by Jerry Dubs
Within the window I saw a face.
Starlight revealed watchful eyes and nothing more.
I Foolishly Touch the Queen
The next morning, I hurried to the temple complex to find a barber to shave my head, a dresser to help me with my kilt, a masseuse to anoint me with fragrant oil, and an artist to apply the correct color and amount of kohl to my eyes.
Before leaving the temple the day before, I had arranged an audience with Queen Merti, younger sister of Queen Menwi. Now, with my interview approaching, I waited impatiently as a dresser checked that each of the small overlaps of my kilt was aligned, that the knot in my belt was tied correctly, and that the tails of the waistband fell flat and straight.
While the servant tugged at my shendyt, I turned my attention to the gold bracelet on my right wrist. I seldom wore jewelry, but, strangely, I found that the heft and hardness of this bracelet was not displeasing. Wondering if I should have asked Ahset to loan me the pectoral necklace, I ran my fingers across the intertwining reeds that rose from the gold bracelet.
Finally satisfied, the servant backed away.
I squared my shoulders, straightened my back and left the dressing room.
***
Walking the temple hallways with measured steps, I tried to mimic the assured movements of the priests. Although the pace was reassuring, I felt out of place, as if I were playing at being a priest. I looked left and right, trying to see if people I passed saw me as an imposter.
In a few minutes, I reached the doorway of the queen, which was flanked by two guards.
I glanced at the guards and wondered why Lord Useramen had decided to place guards by the queen’s chambers, which, being deep within the walled temple of Ptah, could not be more safe. The city itself was guarded by a sizeable garrison.
Why were guards needed?
Standing by the entrance, I lowered my head in thought. Puzzling over the question, I took a deep breath to calm myself and center my thoughts. As I breathed in the air, I noticed that it was heavy with an unusual aroma. I sniffed again, my concentration on the warm air that entered my nostrils.
There were two different, yet familiar scents; one light and airy, the other heavy and earthy. I inhaled once more. Yes! The heavy scent was of a river. No! Not the river itself, but of the mud that lines a river. Rich, soft, yet heavy.
I snorted the air from my nose and took another deep breath, my focus on the lighter scent. It was acrid, with an edge, burnt by heat. Incense! But which? I was less familiar with incense than with the powdery smell of stone dust spraying from temple walls as carvers worked them, or the wet smell of mud plaster spread over stacked sections of pillars, or the salty stench of the sweat of laborers, or the earthy stink of donkey droppings.
One of the guards cleared his throat loudly. When I looked up, he inclined his head toward the open doorway.
***
Entering Queen Merti’s chambers, I heard a soft grinding sound that reminded me of the sound of chariot wheels rolling over wet ground. Turning toward the sound, I saw a young girl sitting behind a rotating potter’s wheel.
Bare-headed, she wore only a short, clay-splattered kilt. Her hands and wrists were covered with red clay. Her dark eyes, focused on a half-formed jar that sat upon the wheel, were rounder than the eyes of the women of the Two Lands, and her chin was shorter and softer than the women whose portraits I had seen painted on tomb walls.
Her wrists and arms were slim. Her shoulders, although wide, were soft and gently rounded.
A bucket of water sat on the floor near her. Beside it stood a wooden trough, its gold-plated exterior painted with scenes of the god Ptah. An elderly man, his hands coated with dried, flaking clay and with a flat trowel resting on his lap, sat cross-legged on the floor by the trough. Three attendants in linen gowns trimmed with deep blue formed a half-circle around the girl. Clusters of soldiers — more soldiers! — stood guard along each of the side walls.
Looking back to the girl, I realized that she must be Queen Merti.
I knew that she was the youngest of three sisters who had been sent by King Idrimi of distant Alalakh to secure favor with Pharaoh Thutmose, but I had not anticipated that she would be younger than I.
The queen was creating a jar. As tall as the length of her forearm, the jar had a narrow base that widened in an elegant curve to a wide belly before turning inward to form smooth shoulders below a mouth the same size as the base.
