Leaving Alexandria, we wandered first to the town of Misra, which stoodnear to the mighty pyramids, beneath whose shadow we slept one night inan empty tomb. Thence by slow marches we made our way up the banks ofthe Nile, earning our daily bread by the exercise of our art. Onceor twice we were stopped as spies, but always released again when Iproduced the writing that the officer Yusuf had given me upon the ship.For the rest, none molested us in a land where wandering beggars wereso common. Of money it is true we earned little, but as we had goldin plenty sewn into our garments this did not matter. Food was all weneeded, and that, as I have said, was never lacking.
So we went on our strange journey, day by day learning more of thetongues spoken in Egypt, and especially of Arabic, which the Moslemsused. Whither did we journey? We know not for certain. What I sought tofind were those two huge statues of which I had dreamed at Aar on thenight of the robbing of the Wanderer's tomb. We heard that there weresuch figures of stone, which were said to sing at daybreak, and thatthey sat upon a plain on the western bank of the Nile, near to the ruinsof the great city of Thebes, now but a village, called by the ArabsEl-Uksor, or "the Palaces." So far as we could discover, it was in theneighbourhood of this city that Heliodore had escaped from Musa, andthere, if anywhere, I hoped to gain tidings of her fate. Also somethingwithin my heart drew me to those images of forgotten gods or men.
At length, two months or more after we left Alexandria, from the deck ofthe boat in which we had hired a passage for the last hundred miles ofour journey, Martina saw to the east the ruins of Thebes. To the westshe saw other ruins, and seated in front of them _two mighty figures ofstone_.
"This is the place," she said, and my heart leapt at her words. "Now letus land and follow our fortune."
So when the boat was tied up at sunset, to the west bank of the river,as it happened, we bade farewell to the owner and went ashore.
"Whither now?" asked Martina.
"To the figures of stone," I answered.
So she led me through fields in which the corn was growing, to the edgeof the desert, meeting no man all the way. Then for a mile or more wetramped through sand, till at length, late at night, Martina halted.
"We stand beneath the statues," she said, "and they are awesome to lookon; mighty, seated kings, higher than a tall tree."
"What lies behind them?" I asked.
"The ruins of a great temple."
"Lead me to that temple."
So we passed through a gateway into a court, and there we halted.
"Now tell me what you see," I said.
"We stand in what has been a hall of many columns," she answered, "butthe most of them are broken. At our feet is a pool in which there isa little water. Before us lies the plain on which the statues sit,stretching some miles to the Nile, that is fringed with palms. Acrossthe broad Nile are the ruins of old Thebes. Behind us are more ruins anda line of rugged hills of stone, and in them, a little to the north,the mouth of a valley. The scene is very beautiful beneath the moon, butvery sad and desolate."
"It is the place that I saw in my dream many years ago at Aar," I said.
"It may be," she answered, "but if so it must have changed, since, savefor a jackal creeping among the columns and a dog that barks in somedistant village, I neither see nor hear a living thing. What now, Olaf?"
"Now we will eat and sleep," I said. "Perhaps light will come to us inour sleep."
So we ate of the food we had brought with us, and afterwards lay down torest in a little chamber, painted round with gods, that Martina found inthe ruins of the temple.
During that night no dreams came to me, nor did anything happen todisturb us, even in this old temple, of which the very paving-stoneswere worn through by the feet of the dead.
Before the dawn Martina led me back to the colossal statues, and wewaited there, hoping that we should hear them sing, as tradition saidthey did when the sun rose. Yet the sun came up as it had done from thebeginning of the world, and struck upon those giant effigies as it haddone for some two thousand years, or so I was told, and they remainedquite silent. I do not think that ever I grieved more over my blindnessthan on this day, when I must depend upon Martina to tell me of theglory of that sunrise over the Egyptian desert and those mighty ruinsreared by the hands of forgotten men.
