My elders, seated upon couches of royal blue linen, sipped from ornate goblets. Bearers of ostrich feather fans created a soft breeze to please. Another attendant swished a horse tail to flick at flies. I reclined upon a lounge and picked at cucumbers, yoghurt and steamed spelt.
“There is news to share,” said Ti-Yee, after congratulating my success.
“The Amun priests have cut the army’s wages, declaring that in peacetime the forces need to be trimmed,” said Ay. “They will funnel the soldier’s salaries into paying the new craftsmen.”
Father coughed. “I hope the building of our temple did not create this hardship. A bored army could turn to crime or drink.”
I played with my food then remembered Captain Horemheb’s words. “The Captain said the way to win a soldier’s loyalty is to feed them. They can have my food.”
“That is generous,” said Meti. “Feeding those men would be quite an undertaking.”
“So, Sister, will you join me for some wine at my vineyards?” Ay interrupted to flaunt his win.
Grand Djedti’s cheeks flushed, “Not tonight, I am busy.”
Ay pretended he was hurt by clasping his hands over his heart. “Can you leave court business alone for one celebratory night?”
Grand Djedti patted her belly. “That is out of the question because I am with child.”
We congratulated her.
“You are excused,” teased Ay. “Nefertiti, dear daughter, will you join me?”
“No, Father, my reward will come a little later tonight,” she said with a wink. “And, I do plan to collect tonight, my Heart.” She stroked my father’s leg. Orange swirls flamed around her nethers as she attempted to set my father afire with her passion.
Father blushed and fanned his face. “Perhaps this is not the time to discuss such matters, my Heart. We should celebrate my mother’s joyous news. I shall have a new sibling soon.”
Meti’s smile froze. My mind wandered back to the news about the costume. I had to tell her about the color change.
“Vulture feathers are ugly. I want Hoopoe feathers. It looks pretty with green.”
Meti turned to me, her face awash with confusion. “What?”
“I want to wear Hoopoe feathers for the Opet Festival.”
Ti-Yee shook her head. “It is cruel to pluck the feathers from a bird which gives you pleasure.”
“I do not like vulture feathers. Green, not blue.” I stomped my foot.
Meti leaned forward. “I too love green. What does this have to do with your first ritual performance? I have not even considered costumes. Although, you may be right. It is time to discuss it with the court seamstress.”
“But you already commissioned sheaths as blue as the Nile. Keshtuat said you ordered the blue wigs, and a cape of vulture feathers to look like wings.” Why didn’t she admit it?
The elders gasped as if a scorpion had crawled into their midst.
Meti turned to Ti-Yee, “The Vulture Deity? Who would order a garment worn by Nekhbet? The priests have not yet asked me, and the Festival draws close. Are they so insolent as to present me with this costume without my approval?”
Ay cleared his throat. “I should have informed you.”
Grand Djedti fidgeted. “The Priesthood of Amun will not be extending you the invitation.”
Meti plopped in her chair. Rejection did not suit her.
“Sit-Amun was chosen,” said Ti-Yee. “She must have commissioned this costume, which is far more ornate than the simple ones I wore. If she procured the real feathers of the sacred bird of Amun, then she has received the priest’s approval.” A blue blaze shot from her throat. She rubbed her lapis necklace, deep in thought.
“Tongues will flap,” said Ay. “The Sesh will see the sacred feathers and either be appalled or in awe of Sit-Amun.”
“If she succeeds in replacing us, it will crush our hopes of reviving the solar worship. Everything we have strived for will be lost.” Grand Djedti then cursed. “I fought hard to push you two ahead.”
My father interrupted. “Enough. I do not wish to eat of bitter fruit. Enough! So it is written that Sit-Amun will be honored as Nekhbet; not even the Pharaoh could change it.”
I ruined their joy. But I had set my heart on wearing a new costume for my first Opet Ritual to Aten. “Does this mean we cannot have costumes made?”
Grand Djedti and Ay let out uncomfortable sighs and looked at me with angry eyes.
“What you ask is not easy,” said Father.
Meti held my hands. “Not only are you incredibly intelligent, you are also wise. Just you wait, Sit-Amun.”
An idea had just blossomed—the sweet fragrance of defiance felt heady, yet in my core I worried that this plan might both regale and doom us.
Two weeks later when Meti and I entered Father’s private chambers, we saw that his attendant had packed a trunk. Father stuffed maps into a camel leather case.
Meti glared. “You are leaving? We just started our nightly deliverance of bread and ale to the soldiers. Already the demand is great.” Father shut the case. “Granite was discovered in my new southern quarry in Nubia.”
Meti planted her hands on her hips. “So send a messenger with instructions.”
Father grimaced. “This undertaking is critical. How can I not go?”
“I am well-healed from Meket-Aten’s birth and my miscarriage. I am nearing twenty years-old and middle age. I must conceive soon. Even your mother, who is old as straw, bears more children. I have been patient with your building plans and isolation while you meditate for weeks, but it is my responsibility to bear heirs. If it has not occurred to you, I simply cannot do it alone.”
He kissed her cheek. “When I return we will attend to that. I promise. But this granite quarry cannot be put off. We need to finish our temple.”
“What about the reliefs for the Gem-pa-Aten? They are not even completed. We cannot possibly wait until your return to make the deadline.”
Her sheer sheath fell open to reveal her naked flesh, hot and yearning. Father stroked her arm. “Do not be alarmed. The Amun Priests assured me that they would etch my red chalk line drawings into the sandstone walls of the Gem-pa-Aten Temple.”
“You trust them?” Meti wrung her hands. “But you enraged them after refusing to allow them to control our Aten Rituals. I cannot believe they would help us.”
“Mery-Ptah said he had commissioned new artists with techniques from afar that would amaze me. In fact, he swore it would be a day to be remembered by all.”
They only had to etch Father’s red outlines into stone and then paint. The colors would be familiar to any artist. Besides, he left careful instructions so no mistakes would be made. Why did Meti worry?
* * *
With only three fortnights left until the great inundation of the Nile, the Sesh had long grown weary of the parched, relentless heat that sucked every drop of moisture from the people and land. The lushness of this well-watered garden hid the dehydrated desert beyond the high brick walls.
I plucked delphinium and safflower to cheer Meti up. Pulling back the date palms, something white glittered.
“Horse!” I hugged the perfectly carved token. “You have come back.”
Again, I traced my finger over the cool smoothness. Rubbing the hair mane and tail over my face, I let out a dreamy sigh. The peridot eye sparkled in the light. “Beautiful horse, I will love you and call you mine.”
“Merit-Aten. Child, where did you wander?” Hep-Mut called. She watched over me like the Eye of Horus since I burnt down the red tent. Startled, I clasped my hand over my prize, unwilling for anyone to claim it. I found it. It came to my hand. I folded it into my sheath as we headed back to Meti’s room.
Meti sniffed her sweet bouquet. “We must fill the carts at the Royal kitchens. It is such a blessing that Per Aat Ti-Yee allowed the bakers and brewers to work all night.”
I giggled. “The blessing is that the Pharaoh does not know.”
Meti smirke
d. “He would not be pleased. Nor would the Amun Priesthood be amenable even if we explained that feeding the hungry would be a gift from our hearts. Granted, the soldiers are financial burdens. It does seem foolish to pay thousands of uniformed men to escort the Amun officials to temple. Let us hope this plan will not harm us.”
I felt sure this would help us achieve some peace within our country.
If we could make a few Sesh happy, that would be a start.
“The deities will look down upon me and see that I, with pure heart, served my country. They could deny me nothing.” Meti threw the old shawl over her head. But I knew instinctively it would not be the Deities who denied her.
The kitchens bustled that evening. By nightfall nearly three hundred loaves and jugs of beer awaited. Attendants loaded the bounty upon the donkey carts. Meti and I wore the costumes of the villagers so as not to call attention to ourselves. She pulled her cape protectively around her swollen belly. I helped her up on the cart knowing that in a fortnight I would have a new brother or sister.
Captain Horemheb swaggered in. “My Per Aat, should you really be working tonight? You are so near easting a child, perhaps you should stay home and rest.”
“Nonsense. The soldiers depend on us. If we do not feed them then who will?” She picked up the reigns readying her donkeys.
The Captain turned to me, his eyes wide with surprise. “Well, if it is not my little charge in need of me once again.” His brown eyes twinkled.
“I commanded that you serve me.” I said it with indifference, yet my heart pounded.
Meti collared the donkey. “You met my daughter?”
He winked. “Yes, this little one fed my legions once before. I am indebted to her.” My face flushed as he lifted me into the second cart. In the first village, the broken soldiers clustered in the corner, approached with apprehension smudged upon their faces. They mistook us for villagers and commiserated about their cut wages, which made it impossible to feed their families or care for their sick parents. We presented the loaves and jugs heavy with thick ale and threw out silver debens.
“Who would offer simple soldiers such a gift?” asked an older man.
“May we bring those who served by our side?” pleaded a blind man. “My brother has a hard time making his way,” said another with missing teeth. “Yes,” said Meti in a voice that soothed those ravaged souls. “There is enough for all, but be silent, for the Hanuti would not be pleased by your full bellies.” “Ah, the Hanuti,” said a soldier who spit on the dirt. “Curse them for growing fat and rich while we suffer and die in the shadow of Amun.”
* * *
For months we dedicated ourselves to this service. No matter how far we traveled, the destitute told the same story. Angry. Resentful. Forlorn. Amun left these men by the wayside to rot. They accepted their pittance with outstretched hands and gratitude. Tonight we sated them, but what about tomorrow?
The season changed before I realized Meti had grown fat. Her belly protruded. She now looked like the women in the palace who gratified themselves with rich food as a way to display their abundant wealth.
One early evening I tugged her sleeve. “I need to release my water.” Horemheb signaled. “Soldier, guide this child to your home.”
“I would be honored, Captain,” replied the young man with a regimented salute. He directed me through the clamoring crowds.
Once we cleared the way, we walked the quiet stone street toward a dirty cluster of mudbrick houses. With timidity, I entered this commoner’s household he shared with his aging parents. His mother attended the stone oven while kneading dough with her foot. His father repaired a table in the dirt-floored reception room amidst the chickens, goats and a donkey. Around the corner, in an alcove, I stood over the clay jar. The stench of urine heated by the blazing day made me vomit. I was accustomed to plumbing and a stone toilet. This entire house could fit into my bed chamber.
A loud knock at the door startled me. I overhead an exchange of angry voices. The guard carried on a discourse in an obedient way. I peeked around the corner. Amun priests.
“We have noted that your family has not attended the temple services this month. May we inquire why?” A rotund priest read from a papyrus scroll.
The elder cleared his throat. “My wife is not well. Forgive us, I hired a physician. His fees exceeded my income from my furniture repair shop. We have nothing to offer Amun.” The elder man dropped to his knees and beat his chest.
“This will not do at all,” replied the fleshy priest.
The other priest with the sharp nose of a jackal sniffed out the feeble prey. “No, you are behind in your tithe. What are you prepared to offer in return?”
I peeked around the corner and caught the eye of the scheming priest.
“Your daughter looks of age. She could be given to the virgins of Amun. Her features are pleasant. She may be chosen as Amun’s personal consort for the Opet Festival.”
The aged man turned with great surprise. Confusion washed over his face. My presence vexed him. “But, she is not…”
“Lest we remind you, your standing in this community is by our grace. We allow you to run this business. So all profits you receive are by our blessing. If you wish to remain in fair standing then I suggest you offer something to please Amun.” The dog-faced man assessed the scant possessions.
The father trembled and clasped his hands together. “Anything, please, I beg you, please do not blight my reputation. My son will inherit this meager business. His family depends upon the income.”
“We could always erase the name of your wife and eliminate her entry into the Duat. Or since she is sick and of no use, we could bury her alive while you listen to her tortured screams. Every last breath of her body will be snatched from her as the pressure of the sand abolishes her ability to breathe,” replied the fat priest. His eyes glistened with the pleasure of his unthinkable torture.
“In the name of Amun, please, I beg you no! She is the mother of my children. I beg you, do not order this. I shall find a way to pay you.” The man crumpled at the feet of his condemners.
My face grew feverish. I couldn’t fathom the priest’s threats. Someone had to do something. General Horemheb could stop this abomination. “Hand over your daughter,” ordered the fat priest. “We will bring her to the Temple Virgins to offer her body to the Amun priests. You will be honored by having her be in service. We will then consider the possible annulment of your debt.”
The father shook and turned white as Khemitian cotton.
“You no longer have a choice,” said the jackal-nosed priest who snatched me by the arm and dragged me out the door. As he shoved me along, I felt like a little prize lamb. The Sesh who witnessed my abduction cast their eyes away. Out of the corner of my vision, the soldier who escorted me to his house trailed behind. His eyes were wild and his teeth clenched.
“The Priests will be pleased with this fine little catch,” said the heavy priest who elbowed his partner in the ribs.
“Should we call their debt even?” asked the other.
“No. This akh is just a promise that they will keep their commitment to pay their past tithes.” Peasants scattered, as he dragged me through the marketplace. Drivers halted their donkey carts so we could pass. Women with baskets or water jugs upon their heads spilled their wares as they craned their heads. I tried to mouth the word 'Help,' but they turned away. I was just another sacrifice. Nothing new. This same treatment probably happened within their own home. Losing a daughter. A son. A debt paid.
Shadow of the Sun (The Shadow Saga) Page 8