Beauty of Re

by Mark Gajewski

  “Your grandmother is quite mistaken,” I told Amenhotep, though I knew my words would get back to her and she’d make me pay for uttering them. “Nefer is the granddaughter and daughter and sister and wife of kings. She deserves your respect, Amenhotep.” I scanned the group of boys. “And yours as well.” I turned back to Amenhotep. “She’d be close to you, if you’d only let her. She’s one of the smartest and most capable women Kemet has ever known, and the most beautiful. Your father has entrusted her with many important tasks – expansion of Ipet–Isut, building the harem in the Faiyum, constructing his own tomb in the Great Place. She could teach you much that’d be useful to you when you take the throne, if you’d only let her.”

  I could tell from Amenhotep’s face that he was unmoved by my advocacy. But he was just a seven year–old boy, after all; if men both older and wiser were susceptible to Iset’s slanders, how could I expect him to resist?

  I shifted my gaze towards Ipet–Isut. With a start I realized it had been twenty years since Nefer had been replaced as God’s Wife. Meryetre–Hatshepsut now held the title, having herself replaced Sitiah after Amenhotep’s birth made her King’s Great Wife.

  A priest broke away from a group standing beside one of the four flagpoles topped with scarlet pennants that rose from insets in the westernmost pylon. He approached and bowed to us respectfully.

  “This is Baki, Majesty,” I told Amenhotep. He was married to Aachel’s youngest daughter, Beset, one of my favorites in the days when Nefer and I were still friends – was Beset really in her early thirties? Had we all grown so old? “He’ll guide us through the temple and answer any questions you have about tomorrow’s ceremony.”

  “Let’s walk a bit north first, outside the walls of the complex,” Baki told Amenhotep. “Your father recently built a temple to Ptah there, south of Montu’s complex.”

  “Montu is the war god,” Amenhotep told the others.

  “And Ptah’s the god of craftsmen,” Sennefer added.

  We skirted Ipet–Isut’s outer wall, striding across a strip of desert, our feet stirring the dust. Three hundred feet north stood a small but beautiful stone building. We had to pass through five small pylons in a close row to reach it.

  “This has replaced a shrine made of mud brick that was here when I was a girl,” I said as we stood before it.

  Amenemopet pointed to an inscription and began to read. He was one of the brightest students in the harem. “I made it as a monument to my father Ptah, erecting for him the House of Ptah anew of fine white sandstone, doors of new cedar of the best of the Terraces.”

  “The Terraces are the low mountain ranges in Setjet,” Amenhotep interrupted. “Their northern end is just south of Kadesh. I saw the great cedar trees growing on their slopes when I was away at war.”

  Amenemopet continued. “It is more beautiful than it was before. My majesty found this temple built of mud brick and wooden columns, and its doorway of wood, beginning to go to ruin. I overlaid for Ptah his great seat with electrum of the best of the countries. All vessels were of gold and silver, and every splendid costly stone, clothing of fine linen, white linen, ointments of divine ingredients, to perform his pleasing ceremonies at the feasts of the beginnings of the seasons, which occupy this temple.”

  We entered the building through a fragrant cedar door with glittering electrum fittings, stepped inside a vestibule containing three offering tables. As the inscription had promised, the inner walls were overlaid with electrum, the various jars and containers used in ceremonies of gold and silver, the offering tables of gorgeous colored stone. A pleasing smell wafted from open ointment containers.

  “The table to the right was made by Sehetepibre – the first king Amenemhat – almost five hundred years ago, and was moved here by Menkheperre after he reconstructed this temple,” Baki said. “The sanctuaries to the left and center are to Ptah, the one on the right to Hathor.”

  Baki led us into that chamber. It was dominated by a statue of Sekhmet, Ptah’s consort, with a lion’s head and the beautifully modeled body of a woman, dramatically lit by a beam of light streaming through a small opening in the ceiling that made Sekhmet seem almost alive. Even as we watched the light disappeared and the room darkened and the statue was a statue once more.

  “Sekhmet comes to life on moonless nights and wanders the streets of Waset, devouring small children,” I whispered dramatically. “The king and Nefer and I once witnessed her leaving the temple when we were skulking around very late one night.”

