Out of the Black Land (19 page)

My mind wandered. I had already mourned for the death of the wise old king, and for the future I felt nothing but unease. I did not like the way the rule of my lord Akhnaten was going. His edicts, for a start, had caused the death of an innocent old man, harmless and learned Snefru, who loved his scrolls and hoarded writings as much as any father loved his children. I was keeping my place in the
Recension
with one finger, and was amazed to find that my tears were blotting the ink. I hastily wiped my face.

It was probably not for Osiris-Amenhotep that I was weeping.

Chapter Fourteen

Mutnodjme

We wept ourselves out. The Queen was led wailing from the door of the tomb and the priests sealed it with the great clay seals of the City of the Houses of Eternity, and we left Osiris-Amenhotep to the silence and his interviews with the various doorkeepers in the Tuat.

‘He was a good man and a good king and he will dwell with Osiris forever,’ said the Princess Sitamen to her mother, ‘Will you come, Mother, and live with me? Thebes is being deserted by the royal court and there are beggars in the streets. Now that the temple has been closed there will be no one to care for the poor. The priests of Amen-Re are dispersed.’

‘You are my daughter and I love you, but I will go where I might still be of some use,’ said Tiye the Queen, so softly that the tall princess had to bend to hear her.

‘So far the temples of Isis have not been attacked, daughter,’ the Queen said to me. ‘But I do not know how long their immunity may last. Sitamen will go back to her estates, which are hers in her own right and cannot be removed. She may visit us, perhaps, if you will come with me and my widow-daughter Merope? We leave in twenty days.’

‘Where are you going?’ I asked, though I knew the answer.

‘To the City of the Sun,’ said the Queen with great determination. ‘To save what can be saved.’

So it was settled. I officiated at the secret funeral of the old man Snefru, cried for him and saw his tomb sealed. The new edict was making the city nervous. It was rumoured that all worship was to be forbidden except that of the Aten; and people were burying even their little household gods, the pottery statues of the fanged dwarf Bes who assists in childbirth, and the little images of Amen-Re as a ram or Osiris as a bull.

At the end of twenty days I gathered my texts and my robes, packed up in oilcloth and buried what I could not carry with me, and left the temple where I had been happy for many years. The Singer of Isis, Lady of her own kingdom, escorted me to the great door.

‘Be of good cheer about us, daughter, we have places to go and things to do, and we are not without resource,’ she said.

Duammerset had died a year before, and this Lady of Isis was young. Her name was Peri, and she had a sweetness of character. A childhood accident had burned one side of her face, and her parents had abandoned her on the temple steps, hoping Isis might heal her. Isis had not removed the scar, but she had accepted Peri as her most intelligent and devoted priestess, a natural successor to the old woman. Some even whispered that she was Duammerset come again; that her spirit had passed from one body to the other. Certainly she had a lot of the old woman’s mannerisms, including a low, soft voice full of authority.

‘But what will you do if your worship is forbidden?’ I asked.

She smiled—it was certainly Duammerset’s smile, a cool, calculating turn of the mouth. ‘Better that you should not know. Now, do not forget what you have learned of us, daughter Mutnodjme. Even if humans forget Isis, she will not forget us. Farewell,’ she said, and kissed me, and I went with my bundle down the steps of the temple and into the street.

I had abandoned my robes, and felt naked. I was wearing just what every woman in Thebes was wearing, a white cloth and a delicate square of fabric covering my breasts, and I bore my bundle on my shoulder as women do. But voices fell as I walked into a market, and I heard hisses behind me, saying, ‘The woman of Isis, there is no Isis, there is no god!’ and I had to exercise considerable self control not to run. I reminded myself that I was still a priestess of a very strong-minded deity who did not care whether people believed in her or not, and picked up my pace unobtrusively.

There were soldiers at the palace gates. There had never been soldiers there before. They were well armed with spear, sword and shield, and they wore the Pharaoh’s red plumes, his personal guard. They crossed spears before me and opposed my entry.

