 CHAPTER IX. ATLANTIS. You will understand that the adventure of the Babylonian Queen in London was the only one that had occupied any time at all. But the children's time was very fully taken up by talking over all the wonderful things seen and done in the past, where, by the power of the amulet, they seemed to spend hours and hours, only to find when they got back to London that the whole thing had been briefer than a lightning flash. They talked of the past at their meals, in their walks, in the dining-room, in the first floor drawing-room, but most of all, on the stairs. It was an old house. It had once been a fashionable one, and was a fine one still. The banister rails of the stairs were excellent for sliding down, and in the corners of the landings were big alcoves that had once held graceful statues, and now quite often held the graceful forms of Cyril, Robert, Anthea, and Jane. One day Cyril and Robert in tight white under-clothing had spent a pleasant hour in reproducing the attitudes of statues seen either in the British Museum, or in Father's big photography book. But the show ended abruptly, because Robert wanted to be the Venus of Milo, and for this purpose pulled at the sheet which served her drapery at the very moment when Cyril, looking really quite like the discobolus, with a gold and white saucer for the disc, was standing on one foot, and under that one foot was the sheet. Of course the discobolus and his disc and the would-be Venus came down together, and everyone was a good deal hurt, especially the saucer, which would never be the same again. However neatly one might join its uneven bits with secateen or the white of an egg. I hope you're satisfied," said Cyril, holding his head where a large lump was rising. "'Quite, thanks,' said Robert bitterly, his thumb had caught in the bannisters, and bent itself back almost to breaking-point. "'I am so sorry, poor dearest squirrel,' said Antia, "'and you were looking so lovely. I'll get a wet rag. Bobs, go and hold your hand under the hot water-tap. It's what ballet-girls do with their legs when they hurt them. "'I saw it in a book!' "'What book!' said Robert disagreeably. But he went. When he came back Cyril's head had been bandaged by his sisters, and he had been brought to the state of mind, for he was able, reluctantly, to admit that he supposed Robert hadn't done it on purpose. Robert replying with equal suavity, Antia hastened to leave the talk away from the accident. "'I suppose you don't feel like going anywhere through the amulet,' she said. "'Egypt!' said Jane promptly, "'I want to see the pussy-cats!' "'Not me, too hot,' said Cyril. "'It's about as much as I can stand here, let alone Egypt.' It was indeed hot, even on the second landing, which was the coolest place in the house. "'Let's go to the nor-pole!' "'I don't suppose the amulet was ever there, and we might get our fingers frostbitten so that we could never hold it up to get home again. "'No, thanks,' said Robert. "'I say,' said Jane, "'let's get the Samyad and ask its advice. "'It will, like I was asking, even if we don't take it.' The Samyad was brought up in its green silk-and-broidered bag. But before it could be asked anything, the door of the learned gentleman's room opened, and the voice of the visitor who had been lunching with him was heard on the stairs. He seemed to be speaking with the door-handle in his hand. "'You see, a doctor all-boy,' he said, "'all that about thought-transference is just simply twaddle. You've been over-working. Take a holiday. Go to Dieppe!' "'I'd rather go to Babylon,' said the learned gentleman. "'I wish you'd go to Atlantis some time, while we're about us. So she'd give me some tips for my nineteenth-century article when you come home.' "'I wish I could,' said the voice of the learned gentleman. "'Good-bye. Take care of yourself.' The door was banged, and the visitor came smiling down the stairs. A stout, prosperous, big man. The children had to get up to let him pass. "'Hello, kiddies!' he said, glancing at the bandages and the head of Cyril and the hand of Robert. "'Bin in the wars!' "'It's all right,' said Cyril. "'I say, what was that Atlantic place you wanted him to go to? He couldn't help hearing you talk.' "'You talk so very loud, you see,' said Jane soothingly. "'Atlantis!' said the visitor. "'The lost Atlantis! Gordon of the Hesperides! Great Continent! Disappeared in the sea. You can read about it in play-toe.' "'Thank you,' said Cyril doubtfully. "'Were there any amulets there?' asked Antia, made anxious by a sudden thought. "'Hundreds, I should think. So he's been talking to you.' "'Very often, he's very kind to us. We like him awfully.' "'Well, what he wants is a holiday. You persuade him to take one. What he wants is a change of scene. You see, his head is crusted so thickly inside with knowledge about Egypt and the Syrian things, that you can't hammer anything into it unless you keep hard at it all day long for days and days, and I haven't the time. But you live in the house. You can hammer almost incessantly. Just try your hands, will you?' "'Right. So long!' He went down the stairs three at a time, and Jane remarked that he was a nice man, and she thought he had little girls of his own. "'I should like to have them to play with,' she added pensively. The three elder ones exchanged glances. Cyril nodded. "'All right. Let's go to Atlantis,' he said. "'Let's go to Atlantis, and take the learn a gentleman with us.' said Antia. "'I'll think it's a dream afterwards, but it'll certainly be a change of scene.' "'Why not take him to nice Egypt?' asked Jane. "'Too hot,' said Cyril shortly. "'Oh, Babylon, where he wants to go?' "'I've had enough of Babylon,' said Robert, at least for the present, and so of the others. "'I don't know why,' he added, forestalling the question on Jane's lips. "'But somehow we have. Cyril, let's take off these beastly bandages and get into flannels. We can't go in our unders.' "'He wished to go to Atlantis, so he's got to go some time. And he might as well go with us,' said Antia. This was how it was that the learn a gentleman, permitting himself a few moments of relaxation in his chair, after the fatigue of listening to opinions about Atlantis and many other things, with which he did not at all agree. Opened his eyes to find his four young friends standing in front of him in a row. "'Will you come?' said Antia. "'To Atlantis with us.' "'To know that you are dreaming, shows that the dream is nearly at an end,' he told himself. "'Or perhaps it's only a game, like how many miles to Babylon?' So he said aloud, "'Thank you very much, but I have only a quarter of an hour to spare.' "'It doesn't take any time,' said Cyril. "'Time's only a mode of thought, you know, and you've got to go some time. "'So why not with us?' "'Very well,' said the learned a gentleman, now quite certain that he was dreaming. Antia held out her soft pink hand. He took it. She pulled him gently to his feet. Jane held up the amulet. "'To just outside Atlantis,' said Cyril, and Jane said the name of power. "'You owl,' said Robert, "'it's an island, outside an island's all water.' "'I won't go, I won't!' said the Samyad, kicking and struggling in its bag. As already the amulet had grown to a great arch, Cyril pushed the learned a gentleman, as undoubtedly the firstborn, through the arch, not into water, but onto a wooden floor, out of doors. The others followed. The amulet grew smaller again, and there they all were, standing on the deck of a ship, whose sailors were busy making her fast with chains to rings and a white key-side. The rings and the chains were of a metal that shone red, yellow, like gold. Everyone on the ship seemed to be too busy at first, to notice the group of newcomers from Fitzroy Street. Those who seemed to be officers were shouting orders to the men. They stood and looked across the wide key to the town that rose beyond it. What they saw was the most beautiful sight any of them had ever seen, or ever dreamed of. The blue sea sparkled in soft sunlight. The white-capped waves broke softly against the marble breakwaters that guarded the shipping of a great city, from the wilderness of winter winds and seas. The key was of marble, white and sparkling with a veining bright as gold. The city was of marble, red and white. The greater buildings that seemed to be temples and palaces were roofed of what looked like golden-silver, but most of the roofs were of copper that glowed golden-red on the houses of the hills among which the city stood, and shaded into marvellous tints of green and blue and purple where they'd been touched by the salt sea spray in the fumes of the dying and smelting works of the lower town. Broad and magnificent flights of marble stairs led up from the key to a sort of terrace that seemed to run along for miles, and beyond rose the town built in a hill. The learned gentleman drew a long breath. —Wonderful!—he said. —Wonderful! —I say, Mr.—What's your name?—said Robert. —He means,—said Antia, with gentle politeness, that we never can remember your name. I know it's Mr. to something. —When I was your age, I was called Jimmy.—he said timidly. —Would you mind?—I should feel more at home in a dream like this, if I—anything that made me seem more like one of you. —Thank you!—Jimmy!—said Antia, with an effort. It seemed such a cheek to be saying Jimmy to a grown-up man. —Jimmy dear!—she added, with no effort at all. Jimmy smiled and looked pleased. But now the ship was made fast, and the captain had time to notice other things. He came towards them, and he was dressed in the best of all possible dresses for the seafaring life. —What are you doing here?—he asked rather fiercely. —Do you come to bless or to curse? —To bless, of course—said Cyril.—I'm sorry if it annoys you, but we're here by magic. —We come from the land of the sun rising—he went on explanatorily. —I see.—said the captain.—no one had expected that he would. —I didn't notice at first, but of course I hope you're a good omen. It's needed. —And this?—he pointed to learn a gentleman. —Your slave, I presume? —Not at all—said Antia. —He's a very great man—a sage, don't they call it? And we want to see all your beautiful city and your temples and things, and then we shall go back, and he will tell his friend and his friend will write a book about it. —What?—asked the captain, fingering a rope. —Is a book! —A record!