High up among the tombs lived Unis, neophyte of the Temple of Amen. The abandoned tomb-chapel which served to shelter him immediately overlooked the tree-embowered villa of Enana the Magician, for whom, at times, the youthful prophet worked. His only attendant was Bata, an aged Ethiopian, not so long ago his nurse.
Bata was seen almost daily in the market-place. Here she not only collected the various offerings of the simple herdsmen and peasants, but acted as go-between in the affairs of the superstitious farmers, herdsmen and petty officials who were in the habit of consulting her master. For Unis carried on a desultory practice in necromancy, astrology and divination. Bata collected the fees, which were generally paid in kind.
Unis spent the few “auspicious days” which the Egyptian calendar allowed to each month, seated upon a low bench beneath a sycamore tree on the border of a narrow canal, immediately opposite Enana’s island home. Here he listened to those who came to consult him or wrote letters for those who required it.
In his character of seer, Unis had found it necessary to act in many varied capacities. During the course of a single day, he was often called upon to act as scribe, physician, exorcist, diviner, faith-healer and farmer.
Unis was supposed to know the past; he could foretell the future. He could “see” one who had tampered with his neighbor’s landmarks or altered the flow of water in his neighbor’s dykes. He could forewarn of an approaching sandstorm—that nine days’ terror of the traveler. He could provide the necessary amulets against the bite of snake or scorpion. He could tell the whereabouts of lost cattle or name that man or woman who had made off with the offerings to the dead.
Thus, a timid maiden, desirous of a love-charm, was advised to drink the ashes of a lizard dissolved in water and to swallow it, with a prayer to Hathor, some auspicious evening when Aah, the silver moon, shone at her brightest.
Consulted by some young gallant of the city, on similar, though less wholesome lines, Unis would draw a circle in the sand. A circle, a gold bangle! Money can open many a door!
The circle might be readily understood, but the outline of the jackal above it—death’s emblem, spiritual and physical—was generally beyond the young man’s powers of comprehension.
To the aged Teta, desirous of a potion which would assure to him the wished for one hundred and ten years, Unis replied: “I see the ba-bird poised above thy tomb.” Teta was found dead upon his couch the following morning.
To Benta the ambitious Unis had taught the value of patience by pointing to Auta hard at work upon his granite statue of the Princess Bekit-aton.
Six months of cutting, chiseling, rubbing and burnishing had the persevering Auta lavished upon his masterpiece, and, throughout those weary months, but three simple implements had served him for his difficult task—a wooden mallet, a bronze chisel and a flint burnisher. Apart from this, sand, water and emery-dust were Auta’s only helpers.
Though Unis was consulted by peasant and petty official, peasant and official alike considered him mad. As such he became a person to be pitied and cared for, as one afflicted by the gods, yet one through whom the gods spoke. Thus, Unis could come and go wheresoever and whensoever he pleased.
Except for his periodic visits to the sycamore, Unis was rarely seen. All his time was spent in the great temple library or amidst the crumbling shrines and half-choked tombs of the necropolis.
To the guards of the cemetery he was someone’s animated ka, a restless ‘soul’ seeking, perhaps, to identify his ruined tomb or to find and become reunited to the lost ‘souls’ of his wife and children. He was constantly on the lips of the public-storytellers as an ever-present example of the truth of one of the oldest and most familiar of Egyptian wondertales, the Adventures of Menti.
In point of fact, Unis was as much flesh and blood as anyone. Yet none, whether courtier, priest or peasant, could have guessed the reason of his tireless researches among the open shafts and ruined chapels of the older part of the great Theban cemetery.
However, the very fact that the Thebans were so frequently regaled with the story of Menti might well have given them a clue as to the true reason of Unis’ occupation in that haunted spot.
It seems that Menti’s “spirit” returned from enjoying a few hours among living men and reentered his mummy to find that the bodies of his wife and child were missing from their coffins. Menti at once compelled their restoration by means of his knowledge of the names, charms and talismans contained in the magic Book of Thoth.
Written, ’twas said, by the God Thoth himself, this wonder-working Book had once belonged to that Architect and Seer of old, Imhotep. It was a common saying in Unis’ day that the Great Step Pyramid west of white-walled Memphis, could never have been raised had it not been for the compelling incantations—recited in the prescribed attitude and with the proper tone of voice—by that now deified architect of the godkings of old, Imhotep.
Before the death of Imhotep, it was said that he had hidden the Magic Book behind the sarcophagus in which lay King Zozer, his master, deep within his stupendous pyramid. A thousand years later its hiding place had been revealed to Amenhotep, son of Hap, in a dream.
Amenhotep’s possession of the Book must have been a fact. How else could he have erected the colossal Temple to the “spirit” of the late Pharaoh; how otherwise could he have built the Temple at Kha-en-Mat, the beautiful Temple on the Island and the great colonnaded Temple of Amen, upon which, at the command of Pharaoh Akhten-aton, work had but recently been relinquished.
Indeed, without Thoth to assist him, who could have raised the two great statues of the late Pharaoh, over seven hundred tons in weight. Who could have lifted above the court the stupendous architraves of his Mortuary Temple, two hundred tons of stone, and, finally, who could have perfected the huge stone tablet, thirty feet in height, and covered it with gold and gems? None but the God Thoth, of course!
