Out of the Black Land (12 page)

‘It is,’ I replied, and she went away.

My clerks were grinning at me. Did everyone know what I had been doing? I adopted my most serious manner and they grinned even more. Khety whispered to me, ‘Well done, lord!’ and I was within a finger-span of clipping his ears, as my own master might have done to an impertinent student.

However, it did mean that the palace gossips would have a new morsel on which to mumble their jaws. Man-loving Ptah-hotep has lain with his Nubian—well, well. I could easily bear the imputation that I cared only for black women. That would only mean that I was a commoner and had commoner’s tastes. And I am a commoner, and I do have common tastes. My most dangerous secret would be safe; but there must be something for such persons to know about the great, and I was happy if they knew that.

Imhotep had already arrived. He was a thin fussy youth with grand ideas, especially about his own station. He had slapped Hani, the clumsier of the twins, for approaching too close in serving him wine; and Hani, shocked, had spilled a full cup into the imperious architect’s lap. Meryt was mopping him, but the cloth would have to be pounded in lye before it could be worn again. Hani was crying, Tani was comforting Hani, and their brother Teti was glaring and picking up the shattered remains of one of my best wine-cups. I reminded myself that I outranked all of them.

‘Hani, stop crying; it was an honest accident; I’m not angry. Go and help Meryt set out the feast. Tani, get some more wine. Teti, finish cleaning the floor and accompany Hani.

‘My lord Imhotep, do not be distressed. My slaves are not used to being struck, I would be obliged if you do not do so again. Come into my quarters and I will be honoured to give you my finest cloth to replace the one you are wearing.’

Imhotep, knowing that he was in the wrong—one is not supposed to strike slaves, it reveals one as a man with no self-control—came with me and selected a cloth I had inherited along with my office. It was almost solid with gold embroidery and he was welcome to it. He stripped off the wine-stained one and dropped it on the floor.

‘I should not have slapped your Nubian, lord, forgive my hastiness. But the King Akhnamen may he live is going to look at my plans and by Thoth who is our protector, I’m so scared,’ he said frankly. I looked on him with immediate approval.

‘I know how you feel,’ I told him. ‘But we shall make a good production of this. Meryt has the feast ready. The wine is the best. Tani and Hani shall serve it, and they will catch the King’s attention, being identical twins.’

‘Yes, where did you get them?’ he asked as we left my sleeping chamber.

‘From the temple of Khnum, which is selling some of its surplus prisoners. They are relatives of Meryt, my housekeeper.’

‘And as long as you sleep with their sister, they will be loyal,’ he commented. ‘A wise precaution, my lord.’

‘Now, what plans have you and how can we display them to their best advantage?’ I asked, passing over the comment about Meryt. That aspect of our relationship had not occurred to me.

‘I have drawn a big map, perhaps that should go on the wall,’ he said, fussing again.

It took a long discussion before we decided that Tani and Hani should hold up the large drawing, providing an amusing reflective effect; while Teti served the wine; and Khety, Hanufer and Bakhenmut answered any questions about the office which it might please the Lord of the Two Thrones to ask. Meryt would meanwhile take charge of Khons, the barbarian princess and the Lady Mutnodjme and answer their questions, preferably out of earshot.

Then they came, the King and Queen may they live, and their attendants. When the Great Royal Wife Nefertiti came in, accompanied by the inquisitive Lady Mutnodjme and the Kritian princess, I knew instantly that the expression on her face matched my own. The Queen had lain in love as I had myself. Her body, as mine, was feeling loose, comforted, warm. She glanced at me briefly, and whatever she saw in my countenance made her shy, because she lowered fringed eyelids and looked away.

This caused me a moment of intense puzzlement. Had some God endowed the Lord Akhnamen with potency? It was well known that he was unmanned by disease.

I had to store my astonishment for later consideration, as my royal guests were tasting the tidbits prepared for their delectation, and Imhotep was beginning to explain to the King Akhnamen all about the new city of the sun at Amarna.

‘In the centre of the city will be the palace and temple, as you have ordered, Great Lord,’ began Imhotep, his voice shaking with nerves. The strange profile inclined. The King was interested. I looked at the drawing, flanked by two solemn Nubian faces. The palace and the temple were one; strange, but not impossible. The buildings were laid out in a huge court, the palace on three sides and the temple on the other.

‘And here, Lord of the Two Lands, is the Window of Appearances that you ordered. It commands the whole square. From it all people will be able to see you and your Queen Nefertiti may she live. If this is what you require?’ asked Imhotep.

I could understand his uncertainty. This was a very odd request. Women in the Black Land were free and visible, of course. Only barbarians who are ashamed of their own brutality and have peculiar ideas about how the world works, hide their women away in stifling tents in the desert lest other men should see and covet them. Indeed in this same dynasty a queen had made herself into a king; the Divine Lady Hatshepsut, who had declared herself Pharaoh and reigned alone for thirty years.

