Naguib Mahfouz - Three Novels of Ancient Egypt

“My lord Pharaoh, Son of the Lord Khnum, Light of the Rising Sun, Giver of Life and Strength,” he called out, quaver-ingly. “I, my lord, implore the God that He may inspire your great heart to overlook my neglect and my ignorance, and to obtain your pardon and satisfaction.”

“I pardon the errors of honest men,” the king told him.

His heart fluttering, Monra inquired, “Why does my lord grace me with a visit to my humble palace? Please come and assume its guidance.”

Pharaoh smiled as he descended from his chariot, following Prince Khafra and his brother princes, along with Hemiunu, Arbu, and Mirabu. The priest proceeded onward, with the king following him, succeeded in turn by the princes and his companions, until they stopped in the reception hall. Khufu sat in the center with his retinue around him. Monra tried to excuse himself to prepare the obligatory hospitality, but Pharaoh said instead, “We absolve you of your duties as host — we have come on a very urgent mission: there is no time for dallying.”

The man bowed. “I am at my lord's beck and call,” he said.

Khufu settled into his seat, and asked the priest in his penetrating, fear-inspiring voice, “You are one of the elite men of the kingdom, advanced in both knowledge and in wisdom. Therefore can you tell me: why do the gods enthrone the pharaohs over Egypt?”

The man answered with the assurance of faith, “They select them from among their sons, endowing them with their divine spirit to make the nation prosper, and the worshippers glad.”

“Well done, priest — for every Egyptian strives for his own welfare and that of his family,” said the king. “As for Pharaoh, he bears the burden for the masses, and entreats the Lord on their behalf. Thus, can you tell me what Pharaoh must do regarding his throne?”

With transcendent courage, Monra replied, “What is incumbent upon Pharaoh to do regarding his throne is what the faithful man must do with the charge entrusted to him by the generous gods. That is, he must carry out his obligations, claim his proper rights, and defend that — which he must — with his honor.”

“Well done again, virtuous priest!” Khufu said, nodding his head in satisfaction. “So now inform me, — what should Pharaoh do if someone threatens his throne?”

The brave priest's heart pounded. He was certain that his answer would determine his fate. Yet, as a pious and dignified man of religion, he was determined to tell the truth.

“His Majesty must destroy those with ambitions against him.”

Pharaoh smiled. Prince Khafra's eyes glinted grimly.

“Excellent, excellent… because if he does not do so, he would betray his custodianship from the Lord, forget his divine trust, and forfeit the rights of the believers.”

The king's face grew harsher, showing a resolution that could shake even mountains. “Hear me, priest — he who poses a threat to the throne has been exposed.”

Monra lowered his eyes and held his tongue.

“The Fates are making mock as is their wont,” Khufu continued, “and have conjured a male child.”

“A male child, sire?” the priest ventured, quaking.

Anger sparked in Pharaoh's eyes. “How, priest, can you be so ignorant?” he shouted. “You have spoken so keenly of honesty and credibility — so why do you let a lie slink into your heart right before your master? You surely know what we do — that you are this child's father, as well as his prophet!”

The blood drained from the priest's face, as he said in surrender, “My son is but a suckling child, only a few hours old.”

“Yet he is an instrument in the hands of the Fates — who care not if their tool is an infant or an adult.”

A calm silence spread suddenly among them, while a frightful horror reigned over all as they held their breath, awaiting the word that would let fly the arrow of death at the unfortunate child. Prince Khafra's forbearance failed him, his brows creasing, his naturally severe face growing even harder.

“O Priest,” the king intoned, “a moment ago you declared that Pharaoh must eliminate whoever threatens his throne — is this not so?”

“Yes, sire,” the priest answered, in despair.

“No doubt the gods were cruel to you in creating this child,” said Khufu, “but the cruelty inflicted on you is lighter than that which has been inflicted on Egypt and her throne.”

“That is true, my lord,” Monra murmured.

“Then carry out your duty, priest!”

Monra fell speechless; all words failed him.

“We — the community of Egypt's kings — have an inherited tradition of respect and caring for the priesthood,” Pharaoh continued. “Do not force me to break it.”

How amazing! What does Pharaoh mean by this? Does he want the priest to understand that he respects him and would not like to slay his son — and that therefore, it is necessary that he undertake this mission, from — which the king himself recoils? And how can he ask him to kill his own child by his own hand?

Truly, the loyalty that he owed to Pharaoh obliged him to execute his divine will without the least hesitation. He knew for certain that any individual from among the Egyptian people would gladly give up his soul in order to please great Pharaoh. Must he then take his own dear son and plunge a dagger into his heart?

Yet who had decreed that his son should succeed Khufu on the throne of Egypt? Was it not the Lord Ra? And hadn't the king declared his intention to kill the innocent child, in defiance of the Lord Creator's will? Who then must he obey — Khufu or Ra? And what would Pharaoh and his minions do, who are waiting for him to speak? They're becoming restless and angry — so what should he do?

A dangerous thought came to him rapidly amidst the clamor of confused embarrassment, like a flash of lightning among dark clouds. He remembered Kata, and her son — to whom she had given birth that very morning. He recalled that she was sleeping in the room opposite that of her mistress. Truly, this was a fiendish idea of which a priest like himself ought to be totally innocent, but any conscience would yield if subjected to the pressures that now assailed Monra before the king and his men. No — he was unable to hesitate.

The cleric bowed his heavy head in respect, then went off to carry out a most abominable crime. Pharaoh followed him; the princes and the notables trailing behind. They mounted to the highest floor behind him — but — when they saw the high priest begin to enter the room's door, they stopped, silent, in the hallway. Monra, wavering, turned toward his lord.

“Sire, I have no weapon with which to kill,” he said. “I possess not even a dagger.”

Khufu, staring, did not stir. Khafra felt his chest tighten. He withdrew his dagger, shoving it brusquely into the high priest's hand.

Trembling, the man took it and hid it in his cloak. He entered the chamber, his feet almost unable to bear his weight. His arrival awoke Kata, who smiled at him gratefully, believing that her master had come to give her his blessings. She revealed the face of the blameless child, telling him wanly, “Thank the Lord with your little heart, for he has made up for the death of your father with divine compassion.”

Horrified and panicked, Monra's spirit abandoned him: he turned away in revulsion. His emotions overflowing, their torrent swept away the froth of sin. But where could he find sanctuary? And how would it all end? Pharaoh was standing at the door — and there wasn't a moment to pause and reflect. His confusion grew more and more profound, until his mind was dazed. He bellowed in bewilderment, then — drawing a deep breath — he unsheathed his dagger in a hopeless gesture, thrusting its blade deep into his own heart. His body shuddered dreadfully — then tumbled, stiff and lifeless, to the floor.