CHAPTER XVII Why Menna's Chairbearer Staked His All

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Menna, Overseer of the King’s Estates, was known to the Court as a hard and self-seeking man, and this in spite of his sleekness of skin, his luxurious habits and his untiring efforts to outshine the other “followers of the king” both in beauty of person, knowledge of literature and the arts, indeed, in all those visible evidences of culture which distinguished the Egyptian court.

In spite of this outward display and ostentation Menna, son of Menna, was appreciated at his full value by courtier, priest and peasant alike. Well they knew that but a tithe of the fat revenues which Menna collected for the king or had formerly collected for the unhappy Huy, Great High Priest of Amen, went to swell the royal “treasuries of gold and silver” or the “treasure of the god.” As yet, however, through fear of the Overseer’s “eyes and ears”—spies, native and foreign—no one had dared to inform upon him at the Palace.

In spite of all Menna could do to ingratiate himself with her, the Lady Sesen ever sought to avoid him. Yet Menna never despaired. His attentions were pressed upon her, in spite of all she could do to prevent. Recently the fringed Asiatic garments of his servants, an affectation of the much-traveled Prince, were seldom absent from her sight.

Yet to-day something had happened which might bring it well within the realms of possibility that she might break with the persistent Overseer once and for all.

During the course of one of her visits to the home of Ramses’ grandparents Enana had confided to her a secret which appeared to her astonished ears well-nigh incredible. For from him she learned the astounding news that Hanit, her former beloved mistress, Queen Hanit whom she had but yesterday it seemed, seen laid to rest yonder in the Valley of the Tombs, was alive, alive!

Rendered fairly dumb at once with amazement and joy, Sesen sat at Enana’s knees as if fascinated, her cheeks aglow, her eyes dancing with excitement, her lips parted as if she would drink in his every word.

This, then, was the reason of Enana’s feverish restlessness of late. Queen Thi herself, whom nothing escaped, had remarked it, had even commented upon it to Sesen.

Naturally, Sesen at the time could give no adequate explanation of the unusual behavior, the ill-restrained excitement, which seemed to agitate the wizened body of the old magician. And Queen Thi finally set it down as being due to loss of favor at court.

In fact, Enana had suddenly withdrawn entirely from all court functions. A faithful adherent of the great god, Amen of Thebes, and a brother of Huy, late High Priest of Amen, Enana could not but see in Thi and Pharaoh the murderers of Huy, his brother, and the implacable foes of Amen whom he loved and served.

So the shriveled body which Kathi had sworn was that of Hanit had been another’s. Sesen recalled that Enana had often remarked the striking resemblance which existed between the ex-Queen Hanit and the Lady Meryt.

It was Meryt’s body then which lay in its rock-hewn tomb back yonder swathed in yards of milk-white linens, encased in a triple cedar coffin glowing with gold and gem-incrustations! It was Meryt’s body which now rested in its huge granite sarcophagus, deep beneath the crumbling Western Hills! It was Meryt’s mummified form upon which she herself had placed that last sad offering, a chaplet of flowers, berries and leaves! Hanit, her beloved mistress, still lived!

Sesen could hardly follow Enana through the astounding threads of his story. She gathered that the ruse by which her mistress had been saved from certain death at Queen Thi’s hands had been Enana’s own, though its successful accomplishment had been due to the faithful Kathi.

Sesen begged to be allowed to visit Hanit, but Enana restrained her. He spoke of the terrible change in the demeanor of the once gentle and studious Queen. He spoke of her vindictive hatred of Pharaoh, of Thi and, more than these perhaps, of Menna, son of Menna, whom she considered the murderer of the prince, her son.

Since her escape from the Temple all her time had been spent in study, and that with but one end in view. Vengeance upon the trio whom she had such cause to hate had become with her an obsession.

