Winged Pharaoh

by Joan Grant

  He was lying with his head on my lap, and I stroked his eyes so that he must keep them shut and could not see the tears in mine. He but told me of the things we had done together in dreams. I could remember the valley of wild tulips and see their pointed petals as clearly as if they grew in Kam and I had seen them when awake. Why was I born to wear a crown and but to dream of wreaths of jasmin? When he found out who I was, I might lose him upon Earth. Would he have understanding when he slept, or would even my dreams be sorrowful? This happiness might last such a little while; yet would the memory of it be a part of me always, and when at last I entered the Celestial Fields I could live this present throughout eternity.

  Although I had told Dio that I would never leave the palace, he did not believe me. He thought that I was dazzled by a high position and that I set too great an importance on the friendship of the Queen. He hoped that soon the glamour of the court would grow dim for me and I should be content to go with him to his home in the Delta.

  Dio hated the Queen. To him she symbolized all the pomp and ceremony that he despised. He said she must be selfish and without compassion to make me stay with her when I could find happiness with him. When I defended her and tried to make him understand how difficult was the life of a Pharaoh, he would not listen. I knew that soon he would find out that she and I were one, and I wondered which picture would remain in his heart: the Queen he hated, or the woman that he loved.

  I had prayed to Ptah that I might bear his child. And when I knew that Ptah had listened to my voice, I told Dio. And he said that no longer could anyone come between us, and that he would claim audience with the Queen and demand from her my freedom to be his wife.

  I would have told him then, but it was late and I had to return to the palace. So I asked him to meet me on the next day at the sunset hour and until then to claim no audience.

  I knew that this interlude, when I could be with Dio in a secret garden, was drawing to its close, and I must leave this sanctuary of green quiet and walk with him in the clear light of day. For the sun does not stand still upon his journey across the sky nor can the lives of men be without change. I had rejoiced to share in the freedom of lovers, to feel my Earth encompassed by my love and to know the glad heritage that Min had given to mankind. But it is foolish not to take pleasure in the fresh green of the young leaves because one sighs for the tracery of bare branches against the moon or longs for the leafy shade of summer. Now we must work together to the glory of Kam.

  I planned the pattern of our lives together.…The buildings that still live in Dio’s mind shall flower in stone. There shall be new temples up and down the land, where people shall be taught as I have been taught. From across the sea shall come cedarwood for doors; barges shall bring white limestone from the North and rose-red granite from the quarries of Za-an. I will gather craftsmen from the Two Lands, masons and sculptors, carpenters and scribes, and I will make gardens to enshrine this stone, with lotus pools set among trees meticulously placed. I will build a little palace in the South, where rocky islands challenge the river’s flow. Even the furniture shall be of Dio’s thought; it shall be flawless, out of precious woods: inlaid with the smooth sheen of oyster shell, with lapis lazuli to reflect the sky, and lines of ivory, and fillets of gold. My curtains shall be patterned with flying swans, cleaving above the reeds in their arrow flight; the plaster walls shall blossom to lotuses, and even the floors shall be of cedarwood. I will make Dio master of a great estate, as though he were a son of Pharaoh by a secondary wife. When he journeys through the land to see his buildings he shall have a barge of forty oars, and he shall drive his own horses in a chariot. I have raised him to the stature of the name of a god, for though none other shall know it, he will know that Pharaoh, Child of Horus, is his child.

  How foolish I have been to sorrow that I was born to the Royal House; if I were Sekeeta only, I could have been his wife before the priests, but I could have given him nothing but my love. Had his eyes been open to the Light, I would have long since told him of my heritage, for the little things of Earth can matter not to those who know of the great wings of time and of their unhurrying sweep through space. They see mankind stripped of their earthly rank, and they know that riches may be a little fisher girl and poverty own a thousand chests of gold; that two who love each other walk through Earth in many guises, speak to each other in a hundred tongues, lie in each other’s arms in palaces, or are re-united in a shepherd’s hut. Yet why did I ever fear that his love would die when he knew that Sekeeta and Pharaoh were one? He will see that my hair holds the same lustre although I wear the White Crown, know that my lips are still warm under his although they have moved to speak the Oath of Pharaoh, and that my hands are still the long narrow hands he loves although their fingers know the Crook and Flail.

  To-morrow evening I shall meet him, and no longer will my heart hide my unspoken thoughts. Henceforward there will be no barriers between us, and in the strength of his companionship I shall be a greater servant of the Gods. Soon we shall laugh together at his words when he used to tell me that he hated the Queen—hated her when he held her in his arms! And he will learn that for hate to live, hate and understanding must be kept apart; for if they meet, a child will be born to them, whose name is love.

  Next morning, as I sat in audience, it seemed that two women sat upon one throne: Pharaoh, who gave the justice of the Crook and Flail, and Sekeeta, who dreamed of the joy that she would know when in the evening her happiness cast out fear and in its clear security she at last found peace.

