cartouche of Mamose significant vehicle were war bows Piled beside this
of electrum and bronze whose stocks were bound with wir ays of daggers
with ivory handles and gold. There were arr and swords with blades of
glistening bronze. There were racks of spears and pikes. There were
shields of bronze, the targets decorated with scenes of war and the name
of the se. There were helmets and breastplates made divine Mamo from the
skin of the crocodile, and the uniforms and regalia of the famous
regiments of Egypt dressed the life-sized the wooden statues of the king
that stood in rows against walls of the alcoves.
a They walked on down the isle, between more paint, death of the icting
the life and the ings and murals dep ters and danking. They saw him
playing with his daugh nt son. They saw him fishing and hunting and
dling his infa isn'omarches, hawking, in council with his ministers and
dallying with his wives and concubines, and feasting with the priests of
the temple.
What a chronicle of life in ancient times,' Royan breathed with awe.
'There has never been a discovery remotely like this before.' Each of
the persons in the panels had obviously been drawn from life. They were
real breathing living men and women, every face and every expression
different, captured with the keen eye, the humour and he great humanity
of the artist.
'That must be Taita himself.' Royan pointed out the self-portrait of the
eunuch in one of the central panels. 'I wonder if he took poetic
licence, or was he truly so noble and beautiful?'
They paused to admire the face of Taita, their adversary, and looked
into his searching, intelligent eyes. Such was the skill of the artist
that he watched them as keenly as they studied him. A small, enigmatic
smile played on Taita's lips. The painting had been varnished, so that
it was perfectly preserved, as if it had been painted the day before.
Taita's lips seemed moist and his eyes gleamed softly with life.
'His complexion is fair and his eyes are blue!' Royan exclaimed.
'Although that red hair is almost certainly dyed with henna.'
'It is weird to think that, although he lived so long ago, he almost
succeeded in killing us,'Nicholas said softly.
'In what land was he born? He never tells us that in the scrolls. Was it
Greeceor Italy? Was he from one of the Germanic tribes, or was he of
Viking stock? We will never know, for he himself probably did not know
his own origins.'
'There he, is again in the next panel.' Nicholas pointed down the arcade
to where the unmistakable face of the eunuch appeared in the throng that
knelt in homage before the throne on which sat Pharaoh and his queen.
'Like Hitchcock, he seems to like to appear in his own creations.'
They went on past the treasure stalls in which were stored plates and
goblets and bowls of alabaster and bronze chased with silver and gold,
polished bronze mirrors and rolls of precious silk and linen and woollen
cloth that had long ago rotted to shaggy black amorphous heaps. On the
walls that divided these from the next set of stalls they saw reenacted
the battle with the Hyksos in which Pharaoh had been struck down, the
arrow shot by the Hyksos king lodged in his breast. Then in the next
