Beauty of Re

by Mark Gajewski

  “And if I don’t?”

  “She’ll be forced to move against you, not of her own accord, but by her advisors. And then I’ll lose one or both of you, Thut. I couldn’t stand it. It’d kill me.”

  Thut sat silent for a long time, pondering, weighing his options. I wondered if he could hear my heart beat, it was pounding so loudly in my chest. I was sweating, afraid of what his choice might be. Then he took my hand. “You have great powers of persuasion, Mery. If I ever need an ambassador for something important, remind me to send you.” He caressed my cheek again, smiled. “You may promise Neferure that her life is safe, and that I’ll take her to wife.”

  Tears rolled down my cheeks. “Thank you, Thut.”

  He grew serious. “But she can’t be my Great Wife, Mery. I must make an example of Nefer to cow the priests and bureaucrats who support her, and to appease those who have loyally supported me. They’ll demand the chance to publicly heap scorn on her, humiliate her, restrict her.”

  “That’s not fair,” I protested.

  “They want her dead, Mery. Letting her live will not seem fair to them. So it must be done. Neferure must reap what Hatshepsut sowed, though you say she had no part in it. Though I think she may have had some part in it.”

  I felt the heat rising in my cheeks. Thut had seen through my lies. And given me at least part of what I wanted despite them.

  “I don’t blame you for the story you tell, Mery. I know how much you love Neferure. You may tell her I’m sorry for what she will have to endure.”

  “But privately, she’ll be more to you?” I asked hopefully, my eyes searching his. “You’ll take advantage of her abilities, let her help you rule? Please say you will.” Nefer had been clear in her instructions to me before I left her at Waset – she would submit to Thut only as Great Wife, nothing less. If that was out of the question I had to have something more with which to convince her not to pursue the throne.

  Thut laughed. “Perhaps. Maybe something small, at first, until she proves her loyalty. And not right away. She has to be seen as subservient, Mery. It’s the best I can do.”

  “And after she gives you a son… a pure–blooded son…” I pressed, “you’ll give him consideration as your heir – if not immediately, then when he’s older?”

  Thut regarded me with amusement. “You’re relentless, aren’t you Mery.”

  “You like that about me.”

  “I do.” He straightened. “I will promise Neferure that much, that I’ll consider it.”

  “Then I’ll convince Nefer to yield,” I said. “Somehow. Though it won’t be easy.”

  “You’ve saved my kingdom,” Thut laughed. “But you should know that I’ll never love Neferure as more than a sister, Mery. Too much has happened between us. Our marriage will be nothing more than a duty, mine and hers.” He put his hand on mine. “I’ll never love her like I love you, Mery.”

  “Even after how we left things? I’ve been so afraid you hated me.”

  “I could never hate you. I hate only that we’ve been apart from each other for so many years. You’re the only woman who truly loves me – not the power or position I can provide – but me. It’s you who should be my wife.”

  “I desire that above all else,” I said sadly.

  “You could be today, with a single word.”

  “You know I can’t.”

  “Neferure still comes between us?”

  “Especially now, Thut. How could I upstage the little bit of dignity she’ll be allowed to salvage if I’m also named your wife at the same time? How could I comfort her in the dark days to come if she sees me as her rival?” I shook my head. “And then there’s your mother. No commoners for you, Majesty,” I said lightly.

  “But you’re not common, Mery.” He traced the scar on my arm. “You are anything but.” He locked his eyes on mine. “I’ve agreed to your terms, Mery – so now you must agree to mine. As soon as Nefer gives me a son you must marry me – that very day. Are we agreed?”

  My heart was suddenly singing. What I had wanted for so long was within my reach again. “You drive a hard bargain, My Lord.”

  “Not so hard, I think.”

  “Yes, My Love. I agree. A thousand times yes.”

  Thut’s kisses sealed our bargain.

