Fall of the House of Ramesses, Book 1: Merenptah

by Max Overton

  "I am Lady Tausret Setepenmut, daughter of Prince Merenptah, and this is Lord Seti Meryenptah, my brother."

  The Master bowed. "I am honoured, Lady...Lord. You have come to view the body?"

  "Yes."

  "Then you picked an auspicious day. My servants are even now removing him from the natron that he has lain in for the past thirty days."

  "Only thirty days?" Seti piped up. "I was told it was usually longer."

  "Indeed, my Lord. That is often the case. The reason for the natron is to remove water from the body. A fat or well-fed man will need forty days or even longer in the natron, while a thin man will not need as long. Our beloved King Usermaatre was...very thin. If you will accompany me, I will show you our handiwork."

  Khaemte coughed. "My Lady, I and my men will wait outside, with your permission. Please send word when you are ready to return to the palace." He saluted, turned and left the Place of Beauty, taking his men with him.

  Seti grinned. "We can go now?"

  "Have patience, little brother," Tausret murmured. "He's waiting outside and besides, it would be disrespectful to leave without greeting our grandfather."

  The Master led them along the hallway and into a room lit by an opening in the roof. A ray of afternoon sunlight threw a golden block of light on a far wall, dust motes dancing in the angled beam. The light was quite sufficient to illuminate the room, and they saw three men standing around a raised granite slab. On the slab was a strange looking object.

  Tausret swallowed, her eyes wide. "Is...is that our grandfather?"

  "Yes, come and see the thing of beauty his mortal shell has become."

  They advanced slowly and the three men around the table drew back to allow them access. On the slab lay what looked like a carved wooden statue of the sleeping king, but a shrunken, wasted image of the man. His skin was stretched tight over the bones of his body and skull, the eyes and cheeks sunken, belly caved in and touching the knobbled backbone. The king was now the colour of wood, almost as dark as a Kushite, a fringe of short hair glaring white on his polished scalp.

  "I...I hardly recognise him," Tausret whispered. "He doesn't look the same at all."

  The Master looked sharply at her, brows knitting together in a frown. "Of course, I was forgetting this is unfamiliar to you. I can judge how beautifully he has come through the natron bath, and can see in my mind how lifelike he will look when we are ready to wrap him."

  "But he's all shrunken. Like skin stretched over bones."

  The Master nodded. "And completely dry. Now we start to restore him to a semblance of life. Would you like to watch?"

  "I don't want to," Seti muttered, turning away.

  Tausret held the young boy close, burying his face in her sheer dress. She looked at the body and the waiting embalmers. "Perhaps a little."

  The embalmers brought pots of fine, scented oils and started smearing the body with them, rubbing them into the skin. They worked over the whole body from scalp to toes, turning the dry shell of the king over with the smallest effort continuing their work.

  "The joints have dried too," the Master said. "Unless we make the body supple again, limbs will break off when we wrap the king in fine linen."

  "How long will you oil him?" Tausret asked. "He doesn't seem any suppler now than when you started."

  "Many days," replied the Master of Secrets. "When the oil starts to work its magic, we can enter the king's body once more. His skull holds thin oil, we drain this out, and replace it with resin. We pack the body cavity with resin-soaked cloths or sawdust, filling the gaps and plumping out the belly and chest. Even the cheeks will be filled so he will look more as if he's sleeping than dead."

  "He still looks like an old man, not beautiful at all."

  The Master of Secret smiled. "When his wrinkles are gone and the flesh plumped up, we will colour his hair with henna so it looks as red as it was in his youth."

  "Then what?"

  "Then we wrap him." The Master pointed to baskets of linen strips in one corner, and many more pots of oil and resin. "It is a complex business and we must include protective amulets and written prayers to safeguard the king's body. Perhaps you and Lord Seti would like to return in a few days' time to see us at work?"

  "Perhaps," Tausret murmured. "But for now, I think the reality of your work has quite overcome Lord Seti. Would you send someone to let our escort know we are ready to leave?"

