Out of the Black Land (30 page)

‘A plough,’ I said.

‘A plough. Now this is the cuneiform sign for the word eppinu which means ‘plough.’ It also stands for the syllable or sound, of course. Can you see how the sign has developed from the picture? Good. here is another. What would you call this?’

I examined the pictograph. ‘Trees, Master Menna?’

‘Trees indeed, you are quick, daughter. That is the pictograph for kiru, orchard. This is sadu, mountain, and this is alpu, which means..’

‘Ox. Yes, I see. How many signs are there?’

‘Five hundred and thirty one,’ Menna informed me with relish. Of course. He liked my company and this task was going to take a considerable time. ‘Each mark has threads and bars; by these the syllable is qualified and this is the determinative and this marks the vowels.’

The system was alien to my mind, as strange as the signs which the Nubians carve on trees to warn wayfarers and mark boundaries. I was employed for two hours in attempting to grasp the syllabry, and I had made little progress when I had to return to the Widow-Queen Tiye’s quarters, and I walked into what looked like a small and well-contained war.

Tiye the Queen may she live was standing in the middle of the room, absolutely beside herself with wrath. My sister Nefertiti was cowering by the door, her back against it, so that I nearly pushed her over when I came in.

The Widow-Queen was so angry that I was very tempted to turn around and go straight out again until she calmed down, but she gestured to me to come in and with Tiye may she live it was much better, in the long run, to do as one was told.

I joined Merope against the window. She was shaking. I took her in my arms and she leaned her forehead against my breast and whispered, ‘I think we are all about to die.’

‘Lady, sister, what is the matter?’ I asked, holding onto Merope and turning her face away from the Widow-Queen’s basilisk gaze.

‘The Great Royal Spouse of Egypt,’ spat Tiye, ‘has come to inform your sister Merope and I that we must marry again and confer our authority and our bodies on a commoner.’

‘Oh,’ I said lamely. This was so totally unheard-of that I really did not know what to say. The widow of a pharaoh belongs to his successor, that was the practice. She could not marry again unless Pharaoh divorced her, and if he did she had a right to take with her two thirds of all that she owned, as did any woman in Egypt. And the widow of a Pharaoh could not marry a common man, because she held in her right of marriage some claim to the throne.

Nefertiti had not remembered that she could have us all beheaded if we crossed her, and I had no intention of reminding her. My sister was frightened and looked to me to explain matters to this intransigent Royal Lady.

‘My lord Akhnaten has said, on our Divine Father’s advice, that it is of no profit to support the whole house of women of his late father,’ she quavered.

‘Therefore he has given each woman the right to choose a husband and he will release them from their marriage, requiring them only to marry another man.’

‘But, sister, that means that the Pharaoh Lord Akhnaten may he live will have to return to the Royal Women their property that is the law in Egypt,’ I said carefully. I assumed that my Divine Father Ay had thought of that, and he had.

‘No, no, sister, the priests of the Aten sole and only God will be happy to receive royal ladies into their houses, no dowry will be required.’

‘Nefertiti my sister, you are telling a woman who has been queen that she will have to go and live with a priest of Aten, and you are proposing to turn her out of the palace naked,’ I said, just to make sure that my sister got the point.

‘I really don’t think that the Lord of the Two Thrones could possibly have meant that. Are you sure?’

‘My Lord has given orders,’ she said mulishly, and there was never any reasoning with Nefertiti when she became stubborn.

‘The Royal Women will go with the priests of the Aten where they will be happy, and they have the rest of the month to prepare.’

‘Tell my son,’ said Widow-Queen Tiye, ‘that I will not marry again. If he wants me to die, I am willing to do that to please him and relieve that miser Ay of the burden of supplying my bread; but I will not marry. The others may do as they like, but not I. Is that clear, Great Royal Wife? I am staying here.’

Nefertiti nodded and made her escape.

I tried to release Merope but she clung. ‘Sister,’ she whispered, ‘Oh, dearest sister, I think that I see an escape from this loathsome existence.’

I called for some wine. She was clearly overwrought.

Ptah-hotep

The King Akhnaten may he live called us all to the Window of Appearances to hear his announcement. The courtyard was filled with soldiers in ordered ranks. The Klashr archers and heavy infantry had the place of honour at the front. They lived nearest, in Thebes and all along the shores of the river down to Bubastis. The Hermotybies were behind, soldiers from Upper Egypt.

Each soldier had his land, awarded by the Pharaoh when he was accepted into the army and each tilled it as best he could, for he might be called into active service at any time. Each wore leather jerkins and battle-cloths provided by his own household and bore shield, sword, bow and arrows. Regiment, battalion and company, they all bore their own standards, a stout pole with a symbol on top, long enough so that when held by a mounted man it was visible to all fighters on the field

I considered them, the poles surmounted with a thousand images: hawks, crocodiles from Elephantine, the cat of Bubastis, the sun-boat of the discredited god Amen-Re. Some were simple like the flail of kingship, perhaps, or the leg-shaped symbol of the Goddess Isis; or simpler still like a huge bronze arrowhead, painted red. Some were complex and beautiful: a reed-boat with a fisherman catching Nile perch; a flight of flying ibis, legs trailing. All of them were decorated with ribbons and flowers.

This wasn’t the whole army, of course. This was a representative selection of officers, come to hear what their King the lord Akhnaten wanted to say. They would relay his message to the armies camped outside on the hot plain surrounding Amarna.

