Three Novels of Ancient Egypt

“What do you mean by this, Inspector?” Pharaoh asked the disavowing father.

Still staring at the floor, Bisharu answered, “Sire… Djedef is the son of the former priest of Ra, whose name was Monra.”

Pharaoh fixed him with an odd, dreamlike look, as ambition stirred among all those listening discreetly, while the eyes of Hemiunu, Mirabu, and Arbu seemed disturbed. Khufu, however, muttered in confusion while his spirit floated through the darkness of the distant past, saying to himself, “Ra! Monra, the Priest of Ra!”

The architect Mirabu's memory — was most vivid ofthat traumatic day that had carved its events into his consciousness. “The son of Monra?” he said with disbelief. “That is far from being credible, my lord — for Ra died, and his son was killed, in the same instant.”

Pharaoh's memory returned in an aureole of fire. His tired, weakened heart convulsed as he spoke.

“Yes — the son of Monra was massacred on the bed where he was born. What do you say to this, Bisharu?”

“Sire,” replied the inspector, “I have no knowledge of the child that was slaughtered. All that I know of this ancient history came to me by chance, or through wisdom known only to the Lord. It has been a trial for my heart that is attached to this lad in every possible manner, yet my fidelity to the king calls upon me to recount it.”

And so Bisharu told his sovereign — as his eyes brimmed with honorable tears — the story of Zaya and her nursing baby boy, from its beginning to the appalling moment when he stood eavesdropping upon Ruddjedet's strange tale. When the man had finished his unhappy narrative, he bowed his head down to his chest, and spoke no more.

Astonishment gripped all those there, the eyes of the princes gleaming with a sudden hope. As for Princess Meresankh, her eyes widened with shock and awe, while her heart went mad with fear, pain, and anticipation. Her attention focused on her father's face — or on his mouth, as if she wanted to suppress, with her spirit, the words that might condemn her happiness and her expectations.

Turning his blanched face toward Djedef, the king asked him, “Is it true what this man is saying, Commander?”

With his constant courage, Djedef replied, “My lord! What Inspector Bisharu has said is true, without any doubt.”

Pharaoh looked to Hemiunu, then to Arbu, and finally to Mirabu, pleading for help against the terror of these wonders. “What a marvel this is!” he exclaimed.

Glaring at Djedef, Prince Baufra declared, “Now the truth has come to light!”

Pharaoh, however, paid no heed to his son's remark, but began to recite in a fading, delirious voice: “Some twenty years ago, I proclaimed a war against the Fates, ruthlessly challenging the will of the gods. With a small army that I headed myself, I set out to do battle with a nursing child. Everything appeared to me that it would proceed according to my own desire, and I was not troubled by doubt of any kind. I thought that I had executed my own will, and raised the respect for my word. Verily, today my self-assurance is made ridiculous, and now — by the Lord — my pride is battered. Here you all see how I repaid the baby of Ra for killing my heir apparent by choosing him to succeed me on the throne of Egypt. What a marvel this is!”

Pharaoh let his head droop until his beard rested upon his breast, sinking into deep meditation. All gathered realized that the king was about to issue a judgment that he would not retract, so again they fell into a morbid stillness. The princes waited in anguish, fear and hope fighting violently inside them. Princess Meresankh gazed at her father with staring eyes, from which an angel of goodness looked out, pleading and beseeching. Tearfully they glistened with the gleam of concern as they ran back and forth between the king's head and the valiant youth that stood with enormous stoicism, capitulating to the Fates.

Prince Baufra's patience snapped. “My lord, with just one word, you could realize your decree, and make your will victorious!” he railed.

Khufu lifted up his head like one waking from a sound slumber and looked at his son for a long time. He glanced at the faces of the others present, then said calmly, “Pharaoh is good earth, like the land of his kingdom, and beneficial knowledge flourishes within it. If not for the ignorance and folly of youth, he would not have murdered innocent, blameless souls.”

Once more, the silence returned, as bitter disappointment tested many there, pierced by the poisoned dagger of despair. Princess Meresankh sighed so audibly that it reached the ears of the king — and he recognized its source. He looked at her with pity and compassion, motioning to her with his hand. She flew to him like a dove trained in flight, then bowed her head while kissing the hand that summoned her.

Looking to Hemiunu, the king said, “Bring me papyrus, Vizier, that I may conclude my book of — wisdom — with the gravest lesson that I have learned in my life. And be quick — for I have only a few moments left to live.”