Three Novels of Ancient Egypt

by Naguib Mahfouz

  “Have you not heard, Rhadopis?” he grumbled. “The governors and ministers are advising me to return the estates to the priests, and to content myself with defeat.”

  “What has urged them to pronounce this counsel?” she asked nervously.

  The king related what the governors had said and what they had counseled him to do and she grew sadder and more nervous. She could not restrain herself from saying, “The air grows dusty and dark. Only grave danger would have led the governors to reveal their opinions.”

  “My people are angry,” said the king scornfully.

  “Your Majesty, the people are like a ship off course without a rudder, which the winds carry wherever they will.”

  “I will knock the wind out of their sails,” he said ominously.

  Fears and doubts returned to plague her, and her patience betrayed her for a moment as she said, “We must seek recourse to wisdom and willingly step back awhile. The day of victory is near.”

  He looked at her curiously. “Are you suggesting that I submit, Rhadopis?”

  She held him to her breast for his tone had hurt her, then she said, her eyes overflowing with fervent tears, “It is more proper for one about to take a great leap to first crouch down. Victory hinges upon the outcome.”

  The king moaned, saying, “Ah, Rhadopis, if you do not know my soul, then who can know it? I am one who, if coerced to bend to a person's will, withers with grief like a rose battered by the wind.”

  Her dark eyes were touched by his words and she said with deep sadness, “I would gladly sacrifice myself for you, my darling. You will never wither as long as my breast waters you with pure love.

  “I shall live victorious every moment of my life, and I shall never give Khnumhotep the pleasure of saying that he humiliated me for even an hour.”

  She smiled at him sadly and asked, “Do you wish to govern a people without at times resorting to subterfuge?”

  “Surrender is the subterfuge of the incapable. I shall remain, while I am alive, as straight as a sword upon whose blade the forces of the traitors will be smashed.”

  She sighed sadly and regretfully and did not try to win him round. She was content with defeat in the face of his anger and pride, and from that moment she began to ask herself incessantly, “When — will the messenger return? When — will the messenger return? When — will the messenger return?”

  How tedious the — waiting — was. If those — who desire knew the torment of-waiting as she now did, they — would prefer abstinence in this world. How she counted the hours and minutes and watched the sun rise and waited for its setting. Her eyes ached from long looking at the Nile as it — wound its — way from the South. She reckoned the days with bated breath and throbbing heart, and often cried out when she could stand the apprehension no more, “Where are you, Benamun?” Even love itself she tasted as one distracted, far away in thought. There would be no peace of mind, no rest until the messenger returned with the letter.

  The days elapsed, slowly dragging their intolerable heaviness, until one day she was sitting engrossed in her thoughts, when Shayth burst into the room. Rhadopis raised her head and asked her, “What pursues you, Shayth?”

  “My lady,” said the slave girl eagerly, panting for breath, “Benamun has returned.”

  Joy engulfed her and she jumped to her feet like a startled bird as she called out, “Benamun!”

  “Yes, my lady,” said the slave girl. “He is waiting in the hall. He asked me to inform you of his arrival. How he has caught the sun on his travels.”

  She ran in great bounds down the stairway to the hall and found him standing there waiting for her to appear. A burning desire shone in his eyes. She seemed to him like a flame of joy and hope, and in his mind he had no doubt that her joy was because of him and for him. Divine rapture flowed over him and he threw himself at her feet like one in worship. Wrapping his arms around her legs passionately and with great affection, and falling upon her feet with his mouth, he said, “My idol, my goddess, I dreamed a hundred times I kissed these feet, and now my dreams are come true.”

  Her fingers played — with his hair as she said gently, “Dear Benamun, Benamun, have you really returned to me?”

  His eyes shone — with the light of life. He thrust his hand inside his jerkin and pulled out a small ivory box and opened it. Inside it was dust. “This dust is some ofthat which your feet trod upon in the garden,” he said. “I gathered it up with my hands and kept it in this box. I carried it with me on my journey and would kiss it every night before surrendering to sleep and place it against my heart.”

