Several of the most disobedient and the most inebriated revelers suddenly traded their now shattered mugs for a cool piece of wet cloth to nurse their bumps and bruises. Within moments, but in what seemed like hours, the King’s Guard had cleared out the street and we proceeded again toward the Temple at double time to avoid a repeat of the incident.
The temple itself was a commanding structure, and although I had passed through its doors too many times to count, it still gave me gooseflesh to see it from below. It was built on the model of the great Temple of Horus in Nekhen, where King Narmer was first crowned King of the Two Lands. Yet this temple was larger and grander in every respect.
Its front was held up by six massive trunks of Lebanese cedar, each one requiring two grown men stretching their arms wide to encircle it. The entranceway door was three times the height of a man, carved from ebony wood felled far to our south in Ta-Sety. Horus’ likeness, the falcon sitting on a branch, was carved in relief atop the doorway. Instead of mud-brick walls, white stone walls brightly reflected Ra’s light.
Waiting for us at the top of the steps leading to the Temple was Khenemet. Priests in white robes lined the steps, forming a path for Khenti. Khenemet held up his arms and soon a semblance of quiet came over the crowd nearest the temple.
“Buikkhu, Right Arm of the Priests of Horus, whom do you bring with you and what is your purpose?” Khenemet shouted down to us.
“I bring Prince Khenti, son of King Semerkhet, son of King Anedjib, son of King Den, son of King Wadjet and King Meryt-Neith, son of King Wadjer, son of King Hor-Aha, son of god-King Narmer who watches over us all from the Afterlife.
“I bring Prince Khenti to transform him to his rightful place as our next King in the Land of the Lotus and the Land of the Papyrus. I ask you to allow us to enter Horus’ holy dwelling so that he may judge whether the Prince’s ba is worthy to ascend.”
Khenemet gave his approval and I climbed the stairs behind the Prince and Buikkhu. At the top we were greeted by Khenti’s sandal bearer, who removed the fledgling’s sandals and washed his feet. We entered the temple to the cheers of the tens of thousands massed around the temple.
Once inside we proceeded down the mud-brick corridor toward the inner sanctum. Outside the entrance Khenti’s sandal bearer once again washed his feet while acolytes washed Khenemet’s, Buikkhu’s and my feet. When all were ready, we entered Horus’ dwelling.
Sand had been sprinkled on the floor to ensure that none but us had entered since Ra’s rising. As we came around the wall to the open chamber, Horus’ black form stood, proud and tall upon his stone platform. All eyes were drawn to his gold falcon head, with his two jeweled eyes staring down upon us. He held his arms slightly away from his body and his hands were half-turned toward us, as if in but a moment he would walk to us and place his hands on our shoulders. His was a commanding presence and one before which I felt sure we all trembled inwardly. The silence was only broken by the rumblings from Khenti’s youthful stomach.
Next to Horus stood a stone brazier with a fire lit. It cast a eerie red glow upon the metal in Horus’ jewelry and the flickering of the dying embers made it seem as if the living god stood behind those piercing eyes. A stone alter stood nearby and Khenemet approached it.
“Horus, before you stands Prince Khenti, the heir of your servant King Semerkhet. The King brings a holy sacrifice, so that you alone may judge whether he is worthy to wear the Double-Crown.”
Khenemet and Buikkhu left by a side entrance and a few moments later reappeared holding a rope. Around the corner came a massive black bull, oiled and groomed so that its hide sparkled in the light of the brazier. The bull had been given herbs to make it docile. Buikkhu led it to the alter and cinched its head into a stanchion. It bellowed softly as he did this, but did not protest or back away.
“Behold, mighty Horus, here is Prince Khenti’s ka in its bull incarnation. As he leaves this world, so too shall Khenti be reborn as the new King of Kem.”
Buikkhu picked up a gleaming, curved sword that leaned against the alter and handed it to Khenti. With his military training, Khenti walked quickly to the bull, stood on the raised stone beside it and with all his might struck the sword cleanly into the beast’s neck. In two strokes the poor animal fell with a thud to the floor.
As the sacrificial animal’s body bled itself out, Buikkhu and I quickly cut into its chest, for now every second was precious. Within a minute Buikkhu reached into the cavernous chest cavity up to his armpits, struggled to find the right organ, and expended much energy cutting it out. Finally he withdrew his blood-stained and clotted arms and placed the still beating heart in a gold tray that Khenemet held before him. Khenemet placed the tray on the alter and the two of them first hefted the heart, then examined it from every possible angle. Finally Buikkhu, his white kilt nearly all crimson, placed a drop of the fresh blood on his tongue. He nodded to Khenemet, who immediately held up the now stilled heart towards Horus.
“Behold Horus, Prince Khenti is now dead! His heart was strong. His heart was pure. His heart was perfect. May you watch over his ka and that of the new King. Protect them throughout this life and into the Afterlife. May the new King serve you and bring glory to your people.” Khenemet placed the basin on the alter.
