Three Novels of Ancient Egypt Khufu's Wisdom

by Naguib Mahfouz

  His words penetrated to her heart and she held his hands more tightly. She felt her body tremble. She could bear anything, but not that he be incapable of life or love. She relinquished her desire, and regretted her beseeching, and in a quivering voice she exclaimed, “You shall never be conquered. Never.”

  He smiled at her tenderly. “Nor shall I err or falter, nor shall you be the fate that brings disgrace upon me.”

  A hot tear slipped from beneath her trembling eyelids.

  “You shall never be disgraced,” she said breathlessly, “you shall never be defeated.”

  She leaned her head against his chest, and let herself be lulled to sleep by the beating of his heart. In her slumber she felt his fingers playing with her hair and her cheeks, but she did not find peace for long, for one of the thoughts that had darkened her day tugged at her mind, and she looked up at him with worried eyes.

  “What is the matter?” he asked.

  She hesitated before she spoke. “It is said that they are a strong party, with great sway over the hearts and minds of the people.”

  He smiled: “But I am stronger.”

  She paused a moment then said, “Why do you not conscript a powerful army that would be at your command?”

  The king smiled and said, “I see that your misgivings are getting the better of you once again.”

  She sighed with irritation, “Did it not reach my ear that people are whispering among themselves that Pharaoh takes the money of the gods and spends it on a dancer? When people come together their whisper becomes a loud cry; like evil it will flare up.”

  “What a pessimist you are, seeing evil everywhere.”

  But she asked him again, pleading, “Why do you not summon the soldiery?”

  He looked at her for a long time, thinking, then said, “The army cannot be called up without a reason.”

  He appeared angry and continued, “They are confused and misguided. They feel that I am displeased with them. If I announce conscription they will be alarmed. Maybe they would rise up desperately to defend themselves.”

  She thought for a moment, then, in a dreamy voice, as if she were talking to herself, she said, “Make up a pretext and summon the army.”

  “Pretexts make themselves up by themselves.”

  She felt desperate, and lowered her head sadly, her eyes closed. She was not asking for anything, but suddenly, in the utter darkness, an auspicious idea jumped out at her. She was staggered and when she opened her eyes, joy shone in them. The king was astonished, but she did not notice, for she could scarcely contain her excitement. “I have found a reason,” she said.

  He looked at her questioningly.

  “The Maasayu tribes,” she continued.

  He understood what she meant, and shaking his head in despair, muttered, “Their leader has signed a peace treaty with us.”

  She would not be put off. “Who knows what is happening over the border? The ruling prince there is one of our men.

  Let us send him a secret message with a trustworthy messenger informing him to claim there is revolt and fighting in his province and send to us for help. We will spread his call throughout the land, you will summon the army and they will come to you from the North and South to gather under your banner. That will fix your broken wing and be your sword unsheathed. Thus shall your word remain supreme and obedience to your will be enforced.”

  Pharaoh listened to her in amazement, and wonder too, because the idea had never occurred to him. Although he had not thought much about the formation of a strong army when military circumstance did not require it, and had believed, and still did believe, that the mutterings of the clergy could not reach the level of danger that would require a large army to crush it, he had come to believe that the absence of such an army suited the people and tempted them to raise petitions, and voice aloud their complaints. He found Rhadopis's simple idea the perfect opportunity and he was taken by it with all his heart. And when he was taken by something, he would dedicate himself to it and be preoccupied with it, and focus on it with an obsession verging on madness, heedless of all else. For this he looked into her eyes, delighted. “What an excellent idea, Rhadopis,” he said. “An excellent idea.”

  “It is what my heart tells me,” she said, curiously elated. “It is easy to accomplish, as easy as forgoing this kiss from your beloved mouth. All we must do is say nothing.”

  “Yes, my darling. Do you not see how your mind, like your heart, is a precious treasure? Truly, all we have to do is remain silent and choose a trustworthy messenger. You can leave that to me.”

  “Who might your messenger to Prince Kaneferu be?” she asked.

  “I will choose a chamberlain from my loyal men.”

  She did not trust his vast palace, not for any rational reason, but because of her heart's aversion to the place in which the queen dwelled. She could not express her misgivings at all, but she had no idea who the messenger should be if he were not from the palace. To make matters worse, she fully understood that if the secret were exposed, the consequences would be too serious to even contemplate. She was about to despair and abandon altogether the sensitive and perilous project, when suddenly she remembered the child-like young man with the happy eyes who was working in the summer room. With the memory came a strange reassurance, for he was sincere and naive and pure. His heart was a temple in which he offered to her rituals of worship, morning and night. He was her messenger; he was trustworthy. Immediately she turned to Pharaoh and said confidently, “Let me choose the messenger myself.”

  The king was amused. “What a nuisance you are today. Not your usual self at all. Who shall you choose, I wonder?”

