Three Novels of Ancient Egypt Khufu's Wisdom by Naguib Mahfouz
He suppressed his rage and asked her in a quieter voice, “What is it you wish to speak about, Queen?”
The queen regretted that the tone of the conversation had not set a suitable atmosphere for her purpose, but she saw no way out. “The temple estates,” she said without further ado.
The king scowled. “Did you say the temple estates?” he yelled angrily. “I call them the priests’ estates.”
“May your will be done, Your Majesty. Changing the name changes nothing of the matter.”
“Do you not know that I hate to have that phrase repeated to me?”
“I am trying to do what others cannot. My intentions are good.”
The king shrugged his shoulders angrily. “And what is it you wish to say, my queen?” he asked.
“Khnumhotep requested to see me and I granted him an audience, I listened….”
He did not let her finish. “Is that what the man did?” he said irately.
The queen was dismayed. “Yes. Do you find anything in his behavior that deserves your wrath?”
“I certainly do,” roared the king. “He is a stubborn man. He refuses to do my bidding. I know he is loath to implement the decree. He is watching me, seeking to waylay me in the hope that he will succeed in revoking it by asking sometimes, though I have refused to listen to him, or by encouraging the priests to submit petitions, just as he urged them before to shout out his vile name. The crafty scheming prime minister is rushing blindly down the road of my enemies.”
She was appalled by his thinking and said, “You do the man an injustice. I believe him to be one of the throne's most loyal servants. He is exceedingly wise; his only intention is to forge harmony. Is it not natural that the man should be saddened at the loss of privileges that his institution acquired under the auspicious beneficence of our ancestors?”
Rage flared in the king's heart, for he could find no excuse for a person -who did not comply -with his orders openly or in secret, and he could not accept under any circumstance, that a person might see things differently than himself. Furiously, and in a voice full of bitter sarcasm, he said, “I see that the schemer was able to change your mind, Queen.”
“I was never of the opinion that the temple properties should be seized,” she said indignantly, “I do not see that it is necessary.”
The king's anger resurfaced and there was violence in his words. “Does it displease you that your wealth grows?”
How can he say that when he knows so well where that money is spent?
His words provoked her buried anger and her stifled fury and she flew into a rage and her feelings took control of her. “Every thinking person would be offended to see the land of the wise seized only for their revenues to be spent on frivolous pleasures.”
The king was beside himself and, gesturing threateningly with his hand, said, “Woe betide that scheming man. He would be tempted to sow discord between us.”
She was hurt. “You think in your own mind that I am a gullible child,” she said sadly.
“Woe betide him. He asked to meet the queen so he could talk to the woman concealed behind her royal attire.”
Mortified, she cried out to him, “My lord!”
But he continued, fuelled by his demonic rage, “You came, Nitocris, driven by jealousy, not by a desire for harmony.”
She felt a violent blow strike at her pride and her eyes misted over. Her pulse rang out in her ears and her limbs trembled. For a moment she could not speak. Then she said, “King, Khnum-hotep does not know anything about you that I do not know myself, and yet still he rushes to inform me. And if you think that it is jealousy that inspires me, then be under no illusion. I know, as everyone knows, that you have been throwing yourself into the arms of a dancer on the island of Biga for months.
In all that time have you ever seen me come after you, or try to stop you, or plead with you? And know that he who wishes to preach to a woman will slink back in failure, all he will find before him is Queen Nitocris.”
Pharaoh was incensed. “You are still spewing the burning ash of jealousy,” he said.
The queen stamped her foot on the floor and stood up in exasperation. “King,” she said resentfully, “it does not shame a queen that she be jealous of her husband, but it truly shames a king that he should squander the gold of his nation under the feet of a dancer, and expose his pure and unsullied throne to the malicious gossip of all and sundry.”
With these words the queen departed, turning a deaf ear to his protestations.
