Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, -30 B.C. -- Fiction; Egypt -- History -- 332-30 B.C. -- Fiction
Cleopatra seized the sceptre and gazed on it in silence. Then once
more we went on with our dread business. And ever as we unwound, other
ornaments of gold, such as are buried with Pharaohs, fell from the
wrappings--collars and bracelets, models of sistra, an inlaid axe, and
an image of the holy Osiris and of the holy Khem. At length all the
bandages were unwound, and beneath we found a covering of coarsest
linen; for in those very ancient days the craftsmen were not so skilled
in matters pertaining to the embalming of the body as they are now. And
on the linen was written in an oval, “Menkau-ra, Royal Son of the Sun.”
We could in no wise loosen this linen, it held so firm on to the body.
Therefore, faint with the great heat, choked with mummy dust and the
odour of spices, and trembling with fear of our unholy task, wrought
in that most lonesome and holy place, we laid the body down, and ripped
away the last covering with the knife. First we cleared Pharaoh’s head,
and now the face that no man had gazed on for three thousand years was
open to our view. It was a great face, with a bold brow, yet crowned
with the royal uræus, beneath which the white locks, stained yellow by
the spices, fell in long, straight wisps. Not the cold stamp of death,
and not the slow flight of three thousand years, had found power to mar
the dignity of those shrunken features. We gazed on them, and then, made
bold with fear, stripped the covering from the body. There at last it
lay before us, stiff, yellow, and dread to see; and on the left side,
above the thigh, was the cut through which the embalmers had done their
work, but it was sewn up so deftly that we could scarcely find the mark.
“The gems are within,” I whispered, for I felt that the body was very
heavy. “Now, if thy heart fail thee not, thou must make an entry to
this poor house of clay that once was Pharaoh,” and I gave her the
dagger--the same dagger which had drunk the life of Paulus.
“It is too late to doubt,” she answered, lifting her white beauteous
face and fixing her blue eyes all big with terror upon my own. She took
the dagger, and with set teeth the Queen of this day plunged it into the
dead breast of the Pharaoh of three thousand years ago. And even as she
did so there came a groaning sound from the opening to the shaft where
we had left the eunuch! We leapt to our feet, but heard no more, and the
lamp-light still streamed down through the opening.
“It is nothing,” I said. “Let us make an end.”
Then with much toil we hacked and rent the hard flesh open, and as we
did so I heard the knife point grate upon the gems within.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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