‘I am Mutnodjme, sister to the Great Royal Spouse Nefertiti, let me through,’ I said into their unmoving faces. They looked like statues, not men, and they did not react. I was wondering what to do—kick one in the shin, perhaps, to test whether he was stone or flesh?—when I was relieved of the burden of decision.

‘Let the lady in,’ said a quiet voice, and the statues snapped to attention, unbarring the way.

It was the slim and decorative Great Royal Scribe Ptah-hotep. His hair was still dressed in the Nubian fashion, threaded with gold and mirrors. He was older. There were crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes and a permanent double line between his brows; evidence of bad temper, perhaps, or overstrained sight. He did not seem to be bad tempered. Instead he seemed gentle and rather sad, as he had always seemed. But he was taken aback at the sight of me.

‘Lady Mutnodjme,’ he began, bending lower than a Great Royal Scribe need bow. ‘It has been ten years since I last saw you, and time has been very kind to you.’

‘You saw me at the funeral of Osiris-Amenhotep, though you did not look at me,’ I replied. ‘I was Isis.’

‘Lady, that name is not to be said aloud,’ he took my hand and led me to the palace, where more soldiers waited at the inner door.

‘Why do we need a guard?’ I asked, and then fell silent, responding to the hushing gesture which he made, very quickly, with one hand.

I did not speak again until he had taken me through the palace to the apartments of the Widow-Queen Tiye. She was not there but a number of harried looking slaves were rolling tapestries, packing wine vessels into baskets and folding cloths.

‘You may pay your respects later,’ said Ptah-hotep. ‘Will you come to my humble quarters and drink a cup of wine with me?’

‘Certainly,’ I replied. His eyes were begging me to agree, though I could not see him being overcome with either love or lust. ‘That would be very welcome.’

We were clearly conversing for the benefit of listeners and I found a safe topic.

‘Tell me of the health of my sister and her children,’ I asked.

Ptah-hotep replied, ‘There are now six daughters of the Lord Akhnaten may he live! They are called Mekhetaten, she is the eldest daughter, then Meritaten, Ankhesenpaaten, Neferneferaten-tashery—little Nefertiti. Then there is Neferneferure, and the baby is Septenre. She is sickly and your sister is very worried about her. My lord intends to take the little princess Mekhetaten to be Great Royal Wife as soon as she is old enough—she is only ten, but a beautiful little maiden.’

I wondered privately who was going to take over the task of providing children for the eunuch King, but if Isis was not an acceptable subject of conversation then the king’s impotence certainly would not be.

Ptah-hotep continued to tell me stories of the beauties and charming ways of the children of my sister until we reached a fine door. This had no soldiers, but when Ptah-hotep pushed it open disclosed two very large Nubians and a huge dog standing solidly in the way.

Anubis walked over to me, inhaled my scent and lost interest. I was not an enemy. Tani and Hani grinned and said, ‘Here is the little princess who rides Nubians,’ and I was touched and sat down as my eyes filled with tears. Meryt the Nubian with the rounded contours of the well-fed and well-treated brought me a cup of wine. Three scribes looked up and then looked down again. Ptah-hotep led me into the inner apartment and closed the door and we heard the creak as one of the twins leaned his back against it in a casual fashion.

‘We meet again,’ said Ptah-hotep, sitting down in a throne-like chair and bidding me take the other.

‘So we do, and we are all bound for the same place.’

‘You accompany the Queen to Amarna? I hoped it might be so, lady.’

‘Why did you hope so?’ I asked suspiciously.

‘Why, so that I might profit by your conversation, though not too often or too secretly. The palace is full of eyes and none of them are the Eyes of Horus.’

‘Or the ears of Khnum?’ I matched his reference with another.

‘No,’ he agreed.

