Beauty of Re

by Mark Gajewski

  Nefer took her father’s hand. Her tear–filled eyes rose to her mother’s. Hatshepsut was perched on the bed beside the king’s shoulder, facing Nefer. The king was both Hatshepsut’s husband and half–brother and her sorrow appeared immeasurable. Even in the presence of death I was struck by Hatshepsut’s beauty – she was petite, well–endowed, with an oval face, high forehead, delicate pointed chin, prominent nose, light brown skin, dark brown almond–shaped eyes, wavy dark brown hair. Only twenty–two, she’d been married to the king for almost half her life. Tears were streaming down her cheeks too. She stroked Nefer’s hair and shook her head in resignation and then let out a sob. Sitre, the wet nurse of Hatshepsut’s infancy and her lifelong companion, moved to her side and circled her shoulders with one arm. She was also crying.

  Iset sat on the other side of the bed, in tears. Only a few years older than Hatshepsut, she was holding the king’s other hand. Thut moved next to her and put his arm around her and she leaned against him.

  “You must kiss your father goodbye now,” Hatshepsut told Nefer tenderly, in a choked voice.

  Nefer leaned over and pressed her lips to the king’s. He did not react. She turned and buried her face against Hatshepsut.

  After a moment, Thut moved from his mother to stand next to me at the foot of the bed. Tears were streaming down my cheeks. Our hands found each other’s. His was trembling.

  The king’s breathing soon became even more labored. We watched and waited at his bedside for hours, the light streaming through the small window eventually dimming as night began to fall. Shadows filled the room. No one bothered to light a lamp. The king’s breath began to rattle in his throat, his breaths coming farther and farther apart. Suddenly he gasped mightily, then was still.

  Vizier Aametshu moved to the bedside, bent, placed his ear against the king’s lips. I felt Thut tense up beside me, saw Nefer stiffen, tried to prepare myself. After a long moment the vizier straightened. “Aakheperenre, King of the Two Lands – life, health, prosperity, justified – has flown to heaven.”

  Hatshepsut and Sitre and Iset and Nefer and the other women in the room began to wail and ululate. The sound soon echoed throughout the per’aa and then was taken up by the crowd in the garden and then the crowd outside the walls. I buried my face against Thut’s chest and wrapped my arms around him, my body racked with sobs. He circled me with his arms and stroked my long hair and we comforted each other as best we could.

  ***

  I stepped from the entrance of the per’aa in the dim light of dawn and took my place in the procession bound for Amun’s temple in the sacred complex of Ipet–Isut. The journey would be short, just a few hundred yards, first straight south from the per’aa, then eastward on the broad processional way through the center of the garden that stretched from the river to Ipet–Isut’s entrance. Today Thut was going to be officially crowned king of the Two Lands.

  The seventy days of the king’s mummification and burial, and the week afterwards leading to today’s coronation, had passed in a blur. The per’aa’s gate had been closed since the king’s death, his staff and courtiers going about their affairs silently, with bowed heads. Thut had taken the throne the morning after his father’s passing, even before his coronation, and a week later had departed Waset to make the traditional progression up and down the river called “The Creation of Order in All Provinces.” He had visited all the major towns and cities of his new kingdom, made offerings to local gods, and enacted his coming coronation to ritually tie him to each location and reestablish maat after his father’s death. Thut had, as expected of him, let his hair grow and fasted daily the whole time. He’d returned from the progression the day before his father’s funeral.

  There were some images from those two months I knew I’d never forget – the river at Waset crowded with the elegantly–decorated boats of officials arriving from all over the Two Lands for the funeral, the ceremony itself at Amun’s temple, Thutmose Aakheperenre being transported in his open coffin on the royal boat across the river to the west bank, the narrow winding dusty path to the Great Place on the far side of the western hills, the Opening of the Mouth ceremony at the entrance of his tomb to prepare him for the Afterlife, the long stone passageway descending deep into the earth, the helmet of gold being placed on his head, Nefer laying a bouquet of flowers atop his chest along with Hatshepsut and Iset, torchlight reflecting on grave goods beyond counting of solid gold, the scent of incense, the assembling of gold shrines around the king’s sarcophagus, the sealing of the tomb door by Thut using his father’s signet ring, the long sad walk from the Great Place back to the river after the ceremony was over.

