by Max Overton
"There were other stories associated with the Heretic," Nebamen said. "I remember my nurse talking about a warrior queen who fought against the Heretic, or maybe it was with him, I can't remember, and then she married an army officer and gave birth to Menpehtyre Ramesses."
"I remember it as her marrying Ramesses and that Menmaatre Seti was her son," Merymose said and then laughed. "My nurse swore it was true. This Queen supposedly had red hair and that's where Usermaatre got it from."
"You would both do well to think before you prattle on about nursery stories," Sethi warned. "Must I remind you that you are accusing our king of not being the true grandson of Menpehtyre and Queen Sitre, being descended from this supposed warrior queen? It's utter nonsense, and by chattering on about it you are also impugning the descent of our own King's Son of Kush. For this you should beg his forgiveness."
Both Nebamen and Merymose looked horror-struck, and immediately dropped to their knees before Messuwy, holding out their hands in supplication.
"Forgive us, My Lord Viceroy..."
"...we spoke without thought and..."
"...and did not mean to imply anything..."
"...Forgive us, please."
Messuwy stared at them impassively for a few moments, enjoying their fear, and then nodded. "I, too, have heard these stories, but I thrust them aside even as a child, knowing from whence the House of Ramesses arises. You are forgiven, but speak of it no more."
They pressed on upriver, sailing when the wind was favourable, relying on their oarsmen when it was not. The cliffs drew in close to the river in places and the farms gave way to scrub and desert. Odours of living things vanished, to be replaced by the dry, acrid smells of sand and rock, baked under the unrelenting assault of the sun god. Their course turned to the southeast and then east before resuming its southward march once more, and twenty-five days after leaving Men-nefer, the 'Wisdom of Ptah' drew in toward the docks of Waset, the great capital city of Ta Shemau and holy city of Amun.
"At last," cried Huy. "I've had enough of life on a boat. I want a proper bed and a woman or two."
"Make the most of it," Sethi said dryly. "We're only halfway to Aniba and we'll be leaving Waset in about three days."
Khay, Governor of Waset, welcomed Messuwy and his companions to the Great Palace, carefully obsequious to the king's grandson and mindful of the power of a King's Son of Kush. He ordered feasts and entertainments, and Huy found all the women he wanted over the next few days. They readied themselves to leave for Kush on the third day, but a chariot-courier from the north delayed them. The Governor called Messuwy and Sethi into his presence and indicated the kneeling messenger, still in his travel-stained clothes.
"News from Per-Ramesses, My Lord Viceroy," Khay said, his voice trembling with excitement. "Crown Prince Khaemwaset has died and Prince Merenptah has been made heir." The Governor rose from his chair and grasped Messuwy's shoulders. "May I be the first to offer my congratulations, My Lord Viceroy. As eldest son of Crown Prince Merenptah, you are now in line to ascend the Double Throne."
Messuwy looked bemused. "Already? Well, better now than in a month's time when I'm in Aniba." He turned to the kneeling messenger. "You bring orders for my recall?"
"Er, no sir..."
"Address him as King's Son of Kush, you fool," Khay hissed.
"Yes Excellency...er, no, King's Son of Kush. The news was the only thing I brought to Waset."
"Perhaps your recall comes by a separate messenger," Sethi said.
"Where is the sense in that?"
"News of the death of Khaemwaset and his replacement as heir would have gone out immediately to every sepat, so that people are reassured, but your father will now be assessing who he needs around him. No doubt he will want you back in Per-Ramesses to help him, but a message to that effect must have gone out later."
Messuwy nodded. "Yes, that must be it. We will wait in Waset for its arrival."
"Hmm." Governor Khay considered Sethi's explanation. "When did you leave Per-Ramesses, fellow?"
The courier thought for a moment. "Fourteen days ago...maybe fifteen, Excellency."
"And Prince Khaemwaset died when?"
"Four days before that, Excellency."
"So it seems there was no great urgency to spread the news far afield," Khay mused. "And one would think four days was enough to formulate a letter of recall if your father intended it."