—something written, or—she had it hastily, remembering the Babylonian writing—or engraved. —Some sudden impulse of confidence made Jane pluck the amulet from the neck of her frock. —Like this—she said. The captain looked at it curiously, but the other three were relieved to notice but at any of that overwhelming interest which the mere name of it had roused in Egypt and Babylon. —The stone is of our country—he said—and that which is engraved on it. It is like our writing, but I cannot read it. —What is the name of your sage? —Jimmy—said Antia hesitatingly. The captain repeated, —Jimmy, will you land? And shall I lead you to the kings? —Look here, said Robert. Does your king hate strangers? —Our kings are ten, said the captain, and the royal line, unbroken from Poseidon, the father of us all, has a noble tradition to do honour to strangers if they come in peace. —Then lead on, please, said Robert, why should like to see all over your beautiful ship and sail about in her? —That shall be later, said the captain. Just now we're afraid of a storm. Do you notice that odd rumbling? —That's nothing, master, said an old sailor who stood near. —Is that Pilchart's coming in, that's all? —Too loud, said the captain. There was a roder, anxious pause, and then the captain stepped onto the key and the others followed him. —Do talk to him, Jimmy, said Antia as they went. —You can find out all sorts of things for your friend's book. —Please excuse me, he said earnestly. —If I talk, I shall wake up, and besides, I can't understand what he says. —No one else could think of anything to say. So that it was in complete silence that they followed the captain up the marble steps and through the streets of the town. There were streets and shops and houses and markets. —It's just like Babylon, whispered Jane. —Only everything's perfectly different. —It's of great comfort that ten kings had been properly brought up. —To be kind to strangers, antia whispered to Cyril. —Yes, he said. —No deepest dungeons here! There were no horses or chariots in the street, but there were hand-carts and low trolleys running on thick log wheels, and porters carrying packets on their heads, and a good many of the people were riding on what looked like elephants. Only the great beasts were hairy, and they had not that mild expression mere accustomed to meet on the faces of the elephants at the zoo. —Mammoths! murmured the learned gentleman, and stumbled over a loose stone. The people in the streets kept crowding around them as they went along, but the captain always dispersed the crowd before it grew uncomfortably thick by saying, —Children of the sun god and their high priest, come to bless the city! And then the people would draw back with a low murmur that sounded like a suppressed cheer. Many of the buildings were covered with gold. But the gold on the bigger buildings was a different colour, and they had sort of steeples of burnish silver rising above them. —Are all these houses real gold? asked Jane. —Their temples are covered with gold, of course, answered the captain. —But houses are only oracle-chum. —It's not quite so expensive. —The learned gentleman, now very pale, stumbled along in a dazed way, repeating, —Oracle-chum! oracle-chum! —Don't be frightened, said Antia. —We can get home in a minute, just by holding up the charm. —Would you rather go back now? We could easily come some other day without you. —No, no, no! he pleaded fervently. —Let the dream go on. Please, please do. —And ah-ha! Jimmy is perhaps weary with his magic journey! —said the captain, noticing the blundering walk of the learned gentleman. —And we are yet very far from the great temple, where today the kings make sacrifice. —He stopped at the gate of a great enclosure. —It seemed to be a sort of park, for trees showed high above its brazen wall. —The party waited, and almost at once the captain came back with one of the hairy elephants, and begged them to mount. —This they did. —It was a glorious ride! —The elephant of the zoo. —To ride on him is also glorious. —But he goes such a very little way, and then he goes back again, which is always dull. —But this great hairy beast went on and on, and on along streets and through squares and gardens. —It was a glorious city. —Almost everything was built of marble, red or white or black. —Every now and then the party crossed a bridge. —It was not till they climbed the hill, which is the centre of the town, that they saw that the whole city was divided into twenty circles, alternately land and water, and over each of the water circles were the bridges by which they had come. —And now they were in a great square. —A vast building filled up one side of it. —It was overlaid with gold, and had a dome of silver. —The rest of the buildings round the square were of auriclechum. —And it looked more splendid than you can possibly imagine, standing a bold and shining in the sunlight. —You would like a bath, said the captain, as the hairy elephant went clumsily down on his knees. —It's customary, you know, before entering the presence. —We have bards for men, women, horses and cattle. —High class bards are here. —Our father Poseidon gave us a spring of hot water and one of gold. —The children had never before bathed in bards of gold. —It feels very splendid, said Cyril, splashing. —At least, of course, it's not gold. —It's aur, what's its name? —Said Robert. —And over that towel! —The bathing-hall at several great pools sunk below the level of the floor. —One went down to them by steps. —Jimmy, said Anthea timidly, when very clean and boiled-looking they all met in the flowery courtyard of the public. —Don't you think all this seems much more like now than Babylon or Egypt? —Oh, I forgot you've never been there. —I know a little of those nations, however, said he, and I quite agree with you. —The most discerning remark, my dear, he added awkwardly. —This city certainly seems to indicate a far higher level of civilization than the Egyptian or Babylonish. —And follow me, said the captain. —Now, boys, get out of the way! He pushed through a little crowd of boys who were playing with dried chestnuts fastened to a string. —Ginger! remarked Robert. —They're playing conkers, just like the kids in Kentish Town Road. They could see now that three walls surrounded the island at which they were. The outermost wall was of brass, the captain told them. The next, which looked like silver, was covered with tin. And the innermost one was of auriculchum. And right in the middle was a wall of gold with golden towers and gates. —Behold the temples of Poseidon! said the captain. —It's not lawful for me to enter. —I will await your return here. He told them what they ought to say, and the five people from Fitzroy Street took hands and went forward. The golden gates slowly opened. —We are the children of the sun! said Cyril, as he'd been told. —And our high priest, at least that's what the captain calls him. We have a different name for him at home. —What is his name? asked a white roped man who stood in the doorway with his arms extended. —Jimmy! replied Cyril. And he hesitated as Andy had done. —It really did seem to be taking a great liberty with so learned a gentleman. —And we've come to speak with your kings in the temple of Poseidon. —Does that word sound right? whispered anxiously. —Quite! said the learned a gentleman. —It's very odd I can understand what you say to them, but not what they say to you. —And the queen of Babylon found that too. said Cyril. —It's part of the magic. —Oh, what a dream! said the learned a gentleman. The white roped priest had been joined by others, and all were bowing low. —Enter, he said. —Enter, children of the sun, which are high, Jimmy! In an inner courtyard stood the temple, all of silver, with gold pinnacles and doors, and twenty enormous statues and bright gold of men and women, also an immense pillar of the other precious yellow metal. They went through the doors, and the priest led them up a stair into a gallery from which they could look down onto the glorious place. —The ten kings are even now choosing the bull! —It is not lawful for me to behold! said the priest, and fell face downward on the floor outside the gallery. The children looked down. The roof was of ivory adorned with the three precious metals, and the walls were lined with the favourite oracle-cham. At the far end of the temple was a statue-group, the like of which no one living has ever seen. It was of gold, and the head of the chief figure reached to the roof. That figure was Poseidon, the father of the city. He stood in a great chariot drawn by six enormous horses, and round about it were a hundred mermaids riding on dolphins. Ten men, splendidly dressed and armed only with sticks and ropes, were trying to capture one of some fifteen bulls, who ran this way and that about the floor of the temple. The children held their breath, for the bulls looked dangerous, and the great horned heads were swinging more and more wildly. Anthe did not like looking at the bulls. She looked about the gallery, and noticed that another staircase led up from it to a still higher story, also that a door led out into the open air where there seemed to be a balcony. So that when a shout went up and Robert whispered, Got him! and she looked down and saw the herd of bulls being driven out of the temple by whips, and the ten kings following, one of them spurring with a stick of black bull that rather than fought in the grip of a lasso, she answered the boys agitated, Now we shall not see anything more! With, Yes we can! There is an outside balcony! So they crowded out. But very soon the girls crept back. I don't like sacrifices! Jane said. So she and Anthe went and talked to the priest, who was no longer lying on his face, but sitting on the top step mopping his forehead with his robe, for it was a hot day. It is a special sacrifice, he said. Usually it's only done on the justice days every five years and six years alternately. And then they drink a cup of wine with some of the bull's blood in it, and swear to judge truly. Then they wear the sacred blue robe, and put out all the temple fires. But this today is because the city is so upset by the odd noises from the sea, and the god inside the mountain speaking with his thunder voice. But all that's happened so often before, if anything could make me uneasy, it wouldn't be that! What would it be? asked Jane kindly. It would be the lemmings. Who are they, enemies? They are a sort of rat, and every year they come swimming over from the country that no man knows, and stay here awhile, and then swim away. This year they haven't come. You know rats won't stay in a ship that's going to be wrecked. If anything horrible were going to happen to us, it is my belief those lemmings would know, and that may be why they fought shy of us. What do