The Egyptologist - Arthur Phillips [151]
Journal: Post, bank, cats.
Wednesday, 6 December, 1922
Journal: Post, bank, cats.
WALL PANEL H: “THE HYKSOS RENEW THEIR OFFENSIVE”
Text: Despite Ma’at’s visit, vicious beasts still caroused in the king’s belly. The Hyksos chief was a quiet man but arrogant, dressed in gold. Word reached the Hyksos chief that the great Atum-hadu was weakened by his infirmity and that the better half of the country was now vulnerable again after a decade of bold defence. The Hyksos swept into the [Upper Kingdom]. The battles were fierce, and Atum-hadu led his troops when he was able. He fought like a lion, except he was often cut down by the pain in his belly or forced to turn his back and squat.
Even now, Atum-hadu could still have conquered the Hyksos. But in this time of most desperate need, the king was unable to find his Master of Largesse, that vulva of a whore. The king’s enemy had vanished, stealing the queen away with him.
And soon the Hyksos victory would be assured.
Illustrations: Most affecting to the viewer is the sight of the Master of Largesse, pulling the queen by her hair, imprisoning her as Atum-hadu hunts for her in vain.
Journal: I have worked on translating and transcribing the inscriptions all day again. Remarkable what Budge’s unwieldy dictionary does not include, and to recall that he had the gall to criticise my translations in Desire and Deceit. Post, bank, cats.
Thursday, 7 December, 1922
Journal: Cats, bank, post.
WALL PANEL I: “THE APPROACHING END OF THE BLACK LAND”
Text: The capital was silent. The people kept their heads on their knees. Desires were weak. And still Atum-hadu demanded music, joy, women. Often he returned from battle, his armour dripping red on the floors, and he strode into the palace and had two slave girls as other men have a drink of water, then demanded a brush to compose verse. He inspired those of the court who had decided to carry pleasure to the end of time, and again the court sang with desperate happiness. Hyksos spies returned to their little king and told him that the enemy would never surrender. If the army fought as his court loved, perhaps this would have been true.
“The end of everything is coming,” Atum-hadu told them, and the word was passed all over the court, and there was weeping and fear and also the sound of acrobats and lovers and music. “The end of everything is coming.”
Illustration: The king in battle is a magnificent sight. He stands in a war chariot. Typical of Egyptian illustrations, he is shown much larger than his enemies, who barely reach his knee, while in the background, the dapper leader of the Hyksos shivers with fear and consternation. Also typical of Egyptian war-art, Atum-hadu is shown accompanied in his chariot by his forebears, previous kings of Egypt, all of whom (though smaller than he) urge him on.
Journal: Cats. Bank, post: nothing and nothing.
My father’s friends were all military men, generals and high officers, soldiers retired and active. I did not know it as a boy, of course, since I knew them merely as Uncle Bunny or Old Lloyd, and only later would I learn that Uncle Bunny had crushed such-and-such Khan in the Afghan fighting. But when I knew him, he was just a fine old fellow in hunting tweeds who thought nothing of letting me paint his face all black so I could be Pharaoh and he my African enemy. Biographies immortalise all these old warriors as lamb-gentle (despite being bloodied in Victoria’s wars all over the globe, serving as her stern viceroys, holding restive natives in their place with a firm English hand). But at Trilipush Hall the biographers were accurate. I remember one or another eye-patched hero of the Empire on his knees in the mud with me, bandaging the paw of one of the hounds