Beauty of Re

by Mark Gajewski

  I’d been left behind with General Djehuty, as had Nefer, because Thut wanted us in a place of safety when he launched his attack. “I don’t trust you to stay out of harm’s way,” he’d told me sternly when he informed us. And he was probably right. Sitting to one side and watching important events take place was not something I did willingly. I certainly hadn’t so far on this campaign. For just like I’d inserted myself into battle at Buhen, from its beginning I’d inserted myself into Thut and Nefer’s marriage. Their first weeks together had been awkward; Iset had brought the entire harem to Ta–mehi to be with Thut as he oversaw final preparations for the campaign, and she’d taken advantage of the opportunity to whisper innuendo after innuendo about Nefer in his ear and make her life miserable when he wasn’t around. She had even seen to it that Thut’s other wives spent every night with him, shutting Nefer out of his bedroom, flaunting it in Nefer’s face. Nefer had only laughed at the king’s mother; after how he’d treated her in the audience hall she’d had no desire to share Thut’s bed. She hated him, in fact, and refused to consummate their marriage. Thut, caught up in the details of planning his campaign, had neither had the energy to dispute her, nor did he care.

  But I had. Until Nefer gave Thut a son I couldn’t be his wife. And so, once we departed Kemet and were away from courtiers and advisors and wives and Iset, I took charge of the two of them, determined to reconcile them to each other. I reminded Thut over and over that making his marriage to Nefer real was the only way for us to be together, and that he had to find a way to tear down the wall that had been raised between them. I did my best to gently persuade Nefer that Thut had only done what he’d had to do in the audience hall, that he hadn’t meant to hurt her so badly, that now, away from the court and Iset, was their one chance to forge a bond with each other and for her to earn his trust so that he would give her a life that was fulfilling once we returned home. I did not ask her to try to forgive him for his treatment of her in the audience hall – that would take many years, I thought, if ever – only to tolerate him to ensure her own future. And so, under my prodding, Thut began to treat Nefer respectfully, and she to respond politely. She asked for no special treatment on the march and never complained about the heat or dust or hunger or thirst, which pleased him. He included her in his war councils and went out of his way to ask her opinion of his plans, which pleased her. Each day I saw to the setting up of their tent and the serving of their meals. At night I chased the army’s commanders out so that they could be alone. And, in due time, nature took its course. Nefer was, after all, a stunningly beautiful woman, and Thut charismatic and charming. As for me, I watched Nefer disappear into their sleeping quarters each evening with very mixed emotions, equal parts happy for and envious of her.

  After a long heated discussion this morning, I’d convinced Djehuty to let me participate in his feast instead of staying behind in camp, since I spoke the local language and Thut had neglected to leave any of the army’s few interpreters behind. Out of necessity Djehuty had reluctantly agreed, after making me swear I’d do nothing foolish. I was, after all, Great Companion of the King, and the general feared to put me at risk – or, rather, feared I’d put myself at risk. Nefer remained in camp with the bulk of our soldiers, content to be as far as possible from danger. I’d borrowed a simple opaque linen skirt from one of the serving girls; I was unadorned by jewelry or any sign of rank, not even my Hathor amulet. My long red hair, unbound, hung over my shoulders to the middle of my back. Anyone would naturally assume I was a common servant.

  The governor and his men dismounted a short distance from the pavilion. The governor was short, very fat, bald, large–nosed, quite ugly, curly–bearded, with a superior air about him. His eyes darted about distrustfully under heavy brows. He wore a rich robe and much gold jewelry and carried a long wooden staff of office. The leader of his soldiers was at his side, tall, head shaved, well–muscled, lean, handsome. His eyes scanned the area around our pavilion appraisingly. Every soldier on both sides rested a hand uneasily on a dagger as their enemy advanced.

  General Djehuty and I stepped forward with an air of subservience. Success today would largely depend on how well we played our parts. If Djehuty was worried, I saw no sign of it on his face.

  I addressed the visitors. “Governor Jopa, my master, Djehuty, chief general of Menkheperre, King of the Two Lands, Son of Re, the Strong Bull Arising in Waset – life, health, prosperity – bids you welcome to his pavilion. He is most grateful that you have agreed to speak with him. He has prepared a feast for you and your men. He invites you to eat and drink and then, when you are refreshed, to talk.”

