by Joan Grant
Those of the sick who have a family to look after them are visited by the healers in their own homes; but if they are alone, they are taken to the temple and there they remain until they are strong again.
Thirdly the tribute is used for the maintenance of the armies of the garrisons and for the fleets of Kam, both trade ships and ships of war.
CHAPTER SIX
The Festival of Min
When the waters of the inundation had subsided and left the fields strong with new life for the sowing, the Festival of Min was celebrated to mark the opening of a new cycle of fertility.
Neyah and I drove to the Temple of Atet in two state chariots, followed by the nobles and the captains, and by the viziers in their carrying-litters. I wore the White Crown of the South, and Neyah the Red Crown of the North.
In the forecourt of the temple were three hundred grain-jars arranged in thirty rows of ten. In the days of my father, who had been a healer priest as well as Pharaoh, it was he that charged the first jar of grain with life. But now it was a high-priest of Ptah who by his will caused the plant-spirits of the grain to spin strongly, so that the seed should thrust quickly from the soil and bear crops for a rich harvest. The high-priest went between the rows of jars, followed by nine young healer priests. The first jar of each group he himself charged with the life of Ptah, while the young priests with him each charged another.
After the Safeguarding of the Grain, the jars were loaded upon carts, each drawn by three white oxen garlanded with flowers, their horns tipped with gold and painted in green and scarlet. Then the statue of Min, in his semblance of creative man, was brought from the temple on a litter of wood covered with gold-leaf. Neyah and I led the procession, in which the statue was carried by forty young priests, round the royal boundaries of Men-atet-iss. The owner of each field waited to receive the grain as we passed, and at once began sowing, so that, behind the procession, the grain scattered over the earth in a shower of gold. Our way was lined with people. There were children with goats, and women with cages of ducks; and some had brought their cows so that the shadow of Min should fall upon them and they be fruitful. As the procession passed them, the people chanted the Invocation to Min:
“Min, who took compassion on the loneliness of man and made of him our first parents, give of your fertility to the Land of Kam. Let the earth receive the seed into her womb and bring it forth beautiful in the sight of Ra. Let the branches of our fruit trees be strong to bear the harvest of our orchards. Let our vines jewel their leaves with amethysts. Let our bulls be lusty, so that our cows delight to give their milk. Let our goats bring forth twin kids, and the river hurry with fish. Let our ducks lead forth a fleet of chicks upon our pools, and the reeds whisper with wild-fowl. May the Land of Kam be your dwelling-place, so that you shall send those beloved of your heart to be our children.”
While the sun was still high a festival banquet was held in the great hall of the palace. Neyah and I, with nobles, viziers, and captains-of-captains, were seated on chairs of state at one end of the hall; in front of us the floor was clear, and at the other end of the hall the great entrance was hidden by a stretched white curtain, upon which many shadow scenes were enacted throughout the banquet. Bearers of tribute passed in procession; with the collars of gold and the tusks of ivory; with deer and small cattle, slung by their feet on poles, and fruit piled high upon flat baskets. And young boys leading hunting-dogs and tame leopards straining in leash. An ever moving frieze of black and white.
I wore a wreath of stephanotis flowers, and my pale green dress was embroidered in gold with ears of wheat, symbolizing the fresh young green the river waters bring, soon to be gilded by the sun. Each bead of my rayed pectoral was carved as a different flower or fruit. Neyah’s clothes were blue, embroidered with fish and birds and deer, to symbolize the river from which animals draw life beneath the moon.
The other guests were ranged down each side of the banqueting hall. Beside each chair was a low table, on which the food was set, and on every table there was a lotus flower. They sat with those to whom they wished to talk; some in little groups, and some in pairs, and some sat alone, content to feast their eyes and stomach undisturbed. Some of the women wore pleated dresses of transparent linen, through which one could see their breasts and the pleasant curve of their bellies. For if a young girl’s breasts are pleasing, it is well that they should be seen, indeed it would be as foolish to cover them as for a red-haired woman to wear a black wig; but foolish as it is to hide beauty, it is yet more foolish to show that which is no longer beautiful.