It appeared that in the realms of black art Hanit had become the equal of Enana himself. Day and night had she pored over the lector’s rolls of papyrus, until each and every one of their incantations had become hers. She knew all the hidden spells of the Conjurers of Amen. She could part the waters at a word. Her ebony wand could cause grass to grow where no vegetation had lived before. Behead a bird or animal and, at a word from Hanit, it would spring to its feet alive and whole. Even the secrets of the masons and royal architects were hers. She knew the secret blocks of stone which, touched by even the weakest hand, opened or closed many a ponderous granite door of tomb or shrine.

Yes! She would have vengeance upon Pharaoh, upon Thi, upon Menna...!

At the mention of Menna’s name Sesen thoughtfully drew from the folds of her robe a small roll of papyrus, delicately scented and inscribed in black and red with another effusive expression of the Overseer’s undying passion and his plea for a tryst. Enana read it twice, then carefully rolled it up and placed it securely beneath his leather girdle, saying as he did so:

“Here may be found the bait to lure Prince Menna to his bitter doom! It reaches Hanit’s hands this very night! Verily, what said that sage of old, Imhotep? ‘Love is the greatest ally of the gods!’”

Trembling with suppressed excitement the old magician rose. He placed a caressing hand upon the head of the little Princess and departed somewhat abruptly, leaving her to marvel at the miraculous escape of her former mistress and to speculate as to the nature of Hanit’s vengeance upon Menna.

And Menna? Not long after Enana had left the little Princess the overjoyed Menna felt that he could, at last, afford to ignore the reports brought in by Bar and his other spies. Menna no longer feared the existence of an understanding between Renny and the little Princess. A note from Sesen, a note most tenderly inscribed, rested at the moment between Menna’s thumb and forefinger. He smiled as he placed the note to his lips. He inhaled the perfume of myrrh-paste, where Sesen’s fingers had touched the smooth papyrus. Sesen the Haughty, Sesen the Unapproachable, Sesen whom the great Ramses loved, had yielded to his attentions and passionate appeals. It had been a far longer siege than usually fell to the lot of the Overseer, but, at last, the usual stream of presents, poems, and entreaties had done its work. Sesen had agreed to meet him amidst the ruins near Mentuhotep’s shrine!

“Mentuhotep’s shrine? That forgotten ruin! An extraordinary place,” mused the Prince. For a moment he doubted the missive; a hint of suspicion clouded the gleam of triumph which glowed in his eyes.

Somewhat thoughtfully he reread the note. The next he had stretched his jeweled hand toward a little bronze mirror which rested upon an ivory rack at his elbow. It was a small mirror, its handle a maiden standing with arms outstretched as if to support the disk above.

But half conscious of what he was doing, Menna gazed at his handsome features as reflected in the burnished oval of the mirror. Slowly his features relaxed. He smiled, and, laying down the mirror, clapped his hands. He gave direction to the obsequious Syrian who immediately appeared, that Bentu, chief of his chair-bearers, be sent to him immediately.

Soon after, Bentu left his master’s presence, his face, wreathed in smiles, his ivory teeth flashing. Bentu walked on air, he could hardly refrain from snapping his fingers and dancing his joy like “the curly-headed ones,” as he hurried down the quiet corridors. An excursion such as his master planned for the morrow customarily ended well for Bentu, chief of the carriers.

Throughout the long night following, while Menna tossed upon his ivory-footed couch, Bentu gambled away his last worldly possessions.

At first Bentu lost three heifers at a throw. Then seven sheep went to Beq, the sculptor. Quickly followed the loss of thirty geese, the two gold uten which encircled his wrist, his hound Antef, and finally, most prized possession of all, his bright blue scarab-seal. All passed to Beq, the sculptor.

But what cared Bentu, the Carrier! In his master’s explicit directions as to clothes for the carriers, as to food and drink, Bentu scented an assignation. The new hood was to be put on the carrying-chair. It was a beautiful hood, made of the finest linen, in stripes of green and gold. A love affair without a doubt! There was a woman in it, and women—as Bentu knew full well—women paid well for messengers and—carriers!

Bentu curled himself up in a corner of Beq’s studio and went promptly to sleep. He feared to go home; his wife might ask questions, and Bentu was in mortal dread of Sebekmeryt his Nubian wife.


                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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