Child of the morning

by Gedge, Pauline, 1945-

  A new acquisition from Syria, Senmut guessed from his likeness to Benya. His guard also bowed. Senmut, cold at the prospect of an unknown future, felt that he was losing a friend. Before he could draw another breath, the one had gone and the other was bowing him into a room so filled with the bright morning sunlight that he blinked and stood stupefied, like an animal emerging from its burrow.

  ''Come forward," a cool, clear voice said. ''I wish to have a good look at you."

  Senmut stepped away from the closed door. In front of him stretched what seemed to be a mile of white and black tiled floor that ended at last at a very large and very heavy table on which were piled scrolls of every size and quality. On his right the wall rose straight to the ceiling, unadorned save for a mural at the top depicting the God Imhotep constructing the Great Pyramids. On his left there was no wall, but a stone walkway beyond which the royal lake glittered. Between path and lake many trees and shrubs grew right up to the room, so that Senmut felt as if he was on the borders of a forest, the sun pouring in above the tops of the shrubs, able to illuminate the master's work until Ra sank below the horizon.

  A man stood at the far end, beside the desk. Senmut had never seen

  Incni before, but he knew immediately that he was facing the greatest architect since the God-man who liad planned the royal tombs which were picked out of the mural by the sun's rays. He was a man to respect, even to fear, Senmut knew instantly, but he was also a man to love.

  Ineni waited, his arms folded, and Senmut squared his shoulders and went to meet him. He bowed, and Ineni smiled.

  '*I am Ineni," he said quietly, ''and you are the priest Senmut, my new pupil. Is it so?" It IS so.

  ''Why are you here?"

  Senmut smiled back, and the other man thought, Here is no crawling priest. Ineni's eyes traveled the thick brows, the dark, challenging eyes, the high cheekbones, and the firm, sensual mouth of the boy, and he knew that here were the makings of greatness. My Princess spoke the truth, he said to himself. A young promise.

  "I am here to learn how to turn royal dreams into reality. I was born for this. Noble Ineni."

  "Were you? And do you believe yourself to have the purpose, the health, the power that will keep you working until you fail or succeed or die?"

  "I am untried. Master, but I believe so."

  Ineni unfolded his arms and pointed to the overflowing desk. "Then we will begin. You are to read all those, and you will not stop, except to eat and sleep, until you know all that is within them. Through there"— he indicated another, smaller door—"is your bed. This lad is your slave and will bring you all you need. In a day or two we will talk again, and then—" he moved away from the desk, in the direction of the door, "then we will see. I begin early, as you have seen, and I work late. I expect you to do the same. And do not worry." His voice echoed, and his hand was on the door. "I like you. The Crown Prince likes you. What more do you need?"

  With a nod he was gone, and Senmut let out his breath, raised his eyebrows, and went to the scrolls. He could not see to the bottom of the pile, but he put his hand on them, conscious of the moment. Here was the key, here under his hand, smooth and inviting. "Bring me some food and a little wine," he said absently to the boy hovering behind him.

  He picked up the first scroll and, sitting behind the desk, unrolled it and began to read.

  After a year of grueling, eye-scorching, head-spinning reading, poring over the old plans and diagrams, learning the uses of his trade, he had at

  last been allowed out to some of the many building sites that Ineni oversaw. He conquered the plane, the surveyor's instruments, the draftsman's pen. His quick eye and natural gift enabled him to point out a faulty angle, smooth away a difficult problem in construction, and all the time he drank knowledge in great drafts of pleasure. He was happy, really happy for the first time in his life, and nothing existed for him outside the time he spent with Ineni.

  Ineni was pleased and surprised. He grew to enjoy the company of the boy, who was swiftly turning into a handsome man with a clear and quick mind, and he increasingly allowed Senmut to voice his opinion on each project. The temple at Medinet Habu was completed. Others at Ombos, Ibrim, Semneh, and Kumneh rose year by year. Only Thothmes' pet work, the temple for Osiris at Abydos, remained closed to Senmut. On this Ineni alone was allowed to work, and when the Great One came to consult his architect, Senmut would wander out into the gardens and down to the lake.

