by Nick Drake
‘It’s a hard life,’ I said.
‘It’s all very well being sarcastic, but sexual intercourse is absolutely forbidden for the period when the priests are performing the offices within the temple territory, and I’m quite sure you, for instance, would find that an impossible imposition,’ he replied with his usual candour on such matters. ‘But of course, the priests are the more transient population here. There are the singers, the officiates at the shrine, the lector priests, the scribes, the hour priests who are responsible for keeping the correct time of the rites…but it’s the management, and the servants, and the weavers, cooks and cleaners, who really sustain the necessities for the correct performance of the rituals. You could say the God Amun employs more people than the King himself.’
‘So it’s a vast government department, in essence…’ I said.
‘Exactly. There are overseers for every aspect of the running of the temple; of the domain, of the accounts, of the military, of personnel, of the fields, of the cloth, and the granaries, and the treasury…’
He stopped in front of the entrance to a collection of impressive buildings.
‘And this is the House of Life, which contains the scriptorium, the libraries and archives, and the offices of the lector priests.’
We entered. Directly ahead of us through double doors was a large, silent room.
‘That’s the scriptorium,’ whispered Nakht, as if to a child, for I could see men of various ages at work, meticulously copying or collating texts from old papyrus scrolls on to new ones. The atmosphere in the library was sleepy, for this was the middle of the afternoon and some of the archives’ more aged users were in fact not working attentively at all, but dozing before the scrolls set out before them. Along the walls, wooden cubicles held an infinite number of papyri, scroll after scroll, as if all knowledge was here, in writing. Sunlight slanted into the chamber from clerestory windows, catching the countless motes that glittered and darkened as they drifted up or down, like tiny fragments of ideas or signs that had crumbled from the scrolls, and were now meaningless without the greater text from which they came.
Nakht continued to whisper. ‘These are the oldest archives in the world. Many of the texts preserved here come from the dawn of our world. Papyrus is remarkably robust, but some are so ancient that they remain in their leather cases, unreadable. And others can be un-scrolled, but one fears even the lightest ray of sunlight might erase the last of the ink, so they may only be consulted by candlelight. In fact some consult them by moonlight, but I think that is just so much superstition. Many are in signs that are now incomprehensible, and so they are nothing but a meaningless jumble of childish marks. It is a terrible thought: whole worlds lost to nonsense. It is a great palace of knowledge, but, alas, much of it is unknowable. Lost knowledge…Lost books…’
He sighed. We moved away down a corridor lined with doors.
‘Here are kept mythical and theological treatises, as well as recitations and the master originals of inscriptions from which all the carvings on the temple walls and obelisks are precisely copied. There are also studios here where Books of the Dead are copied, according to commission. And then there are the rooms for instruction and learning. And the various storage areas for texts upon many subjects, such as writing, engineering, poetry, law, theology, magical studies, medicine…’
‘And astronomy,’ I said.
‘Indeed. And here we are.’
We faced an old man in the white linen dress and sash of a lector priest, standing in front of double doors that were tied with cord and sealed. He gazed at us balefully from under his magnificent white eyebrows.
‘I am Nakht,’ said Nakht.
‘Welcome,’ said the priest, in a tone that implied the opposite.
‘I would like to examine some scrolls within the astronomical section,’ said Nakht.
The priest stared at him, narrowing his eyes as he considered this request.
‘And who is your companion?’ he said suspiciously.
‘This is Rahotep. He is a chief detective within the Thebes Medjay.’
‘Why does a policeman need to examine astronomical charts?’
‘He has an enquiring mind, and I am endeavouring to satisfy it,’ replied Nakht. The priest could not seem to find another reason to forbid entry, so he moved with a heavy sigh, like a hippopotamus from the mud, grumblingly broke the seal and untied the cords. He opened the doors, and with a brief gesture of his hands proposed we enter.
It was a much larger, higher chamber than I had anticipated. Each wall was lined with shelves to the ceiling, and high storage cases also ran in an arrangement like fishbones down the middle of the space. On each shelf were stored many papyrus rolls. I would not have known where to start, but Nakht browsed swiftly among the dockets, searching for something.
‘Astronomy is merely a function of religion, as far as the world is concerned. As long as we know when the significant stars appear, so that the days and feasts and festivals coincide with the lunar charts, everyone is happy. But no one seems to have noticed that the regularity, the returning pattern of the imperishable stars themselves, implies an immense ordered universe beyond our understanding.’
‘Rather than the old stories we’ve been told since time began about Gods and Goddesses and everything coming from the papyrus swamp of creation, and the night world being the place of eternal life…’
‘Indeed,’ whispered Nakht. ‘The stars are eternal life, but perhaps not in the way we have always understood it. Heresy, of course,’ he said, and grinned happily.
He unrolled several scrolls on the low tables set out between the cases, and then showed me the star charts’ columns of signs and figures, written in red and black ink.
‘See: thirty-six columns listing the groups of stars into which the night world is divided. We call these the decans.’
I let my eye run down the symbols in their columns, opening the old scroll further and further. The signs seemed to go on endlessly. Nakht tutted.
‘Be careful. These have to be handled delicately. With respect.’
‘And why is the information noted like this?’
‘Each column shows the stars that rise before dawn above the horizon for every ten-day period of the year. See, here is the Dog Star, which rises exactly at the time of the inundation, at the start of the solar year. And here is Sah, Glorious Soul of Osiris, the bright star which rises at the start of peret, the time of spring…you know the saying, of course: “I am the star who treads the Two Lands, who navigates in front of the stars of the sky on the belly of my Mother Nut”?’
I shook my head.
‘I sometimes think you know absolutely nothing,’ he said.
‘This is not exactly my usual territory. But what about the eclipse?’ I reminded him.
For the next few minutes he assessed many more charts, unrolling and rolling as he went, each chart seeming more ancient and fragile than the last.
Finally, he shook his head in resignation.
‘There is nothing recorded. I thought not.’
‘A dead end.’
‘It was an interesting thought, and at least now you know something of the subject,’ he said, in his most scholarly manner.
We left the archive room, and the priest bent down stiffly to retie and reseal the cords. As we walked away, I wondered aloud: ‘Where are the secret books kept?’
Nakht failed to disguise his alarm at the question.
‘What are you talking about? Which secret books?’
‘The Books of Thoth, for example.’
‘Come now, they’re a legend rather than a reality. Like many supposed secret books.’
‘But it’s true, isn’t it, that there are a number of sacred texts which are only ever revealed to initiates?’ I asked.
‘“Initiates” of what? And texts about which secret subjects?’
‘Oh, such matters as divine geometry,’ I replied casually.
‘I have never heard of such a
thing,’ he said stiffly, glancing around to make sure no one could hear us.
‘Of course you have, my friend,’ I said quietly.
He stared at me angrily.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You knew there would be nothing in those scrolls of interest to me. And I appreciate your taking the time to demonstrate that there was nothing. But I know you very well, and you are definitely not telling me something.’
He had the grace to flush.
‘Sometimes important matters are not to be discussed casually.’
‘What matters?’
‘I really despise you when you turn your interrogation techniques on to me. I am just trying to help,’ he said, not even half joking.
‘Then I will tell you what I think. I think there are secret books, on astronomy, among other things, and I think you have been initiated, and you have seen some of them, and you know where they are.’
He stared right at me, with as cold a look as I have ever seen on his face.
‘What a vivid imagination you have…’
And then he walked away.
I followed him back out into the light and heat of the late afternoon, and we walked on together in silence. Then suddenly he stopped and drew me into an area of shade beside an old temple.
‘I cannot lie to you, my friend. But I cannot reveal the contents of the books. I have taken a solemn vow.’
‘But all I asked was whether they existed or not.’
‘Even that is too much knowledge. Their existence or otherwise is a necessary concealment. The secret books are banned in these dark times. Secret knowledge has become dangerous again. As you well know, anyone found possessing them, or even copies of sections of them, could be punished by death.’
‘But they exist, they are shared within an inner circle, and therefore they must be kept somewhere clandestine. So where are they?’ I asked directly.
‘I cannot say.’
I gazed around at the buildings that filled the temple enclosures. Suddenly I realized there might be another city within this secret city, too. For every secret contains another secret at its heart.
He glared at me, frankly angry now.
‘You presume too much upon our friendship.’
We stood facing each other in this strange moment. To release the tension, I bowed.
‘I apologize. Professional matters should never come between old friends.’
He nodded, almost satisfied. I knew I would learn little more from him in this moment of emotional heat.
‘It is Sekhmet’s birthday, or have you forgotten that fact, amongst these ideas of eclipses and secret books? I am dining with you and the family tonight,’ he reminded me. I struck my forehead with my palm. I had not failed to remember, for Tanefert had reminded me before I left, but I still had a sacred family duty to perform.
‘And I am responsible for the feast, so I had better go and buy the secret ingredients-which I must never reveal, on pain of death-before the holy and esoteric merchants of the market shut their stalls.’
He managed to smile at last, and we walked together under the great gateway that returned us to the life of the city; then we parted, he to his house, and I to the market to buy meat, spices and wine.
13
We each have our habitual places to sit on the stools around the low table: my father at the far end, Sekhmet and Thuyu down one side, with Khety and his wife, and Tanefert and Amenmose on the other, together with Nakht and Nedjmet, the Sweet One, who likes to sit next to him, hanging her arms around his neck. She watches her audience as she enacts her loving gestures. Where did she learn such flattery? I had cooked our favourite dish-gazelle in red wine-reserved for celebrations.
Sekhmet looked serene and confident in a new pleated robe, displaying the earrings we had given her for her birthday. The self-consciousness of her teenage years is giving way now to a new self-possession. She has read far more than I have, and she remembers everything. She can still recite the nonsense poems we made up when she was a child. Knowledge to her is everything. She once said to me, earnestly: ‘I can’t be an athlete and a scholar.’ And so she made her choice.
