by Overton, Max
"You are certain that this body is that of Kemisi?"
"Yes. Persons who enter the Place of Purification are at the mercy of those who tend them. It is not unknown in the lesser Houses for abuse to occur because the workers there lose sight of the fact that these bodies are still people. We have a rule that the person whose body we tend must be addressed by name every time. This instils in us the proper respect for the eternal habitation of the Ka."
"Very commendable, I'm sure, but what I meant was, could someone switch bodies? Either by accident or deliberately."
"Impossible. I deal personally with every person who enters here."
"Alright. Hori, write down the name of this person, and her family."
Nakhtmin's assistant blushed. "I'm sorry sir; I don't know how to write."
"I could send for a scribe," Rekhmire said.
"No need." Nakhtmin shook his head impatiently. "I can make the list."
Rekhmire provide paper, pen and ink and Nakhtmin wrote the name down. "I'm not sure what use you are to me if you cannot read or write," he told Hori. "Just follow me and look attentive."
They moved on to the next room where two baths stood side by side.
"Why do you have these two in here and not in the last room with the girl Kemisi?" Hori asked, looking to his master for approval.
"The occupants of this room were male and also were merchants of the city," Rekhmire explained, "whereas Kemisi was the daughter of a nobleman. We observe the proprieties at all times. Just as in life we are separated by class and gender, so too in the House of Death."
Nakhtmin made no comment but copied down the names written on the side of the baths after the Overseer confirmed the identities of the occupants.
The three men continued through the East Gate House of Death, visiting each of the bodies in turn. They ended in a room near the entrance, opposite the room containing the body of Kemisi.
"Those are our embalming rooms," Rekhmire said. "We have also living quarters, storerooms and a kitchen. Do you want to see those too?"
"No." Nakhtmin ran his finger down the list of names. "I thought you said you had twenty-one bodies in residence. I have only twenty names on my list. Where is the other one?" He peered suspiciously at the young overseer. "You're not trying to hide anyone from me, are you?"
"If I was trying to do that, I would have said we only have twenty in residence. I have not yet shown you the last body as it is a special case and is housed separately. Ankhef is a priest who was dismissed from his temple for blasphemy. The temple Houses refused him entry so his family brought him here."
"I am surprised. Surely a blasphemous priest is cursed by the gods already. What is the point of preserving his body for eternity?"
Rekhmire smiled compassionately. "And what if he was falsely accused, or had turned again to the true worship of the gods before his death? I would rather preserve his khat like any other and leave it to the gods to decide his fate. His heart will be weighed against the feather of truth like everyone else's."
"Where is this recalcitrant priest then?"
"Come with me."
Rekhmire led them back into the House hallways and then down a flight of steps that took them underground where storerooms packed with the accoutrements of body preservation lay. The pungent and acrid odours of spices and preservatives caught at their throats and for a moment halted them as Nakhtmin was overcome with a coughing fit. When it eased, they entered a room that had been partly cleared. A huge stone vat sat on the floor, standing shoulder high and taller than a man in both length and breadth. Rekhmire offered up a murmured greeting to Ankhef and brushed the natron crystals away from an arm and hand of the body within the vat.
Hori sucked air through his teeth noisily. "That is a huge vat. You could get a whole family in there!"
Nakhtmin stared at the vat and the sea of fine crystals filling it. "Why such a large bath? It seems too much for just one man. Is there just one man in there?"
"Certainly," Rekhmire said calmly. "Have I not told you already that we behave toward the dead as we would toward the living? The reason for the large bath is simple. Ankhef was a man of considerable proportions, with much flesh on his body from good living. Have you any idea of the amount of water found in a fat man? We will need all this natron to draw it out before we have finished."
Nakhtmin grunted and copied down the priest's name. "This is the last of them?"
"We are expecting another body tomorrow. Shall I send for you when he arrives?"
"No need. If the person we seek is not in the natron by now he will have rotted--which will be no more than he deserves."
"I see." Rekhmire hesitated a moment. "May I ask who you are looking for?"