"What are you saying?" Messuwy demanded. "That I am not to be recalled?"
"It is possible, My Lord Viceroy."
"I am to be ignored? Passed over in favour of...whom? There is no one else."
"Perhaps not passed over, King's Son," Sethi said quietly. "The position of King's Son of Kush is a powerful one, second only in power to the king himself. You protect the southern borders, provide men for the army, and produce the gold that enriches all of Kemet. Maybe your father intends you to be his strong right hand here in the south and, when the time is right, help your father secure the throne."
"You talk of replacing Usermaatre?" Khay asked uneasily. "That is treason."
"You misunderstand, Excellency. There is no treasonable talk here. May Usermaatre live a thousand years but...he is an old man. When Merenptah ascends the Double Throne he must feel secure, and how better to ensure that than with the support of a loyal King's Son of Kush. On the day he becomes Lord of the Two Lands, you father will call you back to become Crown Prince. I am certain of it."
Chapter Three
Tausret speaks:
I am a royal princess and I live in the palace built by my grandfather Usermaatre in the city of Per-Ramesses, the capital of Kemet. It is the greatest city ever to have existed and though men speak of Men-nefer and Waset as glorious cities, their time has passed. I have seen these cities and many others with my own eyes, and while Men-nefer is beautiful and Waset reeks of the ages, Per-Ramesses towers above them in its glory. Per-Ramesses surpasses anything else, either in our lands or those of our neighbours, and I am confident it will still be the capital city of the House of Ramesses a thousand years hence.
It was not the first gathering of people to dwell on this spot, and it is said that a village existed here even before the great pyramids of stone were erected on the western plateau near Men-nefer. Later, the village grew to be a town, lying as it does near the eastern trade routes, and eventually it became a city, although one built by foreign invaders.
The city of Hut-waret was built by the Heqa Khaseshet tribes when they swept out of Retenu five hundred years before the reign of Usermaatre and subjected the land of Kemet to their vile depredations. They built the city to be their capital and fortress, close to the base of their power in the northeast. When Nebpehtire Ahmose finally expelled the invaders, the city was abandoned and fell into disrepair. Later, though the cities of Men-nefer and Waset still flourished, Menpehtyre Ramesses rebuilt a fort on the spot, and his son Menmaatre Seti expanded it, building up a trading town around the fort. Later still, Usermaatre Ramesses made it his capital city, renaming it Per-Ramesses, the House of Ramesses.
It was built on the easternmost branch of the Great River Iteru, where it divides in the rich farmland of Ta Mehu. Though not the largest city in Kemet, Per-Ramesses boasts the glorious palace of the king as well as richly appointed temples dedicated to all the main gods, but especially Amun, Re, Ptah, and Set.
Foreigners sometimes wonder why the god Set is so prominent in our city of Per-Ramesses, but a moment's thought should tell them why. Set is a god of the harsh deserts, a soldiers' god, and his colour is red, like the desert sands and blood. He early set his mark on our family, giving them red hair and bestowing his military favours on us. The first Ramesses was dark haired as was his wife Sitre, but interestingly his son Seti had red hair as befitted a man named for the god. Usermaatre had red hair too, or had before it turned white, and my father Sethi had it too The god made my family valiant warriors, and as their blood courses through me, so does their desire to make my mark on the history
of Kemet.
It is unlikely I will have the opportunity, however, as I was born female. Though I can do most things that a man can do, and some that a man cannot, warfare is not one of them. Leave aside my mythical ancestress Queen Scarab, or even that great Queen who became a king, Maatkare Hatshepsut, or even further back, Menkaura Nitiqreti, all women who are said to have taken up arms and fought; it is unlikely I will be allowed to even train for it.
My father died a year before Crown Prince Khaemwaset, else he would have been heir. Instead, my uncle Merenptah was raised up, and my whole life changed. I have mentioned how Merenptah allowed me to learn at the feet of a scribe, progressing far beyond what is commonly taught to women, but other things happened around me, other things that changed my life utterly.
