Uarda : a Romance of Ancient Egypt — Complete by Georg Ebers (find a book to read txt) 📕

for you only. Then your father died, my sole stay and protector.”

“I know it all!” interrupted Paaker looking gloomily at the floor.

“Who should have told you?” said the widow. “For your mother, when that had happened which seemed incredible, forbid us her house, and shut her ears. The king himself urged Mena’s suit, for he loves him as his own son, and when I represented your prior claim he commanded;—and who may resist the commands of the sovereign of two worlds, the Son of Ra? Kings have short memories; how often did your father hazard his life for him, how many wounds had he received in his service. For your father’s sake he might have spared you such an affront, and such pain.”

“And have I myself served him, or not?” asked the pioneer flushing darkly.

“He knows you less,” returned Katuti apologetically. Then she changed her tone to one of sympathy, and went on:

“How was it that you, young as you were, aroused his dissatisfaction, his dislike, nay his—”

“His what?” asked the pioneer, trembling with excitement.

“Let that pass!” said the widow soothingly. “The favor and disfavor of kings are as those of the Gods. Men rejoice in the one or bow to the other.”

“What feeling have I aroused in Rameses besides dissatisfaction, and dislike? I insist on knowing!” said Paaker with increasing vehemence.

“You alarm me,” the widow declared. “And in speaking ill of you, his only motive was to raise his favorite in Nefert’s estimation.”

“Tell me what he said!” cried the pioneer; cold drops stood on his brown forehead, and his glaring eyes showed the white eye-balls.

Katuti quailed before him, and drew back, but he followed her, seized her arm, and said huskily:

“What did he say?”

“Paaker!” cried the widow in pain and indignation. “Let me go. It is better for you that I should not repeat the words with which Rameses sought to turn Nefert’s heart from you. Let me go, and remember to whom you are speaking.”

But Paaker gripped her elbow the tighter, and urgently repeated his question.

“Shame upon you!” cried Katuti, “you are hurting me; let me go! You will not till you have heard what he said? Have your own way then, but the words are forced from me! He said that if he did not know your mother Setchem for an honest woman, he never would have believed you were your father’s son—for you were no more like him than an owl to an eagle.”

Paaker took his hand from Katuti’s arm. “And so—and so—” he muttered with pale lips.

“Nefert took your part, and I too, but in vain. Do not take the words too hardly. Your father was a man without an equal, and Rameses cannot forget that we are related to the old royal house. His grandfather, his father, and himself are usurpers, and there is one now living who has a better right to the throne than he has.”

“The Regent Ani!” exclaimed Paaker decisively. Katuti nodded, she went up to the pioneer and said in a whisper:

“I put myself in your hands, though I know they may be raised against me. But you are my natural ally, for that same act of Rameses that disgraced and injured you, made me a partner in the designs of Ani. The king robbed you of your bride, me of my daughter. He filled your soul with hatred for your arrogant rival, and mine with passionate regret for the lost happiness of my child. I feel the blood of Hatasu in my veins, and my spirit is high enough to govern men. It was I who roused the sleeping ambition of the Regent—I who directed his gaze to the throne to which he was destined by the Gods. The ministers of the Gods, the priests, are favorably disposed to us; we have—”

At this moment there was a commotion in the garden, and a breathless slave rushed in exclaiming “The Regent is at the gate!”

Paaker stood in stupid perplexity, but he collected himself with an effort and would have gone, but Katuti detained him.

“I will go forward to meet Ani,” she said. “He will be rejoiced to see you, for he esteems you highly and was a friend of your father’s.”

As soon as Katuti had left the hall, the dwarf Nemu crept out of his hiding-place, placed himself in front of Paaker, and asked boldly:

“Well? Did I give thee good advice yesterday, or no?”

Put Paaker did not answer him, he pushed him aside with his foot, and walked up and down in deep thought.

Katuti met the Regent half way down the garden. He held a manuscript roll in his hand, and greeted her from afar with a friendly wave of his hand.

The widow looked at him with astonishment.

It seemed to her that he had grown taller and younger since the last time she had seen him.

“Hail to your highness!” she cried, half in joke half reverently, and she raised her hands in supplication, as if he already wore the double crown of Upper and Lower Egypt. “Have the nine Gods met you? have the Hathors kissed you in your slumbers? This is a white day—a lucky day—I read it in your face!” “That is reading a cipher!” said Ani gaily, but with dignity. “Read this despatch.”

Katuti took the roll from his hand, read it through, and then returned it.

“The troops you equipped have conquered the allied armies of the Ethiopians,” she said gravely, “and are bringing their prince in fetters to Thebes, with endless treasure, and ten thousand prisoners! The Gods be praised!”

“And above all things I thank the Gods that my general Scheschenk—my foster-brother and friend—is returning well and unwounded from the war. I think, Katuti, that the figures in our dreams are this day taking forms of flesh and blood!”

“They are growing to the stature of heroes!” cried the widow. “And you yourself, my lord, have been stirred by the breath of the Divinity. You walk like the worthy son of Ra, the Courage of Menth beams in your eyes, and you smile like the victorious Horus.”

“Patience, patience my friend,” said Ani, moderating the eagerness of the widow; “now, more than ever, we must cling to my principle of over-estimating the strength of our opponents, and underrating our own. Nothing has succeeded on which I had counted, and on the contrary many things have justified my fears that they would fail. The beginning of the end is hardly dawning on us.”

“But successes, like misfortunes, never come singly,” replied Katuti.

“I agree with you,” said Ani. “The events of life seem to me to fall in groups. Every misfortune brings its fellow with it—like every piece of luck. Can you tell me of a second success?”

“Women win no battles,” said the widow smiling. “But they win allies, and