Three Novels of Ancient Egypt

Djedef, Sennefer, and the head of the horsemen marched with the torches before the king in the direction of the chariot, Hemiunu following him with ponderous steps. They came upon someone after only a short distance, sprawled on his face, the fatal shaft buried in his left side, groaning in pain. The king started at the sound, and — hurrying to him — he turned him on his back. Casting a — worried glance upon him, — when he saw his face he howled aloud, “Khafra… my son!”

All majesty forgotten, Khufu stared at those around him as though appealing for their aid against this tribulation that seemed irresistible. He studied the face of the man lying at his feet once more, and said in grief and revulsion, “Are you the one who attempted to slay me?”

But the prince — was in the throes of his final agony, slipping into the unconsciousness of one — who is leaving this world. He paid no heed to the horrified eyes now fixed upon him, but continued to moan plaintively, his chest heaving violently. A stifling quiet descended over all of them, in which Hemiunu forgot his aching arm, but kept stealing furtive looks of pity at Khufu's face, who was imploring the Lord to spare him the evil ofthat moment. Pharaoh leaned over his expiring son, regarding him with hardened eyes that trauma made look like two stagnant pools. His soul was dazed and disturbed, conflicting thoughts and emotions clashing within him, as he surrendered to indifference. He went on gaping at the agonizing crown prince until the final glint of glory abandoned him, and his body ceased moving for all eternity.

The king remained frozen in his queer immobility for not a short while. Then his own majesty and confidence returned as he stood up straight. Turning to Djedef, he asked in an unfamiliar voice, “Inform me, O Commander, of all the details that you know about this matter.”

In a voice shuddering with sorrow, Djedef told his sire of what the officer Sennefer had reported to him, of the doubts that assailed them, and of the ruse that they devised to rescue their lord.

“By the gods!” cried Khufu.

He had been going and coming without any concern, only to be caught unawares by infamy from where he had not at all expected it — from his most precious son, his own heir apparent. The gods had saved him from the terrible evil, but in carrying out their will, they had cost him very dear. This was the spirit that now went up, polluted with the most repugnant sin that a mortal can commit. Pharaoh had survived annihilation, but he felt no delight. His crown prince had been killed, and he did not know how to grieve for him. The world had shown him its most despicable face, just as he was reaching the end of his path.

35

The king and his companions returned to the royal palace that morning, as the — world — was adorned — with the rising sun. The all-powerful monarch felt a spiritless fatigue, so he made his way quickly to his chamber and collapsed onto his bed. The awful news spread through the vastness of the palace, carrying with it sadness and dismay. Queen Meritites was shaken to her foundations, a consuming fire exploding — within her, of-which not all the waters of the Nile could extinguish a single brand. The woman stuck close to her great husband seeking to ward off the — woe of this evil by her nearness to him, as — well as to obtain his reassurance and consolation. She found him sleeping, or like one asleep, and touched his forehead — with her chill fingers to discover that he was as hot as a mass of fire, sending up embers into the air.

She whispered to him in a faltering voice, “My lord!”

The king stirred at the sound, opening his eyes in a state of indignant turmoil. He sat up in his bed in unaccustomed rage, piercing her with a glare that sent off sparks. In a maddened tone that had not been heard before, he demanded of his spouse, “Are you weeping, O Queen, for the damned assassin?”

“I am weeping for my miserable fortune, my sire,” she answered submissively, her tears overflowing.

Insane with rage, he bellowed, “Woman, you bore me a criminal for a son!”

“My lord!”

“The divine wisdom decreed his death because the throne was not created to be occupied by criminals!”

“Mercy, my lord!” the woman wailed. “Mercy for my heart, and for yours! Don't speak to me in this terrifying tone — I need consoling. Let's forget this agonizing memory: he was our son, and now he deserves mourning!”

He shook his head with lunatic fury. “I see that you are showing him mercy!”

“We're entitled to weep, sire. Didn't he lose both this — world and the hereafter?”