Ancient Evenings

  In clamor did these changes of costume take place, and with piety and blasphemy. Usermare was as often praying with a priest as swearing at His nobles for the poor appearance of a wig, the mangled pleat of a skirt, or the lack of high polish on the golden fingernails placed over His fingers. This uproar would increase so soon as He strode out of the room, for many of the nobles surrounding Him must in their turn change costume for the oncoming visit to the shrine of another God, and many were these Gods, and much confusion, since by the first day of the Festival, not all the Gods had yet come in from up or down the river, some being transported great distances from Their local shrine to the landing place by the Royal Quay of Thebes.

  Now, dressed for His first ceremony, walking in skirts of pleated linen so fine and so stiffly pressed that the cry they made against His thighs was like the clatter of sheets of papyrus, Usermare, holding His flail, came out of the Robing Room and prepared to depart. Yet, He was unready. The turmoil of changing His costume was still upon Him, and so He stopped by the Double-Throne in the center of the Hall of King Unas and mounted the dais, stood upon the thick carpet. Two thrones sat beneath two canopies side by side, and Usermare sat first in the Throne of the King of Lower Egypt. The Crook was placed in His hand, and its power passed into His arms. He smelled the odors of the swamp as they came to Him from the North of Egypt, and He closed His eyes and saw the dark marsh where Horus fought Set, and Usermare lived again in the hour when Horus was wounded. His closed eyes throbbed with pain and He knew a pang within the sockets of His head as Horus plucked forth His own sight to punish Himself for the crime of beheading His mother.

  Usermare-Setpenere entered into the God Horus. Beyond His shoulders, He could feel the wings of the God Horus, and they were large. The walls of the Hall of King Unas were not great enough to contain them. He thought of the clouds He had seen on the horizon in the dawn, and the vast feathered breast of the hawk who was the God Horus was in those clouds, and He saw the spread of the God’s wings from horizon to horizon.

  Usermare opened His eyes and descended from the dais. He took four measured steps to the South and mounted to the Second Throne of the Two-Lands. In His nose, many scents changed. He knew no longer the smell of the swamp but now inhaled the dusty odor of a peach tree by a road at the foot of a dusty hill. And He thought of His own coronation thirty-five years ago in Memphi at the Temple of Ptah where the First Hill had risen from the water, there within sight of the Pyramid of Khufu.

  In that day of His coronation, the High Priest had set Him a meditation to contemplate through every festival for the years of His Reign until the Festival of Festivals, and He had done so. He had done as He was doing now, and He set His thoughts upon the center of His meditation.

  The priest had said that even as the name of Osiris could be heard in the ear as Ausar which is equal to the Seat-Maker, and the name of Isis is Ast, which is the Seat, so was it natural for the Seat-Maker to know His Seat. “Now, for all the days of Your life that You are Horus,” said the priest, “so will You, too, sit upon the Seat of Isis, Your mother.”

  The golden Seat of Isis was hard and cold in the early morning (even as it would be warm by midday) but there, in Her lap, He was the Pharaoh. “I have come forth from Thee,” He murmured, “and You have come forth from Me.” That was what the High Priest had told Him to say.

  In the hour of His coronation, all those thirty and more years ago, the Double-Crown had been placed on His head, and He had become the Pharaoh. The God Horus had come to live in Him. And He lived in Horus. They would be together until the day of His death. Then, He would leave to join Osiris. In that hour, His Double-Crown would be placed on the brow of the Pharaoh Who followed. That Pharaoh would become Horus. “I have come forth from Thee,” He said to the Double-Crown, “and You will come forth from Me.”

  Around Him, the courtiers were silent. He sat upon the Throne of Upper Egypt and lived in His meditation.

