Out of the Black Land (24 page)

I had no need of gold bracelets, so I did not strive to get close to the King as he threw his usual largess to the crowd.

I was worried about a letter from Tushratta, King of the Mittani.

Khety, who spoke various languages easily, had become my foreign advisor. He was given the letters and messages as they arrived, and I was responsible for bringing such matters as the King needed to know to the royal attention. So far, acceptances for the sed festival had come from most of the surrounding kings, including the three most important: Niqm-adda the Third of Ugarit; Tushratta of Mittani; and Suppiluliumas, the new and rather touchy king of Khatti. The kings, naturally, would not travel themselves—it was never safe for kings of the barbarous nations to travel far from their capital lest they be overthrown in their absence—but each would send a son or other person, on which a kingship had been conferred for the purpose of the event. This was common practice and in view of the King’s poor manners—he had yawned at the recital of a messenger from vassal Rib-Adda, who was reporting that the city of Sumur was assailed—it was fortunate. I felt for Rib-Adda and I could not see any chance of relief for him, though I would try once again at the next audience for foreign visitors.

King Tushratta, however, was powerful. The Mittani occupied a lot of the border and were a proud people with profoundly foreign ways. I had talked to Menna and Harmose, the old scribes whom I had brought with me to Amarna, and they had told me that Tushratta had actually asked Amenhotep-Osiris for an Egyptian princess as a concubine.

No Egyptian princess could ever be given to a foreign king, for in them resided the kingship. No Egyptian princess had ever been given to a foreign king. But apparently it had taken two stiff letters and a severe visit from a messenger to explain this to the barbarian. He was still writing, but now he was demanding gold; which was easier because Amarna had a lot of gold.

‘Tushratta,’ murmured Khety beside me as we walked away into the grateful coolness of the palace.

‘I know,’ I groaned. ‘But what can I do? If Pharaoh won’t listen, he won’t listen and I can’t make him!’ I was beginning to feel dizzy, as though the sun had struck me.

‘Perhaps we could just read the letter to Akhnaten may he live,’ said Khety.

‘He wants unworked gold,’ I said. ‘That would be possible, though he wants lots and lots of it—the exact term is ‘gold in very great quantities’—and we can manage that too, but what shall we tell Tushratta about Keliya?’

‘He is still in fetters,’ said Khety.

‘I know,’ I replied. ‘He greeted the King in the old manner, and when reproved he argued. I managed to save him from instant death, by getting in between him and the soldiers; but the fact remains that Keliya—Tushratta’s principal envoy and royal son of his body, and heir of the King of Mittani—is in durance in Egypt. What will happen when his father finds out I do not know, and I cannot think of a solution,’ I replied.

Khety put an arm around my waist as I felt myself sag.

‘You are faint,’ he said, heaving my weight up into his arms. I do not remember him carrying me to my apartments, but I do recall requesting very urgently that he send not for the palace physician but for the lady Mutnodjme.

Time passed. I swam up into consciousness to the sound of a sweet voice—Meryt, singing to the small drum; and a sweet smell—not the thick rich fragrances of the palace but a bracing scent from the river.

‘Galbanum, prince of herbs,’ commented a cool female voice a second before I identified it. ‘Lie still, my lord, you are fatigued. Your slaves keep the door.’

‘Who veiled the window?’ I asked, for this was forbidden, as was anything which cut off the sun god from his people.

‘I did, and if asked I will say that the strength of the Disc in his glory is too great for mortal men; and that you, his loyal servant, are prostrated in prayer before the majesty of the Aten,’ she replied.

I lay down again under her firm hand; for that was, indeed, an acceptable answer and I wondered why I had not thought of it before. I saw Meryt pat the lady Mutnodjme in a familiar fashion, as though they were sisters, and Teti’s son brought me a draught of cool herb-flavoured water from a pottery vessel.

‘What happened? I was suddenly without strength, as though all the marrow was gone from my bones,’ I said.

‘The heat of the sun, lord Ptah-hotep. Also you are worried, overworked and underslept. I have permission from the Widow-Queen Tiye Mistress of Egypt to stay with you tonight. She believes that this will preserve your repose. Presently we will have a little supper, and then you will sleep again. Meanwhile little Hani will bathe your forehead and Meryt will sing to you; and I will report on your condition to the Lord Chamberlain Huy, hoping that he has not left an indelibly-greasy stain in your office by his contaminating presence.’

I relaxed into Meryt’s voice and the attention of Hani’s little son, who was very gentle, and wondered why I had not appreciated the lady Mutnodjme when she was a child. Her very presence in my apartments was making me feel stronger. The temple of the unnameable lady had sharpened her tongue and her wits; and the customs of the City of the Sun, seen through her dispassionate eyes, seemed even more ridiculous than I had imagined them.

