Fall of the House of Ramesses, Book 1: Merenptah

by Max Overton

  Sunrise found them pounding along the road between the two river branches, scattering early morning travellers. News was spreading from Per-Ramesses and some men shouted out to the horsemen, Merenptah's companions now being apprised of the news.

  The city was in an uproar when they arrived. Merenptah left his men and entered the palace, calling for news. Servants scattered, not wanting to be present when the Heir was told the news, but a chamberlain hurried to him, bowing and wringing his hands.

  "My Lord Merenptah, King's Son, Noble in all the Lands..."

  "Where is my father, the king?"

  "In...in his chambers, My Lord."

  "How is he?"

  The chamberlain stuttered, but at that moment Prehotep arrived, having been alerted of the Heir's arrival.

  "Thank the gods, Prehotep. This fool knows nothing. How is the king?"

  Prehotep dismissed the chamberlain and took Merenptah aside. "Usermaatre collapsed yesterday while in a rage. He is unconscious and has not spoken since."

  "Will he live?"

  Prehotep looked around carefully to make certain they could not be overheard. "That is with the gods but..." he hesitated and licked his lips nervously. "I...I think he will die very soon. My Lord Merenptah, you must prepare yourself to be king."

  Chapter Five

  Messuwy speaks:

  The news reached the Viceregal Court in Napata today. Ever since I came south with the gift of the position of Deputy King's Son of Kush handed to me by my grandfather Usermaatre, my duties have been in Aniba to the north, where the Deputy controls the trade with Ta Shemau. Aniba is in the province of Wawat, sometimes called Northern Kush, whereas the True King's Son of Kush holds his court further south in Napata. When Viceroy Setau died, I became King's Son of Kush and appointed Khaemter as my Deputy in Aniba. Khaemter is a good soldier and efficient administrator and will keep the Northern Province quiet and profitable while I tend to the larger issues, like management of the gold mines, in the south.

  It might surprise you that I did not raise up my lieutenant Sethi. Sethi is competent enough, maybe too competent, so I keep him close. He also knows my secrets though and I do not want to risk the king finding out. So I keep him close and use him for the small, dirty tasks that any ruler is called upon to perform from time to time.

  So, the news reached me today. King Usermaatre Setepenre Ramesses has died, and between you and me, it is not before time. Of course, I made a public show of grief, ordered the temple fires doused and prayers to be issued up from every priest's throat. The gay colours of temples and palace were covered up or taken down, and the markets cancelled. The whole city of Napata mourned, and orders went out to the whole province to mark the king's death in a suitable fashion.

  Nearly a month has passed since the event and in another month the body of the king will be brought south to Waset, from whence it will be transported with great ceremony to Ta-sekhet-ma'at, the Great Field, where his rock-cut tomb awaits him. I must journey downriver to Waset myself, not just to pay my respects to my grandfather but also in anticipation of what must surely follow. My father Merenptah will take up the Double Crown of Kemet and I, as eldest son, will be confirmed as Heir.

  In fact, that welcome news should arrive beforehand. I know Usermaatre appointed me to the position of Deputy, and I only became King's Son of Kush because that doddering old fool Setau died. It was either that or appoint someone from outside the province, and by all accounts Usermaatre was beyond making rational decisions by then. I am sure my father secured the position for me, mindful that he would soon be king. Governance of such an important province as Kush will stand me in good stead when I am Heir and later, King.

  I will order Sethi to make the arrangements to travel down to Waset. Naturally, I will travel in style with a large retinue as befits my station, and I shall take a quantity of gold, perhaps two hundred deben, for inclusion in the king's tomb treasury. I have no doubt the treasurer will be unhappy with the amount, as will my father, but Sethi has the tale ready to be told. At least three times that quantity was stolen by a bandit gang, and although he pursued them and caught them, they had hidden the gold somewhere in the wilderness. He tortured the survivors to reveal the treasure cache, but regrettably they died without telling him where it was buried. What could he do except leave their ravaged bodies for the vultures?

