“Then I am entitled, my lord,” said Khafra, “to be gratified, though I have heard nothing new.”
“Or do you think that the king is not a king unless he declares a war?” Khufu asked.
Prince Khafra was always pointing out to his father that he should send an army to chastise the tribes of Sinai. He grasped what Pharaoh was getting at, and was taken aback for a moment.
Hemiunu seized on this momentary silence. “Peace is more manly than war for the strong, upright king,” he said.
The prince rejoined in a forceful tone that bespoke the hardness and cruelty traced upon his face, “But the king must not allow a policy of peace to prevent him from making war when the need to fight is serious!”
“I see that you're still dwelling on this ancient subject,” Khufu remarked.
“Yes, sire,” said Khafra, “nor will I desist till my view is accepted - for the tribes of Sinai are corrupting the land: they threaten the government's prestige.”
“The tribes of Sinai! The tribes of Sinai!” Khufu bellowed. “The police are enough for now to take care of their little bands. As for dispatching the army to raid their strongholds, I feel that the conditions are not yet right for that. Note that the nation has just borne the immense effort that it undertook so benevolently in order to build Mirabu's pyramid. But there shall soon come a time when I will put an end to their evil, and I will protect the nation from their aggression.”
A silence swept over them for a few moments, then the king ran his gaze back and forth among those present. “I have invited you this evening,” he said, “to reveal to you the overwhelming desire that beats within my breast.”
They all peered at him in fascination as he said, “This morning I asked myself, ‘What have I done for the sake of Egypt, and what has Egypt done for my sake?’ I will not conceal the truth from you, my friends - I found that what the people have done for me is double that which I have done for them. This to me was painful, and these days I have been very much in pain. I remembered the adored sovereign Mina, who endowed the nation with its sacred unity - yet the homeland gave him only a fraction of what it has granted me. So I humbled myself, and swore to repay the people for their goodness with goodness, and for their beauty with even more beauty.”
Moved, Commander Arbu objected, “His Majesty the King has been harsh with himself in this accounting.”
Ignoring Arbu's remark, Khufu resumed, “Though they aspire to be just and fair, monarchs are often oppressive. Though anxious to promote goodness and well being, they also do a great deal of harm. And with what deed, other than immortal good works, can they repent for their transgressions and expiate their sins? Thus, my pain has guided me to an immense and benevolent undertaking.”
His companions gazed at him wonderingly, so he went on, “I am thinking, gentlemen, of composing a great book, in which I shall combine the proofs of wisdom and the secrets of medicine, with which I have been deeply enamored since childhood.
In this way, I would leave behind me a lasting influence upon the people of Egypt, guiding their souls and protecting their bodies.”
Mirabu shouted with boundless joy, “What a marvelous labor, my lord, by which you shall govern the people of Egypt forever!”
Pharaoh smiled at the architect, who reiterated, “One more will be added to our holy books.”
Prince Khafra, weighing in his mind what the king wished to do, said, “But my lord, this is a project that will take many long years.”
Arbu joined in his dissent, “It took Kagemni all of two decades to write his tome!”
But Pharaoh simply shrugged his broad shoulders. “I will devote to it what remains of my life,” he said.
After a moment's silence, he asked, “Do you know, gentlemen, the place where I have chosen to compose my book, night after night?”
Khufu looked into their puzzled faces, then told them, “The burial chamber in the pyramid that we feted today.”
Surprise and disbelief showing in their expressions, the king continued, “In worldly palaces the tumult of this fleeting life prevails. They are not suitable for creating a work destined for eternity!”
And with this, the audience ended - for Pharaoh did not like discussion when he had already fixed upon a final opinion. So his friends withdrew, during which time the heir apparent rode in his chariot along with his chief chamberlain, telling him with intense agitation, “The king prefers poetry to power!”
