d that this actually was the case.
     The master of  the  workshop,  a royal sculptor, did not  suspect  that
Pandion and Kidogo  were  real sculptors and was astonished at the  progress
they  made.  The young  men longed  for  some  creative  activity  and  gave
themselves up whole-heartedly to their work, forgetting for a time that they
were working for the hated Pharaoh and the vile land of slavery.
     Kidogo  waxed enthusiastic over his models of  animals: hippopotamuses,
crocodiles,  antelopes and other strange beasts  Pandion had never seen; his
models  were used  by other slaves  to make faience statuettes. The Egyptian
sculptor noticed Pandion's  fondness for modelling  people and undertook  to
teach  this promising young Ekwesha; he insisted on the  utmost thoroughness
in work done to order. "The slightest negligence is the ruin of perfection,"
the  Egyptian sculptor would constantly repeat-this was the watchword of the
ancient masters  of  the  Black Land. The Hellene studied assiduously and at
times his nostalgia  was  forgotten.  He  made great progress in the precise
work  of finishing  off  statues and bas-reliefs from  hard stone and in the
embossing of gold ornaments.
     Pandion  accompanied the sculptor  to  Pharaoh's palace  and saw  there
apartments  of  unbelievable  luxury. On the  coloured floors of  the  royal
quarters there were representations of the thickets of  the Great River with
their  plants and  animals,  all  drawn wonderfully lifelike and framed with
wavy lines or spirals of many colours. The faience tiles on the walls of the
rooms  were  covered  with  a transparent  blue glaze  through  which  shone
fantastic  designs  in gold leaf, works of art  that were  nothing less than
magic.
     Amidst all this magnificence the young  Hellene  looked with  hatred on
the haughty, immobile courtiers. He examined their white garments, ironed in
tiny pleats, their  heavy  necklaces, rings and lockets  of cast gold, their
wigs  of curled hair falling to the shoulders and their embroidered slippers
with upturned toes.
     Like a silent shadow Pandion followed the hurrying  master sculptor; on
his way  he took note of valuable thin-walled  vessels cut from rock-crystal
and hard  stone, glass  vases and pots  of grey faience decorated with  pale
blue designs. He was fully aware of the tremendous amount of labour that had
gone into the production of these works of art.
     The  greatest impression  was produced by a gigantic  temple  near  the
Gardens  of Amon where Pandion began his life as a slave, languishing behind
the high walls of the she fine.
     This  was a  temple  of many  gods  built in the course of more than  a
thousand years. Each of the kings of  Tha-Quem had added something new to an
already huge structure more than eight hundred cubits in length.
     On the  right bank of the river, within the bounds  of the capital city
Nut-Amon, or simply Nut-the city-as the Egyptians called it, lay magnificent
gardens with straight rows of high palms at both ends of which were a number
of temples. These temple buildings were connected by long avenues of statues
of strange animals with the river-banks and the sacred lake  in front of the
Temple of Mut, a goddess that Pandion could not understand.
     Granite beasts, three times the height  of a man,  with the  bodies  of
lions and the heads of rams and men, gave him a sensation of oppressiveness.
Mysterious,  frozen into  immobility,  they lay on  their  pedestals,  close
together,  bordering  an avenue lit up  by  the  blinding  sun, their  heads
hanging over passers-by.
     The lofty obelisks, fifty cubits high, covered in  bright yellow sheets
of an amalgam of gold and silver, gleamed  like incandescent needles  thrust
through the coarse, dark foliage of the palms. In daytime the silver-covered
slabs  of  stone with  which the avenues were paved  blinded  the astonished
eyes;  by night, in  the  light  of  the moon and  stars, they were like the
flowing stream of an unearthly river of light.
     Enormous pylons flanked the entrance to  the  temple. The huge surfaces
of  these pylons  were covered  with  enormous  sculptures of the  gods  and
Pharaohs  and with  inscriptions in  the  mysterious language  of  Tha-Quem.
Colossal doors, covered with sheets of  bronze inlaid with  ornaments in the
gold-silver amalgam,  closed  the passage  between  the pylons;  their  cast
bronze hinges,  each  the  weight of several bulls,  were imposing in  their
massiveness.
     The interior  of the temple  was a forest of thick columns fifty cubits
high carrying  heavy bas-reliefs  that filled  the upper part of the temple.
The huge blocks  of stone in the  walls, roof  and columns were polished and
fitted to each other with miraculous precision.
     Drawings and bas-reliefs, painted in bright colours, covered the walls,
columns and cornices in several tiers. Sun  discs, hawks  and  animal-headed
gods gazed  down  morosely from the mysterious  semi-darkness of the distant
parts of the temple.
