At this moment, his restless black eyes sought to attract those of the all-unconscious object of his affections. His glance dwelt with delight upon her spotless white gala robes. He noted the graceful wig confined by a rose-colored fillet from which drooped fragrant white lotus-flowers; the huge circular gold earrings, and the flashing pectoral ornament—a glitter of jeweled inlays—which rose and fell at every breath.
Sesen’s cheeks and lips were artificially reddened, her eyebrows shaved and lightly penciled with kohl, like those of the Queen and Queen-Mother. Yet, unlike them, her tongue was silent, her smiles had vanished. Sesen’s somber eyes evinced little interest in the bustle and joyful preparations about her. Twice did Noferith the Queen touch her with the dainty little scent-tube she carried, in an effort to recall her to her laughter-loving self.
Finally, after the sweet-scented lotus which each lady carried had been changed but once, the Princess Sesen rose, pleading faintness. The sympathetic Queen whom she served, allowed her to retire without exacting the formal prostration.
At her withdrawal Menna’s disappointment was intense. He sank back deep into his painted cedar chair. For Menna the feast was at an end.
But not for the noisy revelers about him. Even the haughty members of the Hittite ambassador’s suite forgot for a moment their lofty attitude of detachment.
For the corpulent Mentu, son of the Vizier Kena, had whetted the appetites of these Asiatics. Through the somewhat hesitating medium of a sibilant Canaanitic dialect, the garrulous Mentu had somehow managed to make them understand that the entire kitchen forces of the governor of Thinis and of Hotepra, Prince of On, had been brought upstream to assist the royal cooks.
“Indeed,” said Mentu, “though whirling sandstorms bury us; though drought and pestilence stalk the blistered banks of Hapi, yet shall we enjoy the choicest viands, the rarest wines,” he clicked his purple tongue; “wines whose seals have stood intact since good King Ahmes’ time! But, wait until thou seest Nōfert-āri! Breath of Ra! Then shalt thou say, ‘Baal forgive me! Our country is afar off! Between us lies the raging sea! Egypt is a land of pleasure and delight! Here let us tarry!’”
And so it proved. For marvel followed marvel with almost bewildering rapidity.
A dish that won the plaudits of all was an enormous platter of Syrian craftsmanship. Upon this gold dish, in the midst of gold reeds and papyrus, swam ducks, plover, and other aquatic birds. In a miniature skiff, a diminutive Egyptian boatman propelled his silver craft over perfumed water. An Egyptian noble, standing upright in the bow, aimed a jeweled throw-stick at a flock of egrets which, with wings outspread, quivered upon gold wires high above a thicket of feathery papyrus.
The realistic little figures were of pastry, the birds cooked with all their feathers on!