The Land of Foam

The stones, heated by the blazing sun, burned the arms and shoulders of the slaves. The gentle breeze brought no coolness to them, but instead aggravated their plight by covering them in the fine dust from the stones that ate into their eyes.

Thirty slaves, already at the end of their strength, were pulling on stiff ropes to raise on to the wall a heavy stone slab bearing a bas-relief of some sort. The slab had to be placed in a prepared nest at a height of some eight cubits from the ground. Four experienced and nimble slaves were steadying the slab from below. Among them was Pandion who stood next to an Egyptian, the only inhabitant of Aigyptos amongst the many nations in their slave compound. This Egyptian, condemned to eternal slavery for some unknown, awful crime he had committed, occupied the end cell in the privileged south-eastern corner of the shehne. Two purple brands in the shape of a wide cross covered his chest and back while on his cheek a red snake was branded. Morose, never smiling, he did not talk to anybody and, despite the horror of his own position, despised the foreign slaves in the same way as his free fellow-countrymen did.

At the present moment he was not paying any attention to anybody and, with his shaven head lowered, was pressing with his hands against the heavy stone to prevent it from swaying.

Suddenly Pandion noticed that the strands of a rope holding the stone were beginning to snap, and shouted to warn the others. Two of the slaves jumped to one side but the Egyptian paid no attention to Pandion and could not see what was going on above his head — he remained standing under the heavy stone.

With a wide sweep of his right arm, Pandion gave the Egyptian a shove in the chest that sent him flying clear of the danger spot. At that very moment the rope snapped and the stone crashed down, grazing Pandion’s hand as it fell. A yellowish pallor spread over the Egyptian’s face. The stone struck against the foot of the wall and a big piece was broken off the corner of the bas-relief.

The overseer came running towards Pandion with a shout of rage and lashed at him with his whip. The square hippopotamus-hide lash, two fingers thick, cut deeply into the small of Pandion’s back. The pain was so great that everything went misty before his eyes.

“You wastrel, why did you save that carrion?” howled the overseer, slashing at Pandion a second time. “The stone would have remained whole if it had fallen on a soft body. That carving is worth more than the lives of hundreds of creatures like you,” he added as the second blow struck home.

Pandion would have rushed at the overseer but he was seized by the soldiers who hurried to the scene and brutally thrashed him.

That night Pandion lay face downwards in his cell. He was in a high fever, the deep whip cuts on his back, shoulders and legs were inflamed. Kidogo came crawling to him and brought him water to drink, from time to time pouring water over his aching head.

A slight rustling sound came from outside the door, followed by a whisper:

“Ekwesha, are you there?”

Pandion answered and felt somebody’s hands laid on him in the darkness.

It was the Egyptian. He took a tiny jar out of his belt and spent a long time rubbing something into the palms of his hands. Then he began to pass his hands carefully over Pandion’s wales, spreading some liquid unguent with a pungent, unpleasant smell. The pain made the Hellene shudder but the confident hands of the Egyptian continued their work. By the time the Egyptian began to massage the legs, the pain in Pandion’s back had died away; a few minutes later Pandion dropped quietly off to sleep.

“What did you do to him?” whispered Kidogo who was quite invisible in his corner.

After a short pause the Egyptian answered him:

“This is kiphi, it’s the finest ointment, and the secret is known only to our priesthood. My mother brought it here by paying a big bribe to a soldier.”

“You’re a good fellow. Excuse me if I thought you were trash!” exclaimed the Negro.

The Egyptian muttered something between his teeth and disappeared silently into the darkness.

— From that day onwards the Egyptian made friends with the young Hellene although he still ignored his companions. After that Pandion often heard a rustling sound near his cell and if he was alone the lean, bony body of the Egyptian would come crawling in. The lonely, embittered son of Tha-Quem was outspoken and talkative when he was alone with the sympathetic Pandion, who soon learned the Egyptian’s story.

Yakhmos, the son of the moon, came from an old family of nedshes, faithful servants of former Pharaohs who had lost their position and their wealth with a change of dynasty. Yakhmos had had a good schooling and had been employed as scribe by the Governor of the Province of the Hare. He chanced to fall in love with the daughter of a builder who demanded that his son-in-law be a man of means. Yakhmos lost his head for love of the girl, determined to get the money, come what may, and turned to robbery of the royal tombs as a means to speedy enrichment. His knowledge of the hieroglyphs was a great advantage to him in the commission of a horrible crime that was always cruelly punished. Yakhmos soon had large quantities of gold in his hands but in the meantime the girl had been given in marriage to an official in the far south.

Yakhmos tried to drown his sorrows in merry feasting and the purchase of concubines, and the money soon melted away. The dark road to wealth was already known to him and he again set out to do nefarious deeds, was eventually caught, and brutally tortured and his companions were either executed or died under torture. Yakhmos was sentenced to exile in the gold mines. Every year a new party was sent there at the time of the floods and to await his dispatch Yakhmos was put into a shehne since there was a shortage of labour for the building of the new wall of the Temple of Ptah.

As Pandion listened with interest to Yakhmos’ story he was amazed at the valour of a man who in appearance was far from brave.

Yakhmos told of his adventures in the fearful underground labyrinths, where death awaited the intruder at every step from traps cunningly designed by the builders.

In the oldest tombs that lay deep below the huge pyramids the treasures and the royal sarcophagi were protected by huge, thick slabs of stone that closed the gangways. The later tombs were in a labyrinth of false corridors that ended in deep wells with smooth walls. Huge blocks of stone fell from above when the intruders tried to move the stones that protected the tombs, heaps of sand shot down through wells from above and barred their way forward. If the bold intruders tried to pass the sand and penetrated deeper into the tombs, more earth showered down on them from the wells and buried the robbers in a narrow passage between the sand-heaps and the newly fallen earth. In the newer tombs stone jaws closed noiselessly in the darkness of the narrow tunnels or a frame studded with sharp spears crashed down from the columns immediately the intruder set his foot on a certain fatal stone in the floor. Yakhmos knew the many horrors that had lain buried for thousands of years, awaiting in silence their victim. He gained his experience at the expense of many others who had perished in the performance of their horrible profession. On many occasions the Egyptian had come across the decaying remains of unknown people who had perished in the traps in the distant past.

Yakhmos and his companions had spent many nights on the verge of the Western Desert where the Cities of the Dead stretched for thousands of cubits. Hiding in the darkness, not daring to speak or strike a light, feeling their way to the howl of the jackals, the laughing of the hyenas and the menacing roar of the lions, the plunderers dug their way through stifling passages or cut through whole cliffs in an effort to find the direction in which the deeply hidden tomb lay.

This was a horrible profession, fully worthy of a people who thought more of death than of life, who strove to preserve for all eternity the glory of the dead rather than living deeds.

Pandion listened in amazement and horror to the tales of adventure told by this thin, insignificant man who had so often risked his life for the sake of a few moments’ pleasure, and could not understand him.

“Why did you continue living like that?” Pandion asked him one night. “Why couldn’t you go away?” The Egyptian smiled a silent, mirthless smile. “The Land of Quemt is a strange land. You, a foreigner, cannot understand her. We are all imprisoned here, not merely the slaves, but also the free sons of the Black Land. Long, long ago, the deserts protected us. Today Tha-Quem is squeezed in between the deserts — it is a big prison for all those who are unable to make long journeys with a strong band of warriors.

‘In the west is the desert — the kingdom of death. The desert in the east is passable only to large caravans with a good supply of water. In the south there are savage tribes hostile to us. All our neighbours burn with hatred against our country whose well-being is founded on the misfortunes of weaker peoples.

“You’re not a son of Tha-Quem and can’t understand how we fear to die in a strange land. In this valley of the Hapi, everywhere alike, where our ancestors have lived for thousands of years and tilled the soil, dug canals and made fertile the land, we, too, must live and die. Tha-Quem is shut off from the world and that lies like a curse upon us. When there are too many people their lives are of no value — and there is nowhere for us to migrate to, the people chosen by the gods are not loved by the peoples of foreign lands…”

“But would it not be better for you to flee now that you’re a slave?” asked Pandion.

“Alone and branded?” came the Egyptian’s ejaculation of astonishment. “I’m now worse than a foreigner… Remember, Ekwesha, there’s no escaping from here! The only hope is to turn the whole of the Black Land upside down by force. But who can do that? It’s true there have been such things in the days of long ago…” Yakhmos sighed regretfully.

These last words aroused Pandion’s curiosity and he began to question Yakhmos; he learned about the great slave rebellions that had from time to time shaken the whole country. He learned also that the slaves had been joined by the poorer sections of the population whose lives differed little from those of the slaves.

He learned, too, that the common people were forbidden to have any contact with the slaves since “a poor man could infuriate the mob in the slave compound” — such were the Pharaohs’ injunctions to their sons.

The poorer sons of Quemt, the tillers of the soil and the craftsmen, lived in the narrow world of their own street. They made as few acquaintances as possible, they humbled themselves before the soldiers, the “heralds” who brought them the commands of the officials. Pharaoh demanded humility and drudging toil and for the slightest act of disobedience the offender was mercilessly beaten. The huge body of officials was a tremendous burden on the country, freedom to leave the country and travel was the prerogative of the priests and nobility alone.

At Pandion’s request Yakhmos drew a plan of the Land of Quemt in a patch of moonlight on the floor. The young Hellene was horrified: he was in the very middle of the valley of a great river thousands of stadia in length. There were water and life to the north and south but to get there through a densely populated land with countless military fortifications was impossible. In the empty deserts on either side there was no population nor was there any means of subsistence.

