My Father gave no indication He had heard. An exhaustion was on Him. I think that by the bold act of taking into His own throat the mighty voice of His dead ancestor, He had been like a timid rider who lets himself be carried in a gallop on a wild horse. Like all who have dared too much, he is speechless afterward. But my great-grandfather, as if tempting a convalescent with fine dishes, now began to speak. He said that as he stood on the field, knowing Usermare was with Nefertiri, the heart of his pain was most intimate. He had never been closer to Usermare’s thoughts. That, he said, was because he had talked earlier, if only for a little while, with Honey-Ball herself.
The gleam of the late moon on this night could be glimpsed again in my Father’s eyes. They showed interest, and He moved a little, and was aware once more of my mother—which I could recognize by the quickening of her flesh. My great-grandfather, encouraged, continued to speak, and I, in my turn, slipped back once more into that half-sleep so comfortable for me where I did not have to listen to every word, but knew, nonetheless, all that was told:
Yes, he declared, I saw Honey-Ball just before the Dedication of the Field, indeed I came upon her as I was walking by a line of many dignitaries from the nomes of the Delta. There, in the midst, appeared Honey-Ball with her parents and her sister. I was now presented to her parents, the father a man of obvious great wealth, patted and pampered by slaves. He had that smoothness of skin so much like plump buttocks which only the faces of the very wealthy obtain, and he was dark from the sun, and fat. Honey-Ball’s mother, however, was tiny, a jewel of beauty. There, between them, was Honey-Ball and her sister, neither as fat nor as beautiful as my own Ma-Khrut.
I bowed and kissed her hand. I knew by the absence of any stir in her father at the sight of me, that he knew little of us, or did not hear my name, but now to my longing for Nefertiri was added the disruption of seeing my old companion in this place so at odds with the roots of our memories. I did, as I say, no more than kiss her hand, and yet I knew then that in some fashion I would dwell with Honey-Ball forever. I might never see her again, or never intimately, my body would not enter her again, and yet I would dwell with her forever. It was not the happiest house in which I might choose to live, but it was the one that would be my home in time to come. That much I knew by the force of the wave of all that came washing back upon me, so that I almost swooned—or was it drowned?—in the suffusion of her influence on mine, and I felt the force of her power to protect all that she loved, and the great dull weight of her spirit as well. Her father, in the little we spoke to each other, had managed to inform me that no one in Sais ever raised a stone larger than the ones he could lift above his head when he was young. Such strength was in her. I remember as I walked away, that I knew a prodigious nearness to Usermare, as if He were by my side, no, better, I could have been back in the days when I walked in the Gardens with the pig’s snout between my cheeks. So I felt, and with more certainty on each step away from her, that Honey-Ball had been chosen often by Usermare since I left the Gardens.
That was another great commotion for me, but nothing to what I was to suffer out on the field when by way of the new powers Honey-Ball must have offered to me, I felt Nefertiri’s joy as She gave the eye of Her love to Usermare. Her womb come forth with the frenzy of many Gods, and I was knocked about in my heart.
Afterward, in the sorrow of early evening, as I wandered back to the Columns of the White Goddess, I could begin to feel the woe of Rama-Nefru. No sooner did I enter the walls of Her Palace, than Her thoughts also came to me, and they were more palpable than a scent. The end of Her love for Usermare was in all She thought. It fell upon me like a cold rain in Lebanon. The rooms about Her chamber were as mournful as if Her son were ill, but even before I saw Rama-Nefru’s face, I knew that the touch of my lips upon the hand of Honey-Ball had opened my mind to Rama-Nefru as well. If I did not know Her language, still I could be near what She thought. So I knew that She had gone back to living with Her own Gods. They came before Her—heavily bearded were Her Gods—and I recognized Marduk for He looked as I had seen Him on one of Her Hittite seals. There, in Her thoughts, She was visiting a grave in a place no one dared to go. Much wailing came out of the ground. I do not know if this was Marduk’s grave, but I saw the chariot of a God go by and the vehicle was empty. The chariot raced down a deserted road beneath a dark sky, and careened from side to side.
