CHAPTER XVI.




Klea obeyed the high-priest's command at once, and wandered--not knowing
exactly whither--from one corridor to another of the huge pile, till she
was startled by the sound of the great brazen plate, struck with mighty
blows, which rang out to the remotest nook and corner of the precincts.
This call was for her too, and she went forthwith into the great court
of assembly, which at every moment grew fuller and fuller.  The temple-
servants and the keepers of the beasts, the gate-keepers, the litter-
bearers, the water-carriers-all streamed in from their interrupted meal,
some wiping their mouths as they hurried in, or still holding in their
hands a piece of bread, a radish, or a date which they hastily munched;
the washer-men and women came in with hands still wet from washing the
white robes of the priests, and the cooks arrived with brows still
streaming from their unfinished labors.  Perfumes floated round from the
unwashed hands of the pastophori, who had been busied in the laboratories
in the preparation of incense, while from the library and writing-rooms
came the curators and scribes and the officials of the temple counting-
house, their hair in disorder, and their light working-dress stained with
red or black.  The troop of singers, male and female, came in orderly
array, just as they had been assembled for practice, and with them came
the faded twins to whom Klea and Irene had been designated as successors
by Asclepiodorus.  Then came the pupils of the temple-school, tumbling
noisily into the court-yard in high delight at this interruption to their
lessons.  The eldest of these were sent to bring in the great canopy
under which the heads of the establishment might assemble.

Last of all appeared Asclepiodorus, who handed to a young scribe a
complete list of all the inhabitants and members of the temple, that he
might read it out.  This he proceeded to do; each one answered with an
audible "Here" as his name was called, and for each one who was absent
information was immediately given as to his whereabouts.

Klea had joined the singing-women, and awaited in breathless anxiety a
long-endlessly long-time for the name of her sister to be called; for it
was not till the very smallest of the school-boys and the lowest of the
neat-herds had answered, "Here," that the scribe read out, "Klea, the
water-bearer," and nodded to her in answer as she replied "Here!"

Then his voice seemed louder than before as he read.  "Irene, the water-
bearer."

No answer following on these words, a slight movement, like the bowing
wave that flies over a ripe cornfield when the morning breeze sweeps
across the ears, was evident among the assembled inhabitants of the
temple, who waited in breathless silence till Asclepiodorus stood forth,
and said in a distinct and audible voice:

"You have all met here now at my call.  All have obeyed it excepting
those holy men consecrated to Serapis, whose vows forbid their breaking
their seclusion, and Irene, the water-bearer.  Once more I call, 'Irene,'
a second, and a third time--and still no answer; I now appeal to you all
assembled here, great and small, men and women who serve Serapis.  Can
any one of you give any information as to the whereabouts of this young
girl?  Has any one seen her since, at break of day, she placed the first
libation from the Well of the Sun on the altar of the god?  You are all
silent!  Then no one has met her in the course of this day?  Now, one
question more, and whoever can answer it stand forth and speak the words
of truth.

"By which gate did this lady of rank depart who visited the temple early
this morning?--By the eastern gate--good.

"Was she alone?--She was.

"By which gate did the epistolographer Eulaeus depart?--By the east.

"Was he alone?--He was.

"Did any one here present meet the chariot either of the lady or of
Eulaeus?"

"I did," cried a car-driver, whose daily duty it was to go to Memphis
with his oxen and cart to fetch provisions for the kitchen, and other
necessaries.

"Speak," said the high-priest.

"I saw," replied the man, "the white horses of my Lord Eulaeus hard by
the vineyard of Khakem; I know them well.  They were harnessed to a
closed chariot, in which besides himself sat a lady."

"Was it Irene?"  asked Asclepiodorus.

"I do not know," replied the tarter, "for I could not see who sat in the
chariot, but I heard the voice of Eulaeus, and then a woman's laugh.  She
laughed so heartily that I had to screw my mouth up myself, it tickled me
so."

While Klea supposed this description to apply to Irene's merry laugh-
which she had never thought of with regret till this moment--the high-
priest exclaimed:

"You, keeper of the eastern gate, did the lady and Eulaeus enter and
leave this sanctuary together?"

