extinguish the leanest hope in his heart.”
Wise old Sofkhatep was unhappy with the words he heard. He mistrusted the zeal of him who had spoken them, and was fearful of the consequences.
“My lord,” he said, “the priesthood is dispersed throughout the kingdom as blood through the body. Among its members are officials and judges, scribes and educators. Their authority over the people is blessed by divine sanction from ancient times. We have no battle forces save the pharaonic guard and the guardians of Bilaq. A forceful strike might bring undesired consequences.”
Tahu believed only in force. “Then what are we supposed to do, wise counselor?” he demanded. “Should we just sit back and wait for our enemy to fall upon us, and thus be rendered contemptible in his eyes?”
“The priests are not Pharaoh's enemies, may the gods forbid that Pharaoh should have any enemies among his people. The priesthood is a loyal and trustworthy institution. All that we can say against them is that their privileges are greater than need dictates. I swear that I have never despaired, not even for a single day, of finding an acceptable compromise that would fulfill my lord's desire and at the same time preserve the rights of the clergy.”
The king was listening to them quietly, a mysterious smile etched upon his broad mouth, and when Sofkhatep finished speaking he gazed at them with mocking eyes and said quietly, “Do not trouble yourselves about the matter, my dear faithful gentlemen. I have already shot my arrow.”
The two men were taken aback. They looked at the king, hopeful yet apprehensive, Tahu being the one more inclined to hope, while Sofkhatep's face turned pale and he bit his lip as he waited in silence to hear the decisive word. At length the king spoke in a voice displaying arrogance and self-satisfaction: “I presume you already know that I kept the man behind after all the guests had left, and once the place was empty I started on him. I told him that the calling of his name in my hearing and under my very eyes was a despicable and treacherous thing to do, and I impressed upon him that I do not execute the noble and faithful of my people who cry out. I could see he was uneasy and his face went white. He lowered his large head onto his narrow chest and opened his mouth to speak. Perhaps he wanted to apologize in his cold, quiet voice.”
The king knitted his brow and was silent for a moment, then he continued, speaking in a more aggressive tone, “I interrupted him with a wave of my hand, and did not allow him to apologize. I explained to him firmly, reminding him that it was naive and simple-minded to think that such a cry would distract me from the course I have set upon. I informed him that I had decided irrevocably to enjoin the property of the temples to the crown estates, and that from today onward nothing would be left to the temples save the lands and offerings they need.”
The two men listened intently to the king's words. Sofkhatep's face was wan and drawn, revealing the bitterness of disappointment, while Tahu beamed with joy, as though he were listening to a pleasant ballad extolling his glory and greatness. The king continued, “Make no mistake, my decision surprised Khnumhotep, and disconcerted him. He appeared anxious and he beseeched me, saying, ‘The temple lands belong to the gods. Their produce goes mostly to the common people and the poor, and is spent on learning and moral education.’ He tried to go on but I stopped him with a gesture of my hand and said to him, ‘It is my will. You are to enforce it without further delay.’ Thereupon I told him the meeting was ended.”
Tahu could hardly contain his joy: “May all the gods bless you, my lord.”
The king smiled calmly, and shot a glance at Sofkhatep's face in its hour of defeat. The king felt sympathy toward him and said, “You are a loyal and faithful man, Sofkhatep, and a wise counselor. Do not be disappointed that your opinion has been disregarded.”
“I am not one of those vain persons, my lord,” he said, “who are swift to anger if their advice goes unheeded, not out of fear of the consequences, but to preserve their dignity. Even vanity can reach so far with such people that they hope an evil thing they warned about will happen so that those who doubted their ability may truly know it. I take refuge in the gods from the evil of vanity. It is only loyalty that dictates my advice, and the only thing that saddens me when it is ignored is the misgiving that my intuition might be true. All I ask from the gods is that they prove my forecast wrong so that my heart might be assured.”
And as if to put the old man's mind at rest, Pharaoh said, “I have attained my desire. They will obtain nothing from me. Egypt worships Pharaoh and will be content with none but him.”