  My charges wasted no time exiting the temple, to the quiet laughter of we adults. We headed back the quarter mile toward the gate in the first pylon. To our left many workers were pressing into a precinct of low mud–brick huts, on their way to their homes. Smoke, no doubt from cookfires, rose at one end, where a communal meal was being prepared. I smelled bread baking, heard the bawl of cattle from pens near the slaughter yards. I saw beyond the fires the building where I’d had my quarters when Nefer was God’s Wife. I knew Meryetre–Hatshepsut rarely used them; she occupied rooms in the per’aa.

  We moved through the first pylon into the open–air festival court that now held six obelisks, rising high above limestone and alabaster chapels.

  “This pylon was erected by your great–grandfather, Aakheperkare – the first Thutmose,” I told Amenhotep. “He erected the two short obelisks farthest from us as well. Your grandfather ordered the two closest to us to be created, the ones with the electrum–covered tips. He died before they were delivered, so his Great Wife, the mother of King’s Wife Neferure” – even now no one dared refer to Hatshepsut by her name in the presence of the royal family – “placed them here, when she was your father’s regent.”

  “And your father erected the two centered between them a dozen years ago,” Baki added.

  We walked between the six towering objects and passed through the gate of the next pylon.

  “This is the Wadjet Hall,” I announced. “When I was your age the entire hall was roofed with wood. Beams and planks long enough to span the distance between its two pylons had to be imported from the Terraces, so you can imagine the expense. Your father’s stepmother later removed the center section of the roof and erected two obelisks to commemorate her Heb–Sed. Your father enclosed them in a wall not long ago.” Part of Iset’s decree to eradicate all trace of Hatshepsut, I thought to myself. “So now all you can see of them are their upper sections, and only from outside Ipet–Isut’s walls.”

  “These statues are of my great–grandfather?” Amenhotep asked.

  They stood in two lines, facing each other, colossal, carved from sandstone, painted, the king bearded, wearing either the White or Double crown, portrayed as Osiris. He looked much like Thut, with his long aquiline nose, highly arched upper eyelid, prominent cheekbones, wide smiling mouth, his upper lip slightly pulled over his teeth due to the distinctive family overbite. Amenhotep shared that feature.

  “Sixteen statues in the north half of the hall, twenty in the south,” I answered.

  Baki led us through the eastern pylon. “This court is the most ancient part of Ipet–Isut,” he said, “created by King Kheperkare – the first Senwosret. The building you see before you, the Per’aa of Maat, was erected by your father’s stepmother. Inside are sacred storerooms and rooms where offerings are prepared. East of it is the Throne of Horus, the High Lookout of Kheperkare. He built it for his Heb–Sed. There was once an alabaster shrine in this courtyard, a beautiful building, erected by Djeserkare – the first Amenhotep.” Baki looked at young Amenhotep. “Your father dismantled it and used the stone to erect his pylon on Ipet–Isut’s southern axis.”

  That was a destruction I mourned.

  Baki pointed. “Your father built the barque shrine that pierces the center of the Per’aa.”

  It was the one Nefer had constructed during our absence. “It replaced another built by your father’s stepmother,” I said. “That one was exquisite, made of red quartzite, to hold the sacred barque o
f Amun during festivals. It was one of my favorite shrines.”

  “What happened to it?” Amenhotep asked.

  “The king dismantled it too,” Baki answered. “He used some of its granite blocks to build the doorway of his new shrine. We should take a look inside.”

  I was still saddened that my husband had felt the need to dismantle what Hatshepsut had built. The barque shrine had been such a beautiful building, and held many memories for me. I could only imagine what Nefer had felt as she’d raised Thut’s shrine in its place.

  We entered the shrine. Baki pointed to its walls. Carved on them were hundreds of captives, their arms bound behind them, the names of their cities inscribed below them – all of them wretches who had surrendered to Thut at Megiddo. “The walls record the names of more than three hundred towns captured by your father. And they contain the records of his campaigns.”

