Three Novels of Ancient Egypt

The man choked down his panting breath as he addressed the king, “Sire, after you, no one from your seed shall sit upon the throne of Egypt.”

His speech was a blow to those gathered, like a sudden gale in the branches of a tranquil tree. They stared at him viciously with eyes so furious that the whites seemed to fly out of them. Pharaoh's brow furrowed: he glowered like a lion driven mad with rage. Prince Khafra's face turned pale as he pursed his cruel lips, his expression broadcasting his anguish and loss.

As if to soften the impact of his prophecy, the sorcerer added, “You shall rule safely and securely, my lord, until the end of your long and happy life.”

Pharaoh shrugged his shoulders dismissively, then said with a frightful voice, “He — who labors for his own sake labors in vain. So stop trying to console me and simply tell me: do you know whom the gods have reserved to succeed them on the throne of Egypt?”

“Yes, I do,” said the wizard. “He is an infant newly born, who had not seen the light of the world until this very morning.”

“Who are his parents, then?”

“His father is Monra, high priest of the Temple of Ra at On,” answered Djedi. “As for his mother, she is the young Ruddjedet, whom the priest married in his old age so that she would bear him this child — which the Fates have written shall be a ruler of Egypt.”

Khufu rose combatively, like a great cat aroused. Standing with the full stature of Pharaoh, he took two steps toward the sorcerer. Suppressing a gasp, the man averted his gaze, as the king asked him, “Are you utterly sure of what you are saying, Djedi?”

“All that the page of the Unseen has disclosed to me, I have revealed to you,” the magician replied, hoarsely.

“Fear not, nor be distressed,” said the king. “You have delivered your prophecy, and now you shall reap the bounty it has earned for you.”

Summoning one of the palace chamberlains, Pharaoh ordered him to treat Djedi the magician hospitably, and to give him fifty pieces of gold as a reward. The man then accompanied Djedi as they both left the scene.

Prince Khafra was sorely stricken — his eyes bursting with the remorselessness in his heart, his steely face like a harbinger of death. As for his father, Khufu, he did not waste his outrage in a fit of shouting and wild gesticulations. Rather, he held it in check with the force of his inner will, transforming it into a daring resolve that could level great mountains and make the cosmic powers stir.

He turned to his vizier, asking him grandly, “What do you think, Hemiunu: does it avail to be warned against Fate?”

The vizier raised his eyebrows in thought, but nothing issued from his lips, white with panic and dismay.

“I see that you are afraid to say the truth, and are considering disavowing your own wisdom in order to please me,” said the king, scoldingly. “But no, Hemiunu, your lord is too great to be upset by being told the truth.”

Though not a flatterer, Hemiunu was a coward. Nonetheless, he was sincerely loyal to the king and the crown prince, and took pity on their pain. When the two appeared as though they would not be angry at what he might say, he replied, almost inaudibly, “My lord! I am in accord — with the words of wisdom that the gods imparted to our forebears, and to their propagator, Kagemni, on the question of Destiny — which hold that precaution cannot thwart Fate.”

Khufu looked at his heir apparent and asked, “And what, O Prince, is your view of this matter?”

The prince looked back at his father with eyes blazing like a beast caught in a trap.

Pharaoh smiled as he declaimed, “If Fate really was as people say, then creation itself would be absurd. The wisdom of life would be negated, the nobility of man would be debased. Diligence and the mere appearance of it would be the same; so would labor and laziness, wakefulness and sleep, strength and weakness, rebellion and obedience. No, Fate is a false belief to which the strong are not fashioned to submit.”

The zeal fired in his breast, Commander Arbu shouted, “Sublime is your wisdom, my lord!”

Pharaoh, still smiling, said with absolute composure, “Before us is a suckling child, only an easy distance away. Come then, Commander Arbu — prepare a group of chariots, which I will lead to On — so that I myself may look upon this tiny offspring of the Fates.”

“Will Pharaoh himself be going?” Hemiunu asked, amazed.

“If I don't go now to defend my own throne,” said Pharaoh, laughing, “then when will it be right for me to do so? Very well, now — I invite you all to ride with me to witness the tremendous battle between Khufu and the Fates.”

3

Pharaoh's squadron of one hundred war chariots streamed out of the palace, manned by two hundred of the toughest troopers of the Great House Guards. Khufu — amidst a cohort of the princes and his companions — took their lead, — with Khafra at his right and Arbu on his left.