He put His two sceptres in a stand, and raised His arm to touch the Cobra on His Double-Crown. “Here is the eye of My Crown, which is the Eye of Horus.”
At these words, many in the Court before Him murmured, “It is the Cobra. He embraces the Cobra.” There were few who did not turn to stare at Nefertiri. Heqat, so soon as she sensed what Usermare would do next, whispered to Rama-Nefru, “Two years ago, at the last Godly Triumph, He saluted Her. Tonight, He will not.” She was right. A murmur came out of the audience when He never looked at Nefertiri. This murmur increased as Amen-khep-shu-ef raised high His goblet and drank to Her, indeed, a few gasped.
The priest who stood before Usermare intoned most solemnly, “May Your eye never sadden,” and took a censer of perfume from a golden case, and handed it to Him. Then the priest said, “Take into Yourself the fragrance of the Gods. All that cleanses us, comes from You. Your face is our fragrance.”
Usermare waved the censer, and all tried to breathe the scent, for this was perfume that could be used only by the Pharaoh, and only on this night. A hush lay upon us. The perfume came from the herbs of the garden on whose door was painted the black pig of Set. We could smell it now—powerful was the scent—and the odor of Usermare was not like any that we had known before, but sublime and bestial at once, like the winding sheet of Osiris and the spoor of Hera-Ra.
The scent of the perfume had not dissipated, however, when twenty servants brought in a pillar twice the height of a man, and laid it carefully on the floor before the Throne. I had seen the backbone of Osiris raised in many a ceremony, but never one so high as this, and here made of marble, where before they were of papyrus stems. Moreover, the eyes and body of Osiris were carved into the middle of the pillar to speak of how the tree had grown around Him at Byblos.
Usermare stepped down from His Throne, removed His Double-Crown, set it within a golden shrine on a golden stand, and picked up a rope of papyrus attached to the head of the pillar. Amen-khep-shu-ef joined Him, and one by one, twenty of His sons came forward to stand at twenty ropes, while sixteen of His daughters also came forward from many a table, each to be handed a sistrum and necklace by the priests. When Rama-Nefru whispered to me, “Those necklaces are ugly,” I made an unhappy face and told Her, “They are supposed to be an umbilical cord and placenta,” which added to Her confusion (and mine) so soon as each of the Princesses, receiving the gift, was quick to say: “May Hathor give life to My nostrils.” But then I understood the prayer, and it was simple. What else would an infant just parted from its navel cord wish to request, but air?
The Pharaoh and His sons began to pull on the ropes. As They did, the sons recited:
“O, Blood of Isis,
“O, Splendor of Isis,
“O, Magic Power of Isis,
“Protect our Great Pharaoh.”
So soon as the pillar began to lift at one end, priests came forward again and began to beat each other with sticks. “They are merciless to each other,” exclaimed Rama-Nefru with real interest, and before it was over, half the combatants were on the ground. All the while, one side kept crying out, “I fight for Horus,” the other, “I will capture Horus,” but when the battle was done, the forces of Set fled from the room, dragging their bruised and bleeding friends behind them, and the pillar was quickly raised to the vertical. That drew another great cheer.
The sixteen daughters of Usermare sang:
“Isis is faint on the water.
“Isis rises on the water.
“Her tears fall on the water.
“See, Horus enters His mother.”
At that moment—was it that no one should fail to understand what had just been sung?—Nefertiri took the hand of Amen-khep-shu-ef and gave it a lingering kiss.
I do not know if She was certain that She would next be called, but indeed Her share of the entertainment was upon us. Usermare rose, and said in a voice to silence all things, “Let the Chief Concubines of the God fill the Palace with love,” and Nefertiri came forward and was joined by six blind singers, and indeed they were called such names as the Pleasure of the God, for their voices were beautiful beyond compare. If they were blind, then by the wisdom of Maat their voices had become more beautiful. As they sang, Nefertiri kept time with a sistrum, shaking it most lightly in the beginning when their voices were more delicate than the zephyrs of this night, but soon their song grew louder and caressed the breath of all of us.