I heard her voice, reporting my overwhelming devotion to the Chamberlain, heard his feet retreat and the outer door close. Then she returned and asked, ‘Which particular problem were you considering when you collapsed, my lord? We had better solve it, then you will sleep better.’

‘Ask Khety,’ I instructed. ‘Bring him in here and he will tell you about the King of Mittani’s son.’

She did as I bade her, and Khety recited the whole problem and read her the passage in which King Tushratta asked:

Why have you delayed my messenger?

Where is my son and the light of my eyes, Keliya?

Why has he not written to me, and is he well?

I do not understand why you do not tell me what I want to know.

‘And we can’t really tell him what he wants to know, can we?’ I asked.

‘He’s imprisoned, you say, not dead?’

‘Not dead,’ agreed Khety. ‘I go down to the cells and bring him food and assure him that he is not forgotten.’

‘
All things can be cured except death
; that is what my Mistress Duammerset used to say,’ Mutnodjme was thinking aloud. ‘There is no sentence, no execution order?’

‘No, he’s been put there and there he stays until the Lord Akhnaten may he live releases him.’

‘It is no use asking my sister Nefertiti may she live for she is completely immersed in her husband’s religion and would never go against his wishes. I will be back in an hour,’ she said, putting back her long black ringlets and straightening her cloth.

‘What are you intending to do?’

‘I’ll tell you if it works. Meanwhile, my dear Ptah-hotep, drink the infusion I left you and sleep. I will be back, if it works or not,’ she assured me, and was gone in a scent of galbanum. She walked like a countrywoman, a solid, firm, decisive stride, with a swing of the buttocks.

Khety and I looked at each other. He shrugged. I drank the infusion.

Barely an hour later—daylight hours are longer, of course, in Peret—she was back. I was sitting up by then, remarkably lazy and sleepy, and I could tell from her triumphant smile that she had achieved her aim. Behind her came a slim young man with the white bands on his ankles which indicate that copper fetters have just been struck off. He was naked and newly cleansed and Meryt sat him down and supplied him with a cup of beer, pieces of bread and meat and a clean loincloth.

‘Here is Keliya, Prince of Mittani,’ Mutnodjme introduced him. ‘He wished to write to his father to complain about his treatment, but I have explained matters to him so that now he wishes to take up his residence, awarded to him by the King Akhnaten may he live. The Great Royal Scribe is requested to report to his father that he is well and happy and will attend the sed festival in Tushratta’s place.’

The bewildered young prince stretched out a hand to Khety, called him brother, and wept a few tears before addressing himself to the beer and the food. Keliya seemed otherwise well, had not been beaten and, apart from being hungry, was undamaged.

Hanufer wrote the letter for him, and he sealed it with his seal ring. Then the lady Mutnodjme opened the outer door to reveal a litter decorated with feathers, ten servants who cried out with joy on seeing him, and four strong bearers. The litter was loaded with gold, jewellery, and a pile of folded cloths to replace the Prince’s lost wardrobe.

Prince Keliya left, kissing Khety in the Mittani way and bending right down to kiss the bare foot of the lady Mutnodjme. If she had engineered his release, she deserved it. It was more than Khety or I had managed.

‘There, my lord, that is one worry the less,’ she said briskly as the entourage left. I waited until they were definitely gone and we were alone in the bed-chamber before I demanded,

‘How did you do it?’

She eased me back into her lap—she had offered her thighs as a pillow for my head—and replied softly, ‘It was the Widow-Queen Tiye. She told her son that his action had been justified but now he must restore the prince to his position in time for the sed festival; and he obeyed her instantly, like a calf obeys a cow. I thought that it might be so,’ she said.

‘Now, my lord, you must sleep,’ she ordered, and who was I to disobey this masterful woman?

I closed my eyes and slept.

Chapter Seventeen

Mutnodjme

Time passed. I knew that Widow-Queen Tiye may she live was willing to help in mitigating the effects of her son’s fanaticism after the release of the Prince of Mitanni. The King did not visit his mother often, for fear of what she might say.

Every tenth day treasure was distributed to the inhabitants of Amarna, every day the sun-disc was worshipped according to the King’s ritual, and the Nile did not flood, and the land grew drier, as though ousted Amen-Re was angry with us on behalf of Hapi, God of the Nile.

At the beginning of Tybi, Merope and I were inducted into the mysteries of the Phoenix.

