Yet, much of what the Doorkeeper said of his ancestor was true. Was not Pentaur the Historian’s account of Pharaoh’s exploits written in good hieroglyphic and graphically pictured upon the walls of Amen’s temple nearby? Indeed, Pentaur, the Doorkeeper, had good cause for his pride of ancestry.
The weary Yakab was on the point of relinquishing his long vigil when the notes of a trumpet announced the return of the royal barge. Soon after Pentaur sent in Yakab’s crumpled note to the Queen-Mother’s apartment.
Once the acknowledgment was in his hands, Yakab picked up his long staff and rose to depart. As his gaunt form passed beneath the outer pylon, Pentaur motioned him back to the ebony stool. Pentaur considered Yakab an excellent conversationalist, for the reason, perhaps, that Pentaur’s flow of anecdote had not once been interrupted.
But Yakab smilingly shook his head. He could not resist following up his heart-felt expressions of farewell with a sarcastic prayer for the repose of the souls of Pentaur’s ancestry, as far as he could recall it, commencing with Den, one of the valiant “Followers of Horus” of the days of the gods.
Yakab feared that he had failed a member of his race. He had been too late. Yakab loved riches; Yakab loved power. But, above all else, Yakab loved his home, his family, his people. And was not Bhanar one of his people?
That night Yakab could not sleep.
CHAPTER VI
How Bhanar Found a Home in Egypt
Baltu the Phoenician left his bales of merchandise and returned to the side of the trembling Bhanar. Erdu, his steersman could count the bales as well as he. As each tenth bale passed over the vessel’s side, Erdu sang out the tally. He checked it with a mark upon a piece of potsherd which he held in his hand.