chariot with loud roars.  Mena lashed his whip, the horses started
forward and rushed with frantic plunges towards the fugitives, who
however could not be brought to a standstill, or rallied by the king's
voice--the enemy were close upon them, cutting them down.

"Where is Paaker?"  asked the king.  But the pioneer had vanished as
completely as if the earth had swallowed him and his chariot.

The flying Egyptians and the death-dealing chariots of the enemy came
nearer and nearer, the ground trembled, the tramp of hoofs and the roar
of wheels sounded louder and louder, like the roll of a rapidly
approaching storm.

Then Rameses gave out a war cry, that rang back from the cliffs on the
right hand and on the left like the blast of a trumpet; his chariot-guard
joined in the shout--for an instant the flying Egyptians paused, but only
to rush on again with double haste, in hope of escape and safety:
suddenly the war-cry of the enemy was heard behind the king, mingling
with the trumpet-call of the Cheta, and out from a cross valley, which
the king had passed unheeded by--and into which Paaker had disappeared--
came an innumerable host of chariots which, before the king could
retreat, had broken through the Egyptian ranks, and cut him off from the
body of his army.  Behind him he could hear the roar and shock of the
battle, in front of him he saw the fugitives, the fallen, and the enemy
growing each instant in numbers and fury.  He saw the whole danger, and
drew up his powerful form as if to prove whether it were an equal match
for such a foe.  Then, raising his voice to such a pitch, that it sounded
above the cries and groans of the fighting men, the words of command, the
neighing of the horses, the crash of overthrown chariots, the dull whirr
of lances and swords, their heavy blows on shields and helmets, and the
whole bewildering tumult of the battle--with a loud shout he drew his
bow, and his first arrow pierced a Cheta chief.

His lions sprang forward, and carried confusion into the hosts that were
crowding down upon him, for many of their horses became unmanageable at
the roar of the furious brutes, overthrew the chariots, and so hemmed the
advance of the troops in the rear.  Rameses sent arrow after arrow, while
Mena covered him with the shield from the shots of the enemy.  His horses
meanwhile had carried him forward, and he could fell the foremost of the
Asiatics with his battle-axe; close by his side fought Rameri and three
other princes; in front of him were the lions.

The press was fearful, and the raging of the battle wild and deafening,
like the roar of the surging ocean when it is hurled by a hurricane
against a rocky coast.

Mena seemed to be in two places at once, for, while he guided the horses
forwards, backwards, or to either hand, as the exigences of the position
demanded, not one of the arrows shot at the king touched him.  His eye
was everywhere, the shield always ready, and not an eyelash of the young
hero trembled, while Rameses, each moment more infuriated, incited his
lions with wild war-cries, and with flashing eyes advanced farther and
farther into the enemy's ranks.

Three arrows aimed, not at the king but at Mena himself, were sticking in
the charioteer's shield, and by chance he saw written on the shaft of one
of them the words "Death to Mena."

A fourth arrow whizzed past him.  His eye followed its flight, and as he
marked the spot whence it had come, a fifth wounded his shoulder, and he
cried out to the king:

"We are betrayed!  Look over there!  Paaker is fighting with the Cheta."

Once more the Mohar had bent his bow, and came so near to the king's
chariot that he could be heard exclaiming in a hoarse voice, as he let
the bowstring snap, "Now I will reckon with you--thief!  robber!  My bride
is your wife, but with this arrow I will win Mena's widow."

The arrow cut through the air, and fell with fearful force on the
charioteer's helmet; the shield fell from his grasp, and he put his hand
to his head, feeling stunned; he heard Paaker's laugh of triumph, he felt
another of his enemy's arrows cut his wrist, and, beside himself with
rage, he flung away the reins, brandished his battle-axe, and forgetting
himself and his duty, sprang from the chariot and rushed upon Paaker.
The Mohar awaited him with uplifted sword; his lips were white, his eyes
bloodshot, his wide nostrils trembled like those of an over-driven horse,
and foaming and hissing he flew at his mortal foe.  The king saw the two
engaged in a struggle, but he could not interfere, for the reins which
Mena had dropped were dragging on the ground, and his ungoverned horses,
following the lions, carried him madly onwards.