  ***

  Nefer and I waited in the Place of Silence, the area outside the audience hall of Waset’s per’aa. We’d walked here along with everyone who’d been summoned by Thut this afternoon, through the entrance of the per’aa and the columned room with the window of appearances and the central court lined with columns, our steps echoing on the plastered and decorated floors. Nefer’s lips were drawn in a tight line; never in her thirty years had she been subjected to such an indignity, entering the throne room through the doorway used by courtiers and common supplicants. Just yesterday, after the seventy–day mummification process, Hatshepsut had been laid to rest in the tomb she’d prepared for herself in the Great Place, its door sealed by Thut using her signet ring. In a few moments Nefer’s fate would be publicly revealed by Thut, after fifteen years once again the sole king of the Two Lands.

  I had prepared Nefer to expect the worst today. She had reluctantly agreed to all of Thut’s terms; in the end, she had simply not had the stomach to go to war with him for a throne that deep down in her heart she had never truly wanted. She knew for certain only that her life would be spared, that Thut would take her to wife, and someday, perhaps, he might utilize at least some of her skills and consider their son as his successor. She knew also that she would be made a spectacle of, to firmly cement Thut’s legitimacy and power as king. Needless to say, the night before had been both sleepless and tearful for both of us.

  Hatshepsut’s advisors had not willingly accepted Nefer’s surrender to Thut. They’d argued against it for hours when she informed them, threatened to make her king in spite of her wishes, even threatened to put one of their number on the throne, but in the end Hori had supported Nefer’s decision, and with the very real possibility of a split in the priesthood the advisors had given up. Some, I knew, had even fled Waset before Thut’s arrival, afraid for their lives.

  The Place of Silence was crowded with individuals, many of whom I knew, but no one uttered a word. That was against the rules. And, no doubt, no one wished to extend any kindness to Nefer, for fear one of Iset’s spies would label him a sympathizer and he would feel her wrath. Eventually the door opened and Intef, Thut’s herald, entered.

  Intef was in charge of the audience hall, the man who managed the ceremonies of the court and per’aa, who communicated the king’s messages to the people. He scanned everyone. “I’ll arrange you in two lines now.” He surveyed the room. “At the head of the line on the left, Hapuseneb – Opener of the Gate of Heaven, High Priest of Amun, overseer of the priests of Upper and Lower Kemet.”

  Hapuseneb slowly took his place. His shoulders were bowed with age and, I thought, despair.

  “Next, Aametshu, vizier of Upper Kemet.” He slipped behind Hapuseneb.

  “Next, Commander Djehuty.” He strode to the front of the room forcefully. He still exuded an air of authority I’d sensed in no one but Thut.

  “I am sorry for your loss, Majesty,” he told Nefer, pausing for a moment as he moved past her.

  Intef glared at Djehuty but said nothing; he dared not challenge such a man for breaking a trivial rule.

  Nefer nodded to Djehuty gratefully. A small kindness on this day went far.

  “Next, Viceroy Amenemnekhu.” He’d succeeded Seni some years ago after that official’s death. He’d been one of Hatshepsut’s most loyal supporters, and thus Nefer’s.

  “Next – Rekhmire. Behind him Maiherpri, then Tjanuni.”

  I knew the last two, army officers who served with Thut.

  “To the right, at the head of the line,” the herald continued, “Hori, Second Prophet of Amun at Ipet–Isut.”

  Hori’s eyes flickered briefly across Nefer’s face as he moved forward. I s
aw sympathy there.

  “Next, Puyemre, Second Prophet of Amun, and his wife Seniseneb, Divine Adoratrix of Amun.”

  They took their positions a bit uneasily. Hapuseneb, Hori, Puyemre and Seniseneb were, besides myself, Nefer’s only friends in the Place of Silence.

  “Next, Useramun, then Ra, priest of Amun, then Hapu, Second Prophet of Amun. Then Nebwawi. Then Senneferi and Minmose and Benermerut and Ipy and Kha. Last, Bet and Meryet, wives of Rekhmire. You two can sort out your own order.”

  That Rekhmire’s wives were invited to the audience probably meant he was going to be promoted by Thut. I assumed everyone in the room was going to be confirmed in some position or other, except possibly those few who had been appointed to their position by Hatshepsut or who were known to support Nefer. Intef droned on, arranging men and women I did not know in the right and left lines, while I pondered what was about to happen in the audience hall.

  Finally Intef addressed Nefer.

  “At the end of the left line, King’s Daughter, King’s Sister, Neferure.”

