H2G2 Storytime III: From Prussia with Love. Part XLIII
Created | Updated Aug 14, 2006
There was a vast, still silence on the sizzling plain outside the city of Ozymandias that afternoon - an impressive feat considering that the entire population of the city was assembled there. They were assembled in their various degrees in concentric circles, with the slaves and overseers farther out than the artisans and architects and the highest-ranking civil officials and priests closest to The Presence, but in all their various stations they had this in common - they were genuflecting deeply, with their faces pressed to the dust.
Their prostrate forms stretched as far as the eye could see into the shimmering distance. Sweat beaded every trembling body. Foreboding hung thick in the air.
The city was disgraced.
In all the plain only eight men were upright.
Two were Nubian slaves, arrayed on either side of the divine litter and waving golden palm fronds with the stoic air of men who had nothing better to do.
Four were the divine bodyguards, muscular young men leaning on the shafts of their war-sickles and regarding the population with professional interest.
The seventh man was a scribe, his stylus already scribbling furiously over the large wax board before him.
The last was Ramesses II, Pharaoh of all Egypt to the first cataract.
He was seated on his throne beneath a richly-weaved awning, but still the flies and dry heat irritated him. Holy incense burned in tiny golden bowls arrayed around him, but couldn't quite mask the scent of ten thousand scared Egyptians.
He tapped a ceremonial flail against his fake beard, and spake in a vexed voice: "Now that We are here, will somebody explain the situation to Us? The Hittites trouble Us in the East. We are a busy god-king..."
And there was a great weeping and wailing among the priests of Ozymandias, their lamentations carrying to the heavens.
"Enough!" said Pharaoh, in his Outdoors Voice. "We will have an accounting of this before the day is out!" Consulting a wax tablet, he cried: "Djal! Priest of Thoth! Arise and approach Us!"
There was a shuffling and muffled protests in the throng, and then Djal appeared - a tubby, nervous figure with elaborately-curlicued mascara about his eyes and hair slicked back with precious oils. He tottered between the assembled priests before falling to his knees in front of The Presence.
"Ahhhhh," he wailed in a high-pitched drone, "powerful one of Maat and Ra, chosen of Ra, Ra bore him, beloved of Amun, Washmuaria Shatepnaria Riamashesha Maiamana, mighty Ozymandias, may my eyes be stricken from my head before they profane Thy..."
"We are of an informal mood this afternoon, Djal," said Pharaoh testily. "You may proceed without further abasement."
Djal swallowed. "Yes. Well. Um...."
They don't half go on these Egyptians, don't they?" said X testily.
"I've never seen "Um..." and "Er..." as Hieroglyphics before," Ody marvelled; then mentally translating some more of the wall he announced, "This should be interesting...
"Know then, O great pharaoh, that I speak of the lost golden age of legend, many hundreds of generations ago, when the Gods themselves were incarnate and walked the earth and loved and fought and died. In those mighty days, before the Northern Isles were cut off by the sea, before Atlantis was consumed, before the Western Lands split and departed - in those mighty days we of the Delta were but part of a kingdom that stretched from the icy north to the sands of the south, from the stars of heaven to the depths of the earth."
"Great cities adorned the kingdom, with towers scraping the very sky and libraries full of cleverness - lost now, O pharoah, all lost, for the Ancients were clever yet they were not wise. They needled the nerves of the World Itself, trying to harness its energies at its Navel - a place of stones in the Northern Isles, whose name is lost and well-forgotten. The World shook, and darkened, and changed, and when the darkness was over the Ancients crawled through the ruins of their cities and cursed their own turpitude - for they had undone all of their mighty works, blasted all their knowledge to the four winds, and now their names are forgotten."
"But that is an old story."
"Know now, O pharoah, that in this city we have since time immemorial kept a relic of those days of the Ancients. In the early times of our history, when our ancestors came to this place to dig the foundations of our temples and granaries and abodes, they found tunnels and halls beneath the earth of unsurpassed size and length - how long,none can say. They were said to be territories of the Underworld, and few man would willingly venture into them - those who did would wander back after a few days, crazed and witless."