  She listened to him, anxious and perturbed. Her feelings had turned away from the words he spoke and as her patience expired, she asked with a calmness that masked her apprehension, “Do you not bear anything?”

  He thrust his hand into his jerkin once again and took out a folded letter which he held out to her. She took receipt of it with trembling hand. She was awash with happy feelings and she felt a numbness in her nerves and a languor in her powers. She cast a long look at the letter and held it tightly in her hand. She would have forgotten Benamun and his ardent passion had not her glance fallen upon him, and she recalled an important matter. “Did not a messenger from Prince Kaneferu come with you?” she inquired.

  “Yes, my lady,” said the youth. “He it was who carried the message during our return. He is waiting now in the summer room.”

  She was unable to stand there any longer, for the joy that flooded her senses was enemy to stillness and immobility, and she said, “May the gods be with you for now. The summer room awaits you and untroubled days lie ahead for us.”

  Off she ran carrying the letter, calling out for her beloved lord from the deepest recesses of her heart. Were it not for her sense of propriety she would have flown to him in his palace, like the falcon had done before, to bear him the glad tidings.

  The meeting

  The day of the festival of the Nile arrived, and Abu welcomed revelers from the farthest reaches of the North and South. Ballads rang out on the city's air and its houses were adorned with banners and flowers and olive branches. The priests and the governors greeted the rising sun on their way to Pharaoh's palace where they joined the great royal cavalcade, which was due to set off from the palace in the late morning.

  As the assembled notables waited in one of the chambers for the king to come down, a chamberlain entered, and saluting them in the name of the king, announced in a stentorian voice: “Venerable lords, Pharaoh wishes to meet with you at once. If you would be so kind as to proceed to the pharaoh's hall.”

  All greeted the chamberlain's declaration with unconcealed surprise, for it was the custom that the king received the men of his kingdom after the celebration of the festival, not before it. Confusion was etched on their faces as they asked one another, “What grave matter could it be that occasions a meeting which violates the traditions?”

  Nevertheless they accepted the invitation and moved obediently to the splendid and magnificent reception hall. The priests occupied the seats on the right-hand side while the governors sat opposite them. Pharaoh's throne commanded the scene between two rows of chairs arranged in wings to seat the princes and ministers.

  They did not have to wait long before the ministers entered with Sofkhatep at their head. They were followed after a while by the princes of the royal household who sat to the right of the throne, returning the greetings of the men who had stood up to salute them.

  Silence fell and seriousness and concern appeared on every face. Each was alone with his own thoughts, asking himself what lay behind the calling of this extraordinary meeting. The entrance of the seal bearer interrupted their musing and they gazed at him with undivided attention, as the man called out in his solemn voice, announcing the coming of the king: “Pharaoh of Egypt, Light of the Sun, Shadow of Ra on the Earth, His Majesty Merenra II.”

  All rose and bowed until their foreheads almost touched the floor. The king entered the hall august
and dignified, followed immediately by the commander of the guard Tahu, the seal bearer, and the head chamberlain of Prince Kaneferu, governor of Nubia.

  Pharaoh sat down on the throne and said in a solemn voice, “Priests and governors I salute you, and I grant you permission to be seated.”

  The bowed forms straightened gently up and the men sat down amidst a silence so deep and absolute that it made the very act of breathing a hazardous venture. All eyes were directed toward the owner of the throne, all ears eager to hear his words. The king sat upright and spoke, shifting his eyes from one face to another but settling on none. “Princes and ministers, priests and governors, flower of the manhood of Upper and Lower Egypt, I have invited you in order to take your counsel on a grave matter that pertains to the well-being of the kingdom and the glory of our fathers and forefathers. Lords, a messenger has come from the South. He is Hamana, grand chamberlain of Prince Kaneferu, and he bears a grave and weighty message from his lord. I was of the opinion that my duty required me to call you without delay, in order to peruse it and take counsel on its ominous contents.”