While we ate, musicians played to us. The music they gave did not inflame, as do the chants of soldiers entering battle, rather was it refreshing to the ear, as is water to a dusty garden. Reed pipes and flutes entwined their melodies with the ripple of harps, cooling the air with their silver music like clear water falling from a height in measured cadences.
The Vizier of the Land of the Hare, who was over seventy, sat alone, for he liked the enjoyment of his food to be uninterrupted. His cooks were famous for their skill, and they blended subtleties of taste as a painting-scribe ponders on his colours. To him the exact span of time that the oven must caress a quail for it to be worthy of his palate was as the length of each line of a poem is to a song-maker.
To the right of the vizier, the wife of one of the captains of the Royal Bodyguard was sitting with her husband and another woman. I noticed that three times she beckoned to the serving-girl who carried a great bowl of honey-flavored cream, in which were ripe dates and slices of orange dried to sweetness in the sun. I wondered how long it would be before she realised that sometimes a love for rich sweetmeats and for the wearing of transparent linen do not walk happily together.
Ptah-kefer sat at my right hand. He told me a very long story of how, when he was a little boy, he and his brother had been sailing to the south of Nekht-an when the river was at flood. Their boat had struck a rock and they had been stranded on an island for three days before their father found them. I didn’t listen very closely, because I had heard it several times before. There was a long and deep friendship between us, and though often we would talk together and he would give me of his wisdom, he enjoyed far more to talk of the little things of Earth. To him a childish adventure was more interesting to talk about than a great triumph over an evil one. To most people, life upon Earth is their work and the life of the spirit is their refreshment: but to great Sandal Bearers, such as Ptah-kefer, the Causeway to the Gods is the road over which they carry their burdens, and Earth is where they find their relaxation.
There was a pleasant smell of the sunny warmth of fruit and the heavy sweetness of flowers. The serving-girls, wearing tunics of green linen and wreaths of young green wheat, went among the guests with platters of food. There were little birds wrapped in vine leaves; and young gazelles each roasted whole upon a silver spit; fresh dates, served on a bed of smoking rice; and young corn, cut when the cob was at a finger’s length, served with quails each cooked with a fig inside it, which was my favourite dish.
Sesket, the mother of Neyah’s son, was at the royal table. She spoke very little, and when she ate she reminded me of a gazelle drinking from a pool where it can scent a lioness. Her eyes were large and the lids clearly cut. They were soft, and as if she were timid as well as stupid. I wondered why Neyah loved her. Perhaps his strength enjoyed her gentleness, like Natee, who allows a stable-cat to share his stall.
Another of the secondary wives was here, Tetab. I watched her eating grapes. As her brown fingers stretched out to take them from a dish, I thought of my monkey grabbing for a honeycomb. But I am very fond of my monkey; and though I searched my heart, for Tetab I could find no trace of affection. Her eyes were bold, and round as polished pebbles of onyx. When she saw me looking at her, she veiled them with her lids. Neyah must have been sorry that he held her father in such honour that he took his daughter into his household.
Girls went among the guests with flat rush baskets filled w
ith wreaths of flowers, so that the women could choose fresh ones as those they wore wilted in the heat. The Overseer of the Watchers of the River had emptied his goblet too often for wisdom, and when one of the girls passed him he took a honeysuckle wreath and tried to put it on the head of the woman beside him. He was clumsy and disarranged her wig, and it showed the shaven hairline by which she had tried to heighten her forehead. He would be told that it is unwise to forget that the banqueting hall of Pharaoh is neither his own home or the wine-house of the garrison.
