The Nubian guards were happy to fulfil this obligation. They set off together with Djoser, crossing the river. Djoser paid the ferryman. They mounted donkeys provided by the landowner on the west bank, paid the usual fee and promised to return the animals before sunrise.
The landowner knew all three of his customers. He trusted them. They were regular night-time travellers.
They began the journey to the home of Djoser; their route took them near the new Palace at Malqata, not visible from the road. What was visible, however, were the colossal statues of the King at the entrance to his funerary Temple which would be completed before the next inundation began.
Djoser had heard many stories about this Temple and had been told its full meaning would only be revealed when the flooding of the river was at its height.
The moonlight cast an intriguing glow on the statues and Temple. Their beauty was not lost on his artist’s eye.
The Nubians seemed to show no interest. Their faces remained as unreadable as ever. Djoser always felt safe in the company of these two but he never felt comfortable. He would be glad to be home. He didn’t know what he was going to do with the items the guards left him with. He was carrying into his home a death sentence for himself and his precious daughters.
chapter thirteen
The Chariot entered the Palace courtyard at high speed. When Haqwaset was in this mood no-one dared try to keep up with him. The others followed at a reasonable distance. Grooms ran out to take the reins and settle the horses down. They would need to be walked for some time to cool them; they had been pushed hard.
Tiye heard the commotion outside and rose from her seat, cutting short her conversation with the head of her household. She took a cup of wine and went to meet her husband, followed by Nebetya and Tama, her favourite maids.
‘Haqwaset you’re back early,’ her tone conciliatory, gentle and caring. ‘There are some things we need to discuss, here, take a drink of this excellent wine. Walk with me in the garden.’
The hard ride had been dusty and Haqwaset was grateful to slake his thirst with anything. If the wine was excellent or not he couldn’t say as it vanished in an instant. His face and clothes were covered in a thick layer of dust. Normally he would bathe and change. This would give him time to let his thoughts fester. Not a good idea. Tiye knew him too well. She took the cup from the King and handed it to Tama. She spoke briefly to Nebetya who turned and ran into the Palace. Tiye linked her arm into her husband’s and guided him towards the garden.
The garden was at its most beautiful. With the approach of the Festival of the Valley, the whole of Waset was in glorious bloom. Hundreds of thousands of flowers were needed for the festival ceremonies, but only a few would come from this garden, the Temple gardens would provide most of them and each citizen would carry his own.
They walked in amiable silence. Tiye could sense the calming of the King’s temper. The smell and sight of the flowers were very relaxing and she hoped also the sight and smell of her would work as well. Haqwaset and Tiye were very much in love. They had been together since they were both very small children and even though, through diplomatic and other marriages, Haqwaset had accumulated more than three hundred wives and concubines, it was with Tiye he spent almost all of his time.
Nebetya came running up. She passed in front of the royal couple and dropped to her knees, facing them. In her hands she held a clean, full length robe. A wonderful blue colour. Not the colour of Nilah, used for mourning, but a rich blue, the colour of the sea or sky. The new colouring techniques brought to the Palace by the handmaidens of the Kings second wife Kirgipa, certainly were an improvement. The colours remained after washing and didn’t colour the skin as in former times.
Tiye nodded her thanks to Nebetya and took the robe from her. The couple continued walking. The maid waited for them to pass before slowly rising to her feet. She made her way back to the Palace, leaving her sovereigns to their privacy.
They walked until they reached the small pool beside the Temple in the middle of the garden. Tiye was the first to speak.
‘Get out of those filthy clothes and bathe in the pool. You will need to get that dirt off you so I can be sure it is my husband I’m talking to. Judging from your grand entrance and demeanour, I think we need to talk. Am I right?’
‘The man is a fool.’ Tiye knew Haqwaset was referring to the High Priest of Amun, whom he had just been visiting, but thought it was the right time to try a little joke.
