The youth looked over the place in astonishment, his eyes eventually fixing on the assembled throng of his fellows. He found them puffing themselves up with tales of their family lineages, boasting of the exploits of their fathers and grandfathers.
“Is your father a military man?” one boy asked him.
Irked at the question, Djedef shook his head. “My father is Bisharu, Inspector of the King's Pyramid,” he said.
Yet the boy's face showed that he wasn't impressed by the title of inspector. “My father is Saka, Commander of the Falcon Division of spearmen,” he bragged.
Annoyed, Djedef — withdrew from their conversation, pledging to his young self that he would triumph over them, and surpass them one day. Meanwhile, the process of examining and selecting the students dragged on for three hours. Those who were accepted were kept waiting until finally an officer approached them from the direction of the barracks. He glanced at them sternly, then called out to them. “From this moment forward, you must put all anarchy behind you forever,” he warned. “You will regulate yourselves with order and obedience. From now on, everything — including food, drink, and sleep — is subject to strict discipline.”
The officer lined them up in single file, and marched them toward the barracks. He ordered them to enter one by one, and as they did, they passed by a small window in the great warehouse, where each one was handed a pair of sandals, a white loincloth, and a tunic. Then they were split up among different dormitories, each one holding twenty beds in two opposing rows. Behind each bed was a medium-sized wardrobe, on top of which was a sheet of papyrus stretched in a wooden frame, upon which it was demanded that each individual write his name in the sacred script.
They all felt they were in peculiar surroundings, a place run with rigid organization, that produced a spirit of rigor and toughness. The officer loudly ordered them to take off their familiar clothes and to don their military uniforms. Then he warned them not to venture out into the courtyard unless they heard the sound of the horn — and they all complied with this command. A rapid movement spread throughout the dormitories, the first military action that these young boys would carry out. They rejoiced in their white warriors’ regalia, exulting as they put it on. And when the horn was sounded, they scurried nimbly to the courtyard, where the officers lined them up into two straight lines.
Thereupon appeared the academy's director, a senior officer with the rank of commandant. His uniform — was hung — with insignia and medals. He reviewed them with care, then stood before them as he declaimed: “Yesterday you were carefree children, but today you are beginning a life of dutiful manhood acted out through military struggle. Yesterday you belonged to your fathers and mothers, but today you are the property of your nation and your sovereign. Know that the life of a soldier is strength and sacrifice. Order and obedience are incumbent upon you, in order to fulfill your sacred obligation to Egypt and Pharaoh.”
Then the director cheered in the name of Khufu, King of Egypt, and the little soldiers cheered as well. The man commanded them to sing the anthem, “O Gods, preserve Your son whom we worship, and his fortunate kingdom, from the source-spring of the Nile, unto its estuary.” The great courtyard was filled with their birdlike voices, singing with a bursting enthusiasm and a magnificent beauty, invoking the gods, Pharaoh, and Egypt in a single melody.
That evening, when Djedef lay for the first time on this strange bed in these alien surroundings, his loneliness would not let him sleep. He sighed from the depths of his being as his imagination wandered back and forth between the darkness of the dormitory and the happy vision of Bisharu's house. He felt as though he could see Zaya as she bent toward him, and Nafa laughing contentedly, and Kheny holding forth in his logical, but effusive fashion. His dearest thought was of Gamurka as the dog licked his cheek and greeted him with his wagging tail. And when he had lost himself in his dreams, his eyelids grew heavy as he fell into a deep slumber, from which he did not stir till the sound of the horn at dawn. He then sat up in his bed without any hesitation, staring around himself with surprise, watching his friends awake and overcome the power of sleep with difficulty. Their yawns and complaints filled the air, though they were also mixed with laughter.
There would be no play time after today, for the life of busyness — and battle — had begun.