Nefertiti came for us before dawn, a time when sensible people are still asleep. She led us in darkness to a door in the Queen’s Palace which gave onto a set of steps and we groped our way down, for apparently no light must penetrate the place of the Phoenix before Aten’s own rays.

In that case it might have been wiser to leave the initiation until after dawn, I thought, but I said nothing. Meekness was my name and butter would not have melted in my mouth.

Merope was walking behind me, holding on to my shoulder, for she was as blind as a bat in the dark. I reached up and took her hand and she impudently brushed my nipple in passing, trying to make me laugh. I did not laugh, but pinched her earlobe hard to warn her that this initiation was to be taken very seriously, with the solemnity that my sister Nefertiti was exhibiting as we walked along a complicated corridor in the darkness.

Some little light leaked down through joins from the soldier’s torches above, and I could in any case feel that there were many doorways on either side. The openings breathed vacancy and cooler air. Nefertiti was confident and led the way, her hand in mine, and Merope and I followed after, oppressed by darkness and no longer in the mood for tricks.

We came into a small round chamber where I struck my shins on a large pot of water and bit back a curse.

‘You must strip and wash,’ said Nefertiti. ‘Did either of you lie with a man last night?’

‘No,’ said Merope. I nodded, realised I could not be seen, and said, ‘I did not lie with a man last night.’ Of course, I had lain with my sister Merope, but that probably did not count.

We were required to strip naked and bathe very thoroughly with laundryman’s oatmeal and lye. This stung the skin but certainly rendered it clean. Our clothes were left behind, our jewellery and all our goods.

Nefertiti did not know, and I did not tell her, that the insignia of the Goddess Isis was tattooed on my scalp. It had been done when I came to the temple, when my head was shaved of the lock of childhood, and the hair had long since grown. I had a distinct feeling that being permanently marked with something which effectively meant, ‘This woman belongs to Isis’ might not be the advantage it was meant to be, and in fact might mitigate against my survival.

Breathing an inaudible prayer to my Lady Isis to assure her that I had not forgotten her worship, I followed the naked Merope out of the chamber into what seemed to be a large underground room and thence into a tunnel.

We emerged into the open. I heard water running. A channel of some sort was near. Nefertiti led me and we walked into water. It was only shin deep but it was a surprise. Merope clutched my hand as if she were frightened. I smelt spices and dust. Then I heard voices—women’s voices—chanting in harmony:

Hail, bird of fire.
Hail, fire-feathered, emerald-eyed,
Hail thou who nesteth in spices!

I was through the channel and hauled my sister Merope up behind me. There was a grey predawn light in the sky and we could now see, though at that hour all faces are ghastly and haggard and all colours are absent.

We were in a courtyard, roofed over except for the open space at the end where there was a Benben pillar, a stele with a rounded top; the perch for the Phoenix when she flew into Egypt. This was open to the sky. Each doorway had a channel in front of it so that no one could enter without walking through what was presumably sacred or blessed water. Thus purified, one could approach the worship of the Phoenix.

We were naked, more naked than I can recall being, for I had no jewellery, no sandals, and I felt as though a protective layer of skin had been removed by the lye. Merope crossed one arm on her breasts and shivered, though it was not cold. I held her other hand in mine as Nefertiti brought us forward to face a choir of women, all robed in red and gold robes of great richness and weight.

I could discern the red and gold; the sun was rising. Nefertiti shivered with pleasure as the chorus sang:

Hail, most excellent lady,
Avatar of the fire-wing,
Lady of splendour!

And Nefertiti cried:

This is the worship of the Phoenix,
She who bears her own self inside her,
She who is unique,
For there is only one Phoenix, ever, Self-created, self-generating, lady of fire!

The women, raising their arms, cried:

She comes, she comes
Behold the Phoenix!

Merope and I cried out in amazement. I saw the Firebird, a huge creature, bigger than every bird that flew. In the new sunlight she shone like metal. I could not look at her. And still the women chanted:

She is coloured like the pomegranate,
like the wild poppy;
her wings are gold,
and the rainbow has coloured her head.

My eyes filled, I blinked and looked again, and then I realised that I was seeing an image made of gold with red and copper feathers and coloured glass melted into every scale of her legs. Her eyes were emeralds. She was a masterpiece.

And as the women cried out:

She who is last and first, she who is unique, worship her!

Merope and I dropped to our knees and then kissed earth in front of the Phoenix, while the women did the same. Some of them were crying, some moaning. I had been staggered by the apparition, which was made the more startling by the long journey in the dark.

