Three Novels of Ancient Egypt Khufu's Wisdom

  Djedef was blissful and proud, gazing into the impassioned crowd -with gleaming eyes, returning the warm salutations -with sweeps of his awesome sword. His eyes plumbed the masses for the beloved faces of those who he never doubted would cry out his name when they saw him. He even imagined for a moment that he heard the voice of his mother, Zaya, and the bellow of his vain and boastful father, Bisharu. His heart pounded violently as he wondered if those two dark eyes that inspired him with love, as the emerging sun inspires the hearts of the Egyptians to worship the divine presence, now looked upon him. Does she see him in his hour of glory? Does she hear his name cheered by the thronging thousands? Does she recognize his face, pale from separation and longing?

  The army continued on its way to the Great House of Pharaoh. The king and queen stepped out onto the balcony overlooking the huge square known as the Place of the People. Below them paraded the prisoners of war, the wagons full of booty, the civilian captives, and the divisions of the army. Then, as Djedef approached the royal balcony, he pulled out his sword, stretching his arm out in salute, and turned to face Khufu and his wife. Behind them stood the princesses Henutsen, Neferhetepheres, Hetepheres — and Meresankh. His eyes were drawn to those bewitching orbs that held a power over him unlike anything else in creation. Their eyes exchanged a burning message of ardent desire and consuming passion, and if, on its path between them, it had brushed against the hem of one of the banners, it would have burst into an engulfing flame.

  Commander Djedef was called to appear before Pharaoh, and -steady and confident - he obeyed. Once again, as he came into His Majesty's presence, the king leaned toward him, putting forward his staff. Djedef prostrated himself to kiss it, then laid the bolt to the gate of the forbidding wall that his victorious army had sundered at the foot of the throne.

  “My Lord, His Majesty Pharaoh of Upper and Lower Egypt, Sovereign of the Eastern and Western Deserts, and Master of the Land of Nubia,” he declaimed, “Sire! The gods have lent their strength to a mighty task and a striking conquest. For a group that until yesterday were rebellious bullies has now been brought forcibly into your obedience. Beneath the sheltering wings of your divinity, the humbled now huddle in misery, swearing, in their demeaning captivity, their pledge of fealty to your indomitable throne.”

  The king, his head crowned with white hair, said to him, “Pharaoh congratulates you, O triumphant Commander, for your integrity and your valor. He wishes that the gods may lengthen your life, so that the homeland may continue to benefit from your gifts.”

  Khufu bent forward, offering his hand to the youthful commander, who kissed it in profound respect.

  “How many of my soldiers sacrificed themselves for the sake of their homeland and Pharaoh?” asked the king.

  “One thousand heroes were martyred,” answered Djedef, his voice subdued.

  “And the number of wounded?”

  “Three thousand, my lord.”

  Pharaoh paused for a moment. “Great life requires great sacrifice,” he said. “May the Lord be praised, Who creates life out of death.”

  He looked at Djedef for a long while before saying, “You have rendered me two magnificent services. In the first, you saved the life of my heir apparent. And in the second, you rescued the well-being of my people. So what, then, is your request?”

  “My God!” Djedef thought. “The horrendous hour has come that my soul has always desired, that I have always pictured in my happiest dreams.” Yet, ever an intrepid lad, he did not lose his nerve even in the most daunting situations.

  “My lord,” he said, “what I did in those two instances was the duty of any soldier, so I do not ask that you grant them any reward. Yet I do have a wish, that I present as one hoping for the compassion of his king.”

  “What is your wish?”

  “The divinities, sire, in their ineffable wisdom, have summoned my ordinary human heart to the heavens of my sire the king, where it clings to the feet of Princess Meresankh!”

  Pharaoh peered at him strangely. “But what have the gods wrought in the heart of the Princess?” he asked.

  Mortified, Djedef took refuge in a heavy silence.

  The king smiled.

  “They say that a servant never enters the sanctuary of the Lord unless he is sure to bring him contentment,” he said. “We shall see whether or not this is true!”