‘If you say so my love, but personally I have always found Huy to be very intelligent and good company.’
Haqwaset was in the middle of pulling his robe over his head; he yanked it off and turned to face her.
‘Not Huy…’ his movements showed impatience but as soon as he saw the look on her face he knew she was, as always, one step ahead of him. He started to laugh and moved to put his arms around her. She jumped away.
‘Not until you remove the two sacks of sand from your face and arms.’
He moved quickly and menacingly towards her but she deftly moved to the side and pushed him into the pool. Her gown was severely splashed but his mood had clearly improved, so it was a price worth paying.
‘Unfortunately, Haqwaset, he is no fool. A fool wouldn’t be a threat and that man is dangerous.’
As they talked, Tiye looked carefully around her. Even here in the open they had to be wary. That the High Priest had spies in the Royal Household was not in doubt, who those spies were, was impossible to tell. She was reasonably sure of those who were not, but nothing was guaranteed. At least here in the Palace at Malqata, with its limited harem, there was better control, but they were still in Waset, the city of Amun, and the High Priest was a formidable person with long reaching tentacles and the means to pay handsomely for information.
‘What has he said now?’ she continued. ‘Is he still complaining about the cost of the works on the Temples?’
‘He always complains about the costs. He says four khars of wheat per month for each of the two hundred and fifty workers is severely depleting his stocks of grain. In addition the sculptors, painters and other artisans require payment in gold and jewels. He is not happy. His lack of happiness generally makes me happy, but that’s not the problem.’
‘So what is?’
‘Firstly he claims that my new open courtyard is more fitting to a temple honouring Ra, or the Aten, than Amun. He wants to build a roof on it. He is obsessed with the Aten. He thinks that the Aten is the god your father worships. He openly declared I am being influenced by Yuya, and you, to move away from Amun.’
‘He understands nothing of my father’s beliefs; if he did he wouldn’t say such a thing. The High Priest would be perfectly happy if you declared there to be only one true god, so long as that god is Amun.’
‘How dare he question the faith of his King? Also, he refuses to curtail the amount of wine the priests drink during the Festival. After last year’s debacle, when the statue of Mut almost ended in the river on the return from the Tombs, and the young priest defiled the shrine with a concubine. I want to make sure it doesn’t happen again. What the priests get up to in private is of no concern to me, but fornication in an open Temple, during a very public ceremony, cannot be tolerated.’
‘Both priest and concubine were dealt with appropriately Haqwaset,’ responded Tiye.
‘Yes but you’re missing the point. I’m convinced they drank too much wine and they neither knew nor cared what they were doing. It’s no wonder the cult of Amun is losing its favour to the Aten and other deities throughout the Two Lands. The High Priest has a right to be worried.’
‘Don’t be duped Haqwaset, Amun is still the God of choice here. His priests, in some respects, wield as much power as you do. One day he may make a wrong move and you can find a reason to remove him – but that time is not now.’
Haqwaset always welcomed the advice of his chie
f wife. He didn’t always accept it but today she was right.
‘I already know who I’ll appoint in his stead when the time comes.’ The King’s voice was conspiratorial.
‘Oh yes?’ responded Tiye, her eyes closing slightly with curiosity.
‘Your brother Anen.’
Tiye burst out into almost uncontrolled laughter. ‘Anen?’ she exclaimed, ‘I must check that Nebetya didn’t put something stronger in your cup of wine. How did you arrive at that decision?’
‘He would be the ideal candidate, bright, gregarious and someone who commands respect, and not just because of his family connections. First, we need him to guide Thutmose. The boy must now start his training as a sem-priest and I would like Anen to be his mentor. In a few years, with Thutmose as the High Priest of Ptah in Ineb-Hedj and Anen here in Waset as the High Priest of Amun, the gods and the Temples will be in the safest of hands. Maybe then we’ll be able to sleep more easily and our only worries would be keeping the empire and our greedy, belligerent neighbours in check.’