"No," was the answer.  "She came in half an hour later than he did, and
she quitted the temple quite alone and long after the eunuch."

"And Irene did not pass through your gate, and cannot have gone out by
it?--I ask you in the name of the god we serve!"

"She may have done so, holy father," answered the gate-keeper in much
alarm.  "I have a sick child, and to look after him I went into my room
several times; but only for a few minutes at a time-still, the gate
stands open, all is quiet in Memphis now."

"You have done very wrong," said Asclepiodorus severely, "but since you
have told the truth you may go unpunished.  We have learned enough.  All
you gate-keepers now listen to me.  Every gate of the temple must be
carefully shut, and no one--not even a pilgrim nor any dignitary from
Memphis, however high a personage he may be--is to enter or go out
without my express permission; be as alert as if you feared an attack,
and now go each of you to his duties."

The assembly dispersed; these to one side, those to another.

Klea did not perceive that many looked at her with suspicion as
though she were responsible for her sister's conduct, and others with
compassion; she did not even notice the twin-sisters, whose place she and
Irene were to have filled, and this hurt the feelings of the good elderly
maidens, who had to perform so much lamenting which they did not feel at
all, that they eagerly seized every opportunity of expressing their
feelings when, for once in a way, they were moved to sincere sorrow.
But neither these sympathizing persons nor any other of the inhabitants
of the temple, who approached Klea with the purpose of questioning or of
pitying her, dared to address her, so stern and terrible was the solemn
expression of her eyes which she kept fixed upon the ground.

At last she remained alone in the great court; her heart beat faster
unusual, and strange and weighty thoughts were stirring in her soul.
One thing was clear to her: Eulaeus--her father's ruthless foe and
destroyer--was now also working the fall of the child of the man he
had ruined, and, though she knew it not, the high-priest shared her
suspicions.  She, Klea, was by no means minded to let this happen without
an effort at defence, and it even became clearer and clearer to her mind
that it was her duty to act, and without delay.  In the first instance
she would ask counsel of her friend Serapion; but as she approached his
cell the gong was sounded which summoned the priests to service, and at
the same time warned her of her duty of fetching water.

Mechanically, and still thinking of nothing but Irene's deliverance, she
fulfilled the task which she was accustomed to perform every day at the
sound of this brazen clang, and went to her room to fetch the golden jars
of the god.

As she entered the empty room her cat sprang to meet her with two leaps
of joy, putting up her back, rubbing her soft head against her feet with
her fine bushy tail ringed with black stripes set up straight, as cats
are wont only when they are pleased.  Klea was about to stroke the
coaxing animal, but it sprang back, stared at her shyly, and, as she
could not help thinking, angrily with its green eyes, and then shrank
back into the corner close to Irene's couch.

"She mistook me!"  thought Klea.  "Irene is more lovable than I even to
a beast, and Irene, Irene--"  She sighed deeply at the name, and would
have sunk down on her trunk there to consider of new ways and means--all
of which however she was forced to reject as foolish and impracticable--
but on the chest lay a little shirt she had begun to make for little
Philo, and this reminded her again of the sick child and of the duty of
fetching the water.

Without further delay she took up the jars, and as she went towards the
well she remembered the last precepts that had been given her by her
father, whom she had once been permitted to visit in prison.  Only a few
detached sentences of this, his last warning speech, now came into her
mind, though no word of it had escaped her memory; it ran much as
follows:

"It may seem as though I had met with an evil recompense from the gods
for my conduct in adhering to what I think just and virtuous; but it only
seems so, and so long as I succeed in living in accordance with nature,
which obeys an everlasting law, no man is justified in accusing me.  My
own peace of mind especially will never desert me so long as I do not set
myself to act in opposition to the fundamental convictions of my inmost
being, but obey the doctrines of Zeno and Chrysippus.  This peace every
one may preserve, aye, even you, a woman, if you constantly do what you
recognize to be right, and fulfil the duties you take upon yourself.  The
very god himself is proof and witness of this doctrine, for he grants to
him who obeys him that tranquillity of spirit which must be pleasing in
his eyes, since it is the only condition of the soul in which it appears
to be neither fettered and hindered nor tossed and driven; while he, on
the contrary, who wanders from the paths of virtue and of her daughter,
stern duty, never attains peace, but feels the torment of an unsatisfied
and hostile power, which with its hard grip drags his soul now on and now
back.

