Beauty of Re Read online

  Beauty of Re

  A Tale of Ancient Egypt

  Mark L. Gajewski

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  This book is a work of fiction. Its contents are wholly imagined.

  All rights reserved. Aside from brief quotations for media coverage and reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form without the author’s permission. Thank you for supporting authors and a diverse, creative culture by purchasing this book and complying with copyright laws.

  Copyright @2016 by Mark L. Gajewski.

  Table of Contents

  1479 BC

  1478 BC

  1474 BC

  1473 BC

  1472 BC

  1471 BC

  1470 BC

  1467 BC

  1465 BC

  1458 BC

  1453 BC

  1450 BC

  1447 BC

  1445 BC

  1438 BC

  1434 BC

  1431 BC

  1429 BC

  1423 BC

  Afterword

  1479 BC

  Regnal Year 10 – Thutmose II

  I stretched flat on my belly atop the low limestone wall that edged a lotus–choked pool in the garden on the north side of Ipet–Isut’s processional way. Ipet–Isut, “the Chosen of Places,” was an ancient complex containing the temples of Amun, his wife Mut, and their son Khonsu, located on the northern edge of Kemet’s southern capital, Waset. The stone was pleasantly warm on my chest and belly and thighs, the sun hot on my back. I wore a simple white linen skirt and a cowry shell girdle that was, according to the women of the harem, supposed to protect my fertility. I was, as usual, barefoot.

  Neferure lay similarly, facing me. Her long wavy dark brown hair tumbled across her back and shoulders, restrained only by the rearing uraeus on a thin gold band around her brow that marked her as the king’s daughter. She leaned over the side of the wall and closely studied the cluster of flowers floating atop the water just inches from her nose. The water reflected the acacia trees and dom palms that overhung the pool. With her almond–shaped eyes and oval face and delicate chin, Nefer was practically the image of her young mother, the beautiful Hatshepsut, half–sister and Great Wife of King Aakheperenre – the second to bear the name Thutmose. At age nine Nefer was already living up to her name – “Beauty of Re.” She was petite, graceful, lively, smart and serious; everyone in the per’aa, or Great House of the king – from the children of courtiers to the king’s most powerful administrators – was drawn to her. In that she took after her mother too.

  Nefer and I were practically sisters. I was a year older; my mother had been her wet nurse and so I had grown up with Nefer in the per’aa. Two years ago, when my mother went to the Afterlife, the king and Hatshepsut had graciously allowed me to remain in the royal harem as Nefer’s companion. I was pretty enough, or so I’d been told, though I’d never be Nefer’s equal – I was gangly, too tall, black–eyed, with long reddish hair that set me apart from every other child in the royal court and made me the butt of much cruel teasing.

  I leaned over the side of the wall and pulled close some lotus flowers that were floating within reach and inhaled their heavenly fragrance. Nefer swept a light brown hand through the pool and the reflections danced. We both heard a step behind us on the garden path and swung our heads around to see who was approaching.

  “Nefer! Mery!”

  “Thut!” Nefer rose from the wall and dashed into the arms of her half–brother.

  Thutmose, the third in his family to bear that nomen, was a year older than Nefer and the same age as me. He too had been raised with us in the king’s harem, part of the time here in Waset, the rest in Mennefer, the Two Land’s ancient northern capital. Thut was heir to his father’s throne, the so–called “Falcon in the Nest,” and was, except for Nefer, my closest friend. All our lives the three of us had been nearly inseparable. I knew Thut’s deepest thoughts and dreams, and he mine; we could talk about anything. I practically worshiped him, for he too treated me like a sister, not the commoner and outsider I actually was. What I admired and envied most about him was his intelligence. His interests were more far–ranging than anyone I knew – botany, history, religion, interior design, literature. While I loved my studies, I struggled to keep up with both him and Nefer. They seemed to almost magically master every bit of information pressed on them by their tutors, while I fought mightily to retain even a minimum amount of almost every subject. Thut and I – and his favorite companion, Ahmose, son of the king’s treasurer – loved most of all to be outdoors, not something Nefer was interested in. Thut had taught me to ride and swim and hunt and fish and sail. I could outswim and outrun him – Ahmose too – but Thut surpassed me in all else. Together we had roamed the river and valley and desert and hills near Waset until we knew all of it. Though Thut and Nefer had different mothers – his, Iset, was a commoner, hers, Hatshepsut, was the daughter of a king – he looked almost exactly like his father, with the same low forehead, deep sunken eyes, and heavy jaw.

