Queen of the Heavens

by Kingsley Guy

  “I’m a girl,” she said. “None of my friends are learning, so why should I?”

  “Why don’t you try?” I asked. “Knowing how to read and write has added enjoyment to my life and given me great confidence.”

  “You’re different from other women, Mother. Reading and writing is for boys, not girls. I want to be a wife, not a scribe.”

  I continued to encourage Tjia to study hieroglyphs. At one point, I tried instructing her myself, but she was a stubborn child who refused to learn. Instead, Tjia concentrated solely on acquiring skills that would make her a good wife.

  Tjia practiced the harp and flute incessantly, for she wanted to be able to play soothing music for her future husband. She had little interest in playing the sistrum and dancing, however, for this required too much exertion.

  Tjia often followed me around the palace as I supervised the household. I taught her how to identify different grades of linen through the tightness of the weave. She asked me questions about the purposes of different oils and where on the body they should be applied. She also paid close attention when I went to the kitchen. Because of her station in life, Tjia would never have to cook, but like me, she would select menus and make certain the food was fit for the finest table.

  Eventually, I came to accept Tjia’s limitations and acknowledge her domestic virtues. I wanted my daughter to be happy, so I concentrated on finding her a suitable spouse. I especially liked a boy with the similar sounding name of Tia, the handsome son of Amen-wa-su, a highly placed court official. Amen-wa-su and his wife were most agreeable to my suggestion of an eventual union between Tjia and their son, and why wouldn’t they be? Having the daughter of a Pharaoh in the family would be a great honor for them and raise their considerable social standing even higher.

  Hint-mi-re could not have been more different from her sister. She possessed a prodigious intelligence, as well as a desire to learn new things. Tjia, with a roundish face and precocious smile, was attractive, but Hint-mi-re, with high cheek bones, deep-set eyes and lustrous skin was stunning, and I could see she would grow up to be as beautiful as I.

  Like Tjia, Hint-mi-re became quite expert at playing the harp and flute, but she learned as well how to dance and play the sistrum with grace and elegance. Hint-mi-re also spoke often about the Neters, which pleased me greatly.

  “Sekhmet is my favorite goddess,” she said one day just after her seventh birthday as we were sitting in the garden at the palace in Memphis.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because she has the power of a lioness, and I like lionesses.”

  “Sekhmet can be fearsome. Aren’t you afraid of Sekhmet, at least a bit?”

  “Yes. That’s one reason I like her so much. Being afraid is fun and exciting, as long as you’re not too afraid.”

  I smiled at my daughter. “Sekhmet also can be very loving, and lead people to places they might not ordinarily go. She once helped me travel beyond the beyond, where all is bliss and time does not exist.”

  “Will she help me go there, too?”

  “She might if you ask her. I’ll give you the statue of Sekhmet I prayed to when I was a child. Ask Sekhmet for her strength and guidance, and keep her in your thoughts as you go through the day. If you do, you’ll find her power flowing through you.”

  “I will, Mother. I want Sekhmet’s power.”

  “This would serve the family well, for Sekhmet is the protector of the Pharaoh,” I said.

  “Does that mean I’ll be able to protect Father?”

  “At your age, you shouldn’t concern yourself with protecting anyone, my darling, but someday you may find ways to protect your brother Ramesses when he is Egypt’s ruler.”

  “Oh, good. Can I marry Ramesses? We love each other very much,” Hint-mi-re exclaimed.

  The idea had crossed my mind. When Osiris dwelled on the earthly realm, he married his sister Isis, bringing the power of the goddess into his bed and to his rule. Since the earliest times, Pharaohs often numbered sisters or other close relatives among their wives. I didn’t consider Tjia to be suitable for Ramesses since she always tried to tell him what to do, though he seldom listened to her. While they were children, Tjia’s imperious ways were acceptable, but this would not be so when Ramesses became Pharaoh.