"Nobody that need concern you, embalmer. Suffice it to say it is an enemy of Kemet. We will check the names with the families and if all is in order, you will not see us again."
* * * * *
Rekhmire closed the outer doors on his visitors and immediately turned toward the living quarters. In an inner room, he found his aged father sitting beside a low table and dipping honey cakes in milk. "They have gone, father."
Ipuwer looked up and stared at his son with half-blind eyes. His hand shook drops of milk onto the table. "They found nothing?" he whispered.
"Would I be here if they had?" A flush of shame swept over Rekhmire's face. "Your pardon, father...Father, he spoke of him as deserving of no burial. He said he should rot. I can hardly believe it."
"Evil times have come upon us, my son."
"It is, of course, an honour to have the king within our walls, but how much better if he had lived. There is no one to stop Tjaty Ay now. I fear for our Two Lands."
"He is old," Ipuwer muttered. "Even older than me. He will not last long and when his heart is weighed his evil deeds will make it as heavy as stone." He looked up at his son. "You had better move the priest back to his usual bath and leave our king to contemplate eternity alone."
Rekhmire nodded. "I have obtained fine quality linen and spices, written prayers and amulets for the binding--the best. In another twenty days we will remove him from the bath and prepare him for burial. When Scarab comes to collect him she will find no finer example of the embalmer's craft than our beloved king Djeserkheperu Smenkhkare."
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* * *
Chapter Seven
The Hittite ambassador, Massili, had arrived in Waset unexpectedly. Instead of notifying the authorities in one of the border cities and sending a petition to the court to be granted passage up-river, Massili had booked passage on a ship carrying wine from the northern vineyards and arrived in the southern capital without warning. No entourage came with him, only a single Kemetu soldier of Horemheb's army. The Hittite took lodgings in the city and the soldier, Meny, carried word to the Western Palace of his arrival.
Little took place within the City of Amun without Tjaty Ay catching wind of it. He knew of the Hittite's presence within an hour of his arrival and of the immediate dispatch of Meny to see the Queen. Curious, he sent a squad of soldiers to escort the ambassador to the Hall of Justice within the old palace. He was seated on the Throne of Justice with his son Nakhtmin beside him when Massili was shown in. Ay ordered the guard to wait outside and to shut the doors.
"Ambassador Massili, I had not looked to find you within the city. I have received no notification from the border that you had left. In fact, I do not remember giving permission for you to travel to the court." Ay turned to his son with a quizzical expression. "Am I getting forgetful, Lord Nakhtmin? Did I send for the ambassador?"
Nakhtmin stared hard at the ambassador. "Indeed you did not, Tjaty Ay. One can only wonder at the reason behind such a flagrant breach of protocol."
Massili advanced to the foot of the dais and bowed deeply to Ay, then bent his head in a lesser bow to Nakhtmin. "My Lord Ay, General Nakhtmin, I regret that my arrival here has taken you by surprise. Such was not my intention, I assure you. My Lord and Master, King Shu
bbiluliuma, instructed me to attend upon Dahamunzu with all haste. I assumed the arrangements had been made."
Ay frowned. "Dahamunzu? Who is that?"
"I believe it is the Hittite's atrocious pronunciation of Tahemetnesu, the Great Wife--Ankhesenamen," Nakhtmin said softly.
"The Queen? You are here to see the Queen? Why?"
The ambassador bowed again. "Lord Ay, that is a matter for the Queen's ears alone."
"You may tell me. I am Tjaty of the Two Kingdoms, second only to the king, and in matters of state, I take precedence over the wife of our late king."
"I understood that you were Tjaty only of the Upper Kingdom, my Lord Ay, and that Lord Horemheb was Tjaty of the other Kingdom. This raises an interesting question concerning precedence..."
"It does not," Nakhtmin said sharply. "You represent your king; Lord Ay represents Kemet until the new king is raised up. You may tell him why you are here."
Massili bowed again. "With respect, Lord Ay, my business is with Dahamunzu. Besides, it is not a matter of state, which would clearly be your domain, but rather a personal matter between her and King Shubbiluliuma."
"What sort of a personal matter?"