  Thut hugged Nefer tightly for a moment, then me. His kilt today was white and unadorned by embroidery. He wore a broad collar of gold inlaid with rows of red and blue faience, and a nemes headdress. He released me and plopped down heavily on the wall beside Nefer. I perched next to him.

  “I hope Senenmut didn’t send you to get me for my lessons,” Nefer pouted. “Today’s too fine for study and I don’t want to go inside just yet.”

  Senenmut had been Nefer’s tutor for the past seven years or so, appointed by her father. I studied at Nefer’s side, so for all intents and purposes he was my tutor too. Thut and Ahmose had a separate tutor of their own.

  “No, Nefer.” Thut sighed. Normally ebullient, he regarded us sadly. “Do you remember what Senenmut told us about the divine nature of our father?”

  “Of course,” Nefer replied brightly.

  The gods had gifted her with almost total recall. Once she mastered a lesson she never forgot. For that she was Senenmut’s darling.

  “Our father the king, Aakheperenre – life, health, prosperity – is Horus on earth, the good god, conceived of his mother, our grandmother, Mutnefert, and the great god Amun himself. Someday, when our father dies, he’ll fly to heaven and become the great god Osiris.”

  Thut put an arm around Nefer’s shoulders, pulled her close. “Nefer, that very day is upon us. Father is extremely sick. The time of his return to the heavens is at hand. I came to get you so we can tell him goodbye.”

  I saw a tear trickle from the corner of Thut’s eye. I’d never seen him cry before.

  “No!” Nefer tried to stifle a sob but could not.

  Tears began rolling down my cheeks too. The king had been good to me and I loved him. I reached across Thut and took one of Nefer’s hands in mine.

  “He’s just sick is all,” Nefer said adamantly. “He’ll get better. Mother told me. I don’t want Father to leave!”

  Thut kissed the top of Nefer’s head. “Try to be brave, Sister,” he said. “The physicians and magicians have done all they could for him.” He hugged her tight for a moment, then released her. “We must hurry.”

  We rose and took hold of each other’s hands and half–ran from the garden onto the processional way towards the per’aa where the royal family lived when the king was in residence at Waset. It lay on the east bank of the river, the western section of the wall that surrounded its low mud–brick buildings abutting the river. Flower gardens filled almost all of the space inside the walls. The buildings, richly decorated inside and out, were themselves arranged around an open square that contained more gardens and pools. There were many more per’aas scatt
ered in towns up and down the river – at Abu, Abdju, Koptos, Iunu and several more – for the king and his court traveled constantly. But only the per’aa at Mennefer, the northern capital at the foot of the delta, rivaled this one at Waset in size and splendor.

  A path ran directly south from the gate of the per’aa for a few hundred feet, intersecting the broad processional way we were on, which was aligned east and west. At the west end of the processional way, ahead of us, was a stone quay at the end of a short canal that reached to Iteru, the great river that was the heart of Kemet. The magnificent royal boat was currently docked alongside the quay. Less than half a mile to its east, at our backs, was the entrance to the vast Ipet–Isut complex. Gardens and trees and pools and channels lined both sides of the processional way its entire length.

  “What will happen to us afterwards, when Father is dead?” Nefer asked plaintively, brushing tears from her cheeks as we hurried along.

  “I’ll become king in Father’s place.”

  “And Horus too?”

  “I’ll become divine as the priests perform the sacred rituals during my coronation ceremony,” Thut explained. “As they place each of the royal crowns on my head, one after another, and as I take the crook and flail into my hands, my nature will change. I, a mortal boy, will be imbued with divine energy – the royal ka – that occupies an everlasting office – nesu.”

