The Yoke Part 30

Then was the young sculptor taken to the palace of the Pharaoh. On its roof, in the great square shadow of its double towers, he was presented to a dainty little lady, whose black eyes grew large and luminous at the coming of the scribe. She was Masanath, the youngest and only unwedded child of Har-hat, the king's adviser. Her oval face had a uniform rose-leaf flush, her little nose was distinctly aquiline, her little mouth warm and ripe. Her teeth were dazzlingly white, and, like a baby's, notched on the edges with minute serrations. But with all her tininess, she planted her sandal with decision and scrutinized whosoever addressed her in a way that was eloquent of a force and perception larger by far than the lady they characterized.

And this was the love of Hotep. Kenkenes smiled. The top of her pretty head was not nearly on a level with his shoulders, and the small hand she extended had the determined grip with which a baby seizes a proffered finger. A vision of the golden Israelite rose beside her and the smile vanished.

The day was warm and the courtiers in search of a breeze were scattered about the palace-top in picturesque groups. Masanath occupied a diphros, or double chair, and a female attendant, standing behind her, stirred the warm air with a perfumed fan. The lady was on the point of sharing her seat with one of her guests, when Har-hat, who had been lounging by himself on the parapet, sauntered over to his daughter's side.

"My father," she said, "the son of Mentu, the first friend of the n.o.ble Hotep."

Kenkenes had noticed, with a chill, the approach of the fan-bearer, and, angry with himself for his unreasoning perturbation, strove to greet him composedly. But he could not force himself into graciousness. The formal obeisance might have been made appropriately to his bitterest enemy.

"The son of Mentu and I have met before," the fan-bearer declared laughingly. "But I scarce should have recognized him in this man of peace had not his stature been impressed upon me in that hour when first I met him." The fan-bearer paused to enjoy the wonder of his daughter and the scribe, and the hardening face of Kenkenes.

"But for the agility the G.o.ds have seen fit to leave me in mine advancing years," he continued, "this self-same courteous n.o.ble would have brained me with a boat-hook on an occasion of much merrymaking, a month agone."

He sat down on the arm of Masanath's chair and shouted with laughter.

With a great effort Kenkenes controlled himself.

"Shall I give the story in full?" he asked with an odd quiet in his voice.

"Nay! Nay!" Har-hat protested; "I have told the worst I would have said concerning that defeat of mine." Again he laughed and returned to the young man's ident.i.ty once more.

"Aye, I might have known that thou wast somewhat of kin to Mentu. Ye are as much alike as two owlets--same candid face."

He sauntered away, leaving an awkward silence behind him.

"Sit beside me?" asked Masanath, drawing the folds of her white robes aside to make room for the scribe. But Hotep did not seem to hear.

Instead, he wandered away for another chair, became interested in a group of long-eyed beauties near by and apparently forgot Masanath.

Kenkenes did not permit any lapse between the invitation and its acceptance. He dropped into the place made for Hotep, as if the offer had been extended to him.

"From Bubastis to Memphis, from Bast to Ptah," he said. "Dost thou miss the generous levels of the Delta in our crevice between the hills?"

She shook her head. "Memphis is the lure of all Egypt, and he who hath been transplanted to her would flout the favor of the G.o.ds, did he make homesick moan for his native city."

"And thou hast warmer regard for the stir of Memphis than the quiet of the north?"

"There is no quiet in the north now."

"So?"

"Nay; hast thou not heard of the Israelitish unrest?"

"Aye, I had heard--but--but hath it become of any import?"

"It is the peril of Egypt that she does not realize her menace in these Hebrews," the lady answered. "The north knows it, but it has sprung into life so recently, and from such miserable soil, that even my father, who has been away from the Delta but a few months, does not appreciate the magnitude of the disaffection."

"Thou hast lived among them, Lady Masanath. What thinkest thou of these people?" Kenkenes asked after a little silence.

"Of the ma.s.s I can not speak confidently," she answered modestly.

"They are proud--they pa.s.s the Egyptian in pride; they have kept their blood singularly pure for such long residence among us; they are stubborn, querulous and unready. But above all they are a contented race if but the oppression were lifted from their shoulders. They are an untilled soil--none knows what they might produce, but the confidence of their leader, who is a wondrous man, bespeaks them a capable people. To my mind they are mistreated beyond their deserts.

