The morning — was dewy, and as the sun rose, it covered the badlands with a carpet of light. Yet the cool breeze rendered the harsh sun harmless, as they sheltered among its rays like lion cubs gripped by their mother's fangs.
And so the caravan progressed, following the guides.
In the distance, Djedef could see the young princess who tyrannized his soul, and who had caused him to fall tortuously in love. Her brightly plumed horse stretched its back proudly as she swayed in her saddle like a tender branch. Her expression was haughty, except when she looked at her brother occasionally to say something to him, or to listen to him speaking. Then her left profile was like the image of the goddess Isis on temple walls. And when the virile Prince Ipuwer leaned toward her with his strong form, talking to her and smiling, she spoke and smiled back to him. This was the first time that Djedef saw she who had such arrogance be so generous with her smile, as though she were the sky of Egypt — clear, lovely, beautiful, and rare to rain.
And for the first time, the poison of jealousy crept into his heart, as he threw the happy Ipuwer a fiery look — that fortunate prince who had come as a messenger of strife, but on his way was transformed into the prophet of peace and love. Djedef's heart suffered a biting irritability that his pure soul had never before known, and he kept chiding himself in agitation and anger.
Could it really be that he had fallen in love and was pining away in the chill of despair, while losing the world altogether? Is it reasonable that one who endures the utmost fires of love, who feels such passionate desire, should pace but a horse's jump away from the one that he craves? What, then, is the value of life? And of what value are the hopes that have given him such strength and durability? How his life resembled a succulent rose, whose blossoms have not been savored, overwhelmed by a violent summer wind that has plucked it from its gentle stem, and buried it in the burning sands of the desert.
Who then is this slave that they call obedience? And who is this tyrant whose name is duty? What is princely authority, and what is bondage? How can these terms break down his heart and toss it into the wind of resignation? Why does he not pull out his sword and pounce with his swift steed on this cruel, haughty female? Why, — with his power and skill, does he not carry her away, disappearing — with her into the depths of the desert? Then he could say to her, “Look at me: I am the strong man and you are the weak woman. Lose that frown that the habits of the pharaonic palace have drawn on your face. Lower that chin that the customs of sovereign authority have raised so high. Get rid ofthat arrogant gaze that you have grown used to leveling at those kneeling before you, and come kneel before me. If you want love, I will welcome you with love — and if you do not, you will meet only disdain.”
What drivel this is, like the boiling of a kettle, its lid shut tight! Mere suppressed anger, without any effect! The caravan moves on, and here comes passion, playing with people's hearts. Figures sway to its magic, and lips become languid. Here are the vast deserts that bear witness in eternal silence — and what deserts these are! He contemplated the wasteland for quite a long while, then fear rescued him from his painful dreams. It drained him of all sense of awe and majesty — even though the caravan was like no more than a fistful of water in a shoreless sea. Does the circling kite want to be seen by the clutch of little chicks? What is his love, anyway? And what are his agonies to anyone else? Who can feel them, in that infinite space, and how one's cry is lost in that endless universe! What does Djedef himself matter — and who can care about his love?
The sudden snorting of his horse alerted him to his surroundings. The caravan had been advancing steadily until its forward part reached the place called Rayyan, and they halted for rest. This was among the most favorable spots in the desert for hunting, with Mt. Seth stretching by it north to south, a refuge for the various kinds of animals that hunters seek. From the mountain's slope to what bordered it in the east, two great hills extended, enclosing a large patch of desert, then they narrowed as they stretched eastward. Ultimately, only twenty arm lengths separate them in a very rare and special place, naturally perfect for hunting and the chase.
The men began to feel tired, so the servants and soldiers rushed to put up the tents. Meanwhile, others were absorbed in organizing the cooking utensils and fuel for the fire as the work proceeded with a lively purpose. Indeed, in scarcely a few minutes a complete military camp was formed, the horses tethered, and a space cleared for the cooking fire. The guards took up their positions as the princes headed toward the grand tent raised on wooden pegs inlaid with pure gold. The princes rested for an hour, until, refreshed, they set out for the chase.