Seeing the clay, I understood the source of the river scent I had smelled outside her room.
I looked about the room searching for the other half of the aroma. I found it rising from trays of burning incense that sat on a long side table along the right wall, which was covered with a mural showing the god Ptah seated on a low-backed chair.
The artist had covered the god’s head with a tight blue cap and placed a Was scepter in his right hand. The top of the narrow scepter was capped with an ankh instead of the Bennu bird carried on Osiris’s scepter. Behind Ptah, the goddess Sekhmet, her lion’s head adorned by the sacred circle of Re, raised her hands to comfort the elderly god.
As I admired the mural, I realized that the potter’s wheel had stopped turning. I looked at the guards. They were staring at me. The attendants were watching me, too, as was the elderly man who sat beside the queen.
I hoped that no one had spoken to me while my mind wandered.
Bowing, I said, “Greetings, Queen Merti. Long life!”
With an amused smile gracing her lips, the queen nodded in reply.
I returned her smile and then, raising my eyebrows in question, I looked toward the space before her potter’s wheel. She lowered her eyes, giving me permission to approach.
I took a hesitant step, unsure how closely I could approach the shy queen.
“I have just returned from Megiddo where Pharaoh Thutmose — long life! — has vanquished the king of Kadesh,” I said. “Pharaoh Thutmose sends the beat of his heart and the eternal love of his divine ka.”
Queen Merti raised an eyebrow and reached for a linen towel. She wiped her hands and then, extending her arm, she handed the soiled cloth to an approaching servant. Her eyes alive with curiosity, she turned her attention back to me.
Realizing that no one had announced me, I lowered myself to my knees and said, “Forgive me, Queen Merti. I am Suti. I am Keeper of the Words of Lord Amenhotep, Overseer of the Double House of Pharaoh Thutmose.”
Queen Merti leaned forward and asked, “Rise, Suti, Keeper of the Words of Lord Amenhotep, Overseer of the Double House of Pharaoh Thutmose.” There was playful lightness in her voice. “Is my husband well?”
I smiled again. She was the first person in Men-Nefer who had shown an interest in what had happened beyond the walls of the temple complex.
“Yes, Queen Merti. He is Golden Horus. His divine ka is everlasting,” I said.
The queen nodded, waiting for me to speak more than ritual phrases. As I hesitated, she said, “And the battle is won?”
“Yes, Queen Merti. Your husband was glorious. He led the charge of our brave soldiers in his golden chariot. Fearless, he was at the front as our army rode against the charge of a million chariots of the king of Kadesh. Singing a mighty prayer to Re, Pharaoh Thutmose was the very fist of Amun,” I said.
“I want to hear everything,” Queen Merti said, her eyes bright. “But first, tell me about my sister. Has Menwi had her baby?” she asked.
I lowered my head as I reviewed the different answers I had considered this morning before leaving for the temple. Standing in the queen’s gaze, I realized that I could tell her nothing but the truth.
And I did not know the truth.
“I do not know if the child has arrived,” I said. “But,” I added quickly, “when I last saw Queen Menwi she was well.”
“When did you last see her? Her time is near,” Queen Merti said.
“At the entrance of the Pass of Aruna,” I said, reluctant to admit how long ago I had last seen her sister.
“The Pass of Aruna?” Queen Merti said. She shook her head. “I don’t know where that is. When my sisters and I came to the Two Lands, we came by boat. How distant is this Pass of Aruna?”
“Three weeks,” I said, bowing my head.
Her voice grew soft. “You haven’t seen Menwi for three weeks?”
“She left the army, Queen Merti. Lord Imhotep said that the queen’s time was near and he thought your sister’s delivery would be more comfortable if she was in Gaza. There are midwives there and…” I looked to the floor and tried to imagine what words Lord Imhotep might have said. “The beds there are softer and the food is better and the air there is not as dry,” I said, convinced that Lord Imhotep could have said such things.
When I ventured to look at the queen, I saw tears welling in her eyes.
She raised her right arm to wipe her face. One of the attendants ran to her with a linen cloth. Queen Merti lowered her arm, and, sighing, presented her face to allow the servant to pat the tears away.