  Nefer moved to the indicated spot. That Intef had referred to her only by her most basic titles was telling. She wore a simple linen dress, unadorned by any jewelry. That had been agreed between Thut and me, so that none in his court could accuse her of pride or clinging to the past. In fact, she’d put away the vulture crown of a king’s great wife the day of Hatshepsut’s death. It was as if years of her life had never existed.

  “Behind her, the lady Meryetneith.”

  I moved to my place. I wasn’t sure why Thut had summoned me to the hall. Most likely to support Nefer. Thut must still have some love for her deep inside, or at least compassion. She was, after all, his sister. I suddenly realized that Thut and I hadn’t spoken of my immediate future a single time on our voyage south. Those few days I’d spent with him had been glorious, right up to the time I left him at Koptos and hurried ahead to inform Nefer of his terms. I’d dined with him, talked endlessly with him, shared his bed, tried to make up in three days for all the years we’d lost. In those days I’d briefly tasted what life could be like with him, and now I truly craved it. He was enamored of me and I of him, even after so long an absence – maybe because of it. Our love had not been extinguished by time or distance or circumstance. I prayed Nefer would give Thut a son nine months from now. Then he and I could be together. Then all would be as it should.

  The herald addressed us all. “Once inside the throne room, you will not speak unless spoken to. No one will interrupt anyone, especially not the king.”

  Intef turned and slipped inside the door. The king’s seal bearer stepped into the Place of Silence and motioned the two lines forward. We passed between the chamber’s two doorkeepers. We advanced up the center of the room, dimly lit by sunlight spilling through small high windows, supplemented by oil lamps on wooden stands. I hadn’t been in the audience hall since Hatshepsut’s death. The walls were now elaborately and colorfully decorated with images of Thut making offerings to various gods. The floors were plastered and painted with scenes of ducks rising from marshes, and pools lush with plants and wildlife. The ceiling was decorated with vultures protecting Thut’s five names once again. There were six limestone columns on either side of the central aisle, each crowned with open papyrus capitals. Halfway up the columns were panels showing Thut engaged in making offerings to Ptah and slaying Kemet’s enemies. Inscriptions in blue faience around the bases of the columns and up the sides contained Thut’s five names and titles. The craftsmen from the Place of Truth had been busy, I thought, replacing all evidence of Hatshepsut in the room, just as she had replaced evidence of Thut after she took the throne.

  Hapuseneb and Hori stopped some ten feet from the foot of the dais. It was substantial, a broad stone platform atop eight stone steps. The base of the steps was flanked by statues of a lion biting the head of a prisoner. Vassals prostrating themselves before the king were depicted on panels on the sides of the dais. The top of each step was decorated with either a bound prisoner or Nine Bows, so that Thut could crush Kemet’s enemies each time he ascended and descended. The throne atop the dais was of ebony and gold. On each side was the image of a lion, its legs supporting the seat and tail rising in back. A footrest lay before the throne and a baldachin protected it, its supports carved like papyrus, its roof topped with rearing cobras wearing sun disks. I thought back on all the times I’d seen Hatshepsut sitting there, had leaned over her shoulder translating some foreign king’s letter. Those days were, for me, to be a thing of the past. Of that I was certain.

  Thut’s family was already in the throne room, arranged in chairs on the right side of the hall – Great Wife Sitiah with her daughter Nefertiry and nine year–old son Amenemhat and her mother Ipu; Meryetre–Hatshepsut with her daughters Meryetamun and Nebetiunet and Iset – named after the king’s mother – and her own mother, Divine Adoratrix Huy; and Nebtu, the only one of Thut’s wives who was still childless. She sat behind the king’s mother, Iset, who was, of course, front and center, seated in the place of honor. Iset glared at Nefer with undisguised hatred. All the wives, and Iset as well, were wearing the vulture headdress – wings hanging down on each side of their heads, a rearing cobra at their brows, a gold sun disk and two tall white plumes on top.

  Thut entered the audience hall attended by his Medjay bodyguards. He was wearing the Double Crown, carrying the crook and flail. He ascended the dais, attended by his fan bearer. The Medjay stationed themselves to either side of and behind the dais. Thut seated himself, and all of us fell to the floor and prostrated ourselves. Nefer had never done that before in her life. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Iset smirking at her. She, of course, had remained seated. Then we all rose and faced the king, standing once more in our lines.