And in every market the sellers were women, the traders and some of the makers, though weaving was still largely a male task and field workers tended to be men, because they were stronger (and according to my mother, closer to the mentality of the ox or horse). The washers of clothes were all men, as the lye they used in removing such stains as the wine soaked into Imhotep’s cloth, was very strong and was thought to affect the fertility of women.

But Great Royal Wives conferred the kingship on their husbands, and took no official role in running the country. What they did unofficially, of course, was not known. Certainly their favour was strongly solicited for mercy or justice.

Great Royal Wife Tiye had sent me a couple of oppressed farmers recently, and on their testimony I had ordered an investigation of the administration of a mismanaged village which might well have escaped notice otherwise. And if the headman of that particular village had done half of what was alleged, he would shortly be examining an executioner’s knife at uncomfortably close quarters.

I had missed some of Imhotep’s speech while lost in thought, though from the smothered yawns from the king’s attendants it had not been gripping. Imhotep was listing the labour he would need to survey the site, and the wording on the boundary stones. No one lived in the area, it was desolate Desaret, red waste, so there were no disputed farmer’s claims to adjudicate. I did wonder where the Royal Lord Akhnamen was going to get his water for the lakes of lotuses which Imhotep had designed. I was answered in the next sentence.

‘And I estimate that it will take three seasons to build the canal,’ said the architect, and sat down.

Tani, who had forgiven the insult to his brother, gave Imhotep a cup of the strong beer which he preferred, and he gulped it down and held out the cup for more.

‘Good,’ said the king. ‘Good. The breadth of your imagination pleases me, Imhotep. Consult with the land registry and with my scribe, here, and draw the labour you need. No slaves; this city will be built by freeborn men.’

‘Lord, they are expensive,’ protested Imhotep. ‘Indentured labour can only be used during Shemu, the harvest season, when no one works in the fields; and then only really for the months of Pakhons, Paoni and the first decan of Ephipi, after which it becomes too hot. And they demand not only the best food—which is in any case wise, as a healthy workforce is more productive—but priests, physicians and an army of cooks and overseers.’

‘Nevertheless, that is my desire,’ said the King softly.

Imhotep took one look at the determined royal countenance and threw himself to the floor, kissing the king’s jewel-encrusted sandals.

‘Lord of the Two Thrones, Master, I will do all that you wish,’ he said, and the king left a measurable pause before he lowered his flail and let it slide across Imhotep’s back.

‘Ptah-hotep,’ he said to me, ignoring the man lying at his feet. ‘You are happy?’

‘Great Royal Lord, I am,’ I replied.

‘Come to me tomorrow, early in the morning,’ he said. His voice was always soft. Nefertiti, the Great Royal Wife, was sitting close beside him. His arm was around her waist and his soft fingers were stroking her bare side, just as though they were lovers. She blushed and nestled closer to him, her slim arms around the bulk of the king. It was most odd, but rather charming.

‘Lord, I will come,’ I agreed, though I had no need to reply. He knew that no one in the palace would oppose any order he cared to make.

‘I am thinking of a hymn, which I will write,’ he said. His elongated eyes glowed with fervour.

‘Lord?’

‘A hymn to the Aten,’ he told me, and with no further word, he rose and left.

Meryt came to me after seeing Imhotep to the door with all his plans and papers.

‘The little princess Mutnodjme has grown,’ she said. ‘She did not ask anything which might be considered impertinent, except about men and women, and I told her what I could. What are you worried about, Master? I think the twig-broom my lord Imhotep’s speech went well and they have eaten a lot of the food.’

Apart from knowing that Imhotep had now been named and would be forever after known in my household as Twig Broom, which suited him perfectly, I was troubled because the king had named a god I had never heard of; and I thought I knew all of them.

‘Khety,’ I said, ‘Have some of this honeyed quail, it’s delicious, and then look up the lists of gods, and find me what it says about the Aten.’

Chapter Ten

Mutnodjme

The conversation with the Nubian woman in the Great Royal Scribe’s service had been brief but so packed with information that I went straight to my mat and lay down to think, astonishing my sister Merope, my mother and my teacher.

But I did not have time to really consider the implications of what I had heard, because the Priestess of Isis was announced and both Merope and I were banished to be thoroughly washed and perfumed and to have our hair combed and arrayed fittingly.

For the Chief Priestess of Isis is the mistress of magic, of learning and of spells; and was it not Isis who by her sorcery collected up the pieces of her murdered husband, put them back together, all except for his phallus which the fish had eaten, and then magically compensated for that loss, and mated with him to conceive and birth Horus the Avenger? That class of power differed from that of the Pharaoh, but was not to be slighted.