At Buikkhu’s nod, Khenti walked in front of Horus and kneeled. “Behold Horus, before you kneels the new King of the Land of the Lotus and the Land of the Papyrus,” Khenemet said in a loud voice. “We dedicate his name to you for all eternity, to be recorded in the Book of Kings. He shall bring credit to you and your people. Behold Qa’a!”
His Arm Is Raised! I smiled inwardly, for the irony of it all and for the genius of Khenemet and Buikkhu in choosing that name. His arm is raised, I thought, but to whom and for what purpose? Then I remembered Horus and his ability to uncover the secrets of the heart and I stilled my thoughts, for I feared that my two colleagues might uncover the secrets of my heart.
For the next hour it appeared as if every priest in the temple was put into service. The bull was dragged by ropes out of the inner sanctum and the entire area scrubbed clean. Priest butchers cut up the meat for distribution to the nobles and to other temples throughout the city. King Qa’a was moved to an adjoining room and there he was washed with holy water, dressed in a fine linen kilt and adorned with the most precious jewels from the King’s treasury. On his chest he wore the solid gold and bejeweled breastplate that had been fashioned for King Narmer himself and when they placed it upon his chest, the new King closed his eyes in prayer. The King’s own gold armband, the one that symbolized his control over the army, was placed on his right bicep. Around his waist he wore a woven cord of pure gold, fastened by an ivory clasp.
Now the makeup priests moved in, painting the King’s cheekbones with rouge, red coloring for his lips, green malachite for his eyelids and black kohl eyeliner. Finally, Khenemet stepped forward. In his hands he held the white and red Double Crown, the crown of Unification. He held it above the King’s head.
“I place upon your head the Double Crown, the symbol of Unification. Wear it with pride, knowing how hard fought it was for King Narmer. But also wear it knowing your responsibility to keep ma’at strong.” With that he placed the crown on Qa’a’s shaved head. Then two of the King’s retinue brought him his crook and flail. They placed it in his hands, crossed his arms, and arranged them carefully over his chest.
When he turned around, I gasped, for the man who faced us now was not the boy I saw that morning. Gone was the childish expression, gone was his slump-shouldered bearing of youth. In his place was a confident young man, standing erect, radiant in his gold and jewels, regal in his bearing of the Double Crown. All the priests in the room bowed low to the ground in his honor.
Khenemet led the King to the rear door of the temple. “Brace yourself, King Qa’a. Your people greet you.” With that the huge doors were swung open and the scene that confronted us threw us back on our heels. First, a mighty cheer rose up, the voices of two
hundred thousand subjects, wildly gesticulating, screaming, ululating, applauding, clawing at the soldiers for their chance to get closer to their King and thus bring good fortune to them and their families.
From the hill, a valley ran down to the far mountains. Not a single cubit of ground could be seen, for there was nothing but a wall of people, swarming, swaying, dancing. Beyond them thousands of tents stood at the bases of the mountains, tents of every color, size and description. Some held our own people, but there were also those of dignitaries from faraway lands. On each side, as far as the eye could see and all the way to Mother Nile herself, lush crops stood, waiting for the harvest, a testimony from the gods that ma’at was once again strong in our land.
As the new King stepped forward, the people brought themselves to a frenzy, for the ascension of a King was an event that few witnessed in their lifetimes. For those who were young when Semerkhet was given the Double-crown, this was nothing short of a fortuitous event, one that surely portended good fortune. The children were besides themselves with excitement. They jumped up and down, pleading with any nearby adult to hoist them higher so they could catch a glimpse of the King and Royal family.
Qa’a held his regal bearing and stared straight forward, turning his body from side to side, but not smiling, as he had rehearsed with Buikkhu. He struck an impressive figure, his youthful body strong, his adornments abundantly displayed, radiating hope and prosperity for the future. I noted more than a few of the businessmen in the crowd nodding their approval and pointing toward the King as they shouted in each others’ ears.
For the next ten-day, all of Inabu-hedj was a flurry of events, one after another and even one competing with another. The nobles celebrated with elaborate parties, for which the attendance of the King demonstrated how high that person was held in the King’s esteem. But even in the lowliest houses of the rekhi, modest celebrations took place, as they raised mugs of cheap barley beer in hopes that the gods would look favorably even upon them.
Yet the coronation events were not limited to parties and drunken orgies. Throughout the days, and even into the nights, businessmen met with each other, often in clustered groups, to negotiate and barter their wares. New trade agreements were signed, trade routes planned, and promises made and signed with handshakes and the exchange of debens of gold and silver.
