Child of the morning

by Gedge, Pauline, 1945-

The presentations went on. There were many different kinds of wood, dark and hard, light and beautifully grained, sweet-smelling wood, wood to delight a carver. There were ostrich feathers, eye paint, and oil of myrrh. And Nehesi had thoughtfully brought back for her a selection of the flowers and strange plants of Punt so that she could add them to her own garden.

  When it was over, she went among the gifts, helping to divide the tribute while the priests of Amun waited for their share, exclaiming and handling everything with the simple delight of a small child. After the hall had been cleared, she sat down again, and the seven chiefs were brought to her. She was surprised that they resembled her own countrymen, for they were fair-skinned and had long black hair and were slight of build. As Nehesi had said, they all wore rings of gold on one leg, from ankle to hip. They crawled to her over her gilded floor, and she bade them rise. The men were bearded, with thin, stern faces and inquisitive eyes, and their women and children were dressed as they were, in short kilts much like her own. She welcomed them, speaking softly as she stressed her respect for them as the dwellers of the land from whence the gods had come and told them how she wished for only peace and good barter between their two countries, as there had been of old. They listened impassively, their dark eyes fixed on her painted face. One of the men stepped forward and bowed, praising her in a hurried, broken voice. The children crowded close to their mothers' legs, silent and big-eyed.

  Suddenly, Hatshepsut knew what was wrong. She held up a hand, and the man stopped speaking. **I have made you welcome," she told them, ''and a great feast has been prepared for you. We will eat together. But you do not feel welcome. You are in fear, lest having been taken from your homes, you will not return. I make this promise to you: Stay in Egypt for as long as you like, and when you are ready, I will send you back to Ta-Neter with an escort of soldiers and many gifts. I swear this on my own name. King and Pharaoh of Egypt."

  The people of Punt relaxed and began to chatter among themselves in their own strange tongue. Hatshepsut rose. *'We go now to the temple to give thanks to Amun and to show him his tribute," she said. She left the audience chamber with Senmut by her side and Hapuseneb leading them. Her canopy bearers stepped forward to shield her from the sudden glare of the hot sun as they paced solemnly to Karnak. Before the open doors of the sanctuary, Hatshepsut was at last able to say the prayers that had died on her tongue during the two long years of waiting. Thothmes was still far from Thebes, and all around her was the evidence of her eternal beauty and power. She prayed fervently, first lying on the floor, then rising to address the God publicly.

  'i will cause you to know that which was commanded me. I have hearkened to my Father Amun, who bid me to establish for him a Punt in his name in Egypt and to plant the trees of the God's land beside his temple, in his garden. I was not neglectful of that which he needed." The clear voice rose emphatically, defiantly. ''He hath desired me as his favorite, and I know all that he loveth. I have made for him a Punt in his garden, just as he directed me." She listed all the gifts that she was presenting to him, her mighty Father, silently apologizing for her lack of faith, her bitter doubts and angry words to him. "Ye shall fulfill according to that which I have exacted," she reminded him, and only Senmut heard the hint of pleading behind the arrogant words. "Your lifetime is the life of my mouth. I, in my Majesty, have given a command that the oflFerings to him who begat me should be made splendid." She made her homage again, kneeling on the floor.

  From somewhere behind the God, the oracle's voice floated over the company. "The God gives you thanks, Daughter of his body and King of Egypt. Go in peace and in every good gift. Punt has come to Egypt, and Amun is glad."

  The rituals were over. The assembly drifted to their couches for the afternoon sleep, but Hatshepsut went into the garden with Senmut. They sat under the cool shade of a spreading sycamore, a restraint between them. Though they held each other, watching the drowsy insects crawl

  and bumble over the grass, they found it difficult to look into each other's face.

  'Tell nie of Punt," she said at last. "How many times in the past months I have dreamed that I stood beside you in the ship and watched with you the unfolding of horizons which I shall never see!"