We were ushered back into the big room with the beautiful frieze of flowers—cornflower, lotus, sunflower and all the riverine grasses—a little breathless but terribly clean, and knelt to the tall slim woman in the green robes.

Isis’ Lady was old. I knew that the proper title was ‘Singer for Isis’ but she sounded too old to sing. Her feet were hard and calloused like a dancer’s; and her robes smelt of moon-leaf and unefer, magical herbs.

Tey my mother introduced us, and as is proper, we did not move until the old hand had moved to touch first Merope, then me, on the bare shoulder.

‘Mutnodjme,’ she said consideringly, dismissing Merope with a delicate wave. ‘You are learned, I am told.’

‘Lady, I have a little learning,’ I agreed. I knew how much I did not know.

‘And would you have more?’

‘Lady, if I am allowed to ask questions.’

Khons grinned, and Tey scowled.

‘Mutnodjme, my life has been entirely spent asking questions. Whether you will receive answers, well, there is a question.’

I was looking into her face. She had the papery skin of the aged, deeply lined, and her voice was high and trembled a little. Her dark eyes were unreadable, but might have contained a glint of humour. I gambled on this and replied honestly.

‘Lady, as long as there are questions there will be answers, or there is no sense in asking them.’

‘And you are sensible?’ At least she was continuing the conversation.

‘Sometimes, Lady of the Lady Isis.’

She gave a short laugh; almost a grunt. ‘Sing,’ she said.

I rose to my feet. I had always liked to sing and Nefertiti liked to listen to me, though I gave Tey a headache. I sang one of the spells which people used to charm snakes.

A face has seen a face

A face is against a face

The mottled knife

Both black and green

Goes forth against

What is seen

Back with thee, hidden one!

Hide thyself, venomous!

Back with thee, hidden one!

Hide thyself, toothless!

In Nemi’s name, the son of Nemit,

Thou shalt do no hurt.

I finished with an elaborate twirl on the last three notes and sat down. The old woman did not comment on my voice but asked, ‘You banish the serpent in the name of Nemi. Who is Nemi?’

‘Lady, the woman who taught it to me did not know. Teacher Khons thinks he might be a servant of the Nine of Thebes; my sister Merope says that the name is not Kritian and she does not know; and the Nubian woman who cleans the floor says that it is not Nubian. Therefore I would derive the title from our word for wanderer; so it would mean, Wanderer son of Wanderess, which is a good description of a snake. So I think that’s what it means, and it’s a way of naming the snake. So maybe the song should say ‘I name thee Nemi, son of Nemit’ which would scan, too.’

‘And the value of knowing a name?’

‘If you know someone’s name…’ I groped for words. ‘You know them, Lady, and can hurt them. All the spells depend on knowing a hidden name.’

There was a pause in which I wondered if I had said something terribly wrong. Then she nodded.

‘My name,’ said the old woman, getting to her feet with my mother’s assistance, ‘is Duammerset, Priestess of Isis, and you may come to me for more learning, little daughter, if you will.’ She made a complicated gesture of blessing and was gone, escorted by three attendants in the same green robes.

They were the most beautiful of greens, deep and rich, the colour of malachite, and I wondered what dye they used.

I was surprised by my mother hugging me and Khons offering me a honeycake.

‘That is a very alarming lady, my daughter, and you spoke up well, and sang well. I am pleased with you,’ declared Tey, ‘And so will your father be. That settles your future, daughter. If you wish to marry from the temple, then Isis is your dowry.’

Khons was so delighted at how well I had acquitted myself that he offered to take us for a walk to the walls, and Tey was so pleased with me that she allowed this.

The town of Thebes baked under the sun of the month of Mesoré. We could practically hear the old mud houses in the village creaking as they dried. The village was large, and on one side of the river the temple of Amen-Re stretched out of sight, pile on pile of glowing golden buildings. A few fishing boats slid across the river, the reed ones which the fisherman use only in this season when the river is almost stagnant. No one was stirring in the small houses where linen bleached on the roofs of the laundrymen and new spun threads hung limply at the dyer’s. All sensible people were asleep in the dark, waiting for a change of weather. No work was done in the fields in this season. There is no sense in ploughing dust. I remembered Merope saying that in her island the fields were watered from the air, by rain, but here the Goddess Tefnut contented herself with the Nile. I had only seen rain perhaps ten times in my life.

There was not a breath of air, which was an advantage. The poison-breath wind had gone and soon we would be feasting and rejoicing in the five intercalary days on which the common people got married, and then the rise of the river again at New Year, when there was another feast, Opet. Merope leaned on the marble wall and exclaimed, pulling back as the hot stone scorched her tender arms.

‘I don’t like Egypt,’ she said, ‘you were my only friend and now you’re going away.’