Most of his comrades had fallen, the battle raged all round him, but
Rameses stood as firm as a rock, held the shield in front of him, and
swung the deadly battle-axe; he saw Rameri hastening towards him with his
horses, the youth was fighting like a hero, and Rameses called out to
encourage him: "Well done! a worthy grandson of Seti!"

"I will win a new sword!"  cried the boy, and he cleft the skull of one
of his antagonists.  But he was soon surrounded by the chariots of the
enemy; the king saw the enemy pull down the young prince's horses, and
all his comrades--among whom were many of the best warriors--turn their
horses in flight.

Then one of the lions was pierced by a lance, and sank with a dying roar
of rage and pain that was heard above all the tumult.  The king himself
had been grazed by an arrow, a sword stroke had shivered his shield, and
his last arrow had been shot away.

Still spreading death around him, he saw death closing in upon him, and,
without giving up the struggle, he lifted up his voice in fervent prayer,
calling on Amon for support and rescue.

While thus in the sorest need he was addressing himself to the Lords of
Heaven, a tall Egyptian suddenly appeared in the midst of the struggle
and turmoil of the battle, seized the reins, and sprang into the chariot
behind the king, to whom he bowed respectfully.  For the first time
Rameses felt a thrill of fear.  Was this a miracle?  Had Amon heard his
prayer?

He looked half fearfully round at his new charioteer, and when he fancied
he recognized the features of the deceased Mohar, the father of the
traitor Paaker, he believed that Amon had assumed this aspect, and had
come himself to save him.

"Help is at hand!"  cried his new companion.  "If we hold our own for
only a short time longer, thou art saved, and victory is ours."

Then once more Rameses raised his war-cry, felled a Cheta, who was
standing close to him to the ground, with a blow on his skull, while the
mysterious supporter by his side, who covered him with the shield, on his
part also dealt many terrible strokes.

Thus some long minutes passed in renewed strife; then a trumpet sounded
above the roar of the battle, and this time Rameses recognized the call
of the Egyptians; from behind a low ridge on his right rushed some
thousands of men of the foot-legion of Ptah who, under the command of
Horus, fell upon the enemy's flank.  They saw their king, and the danger
he was in.  They flung themselves with fury on the foes that surrounded
him, dealing death as they advanced, and putting the Cheta to flight, and
soon Rameses saw himself safe, and protected by his followers.

But his mysterious friend in need had vanished.  He had been hit by an
arrow, and had fallen to the earth--a quite mortal catastrophe; but
Rameses still  believed that one of the Immortals had come to his rescue.

But the king granted no long respite to his horses and his fighting-men;
he turned to go back by the way by which he had come, fell upon the
forces which divided him from the main army, took them in the rear while
they were still occupied with his chariot-brigade which was already
giving way, and took most of the Asiatics prisoners who escaped the
arrows and  swords of the Egyptians.  Having rejoined the main body of
the troops, he pushed forwards across the plain where the Asiatic horse
and chariot-legions were engaged with the Egyptian swordsmen, and forced
the enemy back upon the river Orontes and the lake of Kadesh.  Night-fall
put an end to the battle, though early next morning the struggle was
renewed.

Utter discouragement had fallen upon the Asiatic allies, who had gone
into battle in full security of victory; for the pioneer Paaker had
betrayed his king into their hands.

When the Pharaoh had set out, the best chariot-warriors of the Cheta were
drawn up in a spot concealed by the city, and sent forward against
Rameses through the northern opening of the valley by which he was to
pass, while other troops of approved valor, in all two thousand five
hundred chariots, were to fall upon him from a cross valley where they
took up their position during the night.