  Senmut sometimes wished that he could catch a glimpse of the little Princess, but he never did. It was as if they had never met. He met Ineni's son, the young and naughty Menkh, and from him learned of Hatshep-sut's many escapades: how on her first duck hunting trip to the marshes she had flung the throwing-stick straight and sure and brought down a bird, and how after the first shout of triumph she had burst into tears and cradled the bloody body in her arms. He heard also from Menkh, who often wandered into his father's office after a morning in the schoolroom, that the Princess was doing well on the military training ground. Aahmes pen-Nekheb goaded and yelled at her as at any young recruit, but she bore it well, sallying back at him, trotting the war-horses around the circuit as if she had been born a man. Senmut liked Menkh. Menkh carried with him the languid, friendly assurance of his father's rank but approved of Senmut's wish to move up into the circles of power, and he treated Senmut with light affection. The young men found much in common beneath their separate stations.

  Soon after his lessons under Ineni had begun, Senmut had gone into the marketplace of Thebes and had hired a scribe. He had dictated a letter to Benya, telling all he could as long as his money held out, for the scribe had charged by the word and the words had come pouring out. He had received an exuberant reply a month later, but Benya had not returned home until the following spring, and Senmut had found himself too busy to spend much time with his friend.

  He acquired a very handsome armband of electrum with his new position emblazoned on it for all the world to see, and his linen now was

  bordered with golden thread. He was still a priest and would remain so, but he seldom went to the temple. The rites of worship did not interest him very much, and he often wandered among the obelisks and pylons of Karnak, dreaming of what he would do if he were able to add to the already vast sprawl of stone. Thothmes had had a roof of cedar constructed between the third and fourth pylons, and Senmut sat in the cool, echoing dimness, his back to a lotus column, listening to the daily comings and goings of the boon seekers and the dancers and gift-laden priests, his mind full of the figures and the ideals of his chosen profession. He enjoyed the homage he received from those who had so recently passed him by without a glance, and it gave him a comfortable, secure feeling to stand in the quarries with the other architects, poring over plans in the shade while the stonemasons toiled in the broiling heat. But he did not become complacent. He was too busy and too hardheaded for that. He knew that it was a long way from an apprenticeship to the confidence of Pharaoh, even if his robes now shimmered in the sun and his wine came from Charu.

  Neither did he forget the girl who had been responsible for the change in his fortunes. But it seemed to him that she had swiftly passed over him, her debt discharged, and was racing toward maturity with her aristocratic friends.

  ^"-^i:

  ^^^•^»

  "^^^^

  It was not entirely true that she had forgotten him. Sometimes, when she thought of it, she inquired of Ineni how his latest pupil was doing; and as long as things were going well, she saw no reason to interfere. Besides, he seemed to be paddling his own skiff with remarkable skill, and she quickly turned to other concerns.

  Two years after their first meeting, at harvest time in the month of Payni, when the land was so parched and brown that it seemed about to burst into flame and the only greenness on which to rest the eye was contained, vividly and lushly, in the palace enclosure, Hatshepsut found, much to her surprise, that she had become a woman, and the rite of passage was performed. Her youth-lo
ck was removed by her priest, Ani, the same who had mourned so for Neferu, and Nozme gathered up her toys and the small items of nursery furniture and stowed them away to be called for again by the sem-priests when they prepared her for her burial. Ani burned the hair in a silver bowl while Hatshepsut, looking on indifferently, reflected on the self she had been two years ago when Neferu went to her tomb and how in such a short time the memory had grown ever less hurtful, until Neferu seemed to belong solely to a childhood almost over now.

  The acrid smoke from the burning hair hung about her bedroom on this last day of her occupancy, and the sweat ran down her back as she thought of the cool depths of the palace lake. User-amun was waiting, and Hapuseneb, and she could barely conceal her impatience while Ani droned on. When it was all over, she said a formal and lengthy good-bye to Nozme, now to be retired to the home that had been built for her just outside the grounds, and ran for the trees as soon as decency would permit, for the call of the water was greater than the call of duty. But later she regretted her rudeness and sought out the old woman.

