by Paul Doherty
‘Which Pharaoh was this?’ Curfay demanded.
Five years old, Curfay was always inquisitive.
‘A long time ago,’ Amerotke replied. ‘Anyway, once the architect was dead, Pharaoh moved his gold and silver into his new treasure house. However, on the morning after he had moved it in, he discovered some of the gold and silver had gone missing.’
‘And the door was not open?’ Ahmase asked.
‘The doors remained locked and sealed. I have told you: there were no windows, no secret entrances.’
‘But what happened then?’
‘Pharaoh took counsel with his wise men.’ He smiled. ‘But I’ll continue the story tomorrow night. Come on, it’s time for bed.’
Shufoy grabbed his charges and marched them out of the room. Amerotke stared out into the night down towards the Nile and wondered how his judgement in the Hall of Two Truths had been received at the royal palace.
Nephthys: ‘Lady of the house’: a goddess often depicted as a young woman.
CHAPTER 5
In the hall of columns of the House of a Million Years, the royal palace near the great mooring place on the Nile, Hatusu, wife of the great god Tuthmosis II, who had now journeyed to the far horizon, took her place in the royal circle. She sat on a chair before the table provided and gazed quickly about her. This was the throne room, the source of all power; the great chair, the throne of the living one, with its gorgeous canopy bearing the red-gold figure of Horus, its arms carved into sphinxes, was empty. Its footstool, embroidered in cloth-of-gold and inscribed with the names of Egypt’s enemies, lay rather forlornly to one side. Hatusu gazed at the throne’s carved legs, shaped in the form of leaping lions, and bit her lip. That throne should be hers! Next to the great chair, on its special pedestal, stood the red and white double crown of Egypt, encircled by the glittering Uraeus, the lunging cobra with its red jewelled eyes, spitting terror at Egypt’s enemies. Along the mother-of-pearl-topped table in front of this lay the insignia of Pharaoh, the crook, the whip, the sickle-shaped sword, and beside them the chepresh, Pharaoh’s war crown.
Hatusu, dressed in a simple white sheath dress, a jewelled necklace round her throat, sought to hide her feelings. By rights she should still wear the vulture headdress, the crown of the Queens of Egypt. However, the keeper of the diadems, that dough-faced servant, that creature in the pay of Rahimere the Vizier, had told her this would not be acceptable. Others had sided with him. The keeper of jewels, the royal fan-bearer, the overseer of the royal ointments, all had pointed out that her stepson, Tuthmosis, was, in fact, Pharaoh and the royal circle would decide who would be Regent.
‘How old are you?’ the keeper of the diadems had simpered.
‘You know my age,’ Hatusu had replied tartly. ‘Not yet nineteen years.’ She tapped her throat. ‘But I bear within me the mark of the god. I am daughter of divine Pharaoh Tuthmosis, wife to the god his son.’
The keeper of the diadems had turned away, but Hatusu was sure he had mouthed to the other sycophants, ‘Were you now?’ which provoked giggles and laughter behind raised hands.
I know where you’d like me, Hatusu thought, staring round the circle. You’d have me in the House of Seclusion, in the harem with the other women, growing fat on honey, bread and wine, stuffing my mouth with the choicest meats until I am as round as a beer vat. Who among these men could she trust? She was only here because of whose daughter she was and whose wife she had been. She must think coolly, clearly. At the far end of the circle sat Rahimere the Grand Vizier, thin-faced, deep bags under his eyes. That crooked nose suited his character! With his shaven head and constant look of piety, Rahimere always reminded Hatusu of some petty priest. He was a sly one! He controlled the scribes of the House of Silver so he could dig deep into the chests of gold and silver, precious jewels and necklaces. Hatusu had soon learned that every man had his price. Had Rahimere bought them all? The court officials who sat wafting their perfumed fans or stiffened ostrich plumes in front of their faces. The fragrance created some coolness while the fans hid their expressions. She did not trust any of them! They were like water, they’d simply go the way the board was tilted. Further down the circle, however? Hatusu wafted her own perfumed fan. These were different: Omendap, commander-in-chief of the army. He always looked kindly upon her though, most times, he seemed more interested in her breasts and neck than he did in her brain. Could she buy him with her body? And the other soldiers? The commanders in charge of the crack regiments, the Amun, Osiris, Horus, Ra and Ibis. These military men looked decidedly uncomfortable in their white linen robes, grasping small silver axes, the symbols of their office. What had her father said?