Nefertiri stood with Her arm around one of the blind girls. I supposed it was the daughter of the servant that the guards of Usermare had beaten to death in the house of Nefertiri. For the Queen now looked with contempt at Her Pharaoh. This was Her hour in the Festival, and no one would usurp it. I saw Usermare grow pale, which I had never seen before, and all the nobles were weeping as they listened to these blind Concubines of the God. For nothing could be more moving to any of us than blindness, that scourge from the sands of Egypt itself. That is our affliction and the worst fate to fall on us, so we all wept for the beauty in the voices of these blind girls and, as they sang, I could feel Usermare’s shame that the servant of Nefertiri had been killed.
“O, yonder milk cows,
“Weep for Him,
“Do not fail to see Osiris
“As He goes up,
“For He ascends to heaven among the Gods.”
I cannot say if Nefertiri was ever more beautiful. Her breasts were like the eyes of the sun and moon, and Her face was the noblest in the Two-Lands. It was then I saw that She was looking at me, and I felt a happiness like none I had known this night, and took a vow, “Oh, that She is looking at me in the hour I die.”
“Osiris is above Him,
“His terror is in each limb,
“Their arms give support to You,
“And You will climb to heaven
“By the way of His Ladder.”
For so long as the Concubines continued to sing, Nefertiri would be mistress of the harem of Amon, of all the Secluded of the Hidden One. She would be equal to the Goddess Mut. Her power was great. Even Rama-Nefru was sobbing. So, desire passed through the Pavilion. Let Nefertiri return to the power She had lost! She was the Queen of all who were in this place, and I saw that Rama-Nefru’s lips were bleeding where She had bitten them.
The singers were done. Of all the silences that had come on the Collation, none was so profound as the one in which we waited while the Throne of Amon that was kept in the Temple of Karnak, the ancient, holy throne in which the God used to sit when He was no more than the God of the nome of Thebes a thousand years ago, and not known yet as the Hidden One, was brought out with reverence by the priests and placed next to Usermare. The First Consort of the King would be invited to sit in the Throne of Amon. But Who would Usermare now consider to be the First Consort of the King?
Before such a choice could be made, the last Coronation had to be performed. Bak-ne-khon-su, having become the oldest High Priest in the Two-Lands, came forward, and accompanying him were two young priests carrying the golden shrine. Bak-ne-khon-su opened the doors and removed the White Crown and the Red Crown, but he was so old it took all his strength to hold them. Usermare bowed before the sight with such devotion that I knew His love of the Double-Crown was like the love of another man for his mate when the love is happy and never fades and so is always pleasing and strange.
Usermare said aloud:
“Let there be terror of Me,
“like the terror of Thee,
“Let there be fear of Me,
“like the fear of Thee,
“Let there be awe of Me,
“like the awe of Thee,
“Let there be love of Me,
“like the love of Thee.”
Bak-ne-khon-su lifted the Red Crown of Lower Egypt and the White Crown of Upper Egypt and placed them on His head.
Usermare touched His Sceptre, His Flail, and His Double-Crown. “You have come forth from Me,” He said, “and I have come forth from Thee.” Now He stood in silence, and lo
oked about the room staring at many of us, one by one, until the silence was equal to a great commotion, and His heart was beating like a stallion. Then, I knew myself at last, and I was indeed “Master of the Secrets of the Things Only One Man Knows,” for I knew His heart, and the terrible fear in it, and the great pride, and when He looked at me, I also knew for the first time that He loved me and valued me. For with His eyes, He asked, “What shall I do?” I felt His fear again. There is no magic whose terror is more powerful than the fear of a Pharaoh before the strength of His Son. To choose Nefertiri would calm every force that might rise against Him. With Rama-Nefru, He would only possess the radiance that is in the light of far-off lands. Yet His pride that He was the One was great, and He hated to bow before His fear of Amen-khep-shu-ef. In that uncertainty, as He stood there, Rama-Nefru was thinking of Her child. I saw the ringlets of Prince Peht-a-Ra, the black curly Hittite hair, and felt Her great fear. She whispered to me, “Tell Sesusi to take the other—I fear everything if He chooses Me.” It was good that She spoke in Egyptian, for Her own head was a Hittite babble of sounds I did not know, and then I felt the heart of Nefertiri with its two hearts: one like a rose in the petals of its love, and the other a flame, and I did not know whether to send the thoughts of Rama-Nefru to Usermare, for if the Pharaoh were to choose Nefertiri, I would be like a finch, picking worms out of the crocodile’s lazy jaws. No, I could not suffer that again.
