Three Novels of Ancient Egypt

A look of vehemence appeared on the king's face. “Is it right that Pharaoh should yield to the will of the people?” he said furiously.

The governor continued, his words bold and direct: “Your Majesty, the contentment and well-being of the people is a responsibility with which the gods have entrusted the person of Pharaoh. There is no yielding, only the compassion of an able master concerned for his slaves.”

The king banged his staff on the ground. “I see only submission in retreat.”

“May the gods forbid that I refer to Your Majesty as submissive, but politics is a churning sea, the ruler a captain who steers clear of the raging storm and makes full use of good opportunity.”

The king was not impressed with his words and he shook his head in stubborn contempt. Sofkhatep requested permission to speak, and asked the governor of Thebes, “What proof do you have that the people share the sentiments of the priests?”

“Yes, Your Excellency,” said the governor without hesitation. “I have sent my spies around the region. They have observed the mood of the people at close quarters and have heard them discussing matters they should not.”

“I did the same thing,” said the governor of Farmuntus, “and the reports that came back were most regrettable.”

Every governor spoke his piece, and their statements left no doubt about the precariousness of the situation. Thus ended the first such meeting of its kind ever seen in the palaces of the pharaohs.

Immediately the king met — with his prime minister and the commander of the guard in his private wing. He was beside himself with rage, threatening menace and intimidation. “These governors,” he said, “are loyal and trustworthy, but they are weak. If I were to take their advice I would lay open my throne to ignominy and shame.”

Tahu quickly seconded His Majesty's opinion, and said, “To retreat now is clearly defeat, my lord.”

Sofkhatep was thinking about other probabilities. “We must not forget the festival of the Nile. Only a few days remain before it begins. In truth, my heart is not happy at the thought of thousands of irate people gathered in Abu.”

“We control Abu,” Tahu was quick to point out.

“There is no doubt about that. But we should not forget that at the last festival certain treacherous cries were heard, even though at that time His Majesty's wish had still not been realized. This year we should expect other, more vociferous cries.”

“All hope hangs on the return of the messenger before the festival,” said the king.

Sofkhatep continued to consider the matter from his own point of view, for in his heart he believed in the proposal of the governors. He said, “The messenger will come soon and he will read his message for all to hear. No doubt the priests, having courted the favor of their lord and believing that they once again enjoyed their ancient rights, will be more enthusiastically inclined to accept mobilization, for even if my lord were to take the upper hand and dictate his desire, there is none who can refuse to do his will.”

The king took umbrage at Sofkhatep's opinion, and feeling isolated and alone even in his private wing, he hastened to the palace of Biga, where loneliness never followed him. Rhadopis did not know what had happened in the latest meeting and her mind was less troubled than his. Still, she found no difficulty reading the telling expression on his face and sensed the anger and vexation that churned in his heart. She was filled with trepidation and she looked at him questioningly, but the words piled up behind her lips, afraid to come out.

“Have you not heard, Rhadopis?” he grumbled. “The governors and ministers are advising me to return the estates to the priests, and to content myself with defeat.”

“What has urged them to pronounce this counsel?” she asked nervously.

The king related what the governors had said and what they had counseled him to do and she grew sadder and more nervous. She could not restrain herself from saying, “The air grows dusty and dark. Only grave danger would have led the governors to reveal their opinions.”

“My people are angry,” said the king scornfully.

“Your Majesty, the people are like a ship off course without a rudder, which the winds carry wherever they will.”

“I will knock the wind out of their sails,” he said ominously.

Fears and doubts returned to plague her, and her patience betrayed her for a moment as she said, “We must seek recourse to wisdom and willingly step back awhile. The day of victory is near.”

He looked at her curiously. “Are you suggesting that I submit, Rhadopis?”

She held him to her breast for his tone had hurt her, then she said, her eyes overflowing with fervent tears, “It is more proper for one about to take a great leap to first crouch down. Victory hinges upon the outcome.”

The king moaned, saying, “Ah, Rhadopis, if you do not know my soul, then who can know it? I am one who, if coerced to bend to a person's will, withers with grief like a rose battered by the wind.”