  “My lord,” she reminded him humbly, “a person in love has many fears. My messenger is the artist who is decorating the summer room. In his age he is a young man but in his soul he is a child. He has the heart of a chaste virgin. He is totally devoted to me, and his most obvious advantage is that he will not arouse suspicion, and he knows nothing. It is far better for us if the person who bears our message knows nothing of its grave and serious contents. If we do not know fear, we can pass through all perils unscathed.”

  The king nodded in agreement: he hated to say no to her. As far as Rhadopis was concerned, the clouds had dispersed, even if it was not in the way she had originally intended. She was delighted and gave free rein to her joy, confident that soon she would be able to forget the world and live in her palace of love, leaving its protection to a mighty army, in the face of which all would be powerless.

  Her head bowed with dreams and the beauty of her hair delighted the king. He adored her hair and his fingers dallied at the knot and untied it, and it cascaded down over her shoulders. He held it in his hands and breathed it deep into his nostrils, and buried his head and face in it, playfully, until they were both completely hidden by it.

  THE MESSENGER

  THE NEXT MORNING broke and the air was cold. The sky was wrapped in robes of cloud, white and incandescent above the source of the sun, like an innocent face -whose expression announces the inner thoughts, -while the distant horizon -was darker as if the tails of night lingered still as it withdrew.

  A great task awaited her, but her heart was not inclined toward it, nor was the purification she had undergone that day at the temple pleased with it. Had she not sworn to wash away the past -with all its stains? And here she -was, -waiting to deceive Benamun, and to play with his emotions in order to serve her love and bring her goal to fruition. She did not hesitate in the slightest though, for she was in a race against time. Her love meant more to her than anything else and she was prepared to use bitter cruelty for its sake. She left her chamber for the summer room, supremely confident. It would not require much guile to seduce Benamun. It would be easy.

  She walked in on her tiptoes and found him looking at her picture, singing a song that she used to sing on evenings long ago:

  If your beauty works miracles,

  Then why can it not cure me?

&n
bsp; She was taken aback by his singing, but she made use of the opportunity and sang the rest of the verse:

  Am I playing with something I have no knowledge of?

  The horizon is hidden behind the clouds,

  I wonder if you are the one

  Who's saved some love for my heart.

  The young man turned to her, startled, bewitched. She met him with a sweet laugh and said, “You have a beautiful voice. How have you managed to hide it from me all these days?”

  The blood rushed to his cheeks, and his lips trembled with consternation as he reacted to her kind affection -with amazement.

  She understood what he was thinking and she continued her enticement. “I see you enjoying a song, and neglecting your work,” she said.

  A look of denial appeared on his face, and he pointed to the picture he had engraved and mumbled, “Look.”

  The picture had become a beautiful face, almost lifelike. “How gifted you are, Benamun,” she said in admiration.

  He breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, my lady.”

  Then, steering the conversation toward her intention, she said, “But you have been cruel to me, Benamun.”

  “I? How my lady?”

  “You have made me look oppressive,” she said, “and I so wanted to look like a dove.”

  He was silent, and did not say a word. She interpreted his silence to suit her purpose, and said, “Did I not say you have been cruel to me? How do you see me, Benamun? Oppressive, cruel, and beautiful as in this image you have made? What a picture it is. I am amazed how the stone speaks. But you imagine that my heart does not feel, just like this stone, do you not? Do not deny it. That is your belief. But why, Benamun?”

  He did not know what to say. Silence overcame him. She was putting her ideas into his mind, and he believed them and was drawn toward her as he grew more muddled and confused.

  “Why do you think I am cruel, Benamun?” she went on. “You believe in appearances, because by your nature you cannot conceal that which stirs in your breast. I have read your face like the page of an open book. But we possess another nature, and openness loses us the sweet taste of victory, and spoils the most beautiful things the gods have created for us.”

  Young Benamun asked himself in bewilderment what she could possibly mean, and whether or not he should understand from her speech what her words actually implied. Had she not been sitting there before him every day, her eyes and mind forever distracted? She had not sensed the fire raging in his being then. What had made her change? Why was she saying these delicious words to him? Why was she coming so near the sweet secrets that burned in his heart? Did she really mean -what she was saying, did she really mean what he had understood her words to mean?

  Rhadopis moved another step forward. “Ah, Benamun,” she said. “You are being cruel to me. It is clear from the silence -with which you answer me.”

  He gazed at her in bewilderment and tears of joy almost flooded his eyes. He knew for certain his thoughts had been correct. “There are not enough -words in the -world to express -what I feel,” he said in a trembling voice.

  She breathed a sigh of relief that she had loosened the knot on his tongue, and said dreamily, “What need have you of words? You will not say anything I do not know. Let us ask the summer room, for she has seen us for months and we have left in her body a trace of our hearts forever. Yes, here you have learned a solemn secret.”

  She looked into his face for a short moment then she said, “Do you know, Benamun, how I learned the secret of my heart? It was by way of a surprising coincidence. I have a personal letter I want to send to someone in a distant place, and to send it with a messenger I can rely on, someone my heart trusts. I was sitting alone, reviewing in my mind different people, men and women, slaves and freemen, and at each one I would feel uneasy, that they were not right for the task, then, I do not know why, my mind wandered to this room, and all of a sudden I remembered you, Benamun. My mind was assured and my heart at peace. Indeed, I felt something even deeper than that. Thus did I learn the secret of my heart.”

