The Eye of Horus

by Carol Thurston

  “That one is cut from a different piece of cloth than his brother,” I remarked.

  “Same father, different mothers,” Mena replied as the heralds raised their horns to announce Pharaoh’s coming.

  “Neb-khepru-re, Living Son of Amen-Re,” the Herald called out, “Tutankhamen, Son of Horus on Earth, Beloved of Maat, Lord of Upper and Lower Kemet, Lord of Ipet-isut and Ruler of Waset.” We dropped to our knees and touched our heads to the floor as Pharaoh and his Queen moved toward the dais. Tutankhamen held himself erect, arms crossed over his chest, the crook of the South in one hand and flail of the North in the other. He wore the blue leather crown bearing the serpent goddess of Upper Kemet and a Nekhbet pectoral on his chest, its feathers inlaid with lapis lazuli, and gold lotus buds weighted the belt of his hip wrap. But it was the magnificent bracelet circling his left wrist that caught and held my eyes—a great green stone surrounded by tiny granules of silver that flickered like fireflies in the night.

  Then the Chief Herald started his litany of titles for the Queen—Great Royal Wife, Beloved of Neb-khepru-re Tutankhamen, Lady of the Two Lands, and so on. The Queen cradled her son in her arms, but I hardly recognized her delicate features beneath the elaborate wig with its hundreds of narrow plaits ending in tubes of gold that tinkled like bells.

  “Until now the Queen rarely appeared at official ceremonies,” Mena informed me, “to show that Pharaoh returned to the old ways. So he sends another message simply by having her present.”

  My eyes wandered from Tutankhamen to Mutnodjme and Nefertiti, then back to the young king, noting the similar shape of their eyes, for other than that there is little to show that they issue from the same mother and father. When I looked at him again the King was beckoning for me to come forward. “He does not wait for his steward to announce the order of presentations,” Mena muttered. “Your time is at hand.”

  “You would throw me to the wolves alone?” I tossed back as I started toward the throne, leaving him to catch up. When I dropped to my knees before Pharaoh I saw Mena doing the same just behind me.

  “I give you leave to stand in my presence, Senakhtenre, as a sign of the high esteem in which we hold you.” I hurried to comply though I felt like a pair of leather sandals stiffened by too much paint. Tutankhamen handed his crook and flail to Ay, onetime Master of the Horse to the Magnificent Amenhotep who now serves his son, and exchanged them for a carved wooden staff. After that he looked out over the crowd and raised his voice. “As the fellahin sow their seeds in the black soil of the Two Lands, so Pharaoh planted his seed in his Great Royal Wife, who in her time brought forth a bountiful harvest, a son she has named Thutmose—may he be wise as Thoth and bring honor to his namesake, the builder of a great empire. Now I honor the physician who accompanied my son on his hazardous voyage through the dark waters of chaos and brought him safely into the light of Amen-Re, king of the gods from whom all life flows.”

  Contrary to what the young king said, I believe there is an ebb and flow in the organ of life as regular and predictable as the rising and waning of the moon, but it was not my place to correct a god, even a mortal one. Surely the man before me in no way resembled the youth I had encountered outside his wife’s door, trembling under the weight of his decision. For to deny me admittance could mean the death of another child of his body, yet to allow me to enter alone went against the ways of his father and his father before him, which demanded the presence of a priest and priestess in addition to the one named Physician to the Queen.

  Ay stepped to Pharaoh’s side bearing a small bronze tray on which lay a necklace of gold and blue beads. “From this day forward,” Pharaoh intoned as he placed the collar around my throat, “let it be known to all the People of the Sun that Senakhtenre, physician of Waset, is named Special Companion Who Goes In and Out of the Palace.” The title conveyed on me the privilege of entering the palace at will, whether called there by the babe’s nurse-mother or anyone else. In this way Pharaoh declared that I am to oversee the welfare of his son though I continue as physician to Ramose’s household, an arrangement that suits us both without raising the enmity of the palace physicians.

