# The Gates of Kamt/Chapter 13
### CHAPTER XIII THE IRIDESCENT SCARABÆUS

Neither of us felt like sleep. The night was peculiarly balmy and fragrant, even for this fair land where all flowers smelled doubly sweet, all bird song sounded more melodious than anywhere else in the world. There was only one flaw in this land of poetry and of art, but that was a serious flaw. The people did not grow tobacco, and on this beautiful evening, as we wandered aimlessly along the moonlit walks, we could not smoke a good cigar, and our delight did not reach supreme beatitude.
How far England seemed from us at that moment! London, Piccadilly, the Strand, hansom cabs—these were dreams, or rather nightmares I should say, for in these few brief days—so adaptable is the human creature—this gorgeous land, the shaven priests, the sickly Pharaoh, had somehow already become a part of our existence. I could no longer picture myself hailing an omnibus at Piccadilly Circus and getting out at Hammersmith Broadway; I could not think of myself sitting in a stall at His Majesty's Theatre and watching one of Mr. Beerbohm Tree's beautiful scenic productions. The individual who used to sit opposite Aunt Charlotte at the breakfast-table in Harley Street, reading the Daily Telegraph, was not I myself; he was a sort of spook who still haunted me now and again, but who had really nothing to do with me, the counsellor of Osiris's son, the confidant of the beloved of the gods.
​I cannot attempt to explain this psychological phase of my sojourn in the land of Kamt. I can but record it, and do so chiefly because I know that Hugh experienced the same sensation as I did, only in a much more intense form.
He walked and looked as if he had never done anything all his life but rule over strange and picturesque nations. He never found his robes uncomfortable, nor got entangled in the intricacies of the native tongue, and he met the great Pharaoh's sarcastic chuckles, and the high priest's hypocritical obsequiousness, with the same unruffled composure and truly regal dignity.
To-night, having dismissed our tiresome attendants, we gave ourselves over, heart and soul, to the beauty of the scene around us. To our right and left, in the dark shadows ghostly forms of birds or beasts fled frightened at our approach, and the white cows in the tall papyrus grass, disturbed by our tread, gave forth long and melancholy plaints, while overhead the crowd of monkeys in the branches of the acacia trees pelted us in wanton mischief with showers of white sweet-scented petals as we passed.
We had reached the edge of the canal and looked out across it on the majesty of the sleeping city, which, with its alabaster steps, its roofs of copper and of gold, its mammoth temples and gigantic carvings, looked more than ever like a city of dreamland. Beyond, far away, stretched the line of mystic hills which divided this habitation of beauty from the vast graveyard in the wilderness. One by one we saw the lights of the city flicker and die out: on the canal one or two belated boats flitted ghostlike and swift, crescent-shaped, with a burning lamp at prow and poop; the boatmen, as they dipped their oars into the water, sang their monotonous barcarolle, and beneath the gaily-striped awnings ​we could catch sight at times of young couples sitting with their dark heads close together—just the same as is customary in dear old England on the Thames. Soon the last light had gone out, the last boat flitted away in the distance, the dream city was at rest; only from the great temple of Ra came, faintly echoing, the sound of the midnight chant intoned by the blind priestesses of the god.
We had stretched ourselves out on the soft bed of velvety grass which sloped down to the water's edge, terminating with a low white marble parapet, and had each become silent, wrapped in our own thoughts and watching the mystic reflections cast by the moon into the canal when, suddenly, from the opposite side, we saw a dark head appearing in the water and approaching swiftly towards us. We watched with much interest, and soon by the light of the moon saw that the head was that of a young girl, with long dark hair streaming in two thick plaits behind her in the water; the thin girlish arms struck with much vigour against the current, and very soon the edge of the parapet hid her from our view. Very much interested, I was about to jump up, to further watch the graceful evolutions of the midnight swimmer, when Hugh's hand was placed upon my arm and a warning "Hush!" caused me to sit still.
Above the edge of the parapet, some fifty yards away from where we lay, the dark young head had appeared, and the same vigorous, yet slender, arms helped to hoist the girlish figure up onto the marble ledge. We hardly dared to breathe, wondering what was the purpose of this young and daring midnight prowler, as, for the space of a few seconds, she sat still, listening and peering into the shadows where we lay, silent and expectant, while the moon shone full ​upon her ivory-coloured skin, making the water on it glisten like a network of diamonds. One of her hands was tightly clutched, while with the other she wrapped more tightly round her the dripping and transparent folds of her white garment. After an instant's hesitation she jumped off the parapet onto the grass, and the next moment was running swiftly and noiselessly towards us, shaking the water out of her hair as she ran, and holding a warning finger to her mouth.