  Hint-mi-re and Ramesses, on the other hand, got along quite well. This was not surprising, since both had red hair and were of the lion people. As I watched them naked together, I sensed a fondness that someday could grow beyond the realm of curious childhood play and into passion, dedication and love at its most sublime.

  “I don’t know yet,” I told my daughter. “Perhaps you will become one of Ramesses’ wives, but first you have much to learn. Would you like to study hieroglyphs? This will enable you to read about Sekhmet and the other Neters, and more easily learn spells and incantations.”

  Hint-mi-re beamed. “Can I, Mother? I don’t want to be like my friends or Tjia. I want to be educated, like you.”

  My heart leapt when I heard these words, and I immediately engaged a scribe to teach Hint-mi-re. I instructed him to be demanding with her, but I also insisted he be kind and cheerful. I didn’t want my daughter to be subjected to constant harangues, as I had been with my teacher Pentu.

  Hint-mi-re studied hard, and by the time she was ten years old, she had memorized sacred texts and spells and had even written poetry. I was very proud of her.

  I felt great pride in Ramesses, too, for he surpassed my lofty expectations in every way. Since I had nourished him with milk from my own breasts, Ramesses grew strong quickly. He could run faster than friends his same age, and in wrestling matches with them, he always won. Playing with his toy bow had served him well, for by the time he was five, Ramesses was capable of drawing a larger bow and sending an arrow to its mark with great accuracy.

  Encouraged by his father, Ramesses also practiced with a throwing stick. One afternoon, a month before his sixth birthday, he rushed into the palace holding a duck in one hand and an ivory throwing stick in the other.

  “Look, Mother, I killed it myself by the pond in the garden,” he exclaimed.

  My joy nearly equaled my son’s as I looked at him grasping the dead waterfowl by its feet. He had hit birds before, but they had always been able to fly away. Now he threw with strength enough to kill.

  “Take it to the cooks,” I said to Nebet, who was standing nearby. “Tell them we will have duck for the midday meal.”

  “Can I choose the first piece?” Ramesses asked.

  “Of course. He who makes the kill should always choose first.”

  “Good. I’ll kill us another for tomorrow’s meal.”

  As I watched Ramesses rush back outside, the elation I felt at his success was tempered by a hint of sadness as I thought back to the days when I would join Sety by the banks of the Nile as he hunted birds from a boat. That is the past, and will not be repeated. I must content myself now by sharing in the achievements of my son.

  To my delight, Ramesses’ skills with his mind equaled those of his body. He started speaking while very young, and began to study hieroglyphs soon after he killed the duck. I wanted an even-tempered scribe to teach him, like the one I would choose for Hint-mi-re, but Sety would hear nothing of it. Instead, he found a scribe as dour and irritable as Pentu.

  “Scribes needn’t berate their students for them to learn,” I complained to Sety.

  “As the next Pharaoh, Ramesses must learn discipline,” Sety replied. “The scribe who taught me was strict as well, and I’m a better man because of it.”

  That is a matter of debate, I thought, but held my tongue.

  Sety did not object, however, when I found a priest whom I deemed to be a gentle soul to teach Ramesses about the sacred design of temples. I didn’t expect Ramesses to become expert at this. As Lord Harenhab told me, such a study could occupy men for their lifetimes. Still, I wanted my son to at least be familiar with the concepts of temple architecture, for the responsibility of what and
where to build would fall upon him when he became Pharaoh.

  I took it upon myself to teach Ramesses about the Neters, as I did with all my children. Even before he could understand the words, I would sit at Ramesses’ bedside and tell him the story of Isis, Osiris, Horus and Seth. Later, I helped Ramesses memorize the story word for word so it would become a part of his soul. As Pharaoh, the power of Horus would flow through Ramesses, and he had a sacred duty to comport himself as Horus did, and Osiris before him.

  As he grew older, a slight bend at the bridge of Ramesses’ nose became more pronounced. When I squinted, I thought his nose looked a bit like a falcon’s beak.

  Nebet thought so, too. “It is a good omen. Your son is developing the nose of Horus.”

