CHAPTER IX

THE PAPYRUS

Desmond had slept well; he woke lazily and looked round him. Alan had already gone. He turned sleepily over, but raised himself quickly as Alan hailed him from Korah’s tomb with an exultant shout. Even Jez-Riah realized that something of import had happened as she watched Alan enter, bubbling over with excitement, and his eyes bright and shining.

“What is it?” asked Desmond eagerly.

“I’ve found the remains of Korah.” Alan made the announcement quietly, but his cousin saw the undercurrent of excitement that lay beneath his words.

“You’ve found Korah?” he repeated stupidly.

“Listen,” went on Alan eagerly, and speaking in the quaint Hebraic dialect, so that Jez-Riah might share his news, he told them of his adventure to the roof of the cave, and of the river beyond. “Well,” he concluded, “as I neared the bottom my foot slipped and I clutched at a piece of jutting rock to save me, and I had to use all my strength to keep from falling. My foothold gone, I had to worm my way round the rock to find another place easy of descent. You know the wall is full of cracks and crevices. I came upon a crevice larger than the others. It was big enough to get through, and I wondered why we hadn’t noticed it before. I realized, however, the tricks the lighting of this place plays upon us, and I could see that the hole simply looked like a shadow on the wall, so cunningly is it hidden. I scrambled easily through, and found it to be a cave, quite small, in the middle of which is a deep pond of water, and fastened on the wall by the aid of rude nails was this—” and he held out a roll of parchment that crackled at his touch.

Desmond examined it curiously. “Why it’s a papyrus,” he exclaimed.

“Yes! and written by Korah himself, and placed there just before he died.”

“Have you read it?”

“Yes, it’s quite easy in parts. Listen,” and Alan translated from the old and faded Hebraic characters the following,

“WRITING by KORAH, known henceforth to all generations as KORAH THE ACCURSED

Know, then, these four months, as far as it is possible to judge time in this accursed spot, I and all my belongings have remained in this cavern. Abiram and Dathan have sealed the doors of stone against us. Escape is impossible. There is naught for us to do but die. Be it known—I—Korah the Accursed—am sore at heart for my sins of rebellion against Moses and Aaron. Jehovah has inflicted upon us all a grievous punishment. His name be praised. Food there is none except that which came down with us into this pit of terror. Lord of Hosts, I tremble at what I see. Mothers tearing their little ones, women in childbirth crying to the God in Heaven that they may die before they are delivered. I—Korah—alone have remained fasting. It is the only reparation I can make for my sins, and for the unworthiness I have shown as one of Jehovah’s chosen ones. I Korah—”

Then came a space that was unintelligible. Time had worked its will and the writing was indistinct, and in parts entirely erased. “How awful,” said Desmond, shuddering. “Think—half these skeletons here were perhaps murdered by their brothers for food. What agonies, what pangs they must have suffered!” “Wait—there is more,” said Alan, and he went on translating,

“Forty days and forty nights fasting is as nothing to the fasting here. It seems forty times forty since food passed my parched and cracked lips. My people turn not upon me and slay me. Oh that they would! Dead flesh is rotting all around me—the air is heavy with the stench. There are none now left alive but myself. I will fasten this to the wall of the inner cave, and then lay me down to die. Of what use are gold and riches to us here? Poorer am I than the most disease-laden beggar of the world above. O God of Hosts forgive Korah, the son of Izhar, the son of Kohath, the son of Levi.”

For some time after Alan had finished reading the boys remained in silence. The whole scene rose up in their minds like a picture, and the horror of it nauseated them. The terrible hunger and thirst of the captives-the scenes of cannibalism afterwards—the child murder—it was revolting. “Now,” said Alan. “Come to the real tomb of Korah. This is the tomb of his people—but he lies yonder.” So the three of them mounted the rough steps in the rock, and ten feet above their heads was the little opening. Just a little cleft through which they passed, and down a short but steep path into the cave below.

The centre of the cave was taken up by a deep pool of water, but a narrow path ran all round. A huge block of stone lay immersed in the water and round it the water bubbled and sang showing the place where the pond had its birth.

But Desmond saw no sign of the bones of Korah. He looked puzzled. “There is no skeleton here,” said he. “Where is Korah?” Silently Alan pointed to the grey rock over which the water was lapping. Desmond looked at it intently-and then understood. In the course of time a spring had bubbled up and the waters had covered the body of Korah. Some chemical property in the water had preserved the dead body and turned it to stone, and in the ages that had passed deposits of lime and other minerals had been secreted on the body, until it was now of gargantuan size. Still plain, however, were the features. A rather long nose, Semitic in shape, protruded from a face that had possessed prominent cheek-bones and deep, sunken eyes. The hair which had been long was now a mass of stone that mingled with the shapeless body. They could just trace the semblance of arms that were folded across the stone chest, and there was the suspicion of feet protruding from a kilted tunic of cold grey stone.

In all, just a shapeless boulder in which could be traced the likeness of what had once been a living man. The waters of the centuries had preserved Korah alone of the Israelites of old who had been imprisoned in the pit.

Jez-Riah had listened in silence. With one finger she had traced the outlines of the once handsome face—now she spoke.

“He killed himself—in the water?” she asked.