But, would Thoth willingly stop the Sunboat and descend to earth merely to raise for men monuments that should rival the very halls of the gods themselves?
Not unless compelled thereto by the fact that his Names were known to mortals, his stolen Talismans in the possession of some inhabitant of earth.
One object alone on earth contained those Hidden Names and Talismans, together with the “Utterances” which could compel both Thoth and Set to leave their appointed places in the sky and descend to earth.
This series of irresistible “incantations,” these compelling “utterances” which could thus drag the very gods from heaven, were all contained in the “Luminous Book of Thoth.”
Herein were inscribed the Hidden Names of all the Gods, the Triads, the Enneads of the Sky. Herein were the Mysterious Names of the Keepers of the Double Gates of Heaven; of the Serpents that guard the approaches of Duat, of Ra in his Boat, of Osiris on his Throne!
So awe-inspiring a hold upon the imagination of the Thebans had the legend of this mysterious Book that its name was never mentioned. Rarely, indeed, was it alluded to by the priests.
Like that of Pharaoh, the sun-god manifest in the flesh, like that of the Unseen Statue of the Great Temple of Amen, like that of the abhorred Crocodile God of Ombos, its name was never taken upon the lips.
When the architect Amenhotep, son of Hap, was gathered to his fathers, Pharaoh commanded that he should be buried beneath a little temple which stood somewhat to the south of his own stupendous mortuary temple.
Here, for a time, Unis had acted as lector, intoning the prayers and offering to the hidden ka-statue of the dead architect the various portions of meat, bread and wine with which Pharaoh had endowed the tomb, out of taxes received from the nearby town of Onit. In so doing, Unis stood immediately above the subterranean chamber in which the mummy of Amenhotep lay.
Unis had been called from his duties at the son of Hap’s tomb by Enana, and set to work among the ancient manuscripts of the great library of Amen.
Enana would have him find some clue to the present whereabouts of the Book of Thoth. As he loved life and feared death he was told to keep for his master’s ears alone any news to this effect.
Unis soon became an initiate of the Sorcerers of Amen, then minor prophet of Amen. With such a powerful master as Enana, first Magician of the Temple, Unis felt that he should go far. He gave himself up wholly to the work in hand. Certain hints gleaned from the documents led him to believe that the Book had, as of old, been secreted in a tomb, in this case an unnamed tomb on the western shore.
Unis took up his residence in one of the abandoned tombs. With unremitting assiduity and stoical fortitude he spent day after day among the excoriated boulders, the dusty mounds, the bat-infested shafts and tumbled-in shrines which constituted the older corner of the Theban necropolis.
In this fruitless search the Gods Hunger and Thirst were his only companions.
Unis turned once more to the library. With indomitable patience he continued his researches among its unending shelves of musty documents.
Soon he noticed that the name of Amenhotep, the son of Hap, was very frequently coupled with that of the lost Book. In fact, Unis finally convinced himself that the Book lay buried with the body of that old sage, in the subterranean vault of the little temple at which he had formerly served.
Armed with permission to spend a night in the temple, Unis waited until Ahmes, the present ka-priest, had retired into the outer forecourt, in an alcove of which he slept. When the aged priest had snuffed out his lamp, Unis descended into the vault immediately beneath the offering-tablet and altar.
With determined perseverance, Unis tapped walls and floor, slowly, systematically. In the western corner of the floor his work met with success. The pavement thereabouts emitted a hollow sound. In a few moments Unis had lifted a square slab which fitted so nicely to the floor that the joints had been invisible. Lamp in hand, Unis descended a short flight of steps, picked his way along an uneven rocky passage, and presently stood in the vaulted tomb-chamber of the son of Hap.
For an instant unreasoning fear clutched at the heart of the reckless priest. There stood the alabaster sarcophagus which held the body of the sage. Unis read the inscription engraved upon the side: “Amenhotep, born of Yatu; his father Hap, son of Hap, Justified of Osiris.” There lay Amenhotep and, with him, the Book.
The Book! Unis’ fears vanished. Trembling with excitement and high hopes the young priest set himself to his self-imposed task. It was an auspicious night in the calendar of the prophets of Amen! The Star of Thoth was in the ascendent!
Unis set to work with a short, stout bronze bar. Hour after hour went by unnoted by the feverishly excited youth.
At last the stone cover yielded to his efforts. Unis’ eyes gleamed with joy and anticipation. Enana, his master, would be hailed as one with Imhotep, builder of the pyramids, with Ptahhotep the Philosopher, with Amenhotep, son of Hap, himself! Perhaps he too would compel the gods to do his bidding!
Unis gave a last push to the great cover. It fell to the sand-covered floor with a dull thud. He lowered the lamp. There before him was the outer coffin of the old sage. This, in turn, Unis lifted and found, beneath, the gem-crusted coffin—solid gold it seemed—in which Amenhotep’s royal master had caused the son of Hap to be placed.
