by Jerry Dubs
Waja-Hur arrived in Waset to oversee the public marriage of Hetephernebti and Nebka, who had adopted the name “Horus the Victorious Protector.”
The formal wedding took place in front of the palace atop a banner-draped, gold-painted dais. It was witnessed by a throng comprising the residents of Waset, the soldiers of the disbanding army, all the major priests of the Two Lands, every man, woman and child who could find a way to the city and two hastily carved statuettes representing King Kha-Sekhemwy and Queen Menathap whom King Nebka now embraced as his true parents.
The citizens of the Two Lands were curious.
King Kha-Sekhemwy had ruled for twenty-seven years, as long as the average lifetime for someone born in the Two Lands, and everyone was eager to see the new king. They wanted to see how he dressed and how he walked, they wanted to hear his voice and see his face. They wanted reassurance that the unchanging rhythm of the Two Lands would continue, that ma’at was undisturbed.
Queen Menathap’s body, immersed in natron salts, was in the hands of the priests of Anubis. In a few more weeks she would receive her final cleansing and be purified for her re-awakening in Khert-Neter.
In the palace, Ipwet and Hetephernebti had moved to Menathap’s former chambers. Hetephernebti had furiously redecorated the rooms, changing the furniture, hanging new linen draperies and commissioning new murals, all in an effort to erase her memory of her mother collapsing on the floor. Menathap’s servants had become Hetephernebti’s and the new queen found herself busy learning what they all did and, in turn, what she was expected to do.
And still she had not slept with her husband.
Part of her was relieved, for she still dreamed of dedicating herself to the gods not to raising children.
Part of her worried that Nebka wasn’t attracted to her and that their unconsummated union would disturb ma’at.
All of her was anxious about awakening each day to a role that she didn’t understand.
And then one night as she prepared for bed the stocky guard who had helped confine her to her room the night her mother died appeared at her doorway
Although she hadn’t seen him since that night, she recognized him and an ill feeling came over her.
“What do you want?” she snapped at him and immediately regretted her tone when she saw his sad eyes.
He stood clumsily by the doorway and said, “I am sorry, my Queen. King Nebka sent me to escort you to his chambers.”
She nodded her head. “Yes, tell him I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
When the guard didn’t move Hetephernebti said, “What is wrong?”
“I’m sorry, my Queen. I don’t know how I am supposed to talk to you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The king, he ... I don’t know what I’m supposed to tell you ...” He shook his head. “I don’t know how people like you live. I worked in the quarry and I went home when I was done. Sometimes I would stop at a tavern and have a jar of beer, but then I would go home and Kawit, she’s my wife, and I would talk or visit with neighbors. We didn’t have all these rooms. I mean we still don’t.”
Hetephernebti saw that he was struggling to tell her something that mattered to him. She gave him a small nod of encouragement.
He shook his head and she saw that there was a long jagged scar along the side of his head above his right ear.
“There was a rock slide,” he said when he saw where she was looking. “I was caught under it. I was very lucky, a sharp edged boulder bounced off my head. I guess my head is very hard. It sliced the skin off. Kawit sewed it back together.” He stopped talking and looked at the floor. “I lost three of my friends that day.”
“I’m sorry,” Hetephernebti said.
She knew life was fragile in the Two Lands. Many children died before they could crawl, women died giving birth, crocodiles claimed unwary fishermen, hippos attacked boats in the delta, and wasting illnesses visited households, taking everyone who lived there despite Bes, Heket, Mut and all the other household gods.
But the river rose and withdrew, Re sailed the sky and was swallowed at night; life and death were woven together to create the very fabric of the Two Lands.
“What is your name?” she asked the guard. Names were important. They were part of a person’s spirit, their shadow self. They drew strength from a person’s life and they survived the transition to Khert-Neter. Names were immortal.
“Kheti,” he said.
