Out of the Black Land - By Kerry Greenwood Page 0,64

six digits in a palm, and there are six palms in a cubit. The measure of the world is the measure of a human,’ he added, quoting another wise scribe.

Merope continued:

He spends a month in laying the beams and spreading the roofing material. All his work is done, but his wife and children are hungry while he is away.

The bricklayer is in pain. He works outside in the wind with no garment but a cord for his back and a string for his buttocks. He is so exhausted by his labour that he can hardly see, and he eats with his filthy hands.

But I have seen the bricklayers, Teacher. They seem happy enough, even if they are naked. They sing. And at night they get drunk and sing more. Just under our window, where they are building the new rooms,’ commented Merope, puzzled.

‘That is true, my pupil, but this is a satire. It exaggerates for the purpose of making a point.’

‘The point being that Dua-Khety wants to make his son decide that a scribe’s life is the best?’ I reasoned. Teacher Khons nodded.

‘But he’s lying,’ I said. ‘I mean, exaggerating. That is not the way to make a proper argument. The Maxims of Ptah-hotep which you made us read last decan say:

Truth is great and its effectiveness endures forever; it has not been confounded since the time of Osiris.

Khons sighed. ‘A little colouring is necessary even for truth,’ he told me. ‘Do you not remember the Tale of Truth and Falsehood?’

‘No,’ we said, hoping to escape more of the Satire of Trades. Khons obliged:

Truth came home one day, naked and wounded, having been beaten and cursed by the people who did not wish to hear, while his brother Falsehood went dressed in the brightest garments and feasted with every household.

‘What shall I do?’ cried Truth to the gods. ‘No man wishes to hear me and all beat me and throw things at me; look, I am covered with dung.’

‘You are naked,’ said the goddess Maat, sympathetically. ‘No naked one can command respect. Therefore take these robes and you will walk without fear and all men will sit at your feet to hear your stories.’ And she dressed Truth in Fable’s garments, and he was welcome at every house.

‘What’s a fable?’ asked Merope, who also did not like the Satire of Trades. Khons smiled and began:

The lion summoned all beasts to come to his court.

All animals attended, except for the desert fox, the clever, sand-coloured slinker who steals rather than fights. The lion waited, and still the fox did not come to offer obeisance.

At last the lion left his cave and came to the fox saying, ‘Why have you not come to offer your obeisance to me?’

The Fox replied, ‘I judged that it would not have been good for my health. I have seen many tracks going into your cave, Lord, but none coming out.’

‘And that is a fable about…what?’ I asked.

‘The nature of government,’ replied Khons shortly. ‘The Satire of Trades, Princess Merope, if you please.’

The message-carrier leaves on his journey after giving his property to his children, as he does not know if he will return. He is always afraid of lions and ambushes. He only relaxes his vigilance when he returns to Egypt, and by then his house is only a tent. He does not come home to a feast.

Why not?’ asked Merope. ‘Even if he did give his property to his children, wouldn’t they be pleased to see him again?’

‘Perhaps we should read something else,’ said our Teacher. ‘The satire might be too sophisticated an art-form for you literal young women.’

‘Good speech is as rare as malachite, yet can be heard in the conversation of slave women at the millstone,’ I quoted from the Maxims of Ptah-hotep, and Khons laughed.

‘On second thought, we will write,’ he ordered, and we took our writing boards and opened the pot of ink. I found my favourite stylus in the bunch and Merope sanded away her previous essay with pumice.

‘What shall we write about?’

‘The festival of the new year,’ said Khons. ‘Did you have a good feast, little Princesses?’

‘Wonderful,’ declared Merope. ‘I love roasted duck and I had a whole one to myself. But I didn’t get to see it as well as my sister, because she had enough wisdom to be swept away by the crowd and lifted up by the Nubian of the Great Royal Scribe Ptah-hotep may he live. Why are we having lessons, anyway, teacher? It’s only