Out of the Black Land (17 page)

‘Lord, you were not to know that your son would be sick…’ began the Queen, saying something which I would not have dared to voice.

‘But such things happen,’ said the King. ‘There will in the nature of history be weak kings and mad kings, and the kingdom must be able to cope if the head of state is an infant or incapacitated. I took all the reins into my own hands in my arrogance, and now it may be that the next driver is going to steer the chariot off a cliff, to the ruin of all.’

‘It shall be prevented, if our lives can do so,’ said Horemheb, and we agreed aloud.

‘I may not be able to speak to you again,’ said King Amenhotep may he live, laying his hand on my head then on my brother’s.

‘Particularly beware of Mittani. Tushratta is a devious, greedy and unprincipled king who will tear up any treaty if it suits him. His main enemy is Khatti; luckily they love gold. Send them cartloads of statues. Do what you can to mitigate the effects of my son’s fanaticism. Report to General Horemheb. The gods bless you and keep you, my sons.’

As we were leaving, carefully reproducing our previous stance though we had never felt less drunk, we heard him whisper, ‘And may the gods save Egypt.’

The last I saw of the Pharaoh the Lord Amenhotep may he live long, he had slumped down next to his wife, burying his face in her neck, and she was stroking his white hair.

Book Two

Aten in Splendour

Chapter Thirteen

Mutnodjme

The temple sent me to the funeral rites of King Amenhotep, now Osiris-Amenhotep, and, standing at the wall of the palace, I had never seen such widespread mourning.

Ten years had passed quickly for me, because I was always learning. I knew, now, almost all that the priestesses could teach me, and I delved into their stored scrolls and construed puzzling inscriptions in temples which were so ancient that only the old man Snefru the Scribe in the temple of Amen-Re could read them. I sought always for more knowledge.

I had not seen the king since he had fallen ill, though the physicians had sent to the temple of Isis for more and more of the narcotic black resin we extracted from the white poppy seed-capsule. They spoke of his death as a gentle one, and I hoped that it had been so, for he had given my sister Nefertiti six fine daughters; though after the birth of the third I had not seen her either. My Lord Akhnaten had taken her away to his new city at Amarna, and Nefertiti had never been good at writing letters, though she sometimes sent me presents.

I wore the green robes of the Lady Isis now, and I was of a great age; eighteen, nearly nineteen. There were villages in the marshes where that was the usual age for a woman to die, worn out with the dangers of childbearing and disease.

I lived in the cool stone palace built for the Mistress of Magic, high above the sandflies and the mosquitoes, and illness was rare in the temple. I had not borne, because few men pleased me, and what seed I had allowed into my body had not taken root. The temple wished to keep me and I had no wish to leave. I could have gone to Amarna and lived with my sister and my mother; but Tey and I had never been friends and my mother had grown very proud, so that she looked down on a mere priestess. I could not have my own establishment because I was unmarried and I had no wish to marry.

I had heard very strange rumours about what was happening in the new City of the Sun and I worried about my sister, though she always said that she was happy.

I stood in my malachite-dyed robes, my head crowned with the Isis symbol, the jewellery of my rank weighing down my shoulders and arms, while the keening grew from the river banks. The barge was coming with the King Akhnaten and his family, and I could hear the weeping as the priests came forth to line the road to the Temple of Osiris.

The King Osiris-Amenhotep had lain in dry natron for forty days. His body was dried and pickled like a salt fish. His entrails had been preserved and put into jars beside him. It hurt me that such a wise man should be so mutilated; and it struck me for the first time, to wonder how anyone could know that the dead, so treated, came alive in the Field of Reeds.

Then my heart forbade further inquiry. Our ancestors as far back as we could reckon them knew that this was the case. My own Lady Isis had made it so. It was true.

And I had a part to play in this funeral, as representative of my own Goddess, and I must not fail.

The walls were warm under my hand, almost as warm as flesh. The season was Shemu and the month was Pakhons, month of Finding Osiris, and unseasonably warm. The common people said that since the Divine Akhnaten worshipped the sun, He had come closer to us.

