Out of the Black Land (2 page)

I began by copying the
Maxims of Ptah-hotep,
my namesake, and continued through the
Story of Sinuhe
, who was a man, and the
Contendings of Horus and Set
, who are Gods.

I have written down accounts of journeys and ventures, of wars and conquests. I have written endless lists of grave goods and marriage contracts and all manner of documents by which men regulate their lives and record their words, and I have done nothing at all for myself.

I have married no wife, begotten no children, though I am fourteen years old and a man, with a man’s seed to give. I have built nothing, made nothing, repaired nothing, created nothing. If I was to write the inscription for my own tomb now, I could say nothing but ‘Ptah-hotep knew all words and three scripts and wrote a clear hand’.

The blow from the master’s staff stings across my shoulders. He is standing over me, and he is angry. He must have spoken my name and gone unanswered.

‘Show me,’ he growls. I hand him my board and rub the weal which is forming across my back. He likes hurting, this Priest of Amen-Re. He has come here to give us instruction in the high script, which only priests use. I can see, turning in my place, the wet lip of the man who relishes pain and I blink hard, determined that he shall not see me weep and drink my tears for his pleasure.

I have written, I observe, most of the chapter of the inscription which he has been dictating. My characters are well formed and flowing and I assume that they are correct, for he drops the board back into my lap and says nothing else, only resumes the droning chant:

He assigned to me all that is with him, which the eye of his uraeus illuminates, all lands, all countries, every road, the circle of water Oceanos, they come to me in submission to my majesty: Son of Re, Amenhotep, Divine Ruler of Thebes, living forever, only vigilant one, begotten of the gods.’

The staff comes down hard on the shoulders of my friend Kheperren, and he gratifies the master’s taste for wailing, so he repeats the blow. I wince for him as I would not for myself.

Who will free me of this misery?

Freedom comes in unlikely guises
, says the sage Ptah-hotep, and so it came to me. We were bathing in the sacred lake, washing ourselves free of impurity for the evening prayer. I sluiced cool water over my wounded back, still angry and resentful at my fate. The priests were at their meal, the masters were in their rooms with their wives, and for a little while there was no one watching us. My friend Kheperren embraced me in the water.

‘I hurt,’ he complained, and I stroked the raised weals on his smooth back.

‘I, too,’ I agreed.

‘I made three errors,’ he admitted. ‘But he hit me too hard.’

‘I made none and he still hit me,’ I replied. ‘Doubtless the monster Apophis will eat his heart in the end but this does not comfort me, brother.’

‘Hotep, can we run away?’

I swung him around so that we were facing one another, floating easily in the water, legs entwined. Re who is the sun was westering, but there was abundant light, spilling over the temple, making the stones glow like gold. Kheperren’s brow was wrinkled with thought. He had black hair and the smooth olive skin of the countryman, whereas I was pale, almost ivory, and my hair was tinted with the Theban copper. It was unfair that I, whose father was only a scribe because he had been a common soldier in the army, was as fair as one of the Royal House, and my heart’s brother was as dark as a peasant, though he was descended from the high priests of Amen-Re. I liked our contrast as we lay together, his thighs twined with mine.

‘We can’t run,’ I told him. ‘Remember when Yuya tried that. They caught him, beat him, and made him sit for a week with his legs tied together.’

‘I can’t bear it,’ Kheperren wailed, burying his face in my neck. ‘If it wasn’t for thy love, brother, I would die.’

His mouth was hot against my skin; our breath mingled. Floating, we drifted into a bank of papyrus, and the reeds closed about us. We had often lain here, where no man could see us, clutching each other for comfort.

‘We are in a herdsman’s hut on the banks of the river,’ he breathed. It was our favourite of all the stories we told each other.

‘We have stabled our cattle for the night,’ I returned, sliding both hands down his body. I found the phallus, hard in my palm as I had always found it, in the dark of the dormitory or the cool of the morning.

‘We have left our dog Wolf on guard.’He returned the caress.

‘And we are shutting our door for the night, against the demons of the darkness, against the Goddesses of the Twelve Hours,’ he continued, his breath catching as my hands, wise in the ways of his body, brought his climax near.

‘And sealing our door with the sacred seal of the Brothers,’ I whispered, and then could not speak further as he closed my mouth with a kiss.

Careful not to be heard—though such love was not forbidden, it would give our Masters leverage to play one of us against the other—we spilled our seed into the reeds, shivering and kissing. There was no one in the world whom I loved as much as my brother Kheperren.

And as we came up the bank together, still breathless with release, we found a priest waiting for us. We quickly schooled our features into the blank which gives nothing away, but it was not necessary. He smiled at us.

He was not beautiful, being a little fat. The rolls of his belly spoke of good living and his jaw was deformed, but his smile was enchanting and a little wistful, the smile of a man who has shared such delights and possesses them no longer.

