We had all turned towards the further end of the room, where stood the Pharaoh, supported on either side by two of his shorn physicians, his pale face emaciated by suffering, looking weirdly grotesque beneath the gigantic double crown of gold, studded with jewels, of Upper and Lower Kamt. Each side of him two torch-bearers stood, holding aloft a burning torch, the flickering light of which made his face appear strangely demoniacal in its expression of hatred and contempt, while with one long clawlike finger he pointed derisively at Hugh. It was the first time I had heard him speak, and his voice sounded strangely harsh and high-pitched. Suddenly he broke into loud and unnatural laughter.
“He! he! he! thou beloved of the gods! what exquisite torments await thee! for thou wilt love her, I tell thee, and she will laugh and mock thee! Didst thou not know that Isis gave her a stone when she was born, instead of a heart? Ay! my lady mother! thou dost right to dread that thy beloved leave thy side to behold the fairness of Neit-akrit. I shall not live a year and a day, saith thy High Chancellor; well! perhaps not! but I shall live long enough to see the beloved of the gods, the future king of Kamt, a weak and puling mortal rendered akin to the fools, and kicked at by the white feet of a woman. Thou desirest my crown, thou soul of Khefren?” now shrieked the unfortunate man, while he began to tremble from head to foot and tried to walk towards Hugh. “Thou wishest to wed a queen? and sit upon the throne of Kamt? I tell thee that before that time comes thou wilt lie with thy pale head in the dust of the valley of death, and pray that thy sacrilegious foot had never dared to step upon the pedestal of Ra, since thy presence deprived her of a throne! Here! take thou my crown! My head has ached long enough with the weight of it! Take it, I say! and may every jewel it contains burn into thy flesh and make thy martyrdom doubly hideous to bear, since it will make of thee, who art beloved of the gods, the abhorred and loathed usurper of the throne of Neit-akrit!”
He had with trembling hands torn the massive golden crown from off his head, and with a final shriek of execration and blasphemy hurled it at Hugh Tankerville’s feet, where it fell with a loud crash, while some of the rubies, loosened from their settings by the vigour of the shock, rolled about on the floor like glittering drops of blood.
But the effort had been too much for the enfeebled frame: the physicians, completely paralysed by the frenzy of their patient, seemed unable to support him, for with a wild cry the mighty Pharaoh fell forward, prostrate before the man on whom he had hurled his malediction.
Hugh had jumped up, fortunately in good time to break the fall of the unfortunate man, and his vigorous chest received the main shock of the inanimate body. Then, lightly, as if the great Pharaoh had been a feather, he lifted him from the ground, and giving me a wink, he carried him across the hall in his arms, commanding the astonished physicians and torch-bearers to lead the way. As I followed him, and helped to support the inanimate body, I looked back and, in the dim light of the lamp, caught sight of the face of Queen Maat-kha. It was as pale as death, and in her large eyes, which rested on the inert form of her son, there was a look of bitter hatred, coupled with an eager and terrible hope, which made me almost shudder.
Gently we conveyed the fainting man to his own apartments, and imperiously Hugh ordered physicians and attendants out of the room. They were far too frightened not to obey, and together we set to work to undress the great Pharaoh and to lay him on his couch.
“I think now is your chance, Mark, or never, to examine the poor man and see what he really suffers from,” said Hugh, when we had laid the bloodless, emaciated body on the gorgeous couch and rested the pale head on the rose silk cushion, which made the face appear more weird and livid than before.
“If those two bald idiots in yellow robes are a specimen of the medical profession in this highly-enlightened country, I, for one, must pray to be preserved from any ailment in which I cannot attend on myself,” I said, as I first of all endeavoured to administer such restoratives to the patient as I usually carried about me. I had examined the yellow, parchment-like skin, covered with pimples and blotches, the eyes circled with deep purple rings, the sunken temples and pinched nostrils, and, though I have no pretensions at vast experience in medical practice, yet I am an M.D. of London, and had done some creditable work at St. Mary’s, and I was not very long in coming to the conclusion what malady was undermining the very life of the young monarch.
“I should say he is suffering from advanced diabetes: though, of course, I cannot be sure till I have examined him more thoroughly. If my surmises are correct, then those shaven fools are doing their level best to kill him in the shortest possible period of time.” And I pointed to the fine wheaten bread, the fruit and sweet cakes, which lay on a tray ready to the invalid’s hand. “At the same time I think we should find it difficult to interfere with his medical entourage.”
“Do you think you can save him?” asked Hugh, eagerly.