This was a horrible profession, fully worthy of a people who thought more of death than of life, who strove to preserve for all eternity the glory of the dead rather than living deeds.
Pandion listened in amazement and horror to the tales of adventure told by this thin, insignificant man who had so often risked his life for the sake of a few moments’ pleasure, and could not understand him.
“Why did you continue living like that?” Pandion asked him one night. “Why couldn’t you go away?” The Egyptian smiled a silent, mirthless smile. “The Land of Quemt is a strange land. You, a foreigner, cannot understand her. We are all imprisoned here, not merely the slaves, but also the free sons of the Black Land. Long, long ago, the deserts protected us. Today Tha-Quem is squeezed in between the deserts — it is a big prison for all those who are unable to make long journeys with a strong band of warriors.
‘In the west is the desert — the kingdom of death. The desert in the east is passable only to large caravans with a good supply of water. In the south there are savage tribes hostile to us. All our neighbours burn with hatred against our country whose well-being is founded on the misfortunes of weaker peoples.
“You’re not a son of Tha-Quem and can’t understand how we fear to die in a strange land. In this valley of the Hapi, everywhere alike, where our ancestors have lived for thousands of years and tilled the soil, dug canals and made fertile the land, we, too, must live and die. Tha-Quem is shut off from the world and that lies like a curse upon us. When there are too many people their lives are of no value — and there is nowhere for us to migrate to, the people chosen by the gods are not loved by the peoples of foreign lands…”
“But would it not be better for you to flee now that you’re a slave?” asked Pandion.
“Alone and branded?” came the Egyptian’s ejaculation of astonishment. “I’m now worse than a foreigner… Remember, Ekwesha, there’s no escaping from here! The only hope is to turn the whole of the Black Land upside down by force. But who can do that? It’s true there have been such things in the days of long ago…” Yakhmos sighed regretfully.
These last words aroused Pandion’s curiosity and he began to question Yakhmos; he learned about the great slave rebellions that had from time to time shaken the whole country. He learned also that the slaves had been joined by the poorer sections of the population whose lives differed little from those of the slaves.
He learned, too, that the common people were forbidden to have any contact with the slaves since “a poor man could infuriate the mob in the slave compound” — such were the Pharaohs’ injunctions to their sons.
The poorer sons of Quemt, the tillers of the soil and the craftsmen, lived in the narrow world of their own street. They made as few acquaintances as possible, they humbled themselves before the soldiers, the “heralds” who brought them the commands of the officials. Pharaoh demanded humility and drudging toil and for the slightest act of disobedience the offender was mercilessly beaten. The huge body of officials was a tremendous burden on the country, freedom to leave the country and travel was the prerogative of the priests and nobility alone.
At Pandion’s request Yakhmos drew a plan of the Land of Quemt in a patch of moonlight on the floor. The young Hellene was horrified: he was in the very middle of the valley of a great river thousands of stadia in length. There were water and life to the north and south but to get there through a densely populated land with countless military fortifications was impossible. In the empty deserts on either side there was no population nor was there any means of subsistence.
The few caravan roads along which there were wells were strongly guarded.
After the Egyptian had left him, Pandion spent a sleepless night trying to think out a plan of escape. Instinctively, the youth realized that hopes of a successful escape would grow weaker as time went on and he grew more and more exhausted from the unbearable slave labour. Only people possessing extraordinary strength and endurance could expect fortune to smile on them if they attempted escape.
The next night Pandion crawled to the cell of the Etruscan, Cavius, told him all he had learned from the Egyptian and tried to persuade him to make an attempt to arouse the slaves to rebellion. Cavius did not answer him but sat stroking his beard, deep in thought. Pandion was well aware that preparations for rebellion had long been under way and that the various tribal groups had chosen their leaders.
“I can’t stand it any longer, why should we wait?” exclaimed Pandion passionately; Cavius hurriedly put his hand over his mouth. “Better death,” added the Hellene, somewhat more calmly. “What is there to wait for? What will change? If changes come in ten years time, then we shan’t be able to fight or flee. Are you afraid of death or what?”
Cavius raised his hand.
“I’m not afraid and you know it,” he said brusquely, “but we have five hundred lives dependent on us. Do you propose to sacrifice them? You’ll get your death at a high price.”
Pandion struck his head against the low ceiling as he sat up suddenly in his impatience.
“I’ll think it over and talk to people,” Cavius hastened to add, “but still it’s a pity there are only two other shehne near us and that we have no access to them. We’ll talk tomorrow night and I’ll let you know. Tell Kidogo to come…”
Pandion left Cavius’ cell, crawled hurriedly along the wall so as to get there before the moon rose, and made for Yakhmos’ cell. Yakhmos was still awake.
“I went to see you,” whispered the Egyptian in excited tones, “but you weren’t there. I wanted to tell. .” he stammered. “I’ve been told that I’m being taken away from here tomorrow; they are sending three hundred men to the gold mines in the desert. That’s how matters stand — nobody ever comes back from there…”
“Why?” asked Pandion.
“Slaves sent to work there rarely live more than a year. There’s nothing worse than the work down there amidst the sun-baked rocks, with no air to breathe. They give them very little water as there isn’t enough to go round. The work consists of breaking hard stones and carrying the ore in baskets. The strongest of the slaves drop exhausted at the end of the day’s work and blood runs from their ears and throats… Farewell, Ekwesha, you’re a fine fellow although you did me a bad turn by saving my life. It’s not the rescue that I value but the sympathy you showed me… Long, long ago a life of bitterness made one of our bards compose a song in praise of death. That song I repeat today.
“ ‘Death lies before me like convalescence before a sick man, like relief from sickness,’ “ intoned the Egyptian in a whisper, “ ‘like sailing before the wind in fine weather, like the perfume of the lotus, like a road washed by the rain, like the return home after a campaign…’ “ Yakhmos’ voice broke off in a groan.
Overcome by pity, the young Hellene drew nearer to the Egyptian.
“But you can take your own…” Pandion stopped short.
Yakhmos staggered back from him. “What are you saying, foreigner. Do you imagine I can allow my Ka to torment my Ba for all eternity in never ending sufferings?…” (Ka — the soul of the intellect. Ba — the corporeal soul, the spirit of the body.)
Pandion understood nothing of what the Egyptian was saying. He sincerely believed that suffering ends with death but did not say so out of tolerance for the faith of the Egyptian.
Yakhmos pushed aside the straw on which he slept at night and began digging in the corner of his cell.