Westcar Papyrus Stories

Story of Ubaoner the Lector Priest

The relentless sun beat down upon the parched sands of Memphis, baking the flat-roofed houses like clay bricks in a kiln. Inside the cool, dimly lit chambers of the esteemed lector priest Ubaoner, tension crackled thicker than the summer heat. Ubaoner, a man known for his meticulous study of sacred texts, his voice a steady drone in the temple halls, was a storm cloud gathering within the confines of his own home. Whispers tinged with laughter and stolen glances had reached his stoic ears, painting a picture far from the life he envisioned with his wife Reniseneb.

Reniseneb, a woman whose emerald eyes held a glint of rebellion, whose laughter echoed like wind chimes in a desert oasis, had become a stranger within their own walls. Ubaoner, consumed by his duties to the temple and the pharaoh, had failed to notice the withering of their love, the blossoming desire in Reniseneb's eyes for another. The culprit, a young scribe named Djekre, flitted through the city streets with an arrogance that chafed Ubaoner even further.

One blistering afternoon, as Ubaoner painstakingly deciphered a crumbling papyrus scroll, a glint of golden sunlight caught his eye. It emanated from a figurine of a crocodile, meticulously crafted from beeswax. Ubaoner, a man of knowledge steeped in the arcane arts, recognized the potential for a potent spell. His heart, once filled with reverence for his wife, now burned with a cold fury.

Fueled by a vengeful fire, Ubaoner meticulously chanted ancient incantations over the waxen crocodile. He imbued the figurine with a life force, a silent predator waiting to be unleashed. His trusted caretaker, a wizened man named Nebmaat, watched with a mixture of fear and morbid curiosity as Ubaoner whispered the final incantation. "Come alive when touched by water, and bring your target to a watery embrace."

That night, as the full moon cast an ethereal glow upon the Nile, Djekre, his heart pounding with anticipation, approached Reniseneb's window. A prearranged signal, a jasmine flower placed by the windowsill, confirmed his rendezvous. Unaware of the silent hunter lurking in the shadows, Djekre slipped through the window, oblivious to the fate that awaited him.

Reniseneb, her eyes sparkling with a forbidden thrill, met Djekre in a secluded part of the garden. Their conversation, filled with hushed words and stolen kisses, was abruptly interrupted by a chilling hiss. Before their startled eyes, the waxen crocodile, inert moments ago, writhed with a life of its own. With a ferocious growl, it lunged towards Djekre, its sharp teeth gleaming under the pale moonlight.

Djekre's screams echoed through the night as the crocodile, imbued with unnatural strength, dragged him towards a small stream bordering the estate. The terrified man fought back, but the magic that bound the crocodile rendered him powerless. With a final yelp, he was pulled under the murky water, the ripples on the surface the only sign of the struggle that had transpired.

Ubaoner, driven by a morbid curiosity, watched the scene unfold from a hidden vantage point. A grim satisfaction filled him as he witnessed Djekre's demise. The next morning, as the rising sun painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, Ubaoner stood before the pharaoh Nebka, who was on a royal visit to Memphis.

Nebka, a towering figure with a hawk-like nose and a commanding presence, had earned his reputation as a just and decisive ruler. Ubaoner, with a practiced air of composure, narrated the night's events, omitting his role in the crocodile's animation. The pharaoh, intrigued by the fantastical tale, demanded proof.

Ubaoner, his heart hammering in his chest, walked towards the stream. With a few whispered words, he commanded the crocodile to return. The water churned, and the monstrous figure emerged, its glistening scales reflecting the morning sunlight. Djekre's lifeless form dangled from its jaws.

The pharaoh, his face a mask of stoicism, turned towards Ubaoner. "A fitting punishment for adultery," he declared, his voice a low rumble. "But justice demands another sacrifice." Before Ubaoner could react, Nebka ordered the crocodile to complete its task. The predator lunged forward the sound of snapping bones the only lament for Djekre's demise.

Ubaoner, the initial satisfaction replaced by a chilling dread, watched as the pharaoh demanded Reniseneb's presence. As the woman entered, her eyes wide with terror, Nebka pronounced her sentence. He condemned her to a fiery demise, a punishment reserved for those who betrayed their wedding vows.

Reniseneb's pleas for mercy were drowned out by the crackling flames that consumed her. Ubaoner, numb with a sense of horrifying consequence, stood witness to the destruction he had wrought. The once vibrant world around him seemed muted, painted in shades of ash and despair. The crocodile, its task complete, slithered back into the murky depths, leaving behind a trail of destruction.