     Outside  there  were  the  same bright colours,  gold  and  silver; the
monstrously massive buildings and  sculptures stunned, blinded and oppressed
all who saw them.
     Everywhere Pandion saw statues of pink and black granite, red sandstone
and yellow limestone-the  deified  rulers  of  Tha-Quem  sitting  in inhuman
serenity and arrogant poses. In some cases these were  colossi  up  to forty
cubits  in  height  cut from  the living  rock, angular and  crude;  others,
awe-inspiring in their dreadful gloom, were carefully painted, well-finished
sculptures, much more than human height.
     Pandion had grown  up  amongst simple people in constant communion with
nature  and was at first  overcome  with  awe. Everything in this huge, rich
country produced a most profound impression on him.
     The giant structures built by some means beyond the ken of  mortal man,
the  awful  gods hidden in  the  gloom of  the temples, the incomprehensible
religion  with   its   intricate  rites,  the   mark  of  antiquity  on  the
sand-embedded  buildings-all  this  at   first  gave  Pandion  a   sense  of
oppressiveness. He believed that the haughty and inscrutable inhabitants  of
Aigyptos were  the masters of profound truths, of some powerful science that
was hidden in  the  writings of  the  Black  Land which  no foreigner  could
understand.
     The  country itself, squeezed by death-dealing, lifeless deserts into a
narrow strip of valley watered by a huge river carrying its waters from some
distant  and unknown  place in the far south, was a world unto itself, in no
way related to the other parts of Oicumene.
     The  sober mind  of  the young Hellene, however, gradually  sifted this
mass of impressions in the search for simple and natural truths.
     Pandion  now had time for meditation; the young sculptor's spirit, with
its constant striving  for the beautiful, began to  revolt against  the life
and art of Aigyptos, a protest that later became conscious.
     The fertile land, in which inclement weather was unknown,  the  bright,
clear  and  almost permanently cloudless  sky, the amazingly transparent and
invigorating  air,  all  seemed to have been specially created for a healthy
and happy life. Little  as  the young Hellene knew  of the country, he could
not but help noticing the poverty and crowded conditions  of the  Nemhu, the
poorest  and most numerous inhabitants of Aigyptos. The colossal temples and
statues, the beautiful gardens could not hide the endless rows of mud hovels
that  housed tens of thousands of  craftsmen working for  those  palaces and
temples.  As  far  as  the slaves  languishing in hundreds of compounds were
concerned, Pandion knew about these from his own experience.
     It gradually became clear to him that the art of Aigyptos, subordinated
to the  rulers of  the  country, the Pharaohs and priests, and controlled by
them, was the exact opposite of that which he sought-the reflection  of life
in art.
     It was only when he caught sight of the temple Zesher-Zesheru, open and
designed to merge with the surrounding landscape, that he felt that here was
something close and pleasing to him.
     All other giant  temples and  tombs were, as a rule, hidden behind high
walls.  And behind those walls,  the craftsmen  of Aigyptos. working  at the
bidding of the priests, had made use of all  the  artifice at their disposal
to take man away from life, to humiliate him and crush his spirit, force him
to realize his own insignificance in face of the majesty of the gods and the
Pharaohs.
     The enormous size of the structures, the colossal amount  of labour and
material involved did crush  the  spirit  of  man.  The  constantly repeated
succession  of identical, monotonous forms, piled  one on the other, created
the impression  of infinite distance. Identical sphinxes, identical columns,
walls and pylons-all  with a  careful  scantiness of  detail-were  solid and
immobile.  Gigantic statues,  all  alike,  lined  the  passages  within  the
temples, gloomy and ominous.
     The rulers of Aigyptos and arbiters of her  art were afraid  of  space;
they fenced themselves off  from  the world  of  nature and  then filled the
interiors  of.  their temples with massive  stone columns,  thick walls  and
stone beams that often occupied more  space than did the room  between them.
The greater the distance from the entrance, the thicker  grew the forest  of
columns in the temple, and the rooms, insufficiently lit, grew progressively
darker.  The huge  number  of narrow  doorways  made the temple mysteriously
inaccessible and the  permanent semi-darkness served to increase the fear of
the gods.
     Pandion gradually fathomed the secret of  this deliberate effect on the
spirit  of  man,  an  effect achieved  through  many centuries  of  building
experience.
     If  Pandion  could  have  seen the  enormous  pyramids,  whose  perfect
geometrical  form  stood  out  so  sharply  above  the  wavy  lines  of  the
surrounding  sand, he would have sensed more fully the imperious  manner  of
setting off man against nature. This was the method adopted by the rulers of
Tha-Quem  to conceal their fear  of the unknown,  a  fear reflected  in  the
sullen, mysterious religion of the Egyptians.