  I bowed and mumbled every word of gratitude I knew, but instead of dismissing me Tutankhamen withdrew the dagger he wore under the belt of his kilt. “The Goddess Maat also commands me to give him this mighty blade, for no other is a fitting match for the wisdom of his heart and gentleness of his hands.” He pulled the blade halfway out of its sheath and laid it across my open palms. The ivory hilt was topped by a crystal pommel, while the gold sheath bore an embossed scene of hounds and lions attacking an ibex. But it was the blade itself that made it a priceless treasure, for iron holds a sharp edge, while bronze must constantly be honed.

  Stunned by the magnitude of such a gift, my thoughts scattered like overripe lotus petals before the wind. Then Aset was standing before me with laughter dancing in her eyes, a perfect match for the cornflowers around her neck. “The Queen wishes to acknowledge her debt to you as well,” Tutankhamen announced, “with a gift selected by her little sister.”

  Aset pushed the gold casket into my hands. “Open it.” I lifted the lid and thought I looked at a puff of smoke held captive in a box, until I recognized the dried blossom of a plant I have only read about.

  “Our little sister informs us that in the land beyond the Red Sea,” Pharaoh explained, “the plant called Khatun is believed to contain much magic.”

  “I am humbled by Your Majesty’s generosity,” I murmured, struggling to conceal my ignorance of court protocol so as not to embarrass myself in front of Aset, who watched me with that glorious smile lighting her eyes. I could only guess at where she had learned about the plant, probably in one of her father’s scrolls, but what truly warmed my heart was knowing that she understood why I prize such things more than any riches or titles Pharaoh could bestow upon me. I tried to tell her that with my own smile.

  When I looked back at Tutankhamen he had turned to Mena. “I look forward to besting the both of you, then, in three days’ time,” he murmured, lowering his voice, “when Hiknefer and I fly our falcons against yours.” He stepped back, signaling Aset to return to her place. Mena and I bowed, then backed away from the dais until we were swallowed up by those surging forward to see who would be next.

  “Who shall I return this blade to?” I asked when we got clear.

  “Re-return it?” Mena stammered.

  “Surely Pharaoh meant that part only for show. What would someone like me do with such a precious thing?”

  “Obtain enough credit to add to your house and find yourself a wife. With the title Pharaoh just handed you, many a father will jump at the chance to sign a contract for his daughter if you but sail while the breeze is fresh.”

  “You believe it was a mistake, then, to marry out of love for the woman you took for your wife?” I asked, hoping to trap him in his own net.

  He ignored my question. “By the way you clasp that casket I doubt you have any intention of giving that back. Knowing what Aset had to choose from, that puff of nothing speaks louder than any words. Your little goddess knows you very well, indeed.” He gave me an appraising look. “Is it enough, then, to be father to another man’s child?”

  “If not me, who will guide her through the cataracts that could dim the light that shines from her eyes? If in return I warm myself by her fire—” I shrugged. “As it is with Aset and Nebet, we each supply something the other lacks and needs.”

  He nodded, but he was not finished with me. “Now that you are rich you at least can afford some new garments, something a bit more adventuresome, perhaps. A red belt for your kilt, or a fringed cloak to enhance your girth and thereby your importance?”

  That he still jested at my expense despite my new status made me want to laugh with joy. That I had doubted him made me feel ashamed. “The day you see me in such a cloak,” I replied through clenched teeth, “you will know that evil spirits have invaded my body and taken control of my wi
ts.”

  DAY 19. SECOND MONTH OF INUNDATION

  Pharaoh led the way south from the palace barracks, along the line of palm trees marking the boundary between the open pasture where his cattle grazed on what little grass remained and the barren desert beyond. Hiknefer stayed almost axle to axle by him, while Mena and I rode some distance to the left to escape the cloud of dust raised by their clattering wheels. Behind us came Ay and a half dozen other officials, followed by several palace guards, and the handlers with our birds.

  The Festival of Opet was but a week away, yet already the fertile water started to recede, leaving the backbones of old mud dikes sticking out like the ribs of a starving dog. As we passed the great stone lion guarding the western horizon of the city, the clang of hammers echoed across the valley from where the necropolis workers were cutting Pharaoh’s tomb from the rock. Despite this reminder of his own mortality, he seemed in rare high spirits, and when the straight sweep of sand opened before us he gave his horses their heads. A moment later Hiknefer touched his whip to his blacks and took out after him, both yelling like boys as they raced across the sand.

