“Nay, for the doors into the great hall where the Council are held are barred; I have tried them. There is no way save by leaping from the palace wall at the back, and a babe’s bones are tender. Therefore, Ru, nothing must happen to you. Pray the gods to give you strength and cunning.”

“Of the first I have plenty, of the second I feat but little. Still I will do my best and may Osiris be good to him on whom my axe falls.”

“Hearken, Ru. Should you scotch those snakes or cause them to run, make ready to fly with us and be not astonished if instead of a Queen and a waiting-lady, you see two peasant women and a peasant’s babe.”

“I am not easily astonished, Lady, and I weary of this Thebes since the good god my master fell and all these upstarts began to plot with Apepi, as plot they do. But whither will you fly?”

“I think that a ship waits us by the private quay, and its captain, one Tau, will meet us two hours before the dawn, that is before so very long, in the shadow of the old shrine. You know the place.”

“Aye, I know it. Hush! I hear footsteps.”

“Parley with them as long as you may, Ru, for there are things to be done.”

“Yes, there is plenty to be done,” he answered as she fled back through the curtains.

The Queen woke at her step.

“Your gods have not come, Kemmah,” she said, “or given any sign. So I suppose it is fated that we should stop here.”

“I think that the gods – or devils – are coming, Queen. Now off with those robes and be swift. Nay, talk not, I pray, but do as I bid you.”

Rima glanced at her face and obeyed. Within a very little time, all being prepared to their hands, the three of them were changed into farmer women and a farmer’s babe. Then Kemmah took a sack and thrust into it all the ancient priceless jewels, the regalia of the old Pharaohs of Egypt, and these were not few; also a sum in gold.

“This gear of crowns and sceptres and gems and gold which you have got together so carefully will be too heavy for us to carry, Kemmah, who have that which is more precious to bear between us,” and she glanced at the child.

“There is one yonder who will carry it, Queen, one who carried something else on his shoulder out of the battle. Or if he cannot, then I think it will not matter who takes the gathered wealth of the Pharaohs of the South.”

“You mean that our lives are at hazard, Kemmah?”

“That is what I mean, no less.”

Rima’s beautiful but sorrow-stricken face and eyes seemed to take fire.

“I would that they might be lost,” she said. “Have you ever thought, Friend, of the wonderful things that may lie behind the gates of death, the glories and the harmonies and the eternities, or failing these, the rich darkness of everlasting sleep? Life! I weary of life and would put all to the hazard. Yet there is the babe born of my body, the Royal Princess of Egypt, and for her sake – ”

“Yes,” said the quiet Kemmah, “for her sake!”

There came a thunder of noise upon the door beyond the curtains.

“Open!” shouted voices.

“Open for yourselves. But know that death waits those who would violate her Majesty of Egypt,” answered the deep guttural voice of Ru.

“We come to take the Queen and the Princess to those who will guard them well,” cried one without.

“What better guard can they have than death?” asked Ru in answer.

There was a pause. Then came blows upon the door, heavy blows as of axes, but still it held. Another pause and a tree trunk or some such weighty thing was brought and driven against it, and presently with a crash it fell, burst from its hinges. Rima seized the child and ran into the shadows. Kemmah leapt to the curtains and stood there looking between them, the spear she carried raised in her right hand. This was what she saw.

The giant Nubian stood on the topmost stair in the shadow, for the light of the lamps in the niches struck forward. In his right hand he held a javelin, in his left he grasped the handle of his battle-axe and a small shield made of the hide of a river horse. Grim and terrible looked the Ethiopian giant outlined thus against the shadow.

A tall man with a sword in his hand scrambled over the fallen door, the moonlight shining on his armour. The javelin flashed and the man fell in a heap, his mail clattering upon the bronze hinges of the door. He was dragged aside. Others rushed in, a number of them. Ru shifted his battle-axe into his right hand, lifted it, leaned forward and waited, advancing the shield to cover his head. Blows fell upon the shield. Then the axe crashed down and a man sank in a heap. Ru began to sing some wild Ethiopian war chant and as he sang he smote, and as he smote men died beneath the blows of that terrible axe driven with the weight of his mighty arm. Yet they pressed forward, for they were desperate. Death might be in front of them, but if they failed death was also behind at the hands of their confederates.

The stair was too wide for Ru to cover. One ran under his arm and appeared between the curtains, where he stood staring. Kemmah saw his face. It was that of a great Theban lord who had fought with Kheperra in the battle and now had been suborned by the Shepherds. Rage seized her. She sprang at him and with all her strength drove the spear she held through his throat. He fell, gasping. She stamped upon his face, crying, “Die, dog! Die, traitor!” and die he did.

On the stairway the blows grew fewer. Presently Ru appeared, laughing and red with blood.

“All are dead,” he cried, “save one who fled. But where is the knave who slipped past me?”

“Here,” answered Kemmah, pointing to a still form in the shadows.

“Good. Very good!” said Ru. “Now I think better of women than ever I did before. Yet, hurry, hurry! One dog has escaped and he goes to call the pack. What is that? Wine? Give me to drink. Aye, give me wine and a cloak to cover me. I am no seemly sight for queens to look on.”

“Are you hurt?” said Kemmah as she brought the goblet.

“Nay, not a scratch; still no seemly sight, though the blood be that of traitors. Here’s to the gods of vengeance! Here’s to the hell that holds them! This garment is scant for one of my size, but it will serve. What’s that sack you drag to me?”