The few caravan roads along which there were wells were strongly guarded.

After the Egyptian had left him, Pandion spent a sleepless night trying to think out a plan of escape. Instinctively, the youth realized that hopes of a successful escape would grow weaker as time went on and he grew more and more exhausted from the unbearable slave labour. Only people possessing extraordinary strength and endurance could expect fortune to smile on them if they attempted escape.

The next night Pandion crawled to the cell of the Etruscan, Cavius, told him all he had learned from the Egyptian and tried to persuade him to make an attempt to arouse the slaves to rebellion. Cavius did not answer him but sat stroking his beard, deep in thought. Pandion was well aware that preparations for rebellion had long been under way and that the various tribal groups had chosen their leaders.

“I can’t stand it any longer, why should we wait?” exclaimed Pandion passionately; Cavius hurriedly put his hand over his mouth. “Better death,” added the Hellene, somewhat more calmly. “What is there to wait for? What will change? If changes come in ten years time, then we shan’t be able to fight or flee. Are you afraid of death or what?”

Cavius raised his hand.

“I’m not afraid and you know it,” he said brusquely, “but we have five hundred lives dependent on us. Do you propose to sacrifice them? You’ll get your death at a high price.”

Pandion struck his head against the low ceiling as he sat up suddenly in his impatience.

“I’ll think it over and talk to people,” Cavius hastened to add, “but still it’s a pity there are only two other shehne near us and that we have no access to them. We’ll talk tomorrow night and I’ll let you know. Tell Kidogo to come…”

Pandion left Cavius’ cell, crawled hurriedly along the wall so as to get there before the moon rose, and made for Yakhmos’ cell. Yakhmos was still awake.

“I went to see you,” whispered the Egyptian in excited tones, “but you weren’t there. I wanted to tell. .” he stammered. “I’ve been told that I’m being taken away from here tomorrow; they are sending three hundred men to the gold mines in the desert. That’s how matters stand — nobody ever comes back from there…”

“Why?” asked Pandion.

“Slaves sent to work there rarely live more than a year. There’s nothing worse than the work down there amidst the sun-baked rocks, with no air to breathe. They give them very little water as there isn’t enough to go round. The work consists of breaking hard stones and carrying the ore in baskets. The strongest of the slaves drop exhausted at the end of the day’s work and blood runs from their ears and throats… Farewell, Ekwesha, you’re a fine fellow although you did me a bad turn by saving my life. It’s not the rescue that I value but the sympathy you showed me… Long, long ago a life of bitterness made one of our bards compose a song in praise of death. That song I repeat today.

“ ‘Death lies before me like convalescence before a sick man, like relief from sickness,’ “ intoned the Egyptian in a whisper, “ ‘like sailing before the wind in fine weather, like the perfume of the lotus, like a road washed by the rain, like the return home after a campaign…’ “ Yakhmos’ voice broke off in a groan.

Overcome by pity, the young Hellene drew nearer to the Egyptian.

“But you can take your own…” Pandion stopped short.

Yakhmos staggered back from him. “What are you saying, foreigner. Do you imagine I can allow my Ka to torment my Ba for all eternity in never ending sufferings?…” (Ka — the soul of the intellect. Ba — the corporeal soul, the spirit of the body.)

Pandion understood nothing of what the Egyptian was saying. He sincerely believed that suffering ends with death but did not say so out of tolerance for the faith of the Egyptian.

Yakhmos pushed aside the straw on which he slept at night and began digging in the corner of his cell.

“Here, take this dagger, if ever you dare… and this will remind you of me if a miracle happens and you gain your liberty.” Yakhmos placed a smooth, cold object in Pandion’s hand.

“What’s that? What do I want it for?” “It’s a stone I found in the underground rooms of an old temple hidden amongst the rocks.”

Yakhmos, glad of an opportunity to forget the present in reminiscences of the past, told Pandion of a mysterious old temple that he had come across, during his search for rich tombs, at a bend in the Great River many thousands of cubits below the “City,” the capital, Waset.

Yakhmos had noticed traces of an old path that led to steep cliffs from the shore of a small cove densely overgrown with rushes. The place was far from any village and was never visited by anybody since there was nothing to interest the farmer or the shepherd in those barren, rocky cliffs.

There was no danger in continuing his search and Yakhmos immediately plunged into a narrow canyon strewn with huge boulders. The boulders covered the path and had apparently fallen after it had ceased to serve as a means of communication with the river-bank. For a long time Yakhmos roamed amongst the rocks, hollows washed out by water, and thorn bushes. The canyon was swarming with spiders and their webs, stretching across the path, clung to the perspiring face of the plunderer of royal tombs.

At last the canyon widened to form an enclosed valley amidst the high hills. In the middle there was a small eminence surrounded by double rows of irrigation ditches — apparently there had formerly been a spring there that was used to water the gardens. Silence reigned in the gloom of that stifling, windless valley around which gleaming black cliffs rose in a solid wall. At the far end there was another narrow canyon similar to that by which Yakhmos had entered a place forgotten by all.

The tomb robber climbed up a hill and from there noticed an entry cut in the cliffside that had been hidden before by the eminence. The entry was blocked by fallen stones and Yakhmos had to work for a long time before he could get inside. At last he found himself in the cool darkness of a cave. After he had rested a little, he lit the lamp that he always carried with him and made his way along a high corridor, carefully examining the statues on either side, afraid of cunning traps that threatened him with a tormenting death. His fears, however, were unfounded: either the old-time builders had not prepared any traps, relying on the remoteness of the temple to keep it from the eyes of strangers, or the thousands of years that had elapsed had rendered the traps ineffective. Without any hindrance Yakhmos entered a big, round underground chamber in the centre of which was a statue of the god Thoth, his long beak stretching down from the height of his pedestal. In the walls Yakhmos found ten narrow slits of doorways, arranged at equal distances round the chamber. They led to rooms filled with half-rotted objects: scrolls, papyri and wooden tablets covered with drawings and inscriptions. One of the rooms was filled with dried grasses that turned to dust the moment he touched them; in another lay a pile of stones. In this way Yakhmos inspected eight of the rooms, all of them square, without finding anything that interested him. The ninth doorway lea Yakhmos into a long room surrounded by granite columns. Between the columns were slabs of black diabase covered with writing in the ancient language of Tha-Quem. In the middle of this room stood another statue of the long-beaked, ibis-headed god Thoth; in a flat bronze bowl on the pedestal of the idol lay a precious stone that glittered in the light of the lamp. Yakhmos seized it avariciously, brought it close to the light — and could not restrain an exclamation of disappointment. The stone was not of those that were valued in Tha-Quem. The experienced eye of the tomb robber immediately told him that the stone would be of no value to the merchants. The strange thing was, however, that the more he looked at the stone, the more it pleased him. It was a blue-green fragment of crystal about the size of a spearhead, flat, polished and unusually transparent. Yakhmos grew interested and resolved to read the writing on the walls hoping to find an explanation of the stone’s origin. He still had not forgotten the ancient language of Tha-Quem that he had learned in the school for chief scribes, and set about deciphering hieroglyphs that were in a splendid state of preservation on the hard diabase. There was little air in the underground chamber, the ventilation channels had long since collapsed, the lamp began to burn low, but still Yakhmos read stubbornly on. Gradually the story of a great deed of valour, performed shortly after the building of the Great Pyramid of Cheops, was unfolded before this professional tomb robber. Pharaoh Jedephra (Jedephra — a Pharaoh of the IV Dynasty (2877–2869 B.C.). sent his treasurer Baurjed on an expedition far to the south, to Tha-Nuter, the Land of Spirits, to discover the bounds of the earth and of the Great Arc, the ocean. Baurjed left from the harbour of Suu, on the Blue Waters, (Blue Waters — the Red Sea. Suu — the modern El-Qoseir.) on seven of the biggest ships. For seven years the sons of the Black Land were absent. Half of the men and four of the ships were lost in terrible storms on the Great Arc, but the others sailed on and on to the south, along unknown coasts, until they eventually reached the fabulous Land of Punt. Pharaoh’s orders, however, drove them still farther south. They had to find the end of the earth. The sons of the Black Land left their ships and continued their way south overland.

For more than two years they continued their journey through dark forests, crossed gigantic plains and high mountains — the home of the lightning — and, by the time their strength was almost exhausted, reached a big river on which lived a powerful people, builders of stone temples. Here they discovered that the end of the earth was still immeasurably distant — far, far away to the south, across plains of blue grass and through forests of silver-leaved trees. It was there, beyond the ends of the earth, that the Great Arc flowed, the ocean, whose bounds were known to no man. The travellers, realizing that they were helpless to carry out Pharaoh’s orders to the letter, returned to the Land of Punt and built and equipped a new ship in place of their old ones, worm-eaten and battered by storms on the Great Arc. There were scarcely enough survivors to man one ship. The bold adventurers, however, loaded the vessel with gifts from Punt and set out on their unbelievably difficult journey. The urge to return to their native land lent them strength — they conquered wind and waves, sandstorms and submerged rocks, hunger and thirst and returned to the harbour of Sun in the Blue Waters seven years after their departure.

