Egypt -- History -- 332-30 B.C. -- Fiction; German fiction -- Translations into English
Here he was obliged to wait awhile, for the tempest had excited the war
elephants which were returning from their exercising ground, and their
black keepers only succeeded with the utmost difficulty in restraining
them. Shrieking with fear, the few persons who were in the street
besides the soldiers, that were everywhere present, scattered before
the huge, terrified animals.
The costume and appearance of the citizens, too, gave no clew to the
country to which the place belonged; there were as many Egyptians among
them as Greeks, Syrians, and negroes. Asiatics appeared in the majority
only in the market place, where the dealers were just leaving their
stands to secure their goods from the storm. In front of the big
building where the famous Pelusinian xythus beer was brewed, the drink
was being carried away in jugs and wineskins, in ox-carts and on
donkeys. Here, too, men were loading camels, which were rarely seen in
Egypt, and had been introduced there only a short time before.
How forcibly all these things riveted Hermon’s attention, now that no
one was at hand to explain them and no delay was permitted! He scarcely
had time for recollection and expectation.
Finally, the last gate was unlocked, and the ramparts and moats lay
behind him.
Thus far the wind had kept back the rain, and only scattered drops
lashed the riders’ faces; but as soon as they entered the open country,
it seemed as though the pent-up floods burst the barriers which
retained them above, and a torrent of water such as only those dry
regions know rushed, not in straight or slanting lines, but in thick
streams, whirled by the hurricane, upon the marshy land which stretched
from Pelusium to Tennis, and on the horsemen.
The road led along a dike raised above fields which, at this season of
the year, were under water, and Hermon’s companion knew it well.
For a time both riders allowed themselves to be drenched in silence.
The water ran down upon them from their broad-brimmed hats, and their
dripping horses trotted with drooping heads and steaming flanks one
behind the other until, at the very brick-kiln where Ledscha had
recalled her widowed sister’s unruly slaves to obedience, the guide
stopped with an oath, and pointed to the water which had risen to the
top of the dam, and in some places concealed the road from their eyes.
Now it was no longer possible to trot, for the guide was obliged to
seek the traces of the dike with great caution. Meanwhile the force of
the pouring rain by no means lessened—nay, it even seemed to
increase—and the horses were already wading in water up to their
fetlocks.
But if the votive stones, the little altars and statues of the gods,
the bushes and single trees along the sides of the dike road were
overflowed while the travellers were in the region of the marsh, they
would be obliged to interrupt their journey, for the danger of sinking
into the morass with their horses would then threaten them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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