  “Human kings die and are replaced, but the kingship carries on forever, passing from man to man,” I said. “The royal ka that will be in you is the same one that once was part of Narmer, Kemet’s first king.”

  “Yes,” Thut affirmed. “Or so we have been taught.”

  “You’ll be a good god?” I asked.

  “Yes, Mery. Good – not great. That distinction shows my humanity.”

  “And your duty for the rest of your days will be to ensure maat – divine order and justice – in the world.”

  Thut nodded. “I’ll possess hu and sia – divine utterance and divine knowledge – as well as heka – divine magic. I will be the breath of life…”

  “Who makes all men live when he shines upon them,” I finished.

  “Or so I hope,” Thut said softly.

  We approached the wall surrounding the per’aa. Farmers and townspeople and craftsmen and laborers and even priests from the temples were crowded around the gate and milling about on the processional way and the path and even in the gardens. Women were crying and priests were reciting spells. Most of the men stood silent, waiting. News of the king’s imminent death had spread. Nefer and Thut were recognized and a path magically opened through the crowd, the people dropping to their knees as the king’s heir and his daughter passed, the braver among them calling out condolences.

  Guards let us through the gate in the wall and closed it behind us and we stepped into the inner garden. Thut paused in the shade of a dom palm. “To answer your question, Nefer, once I’ve been crowned king I’ll decide what happens to you. And I promise you this – no one will separate us from each other – ever. Father has told us all our lives that it’s our duty to marry each other and continue the royal line and rule together after him, and have a son who will rule after us. We must honor his wishes.”

  Nefer started to cry. “Except Father was supposed to live to be an old man, Thut, to see the many grandchildren we would give him. He wasn’t supposed to die so young.”

  Thut took Nefer in his arms and she lay her head against his shoulder and sobbed. As he comforted her, I wondered if, once Thut was king, it would change how the three of us felt about and treated each other. It also occurred to me that he’d control my destiny too.

  “What will happen to me, Thut?” I asked.

  “You’ll serve Nefer in my court, Mery,” he assured me. “We’ll all three be together.”

  That was a relief. “You’re so young, Thut. Can you really be king?” I asked. He was my lifelong playmate. Now he was about to take charge of Kemet in all its vastness. The sudden change in circumstance was almost impossible for me to comprehend.

  “Yes, but not alone. I’m sure there’ll be a regent to guide me until I’m old enough to rule by myself.”

  “Who?” Nefer asked.

  “Vizier Aametshu, perhaps.” Thut lowered his voice. “Or my mother.”

  That wouldn’t bode well for Nefer, I thought. Thut’s and Nefer’s mothers had been at war ever since Thut’s birth. They hated each other. Senenmut had explained to me once, in confidence, that Iset had expected to be named the king’s Great Wife when she gave him a male heir, but Hatshepsut had blocked her, retaining that title for herself. Iset had taken her continued relegation to a lesser place the last ten years without grace.

  “What will happen to my mother if Iset is named?” Nefer asked.

  Thut shrugged. “She’ll probably assign Hatshepsut to live out her life in the harem. I’m sorry.”

  I had no doubt that, without her husband’s protection, Hatshepsut stood to lose much.

  Another crowd was milling about before the entrance of the per’aa itself, made up of those who worked in the royal home but were ranked too low to be admitted this day. The per’aa was a busy place and required many people to operate smoothly – bread bakers, cooks, sandal bearers, fan bearers, keepers of the royal robes and crowns, barbers, physicians, servants for kitchen and dining room, domestics for the royal meals, scribes, priests for religious ceremonies, heralds, butlers, musicians, doorkeepers. Every member of the staff seemed to be gathered before the door, along with a gaggle of favored courtiers bearing official titles – Friends, Unique, Uniquely Loved. They too cleared a way. Thut and Nefer and I passed through an anteroom into the large audience hall with its ebony and gold throne on a raised stone dais, then down a long passageway. All of the walls and floors were brightly painted with scenes of life along the river and images of Thut and Nefer’s father making offerings to the gods. A robing room was on the left and a bathroom on the right of the passageway, their ceilings decorated with bulls’ heads within a pattern of interlocking spirals and rosettes, their stone–lined walls decorated with royal cartouches and protective symbols. We entered a smaller reception room with another throne on a smaller dais that the king used for private audiences, then stepped into his bedchamber, past two armed Medjay bodyguards, dark–skinned Nubians who flanked the door day and night.