  "Of course, My Lady. It has been an honour to entertain you in the Place of Beauty." The Master of Secrets beckoned, and the old man tottered into the room. "Guide the Lord and Lady back to the entrance and call for their escort. Wait with them until they arrive."

  The old man nodded and shuffled off, muttering, as Tausret and Seti followed. Less light entered the hallway from the roof openings in the side rooms now that evening was drawing in, and they were startled by the length of the shadows outside when the old man threw open the door. Khaemte was not there, though a young Leader of Five from their escort saluted them.

  "Leader of Fifty Khaemte was called away, My Lady...Lord. I and my men are to escort you back to the palace."

  "And you are?"

  "Ament, My Lady."

  "Very well then..." Tausret's voice trailed off as an idea presented itself.

  "My Lady?"

  "I wish to have a look at the markets, Ament. Some material for a new dress, perhaps, or jewellery."

  "Er, it is getting late, My Lady. We should..."

  "I want to go back to the palace," Seti whined. "I'm tired and...ow."

  Tausret held him close, and soothed the arm that she had just pinched. "Be quiet," she whispered. "Do you want to go south or not?"

  Seti scowled and pulled free of her grip but said nothing more.

  "I wish to go to the markets, Ament. Are you refusing? Do you want to explain to the Governor why you would not obey me?"

  "Er, no, My Lady." He ordered the four men with him to fall in before and behind the young nobles and led the way into the city and toward the river.

  The markets were closing down by the time they reached them, but Tausret insisted on looking anyway, and found a stall selling cloth. She examined it and engaged the seller in conversation until Seti was hopping from foot to foot in exasperation, and Ament and his soldiers became thoroughly bored. Other stalls stayed open in the hope of the Noble Lady buying from them, and the soldiers started to look at their wares while they waited. Tausret kept an eye on the soldiers, and suddenly pushed Seti behind the stall, ducking down behind the bales of cloth. She lifted a finger to her lips when the stall owner stared at her, and then slipped away into an alley, with Seti in tow.

  They were only a few paces down the alley when she heard Ament raise his voice in a query, and she ducked into a doorway, hiding in the shadows. The voices became louder, filled with alarm. Ament peered into the darkened alley, evidently saw nothing, and withdrew. Tausret could hear the raised voices of the soldiers move away as they searched for their wayward charges, so she hurried away, holding Seti's hand and slipping through the warren of lanes and streets that led down to the docks.

  Seti looked at the dark water of the Great River lapping the muddy banks in the twilight, and then back at the city lit with lamps and cooking fires. "I don't like it out here."

  "I thought you wanted to go south to see your father and demand to be made Heir."

  "Yes, but perhaps he'll do that anyway."

  "Or he'll just hand it to Messuwy," Tausret said. "Then all you'll ever be is the King's other son." She shrugged. "Go back if you want to, but I'm going south."

  "Why? He won't make you Heir."

  "I'm going because I don't want to be just another royal woman locked away in the Women's Quarter waiting to be married off to some princeling or noble. I want to...to get out there and do something important."

  "But you're a girl."

  "What's that got to do with it?"

  Seti shrugged and looked out at the water. Even in the few minutes t
hey had been standing there, it had got noticeably darker. "What are we going to do now?" he asked.

  "Find a boat. A small boat. Something we can manage to sail upriver."

  "Do you know how to sail a boat?"

  "Never tried, but it looks easy."

  They started along the riverbank, away from the city, mindful that the water's edge could be a dangerous place. It was not unheard of for crocodiles to take an unwary person, and there was always the possibility of disturbing a cobra hunting for frogs in the grass. Luckily, they came across neither of these dangers but instead found a small fishing boat drawn up on the mud and fastened by a rope to a willow thicket.

  "This will do," Tausret said. "Help me push it down to the water."

  Seti looked inland to a small flickering light in the darkness. "I think that's the fisherman's fire. He'll hear us."

  "Not if we're quiet." Tausret untied the boat and gave it an experimental push, without success. "Help me. It's heavier than it looks."