     The  craftsmen of the Tha-Quem glorified  their  gods and their rulers,
striving to express their strength in colossal  statues of  the Pharaohs and
in the symmetrical immobility of their massive bodies.
     On the  walls the Pharaohs themselves  were depicted in  pictures  more
than life size.  Dwarfs  swarmed around  their feet-the other inhabitants of
the  Black  Land. In this way the kings  of Egypt used every means  at their
disposal to emphasize their greatness. They believed that by humiliating the
people in every  way  they were  exalting themselves, that in this way their
influence would be augmented.
     Pandion still  knew very little of  the beautiful  native art, the real
art  of the people  of the  Black Land,  that was not  held  in  bondage  by
courtiers and priests but  was expressed in articles of everyday use amongst
the  common  people.  He  felt that  real  art lay  in a  simple  and joyful
coalescence with life  itself.  It should be as  different  from  everything
created in Aigyptos as his  native land with its variety  of rivers, fields,
forests, sea  and mountains, with  its colourful change of seasons  differed
from this country where the terraced  cliffs rose  so  monotonously from one
single river valley, everywhere alike,  that  was surrounded on all sides by
burning- sands and filled with carefully tilled gardens. Thousands of  years
before the  inhabitants of Aigyptos had hidden from the hostile world in the
valley of the Nile. Today their  descendants were trying to turn their faces
away from life by hiding in their palaces and temples.
     Pandion  felt  that  the  majesty  of  the  art of Aigyptos  was  to  a
considerable extent  the  fruit  of  the  natural  abilities  of  slaves  of
different  races; the most talented  were selected  from millions  and these
involuntarily devoted all their creative  effort to the glorification of the
country that oppressed them. When  he had freed himself of his submission to
the might of Aigyptos, Pandion resolved to escape as soon as possible and to
convince his friend Kidogo of the necessity of this step.
     His head was filled with these ideas when he, with Kidogo and ten other
slaves,  made a long trip to the ruins  of the ancient town of  Akhetaton. (
Akhetaton  (Tel  el-Amarna)-capital of Pharaoh Amenhotep IV, 1375-1358 B.C.)
The young sculptor ruffled  the smooth surface  of  the river with his oars,
the fast movement  of the boat downstream giving him a sensation of joy. The
journey was a  long one, almost three thousand  stadia, a distance virtually
equal to that which separated his native land from Crete  and which had once
seemed to  him to be immeasurably great. During this voyage Pandion  learned
that the Great Green Sea, as  the people of  Aigyptos called it, and  on the
northern shores  of which Thessa was awaiting  his return,  was twice as far
away as Akhetaton.

     Pandion's  happy  mood  passed very  quickly:  for  the  first  time he
realized how far inland  he was  in the  depths of  Aigyptos and how great a
distance separated him  from the seacoast where there might be a possibility
of returning home.
     He  bent  moodily  over  his oars and  the boat slipped over the smooth
surface of the endless river, past thickets of green  shrubs, tilled fields,
reed jungles and white-hot cliffs.
     The  royal sculptor lay under a  striped awning in  the sternsheets and
was  fanned by  a servile  slave.  Rows of  tiny  huts stretched  along  the
banks-the fertile land  fed a  tremendous number  of  people,  thousands  of
people  swarmed the fields, gardens and papyrus thickets,  toiling to earn a
scanty livelihood.  Thousands of people  packed the  narrow streets of  the.
countless villages on the outskirts of which towered huge ungainly  temples,
closely shut off from the sun.
     It  suddenly struck Pandion that  not  only  he and  his comrades  were
doomed to  a pitiful  existence  in  Tha-Quem, but  the inhabitants of those
miserable huts were also enslaved by their joyless drudgery, that they, too,
were the  slaves of the ruler and his courtiers  despite the fact  that they
despised him, Pandion, as a branded savage. . . .
     Lost in thought, Pandion struck his neighbour's oar with his own.
     "Hi, Ekwesha, wake up, look out for yourself!"
     At night  the  slaves  were shut up in  the prisons that stood  in  the
vicinity of each township or temple.
     Pharaoh's  sculptor  was everywhere treated with respect  by  the local
authorities  and he  went  away to  his  rest  accompanied  by  two  trusted
servants.
     On  the  fifth  day  the  boat  turned  a  bend  formed  by outjutting.
river-washed rocks. Beyond the bend lay  an extensive plain cut off from the
river by rows of tall palms and sycamores. The boat approached a stone-paved
embankment  with two  wide staircases leading  down to the water. A  massive
tower rose  behind  a  crenellated wall  on  the river-bank. The heavy gates
stood  half-open and through  them  could be  seen a  garden with  ponds and
flower-dotted  lawns  beyond  which stood  a white  building  decorated with
colourful designs.
