But the Prince, when he learned this, was plunged into the depths of wretchedness, and was discovered by his mother, Queen Tyi, in floods of tears. She raised him in her arms and kissed him tenderly, wiping away his tears with her hair; but when she had learned the cause of his sorrow, she smiled strangely to herself and promised her son that Kiya would soon be released. And so it proved, that very same day; nor was Kiya ever kept within the Harim walls again.
Indeed, from that time on, it seemed to the Prince that there was nothing which his mother could not achieve. Even the passage of the years seemed her slave, for unlike every other woman she appeared not to age, and her beauty remained in perpetual spring; but when the Prince asked her why, she would smile and touch her lips. Then it happened that one of the lions, who were by now all very old, fell sick so that even Pharaoh’s best physician, a man of great skill, despaired of its life. But Tyi, when the news was brought to her, came to the sick-bed where the dying lion lay, and as she knelt by its side it whimpered softly and lifted its head, trying to lick the hand of its mistress, but in vain. The Prince watched wonderingly as a single tear welled in his mother’s eye; and then she reached within her gown and drew out a flask. Within it there was a liquid, very sticky and black, and his mother poured it out between the lions unresisting jaws.
A minute passed - and the lion yawned. It stretched very slowly, then lumbered to its feet. Another yawn, and then suddenly it began to run, round and round, as though chasing the breeze, as though it were a cub and had never been sick at all.
Yet there were some griefs, the Prince was soon to learn, which not even his mother could ease away. Some years later, when he and Kiya were out upon the sands, one of the lions disappeared and could not be found until at last, after several days and nights of search, its corpse was discovered half-eaten by the birds. Its two companions approached it, and sniffed at its flanks; then they seemed to sigh, and slumped down, one on either side. The Prince sent a message at once to his mother, but although she hurried she arrived too late, for the lions were already dead, a tangled bundle with their fellow as they had so often been in life. Tyi ordered them buried; but even as the grave was dug, the Prince and Kiya clung to the lions’ sides, ears pressed to their hearts, as though in disbelief that there was nothing any longer to be heard. ‘Can you not bring them back?’ the Prince asked his mother, gazing at her despairingly as the bodies were laid within their graves. ‘Bring them back, as you did before.’
But his mother shook her head. ‘It is the way of the world. All things must die.’
‘Must I die?’
She gazed at her son strangely. ‘You are the descendant of a god,’ she said at last. ‘That makes you different.’
The Prince considered this a moment. ‘Then why can I not bring the lions back to life?’
His mother continued to stare at him a moment longer, a brittle smile now upon her lips, but then she turned to glance out at the burning red sands and her face grew suddenly as blank as the desert. ‘Because the gods,’ she murmured, ‘do not bring life but, to those who are not of their kind, only death.’ She turned back to face her son. ‘I tell you,’ she whispered, clasping him in her arms, ‘that the time will come when you, even you, will not only witness but bring death yourself- for that, as I have said, is the way of the world.’ Then she kissed him on the ruffled tangle of his hair, and on his lips, but did not talk to him again during all their journey back to the Palace.
Her words, though, remained with the Prince. He was afraid to share them with Kiya, who stayed silent and puffy-eyed upon her bed all that morning, as though his presence were reminding her of the beasts no longer there; and when he tried to rouse her she turned and curled up, staring at the wall. The Prince left her and sat for a while by the fountains, then rose and ran down to the side of the lake. He knew it was the habit of his grandfather Yuya, at such an hour, to take a walk along the path; and sure enough, hurrying to the lakeside, the Prince saw the familiar, much-loved figure of his grandfather ahead of him. Running to join him, he took the old man’s hand and they continued together, neither saying a word. At length, arriving by a spring beneath the shelter of a tree, Joseph halted and smiled, and sat himself down. ‘When she was a girl,’ he told the Prince, suddenly breaking the silence, ‘this was always your mother’s favourite place.’
The Prince nodded dumbly and sat down close by his grandfather’s side, clutching him tightly.
‘Tell me,’ said Joseph at last, feeling his grandson start to shake, ‘what is it, O my grandson, that is weighing on your heart?’