Much had changed in the Black Land: the new Pharaoh, the ruthless Khafre, made the country forget everything except the building of a second gigantic pyramid that was to exalt his name for thousands of years. The return of the travellers was quite unexpected and Pharaoh was disappointed to learn that the earth and the ocean were immeasurable and that the peoples inhabiting the regions to the south were numerous and strong. Baurjed showed Pharaoh, who considered himself the ruler of the world, that the Land of Quemt was nothing but a tiny corner of a huge world, abounding in forests and rivers, fruits and animals, and inhabited by numerous peoples skilled in all manner of work and hunting.

The wrath of Pharaoh descended upon the travellers and Baurjed’s companions were exiled to distant provinces.” It was forbidden, on pain of death, to make any mention of the journey; passages in the writings left by Jedephra where the dispatch of the expedition southwards to the Land of Spirits was mentioned, were all expunged. Baurjed himself would have been a victim of the wrath of Pharaoh and all memory of his journey would have disappeared for all time, had it not been for a wise old priest of Thoth, the god of learning, art and writing. This was the priest who had inspired the dead Pharaoh to investigate the bounds of the earth and seek new sources of wealth for a country that had become impoverished by the building of a huge pyramid. He was forced to leave the court of the new Pharaoh by the priests of Ra (Ra — the sun god, chief deity of the Egyptians in the Pyramid period.) and helped the traveller by offering him asylum in a hidden Temple of Thoth where secret books, plans and samples of stones and plants from distant lands were stored. On the orders of the priest, Baurjed’s great journey was recorded on stone slabs so that it might be preserved in an unapproachable underground chamber until such times as the country stood in need of that knowledge. Baurjed brought a blue-green transparent stone, unknown to the people of Tha-Quem, from the most distant land he reached beyond the great southern river. Such stones were obtained in the Land of the Blue Plains, three months journey south of the great river. Baurjed offered this symbol of the extreme ends of the earth to the god Thoth — this was the stone Yakhmos had taken from the pedestal of the statue.

Yakhmos was unable to read the story of the journey to the end. He had just come to a description of the wonderful submarine gardens seen by the travellers in the Blue Waters when the lamp went out and the plunderer had the greatest difficulty in getting out of the underground chamber, taking with him only the unusual stone.

In the light of day the crystal from the distant land seemed even more beautiful; Yakhmos would not part with the stone but it did not bring him good luck.

Pandion had a great journey to his native land ahead of him and Yakhmos hoped that the stone with which Baurjed had returned from an unheard of distance would help the Hellene, too.

“Didn’t you know anything about that journey before?” asked Pandion.

“No, it has remained hidden from the sons of Quemt,” answered Yakhmos. “Punt has long been known to us, the ships of Quemt have made many journeys there at various times, but the lands farther south still remain, for us, the mysterious Land of the Spirits.”

“Can it be possible that there have been no other attempts to reach those countries? Could not somebody else have read those inscriptions, as you did, and have told others about them?”

Yakhmos thought for a while, he did not know how to answer the foreigner.

“The princes of the south, the governors of the southern provinces of Tha-Quem, have often penetrated into the interior of the southern countries, but they only wrote about their spoils, about the ivory, gold and fish they brought to Pharaoh, so the road remains unknown. And then, nobody has tried to sail farther south than Punt. It is too dangerous — there are no such brave people today as there were in ancient times.”

“But why hasn’t anybody read those inscriptions?” insisted Pandion.

“I don’t know, I can’t answer that question,” admitted the Egyptian.

Yakhmos, of course, could not know that the priests, whom the people believed to be great scholars, the holders of ancient secrets, had long since ceased to be any such thing. Learning had degenerated into religious ceremony and magic formulas, the papyri that contained the wisdom of past ages were rotting away in the tombs. The temples were deserted and in ruins, nobody was interested in the history of the country as told by countless inscriptions on hard stone. Yakhmos could not know that such is the inevitable fate of all science that alienates itself from the invigorating strength of the people and becomes the property of a narrow circle of the initiated…

Dawn was drawing nigh. With a feeling of despondency Pandion bade farewell to the unfortunate Egyptian to whom no hope of salvation was left.

The young Hellene wanted to take the dagger and leave the stone to Yakhmos.

“Can’t you understand that I need nothing any more?” said the Egyptian. “Why do you want to throw away such a beautiful stone in this foul hole of a shehne?”

Pandion took the dagger between his teeth, grasped the stone in his hand and, crawling in the shadows, reached his own cell in safety.

Until daylight broke he lay sleepless. His cheeks burned and shudders ran over his whole body. He lay thinking of the great change that was to enter his life, of the imminent end of the monotonous stream of weary days of sorrow and despair.

The hole that formed the entrance to his cell turned grey and the pitiful objects that constituted his entire possessions gradually emerged from the darkness. Pandion held the dagger in the morning light. The broad blade of black bronze (Black bronze — a specially hard alloy of copper and one of the’ rare metals. The metallurgists of antiquity were able to obtain alloys of exceptional hardness by adding zinc, cadmium and other metals to the bronze.) with a high rib down the middle was sharpened to a fine edge. The massive hilt was carved in the form of a lioness, the savage goddess Sekhrnet. Using the dagger, Pandion dug a hole under the wall and was hiding the Egyptian’s gift in it, when suddenly he remembered the stone. Fumbling in the straw he found it and took it to the light to examine it more thoroughly.

The flat fragment of crystal with rounded edges was about the size of a spearhead. It was hard, extremely clear and transparent and its colour seemed to be a greyish blue in the darkness that precedes the dawn.

As Pandion laid the stone on the palm of his hand the rays of the rising sun suddenly struck it. The stone was transformed — it lay on Pandion’s hand in all its brilliance, its blue-green colour” was unexpectedly joyous, bright and deep, with a warm tinge of transparent, golden wine. The mirror-like surface of the stone had apparently been polished by the hand of man.

The colouring of the stone reminded Pandion of something that was very familiar to him, its reflection brought warmth to the youth’s heavy heart. Thalassa! The sea. It was exactly that colour, far from the shore, at the time when the sun hung high in the blue heavens. Natura’e, the divine stone, is what the unfortunate Yakhmos had called it!

The miraculous sparkle of the crystal on the morning of a joyless day was a good omen to Pandion.

Yakhmos’ farewell gifts were magnificent — a dagger and a stone of unknown properties. Pandion believed that the stone portended his return to the sea, to the sea that would not betray him, that would bring him back to liberty and his native land. The young Hellene peered intently into the stone out of whose transparent depths rolled the waves of his native shores…

The menacing roll of the big drum thundered over the cells — this was the signal arousing the slaves for their day’s work.

Pandion made a momentary decision — he would not part with that unusual stone, he would not leave that symbol of the free sea in the dusty earth of the shehne. Let the stone remain with him always.

After a few futile attempts he eventually found a way to hide the stone in his loin-cloth and, although he lost no time in burying the dagger, was almost late for the morning meal.

On the journey and during their work in the gardens Pandion watched Cavius carefully and noticed that the latter was constantly exchanging short phrases first with one and then with another of the shehne leaders known to Pandion. These immediately went away from the Etruscan and talked to their followers.

Pandion chose a safe moment and drew near Cavius. The Etruscan did not raise his head from the stone he was dressing but spoke softly and quickly, without even taking breath.

“Tonight, before the moon rises, in the end gallery of the northern wall…”

Pandion returned to his work. On the way back to the shehne he passed Cavius’ message on to Kidogo.

Pandion spent the evening in anticipation — for a long time he had not been in such high spirits and so well prepared to fight.

As soon as the compound had quietened down and the sentries on the wall were dozing, Kidogo appeared in the darkness of Pandion’s cell.

The two friends crawled quickly to the wall and turned into the narrow corridor between the cells. They reached the north wall where the shadows in the corridor were deepest of all. The sentries rarely walked along this wall, they could observe the compound more easily from the western and eastern walls, looking along the corridors between the cells. There was, therefore, no danger that the sentries above would hear their whispered conversation.

No less than sixty slaves lay in two rows in the corridor, their feet pressed against the walls and their heads together. Cavius and Remdus were in the middle. The elder Etruscan called Pandion and Kidogo to him in a whisper.

Feeling for the Etruscan’s hand, Pandion passed to him the dagger he had brought with him. Cavius felt the cold metal in some perplexity, cut his hand on the sharp blade and then avidly gripped the weapon, whispering his thanks.

The experienced old soldier had yearned for weapons and the dagger brought joy to his heart. He also realized that by handing the precious dagger over to him the Hellene recognized his seniority and had, without words, elected him the leader.

He did not stop to ask Pandion where he had got the-dagger, but began to talk in whispers, making long pauses so that those near him could pass his words on to their more distant comrades who were out of hearing.

The conference of the leaders had begun — the question of the life and liberty of five hundred slaves, imprisoned in the shehne, was to be decided.

Cavius said that the rebellion could not be put off any longer, that there was no hope in the future, the situation would only get worse if the slaves were again broken up into groups and sent in different directions.

“The strength that is our only guarantee of success in struggle is being undermined by the heavy drudgery required by our taskmasters; every month in captivity means loss of health and vitality. Death in battle is honourable and joyful; it is a thousand times easier to die in battle than to die under the blows of a whip.”

A unanimous whisper of approval passed along the rows of invisible listeners.

