CHAPTER I.WHERE THE DESERT MEETS THE NILE.
CHAPTER II.HATATCHA.
CHAPTER III.THE DRAGOMAN.
CHAPTER IV.THE TREASURE OF AHTKA-RĀ.
CHAPTER V.A ROLL OF PAPYRUS.
CHAPTER VI.KĀRA BATHES IN THE NILE.
CHAPTER VII.A STEP TOWARD THE GOAL.
CHAPTER VIII.HIS GRANDMOTHER’S MUMMY.
CHAPTER IX.ANETH.
CHAPTER X.LORD CROMER’S RECEPTION.
CHAPTER XI.SETTING THE SNARES.
CHAPTER XII.NEPHTHYS.
CHAPTER XIII.THE TALISMAN OF AHTKA-RĀ.
CHAPTER XIV.ROGUES ANCIENT AND MODERN.
CHAPTER XV.WINSTON BEY IS INDIGNANT.
CHAPTER XVI.KĀRA THREATENS.
CHAPTER XVII.ANETH SURRENDERS.
CHAPTER XVIII.FINDING A WAY.
CHAPTER XIX.THE ABDUCTION.
CHAPTER XX.THE SHEIK AGREES.
CHAPTER XXI.LOTUS-EATERS AND CROCODILES.
CHAPTER XXII.THE DRAGOMAN’S INSPIRATION.
CHAPTER XXIII.MOTHER AND DAUGHTER.
CHAPTER XXIV.THE SHEIK DEMURS.
CHAPTER XXV.THE BRONZE BOLTS.
CHAPTER XXVI.THE DRAGOMAN WINS.
CHAPTER I.WHERE THE DESERT MEETS THE NILE.
The
sun fell hot upon the bosom of the Nile and clung there, vibrant,
hesitating, yet aggressive, as if baffled in its desire to
penetrate
beneath the river’s lurid surface. For the Nile defies the sun, and
relegates him to his own broad domain, wherein his power is
undisputed.On
either side the broad stream humanity shrank from Ra’s seething
disc. The shaduf workers had abandoned their skin-covered buckets
and
bamboo poles to seek shelter from the heat beneath a straggling
tree
or a straw mat elevated on stalks of ripe sugar-cane. The boats of
the fishermen lay in little coves, where the sails were spread as
awnings to shade their crews. The fellaheen laborers had all
retired
to their clay huts to sleep through this fiercest period of the
afternoon heat.On
the Nile, however, a small steam dahabeah puffed lazily along,
stemming with its slow motion the sweep of the mighty river toward
the sea. The Arab stoker, naked and sweating, stood as far as
possible from the little boiler and watched it with a look of
absolute repulsion upon his swarthy face. The engineer, also an
Arab,
lay stretched upon the deck half asleep, but with both ears alert
to
catch any sound that might denote the fact that the straining,
rickety engine was failing to perform its full duty. Back of the
tiny
cabin sat the dusky steersman, as naked and inert as his fellows,
while under the deck awning reclined the one white man of the
party,
a young Englishman clothed in khaki knickerbockers and a white silk
shirt well open at the throat.There
were no tourists in Egypt at this season. If you find a white man
on
the Nile in April, he is either attached to some exploration party
engaged in excavations or a government employee from Cairo, Assyut
or
Luxor, bent upon an urgent mission.The
dahabeah was not a government boat, though, so that our Englishman
was more likely to be an explorer than an official. It was evident
he
was no stranger to tropical climes, if we judged by his sun-browned
skin and the quiet resignation to existing conditions with which he
puffed his black briar and relaxed his muscular frame. He did not
sleep, but lay with his head upon a low wicker rest that enabled
him
to sweep the banks of the Nile with his keen blue eyes.The
three Arabs regarded their master from time to time with stealthy
glances, in which wonder was mingled with a certain respect. The
foreigner was a fool to travel during the heat of the day; no doubt
of that at all. The native knows when to work and when to sleep—a
lesson the European never learns. Yet this was no casual adventurer
exploiting his folly, but a man who had lived among them for years,
who spoke Arabic fluently and could even cipher those hieroglyphics
of the dead ages which abound throughout modern Egypt. Hassan,
Abdallah and Ali knew this well, for they had accompanied Winston
Bey
on former expeditions, and heard him translate the ugly signs
graven
upon the ugly stones into excellent Arabic. It was all very
wonderful
in its way, but quite useless and impractical, if their opinion
were
allowed. And the master himself was impractical. He did foolish
things at all times, and sacrificed his own comfort and that of his
servants in order to accomplish unnecessary objects. Had he not
paid
well for his whims, Winston Bey might have sought followers in
vain;
but the Arab will even roast himself upon the Nile on an April
afternoon to obtain the much-coveted gold of the European.At
four o’clock a slight breeze arose; but what matter? The journey
was nearly done now. They had rounded a curve in the river, and
ahead
of them, lying close to the east bank, were the low mountains of
Gebel Abu Fedah. At the south, where the rocks ended abruptly, lay
a
small grove of palms. Between the palms and the mountains was the
beaten path leading from the Nile to the village of Al-Kusiyeh, a
mile or so inland, which was the particular place the master had
come
so far and so fast to visit.The
breeze, although hardly felt, served to refresh the enervated
travelers. Winston sat up and knocked the ashes from his pipe,
making
a careful scrutiny at the same time of the lifeless landscape
ahead.The
mountains of gray limestone looked very uninviting as they lay
reeking under the terrible heat of the sun. From their base to the
river was no sign of vegetation, but only a hardened clay surface.