     This was the house of the High Priest of the local temples.
     The royal sculptor, before whom the sentries bowed in servile humility,
entered the gates while the slaves remained outside  under the  surveillance
of  two  soldiers. They  did  not have to wait  long, for  the sculptor soon
returned with another man who carried a scroll of papyrus and led the slaves
past the temples and dwelling houses to a big site occupied by  ruined walls
and a forest of  columns, the roof  over  which  had  collapsed. Amongst the
ruins of  this  dead  town there  were, here and there, small buildings in a
better state of preservation. An occasional tree stump indicated the site of
former gardens; dried  up ponds, basins and canals were filled with sand,  a
thick layer of sand covered the stone-paved roads and piled up against walls
eroded by  time. Not a living soul was to  be seen anywhere, deadly  silence
reigned in the blazing heat.
     The sculptor explained to Pandion in a few words  that  these  were the
ruins  of the  once beautiful  capital of  the Heretic Pharaoh ( The Heretic
Pharaoh-Amenhotep  IV who tried to introduce into Egypt  a new religion with
only one god-the sun disc Aton.)whom the gods had cursed. No true son of the
Black Land dare pronounce his name.
     Pandion could not  discover  what  this  Pharaoh, who had  reigned four
centuries earlier, had done and why he had built a new capital.

     The  newcomer  unrolled  his papyrus and the two Egyptians  studied the
drawing  on it  to discover the  whereabouts  of  a long  building  with the
columns  at its entrance lying  on  the ground. The  interior walls  of this
building were faced with azure-blue stones with veins of gold in them.
     Pandion and the other slaves were given the job of removing these  thin
stone slabs  that had been firmly  cemented to the walls. The job took  them
several days to complete  and  they  spent the night there amidst the ruins,
food and water being brought to them from the neighbouring dwellings.
     When they  had finished their job Pandion, Kidogo and four other slaves
were ordered to search  the ruins in any direction  they liked  and look for
any works of art that might have been left there and which could be taken as
gifts for Pharaoh's palace.  The  Negro and Pandion set  out  together,  the
first time without escort and away from the keen eye of the overseer.
     The two friends climbed on to the gate turret of some large building in
order to get a  view  of their surroundings. From  the east sand crept up to
and into the ruins and stretched away in a desert of rolling dunes and piles
of stone as far as the eye could reach.
     Pandion  looked  over the silent  ruins  and in his  excitement grasped
Kidogo's arm tightly.
     "Let's run, we won't be missed for a long time, nobody  can see us," he
whispered.
     The Negro's good-natured face spread in a smile.
     "Don't you know what the desert is?" he asked in astonishment. "At this
hour tomorrow the soldiers of the search  party  would find our dead  bodies
already dried  up by the sun. They," Kidogo  meant the Egyptians, "know what
they are  doing.  There  is  only  one  road to the  east,  it  follows  the
water-holes and they are guarded. In this place the desert holds  us tighter
than any chains. . . ."
     Pandion nodded his head gloomily-his  momentary  excitement had passed.
In  silence  the  two  friends  left the  turret  and  set out  in different
directions,  looking through holes in the  walls  and entering rooms through
their dark doorways.
     Inside  a small,  well-preserved,, two-storied palace, where there were
remains  of  the wooden lattice-work  on  the windows,  Kidogo had the  good
fortune to find a  small statue of an Egyptian girl carved  from hard yellow
limestone. He  called Pandion  and together they  examined  the work of some
unknown master.  The girl's  pretty  face  was  typically Egyptian,  such as
Pandion already knew-the low  forehead, narrow eyes slanting upwards towards
the  temples,  protruding cheek-bones  and  thick lips  with dimples  at the
corners of the mouth.
     Kidogo took  his  find  to the  master  of the  workshops while Pandion
penetrated  farther into the  ruins.  He  wandered on, stepping mechanically
over wreckage and heaps of stones, taking no note of his direction, and soon
he found himself in the shade of a length of wall that was  still  standing.
Right in front of him he saw a  tightly closed door  leading to  underground
premises.  Pandion pressed  on  the bronze  door  handle,  the rotten boards
collapsed  under his weight and he entered a room whose only light came from
a narrow chink in the ceiling.
     It was a small room built in a thick wall of excellently dressed stone.
Two  light armchairs of ebony inlaid with ivory were covered with a layer of
dust.  In  one corner lay a half-rotten casket.  Against the opposite wall a
grey  stone statue stood on a block of rose-hued granite, a full-size female
figure, the lower part of which had been left unfinished.