In a great, deep pit beneath the deepest of the tunnels, one group of brave priests found the relic. Surrounded by the sigils of the Ancients, and sealed behind many doors and hatches, the huge diamond shone in the dark like a moon underground - thus, it was dubbed first the Moon and later (its true colour being discerned) the Turquoise Moon."
In those days old men still spoke of the tales their grandfathers had told them of the Ancient days, when such things were lassooed from beyond the stars and used to magnify the power of the Gods as a lake reflects the light of a candle. Knowing it then to be an object of power, and knowing that it must be kept safe and never used, the priests assembled in secret conclave by the tunnels' entrance to determine who would have the honour of its guardianship." Djal recalled...
"This diamond gleams in the darkness like the eye of a cat," said the the priest of Bast. "Let it then go to my mistress, who wears the head of a cat in her human aspect."
"Nay," replied the priest of Ra, "for in its shape and luminescence, does it not personate the Sun? Let it go to Ra!"
"My master is said the guardian of the Underworld," said the priest of Thoth, "where the diamond was found. Let it go to Thoth!"
The other priests were upon the point of replying when a voice spoke from the doorway: "Give it to us!"
And now the priests laughed long and loud, for this new speaker was Wakhashem. He had been given no seat, but slouched in the doorway with his begging-bowl amidst his flies and his smell. Again he repeated his demand: "Give it to us - give it to the Servants of the Pilchard!"
Wiping a merry tear from his eye, the priest of Bast said:
"What, little Cultist, you speak in the presence of your betters? Begone!"
And he threw a coin of low denomination at Wakhashem. There was much laughter, at which the Pilchard-worshipper rose angrily to his feet.
"Give it to us, I say, or regret it!"
Now the priest of Anubis spoke up: "Balls. And what kind of religion worships a pilchard, anyway? Jackals, yes, cats, sure, crocodiles, absolutely - but a slimy little fish?"
Gales of laughter stung Wakhashem's pride, and flung coins stung his cheeks. He retreated into the shadows of the vast tunnel, only pausing to cry: "Vengeance! There will be a reckoning for this slight!"
The priests fell silent, for they recognised a curse when it was being proclaimed.
"Vengeance! If the very heavens fall, we will have vengeance! The Pilchard will inherit the earth!"
After this, silence - Wakhashem was vanished into the great arcing shadows of the infinite tunnels. The priests shrugged, smiled and resumed their deliberations, determining that the diamond should be entrusted to Thoth and that the tunnels should be forever sealed.
"And so, O great pharaoh, it was done."
This last, with an ingratiating little flutter of the hands, concluded Djal's testimony. He pressed his burning face against the burning sand, and trembled.
"Fascinating," said Pharaoh. "We have, of course, heard tales of the Ancients. We had never, however, heard that there were relics of their time surviving today. Why is that, priest?" He smiled coldly.
Djal gulped, and raised his nose a fraction. "The old agreement among the priests of the city...need for secrecy...terrible power of the diamond..."
He was stopped in his stuttering course by Pharaoh's upraised hand.
"You did not trust Us. Treacherous priest, that approaches blasphemy."
Djal raised his head a little higher to protest at this, but in vain - at the pre-arranged word, a golden sickle had swung round seeking his neck, and in the seconds before brain-death Djal found himself tumbling lightly across the sand in a spray of blood. He thought that it was strange to have no body, and then all went black for him.
"Bit grisly isn't it?" X said gently rubbing his own jugular region for reassurance.
"Is there anything else Ody?" Jamilla asked.
"yes...it continues on the other wall...hang on."
For Pharaoh, on the other hand, the evening was just beginning.
Stifling a sigh, he consulted the wax tablet again: "Khenti, chief guard of the temple of Thoth! Arise and approach Us!"
