He had been talking to distract the Queen’s thoughts from the operation, as a skillful doctor will talk to a patient to whom he is causing pain, but the last phrase was hissed at the peasant, who was leaning against the door post with sleepy, half-shut eyes. Sluggish blood had begun to well from Pharaoh’s head and run down into his consort’s lap so that she flinched and her face turned a yellowish gray. The man roused himself from his thoughts-thoughts no doubt of his oxen and his irrigation ditches-remembered his duty, and approaching the bed, he looked at Pharaoh and raised his hands. The flow of blood ceased at once, and I washed and cleaned the head.
“Forgive me, my little lady,” said Ptahor, taking the bore from my hand. “To the sun-ay, indeed, straight to his father in the golden ship, the blessing of Ammon be upon him.”
While he was speaking, he spun the bore swiftly and deftly between his hands so that it grated its way into the bone. The prince opened his eyes, took a step forward, and his face quivered as he said, “Not Ammon but Ra-Herachte shall bless him, and he manifests himself in Aton.”
“Ay, indeed, Aton,” murmured Ptahor soothingly. “Aton, of course-a slip of the tongue.” He took his flint knife again and the ebony- handled hammer, and with light taps began to remove the piece of bone. “For I remember that in his divine wisdom he raised up a temple to Aton. That was surely soon after the prince’s birth, was it not, fair Taia? One moment.”
He glanced uneasily at the prince, who was standing by the bed with clenched fists and twitching face.
“A mouthful of wine would steady my hand and do the prince no harm. At such a time as this one might well break the seal of a royal jar. There!”
I handed him the forceps, and he jerked out the piece of bone with a gfating noise.
“A little light, Sinuhe!”
Ptahor heaved a sigh, for the worst was over, and so did I. The same feeling of relief seemed to be communicated to the unconscious Pharaoh, for his limbs stirred, his breathing grew slower, and he sank into a yet deeper coma. Ptahor contemplated Pharaoh’s brain thoughtfully in the bright light, where it lay exposed: it was grayish blue, and it quivered.
“Hm,” he said musingly. “What is done is done. May his Aton do the rest for him, for this is a matter for gods, not men,”
Lightly and carefully he fitted the piece of bone back into place, smearing size into the crack, drew together the edges of the wound, and bandaged it. The royal consort laid his head over a neck rest of rare wood and looked at Ptahor. Blood had dried upon her, but she did not heed it. Ptahor met her fearless gaze without making obeisance, and said in a low voice, “He will live until dawn, his god permitting.”
Then he raised his hands in a gesture of sorrow, and so did I. But when he raised them to show sympathy, I dared not follow his example, for who was I to pity royalty? I purified the instruments in fire and put them back in the ebony box.
“Your reward shall be great,” said the Queen, and she signed to us that we might go. A meal had been prepared for us in another room, and Ptahor looked with delight at the many wine jars that stood along the wall. Having closely examined the seal of one of these, he caused it to be opened, and a slave poured water over our hands.
When we’re alone again, Ptahor explained to me that Ra- Herachte was the god of the Amenhoteps and that Aton was his manifestation: a god of great antiquity, older indeed than Ammon.
“It is said that the present heir to the throne is the divine son of this Aton,” went on Ptahor. He took a draught of wine. “It was in the temple of Ra-Herachte that the royal consort saw her vision, after which she bore a son. She took with her a very ambitious priest whom she favored; his name was Eie, and he saw to it that his wife was engaged as wet nurse to the heir. His daughter Nefertiti drank milk from the same breasts as the prince and played with him in the palace like a sister, so you may fancy what will come of that.”
Ptahor drank again, sighed, and went on. “Ah, for an old man there is nothing more delightful than drinking wine and gossiping about what does not concern him. If you but knew, Sinuhe, how many secrets lie buried behind this old forehead. Perhaps there are kingly secrets among them. Many wonder why it is that no son has ever been born alive in the women’s wing of the palace, for that is against all medical law-and the man lying there with the opened skull was no milksop, either, in the days of his joy and strength. He found his consort on a hunting trip; they say Taia was the daughter of some fowler and dwelt among the reeds of the Nile, but that the king made her his equal because of her wisdom and venerated her parents, too, and filled their tomb with the costliest of gifts. Taia had nothing against his pleasures so long as the women of the harem bore no man children. In this she had wonderfully good fortune, such as one could hardly believe possible if it had not happened.”
Ptahor looked sideways at me and glancing round said quickly, “But, Sinuhe, never believe any stories you may hear; they are only put about by ill-natured people-and everyone knows how gentle the queen is and how wise and what a gift she has for gathering useful men about her. Yes, yes… ”
I led Ptahor out into the fresh air; night had fallen, and in the east the lights of Thebes outshone the red glow in the sky. I was flushed with wine and felt again the city’s fever in my blood. Stars twinkled above my head, and the garden was filled with the scent of flowers.
“Ptahor,” I said, “when the lights of Thebes shine to the night sky, then-then I thirst after love!”
“There is no love,” said Ptahor emphatically. “A man is sad when he has no woman to lie with, and when he has lain with one, he is still sadder. So it has ever been and ever will be.”
“Why?”
“Not even the gods know that. And never talk to me of love unless you want me to open your skull for you. I will do that for nothing and without requiring the smallest present from you and so save you much sorrow.”
It now seemed best for me to take upon myself the duties of a slave; I lifted him in my arms and carried him to the room that had been put at our disposal. He was so little and old that I was not even breathless. When I had lain him down upon the bed, he fell asleep at once, after some little groping for a wine cup. I covered him with soft skins, as the night was cold, and went out again to the terrace of flowers-for I was young, and youth desires no sleep on the night of a king’s death.
The murmuring voices of those who were passing the night by the palace walls reached the terrace like the distant sough of wind through rushes.
I awoke amid the scent of flowers as the lights of Thebes glowed a garish red against the eastern sky; I remembered a pair of eyes green as Nile waters in the heat of summer-and found I was no longer alone.
The light from the stars and from the thin sickle of the moon was so faint that I could not see whether a man or a woman was approaching, but someone drew near and peered into my face. I stirred, and the newcomer, in a voice of authority that was yet shrill-almost childish-demanded, “Is it the Lonely One?”
I recognized the prince’s voice and his lanky figure and prostrated myself before him not daring to speak. But he nudged me impatiently with his foot.
“Stand up, you fool. No one can see us, so you need not bow to me. Keep that for the god whose son I am-for there is but one, and all others are his manifestations. Did you know that?” Without waiting for an answer he added reflectively, “All others but Ammon, who is a false god.”
I made a gesture of protest and said, “Oh!” to show I feared such talk.
“Let be!” he said. “I saw you standing by my father, handing knife and hammer to that crazy old Ptahor. So I called you the Lonely One. To Ptahor my mother gave the name of Old Monkey. You must bear these names if you have to die before leaving the palace. But I thought of yours.”