These tactics had been successfully carried out, and notwithstanding the
Asiatics had suffered a severe defeat--besides losing some of their
noblest heroes, among them Titure their Chancellor, and Chiropasar, the
chronicler of the Cheta king, who could wield the sword as effectively as
the pen, and who, it was intended, should celebrate the victory of the
allies, and perpetuate its glory to succeeding generations.  Rameses had
killed one of these with his own hands, and his unknown companion the
other, and besides these many other brave captains of the enemy's troops.
The king was greeted as a god, when he returned to the camp, with shouts
of triumph and hymns of praise.

Even the temple-servants, and the miserable troops from Upper Egypt-
ground down by the long war, and bought over by Ani--were carried away by
the universal enthusiasm, and joyfully hailed the hero and king who had
successfully broken the stiff necks of his enemies.

The next duty was to seek out the dead and wounded; among the latter was
Mena; Rameri also was missing, but news was brought next day that he had
fallen into the hands of the enemy, and he was immediately exchanged for
the princess who had been sheltered in Mena's tent.

Paaker had disappeared; but the bays which he had driven into the battle
were found unhurt in front of his ruined and blood-sprinkled chariot.

The Egyptians were masters of Kadesh, and Chetasar, the king of the
Cheta, sued to be allowed to treat for peace, in his own name and in that
of his allies; but Rameses refused to grant any terms till he had
returned to the frontier of Egypt.  The conquered peoples had no choice,
and the representative of the Cheta king--who himself was wounded--and
twelve princes of the principal nations who had fought against Rameses,
were forced to follow his victorious train.  Every respect was shown
them, and they were treated as the king himself, but they were none the
less his prisoners.  The king was anxious to lose no time, for sad
suspicion filled his heart; a shadow hitherto unknown to his bright and
genial nature had fallen upon his spirit.

This was the first occasion on which one of his own people had betrayed
him to the enemy.  Paaker's deed had shaken his friendly confidence, and
in his petition for peace the Cheta prince had intimated that Rameses
might find much in his household to be set to rights--perhaps with a
strong hand.

The king felt himself more than equal to cope with Ani, the priests, and
all whom he had left in Egypt; but it grieved him to be obliged to feel
any loss of confidence, and it was harder to him to bear than any reverse
of fortune.  It urged him to hasten his return to Egypt.

There was another thing which embittered his victory.  Mena, whom he
loved as his own son, who understood his lightest sign, who, as soon as
be mounted his chariot, was there by his side like a part of himself--had
been dismissed from his office by the judgment of the commander-in-chief,
and no longer drove his horses.  He himself had been obliged to confirm
this decision as just and even mild, for that man was worthy of death who
exposed his king to danger for the gratification of his own revenge.

Rameses had not seen Mena since his struggle with Paaker, but he listened
anxiously to the news which was brought him of the progress of his sorely
wounded officer.

The cheerful, decided, and practical nature of Rameses was averse to
every kind of dreaminess or self-absorption, and no one had ever seen
him, even in hours of extreme weariness, give himself up to vague and
melancholy brooding; but now he would often sit gazing at the ground in
wrapt meditation, and start like an awakened sleeper when his reverie was
disturbed by the requirements of the outer world around him.  A hundred
times before he had looked death in the face, and defied it as he would
any other enemy, but now it seemed as though he felt the cold hand of
the mighty adversary on his heart.  He could not forget the oppressive
sense of helplessness which had seized him when he had felt himself at
the mercy of the unrestrained horses, like a leaf driven by the wind, and
then suddenly saved by a miracle.

A miracle?  Was it really Amon who had appeared in human form at his
call?  Was he indeed a son of the Gods, and did their blood flow in his
veins?

The Immortals had shown him peculiar favor, but still he was but a man;
that he realized from the pain in his wound, and the treason to which he
had been a victim.  He felt as if he had been respited on the very
scaffold.  Yes; he was a man like all other men, and so he would still
be.  He rejoiced in the obscurity that veiled his future, in the many
weaknesses which he had in common with those whom he loved, and even in
the feeling that he, under the same conditions of life as his
contemporaries, had more responsibilities than they.