  The two of them pushing and pulling together started the boat moving and presently it was rocking gently in the shallows. Seti climbed in, and looked at the jumble of wood, cloth and rope in the bottom.

  "What does a sail look like?" he asked.

  "Well, it will be made of cloth, but I don't think we'll be able to raise a sail in the dark. We'll just have to row it away and hide until morning. Can you see oars? They'll be long and have a flat end."

  "I know what an oar looks like...here's one."

  There was only one oar. Tausret cursed, but they had to make the best of it. "Perhaps we'll only need one." She hitched her dress up and pushed the boat out into deeper water, throwing herself on board. The boat rocked alarmingly and Seti cried out. His cry was answered by a query from the darkened shore.

  "Shh," Tausret said. "It's the fisherman. Lie down; perhaps he won't see us."

  They made themselves as unobtrusive as possible, but the boat swung and drifted in the current, at one moment heading back inshore, the next drifting further out. Tausret grabbed the oar and dug it into the water, trying to alter their course. She splashed water in every direction, and made the small craft rock even more violently.

  "Who's there?" called a voice from the darkness. "Lady Tausret, is that you?"

  "It's Ament," Seti cried. "Go away."

  "Shh."

  There was a loud splash in the direction of the riverbank and then more splashing coming closer.

  "It's a crocodile coming to eat us," Seti shrieked. He backed away as far as he could and almost fell overboard.

  An arm gripped the side of the boat, and now even Tausret cried out in alarm as water slopped into the tiny vessel. A head appeared, and then another arm and a man heaved himself aboard with further rocking and slopping of water.

  "Thank the gods I found you."

  "Ament?"

  "What possessed you, My Lady? Don't you know it's dangerous out on the river at night? Well, no matter. I'm here now and we'll soon have you back home tucked up safe and warm."

  "We're not going back, Ament."

  "What? Of course you are. Khaemte left me in charge of you and as it is he's likely to cut my balls...demote me, or something."

  "No, we're not. You swim back if you want and say you couldn't find us. Whatever you like, but we're staying here."

  "I'm sorry, Lady, but you are, and that's all there is to it." Ament picked up the oar and started rocking it back and forth at the rear of the boat. The little craft steadied and started in toward the lights of the city.

  "As soon as we get close enough to be heard, Ament, I'm going to scream loudly and accuse you of rape."

  Ament stopped his rowing and stared at Tausret. "But I haven't...I wouldn't."

  "I'll say you kidnapped us at the market and hurried us away, and that afterward you were going to kill us but I prevailed upon you to release us instead. Seti will back me up, won't you?"

  Seti nodded, almost unseen in the dark.

  "I imagine you'll either be put to death immediately or sent to the mines."

  "Who would believe that?" Ament asked unhappily. "My story's much more believable, and it's the truth."

  "Who do you think they will believe? A lady of the court, or a humble soldier?"

  The boat had drifted close enough to the city lights that they could be seen by anyone looking. Ament sat in indecision, the oar trailing in the water. He looked toward the city and then back at the young woman and boy in the boat.

  "Tell him who we are," Seti whispered. "He'll have to obey us then."

  "No," Tausret whispered back. "If he knows who we are he might think it's his duty to take us back. At the moment he thinks we're just another court lady and a boy running away for some reason."

  "I can't just leave you," Ament said. "Anything could happen to you out here, and I'd never forgive myself..."

  "Then help us."

  "Help you do what?"

  "Seti and I need to go to Waset to see the king."

  "Why?"

  "That is our business," Tausret said sharply.

  "Yes, Lady. But why can't you just go openly? If you have business with the king, the Governor would supply a boat and oarsmen, you being a court lady and all. There would be no need to sneak off in the night."

  Tausret hesitated, aware of just how flimsy their reasons for heading south really were. "Is your grandfather alive, Ament?"

  "What? Er, no. He died when I was a child. Why?"

  "Did you go to his funeral?"