  The day was hot and the hours seemed very long. Then, just as I was about to declare the audience closed, the scribe read out ‘Hykso-diomenes’.

  The lover’s phrases still echoed in my heart, which were to have told him that his Sekeeta was Za Atet. As he walked up the long room towards me, his eyes were on Natee lying at my feet. Now I should know if his love was long in time or if the hoped-for depths were a shallow pool, which the sun of truth would turn to desert. The story of the second Meniss flashed through my mind; once he had sat immobile on a throne and watched to see if they who came towards him held gift or dagger in their hands.

  Then Dio stood before me. He lifted up his head and looked at me. And I saw bewilderment changed to hatred in his eyes. And without speaking he turned and left the audience room.

  That evening I was told that Hykso-diomenes had left the Royal City, and that the models for the new temple buildings were lying broken in the courtyard of his empty house.

  Sekeeta was no longer. The Queen was the only reality. The Queen who had amused herself with her architect.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The Laws of Kam

  On the first day of the new year the laws were proclaimed throughout Kam: in every temple by the High-priest; in the chief city of each nome by the Vizier; in every village by the Headman; in garrisons by the Captain-of-Captains; upon the sea or river by the Ship-master; and in the Royal City by Pharaoh.

  In the first year of my reign I proclaimed the laws to my people from the steps of the great courtyard of the palace.

  “Hear my voice!

  “None shall obstruct the path of any in the Two Lands who seeks for wisdom in the temple or for the justice of Pharaoh.

  “The people of Kam are kinsmen, and they shall do unto one another as they would unto a loved brother.

  “None shall refuse succour to the sick nor food to the hungry. None shall take that which is not theirs by right. None shall make a child go in fear nor let the aged suffer from their feebleness, lest they feel the wrath of Pharaoh, who is the father of all his people.

  “All who have servants shall treat them as they themselves would wish to be treated: with justice and compassion. All who are servants, be it in the house or working in the fields, shall be worthy of a good master.

  “Those of you who have women in your house shall treat them with kindliness, so that they smile to hear your footsteps and your wives bear your children with joy. Those of you who h
ave husbands, brother, or fathers, see that your tongue has honey upon it and let not your words make your home unquiet. Let all in your house rejoice that they share it with you.

  “Let no animal suffer through cruelty, wantonness, or neglect. He who lets an animal starve shall be without food for twelve days, so that he may gain understanding of hunger, and knowing it, will not cause it to another. He who has an animal that has broken sores from beating or from an ill-fitting harness shall receive five lashes upon the feet and five upon the back for each animal so neglected.

  “Those of you who let your plants die when water is plentiful shall give a full harvest of all your land to the temple as a free gift, so that you may know the reality of famine.

  “Those of you who catch more fish than you need and leave them to stink upon the river bank shall cast no net for three months.

  “Those of you who are merchants, if you lie about your wares or barter unjustly with those who have not the wit to see your dishonesty, you shall not trade in Kam for six months; and if this offence be repeated, your possessions shall be divided among the people and you shall be left with only enough land to grow food by which you may live if you work with your hands, and all your strength.

  “Any official under my seal, vizier or market watchman, scribe or overseer, who is dishonest in his office and thus betrays the word of Pharaoh shall be banished from Kam.

  “Any who break these laws shall find that Pharaoh is master of you all and sees that you are treated as you treat others.

  “If you doubt the wisdom of any action, ask yourselves: If he to whom I do this thing were Pharaoh or belonged to Pharaoh, would I continue? And if your heart says yes, then all be well.

  “Remember you are my children, and what you do unto each other you do unto me also. Speak no words that you would fear my hearing. Treat your children as though they were the children of my body. Treat your animals as you would treat this lion at my feet. Tend your crops as if they were the royal garden.

  “Strive always to reach that time when you can say: There is not one who sins, there is not one who suffers, there is not one who weeps, through any act of mine. For in this there be the wisdom of the Gods and the longing of Pharaoh for his people.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Expedition to Punt

  Six months after I became Pharaoh, messengers brought news that our south-eastern boundaries were being raided by the people of Punt, who this year had sent no tribute.

  Neyah set forth to teach them wisdom, and with him went ten thousand soldiers of the Royal Army. This army is under the personal command of Pharaoh, and it is called upon only in time of war. Each warrior-noble raises a hundred men from his own estate; they are his friends, for they are together from childhood, and they learn spear-throwing and the flighting of arrows from the same teachers as their overlord. If any of them are killed in battle, their wives and children are looked after as members of their master’s household. Each warrior is given a house to live in with his family, land on which to grow vegetables, and as much grain from the granaries as he needs for bread, and a second measure for barter. Most nobles give their warriors a jar of beer every moon, and a roll of coarse linen and one of wool every year.

