Egypt Read Free Page A

fingers were heavy with valuable gold rings. He was famous for a series of verses, circulated anonymously some years ago, which daringly satirized Ay, once vizier, now King. Today such things would earn him summary execution.
    â€˜Friends, I have written a new poem,’ he announced ostentatiously. ‘It is a trifle, but perhaps I may impose it upon you…’
    A polite murmur of encouragement followed.
    â€˜I hope it is a cheerful one,’ said someone.
    â€˜There is no such thing as a cheerful poem,’ he replied. ‘Happiness writes in water, not ink.’
    Everyone nodded as if this was a very wise thing to say. He assumed his posture of poetic delivery, head tilted, fingers of the right hand raised, and when he had satisfied himself that he had everyone’s attentive silence, he intoned:
    Who can I trust today?
    Brothers are evil, and friends have no compassion .
    Hearts are greedy
    And each man steals
    His neighbour’s worldly goods .
    Compassion has perished ,
    Violence walks the ways ,
    Evil runs rampant
    Throughout the land–
    Evil, endless evil…
    And so it went on. When it was over, his cheerless dirge–which I thought truthful, but repetitive and not particularly original–was met with a worried silence, before the audience applauded hastily. Nakht sensed the mood of the evening was threatening to turn the wrong way.
    â€˜Remarkable poem. Concise, memorable and honest,’ he said.
    â€˜I see I have shocked you all a little. But to be a poet is to accept the responsibility of speaking the truth! No matter what the cost to my personal safety,’ said Hor, taking a deep, sustaining gulp from his cup of wine.
    â€˜Your relationship with the truth has always been a very flexible and accommodating one,’ said Nebi, a well-known architect, dressed in an expensive embroidered tunic.
    â€˜Of course it has, in matters of men and this world. I’m a poet, not a complete fool…’ Hor replied.
    â€˜But the truth itself is so complicated these days,’ said another.
    â€˜The truth is always the truth,’ said Nakht, smiling at his own triteness.
    Hor waved him away. ‘I can’t bear platitudes. They actually hurt my feelings,’ he said.
    All this talk of truth was making me want to go and do something useful.
    â€˜However, I have heard some interesting news, friends,’ continued Hor, smiling his evil little grin. The others huddled a little closer, checking over their shoulders to make sure no one else was listening. And then, after a carefully timed pause, the poet leaned forward, as if among conspirators, and in a theatrical whisper said: ‘ He will soon be with the Gods.’
    Everyone understood what he meant but could not say. Ay, the hated tyrant who ruled over the Two Lands, had long outlived the expectation of his natural life.
    â€˜But this is hardly new news. And even if he were to pass on, how would anyone really know? He’s looked dead for years…’ joked Nebi’s wife, to a little round of laughter.
    â€˜Mark my words. I have it on authority: it may be only weeks. And none of us will be laughing then.’
    The guests glanced at each other and shivered, as if the balmy evening air was suddenly running with strange, cold currents.
    â€˜So the moment we have all feared for so very long is about to arrive! The end of this great dynasty–and the end of the age of peace and prosperity!’ cried another, mournfully.
    â€˜And so at last comes General Horemheb’s chance,’ said Nebi. ‘And with it perhaps the end of the world as we have known it.’
    â€˜The general will claim more than the crowns. He will claim everything. And then he will do what he likes with us…’ said an older man, with his elegantly beautiful young wife sitting subserviently behind him.
    â€˜I heard he has a secret papyrus on which he has recorded a list of the names of all his enemies,