“What do you wish to say, O father of brave Djedef?”
“My lord,” Bisharu continued, his voice even lower, as he stared at the floor, “I am not the father of Djedef, and Djedef is not my son.”
Stunned, Pharaoh replied with mocking irony, “Yesterday, a son denies his father - and today, a father denies his son!”
In sorrow, Bisharu went on, “My lord, all of the gods know that I love this young man with the affection of a father for his son. I wouldn't say these words if my loyalty to the throne were not greater in me than the sway of human emotions.”
The king's perplexity multiplied, as the interest grew in the faces of all those in attendance - especially the princes, who hoped that a disaster for the young man would rescue them from the king's final testament. They all kept glancing back and forth between Bisharu and Djedef, whose color had gone pale, his expression rigid.
“What do you mean by this, Inspector?” Pharaoh asked the disavowing father.
Still staring at the floor, Bisharu answered, “Sire … Djedef is the son of the former priest of Ra, whose name was Monra.”
Pharaoh fixed him with an odd, dreamlike look, as ambition stirred among all those listening discreetly, while the eyes of Hemiunu, Mirabu, and Arbu seemed disturbed. Khufu, however, muttered in confusion while his spirit floated through the darkness of the distant past, saying to himself, “Ra! Monra, the Priest of Ra!”
The architect Mirabu's memory -was most vivid ofthat traumatic day that had carved its events into his consciousness. “The son of Monra?” he said with disbelief. “That is far from being credible, my lord - for Ra died, and his son was killed, in the same instant.”
Pharaoh's memory returned in an aureole of fire. His tired, weakened heart convulsed as he spoke.
“Yes — the son of Monra was massacred on the bed where he was born. What do you say to this, Bisharu?”
“Sire,” replied the inspector, “I have no knowledge of the child that was slaughtered. All that I know of this ancient history came to me by chance, or through wisdom known only to the Lord. It has been a trial for my heart that is attached to this lad in every possible manner, yet my fidelity to the king calls upon me to recount it.”
And so Bisharu told his sovereign — as his eyes brimmed with honorable tears - the story of Zaya and her nursing baby boy, from its beginning to the appalling moment when he stood eavesdropping upon Ruddjedet's strange tale. When the man had finished his unhappy narrative, he bowed his head down to his chest, and spoke no more.
Astonishment gripped all those there, the eyes of the princes gleaming with a sudden hope. As for Princess Meresankh, her eyes widened with shock and awe, while her heart went mad with fear, pain, and anticipation. Her attention focused on her father's face - or on his mouth, as if she wanted to suppress, with her spirit, the words that might condemn her happiness and her expectations.
Turning his blanched face toward Djedef, the king asked him, “Is it true what this man is saying, Commander?”
With his constant courage, Djedef replied, “My lord! What Inspector Bisharu has said is true, without any doubt.”
Pharaoh looked to Hemiunu, then to Arbu, and finally to Mirabu, pleading for help against the terror of these wonders. “What a marvel this is!” he exclaimed.
Glaring at Djedef, Prince Baufra declared, “Now the truth has come to light!”
Pharaoh, however, paid no heed to his son's remark, but began to recite in a fading, delirious voice: “Some twenty years ago, I proclaimed a war against the Fates, ruthlessly challenging the will of the gods. With a small army that I headed myself, I set out to do battle with a nursing child. Everything appeared to me that it would proceed according to my own desire, and I was not troubled by doubt of any kind. I thought that I had executed my own will, and raised the respect for my word. Verily, today my self-assurance is made ridiculous, and now -by the Lord - my pride is battered. Here you all see how I repaid the baby of Ra for killing my heir apparent by choosing him to succeed me on the throne of Egypt. What a marvel this is!”
Pharaoh let his head droop until his beard rested upon his breast, sinking into deep meditation. All gathered realized that the king was about to issue a judgment that he would not retract, so again they fell into a morbid stillness. The princes waited in anguish, fear and hope fighting violently inside them. Princess Meresankh gazed at her father with staring eyes, from which an angel of goodness looked out, pleading and beseeching. Tearfully they glistened with the gleam of concern as they ran back and forth between the king's head and the valiant youth that stood with enormous stoicism, capitulating to the Fates.