  The bedchamber was at the very rear of the palace, mimicking the location of the god’s sanctuary in every temple in Kemet. Painted in black and white and red on the yellow ceiling were five vultures, their wings spread wide, heads facing the chamber’s entrance. Each represented the goddess Nekhbet. Beneath their wings were cartouches containing the king’s five names – nomen, prenomen, Horus, Nebty, and Horus of Fine Gold. The vultures were framed by a band of small red–centered rosettes and a checkerboard pattern of yellow, red and green. The room’s walls were painted with images of the god Bes alternating with another checkerboard pattern, and large alternating images of the hieroglyphs ankh and tyt, symbols connected to life and Isis respectively, standing on baskets representing “all,” separated by vertical bands of red, white and green.

  The hushed room was crowded with gilded wooden chairs, tall wooden stands for vessels, oil lamps on pedestals, chests full of linen and clothing and other belongings, small wooden boxes crammed with jewelry. The king’s wooden bed was at the far end of the chamber in a raised alcove beneath a small high window that admitted the only outside light. The low bed sloped from its head towards its foot, its legs terminating in carved lion’s paws. A gilded wooden canopy soared over the bed, the curtains on its four sides that were usually drawn for privacy thrown wide open.

  Officials clustered around the bed, obstructing my view of the king. Hatshepsut sat on one side, near the head, and Iset the other. Except for crying women, the only sound in the room was the low voice of Hapuseneb, the Opener of the Gate of Heaven, the high priest of Amun’s temple at Ipet–Isut, his deeply lined face somber. Puyemre, Amun’s Second P
rophet, held an unrolled papyrus before Hapuseneb and he was reciting from it: “King of Eternity, Lord of Everlasting, who passes millions of years in his lifetime, first–born son of Nut, begotten of Geb, Heir, Lord of the Weret crown, whose white crown is tall. Sovereign of gods and men.”

  I recognized it as the introductory hymn to Osiris, one of the spells of emerging in daytime designed to guarantee the dead eternal life.

  Hapuseneb’s daughter, Seniseneb, was at his elbow. She was, I knew, Amun’s divine adoratrix and Puyemre’s wife. Behind the priests stood the land’s most important officials – Chancellor Neshi, Treasurer Thutmosis, Chief Steward Amenhotep. Vizier Aametshu was at the head of the left side of the bed, his long robe reaching from armpits to ankles, a golden maat symbol on a chain around his neck. Everyone was afraid of the gruff old man – the bureaucrats who ran the kingdom, the servants who worked in the per’aa, even the craftsmen in the Place of Truth who dug the tombs of the kings in the Great Place. They in particular trembled at his approach, for it was he who oversaw their village and rewarded their work. But I knew that Nefer did not fear the vizier, and that he adored her. Everyone in the bureaucracy did. Thut took Nefer’s hand and gently pulled her forward; I remained behind, for I was not really part of the family. The officials moved aside so Thut and Nefer could approach the bed. No one paid me any attention or tried to stop me, so I moved to the foot of the bed.

  The king was covered from foot to chest with thick linen blankets, his head propped on a curved headrest and linen pillow, his eyes closed. His arms lay slack atop the blankets. None of us children had been allowed to see him for weeks and his appearance had changed dramatically in that time. My hand rose to my mouth involuntarily. Patches of hair were missing on the crown of his head. His body was thin and shrunken, cheeks hollow, skin covered with horrible scabs. His mouth was slightly open, lips stretched tight over his teeth. He was gasping for breath at long intervals, the blankets slowly rising and falling with each gasp.