‘Don’t be too hard on them Merymose,’ Merkare pleaded. ‘Had it been a serious attack on us I’m sure it would have involved much more than these two scoundrels and the guards would have spotted them.’
‘These ‘scoundrels’ as you call them, Merkare, would be more than a match for twenty of these guards,’ Merymose said, with some pride, ‘and with Maiherpri beside them maybe a match for fifty.’
They all laughed as they continued walking. They were talking away to each other whilst the guards from behind ran up and formed a tight formation around them. These guards wouldn’t make the same mistake as those now walking, with heads bowed, being mocked by the children.
‘Don’t worry, Merkare, this walk of shame will be punishment enough for the guards. In all honesty I’m so happy to have all my family together I have no interest in strong punishment.’
Later the two Nubians returned to the House of Nahkt. They had been obliged to tell him that the force of guards was more than two hundred strong and they hadn’t been able even to see the Viceroy let alone kill him. However, they made Nahkt a promise that they would not allow the Viceroy to leave Waset without paying him a visit. This was the opportunity they had been waiting for since they left Kush.
Nahkt would never be able to find out if they had told him the truth. Once the two brothers joined the train they were able to inform their father who the spies were in his midst. He was shocked to discover one of those to be his own chief scribe. Without seeking permission, the three brothers fell back down the train each one picking up, in one case literally, the chief scribe and the two servants who had been the eyes and ears of Nahkt in the Viceroy’s household. With as little fuss as possible they escorted them away, into the desert. When they were confident there was sufficient distance, they asked each a simple question.
‘Do you repent of your betrayal?’
None attempted to deny their disloyalty, each claimed repentance, swearing never to repeat what they had done. They were left in the desert, stripped naked and broken necked, to be food for whatever carrion arrived first or was strongest. The boys ran to catch up with the train and made the rest of the way to the Palace.
The arrival of the Viceroy and his family at the Palace was met with much joy. The sounds of shenebs could be heard from a great distance.
‘Tiye won’t like the noise of those things,’ Merkare said to her husband. ‘She and sheneb blasts are not the best of friends.’
Haqwaset, his mother Mutemwiya, Tiye, Kirgipa, Yuya and Tjuya, all came out to meet the approaching guests. Kirgipa was linking arms with Mutemwiya, who was her aunt, her father’s sister, who like her had come to Kemet to marry a King. The main difference was that Mutemwiya’s son was now the wearer of the Double Crown. It was most unlikely Kirgipa’s own son, Smenkhare, would ever do the same, but this didn’t pain Kirgipa. She knew her son was well loved and would have a good life. Now he was playing happily with Thutmose and Teppy and no doubt young madam Nefertiti wouldn’t be far away. Even at such a young age Nefertiti was able to keep the Princes in check, she would make a formidable Queen, just like her aunt, Tiye, was now.
Maiherpri’s brothers entered the Palace through the soldiers’ entrance, along with Maiherpri and the other guards in the Viceroy’s party. It was too soon for them to show their true identities. There was still work to be done. Merymose, Yuya, Tiye and Haqwaset met them in a private chamber away from potential spies. Decisions were made, instructions given, the three Nubian brothers exited the private palace quarters and sat outside the barracks drinking beer and talking happily. Maiherpri, being the youngest, was the butt of many jibes and jokes.
‘How did someone as ugly as you manage to find such a beauty? When is the wedding? Have you decided on a name for the child yet?’
‘She’s not pregnant. We haven’t even…’
He was interrupted by raucous laughter from his brothers.
‘Maiherpri, you’re so easy to make fun of. We’re jealous. We never get the chance to meet beautiful girls; the last two we met were given a very untimely death. So, we must be pleased for you, little brother. The two of you seem happy and good together, mother is certainly delighted.’
‘She wants grandchildren and lots of them,’ Maiherpri said.
‘Well what are you waiting for then?’ came the retort, and all three of them laughed.
The two elder brothers left in happy mood. Their exile was coming to an end. One more week and their work here would be finished. They had to make sure Nahkt was in the right place at the right time. Then they could join in the royal celebrations and go home with their parents to Kush and live the life of the noblemen they were born to. Of course they would be in the army; they wouldn’t want any other life for themselves, but as officers and noblemen, not as lowly guards suffering the insults and wrath of their priestly master. They would enjoy being a part of his demise.
chapter twenty-four
As the next day dawned, the whole of Waset was awake and preparing for the festivities. The Beautiful Feast of the Valley was one of the two major annual festivals in Waset, the other being the Opet Festival which would take place after the inundation.
Although there were many festivals in Waset each year, these were the two festivals which celebrated Amun and were the only occasions of the year when the god’s statue was taken from the great Temple at Ipet-Sut and paraded in front of the people. The Beautiful Feast was a day and night of celebration which invariably ran into two days. It was an opportunity for all, rich and poor, to celebrate the remembrance of the dead; to honour Amun, the Lord of all the gods and the principal god worshipped throughout the Two Lands. His home on earth was here in Waset, he was the true father of the King. Haqwaset was both the living son and reincarnation of the god and he was not shy in telling people. The new birth room at the Temple in Ipet–Ryst was testimony to his lack of false modesty.
