Indeed Hathfertiti was uplifted so high into the radiance of her feelings that, try as I desired, I could not remain in her exaltation but floated down to the thoughts of my great-grandfather who continued to stare at me. He was searching for the mind of Ptah-nem-hotep, and I wondered if our Pharaoh had fallen asleep, or was passing through His own darkest thoughts, since I could no longer feel His presence, only the stirring of my great-grandfather’s recollections of Queen Nefertiri, yet I knew such memories must be as turbulent as the rough water around the islands of New Tyre. Nonetheless, he must have found those thoughts of the Pharaoh for which he searched, since my great-grandfather was so calm and firm that I did not realize at first no sound was coming to our ears, only the thoughts, and if a servant had entered they might have thought we were sitting in silence. Indeed we were, but for the clarity of each and every unspoken word I heard.
TEN
I Confess to You, Great Ninth of the Ramses, my great-grandfather commenced, that Queen Nefertiri as she lives in my thoughts is not close to the expression one sees on Her last statues. There the sculptor, for want of better knowledge, made Her look much like Usermare Himself. I see the same long nose with the majestic curved nostrils, and the exquisitely shaped lips, and that was a fair estimate for the sculptor, since She was Usermare’s sister. But I knew Her very well and it was not like that, not altogether. Yet—and this is the most curious difficulty of living with a memory that has passed through four lives—I cannot be certain now if the face I see before me when I think of Nefertiri is indeed the one I used to love when I knew what it was to desire a woman so completely that there was longing for Her even in the ends of my toes, as if like a tree I could draw strength from the earth. I knew Her face, yes, and yet as I remember Her now, She is not unlike Honey-Ball. She was not fat, of course, yet, all the same, she was a voluptuous woman, at least in the season I knew Her, and the face of Nefertiri, like the face of Honey-Ball, had the fine short nose, the same wondrous curved lips whose warmth was like a fruit and tender in expression or merry or cruel as the whim would take Her. Of course, Nefertiri’s hair was dark and lustrous like no other woman’s, and Her eyes belonged to a Goddess. They were deep in color but not brown nor black, more like darkest violet, or is it indigo? They were as purple as the royal dye that comes from the shores of Tyre and they spoke of the wealth of royalty itself, as if one were forever staring into the late evening sky. That is how I remember Her, and yet I cannot be certain it is Her fine face I see, or only what I recollect.
My great-grandfather held out his hands, a most peculiar gesture for him, since he rarely made a move that was not exact, and yet this uncertain lift and fall of his arms spoke of the sadness that comes from recognizing that one will never know all that it is essential to know, and new error, therefore, must forever be conceived out of the old.
I remember, however, he went on, that on the morning when I first entered the Throne Room of Nefertiri in Her Chambers of the Royal Wife (which was itself a palace among the many palaces of the Horizon of Ra) and there was introduced to Her Court as Companion of the Right Hand, that the sunlight was entering from the open pillars behind Her, and dazzled my eyes as it glittered over every carved lion and cobra of the carvings of Her golden throne.
Let me say that I had been passed quickly by Her sentries into Her presence itself. My new rank, of obvious and considerable worth in Her Court, opened gate for me after gate, and I went through a great pair of double doors into the gold and splendor of Her great room. I was prepared to be blinded by the light from the throne—the little queens who could inform you of everything they never saw, had told me much about the splendor of the light in the morning when She sat by the eastern bank of columns, but I was not prepared to grow faint. I had spent so many hours with Usermare that I thought my feet would be steady before Her Presence. It was not so. I threw myself on my belly and kissed the ground, which was the accepted ceremony then, as now, for that first occasion when you are presented in Court to the Great Two-House or His Consort (thereafter, one need only bow profoundly) but on that first meeting, no noble, no matter how proud, would fail to taste the dirt, in this case, the polished marble floor of Egypt, against his teeth. My teeth rattled, however, against the stone. I was in the presence of a being near to the Hidden One. Amon, not Usermare, was in the room with Her, and I can only say that as I threw myself down, a cloud came over, my sight failed, the river of my sweat came forth, and my heart—then I understood what they meant by the expression—was no longer in my bosom, no, it flew out like the Ba.