‘Soldiers, Hatusu, can rarely be bought by gold and silver. They will always fight for Pharaoh and the royal blood.’
Hatusu felt uncomfortable. She looked to her left. A tall, shaven-headed young man was staring at her. He wore a close-fitting skull cap and had a nervously expressive, rather wrinkled face with plump cheeks and full lips. His white robe looked rather soiled at the neck. He carried a fly whisk which he was tapping against his cheek but it was his eyes which held her. Hatusu would have smiled at the lust in that gaze. All etiquette and protocol forgotten, the young man sat undressing her with his eyes. His tongue came out, licking the corner of his mouth. He didn’t seem the least discomfited that he had been noticed or change his gaze or expression. He was finding it difficult to sit still; as the rest took their places and the clerks placed documents in front of them, his hot gaze never wavered.
Now there’s a man, Hatusu thought, I could buy body and soul, but who was he? She turned and talked to the divine father on her immediate right, one of the chief priests from the temple of Amun-Ra.
‘Who is that young man?’ she whispered. ‘The one who looks uncomfortable?’
‘Senenmut,’ he growled. ‘An upstart born and bred.’
‘Ah yes!’ Hatusu turned away and glanced sideways, smiling faintly. Senenmut! She had heard of him. A man who had risen from nothing. A brave warrior, an outstanding soldier. He had left the army to join the court and risen quickly to become overseer of Pharaoh’s works, in charge of monuments and temples. She would remember his name!
She heard a cough and turned to see that Sethos had joined them. He was smiling openly at her and winked. Hatusu smiled with relief. It was good to see a friendly face. She and Sethos had known each other for years. She would need the support of this powerful, wealthy lord, a high-ranking priest, the royal prosecutor, the eyes and ears of Pharaoh. Sethos had been one of her dead husband’s closest friends. His voice would carry sway in the royal circle. Hatusu breathed in, nostrils flaring as she composed herself. She must not lose her temper, let these enemies see how weak and vulnerable she really was. One day they would kiss the earth before her! Until then, Hatusu reflected as she closed her eyes, she had other dangers to face. Time and again she had been summoned to the small chapel of Seth, to pick up another letter full of threats, of cunning blackmail. If these secrets, it mentioned, were published, Rahimere would close like the crocodile he was and the House of Seclusion would be a welcome alternative to the other fates he could threaten.
‘Let it be known!’
Hatusu started and looked up. The cedar doors had been closed and guarded, the scribes and clerks had gone. The oil lamps glowed brightly; the council was in session. A priest was now standing, turning towards the empty throne. If Tuthmosis were alive he would be sitting there but his heir was now fast asleep in the House of Adoration, Pharaoh’s private quarters.
‘All hail!’ the priest intoned, hands extended. ‘The King of Upper and Lower Egypt, speaker of truth, beloved of Ra, the golden Horus, lord of the diadem, lord of the cobra! The great silver hawk who protects Egypt with his wings!’ the priest continued, despite the fact that he was talking of a boy too young to hold a sword, never mind go to war. ‘Strong bull against the miserable Ethiopians! His hooves trample the Libyans!’
On and on went the divine pae
an of praise. Hatusu stifled a yawn. Eventually the priest finished his psalm and withdrew. Rahimere clapped his hands and leaned forward, his eyes smiling a welcome.
‘We have business before the royal circle, this council is in session.’ He looked to his right at Bayletos the chief scribe. ‘The matters before us are secret.’
Hatusu schooled her features. First, there were the usual reports about the state of crops, visiting envoys from abroad; silver and gold ingots in the House of Silver, the health of Pharaoh’s sisters. Only when Senenmut gave a short and incisive report on the royal tombs did Hatusu look up. The young man’s voice was soft but clear. He did not look at Rahimere but down at the table. Hatusu gripped her hands in pleasure. She could feel it deep in her breast. Here was a man the Grand Vizier had not bought. Omendap, strangely silent since the death of Pharaoh, then delivered a short, pithy report on the deployment of troops and the state of fortifications on the borders, along the Nile and near the First Cataract. He spoke in short, abrupt sentences. Hatusu’s stomach tingled. Omendap painted a dire picture. Spies and scouts were reporting movements along Egypt’s borders. In the Red Lands, the great wastes to Egypt’s east and west, the Libyans could be massing troops. From the southeast scouts were reporting stories told by desert wanderers, how the Ethiopian tribes had heard of Pharaoh’s death and were openly advising all and sundry among the sand dwellers to ignore Egyptian border patrols and customs posts. If there was no Pharaoh, they agreed, no tribute should be paid. Finally, beyond the Horus road, which ran through Sinai to Canaan, Egypt’s great rivals, the Mitanni, watched and waited.