Flowers of every kind and colour filled the senses from all directions, bouquets of mandrake, cornflower and poppies, safflower and lilies. People brought papyrus flowers to the Temple as offerings to Amun and they filled every corner and surface. Others brought all they could carry in bouquets, or loose, to bestow on the god as he journeyed past, either on the ground in front of him, or onto the sacred barque carrying him. Priests were assigned, at the Temple gates, to take the offerings from the faithful. They were being kept very busy. Men had been working for days to place vast tubs of flowers all along the procession route.
Inside the Temple, the High Priest was supervising the preparation of the statues for the procession.
‘The statues must dazzle in the sunlight, keep polishing them,’ he ordered.
The statues of the god’s consort Mut, and their son Khonsu, were made ready to follow in separate shrines and on separate barques. All three statues would make the processional way from the great Temple, Ipet-Sut, through the halls, courtyards and vast open areas, passing the enormous obelisks of Thutmose III which dominated the skyline.
Onward they would walk to the lesser, but ever growing, Ipet-Ryst Temple, on which so much of the church’s money had recently been expended at the command of the King. Here the statue of Amun would be carried into the new part of the Temple constructed by Haqwaset and into the birth room to add the god’s blessing to the construction. This would be the place where the King and his entourage would wait for the procession and see the statue for the first time that day.
The procession started off. Twenty-four priests carrying the god’s barque. In front of them, musicians and chantresses. At the front, in the most prestigious position of all, was Tawy, her perfect pitch and rounded tones rang out.
Djoser informed his parents that this year Tawy would be in the vanguard.
‘Then we must be there to see her,’ Merit said.
They still loved their eldest daughter and the reason for not being close to her was fading, but pride is a terrib
le master and Kha believed it was up to Tawy to make the first move.
‘Kha, can you not forget your stupid pride and let us reconcile with our daughter? It’s a decade since we enjoyed her company.’
Merit didn’t care who made the first move, she wanted to again be close to her daughter. Over the last few months she had felt a growing need to be near Tawy. She didn’t know why, it was a deep rooted feeling of apprehension and longing. She must find a way of bringing Kha and his daughter back together, maybe this was an opportunity, even if she knew Tawy’s official duties, today of all days, would mean meeting would be difficult. At least she would be able to see her.
‘It’s not pride, Merit. Let the gods decide if we are to meet again in this world.’
‘The gods sometimes need a push from those of us on earth. They can’t do everything for us.’
Kha and the two Merits, found a good vantage point to see the procession, a short distance from the entrance to the Temple. This is where the parade would make a sharp right wheel. They were joined by Djoser’s three daughters. Djoser made excuses not to attend. He couldn’t risk being seen by Nahkt who would, undoubtedly, be in the procession close to the High Priest. His mother pleaded with him to change his mind and he felt pangs of guilt in not being able to tell her the real reason for not attending. He knew she wanted to reconcile with Tawy and he was the best person to act as a go-between. Today was not a day of possible reconciliation. If it were ever to happen it would be later, in private.
The family waited impatiently for the procession to arrive. Merit’s excitement grew as she heard the sounds of the parade before it came into sight. She could not see her daughter straight away, it seemed to her that it was just a crowd of people, all dressed the same, in white, full length gowns, each wearing a cornflower garland in honour of those who had died. Only as they came closer could Merit make out the form of her daughter and began to hear the unmistakable sound of her voice. How she had loved that voice around the house when Tawy, as a small child, could make music out of everyday conversation. How, even when sitting alone, she would invent songs and the house and garden were filled with the beautiful sound. As the parade drew closer, Merit was trying to focus through tear filled eyes. As her daughter approached, their eyes met fleetingly. There was a look of recognition and surprise on Tawy’s face. She didn’t break the chant but Merit was certain she caught a glimpse of a smile crease the corners of her daughter’s lips. Without warning, the younger Merit moved towards her sister, in her hands she held a chamomile garland. She turned to walk beside Tawy and placed the garland around her neck.
‘Please come home, Tawy,’ she half whispered, ‘before it’s too late,’ and she returned to her mother’s side. A guard approached, admonishing her for stepping out of line.
‘She’s my sister,’ said Merit with pride, ‘I wanted to give her a garland of her favourite flowers.’
No harm had been done so the guard let it go.
‘Don’t approach the procession again,’ he said.
The only sign which indicated that Tawy heard what Merit said was the quizzical glance she gave over her shoulder towards her mother. It had all been over in an instant.
Kha and his family watched as the procession continued. After the chantresses, the novice priests followed, they in turn were followed by Priests of Amun from across the Two Lands. In front of the barque was the High Priest, but no-one noticed him as all eyes focused on the bright golden statue. As the statue approached, everyone in the crowd automatically sank to their knees and called out to the god, ‘Amun-Ra. Amun-Ra. Amun-Ra.’
The High Priest smiled to himself.