The desert sands had drifted in in places. Even under the palms it
lay in heavy drifts, for the land between the Nile and Al-Kusiyeh
was
abandoned to nature, and the fellaheen had never cared to redeem
it.The
water was deep by the east bank, for the curve of the river swept
the
current close to the shore. The little dahabeah puffed noisily up
to
the bank and deposited the Englishman upon the hard clay. Then it
backed across into shallow water, and Hassan shut down the engine
while Abdallah dropped the anchor.Winston
now wore his cork helmet and carried a brown umbrella lined with
green. With all his energy, the transition from the deck of the
dahabeah to this oven-like atmosphere of the shore bade fair to
overcome his resolution to proceed to the village.But
it would never do to recall his men so soon. They would consider it
an acknowledgment that he had erred in judgment, and the only way
to
manage an Arab is to make him believe you know what you are about.
The palm trees were not far away. He would rest in their shade
until
the sun was lower.A
dozen steps and the perspiration started from every pore. But he
kept
on, doggedly, until he came to the oblong shadow cast by the first
palm, and there he squatted in the sand and mopped his face with
his
handkerchief.The
silence was oppressive. There was no sound of any kind to relieve
it.
Even the beetles were hidden far under the sand, and there was no
habitation near enough for a donkey’s bray or a camel’s harsh
growl to be heard. The Nile flows quietly at this point, and the
boat
had ceased to puff and rattle its machinery.Winston
brushed aside the top layer of sand with his hands, for that upon
the
surface was so hot that contact with it was unbearable. Then he
extended his body to rest, turning slightly this way and that to
catch in his face the faint breath of the breeze that passed
between
the mountains and the Nile. At the best he was doomed to an
uncomfortable hour or two, and he cast longing glances at the other
bits of shade to note whether any seemed more inviting than the one
he had selected.During
this inspection his eye caught a patch of white some distance away.
It was directly over the shadow of the furthest tree of the group,
and aroused his curiosity. After a minute he arose in a leisurely
fashion and walked over to the spot of white, which on nearer
approach proved to be a soiled cotton tunic or burnous. It lay half
buried in the sand, and at one end were the folds of a dirty
turban,
with faded red and yellow stripes running across the coarse
cloth.Winston
put his foot on the burnous and the thing stirred and emitted a
muffled growl. At that he kicked the form viciously; but now it
neither stirred nor made a sound. Instead, a narrow slit appeared
between the folds of the turban, and an eye, black and glistening,
looked steadfastly upon the intruder.
“
Do
you take me for a beast, you imbecile, that you dare to disturb
my
slumbers?” asked a calm voice, in Arabic.The
heat had made Winston Bey impatient.
“
Yes;
you are a dog. Get up!” he commanded, kicking the form
again.The
turban was removed, disclosing a face, and the man sat up, crossing
his bare legs beneath him as he stared fixedly at his
persecutor.Aside
from the coarse burnous, sadly discolored in many places, the
fellow
was unclothed. His skin showed at the breast and below his knees,
and
did not convey an impression of immaculate cleanliness. Of slender
build, with broad shoulders, long hands and feet and sinewy arms
and
legs, the form disclosed was curiously like those so often
presented
in the picture-writing upon the walls of ancient temples. His
forehead was high, his chin square, his eyes large and soft, his
cheeks full, his mouth wide and sensual, his nose short and
rounded.