The heat in the little chamber was intense. The blood in Unis’ temples throbbed with his exertions. His body gleamed in the flickering light; perspiration ran from every pore. For a time the youth returned to the upper chamber where he could fill his lungs with the purer and cooler air.
But not for long. In a few moments he returned to the tomb chamber. He lifted the gorgeous coffin-lid from the linen-swathed form it concealed. At once the stifling odor of myrrh, liquidambar, cinnamon, and other strong essences again almost overcame him.
Unis bent down. With an effort he lifted the mummified figure. He felt about underneath the head. Nothing! Unis tried the feet of the tightly-draped figure. No book!
Then Unis did something for which he knew punishment on earth was severe. What might be his fate in the hereafter Unis did not dare to think! Lifting the body from the coffin altogether, he commenced slowly and methodically to unwrap it. Yard upon yard of aromatic linens he loosened, until finally nothing but the blackened form of Amenhotep lay before him.
No eyes had Unis for the jewels with which Amenhotep’s sorrowing master had covered the dead architect. The throbbing brain of Unis was concentrated upon but one thing, the Magic Book.
It was not in the wrappings. It was not between the knees of the deceased, where, as Unis knew, so often documents are placed. It was not between the folded hands of Amenhotep. It was neither at his head nor at his feet.
Unis replaced the body in its coffin, throwing the linens in upon it pellmell. He covered it with its two wooden covers. The great stone outer cover he knew must stay where it had fallen. He could have that replaced by others, following his report on the present condition of the extra wrappings of the son of Hap, which had been his ostensible reason for entering the tomb.
Unis once again took mallet in hand. He carefully and methodically examined both walls and floor.
He dared not rap upon the False Door. Behind it slept Amenhotep’s living self, as represented by his statue.
Unis had far more terror of that enchanted wooden portrait of the dead man than he had of the body; the shell, of Amenhotep itself.
Alas, all his efforts were in vain. The Book of Books was not in the tomb.
Bitterly disappointed, Unis stooped to pick up his flickering lamp. As he did so his eyes fell upon a gleaming object which was almost hidden in the sand at his feet. Mechanically he picked it up and glanced at the blue and green inlays. The tat-emblem and solar-disc upon its gold base showed it to be the scarab-ring of Amenhotep, son of Hap.
From that date, Unis spent all the daylight hours among the tombs of the Theban cemetery. He systematically covered every foot of the hill-side, entering both the ancient tombs, and the modern, as far as he was allowed. At night he delved among the ancient scrolls of the library of Amen.
Each night upon his return he had been met by the impatient Enana. Every night, week in, week out, he had perforce to shake his head, to spread his scratched and often bleeding hands deprecatingly.
Of late Unis’ step had lost its elasticity. An unnatural brightness glistened in his sunken eyes. To-night, especially, Enana’s mind had been filled with anxiety for his safety.
Unis should have rounded the point by the tamarisk grove hours ago. Enana’s anxiety was not for Unis. His one thought was of the Book. The Book he must have, if he would put his present plans into effect.
Had the young priest but known it, he was the third person sacrificed by Enana, the Magician, to the finding of the Book.
As Enana turned to enter the low doorway of the tomb in which Unis had recently taken up his quarters, an unusual light in the valley below caught his attention. He paused. At the foot of the steep incline, at the upper reaches of which he stood, moved an unnatural pinkish flame. It seemed to palpitate, to wax and wane as it moved, for move it did.
Nearer, ever nearer, it came, constantly growing larger and brighter, until suddenly by its light Enana recognized the pallid face of Unis, his assistant.
As Unis came towards him the overjoyed Enana noticed that his long thin arms were held straight out before him, that there, upon his upturned palms lay—the Luminous Book!
It needed no word of Unis to tell him what it was. The light that glowed about its pure white leather cover proved it the Book of Books.
The overjoyed Magician advanced toward the young priest, but suddenly halted, as he caught the horrible expression which distorted the latter’s livid face. It was as if Unis was being compelled against his will to hold the Book.
Unis’ eyes were open, but they did not seem to see. His feet carried him along, whither he seemed not to care. Foam flecked his blackened lips; beads of perspiration stood out upon his forehead.
Gazing straight before him, slowly Unis advanced. Hesitating for a bare second at the threshold of the doorway—one might have supposed that he was unfamiliar with it—he slowly entered the chamber, set the Book carefully down upon a cedar table near the upper wall, turned and left as silently as he had entered.
The room, which had formerly been in total darkness, was now illumined as though by a temple lamp. For a moment Unis paused, turned his unseeing eyes full upon his master, the next he had vanished behind a great stone stela which stood beside the ancient tomb which had been his dwelling place.
Far better it had been for Unis had he continued to fear the pursuing fury of the ka-statue of the son of Hap!
Alas for Unis! Searching one day through the manuscripts of the library of Hotephra, Great High Priest of Amen, he had stumbled upon the son of Hap’s will. It lay folded in the High Priest’s copy of the temple ritual. The secret hiding-place of the Book was thus revealed to him.
Pharoah stirred.
At once two ebony black Nubians recommenced to wave their ostrich-feather fans above his restless head.
