Queen of the Dawn: A Love Tale of Old Egypt. Генри Райдер Хаггард
against it, and presently with a crash it fell, burst from its hinges. Rima seized the child and ran into the shadows. Kemmah leapt to the curtains and stood there looking between them, the spear she carried raised in her right hand. This was what she saw.
The giant Nubian stood on the topmost stair in the shadow, for the light of the lamps in the niches struck forward. In his right hand he held a javelin, in his left he grasped the handle of his battle-axe and a small shield made of the hide of a river horse. Grim and terrible looked the Ethiopian giant outlined thus against the shadow.
A tall man with a sword in his hand scrambled over the fallen door, the moonlight shining on his armour. The javelin flashed and the man fell in a heap, his mail clattering upon the bronze hinges of the door. He was dragged aside. Others rushed in, a number of them. Ru shifted his battle-axe into his right hand, lifted it, leaned forward and waited, advancing the shield to cover his head. Blows fell upon the shield. Then the axe crashed down and a man sank in a heap. Ru began to sing some wild Ethiopian war chant and as he sang he smote, and as he smote men died beneath the blows of that terrible axe driven with the weight of his mighty arm. Yet they pressed forward, for they were desperate. Death might be in front of them, but if they failed death was also behind at the hands of their confederates.
The stair was too wide for Ru to cover. One ran under his arm and appeared between the curtains, where he stood staring. Kemmah saw his face. It was that of a great Theban lord who had fought with Kheperra in the battle and now had been suborned by the Shepherds. Rage seized her. She sprang at him and with all her strength drove the spear she held through his throat. He fell, gasping. She stamped upon his face, crying, “Die, dog! Die, traitor!” and die he did.
On the stairway the blows grew fewer. Presently Ru appeared, laughing and red with blood.
“All are dead,” he cried, “save one who fled. But where is the knave who slipped past me?”
“Here,” answered Kemmah, pointing to a still form in the shadows.
“Good. Very good!” said Ru. “Now I think better of women than ever I did before. Yet, hurry, hurry! One dog has escaped and he goes to call the pack. What is that? Wine? Give me to drink. Aye, give me wine and a cloak to cover me. I am no seemly sight for queens to look on.”
“Are you hurt?” said Kemmah as she brought the goblet.
“Nay, not a scratch; still no seemly sight, though the blood be that of traitors. Here’s to the gods of vengeance! Here’s to the hell that holds them! This garment is scant for one of my size, but it will serve. What’s that sack you drag to me?”
“No matter what it is. Carry it, Ru. You are no warrior now, you are a porter. Carry it, O glorious Ru, and lose it not, for in it lie the crowns of Egypt. Come, Queen, the road is clear, thanks to the axe of Ru.”
Rima came, bearing her babe, and at the sight of the red stair and of those who lay upon it or at its foot, shrank back and said in a wavering voice, for she was almost bemused with doubts and terror:
“Is this the message of your gods, Kemmah?” and she pointed to the stains upon the floor and walls. “And are these their messengers? Look at them! I know their faces. They were the friends and captains of dead Kheperra, my lord. Why, O Ru, do you slay the friends of him who was Pharaoh, who came here doubtless to lead me and his child to safety?”
“Aye, Queen,” said Kemmah, “to the safety of death or of the prison of Apepi.”
“I’ll not believe it, woman, nor will I go with you,” said Rima, stamping her foot. “Fly if you will, as well you may do with all this blood upon your hands; here I stay with my child.”
Kemmah glanced at her, then as though in thought she looked down at the ground while Ru whispered in her ear:
“Command me and I will carry her.”
The eyes of Kemmah fell upon that great lord whom she had slain with her own hand, and she noted that from beneath his breastplate there projected the end of a papyrus roll that had been thrust upwards when he fell. She bent down and took it. Opening it swiftly she read, as she who was learned could do well enough. It was addressed to the dead man and his companions and sealed with the seals of the high priest and others. This was the writing:
“In the names of all the gods and for the welfare of Egypt, we command you to take Rima the Babylonian, wife of the good god Pharaoh who is not, and her child, the Royal Princess Nefra, and to bring them to us, living if may be, that they may be delivered to King Apepi in fulfilment of our oath. Read and obey.”
“Can you read the Egyptian writing, Queen?” asked Kemmah. “If so, herein is a matter that concerns you.”
“Read you. I have little skill,” answered Rima indifferently.
So she read, slowly, that the words might sink into the mind of the Queen.
Rima heard and leaned against her, trembling.
“Why did I ever come to this land of traitors?” she moaned. “Oh! would that I were dead.”
“As you will be if you stay here longer, Queen,” said Kemmah bitterly. “Meanwhile it is the traitors who are dead, or some of them, and now tell their tale to Kheperra, your lord and mine. Come. Come swiftly, there are more villains left in Thebes.”
But Rima sank to the ground, swooning. As she fell Kemmah snatched the child from her and looked at Ru.
“It is good,” said the giant. “Now she can talk no more and I will carry her. But what of that sack? Must we leave it behind? Life is more than crowns.”
“Nay, Ru, set it on my head, for thus peasants bear their burdens. I can hold it with my left hand and clasp the child with my right.”
He did so and lifted the Queen in his great arms.
Thus they passed down the stair, stepping over the dead and out into the night.
Across the open space they went, heading for the palm trees of the garden. The babe wailed feebly but Kemmah stifled its cries beneath her cloak. The weight of the treasures in the sack pressed her down and the sharp edges of the jewelled crowns and sceptres cut into her brow. Still she staggered on bravely. They reached the shadow of the palms where she paused for a moment to look back and get her breath. Behold! Men – numbers of them – were running toward the doors of the private apartments.
“We did not leave too soon. Forward!” said Ru.
On they went, till at length before them in the glade they saw the ruined shrine. Kemmah staggered to it and sank to her knees, for she was spent.
“Now, unless help comes, there is an end,” said Ru. “Two half-dead women I might carry, also the sack upon my head. But how about the babe? Nay, that babe is the Princess of Egypt. Whoever dies, she must be saved.”
“Aye,” said Kemmah faintly. “Leave me, it matters not, but save the child. Take her and her mother and go to the quay. Perchance the boat is there.”
“Perchance it is not,” grumbled Ru, staring about him.
Then help came. For as before from behind a palm appeared the sailor Tau.
“You are somewhat early, Lady Kemmah,” he said, “but fortunately so am I and so is the down Nile wind. At least here you are, all three of you. But who is this?” and he stared at the giant Nubian.
“One who can be vouched for,” answered Ru. “If you doubt it, go look at the stair of the royal apartments. One, too, who, if there be need, can break your bones as a slave breaks sticks.”
“That I can well believe,” said Tau, “but of bone-breaking we can talk afterwards. Now follow me, and swiftly.”
Then he threw the sack over his shoulder, and putting his arm about Kemmah, supported her forward to the quay.
At the foot of the steps was a boat, and at a distance on the Nile appeared a ship riding at anchor, her sail half hoisted. They entered the boat, and seizing the oars Tau rowed them to the ship. A rope was cast which he caught and made fast to the prow of the boat, drawing on it till they came alongside the ship. Hands were