As for Khufu, he made his way to the palace of Queen Meritites, finding her in her chamber with the young Princess Meresankh, sister of Khafra, who was not yet more than ten years old. The princess flew toward him like a dove, happiness flashing in her lovely dark eyes. At the sight of Meresankh — she of the face like a full moon, with a golden brown complexion and eyes that could cure sickness with their cheer - Pharaoh could not help but smile lovingly. And so, his breast relieved of all sorrows and concerns, he greeted her with open arms.
14
AN AIR OF delight stirred -within Bisharu's palace that night. Signs of it were plain in the laughing faces of both Zaya and Nafa - and that of the inspector himself. Even Gamurka seemed to sense that something good was coming, feeling deep inside that he should rejoice, for he raced around barking, rushing back and forth in the garden like a reckless arrow in flight.
They were all waiting expectantly, when suddenly they heard a clamor from without - as the loud voice of the servant cried out ecstatically, “My young lord!” At this, Zaya leaped to her feet and ran toward the staircase, flowing down the steps without looking left or right. And at the end of the entrance hall she saw Djedef in his white uniform and military headdress, shimmering like the rays of the sun. She threw wide her arms to embrace him - and found that Gamurka had beaten her to him. He assaulted his master excitedly, hugging him with his forepaws, yipping at him to complain of the agony of his yearning.
She pulled the dog aside and grasped her dear boy to her heart, smothering him with kisses. “The Spirit answered me, my son,” she shouted. “Oh, how I have missed your eyes, and how upset I was with longing for the sight of your beautiful face. My darling, you've become so much thinner, and the sun has scorched your cheeks - you're worn out, dear Djedef!”
Drawn to the noise, Nafa came, laughing as he greeted his brother, “Welcome, Mighty Soldier!”
Djedef smiled, glancing between his mother and brother, while Gamurka danced enraptured in front of him, cutting ahead of his path on every side. Kissing his cheek, the inspector received him warmly. Bisharu looked at him for a long while with his bulging eyes that revealed his discernment.
“You have changed in these two months,” he said. “You are now truly starting to show the marks of manhood. You missed the celebration for the great pyramid, but don't feel sorry for that, because I'll show it to you myself - for I am still, and will continue to be, the inspector for the area until I take my retirement. But -why are you so tired, my child?”
Djedef laughed as he said, while playing about Gamurka's head, “Army life is cruel and harsh. During the -whole day in the academy -we are either running, swimming, or riding — now I'm an expert horseman!”
“May the gods preserve you, my son,” said Zaya.
“Do you also throw spears or practice shooting arrows?” asked Nafa.
Djedef explained the school's regimen to his brother -with the effusive prolixity of the fascinated pupil.
“No,” he said, “in the first year, we train with games, and in horseback riding. In the second year, we learn fencing with swords, daggers, and javelins. In the third year, we drill with spears, and theoretical studies are thrust upon us. Then in the fourth year, we have archery, and history lessons as well. In the fifth year, we take up the war chariot, and finally, in the sixth year, we review the military sciences and visit fortresses and citadels.”
“My heart tells me that I'll see you as a great officer, O Djedef. Your face inspires enthusiasm — and there's no harm in that, for in my calling, we predict
people's futures from the nature of their features.”
Then Djedef, as if suddenly remembering something very important, inquired with interest, “Where is Kheny?”
“Didn't you know that he has joined the ranks of the priests?” Bisharu answered for him. “They now keep him behind the walls of the Temple of Ptah. They are teaching him the religious sciences, along with ethics and philosophy, in total isolation -far from the din and distractions of the world. They are trained for a life that is the closest of all to that of the soldier - for they wash themselves twice by day, and twice by night. They also shave their heads and their bodies, wear garments of wool, and renounce the consumption offish, pork, onion, and garlic. They must pass the toughest examinations, and instruct other people in the sacred secrets of knowledge. Let us all pray that the gods steady his steps, to make him a sincere servant for them, and for their faithful believers.”
To this, all of them then said, as though with one breath, “Amen.”
“So when shall I have the good fortune to see him?” asked Djedef.
“You won't see him for four years, the years of the greatest temptation,” said Nafa, regretfully.
Djedef's face had darkened with sorrow and longing for his earliest mentor, when Zaya asked him, “How will we see you, from now on?”