The servants set up a great hunting net near the narrowest point between the two adjoining hills. The soldiers scattered along the triangle drawn by Mt. Seth and these two smaller promontories. Others crossed onto the slope of the mountain to stampede the placid animals, while the princes mounted their horses, inspected their weapons, then spread out across the spacious plain, ready for action.
Princess Meresankh, on her elegantly trimmed steed, remained in front of the great tent to observe the expected struggle, seen time after time between men and beasts. She watched the movements of the princes with enormous interest. Evidently, she found the hunting to be slow, for in an audible voice she asked the officers that stood at the rear, without turning toward them, “What's wrong with me that I don't see any game?”
A voice she knew well answered, “The soldiers have gone off to beat the animals from the bush.” It continued, “Soon, Your Highness, you should see them coming down the slope of the mountain, howling, lowing, and roaring.”
She looked far off at the slope of Mt. Seth. The officer's claim proved true, for it was not long before she saw groups of gazelles, rabbits, and stags racing downhill in their differing gaits, ignorant of what the Fates had hidden from them. As they fled, the mounted princes drove them on. Then each one of them bolted after his particular prey, and the battle began. The hunters pursued the beasts in order to drive them toward the net that awaited them, its maw open wide.
Altogether, Prince Khafra was the most skilled hunter in the party. All had noticed his nimbleness and athletic trimness, his complete mastery over his horse, and his superb handling of its movements, as well as his ability to communicate with beasts, to press them hard, and to push them forward to the destination he desired. He had never failed in the chase, and nor in his aim, and had worn even his dogs to exhaustion in pursuit of his numerous victims.
Prince Ipuwer likewise displayed a rare proficiency, stirring wonder with the speed of his onslaught, the accuracy of his aim, and his physical adroitness — he was an equestrian without equal.
The princes continued in their violent diversion as time ran unnoticeably by, and the hunt almost ended in unadulterated enjoyment — if an incident hadn't occurred that nearly spoiled it entirely. Prince Khafra was chasing a fleeing gazelle below the mountain's slope: when passing a tall rise, he found his way blocked by an enormous lion, its fangs bared. Many soldiers cried out to him in warning, but — ever stalwart — he put his hand on his spear to pull it from its sheath. The lion did not wait, however, but instead made a great leap and struck Khafra's horse on the face with his massive paw. Immediately, the stallion's feet grew heavy and he stumbled about like a drunk about to fall down. As he did so, the lion crouched, preparing to bound forward again even more fiercely than before. Events were unfolding rapidly, when the prince, wielding his spear, was able to aim and hurl it at the lion — which was in midleap — with terrific force. But at that moment his horse fell dead from the lion's first blow, and the spear flew wide of its mark, sparing the big cat. The prince fell on his back, far from any weapon, at the mercy of his feline foe.
As this was happening, the princes, soldiers, and officers were urging their mounts onward toward the threatened heir apparent, each one willing to give up his own life to save him. Djedef was flying on his horse like a bird through the air, quickly covering the distance
that separated him from the prince, beating the others to him, arriving just as the lion made his fatal leap. Not wasting a moment, he drew out his long spear, and, grasping it with both hands, leapt from the back of his galloping horse — with immense speed, falling like a flaming meteor on the raging lion. Planting his lance in the monster's mouth, he pierced it through to the sandy ground, where the lion, transfixed, could not reach him — with his claws. The other princes and soldiers then caught up — with them and — circling the heir apparent — fired arrows at the dying beast until it expired. Princess Meresankh appeared on her own stallion, terrified, her comely face clothed — with horror and fear. Seeing her brother standing healthy and in one piece, she came down from her horse, ran to him and embraced him around his neck, exclaiming in heartfelt gratitude, “Praise be to the merciful Lord Ptah!”