you call this country? asked the Samyad, suddenly putting its head out of its bag. Atlantis, said the priest. Then I advise you to get onto the highest ground you can find. I remember hearing something about a flood here. Look here, you! They turned to Anthea. Let's get home! The prospect's too wet for my whiskers. The girls obediently went to find their brothers. We're leaning on the balcony railings. Where's the learned gentleman? asked Anthea. There he is, below. Said the priest, who had come with them. Your high jimmy is with the kings. The ten kings were no longer alone. The learned gentleman, no one had noticed how he got there, stood with them on the steps of an altar, on which lay the dead body of the black bull. All the rest of the courtyard was thick with people, seemingly of all classes, and all were shouting, The sea! The sea! Be calm! Said the most kingly of the kings, who had lassoed the bull. Our town is strong against the thunders of the sea and of the sky. I want to go home! We can't go without him, said Anthea firmly. Jimmy! she called, Jimmy! And waved to him. He heard her and began to come towards her to the crowd. They could see from the balcony the sea captain edging his way out from among the people, and his face was dead white, like paper. To the hills! he cried in a loud and terrible voice. And above his voice came another voice. Louder, more terrible, the voice of the sea. The girls looked seaward. Across the smooth distance of the sea, something huge and black rolled towards the town. It was a wave, but a wave a hundred feet in height, a wave that looked like a mountain, a wave rising higher and higher till suddenly it seemed to break in two. One half of it rushed out to sea again. The other. Oh! cried Anthea. The town! the poor people! It's all thousands of years ago, really! said Robert, but his voice trembled. They hid their eyes for a moment. They could not bear to look down, for the wave had broken on the face of the town, sweeping over the keys and docks, overwhelming the great storehouses and factories, tearing gigantic stones from forts and bridges, and using them as battering rams against the temples. Great ships were swept over the roofs of the houses and dashed down halfway up the hill among groomed gardens and broken buildings. The water ground down fishing boats to powder on the golden roofs of palaces. Then the wave swept back towards the sea. I want to go home! cried the Samyad fiercely. Oh, yes, yes! said Jane, and the boys were ready, but a learned gentleman had not come. Then suddenly they heard him dash up the inner gallery, crying, I must see the end of the dream! He rushed up the higher flight. The others followed him. They found themselves in a sort of turret, roofed but opened the air at the sides. The learned gentleman was leaning on the parapet, and as they rejoined him, the vast wave rushed back on the town. This time it rose higher, destroyed more. Come home! cried the Samyad. That's the last! I know it is! That's the last! Over there! It pointed with a claw that trembled. Oh, come! cried Jane, holding up the amulet. I will see the end of the dream! cried the learned gentleman. You'll never see anything else if you do! said Cyril. Oh, Jimmy! appealed Anthea. I'll never bring you out again! You'll never have a chance if you don't go soon! said the Samyad. I will see the end of the dream! said the learned gentleman obstinately. The hills around were black with people fleeing from the villages to the mountains, and even as they fled, thin smoke broke from the great white peak and then a faint flash of flame. Then the volcano began to throw up its mysterious fiery inside parts. The earth trembled. Ashes and sulphur showered down. A rain of fine pumice stone fell like snow and all the dry land. The elephants from the forest rushed up towards the peaks. Great lizards, thirty yards long, broke from the mountain pools and rushed down towards the sea. The snows melted and rushed down, first in avalanches, then in roaring torrents. Great rocks cast up by the volcano fell splashing in the sea miles away. Oh, this is horrible! cried Antia. Come home! Come home! The end of the dream! gasped the learned gentleman. Hold up the amulet! cried the Samyad suddenly. Place where they stood was now crowded with men and women and the children restrained tight against the parapet. The turret rocked and swayed. The wave had reached the golden wall. Jane held up the amulet. No! cried the Samyad. Say the word! And as Jane said it the Samyad leaped from its bag and bit the hand of the learned gentleman. At the same moment the boys pushed him through the arch and all followed him. He turned to look back and through the arch he saw nothing but a waste of waters with above it the peak of the terrible mountain would fire raging from it. He staggered back to his chair. What a ghastly dream! he gasped. Oh, you're here, my dears. Can I do anything for you? You've hurt your hand! said Antia gently. Let me bind it up. The hand was indeed bleeding rather badly. The Samyad e'er crept back to its bag. All the children were very white. Never again! said the Samyad later on. Will I go into the past? With a grown-up person? I will say for you four. You do do as you're told. He didn't even find the amulet. said Antia later still. Of course you didn't. It wasn't there. Only the stone it was made of was there. It fell onto a ship miles away that managed to escape and got to Egypt. I could have told you that. I wish you had, said Antia, and her voice was still rather shaky. Why didn't you? You never asked me. said the Samyad very silkily. I'm not the sort of chap that goes shoving my oar in when it's not wanted. Mr. Chigimi's friend will have something worth having to put in his article now. It's at Cyril very much later indeed. Not he, said Robert sleepily, and the learned chigimi will think it's a dream, and it's ten to one he never tells you the chap a word about it at all. Robert was quite right on both points. The learned gentleman did, and he never did. End of chapter nine Recording by Porick Chapter ten of the story of the Amulet This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Porick Chapter ten The Little Black Girl and Julius Caesar A great city swept away by the sea, a beautiful country devastated by an active volcano. These are not the sort of things you see every day of the week. And when you do see them, no matter how many other wonders you may have seen in your time, such sights are rather apt to take your breath away. Atlantis had certainly had this effect on the breaths of Cyril, Robert, Anthea and Jane. They remained in a breathless state for some days. The learner-gentleman seemed as breathless as any one. He spent a good deal of what little breath he had in telling Anthea about a wonderful dream he had. You would hardly believe, he said, that any one could have such a detailed vision. But Anthea could believe it, she said, quite easily. He had seized to talk about thought-transference. He had now seen too many wonders to believe that. In consequence of their breathless condition none of the children suggested any new excursions through the amulet. Robert voiced the mood of the others when he said they were fed up with the amulet for a bit. They undoubtedly were. As for the Samyad, it went to sand and stayed there, worn out by the terror of the flood and the violent exercise it had to take in obedience to the inconsiderate wishes of the learned gentleman and the Babylonian queen. The children let it sleep. The danger of taking it out among strange people who might at any moment utter undesirable wishes was becoming more and more plain. And there are pleasant things to be done in London, but at any aid from amulets or Samyads, you can, for instance, visit the Tower of London, the Houses of Parliament, the National Gallery, the Zoological Gardens, the various parks, the Museums at South Kensington, Madame Tussaud's exhibition of waxworks or the Botanical Gardens at Kew. You can go to Kew by River Steamer, and this is the way that the children would have gone if they had gone at all. Only they never did, because it was when they were discussing the arrangements for the journey and what they should take with them to eat and how much of it and what the whole thing would cost that the adventure of the little black girl began to happen. The children were sitting on a seat in St. James's Park. They had been watching the pelican repulsing with careful dignity the advances of the seagulls who were always so anxious to play games with it. The pelican thinks, very properly, that it hasn't the figure for games. So it spends most of its time pretending that that is not the reason why it won't play. The breathlessness caused by Atlantis was wearing off a little. Cyril, who always wanted to understand all about everything, was turning things over in his mind. I'm not. I'm only thinking," he answered when Robert asked him what he was so grumpy about. I'll tell you when I've thought it all out. If it's about the amulet, I don't want to hear it," said Jane. Nobody asked you to," retorted Cyril mildly, and I haven't finished my insight thinking about it yet. Let's go to Q in the meantime. I'd rather go on a steamer," said Robert, and the girls laughed. That's right," said Cyril. Be funny, I would. Well, he was rather," said Anthea. I wouldn't think, Squirrel, if it hurts you so," said Robert kindly. Oh, shut up," said Cyril, or else talk about Q. I want to see the palms there," said Anthea hastily, to see if there are anything like the ones on the island where we united a cook and the burglar by the reverent half-curate. All disagreeableness was swept away in a pleasant tide of recollections. And, do you remember," they said, have you forgotten? My hat," remarked Cyril pensively, as the flood of reminiscence ebbed a little. We have had some times. We have that," said Robert. Don't let's have any more," said Jane anxiously. That's what I was thinking about," Cyril replied, and just then they heard the little black girl sniff. She was quite close to them. She was not really a little black girl. She was shabby and not very clean, and she had been crying so much that you could hardly see, through the narrow chink between her swollen lids, how very blue her eyes were. It was her dress that was black, and it was too big and too long for her. And she wore a speckled black ribbon sailor-hash that would have fitted a much bigger head than her little flaxen one. And she stood looking at the children and sniffing. Oh, dear! said Anthea, jumping up. Whatever is the matter! She put her hand