  “You speak my language well,” the governor said, surprised.

  “I learned it from slaves taken long ago from Retenu, alongside whom I serve my master.”

  “And what are you called?”

  “Meryetneith, My Lord.”

  He moved in front of me, put a finger under my chin, tilted it upwards, searched my face, let his eyes roam slowly up and down my body. “Lovely, even for one so lowly.”

  I knew Thut would have executed the governor for simply touching me. I merely smiled.

  “Please,” I said, sweeping my hand towards the pavilion. “The feast awaits.”

  “You will keep my cup filled with wine, I trust, Meryetneith.”

  Now it was my turn to be surprised. “You speak my language, My Lord.”

  “I crossed the desert to your land with caravans many times when I was a young man,” he replied. “One picks these things up.”

  The governor followed me inside the pavilion. Small tables had been arranged in a rectangular shape. Djehuty took a seat at one end and I led Governor Jopa to his at the other. His captain took the seat next to him. His men took seats on the right side of the rectangle, ours on the left. Two young women wearing only skirts entered the tent laden with meat and bread and fruits and vegetables on platters and began to distribute them; a third began pouring wine. I attended only the governor and his captain, filling their plates with food and their cups with wine. Everyone on both sides set to eating hungrily and drinking thirstily. The women were kept busy traveling from fire to table bringing more victuals. Everyone watched everyone else suspiciously.

  “I have long admired Yapu,” Djehuty observed as the meal neared its conclusion.

  “You have visited my city?” Governor Jopa asked.

  “Long ago.” Djehuty bit into a piece of fruit, chewed, swallowed thoughtfully. “Yapu appears impregnable.”

  “It has never been taken in battle,” Governor Jopa said proudly, “and my city is thousands of years old. Perhaps only Jericho is older. My walls are high and thick and strong and are atop a steep hill. Only a fool would assault me.”

  “I assure you, Governor, I am no fool,” Djehuty said lightly.

  Governor Jopa laughed. He drained his third cup of wine and I poured a fourth. He took the opportunity to slip his hand beneath the hem of my skirt and stroke the inside of my calf and thigh. I did not resist him; I knew my role. “My harbor is the finest in southern Canaan – Retenu, you call it. Yapu would have made your master a fine prize – if he hadn’t slunk away in the night.”

  One of the enemy soldiers translated the governor’s comments for his companions, to boisterous laughter laced with epithets and insults in their tongue. The wine was loosening their inhibitions. It was good our soldiers did not understand their language or there might have been an incident, despite Djehuty’s orders for his men to take no action against the enemy. Djehuty’s soldiers seemed to be getting just as drunk as the governor’s, though I knew they were all acting. Their wine was heavily watered down.

  Djehuty shook his head, snorted, feigned disgust. “The king my master traveled to Yapu believing the mere sight of his army would terrify you into surrendering, Governor. Even your slight resistance made him lose courage. He turned tail and ran. Imagine – a two–day siege. Incredible!”

  Those few of the enemy who spoke our language
laughed and relayed Djehuty’s comment to the others. More laughter rang out. Our men, who knew the success of our plan depended on them maintaining their wits, watched impassively, knowing Djehuty was baiting the governor.

  “I wasn’t surprised,” Governor Jopa said condescendingly. “It is well known that the king was so weak that a woman ruled Kemet in his stead for fifteen years.” He looked at me. “What was her name?”

  “Hatshepsut, My Lord,” I answered.

  “There were many among the king’s advisors, myself included, who cautioned him against testing the might of Retenu and Setjet,” Djehuty said confidentially, leaning forward. “We urged him to secure the trade route to the north by offering tribute to Yapu and Megiddo and the other cities that lie along it. In his pride he would not hear of it.”

  “Until I frightened him,” the governor chuckled.

  “Until you frightened him,” Djehuty agreed.

  The governor leaned forward too. “But now, General? Does he listen to you now?”

  “Menkheperre realizes that my counsel is good.”

  “What do you counsel?”

  “That friendship between our peoples is better than war.” Djehuty lay the ebony cane atop his table. “The king himself gave me this cane as a sign of authority, so that you may know I speak on his behalf. My words are his words.”