My dearest love Kheperren was beside me, mostly hidden behind a massive bull’s hide shield studded with metal rivets. I was pleased at being under the canopy which had been erected for the King to rest under during the sed festival, for we were waiting for noon and the sun was already hot.

I was also very pleased to see him again. He was very weary. I had promised him a real wash in real water, a massage from Meryt, a splendid feast and a night spent making love—all his requests—but still he was grim and distant. I was worried that he was concerned about the lady Mutnodjme, but it did not seem to be that.

I had told him about her and he had kissed me—he tasted of sweat and copper from his helmet-strap, a very male taste—and bade me not to fear, he was assured of my love. He had yet to meet my lady Mutnodjme but I was sure that they would be friends.

‘Here is my General,’ he said in relief, and I saw the strong figure of Horemheb appear under the balcony beneath the King.

‘Why, where did you think he might be?’ I asked.

‘I thought he might be dead,’ replied Kheperren.

Clearly there was more to tell and just as clearly I could not ask it, so I held my peace. The King stretched out both hands and called ‘Soldiers of the Aten! I have a great task for you! The foes of Egypt are not inside her borders alone!’

The soldiers roared, ‘Show us your enemies, lord!’ and the King held out his arms again.

‘They are here, in the Black Land!’

He paused, and I saw helmeted heads turn to each other. What did he mean?

I looked at Horemheb. I had never seen a face so set. The General had aged well. He was strong and heavily muscled, with a broad chest and legs like columns. The long wig mingled with his own harsh black hair, which still bore many locks tipped with blue beads. His arms were heavy with arm rings given to him by Pharaoh, and his breastplate was almost covered with the golden flies awarded rarely and only for extreme bravery. My lord Akhnaten cried out again.

‘They are the followers of the name of the cursed so-called god, Amen-Re!’

The soldiers were silent. This did not seem to be something against which they could use sword or spear.

‘I will send you out, brave warriors of the Aten, to remove the trace of the name of Amen-Re from this Black Land! I will reward you, my brave ones, for every inscription defaced, every name removed, every text burned! Let the foes of Egypt tremble on the borders, they will not attack us while the Aten rules us! Hail to the Aten!’ he screamed, and stared straight up at the sun.

The soldiers roared approval.

‘Why do they cheer? This is no task for a soldier,’ I protested, very close to Kheperren’s ear.

‘This task is easier than fighting the vile Kush where every bush contains an enemy. This is more amusing than arriving, footsore and weary, at an oasis where the wells have been broken and the trees cut down by the shepherds, the Shasu. This is much less dangerous than crawling through the sand to attack the Apiru, where every dune has its asp,’ he said bitterly.

‘But who will guard the borders?’ I gasped.

‘The Aten, apparently,’ he said very quietly. ‘Let us hope that his god is heavily armed.’

Pharaoh Akhnaten lifted a huge basket and began to throw handfuls of small glittering objects into the mass of soldiers and they scrambled for them, breaking ranks. I flung up a hand and caught one.

‘What is it?’ asked the General, taking his eyes off the Window of Appearances. I opened my hand. I have never seen such a look of complete disgust on a human face. In my hand I had the highest award for bravery which the Pharaoh could give. I was holding a golden bee.

General Horemheb reassumed his place and his bland countenance very quickly. But when he came to dinner that night I noticed that he had removed from his breastplate every single award, and was as undecorated as any common soldier.

***

But first I had to give my Kheperren all that I had promised. I stood him in my washing place and he emptied two well-jars of water and a dish of soap before he had removed all the dirt, grease and something which resembled tar, which he said was protective tree resin, applied to guard against the sun. He shaved his beard and lay down to be oiled and massaged by Meryt, who was the best massager I had ever encountered. She found every knot and pounded each one mercilessly, leaving her patient as completely softened as the meat which she flattened with a mallet before frying it in the Nubian fashion. Then I gave him a cup of wine and we made love, very gently, touching with wincing care. I had missed him like a crippled man misses his right hand, and clearly he had lacked me. We were slow, soft, stopping to exchange breath and to kiss, long kisses which turned languorous and then hot, so that we finished in a rush and a tangle of limbs.

Then we slept a little until the heat of the day was easing, for though it was Peret and the month of Mechir, the weather was unseasonable. I had not seen the records of the last harvest yet. Some of the Nomarchs were always late with their reports, but this year everyone was late.

I wondered if anyone was intercepting my correspondence and reading it, seeking heresy or conspiracy. If so, I wished them joy of the illiterate scribes of Elephantine and the extreme mendacity of the Delta. And if they could make any sense of the peculiar arithmetic of Thebes, which always seemed to come down rather heavily on the side of the Nomarch, then I hoped that they would tell me.

Horemheb was outside. We could hear him exchanging ritual insults with Mentu; who was with us for awhile, having been warned by his physician that a month’s abstinence from wine and women might preserve his life a little longer.

When he felt inclined Mentu was an excellent scribe, wrote a beautiful flowing hand and could sum up a complex document in one sentence which, suitably censored, could be used as a briefing note for the Lord of the Two Lands who could usually be compelled to listen to one sentence. Mentu had just summarised a basketful of letters from three vassal states as, ‘My neighbour is a liar. Send gold. Lots and lots and lots of gold!’ which was an excellent summary; and Horemheb, laughing, also agreed.

He was escorted into my inner office by Tani and Hani, one on either side, and they did not leave until I ordered them to go. They didn’t like anyone as big and warlike as the general anywhere near me.