by Jo Graham
In earlier days, Memphis had been the capital of Egypt, but had lost place to other cities, to Sais and Thebes, to Avaris and Tanis, and most recently to Alexandria. It was ancient beyond imagining. Outside of the city, the great pyramids stretched toward the sky, tombs of kings who had reigned twenty-five hundred years before. I could hardly begin to imagine twenty-five centuries, or what life must have been like for people who lived then. I wondered, like Dion, if even the stars had been strange.
Of course not all of Memphis was ancient. It was a modern city too, with baths and apartments, markets and shopping, and a commodities exchange where grain and other things were bought and sold on speculation. There were temples of course, from the old Temple of Ptah to the massive complex of the Serapeum, where the divine Apis bulls lived and died and were buried. There were separate quarters of the city for Jews, Greeks, and Carians, with their own temples and shops and markets, all enclosed within a massive wall nearly five miles in length. The dikes along the river that protected the city from the floodwaters when the Nile rose were five times the height of a man, fashioned of clear golden stone.
We came up to one of the stone quays along the river and departed the boat in the bright light of morning and made our way to the Serapeum. That was where Cleopatra should be, if she had been received as a guest, not a prisoner.
WE FOUND CLEOPATRA in the receiving rooms of the Hierophant Memnon, a big sunny room with chairs of carved cedar sitting in a semicircle. Cleopatra’s was ornamented with gold, and beside it stood a table weighted down with scrolls. Several men and a woman I did not know sat in chairs, and one woman I recognized immediately.
“Adoratrice?” I said incredulously.
The Adoratrice of Bastet from Bubastis looked at me with amusement. “Good morning, Charmian.” I immediately felt as if I were twelve years old again.
Cleopatra looked up from the scroll on her lap, and her eyes filled with tears. I only saw them for a moment before she came and embraced me and then Dion. “Welcome to Memphis,” she said. Then she turned and faced the room. “Eminences, this is my principal handmaiden, Charmian, who has risked her life to cover my departure from Alexandria, and also Dion of the Museum, a scholar of the general sciences and also my tutor in the language of the Jews.”
We inclined our heads politely, I farther than Dion for I could surmise who some of them must be. The old man with the shaven head and the skin of a cheetah about his shoulders must be the chief priest of Thoth, while the woman beside him with the elaborate wig and old-fashioned pleated gown might be the Great Wife of Amon from Thebes, a largely ceremonial role now rather than wielding the secular power it once had, but significant for all that. I knew the Adoratrice of Bastet and Apollodorus. The man of thirty-some years wearing Greek dress, his hair cropped short and his face shaven, was a soldier even though he wore no harness or arms in the presence of the priests. I had seen him before. He was the eldest son of the governor of Pelousion. There were two other men I did not know, soldiers or nobles, one dark and one fair.
In the central chair sat the man who was obviously our host, Memnon, the Hierophant of Serapis, chief priest of the Lord of the Dead. He was a sturdy man in his prime, likewise shaven to expose a strong head with a square jaw. He had broad shoulders, like a laborer, though he was clothed in the finest linen and a pectoral of lapis and glass lay across his chest. He returned our courtesies gravely.
“We are discussing strategies,” Cleopatra said as Dion took an empty chair, the one farthest from the center and most junior, and I came to stand beside Iras behind Cleopatra’s seat. “Eminences, I have no secrets that are not shared by Charmian and Dion in these matters. You may continue to speak freely.”
Memnon and the Great Wife of Amon exchanged a look, and then she spoke, obviously picking up a thread that had already been teased out. “We do not doubt anything that you have said, Lady, nor do we doubt that you regret as deeply as we do the troubles brought upon our land by Pharaoh Ptolemy Auletes’ unfortunate loan from the Roman. But this loan is not the crux of our troubles, nor is it the beginning of the difficulties we have faced in Upper Egypt.”
Cleopatra sat forward in her seat in a position of flattering attention. I did not miss that while the Great Wife of Amon addressed her respectfully, she did not address her as Queen.
