CHAPTER XXI

"_No time so dark but through its woof there run

Some blessed threads of gold_."

C. P. CRANACH.

It is difficult--no, it is impossible to describe the wonder of Deir

el-Bahari under the moon, just as it is impossible to describe "the

light that never was, on land or sea," or the Taj Mahal, or a mother's

love.

To our eyes it is the picture of desolation. Just as it must have been

a picture of grandeur to those of the woman who built it, Queen

Hatshepu, sister, wife and queen of Totmes III.

It is built in terraces to which you climb by gentle incline; it is

surrounded and crossed by colonnades; there are ruined chapels and

vestibules and recesses; an altar upon which offerings had once been

made to the great gods; broken steps and closed and open doors, behind

which the ghosts of dead kings and queens, priests, priestesses and

nobles sit in ghostly council; through which they beckon you--_if you

belong_.

There has surely come to each of us, in this short span we term life,

the moment when, just introduced, we look into another's face and say

or think, "We have met before."

May it not have been that we once met to burn incense together before

the dread god Anubis, or to make offerings upon the altar erected to

the great god Ra Hamarkhis; or was it perchance that you, if you are a

woman, once waited at the temple gates to see him pass upon his return

from the great expedition to the land of Punt, which we call Somaliland

to-day?

Had the man with hawk-face who offers you a muffin or cup of tea to-day

once brought you gifts of ivory, or incense, or skin of panther from

the wonderland? Did he sweep the seething crowd with piercing eye to

find the face beloved, and pass on to the rolling of drums, the crash

of cymbals, the blaring of trumpets, to make obeisance to his monarch

and return thanks to the mighty gods?

Perchance!

But Damaris had no thought of the past as she stood amongst the pillars

of the colonnade which commemorate the great expedition; she was

enthralled with the hour, the solitude, the silence, as she hesitated,

wondering which way to go. Then, even as she hesitated, the silence

was broken by the distant throbbing of a drum.

It came from one of the villages far down the hill and, caught by the

evening breeze, was carried to the temple, to be multiplied a

hundredfold in the echoing roof.

All other sounds may cease way out in the East; birds may nest and

humans sleep; but the sound of the drum faileth never.

It is a message, a love-song, a lament, a prayer, and you hear it in

the desert as in the jungle, in the temple as in the courtyard behind

the hovel.

It is not a wise thing to listen to its call, for it can lead you off

the beaten track, or over the precipice or out into the desert to die.

It caught the girl's feet in the witchery of its rhythm and set them

moving upon the sand-covered floor of the Temple. Yet there was no

smile on her lips as, moved by whatever it is that causes us to do

strange things in the East, she danced like a wraith or a sylph, or a

leaf in the wind, in and out of the columns and out into the light of

the moon, and through the granite door onto the terrace where once had

been planted the incense trees which had come with the spoil from Punt

to perfume the air to the glory of Ra Hamarkhis.

The rolling of the drum stopped short, and Damaris came to herself with

a start as she stood under the moon, then clasped her hands upon her

thudding heart as she watched a man with two great shaggy dogs walk

across the terrace towards her.

Save for the Mohammedan head-covering he was an Englishman, and he

spoke in his mother's tongue to the girl he loved and whom he had

watched since her arrival with the jostling, laughing crowd.

"The gods of the temple are good to me," he said simply. "I prayed

that I might watch you dance upon the incense terrace of their house;

they have answered my prayer. Come."

As they passed across the terrace to the hall of columns which is the

vestibule of the chapel of the god of Death, he told her how he had

watched and waited, meaning no discourtesy, until she should visit the

temple amongst the limestone hills.

"Where are we going?"

Damaris spoke more to break the spell which seemed to hold her than to

know the end of the walk across the sand. Bewitched by the moon and

the terrific power of old Egypt, she would have followed the man

blindly, fearing no hurt, even into the inner-most sanctuary which,

hewn out of the rock itself, lies at the extreme end of the temple.

"To the Shrine of Anubis the god of Death, where I would show you the

Hawk of Northern Egypt upon the wall."

They passed between the great columns and up the flight of steps to the

doorway beyond which lie the chambers of the Shrine, and there Hugh

Carden Ali took the girl's hand as he called her name aloud, until the

walls or the spirits of the gods thundered back the echo.