on the little girl's arm. It was rudely shaken off. You leave me be! said the little girl. I ain't doing nothing to you! But what is it? Anthea asked. Has someone been hurting you? What's that to you? said the little girl fiercely. You're all right! Come away! said Robert, pulling at Anthea's sleeve. She's a nasty, rude little kid. Oh, no! said Anthea. She's only dreadfully unhappy. What is it? she asked again. Oh, you're all right! the child repeated. You ain't to go into the union! Can't we take you home? said Anthea. And Jane added, where does your mother live? She don't live nowheres! She's dead! so now! Said the little girl fiercely in tones of miserable triumph. Then she opened her swollen eyes widely, stamped her foot in fury, and ran away. She ran no further than to the next bench. Flung herself down there, and began to cry without even trying not to. Anthea, quite at once, went to the little girl and put her arms as tight as she could around the hunched-up black figure. Oh, don't cry so dear! don't! don't! She whispered under the brim of the large sailor hat, now very crooked indeed. Tell Anthea all about it. Anthea will help you. There, there, dear, don't cry! The other stood at a distance. One or two passers-by stared curiously. The child was now only crying part of the time. The rest of the time she seemed to be talking to Anthea. Presently, Anthea beckoned sorrow. It's horrible! she said in a furious whisper. Her father was a carpenter, and he was a steady man, and never touched a drop, except on a Saturday, and he came up to London for work, but he wasn't, Ani, and then he died. And her name is Imogen, and she's nine come next November, and now her mother's dead, and she's to stay tonight with Mrs. Shrobsall. That's a landlady that's been kind, and tomorrow the relieving officer's coming for her, and she's going into the union. That means the workhouse. It's too terrible! What can we do? Let's ask the learned gentleman. So Jane brightly. And as no one else could think of anything better, the whole party walked back to Fitzroy Street as fast as it could, the little girl holding tight to Anthea's hand and now not crying any more, only sniffing gently. The learned gentleman looked up from his writing with a smile that had grown much easier to him than it used to be. They were quite at home in his room now. It really seemed to welcome them. Even the mummy case appeared to smile as if in its distant superior ancient Egyptian way it would rather please to see them than not. Anthea sat on the stairs with Imogen. He was nine come next November, while the others went in and explained the difficulty. The learned gentleman listened with grave attention. It really does seem rather rough luck. So concluded, because I've often heard about rich people who wanted children most awfully, though I know I never should. They do. There must be somebody who'd be glad to have her. Gypsies are awfully fond of children, Robert hopefully said. They're always dealing them. Perhaps they'd have her. She's quite a nice little girl, really, Jane added. She was only rude at first but we looked jolly and happy and she wasn't. You understand that, don't you? Yes, said he, absently fingering a little blue image from Egypt. I understand that very well. As you say, there must be some home where she would be welcome. He scowled thoughtfully at the little blue image. And the outside thought the explanation was taking a very long time. She was so busy trying to cheer and comfort the little black girl that she never noticed the Samyad, who, roused from sleep by her voice, had shaken itself free of sand and was coming crookedly up the stairs. It was close to her before she saw it. She picked it up and settled it in her lap. Who is it? asked the black child. Is it a cat or an organ monkey or what? And then Auntie heard the learned gentlemen say, Yes, I wish we could find a home where they would be glad to have her. And instantly she felt the Samyad begin to blow itself out as it sat on her lap. She jumped up lifting the Samyad in her skirt and holding image in by the hand, rushed into the learned gentlemen's room. At least let's keep together, she cried. All hold hands, quick! The circle was like that formed for the mulberry bush or ring of roses. And Auntie was only able to take part in it by holding in her teeth the hem of her frock, which, thus supported, formed a bag to hold the Samyad. Is it a game? asked the learned gentlemen feebly. No one answered. There was a moment of suspense. Then came that curious upside-down inside-out sensation, which one almost always feels when transported from one place to another by magic. Also there was that dizzy dimness of sight which comes on these occasions. The mist cleared, the upside-down inside-out sensation subsided, and there stood the six in a ring, as before, only their twelve feet, instead of standing in the carpet of the learned gentlemen's room, stood on green grass. Above them, instead of the dusky ceiling of the Fitzroy Street floor, was a pale blue sky, and where the walls had been in the painted mummy-case, were tall, dark green trees, oaks and ashes, and in between the trees and under them tangled bushes and creeping ivy. There were beach-trees, too, but there was nothing under them, but their own dead red-drifted leaves, and here and there a delicate green fern frond. And there they stood in a circle, still holding hands, as though they were playing ring of roses or the mulberry-bush, just six people hand in hand in a wood. That sounds simple, but then you must remember that they did not know where the wood was, and what's more, they didn't know when the wood was. There was a curious sort of feeling that made the learned gentlemen say, Another dream, dear me! and made the children almost certain that they were in a time a very long while ago. As for little Imogen, she said, Oh, my! and kept her mouth very much open indeed. Where are we? Searle asked the Samyad. In Britain, said the Samyad. But when, asked Anthea anxiously, About a year fifty-five before the year you reckon time from? said the Samyad crossly. Is there anything else you want to know? It added, sticking its head out of the bag formed by Anthea's blue linen frock, and turning its snail's eyes to right and left. I've been here before. It's very little changed. Yes, but why here? asked Anthea. You're inconsiderate friend! the Samyad replied. Wish to find some home, whether would be glad to have that unattractive and immature female human being whom you have picked up? Gracious knows how. In Megatherium days properly brought up children, didn't talk to shabby strangers in parks. Your thoughtless friend wanted a place where someone would be glad to have this undesirable stranger. And now here you are. I see we are, said Anthea patiently, looking round on the tall gloom of the forest. But why here? Why now? You don't suppose anyone would want a child like that in your times? In your towns? said the Samyad in irritated tones. You've got your country into such a mess, that there's no room for half your children, and no one to want them. That's not how we're doing, you know, said Anthea gently. And bringing me here without any waterproof or anything? Said the Samyad still more crossly, when everyone knows how damp and foggy ancient Britain was. Here, take my coat, said Robert, taking it off. Anthea spread the coat on the ground, and putting the Samyad on it, folded it round so that only the eyes and furry ears showed. There, she said comfortingly. Now, if it does begin to look like rain, I can cover you up in a minute. Now what are we to do? The others who had stopped holding hands crowded round to hear the answer to this question. Imogen whispered in an odd tone. Can't the organ monkey talk nada? I thought it was only parrots. Do! replied the Samyad. I don't care what you do! And it drew head and ears into the tweed covering of Robert's coat. The others looked at each other. It's only a dream! said the learned gentleman, hopefully. Something is sure to happen if we can prevent ourselves from waking up. And sure enough, something did. The brooding silence of the dark forest was broken by the laughter of children and the sound of voices. Let's go and see, said Cyril. It's only a dream! said the learned gentleman to Jane, who hung back. If you don't go with the tide of a dream, if you resist, you wake up, you know. There was a sort of break in the undergrowth that was like a silly person's idea of a path. They went along this an Indian file, the learned gentleman leading. Quite soon they came to a large clearing in the forest. There were a number of houses, huts perhaps you would have called them, but a sort of mud-and-wood fence. It's like the old Egyptian town! whispered Antia. And it was, rather. Some children, with no clothes on at all, were playing what looked like Ring of Roses or Mulberry Bush. That is to say, they were dancing round in a ring, holding hands. On a grassy bank several women, dressed in blue and white robes and tunics of bee-skins, sat watching the playing children. The children from Fitzroy Street stood in the fringe of the forest looking at the games. One woman with long, fair braided hair sat a little apart from the others, and there was a look in her eyes as she followed the play of the children that made Antia feel sad and sorry. None of those little girls is her own little girl, thought Antia. The little black-clad London child pulled at Antia's sleeve. Look! she said. And that one there! She's precious like mother. Mother's hair was something lovely when she had time to comb it out. Mother wouldn't never have beat me if she'd lived here. I don't suppose there's year in public nearer than Epping. Do you miss? In her eagerness the child that stepped out of the shelter of the forest. The sad-eyed woman saw her. She stood up, her thin face lightened up with a radiance like sunrise. Her long, lean arms stretched towards the London child. Imogen! She cried. At least the word was more like that than any other word. Imogen! There was a moment of great silence. The naked children paused in their play. The women and the banks stared anxiously. Oh! it is mother! it is! cried Imogen from London and rushed across the cleared space. She and her mother clung together so closely, so strongly that they stood in instant like a statue carved in stone. Then the women crowded round. It is my Imogen! cried the woman. Oh! it is! and she wasn't eaten by wolves. She's come back to me. Tell me, my darling, how did you escape? Where have you been? Who has fed and clothed you? I don't know nothing! said