  Khufu was pleased, and as though for a bit of entertainment, he sent for Princess Meresankh. At her father's summons, the princess came gliding in the glory of her loveliness. When she saw the one she loved standing before him, her being throbbed with shyness and confusion, as she balked like a gazelle that had chanced upon a man.

  Pharaoh gazed at her with sympathy, saying to her tenderly, but sarcastically, as well, “O Princess! This commander boasts that he has conquered two fortresses: the wall of Sinai - and your heart!”

  “My lord!” Djedef called out, in shocked entreaty.

  But he was unable to say more and so kept quiet, defeated and dismayed. Khufu looked at the commander, whose bravery had betrayed him. He looked at the princess, whose arrogance had deserted her, weakened by bewilderment and timidity. His heart went out to her, as he called her to his side. Then he called Djedef to him, as well, and the youth drew near in dreadful fear.

  The king laid the hand of the princess into Djedef's hand with slow deliberation, and said in his most awesome voice, which made hearts shiver, “I bless you both in the name of the gods.”

  31

  IN THE TWELVE hours immediately following his fortuitous audience with Pharaoh, Djedef experienced great and peculiar events that shook souls to their core and shattered minds completely. In what had fleetingly seemed the promise of a serene, carefree life, they came like the turbulence of a cataract in the stately, majestic course of the Nile.

  What did Djedef do during this brief interlude, so full of strange occurrences?

  Upon leaving the Pharaonic presence, he requested a meeting with the vizier Hemiunu, whom he briefed on the subject of the unlucky Egyptian lady that he held prisoner, and who was never out of his thoughts. The kindly vizier cleared the way, discharging her to the commander's care.

  “I congratulate you, my lady,” said Djedef, “for the return of your freedom after being so long in captivity. As the hour is late, you shall stay as my guest until tomorrow, then you will set your face in the direction of On, in the protection of the gods.”

  She seized his hand and kissed it with great thankfulness, then raised up her face, and her tears were flowing over her cheeks and her neck. He accompanied the woman as they walked to his chariot, where he saw Sennefer awaiting him close by. Saluting Djedef, the officer told him, “His Pharaonic Highness Prince Khafra has charged me to inform the commander of his wish to speak with him right away.”

  Djedef asked him, “Where is His Highness now?”

  “In his palace.”

  Djedef took Sennefer and the woman together in his chariot to the crown prince's palace. When they arrived, he asked the lady to wait for him where she was. Then he went into the palace with Sennefer behind him. He asked to see the prince, and was invited into his chamber. He found the young man not as he usually was, but intensely disturbed, trying to gain control of himself. This time, Khafra did not bother to return his salute, but blurted instead, “Commander Djedef, I always remember your faithfulness when you saved me from certain death. I expect that you also remember my generosity to you, -when you were a low-ranking soldier, and I made you into a great commander — crowning your head -with everlasting glory.”

  “I remember this, and I do not ever forget it,” Djedef declared earnestly. “It is impossible for me to forget the blessings of My Lord the Prince.”

  “I'm in need of your faithfulness at this moment,” said the heir apparent, “to do what is ordered, and to follow my instructions without the least hesitation. Commander, do not grant leave to your army tonight. Instead, keep the soldiers where they're encamped outside the walls of Memphis, Wa
it for my orders, which will come to you at daybreak. Take care not to balk at carrying them out, no matter how strange they may seem. Always remember that the courageous soldier flies like an arrow toward his goal, without questioning the one who launched it.”

  “I hear and obey, Your Highness,” said Djedef.

  “Then wait at the camp for my messengers at dawn, and be careful not to forget my instructions.”

  The prince said this, then stood up to signal that the meeting was finished. Djedef bowed to His Highness and left the room - astounded, distracted, and confused by his bizarre command. “Why,” he said to himself, “did the prince order me to keep the army in its encampment? What could these strange commands possibly be that the messengers will bring to me at dawn? What kind of enemy threatens the nation? What sort of insurrection menaces her security? Every Egyptian goes about his business peacefully under the protection of Pharaoh and his government. So why does he need the army?”

