Beauty of Re

by Mark Gajewski

  “My mother had power, and my brother has it,” Nefer replied. “Perhaps he’ll let me share his. Not take it for myself.”

  “That’s unlikely,” Neshi said.

  “And if he won’t?” Aametshu asked.

  “You alone in Kemet have pure royal blood,” Neshi argued. “That is the definition of power.”

  “Besides,” Hapuseneb said, “you were your mother’s heir, the Falcon in the Nest. She’s dead. You are king now. The coronation is only a formality.”

  “The priests and civil service are behind you,” Aametshu added.

  “You upon the throne – it’s what your mother the king wanted,” Neshi reminded her, as if a reminder was necessary.

  Everyone in the room nodded. It was obvious to me that all of them would welcome Nefer’s rule, and were in fact counting on it. And why not? They’d been given wealth and power and position by Hatshepsut. Thut would surely not retain any of them in their current posts. In the worst case, he might even execute them for having served a woman he considered a usurper. They could only preserve their places and possibly their lives if Nefer agreed to be king.

  “Even with the priests and civil service behind me I would gladly walk away from power,” Nefer insisted again. Her eyes narrowed. Her gaze swept the room. “Must I remind you that Kemet already has a king?”

  “Majesty, because of your mother’s rule, we, the highest officials in the land, have embraced the idea of a female king.” Aametshu pointed at Hatshepsut’s body. “Maatkare – life, health, prosperity, justified – was more qualified to rule than either her husband or your half–brother. The last two decades proves it. And so are you. We have observed you in the audience hall. We have seen you exercise authority and responsibility as God’s Wife of Amun. And don’t forget – your blood is pure, and the king’s is not. We would follow you, Majesty.”

  “Even into battle against my brother? I have no army,” she scoffed.

  “With your personal wealth as God’s Wife, with the resources of the Amun priesthood, with what is in the treasury here at Waset, you could buy your own army,” Hori said quietly.

  He was still Nefer’s friend, the advisor she trusted most. His wife Aachel was practically her sister, and all five of their daughters considered both Nefer and I to be their aunts. We loved them dearly, especially Amunet, their oldest, already ten and serving as one of Nefer’s attendants.

  “Hired mercenaries, against an army trained for more than two decades by Thutmose himself?” Nefer asked. “How could we prevail against him?”

  “Deter, not prevail,” Aametshu argued. “If we convince his generals of the legitimacy of your rule, the army might ally itself with you.”

  My mind went back to the day many of these same advisors had argued that Hatshepsut should seize the throne. So, apparently, did Nefer’s.

  “The Oracle of Amun is prepared to speak on my behalf, proclaim that Amun selected me to rule before my birth?” Nefer guessed.

  Hapuseneb nodded. He was old and frail now, but he’d engineered a coup before and was obviously prepared to do so again.

  “You’ve spent your whole life training to be king,” Aametshu said. “You sat in council with your mother day after day, year after year. You know how the bureaucracy works. You know all there is to know about Kemet, about our friends and enemies. You’re as competent and capable of holding the throne as Thutmose. You’re his equal.”

  “Your mother appointed most of the civil servants and the high priests of the various gods. More are loyal to you, as God’s Wife of Amun,” Hori said. “Thutmose knows this, Majesty. He knows you command much power and wealth. I fear, knowing this, that he’ll take your life to eliminate you as his rival – unless you move against him first.”

  Nefer gazed at her mother, lying still and cold on her bed. She straightened her shoulders, stood, faced the semicircle of men. “You have all served my mother long and faithfully. I thank you for the counsel you gave her all these years, and the counsel you’ve given me today. I thank you for your unconditional support. Know this – I’ve been trained to rule Kemet. For many years it has been my greatest desire.”

  Everyone was suddenly beaming.

  “Most excellent, Majesty!” Chancellor Neshi exclaimed.

  “But today is not the time to decide my future. I would like some time alone with my mother first, before the priests take her body to be prepared for the Afterlife. Please grant me that.”

  Faces were suddenly grim. They had not succeeded in talking Nefer into making a hasty decision. And so their wealth and power and position were at risk. And if Nefer’s life was at risk, so were theirs.