Imogen. Poor child! whispered the women who crowded round. One of the wolves has turned her brain. But you know me! said the fair-haired woman. And Imogen clinging with black-clothed arms to the bare-neck answered, Oh! yes, mother! I know you, Rotnoth! What is it? What do they say? the learned gentleman asked anxiously. You wish to come where someone wanted a child? said the Samyad. The child says this is her mother. And the mother? You can see. said the Samyad. What is she really? her child, I mean. Who knows? said the Samyad. But each one fills the empty place in the other's heart. It is enough. Who? said the learned gentleman. This is a good dream. I wish the child might stay in the dream. The Samyad blew itself out and granted the wish. So Imogen's future was assured. She had found someone to want her. If only all the children that no one wants began to learn a gentleman. But the woman interrupted. She came towards them. Welcome all! she cried. I am the queen. And my child tells me that you have befriended her. And this I well believe, looking on your faces. Your garb is strange. Faces I can read. Child is bewitched. I see that well. But in this she speaks truth. Is it not so? The children said it wasn't worth mentioning. I wish you could have seen all the honors and kindness as lavished on the children and the learned gentleman by those ancient Britons. You would have thought to see them that a child was something to make a fuss about, not a bit of rubbish to be hustled about the streets and hidden away in the workhouse. It wasn't as grand as the entertainment at Babylon. But somehow it was more satisfying. I think you children have had some wonderful influence on me. So the learned gentleman. I never dreamed such dreams before I knew you. It was when they were alone that night under the stars where the Britons had spread a heap of dried fern for them to sleep on, that Cyril spoke. Well, he said, we've made it all right for Imogen and had a jolly good time. I vote to get home again before the fighting begins. What fighting? Why Julius Caesar, you little goat? replied her kind brother. Don't you see that if this is the year 55, Julius Caesar may happen at any moment. I thought you like Caesar, said Robert. So I do in the history. But that's different from being killed by his soldiers. If we saw Caesar, we might persuade him not to. You persuade Caesar! Robert laughed. The learned gentleman, before anyone could stop him, said, I only wish we could see Caesar some time. And, of course, in just the little time the Samyet took to blow itself out for wish-giving, the five or six counting the Samyet found themselves in Caesar's camp, just outside Caesar's tent, and they saw Caesar. The Samyet must have taken advantage of the loose wording of the learned gentleman's wish, for it was not the same time of day as that on which the wish had been uttered among the dried ferns. It was sunset, and the great man sat on a chair outside his tent gazing over the sea towards Britain. Everyone knew without being told that it was towards Britain. Two golden eagles on the top of posts stood on each side of the tent, and on the flaps of the tent, which was very gorgeous to look at, were the letters SPQR. The great man turned unchanged on the newcomers the august glance that he turned on the violet waters of the Channel. Though they had suddenly appeared out of nothing, Caesar never showed by the faintest movement of an eyelid the least tightening of that firm mouth that they were not some long expected embassy. He waved a calm hand towards the sentinels, who sprang weapons and hand towards the newcomers. Back, he said in a voice that thrilled like music, since when has Caesar feared children and students? To the children he seemed to speak in the only language they knew, but the learned gentleman heard in rather strange accent, but quite intelligibly, the lips of Caesar speaking in the Latin tongue, and in that tongue, and little stiffly, he answered, It is a dream, O Caesar. A dream, repeated Caesar. What is a dream? This, said the learned gentleman. Not it, said Cyril. It's a sort of magic. We come out of another time in another place. And we want to ask you not to trouble about conquering Britain, said Antia. It's a poor little place, not worth bothering about. Are you from Britain? the general asked. Your clothes aren't coot, but well woven. Your hair is short as the hair of Roman citizens, not long like the hair of barbarians. Yet such I deem you to be. We're not, said Jane, with angry eagerness. We're not barbarians at all. We come from the country where the sun never sets, and we've read about you in books, and our country's full of fine things. St. Paul's, and the Tower of London, and Madame Tussaud's exhibition, and... Then the others stopped her. Don't talk nonsense, said Robert in a bitter undertone. Caesar looked at the children a moment in silence. Then he called a soldier and spoke with him apart. Then he said aloud, You three elder children may go where you will within the camp. Few children are privileged to see the camp of Caesar. The student and the smaller girl child will remain here with me. Nobody liked this, but when Caesar said the thing, that thing was so, and there was an end to it. So the three went. Left alone with Jane and the learned gentleman, the great Roman found it easy enough to turn them inside out. But it was not easy, even for him, to make head or tail of the insides of their minds when he'd got at them. The learned gentleman insisted that the whole thing was a dream, and refused to talk much. On the ground that if he did, he would wake up. Jane, closely questioned, was full of information about railways, electric lights, balloons, men of war, cannons, and dynamite. And do they fight with swords? asked the general. Yes, swords, and guns, and cannons. Caesar wanted to know what guns were. You fire them, said Jane, and they go bang, and people fall down dead. But what are guns like? Jane found them hard to describe. But Robert is a toy-win in his pocket, she said. So the others were recalled. The boys explained the pistol to Caesar very fully, and he looked at it with the greatest interest. It was a two-shilling pistol, the one that had done such good service in the old Egyptian village. I shall cause guns to be made, said Caesar, and you will be detained till I know whether you have spoken the truth. I had just decided that Britain was not worth the bother of invading. But what you tell me decides me that it is very much worthwhile. But it's all nonsense, said Antia. Britain is just a savage sort of island, all fogs and trees and big rivers. But the people are kind. We know a little girl there named Imogen. And it's no use you're making guns because you can't fire them at our gunpowder, and that won't be invented for hundreds of years. And we don't know how to make it, and we can't tell you. Do go straight home, dear Caesar, and let poor little Britain alone. But this other girl-child says, said Caesar, all Jane's telling you is what it's going to be. Antia interrupted hundreds and hundreds of years from now. The little one is a prophetess, eh? said Caesar, with a whimsical look, rather young for the business. Isn't she? You can call her prophetess if you like, said Cyril. But what Antia says is true. Antia, said Caesar, that's a Greek name. Very likely, said Cyril wordly. I say I do wish you'd give up this idea of conquering Britain. It's not worthwhile, really it isn't. On the contrary, said Caesar, what you've told me has decided me to go, if it's only to find out what Britain is really like. Guards, detain these children. Quick, said Robert, before the guards begin detaining we had enough of that in Babylon. Jane held up the amulet away from the sunset and said the word. The learned gentlemen must push through and the others more quickly than ever before pass through the arch back into their own times and the quite dusty sitting room of the learned gentlemen. It is a curious fact that when Caesar was encamped on the coast of Gaul, somewhere near Bologna it was, I believe, he was sitting before his tent in the glow of the sunset looking out over the violet waters of the English Channel. Suddenly he started, rubbed his eyes and called a secretary. The young man came quickly from within the tent. Marcus, said Caesar, I have dreamed a very wonderful dream. Some of it I forget, but I remember enough to decide what was not before determined. Tomorrow the ships that have been brought round from the Legerus shall be provisioned. We shall sail for this three-cornered island. First we will take but two legions. This, if what we have heard be true, should suffice. But if my dream be true, then a hundred legions will not suffice, for the dream I dreamed was the most wonderful that ever tormented the brain of even Caesar. And Caesar has dreamed some strange things in his time. And if you hadn't told Caesar all that about how things are now, he'd never have invaded Britain," said Robert and Jane as they sat down to tea. Oh, nonsense! said Anthea, pouring out. It was all settled hundreds of years ago. I don't know, said Cyril. Jam please. This about time being only a thing of me of thought is very confusing. If everything happens at the same time, it can't," said Anthea stoutly. The presence, the presence, and the past, the past. Not always," said Cyril. When we were in the past the present was the future. Now then," he added triumphantly, and Anthea could not deny it. I should like to have seen more of the camp," said Robert. Yes, we didn't get much for our money. But Imogen is happy, that's one thing. Said Anthea, we left her happy in the past. I've often seen about people being happy in the past, in poetry books. I see what it means now. It's not a bad idea," said the Samyad sleepily, putting its head out of its bag and taking it in again suddenly. Being left in the past. Chapter 11 Before Pharaoh It was the day after the adventure of Julius Caesar and the little black girl, that Cyril, bursting into the bathroom to wash his hands for dinner, you have no idea how dirty they were, for he had been playing shipwrecked mariners all the morning on the leads at the back of the house, where the water's sister-in-is. Anthea found Anthea leaning her elbows on the edge of the bath and crying steadily into it. Hello," he said with brotherly concern. What's up now? Dinner will be cold before you've got enough salt water for a bath. Go away," said Anthea fiercely. I hate you! I hate everybody! There was a stricken pause. I didn't know," said Cyril tamely. No one ever does know anything, subbed