Child of the morning

by Gedge, Pauline, 1945-

  The room was suddenly still.

  Khaemwese stopped laughing and dropped his gaze. "Yes," he said quietly, "that is Maat."

  For a moment the only sound was the soughing of the wind.

  Hatshepsut put up her hand again. "Please, Master, seeing we cannot work because of the wind, can we play ball?"

  He looked at her in disbelief, expecting another sally, but she was waiting anxiously for his reply, hunching her shoulders. He rose with a groan and stretched. "Very well. Hapuseneb, get the ball. The rest of you roll up your mats and put them away. Neatly!" There was a general scramble and a hubbub of shrill voices, and his last words were, as usual, lost. He went to his chair and sat down gratefully. "Well. Get on with it. Thothmes, are you going to play, too?"

  The handsome, smooth face rose to him. Thothmes shook his head. "I don't want to. The sand is making the floor too slippery."

  Already the whoops and yells of the running children echoed to the roof. Hatshepsut had the ball and was determined to keep it. She fell with a squeal and tucked it under her as Menkh swooped upon her. The others tumbled after, and Khaemwese watched in a sober frame of mind.

  There was something about the little princess that frightened him,

  lovable as she was. There was that in her which was wild and unfathomable. The older she grew, the more apparent it was that she took after her father. But which father? He did not know whether or not to believe the stories that had circulated ten years ago, that Amun-Ra had come to Great Royal Wife Aahmose in the night and bestowed on her his Divine Seed and that at the moment of conception Aahmose had cried out the name of the promised child, Hatshepsut! But he remembered that the name had been chosen before the little girl was born, and shortly afterward her father Thothmes had taken her to the temple, and she had been given the title Khnum-Amun. There had been rulers before who had claimed a closer than usual kinship with the God, but only rarely had they been sufficiently confident to take to themselves this name. She Who Is Glosely Related to Amun. Its meaning was lost on no one. Surely Hatshepsut enjoyed a budding beauty, intelligence, obstinacy, and burning vitality that drew all men to her although she was not yet eleven. One wondered where it all came from. If Thothmes was strong, he was not exactly subtle; and Aahmose, loved and revered by all, had never been more than a dutiful royal wife. One must look elsewhere, Khaemwese thought, for the source of all that boundless energy and irresistible charm. He listened to the high drone of the wind and recalled how in years past Pharaoh's two little sons by Mutnefert had died, quickly. He looked at Thothmes sitting sulkily on the floor, and at Hatshepsut bouncing on one foot, giggling, and he fingered his amulet in disquiet. I thank the gods, he thought, that I am an old man and have not long to live.

  The game ended early because of the weather. The young nobles hurried home, but Nozme was late to fetch her charge.

  Hatshepsut sat on the floor beside Thothmes, dirty and out of breath. **How was it yesterday, Thothmes, with the horses? Do you think that you will like to handle them?" She was trying to be kind. Thothmes looked so miserable and uncomfortable that she felt sorry about teasing him all the time.

  Once he and she might have been friends, but there were five years between them, too many years, and Thothmes considered it beneath his dignity to go racing about the palace grounds, up and down trees, and in and out of the lake with Hatshepsut and her madcap friends. If he only knew it, he was a little jealous.

  He looked at her without smiling. ''No. I know that father took me out of training and sent me to the stables because I'll never make a soldier. I'll never make a charioteer, either. I hate horses. Nasty little beasts. I wish we had kicked them out of the country with the Hyksos who brought them in."

  'Tather says that they are an important advance for Egyptian warfare. Now our soldiers can ride and be swift and tower over our enemies. I think that is very exciting."

  ''Do you? Well, you don't have to teeter in a chariot every day and have your arms nearly torn off while Aahmes pen-Nekheb shouts at you and Ra blazes angrily out of the sky at his unworthy son. I am miserable, Hatshepsut. I want only to attend to my monuments and be with my mother. Father should not push me this way!"

  ''But Thothmes, one day you may be Pharaoh. Egypt does not want a Pharaoh who cannot fight!"

  "Why not? All the fighting has been done. Father and grandfather did it. Why can't I just learn government?"

  "I expect you will in a few years. But I think you should try to enjoy your days in the stables. How the people love a Pharaoh who can control everything and everyone!"

  "You don't know what you're talking about. You've never even been out of the palace." He laughed shortly. "Leave me alone. Find someone else to tell you how marvelous you are. I won't."

