And what, then, if she is the princess? Something immense had come to him whose consequences he could not predict. At this he lost his self-control and laughed — with bitter derision. “How fantastic!” he told himself. “Djedef son of Bisharu is in love — with the princess, Meresankh!” Then he gazed at the picture forlornly for quite a long time.
Are you truly the majestic princess?” he demanded of her image. “Be a simple peasant girl — for a peasant girl lost is nearer to the heart than a princess found.”
19
Djedef made ready to leave Bisharu's palace as an independent man for the first time. And this time he would leave behind him sadness mixed with admiration and pride, as Zaya kissed him until she drenched his cheeks with her tears. Kheny, too, blessed him in farewelclass="underline" the priest himself had started preparing to depart their home for the temple. Meanwhile, Nafa gripped his hand warmly, saying, “The passing days will prove my prophecy true, O Djedef.” And a new member of Bisharu's family likewise bid him goodbye — this was Mana, daughter of Kamadi and wife of Nafa. As for old Bisharu, he put his coarse hand on the soldier's shoulder and told him with conceit, “I am happy, Djedef, that you are taking your first steps on the path of your great father.” Nor did Djedef forget to lay a lotus blossom on Gamurka's grave before taking leave of his house on the way to the palace of His Royal Pharaonic Highness, Prince Khafra.
By fortunate coincidence, one of his comrades in the prince's barracks was an old childhood friend, a decent, frank-spoken, warmhearted boy. His companion of yore, whose name was Sennefer, rejoiced at his arrival, receiving him warmly.
'Are you always on my trail?” he asked him, teasingly.
“So long as you're on the road to glory,” Djedef answered, grinning.
“Yours is the glory, Djedef. I once was champion of the chariot race, but as for you, there's never been a soldier like yourself: I congratulate you from my deepest heart.”
Djedef thanked him, and in the evening, Sennefer drew a flask of Maryut wine from his robe along with two silver goblets, saying, “I've grown accustomed to drinking a glass of this before going to sleep; a very beneficial ritual. Do you ever drink?”
“I drink beer — but why would I drink wine?”
Sennefer burst out laughing. “Drink!” he said. “Wine is the warrior's medicine.”
Then suddenly, he said to him seriously, “O brother Djedef, you have accepted an arduous life!”
Djedef smiled and said, somewhat disdainfully, “I am quite used to the soldier's life.”
“All of us are used to military life. But His Royal Highness is something else entirely,” Sennefer confided.
Surprise showed on Djedef's face. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“I'm counseling you, brother, on the obvious truth of the matter — and to warn you,” Sennefer said. “Serving the prince is a hardship like no other.”
“How is that?” asked Djedef.
“His Highness is extremely cruel, with a heart of stone, or even harder,” he confided. “A mistake to him is a deliberate offense,” Sennefer explained, “and a deliberate offense, to him, is a crime that cannot be forgiven. Egypt will find in him a strict ruler who does not treat a wound with balsam, as His Majesty his father sometimes does. Rather, he would not hesitate to cut off the worthless limb should it hinder him.”
“The firm monarch needs a bit of cruelty,” said Djedef.
“A bit of cruelty, yes — but not cruelty in all things,” Sennefer continued. “You'll see everything for yourself in due course. Yet there hardly comes a day when a number of punishments aren't issued, some against the servants, some against the soldiers, some for the lower ranks, and perhaps some for the officers. And as time goes by, he only gets nastier — more boastful and crude, in fact.”
“Usually, a man's nature softens as the years advance — this is what Kagemni says.”
Sennefer laughed loudly as he said, “ ‘It is not becoming for an officer to quote the sayings of the wise.’ That is what His Highness says! His Highness's life deviates from Kagemni's description. Why? Because he's forty years old. A crown prince who's forty — think of it!”
The young man looked at him quizzically, as Sennefer went on talking in a low voice. “One wants heirs apparent to come to power young, for if the Fates are awful to them, then they are awful to everyone else!” he opined.
“Isn't His Highness married?”
“And he has both boys and girls,” answered Sennefer.
“Then the throne is secure for his progeny.”
“This does nothing to relieve his chagrin… it's not what the prince fears.”
“What does he fear, then? His brothers uphold the laws of the kingdom honestly.”
“There's no doubt about that,” said Sennefer. “Perhaps they lack ambition because their mothers are just concubines in the harem — and Her Majesty the Queen gave birth only to the crown prince and his sister, Meresankh. The throne rightfully belongs to those two before anyone else. But what worries the prince is… the vigorous health of His Majesty the King!”
“Pharaoh is idolized by all Egypt,” said Djedef.
“There's no argument there,” the officer said. “But I imagine that I can see the lusts lodged deep in people's souls that the conscience does not allow to emerge. God forbid that a traitor be found in Egypt. No, brother… and now, what's your opinion of the Maryut wine? I'm Theban, but I'm not prejudiced.”
“What you served me was fine,” Djedef replied.
This was enough chatter for Sennefer, who went off to sleep. But Djedef's cheek never touched his pillow, because his friend's mention of Meresankh had stirred his anguish and his burning love, just as food thrown on the water's surface excites the fish's hunger. Restive and disturbed, he spent the long, black night exchanging secrets with his sorrowing heart.
20
Within the heir apparent's palace, Djedef felt deep inside that he was close to an obscure secret. No doubt, he dwelt on the horizon — where it — would arise — and, inevitably, one of its blazing rays would someday illuminate it. Meanwhile, he waited in hope, in fear, and in rapture.
One late afternoon, he patrolled the palace meadows that overlooked the Nile, as the sun of the month of Hatur poured forth a joyous light recalling the days of his youthful prime and splendor. Making his rounds, he saw a royal ship lying in anchor at the garden's staircase — and none of the chamberlains were there to greet it. So he hurried — as duty obliged — to receive the honored messenger, and stood facing the ship like a striking statue.
He saw a divine, glorious vision hidden in the robe of a king's daughter. With pharaonic grandeur and ethereal grace, she came down from the ship to ascend the staircase. So ethereal was she, in fact, it seemed as though her weight was pulled upward, not downward. Djedef was looking at Her Royal Highness Princess Meresankh!
He drew out his long sword and gave a military salute, as the princess passed by him like a ravishing dream. And just as quickly, she departed the twisting paths of the garden.
How could this not be her?
Sight can be deceived, and so can hearing, but the heart never is — and if this wasn't her, then his heart would not beat so intensely that it was almost torn to pieces. And why else would it leave him in ecstasy like a staggering drunk? Yet her mind seemed neither to sense or to recall him — and hadn't something happened between them that would merit remembrance? Could she so quickly forget so strange an encounter? Or could she be just snobbishly pretending not to know him?
And what good would it do him, — whether she remembered him or not? What is the difference between the princess being the girl in the picture, or someone else — who resembles her? For his heart beats so hard only for the love of this lovely painting, and shall continue to do so, whether she resides in the body of the princess from the Great House of Pharaoh, or in that of the peasant girl from the villages around Memphis. And he shall remain in despair of her in either case, for there is no alternative to love — just as there is none to its denial.