Three Novels of Ancient Egypt

by Naguib Mahfouz

  The woman breathed a deep sigh and, gulping for air as she spoke, said in a tearful sobbing voice, “My lady, my lady. They have flared up in open revolt.”

  “Who have?”

  “The people, my lady. They are screaming things, angry and insane. May the gods tear out their tongues.”

  Her heart leapt into her mouth and in a trembling voice she said, “What are they saying, Shayth?”

  “Alas, my lady, they have gone berserk and their poisonous tongues are ranting frightful things.”

  Rhadopis was out of her mind with terror and she shouted out sternly, “Do not torment me, Shayth. Tell me honestly what they were saying. O Lord!”

  “My lady, they mention you in a very unflattering way. What have you done, my lady, that you so deserve their wrath?”

  Rhadopis clasped her hand to her breast. Her eyes were wide with panic as she said in a halting voice, “Me? Are the people angry with me? Could they find nothing on this sacred day to take their minds off me? Dear Lord! What did they say, Shayth? Tell me the truth, for my sake.”

  The woman wept bitterly as she spoke. “The insane louts were crying out that you had made off with the money of the gods.”

  She let out a gasp from her stricken breast, and muttered woefully, “Alas, my heart is plucked out and quakes in fear. What I dread most is that the victory we anticipated is lost amid the uproar and the cries of rage. Would it not have been more worthy of them to ignore me out of respect for their lord?”

  The slave struck her breast with her fist and wailed, “Not even our lord himself escaped their venomous tongues.”

  The terrified woman let out a scream of terror, and she felt a shudder rock the very foundations of her being. “What are you saying? Did they have the audacity to besmirch Pharaoh?”

  “Yes my lady,” sobbed the woman. “O the pity of it. They said, ‘Pharaoh is frivolous. We want a serious king.’ “

  Rhadopis raised her hands to her head as if she were shouting for help, her body was contorted with the severity of the pain and she threw herself desperately onto the divan as she said, “Dear Lord, what horror is this? How does the earth not quake, and the mountains crumble to dust? Why does the sun not pour down its fire upon the world?”

  “It is quaking, my lady,” said the slave. “It is quaking mightily. The populace is locked in violent combat with the police. Blood gushes and flows. I was almost trampled underfoot, and I ran for my life, oblivious to the fray, and I came down to the island in a skiff. My fears only increased when I saw the Nile heaving with boats, the people on board shouting the same slogans as those on the land. It was as if they had all agreed to come out at the same time.”

  She was overwhelmed with fatigue and a wave of choking despair crashed down on her and drowned her floundering hopes without mercy. She began to ask her grief-stricken heart, “What on earth has happened in Abu? How have these grievous events come to pass? What provoked the people and whipped them into such a frenzy?” Was the message doomed to failure and her hope destined to die? The air was thick with dust, gloomy and somber, and harbingers of imminent evil flew about in all directions. Her heart would not savor rest now, for mortal fear gripped it like a fist of ice. “O ye Gods, help us,” she exclaimed. “Has my lord appeared before the citizenry?”

  Shayth reassured her, saying, “No, he has not, my lady. He shall not quit his palace until his castigation has been visited upon the rebellious mob.”

  “Dear Lord! You do not know how he thinks, Shayth. My master is irascible, he will never stand down. I am so afraid, Shayth. I must see him, now.”

  The slave shook with fright as she said, “That is impossible. The water is covered with boats all packed to the brim with angry mobs, and the island guards are assembled on the bank.”

  She tore at her hair as she cried out, “Why is it that the world is closing in upon me, doors slammed shut in my face? I am tumbling down a dark well of despair. O my darling! How do you fare now at this moment? How can I come to you?”

  Shayth said to solace her, “Patience, my lady. This dark cloud will pass.”

  “My heart is torn in pieces. I sense he is in pain. O my master, my darling! I — wonder — what events are transpiring now in Abu.”