Nefertiti raised her arms, her robes falling back to reveal that she was draped in red and gold feathers, and the women cried:

Hail most excellent lady,
Keeper of the Firebird,
Prophet of the Phoenix.

The Pharaoh Akhnaten was not the only one who wanted to be worshipped, it seemed. Merope and I screamed along with the rest as they repeated this three times.

Nefertiti said:

She comes from Africa bearing spices for her nest.
She flies into the Black Land escorted by all of the birds of the air,
For she is their monarch and they delight to serve her.

‘They delight to serve her,’ repeated the women.

And Nefertiti continued:

Soaring she settles into the perch we have prepared for her,
And there she sings her last song,
Marvellously sweet to hear.

‘Marvellously sweet,’ murmured the women.

There she gathers cinnamon and balsam and cassia;
She makes her cradle and her sepulchre of frankincense and spikenard.

‘Frankincense and spikenard,’ said the chorus.

Here she lays an egg which is her,
A ball of myrrh and seed which will hatch her again,
And then she cups her wings and summons fire.

‘Summons fire,’ breathed the women, echoing Nefertiti.

And the fire of Aten her lord licks up into her limbs,
And she burns

‘She burns,’ murmured the chorus.

Hail to the Phoenix!
For though she is burned to ashes,
Yet she leaves her own self to hatch again from the ball of precious spices,
And she is herself never dying and never dead,
For in her own death she finds life.

‘Hail!’ cried the chorus.

And Nefertiti, her creamy voice rich with triumph, called:

Thus we shall rise.

‘We shall rise…’

We shall rise like the Phoenix.

‘We shall rise…’

We shall rise over death, which has no power,
For we are as the Phoenix.
Hail!’

‘Hail!’ cried the women as they leapt to their feet.

Pipes and drums began from a group of musicians in the centre of the courtyard. I noticed as I was swept into a step-dance that they were men and that they were blind, and I was consumed not with religious ecstasy but pity as I danced, Merope holding one hand and a court lady the other.

And as we danced we chanted the Phoenix litany, and I apologised to my lady Isis for taking part in this paltry ceremony.

Isis demanded that I starve three days before she accepted me, in order that I should understand hunger. Isis required that I should not taste water a day and a night, so that I would understand thirst. To Isis I swore to alleviate pain and misery, to feed the hungry and nurture the fatherless.

The Phoenix only wanted me to strip naked and dance.

But I could do that, and I did. We went round and down in a chain, split into pairs, and then into the round again. The pace was fast and the drums throbbed like heartbeats in fever, and as the sun rose higher we were wet with sweat. Hands slipped out of my slippery grasp. I was out of breath but I could not break the chain, and I reminded myself that I was a priestess of a much sterner lady than this bird, and kept moving.

Fortunately my sister the Queen, who has never had a lot of stamina, left the dance and brought us with her. The priestesses continued, round and round the Benben pillar, and I flopped down on the tiled floor as the drums throbbed and the pipes trilled, making bird calls for the silent image.

When the courtyard was fully lit, Nefertiti raised her arms again and silence fell.

‘Listen,’ she said, and no one breathed.

‘One day,’ she told the worshippers,’ You will hear the rustle of feathers, and the song of all the birds in Egypt escorting her to this place. Listen every day,’ said Nefertiti, looking so beautiful that I could hardly bear to see her. The lines of her throat and breasts were perfect in the bright light, and she shone ivory, carmine and gold. She was alight with joy, with triumph, as enchanting as a goddess, and the worshippers fell to the ground, screaming and weeping and kissing her feet.

Had this been what my sister had always wanted?

We were escorted back to the palace blindfold through the passages under the ground, and I had no real idea of where the courtyard of the Phoenix lay.

Before we came into the palace again, Queen Nefertiti said, ‘If you have any questions, sisters, ask them now, for you may not speak of the mystery of the Firebird outside this place.’

‘Lady, what of the musicians? I thought all men were banned from this mystery.’ I was curious about the musicians; the mystery itself seemed self-evident.

‘They are not men,’ said Nefertiti in her gentle voice. ‘Their goddess castrates them. She is called Astarte; they are priests of Attis. So they are no longer men, and being blind cannot see the Phoenix, so they are allowed.’

‘Who carries out such a terrible deed?’ I asked, a little taken aback.

‘They themselves, with a curved knife. But we blinded them, of course. Have you any other questions?’

‘No, lady,’ I said. We blinded them? Who was we? Mutilation was sometimes imposed by the law, when a judge ordered that a traitor or a murderer should be deprived of nose or ears and banished to the desert as an alternative to execution. It was not something which anyone could just do so that a Phoenix could have male musicians at her ceremony.