  “And what would you say on behalf of your master?” the governor asked sharply.

  “Outside this pavilion are two hundred baskets full of grain, fodder for the king’s horses,” Djehuty said. “I offer them in tribute to Yapu, as a sign of the friendship between you and King Menkheperre. In return, the king asks only that his trade caravans be allowed to pass Yapu in peace.”

  I stepped forward and refilled the governor’s cup. He rested his hand momentarily on my hip. His captain, seated next to him, stared at me lasciviously. He’d been staring at me most of the afternoon and evening.

  “With two hundred baskets of grain annually as tribute?” the governor asked slyly, raising his cup to his lips.

  Djehuty’s eyes narrowed. He seemed to ponder. “You drive a hard bargain, Governor Jopa. My master will not be pleased at this additional expense. But we both know my master does not have the courage or strength to enforce his will upon you or anyone else.” Djehuty lifted his cup in salute. “My heart is as your heart, Governor Jopa. It is agreed. Send for men from your city, so that they may bear our tribute inside your walls.”

  Djehuty leaned back in his chair. His face did not give the slightest indication that the success of his entire plan depended on the governor agreeing to do that very thing.

  Governor Jopa turned to one of his soldiers. “Return to Yapu. Bring back men and carrying poles. Quickly!”

  The soldier looked longingly at his cup of wine, rose, departed the pavilion. In a moment I heard hoofbeats.

  “And now,” Djehuty said, motioning to the serving women, “let us drink until we can drink no more to celebrate the new–found friendship between our peoples.”

  By the time the porters arrived from Yapu an hour later, nearly all of the enemy were quite drunk. They were treating the serving women the same way the governor had been treating me, passing them back and forth between each other. None resisted; they too knew their roles.

  Governor Jopa addressed his captain. “See to it personally that the king’s tribute is taken to the storehouse in the city.” Then he turned to Djehuty and indicated me. “I want Meryetneith as part of the bargain too.”

  Djehuty stared at the governor impassively, though I noted the slightest narrowing of his eyes. This was an unexpected and unwelcome development. He had no intention of putting the Great Companion of the King in enemy hands. In truth, he really couldn’t. My life was not his to give. Yet I knew his refusal to do so would put his plan in jeopardy, and most likely defeat it. I wasn’t going to let Djehuty’s attack on Yapu fail because of me. Before he could protest, I fell to my knees beside the governor and took his hands in mine and kissed them.

  “I’ve long wished to be free of servitude in the land of Kemet!” I said with all the fervor I could muster. “Thank you, My Lord!”

  Djehuty stared at me for a moment, then settled back in his chair. He really had no choice but to play along. “What’s one more servant?” he asked casually.

  “Go with the captain,” the governor ordered me. “He will convey you to my palace.”

  “My Lord,” I said humbly, and bowed.

  “Captain, have my women prepare her for my return to the city.”

  The captain nodded and left the pavilion. I followed.

  The sun was by now low in the west, drenching the plain with gold. Hundreds of Yapuian porters were standing around nearby. The captain shouted an order and they began slipping carrying poles through the handles in the baskets. Pairs of men raised the ends of the poles to their shoulders, each pair carrying one basket. They formed a procession on the dusty road. The captain and I led the way, walking slowly towards Yapu. The baskets were very heavy and the porters could not move with any speed. The sun was directly in our eyes and I shaded mine with a hand.

  “What’ll happen to all this tribute when we get to Yapu?” I asked the captain.

  “We’re going to deliver it to a secure storehouse in the center of the city and lock it up.”

  That was a problem. Once inside Yapu, General Djehuty’s soldiers were supposed to extricate themselves from the baskets and open the city gate from the inside. By then, Djehuty and his men would have fallen on the enemy in the pavilion and captured them and, under cover of darkness, moved along with the three hundred remaining soldiers from camp to the open city gate. There all would rendezvous and capture Yapu. But if the two hundred men hidden in the baskets were locked away in a storehouse they would be for all intents and purposes prisoners. The gate would remain closed and the entire plan would fail. Something had to be done so our soldiers could carry out their mission. And there was no one but me to do it.