Merenptah had sons, first Messuwy by his wife Takhat, and then Seti by his wife Isetnofret. Messuwy is some twenty-five years older than Seti and has always had difficulty taking him seriously. How could any child, he reasoned, possibly compete with a man who was King's Son of Kush, and so obviously heir to the throne when Merenptah became king? Well, men (and women) scheme, but the gods do as they will.
Messuwy became King's Son of Kush, but before he had even reached Aniba, two things happened that affected everyone. First, Merenptah became heir when Khaemwaset died, and second, his eldest son was not recalled to the court. The position of King's Son of Kush is a sign of especial favour, guarding the southern boundaries of the Double Kingdom, but many people assumed that Merenptah, already an old man, would want his son present to aid him in his work. Instead, his son Seti was born, and though the presence of yet another royal baby was not deemed important, after all, even if Merenptah became king it was unlikely Seti would inherit, it later became apparent that this birth was as important as the two other things that happened at that time.
It is like the building of a temple. Stones are quarried and laid end to end, and one atop another, but for a long time it does not look as if anything is happening. Then, one day, the temple takes shape, and all the unimportant stones become a necessary part of the finished building. Merenptah was such a stone, as was Messuwy, and Seti, and even I, though I could not see it for a time. Later, we all became part of the great edifice that is the House of Ramesses, and all played a part in its existence and its demise.
One other stone had yet to make his appearance, perhaps because he was far removed from the court, being a Syrian servant in the Viceroy's palace at Aniba. He was only ten years old when Messuwy arrived in Kush, the son of other palace servants, but he had a sister called Suterere who was, by all accounts, beautiful. Men being what they are, beautiful women can have much influence over affairs of State. This Suterere caught the eye of Messuwy, and her brother Bay rode on her back to high office in Kemet.
This was all in the future though, and back in Per-Ramesses in the last years of Usermaatre Ramesses, I grew to like the little boy-child born to Merenptah and named for the god Set. I am about seven years older than him and as I was all but a daughter to Merenptah his father, I became a sister to him. From the first, I would tag along with his nurse whenever my tutor would give me leave. I chattered away, though of course he did not understand a word; bathed him and cleaned him when he messed himself, and took him (when he was a little older) to see the animals in the park beside the palace.
Monkeys made him laugh, and he would look uneasily at the crocodile and pehe-mau in their pools of water, but it was the lion he liked best. He became very still and would stare at the tawny beast with its huge mane, hardly daring to breathe.
"I'm going to hunt them when I'm older," he said.
"You'll have to learn to use a bow before you can do that," I replied.
The palace guards made him a toy bow and he took great delight in loosing little warped sticks at any object that presented itself. Several times, he had hit servants with his blunt arrows and nobody cared, but when he compromised the dignity of Prehotep, the Tjaty, in front of visiting dignitaries from Hatti, his carefree days of childhood came to an end.
A servant would normally have the duty of administering a beating for some childish infraction, but in this case the incident was deemed serious enough to warrant the attention of his father. Merenptah took Seti aside (I watched through a doorway) and explained the matter to him in great detail, impressing upon him the necessity of maintaining a dignified appearance in front of foreigners. He then beat him with a willow switch, and though it evidently pained him to hurt his son, he did not soften the blows.
Seti bore it with as much composure as one could expect from a six year old, that is to say, not much at all. When he was finished, Merenptah wiped away tears and mucus, comforted his weeping son, and broke his toy bow. When this brought forth fresh tears, he offered a small but perfectly crafted version of a proper archer's weapon, together with a dozen straight-shafted arrows.
"It is time you learned to handle a bow properly," Merenptah said. "I will see you have the required instruction."
And so it was that a six year old boy took on the task of passing on what he learned, of instructing his thirteen year old sister in the arts of war. His instruction did not end with archery skills, but expanded into use of the sword and spear, of exercise designed to toughen him, and the management and care of horses. I learned these things through him, and because I had a greater control of my mind and limbs, I soon matched his skill, and even passed him in archery.