“No,” said Alan, “I think the cave was dry in those days. He just came here to die; and in the place where his dead body lay, before time could rot the flesh, a spring broke through the floor of the cave and preserved him—a memorial to all time of his sin.”

“Praise be to Jovah,” said Jez-Riah in a hushed tone.

“_Requiescat in pace_,” said Alan as they turned to leave the place. “Amen,” whispered his cousin—and Korah was once more left alone.

“Now,” said Alan some time later while they were having their meal, “now we must make some arrangements about leaving this place. The only way is by the river, yonder.”

“Can we make a raft strong enough to bear us?” asked Desmond. Alan shook his head. “I’ve already investigated,” he said. “There is absolutely nothing. The wood in there is rotten with age. I doubt whether it would even float. There is only one possible way,” and he looked at them intently. “We can all swim pretty well. Our only hope is to throw ourselves on the mercy of the waters. The knowledge we have of swimming will enable us to keep our heads out of the water—we must trust the current to do the rest. It may mean death—but are we not in a living death already? At any rate are you willing to try?” They walked into the big cave and Desmond looked fearfully at the terrible ascent which they would have to make in order to reach the river, for it flowed on a much higher level than that on which they were themselves.

“Yes, it’s pretty stiff,” said Alan grimly. “But it’s that or nothing. Are you ready to risk it?” For a moment only, Desmond hesitated, then his mind was made up and his hand gripped that of his cousin.

“Yes,” said he. “What about you, Jez-Riah?” And they were both surprised at the calm way in which she took the suggestion.

“It is very high,” said she. “How easy it would be to fall!”

They rested and slept and ate before they attempted the ascent. Also they had many preparations to make. There was certain of the jewels to be taken with them—the papyrus and the censer. Jez-Riah plaited a waterproof case for the parchment, and with a plaited rope fastened it to Alan’s shoulders. The jewels were divided out between them and placed in little bags that Jez-Riah wove from the root tendrils that grew outside the large cave. The censer proved the greatest difficulty. It was not only heavy, but exceedingly bulky and cumbersome. It was Alan again who decided to carry it. “But it will drag you down,” objected his cousin. “I’ll manage it,” he replied, and he had it fastened securely to his back with the strong rope that Jez-Riah could make so quickly.

So they began their arduous climb. Alan went first, followed by Jez-Riah, and Desmond brought up the rear. “On no account look down,” Alan kept urging. “It will be fatal if you do.” At last they reached the tiny platform. Alan looked at it doubtfully. Would it hold three grown persons? He shivered—it would be a tight squeeze. His hand went down and met Jez-Riah’s. He pulled her on to their resting place in safety, and then Desmond reached it, and for a while they sat in silence. The rushing of the waters could be plainly heard. Time was passing—Alan dared not move, for Jez-Riah, worn out with the climb, was leaning heavily against him, and he knew that the slightest movement from one or the other of them might send them to their death, for the seat was none too safe. “I think the time has come for action,” said he quietly at last. “It is useless to wait here any longer.”

Jez-Riah moved restlessly. “What your will is, O Ar-lane, that will I do,” said she.

“I am going to plunge in the water,” announced Alan. “If you see my body rise—follow me quickly. Do not struggle, let the current do its will with you. Safety lies in submission.”

“Why wait to see if you rise?” asked Desmond.

“Because I do not know what whirlpools may be hidden there. If you do not see me after I have plunged in, then you must do as you think best. But surely death is preferable to a lifetime here?”

“Then I shan’t—”

“Don’t argue, old man. Do as I bid you. God bless you.”

The cousins solemnly shook hands, lingering pathetically. It was like a good-bye to the dying.

“Ar-lane, O Ar-lane,” came from Jez-Riah.

“Have courage, little sister, be brave and follow me.” And before they could say another word, he had swung himself over the edge and had dropped into the foaming water.

The water hissed and roared with fury as it felt the presence of the foreign body—then it quieted a little. Alan’s head appeared, his face deathly pale, and before they realized it, he was out of sight, borne on the swift current.

Jez-Riah was trembling. “Be brave, little sister.” Almost unconsciously Desmond repeated his cousin’s words. She clung to him for a second, and then with a little frightened moan that went as soon as it was uttered, she too dropped into the water below, and was carried out of sight. Suddenly a great fear came over Desmond. He was alone. The cavern seemed to ring with laughter—the laughter of dead men. He hovered at the edge of the little cleft and looked deep into the boiling mass below, but he dared not drop in.

“I can’t, I can’t,” he moaned, and the awful loneliness came upon him and enveloped him in a cloak of terror.

He looked behind him at the yawning chasm below. If he lost his foothold—he shuddered. And then with a mighty spring and a muttered “God help me,” he followed in the wake of his cousin. The water closed over him—he held his breath until his lungs felt as if they would burst with the strain. Relief came at last, the waters had calmed a little, and he was floating gently on the current. He was conscious of intense inky blackness, of icy waters and a fetid air above; of a swiftly moving stream, that, although not rough, was running fast; of strange shapes that seemed to hover about him, and long, clammy hands that tried to pull him out of the water. He knew it was death himself he was fighting, and he fought to evade the fingers that were now so near, almost clasped round his throat. Then his senses forsook him and he was only an atom, tossed about on the bosom of the unknown river, a nothingness in a world of mystery and wonder.