“Yes, I will play thee, my Lord, but my hand has lost its cunning, and it may well be that Meriamun shall lose again, as she has lost all. Let me set the Pieces, and bring wine for my lord.”
She set the Pieces, and crossing the room, she lifted a great cup of wine, and put it by Pharaoh’s hand. But he was so intent on the game that he did not drink.
He took the field, he moved, she replied, and so the game went between them, in the dark fragrant chamber where the lamp burned, and the Queen’s eyes shone in the night. This way and that went the game, till she lost, and he swept the board.
Then in triumph he drained the poisoned cup of wine, and cried, “Pharaoh is dead!”
“Pharaoh is dead!” answered Meriamun, gazing into his eyes.
“What is that look in thine eyes, Meriamun, what is that look in thine eyes?”
And the King grew pale as the dead, for he had seen that look before—when Meriamun slew Hataska.
“Pharaoh is dead!” she shrilled in the tone of women who wail the dirges. “Pharaoh, great Pharaoh is dead! Ere a man may count a hundred thy days are numbered. Strange! but to-morrow, Meneptah, shalt thou sit where Hataska sat, dead on the knees of Death, an Osirian in the lap of the Osiris. Die, Pharaoh, die! But while thy diest, hearken. There is one I love, the Wanderer who leads thy hosts. His love I stole by arts known to me, and because I stole it he would have shamed me, and I accused him falsely in the ears of men. But he comes again, and, so sure as thou shalt sit on the knees of Osiris, so surely shall he sit upon thy throne, Pharaoh. For Pharaoh is dead!”
He heard. He gathered his last strength. He rose and staggered towards her, striking at the air. Slowly she drew away, while he followed her, awful to see. At length he stood still, he threw up his hands, and fell dead.
Then Meriamun drew near and looked at him strangely.