“You mock me,” said Keeper of the Seal. He became dignified again and picked his whip from the floor. “You do not believe in Amun,” he said and just in case leaned on the table again. “That is bad, very bad,” he said. “But I forgive you for the sake of your foolishness, for I have no power to punish you any more.” He left dragging his whip and crook in his left hand, and his back was tired and full of sorrow. After he was gone, the servants returned to the hall and poured water on our hands and anointed us with expensive balms.
“Walk me, my son Sinuhe, because I am already an old man and my legs are weak,” said Ptahor. I led Ptahor out into the fresh air; night had fallen, and in the east the lights of Thebes outshone the red glow in the sky. I was flushed with wine and felt again the Thebes fever in my blood. Stars twinkled above my head, and the garden was filled with the scent of flowers.
“Ptahor,” I said, “I thirst after love when the lights of Thebes shine to the night sky.”
“There is no love,” said Ptahor resolutely. “A man is sad when he has no woman to lie with, and when he has laid with one, he is still sadder. So it has ever been and ever will be.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Not even the gods know that,” said Ptahor. “And never talk to me of love unless you want me to open your skull for you. I will do that for nothing and without requiring the smallest present from you and so save you much sorrow.”
It now seemed best for me to take upon myself the duties of a slave; I lifted him in my arms and carried him to the room that had been put at our disposal. He was so little and old that I was not even breathless. When I had lain him down upon the bed, he fell asleep at once, after some little groping for a wine cup. I covered him with soft skins as the night was cold, and I went out again to the terrace of flowers — for I was young, and youth desires no sleep on the night of King’s death.
The murmuring voices of those who were passing the night by the palace walls reached the terrace like the distant sough of wind through rushes.
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2
I awoke amid the scent of flowers as the lights of Thebes glowed a garish red against the eastern sky, and I remembered a pair of eyes green as Nile waters in the heat of summer, until I found was no longer alone.
The light from the stars and from the thin sickle of the moon was so faint that I could not see whether a man or a woman was approaching, but someone drew near and peered into my face. I stirred, and he said in a childishly shrill, demanding voice, ”Is it you, the Lonely One?” Then I recognised the prince from the voice and from his lanky figure and prostrated myself before him, not daring to speak. But he nudged me impatiently with his foot. “Stand up and don’t be a fool! No one can see us, so you need not bow to me. Save your bows for the god whose son I am, for there is but one god, and all others are his manifestations. Did you know that?” Without waiting for an answer, he added reflectively, “All other gods except maybe Amun, who is a false god.”
I made a gesture of protest and said, “Oh!” to show I feared such talk.
“Let be,” he said. “I saw you standing by my father, handing knife and hammer to that silly old Ptahor. So I called you the Lonely One. To Ptahor my mother gave the name of Old Monkey. You must bear these names if you have to die before leaving the palace. But I came up with your name.”
I thought he indeed must be sick and mad to talk thus wildly, though Ptahor had said that we must die if Pharaoh did, and the stauncher of blood believed it. My hair prickled on my scalp, and I raised my hand in rejection, for I did not wish to die.
The prince was panting intermittently, and his hands twitched, and he mumbled to himself. “I am restless,” he said. “I would be in some other place. It is my god revealing himself. I know it, but I am afraid. Stay with me, Lonely One, because the god crushes my body with his strength, and my tongue is in pain when he appears to me.”
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