  “Of course, Majesty,” Hori said accommodatingly. We’ll give you the time you need.” He began firmly herding the others from the room.

  Aametshu began to protest, but thought better of it and fell silent. Everyone bowed and took their leave.

  “Stay a moment, Mery,” Nefer said as Hori passed through the door. He closed it behind him.

  I moved back to the bed, sat on it next to her, looked down on Hatshepsut.

  “I need you to speak with Thut on my behalf, Mery,” Nefer said softly. “I trust no one else to act as my ambassador.”

  “Of course. What would you have me say?”

  “Hapuseneb was correct – the moment my mother died I became king – whether I want to be or not. And Mother’s advisors are right – I have the priests and the civil servants behind me, and I can buy an army. I have the resources I need to challenge Thut for his share of the throne. I might even succeed. And my blood is purer than his – my kingship is legitimate.”

  “You want me to tell Thut you’re going to war against him?” I felt sick.

  “Whether I keep or give up Mother’s throne isn’t up to me. Its up to Thutmose. Tell him that, Mery. Tell him I still want to rule Kemet at his side, as his Great Wife. That’s why I’ve never married, never produced an heir of my own. If he’ll make me that, if he’ll utilize my talents and abilities, I’ll yield Mother’s throne to him.”

  A glimmer of hope. “What if he doesn’t agree?”

  “Then I’ll fight to keep my throne.”

  “Oh, Nefer…”

  “Make him agree, Mery!” Nefer said urgently. “Do whatever you have to, say whatever you have to, get him to agree.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “I’m afraid, Mery. I’m afraid that even if I tell Mother’s advisors I don’t want the throne they’ll force me to be king, make me their figurehead. I’m not strong enough to resist them.” She placed her hands against her temples. “If Thutmose just hadn’t taken those first wives, if he’d been patient and waited for me, none of this would be happening.”

  And my life would be far different too, I thought.

  “Thutmose made this mess, Mery. He has to fix it.”

  “I’ll do my best to convince him, Nefer. I promise.”

  She leaned to me, kissed me. “I know. Now, leave me to my grief.”

  When I softly closed the door behind me Nefer was already stretched out beside her mother, arms around her, sobbing once more.

  ***

  I stepped from Abdju’s quay onto Thut’s royal boat a little before sunrise. I’d been traveling north day and night for a week, seeking him, assuming he was already headed south after being told of Hatshepsut’s death. I’d learned that Thut had stopped here at Abdju to worship at Osiris’ ancient temple, and to visit the graves of that god and Kemet’s first kings. He’d apparently spent a few days in one of his per’aas in town. His boat and the rest of his massive fleet were preparing to momentarily push off and continue their journey from Mennefer to Waset for Hatshepsut’s burial. Decks were swarming with crewmen making ready. I whispered a prayer to the gods that my mission would be successful.

  Sailors pulled the gangplank on board behind me, and a host of oarsmen immediately poled the boat away from shore and into the current. It was a huge boat, more than two hundred feet long, with benches for fifty oarsmen on each side.
More sailors scrambled up the rigging and hauled aloft the great sail, painted with vultures and a checkered pattern of green and red and blue, and suddenly we were moving south, up the river, driven by the strong prevailing wind. Behind us, sails rose on boat after boat, some crammed with soldiers, others with officials.

  The benches were empty, the oars stowed, for unless the wind failed the boat would not need to be rowed upstream. Both bow and stern rose in graceful lotus shapes, painted, decorated with the eye of Horus. The steersman stood atop a small cabin at the rear of the boat, his huge rudder topped with a carved falcon head. A wood–walled cabin occupied most of the back third of the boat, painted with lotus and papyrus flowers. A leather–topped canopy shaded a section of deck in front of it, where a small table and several leather chairs clustered. Just now the sides of the canopy were rolled up to admit the breeze and the early morning light; I knew they would be let down once the sun rose higher and the day began to heat up.