Shortly after his victory, after all the important passes and strongholds
had been conquered by his troops, he set out for Egypt with his train and
the vanquished princes.  He sent two of his sons to Bent-Anat at Megiddo,
to escort her by sea to Pelusium; he knew that the commandant of the
harbor of that frontier fortress, at the easternmost limit of his
kingdom, was faithful to him, and he ordered that his daughter should not
quit the ship till he arrived, to secure her against any attempt on the
part of the Regent.  A large part of the material of war, and most of the
wounded, were also sent to Egypt by sea.



CHAPTER XL.

Nearly three months had passed since the battle of Kadesh, and to-day the
king was expected, on his way home with his victorious army, at Pelusium,
the strong hold and key of Egyptian dominion in the east.  Splendid
preparations had been made for his reception, and the man who took the
lead in the festive arrangements with a zeal that was doubly effective
from his composed demeanor was no less a person than the Regent Ani.

His chariot was to be seen everywhere: now he was with the workmen, who
were to decorate triumphal arches with fresh flowers; now with the
slaves, who were hanging garlands on the wooden lions erected on the road
for this great occasion; now--and this detained him longest--he watched
the progress of the immense palace which was being rapidly constructed of
wood on the site where formerly the camp of the Hyksos had stood, in
which the actual ceremony of receiving the king was to take place, and
where the Pharaoh and his immediate followers were to reside.  It had
been found possible, by employing several thousand laborers, to erect
this magnificent structure, in a few weeks, and nothing was lacking to it
that could be desired, even by a king so accustomed as Rameses to
luxury and splendor.  A high exterior flight of steps led from the
garden--which had been created out of a waste--to the vestibule,
out of which the banqueting hall opened.

This was of unusual height, and had a vaulted wooden ceiling, which was
painted blue and sprinkled with stars, to represent the night heavens,
and which was supported on pillars carved, some in the form of date-
palms, and some like cedars of Lebanon; the leaves and twigs consisted of
artfully fastened and colored tissue; elegant festoons of bluish gauze
were stretched from pillar to pillar across the hall, and in the centre
of the eastern wall they were attached to a large shell-shaped canopy
extending over the throne of the king, which was decorated with pieces of
green and blue glass, of mother of pearl, of shining plates of mica, and
other sparkling objects.

The throne itself had the shape of a buckler, guarded by two lions, which
rested on each side of it and formed the arms, and supported on the backs
of four Asiatic captives who crouched beneath its weight.  Thick carpets,
which seemed to have transported the sea-shore on to the dry land-for
their pale blue ground was strewn with a variety of shells, fishes, and
water plants-covered the floor of the banqueting hall, in which three
hundred seats were placed by the tables, for the nobles of the kingdom
and the officers of the troops.

Above all this splendor hung a thousand lamps, shaped like lilies and
tulips, and in the entrance hall stood a huge basket of roses to be
strewn before the king when he should arrive.

Even the bed-rooms for the king and his suite were splendidly decorated;
finely embroidered purple stuffs covered the walls, a light cloud of pale
blue gauze hung across the ceiling, and giraffe skins were laid instead
of carpets on the floors.

The barracks intended for the soldiers and bodyguard stood nearer to the
city, as well as the stable buildings, which were divided from the palace
by the garden which surrounded it.  A separate pavilion, gilt and
wreathed with flowers, was erected to receive the horses which had
carried the king through the battle, and which he had dedicated to the
Sun-God.

The Regent Ani, accompanied by Katuti, was going through the whole of
these slightly built structures.

"It  seems to  me all quite complete,"  said the widow.

"Only one thing I cannot make up my mind about," replied Ani, "whether
most to admire your inventive genius or your exquisite taste."

"Oh! let that pass," said Katuti smiling.  "If any thing deserves your
praise it is my anxiety to serve you.  How many things had to be
considered before this structure at last stood complete on this marshy
spot where the air seemed alive with disgusting insects and now it is
finished how long will it last?"