Composed once more, she turned back to me.
The servant girl’s linen had left behind a small speck of clay that clung to the queen’s cheek just beyond the edge of her lips. I wanted to reach to her face and softly brush the clay away.
I wanted to touch her and reassure her.
But even someone as inexperienced in court life as I knew that I could not touch her royal face.
“So my sister has gone to Gaza,” Queen Merti said. “And you have no news of her. Is she lost? Is that why you are here? Have you brought me horrible news?”
Hearing the dismay in her voice, I took a step closer and knelt by her potter’s wheel.
“Queen Merti,” I said, “I am Keeper of Words and I would give you only words that are true.” I held her eyes with mine, hoping that she saw that I spoke the truth. “Word are all that I have. Some words carry hope, some are laden with anger. Some are thrown like spears. Others are delivered sweetly as a mother’s kiss.”
Queen Merti leaned forward.
I felt the others in the room draw near as well. The guards turned sideways to aim suspicious ears at my soft words. The attendants bent at the waist, lowering their watchful faces toward me. The old man, sitting on the other side of the wheel, stopped fidgeting and, mouth open, narrowed his eyes at me.
I lowered my voice again, giving my words only enough strength to rise past the potter’s wheel to the young queen’s ears.
“These words I give you are true, my queen. I have been sent to find your sister and return her to the protective arms of Pharaoh Thutmose. I thought I would find her in Yehem. That is a small crossroads village south of the army encampment. But she was not there. Instead I found marks left by the wheels of her chariot. Those signs led me to Gaza.
“But I did not find her in Gaza. The commissioner had not seen her. No one had. Her chariot was not at the palace, nor was it left with the garrison stable.” I spoke slowly and softly, watching with amazement as the queen’s lips began to mimic mine, forming the words that I spoke so her ka could easily digest them.
“There is but one road leading south from Gaza, Queen Merti. I have followed it. I hoped to find your sister here in Men-Nefer,” I said.
Her eyes began to glisten as she understood where my words were leading.
“But they are not here. I am sorry, Queen Merti. I do not where your sister is. But I will find her.”
“How?” Queen Merti asked through lips that trembled.
My heart wept as I saw the pain on her face.
“Queen Merti, people do not disappear from the Two Lands,” I said. “If they have walked away from here, then I will turn my feet to their path. If they have boarded a boat, then I will take to the water. If they have mounted a chariot, then I will do the same.”
As I spoke, the chariots abandoned at Yehem took form in my mind. Only one chariot had left Yehem and it was too small to carry all of the missing people. I realized that, despite my words, people had disappeared from the Two Lands.
Queen Merti noticed that my thoughts had wandered.
“What vision have you seen?” she asked, leaning closer.
I felt the blood drain from my face; I had made a terrible mistake. Wepwawet leaned on my shoulders, his breath — filled with the decay of death — washed over me.
I closed my eyes and lashed my thoughts as Anun whips his horses. I returned to Yehem, to the grove where the assassin’s half-eaten body lay. I walked the ground searching for the signs I must have overlooked. If the chariot had not taken people from Yehem, then they must be there.
The half-eaten assassin had been left in view as a distraction!
The grove held secrets I had not uncovered.
“Suti,” Queen Merti said, “you are frightening me. What have you seen?”
My thoughts returned to the queen’s room in Men-Nefer. Her face was contorted in fear.
“I have failed you,” I said, stretching a hand toward her sad face.
(I ask, if the gods lift your hand, can your ka be held responsible?)
Tears began to stream down her cheeks.
My hand moved to brush them away.
The gods allowed Queen Merti to lean close to my outstretched hand.
I saw more than pain in her eyes. Hidden knowledge and sadness lay there, too. I wondered what her young ka had witnessed, or thought, or dreamt that inspired such despair. The torment in her eyes was more than fear for her sister.
Without my permission, my fingertips touched her tear-streaked cheek.
She closed her eyes. Her lips parted and a tremor swept over her.
