“O dreamer of dreams, interpret your own dream. Who is she about my throne of whom I should beware, and who is the magician with whom she made a pact?”
“The divine Queen did not tell me, Pharaoh,” answered Asti stubbornly, “but my own skill tells me. She is Merytra, your favourite, and the magician is Kaku, whom she visited last night.”
“What!” exclaimed Pharaoh, laughing. “That long-legged old astrologer with the painted cap who ran so fast when his master was taken? Why! he is nothing but a spy who has been in my pay for years; a charlatan who pretends to knowledge that he may win the secrets of his Prince. And Merytra, too, Merytra, who in bygone times warned me of this Abi’s foolish plot. Asti, you are high-born and wise, one whom I love, and honour much, as does the Queen, my daughter, but you can still be jealous, as I have noted long. Asti, be not deceived, it was jealousy of Merytra that whispered in your ears, not the spirit of the divine Ahura. Now go and take your terrors with you, for this dark conspirator, Merytra, waits in my chamber to unrobe me, and talk me to sleep with her pleasant jests and gossip.”
“Pharaoh has spoken, I go,” said Asti in her quiet voice. “May Pharaoh’s rest be sweet, and his awaking happy.”
That night Tua could not sleep. Whenever she shut her eyes visions rose before her mind, terrifying, fantastic visions in all of which the fat and hideous Abi played a part. Thus she saw again the scene at her father’s fatal feast to the Priest of Kesh, when Asti by her magic had caused the likeness of a monkey to come from the juggler’s vase. Only now it was Abi who emerged from the vase, a terrible Abi, with a red sword in his hand, and Pharaoh’s crown upon his head. He leapt from the mouth of the vase, he devoured her with his greedy eyes, with stealthy steps he came to seize her, and she could not stir an inch, something held her fast upon her throne.
She could bear it no more—she opened her eyes, stared at the darkness, and out of the darkness came voices, telling of death and war. She thrust her fingers into her ears, and tried to fix her thoughts on Rames, that bright-eyed, light-footed lover of hers, whom she so longed to see again, without whom she was so lonely and undefended.
“Where was Rames?” she wondered. “What fate had overtaken him? Something in her seemed to answer—Death. Oh! if Rames were dead, what should she do? Of what use was it to be Queen of Egypt, the first woman in the world, if Rames were dead?”
Loneliness, insufferable loneliness seemed to get a hold of her. She slipped from her bed, and through the doorway of her little pylon chamber. Now she was upon the narrow stair, and in face of her was that other chamber where Asti slept. Someone was talking with her! Perhaps Mermes was with his wife, and if so she could not enter. No, it was Asti’s voice, and, listening, she could hear her murmuring prayers or invocations in solemn tones. She pushed open the door and entered. A little lamp burned in the room, and by its feeble light she saw the white-robed Asti, whose long hair fell about her, standing with upturned eyes and arms outstretched to Heaven. Suddenly Asti saw her also, though but dimly for she stood in the dense shadow, and knew her not.
“Advance, O thou Ghost, and declare thyself, for never was thy help more needed,” she said.
“It is no ghost, but I,” said Tua. “What dealings are these that you have with ghosts at this deadest hour of the night, Asti? Do not enough terrors encompass us that you must needs call on your familiar spirits to add to them?”