13
During this time, the architect Mirabu asked for an audience with Pharaoh, and appeared before him in his official reception hall. His Majesty reposed on the throne of Egypt, — which he had occupied for twenty-five years, performing the most glorious works for his country. He was frightful, resolute, and powerful, and a single glance did not suffice to take in all his grandeur, just as his fifty years of life had not been enough to weaken the solidity of his build or his exuberant vitality. And so he retained the sharpness of his vision, the blackness of his hair, and the acuity of his mind, as well.
Mirabu prostrated himself before him, kissing the hem of the royal robe. Pharaoh welcomed him with affection.
“Peace be upon you, Mirabu,” he said. “Rise and tell me why you have come to see me.”
The architect stood up before his master on the throne, his face beaming with joy, saying: “My lord, the granter of life and the source of light, my loyalty to your Sublime Self has permitted me to accomplish my majestic task, and to crown my service to you with this immortal monument. I now obtain in one happy hour what the man of faith wishes for with his belief, and what the artist wishes from his art. For the gods, upon whom each created being is dependent, have willed that I inform Your Adored Eminence of the good news that the mightiest construction ever undertaken in the land of the Nile since the age of creation, and the largest building on which the sun has risen in Egypt since the first time it rose over the valley, is now finished. I am certain, sire, that it will remain standing throughout the continuous generations to come, bearing your holy name, attesting to your magnificent epoch, preserving your divine spirit. It will proclaim the struggle of millions of Egyptian working hands, and scores of eminent minds. Today, for this work there is no peer, — while tomorrow it — will be the place of rest for the most glorious soul ever to rule over the land of Egypt. And after tomorrow — and for eternity — it will be the temple within whose expanse beat the hearts of millions of your worshippers, who will make their way to it both from North and South.”
The timeless artist fell silent for a moment — then the king's smile encouraged him to continue.
“We celebrate today, my lord,” he said, “Egypt's eternal emblem, and its truthful epithet, born of the strength that binds her North with her South. It is the offspring of the patience that overflows in all her children, from the tiller of the earth with his hoe, to the scribe with his sheet of papyrus. It is the inspiration for the faith that beats in the hearts of her people. It is the exemplar of the genius that has made our homeland sovereign over the earth, around which the sun floats in its sacred boat. And it shall remain forever the deathless revelation that settles in the hearts of the Egyptians — granting them strength, instilling them with patience, inspiring them with faith, and driving them to create.”
The king listened to the architect with a smile of delight, his piercing eyes glistening, his face bursting with ecstatic enthusiasm. When Mirabu was finished, Pharaoh said, “I congratulate you, O Architect, on your unequaled brilliance. And I thank you for the magnificent work that speaks so highly of your king and country — for which we owe you appreciation and praise. We shall fete your mighty miracle with an awesome celebration — one fit for its immortal grandeur.”
Mirabu bowed his head as he listened to Khufu's encomium, as he would to a divine hymn.
And hence, to inaugurate his awesome monument, Pharaoh held an official, popular ceremony, of stupendous proportions — during which the holy plateau beheld twice as many human beings as it had rugged laborers. Yet this time they did not bring with them hoes and other tools — rather, they carried banners, olive branches, palm fron
ds, and sprigs of sweet basil, as they sang the righteous sacred anthems. Among these throngs, the soldiers made a great thoroughfare that extended from the Valley of Eternity eastward, after which it circled around the pyramid — before ascending westward until it flowed once again into the valley. Along this road marched the bands of dignitaries as they circumambulated the gargantuan construction in procession. At their forefront — were groups of priests from their various orders, followed by the nobles and the local chieftains. Then the troops of the army stationed in Memphis, both on horse and on foot, cut their way through the crowds. But after these, all eyes were drawn to Khufu and the princes: the worshipful masses swiveled their heads as the royal retinue passed, cheering their king from the depths of their hearts. As they did so, they seemed to lean forward as one, all in the same direction, as though assembled in prayer.
Pharaoh hailed the pyramid with a brief speech, then the vizier Hemiunu consecrated it with a blessing. This concluded, the king's cortege set off back to Memphis, and the high-level groups began to break up. As for the crowds of the common people, they kept circling the immense building in jubilation. Their ranks did not dissolve until the dawn poured down its splendor, its magical calm spreading over the green, gemlike surface of the valley.
