The narrow alleys were to be avoided at all costs, so packed were they with rekhi, merchants and foreigners haggling. People shouted to be understood, and many an interpreter made a small fortune helping to negotiate the trades that went on everywhere.
Walking down the street one could not avoid hearing arguments every few cubits. Many rekhi arranged to move out of their humble dwellings and live in tents in the desert, so they could rent their ramshackle homes to those from other villages in Kem. One argument I passed involved the renters complaining about the fleas, bedbugs and mice that infested the house, situated as it was near a marketplace dumping ground.
Large and colorful tents were erected in the land surrounding Inabu-hedj, such that from the temple one could see great splashes of color where once desert stood. And through it all, Buikkhu’s commanding presence seemed to be everywhere, arranging the funeral details or carrying out Khenemet’s orders. He arranged the placement of soldiers with the Captain of the King’s Guard, trained the pallbearers on protocol, rehearsed details of the ceremony itself, and even corrected the Chief Priest on occasion by quoting from an obscure scroll. Finally, on the seventieth day since King Semerkhet’s death, all was ready.
The day began with Ra rising, strong and powerful, into a cloudless Shomu sky, a good omen according to the shamans. A Horus priest at the temple blew a ram’s horn long and mournfully the moment Ra’s rays peeked over the desert mountains in the distance.
I had awakened Khenti prior to Ra’s appearance and so when the ram’s horn sounded, we meditated together, and toward the end I softly began the solemn chants that would set the tone for the day. Without speaking, Khenti arose, brushed his teeth with a crushed acacia twig and some mint leaves ground into a paste, and drank a strong herbal brew that Buikkhu had prepared for him to give him stamina. Until Ra’s journey took him from Kem’s sky, none of us would eat or drink, as a mourning tribute to the departed King Semerkhet.
Khenti’s servants arrived to dress him and to paint his eyes in kohl, but without the green malachite of celebrations. Soon all was ready and we walked to the palace entrance to begin the procession. Thousands lined the broad avenue from the palace to the temple, and on the Royal barges readied on Mother Nile’s shores. People stood in the narrow alleys and streets, on rooftops and in windows, on hills and carts so that it was difficult to see anything but a pulsing mass of bodies. But as soon as Khenti appeared at the palace entrance people shushed each other, made quick glances at him to satisfy their curiosity, and bowed low. Khenti held the scepter in his hand, but not yet the crook of power. His gold breast plate was broken in two, reminding the people that ma’at still eluded us. With his nod to me I raised my staff and a Horus priest sounded three short blasts on the ram’s horn for the procession to begin.
Khenti climbed into his carry chair and his servants lifted him high, then rested the bars on their shoulders. Above the chair the blue banner of Horus protected Khenti from Ra’s rays, although the heat in this third month of Shomu was already becoming unbearable. The procession moved slowly forward. In front of the Prince some twenty mourners walked, dressed in pale blue burlap gowns, rending their garments, wailing, pulling at their hair and beating their breasts. The Prince was followed by another carry chair with his mother upon it, then his sister and finally the Royal family and courtiers. Next in line came the governors of Kem’s many nomes, and finally the foreign ministers sent in tribute to Semerkhet and to cement alliances with the new King.
It took two more hours for the Prince’s chair to reach the Temple of Horus, for his way was blocked by the mass of people who came to steal a glimpse of their future leader. They threw flowers before the Prince for good wishes, so that by time we reached the temple his carriers waded through colorful petals up to their calves. Petals stuck to their wet bodies and drenched kilts. The perfumed scent from the trampled flowers filled the air, masking the foul smells of the streets and the unwashed rekhi.
Finally, the Prince’s chair was lowered and his carriers changed, and the Prince stepped out and walked regally into the Temple. There Khenemet greeted him and solemnly escorted him into the inner sanctum, where his father’s coffin sat in wait. After prayers for the departed were recited, all priests were asked to leave the chamber. Only Khenemet and Buikkhu were allowed to be present as Khenti offered prayers to Horus for him to protect Semerkhet on his journey, and to Anubis to be gentle with his father’s heart.
Soon, the doors to the chamber were again opened and the King’s coffin carried out by purified priests dressed in white robes. As the casket emerged from the temple, a hush fell over the mass of people and all bowed low, some pressing their faces hard into the sandy streets. People rent their garments as the King’s funeral procession passed by. There was sincere consternation on the part of the people, for the period between the King’s burial and the ascension of the new King was a time of troubling uncertainty.
In another two hours we were at the shore of Mother Nile, where a Royal barge lay in wait to accept the King’s coffin. Prince Khenti accompanied his father in the barge. Behind him sat his mother and sister. All three kept their eyes focused toward the far bank, none of them betraying any emotion as the crowds along the shore pointed and strained to see their faces.
Two of the ship’s crew released the ropes and jumped back aboard and the barge was pushed from the dock by servants standing on the shallow shore. All oars were tossed up, perfectly straight. In a moment, the captain barked a command and the oars were shipped into place. With another command, the oars began dipping in the water to a slow cadence drummed by the head oarsman.
