by Mika Waltari
“He is mine,” she said, “and no one else shall touch him. It is from my arms that he shall enter the realms of death.”
“He shall step aboard the ship of his father the sun,” said Ptahor, incising the scalp with his flint knife. “Of the sun was he born, to the sun shall he return, and all people shall praise his name from everlasting to everlasting-In the name of Set and all devils, what is the blood stauncher about?”
He had been talking to distract the Queen’s thoughts from the operation, as a skillful doctor will talk to a patient to whom he is causing pain, but the last phrase was hissed at the peasant, who was leaning against the door post with sleepy, half-shut eyes. Sluggish blood had begun to well from Pharaoh’s head and run down into his consort’s lap so that she flinched and her face turned a yellowish gray. The man roused himself from his thoughts-thoughts no doubt of his oxen and his irrigation ditches-remembered his duty, and approaching the bed, he looked at Pharaoh and raised his hands. The flow of blood ceased at once, and I washed and cleaned the head.
“Forgive me, my little lady,” said Ptahor, taking the bore from my hand. “To the sun-ay, indeed, straight to his father in the golden ship, the blessing of Ammon be upon him.”
While he was speaking, he spun the bore swiftly and deftly between his hands so that it grated its way into the bone. The prince opened his eyes, took a step forward, and his face quivered as he said, “Not Ammon but Ra-Herachte shall bless him, and he manifests himself in Aton.”
“Ay, indeed, Aton,” murmured Ptahor soothingly. “Aton, of course-a slip of the tongue.” He took his flint knife again and the ebony- handled hammer, and with light taps began to remove the piece of bone. “For I remember that in his divine wisdom he raised up a temple to Aton. That was surely soon after the prince’s birth, was it not, fair Taia? One moment.”
He glanced uneasily at the prince, who was standing by the bed with clenched fists and twitching face.
“A mouthful of wine would steady my hand and do the prince no harm. At such a time as this one might well break the seal of a royal jar. There!”
I handed him the forceps, and he jerked out the piece of bone with a gfating noise.
“A little light, Sinuhe!”
Ptahor heaved a sigh, for the worst was over, and so did I. The same feeling of relief seemed to be communicated to the unconscious Pharaoh, for his limbs stirred, his breathing grew slower, and he sank into a yet deeper coma. Ptahor contemplated Pharaoh’s brain thoughtfully in the bright light, where it lay exposed: it was grayish blue, and it quivered.
“Hm,” he said musingly. “What is done is done. May his Aton do the rest for him, for this is a matter for gods, not men,”
Lightly and carefully he fitted the piece of bone back into place, smearing size into the crack, drew together the edges of the wound, and bandaged it. The royal consort laid his head over a neck rest of rare wood and looked at Ptahor. Blood had dried upon her, but she did not heed it. Ptahor met her fearless gaze without making obeisance, and said in a low voice, “He will live until dawn, his god permitting.”
Then he raised his hands in a gesture of sorrow, and so did I. But when he raised them to show sympathy, I dared not follow his example, for who was I to pity royalty? I purified the instruments in fire and put them back in the ebony box.
“Your reward shall be great,” said the Queen, and she signed to us that we might go. A meal had been prepared for us in another room, and Ptahor looked with delight at the many wine jars that stood along the wall. Having closely examined the seal of one of these, he caused it to be opened, and a slave poured water over our hands.
When we’re alone again, Ptahor explained to me that Ra- Herachte was the god of the Amenhoteps and that Aton was his manifestation: a god of great antiquity, older indeed than Ammon.
“It is said that the present heir to the throne is the divine son of this Aton,” went on Ptahor. He took a draught of wine. “It was in the temple of Ra-Herachte that the royal consort saw her vision, after which she bore a son. She took with her a very ambitious priest whom she favored; his name was Eie, and he saw to it that his wife was engaged as wet nurse to the heir. His daughter Nefertiti drank milk from the same breasts as the prince and played with him in the palace like a sister, so you may fancy what will come of that.”
