“Wouldst tempt me to fresh sin, woman? And dost thou think, Charmion, that in some hovel where I must hide, I could bear, day by day, to look upon thy fair face, and seeing, remember that those lips betrayed me? Not thus easily shalt thou atone! This I know even now: many and heavy shall be thy lonely days of penance! Perchance that hour of vengeance yet may come, and perchance thou shalt live to play thy part in it. Thou must still abide in the Court of Cleopatra; and, while thou art there, if I yet live, I will from time to time find means to give thee tidings. Perhaps a day may dawn when once more I shall need thy service. Now, swear that, in this event, thou wilt not fail me a second time.”
“I swear, Harmachis!—I swear! May everlasting torments, too hideous to be dreamed—more hideous, even, by far, than those that wring me now—be my portion if I fail thee in one jot or tittle—ay, though I wait a lifetime for thy word!”
“It is well; see that thou keep the oath—not twice may we betray. I go to work out my fate; abide thou to work out thine. Perchance our divers threads will once more mingle ere the web be spun. Charmion, who unasked didst love me—and who, prompted by that gentle love of thine, didst betray and ruin me—fare thee well!”
She gazed wildly upon my face—she stretched out her arms as though to clasp me; then, in the agony of her despair, she cast herself at length and grovelled upon the ground.
I took up the sack of clothing and the staff and gained the door, and, as I passed it, I threw one last glance upon her. There she lay, with arms outstretched—more white than her white robes—her dark hair streaming about her, and her fair brows hidden in the dust.
And thus I left her, nor did I again set my eyes upon her till nine long years had come and gone.
[Here ends the second and largest roll of papyrus.]
Book III
The Vengeance of Harmachis
I
Of the Escape of Harmachis from Tarsus; Of His Being Cast Forth as an Offering to the Gods of the Sea; Of His Sojourn in the Isle of Cyprus; Of His Return to Abouthis; and of the Death of Amenemhat
I made my way down the stair in safety, and presently stood in the courtyard of that great house. It was but an hour from dawn, and none were stirring. The last reveller had drunk his fill, the dancing-girls had ceased their dancing, and silence lay upon the city. I drew near the gate, and was challenged by an officer who stood on guard, wrapped in a heavy cloak.
“Who passes,” said the voice of Brennus.
“A merchant, may it please you, Sir, who, having brought gifts from Alexandria to a lady of the Queen’s household, and, having been entertained of the lady, now departs to his galley,” I answered in a feigned voice.
“Umph!” he growled. “The ladies of the Queen’s household keep their guests late. Well; it is a time of festival. The password, Sir Shopkeeper? Without the password you must needs return and crave the lady’s further hospitality.”
“ ‘Antony,’ Sir; and a right good word, too. Ah! I’ve wandered far, and never saw I so goodly a man or so great a general. And, mark you, Sir! I’ve travelled far, and seen many generals.”
“Ay; Antony’s the word! And Antony is a good general in his way—when it is a sober way, and when he cannot find a skirt to follow. I’ve served with Antony—and against him, too; and know his points. Well, well; he’s got an armful now!”
And all this while that he was holding me in talk, the sentry had been pacing to and fro before the gate. But now he moved a little way to the right, leaving the entrance clear.
“Fare thee well, Harmachis, and begone!” whispered Brennus, leaning forward and speaking quickly. “Linger not. But at times bethink thee of Brennus who risked his neck to save thine. Farewell, lad, I would that we were sailing North together,” and he turned his back upon me and began to hum a tune.
“Farewell, Brennus, thou honest man,” I answered, and was gone. And, as I heard long afterwards, when on the morrow the hue and cry was raised because the murderers could not find me, though they sought me everywhere to slay me, Brennus did me a service. For he swore that as he kept his watch alone an hour after midnight he saw me come and stand upon the parapet of the roof, that then I stretched out my robes and they became wings on which I floated up to Heaven, leaving him astonished. And all those about the Court lent ear to this history, believing in it, because of the great fame of my magic; and they wondered much what the marvel might portend. The tale also travelled into Egypt, and did much to save my good name among those whom I had betrayed; for the more ignorant among them believed that I acted not of my will, but of the will of the dread Gods, who of their own purpose wafted me into Heaven. And thus to this day the saying runs that “When Harmachis comes again Egypt shall be free.” But alas, Harmachis comes no more! Only Cleopatra, though she was much afraid, doubted her of the tale, and sent an armed vessel to search for the Syrian merchant, but not to find him, as shall be told.
When I reached the galley of which Charmion