I was on the first boat to follow the barge, along with Khenemet and Buikkhu. Behind us were more than fifty boats belonging to the Royal family, noblemen and the governors of the nomes. Soon the gleaming white-walled city of Inabu-hedj retreated from our sight and for the next three days our crews steadily rowed us upstream to the Royal Necropolis of Abdu. We traveled day and night, for to delay the King’s journey would have displeased Anubis who patiently awaited the King’s arrival.
Throughout our journey, as we rounded a bend in Mother Nile’s course, the rekhi, farmers, merchants and officials from even the tiniest towns along our route, thronged the shore led, of course, by local Horus priests who had been summoned by Buikkhu to perform that duty. Even by the light of Ra’s silver disk we watched the people throw flower petals in the water and prostrate themselves to their departed King Semerkhet, but also to his heir.
Finally, the procession reached Abdu. A large contingent of soldiers lined the shore, awaiting our arrival and ensuring that none other than those invited had access to the west bank. Once ashore, the procession walked to the necropolis, which sat on a flat desert plain above the river. The desert sands magnified Ra’s heat, so that we all felt as if we stood in a baker’s oven. The route was lined with soldier’s of the King’s Royal Guard.
Unspoken, but already known to all of us Horus priests, when we arrived at Semerkhet’s mastaba the subsidiary burials had already been completed. Sixty-seven of Semerkhet’s most loyal servants, in some cases entire families, had willingly sacrificed their mortal lives to serve their King in the Afterlife. A contingent of Horus priests from the holy city of Nekhen awaited us, having supervised the ghastly deed and administered the poison. The subsidiary graves had already been filled with sand, covered and sealed. Presented with the austere scene and what it represented, all witnesses stood silent.
Those same priests lifted Semerkhet’s coffin from it’s bier and carried it to his mastaba. They descended the stairs and disappeared inside, with Khenti close behind. I waited outside for Khenemet and Buikkhu to enter behind the the Prince, but as Khenemet was about to step forward he reached behind him and grabbed my arm and I shockingly found myself accompanying them into the dimly lit and dusty mastaba. We had to crouch at the entrance, and as we stood inside and adjusted to the light, the smell of incense burning was thick in the air. As soon as we stood still
, the priests lifted the coffin’s lid and placed it on its side.
Now Khenemet read the Spell for Going Out Into the Day and Living After Death. He raised his hands before him, his fingers spread in the holy gesture and recited the words: “O you, Semerkhet, who shine in Ra’s silver disk. O you, Semerkhet, who glow in Ra’s golden orb. May you now go forth from among those multitudes of yours who are outside. May the Netherworld be opened to him when Semerkhet goes out into the day in order to do what he wishes in the Two Lands among the living.”
Khenti stepped forward and Khenemet moved to his side, whispering into his ear. The Mortuary Priest came to Khenti, bowed and held out his hand. In his palm was the Opening of the Mouth spoon, so that the King might eat and breathe in the Afterlife. Khenti held it to his father’s painted lips. Then Khenemet took a wooden stick carved in the shape of a long finger, and using it he tapped the King’s lips and eyes and recited the words, as the priests chanted the holy melody.
"Awake, King Semerkhet, Son of Horus! May you be alert as a living King, rejuvenated every day, healthy in your god sleep, while the gods protect you. May the gods’ protection be around you every day."
I noted Khenti’s eyes tear up and he paused for a moment, then stepped back. The priests replaced the lid on the coffin and then picked it up and placed it in a larger, ornately carved box and sealed it. As they did so, Khenemet said the incantations that would allow Semerkhet’s ba to rejoin his ka each night, so that he could live in the Afterworld, unchanging, for all eternity.
Now it was Queen Tameri’s turn to enter. She walked unsteadily, not wearing any makeup, and holding Princess Kebi’s hand. As soon as she entered the Princess looked at her brother and he smiled at her. Like her mother, she wore no makeup and a simple linen gown that revealed the gentle curves that had blossomed in the past year. Her side braid was laced with simple gold strands. Still, her beauty shined.
Khenemet gave them each a torch and they walked to the opposite end of the coffin and lit two braziers that would burn for days, to light the King’s path to Anubis and the weighing of his heart. The Queen’s hand shook as she lit the brazier. Once done, the two turned and knelt down and said their final farewells. Khenti walked and stood between them, reached down and helped them both to their feet.
As we began to file out, the priests arranged the furniture so that it looked remarkably like the King’s own bedroom. They pulled a cloth from atop a table and uncovered food of every manner and description, so that the King would not want for sustenance. His embalmed cat, placed in an urn, sat next to his chair so that he would have the comfort of petting it and hearing it purr in the Afterlife.
With Khenti back in his carry chair, the procession proceeded back to Mother Nile, as the Horus priests sealed the mastaba for all eternity. They would keep a vigil for the next thirty days so that the proper prayers, chants and spells would be available as the King needed them on his journey.
