Beauty of Re

by Mark Gajewski

  The other wives and I all wore the vulture crown today. Thut’s daughters – Nefertiry, Nebitiunet, Iset, and Meryetamun, ranging in age from forty to mid–twenties – wore golden uraeus diadems. They were accompanied by their husbands and numerous children. Even Thut’s concubines and their children shared the shade of the pavilion. There must have been close to fifty of us.

  For the past nine years, since the fall of Kadesh, Thut had been able to devote himself mostly to domestic activities. The North had been at peace and he had not had to campaign there. He had, however, just returned from a foray into Nubia, one he swore would be his last. He’d taken Amenhotep and me with him; it was his son’s performance during those months that had convinced Thut he was ready to assume a share of the throne, and he’d elevated him immediately upon our return. I’d never been so far up the river as on that trip; I reflected that my life had been punctuated in youth by a journey to Punt, in middle age by one to Naharina, and in old age by another to the Fourth Cataract. I thanked the gods I’d been allowed to see so much of the world.

  There hadn’t been a pressing reason for Thut to invade the South. After all, one pylon at Ipet–Isut contained a list of four hundred towns from south of the First Cataract that had sworn him fealty, and none of them had risen against him in a generation. His viceroy, Nehi, had been administering Kush for nearly two decades, and delivered nearly eight hundred pounds of gold to Waset every year. Thut had put a governor over the desert gold–mining country, and he too was delivering much wealth. But, driven by his lifelong desire to extend his borders farther south than any other king had done, Thut had loaded part of his army onto boats and set forth a final time.

  The third King Senwosret, who had expanded Kemet to the Second Cataract and left a string of seventeen fortresses to hold it, had dug a canal around the First Cataract hundreds of years earlier so he could sail past the obstruction. Thut’s grandfather had found it blocked and had cleared it when he campaigned in Kush. Thut too found it choked with sand, and ordered it cleared once again so he could use it upon our return home. He’d named the canal “Opener of the Way in the Beauty of Menkhepererre Living Forever,” and had strictly charged the residents of Abu and Swenet to clear it every year from now on.

  As we sailed south, we found that every one of Senwosret’s fortresses had fallen into ruin. Even in their ghostly state they were reminders of the long–ago might of Kemet. Thut hadn’t fought any battles during his campaign. We’d stayed long enough in the region of the Fourth Cataract to establish a provincial capital – Napata – from which to administer the new territory, and installed a governor of the South Lands to rule it. While the town was being laid out and built, Thut and Amenhotep and I hunted and explored the surrounding region. We kept scribes and craftsmen busy each night around our campfire, recording images and descriptions of the botanical and animal specimens we’d found during the day. Chieftains from throughout the area called on us constantly to pledge fealty and bring Thut gifts.

  Thut’s empire was now at its greatest extent. Life along the river had never been better for its people. Thut had established fifty–four annual festivals that were celebrated throughout the valley, and he provided much food and drink for the common people at each of them. His craftsmen were at the peak of their professions, their style somewhat influenced by designs and techniques prevalent in the lands Thut had conquered. In addition to vessels of gold and copper and silver, they’d begun making them of a new material, glass, in a rainbow of colors. The tables in my rooms in the per’aas at Waset and Mennefer and the harem in the Faiyum were crammed with glass containers in a variety of shapes, all full of unguents and perfumes. I’d established a glass workshop at the harem and imported craftsmen from the East to labor there, supplementing our linen–making industry. I never tired of visiting that workshop to commission pieces and watch the craftsmen create them.

  Thut’s trade networks now reached every corner of the world. Gold came by caravan and boat from the eastern desert and Nubia, silver from Setjet and Naharina and the land of the Hittites. Punt and Retenu and the islands of the Great Green and the oases of the western desert sent their various products to Peru–nefer. Envoys from both north and south regularly appeared at court, bringing gifts, tribute, and offers of friendship from neighboring lands and peoples. Thut had accumulated an entire menagerie of exotic animals sent to him as gifts – a bear, an elephant, a giraffe, and even domestic hens. They laid eggs every day. They were very rare.

