Three Novels of Ancient Egypt

by Naguib Mahfouz

  Zealously, Djedef replied, “Permit me, Your Highness, to offer to your lofty dignity my congratulations for the success of your policy.”

  The iron features smiled. “I am so enormously confident of your valor, O Djedef,” Khafra said, “that I'm keeping a pleasant surprise for you, that I will reveal to you after the declaration of war.”

  Dj edef returned from his encounter with the prince in a light-hearted mood, asking himself what this pleasant surprise that Khafra promised him could be. True, the prince had raised him up in the blink of an eye from a minor officer to a mighty commander. So what other good news of glory and happiness could he be hiding? Does his fortune hold in store for him new reasons for pride and joy?

  The day of the great meeting arrived. The commanders and governors of Upper and Lower Egypt all came, as Pharaoh's reception hall saw the chiefs of the nation on an equal footing, like the beads of a necklace, to the right of the unshakeable throne, and to its left. The governors sat in one row and the commanders in another, the princes and ministers taking their places behind the throne. The heir apparent sat in the center of the princes, while the priest Hemiunu occupied the same place among the ministers. Sitting at the head of the governors was Prince Ipuwer, while across from him sat Supreme Commander Arbu, chief of the military leadership, whose hair, like the king's, had now turned white.

  The chief chamberlain of the palace proclaimed the arrival of His Pharaonic Majesty. Everyone present stood up; the commanders gave a military salute, and the governors and ministers bowed their heads in obeisance. Khufu sat down, granting permission to the others to take their seats. The king — wore a band of lion skin over his shoulders, so that all those who had not known it before, saw that Pharaoh had invited them for a council of war.

  The meeting was short, but gravely decisive. Pharaoh was strong and vigorous, and his eyes regained their luster of old. He told the great men of his kingdom, in his overpowering voice that filled those who heard it with reverence and awe: “O governors and commanders, I have invited you because of a momentous matter, upon which hangs the safety of our country and the security of our faithful subjects. His Highness Prince Ipuwer, governor of Arsina, has informed me that the tribes of the Sinai continue to attack the outlying villages, and to threaten the caravans of the traders. Experience tells us that the police are not able to subdue them sufficiently to rid the country of their wickedness, for they lack the means to invade the strongholds by which these men are protected. The time has come to destroy these redoubts and to put down the rebels, to drive away their evil from our most loyal people, and to affirm the authority of Pharaoh's government.”

  Those assembled listened to their lord with a fearsome silence, intensely alert, their faces plainly fascinated, their resolve showing in their pursed lips and glittering eyes. The king turned toward Arbu and asked, “General, is the army ready to carry out its duty?”

  The stern commander rose to his feet. “Your Majesty, King of Upper and Lower Egypt, source of power and life,” he began, “a hundred thousand soldiers, stationed between the North and the South, are in complete readiness for combat, with countless more troops available, led by battle-hardened chiefs. And double this number could be conscripted in only a short time.”

  Straightening on his throne, Khufu said, “We, Pharaoh of Upper and Lower Egypt, Khufu son of Khnum, Protector of the Nile and Lord over the Land of Nubia, declare war upon the tribes of Sinai. We order the leveling of their forts, the subjugation of their men, and the capture of their women. And we command you, O governors, to return to your nomes, and that each of you contribute a troop from the guards of his province.”

  The king pointed to Supreme Commander Arbu, — who approached his sovereign, and Khufu said to him, “Note that I do not — wish the number of fighting troops to exceed twenty thousand.”

  Pharaoh rose quickly to his feet. All those present stood as well, calling out his name — with great zeal. The fateful meeting came to a close.

  Djedef returned on the heels of the crown prince, — who was pleased and delighted more than usual. The young man did not doubt then he was rejoicing in the success of his policy, and that he would obtain the objective for which he had so long prepared. Then he remembered what the prince had promised him, and he wavered between perplexity and anticipation, hoping that the prince would honor his pledge.