Anthea. I didn't know you were waxy. I thought you'd just touch your fingers with a tap again like you did last week. Cyril carefully explained. Oh, fingers! sneered Anthea through her sniffs. Here, drop it, Panther, he said uncomfortably. You haven't been having a row or anything? No," she said. What you're horrid hands, for goodness' sake, if that's what you came for! Or go!" Anthea was so seldom crossed that when she was crossed the others were almost more surprised than angry. Cyril edged along the side of the bath and stood beside her. He put his hand on her arm. Try up, do," he said, rather tenderly for him. And, finding that although she did not at once take his advice, she did not seem to resent it, he put his arm awkwardly across her shoulders and rubbed his head against her ear. There, he said, in the tone of one administering a priceless cure for all possible sorrows. Now, what's up? I promise you won't laugh. I don't feel laughish myself," said Cyril dismally. Well then, said Anthea, leaning her ear against his head. It's mother. What's the matter with mother? As Cyril was an apparent want of sympathy. She was all right in her nether this morning. Yes, but I want her so. You're not the only one," said Cyril briefly, and the privacy of his tone admitted a good deal. Oh, yes, said Anthea. I know. We all want her all the time, but I want her now most dreadfully awfully much. I never wanted anything so much. That image in child, the way the ancient British cream coddled her up, and image in me and the queen must mother. And then her latter this morning, and about the lamb liking the salt bathing, and she baited him in this very bath the night before she went away. Cyril thumped her on the back. Cheer up, he said. You know my inside thinking I was doing. Well, that was partly about mother. We'll soon get her back. If you'll chuck it like a sensible kid, and wash your face, I'll tell you about it. That's right. You let me get to the tap. Can't you stop crying? Shall I put a door-key down your back? That's for noses," said Anthea, and I'm not a kid any more than you are. But she laughed a little, and her mouth began to get back into its proper shape. You know what an odd shape your mouth gets into when you cry in earnest. Look here, said Cyril, working the soap round and round between his hands and a thick slime of grey soap suds. I've been thinking. We've only just played with the amulet so far. We've got to work it now. Work it for all it's worth. And it isn't only mother, either. There's father out there among all the fighting. I don't howl about it, but I think. Oh, bothered soap! The grey-lined soap had squirted out under the pressure of his fingers, and had hit Anthea's chin with as much force as though it had been shot from a catapult. There now, she said regretfully. Now I shall have to wash my face. You'd have had to do that anyway, said Cyril, with conviction. Now, my idea's this. You know, missionaries. Yes, said Anthea. You did not know a single one. Well, they always take the savages' beads and brandy and stays and hats and braces and really useful things. Things the savages haven't got and never heard about, and the savages love them for divine generousness and give them pearls and shells and ivories and casseries. And that's the way. Wait a sec, said Anthea, splashing. I can't hear what you're saying. Shells and? Shells and things like that. The great thing is to get people to love you by being generous. And that's what we've got to do. Next time we go into the past, we'll regularly fit out the expedition. You remember how the Babylonian queen froze onto that pocket-book? Well, we'll take things like that and offer them an exchange for a size of the amulet. A size of it's not much good. No, silly, but don't you see, when we've seen it, we'll soon know where it is. And we can go and take it in the night when everybody's asleep. It wouldn't be stealing, would it? said Anthea thoughtfully, because it will be such an awfully long time ago when we do it. Oh, there's that bell again! As soon as dinner was eaten, it was tin salmon and lettuce and a jam tart, and the cloth cleared away, the idea was explained to the others, and the Samyad was aroused from sand and asked what it thought would be good merchandise of which to buy the affection of, say, the ancient Egyptians, and whether it thought the amulet was likely to be found in the court of the pharaoh. But it shook its head, and it shot out its snail's eyes hopelessly. I'm not allowed to play in this game, it said. Of course I could find out in a minute where the thing was, only I meant. But I may go so far as to own that your idea of taking things with you isn't a bad one. And I shouldn't show them all at once. Take small things and conceal them craftily about your person. This advice seemed good. Soon the table was littered over with things which the children thought likely to interest the ancient Egyptians. Anthea brought dolls, puzzle blocks, a wooden tea-service, a green leather case, with, necessary, written on it in gold letters, and Emma had once given it to Anthea, and it had then contained scissors, pen-knife, bodkin, stiletto, thimble, corkscrew, and glove-buttoner. The scissors-knife and thimble and pen-knife were, of course, lost. But the other things were there, and as good as new. Cyril contributed lead soldiers, a cannon, a catapult, a tin-opener, a tie-clip, and a tennis-ball, and a padlock. No key. Robert collected a candle. I don't suppose they ever saw a self-fitting paraffin one, he said. A penny Japanese pin-tray, a rubber stamp with his father's name and a dress on it, and a piece of putty. Jane added a key-ring, the brass handle of a poker, a pot that had held cold cream, a smoked pearl button off her winter coat, and a key, no lock. We can't take off this rubbish, said Robert, with some scorn. We must just each choose one thing. The afternoon passed very agreeably in the attempt to choose from the table the four most suitable objects. But the four children could not agree on what was suitable, and at last Cyril said, Look here! Let's each be blindfolded and reach out, and the first thing you touch you stick to. This was done. Cyril touched the padlock. Anthea got the necessary. Robert clutched the candle. Jane picked up the tie-clip. It's not much, she said. I don't believe ancient Egyptians wore ties. Never mind, said Anthea. I believe it's luckier not to really choose. In the stories it's always the thing the woodcutter's son picks up in the forest and almost throws away because he thinks it's no good. It turns out to be the magic thing in the end. Or else someone's lost it, and he's rewarded with the hand of the king's daughter in marriage. I don't want any hands in marriage, thank you! said Cyril firmly. Nor yet me, said Robert. It's always the end of the adventures when it comes in the marriage hands. Are we ready? said Anthea. It is Egypt we're going to, isn't it? Nice Egypt! said Jane. I won't go anywhere I don't know about, like that dreadful big wavy burning mountain city, she insisted. Then this amiod was coaxed into its bag. I say, said Cyril suddenly, I'm rather sick of kings, and people notice you so in palaces. Besides, the amulets sure to be in a temple. Let's just go among the common people and try to work ourselves up by degrees. We might get taken on as temple assistants, like Beatles, said Anthea, or Vergers. They must have splendid chances of stealing the temple treasures. Right so, was the general rejoinder. The charm was held up. It grew big once again, and once again the warm gold and eastern light glowed softly beyond it. As the children stepped through it, loud and furious voices rang in their ears. They went suddenly from the quiet of Fitzroy Street dining-room into a very angry eastern crowd, a crowd much too angry to notice them. They edged through it to the wall of a house and stood there. The crowd was of men, women and children. They revolved sorts of complexions, and pictures of them might have been coloured by any child with a shilling paint-box. The colours that child would have used for complexions would have been yellow ochre, red ochre, light red, sepia, and Indian ink, but their faces were painted already, black eyebrows and lashes, and some red lips. The women wore a sort of pinafore with shoulder straps, and loose things wound round their heads and shoulders. The men wore very little clothing, for they were the working people, and the Egyptian boys and girls wore nothing at all, unless you count the little ornaments hung on chains round their necks and wastes. The children saw all this before they could hear anything distinctly. Everyone was shouting so, but a voice sounded above the other voices, and presently it was speaking in a silence. Comrades and fellow-workers! It said, and it was the voice of a tall, coppery-coloured man who had climbed into a chariot that had been stopped by the crowd. Its owner had bolted, muttering something about calling the guards, and now the man spoke from it. Comrades and fellow-workers! How long are we to endure the tyranny of our masters, who live in idleness and luxury on the fruit of our toil? They only give us a bare subsistence wage, and they live on the fat of the land. We labour all our lives to keep them in wanton luxury. Let us make an end of it! A roar of applause answered him. How are you going to do it? cried a voice. You look out! cried another. Well, you'll get yourself into trouble! I've heard almost every single word of the house, whispered Robert, in Hyde Park last Sunday. Let us strike for more bread and onions and beer, and a longer midday rest! The speaker went on. You are tired. You are hungry. You are thirsty. You are poor. Your wives and children are pining for food. The barns of the rich are full to bursting with corn we want. The corn our labour has grown. To the granaries! To the granaries! cried half the crowd, but another voice shouted clear above the tumult. To Pharaoh! to the king! Let's present a petition to the king! He will listen to the voice of the oppressed! For a moment the crowd swayed one way and another, first towards the granaries and then towards the palace. Then, but a rush like that of an imprisoned torrent suddenly set free, it surged along the street towards the palace, and the children were carried with it. And they found it difficult to keep the Samyad from being squeezed very uncomfortably. The crowd swept to the streets of dull-looking houses with few windows, very high up, across the market where people were not buying but exchanging goods. In a momentary pause, Robert saw a basket