“Since Ptolemy Philopater, the fourth Pharaoh of your dynasty, the attention of the Great House has been ever more increasingly confined to Alexandria and the immediate needs of Lower Egypt. Canals and ports, trade and temples, marketplaces and buildings of all kinds, irrigation projects—all these have primarily benefited Alexandria and Lower Egypt. While it is true that Ptolemy Eugertes conducted some building projects at Edfu, and some other minor things were undertaken since then, Upper Egypt has been neglected. Indeed, it does not escape us that all of the Black Land outside of Alexandria and a few Greek towns are referred to as the Chora, the Hinterlands. There is more to Egypt than Alexandria, Lady.”
Cleopatra glanced at the Adoratrice, and held her in the corner of her eye as she replied. “I am well aware of that, Eminence. As you doubtless know, I spent much of my youth in Bubastis. The tongue of the Black Land is as familiar to me as Koine, and I reverence the ancient gods of the Two Lands as I reverence the gods of the Greeks, and respect the gods of all lands.” She glanced about the room, and her voice was strong for all the slight girlish body it came from. “I am Queen of Egypt. I am the avatar of Isis, born to champion my people. All of my people. From Alexandria to Pelousion, from Memphis to Elephantine, from the western deserts to the Middle Sea to the Great Cataract, wherever Isis stretches Her wings under the barque of the sun, I too shall keep guard for my people’s well-being. You know that my kindred and my dynasty have done much for the Black Land. We have improved the irrigation technology so that men may keep their crops with greater ease. We have built roadways, and brought the Faiyum Oasis under cultivation, and opened trade with the world, bringing money into Egypt. But we have not done enough, it is true. These last years have been hard, and too much of our time has been spent contending with Rome and other outside powers. I have said already, and will say again, that we must regain our ancient strength. We must rely on no outside lands or rulers.”
“Not even Gnaeus Pompeius?” the son of the governor of Pelousion asked, one eyebrow raised.
Cleopatra did not blush, nor did she bat an eye. “Most certainly not Gnaeus Pompeius, nor any of his kin. If I had meant to rely on Rome, I should have gone to Rome, not Memphis.” She leaned forward, her hands on the chair arms. “Eminences, we cannot get rid of Rome. But we must use her, rather than be used by her. If we are to regain our true independence, we must leverage what we have, whatever coin it may be.”
“Whatever coin?” the chief priest of Thoth asked. “Your sister asked a Seleucid prince to come and marry her, gave him command of the army, and sat him beside her in the Great House. If we wished to be ruled by a Seleucid who has never set foot in Egypt, we could simply surrender to them.”
“I am married already, to Ptolemy Theodorus,” Cleopatra said.
“And Ptolemy Theodorus may not survive long,” one of the soldiers said. “We want no foreign overlord. If we choose to throw our lot in with you, Princess, we are not yours to give away to any blooded princeling or Roman of your choice.”
Memnon raised an eyebrow, but it was Cleopatra who answered. “I will set no man beside me on the throne of Egypt who is not of the royal blood of the Ptolemies. Would an oath to that effect satisfy you?”
“It would,” he said.
“Then I shall give it gladly,” she replied.
Memnon clasped his hands together before him. “The first Ptolemy, like Alexander before him, like his son and grandson after him, was crowned in the old manner. In recent years, however, that rite has been neglected. Pharaohs have ruled in Alexandria, and some have ruled well, but none has walked through the darkness and come forth by day properly tested by the gods. The Lords of the Two La
nds have always borne this test, since Osiris Himself went down into the West, into the Halls of Amenti. If you would truly reign in Egypt, Cleopatra, you must be properly crowned.”
The Adoratrice snorted. “That’s impossible. To do it properly as it was done in ages past would require her father’s tomb. Auletes is buried in Alexandria.”
Dion spoke up directly. “That is true,” he said. “But in the absence of the required object, the symbol may suffice. If we do not have her father’s tomb, we may yet use some appropriate place that is in a symbolic sense her father’s tomb.”
The Great Wife of Amon leaned forward. “And by what authority do you speak?”
Before Dion could answer, Cleopatra forestalled him. “Eminences,” she said, “I shall rule all of the people of Egypt, and thus must be crowned by all of the gods of Egypt. Dion represents the god of the Jews, and is a magician of no little note.”
