The governor looked concerned and asked the merchant, “Why does His Excellency not send a punitive expedition against them?”
“His Excellency is always sending forces after them, but the tribes do not confront battle formations. They flee into the desert and the jungles and our troops are obliged to return to base when their supplies run out. Then the rebels resume their raids on the caravan routes.”
The philosopher Hof listened to the words of Anin with great interest, for he had some experience of the land of Nubia and he was well acquainted with the Maasayu question.
“Why are the Maasayu always in revolt?” he inquired of the merchant. “Those lands under Egyptian rule enjoy peace and prosperity. We do not oppose the creeds of others. Why are they hostile to us?”
Anin -was not concerned to know the reasons. He believed it was the value of the merchandise that tempted folk to swoop down upon it. Governor Ani, however, had made a thorough study of these matters. “The truth, esteemed professor,” he said to the philosopher, “is that the Maasayu question has nothing to do with politics or religion. The reality of the matter is that they are nomadic tribes living in a desolate and barren land. They are threatened by starvation on occasion, and at the same time they possess treasure of gold and silver that cannot enrich them or fend off their hunger, and when the Egyptians undertake to put it to good use, they attack them and plunder their caravans.”
“If that is the case,” said Hof, “then punitive attacks are of no use. I recall, my Lord Governor, that Minister Una, may his soul be exalted in the realm of Osiris, at one time expended great effort to secure a treaty with them based on mutual benefit; he would provide them with food and they in return would guarantee the safety of the caravan routes. It seems a shrewd idea, does it not?”
The governor nodded his head in agreement.
“Prime Minister Khnumhotep resurrected Minister Una's plan and signed the treaty a few days before the festival of the Nile. We shall not know the results of his policy for a long time, though many are optimistic.”
The guests soon tired of politics and split up into smaller groups, each one vying for Rhadopis's attention. She, however, had been intrigued by the name Khnumhotep and remembered the voice in the crowd that had shouted out his name earlier in the day. She felt the same shock and disapproval she had at that moment, and anger rose in her breast. She moved over to where Ani was sitting with Hof, Henfer, Heni, and Ramon Hotep. “Did you hear that amazing cry today?” she asked softly.
Those who frequented the white palace were brothers. No pretensions stood between them and no fear stayed their tongues. Their conversations broached every subject with the utmost candor and lack of inhibition. Hof had been heard criticizing the policies of the ministers many times, -while Ramon Hotep had expressed his doubts and fears about the teaching of theology, openly declaring his epicurean beliefs, and calling for the enjoyment of-worldly things.
Master Architect Heni drank a draught from his cup, and looking into Rhadopis's beautiful face, said, “It was a bold and audacious call, the like of which has not been heard in the Nile Valley before.”
“Indeed,” said Henfer. “No doubt it was a sad surprise to young Pharaoh so soon into his reign.”
“It has never been the custom to call out a person's name, -whatever his position might be, in the presence of Pharaoh,” said Hof quietly.
“But they flaunted that custom so insolently,” said Rhadopis, clearly outraged. “Why did they do that, my Lord Ani?”
Ani raised his thick eyebrows and said, “I suppose you ask what the people in the streets are saying. Many of the populace now know that Pharaoh wishes to appropriate a large portion of the clergy's estates for the crown and to ask for the return of the lavish grants showered on the men of the priesthood by his father and forebears.”
“The clergy have always enjoyed the favor of the pharaohs,” said Ramon Hotep in a tone not lacking in indignation. “Our rulers have bestowed lands upon the priests and have given them money; the theocrats now own a third of all the agricultural land in the kingdom. Their influence has spread to the remotest regions and all and sundry are held in their sway. Surely there are causes more deserving of money than the temples?”
“The priests claim they spend the income from their estates on works of charity and piety,” said Hof. “And they are always declaring that they would gladly relinquish their properties if necessity required them to do so.”
“And what might such a necessity be?”
“If the kingdom were to be embroiled in a war, for example, that required great expenditure.”
Rhadopis thought for a moment. “Even so, they cannot oppose the wishes of the king,” she said.