  Then He stood up. He was ready. They brought Him the Sceptre of the Lotus, and on its staff were many lotus blossoms. Now, His thoughts would be open to all the desires in the land of Egypt for the lotus was the ear of the earth. So He stepped out from the Hall of Kind Unas, His Sceptre of the Lotus in His hand, and waiting for Him were many little queens and their children and lines of nobles in linen whiter than the bones of the Gods, hundreds long, to accompany Him on His trip to the river this morning to greet the Gods arriving on Their boats.

  Yet even as I witnessed this, and kept running in and out of the crowd of courtiers to catch a better sight of the approach of the Pharaoh Usermare-Setpenere, now did I also see Him before me here on my own patio, and He was with His Queen, and one of her breasts was bare. The rose of her cosmetic had been rubbed away from her nipple, and Her face did not show Nefertiri’s features nor Rama-Nefru’s, but the powerful beauty of my own mother! The head of King Usermare no longer belonged to the Second, but to the Ninth—my Father’s face, His long thin nose, His beautiful mouth—yet I recognized neither Father nor mother on the first instant. They were so alive and so much like the others who walked as Queen and Pharaoh in the years of Usermare-Setpenere that I did not know in which time I lived, nor in which city, Memphi or Thebes, until the sight of my mother’s saffron gown brought me at last out of the webs and caves of my sleep, if sleep was what it was, and I smiled at them. They smiled at me.

  At this moment, Nef-khep-aukhem awoke. He stretched, he yawned, he took in the sight, and then he jumped to his feet. He was about to bow to Ptah-nem-hotep, but did not. Instead, without a word, nor any sign of respect, he stood up and walked away so fast that if I had closed my eyes for the length of a thought, I would have lost the sight of his back.

  His departure, however, had a most unhappy effect. My misery, in the first instant, weighed no more than the fall of a feather, except it was not truth I felt, but uneasiness. I did not wish that to weigh on the joy I knew in looking at my Father and at Hathfertiti. They were as sweet to my heart as the violet light of this patio. For Ptah-nem-hotep looked at me with eyes of love. All the love that had come into my heart as I heard His thoughts had been true. That was why the voice of Usermare had sounded just so clearly in my ears as a ring tapped on a table. It was then I was twice certain Ptah-nem-hotep must be my Father since I could live in His thoughts so comfortably, it could almost be said, as in my mother’s, and even see—and this was more of a gift—what they saw when the Gods of Egypt, like golden birds, were wheeling above their heads.

  So I knew that the difference between being loved by one’s mother alone, or by one’s mother and one’s father, might prove as different as the White Crown alone upon a ruler’s head compared to the greatness of all Egypt that a Pharaoh could know when Red and White were both on His brow, and all of these feelings would have been as lovely to me as the most splendid garden if not for the departure of Nef-khep-aukhem. My first father had lived in our house like he-who-is-without-a-dwelling, and like a ghost he had left. There had been the sound of no door to close behind him. Only a curse. I had just learned that it is the smallest men who leave the largest curses.

  As if my mother had an intimation of how this weight might increase on my heart, she beckoned, and I sat down between her and Ptah-nem-hotep Who put His arm around me. The hand of my Father was as tender and wise as the silver light on the Eye of Maat, and, oh, what a warmth came forth from my mother! I nestled between them in the nicest confusion since each was full of the odors of the other, and I felt like a small animal in all the redolence of its nest while they lay back and pleased themselves with sharing my heart, now so full of sweetness. I gave a little sigh of contentment.

  That may have been the sound to bring my great-grandfather forward from his sleep. He opened his eyes, took in who had come, and left, and began, without any greater sense of disturbance, to speak. His voice was his own again, with no sound of the accents of my Father. Yet so deep were the caverns in which he had lain, that my great-grandfather must still have been in a sp
ell. Though his eyes passed from one of us to another, and all he said was clear, still he did not seem to notice how our Ramses held Hathfertiti as closely as a wife. He spoke only of matters that concerned himself, and as if nothing had intervened, as if, indeed, the Festival of Festivals had not commenced, but was still a month away. So, listening to him might have been full of a sense of much dislocation if not for my Father’s arm. Otherwise I might as well have been lifted from one boat to another in a mist, indeed, each boat so quickly out of the other’s sight that you could not tell if they were going in the same direction.