Ani looked down.  "How long?" he repeated.  Then he continued: "There is
great risk already of the plot miscarrying.  Ameni has grown cool, and
will stir no further in the matter; the troops on which I counted are
perhaps still faithful to me, but much too weak; the Hebrews, who tend
their flocks here, and whom I gained over by liberating them from forced
labor, have never borne arms.  And you know the people.  They will kiss
the feet of the conqueror if they have to wade up to there through the
blood of their children.  Besides--as it happens--the hawk which old Hekt
keeps as representing me is to-day pining and sick--"

"It will be all the prouder and brighter to-morrow if you are a man!"
exclaimed Katuti, and her eyes sparkled with scorn.  "You cannot now
retreat.  Here in Pelusium you welcome Rameses as if he were a God,
and he accepts the honor.  I know the king, he is too proud to be
distrustful, and so conceited that he can never believe himself deceived
in any man, either friend or foe.  The man whom he appointed to be his
Regent, whom he designated as the worthiest in the land, he will most
unwillingly condemn.  Today you still have the car of the king; to-morrow
he will listen to your enemies, and too much has occurred in Thebes to be
blotted out.  You are in the position of a lion who has his keeper on one
side, and the bars of his cage on the other.  If you let the moment pass
without striking you will remain in the cage; but if you act and show
yourself a lion your keepers are done for!"

"You urge me on and on," said Ani.  "But supposing your plan were to
fail, as Paaker's well considered plot failed?"

"Then you are no worse off than you are now," answered Katuti.  "The Gods
rule the elements, not men.  Is it likely that you should finish so
beautiful a structure with such care only to destroy it?  And we have no
accomplices, and need none."

"But who shall set the brand to the room which Nemu and the slave have
filled with straw and pitch?"  asked Ani.

"I," said Katuti decidedly.  "And one who has nothing to look for from
Rameses."

"Who is that?"

"Paaker."

Is the Mohar here?"  asked the Regent surprised.

"You yourself have seen him."

"You are mistaken," said Ani.  "I should--"

"Do you recollect the one-eyed, grey-haired, blackman, who yesterday
brought me a letter?  That was my sister's son."

The Regent struck his forehead--"Poor wretch" he muttered.

"He is frightfully altered," said Katuti.  "He need not have blackened
his face, for his own mother would not know him again:  He lost an eye in
his fight with Mena, who also wounded him in the lungs with a thrust of
his sword, so that he breathes and speaks with difficulty, his broad
shoulders have lost their flesh, and the fine legs he swaggered about on
have shrunk as thin as a negro's.  I let him pass as my servant without
any hesitation or misgiving.  He does not yet know of my purpose, but I
am sure that he would help us if a thousand deaths threatened him.  For
God's sake put aside all doubts and fears!  We will shake the tree for
you, if you will only hold out your hand to-morrow to pick up the fruit.
Only one thing I must beg.  Command the head butler not to stint the
wine, so that the guards may give us no trouble.  I know that you gave
the order that only three of the five ships which brought the contents of
your winelofts should be unloaded.  I should have thought that the future
king of Egypt might have been less anxious to save!"

Katuti's lips curled with contempt as she spoke the last words.  Ani
observed this and said:

"You think I am timid!  Well, I confess I would far rather that much
which I have done at your instigation could be undone.  I would willingly
renounce this new plot, though we so carefully planned it when we built
and decorated this palace.  I will sacrifice the wine; there are jars of
wine there that were old in my father's time--but it must be so!  You are
right!  Many things have occurred which the king will not forgive!  You
are right, you are right--do what seems good to you.  I will retire after
the feast to the Ethiopian camp."

"They will hail you as king as soon as the usurpers have fallen in the
flames," cried Katuti.  "If only a few set the example, the others will
take up the cry, and even though you have offended Ameni he will attach
himself to you rather than to Rameses.  Here he comes, and I already see
the standards in the distance."

"They are coming!"  said the Regent.  "One thing more! Pray see yourself
that the princess Bent-Anat goes to the rooms intended for her; she must
not be injured."

"Still Bent-Anat?"  said Katuti with a smile full of meaning but without
bitterness.  "Be easy, her rooms are on the ground floor, and she shall
be warned in time."