Anger engulfed the king, and he lost his composure. He considered Khnumhotep the one responsible for all his troubles. He summoned Sofkhatep and ordered him to inform Prime Minister Khnumhotep immediately that he was waiting for him. The bewildered lord chamberlain set off to carry out his lord's order. The prime minister showed up torn between hope and despair, and was shown in to the furious king. The man pronounced the traditional greeting but Pharaoh was not listening, and interrupted him harshly, “Did I not command you, Prime Minister, never to bring up the issue of the temple estates again?”
The man was shocked by the venomous tone, which he was hearing for the first time, and he felt his hopes fading. “My lord,” he said desperately, “I considered it my duty to bring to your most sublime attention the grievances of a constituency of your loyal and faithful people.”
“On the contrary,” said the king cruelly, “you wanted to stir up the dust between myself and the queen, so that under its cover you might achieve your aim.”
The man held back his hands imploringly, he wanted to speak but he could not get out more than, “My lord, my lord…”
“Khnumhotep,” roared the furious king, “you refuse to obey my orders, I will never trust you again after today.”
The high priest was speechless, frozen to the spot. His head sank to his chest in sadness and, in a tone of surrender, he said, “My lord, by the gods, it truly saddens me to withdraw from the glorious arena of your service, and I shall return as I was before, one of your loyal and insignificant slaves.”
The king felt relief after he had vented his ferocious anger, and he sent for Sofkhatep and Tahu. The two men came at once, wondering why they had been summoned. “I have finished with Khnumhotep,” said the king calmly.
There was deep silence. Signs of amazement appeared on Sofkhatep's face but Tahu remained unmoved. The king looked from one to the other saying, “What is the matter, why don't you speak?”
“It is a very serious matter, my lord,” said Sofkhatep.
“You think it serious, Sofkhatep? And what about you, Tahu?”
Tahu was motionless, his feelings dead, no reaction in his heart to the events, but he said, “It is a deed, Your Majesty, wrought by the inspiration of the sacred and worshipful powers.”
The king smiled, as Sofkhatep considered the matter from all angles. “From today Khnumhotep will find himself much freer,” the chamberlain said.
Pharaoh shrugged his shoulders in disdain. “I do not think he will expose himself to danger.”
Then Pharaoh continued in another tone, “And now, who do you suggest I should appoint as his successor?”
There was a moment of silence as the two men thought.
The king smiled and said, “I choose Sofkhatep. What do you think?”
“The one you have chosen, my lord, is the strongest and most faithful,” said Tahu sincerely.
As for Sofkhatep, he appeared disturbed and troubled by their words, but Pharaoh was quick to persuade him, asking, “Would you abandon your king in his hour of need?”
Sofkhatep sighed and said, “Your Majesty shall find me loyal.”
THE NEW PRIME MINISTER
PHARAOH FELT a certain reassurance at the ushering in of this new era, and his anger abated. He left the affairs of state in the hands of the man he trusted and directed his attention toward the woman who had taken over his soul and heart and senses. With her, he felt that life was good, the world was blissful, and his soul full of joy.
As for Sofkhatep, the responsibility weighed heavily on his shoulders. There was no doubt in his mind that Egypt had received his appointment with caution, disapproval, and stifled indignation. He had felt isolated from the moment he stepped inside the government house. Pharaoh was content to be in love and had turned his back on all concerns and duties, and while the provincial governors paid him public homage, in their hearts they followed the priests. The prime minister looked around him and found only Commander Tahu to help and advise him, and although the two of them differed on many matters, they had in common their love for Pharaoh and their loyalty to him. The commander accepted Sofkhatep's call and stretched out his hand to help him and shared in his isolation and his many troubles. Together they struggled to save the ship tossed about on angry waves as storm clouds gathered on the horizon. But Sofkhatep lacked the qualities of an experienced captain, for though he was loyal and possessed great integrity, and in his wisdom the truth of matters were made manifest to him, he lacked courage and decisiveness. He had seen the error from the beginning, but he had not tried to rectify it as much as he had skirted about it, making light of its consequences for fear of incurring the wrath of his lord or hurting him. So it was that matters proceeded unimpeded down the road that anger had laid for them.