"He who preserves a tranquil mind is not miserable, even in misfortune,
and thankfully learns to feel con tented in every state of life; and that
because he is filled with those elevated sentiments which are directly
related to the noblest portion of his being--those, I mean--of justice
and goodness.  Act then, my child, in conformity with justice and duty,
regardless of any ulterior object, without considering whether your
action will bring you pleasure or pain, without fear of the judgment of
men or the envy of the gods, and you will win that peace of mind which
distinguishes the wise from the unwise, and may be happy even in adverse
circumstances; for the only real evil is the dominion of wickedness, that
is to say the unreason which rebels against nature, and the only true
happiness consists in the possession of virtue.  He alone, however, can
call virtue his who possesses it wholly, and sins not against it in the
smallest particular; for there is no difference of degrees either in good
or in evil, and even the smallest action opposed to duty, truth or
justice, though punishable by no law, is a sin, and stands in opposition
to virtue.

"Irene," thus Philotas had concluded his injunctions, "cannot as yet
understand this doctrine, but you are grave and have sense beyond your
years.  Repeat this to her daily, and when the time comes impress on your
sister--towards whom you must fill the place of a mother--impress on her
heart these precepts as your father's last will and testament."

And now, as Klea went towards the well within the temple-wall to fetch
water, she repeated to herself many of these injunctions; she felt
herself encouraged by them, and firmly resolved not to give her sister up
to the seducer without a struggle.

As soon as the vessels for libation at the altar were filled she returned
to little Philo, whose state seemed to her to give no further cause for
anxiety; after staying with him for more than an hour she left the gate-
keeper's dwelling to seek Serapion's advice, and to divulge to him all
she had been able to plan and consider in the quiet of the sick-room.

The recluse was wont to recognize her step from afar, and to be looking
out for her from his window when she went to visit him; but to-day he
heard her not, for he was stepping again and again up and down the few
paces which the small size of his tiny cell allowed him to traverse.  He
could reflect best when he walked up and down, and he thought and thought
again, for he had heard all that was known in the temple regarding
Irene's disappearance; and he would, he must rescue her--but the more he
tormented his brain the more clearly he saw that every attempt to snatch
the kidnapped girl from the powerful robber must in fact be vain.

"And it must not, it shall not be!" he had cried, stamping his great
foot, a few minutes before Klea reached his cell; but as soon as he was
aware of her presence he made an effort to appear quite easy, and cried
out with the vehemence which characterized him even in less momentous
circumstances:

"We must consider, we must reflect, we must puzzle our brains, for the
gods have been napping this morning, and we must be doubly wide-awake.
Irene--our little Irene--and who would have thought it yesterday!  It is
a good-for-nothing, unspeakably base knave's trick--and now, what can we
do to snatch the prey from the gluttonous monster, the savage wild beast,
before he can devour our child, our pet little one?

"Often and often I have been provoked at my own stupidity, but never,
never have I felt so stupid, such a godforsaken blockhead as I do now.
When I try to consider I feel as if that heavy shutter had been nailed
clown on my head.  Have you had any ideas?  I have not one which would
not disgrace the veriest ass--not a single one."

"Then you know everything? "asked Klea, "even that it is probably our
father's enemy, Eulaeus, who has treacherously decoyed the poor child to
go away with him?"