Ani turned to leave her; he glanced once more at the great hall, and said
with a sigh.  "My heart is heavy--I wish this day and this night were
over!"

"You are like this grand hall," said Katuti smiling, "which is now empty,
almost dismal; but this evening, when it is crowded with guests, it will
look very different.  You were born to be a king, and yet are not a king;
you will not be quite yourself till the crown and sceptre are your own."

Ani smiled too, thanked her, and left her; but Katuti said to herself:

"Bent-Anat may burn with the rest: I have no intention of sharing my
power with her!"

Crowds of men and women from all parts had thronged to Pelusium, to
welcome the conqueror and his victorious army on the frontier.  Every
great temple-college had sent a deputation to meet Rameses, that from the
Necropolis consisting of five members, with Ameni and old Gagabu at their
head.  The white-robed ministers of the Gods marched in solemn procession
towards the bridge which lay across the eastern-Pelusiac-arm of the Nile,
and led to Egypt proper--the land fertilized by the waters of the sacred
stream.

The deputation from the temple of Memphis led the procession; this temple
had been founded by Mena, the first king who wore the united crowns of
Upper and Lower Egypt, and Chamus, the king's son, was the high-priest.
The deputation from the not less important temple of Heliopolis came
next, and was followed by the representatives of the Necropolis of
Thebes.

A few only of the members of these deputations wore the modest white robe
of the simple priest; most of them were invested with the panther-skin
which was worn by the prophets.  Each bore a staff decorated with roses,
lilies, and green branches, and many carried censers in the form of a
golden arm with incense in the hollow of the hand, to be burnt before the
king.  Among the deputies from the priesthood at Thebes were several
women of high rank, who served in the worship of this God, and among them
was Katuti, who by the particular desire of the Regent had lately been
admitted to this noble sisterhood.

Ameni walked thoughtfully by the side of the prophet Gagabu.

"How differently everything has happened from what we hoped and
intended!" said Gagabu in a low voice.  "We are like ambassadors with
sealed credentials--who can tell their contents?"

"I welcome Rameses heartily and joyfully," said Ameni.  "After that which
happened to him at Kadesh he will come home a very different man to what
he was when he set out.  He knows now what he owes to Amon.  His favorite
son was already at the head of the ministers of the temple at Memphis,
and he has vowed to build magnificent temples and to bring splendid
offerings to the Immortals.  And Rameses keeps his word better than that
smiling simpleton in the chariot yonder."

"Still I am sorry for Ani," said Gagabu.

"The Pharaoh will not punish him--certainly not," replied the high-
priest.  "And he will have nothing to fear from Ani; he is a feeble reed,
the powerless sport of every wind."

"And yet you hoped for great things from him!"

"Not from him, but through him--with us for his guides," replied Ameni in
a low voice but with emphasis.  "It is his own fault that I have
abandoned his cause.  Our first wish--to spare the poet Pentaur--he would
not respect, and he did not hesitate to break his oath, to betray us, and
to sacrifice one of the noblest of God's creatures, as the poet was, to
gratify a petty grudge.  It is harder to fight against cunning weakness
than against honest enmity.  Shall we reward the man who has deprived the
world of Pentaur by giving him a crown?  It is hard to quit the trodden
way, and seek a better--to give up a half-executed plan and take a more
promising one; it is hard, I say, for the individual man, and makes him
seem fickle in the eyes of others; but we cannot see to the right hand
and the left, and if we pursue a great end we cannot remain within the
narrow limits which are set by law and custom to the actions of private
individuals.  We draw back just as we seem to have reached the goal, we
let him fall whom we had raised, and lift him, whom we had stricken to
the earth, to the pinnacle of glory, in short we profess--and for
thousands of years have professed--the doctrine that every path is a
right one that leads to the great end of securing to the priesthood the
supreme power in the land.  Rameses, saved by a miracle, vowing temples
to the Gods, will for the future exhaust his restless spirit not in
battle as a warrior, but in building as an architect.  He will make use
of us, and we can always lead the man who needs us.  So I now hail the
son of Seti with sincere joy."

