Beauty of Re

by Mark Gajewski

  And I could see why. Even from the river, nearly a mile east of the temple, the still far from complete complex was breathtaking. It commanded the broad plain, fronted by nascent gardens and pools and groves of trees, the temple beyond rising terrace upon terrace, colonnade upon colonnade, backed by beautifully rugged cliffs of golden living rock. The polished ivory–white walls of the courts and side chambers and colonnades gleamed in the sunlight with an almost alabaster–like effect. The walls, partially carved with fine figures and hieroglyphs, all colored with yellow paint, gave the whole temple an effect of warmth and beauty.

  It was nearly half a mile from the harbor to the end of cultivation and the beginning of the desert and the temple grounds. The processional way passed at first through fields of waving emmer, lined with thousands of people who respectfully dropped to their knees as Hatshepsut passed. The procession stopped twice at limestone way stations so the priests carrying Amun’s barque could refresh themselves with bread and beer. Each time prayers were recited by the attending priests.

  At the edge of the desert we passed through a gate in the limestone wall into Djeser Djeseru itself. Only a few sections of the wall had been finished. The processional way ran straight as an arrow to the foot of the ramp at the base of the first terrace. The gardens along each side of the road hinted at their future magnificence, filled with slender saplings and expanses of flowers in all the colors of the rainbow, the pools already choked with papyrus and lotus. Gurgling channels of silver wound throughout, bringing a constant supply of water from the river. Butterflies fluttered among the flowers and birds sang from the trees and frogs croaked from the pools. Sphinxes with the bodies of lions and Hatshepsut’s face lined one side of the road, one every couple of feet; those destined for the other side were still being carved. We passed the grove where the incense trees Nefer and I had brought back from Punt now grew; almost all had survived the journey and were flourishing.

  We neared the foot of the ramp and the colonnades that supported the first terrace. I glanced to my left. The wall behind the columns was no longer empty. Its scenes now told the story of the expedition to Punt, Kaha’s familiar drawings inked in red and black on the stone, awaiting carving and painting. I remembered the pride with which he’d shown them to Nefer and me a month ago after he’d made the final corrections to his initial sketches – the Puntian village, Parahu and Ity, Nefer and Chancellor Neshi meeting Parahu upon our arrival, baboons and panthers and incense trees being loaded onto our boats, the boats in transit, Hatshepsut presenting what we had brought back to Amun–Re.

  We walked up the first ramp and crossed the top of the first terrace to the second ramp. The procession before and behind me was like a long serpent – its head ascending the second ramp while its tail was just starting up the first, led by the gilded barque carried high amidst a cloud of incense, chants mingling with bells and drums and singing, skirts and dresses and kilts brilliant white, girdles and sashes mimicking the rainbow, sun glittering on gold and faience and jewels, colorful bouquets and garlands, long hair and curly wigs and shaved heads, beautiful women and bare–chested men. Atop the terrace my attention was drawn to colossal statues of Hatshepsut in the guise of Osiris at the ends, each twenty–six feet tall. Her hands held the ankh and scepter, combined with the crook and flail. Her bearded face with its serene, beautiful gaze was painted red or pink, the eyes white and black, the eyebrows blue. Some statues wore the white crown, others the double. On an earlier visit I’d counted niches for ten Osiride statues at the rear of the upper terrace and four in the corners of the sanctuary; only a few of them were currently filled. Senenmut had told me there would one day be close to two hundred brightly–painted statues and sphinxes here. I could conceive of no place so magnificent in all the world. The pyramids at Giza were far mightier, but Djeser Djeseru was more elegant and beautiful. No other king had built as well as Hatshepsut, at least in my opinion.

  We ascended the second ramp onto the temple’s upper and most important terrace. We passed between four imposing pairs of statues, each more than nine feet tall, that lined the way to the sanctuary, each portraying Hatshepsut kneeling before the gods with an offering jar in each hand, wearing a beard and a nemes headdress with a uraeus. We went through a granite doorway into an open–air hypostyle hall, its walls decorated with scenes of the Beautiful Feast and the Opet. The portico on either side of the door held a dozen square pillars faced with twice life–sized painted limestone statues of Hatshepsut dressed as Osiris staring over the river directly east to Ipet–Isut, the crook in her left hand, the flail in her right.