Still the Prince sat hugging him until at last, without looking up, he repeated what his mother had told him that morning.
Joseph sighed, so that it suddenly seemed to the Prince, watching his grandfather, that he was far more frail and old than he had ever realised. ‘Your mother,’ he said at last, ‘did not always think the power which rules this world to be so cruel.’
‘But what do you think?’
‘What have I always taught you? That there is only one God, and His rule is good.’
‘Yes.’ The Prince considered this. ‘So one of you must be wrong.’
Joseph shook his head smilingly and then rose to his feet, crossing out of the shade. ‘See the beauty of the sun!’ he exclaimed, pointing with his stick. ‘How blazing it is, how wondrous, how great! It burns high above every land of this earth, so that there is no one who could ever hope to approach it - and yet the power of its rays are here all about us! For by what other means do animals exist -- all the wild and beautiful creatures of this world, the birds which fly up in song into the sky, and the fish in the river and the lakes, skimming silver? And yet the sun is but the image of the One and Only God -- and so I say to you, O my grandson, yes, His works are good.’
The Prince thought of the lions, buried beneath the sands. ‘Then why must there be death?’
‘Only He Who sees all things can know all things as well.’ Joseph smiled, and half-cradled his grandson in his arms. ‘Do not think, though,’ he whispered, ‘that death itself cannot be a blessing and relief.’
‘How do you mean?’
But Joseph did not answer and the Prince gazed upwards in trepidation into his grandfather’s face, thinking of how the lions had looked when they were dead. ‘How do you mean?’ he whispered again.
‘I remember,’ said Joseph at last, ‘speaking to your grandfather, my friend, King Thoth-mes, of how a world so beautiful and various as this, so filled with pleasures and wonders and joys, should give us the strength to face death with bright hope. Yes, O my grandson’ -- he paused -- ‘I must die very soon, for I am old and weary, and my time is drawing near. Yet how can I doubt that all is for the best, when everywhere are the proofs of the goodness of the Creator, Who is brighter, more burning, more brilliant than the sun?’ He kissed his grandson lightly on his brow, then raised up his stick towards the sky. ‘When I am gone,’ he whispered, ‘look upon the sun, and remember what I have said. Live in truth, O my grandson, and let that be your motto - for you are called, I dare believe, to a high and wondrous purpose. Live in truth -- which is to say, blessed by the warmth and the light and the power of the All-High.’
And so saying, Joseph raised his eyes to gaze into the sun and the Prince did the same, and then they bowed their heads, for they could not endure the brightness; and the Prince vowed to himself that he would do as his grandfather had instructed. From that time on, it became his practice to walk with the old man as his helper every day, and he saw for himself, what Joseph would point out to him wherever they went, how infinite were the beauties and wonders of creation, all brought into being by the rays of the sun, and the All-Mighty who dwelt beyond the brightness of its disk.
Then it happened that Joseph grew very ill, and he could no longer rise and walk abroad with his grandson, and then one day he fell asleep and he never woke again. When the news was reported, there was great grief and wailing throughout the Palace, and all of Egypt, for there had never been a servant of Pharaoh so beloved as Joseph. A great line of mourners followed his body to his tomb, to see him laid to rest within the valley s stony depths, reunited at last for all time with his lost wife. But the Prince, as he watched the stone being lowered to seal the entrance to the tomb, thought of the birds as they rose above the rushes of the lake, and of the trees which had always sheltered his grandfather’s favourite spot; and he could no longer endure to remain in the valley. Instead he turned and ran, stumbling through its barren, lifeless rocks, ignoring all the cries and appeals of his mother, until at last he reached the paths where he had walked with his grandfather; and he thought again upon all which Joseph had taught.
So it was that from that time on he ignored the worship of every other god, and continued to roam with Kiya far and wide, admiring all the splendours illumined by the sun, wondering at all the living things, the animals and plants, from the giant hippopotamus to the tiniest petals on a flower, given life by the golden touch of its rays. He wondered at the fields with their clusters of wild poppies, their herds of patient cattle coated in softest, lushest mud. He wondered at the marshes, where the birds would flock as thick as the bullrushes, and snakes with fabulous patterns and flask-nosed crocodiles would lurk. He even wondered at the burning red sands, which all his countrymen detested and dreaded, for the memory of his lions still remained precious to him, and he knew it was in the desert that they had dwelt while they were free. For even in the desert, the sun provided life; and wherever there was life, there the young Prince would walk.
