Georg Ebers - Ultimate Collection: 20+ Historical Novels & Short Stories. Georg Ebers
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us,” replied Nemu, “and I have just come from a long interview with the Regent.”
“Well?”
“He will renew your letter of freedom, if you will put Paaker into his power.”
“Good-good. I wish he would make up his mind to come and seek me—in disguise, of course—I would—”
“He is very timid, and it would not suggest to him anything so unpracticable.”
“Hm—” said Hekt, “perhaps you are right, for when we have to demand a good deal it is best only to ask for what is feasible. One rash request often altogether spoils the patron’s inclination for granting favors.”
“What else has occurred?”
“The Regent’s army has conquered the Ethiopians, and is coming home with rich spoils.”
“People may be bought with treasure,” muttered the old woman, “I good—good!”
“Paaker’s sword is sharpened; I would give no more for my master’s life, than I have in my pocket—and you know why I came on foot through the dust.”
“Well, you can ride home again,” replied his mother, giving the little man a small silver ring. “Has the pioneer seen Nefert again?”
“Strange things have happened,” said the dwarf, and he told his mother what had taken place between Katuti and Nefert. Nemu was a good listener, and had not forgotten a word of what he had heard.
The old woman listened to his story with the most eager attention.
“Well, well,” she muttered, “here is another extraordinary thing. What is common to all men is generally disgustingly similar in the palace and in the hovel. Mothers are everywhere she-apes, who with pleasure let themselves be tormented to death by their children, who repay them badly enough, and the wives generally open their ears wide if any one can tell them of some misbehavior of their husbands! But that is not the way with your mistress.”
The old woman looked thoughtful, and then she continued:
“In point of fact this can be easily explained, and is not at all more extraordinary than it is that those tired girls should sit yawning. You told me once that it was a pretty sight to see the mother and daughter side by side in their chariot when they go to a festival or the Panegyrai; Katuti, you said, took care that the colors of their dresses and the flowers in their hair should harmonize. For which of them is the dress first chosen on such occasions?”
“Always for the lady Katuti, who never wears any but certain colors,” replied Nemu quickly.
“You see,” said the witch laughing, “Indeed it must be so. That mother always thinks of herself first, and of the objects she wishes to gain; but they hang high, and she treads down everything that is in her way—even her own child—to reach them. She will contrive that Paaker shall be the ruin of Mena, as sure as I have ears to hear with, for that woman is capable of playing any tricks with her daughter, and would marry her to that lame dog yonder if it would advance her ambitious schemes.”
“But Nefert!” said Nemu. “You should have seen her. The dove became a lioness.”
“Because she loves Mena as much as her mother loves herself,” answered Hekt. “As the poets say, ‘she is full of him.’ It is really true of her, there is no room for any thing else. She cares for one only, and woe to those who come between him and her!”
“I have seen other women in love,” said Nemu, “but—”
“But,” exclaimed the old witch with such a sharp laugh that the girls all looked up, “they behaved differently to Nefert—I believe you, for there is not one in a thousand that loves as she does. It is a sickness that gives raging pain—like a poisoned arrow in an open wound, and devours all that is near it like a fire-brand, and is harder to cure than the disease which is killing that coughing wench. To be possessed by that demon of anguish is to suffer the torture of the damned—or else,” and her voice sank to softness, “to be more blest than the Gods, happy as they are. I know—I know it all; for I was once one of the possessed, one of a thousand, and even now—”
“Well?” asked the dwarf.
“Folly!” muttered the witch, stretching herself as if awaking from sleep. “Madness! He—is long since dead, and if he were not it would be all the same to me. All men are alike, and Mena will be like the rest.”
“But Paaker surely is governed by the demon you describe?” asked the dwarf.
“May be,” replied his mother; “but he is self-willed to madness. He would simply give his life for the thing because it is denied him. If your mistress Nefert were his, perhaps he might be easier; but what is the use of chattering? I must go over to the gold tent, where everyone goes now who has any money in their purse, to speak to the mistress—”
“What do you want with her?” interrupted Nemu. “Little Uarda over there,” said the old woman, “will soon be quite well again. You have seen her lately; is she not grown beautiful, wonderfully beautiful? Now I shall see what the good woman will offer me if I take Uarda to her? the girl is as light-footed as a gazelle, and with good training would learn to dance in a very few weeks.”
Nemu turned perfectly white.
“That you shall not do,” said he positively.
“And why not?” asked the old woman, “if it pays well.”
“Because I forbid it,” said the dwarf in a choked voice.
“Bless me,” laughed the woman; “you want to play my lady Nefert, and expect me to take the part of her mother Katuti. But, seriously, having seen the child again, have you any fancy for her?”
“Yes,” replied Nemu. “If we gain our end, Katuti will make me free, and make me rich. Then I will buy Pinem’s grandchild, and take her for my wife. I will build a house near the hall of justice, and give the complainants and defendants private advice, like the hunch-back Sent, who now drives through the streets in his own chariot.”
“Hm—” said his mother, “that might have done very well, but perhaps it is too late. When the child had fever she talked about the young priest who was sent from the House of Seti by Ameni. He is a fine tall fellow, and took a great interest in her; he is a gardener’s son, named Pentaur.”
“Pentaur?” said the dwarf. “Pentaur? He has the haughty air and the expression of the old Mohar, and would be sure to rise; but they are going to break his proud neck for him.”
“So much the better,” said the old woman. “Uarda would be just the wife for you, she is good and steady, and no one knows—”
“What?” said Nemu.
“Who her mother was—for she was not one of us. She came here from foreign parts, and when she died she left a trinket with strange letters on it. We must show it to one of the prisoners of war, after you have got her safe; perhaps they could make out the queer inscription. She comes of a good stock, that I am certain; for Uarda is the very living image of her mother, and as soon as she was born, she looked like the child of a great man. You smile, you idiot! Why thousands of infants have been in my hands, and if one was brought to me wrapped in rags I could tell if its parents were noble or base-born. The shape of the foot shows it—and other marks. Uarda may stay where she is, and I will help you. If anything new occurs let me know.”
CHAPTER XXI.
When Nemu, riding on an ass this time, reached home, he found neither his mistress nor Nefert within.
The former was gone, first to the temple, and then into the town; Nefert, obeying an irresistible impulse, had gone to her royal friend Bent-Anat.
The