Well, the sun rose, and, since the statues would not speak, I took myharp and played upon it, and Martina sang a wild Eastern song to myplaying. It seemed that our music was heard. At any rate, a few folkgoing out to labour came to see by whom it was caused, and finding onlytwo wandering musicians, presently went away again. Still, one remained,a woman, Coptic by her dress, with whom I heard Martina talk. Sheasked who we were and why we had come to such a place, whereon Martinarepeated to her the story which we had told a hundred times. The womananswered that we should earn little money in those parts, as the faminehad been sore there owing to the low Nile of the previous season. Untilthe crops were ripe again, which in the case of most of them would notbe for some weeks, even food, she added, must be scarce, though few wereleft to eat it, since the Moslems had killed out most of those who dweltin that district of Upper Egypt.
Martina replied that she knew this was so, and therefore we had proposedeither to travel on to Nubia or to return north. Still, as I, her blinduncle, was not well, we had landed from a boat hoping that we might findsome place where we could rest for a week or two until I grew stronger.
"Yet," she continued meaningly, "being poor Christian folk we know notwhere to look for such a place, since Cross worshippers are not welcomeamong those who follow the Prophet."
Now, when the woman heard that we were Christians her voice changed. "Ialso am a Christian," she said; "but give me the sign."
So we made the sign of the Cross on our breasts, which a Moslem will dierather than do.
"My husband and I," went on the woman, "live yonder at the village ofKurna, which is situated near to the mouth of the valley that is calledBiban-el-Meluk, or Gate of the Kings, for there the monarchs of olddays, who were the forefathers or rulers of us Copts, lie buried. It isbut a very small village, for the Moslems have killed most of us in awar that was raised a while ago between them and our hereditary prince,Magas. Yet my husband and I have a good house there, and, being poor,shall be glad to give you food and shelter if you can pay us something."
The end of it was that after some chaffering, for we dared not show thatwe had much money, a bargain was struck between us and this good woman,who was named Palka. Having paid her a week's charges in advance, sheled us to the village of Kurna, which was nearly an hour's walk away,and here made us known to her husband, a middle-aged man named Marcus,who took little note of anything save his farming.
This he carried on upon a patch of fertile ground that was irrigated bya spring which flowed from the mountains; also he had other lands nearto the Nile, where he grew corn and fodder for his beasts. In his house,that once had been part of some great stone building of the ancients,and still remained far larger than he could use, for this pair had nochildren, we were given two good rooms. Here we dwelt in comfort, since,notwithstanding the scarcity of the times, Marcus was richer than heseemed and lived well. As for the village of Kurna, its people all tolddid not amount to more than thirty souls, Christians every one of them,who were visited from time to time by a Coptic priest from some distantmonastery in the mountains.
By degrees we grew friendly with Palka, a pleasant, bustling woman ofgood birth, who loved to hear of the outside world. Moreover, she wasvery shrewd, and soon began to suspect that we were more than merewandering players.
Pretending to be weak and ill, I did not go out much, but followed herabout the house while she was working, talking to her on many matters.
Thus I led up the subject of Prince Magas and his rebellion, and learnedthat he had been killed at a place about fifty miles south from Kurna.Then I asked if it were true that his daughter had been killed with him.
"What do you know of the lady Heliodore?" she
asked sharply.
"Only that my niece, who for a while was a servant in the palace atByzantium before she was driven away with others after the Empress fell,saw her there. Indeed, it was her business to wait upon her and herfather the Prince. Therefore, she is interested in her fate."
"It seems that you are more interested than your niece, who has neverspoken a word to me concerning her," answered Palka. "Well, since youare a man, I should not have thought this strange, had you not beenblind, for they say she was the most beautiful woman in Egypt. As forher fate, you must ask God, since none know it. When the army of Musawas encamped yonder by the Nile my husband, Marcus, who had takentwo donkey-loads of forage for sale to the camp and was returning bymoonlight, saw her run past him, a red knife in her hand, her face settowards the Gateway of the Kings. After that he saw her no more, nor didanyone else, although they hunted long enough, even in the tombs, whichthe Moslems, like our people, fear to visit. Doubtless she fell or threwherself into some hole in the rocks; or perhaps the wild beasts ate her.Better so than that a child of the old Pharaohs should become the womanof an infidel."