News of the pharaoh's ruthless judgement spread like wildfire through Memphis. Whispers turned to fearful pronouncements, painting Ubaoner not as a wronged husband, but as a callous man who had unleashed a tempestuous vengeance. The weight of his actions pressed down on him, stealing his breath and shattering his peace of mind.

Days bled into weeks, each sunrise a stark reminder of his folly. Ubaoner, a man who had always sought solace in the predictability of rituals, found himself adrift in a sea of regret. The once cherished silence of his home now echoed with the deafening hollowness of his loss.

One starlit night, unable to bear the suffocating silence any longer, Ubaoner ventured out to the banks of the Nile. The moon cast a shimmering path on the water, a stark contrast to the turmoil within him. He knelt by the very spot where Reniseneb had met her fiery end.

With a choked sob, Ubaoner chanted a desperate plea, begging for a chance to undo the wrongs he had committed. His voice, laden with grief, echoed across the silent water. But the only response was the gentle lapping of waves against the shore.

As dawn approached, casting a faint light upon the eastern horizon, Ubaoner rose, his shoulders slumped in defeat. He knew, with a chilling certainty, that the tranquility he craved would forever elude him. The weight of his actions, a constant reminder of his vengeance, would be a permanent scar on his soul.

Ubaoner returned to his empty home, a broken man. The meticulously inscribed scrolls that had once brought him comfort now held no solace. His life, once a testament to order and devotion, was now a chilling chronicle of loss and despair.

The story of Ubaoner, the lector who dabbled in dark magic, served as a cautionary tale for generations to come. It was a stark reminder of the perilous consequences of vengeance, a chilling testament to the truth that true peace can only be found in forgiveness and acceptance.

Story 2

Story of Sneferu and the Oar Maidens

The afternoon sun beat down mercilessly upon the grand courtyard of Pharaoh Sneferu's palace. The once vibrant energy that pulsed through the air had given way to a stifling stillness. The pharaoh, a man accustomed to wielding absolute power, slumped on his throne, a bored frown etched upon his face.

Sneferu, a faraoh renowned for his architectural ingenuity – the Bent Pyramid at Dahshur stood as a testament to his vision – was now weary of the weight of his crown. The daily audiences, the endless petitions, the pressing matters of state – all seemed to blur into a monotonous routine. He craved a diversion, a sliver of joy to pierce the veil of his ennui.

As if sensing his master's discontent, Djadjaemankh, the chief lector priest, shuffled forward. His aged body, draped in linen robes, moved with the measured grace of a man who had spent his life navigating the intricacies of rituals and ancient lore. Djadjaemankh, a trusted confidante and advisor, was more than just a priest; he was the keeper of secrets, the weaver of tales, the one who held the key to unlocking the pharaoh's amusement.

"My Pharaoh," Djadjaemankh said, his voice a low rasp, "why does such a shadow cloud your countenance? The sun may beat down, but surely there is amusement to be found within the grand walls of your palace."

Sneferu sighed, a weary sound that echoed through the vast hall. "Djadjaemankh, my friend," he confessed, "boredom gnaws at me like a persistent desert wind. I have feasted, I have hunted, I have overseen the construction of monuments that will touch the heavens. Yet, all pleasure seems to have evaporated, leaving behind a dull ache."

Djadjaemankh's eyes, though aged, twinkled with a spark of amusement. "Pharaoh," he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, "what if I told you there was a way to experience the palace from a new perspective, a way to invigorate your senses and stir your spirit?"

Sneferu's ears perked up. "Intrigue me, old friend," he commanded.

Djadjaemankh bowed low. "On the shores of the palace lake," he began, his voice weaving a tapestry of words, "rests a fleet of boats, each crafted from the finest cedar wood and polished to a gleaming shine. But these are no ordinary vessels, Pharaoh. Imagine, if you will, twenty of the most beautiful women in the entire kingdom, their laughter echoing like wind chimes, their movements as graceful as swaying papyrus reeds. Let them be your oarsmen, their strokes propelling you across the cool waters of the lake as the setting sun paints the sky in hues of amber and gold."

Sneferu's frown melted away, replaced by a spark of interest. The image Djadjaemankh conjured – a vibrant flotilla propelled by beauty itself – was a welcome departure from the monotony of his court. "A most intriguing notion," he conceded, a hint of his old vigor returning to his voice. "But tell me, Djadjaemankh, how can we ensure that these maidens are not only beautiful but also skilled in the art of rowing?"