"Hush-sh-sh!" she whispered as soon as she was close enough and we could hear. Then she stood still straight before us, beneath the brilliant light of the moon, like an exquisite piece of delicately-carved ivory. She was looking at Hugh out of her great almond-shaped eyes, with a strange mixture of awe and pity.
"Hush-sh-sh!" she said again, as once more warningly she placed a finger to her mouth. "They must not hear … and I can but stay a moment.… I have watched since three times Isis rose and illumined the night … to see if thou, oh, beloved of the gods, wouldst come, and wouldst come alone. For what I would say to thee none other must hear."
Hugh had jumped to his feet, but she immediately drew back a step or two, and put out both her arms with a pretty gesture of pride and of warning.
"Nay! I am not worthy that thou, oh, beloved of the gods, shouldst step near to one so humble and poor as I. I have but a moment and the hours fly so fast.… See! Isis already turns towards the bed of clouds wherein she rests.… To-morrow, when Osiris is high in the heavens, thou wilt leave ancient Men-ne-fer, to shed the light of thy countenance on thy people who dwell far away. They will fall at thy feet and worship thee: for Ra and his high priest have said it; thou art the messenger and beloved of ​the gods. But lo! when once again Isis sheds her cold light on the waving papyrus and the crests of the tall sycamore, thou wilt look into a pair of eyes as blue, as impenetrable as the dark vault of heaven which cradles the goddess; thou wilt smell the perfume of tresses as golden as the rays of Osiris when he sinks to rest."
As once more the strange and poetic simile struck our ears—for the second time to-night, and spoken by two such different pairs of lips—Hugh and I both involuntarily murmured:
"Neit-akrit!"
"Nay ! do not breathe it!" she entreated, and for the first time a shiver, as that of cold, shook her young figure, "for her very name is so sweet-sounding to the ear that every bird song after it sounds harsh and out of tune: and yet to-morrow, at this selfsame hour, Isis will watch from above, and will hear thee whisper it in her ear, while eagerly thine eyes, which have seen the majesty of the gods, will gaze into those deep blue eyes, fringed by heavy lashes, and read therein her strength and thine own weakness, her glory and thine abasement."
"I should be weak indeed," said Hugh at last, with a slight laugh, "if after such repeated warnings, from so many different quarters, I succumbed to the charms of the fair princess. I thank thee, pretty one, for thy concern in my welfare, but it is ill-timed and ill-advised, and my future happiness is not worth that thou shouldst dip thy pretty shoulders and arms in the cold waters of the canal, at this late hour of the night."
"Nay! I did not come to warn," she said reproachfully, while her hands wandered absently over her body, as if wondering to find it wet, "it is for the gods to warn and protect their beloved. I saw thee in the temple of Ra, the day when thou didst descend ​from the foot of the throne of Osiris to dwell amongst the people of Kamt, and as I saw thee I found thee beautiful beyond all sons of men.… Hush! do not speak! It was no sin to find thee fair! I had come to weep in the temple, for Amen-het, whom I had loved, was lost to me for ever."
I had already begun to think that the strange little person who had indulged in this rash swimming feat, in order to make pretty speeches to Hugh, was a little demented within that pretty, dripping head of hers. Her last words suggested to me that perhaps there was some cause for her strange frame of mind. She hid her face in her hands, and the drops, which escaped from between her fingers and trickled down upon her breasts, did not come from the waters of the canal. It was a very pathetic situation, and we did not quite know what to do. Here was a very pretty maiden, who had risked—to say the least—a very severe cold for the sake of speaking to us (or rather to Hugh, for as usual I was but a secondary personage). She was evidently in sad distress, and yet any attempt on our part at consolation by word or deed was promptly and coldly repelled. However, she soon looked up again, as if ashamed of her emotion, and spoke quickly and nervously.
"Wilt thou forgive me? I am weak, and Amen-het was very dear to me. We had loved one another from the days when my mother's foot rocked both our cradles side by side. He was motherless and fatherless, but he knew that I would be all in all to him: mother and sister, and wife and friend. We were happy, for we loved one another. He was a skilful artisan and carved exquisite images in the temples of the gods, and already his fame had spread far and wide, from Men-ne-fer to Se-ven-neh, and thence to Tanis. Then the princess, ​she whom they call Neit-akrit, built herself a palace more gorgeous and beautiful than aught the people of Kamt had ever seen, and hearing of the fame of Amen-het she bade him come and carve beautiful sculptures on the terraces of her garden, and upon the steps of her palace."