     Two lithe panthers  of black stone, one on either  side of  the statue,
stood as though on guard. Pandion carefully brushed the dust from the statue
and stepped back in dumb admiration.
     The skill of  the  craftsman had reproduced  in  stone the  transparent
material that  enveloped the girl's body.  With her left hand  she pressed a
lotus bloom firmly  to her breast. Her thick  hair, braided in  a  number of
fine  plaits,  framed  her face  in a heavy  coiffure  divided by a straight
parting and falling over her shoulders.  The  charming girl did not resemble
an Egyptian. Her face was rounder, her nose small and straight and she had a
high forehead and big eyes set wide apart.
     Pandion  glanced at  the statue from one  side  and was  amazed at  the
strange and subtle mockery which the sculptor had  given to the girl's face.
Never had he seen such an expression of verve and intellect in a statue; the
artists  of  Aigyptos loved  majestic and  indifferent immobility more  than
anything else.
     The  girl was  more like the women of  Oeniadae  or  even more like the
beautiful inhabitants of the islands of his native sea.
     The bright,  intelligent face of  the statue was far  removed from  the
sullen beauty of  Egyptian works of art and was carved with such great skill
that Pandion once again felt the torture  of  nostalgia. The  young  Hellene
wrung his  hands and  tried to imagine the model  from which  the statue had
been carved, a  girl that somehow seemed near  to him, a girl that had found
her  way to Aigyptos by  unknown roads four  centuries  ago. Had she  been a
captive like himself or  had she  come from some distant country of her  own
free will?
     A  ray of sunlight, falling through the  crack in the  ceiling,  cast a
dusty light on the statue. It  seemed to Pandion that the expression  on the
girl's  face  had  changed- the  eyes blazed,  the lips trembled as though a
flutter of  mysterious,  hidden  life had reached  the stone  surface of the
statue.
     Yes, that was the way to carve a statue  ...  here was the master  from
whom he could learn  to depict living beauty  ... from this  master who  had
long been dead!
     Reverently  Pandion laid  careful fingers  on the face  of the  statue,
feeling for  the tiny and  elusive H  details that made the statue  a living
thing.
     For a long time he remained standing before the statue of the beautiful
maiden who smiled at him  in mocking friendliness. It seemed to him that  he
had  found  a  new  friend whose smile lightened  the  burden of the endless
succession of joyless days.
     Unconsciously the  youth's  thoughts turned to  Thessa, and her  living
image rose before him again.
     Pandion's eyes  wandered  over the ornament on  the ceiling  and  walls
where stars, bunches of lotus flowers  and curving lilies were  intermingled
with  bull's  heads.  Suddenly  Pandion  shuddered:  the  vision  of  Thessa
disappeared and before him, on the  wall, stood a picture  of  captives tied
back to back, being  dragged to the feet of Pharaoh. Pandion remembered that
it  was late and that  he must hurry back  and take  something  with  him to
justify his long  absence. He took another look at  the statue and  realized
that he  could not place it in the hands of the master sculptor. He regarded
such an act as tantamount to treachery, it would be like delivering the girl
into slavery for a  second time.  Looking round, he suddenly  remembered the
casket he had seen in  the corner. Pandion  knelt down and  removed  from it
four  faience drinking  cups, shaped like lotus  blossoms  and  covered with
bright blue enamel. That would be  enough. Pandion took his last look at the
statue of the girl,  trying to fix  in his memory every detail  of her face,
and with a  deep sigh carried the four cups outside. He looked round to make
sure that he was not observed and hurriedly covered the entrance to the room
with big boulders and then filled all the spaces between them with rubble so
that  it  looked  like  part  of  the damaged wall. He wrapped  the  cups up
carefully in his loin-cloth, made an  involuntary gesture of farewell in the
direction of  the statue, safe in its asylum,  and hurried off  to join  the
others. The shouts of the slaves  showed  him the direction, loudest amongst
them being the strong, resonant voice of Kidogo.
     The  royal sculptor met Pandion  at first with threats  but calmed down
the moment he saw the treasure Pandion had brought him.


     The  return journey  took three days longer  as the rowers had to fight
against the current  of the river. Pandion told  Kidogo about the statue and
the Negro approved his action, adding that the girl had probably  come  from
the Mashuashi,  a people living on  the northern edge of the  Great  Western
Desert.
     Pandion tried to persuade Kidogo to flee, but his friend only shook his
head in reply, rejecting all the plans suggested by the Hellene.