‘It is important,’ Omendap concluded, ‘that this council name a Regent who acts in the name of Pharaoh.’
‘Let me march!’ Ipuwer, commander in charge of the Horus regiment, struck the table with his fist. ‘Let us choose our foe! Let us bring our enemies back to Thebes where their heads can be smashed and their bodies hung from the walls as a warning to all!’
‘Against whom should we march?’ Omendap replied. ‘Libyans? They have done no wrong. The Nubians? They may plot mischief but they are quiet. How do we know that all our enemies are not in one great secret coalition? That they are not waiting for us to lash out? They will take that as a sign of weakness as well as a pretext for war.’ His words created a chill.
Ipuwer stirred restlessly on his chair.
‘Two matters must be addressed,’ Omendap continued remorselessly. ‘The death of Pharaoh is a mystery and that must be clarified. Secondly, a Regent must be named.’
He glanced across at Sethos. The royal prosecutor looked quickly at Hatusu who smiled sympathetically.
‘Well?’ Rahimere glanced at Hatusu, malice glittering in his eyes. ‘How is the case going against Captain Meneloto?’
‘It is not,’ Sethos replied tersely. ‘Everyone here knows what happened in the Hall of Two Truths. Amerotke, the chief judge, instead of solving the mystery, created more. He has adjourned the case until tomorrow morning.’
Hatusu sat and listened as Sethos gave a short description of what had happened in the court. The royal prosecutor did not look at her and Hatusu gripped the table with her hands. There was silence after Sethos had finished. Rahimere will strike now, she thought. The Chief Vizier had picked up his fly whisk and was tapping it against his cheek.
‘Was this wise?’ he simpered.
‘Was what wise?’ His sycophant and placeman, Bayletos, chief scribe of the House of Silver, spoke up.
Rahimere’s crooked face broke into a smile and his eyes, lizard-like, slipped towards Hatusu.
‘Divine Pharaoh has travelled to the far horizon,’ the Vizier declared. ‘His going has caused us grief and anguish. The citizens of Thebes cover themselves in dust, sprinkle ashes on their heads. Lamentations are heard as far north as the Delta and south beyond the First Cataract. Yet, he has gone! Why investigate the reason for his going? A viper struck his heel. That was the will of the gods!’
Hatusu remained silent. She would not tell them what she had been instructed to do. The person writing those blackmail letters had clearly stipulated how Pharaoh’s death must be portrayed. She could not forget that terrible morning when her husband had collapsed in front of the great statue of Amun-Ra. How his body had been taken into a side chapel. While mourning there, she had found another letter addressed to her in the hieratic hand. It laid down stark instructions on what was to happen. What choice had she but to obey? Hatusu’s flesh prickled with cold. The blackmailer must be here, one of these men. Rahimere himself? It must be a member of the royal circle. Hatusu had thought she could discover it herself. Hadn’t the letters arrived before her husband’s return? There again, most of the royal circle had been sent on in advance to Thebes, well ahead of Pharaoh’s arrival.
‘My lady?’
Hatusu’s head came up. She wished the trickle of sweat down her forehead had not appeared but she dare not raise her hand and rub it away.
‘I beg your pardon, my lord Vizier. I was lost in sweet memories of my dead husband.’
Hatusu was pleased when some of the army commanders nodded wisely, a look of distaste in their faces. Perhaps Rahimere had overstepped the mark? After all, she was the grieving widow. Her husband, divine Pharaoh, had died in mysterious circumstances! She had every right to order such an investigation.
‘My lady.’ Rahimere pressed his point. His lizard eyes blinked as they always did when he was sarcastic. ‘Do you think it was wise to open this matter for the gossips in the marketplace? Is it true, my lord Sethos, that as royal prosecutor you were most reluctant to take the case up? Did you not advise as much?’
