IV
Dio woke up, opened her eyes and saw that the dull gold of the palm leaves on the capitals was turning silver in the bluish light of the morning, while the flickering flame of the night-light still threw a reddish reflection on the pale green, pointed leaves at the bottom of the columns; in the middle, where the disc of the god Aton was spreading its hand-shaped rays over the royal couple, the two lights merged in one.
Dio lay on a panther skin spread on the floor between two beds; the queen slept in one, but the king's bed was empty. Dio raised her head and looked at the sleeper: she slept quietly, breathed evenly; only at times the fine brows twitched like a butterfly's antennae and the wrinkle between them grew deeper, as though she were thinking hard even in her sleep; the pale face with the black shadow of the long lashes was beautiful in spite of the ravages wrought by disease.
Dio looked at the queen and it seemed to her it was he and not she: the sister-wife was strikingly like her brother-husband, especially in sleep.
Her hand, transparently pale with the blue veins standing out, hung over the edge of the bed. Dio touched it with her lips as lightly as the night wind and again it seemed to her it was not her hand but his.
"The two are one," she thought. "How could they have parted? How could he have left her? What will become of her, what will become of him?"
He had told the queen before his departure that he was going to Horemheb, the Viceroy of the North, to persuade him to accept the throne. The queen had always dreamed of resigning the throne and being free from the heavy yoke of sovereignty. She was glad and believed him, though not quite; she was surprised at his not taking her with him: for so many years they had hardly ever parted for a single day, and now in those dreadful weeks after Maki's death he left her, ran away as it were. She felt he was concealing something from her. She soon learned that he had never arrived at Memphis and no one knew or wanted to tell her where he was. She asked Dio, but she did not know either, or did not want to tell. Dio said nothing for days, but at last, seeing that the torture of uncertainty was worse than anything for the queen, she told her.
The queen listened to her calmly, as though she had been prepared for it; she had submitted to him in everything and she submitted to this, also. But she still failed to understand why he had not taken her with him. Together in happiness but apart in sorrow: so then he did not love her as much as she loved him? But for this, too, she blamed herself: she evidently had not known how to love; had she loved him more this would not have happened.
That same day she took to her bed and did not get up any more. The heart disease she had had for years grew very much worse.
Dio never left her for a moment: she remembered her promise to the king. But she sometimes fancied that her love was worse than hatred. She acted like a skilled torturer who preserves his victim's life, inflicting wounds and then healing them to prolong the torture. She deceived the queen from day to day, telling her that they were looking for the king, would soon find him, had already traced him; but each deception was found out and the torture grew worse.
Sometimes she felt indignant on her account: "What has he done to her! He did not want to kill the victim with his own hands—he ran away; he took a light burden upon himself and put upon her a burden no human being can bear."
That night the invalid had a terrible heart attack. The physician, Pentu, thought she would not survive it. The pang in her breast was so severe that she turned blue as though she had been strangled. No drugs were of any help. Finally Pentu decided to try, as the last resort a very powerful and dangerous remedy—the stupefying juice of Kidjevan belladonna, Lybian sylphium, Arabian myrrh and poppy juice with powdered turquoise and bones of the sacred ibis.
The remedy helped: the invalid dropped asleep.
Would she wake? "Oh, if only...." Dio thought and broke off, remembering the king's words, "if she dies, I will die with her." She knew this would be so.
The curtain on the door moved. Dio turned round and saw that Pentu had thrust his head in. She got up and went to speak to him behind the door in the covered passage leading to the river.
The early morning sky, grey as though covered with clouds, reminded her of the winter days when wet snow fell on Mount Ida. But the sun would rise and the sky would be as blue and cloudless as ever. White mist coiled like smoke over the low-lying meadows beyond the river, a water-bird among the reeds was calling in a creaking voice, and as though in answer to it the wheel of a well creaked somewhere in the distance. There was a smell of bitter smoke and winter freshness.
Pentu took Dio by the hand, led her away from the door and whispered in her ear.
"The king has come back...."
"Where is he?" Dio cried.
Pentu silenced her with a gesture.
"Sh-sh! She may hear. We must prepare her; if she heard suddenly it would be fatal...."
"Where is he?" Dio repeated in a whisper.
Pentu pointed to the door at the end of the passage. Dio rushed towards it, but stopped and put her hands to her head.