‘Just how long has this plan been in the making?’ For once Haqwaset had taken Tiye by surprise. The idea was faultless but he had never mentioned any of it before now.
‘The ride back from the Temple at Ipet-Sut was good for channelling the thought process. If I had been to see Anen today instead of that priest, we could have settled any differences over a cup of wine and a game of Senet, followed by a chariot race on the way home.’ Haqwaset’s mood had clearly improved.
‘If you were to appoint Anen to the position of High Priest, you well know he wouldn’t simply bow to your will – he is his own man and would take his duties very seriously.’
Tiye knew her brother better than anyone. His light hearted and jovial manner hid a steely will. Like their father he was loved and respected by all who knew him. Unlike their father, her brothers didn’t follow the ideology of one god. Yuya had insisted they be brought up to understand and respect all religions. He believed this was a way to instil tolerance. He had been right.
Anen and their older brother, Ay, were similar to their father in many ways. Tiye often wondered what her half-brothers were like. She knew her father had been married before he wed her mother and had two sons from this union. Yuya’s first wife, Asenath, died before Tiye was born. The boys went to live with their grandfather. Her parents didn’t speak of them very often, at least not with her and her siblings and when they did it was usually with tears in her father’s eyes.
She vaguely remembered, as a small child, her paternal grandfather’s death ceremonies. They were staying at the Palace at Ineb-Hedj not far from where her father’s family had settled after they had been re-united. Yuya was King Regent, Haqwaset just a child. Her half-brothers had come then to share in the mourning period of seventy days. There had been much joy in the house even though it was a sad time.
A very large cortège had left with hundreds of people, including her parents. Her parents were gone for a long time. They were fulfilling her grandfather’s wish to be buried in his homeland, in the tomb of his forefathers and one of his four wives, Yuya’s mother. Tiye had been too small at that time to have known what her half-brothers were like. In all the intervening years, they had never visited again. Tiye knew that her father was in regular contact with them and that they were important men in the lands to the east of Kemet. More than that she didn’t know and it was impossible to get her father to open up about them.
‘Anen would make a formidable adversary and would always stand his corner,’ she said.
‘The last thing we need is a High Priest who always says “yes.” I need someone I respect. The balance between state and church is a delicate one. It needs strong men at the helm of each. After the Festival I’ll award Anen with the title “Second Prophet of Amun” and will ensure that on the demise of the present incumbent it will be he who succeeds and not one of the current priest’s minions.’
Haqwaset had clearly been thinking about this for some time and not just on the road back from his bad tempered meeting with the High Priest.
Changing the subject, Tiye asked ‘When do you think Thutmose should begin his Sem priest training and duties?’
‘When we return to the Ankh Tawy Palace at Ineb-Hedj after the inundation. I have commissioned the sculptor, Men, to make a statue of Thutmose in his leopard skin, and it will be my gift to him. On that matter, is the skin ready?’
‘Yes, it arrived this morning from Kirgipa. He will love it, but he mustn’t see it until after he has received your gift of the statue.’
Tiye was grateful Haqwaset’s bad temper seemed to have disappeared.
‘I think I’m clean enough. Hand me my gown and let’s go to eat, I’m starving,’ Haqwaset said, as he jumped from the pool.
‘What news from Kush and my brother Merymose?’ he continued, ‘Is he coming for the festival?’
‘Yes,’ replied Tiye. ‘Maiherpri is very happy his father and mother are both coming. He’s missed them so much.’
‘Maiherpri is a man now. It would be safe for him to return home with them, if that is what he wants. He needed our protection but, now things are quiet in Kush, he can go if they wish.’
If Maiherpri was to leave, Haqwaset would be saddened by the young fan-bearer’s absence. He had got used to his being around. He was a source of interesting information as well as being a great adversary in the hunting grounds.