The princes approached the heir apparent and congratulated him on his survival: they all prayed together to the Lord Ptah in profoundest thanks.
Prince Khafra looked at his slain steed with obvious regret, then walked up to the body of the lion that had nearly furnished his demise: he looked at it, arrows covering it like the fur of a hedgehog. From there he looked at the horseman standing to its right like a handsome statue. Suddenly he remembered him — the outstanding man whom he had chosen to be an officer in his personal guards. The gods, it seemed, had selected him for his role at this nerve-wracking moment, and the prince felt astonishment and gratitude toward him. He drew close to him, put his hand on his shoulder and said, “O courageous officer, you have saved me from certain death. I will repay you for your incomparable heroism with an appropriate reward.”
Prince Ipuwer also came up to Djedef, whose intrepid actions had shaken him. He pumped his hand vigorously as he said, “O valorous soldier, you have rendered to your country and your king services over and above any example of appreciation.”
They all returned to the camp, a heavy silence looming over them, their spirits dissipated in the numbness that follows escape from an unexpected peril. On the way back, one of the men of Prince Ipuwer's retinue said to him, “The gods would not have been pleased to torment the heart of the old king. He has locked his lofty self away in his dreary burial chamber, where he is writing for his people — all of whom love him — his thesis on survival of evil and illness. After all, how else can one repay good deeds but with more good deeds?”
The exalted gentlemen took their ease, after which they were presented with a banquet. After they had dined, the crown prince ordered the servants to distribute goblets of red Maryut wine to the soldiers in celebration of his survival. The soldiers imbibed it and prayed again in thanks to their god. Then they all sang Pharaoh's anthem with voices like the rumble of thunder reverberating through the expanse of desert. They kept this up for a while, then prepared themselves for departure. The tents were struck, the baggage and the hunting equipment packed up, and the caravan departed in the same manner that it came — except that the crown prince ordered the officer Djedef to ride in his company. He announced his wish to make Djedef one of his closest companions.
The doughty lad's heart fluttered with the rapture of joy and glory, for none enjoyed this magnificent honor except the princes and the prominent men of state. He felt an indescribable happiness in riding in the wing of majesty that centered around Princess Meresankh. He imagined her hearing the violent beating of his heart as it pounded with love and passion. He was afraid to turn his head toward her, but he saw her gorgeous face in his mind's eye, and in the emptiness that spread out before him. He beheld her radiance despite the drab tones on the horizon, which announced the approach of nightfall.
If only she would bestow upon him a word of thanks like the others, he would deem it above all glory and the world together!
23
The crown prince was serious — when he said that he would reward Djedef for saving his life. The Fates seemed to have chosen Khafra from among all men to pave the fortunate youth's road to glory. And indeed, but a few days had passed after the incident while hunting when Pharaoh received his heir apparent, among whose close cohorts was Djedef son of Bisharu. This was a more delightful surprise than anything for which the inspector's son had dared hope or dream. Nonetheless, he walked behind Prince Khafra with a heart steadied by surpassing courage, traversing the long corridors with their towering columns and colossal guards, until they appeared before him whose majesty made heads turn away.
Reclining on the throne, the king did not display his now-advanced age except with a few white hairs thrusting out from beneath the double crown of Egypt, and the slight withering of his cheeks. There was also a change in the look of his eyes, shifting away from the sharpness of power and coercion to the contemplation of wisdom and knowledge.
The prince kissed his great father's hand. “Here, my lord,” he said, “is the brave officer, Djedef son of Bisharu, whose astounding courage saved my life from the claws of certain death. He has come before you as your sacred will desired.”
Pharaoh leaned forward to offer him his hand, and the youth kissed it, kneeling in deep religious respect. “By your valor, O Officer,” Khufu said to him, “you have merited my satisfaction.”
“My lord, Your Majesty,” Djedef said, with a tremulous voice, “as one of the king's soldiers I know of no higher goal than to sacrifice my life for the sake of the throne, and my homeland.”