  The procession halted so that Amun’s barque could be carried into the hypostyle hall. I moved with everyone else into the hall once the way was clear. To my right I saw the open–air altar to Re–Harakhty and smaller chapels to Amun and Anubis, to the left Hatshepsut’s own mortuary chapel. The sanctuary was directly ahead. The masked priests disappeared inside with the barque, set down their burden, then exited. Hatshepsut and Hapuseneb and Hori and Nefer moved into the two dark interconnected rooms. I knew the first room was for the barque, the second for the statues of the gods. The four of them would carry out the sacred rituals there, burning the food offerings on a small altar, adding incense to make the smoke sweeter.

  I had visited the sanctuary with Nefer and Senenmut several times. The first chamber featured an arched ceiling, painted blue, with scenes painted on every wall. The right wall was my favorite, depicting Nefer as God’s Wife of Amun, wearing a curly black wig, a diadem, a broad collar with alternating rows of blue and green faience, with pendants dangling below the bottommost row, a white dress with two straps, armbands and bracelets of gold with vertical turquoise strips, her spatula–like symbol of office in her right hand and another staff with a broader handled tip in her left. Two colossal Osiride statues of Hatshepsut flanked the square–cut door that led into the most sacred chamber. In that chamber was a statue of Hatshepsut wearing a nemes headdress. On a wall was a painting of her wearing the khat headdress, her body red, her silhouette feminine, yet wearing a kilt and false beard.

  I waited in the hypostyle hall with the others. Most had watched the temple gradually rise stone block by stone block from their homes across the river; today, admitted for the first time, they swarmed over the ramps and terraces and about the colonnades, investigating chapels and statues and wall carvings. I could tell everyone was impressed. I remained on the upper terrace, for the view of the river valley from so high was stunning. To my left cliffs rose sheer and rugged in a long arc that blocked the view of the river to the north. I knew that to the west of those cliffs was the Great Place and the tombs of Nefer’s father and grandfather. To my right, and below me, lay Mentuhotep’s memorial temple, terraced like Hatshepsut’s but far smaller, cliffs rising behind it as well. Seeing it, I couldn’t help but think of Thut, and I fingered the Hathor amulet around my neck. Beyond that temple, on the dusty drab plain in the bay of the cliffs, were two small steep hills, each dotted with the openings of small private tombs. Senenmut’s was easy for me to identify, located as it was on a hillcrest. I saw a few figures walking the path around the western edge of one of the hills, no doubt workers already returning to their homes in the Place of Truth. Directly east of me, beyond the white terraces and ramps, Djeser Djeseru’s gardens were like an oasis in the desert, its grid of channels and pools silver amid the trees and greenery and flowers. Past the walls that enclosed the garden, emerald fields stretched a half mile to the river. Then came the broad blue river, lined for miles by the haphazard mud–brick buildings of Waset, the per’aa to the north of the city, and east of the per’aa the gardens of Ipet–Isut and the pylons and temples of that complex, dominated by Hatshepsut’s brightly shining golden obelisks. The distant eastern desert was obscured by a haze of wind–blown dust and sand.

  After awhile I sought shelter from the blisteringly hot sun in Hathor’s chapel. Late in the afternoon, as Re descended behind the western hills, shade finally
crept over Djeser Djeseru and brought relief from the heat. Not long after, the full day of ceremonies complete, Hatshepsut and Hapuseneb and Hori and Nefer reappeared from inside the sanctuary. The priests brought forth Amun’s barque, and we reformed the procession behind them and retraced our steps and crossed the river and put the gods to sleep in their own temples.

  ***

  Late that night, after a banquet attended by all the local officials concluded in the per’aa, Hori and Aachel and Nefer and I sat on the edge of the stone quay, dangling our legs over the canal that led to the nearby river. Amunet, taken by her parents from the royal nursery, suckled Aachel hungrily. The night was alive with croaks and splashes and the humming of insects. The river flowed relentlessly past. The sky was splashed with stars. Though the day had been long, none of us wanted to return to our quarters yet. Across the river the hills rose ephemeral in the moonlight, Djeser Djeseru at their base little more than a whitish blur. On the far side of those hills, I knew, in the Great Place, Hatshepsut’s tomb was under construction. Torches and bowls of oil glimmered on the hills of Qurna and Qurnet Murai, where the common people and the families of officials were celebrating the Beautiful Feast at the tombs of their ancestors. The hills looked as if they were carpeted with a million fireflies. Occasionally the breeze carried to us faint cries and laughter and music.