His jaws protruded slightly and his hair was smooth and fine. In
color the tint of his skin was not darker than the tanned cuticle
of
the Englishman, but the brown was softer, and resembled coffee that
has been plentifully diluted with cream. A handsome fellow in his
way, with an expression rather unconcerned than dignified, which
masked a countenance calculated to baffle even a shrewder and more
experienced observer than Winston Bey.Said
the Englishman, looking at him closely:
“
You
are a Copt.”Inadvertently
he had spoken in his mother tongue and the man laughed.
“
If
you follow the common prejudice and consider every Copt a
Christian,”
he returned in purest English, “then I am no Copt; but if you
mean
that I am an Egyptian, and no dog of an Arab, then, indeed, you
are
correct in your estimate.”Winston
uttered an involuntary exclamation of surprise. For a native to
speak
English is not so unusual; but none that he knew expressed himself
with the same ease and confidence indicated in this man’s reply. He
brushed away some of the superheated sand and sat down facing his
new
acquaintance.
“
Perhaps,”
said he—a touch of sarcasm in his voice—“I am speaking with a
descendant of the Great Rameses himself.”
“
Better
than that,” rejoined the other, coolly. “My forefather was
Ahtka-Rā, of true royal blood, who ruled the second Rameses as
cleverly as that foolish monarch imagined he ruled the
Egyptians.”Winston
seemed amused.
“
I
regret,” said he, with mock politeness, “that I have never before
heard of your great forefather.”
“
But
why should you?” asked the Egyptian. “You are, I suppose, one of
those uneasy investigators that prowl through Egypt in a stupid
endeavor to decipher the inscriptions on the old temples and
tombs.
You can read a little—yes; but that little puzzles and confuses
you. Your most learned scholars—your Mariettes and Petries and
Masperos—discover one clue and guess at twenty, and so build up a
wonderful history of the ancient kings that is absurd to those
who
know the true records.”
“
Who
knows them?” asked Winston, quickly.The
man dropped his eyes.
“
No
one, perhaps,” he mumbled. “At the best, but one or two. But you
would know more if you first studied the language of the ancient
Egyptians, so that when you deciphered the signs and picture
writings
you could tell with some degree of certainty what they
meant.”Winston
sniffed. “Answer my question!” said he, sternly. “Who knows the
true records, and where are they?”
“
Ah,
I am very ignorant,” said the other, shaking his head with an
humble expression. “Who am I, the poor Kāra, to dispute with the
scholars of Europe?”The
Englishman fanned himself with his helmet and sat silent for a
time.
“
But
this ancestor of yours—the man who ruled the Great Rameses—who
was he?” he asked, presently.
“
Men
called him Ahtka-Rā, as I said. He was descended from the famous
Queen Hatshepset, and his blood was pure. Indeed, my ancestor
should
have ruled Egypt as its king, had not the first Rameses
overthrown
the line of Mēnēs and established a dynasty of his own. But
Ahtka-Rā, unable to rule in his own name, nevertheless ruled
through
the weak Rameses, under whom he bore the titles of High Priest of
Āmen, Lord of the Harvests and Chief Treasurer. All of the
kingdom
he controlled and managed, sending Rameses to wars to keep him
occupied, and then, when the king returned, setting him to build
temples and palaces, and to erect monuments to himself, that he
might
have no excuse to interfere with the real business of the
government.
You, therefore, who read the inscriptions of the vain king wonder
at
his power and call him great; and, in your ignorance, you know
not
even the name of Ahtka-Rā, the most wonderful ruler that Egypt
has
ever known.”
“
It
is true that we do not know him,” returned Winston, scrutinizing
the man before him with a puzzled expression. “You seem better
informed than the Egyptologists!”Kāra
dipped his hands into the sand beside him and let the grains slip
between his fingers, watching them thoughtfully.
“
Rameses
the Second,” said he, “reigned sixty-five years, and—”
“
Sixty-seven
years,” corrected Winston. “It is written.”
“
In
the inscriptions, which are false,” explained the Egyptian. “My
ancestor concealed the death of Rameses for two years, because
Meremptah, who would succeed him, was a deadly enemy. But
Meremptah
discovered the secret at last, and at once killed Ahtka-Rā, who
was
very old and unable to oppose him longer. And after that the
treasure
cities of Pithom and Raamses, which my ancestor had built, were
seized by the new king, but no treasures were found in them. Even
in
death my great ancestor was able to deceive and humble his
enemies.”