Again did Shamash, an Asiatic eunuch, hold to his master’s nose a small glass phial of somnific poppy-oil.
Once again did Bekit, his little daughter, chafe with fragrant sandal oil his fleshless ankles.
All in vain! Pharaoh’s frame failed to relax.
Suddenly, with an impatient gesture, Pharaoh pushed aside the ivory head-rest and summoned Dedu, Keeper of the Royal Linen.
The rebuffed, but smiling Bekit, held to her father’s lips a blue glazed goblet filled to its lotiform brim with sparkling Thinite wine. As he drank, the swaying forms of Ata and Mai, youngest of the court dancers, rose from the floor beyond him. Barely had they assumed a single graceful posture before the gold seal-ring upon Pharaoh’s hand flashed in the semi-gloom. He waved them impatiently aside.
Entering softly, Dedu, Keeper of the Royal Linen, carefully drew back the curtains from the windows. These green byssus draperies had served to keep out the brilliant rays of the sun, as reflected from Queen Thi’s “pleasure lake,” on the northern shore of which Perao, the royal palace, stood.
Thus, one might admire the charming decoration of the room, with its green tiled walls, its cedar columns, its elaborately designed ceiling, and its painted stucco floor covered with powdered lazuli and gold dust.
In answer to a hasty motion on the part of his silent master, Dedu commenced to bind him in the long, flaring-skirted gala robes of the day, things of wonder for the seemingly innumerable ramifications of their softly rippling white pleats. A gem-encrusted belt of ruddy Nubian gold was clasped about his slender waist, a girdle broad in the back and tapering towards the front, where a fiercely charging oryx, carved from a solid block of Babylonian lazuli, served to conceal the mechanism of the clasp. The restless monarch’s feet were bound in soft gazelle-hide sandals, sandals dyed a rich rose-pink, gilded and turned up at the toe. Over a padded linen skull-cap was set the royal warbonnet, a magnificent dome-shaped headdress of a brilliant sky blue. From the center of this regal head-covering, and immediately above the monarch’s low and unnaturally retreating forehead, the red jasper eyes of two golden asps glittered like spots of hidden fire, as they quivered upon flexible wires with every movement of the impatient monarch.
In public, the vain and indolent monarchs who had followed Thothmes, Conqueror of Asia, had ever affected the Warbonnet above all other headdresses. At sight of its bright blue inlays the discreet and sycophantic courtiers invariably burst into vociferous applause; the soldiers, with howls of delight, broke into stirring war-dances. With the people at large it was hailed with delight. To them it symbolized Imperial Egypt, an Egypt to which tribute arrived from Nubia to the “great bend” of the distant Euphrates. Thus, policy had dictated the Linen Keeper’s choice, for the fiction of Pharaoh as world-conqueror must be maintained.
Deftly the fawning Dedu encircled Pharaoh’s emaciated arms and wrists with jeweled bands, his hollow chest with the wesekh, a broad, flat band of jewels composed of alternate strands of varicolored stones. The tender green of Nubian emerald, the soft rose of native carnelian, the violet or rich purple of Asiatic amethyst and the several red tones of translucent sard and banded agate, were intensified as much by Pharaoh’s swarthy countenance as by the pure white linen tunic over which they were spread.
Finally, the scepter of gold, banded with deep red sardonyx, was placed in Pharaoh’s nervously twitching hand, and Akhten-aton, “Terror of Asia,” shuffled to the door, where his ivory carrying-chair, his sixteen priestly bearers, his sun-shade and fan-bearers, and his pet lion, awaited him.
With the inevitable prayer for “health and long life” upon their lips, one and all saluted the god-king by raising their right hands and crooking their lean backs in the obsequious Syrian mode, but recently introduced.
In the columned forecourt of the Great Hall, the stentorian voice of the Court Herald warned of Pharaoh’s approach and Akhten-aton, Son of the Sun-god, Lord of the Two Lands, Ruler of Rulers, Bull that Goreth Bulls, gave the looked-for signal that should start the forward movement of that great procession which would usher him into the Double Audience Hall with all the dignity of a ruler, whose sway, nominally at least, extended from the further confines of Nubia to the Great River of Mitanni.
Soon, no one but Wozer, Keeper of the Gates, his spearmen and the cooks and butlers, remained within the palace walls. It was with a sigh of satisfaction that Wozer heard the ever-receding tones of the chanting prophets and priestesses of the temple who headed the procession.
As Ptah the Cellarer rolled heavily by, Wozer made a gesture expressive at once of thirst and a good game. Thereafter, Ptah and he forgot, for a time, that there was a gate to watch or fragrant jars of wine to seal. Skull-cap to headcloth, both lost themselves in a high-staked game of draughts!
The Great Double Hall to which Pharaoh had been conducted consisted of a long, high nave. On either side this gigantic lotus-columned nave stood smaller aisles. Both nave and aisles were bathed in the subdued light which filtered through pierced alabaster gratings.
