Return to Thebes (19 page)

Sitamon

Far down the Nile we hear the trumpets blow. The great crowd waiting on both banks stirs and shouts with excitement. Faintly beginning, growing ever louder as the flotilla advances, comes the swelling roar of love that greets Pharaoh and his Queen as they approach their capital of Thebes. Not since my parents’ day has there been such a welcome for a Good God and his wife. My little brother and our niece are well launched upon the path the Family wishes them to take.

I say “the Family”—and yet what of us is left? I, the Queen-Princess Sitamon, settling ever more rapidly into lonely middle age while my dream of marriage to my cousin Horemheb fades as surely as the evening glow on the Western Peak … my uncle Aye, doing his best, with guilty hands and fierce, unhappy conscience, to restore to Kemet the
ma’at
and order for whose sake he had to violate
ma’at
and order so dreadfully himself … Horemheb, troubled by it all but not, I think, troubled as much as he used to be, now that the fires of his ambition have truly begun to consume him … my youngest brother Tutankhaten (pardon me: Tutankhamon) … Akhenaten’s and Nefertiti’s third daughter Ankhesenpaaten (forgive me: Ankhesenamon) … Nefertiti’s odd little half sister Mutnedjmet (still accompanied everywhere by her always chuckling, faintly sinister dwarfs, Ipy and Senna), and her brother Nakht-Min, children of Aye’s second marriage, to gentle Tey, who also still survives … and that is all.

Where are we now, the great Eighteenth Dynasty? How fast has dwindled the House of Thebes!

My mother and father gone … my younger brother Smenkhkara dead of poison … our little sister Beketaten, always sickly, dead of a fever … Akhenaten and Nefertiti dead of the ax … their daughters Merytaten, Meketaten, Nefer-neferu-aten Junior, Nefer-neferu-ra and Set-e-pen-ra, all dead, Merytaten of poison, the others of that fragile health that has taken every product of Akhenaten’s loins save Ankhesenamon … all their children by him dead, too.…

Cursed are we, I begin to think, cursed by fate and the anger of the gods, brought upon us by poor, foredoomed Nefer-Kheperu-Ra and his lost dream of the Aten.

All, all dead. And of the eight remaining, only Aye, Horemheb and Nakht-Min really have influence in the Two Lands; and of them only Aye and Horemheb really have the power; and of them, which will win in their duel over the helpless persons of my little brother and my niece?

Because duel it is, and make no mistake about it. They would have you think otherwise, covering all with sweet words for one another and shows of unity. But the words grow increasingly tense and the unity shows signs of cracking, to those like myself who watch it most closely. Beneath their public display the old lion and the younger contest for the bones of Kemet. Two defenseless children only keep them from one another’s throats. Only in the balance of their contention lies safety for my brother and our niece.

I pray for them that they may have many sons, and swiftly; for only by this means can the Dynasty be restored and Kemet and the Family truly returned to glory, and only by this means can they hope to live long and bring peace and stability to the Two Lands. I understand they have lately begun to live together as man and wife, and perhaps Ankhesenamon will soon have a son. I pray so, I pray so. We have had enough of deaths and killing in the glorious Eighteenth Dynasty.

I speak so bitterly because I think it need not have been so had there been, at various points along the way, more understanding here, more restraint there, more imagination somewhere else. Yet all have been trapped in the stately ritual of the kingship of Kemet, which requires of those who would keep the Double Crown a steady obedience, and of those who would acquire it absolute loyalty and endless patience for the will of the gods to work itself out. My brother Akhenaten overturned all, of course; but before him our father had begun to let things slide; our mother had tried valiantly but without much success to hold them together; Aye had sought desperately to keep a balance, only to be thwarted; and soon the misgivings of the Family, the ambitions of Horemheb and the vengeance of Amon combined to bring blood upon our House as chaos swept the land.

Somewhere there must have been a key, but it was never found. I believe Akhenaten tried to show it us: to him, however strangely he expressed it, the key was love, by One God, for all men. Perhaps he came too early, perhaps
he
was too strange to make us understand, since he and his weaknesses loomed so large before us, to the exclusion of the dream. But he may have been right … he may have been right. Except, of course, that it could not succeed in Kemet as Kemet has always been; and as Kemet has always been, so Kemet must always be, if the Two Lands are to come again to happiness, serenity and peace.