When Rama-Nefru summoned me, Heqat and I were obliged to wait at Her side while She performed a Hittite service. Into a bowl of water, oil was poured from a little jar and She studied the shape of this oil as it spread. Such shapes would be no different in Her own land, She said to us. “If I had never gone to Egypt, and knew none of you, but did the ceremony on this day at this hour, so would the oil have the same shape in the water. For it would say the same thing.” I did not tell Her how much I doubted this. The Gods in the air of each land were different, I knew. But She looked up from the bowl to tell us, “One of the little queens has given birth to a monster. The seed of My husband harbors monsters.” With that, She stared into my eyes. She would have done better to look at Heqat who gave a cry of fright since it was no one other than Heqat who had had the birth a few months ago.
Now, whether Rama-Nefru spoke without the knowledge of this monster and truly learned of it from the shape of the oil, or whether She wished, for whatever reason, to chastise Heqat, I did not know—Her mind had now become as empty as the Eye of Maat before the dawn—but She went on to say, “In My land, the birth of such a monster must hurt the fortunes of a King,” and soon enough, Heqat left, complaining of congestion in her throat. I wondered if the purpose of Rama-Nefru’s magic was to be alone with me, for She nodded, and summoned a servant who brought in a covered silver bowl. The lid, when removed, disclosed a sheep’s liver. So soon as he was gone, She took it out and laid it on a silver plate, whereupon She touched it in many places with Her forefinger, and looked for a long time at the lobes of this liver, all the while—as a sign of hospitality—concealing no thoughts from me.
So I knew She was remembering the animal as it had been when alive. Indeed, She had chosen this ram for its twisted horns. Before the sacrifice, She had even whispered a few words of Egyptian into the beast’s ear—it was, after all, one of our animals. “Will My baby become the Pharaoh?” She had asked. Now, the shape of the liver said to Her, “He will, if other Princes do not kill His Father,” or that was how I interpreted the message. For She saw Amen-khep-shu-ef plunge His knife seven times into the back of His Father while Usermare lay on a woman, yes, the woman was Nefertiri. But I do not know if these were thoughts Rama-Nefru obtained from the liver, or whether She chose to offer such sights so that. I might speak of them to the Pharaoh.
We sat in silence.
She said, “Did you know that the old dead Pharaoh, Ramses the First, the grandfather of My husband, was a common man?”
“I did not know,” I told Her.
“He died in the second year of His Reign. I think a common man dies of fright when he has to be King.” She nodded. “That has happened.”
“I have no knowledge of these matters,” I said.
“Yes, Ramses the First, the grandfather, was only a soldier. I learned about this from a papyrus in the Royal Library. He was a Superintendent of Horses. Later, He was promoted to Superintendent of the River Mouths, and then He was made a Commander of the Armies under Pharaoh Harmhab Who, I must tell you, was also no more than a soldier.”
“I knew that,” I said, “yet I did not.”
I could have told Her that nobody ever spoke of this Ramses the First Who came before Seti. One could tell stories of old Pharaohs like Thutmose and Hat-shep-sut, but They were dead long before any of us had seen the sun.
“Your Seti the First,” She said, “was a respectable King and He reigned for near to twenty years. Still, He is the son of an upstart. Such a son remains an upstart. So does the grandson. When I came to Egypt I did not know that Sesusi was the grandson of an upstart. I
think My father would not have sent Me if he had known.” She sighed and pushed away the sheep’s liver. “I find My husband difficult to comprehend, don’t you?” Before I could begin to answer such a remark, She said, “I have never known a King who spends as much time with priests. I think that is because He is an upstart.”
I was thinking of Queen Nefertiri lying in the dark of a closed sedan chair. Her legs had been parted by a Pharaoh whose grandfather had been a soldier like me. Yet, Her blood was descended from Hat-shep-sut.
Why had Nefertiri never spoken of Ramses the First? Was my Queen ashamed? Now, in this moment, when I thought of Usermare, I did not dare to say it, but if the majesty of a Pharaoh was a virtue granted Him because He was crowned, then the Gods of Egypt, if They chose, could make any man a God. I told myself that I had been General-of-all-the-Armies, and therefore, could become a Pharaoh! Even as had Harmhab and Ramses the First before me.
Rama-Nefru said, “Here, take My hand. When I am lonely, I need a friend.”