“
Listen,
Kāra,” said Winston, his voice trembling with suppressed
eagerness; “to know that which you have told to me means that you
have discovered some sort of record hitherto unknown to
scientists.
To us who are striving to unravel the mystery of ancient Egyptian
history this information will be invaluable. Let me share your
knowledge, and tell me what you require in exchange for your
secret.
You are poor; I will make you rich. You are unknown; I will make
the
name of Kāra famous. You are young; you shall enjoy life. Speak,
my
brother, and believe that I will deal justly by you—on the word
of
an Englishman.”The
Egyptian did not even look up, but continued playing with the sand.
Yet over his grave features a smile slowly spread.
“
It
is not five minutes,” he murmured softly, “since I was twice
kicked and called a dog. Now I am the Englishman’s brother, and
he
will make me rich and famous.”Winston
frowned, as if he would like to kick the fellow again. But he
resisted the temptation.
“
What
would you?” he asked, indifferently. “The burnous might mean an
Arab. It is good for the Arab to be kicked at times.”Possibly
Kāra neither saw the jest nor understood the apology. His
unreadable
countenance was still turned toward the sand, and he answered
nothing.The
Englishman moved uneasily. Then he extracted a cigarette case from
his pocket, opened it, and extended it toward the Egyptian.Kāra
looked at the cigarettes and his face bore the first expression of
interest it had yet shown. Very deliberately he bowed, touched his
forehead and then his heart with his right hand, and afterward
leaned
forward and calmly selected a cigarette.Winston
produced a match and lighted it, the Egyptian’s eyes seriously
following his every motion. He applied the light to his own
cigarette
first; then to that of Kāra. Another touch of the forehead and
breast and the native was luxuriously inhaling the smoke of the
tobacco. His eyes were brighter and he wore a look of great
content.The
Englishman silently watched until the other had taken his third
whiff; then, the ceremonial being completed, he spoke, choosing his
words carefully.
“
Seek
as we may, my brother, for the records of the dead civilization
of
your native land, we know full well that the most important
documents
will be discovered in the future, as in the past, by the modern
Egyptians themselves. Your traditions, handed down through many
generations, give to you a secret knowledge of where the
important
papyri and tablets are deposited. If there are hidden tombs in
Gebel
Abu Fedah, or near the city of Al-Kusiyeh, perhaps you know where
to
find them; and if so, we will open them together and profit
equally
by what we secure.”The
Egyptian shook his head and flicked the ash from his cigarette with
an annoyed gesture.
“
You
are wrong in estimating the source of my knowledge,” said he, in
a
tone that was slightly acrimonious. “Look at my rags,” spreading
his arms outward; “would I refuse your bribe if I knew how to
earn
it? I have not smoked a cigarette before in months—not since
Tadros
the dragoman came to Al Fedah in the winter. I am barefoot,
because I
fear to wear out my sandals until I know how to replace them.
Often I
am hungry, and I live like a jackal, shrinking from all
intercourse
with my fellows or with the world. That is Kāra, the son of
kings,
the royal one!”Winston
was astonished. It is seldom a native complains of his lot or
resents
his condition, however lowly it may be. Yet here was one absolutely
rebellious.
“
Why?”
he asked.
“
Because
my high birth isolates me,” was the reply, with an accent of
pride.
“It is no comfortable thing to be Kāra, the lineal descendant of
the great Ahtka-Rā, in the days when Egypt’s power is gone, and
her children are scorned by the Arab Muslims and buffeted by the
English Christians.”
“
Do
you live in the village?” asked Winston.
“
No;
my burrow is in a huddle of huts behind the mountain, in a place
that
is called Fedah.”
“
With
whom do you live?”
“
My
grandmother, Hatatcha.”
“
Ah!”
“
You
have heard of her?”
“
No;
I was thinking only of an Egyptian Princess Hatatcha who set
fashionable London crazy in my father’s time.”Kāra
leaned forward eagerly, and then cast a half fearful glance around,
at the mountains, the desert, and the Nile.
“
Tell
me about her!” he said, sinking his voice to a whisper.
“
About
the Princess?” asked Winston, surprised. “Really, I know little
of her history. She came in a flash of wonderful oriental
magnificence, I have heard, and soon had the nobility of England
suing for her favors. Lord Roane especially divorced his wife
that he
might marry the beautiful Egyptian; and then she refused to wed
with
him. There were scandals in plenty before Hatatcha disappeared
from
London, which she did as mysteriously as she had come, and
without a
day’s warning. I remember that certain infatuated admirers spent
fortunes in search of her, overrunning all Egypt, but without
avail.