  My parents did not seem to suffer this vertigo, however, ever, and calmed by them, I began to appreciate that what Menenhetet had to say was so clear I did not need to hear his voice, nor feel obliged to know whether he spoke aloud. My Father, I soon discovered, happened to be listening in the same manner. For He was convinced that the finest secrets of His great ancestor were soon to be acquired. So I could feel His attention lift from His weary limbs to the appetite for understanding that was in His heart. Even more than His pleasure in my mother, or His joy in me, must have been the taste of this desire. Lying so near to Him, it kept me awake. I did not even mind that we were no longer with Usermare on the first day of the Festival, but back with my great-grandfather in the Palace of Nefertiri. If a story was like a flower, and once interrupted, was plucked, roots and all, well, I told myself, a story might also be like the garment of a God, and a God could change His clothes.

  FOUR

  I do not remember how I said goodnight to my Queen Nefertiri, Menenhetet began. I only remember the next morning, because I awakened late in my own bed to a happiness I had never felt before. I could not wait to see the great Queen Who had become my lady. This happiness was perfect. I was so rich in the recollections over which I had just slept and these memories were so balanced by the pleasures I hoped to feel soon again, I knew such worth in my opinion of myself and such peace in my achievements, that my heart was like a sacred pool.

  May I say it was a happiness I was not to know again. Major-domo came in with a message to report to the Vizier at once, and this command was so exceptional that I was soon on my way. In the chambers of the Vizier I was told that Usermare, on awakening this morning, had given orders to transfer me from the service of Nefertiri to the Palace of Rama-Nefru. The move was to be made this morning. All that I owned could be carried by my servants to this office of the Vizier where other servants, now to be my new gardener, new butler, new cook, new keeper-of-the-keys, and new groom, all in the livery of Rama-Nefru, would transport them the rest of the way. I was now Companion of the Right Hand to Rama-Nefru.

  The happiness with which I awoke was, as I say, never to be known again, not in any of my four lives, and for good cause. There was no sentiment as dangerous to one’s security, I had now discovered, as happiness itself. I cannot believe that I would otherwise have so separated my attention from the heart of my King. Not for so long as a night’s sleep! In sleep I might travel through those markets and palaces where my dreams could take me, but now I knew I must never wander too far from my Monarch’s heart. Happiness had left me without a sentry. So I had neither warning of the shift, nor a sure suspicion from whom it had come. I did not know if the Hittite Queen had cajoled Usermare into making such a change so that She might spite Nefertiri, or whether He had awakened to the sure knowledge that I had sported on His flesh, tasted it, left my taste. Yet, if that were so, why would He now put me where He did?

  When I went to see Nefertiri, my confusion became chaos. She was pleasant, but distant, as if I were the one who had plotted for such a move. She did not refer to the loss of me as a triumph for Rama-Nefru, not once, and so I could not know if She were troubled, or too proud to show a hurt. In the few moments I had to be alone with Her (and I could not delude myself that She wished to see me for long but could not—no, She chose to keep the meeting short) it was clear: She was not altogether disturbed. Indeed, She had the look of relief I had seen on other women when escaping from an imprudence. She held my hand, and spoke of patience, and said at last, “Perhaps you will observe Rama-Nefru for Me,” and when I bowed at this invitation to be Her spy, and made the formal gesture of kissing Her toe, I nonetheless whispered up Her skirts, “When will I see you again?” My heart and loins were in such an uproar they could have been grappling with one another. She did not tremble from my breath upon Her legs, but kissed me on the forehead, and most solemnly. Whether this was to be taken as Her vow, or more as a caress to calm a nervous horse, was more than I could know. “It is wisest if you do not come back,” She said, “until there is much to tell Me of Rama-Nefru.”