  “Majesty.”

  Senenmut slipped to Nefer’s side and fondly placed a hand on her shoulder. She smiled up at him. The bond between them was great and had been ever since Hatshepsut and the king appointed him to be her tutor, succeeding the tutor of her infancy, Ahmose Pen–Nekhbet, who had himself been plucked from the royal treasury to look after Nefer soon after her birth. Ahmose was much older than Senenmut; he’d served Nefer’s grandfather, the first Thutmose, as a soldier in the wars that had expanded the borders of Kemet east and south. Senenmut was in his early thirties, somewhat pinch–featured, with a pointed high–bridged nose, fleshy lips, weak chin tending towards jowliness, and kind eyes. He was charismatic, Hatshepsut’s valued counselor, a man who moved freely through the per’aa, and smart – he had access to all the papyri in the royal archives and had studied them closely and used them daily in our education. He never tired of telling Nefer and I, as we sat amidst the scrolls, that “there is nothing from the beginning of time I do not know.” I, for one, believed him.

  Nefer was wearing a skirt of fine white linen, its hem embroidered with turquoise, a turquoise girdle, a broad collar of gold with vertical bands of turquoise and carnelian and blue faience, turquoise earrings, a narrow gold diadem with a rearing uraeus, gold bracelets, gold anklets, leather sandals. Her eyes were outlined with kohl and she carried a bouquet of fragrant lotus flowers. I was dressed much more simply, as befit my station, in a white skirt, adorned with an amulet on a necklace and earrings and a few bracelets. My red hair was unrestrained, my eyes protected with kohl. I too carried flowers.

  The procession was led from the per’aa by twenty beautiful young chantresses wearing only sheer white skirts and gold broad collars and gold earrings and gold bracelets, playing sistrums and crotal bells and shaking menat necklaces and singing ancient hymns. Their hair was bound around their brows with floral bands, and lotus blossoms drooped over their foreheads. Behind them were a host of priests, heads shaved, kilts pure white, barefoot, swinging gold containers on chains from which rose the sweet smoke of incense.

  Next strode Hapuseneb, the Opener of the Gate of Heaven, Amun’s high priest – the most important priest in the land – wearing a white kilt, with a leopard skin draped over his shoulders, accompanied by Puyemre, Amun’s second prophet, and Huy, one of the god’s adoratrixes. Then came Thut, bare–headed, dressed in a white shendyt with a lion’s tail attached at the back of his waist, a wide gold broad collar draped on his chest, a corselet of gold inlaid with red and blue faience, a red sash with his cartouche woven into it twisted around his waist. He looked straight ahead, stoic, but I could tell he was a little afraid and overwhelmed by the responsibility he was about to take on. A fan bearer strode behind him – Mentuherkhepshef, the mayor of Qusiya had been given the honor – the fan’s brown and white ostrich feathers set in a base of gold atop an ebony shaft, screening Thut from the rising sun. It was not hot yet, but would be before the ceremony concluded.

  Behind Thut walked his mother Iset, and a little behind her his stepmother and aunt, Nefer’s mother, Hatshepsut. Hatshepsut wore the regalia of God’s Wife of Amun – an ankle–length tight–fitting sheath dress decorated with two rosettes, a full pleated shawl, a gold broad collar, bracelets and earrings of gold. She carried in her hand a wide flat–bladed length of wood, symbol of her office. Go
d’s Wife was a powerful position that had been passed down from king’s wife to king’s wife in Nefer’s family ever since its creation by King Ahmose for his wife Ahmes–Nefertari several generations ago. Some day, when Nefer became Thut’s wife, she would succeed Hatshepsut in that role and become the royal counterpart to the Opener of the Gate of Heaven, serving as a check to his power. That check was needed; the Amun priesthood controlled much land and many people throughout Kemet, and the priests’ wealth was now second only to the king’s.

