He laughed.
“Nay! it was to rouse these dormant passions that I came to-night, oh, mother mine! Didst think, perchance, that I meant to leave thee in peace and happiness, taking away from me all that the gods did give? I had a crown. Thy lover came, and with one blow struck it from off my head. Am I the Pharaoh? Ask my people whom it is they love, and whom they obey. Who sits upon the throne of Kamt? Not I, surely, for his hands deal favours and sign the decrees of justice.
“I am sick and of no account; my open enmity could but heighten thy lover’s fame. But my hatred has been nurtured in the dark, and, like a foul snake, hath thriven well, the while thou didst rejoice and didst think of wedding the stranger, so as to oust thy son from the throne. But, I tell thee, thou didst rejoice too soon. I am not dead yet, and the beloved of the gods is hated by many mortals: by those whose arrogance his arrogance did curb, whose pride his pride did humble, and amongst these thou must reckon the woman whom thou wilt defraud as thou didst defraud thy son.”
“Thou talkest at random,” she said with another shrug of the shoulders. “Just now thou didst say that she loved him, and now thou speakest of hate.”
“And is not hate the twin of love, mother mine? And didst thou not feel hatred for him whom thou lovest so well when thou didst see him standing beside Neit-akrit? his eyes devouring her young and ardent beauty, her eyes turned to him, moist and tender, ready to respond to the first word of passion? Didst see how he trembled when she asked him for a kiss?”
“Hold thy babbling tongue,” she commanded. “I will not listen to the ravings of a lunatic.”
“But thou wilt listen, for I will tell thee that, at nights, when Isis hid her face, and darkness threw a merciful pall over the garden of Neit-akrit’s palace, she would creep out, and her arms filled with masses of lotus blossoms, she would go to thy lover’s couch. I have seen her on the terrace, at nights, standing like the carved image of voluptuous grace, with moist lips and shimmering eyes, and he…”
“Thou liest!” said Maat-kha in a hoarse whisper, raising an imperious hand, as if ready to strike the son who with evil tongue hissed the cruel words into her ear, delighting with fiendish glee in goading her into jealous frenzy.
I could not understand what the man’s object could be in the strange game he was playing. Was it revenge for his own wrongs, or merely the natural outburst of an evil mischief-making mind? I knew he hated his mother, but thought the game a dangerous one, for in this country passions run high, and a woman’s love or hate is deadly and uncontrolled.
I could not tear myself away from my point of vantage; an unaccountable feeling or presentiment, which since then I have been so well able to explain, kept me rooted to the spot, with my face glued against the massive marble carving.