I would have the powers of Egypt use them better."

"Is it known in the north what Mesu's purpose is? The Israelites among us talk of their own kingdom, and I wonder if the Hebrew means to set up a nation within us, or a.s.sail the throne of the Pharaohs, or go forth and settle in another country."

The lady shrugged her shoulders. "The Hebrews talk in similitudes.

The prospect of freedom so uplifts them that they chant their purposes to you, and bewilder you with quaint words and hidden meanings. But these three facts, my Lord, are apparent and most potent in results when combined; they are oppressed beyond endurance; they are many; they are captained by a mystic. They have but to choose to rebel, and it would tax the martial strength of Egypt to quiet them."

The magisterial dignity of the little lady was most delightful. The young sculptor's sensations were divided between interest in the grave subject she discussed and pleasure in her manner. Happening to glance in the direction of the scribe, he found the gray eye of his friend fixed upon him from the group of beauties. Presently Hotep rambled back with an ebony stool and sat a little aloof in thoughtful silence until the visit was over.

When Kenkenes alighted at the door of his father's house some time later, Hotep leaned over the wheel of the chariot and put his hand on the sculptor's shoulder.

"Thou hast met Har-hat and, by his own words, thou hast had some unpleasant commerce with him. What he did to thee I know not, but I shall let thee into mine own quarrel with him. He lays the curb of silence on my lips and enforces the indifference in my mien. If I revolt the penalty is humiliation and disaster for Masanath and for me.

I love her, but I dare not let her dream it. The fan-bearer hath greater things in store for her than a scribe can promise. I am thy brother in hatred of him."

The next dawn, even before sunrise, Hotep found Kenkenes once again in the temple before the shrine of Athor. But this time the scribe knelt silently beside his friend.

When they emerged into the sunless solemnity of the grove he turned to Kenkenes.

"With the licensed forwardness of an old friend, I would ask what thou hast to crave of the lovers' G.o.ddess, O thou loveless?"

"Favor and pardon," Kenkenes answered.

"So? But already have I reached the limit. Not even a friend may ask an accounting of a man's misdeeds."

Kenkenes smiled. "Ask me," he said, "and spare me the effort of voluntary confession."

"Then, what hast thou done?"

"Come and look upon mine offense. Thine eyes will serve thee better than my tongue."

The pair were in costume hardly fitted for the dust of the roadway, but Memphis was not astir. They went across the city toward the river and at the landings found an early-rising boatman, who let them his bari.

Kenkenes took the oars and moved out into the middle of the swiftest current of the Nile. There he headed down-stream and permitted the boat to drift.

The clear heavens, blue and pellucid as a sapphire, were still cool, but from the lower slope down the east a radiance began to crawl upward. The peaks of the Libyan desert grew wan.

The young men did not resume their talk. The dawn in Egypt was a solemn hour. Kenkenes raised his eyes to the heights of the west. On the sh.o.r.e a group approached the Nile edge, and Hotep guessed by the cl.u.s.ter of fans and standards that it was the Pharaoh at his morning devotions to Nilus. The white points on the hilltops reddened and caught fire.

Softly and absently Kenkenes began to sing a hymn to the sunrise.

Hotep rested his cheek on one hand and listened. More solemn, more appealing the notes grew, fuller and stronger, until the normal power of the rich voice was reached. The liquid echo on the water gave it a mellow embellishment, and Hotep saw the central figure of the group on sh.o.r.e lift his hand for silence among the courtiers.

But Kenkenes sang on unconscious even of his nearest auditor. After the nature of humanity he was nearer to his G.o.ds in trouble than in tranquillity.

The white fronts of Memphis receded slowly, for neither took up the oars. Hotep hesitated to break the silence that fell after the end of the hymn. The shadow on the singer's face proved that the heart would have flinched at any effort to soothe it. It was the young sculptor's privilege to speak first.

After a long silence, Kenkenes roused himself.

"Look to the course of the bari, Hotep, and chide it with an oar if it means to beach us. I doubt me much if I am fit to control it with the wine of this wind on my brain."

Hotep took up the oars and rowed strongly. "Thine offense does not sit heavily on thy conscience," he said.