That evening, Pharaoh invited the princes and his closest companions to the private wing of his palace. As the weather was turning cool, he met them in his grand salon, where they reposed upon chairs made of pure gold.
Despite his brawn, the king's eyes showed the strain of the great responsibilities that weighed upon him. Though his outward aspect had not altered, it was obvious that the hardships of passing time had overpowered his inner being. This was not lost on his closest intimates, such as Khafra, Hemiunu, Mirabu, and Arbu. They noticed that Pharaoh was little by little becoming an ascetic, practicing nonphysical pursuits — no matter how much more manly activities, such as hunting and the chase, were dear to his heart. He now inclined toward gloomy contemplation and reading: sometimes the dawn would overtake him while he was sitting on his cushion, studying books of theology and the philosophy of Kagemni. His former sense of humor changed to sarcasm, replete with dark thoughts and misgivings.
The most amazing thing about that evening — and the least expected — was that the king should have displayed any sign of anxiety or distress whatsoever on this, of all nights, when he was marking the most monumental achievement in history. Of all the people with him, the one most aware of the king's unease was the architect Mirabu, who could not restrain the urge to ask him, “What so clearly preoccupies the mind of my lord?”
Pharaoh looked at him somewhat mockingly, and asked, as one wondering aloud, “Has history ever known a king whose mind was carefree?”
Thinking little of this answer, the artist went on, “But it is only right for my sire to rejoice this evening, without any reservation.”
“And why is it right for your lord to rejoice?”
Mirabu was stunned into silence by the king's derisive reply, which almost made him forget the beauty of Pharaoh's praise and the grandeur of his celebration. But Prince Khafra was not pleased with the psychological changes in the king.
“Because, my lord,” he said, “we fete today the blessing of the greatest technical accomplishment in the long annals of Egypt.”
Laughing, Khufu replied, “Do you mean my tomb, O Prince? Is it right for a person to exult over the construction of his grave?”
“Long may the God keep our lord among us,” Khafra said, adding, “Glorious work merits rejoicing and recognition.”
“Yes, yes — but if it reminds one of death, then there must also be a bit of sadness.”
“It reminds us of immortality, my lord,” said Mirabu, with passion.
“Do not forget, Mirabu,” said Pharaoh, smiling, “that I am an admirer of your work. But the intimation of one's mortality fills the soul with grief. Yes, I do not dwell on what has inspired your magisterial monument with deathless profundity — rather, on the fact that immortality is itself a death for our dear, ephemeral lives.”
Here Hemiunu interjected with staidness, reflection, and faith, “My lord, the tomb is the threshold to perpetual existence.”
To this, the king replied, “I believe you, Hemiunu. Yet the coming journey requires considerable preparation — especially since it is eternal. But do not think that Pharaoh has any fear or regret — no, no, no — I am simply astonished by this millstone that keeps on turning and turning, grinding up kings and commoners alike each day.”
Prince Khafra was growing annoyed — with the king's philosophizing. “My lord spends too much time thinking,” he said.
Knowing his son's nature, Pharaoh answered, “Perhaps, Prince, this doesn't please you.”
“Forgive me, sire,” said Khafra. “But the truth is that contemplation is the task of the sages. As for those whom the gods submit to the tribulations of rule, it's no wonder that they seek to shun such difficult matters.”
“Are you insinuating that I have toppled into the abyss of old age?” Khufu questioned him, jeeringly.
The companions grew alarmed. But the prince was the most alarmed of all. “The Lord forbid, my father!” he blurted.
Derisively, but with a strong voice, the king replied, “Calm yourself, O Khafra. Know that your father will retain his grip on authority with an iron hand.”
“Then I am entitled, my lord,” said Khafra, “to be gratified, though I have heard nothing new.”
“Or do you think that the king is not a king unless he declares a war?” Khufu asked.
Prince Khafra was always pointing out to his father that he should send an army to chastise the tribes of Sinai. He grasped what Pharaoh was getting at, and was taken aback for a moment.