  Yet Khafra did not leave him in this state for long. As he entered his palace, he remarked to Djedef, “I promised you a pleasant surprise — so be informed that I have obtained the king's permission to select you as the commander of the campaign to the Sinai.”

  25

  All of Egypt, from the furthest south to the furthest north, was swept — with frenzied activity on a massive scale. Soldiers were assembling everywhere, great ships plowed the waves of the Nile coming from both upstream and down, carrying troops, weapons, and supplies. They were bound for mighty Memphis of the White Walls, where they jammed the capital's barracks and markets, and made the air resound with the clanking of their heavy armaments and the melodies of their fervent anthems. Everyone near and far knew that war was at the gates, and that the children of the Nile would rally to defend their homeland.

  Prince Ipuwer returned to his province on business concerning the war. Djedef took the news of his departure mindful of the inevitable worries and misgivings this might cause. He asked himself, “Has the prince won in his personal life what he has garnered in public affairs? Will he go home to his nome happy with the declaration of war and of a pact of love, as well? What had happened between him and the proud and dignified Princess Meresankh? What romantic scenes were witnessed in the thickets of Pharaoh's garden? What secret talk and whispers of love were heard by its birds? Did they watch the arrogant princess humbled before the law that knows no mercy, nor deals gently with haughtiness? Did they hear her moans of passion from that tongue accustomed to command and forbid?”

  Djedef's forbearance faltered. Tomorrow he would go to do battle. He would go fearless of death, with a spirit embracing danger and yearning for adventures and thrills. If only he might achieve victory for his homeland and pay with his life for triumph and glory. If only he could perform his duty as a soldier, then take the eternal rest that his tortured heart demanded. What a gorgeous thought to gull the courageous soul, just as he was deceived by his faith in illusory love. Yet he wondered, how could he bid the final farewell to his homeland, without having won a parting look from her? Had his love just been an entertainment, a game? His heart so painfully craved to meet hers, and a glint of her eyes would be dearer to him than the light of sight, the gift of hearing, or the goodness of life. “Do I feel the joys of the world and the pleasures of life except through the radiance of her luminous face?” he asked himself. There was no alternative but to see her and speak to her; this would be difficult for any living being, yet how much easier for one who sought death?

  The young commander did not know how he would realize his longed-for desire. The time for getting ready passed very swiftly, until there came that day when it was decided that the army would march on the following morning. The gods chose to grant him ease after his tribulations, and to bring near to him that for which he had so long suffered. Hence, the princess came to pay a surprise visit to her brother, while Khafra had gone to inspect the troops’ barracks. The chief of the guards learned of the princess's progress and flew off in haste to await her arrival. Meresankh was not absent for long within the palace when her enchanting face appeared as the chief chamberlain bid her farewell. The youth received her with a forwardness that he had not shown in her presence, except one time only on the banks of the Nile. He gave her a military salute, then escorted her by himself after the chamberlain remained within the palace entrance. He kept two steps behind her, and was able to fill his eyes with the comeliness of her figure, the gracefulness of her form, and the charm of her movements. Inflamed with emotion, he wanted to spread himself on the ground beneath her feet. Then he would feel th
e fall of her footsteps, the touch of her fingertips, and the rhythm of her breathing in his innermost heart. How amazing! Nature, in her wisdom, hardly lacks a sense of humor. Look at this soldier, how she endows him with victory over the most gargantuan foes. And look at Meresankh, how he bends his neck to this marvelous, delicate creature, who was not made for the rigors of war!

  They traversed the long promenade decorated on each side with roses and fragrant flowers, statues, and obelisks, with unhurried steps. The pharaonic boat loomed in the distance, moored at the end of the garden steps. Worry gripped the young man: it seemed impossible to him that she would leave without a word of farewell. He grew anxious to deliver the speech that he wanted to make to her beloved ears. Yet her indifference offered him no opportunity to speak, as he saw the path growing shorter and the ship drawing ever closer. More and more desperate, a moment of recklessness overcame him and loosened the knot around his tongue.