“On the first of every month,” the boy answered.
At this, her brow furrowed, but Nafa laughed, “Don't stir up sadness, Mother,” he said. “Let's see how we can spend this day — what do you think of an outing on the Nile?”
Zaya shouted, “In Kiyahk?”
“Does our soldier dread the harshness of storms?” Nafa asked, sarcastically.
“But I can't do it in this month's weather,” answered Zaya, instead. “Nor can I be separated from Djedef for even one minute of this day. So let's all stay in the house together. I have saved up a long talk with him that I cannot bear to keep to myself any longer.”
Meanwhile, all of them had noticed that Djedef's formerly carefree spirit had disappeared, that he spoke but rarely, and that an unfamiliar stiffness and gravity now enfolded him. Nafa looked at him with surreptitious anxiety, and asked himself: “Will Djedef keep this new personality for very long? He's running away from seriousness and rigidity. Perhaps he didn't feel the loneliness in Kheny's absence when he was under the stress of his army discipline.” But he denied his fears to himself, saying, “Djedef is still new to his military life. He's not able to digest all of it in just a short time. He'll feel some alienation and pain until he becomes accustomed to it completely. At that time he will put aside his unhappiness, and his normally jolly and pleasant nature will return.” Then he thought that if Djedef accompanied him to look over his art, then perhaps his gaiety would revive. So he said to him, “Hey, Officer Big Shot, what do you think of going to see some of my pictures?”
But Zaya was furious. “Stop trying to steal him away from me!” she shouted. “On the contrary — for he's not leaving this house today!”
Nafa drew a deep breath and said nothing. Then a thought occurred to him. He produced a large sheet of papyrus and a reed pen, and said to his brother, “I will draw a portrait of you in this beautiful -white outfit. This -will help me keep the memory of this lovely occasion, so that I may look upon it fondly on the day your shoulders are adorned with a commander's insignia.”
Thus the family spent a gorgeous day in entertaining chatter and other pleasures. Indeed, this visit became the model for each of Djedef's homecomings every month, that seemed to pass in the twinkle of an eye. Nafa's fears were dispelled, as the lad lost his stiffness, and his bold, playful self returned. His body reveled in its strength and manliness, as he progressed further and further on the road to developing his physical power and magnetism.
The summer - when the academy closed its doors - was the happiest time for Zaya and Gamurka. During these days, they became reaccustomed to the uproar of life and the activities that they all shared before the brothers split up into their different walks of life. The family often traveled to the countryside or to the northern Delta in order to go hunting, using a skiff to plow through the waves of lakes shaded by papyrus groves and lotus trees. Bisharu would stand between his boys Nafa and Djedef, each one holding his curved hunting stick, until a duck - not suspecting what Fate had in store for it - flew overhead, and each took aim at the target, throwing all his strength and skill into it.
An adroit hunter, Bisharu was twice as successful at it as his two sons combined. He would look sharply down at Djedef and say in his gruff voice, “Don't you see, soldier, how good your father is at hunting? Don't be so surprised - for your father was an officer in the army of King Sneferu, and was strong enough to capture a whole tribe of savages without fighting at all.”
These sporting trips were a time of exercise and enjoyment unmatched on other occasions. Yet Bisharu's mind would not be at rest until he took Djedef on a visit to the pyramid. His goal from the beginning -was to show off his influence and authority, and the kind of reception given him by the soldiers and employees there.
Meanwhile, Nafa invited Djedef to visit his gallery to show him his pictures. The youth was still working hard, with hardly any funds, hoping that he would one day be invited to take part in a worthy artistic project in one of the palaces of the wealthy or prominent. Or that one of his visitors should buy something. Djedef loved Nafa, and he loved his works of art - especially the picture that he drew of him in his white war uniform — which captured the essence of his features and the expression in his eyes.
At this time, Nafa was painting a portrait of the immortal architect Mirabu who had brought the greatest miracle of technical achievement into existence.