Djadjaemankh, ever the pragmatist, bowed again. "Leave that to your humble servant, Pharaoh. I know just the place to find such talented women."

True to his word, Djadjaemankh did not disappoint. Within days, twenty young women, each possessing a charm that could rival the most exquisite lotus flower, were ushered into the palace grounds. Their laughter, as they curtseyed before the Pharaoh, filled the air with a melody sweeter than any court musician could produce.

Sneferu, his senses awakened, watched with approval as the women, clad in flowing white garments, approached the boats. Djadjaemankh had not exaggerated. Their movements were as graceful as gazelles, their smiles as radiant as the morning sun. He envisioned himself gliding across the lake, surrounded by such beauty, and a genuine smile touched his lips for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

The women, under Djadjaemankh's watchful eye, took their positions on the boats. He had ensured they were well-rehearsed in the art of rowing, their strokes synchronized and efficient. Twenty handcrafted oars, inlaid with ivory and gleaming in the afternoon sun, were placed in their hands. But as they dipped the oars into the water, a commotion erupted.

A young woman, her eyes filled with tears, emerged from the group. Hetpet, as she was called, a girl with skin the color of burnished copper and eyes that mirrored the Nile, wailed that a precious amulet, a turquoise fish pendant that had been in her family for generations, had slipped from its string and plunged into the depths of the lake.

The amulet, a simple object to most, held immense sentimental value for Hetpet. It was a reminder of her childhood, a token of love from her late grandmother. The other women, their initial excitement dampened by Hetpet's distress, refused to row until their friend's treasure was retrieved.

Sneferu, momentarily frustrated by this unforeseen complication, watched as Djadjaemankh approached the distraught Hetpet. The old priest spoke to her in a soothing voice, his words carrying the weight of experience and empathy. Hetpet's sobs subsided, replaced by a glimmer of hope in her tear-filled eyes.

Djadjaemankh then turned to the Pharaoh, a knowing glint in his eye. With a wave of his hand and a muttered incantation, Djadjaemankh performed a feat that left everyone around him awestruck. He seemed to push aside the water itself, creating a temporary passage that led to the lakebed. There, nestled amongst the smooth stones and swaying aquatic plants, lay Hetpet's precious amulet.

Djadjaemankh, with another wave of his hand, caused the water to return to its normal state. He then retrieved the amulet and presented it to Hetpet, a triumphant smile on his face. Hetpet's eyes welled up with tears once more, this time tears of gratitude. She embraced the amulet tightly, muttering a silent thank you to the heavens.

Relief washed over the gathering. Hetpet's cries were replaced by joyous chatter as the other women consoled her. Djadjaemankh, ever the master of ceremonies, addressed the Pharaoh with a courteous bow. "The path is clear, Your Majesty. Shall we embark on your aquatic adventure?"

Sneferu, his initial annoyance replaced by a newfound appreciation for Djadjaemankh's resourcefulness, boomed with laughter. "Indeed, old friend! Let us set sail and enjoy the cool embrace of the lake."

With renewed enthusiasm, the women boarded the boats once more. This time, their strokes were imbued with a newfound energy, their laughter echoing across the water like wind chimes carried on a gentle breeze. Sneferu, seated in the lead vessel, reveled in the spectacle. The rhythmic lapping of the water against the sides of the boat, the cool spray that kissed his face, the symphony of feminine voices – it was a sensory experience unlike any he had encountered before.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the water, Sneferu felt a weight lift from his shoulders. The boredom that had plagued him for so long had vanished, replaced by a sense of childlike wonder. He watched, mesmerized, as the sky transformed into a breathtaking canvas of fiery oranges, deep purples, and streaks of gold.

The women rowed on, their movements synchronized and graceful. Sneferu realized, with a pang of belated understanding, that their initial reluctance had not stemmed from a lack of skill, but from a depth of loyalty that surprised him. Hetpet's distress had resonated with them, and they had refused to partake in the merriment until their friend was whole again.

As the first stars began to twinkle in the darkening sky, Sneferu called for the women to return to the shore. A gentle melancholy settled over him as he disembarked, the afterglow of the experience lingering in the air. He had sought amusement, but he had found something far more profound – a reminder of the importance of compassion, of the beauty that lay in human connection.