"Yes, Yes!"  cried Serapion, "wherever there is some scoundrel's trick to
be played he must have a finger in the pie, as sure as there must be meal
for bread to be made.  But it is a new thing to me that on this occasion
he should be Euergetes' tool.  Old Philammon told me all about it.  Just
now the messenger came back from Memphis, and brought a paltry scrap of
papyrus on which some wretched scribbler had written in the name of
Philometer, that nothing was known of Irene at court, and complaining
deeply that Asclepiodorus had not hesitated to play an underhand game
with the king.  So they have no idea whatever of voluntarily releasing
our child."

"Then I shall proceed to do my duty," said Klea resolutely.  "I shall go
to Memphis, and fetch my sister."

"The anchorite stared at the girl in horror, exclaiming: "That is folly,
madness, suicide!  Do you want to throw two victims into his jaws instead
of one?"

"I can protect myself, and as regards Irene, I will claim the queen's
assistance.  She is a woman, and will never suffer--"

"What is there in this world that she will not suffer if it can procure
her profit or pleasure?  Who knows what delightful thing Euergetes may
not have promised her in return for our little maid?  No, by Serapis!
no, Cleopatra will not help you, but--and that is a good idea--there is
one who will to a certainty.  We must apply to the Roman Publius Scipio,
and he will have no difficulty in succeeding."

"From him," exclaimed Klea, coloring scarlet, "I will accept neither good
nor evil; I do not know him, and I do not want to know him."

"Child, child!" interrupted the recluse with grave chiding.  "Does your
pride then so far outweigh your love, your duty, and concern for Irene?
What, in the name of all the gods, has Publius done to you that you avoid
him more anxiously than if he were covered with leprosy?  There is a
limit to all things, and now--aye, indeed--I must out with it come what
may, for this is not the time to pretend to be blind when I see with both
eyes what is going on--your heart is full of the Roman, and draws you to
him; but you are an honest girl, and, in order to remain so, you fly from
him because you distrust yourself, and do not know what might happen if
he were to tell you that he too has been hit by one of Eros' darts.  You
may turn red and white, and look at me as if I were your enemy, and
talking contemptible nonsense.  I have seen many strange things, but I
never saw any one before you who was a coward out of sheer courage, and
yet of all the women I know there is not one to whom fear is less known
than my bold and resolute Klea.  The road is a hard one that you must
take, but only cover your poor little heart with a coat of mail, and
venture in all confidence to meet the Roman, who is an excellent good
fellow.  No doubt it will be hard to you to crave a boon, but ought you
to shrink from those few steps over sharp stones?  Our poor child is
standing on the edge of the abyss; if you do not arrive at the right
time, and speak the right words to the only person who is able to help in
this matter, she will be thrust into the foul bog and sink in it, because
her brave sister was frightened at--herself!"

Klea had cast down her eyes as the anchorite addressed her thus; she
stood for some time frowning at the ground in silence, but at last she
said, with quivering lips and as gloomily as if she were pronouncing a
sentence on herself.

"Then I will ask the Roman to assist me; but how can I get to him?"

"Ah!--now my Klea is her father's daughter once more," answered Serapion,
stretching out both his arms towards her from the little window of his
cell; and then he went on: "I can make the painful path somewhat smoother
for you.  My brother Glaucus, who is commander of the civic guard in the
palace, you already know; I will give you a few words of recommendation
to him, and also, to lighten your task, a little letter to Publius
Scipio, which shall contain a short account of the matter in hand.  If
Publius wishes to speak with you yourself go to him and trust him, but
still more trust yourself.

"Now go, and when you have once more filled the water-jars come back to
me, and fetch the letters.  The sooner you can go the better, for it
would be well that you should leave the path through the desert behind
you before nightfall, for in the dark there are often dangerous tramps
about.  You will find a friendly welcome at my sister Leukippa's; she
lives in the toll-house by the great harbor--show her this ring and she
will give you a bed, and, if the gods are merciful, one for Irene too."

"Thank you, father," said Klea, but she said no more, and then left him
with a rapid step.

Serapion looked lovingly after her; then he took two wooden tablets faced
with wax out of his chest, and, with a metal style, he wrote on one a
short letter to his brother, and on the other a longer one to the Roman,
which ran as follows:

"Serapion, the recluse of Serapis, to Publius Cornelius Scipio Nasica,
the Roman.

