At first Bentu lost three heifers at a throw. Then seven sheep went to Beq, the sculptor. Quickly followed the loss of thirty geese, the two gold _uten_ which encircled his wrist, his hound Antef, and finally, most prized possession of all, his bright blue scarab-seal. All passed to Beq, the sculptor. But what cared Bentu, the Carrier! In his master’s explicit directions as to clothes for the carriers, as to food and drink, Bentu scented an assignation. The new hood was to be put on the carrying-chair. It was a beautiful hood, made of the finest linen, in stripes of green and gold. A love affair without a doubt! There was a woman in it, and women—as Bentu knew full well—women paid well for messengers and—carriers! Bentu curled himself up in a corner of Beq’s studio and went promptly to sleep. He feared to go home; his wife might ask questions, and Bentu was in mortal dread of Sebekmeryt his Nubian wife. CHAPTER XVIII WHAT HAPPENED WHEN MENNA, SON OF MENNA, WENT A-WOOING The ruined Shrine of Mentuhotep lay somewhat to the north of the great sandstone mortuary-temple of Amenhotep III. Fronting it stood a dwarf pyramid surrounded by brightly-painted columned porticos. Far to the south stretched Queen Thi’s beautiful “pleasure lake,” which seemed, at this distance, a veritable bowl of gold rimmed with emeralds. The glowing walls and avenues of stately trees which marked Queen Hatshepsut’s terraced temple, shut it in toward the north. High above, and seemingly ever in danger of crashing down upon it, towered the precipitous and ever crumbling masses of the purple Libyan Hills. The way thither led along the Necropolis Route, a high-banked road which passed immediately in front of the obelisks and twin statues fronting the granite threshold of Amenhotep’s stupendous mortuary-temple. At this season of the year the wayfarer might appreciate the full height of the waters of the inundation, since their turgid reaches now swirled about the walls of the Royal Palace to the south, and lapped the high walls of Amenhotep’s mortuary temple itself, though the latter’s massive walls and pylons stood well back upon the edge of that crescent-shaped strip of land whose upper reaches had been set apart by the Thebans from time immemorial, as their place of burial. This late afternoon the waters flashed like streams of fire as the sun sank ever lower, ever more rapidly it seemed, toward the low blue line of the southern hills which sheltered Erment, city of the falcon-headed Wargod. The arid sand-drifts, which stretched along the lower slopes of the Theban hills, seemed composed rather of snow than sand, so brilliant was the glare, so clear the atmosphere. Most welcome to the eye were the villa-gardens of the nobles, with their deep green groves of date palm, sycamore and acacia. Many resembled little islands that seemed to float upon the flashing waters.