“They are making a serious mistake,” said Governor Ani.
“And what is more, they have been sending their representatives throughout the regions putting it into the minds of the peasants that they, the priesthood, are defending the sacred property of the gods.”
Rhadopis was astonished. “How do they have the nerve?”
“The country is at peace,” said Ani. “The royal guard are the only armed force to be reckoned with. That is why they have the nerve, for they know very well that Pharaoh's forces are not sufficient to contain them.”
Rhadopis was irate. “What vile people,” she said furiously.
Hof, the philosopher, smiled. He was never one to keep his opinion to himself. “If you want the truth, the priesthood is a pure and unsullied institution that watches over the religion of this nation, and preserves its eternal mores and traditions. As for the lusting after power, it is an ancient malady.”
The poet Ramon Hotep, ever fond of provoking controversy, glared at him. “And Khnumhotep?” he demanded of the philosopher angrily.
Hof shrugged his shoulders in disdain. “He is a priest as he should be, and a clever politician. No one would deny that he is strong-willed and extremely shrewd,” he said with his extraordinary calmness.
Governor Ani mumbled to himself, shaking his head with some intensity. “He has yet to prove his loyalty to the throne.”
“He has announced the very opposite,” exclaimed Rhadopis angrily.
The philosopher did not agree with them. “I know Khnumhotep well. His loyalty to Pharaoh and the realm is beyond reproach.”
“All that remains, then, is for you to declare that Pharaoh is mistaken,” said Ani incredulously.
“I would not dream of it. Pharaoh is a young man with high hopes. He wishes to dress his country in a garment of splendor, and that will not come about unless he makes use of some of the priesthood's resources.”
“So who is mistaken then?” asked Ramon Hotep, confused.
“Is it not possible that two people disagree and both are right?” said Hof But Rhadopis was not happy with the philosopher's explanation, and she did not like the comparison he had made between the Pharaoh and his minister, implying that they -were equals. She believed in an unshakeable truth: that Pharaoh was sole master of the land, -with none to contend -with him, and that no one could question him -whatever the reason or circumstance. In her heart, she rejected any opinion that contradicted her belief. She announced this opinion to her friends and then concluded, “I wonder when it was that I came to hold this opinion?”
“When you first set eyes on Pharaoh,” said Ramon Hotep playfully. “Do not be so surprised, for beauty is just as convincing as the truth.”
The sculptor Henfer grew restless and called out, “Slave girls! Fill the cups. And Rhadopis, enchantress, let us hear a moving melody, or delight our eyes with a graceful dance. For our souls are merry with the wine of Maryut and the festival has put us in the mood for pleasure and joy. We are longing for rapturous entertainment and saucy indulgence.”
Rhadopis paid him no heed. She wanted to continue the conversation but when she noticed Anin the merchant seemingly asleep on his own, away from the clusters of revelers, she realized she had tarried too long with Ani's group, and she sto
od up and walked over to the merchant.
“Wake up,” she shouted in his face. The man jolted to attention, but his face soon lit up when he saw her. She sat down next to him and asked, “Were you asleep?”
“Indeed I was, and dreaming too.”
“Ah. What about?”
“About the happy nights of Biga. And in my confusion I was wondering if I would ever win one of those immortal unforgettable nights. If only I could obtain a promise from you now.”
She shook her head. He was taken aback, and cautiously, nervously, he asked her, “Why not?”
“My heart may desire you, or it may desire someone else. I do not bind it with false promises.”
She left him and moved over to another group. They were deep in conversation and drink. They welcomed her loudly and gathered round her from every side.
“Would you join in our conversation?” asked one of them, whose name was Shama.
“What are you talking about?”
“Some of us -were -wondering -whether artists deserve the recognition and honor that the pharaohs and ministers bestow upon them.”
“And have you reached any agreement?”
“Yes, my lady, that they do not deserve anything.”