“No!” she shouted, standing quickly, her foot kicking and overturning the water bucket.
Startled, I rocked back from the queen and fell onto my back.
Rough arms grabbed me and dragged me across the stone floor.
I Fear For My Hand
“You touched the queen?” Lord Useramen said, staring at me from behind his desk.
He waved a hand to dismiss the two guards who had dragged me into his office. Then he turned the palm of his hand toward me to keep me silent.
When the soldiers had departed, Lord Useramen nodded to me.
“There was a speck of clay, here,” I said, touching my cheek.
Lord Useramen shook his head. “And you thought that it was your duty to remove it?”
“She was sad,” I added, hoping he would find that a better excuse.
“These foreign queens,” he muttered. “People can’t stop themselves. It must be their alien gods. They are enchanted; no, they are cursed.”
While I tried to make sense of his words, Lord Useramen closed his eyes and became an owl once more.
(I remember wondering if I would see things more clearly in Ptah’s temple if I tied a blindfold around my unreliable eyes.)
“I will talk with First Priest Puimre. You need not fear,” Lord Useramen said, after he opened his owl eyes and returned to human form. “I will tell him that…” He looked about his office, searching for inspiration.
“I meant to comfort her,” I said. “That is all.”
He frowned at me as if I were a child.
“I’ll tell First Priest Puimre that you saw the shadow of Anubis and meant to blot it away. No,” he shook his head, “nothing to do with death.” He turned toward the window at the sound of a honking goose. “Ah, yes, perhaps the spot of a cheetah,” he said under his breath.
He whirled back to face me. “You saw a spot on Queen Merti’s cheek and you thought that it was the spot of a cheetah,” he said. “He’ll like that; he is obsessed with cheetahs ever since that trader from Nubia talked about them.” He stepped closer to me. “Is Bastet ever a cheetah?”
I shook my head. “No, Lord Useramen. The goddess Bastet is only a cat, nothing more.” I was bewildered by his strange question.
“But a cheetah is a kind of cat,” he said. “A big cat, but a cat. It could be Bastet.”
I shook my head stubbornly.
“Bastet is not a cheetah, Lord Useramen.”
“I’m trying to help you,” Lord Useramen said, his voice rising in anger. “You cannot just touch the queen. You could lose your hand for that. That seems to be in fashion with young Pharaoh Thutmose.”
“My hand?” I asked.
“Yes, your hand! Have you not seen the severed hands that the army brings back from battle?” Lord Useramen said, holding his right hand in the air and shaking it. “But if you were reaching to the queen because you saw the spot of a cheetah … Puimre would understand; he would see it as a sign.” Lord Useramen crossed his arms and stared at me.
There was challenge in his eyes.
“If not Bastet, then some other god. Surely there must be a god who takes the form of a cheetah,” he said.
“Seshat!” I exclaimed, my memory goaded by fear of losing my hand.
“I don’t know Seshat. What is he god of?” Lord Useramen asked.
“Seshat is female. She is Mistress of the House of Books,” I said. “She is a goddess of scribes, like myself. However, I first heard of her before I had become a scribe. You see, she also is known as Stretcher of the Cord. When we measure temples…”
Lord Useramen waved away my words. “That doesn’t matter. It only matters that she takes the form of a cheetah. You are sure of that? We must be sure. Puimre knows everything about all the gods.”
I nodded, confident in my memory.
“And is she truly goddess of scribes?” Lord Useramen smiled. “That is perfect. Of course, it is perfect, because it happened.”
Suddenly I followed Lord Useramen’s thoughts.
“I understand,” I said. “Because I am a scribe, the goddess Seshat placed a spot on Queen Menwi’s face as a sign that she approves of First Priest Puimre’s desire to bring cheetahs here.”
“Yes!” Lord Useramen said. “And because she is your goddess, you understood that she was speaking to you alone. No one else could see her spot and you could not refuse her. Yes! You could not refuse her!” He emphasized the words. “You could not stop your hand; you were unable to stop yourself from reaching for her,” he continued, adding a final turn to the tale.