In this moment I did not understand why He decided to do what He did, but I know now. In the embrace of Your mind, Great Ninth of the Ramses, I see Him, and understand that He could never make His choice from fear, or He would be no longer divine. The Gods could bless His power, or withdraw Their blessing, but no Pharaoh would ever decide a matter by the cheers or groans of His people—no, He must be true to the honor of Kadesh!—and so He looked away at last from Nefertiri, and extended His arm to Rama-Nefru. She stood up with a small sob and walked across the floor. Heqat was weeping openly, and I did not need to look in the direction of Amen-khep-shu-ef. Temple walls, I was certain, could crumble before His eyes.
The musicians played, and Rama-Nefru was seated in the Ancient Throne of Amon. Even as Her buttocks came to rest, much as if She had disturbed a small pool, so did the beer in my mug begin to froth. I do not know what songs were sung, nor how soon it was that the nobles began to leave, I do not even remember whether Honey-Ball passed before my table with her family, or did not, for I sat like stone, and was certain all the light in the room had altered. I could no longer see the golden illumination of each candle in the million and infinity of candles that decorated the Pavilion, but rather witnessed all before me through a red haze that was like the darker fires on a battlefield at night. and it was in this hour, although no one at the Collation would learn until later, that Peht-a-Ra, much disturbed by the unspoken excitements of the night, ran from His bed into the garden, there to step into the covered coals of a fire and screamed so piteously that Rama-Nefru writhed on the Throne of Amon. All who saw it said that the ancient gold of the God sent forth tortures to Her skin, but it was the flesh of Her child She felt, and I did not learn for many years, not until well into the middle of my next life, that these burns so crippled the legs of the child that the young Prince walked like Horus and had no strength in His feet, and died before He was three years old.
But I knew none of this. I sat in the light of the red haze that had come down upon me, and in my heart was the greatest panic, and the largest determination I had ever known. So I knew what Usermare felt. At last I took a breath and told myself again that I would guard against my death no longer, but like Nefesh-Besher would be ready to enter it, and would not turn back, no, I would not turn back. Yet my decision had no more conviction than the weight of a feather. But then I may have been close to my next life already, and, like a priest, was telling myself that the difference between a great truth and a dreadful lie might in the moment of greatest anguish weigh no more than a feather upon one’s thoughts, and so I conceived of a feather and watched the flutter of its fall and knew a stirring of beauty in my heart. Was that the knowledge of truth?
I left the Pavilion of the Collation. Even as the Pharaoh had come in first, so would He be the last to leave, and I did not take farewell of Him nor of Rama-Nefru, but walked past the pool of the Eye of Maat whose surface now reflected the full moon tonight, and thought of the Hittite Sappattu. The white of my linen looked as brilliant to me as the pale wealth of the moon, and I could see the lands across the Very Green. For the first time in my life I thought of those lands much to the North where it must be as cold as the moon, and I do not know if it was the silence in which I traveled, or whether like a man already dead, I passed between Nefertiri’s soldiers like a ghost, but I slipped into Her chambers, and the beer had not frothed in my mug for too little—She was waiting for me.
“Not here,” She said. “I do not know how soon Amen-khep-shu-ef will be back from talking to His men,” and before I could think of what this meant, She led me into Her gardens and we stopped in a bower by a small fountain with the leaves of a tree overhead. There was a marble bench cool to our skin in the moonlight, but Her body was warm and most passionate and tender, for She was also weeping. When I bent to kiss the first of Her magnificent breasts, She hugged my head with both hands, and whispered, “I will make love to you tonight by all three of My mouths,” and began to laugh, the echoes of Her laughter sounding through the gardens, “Yes, I may as well,” She said, “for you are the third of three men I love, and the only one on whom I may count, is that not so?”