Ptahor drank again, sighed, and went on. “Ah, for an old man there is nothing more delightful than drinking wine and gossiping about what does not concern him. If you but knew, Sinuhe, how many secrets lie buried behind this old forehead. Perhaps there are kingly secrets among them. Many wonder why it is that no son has ever been born alive in the women’s wing of the palace, for that is against all medical law-and the man lying there with the opened skull was no milksop, either, in the days of his joy and strength. He found his consort on a hunting trip; they say Taia was the daughter of some fowler and dwelt among the reeds of the Nile, but that the king made her his equal because of her wisdom and venerated her parents, too, and filled their tomb with the costliest of gifts. Taia had nothing against his pleasures so long as the women of the harem bore no man children. In this she had wonderfully good fortune, such as one could hardly believe possible if it had not happened.”
Ptahor looked sideways at me and glancing round said quickly, “But, Sinuhe, never believe any stories you may hear; they are only put about by ill-natured people-and everyone knows how gentle the queen is and how wise and what a gift she has for gathering useful men about her. Yes, yes… ”
I led Ptahor out into the fresh air; night had fallen, and in the east the lights of Thebes outshone the red glow in the sky. I was flushed with wine and felt again the city’s fever in my blood. Stars twinkled above my head, and the garden was filled with the scent of flowers.
“Ptahor,” I said, “when the lights of Thebes shine to the night sky, then-then I thirst after love!”
“There is no love,” said Ptahor emphatically. “A man is sad when he has no woman to lie with, and when he has lain with one, he is still sadder. So it has ever been and ever will be.”
“Why?”
“Not even the gods know that. And never talk to me of love unless you want me to open your skull for you. I will do that for nothing and without requiring the smallest present from you and so save you much sorrow.”
It now seemed best for me to take upon myself the duties of a slave; I lifted him in my arms and carried him to the room that had been put at our disposal. He was so little and old that I was not even breathless. When I had lain him down upon the bed, he fell asleep at once, after some little groping for a wine cup. I covered him with soft skins, as the night was cold, and went out again to the terrace of flowers-for I was young, and youth desires no sleep on the night of a king’s death.
The murmuring voices of those who were passing the night by the palace walls reached the terrace like the distant sough of wind through rushes.
I awoke amid the scent of flowers as the lights of Thebes glowed a garish red against the eastern sky; I remembered a pair of eyes green as Nile waters in the heat of summer-and found I was no longer alone.
The light from the stars and from the thin sickle of the moon was so faint that I could not see whether a man or a woman was approaching, but someone drew near and peered into my face. I stirred, and the newcomer, in a voice of authority that was yet shrill-almost childish-demanded, “Is it the Lonely One?”
I recognized the prince’s voice and his lanky figure and prostrated myself before him not daring to speak. But he nudged me impatiently with his foot.
“Stand up, you fool. No one can see us, so you need not bow to me. Keep that for the god whose son I am-for there is but one, and all others are his manifestations. Did you know that?” Without waiting for an answer he added reflectively, “All others but Ammon, who is a false god.”
I made a gesture of protest and said, “Oh!” to show I feared such talk.
“Let be!” he said. “I saw you standing by my father, handing knife and hammer
to that crazy old Ptahor. So I called you the Lonely One. To Ptahor my mother gave the name of Old Monkey. You must bear these names if you have to die before leaving the palace. But I thought of yours.”
I thought he must be mad to talk thus wildly, though Ptahor had said that we must die if Pharaoh did, and the stauncher of blood believed it. My hair prickled on my scalp, for I did not wish to die.
The prince was panting; his hands twitched, and he mumbled to himself: “Restless… I would be-I would be in some other place. It is my god revealing himself. I know it-I fear it. Stay with me, Lonely One. He crushes my body with his strength, and my tongue is afflicted…
I trembled, thinking him delirious. But he said to me in a commanding voice, “Come!” and I followed him. He led me down from the terrace and past Pharaoh’s lake, while from behind the walls came the murmuring voices of the mourners. I was in great dread, for Ptahor had stated that we might not leave the palace before the death of the king, but I could not gainsay the prince.