Ameni was still speaking when the flags were hoisted on the standards by
the triumphal arches, clouds of dust rolled up on the farther shore of
the Nile, and the blare of trumpets was heard.

First came the horses which had carried Rameses through the fight, with
the king himself, who drove them.  His eyes sparkled with joyful triumph
as the people on the farther side of the bridge received him with shouts
of joy, and the vast multitude hailed him with wild enthusiasm and tears
of emotion, strewing in his path the spoils of their gardens-flowers,
garlands, and palm-branches.

Ani marched at the head of the procession that went forth to meet him;
he humbly threw himself in the dust before the horses, kissed the ground,
and then presented to the king the sceptre that had been entrusted to
him, lying on a silk cushion.  The king received it graciously, and when
Ani took his robe to kiss it, the king bent down towards him, and
touching the Regent's forehead with his lips, desired him to take the
place by his side in the chariot, and fill the office of charioteer.

The king's eyes were moist with grateful emotion.  He had not been
deceived, and he could re-enter the country for whose greatness and
welfare alone he lived, as a father, loving and beloved, and not as a
master to judge and punish.  He was deeply moved as he accepted the
greetings of the priests, and with them offered up a public prayer.
Then he was conducted to the splendid structure which had been prepared
for him gaily mounted the outside steps, and from the top-most stair
bowed to his innumerable crowd of subjects; and while he awaited the
procession from the harbor which escorted Bent-Anat in her litter, he
inspected the thousand decorated bulls and antelopes which were to be
slaughtered as a thank-offering to the Gods, the tame lions and leopards,
the rare trees in whose branches perched gaily-colored birds, the
giraffes, and chariots to which ostriches were harnessed, which all
marched past him in a long array.

[The splendor of the festivities I make Ani prepare seems pitiful
compared with those Ptolemy Philadelphus, according to the report of
an eye witness, Callexenus, displayed to the Alexandrians on a
festal occasion.]

Rameses embraced his daughter before all the people; he felt as if he
must admit his subjects to the fullest sympathy in the happiness and deep
thankfulness which filled his soul.  His favorite child had never seemed
to him so beautiful as this day, and he realized with deep emotion her
strong resemblance to his lost wife.--[Her name was Isis Nefert.]

Nefert had accompanied her royal friend as fanbearer, and she knelt
before the king while he gave himself up to the delight of meeting his
daughter.  Then he observed her, and kindly desired her to rise.  "How
much," he said, "I am feeling to-day for the first time!  I have already
learned that what I formerly thought of as the highest happiness is
capable of a yet higher pitch, and I now perceive that the most beautiful
is capable of growing to greater beauty!  A sun has grown from Mena's
star."

Rameses, as he spoke, remembered his charioteer; for a moment his brow
was clouded, and he cast down his eyes, and bent his head in thought.

Bent-Anat well knew this gesture of her father's; it was the omen of some
kindly, often sportive suggestion, such as he loved to surprise his
friends with.

He reflected longer than usual; at last he looked up, and his full eyes
rested lovingly on his daughter as he asked her:

"What did your friend say when she heard that her husband had taken a
pretty stranger into his tent, and harbored her there for months?  Tell
me the whole truth of it, Bent-Anat."

"I am indebted to this deed of Mena's, which must certainly be quite
excusable if you can smile when you speak of it," said the princess,
"for it was the cause of his wife's coming to me.  Her mother blamed her
husband with bitter severity, but she would not cease to believe in him,
and left her house because it was impossible for her to endure to hear
him blamed."

"Is this the fact?"  asked Rameses.

Nefert bowed her pretty head, and two tears ran down her blushing cheeks.

"How good a man must be," cried the king, "on whom the Gods bestow such
happiness!  My lord Chamberlain, inform Mena that I require his services
at dinner to-day--as before the battle at Kadesh.  He flung away the
reins in the fight when he saw his enemy, and we shall see if he can keep
from flinging down the beaker when, with his own eyes, he sees his
beloved wife sitting at the table.--You ladies will join me at the
banquet."