     During the  seven days of the  journey Pandion failed to  convince  his
friend  but  he, himself, was  unable  to remain inactive; it seemed that he
would  not be able  to hold out much longer and must inevitably  perish.  He
longed for his companions  who had remained on the building jobs and in  the
shehne. He  felt  that these men were the force  that could bring liberation
and  which gave  him  hopes  for  the  future.  Here there  was  no  hope of
liberation and that made Pandion pant in helpless fury.
     Two days  after their return to the  workshops  the royal sculptor took
Pandion to the  palace  of the Chief  Builder,  where a  festival  was being
prepared. Pandion was ordered  to fashion clay statuettes and from them make
moulds for the shaping of sweet biscuits.
     When Pandion had finished his work he  was told to remain at the palace
to carry  home the palanquin of the royal sculptor  when the feast was over.
Pandion did  not pay  any attention to the other slaves, men and women, that
filled the palace, but went off by himself in the garden.
     It had  grown  dark, bright stars lit up the sky,  but still the  feast
went  on. Sheaves of yellow light piercing  the darkness  of the garden from
the open windows illuminated the trunks of trees, the foliage and flowers of
the shrubs and were reflected in patches of glowing red from the mirror-like
surfaces  of  the ponds. The guests  were assembled in  a  big  hall on  the
ground-floor decorated  with pillars of  polished cedar wood.  From the hall
came sounds  of music. For a long  time Pandion had heard nothing in the way
of music with the exception of mournful  and unknown songs, and he gradually
drew closer to the big, low window, hid himself  in the  bushes  and watched
what was going on.
     A  heavy aroma of sweet oils  came from the crowded  room.  The  walls,
pillars and window-frames were  hung with garlands of fresh  flowers, mostly
lotus blossoms, Pandion noticed. Brightly-coloured jugs of wine, baskets and
bowls of fruit stood on low tables near  the seats. The guests, excited with
the wine they had drunk and anoint-, ed with perfumed unguents, were crowded
along the  walls, while  in  the  space  between  the columns  girls in long
garments were dancing. Their black  hair, braided into numerous thin plaits,
swung  about the shoulders of the dancers,  wide bracelets of coloured beads
covered their wrists, and girdles"of similar design  shone through  the thin
material  of  their raiment.  Pandion  could not  help  noticing  a  certain
angularity in  the bodies of the Egyptian  dancing  girls who differed  very
greatly from the strong women  of his  own country. At one end of  the  room
young  Egyptian girls played  on a variety of musical instruments: two girls
played flutes, another played on a harp of many strings and still two others
extracted harsh rattling notes from long two-stringed instruments.
     The dancing girls carried thin leaves of gleaming bronze in their hands
and from time to  time  interrupted  the  rhythm  of the dance  melody  with
abrupt, ringing blows on them. Pandion's ear was unaccustomed to the  abrupt
changes  from  high  tones to  low,  to the  poignantly moaning notes with a
constantly changing tempo. The dances ended and the tired dancing girls gave
up  the  floor to  the  singers.  Pandion  listened attentively,  trying  to
understand  the words,  and found  that when the melody was  slow and low in
tone he could understand the purport of the song.
     The  first song glorified a journey  to the  southern  part  of  Quemt.
"There you will meet a pretty  girl who  will offer you  the  flowers of her
bosom," Pandion understood.
     Another song exalted the military valour of the sons of Quemt with loud
shouts and  expressions so tortuous  they seemed meaningless to Pandion.  He
left the window with feelings of irritation.
     "The names of the brave will  never  die-" the last  words of the  song
drifted towards him as the singing came to an end and was followed by sounds
of laughter and bustle; Pandion again looked into the window.
     Slaves had  brought  in a fair-skinned girl with closely cut, wavy hair
and pushed her  into the  middle of the room. She  stood  there confused and
afraid amidst flowers 'trodden underfoot  by the dancers. A man came  out of
the crowd and said  a few  angry words to the girl.  Obediently she took the
ivory lute that was offered her and the fingers  of her tiny  hands ran over
the strings. Silence fell as the girl's low clear voice rang out through the
room.  It was  not the  jerky, suddenly  rising and  falling melody  of  the
Egyptians but a song that flowed freely  and sadly. At first the sounds fell
slowly, like the splashing of separate drops of water, then they merged into
regularly rising and falling waves, that rolled and whispered like the waves
of the sea and carried with them such unrestrained sorrow that Pandion stood
stock-still.  He could hear the free, open sea rolling through  the song and
in  the incomprehensible sounds of  that magic voice.  The  sea, unknown and
unloved here in Aigyptos, was so  near and dear to  Pandion that at first he
stood aghast  as  all  that  was hidden deep in his soul burst suddenly out.