No one has ever heard of her since.”Kāra
drew a deep breath, sighing softly.
“
It
was like my grandmother,” he murmured. “She was always a daughter
of Set.”Winston
stared at him.
“
Do
you mean to say—” he began.
“
Yes,”
whispered Kāra, casting another frightened look around; “it was
my
grandmother, Hatatcha, who did that. You must not tell, my
brother,
for she is still in league with the devils and would destroy us
both
if she came to hate us. Her daughter, who was my mother, was the
child of that same Lord Roane you have mentioned; but she never
knew
her father nor England. I myself have never been a day’s journey
from the Nile, for Hatatcha makes me her slave.”
“
She
must be very old, if she still lives,” said Winston,
musingly.
“
She
was seventeen when she went to London,” replied Kāra, “and she
returned here in three years, with my mother in her arms. Her
daughter was thirty-five when I was born, and that is
twenty-three
years ago. Fifty-eight is not an advanced age, yet Hatatcha was a
withered hag when first I remember her, and she is the same
to-day.
By the head of Osiris, my brother, she is likely to live until I
am
stiff in my tomb.”
“
It
was she who taught you to speak English?”
“
Yes.
I knew it when I was a baby, for in our private converse she has
always used the English tongue. Also I speak the ancient Egyptian
language, which you call the Coptic, and I read correctly the
hieroglyphics and picture-writings of my ancestors. The Arabic,
of
course, I know. Hatatcha has been a careful teacher.”
“
What
of your mother?” asked Winston.
“
Why,
she ran away when I was a child, to enter the harem of an Arab in
Cairo, so that she passed out of our lives, and I have lived with
my
grandmother always.”
“
I
am impressed by the fact,” said the Englishman, with a sneer,
“that
your royal blood is not so pure after all.”
“
And
why not?” returned Kāra, composedly. “Is it not from the mother
we descend? Who my grandfather may have been matters little,
provided
Hatatcha, the royal one, is my granddame. Perhaps my mother never
considered who my father might be; it was unimportant. From her I
drew the blood of the great Ahtka-Rā, who lives again in me.
Robbed
of your hollow ceremonial of marriage, you people of Europe can
boast
no true descent save through your mothers—no purer blood than I,
ignoring my fathers, am sure now courses in my veins; for the
father,
giving so little to his progeny, can scarcely contaminate it,
whatever he may chance to be.”The
other, paying little heed to this discourse, the platitudes of
which
were all too familiar to his ears, reflected deeply on the strange
discovery he had made through this unconventional Egyptian.
“
Then,”
said he, pursuing his train of thought, “your knowledge of your
ancestry and the life and works of Ahtka-Rā was obtained through
your grandmother?”
“
Yes.”
“
And
she has not disclosed to you how it is that she knows all
this?”
“
No.
She says it is true, and I believe it. Hatatcha is a wonderful
woman.”
“
I
agree with you. Where did she get the money that enabled her to
amaze
all England with her magnificence and splendor?”
“
I
do not know.”
“
Is
she wealthy now?”Kāra
laughed.
“
Did
I not say we were half starved, and live like foxes in a hole?
For
raiment we have each one ragged garment. But the outside of man
matters little, save to those who have nothing within. Treasures
may
be kept in a rotten chest.”
“
But
personally you would prefer a handsome casket?”
“
Of
course. It is Hatatcha who teaches me philosophy to make me
forget my
rags.”The
Englishman reflected.
“
Do
you labor in the fields?” he asked.
“
She
will not let me,” said Kāra. “If my wrongs were righted, she
holds, I would even now be king of Egypt. The certainty that they
will never be righted does not alter the morale of the
case.”
“
Does
Hatatcha earn money herself?”
“
She
sits in her hut morning and night, muttering curses upon her
enemies.”
“
Then
how do you live at all?”Kāra
seemed surprised by the question, and considered carefully his
reply.
“
At
times,” said he, “when our needs are greatest, my grandmother
will produce an ancient coin of the reign of Hystaspes, which the
sheik at Al-Kusiyeh readily changes into piasters, because they
will
give him a good premium on it at the museum in Cairo. Once, years
ago, the sheik threatened Hatatcha unless she confessed where she
had
found these coins; but my grandmother called Set to her aid, and
cast
a spell upon the sheik, so that his camels died of rot and his
children became blind. After that he let Hatatcha alone, but he
was
still glad to get her coins.”