  A sailor led me to the canopy and I settled in a chair to wait. I heard indistinct voices in the cabin at my back. No doubt Thut was meeting with his advisors. He was still an early riser. A young serving girl in a white skirt brought me something to eat and drink, but I barely touched anything. I was too nervous. I had no doubt that Iset’s spies had already carried news to Thut of what had been discussed in Hatshepsut’s bedroom two weeks ago. Who knew what would happen to Nefer if I couldn’t convince Thut of her willingness to submit to him in return for their marriage and a modicum of joint rule? I wasn’t even certain that Thut would receive me, or speak with me, after how we’d parted after his Heb–Sed. I was counting on a friendship that he might have forgotten after so many years, counting on him to overlook my rejection of him in order to gain an audience. I watched the sun climb the eastern sky, its golden light slanting across the valley. As always, the sight stirred me. Isolated groves of palms lined the broad river, its banks lush with thickets of papyrus and reeds. Farmers were already busy in green fields of waving emmer laced with silver irrigation ditches. Beyond the cultivated strip the desert plateau rose abrupt and brown, and the wind stirred the dust, and the sky began to turn hazy. Small wooden boats and fishermen’s reed punts were drifting past us, going downstream, their occupants staring at our magnificent boat, straining to catch a glimpse of royals.

  After an hour the door of the cabin opened. Seven or eight officials and scribes trooped out, each regarding me curiously. The last was Amenemhab. I rose.

  “My Lady,” he said, formally. He had no smile for me, not even a derogatory comment.

  “My Lord.”

  Thut’s herald appeared. “Go in,” he said brusquely.

  I did. The herald closed the cabin door behind me.

  Thut was seated in a chair. He’d changed little in seven years, except for a long white scar on his right biceps, no doubt earned in battle. He wore a white shendyt and a gold broad collar and his blue– and yellow–striped nemes, and he looked every inch a king. I stared for a moment. I had missed him so much. My heart started to pound.

  “Meryetneith.”

  He’d never called me by my full name before. Ever. “Majesty.” I fell to my knees, eyes focused on the deck.

  “Rise. Here to plead the pretender’s case?” Thut scoffed.

  I should have been angry. I should have been defensive. I should have immediately delivered the speech I’d practiced giving hour after hour on the way here. Instead, I was overcome with an overwhelming grief. I was holding Nefer’s life in my hands. Based on Thut’s attitude, she was doomed. I remained on my knees, all at once weak and trembling, bereft of hope. “Oh, Thut, how did we come to this?” I blurted. “Majesty.” I didn’t know what to call him anymore. A sob escaped my lips. I looked up at him through suddenly tear–stained lashes. “The three of us grew up together, as friends, as family. We all loved each other. Love each other.” I brushed the tears from my eyes, but more came. “If Hatshepsut and Iset had just left you and Nefer alone none of this would be happening!” I cried bitterly. “You and Nefer would be together. We’d be together!”

  Thut softened. He stood, extended a hand, took mine, raised me to my feet, seated me in a chair next to his. “You’re right, Mery,” he said. “We’ve forgotten what we once were. But I fear we can never go back.”

  “We have to, Thut. You and Nefer have to,” I said fervently.

  “You came to speak on Neferure’s behalf?”

  “Yes. She asked me to.”

  He stiffened again. “Has Neferure raised her army yet?” he asked sarcastically. “Have the Amun priests and Hatshepsut’s bureaucrats and the Oracle of Amun rallied behind her? Are you here to negotiate my surrender?”

  I’d been correct; there had been a spy at Hatshepsut’s deathbed. I doubted it was one of the advisors; most likely, one of the priests who had been chanting over her body. So Thut knew everything that had been discussed that day, and who had said it.

  “Far from it,” I said earnestly. “Nefer’s been busy assembling grave goods and overseeing final touches on Hatshepsut’s tomb in the Great Place and participating in the mummification ceremonies. Nothing more. Nefer doesn’t desire your throne, Thut. She never has. Not really.” I was lying to him, but I felt I had to. So much was at stake. And Nefer had told me to say what I must. I felt that the fate of the Two Lands and the two people I loved most were in my hands, and I’d say whatever I had to so that they would find their way to each other.

  “Why should I believe you?”

