Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Uarda : a Romance of Ancient Egypt — Complete by Georg Ebers (best classic literature .txt) 📖
- Author: Georg Ebers
Book online «Uarda : a Romance of Ancient Egypt — Complete by Georg Ebers (best classic literature .txt) 📖». Author Georg Ebers
“Truth is one!” said Ameni coolly. “What you can reveal to me, can also be heard by this noble lord, the Regent of the king himself. Did you recognize Bent-Anat, or not?”
“The lady who rescued me was like her, and yet unlike,” answered the poet, whose blood was roused by the subtle irony of his Superior’s words. “And if I had been as sure that she was the princess, as I am that you are the man who once held me in honor, and who are now trying to humiliate me, I would all the more have acted as I did to spare a lady who is more like a goddess than a woman, and who, to save an unworthy wretch like me, stooped from a throne to the dust.”
“Still the poet—the preacher!” said Ameni. Then he added severely. “I beg for a short and clear answer. We know for certain that the princess took part in the festival in the disguise of a woman of low rank, for she again declared herself to Paaker; and we know that it was she who saved you. But did you know that she meant to come across the Nile?”
“How should I?” asked Pentaur.
“Well, did you believe that it was Bent-Anat whom you saw before you when she ventured on to the scene of conflict?”
“I did believe it,” replied Pentaur; he shuddered and cast down his eyes.
“Then it was most audacious to drive away the king’s daughter as an impostor.”
“It was,” said Pentaur. “But for my sake she had risked the honor of her name, and that of her royal father, and I—I should not have risked my life and freedom for—”
“We have heard enough,” interrupted Ameni.
“Not so,” the Regent interposed. “What became of the girl you had saved?”
“An old witch, Hekt by name, a neighbor of Pinem’s, took her and her grandmother into her cave,” answered the poet; who was then, by the high-priest’s order, taken back to the temple-prison.
Scarcely had he disappeared when the Regent exclaimed:
“A dangerous man! an enthusiast! an ardent worshipper of Rameses!”
“And of his daughter,” laughed Ameni, “but only a worshipper. Thou hast nothing to fear from him—I will answer for the purity of his motives.”
“But he is handsome and of powerful speech,” replied Ani. “I claim him as my prisoner, for he has killed one of my soldiers.”
Ameni’s countenance darkened, and he answered very sternly:
“It is the exclusive right of our conclave, as established by our charter, to judge any member of this fraternity. You, the future king, have freely promised to secure our privileges to us, the champions of your own ancient and sacred rights.”
“And you shall have them,” answered the Regent with a persuasive smile. “But this man is dangerous, and you would not have him go unpunished.”
“He shall be severely judged,” said Ameni, “but by us and in this house.”
“He has committed murder!” cried Ani. “More than one murder. He is worthy of death.”
“He acted under pressure of necessity,” replied Ameni. “And a man so favored by the Gods as he, is not to be lightly given up because an untimely impulse of generosity prompted him to rash conduct. I know—I can see that you wish him ill. Promise me, as you value me as an ally, that you will not attempt his life.”
“Oh, willingly!” smiled the Regent, giving the high-priest his hand.
“Accept my sincere thanks,” said Ameni. “Pentaur was the most promising of my disciples, and in spite of many aberrations I still esteem him highly. When he was telling us of what had occurred to-day, did he not remind you of the great Assa, or of his gallant son, the Osirian father of the pioneer Paaker?”
“The likeness is extraordinary,” answered Ani, “and yet he is of quite humble birth. Who was his mother?”
“Our gate-keeper’s daughter, a plain, pious, simple creature.”
“Now I will return to the banqueting hall,” said Ani, after a fete moments of reflection. “But I must ask you one thing more. I spoke to you of a secret that will put Paaker into our power. The old sorceress Hekt, who has taken charge of the paraschites’ wife and grandchild, knows all about it. Send some policeguards over there, and let her be brought over here as a prisoner; I will examine her myself, and so can question her without exciting observation.”
Ameni at once sent off a party of soldiers, and then quietly ordered a faithful attendant to light up the so-called audience-chamber, and to put a seat for him in an adjoining room.
CHAPTER XXX.
While the banquet was going forward at the temple, and Ameni’s messengers were on their way to the valley of the kings’ tombs, to waken up old Hekt, a furious storm of hot wind came up from the southwest, sweeping black clouds across the sky, and brown clouds of dust across the earth. It bowed the slender palm-trees as an archer bends his bow, tore the tentpegs up on the scene of the festival, whirled the light tent-cloths up in the air, drove them like white witches through the dark night, and thrashed the still surface of the Nile till its yellow waters swirled and tossed in waves like a restless sea.
Paaker had compelled his trembling slaves to row him across the stream; several times the boat was near being swamped, but he had seized the helm himself with his uninjured hand, and guided it firmly and surely, though the rocking of the boat kept his broken hand in great and constant pain. After a few ineffectual attempts he succeeded in landing. The storm had blown out the lanterns at the masts—the signal lights for which his people looked—and he found neither servants nor torch-bearers on the bank, so he struggled through the scorching wind as far as the gate of his house. His big dog had always been wont to announce his return home to the door-keeper with joyful barking; but to-night the boatmen long knocked in vain at the heavy doer. When at last he entered the court-yard, he found all dark, for the wind had extinguished the lanterns and torches, and there were no lights but in the windows of his mother’s rooms.
The dogs in their open kennels now began to make themselves heard, but their tones were plaintive and whining, for the storm had frightened the beasts; their howling cut the pioneer to the heart, for it reminded him of the poor slain Descher, whose deep voice he sadly missed; and when he went into his own room he was met by a wild cry of lamentation from the Ethiopian slave, for the dog which he had trained for Paaker’s father, and which he had loved.
The pioneer threw himself on a seat, and ordered some water to be brought, that he might cool his aching
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