That longing for freedom that Pandion knew  so well was weeping  and wailing
in the  song. He put his fingers to his ears and clenched  his teeth to keep
screaming and  ran away to the far end of the garden. Throwing himself en to
the  ground  in the  shadow of  the  trees,  Pandion gave  way  to a  fit of
irrepressible sobbing.
     "Hi, Ekwesha, come  here! Ekwesha!" shouted Pandion's master. The young
Hellene had not noticed that the feast was over.
     Pharaoh's sculptor was very obviously drunk. Leaning  on Pandion's  arm
and supported on the other side  by  his own  slave,  born  in  bondage, the
Master of the Royal Workshops refused  to enter his palanquin and  expressed
the desire to walk home.
     Halfway home, occasionally  stumbling over  irregularities in the road,
he began to praise Pandion, prophesying a great future for him. Pandion  was
still  under the impression created by  the song and  did not  hear what his
master was saying. In this way they walked to the, brightly-coloured portico
of the  Egyptian's  house.  His wife and  two slave  girls,  bearing  lamps,
appeared  in  the doorway.  The  royal sculptor  stumbled up the  steps  and
slapped Pandion on the shoulder. The latter went down again as no slave from
the workshops was allowed to enter the house.
     "Wait a minute, Ekwesha!" said the master gleefully, trying to bend his
face into the  semblance  of  a cunning smile. "Give that to  me!" He almost
snatched the lamp out of  the hand of  one of the slave girls and  whispered
something to her. The girl disappeared into the darkness.
     The Egyptian pushed  Pandion  through  the  door and led him  into  the
reception-room. On the left,  between  the  windows, stood a beautiful  vase
with a fine, dark red  design. Pandion had seen such vases in Crete and once
more the youth's heart pained him.
     "His Majesty,  life, health,  strength,"  the  sculptor  pronounced  in
solemn tones, "has ordered  me to make seven vases like the one brought from
the  islands  of your seas. ( Life, health,  strength-these  three words had
always  to be added  to any mention of Pharaoh.) Only we  must  change those
barbaric colours for the blue colour favoured in Tha-Quem. . . . If you earn
distinction in this work I'll  mention  your name in the Great House. . .  .
And  now. . . ." The master raised  his  voice and  turned  towards two dark
figures that were approaching them.
     They were the slave girl  who had left at  his behest and another  girl
wrapped in a long striped cloak.
     "Come closer,"  ordered the Egyptian impatiently,  lifting the lamp  to
the face of the girl in the cloak.
     Her big, bulging  black eyes  looked fearfully at  Pandion, her puffed,
childish lips opened in a fluttering sigh. Pandion saw wavy locks protruding
from under the cloak, a delicate nose with nervously twitching  nostrils-the
slave girl was undoubtedly of Asiatic origin, from one of the tribes in  the
east.
     "Look, Ekwesha,"  said  the  Egyptian,  with  an  unsteady  but  strong
movement  pulling the cloak off  the girl.  She gave a faint cry and covered
her face with her hands as she stood there stark naked.
     "Take her as  your  wife."  The royal sculptor pushed  the girl towards
Pandion and  she,  trembling all  over, pressed  herself close  to the young
Hellene.
     Pandion  moved slightly back and  stroked the tangled hair of the young
captive,  submitting  to a mixed feeling  of  pity and tenderness  for  this
pretty, scared creature.
     The royal sculptor smiled and snapped his fingers in approval.
     "She will be your wife, Ekwesha,  and  you will have  handsome children
that I can leave to my children as a legacy. . . ."
     It was as though  a steel  spring had suddenly uncoiled inside Pandion.
The revolt that had long been seething within him and that had  been further
excited by the song-he had heard that evening, reached its highest  point. A
red haze stood before his eyes.
     Pandion stepped  away from the  girl, looked round the room  and raised
his  hand. The Egyptian,  growing  immediately  sober,  ran  into  the house
calling  loudly to  his servants for help. Pandion  did not even look at the
coward and with  a laugh of disdain kicked the expensive Cretan vase so hard
that its earthenware fragments flew to the floor with a dull clatter.
     The house was filled with  cries and the sound of running  feet. A  few
minutes later Pandion lay at the feet  of his master who bent over him, spat
on him, shouting curses and threats.
     "The scoundrel deserves death. The broken vase is of greater value than
his contemptible life, but he can make many beautiful things ... and I don't
want  to lose a  good worker," said the sculptor to his wife  an hour later.
"I'll spare his life and won't send him to prison because from there they'll
send him to the gold mines and he'll die. I'll  send him back to the shehne,
let him think things over, and by the time of the next sowing I'll bring him
back. . . ."
     And so Pandion, badly beaten but still unbowed, returned  to the shehne
and,  to  his  great  joy,  met his old  friends, the Etruscans.  The  whole
building  gang had been employed  on watering the Gardens of Amon since they
had finished dismantling the temple.