“We must not delay the revolt,” continued Cavius, “but there is one condition that must be fulfilled: we must find a way out of this accursed country. Even if we are joined by two or three other shehne, even if we are able to get weapons, our forces will still be small and we shall not be able to hold out for long. Ever since the Great Revolt of the slaves the rulers of Quemt have done everything possible to keep the slaves divided in separate compounds, we have no contact with the others and we shall not be able to arouse a large number of people simultaneously. We are right in the capital, where there are many soldiers, and we shall not be able to fight our way through the country. The archers of Aigyptos are a te-rri-ble force; we shall not have many bows, and not everybody will be able to use them. Let us think whether we can make our way through the desert to the east or the west. We may find ourselves in the desert shortly after leaving the shehne. If we are unable to cross the desert, then I think we must drop the idea of a revolt — it will be a useless waste of effort and a tormenting death. Then let only those of us flee that are prepared to make the attempt to pass through certain death with a faint hope of liberty. I, for example, will make the attempt.”

Excited whispers filled the air around the now silent Etruscan.

His words, passed from end to end of the rows of slaves, had at first aroused militant ardour in the listeners, but now doubt was spreading amongst those bold leaders. His words took away all hope of a successful outcome; they removed even the ghost of a chance, so that the bravest of the warriors wavered. Whispers in many languages carried down the coal-black tunnel of the corridor.

An Amu, a Semite from the land beyond the Blue Waters, crawled to the centre of the group where the four friends lay. Men of the Amu tribe constituted a large proportion of the inhabitants of the shehne.

“I insist on a revolt. Let death be our lot but we shall be revenged on the accursed people of this accursed land! We will be an example to be followed by others! Too long has Quemt been living in peace, the brutal art of oppression has robbed millions of slaves of the will to fight. We will light the flames of revolt.”

“It’s good that you think like that, you’re a brave man,” Cavius interrupted him. “But what will you say to those whom you will lead?”

“I will say the same to them,” answered the Semite fervently.

“Are you sure they’ll follow you?” whispered the Etruscan. “The truth is too painful… and lies are useless under such circumstances — the people will easily sense the truth. To them the truth is that which each carries in his own heart.”

The Semite did not answer him. In the meantime the lean, lithe body of the Libyan Akhmi squeezed through the rows of recumbent men. Pandion knew that this young slave, captured during a battle at the Horns of the Earth, came from a noble family. He assured them that near the tombs of the most ancient kings of Quemt, near the cities of Tinis and Abydos, a road led to the southwest as far as Wahet-Wer, a big oasis in the desert. It was a road with good wells, plenty of water and was not guarded by troops. They had to plunge into the desert immediately behind the temple Zesher-Zesheru, turn southwest and cross the road at a point a hundred and twenty thousand cubits from the river. The Libyan undertook to lead them to the road and farther. There were but few troops at the oasis and the insurgents could easily seize it. The next stage was a mere twenty-five thousand cubits across the desert to the next oasis, Pasht, that stretched westward in a long, narrow strip. Farther still they would find the Oasis of Mut, whence a route with wells led to the hills of the Dead Serpent; from this latter place there was a road leading southwards to the Land of the Blacks, which the Libyan did not know.

“I know that road,” Kidogo put in. “I travelled that road in the first year of my captivity.”

“There’s a good supply of dates at the oases and we can rest there. There are no fortifications at any of them and we can take pack animals with us; with their help we can get as far as the Dead Serpent and from then on, beyond the Salt Lake, there’s more water.”

The Libyan’s plan was generally approved. It seemed quite possible of fulfilment.

The ever-cautious Cavius, however, asked the Libyan more questions.

“Are you certain that there are wells at a distance of a hundred and twenty thousand cubits from the river? It’s a long journey to make.”

“It may be a little more,” answered the Libyan calmly. “A strong man can make that journey without water under one condition — we must start no later than — midnight and march without a halt. You can’t live more than twenty-four hours without water in the desert, nor can you march in the afternoon.”

One of the Asians, a Heriusha, proposed attacking the fortress on the road to the harbour of Suu, but, despite the fact that this plan was very attractive to the slaves, most of whom were Asians, and to the Amu, it was dropped since it was agreed that it would be impossible to fight their way to the east.

The Libyan’s plan was more promising although there was disagreement between the Negroes and the Asians: the road to the south-west took the Asians still farther from their native land, but it was advantageous to the Negroes and the Libyans. The Libyans hoped to travel northwards from the Oasis of Mut and reach that part of their country that was not under the rule of the Egyptians. Pandion and the Etruscans intended going with the Libyans.

They were all pacified by an elderly Nubian who said he knew a road to the south that by-passed the fortresses of the Black Land and went through the plains of Nubia to the Blue Waters.

The narrow crescent of the moon rose above the terraced hills of the desert and still the insurgent slaves continued to plan their flight. They were now discussing the details of the revolt and gave a task to each group under a specific leader.

The revolt was timed to begin on the night after the next, immediately it became completely dark.

Sixty men crawled silently back to various parts of the compound while above them, silhouetted against the moonlit sky, stood the sentries, little suspecting what was going on below them and full of contempt for those who slept in the dark hole beneath their feet.

Cautiously and unnoticed, the plans for the revolt continued all next day and night and all through the second day. The leaders, for fear of traitors, spoke only to those with whom they were well acquainted, expecting that the others would join the general mass of the insurgents once the sentries had been removed.

The night of the revolt came. Groups of people assembled in the darkness, one for each of the three walls — the northern, western and southern. On the eastern side, two groups gathered under the inner wall.

The movement of the men had been carried out so speedily that by the time Cavius struck an upturned water jug with a stone, giving the signal for attack, they had already formed living pyramids. The bodies of seventy men formed a slope against the vertical wall. There were five such living bridges over which men, intoxicated with the coming battle, swarmed from all sides.

Cavius, Pandion, Remdus and Kidogo were amongst the first to mount the inner wall. The Hellene, without pausing to think, leaped down into the darkness and was followed by dozens of others.

Pandion knocked down a soldier who appeared from the guard-house, jumped on his back and twisted his neck. The Egyptian’s back-bone cracked softly and his body went limp in Pandion’s hands. All round him, in the darkness, the slaves hunted and seized their hated enemies. In their fury men attacked armed soldiers with their bare hands. Before any of the soldiers could defend himself against an attacker from the front, others jumped on him from the sides and from behind; unarmed, but strong in their wrathful fury, the slaves dug their teeth into the hands that held weapons and stuck their fingers into the soldiers’ eyes. Weapons, weapons at any cost^-this was the one idea of the attackers. Those who succeeded in seizing a dagger or spear were still more furious in their attacks, feeling death-dealing strength in their hands. Pandion struck right and left with the sword he had taken from a dead enemy. Kidogo fought with a huge pole used for carrying water.

Cavius mounted the living bridge and threw himself at four soldiers on guard over the inner door. The astounded Egyptians put up a poor resistance as they were literally crushed by the avalanche of silent men that fell en them from above.

With a shout of triumph Cavius pushed open the heavy bolt on the doors and soon the crowd of liberated slaves occupied the entire area between the walls, broke into the house of Commandant of the shehne and killed the soldiers resting there after the guard had been changed.

On the walls above the struggle was even more desperate. The nine sentries on the wall had noticed the attacking slaves in good time. Arrows whistled through the air and the silence of the night was broken by the moans of the wounded and the thud of bodies falling from above.

Nine Egyptians, however, could not long resist a hundred of infuriated slaves, who flew directly on to the spears of the soldiers and rolled down from the wall together with them.

In the meantime the soldiers and officials had been dealt with in the narrow confines between the two walls: the keys of the outer gates had been found on the dead Commandant and the screech of the rusty hinges as the gates opened was like a cry of victory in the night.

Spears, shields, daggers, bows — everything was taken from the soldiers, clown to the last arrow. The armed slaves headed the crowd of runaways and all of them, in deep silence, made their way to the river.

Every boat, barge or raft they could get hold of was used to begin the river crossing. Several men perished in the river, falling victims to the huge crocodiles that guarded the waters of Tha-Quem,

Before two hours had elapsed the vanguard of the column reached a shehne situated on the other bank of the river on the road to Zesher-Zesheru.

Cavius, Pandion and two Libyans went openly to the gates and knocked while about a hundred other slaves pressed close against the wall near the gates,

A soldier shouted down from the wall, asking them what they wanted. A Libyan who spoke the language of Tha-Quem fluently demanded the Commandant of the shehne, saying that he had a letter from the Director of Royal Works. Several voices were heard behind the door; a torch was lighted, and the door opened, showing them a courtyard between two walls similar to that they had just left. The Captain of the Guard stepped forward from a group of soldiers and demanded the letter.

Cavius rushed at him with a howl of fury and plunged Yakhmos’ dagger into his breast while Pandion and the Libyans rushed at the other soldiers. The other armed slaves, who were standing prepared for action, took advantage of the confusion and burst into the shehne with terrifying cries. The torches went out and the darkness was filled with suppressed groans, howls and martial shouts. Pandion made short work of two opponents and opened the inner door. The call to revolt resounded throughout the shehne, now awakened by the noise of battle, as slaves darted here and there calling to their astounded fellow-countrymen in their native language. The compound hummed like a beehive; the howls grew in volume until they merged into a deep roar. The soldiers on the walls dashed back and forth, afraid to descend; they shouted threats at the slaves and from time to time let fly arrows at random. The fight in the corridor between the walls died down; well-aimed arrows flew from the courtyard at the clearly visible soldiers on the walls and the second shehne was liberated.

The crowd of liberated slaves, puzzled and inebriated by their sudden liberty, streamed through the doors and spread in all directions, paying no attention to the shouts of their liberators. In a short time savage howls came from the direction of the houses and fires broke out in several places. Cavius advised the other leaders to assemble those of their shehne companions who were already acquainted with discipline. The Etruscan stood deep in thought, running his fingers through his beard; in his eyes, turned westwards in the direction to be followed, there was a red glint — the reflection of the fires.