  Thut and I traveled often by boat between Waset and Mennefer, along with Iset and Meryetre–Hatshepsut, to hold court in the northern capital. On those journeys Thut took the opportunity to inspect the temples he – or rather, Nefer – had either erected or restored or adorned at more than thirty sites along the river. He’d used his plunder and tribute to build widely and magnificently. He’d devoted much attention to Ta–mehi, neglected by previous kings ever since its occupation by the Chiefs of the Foreign Lands. From the delta all the way to the Fourth Cataract, Thut’s buildings rose along the river like gems strung on a chain, constructed of fine stone quarried throughout the valley – limestone from Tura, showy red and grey–black granite from Abu and Swenet, greywacke from the eastern desert, alabaster from a bit farther north, reddish quartzite from Mennefer, and diorite from between the first and second cataracts. The stone was not only used to build shrines and temples, but carved into magnificent statues of Thut that were placed inside.

  One of Thut’s most important temples now graced Abdju, within sight of the ancient temple of Osiris that was located in the midst of the tombs of the Two Land’s first kings, Kemet’s most sacred ground. Nearly thirty feet wide and fifty long, it was fronted by a forecourt and pylon and surrounded by a wall. There were sixteen–sided columns, and two colossal statues of Thut in the guise of Osiris, his arms crossed over his chest, a blue painted ankh sign in each hand. The temple was paved with large, well–fitted limestone blocks, and had a roof of the same material. Its ceiling was painted blue and dotted with yellow stars. The walls were decorated with green–painted images of Osiris, and of Thut making offerings to Osiris, and, in return, receiving life, stability and dominion from him. Thut’s temple had already become an important cult center, attracting many of the pilgrims who visited Abdju from all over Kemet.

  Thut had transformed Ipet–Isut into a place of wonder, filled it with new constructions. He hadn’t ignored Re’s temple at Iunu; splendid granite obelisks, raised to mark his fourth Heb–Sed, now adorned that temple. Thut had built temples in Nubia too, at Semna and Amada. The last, dedicated to Amun and Re–Harakhty, was replete with reliefs carved into walls and pylon and portico and pillars, all of them brightly painted, all portraying Thut embraced by the gods and making offerings to them. On our journey to the Fourth Cataract we’d encountered a sanctuary that Hatshepsut had erected at Fara, where Hathor was worshiped as Mistress of the Foreign Lands. I still recalled the day in the audience hall decades earlier when Nefer’s mother had ordered its construction. We visited it; all signs of Hatshepsut had, of course, been removed years ago, at Thut’s order.

  The procession drew nearer. Boats crammed with tribute had been arriving at Waset’s quay for a week, observed by crowds of onlookers who’d been kept at a distance by Medjay guards. The unusual boats from the northern lands and islands had attracted much attention, so different were they from our river–bound craft. So many boats had crowded the river at once that week that many had to anchor in mid–stream and wait days for a turn to tie up alongside the docks. May, the harbor master, was nearly frantic at times, urging sailors and porters to ever greater speed as they unloaded cargoes and carried boxes and baskets to waiting warehouses just beyond the riverbank. Those containers held sumptuous products from Retenu and Setjet, gold and silver vessels, wine, items from the workshops of Naharina and the islands in the Great Green. Also carried from the boats, under heavy guard, was the annual tribute of gold and silver due from Thut’s vassals, shaped in
large rings, some weighing up to twelve pounds.

  A small army of officials flooded the docks from sunup to sundown that week, overseeing the unloading of the tribute – scribes tabulating the contents of each boat, overseers supervising porters, priests of the major gods who would, after the tribute was presented to Thut, transport their share of the treasure to the temples of their gods up and down the river. The North was well represented – Min, Overseer of the Seal – Thut’s treasurer – was here, along with Neferweben, the northern vizier from Mennefer, Benermerut, Overseer of the Houses of Silver and Gold and Overseer of All Works in Mennefer, Minmose, Overseer of Works in Ta–Mehi, Ameneminet, steward of Thut’s temple in Mennefer. Thutmose–seneb, one of the high–ranking Amun priests at Waset, watched out for that god’s interests.

  I’d spent the entire week on the quay too, translating for May and the officials and the foreign boat captains. Rekhmire, the southern vizier, had been in overall charge, sharply reminding anyone who disputed his commands one of two things – either “the king is mercy, but the vizier is control” or “I am the copper that shields the gold of his master’s house.” Some of the newly–arrived emissaries conveying the tribute had once been hostages in my charge, sent home years before to rule the towns of their birth. We’d greeted each other as old friends. Just yesterday, Naunakht had appeared with Amunet, and she’d been reunited with her mother and sisters and nieces and nephews at the quay. It had been a joyful homecoming for all of us.

