In the thirtieth year, the month Paophi, the seventh day the god entered
his horizon, the king Sehotepabra flew up to heaven and joined the sun's
disc, the follower of the god met his maker. The palace was silenced,
and in mourning, the great gates were closed, the courtiers crouching
on the ground, the people in hushed mourning.
His majesty had sent a great army with the nobles to the land of the
Temehu (Lybia), his son and heir, the good god king Usertesen as their
leader. Now he was returning, and had brought away living captives and
all kinds of cattle without end. The councillors of the palace had sent
to the West to let the king know the matter that had come to pass in the
inner hall. The messenger was to meet him on the road, and reach him at
the time of evening: the matter was urgent. "A hawk had soared with his
followers." Thus said he, not to let the army know of it Even if the
royal sons who commanded in that army send a message, he was not to
speak to a single one of them. But I was standing near, and heard his
voice while he was speaking. I fled far away, my heart beating, my arms
failing, trembling had fallen on all my limbs. I turned about in running
to seek a place to hide me, and I threw myself between two bushes, to
wait while they should pass by.
THE FLIGHT
Then I turned me toward the south, not from wishing to come into this
palace--for I knew not if war was declared--nor even thinking a wish to
live after this sovereign,
I turned my back to the sycamore, I reached Shi-Seneferu, and rested on
the open field.
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