of onions exchanged for a hair comb and five fish for a string of beads. The people in the market seemed better off than those in the crowd. They had finer clothes and more of them. They were the kind of people who nowadays would have lived at Brixton or Broxley. What's the trouble now? A languid, large-eyed lady in a crimped, half-transparent linen dress, with her black hair very much braided and puffed out, asked of a date-seller. Oh, the working men! Discontented as usual! The man answered, Listen to them! Anyone would think it mattered whether they had a little more or less to eat. Dregs of society! said the date-seller. Scum! said the lady. And I've heard that before, too! said Robert. At that moment the voice of the crowd changed from anger to doubt, from doubt to fear. There were other voices shouting. They shouted defiance and menace, and they came nearer very quickly. There was the rattle of wheels and the pounding of hoofs. The voice shouted, Guards! The Guards! The Guards! shouted another voice, and the crowd of workmen took up the cry. The Guards! Pharaoh's Guards! And swaying a little once more, the crowd hung for a moment as it were balanced. Then as the trampling hoofs came nearer, the workmen fled dispersed, up alleys and into the courts of houses, and the guards and their embossed leather chariots wept down the street of the gallop, their wheels clattering over the stones, and their dark-coloured blue tunics blown open and back with the wind of their going. So that riots over! said the crimped linen-dressed lady. That's a blessing! And did you notice the captain of the guard? What a very handsome man he was, to be sure! The four children had taken advantage of the moment's pause before the crowd turned to fly, to edge themselves and drag each other into an arched doorway. Now they each drew a long breath and looked at the others. We're well at that, said Cyril. Yes, said Anthea, but I do wish the poor men hadn't been driven back before they could get to the king. He might have done something for them. Not if he was the one in the Bible he wouldn't, said Jane, he had a hard heart. Ah, that was the Moses one, Anthea explained. The Joseph one was quite different. I should like to see Pharaoh's house. I wonder if it's like the Egyptian court in the Crystal Palace. I thought we decided to try and get taken on in a temple, said Cyril in injured tones. But we've got to get to know some one first. Couldn't we make friends with a temple doorkeeper? We might give him the padlock or something. I wonder which are temples and which are palaces? Robert added, glancing across the marketplace to wear an enormous gateway with huge side buildings towered towards the sky. To right and left of it were other buildings only a little less magnificent. Did you wish to seek out the temple of Amunurah? Asked a soft voice behind them, or the temple of Mut or the temple of Khansu. They turned to find beside them a young man. He was shaved clean from head to foot and on his feet were light papyrus sandals. He was clothed in a linen tunic of white embroidered heavily in colours. He was gay with ankles, bracelets and armlets of gold, richly in nade. He wore a ring in his finger, and he had a short jacket of golden broodry, something like the Zhua of soldiers were. And on his neck was a gold collar with many amulets hanging from it. But among the amulets the children could see none like theirs. It doesn't matter which temple, is it so frankly? Tell me your mission, said the young man. I am a divine father of the temple of Amunurah, and perhaps I can help you. Well, said Cyril, we have come from the great emperor in which the sun never sets. I thought perhaps you had come from some odd out-of-the-way spot, so the priest would court to see. And we've seen a good many palaces, and we thought we should like to see a temple for a change, said Robert. The Samyad stirred on easily in its embroidered bag. Have you brought gifts to the temple? asked the priest cautiously. We have got some gifts, said Cyril with equal caution. You see this magic can be mixed up in it, so we can't tell you everything, but we don't want to give our case for nothing. Beware how you insult the god, said the priest sternly. I also can do magic. I can make a wax an image of you, and I can say words, which as the wax image melts before the fire will make you dwindle away, and at the last perish miserably. Poo! said Cyril stoutly. That's nothing I can make fire itself. I should jolly well like to see you do it, said the priest unbelievingly. Well, you shall, said Cyril, nothing easier. Just stand close round me. Do you need no preparation, no fasting, no incantations? The priest's tone was incredulous. The incantations quite short, said Cyril, taking the hint, and as for fasting, it's not needed in my kind of magic. Union Jack, printing press, gunpowder. Rule Britannia, come fire at the end of this little stick. He had pulled a match from his pocket, and as he ended the incantation which contained no words that it seemed likely the Egyptian had ever heard, he stooped in the little crowd of his relations and the priest, and struck the match in his boot. He stood up, shielding the flame at one hand. See, he said, with modest pride, here, take it into your hand. No, thank you, said the priest swiftly backing. Can you do that again? Yes. Then come with me to the great double house of Pharaoh. He loves good magic, and he will raise you to honour and glory. There's no need of secrets between initiates, he went on confidentially. The fact is, I am out of favour at present, owing to a little matter of failure of prophecy. I told him a beautiful princess would be sent to him from Syria. And lo, a woman thirty years old arrived, but she was a beautiful woman not so long ago. Time is only a mode of thought, you know. The children thrill to the familiar words. So you know that too, do you? said Cyril. It is part of the mystery of all magic. Is it not? said the priest. Now, if I bring you to Pharaoh, the little unpleasantness I spoke of will be forgotten. And I will ask Pharaoh, the great house, son of the sun, the lord of the south and the north, to decree that you shall lodge in the temple. Then you can have a good look around and teach me your magic. And I will teach you mine. This idea seemed good. At least it was better than any other which at that moment occurred to anybody. So they followed the priest through the city. The streets are very narrow and dirty. The best houses, the priest explained, were built within walls twenty to twenty-five feet high, and such windows as showed in the walls were very high up. The tops of palm trees showed above the walls. The poor people's houses were little square huts with a door and two windows, and smoke coming out of a hole in the back. The poor Egyptians haven't improved so very much in their building since the first time they came to Egypt, whispered Cyril to Anthea. The roofs were roofed with palm branches, and everywhere there were chickens and goats and little naked children kicking about in yellow dust. On one roof was a goat who had climbed up and was eating the dry palm leaves with snorts and head tossings of delight. Over every house was some sort of figure or shape. Hamulates, the priest explained, to keep off the evil eye. I don't think much of your nice Egypt, Robert whispered to Jane. It's simply not a patch on Babylon. Oh, wait till you see the palace! Jane whispered back. The palace was indeed much more magnificent than anything they'd yet seen that day, though it would have made but a poor show beside that of the Babylonian king. They came to it through a great square pillar doorway of sandstone that stood in a high brick wall. The shut doors were of massive cedar with bronze hinges and were studded with bronze nails. At the side was a little door and a wicked gate, and through this the priest led the children. He seemed to know a word that made the centuries make way for him. Inside was a garden, planted at hundreds of different kinds of trees and flowering shrubs, a lake full of fish with blue lotus flowers at the margin, and ducks swimming about cheerfully and looking, as Jane said, quite modern. The guard chamber, the storehouses, the queen's house, said the priest, pointing them out. They passed through open courtyards paved with flat stones, and the priest whispered to a guard at a great inner gate. We are fortunate, he said to the children, Pharaoh is even now in the court of honour. Now, don't forget to be overcome with respect and admiration. It won't do any harm if you fall flat on your faces. And whatever you do, don't speak until you're spoken to. There used to be a rule like that in our country, said Robert, when my father was a little boy. At the outer end of the great hall a crowd of people were arguing with and even shoving the guards, who seemed to make it a rule not to let anyone through because they were bribed to do it. The children heard several promises of the utmost richness and wondered whether they would ever be kept. All around the hall were pillars of painted wood. The roof was of cedar, gorgeously innaid. About half way up the hall was a wide shallow step that went right across the hall and a little farther on another, and then a steep flight of narrower steps, leading right up to the throne on which Pharaoh sat. He sat there very splendid, his red and white double crown on his head and his scepter in his hand. The throne had a canopy of wood and wooden pillars painted in bright colours, and a low broad bench that ran all round the hall sat the friends, relatives and courtiers of the king, leaning on richly covered cushions. The priests led the children up the steps till they all stood before the throne, and then suddenly he fell on his face with hands outstretched. The others did the same, and they were falling very carefully because of the Samyad. Raise them, said the voice of Pharaoh, that they may speak to me. The officers of the king's household raised them. Who are these strangers? Pharaoh asked and added very crossly. And what do you mean, Raka Mara, by daring to come into my presence, while your innocence is not established? O great king, said the young priest, you are the very image of Ra, and the likeness of his son Horus in every respect. You know the thoughts of the hearts of the gods and of men, and you have divine that these strangers are the children of the children of the vile and conquered kings of the empire where the sun never sets. They know a magic not known to the Egyptians, and they come with gifts in their hands as tribute to Pharaoh, in