  These — woes overpowered her, all the pain burst open in her heart and her tears flowed fervently. Shayth was perturbed at this unfamiliar display, seeing the high priestess of love, luxury, and indulgence in floods of tears, wailing desperately as comatose with grief she pondered her dashed hopes that had been so real just minutes before. Her heart felt the icy blade of fear as she asked herself in alarm and trepidation, “Would they be able to coerce her lord against his will and deprive him of his happiness and his pride? Would they make her palace an object of their hatred and dissatisfaction?” Life would be unbearable if either of these nightmares came true. It would be better for her to put an end to her life if it lost its splendor and joy. Now Rhadopis, who once was courted by love and glory, was about to choose between life and death. She thought about her dilemma for a long time until at length the sadness brought to her a thought she had consigned to the deeper recesses of her memory. She was suddenly overcome with curiosity and she rose quickly and washed her face with cold water to remove any traces of weeping from her eyes. She said to Shayth that she wished to talk to Benamun about certain matters. The youth was engrossed in his work, as usual, oblivious to the unhappy events that were turning the world black. When he realized she was there, he walked toward her, his face beaming with joy, but he quickly fell silent. “By the truth of this ravishing beauty, you are indeed sad today,” he said.

  “Not at all,” she replied, lowering her gaze, “just a little unwell, like a woman sick.”

  “It is very hot. Why do you not sit an hour by the edge of the pool?”

  “I have come to you with a request, Benamun,” she said abruptly.

  He folded his arms across his chest as though saying, “Here I am, at your disposal.”

  “Do you remember, Benamun,” she asked him, “you told me once of a marvelous poison concocted by your father?”

  “Indeed I do,” said the young man, surprise appearing upon his face.

  “Benamun, I — want a phial of that marvelous poison — which your father named ‘the happy poison.’ “

  Benamun's surprise grew more apparent, and he muttered questioningly, “What on earth for?”

  In a tone as calm as she could manage, she said, “I was talking to a physician and he expressed interest in its regard. He asked me if I might be able to supply him — with a phial, — with — which he might save the life of a patient. I promised him, Benamun. Will you now promise me in your turn to fetch it for me without further delay?”

  It delighted him that she should ask him for whatever she wished and he said merrily, “You will have it in your hands in a matter of hours.”

  “How? Will you not have to go to Ambus to fetch it?”

  “Not at all. I have a phial at my lodgings in Abu.”

  His announcement aroused her curiosity in spite of all her woes and she gazed at him in bewilderment. He lowered his eyes and his face reddened. In a low voice he said, “I went and brought it in those painful days when I was almost cured of my love and wallowed in deep despair. Had it not been for the affection you showed after that, I would now be in the company of Osiris.”

  Benamun went off to fetch the phial. She shrugged her shoulders contemptuously, and as she stood up to leave, she said, “I may resort to it instead of some more evil outcome.”

  Arrow of the people

  Obeying his lord's command, Tarn saluted and departed — with confusion and fear drawn upon his countenance. The three men were left standing there alone, ashen-faced. Sofkhatep broke the silence — with a plea. “I beseech you, my lord, refrain from going to the temple today.”

  Pharaoh could not stomach such advice and, knitting his brow in anger, he said, “Am I to flee at the first call that goes up?”

&nb
sp; The prime minister said, “My lord, the populace are — worked into a frenzy. We must take time to reflect.”

  “My heart tells me that our plan is headed for certain failure, and if I give in today I will have lost my dignity forever.”

  “And the people's anger, my lord?”

  “It will die down and abate when they see me cut through their ranks in my chariot like a towering obelisk, facing peril head on, not surrendering or submitting.”

  Pharaoh began to pace up and down the room, irascible and in a violent temper. Sofkhatep was silent, concealing his own rage. He turned to Tahu as if calling for help, but it was clear from the commander's ghostlike complexion, distant eyes, and heavy eyelids that he was swamped by his own woes. A profound silence fell over them, and all that could be heard were the king's footsteps.

  A court chamberlain hurried nervously into the room, breaking their stillness. He bowed to the king and said, “An officer of the police requests permission to be granted an audience, my lord.”

