“The soldiers will catch up -with her,” the man sighed, “if the Lord so commands.”
“Alas, my lord! The thread of our child's life hangs on something so uncertain?”
“How can you say that, Ruddjedet? Since Sarga escaped, I have not stopped thinking of a way to protect the two of you from evil. The Lord has guided me to a ruse, yet I fear for you, because in your delicate condition you might not be able to bear any hardships.”
She stretched out a hand toward him imploringly. “Do what you can to save our child,” she said in a pleading tone. “Let not my frailty worry you, for maternity has given me a strength that healthy people do not possess.”
“You should know, Ruddjedet,” the tormented priest replied, “that I have prepared a wagon and filled it with wheat. In it I have readied a corner for you to lie with our son. I have fashioned a box made of wood so that if you lay yourselves within it you will be concealed from view. In this you will go with your handmaiden Kata to your uncle in the village of Senka.”
“Call the servant Zaya, because Kata's in childbed -just like her mistress,” said Ruddjedet. “She delivered a baby boy of her own this morning.”
“Kata has given birth?” Monra replied, taken aback. “In any case, Zaya is no less loyal than Kata.”
“And what about you, my husband?” said Ruddjedet. “What if Fate decides that the secret of our child should reach Pharaoh, and he sends his soldiers to you. How will you answer when they ask you about your son and his mother?”
The high priest had not prepared any plan to save himself if what she warned of occurred. Distracted as he was by the need to save both mother and child, he had given it little thought. Hence he lied when he answered, “Don't worry, Ruddjedet. Sarga will not get away from those I have sent after her. Whatever happens, no crisis will catch me unawares — and my news will reach you very soon.”
Fearing any increase in her anxiety, he wanted to distract her, so he stood up and called out loudly for Zaya. The servant came rapidly and bowed to him in respect.
“I shall entrust to you your mistress and her newborn child,” Monra told her, “so that you may conduct them to the village of Senka. You must take care, and be wary of the danger that threatens them both.”
“I would sacrifice myself for my mistress,” she answered, sincerely, “and for her blessed son.”
The priest asked her to assist him in carrying her mistress to the grain shed. Surprised by his request, the servant nonetheless obeyed his command. The man wrapped his wife with a soft quilt, and put his hand under her head and shoulders, while Zaya lifted her from under her back and thighs. Together they walked with her to the outer hallway, descending the staircase to the courtyard. They then entered the shed, laying her on the spot that he had prepared for her in the wagon. This done, the priest went back up and returned with his son, who sobbed and cried. He kissed him lovingly, and placed him in the embrace of his mother. He watched them for a little while from the side of the wagon. When he saw Ruddjedet becoming upset, he said to her, his heart skipping a beat, “Calm yourself for the sake of our dear child, and don't allow fear a way into your heart.”
“You haven't named him yet,” she said, weeping.
Smiling, he replied, “I hereby name him with the name of my father, who reposes next to Osiris. Djedef•. Djedefra •. Djedefson of Monra. By God, I shall make his name blessed, and defend him from the wiles of those who plot against him.”
The man approached with the wooden box and placed it over the pair so dear to him. Zaya sat in the driver's seat, taking the reins of the two oxen, as Monra told her, “Go with the blessings of the Lord our keeper.”
As the wagon began to move slowly on its way, his eyes filled with copious tears, through which he watched as the vehicle crossed the courtyard, until the gate blocked his view. He dashed to the staircase, climbing it with the vigor of a young man, then hurried to the window that looked out upon the road, observing the wagon as it carried his heart and his joy beyond his sight.
Something surprising then occurred that he had thought never -would — certainly not -with the speed that it now did. As he looked on, he -was seized -with an inexpressible terror. He forgot the sorrow of their parting, the agony of their farewell, and his longing as a father. The fear became so inflamed that he lost all sense and perception: he clenched his fists, pounding his breast with them, as he mumbled in dismay, “O Lord Ra, O Lord Ra.” He kept repeating this unconsciously as his eyes saw the squadron of royal chariots suddenly appear on the bend in the road near the temple. They drew closer and closer to his palace, precisely arrayed in assault formation, with equally precise and orderly speed, exactly two paces between each chariot.