“No matter what it is. Carry it, Ru. You are no warrior now, you are a porter. Carry it, O glorious Ru, and lose it not, for in it lie the crowns of Egypt. Come, Queen, the road is clear, thanks to the axe of Ru.”

Rima came, bearing her babe, and at the sight of the red stair and of those who lay upon it or at its foot, shrank back and said in a wavering voice, for she was almost bemused with doubts and terror:

“Is this the message of your gods, Kemmah?” and she pointed to the stains upon the floor and walls. “And are these their messengers? Look at them! I know their faces. They were the friends and captains of dead Kheperra, my lord. Why, O Ru, do you slay the friends of him who was Pharaoh, who came here doubtless to lead me and his child to safety?”

“Aye, Queen,” said Kemmah, “to the safety of death or of the prison of Apepi.”

“I’ll not believe it, woman, nor will I go with you,” said Rima, stamping her foot. “Fly if you will, as well you may do with all this blood upon your hands; here I stay with my child.”

Kemmah glanced at her, then as though in thought she looked down at the ground while Ru whispered in her ear:

“Command me and I will carry her.”

The eyes of Kemmah fell upon that great lord whom she had slain with her own hand, and she noted that from beneath his breastplate there projected the end of a papyrus roll that had been thrust upwards when he fell. She bent down and took it. Opening it swiftly she read, as she who was learned could do well enough. It was addressed to the dead man and his companions and sealed with the seals of the high priest and others. This was the writing:

“In the names of all the gods and for the welfare of Egypt, we command you to take Rima the Babylonian, wife of the good god Pharaoh who is not, and her child, the Royal Princess Nefra, and to bring them to us, living if may be, that they may be delivered to King Apepi in fulfilment of our oath. Read and obey.”

“Can you read the Egyptian writing, Queen?” asked Kemmah. “If so, herein is a matter that concerns you.”

“Read you. I have little skill,” answered Rima indifferently.

So she read, slowly, that the words might sink into the mind of the Queen.

Rima heard and leaned against her, trembling.

“Why did I ever come to this land of traitors?” she moaned. “Oh! would that I were dead.”

“As you will be if you stay here longer, Queen,” said Kemmah bitterly. “Meanwhile it is the traitors who are dead, or some of them, and now tell their tale to Kheperra, your lord and mine. Come. Come swiftly, there are more villains left in Thebes.”

But Rima sank to the ground, swooning. As she fell Kemmah snatched the child from her and looked at Ru.

“It is good,” said the giant. “Now she can talk no more and I will carry her. But what of that sack? Must we leave it behind? Life is more than crowns.”

“Nay, Ru, set it on my head, for thus peasants bear their burdens. I can hold it with my left hand and clasp the child with my right.”

He did so and lifted the Queen in his great arms.

Thus they passed down the stair, stepping over the dead and out into the night.

Across the open space they went, heading for the palm trees of the garden. The babe wailed feebly but Kemmah stifled its cries beneath her cloak. The weight of the treasures in the sack pressed her down and the sharp edges of the jewelled crowns and sceptres cut into her brow. Still she staggered on bravely. They reached the shadow of the palms where she paused for a moment to look back and get her breath. Behold! Men – numbers of them – were running toward the doors of the private apartments.

“We did not leave too soon. Forward!” said Ru.

On they went, till at length before them in the glade they saw the ruined shrine. Kemmah staggered to it and sank to her knees, for she was spent.

“Now, unless help comes, there is an end,” said Ru. “Two half-dead women I might carry, also the sack upon my head. But how about the babe? Nay, that babe is the Princess of Egypt. Whoever dies, she must be saved.”

“Aye,” said Kemmah faintly. “Leave me, it matters not, but save the child. Take her and her mother and go to the quay. Perchance the boat is there.”

“Perchance it is not,” grumbled Ru, staring about him.

Then help came. For as before from behind a palm appeared the sailor Tau.

“You are somewhat early, Lady Kemmah,” he said, “but fortunately so am I and so is the down Nile wind. At least here you are, all three of you. But who is this?” and he stared at the giant Nubian.

“One who can be vouched for,” answered Ru. “If you doubt it, go look at the stair of the royal apartments. One, too, who, if there be need, can break your bones as a slave breaks sticks.”

“That I can well believe,” said Tau, “but of bone-breaking we can talk afterwards. Now follow me, and swiftly.”

Then he threw the sack over his shoulder, and putting his arm about Kemmah, supported her forward to the quay.

At the foot of the steps was a boat, and at a distance on the Nile appeared a ship riding at anchor, her sail half hoisted. They entered the boat, and seizing the oars Tau rowed them to the ship. A rope was cast which he caught and made fast to the prow of the boat, drawing on it till they came alongside the ship. Hands were stretched out to help them; soon they were all aboard.

“Up anchor!” cried Tau, “and hoist the sail.”

“We hear you, Lord,” answered a voice.

Three minutes later that ship was gliding down the Nile before the strong south wind. Nor was it too soon, for as they passed silently into the night they caught sight of men, some of whom bore lanterns, searching the palm grove that they had left. They laid the women and the child in the cabin. Then Tau said:

“Now, Breaker of Bones, you may have a tale to tell me, and perchance a cup of wine and a bite of food will loose your tongue.”

Thus did Queen Rima, Nefra, Royal Princess of Egypt, and Lady Kemmah and Ru the Ethiopian escape from Thebes and from the hands of traitors.