"The gods introduced the kings of Egypt to the sanctuary. Anubis god

of Death, as you will see by the painting upon the wall, led the great

queen to the door," he said in reply to a whispered question from

Damaris. "I would not that the shadow of death touched the hem of your

raiment. I called your name aloud so that the gods might hear. . . .

Do I believe in such strange things? How can one say, I believe, or do

not believe, in this land which is in the grip of a dead past which is

not dead?"

And they passed in through the door and stood looking up at the Hawk of

Horus painted in the XVIII dynasty upon the wall.

Brilliant in colouring, green and white, with red-tipped wings, it

spreads them above the place where once was seen the painted picture of

the queen who reigned and suffered and died, thousands of years ago.

"Ah!" said Damaris, as she looked up to the corner. "It is your--your

crest--your------"

"It is a fantasy of mine. We trace my father's house right back

without a break to the days of the Pharaohs--so, I believe, does

Mohammed Ali, vendor of slippers in the bazaar." He paused, then added

abruptly, with a frown and a movement of the shoulders as though he

were trying to shift a burden, "If you will come with me to the inner

chamber, if you are not afraid, I will interpret the Story of the Hawk

to you in the shadows where it belongs."

Damaris put out her hand as though to speak, then passed into the inner

room, across the threshold of which the dogs of Billi laid themselves

down.

"Death is around us," said Hugh Carden Ali. "Do you believe in

omens?--No? Nor I. I wish there was a seat, so that you could rest

whilst I tell you------"

Damaris laid her hand gently upon his arm, and he looked down into the

face shining dead-white in the reflection of the moon which had silted

in through a hole in the roof.

"You know?"

Damaris looked up and smiled.

"Yes! I know. And, being the son of such splendid people, I cannot

understand why------"

The gates of pain and love and sacrifice were opened and the girl

shrank back against the wall as the tide of pent-up bitterness swept

around her in the ruined shrine. The man's face was white, his eyes

blazed in the agony of his hurt, whilst the dogs lifted their heads and

growled.

". . . You do not understand! You do not understand that I love you!

And, loving you, I stand a prisoner behind the bars wrought for me by

the love of my parents. That I love you as surely you never have been,

never will be loved, and that I dare not, can not ask you to be my

wife,--even if you loved me--which you do not. . . What? You do not

see why I should not marry into my mother's race even as my father did?

I will tell you why." He gripped her wrists and pulled her to him.

"Because I am the outcome of their union. My father is an Arab, my

mother an Englishwoman. I--I am a half-caste. I am nearer white,

truly, than my father, but--but my son, although he might be white or

dark,--a--a native, as you say in England--would only be a half-caste

lying on your white breast, if you were my wife."

The moonbeams lengthened as the man talked on, whilst Damaris learned

of one of love's bitterest mistakes.

"Oh, forgive me!" he ended. "Why did I bring you here to hurt you, to

make you cry for a pain which is not yours? Why are you left alone?

It is so dangerous in this land of my fathers. Your godmother deserts

you whilst she goes to my mother, who is afraid for me--ah! did you not

know? The man who loves you has left you to the wind of chance: my

friend, Big Ben Kelham--O gods of ancient Egypt, how you must

laugh!--my _friend_! Shall we meet again, I wonder?----"

Surely Anubis the god of death, Anubis the jackal-headed--who leads the

soul of the departed through the underworld into the presence of the

great Osiris--surely he moved upon the wall and turned to look after

those two as they passed out of the inner chamber to stand beneath the

Hawk upon the wall.

Or was it the shifting of the moon amongst the shadows?

"Will you"--there was no trace of the man's anguish in his voice: the

Mohammedan's resignation to the inevitable may seem a weak way out to

one who will kick and worry until he drops from exhaustion, but it

saves a great deal of pain to others--"will you--you must surely marry

some day, so beautiful, so sweet you are--will you let me give you this

as a wedding-present, and will you think of me, a prisoner, when you

fasten it in your wedding-gown?" He held out a jewel in the shape of

the Hawk which spread its wings upon the wall above them. "It was

found here, in this sanctuary--a priestly ornament? a pilgrim's

offering? Who knows? Will you?--_I_ have no right to it, for beneath

my wings is the plumage of another race. I am not a pure-bred son of

Northern Egypt."

