Three Novels of Ancient Egypt

by Naguib Mahfouz

  The two loyal men looked into their lord's face in hope, yet enduring painful unease. But Pharaoh kept a tight rein on his emotions, and studied them — with an expression like the Sphinx. He knew — what discomfiting thoughts — were racing through their minds, and, as though — wishing to torment them a little longer, he sat down on his throne and did not say a word. He motioned them to be seated and the look of serious concern returned to his face.

  “Today I have the right to feel anger and pain,” he declared.

  The two men understood what he meant, and the bold and insolent cry rang in their ears once again. Sofkhatep raised his hands out of distress and sympathy, and spoke in a trembling voice, “My lord, do not allow yourself to be caught up in pain and anger.”

  “It is not fitting that my lord should suffer pain,” echoed Tahu firmly, “while in the kingdom no sword lies idly in its sheath, and there are men who would gladly sacrifice their lives for him. Truly those priests, despite their knowledge and experience, are deviating from the way of good sense. They are acting rashly, and laying themselves open to an onslaught the like of which they will have no power to avert.”

  The king lowered his head and looked at the ground beneath his feet. “I am wondering,” he said, “if one of my fathers or forefathers would have been greeted with the cry that greeted me today. Why, I have only been on the throne a matter of months.”

  Tahu's eyes shone with a fleeting frightening light. “Force, my lord,” he said with conviction. “Force. Your sacred forefathers were strong men. They exercised their will with a determination as mighty as the mountains and a sword as relentless as fate. Be like them, my lord. Do not procrastinate, and do not engage them with reason and understanding. When you strike them, strike hard and show no quarter. Make the upstart forget who he is and extinguish the leanest hope in his heart.”

  Wise old Sofkhatep was unhappy with the words he heard. He mistrusted the zeal of him who had spoken them, and was fearful of the consequences.

  “My lord,” he said, “the priesthood is dispersed throughout the kingdom as blood through the body. Among its members are officials and judges, scribes and educators. Their authority over the people is blessed by divine sanction from ancient times. We have no battle forces save the pharaonic guard and the guardians of Bilaq. A forceful strike might bring undesired consequences.”

  Tahu believed only in force. “Then what are we supposed to do, wise counselor?” he demanded. “Should we just sit back and wait for our enemy to fall upon us, and thus be rendered contemptible in his eyes?”

  “The priests are not Pharaoh's enemies, may the gods forbid that Pharaoh should have any enemies among his people. The priesthood is a loyal and trustworthy institution. All that we can say against them is that their privileges are greater than need dictates. I swear that I have never despaired, not even for a single day, of finding an acceptable compromise that would fulfill my lord's desire and at the same time preserve the rights of the clergy.”

  The king was listening to them quietly, a mysterious smile etched upon his broad mouth, and when Sofkhatep finished speaking he gazed at them with mocking eyes and said quietly, “Do not trouble yourselves about the matter, my dear faithful gentlemen. I have already shot my arrow.”

  The two men were taken aback. They looked at the king, hopeful yet apprehensive, Tahu being the one more inclined to hope, while Sofkhatep's face turned pale and he bit his lip as he waited in silence to hear the decisive word. At length the king spoke in a voice displaying arrogance and self-satisfaction: “I presume you already know that I kept the man behind after all the guests had left, and once the place was empty I started on him. I told him that the calling of his name in my hearing and under my very eyes was a despicable and treacherous thing to do, and I impressed upon him that I do not execute the noble and faithful of my people who cry out. I could see he was uneasy and his face went white. He lowered his large head onto his narrow chest and opened his mouth to speak. Perhaps he wanted to apologize in his cold, quiet voice.”

  The king knitted his brow and was silent for a moment, then he continued, speaking in a more aggressive tone, “I interrupted him with a wave of my hand, and did not allow him to apologize. I explained to him firmly, reminding him that it was naive and simple-minded to think that such a cry would distract me from the course I have set upon. I informed him that I had decided irrevocably to enjoin the property of the temples to the crown estates, and that from today onward nothing would be left to the temples save the lands and offerings they need.”