  “Hapuseneb almost fell asleep at the banquet tonight,” Hori chuckled. “Long days like this wear him out.”

  “I’m quite tired myself,” I said, and yawned.

  “You’ll take Hapuseneb’s place as Opener of the Gate of Heaven one day, Hori,” Nefer announced.

  “Are you serious, Nefer?” Aachel exclaimed.

  Amunet cried out and Aachel shushed her and rocked her comfortingly back and forth.

  “Mother told me last night,” Nefer reported. “She’s going to appoint Hori second prophet and designate him as Hapuseneb’s successor. Very soon.”

  “Why me?” Hori asked, incredulous. “Many are older and more qualified than me in the Amun priesthood. And Second Prophet Hapu – he’s counting on succeeding Hapuseneb – I’ve heard him say so many times – he’ll be furious.”

  “No one has been so good and loyal a friend to me as you, Hori.”

  “I could say the same of you, Majesty.” Hori put his arm around Aachel’s shoulders and gazed lovingly at his daughter.

  Nefer smiled.

  “When will you take a husband and have a child of your own?” Aachel asked her.

  “As soon as I find a man as fine as Hori,” Nefer laughed. “I’ve come to discover they’re very rare.”

  “You’re responsible for my happiness, Majesty,” Hori said, his voice serious. “When I’m high priest, I’ll back you and your mother the king in everything, always, no matter what.”

  “I know. Mother is counting on your support for many years to come. We’ll make a very good pair in her service, you and I – God’s Wife and High Priest of Amun.”

  “And someday more than God’s Wife. King,” Aachel said pointedly.

  There was no longer any doubt in our circle, or among Hatshepsut’s advisors, that Nefer would eventually follow her mother on the throne. Though Hatshepsut was only 34 and would likely reign for many years to come.

  “You’ll always have my unconditional support, Majesty,” Hori said quietly.

  “I know,” Nefer said. “Though supporting me may be dangerous for you, depending on how Thutmose reacts. My ascension could be perilous – for all of us.” She regarded us gravely.

  More perilous now than when you first embraced your mother’s plan for you, I thought. Thut now firmly held the North, Hatshepsut the South. They worked together still in concert, but uneasily. Who knew how long that would last. The wild card, when Hatshepsut died and the time came to choose a sole ruler, would be the army. I had no doubt it would support Thut. And then what would Nefer do? Fight him with mercenaries paid for by Amun’s estates? Unless, of course, Thut died during a campaign against the wretches while Hatshepsut still lived, and his son took his throne. Then Hatshepsut would fight the heir. Would the army react differently in that event?

  “Your mother has shown that a woman can be king, and a successful one,” Hori said. “Your blood is purer than Thutmose’s. Many will follow you. But we must attain unyielding support for you within the bureaucracy and the priesthoods. We must control Kemet’s wealth. For Thutmose will have the army and you may need to buy one.”

  “There was a time when I’d have been content to be Thutmose’s Great Wife and rule at his side and be the mother of a king,” Nefer told us, her voice frank. “But Thutmose has, by his marriages, by his son, ruined that prospect. I will not become his minor wife and sit idly by and see my life and talents wasted. So I’ll take what belongs to me, what my pure blood demands.”

  With that, Nefer and the others rose and headed towards their quarters. I remained seated on the quay, watching the river flow past, thinking of Thut in his per’aa at Mennefer so many miles to the north. Or maybe he was in an army camp, surrounded by sleeping soldiers. I wondered if he too sat watching the river at this late hour, thinking of me, or if he was already fast asleep in the arms of one of his wives. Two Lands, two kings, a third waiting in the wings, biding her time… Did Thut sleep untroubled, or were his nights haunted by dreams of chaos? I felt as if maat was teetering on a precipice, waiting for the merest whisper to push it over and destroy Kemet forever. I closed my eyes and prayed to the gods that a miracle would occur, that somehow, despite everything, Thut and Nefer would find their way to each other, that he would make her his Great Wife, that she would bear him a son who would grow up to be king. I knew my prayer was ridiculous and hopeless and impossible, that I could not escape being caught between those I loved most in a fight for power that would cost the three of us everything. But I could not surrender to the inevitable, for that was unbearable.