  “How happy I am to see you, Your Highness,” he said, with a quavering voice, “before our departure tomorrow.”

  She seemed surprised when he spoke. “You have reached, O Commander, a high position,” she said, glaring at him with a look both cruel and bewildered. “So why do I see you gambling with your glory and your future?”

  “My glory and my future, Your Highness?” he replied, disdainfully. “Death renders them both meaningless.”

  “I see that my father has put at the head of his army a commander who is obsessed by the despairs of Death, rather than by victory and triumph,” she answered with scorn.

  “I am aware of my duty, Your Highness,” he said with pride, his handsome face flushing, “and I shall carry it out as befits an Egyptian commander whom the gods have honored by granting him the trust of his sovereign. And I shall sacrifice my life as the price ofthat trust.”

  “The man of courage does not forget his past, nor does he violate his traditions, even unto death.”

  The foolhardy spirit prevailed over him for an instant longer when he said, “This is true, but what is my life if these traditions prevent my tongue from expressing what beats in my heart? I'm leaving tomorrow, and I prayed to the gods that I would see you before going away. My wish was granted — so how could I repudiate the divine favor with cowardly silence?”

  “It would be better for you if you learned the virtue of silence.”

  “After I have said one word.”

  “What do you want to say?”

  His ardor plain on his face, he blurted, “I love you, My Mistress. I loved you the moment I first laid eyes upon you. This is a solemn fact: the courage to express it to Your Highness would not have come to me if it weren't for its transcendent power within me. I beg your pardon, Your Highness.”

  “This is what you call one word?” she replied, mockingly. “Regardless, what good can your speech do you, when I heard it before one troublesome day on the bank of the Nile?”

  She jolted both him and his memory by saying “on the bank of the Nile.” So he replied, “I never tire of repeating those words for one minute of my life, O My Mistress, for it is the most vital thing that my tongue can say, the most beautiful thing my ears have heard.”

  They had reached the marbled steps. Anxiety seized him again, as he said with fervor, “And what shall you say for farewell?”

  “I call upon the gods for you, O Commander,” she said. “I pray to Mighty Ptah that you achieve victory for your beloved homeland.”

  Then she descended the staircase to the boat with deliberateness and dignity.

  Djedef continued to look at her with sorrow, watching the craft slowly fade into the distance with a pounding heart. The princess tarried on its deck, rather than entering her compartment, and he fixed his eyes upon her. He kept gazing after her until she vanished at the bend in the river.

  Then, with heavy steps, he walked impotently away, headstrong rebellion and a fuming rage massing within him. Yet Djedef possessed a quality that did not let him down in catastrophes, that prevented him from succumbing to emotional reactions that could deflect him from his course or divert him from what he must do. His brother Kheny had taught him how to regard himself critically and to commit himself to the truth and to proper conduct. He excused the princess for her harshness and rigidity, saying to himself that if her sympathies did not incline her toward his suffering, that only meant that she did not share his feelings — nor was she obliged to love him. His bitter disappointment need mean nothing to her. Rather, he should accept this with kindness and mercy. Did he not say to her what cannot be said to a princess of Pharaoh's household? And what did she do about it? Nothing — but to hear him out and forgive him beautifully. If she wished, she could destroy him — with disgrace, and reduce him to the lowest of the low! His thoughts helped to quell his heart, but they did not assuage his frustration in the least — and he was enveloped in a sad, painful silence.

  He spent that evening in Bisharu's house, saying goodbye to his family. He tried his best to display the joy and the gaiety that they obliged him to feel. They all gathered around the dinner table: Bisharu, Zaya, Kheny, Nafa and his wife, Mana, and in the center was the youthful commander. They ate tantalizing food washed down with beer, while Bisharu kept talking throughout without stopping, utterly oblivious to the morsels that flew from his toothless mouth. He told them war stories, especially of those wars whose adversities he had faced as a young man, as though to reassure Zaya, whose paleness revealed the fears that surged within her breast.