We would seek a quiet place away from the palace, in a distant corner of the park or in a deserted courtyard, and practice with bow and arrow, aiming at tufts of grass or a bundle of clothing. Other times we would take up staves or wooden swords, hacking and stabbing at each other with joyful cries until one or other of us laughingly surrendered. Seti hated to lose, I found, so to keep the peace I let him win most of our contests. After all, a boy is taught to conquer and a girl to surrender.
In return for his military tuition, I instilled in him what I learned from the scribes of writing and calculation. Seti was not really interested in these things, now that the military had claimed him. He always said that as king, he would have scribes to read and write for him, and a treasurer to keep the accounts, while he fought the battles, winning territory and defeating the enemy.
"I shall be like the great Menmaatre Seti, my great-grandfather," he said, "and my son will be another Usermaatre Ramesses, king of the whole world."
Well, he was only a little boy then. What could he possibly know?
Chapter Four
Year 67 of Usermaatre Ramesses
Crown Prince Merenptah was exhausted after a strenuous morning's work in the law courts, the strain of listening to long-winded arguments having drained him of enthusiasm and energy. His back ached, and the joints of his legs flared with pain when he walked. No matter how long he sat in judgment, listening to petitions and grievances; no matter how many men or women queued outside the palace, the line never seemed to shorten. He had a team of specially trained scribes, well versed in common law, who spoke to the lower classes as they lined up, often resolving their petty issues before they even entered the law courts. Only the trickier cases, the ones involving the nobility or merchants, ever came before the royal presence.
At last it was time for the noon meal, so he hobbled out of the law courts and lowered himself onto a padded chair in a private room, regarding the meal set before him. Merenptah ripped off a piece of beef and chewed at it gingerly, savouring the rich juices that ran down his throat but wincing as pressure was put on the cavities in his teeth. Fine-ground bread followed, liberally smeared with butter and washed down with river-cooled beer. He would have liked a cup of rich dark wine from his own vineyards, but knew the necessity of keeping a clear head for the afternoon session. Throwing the crust of bread back on the table, he bit into a radish and felt a sneeze coming on as the peppery odours assailed his nostrils. He immediately spat the offending morsel out and pinched his nostrils, fighting back the urge.
The servants in t
he room noticed the omen and made surreptitious warding gestures against the bad luck presaged by a sneeze. Merenptah looked at them sourly and gestured for them to clear the table. As the servants filed out bearing the hardly touched dishes, a low-level official slipped into the room and dropped to his knees in front of the Prince.
"O King's Son, Royal Scribe, Noble in all the Land, Begotten of..."
"Yes, yes, yes," Merenptah said irritably, suppressing a yawn. "You may dispense with the titles...Bay, is it? That may be how you do things in Kush, but not here in Per-Ramesses. You know who I am; I know who I am, so get on with it. What did you come here to say?"
"Yes, King's Son. Tjaty Prehotep asks that you come to the Throne room. A messenger has arrived from the western lands."
"The west? The Ribu?"
"I do not know, King's Son. Tjaty Prehotep told me to find you."
"Then return to him and tell him I will be with him shortly."
Bay rose and bowed, before backing out of the room.
Merenptah frowned. Something about the man disturbed him. He was Syrian, but there were plenty of loyal Syrians in and around the court, so that was not the reason. Perhaps it was just that he came from his son Messuwy's court in Aniba. The old Viceroy Setau had recently died and Messuwy had taken over as full King's Son of Kush after twelve frustrating years as his Deputy.
I sympathise with him. I have waited years to ascend the throne but my father keeps living, the gods alone know how. Messuwy obviously has patience to stay twelve years without complaint. That is good to know.
Thinking of his eldest son distracted Merenptah from what disturbed him about the Syrian servant Bay, and he put the man from his mind. Now pressure in his bladder made itself known. Merenptah rose and went through into a small chamber where a servant held a pottery bowl in front of him while another slipped the royal member out, guiding the Prince's stream into the bowl. When he finished, the servant dabbed him dry and rearranged his kilt.