The sedge was wind-mown, and there
were numberless prints of bird claws, but no mark of boat-keel or human
foot. The place should have been a favorite haunt of fowlers, but it
was lonely and overshadowed with a sense of absolute desertion.
"But," Hotep began suddenly, "thou hast spoken of offense and pardon,
and now thou boastest that Athor abetted thee."
"Why is this called the Marsh of the Discontented Soul?"
The scribe smiled patiently. "Of a truth, dost thou not know?"
"As the immortals hear me, I do not. I have never asked and the
chronicles do not speak of it."
"Nay; the story is four hundred years old, and the chroniclers do not
tell it because it is out of the scope of history, I doubt not. But it
has become tradition throughout Egypt to shun the spot, though few know
why they must. A curse is laid upon the place. An unfaithful wife
whom the priests denied repose with her ancestors is entombed yonder."
He pointed toward an angle between an outstanding buttress and the
limestone wall. "Her soul haunts him who comes here with the plea that
her mummy be removed to On, where she dwelt in life, and laid with the
respected dead, in the necropolis."
Kenkenes shrugged his shoulders.
Pages:
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251