As he sketched the underlying drawing for the painting, he said to Djedef, “I have never put half as much into any painting as I have invested in this one. That's because, to me, the figure in this portrait has a divine character.”
'Are you painting it from memory?” Djedef queried.
“Yes, Djedef,” he replied, “for I never see the great artist except during feast days and official celebrations in which Pharaoh's courtiers appear. Yet that is enough to have engraved his image in my heart and mind!”
The year passed again, and Djedef went back to the academy once more. The wheel of time kept turning, as the life of Bisharu's family proceeded down its predestined path: the father into old age, the mother into maturity, Kheny into devotion to religion, Nafa into the perfection of his exquisite art. Meanwhile, Djedef made greater and greater strides toward an ingeniously superior mastery of the arts of war, gaining a reputation in the military academy never before attained by any pupil.
15
DJEDEF STROLLED down Sneferu Street as an unending stream of passersby stopped to gawk at his -white military uniform, his tall, slender body, and his clean good looks. He kept walking until he came to the entrance of the house of “Nafa son of Bisharu,” -with its license from Khufu's school of drawing and painting. He read the name plaque -with interest, as if he -were seeing it for the first time, and on his delightful face there -was a sweet, radiant smile. Then he passed through the doorway, and inside he saw his brother absorbed in his -work, completely unaware of what was around him - so he called out to him laughingly, “Peace be upon you, O Great Maker of Images!”
Nafa swiveled toward him, a surprised look on his dreamy face. When he realized -who had come, he rose to greet him, saying, “Djedef! What good fortune! How are you, man? Have you been to the house?” The two brothers embraced for a -while, then Djedef said, as he sat on a chair that the artist had brought to him, “Yes, I -was there, then I came to see you here — for you know that your house is my chosen paradise!”
Nafa laughed in his high-pitched -way, his face overflowing with pleasure. “How happy I am with you, Djedef! I was amazed at how an officer such as you could be so drawn to this calm, idyllic place for painting! Where is Djedef of the battlefield, and of the forts of Per-Usir and Piramesse?”
&
nbsp; “Don't be amazed, Nafa, for I truly am a soldier. But one who loves fine art, just as Kheny loves wisdom and knowledge.”
Nafa's eyebrows shot upwards in shock, as he asked, “Imagine if you were heir apparent in the kingdom! Don't you see them grooming him for the throne, with education about wisdom, art, and war?” He continued, “A divine policy made Egypt's kings into gods - as it one day will make you a commander without peer.”
The blood rose in Djedef's cheeks as he said, smiling, “You, Nafa, are like my mother - you don't see me even though you ascribe to me all of the best qualities combined!”
At this, Nafa let out his high, piercing laugh, seeming to drown in it for a long -while, until he recovered his composure.
Astonished, Djedef asked him, “What's wrong with you? What's so funny about that?”
The young man, still giggling, replied, “I'm laughing, Djedef, because you compared me with your mother!”
“Well, what's funny about that? I just meant that…”
“Don't trouble to explain or excuse yourself, for I know what you meant by it,” Nafa interrupted. “But that's the third time today that someone has likened me to a female. First, this morning, Father told me that I was ‘as fickle as a girl.’ Then, just an hour ago, the priest Shelba said to me, while he was talking to me about my doing a portrait of him, ‘You, Nafa, are ruled by emotion, just as women are.’ And now you come along, and say I'm like your mother! Well, do you see me as a man, or as a woman?”
Now it was Djedef's turn to laugh. “You are indeed a man, Nafa. But you are delicate of spirit, with a passionate sensitivity. Don't you remember Kheny once saying that ‘artists are a sex between female and male'?”
“Kheny believed that art must borrow something from femininity — yet I feel that the emotionality of a woman is in absolute contradiction to that of the artist. For by her nature, a woman is utterly efficient in reaching her biological objectives using every means at her disposal. Whereas the artist has no objective but to express the essence of things, and that is Beauty. For Beauty is the sublime essence of that which creates harmony among all things.”
Three Novels of Ancient Egypt Khufu's Wisdom Page 12