  At last, however, She let me look into Her wondrous eyes, deep as the royal-blue of evening, and all that I wanted to see was in them—love, loss, and the tenderness of flesh that has shared a few secrets with your flesh. I was sick, I say, with confusion.

  By afternoon, the move was done; by evening I had my first audience with Rama-Nefru, and it was short as well. She greeted me in a sweet voice charmingly laden with the accent of the Hittites, and told me that Her need for my services was great (although She did not mention a single matter upon which I might begin). Then She added that I must talk to Heqat, who could instruct me about Her people. “We are simple next to the Egyptians,” my new Queen said, “but then no nation has desires that are easy to learn.”

  She was gentle in manner, and certainly most courteous. I was much moved for the way She had suffered. I did not know if all Her hair was gone, but She wore a golden wig, much more brilliant, though of a less refined color, than Her own pale-gold, and the hue of this wig showed how ill She must have been. Her skin was green in its shadow and sad in its lack of luster, and a considerable sadness was in everything She said. I began to wonder, since She had such small idea what to do with me, whether Usermare had not made this change to divert Her. Was I a new interest for His sick Princess? This question now coming upon all the others, sent me away from Her chamber with an ache in my head that was worse than the feelings of a God buried alive.

  So I cannot say I was of much use to myself or to anyone the first day. While the Palace of Rama-Nefru had been given so lovely a name as the Columns of the White Goddess, and was a lively place to visit whenever Usermare was there (what with the officers of His Guard congregating in every courtyard) I found it somber when He left. The baby, Her Prince Peht-a-Ra, lived in a wing enclosed by a new wooden fence of tall posts with spikes at the top. Around that barrier was stationed most of the Queen’s Guard. Rama-Nefru’s soldiers, loaned to Her by Usermare, not only walked around the fence but down the corridors within, and there were even soldiers on duty with the nurse in the Prince’s own chamber. I would come to know Rama-Nefru, but I hardly saw the baby—He was guarded too closely. Nor did it improve my first impression of these Columns of the White Goddess to recollect that the Goddess in question was Nekhbet, the Vulture. While Rama-Nefru did not look like any bird of prey, the Palace, all the same, had a taint in the air. A whiff of carrion rose from the garden where Her plants had animal meat ground into the compost, and thereby gave the odor of a wild bird’s nest high on a cliff with the shreds of a few victims scattered about.

  Of course, it was a Hittite palace. If it were white on the outside, and had as many columns as its name, and so could not have looked more Egyptian—but for that hideous fence!—it was Hittite within, or what I thought Hittite must be. Rama-Nefru had covered the walls of many rooms with pale purple tile that came from Tyre. No finer color existed for the pale gold that Her hair used to be, but then the more I looked, the more I understood that Rama-Nefru looked to decorate Her palace with fine materials from the lands between Thebes and Kadesh, as if these would prove the most beneficial substances for Her marriage. So Her furniture was made of copper from Sinai and timber from Lebanon, of malachite, turquoise and alabaster from the lands between. How dark were Her rooms, but how strong! As I wandered through, and many of Her chambers were empty for hours at a
time, I longed for the Palace of Nefertiri where one could also pass from room to empty room, yet all were open to patios and of white marble, and alive with light. Now I had the sadness of knowing that I must lose my hours in this stronghold while understanding so little of the Hittites. When I would look at the personal servants walking about within, heavy and bearded men who, no matter how hot the day, still wore their wool garments, I would think of what a gloomy people they must be. I knew nothing of their Gods nor of their sentiments, but on my first sunset in the Columns, and on each sunset thereafter, I noticed that these Hittite servants had a long droning song to offer the evening, and their voices wailed with much misery. Heqat, who soon became my first friend here, was able to tell me what the words meant in Egyptian, and their meaning was cheerless if not downright terrible.