Pharaoh looked at her mysteriously, then with ominous composure said, “I know what I want and what I should do.”
At the appointed time, Pharaoh received the men of his kingdom in the Great Ceremonial Hall. He listened to the speeches of the clergy and the opinions of the governors. Many noticed that the king was not himself. As everyone was leaving, the king asked his prime minister to stay behind and talked with him in private for a good while. People were curious, but none dared to inquire. When the prime minister reappeared there were many who tried to read his face in the hope of discerning the slightest clue as to the subject of his audience, but his mien was as expressionless as rock.
The king ordered his two closest counselors, Sofkhatep the lord chamberlain and Tahu the commander of the guard, to go on ahead and wait for him at a spot by the lake in the royal gardens, the site of their evening conversations. He walked along the shaded green paths with a look of relaxation on his swarthy face, as if he had quelled the violent anger that had so recently spurred him to vengeance. He walked unhurriedly, breathing in the fragrant aroma the trees sent out to greet him, and his eyes wandered over the flowers and fruits until at length he reached the gorgeous lake. He found his two men waiting for him — Sofkhatep, with his tall thin body and graying hair, and Tahu, strong and muscular, reared on the backs of horses and chariots.
Both men scrutinized the face of the king in an effort to fathom his inner thoughts and ascertain the policy he would advise them to follow in regard to the priests. They had heard the audacious cry, which had been considered by all and sundry a threat to Pharaoh's authority. They had expected it to provoke a severe reaction in the young king, and when they learned that he had asked his prime minister to stay behind after the meeting, they were both filled with apprehension. Sofkhatep was worried about the consequences of the king's anger, for he always advised caution and patience and believed that the problem of the temple lands should be dealt with equitably. Tahu, on the other hand, was hoping that the king's anger would lead him to side with his own opinion and order the seizure of the temple properties, thus giving the priests a final warning.
The two loyal men looked into their lord's face in hope, yet enduring painful unease. But Pharaoh kept a tight rein on his emotions, and studied them — with an expression like the Sphinx. He knew — what discomfiting thoughts — were racing through their minds, and, as though — wishing to torment them a little longer, he sat down on his throne and did not say a word. He motioned them to be seated and the look of serious concern returned to his face.
“Today I have the right to feel anger and pain,” he declared.
The two men understood what he meant, and the bold and insolent cry rang in their ears once again. Sofkhatep raised his hands out of distress and sympathy, and spoke in a trembling voice, “My lord, do not allow yourself to be caught up in pain and anger.”
“It is not fitting that my lord should suffer pain,” echoed Tahu firmly, “while in the kingdom no sword lies idly in its sheath, and there are men who would gladly sacrifice their lives for him. Truly those priests, despite their knowledge and experience, are deviating from the way of good sense. They are acting rashly, and laying themselves open to an onslaught the like of which they will have no power to avert.”
The king lowered his head and looked at the ground beneath his feet. “I am wondering,” he said, “if one of my fathers or forefathers would have been greeted with the cry that greeted me today. Why, I have only been on the throne a matter of months.”
Tahu's eyes shone with a fleeting frightening light. “Force, my lord,” he said with conviction. “Force. Your sacred forefathers were strong men. They exercised their will with a determination as mighty as the mountains and a sword as relentless as fate. Be like them, my lord. Do not procrastinate, and do not engage them with reason and understanding. When you strike them, strike hard and show no quarter. Make the upstart forget who he is and 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.”