A bored king seeking distraction, a lake glittering under the Egyptian sun, twenty beautiful young women rowing a golden boat… and a tiny turquoise fish pendant that brings the whole party to a halt. This is one of the most delightful stories from ancient Egypt, complete with magic that parts the waters centuries before Moses.

This is the third tale from the Westcar Papyrus, a Middle Kingdom collection of “wonders” told at the court of Khufu (the builder of the Great Pyramid) about his grandfather, Pharaoh Snefru.

Snefru (c. 2613–2589 BCE) was the founder of the 4th Dynasty and one of ancient Egypt’s greatest pyramid builders. He commissioned the Meidum Pyramid, the Bent Pyramid, and the Red Pyramid at Dahshur — three colossal monuments that paved the way for Khufu’s Great Pyramid. Yet in this story, we meet a very human Snefru: restless, bored, and looking for entertainment.

The Story

Long ago, the great Pharaoh Snefru, he who built mighty pyramids, paced the halls and many chambers of his palace. Seeking but finding nothing to lift the weight from his heart, he summoned his chief lector-priest and master of secrets, Djadjaemankh, and said:

“I have roamed every corner of my house, yet my spirit remains restless. What remedy do you offer?”

Djadjaemankh bowed low and replied with a knowing smile:

“May Your Majesty proceed to the palace lake. Let a fine boat be fitted out, and let it be rowed by the most beautiful maidens from Your Majesty’s inner chambers. When Your Majesty beholds them gliding back and forth among the lotus flowers and green fields, surely Your Majesty’s heart will rejoice.”

The idea delighted Snefru and he commanded at once:

“Bring me twenty oars of ebony inlaid with gold, their handles of sweet sandalwood overlaid with gleaming electrum. And select twenty of the loveliest young women from my household—maidens whose limbs are firm and graceful, whose hair is braided in the latest fashion, who have never yet borne a child. Let them be given twenty fishing nets, and when they have removed their garments, let them drape the nets about themselves and take their places at the oars.”

Everything was prepared exactly as the king wished. The women climbed aboard, their bodies scarcely concealed by the delicate meshes, and they began to row. The boat moved smoothly across the shining water, the oars rising and falling in perfect rhythm. Snefru sat beneath a canopy, watching with growing pleasure as the maidens sang softly and the sunlight played across the lake.

All was well until the woman at the stroke oar (the one who set the pace for the rest) reached up to adjust a stray lock of her braided hair. In that moment her treasured pendant, a little fish carved from new turquoise, bright as a living gem, slipped from its cord and plunged into the depths.

She stopped rowing and the entire side of rowers halted with her, causing the boat to drift unevenly.

Snefru leaned forward. “Why have you stopped rowing?”

The women answered together: “Our leader has stopped, Great King.”

The king called to the stroke oar: “Why do you not row?”

She replied, her voice steady despite the loss: “My fish pendant of real turquoise has fallen into the water.”

Snefru, generous in his good mood, said: “Do not grieve. I shall replace it for you from the royal treasury. Something even finer.”

But the woman shook her head. “I prefer my own thing to another like it.”

No promise of gold or jewels would move her. She would not lift her oar again until her beloved amulet was restored. And because she led the stroke, the whole boat remained still.

Now the king’s heart began to cloud once more. He turned for advice to Djadjaemankh, who stood nearby on the deck.

The wise priest regarded the lake for a moment then he spoke a powerful spell. With a gesture and words of secret hekau (magic), he caused the waters to fold upon themselves like a piece of fine linen rolled up for storage. One half of the lake lay atop the other; the middle, once twelve cubits deep, became dry ground. There, on a shard of broken pottery at the bottom, lay the turquoise fish, gleaming untouched.

Djadjaemankh stepped down, retrieved the pendant, and placed it gently in the woman’s hand. With another incantation he unrolled the waters, and the lake returned to its proper place, calm and full once more.

The woman fastened the amulet around her neck, smiled, and took up her oar. The boat glided forward again in perfect harmony. The king laughed aloud with relief and delight. He spent the rest of the day feasting with his entire household, honoring Djadjaemankh with every good thing, and praising the power of wisdom and magic that could turn even a small mishap into a day of perfect joy.

And so it was told at the court of Khufu, grandson of Snefru, as one of the great wonders of old and proof that even a pharaoh’s boredom could be banished, and even the depths of a lake could yield to the will of a true magician.

The Westcar Papyrus

The primary (and essentially only) evidence for the story of Pharaoh Snefru’s boating party — also known as the tale of the lost turquoise (or malachite/green stone) fish pendant and the parting of the lake waters — comes from the Westcar Papyrus (official inventory designation: Papyrus Berlin 3033 or P. Berlin 3033).

The Westcar Papyrus is a key piece of ancient Egyptian literature, serving not as recorded history, but a collection of “wonder tales”, blending folklore, prophecy, magic, and royal ideology. It may draw from oral traditions or earlier tales, preserved and adapted to comment on kingship, piety, magic’s role in society, and the transfer of power.

In addition to providing an amusing story and humanising the king, the story provides important evidence of ancient culture and society. Djadjaemankh’s water-parting spell is one of the earliest examples of a “miracle” performed by human magic rather than a god. Some scholars note the parallel with the parting of the Red Sea with the Westcar Papyrus predating the biblical account by centuries.  The story also provides a glimpse of palace life and ancient Egyptian beauty standards. The detailed description of the women (braided hair, firm breasts, not yet mothers) and the nets instead of clothing tells us a lot about royal entertainment and sensuality in the Old Kingdom.

The tales are set in the Old Kingdom (c. 2686–2181 BCE), specifically during the 4th Dynasty under Pharaoh Khufu (builder of the Great Pyramid) and his predecessors like Snefru. They are presented as tales told by Khufu’s sons to entertain a bored king, mirroring how such literature might have been read aloud at royal or elite courts to amuse and distract during uncertain times.

The papyrus itself however dates to the Hyksos period (Second Intermediate Period, roughly 1650–1550 BCE), when foreign rulers (the Hyksos) controlled parts of northern Egypt amid political fragmentation and chaos following the collapse of the Middle Kingdom. The text may have been copied from an earlier Middle Kingdom source, perhaps for elite reading or study, at a time when Egypt looked back to its “golden age” for reassurance or legitimacy. It survives as Egypt’s earliest known cycle of magical short stories, offering insight into evolving views of monarchy, divinity, and narrative art rather than factual history.