I felt compelled to make the most of this adventure, certain I’d never go on another such. From dawn to sunset I pestered the captain and crew for information. I wanted to know about everything involved in sailing – how the course was plotted, how distance was measured, how the boats held together, why they were shaped as they were. The first day I met and befriended two men who were part of the expedition. One, Kaha, was a craftsman who’d been raised in the Place of Truth, the village on the west bank of the river across from Waset where the men who dug the tombs and erected the temples of the kings lived. His task was to document our trip in drawings that would later be carved on the blank southern wall of the first terrace at Djeser Djeseru. The other man was Artatama, a Mitanni trader, hired as a guide because of his knowledge of this part of Africa. I spent hours each day grilling him about his country – Naharina – and Retenu and Setjet and all the lands he’d visited. An accommodating and outgoing man, Artatama also instructed me daily in his native tongue. By the time our expedition ended months later I was approaching fluency in it. He also taught me the Puntian language.
We were becalmed one day and so remained camped on the shore. Chancellor Neshi sent men out to hunt for fresh game and replenish our supply of fresh water, and Nefer and Aachel and I took the opportunity to walk a great distance along the beach by ourselves, unaccompanied by guards, splashing through the tail ends of dying waves, leaving tracks that were immediately washed away, the sand sometimes wet and firm and sometimes slipping beneath our feet. The day was hot, the sky deep blue, the waves relentless as they marched towards shore and broke whitely there, the sea flecked with silver in the sunlight. Hundreds of white birds wheeled and cried overhead. The wind was strong, pressing our skirts against our legs, where they stuck; both our skirts and legs were wet from the surf.
All at once Nefer raised both arms in the air, threw her head back, let the sun fall full on her face, spun around. “I’m free!” she cried, spinning again, and again, and again, her long hair flying, drenched skirt swirling, feet kicking up the sand. She continued spinning until she suddenly staggered and fell dizzily to her knees and elbows, then rolled over and sprawled on her back on the beach.
Aachel, laughing, sat down beside her and brushed Nefer’s hair away from her face.
I plopped down beside Nefer and stretched full–length on the sand and lay my head on her shoulder. “It’s so liberating here, away from prying eyes.”
“Half the priests at Ipet–Isut spy on us,” Nefer affirmed, her eyes tightly closed as she waited for the dizziness to pass. “Some for Mother, some for Iset.”
“You don’t think Hori’s a spy, do you?” Aachel asked, her voice tremulous.
“No,” Nefer assured her, opening her eyes, squinting against the sun. “He’d never stoop so low. But I can’t do or say anything anywhere about Mother or Thut for fear of being reported by one of the others. It’s so exhausting, being careful all the time.”
“I think half the women in your household are spies too,” I averred.
Nefer nodded. “You two are the only ones I trust. But here, at least, with you, Mery, Aachel, I can say what I want, talk about anything.”
“Like your mother, and her plans for you, and Thut?” I guessed.
“Yes. Sometimes I just want to scream, Mery, having to keep it all bottled up inside.”
That Nefer was under ever–increasing pressure from Hatshepsut and her advisors to embrace their plan for her had been apparent, to me at least, for some time. She was always tense these days, her once–ready smile coming less often, her normally cheerful disposition seldom evident. The change had started soon after Hatshepsut told her she’d never be allowed to marry Thut.
“You’ve been God’s Wife for two years now, Nefer,” I said. “You’ve operated Amun’s large estates, in essence your own small kingdom, and you’ve done it extremely well. You’ve watched your mother – she’s proven a woman can rule the Two Lands as king and do it superbly.”
“I no longer doubt that I could serve as king after Mother if I had to, as I once did,” Nefer said pensively. “I know what it takes to rule, and I’ve proven to myself I have the skills and ability needed to.”
“And to your mother’s officials,” Aachel said.
“Yes. Plus, I’ve won the loyalty of my own officials. They trust me and follow me without question now. To go from running estates to running the Two Lands does not seem that big a leap anymore.”