  The king granted him permission, and he cast his two men a look to ascertain the effect of the chamberlain's words on their demeanor. He found them perturbed and ill at ease, and a wry smile formed on his lips as he shrugged his broad shoulders disdainfully. The officer entered, breathless from the effort and commotion. His uniform — was caked — with dust and his helmet battered and askew. It did not bode well. The man saluted and before being permitted to speak, said, “My lord! The citizenry is engaged in violent battle with the constables of the police. Many men have been killed on both sides, but they will overpower us if we do not receive substantial reinforcements from the pharaonic guard.”

  Sofkhatep and Tahu were horrified. They looked at Pharaoh and saw his lips were trembling with rage. “By every god and goddess in the pantheon,” he roared, “these folk have not come to celebrate the festival!”

  The officer had more to say: “Our spies have reported, my lord, that there are priests inciting the masses on the outskirts of the city, claiming that Pharaoh is using an imaginary war in the South as a pretext to muster an army with which to crush the people. The people, believing them, have grown enraged. If the police had not stood in their way they would have stormed the approaches to the sacred palace.”

  Pharaoh bellowed like thunder, “Doubt gives way to certainty. Pernicious treason has come to light. It is them, declaring their aggression and initiating the attack.”

  These were strange and unbelievable words that assailed their ears, and it appeared upon all their faces as if they asked incredulously, “Is this truly Pharaoh? And this the people of Egypt?” Tahu could stand it no longer, and said to his lord, “My lord, this is a baneful day, as if the forces of Darkness thrust it unnoticed into the cycle of time. It began with bloodshed and the Lord knows best how it will end. Command me to do my duty.”

  “What will you do, Tahu?” Pharaoh asked him.

  “I will deploy the men-at-arms on the fortified defenses and I will lead out the company of chariots to meet the mob before they overcome the police and force their way into the square and the palace.”

  Pharaoh smiled mysteriously and was quiet for a while, then in a solemn voice, he said, “I will lead them myself.”

  Sofkhatep was aghast. “My lord,” he blurted out.

  The king struck his chest aggressively with his hands, saying, “This palace has been a stronghold and a temple for thousands of years. It will not become the base objective of every rebel who cares to raise his voice in protest.”

  The king removed the leopard skin and, throwing it aside in disgust, rushed into his chamber to don his martial attire. Sofkhatep was fast losing his nerve, and sensing dread and disaster, he turned to Tahu and in a commanding tone, said, “Commander, we have no time to lose. Be gone and make ready to defend the palace and await the orders that come to you.”

  The commander left the room followed by the police officer, while the prime minister waited for the king.

  Events, however, were not waiting, and the wind carried a clamorous racket that grew ever louder and more defiant until it drowned out every other sound. Sofkhatep rushed over to the balcony that overlooked the palace courtyard and gazed out into the square beyond. From all around, masses of people were pouring into the square, shouting and clamoring, brandishing swords and daggers and clubs, as if they were the waves of a huge and powerful flood. Nothing but bare heads and flashing blades as far as the eye could see. The prime minister felt a shudder of dread. He looked below and saw the slaves in hurried commotion, sliding the huge bolts into place behind the great door. The infantry looked as sprightly as falcons as they ascended the towers that had been erected on the northern and southern ends of the outfacing wall. A large company of them moved into the colonnade that led down to the garden, carrying lances and bows. The chariots stayed back at the rear, drawn up in two long rows below the balcony in readiness to charge down the courtyard if the outer gate were breached.

  Sofkhatep heard footsteps behind him. He turned round to see Pharaoh standing at the door onto the balcony in the uniform of the commander in chief. Upon his head was the double crown of Egypt. Sparks shot from his eyes and wrath was drawn upon his face like a tongue of flame. He spoke with fury and rage. “We are surrounded before we can make a move.”

  “The palace, my lord, is an impregnable fortress and stalwart warriors defend it. The priests will be routed in defeat.”