“Rise up, noble Menenhetet,” were the first gracious words of the Queen Nefertiri to me, but my limbs were like water when there is no force of a wave, only the weight, and yet, as if like Amen-khep-shu-ef I must learn to climb the steepest cliffs, so did I raise my head and our looks met in the silence.
That gave me much strength. I had heard from the little queens of the remarkable color of Her eyes and was prepared, except that the beauty of the color gave me strength even as a dying man knows happiness when offered the petals of a rose. So our eyes met, and I lived with Her in all that perturbation of the Nile when it is divided by an island, just so great a change did Her eyes of indigo make in me, but then we did not merely greet one another, and step back into ourselves, but met like two clouds of different hue traveling on different winds and there was much dancing in the air between. Her face and body were in this first instant like a mosaic of sparkling stones—I could not even see Her whole—but knew I loved Her, and would serve Her, and be Her true Companion of the Right Hand. A happiness came into Her eyes, and She laughed with a sweet peal of rollicking laughter, as if, behold, it would be a better day than all the signs had foretold.
We did not speak much more on that occasion. I made my presentations in a low voice full of respect, and, in such a situation, with what is better than respect, offered by my voice a not all-controlled quiver of admiration for Her beauty, so spoke my tones. Then, I stood up and gave what was, for a charioteer who had risen from the ranks, a noble bow so full of the grace and manner of—I was to learn it just then—of a particular nome, that the Queen asked, “Are you, dear new friend Menenhetet, from Sais?”
“No, Great Consort of the King, but I have lived among the people of Sais.”
“And it is said that some of the little queens are from Sais.”
I bowed. I had no answer. I was too confused. Indeed, I cannot tell you how many courtiers were in the room, whether five or fifteen, I saw only Her and myself.
Later that day when the House of a Royal Companion was assigned to me, and I saw the gold of my chairs and tables and wardrobe chests, my new clothes of linen, and gold bracelets, and the faience of my new chestplate, each piece of the thousand and one pieces of blue stone limned with an edge of gold, and when I smelled the choice perfumes delivered to me by the bounty of the King—or was it from Nefertiri Herself?—when I surveyed my new servants—all five—and passed through the gracious rooms of my new house, seven rooms in full (to hold a scorpion, each one!) my kitchen, my dining room, my receiving room for guests, my own room for meditation and ablutions (as explained by the new keeper of my keys, a scribe with a face like Pepti, and a name, Slender-Sticks, to make you laugh—he was so fat!) my bedroom, and the two small rooms at the end to hold my five servants who were my cook, my keeper of the keys (and accounts and correspondence) my groom for the golden chariot, a gardener, and last, my Major-domo who was all in one a butler and houseboy, I knew I was now blessed with more rank than General or Governor, and no longer lived in a small house, but a large one.
So I was happy in this new place, if for a day, but by the conclusion of my first few days, I was as vexed as a sail when the wind blows by both sides, for if the Palace of Nefertiri lived in all the brilliance of sunlight upon gold, I could not say the same for Her people. Her Officers were inferior men, Generals you would not trust with a command, Governors who governed no longer (like myself!) and a former Vizier who
now reeked of kolobi and told long stories of his provident decisions in the early reign of Usermare. Her priests were full of vices of which the first was greed, and Her maids, once beautiful, were no younger than Herself. Their minds, as I came to know them, were narrow and connected only to the fortune of their Queen, their own families, and their entertainments. Yet they knew less of arts and refinements than the little queens—it is obvious to me even as I speak that I lose the passage of the days for one does not learn that much about a Court so quickly, yet I believe my years in the army were of use. When I was General it took no more than an hour’s visit to a new command before I could form one indispensable opinion: the troops were ready, or too weak for my purpose. I saw much luxury in my first hours in Her Court, and the subtle manners of many aristocrats were displayed, but I also knew that Usermare need not fear Her people—ambition was twisted here upon itself, and honor was sour. These courtiers would worry more about what they might lose than ever they would dream of the rewards that boldness might gain. No plot could come forth here.