  Hapuseneb had taken him aside on the way to the audience chamber and hurriedly told him of the death of his young charge and of Thothmes' steady pressures. He was still shocked. Hearing the note of sadness in Hatshepsut's voice and seeing in her a new fatalism, a listlessness, though outwardly she was as lovely and gracious as ever, he realized what inroads the hand of fate had made in the last two years while for him destiny had seemed to stand still and draw back. He felt its rush again, this time a sweeping juggernaut ready to fling him into the abyss that had gaped before him, every step of the way, from the time of his apprenticeship with Ineni. Looking into the black hole of his future, hovering on the edge, he felt the fierce wind at his back. He did not speak of Neferura, and she was glad.

  ''We turned south when we emerged from the canal," he said, "but that you know. Majesty. We hugged the coast for many months, always seeking the place of which the librarian and the elders spoke. We had almost despaired of finding it when we anchored one night and were greeted by Parihu, he of whom Nehesi spoke. He feared us, seeing our bows and axes; but we spoke of peace, and as we looked at the cast of the features before us, we knew that we had indeed found the dwellers of the blessed land. Parihu was astonished at our skill, thinking that we had fallen from the sky!"

  She laughed a little, her throat tight with the pain and pleasure of his voice, his warm arm around her, remembering. "Such a moment! Such a blessed moment!" she said, beginning to cry, relief and strain taking their toll.

  He could not remember a time when Pharaoh had cried like this, quietly, for nothing. He wondered how Menkh and User-amun and Tahuti had fared in his absence, faced with an unsteady government and a hunted woman. He tightened his hold on her and went on as if her tears were not falling into her lap, reaching from time to time to wipe them gently away. "Parihu's wife, Ati, was the most enormous woman I have ever seen in my life, and she was borne to the beach on the tiniest donkey I have ever seen in my life. The inscrutable Nehesi almost spoiled the expedition by his efforts not to laugh. It seems that such fatness is regarded as a sign of great beauty by the people of Punt, and Ati was a fair queen indeed! They live in palm houses raised high above their river, on

  stilts, and all around them is thick jungle. . . /' He went on softly, stroking her hair, talking and talking as the heat increased and the gardens became hushed and still, trying to fill her mind with images other than the dark and desperate phantoms that ate at her thoughts. He felt her limbs loosen and her breath slow. When at last he ran out of words, she put her head on his shoulder and sighed. Looking down, Senmut saw that she was asleep, and he kissed her eyes. He smiled to himself and leaned back against the trunk of the tree, pulling her with him, but he did not slumber. He rested, his eyes on the heat-dancing acres before him, the events of his short life passing slowly through his head with a kind of sad, lost aura, tinged in a faraway, sunny glow.

  Hatshepsut slept on, curled against Senmut, until dusk, when the horns blared from the temple walls. In the banqueting hall the slaves moved quickly to and fro, putting final touches to the gilt and flower-strewn tables for the feast of the chiefs of Ta-Neter.

  She awoke with a start, bolting upright and looking around to see where she was. Senmut touched her arm, and she turned around, focusing on the face she had loved for so long, touching a dream that was real. He was home at last.

  It was a special night. Something of the magic of days gone by permeated the vast, lamplit halls and colonnaded passages, something of the time when Thothmes had been no more than a child and Hatshepsut's feasts had gone on until the dawn. But also there was a sense of a beautiful pageant coming to an end. The guests and servants thronged the rooms, their laughter and gossip filling the myrrh-laden air. The swish of white linen and the twinkle of jew
eled sandals were everywhere. The cool night wind, still without the cutting edge of a winter just begun, blew freshly, dispersing the aromas of rich, hot food and perfumed oils as it floated lazily between the lotus pillars of the banqueting hall.

  A mood of almost hysterical gaiety hung over the group gathered on the dais. The gusts of laughter and light, incessant conversation wove in and out as the loin-clothed servants glided in and out through the open double doors, bearing wine and platters heaped with steaming delicacies and flower garlands.

  Hatshepsut had known, in the deepest part of her, that tonight would be the last of her great feasts. She had dressed as sumptuously and as carefully as if she was going to her death. She wore the Double Crown, wondering if Nofret would ever place it on her head again. She wore the royal collar of gold and the hanging, heavy pectoral of her coronation, the Eye of Horus. The ankhs, symbols of life, gripped her arms, and on her fingers great rings glittered, gold and blue and purple and green. Each

  ankle was encircled by thin silver bands adorned with little likenesses of Hathor that joined at the fingertips. Her sandals were red leather decorated with lotuses picked out in red gold, and her kilt was beaded with tiny golden globules that clung to the soft linen like raindrops.

