Once more my life came back, and with it a sense of deadly sickness andof aching pain. I opened my eyes and saw a kind face bending over me,and knew that I was in the room of a builded house.
"How came I hither?" I asked faintly.
"Of a truth, Poseidon brought thee, Stranger," answered a rough voicein barbarous Greek; "we found thee cast high upon the beach like a deaddolphin and brought thee to our house, for we are fisher-folk. And here,methinks, thou must lie a while, for thy left leg is broken by the forceof the waves."
I strove to move my foot and could not. It was true, the bone was brokenabove the knee.
"Who art thou, and how art thou named?" asked the rough-bearded sailor.
"I am an Egyptian traveller whose ship has sunk in the fury of the gale,and I am named Olympus," I answered, for these people called a mountainthat we had sighted Olympus, and therefore I took the name at hazard.And as Olympus I was henceforth known.
Here with these rough fisher-folk I abode for the half of a year, payingthem a little out of the sum of gold that had come safely ashore uponme. For it was long before my bones grew together again, and then I wasleft somewhat of a cripple; for I, who had been so tall and straight andstrong, now limped--one limb being shorter than the other. And after Irecovered from my hurt, I still lived there, and toiled with them at thetrade of fishing; for I knew not whither I should go or what I shoulddo, and, for a while, I was fain to become a peasant fisherman, and sowear my weary life away. And these people entreated me kindly, though,as others, they feared me much, holding me to be a wizard brought hitherby the sea. For my sorrows had stamped so strange an aspect on my facethat men gazing at me grew fearful of what lay beneath its calm.
There, then, I abode, till at length, one night as I lay and strove tosleep, great restlessness came upon me, and a mighty desire once more tosee the face of Sihor. But whether this desire was of the Gods or bornof my own heart, not knowing, I cannot tell. So strong was it, at theleast, that before it was dawn I rose from my bed of straw andclothed myself in my fisher garb, and, because I had no wish to answerquestions, thus I took farewell of my humble hosts. First I placed somepieces of gold on the well-cleaned table of wood, and then taking a potof flour I strewed it in the form of letters, writing:
"This gift from Olympus, the Egyptian, who returns into the sea."
Then I went, and on the third day I came to the great city of Salamis,that is also on the sea. Here I abode in the fishermen's quarters tilla vessel was about to sail for Alexandria, and to the captain of thisvessel, a man of Paphos, I hired myself as a sailor. We sailed with afavouring wind, and on the fifth day I came to Alexandria, that hatefulcity, and saw the light dancing on its golden domes.
Here I might not abide. So again I hired myself out as a sailor, givingmy labour in return for passage, and we passed up the Nile. And Ilearned from the talk of men that Cleopatra had come back to Alexandria,drawing Antony with her and that they lived together with royal statein the palace on the Lochias. Indeed, the boatmen already had a songthereon, which they sang as they laboured at the oar. Also I heard howthe galley that was sent to search for the vessel which carried theSyrian merchant had foundered with all her crew, and the tale that theQueen's astronomer, Harmachis, had flown to Heaven from the roof of thehouse at Tarsus. And the sailors wondered because I sat and laboured andwould not sing their ribald song of the loves of Cleopatra. For they,too, began to fear me, and mutter concerning me among themselves. ThenI knew that I was a man accursed and set apart--a man whom none mightlove.
On the sixth day we drew nigh to Abouthis, where I left the craft, andthe sailors were right glad to see me go. And, with a breaking heart, Iwalked through the fertile fields, seeing faces that I knew well. But inmy rough disguise and limping gait none knew me. At length, as the sunsank, I came near to the great outer pylon of the temple; and here Icrouched down in the ruins of a house, not knowing why I had come orwhat I was about to do. Like a lost ox I had strayed from far, back tothe fields of my birth, and for what? If my father, Amenemhat, stilllived, surely he would turn his face from me. I dared not go into thepresence of my father. I sat hidden there among the broken rafters, andidly watched the pylon gates, to see if, perchance, a face I knew shouldissue from them. But none came forth or entered in, though the greatgates stood wide; and then I saw that herbs were growing between thestones, where no herbs had grown for ages. What could this be? Was thetemple deserted? Nay; how could the worship of the eternal Gods haveceased, that for thousands of years had, day by day, been offered in theholy place? Was, then, my father dead? It well might be. And yet, whythis silence? Where were the priests: where the worshippers?