The two men assented sincerely to their lord's words, but Sofkhatep was perturbed, and he struggled in vain to play down the danger of Pharaoh's decree, for he realized — with a certain alarm that the priests would receive the momentous edict while they were gathered at Abu. There they would have ample opportunity to exchange opinions and disseminate their complaints, and they would return to their dioceses muttering their grievances. But although he had no doubt about the status of the priesthood and its influence on the hearts and minds of the common folk, he did not reveal his opinions, for he could see the king was happy, contented, and smiling, and he was unwilling to spoil the young man's mood. So he removed all expression from his face and drew a contented smile upon his lips.
“I have not felt such exhilaration,” the king said delightedly, “since the day I defeated the tribes of Southern Nubia when my father was alive. Let us drink a toast to this happy victory.”
The slave girls brought a jug of red Maryut and golden goblets. They filled the goblets to the brim and passed them round to the king and the two loyal men, who drank heartily. The wine soon took its effect and Sofkhatep felt the troubling thoughts dissolve in his breast as his senses savored the fine vintage, and he shared with the king and the commander in their happiness. They sat silently, exchanging convivial looks of affection. The rays of the setting sun bathed in the shimmering water of the lake, which lapped against the bank close to their feet. The branches of the trees around them danced to the bird songs, and flowers sprang out amidst their leaves like sweet memories rising from deep within the mind. They surrendered to a drowsy wakefulness for not a little time until they were aroused by a strange event, which plucked them violently from their dreams — something fell from the sky into Pharaoh's lap. He leapt to his feet and the two men saw the object land at his feet. It was a golden sandal. They looked up in amazement and saw a magnificent falcon circling in the sky above the garden, its terrifying shrieks rending the air. The bird glared at them with blazing, censorious eyes, then, with a great flap of its mighty wings, it soared into the air and disappeared over the horizon.
They looked back at the sandal. The king picked it up and sat down to contemplate it — with a look of surprise in his smiling eyes. The two men looked curiously at the sandal, exchanging looks of denial, astonishment, and consternation.
The king continued to inspect the sandal, then mumbled, “It is a woman's sandal, no doubt about it. How beautiful and expensive it is.”
“The falcon must have picked it up and carried it away,” said Tahu as his eyes devoured the sandal.
The king smiled and said, “There is no tree in my garden that bears such fine fruit.”
Sofkhatep spoke: “The general populace, my lord, believe that the falcon courts beautiful women, and that he ravishes the virgins he falls in love with and whisks them off to the mountaintops. Maybe that falcon was a lover who had been down to Memphis to buy sandals for his beloved, and his luck betrayed him and one dropped from his talons, and fell at my lord's feet.”
The king looked at it again overjoyed, excited. “I wonder how he came by it?” he said. “I fear it may belong to one of the maidens who dwell in the sky.”
“Or to one of the maidens who dwell on the earth,” said Sofkhatep with interest, “who took it off with her clothes to bathe at the shore of some lake, and while she was naked in the water the falcon came and carried it away.”
“And threw it into my lap. How amazing! It is as if he knows my love for beautiful women.”
Sofkhatep smiled a meaningful smile. “May the gods make happy your days, my lord,” he said.
Dreams shone in the king's eyes, and his entire face lit up. His brow softened and his cheeks flushed rosy red. He did not take his eyes off the sandal, as he asked himself who its owner might be, what she might look like, and if she were as beautiful as her footwear. She would have no idea that her sandal had fallen into the king's lap, and he wondered what it was that had let the Fates conspire to make him the sandal's destination. His eyes fell upon a picture engraved on the instep of the sandal and he pointed to it and said, “What a beautiful picture! It is a handsome warrior, holding his heart in his open hand to give it away.”
His words struck a chord deep in the hearts of the two men and a fleeting light shone in their eyes as they looked at the sandal — with renewed interest.
“Would my lord allow me to see the sandal for a moment?” said Sofkhatep.