  Pharaoh was frozen to the spot. The prime minister moved back and stood behind him, whereupon they looked out together in doleful silence at the throngs of people so vast their numbers could not be counted as they poured toward the palace like — wild beasts, brandishing their — weapons menacingly and crying out in voices like thunder, “The throne belongs to Nitocris. Down with the frivolous king.” The archers of the royal guard loosed their arrows from behind the towers and they hit their mark to deadly effect. The mob returned fire with a tremendous burst of stones, blocks of wood, and arrows.

  Pharaoh nodded his head, and said, “Bravo, bravo, you rapacious people who come to overthrow the frivolous king. What anger is this? What revolution? Why do you brandish those weapons? Do you really want to plunge them into my heart? Well done, well done! It is a spectacle that deserves to be preserved on the temple walls for all eternity. Bravo, O People of Egypt.”

  The guards were fighting fiercely and valiantly, pouring down arrows like rain. Whenever one of them fell dead, another would take his place with death defiance, while the commanders mounted on horseback rode up and down atop the walls directing the battle.

  As he beheld these tragic scenes he heard behind him a voice he knew only too well saying, “My lord.”

  He wheeled round astonished, and saw the one who had called him only two steps away. “Nitocris!” he exclaimed in wonder.

  In a voice full of sadness the queen said, “Yes, my lord. My ears were rent with a foul screaming, the likes of which the Nile Valley has not heard before and I came to you, running, to declare my loyalty and to share your fate.”

  With these words she knelt down on her knees and bowed her head. Sofkhatep withdrew. The king took her by the wrists and lifted her to her feet as he gazed at her with bewildered eyes. He had not seen her since the day she had come to his wing, and he had reproached her in the crudest manner. He was deeply hurt and embarrassed, but the cries of the people and the screams of the fighting men brought him back to his former state and he said to her, “Thank you, sister. Come, take a look at my people. They have come to wish me a happy feast day.”

  She lowered her eyes, and said — with deep sorrow, “A monstrous blasphemy is that which they utter.”

  The king's sarcasm transformed itself into a raging bitter anger, and in tones swollen with disgust, he said, “A crazy country, choking air, polluted hearts, treachery. Treachery and treason.”

  The hair stood up on the back of the queen's neck at the mention of the word “treason,” her eyes froze in dread, and she felt her breath imprisoned in
her chest.

  Was it possible that the mob's chanting her name had provoked some misgivings? Would her reward be for him to accuse her after her heart had grieved at his woes, and she had come of her own accord to he who had insulted her and treated her harshly? The very thought broke her heart, and she said, “The pity of it, my lord. There is naught I can do except to share your fate, but I can only wonder who the traitor might be, and how the treachery was devised.”

  “The traitor is a messenger to whom I entrusted a letter — he delivered it to my enemy.”

  Surprised, the queen said, “I have no knowledge of a letter, or of a messenger, nor do I think that there is time to inform me. I want nothing from you save that I appear by your side before the people who are clamoring for me so that they will know I am loyal to you, and that I stand against those who stand against you.”

  “Thank you, little sister. But there is no trick. All I must do is prepare for a noble death.”

  Then he grabbed her arm and walked her to his room of contemplation, pulling back the curtain that was drawn over its door, and they entered together into the sumptuous room. The interior was dominated by a niche carved in the wall, in which were set statues of the previous king and queen. The royal siblings walked over to the statues of their parents, and stood before them in silence and humility, peering with sad and melancholy eyes. As he looked at the statues of his parents, the king said in a heavy voice, “What do you think of me?”

  He was silent for a moment as if he were waiting for an answer. His anxiety returned and he became angry with himself, then his eyes fixed on the statue of his father as he said, “You passed on to me a great monarchy and deep-rooted glory. What have I done with them? Hardly a year has passed since I came to the throne and already destruction looms. Alas, I have let my throne be trod underfoot by all and sundry, and my name is chewed upon every lip. I have made for myself a name that no pharaoh before me was ever called: the frivolous king.”