My surprise must have showed in my face, as Dion looked sheepish. I thought perhaps Cleopatra was puffing him up just a bit.
Memnon met the Adoratrice’s eyes across the room. “Abydos,” he said.
Dion nodded. “The tomb of Osiris Himself. Or of Serapis, if you prefer.” He forestalled the Great Wife of Amon’s comment. “Lady, let me remind you that while she is to be Pharaoh of Egypt, she will also rule over Alexandria. Like Great Alexander and the first Ptolemy, all that is done must work in both systems.”
“We are speaking of the strongest magic,” the priest of Thoth said.
“And of the strongest political symbols,” the Adoratrice said. “If Delta and Upper Egypt alike are to rally for Cleopatra, it must be carefully done. Abydos is acceptable.”
Memnon took a deep breath. “I am the Hierophant of Serapis. This is something that would fall within my duties, though of course I will welcome your thoughts.” His eyes sought Dion’s, including him too. “It must be acceptable to all the gods.”
Dion nodded gravely.
The Gates of Amenti
We were three days longer in Memphis before the messenger came by swift ship, sent by the Patriarch of Alexandria, who it seemed was also in correspondence with Memnon, and with Cleopatra as well. He was drinking watered wine, and I arrived in the hall only moments before Cleopatra herself. She came in almost at a run, her Greek peplos sweeping behind her.
“My Queen,” he said, his forehead pressed to his knee. “Pompeius Magnus is dead.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“How?” I blurted out, though of course it was not my place to ask questions. “Did he lose a battle?” Perhaps if he had we should have Gnaeus out of the way permanently too, though that presented its own problems. Gnaeus was our one way of manipulating Rome.
The messenger looked nervously at me, but Cleopatra nodded at him to answer. “He did lose a battle, Lady, but that was not the cause of it. It is said that he met Caesar at a place called Pharsalus in Greece, and that he was utterly defeated. Gnaeus Pompeius was also there, but he fled his troops almost as soon as the battle was joined, and it is said that he escaped to Hispania. In any event, Caesar was victorious, and Pompeius Magnus fled Greece on a commandeered grain ship.”
I was hard put to not snort. For all Gnaeus’ posturing, he was proved a coward in the end.
Cleopatra, of course, had focused on the political implications. “Pompeius was my father’s great ally. Where did he go?”
“The Patriarch said to tell you that because of the things his son Gnaeus had related, he assumed he would find a warm welcome in Egypt, and that he would be able to call in the remainder of the loan, using that money to buy himself a new army and continue the fight against Caesar.”
“Oh Mother Isis!” Cleopatra said. The last thing we needed was Pompeius in person calling in the loan.
“He landed in Pelousion, where Pharaoh and his advisers were, and asked to speak with Pharaoh. A council meeting was called immediately. Debate went back and forth. General Achillas said that Pompeius should be sent away, as allowing him to land would anger Caesar and bring the man who was now the most powerful of the Romans down upon us. Pothinus said that to send Pompeius away was folly, because he would go elsewhere and raise an army, and then we should have an enemy rather than an ally, and that in any case Pompeius was bound to favor you because of his son.”
“And Pharaoh?” asked Cleopatra grimly.
“Pharaoh said nothing, my Queen. At last Theocritus spoke, and he said that we could afford neither to send him away nor welcome him. We could not repay the loan, and we could not afford to make an enemy of him, nor of Caesar.”
That sounded like Theocritus, I thought. I could see where this was going.
“So they invited Pompeius Magnus to come ashore and have an audience with Pharaoh. As soon as he landed from his boat on the beach, he was slain by two men. The remainder of his party sailed away when they saw what had happened, and it is not known where they have gone.”
This changed the entire political constellation, and I could almost see it spinning, like an armillary sphere out of control. What it would mean for Egypt, for us, was still in motion.
THE NEXT DAY we left for Abydos. This time we did not travel on barges, or on a fast ship, but on a large and comfortable river galley belonging to Memnon. Abydos is in Upper Egypt, a long way upriver from Memphis, not quite so far as Thebes but far enough that it would take us the better part of a week to get there with favorable winds pushing our sails and oarsmen at their work all through the day. We sailed south, into the heart of Egypt.
