Out of the Black Land (14 page)

‘She is the most beautiful woman in the world,’ I said, and he grunted an agreement. ‘But,’ I added, ‘what about the Desaret tribes? I have never heard of them. Who are they?’

Tani replied, ‘They are the Sharu, the Wanderers, little Princess, and civil folk enough except when they are possessed by a call. Then they sweep across the sands, screaming that their god requires them to take land or prisoners—foolish, who can take land? Land stays in one place, or it would not be land. But every now and again, they come, and then they fight like lions; even as the lion of the peak, who is called Sekmet by the Egyptians. They even have beards and hair like a lion’s mane.’

‘They are carved on the footstool of the King who stands at the pylon of that temple,’ added Teti, who had been listening with interest.

‘Oh, yes, I have seen them,’ I said, remembering. ‘Beards and long hair caught at the nape of the neck.’

‘Indeed,’ said Teti. ‘They have visionaries, and these prophets lash them into wars. One day they will attack Egypt in force, and then they will be a real menace, for they do not know when they are beaten and fight until they are all dead, for the sake of their god. My father used to say that the worst thing that could happen to a people was a new god…’

Hani reached out a huge hand laden with gold rings and clamped it over his brother’s mouth.

They all looked at me, and I had a sudden flash of power, and a stronger flash of shame. Was I to inform on these kindly men who had spoken freely in answer to a question?

‘What did you say?’ I asked Teti. ‘I didn’t hear, the trumpets are so loud.’

Ptah-hotep

I had him again, I touched his hand, I embraced his body. And by the grace of Captain Horemheb, I had a reason to take him home with me.

I don’t think that anyone in that mob of drunken, dancing, reeling worshippers could possibly have been as happy as the Chief Royal Scribe, Ptah-hotep.

We saw the god into his resting place, the temple of his wife the Divine Consort Mut. We saw the Chief Priest Userkhepesh walk into the welcoming arms of the priestess of Mut, who embraced him, kissed his mouth and led him inside. The door of the temple was shut on the bride and bridegroom and the people spread out into groups with their temple-provided beer, bread and roasted goat to sit down and feast.

I distracted myself for a while by wondering how that austere and aged man liked being kissed in plain sight of a multitude, who cried out advice as to what he should do with the Goddess Mut, how many times her should do it and in which positions. I found the idea amusing, and when I met Kheperren’s gaze he laughed, for he had been thinking just the same.

Hani was bearing the princess Mutnodjme with no apparent exertion, Tani and Teti were standing close to him, and Horemheb and his soldiers had gone off to the barracks for the returned soldier’s wash, massage and feast, all provided by the Pharaoh may he live. There was nothing for us to do but to return the little Princess and go back to the palace. The scribes, of course, could stay for the feast if they wished, in the huge tent and awning set up for the palace outside the temple.

Both Amenhotep and his royal son were in the temple, watching the mating of the gods, which had to be perfect or the Nile would not rise. This was the most important festival in the calendar, and any deviation from normal practice would have caused disaster. In view of his age and general fragility, I hoped that the Chief Priest of Amen-Re had been well nourished and rested in the days before this feast, and that the priestess was skilled and both were fitting vessels for the gods, or the omens might be truly ominous.

Kheperren was thinking the same. I could tell from his sidelong look. His eyes still crinkled when he smiled. He did not touch me but I was stingingly aware of his presence, his breath, the rise and fall of his chest, his scent so achingly familiar and sweet.

Of all the people around us, the only one who showed any sign of being aware of what was between Kheperren and me was the little princess, sitting easily on Hani’s shoulders as though she had been riding Nubians all her life. She was looking at us, a wrinkle forming along her brow. The Lady Mutnodjme was destined to be a priestess of Isis, and such women are very observant. I moved a little distance from my dearest friend and then bit my lip, for that had given me away more surely than any stillness might have. But the Princess was watching the pylon and had seen the great gate open.

‘Amen-Re the Mighty!’ roared the crowd with their mouths full, for the presence of both Pharaohs meant that the mating had been accomplished and more free beer was about to be distributed. The Chief Priest had acquitted his task once again, and we could go back to the office.

‘Would it cause comment, Lord Ptah-hotep may you live,’ asked Kheperren, using the most formal of modes of address, ‘if I accompanied the Great Royal Scribe to his apartments and delivered my report for his most honourable attention now? I have newly returned from the borders and I am fatigued and wish to rest.’

‘It would please the Captain Horemheb to have his report earlier rather than later,’ I replied gravely. ‘Therefore we will return there now. A scribe who has been wounded in the service of the Lord of the Two Thrones deserves all consideration.

‘Hani, Tani, find the lady Mutnodjme’s teacher Khons and give her into his care, then join the feast. Meryt and Teti will come with me and join you later. Khety, Hanufer, you will wish to attend the merrymaking. Bakhenmut, I am sure that the Lady of your House will appreciate the seat of honour which has been prepared for her in the Pharaoh Akhnamen’s tent. I am awarding you my two most trusted slaves to be her escort.’

Bakhenmut gave me a grateful smile and even the unbeautiful wife unbent sufficiently to smile on me. Hani and Tani exchanged rueful glances, anticipating an afternoon of being ordered around by Bakhenmut’s wife but consoled by the amount of food they would manage to consume in the process. Everyone else seemed content. The lady Mutnodjme leaned down from Hani’s shoulder and gave me her hand and I kissed it. She squeezed my fingers a little and let go, and the household made their way through the picnicking families towards the awning under the pylon where both Kings were feasting.

Meryt and Teti escorted Kheperren and me to my office, picking up various tidbits from trays and tables on the way, which Meryt loaded into her ever-present basket. When she had come to me, she had carried a brightly coloured basket in Nubian weave, and it never left her. She said that women of her tribe were responsible for feeding the people, and picked up anything edible which they saw, and the habit had not left her.