“O Lord of Heaven, Pharaoh's soldiers have come more quickly than the mind could conceive. Their arrival trumpets the success of Sarga's mission, and her escape from my soldiers. If only You had been able to send the angels of sudden death as speedily!” he thought.
Pharaoh's troops drew near like giant demons, their horses neighing, their wheels rumbling, their helmets gleaming in the slanting rays of the sun. And why had they come? They came to slay the innocent child, the beloved son, with whom the Lord had gladdened him in his age of despair.
Monra was still beating his breast with his fists, shaking his head like an imbecile, wailing in lament for his son. “O Lord •. a group of them are surrounding the wagon; one of them is questioning poor Zaya sternly. What is he asking her? How does she answer him? And what do they seek? The lives of both my child and my wife depend on a single word uttered by Zaya. O My God! O Sacred Ra! Make her strong and secure, place on her tongue the words of life - and not of death! Save Your beloved son to live out the Fate that You have decreed for him, which You have proclaimed to me.”
Hours seemed to be passing slowly as the soldier continued questioning Zaya, stopping her departure. O God - what if one of them should move the box or just peer into it, wondering what was inside? What if the child should cry, or moan, or wail?
“Be still, my son…. By the Lord, if only your mother would place her nipple in your mouth. Should a sigh escape you now, it would be like a sentence of death…. My Lord, my heart is breaking, my soul is ascending into heaven….”
Suddenly, the priest fell silent. His eyes widened and he gasped — but this time, from overwhelming joy. “Praise be to Ra!“ he wept. “They are letting the wagon go safely on its way: in the name of Ra is her flight and her refuge. Praise be to You, O Merciful Lord.”
5
THE PRIEST breathed a deep sigh of relief and felt - from happiness - a longing to weep. He would have done so if he had not remembered what hardships and terrors still awaited him. His feeling of security lasted but a few brief moments. He paced slowly over to a table and picked up a silver pitcher, pouring out enough of its clear water to quench his burning thirst. Soon, however, his ears rang with the shrill sound of the powerful force that had arrived in his palace courtyard - and whose mission was to kill the newborn that had just come within a mere two bow lengths, or nearer, to the danger of death.
Driven by fear, a servant approached him, telling him that a detachment of the king's guards had occupied the palace and was watching its exit. Then another servant came, saying that the head of the force had sent an order demanding that he come to them quickly. Making a show of being calm and collected, Monra spread his sacred cloak over his shoulders and placed his priestly headdress on his head. Then he left his chamber with deliberate steps, displaying the true dignity and majesty of On's great religious personage. The priest did not slight his own prestige, but stopped, facing the courtyard at the doorstep of the reception hall, casting a superficial glance at the soldiers of the force standing motionless in their places, as if they were statues from a previous age. Then he lifted his hand in greeting and said in his cultured voice, without looking at anyone in particular, “You are all most welcome. May the Divine Ra, Shaper of the Universe and Creator of Life, bless you.”
His body jumped at the sound of the voice, like a lamb at the roar of a lion. His eyes searched for its owner until they settled on the force's center. When he realized that Pharaoh himself had come to his home, he was terrified and astonished. He did not hesitate to do what was obliged, but hastened to his doorway, avoiding nothing. When Pharaoh's chariot pulled up to him, he prostrated himself before it.
“My lord Pharaoh, Son of the Lord Khnum, Light of the Rising Sun, Giver of Life and Strength,” he called out, quaver-ingly. “I, my lord, implore the God that He may inspire your great heart to overlook my neglect and my ignorance, and to obtain your pardon and satisfaction.”
“I pardon the errors of honest men,” the king told him.
His heart fluttering, Monra inquired, “Why does my lord grace me with a visit to my humble palace? Please come and assume its guidance.”
