Sofkhatep nodded his head, in order to humor the commander. “Ah, now I understand, Commander. It is that fine Maryut vintage.”
“No,” said Tahu firmly. “No. Truly, I have drunk a cup of blood, the blood of an evil person it seems, and my blood is poisoned. But there is — worse to come. On my — way here, I encountered the Lord of Goodness sleeping in the meadow and I plunged my sword into his heart. Let us go to battle, for blood is the drink of the fearless soldier.”
“It is the wine, no doubt,” said Sofkhatep in dismay. “You should return to your palace at once.”
But Tahu shook his head in disdain. “Be very careful, Prime Minister. Beware of corrupted blood, for it is poison itself. The tortoise's patience has run out, and the lion will pounce.”
With that he went on his way, oblivious to all that was around him, leaving Sofkhatep standing there in a daze.
The waiting
Pharaoh's palace, the palace of Biga, and the government house all waited impatiently for the return of the messenger. Yet they felt confident about the future. Each day that passed brought Rhadopis closer to victory, and hope glowed warmly in her breast. This optimistic mood may have continued uninterrupted had not the prime minister received an ominous letter from the priests. Sofkhatep generally ignored such letters, or felt obliged to show them to the queen, but this time he perceived a serious escalation. Not wishing to incur the ire of his lord for concealing it, even though showing it to him would provoke a certain amount of anger, he met Pharaoh and read him the letter. It was a solemn petition signed by all the clergy, with the high priests of Ra, Amun, Ptah, and Apis at their head, requesting His Majesty to restore the temple estates to their owners, the worshipped gods who protect and watch over Pharaoh, and affirming at the same time that they would not have submitted their petition if they had found any reason that would necessitate the appropriation of the lands.
The letter was strongly worded, and Pharaoh was furious. He tore it up into pieces and threw it on the floor. “I will respond to them soon enough,” he shouted.
“They are petitioning you as one body,” said Sofkhatep. “Before they were petitioning as individuals.”
“I will strike them all together, so let them protest the way their ignorance dictates.”
Events however were moving quickly. The governor of Thebes sent word to the prime minister that Khnumhotep had visited his province and received a tumultuous welcome from the populace and the priests and priestesses of Amun alike. Cries had gone up in his name and the people had called for the rights of the gods to be preserved and upheld. Some even went further, and weeping, cried out, “Shame, the wealth of Amun is spent on a dancer!”
The prime minister was grievously saddened, but not for the first time his loyalty overcame his reluctance, and he tactfully informed his lord of the news. As usual the king was angry, and said regretfully, “The governor of Thebes watches and listens but can do nothing.”
“My lord, he has only the force of the police,” said Sofkhatep sadly, “and they are of no use against such large numbers of people.”
“I have no choice but to wait,” said the king, irritated. “Truly, by the Lord, my pride is bled dry.”
A cloud of affliction settled over glorious Abu, and drifted into the lofty palaces and halls of government. Queen Nitocris stayed in her chambers, hostage of her confinement and loneliness, suffering the pangs of a broken heart and wounded pride as she watched events with sad and sorry eyes. Sofkhatep received all this news with a dejected heart, and would say sadly to taciturn and miserable Tahu, “Have you ever seen such rebellious unrest in Egypt? How sad it is.”
The king's happiness had turned to anger and wrath. He did not taste rest unless he lay in the arms of the woman to whom he had surrendered his soul. She knew what plagued him. She would flirt with him and comfort him and whisper in his ear, “Patience,” and he would sigh and say bitterly, “Yes, until I have the upper hand.”
Still the situation deteriorated. The visits of Khnumhotep to the provinces increased. Wherever he went he was greeted by enthusiastic crowds, and his name rang out up and down the country. Many of the governors were gravely concerned, for the matter was placing serious strain on their loyalty to Pharaoh. The governors of Ambus, Farmuntus, Latopolis, and Thebes met to consult with one another. They decided to meet the king, and they headed for Abu and asked for an audience.
Pharaoh received them officially with Sofkhatep present. The governor of Thebes approached Pharaoh, uttered the greeting of humble veneration and loyalty, and said, “Your Majesty, true loyalty serves no purpose if it is simply an emotion in the heart. Rather it must be combined with sound advice and good works, and sacrifice if circumstance demands it. We stand before a matter in which honesty may expose us to displeasure, but we are no longer able to silence the stirring of our consciences. Therefore we must speak the truth.”
Pharaoh was silent for a moment then said to the governor, “Speak, Governor. I am listening to you.”
The man spoke with courage. “Your Majesty, the priests are angry. Like a contagion, their anger has spread among the people who listen to their speeches morning and evening. It is because of this that all agree on the necessity of returning the estates to their owners.”
A look of vehemence appeared on the king's face. “Is it right that Pharaoh should yield to the will of the people?” he said furiously.
The governor continued, his words bold and direct: “Your Majesty, the contentment and well-being of the people is a responsibility with which the gods have entrusted the person of Pharaoh. There is no yielding, only the compassion of an able master concerned for his slaves.”
The king banged his staff on the ground. “I see only submission in retreat.”
“May the gods forbid that I refer to Your Majesty as submissive, but politics is a churning sea, the ruler a captain who steers clear of the raging storm and makes full use of good opportunity.”
The king was not impressed with his words and he shook his head in stubborn contempt. Sofkhatep requested permission to speak, and asked the governor of Thebes, “What proof do you have that the people share the sentiments of the priests?”
“Yes, Your Excellency,” said the governor without hesitation. “I have sent my spies around the region. They have observed the mood of the people at close quarters and have heard them discussing matters they should not.”
“I did the same thing,” said the governor of Farmuntus, “and the reports that came back were most regrettable.”
Every governor spoke his piece, and their statements left no doubt about the precariousness of the situation. Thus ended the first such meeting of its kind ever seen in the palaces of the pharaohs.
Immediately the king met — with his prime minister and the commander of the guard in his private wing. He was beside himself with rage, threatening menace and intimidation. “These governors,” he said, “are loyal and trustworthy, but they are weak. If I were to take their advice I would lay open my throne to ignominy and shame.”
Tahu quickly seconded His Majesty's opinion, and said, “To retreat now is clearly defeat, my lord.”
Sofkhatep was thinking about other probabilities. “We must not forget the festival of the Nile. Only a few days remain before it begins. In truth, my heart is not happy at the thought of thousands of irate people gathered in Abu.”
“We control Abu,” Tahu was quick to point out.
“There is no doubt about that. But we should not forget that at the last festival certain treacherous cries were heard, even though at that time His Majesty's wish had still not been realized. This year we should expect other, more vociferous cries.”