“
Where
does she keep them?”
“
It
is her secret. When she was ill, a month ago, and lay like one
dead,
I searched everywhere for treasure and found it not. Perhaps she
has
exhausted her store.”
“
Had
she anything besides the coins?”
“
Once
a jewel, which she sent by Tadros, the dragoman, to exchange for
English books in Cairo.”
“
What
became of the books?”
“
After
we had both read them they disappeared. I do not know what became
of
them.”They
had shifted their seats twice, because the shadow cast by the palms
moved as the sun drew nearer to the horizon. Now the patches were
long and narrow, and there was a cooler breath in the air.The
Englishman sat long silent, thinking intently. Kāra was placidly
smoking his third cigarette.The
rivalry among excavators and Egyptologists generally is intense.
All
are eager to be recognized as discoverers. Since the lucky find of
the plucky American, Davis, the explorers among the ancient ruins
of
Egypt had been on the qui vive to unearth some farther record of
antiquity to startle and interest the scholars of the world. Much
of
value has been found along the Nile banks, it is true; but it is
generally believed that much more remains to be discovered.Gerald
Winston, with a fortune at his command and a passion for
Egyptology,
was an indefatigable prospector in this fascinating field, and it
was
because of a rumor that ancient coins and jewels had come from the
Sheik of Al-Kusiyeh that he had resolved to visit that village in
person and endeavor to learn the secret source of this wealth
before
someone else forestalled him.The
story that he had just heard from the lips of the voluble Kāra
rendered his visit to Al-Kusiyeh unnecessary; but that he was now
on
the trail of an important discovery was quite clear to him. How
best
to master the delicate conditions confronting him must be a subject
of careful consideration, for any mistake on his part would ruin
all
his hopes.
“
If
my brother obtains any further valuable knowledge,” said he,
finally, “he will wish to sell it to good advantage. And it is
evident to both of us that old Hatatcha has visited some secret
tomb,
from whence she has taken the treasure that enabled her to
astound
London for a brief period. When her wealth was exhausted she was
forced to return to her squalid surroundings, and by dint of
strict
economy has lived upon the few coins that remained to her until
now.
Knowing part of your grandmother’s story, it is easy to guess the
remainder. The coins of Darius Hystaspes date about five hundred
years before Christ, so that they would not account for
Hatatcha’s
ample knowledge of a period two thousand years earlier. But mark
me,
Kāra, the tomb from which your grandmother extracted such
treasure
must of necessity contain much else—not such things as the old
woman could dispose of without suspicion, but records and relics
which in my hands would be invaluable, and for which I would
gladly
pay you thousands of piasters. See what you can do to aid me to
bring
about this desirable result. If you can manage to win the secret
from
your grandmother, you need be her slave no longer. You may go to
Cairo and see the dancing girls and spend your money freely; or
you
can buy donkeys and a camel, and set up for a sheik. Meantime I
will
keep my dahabeah in this vicinity, and every day I will pass this
spot at sundown and await for you to signal me. Is it all clear
to
you, my brother?”
“
It
is as crystal,” answered the Egyptian gravely.He
took another cigarette, lighted it with graceful composure, and
rose
to his feet. Winston also stood up.The
sun had dropped behind the far corner of Gebel Abu Fedah, and with
the grateful shade the breeze had freshened and slightly cooled the
tepid atmosphere.Wrapping
his burnous around his tall figure, Kāra made dignified
obeisance.
“
Osiris
guard thee, my brother,” said he.
“
May
Horus grant thee peace,” answered Winston, humoring this disciple
of the most ancient religion. Then he watched the Egyptian stalk
proudly away over the hot sands, his figure erect, his step slow
and
methodical, his bearing absurdly dignified when contrasted with
his
dirty tunic and unwashed skin.
“
I
am in luck,” he thought, turning toward the bank to summon Hassan
and Abdallah; “for I have aroused the rascal’s cupidity, and he
will soon turn up something or other, I’ll be bound. Ugh! the
dirty
beast.”At
the foot of the mountains Kāra paused abruptly and stood
motionless,
staring moodily at the sands before him.
“
It
was worth the bother to get the cigarettes,” he muttered. Then he
added, with sudden fierceness: “Twice he spurned me with his
foot,
and called me ‘dog’!”And
he spat in the sand and continued on his way.
CHAPTER II.HATATCHA.
