Then, uttering the war-cry of his fathers, those Pharaohs who once had ruled in Egypt, the tall and noble Mermes grasped his sword in both his hands, and rushed upon the advancing foe, slaying and slaying until he himself was slain.
“Come with me, O Wife of a royal hero,” said Tua to Asti, who had covered her eyes with her hand, and was leaning against the wall.
“Widow, not wife, Queen. Did you not see his spirit pass?”
Then Tua led her up more steps to the top of the pylon tower, where Asti sank down moaning in her misery. Tua walked to the outermost edge of the tower and stood there waiting the end. It was the moment of dawn. On the eastern horizon the red rim of the sun arose out of the desert in a clear sky. There upon that lofty pinnacle, clad in shining mail, and wearing a helm shaped like the crown of Lower Egypt, Tua stood in its glorious rays that turned her to a figure of fire set above a world of shadow. The thousands of the people watching from the streets below, and from boats upon the Nile, saw her, and raised a shout of wonder and of adoration.
“The Daughter of Amen-Ra!” they cried. “Behold her clad in the glory of the god!”
Soldiers crept up the stairs to the pylon roof and saw her also, while, now that the fray was ended, with them came the Prince Abi.
“Seize her,” he panted, for the stairs were steep and robbed him of his breath.
But the soldiers looked and shrank back before the Majesty of Egypt, wrapped in her robe of light.
“We fear,” they answered, “the ghost of Pharaoh stands before her.”
Then Neter-Tua spoke, saying: