Three Novels of Ancient Egypt

by Naguib Mahfouz

  An officer of the guard announced the arrival of the leaders, and the door was thrown wide open. The delegation entered, preceded by their headman. There — were ten of them, strapping of form, naked except for a loincloth girded about their waists, and on their heads wreaths of leaves. Together they prostrated themselves on the ground and crawled forward until they reached the threshold of the throne where they kissed the ground in front of Pharaoh. The king held out his staff to them and each man put his lips to it in submission. The king granted them permission to stand and they rose to their feet in awe, whereupon their leader said in the Egyptian tongue, “Sacred Lord, Pharaoh of Egypt, Deity of the Tribes, we have come to your abode that we might offer to you the manifestations of humiliation and subjugation, and to give praise for the favor and blessings you have bestowed upon us, for thanks to your mercy, we have eaten delicious food and we have drunk sweet and fragrant water.”

  Pharaoh raised his hand in benediction.

  All faces were turned to him, willing him to ask them some news of their land. “From which clans are you?” asked the vanquished king.

  “O Sacred Splendor,” said the man, “we are chieftains of the Maasayu tribes who pray for your splendor and glory.”

  The king was silent awhile, and declined to ask them anything about their followers. He had had enough of the place and those in it and said, “Pharaoh thanks you, loyal and faithful slaves, and blesses you.”

  He extended his staff and they kissed it once again. Then they retraced their steps, their forms bent double so that their foreheads almost touched the floor.

  Anger flared up in Pharaoh's breast, and he sensed a painful realization in his heart that the clergy arrayed before him had struck him a mortal blow in some arcane battle that only he and they could comprehend. His wrath welled up inside him and his rage overflowed as he fumed at his defeat and said in a peremptory tone, “I have here an epistle whose veracity is unassailed by doubt, and whether the rebellious tribes pay homage to these men or not, one thing remains certain: there is a revolt, there are insurgents, and our troops are surrounded.”

  The governors’ enthusiasm returned unabated, and the governor of Thebes said, “My lord, it is divine wisdom that flows upon your tongue. Our brethren await reinforcements. We should not waste our time in discussion when the truth is staring us in the face.”

  “Governors,” said the king vehemently, “I exempt you this day from participating in the celebration of the Nile festival, for before you lies a more sublime duty. Return to your provinces and muster men-at-arms, for every minute that is lost shall cost us dear.”

  With these words the king rose to his feet, thereby indicating the termination of the assembly. All rose at once and bowed their heads in reverence.

  The shout in the crowd

  Pharaoh made for his private — wing and summoned his two loyal men, Sofkhatep and Tahu, to join him. They — were quick to oblige, for they — were severely shaken by what had happened, and under no illusion whatsoever as to the gravity of the situation. They found the king as they had expected, furious and enraged, pacing the room from wall to wall as he ranted insanely. Suddenly aware of them, he cast them a sidelong glance, and said, with sparks flying from beneath his eyelids, “Treason. I smell foul treason in this nasty air.”

  Tahu stalled, then said, “My lord, while I do not deny on my part a certain pessimism and misgiving, my intuition would not go as far as such a grand supposition.”

  The king went berserk, stamping his foot on the ground, shouting, “Why did that damned delegation turn up? And how did they come today? Today of all days?”

  Sofkhatep, immersed in his thought and woes, said, “I wonder if it might not just be an unhappy and bizarre coincidence?”

  “Coincidence!” stormed the king terrifyingly. “No! No! It is wicked treason. I can almost see its face — veiled, the head deviously bowed. Nay, Prime Minister, those folk did not come by coincidence, but rather were sent here by some design to say peace if I were to say war. Thus has my enemy dealt me a severe blow, just as he stands before me professing loyalty.”

  Tahu's face turned pale, and a poignant look appeared in his eyes. Sofkhatep, not contending the king's view, lowered his head in despair and said, as if he were talking to himself, “If it is treason, then who is the traitor?”

  “Indeed,” said the king as he shook his fist in the air. “Who is the traitor? Is there then a mystery that cannot be unraveled? Of course there is not. I do not betray myself. Sofkhatep and Tahu would not stab me in the back. Nor would Rhadopis.

  There is none left save that malicious messenger. Alas, Rhadopis is deceived.”

  A glint shone in Tahu's eye as he said, “I will drag him here and wring the truth from his mouth.”

  The king shook his head, saying, “Slowly, Tahu, slowly. The villain is not waiting for you to go and arrest him. Perhaps, as we speak, he is enjoying the fruits of his treachery in a safe place known only to the priests. How was the deception accomplished? I cannot think, but I will swear by the Lord Sothis that they learned of the letter before the messenger set off. Wasting no time, they sent an emissary of their own. Mine came back with the dispatch, theirs with the delegation. Treachery, villainy! I am living like a prisoner among my own people. May the gods curse the world and all mankind.”

  The two men did not make a sound, out of sadness and pity. Tahu detected a look of distress in his lord's eyes and, wanting to instill some fresh hope into their dire mood, he said, “Let our consolation be that we shall strike the decisive blow.”

  The king was exasperated. “And how shall we aim this blow?” he asked.

  “The governors are on their way to the provinces to muster soldiers.”

  “And do you imagine that the priests will stand, hands bound, before an army they know has been assembled to eradicate them?”

  Sofkhatep was laboring under a formidable burden, and though he was willing to accept the king's prognosis, he wished to get the weight off his chest so he said, as if he were making a wish, “Perchance our opinion is a fallacy, and what we deem treason is no more than coincidence, and these dun clouds will scatter at the least cause.”

  Pharaoh flared up again at this show of sympathy. “The image of those priests with their heads lowered still hangs in my mind. I have no doubt they harbor an awesome secret in their hearts. There is not a single reason to suspect otherwise. When the high priest rose to speak, he challenged the zeal of the governors with ease, delivering his words with unbounded confidence. Perhaps even now he is speaking with ten tongues. How despicable treason is. Merenra will not live his life at the beck and call of the clergy.”

  Tahu, sorely riled at his lord's distress, said, “My lord, you have at your command a battalion of guards of strapping build, each one a match for a thousand of their men, each of whom would gladly sacrifice himself for his lord's sake.”

  Pharaoh brushed him aside and, sprawling out on a sumptuous divan, surrendered to the torrid thoughts that surged through his head. Might not his hope be realized in spite of all these woes? Or would his project fail once and for all? What a historic hour in his life this was. He stood at the crossroads between glory and humiliation, power and collapse, love and loss. He had refused to yield over the estates as a matter of principle. Would he soon find himself compelled to capitulate in order to preserve his throne? Ah, that day would never come, and if it did, he would never allow himself to be abased. He would remain to his dying breath noble, glorious, and mighty. In spite of himself he let out a mournful sigh and said, “The pity of it, that treason should lie in fortune's way.”

  Sofkhatep's voice put an end to his musing. “My Lord, the time of the pageant is at hand.”

  Pharaoh peered at him like one roused from a deep slumber and muttered, “Is that so?” Then he stood up and strode over to the balcony, which looked out over the grand courtyard of the palace. The company of chariots stood in ranks at the ready, and in the distance, waves of clamorous r
evelers could be seen breaking into the square. Upon this teeming world he cast a pallid glance and returned to where he had been standing. Then he entered his chamber and disappeared for a brief time. He re-emerged wearing the leopard skin insignia of the priesthood and the double crown. All present made ready to depart but before they could make a move, a palace chamberlain entered, saluted his lord and said, “Lord Tarn, commissioner of the Abu police, requests permission to stand before his lord.”

  The king and his two counselors, remarking the signs of consternation on the man's face, granted it. The chief constable saluted his lord and, with great haste and much perturbation, said, “My lord, I have come to humbly beseech your sacred personage to refrain from proceeding to the temple of the Nile.”

  The two men's hearts skipped a beat as the king said anxiously, “And what has led you to make this recommendation?”

  Panting heavily, the man replied, “I have this very hour arrested a large number of people who were directing malicious chants at a noble personage held in high esteem by my lord, and I fear the same chants may be repeated during the procession.”

  The king's heart quivered and caldrons of rage boiled in his blood as he asked the man in a hesitating voice, “What did they say?”

  The man swallowed nervously and, with some embarrassment, said, “They shouted, ‘Down with the whore! Down with her who plunders the temples!’ “

  At this the king flew into a rage and cried out in a voice like thunder, “What sore affliction! I must strike the blow that will rid me of them once and for all or else my whole being will explode!”

  The man went on, panic in his voice, “The miscreants resisted my men, and pitched battles took place between them and us and for a while there was chaos and disarray, at which point more evil and seditious cries went up.”

  The king ground his teeth in exasperation and disgust as he asked, “What else did they say?”

  The man looked down at the floor and said almost in a whisper, “The insolent villains violated one more exalted.”

  “I?” said the king in disbelief.

  The man fell back in silence and the color drained out of his face. Sofkhatep was unable to contain himself and cried out, “How can I believe my ears?”

  And Tahu stormed, “This is a madness that cannot be imagined.”

  Pharaoh laughed nervously and, with bitter rancor in his voice, said, “How did my people mention me, Tarn? Speak, man. I order you.”

  The police commissioner said, “The scoundrels cried out, ‘Our king is frivolous. We want a serious king.’ “

  The king laughed a laugh like the first, and said sarcastically, “What a pity. Merenra is no longer — worthy to sit on the throne of the clergy. What else did they say, Tam?”

  The man spoke so softly that his voice was scarcely audible, “They called out the name of Her Majesty, Queen Nitocris, many times, my lord.”

  A sudden glint flashed in the king's eye and the name Nitocris echoed softly between his lips, as if he had recalled something old that had long since been forgotten. The two advisers exchanged a look of alarm. Pharaoh sensed their consternation, and the quandary of the police commissioner. Pharaoh did not want to make of the queen a subject for bitter talk, but he could not help wondering with some dismay what the queen's feelings toward these slogans might be. He was utterly depressed and felt a violent wave of anger, defiance, and recklessness wash over him. Addressing Sofkhatep, he said brusquely, “Is it time to depart?”

  But Tam said in bewilderment, “Will my lord not desist from going?”

  And the king said, “Are you not listening to me, Prime Minister?”

  Sofkhatep was perturbed, and said humbly, “In a moment, my lord. I thought my lord was resolved not to go.”

  But the king said with a calmness like that which comes before the storm, “I shall go to the temple of the Nile, passing through the infuriated multitudes, and we shall see what will come to pass. Return to your duties, Tam.”

  Hope and poison

  That same morning, Rhadopis was lounging on a sumptuous divan, dreaming. It was one of those rare days, bursting with festive joy and promising great victory for her. What happiness, what joy. This day her heart was like a pool of clear and fragrant water, flowers sprouting around its edges, and all about in the air nightingales chirping their sweet refrains. How joyous the world is! When would she receive the news of victory? When evening came and the sun began its journey to the underworld, and her heart commenced its own journey into the realm of abandonment with her darling beloved. How marvelous was evening time. Evening time, hour of the beloved, when he will come into her with his lithe figure and glowing youth, and wrap his sinewy arms around her slender waist, as he whispers her name softly in her ear with glad tidings of victory, saying, “The pain is over. The governors have gone on their ways to amass the soldiery. Now, let us see to our love.” Ah yes, how beautiful evening time is.