"Serapion greets Publius Scipio, and acquaints him that Irene, the
younger sister of Klea, the water-bearer, has disappeared from this
temple, and, as Serapion suspects, by the wiles of the epistolographer
Eulaeus, whom we both know, and who seems to have acted under the orders
of King Ptolemy Euergetes.  Seek to discover where Irene can be.  Save
her if thou canst from her ravishers, and conduct her back to this temple
or deliver her in Memphis into the hands of my sister Leukippa, the wife
of the overseer of the harbor, named Hipparchus, who dwells in the toll-
house.  May Serapis preserve thee and thine."

The recluse had just finished his letters when Klea returned to him.
The girl hid them in the folds of the bosom of her robe, said farewell to
her friend, and remained quite grave and collected, while Serapion, with
tears in his eyes, stroked her hair, gave her his parting blessing, and
finally even hung round her neck an amulet for good luck, that his mother
had worn--it was an eye in rock-crystal with a protective inscription.
Then, without any further delay, she set out towards the temple gate,
which, in obedience to the commands of the high priest, was now locked.
The gate-keeper--little Philo's father--sat close by on a stone bench,
keeping guard.  In a friendly tone Klea asked him to open the gate; but
the anxious official would not immediately comply with her request, but
reminded her of Asclepiodorus' strict injunctions, and informed her that
the great Roman had demanded admission to the temple about three hours
since, but had been refused by the high-priest's special orders.  He had
asked too for her, and had promised to return on the morrow.

The hot blood flew to Klea's face and eyes as she heard this news.
Could Publius no more cease to think of her than she of him?  Had
Serapion guessed rightly?  "The darts of Eros"--the recluse's phrase
flashed through her mind, and struck her heart as if it were itself a
winged arrow; it frightened her and yet she liked it, but only for one
brief instant, for the utmost distrust of her own weakness came over her
again directly, and she told herself with a shudder that she was on the
high-road to follow up and seek out the importunate stranger.

All the horrors of her undertaking stood vividly before her, and if she
had now retraced her steps she would not have been without an excuse to
offer to her own conscience, since the temple-gate was closed, and might
not be opened to any one, not even to her.

For a moment she felt a certain satisfaction in this flattering
reflection, but as she thought again of Irene her resolve was once more
confirmed, and going closer up to the gate-keeper she said with great
determination:

"Open the gate to me without delay; you know that I am not accustomed to
do or to desire anything wrong.  I beg of you to push back the bolt at
once."

The man to whom Klea had done many kindnesses, and whom Imhotep had that
very day told that she was the good spirit of his house, and that he
ought to venerate her as a divinity--obeyed her orders, though with some
doubt and hesitation.  The heavy bolt flew back, the brazen gate opened,
the water-bearer stepped out, flung a dark veil over her head, and set
out on her walk.




ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

If you want to catch mice you must waste bacon
Man works with all his might for no one but himself
Nothing permanent but change
Nothing so certain as that nothing is certain
Priests that they should instruct the people to be obedient






THE SISTERS

By Georg Ebers

Volume 4.



CHAPTER XVII.

A paved road, with a row of Sphinxes on each side, led from the Greek
temple of Serapis to the rock-hewn tombs of Apis, and the temples and
chapels built over them, and near them; in these the Apis bull after its
death--or "in Osiris" as the phrase went--was worshipped, while, so long
as it lived, it was taken care of and prayed to in the temple to which it
belonged, that of the god Ptah at Memphis.  After death these sacred
bulls, which were distinguished by peculiar marks, had extraordinarily
costly obsequies; they were called the risen Ptah, and regarded as the
symbol of the soul of Osiris, by whose procreative power all that dies or
passes away is brought to new birth and new life--the departed soul of
man, the plant that has perished, and the heavenly bodies that have set.
Osiris-Sokari, who was worshipped as the companion of Osiris, presided
over the wanderings which had to be performed by the seemingly extinct
spirit before its resuscitation as another being in a new form; and
Egyptian priests governed in the temples of these gods, which were purely
Egyptian in style, and which had been built at a very early date over the
tomb-cave of the sacred bulls.  And even the Greek ministers of Serapis,
settled at Memphis, were ready to follow the example of their rulers and
to sacrifice to Osiris-Apis, who was closely allied to Serapis--not only
in name but in his essential attributes.  Serapis himself indeed was a
divinity introduced from Asia into the Nile valley by the Ptolemies, in
order to supply to their Greek and Egyptian subjects alike an object of
adoration, before whose altars they could unite in a common worship.
They devoted themselves to the worship of Apis in Osiris at the shrines,
of Greek architecture, and containing stone images of bulls, that stood
outside the Egyptian sanctuary, and they were very ready to be initiated
into the higher significance of his essence; indeed, all religious
mysteries in their Greek home bore reference to the immortality of the
soul and its fate in the other world.