     Towards evening the next  day  the shehne door opened  with  its  usual
creak to admit the smiling Kidogo whose arrival was greeted by the shouts of
the other slaves. The Negro's back  was puffed and swollen from the blows of
a whip but his teeth shone as he smiled and there was a merry twinkle in his
eyes.
     "I heard  they'd  sent  you  back here,''  he  informed  the astonished
Pandion,  "and I  began  to  stagger  about the  workshop  knocking down and
breaking everything  that  came my way. They beat me and sent me here, which
is what I wanted," said Kidogo.
     "But you  wanted to  become  a  sculptor, didn't  you?"  asked  Pandion
mockingly.
     The Negro  waved a  carefree hand and, rolling  his eyes  terrifyingly,
spat in the direction of the great capital city of Aigyptos.



        IV. THE FIGHT FOR FREEDOM

     T  he stones, heated by the blazing sun, burned the arms and  shoulders
of the  slaves.  The gentle breeze brought no coolness to  them, but instead
aggravated their  plight  by covering them in the fine dust  from the stones
that ate into their eyes.
     Thirty slaves, already at the end  of  their strength,  were pulling on
stiff ropes to raise on to the wall a heavy stone slab bearing a  bas-relief
of some  sort. The slab had  to be placed in a prepared nest at  a height of
some  eight  cubits from the ground. Four experienced and nimble slaves were
steadying the slab from below. Among  them was Pandion who  stood next to an
Egyptian, the only inhabitant of Aigyptos amongst the many nations  in their
slave  compound.  This  Egyptian,  condemned to  eternal  slavery  for  some
unknown,  awful crime  he had  committed,  occupied  the  end  cell  in  the
privileged  south-eastern corner  of  the  shehne. Two  purple brands in the
shape  of  a wide cross covered his chest  and back while on his cheek a red
snake  was branded. Morose, never smiling, he did not  talk to anybody  and,
despite the horror of  his own position,  despised the foreign slaves in the
same way as his free fellow-countrymen did.
     At the present moment he was not  paying any attention  to anybody and,
with his shaven head  lowered, was pressing with his hands against the heavy
stone to prevent it from swaying.
     Suddenly Pandion noticed that the strands of  a rope  holding the stone
were  beginning to snap, and shouted to warn  the others.  Two of the slaves
jumped to one side but the Egyptian paid  no attention  to Pandion and could
not  see what was going  on above  his head-he  remained standing  under the
heavy stone.
     With a  wide sweep of his right arm, Pandion  gave the Egyptian a shove
in the chest that  sent him flying clear  of  the danger spot. At  that very
moment the  rope snapped  and the stone crashed down, grazing Pandion's hand
as it fell. A yellowish pallor spread over  the Egyptian's  face.  The stone
struck against the  foot  of  the wall  and  a big piece was broken  off the
corner of the bas-relief.
     The overseer  came running towards  Pandion  with a shout of  rage  and
lashed at him with  his whip. The square hippopotamus-hide lash, two fingers
thick, cut deeply  into the small of Pandion's  back. The pain was  so great
that everything went misty before his eyes.
     "You wastrel, why did  you save  that  carrion?"  howled  the overseer,
slashing at Pandion  a second time. "The stone would have remained  whole if
it had fallen on a soft  body. That  carving is worth more than the lives of
hundreds of creatures like you," he added as the second blow struck home.
     Pandion would have  rushed  at  the  overseer  but he was seized by the
soldiers who hurried to the scene and brutally thrashed him.
     That night  Pandion  lay face  downwards in his cell. He was  in a high
fever, the  deep  whip cuts on  his back, shoulders and legs  were inflamed.
Kidogo came crawling to him and  brought him  water to drink,  from  time to
time pouring water over his aching head.
     A  slight rustling sound came  from outside the  door,  followed  by  a
whisper:
     "Ekwesha, are you there?"
     Pandion answered and felt somebody's hands laid on him in the darkness.
     It  was  the Egyptian. He  took a tiny  jar out of his belt and spent a
long time  rubbing something into  the palms of his hands. Then he  began to
pass his hands carefully over Pandion's wales, spreading some liquid unguent
with a  pungent, unpleasant smell. The pain made the Hellene shudder but the
confident  hands of  the Egyptian  continued  their work. By  the  time  the
Egyptian began to  massage the  legs,  the  pain in  Pandion's back had died
away; a few minutes later Pandion dropped quietly off to sleep.
     "What did  you do to him?" whispered Kidogo who was quite invisible  in
his corner.
     After a short pause the Egyptian answered him: