For a moment they were both quiet. The low murmur of other conversations mingled with the sound of the wind-ripped flag and the low, rhythmic tones of the officer calling the beat to the oarsmen. Tiye’s high, spontaneous laugh came floating across the deck. A grinning Amunhotep had taken both her braids in his hands and was pulling her head from side to side. As Huy watched, Tiye reached towards Amunhotep’s brown ribs. The King recoiled, and both of them began to hurl bantering insults at one another.
“They are learning to touch one another without the risk of a rebuff,” Huy remarked. “I shouldn’t be surprised at how quickly they’ve become friends. After all, Atum has willed their union. But I’m amazed at their increasing ease with one another.”
“So am I.” Mutemwia held up a cup and immediately her chief steward, Ameni, filled it with water. “I think it pleases my son to discuss the business of each day with a female other than his mother. Tiye has no authority with which to challenge his own supremacy.”
“Not yet,” Huy responded thoughtfully. The King had thrown an arm across Tiye’s shoulders and was whispering something into her ear. “He is secure in his dominance as someone older and more knowledgeable than she. But Majesty, that disparity is closing fast. Tiye has a genuine interest in the practices of government. Any immaturity she displays belongs to youth and inexperience, two handicaps that will disappear quite naturally in time.”
“She is suspicious of me, my network of spies, my power over Amunhotep. If her suspicion turns to jealousy, we will have a problem. I want her to trust me.” She drank a mouthful of water, took the square of linen Tekait swiftly held out to her, and dabbed her lips.
“Yet you yourself quite rightly trust no one,” Huy reminded her, “and Tiye sees her position as precarious in spite of the marriage contract. She’s ambitious, Mutemwia. Already she understands that wearing the Queen’s crown when the time comes will not guarantee her a place in the King’s affections or allow her a share in the making of royal policy. She must capture the one and strive to make herself indispensible to the other. It’s an enormous undertaking.”
Mutemwia was holding the cup cradled in both hands. Her head went down over it. Huy could no longer see her face. “I confess that I’m the one feeling the stirrings of jealousy when I see them together,” she said without looking up. “Since the vision of my son’s future came to you by accident all those years ago, I have been consumed by one aim: to see him mount the Horus Throne. I have ordered everything in his life to that end, from the details of his education to the gradual fostering of a necessary self-discipline within his character. My life has belonged to him alone. All my thoughts, my plans, have been concerned with little else but the gradual unfolding of his destiny.” Now she glanced up, and Huy saw her eyes filling with tears. “Tiye will take my place. Atum has decreed it. I shall be put out to pasture like a chariot horse too old to be driven into battle.” Carefully she placed the linen she still held beneath each eye so that her tears would not carry kohl down her cheeks. “I struggle against the antipathy I feel for Tiye, her common ancestry, her plainness,” she continued in a low voice. “I resent the intelligence in her that will rival my own. Amun help me, Huy. I would never have considered myself so petty.”
Huy quickly scanned the deck. Tekait and Ameni, although their attention was obviously fixed on their mistress, were politely out of earshot. Tetiankh was still hanging over the railing some distance away.
“Tiye cannot appropriate the love and respect Amunhotep reserves for you alone, Mutemwia,” Huy said quietly. “She cannot miraculously become a part of the memories you and Amunhotep share. You’ve always known that the time would one day come for you to relinquish the administration of Egypt to the King. Indeed, you have worked patiently and subtly towards that goal for many years. I believe that young Tiye is learning to be worthy of taking your place. She looks to you and to me to help her. Are you willing to deprive Amunhotep of a source of comfort and good advice once you go into the Beautiful West over an emotion as base as jealousy? Such a weakness is beneath you.”
“You’re right, of course.” She sighed and held out the now-stained linen for Tekait to retrieve. “It’s this present upheaval. I have many capable stewards and administrators handling our move from the Delta to the south, and in his letters Kha assures me that the tasks of building and restoring are proceeding without hindrance, but until I disembark at the watersteps of the old palace and walk through it to my own quarters I shall not be at ease.”
“Tiye needs you,” Huy told her. “She needs both of us. Let’s make sure that this beloved country of ours will be ruled by both a wise and capable King and a Queen worthy of her crown.”
Mutemwia did not reply. Settling a pillow at her back, she relaxed against the wall of the cabin. “That, my dear Seer, is a great deal to ask,” she said after a long moment, and closed her eyes.
It took the cumbersome flotilla almost a month to reach Weset. Each late afternoon the barques and skiffs put in against a secluded stretch of the western riverbank. The ramps were run out, fires were lit, linen was collected and washed, the oarsmen spread their blankets out and dozed, and as night fell a simple meal was cooked. Tents were set up. Amunhotep and his body servant had one to themselves, guarded by soldiers appointed by Huy from the Division of Amun. Mutemwia and Tiye shared the other. Huy had declined the offer of any covering. Over the protests of a scandalized Tetiankh, he chose to sleep in the open, leaving his tent to Amunmose, Paneb, and Ba-en-Ra, who had travelled in Huy’s own boat behind the King’s and Mutemwia’s staff.
Perti took up a position beside Huy, sinking cross-legged onto the sparse grass and placing his sword across his knees. “I can sleep during the day, Master,” his answer had been to Huy’s objection. “It seems that no matter where we tie up, we’re discovered by curious villagers. I don’t want them close to you.”
Huy found the presence of his captain comforting. He lay listening to the vast crowd gradually settle into a welcome quiet occasionally interspersed with a snore or a cough, his eyes on the multitude of stars above him glimpsed through a latticework of drooping leaves. It seemed to him that as the ships slowly moved farther south, the air became increasingly dry. The sweet-smelling humidity of the Delta was being replaced by an odourless atmosphere that seemed to deepen the sky and sharpen the multitude of white points glittering overhead. Mesore, the last month of the harvest, was almost upon them. They had floated past mile upon mile of empty irrigation ditches lined with dusty palms within whose boundaries the peasants laboured, the golden stalks of emmer wheat and pale stems of barley swaying and collapsing before their scythes. An increasing number of fields already lay denuded, the surface of the soil cracking under the relentless heat of the sun.
This Egypt is ugly, Huy thought on the few occasions when he left the shelter of the canopy to stand at the deck rail, hot to his touch. Everything is barren. I did not know that the face of my precious country could be so harsh. The villages seem empty. Even the animals are sheltering from the power of Ra. In the Delta his strength is muted, but out here he is pitilessly omnipotent. Once Nut has swallowed him and the breath is no longer fiery in our lungs, we feast on blue-black grapes and the sweet, juicy fruit of the nebes shrub. We scoop out the pink flesh of figs and dip fresh dates and reremet fruit in honey, and it is as though these foods are conjured by a magic that has formed them out of nothing, out of the emptiness of death itself. Small wonder that eating reremet fruit becomes more prevalent at this time of the year. Mandrake makes us drowsy, amorous; it diverts us from the fear that seeps towards us from the desolation on either side of the river. Will Isis cry? Will the gods permit yet another Inundation?
The nights were blessedly temperate, however. Huy slept soundly, waking to eat the profusion of fruits Rakhaka provided for him and Tetiankh offered, and rising to join in the communal prayers to mighty Amun before the tents were struck and the interminable journey continued.
On the twenty-eighth day o
f Epophi, the King’s helmsman began to negotiate a wide bend to the east, and Mutemwia joined Huy by the rail. “We approach the holy city of Weset,” she said, smiling. “At last, Huy! I believe that we should be able to hear it as soon as we curve back to the south. I’ve enjoyed having nothing to do for weeks, but the King and Tiye are increasingly bored.” She had spent most days dressed informally in the loose robes she preferred, but now her filmy white sheath was heavily bordered at the hem, neck, and shoulder straps with a succession of silver scarabs. Her headdress was plain, however, a thin silver circlet with the god of eternity, Heh, resting on her brow. As usual she wore little jewellery. Two blue faience rings shaped delicately like cornflowers blossomed from her fingers, a thin silver band made up of ankhs dangled from one tiny wrist, and red jasper pellets glowed on her sandals. Her steward Ameni held a white linen sunshade over her and Tekait waited, a large ostrich feather fan in both hands, to cool her.
Amunhotep and Tiye were sitting on stools under the canopy. Both were staring silently ahead, obviously weighed down by the full splendour in which they were clad. The cobra and the vulture, the royal uraeus, lifted majestically from the band of Amunhotep’s blue and white striped helmet. Nebmerut, Seal Bearer and Senior Scribe of Protocol, sat at his feet cradling the silver chest containing the Pshent, the Red and White Crowns Amunhotep would not wear until he attained his majority, and the symbols of his supreme authority, the Crook and the Flail. Amunhotep and Tiye were heavily painted, the thick kohl surrounding their eyes glinting with gold dust. Tiye’s wide belt was made up of golden ankhs, and hanging from it in front were several representations of a Queen’s totem, the vulture goddess Mut, each bird clinging to the one beneath it by glittering talons, each folded feather of the great wings limned in dark blue lapis. More vultures in gold and lapis swung from her ears. The vulture headdress of a Queen completely hiding her hair held a shen sign of protection in each golden claw in front of and just below her ears. Its golden neck and lapis-beaked head reared above her forehead. Its green turquoise feathers swept back.
“Long before we left Mennofer, I very carefully chose what they will wear when they disembark,” Mutemwia went on. “Amunhotep must be immediately seen as Amun’s obedient son and Tiye as the god’s divine consort, Mut.” She turned to Tekait. “Bring me a stool under the canopy. I don’t want to sit on cushions dressed like this.” She left the rail and entered the shade.
Huy turned back to watch the eastern riverbank. Its aridity had begun to be replaced by thick stands of acacia and tamarisk bushes, sycamore trees and palms, the growth broken at intervals by wide stone watersteps where boats were tethered. Small groups of people had gathered by the water, and as Huy watched them kneel at the sight of the imperial flag and then slowly drift astern, he suddenly became aware of a sound that must have been growing beyond his awareness, a constant low rumble.
Tetiankh appeared at his elbow. “Judging by the intensity of noise, every citizen of Weset’s sepat has gathered here to welcome the King. Listen to the undercurrent of excitement, Master! We have almost rounded the bend. Soon we shall see them.”
The prow of Kha-em-Ma’at was slowly turning to the south. Nebenkempt’s voice rang out, issuing a flurry of commands to the helmsman. For a while the boat held to the centre of the river, and now the banks on either side were hidden under a vast throng of jostling, shouting people trying to kneel as the gilded vessel drew abreast of them. But the crowd was too thick to allow most of them to perform their reverence, and Huy watched the frantic struggle with a pang of apprehension.
“Many of those in front are being tumbled into the water,” he said. “How many more are being crushed? As Scribe of Recruits, I sent a message to Weset’s Mayor some time ago, warning him to anticipate this chaos and requisition enough soldiers to keep order.”
“It would have taken a full division of all five thousand men to maintain control of this multitude,” Tetiankh replied. “And look, Master! They have been deployed around the city’s water-steps and along the river path right to the gates of the palace compound itself. We have begun tacking to the eastern bank at last.”
Huy glanced up to where the helmsman was forcing the great steering oar to respond to Nebenkempt’s curt directive. Weset’s watersteps drifted past. Huy could see almost nothing of the city itself for the double row of soldiers straining to hold back the eager throngs behind them. However, above their heads a forest of pillars was limned sharply against the blue-white heat of the sky, telling Huy that he was passing Amun’s home, the sacred temple of Ipet-isut itself, and a short while later Kha-em-Ma’at came smoothly to rest against another set of steps. Above them on the stone apron, a solemn group of officials obscured the lower portion of the tall wooden gates leading into the palace precincts. Here the sound of the crowd, forced back a good distance, was muted.
Nebenkempt’s sailors sprang to run out the ramp. Guards quickly lined it. The waiting dignitaries bent and then folded onto the ground, the acolytes carefully holding up their censers so that the smouldering grains of frankincense should not fall out of the cups. Huy inhaled its gently wafting smoke with pleasure, watching as Commander-in-Chief Wesersatet bowed himself aside and the King and Tiye, with Mutemwia behind them, stepped onto the ramp. Amunhotep bade the group of bent backs to rise. Ptahhotep, newly appointed High Priest of Amun, signalled to his we’eb priests, and the welcoming and sanctifying blend of bull’s blood and milk made shallow pink puddles on the warm stone.
“You may speak,” Amunhotep told him. Huy did not miss the note of impatience in the King’s voice and neither did his mother. Mutemwia’s fingers spasmed briefly against her thigh. One bead of sweat was trickling down Amunhotep’s temple. He’s hot and uncomfortable, Huy thought, but it doesn’t matter as long as he keeps it to himself. Today he must show no weakness.
Ptahhotep inclined his shaven head. When he looked up, his heavily kohled eyes were smiling. “Mighty Amun of the Double Plumes welcomes his son and Incarnation to this, his greatest city. All Weset, indeed the whole Uas sepat, is in festivity. Amun eagerly awaits Your Majesty’s presence before him in his sanctuary.”
“Of course. And I am eager to pay him my homage and present him with such gifts as I have brought. Maani-nekhtef!” The Chief Herald approached and bowed, and looking beyond him along the empty river path the soldiers had cleared, Huy saw other boats being tied to the mooring posts. Many other ramps had already been run out. “Order my Treasury Overseer Nakht-sobek to Ipet-isut with the many offerings I have prepared for my father Amun,” the King continued. “He is to wait for me there in the outer court.” Stepping from the ramp onto the dampness of milk and blood, he pulled Tiye’s arm through his and gestured to his litter-bearers. “We will have the curtains closed as we go,” he announced. “The citizens must surely have had their fill of my royal person by now. Ptahhotep, walk beside me. Mother, Uncle Huy, send for Architect Kha and have him ready to guide me on an inspection of the palace. And I shall want much beer.”
“He acquitted himself well,” Mutemwia remarked in a low voice to Huy as Wesersatet and his men surrounded the litter. Huy nodded as it was lifted and the entourage moved off. Now that the sacerdotal ceremony was over, he felt suddenly tired and slightly homesick for his rooms in Mennofer. Perti and Mutemwia’s guards were waiting, and just beyond them two soldiers unfamiliar to Huy were standing one to each side of the massive gate and watching Mutemwia expectantly. The sentinels of this entrance, Huy decided. How many more does the compound have? He sighed, and surprisingly Mutemwia laughed.
“Occasionally you must actually earn the gold and preferments showered upon you, Great Seer!” she teased him gently. “Seal Bearer Nebmerut is waiting to escort the Horus Throne to its place in the new audience hall, and the royal regalia grows heavy in his arms. Let us begin.”
It was a curious invitation to walk forward, Huy thought, but he understood it perfectly. At the Queen’s word the gates swung slowly apart, and Huy caught his breath.
A short distance beyond them, the entrance was blocked by another huge gate even now being swung open, its two components catching the sun as they moved and throwing out flashes of brief intensity so blinding that Huy was forced to close his eyes. “Electrum!” he breathed. “The Osiris-one King Ahmose must have been richer than we can imagine in order to provide his artisans with such a wealth of silver and gold!”
Mutemwia shook her head. “It was not always so. Have you forgotten your history lessons, Huy? Years went by when he, his brother the Osiris-one King Kamose, and his father, brave Prince Seqenenra, were so poor that the women of their family denuded themselves of all their valuable things so that the war against the occupying forces of the vile Setiu might continue. But in the end Ma’at triumphed, the gold coming north from the mines of Wawat and Kush began to fill the royal coffers instead of increasing Apepa’s treasure, trade was re-established, and the Royal Treasury was ours once more. This gate was the Osiris-one’s first expenditure. Amunhotep’s grandfather had the wooden gates built because the men guarding the old palace became tired of persuading the curious populace using the river path to stop gawking and move on.”
The gate now stood open. Mutemwia glided through and Huy followed. Apepa. I do remember him from my boyhood lessons. He was the Setiu foreigner from Rethennu whose ancestors usurped the Horus Throne. Both Prince Seqenenra and King Kamose were slain in the war of deliverance they were forced to wage against him, and since then the evil serpent of the Duat has carried his name.
But Huy’s musings fled as he paced after the Queen. The area between the gates and the pillars of the palace’s main entrance was surprisingly vast, an inviting expanse of well-watered, shaded grass dotted with trees, large ponds on which lily and lotus pads floated, and paths that left the main avenue to disappear beneath the spreading branches of sycamores and the thick but tiny leaves of the tamarisks. Clusters of acacia bushes abounded. There were no blooms, of course; the end of Shemu was only a month away. But Huy could imagine this glorious area bursting into colour—the pink tamarisk flowers, the delicate acacia blossoms, white here in the aridity of Egypt’s south where the bushes cultivated for their gums and medicinal remedies were hardier than those of the Delta with their yellow flowers—and, permeating it all, the sweet, heady flower perfumes rising from the beds. He was pleased to see his lame gardener, Anab, already hobbling out of sight in the company of a man who must be one of the many servants tending these arouras. Huy turned his attention to the palace itself.
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