certain disapproval. At last I knew that until I had resolved the problem of the box I would get no sleep. Rising, I opened my chest, half-hoping that by some miracle the thing had vanished but no, it nestled comfortably under my folded kilts like some unwanted parasite. With a sinking heart I lifted it and placed it on my knees as I sat on the edge of my couch.
It would have been impossible to untie all the curious knots that held its lid tightly closed. If I had wanted to examine the contents, I would have had to take a knife and slice through the hemp, but, of course, I could not have brought myself to break into something that did not belong to me, was not intended for my eyes. Yet I longed to do so. Perhaps in her delusion the woman had filled the box with stones and feathers, twigs and handfuls of grain, imagining that she was enclosing the story of her life. Perhaps she could indeed write a few halting words and had scrawled the doubtless pitiful details of her life in the pathetic hope that the Lord of All Life might be impressed, or worse, had made up a story of plot and persecution out of her madness. Even so, I had not been given permission to open the box. What would happen to a luckless messenger who managed to have the box delivered to the palace and who saw Pharaoh open it only to find rubbish of one sort or another inside? Probably only ridicule, the sharp edge of the illustrious royal tongue, the titters of the surrounding courtiers. I could easily imagine myself standing before the Horus Throne, although the details of the audience chamber and the throne itself were, of course, vague in my mind as I had never seen either. I could see the divine fingers holding the jewelled knife, slicing through the knots, lifting the lid. I could hear the condescending laughter as the King extracted—what? A few stones? A grubby piece of stolen papyrus? I could also hear my career go sliding into oblivion and I groaned. My principles would not allow me to throw the box away or open it and I could not possibly give it to someone else to be made a fool of in front of the Good God. I considered asking my father for advice but discarded the idea. I knew him too well. He would tell me that the responsibility was mine not his, that I was no longer a child, that I should not have accepted the box in the first place. He already saw my judgement as faulty and believed that it was only a matter of time before I was forced to change my mind regarding my decision to become a soldier. This stupid act of mine would simply reinforce his opinion of me. I knew he loved me fiercely, but I wanted to make him proud of me also. I would not approach him with this matter.
That left only my General. I would take the box to him tomorrow, explain to him what had happened, suffer his annoyance or amusement. I remembered that the woman had implored me not to say anything about it to Paiis, but how sane was her request anyway? It was impossible that she should know anything about him but his name. The relief I felt at having made the decision was immediate and overwhelming. Laying the box on the floor, I climbed back under my sheets. Wepwawet seemed to watch my movements with a fatuous satisfaction. I was asleep within moments.
Setau woke me an hour before dawn and I rose, ate a light meal, and dressed myself in the uniform of my position as an officer in the house of the General. The spotless kilt, the oiled leather belt with its burden of dagger and sword, the white linen helmet, the plain armband denoting my status, gave me a feeling of belonging and I put them on with pride. Slipping on my sandals and tucking gauntlets into my belt, I picked up the box and left the house.
The garden was still hushed and dark but the moon had set, and in the east a thin ribbon of red divided the land from the sky. Nut was about to give birth to Ra in a gush of blood. I could have descended our watersteps and taken the skiff, but I was not in danger of being late
It would have been impossible to untie all the curious knots that held its lid tightly closed. If I had wanted to examine the contents, I would have had to take a knife and slice through the hemp, but, of course, I could not have brought myself to break into something that did not belong to me, was not intended for my eyes. Yet I longed to do so. Perhaps in her delusion the woman had filled the box with stones and feathers, twigs and handfuls of grain, imagining that she was enclosing the story of her life. Perhaps she could indeed write a few halting words and had scrawled the doubtless pitiful details of her life in the pathetic hope that the Lord of All Life might be impressed, or worse, had made up a story of plot and persecution out of her madness. Even so, I had not been given permission to open the box. What would happen to a luckless messenger who managed to have the box delivered to the palace and who saw Pharaoh open it only to find rubbish of one sort or another inside? Probably only ridicule, the sharp edge of the illustrious royal tongue, the titters of the surrounding courtiers. I could easily imagine myself standing before the Horus Throne, although the details of the audience chamber and the throne itself were, of course, vague in my mind as I had never seen either. I could see the divine fingers holding the jewelled knife, slicing through the knots, lifting the lid. I could hear the condescending laughter as the King extracted—what? A few stones? A grubby piece of stolen papyrus? I could also hear my career go sliding into oblivion and I groaned. My principles would not allow me to throw the box away or open it and I could not possibly give it to someone else to be made a fool of in front of the Good God. I considered asking my father for advice but discarded the idea. I knew him too well. He would tell me that the responsibility was mine not his, that I was no longer a child, that I should not have accepted the box in the first place. He already saw my judgement as faulty and believed that it was only a matter of time before I was forced to change my mind regarding my decision to become a soldier. This stupid act of mine would simply reinforce his opinion of me. I knew he loved me fiercely, but I wanted to make him proud of me also. I would not approach him with this matter.
That left only my General. I would take the box to him tomorrow, explain to him what had happened, suffer his annoyance or amusement. I remembered that the woman had implored me not to say anything about it to Paiis, but how sane was her request anyway? It was impossible that she should know anything about him but his name. The relief I felt at having made the decision was immediate and overwhelming. Laying the box on the floor, I climbed back under my sheets. Wepwawet seemed to watch my movements with a fatuous satisfaction. I was asleep within moments.
Setau woke me an hour before dawn and I rose, ate a light meal, and dressed myself in the uniform of my position as an officer in the house of the General. The spotless kilt, the oiled leather belt with its burden of dagger and sword, the white linen helmet, the plain armband denoting my status, gave me a feeling of belonging and I put them on with pride. Slipping on my sandals and tucking gauntlets into my belt, I picked up the box and left the house.
The garden was still hushed and dark but the moon had set, and in the east a thin ribbon of red divided the land from the sky. Nut was about to give birth to Ra in a gush of blood. I could have descended our watersteps and taken the skiff, but I was not in danger of being late
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