That night, Sneferu slept soundly, the rhythmic lapping of the waves a soothing lullaby against his window. The following day, he summoned Hetpet to his court. Not to reprimand her for causing a delay, but to commend her for the strength of her character and the loyalty of her companions. He bestowed upon her a gift – a golden necklace adorned with a lapis lazuli pendant, a token of his appreciation for the unexpected joy she had brought into his life.

The story of Sneferu's boat ride with the twenty maidens became a well-told tale within the palace walls. It served as a reminder that even a Pharaoh, burdened by the weight of power, could find solace in the simplest of pleasures, in the beauty of nature, and in the unwavering loyalty of his people. It was a testament to the fact that true happiness often resided not in grand gestures, but in the quiet moments of connection and shared experience.

Story 3

The story of Prophet Dedi

Beneath the relentless glare of the midday sun, the marketplace of Memphis thrummed with life. Merchants hawked their wares, children chased each other through the throng, and the rhythmic clanging of metal filled the air. Amidst the cacophony of haggling vendors and braying donkeys, a man named Dedi moved with a quiet confidence. Dedi, though unassuming in appearance, was whispered about throughout the city. Legends swirled around him, tales of his otherworldly abilities – the power to mend the broken, to tame the wild, and to unlock the secrets of the divine.

These whispers reached the ears of Prince Hordjedef, son of the Pharaoh Khufu himself. Hordjedef, a man of keen intellect and a thirst for knowledge, was captivated by the stories surrounding Dedi. He yearned to witness these fantastical feats firsthand and nudged his father, the Pharaoh, towards summoning Dedi to the grand court.

Intrigued by the tales of this so-called miracle worker, Khufu, a Pharaoh known for his stoicism and thirst for power, decided to put Dedi's abilities to the test. He dispatched Hordjedef with a simple yet chilling command: "Bring Dedi before me. And let him be prepared to demonstrate the wonders they speak of."

Hordjedef, equal parts apprehensive and excited, ventured into the bustling marketplace. He found Dedi amidst a throng of people, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the frenetic energy around him. Hordjedef, with the air of a prince accustomed to wielding authority, relayed the Pharaoh's summons.

Dedi, his eyes glinting with an inner wisdom, bowed low. "I am at the Pharaoh's command," he replied, his voice a steady murmur.

The journey to the Pharaoh's court was a stark contrast to the teeming marketplace. Hordjedef and Dedi walked along a path lined with towering pylons and sphinxes, their imposing presence a constant reminder of the Pharaoh's absolute power. As they approached the grand audience hall, Dedi, ever the observant soul, took in the intricate carvings that adorned the walls, each hieroglyph whispering stories of gods and kings.

Khufu, a man of imposing stature and a gaze that could curdle milk, sat upon his throne. The air crackled with anticipation as Dedi prostrated himself before the Pharaoh. Khufu, wasting no time on pleasantries, issued his challenge. "Dedi," he boomed, his voice echoing through the vast hall, "they speak of your extraordinary abilities. Today, you will have the opportunity to prove them."

With a flick of his wrist, Khufu signaled his guards. Two burly men emerged, dragging a terrified goose, a duck with feathers the color of polished obsidian, and a magnificent bull with a coat the black of a moonless night. At Khufu's ruthless command, the guards severed the heads from their respective bodies in one swift, brutal motion.

A wave of nausea washed over Hordjedef, but Dedi remained composed. He approached the lifeless creatures, his eyes filled with a quiet concentration. From a pouch hanging from his shoulder, he produced a strange concoction – a mixture of herbs and oils that gave off an otherworldly aroma. With practiced movements, he applied the concoction to the wounds, chanting cryptic words in a language that seemed to belong to a forgotten era.

The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on. Then, to the gasps of the assembled courtiers, a miracle unfolded. Slowly, almost hesitantly, the heads twitched, then lurched back towards their bodies. A low moan escaped the goose's beak, the duck quacked in surprise, and the bull let out a mighty bellow. Khufu, his stoic facade momentarily cracking, stared in disbelief. The impossible had happened before his very eyes.

Having witnessed this awe-inspiring display, Khufu's curiosity was piqued. He turned back to Dedi, his voice tinged with a newfound respect. "Dedi," he rumbled, "tales also speak of your knowledge of the divine. Tell me, do you know the number of secret chambers hidden within the grand shrine of Thoth?"

Dedi, unfazed by the Pharaoh's scrutiny, met his gaze head-on. "Great Pharaoh," he replied, his voice steady, "the number of chambers within the shrine is not for me to know. But I can tell you where this knowledge resides."

Khufu, intrigued by this cryptic response, leaned forward on his throne. "Explain yourself, Dedi," he commanded.