  The two men listened intently to the king's words. Sofkhatep's face was wan and drawn, revealing the bitterness of disappointment, while Tahu beamed with joy, as though he were listening to a pleasant ballad extolling his glory and greatness. The king continued, “Make no mistake, my decision surprised Khnumhotep, and disconcerted him. He appeared anxious and he beseeched me, saying, ‘The temple lands belong to the gods. Their produce goes mostly to the common people and the poor, and is spent on learning and moral education.’ He tried to go on but I stopped him with a gesture of my hand and said to him, ‘It is my will. You are to enforce it without further delay.’ Thereupon I told him the meeting was ended.”

  Tahu could hardly contain his joy: “May all the gods bless you, my lord.”

  The king smiled calmly, and shot a glance at Sofkhatep's face in its hour of defeat. The king felt sympathy toward him and said, “You are a loyal and faithful man, Sofkhatep, and a wise counselor. Do not be disappointed that your opinion has been disregarded.”

  “I am not one of those vain persons, my lord,” he said, “who are swift to anger if their advice goes unheeded, not out of fear of the consequences, but to preserve their dignity. Even vanity can reach so far with such people that they hope an evil thing they warned about will happen so that those who doubted their ability may truly know it. I take refuge in the gods from the evil of vanity. It is only loyalty that dictates my advice, and the only thing that saddens me when it is ignored is the misgiving that my intuition might be true. All I ask from the gods is that they prove my forecast wrong so that my heart might be assured.”

  And as if to put the old man's mind at rest, Pharaoh said, “I have attained my desire. They will obtain nothing from me. Egypt worships Pharaoh and will be content with none but him.”

  The two men assented sincerely to their lord's words, but Sofkhatep was perturbed, and he struggled in vain to play down the danger of Pharaoh's decree, for he realized — with a certain alarm that the priests would receive the momentous edict while they were gathered at Abu. There they would have ample opportunity to exchange opinions and disseminate their complaints, and they would return to their dioceses muttering their grievances. But although he had no doubt about the status of the priesthood and its influence on the hearts and minds of the common folk, he did not reveal his opinions, for he could see the king was happy, contented, and smiling, and he was unwilling to spoil the young man's mood. So he removed all expression from his face and drew a contented smile upon his lips.

  “I have not felt such exhilaration,” the king said delightedly, “since the day I defeated the tribes of Southern Nubia when my father was alive. Let us drink a toast to this happy victory.”

  The slave girls brought a jug of red Maryut and golden goblets. They filled the goblets to the brim and passed them round to the king and the two loyal men, who drank heartily. The wine soon took its effect and Sofkhatep felt the troubling thoughts dissolve in his breast as his senses savored the fine vintage, and he shared with the king and the commander in their happiness. They sat silently, exchanging convivial looks of affection. The rays of the setting sun bathed in the shimmering water of the lake, which lapped against the bank close to their feet. The branches of the trees around them danced to the bird songs, and flowers sprang out amidst their leaves like sweet memories rising from deep within the mind. They surrendered to a drowsy wakefulness for not a little time until they were aroused by a strange event, wh
ich plucked them violently from their dreams — something fell from the sky into Pharaoh's lap. He leapt to his feet and the two men saw the object land at his feet. It was a golden sandal. They looked up in amazement and saw a magnificent falcon circling in the sky above the garden, its terrifying shrieks rending the air. The bird glared at them with blazing, censorious eyes, then, with a great flap of its mighty wings, it soared into the air and disappeared over the horizon.

  They looked back at the sandal. The king picked it up and sat down to contemplate it — with a look of surprise in his smiling eyes. The two men looked curiously at the sandal, exchanging looks of denial, astonishment, and consternation.

  The king continued to inspect the sandal, then mumbled, “It is a woman's sandal, no doubt about it. How beautiful and expensive it is.”

  “The falcon must have picked it up and carried it away,” said Tahu as his eyes devoured the sandal.

  The king smiled and said, “There is no tree in my garden that bears such fine fruit.”