  I heard music now, rising from the procession. Rekhmire moved forward from the shade of the pavilion to a spot a few feet in front of the dais where he would receive the tribute and direct its distribution. Intef and his son Teti, royal heralds, stepped to Rekhmire’s side to announce the emissaries and their lands and gifts. A row of fan bearers stood behind us, keeping us cool. Scribes seemed to be everywhere, pens and papyri at the ready. Serving girls circulated beneath the pavilion, keeping us supplied with wine and beer. I saw Aachel’s ten year–old daughter, Djefatsen, attending Nefer on the far side of the family group. Aachel wasn’t feeling well today, I’d heard, or she would have been at Nefer’s side. Even now Nefer took pains to keep separate from me.

  Iset sat two chairs to Thut’s left, a shriveled, curmudgeonly old woman, 74 now, still suspicious of Nefer despite the number of sons Thut’s wives had given him. Prominent officials were seated behind the royal family: Nehi, the viceroy of Kush and Governor of the South Lands; Kenna, the Chief Steward; Senneferi, Overseer of the Seal; Iamnedjeh, Controller of the Works and Overseer of the Granaries; Min, Mayor of Tjeny and Overseer of the Prophets of Onuris and Overseer of the priests of Osiris; Dedu, Governor of the Deserts on the West of Waset, the late Djehuty’s replacement as chief general of the army. The most important priests were under the canopy too. There was a contingent of Osirian priests from Abdju: Nebwawi, the high priest; Amenhotep, overseer of works in the temple and overseer of prophets of Onuris. Iunu was represented by Sennefer, Greatest of Seers, the high priest of Re.

  The head of the procession reached Rekhmire. I leaned forward a bit in my seat, concentrated, prepared to translate on Thut’s behalf from behind his right shoulder. Iset caught my eye and gave me a scathing look that I answered with my sweetest smile. As always, I was wearing my Hathor necklace and both sets of my flies of valor, just to irritate her.

  “The tribute of Punt,” Intef announced in a loud voice. “Presented by Parahu.”

  Thut had sent expeditions to Punt in regnal years 33 and 38, and ever since that land had regularly supplied tribute. Parahu moved to the area before Thut’s dais and fell to his knees. I’d spoken with him on the quay the day of his arrival and learned he was a grandson and namesake of the king Nefer and I had met with forty–one years ago.

  “I humbly present to Your Majesty tribute from the land of Punt. May the friendship between our people extend for millions of years.”

  I translated his words, and Thut’s reply.

  “I welcome the friendship of Punt, and extend to you my benevolent protection.”

  The Puntians wore kilts that barely reached their knees, with red and blue seams. They were barefoot. Some carried ostrich eggs in baskets, other ostrich plumes in their hands. Two men carried a myrrh tree in a basket that was suspended from a pole resting on their shoulders. Several carried ivory tusks on their shoulders, others ingots of gold, a few small ebony logs. I saw panther skins. Then came herdsmen leading leopards, cheetahs, monkeys, and baboons on long leashes. Behind them more herdsmen drove cattle. Finally came a group of male and female slaves.

  “His Majesty is well pleased with your gifts, Parahu,” I announced when the last had passed.

  Parahu rose to his feet, bowed, backed from the dais, then turned to follow his slaves and animals towards the courtyard of Amun’s temple.

  “The tribute of Keftiuh.”

  Some of the tribute bearers from that large island in the Great Green wore only phallus sheaths and high–topped laced sandals, others kilts that reached just above their knees, patterned with red and yellow stripes and designs. One kilt had been formed from a panther skin, its claws still attached. They presented Thut with ingots of silver, gold, and bronze, and ivory tusks. Several carried large long–spouted metal and stone jars with long handles, one a large gold bowl inlaid with faience around its rim. One man held necklaces of gold and carnelian and turquoise pendants.

  From Nubia came gold, leopard skins, ebony, ostrich feathers and eggs, semi–precious stones, hunting dogs, a leopard on a leash, a baboon, a giraffe with a small green monkey climbing its neck that drew a roar of laughter from the crowd – each of the giraffe’s dark–skinned short curly–haired keepers held the end of a rope tied to the beast’s front ankles – and a small herd of cattle with deformed horns.