She set out some food on a cloth on the desk, patted my cheek, and drew Teti with her to the outer office. She and Teti and Anubis sat there, cracking bones and breaking bread, while I took Kheperren into the inner rooms, shut the door and secured it.

‘Oh, my brother,’ whispered Kheperren.

I wanted to look at him, to touch him, to make love to him, all at once. Our mouths met and I was lost. My bones melted; I burned. We fled into my bed-chamber and threw ourselves down on my bed, and embraced so closely that there was no room between us, the wet skin of his belly against my belly, our hands sliding across flesh which was oiled and sweating.

We locked thighs and thrust, once, twice, and then we dissolved into an orgasm so strong that the day became night before my eyes and I thought that I had died.

I had not died, for when I awoke I saw not the face of the First Doorkeeper demanding to be named Understander of Hearts or he would not let me pass into the afterlife, but the curly hair and the dark eyes, burned now even darker by the fierce Eye of Re.

‘You look older,’ he commented, kissing my neck. ‘Severe. Quite the Great Royal Scribe, my dearest brother.’

‘So do you, quite the soldier; and oh, my heart, my love, you have been wounded!’ I stroked a gentle finger down a transverse cut, barely healed, which seamed one arm almost to the elbow.

‘It’s nothing, it doesn’t even hurt any more. A Kush warrior hacked at me and nearly missed, only not nearly enough. It was in Horemheb’s Battle of the Mountain. He saved my life. He saved all our lives. How have you been faring, brother? Did you receive my letter? I sent it to the Master of Scribes and he said he was able to get it to you without endangering our secret.’

‘He did, and I rejoiced to hear that you were alive and missing me, because I was alive and missing you. Oh, Kheperren, I missed you so much!’

‘Show me how much you missed me,’ he said, guiding my hand to his phallus. I kissed down his body, slowly, relishing the taste of his skin, engrossed in his perfumes. He gasped, his hands on my head. ‘I love you,’ he crooned while he could still speak, ‘Oh my love, my heart, my desire, my brother.’

Like Ptah Creator-god who swallowed his own semen to bring forth the world, I brought him slowly to a climax which shook us both to the bones.

We woke and it was dark. In sleeping, he had curved around me and hugged me to his breast, and I have never woken feeling so sated, so loved, so pleased. I tasted the divine herb unefer in my mouth, and kissed him to share it.

‘I suppose we should get up,’ I said, stretching lazily.

‘I’m hungry,’ he commented. ‘In fact, I’m starving. Will the Great Royal Scribe allow a portion of bread to a humble army scribe before he delivers his report?’

‘Only if the humble army scribe accepts a wash in the purest water, a sumptuous meal and swears that he will love me forever,’ I bargained.

‘I will love you forever,’ he said seriously, holding my right hand as one does when swearing an oath to another. ‘By all the gods both seen and unseen, I swear.’

‘So swear I, Ptah-hotep, Great Royal Scribe,’ I said. ‘Come and wash, for we smell like a couple of rutting goats.’

He sniffed and agreed.

Later, we sat down in the inner office and began on Meryt’s collection of comestibles which she had gathered for us. There was a leg of roasted duck each, some dried grapes and dried melon, several loaves of different breads and we washed it down with good wine.

‘I observe that you have not taken to soldier’s fare,’ I said. ‘Or would coarse barley bread and beer suit you better?’

‘No, coarse barley bread and beer would not suit me better. Hand over some more grapes. Oh, the sweetness. I used to lie awake at night and cry; firstly for you and secondly for dried grapes. Let me tell you, brother, there is nothing sweet about being a soldier and no one would ever do it if it were not for Egypt’s need and the calibre of such captains as Horemheb.

‘It’s hot and unprotected and dangerous and unbelievably uncomfortable. The common soldiers grumble all the time about the food and the officers grizzle for their wives. No one is happy. But Horemheb can command men and they know that they are his care and that he loves them.’

‘How much did you love Horemheb?’ I demanded, instantly and to my astonishment, jealous.

‘How much do you love your Nubian?’ he responded sharply. ‘We take our loves where we find them, Ptah-hotep.’

‘I am ashamed,’ I told him. ‘But I am also answered.’

‘So am I,’ he said.

There was silence for a moment, and then we leaned forward and kissed, a deep kiss flavoured with raisins. We concluded an agreement in silence; that we would lie with whoever we liked, for ease or pleasure, but I would be his only love, and he would be mine.

‘We came down into a defile and we were attacked,’ he went on, as though the exchange had not happened. But his free hand was in mine as though he never meant to let go. ‘Kush attacked. There were more of them than us, and they had the advantage of surprise. We were guarding the only road through Desaret into Egypt for a hundred shoeni either way, and we could not let them pass.’

‘What happened?’ I caught my breath.

‘Kush did not know that Horemheb always expects surprises. He had half of his force dismounted from their chariots—their complaints must have reached the gods, you would think that charioteers have no feet—and clambering along the ridge of the mountains on either side. The ridges were thickly wooded, so Kush didn’t see them until they were on them and shoving them down the cliffs into the waiting grasp of the mounted men.’

‘And who was leading the scouts on either ridge?’ I asked.

‘No one of consequence,’ he squirmed.

‘You, and which other? I demanded sternly.

‘Yes, it was I,’ Kheperren nodded. ‘And his name was Tuy; he was killed. My people come from the mountains they call the Edge of the World, and I was the only person present who knew anything about climbing. That’s why I volunteered; though the charioteers didn’t like it. They told Horemheb that they would not take orders from a scribe.