  Hatshepsut scrambled to her feet. "All right, I'll go. I don't want to talk to you anymore anyway. I shall never be nice to you again. I hope Sebek gobbles you up. Go back and hang onto the skirts of your fat old mother!"

  Before he could make an outraged protest, she was gone, running out of the room, a young gazelle.

  Thothmes wearily got to his feet and walked to the door. One day she would pay for that, the conceited little she-cat. What did she know of the agonies of clumsiness, of the striving in the hope of receiving even a grudging word from a mighty father? How often he had stood with his hands behind his back, one foot on top of the other, waiting awkwardly for the One to notice him while Hatshepsut prattled on and Pharaoh laughed and grunted, his eyes always, only for her. How many times he had trembled before his father, brimming with a love that would not spill over and wash their relationship clean of resentment and misunderstanding, while Mighty Horus listened, fidgeting to be gone, the son blushing and stuttering and fighting the tears. He adored his father, and Hatshepsut, too, with a strange, helpless envy and a wounding guilt, for in his fantasies his father died holding his hand, begging for forgiveness while a cowering Hatshepsut waited for Thothmes to wreak his rage upon her as he triumphantly mounted the Horus Throne. In the hot nights of his childhood summers he lay awake, gleefully punishing her and then forgiving her; but in the harsh, pitiless light of the mornings he tasted anguish

  once more. Nothing changed. A new idea occurred to him one day as he watched his father and sister return from a boating expedition. They had been picking water lilies. The skiff was full of white, waxy blooms, and Hatshepsut was tearing petals from the stalks, raining them on Pharaoh's naked chest, both of them laughing like children. How much freer they would be without him! What if he should die, not his father? What if he became ill? And what if—how subtly it came—what if they were plotting to destroy him? His daydreams no longer brought him solace. Instead, they were filled with apprehension and shot through with the poison of suspicion. He could not share his chaotic thoughts with anyone, not even with his mother, and slowly the love for his father, the love that he could never express, turned inward, stagnated, and began to sour.

  Outside, his guard sprang to attention, and Thothmes began the long walk to his mother's apartments. The halls were empty of life, the torches flickering in the wind that seemed able to find the remotest corners of the palace. His footfalls and those of his guard echoed forlornly as they traversed the dim reception hall, its forest of pillars robbed of color in the half-light. He took the passage to the women's wing; at its doors his guard left him, and the eunuchs bowed. He went on past where the way branched, glancing to the left, where the concubines were doubtless all asleep in their marble prison, but veering to the right and on toward his mother's rooms.

  As he entered her little reception hall, there was laughter and chatter in the retiring room beyond. Mutnefert swept out to greet him, her robes afloat. 'Thothmes, my dear, how did school go today? Is this wind not upsetting? Well, at least there will be no horses for you this afternoon. Come into the other room." He embraced her, and they linked arms. She led him into her bedroom, where many lights blazed and her women sat together, talking and playing board games. Mutnefert se
ttled herself onto her couch and offered him sweetmeats from the box at her elbow, taking one after him and putting it into her mouth with relish. ''Such dainties! These were a gift from Pharaoh's Sandal Bearer. He got them from the Governor Thure. It seems that Thure has better confectioners than the One himself." She patted the cushions by her ample hip, and Thothmes sank down beside her.

  The wind was only a faint, faraway murmur, for Mutnefert's apartment was completely enclosed by other rooms, although she had her own private little passage behind the Hall of Audience and out to the gardens. She was not allowed access to the royal family unless invited, but seeing that all dined together in the evenings, this was no hardship. She would not have liked the strain of the continual presence of the One anyway. She hked her position. She had far more freedom than Pharaoh's foreign

  women, the beautiful slaves brought back by him from campaign after campaign or presented to him by foreign delegations. They spent their lives behind closed doors, far from the sight of all men save their master. He came to her occasionally in the middle of the night, a little drunk from the feasting, a little amorous. He was always kind to her as the mother of the only surviving royal son, but his visits became fewer as he aged, and she knew that he preferred the company of soothing Aahmose. She did not resent it. She had Thothmes, her darling, and she pampered him, proud of her achievement, an achievement that Aahmose had been unable to duplicate. She was not a fool, and she was well aware that if Thothmes succeeded to the Horus Throne, her own position would rapidly become more exalted. But any ambitions she may have had in the years of her first passion for the father were now overlaid by a pleasant laziness, and she spent her time in lurid gossip with her companions. Her face had begun to sag with the rich living in which she indulged, the chin to fold, the cheeks to become pendulous, but the eyes still sparked green with a love of life that she had not, unfortunately, passed on to her son. He had, however, a need for physical pleasures and an urge for indulgence, but not the vein of joyousness that had swept her into Pharaoh's bed. She felt a twinge of concern as she looked at her son, already a little overweight, his good looks masked by bad temper.