‘I came to seek a scribe, and it seems that I have found two,’ he said politely. I was about to reply when Kheperren grabbed me and dragged me down to my knees and then pushed me onto my face on the paved shore of the sacred lake.

‘What are you doing?’ I protested as I yielded to his hand.

‘Lord of the Two Lands, forgive our insolence,’ he begged, and I realised that I had just been spoken to by the Pharaoh’s son Akhnamen, Amenhotep IV, co-regent with our own Pharaoh and his only son since Thutmose the Prince died.

And I had almost spoken to a Pharaoh while standing on my feet and looking into his face, for which I could rightly be put to a very nasty death.

‘Forgive us, Ruler of Rulers,’ I agreed hastily, and put my lips to the curved toe of a gem-encrusted sandal.

A number of people laughed. Out of the corner of my eye—I stayed exactly where I was, face down on the bank in an attitude of complete prostration—I saw the hems of delicate garments and small feet in papyrus sandals.

‘Come, let them arise,’ said a gentle voice. I dared a quick glance upward and saw the neat dark wig and painted eyes of a very beautiful older woman. Her hennaed hand almost touched my brother’s head. Patterns were drawn up to her wrists, which were heavy with chains in the form of lotus flowers and buds. The scent of jasmine enveloped us as the others came from concealment under the outer pillars of the temple of Amen-Re.

‘Are they not comely?’ asked the Lord of the Two Lands idly.

‘Comely indeed, but what does His Majesty want with them?’ asked the honey-voiced Queen. She must be the famous Tiye, the red-headed woman, Akhnamen’s mother.

‘I have need of a personal scribe,’ said the King. ‘What say you, Lady of the Two Lands, shall I have this or this?’ He touched first my head and then my dear friend’s.

‘Lord of Upper and Lower Egypt, Lord of the River, take both, since they are brothers,’ suggested another voice. The speaker sounded male and a little curt. I believe that it was the Master of the Scribes. I didn’t know that they knew about us.

‘No. One alone, who will love me, is what I want,’ said the King. My heart gave a startled jolt, as though a hand had seized it. I slid my hand across and grasped that of my heart’s brother, horrified that we were to part.

‘This one,’ said the light, careful voice of the King, and laid the flail of Kingship gently across my shoulders. I shuddered at the touch.

Thus I was given my freedom, though it was bitter at the time with the parting from the only one I loved. Thus I became personal scribe to the Pharaoh’s son Akhnamen, Amenhotep IV, who is called Live the Horus, Mighty Bull, Lofty of Plumes: Favourite of the Two Goddesses: Great in Kingship in Karnak: Golden Horus: Weaver of Diadems in the Southern Heliopolis: King of Upper and Lower Egypt: High Priest of Re Harakhte Rejoicing-in-the-Horizon, Heat which is Amen, Neferkheprure-Wanre, which means in the common tongue Beautiful One of Re, Unique One of Re.

Chapter Two

Mutnodjme

It is a serious business, marrying a Pharaoh.

This is because he is also a God, the avatar of Amen-Re, Lord of All. He takes many women as concubines and secondary wives, but there is only one Great Royal Wife, and it is through her that the crown is gained. Therefore he is usually required to marry his sister.

The case of Akhnamen was unusual. Everything about my sister’s husband was unusual and I found myself wishing, sometimes, that Prince Thutmose, his elder brother, had not died after being bitten by a snake. The physicians and the priests had laboured over him as he shivered and screamed, but their spells had not found favour with the Gods and Thutmose, the eldest son and his father’s delight, had departed to the Field of Offerings, the pleasant land where the ka of the person goes after death.

It is well known that a person has five elements: the ka, or double; the khou, or soul, the little flame which burns over the ka; and the ba, or the body-spirit. Then there are the Name and the Shadow, but only priests really understand these mysteries.

I have at last been allowed to stop tormenting flowers and I am sitting at my sister’s feet, already dressed in my own best garments, listening to Tey’s instructions as the bath-women massage Nefertiti with scented oil. My mother’s voice is sharp and precise. She says exactly what she means, and she knows everything.

‘This is a great honour, daughter, and it has been bestowed on you because Tiye the Queen may she live is your father’s sister. You are required to serve the Pharaoh, please him, and bear him a son.’

‘Mother,’ Nefertiti murmurs, ‘that may not be possible’.

‘You have heard the rumours, then?’ asked Tey. She is sitting in a leather saddleback chair and she is picking the gold leaf off one of the lion’s head finials. I can see her nervous fingers, dark and skilled, smeared with golden dust.

‘They say that he is impotent,’ Nefertiti did not sound perturbed, but then she never did. Her nature was as sweet and still as cream.