The same shuffling, muttering routine as before was enacted, this time yielding a burly middle-aged man. The man was arrayed in the white kilt, leather straps and hammered-gold shoulder plates of a temple guard, and he ran a nervous hand through his thinning hair.
"All hail..." he muttered, banging his head on the earth.
"Yes, yes. Tell Us what happened, Khenti. Tell Us what happened last week."
The guard's eyes flickered up.
"Umm. Are you going to kill me when I'm finished, like you done for the priest?"
A senior servant shrieked: "Do not address the Divine King with..." but was cut off by Pharaoh again raising a hand.
"Please, do not chastise the man. Yes, worm, We intend to kill you after your testimony."
"Ahh." Khenti cleared his throat and laughed miserably. "Fair enough."
"So it was Saturday night, O pharaoh, and I was just coming off duty and I met young Ako, that's Ako as is also a guard, he's over there with the rest of the boys, and he was just coming on duty you see. So I'm talking to him in the courtyard - I likes to talk to the younger lads, give 'em a little of my wisdom and experience and gen'rally buck up the team, you know - and he's saying: that's a powerful big moon tonight, Khenti. And I'm saying: powerful big, it is. And I adds: that's a portentuous moon, that is. An omen. And he's saying...
"Is all of this totally necessary, Khenti?"
"Just...just trying to give a full account, O pharaoh..."
"If We thought you were trying to spin this out, We would be mightily displeased. We have so many ways of showing this..."
"I'll, I'll just get to the point then, will I?"
"Do."
The Testimony of Khenti, Temple Guard of Thoth, Continued.
"So all of a sudden there's a shout from the wall and I see old Mhotep toppling off the parapet, and I'm thinking he's been messing with the fermented hops again when I sees these fellahs scrambling over and like dropping ropes and shimmying down, screaming guff about Wakhashem and the Moon and suchlike, and almost before I can holler there's a fair host of them in the yard, and us outnumbered.
They were very pale fellahs, and oddly dressed, all with a sort of squiggly fish thing on their foreheads and a sword and a mean look.
Well, what can you do? We put up a fair fight, but we're there for to keep the crowds moving at feasts and not for fighting the battle of Kadesh, eh? Damn right. So they whelmed us, and I took a knock from a hilt and went down for the count. And when I woke up they already gone, and they'd taken the diamond from it's plinth like. So I said, right, we'll just replace it with one of the other dimaond spares we mined to keep the moon in company like the gods in the sky are all together in one place and no-one will notice, but by then some silly sod had run and told Djal, and he was weeping and cursing and saying that the moon was unique and stuff. If it wasn't a perfectly round ball then it wasn't the Moon anymore, and then there was the matter of the graffiti."
"What graffiti?" Pharoh asked wearily.
"I couldn't believe the cheek of it chipping that into our wall - 'The dying pilchard bleeds under a turquoise moon'. And then I suppose Djal sent for you.
"Is that all, Khenti?"
"I reckon so, O pharaoh."
"We appreciate your candour, and so will offer you an opportunity for last words."
Khenti frowned, and drew his tongue over cracked lips.
"I's never much of a talker. Hmm. No. Can't think of anything. Sorry."
Again the sickle flew round, and Khenti's soul flitted phlegmatically off to whatever fate awaited it.
Pharaoh clapped his hands.
"We would consult with Our sages, advisors, augurs, astrologers and wizards. Heya!"
Then his sages, advisors, augurs, astrologers and wizards (all the very first in their various professions that were to be found in Egypt) climbed to their feet and assembled before him in council. Cushions were provided, for the Council were mostly elderly and cranky. The First Sage spoke first, as was his right:
"The Pilchard cult was believed to be extinct, O pharaoh. Nobody believed a religion so nonsensical could survive."
Pharaoh frowned. "Is there any danger in their possessing The Moon?"