  Sofkhatep spoke: “The general populace, my lord, believe that the falcon courts beautiful women, and that he ravishes the virgins he falls in love with and whisks them off to the mountaintops. Maybe that falcon was a lover who had been down to Memphis to buy sandals for his beloved, and his luck betrayed him and one dropped from his talons, and fell at my lord's feet.”

  The king looked at it again overjoyed, excited. “I wonder how he came by it?” he said. “I fear it may belong to one of the maidens who dwell in the sky.”

  “Or to one of the maidens who dwell on the earth,” said Sofkhatep with interest, “who took it off with her clothes to bathe at the shore of some lake, and while she was naked in the water the falcon came and carried it away.”

  “And threw it into my lap. How amazing! It is as if he knows my love for beautiful women.”

  Sofkhatep smiled a meaningful smile. “May the gods make happy your days, my lord,” he said.

  Dreams shone in the king's eyes, and his entire face lit up. His brow softened and his cheeks flushed rosy red. He did not take his eyes off the sandal, as he asked himself who its owner might be, what she might look like, and if she were as beautiful as her footwear. She would have no idea that her sandal had fallen into the king's lap, and he wondered what it was that had let the Fates conspire to make him the sandal's destination. His eyes fell upon a picture engraved on the instep of the sandal and he pointed to it and said, “What a beautiful picture! It is a handsome warrior, holding his heart in his open hand to give it away.”

  His words struck a chord deep in the hearts of the two men and a fleeting light shone in their eyes as they looked at the sandal — with renewed interest.

  “Would my lord allow me to see the sandal for a moment?” said Sofkhatep.

  Pharaoh gave it to him and the lord chamberlain looked at it, as did Tahu. Then Sofkhatep returned the sandal to the king and said, “My intuition was correct, my lord. The sandal belongs to Rhadopis, the renowned courtesan of Biga.”

  “Rhadopis,” exclaimed the king. “What a beautiful name. Who, I wonder, is she who is called it?”

  A feeling of apprehension gripped Tahu's heart and his eyes twitched: “She is a dancer, my lord. She is known by all the people of the South.”

  Pharaoh smiled. “Are we not of the South?” he said. “Truly the eyes of kings may pierce the veil of the farthest horizon and yet be blind to what goes on under their very noses.”

  Tahu's perturbation increased and his face turned pale as he said, “She is the woman, my lord, upon whose door the men of Abu, Biga, and Bilaq have all knocked.”

  Sofkhatep knew well the fears that gripped his friend's heart and with a sly and mysterious smile he said, “In any case she is a paragon of femininity, my lord. The gods have made her to bear witness to their miraculous abilities.”

  The king looked from one man to the other and smiled, “By Lord Sothis, you two are the finest informed of all the South.”

  “In her reception hall, my lord, thinkers, artists, and politicians gather,” said Sofkhatep softly.

  “Truly, beauty is a bewitching master who allows us a daily glimpse into the miraculous. Is she the most beautiful woman you have ever set eyes on?”

  Without pausing for a moment's thought Sofkhatep answered, “She is beauty itself, Your Majesty. She is an irresistible temptation, a desire that cannot be controlled. The philosopher Hof, who is one of her closest friends, has remarked quite correctly that the most dangerous thing a man can do in his life is to set eyes upon the face of Rhadopis.”

  Tahu breathed a sigh of resignation, shot a quick glance at the lord chamberlain, — who understood his intention, and said, “Her beauty, Your Majesty, is of a cheap and devilish nature. She does not — withhold it from any — who ask.”

  The king laughed aloud and said, “How the description of her intrigues me!”

  “May the skies of Egypt rain down happiness and beauty upon my lord,” said Sofkhatep. His words took Pharaoh's mind back to the falcon, and the young king was overcome by an enchanting sensation compounded by the fine description he had heard, with its delicate dream-like texture of temptation. And as if talking to himself he wondered out loud, “Was that falcon right or wrong to chose us as its target?”

  Tahu glanced furtively at his lord's face as the latter pored over the object in his hand. “It is nothing but a coincidence, my lord,” said the general. “The only thing that saddens me is to see that sullied sandal between the sacred hands of Your Majesty.”

