The vizier, who had also been made a prince, stretched out his hands in prayer. “May the gods lengthen the life of the king,” he intoned.
“May the gods answer your prayer until I have finished my book,” said Khufu.
“I would never forbid the doing of good,” replied Hemiunu, “but I do wish that our lord be given eternal peace and comfort.”
“No, O Hemiunu,” said the king. “Egypt has built me a place of rest for my soul, while I grant her nothing but my own mortal life.”
The two men stopped talking as Khufu mounted the royal chariot. Then the vizier clambered in and grasped the reins, as the horses moved in an ambling gait. Each time that the vehicle passed a group of soldiers or priests, they prostrated themselves in salute and respect. The horses trotted steadily until they traversed the plateau and crossed its borders to the Valley of Death, — which led to the gates of Memphis. The darkness — was still pitch- black and the sky filled — with stars, twinkling so intensely that it might make an observer think that they were falling upon another nearby, bewitching hearts with their encompassing majesty.
Midway through the Valley of Immortality, as the king and his chief minister rode in quiet meditation, they were startled to hear one of their steeds scream violently, before leaping in the air and falling to the ground. The horse's collapse prevented the chariot from continuing, and stopped the second stallion in his tracks. The two men were amazed, and the vizier thought of going down to see what had felled the lead horse. But before he could move, he shrieked in pain and shouted, “Take care, sire — I am wounded!”
Khufu grasped that a human being had struck the horse before targeting the vizier, as well. Thinking this must be a highway robber, he called out powerfully, “Flee, you coward! Who is it that would assassinate Pharaoh?”
But then he heard a voice like thunder yell, “To me, Sen-nefer!” Looking at the place whence it came — as he clutched the stricken Hemiunu to his breast — he saw a ghost coming out from the right side of the valley like an arrow in flight. Next, the voice boomed out again, “Shield yourself within your chariot, my lord!”
Meanwhile he saw standing on the road, another ghost, which had come from the left side of the valley. The two shades fought each other viciously, trading murderous blows with their swords. Then one of them screeched and crashed to the ground — dead, without a doubt. But which of them had fallen, the friend or the foe? Yet the king's anxiety did not last long, for he heard the voice of his savior ask, “Is my lord alright?”
“Yes, O valiant one,” he answered. “But my vizier is hurt.”
Just then, Khufu heard the clash of blades behind his chariot. Turning quickly, he saw a detachment of troops embroiled in seething combat, and the courageous man who had slain his would-be assassin join them, as troop vanquished troop. The king watched the battle in hapless anger.
The fighting tipped in favor of Pharaoh's supporters as they brought down their adversaries one by one. Terror gripped the traitors as, in the distance, they spotted a squadron of horsemen approaching from the direction of the holy plateau, bearing torches and cheering the name of their glorious king. Rattled with fright, they sought to escape — but those who opposed them were stronger and more ruthless. They cut them off and killed them, sparing not one.
The arriving knights encircled Pharaoh's chariot, their torches lighting up the valley to reveal the corpses of the enemy dead. The faces of those who fell defending the king were also exposed, their blameless blood streaming down over their necks and their brows.
The horsemen's chief advanced upon Khufu's vehicle — and when he saw his sire standing upright, he praised the god as he knelt in reverence. “How is Our Lord the King?” he asked.
Khufu held up his vizier as he came down from his chariot. “Pharaoh is well, thanks to the gods, and to the valor of these men,” he said. “But how are you, Hemiunu?”
“I'm fine, my lord,” he answered weakly. “I was hit in the forearm, but that's not fatal by itself. Let's all pray in thanks to Ptah, who saved our king's life.”
Pharaoh peered around him and saw the young commander. “You're here, Commander Djedef? Are you trying to put all of the royal family together in your debt!” he exclaimed.
The youth bowed in deep respect. “We all — each one of us — would sacrifice ourselves for our lord,” he replied.
“But how did this happen?” asked the king. “To me it appears that what occurred here was no trifling event, certainly not coincidence. I could just perceive in the dark a case of high treason, foiled by your loyalty and your bravery. But first we must have a look at the faces of those killed. Let's begin with the one who rashly fired arrows at us, to halt us on our way.”
Djedef, Sennefer, and the head of the horsemen marched with the torches before the king in the direction of the chariot, Hemiunu following him with ponderous steps. They came upon someone after only a short distance, sprawled on his face, the fatal shaft buried in his left side, groaning in pain. The king started at the sound, and — hurrying to him — he turned him on his back. Casting a — worried glance upon him, — when he saw his face he howled aloud, “Khafra… my son!”
All majesty forgotten, Khufu stared at those around him as though appealing for their aid against this tribulation that seemed irresistible. He studied the face of the man lying at his feet once more, and said in grief and revulsion, “Are you the one who attempted to slay me?”
But the prince — was in the throes of his final agony, slipping into the unconsciousness of one — who is leaving this world. He paid no heed to the horrified eyes now fixed upon him, but continued to moan plaintively, his chest heaving violently. A stifling quiet descended over all of them, in which Hemiunu forgot his aching arm, but kept stealing furtive looks of pity at Khufu's face, who was imploring the Lord to spare him the evil ofthat moment. Pharaoh leaned over his expiring son, regarding him with hardened eyes that trauma made look like two stagnant pools. His soul was dazed and disturbed, conflicting thoughts and emotions clashing within him, as he surrendered to indifference. He went on gaping at the agonizing crown prince until the final glint of glory abandoned him, and his body ceased moving for all eternity.
The king remained frozen in his queer immobility for not a short while. Then his own majesty and confidence returned as he stood up straight. Turning to Djedef, he asked in an unfamiliar voice, “Inform me, O Commander, of all the details that you know about this matter.”
In a voice shuddering with sorrow, Djedef told his sire of what the officer Sennefer had reported to him, of the doubts that assailed them, and of the ruse that they devised to rescue their lord.
“By the gods!” cried Khufu.
He had been going and coming without any concern, only to be caught unawares by infamy from where he had not at all expected it — from his most precious son, his own heir apparent. The gods had saved him from the terrible evil, but in carrying out their will, they had cost him very dear. This was the spirit that now went up, polluted with the most repugnant sin that a mortal can commit. Pharaoh had survived annihilation, but he felt no delight. His crown prince had been killed, and he did not know how to grieve for him. The world had shown him its most despicable face, just as he was reaching the end of his path.
35
The king and his companions returned to the royal palace that morning, as the — world — was adorned — with the rising sun. The all-powerful monarch felt a spiritless fatigue, so he made his way quickly to his chamber and collapsed onto his bed. The awful news spread through the vastness of the palace, carrying with it sadness and dismay. Queen Meritites was shaken to her foundations, a consuming fire exploding — within her, of-which not all the waters of the Nile could extinguish a single brand. The woman stuck close to her great husband seeking to ward off the — woe of this evil by her nearness to him, as — well as to obtain his reassurance and consolation. She found him sleeping, or like one asleep, and touched his forehead — with her chill fingers to discover that he was as hot as a mass of fire, sending up embers into the air.
She whispered to him in a faltering voice, “My lord!”
The king stirred at the sound, opening his eyes in a state of indignant turmoil. He sat up in his bed in unaccustomed rage, piercing her with a glare that sent off sparks. In a maddened tone that had not been heard before, he demanded of his spouse, “Are you weeping, O Queen, for the damned assassin?”