Since I knew how the touch of one hand upon another could produce astonishing results in Her, I was uneasy. Yet such were the thoughts I had just had, that I also felt ready. I took Her hand. The surprise, I may say, was delightful. She had the softest palm I ever held. Then She gave a radiant smile, as if no bleak thought could live beneath the radiance of Her golden wig, and handed me a flower. It was a fresh pink rose. She said, “Its bloom has opened this morning.”
I held it to my nose, my other hand touching Her hand, and felt a sorrow lift from Her and come over to me through the petals of the flower. I did not know if I liked Her, yet out of that music in Her heart, so different from mine, one note must have been the same. For we felt the same sorrow.
We sat there holding hands, and memories of the Battle of Kadesh came back to me. She had been born after that day, but lived in the shadow of the battle. So, I knew, as I say, Her misery. I even heard Her silent lamentations as Usermare and Nefertiri came forth in one another.
Now, Her chamber may have had no window with a long view, but I was still so close to the thoughts of Usermare that I soon became aware He was on His way, and indeed was approaching across the Palace walks. In truth, I was ready for His visit so nicely and with such calm that I did not withdraw my hand from Rama-Nefru until I could hear His step in the next chamber. Then our fingers came apart with the lingering touch of two lovers separating from a kiss.
I waited in the anteroom. Now, Usermare was with Her and holding Her hand. I listened. I had never felt as gentle, nor as unlike a man before, not even when I had been treated like a little queen by Usermare. At such times, all of me had been in a terrible contraction. The more He had made me feel like a woman, the more I knew the anguish of a man. But now, as if the cries of pleasure uttered by Nefertiri left a wound in me whose bleeding would not be staunched, I felt as peaceful as the Nile in the abatement of its flood, and never more immersed in sorrow. The river might as well have contained the water of all who ever wept. That sorrow increased as Usermare began to hold Her palm. For with all Their sighs and heavy silences, I could feel the infidelity of Rama-Nefru’s hand as it lay in His.
The Hittites, I told myself, had four seasons, not three. So Her hand was like a fourth mouth, and Her heart more subtle than ours. Like the turns of the lobes of the liver She studied for so long, Her cruelty might be as subtle as Her heart. I do know that on this night She chose to speak of the Battle of Kadesh, and never uttered a word about Nefertiri. Yet I was certain that before She was done, He would suffer injury.
Here, Ptah-nem-hotep interrupted my great-grandfather, the sound of His voice bringing me back from the sweet indolence of my absorption. For my Father’s voice was harsh, as if He had recovered His strength but was in a rush to exercise it before losing such force again.
He began: “You have not said what was in My ancestor’s mind.”
“I have not,” agreed Menenhetet.
“Did you know His mind in this hour?”
My great-grandfather nodded. “Under the spell of Ma-Khrut, I can say that I knew His thoughts.”
My Father was pleased but agitated. “I, too, would claim,” He told my mother, speaking to her as much as to my great-grandfather, “that I am under your family spell. For I also know His thoughts. I, too, can see Him returning to the Columns of the White Goddess, and such a sight is rare, but …” Ptah-nem-hotep hesitated, as if daring much, “… He is, on this occasion, alone on the path.”
“That is the same,” said my great-grandfather, “as the way I see it.”
“Tell Me then if what I possess of His thoughts is exact. I believe He is trying, even as I, to recollect the noble exploits of great Pharaohs before Him. He is telling Himself that Amenhotep the Second killed more than a hundred lions. He also thinks of Thutmose the Third and the ships of Hat-shep-sut. Now, He is so unfortunate as to pass by the place in the reflecting pool where His head crashed to the marble. On this recollection, He feels a terrible pain in His groin. Is this exact?”
“It is true measure,” said my great-grandfather.
“His stomach,” my Father said with more confidence, “is full of pain. He knows a fear of Thutmose the Great. The stones of Thutmose grind in His bowel. Then Usermare stumbles and nearly falls from the force of the kolobi He has been drinking since the hour with Nefertiri. Many Gods pitch about in His thoughts. All the same, He begins to sing:
“An Egyptian Princess has deep and bottomless eyes,
“I will spend the night with Her under the stars.