Dedi rose to his full height, his eyes seeming to pierce through the opulent surroundings. "Within the womb of the woman Rededjet," he declared, his voice echoing through the hushed hall, "rests the answer to your query. She carries not one, but three future kings. The firstborn amongst them holds the key to unlocking the secrets of the shrine."

A stunned silence descended upon the court. Khufu, a man who reveled in wielding power, was confronted with a prophecy – a glimpse into the future that lay outside his control. The names whispered amongst the courtiers – Rededjet, the unknown woman, and the three unborn kings – hung heavy in the air, pregnant with possibility.

Hordjedef, ever the strategist, recognized the significance of Dedi's words. This prophecy spoke of a transition of power, the dawn of a new dynasty. The arrogance that often colored his father's demeanor seemed to falter for a moment, replaced by a flicker of something akin to awe.

Khufu, after a long pause that stretched into an eternity, finally broke the silence. "An intriguing prophecy, Dedi," he said, his voice gruff but laced with a hint of grudging respect. "But prophecies are fickle things. Only time will tell if your words hold weight."

Dedi bowed low once more. "Time, Pharaoh," he replied, "is a river that flows ever onward. It reveals all in its own due course."

The audience was dismissed, leaving Hordjedef and Dedi alone in the vast hall. Hordjedef, his mind abuzz with the implications of Dedi's prophecy, approached the man who had turned the court upside down.

"Dedi," he said, his voice filled with a newfound respect, "you have spoken of a future yet to unfold. Can you tell me more about these three kings, about the destiny that awaits them?"

Dedi studied Hordjedef for a long moment, his eyes seeming to see through to the very core of the prince. "The path of destiny, young prince," he finally said, "is a winding one, filled with both triumphs and tribulations. What I can tell you is this: the first king, Userkaf, will usher in an era of relative peace and prosperity. He will be a builder, a man who will leave his mark on the land."

Hordjedef leaned in, eager to glean more knowledge. "And the others?" he pressed.

Dedi shook his head, a hint of a sad smile playing on his lips. "Their stories, prince, are yet to be written. The future is a tapestry woven with countless threads, each choice shaping the grand design."

Hordjedef, though disappointed not to hear more, understood. The future was a mysterious force, and Dedi, it seemed, was content to be its observer rather than its author.

As Dedi took his leave of the Pharaoh's court, his encounter with Khufu left an indelible mark. The prophecy had cast a long shadow, a reminder that even the most powerful Pharaoh was but a player on a stage far grander than he could have imagined. The story of Dedi, the miracle worker, became woven into the lore of the kingdom, a testament to the enduring power of prophecy and the ever-turning wheel of fate.

Story of Userkaf's Divine Birth

News of Rededjet, the woman carrying the future of Egypt within her womb, spread like wildfire throughout the kingdom. Whispers of the prophecy swirled in marketplaces, temples, and even the grand halls of the Pharaoh's court. Rededjet, once an unassuming woman, found herself thrust into the spotlight, the weight of expectation a heavy burden on her slender shoulders.

As the days turned into weeks, the anticipation within the palace walls reached a fever pitch. Khufu, the once stoic Pharaoh, became increasingly restless. The prophecy, a challenge to his absolute power, gnawed at him. He longed to know the fate that awaited him and his dynasty, a desire that bordered on obsession.

Meanwhile, Rededjet, guided by wise women and cloaked in secrecy, prepared for the momentous birth. On the day her labor began, the very heavens seemed to acknowledge the significance of the event. The sun blazed more brightly than usual, casting an ethereal glow upon the land. A gentle breeze whispered through the palm trees, carrying the sweet scent of jasmine and anticipation.

Unbeknownst to Rededjet, the great god Ra, the sun god and ruler of all creation, had taken a personal interest in this birth. He understood the pivotal role these three children would play in shaping the destiny of Egypt. Therefore, he commanded five powerful goddesses to descend from the heavens and attend Rededjet during her labor.

Isis, the goddess of motherhood and protector of women, led the way. Her presence filled the birthing chamber with a sense of calm and unwavering strength. Nephthys, Isis's sister and the goddess of childbirth, stood by Rededjet's side, offering comfort and guidance. Meskhenet, the goddess of fate, wove the threads of destiny for the unborn children, ensuring their safe passage into the world.

Heket, the goddess of frogs and childbirth, used her potent magic to ease Rededjet's pain and expedite the birth process. Finally, Khnum, the ram-headed god of creation, stood poised, ready to mold the bodies of the children from the clay of the Nile and breathe life into their forms.

