"Nay," he said, covering his eyes with his hand; "nay thou art fairer than she."
"Then tell me," she said, letting fall her veil again, "and for thine own sake tell me true, why would Meriamun the Queen, whom thou servest, know the fate of him who came up against the Ghosts?"
"Wouldst thou know, Daughter of Amen?" answered Rei; "then I will tell thee, for through thee alone she whom I serve and love can be saved from shame. Meriamun doth also love the man whom thou wouldst wed."
Now when the Golden Helen heard these words, she pressed her hand against her bosom.
"So I feared," she said, "even so. She loves him, and he comes not.
Ah! if it be so! Now, Rei, I am tempted to pay this Queen of thine in her own craft, and send thy spirit forth to spy on her. Nay, that I will not do, for never shall Helen work by shameful guile or magic.
Nay--but we will hence, Rei, we will go to the Palace where my rival dwells, there to learn the truth. Fear not, I will bring no ill on thee, nor on her whom thou servest. Lead me to the Palace, Rei. Lead me swiftly."
Now the Wanderer slept in the arms of Meriamun, who wore the shape of Argive Helen. His golden harness was piled by the golden bed, and by the bed stood the black bow of Eurytus. The night drew on towards the dawning, when of a sudden the Bow awoke and sang, and thus it sang:
"Wake! wake! though the arms of thy Love are about thee, yet dearer by far Than her kiss is the sound of the fight;And more sweet than her voice is the cry of the trumpet, and goodlier far Than her arms is the battle's delight:
And what eyes are so bright as the sheen of the bronze when the sword is aloft, What breast is so fair as the shield?
Or what garland of roses is dear as the helm, and what sleep is so soft As the sleep of slain men on the field?"
Lo! the Snake that was twined about the form of her who wore the shape of Helen heard the magic song. It awoke, it arose. It twisted itself about the body of the Wanderer and the body of her who wore the shape of Helen, knitting them together in the bond of sin. It grew, and lifting its woman's head on high, it sang in answer. And thus it sang of doom:
"Sleep! be at rest for an hour; as in death men believe they shall rest, But they wake! And thou too shalt awake!
In the dark of the grave do they stir; but about them, on arms and on breast, Are the toils and the coils of the Snake:
By the tree where the first lovers lay, did I watch as I watch where he lies, Love laid on the bosom of Lust!"
Then the great bow answered the Snake, and it sang:
"Of the tree where the first lovers sinned was I shapen; I bid thee arise, Thou Slayer that soon shall be dust."
And the Snake sang reply:
"Be thou silent, my Daughter of Death, be thou silent nor wake him from sleep, With the song and the sound of thy breath."
The Bow heard the song of the Snake. The Death heard the song of the Sin, and again its thin music thrilled upon the air. For thus it sang:
"Be thou silent, my Mother of Sin, for this watch it is given me to keep O'er the sleep of the dealer of Death!"
Then the Snake sang:
"Hush, hush, thou art young, and thou camest to birth when the making was done Of the world: I am older therein!"
And the Bow answered:
"But without me thy strength were as weakness, the prize of thy strength were unwon.
I am /Death/, and thy Daughter, O Sin!"
Now the song of the Snake and the song of the Bow sunk through the depths of sleep till they reached the Wanderer's ears. He sighed, he stretched out his mighty arms, he opened his eyes, and lo! they looked upon the eyes that bent above him, eyes of flame that lit the face of a woman--the face of Meriamun that wavered on a serpent's neck and suddenly was gone. He cried aloud with fear, and sprang from the couch. The faint light of the dawning crept through the casements and fell upon the bed. The faint light of the dawning fell upon the golden bed of Pharaoh's Queen, it gleamed upon the golden armour that was piled by the bed, and on the polished surface of the great black bow.
It shone upon the face of her who lay in the bed.
Then he remembered. Surely he had slept with the Golden Helen, who was his bride, and surely he had dreamed an evil dream, a dream of a snake that wore the face of Pharaoh's Queen. Yea, there lay the Golden Helen, won at last--the Golden Helen now made a wife to him. Now he mocked his own fears, and now he bent to wake her with a kiss. Faintly the new-born light crept and gathered on her face; ah! how beautiful she was in sleep. Nay, what was this? Whose face was this beneath his own? Not so had Helen looked in the shrine of her temple, when he tore the web. Not so had Helen seemed yonder in the pillared hall when she stood in the moonlit space--not so had she seemed when he sware the great oath to love her, and her alone. Whose beauty was it then that now he saw? By the Immortal Gods, it was the beauty of Meriamun; it was the glory of the Pharaoh's Queen!
He stared upon her lovely sleeping face, while terror shook his soul.
How could this be? What then had he done?
Then light broke upon him. He looked around the chamber--there on the walls were the graven images of the Gods of Khem, there above the bed the names of Meneptah and Meriamun were written side by side in the sacred signs of Khem. Not with the Golden Helen had he slept, but with the wife of Pharaoh! To her he had sworn the oath, and she had worn the Helen's shape--and now the spell was broken.
He stood amazed, and as he stood, again the great bow thrilled, warning him of Death to come. Then his strength came back to him, and he seized his armour and girt it about him piece by piece till he lifted the golden helm. It slipped from his hand; with a crash it fell upon the marble floor. With a crash it fell, and she who slept in the bed awoke with a cry, and sprang from the bed, her dark hair streaming down, her night-gear held to her by the golden snake with gemmy eyes that she must ever wear. But he caught his sword in his hand, and threw down the ivory sheath.