‘The School of Scribes is closed, the master is banished and you, my lord, are deep in whatever plots the King is concocting,’ I said angrily, for I had lost a friend in the scribe Snefru and the cult of the Aten looked likely to eat all Egypt.

‘Not deep enough, it seems, for I knew of no order to close the School of Scribes. If I had not gone there purely by chance, the master would have gone and I would not even have said farewell to him or given him any gold for his sustenance.’

‘Snefru is dead,’ I told him.

‘I know,’ he said sadly.

‘Well, what are you going to do about all this?’ I demanded.

‘What can I do? Temper the King Akhnaten as much as I can, put reins on the power and pride of his officials, that is all I can do.’

‘There must be more than that,’ I said. He stretched out both hands to me and said, ‘Tell me what more, and I will do it.’

‘I do not know,’ I said, and he sighed. ‘I do not know, yet,’ I added. ‘Let me look at the situation and listen and learn. When we reach Amarna, can you get me quarters separate from my mother and my sister?’

‘Only if you marry someone,’ he said. But I had thought of another solution.

‘The Great Royal Wife Merope will have her own establishment; I will stay with her,’ I said.

‘And you will speak with me again?’ he asked, not wanting to pressure me but greatly desiring my company. It had been a long time since I had been wooed, and it felt very pleasant.

‘Indeed I will,’ I said, and drank some more wine. His eyes were beautiful, brown and deep, like the eyes of my sister Merope whom I loved.

‘How is your household, Lord?’ I asked, belatedly.

‘My wife died two years ago,’ he said. ‘We had no children. Since then I have taken no other woman; my Lord Akhnaten approves of my piety in the Aten, which is immortal and unknowable.’

‘I never met your wife,’ I said.

‘She was a daughter of a connection of Divine Father Ay. A pleasant girl, not very interested in great matters, and Meryt liked her.’

I hoped that if I ever married, my husband would have a more impressive epitaph for me. I remembered something and delved into the band I wore around my waist to find it. I had to grope for the package, because it had worked its way around behind my hip, and the Great Royal Scribe showed no embarrassment and no curiosity as to why I was disrobing in his presence.

‘You are very beautiful,’ he commented dispassionately.

‘Thank you, but I am not trying to display my erotic charms, but to find ah, there is the letter.’

I found the elusive packet and began to replace my garments, when suddenly he seized me and pressed me close. His mouth was on mine. It was so unexpected that I did not resist. His fingers pinched my nipple. Unexpectedly, I found that my body, which had been so unenthusiastic with other lovers, was reacting with zeal and I kissed him back in earnest. His back was muscular under my caressing hands. We shed the remnants of clothing and slid together to the floor… where my swimming eyes beheld a pair of jewelled sandals, and I looked up along the length of thin shanks, fat thighs, swollen belly to the amused face of the Pharaoh Akhnaten may he live and I felt myself blush purple.

Ptah-hotep released me and we prostrated ourselves in a ‘kiss earth’ which allowed me to hide my burning face.

‘Lady Mutnodjme, Ptah-hotep,’ said the King in an indulgent tone. ‘I was told that you were secret together and came to find out what you were talking about—and I see that my informants were mistaken about the subject of conversation.’

I was quite naked but Priestesses of Isis have never been disconcerted by nakedness. Was not our lady Isis naked? At his signal I stood up and looked the King in the face. My garments were in a crumpled mess on the floor and under them was the packet which I had been carrying.

‘Lord Akhnaten, Favourite of Aten, Only One of the Great God, Master of the Two Thrones, Mutnodjme, the humble and unworthy sister of the Great Royal Wife gives respectful greetings to the Most High Pharaoh, and hopes for his favourable attention,’ I said in the most formal mode of address.

‘Lady Mutnodjme, sister of Nefertiti Neferuaten Great Royal Wife and Priestess of the Phoenix is high in the regard of the Lord of the Two Lands and he welcomes her to his palace,’ replied the Pharaoh, his strange eyes warm with some emotion.