  Intef motioned and several scribes moved forward, seated themselves cross–legged at the foot of the dais, spread blank sheets of papyrus across their laps, dipped their pen in pots of black ink. They would record what transpired in the audience hall this day. One final scribe appeared and handed Intef a rolled up sheet of papyrus. Intef looked at Thut, who nodded. Intef unrolled the scroll.

  “Hapuseneb, Opener of the Gate of Heaven, step forward.”

  Thut locked his eyes on Hapuseneb. “High Priest – do you and the Amun priesthood renounce your loyalty to my sister Neferure?”

  So Thut would directly confront Nefer’s supporters. There would be no niceties today. I trembled in spite of myself. I had negotiated a deal for Nefer, but her supporters, some of them my friends, had no advocates.

  Hapuseneb straightened as best he could. He was frail, shaking slightly, his skin wrinkled, clothes hanging loosely from his body. “Majesty – life, health, prosperity – I renounce my personal loyalty to your sister, and that of the Amun priests,” he said with dignity.

  Thut smiled. “High Priest, I will increase the endowment to Amun’s temples throughout the land and make his priesthood even wealthier. I will also erect another pylon at Ipet–Isut in Amun’s honor, and raise two obelisks.”

  “Your generosity is appreciated by the great god, and he will pour his blessings upon you,” Hapuseneb said formally.

  “Puyemre, Second Prophet of Amun. Seniseneb, Divine Adoratrix of Amun, daughter of Hapuseneb, wife of Puyemre, step forward,” Intef said.

  “Do each of you renounce your loyalty to my sister Neferure?” Thut asked.

  One after another they did.

  “Hori, Second Prophet of Amun, step forward.”

  “Hori, do you renounce your loyalty to my sister Neferure?” Thut asked.

  I knew that Hori would support Nefer if she gave him the slightest sign that that was her wish, right now, even with the hall full of her enemies. He would in fact have used the wealth of the Amun priesthood to raise an army to fight the king on her behalf. He would have persuaded the Oracle of Amun to grant her the throne, as had been done for Hatshepsut. But that would have plunged Kemet into civil war, and Nefer had privately told Hori yesterday that
she would not ask him to support her in such foolishness. Nefer nodded to Hori slightly, half–smiled.

  “I renounce my loyalty, Majesty.”

  “Aametshu, vizier of Upper Kemet, step forward.”

  The ancient vizier hobbled to stand with the priests. He had put Hatshepsut on the throne. He had wanted to put Nefer on the throne. He felt betrayed by Nefer’s refusal to challenge Thut. He hadn’t looked at her once since we’d gathered in the hall outside.

  “Aametshu, do you renounce your loyalty to my sister Neferure?”

  “I renounce my loyalty, Majesty.”

  “Amenemnekhu, viceroy in the South, step forward.”

  “Amenemnekhu, do you renounce your loyalty to my sister Neferure.”

  “I do renounce it, Majesty.”

  At a sign from Intef, those who had just been called upon moved to the left side of the hall. Intef then addressed the crowd. “His Majesty will now appoint the officials who will serve him.” He consulted his scroll. “Mahu, Second Prophet of Amun, come forward.”

  Mahu stepped to the front.

  “Mahu, I appoint you Opener of the Gate of Heaven,” Thut said.

  Hapuseneb sagged. Puyemre and Seniseneb moved to either side and supported him. I was surprised that he had not expected to lose his position.

  Mahu beamed. “Thank you, Majesty.”

  I was appalled at Thut’s choice. The post should have gone to Hori. He’d been groomed for it by both Hatshepsut and Nefer. It suddenly dawned on me who it was that had spied on Iset’s behalf at Waset. Mahu. The priest Hatshepsut had passed over in favor of Hori. Mahu had been in the audience hall when Hatshepsut was made king. He’d been at her deathbed. He had been in Iset’s employ from the very beginning, and today he had his reward. I stole a glance at Hori. He stood impassive, his face a mask, not revealing what he was feeling. Iset was beaming at Mahu.