Prince Baufra's patience snapped. “My lord, with just one word, you could realize your decree, and make your will victorious!” he railed.
Khufu lifted up his head like one waking from a sound slumber and looked at his son for a long time. He glanced at the faces of the others present, then said calmly, “Pharaoh is good earth, like the land of his kingdom, and beneficial knowledge flourishes within it. If not for the ignorance and folly of youth, he would not have murdered innocent, blameless souls.”
Once more, the silence returned, as bitter disappointment tested many there, pierced by the poisoned dagger of despair. Princess Meresankh sighed so audibly that it reached the ears of the king — and he recognized its source. He looked at her with pity and compassion, motioning to her with his hand. She flew to him like a dove trained in flight, then bowed her head while kissing the hand that summoned her.
Looking to Hemiunu, the king said, “Bring me papyrus, Vizier, that I may conclude my book of -wisdom -with the gravest lesson that I have learned in my life. And be quick — for I have only a few moments left to live.”
The minister brought the folds of papyrus, and Pharaoh opened them upon his lap. He grasped the reed pen and began to write his last admonition, as Meresankh knelt next to his bed, along with the grieving queen. As all held their breath, the only sound was the scratching of the king's pen.
When Pharaoh finished writing, he threw the pen away with a potent dissipation. As he let his head drop onto the pillow, he pronounced with effort, “Khufu's message to his beloved people is now complete.”
The king began to moan deeply and heavily. But before he surrendered to total rest, he looked at Djedef and signaled him to come. The youth approached Pharaoh's bed and stood still as a statue, as Khufu took his hand and placed it into the hand of Meresankh. He placed his own gaunt hand upon theirs, then looked at the people around him.
“O princes, ministers, and companions, all of you hail the monarchs of tomorrow.”
Not one of them replied, as, with heads bowed, they all turned toward Djedef and Meresankh.
Khufu, motionless, stared at the room's ceiling. The queen, worried, leaned toward him a little. She found his face bathed in a celestial light, as though he saw — in his mind's eye — Mighty Osiris gazing down from on high.
RHADOPIS OF NUBIA
A Novel of Ancient Egypt
Translated by Anthony Calderbank
THE FESTIVAL OF THE NILE
THE FIRST light of dawn peered over the eastern horizon that morning in the month of Bashans, more than four thousand years ago. The high priest of the temple of the god Sothis gazed at the vast expanse of sky with tired eyes, for he had not slept the whole night.
Finding the object of his surveillance, his eyes lit upon Sirius, the auspicious star, its light twinkling in the heart of the firmament. His face glowed with jubilation and his heart quivered with joy. He prostrated himself on the hallowed floor of the temple and gave thanks, crying out at the top of his voice that the image of the god Sothis had appeared in the heavens, announcing to the inhabitants of the valley the glad tidings of the sacred River Nile's inundation. It was a message from His merciful and compassionate hands. The beautiful voice of the high priest woke the sleeping populace and they rose joyfully from their beds. They turned their faces to the sky until their eyes fixed upon the sacred star, an
d they repeated the incantation of the priest, their hearts awash with gratitude and delight. They left their houses and hurried to the bank of the Nile to witness the first ripples, bearers of bounty and good fortune. The voice of the priest of Sothis resounded through Egypt's still air, announcing the good news to the South: “Come celebrate the holy festival of the Nile!” And they tied up their belongings and set off, great and humble alike, from Thebes and Memphis, Harmunet and Sout and Khamunu, all heading for the capital Abu, in chariots speeding down the valley and boats plowing the billows.
