But I rebuked her and said that she should never have left Thebes for me, since now she was never again allowed to return to Thebes, but by her coming, she had bound her life to my life, to the life of a banished man, which I would never have allowed, had I known her intentions, but she railed at great length and said:

“On the contrary, what has happened to you is the best thing that has ever happened to you, and I believe that Pharaoh Horemheb has shown himself your true friend in bringing you to so peaceful a place in your old age. I too have had enough of the frenzy of Thebes, and of those quarrelsome neighbours, who borrow cooking pots without returning them and empty their garbage into my court. When I come to think of it, the old copper founder’s house was never the same after the fire: the roasting pit burned my roast, the oil turned rancid in my jars, there were drafts along the floors to my feet, and the window shutters rattled unceasingly. Now we may make a fresh start here and build everything to our liking, and I have already chosen an excellent place for the garden where I will cultivate herbs and watercress, which you greatly enjoy, my master, as the spice for my sauces. Indeed, I will give some work to these lazy layabouts whom Pharaoh has set to protect you from robbers and evildoers, and I will every day make them hunt fresh game for you, and I will make them catch fish and gather mussels and crabs on the shore — although I suspect that sea fish and mussels are not so good as those grown in the river. Moreover, I think of selecting a suitable place for my tomb, if you will permit me, my master, for having come so far, I never mean to leave here again. I have become so weary wandering from place to place in search of you, and journeys frighten me since never before have I set foot outside Thebes.”

Thus did Muti comfort me and cheer me with her nagging, and I believe that it was thanks to her that I became attached to life again and began to write, for it would have been bad for me to die and leave her alone to live out the days of her old age in the place of my exile. She encouraged me to write so I worked diligently with my stylus although she could not read, and I know she secretly regarded my writing as foolish nonsense. Yet she was glad for me to have some work that gave purpose to my life in the place of my exile, and she saw to it that I didn’t write deep into the night and ruined my eyes but wrote moderately and enjoyed all the good dishes she prepared for me. She

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kept her promise and set Pharaoh’s guards to work, making their lives bitter so that they cursed her behind her back and called her a witch and a harpy. But they dared not oppose her, for if they opposed, she reviled them with evil words, and her tongue was sharper than the goad that encourages oxen to pull sledges — and she told them such tales about the small thing they hide under their loincloths that they lowered they eyes in shame and dug dirt with their toes.

I think also that Muti’s influence on them was quite healthy, for she kept them constantly busy so that their time guarding me passed quickly and they had no time to curse me or to plan my murder to get rid of me and return to Thebes — but they were only blessed the moments they had to rest. Muti rewarded them by baking good bread for them and brewing strong beer in great jars, and they had fresh vegetables from Muti’s herb garden, and she taught them how to vary their diet so that they didn’t get sick from monotonous food that was their work benefit. Every year when the ships sailed to Punt, Kaptah sent us many donkey loads of various goods from Thebes and commissioned his scribes to write to us of all that went on in the city so that I did not live altogether closed in a sack. All this made the guards benefit greatly from guarding me, and they learned useful skills from Muti and grew fairly rich from my presents so that they did not long too sorely for Thebes.

But having told all this, I am already weary of writing, and also my eyes are weary. Muti’s cats jump on my lap and rub their heads against my hand that holds the stylus, so that I cannot write any more. My heart is weary of all that I have written, and my limbs are weary and long for their eternal rest. Though I may not be happy, yet I am not totally unhappy in my loneliness, and the lonelier and further away from the people I have been, the clearer have I seen men and their deeds and the vanity of their deeds. The deeds of men during the days of his life are fairly vain indeed.

I bless my paper, and I bless my stylus, for they have made me feel I am a little boy again, sailing in a pitched reed boat along the river without knowing the sorrows of life or the pain from learning. I have again been the little boy in the house of my father Senmut, and the hot tears of Meti the fish gutter have fallen on my hands. I have walked the

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