Pharaoh smiled as he descended from his chariot, following Prince Khafra and his brother princes, along with Hemiunu, Arbu, and Mirabu. The priest proceeded onward, with the king following him, succeeded in turn by the princes and his companions, until they stopped in the reception hall. Khufu sat in the center with his retinue around him. Monra tried to excuse himself to prepare the obligatory hospitality, but Pharaoh said instead, “We absolve you of your duties as host - we have come on a very urgent mission: there is no time for dallying.”
The man bowed. “I am at my lord's beck and call,” he said.
Khufu settled into his seat, and asked the priest in his penetrating, fear-inspiring voice, “You are one of the elite men of the kingdom, advanced in both knowledge and in wisdom. Therefore can you tell me: why do the gods enthrone the pharaohs over Egypt?”
The man answered with the assurance of faith, “They select them from among their sons, endowing them with their divine spirit to make the nation prosper, and the worshippers glad.”
“Well done, priest — for every Egyptian strives for his own welfare and that of his family,” said the king. “As for Pharaoh, he bears the burden for the masses, and entreats the Lord on their behalf. Thus, can you tell me what Pharaoh must do regarding his throne?”
With transcendent courage, Monra replied, “What is incumbent upon Pharaoh to do regarding his throne is what the faithful man must do with the charge entrusted to him by the generous gods. That is, he must carry out his obligations, claim his proper rights, and defend that -which he must -with his honor.”
“Well done again, virtuous priest!” Khufu said, nodding his head in satisfaction. “So now inform me, -what should Pharaoh do if someone threatens his throne?”
The brave priest's heart pounded. He was certain that his answer would determine his fate. Yet, as a pious and dignified man of religion, he was determined to tell the truth.
“His Majesty must destroy those with ambitions against him.”
Pharaoh smiled. Prince Khafra's eyes glinted grimly.
“Excellent, excellent… because if he does not do so, he would betray his custodianship from the Lord, forget his divine trust, and forfeit the rights of the believers.”
The king's face grew harsher, showing a resolution that could shake even mountains. “Hear me, priest — he who poses a threat to the throne has been exposed.”
Monra lowered his eyes and held his tongue.
“The Fates are making mock as is their wont,” Khufu continued, “and have conjured a male child.”
“A male child, sire?” the priest ventured, quaking.
Anger sparked in Pharaoh's eyes. “How, priest, can you be so ignorant?” he shouted. “You have spoken so keenly of honesty and credibility - so why do you let a lie slink into your heart right before your master? You surely know what we do — that you are this child's father, as well as his prophet!”
The blood drained from the priest's face, as he said in surrender, “My son is but a suckling child, only a few hours old.”
“Yet he is an instrument in the hands of the Fates — who care not if their tool is an infant or an adult.”
A calm silence spread suddenly among them, while a frightful horror reigned over all as they held their breath, awaiting the word that would let fly the arrow of death at the unfortunate child. Prince Khafra's forbearance failed him, his brows creasing, his naturally severe face growing even harder.
“O Priest,” the king intoned, “a moment ago you declared that Pharaoh must eliminate whoever threatens his throne — is this not so?”
“Yes, sire,” the priest answered, in despair.
“No doubt the gods were cruel to you in creating this child,” said Khufu, “but the cruelty inflicted on you is lighter than that which has been inflicted on Egypt and her throne.”
“That is true, my lord,” Monra murmured.
“Then carry out your duty, priest!”
Monra fell speechless; all words failed him.
“We — the community of Egypt's kings — have an inherited tradition of respect and caring for the priesthood,” Pharaoh continued. “Do not force me to break it.”
How amazing! What does Pharaoh mean by this? Does he want the priest to understand that he respects him and would not like to slay his son - and that therefore, it is necessary that he undertake this mission, from -which the king himself recoils? And how can he ask him to kill his own child by his own hand?
Truly, the loyalty that he owed to Pharaoh obliged him to execute his divine will without the least hesitation. He knew for certain that any individual from among the Egyptian people would gladly give up his soul in order to please great Pharaoh. Must he then take his own dear son and plunge a dagger into his heart?