  I do not anticipate returning to Napata once Usermaatre has been buried and my father crowned king, as I will be taking my place beside him as Crown Prince. Consequently, I think I will have to leave Sethi to gather together my riches and arrange for their transport to Waset. I can trust no one else to do it. If any hint of my true wealth became known, my father would be certain to ask awkward questions. While I would probably escape the extreme penalty due to my position, the gold would be confiscated, and Sethi would likely be executed. This may seem callous, that I would sacrifice a friend in this way, but when all is said and done, I am a king's son and he is but a minor noble. I have no intention of losing all the king's gold I have so carefully hoarded over the years, and Sethi is still useful to me, so I must be cautious.

  Chapter Six

  Year 67 of Usermaatre Ramesses

  Year 1 of Baenre Merenptah

  The palace and city of Per-Ramesses writhed in the throes of grief such as few had experienced. Only very old men could dimly remember a king dying, and the population was gripped by fear that the Ma'at of Kemet had been destroyed. Two necessary things had to happen in this world of uncertainty and Crown Prince Merenptah, together with Tjaty Prehotep, Treasurer Amenemone, and Chief Scribe Ptahmose, set these things in motion.

  Amenemone was the last to arrive in the Throne Room, the evening of Usermaatre's death. He saw Merenptah sitting on the throne with the old Tjaty beside him and Chief Scribe Ptahmose on the throne steps, his palette and brushes beside him.

  "Divine Father," Amenemone cried, dropping to his knees and holding out his arms.

  "Get up and stop that," Merenptah said. "I'm not king yet."

  "Merely a formality," Prehotep said. "You are Crown Prince and none will dispute your right to assume the throne."

  "They'd better not, but we need to do this properly. Does anyone remember how this is done? My father came to the throne sixty-seven years ago. I was only a small child and I can't remember what happened."

  Ptahmose coughed. "My Lord, the necessary things are written down." He touched a basket of scrolls at his feet. "The requirements are simple. King Usermaatre is prepared for burial and you visit every city in Kemet, going through a show of being made king."

  "Going through a show of being king? I am king."

  "Your pardon, My Lord, I put that clumsily. You will, of course, be officially crowned at a place of your choosing, most likely Per-Ramesses, Men-nefer or Waset, but the people must see you as king. The High Priests will accompany you, and in every city will anoint you and place the Double Crown on your head, signifying your kingship before even the lowliest peasant. Your actual coronation will be in the presence of the assembled nobles."

  Merenptah grunted. "I suppose the treasury is rich enough to afford this progress."

  Amenemone nodded. "The tribute of gold from Kush has been dropping the last few years, but the treasury is still nearly full. I am told they are having trouble with bandits in the south, My Lord. Anyway, the individual towns and cities will pay for your progress."

  "Organise it," Merenptah ordered. "I want to start immediately."

  "It will be done, My Lord," Prehotep said. "I will have the itinerary for you tomorrow."

  "And my father's burial?"

  "Ah, that is another matter," Amenemone said. "There are many costs involved, including generous donations to all the temples, the embalmers' fees and the cost of the grave goods. Luckily, the cost of the tomb itself has been spread over the last several decades."

  "But you have enough? I do not want to fail in my duty to my father."

  "We have enough, My Lord."

 
"And where is he now?"

  "Still in the royal chambers," Prehotep said. "He has undergone the preliminary washing and been dressed in new linen. Tomorrow morning he will travel by barge to the House of Purification in Men-nefer..."

  "Why there? Why not in Per-Ramesses?"

  "Ritual, My Lord. He must cross the river, taking the first step in his journey to the West."

  "I know that. I just thought..." Merenptah broke off and massaged his temples. "I must be getting forgetful."

  "Hardly surprising, My Lord," Prehotep said. "This is not an easy time for you."

  Merenptah nodded. "And for Kemet, so we must make every effort to make sure everything is carried out in a suitable manner and that the transition from my father's reign to my own goes smoothly."

  "Life, Health, Prosperity!" Amenemone cried. "May you live a thousand years, King Merenptah."