Tahu's vigilant spies brought back important news, saying that Khnumhotep had moved suddenly to Memphis, the religious capital. The news caused consternation between the prime minister and the commander and they were bewildered as to why the man would take upon himself the difficult journey from the South to the North. Sofkhatep expected some mischief and did not doubt that Khnumhotep would make contact with senior members of the clergy, all of whom were furious at the dire situation that had befallen them, and at the knowledge that the wealth that had been withheld from them was being prodigally scattered at the feet of a dancing girl from Biga, for there was not one person who was ignorant of this fact now. The high priest would find among them fertile ground to sow his teachings and reiterate his complaints.
The first indications of the clergy's discontent appeared when the messengers who had been sent out to announce the news of Sofkhatep's appointment as prime minister returned with official congratulations from the provinces. The priests, however, had remained alarmingly silent, moving Tahu to say, “They are starting to threaten us.”
Then letters began to pour in from all the temples bearing the signatures of all the priests from all ranks petitioning Pharaoh to review the question of the temple estates. It was a worrying and ominous consensus and it only added to Sofkhatep's woes.
One day Sofkhatep called Tahu to the government house. The commander hurried over. The prime minister pointed to his official chair of office and sighed, “That chair almost makes me dizzy.”
“Your head is too great for that chair to make it dizzy,” said Tahu.
Sofkhatep sighed sadly, “They have drowned me in a flood of petitions.”
“Have you shown them to Pharaoh?” asked the commander with some concern.
“No, Commander. Pharaoh does not allow a single soul to bring up the subject, and it is very rare that I am granted an audience with him. I feel confused and alone.”
The two men -were silent for a moment, each lost in his own thoughts. Then Sofkhatep shook his head in amazement, and said, as if addressing himself, “It is magic, no doubt about it.”
Tahu looked curiously at the prime minister, then suddenly understood what the man meant. A shiver ran down his spine and his face turned pale, but he managed to control his feelings, as he had become used to doing during the recent lean period of his life, and -with a simplicity that required enormous effort, he asked, “What magic do you mean, Your Excellency?”
“Rhadopis,” said Sofkhatep. “Does she not work her magic on Pharaoh? Nay, by the gods, what is -wrong -with His Majesty is clearly magic.”
Tahu's spirit shook at the mention of the -word. It seemed to him that he -was hearing something strange, -whose magical effect touched all his senses and emotions, and almost removed the plug he had stuffed mercilessly into the mouth of his emotions. He clenched his teeth and said, “People say that love is magic, and the magicians say that magic is love.”
“I have come to believe that the ravishing beauty of Rhadopis is accursed magic,” said the prime minister despondently.
Tahu glared at him sternly. “You did not recite the spell that made this magic, did you?”
Sofkhatep sensed the rebuke in the commander's voice and the color drained out of his face, and he spoke quickly, as one rejecting an accusation. “She was not the first woman….”
“But she was Rhadopis.”
“I was concerned for His Majesty's happiness.”
“And you employed magic for his sake? Alas!”
“Yes, Commander. I understand that I have made a serious mistake. But now something must be done.”
“That is your duty, Your Excellency,” said Tahu, the bitterness still in his voice.
“I am asking your advice.”
“Loyalty reaches its full extent in true and honest counsel.”
“Pharaoh will not accept that anyone broaches the subject of the clergy in his presence.”
“Have you not shared your opinion with Her Majesty the Queen?”
“That is the very route that led Khnumhotep to incur the wrath of His Majesty the King.”
Tahu could think of nothing to say, but Sofkhatep had an idea and, speaking softly, said, “Is there perhaps not some benefit to be gained by arranging a meeting between you and Rhadopis?”
A shiver ran down Tahu's spine once again, and his heart thumped wildly in his breast. The emotions he was trying so hard to conceal almost exploded. “The old man doesn't know what he's saying,” he thought to himself. “He thinks His Majesty is the only one bewitched.”
“Why do you not meet her yourself,” he said to Sofkhatep.
“I think you would be more able than me to reach an understanding with her.”
“I fear that Rhadopis would not be well disposed to me,” he said coolly. “She may think ill of me, and spoil my efforts on Pharaoh's behalf. I think not, Your Excellency.”