  Nervously he returned to his chariot and took off in it, the lady with him. But the closer the vehicle came to Bisharu's house, the lighter seemed his uncertainty as his inner whisperings fled and his mind turned toward his family who had been awaiting him so long with great expectation. Reaching the house, he showed the lady to the guest room, then went up to be with the dearly loved people whom he also had so much longed to see.

  His mother Zaya met him -with open arms. She rained kisses upon him as she pressed him to her breast -with fervor, not letting him go until Bisharu pried him loose from her grip, saying, “Welcome, O conquering scion! The courageous commander!”

  He kissed him on the cheeks and forehead, then his brothers, Kheny and Nafa, embraced him, as well. He greeted Nafa's wife, who was carrying a nursing baby boy in her arms. She presented him to Djedef, saying, “Look at your namesake, Little Djedef! I gave him your name so that perhaps the gods will grant him glory, like his mighty uncle!”

  Djedef looked at Nafa as he held the little one in his arms, then kissed his baby-soft lips, saying to his brother, “What a beautiful portrait he'd make!”

  Nafa smiled - his son made him happy the same way his art did — and he took him in his arms. At that moment, Djedef found the opportunity to announce the great news of his engagement. “You won't be the only father, Nafa!”

  They all awoke to what he had said, as Nafa called out with joy, “Have you chosen your partner, Commander?”

  Djedef lowered his head. “Yes,” he said.

  His mother stared at him with ecstatic eyes. “Is it true what you say, my son?”

  Quietly he answered, “Yes, my mother.”

  “Who is she?” she shouted.

  Mana, spellbound, asked as well, “Who is she?”

  “You have just come from the field of battle,” laughed Nafa. “Did you woo one of the captives?”

  “She is Her Highness Meresankh,” he said, calmly and with pride.

  “Meresankh! Pharaoh's daughter?”

  “She, and none other.”

  Utterly astonished, they were seized by an overpowering happiness that rendered them speechless. Djedef regaled them with the story of Pharaoh's blessing upon him as tears of joy glistened in his handsome eyes. Zaya could not control herself, but burst out weeping, praying to Lord Ptah the Magnanimous, the Gracious. Bisharu was beside himself, rocking back and forth -with his bloated, sagging frame. As for Nafa, he kissed the young man and laughed for a long time with glee and delight. Kheny blessed him, assuring him that the gods do not decree such glorious things without having designed some lofty purpose that no man had previously achieved. All of them kept expressing the gladness and gaiety that were uppermost in their thoughts.

  Suddenly, Djedef remembered the woman that he had left in the guest room. He stood up immediately upon recalling her. Quickly relating her story, he said to his mother, “I hope that you will extend her your hospitality, Mama, until she departs our home.”

  “I will go down to welcome her, my son.”

  Djedef escorted his mother as they entered the guest room together. “Welcome,” she said. “My lady, you have arrived at your own house…”

  The woman rose from her seat, her heavy figure drooping from the degradation and disgrace of her long captivity, and put out her hand to her generous hostess. The two women's eyes met for the first time. With lightning speed, they forgot all about their exchange of greetings as they looked at each other strangely, each as though she were struggling to pierce the heavy veil that time had pressed over the face of the distant past. At length, the eyes of the strange woman widened as she shouted with mad astonishment, “Zaya!”

  Seized by panic, Zaya stared at her with intense confusion. Djedef kept looking from one to the other in bewilderment, amazed at the woman who knew his mother though she had spent twenty years of her life in the wilderness.

  “How do you know my mother?” he asked her in shock.

  Yet the woman paid no heed to what he said. Perhaps she hadn't even heard him - because she was entirely focused on Zaya with an absolute mania. She grew furious with her silence and screamed at her, “Zaya… Zaya! Aren't you Zaya? What's wrong - why don't you speak? Speak, you treacherous servant! Tell me what you did with my son! Woman, where is my son!”