The dimly seen roof was composed of huge flat slabs of sandstone painted blue, and dotted with myriads of little gold stars. The bulging shafts of the columns which supported it—gigantic pillars covered from capital to base with brilliantly colored representations of Egypt’s host of deities—glowed in the shimmering light with a thousand prismatic colors. The floor was of beaten gold, its high walls a glitter of yellow tiles inlaid with varicolored paste hieroglyphs. These seemingly unending lines of inscription extolled the late Pharaoh for gifts which he had given, perforce, to the temples, or lauded him for certain imaginary deeds of prowess performed in unknown campaigns in Nubia and Asia.
At the upper end of the hall, raised upon a low dais, stood the throne of Egypt, the “golden throne of Horus.” As was fitting, its curved arms were supported by the bent backs of pinioned Nubians and Asiatics.
To the right, and immediately overlooking the royal dais, was a balcony reserved for Noferith, the Queen; for Thi, the all-powerful Queen-Mother, and for a few favored ladies of their suites. This balcony, at the moment, was hung with rich embroideries.
In front of Pharaoh’s throne stood painted cedar vase-stands, from whose blue-glazed jars drooped sprays of feathery acacia, sweet-scented mimosa and nodding papyrus. To the left, high upon a lotus-festooned stand, stood a huge oryx-handled bowl of solid gold, part of the Asiatic spoil of Pharaoh’s warlike ancestor Thothmes, the conqueror of Asia. From its fitfully glowing interior rose a thin blue line of aromatic incense, which broke and spread in gray, semi-transparent rings as it touched the gold stars which dimly flashed amidst the deep blue of its lofty ceiling.
The herald’s announcement of the approach of Pharaoh stopped for a moment the sibilant whispers of the ladies, as the court nobles, a line of white-robed figures, ranged themselves about the dais in order of precedence. Soon after, to the acclaiming shouts of the multitude, Akhten-aton, himself, appeared. Assisted by Shamash and the ever-attentive Dedu, Pharaoh slowly seated himself upon the throne of his ancestors.
Following a motion from his long thin hand, an usher threw wide the cedar doors at the end of the hall and, standing upon its granite threshold, cried to the vast concourse of restless figures now visible in the court:
“Long live Pharaoh, our Lord!
“Millions of millions of years to him, even so long as the sun endureth!”
With a roar the accustomed royal salutation was taken up:
“Life, health, abundance and fullness of joy be to Pharaoh, our Lord, forever and forever!”
The crowd of petty nobles, counts, monarchs and captains now pressed forward. With heads bent, spines arched, right hands raised, slowly and reverently they ranged themselves about the lower end of the hall. Were it possible, the forms of these white-robed newcomers flashed with the glitter of well-nigh as many jewels and gold or silver orders as did those of the more exalted nobles gathered about Pharaoh’s throne.
Those who were unable, for lack of space, to gain access to the hall, had perforce, to stand outside in the unprotected court and exposed to the blinding shafts of the vaulting sun. Yet, few complained, so momentous was the step now contemplated by the fanatical young Pharaoh.
Anticipation and, it may well have been fear of the result, explained the unusual sternness of expression visible upon the faces of all present, a tension seldom seen upon the faces of this pleasure-loving people.
For weeks past the Theban capital, nay, Egypt itself, had been a seething maelstrom of riotous priests, mutinous soldiery, and piteously clamorous slaves and petty farmers.
With the speed of a hungry jackal the news had spread that Pharaoh had at last determined upon the final break with the priests of Amen in Karnak.
Pharaoh’s keen interest in the Syrian cult of Thi, his mother, was well known. The new Sun cult already had a certain following, at least among the nobles of the court. At this very moment many members of the nobility had recently bound themselves to support their royal master in the revolutionary step he now contemplated.
It is true that the more exalted members of Pharaoh’s court still continued their visits to the great temple of Amen in Karnak. But the nasal intonation of Ameni, the ibis-nosed lector, had of late merely served to amuse them. As to Pharaoh, himself, the over-powering reek of incense, flowers, fresh-baked bread, and blood, did but sicken him. The glitter in the silver eyes of a host of granite statues, ancestors of his, ka-figures of a long line of loyal and devout followers of Amen, both unnerved and repelled him.
From his golden throne Pharaoh’s prominent eyes swept the oil-coned heads of his subjects. One and all were dressed, be-jeweled and anointed as for a gala day. Their loyal shouts of welcome had warmed his heart. At the same time, their enthusiasm seemed to give him the necessary strength for his momentous task.
No sooner was he seated, and the jeweled scepter placed upon a stand at his side, than the nobles on his right, ever the most exalted, pressed about him. Some prostrated themselves before him; some kissed the pointed tip of his gilded sandal, while others, in this case the aged members of his court or blood relations, embraced the pleated skirt that tightly bound his knees.
Suddenly Pharaoh signaled that he would hear no more, and immediately, with a wave of his scepter, rose to his feet.
At once, as if by magic, whisperings ceased. No one so much as breathed. Such a hush fell upon that crowded hall that one could hear without the shrill cries of the quarrelsome hawks, that flew in circles back and forth from the eaves of the roof.
As one, that vast audience sank to its knees. As one, it broke into the stirring shout of welcome:
“Hail, Life-giver! Hail, Electrum of Kings! Hail, Thou who art the very breath of our nostrils! Life, health and peace be thine, so long as Ra endures!”