Just as two neighboring cities may be joined by a bridge, so the Greek
temple of Serapis--to which the water-bearers belonged--was connected
with the Egyptian sanctuary of Osiris-Apis by the fine paved road for
processions along which Klea now rapidly proceeded.  There was a shorter
way to Memphis, but she chose this one, because the mounds of sand on
each side of the road bordered by Sphinxes--which every day had to be
cleared of the desert-drift--concealed her from the sight of her
companions in the temple; besides the best and safest way into the city
was by a road leading from a crescent, decorated with busts of the
philosophers, that lay near the principal entrance to the new Apis tombs.

She looked neither at the lion-bodies with men's heads that guarded the
way, nor at the images of beasts on the wall that shut it in; nor did she
heed the dusky-hued temple-slaves of Osiris-Apis who were sweeping the
sand from the paved way with large brooms, for she thought of nothing but
Irene and the difficult task that lay before her, and she walked swiftly
onwards with her eyes fixed on the ground.

But she had taken no more than a few steps when she heard her name called
quite close to her, and looking up in alarm she found herself standing
opposite Krates, the little smith, who came close up to her, took hold of
her veil, threw it back a little before she could prevent him, and asked:

"Where are you off to, child?"

"Do not detain me," entreated Klea.  "You know that Irene, whom you are
always so fond of, has been carried off; perhaps I may be able to save
her, but if you betray me, and if they follow me--"

"I will not hinder you," interrupted the old man.  "Nay, if it were not
for these swollen feet I would go with you, for I can think of nothing
else but the poor dear little thing; but as it is I shall be glad enough
when I am sitting still again in my workshop; it is exactly as if a
workman of my own trade lived in each of my great toes, and was dancing
round in them with hammer and file and chisel and nails.  Very likely you
may be so fortunate as to find your sister, for a crafty woman succeeds
in many things which are too difficult for a wise man.  Go on, and if
they seek for you old Krates will not betray you."

He nodded kindly at Klea, and had already half turned his back on her
when he once more looked round, and called out to her:

"Wait a minute, girl--you can do me a little service.  I have just fitted
a new lock to the door of the Apis-tomb down there.  It answers
admirably, but the one key to it which I have made is not enough; we
require four, and you shall order them for me of the locksmith Heri, to
be sent the day after to-morrow; he lives opposite the gate of Sokari--
to the left, next the bridge over the canal--you cannot miss it.  I hate
repeating and copying as much as I like inventing and making new things,
and Heri can work from a pattern just as well as I can.  If it were not
for my legs I would give the man my commission myself, for he who speaks
by the lips of a go-between is often misunderstood or not understood at
all."

"I will gladly save you the walk," replied Klea, while the Smith sat down
on the pedestal of one of the Sphinxes, and opening the leather wallet
which hung by his side shook out the contents.  A few files, chisels, and
nails fell out into his lap; then the key, and finally a sharp, pointed
knife with which Krates had cut out the hollow in the door for the
insertion of the lock; Krates touched up the pattern-key for the smith in
Memphis with a few strokes of the file, and then, muttering thoughtfully
and shaking his head doubtfully from side to side, he exclaimed:

"You still must come with me once more to the door, for I require
accurate workmanship from other people, and so I must be severe upon my
own."