Nefert sank on her knees before the king; but he turned from her to speak
to the nobles and officers who had come to meet him, and then proceeded
to the temple to assist at the slaughter of the victims, and to solemnly
renew his vow in the presence of the priests and the people, to erect a
magnificent temple in Thebes as a thank-offering for his preservation
from death.  He was received with rapturous enthusiasm; his road led to
the harbor, past the tents in which lay the wounded, who had been brought
home to Egypt by ship, and he greeted them graciously from his chariot.

Ani again acted as his charioteer; they drove slowly through the long
ranks of invalids and convalescents, but suddenly Ani gave the reins an
involuntary pull, the horses reared, and it was with difficulty that he
soothed them to a steady pace again.

Rameses looked round in anxious surprise, for at the moment when the
horses had started, he too had felt an agitating thrill--he thought he
had caught sight of his preserver at Kadesh.

Had the sight of a God struck terror into the horses?  Was he the victim
of a delusion? or was his preserver a man of flesh and blood, who had
come home from the battle-field among the wounded!

The man who stood by his side, and held the reins, could have informed
him, for Ani had recognized Pentaur, and in his horror had given the
reins a perilous jerk.




CHAPTER XLI.

The king did not return to the great pavilion till after sun-down; the
banqueting hall, illuminated with a thousand lamps, was now filled with
the gay crowd of guests who awaited the arrival of the king.  All bowed
before him, as he entered, more or less low, each according to his rank;
he immediately seated himself on his throne, surrounded by his children
in a wide semicircle, and his officers and retainers all passed before
him; for each he had a kindly word or glance, winning respect from all,
and filling every one with joy and hope.

"The only really divine attribute of my royal condition," said he to
himself, "is that it is so easy to a king to make men happy.  My
predecessors chose the poisonous Uraeus as the emblem of their authority,
for we can cause death as quickly and certainly as the venomous snake;
but the power of giving happiness dwells on our own lips, and in our own
eyes, and we need some instrument when we decree death."

"Take the Uraeus crown from my head," he continued aloud, as he seated
himself at the feast.  "Today I will wear a wreath of flowers."

During the ceremony of bowing to the king, two men had quitted the hall--
the Regent Ani, and the high-priest Ameni.

Ani ordered a small party of the watch to go and seek out the priest
Pentaur in the tents of the wounded by the harbor, to bring the poet
quietly to his tent, and to guard him there till his return.  He still
had in his possession the maddening potion, which he was to have given to
the captain of the transport-boat, and it was open to him still to
receive Pentaur either as a guest or as a prisoner.  Pentaur might injure
him, whether Katuti's project failed or succeeded.

Ameni left the pavilion to go to see old Gagabu, who had stood so long in
the heat of the sun during the ceremony of receiving the conqueror, that
he had been at last carried fainting to the tent which he shared with the
high-priest, and which was not far from that of the Regent.  He found the
old man much revived, and was preparing to mount his chariot to go to the
banquet, when the Regent's myrmidons led Pentaur past in front of him.
Ameni looked doubtfully at the tall and noble figure of the prisoner, but
Pentaur recognized him, called him by his name, and in a moment they
stood together, hand clasped in hand.  The guards showed some uneasiness,
but Ameni explained who he was.

The high-priest was sincerely rejoiced at the preservation and
restoration of his favorite disciple, whom for many months he had mourned
as dead; he looked at his manly figure with fatherly tenderness, and
desired the guards, who bowed to his superior dignity, to conduct his
friend, on his responsibility; to his tent instead of to Ani's.

There Pentaur found his old friend Gagabu, who wept with delight at his
safety.  All that his master had accused him of seemed to be forgotten.
Ameni had him clothed in a fresh white robe, he was never tired of
looking at him, and over and over again clapped his hand upon his
shoulder, as if he were his own son that had been lost and found again.

Pentaur was at once required to relate all that had happened to him, and