Years later, and in another life when I was a High Priest, and knew all the royal and wealthy worlds of Egypt like the lines of my hand, I would understand at a glance what took me much time then. By my second life I would have walked into the Court of Nefertiri and said, “They do nothing but gossip here,” and I would have been right. I heard again every story I had heard before among the little queens, but in Her Court, these stories were told with those little details that can be more dear than ornaments themselves, and are presented to one another like gifts. So in the Palace of Nefertiri, I heard more of Rama-Nefru than of the First Queen, and if I learned on the first visit to my house by the former Vizier who drank kolobi, that Nefertiri made much mockery of Rama-Nefru because She wore nothing but blond wigs, Nefertiri had been forced to discover by the boasts of Usermare Himself—and on the night the soup was spilled!—that Rama-Nefru’s own hair was also blond between Her thighs. No man had ever seen a sight like that. On hearing this truth, Nefertiri had burned every blond wig in Her wardrobe. Here the Vizier did not continue, but only closed one wise, sad, much-dimmed eye on me and opened it with a wink. “The head of Rama-Nefru will yet be as bald as mine,” he murmured.
That was the first visit paid to me, and others followed. Where the decorum in the Gardens of the Secluded was so great that I never touched a little queen’s hand, but for the one I did, here I could have had five men’s wives in as many days, and they had arts for seduction. It is the only sport left to those who grow no more beautiful. Needless to say, they were adept at finding the poisonous point of their gossip. So, Nefertiri was always hearing of the youth and beauty of Rama-Nefru, or how He Who used to speak of Nefertiri as “She-Who-sees-Horus-and-Set,” was using the same words now for Rama-Nefru. The lady who told me this gave a low wail at the horror of living with Nefertiri afterward.
Now, my duties as Companion of the Right Hand were to be near the Queen. It was understood that I must accompany Her whenever She left the Palace, which was not every day, although often enough, for She delighted to search out rare sanctuaries throughout Thebes. Unlike Usermare, She was not only dedicated to Amon, but to Gods revered in other cities, as Ptah in Memphi, or Thoth in Khnum, not to speak of the great worship of Osiris in Abydos, but these Gods also had Their little temples here with Their loyal priests, plus many another God my Queen would find in many another temple, and often in the meanest places—at the back of a muddy lane in a slum of Thebes with the children so dirty and ignorant they did not bow their heads at the sight of Her nor express any sign of awe, but merely goggled their eyes. Still (the lane too narrow for Her palanquin) She promenaded on Her fine feet and golden sandals to the very bottom of the alley, there to have her toes washed by the priests of this shabby little temple of—be it—Hathor or Bestet or Khonsu, or in finer quarters down broad avenues, past the gates of mansions with their own pillars, sentries, and privately commissioned small stone Sphinx, we might pass through the slender marble columns of a “divine little temple,” as She expressed it to pay homage to the Goddess Mut, Who was Consort to Amon, or to the Temple of Sais-in-Thebes which revered the strange Goddess Neit. I found it hard to follow, all these temples of Ombos-in-Thebes, and Edfuin-Thebes, Dedu-of-the-Delta-in-Thebes, or the temple of Ptah-in-Apis which worshipped the God as He appeared in the body of the bull Apis; I had much to keep me busy with these new temples, and more than a few pilgrims to shoulder aside. The priests were often rendered so stupid at Her sudden appearance that they were slack to clear the way to the shrine themselves.
Afterward, She would shop. We would travel in our small procession of chariots with Her guard behind us, and myself with Her in the golden Carriage-of-the-Consort, and stop to visit a jeweler or a dressmaker, but these visits in these fine quarters of the market interested Her less than the dirty little shrines. I think She wished to seduce the allegiance of many a God. How I suffered on these trips. As Her Companion, I was Her protector, and if in the true privacy of my orders, I was Her nearest enemy, well, I could hardly think of Her death when on these little expeditions, I saw a fellow or two who might be trouble to Her life.