"Yes," I answered, "better so. But why do folk fear to visit those tombsof which you speak, Palka?"
"Why? Because they are haunted, that is all, and even the bravest dreadthe sight of a ghost. How could they be otherwise than haunted, seeingthat yonder valley is sown with the mighty dead like a field with corn?"
"Yet the dead sleep quietly enough, Palka."
"Aye, the common dead, Hodur; but not these kings and queens andprinces, who, being gods of a kind, cannot die. It is said that theyhold their revels yonder at night with songs and wild laughter, and thatthose who look upon them come to an evil end within a year. Whether thisbe so I cannot say, since for many years none have dared to visit thatplace at night. Yet that they eat I know well enough."
"How do you know, Palka?"
"For a good reason. With the others in this village I supply theofferings of their food. The story runs that once the great building, ofwhich this house is a part, was a college of heathen priests whoseduty it was to make offerings to the dead in the royal tombs. When theChristians came, those priests were driven away, but we of Kurna wholive in their house still make the offerings. If we did not, misfortunewould overtake us, as indeed has always happened if they were forgottenor neglected. It is the rent that we pay to the ghosts of the kings.Twice a week we pay it, setting food and milk and water upon a certainstone near to the mouth of the valley."
"Then what happens, Palka?"
"Nothing, except that the offering is taken."
"By beggar folk, or perchance by wild creatures!"
"Would beggar folk dare to enter that place of death?" she answered withcontempt. "Or would wild beasts take the food and pile the dishes neatlytogether and replace the flat stones on the mouths of the jars of milkand water, as a housewife might? Oh! do not laugh. Of late this hasalways been done, as I who often fetch the vessels know well."
"Have you ever seen these ghosts, Palka?"
"Yes, once I saw one of them. It was about two months ago that I passedthe mouth of the valley after moonrise, for I had been kept out latesearching for a kid which was lost. Thinking that it might be in thevalley, I peered up it. As I was looking, from round a great rock glideda ghost. She stood still, with the moonlight shining on her, and gazedtowards the Nile. I, too, stood still in the shadow, thirty or fortypaces away. Then she threw up her arms as though in despair, turned andvanished."
"She!" I said, then checked myself and asked indifferently: "Well, whatwas the fashion of this ghost?"
"So far as I could see that of a young and beautiful woman, wearingsuch clothes as we find upon the ancient dead, only wrapped more looselyabout her."
"Had she aught upon her head, Palka?"
"Yes, a band of gold or a crown set upon her hair, and about her neckwhat seemed to be a necklace of green and gold, for the moonlightflashed upon it. It was much such a necklace as you wear beneath yourrobe, Hodur."
"And pray how do you know what I wear, Palka?" I asked.
"By means of what you lack, poor man, the eyes in my head. One nightwhen you were asleep I had need to pass through your chamber to reachanother beyond. You had thrown off your outer garment because of theheat, and I saw the necklace. Also I saw a great red sword lying by yourside and noted on your bare breast sundry scars, such as hunters andsoldiers come by. All of these things, Hodur, I thought strange, seeingthat I know you to be nothing but a poor blind beggar who gains hisbread by his skill upon the harp."
"There are beggars who were not always beggars, Palka," I said slowly.
"Quite so, Hodur, and there are great men and rich who sometimes appearto be beggars, and--many other things. Still, have no fear that we shallsteal your necklace or talk about the red sword or the gold with whichyour niece Hilda weights her garments. Poor girl, she has all the waysof a fine lady, one who has known Courts, as I think you said was thecase. It must be sad for her to have fallen so low. Still, have no fear,Hodur," and she took my hand and pressed it in a certain secret fashionwhich was practised among the persecuted Christians in the East whenthey would reveal themselves to each other. Then she went away laughing.
As for me, I sought Martina, who had been sleeping through the heat, andtold her everything.
"Well," she said when I had finished, "you should give thanks to God,Olaf, since without doubt this ghost is the lady Heliodore. So shouldJodd," I heard her add beneath her breath, for in my blindness my earshad grown very quick.
The Wanderer's Necklace Page 47