Then young girls, naked and slender as reeds, danced the Shadow Dance of the North Wind. First they stood quiet as a field of corn upon a still day, and muted drums murmured of the drowsy heat. Then the reed pipes whispered of the evening breeze, and the dancers’ arms rippled like a breeze-stirred meadow when the grass is high. Then they moved gently, as leaves flutter with the first breathings of a storm. The wind strengthened to the melody of harps, and they swayed like papyrus bowing to the marsh. And as the music heralded the storm, they were like trees whose branches clasp great winds and scatter their leaves as tempest-driven offerings to the racing clouds. Thunder muttered to the surge of drums, until it seemed that we were encompassed by a mighty storm. And as the music drifted into peace, the dancers’ rhythm turned to gentleness. Then the music enfolded quietness, and they were still, as trees upon a silent evening.
Before the banquet ended, a toast was given, which had been written by the cup-bearer of Na-mer, who had saved his master from death through poison; and it was in his memory that it was given at this festival until this day. For the last time, our alabaster goblets were refilled with cool wine—
Wine that is rare enough for Pharaoh’s seal
Upon the stopper of its earthen jar;
Wine that is stored in deep-cut rooms of stone,
Where, in the dark, is slowly born this child
Of clustering grapes and the hot summer sun.
If this were used, as is the people’s drink,
To be a barrier against thought or fear,
It were as if the Flail in Pharaoh’s hand
Should of its will lash him across the brow,
Or the young lion cub, sleeping at his feet,
Should tear his flesh and show the whitened bone.
Let fools and cravens use this purple cloak
To hide their burdens from their inward sight;
But in it we drink to Wisdom, Courage, Truth,
Downfall of enemies, and furtherance of the Light.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dio
When I was in the temple I used to think that after I became a priest I should find contentment in the using of the power that I was striving to gain. But now that I shared the Double Crown my heart was often filled with longing for the quiet strength of Ney-sey-ra, and after his companionship the conversation of the nobles and of my attendants was like shrill pipings on a single reed after a splendid harmony of harps and flutes.
Always must I be Pharaoh, remote and wise and undisturbed. With no one save Neyah could I put off this garment of control. I could not even be impatient when the mirror showed my hair unsmooth, nor, if the outline of my eye was smudged, could I throw the wax upon the floor, as I sometimes longed to do. Always I had to preserve an unflawed calm, as though the light around me shone like pearl instead of being flecked with the red of anger. None knew that I often felt like a harp too tightly strung, which at a touch gives forth harsh discords; that crowns and wigs and ceremonial robes were heavy after a tunic and loose hair; that to sit immobile on a throne tired my muscles, which were used to freedom. In the temple I had been much alone; but now, except when I was sleeping, or in my sanctuary, people were always with me, people to whom I must be wise and kind, people whom I might hurt by an unthinking word, which, if spoken by another, they would not heed. She to whom they gave their loyalty, whose wisdom they revered, was but an image of me that they held in their hearts. There was no one who knew my secret doubts and fears, or heard the foolish, angry words that did not pass my lips, but shouted in the silence of my thoughts. Neyah and I were together, yet I was lonely: for though I had his companionship, I longed for that double link where each to each is like the balanced scale. I could not tell Neyah of my longing, because I feared he would be sorrowful if he knew that though I ruled beside him, I still felt the loneliness of all women who do not have a man to share their lives.
Dio was often in my thoughts, and I longed for his return; he was the only person who knew me not as priest or Pharaoh, but as Sekeeta.
Five moons had passed since he had left for the quarries in the South, and the moon was again at full circle. That night Dio would be waiting for me by the lake. Soon after sunset I went to my room, telling my attendants that I was tired and wished to be alone, and that no one must come near me until I summoned them.
Then I left the palace through the private garden, where my father’s herbs sent forth their pungent scent, across the vineyards, and along the little path between the reeds. Some heavy animal crashed through the night and startled me. On each side of the narrow path the water between the reeds was black as bitumen.
Then, reflected on the water, I saw a light, which shone through the open doorway of the little pavilion by the lake. There Dio waited for me. As I went through the door, he held out his arms to me. And I went into them like a tired traveller who reaches home.