Perhaps order, to us, means more than love.

Perhaps that is our triumph.

Or perhaps it is our curse.

It may be we will never know.

Now the roar is becoming steadily louder. As I watch from my vantage point atop the first pylon at Karnak—waiting to join them for worship to Amon, whose now triumphant priests have assisted me up the sharply winding secret stairway inside the great stone mass to this commanding overlook—I begin to catch a glimpse of many banners, crimson, purple, gold, orange, green and blue, sparkling in the sun. I see the rhythmic glistening of oars as they plunge in and out of the water, I see white sails billowing in a favoring wind, I see boats as far as my eye can reach, more boats upon the river than I have seen in many years. Trumpets are blasting now in almost continuous frenzy, the heavy throbbing of drums is beginning in the courtyard below. Great excitement seizes all. And I pray for my little brother and our niece, whose golden barge I can now see coming ahead of all the rest, that they may have the happy and fruitful role that their gentle hearts desire.

One of the assistant priests comes for me—dark Hatsuret, harsh instrument of unhappy destiny for some of those I loved, comes upriver with the rest from Akhet-Aten—and I am led down the stairs and transported in an open, jewel-hung litter to the landing stage.

I am greeted with a special affection by the wildly happy throng, for they have always loved me, and—I am very happy to be able to say—still do. The Queen-Princess Sitamon has always fortunately been someone a little apart, somehow separate from the rest of the Family in their minds: this has been my intention, which they reward with their love. I am a living memory of past triumphs and past happiness for the land. I take them back to the old days of my father and the Great Wife, for which they still secretly yearn in their hearts even as they desperately hope that this reign will eventually make all right for Kemet.

At forty-two I am an established symbol of the past.

Which is all right with me: I don’t mind. In fact it has been my deliberate purpose ever since it became apparent to me that my mother, Aye and Horemheb were becoming determined to rid the land of Smenkhkara and Akhenaten. I stayed away and thus was spared any responsibility or guilt when Hatsuret, who had his orders to abduct Smenkhkara and Merytaten and transport them to permanent exile far to the south in wretched Kush, instead took it upon himself to murder them. I was not privy to the anguished counsels and tortured reasoning by which Aye and Horemheb persuaded my mother to approve the final removal of Akhenaten and Nefertiti, nor was I inside the mind of Horemheb when he, too, exceeded his mission and decided to kill them and so remove them once and for all from their disastrous rule of Kemet—and quite incidentally, of course, from the path of his own ambitions. I was not involved—if anyone was, except possibly gentle Tey—in the agonized process by which my uncle Aye made his peace with all this and decided to go on to what may yet become a final contest with his son for possession of the Double Crown. I am not among those who even now, I am sure, are studying how best to remove my little brother and so open the way for themselves to full power and kingship in the Two Lands.

And praise all the gods there are, I do not want to be. Thank them all that I am out of it! But give me strength to come to the aid of the children if I have to, for I am one of the very few real friends they have left—though the sound of love and greeting that now fills the world would make you think they had millions. So they do, while they ride the golden barge and sit the golden throne. But tomorrow, if need be, the crowds will shout for someone else and give their docile worship to whoever has the power to claim it. Right now the love is genuine enough for the two brave little figures who dismount and come smiling toward me while the heavens break with sound; and no doubt it would be quite genuine for someone else tomorrow. After all, it has to be: such is the place of Pharaoh in our world that the people have no choice.

“Sister,” he says cheerfully, greeting me with a kiss whose obvious affection draws a special roar of approval, “it is good to see you again. It has been long since you came to our capital of Akhet-Aten.”

“And long since you will go there again, I take it,” I murmur in his ear, for Aye and Horemheb are coming up swiftly behind him.

His eyes flash at mine and he murmurs quickly back, “I will not have it dishonored, though. I shall tell Kemet about that before this day is over.”

“Good,” I say, and turn to Ankhesenamon, standing quietly by his side.

“Niece,” I say formally as the others arrive, giving and receiving an affectionate hug, “I trust your journey was a pleasant one.”

