Out of the Black Land (16 page)

‘It is not so in the Island,’ said Merope.

‘Tell us,’ I said, leaning on Khons, who nodded at Merope.

‘There all dead persons explain their lives to Gaia, Mistress of Animals, and Dionysus the dancer, her consort. There they say:
I have been just, I have not hurt or killed, I have loved and been loved, there are those who will mourn my death
.

‘And Gaia welcomes them into her kingdom, to dance with the Dancer and sleep in the green grass, on the mountains where the goats crop, in the Island Underworld where Gaia sits on her flowered throne,’ Merope said.

‘Here, too, one must confess before Osiris,’ returned the teacher. ‘The dead one must say:
I have done no murder. I have not oppressed the widow and orphan. I have fed the hungry and given water to the thirsty; and to those who could not cross the river I have given boats
.

‘The more power the person had on earth, the more chance they had to do the wrong thing and the more likely they are to see their heart sinking in the balances against the feather of Maat. For the herdsman has little chance to commit sins; he is too poor for gluttony and too ugly for lechery and has too little power to oppress the poor. But the great man has a correspondingly greater scope, and therefore can more easily fall into sin.’

‘What happens to those whose heart is heavy in the balance?’ asked Merope.

‘The heart is eaten by the monster Aphopis, half crocodile and half dog, and they are forgotten,’ replied Khons.

‘Even if they are embalmed in the proper way and all the spells said and offerings made?’

‘Even so,’ said Khons seriously. ‘Unless the dead person is good, they will not survive to live in Osiris’ kingdom. In the
Tale of Se-Osiris the Magician
, it is told that the good poor man goes on rejoicing to feast with Horus, and the rich greedy and corrupt man lies down at the first keeper’s door, and the socket for the door-pivot is his eye.’

We thought about this. It was a sobering image. For if the more powerful had more scope to commit sins, what could we make of the changes being wrought by the most powerful of all, who had just announced that he was changing his name and would henceforth be known as Akhnaten; and that in his new city there would be no feast of Amen-Re at the New Year?

Ptah-hotep

Many people came to visit us over the next two days. The report was written, with Kheperren’s reluctance to declare his own bravery overcome, mostly by main force—by which I mean that Hanufer sat on him while Bakhenmut made a fair copy of the report and gave it to Khety to copy five times, and I sealed it. It was then an official document and it would have been treason to meddle with it or erase so much as a line. This was explained to Kheperren with due solemnity and he agreed to allow the report to go to Horemheb and the King without emendation.

The holidays were always marked with a round of visiting and a lot of eating and drinking, and Kheperren and I wandered from gathering to gathering, arriving when we wished and departing when we felt like it. I had never drunk so much in my life, but consoled my conscience with the notion that soon I would be back at work; and then my mind shied away from the thought that Kheperren must leave me again at the end of the twelve days. He must go with the captains and depart into the waste, and risk his life every day, a life so precious to me that I did not know if I could live without him.

However, we were enjoying our leisure. The palace was loud with the noise of parties, the stink of lamps and the cloud of perfumes; wine, roasting, melting fat as the scent-cones dripped oil down the faces and wigs of the guests. We were lurching down a corridor, arms around each other, in the middle of the second night, and Kheperren was saying how difficult navigation was in the half dark when we almost fell into the arms of Horemheb and an old man.

We dropped as soon as we saw who it was with the brave captain, and kissed his sandal toes. I tried to force my wine-soaked wits to remember the proper forms of address but I was hauled up by the shoulder before I could get through half of the titles of Amenhotep the King, may he live forever.

He was regarding us with very shrewd dark brown eyes. I leaned on Kheperren and he leaned on me and together we remained more or less upright. Horemheb said, lips twitching, ‘Here is the Great Royal Scribe of your Royal Son, Master, and my brave army scribe.’

‘Come with us,’ said the King, and we followed him into a little antechamber, past two ranks of soldiers. There a woman sat nursing a child. It was Great Royal Wife Queen Tiye, the red-headed woman, and she smiled indulgently upon us and called for wine mixed with water and plain bread with sesame seed, reputed to be good for hangovers. We sagged down onto a precious carpet before the King’s feet and Horemheb took a chair.

‘I am always pleased to talk with chance-met companions,’ said the King slowly, making sure that his words penetrated even the most wine-sodden skull. ‘It would not be proper for me to interfere in my son’s household, of course, but I admit I was curious about this young scribe, especially since the Great Royal Lady tells me that he deals most impartially with the matters she sends.’

I had investigated the farmer’s complaints, discounted ten percent for exaggeration and found a case to answer. The Headman was now awaiting trial for oppression and theft, though what would probably seal his fate was defrauding the King’s taxes. The new Headman would be required to watch his predecessor’s execution, which should ensure exemplary rule in that village for a generation or so. Since then the Queen had seen fit to send me three or four other matters, which I was considering.

Not that I was capable of considering all that much at the moment. Kheperren, always a happy drunk, was showing a tendency to giggle, and I felt as though every thought had to be dredged up as from a deep well. When the wine-and-water came, I took some deep draughts and ate some bitter herbs, which the slave had also brought. They were the dark green nettle which we call gallus, a strong restorative. I felt slightly sick, but clearer in the head. The King looked approvingly on me and smiled.

I could not see any of my lord Akhnamen, now Akhnaten, in the king. He had none of the dreamy aura which surrounded the Royal Son. He was immensely alive and alert, though old, and if his gaze had been sharper when he was younger then he would have been able to stare holes in a stone door.

