“Abi, Prince and brother, I forgive you a deed that you purposed but did not attempt.  May the gods and the spirits of our fathers forgive you also, if they will.  Now as to your demand.  You are my only living brother, and therefore I will weigh it.  Perchance, if I should die without issue, although you are not all royal, although there flows in your veins a blood that Egypt hates; although you could plot the murder of your lord and king, it may be well that when I am gone you should fill my place, for you are brave and of the ancient race on one side, if base-born on the other.  But I am not yet dead, and children may still come to me.  Abi, will you be a prisoner until Osiris calls me, or will you swear an oath?”

“I will swear an oath,” answered the Prince hoarsely, for he knew his shame and danger.

“Then kneel here, and by the dreadful Name swear that you will lift no hand and plot no plot against me.  Swear that if a child, male or female, should be given to me, you will serve such a child truly as your lord and lawful Pharaoh.  In the presence of all this company, swear, knowing that if you break the oath in letter or in spirit, then all the gods of Egypt shall pour their curse upon your head in life, and in death shall give you over to the everlasting torments of the damned.”

So, having little choice, Abi swore by the Name and kissed the sceptre in token of his oath.

It was night.  Dark and solemn was the innermost shrine of the vast temple, the “House of Amen in the Northern Apt,” which we call Karnak, the very holy of holies where, fashioned of stone, and with the feathered crown upon his head, stood the statue of Amen-ra, father of the gods.  Here, where none but the high-priest and the royalties of Egypt might enter, Pharaoh and his wife Ahura, wrapped in brown cloaks like common folk, knelt at the feet of the god and prayed.  With tears and supplications did they pray that a child might be given to them.

There in the sacred place, lit only by a single lamp which burned from age to age, they told the story of their grief, whilst high above them the cold, calm countenance of the god seemed to stare through the gloom, as for a thousand years, in joy or sorrow, it had stared at those that went before them.  They told of the mocking words of Abi who had demanded to see their children, the children that were not; they told of their terror of the people who demanded that an heir should be declared; they told of the doom that threatened their ancient house, which from Pharaoh to Pharaoh, all of one blood, for generations had worshipped in this place.  They promised gifts and offerings, stately temples and wide lands, if only their desire might be fulfilled.

“Let me no more be made a mock among men,” cried the beautiful queen, beating her forehead upon the stone feet of the god.  “Let me bear a child to fill the seat of my lord the King, and then if thou wilt, take my life in payment.”