For most of the revelry Khenemet was curiously absent, although Buikkhu was ever present, accompanying the King wherever he went. But in private spaces in the Temple of Horus I witnessed a steady stream of ministers, foreign dignitaries and even merchants conferring with Khenemet in hushed tones just outside Horus’ penetrating gaze. Many times I saw acolytes leaving those meetings with signed scrolls, which I found out later were secreted away in the sealed vaults that had been dug deep beneath Horus’ inner sanctum. Although I knew not what was contained in those parchments, I had my suspicions. For those reasons, and for the smugness evident on the faces of Khenemet and Buikkhu, I had unsettled feelings for the future of Qa’a’s rule.
SCROLL SIX
Lessons for a King
Merkha
As the ten-day drew to a close, the number of parties dwindled until, by the last day, the streets of Inabu-hedj were again back to their normal traffic of shoppers, local merchants and frazzled priests. The tents that were so colorfully set among the hills were now gone and the foreign dignitaries had mostly left for their home countries. Left behind were huge mounds of foodstuffs and refuse that the rekhi picked through again and again in hopes of uncovering small treasures they might eat or sell.
“And what is your assessment of the coronation and the past ten-day?” Qa’a asked Khenemet at their morning meeting. He seemed buoyant and full of youthful energy as he stood by a table of refreshments and picked at a bunch of red grapes.
“In what respect?” Khenemet said, looking up from a papyrus scroll that was laid out before him on the low table.
“In all respects!”
Khenemet pondered the question. “In many ways it was quite successful, while in others it… fell short.”
“Fell short? How?”
Khenemet appeared reluctant to engage the King. He placed his quill on a rag next to the scroll and sat back. “I do not mean to deny the successes, my King, for they were many. On trade alone, Kem will benefit for many years to come.”
“Yes, and in alliances with our neighbors, it would seem. So how did we fall short?”
Khenemet could no longer avoid the question. “I felt that the revelry was excessive.”
Qa’a stared at Khenemet, uncertain how to react. Ra shone brightly through the open roof, forcing the men to place themselves at the edge of the room to benefit from the shade.
“Yes, there was boisterous celebration, but the people have been on edge for many months. They needed relief.”
Khenemet sighed. “Perhaps. Yet… “
“Speak what is on your mind, Chief Priest.” Qa’a appeared annoyed. He set his cup on the table and stared at Khenemet.
“I know you see it as just a celebration for your coronation, and you are right in that. But I view it differently, my King. To me, to we Horus priests, it is yet another sign of the decay that rots from within.”
“Decay? Rot? What in Horus’ name are you talking about?”
Khenemet closed his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. “As Horus priests we monitor our people, our laws, the King’s rule. We see them as part of a larger whole, as part of the machinery that the gods set in motion and that we have a duty to maintain. We have noticed that our people have grown soft in recent years.”
“Soft in what ways?”
“In many ways, dear Khen…, I mean Qa’a. The nobles now cannot do without their fine wine from Babylon or carved wood chests from Lebanon or ivory trinkets from Kush. This much you have seen with your own eyes. But what you may not know is that the rekhi are reluctant to work during the heat of the floods of Akhet. Today we must force them to repair our temples or work in the King’s workshops. In other cases the only way to get enough men to work is to reward them with extra rations of beer, cheese and bread. They have become lazy as Kem has prospered. Even some of the foreign dignitaries observed this. The people seek new gods to worship, ones that make easier demands on them or that falsely promise great rewards in the Afterlife.”
Qa’a came to the chair opposite Khenemet and sat. “I did not realize this.”
“And that is not all, my King. Now our women are rebellious, even within a man’s own home!”
At this Qa’a sat back, absorbing Khenemet’s words. “Interesting. In fact, at my mother’s urging I recently spoke with Irisi about…”
“Irisi! Damn that woman! Oh, I am sorry, my Master, I interrupted you.”
“You are obviously inflamed by her, but for what reason?”
“She has usurped Isis’ pedestal, and now advocates behaviors to women as if Isis herself believed such dung! It violates the very foundation of ma’at. I had been preparing to speak with you about this once matters in the Court calmed down and you were settled in your role as King.”
“And you believe that her actions unsettle ma’at?”
“Oh, yes! Our women enjoy freedoms far more than any nation or kingdom beyond our borders. If there is one thing that threatens mighty Kem from within, it is the… the softness that women attempt to force on men. I offer this advice to you now, King Qa’a, though you are still a young man. To effectively rule a people, to hold them together as one nation when everything in their hearts tells them to protect their own narrow interests, takes unfailing strength and, yes, even merciless power. If your enemy perceives weakness, it is all over. You know this yourself from your skirmish with the Ta-Tjehenus. Think of what they would have done to you if you had thrown yourself upon their mercy.”
To this, Qa’a nodded. “Go on.”
“It is the very same thing within the Two Lands. If men share power with women, even in the home, ma’at will be forever lost.”
/>
“But I have been taught that a woman is in charge of household matters, is that not correct?” Qa’a looked from Khenemet to me, confused.
Qa'a (The First Dynasty Book 3) Page 7