"I cannot say, my Lord."
"You would deny me, ambassador?"
"I would of course regret doing so, Lord Ay, but the instructions of my king must take precedence."
"Give me an hour with him," Nakhtmin growled. "I'll have him only too eager to tell us."
Massili smiled thinly at the threat. "I remind you that my person is inviolate. Wars have been fought over such a slight to a king's messenger."
"Forgive my son, Ambassador Massili," Ay said. "He is young and he seeks to please his father. He spoke intemperately and meant no offence."
Massili bowed again. "Then I shall take my leave and attend upon Dahamunzu."
When the doors of the Hall of Justice had shut behind the ambassador, Nakhtmin turned to his father, blood flushing his face and neck. "How dare he deny us like that? And to threaten us with war besides..."
"Be quiet. Listen and learn. You will be sitting where I am one day. You will need to be very sure of yourself before you risk war with such a powerful enemy. Must I remind you that even General Horemheb has not defeated the Hittites?"
"He has won battles..."
"Against the Amorites. Shubbiluliuma supports them but do not think we have yet met the might of the Hittite army. I do not want that to happen until I am ready. Do you understand?"
"Yes father."
"I don't know why he wants to see Ankhesenamen but I mean to find out. It may be a small matter, something personal, but I still want to know."
"Then why not go over with him? Find out directly?"
Ay sat back on the throne and smiled. "Better to let her think she keeps her secrets from me. You have spies within the Western Palace, do you not? Let them see what they can find out."
* * * * *
Queen Ankhesenamen received the Hittite ambassador in a chamber of her own quarters in the Western Palace with only Meny as companion. She stood as the man came into the room, approached him and inclined her head in greeting. "You are welcome, Ambassador Massili."
"Lady Dahamunzu." Massili bowed and then nodded at Meny who stood to one side.
"You have news for me, Ambassador? King Shubbiluliuma has agreed to my request? He is sending me one of his sons as a husband?"
Massili hesitated. "Lady, you must be aware that your request is out of the ordinary. Your nation and mine have long been...well, if not enemies...at least rivals for the control of the lands that lie between us. King Shubbiluliuma expressed some doubt as to the accuracy of your portrayal of the situation..."
"He accuses me of deceit?" Ankhesenamen's face paled and her eyes flashed.
"Not deceit, my lady. He wondered whether the scribe who penned your letter was perhaps guilty of exaggeration. It is hard to believe that there is no male heir to the throne of the Double Kingdom--none who could adequately fill this role from the nobility."
"Nevertheless, it is true. My grandfather Nebmaetre Amenhotep had three sons. My father Waenre Akhenaten was the first and only had daughters; my uncle Djeserkheperu Smenkhkare had no children and I...I bore only two daughters to my husband Neferkheperure Tutankhamen, both stillborn. There is no male living within the royal family and no male within the highest families of the nobles that I am prepared to take to my bed."
"Yet you would take a Hittite prince?" The ambassador looked at the young queen searchingly. "Lady Dahamunzu, I have learned much of Kemetu belief. Isn't it true that Kemetu believe foreigners to be less than human?"
"Many do believe that," Ankhesenamen conceded, "But I do not. I can see for myself that you are a man like any other. A Hittite has a head, limbs, body..."
"And other parts that a young woman may desire," added the ambassador softly.
Ankhesenamen blushed. "You forget to whom you are speaking."
Massili inclined his head but said nothing.
"I want what is best for Kemet. A woman cannot rule the Two Kingdoms alone. I can understand that a king wants a son to rule his lands after him but Shubbiluliuma has many sons. Can he not send one to meet my need?"
"Would a prince of Hatti be accepted by your people?"
"Yes."
"No," Meny said. "Forgive me, Divine One, but a Hittite prince would be resented and feared, for a while at least."
"Meny, you will keep silent," the queen said, scowling. "Ambassador, disregard what this man says. He is speaking as a soldier who has faced the enemies of Kemet many times and cannot look beyond the Hittites as the foe. Do not regard his opinion as you would one of the people."