They walked back to the Palace and went directly to the small throne room. Honey baked bread and goose meat were prepared and laid on a table in front of the raised platform on which the King’s seat was placed.
After the customary supplication, a servant poured a glass of wine and handed it to Nebetya, who in turn presented it to Queen Tiye who passed it to her husband. This protocol was always observed. The King never took food or drink directly from a servant. Everything was passed first to the Queen or, in her absence, one of a few trusted aides. Meri-bes or Mahu were the normal candidates.
Maiherpri stood behind the throne. Broad and muscular, he had no difficulty wielding his hefty bronze axe when the need arose. The son of Haqwaset’s half-brother Merymose, and his Nubian wife, he was formidable. His enormous ebony frame stood out in contrast to the white, knee length kilt he was wearing. Haqwaset knew that Maiherpri’s parents would be filled with pride to see the man their youngest son had become.
Although, like most in the court, his head was shaved, uniquely, he constantly wore a curly black wig which, he claimed, was to remind him of his proud Nubian roots on his mother’s side. The wig was his trademark. He even wore it once, hunting with Haqwaset. Maiherpri was the only person who could match or exceed the hunting skills of the King. The two constantly tried to outdo the other from chariot, horse or on foot. The King didn’t like to be beaten by anyone, but he would have been angry if he believed those competing against him were letting him win because of his station. Such acts would be looked upon by Haqwaset as dishonesty which, was a trait, he hated above all else.
The man now standing behind the throne would never be dishonest to his King, whom he loved like a brother. They were cousins, spending a lot of time together, enjoying matching and testing their skills. It was the young Nubian who, as “Fan Bearer On The Right Side”, acted as the King’s chief personal bodyguard on all ceremonial occasions. The ceremonial fan, made of pure gold and one thousand of the finest jewels to be found in Kush, needed someone of the strength of Maiherpri to carry it over the long periods of the festivities. He was well suited physically and mentally to fulfil his role. Just the sight of him would be enough to keep most would be assailants at bay. His reputation with axe, club, sword and bow was enough for the rest. The King was safe in his care.
Today though, he was not on protection duty. He was performing other tasks which went with his formal title and, as such, he held a large ceremonial staff with ostrich feathers at the top, formed into the shap
e of a fan. His large hand was wrapped around the middle of the long, thick, richly decorated pole. He stood to attention, bringing the fan to his side as the King and Queen entered the room. Below the feathers on the staff was a golden symbol, a running hare. As Maiherpri brought the staff to his side he turned it slightly, almost imperceptibly, bringing the direction in which the hare was running towards the throne. This alerted Haqwaset to there being something important to tell him.
Mahu, chief of security, was standing just in front of the throne and when indicated to do so he began to speak.
‘We have some information Lord, matters of an irritable nature which may unfold. We need to speak with you in private.’
‘How urgent is it Mahu?’ asked the King. If there were any spies in this room they would never guess that the running hare and small unobtrusive signals passing between Mahu and his King indicated this matter was, at least in the opinion of Mahu, a serious one.
‘It can wait until your pleasure Majesty, but we should speak before the Festival preparations are complete,’ came the equally low-key reply.
‘Very well,’ said Haqwaset. ‘We’ll speak tomorrow. Today I feel like a short hunting trip. Would you and Meri-bes care to join me? We won’t go far, time is getting short, so just the three of us and the boys. I have had enough of diplomacy and matters of state today. It’s about time the young Princes witness again how a great hunter kills his prey from a chariot.’
There was never any false modesty from Haqwaset, especially when talking about hunting, his favourite pastime.
‘You do us a great honour. I’ll speak with Meri-bes immediately and get the grooms to prepare the chariots.’ Mahu bowed and walked out backwards.
‘I’ll need fresh horses,’ Haqwaset said. He didn’t need to emphasise the point as Mahu had been with him on the return from the Temple, or rather, he had tasted the dust from the King’s chariot wheels.
The Awakening Aten Page 16