“Yesterday you were carefree children, but today you are beginning a life of dutiful manhood acted out through military struggle. Yesterday you belonged to your fathers and mothers, but today you are the property of your nation and your sovereign. Know that the life of a soldier is strength and sacrifice. Order and obedience are incumbent upon you, in order to fulfill your sacred obligation to Egypt and Pharaoh.”
Then the director cheered in the name of Khufu, King of Egypt, and the little soldiers cheered as well. The man commanded them to sing the anthem, “O Gods, preserve Your son whom we worship, and his fortunate kingdom, from the source-spring of the Nile, unto its estuary.” The great courtyard was filled with their birdlike voices, singing with a bursting enthusiasm and a magnificent beauty, invoking the gods, Pharaoh, and Egypt in a single melody.
That evening, when Djedef lay for the first time on this strange bed in these alien surroundings, his loneliness would not let him sleep. He sighed from the depths of his being as his imagination wandered back and forth between the darkness of the dormitory and the happy vision of Bisharu's house. He felt as though he could see Zaya as she bent toward him, and Nafa laughing contentedly, and Kheny holding forth in his logical, but effusive fashion. His dearest thought was of Gamurka as the dog licked his cheek and greeted him with his wagging tail. And when he had lost himself in his dreams, his eyelids grew heavy as he fell into a deep slumber, from which he did not stir till the sound of the horn at dawn. He then sat up in his bed without any hesitation, staring around himself with surprise, watching his friends awake and overcome the power of sleep with difficulty. Their yawns and complaints filled the air, though they were also mixed with laughter.
There would be no play time after today, for the life of busyness — and battle — had begun.
13
During this time, the architect Mirabu asked for an audience with Pharaoh, and appeared before him in his official reception hall. His Majesty reposed on the throne of Egypt, — which he had occupied for twenty-five years, performing the most glorious works for his country. He was frightful, resolute, and powerful, and a single glance did not suffice to take in all his grandeur, just as his fifty years of life had not been enough to weaken the solidity of his build or his exuberant vitality. And so he retained the sharpness of his vision, the blackness of his hair, and the acuity of his mind, as well.
Mirabu prostrated himself before him, kissing the hem of the royal robe. Pharaoh welcomed him with affection.
“Peace be upon you, Mirabu,” he said. “Rise and tell me why you have come to see me.”
The architect stood up before his master on the throne, his face beaming with joy, saying: “My lord, the granter of life and the source of light, my loyalty to your Sublime Self has permitted me to accomplish my majestic task, and to crown my service to you with this immortal monument. I now obtain in one happy hour what the man of faith wishes for with his belief, and what the artist wishes from his art. For the gods, upon whom each created being is dependent, have willed that I inform Your Adored Eminence of the good news that the mightiest construction ever undertaken in the land of the Nile since the age of creation, and the largest building on which the sun has risen in Egypt since the first time it rose over the valley, is now finished. I am certain, sire, that it will remain standing throughout the continuous generations to come, bearing your holy name, attesting to your magnificent epoch, preserving your divine spirit. It will proclaim the struggle of millions of Egyptian working hands, and scores of eminent minds. Today, for this work there is no peer, — while tomorrow it — will be the place of rest for the most glorious soul ever to rule over the land of Egypt. And after tomorrow — and for eternity — it will be the temple within whose expanse beat the hearts of millions of your worshippers, who will make their way to it both from North and South.”
The timeless artist fell silent for a moment — then the king's smile encouraged him to continue.
“We celebrate today, my lord,” he said, “Egypt's eternal emblem, and its truthful epithet, born of the strength that binds her North with her South. It is the offspring of the patience that overflows in all her children, from the tiller of the earth with his hoe, to the scribe with his sheet of papyrus. It is the inspiration for the faith that beats in the hearts of her people. It is the exemplar of the genius that has made our homeland sovereign over the earth, around which the sun floats in its sacred boat. And it shall remain forever the deathless revelation that settles in the hearts of the Egyptians — granting them strength, instilling them with patience, inspiring them with faith, and driving them to create.”
The king listened to the architect with a smile of delight, his piercing eyes glistening, his face bursting with ecstatic enthusiasm. When Mirabu was finished, Pharaoh said, “I congratulate you, O Architect, on your unequaled brilliance. And I thank you for the magnificent work that speaks so highly of your king and country — for which we owe you appreciation and praise. We shall fete your mighty miracle with an awesome celebration — one fit for its immortal grandeur.”
Mirabu bowed his head as he listened to Khufu's encomium, as he would to a divine hymn.
And hence, to inaugurate his awesome monument, Pharaoh held an official, popular ceremony, of stupendous proportions — during which the holy plateau beheld twice as many human beings as it had rugged laborers. Yet this time they did not bring with them hoes and other tools — rather, they carried banners, olive branches, palm fronds, and sprigs of sweet basil, as they sang the righteous sacred anthems. Among these throngs, the soldiers made a great thoroughfare that extended from the Valley of Eternity eastward, after which it circled around the pyramid — before ascending westward until it flowed once again into the valley. Along this road marched the bands of dignitaries as they circumambulated the gargantuan construction in procession. At their forefront — were groups of priests from their various orders, followed by the nobles and the local chieftains. Then the troops of the army stationed in Memphis, both on horse and on foot, cut their way through the crowds. But after these, all eyes were drawn to Khufu and the princes: the worshipful masses swiveled their heads as the royal retinue passed, cheering their king from the depths of their hearts. As they did so, they seemed to lean forward as one, all in the same direction, as though assembled in prayer.
Pharaoh hailed the pyramid with a brief speech, then the vizier Hemiunu consecrated it with a blessing. This concluded, the king's cortege set off back to Memphis, and the high-level groups began to break up. As for the crowds of the common people, they kept circling the immense building in jubilation. Their ranks did not dissolve until the dawn poured down its splendor, its magical calm spreading over the green, gemlike surface of the valley.
That evening, Pharaoh invited the princes and his closest companions to the private wing of his palace. As the weather was turning cool, he met them in his grand salon, where they reposed upon chairs made of pure gold.
Despite his brawn, the king's eyes showed the strain of the great responsibilities that weighed upon him. Though his outward aspect had not altered, it was obvious that the hardships of passing time had overpowered his inner being. This was not lost on his closest intimates, such as Khafra, Hemiunu, Mirabu, and Arbu. They noticed that Pharaoh was little by little becoming an ascetic, practicing nonphysical pursuits — no matter how much more manly activities, such as hunting and the chase, were dear to his heart. He now inclined toward gloomy contemplation and reading: sometimes the dawn would overtake him while he was sitting on his cushion, studying books of theology and the philosophy of Kagemni. His former sense of humor changed to sarcasm, replete with dark thoughts and misgivings.
The most amazing thing about that evening — and the least expected — was that the king should have displayed any sign of anxiety or distress whatsoever on this, of all nights, when he was marking the most monumental achievement in history. Of all the people with him, the one most aware of the king's unease was the architect Mirabu, who could not restrain the urge to ask him, “What so clearly preoccupies the mind of my lord?”
Pharaoh looked at him somewhat mockingly, and asked, as one wondering aloud, “Has history ever known a king whose mind was carefree?”
Thinking little of this answer, the artist went on, “But it is only right for my sire to rejoice this evening, without any reservation.”
“And why is it right for your lord to rejoice?”
Mirabu was stunned into silence by the king's derisive reply, which almost made him forget the beauty of