"On the contrary, Lady Dahamunzu, I believe Meny. I have travelled with him for many days and he has proved to be intelligent and loyal. Let him continue."
Meny bowed to the ambassador and then to the queen. "Divine One, the nobles will resent the presence of a prince of Hatti performing a function one of their own sons should be performing. The ordinary people will fear him as a usurper, but this fear can be lessened. If the prince were to enter the Two Lands alone, with only body servants, no troops at his back, then he could not be seen as a conqueror. Let my lady invite him publicly as an honoured guest; let the people see him dressed as a Kemetu, sacrificing to our gods, following our customs and I believe they will come to accept him."
"Even as king?"
"It will take the prince some little while to learn the politics, the nuances of governing Kemet. Let him be seen to follow the Queen's lead, be guided by her in all things, and they will see he is no threat. If there are children, let them be openly raised as children of Kemet. Once the succession is assured they will accept him. The people loved Nebkheperure and they love their young queen Ankhesenamen. They will accept a prince of Hatti for her sake."
"You speak well for a soldier," Massili said smiling. "May I suggest a career in diplomacy if peace comes to our kingdoms?"
"Yes, that is all very well," Ankhesenamen said impatiently, "But will a prince accept those terms? Would Shubbiluliuma send me a son knowing he would not reign as sole king over Kemet, but only as my consort?"
"Shubbiluliuma has many sons, Lady Dahamunzu." Massili thought for a few moments. "When your unborn son becomes king, Shubbiluliuma will have a grandson on the throne of Kemet. I think if he was reminded of that, he would approve of the match."
"Then he will send me a husband?"
"Who can know the mind of a king?" Massili murmured. "Tell me though, Lady Dahamunzu, what other kings have you approached concerning a husband? Are we expected to bid for your favours like common traders?"
"I have approached no others. The king of Hatti is supreme among the nations. Why would I seek to ally myself with lesser men?"
"Why indeed? Well, Lady, my king bade me see the situation for myself, to judge whether there was deceit in your mouth. I can see you speak truthfully so write to Shubbiluliuma once more and I will carry your letter to him and
deliver it into his hand. After that, it is up to the king, but I will argue on your behalf."
"Thank you, Ambassador Massili. If you will take some refreshment with our fledgling diplomat Meny here, I will write the letter."
"Do you trust your scribe fully, Lady?"
"I will be my own scribe."
Queen Ankhesenamen sat and thought about what she wanted to say. She felt aggrieved that king Shubbiluliuma had doubted her sincerity and was very conscious of the days slipping away. A few words written on papyrus were the only things that would save her from the horror of a marriage to her grandfather. She would have to choose those few words carefully. She started, her pen slowly forming the symbols...
'To King Shubbiluliuma of the Hittites, from Tahemetnesu of Kemet, greetings. I have heard of your words when you received my letter. Why do you say 'she deceives me' in that way? Do you not know that my husband has died and that I have no son? Had I a son, would I have written about my own shame and that of my land to a foreigner? You did not believe me and even spoke of this out loud, instructing your servant to come and accuse me of deceit. Let me tell you this again--my husband has died and I have no son. Never will I take a servant of mine and make him my husband. I have written to no other king, only to you, King Shubbiluliuma. They say you have many sons so give me one of your sons that he may be a husband to me and king in Kemet.
The queen sat and read through the letter several times, adding or deleting a word here, crossing out a sentence or rewording it. Eventually, she nodded and copied it out onto a fresh papyrus, rolled it and sealed it with her own and the king's seals.
* * * * *
Setnakht watched the Hittite ambassador and Meny embark from the docks on the West Bank, heading downriver in a small trading vessel with current and sails hurrying him on his way. He turned and took the road inland past the temple complexes to the Western Palace. The guards on the gate knew him and waved him through, so he walked slowly round to the side of the palace buildings where the ovens were adding their heat to that of the burnished sun-disc overhead. He hailed one of the cooks and was soon sitting in the shade, watching the activity in the kitchens and quaffing on a large bowl of freshly brewed beer. After a little while, the cook came over and squatted beside him.