Abu was the capital of Egypt. Its lofty structures were set upon huge slabs of granite, and the sand dunes in between them, long since tamed by the wondrous silt of the Nile, were awash with greenness and fertility. Acacia and doum trees grew there, as well as date palms and mulberries, and the fields were planted with herbs and vegetables and clover. There were vines in abundance and pastures and gardens watered by bubbling streams where flocks grazed. Pigeons and doves circled in the sky. The scent of flowers drifted on the fresh breeze and the chirping of nightingales mingled harmoniously with the songs of myriad birds.
In only a few days, Abu and its two islands, Biga and Bilaq, were packed with visitors. Houses filled up with guests and tents crowded the public squares. Throngs of people moved through the streets and gathered around the conjurers, singers, and dancers. A multitude of traders hawked their wares in the markets and the fronts of houses were decorated with banners and olive branches. The people's eyes were dazzled by the groups of royal guards from the island of Bilaq with their ornate uniforms and long swords. Bands of pious believers hastened to the temples of Sothis and the Nile, making vows and giving offerings. The songs of the minstrels mixed with the drunken cries of the revelers as a mood of unbridled joy and raucous entertainment pervaded the normally composed atmosphere of Abu.
Finally the day of the festival arrived. Everyone made their way to one place, the long road stretching between Pharaoh's palace and the hill upon which stood the temple of the Nile. The air was hot from the excitement in their breath and the earth strained under their weight. Many despaired of ever finding a place on land and went down to the boats and set sail to the temple hill, singing Nile songs to the accompaniment of flutes and lyres, and dancing to the beat of drums.
Soldiers lined the edges of the great road, lances at the ready. At equal distances apart, life-size statues of the kings of the Sixth Dynasty had been erected, Pharaoh's father and forefathers. Those nearest to the front could see the pharaohs: Userkara, Teti I, Pepi I, Mohtemsawef I, and Pepi II.
The clamor of voices filled the air, each one impossible to distinguish, like the waves on a raging ocean, leaving no trace except an awesome, all-encompassing uproar. Now and then, however, an especially powerful voice would stand out, crying: “Glory be to Sothis who has brought us glad tidings!” or “Glory be to the sacred Nile god who brings life and fertility to our land!” And here and there voices requested the wines of Maryut and the meads of Abu, calling for merriment and forgetfulness.
One group of spectators stood together, chatting earnestly among themselves, indications of affluence and nobility showing upon their faces. One of them raised his eyebrows in wonder and contemplation, and said, “How many pharaohs have looked down upon this multitude and beheld this great day? Then they all passed away as if they had never existed, and yet in their day, how those pharaohs filled the eyes and hearts of their people.”
“Yes,” said another. “They have gone, just as we all will go, and there they will rule a world more glorious than this one. Look at the position I hold. How many will hold it in future generations, and relive the hopes and joys that flutter in our breasts at this moment? I wonder if they will talk about us as we are talking about them?”
“Surely there must be more to us than a simple mention by future generations? If only there was no death.”
“Could this valley ever be wide enough to accommodate all those generations that have passed away? Death is as natural as life. What is the value of eternity as long as we eat our fill after going hungry, grow old after being young, and know despair after joy?”
“How do you think they live in the world of Osiris?”
“Wait, and you will know soon enough.”
Another one said, “This is the first time the gods have granted me the pleasure of seeing Pharaoh.”
“I have seen him before,” his friend remarked, “on the day of the great coronation, some months ago in this very spot.”
“Look at the statues of his mighty ancestors.”
“You'll see that he greatly resembles his grandfather Mohtemsawef I.”
“How handsome he is!”
“Indeed, indeed. Pharaoh is a beautiful young man. There is none like him in his imposing height and his unmistakable comeliness.”
“I wonder what legacy he will bequeath?” asked one of the group. “Will it be obelisks and temples, or memories of conquest in the north and south?”
“If my intuition serves me right I suspect it will be the latter.”
“Why?”
“He is a most courageous young man.”
The other shook his head cautiously: “It is said that his youth is headstrong, and that His Majesty is possessed of violent whims, is fond of romance, enjoys extravagance and luxury, and is as rash and impetuous as a raging storm.”