  “The power of Horus is beginning to flow through him already, shaping his features,” I said. “Like Horus, he will rule with courage and wisdom, and become a light to the world.”

  Even as a boy wearing the side knot of youth on his otherwise shaved head, my son possessed a virility that drew girls to him. As Ramesses’ friends passed the age of six or seven, they lost their curiosity about girls and even found them quite distasteful, but not my son. As he grew older, he seemed to become even more fascinated by girls, and he quite enjoyed the attention they lavished upon him.

  Naturally, I began assessing the children of courtiers to determine if someday they would make suitable wives. I particularly liked Nefertari, whose family was one the wealthiest in Egypt. Her mother was beautiful, and I could see the black haired, bronze-skinned Nefertari would grow into one of the most striking women in the realm. I also liked Isnofret, a girl from another wealthy family whom I had no doubt would grow up to be quite lovely as well. Both girls had a healthy glow about them and looked as if they would be strong enough to bear Ramesses many children and nurture them with the love and devotion of the cow goddess Hathor.

  Though he still possessed his foreskin and had not yet experienced the phallic miracle that soon would draw him into passionate embraces, I deemed it time to talk to Ramesses about his marital future.

  One night, I sat down next to him as he lay in bed. “You are a child blessed by the Neters, my son, and your glorious reign will be a long one.”

  “How do you know this, Mother?”

  “The auspicious nature of your birth tells me so. You know the story of how your soul sought to leave the earthly realm as you emerged from my womb, but I would not let it.”

  “Yes. I’m alive because of your power.”

  “Years ago, I also had a dream,” I continued. “A very wise woman named Itet told me what it meant. She said you would live to a great age. Because of this, you must take many wives who will give you many children. A large number of your children will die before you, but at least one of your sons must survive you for the dynasty to continue.”

  Sadness welled up in Ramesses and he began to sniffle. “I don’t want my children to die before me.”

  I took Ramesses’ hands in both of mine.

  “What we want does not matter. You’ve been entrusted with great responsibility by the Neters. So have I, and we must accept their will and respond accordingly. Death is not a bad thing, Ramesses. It’s a good thing, for without death, there could be no life. It is your obligation to have many sons. Always remember this.”

  I stroked Ramesses’ cheek then rose to leave.

  “Mother,” he said. “Can Hint-mi-re be one of my wives? She and I have talked about this.”

  The bonds of affection between the two certainly seemed to be growing stronger. Earlier in the week, Ramesses came to the aid of a tearful Hint-mi-re when she lost the toy lioness with the hinged jaw I had played with as a child. “I’m sorry, Mother. Please don’t punish me for my carelessness,” Hint-mi-re said through her tears.

  As I was about to assure my daughter I would not, Ramesses came up to us.

  “Don’t worry,” he told his sister. “We’ll look together until we find the lioness.”

  They searched side by side until dusk, finally locating the toy behind a tree where Hint-mi-re had been playing with it some days before.

  Hint-mi-re was just as loyal. Ramesses and Tjia argued often, and Hint-mi-re always sided with her brother. When Ramesses twisted his ankle and couldn’t walk, Hint-mi-re stayed with him constantly, applying balms and playing the harp to soothe his spirit.

  Still, Ramesses’ question about marriage to his younger sister gave me pause. “I don’t know,” I answered. “Astrologers must be consulted, and much will happen between now and the time you take wives. We’ll see.”

  As I raised the children, I saw little of my husband. When Sety was in Memphis or Thebes, I would appear by his side at festivals and official ceremonies, such as the investitures of Viziers and High Priests. I also would consult with him on matters concerning the children’s health and education, in which he took great interest.

  Most of Sety’s time, however, was spent outside Egypt’s capitals as he single-mindedly sought to restore the nation’s strength and glory. He traveled to all parts of the country, inspecting fortifications, building irrigation systems, and making certain provincial officials performed their duties at the highest levels. He also led the armies in campaigns against desert tribes and the Nubians. The campaigns to Nubia were especially important, for this was where Egypt obtained most of its gold.