I realised that I had been fetched, accidentally on purpose, to a serious meeting which palace procedure would have totally forbidden, and sat up straighter. My dearest friend appeared to be sobering, also. No one ever said that Kheperren was unobservant.

‘General Horemheb,’ said the King, ‘what shall we say to this Great Royal Scribe and this decorated soldier?’

‘We shall say that they hold the fate of the Black Land in their hands, and explain the situation without frightening them too badly,’ replied Horemheb, flicking a blue-beaded tress back over his shoulder.

‘You trust them, despite their youth?’

‘I trust them because of their youth,’ he replied. ‘And because although he has no taste for war, Kheperren saved my life. He did not flinch and he did not run, and that is much for an untried and scholarly young man. And I trust them because they are brothers.’

‘Very well,’ said the King Amenhotep may he live.

‘General,’ said Kheperren, wavering down to kiss Horemheb’s foot, ‘congratulations on your elevation.’

‘Scribe,’ said the general, ‘I thank you. I have here your mark of valour, which you will wear in memory of the Battle of the Mountains.’

He took Kheperren’s hand and slipped a heavy gold arm-ring onto his wrist. It was figured with silver bees.

I knew that Kheperren was about to protest and I wanted to hear what the King had to say, so I pulled him back onto our carpet and said, ‘Congratulations, soldier! My lords, we are at your disposal. What did you wish to say to us?’ I was worried as to how long my sobriety would last and I did not wish to disgrace my office by falling asleep.

‘Egypt,’ said the King, a little amused by my presumption, ‘is at its fullest extent. We control more land than we ever have, and we control it mostly by diplomacy. The army, of course, is important,’ he deferred to the general in a way which was most pleasing to watch, ‘but mostly we have maintained this empire by diplomacy. My entire foreign office spends all its days in writing letters to the surrounding kings and princelings and in patching up alliances and in fostering quarrels between our enemies.’ The old man got up and began to pace the room, occasionally pausing to stroke the cheek of the sleeping child or take a strand of the Queen’s coppery hair between his fingers.

‘Consider,’ he continued, ‘on both sides of the Nile there is Desaret, a bleak waste, where nomads roam. They are not immensely important on their own, being quarrelsome and uncertain of purpose. If they can ever ally one with the other, settle their differences and invade in force that will be a different matter, and I have agents amongst the tribes to warn the throne of the emergence of a new god, which is the only thing which could make them dangerous. Beyond them on one side there are the kingdoms of Mitanni, Babylonia and Khatte, who are bitter enemies of each other and must be kept so. For if they combine, my children, then Egypt will fall before their combined might, and we will be subjugated just as we were under the Hyksos.’

‘How can they be kept at variance?’ I asked.

‘By a sedulous fostering of quarrels, my scribe, by a careful application of flattery and gifts, by marriages and alliances. On the Great Green Sea our messengers sail to Achaea and to Kriti; there is a Princess Merope of that Island amongst the Great Royal Wives, here to bind her father Minos to our treaty. We sail to Ugarit, to Tyre, to Byblos unmolested. Our boundaries stretch across most of the Known World, but take heed of this: no army in the world could protect them if they were assailed at more than one point. However big the army, however well led—and General Horemheb, I mean no insult—they could not get to a troubled spot in time if an invasion in force was attempted. Only diplomacy can keep Egypt, and that is why you are here, young and honourable men. I fear…’’

He was standing by his wife and she reached up and took his hand, drawing it to her breast. For a moment, I saw fear in the heart of the Lord Amenhotep.

‘My son is building a new city, and you will go there with him when it is finished, Ptah-hotep,’ said the King. ‘I doubt the King Akhnamen—Akhnaten now, of course—will bother with a foreign office, so I am asking you to do me this favour. Take with you several scribes from my service who speak the foreign tongues and write the barbaric cuneiform. Receive the ambassadors politely, send out such presents as will please them, and try—for me, for Egypt—to balance the allies and suppress the enemies. You can maintain a link with the army by your letters to your heart’s brother Kheperren who will stay with the General Horemheb, who will keep him safe for love of me.’

‘Lord of the Two Crowns, I will try to do as you wish,’ I began. ‘But I do not know what the Lord Akhnaten intends for me, and at any moment I may lose his favour. Already I am worried by this man Huy, whom he took from the cattle-market.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said the King, sitting down heavily, so that the straps of his chair squeaked. ‘Huy. He has named him Chamberlain?’

‘Yes, Lord. Huy is insolent to his superiors and cruel to his inferiors and he has great ascendancy over the Great Royal Son. I know that he is disliked by everyone; but the same could be said of me,’ I added, conscious that I was telling tales.

‘No, the same is not said of you,’ said the King. ‘Ever since you came back alive from your interview with the Chief Priest of Amen-Re, you have been respected.

‘It is my fault, you know; all of this,’ he added.

We stared at him.

‘I began to attack on the power of the Priests of Amen-Re. It seemed to me that they had grown too great. A kingdom must have balance, young men; it must lie between contending powers on a fine point, like a pair of scales. I saw the Amen-Re temple taking over more and more administration until my father was almost helpless to act at all; for they ran the kingdom, and he was merely a figurehead. That was not my idea of royalty, though it would have been better if I had not meddled.

‘I thought the Aten a charming philosophy, rooted in ancient belief, that I could use to remind the Amen-Re priests that they were not as important as they thought. I managed to retrieve a number of operations from them. Now I believe that I was wrong.’

He began to pace again, an old man under a great burden.