Here Prince Khafra intervened. “I beg my lord the King's permission to appoint this officer chief of my guards.”
The young man's eyes widened — he was caught completely unawares. The king answered the prince by asking Djedef, “How old are you, Officer?”
“Twenty years old, Your Majesty,” he replied.
Khafra saw the reason for Pharaoh's question. “Long life, wisdom, and knowledge are virtues befitting the priests, O lord,” he said. “As for the intrepid warrior, he disdains the limitations of age.”
“Whatever you want is yours, Khafra,” said the king, smiling. “You are my heir apparent: I cannot deny your wish.”
Djedef threw himself down at Pharaoh's feet and kissed his curved staff. At this, Khufu said to him, “I congratulate you for his Pharaonic Highness Prince Khafra's confidence in you, O Commander Djedef son of Bisharu.”
Djedef swore an oath of loyalty to the king, and the audience ended. The young man left Pharaoh's palace as one of the commanders of the Egyptian army.
This was a day of unparalleled joy in the house of Bisharu, as Nafa told Djedef, “My prophecy came true. Let me paint you in your commander's uniform.”
But Bisharu interrupted him with his coarse voice, now even thicker after the loss of four teeth. “Your prediction didn't produce Djedef,” he declared, “rather, it was his father's firmness, in that the gods fated him to be the son of a father among those who are close to Pharaoh.”
Zaya never laughed or cried as she did on that ecstatic day. Her thoughts drifted back to the darkness of the distant past, enfolded in twenty years gone by. She remembered the tiny infant whose birth gave rise to perilous prophecies, stirring a small war in which his true father had fallen victim: Oh, what memories!
When Djedef withdrew unto himself that evening, he fell into a peculiar mood of grief and apprehension, as though in reaction to the transcendent joy that had overfilled the whole day. Yet there were other reasons for it that did not cease to gnaw at his heart, as flame consumes chaff. He stared at the stars in the heavens through his window and sighed, “You alone, O stars,” he thought, “know that the heart of Djedef- the happy commander — is more intensely gloomy than the darkness in whose immortal depths you dwell.”
24
The following day, Djedef took his glorious position as chief of the heir apparent's guards. The prince had improved things by transferring the senior officers of his guard to different formations in the army, replacing them — with others. The men received their new head with hospitality, respect, and awe, and he had hardly settled in the commander's chair in his new
chamber when Officer Sennefer asked his permission to enter. Djedef granted it and the man came in, his face flushed, giving Djedef a military salute.
“O Chief,” said Sennefer, “my heart was not satisfied with just the usual official congratulations, so I sought you out, so that I might tell you personally of my admiration and affection for you.”
Djedef smiled fondly at him as he replied gently, “I appreciate these noble feelings fully, but I've done nothing to deserve your thanks.”
Moved, Sennefer said, “Perhaps this, my friend, will console me for the loss of your treasured companionship.”
“Our comradeship will not end,” the young man rejoined, still smiling, “because I intended from the first moment to make you my deputy.”
Joyfully, Sennefer declared, “I will not leave your side, O Leader, in good times or bad.”
Several days later, Djedef was invited to a meeting with the crown prince — for the first time — as the chief of his guards. And it was the first time that he would be alone with Khafra, observing up close the grimness of his expression and the severity of his features.
As a matter of habit, the prince went straight to his main point immediately. “I am announcing to you now, O Commander,” he said with purpose, “that you are summoned, along with the leaders of the army and governors of the provinces, to a meeting hosted by His Majesty the King, for consultation about Mt. Sinai. The order has been given that we will fight the tribes of Sinai. After long hesitation, the will to plunge into the hardships of war has at last been fortified. Egypt will once more see her sons massing — not to build another pyramid — but to put paid to the desert nomads who threaten the safety of the Blessed Valley.”
Three Novels of Ancient Egypt Page 15