  In the early evening she was escorted to her new apartment. It was not much bigger than the nursery and not much less spartan, for she was not yet designated Heiress or Great Royal Wife. School still continued, but without Nozme to watch her with a stem, unwinking eye. She was, at twelve, relatively free. Her new attendants were more respectful and easier

  to order around, but her father was more in evidence, seeking her out, sending for her, arriving unannounced in the mornings before she left for the schoolroom, and he was a far more formidable guardian than Nozme had ever been. The soldiers at her door were handpicked members of the Followers of His Majesty, and she seldom managed to evade them to visit Nebanum privately or to feed the horses.

  One afternoon when the air in her bedroom hung like hot syrup and she had pulled her cushions to the floor near the wind catcher in order to sleep better, her mother was announced.

  Hatshepsut had seen little of Aahmose since the ceremony. They had met at dinner and talked of the progress of her studies and her prowess with the throwing-stick. They had joked of a future for the girl as a charioteer, but of her new position as Crown Prince Aahmose had said nothing, and the knowledge that her mother disapproved had driven a wedge between them. Hatshepsut was puzzled and hurt. She was still young enough to need maternal reassurance, understanding, and sympathy, and it never occurred to her that Aahmose's seeming coldness sprang from an excessive anxiety about the future of the Flower of Egypt.

  The visit was a surprise, and Hatshepsut jumped up from her nest by the wall and ran to embrace her mother, who was dressed in the blue that she so loved. Aahmose hugged her and dismissed the servants, and they were alone. The palace was quiet. Aahmose smiled uncertainly and remained on her feet, but Hatshepsut flung herself down in a chair, crossing her legs.

  ''I was trying to get cool," she said. 'The fans are annoying. They swish, and I cannot sleep. Are you not resting, mother?"

  ''I found sleep impossible, too. I worry about you, Hatshepsut, and I wanted to talk to you about your dress."

  ''My dress?" She was as unconcerned about what she put on as she had always been.

  "Yes. I think that now you are almost a woman, you should be wearing a sheath instead of running about in a boy's kilt like a little wild animal. Once the youth-lock is gone, every girl wears the dress of a woman. And you, in particular, Hatshepsut, should be careful about what you put on."

  ''But why? I may be nearly a woman, but I am not yet. And if I wear the sheath, I shall no longer be able to climb and to race Menkh. Is it so important. Noble Mother?"

  "Yes, it is." Aahmose spoke with a firmness that she did not feel. This person with the long, brown legs and slim waist, swinging a foot and regarding her with affectionate condescension, was perilously close to

  being a stranger. **It is not fitting for a princess to be seen in male attire/'

  ''But I am not a princess," Hatshepsut replied evenly. '*I am a prince, and not just any prince. I am Crown Prince. Father said so. One day I will be Pharaoh, and no woman can be Pharaoh; therefore I am a prince." She giggled suddenly, and Aahmose once more saw the girl beneath the layers of budding womanhood. Hatshepsut got up. '*! cannot see what difference it will make, whether I continue to put on my kilts or slide into the sheath. I do not want to be a woman yet, O my mother," she finished earnestly, putting an ingratiating arm around Aahmose's ample waist. ''How can I stand with steady feet in the bucking chariot or draw the bow or throw the spear if all the time I have to be careful to push my linen out of the way?"

  "So it is the bow and the spear now, is it?"

  "Why, yes. Pen-Nekheb is pleased with me, and father has agreed."

  "And what of Thothmes? Is he still a student of pen-Nekheb's?"

  "I suppose so." Hatshepsut tossed her head. "He does not speak to me anymore."

  Feeling a twinge of genuine alarm, Aahmose grasped her daughter's arm tightly, pushed her down onto the couch, and stood over her. "Listen to me, Hatshepsut. I have lived on the earth far longer than you, and I know that between the wish and its fulfillment is a pit, and the pit is dark and full of the snakes of disappointment and despair."

  Hatshepsut looked up at her with astonishment. The tone was authoritative, commanding, and most unlike the gentle woman who was renowned for her sweetness and good humor. She sat straighter as Aahmose went on.

  "Your father has appointed you Crown Prince, and Crown Prince you are. The future seems to you to be an unending field of green, delightful and vast as the paradise of the gods. But your father will go to the God before too many years have flown, and then you will be at the mercy of the priests—and Thothmes."

  The girl blinked and stirred. All flippancy had left her, and she was frowning. "Thothmes? But he is a weak and silly boy."