whose heart is the wisdom of the gods, and on his lips their truth. That is all very well, said the Pharaoh. But where are the gifts? The children, bowing as well as they could in their embarrassment at finding themselves a centre of interest in a circle more grand, more golden and more highly coloured than they could have imagined possible, pulled out the padlock, the neccesare, and the tie-clip. But it's not tribute all the same, so muttered, England doesn't pay tribute. Pharaoh examined all the things with great interest when the chief of the household had taken them up to him, delivered them to the keeper of the treasury. He said to one near him, and to the children he said, a small tribute truly, but strange, and not without worth. And the magic, Rechmara? These unworthy sons of a conquered nation began Rechmara, nothing of the kind, whispered Cyril Angreny, of a vile and conquered nation can make fire to spring from dry wood in the sight of all. I should jolly well like to see them do it, said Pharaoh, just as the priest had done. So Cyril, without more ado, did it. Do more magic, said the king, with simple appreciation. He cannot do any more magic, said Antias suddenly, and all eyes were turned on her, because of the voice of the free people who were shouting for bread and onions and beer, and a long midday rest. If the people had what they wanted, he could do more. A rude spoken girl, said Pharaoh, but give the dogs what they want, he said, without turning his head. Let them have their rest and their extra rations. There are plenty of slaves to work. A richly dressed official hurried out. You will be the idol of the people, Rechmara whispered joyously. The temple of Omen will not contain their offerings. Cyril struck another match, and all the court was overwhelmed with delight and wonder, and when Cyril took the candle from his pocket and lighted it with the match, and then held a burning candle up before the king, the enthusiasm knew no bounds. Oh, greatest of all, before whom sun and moon and stars bow down, said Rechmara insinuatingly, Am I pardoned? Is my innocence made plain? As plain as it ever will be, I daresay, said Pharaoh shortly, Get along with you. You are pardoned. Go in peace. The priest went with lightning swiftness. And what, said the king suddenly, Is it that moves and that sack? Show me, oh strangers! There was nothing for it but to show the Samyad. Seize it, said Pharaoh carelessly. Very curious monkey, it will be a nice little novelty for my wild beast collection. And instantly the entreaties of the children availing as little as the bites of the Samyad, though both bites and entreaties were fervent, it was carried away from them before their eyes. Oh, do be careful! cried Anthea. At least keep it dry. Keep it in its sacred house. She held up the embroidered bag. It's a magic creature! cried Robert. It's simply priceless. You've no right to take it away! cried Jane unconsciously. Shame! Bareface robbery! That's what it is! There was an awful silence. Then Pharaoh spoke. Take the sacred house of the beast from them, he said, and imprison all. Tonight after supper it may be our pleasure to see more magic and guard them well and do not torture them. Yes. Oh, dear! sob Jane as they were led away. I knew exactly what it would be. Why wish you hadn't? Shut up, silly! said Cyril. You know you would come to Egypt. It was your own idea entirely. Shut up! It'll be all right. I thought we should play ball with queens! sob Jane, and have no end of larks. Now everything's going to be perfectly horrid! The room they were shut up in was a room, and not a dungeon, as the elder ones had feared. That, as Anthea said, was one comfort. There were paintings on the wall that at any other time would have been most interesting and a sort of low couch and chairs. When they were alone Jane breathed a sigh of relief. Now we can get home all right. And leave this Samyat! said Anthea reproachfully. Wait a sec! I've got an idea! said Cyril. He pondered for a few moments. Then he began hammering on the heavy seat or door. It opened, and a guard put in his head. Stop that row! he said sternly. Or look here! Cyril interrupted. It's very dull of you, isn't it? Just doing nothing but guard us. Wouldn't you like to see some magic? We're not too proud to do it for you. Wouldn't you like to see it? I'd, I'd demand if I do. said the guard. Well then, you get us that monkey of ours that was taken away, and we'll show you. How do I know you're not making game of me? asked the soldier. Shouldn't wonder if you only wanted to get the creature so as to set it on me. I dare say it's teeth and claws or poisonous. Well look here! said Robert. You see, we've got nothing with us. You just shut the door and open it again in five minutes. And we'll have got a magic. Oh, I don't know. A magic flower and a pot for you. If you can do that, you can do anything. said the soldier. And he went out and barred the door. Then, of course, they held up the amulet. They found the east by holding it up and turning slowly till the amulet began to grow big. Walked home through it and came back with a geranium and full scarlet flower from the staircase window of the Fitzroy Street house. Well, said the soldier when he came in. I really am. We can do much more wonderful things than that. However so much, said Anthea persuasively, if we only have our monkey, and here's twopans for yourself. The soldier looked at the twopans. What's this? he said. Robert explained how much simpler it was to pay money for things and to exchange them as the people were doing in the market. Later on the soldier gave the coins to his captain, who later still showed them to the pharaoh, who, of course, kept them, and was very much struck with the idea. That was really how coins first came to be used in Egypt. You'll not believe this, I dare say, but really, if you believe the rest of the story, I don't see why you shouldn't believe this as well. I say, said Anthea, struck by a sudden thought, I suppose it'll be all right about those workmen. The king won't go back on what he said about them, just because he's angry with us. Oh no, said the soldier. You see, he's rather afraid of magic. He'll keep to his word right enough. Then that's all right, said Robert. And Anthea said softly and coaxingly, Ah, do get us the monkey, and then you'll see some lovely magic. Do, there's a nice kind soldier. I don't know where they put your precious monkey, but if I can get another chap to take on my duty here, I'll see what I can do. He said grudgingly and went out. Do you mean, said Robert, that we're going off without even trying for the other half of the amulet? I really think we'd better, said Anthea tremulously, of course the other half of the amulets here somewhere, or our half wouldn't have brought us here. I do wish we could find it. It's a pity we don't know any real magic. Then we could find out. I do wonder where it is. Exactly. If they had only known it, something very like the other half of the amulet was very near them. It hung round the neck of someone, and that someone was watching them through a chink, high up on the wall, especially devised for watching people who were imprisoned. But they did not know. There was nearly an hour of anxious waiting. They tried to take an interest in the picture on the wall, a picture of harpers playing very odd harps and women dancing at a feast. They examined the painted plaster floor, and the chairs were of white painted wood with coloured stripes and intervals. But the time went slowly, and everyone had time to think of how Pharaoh had said, Don't torture them yet. If the worst comes to the worst, said Cyril, we must just bunk and leave the Samyat. I believe it can take care of itself well enough. They won't kill it or hurt it when they find it can speak and give wishes. They'll build it a temple, I shouldn't wonder. I couldn't bear to go without it, said Antia, and Pharaoh said, After supper, that won't be just yet. And the soldier was curious. I'm sure we'll all write for the present. All the same the sounds of the door being unbarred seemed one of the prettiest sounds possible. Suppose he hasn't got the Samyat, whispered Jane. But that doubt was set at rest by the Samyat itself, for almost before the door was open it sprang through the chink of it into Antia's arms, shivering and hunching up its fur. Here's its fancy overcoat, said the soldier, holding at the bag, into which the Samyat immediately crept. Now, said Cyril, what would you like us to do? Anything you'd like us to get for you? Any little trick you like? So the soldier, if you can get a strange flower blooming in an earthenware vase, you can get anything, I suppose, he said. I just wish I'd got two men's loads of jewels from the king's treasury. That's what I've always wished for. At the word wish the children knew that the Samyat would attend to that bit of magic. It did, and the floor was littered with a spreading heap of gold and precious stones. Any other little trick? Asked Cyril loftily, shall we become invisible, vanish? Yes, if you like, said the soldier, but not through the door you don't. He closed it carefully and set his broad Egyptian back against it. No! No! Cried a voice high up among the tops of the tall wooden pillars that stood against the wall. There was a sound of someone moving above. The soldier was as much surprised as anybody. That's magic, if you like, he said. And then Jane held up the amulet, uttering the word of power. At the sound of it, and at the sight of the amulet growing into the great arch, the soldier fell flat on his face among the jewels, with a cry of awe and terror. The children went through the arch with a quickness born of long practice. But Jane stayed in the middle of the arch and looked back. The others, standing in the dining-room carpet in Fitzroy Street, turned and saw her still in the arch. Someone's holding her! Cried Cyril, we must go back! Then they pulled at Jane's hands, just to see if she would come. And of course she did come. Then, as usual, the arch was little again. And there they all were. Oh, I do wish you hadn't! Jane said crossly. It was so interesting! The priest had come in, and he was kicking the soldier and telling him he'd done it now. And they must take the jewels and flee for their lives. I don't know. You interfered, said Jane ungratefully. I should have liked to see the last of it. As a matter of fact none of them had seen the last of it. If by it, Jane had meant the adventure of the priest and the soldier. End of chapter 11 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Porick.