“Kheti,” Hetephernebti repeated. “You started to say something about the king and then you stopped. Please, tell me what you wanted to say. If your words carry truth then ma’at will be strengthened. Don’t be afraid.”
Kheti gathered air and took a step closer to Hetephernebti. “Some men, when they drink beer, they get very loud. Sometimes they are funny, sometimes they are angry, but usually it passes and if they drink more they fall asleep. Others grow quiet when they drink. You can see them thinking about the things that haven’t gone right. They play over arguments in their head. Their eyes grow small. They are the ones who grab a rock and hit someone or go home and fight with their wife.”
Kheti’s voice had dropped to a whisper. He stopped talking and looked at Hetephernebti.
“The king has been drinking beer?” Hetephernebti asked.
Kheti nodded. “And he has grown very quiet.”
Hetephernebti shivered in fear. She closed her eyes and gathered her thoughts. She had never known Nebka to be violent. Her mother had never hinted at anything unseemly happening with King Kha-Sekhemwy. Even if what Kheti said was true, he was talking about workers, farmers, stone cutters, reed gatherers, not a king.
She brought herself under control and smiled at Kheti. Turning back to one of her nightstands, she picked up a small polished-granite jar, its exterior painted with a portrait of the goddess Hathor. She held the small jar out to Kheti.
“Almond oil,” she said, “for Kawit. It can be mixed with flakes to make kohl or she can add flower petals to make perfume.”
Kheti backed away waving his hands.
“No, my queen, I cannot take your oil.”
“Of course you can. It is a gift for your wife and you can’t refuse your queen.” She pressed the small jar into his callused hands. “And never be afraid to talk to me, Kheti. Just as your strength and courage protect me, your words protect me as well. Thank you.”
***
Nebka was reclining on a bed along the back wall of his sleeping chambers. Stand torches outlined a crooked pathway across the room and two of the wall sconces were lit, yet the room remained draped in shadows, moving, living clouds of darkness that clung to the corners and climbed across the walls.
The king was wearing a loincloth and his narrow chest glistened with sweat. Three empty clay pots lay on the floor near his head, a fourth pot dangled from his left hand.
“Dear Hetephernebti,” he said, slurring the syllables of her name as he pushed himself upright.
“My king,” she answered, pausing halfway across the room. Behind her she heard soft steps as Kheti withdrew from the room.
Nebka stood, leaning suddenly to his left and then regaining his balance.
“Are you well, my king?” Hetephernebti asked.
Nebka dismissed her question by waving the clay beer jar at her. “It’s been busy, hasn’t it? So many loose ends to tie, so many messages to send, so much to organize. We haven’t had time to talk.” As he spoke he took a single step toward her and then stopped. He stepped back toward the bed and turned sideways. With his empty hand he waved for her to join him.
Hetephernebti approached, her legs quivering with excitement. Her wedding bed was just a few steps away.
Nebka raised his chin and nodded at her. She didn’t know what he wanted, so she continued approaching him, watching his eyes for clues.
His gaze swept over her shoulders and the bare skin above her translucent robe. His eyes moved lower, taking in her small chest, her narrow waist and boyish hips. When she w
as a few steps from him, he said, “Turn around, Hetephernebti.” His voice was husky, the words slightly slurred.
She turned and soon felt his hand on her shoulder. He slid the strap of her robe off her shoulder and with a nervous trill she shrugged her shoulders, helping the linen slide across her erect breasts and fall at her feet.
His hand followed the gown, sliding along her shoulder, down her back and across her hip.
She anxiously bit her lower lip. She knew she lacked the curves and full flesh of an older woman. Her breasts were small and pointed, the bones of her hips jutted forward straining against her brown skin. Her backside was slim and tight, not the gentle cushion of a mature woman.
Nebka moaned and pushed against her back. She felt his member, swollen but not firm. Ipwet had told her about the magical transformation a man’s penis went through when he was excited, swelling in girth, growing in length and becoming as hard as a tree branch.
