As for Sofkhatep, he said with unusual calmness, “If my lord orders me to forsake him I will obey his order without question, but I will put an end to my life immediately thereafter.”
Tahu sighed with relief, as if the old man had come upon the solution that had stubbornly evaded himself, and he mumbled, “You have spoken well, Prime Minister.”
Pharaoh was silent, and did not say a word.
During this time violent and crushing blows had slammed into the great gate of the palace. No one had been bold enough to scale the walls, as if they were afraid, having been unsettled by the garrison's sudden withdrawal and imagining some mortal trap had been set for them. So they directed all their force at the gate, — which — was unable to — withstand their pressure for long. The entire structure was wrought with convulsions as the bolts burst open and it came down with a mighty thud that sent violent shock waves through the earth. The clamoring hordes flooded in and spread throughout the courtyard like dust in a summer wind, surging forward violently as if engaged in combat. Fearing some unseen danger, those in front slowed down as much as they could, but still edging forward until they came within sight of the royal palace and their eyes fell upon the one standing at the entrance to the colonnade, the double crown of Egypt upon his head. They recognized him instantly and were taken aback by the sight of him standing there alone in front of them. The feet of those at the head of the mob clung fast to the ground and they raised their hands to halt the surging flood of people pouring down behind them, shouting into the throng, “Slowly, slowly.”
A faint hope flickered in Sofkhatep's heart when he saw the fear that came over those at the front of the crowd, paralyzing their legs and causing them to avert their eyes. In his battered and exhausted heart he expected a miracle that would take the place of his black thoughts. But among the throng there were some conniving deviously against the wishes of Sofkhatep's heart, fearing that their victory might turn to defeat and their cause be lost forever. A hand reached out for its bow, nocked an arrow, took aim at Pharaoh and loosed the string. The arrow leapt out from the midst of the crowd and slammed into Pharaoh's upper chest, no power or wish could deflect it. Sofk-hatep cried out as if it were he who had been hit. He held out his hands to support the king and they met Tahu's cold hands halfway. The king pursed his lips but no moan came out, nor any sigh. Knitting his brow, he mustered what strength remained in him to maintain his balance. Pain was drawn over his face and he quickly felt weak and drained. His eyes clouded over and he gave himself up to the arms of his two trusted men.
A terrible hush fell upon the front ranks and a heavy silence bound their tongues. Their panic-stricken eyes darted wary glances at the great man propped up by his two counselors, as he fingered the spot — where the arrow had entered his chest, and warm blood flowed copiously from the wound. It was as if they could not believe their eyes, or as if they had attacked the palace for some other goal than this.
A voice from the rear tore through the silence, asking, “What is happening?”
Another responded in a more subdued tone, “The king has been killed.”
The news spread like wildfire through the crowd, as the people repeated the words and exchanged looks of horror and confusion.
Tahu called a slave and ordered him to fetch a litter. The man ran off into the palace to return with a group of slaves carrying a royal litter. They set it down on the ground and all lifted Pharaoh and laid him gently down on it. The news spread inside the palace and the king's physician hurried out. The queen appeared behind him moving with hurried steps and in obvious distress. When her eyes alighted upon the litter and he who lay upon it, she ran to him in trepidation, and falling to her knees next to the physician, she said in a trembling voice, “Alas, they have stricken you, my lord, as was your desire.”
The people beheld the queen and one of them cried out, “Her majesty the queen.”
The heads of the dumbfounded populace all bowed in unison as if they were performing a communal prayer. The king started to come round from the effects of the initial shock, and opening his heavy eyes he looked weakly and quietly at the faces of those gathered round him. Sofkhatep was gazing into his face in a silent stupor. Tahu stood motionless, his face like the faces of the dead. The physician, having removed the shirt of mail, was examining the wound. As for the queen, her face wore an expression of anguish and pain and she said to the physician, “Is he not well? Tell me he is well.”
The king was aware of her words, and he said simply, “It is not so, Nitocris. The arrow is fatal.”
The physician wanted to remove the arrow, but the king said to him, “Leave it. There is no point in hoping for an end to this torment.”
Sofkhatep was deeply moved and he said to Tahu with a great fury that completely changed the tone of his voice, “Call your men. Avenge your lord from these criminals.”
The king seemed vexed, and raising his hand with great difficulty, he said, “Do not move, Tahu. Do my orders not matter to you now, Sofkhatep, as I lie here thus? There shall be no more fighting. Inform the priests they have achieved their goal and that Merenra lies on his deathbed. Let them go in peace.”
A shudder ran through the queen's body as she leant to his ear and whispered, “My lord, I do not love to weep in front of your killers, but let your heart rest assured, by our parents and by the pure blood that runs in our veins, I will heap such revenge upon your enemies, that time will recount the tale of it for generations to come.”
He smiled to her a light smile expressing his thanks and affection. The physician washed the wound, gave him a soothing potion to dull the pain, and placed some herbs around the arrow. The king gave himself up to the man's ministering hands but he felt that death was near and his final hour fast approaching. He had not forgotten, as life drained from him, the beloved face he longed to bid farewell to before his inevitable demise. An expression of yearning appeared in his eyes, and he said in a faint voice, oblivious to what was happening around him, “Rhadopis, Rhadopis.”
The queen's face was close to his, and she felt a sharp blow pierce the membrane around her heart. A sudden dizziness took hold of her and she raised her head. He paid no attention to the feelings of those around him and he beckoned to Tahu, who stepped forward, and said to him hopefully, “Rhadopis.”
“Shall I bring her to you, my lord?” he asked.
“No,” replied the king feebly. “Take me to her. There is some life remaining in my heart, I want it to expire on Biga.”
With deep uncertainty Tahu looked at the queen, who rose to her feet and said calmly, “Carry out my lord's desire.”
Hearing her voice, and minding her words, the king said to her, “Sister, as you have forgiven me my sins, so forgive me this too. It is the wish of a dying man.”
The queen smiled a sad smile and leaned over his brow and kissed it. Then she stepped aside to make room for the slaves.
Farewell
The boat slipped gently downstream toward Biga, the litter inside the cabin carrying its precious cargo. The physician stood at Pharaoh's head, and Tahu and Sofkhatep at his feet. It was the first time grief had reigned over the barge as it bore the slumbering, surrendering lord, the shadow of death hovering about his face. The two men stood in silence, their eyes never leaving the king's wan face. From time to time he would lift his heavy eyelids and look at them weakly, then close them again helplessly. Gradually the boat drew nearer to the island, docking eventually at the foot of the steps leading up to the garden of the golden palace.
Tahu leaned over and whispered in Sofkhatep's ear, “I think one of us should go ahead of the litter lest the shock prove too much for the woman.”