I could bear the doubt no more, but as the sun sank red I crept like ahunted jackal through the open gates, and on till I reached the firstgreat Hall of Pillars. Here I paused and gazed around me--not a sight,not a sound, in the dim and holy place! I went on with a beating heartto the second great hall, the hall of six-and-thirty pillars where Ihad been crowned Lord of all the Lands: still not a sight or a sound!Thence, half fearful of my own footfall, so terribly did it echo in thesilence of the deserted Holies, I passed down the passage of the namesof the Pharaohs towards my father's chamber. The curtain still swungover the doorway; but what would there be within?--also emptiness? Ilifted it, and noiselessly passed in, and there in his carven chairat the table on which his long white beard flowed, sat my father,Amenemhat, clad in his priestly robes. At first I thought that he wasdead, he sat so still; but at length he turned his head, and I saw thathis eyes were white and sightless. He was blind, and his face was thinas the face of a dead man, and woeful with age and grief.
I stood still and felt the blind eyes wandering over me. I could notspeak to him--I dared not speak to him; I would go and hide myselfafresh.
I had already turned and grasped the curtain, when my father spoke in adeep, slow voice:
"Come hither, thou who wast my son and art a traitor. Come hither, thouHarmachis, on whom Khem builded up her hope. Not in vain, then, have Idrawn thee from far away! Not in vain have I held my life in me till Iheard thy footfall creeping down these empty Holies, like the footfallof a thief!"
"Oh! my father," I gasped, astonished. "Thou art blind: how knowest thoume?"
"How do I know thee?--and askest thou that who hast learned of our lore?Enough, I know thee and I brought thee hither. Would, Harmachis, that Iknew thee not! Would that I had been blasted of the Invisible ere I drewthee down from the womb of Nout, to be my curse and shame, and the lastwoe of Khem!"
"Oh, speak not thus!" I moaned; "is not my burden already more than Ican bear? Am I not myself betrayed and utterly outcast? Be pitiful, myfather!"
"Be pitiful!--be pitiful to thee who hast shown so great pity? Itwas thy pity which gave up noble Sepa to die beneath the hands of thetormentors!"
"Oh, not that--not that!" I cried.
"Ay, traitor, that!--to die in agony, with his last poor breathproclaiming thee, his murderer, honest and innocent! Be pitiful tothee, who gavest all the flower of Khem as the price of a wanton'sarms!--thinkest thou that, labouring in the darksome desert mines, thosenoble ones in thought are pitiful to thee, Harmachis? Be pitiful tothee, by whom this Holy Temple of Abouthis hath been ravaged, its landsseized, its priests scattered, and I alone, old and withered, left tocount out its ruin--to thee, who hast poured the treasures of _Her_ intothy leman's lap, who hast forsworn Thyself, thy Country, thy Birthright,and thy Gods! Yea, thus am I pitiful: Accursed be thou, fruit of myloins!--Shame be thy portion, Agony thy end, and Hell receive thee atthe last! Where art thou? Yea, I grew blind with weeping when I heardthe truth--sure, they strove to hide it from me. Let me find thee that Imay spit upon thee, thou Renegade! thou Apostate! thou Outcast!"--and herose from his seat and staggered like a living Wrath toward me, smitingthe air with his wand. And as he came with outstretched arms, awful tosee, suddenly his end found him, and with a cry he sank down upon theground, the red blood streaming from his lips. I ran to him and l
iftedhim; and as he died, he babbled:
"He was my son, a bright-eyed lovely boy, and full of promise as theSpring; and now--and now--oh, would that he were dead!"
Then came a pause and the breath rattled in his throat.
"Harmachis," he gasped, "art there?"
"Yea, father."
"Harmachis, atone!--atone! Vengeance can still be wreaked--forgivenessmay still be won. There's gold; I've hidden it--Atoua--she can tellthee--ah, this pain! Farewell!"
And he struggled faintly in my arms and was dead.
Thus, then, did I and my holy father, the Prince Amenemhat, meettogether for the last time in the flesh, and for the last time part.