  Iset wore a white dress with wide straps and was bedecked with gold and jewels. Her long wig was topped by the vulture crown of a king’s wife – gold wings hanging on either side of her head, a rearing uraeus cobra on her brow, a gold sun disk flanked by two tall white plumes. She looked about haughtily, with satisfaction, for in only moments she would officially be the mother of a king and his regent and the most powerful woman in all the land. What she would then do to Hatshepsut and Nefer and me I didn’t dare imagine. Iset was a vindictive woman. That I knew from personal experience. It irritated her to no end that Thut was friends with me, someone so far beneath him, and so unladylike. She’d tried to keep us apart for years, but had failed. But now… Thut might try to protect Nefer, and perhaps me, from his mother, but would he really have that ability yet? Could a young king overrule a regent? I had no idea.

  Behind the dead king’s wives walked courtiers and officials – Chancellor Neshi, Chief Steward Wadjet–Renpet, Treasurer Thutmosis, Overseer of the Seal Ty, Vizier Aametshu, a host of mayors, even Seni, the viceroy who saw to the collection of taxes from the two vast lands south of the First Cataract – Wawat and Kush. Everyone in the procession, except for me and Nefer and a few of the temple chantresses, towered over the future king.

  It did not take long to traverse the processional way that bisected the lush flower gardens and pools between the per’aa and Ipet–Isut. The path was lined on both sides with farmers and craftsmen and priests and officials and women and children trying to catch a glimpse of the new king. All fell to their knees as Thut passed. Long shadows stabbed in my direction from two tall rose–colored granite obelisks, their tips clad with gold, partly obscured behind a two–towered mud–brick pylon that marked Ipet–Isut’s entrance. The pylon had been built by Thut’s father just a few years ago. Re had already risen high enough over the pylon’s gate this morning to be framed by the towers and obelisks. Senenmut had guided Nefer and me through Ipet–Isut many times since becoming her tutor, teaching us about each structure and its purpose. Thus I knew that the pylon represented the horizon of the world that Re rose above each morning, and the obelisks Re’s rays.

  Ipet–Isut was completely surrounded by a high wall, accessed through the gate in the pylon at its west end. The chantresses passed through that gate into a festival court that had been created by Thut’s father, and a moment later Senenmut and Nefer and I followed. On the east side of the court were the two gold–tipped obelisks that had been erected by Nefer’s grandfather, King Aakheperkare, the first in the family to bear the nomen Thutmose – “Thoth is Born.” They stood in front of a pylon that he had also erected. The courtyard between the two pylons was enclosed by walls both north and south.

  Inside the court were two small chapels, one of alabaster to my left, and one of limestone to my right. The alabaster chapel was called “Menmenu” and was the newer of the two, erected by King Amenhotep a few decades ago, and was one of my favorite shrines. I marveled each time I saw it. It had a single door and no windows. Each block in its four walls was a different size and was decorated with a single scene, and all the blocks and scenes fit together perfectly. Menmenu had been designed and built by the famous architect Ineni, who had served both Amenhotep and the first and second Thutmoses and would presumably serve Thut as well. He walked somewhere in this procession today. Shades of caramel and honey ran through the alabaster, which was so pockmarked and pitted that its carved images were hard to see. Someone had suggested painting the images to make them more distinct, but the alabaster was so costly and beautiful I thought it would be a shame if it was covered over. The scenes were mostly of Amenhotep being joined with Amun during his coronation ceremony, offering the god food and oil and water. There were also several carvings of the first Thutmose worshiping Amun.

  My gaze shifted to the marvelous white limestone chapel on the south side of the court, the Throne of Horus, built by Kheperkare – the first king Senwosret – for his first Heb–Sed festival more than four hundred years earlier. It now served as a shrine for Amun’s barque and was my very favorite structure in the entire land. The small chapel was reached by ascending a short set of stairs and ramp. Four pillars on each side supported the architrave and cornice. There were waterspouts to collect the rare rainfall that pattered on the roof so it could be used for purification ceremonies. No chapel in the land was carved with so many reliefs. I called to mind images of Amun and Anubis and Thoth and Ptah and Horus and Montu and Amenet, carved so meticulously that even the pleats in their kilts and capes were obvious, every bead in their collars and necklaces carefully delineated. The hieroglyphs naming kings and gods were elaborate too – birds were feathered, bulls muscled, bees’ wings transparent, rope strands twisted, baskets woven in patterns. All the images still had traces of their original paint. On the outside walls of the temple were listed Kemet’s nomes – the twenty–two of Upper Kemet and the fourteen of Lower – along with each nomes’ principal deity and the length of its river shoreline. On one visit Nefer had memorized the inscriptions and amazed Hatshepsut and her father at dinner that evening when she recited them. I’d managed to recall only a handful, and none of them entirely correctly.