  *'I have not yet asked you how you like the chariot.'*

  'Tou are the only one who has not. My royal father asked me yesterday, and today Hatshepsut asked me, and now you. Well, I hate it. As long as I can stand in the thing, why should I know how to drive it? Kings do not handle their own vehicles."

  **Hush! Kings must be able to do a great many things, and you, dearest, will be King." She picked at her teeth with one long fingernail and reached for another sweet. 'The palace is buzzing with rumors. I have heard that the One is about to make an announcement, and we both know what that will be. Her Highness Neferu is of age to marry. So are you."

  ''I suppose so. Neferu wasn't in class today. She is not well. Every night she dines in her own apartment and won't come out, even though father went and talked with her. I don't want to marry her. She's too thin and bony."

  ''But you will, won't you? And you will try very hard to please your royal father?"

  Thothmes' lip stuck out mutinously. ''I do try to please him, but it's hard work. I think I disappoint him. I am no warrior, as he was. I am not clever, as Hatshepsut is. When I am Pharaoh and have sons of my own, they shall do as they please."

  "Don't talk such silly rubbish! You have a lot to learn, and you had

  better hurry up and learn it. For as soon as the One announces his heir, your time will be strictly limited, and your freedoms will be over. You will not be able to afford to make too many mistakes then, my son, so make them now, and profit from them. Would you like to play dominoes with me, or draughts?"

  *'I want to sleep. It's too hot for games. I wish that infernal wind would drop." He rose, and she took his hand affectionately.

  ''Go then. I will see you tonight. Now give your mother a kiss." She puckered up her red lips as he bent and brushed them with his own.

  The ladies rose, too, and bowed, extending their arms; and Thothmes went out again, through the dark reception room to the passage beyond. Sometimes the palace seemed to be a sinister place, full of odd shadows and disembodied whispers, particularly at night or when, as today, the khamsin blew. Thothmes hurried along, his head down. As he passed the silent guards flanking the walls, they seemed to be giant, leather-clad djinn of the desert in grotesque human form, each assuming the likeness of his mighty father before they dissolved behind him into the dust that swirled about his ankles and drove him on. By the time he reached his own rooms and his waiting servant, he was out of breath and sweating, not with the heat, but with fear.

  The day dragged to a close. By dinnertime the wind had increased in intensity. The meal was eaten to the accompaniment of its steady screaming as the burning air hit the guard posts atop the main wall and swooped down to flay buildings and garden alike. Sand was everywhere, in the food, in hair, between linen and skin, and underfoot. No one had much appetite. Hatshepsut ate beside her mother and was soon finished. Pharaoh did not eat at all but sat drinking, his eyes red-rimmed under the kohl, his gaze vacant, covering his thoughts. Ineni had retired to his estates for the night, and the hall was half empty. But the faithful Aahmes pen-Nekheb sat beside Thothmes, his aching leg propped up on cushions, his cloak wound tight around his body to keep out the sand. Pharaoh did not speak to him. Neferu was absent, too, pleading illness, as she had that morning, and Pharaoh swilled his wine and wondered darkly what he was going to do with her. She had always been so easy to cow, but this time something in her had revolted, and she stubbornly refused to have anything more to do with any of them. She would come around eventually, he thought, watching Hatshepsut roll her marbles across the streaked floor. Either that, or. . . . He shifted restless on his chair. ''Go home, pen-Nekheb," he said harshly. "This is no night to be away from your own hearth. I did not give you land so that you could squat here and share mine. I will see that you have an escort."

  ''Majesty/' pen-Nekheb replied, ''I am too old to be sent running home by a desert wind. Do you remember the night we fell upon the Rethennu, and the wind blew so hard that in the murk we knew not which men were ours and which the enemy?"