  Sofkhatep eyed his colleague with a sly self-satisfied look, then said calmly, “Coincidence? Why, the very word, my lord, is seriously overused. It is taken to imply blind stumbling into the unexpected, yet nevertheless is invariably employed to explain the happiest encounters and the most glorious catastrophes. Nothing is left in the hands of the gods except the rarest minimum of logical events. It cannot, however, be so, my lord, for every event in this world is, beyond a shadow of a doubt, contrived by the will of a god or gods, and it is not possible that the gods would create any event, however great or paltry, in vain or jest.”

  Tahu was furious, and scarcely managing to stem the flood of insane anger that threatened to scatter his composure in the presence of the king, he said to Sofkhatep in a tone displaying censure and rebuke, “Do you, mighty Sofkhatep, wish to occupy the mind of my lord at this most auspicious hour, with such nonsense?”

  “Life is seriousness and jest,” said Sofkhatep quietly, “just as the day contains light and darkness. It is a wise man who in times of seriousness does not remember those things that bring him pleasure, and does not spoil the purity of his pleasure with matters of gravity. Who knows, great general, perhaps the gods have known all along about His Majesty's love of beauty and have sent to him this sandal at the hands of this wondrous falcon.”

  The king looked into their faces and, in an effort to bring some levity to the proceedings, said, “Will the two of you never agree for once? Be it as you wish, but in Tahu the younger man, I would have thought to find one inciting me to love, and in Sofkhatep the elder, one discouraging me from it. In any case, I feel I must incline to Sofkhatep's views on love, as I incline to Tahu's views on politics.”

  As the king rose, the two men stood up. He looked at the vast garden as it bade farewell to the sun dipping over the western horizon.

  “We have a hard night's work ahead of us,” he said as he started to walk away. “Until tomorrow, and we shall see.”

  Pharaoh departed with the sandal in his hand and the two men bowed reverently.

  They found themselves alone once again facing each other — Tahu with his tall stature, broad chest, and steel muscles; and Sofkhatep, fine and slender with his deep, clear eyes and his great, beautiful smile.

  Each of them knew what was going through the other's mind. Sofkhatep smiled and Tahu's brow knit into a frown, for the general could not take his leave of the chamberlain without saying something to unburden his troubled mind: “You hav
e betrayed me, Sofkhatep, friend, after you could not confront me face-to-face.”

  Sofkhatep raised his eyebrows in denial and said, “How far your words are from the truth, General. What do I know of love? Do you not know that I am a fading old man, and that my grandson Seneb is a student at the university in On?”

  “How easy it is for you to weave words, my friend, but the truth scoffs at that wise old tongue of yours. Was not your young heart once enamored of Rhadopis? Did it not grieve you that she gave to me that affection you did not win?”

  The old man raised his hands in protest at the general's words saying, “Your imagination is not any smaller than the muscles on your right forearm, and the truth is, that if my heart ever once inclined to that courtesan, it was in the way of the wise who do not know greed.”

  “Would it not have been more becoming of you if you had not beguiled His Majesty's mind with her beauty out of respect for me?”

  Sofkhatep looked surprised, and he spoke with true regret and concern, “Is it true that you find the matter so serious or have you had enough of my jesting?”

  “Neither one nor the other, sir, but it grieves me that we always differ.”

  The lord chamberlain smiled, and said with his characteristic stoicism, “We shall always be bound by one unbreakable tie: loyalty to he who sits upon the throne.”

  The palace of Biga

  Pharaoh's cortege drew out of sight. The statues of the kings of the Sixth Dynasty were removed and the people pushed forward from both sides of the road to converge like waves, their breaths mingling, as if they were the sea parted by Moses pouring down upon the heads of his enemies. Rhadopis ordered her slaves to return to the barge. The flush of excitement that had engulfed her heart when Pharaoh appeared remained like a flame, pumping hot blood all through her body. He was just as she had imagined, a fresh young man with proud eyes, lithe figure, and sinewy well-defined muscles.