“I seek,” commenced Lepidus; but he stopped abruptly. His eye had caught the glitter of the golden fringe, and he saw that at one side a piece had been torn away. He sprung forward like a tiger and grasped the priest’s throat. “Petamon, Priest of Isis, I arrest you on the charge of kidnapping a Roman citizen. In the name of Cæsar Domitian; Soldiers, secure him!”
Priests and soldiers stood for a moment transfixed with amazement, while Lepidus slowly released his grasp on the priest’s throat, and they stood face to face, till the Roman almost quailed before the fierce glare of the Egyptian’s eye. The other priests began to press forward with threatening gestures; they outnumbered the Romans three times, and, though the strength and discipline of the latter would doubtless have proved victorious in the end, might have offered a stout resistance; but Petamon motioned them back. “Fear not, children,” he said, speaking in the Greek tongue, so that both parties might understand him, “the gods can protect their own, and you, Sir Roman, that have laid hands on the servant of Isis, tremble!” He walked forward, and surrendered himself to two of the soldiers.
“Rather him than me,” muttered Sheshonk, “The gods are all very well to fool the people with, but I doubt if Isis herself will save him under the Roman rods.”
Petamon raised his eyes and met those of Sheshonk. A few words in the Egyptian tongue, and a few secret signals passed between them, and Sheshonk, with a deep obeisance, retired into the temple and disappeared.
The soldiers were despatched to search the Island, and poor Septimius heard them several times pass the very door of his prison, but his gaolers had had time to thrust a gag into his mouth, so he could give no alarm. He lay there sick at heart, for he was stiff and weary, and even his cheerful spirits felt nearly broken.
The search was fruitless, as Lepidus had fully expected; and he commanded Petamon again to be brought before him. “Sir Priest,” he said, “I seek Septimius the Centurion, who is or was in your hands; unless he is restored before to-morrow’s sun sinks in the west, you die the death.”
“It is well,” said the priest, while the mock submission of his attitude was belied by the sinister fire of his eye; “the gods can protect their own.”
Towards evening Petamon requested an audience of Lepidus, and when they were again together, addressed him with more civility than he had hitherto condescended to use. He explained that it was the practice that the High Priest should, at certain seasons, sleep in the sacred recesses of the temple, and have the decrees of the goddess revealed to him in visions; he humbly craved permission to perform this sacred duty, it might be for the last time. Lepidus mused for a moment, and then gave orders that the priest, chained between two soldiers, should have leave to sleep where he would.
The night closed in; the shrine of the goddess was illuminated; and the blaze of a hundred lamps flashed on the rich colours and quaint designs on the walls of the shrine. One picture specially, behind the altar, attracted the eye of Lepidus. It represented King Ptolemy trampling down an enemy, while Isis stood by his side, with her hand raised in blessing, and Osiris held out a huge blue falchion, as if to bid him complete his task. Before the altar stood Sheshonk burning incense, while Petamon, chained between his guards, bowed for a time in prayer. By midnight the ceremony was over; Petamon, chained to a soldier on each side, lay down before the altar; the lights, all but one, were extinguished; the great door of the sacred chamber was closed. Lepidus lay down across it with his drawn sword in his hand, and, wearied with anxiety and care, soon fell fast asleep.
The sun was rising when he awoke, and, hastily rising, gave orders to change the guard upon the prisoner, and himself entered the chamber to see that the fetters were properly secured. The lamp was burning dimly, and there lay the two soldiers: but where was the prisoner? He was gone—utterly gone. The fetters were there, but Petamon had vanished. Half mad with vexation, Lepidus gave one of the soldiers an angry kick; the man neither stirred nor groaned; he snatched up the lamp and threw its rays upon the soldier’s face. It was white and still, and a small stream of blood, which had flowed from a wound over the heart, told too plain a tale. It was the same with the other; the soldiers’ last battle was fought, and they had gone to their long home.
Terrified and perplexed beyond measure, Lepidus rushed out into the court, and hastily roused the cohort. It was some minutes ere he could get them to comprehend what had happened; and even then the men followed him most unwillingly as he snatched up a torch and hurried back. To his amazement, the corpses of the soldiers were gone, and in their place lay two rams, newly slaughtered, and bound with palm ropes: the fetters had also vanished. He raised his eyes, and now noticed what he had not seen before,—the picture of Osiris and Isis was behind the altar still, but the blade of the falchion of the god was dyed red, and dripping with newly-shed gore. Shuddering and horror-stricken, he left the chamber, followed by the soldiers; and, as he passed out of the temple, met Sheshonk in his priestly robes going in to perform the morning services.
A panic seized the soldiery, in which Lepidus more than half concurred. They were men, they said; why fight against the gods? in half an hour they had left Philæ, and were marching through the desert to Syene, with drooping heads and weary steps, under the already scorching sun.
Terrified though he was, at this awful tragedy, Lepidus was too honest and true to abandon the quest. The soldiers positively refused to assist further in the search, and he was left almost to his own resources. After much thought he published a proclamation in Egyptian and Greek, offering a thousand pieces of gold for the Centurion, if alive; five hundred for the conviction of his murderers, if dead; and five hundred more for the head of the priest Petamon;