“We accomplished much,” she replies easily, and over her shoulder I can see Aye and Horemheb exchange a glance in the interested silence that has fallen on the crowd as we momentarily pause, a glittering and apparently close-knit family group, on the landing stage.

“I am glad you are returning to Thebes,” I say truthfully. “It has been lonely for me here, much as I love Malkata. I have rattled around the compound like the old bag of bones I am.”

“Aunt!” she says with a laugh. “A better-preserved bag of bones I have yet to see. Yes, we shall join you in”—she hesitates, then gives me a quick wink—“rattling around the compound. After all”—and she raises her voice deliberately so the others can hear—“we will have nothing better to do.”

“You will have the Two Lands to rule,” I take the cue stoutly, and give my uncle and Horemheb look for look as they prepare to greet me. “That will be enough occupation for the Good God and his Chief Wife, surely.”

“Indeed it will!” Tut says with equal stoutness. “And in this endeavor, Sister, I want you always with us to counsel and assist, for you are very wise and
your
”—a slight emphasis, but noticeable and almost openly defiant—“counsel we will value and rely upon.”

“I shall be happy to help in any way I can,” I say calmly and, turning to my uncle and Horemheb, give them the ritual kiss of greeting on both cheeks, thereby forcing official cordiality from them in return and causing their eyes to lose, temporarily at least, the sharpness with which they have been observing us.

“You look well, Niece,” Aye says. “It will be good to be a united family again, now that we are all returned to Thebes.”

“Yes,” Horemheb agrees gravely.

“If you can stand it, Cousin,” I say dryly. He smiles in a way that tells me it really is all over. Horemheb is enwrapped in his own purposes now and I obviously no longer figure in them.

“I can stand it, Cousin,” he says politely. “If you can.”

“Let us go to the temple and worship!” my brother says sharply, as one might almost add: “
and get it over with!
”
The cautious and carefully observing look returns to the faces of my uncle and my cousin. Something obviously happened on the journey from Akhet-Aten. I will find out presently from the children. In the meantime it is obvious their elders fear yet more will happen. It is obvious that my brother and my niece have come to some determination that it will.

They are very young, however, he nearing fourteen, she soon to be eighteen. But they come of tough-minded stock, he of the Great Wife and she of Nefertiti. It will be an interesting contest, if it has to come to that. In it, the Queen-Princess Sitamon has already chosen
her
side. I, too, am a child of the Great Wife and I, too, can be tough-minded if I have to be. In the cause of my little brother and Ankhesenamon, I may have to be.

The moment passes. The roar of the crowd begins again as the children step into their gold-painted baldachin and are hoisted high on the shoulders of the bearers. I follow with Mutnedjmet, who returned to Malkata a week ago in advance of the royal party, complete with Ipy and Senna—“
Must
you take those two characters everywhere?” I snapped this morning as we prepared to come to Karnak. “Yes!” she said with a defiant chuckle, echoed by two squeaky little ghosts of laughter from her half-sized familiars. Then come Aye and Tey in their own baldachin, as befits the Regent and his wife, followed by Horemheb and Nakht-Min in theirs. The rest of the Court, including Ramesses, Amonhotep, Son of Hapu, and Tuthmose, chief sculptor since the death of faithful Bek, follow on foot.

We leave the landing stage and proceed down the long avenue. It is lined with priests of Amon, elbow to elbow, rigid at attention all the way.

Ahead of us all Hatsuret walks, his High Priest’s leopard skin flapping around his stocky brown legs, his carnelian scarab and his glossy beard glistening in the sun, his stride confident and commanding.

How high have you risen again, O Amon,
I think to myself as we rock along on the sturdy shoulders of our bearers.
Be careful you do not fall anew from too much pride and arrogance.

It is obvious from the set of Hatsuret’s head and shoulders that there is no limit to his pride and arrogance, and that he has no intention whatsoever of ever permitting Amon to fall again.

The crowd pours out its adoration and excitement in a constant loving roar as we approach the first pylon. The trumpets have resumed their bellowing, the great drums throb. Pharaoh has come home to Thebes, and on two little figures dressed in cloth of gold now rest the hopes of Kemet.