  1465 BC

  Regnal Year 15 – Thutmose III; Regnal Year 8 – Hatshepsut

  A bird trilled as the first light of dawn touched the treetops in the garden along Ipet–Isut’s processional way. I was seated on a block of limestone in the midst of flowers beside a lotus–choked pool, waiting as I did every morning for Nefer to finish her temple duties. The fragrance of the flowers perfumed the air, and I breathed deeply. It was so peaceful, watching the world waken, seeing Re suddenly flash to life on the electrum–covered tips of four of the obelisks that rose from within the walls of Ipet–Isut. I expected today’s temple rituals would take longer than usual, because for the first time in six years Thut was participating.

  He’d returned to Waset a few days ago to celebrate his first Heb–Sed, the festival that renewed kings and proved they were fit to continue ruling. I knew from my studies that one like his had never before been conducted in the Two Lands. Normally, they were held after a king had sat his throne for thirty years. Thut had been king for only fifteen so far. And one had never been celebrated by two kings at the same time. During the Heb–Sed, Hatshepsut too had been renewed.

  Celebrants had arrived at Waset from every town and city and temple in the Two Lands for a week beforehand. Every inch of the shore had been lined with boats, large and small, of wood and reed, the channel packed with more seeking an anchorage. The banks had crawled from sunup to sundown with sailors and porters and visitors. “I’ve never seen so many boats at once, at least not since Father’s funeral,” Nefer had observed, and I’d agreed.

  Nearly every official in the land had come to Waset. It was the first Heb–Sed in generations – no king in Nefer and Thut’s family had reigned long enough to have one – and so no official in the land wanted to miss it. Thut himself had arrived from Mennefer accompanied by a large fleet, many of the boats military vessels. That, I thought, was a deliberately overt reminder to those in the South of his substantial power. He’d brought the delta gods with him in their shrines, and had stopped at every temple between Mennefer and Waset and collected their statues and pri
ests too, according to Ahmose, who’d told me about the journey at the banquet the night before the ceremony. They had joined the gods from farther south who had already been received at Waset. The bakers and brewers and hunters and fisherman of the nearby river valley had worked overtime to feed all the extra visitors and prepare offerings for the numerous gods. Nefer’s workers had also been stretched to the limit, ensuring that Amun’s estates provided their share.

  The Heb–Sed had been spectacular and awe–inspiring. Nefer, in her role as God’s Wife, had taken part in a massive early–morning procession in which all the shrines containing statues of the gods had been carried by priests from the riverbank, along the processional way, and through Ipet–Isut into Senwosret’s ancient court. At twenty–three, Nefer’s legs were long, her curves enhanced by a pleated white dress with narrow straps, her waist circled with a girdle of gold. Her broad collar and bracelets and earrings and gold uraeus diadem had glittered, her long dark wavy hair had twisted in the gentle breeze. Few among the Northern officials, who had not seen her since she was a child, were not awed by her beauty. Once in Senwosret’s court, the gods’ shrines had been placed inside larger temporary shrines that lined all four sides of the courtyard in front of a pillared portico, half the shrines constructed in the ancient style of the north, half of the south. The following day, after a procession led by Thut and Hatshepsut from the per’aa to the temple of Amun that was witnessed by everyone in Waset and all the officials who had traveled here, the two worshiped together at each shrine, an activity that had taken hours, so numerous were the gods of Kemet. Then they’d repeated their coronation ceremonies and were recrowned, each of the various crowns of the Two Lands placed on their heads simultaneously by priests, then removed and replaced with another. After that, each had run a ritual race around the outer walls of Ipet–Isut, a considerable distance thanks to Hatshepsut’s expansion of the complex. Both then raised a djed pillar. Thut had looked so handsome in his Heb–Sed robe, the material patterned in diamond shapes, bordered top and bottom by bands of guilloche, with epaulets on each shoulder. Hatshepsut had looked absolutely stunning in a sheer white dress, neck and wrists and waist and ankles accented with magnificent jewelry.