servant nonetheless obeyed his command. The man wrapped his wife with a soft quilt, and put his hand under her head and shoulders, while Zaya lifted her from under her back and thighs. Together they walked with her to the outer hallway, descending the staircase to the courtyard. They then entered the shed, laying her on the spot that he had prepared for her in the wagon. This done, the priest went back up and returned with his son, who sobbed and cried. He kissed him lovingly, and placed him in the embrace of his mother. He watched them for a little while from the side of the wagon. When he saw Ruddjedet becoming upset, he said to her, his heart skipping a beat, “Calm yourself for the sake of our dear child, and don't allow fear a way into your heart.”
“You haven't named him yet,” she said, weeping.
Smiling, he replied, “I hereby name him with the name of my father, who reposes next to Osiris.
The man approached with the wooden box and placed it over the pair so dear to him. Zaya sat in the driver's seat, taking the reins of the two oxen, as Monra told her, “Go with the blessings of the Lord our keeper.”
As the wagon began to move slowly on its way, his eyes filled with copious tears, through which he watched as the vehicle crossed the courtyard, until the gate blocked his view. He dashed to the staircase, climbing it with the vigor of a young man, then hurried to the window that looked out upon the road, observing the wagon as it carried his heart and his joy beyond his sight.
Something surprising then occurred that he had thought never — would — certainly not — with the speed that it now did. As he looked on, he — was seized — with an inexpressible terror. He forgot the sorrow of their parting, the agony of their farewell, and his longing as a father. The fear became so inflamed that he lost all sense and perception: he clenched his fists, pounding his breast with them, as he mumbled in dismay, “O Lord Ra, O Lord Ra.” He kept repeating this unconsciously as his eyes saw the squadron of royal chariots suddenly appear on the bend in the road near the temple. They drew closer and closer to his palace, precisely arrayed in assault formation, with equally precise and orderly speed, exactly two paces between each chariot.
“O Lord of Heaven, Pharaoh's soldiers have come more quickly than the mind could conceive. Their arrival trumpets the success of Sarga's mission, and her escape from my soldiers. If only You had been able to send the angels of sudden death as speedily!” he thought.
Pharaoh's troops drew near like giant demons, their horses neighing, their wheels rumbling, their helmets gleaming in the slanting rays of the sun. And why had they come? They came to slay the innocent child, the beloved son, with whom the Lord had gladdened him in his age of despair.
Monra was still beating his breast with his fists, shaking his head like an imbecile, wailing in lament for his son. “O Lord. a group of them are surrounding the wagon; one of them is questioning poor Zaya sternly. What is he asking her? How does she answer him? And what do they seek? The lives of both my child and my wife depend on a single word uttered by Zaya. O My God! O Sacred Ra! Make her strong and secure, place on her tongue the words of life — and not of death! Save Your beloved son to live out the Fate that You have decreed for him, which You have proclaimed to me.”
Hours seemed to be passing slowly as the soldier continued questioning Zaya, stopping her departure. O God — what if one of them should move the box or just peer into it, wondering what was inside? What if the child should cry, or moan, or wail?
“Be still, my son…. By the Lord, if only your mother would place her nipple in your mouth. Should a sigh escape you now, it would be like a sentence of death…. My Lord, my heart is breaking, my soul is ascending into heaven….”
Suddenly, the priest fell silent. His eyes widened and he gasped — but this time, from overwhelming joy.
5
The priest breathed a deep sigh of relief and felt — from happiness — a longing to weep. He would have done so if he had not remembered what hardships and terrors still awaited him. His feeling of security lasted but a few brief moments. He paced slowly over to a table and picked up a silver pitcher, pouring out enough of its clear water to quench his burning thirst. Soon, however, his ears rang with the shrill sound of the powerful force that had arrived in his palace courtyard — and whose mission was to kill the newborn that had just come within a mere two bow lengths, or nearer, to the danger of death.
Driven by fear, a servant approached him, telling him that a detachment of the king's guards had occupied the palace and was watching its exit. Then another servant came, saying that the head of the force had sent an order demanding that he come to them quickly. Making a show of being calm and collected, Monra spread his sacred cloak over his shoulders and placed his priestly headdress on his head. Then he left his chamber with deliberate steps, displaying the true dignity and majesty of On's great religious personage. The priest did not slight his own prestige, but stopped, facing the courtyard at the doorstep of the reception hall, casting a superficial glance at the soldiers of the force standing motionless in their places, as if they were statues from a previous age. Then he lifted his hand in greeting and said in his cultured voice, without looking at anyone in particular, “You are all most welcome. May the Divine Ra, Shaper of the Universe and Creator of Life, bless you.”
He heard an awesome voice answer him, “Any thanks owed are to you, O Priest of Sacred Ra.”
His body jumped at the sound of the voice, like a lamb at the roar of a lion. His eyes searched for its owner until they settled on the force's center. When he realized that Pharaoh himself had come to his home, he was terrified and astonished. He did not hesitate to do what was obliged, but hastened to his doorway, avoiding nothing. When Pharaoh's chariot pulled up to him, he prostrated himself before it.
“My lord Pharaoh, Son of the Lord Khnum, Light of the Rising Sun, Giver of Life and Strength,” he called out, quaver-ingly. “I, my lord, implore the God that He may inspire your great heart to overlook my neglect and my ignorance, and to obtain your pardon and satisfaction.”
“I pardon the errors of honest men,” the king told him.
His heart fluttering, Monra inquired, “Why does my lord grace me with a visit to my humble palace? Please come and assume its guidance.”
Pharaoh smiled as he descended from his chariot, following Prince Khafra and his brother princes, along with Hemiunu, Arbu, and Mirabu. The priest proceeded onward, with the king following him, succeeded in turn by the princes and his companions, until they stopped in the reception hall. Khufu sat in the center with his retinue around him. Monra tried to excuse himself to prepare the obligatory hospitality, but Pharaoh said instead, “We absolve you of your duties as host — we have come on a very urgent mission: there is no time for dallying.”
The man bowed. “I am at my lord's beck and call,” he said.
Khufu settled into his seat, and asked the priest in his penetrating, fear-inspiring voice, “You are one of the elite men of the kingdom, advanced in both knowledge and in wisdom. Therefore can you tell me: why do the gods enthrone the pharaohs over Egypt?”
The man answered with the assurance of faith, “They select them from among their sons, endowing them with their divine spirit to make the nation prosper, and the worshippers glad.”
“Well done, priest — for every Egyptian strives for his own welfare and that of his family,” said the king. “As for Pharaoh, he bears the burden for the masses, and entreats the Lord on their behalf. Thus, can you tell me what Pharaoh must do regarding his throne?”
With transcendent courage, Monra replied, “What is incumbent upon Pharaoh to do regarding his throne is what the faithful man must do with the charge entrusted to him by the generous gods. That is, he must carry out his obligations, claim his proper rights, and defend that — which he must — with his honor.”
“Well done again, virtuous priest!” Khufu said, nodding his head in satisfaction. “So now inform me, — what should Pharaoh do if someone threatens his throne?”
The brave priest's heart pounded. He was certain that his answer would determine his fate. Yet, as a pious and dignified man of religion, he was determined to tell the truth.
“His Majesty must destroy those with ambitions against him.”
Pharaoh smiled. Prince Khafra's eyes glinted grimly.