Cavius was thinking that they had most probably made a mistake in liberating the slaves from the second shehne without any preparatory work amongst them. His own followers were already familiar with the conception of a common purposeful struggle and it was possible that more harm than good would come of joining them to a mass of people who were unprepared, who acted as individuals and were intoxicated by the possibility of vengeance and liberty.

Such proved to be the case. A large number of the slaves from the first shehne were also attracted by the idea of plunder and destruction. Apart from that, time had been lost, every minute of which was of the utmost importance. The smaller column moved on towards the third shehne situated some eight thousand cubits from the second, in the immediate vicinity of the Temple of Zesher-Zesheru.

There was no time to change the plan of the revolt and Cavius foresaw very great difficulties. And as they approached the shehne the Etruscan noticed the silhouettes of soldiers drawn up on the walls and heard shouts of “A’atu, a’atu!” (insurgents) followed by the whistle of the arrows with which the Egyptians greeted the approaching column from a long distance.

The insurgents halted to discuss a plan of attack. The shehne, prepared for defence, was a good fortress, and its capture would occupy considerable time. The insurgents raised a tremendous noise to awaken the slaves in the shehne and encourage them to attack the guards on the wall from within.

Cavius, who was already hoarse, shouted at the top of his voice to the other leaders, trying to persuade them to abandon the attack. They would not agree; the easily obtained victory had given them confidence, and it seemed to them that it would be possible to liberate all the slaves in Quemt and conquer the country.

Suddenly the Libyan, Akhmi, let out a penetrating howl and hundreds of heads turned in his direction. The Libyan waved his arms, pointing in the direction of the river. From the high bank that rose steeply towards the cliffs, the river that washed the numerous landing places of the capital could be seen over a long distance. Everywhere the lights of torches flared up, merging into a dully flickering line; flickering points of light appeared in the middle of the river and were gathering in two places on the bank on the side of the insurgents.

There could be no doubt — large detachments of soldiers were crossing the river, hurrying to surround the place where there were fires and where the escaped slaves were concentrated.

And here the insurgents were still dashing from place to place seeking a means of attacking the shehne; some of them had tried to approach the enemy by following the bed of an irrigation canal, others were expending valuable arrows.

A glance cast over the indefinite outlines of the dark mass of people told Cavius that there were not more than three hundred men in the column capable of giving battle; of these less than a half had knives or spears, while only about thirty bows had been captured.

But a short time would elapse before hundreds of ‘the terrible archers of the Black Land would send clouds of long arrows into them from a great distance and thousands of well-trained troops would draw a tight ring around slaves who had only just tasted liberty.

Akhmi, his eyes flashing in anger, shouted that it was already past midnight and that if they did not start immediately it would be too late.

It cost the Akhmi, Cavius and Pandion many precious minutes to explain to the crowd, inflamed and eager for battle, the uselessness of any attempt to stand up against the troops of the capital. The leaders insisted on an immediate march into the desert and, in case of necessity, were prepared to start out themselves, leaving behind those who were distracted by the search for weapons, by plunder and revenge. A number of slaves who did not agree left the column and set off along the river towards the rich estate of some aristocrat whence came loud noises and the light of torches. The remainder, a little more than two hundred men, agreed to go.

Soon the long dark column, winding like a snake through a narrow canyon between steep cliffs still hot from the daytime sun, made their way to the level edge of the valley. The runaways were confronted with an endless plain of sand and stones. Pandion looked back for the last time at the huge river gleaming faintly below them. How many days of sorrow, despair, hope and wrath he had spent beside that calmly flowing waterway! Joy and infinite gratitude to his trusty comrades filled the heart of the young Hellene. In triumph he turned his back on the land of slavery and increased his already fast pace.

The band of insurgents had marched some twenty thousand cubits from the rim of the valley when the Libyan halted the column. Behind them, in the east, the sky had begun to grow light.

The contours of the rounded sand-dunes, some of them as much as a hundred and fifty cubits high, stretching far away to the vague, scarcely visible line of the horizon, were but faintly perceptible in the dull leaden light of early morning. At the hour of dawn the desert was silent, the air was motionless, the jackals and hyenas had ceased their howls.

“You’ve been hurrying us all the time, why do you linger now? What do you want?” impatient slaves in the back rows asked the Libyan.

He explained that the most difficult part of the journey was about to begin — endless ridges of sand-dunes, one after the other, each ridge higher than the last until they reached a height of three hundred cubits. The slaves were reformed into a column two deep and were told that they would have to keep going without halt, without dropping back, paying no attention to fatigue; those who fell behind would never reach their destination. The Libyan would go ahead and seek a path between the dunes.

It turned out that hardly anybody had found an opportunity to drink before leaving and many of them were already tormented by thirst after the heat of battle. Not everybody had a mantle, cloth or even rags with which to cover his head and shoulders from the sun, but there was nothing they could do about it.

Strung out in a column two hundred cubits long, the slaves moved on in silence, their eyes fixed on their feet dragging through the soft sand. The leading files zigzagged right and left winding their way through the dunes to avoid slopes of shifting sand.

A wide purple strip glowed in the sky to the east.

The crescent-shaped and sharply serrated ridges of the sand-hills turned to gold. In the sunlight the desert appeared before Pandion’s eyes like a sea with high frozen waves whose smooth slopes reflected an orange-yellow light. The excitement of the night gradually died down and the men grew calmer. Liberty, the expanse of the desert, the gold of the distant dawn — all served to revive men weary of captivity. Joy filled their hearts in place of malice and fear, sorrow and despair.

The morning light grew brighter and the sky seemed to recede into its bottomless blue depths. As the sun rose higher its rays at first gave them friendly warmth but soon began to burn and sear them. The slow, dragging, toilsome path through the labyrinth of deep gullies between high sand-hills became more and more difficult. The shadows of the hills grew shorter; it became painful to walk over the burning hot sand, but the men went on, never stopping, never looking back. Ahead of them lay endless ridges of sand-hills, all exactly the same, that cut off all view of their surroundings.

As time went on the air, sunlight and sand merged into one huge sea of flame, that blinded, asphyxiated and burned like molten metal.

The journey was especially difficult for those who came from the northern countries like Pandion and the two Etruscans.

Pandion felt that his head was squeezed in an iron band, the blood throbbing furiously at the temples, causing him great pain.

He was almost blinded; before his eyes floated patches and stripes of the most astoundingly brilliant colours that flowed and whirled, changing their combinations in wonderful kaleidoscopic patterns. The unbearable strength of the sun turned the sand into golden dust permeated with light.

Pandion was in a delirium, hallucinations grew out of his maddened brain. The colossal statues of Aigyptos moved through flashes of crimson fire and sank into the waves of a purple sea. Then the sea fell back and packs of strange creatures, half-beast and half-bird, flew down from the steep cliffs at amazing speed. And once more the granite Pharaohs of the Black Land formed into battle order and advanced towards Pandion.

Staggering on, he rubbed his eyes and slapped his cheeks in an effort to see what was really there — the heat-breathing slopes of the sand-dunes that piled one on the other in the blinding, grey-gold light. But again the whirling vortices of coloured fire appeared and Pandion was lost in a heavy delirium. Nothing but the fervent desire for freedom could have made him keep moving in step with Kidogo, leaving thousands of sand-dunes behind. Fresh chains of hills confronted the runaways and between them were huge, smooth-sided craters at the bottom of which could be seen coal-black patches of soil.

The hoarse imploring moans that passed along the column grew more and more frequent; here and there exhausted men dropped to their knees or fell face down in the scorching sand, begging their comrades to put an end to their suffering.

The others turned morosely away from them and continued their way until the pleas died away behind them and beyond sand-hills so soft in their configuration. Sand, burning hot sand; monstrous quantities of sand, stretching to infinity; silent and evil sand that seemed to have drowned the whole universe in its stifling, treacherous flames.

Ahead of them a patch of silver in the golden fire of the sun’s rays appeared in the distance. The Libyan gave a brief shout of encouragement. Clearer and clearer, against the brownish background, appeared patches of ground covered with salt crystals that shone with an intolerably brilliant blue gleam.

The sand-dunes grew smaller and soon gave way to hard, well-packed sand; the feet of the marchers moved more freely, liberated from the cloying embrace of the friable sand. The hard yellow clay, furrowed with dark cracks, seemed to them like the stone-paved path of some palace garden.

The sun was still a hand’s breadth from the zenith when the insurgent slaves reached a low, cliff-like ledge of stratified brown stone and from there turned sharply to the left, to the south-west. In a short re-entrant, that bit into the cliff at a wide angle so that from a distance it looked like the black entrance to a cave, was an ancient well, a spring with cool, fresh water.

In order to prevent disorder amongst people already mad with thirst, Cavius placed the strongest of the slaves to guard the entrance to the gully. The weakest were allowed to drink first.

The sun had long passed the zenith and the men kept on drinking as though they would never stop; they lay for a while in the shade of the cliff with distended bellies and then crawled ‘back to the water again. The runaways gradually regained their vitality and soon the rapid speech of the hardy Negroes could be heard accompanied by occasional laughter and jocular altercation… No joy, however, came to the men with returning life — too many of their faithful comrades had remained behind to die in the labyrinth of sand-dunes, comrades who had only just entered the path to freedom, who had fought bravely, with contempt for ‘death, comrades whose efforts had merged in the supreme common effort with those who had been spared.