  The young man's face was awash with joy and he felt happiness almost to the point of delirium. He dropped to his knees before her and cried out from the depths of his heart, “My lady.”

  And placing her hand on his head she said tenderly, “That is how I knew the secret of my heart. I wonder how I did not know it from long ago.”

  “My lady,” said Benamun, lost in his trancelike state, “I swear the night witnessed me convulsed with anguish, and now the dawn is here, greeting me with a breeze of sweet-scented joy. The words you have uttered have brought me out of darkness into light, transported me from the gloomy depths of despair to a magical sensation of happiness. I can love myself again after I was on the brink of perdition. You are my happiness, my dream, my hope.”

  She listened to him, sad and silent. She felt he was reciting a fervent prayer, as though he were floating in an ignorance of naive, sacred dream. She was quiet for a while, feeling some pain and regret, but she did not give in to the emotions he had stirred in her heart with his rapture, and deviously she said, “I am surprised that I did not know my heart for so long, and I wonder at the coincidences that did not apprise me of its secret until I needed to send you on a mission far away. It is as if they led me to you, and deprived me of you at one and the same time.”

  “I will do whatever you will with my heart and soul,” he said in a tone that was like worship.

  After a moment's hesitation she asked, “Even if what I want is for you to travel to a land you will only reach with great difficulty?

  “The only difficult thing will be not seeing you every morning.”

  “Let it be a temporary absence. I will give you a letter you will keep by your breast. You will go to the governor of the island with a word from me. He will direct you on your way and smooth out any difficulties.

  “You will travel with a caravan, not a single one of whom shall know what is by your breast until you reach the governor of Nubia and deliver the dispatch into his hand. Then come back to me.”

  Benamun felt a new joy mingled with feelings of dignity and pride. Her hand was nearby and he fell upon it with his mouth and kissed it passionately. She saw him tremble violently when his lips touched her hand.

  On her way back, the feeling of sadness returned, and she asked herself, “Would it not have been more merciful to let His Majesty choose the messenger than for me to play with the heart of this boy?” Nevertheless, he was happy. Her lying words had made him so. Indeed, he was in a state that even the happiest of people would envy. She need not be sad as long as he did not know the truth, until, that was, she tired of resorting to falsehood.

  THE LETTER

  THAT SAME EVENING, Pharaoh came waving a folded letter in his hand, his face beaming with satisfaction. As she looked curiously at it, she wondered if it would bring her idea to a successful conclusion and direct events in accordance with her dreams. The king unfolded the letter and read it out with a happy glint in his eye. It was addressed to Prince Kaneferu the governor of Nubia, from his cousin, the pharaoh of Egypt. In it he explained his troubles and his desire to muster a huge army without arousing the suspicions or fears of the clergy. He requested the prince to send to Egypt a letter with a trustworthy messenger, calling for urgent assistance to defend the borders of the southern provinces and to suppress an imaginary rebellion, claiming it was the Maasayu tribes who had stoked its fires and swept through the towns and villages.

  Rhadopis folded it up again and said, “The messenger is ready.”

  The king smiled. “The letter is prepared.”

  She was lost in thought for a moment, then asked, “I wonder how they will receive Kaneferu's letter?”

  “It will shake all their hearts,” said the king in a tone of conviction. “It will shake the hearts of the priests themselves and the governors will call for the conscription of men from every corner of the land, and soon enough the army our hope depends on wil
l come to us, fully mustered and equipped.”

  She was delighted, and impatiently she asked him, “Shall we wait long?”

  “We have a month to wait while the messenger makes the journey and returns.”

  She thought for a moment, and counted on her fingers, then said, “If your reckoning is correct, his return will coincide with the festival of the Nile.”

  The king laughed. “That is a good omen, Rhadopis, for the festival of the Nile is the anniversary of our love. It shall be an occasion of victory and reassurance.”

  She too was optimistic, believing dearly in the prosperity of that day, which she truly considered to be the birth of her happiness and love. She was convinced that the return of the messenger on that day was not just coincidence, but rather a prudent orchestration from the hand of a goddess who was blessing her love and was sympathetically disposed toward her hopes.

  The king looked at her in wonder and admiration, then kissed her head and said, “How precious your head is. Sofkhatep is most impressed with it, as indeed he is most impressed with your brilliant idea. He could not resist telling me what a simple solution it was to a complex problem, like a pretty flower growing from a twisted stalk, or branches all knotted and gnarled.”

  She had been under the impression that he had kept the plan a secret and had told no one about it, not even the loyal prime minister, Sofkhatep. She asked him, “Does the prime minister know of our secret?”

  “Yes,” he said simply. “Sofkhatep and Tahu are as close to me as my mind and heart. I hide nothing from them.”

  Tahu's name rang in her ears, and her face became sullen, and a look of apprehension appeared in her eyes.