I could not help but observe the actions of the people as they assembled to board the ships back to Inabu-hedj. Most of the Royal Court spoke quietly, some even subtly laughing now that the burden of the tenuous nature of ma’at was soon to be lifted with Khenti’s ascension to the throne. I noted Khenemet and Buikkhu huddled together on the prow of the King’s barge, in earnest discussions about matters of… of what I was not certain. Yet one matter did weigh heavily on my heart. Khenti sat alone in his chair on the deck of the Royal barge, pensively looking down Mother Nile’s wide expanse. Now the weight of the Two Lands rested on Khenti’s young shoulders alone and I wondered if he understood just how heavy a burden that would be.
SCROLL FOUR
For What Does He Know?
Merkha
“You ask me again and again, but I do not know how to answer you,” the Queen said, teary with frustration. “It is not as if I am hiding the answer from you, my son. I just do not know.” She sat primly in her chair in her quarters, hands folded on her lap, as Khenti paced anxiously before her. The gold necklace she wore accented her white linen robe. Ra shone brightly on the palace, and the heat coming from the desert was already oppressive, but a slight breeze from Mother Nile blew through the Queen’s shaded chambers to provide welcome relief.
“Fine, mother, I understand that you do not know anything about this specific matter, but you give me the same answer about father’s rule no matter what I ask,” he said, throwing up his arms. Now he took a deep breath and sat down on a wood chair across from Queen Tameri, the rush caning creaking under his weight.
The Queen looked up into her son’s eyes. “He was always in meetings, Khenti, always involved in important discussions about affairs of Kem.” Now she looked away, toward her portico and its view of Mother Nile, but her short, squat frame made it impossible for her to see the water that flowed swiftly below the palace.
“I have always played the Royal Mother, Khenti. That was my role, raising you and your sister. I have never been involved in the matters of rule. Your father never talked with me about such things during his nine years as Horus’ brother. I was told when I had to appear at ceremonies or events, and I did so without complaint. I am sorry if I cannot serve you in these matters.” Now she looked down at her hands, her fingers tensely intertwined.
“It is all right, mother,” Khenti responded, sighing and putting his hand over the Queen’s. He noted that the heat had swelled her hands and feet. “You have succeeded in your goal. Kebi and I have always felt your love and caring.” With that he stood up. “I must go now to attend to matters of the coronation. I wish you a good day.” As he turned to leave, the Queen spoke again.
“There is one thing, Khenti. Perhaps, well… I am reluctant to mention it.”
“No, please, go on.”
The Queen shifted in her seat. “I never trusted Khenemet. I know I should not say so, for he serves Horus alone, and who are we to judge those in the service of the gods?” Khenti crossed his arms, his head bowed, thinking.
“Upon what do you base that mistrust?” Khenti asked, returning to his chair.
The Queen looked uncomfortable. “It is hard to say. It is something I feel inside. I think men are so focused on their work, they do not pay much attention to the ba of others. Women are different. We are responsible for forming the ba of our children. It is our role to be sure that honesty, faith, commitment- all the aspects of the ba- are developed. So, perhaps we are more sensitive to the ba of others.”
“And so, you are saying that you find Khenemet’s ba lacking?”
The Queen hesitated before answering. “I am not sure. It is not so much that I find it lacking. From what I have seen he does what he must and does it well. I know that your father, may Horus bless him, did not like Khenemet, although he never spoke to me of it. It was the way he looked at him, the way he held his body in his presence.”
“And that is why you dislike him? Because of father?”
Again, the Queen looked away in thought. “That is surely part of it, but I came to my decision long before your father wore the Double Crown. This is hard to explain. It is something I feel in my heart, Khenti. Khenemet hides something behind his eyes. I know not what it is, yet it causes me gooseflesh at times.” Now the Queen twisted her hands anxiously. “I know this sounds foolish, but there you have it.”
Khenti weighed his mother’s words. “Is there more?”
“What do I know of the affairs of Kem?” the Queen responded.
“From what I have heard just now, more than I thought.”
“But these are just the feelings of an old woman. I do not really know Khenemet, but I think he uses his hideous looks to disarm his opponents. And have you ever seen him smile?” Khenti shook his head. “See? Perhaps it is his severity that makes me uncomfortable.” The two sat in silence for several minutes.
“And what can you tell me of father’s illness? We’ve hardly had a chance to talk since my return. He appeared fine before I left for my military training and months later I find out he has passed
to the next world.”
The Queen shuddered. She stood and walked unsteadily to the portico and leaned against the wood rail for support. Her gown hung limply from her stooped shoulders. “I know not how to answer that, Khenti. He… he appeared to me to be healthy and vigorous. My head swirls with confusion since his illness and death, but I remember that just after you left he had many meetings, sometimes starting at Ra’s rising and lasting well into Ra’s silver disk. He traveled to Nekhen twice. He hardly spoke to me during that time. He seemed agitated, not his usual self.”
Qa'a (The First Dynasty Book 3) Page 4