‘The King and his foreign family will never usurp my power. They can take their blasphemy and stories of one God and return it north, away from the Two Lands. For all Haqwaset’s posturing, I am the true power here in this land. One day I will show this family that Amun, who was the guiding hand bringing Ahmose to power and defeating the heqas, will do so again, this time for me. Nahkt is doing his job in bringing in funds, who cares where it comes from? Gold is power, Amun is power. Gold and Amun together mean absolute power.’
His thoughts came to an abrupt end as the procession in front of him divided, forming two lines. As those in front of him moved to the side, he and a handful of senior priests were left at the front of the procession. The entrance to the new part of the Temple was directly in front of them. The King’s guard, in all their regalia, stood at the entrance.
He despised their presence in his Temple. He drew closer, the King standing ready to greet him. His anger grew; he refused to think of his feelings as jealousy. He wasn’t jealous.
‘My only desire is that my god, the father of all the gods, be honoured as is his right. I am his High Priest; I should be respected as such. Here in this Temple it should be me, waiting for the statue to arrive. It should be my guards standing there. Haqwaset should bow to me and not dare to speak in the manner of recent months. Amun will one day prevail and I will prevail with him. The heqas, who now surround the Monarch, will be ground into the dirt. Their offspring banished never to return. One day. One day soon.’
He approached the King, forcing himself to bow. Haqwaset stood aside, allowing the god’s statue to pass, then fell in behind together with Tiye, Kirgipa and Merymose. Directly behind Haqwaset came Maiherpri, carrying the symbolic and heavy golden fan. He was flanked by Mahu and Meri-Bes.
The golden statue and barque were placed on the floor of the birth room; the twenty four bearers removed the poles and retreated from the room. Only the High Priest, his second in command and the Royal entourage remained.
‘How dare the King allow these foreigners and non-believers into this most sacred room?’
Haqwaset smiled as the anger built on the face of the High Priest. The rituals were carried out by the red-faced priest through gritted teeth, adding to Haqwaset’s pleasure.
The room suitably, if half-heartedly, blessed, the barque bearers were summoned back. The poles were repositioned and, with great effort, the god’s statue was lifted onto shoulders and carried out into the baking heat, which seemed to have increased since they had been inside.
In the courtyard, the statues of Mut and Khonsu, the god’s wife and child, had arrived on their separate barques. These fell in line behind the statue of Amun and the procession began to form again, this time with the Royal party at the front. It made its way once more to the river, for the trip across to the west bank and the Mortuary Temples which awaited them. Kha and his family didn’t have as good a view of the procession coming back, they were, however, able to see the Royal family as they passed. As one, the crowd went down on their knees again but this time their eyes, downcast. It was one thing to look at the statue of the god, quite another to look directly at the King. The difference in the crowd’s reaction was not lost on the High Priest.
‘There is still some work to do. We need a change on the throne.’
Surrounded by the Palace guards, Tawy was lost from view on the return to the river. Merit was content, as she was able to pick out her daughter’s voice. When the procession ended, Kha and the others meandered along the route taken by the parade and made their way to the river. The ferry barges would be extremely full and busy.
They would take their time, find some shade, beside the flowing waters, and wait. They were in no hurry. There was no-one, living on the other side, waiting for them. They, like everyone in Waset on this day, would visit the tombs of their ancestors. For Kha’s family these were close to their home in the workers village across the water. The dead would wait patiently, for the family to arrive.
Kha sat on the river bank, in reflective mood, a little distant from the chattering women. Seeing Tawy had both angered and excited him. He was delighted to have seen her but angry at her continuing absence which was making Merit so unhappy, particularly lately. He had never wanted her to leave home. Why couldn’t
she have stayed at home like Merit? No. Tawy was headstrong, wanting to sing more than anything else. The Temple was the place for her, she had told him in no uncertain terms, even at her young age. Oddly, for a man who spent his life working on religious projects, he had developed a very cynical view of the way in which the gods were worshipped, particularly by the priests in Waset. They seemed to think themselves above the rest of humanity.
Spending time with Yuya in prison all those years ago, seeing the quiet inner peace which Yuya always exuded, had at times, caused Kha to question his beliefs. He didn’t believe he could ever subscribe to the faith Yuya had in the one God, but he did think that almost all the men responsible for the Temples were not good people.
He had heard stories, had seen with his own eyes, that normal folk were treated with disdain, or as slaves, by the priests. The more powerful the priest, the worse they seemed to treat those under them. Kha had tried to explain to Tawy, had tried to convince her not to go. Later, as he realised she was not going to see sense, his anger made him forbid her to go. Despite this, she had gone. She had been savagely attacked and left pregnant. Had she listened to him it would never have happened. She brought it all on herself.
‘Why did she not listen to me? Why has she stayed away so long? All she needed to do was say she was wrong. Wrong to go, wrong to disobey me, wrong to allow herself to be married off to Nahkt to save the face of the High Priest. Wrong not to have drowned the boy at birth. Wrong, wrong, wrong.’
The Awakening Aten Page 29