Shama was speaking in a loud voice, unconcerned who could hear. Rhadopis looked over to where the artists were sitting: Ramon Hotep, Henfer, and Heni, and she laughed mischievously, a sweet enchanting laugh, and in a voice loud enough for the artists to hear, she said, “This conversation should be open to everyone. Do you not hear, gentlemen, what is being said about you? They are saying here that art is a trivial pursuit and that artists are not worthy of the honor and recognition they receive. What do you have to say?”
A sly smile appeared on the old philosopher's lips, while the artists looked haughtily across at the group that had so contemptuously disdained their calling. Henfer smiled arrogantly, while Ramon Hotep's face went yellow with anger, for he was easily provoked. Shama was happy to repeat what he had been saying to his friends in a louder voice for all to hear.
“I am a man of action and resolve. I strike the earth with a hand of iron, and it is humbled, and gives freely to me of its bounty and abundant blessings, and I benefit and thousands of other needy people benefit with me. All this happens without any need for measured words or brilliant colors.”
Each man spoke his mind, either to let out some ill will he had long harbored in his mind, or simply to chatter and give voice to his thoughts. One of the more important guests, whose name was Ram, said, “Who is it that rules and guides the people? Who conquers new lands and storms fortresses? Who is it that brings in wealth and profit? It is certainly not the artists.”
“Men are passionately in love with women,” announced Anin, who was quick to fill his glass at every opportunity, “and they rave about them inanely. Poets, however, couch this ranting in well-balanced words. No reasonable person would hold them to account for that, except perhaps that they should waste their time in something so futile and ephemeral. The ridiculous thing is that they should demand some fame or glory in exchange for their ranting.”
Shama spoke again, “Others tell long prosodic lies or wander in raptures through distant valleys seeking inspiration from phantoms and vain imaginings, claiming they are messengers with revelation. Children tell lies too, and many of the common folk, but they do not claim anything in return.”
Rhadopis laughed a long and hearty laugh, and moved over to where Henfer was sitting. “Shame on you artists,” she mocked. “Why then do you walk proud and conceited, as if you have grown as tall as the mountains?”
The sculptor smiled condescendingly but remained silent like his two companions, deeming himself above a response to those who attack without knowledge, while Ramon Hotep and Heni both contained their rising anger. Unwilling to see the battle end at this point, Rhadopis turned to Hof, the philosopher. “What do you think, philosopher, of art and artists?” she asked him.
“Art is entertainment andjest, and artists are skillful jesters.”
The artists were unable to conceal their anger, and Governor Ani could not contain his laughter. A roar of delight went up from the guests.
“My dear philosopher, do you want life to be simple drudgery and nothing else?” cried Ramon Hotep angrily.
The old man shook his head calmly, and with the smile still upon his lips, said, “Not at all. That was not my intention. Jest is necessary, but we should bear in mind that it is jest.”
“Is inspired creativity jest?” challenged Henfer.
“You call it inspiration and creativity,” said the philosopher dismissively. “I know it is the play of fantasy.”
Rhadopis looked at Heni, the architect, urging him to join in the fray, endeavoring to bring him out of his usual silence, but the man did not succumb to her temptation, not because he held that matter in question to be of little value, but because he believed, rightly or wrongly, that Hof did not mean what he was saying, and was teasing Henfer, and Ramon Hotep in particular, in his cruel manner. The poet, on the other hand, was greatly angered, and forgetting for a moment that he was in the palace of Biga, he addressed the philosopher in a spiteful tone: “If art is the play of fantasy then why are artists commissioned to do things they have not the capacity to achieve?”
“Because it demands of them to put aside the thought and logic they are used to and to seek refuge in a world of childhood and fantasy.”
The poet shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. “Your words do not deserve a response,” he said.
“Amen,” said Henfer, and Heni smiled in agreement, but Ramon Hotep had grown impatient and his anger would not allow him to be silent. He glared at the mocking faces, and said vehemently, “Does not art create pleasure and beauty for you?”
“How trivial that is,” said Anin, who hardly knew what he was saying for the wine had fuddled his mind.