  Thut had in fact acted on my suggestion of years ago and ordered what had been recorded in his military daybook to be inscribed at Ipet–Isut. Because of that, his deeds would be known for all time. I picked out the names of some familiar towns: Damascus, Hazor, Acco, Taanach, Rehob, Tyre, Gezer, Aruna, Sidon, Byblos and, of course, Yapu and Megiddo and Kadesh. I myself had visited many of them.

  “Let’s see how well you can read these real inscriptions. They’re much more complex than the easy ones that scribes practice with you,” I said to the boys, winking at Ahmose–Humay. “Majesty, will you be so kind as to summarize for us what your father did on his ninth campaign?”

  “Do we really have to?” Amenhotep objected.

  “Can’t we just have some fun for once?” Mutnofret pouted.

  I slipped into my sternest teacher’s voice. “Each dawn brings Amenhotep closer to the day he’ll rule Kemet. He has no time to waste. He must take advantage of every opportunity to learn. And you – his friends, his future confidants and advisors – have no time to waste either.”

  “The king’s wife speaks the truth,” Ahmose–Humay said. “Those boys who grow up with the heir in the harem are most often those who help him rule Kemet.”

  “If you had to choose today, who would you select for what role?” I asked Amenhotep.

  He glanced at his friends, pondered for a moment.

  “Amenemopet, you shall be vizier in the South. Kenamun, you shall be high steward in Peru–Nefer and oversee the wealth that flows into Kemet. Sennefer, you will be both chancellor and mayor of Waset. Mutnofret, you will oversee my works in this temple. And Usersatet, you will serve me as viceroy and watch over Kush.”

  “Heady positions,” I said. “Let’s see how prepared you all are. Majesty?”

  Amenhotep gazed at the wall for a moment. “My father’s ninth campaign took place during his thirty–fourth year on the throne.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “He raided Nukhashshe in Setjet, a region populated by semi–nomadic people. He took much spoil from three towns, as a lesson to those disaffected by his rule. He also secured the son of the chieftain of Irem, a land in the south near Punt, as a hostage.”

  “Very good, Majesty. Mutnofret – the tenth campaign.”

  “The king crushed the Mitanni at Khalep, moving there swiftly from Kemet when he learned of their rebellion. The inscription reads: ‘Then His Majesty prevailed against these wretches…they fled headlong, falling one over another before his majesty.” He took ten prisoners of war. He received tribute from the Hittites afterwards.”

  “Ten means ten thousand, of course,” I said. “Sennefer. The next.”

  “More fighting in Setjet, on the steppe around Nukhashashe in two successive years. The king received tribute of wild game and minerals.”

  “Amenemopet.”

  “The king campaigned against the Shasu, nomads in Setjet.”

  “Kenamun.”

  “Apparently the king did no fighting. He traveled north and collected tribute from foreign powers and came home.”

  “Very good. Usersatet.”

  “A raid to the frontier around Lake Niy, to remind the wretches of his might. He inspected the harbors on that trip, where he kept supplies for his army.”

  “Yes. The king once hunted elephants in the swamps of Lake Niy, on his way home from crossing the Euphrates and conquering the Mitanni,” I said. “He slew 120 in one day. I myself witnessed it.”

  “A campaign for which King’s Wife Meryetneith received flies of valor,” Baki told them. “They were her second set. She’s the only woman the king has ever honored so.”

  I detected the pride in his voice. And even after all these years, I too was proud. And happy, for that campaign had resulted in my too–long delayed marriage.

  “Tell us about it!” Amenemopet said.

  “Yes!” echoed Mutnofret.

  We all sat in the cool shade inside the shrine and I recounted the campaign for them – sailing north, building boats with which to cross the Euphrates, the capture of Carchemish, scouting the Mitanni camp, sweeping through the Mitanni homeland, the return trip and hunt, Amenemhab’s rescue of Thut from the elephant, receiving flies of valor from Thut along with the rest of his soldiers who had demonstrated outstanding courage. How Iset had fumed, that Thut had so honored one of her despised enemies. That ceremony had been one of the highlights of my life and I wore the flies whenever I was in her presence, to remind her. Along with the Hathor amulet Thut had given me thirty–six years ago. And the flies from Yapu.