Then again the same expectant hush fell upon that shimmering hall. Pharaoh raised his hand. His soft, but resonant voice filled the long hall:
“My children! We have summoned you before us that you may hear the words of Pharaoh, which change not! For centuries past hath Egypt been a jest in the mouths of strangers who cried:
“These be the sons of the Egyptians that have raised to themselves more gods than they have days in which to worship them.’ Had we not been hindered by the priests of Amen yonder, long ago, yea, even in our fathers’ time, this reproach had been removed from amongst us! Henceforth, my children, cease to cry upon the Triads; upon Amen, Mut, and Khonsu; upon Horus, Set and Ausar!
“As you all know, the gods of Thebes, of On, of white-walled Memphis, are but attributes of the one beneficent sun-god, of Aton the Glorious, the Life-giver, who dwelleth within the Sun!
“Henceforth, let Aton, not Amen, be upon your lips! Let Aton, not Amen, be upon the lips of your children! Thus, as in times past, Egypt shall worship one god from Nubia to Suan of the North. May Aton’s bright beams embrace you! May Aton’s rays forever enfold you!”
Across the flashing waters of the Nile, where the great temple of Karnak raised its giant pylons high above the palm groves which fronted it, Huy, Great High Priest of Amen, frowned darkly as the sound of the loud applause which followed Pharaoh’s speech, reached his ears.
To Huy and the prophets of Amen that sound heralded the beginning of a war to the death.
But Enana, the Magician, did but smile.
In Thebes a religious drama was enacted annually, a drama in which was portrayed the eternal conflict waged between Amen, the sun-god, and Apep, Prince of Darkness.
Unknown to the peasant, as indeed to many a priestly participant, the story of the drama, in truth, perpetuated the prehistoric invasion of Egypt by those “Followers of Horus” who had subdued, and, eventually, become absorbed by the original inhabitants of the Nile Valley.
At that early date, Thebes had been but a small village, a cluster of mud huts and a small shrine, over whose walls rose the emblem of the primitive cult.
Since that time, three thousand years had come and gone, and Thebes had become the richest and most powerful city of the ancient world.
Now, since Horus, son of Hathor, was the leader of the victorious invaders, and the two great battles had taken place at Nekhen and Abdu—Thebes being entirely outside the field of operations—the various incidents enacted in this great religious spectacle had nothing whatever to do with Thebes nor, indeed, with its famed local deity, the sun-god Amen.
But the priests of Amen’s great temple at Thebes had always looked with envy at the popularity of the yearly spectacle as enacted in the two rival cities. Thus, when finally a Theban prince became Pharaoh, the first care of the Chief Prophet of Amen had been to get the royal seal affixed to a permit looking toward the perpetual endowment of a similar festival in his own city of Thebes, a six days’ wonder that should utterly eclipse anything of which Nekhen, Abdu or any other rival god or city could boast.
In the drama as presented at Thebes, the son of Hathor became the sun-god Amen of Thebes. The “Followers of Horus” were personified by Theban priests, local notables and others.
As to the “Followers of Set,” the enemies in the drama, such miscreants were portrayed by unhappy foreign slaves, criminals and the like, many of whom were sacrificed before the altar of the sun-god, following the conclusion of the customary mimic battle and mock attempt to carry off the holy statue of Amen.
The great Theban festival called for a full week of continued merrymaking. Military tournaments were instituted, athletic contests took place; boat races were a daily occurrence along the river front. In the palace magical contests were held, the wisdom of ancient sages was discussed, or great prophets of the day were brought before Pharaoh’s throne.
In the latter case Pharaoh heard, at first hand, of the marvelous deeds of magic under the ancestors of the Pyramid Age, or was admonished to give more thought to his oppressed and hungry people.
One stalwart hermit had had the temerity to prophesy the overthrow of Pharaoh and the coming of “a righteous king,” under whom Egypt would return to the blissful state of long ago, “before death was,” and mankind, both native and foreign, would become united in an international brotherhood which would make one the lands of men and the Blessed fields of Aaru, the abode of the gods!
The rash prophet was not handed to the strangler, but led courteously from the Presence. An order for a tomb, a fine limestone coffin, and a tomb-statue, followed him to his distant home. During the Feast of the Apts, one might speak one’s true mind, even before Majesty.
To-day, the day of “bringing in the god,” crowds jostled and pushed along every Theban lane and alley. Everyone sought the Avenue of Sphinxes, or the River Road. The latter route, which extended from the main pylon of the Temple to the Sacred Quay, was policed along its short extent by a double line of foreign spearmen.
The two-horse chariot of the chief of these mercenaries dashed madly up the well guarded course, turned and disappeared down the long Avenue of Sphinxes which led to the Southern Temple. The Chief would take one last survey of the flower-strewn route before the “Appearance of the sun-god” should commence.
The gold statue of Amen the Hidden One, would presently be taken from the Holy of Holies in the dim shrine of the Northern Apt, and escorted upstream on the Sacred Barge to the jeweled sanctuary of the Temple of the Southern Apt.