  I held up my hand, adorned with a gorgeous gold ring. “Nefer ordered me to bring you Hatshepsut’s signet ring, the one she wore as king, the one that must be used to seal her grave in the Great Place at the end of her funeral.” I took it off and handed it to him. “You know its a tradition that each king do so for his predecessor to legitimize the succession. Nefer sent it as a sign that she’s willing to be subservient to you.”

  “How do I know she’s not trying to mislead me, to buy time?”

  “If Nefer had wanted your throne she would’ve seized the reins of power and taken it immediately after Hatshepsut’s death, while you were still far from Waset.”

  “What does she want, then?”

  “What your father wished for her. What you once wanted too – to be your Great Wife. To rule Kemet at your side.” I sighed. “You two should’ve been married such a long time ago, Thut.”

  “We should have too, Mery,” Thut said. He reached out, tenderly caressed my cheek. “My beautiful Mery. Fifteen years since our night beside the river. More than half our lifetimes. Wasted.”

  So he still felt something for me, despite our last encounter. I hoped. “You were right, Thut.”

  “About?”

  “You said I’d never forget that night. I haven’t. Not a bit of it.”

  “And I haven’t forgotten you. We left things badly seven years ago. I’m sorry for that.”

  “I am too. But this isn’t about us, Thut. You and Nefer should already have many sons of your own. If not for Hatshepsut and Iset keeping you apart…”

  “But Neferure has spent her entire life preparing herself to rule,” Thut interrupted. “Do you deny it, Mery?”

  “Of course not. But she was preparing herself in case your line fails, Thut – not with the intention of supplanting you,” I said earnestly. “But you have a fine son, Amenemhat, who’s growing fast. You have three wives to give you many more. Surely your line is secure.”

  “It would seem to be,” he agreed.

  “But if something happened to you and your sons, would you want anyone but Nefer taking the throne?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Don’t confuse her lack of desire for the kingship with a lack of ability to be king, Thut. She’s well–trained, and gained much valuable experience at Hatshepsut’s side, and as God’s Wife. And as you’ve said, many would support her if she asked.” I did not mention that technically she was king, as Hatshepsut’s heir. That would be throwing fresh wood onto a
blazing fire. “But you have nothing to fear from Nefer. She wants to be your Great Wife, to be at your side. Use her talents and abilities, Thut! They complement yours. You must know she’s the one person in this kingdom who can truly help you realize your vision for Kemet’s future – you campaigning against the Nine Bows, building an empire, Nefer looking out for your kingdom here at home.”

  Thut sighed. “Mery, everything you say may be completely true. But the issue isn’t necessarily what Nefer wants or promises me. I have the support of the army, but she has the support of the priests and bureaucrats – whether she intends to call on them or not. As you have said, if my line fails Nefer is the only person who should succeed me. And that’s the crux of the matter – what’s to keep the priests and bureaucrats from killing me and my son and putting Neferure on my throne – whether she wishes it or not?”

  “I hadn’t considered that,” I admitted. But having witnessed two conspiracies already the idea did not seem far–fetched.

  “But I must consider everything,” Thut said firmly. “And here’s my dilemma, Mery. If I marry Neferure, and we have a son, those loyal to Hatshepsut might kill me and make him king, with Neferure as regent. If I marry her and we don’t have a child, they might replace me directly with her. If I let Neferure marry another – a noble, a commoner, whatever – and she has a son, he’ll be a rival to Amenemhat after I become Osiris, and they’ll kill my son and crown hers. If I exile Neferure, those still loyal to Hatshepsut might rebel against me and put Neferure on the throne.” He sighed. “No option is particularly appealing, Mery.”

  “You didn’t mention the most obvious one, Thut – kill Nefer now and be done with it.” I couldn’t keep the bitterness from my voice.

  “Yes,” he admitted. “The most obvious, and the simplest.”

  I gazed deep into Thut’s eyes. “The one your advisors and your mother advocate.”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t listen to them,” I said earnestly, leaning towards him. “Listen to your heart, Thut. Nefer’s the same little girl who followed you around the per’aa before you became king, the one we grew up with. She’s the same girl who’s wanted to be your wife for more than two decades. Marry her, Thut. I promise you won’t be making a mistake.”