Pandion was astonished at the change that had taken place in those slaves with whom he had spent such a long time in the shehne. That dull indifference to their surroundings that gave the same expression to all their tired, worn-out faces, was gone.

Eyes that had been dull and listless were now looking round them full of life and interest and the features of the sombre faces seemed to be more sharply defined. They were already people and not slaves and Pandion remembered how right Cavius had been in his wisdom when he reproached Pandion with contempt for his companions. Pandion had had too little experience of life to be able to understand people. He had the mistaken view that the inhibition born of long captivity was natural in them.

The men crowded on to the small patches of life-giving shade in the gully. In a short time they were all overcome by deep sleep; there was no fear of the pursuit overtaking them on that day — who but people prepared to face death for the sake of liberty could pass through the fiery hell of that sea of sand in daytime?

The runaways rested until sunset by which time their tired feet were again ready for the journey. The small quantity of food that the strongest had managed to carry through the desert was carefully shared out amongst ail of them.

There was a long journey to be made to the next well; the Libyan said that they would have to keep on all night, but that at dawn, — before the day grew hot, they would find water. After that the road again lay through sand-hills, the last between them and the big oasis. Fortunately the stretch of sand-hills was not of great width, no more than that they had already passed, and if they set out in the evening, when the sun was in the south-west, they would reach the big oasis during the night and find food there. They would only have to go twenty-four hours without, food.

All this did not seem so very terrible to people who had suffered so much. The chief thing that encouraged them and gave them strength was the fact that they were free and were moving farther and farther away from the hated Land of Quemt, that the possibility of their being overtaken was diminishing.

The sunset died away, grey ash covered its flaming red embers. Drinking their fill for the last time the runaways moved on.

The depressing heat had gone, scattered by the black wings of night, and the darkness tenderly caressed skin that had been burned by the flames of the desert.

Their way lay across a low, level plateau covered with sharp-edged stones that cut the feet of the less cautious.

By midnight the runaways dropped down into a wide valley sprinkled with grey, round boulders. These strange stones, between one and three cubits in diameter, lay about like stone balls with which some unknown gods had been playing. The men were no longer in a column but walked on without any formation, cutting diagonally across the valley towards a rise that could be seen some distance in front of them.

After a terrible stupefying day that had shown the weakness of man with such ruthlessness, the quiet calm of the night gave rise to profound meditation. It seemed to Pandion that the endless desert rose up to the bowl of the sky, the stars seemed quite near in the transparent air, permeated with a kind of glow. The moon rose and a silver carpet of light lay on the dark earth.

The party of runaway slaves reached the rise. The gentle slope consisted of blocks of limestone, polished by the fine sand until they shone and reflected the light of the moon in what looked like a blue glass staircase.

When Pandion set foot on their cold, slippery surface it seemed to him that he had only to go a little higher and he would reach the dark blue bowl of the sky.

The rise came to an end, the staircase vanished and the long descent began into the dark valley, covered with coarse sand, that lay black below them. The valley was encircled with a chain of serrated crags that jutted out of the sand at all angles, like the stumps of gigantic tree-trunks. By dawn the party had reached the cliff and for a long time wandered through a labyrinth of crevasses until their Libyan leader found the well. From the cliff could be seen the serried ranks of a new army of sand-dunes that formed a hostile ring around the rocks amongst which the runaways had taken refuge. Shadows of deep violet lay between the rosy slopes of the sand hills. While they were close to water there was nothing terrible about the sea of sand.

Kidogo found a place protected from the sun by a huge stone cube that hung over walls of sandstone cut away on the northern side by a deep, dry watercourse. There was sufficient shade for the whole party between the rocks and they lay down to rest until sunset.

The tired men immediately dropped off to sleep — there was nothing to do but wait until the sun, raging in the high heavens, became more amenable. The sky that had seemed so close to them during the night had now receded to an unfathomable distance and from that great height blinded and burned the men as though in revenge for the breathing space given them during the hours of darkness. Time went on, the peacefully sleeping people were surrounded by a sea of fiery sunlight that cut them off from their native lands where the sun did not destroy all living things.

Cavius was suddenly awakened by faint, plaintive groans. The puzzled Etruscan raised his heavy head and listened. From time to time he heard sharp cracks coming from different directions and then long drawn-out plaintive moans filled with sorrow. The sounds grew louder and he looked round him in fear. There was no sign of movement anywhere amongst the sun-baked rocks; all his comrades occupied their former places and were either sleeping or listening. Cavius roused the calmly sleeping Akhmi. The Libyan sat up, yawned and then laughed right in the face of the astounded and alarmed Etruscan.

“The stones are crying out from the heat of the sun,” explained the Libyan, “and that’s a sign that the heat is subsiding.”

The cracking of the stones greatly disturbed the other runaway slaves. The Libyan climbed on to a high rock, looked through the crack between his folded hands and announced that soon they could set out on the last march to the oasis; they must drink their fill for the march.

Although the sun had sunk far to the west, the sand hills still radiated heat. It seemed an impossible feat to leave the shade and go out into that sea of fire and sunlight. Nevertheless the men formed a column, two by two, and without a single protest followed the Libyan — so strong was the call of freedom.

Pandion and Kidogo formed the third pair behind the Libyan, Akhmi.

The inexhaustible endurance and joviality of the Negro were a frequent encouragement to the Hellene who felt little confidence in himself when confronted with the might of the desert.

The fiery, hostile breath of the desert again forced the men to bow their heads low before its savage face. They had journeyed no less than fifteen thousand cubits when Pandion noticed that their Libyan guide seemed somewhat distressed. Akhmi had halted the column twice while he mounted a sand-hill, sinking up to his knees in the soft sand, to examine the horizon. The Libyan, however, did not answer any questions.

The sand-hills grew lower and Pandion asked Akhmi in a glad voice whether the sand was coming to an end.

“We’ve still a long way to go; there’s a lot more sand yet,” snapped the guide gloomily and turned his head towards the north-west.

Pandion and Kidogo looked in the same direction and saw that the burning sky was covered with a leaden haze. A dark wall that rose straight up had conquered the fearful might of the sun and the glow of the sky.

Suddenly they heard resonant, pleasant sounds — high, singing, purely metallic notes, like silver trumpets playing an enchanting melody behind the sand-dunes.

The sounds were repeated, grew more frequent and louder and hearts beat more rapidly, affected by some unconscious fear brought by those silver notes that were like nothing on earth and far removed from all that was mortal.

The Libyan stopped and fell on to his knees with a plaintive cry. Raising his hands towards the heavens he prayed to his gods to protect them from an awful calamity. The frightened runaways cowered together in a crowd between three sand-hills. Pandion looked inquiringly at Kidogo and staggered back — the Negro’s black skin had turned grey. Pandion had seen his friend frightened for the first time and did not know that a Negro’s skin turns grey with pallor. Cavius seized the guide by the shoulders, lifted him to his feet without an effort and asked him angrily what had happened.

Akhmi turned towards him, his face distorted with fear and covered with beads of perspiration.

“The sands of the desert are singing; they call to the wind, and with the wind death will come flying — there will be a sand-storm…”

An oppressive silence hung over the party broken only by the sounds of the singing sand.

Cavius stood still in bewilderment — he did not know what to do and those who realized the degree of danger that threatened them kept silent.

At last Akhmi came to himself.

“Forward, forward, as quickly as possible! I saw a stony place where there’s no sand: we must get there before the storm reaches us. If we stay here death is certain, we’ll all be buried in the sand, but over there, maybe some of us will be saved…”

The frightened men ran after the Libyan guide.

The leaden haze had changed to a ruddy gloom that spread over the whole sky. Menacing wisps of sand whirled round the hill-tops like smoke; the hot breath of the wind swept tiny particles of sand into the men’s inflamed faces. There was no air to breathe; it was as though the atmosphere were filled with some corrosive poison. The sand-hills opened out and the runaways found themselves on a small patch of stony ground, black and smooth. All round them the rumble and roar of the oncoming wind increased in fury, the ruddy cloud darkened on its lower side as though a black curtain were being drawn across the sky. Its upper side remained a dark red and the disc of the sun was hidden by that awful cloud. Imitating their more experienced comrades the men tore off their loin-cloths and rags that covered their heads and shoulders, wrapped them round their faces and dropped on to the stony ground, pressing close against each other.

Pandion was slow in making his preparations. The last thing he saw filled him with horror. Everything around him was in motion. Stones as big as his fist rolled over the black ground like dry leaves in an autumn wind. The sand-hills threw out long tentacles in the direction of the party; the sand was moving and was soon flowing all round them like water thrown up by a storm on to a low beach. A whirling mass of sand rushed at Pandion; the youth fell face down and saw nothing more. His heart beat furiously and its every beat resounded in his head. His mouth and throat seemed to be coated with a hard crust that prevented his panting breath from escaping.

The whistling of the wind reached a high note but that, too, was drowned by the roar of the moving sand; the desert howled and rumbled around him. Pandion’s head went dizzy, he struggled against unconsciousness towards which the stifling, withering storm was driving him. Coughing desperately, he freed his throat of sand and again began his rapid breathing. Pandion’s bursts of resistance were repeated at ever-growing intervals until at last he lost consciousness.