  Mena shouted, “Grab hold,” and touched his whip to his team’s backs, with me cheering him on. Like the others, his pair are palace-bred, for both strength and speed, so we had no trouble catching up. Pharaoh turned to see us gaining on them and motioned his boyhood friend to spread out, a ploy to force us into a wider path should we attempt to pass them, at a cost of both distance and time. Instead, Mena looped the reins tighter around his fists and waited his chance, then charged straight through the narrow space between the two royal chariots. By the time they realized what was happening, we had pulled ahead, giving them a taste of our dust. But almost at once Mena slowed his team to let Tutankhamen regain the lead, making it appear that his animals were blown.

  Later, when we slowed to a walk to pass through a narrow defile between some sandy hills, Ay raised a fist to salute Mena’s skill. We could hear each other then without yelling, and I remarked on the two Nubians—Senmut and Pharaoh’s boyhood friend. “Hiknefer plays the palace pet while his brother stands outside, an observer with a passion for healing. So they differ in more than their mothers.”

  “Tutankhamen’s friend came to manhood in the palace, hostage to his father’s allegiance to the old Pharaoh,” Mena reminded me, “while Senmut was a youth of some fifteen years when he arrived in Waset. And he came for one purpose only.”

  “The House of Life?” I guessed.

  He nodded. “It is the custom among his mother’s people to cut the clitoris and inner labia of their girls. Afterward they rub the outer lips raw with a stone and skewer them with thorns until they grow together. It not only makes a woman difficult to penetrate, but causes many of their babes to lose their breath before they can come forth, oftentimes taking their mothers as well.”

  “His mother died in childbirth?”

  “No, his little sister, after they cut her. The one he loved above all others. He could do nothing to stop it. Or the bleeding.”

  “No wonder.” I sighed, recalling his bitter words about Bekenkhons.

  Our destination lay at the edge of the vast open expanse of bleached sand, where migrating birds come in low to seek respite in the trees and gardens just beyond. Small rodents and snakes also hide from the sun among the hillocks of rock and clumps of brush. And while falcons prefer ducks and ptarmigan—and to catch their prey in flight—they will go after small animals on the ground in order to feed on their hearts, which they tear into while still pulsing. Endowed with sharp hearing and eyes that see better and farther than any other living thing, the falcon is capable of stunning an animal as big as a jackal. Especially the female, who is half again larger than the male and the stronger of the pair.

  Tutankhamen pulled his team to a stop, jumped from his chariot, and stood tapping the handle of his whip against his thigh, impatient for the rest of us to arrive. He wore a short kilt and striped nemset bearing a hawk fashioned of thin gold leaf across the top, its beak pointing toward his face and wings spread from ear to ear. Otherwise, Pharaoh bore no ceremonial trappings except a bracelet with the iron eye of Horns and a sheathed dagger strapped around his hips. He handed the reins to a guard and strode to where the birds and trainers were just coming to a stop.

  Mena’s horses are trained to stand when he ties their reins to the rail of his chariot, so we left them and went to uncage our own hawks. Mine was bred in captivity and taken from the nest as a fledgling, but the best hunters are captured in the wild after they have learned to fly and hunt—betrayed into captivity by a pigeon worth no more than a pair of papyrus-reed sandals. As a result they display more spirit, even though it takes longer to overcome the birds’ natural fear of man. In the end, though, the falcon learns to trust the man who trains her, so it is rare for one to return to the wild. Mena slipped his hand into the thick horsehide sleeve and took the hooded bird from his falconer and calmed her with the sound of his voice.

  “See how she ripples her feathers in anticipation of the kill? She smells it coming—that one exhilarating moment when she flies in search of prey. It is what she lives for, even if she must spend the rest of her life in the darkness of the hood, waiting, kept hungry and fed only when she returns to me with the weighted lure.”