She felt Nebka rub against her. His free hand gripped the jut of her hip and pulled her tight against him. She heard him drink again from the beer jar and tears came to her eyes. Where were the kisses, the gentle caresses that Iput had described?
His member felt harder, like a snake, but not stiff. She felt herself tremble, but whether it was from fear or excitement, she couldn’t tell. His hand left her hip and she felt him tug on himself. She ached to turn around and help him.
Iput had told her how she touched her husband, stroking, squeezing, and pulling. She said they laughed and teased each other until finally their desire grew too strong and they joined together, pushing at each other, riding and being ridden.
Suddenly there was a crashing sound. Hetephernebti looked toward the sound and saw the fragments of the beer jar scatter on the floor by her feet.
“Go!” Nebka said in a hoarse whisper. His hand pushed against her bare back and she stumbled forward, her feet catching in the robe at her feet. She pulled up her clothing and turned around to face Nebka.
He had backed away to his bed. His jaw was tight, his eyes narrow, almost closed, and she thought she saw them glisten.
“Just go!” he said louder.
“Go! Get out! Leave me!” he shouted and Hetephernebti ran from her husband’s room.
***
A week passed without Hetephernebti seeing Nebka. In her free hours she asked Ipwet to bring Iput to her and she asked the older girl about the foods she and her husband ate, what words they said, every detail Iput could tell her about her life with her husband.
Hetephernebti was sure there was a secret there, something she could learn that would make her next visit with Nebka thrilling and happy.
Lettuce, Iput told her, that was the secret food. It contained magic to inflame passions. And radishes mixed with honey and coriander seeds crushed and dissolved in wine. Each potion that Iput described would definitely ignite a man’s passion. She was sure.
And if they failed, Iput said, there was one more: A thick waxy ointment mixed with baboon feces. She laughed when she described it, but she said that one of her aunts swore that it had restored her husband’s powers.
“Baboon poop?” Ipwet had said.
“I know,” Iput laughed. Then she shrugged. “But they say it works!” Then she looked at Hetephernebti. “Do you need some of that?” She leaned forward, eager to hear about the king’s sexual strength.
Ipwet also looked at Hetephernebti eagerly. She loved these conversations between her sister and Hetephernebti. They talked about things that really mattered, things that she needed to know. She couldn’t wait until she could start that part of her life. She was going to have so much fun.
Hetephernebti blushed. She didn’t want to reveal too much about what had happened with King Nebka. Her mother had smiled and changed the conversation whenever Hetephernebti had asked about sex.
“When you’re older,” she had told Hetephernebti. “There will be time.”
Just a few months ago she had dreamed of herself as a young mother and Menathap a wise grandmother, the two of them trading smiles over the nodding head of a nursing baby. But now Menathap had gone and so had the time Hetephernebti had always thought she would have with Menathap.
“No baboon poop,” she said. “Just the lettuce and the radishes. I think he likes radishes. I’ll find out.”
Each evening, Hetephernebti prepared herself in case King Nebka called for her. She was determined that she would be irresistible, her beauty and determination able to overcome whatever demon had turned King Nebka away from her.
With Ipwet’s help she shaved her legs, her arms, her head, the small thatch of soft hair below her small belly. She bathed, anointing herself with a new perfume of myrrh and cinnamon that she had discovered among her mother’s cabinets. She wore a woven gold belt and a shift of the thinnest linen. She painted her nipples with a lotion containing red clay to help them be more visible through the gown and she washed her feet with salts.
And then one evening Kheti appeared to escort her to Nebka.
Hetephernebti was dressed, perfumed, and nervous. She signaled to Ipwet to fetch the platter with oiled lettuce and radishes that they prepared each evening. Hetephernebti took the wooden tray herself and left with Kheti, her footsteps filled with a resolve she didn’t feel.
But she would go forward.
“He has been drinking again, my queen,” Kheti said as they entered the hallway. “And there is something else,” he started to say, then stopped as Kanakht appeared at the other end of the hallway.