The thunder of the storm grew ever more insistent and menacing, it rumbled in peals across the desert like huge bronze wheels. The stony ground gave forth an answering rumble like a sheet of metal, and clouds of sand swept over it. Grains of sand, charged with electricity, burst into blue sparks giving the whole mass of moving sand a bluish glow as it rolled over the desert. It seemed that at any moment rain would fall and fresh water would save the people, dried up by the overheated air and lying unconscious. But there was no rain and the storm raged on. The dark pile of human bodies was covered by an ever-thickening layer of sand that hid the weak movement and stifled the rare moans…

Pandion opened his eyes and saw Kidogo’s black head outlined against the stars. Later Pandion learned that the Negro had been working over the motionless bodies of his friends, Pandion and the Etruscans, for a long time.

People were busy in the darkness, digging out their comrades from under the sand, listening to the feeble signs of life in their bodies and laying aside those who would breathe no more.

The Libyan, Akhmi, with some of his fellow-countrymen, who were accustomed to the desert, and a few Negroes had gone back to the well amongst the rocks for water. Kidogo had remained with Pandion, unable to leave his friend who was scarcely breathing.

At last fifty-five half-dead men, led by Kidogo, finding the road with difficulty and supporting each other as they walked along, followed in the tracks of those who had left earlier. Nobody gave a thought to the fact that they ware going back, that they would meet with a possible pursuit; the mind of every one of them was concentrated on one thing — water. The craving for water swept aside all will to struggle; it was stronger than any other urge — water was a lodestone in the dull fever of their inflamed brains.

Pandion had lost all conception of time; he had forgotten that they had journeyed not more than twenty thousand cubits from the well; he had forgotten everything except that he must hold on to the shoulders of the man in front and keep step with those plodding ahead. About halfway to the well they heard voices in front of them that sounded unusually loud: Akhmi and the twenty-seven men who had gone with him were hurrying to meet them, carrying rags steeped in water and two old gourd bottles they had found at the well.

The men mustered strength enough to refuse the water and propose to Akhmi that he go back to those who had remained at the scene of the catastrophe.

Superhuman efforts were needed to keep going as far as the well; their strength grew less with every step, nevertheless the men allowed the water-carriers to pass in silence and continued to plod on.

A wavering black haze spread before the eyes of the stumbling people; some of them fell, but encouraged by the others and supported by their stronger comrades they continued on their way. The fifty-five men could not remember the last hour of their journey — they walked on almost unconsciously, their legs continuing their slow, stumbling movements. But reach their goal they did; the water revived them, refreshed their bodies and enabled their congealed blood to soften their dried muscles.

No sooner had the travellers fully recovered than they remembered those left behind. Following the example of the first party they went back, carrying rags, dripping with water — the source of life — to those wandering in the desert. This help was invaluable because it came in time. The sun had risen. The last group of those still alive was given strength by the water brought by the Libyans. The people had halted amidst the sand-dunes and could not muster strength enough to continue their way despite all persuasion, urging and even threats. The wet rags enabled them to keep going for another hour which proved sufficient to reach the well.

In this way another thirty-one men reached the water; altogether a hundred and fourteen were saved, less than half the number that had set out into the desert two days before. The weakest had perished during the first day’s desert march arid now the awful catastrophe had taken toll of the best and strongest fighters. The future seemed more indefinite than before. The forced inactivity was depressing; there was no strength left to continue the planned journey; weapons had been abandoned in the place where the sand-storm had overtaken them. If the insurgents had had food they could have recuperated much more easily, but the last remnants had been distributed the night before and there was nothing left.

The sun was blazing in the clear unclouded sky and those who had remained at the scene of the catastrophe, even if there had been a faint flicker of life in them, had by now, no doubt, perished.

The survivors hid in the gully between the rocks where the day before they had lain together with those who were no longer amongst the living. As on the previous day the people awaited sundown, but although the heat of the day had died down and night had already fallen, they still waited, hoping that the cool night air would enable the weaker men to continue their struggle with the desert that stood between them and their native land.

This last hope, however, was fated never to be fulfilled.

As night drew on the runaways felt that they could continue their way slowly forward and were about to set. out when suddenly they heard the distant braying of an ass and the barking of dogs. For a time they hoped it might be a merchant caravan or the party of a tax-collector, but soon, however, horsemen appeared in the semi-darkness of the plain. The well-known cry of “A’atu!” resounded over the desert. There was nowhere to flee to, they had no weapons to fight with and hiding was useless — the sharp-eared dogs would soon find them. Some of the insurgents sank to the ground, their last ounce of strength gone; others dashed about aimlessly amongst the rocks. Some of them tore their hair in desperation. One of the Libyans, still a young man, groaned plaintively and tears filled his eyes. The Amu and the Heriusha stood with bowed heads and clenched teeth. Several of the men began involuntarily to run away but were immediately halted by the dogs.

The more self-restrained stood still where they were, as though in a trance, their minds, however, actively seeking ways of salvation. The soldiers of the Black Land were fortunate in their chase — they had caught up with the runaways at a moment when they were very weak. If they had retained but half of their former energy many of them would have preferred death to a second captivity. Their vitality, however, had been sapped and the runaways did not offer any resistance to the soldiers approaching with drawn bows. The struggle for freedom was over — those who slept their eternal sleep amidst the abandoned weapons were a thousand times more fortunate than the survivors.

Worn out, all hope of liberty gone, the slaves became submissive and indifferent to their fate.

Very soon the hundred and fourteen men, their hands bound behind their backs and chained together by their necks in parties of ten, straggled back across the desert to the east under the blows of whips. A few of the soldiers visited the scene of the catastrophe to make sure there were none left alive there.

The pursuers expected a reward for every slave they brought back — only this saved the runaways from a horrible death. Not one of them died on the awful journey back when they dragged along tied together, lashed by whips and without food. The caravan moved slowly, keeping to the road and avoiding the sands.

Pandion dragged along, never daring to look at his companions, and unreceptive to outside impressions. Even the blows of the whip could not arouse him from his state of torpor. The only thing he remembered of the journey back to slavery was the moment when they reached the Nile, near the city of Abydos. The Captain of the escort halted the party to examine the wharf where a barge should have awaited the captives. The prisoners were huddled together on the crest of the descent into the valley, some of them sank to the ground. The morning breeze brought with it the smell of fresh water.

Pandion, who had remained on his feet, suddenly noticed pretty, delicately blue flowers on the very edge of the desert. They swayed on their long stems spreading a fine aroma all around and Pandion felt that this was a last gift sent to him from his lost liberty.

The young Hellene’s lips, cracked and bleeding, quivered and uncertain weak sounds escaped his throat. Kidogo, who had been watching his friend with some alarm during halts — he was chained to a different group during the march — turned to listen.

“… Blue.” He heard only the last word and Pandion again sank into a coma.

The runaways were freed of their bonds and driven on to the barge that was to take them to the suburbs of the capital. Here they were kept in prison as particularly dangerous and persistent rebels and would inevitably be sent to the gold mines.

The prison was a huge hole dug in hard, dry ground, faced with brick and roofed by a number of steep vaults. Four narrow slits cut in the roof served as windows and the entrance was a sloping trap-door in the roof through which food and water were lowered.

The constant gloom of the prison proved a mercy to the runaways: many of them had inflamed eyes caused by the terribly harsh light of the desert, and had they remained in the sunlight they would undoubtedly have lost their sight.

But how tormenting was their captivity in a dark, stinking hole after a few days of liberty!

The captives were completely cut off from the world and nobody cared what they felt or experienced.

Despite the hopelessness of their position, however, they again began to hope for something as soon as they had begun to recover from the effects of their awful journey.

Cavius, somewhat brusquely as usual, again began to outline ideas that all could understand. Kidogo’s laughter was heard again as were the piercing cries of the Libyan Akhmi. Pandion recovered more slowly, the collapse of his hopes had made a deeper impression on him.

Many times he had felt the stone hidden in his loincloth but it seemed like sacrilege to him to take out Yakhmos’ wonderful gift in that foul, dark hole. The stone, moreover, had deceived him, it possessed no magic; it had not helped him obtain his liberty and reach the sea.

At last, however, Pandion did take the blue-green crystal out of its hiding place and carry it stealthily to the pale ray that shone through the slit in the roof but did not reach the ground. With the first glance he cast at the joyous iridescence of the stone the desire to live and fight returned to him. He had been deprived of everything; he did not even dare to think of Thessa; he did not dare to evoke memories of his native shores. All that was left to him was the stone — the stone that was like a dream of the sea, of another life, the real life he had known in the past. And Pandion began to gaze frequently at the stone, finding in its transparent depths that joy without which it would have been impossible to live.

Pandion and his companions did not spend more than ten days in their underground prison. Without any sort of interrogation or trial the fate of the runaway slaves was decided by the authorities up there in the world above. The trap-door opened suddenly and a wooden ladder was lowered into the prison. The slaves were led out and, blinded by the glaring sun, were immediately bound and chained together in groups of six. They were then led down to the Nile and loaded on to a big barge sailing upstream. The rebels were being sent to the southern frontiers of the Black Land, to the Gates of the South, from where they would begin that last journey from which there was no return — to the terrible gold mines of the Land of Nub. (* Gates of the South — the towns of Neb and Swan, the modern Syene and Aswan, on the islands of Elephantine and Philae.

Nub (Egypt, gold) — the collective name for all the lands along the Nile south of the First Cataract; later Nubia).

A fortnight after the runaway slaves had exchanged their underground prison for a floating gaol, at a distance of five hundred thousand cubits upstream to the south of the capital of Tha-Quem, the following scene was enacted in the luxurious palace of the Prince of the South on the Island of Neb.