  * * *

  The body of Usermaatre was loaded onto a small barge at the docks of his royal city at dawn. Golden light bathed the gilded barge as it drew out along the canal toward the river, the oars of the sailors beating out a steady rhythm as the chanting of priests and the wailing of the populace bid farewell to a king that had been like a foundation rock their entire lives. No more would they see Usermaatre Ramesses, the greatest king Kemet had ever known, and the knowledge made their hearts ache in their chests.

  Reaching the river, the barge turned into the current, and the prevailing northerly wind filled the sail, carrying the vessel south-westward toward Men-nefer. Whenever the breeze faltered, the barge captain ordered the oars out and the sailors beat the waters to a froth. It had been a day now since the king died, and the heat was starting to draw the first stink of decay from the emaciated body lying on the stern deck. Slaves sought to counter the smell by burning incense, but it was a losing battle.

  The barge continued on at a slower pace through the night and docked at Men-nefer midway between dawn and midday the following day. Crowds turned out to welcome the king's body, and a procession of priests with rams horns wailing led the body to the newly constructed seh-netjer or Divine Booth to the west of the city. There the embalmers waited with jars of sweet-smelling palm wine and fresh, clean river water, to bathe the body anew and purify it for its journey into eternity. Priests were also present, and prayers to all the gods were intoned as a monotonous background to the embalmers work.

  After the ritual cleansing, the body of the king was taken to the Wabet, the Pure Place, or Per-Nefer, the House of Beauty. Here, the embalmers started the serious work of preparing the body by eliminating any further decay. The Master of Secrets took charge, ordering the helpers to place the naked body on the great granite slab with its carved runnels that drained body fluids away into special jars. These jars would later be buried along with the prepared body so nothing important was lost.

  "Djau and Hemaka, shave the body," the Master instructed.

  The two embalmers took up curved sharpened copper knives and, lightly oiling the body, delicately scraped the skin clean of its stubble of hair, being careful not to mar the king's skin with even the slightest nick. The Master observed them closely and gestured for a young man, his son, to approach.

  "Tell me, Rekhmire, why do we shave the body?"

  The young man was nervous, being in the presence of the king for the first time, but controlled himself and sought to answer as he had been taught.

  "To cleanse the body, father."

  "But the body has already been cleansed with pure river water and prayer. Why does it need more?"

  "Hair is a source of defilement, father. In life, we shave the head and wherever hair sprouts on the body. The dead man cannot do this, so we must do it for him."

  "But we have left the fringe of white hair on the king's head. Why?"

  "I don't know father."

  "We will colour the hair with henna so that it appears red as in his youth."

  "So that the king appears younger!"

  "Very good, Rekhmire. What is next?"

  "A cut is made in the abdomen..."

  "No. Think, Rekhmire. Remember your lessons. It is a privilege to be admitted to the rituals of preparation of the king. Do not disgrace me."

  "Yes, father. I remember now. The brain must be removed first."

  "And how is this done?"

  Rekhmire thought for a moment. "A metal rod with a hook on the end is inserted into the nostril with some force, to break through the thin bone into the brain. Pieces of the brain are drawn out through the nostril, first with the hook and then with a wooden stick."

  The Master nodded, pleased with his son's answer. "Why not all with the hook?"

  "After a while, the brain breaks up into small pieces, but the fragments will cling to a roughened wooden stick, where they will not cling to a metal one."

  "What is done with the brain as it is removed?"

  Rekhmire frowned. "Done? What do you mean, father?"

  "The major organs of the body are placed in jars. What is done with the brain?"

  "I...I do not...wait, father, it is thrown out, but...I do not understand why."

  "Its only function in life is the production of mucus to cleanse the nostrils of dust and sand. The king will not need that in his afterlife, so he will not need his brain."

  Master and son watched as Djau inserted the bronze hooked rod into the king's left nostril, then tapped sharply with a small hammer. They heard the thin bones crackle and break, and a few moments later the embalmer started withdrawing fragments of brain. A little later, he discarded the bronze rod and took up a wooden stick, pulling out smaller fragments and wiping them off with his fingers. When little remained within the skull, Djau tilted the king's head back and Hemaka carefully poured river water into the nostril. The body was turned over, allowing the water to drain out, carrying with it pink and grey fragments. They repeated the process until no further fragments emerged, and then washed the cavity clean with palm wine. Finally, they poured thin scented oil through the nostril and plugged the opening with a linen wad.