"But I want so much to reach Memphis before dark," besought Klea.

"The whole thing will not take a minute, and if you will give me your arm
I shall go twice as fast.  There are the files, there is the knife."

"Give it me," Klea requested.  "This blade is sharp and bright, and as
soon as I saw it I felt as if it bid me take it with me.  Very likely I
may have to come through the desert alone at night."

"Aye," said the smith, "and even the weakest feels stronger when he has a
weapon.  Hide the knife somewhere about you, my child, only take care not
to hurt yourself with it.  Now let me take your arm, and on we will go--
but not quite so fast."

Klea led the smith to the door he indicated, and saw with admiration how
unfailingly the bolt sprang forward when one half of the door closed upon
the other, and how easily the key pushed it back again; then, after
conducting Krates back to the Sphinx near which she had met him, she went
on her way at her quickest pace, for the sun was already very low, and it
seemed scarcely possible to reach Memphis before it should set.

As she approached a tavern where soldiers and low people were accustomed
to resort, she was met by a drunken slave.  She went on and past him
without any fear, for the knife in her girdle, and on which she kept her
hand, kept up her courage, and she felt as if she had thus acquired a
third hand which was more powerful and less timid than her own.  A
company of soldiers had encamped in front of the tavern, and the wine of
Kbakem, which was grown close by, on the eastern declivity of the Libyan
range, had an excellent savor.  The men were in capital spirits, for at
noon today--after they had been quartered here for months as guards of
the tombs of Apis and of the temples of the Necropolis--a commanding
officer of the Diadoches had arrived at Memphis, who had ordered them to
break up at once, and to withdraw into the capital before nightfall.
They were not to be relieved by other mercenaries till the next morning.

All this Klea learned from a messenger from the Egyptian temple in the
Necropolis, who recognized her, and who was going to Memphis,
commissioned by the priests of Osiris-Apis and Sokari to convey a
petition to the king, praying that fresh troops might be promptly sent to
replace those now withdrawn.

For some time she went on side by side with this messenger, but soon she
found that she could not keep up with his hurried pace, and had to fall
behind.  In front of another tavern sat the officers of the troops, whose
noisy mirth she had heard as she passed the former one; they were sitting
over their wine and looking on at the dancing of two Egyptian girls, who
screeched like cackling hens over their mad leaps, and who so effectually
riveted the attention of the spectators, who were beating time for them
by clapping their hands, that Klea, accelerating her step, was able to
slip unobserved past the wild crew.  All these scenes, nay everything she
met with on the high-road, scared the girl who was accustomed to the
silence and the solemn life of the temple of Serapis, and she therefore
struck into a side path that probably also led to the city which she
could already see lying before her with its pylons, its citadel and its
houses, veiled in evening mist.  In a quarter of an hour at most she
would have crossed the desert, and reach the fertile meadow land, whose
emerald hue grew darker and darker every moment.  The sun was already
sinking to rest behind the Libyan range, and soon after, for twilight is
short in Egypt, she was wrapped in the darkness of night.  The westwind,
which had begun to blow even at noon, now rose higher, and seemed to
pursue her with its hot breath and the clouds of sand it carried with it
from the desert.

She must certainly be approaching water, for she heard the deep pipe of
the bittern in the reeds, and fancied she breathed a moister air.  A few
steps more, and her foot sank in mud; and she now perceived that she was
standing on the edge of a wide ditch in which tall papyrus-plants were
growing.  The side path she had struck into ended at this plantation, and
there was nothing to be done but to turn about, and to continue her walk
against the wind and with the sand blowing in her face.

The light from the drinking-booth showed her the direction she must
follow, for though the moon was up, it is true, black clouds swept across
it, covering it and the smaller lights of heaven for many minutes at a
time.  Still she felt no fatigue, but the shouts of the men and the loud
cries of the women that rang out from the tavern filled her with alarm
and disgust.  She made a wide circuit round the hostelry, wading through
the sand hillocks and tearing her dress on the thorns and thistles that
had boldly struck deep root in the desert, and had grown up there like
the squalid brats in the hovel of a beggar.  But still, as she hurried on
by the high-road, the hideous laughter and the crowing mirth of the
dancing-girls still rang in her mind's ear.