  Before Neyah started he reviewed his troops. There were five thousand bowmen, a thousand men armed with the mace, and two thousand spearmen. Over every hundred there was a captain, and to each fifty captains a Captain-of-Captains. There were two thousand grain-carriers, tentmen, cooks, and others, who looked after the food, water, and baggage. All were armed with a short sword, which they wore in a sheath from their belt; it was used as a hunting-knife as well as for fighting. Each man had a linen head-dress to protect him from the sun, a simple form of the sphinx head-dress; and a woollen cloak, which on the march he carried as a pack, and in which he wrapped himself when he slept. Captains wore armlets of gold, and their sphinx head-dresses were striped in green and scarlet. Each captain had a standard on which were his emblem and the emblem of his nome; and his hundred wore these emblems upon the band of their head-dress.

  No horses were taken on the expedition, for since there was no longer trade with Zuma, horses were very scarce in Kam. In the old days stallions from Zuma were exchanged for gold, ivory, perfumes, and malachite; but they would sell us no mares, lest we should breed our own horses and no longer give such high exchange for theirs. Five mares had been captured in the last battle against the Zumas, and there were now fifty horses in the royal stables. They were among our most precious possessions, and if a plague should strike the stables, there would be no horses in Kam. In time of war, the chariots of Pharaoh, of Captains-of-Captains, and of captains, are drawn by two white asses. One day we hoped to conquer Zuma and the people to the east of them, and then every noble could drive his own horses.

  With the army went four healers, two young seer priests, and six looking-girls. Every day news was brought to me from the temple of Neyah’s progress, and long did I pray to Ptah to protect him, and that he should return victorious.

  The army travelled downstream in ninety sailing barges. At the mouth of the river they sailed eastwards to the beginning of the Narrow Land between the Two Waters. Here they disembarked, and they marched for four days until they reached the Narrow Sea, where a fleet of a hundred ships awaited them. Then they sailed south-eastwards along the coast and landed on the northern shore of Punt, which was sparsely garrisoned, for they expected that any attack from Kam would come from the desert side.

  The royal city of Shebastes, their king, was four days’ march from the coast. Neyah divided his troops into two encircling wings, so that they attacked the city upon both sides at once. The armies of Punt were a wild rabble, and they soon broke before the measured lines of our soldiers, who advanced upon them relentlessly as a flood. Then Neyah encircled the city and waited for their surrender, for he had gone to show them the might of Kam and not to destroy their people. On the third day Shebastes came from the city bearing tribute. He knelt down and touched Neyah’s foot with his forehead in homage, swearing fealty to Kam; and he told Neyah that he would cut off the hands of two thousand warriors to show his sorrow that they had ever raised their hands against the lands of Atet. And Neyah replied that he would grieve to think Shebastes should do something that would cause him, Shebastes, to be maimed two thousand times, and that instead he must show his loyalty by making our laws the laws of Punt.

  Neyah stayed in the city of Shebastes forty days, while the chiefs of every tribe and the headman of every village swore fealty to him as their overlord. Then Neyah returned homewards across the desert, for he wished to visit Na-kish. And the people of Punt, who looked upon him as their deliverer from oppression, sorrowed when he left them, and they sent two hundred bearers with the army to carry their tribute.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Golden Link

  My people were glad that I was to bear a child, for it would be acknowledged doubly royal, as if it were not only mine, but Neyah’s also. The father of the child of a queen who is married to her brother is never named. And those of my people who are children in spirit and are not yet beyond the need of legends hold that the royal title, Son of Horus, when it is borne by such a child, is not only a title, but a truth.

  My body had always sat lightly upon me, but now it held me to Earth, and when I crossed the Causeway to the Gods, I brought back no memory. I prayed that Neyah might return before my child was born, so that he should sit beneath the Scales, where now I was alone.

  Women whose lovers are dead think on their memories; they have but to sleep to meet their love, yet Dio had left me even in my dreams. I could not love him, lest it should fill my heart and cloud my wisdom, which belonged to my people; and I could not hate him, for I bore his child, who would be worthy to rule over Kam.

  I tried to think of my little span of love as though it belonged to another woman’s life; to look through other eyes than mine on two shadowy figures in a lover’s song.

  When I left t
he temple, Thoth-terra-das had come with me as my scribe. To him I was still the one who had shared his love for words. Because of his office, he knew of my sorrow; and he said to me, “Remember, Sekeeta, how I taught you to burnish joy with words, so that its radiance might be a silver disc to reflect happiness into the shadow of your troubled days. When you mould your thoughts with words, you can see them clearly and separate from yourself, see the unfading radiance of past joy beside the fleeting littleness of grief. Take not sorrow for your companion to shadow your footsteps with its echoing tread, but turn it into a statue and walk on alone and leave it, a statue beside an empty path.”

  And so for my sorrowful heart I sought the gentle benison of words.

  In Minoas the white jasmin is flowering,

  But I will not see it wither upon its branches.

  The wind blows through the valley of wild tulips,

  Scattering the petals, which have lost their brilliance.

  The paths are purple with wild thyme,

  But my feet shall not tread forth their sweetness.

  The beaches are white in the sound of the sea,

  But they shall bear no record of my passing.