‘You must do your best,’ said Tey. Then she sat up straight and clapped her hands, gesturing to the door. The servants left without comment—Tey would never keep a servant who did not obey her instantly—and the door closed.

‘You know the situation, daughter,’ said my mother. ‘Amenhotep the Third may he live and his son, are co-regents. The next King was to have been Prince Thutmose but he is gone. The King strives to teach the Lord Akhnamen wisdom such as he himself richly owns, but the Heir was idle and mystical when he was just a prince. Now he wishes to do nothing but consider the deep matters of the Gods which would be better left to priests, whose business they are.

‘And the King Amenhotep is aging—health and strength be unto him—so your Lord may soon be Lord of all Egypt, may that day be long delayed! Before this happens, a son is needed.’

‘Why didn’t my Lord Akhnamen marry his sister the Princess Sitamen?’ I asked from the floor. Tey jumped, saw that it was only me, and answered briskly.

‘Because his father had already married her. There is no Royal Heiress for the Heir to marry, so he has done this house great honour in choosing Nefertiti. Your questions will not spoil, Mutnodjme, if you keep them in your mouth until later!’

‘Do not scold her, Mother,’ my beautiful sister drew me closer to her scented breast. ‘It was a good question. And the problem remains, Mother Tey. I do not need rumours, I can see for myself that there is something amiss with the Heir; though he is gentle, they say. If no seed springs from him in my womb, what shall we do?’

‘We will think of something,’ said Tey. ‘I will be near, daughter, we will talk again. Let me look at you.’

Nefertiti stood up and Tey herself draped the gown over her; the finest pleated gauze-thin linen, through which her delicate pale limbs moved, as visible as a woman swimming in milk. The fashion for short, neat wigs, the sort that they called Nubian, suited my sister’s pure line of jaw and nose. The jewels of the Pharaoh were laid on her shoulders and arms, and I thought that they weighed her down. My sister was more beautiful in her bare skin as Khnum the Potter made her on his wheel, than any lady dressed in the most precious garments, the richest topaz, turquoise and gold.

Tey my mother adjusted the counterweight which held the great pectoral in balance across the slender shoulders and flicked an errant strand of hair into place.

‘You are beautiful,’ decided Great Royal Nurse Tey, and led Nefertiti to the door. She moved as she always did, with elegance and economy, like a dancer in the temple of Hathor, the Goddess of Love and Beauty, and the attendants, waiting outside until we should please to emerge, leapt to their feet. There were a hundred women in fine gauze and all of their jewellery. The scents of jasmine and myrrh were so strong as to be almost a stench. In homage to her beauty, the naked musicians carried Hathor’s sistra before my sister on the way to her marriage with the Pharaoh Akhnamen may he live. We entered the corridor to the music of harps and drums and little bells.

That was the first time I saw him whose wisdom is famous throughout the whole world. Barbarian Kings sing his praises, and his own scribes and priests bow down to his sagacity: Pharaoh Amenhotep, Lord of the Upper and Lower Crowns.

He was old and fat and I was very disappointed.

We came in to the great hall of the Kings, our music about us, to stand before the two thrones. They were on a high dais with eleven steps. The thrones were of black wood, inlaid with lions and lotuses, and the king’s enemies were on his footstool; defeated Nubians and Asiatics and Hittites. The carved figure of Amenhotep may he live was holding three of them at once by the hair.

Our sandals made a rustling on the inlaid marble floor, as though the papyrus remembered its reedy home. I was right behind my sister Nefertiti, a little stunned by the drumming and the music and half suffocated by perfumes.

Nefertiti was led toward the thrones by Father Ay, soon to be Divine Father. I had not seen him often during my life. He was wearing so many jewels that he glittered in the dawn light; a stocky man with dark skin, like mine and my mother’s. He was scowling, as he usually was. He had shown no interest in me.

The women said that he had been very much in love with his concubine, who bore him one dazzling daughter before she died, and he visited my mother only occasionally. First wife has the position, concubine has the attention; that is what the women said. Perhaps that also was a maxim of Amenhotep may he live! for he had almost a hundred wives; though they said that he doted most on the red-headed woman, Tiye the Queen, who had been his first wife and still lay with him almost every night.

Nefertiti was approaching the throne. She sank down, graceful as a bird, while the music died away and there was silence. It extended for so long that I grew bored. We could not move until one of the Kings was pleased to speak to us.

I tried lining up my new sandals on the golden lotuses on the floor. They fitted perfectly, which pleased me. I peered around my mother, trying not to breathe heavily and risk stirring her delicate gauze draperies. If she felt me moving, she would glare me back into decorous behaviour.