  When in Thebes or Memphis, Sety made a point of doting on Tjia and Hint-mi-re. Had I not been there to intercede with discipline, he would have spoiled them to the point where they would not have obeyed anyone. This was not the case with Ramesses, with whom Sety was quite firm. He insisted his son practice hieroglyphs diligently and speak with a strong voice and proper diction. Sety would not tolerate the young boy slouching, and demanded Ramesses always sit and stand with his back straight and chin up.

  “Perhaps you are being too hard on our son. He’s still a boy,” I said one day to Sety.

  “Ramesses will rule Egypt and he must learn how to look and act like a Pharaoh,” Sety replied. “During his lifetime, my son will give many orders. He must do so standing tall and speaking with authority. Otherwise, his commands might not be carried out.”

  I could not fault my husband’s logic, or his insistence that Ramesses also develop his martial abilities to the highest levels. Though I worried about his safety as he practiced the skills of a warrior, I recognized leading armies was Ramesses’ divinely appointed duty, and the better his training, the better the chances he would return to me.

  When Sety was away, he entrusted Ramesses to his best officers, who instructed the boy in swordsmanship and charioteering, while the finest Nubian bowmen helped him to develop even further his prodigious skills in archery. When at the palaces, Sety often instructed Ramesses himself. Though a stern taskmaster, a strong bond developed between father and son, for Sety treated Ramesses fairly and always complimented him when he performed well. Consequently, I was quite surprised when I walked into the garden one afternoon and saw a tearful Ramesses standing before Sety as his father lectured him.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  Sety glared at me. “We were hunting. Ramesses had a shot at a gazelle, but he hesitated and the gazelle ran away.”

  “Is that so terrible that you bring our son to tears?” I inquired.

  “What if it had not been a docile animal, but a lion, or a Hittite?” Sety snapped. “Then Ramesses would be dead.”

  “Father’s right,” Ramesses said. “My bow was drawn, but the animal looked at me with fear in its eyes and I did not shoot. I don’t know why I didn’t. It won’t happen again, Father.”

  Sety tempered his voice. “See that it does not,” he said before patting his son on the shoulder, then walking away.

  Later in the day, I saw Ramesses in the garden with a bow, sending arrow after arrow into three gazelles fashioned from straw and placed at various distances from him. The next morning, he practiced again, and continued throughout the day. Just before dusk, I wen
t to him, carrying a chalice of water.

  “Ramesses,” I said, but his concentration was such that he did not hear me as he sent an arrow toward a target and immediately drew another from his quiver. “Ramesses,” I said again, in a louder voice.

  My son turned. “What, Mother?”

  “Stop and drink.”

  Ramesses took the chalice from me, and emptied it without once taking it from his lips.

  “I’ll show Father,” he said when he had finished drinking. “I’ll never hesitate again. My arrows will always find their marks. I’ll be the greatest archer who ever lived.”

  I took the chalice back from Ramesses. “Practice hard, my son, and hone your skills. Also know that each time you draw the bow across your chest, your heart center opens a bit wider, allowing the love of the Cosmos to flow into you.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Ramesses said as he again took aim. I doubted he understood the import of my words, but it didn’t matter, for the effect would be the same.

  Day after day, my son practiced with his bow. Arrow after arrow flew into the targets, turning the mock gazelles into heaps of straw.

  May his heart open wider than that of any man who ever lived, I whispered as I watched my son practice with the intensity of Horus as he battled Seth. By drawing his bow again and again, may Ramesses know how to love.

  XXX

  The following day as I was taking tea, Hint-mi-re entered my chambers, looking anxious and distraught.

  “Mother, I must talk to you.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “I’ve been praying to Sekhmet and last night I felt her power flowing through me.”

  “I told you this would happen, did I not?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why are you so troubled?”

  “It frightened me, for I worried I was turning into a lioness. I have never before felt such power.”