  Pharaoh turned to the messenger and signaled to him with his staff. The man took two steps forward and stood in front of the throne. Pharaoh said, “Read them the message.”

  The man unfolded the letter he held in his hands and read in a resonant and impressive voice: “From Prince Kaneferu, governor of the lands of Nubia, to his Royal Highness Pharaoh of Egypt, Light of the Shining Sun, Shadow of the Lord Ra, Protector of the Nile, Overlord of Nubia and Mount Sinai, Master of the Eastern Desert and the Western Desert.

  “My lord, it grieves me to bring into the hearing of your sacred personage unfortunate news about treacherous and dishonorable happenings that have befallen the territories of the crown in the marshes of southern Nubia. I had, my lord, being reassured by the treaty concluded between Egypt and the Maasayu tribes, and given the unbroken calm and improved security that had ensued after the sealing of that agreement, ordered the withdrawal of many of the garrisons stationed in the desert to their main bases. Today, an officer of the garrison foot soldiers came to me and informed me that the leaders of the tribes had split asunder the rod of obedience and reneged on their oaths. They swept down out of the night like thieves, attacked the garrison barracks, and wrought a savage slaughter upon them. The contingent fought back desperately against forces that were a hundred times their number or more until they fell to the last man on the field of valor. The tribes laid waste to the country all around then headed north toward the land of Nubia. I saw it wise not to overstretch the limited forces at my disposal, and to direct my concern at fortifying our defenses and fortresses so that we might stall the advancing foe. By the time this letter reaches my lord our troops will have already engaged the aggressor's vanguard. I await my lord's command, and remain at the head of my warriors, waging battle for the sake of my lord Pharaoh and my country Egypt, my motherland.”

  The messenger finished reading out the letter but his voice continued to resonate in many hearts. The governors’ eyes were ablaze, sparks flying from them, and a wave of violent unrest shook their ranks. As for the priests, they had knitted their brows and their faces were impassive, turned into frozen statues in a soundless temple.

  Pharaoh was silent for a moment, allowing the consternation to reach its peak. Then he said, “This is the letter which I called you to take counsel upon.”

  The governor of Thebes was at the forefront of the zealous ones. He rose to his feet, bowed his head in salute, and said, “My lord, it is a solemn dispatch indeed. The only answer is a summons to mobilization.”

  His words found an enthusiastic welcome in the hearts of the governors, and the governor of Ambus stood up and said, “I second that opinion, my lord. There is only one answer and that is swift mobilization. How otherwise when beyond the southern borders our valiant brethren are sorely beset by the enemy? And though they are steadfast, we should not forsake them nor tarry in their aid.”

  Ani was thinking about the consequences that might encroach upon his sphere of influence. He said, “If those barbarians lay waste to the land of Nubia they will threaten the border without a doubt.”

  The governor of Thebes recalled an old opinion he had long hoped would one day be vindicated: “I was always of the opinion, my lord, that the kingdom maintain a large and permanent army that would enable Pharaoh to undertake his commitments in defending the well-being of the motherland and our possessions beyond the borders.”

  Ardor grew strong in all the commanders’ flanks, with many calling for mobilization. Others hailed Prince Kaneferu and the Nubian garrison. Some of the governors were sorely moved and said to the king, “My lord, it gives us no pleasure to celebrate the festival while death bears down upon our valiant brethren. Give us permission to depart and muster our men at arms.”

  Pharaoh remained silent in order to hear what the priests might say. These latter too took recourse to silence while spirits calmed, and when the hubbub in the ranks of the governors had finally died down, the high priest of Ptah rose to his feet and, with remarkable composure, said, “Would my lord grant me permission to pose a question to the emissary of His Majesty Prince Kaneferu?”

  “You have my permission, priest,” said the king stiffly.

