The Greatest Historical Novels of Georg Ebers. Georg Ebers
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and yet I find it hard to submit to the priest’s decree, for I am the daughter of Rameses!”
“Aye, indeed!” exclaimed Nefert, “and he is himself a God!”
“But he taught me to respect the laws!” interrupted the princess. “I discussed another thing with Bek en Chunsu. You know I rejected the suit of the Regent. He must secretly be much vexed with me. That indeed would not alarm me, but he is the guardian and protector appointed over me by my father, and yet can I turn to him in confidence for counsel, and help? No! I am still a woman, and Rameses’ daughter! Sooner will I travel through a thousand deserts than humiliate my father through his child. By to-morrow I shall have decided; but, indeed, I have already decided to make the journey, hard as it is to leave much that is here. Do not fear, dear! but you are too tender for such a journey, and to such a distance; I might—”
“No, no,” cried Nefert. “I am going, too, if you were going to the four pillars of heaven, at the limits of the earth. You have given me a new life, and the little sprout that is green within me would wither again if I had to return to my mother. Only she or I can be in our house, and I will re-enter it only with Mena.”
“It is settled—I must go,” said the princess. “Oh! if only my father were not so far off, and that I could consult him!”
“Yes! the war, and always the war!” sighed Nefert. “Why do not men rest content with what they have, and prefer the quiet peace, which makes life lovely, to idle fame?”
“Would they be men? should we love them?” cried Bent-Anat eagerly. “Is not the mind of the Gods, too, bent on war? Did you ever see a more sublime sight than Pentaur, on that evening when he brandished the stake he had pulled up, and exposed his life to protect an innocent girl who was in danger?”
“I dared not once look down into the court,” said Nefert. “I was in such an agony of mind. But his loud cry still rings in my ears.”
“So rings the war cry of heroes before whom the enemy quails!” exclaimed Bent-Anat.
“Aye, truly so rings the war cry!” said prince Rameri, who had entered his sister’s half-dark room unperceived by the two women.
The princess turned to the boy. “How you frightened me!” she said.
“You!” said Rameri astonished.
“Yes, me. I used to have a stout heart, but since that evening I frequently tremble, and an agony of terror comes over me, I do not know why. I believe some demon commands me.”
“You command, wherever you go; and no one commands you,” cried Rameri. “The excitement and tumult in the valley, and on the quay, still agitate you. I grind my teeth myself when I remember how they turned me out of the school, and how Paaker set the dog at us. I have gone through a great deal today too.”
“Where were you so long?” asked Bent-Anat. “My uncle Ani commanded that you should not leave the palace.”
“I shall be eighteen years old next month,” said the prince, “and need no tutor.”
“But your father—” said Bent-Anat.
“My father”—interrupted the boy, “he little knows the Regent. But I shall write to him what I have today heard said by different people. They were to have sworn allegiance to Ani at that very feast in the valley, and it is quite openly said that Ani is aiming at the throne, and intends to depose the king. You are right, it is madness—but there must be something behind it all.”
Nefert turned pale, and Bent-Anat asked for particulars. The prince repeated all he had gathered, and added laughing: “Ani depose my father! It is as if I tried to snatch the star of Isis from the sky to light the lamps—which are much wanted here.”
“It is more comfortable in the dark,” said Nefert. “No, let us have lights,” said Bent-Anat. “It is better to talk when we can see each other face to face. I have no belief in the foolish talk of the people; but you are right—we must bring it to my fathers knowledge.”
“I heard the wildest gossip in the City of the Dead,” said Rameri.
“You ventured over there? How very wrong!”
“I disguised myself a little, and I have good news for you. Pretty Uarda is much better. She received your present, and they have a house of their own again. Close to the one that was burnt down, there was a tumbled-down hovel, which her father soon put together again; he is a bearded soldier, who is as much like her as a hedgehog is like a white dove. I offered her to work in the palace for you with the other girls, for good wages, but she would not; for she has to wait on her sick grandmother, and she is proud, and will not serve any one.”
“It seems you were a long time with the paraschites’ people,” said Bent-Anat reprovingly. “I should have thought that what has happened to me might have served you as a warning.”
“I will not be better than you!” cried the boy. “Besides, the paraschites is dead, and Uarda’s father is a respectable soldier, who can defile no one. I kept a long way from the old woman. To-morrow I am going again. I promised her.”
“Promised who?” asked his sister.
“Who but Uarda? She loves flowers, and since the rose which you gave her she has not seen one. I have ordered the gardener to cut me a basket full of roses to-morrow morning, and shall take them to her myself.”
“That you will not!” cried Bent-Anat. “You are still but half a child—and, for the girl’s sake too, you must give it up.”
“We only gossip together,” said the prince coloring, “and no one shall recognize me. But certainly, if you mean that, I will leave the basket of roses, and go to her alone. No—sister, I will not be forbidden this; she is so charming, so white, so gentle, and her voice is so soft and sweet! And she has little feet, as small as—what shall I say?—as small and graceful as Nefert’s hand. We talked most about Pentaur. She knows his father, who is a gardener, and knows a great deal about him. Only think! she says the poet cannot be the son of his parents, but a good spirit that has come down on earth—perhaps a God. At first she was very timid, but when I spoke of Pentaur she grew eager; her reverence for him is almost idolatry—and that vexed me.”
“You would rather she should reverence you so,” said Nefert smiling.
“Not at all,” cried Rameri. “But I helped to save her, and I am so happy when I am sitting with her, that to-morrow, I am resolved, I will put a flower in her hair. It is red certainly, but as thick as yours, Bent-Anat, and it must be delightful to unfasten it and stroke it.”
The ladies exchanged a glance of intelligence, and the princess said decidedly:
“You will not go to the City of the Dead to-morrow, my little son!”
“That we will see, my little mother!” He answered laughing; then he turned grave.
“I saw my school-friend Anana too,” he said. “Injustice reigns in the House of Seti! Pentaur is in prison, and yesterday evening they sat in judgment upon him. My uncle was present, and would have pounced upon the poet, but Ameni took him under his protection. What was finally decided, the pupils could not learn, but it must have been something bad, for the son of the Treasurer heard Ameni saying, after the sitting, to old Gagabu: ‘Punishment he deserves, but I will not let him be overwhelmed;’ and he can have meant no one but Pentaur. To-morrow I will go over, and learn more; something frightful, I am afraid—several years of imprisonment is the least that will happen to him.”
Bent-Anat had turned very pale.
“And whatever they do to him,” she cried, “he will suffer for my sake! Oh, ye omnipotent Gods, help him—help me, be merciful to us both!”
She covered her face with her hands, and left the room. Rameri asked Nefert:
“What can have come to my sister? she seems quite strange to me; and you too are not the same as you used to be.”
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