“How sweet is the taste of honey in Her mouth.”
Menenhetet rose to his feet.
“Did He sing that song?” asked my Father.
Again, my great-grandfather nodded.
“But the song,” said Ptah-nem-hotep, “does not take away His fear. As soon as He enters the halls of the White Goddess to see Rama-Nefru, His chest thumps like the heart of a stallion. All the while He repeats to Himself the name of Kadesh. The battle reverberates in His heart until He can feel Himself a Pharaoh like none before. Indeed He loves the names of the Hittite Gods because they remind Him of Kadesh. He says them to Himself: Kattish-Khapish. Valizalish. Is that true?”
“It is exact. You have heard it with exactitude of measurement,” said Menenhetet, and to show how moved he was, he crossed the patio, knelt, and kissed the ground before the Pharaoh’s feet. My Father, with a smile of happiness on His face, knelt in turn, and with His hand grasped the big toe of Menenhetet.
I had learned the word to describe all that was most exquisite to these two, great lords. It was exactitude.
TEN
This time, my Father’s strength was not consumed by entering the thoughts of Usermare, and He came to sit with my mother and me. Indeed, if not for His heavy breathing, I believe He was left most content with the achievement. The wind in His chest ceased to sound like a storm, and with a small gesture of His hand, He requested that Menenhetet resume what He had been telling. I, at the moment, happy my Father had returned, if only from across the patio, was soon listening again (in the manner I enjoyed so much) at the very entrance to sleep, and every voice soon became a murmur.
I can tell you, my great-grandfather related, that Ramses may have entered Her room with Kadesh on His tongue, but when Rama-Nefru did not upbraid Him, and gave instead the gift of Her hand, He was relieved to sit in silence and restore His calm. Then, to His surprise, Rama-Nefru began to speak of the battle, and told Him what She had heard of it in Her childhood. Listening in the next room, I soon decided that no story could be better chosen to suit the air of Thebes on this night when fires were burning at every crossroad. Indeed, one’s breath was nearer to the smoke of Kadesh than on any evening I had known by the Nile.
“In the year before You came with Your mighty armies against us,” She said, “our Hittites went to war with the Medes, and we won a great victory. As a child, I often heard of the splendor of that celebration. From the town wall, our people hung draperies of the m
ost brilliant colors, purple, red, and blues richer than the sky of the day, and all these cloths were much embroidered until the walls looked like the interior of a palace.
“Then My uncle Metella and his officers had a great party where they drank from gold and silver cups he had taken out of the temples of conquered nations, and My uncle found much pleasure in using these sacred vessels of the vanquished. Having asked for a trellis to be built in his garden, he hung the head of the King of the Medes there. While he drank, he liked to look at this head hanging from a branch, and it gave him strength. Although My uncle did not need such strength. He was near to a giant in size.”
“I did not know that,” said Usermare. He waited in much doubt, but finally asked, “Was he taller than Me?”
“I have never seen a taller man than You,” She said.
“Yet You were still a child when Metella died. So You cannot know.”
“I cannot know,” She agreed, “but where is the King who can lift his head nearer to the sky than You?”
He grunted. “Do You feel well?” He asked. I could feel His desire to offer His tongue to Her blond hairs.
“I feel weak at this hour,” She replied, “but ready to tell You more.”
“I wish to hear it.”
The people behind the walls of Kadesh knew, She told Him, that the Egyptians were coming. They had had word of the departure from Gaza. Spies with fast horses had come to the city each day bringing news of the advance of the Egyptians. Great was the uneasiness. Even as the Armies of Usermare marched forward, so did the full moon draw near. But the morning after a full moon was called the Day of Sappattu and on that day, strenuous activity was forbidden. The Hittites could not fight on such a day. It was the hope of Kadesh that the Egyptians would arrive on the morning before the Day of Sappattu so that the city would not be lost. To induce the Egyptians to march into battle a day early, they even conducted a ceremony. Within the walls, many fires were lit, and priests spoke prayers into the flame. Metella, however, did not attend. It was reckless to expose the King. The person of the King was never to be attached to the flame. “Magic,” said Rama-Nefru, “when it does not burn one’s foe, can eat oneself.”
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