  She sat among the men who had formed the most cohesive and indestructible power party in Egypt for the last twenty years: Senmut, her beloved, arrayed as a Prince, his kohled eyes meeting her own over the flowers; Nehesi, the black one, General and Chancellor, once more carrying the great Seal at his plain leather belt, his face set impassively under his blue helmet as he looked to the guards around the walls; Hapuseneb of the sane, steady eyes, his priestly linens wrapped under him and his curved fingers in the water bowl; Tahuti, still frowning as the long lists of tribute unrolled in his head; User-amun, black eyes flashing and hands gesticulating wildly, a grin on his pert face as Menkh leaned closer to hear the end of the joke; Puamra, toying with his food, his closed face musing and his cats prancing stiflF-legged around him; Inebny the Just in earnest conversation with her Viceroy for Lower Egypt, their heads bent and their thoughts engaged on some matter of diplomacy, both oblivious of the uproar around them; Duwa-eneneh at his post on the bottom step of the dais, his handsome face alive as he ate and watched the naked dancers, his herald's staff on the floor beside him; poor, polite Ipuyemre, her Second Prophet, poor, inarticulate but devoted Ipuyemre; staid Amun-hotpe; Senmen the Mighty; Amunophis, her Steward. Names, faces— history now, living history—voices soon to be stilled, quick brains used up, their days come and gone like pieces of dry leaf upon the bosom of the river. So she thought, looking from one to the other while her goblet was filled and she drank again. The chiefs of Punt ate silently, their inquiring eyes upon her. She missed Yamu-nefru, his easy drawl and mincing, languid gestures; and she missed Djehuty and Sen-nefer, for they had always brought to her a sense of timelessness, their families and hers stretching back into the dimness of the early time of Egypt, a cord holding past, present, and future together.

  Ta-kha'et sat down among the princesses and nobles wives, the gray cat curled asleep in her green lap, her auburn hair flaming among so many black, coronetted heads. She had finished her meal and was watching Senmut steadily, her eyes never wavering. He had come to her in the dusk, before he had dressed for the feast. She had flung herself on him and wept. He had brought her gifts; he had not forgotten her. They had sat for a while in his quiet study, drinking beer and talking, but she knew that she would sleep alone tonight as she had done for so long now. But as always she did not complain, even to herself. He was back, he was home, and

  they would again play board games together in the long afternoons, beside his ornamental pool under his sycamores. She stroked the cat absently. It began to purr in its sleep, but her gaze never left her master's face as he smiled and inclined his head, talking quietly with Pharaoh, two crowned heads above the others.

  There was music and wine, and the story of the journey told by Ipuky's son, and more wine and dancing, and more wine. The noise and clamor increased as the moon waned. The halls, the gardens, even the temple, were full of celebrants, and the shouts and cheers and hoarse laughter drifted over the river to the night fishermen silent in the distance. They woke to listen, bemused, turning their faces to the powdering of lights that dusted the royal precincts. The revelers poured into the gardens and ran and shrieked and staggered over the grass and among the flowers.

  Hatshepsut drank and laughed, too, as years became months became weeks became days. The days collapsed into minutes and the minutes into seconds, precious, precious seconds, more vital, more lovely, more enduring than all the gold in her treasuries. At length she looked at Senmut and he at her. They left the confusion of the hall, threading their way through the groups in the garden, swiftly walking along the avenues, leaving the sounds behind them until there was only moonlight flooding her bedchamber and the half-heard padding of the guards beyond the door. She sighed, a gusting heave of her breast, and took off the Double Crown, laying it reverently and unsteadily in its casket. Senmut moved to light the night-light, but she stopped him, catching his arm and throwing it around her neck. They kissed, the years of separation dissolving as if they had never been. In darkness and silence they probed each other slowly, rediscovering the hidden delights of each other, trying to pour into the moment every inexpressible emotion they had stored and treasured from the time of their first meeting, trying to break down every last invisible wall. The stones of kingship and lowly birth gave way, crumbled, and were no more. Words were not necessary. With their hands and lips and oil-bedewed limbs they spoke of love and death, of kingdoms fought for and won and lost, and of sunshine and worship and children and the sheer joy of being alive. When it was over and they lay side by side on the warm fur, they both knew that never again would such an experience come to them. It was a final blessing. Nothing lay ahead but the darkness.