The mountains of Abu Fedah consist of a low range about
twelve miles long and from two to three hundred feet in height.
These hills are wedge-shaped, and from a narrow, uneven ridge at
the summit the sides slope downward at a sharp angle on either
side, affording little apparent foothold to one who might essay to
climb the steeps. At the south end are pits wherein were found
numbers of mummified crocodiles, proving that these reptiles were
formerly worshipped by the natives of Al-Kusiyeh, which is the
ancient city of Qes of the hieroglyphic texts, and was afterward
called Cusae by the Greeks. It was, in its prime, the capital of
the fourteenth nome or province of Upper Egypt, and a favorite
winter abode of the kings of the Middle Empire. The modern village,
as before explained, lies a mile or two from the Nile bank, in a
fertile valley watered by bubbling springs. The inhabitants are
mostly Arabs, or a mixture of the Arab blood with that of the
native fellaheen, which last, in common with the Copts, are direct
descendants of the ancient Egyptians.
The early Egyptologists
expected to find important tombs secreted in the limestone cliffs
of Gebel Abu Fedah; but careful search only revealed the mummy
crocodile pits and a few scattering and uninteresting cavities
roughly hewn in the rocks, which might have contained mummies at
one time, but had been rifled of their contents ages ago. The few
inscriptions remaining in these rock tombs indicated that they were
the burial places of ordinary citizens of Qes, and such cavities as
were observed all faced the Nile. The opposite slopes of the
mountains, facing the east, seemed never to have been utilized for
tombs, fond as the Egyptians were of such opportunities to inter
their dead in rocky places, above the reach of jackals or
marauders.
Kāra skirted the south
end of the mountain and passed around the edge of a bleak gray
cliff. Here, close against the overhanging sandstone, was clustered
a nest of wretched hovels, built partially of loose fragments of
rock and partly of Nile mud baked in the sun. The place was called
Fedah by the natives, and its scant dozen of inhabitants were those
of pure Egyptian lineage, who refused to mingle with the natives of
Al-Kusiyeh.
The most substantial of
the dwellings was that occupied by Hatatcha and her grandson. It
had been built against a hollow or cave of the mountain, so that
the cane roof projected only a few feet beyond the cliff. A rude
attempt on the part of the builders to make the front wall
symmetrical was indicated by the fact that the stones bore quarry
marks, and at the entrance arch, which had never been supplied with
a door, but was half concealed by a woven mat, the stones were
fully four feet in thickness.
The other huts, ranged
beside and before this one, were far less imposing in construction;
but all had the appearance of great antiquity, and those at the
north and south edges of the huddle were unoccupied and more or
less ruined and neglected. Tradition said that Fedah, in spite of
its modern Arabic name, was as old as ancient Qes, and there was no
reason to doubt the statement. Its location was admirable in
summer, for the mountain shaded it during the long hot afternoons;
but around it was nothing but sand and rock, and the desert
stretched in front as far as the borders of
Al-Kusiyeh.
Kāra, entering the short
and narrow street between the hovels, pushed a goat from his path
and proceeded calmly toward his dwelling. As he entered its one
room, he paused to allow his eyes to grow accustomed to the gloom
and then gazed around with an expression of mild
surprise.
In one corner, upon a bed
of dried rushes, lay the form of an old woman. Her single black
cotton garment was open at the throat, displaying a wrinkled,
shrunken bosom that rose and fell spasmodically, as if the hag
breathed with great effort. Her eyes were closed and the scant,
tousled locks of fine gray hair surrounding her face gave it a
weird and witch-like expression. In spite of her age and the clime
in which she ad lived, Hatatcha’s skin was almost as white as that
of Europeans, its tint being so delicate as to be scarcely
noticeable.
Upon a short wooden bench
beside the rushes sat a girl with a palm branch, which she swayed
back and forth to keep the flies from settling upon Hatatcha’s
face. She was, perhaps, fifteen years of age, but as fully matured
in form as an English girl of twenty-five. Her face was remarkably
handsome from the standpoint of regularity of contour, but its
absolute lack of expression would render it uninviting to a
connoisseur of beauty. Her dark eyes were magnificent, and seemed
to have depths which were disappointing when you probed them. She
wore the conventional black gown, or tunic, but because of the heat
had allowed it to slip down to her waist, leaving her shoulders and
breasts bare.
After a long and
thoughtful look at his grandmother, Kāra sat down beside the girl
and put his arm around her, drawing her close to his body. She
neither resented the caress nor responded to it, but yielded
herself inertly to the embrace while she continued to sway the palm
branch with her free right arm.