‘My lord Vizier.’ Senenmut raised his right hand. ‘My lord Vizier, if the lady Hatusu, if her highness,’ he emphasised the last word, ‘wishes to investigate this matter then let it be so. No one here has spoken against it. No one here raised an objection. The lord Amerotke is well known as a man of integrity. There is a mystery behind divine Pharaoh’s death and consequently it should be investigated.’
‘I agree,’ Sethos put in. ‘I advised her highness not to pursue the case as a matter of state. However, as a Queen who demands justice …’
His words created a murmur of approval. Hatusu relaxed. Rahimere, however, refused to give up the advantage. He’s circling like a jackal, Hatusu thought. He wants the regency and he’s determined to control this council. He’s determined to prove I’m empty-headed, feckless! Sweep me into the House of Seclusion! Grasp young Tuthmosis by the shoulder and proclaim himself as Pharaoh’s Regent. And how long would she survive in the House of Seclusion, bereft of money, power, influence?
Rahimere now opened the silver-lined leather bag he carried, as did all the council, where private papers and documents could be stored.
‘I have heard Omendap’s opinion about the state of our borders,’ Rahimere said. ‘And the reports we have from our spies. This is the reason for this meeting. However, the news is more ominous. I have, how can I put it?’ He smiled and drew out a document. ‘Proof that the princes of Libya and Ethiopia are considering an alliance against Egypt.’
‘That’s all to the good.’ Senenmut spoke up, an impudent tone in his voice. ‘But, my lord Vizier, to whom may the gods grant health, wealth and prosperity! We were, I believe, discussing my lord Sethos’ report on the case before my lord Amerotke in the Hall of Two Truths.’
Hatusu glanced sideways. Sethos was grinning, head down. Some of the generals had covered their faces with their hands. Rahimere had been so malicious, so eager to strike, he had in fact offered great insult to the royal prosecutor, passing from one business to another without a by-your-leave. Rahimere’s face mottled with fury. He breathed heavily, gestured with his hands that his own placemen did not get drawn into this quarrel.
‘My apologies, my lord Sethos, what do you advise?’
‘That we let justice take its course,’ Sethos replied airily. ‘Let my lord Amerotke issue his judgement. We will have to await that.’ Sethos spread out
his fingers on the small table in front of him. He gazed across at the painted wall frieze, a glorious scene in blue, green and gold depicting the victories of Egypt’s armies over the sea people. ‘May I add that I suggest my lord Amerotke be invited to join the royal circle. He is, as you know, a man of integrity and wisdom. He may well ask questions which, perhaps, would be better answered here than in the Hall of Two Truths. Moreover,’ Sethos added slyly, ‘we might need his good counsel and wisdom in the months ahead.’
‘Be that as it may,’ Rahimere snapped. ‘The hour grows late.’ He tapped the piece of parchment. ‘We shall adjourn for a while and then discuss the matter in hand. We must send an army south as far as the First Cataract.’
‘Why?’ Omendap asked.
‘Because the attack will come from there,’ Rahimere continued. ‘We must decide which troops, which members of the royal circle attend the commander-in-chief.’ His gaze brushed Hatusu. ‘Who will lead Pharaoh’s armies?’
The Grand Vizier put down his fly whisk.
‘I have brought some wine, the finest of Moeretia. Let us drink that and return to these discussions.’
The meeting was adjourned. People rolled up the papyrus parchments, putting them into the small leather bags on the back of their chairs. Hatusu polished the table with her hand. The red henna on her fingernails gleamed in the light from the oil lamps and torches. So red, so liquid, it looked as if she had steeped the tips of her fingers in blood. If necessary, she thought, I’ll do that. They treat me like some pet cat but claws I have and claws I’ll use.
She knew what Rahimere was going to recommend. He would have Omendap and some of the other generals out of Thebes: send the crack regiments south. Rahimere would also advise that she should go with them, for that was always the case. If Pharaoh the god did not go, because of his youth, then why not the widow of the god Tuthmosis? The troops would demand that. Hadn’t her own grandmother marched against the Libyans? And, while Hatusu was gone, Rahimere would plot. Worse still, Hatusu thought as she tapped her fingers, what if the army was not victorious? Would she come back to Thebes to an empty house? Or worse? Imprisonment in some chamber? Her mind teemed. She couldn’t object. She couldn’t recommend Rahimere to go: he was Grand Vizier. His task would be to stay at home and hold the reins of government.