I grasped Her with all my strength, with too much strength. The truth is that I was weakened by love for Usermare again. I could hate Him no longer, and if, last night, I had known the strength of a bull, now I had no more than the loins of a hare, but She was washed by pain on one hand, fury in the other, and never had I known Her more passionate. If She made love to me by all three mouths, She also called on many a God to wake my limbs, and my toes, my bowels and my lips, my belly and my heart, yes, even my mind and the long bow of my back. but the more passionate She became, the colder became my own heart, for in my fear I also had my pride, and would feel no fear, so I was very cold and much like a priest, indeed, I was a priest in the embrace of a lion, and as She spoke all those words so much alike upon which She loved to play, spoke of my lips and the banks of the river, of my heart and Her thirst, of the door of my mouth and the palanquin of my belly (for now She was above me), of the limbs of my legs and the little limbs of the mouth between Her legs, She also cried out as I entered, oh, so suddenly cried out, and with harsh words of fucking and theft and murder. “Nek, nek, nek,” She muttered, “fuck you, kill you, murder you, nek, nek, nek, you are My bowels and My grave, My eyes and My mind, My death, My tomb, oh, give Me your phallus, give Me your seed, come to Me for the slaughter. Die!” She said, “See, behold, oh, die,” and we turned over, and She lay on Her back, the gates opening within Her. The Bull of Apis was in Her womb and the wings of the Divine Falcon, but in a quiet voice She asked, “Will you kill Him? Will you kill Him for Me?” and when I nodded, She began to come forth, and with such force that I, trapped like a climber in a fall of rocks, was swept along with Her, and in the fall, saw the islands of Her womb rising from the sea, and my seed rode forward in the channel between.
Yet in all the ways I could have met Her on all the great days of my life, I came forth instead in one small spurt, and my seed would never have reached Her home for I was not in it, no, it merely came out of me, and then I felt the hand of heaven on my back, a tongue of flame, a spear of anguish, seven times I felt such fire reach into each of my seven souls and spirits and the force of those blows drove me forward into my seed. Then I was beneath some water and swimming. I felt my heart divide. The Two-Lands sundered.
I rose up into the air and looked down on my body. It lay on Her body, and Amen-khep-shu-ef was above us both, wiping His dagger on my back, and there were seven founts of blood spurting forth from me. Sh
e was screaming, I think it was so, although in all my four lives I cannot swear to that, but I believe She said, “You fool, he would have done it for us,” but then the part of me that had floated upward now sank back again into my seed, and I have some memory, dim at best, of many travels taken. Sometimes I seemed to dwell in a tent with many soft winds without, and sometimes lived by the banks of a shore and crocodiles went by. But as I died, I believe I entered the life of my own seed, and was reborn again in the proper season from the belly of Nefertiri, and as a cause of all the fears with which I made love the last time, yet by virtue of the audacity of the venture, my second life became the highest compromise of my ambitions, and I ended as a High Priest. But that is another story, and has nothing to do with Kadesh.
FOURTEEN
“What happened to Amen-khep-shu-ef?” asked my mother. I knew then, if I did not know before, that by her refusal to honor the end of Menenhetet’s story with a proper silence, her feelings toward him were now void of mercy.
This rudeness inflicted upon the pain of his recollections, he only sighed, and said, “For the act of killing me, no punishment would have come. But Amen-khep-shu-ef was in a rage at His mother, and, so, with two slices of His knife, He cut away Her navel, thereby severing Her connection to Her royal ancestors. At once, in remorse for this act, He cut off His own navel. Since He was even more savage with Himself than with His mother, He collapsed in Her gardens from loss of blood.
“Now, Usermare was still in the Pavilion, yet His vision saw what had happened, and having no one at His side whom He could better trust, He sent Pepti to dispatch His Son. The Chief Scribe, finding Amen-khep-shu-ef prone from loss of blood, lost not a moment severing the spinal cord at the back of His neck. For this unhesitating deed, Pepti was made Vizier, and served Usermare well. I never estimated the man nor his abilities with proper measure.”
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