  We passed through the gate of the first Thutmose’s pylon into the Wadjet Hall, a court with another pylon on its east side, also erected by him. It was dark in the hall, for it was roofed with cedar planks supported by a bevy of cedar columns, creating a hypostyle hall. Senenmut had once told me that the expense of such large pieces of wood was incredible – no trees so large grew in Kemet, so the wood had all been imported from a low mountain range called “The Terraces” in Setjet, the area beyond the desert east and north of the river delta along the coast of the Great Green. The hall held huge statues of the first Thutmose posed and dressed as Osiris, god of the Afterlife.

  Thut’s coronation was to be held in this hall. Since space was limited, only the highest ranking officials were allowed to crowd in; the rest of those in the procession would have to wait in the festival hall for the ceremony to conclude. A temporary raised dais had been constructed at the left end of the hall. The dais held an ebony throne beneath a leather canopy decorated with painted lotus blossoms. Smaller, less elaborate thrones, flanked the king’s. To the right of the dais was a wooden shrine, Per–wer, representing Upper Kemet, and to the left another, Per–nu, representing Lower Kemet, symbols of a time when the Two Lands had not yet been joined into one. The chantresses moved to the left side of the dais and the priests to the right. Hapuseneb and Thut moved to the foot of the dais and turned to face the crowd.

  As the rest of the officials filed in I gazed through the door of the easternmost pylon. Beyond was the large court that lay before the Temple of Amun itself. The court was called the High Lookout of Kheperkare – the first King Senwosret – and was the oldest part of Ipet–Isut.

  Senenmut saw Nefer looking at it too and leaned close. “That courtyard remained unchanged from the reign of Kheperkare, four hundred years ago, until your grandfather’s predecessor, Djeserkare – King Amenhotep – ended the wars of liberation against the Chiefs of the Foreign Lands and reopened Kemet’s sandstone and limestone quarries. He built several of the small structures that now occupy the space.”

  There was a small calcite chapel on the near side of the courtyard that had been erected for Amun by Amenhotep. High walls rose a little above the chapel to its left and right; to the right and left of the walls were smaller courtyards, themselves walled. Behind the chapel was th
e ancient temple that Senwosret had erected, its west end fronted by a portico with twelve pillars adorned with statues of Senwosret in the guise of Osiris. Beyond that portico, I knew, was an open–air court with a single row of pillars on each side, a series of red granite thresholds, and then Amun’s sanctuary.

  Hatshepsut and Iset ascended the dais and seated themselves on the smaller thrones, fan bearers behind them to keep them cool. As soon as all of the officials were in the hall, Hapuseneb nodded his head. Four priests bearing golden containers full of water moved forward. In turn, each poured a small amount of liquid on Thut’s head.

  “The priests represent the four cardinal directions,” Senenmut explained. “As they pour water on Thutmose they are ritually purifying him and transferring power to him.”

  A chantress rushed forward with a linen cloth and dried Thut’s head. Her long curly hair was pulled back to reveal the nape of her neck and bound with a floral band made of lotus buds. A lotus blossom drooped over her brow. Her pleated white dress covered her shoulders, with sleeves reaching to her elbows. More lotus blossoms were fastened to her arms. Her earrings were of carnelian, and her wristbands and armbands of gold, inlaid with red and blue faience. She wore a broad collar of blue and red stones in alternating rows, with gold between.

  Hapuseneb motioned again. Hatshepsut descended from the dais. Her lips were set in a tight line. Adoratrix Huy handed her small vials of oil, one after another, and she anointed Thut on his head, brow, eyelids, lips and hands. I glanced at Iset and saw her broad satisfied smile as she watched her hated rival forced to sanctify her son. That no doubt made, for her, the ceremony even sweeter. The anointing done, Hatshepsut resumed her seat. Then an amply–endowed priestess took her place beside Thut and bared her breast. He suckled from it briefly. Nefer and I looked at each other and giggled and tried without success to suppress smiles.