  The high priest of Ptah turned toward the emissary and said, “When did you quit the lands of Nubia?”

  “Two weeks since,” replied the man.

  “And when did you reach Abu?”

  “Yesterday evening.”

  The high priest turned to face Pharaoh and said, “Revered and worshipful king, this matter is indeed most confusing, for this venerable messenger came to us yesterday from the South bearing news that the leaders of the Maasayu had rebelled, and yet that same yesterday a delegation of Maasayu elders arrived from the farthest reaches of the South to proffer the obligatory rites of obedience to their lord Pharaoh, and to offer to your Highness their profound gratitude for the bounty and peace you have bestowed upon them. How pressing therefore is our need of one who can shed some light upon this mystery.”

  It was a bizarre declaration, and one that no one had expected. It provoked great amazement and wonder. All heads were convulsed by a violent commotion while the governors and priests exchanged questioning and unruly looks, and the princes whispered amongst themselves. Sofkhatep was struck dumb and he gazed at his lord in utter dismay. He saw Pharaoh's hand tighten its grip upon his staff, and clench it so firmly that the veins bulged on his forearm and the color drained from his face. The man was afraid that anger had taken control of the king so he asked the high priest, “Who informed you of this, Your Holiness?”

  “I saw them with my own eyes, my Lord Prime Minister,” replied the man softly. “I visited the temple of Sothis yesterday and its priest presented to me a delegation of black men who said they were Maasayu chiefs and had come to perform the rites of obedience to Pharaoh. They stayed the night as guests of the high priest.”

  “Is it not the case that they are from Nubia?” said Sofkhatep, but the high priest was adamant. “They said they were Maasayu. In any event, there is a man here among us — he is Commander Tahu — who has clashed with the Maasayu in many wars and knows all their headmen. If Your Majesty would be so gracious as to order that these chiefs be summoned to his sacred court, then perhaps their testimony will remove the veil of confusion from our eyes.”

  The king was in a pronounced state of dread and rage, yet he had not the slightest inkling how to forestall the high priest's proposal. He felt all faces scrutinizing him with anxious expectation as they waited in suspense, and at length he said to one of the chamberlains, “Go to the temple of Sothis and call the visiting chiefs.”

  The chamberlain departed obediently and all waited, utterly still with consternation drawn on every face, as each man stifled a heartfelt desire to question his neighbor and listen to his thoughts. Sofkhatep remained alarmed and apprehensive, as thoughts raced incessantly through his mind and he snat
ched worried and bewildered glances from his lord, with whom he sympathized deeply in this dreadful hour. The minutes passed, ponderous and agonizing, as if they were being torn from their very flesh. From his throne the king surveyed the restless governors and the priests, who sat heads bowed. His eyes were barely able to conceal the emotions doing battle in his heart. Then all imagined they heard a commotion borne upon the air from afar. Each man emerged from his inner dialogue and pricked up his ears as the hubbub neared the square outside the palace. It was the clamor of voices cheering and hailing, which as they drew nearer, grew steadily louder and more intense until they seemed to fill the hall, all mingling together, none distinguishable above the rest, yet still the long palace courtyard stood between them and the assembled grandees. The king ordered one of the chamberlains to step onto the balcony and ascertain the cause of the disturbance. The man disappeared for a moment then hastily returned, and, inclining toward Pharaoh's ear, said, “Throngs of the populace are filling the square, surrounding the chariots which come bearing the chieftains.”

  “And what is their call?”

  “They are saluting the loyal friends from the South and the peace treaty.”

  Then the man wavered for a moment before continuing in a whisper, “And, my lord, they are hailing the treaty-maker, Khnumhotep.”

  The king's face paled with indignation, and he felt some great malice driving him into a corner as he wondered how he could call a people who were feting the Maasayu chieftains and hailing the peace treaty, to go to war with the very same Maasayu. He awaited the approaching dignitaries with a growing sense of exasperation, despair, and gloom.