CHAPTER x.x.xVI

THE MURKET'S SACRIFICE

The murket sat at his place in the work-room, but no papyrus scrolls lay before him; his fine implements were not in sight; the ink-pots and pens were put away and the table was clear except for a copper lamp that sputtered and flared at one end. The great artist's arms were extended across the table, his head bowed upon them, his hands clasped.

The att.i.tude was not that of weariness but of trouble.

Kenkenes hesitated. For the first time since the hour he left Memphis for Thebes, months before, he felt a sense of culpability. He realized, with great bounds of comprehension, that the results of his own trouble had not been confined to himself. He began to understand how infectious sorrow is.

He crossed the room and laid a trembling hand on the murket's shoulder.

Instantly the great artist lifted his head and, seeing Kenkenes, leaped to his feet with a cry that was all joy.

The young man responded to the kiss of welcome with so little composure that Mentu forced him down on the bench and summoned a servant.

The old housekeeper appeared at the door, started with a suppressed cry and flung herself at her young master's feet. He raised her and touched her cheek with his lips.

"Bring me somewhat to eat and drink, Sema," he said weakly. "I have fasted, since I returned here, well-nigh four days agone."

The stiff old creature rose with a murmur half of compa.s.sion, half of promise, and went forth immediately.

The murket stood very close to his son, regarding him with interrogation on his face.

"Memphis was full of famishing at the coming of dawn this morning," he said. "For the first time in my life I knew hunger, and it is a fearsome thing, but thou--a shade from Amenti could not be ghastlier.

Where hast thou been--what are thy fortunes, Kenkenes?"

"Rachel--thou knowest--" Kenkenes began, speaking with an effort.

"Aye, I know. Didst find her?"

"Aye, and lost her, even while I fought to save her!"

"Alas, thou unfortunate!" Mentu exclaimed. "Of a surety the G.o.ds have punished thee too harshly!"

Kenkenes was not in the frame of mind to receive so soft a speech composedly. A strong tremor ran over him and he averted his face. The murket came to his side and smoothed the damp hair.

The old housekeeper entered with broth and bread and a bottle of wine.

Mentu broke the bread and filled the beaker, while Sema stood aloof and gazed with troubled eyes at the unhappy face of the young master.

Silent, they watched him eat and drink, grieved because of the visible effort it required and because no life or strength returned to him with the breaking of his fast. When he had finished, the bowl and platter were taken away, but at a sign the old housekeeper left the wine with the murket. After she had gone Mentu glanced at the draggled dress of his son.

"Thou needest, further, the attention of thy slave, Kenkenes," he suggested.

The young man shook his head. "Not yet," he said. "My time is short, and it is thy help I need."

The murket sat down beside his son.

Without further introduction Kenkenes plunged into his story. He had had no time to tell it four days before. Then he had asked for Rachel with his second word, and finding her not, had rushed immediately to the search for her.

Mentu heard without comment till the story was done. Most of it he had known from Hotep, and only the recent events at the tomb excited him.

When Kenkenes made an end the murket brought his clenched hand down on the table with a force that made the lamp wink and the implements rattle in their boxes above him.

"Curse that smooth villain Har-hat!" he cried in a tempest of wrath.

"A murrain upon his greedy, crafty l.u.s.t! The G.o.ds blast him in his knavery! Now is my precious amulet in his hands. Would it were white-hot and clung to him like a leech!"

Kenkenes said nothing. The murket's wrath was more comforting to him than tender words could have been.

"Who hath the ear of Meneptah?" the murket continued with increasing vehemence. "Har-hat! And behold the miseries of Egypt! Shall we put any great sin past the knave who sinneth monstrously, or divine his methods who is a master of cunning? The land is entangled in difficulty! Give me but a raveling fiber to pull, and, by the G.o.ds, I know that we shall find Har-hat at the other end of it! He is destroying Egypt for his ambition's sake! And that a son of mine--me!

the right hand of the Incomparable Pharaoh--should furnish meat for his rending!" His voice failed him and he shook his clenched hands high above his head in an abandon of fury.

"Did I not tell thee?" he burst forth again, pointing a finger at his son. "Did I not warn thee from the first?"

Kenkenes raised his head.

"Can you avoid a knave if he hath designs on you?" he asked. "Have I erred in crossing his will? Have I sinned in loving and protecting her whom I love?"

Mentu's hands fell down at his sides. The simple questions had silenced him. His son was blameless now that he had expiated his offenses against the law, and from the moral standpoint his persistence in his claim on Rachel was just--praiseworthy.

"Nay," he said sullenly, "but since thou didst love the girl, how came it that thou didst not wed her long ago and save her this shame and danger?"

He saw the face of his son grow paler.

"The bar of faith lay between us," Kenkenes answered. "I was an idolater, she a worshiper of the One G.o.d. She would not wed with me, therefore."

The murket looked at his son, stupefied with amazement.

"Thou--thou--" he said at last, his words coming slowly by reason of his emotions. "The Israelite rejected thee!"

Kenkenes bent his head in a.s.sent.

"Thou! A prince among men--a n.o.bleman, a genius--a man whom all women--Kenkenes! by Horus, I am amazed! And thou didst endure it, and continue to love and serve and suffer for her! Where is thy pride?"

Kenkenes stopped him with a motion of his hand.

"A maid's unwillingness is obstacle enough," he said. "Shall a man summon further difficulty in the form of his self-esteem to stand in the way of his love? Nay, it could not be, and that thou knowest, my father, since thou, too, hast loved. When a man is in love it is his pride to be long-suffering and humble. But there is naught separating us now save it be the hand of Har-hat."

"So much for Israelitish zeal! Thou hast been a p.a.w.n for her to play during these months. Long ago had she surrendered if thou hadst been--"

Kenkenes smiled. "She did not surrender. It was I."

"Thy faith?" the murket asked in a voice low with earnestness.

"Thou hast said!"

A dead silence ensued. Kenkenes may have awaited the outbreak with a quickening of the heart, but it did not come. Instead, the murket sat down on the bench and gazed at his son intently.

After a long interval he spoke.