He held his body tense and walked with such rapid, jerky steps that I had hard work to keep up with him. He was wearing only a loincloth, and the moon shone on his fair skin, his slender legs, and feminine thighs. It shone on his prominent ears and the tormented, agitated face that seemed to tell of some vision he alone could see.
When we reached the shore, he said, “We will take a boat. I am going eastward to meet my father.”
Without hesitating to choose his craft, he stepped into the nearest; I followed him, and we began to row across. No one sought to hinder us, though we had stolen the boat. The night was uneasily astir; other craft were out on the river, and the red glow of Thebes showed ever brighter in the sky ahead. When we reached the farther shore, he set the boat adrift and started to walk forward as if he had been this way many times before. Others were abroad also, and we went unchallenged by the watch. Thebes knew that the king would die that night.
The pace was wearing him out. Yet I wondered at the toughness of that young body, for though the night was cold, the sweat ran down my back as I followed him. The stars moved across the heavens, and the moon went down, and still he walked until we came up out of the valley into the desert, leaving Thebes behind us. The three hills in the east-the city’s guardians-loomed before us black against the sky.
At last he sank down panting in the sand and said in a frightened voice, “Hold my hands, Sinuhe, for they tremble, and my heart thuds against my ribs. The hour draws near-it draws near for the world is desolate-you and I are alone. Where I go, you cannot follow-and I do not want to be alone.”
I gripped his wrists and felt that his whole twitching frame was bathed in cold sweat. The world about us was indeed desolate; far off some jackal howled for a death; slowly the stars paled and space about us turned a wan gray. Suddenly he shook off my hands and rising lifted his face to the east, to the mountains.
“The god is coming!” he said softly, with awe in his distracted, blazing face. “The god is coming.” Then again in a loud voice he shouted into the desert, “The god is coming!”
The air grew brighter, the hills before us flamed gold, and the sun rose-and with a shrill cry he sank swooning to the ground, his mouth moving, his limbs twitching convulsively and churning up the sand. But I was no longer afraid, for I had heard such cries in the forecourt of the House of Life and knew what to do. Lacking a peg to wedge between his teeth, I tore a strip from my loincloth, rolled it up, and stuffed it into his mouth. Then I began to massage his limbs. He would be sick and dazed when he awoke. I looked about me for help, but Thebes lay behind us, and not the meanest hovel was in sight.
At that instant a falcon flew past me with a screech, swooping out of the rays of the rising sun into an arc above us, then sank again, and made as if to alight upon the prince’s forehead. Startled, I instinctively made the holy sign of Ammon; had the prince had Horus in his mind when he greeted his god, and was Horus here manifest? The boy moaned, and I bent to tend him. When I raised my head again, it seemed that the bird had taken human shape. Before me stood a young man, godlike, beautiful in the sun’s rays. He carried a spear and wore the coarse shoulder cloth of a poor man. Though I did not believe in the gods, for safety’s sake I prostrated myself before him.
“What’s this?” he asked in the dialect of the Lower Kingdom. “Is the lad sick?”
Feeling very foolish, I rose to my knees and greeted him in the ordinary way.
“If you are a robber,” I said, “you’ll get little from us, but I have here a sick boy, and the gods may bless you for your help.”
He screeched like a hawk, and the bird fell from the air to alight upon his shoulder.
“I am Horemheb, son of the falcon,” he said proudly. “My parents are but cheese makers, but it was foretold at my birth that I should win command over many. The falcon flew before me, and I followed, having found no shelter for the night in the city. Thebes is shy of spears after dark. But I mean to enter Pharaoh’s service as a warrior. They say he is sick, therefore he may need strong arms to protect his sovereignty.”
The prince moaned, passed his hands gropingly over his face, and contorted his limbs. I removed the rag from his mouth, wishing I had water with which to revive him. Horemheb surveyed him and asked coolly, “Is he dying?”
“He is not,” I replied impatiently. “He has the holy sickness.”
