“Stay, that you may take note of what passes.”
Pharaoh, watching, saw if he did not hear.
“Who is that man, Son?” he asked.
“He is Ana my private scribe and librarian, O Pharaoh, whom I trust. It was he who saved me from harm but last night.”
“You say it, Son. Let him remain in attendance on you, knowing that if he betrays our council he dies.”
Userti looked up frowning as though she were about to speak. If so, she changed her mind and was silent, perhaps because Pharaoh’s word once spoken could not be altered. Bakenkhonsu remained also as a Councillor of the King according to his right.
When all had gone Pharaoh, who had been brooding, lifted his head and spoke slowly but in the voice of one who gives a judgment that may not be questioned, saying:
“Prince Seti, you are my only son born of Queen Ast-Nefert, royal Sister, royal Mother, who sleeps in the bosom of Osiris. It is true that you are not my first-born son, since the Count Ramessu”—here he pointed to a stout mild-faced man of pleasing, rather foolish appearance—“is your elder by two years. But, as he knows well, his mother, who is still with us, is a Syrian by birth and of no royal blood, and therefore he can never sit upon the throne of Egypt. Is it not so, my son Ramessu?”
“It is so, O Pharaoh,” answered the Count in a pleasant voice, “nor do I seek ever to sit upon that throne, who am well content with the offices and wealth that Pharaoh has been pleased to confer upon me, his first-born.”
“Let the words of the Count Ramessu be written down,” said Pharaoh, “and placed in the temple of Ptah of this city, and in the temples of Ptah at Memphis and of Amon at Thebes, that hereafter they may never be questioned.”