"Will you pin it in?"

The girl's voice shook as she tilted back her chin so that her mouth

was on a level with the man's as he bent to fasten the jewel in the

silk.

"Will you promise me one thing? Yes!--you are good to the prisoner.

Allah! how I love you, and surely, if I may not be your master I may

serve you. If you should be in trouble--ever--in this land of Egypt,

the very soil of which is drenched with the blood of those who have

fought, and loved, and won, and lost thousands of years before the

coming of the gentle prophet who said that in the sight of the great

God, anyway, we are brethren--yes, if trouble should come to you, will

you send me a messenger--to the Tents of Purple and of Gold? I am

doing you a great wrong in lingering where I can catch glimpses of you.

I love you--love you--but that is no excuse for causing you harm

through the wagging of evil tongues."

Tears dropped one by one upon the jewel which glittered on her breast.

"And if I were in trouble--great trouble--if I were to come to you

myself, how----?"

"My boat waits at the landing-stage from sundown to sunrise, the

swiftest mare in all Egypt, as the fortune-teller foretold you, the

snow-white mare Pi-Kay waits from the setting until the rising of the

sun at the Gate of To-morrow, which is a ruined portal on the road of

the Colossi. From there the way lies west. And fear not." He pointed

to an inscription on the wall and translated it in the Egyptian tongue.

"'_I have come full of joy because of my love to thee; my hands are

full of all life and purity. I am protecting thee among all gods_.'"

Followed by the dogs, they walked slowly down the incline to a mound of

rubbish flung up and left by an excavating party many years back;

behind it they found the stallion Sooltan in the care of his _sayis_,

also the one donkey which had wandered off in search of grass and got

lost, and whose absence in the cavalcade had not been noticed on

account of the disorder of the descent.

"Kismet!" had said Jobad the guide when he had made the discovery at

the water's edge.

If the white folk could not keep count of themselves he was not going

to draw their attention to the fact that one of the party was missing;

he had not the slightest intention of providing an evening meal for the

lion by offering to go in search of the pair. "Kismet!--Allah would

watch over them!"

Hugh Carden Ali leapt to the saddle without touching the stirrups, then

swung the girl as lightly as a leaf up into his arms.

Heedless of the extra burden of the slip of a girl who had mastered him

in the desert and who lay so quietly against his master's heart, the

magnificent black beast stood stock-still, then suddenly shivered

violently, just as the dogs of Billi, belly to ground, eyes blazing,

ruffs on end, growled softly.

Hugh Carden pressed Damaris back against his shoulder and turned and

looked in the direction whence had come that sound, paralysing if you

do not happen to be armed.

From somewhere amongst the rocky wilderness of the hills, carried by

the night-breeze, had come the hoarse coughing of a lion.

"Listen," he said.

And as it came again, with shrieks of "Sabé! sabé!" the pea-green

_sayis_ leapt on the back of the terrified donkey, which, spurred by

fear, disappeared like a streak down the hill just as the stallion,

sweating with pure terror, reared and wheeled, then backed, with great

eyes rolling and hoofs striking sparks from the stones.

Up he reared, until it seemed impossible that he should not fall

backwards, crushing to death or hideously maiming the man who,

encumbered with the girl upon his arm, could do little to calm the

frightened beast, And well for them was it that Hugh Carden Ali, with

his love and understanding of horses, knew that only to the sagacity of

the animal could the safe negotiation of the dangerous descent down the

hillside be left. He gave Sooltan his head.

There is no danger in it, goodness knows, when you bestride a

diminutive donkey whose dainty little feet know every pebble on the

route, but there is danger when an animal like Sooltan takes the Avenue

of Sphinxes at a mad rush and slips and slithers and slides, under the

impetus of his own weight, pace and terror, the rest of the way, even

if he is as sure-footed as a goat.

* * * * * *

Later, when her beloved child wakened the night-porter, Jane Coop, blue

with anxiety and cold, most unhygienically closed the window and

thankfully padded off to her comfortable bed.