Yet it soon happened, such was the length of time he began to spend abroad, that his absences were brought to the attention of his father. King Amen-hetep straightaway sent for the Prince and was astonished, on seeing his son before him, to realise that he was on the verge of becoming a man, for his strength now seemed almost the equal of his beauty, which had always, since his earliest years, been wonderfully great. King Amen-hetep observed this with a strange sense of resentment, such as he did not at first altogether understand; and although he ordered his son to remain by his side, to see if he might not overcome his unease, he discovered instead that it was growing all the more. He did not care to have the Prince see him at his pleasures; he could not endure the sense of his son’s eye on his wine-cup, or on his fingers as he licked them clean of a sauce. Above all he could not endure to see his son with Queen Tyi; for the sight, in a strange way, would make him feel foolish, and conscious of his belly, and of how he was growing old.
But then it happened that King Amen-hetep was struck by an idea. He had long resented the burdens of kingship, which had begun to oppress him more and more since Joseph’s death, and so he resolved that his son should learn the duties of a Pharaoh, while he himself was left alone to the enjoyment of his court. So it was that the Prince was straightaway named regent, and to be sure he soon proved himself the finest kind of ruler, since he cared for the lives and fortunes of his subjects, he did not build colossal temples to himself, and he did not indulge in glamorous and pointless wars. Instead he travelled up and down the length of his country, always patient with the sufferings of the poor and the oppressed, always angered by the exposure of cruelties and bloodshed -- always seeking, in short, to do as he had vowed, both to himself and to Joseph ... to live in truth.
And then in time it happened that the Prince decided he would marry, for he desired to have Kiya by his side as his Queen; but the news, to his astonishment, met with a flat interdiction. Stirring himself from his couch, King Amen-hetep ordered his son to attend him in his throne room, where he instructed the Prince instead to marry his sister -- a command which the Prince indignantly refused. King Amen-hetep was at once thrown into a stupendous fury; but although he screamed, and grew red and began to shake, so that all the vast folds of his flesh began to quiver, the Prince would not give way.
‘Do as I command!’ King Amen-hetep screamed.
‘I shall not,’ replied the Prince.
‘I forbid you to marry Kiya!’
‘Of course, you may do so for now’ The Prince smiled grimly. ‘But the time will come, O my Father, when I am Pharaoh myself.’ And then he bowed, and turned and walked quietly away; and King Amen-hetep could only splutter. But Inen, who had been standing behind a pillar of the throne room, turned to his companion, the High Priest of Amen, and whispered something urgently into his ear; and the frowns upon the faces of both men grew deeper.
The following day, while the Prince was sitting with Kiya in the garden, he was approached by his mother, who embraced her niece fondly and then asked if she would leave her alone with her son. Kiya glanced towards the Prince, but then rose and slipped away. Tyi straightaway took her son by his arm, and begged him in a low, urgent voice to marry his eldest sister, so that he could then make her his Great Queen. She did not command him, as her husband had done, nor lose her temper; yet the Prince’s response, though polite, was the same. Still his mother pressed him, but he shook his head and laughed. ‘I am astonished,’ he exclaimed, ‘that you of all people should be asking me not to make Kiya my Great Queen. Why, you were not even Pharaoh’s cousin, yet you persuaded him to depose his sister in your favour.’
Tyi lowered her gaze. ‘That was different,’ she replied.
‘How?’
Tyi shrugged helplessly. ‘It was the will of the gods.’
‘Then maybe it is the will of the One God -- the God of your own father, do not forget - that I should marry Kiya and make her my Queen.’
Tyi shrugged helplessly again, and then she turned towards the colonnade and beckoned with a graceful gesture of her arm. The Prince watched as a priest emerged from the shadows and then, raising his hand to shade his gaze from the sun, he recognised the man as his uncle, Inen. He turned back to his mother. ‘If you cannot persuade me,’ he asked her, ‘then why do you think he will have any greater success?’