The old women in the temple said that such fluctuations had occurred twice in their memories, and that more grain should be stored against bad seasons. They had reported this to the King Amenhotep, now the Osiris-Amenhotep, and he had increased the storage rates so that the bins were full.

Now all his wisdom was lost to us. His translation to the Field of Reeds took with it the last of my childhood.

I could see all the way down the river, from the new temple of the Aten at Karnak, golden in the early sunlight, to the white and yellow ochre cliffs on the other side, which marked the landing place of the Houses of Eternity, where only Kings are buried. We would take Osiris-Amenhotep to his tomb which had been prepared for a long time; he had ruled for thirty-seven years.

Now his son Akhnaten had named his brother Smenkhare as his co-regent. This was thought wise. Smenkhare was eleven and had shown no signs of the illness which deformed his brother. The red-headed woman Tiye the Queen had lately borne a child, the last of the children of Osiris-Amenhotep. She had called him Tutankhaten.

A thought occurred to me. By this transfiguration I would also lose my sister Merope, the Kritian Princess, who had gone into the Palace of Women when she had first bled in purification. She had not conceived. We had been such close companions for such a long time that I would find life difficult without her. But now she would belong, as would all the royal wives and concubines, to Akhnaten.

And that meant that Merope, too, would move to Amarna.

My future was looking more and more lonely.

Beneath me the people wept, tore their hair, threw ashes into the air in token of mourning. I had stood contemplating too long. I hurried down the marble stairs to the street and ran, robes bundled up in one hand, along the alley and into the small square before the Osiris temple where the womens’ gate stood open. There my sister Merope straightened my headdress and smoothed down my gown, without a word, and led me into the House of Life, where the embalmed body of Osiris-Amenhotep lay.

They had painted him and given him glass eyes, and stuffed the loose skin of his face with mud, so that he resembled a corn doll, such as children make of cornstalks with a plaster face. There was no trace of the man he had been, the sweet lover, the wise speaker. Two priests of Osiris were standing beside a heap of torn cloth, waiting for us to begin so that they could enfold Osiris-Amenhotep in his last garments. I took the hand of my sister Merope who was linked to Queen Tiye and Princess Sitamen, whose grip was as strong as a man’s. We were there to represent Isis and Nepthys, Selkis and Neith, protecting the dead king’s body while it was still vulnerable from the attack of fiends, the children of Set the destroyer. We stood in a circle around the body, singing our lamentation.

The bandages were carefully wrapped around our transmuted Pharaoh, the heart scarab in place, the amulets scattered across his body, the phallus bandaged into erection, the fingers wrapped separately. All the time the priests chanted the protective spells and the scent rose, resin and aromatics, frankincense and sandalwood oil with an underlying stench of putrefaction dreadful to smell and cruel to consider.

‘Do not be afraid, my Lord,’ whispered the Queen Tiye. Her long hair was tangled and muddy, her breasts were bare, her face disfigured with long parallel scratches which she had made in her grief. ‘Anubis will make you beautiful, Osiris will take you to his bosom, oh, my heart’s darling’.

We walked around under the palm boughs of the embalmer’s makeshift hut—this structure would be burned the second the Osiris-Amenhotep was removed, and there was no point in burning a good building—singing the lament of Isis and Nepthys:

Hail thou Lord of Otherworld, Bull of those that live there, thou image of Re, most beautiful babe! Thou driver-away of evil, thou maker of gentle fortune, come to us, thy sister and thy wife, even to Isis and Nepthys.’

Merope and I moved to the head of the Osiris-Amenhotep as the priest chanted:

Homage to the divine father Osiris! We embalm all thy members, for thou wilt not perish and come to an end as beasts do: thy breath is strengthened, O Osiris, the winds blow into thee. Thou are established, thou art strong, thou wilt live. The worms shall not devour thy body, thou wilt not fall into rottenness, thou wilt never see corruption when thy soul has gone out of thee.

The priest was a fat spotty youth with a nasal voice, most unfitted for his post, though I presumed that he was ritually clean, not having had intercourse with a woman, eaten meat or consumed wine for forty days. That should have improved his complexion.