  Retenu presented wine and the trunks of massive cedar trees, carried on the shoulders of men who staggered under their weight. Some porters rested ivory elephant tusks on their shoulders, a few carried animal skins, one led a leopard on a leash. They wore loincloths made of animal skins.

  Among Setjet’s tribute bearers were women in elaborate bell–shaped layers of cloth, some carrying young children in baskets on their backs held in place by head straps. Most of the men had pointed beards with a fringe of beard along their jaw lines, wore robes with long sleeves that reached nearly to their ankles with a length of cloth wrapped diagonally from hips to knees, and long hair bound by headbands. One wore a hat in the shape of an upside down bowl. Their most noteworthy gifts were a brown bear and a baby elephant on a leash, both of which drew aahs from the spectators.

  From the Aamu came exquisite furniture carved from ivory, delicately wrought ebony, chariots mounted with gold and electrum – men dragged them instead of horses – gold ingots, wine jars, and bows and bronze weapons. There was in addition a herd of fine horses with leather bridles to draw those new chariots, and a panther on a leash.

  The ruler of nearly every land I’d ever heard of had sent an emissary to offer the best that his workshops, fields, gardens, vineyards, orchards and pastures produced. It took hours to receive everything. When the last of the tribute had been delivered the sun was low down in the west, nearly touching the tops of the sacred hills that guarded the Great Place. Rekhmire consulted with several scribes and treasurers for a moment, then turned to Thut.

  “Majesty, by my reckoning, your treasuries throughout Kemet now hold 8,943 pounds of silver and gold, in addition to all these other products that have been given you.”

  Thut smiled. “And so the wealth of Kemet continues to grow. See to it, Rekhmire, that the tribute presented this day is divided between my treasury and those of the gods – Amun, Re, Ptah and the rest – in the proportions I have established.”

  “It shall be done, Majesty.”

  Thut rose. “And now, its time we celebrate the bounty of my empire with a great feast.”

  The royal family and Thut’s officials and the emissaries headed to the audience hall of the
per’aa, where a banquet had already been laid out. The people of Waset swarmed back to the city, where a similar feast had been prepared for them on the plain before Ipet–resyt.

  ***

  Halfway through the banquet, just as dancers were moving into the open space before Thut to perform, I caught sight of Djefatsen leaning close to Nefer, whispering. She looked agitated. Nefer immediately stood, knocking her cup of wine to the floor. She quickly looked in my direction, hesitated, motioned almost reluctantly, then darted from the room without a backwards glance. I crossed the hall to Djefatsen.

  “It’s grandmother. It’s bad,” the girl said, tears in her eyes.

  Please! Not Aachel! I whispered to the gods. I hurried after Djefatsen, through the corridors of the per’aa, through its outer door, through the garden and gate in the wall and onto the garden–lined processional way that led to Ipet–Isut. The night was warm, the moon full, insects hummed amidst the greenery. Moonlight glittered cold on Hatshepsut’s obelisks, the pylons and temples looming shadows beneath them. I heard the drunken laughter of revelers, ever–fainter music from the banquet hall, saw dark shapes entwined in the shadows beneath the garden’s trees. Lovers, no doubt. I broke into a run along with Djefatsen, towards the priests’ houses clustered together beside Ipet–Isut’s outer wall. How many times, I thought, had I wandered these grounds at night, terrorizing priests and workers along with Nefer and Thut, learning the stars while lying on a roof beside Hori and Aachel, accompanying Nefer to or from the sanctuary when she was God’s Wife. But I’d never traversed these grounds with such foreboding.

  Djeftasen entered Baki’s house with me on her heels. The reception room was empty. We slipped into a bedroom at the rear of the house. It was crowded, dark, lit only by two flickering bowls of oil with linen wicks that threw shadows on the walls. Baki, Beset, several more of Aachel’s daughters, her grandchildren took up every bit of available space. Even Amunet and Naunakht were present. At least the gods were kind enough to bring Amunet home to be with Aachel at the end, I thought. Nefer was already seated on one side of the bed, holding Aachel’s hand with both of hers. Aachel lay on her back, covered to her neck with a linen sheet except for her arms, gazing up at Nefer, eyes bright, gasping for breath. Even in the dim light I could see the flush on her cheeks. A granddaughter was putting a wet linen cloth on Aachel’s brow, another rinsing one that had already been used. I’d been in enough sickrooms. I knew Aachel didn’t have long.