I for thy gods or Phoenicia? Were a hair to fall from thy head, I would trample Phoenicia as I might a foul reptile."
"Kama! Kama!" called a voice from the statue.
She was frightened.
"Thou seest they call me. They may have heard thy blaspheming."
"They may have heard my anger."
"The anger of the gods is more terrible."
She tore away and vanished in the darkness of the temple. Ramses rushed after her, but was pushed back on a sudden. The whole temple between him and the altar was filled with an immense bloody flame, in which monstrous figures appeared, huge bats, reptiles with human heads, shades.
The flame advanced toward him directly across the whole width of the building; and, amazed by this sight, which was new to him, the prince retreated. All at once fresh air was around him. He turned his head he was outside the temple, and that instant the bronze doors closed with a crash behind.
He rubbed his eyes, he looked around. The moon from the highest point in the heavens had lowered toward the west. At the side of the column Ramses found his sword and burnous. He raised them, and moved down the steps like a drunken man.
When he returned to his palace at a late hour, Tutmosis, on seeing his pale face and troubled look, cried with alarm,
"By the gods! where hast Thou been, Erpatr? Thy whole court is alarmed and sleepless."
"I was looking at the city. The night is beautiful."
"Dost Thou know," added Tutmosis, hurriedly, as if fearing that some one else might anticipate him, "that Sarah has given thee a son?"
"Indeed? I wish no one in the retinue to be alarmed when I go out to walk."
"Alone?"
"If I could not go out alone when it pleases me, I should be the most wretched slave in Egypt," said Ramses, bitterly.
He gave his sword and burnous to Tutmosis, and went to his bedroom without calling any one. Yesterday the birth of a son would have filled him with gladness; but at that moment he received the news with indifference. His whole soul was occupied with the thought of that evening, the most wonderful in all his life experience. He still saw the light of the moon; in his ears the song of the Greek was still sounding. But that temple of Astaroth!
He could not sleep till morning.