Horemheb gripped his spear as he looked at me.
“You need not despise me though I come barefoot and am poor. I can write passably and read what is written, and I shall have command over many. Which god has taken possession of him?”
The people believe that a god speaks through those suffering from the holy sickness, hence his question.
“He has his own god,” I answered, “and I think he is a little queer in the head.”
“He is cold.” Horemheb drew off his cloak and spread it over the prince. “Morning in Thebes is chilly, but my own blood suffices to keep me warm. My god is Horus. This is surely a rich man’s son, for his skin is white and delicate, and he has never worked with his hands. And who are you?”
“A physician and initiate of the first grade of priesthood in Ammon’s temple in Thebes.”
The heir to the throne sat up, moaned, and looked dazedly about him. His teeth chattered as he spoke.
“I have seen! The instant was as a cycle of time-I was ageless-he stretched forth a thousand hands above my head in benediction, and in every hand the symbol of eternal life. Must I not then believe?”
At the sight of Horemheb his eyes cleared, and he was beautiful in his radiant wonder.
“Is it you whom Aton, the one god, has sent?”
“The falcon flew before me, and I followed; that is why I am here. I know no more than that.”
The prince looked with a frown at the others weapon.
“You carry a spear,” he said in rebuke.
Horemheb held it forth.
“The shaft is of choice wood,” he said. “Its copper head longs to drink the blood of Pharaoh’s enemies. My spear is thirsty, and its name is Throat Slitter.”
“Not blood!” cried the prince. “Blood is an abomination to Aton. There is nothing more terrible than flowing blood.”
“Blood purifies the people and makes them strong; it makes the gods fat and contented. As long as there is war, so long must blood flow.”
“There will never be war again,” declared the heir to the throne. Horemheb laughed.
“The lad’s daft! War there has always been and always will be, for the nations must test each other’s worth if they are to survive.”
“All peoples are his children-all languages-all complexions-the black land and the red.” The prince was gazing straight into the sun. “I shall raise temples to him in every land, and to the princes of those lands I shall send the symbol of life-for I have seen him! Of him was 1 born, and to him I shall return.”
“He is mad,” said Horemheb to me, shaking his head in compassion. “I can see he needs a
doctor.”
The prince raised his hand in greeting to the sun, and his face was once more filled with a passionate beauty as if he were looking into another world. We let him finish his prayer and then began to lead him toward the city. He made no resistance. The fit had left him weak; he staggered and moaned as he went; so at last we carried him between us, and the falcon flew ahead.
When we came to the edge of cultivation, we saw a royal carrying chair awaiting us. The slaves had lain down upon the ground, and out of the chair stepped a fat priest whose head was shaven and whose dark face was grave and beautiful. I stretched forth my hands at knee level before him, for I took him to be Eie, of whom Ptahor had spoken. But he did not heed me. He threw himself prostrate before the prince and hailed him as king, so I knew that Amenhotep III was dead. The slaves then hastened to tend the new Pharaoh. His limbs were washed, massaged, and anointed, he was robed in royal linen, and upon his head was set the royal headdress.
Meanwhile Eie spoke to me. “Did he meet his god, Sinuhe?”
“He met his god, and I watched over him that no evil might befall. How do you know my name?”
He smiled. “It is for me to know all that goes on within the palace walls. I know your name and that you are a physician and that I might therefore entrust him to your care. You are also one of Amnion’s priests and have sworn him your oath.”
There was a hint of menace in his tone as he said this. Throwing out my hands, I exclaimed, “What signifies an oath to Ammon?”
“You are right and have nothing to repent of. And this spearman?”
He pointed to Horemheb, who was standing apart, testing the spear point on his hand, with the falcon perched upon his shoulder.
“It were better perhaps that he should die,” he added, “for Pharaoh’s secrets are shared by few.”
“He covered Pharaoh with his cloak when it was cold and is ready to wield his spear against Pharaoh’s enemies. I believe he will be more useful to you alive than dead, priest Eie.”