The poet was furious. He let the lotus flower fall from his hand. “What is wrong with these people?” he blurted out. “They do not understand the meaning of what they are saying. Is it possible that I can mention pleasure and beauty and be told that they are trivial things? Is there then no purpose in the world to pleasure and beauty?”
Henfer was pleased with his companion's words and a flush of excitement came over him. He leaned over to Rhadopis's ear. “Your beauty is true, Rhadopis,” he said. “Life passes like a swiftly unfolding dream. I remember, for example, how sad I was at my father's death, and how bitterly I wept. But now whenever his memory comes to me I ask myself, ‘Did this person really live upon the earth or was he just an illusion appearing to me in the twilight?’ That is life. What benefit accrues to the mighty and powerful from their achievements, what gains to those who produce wealth and riches? What have rulers acquired from their ruling and leading? Are not their achievements like dust scattered in the wind? Power could be folly, wisdom error, and wealth vanity. As for pleasure, it is pleasure, it can be nothing else. Everything that is not beauty is worthless.”
A grave look appeared on Rhadopis's enchanting face, and dreams glimmered in her eyes as she said, “Who knows, Henfer, perhaps pleasure and beauty are trivialities too. Do you not see how I live my life in gentle comfort, courting pleasure, enjoying goodness and beauty? And yet despite all that, how often I am dogged by boredom and dejection.”
Rhadopis could see that Ramon Hotep was in a bad mood, and as she considered Henfer's displeasure and Heni's silence, she was touched by their hurt, and feeling responsible, she decided it was time to change the subject. “Gentlemen, enough! Whatever you have said, you shall never cease to search out art and seek the company of artists. You love them, though you relish in attacking them. You would make happiness itself a subject of debate and controversy.”
Governor Ani had grown weary of the discussion. “Dispel the dissenters with one of your happy songs,” he suggested.
Everyone longed to listen and enjoy, and they were united in their vociferous support of the governo
r's request. Rhadopis agreed. She had had enough of conversation and she felt once again the strange apprehension that had come over her several times that day. She thought that a song or a dance would drive it away, and, stepping over to her throne, she summoned her songstresses, who came with drums, lyres, flutes, and a wang and pipes, and lined up behind her.
Rhadopis gave a signal with her ivory hand and all began to play a beautiful rhythm and a graceful beat, providing a gorgeous musical accompaniment to her melodious voice. The musicians softened the sounds of their instruments and they became like the whispers of starry-eyed lovers, as Rhadopis began to sing the ode of Ramon Hotep:
O ye who listen to the sermons of the wise, lend me your ears, I have seen the world since the beginning of time, the passing of your forebears, who came and alighted here awhile like thoughts alight on the mind of a dreaming man. I have had my fill of laughing at their promises and threats. Where are the pharaohs, where are the politicians, where are the vanquishing heroes? Is the grave truly the threshold of eternity? No messenger has returned thence to put our hearts at rest, so do not shun pleasure, and do not let earthly delights pass you by, for the voice of her who pours the wine is more eloquently wise than the shrieking of the preacher.
The courtesan sang the words with a serene and tender voice, liberating the listeners’ souls from the shackles of the body to float in the welkin of beauty and joy, mindless of worldly troubles and the cares of this life, partaking of the most sublime mystery. And when she stopped, the guests remained enraptured, sighing sighs of joy and sadness, pleasure and pain.
Love drove all other emotions from their breasts and they vied in drinking, their eyes transfixed on the gorgeous woman who tripped lightly through their midst, flirting with them, teasing them, supping with them. And when she came to Ani, he whispered in her ear, “May the gods bring you happiness, Rhadopis. I came to you a shadow of myself, weighed down with woes, and now I feel like a bird soaring in the sky.”
She smiled at him and then moved over to Ramon Hotep and offered him a lotus flower to replace the one he had lost. “This old man says that art is jest and fantasy,” he said to her. “I say, to hell with his opinion. Art is that divine spark of light that flashes in your eyes, and, resounding in harmony with the throbbing of my heart, works miracles.”
Three Novels of Ancient Egypt Khufu's Wisdom Page 27