  "Of course. My father took me. It was only a simple affair as my family is poor, but I was there to offer sacrifice, along with my brothers and sister."

  "Then you will understand why we must get to Waset. Our grandfather will be buried down there, and we should be there. I asked Tjaty Prehotep if we could go but he refused permission. I know that if we petition King Merenptah he will give us leave to attend."

  Ament let the little boat drift further out into the current while he considered Tausret's words, only applying enough effort to the oar to keep them from moving downriver. "That is the truth?" he asked quietly.

  "Do you doubt the word of a court lady?"

  "No, but I cannot let you attempt this venture by yourself. The king would justly execute me if I left you to do this alone. I will accompany you to Waset."

  "Thank you, Ament," Tausret said. "Then how about finding somewhere we can rest for the night and won't be discovered?"

  "Of course, My Lady." Ament turned the boat around and sculled it across the broad expanse of darkened water, heading for the far side of the river.

  Chapter Ten

  Year 1 of Baenre Merenptah

  Baenre Merenptah had completed his progress, showing himself to the people of Kemet from the Great Sea to the Wawat border, and had now returned to the ancient city of Waset to await the arrival of his father's body. He stayed busy, the daily duties of the king draining his energy from dawn's first light until late at night when a servant blew out the oil lamps to let him sleep. The heir was used to it, having taken over many of his father's duties during the latter years, but now, as presumptive monarch of the Two Lands, every piece of information, every petition, every duty devolved on him.

  He woke with the first light, lying with his eyes open on the royal bed in the King's Chamber at the rear of the great Waset Palace on the western bank of the river, looking up at the ceiling decorations. Every part of the walls, ceiling and floor was covered with geometric designs or representations of the gods or of life in Kemet. Directly above him was a painted disc of the sun, rays stretching out in all directions and ending in little hands holding ankhs. Merenptah suspected the Aten design was a relic of the Heretic, whose family had sprung from Amun's City. No one had thought to paint over it, and the kings that followed had either harboured heretical views themselves, or had slept elsewhere. The ceiling was bordered by rearing cobras and intertwined vines, and lower down marched an array of gods, stiffly posed and blank-eyed, allowing no hint of the
ir divine thoughts to be read even by the king.

  Merenptah yawned, and the small noise was sufficient to alert the servants waiting for the king to stir. One brought a cool damp cloth for the king's face, another a covered pot to collect the royal water, a third to fold back the woollen blankets and replace the linen pillow on the headrest. He eased himself to a sitting position, scratching himself while the servants averted their eyes, and then, with a stifled groan of pain, stood naked beside the bed. The servant with the pot hurried into position and held it to catch the stream before carefully dabbing the royal member dry.

  The king moved through into the polished stone Chamber of Cleansing. He stood behind a low stone wall that served to preserve the royal modesty from any casual observers, while servants poured first warmed water and then cold water over him. Other servants patted him dry with linen towels, after which he walked into the Robing Room.

  The Chief of Secrets of the House of the Morning entered the Robing Room and bowed, directing the many servants present. It was essential that the daily rituals of rising, cleansing and dressing were carried out correctly. A servant prepared cosmetics; another moisturised the king's skin with oils and fat, rubbing it into Merenptah's wrinkled skin, before another servant applied dark kohl to the eyes, while yet another anointed him with costly perfumes. Had the king not been in mourning, a trusted slave would have shaved him with a special curved bronze blade. The effect of the king's morning preparations was less than the Chief of Secrets hoped for, a thick growth of white hair now softened the outline of the royal head, and even body hair was left unshaven. The Overseer of the Wardrobe selected clothing, and the Overseer of Precious Things laid out a selection of gold and jewels for Merenptah's consideration.

  The morning air was chilly, so the servants helped him don an embroidered tunic over his kilt, and then fastened a heavy pectoral around his neck, and fitted a nemes headdress. He stepped into a pair of decorated wooden-soled sandals. Pictures of bound Asiatics were painted on the soles so that with every step the king trod his traditional enemies underfoot.