Besides, another difficulty was there. When He was not out in the field, it had been Amen-khep-shu-ef who accompanied Her to the markets and temples. Now, I was replacing the Prince. He might be the General who had replaced me, but that did not count for Him. He let me know by His first look of greeting how welcome I was. Each morning I expected Him to meet me at the double door to Her bedroom and say, “I will accompany the Queen today. You need not go.” Would I know how to reply? At Kadesh, He had still been a boy, although fierce enough already to die before He would lose a battle, but I had known for years that He was beyond my own strength. Indeed, He was still so tall and straight that His name among soldiers was Ha!—just so quick was the sound of His spear through the air! You only had to look at Amen-Ha, and the Gods in yourself rocked backward. So I would not dare to oppose Him directly—yet I could never watch my Queen ride off with Her son. For on just such a day could an assassination of the King be plotted. There, right in the hour that the Good God might be expiring in His own blood on the marble floor of His own Palace, She could be safe with Amen-khep-shu-ef in any one of a hundred noble mansions, or away in some secret little hovel in the maze of Thebes. I was by Her side to protect Her, but I also had to be ready to reach Her side, and in the next instant, Her heart. Like my Monarch, I inhabited two lands at once. Of course, on any day that Amen-khep-shu-ef ordered me to stay behind, and I dared to refuse, the Prince could slay me before the echo would be heard. Then He could tell whatever tale He wished. So it was not comfort I found in my new house.
Yet, how I enjoyed each day with Nefertiri. In all the hours I had spent with Honey-Ball, I still did not know how to treat her. She had been as much a priest, a beast, and a fellow soldier as my own woman, and besides we were always working at one ceremony or another. Or so I remembered our life together after fifteen days away. Still, I tossed at night until I could have been in a storm at sea. I did not know if it was I who longed for her, or she for me, but, Execution-of-the-Pig or not, there was some longing left and I understood again how much she suffered from the loss of her little toe, since the suddenness of our separation now had many strange effects upon me. One morning I even woke up with her little toe throbbing in mine. So I knew how agitated was Honey-Ball, and how far from separated we were still, indeed when with Nefertiri, I could feel Honey-Ball sending me favors or withdrawing them. I might pour a wine with a decorum as perfect as a Goddess coming to drink from Her own pool, and know it was Honey-Ball’s hand that guided the calm measure of mine, or, equally, I could leave a ring of moisture on the table from the base of the golden pitcher, and be certain my former mistress had led me to dribble a few drops off the lip
Yet, give me an hour alone with Nefertiri, and I knew happiness. She spoke so well. It was magic. With Honey-Ball, I sometimes felt, when most dejected, that magic had the we
ight of a ritual practiced much too much in the caverns of the night. Sitting beside Nefertiri, however, I learned of the other magic that rises from the song of birds or the undulation of the flowers. It is certain She seduced the air with the sweetness of Her voice.
It hardly mattered of what She spoke. She had been obliged to be together so much with the people of Her Court that She delighted in the smallest conversation with me, and wanted to know about the hours of my life which I would tell to no one else. Soon I realized that in all the years of Her marriage to Usermare, She had never spoken at length to anyone who lived in the Gardens of the Secluded, and so She always wished to hear of the little queens. There was not one whose name She did not know, for She had learned much about them from their families who were always eager to tell about the early lives of their little Princesses, lost to them. She corresponded prodigiously, and on many a day I sat on Her patio with Herself and Her scribe, a dwarf called Nightingale, whose back was hunched but whose small hand was exquisite, and watched them write letters. Often, he would read to Her and She would reply Herself, Her own hand at the palette, Her own calligraphy a gift to those who would read the papyrus. Sometimes, She would show me Her work, and I was so seduced as to feel I had received a dear caress. The purity of Her divine little sticks and snares and pots and curves, the colors of Her letters, and the precious life of the birds She painted made the papyrus tremble in my hand as if the wings of the birds furled by Her fine brush upon the page were now unfettered and could glide through my fingers in their flight. Golden were the hours I sat beside Her while She composed these letters.
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