Hemiunu seized on this momentary silence. “Peace is more manly than war for the strong, upright king,” he said.
The prince rejoined in a forceful tone that bespoke the hardness and cruelty traced upon his face, “But the king must not allow a policy of peace to prevent him from making war when the need to fight is serious!”
“I see that you're still dwelling on this ancient subject,” Khufu remarked.
“Yes, sire,” said Khafra, “nor will I desist till my view is accepted — for the tribes of Sinai are corrupting the land: they threaten the government's prestige.”
“The tribes of Sinai! The tribes of Sinai!” Khufu bellowed. “The police are enough for now to take care of their little bands. As for dispatching the army to raid their strongholds, I feel that the conditions are not yet right for that. Note that the nation has just borne the immense effort that it undertook so benevolently in order to build Mirabu's pyramid. But there shall soon come a time when I will put an end to their evil, and I will protect the nation from their aggression.”
A silence swept over them for a few moments, then the king ran his gaze back and forth among those present. “I have invited you this evening,” he said, “to reveal to you the overwhelming desire that beats within my breast.”
They all peered at him in fascination as he said, “This morning I asked myself, ‘What have I done for the sake of Egypt, and what has Egypt done for my sake?’ I will not conceal the truth from you, my friends — I found that what the people have done for me is double that which I have done for them. This to me was painful, and these days I have been very much in pain. I remembered the adored sovereign Mina, who endowed the nation with its sacred unity — yet the homeland gave him only a fraction of what it has granted me. So I humbled myself, and swore to repay the people for their goodness with goodness, and for their beauty with even more beauty.”
Moved, Commander Arbu objected, “His Majesty the King has been harsh with himself in this accounting.”
Ignoring Arbu's remark, Khufu resumed, “Though they aspire to be just and fair, monarchs are often oppressive. Though anxious to promote goodness and well being, they also do a great deal of harm. And with what deed, other than immortal good works, can they rep
ent for their transgressions and expiate their sins? Thus, my pain has guided me to an immense and benevolent undertaking.”
His companions gazed at him wonderingly, so he went on, “I am thinking, gentlemen, of composing a great book, in which I shall combine the proofs of wisdom and the secrets of medicine, with which I have been deeply enamored since childhood.
In this way, I would leave behind me a lasting influence upon the people of Egypt, guiding their souls and protecting their bodies.”
Mirabu shouted with boundless joy, “What a marvelous labor, my lord, by which you shall govern the people of Egypt forever!”
Pharaoh smiled at the architect, who reiterated, “One more will be added to our holy books.”
Prince Khafra, weighing in his mind what the king wished to do, said, “But my lord, this is a project that will take many long years.”
Arbu joined in his dissent, “It took Kagemni all of two decades to write his tome!”
But Pharaoh simply shrugged his broad shoulders. “I will devote to it what remains of my life,” he said.
After a moment's silence, he asked, “Do you know, gentlemen, the place where I have chosen to compose my book, night after night?”
Khufu looked into their puzzled faces, then told them, “The burial chamber in the pyramid that we feted today.”
Surprise and disbelief showing in their expressions, the king continued, “In worldly palaces the tumult of this fleeting life prevails. They are not suitable for creating a work destined for eternity!”
And with this, the audience ended — for Pharaoh did not like discussion when he had already fixed upon a final opinion. So his friends withdrew, during which time the heir apparent rode in his chariot along with his chief chamberlain, telling him with intense agitation, “The king prefers poetry to power!”
As for Khufu, he made his way to the palace of Queen Meritites, finding her in her chamber with the young Princess Meresankh, sister of Khafra, who was not yet more than ten years old. The princess flew toward him like a dove, happiness flashing in her lovely dark eyes. At the sight of Meresankh — she of the face like a full moon, with a golden brown complexion and eyes that could cure sickness with their cheer — Pharaoh could not help but smile lovingly. And so, his breast relieved of all sorrows and concerns, he greeted her with open arms.
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