Before the open cedar doors of the temple Pharaoh himself might be seen upon his portable throne of gold and ivory, high above the shoulders of twenty-four priestly bearers. As usual, his tame lion stood upon the dais at its royal master’s side.
The grand procession now moved forward. It was headed by a priest, who solemnly burned incense in a long hawk-headed bronze censer. All about him musicians played and women-of-the-temple, women playing to the mystical harem of the god, sang the adorations to the sun-god. Two other groups marked time by clapping of hands and playing of ivory castanets.
Immediately in front of the king’s throne marched serried ranks of kilted Egyptian soldiers, singing as they went. Their raw-hide shields moved across their naked breasts in time with the music. At the close of each verse they lifted their short spears or axes above their heads and shouted a short but resounding: “Hai! Amen! Ya—hai! Amen!”
Soon the long lines of onlookers had taken up the refrain, and the limpid air of the Capital thrilled to the wild cries of “Hai! Amen! Ya—hai! Amen!” As the gold throne of the Monarch advanced, groups of White-robed nobles fell into line behind it.
Then followed a long line of women from the Temples of Amen, Mut and Khonsu, who marked the time of the hymn of praise by shaking golden sistra and rattling menats, short but thick necklaces of beryl, amethyst and carnelian beads. With much beating of drums and clicking of castanets a group of feathered negroes pressed close after the singers.
There followed another long line of soldiers, Egyptian, Asiatic, Nubian, Libyan, and, finally, a little group of Cretans, remarkable not so much for the breadth of their shoulders as for the slimness of their waists, “hornet waisted” they had been nicknamed by the Thebans. These latter were almost lost behind their enormous ox-hide shields.
Each group carried its own special type of weapon, since there were definite regiments of archers, axemen, spearmen and slingers, and each company was headed by its own device or standard bearer.
At last the heavy bronze doors of the Temple of Amen slowly opened and a seemingly unending line of white-robed priests issued from the deep shadows of the stupendous pylons.
High upon their gleaming shoulders rested portable barques containing the various sacred deities belonging to the various temples which were well-nigh hidden by the lofty enclosure walls. Certain priests offered incense to these gods, at intervals, along the whole extent of the route.
In the midst of one group might be seen a number of spirited bulls, with horns decorated in gold. Great yokes of flowers and sweet-smelling leaves were hung about their throats.
Trailing out behind these last followed a long line of priests carrying the standards of the gods, since the whole company of the Blessed Gods marched, unseen, in this great procession.
A renewed wave of cheering went up as the linen-draped shrine of Amen appeared. A vacant place was kept clear behind it, in which marched the “souls” of dead kings! Thirty-six tall priests carried this Holy of Holies towards a gleaming barge, moored to the water’s edge at the Sacred Quay. Over two hundred feet long, this barge was built throughout its entire extent of cedar from the Lebanus Terraces. Its sides were covered to the water’s edge with pure Nubian gold. Enormous necklaces of gold were hung at prow and stern. The “Two eyes of Horus,” at the prow, were inlaid in brilliant blue lazuli from Babylon. The great checkered linen sail, which lay furled upon the silver deck, was of the square Egyptian type. It was decorated with squares of red and blue embroidery.
There was now as much noise and excitement on the river as on shore. The captains of fifty great painted barges awaited the signal to pull up their mooring-stakes as soon as the Sacred Barge should be well under way. Were it possible, the startled air trembled to still louder shouts as excited overseers, taskmasters and men commenced to pull at the great towing ropes. The swift Nile current made it necessary that the barge be dragged upstream by a whole army of young and lusty Egyptians.
Along the line of route people began to disappear from the gayly decorated windows. The last scene of the day’s ceremony was about to take place within the still unfinished forecourt of the Southern Temple of Amen.
Carrying-chairs were frantically demanded, but soon abandoned, as who could make headway in that fashion in the midst of such a crowd? A few fortunate people managed to squeeze through the broad square lined with its rows of booths, where slaves were hastily preparing wine, fruit, flowers and incense or cutting up the unfortunate bulls as part of the “beautiful festival of the Apt.”
Pharaoh offered incense to his father Amen as four exalted members of the priesthood poured out wine from festooned jars of painted pottery. With the exception of these four noblemen, high initiates of the Sorcerers of Amen and Huy, the Great High Priest, no one could witness the taking of the image of Amen from its jeweled shrine and its transference to the silver tabernacle within the granite naos which stood, beside “the position which the king takes,” deep within the gloom of the upper temple.
Pharaoh himself, though the personification of Amen, dare not venture beyond that fixed “position,” a spot marked by a huge block of turquoise from the Sinaitic mines, set in the richly painted wall of the upper temple.
Around the great forecourt, the nobles knelt or stood, according as they belonged to the two rival factions of Amen or Aton.
To the latter group, this marked what was no doubt the very last procession of its kind. Hence these adherents of Aton, the Syrian God, stood stiffly in the background. A covert smile might have been noted on many a swarthy face among them.
Pharaoh’s expression was one of cold indifference.
Throughout the whole scene the apathetic monarch seemed not to be conscious of where he was or of what he was doing. It is true, he successfully finished each and every detail of the exacting ritual of Amen. But, what he did, he did mechanically.