“Do you want to be king?” Aachel asked.
I had a sinking feeling in my stomach that Hatshepsut had already won the battle for Nefer’s heart. If Hatshepsut had talked Nefer into wanting the kingship, any hope of Thut and I having a future was dead.
“Just because I can doesn’t mean I want to,” Nefer said.
I was relieved. “What do you want, Nefer?” I asked, more hopeful now.
“To be the mother of a king! It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I’ve never stopped wanting it. I like nothing better than playing with the young ones in the harem. I want to have children of my own, Mery, Aachel – lots of children. That’s what I want – not to be king.”
I whispered a prayer of thanksgiving to the gods. Hatshepsut had not won Nefer over after all. “So you still want to marry Thut?”
“Yes.”
“You know how I feel about that,” I said. I squeezed her tightly with one arm.
“That we’re meant for each other, Thut and I.”
“Meant for. Perfect for. Unstoppable together.”
Nefer put her hand on mine. “I wonder if my brother knows he has such a strong advocate.”
“I’ve told him the same about you,” I said. “Many times.”
“I’ve heard her,” Aachel volunteered.
“I believe you.” Nefer sat up, drew her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around them, stared out over the ocean, as if seeking an answer only the waves could provide.
I continued to lay beside her, looked up at her.
“It’s my duty to marry Thut, no matter what Mother says. It’s what Father wanted. It’s what I believe. I have to honor Father by fulfilling his wishes.”
“Nothing more than duty?” Nefer sounded exactly like Thut. “Don’t you love Thut, at least a little?”
“He’s my half–brother, Mery. That’s how I love him. I’ll never love him in any other way. And I barely know him anymore. How long has it been since we were in the per’aa together? A decade? I’ve changed so much in that time. I’m sure he has too.”
“Thut could make you happy,” I insisted. “You could make him happy. Both of you just need to open yourselves to the possibility.”
Nefer sighed. “I’m not sure it matters. Thut and I might want marriage, but there’s still Mother standing in the way. I can’t imagine her ever giving us permission. Or Iset.”
“There has to be a way, Nefer. Marry Thut and you can have your heart’s desire – you can be the mother of a king.”
“I can be, even if Thut isn’t my husband,” she said. “I have no lack of suitors, after all.”
“None of whom measure up to you, Nefer,” Aachel said softly. “They wouldn’t make you happy. They’d bore you within a year. If not much sooner.”
“Only Thut is your equal,” I said.
“Only the king,” Aachel echoed.
“Marry someone else – official, ambassador, courtier, foreign king – and when your mother dies you’ll have to fight Thut to keep her share of the throne,” I said. “Unless, of course, your mother has Thut killed first.”
“Mery!”
It was no time to mince words. “Those are the only possible outcomes, Nefer,” I said harshly. “His death, or yours.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Nefer snapped. “You think I don’t realize that Thut’s life is in my hands?” She covered her face with her hands and lay her head against her knees and began to cry. I hadn’t fully grasped the amount of pressure she’d been under. Her tears poured out in a flood. Aac
hel and I looked at each other, then both of us put our arms around her shoulders and held her for a long time, until her sobs finally ceased. Then she lay her head against my chest. “What am I going to do, Mery?”
“It seems to me,” I said gently, “that the only sure way to keep Thut from harm and for you to be the mother of a king is to defy your mother.”
Nefer brushed the tears from her cheeks. “Yes. But how?”
“When we return from Punt go straight to Thut and marry him.”
“But…”
“What could your mother do then? Kill you? Disinherit you? That would go against everything she’s worked so hard for. And as soon as you have a son she’ll realize that he’ll rule someday, that her blood will continue on the throne of the Two Lands. Surely that will reconcile the two of you, and Thut.”
Nefer stared at the sea for a moment, pondered. “Yes,” she said thoughtfully. “It could work. But how would I pull it off, Mery? I’m constantly watched, remember.”