  "Now the incision," the Master said.

  A more senior embalmer stepped forward and, taking a sharp bronze knife, made a short, oblique slit low down on the king's left flank, slicing through to the body cavity. He knelt alongside the body and thrust his right hand into the slit, feeling about for the organs.

  Rekhmire watched and then leaned toward his father and whispered, "How does he know where to find the organs?"

  "Intef used to be a physician until he started killing rather too many patients," the Master said with a smile. "No such problem here, and he has a good knowledge of the inside of a body. Ah, here is the first organ..."

  Intef pulled his hand out, smeared with blood and fluids, his fingers gripping coils of pink and purpled-grey intestines. The folds of the intestine were joined by fatty mesentery, and the tissues tore slightly as he withdrew the lengths. He enlarged the incision slightly and extracted the liver and stomach, cutting off the intestine as far down as he could reach, and just above the stomach. A slit was made in the diaphragm, the sheet of muscle separating the abdomen from the chest, Intef reaching through to feel around and grasp the lungs. The organs resisted and he slipped a knife in, cutting blindly. He tugged again, and withdrew the lungs with a rush.

  The slippery organs joined the mess on the embalming table, and as Intef wiped his arms with a linen cloth, the Master stepped forward frowning.

  "You fool. You have removed the heart with the lungs."

  The embalmer stammered apologies while the juniors cast their eyes down, the fault reflecting on them by association.

  "This is the sacred body of Usermaatre Ramesses," hissed the Master. "You are showing gross disrespect, and if anyone should find out what you have done, this will be the last king's body we work on."

  "I...I thought the heart was often removed and replaced," Rekhmire whispered.

  "That is true for the lower classes," the Master of Secrets confirmed, "But not for the king. His he
art should have been left untouched."

  Intef apologised again.

  "You will just have to replace it and tell no one of your clumsiness. Take a needle and linen thread and sew it back into the chest cavity."

  Intef, red-faced, did as he was told, working blindly by touch alone. Rekhmire could see where he was working by the bulges his fingers made in the skin between the king's ribs, there on the left as he looked at the body, but on the king's actual right side. He opened his mouth to query it, but decided he must be mistaken. If it was wrong, then surely the Master would have noticed.

  While the heart was being sewn back into the chest, Djau and Hemaka were busy cleaning up the organs, washing them with river water and palm wine, then with natron and packing them into pottery jars with resin, each jar topped with the head of one of the sons of Heru. As they did so, a priestess of each guardian goddess stepped close and intoned the appropriate prayers.

  First, the priestess of Neith addressed one of the pottery jars as the embalmers packed the stomach of the dead king into it. "Come and worship King Usermaatre Setepenre Ramesses, just as you might worship my mother Auset in your name, Duamutef." The jar with the jackal head was placed in the eastern quadrant of the room.

  The priestess of Nebt-het was next, addressing the baboon-headed jar containing the lungs of the dead king, representing the god Hapi. "You are the great runner; come, that you may join up with Usermaatre Setepenre Ramesses and not be far in this your name of Hapi, for you are the greatest of my children, so says Heru." The jar was placed in the northern quadrant.

  "You have come to Usermaatre Setepenre Ramesses; betake yourself beneath him and lift him up, do not be far from him, in your name of Imsety," intoned the priestess of Auset, lifting up her arms over the human-headed jar containing the liver of the dead king. She placed the jar in the southern quadrant.

  Finally, the priestess of Serket approached with the stylised emblem of the scorpion in her headdress. She stood by the falcon-headed jar as the embalmer packed the dead king's intestines into it. "Come refresh Usermaatre Setepenre Ramesses; betake yourself to him in your name of Qebehsenuef. You have come that you may make coolness for him after you." The jar was placed in the western quadrant.