‘Not for years,’ said Teacher Khons consolingly. ‘She cannot enter the temple until her moon-blood comes, and even then the priestesses may send her home if she is not mature enough. Isis deals with the great mysteries, birth and death, and they cannot be contemplated by anyone who is still a child. We will go on as we have been doing, Princess, and learn as much as we can. And anyway, you must go and be a Great Royal Wife in truth when the time comes for you.’

‘That’s true, Teacher,’ Merope appeared to be comforted. ‘What is this Lady Isis, anyway?’

‘Come and sit down under the awning, pupils, and I will try and tell you, but first I will call for some small-ale and some fruit and Mutnodjme will tell us what she knows about the Lady Isis.’

‘She is the Lady of a Thousand Names,’ I said as I sat down next to Merope in the thick shade. ‘Lady of Bread, Lady of the Wheat Field, Star of Mariners, gentle and learned. When Set the Destroyer murdered her husband she sought for him and saved him and rules the Land of Sekhet-hetepet, the Field of Offerings, with him. Her child is Horus and her sisters are the Ladies of Motherhood, Hunting and Protection: Tawert, Neith and Nepthys.’

‘A very good start,’ encouraged Teacher Khons. ‘Do you know the tale of the theft of the Name?’

‘No, tell us,’ we said, our invariable answer.

‘First, tell me why Great Royal Nurse Tey said that Isis would give you your dowry,’ asked Merope.

‘Because a woman learned in the mysteries of Isis needs no dowry,’ I answered. ‘Women of that temple can deliver babies, tend the sick, make spells, draw down Khons by the hair,’ I added, referring to the God of the Moon and Time and grinning at Khons the teacher, who slipped off his Nubian wig and revealed an entirely bare scalp.

‘You might have trouble pulling this Khons down by the hair,’ he chuckled.

‘She is a wise woman, a skilled woman, and worth a great dowry. That is, if she lasts for the whole time. Priestesses are required to stay in the temple until they are eighteen, and I may not live that long, of course.’

‘If the gods are kind, you may survive and become a good magician. Do not take to sorcery, Mutnodjme, I beg,’ said Teacher Khons, replacing his wig.

‘Because I mightn’t be good at it?’ I asked.

‘Because you might be altogether too good at it,’ he responded.

Then we settled down with a cup of small-ale each, Khons produced the papyrus, and we read it by turns. Merope, who still had trouble with Egyptian, began:

Behold the Goddess Isis lived in a woman’s body skilled-with-words. Her heart turned away from millions of humans and turned to millions of gods. How could she become esteemed on earth, how could she make herself Lady of Knowledge by means of the knowledge of the Great Name?

‘This is too difficult, Teacher,’ Merope begged. ‘Can I give it to my sister? In any case, she reads better.’

‘Very well,’ said Khons, giving me the roll. I took up the tale:

Behold Re came each day in the sacred ship, lord of the double crown. Divine Re had become old. He dribbled at the mouth. Now this Lady Isis took his spittle and earth and moulded it into a serpent in her hand, even a serpent with fangs sharp as arrows, and she placed it on the path before the Lord Amen-Re’s foot.

When the Most High walked on his way, the serpent drove its fangs into his ankle, and the life began to depart from the Eternal’s body, and the creature of Isis began to destroy the Lord of the Sun.

Then that mighty god opened his mouth and cried aloud.

The gods said, ‘What is the matter?’

And the Lord Amen-Re found that he could not speak, for the poison was running in all his limbs as the Nile conquers the lands through which it flows.

Then the great god steadied his heart and spoke, and said, ‘I have been stung by some deadly thing of which I have no knowledge, which was not made by me and is not of me. Never have I felt such pain. Can it be fire? Can it be water? My heart is burning, my limbs are shivering, let there come to me all those who know words of power and banish this agony from me.’

And all the gods lamented, for they knew no remedy.

I could see it all, the little serpent the colour of earth, the bite and the great god’s cry of pain. The part of the story which I liked most came next, and Khons took the scroll from me to read at an even pace, for when I was excited I always read too fast. I listened with bated breath as I always did to Isis’ clever manoeuvre.

Then came Isis with her words of power and in her mouth was the breath that is life. She said ‘What is this, Lord? Has some created thing dared to bite you? I shall overcome it.’

And the Divine One said, ‘I walked the road of this country my own Khemet to look on my own works and a serpent bit me. Can this be fire? Can this be water? I am hotter than any fire. My limbs tremble, I sweat, my eyes fail. I cannot see.’

Isis said, ‘Divine One, tell me your name, and I shall cure you.’

And Amen-Re said, ‘I am maker of mountains, I am creator of all, I am maker of waters. I have created love. I am he the gods know not; I am one who is hidden. I am he who commands and the Nile flows forth to water the land. I am the creator of hours, time, festivals and years. I am Khephri at dawn and Harakhte at noon and Temu in the evening.’

And those names were named but the poison still tormented him.