  And yet she hardly could believe that the day would pass. She had waited a month for the messenger to return and though the passing ofthat time had been grueling and intolerable, these few hours were cruder and more unsettling than anything she had experienced. Nevertheless, there was some relief mixed with her worry, and her fear was tempered by a touch of happiness. It was as if she wanted to pull the wool over Time's eyes and pretend the waiting did not exist. Her thoughts veered hither and thither until, in her wanderings, she alighted upon the lover kneeling in his temple, in the summer room. Benamun Ben Besar. How delicate he was, how sweet his presence, she mused, as she asked herself once again in dismay how she should reward him for the momentous service he had rendered her. He had flown on the wings of a dove to the farthest reaches of the South and had returned more swiftly than he went, borne by his passion, overcoming through it all obstacles along the way. At one point she had wondered in her confusion how she could get rid of him. But he had taught her — with his contentment a wondrous love that did not know egoism or possessiveness or greed. He was satisfied with dreams and fantasies, for he was an idealistic youth, unschooled in the ways of the world. If he had coveted a kiss for example, she would not have known how to refuse him, and she would surely have offered him her mouth. But he coveted nothing, as if afraid to touch her lest he be consumed in mysterious flames. Or perhaps he did not believe that she was something that could be touched and kissed at all. He did not look upon her with the eye of a human being and he could not see that she was human too. He desired only to live in the radiance of her splendor like the plants of the earth live by the sun as it floats through the heavens.

  She sighed and said, “Truly the world of love is a marvelous place.” Her own love sprang exuberantly from the font of her being, for the force which attracted her to her lord was the very force of life itself, pristine and awesome. Benamun's love, however, was such as to shut out all reason for living, and he wandered astray, beyond sublime horizons, never announcing a trace of feeling save through his prodigious hands and sometimes on his hot and stumbling tongue. It was such a fragile love in some ways, moving like a phantom through a dream, and so strong in others, for it breathed life into solid rock. How could she contemplate getting rid of him when he did not bother her at all? She would leave him safe in his temple, depicting upon its silent walls the most beautiful embellishments to frame her ravishing face.

  She cried out once again from the depths of her heart, “When is evening?” Damned Shayth. If she had stayed by her side she would have entertained her with her gossip and bawdy banter, but she had insisted on going to Abu to watch the pageant.

  How beautiful memories can be. She remembered last year's festival, the day her luscious palanquin was born aloft and cut its way through the seething multitudes to see Pharaoh, the youth. When her eyes beheld him, he had moved her heart without her knowing it, and she had felt the sudden rush of love as something strange and unfamiliar, for so long had she lived with drought, that she thought it angry nervousness, or a spell breathed by a sorcerer.
Then that eternal day, when the falcon soared off with her sandal, and the second day had hardly begun when Pharaoh visited her. From there, love had found its way into her heart. Her life had changed and the whole world had changed with it.

  Now it was the second year, and here she was, holed up in her palace while the world feasted and made merry outside. She would not be destined to appear again except on the rarest of occasions, for Rhadopis was no longer the courtesan and dancer, but rather for a whole year now and forever after, she was the pulsating heart of Pharaoh. Her thoughts roamed here and there, but it was not long before they were inevitably drawn back to he who was uppermost in her mind, and she wondered what had happened at the extraordinary meeting that her lord had convened in order to have the message read out before it. Had the conference taken place and the assembled grandees rallied to the call, thereby bringing her cherished hope ever nearer to fulfillment? O Lord, when would evening come?

  She grew tired of sitting and stood up to stretch her legs. She strolled over to the window that looked out upon the garden and cast her eyes over the spacious grounds. And there she remained until she heard a frenzied hand knocking on the door. With considerable irritation she turned round and saw her slave girl Shayth fling open the door and charge into the room, gasping for breath as her eyes darted back and forth and her chest rose and fell. Her face was pallid as if she had just risen from the bed of a long sickness. Rhadopis's heart beat faster and she was filled with dread as she asked her apprehensively, “Shayth, what is the matter?”

  The slave tried to speak, but she burst into tears as she knelt in front of her lady, and clasping her hands to her breasts, she wept uncontrollably. Rhadopis was overcome with an intense perturbation, and she shouted, “What is wrong with you, Shayth?

  “By God, speak woman! Do not leave me prey to confusion.

  I have hopes and I fear they will be dashed by some malicious conspiracy.”