  Thothmes nodded. ''I remember," he said. He held out his cup to be refilled and went back to his brooding, watching the bloodred liquid slop back and forth as his hand moved. His rings and his black eyes glittered. Tonight he was a dangerous man in the grip of a foul mood. Even Aahmose was careful to avoid his glance.

  The meal ended, and still Pharaoh sat, motionless. Aahmes pen-Nekheb dozed in his chair, and the assembly grew restless, conversations dropping to a whisper. Still Thothmes did not move.

  Finally, in desperation, Aahmose beckoned Hatshepsut to her. *'Go to your father," she said in a low voice, ''and ask him if you may go to bed. Be sure to prostrate yourself tonight, and do not smile at him or look in his eye. Do you understand?"

  The girl nodded. She picked up her marbles and tucked them in the belt of her kilt, then walked across the floor and went down on her knees, resting her forehead on the ground beside his feet. She stayed thus, the film of sand digging into her elbows and legs and getting into her mouth. All eyes swiveled in her direction. The room held white-hot tension as a crucible holds molten metal.

  Thothmes drained his cup and set it down before he saw her. "Rise!" he said. "What is it?"

  She stood up, brushing her knees, her eyes averted. "Mighty Horus," she said to his jewel-encrusted sandals, "may I have your permission to go to bed?"

  He leaned forward, his lips drawn back from his protruding teeth, and in spite of her mother's warning she could not help looking into his face. His eyes were bloodshot and expressionless, and she had a pang of fear. This man was a stranger.

  "Bed? Of course you can go to bed. What is the matter with you?" He sat back, a gesture of dismissal, but he did not rise.

  A sigh like the flutter of birds' wings ran around the hall, and Hatshepsut lingered, not quite knowing what to do. The
slave again bent and filled Pharaoh's cup, and again he lifted it and drank. The girl turned her head. Her mother's face was drawn as she nodded, and Hatshepsut took a deep breath. Stepping forward she placed a knee between Thothmes' thigh and the edge of his chair and hoisted herself up so that she could whisper in his ear. "Father, the night is bad, and the guests are tired, too. Could you not rise so that they may leave?"

  He stirred. "Tired, are they? Tired, yes, tired. I am tired, too, but I

  cannot rest. I am oppressed. This wind howls like the kas of the damned." His words were slurred. When he did rise, he swayed. ''Go to hed, all of you!" he shouted. "I, Mighty Bull, Beloved of Horus, order you to bed! There!" he said to her, slumping once more into his seat. "Does that satisfy you, little one?"

  She reached up and kissed the cheek that reeked of perfume and wine. ''Perfectly, thank you, father," she replied. She scurried to Aahmose before he could speak again. Her legs were trembling.

  One by one the guests slipped out, and Aahmose beckoned to Nozme to put her to bed. "Thank you, Hatshepsut," she said, kissing the warm mouth. "He will be better in the morning." They, too, left the hall, and pen-Nekheb slumbered on. Pharaoh went back to the wine.

  At some hour late in the night Hatshepsut awoke from a deep sleep. She had been dreaming of Neferu—Neferu with the body of the little motherless fawn, locked up in a cage. Outside the cage stood Nebanum, swinging a key on a long golden chain. But as she dreamed, it was not Nebanum but her father who stood before the cage, his red eyes glowing balefully as she crept closer. Poor Neferu opened her fawn's mouth and began to baa, "Hatshe-e-epsut!, Hatshe-e-epsut."

  Hatshepsut sat up in bed with a start, her heart beating painfully against her ribs as she heard Neferu call again. "Hatshepsut!" Her night-light glowed softly on the table beside her, and behind her head the wind moaned in the wind catchers. They were now closed, but nevertheless the wind butted at the stoppers with an eerie persistence, and her couch was covered with a thin film of dust. She sat for a moment, listening, still half in her dream, but the high, panic-filled voice did not call again. She lay down and closed her eyes. Nozme did not snore tonight, or if she did, the sound was drowned by the gusting of the wind; and in a corner the slave was curled on her mat, fast asleep. Hatshepsut watched the flame of the night-light broaden and blur. She was almost asleep again when she heard low voices outside her door. They were real, human voices, her guard's and another. She strained to hear them but detected only the stealthy footsteps that faded in the direction of Neferu's quarters. Hatshepsut, bemused by sleep and dream, slid off her couch and, naked, ran to the door. The guard, startled, came to attention. Quietly closing the door behind her, she asked him what was going on.