  "That may be so, but he is the royal son on whom the Double Crown will rest one day, no matter what your father does in his lifetime to prevent it. And you will have to marry him, Hatshepsut. There is no doubt in my mind about that."

  "But the priests serve Amun, and I am the Incarnation of Amun here on earth. What can Thothmes do about that?" Her chin shot up, and her eyes flashed.

  "There are many in the temple who would wish a weak and simple

  Pharaoh so that their riches may increase, and moreover, no one is going to beheve that a young and untried girl could shoulder the weight of a country, nay, an empire such as this, built on war and maintained by eternal vigilance."

  "But by the time my father ascends to the Barque of Ra, I shall not be an untried girl. I shall be a woman."

  *'I thought that you did not want to be a woman," Aahmose said craftily.

  The girl's jaw dropped. She returned her mother's smile with whimsical ruefulness. *'I think that I do want to be Pharaoh," she answered, ''but I do not want to be a woman just yet."

  ''All the same," Aahmose said, returning to soberness, "you will shed the garb of youth and array yourself properly, as befits your station."

  "I will not!" Hatshepsut sprang to her feet again. "I will wear what I please!"

  Aahmose rose, too, and, regally gathering her robes about her, walked to the door. No breath of air stirred at her passing. "I can see that Khaemwese is becoming too old to tutor the royal children. He has not been teaching you the proper respect due to your mother. Therefore I shall consult your immortal father. You are a spoiled and willful child, Hatshepsut, and it is time that you settled down to the responsibilities of your position. We will see." She floated out, her back rigid under the transparent blue linen.

  Hatshepsut made a face and sank back onto her cushions mutinously. Never! she thought. And though the afternoon wore on and she was tired, she could not sleep.

  Thothmes did not force the sheath upon her. When Aahmose had broached the subject, he had snapped brusquely, "Let the child wear what she pleases. It is not yet time to smother her in the trappings of adulthood, and I do not want her studies made irksome for her. I
have spoken." So Aahmose, rebuffed, had retired to her suite with an aching head, and had not beseeched Isis for guidance. The Goddess must have better things to do, else she would have answered the petitions a long time ago, she had thought.

  Hatshepsut continued to run, half-naked and disheveled, through the palace and all the gardens, growing like one of the beautiful blue lotus flowers she so loved, wild and exotic. In the classroom together with Menkh, User-amun, Hapuseneb, Thothmes, and the others, she began to assimilate wisdom of a sort. But on the training ground she learned other lessons: how to hit a target while balancing in the chariot, how to aim for the heart, how to feint, how to anticipate the enemy. She loved to stand

  under her canopy in the broiling heat and watch the drill: the dust swirling; the leather-clad troops answering the hoarse, barked commands of the Drill Commander and wheeling in fascinating precision; the sun glinting off the tips of spears; the gold-tooled shields. She was so much a part of the scene, straight and eager in her little kilt and bare feet, that from a distance she did indeed look like a little prince reviewing the men, taking the salute of raised spears with grave importance.

  Life was sweet to her. Every nerve in her perfect body was keyed to the task at hand, even when the targets blurred or the men murmured or shouted encouragement. And she knew that somewhere close by her father stood, his feet apart, his hands on his mighty hips, waiting to approve. The days rolled by, the God's feast days came and went, the Night of the Tear produced without fail the turgid floods, and Egypt sang for her month after month its song of homage.

  One morning in the month of Thoth, in the chill, predawn darkness when she was deeply asleep, curled under blankets and warmed by braziers, her father woke her. She felt his hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently, and she was instantly awake. She saw him vaguely, a great muffled hulk against the tiny glow of her night-light, and she sat up, shivering. He put a finger to her lips and motioned for her to get out of her couch, and she obeyed, her mind stifl fufl of warm dreams. Her slave had unaccountably disappeared, and she fumbled for something to wear. He thrust a thick wooflen cloak and a pair of sandals at her, and she put her feet into the shoes, tying the leather thongs with stiff fingers, then tightly wrapping the cloak about her against the morning's bite. He left, and she followed him, wondering at last what it was afl about. When they had tiptoed down the passage and out the private door into her little wafled garden, he paused. The stars still shone in the black sky, and the palm trees lining the river some way off were only smudges of a darker darkness. The wind sought her skin with its cold, probing fingers as she waited patiently for the explanation.