“We’ll have been in Punt for nine months by the time we return home,” I said, thinking quickly. “As God’s Wife, you’d certainly want to inspect all of your estates up and down the valley to see how they’ve fared in your absence. A good excuse for a boat trip, don’t you think, with no expectation of a quick return? You could be at Mennefer in a week and married before your mother knew it.”
Nefer regarded me for a moment, then she kissed my cheek and hugged me. Her eyes were shining. “Yes! It’s so simple, Mery. I can do it! As soon as we return home I’ll go to Thut and take him to husband and everything will work out! And all the pressure I’m under will be gone forever.”
I thanked the gods. Thut and Nefer would be together, and it would be in part because of me. They could live together in happiness, raise a son. And then I could marry Thut too, and the three of us could be together for the rest of our days. It was almost too good to be true.
“And as soon as I’m married, we’ll have to see about finding husbands for the two of you,” Nefer said. “Then we can raise our children together. You, of course, will marry Hori, Aachel.”
“Majesty!”
“It couldn’t be more obvious that the two of you love each other. And have since the moment you met. I don’t know why you’ve waited so long already.”
“I can’t leave you…”
“You don’t have to. You can serve me by day and be with Hori by night. What could be easier?” Nefer kissed Aachel on the cheek. “That’s settled. And as for you, Mery, you have no lack of suitors at court. You’re beautiful and smart and witty and daring. All you have to do is pick one of them – or Amenemhab, perhaps, or Ahmose…”
“Nefer! Ahmose? Really?”
“You’re right.” She laughed. “You know, it’s funny – I’ve always thought that Thut would be the perfect husband for you. The two of you are so much alike.”
For an instant my heart leapt. If Nefer were to suggest that we both marry him, insist on it…
“But that’s a foolish idea, isn’t it?” Nefer asked.
I hadn’t yet let myself consider what Nefer’s reaction would actually be to me marrying Thut. I’d hoped she’d be happy for me, knowing he’d take other wives anyway, knowing her son would succeed him and she’d be the mother of a king. But it struck me it was equally likely that she’d object. If she did, then what? Would I give him up, pick her over him, or would I marry him anyway and throw away her love? And if that happened, what would have been the point of waiting to marry him in the first place? Thut’s and my relationship to date would no doubt come out – would she consider that a betrayal as well? Clearly, when the time came for Thut and I to approach Nefer, we were going to have to handle the idea of our being married delicately. At any rate, I could hardly argue today that me marrying Thut made sense without making Nefer suspicious, given her obvious antipathy to it.
“We certainly aren’t fools,” I said nonchalantly.
Nefer hugged me. “There’s no one in the world I love more than you, Mery, and you, Aachel, except Mother. I don’t know how I would have kept my sanity for so long without you two. I want you both by my side the rest of my days.” She kicked sand into the air with her right foot, threw her shoulders back, tilted her chin. “But enough of this! On this expedition I’m not a Great Wife or God’s Wife of Amun or king’s daughter or sister or granddaughter, just a girl on an adventure. All three of us are, on a last great fling before we settle down. Let’s make the most of our trip to Punt. And when we return to Waset I’ll marry Thut, and Aachel will marry Hori, and Mery will fall madly in love with some dashing charioteer or boat captain or ambassador and all of us will live the rest of our lives together, in peace, surrounded by each other’s love.”
Artatama announced one morning as our sails were raised that we would reach the village of the chief of Punt before midday. Early in the voyage I’d learned to scramble up the rigging of our boat, to the amusement of the crew and horror of Neshi, and from there I was first to spot the village, set amidst groves of ebony and incense and palm trees, sprawling for some distance along the coast. The village’s conical houses looked like large beehives, made of plaited palm fronds and set on poles high above the ground. Their doors were accessible only by ladders.