Her blood coursed more swiftly through her veins, her head was on fire,
she saw Irene close before her, tangibly distinct--with flowing hair and
fluttering garments, whirling in a wild dance like a Moenad at a
Dionysiac festival, flying from one embrace to another and shouting and
shrieking in unbridled folly like the wretched girls she had seen on her
way.  She was seized with terror for her sister--an unbounded dread such
as she had never felt before, and as the wind was now once more behind
her she let herself be driven on by it, lifting her feet in a swift run
and flying, as if pursued by the Erinnyes, without once looking round her
and wholly forgetful of the smith's commission, on towards the city along
the road planted with trees, which as she knew led to the gate of the
citadel.




CHAPTER XVIII.

In front of the gate of the king's palace sat a crowd of petitioners who
were accustomed to stay here from early dawn till late at night, until
they were called into the palace to receive the answer to the petition
they had drawn up.  When Klea reached the end of her journey she was so
exhausted and bewildered that she felt the imperative necessity of
seeking rest and quiet reflection, so she seated herself among these
people, next to a woman from Upper Egypt.  But hardly had she taken her
place by her with a silent greeting, when her talkative neighbor began to
relate with particular minuteness why she had come to Memphis, and how
certain unjust judges had conspired with her bad husband to trick her--
for men were always ready to join against a woman--and to deprive her of
everything which had been secured to her and her children by her
marriage-contract.  For two months now, she said, she had been waiting
early and late before the sublime gate, and was consuming her last ready
cash in the city where living was so dear; but it was all one to her, and
at a pinch she would sell even her gold ornaments, for sooner or later
her cause must come before the king, and then the wicked villain and his
accomplices would be taught what was just.

Klea heard but little of this harangue; a feeling had come over her like
that of a person who is having water poured again and again on the top of
his head.  Presently her neighbor observed that the new-comer was not
listening at all to her complainings; she slapped her shoulder with her
hand, and said:

"You seem to think of nothing but your own concerns; and I dare say they
are not of such a nature as that you should relate them to any one else;
so far as mine are concerned the more they are discussed, the better."

The tone in which these remarks were made was so dry, and at the same
time so sharp, that it hurt Klea, and she rose hastily to go closer to
the gate.  Her neighbor threw a cross word after her; but she did not
heed it, and drawing her veil closer over her face, she went through the
gate of the palace into a vast courtyard, brightly lighted up by cressets
and torches, and crowded with foot-soldiers and mounted guards.

The sentry at the gate perhaps had not observed her, or perhaps had let
her pass unchallenged from her dignified and erect gait, and the numerous
armed men through whom she now made her way seemed to be so much occupied
with their own affairs, that no one bestowed any notice on her.  In a
narrow alley, which led to a second court and was lighted by lanterns,
one of the body-guard known as Philobasilistes, a haughty young fellow in
yellow riding-boots and a shirt of mail over his red tunic, came riding
towards her on his tall horse, and noticing her he tried to squeeze her
between his charger and the wall, and put out his hand to raise her veil;
but Klea slipped aside, and put up her hands to protect herself from the
horse's head which was almost touching her.

The cavalier, enjoying her alarm, called out: "Only stand still--he is
not vicious."

"Which, you or your horse?" asked Klea, with such a solemn tone in her
deep voice that for an instant the young guardsman lost his self-
possession, and this gave her time to go farther from the horse.  But the
girl's sharp retort had annoyed the conceited young fellow, and not
having time to follow her himself, he called out in a tone of
encouragement to a party of mercenaries from Cyprus, whom the frightened
girl was trying to pass:

"Look under this girl's veil, comrades, and if she is as pretty as she is
well-grown, I wish you joy of your prize."  He laughed as he pressed his
knees against the flanks of his bay and trotted slowly away, while the