  “Who wants to read for us the list of treasure we took from Megiddo?” Ahmose–Humay asked.

  Sennefer volunteered. He stood and faced the wall. “Six stallions, 2,041 mares, 191 foals, 340 prisoners, 924 chariots, 200 suits of armor, 502 bows, 1,929 cattle, 22,500 sheep – and the royal armor, chariot and tent–poles of the King of Megiddo.”

  “Didn’t the king also capture Yapu in that campaign?” Mutnofret asked.

  “General Djehuty, actually,” I answered. “The king had moved most of the army on to Megiddo and left Djehuty and five hundred men behind to keep an eye on it.”

  “Did the general really smuggle two hundred men into the city in baskets, as the storytellers relate?” Sennefer asked skeptically.

  “Two hundred men – and one woman,” I said.

  “You?” Mutnofret queried.

  I nodded.

  “It’s true,” Amenhotep averred. “Father has told me the story many times.”

  And then I recounted that tale for them as well, holding a little of it back, of course. It was a story neither Ahmose–Humay nor Baki had ever heard. “Menkheperre bestowed great riches on General Djehuty for his victory,” I concluded. “The king gave him a golden bowl, inscribed ‘Given in praise by the king of Upper and Lower Kemet, Menkheperre, to the hereditary chief, the divine father, the beloved by god, filling the heart of the king in all foreign lands and in the isles in the midst of the great sea, filling stores with lapis lazuli, electrum, and gold, keeper of all foreign lands, keeper of the troops, praised by the good gold lord of both lands and his ka – Djehuty.’ The king gave General Djehuty a silver bowl and four canopic jars, a heart scarab, a gold bracelet, a dagger, and a magnificent ring inscribed on one side ‘He of the Two Ladies, great of terror in all lands’ and ‘Menkheperre, beloved of Ptah, radiant of face’ on the other.”

  “How is it you know the inscriptions so well?” Sennefer asked.

  “I helped the king compose them, sitting beside his campfire one night on our way home,” I replied.

  “My father bestowed flies of valor on Lady Mery for what she did at Yapu,” Amenhotep informed everyone.

  “That’s right,” I said. “And if you are all very brave in some battle when you are grown, perhaps Amenhotep will bestow them on all of you.”

  “I swear I’ll earn some!” Mutnofret said.

  “And me!” several echoed.

  I smiled. “And now – one final campaign. The one we just returned from. Majesty?”

  Its story had been drawn on the wall in black ink; we
had not been back at Waset long enough for it to be carved into the stone. No doubt the task had been hastened by Thut’s desire that everyone who visited Ipet–Isut during the Heb–Sed see all he had accomplished in his wars. Some of the hieroglyphs had been corrected with red ink; I suspected Tjanuni himself had done that, since I recognized his papyri as the source of what had been written.

  “Last year Durusha, the cowardly King of Kadesh, organized a rebellion by the major cities in the north of Setjet against my father, backed by the deceitful Mitanni,” Amenhotep said after glancing at the wall. “Father moved his troops by water and landed, then quickly moved on Tunip. After taking Tunip in a long siege he attacked Kadesh. He killed or captured all those who had risen against him, and executed the King of Kadesh. He returned to Kemet in triumph.”

  “A triumph we witnessed yesterday,” I added. “And as the king conquered the Mitanni and the King of Kadesh, so have you six conquered your lesson this day.”

  Our next stop was Akh–menou. We followed Baki from the shrine and entered a corridor Thut had erected along the south side of the Per’aa of Maat and Amun’s sanctuary. As we exited it I pointed to the east, where Hatshepsut’s great obelisks towered over Ipet–Isut, reflecting Re so brightly I couldn’t look at them directly. “I myself helped bring those two electrum–clad obelisks from the first cataract thirty–five years ago. Your father watched the workmen load them onto a great boat just before he headed south to the Second Cataract. Ask him to tell you about it sometime. Your father’s stepmother ordered an even larger obelisk to be constructed in that quarry, but the stone cracked before it could be finished and it was abandoned. It lays there to this day.”