He was silent for a moment as if he were waiting for an answer. His anxiety returned and he became angry with himself, then his eyes fixed on the statue of his father as he said, “You passed on to me a great monarchy and deep-rooted glory. What have I done with them? Hardly a year has passed since I came to the throne and already destruction looms. Alas, I have let my throne be trod underfoot by all and sundry, and my name is chewed upon every lip. I have made for myself a name that no pharaoh before me was ever called: the frivolous king.”
The young king's head leaned forward, ponderous and forlorn, and he stared at the floor with darkened eyes, then raising them again to his father's statue, he muttered, “Perhaps you find in my life much to humiliate you, but my death will not shame you.”
He turned to the queen and said to her, “Do you forgive my transgression, Nitocris?”
She could contain herself no longer and tears flooded from her eyes as she said, “I have forgotten all my troubles at this hour.”
He was deeply agitated and said, “In harming you, Nitocris, I have dared to intrude upon your pride. I have wronged you and my stupidity has made the story of your life a sad legend which will be greeted with surprise and disbelief. How did it happen? Could I have changed the course my life was taking? Life has swamped me and an outlandish madness has possessed me. Even at this hour I cannot express my regret. How tragic that the intellect is able to know us and all our ridiculous trivialities, and yet appears incapable of rectifying them. Have you ever seen anything as ruthless and unsparing as this tragedy that afflicts me? Even so, the only lesson people will derive from it will be in rhetoric. Madness will remain as long as there are people alive. Nay, even if I were to begin my life anew I would err and fall once again. Sister, I am sick and tired of everything. What use is there in hoping? It is better if I bring on the end.”
A look of resolve and unconcern came over his face as she asked him in a bewildered and nervous voice, “What end, my lord?”
And he said solemnly, “I am no mean degenerate. I can remember my duty after this long forgetfulness. What is the point of fighting? All my loyal men will fall before an enemy as numerous as the leaves of the trees, and my turn will inevitably come after thousands of my warriors and my people have been annihilated. Nor am I a timorous coward who, clutching at a faint glimmer of hope, will cling desperately to life. I will put an end to the bloodshed and face the people myself.”
The queen was terrified. “My lord,” she cried, “would you burden the consciences of your men with the ignominy of abandoning your defense?”
“Rather, I do not wish that they sacrifice themselves in vain. I will go out to my enemy alone that we may settle the score together.”
She felt deeply frustrated. She knew his stubbornness and she despaired of changing his mind. Quietly and firmly she said, “I will be by your side.”
He was shocked, and grabbing her by the arms, pleaded with her, “Nitocris, the people want you. They have chosen well. You are worthy to govern them, so stay with them. Do not appear by my side or they will say that the king is hiding behind his wife from the rage of the people.”
“How can I abandon you?”
“Do it for my sake, and commence no work that will deprive me of my honor forever.”
The woman felt confused, desperate, and deeply sad, and she cried out hopelessly, “What an awful hour this is.”
“It is my wish,” said the king, “carry it out in memory of me. Please, I beseech you, do not resist, for every minute that passes valiant soldiers are falling in vain. Farewell, kind and noble sister. I depart sure in the knowledge that you shall not be sullied with shame in this my final hour. One who has enjoyed absolute authority cannot be content with confinement in a palace. Farewell to the world. Farewell to the self and to pain. Farewell perfidious glory and hollow appearances. My soul has spit it all out. Farewell, farewell.”
He leaned forward and kissed her head. Then he turned to the statues of his parents, bowed to them, and left.
He found Sofkhatep waiting in the outer lobby, motionless like a statue worn down since time immemorial. When he saw his lord, life stirred within him and he followed in silence, construing the king's exit to his own convenience and said, “My lord's appearance will instill a spirit of zeal in their valiant hearts.”
The king did not answer him. They strode down the steps together into the long colonnade that ran down the garden to the courtyard. He sent for Tahu and waited in silence. At that moment, his heart was suddenly drawn to the south-east, where Biga lay, and he sighed from the depths of his heart. He had said farewell to everything except the person he loved the most. So, would he breathe his final breath before setting eyes upon Rhadopis's face and hearing her voice for the last time? He felt a poignant longing in his heart and a deep sadness. Tahu's voice saluting roused him from his troubled trance, and instantly, as if pushed by an irresistible power, he asked about the way to Biga, saying, “Is the Nile safe?”
His face drawn and drained of color, the commander replied, “No, my lord. They attempted to attack us from the rear in armed barges, but our small fleet repelled them without much effort. The palace will never be taken from that direction.”
It was not the palace that worried the king. For that he bowed his head and his eyes clouded over. He would die before he cast a farewell glance upon that face, for which he had sold the world and all its glory. What was Rhadopis doing at this grievous hour? Had news reached her that her hopes were dashed, or did she wander still in vales of happiness, waiting impatiently for him to return?
Time did not permit him to surrender to his thoughts, and consigning his pains to his heart, he said to Tahu in a commanding tone, “Order your men to abandon the walls, cease fighting, and return to their barracks.”
Tahu was stunned with amazement and Sofkhatep, unable to believe his ears, said with some irritation, “But the people will break down the gate at any minute.”
Tahu stood there, showing no sign of moving, so the king roared in a voice like thunder that rang terrifyingly down the colonnade, “Do as I command.”
Tahu departed in a daze to effect the king's order, while Pharaoh walked forward with deliberate steps toward the palace courtyard. At the end of the colonnade he met with the company of chariots that had been deployed there in rows. Officers and men had seen him and their swords — were drawn in salute. The king summoned the company commander and said to him, “Take your company back to its barracks and remain there until you receive further orders.”
The commander saluted and, running back to his company, gave the order to the soldiers in a powerful voice. The chariots moved quickly and in orderly fashion back to their barracks in the south wing of the palace. Sofkhatep's limbs were trembling, and his feeble legs could hardly carry him. He had understood what the king intended to do, but he was unable to utter a single word.
The men-at-arms quit their positions in compliance with the dreadful order, and coming down from the walls and towers, they fell in under their standards and ran quickly back to their barracks behind their officers. The walls were now empty, and the courtyard and colonnades were deserted. Even the force of regular guards, whose duty it was to guard the palace during peacetime, had left.
The king remained standing at the entrance to the colonnade, with Sofkhatep to his right. Tahu came back out of breath and stood on Pharaoh's left, with a look upon his face like that of a fearsome specter. Both men wished to plead with the king and warmly beseech him, but the harsh look frozen upon his face dissipated their courage and they were compelled to silence. The king turned to them and said, “Why are you waiting with me?”
The two men were filled with great fear, and all Tahu could do was to utter a word of fervent sympathy: “My lord.”