"Oh, Pentu, how are we to tell her? I cannot, you had better do it."
"No, Dio, you, no one but you!"
"Where did he come from? How did they find him?"
"Mahu brought him, but I don't know where from."
"Have you seen him?"
"I have."
"Well, how is he, what does he look like?"
"Better not ask. Such a thing hasn't happened since the days of the god Ra! In rags, unwashed, unshaved, bristles on his face, thin, black with sunburn and, dreadful to say, scars on his back. But, thanks to Mahu, no one except us knows anything about it—he has managed it all splendidly! We washed, shaved and dressed him...."
He stopped, as though lost in thought and then turned to Dio again.
"Well, why do you stand still? Go to her and I will keep watch here. When the king heard she was ill he rushed to her and we had difficulty to hold him back.... Go, don't be afraid. God willing, everything will come right!"
Dio returned to the bedroom. The queen was lying with her eyes open. She looked at Dio intently.
"Where have you been?"
"Just by the door."
"Whom were you talking to?"
"To Pentu."
"What about?"
"About the king. Good news...."
"Oh, yes, they are looking for him, they will soon find him. They have traced him already. Oh, Dio, aren't you tired of it? It's a mean, silly game! You know I was thinking last night that if I loved him more I wouldn't suffer as I do. He is not a child and not insane—he knows what he is doing. He has gone away—very well, it means it's better for him it should be so. Dio, my dear, my sister, he loves you. Be with him, love him to the end, don't forsake him; if need be, die with him. But don't lie any more...."
She raised herself on her elbow and looked at Dio still more intently.
"What is the matter with you? Why do you tremble?"
"I am afraid. I kept telling you lies and now when I must tell the truth I don't know how to do it. Do you know what Pentu and I were talking of just now? Of how best prepare you for joy...."
"What am I saying, good Lord!" she thought with terror, but could not stop herself, it was like rolling headlong downhill.
"What joy?" the queen whispered, and she too began to tremble.
"Why, a messenger whom Mahu had sent to Memphis has just returned; he had seen the king in two days' journey from here: the king knows you are ill and is coming home. He may be here to-morrow evening. If you don't believe me, ask Mahu...."
Watching the change in the queen's face, Dio felt that she had found the right way, and, fearing no longer, led her with a firm hand by the very edge of the abyss; and she might have led her through safely and saved her. But suddenly a cry was heard, distant at first and then nearer and nearer; someone was running and shouting. A door banged close by. Dio recognized the voice of Princess Meritatona, who though still weak after her illness, was no longer confined to her bed. She must have heard of the king's return and was running to him shouting: "Abby! Abby! Abby!"
With a low exclamation the queen jumped off the bed and ran to the door. Dio held her back, but she struggled, crying:
"Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!"
She wrenched herself free, rushed through the door, pushed Pentu away, and ran towards the door at the end of the covered passage; having guessed the direction from Rita's voice. But after taking a few steps she fell on her knees and stretching out her arms cried "Enra!" in such a voice that an old fisherman mending his net in a boat some distance down the river heard it and wondered "who can be screaming in the palace as though they were being murdered?"
A door at the end of the passage was flung open and, running out of it, the king rushed to the queen who lay on the floor.
Kneeling down he bent over her and lifted her up, passing one arm round her waist, and supporting her head with the other. He looked into her face. With a low moan she opened her eyes and looked at him with a blissful smile, repeating:
"It's you! It's you!"
Suddenly she trembled all over and struggled like a fish on a hook. Her head was thrown back and he felt her body growing heavy. He laid her on the floor and, bending down, kissed her on the lips, receiving her last breath in that kiss.
That same evening the queen's body lay on the bed in her chamber and all except the king and Dio were weeping over her.
"I am thy sister who loved thee on earth,
No one has loved thee more than I."
Dio recalled the wail of Isis.
The king took her by the hand and said, leading her aside, "It's a good thing you don't cry."
Dio made no answer and only gazed at him.
"We mustn't cry," he went on, with a quiet, fearful smile. "It is better so."
"Better?"
"Yes, better. Now we are free. Let us go to Him together. Will you?"
"No!" she wanted to cry out, but looking at him she suddenly grasped that it was not he who was speaking. And it was not to him she replied with a smile as quiet and fearful as his own:
"Let us go!"