Sofkhatep dreaded the thought of confronting Pharaoh with the truth.
Tahu could not stay there any longer. His nerves were in turmoil, and a violent unstoppable emotion tore at his soul. He asked the prime minister's permission to leave and departed as if in a trance, leaving Sofkhatep drowning in a deep chasm of doubt and affliction.
THE TWO QUEENS
SOFKHATEP WAS not the only one whose head was bowed by woe.
The queen had confined herself to her chambers, brooding over the sadness buried deep inside her, the ominous pain, the despair she could voice to no one, reviewing the tragedy of her life with a broken heart, and observing the events that were unfolding in the Valley with sad eyes. She was nothing other than a woman who had lost her heart, or a queen seated uneasily upon her throne. All bonds of affection between her and the king had been broken without hope of communication as long as he remained engulfed in his passion, and as long as she took recourse to her silent pride.
It distressed her to know that the king had become so abstemious in attending to his sublime duties, for love had made him forget everything until all authority rested in the hands of Sofkhatep. She harbored no doubts about the prime minister's loyalty to the throne, but she was angry at the king's recklessness and neglect. She was determined to do something, whatever it might cost her, and she did not waver from her aim. One day, she summoned Sofkhatep and asked him to refer to her in all matters that required the opinion of the king. Thus did she allay some of her anger, and unbeknown to her, greatly relieved the prime minister, who felt a great weight had been lifted from his frail shoulders.
Having made contact with the prime minister, she learned of the latest petitions that the priests had sent from all corners of the kingdom, and she read them with patience and care. She realized immediately that the ve
There was no doubt that events were becoming dangerously complicated, hurtling toward discord and dissent, threatening to divide the king — slumbering and dreaming on the island of Biga - and his loyal and faithful subjects, while Sofkhatep looked on in dismay, his wisdom and loyalty of no use at all.
The queen felt that something should be done and that leaving events to take their course would bring only trouble and calamity. She would have to wipe from the calm and lovely face of Egypt the decay that was descending upon it and restore its former radiance. What was she to do? The day before, she had hoped to convince her husband of the truth, but there was no hope of going to him again today. She had still not forgotten the cruel blow he had dealt her pride. Sadly, she was determined to have nothing to do with him, and she looked for a new way by which to reach her goal. But then when she thought about her goal she was not sure what it was. Finally she told herself that the most she could hope to gain was for Pharaoh to return to the priests the estates he had seized from them. But how was that to be brought about? The king was irascible, violent, and proud. He would not step down for anyone. He had ordered the confiscation of the lands in a moment of severe anger, but now there was no doubt that things other than anger pressed him to keep the lands in his possession. Anyone who knew the palace of Biga, and the gold the king was lavishing upon it, would be under no illusion as to the expense. It had come to be called the “golden palace of Biga,” and rightly so, such was the amount of objects and furniture crafted from pure gold it contained. If this huge hole that was swallowing up the king's money were stopped, perhaps it would be easier for him to think about returning the temple estates to the clergy. She had no desire to turn the king away from the courtesan of Biga: the idea had never occurred to her, but she wanted to put an end to his extravagance. She sighed and said to herself, “Now our aim is clear: we should find a way to convince the king to renounce his wastefulness, then we can persuade him to restore the lands to their owners. But how are we to persuade the king?” She had tried to put him out of the equation but then she found him every step of the way she considered. She had failed to convince him once already, and neither Sofkhatep nor Tahu had had better luck, for the king was governed by passion and there was no way to reach him. Then the question popped into her mind, “Who can convince the king?” A painful shiver ran down her spine, for the answer came to her immediately. It was awful and painful, but she had known it all along. It was one of the truths that brought back the pain whenever the memory returned, for the Fates had decreed that the person who controlled the king, who controlled his destiny, was her rival, the dancer of Biga, who had condemned her to be forever excluded from Pharaoh's heart. That was the bitter truth and she was loath to accept it, as a person is loath to accept truths such as death, old age, and incurable disease.