  “It is true, then,” I asked, since he gave me the opportunity, “that men take pleasure in subjugating the female falcon to their will because they see in her a wild, abandoned woman?”

  “Perhaps,” he agreed, as we carried our birds to where the others gathered, “but the most fascinating woman of all is both wild and shy. And the truth, my abstinent friend, is that your balls will shrivel from disuse unless you start discovering such things for yourself.”

  By then we were too close to the others to chance a response in kind, so I held my tongue for the time when I could return the jibe. Merankh, the king’s big hunting hound, stood at his side, his long tail moving in a lazy swing whenever Tutankhamen fondled his drooping ears. He wore no leash, having been trained to his master’s voice. “I like to come here,” Pharaoh said to a man I did not recognize, “because to hunt where the game is neither plentiful nor what she prizes most is a challenge for my Horus of the Sky. At this time of year, of course, the migrating birds descend on our fields.” He glanced at me with a quickening smile, reminding me that Aset was of his blood. “Even so, I will give you both a count of ten before I release my Horus of the Sky.”

  “As will I,” Hiknefer agreed.

  Mena started to protest, but Tutankhamen raised his hand. “No, it is only maat. Our birds know the terrain while yours do not.” With his free hand he fingered the leather thongs attached to his bird’s legs, causing the golden hawk to dance in anticipation. “Shall we wager that the one whose bird captures live prey first forfeits a jar of the finest wine to the others?”

  So did he mask his acquired arrogance with innate generosity, and for the first time I saw the god in the man. I smiled, daring to believe that I could give him something as rare to him as his gifts were to me—the camaraderie of friendship.

  “And the first to return her prey to her handler?” I inquired, suggesting a possible imperfection in his hawk’s performance. “Shall he forfeit the same?”

  He laughed. “Agreed.” He waited for Mena and Hiknefer to do likewise, then Mena and I lined up to match the time of our release, while Tutankhamen and Hiknefer moved some distance off to do the same. The instant the hoods came off our birds, Tutankhamen started his count, to a chorus of ecstatic screeching and flapping wings.

  A moment later he pulled the hood free and we all stood in awe, watching his hawk climb into the blue sky. For what appears to be reckless abandon to man is perfect control on the part of a hawk, who by nature is equipped to rise higher and higher on the eddying breezes and shifting winds.

  It was almost eerily silent, except for the distant creaking of leather harness from our horses, as one by one our birds scribed loops in the air, t
urning upside down at the top of each one in a display of style and grace unmatched by any other beast. Or by man, with his feet bound to the earth even when he walks the path to eternity. Was that only because the priests lack the imagination to let him soar, I wondered, even in the company of Shu, god of the air, and Nut, goddess of the sky—and so made Amen a jealous God, resentful of his own brothers?

  Mena’s Beautiful Lady was first to swoop out of a wide loop, giving chase to a small heron, a bird that is lighterboned and therefore capable of rising in smaller rings. A worthy opponent because the falcon has to climb in wider circles and at a higher speed, to get above the other bird in order to strike her target.

  Pharaoh stood separate from the rest of us, an anxious look on his face, nor did he breathe easy until Mena’s Lady overflew her quarry and circled up with her talons empty. By then Tutankhamen’s Horus of the Sky had soared so high she was only a dark spot against the brilliant sky. For a time she glided, changing direction as she caught one air current and then another. Then, suddenly, she folded her wings and stooped, as if bowing to the Lord of the Two Lands, and came plummeting toward earth in a spectacular show of speed and power.

  I could hear the wind ruffle her feathers, until she changed the angle of her dive and appeared to be heading straight toward us, gaining momentum as she came. When I saw her prepare to strike her quarry, I thought it a trick of the sun on her golden feathers. But in the next instant I heard a loud crack, from somewhere close by, and spun around to see the young Pharaoh stagger where he stood. His eyelids fluttered, then his eyes turned up into his head and he crumpled like a rag doll.

  Mena and I started for him at the same time, leaving the others paralyzed with shock. Or disbelief. Except Hiknefer, who let out a howl of anguish and dropped to his knees beside his friend.