Many times I met Dio there, or in the Meadow of Ra. I told him I was one of the Queen’s attendants, and so he understood that I was not always free to come to him.
On the days when I could not meet him, we left messages for each other in the hollow fig tree that grew up the outside wall of the palace garden. Sometimes he would leave a drawing and sometimes a poem.
One day he sent me:
The dry pool in my courtyard
Is filled with sweet water and blue lotuses
Because you looked at it.
My barren garden is filled with flowers
Because your feet trod its paths.
My vines bow down with the weight of grapes
Because you touched their bare stems.
My abandoned fields are alive with singing-birds
Because they heard your voice.
My broken harp pours forth its melody
Because it heard you sing.
My poor house has become a palace
With courts and colonnades
Because it shaded you from the noonday sun.
And I, who am but a worker in stone,
Should be greater than Pharaoh
If you gave unto me your heart.
and I answered:
If I were the gentle north wind,
Your forehead would always be cool.
If I were a jar of wine,
Your cup would never be empty.
If I were the river,
Your garden would never know drought.
If I were your sandal,
Your foot would feel no stone upon its path.
If I were a basket of fruit,
You would never feel hunger.
If I were a spear,
No enemy would reach you in battle.
But I am only a woman
And I have not even a heart to give you
For it its yours already.
And later I found in the hollow fig tree:
I saw my love sleeping:
A garden tranquil under the moon.
I saw my love waking:
The sun dispels the river mists.
I saw my love weeping:
Stars are the tears of the night.
I heard my love laughing:
The night-bird sings at noon.
I saw my love walking:
The cool wind from the north ripples the corn.
I saw my love open her arms to me:
So I know that when I enter the Celestial Fields
I shall find nothing that is unfamiliar to me.
Dio and I were together by t
he river. There was a cool evening breeze, and the water broke in little sighing waves against the bank.
“Dio, why do you love me, when all the things I tell you about you disbelieve? You could find a hundred dancing-girls more beautiful than I am. You don’t believe that love is long in time; you think it’s something that suddenly happens between two people, like the chips of dry palmwood that smoulder and then flower into flame at the whirling of the fire-stick.”
“My Sekeeta, why do you always ponder on the reason for things? Isn’t it enough that I love you? I don’t know why it is that beside the memory of you the loveliest dancer seems like a fat Nubian grinding corn; or why, when I have heard your voice, the sweetest singer is like the screaming of a chisel on a whetstone. But I am content that it is so. You are very beautiful, my Sekeeta, and if I were a great sculptor you would know that for yourself. And the stories you tell me are more beautiful than the legends of the time when Earth was young and the Gods walked with men in the Gardens of the West.”
“Oh, Dio, your poor country! I should like to go there and talk to your people. Have they so little truth that what they have they believe to be but the legends of a story-teller?”
“You would love that country. They would teach you how the beauty of the present can be caught so that it seems as though it would endure into eternity, as the flight of a bird is caught for the future in stone. There would be laughter in your eyes and you would sing to the joy in your heart. I should crown you with roses and white jasmin and we should run together on white beaches in the sound of the sea. We should climb high mountains together, so high that the clouds were beneath our feet. We should sleep under the stars and walk together through valleys of wild tulips.…There we will have a white house with a garden such as you have never seen, on a steep hillside, with a waterfall to sing us to sleep, and wide terraces down to the sea. We will have white doves, so tame that they shall perch upon your shoulder on their coral coloured feet: and their voices shall echo our contentment. And the walks shall be of thyme and the hedges of rosemary. And all the flowers of my country shall make that place beautiful for you in their season. If we were there now, the hills would be scarlet with anemones, and the oleanders budding over your window. We will always be together; and my eyes shall be filled with your beauty until at last I can carve it in stone. And thousands of years after we are dead, they may find my statues of you, and then they will know that, though man has searched for beauty ever since Earth was young, once it lived as a woman in Minoas.”