As I sit with my family and friends on evenings like this, with the food before us on the table, and the oil lamps lit in the wall niches, I wonder what I have done to deserve such happiness. And in darker moments I worry my work may yet put all this in danger-for if anything were to happen to me, how would they live? I also have to ask myself: why is this life not enough? And how will I manage, when my father has passed on, and the girls have married, and are living in other houses, and Amenmose is studying elsewhere, in Memphis perhaps, and Tanefert and I face each other, in the strange new quiet of our late years?
‘Father, I have been wondering why it is that girls have no opportunities for education and advancement in our society.’
Sekhmet took a mouthful of gazelle while she observed the effect of her statement.
‘And this is delicious, by the way,’ she mumbled.
Nakht, Khety and my father glanced at me, amused.
‘But you have had many opportunities.’
‘Only because Nakht has taught me about things no one else would…’
‘And she is a spectacular student,’ he added proudly.
‘But it seems to me because I’m a girl, I’ve had fewer opportunities than boys, because everything in our society is about the priority of the man over the woman. And that’s ridiculous. This is the modern world. Just because I’ve got breasts now doesn’t mean I’ve lost my mind.’
My father coughed suddenly, as if something had gone down the wrong way. Nakht patted him on his back, but he coughed and coughed, tears in his eyes. I knew they were tears of mirth; but he did not want to embarrass Sekhmet. I winked at him.
‘You are quite right,’ I said. ‘If you decide you are going to achieve something, you have to be determined.’
‘I have decided. I don’t want to marry yet. I want to study more. I want to be a physician.’
She glanced across at her mother. I knew at once they had discussed this. I looked at Tanefert, and she gazed back at me with a silent plea to please be considerate.
‘But, my dearly beloved daughter…’ I said, wishing Nakht would say something to support me in my tenuous position.
‘Yes, my dearly beloved father?’
I struggled to find the best words.
‘Women don’t become physicians.’
‘They do, actually,’ said Nakht, unhelpfully.
‘What difference does it make whether they haven’t in the past? It’s what I want to do. There’s so much suffering in this world, and I want to change that. And there’s too much ignorance as well. Knowledge can alleviate suffering and ignorance. And anyway, why did you call me Sekhmet if you didn’t want me to become a physician?’
‘Why did you call her Sekhmet?’ enquired Nedjmet, sensing her opportunity to get in on the conversation.
‘Because it means she who is powerful,’ said Tanefert.
‘Sekhmet the Lion Goddess can send illnesses, but she can also recall them,’ said Sekhmet herself.
‘I see you have learned much from your clever godfather,’ I said.
‘I’ve been discussing things with him.’
For some reason, I felt like the only piece on the game board that has not moved beyond the first square.
Suddenly my father spoke from the other end of the table.
‘She’ll make a wonderful physician. She’s calm and methodical and beautiful to look at. Unlike those smelly and cantankerous old men who shake a few burning herbs in the air and make you drink your own urine. I’d certainly trust her to look after me when I get old and sick.’
Sekhmet looked at me, and smiled victoriously.
‘So you are guaranteed your first patient,’ I said. ‘But do you realize what this means?’
She nodded sagely.
‘It means years of study, and I’ll have to do twice as well as everyo
ne else because I’ll be the only girl among all the boys. And I’ll have to endure the opposition of the establishment and the small-minded insults of the old-fashioned teachers. But I’ll survive.’
I could not think of how to oppose her wish, and in truth I was proud of her determination. All that stopped me from supporting her wholeheartedly was the knowledge of the struggle to come-that, and the likelihood of failure-not from any weakness in herself, but from the refusal of the hierarchies to accept her.
I was about to say something when Thoth suddenly barked in the yard. An abrupt knocking on the door silenced us all. I rose and went to the door. A tall, thickset, unfriendly man in the formal dress of the Palace Guard was waiting there. Behind him were guards with swords shining in the light of the oil lamp in its niche beside the doorway.
‘I know why you’re here,’ I said quietly, before he could speak. ‘Give me a few moments, please.’
I turned back into the room. My family were staring at me.
Tanefert says there is always a choice. But sometimes she is wrong. I asked Khety to accompany me, and Nakht to stay and continue the celebrations. Sekhmet came through to the kitchen with me. She peered at the guards waiting outside, and nodded.
‘Don’t worry, Father. Work is important. What you do is important. I understand. And we’ll all be here when you return.’
And she grinned, and kissed me on the cheek.
14
As we crossed the Great River once again-Khety sitting opposite me, and Thoth crouched down at my feet, for he mistrusts the treachery of boats and water-I gazed up at the black ocean of the night that glittered vastly with mysterious stars. I thought of an old saying my grandfather had told me: that what was important was not the uncountable stars, but the glorious darkness between them. The faded old papyrus scrolls Nakht had shown me that afternoon, with their columns and signs, seemed only the crudest human rendering of this greatest of mysteries.
The oarsmen expertly guided us to the palace jetty, and the black water slapped gently against the moon-silvered stones. Khay was waiting. In the shimmering firelight of the hammered copper bowls his bony face was transformed by an anxiety it struggled to restrain. I introduced Khety as my assistant. He remained at a respectful distance, his head bowed. Khay considered him, and nodded.
