threw a banquet for the prince, attended by all the members of the royal family. At their head were Pharaoh and the princesses.”
Djedef's heart pounded at the mention of the princesses — and especially of the enchanting princess with all her magnificent beauty and pride. He sighed, without realizing that the sound had attracted Sennefer's ears. The young man looked at him in reproach and said, “By the truth of Ptah, you aren't paying attention when I speak!”
Dismayed, Djedef said, “How can you claim that?”
“Because you sighed like one who is unable to think while his mind has gone off to his sweetheart.”
The pounding of Djedef's heart worsened. He tried to speak, but Sennefer did not let him, as, laughing loudly, he said with interest, “Who is she? Come on, who is she, Djedef? Ah… you're giving me a look of denial. I won't press you now, because I will know her one day, when she's the mother of your children. What memories! Do you know, O Djedef, that I sighed the same way in this same room two years ago, and spent nights deluding myself with fantasies and dreams? And the next year she became my dear wife — today she is the mother of my son, Fana. What a room this is, so charged with passion! But why don't you tell me who she is?”
Djedef replied, with grief-edged sharpness, “You're deluded, Sennefer!”
“Deluded, am I? Youth, good looks, and strength — and already all dull and dried up? Impossible.”
“Sennefer — it's true.”
“As you wish, O Djedef — I — won't insist that you answer the question. But, — while — we're on the subject of romance, I'll tell you that I heard — whispers circulating in the corridors of Pharaoh's palace, — which hint at other reasons for Prince Ipuwer's visit than the — war I mentioned.”
“What do you mean?”
“They say that the prince will be given a chance to see the youngest of the princesses up close — and she is of proverbial beauty. Perhaps there the people of Egypt will soon hear the news of the engagement of Prince Ipuwer to Princess Meresankh.”
This time Djedef felt extremely weak, but he took control of himself, stifled his emotions, and met the blow with stunning forbearance. His face gave nothing away of the battle raging within him, securing him from the danger of his friend's sharp eyes and his painful, gossipy tongue. He was wary of commenting at all on what Sennefer had said, or to ask him for more details or clarifications, for fear that he would be given away by the tone of his voice. So he maintained a heavy, terror-stricken silence, like a huge mountain weighing over the mouth of a volcano.
Sennefer, unaware of what was happening to his companion, threw himself down on his bed. Yawning, he continued his gossip. “Princess Meresankh is a great beauty,” he ventured. “Have you ever seen her? She's the loveliest of the princesses. And, like her brother the crown prince, she's terrifically arrogant, with a will of iron. They say Pharaoh loves her like no one else. The price for her looks will be very high — no doubt about that. Beauty certainly turns men's heads….”
Sennefer yawned again, then closed his eyes. Djedef stared at him in the feeble lamplight with eyes clouded by misery. When he was sure that Sennefer had surrendered to sleep, he moaned to himself in torment. Shunning his bed and feeling an intense unrest, he grew weary, and tiptoed out of the room. The air was moist, — with a chilling breeze, and the night black as pitch. In the darkness, the date palms looked like slumbering ghosts, or souls whose tortures stretched through eternity.
22
After a few days, all in the palace knew that His Highness the Crown Prince had invited Prince Ipuwer, along — with Her Highness Princess Meresankh, plus various other princes and companions, on a hunt in the Eastern Desert.
On the morning of the appointed day came Princess Meresankh. Her face was a nimbus of splendor, lighting up hearts and flooding them with joy. Just behind her came His Highness Ipuwer accompanied by his retinue. Thirty-five years old and powerfully built, his whole appearance proclaimed his nobility, honor, and courage.
The chief chamberlain himself had overseen the preparations for the hunting party, which he had provisioned with all necessary water, stores, weapons, and netting. The chief of the guard picked a hundred soldiers from his force to escort the expedition, putting ten officers — among them Djedef — in command over them. Aside from all these there were also the servants, aides, and hunters. Then, at the heir apparent's arrival in the palace garden, the great caravan began to move. At its head was a troop of horsemen well acquainted with the route for the hunt, while behind them came His Pharaonic Highness Prince Khafra, the alluring Princess Meresankh at his right, Prince Ipuwer at his left. Surrounding them was a cluster of nobles and princes. Following this magnificent defile came a wagon bearing water, and another holding the stores, cooking utensils, and tents, while trailing them came the third, fourth, and fifth wagons, carrying the hunting tackle, bows, and arrows. All of them proceeded between two lines of mounted horsemen, as the rest of the chariots from the guard troop, headed by its officers, Djedef among them, brought up the rear. The caravan ambled eastward, leaving behind the crowded city and the sacred Nile. As it headed into the desert, nothing seemed to surround them but the daunting horizon. JNo matter how long one marched, its expanse — stretching ever onward — seemed to retreat further, like one's shadow, — with each step taken.
The morning — was dewy, and as the sun rose, it covered the badlands with a carpet of light. Yet the cool breeze rendered the harsh sun harmless, as they sheltered among its rays like lion cubs gripped by their mother's fangs.
And so the caravan progressed, following the guides.
In the distance, Djedef could see the young princess who tyrannized his soul, and who had caused him to fall tortuously in love. Her brightly plumed horse stretched its back proudly as she swayed in her saddle like a tender branch. Her expression was haughty, except when she looked at her brother occasionally to say something to him, or to listen to him speaking. Then her left profile was like the image of the goddess Isis on temple walls. And when the virile Prince Ipuwer leaned toward her with his strong form, talking to her and smiling, she spoke and smiled back to him. This was the first time that Djedef saw she who had such arrogance be so generous with her smile, as though she were the sky of Egypt — clear, lovely, beautiful, and rare to rain.
And for the first time, the poison of jealousy crept into his heart, as he threw the happy Ipuwer a fiery look — that fortunate prince who had come as a messenger of strife, but on his way was transformed into the prophet of peace and love. Djedef's heart suffered a biting irritability that his pure soul had never before known, and he kept chiding himself in agitation and anger.
Could it really be that he had fallen in love and was pining away in the chill of despair, while losing the world altogether? Is it reasonable that one who endures the utmost fires of love, who feels such passionate desire, should pace but a horse's jump away from the one that he craves? What, then, is the value of life? And of what value are the hopes that have given him such strength and durability? How his life resembled a succulent rose, whose blossoms have not been savored, overwhelmed by a violent summer wind that has plucked it from its gentle stem, and buried it in the burning sands of the desert.
Who then is this slave that they call obedience? And who is this tyrant whose name is duty? What is princely authority, and what is bondage? How can these terms break down his heart and toss it into the wind of resignation? Why does he not pull out his sword and pounce with his swift steed on this cruel, haughty female? Why, — with his power and skill, does he not carry her away, disappearing — with her into the depths of the desert? Then he could say to her, “Look at me: I am the strong man and you are the weak woman. Lose that frown that the habits of the pharaonic palace have drawn on your face. Lower that chin that the customs of sovereign authority have raised so high. Get rid ofthat arrogant gaze that you have grown used to leveling at those kneeling before you, and come kneel before me. If you want love, I will welcome you with love — and if you do not, you will meet only disdain.”
What drivel this is, like the boiling of a kettle, its lid shut tight! Mere suppressed anger, without any effect! The caravan moves on, and here comes passion, playing with people's hearts. Figures sway to its magic, and lips become languid. Here are the vast deserts that bear witness in eternal silence — and what deserts these are! He contemplated the wasteland for quite a long while, then fear rescued him from his painful dreams. It drained him of