When the soul hath departed, a man seeth corruption; the bones of his body crumble and stink, the members decay one after another into a helpless mass which falls away to foetid liquid, thus he becomes a brother to the worm and is made into worms and an end is made of him as for all things that perish.

I wondered how Tiye could bear this dreadful litany; Tiye who had loved the Osiris-Amenhotep for so many years. Her skin was grey, and she had bitten into her bottom lip, trying not to scream, though we would be required to scream soon and that might give her some relief.

Merope’s hand was in my left and Sitamen had my right and she was grinding my bones in her grasp, for she also had greatly loved her father.

It was hot in the House of Life under the palm branches, and I felt sweat run down my breasts and into my eyes. The ritual was horrible, forcing the reality of death into our mouths, the words falling like ash on our heads. All must die, even the wise and generous.

Homage to thee Divine Father Osiris who lives!

Thou didst not decay, no worms made food of thee, thou didst not rot, thou didst not putrefy. Osiris-Amenhotep shall not rot, shall not decay, shall not putrefy. He shall not see corruption. He shall live, he shall live, he shall live! He shall flourish, he shall flourish, he shall flourish! He shall wake in peace, he shall be whole; he shall not lose form or savour of life. He will be stabilised and established; he will never be destroyed on this earth.

The amulets with their attendant spells were placed, even the garland of cornflowers and lotus was laid around the head of the mummiform coffin, which was of gold. This was then laid within a bigger sarcophagus, and then a larger, so that Osiris-Amenhotep was shut away from us within three shells of precious metal.

As Isis, it was my turn to speak. I said:

I am come to be a protector unto thee. I waft unto thee breath for thy nostrils and the north wind which comest from the god Tem into thy nose. I have made whole thy throat, I make thee live like a god. Thine enemies are crushed under thy feet. I have made thy word true before Maat, and thou art mighty among gods.

As Nepthys, my sister Merope said:

I am around thee to protect thee, my brother Osiris, my strength is near thee, thou art raised up. The gods have heard thy call and have made thy words to be truth. Ptah hath overthrown thy foes, and I will be with thee forever.

As Neith, Sitamen said in a loud voice:

I have come quickly, behold, I have driven back the footsteps of the hidden enemy. I have illuminated thy face, Osiris-Amenhotep. Brother, I watch to protect thee, I stand with my bow and my arrows to repel the demons which assail thee.

As Selkis, Queen Tiye delivered her speech in a low, tight monotone:

I protect thee with the flame of my life, Oh Osiris-Amenhotep. I have gathered thy limbs and collected thy bones. I have brought thy heart and placed it on the throne within thy body. I will make thy house to flourish after thee, oh thou who livest forever.

Then the litter bearers came to lift the sarcophagus and carry it to the boat which would cross the river with our lord, and as expected we shrieked and wailed our lament, tearing our faces with our nails and fending off the bearers who would take him away.

‘
Come to thy house!
’ screamed Tiye, embracing the coffin. ‘
Oh my father and brother, oh, my dearest love, return to thy sister who loves thee!
’

‘
Father and brother and lover, return
,
’ shrieked Merope, who clawed after the coffin as it was lifted. ‘
Return, my lord, return!
’

‘
Great lord, sweet lord, come back to thy sister, he whose mouth was of honey, whose body was my delight
,’ Tiye begged, and was pulled respectfully back by Sitamen, who had not spoken.

I took Merope in my arms. She was shaking with expended emotion. Tears ran down her face and down mine, and Queen Tiye collapsed into her daughter’s strong arms. Even Neith-devoted Sitamen was weeping, even that muscular warrior maiden whose hair was too short to dry her mother’s tears.

Ptah-hotep

I was back in Thebes and he was dead, the wise old man. I was to accompany my lord Akhnaten to the funeral, and he was very reluctant to go.

‘I do not believe in these gods, these fraudulent gods of the otherworld and the Tuat,’ he protested when messengers brought the news that the Pharaoh Amenhotep had gone to Osiris. ‘Tell me, Ptah-hotep, why should I go to this funeral?’