Kheti stopped walking and bowed his head to Kanakht. Showing the outward confidence of a queen, Hetephernebti smiled at Kanakht as they drew closer.
As usual Kanakht was hurrying, a rolled papyrus in his hand, his eyes focused on the future as he mulled over a problem. But instead of passing wordlessly, he paused his stride and gave her a small bow as she passed.
“Great wife,” he said, using her formal title.
“Master of the Footstool,” she answered, using the title Kanakht had recently acquired. In addition to advising Nebka on the administration of the Two Lands, Kanakht was also responsible for the personal requests of the king.
Hetephernebti had no idea what they were, but the new duties had occupied Kanakht so much that she now saw even less of him than before.
He moved away and Hetephernebti resumed her walk to the king’s chambers. Whatever Kheti was going to say was lost to the moment.
In a moment Hetephernebti found herself in Nebka’s shadowy room. The king was standing near his bed, a small collection of beer pots on the floor near his feet.
Instead of approaching him, Hetephernebti carried the food tray to a table and setting it there she turned to her husband and smiled. “I thought you might enjoy some refreshments, dear brother,” she said.
There were two chairs by the table, their seats covered with leopard skin. She pulled them close and then turned to await her husband.
Nebka, still gripping a pot of beer, walked unevenly across the room to the table. As before, he was wearing only a loincloth. When he neared the table, Hetephernebti backed away to give him space and waited until he sat.
Iput had told her that sometimes men who hadn’t been with a woman could be shy. It was almost impossible to imagine that a man as old as Nebka was a virgin, but Hetephernebti hoped that was the reason for his strange behavior.
Watching Hetephernebti as he sat, Nebka kept a tight grip on the pot of beer. She leaned over the table and picked up a small plate heaped with leaves of lettuce. She brought the food to Nebka and standing by him, she picked up a leaf and brought it to his mouth.
His eyes went from the plate to her face and Hetephernebti smiled. “It’s just lettuce, brother.” She raised the lettuce to her own mouth and took a bite. Then she offered it to Nebka, He opened his mouth and as she laid the leafy green on his tongue she felt a thrill. This was how it would be. She would lovingly care for him and he would return her tenderness.
Nebka clenched his teeth on
the lettuce and turned his head to tear a bite from the leaf. As he chewed, Hetephernebti picked up another leaf, wondering as she did, how much was needed to produce the effect she wanted.
She waited until Nebka swallowed and then she offered him another bite, then she turned to the radishes. The broad, green leaves were still attached to the red bulbs which were drizzled with honey. She picked one up, watching the honey slowly slide from the radish. She raised it to his mouth and Nebka tilted his head back, a smile playing on his mouth. She placed the radish between his teeth and bit into it.
She breathed excitedly, this was exactly as she hoped it would be.
She thought of the next step in the slow seduction Iput had suggested. She breathed in deeply and picked up another radish. Swirling it in the pool of honey on the plate with one hand, she used her other hand to slide the strap of her gown off her shoulder. The linen slid lower and her red-tinged nipple, the tip erect, appeared. She brought the radish closer and slid it across her breast leaving a glistening coat of honey on her nipple.
Turning to Nebka, she saw that he had pulled his member from his loincloth and was pulling on it. She leaned over him, offering her honey-coated breast, and reaching down to touch him with her hand.
For a moment her hand was over his, moving with his rhythm, feeling him grow and then he lurched from the chair and grabbed her shoulder. He turned her around and roughly pulled at her gown, which had slipped from her shoulders. She heard the fabric tear as she caught herself on the table. Bracing herself on the table’s edge with her hands, she felt Nebka fiercely grip her hips.
She felt him prod at her, hard and stiff.
She reached behind to guide him, but he pushed her hand away. She closed her eyes and prepared herself. The moment was not what she had imagined, but perhaps men were different and her Nebka was not as gentle as Iput’s Hemka.