The birthing chamber, once a place of anxiety, was transformed into a sacred space. The five goddesses, disguised as traveling musicians to avoid attracting unwanted attention, filled the air with soothing melodies, their voices weaving a tapestry of power and protection. After a grueling but ultimately triumphant labor, Rededjet gave birth to three healthy sons.

The firstborn, a magnificent child with skin the color of polished ebony and eyes that mirrored the Nile, emerged into the world. His limbs were adorned with shimmering gold, a symbol of his future royalty. A headdress of lapis lazuli, the stone of kingship, crowned his head. He was named Userkaf, a name that meant "Great is his Ka" – his life force.

The second son, no less magnificent than his brother, followed soon after. His skin held the warm hue of desert sand, and his eyes sparkled with intelligence. His limbs were adorned with silver, and a headdress of carnelian, a stone associated with courage, rested upon his head. He was named Sahure, a name that meant "The one who rises as Re."

The third son, the lastborn, arrived with a cry that echoed through the birthing chamber. His skin was a warm, rich brown, the color of fertile earth. His limbs were adorned with bronze, and a headdress of turquoise, the stone of protection, graced his head. He was named Neferkare, a name that meant "Beautiful is the Ka of Re."

The birth of these three boys, each marked for greatness, filled the palace with joyous celebration. Rededjet, weak but content, cradled her sons close, a sense of awe washing over her. She knew, deep within her heart, that their destinies would be intertwined with the fate of Egypt itself.

However, amidst the joy, a shadow lurked. One of Rededjet's maidservants, a woman prone to jealousy and gossip, became enraged by the attention showered upon her mistress. She argued with Rededjet, her anger growing with each passing word. The argument escalated, culminating in Rededjet striking the maid in a fit of frustration.

Enraged and humiliated, the maid stormed out of the palace, vowing revenge. Blinded by her anger, she raced through the bustling streets, intent on reaching the Pharaoh and revealing Rededjet's "secret" – the birth of the three sons, a clear fulfillment of Dedi's prophecy.

On her way, however, the maid encountered her brother, a simple laborer at Panting and red-faced, she blurted out, her plan. But her brother, a loyal man with a deep respect for the Rededjet's family, was aghast. He saw through his sister's jealousy and the potential chaos her plans could unleash.

Displeased by her vindictive nature, he lashed out, delivering a sharp scolding that left the maid stinging with fresh pain. He then, in a desperate attempt to contain the damage, ordered her to take a different path, one that led away from the Pharaoh's court and towards the relative anonymity of the water's edge.

His hope was that his sister would cool down and abandon her vengeful plan. But fate, it seemed, had other designs. As the distraught maid wandered aimlessly along the riverbank, grief and anger churning within her, a terrifying sight emerged from the murky depths. A massive crocodile, attracted by the commotion and the scent of her distress, lunged from the water with a bone-chilling snap of its jaws.

The maid's screams were cut short as the powerful beast dragged her into the murky depths, leaving not a trace behind. Her brother, witnessing the horrifying scene from a distance, was overcome with a sickening dread. He realized, too late, the terrible consequence of his actions.

Grief-stricken and guilt-ridden, he returned to Rededjet's palace, his head hung low. He found his mistress surrounded by her handmaidens, tears streaming down her face. He had heard her sobs from outside, a sound that sent a jolt of fear through him.

Entering the chamber with a hesitant step, he stammered an apology, his voice thick with shame. He confessed to striking his sister and sending her away, hoping to prevent her reckless pursuit of vengeance. But as he spoke, his voice choked with emotion, he revealed the horrifying truth of her demise at the jaws of the crocodile.

The revelation hung heavy in the air. Rededjet, already drained from the childbirth and overwhelmed with the weight of prophecy, now faced another blow. Grief for the lost maidservant, a woman she considered more than just a worker, mingled with a nagging sense of foreboding. The westcar papyrus fragment ends here, leaving the reader to ponder the significance of the maid's death and its potential impact on the future of the three princes.

Here, it's important to note that the story within the Westcar Papyrus reflects the deep-seated beliefs of the Old Kingdom Egyptians. The presence of deities like Isis, Nephthys, Meskhenet, Heket, and Khnum highlights their belief in the divine intervention during childbirth. The symbolism associated with the newborns – gold, silver, bronze, and the specific gemstones – reflect their future roles as kings and the qualities they embody.