  Zaya said nothing, her eyes never leaving the outraged woman. But the commotion had paralyzed her; she began to shudder as her fear tore her apart, her face like that of the dead. Djedef took her by her cold hand and sat her down on the closest seat, then turned to the woman. “How did you summon the nerve to speak this way to my mother, Madam,” he demanded, “after I've taken you into my house, and saved your life?”

  The woman was gasping like someone about to die. What the commander who had rescued her said greatly affected her. She wanted to speak, but - besieged by emotion - she could do no more than point to his mother as if to say, “Ask her.”

  The young man bent down toward Zaya with compassion and asked her softly, “Mama … do you know this woman?”

  Zaya still said nothing. The woman was unable to sustain her silence as she said, her rage returning, “Ask her, ‘Do you know Ruddjedet, wife of Ra?’ Ask her, ‘Do you remember the woman that fled with her from tyranny, twenty years ago, carrying her little child?’ Speak to me, O Zaya! Tell him how you crept away under the cover of darkness, how you kidnapped my nursing son. Tell him how you abandoned me in the unknown desert, a despairing soul, facing nothing but hardship and with nothing to avail against it. That is, until the beasts found me and took me prisoner, subjecting me to torture and the humiliation of captivity for twenty long years. Speak, O Zaya…. Tell me, what did you do with my child? Speak!”

  More and more confused, Djedef whispered in his mother's ear in torment, “Mother… allow me, who has caused you this agony, I who brought this woman that grief has deprived of her reason … allow me, Mama… I will throw her out.”

  But she gripped his hand to prevent him from acting, and he asked her pleadingly, “Why don't you speak, Mama?”

  Zaya groaned painfully, and then spoke for the first time since the stupefaction had overwhelmed her, “There's no use … my life is finished.”

  The youth called out, his voice roaring like a lion, “Mother, don't say this. You have me, O Mother!”

  She sighed from her ordeal. “Oh, dear Djedef, by God, I committed no evil deed, nor used evil means, but Fate has determined what was beyond a person's power to prevent. O Lord! How can my life be destroyed in a single stroke?”

  The youth was nearly insane with pain. “Mama!” he cried. “Do not forget that I am at your side, defending you from all harm. What is hurting you? What causes you such grief? Whatever your past enfolds of good or of ill, it's all the same to me. There's nothing important for me to know except that you're my mother, and I'm your son that protects you - be you oppressor or oppressed, malicious or benign. I beg you not to weep when I'm beside you.”

  “It's impossible for you to help me!”

  “Sheer nonsense, Mama! What cala
mity is this?”

  “You will not be able to help me, dear Djedef. My God! How I built upon hopes, but I set them on the edge of a crumbling cliff! How they were almost steady and upright, then they crashed down to the lowest ground, leaving my heart a ruin in which the ravens are screeching!”

  At this, the young man's emotions grew even stronger, and he turned again toward the woman - but she did not relent. Instead, she went on pressing Zaya, “Tell me, where is my son? Where is my son?”

  Zaya remained speechless for a little while, then she stood up nervously and shouted at the woman, “Do you think that I betrayed you, O Ruddjedet? No - I've never betrayed anyone. I stayed awake over you on that fateful night, but the Bedouin attacked us, and I had no choice but to flee. I took pity on your baby from their evil, and carried him in my arms, racing across the desert like a madwoman. I had to run away, seeing the nature of the threat, while your falling into their hands was decreed by Fate. Afterward, I took care of your son, and devoted my life to him. My love was good for him, for he grew up to be a man honored by the world. There he is then, standing right in front of you. Have you ever seen a mortal like him before?”

  Ruddjedet turned toward her son. She wanted to speak, but her tongue would not obey.

  All she was able to do was to open her arms, and, hastening to him, to entwine them around his neck while her lips trembled -with these words, “My son.•my son.” The young man was dumbfounded, as though he was watching a strange dream unfold. He remained silent, sometimes looking at Zaya's cadaverlike face, and sometimes at the woman hanging onto him, kissing him -with a motherly fervor and clutching him to her beating breast. Zaya saw his surrender, noting in his eye a look of affection and compassion. Groaning in despair, she turned her back to them, bolting out of the room like a butchered hen.