The Prince of the South and Governor of the Province of Neb, the cruel and imperious Kabuefta, who considered himself second only to Pharaoh in the Black Land, had summoned to his presence the Commander of the Host, the Lord of the Hunt and the Chief Caravan Leader of the South.

Kabuefta received his guests on the balcony of his palace where an abundant feast was spread; his Chief Scribe was also present. Kabuefta, a big muscular man, seated, in imitation of Pharaoh, on a high throne of ebony and ivory, towered arrogantly above his companions.

He noticed the inquiring glances, which the assembled officials exchanged, and smiled to himself.

The palace stood on the highest part of the island and the view from the balcony embraced the wide sleeves of the river sweeping round a group of temples built of white limestone and-red granite. Along the banks were dense growths of tall palms whose dark feathery foliage stretched along the foot of the steep, rocky cliff of the river-bank. A vertical granite wall bordering a high plateau shut off the southern view; the First Cataract of the Nile was situated at the eastern point of this plateau. At this point the valley of the river suddenly narrowed and the expanse of calm, well-tilled fields was broken off abruptly by the immeasurably great expanses of the deserts of Nub, the land of gold. From terraces on the cliffside the tombs of past Princes of the South looked down upon the palace — these were the graves of bold explorers of the countries inhabited by the black people, beginning with the great Herkhuf who had led caravans into the southern countries at the time of the 6th Dynasty. (2625–2475 B.C.)

An experienced desert traveller could discern the regular lines of hieroglyphs of a tremendously long inscription that from that distance had the appearance of the cuneiform inscriptions of the Asian countries. The ruler of the south, however, had no need to read the inscriptions. He knew by heart the proud words of Hemu relating his journey to the Land of Punt (Puoni): “In the eighth year… the keeper of the seal, the keeper of all that is and is not, the curator of the temples, granaries and the white house, the keeper of the Gates of the South.. ” — (Retranslated from Golenishchev’s Russian version of the Egyptian original.) all these titles belonged to Kabuefta as much as to his legendary ancestor.

The distance was lost in the greyish haze caused by the heat, but it was cool on the island — a north wind struggled against the heat encroaching from the south, driving it back to the wilderness of sunburnt plains.

The Prince of the South gazed long at the tombs of his ancestors and then with a gesture ordered a waiting slave to fill the glasses for the last time. The feast was over; the guests rose and followed their host into the inner rooms of the palace. They entered a square, not very high room, beautifully decorated in the style of the great days of Tuthmosis III. (Pharaoh Tuthmosis III (1501–1447 B.C.) — statesman and soldier who added to Egyptian conquests.) The smooth white walls were decorated at the bottom with a broad light blue border, containing an intricate straight-line design composed of white lines, while a narrow strip of wall around the ceiling bore a pattern of lotus flowers and symbolic figures, carried out in blue, green, black and white tones on a background of dull gold.

The ceiling was divided by four wooden beams of a deep cherry colour and surrounded by a checkered border in black and gold. The spaces between the beams were painted in bright colours — gold spirals and white rosettes on a checker-board background in red and blue.

The wide door-posts of polished cedar-wood were bordered with narrow black stripes broken by numerous pairs of blue lines drawn across them.

A carpet, a few folding chairs of ivory covered in leopard skin, two armchairs of. gold-inlaid ebony, a few chests on legs which also served as tables, constituted the entire furniture of the big, bright and airy room.

Without undue haste Kabuefta took his seat in one of the armchairs and his clear-cut profile stood out sharply against the white wall. The officials pulled their chairs closer to him and the Chief Scribe stood by a tall table of ebony inlaid with gold and ivory.

On the polished surface of the table lay a scroll of papyrus with a red and white seal. At a sign from the Prince of the South the Scribe unrolled the papyrus and stood for a moment in respectful silence.

The Commander of the Host, a gaunt, bald-headed man without a wig, winked at the little, stubby Caravan Leader, giving him to understand that the talk for which they had been summoned would now begin.

Sure enough Kabuefta inclined his head and spoke to the assembled officials.

“His Majesty, the Ruler of the Upper and Lower Black Lands, life, health, strength, has sent me an express letter. In it His Majesty commands me to do something unheard of — to bring to the City a beast with a horned nose such as inhabits the land beyond Wawat;* these animals are distinguished for their monstrous strength and ferocity. In the past many beasts from the southern lands have been brought alive to the Great House. The people of the City and the people of Tha-Meri-Heb have seen huge apes, giraffes, the beasts-of Seth** and the groundhogs; savage lions and leopards accompanied Ramses the Great*** and even fought against the enemies of Tha-Quem, but never has a rhinoceros been caught alive.

(* Wawat-the stretch of the Nile between modern Aswan and Khartoum.

** Beasts of Seth — okapi, an animal from the same group as the giraffe. They are now found only in the dense jungles of the Congo but were formerly widespread throughout Africa, being very numerous in the Nile Delta. The figure of the dread Seth, god of darkness, is modelled after this animal.

*** Ramses II (1229–1225 B.C.), the great conqueror. Tame lions fought on the side of the Egyptians against the Hittites.)

“From time immemorial the Princes of the South have provided the Black Land with everything needed from the lands of the black people; nothing has ever been impossible for them to perform. I wish to continue this glorious tradition: Tha-Quem must see a live rhinoceros. I have summoned you that we may take counsel on the easiest way to bring at least one of these terrible monsters to Tha-Quem. What do you say, Nehzi, who have seen so many glorious hunts?” he asked, turning to. the Lord of the Hunt, a morose, obese individual whose wavy hair, dark skin and humped nose betrayed in him a descendant of the Hyksos.

“The beast of the southern plains is indescribably fierce; his skin is impervious to our spears, his strength is that of the elephant,” began Nehzi importantly. “He attacks first, smashing and crushing everything that stands in his way. He is not to be caught in a pit: the heavy animal would most certainly be injured. If we arrange a big hunt and seek a female with her young we might kill the mother, capture the babe and take it to Quemt…” Kabuefta struck angrily on the arm of his chair. “Seven times seven will I fall to the feet of the Great House, my ruler. Fie on you,” the finger of the Prince of the South prodded the dumbfounded Lord of the Hunt, “who dares to sin against His Majesty. Not a hall-dead babe must we bring him, but a great beast, nefer-neferu, the best of the best, an animal in the prime of life, capable of inspiring fear in full measure. Nor can we wait until a cub grows to maturity in captivity… The royal command must be fulfilled with all haste especially as the animal lives far from the Gates of the South.”

Peheni, the Caravan Leader, suggested sending some three hundred of the bravest soldiers without arms but with ropes and nets to capture the monster.

The Commander of the Host, Senofri, scowled at this and Kabuefta frowned at him.

Then the Caravan Leader hastened to add that it would not be necessary to send soldiers but that it would be better to force the Nubians themselves to capture the beast.

Kabuefta shook his head, twisting his mouth into a derisive smile.

“The days of Tuthmosis and Ramses are long past — the. despised inhabitants of the Land of Nub are no longer bowed in submission. Senofri knows with what efforts and cunning we are able to curb the lust of their hungry mouths… No, that will not do, we must capture the animal ourselves…”

“And if, instead of soldiers, we were to sacrifice slaves,” suggested Senofri with caution.

The worried Kabuefta was suddenly aroused.

“I swear by Ma’at, the all-seeing goddess of truth, that you’re right, O wise commander! I’ll take rebels and runaways from the prisons, these are the boldest of the slaves. They shall capture the monster.”

The Lord of the Hunt smiled an unbelieving smile.

“You are wise, O Prince of the South, but, might I make bold to ask, how are you going to compel the slaves to face certain, death from this fierce monster? Threats will not help, you can only threaten them with death instead of death. What difference will it make to them?”

“You understand animals better than you do men, Nehzi, so leave the men to me. I shall promise them liberty. Those who have already faced death for the sake of liberty will be willing to do go again. That’s exactly why I shall take only rebellious slaves.”

“And will you fulfil your promise?” asked Nehzi again.

Kabuefta stuck out his lower lip haughtily.

“The majesty of the Prince of the South does not permit him to sink so low as to lie to slaves, but they will not return. Leave that to me. You would do better to tell me how many men you’ll need to capture the animal and how far it is to the places where it is to be found.”

“We’ll need no less than two hundred men. The animal will crush a half of them and the remainder will overcome him by their numbers and tie him up. Two months from now begins the season of floods and the grass of the plains will spring up. At that time the animals will come north for the grass and we shall then be able to seek them close to the river near the Sixth Cataract. The most important thing is to capture the animal in the vicinity of the river, since the men will not be able to carry a live animal that weighs as much as seven bulls. Once on the river, we can take it by water in a big cage as far as the City…”

The Prince of the South was thinking deeply, making calculations, and his lips quivered.

“Het!” he said at last. “So let it be. A hundred and fifty slaves will be enough if they fight well. A hundred soldiers, twenty hunters and guides… You will take command of the whole party, Nehzi! Get busy making your arrangements at once. Senofri will select reliable soldiers and peaceful Negroes.”(* Peaceful Negroes — the name given by the Egyptians to Negroes who served in the army and police.)

The Lord of the Hunt bowed.

The officials left the chamber, making merry over Nehzi’s new appointment.

Kabuefta seated the Scribe and began to dictate a letter to the governors of the prisons of the two towns at the Gates of the South, Neb and Swan.