“ Ah, my Nephthys,” said
the man, lightly, in the Coptic tongue, “is our Hatatcha in the
grip of the devils again?”
The girl made no reply,
but at the sound of Kāra’s voice the old woman opened her great
eyes and gazed for an instant steadfastly upon her grandson. Her
hands, which had been nervously clutching her robe, were raised in
supplication, and she said in English, in a weak, hoarse
voice:
“ The draught, Kāra! Be
quick!”
The man hesitated, but
released the girl and stood up.
“ It is the last, my
Hatatcha. You know that no more can be procured,” he said, in
protest.
“ I shall need no more,”
she answered, with much difficulty. “It is the last time. Be quick,
Kāra!” Her voice died away in an odd gurgle, and her chest
fluttered as if the breath was about to leave it.
Kāra, watching her
curiously, as a dog might, was impressed by the symptoms. He turned
to Nephthys.
“ Go out,” he commanded,
in Coptic, and the girl arose and passed under the
arch.
Then he went to a part of
the wall and removed a loose stone, displaying a secret cavity.
From this he took a small vase, smooth and black, which had a
stopper of dull metal. Carrying it to Hatatcha, he knelt down,
removed the stopper and placed the neck of the vase to her lips.
The delicate, talon-like fingers clutched the vessel eagerly and
the woman drank, while Kāra followed the course of the liquid down
her gullet by watching her skinny throat.
When it was done, he
carried the empty vase back to the crypt and replaced the loose
stone. Then he returned to the bedside and sat down upon the bench.
A bowl containing some bits of bread stood near. He stooped and
caught a piece in his fingers, munching it between his strong teeth
while he stared down upon Hatatcha’s motionless
form.
It was quite dark in the
room by this time, for twilights are short in Egypt. But the pupils
of the man’s eyes expanded like those of a cat, and he could follow
the slow rise and fall of the woman’s chest and knew she was again
breathing easily.
An hour passed, during
which Kāra moved but once, to drink from a jar standing in the
opposite corner. Hatatcha’s condition disturbed him. If she died,
he would be at a loss what to do. Unused to work and without
resource of any sort, life would become a burden to him. He was,
moreover, accustomed to be led by the strong old woman in all
things, and she had been the provider during all the twenty-three
years of his life. Kāra had been trained to think deeply upon many
subjects, but here was one which had never occurred to him before
because Hatatcha had never discussed it, and the matter of her
death was until lately a thing that did not need to be considered.
But her condition was serious to-night, and the precious
life-giving elixir was gone to the last drop.
All the people around Abu
Fedah deferred to Hatatcha, because she claimed, with some show of
reason, to be of royal descent. But they did not know the story of
Ahtka-Rā, and her escapades in London years ago were all
unsuspected by them. Hatatcha only confided such things to Kāra,
and he would never dare breathe them to any except the Englishman,
from whose lips the tales would never be liable to
return.
But there was a great
deal that Kāra himself did not know, and he realized this as he
gazed uneasily upon his sick grandparent. She ought to tell him
where the coins and jewels had come from, and if there were any
left. He would need some trifles of that sort when she was gone.
And the matter of her funeral—she had expressed strange desires, at
times, regarding the disposition of her body after death. How was
he to find means to carry out such desires?
A voice, low and clear,
fell upon his ear and made him start. Hatatcha’s big eyes were open
and he caught their sparkle even in the darkness.
“ Come nearer,” she
said.
He dropped upon the floor
at her side and sat cross-legged near her head, bending over to
catch her slightest whisper. She spoke in English to
him.
“ Anubis calls me, my
son, and I must join his kingdom. My years are not great, but they
have worn out my body with love and hatreds and plans of vengeance.
You are my successor, and the inheritor of my treasures and my
revenge and hates. The time is come when you must repay my care and
perform a mission for which I have trained you since childhood.
Promise me that you will fulfil my every wish to the
letter!”
“ Of necessity,
Hatatcha,” he responded, calmly. “Are you not my
grandmother?”
She remained silent a
moment.
“ You are cold, and
selfish and cruel,” she resumed, her tone hardening, “and I have
made you so. You are intelligent, and fearless, and strong. It is
due to my training. Listen, then! Once I was young and beautiful
and loving, and when I faced the world it fell at my feet in
adoration. But one who claimed to be a man crushed all the joy and
love from my hear [...]