The last mock-reverence finished, Pharaoh retired.
As his throne was borne swiftly toward the royal barge, his mask of impassibility vanished. He sank back and allowed his gaze to travel from one side to the other. There was an air of expectancy in each turn of his head. He even went so far as to bow to the acclamations of his people, and this not a little to their bewilderment, since Pharaohs, in public, were customarily, at best, but breathing statues.
Scarcely had the king set foot upon the deck of his beautiful barge, “Star of the Gods,” when a frightful tumult broke out along the bank, immediately fronting the great barge of Amen. Wild shrieks from the women-of-the-temple, hoarse and angry cries from the men, intermingled with mocking laughter and shouts of derision.
A great crowd of angry priests of Amen might be seen pushing their way through the dense crowd which was massed in front of the giant statues of Thothmes, whose temple stood near by. Frantic attempts were being made by the priests of Amen to burst through this crowd. Yet each insistent attempt ended in failure, as did a last charge in one serried block.
The crowd itself was by now so divided into factions that blows were falling right and left, and hapless people were constantly being trampled under foot.
Shrieking: “Sacrilege! Sacrilege!” the priests turned and rushed headlong to their boats.
The Holy figure of the Hidden One, the sacred Statue of Amen, the sun-god, had disappeared.
The followers of Aton had scored their first success, and that success one of tremendous import!
The nameless horror that had driven the youthful Unis from his side had no terrors for Enana the Magician.
Enana stood bathed in the palpitating glow of the self-illuminated Book. Slowly he approached his hands to its cover, a cover as white as the sandals of the gods themselves.
The instant Enana’s shriveled fingers came in contact with its radiance, a sudden change came over him. Enana’s face glowed; a circle of light played about his head. His eyes blazed with a light of triumph.
Holding the Magic Book before him, he commenced to sway back and forth, back and forth, like some mystic of the temple about to prophesy.
The aged Magician began to speak, softly at first, but with a flow of words that scarcely waited for breath.
“What saith the son of Hap? Seek the Book of Thoth. Eat not, drink not, sleep not, until the Book is found! Two magic formulæ hath the Book! Recite the first and thou shalt charm the sky, the earth, the moon, the heights, the depths! Thou shalt converse with the birds. Thou shalt understand the sayings of the fish and reptiles!
“Recite the second and, even though thy desire be among the Silent Ones, the Dead, yet shall thou have power to raise them upon their feet in the forms and with the hearts their mothers gave them.
“By the Double Spell thou shalt produce a Rising of the Moon at will. Thou shalt be enabled to stop the Sun’s Ascension. Yea, thou shalt darken the faces of both Sun and Moon. By the Double Spell thou shalt see the Ascension of Ra and the Cycle of the Gods.
“Recited at the full of the Moon, thou shalt master the Hidden Names of the Gods, whereby thou shalt become possessed of their amulets and talismans. Yea, thou shalt become greater than Ra himself!”
Slowly Enana the Magician opened the Book. In characters of gold the secret incantations of the gods were spread before him. Here appeared the Secret Names of the Six White Gods of Day and the Six Black Gods of Night. Here were the irresistible words of power that could stop the planets in their courses and Ra in his passage of the sky. Here again were the Mystic Names of Thoth and Set. Here were the dread hekau-spells that could revivify the dead or consign the living to annihilation and their “doubles” to extinction.
Enana closed the magic book. Carefully he placed it in his bosom. The soft effulgence at once disappeared.
Leaving the little chamber, Enana stood upon the terrace. Below and about him stretched the city, the city of the dead. A rift of dully gleaming waters and, beyond it, lay another city, the city of the living.
A dull roar, a deep murmur, as of many voices, came up to him where he stood. In honor of the annual Feast of the Apts, lights were breaking out alike in temple, palace and peasant hut.
To-night the doors would be left open. Thus would the living welcome the “souls” of their dead.
Already lines of flickering torches showed where many a devout ka-servant, together with priests to assist him, could be seen winding along the well-beaten paths or marching up the inclined planes of the sphinx or tree-bordered avenues by which the royal mortuary-temples were approached.
The Feast of the Apts was indeed, as it was often styled, a veritable “Feast of Lights.”
Enana gazed northward. Across the river, a bright circle of lights showed where his brother-priests of Amen had commenced the encircling of the walls of Amen’s temple. Huy and his brother-priests still put on a bold front.
Fires were lit at intervals along the Nile embankments. The river itself now reflected many a fire that leaped, died, and leaped into life again, along the great quay fronting the temple of the Southern Apt.
Nearer, scarcely a stone’s throw away, it seemed, appeared the lights of the innumerable lamps which served to illuminate the pleasure-barge of Thi, the Queen-Mother. As Enana well knew, Pharaoh and his immediate family were accustomed to join the nightly fête from this point of vantage.
Enana raised his hands in the direction of the broad patch of buildings and trees which marked at once the royal palace and the nearby villa of Menna, the Overseer.
Suddenly a brilliant meteor shot from the highest zenith and seemed to bury itself in the waters of the palace lake. Enana’s voice rose upon the night air: