draught of wine. “It was in the temple of Ra-Herachte that the royal consort saw her vision, after which she bore a son. She took with her a very ambitious priest whom she favored; his name was Eie, and he saw to it that his wife was engaged as wet nurse to the heir. His daughter Nefertiti drank milk from the same breasts as the prince and played with him in the palace like a sister, so you may fancy what will come of that.”
Ptahor drank again, sighed, and went on. “Ah, for an old man there is nothing more delightful than drinking wine and gossiping about what does not concern him. If you but knew, Sinuhe, how many secrets lie buried behind this old forehead. Perhaps there are kingly secrets among them. Many wonder why it is that no son has ever been born alive in the women’s wing of the palace, for that is against all medical law-and the man lying there with the opened skull was no milksop, either, in the days of his joy and strength. He found his consort on a hunting trip; they say Taia was the daughter of some fowler and dwelt among the reeds of the Nile, but that the king made her his equal because of her wisdom and venerated her parents, too, and filled their tomb with the costliest of gifts. Taia had nothing against his pleasures so long as the women of the harem bore no man children. In this she had wonderfully good fortune, such as one could hardly believe possible if it had not happened.”
Ptahor looked sideways at me and glancing round said quickly, “But, Sinuhe, never believe any stories you may hear; they are only put about by ill-natured people-and everyone knows how gentle the queen is and how wise and what a gift she has for gathering useful men about her. Yes, yes… ”
I led Ptahor out into the fresh air; night had fallen, and in the east the lights of Thebes outshone the red glow in the sky. I was flushed with wine and felt again the city’s fever in my blood. Stars twinkled above my head, and the garden was filled with the scent of flowers.
“Ptahor,” I said, “when the lights of Thebes shine to the night sky, then-then I thirst after love!”
“There is no love,” said Ptahor emphatically. “A man is sad when he has no woman to lie with, and when he has lain with one, he is still sadder. So it has ever been and ever will be.”
“Why?”
“Not even the gods know that. And never talk to me of love unless you want me to open your skull for you. I will do that for nothing and without requiring the smallest present from you and so save you much sorrow.”
It now seemed best for me to take upon myself the duties of a slave; I lifted him in my arms and carried him to the room that had been put at our disposal. He was so little and old that I was not even breathless. When I had lain him down upon the bed, he fell asleep at once, after some little groping for a wine cup. I covered him with soft skins, as the night was cold, and went out again to the terrace of flowers-for I was young, and youth desires no sleep on the night of a king’s death.
The murmuring voices of those who were passing the night by the palace walls reached the terrace like the distant sough of wind through rushes.
I awoke amid the scent of flowers as the lights of Thebes glowed a garish red against the eastern sky; I remembered a pair of eyes green as Nile waters in the heat of summer-and found I was no longer alone.
The light from the stars and from the thin sickle of the moon was so faint that I could not see whether a man or a woman was approaching, but someone drew near and peered into my face. I stirred, and the newcomer, in a voice of authority that was yet shrill-almost childish-demanded, “Is it the Lonely One?”
I recognized the prince’s voice and his lanky figure and prostrated myself before him not daring to speak. But he nudged me impatiently with his foot.
“Stand up, you fool. No one can see us, so you need not bow to me. Keep that for the god whose son I am- for there is but one, and all others are his manifestations. Did you know that?” Without waiting for an answer he added reflectively, “All others but Ammon, who is a false god.”
I made a gesture of protest and said, “Oh!” to show I feared such talk.
“Let be!” he said. “I saw you standing by my father, handing knife and hammer to that crazy old Ptahor. So I called you the Lonely One. To Ptahor my mother gave the name of Old Monkey. You must bear these names if you have to die before leaving the palace. But I thought of yours.”
I thought he must be mad to talk thus wildly, though Ptahor had said that we must die if Pharaoh did, and the stauncher of blood believed it. My hair prickled on my scalp, for I did not wish to die.
The prince was panting; his hands twitched, and he mumbled to himself: “Restless… I would be-I would be in some other place. It is my god revealing himself. I know it-I fear it. Stay with me, Lonely One. He crushes my body with his strength, and my tongue is afflicted…
I trembled, thinking him delirious. But he said to me in a commanding voice, “Come!” and I followed him. He led me down from the terrace and past Pharaoh’s lake, while from behind the walls came the murmuring voices of the mourners. I was in great dread, for Ptahor had stated that we might not leave the palace before the death of the king, but I could not gainsay the prince.
He held his body tense and walked with such rapid, jerky steps that I had hard work to keep up with him. He was wearing only a loincloth, and the moon shone on his fair skin, his slender legs, and feminine thighs. It shone on his prominent ears and the tormented, agitated face that seemed to tell of some vision he alone could see.
When we reached the shore, he said, “We will take a boat. I am going eastward to meet my father.”
Without hesitating to choose his craft, he stepped into the nearest; I followed him, and we began to row across. No one sought to hinder us, though we had stolen the boat. The night was uneasily astir; other craft were out on the river, and the red glow of Thebes showed ever brighter in the sky ahead. When we reached the farther shore, he set the boat adrift and started to walk forward as if he had been this way many times before. Others were abroad also, and we went unchallenged by the watch. Thebes knew that the king would die that night.
The pace was wearing him out. Yet I wondered at the toughness of that young body, for though the night was cold, the sweat ran down my back as I followed him. The stars moved across the heavens, and the moon went down, and still he walked until we came up out of the valley into the desert, leaving Thebes behind us. The three hills in the east-the city’s guardians-loomed before us black against the sky.
At last he sank down panting in the sand and said in a frightened voice, “Hold my hands, Sinuhe, for they tremble, and my heart thuds against my ribs. The hour draws near-it draws near for the world is desolate-you and I are alone. Where I go, you cannot follow-and I do not want to be alone.”
I gripped his wrists and felt that his whole twitching frame was bathed in cold sweat. The world about us was indeed desolate; far off some jackal howled for a death; slowly the stars paled and space about us turned a wan gray. Suddenly he shook off my hands and rising lifted his face to the east, to the mountains.
“The god is coming!” he said softly, with awe in his distracted, blazing face. “The god is coming.” Then again in a loud voice he shouted into the desert, “The god is coming!”
The air grew brighter, the hills before us flamed gold, and the sun rose-and with a shrill cry he sank swooning to the ground, his mouth moving, his limbs twitching convulsively and churning up the sand. But I was no longer afraid, for I had heard such cries in the forecourt of the House of Life and knew what to do. Lacking a peg to wedge between his teeth, I tore a strip from my loincloth, rolled it up, and stuffed it into his mouth. Then I began to massage his limbs. He would be sick and dazed when he awoke. I looked about me for help, but Thebes lay behind us, and not the meanest hovel was in sight.
At that instant a falcon flew past me with a screech, swooping out of the rays of the rising sun into an arc above us, then sank again, and made as if to alight upon the prince’s forehead. Startled, I instinctively made the holy sign of Ammon; had the prince had Horus in his mind when he greeted his god, and was Horus here manifest? The boy moaned, and I bent to tend him. When I raised my head again, it seemed that the bird had taken human shape. Before me stood a young man, godlike, beautiful in the sun’s rays. He carried a spear and wore the coarse shoulder cloth of a poor man. Though I did not believe in the gods, for safety’s sake I prostrated myself before him.
“What’s this?” he asked in the dialect of the Lower Kingdom. “Is the lad sick?”
Feeling very foolish, I rose to my knees and greeted him in the ordinary way.
“If you are a robber,” I said, “you’ll get little from us, but I have here a sick boy, and the gods may bless you for your help.”
He screeched like a hawk, and the bird fell from the air to alight upon his shoulder.
“I am Horemheb, son of the falcon,” he said proudly. “My parents are but cheese makers, but it was foretold at my birth that I should win command over many. The falcon flew before me, and I followed, having found no shelter for the night in the city. Thebes is shy of spears after dark. But I mean to enter Pharaoh’s service as a warrior. They say he is sick, therefore he may need strong arms to protect his sovereignty.”
The prince moaned, passed his hands gropingly over his face, and contorted his limbs. I removed the rag