The one listening laughed quietly and whispered, “And what is so surprising about that? Are not most Egyptians fond of romance and enjoy extravagance and luxury? Why should Pharaoh be any different?”
“Lower your voice, man. You know nothing about the matter. Did you not know that he clashed with the men of the priesthood from the first day he ascended to the throne? He wants money to spend on constructing palaces and planting gardens while the priests are demanding the allotted share of the gods and the temples in full. The young king's predecessors bestowed influence and wealth upon the priesthood, but he eyes it all greedily.”
“It is truly regrettable that the king should begin his reign in confrontation.”
“Indeed. And do not forget that Khnumhotep, the prime minister and high priest, is a man of iron will and most intractable. And then there is the high priest of Memphis, that illustrious city whose shining star has begun to wane under the rule of this glorious dynasty.”
The man was alarmed at the news, which had not found his ears before, and he said, “Then let us pray that the gods will grant men wisdom, patience, and forethought.”
“Amen, amen,” said the others with heartfelt sincerity.
One of the spectators turned toward the Nile and prodded his companion in the elbow, saying, “Look at the river, my friend. Whose beautiful boat is that coming from the island of Biga? It is like the sun rising over the eastern horizon.”
His friend craned his neck to see the river and saw a wonderful barge, not one of the large ones, but neither too small, green in color like a verdant island floating on the water. From a distance, its cabin seemed high, though it was not possible to make out who was inside. At the top of its mast was a huge billowing sail and the oars on either side moved in solemn harmony, pulled by hundreds of arms.
The man -wondered for a moment, then said, “Perhaps it belongs to one of the -wealthy men of Biga.”
A man standing nearby -was listening to their conversation, and looking at them, shook his head. “I would wager that you two gentlemen are guests here,” he said.
The two men laughed and one of them said, “You would be right to do so, my dear sir. We are from Thebes. Two of the many thousands who have answered the call of the illustrious festival and hastened to the capital from all nations. Could that majestic barge belong to one of your notable citizens?”
The man smiled mysteriously and shook his finger at them in warning as he said, “Be in good spirits, my dear gentlemen. The boat does not belong to a man but rather to a woman. Indeed, it is the ship of a beautiful courtesan whom the people of Abu and its two islands Biga a
nd Bilaq know well.”
“And who, pray, is this beautiful woman?”
“Rhadopis, Rhadopis the enchantress and seductress, queen of all hearts and passions.”
The man pointed to the island of Biga and continued: “She lives over there in her enchanting white palace. That is where her lovers and admirers head to compete for her affections and to stimulate the flow of her compassion. You may be lucky enough to see her, may the gods protect your hearts from harm.”
The eyes of the two men, and many others in the crowd, turned once again toward the boat, their faces filled with curiosity, as the barge slowly neared the shore and the skiffs and fishing boats scrambled to make way for it. As the barge inched forward, it gradually disappeared behind the hill on which the temple of the Nile stood, the bow passing first out of sight, then the cabin. When at last it came to rest at the wharf, all that could be seen of it was the top of the mast and part of the billowing sail that surged in the breeze like a banner of love that offers shade to hearts and souls.
A brief moment passed and then four Nubians, coming from the shore, strode into view and proceeded to open a way through the heaving throng of people. Following close behind came four others carrying on their shoulders a sumptuous palanquin, the like of which only princes and nobles possess. In it was a young woman of ravishing beauty, reclining on pillows, her tender-skinned arm leaning upon a cushion. In her right hand she held a fan of ostrich feathers, and in her eyes, gazing proudly at the distant horizon, a sleepy, dreamlike look shimmered, fit to pierce all creatures to the quick.
The small procession edged slowly forward, eyes transfixed upon it from all quarters, until at length it reached the front row of spectators. There the woman leaned forward a little with a neck like a gazelle, and from her rosy lips sprang such words the like of which the soul desires. The slaves drew to a halt and stood motionless in their places like bronze statues. The woman resumed her former posture and was lost once again in her dreams as she waited for Pharaoh's procession which, without a doubt, she had come to see.