We sailed into the village’s small harbor and our crewmen hauled down our sails. We dropped anchor about a hundred yards from land. I noticed villagers rushing to the beach, congregating there, gesturing in our direction. Most likely they’d never seen a fleet like ours before. Chancellor Neshi ordered that a small boat be lowered into the water from our deck. Sailors quickly loaded it with trade goods, then let Chancellor Neshi down into it by rope. Artatama and Kaha and ten soldiers and Nefer and Aachel and I followed. As befit the occasion, Nefer had changed into the garb of a King’s Great Wife, with the richest and most spectacular jewelry she owned – gold bracelets, earrings, anklets. Her broad collar had gold clasps in the shape of falcon heads, with eyes of black stone. The collar itself consisted of rows of blue and red and green faience, each row separated by gold beads. Ankh signs and djed pillars alternated between some of the rows, and a row of gold nefer pendants dangled at the bottom. Nefer presented a most royal appearance.
Several more small boats were lowered from the larger and packed with soldiers, hide shields on their forearms, long spears in their hands. At the chancellor’s cry, sailors bent to the oars and rowed the short distance to shore. The villagers waiting to meet us at the landing place were a mix of black and brown Africans, though some were similar in appearance to us. The men wore short kilts, the women skirts; the younger children were all naked. I noted long– and short–horned cattle grazing in open areas west of the houses, and long–eared dogs lounging in the shade. Some barked at us. The treetops were alive with birds and monkeys, all trilling and calling and chittering noisily.
Our men scrambled from the boats after they touched shore and secured them. Sailors carried we women through the surf so we wouldn’t get our feet and legs wet. Chancellor Neshi ordered the majority of the soldiers to stay beside the boats to guard them and our trade goods. Then, carrying his staff of office, escorted by eight spear–carrying soldiers and our ship’s captain and Artatama and Kaha and Nefer and Aachel and I, he strode into the village towards what appeared to be the chief’s house. A small group waited there in the shade, seated, watching our progress. The crowd of natives parted to let us pass.
“The chief’s name is Parahu,” Artatama told us. “His wife is Ity. The girl is his daughter, Itahu. Both boys are his sons. The rest are the leading men of the village.”
Parahu looked almost like a native of Kemet, I thought, with an aquiline nose and long thin goatee beard. A number of bracelets decorated his left leg, and he wore a close–fitting leather crown and a kilt with a tail attached and a necklace of large beads. A dagger was thrust through his belt, and he carried a staff of office in his left hand. Ity was seated on a donkey, her head bound with a narrow band that trailed down the
back of her tunic, with a necklace of three large beads, and wrist bands and anklets of gold. She was grotesquely fat, with wobbling folds of flab overlapping her belly, her enormous thighs entirely visible through her sheer dress. I’d never seen such an obese woman; I pitied her donkey. I wondered if Ity could even walk. Her young daughter was also plump, though not overly so.
“I am Chancellor Neshi, from the land of Kemet,” Artatama translated as the official announced himself to the Puntians, “sent by King Maatkare – life, health, prosperity – the most powerful king in all the world. Ours is a wealthy land, with much grain and gold and stone and finely crafted goods. Once Kemet and Punt traded regularly, but not for many years. The great god Amun has ordered his daughter, King Maatkare, to reestablish that trade, for the incense of your land is pleasing in his nostrils.”
Parahu addressed us. “How have you arrived at this land unknown to the men of Kemet? Have you come down from the roads of the heavens? Or have you navigated the sea of Ta–nuter? You must have followed the path of the sun.”
Chancellor Neshi motioned and Nefer stepped forward, her attitude regal. I had spent an hour painting and perfuming her aboard the boat and she was absolutely breathtaking. Every man in the crowd was staring at her. I moved a step behind her, and to one side.
“This is Neferure, daughter of King Maatkare, King’s Great Wife, God’s Wife of Amun, King’s Sister,” I announced somewhat haltingly and very slowly in the Puntian tongue.
Murmurs of surprise rolled through the crowd, that I should speak their language. Both Parahu and Ity smiled at my effort.
“What does her name mean?” Parahu asked Artatama.
“In your language, ‘Beauty of Re.’”
“It fits her well,” Parahu said, scanning Nefer from head to toe.
I told Nefer what he’d said. Nefer bowed her head the slightest bit in acknowledgement.
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