The Lords were looking not at my sister but each other. One was Akhnamen may he live; a young man, heavily decorated and painted, wearing a long wig and the crown of the Upper and Lower Lands. The cobra which was wrapped around the crowns, the uraeus, was of bright cloisonné and so real that I thought I could hear it hiss. The younger King was thick of body, with a strange face; high cheekbones, slanting eyes, a long jaw and soft red lips.

The other King was fat and old. This was the Lord Amenhotep of legendary wisdom. His belly overflowed his beautiful embroidered cloth, and his solid chest bore many jewels; he had thick wrists and stubby fingers overloaded with rings. I was not pleased with him at all until I lifted my gaze to his face and he caught my eyes.

Brown eyes, most deep and considering brown eyes, terribly clever but terribly forgiving. He knew, I felt, as the Divine mouth lifted a little at one corner in a conspiratorial grin, exactly how boring it was to be an overdressed nine-year-old girl, forced to stand in a palace procession and not be able to see anything. He knew why I was peeping around my mother to see what happened to my sister. He even knew, I was sure, how very much I loved her. I smiled back at him with all my heart. Then he shifted his gaze so that my mother would not catch me looking at the Lord of the Two Lands, and returned his attention to his son.

I could not hear what they were saying. My mother was so tense that I felt her quiver like a leashed hunting dog. Was this all for nothing? Were we to take my sister home again? I hoped desperately that this would happen. But finally the strange young man stirred, stood up, and came down the eleven steps to take my sister’s hands and raise her to her feet.

Then the music broke out again, loud and exultant, drums and women’s voices. Nefertiti mounted the steps. Akhnamen may he live presented her to his father Amenhotep, who kissed her on each cheek. Taking one hand each, they presented her to the gathering and we all cheered.

The gates had been opened. Outside were the people of Thebes, all craning to catch a glimpse of the most beautiful woman in the world. When they saw her a gasp and a murmur ran through the mob. Then they began to yell ‘Nefertiti Divine Spouse who lives! Health! Strength! Life to the great Royal Wife!’

As the Kings and my sister walked along the colonnade which led to the temple of Amen-Re where she was to be crowned Queen, flowers rained down from people who lined the walls, so that the golden stone was carpeted with perfumed petals, and the voices followed us, ‘Blessings on the Great Royal Wife, Nefertiti daughter of Divine Father Ay, blessings on Divine Nurse Tey, life to Akhnamen, may he live!’

We left more and more people behind as we moved into the precincts of the temple.

The central mystery, of course, is only for the King and the High Priest of Amen. No one but priests see the God, when they tend him every day. The women stopped as though at an invisible barrier but the Kings walked on, Nefertiti between them, and I followed because no one stopped me, at the heels of Tey my mother and Ay my father.

Inside the temple, in the hypostyle hall like a huge forest of carved petrified trees, four thrones were set up beside a statue of Amen-Re as the Hawk Re Harakti. There were priests waiting. One held a crown. I saw that the Lord Amenhotep was talking to my sister, smiling at her, and she was smiling in return, shy in such state and such company. Then he bade her kneel, and the priest, a tall man with a priest’s shaven skull, raised the crown and lowered it onto my sister’s head.

It was heavy. I saw her shoulder and neck muscles tense to take the weight. With both hands in those of the Lord Amenhotep, she rose again, and was led to sit down on the throne between the King Amenhotep and her new husband, who had hardly looked at her. I was indignant. Didn’t he understand that he had been given the most beautiful of all women as his own?

The air was heavy with the frankincense which came from far-away Punt. It smoked in little dishes on the floor. I felt sick.

Before I could disgrace myself by really being sick in the temple, for which I would probably have been condemned to have my heart eaten after death, I was distracted by the arrival of the Queen, who walked alone up the steps and sat down beside her lord, Amenhotep.

Queen Tiye was plump and smooth, draped in cloth of astounding quality. She wore the Crown of the Upper and Lower Lands, and her skin was as white as milk and her face rounded and smooth. I knew that her hair was red, thought to be unlucky, the colour of Set the Adversary and of Desaret, the Red Waste outside Khemet the Black Land. I knew that there had been trouble with the priests when the Lord Amenhotep had married the foreign woman, although he was Pharaoh and could presumably marry as he pleased, and there were no royal children left from his father’s reign. But I also knew that she had borne sons and daughters to the King and he doted on her. I saw the great crown tilt as Queen Tiye smiled at Nefertiti, and my sister sighed with relief.

Then the priests censed everyone, declared a blessing in language so hieratic that I could not understand it, and we were released to go back to the palace at Thebes and feast.

It was a good feast, and I was sick, after all.

Ptah-hotep

When Pharaoh declares his wish, it is as good as done; and so it was with me. I slept one more night with the trainee scribes in the dormitory. My destiny had been declared. I would now not be a priest. I had no great leaning towards such a life, anyway. I had just wanted to be a skilful scribe, if I had to be a scribe, not a priest.