The First Sage sniffed. "The craft of the Ancients is lost, O pharaoh. The threat the Cult carved in the temple wall is ridiculous - however much they may believe they are releasing power by sacrificing pilchards, heaping a pile of dead fish beneath the Moon will not distill one iota of power. Even if they discern the power of the perfect orb, they lack the intelligence to use it properly."
At this point, as was their wont, the First Wizard's eyes rolled back in their sockets and he collapsed into a twitching, foaming heap, shrieking a rhyme on the shortness of eternity. The Council nodded thoughtfully. Pharaoh said:
"Your point is well made - what has been done before may be done again. We have a responsibility to posterity. First Augur, First Astrologer, when may We expect to see the Cult possess the power to use their Moon?"
The two men cast jealous glances at each other, and the First Astrologer inclined his head icily towards his colleague, ceding the floor. The First Augur twined his fingers, and coughed:
"The signs are...inconclusive, O pharaoh. The stars give one answer, while the entrails give another-"
First Astrologer interrupted: "Four thousand years. Guaranteed."
"Three thousand," snapped the First Augur. "You moon-eyed quack."
"Interferer with animals!"
"Councillors!" shreiked the Pharaoh.
"Sorry."
"A thousand apologies."
"Let Us say...three and a half thousand years."
"A reasonable estimate, O pharaoh."
"I concur."
"Well, why then should we worry?" The First Sage spoke again now, smiling broadly. "May we not trust to divine agency to deliver the Moon from the Cult's hands in all that time?"
There was a general round of nodding, until the Council noticed Pharaoh's doubtful look, when it turned into a general round of finger-wringing and frowning. Committees never change.
"We would rather assist the divine with some human agency - First Advisor, your thoughts?"
Now the First Advisor, a small ferret-like man called Kemal, spoke for the first time: "I'll see what I can do. We've been training a new cadre of soldiers for the wars - seekers after things which are hidden, espiers after that which the enemy would conceal. They may be the human Agency you require. I can task them to find the Moon, if that is your wish."
"It is. It is." Pharaoh smiled broadly, seeing the end of the meeting approaching.
"The espiers shall take the name of Ozymandias in tribute to your wisdom."
"We are well pleased with this plan, Kemal. Tell your espiers that they have three and a half millennia to get the Moon back - this should not tax them unduly."
The Councillors joined their Pharaoh in a hearty laugh, which he waved down with his ceremonial flail. "Alright. Alright. Whoo. Meanwhile, this city has shamed itself by its failure to protect the Moon."
He ran a cold eye across the thousands of prostrate people, and nodded.
"Let them all be put to the sword, and let the desert take the city."
The Councillors gasped. The First Wizard, wiping his mouth, stuttered:
"But pharaoh, this city bears your name! What of posterity? What of your immortality?"
Pharaoh laughed harshly.
"Fool. What is a city here or there? The name of Ozymandias will live forever, because its possessor will never die. Do you hear me? We are of the divine, and We will never die..."
While their pharaoh looked wildly out over some infinite horizon with flashing eyes, the Councillors exchanged worried glances. But this madness was a problem for another day. Immortality was one of those delusions that could be relied upon to be disproved, sooner or later.
"Any other business before we conclude?" asked Pharaoh, snapping back to some kind of reality.
The First Sage chuckled. "The Jewish Lobbyist is back."
Pharaoh smacked his forehead. "This Moses character. And We already have a headache."
"Same line as always...'Let my people go.'"
Pharaoh tutted. "Man has no grasp of economics. Let him try to balance Our books without slave-labour - eh? Eh?"
"Quite right, O pharaoh. But he says this is your last chance. Next up - plagues and alarums."
Pharaoh hummed for a minute, then waved his flail dismissively.
"Nah. This day has been tedious enough already. We would have a bath, and service the Queen, and get an early night. Tell him to naff off. After all..."
again Ramesses II scanned the desert horizon, darkening now to a deep red as the sun dipped below the distant mountains,
"...what's the worst that could happen?"