Yet who had decreed that his son should succeed Khufu on the throne of Egypt? Was it not the Lord Ra? And hadn't the king declared his intention to kill the innocent child, in defiance of the Lord Creator's will? Who then must he obey — Khufu or Ra? And what would Pharaoh and his minions do, who are waiting for him to speak? They're becoming restless and angry - so what should he do?
A dangerous thought came to him rapidly amidst the clamor of confused embarrassment, like a flash of lightning among dark clouds. He remembered Kata, and her son - to whom she had given birth that very morning. He recalled that she was sleeping in the room opposite that of her mistress. Truly, this was a fiendish idea of which a priest like himself ought to be totally innocent, but any conscience would yield if subjected to the pressures that now assailed Monra before the king and his men. No - he was unable to hesitate.
The cleric bowed his heavy head in respect, then went off to carry out a most abominable crime. Pharaoh followed him; the princes and the notables trailing behind. They mounted to the highest floor behind him — but -when they saw the high priest begin to enter the room's door, they stopped, silent, in the hallway. Monra, wavering, turned toward his lord.
“Sire, I have no weapon with which to kill,” he said. “I possess not even a dagger.”
Khufu, staring, did not stir. Khafra felt his chest tighten. He withdrew his dagger, shoving it brusquely into the high priest's hand.
Trembling, the man took it and hid it in his cloak. He entered the chamber, his feet almost unable to bear his weight. His arrival awoke Kata, who smiled at him gratefully, believing that her master had come to give her his blessings. She revealed the face of the blameless child, telling him wanly, “Thank the Lord with your little heart, for he has made up for the death of your father with divine compassion.”
Horrified and panicked, Monra's spirit abandoned him: he turned away in revulsion. His emotions overflowing, their torrent swept away the froth of sin. But where could he find sanctuary? And how would it all end? Pharaoh was standing at the door - and there wasn't a moment to pause and reflect. His confusion grew more and more profound, until his mind was dazed. He bellowed in bewilderment, then - drawing a deep breath - he unsheathed his dagger in a hopeless gesture, thrusting its blade deep into his own heart. His
body shuddered dreadfully - then tumbled, stiff and lifeless, to the floor.
Enraged, the king entered the room, his men in train. They all kept peering at the high priest's corpse, and the terrified woman in childbed, her eyes like glass. All, that is, except Prince Khafra, whom nothing would deflect from his purpose. Worried that the golden opportunity would be wasted, he drew his sword and raised it dramatically in the air. He brought it down upon the infant — but the mother, swift as lightning, instinctively threw herself over her son. Yet she was unable to frustrate the Fates: in one great stroke, the saber severed her head - along with that of her child.
The father looked at his son, and the son looked at his father.
Only the vizier Hemiunu could rescue them from the anxious silence that then overcame them. “May it please my lord,” he said, “we should leave this bloody place.”
They all went out together, without speaking.
The vizier suggested that they leave for Memphis immediately, so they might reach it before nightfall. But the king disagreed.
“I will not flee like a criminal,” he said. “Instead, I will summon the priests of Ra, to tell them the story of the Fates that sealed the calamitous ruin of their unfortunate chief. I shall not return to Memphis before that is done.”
6
THE WAGON ambled on behind two plodding oxen, -with Zaya at the reins. For an hour it paced down On's main thoroughfare, before pulling away from the city's eastern gate. There it turned toward the desert trail that led to the village of Senka, where Monra's in-laws lived.
Zaya could not forget the frightful moment when the soldiers surrounded her, interrogating her as they looked closely at her face. Yet she felt - proudly - that she had kept her wits about her, despite the terror of her position, and that her steadiness had persuaded them to let her go in peace. If only they knew what was hidden in the wagon!
She remembered that they were tough soldiers indeed. Nor could she forget what enlivened the magnificence of the man who approached them. She would never forget his awesome manner, or his majestic bearing, which made him seem the living idol of some god. But, how incredible - that this stately person had come to kill the innocent infant who had only seen the light of the world that very morning!
Three Novels of Ancient Egypt Khufu's Wisdom, Rhadopis of Nubia, Thebes at War Page 7