She paused, and in her eyes I saw that same look of deadly hatred which I had seen on the first day distorting the regal face of Maat-kha.
"Oh, beloved of the gods ! thou does not know yet—how couldst thou? since thou art so fair—what it is to love and see thy love become a weariness to the beloved! Thou hast not craved for a look, a smile, a touch, and found nothing but an aching cold which chills the heart, and makes the brain dizzy with evil and jealous thoughts. Oh, Mother Isis! she has all that thou and the gods could give! She has beauty beyond the praise of song, she is great and rich above us all, while the land of Kamt lies prostrate at her feet. I had but him in all the world, but his love to me was more priceless than all the emeralds of Te-bu and all the rubies of Se-ven-neh, and yet, though Amen-het was humble and an artisan, she smiled on him and he forgot."
We were strangely impressed by this simple yet pathetic little story—so old and yet ever new—which the dainty little ivory carving with the dripping, child-like shoulders was whispering to us in the moonlight. She told it all in the peculiar, monotonous, sing-song way which is the characteristic of these people, and we both listened, for we both felt that there was something more to come, something that would explain why this demure little maiden stood half naked before us in order to tell us her life's tragedy.
"Didst thou know that she is proud? and in her ​pride she wished that the hall wherein she daily takes her perfumed bath should be illumined by a lamp exactly like in design to the one which lights the inner sanctuary of the temple of Ra at Men-ne-fer. And Neit-akrit smiled on Amen-het until he was ready to sin for a look from her blue eyes, and would willingly have died for the sake of feeling her tiny naked foot rest for one instant upon his neck. Then she told him of her wish. The lamp—could he copy it?—ay! he could, if he but saw it. But 'tis sacrilege to dare to lift the veil which hides the sanctuary of Ra from all but his priests. Then she frowned and would not smile, refused to look on him again, vowed a more devoted artisan would in future receive her commands. And he, poor weak fool, swore an oath that he would do her bidding. After that she smiled again and Amen-het went to Men-ne-fer, and at dead of night his sacrilegious foot trod the inner sanctuary of Ra, the all-creating god, in order to find a graceful design for a lamp for the bathroom of Princess Neit-akrit."
Again she paused, then added slowly, while her voice almost choked in her throat:
"Scarce twenty days had passed before I saw thy holy presence in the temple of Ra, oh, beloved of the gods! and before the high priest told us that thou hadst been sent by Osiris to be our king and ruler, I had seen Amen-het, pinioned and blinded, led forth towards the gates which mortal eyes have never seen, and beyond which lies the mysterious valley of death, where dwell neither birds nor beasts, and from whence no man can return."
She sank upon her knees, and her small round arms were raised upwards to the cold and silent moon, while we, with a shudder, looked at one another and remembered the awful tragedy we had witnessed, in the vast ​and silent immensities of the wilderness, where the weird maniac gloated over his loathsome meal, where a half-human, wholly bestial creature was all that remained of him who had once been Amen-het. Thank all the gods of ancient Egypt! the little maid who mourned her beloved dead had no conception of what he became before we finally laid him beneath a few handfuls of sand and shingle.
"Canst wonder," she resumed, turning once more to Hugh, "that, seeing thee so fair, I have prayed to Isis that she may protect thee from the beauty of Neit-akrit's eyes? And see! the goddess did hear me, for as I wandered out in my mother's garden I found at the very root of the sacred poppy this precious treasure which I have brought for thee. It is a sacred scarabæus, and thou knowest that he who beholds it, when Isis's face is turned towards the earth, and holds it tightly in the palm of his hand, sees no beauty save that of its exquisite body, sees naught that is blue save the iridescence of its wings. Then, when I had found it, I was happy. I waited, for I dared not approach thee while thy slaves were round thee, ready to drive me away; but to-night as I watched, again I saw thee and thy counsellor wander alone beneath the acacia trees, and I came across to lay my priceless offering in thy hands."
Graceful and exquisitely chaste, she now came towards Hugh and held out to him, in the palm of her small hand, a beautiful iridescent beetle of many hues of blue and green and gold. She looked so innocent, so confiding and trustful, and withal so pathetic in her grief, that, without a smile, and quite gently, Hugh took the simple offering, and, as he did so, respectfully kissed the tips of her trembling fingers.
Before we had time to realise what had happened, ​before we could say anything, or even stir, the little maiden had with one bound reached the marble parapet. We heard a splash, and the slow rhythmic movement of her strong young arms in the water, and through it all a faint and warning "Hush-sh-sh!" still lingering like the echo of a sigh in the sweet-scented air.