The times that had granted happiness and joy to some brought sullen gloom to the face of the prime minister and high priest, Khnumhotep. The man sat in the government house observing events with a pessimistic eye, listening to what was said with keen ears and a sad heart. Then he resorted to patience, as much as patience allowed.
The decree issued by the king to sequester the temple estates had caused him untold anguish, and had placed a number of psychological crises in the way of effective government, for the mass of the priests had received the announcement with alarm and pain, and most of them had been quick to write petitions and solicitations and send them to the prime minister and lord chamberlain.
Khnumhotep had noticed that the king had not been granting him a tenth of the time he had granted him before, and it was now rare that he managed to meet him and discuss with him the affairs of the kingdom at all. It was widely rumored that Pharaoh had fallen in love with the courtesan of the white palace of Biga and that he spent his nights there with her. Moreover, groups of craftsmen had been seen driving to her palace together with gangs of slaves carrying sumptuous furniture and precious jewels. Senior figures were whispering that the palace of Rhadopis was being turned into an abode of gold, silver, and pearl, and that its columns were witness to a steamy love affair that was costing Egypt a fortune.
Khnumhotep had a wise old head on his shoulders and was possessed of keen insight, but his patience was running thin and he could remain impassive no longer. He thought long and deep about the matter and determined he would do his utmost to divert events from the direction in which they were heading. He sent a messenger to Lord Chamberlain Sofkhatep requesting the pleasure of his company at the government house. The lord chamberlain hurried over to meet him. The prime minister shook his hand and said, “I thank you, venerable Sofkhatep, for accepting my request.”
The lord chamberlain bowed his head and said, “I do not hesitate to carry out my sacred duty in serving my lord.”
The two men sat down facing one another. Khnumhotep had an iron will and nerves of steel and his face remained placid despite the troubling thoughts that raged in his breast. He listened to the words of the lord chamberlain in silence then said, “Venerable Sofkhatep, all of us serve Pharaoh and Egypt with loyalty.”
“That is correct, Your Excellency.”
Khnumhotep decided to bring up his grave business in hand and said, “But my conscience is not happy with the way events are moving these days. I am encountering problems and inconveniences. I am of the opinion, and I think that I am telling the truth, that a meeting between you and me would undoubtedly be of great benefit.”
“It gives me great pleasure, by the gods, that your intuition is correct, Your Excellency.”
The prime minister nodded his large head in an indication of approval, and when he spoke his tone displayed wisdom. “It is better that we be open, for openness, as our philosopher Kagemni has pointed out, is a sign of honesty and sincerity.”
Sofkhatep agreed. “Our philosopher Kagemni spoke the truth.”
Khnumhotep spent a moment gathering his thoughts and then spoke with a hint of sadness in his voice. “It is very rare that I have the opportunity to meet His Majesty these days.”
The prime minister waited for Sofkhatep to comment, but he remained silent, and Khnumhotep continued, “And you know, venerable sir, that many times I request an appointment to meet him, and I am informed that His Worshipful Self is out of the palace.”
“It is not for any person to ask Pharaoh to account for his comings and goings,” replied Sofkhatep without hesitation.
“That is not what I mean,” said the prime minister. “But I believe it is my right as prime minister to be accorded the opportunity to stand before His Majesty from time to time, in order to carry out my duties as efficiently as possible.”
“I beg your pardon, Your Excellency, but you do gain audiences — with Pharaoh.”
“Very rarely does the opportunity present itself, and you will find that I do not know what I should do to present to His Sublime Self the petitions that are overflowing the government offices.”
The lord chamberlain scrutinized him for a moment and then said, “Perhaps they are to do with the temple estates?”
A sudden light sparkled in the prime minister's eye. “That is it, sir.”
“Pharaoh does not wish to hear anything new about the subject,” said Sofkhatep quickly, “for he has spoken his final word on the matter.”
“Politics does not know final words.”
“That is your opinion, Your Excellency,” said Sofkhatep sharply, “and it could be that I do not share it with you.”
“Are not the temple estates a traditional inheritance?”
Sofkhatep disapproved, for he sensed that the prime minister was trying to draw him into a conversation that he did not wish to partake in. Indeed, he had already made his reluctance quite clear, and in a tone that left no room for doubt, he said, “I am happy to take His Majesty's word at face value, and I will go no further.”
“The most loyal of His Majesty's subjects are those who give him sound and sincere advice.”
The lord chamberlain was most indignant at the abrasiveness of these words, but he suppressed the rage at his offended pride, saying, “I know my duty, Your Excellency, but I do not question it except before my conscience.”
Khnumhotep sighed in despair, and then said with quiet resignation, “Your conscience is beyond all suspicion, venerable sir, and I have never been in any doubt about your loyalty or your wisdom. Perhaps that is what led me to seek your guidance on the matter. As for the fact that you believe that this does not agree with your loyalty, then I regret that I will have to do without you. Now I have only one request.”
“And what is that, Your Excellency?” said Sofkhatep.
“I would request that you bring it to the attention of Her Majesty the Queen that I seek the honor of meeting her today.”
Sofkhatep was taken aback, and stared at the prime minister in amazement, for even if the man had not overstepped the mark with this request, it was certainly unexpected, and the lord chamberlain was perplexed.
“I am presenting this request in my capacity as the prime minister of the kingdom of Egypt,” he said firmly.
Sofkhatep was worried. “Shall I not wait until tomorrow so that I may inform the king of your desire?”
“Indeed not, venerable sir. I am requesting the assistance of Her Majesty the Queen in order to surmount the obstacles which stand in my way. It is a golden opportunity that cannot be missed for me to serve my king and my country.”
There was nothing Sofkhatep could do except to say, “I will put your request to Her Majesty at once.”
“I shall await your messenger,” said Khnumhotep as he shook Sofkhatep's hand.
“As you wish, Your Excellency,” said the lord chamberlain.
Once alone, Khnumhotep frowned and gritted his teeth so tightly that his wide chin looked like a slab of granite as he paced up and down the room deep in thought. He did not doubt the loyalty of Sofkhatep, but he had little faith in his courage and determination. He had called on him because he had not wanted to leave any stone unturned, but he had had little hope in the outcome. He wondered with some disquiet if the queen would accept his request and invite him to meet her. What on earth would he do if she refused? The queen was not to be dismissed lightly. Perhaps with her keen intelligence she would be able to unravel this complex knot and rescue the relationship between the king and the clergy from collapse and disintegration. No doubt the queen was aware of the young king's misbehavior, and was seriously pained by it, for she was a queen well known for her astute mind, and she was a wife who felt joy and sadness like other wives. Was it not regrettable that the properties of the temples were being stripped, wrested away from them so that their yields might be squandered under the feet of a dancer?