  They drowsed for half an hour, hearing from far away the departure of the guests and nobles, a dim bustling, a few shouts of command, the patter of a running slave's feet. For an hour the predawn hush enveloped them.

  Hatshepsut stirred and raised herself on her elbow, stroking his chest as her hair fell over his face. ''Senmut, have you achieved all that was in

  your mind when first I summoned you to the lake? Is there anything more, before—before—" She could not say **the end."

  He brushed her hair from his eyes and smiled up at her. ''Nothing more, Hatshepsut. I have been and done far more than I ever dreamed of in those days."

  Her fingers paused. ''If I asked for marriage now, would you deny me?"

  He sat up suddenly, looking at her. She tossed her head defiantly. "What is in your mind?" he demanded.

  She jumped up and ran to her table. "This," she said, holding up the Double Crown. "This. For you."

  For a long, long moment he stared at her and at the solid, smooth-sided thing she was caressing. Within him his other self, so cool, so collected, so calculating, sidled close and whispered, "Take it. Have you not earned it, son of the earth?" But other thoughts followed, sad and vicious thoughts, and he shook his head slowly as he felt his luck leave him, and glide out the door. "No, my dearest sister, no," he said. "I know myself, and I know you a little, though you are deep and well nigh impossible to fathom. If Thothmes were not breathing hard at your heels, would you still be offering it to me? Suppose I take it now and set it on my head. Suppose I become Pharaoh Senmut the First. Thothmes will fight, and I will be forced to defend an Egypt that will not serve me. Do you hope to lengthen the hour of your triumph at my expense? Will you use me, too, even now?"

  She flung the crown onto the table and buried her head in her hands. "I love you, I love you. That is all I know!" she sobbed. "I do not want to die, not now, not ever. I do not want to leave you, and the pleasant fields of Egypt, and those who have made my life a delight and a perfume in my nostrils! Give me your strength, O my beloved!"

  He went to her, saying no
thing, trying with all the might of his arms to stave oflf the black, snaking shadows of eternity.

  V/|V

  I

  Thothmes came swaggering home a month later, the army behind him, laden with the spoils he had promised her and a host of prisoners to be put into service. To her paining, oversensitive eyes he seemed to have grown, filled out, and she received him with tight lips and a cold greeting. He seemed not to notice. He stood beside her as the treasures of Gaza were piled at her feet, his deep voice reciting the highlights of the campaign and the siege. She went with him to the temple, where he paid his respects and gave his thanks to Amun. He was already planning immense additions to the temple, and Menkheperrasonb, his architect, and Min-mose, his engineer, walked with him as he inspected every inch of the temple courts. She left him to it and went to find Senmut, wanting to know the mood of the people. She found him with Hapuseneb.

  ''How has Thebes welcomed the Crown Prince?" she asked them.

  Senmut told her, his eyes willing her to stand her ground and not falter. ''From the delta to Thebes the army was followed by crowds of fellahin and city dwellers, shouting his praises," he said brusquely. "They called for him, and when he left his chariot and went among them, they called him Pharaoh and kissed his feet. They love you. Majesty, and they always will, but they have forgotten your peace and your prosperity. They want only conquests."

  "The mob is always fickle," she murmured, "and ever people want what is not good for them. If they want war, then Thothmes will undoubtedly give it to them. How it angers me!" she said, "that all I have done to fill the chests of the temple and the treasury with gold and to give my subjects a little peace in which to grow will be set at nought because the horns of war stir their simple hearts!" She bit her lip and left them abruptly. Senmut wisely did not follow her. The final acceptance, the last hard laying aside, she would have to face herself.