  I knew the captain wanted me, badly, even though I was clearly intended for the governor’s harem. Perhaps I could turn his desire to my advantage to somehow make Djehuty’s plan work. Seducing him shouldn’t be too hard, though I had no idea how that would help the soldiers trapped in the reed baskets free themselves. But I had to try something. I brushed against him, placed my hand on his well–muscled arm, stroked it seductively. “You look like a warrior, Captain,” I fairly purred. “Have you fought upon the battlefield often?”

  “Often enough. It’s too bad your king is such a coward. I expected to earn much glory and honor and gold defending Megiddo against him.”

  “Just you and the men of Yapu?” I asked innocently.

  The captain shook his head no. “The might of Canaan is arrayed there, awaiting him. I myself just returned from that city a day ago, seeing to the preparations on behalf of Governor Jopa.”

  “You’re an important soldier, then,” I said, sounding impressed.

  He smiled broadly. “I would have commanded our troops in the southern wing.”

  “What’s a southern wing?” I asked, feigning ignorance. “Is your army a bird?”

  The captain roared with laughter. “A wing is a section of the army. You see, a mountain stands between Yapu and Megiddo, with roads leading around it to north and south. Whichever road your king chose, half of our army – a wing – would have been waiting at its end. While that wing engaged him in battle, our chariots – nearly a thousand of them – would have attacked him from a hiding place behind Megiddo itself, with the other wing coming up in support.”

  “Did you think up this strategy all by yourself, Captain?”

  “I spoke in favor of it in council,” he boasted. “I swayed many to my way of thinking.”

  “My king would’ve lost his army, then, because of you,” I said admiringly. “It’s well that he returned home, and that our peoples can be friends instead.”

  “Not your people anymore,” the captain reminded me. “You belo
ng to Governor Jopa now.”

  We’d come to within a quarter mile of the city gate while we were talking. It stood open at the top of a long steep slope. We were now in the shadow cast by the city across the plain, the sun no longer in our eyes. Hundreds of people watched our approach from the tops of the walls. I spotted many heavily–armed soldiers near the gate. Torches were flickering to life there.

  “What’ll happen to me when we get inside the city?” I asked. I did not have to pretend I was afraid.

  “Once the tribute is secure, I’ll take you to the palace to await the governor. His women will bathe you and anoint you and prepare you. I expect you’ll not get much sleep this night, Meryetneith.”

  I blushed and trembled a bit in spite of myself. I knew exactly what would happen to me if whatever I tried in the next few minutes failed. “Call me Mery,” I said.

  “You are an extremely beautiful woman – Mery. I suspect it will be long before he tires of you.”

  I took hold of his arm once more. “I wish you were in charge of the city,” I said tremulously. “Governor Jopa looks like a cruel man. I’m afraid of what he’ll do to me.” I wasn’t exaggerating.

  “He is cruel. Few in the city like him. But none are courageous enough to challenge him.”

  “Not even you, My Lord?” I cooed.

  He laughed. But I could tell he was considering it. That was good.

  We reached the foot of the long slope that rose towards the gate and began to ascend. My mind was racing, trying to figure out a way to salvage Djehuty’s plan. Somehow, I had to free our soldiers. Somehow, I had to remain with them. If either they were locked away or I was sent to the palace, all was lost. We passed through the gate, set in thick walls, into an open square crowded with townspeople. Word had apparently spread about the arrival of the tribute and all were curious to see it. I noted a barracks at one side of the square with many soldiers standing in front of it. We moved into the city, led by soldiers bearing torches, for night was falling and it was already dark in the shadowed streets. Djehuty’s men would soon be heading towards the city, I knew, if all was on schedule. Yapu’s streets were narrow and winding, lined with mud–brick houses. More people watched our passage from their roofs. We traveled some distance, always climbing, before reaching the storehouse. Its large doors were open, and one by one the porters carried their baskets inside and piled them haphazardly, dropping them with relieved grunts. A few men held torches high to light the work; more torches were placed in holders on the walls. The captain stood to one side with me, a scribe at his side, recording each basket. I took every opportunity to brush against the captain. I could tell he liked it. The last few baskets were carried in and deposited. Only the captain and I and a few men remained in the building. In a moment the door would be locked and Djehuty’s soldiers would be imprisoned.