  “The burdens of war mostly fall to the ordinary soldiers,” he asserted. “The commanders occupy a safer position, planning and thinking things out.”

  Djedef understood his purpose. “I believe you, father,” he said. “But do you mean that you proved your outstanding courage in the war in Nubia as a minor officer or as a great commander?”

  The old man's body stiffened with pride. “At that time I was a low-ranking officer in the spear-throwers’ brigade. My record in the war was one of the merits that lay behind my appointment as general inspector of Pharaoh's pyramid.”

  Bisharu's prattle continued without pause. Djedef would listen to him sometimes, only to drift away distractedly at others. Perhaps the pain overcame him then, and a grief-stricken look would flash in his eyes. Zaya seemed instinctively aware of his sadness, for she was silent and heavy-hearted. She did not touch her food, sating herself merely with a flagon of beer at the banquet.

  Nafa wanted this night to end happily — so he invited his wife Mana to play the lyre-harp and to sing a charming song, “I Was Triumphant in Love and War.” Mana's voice was soft and melodious, and she played with great skill, as she filled the room with the enchanting tune.

  Meanwhile, a scorching fire flared in Djedef's heart, whose flames reached none of those present but he himself. Nafa studied him in ignorance and naivete, drawing close to Djedef to whisper in his ear, “I bring good news, O Commander. Yesterday you were triumphant in love, and tomorrow you shall be triumphant in war.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Djedef asked, confused.

  The painter grinned slyly. “Do you think that I have forgotten the picture of the beautiful peasant girl? Ah — how lovely are the peasant girls of the Nile! They all dream of lying in the arms of a handsome officer in the green grass on the banks of the river. What would you say if this officer was none other than the seductive Djedef?”

  “Quiet, O Nafa,” he said indignantly. “You know nothing!”

  What Nafa said disturbed him just as Mana's singing had; he felt the desire to flee. He would have acted on his wish if he had not remembered his mother. He glanced at her sideways to find her staring fixedly at him. He feared that she would read the page of his heart with her all-consuming eyes, and that she would be wounded with a great sorrow. So he drew close to her and smiled, deceiving her with merriment and joy.

  26

  Commander Djedef sat in his tent in the military camp outside the walls of Memphis, staring at a map of the Sinai Peninsula, its grea
t wall, and the desert roads that lead to it. The horses neighed and the chariots rattled as the soldiers came and went, all enveloped in the calm azure light of early morning.

  Officer Sennefer came into Djedef's tent, saluting him — with respect. “A messenger from His Pharaonic Highness Prince Khafra has come,” he said, “seeking leave to enter upon you.”

  “Bid him do so,” said Djedef, his interest aroused.

  Sennefer disappeared for a moment, then returned with the messenger before again exiting the tent. The messenger wore a priest's ample robe that covered his body from his shoulders to his ankles. On his head was a black cowl, while his thick beard flowed down to the hollow of his chest. Djedef was amazed at the sight of him, because he had expected to encounter a familiar face, one of those that he regularly saw in the crown prince's palace. And then he heard a voice that, despite its faintness, he imagined he was not hearing for the first time.

  “I have come, Your Excellency, about a serious matter,” said the messenger. “Therefore, I hope that you will order the curtain to be drawn over the doorway, and that you will forbid anyone from entering without your permission.”

  Djedef stared at the priest with a searching look, pervaded by hesitation. But then he shrugged his massive shoulders dismissively, as though taking the matter lightly. He called out to Sennefer, ordering him to draw shut the flap over the tent's entrance, adding that no person should be permitted to approach it. Sennefer carried out Djedef's commands, and when he departed, Djedef looked at the messenger.