''Their bickering has a purpose beyond simple rivalry,'' Ra replies. ''They must be worshipped, and worship requires sacrifice. The people of the world need to prove themselves worthy of the divine blessings they are given. The surrender of their mortal lives is that proof, and conflict supplies a convenient means of their dying.'' Ra says these words, but he isn't sure he believes them. Not any more.

''Am I complaining?'' Neith's laughter rattles her armaments. ''Of course not. I am flushed with power, unlike those pale shadows back there whom I have to spend most of my time with.''

The other three elder gods shuffle their feet and look ashamed. They are ghosts of their former selves, sallow and emaciated. It is hard to imagine them ever having received the adoration of humans, ever imbibing the blood of slaughtered beasts and glowing with the flames of the ritual pyres lit in their names. Their ba is all but non-existent. They linger feebly, clinging to the lees of their lives, with little to say for themselves and less to do.

And Ra feels a tiny pang, his second saddening of the day.

For, looking at these four, he knows that even gods may fade.

Even gods may die.

Now come his nephew and niece, Shu of the air and Tefnut of the rain, to pay their respects. Shu is an absent-minded sort. He would never remember to visit the barque if Tefnut did not drive him to do so.

These married siblings are joined by their children, Geb of the earth and Nut of the sky, also married.

All four of them, the First Family, make their obeisance to Ra. ''As the children and grandchildren of Atum,'' they say, ''from whose swirling chaos the universe was born, we salute you, O Sun God, Ruler of the Ennead.''

''Big Chief Blazing Shorts,'' adds coarse-mannered Geb. His sister-wife digs an elbow in his ribs.