I could not help but feel that we sailed into the past as well. Each morning, the sun rose in vibrant power out of the east, chasing away the shades of night. Each day, beside the river, we saw people going about their work, many of them as they had since the great pyramids were built, sleepy oxen working the irrigation systems, while the fields were greening with the fruit of the Inundation. Each night we watched the stars of heaven wheeling overhead like some vast dance, calm and impenetrable.
Before we reached Abydos there was a council to explain the preparations for the coronation. Already news had been sent upriver ahead of us, inviting those it was deemed politic to include, but the entire population of Abydos should also bear witness.
We sat on deck beneath white awnings while the oarsmen beat on. I came around with sweet cakes, and served the Adoratrice while Iras poured well-watered wine.
When we had all been served, Memnon began to speak. “The difficulty is this,” he said. “Our new sovereign is a woman.”
“I believe we know that,” Cassander, the son of the governor of Pelousion, said, shifting restlessly in his seat.
Memnon didn’t even blink. “This creates a considerable liturgical problem. You see, a reigning Pharaoh is Horus. He is the Son of Isis, the Falcon of the Sun, and in a very real sense is expected to be the avatar of Horus on earth. He takes up this role in a symbolic sense, and whether or not you believe that Pharaoh may become a channel for divinity, the symbolic role is of considerable political importance.”
Cassander subsided. He was a courtier, and doubtless thought this mere hand-waving, except for the politics of the matter.
“When Pharaoh dies, the essence of Horus that has been indwelling in him must leave and move to a new, living host. The dead Pharaoh must be transformed into Osiris, so that he may dwell in Amenti. In large part the funeral preparations and the coronation preparations are entwined. During the seventy days of the dead Pharaoh’s embalming, all is made ready. The purpose of the funeral is not just to bury Pharaoh, or to secure his safe passage to Amenti, but to transform his son into the new Horus. His son must walk in the darkness and come forth by day tested and worthy to be the avatar of Horus and the shepherd of his people. In order to do that, the indwelling part of Horus, that which has lived within his father, must leave his father’s body and join instead with him.”
“What about Isis?” Cassander asked.
Cleopatra said nothing, so I assumed Memnon had told her all of this befo
re.
Memnon steepled his hands and looked at Dion, who straightened. “Isis is the wife of Osiris, the mother of Horus. She is the Widow, bereaved of Her husband. Isis journeys in the marshes, seeking the scattered parts of Osiris’ body that Set has dismembered. In Her wanderings and Her grief, She finds each part of Him, and restores Him to life for one night only. Thus is Her son Horus conceived. Isis is very important in this, but She is the Widow, not the Widow’s Son. Pharaoh’s mother is Isis, and in the old days no one in the Black Land was more honored than Pharaoh’s mother. It’s she who is the avatar of Isis.” He looked at Cleopatra, sitting quietly in her chair. “Our gracious Queen cannot be Horus. And Isis’ path is very different.”
“Osiris lies in his tomb in Alexandria,” Memnon said. “Auletes is dead. While he lived, he reigned with his daughter-wife, but now he is gone. Isis has come to Upper Egypt, alone and bereft, while Her life is sought by many. You asked that she swear she would set no man beside her on the throne of Egypt who was not of the blood of the Ptolemies. That is as it should be. She will raise no man to the throne of Egypt except for Horus, her son.”
At this a flurry of exclamations flowed out.
“You do realize that you’re disinheriting Ptolemy Theodorus and her other brother, don’t you?” the Great Wife of Amon said. “I’m not sure we can get by with that.”
“Who’s to say she’ll have any sons?” the Adoratrice asked. “Or who their fathers will be?”
Cleopatra spread her hands, her himation gracefully around her shoulders. “Eminences, I am twenty years old, and enjoy good health. While I cannot of course guarantee that I will bear sons, there is no reason to think I may not. My mother was a fertile woman who bore five living children, and my best years are ahead of me. I do not think there is reason to fear that I shall not bear a son. As for who my son’s father may be”—she glanced sideways at the priest of Thoth—“the rite will be enacted in symbol only,” she said. “I am sure Isis will provide a suitable consort to get a son on me soon enough.”