* * * *
He found her in the first courtyard, speaking to one of the priests. She was dressed in simple pleated linen garments, with no adornments, but her beauty, as always, was astonishing. Her face had a glow about it he did not remember. She turned to smile at him, and behind the unmistakable pleasure she showed at his arrival, he could see that something had changed her. She seemed more sure of herself, happier. He had respected her wish to be friends and not lovers, believing that she would change her mind in the end. He knew her desire for him was as strong as his for her. Was this the moment of surrender? But when he looked into her eyes he knew it was not. She had experienced the something that distinguished the merely existing from the truly living. She had true freedom.
Whether the priest she was talking to melted away or walked away he had no idea, he saw only her.
“I did not expect you,” he said.
“Forgive me, my Lord, there was no time to send a message. My decision to come was very sudden."
“And what decided you?"
Before she could reply they were joined by the First Prophet of Ptah himself, Ptah-mes, and there was no chance for private conversation.
After greeting Hapuseneb rather coldly, for he too, like Ra-hotep, resented having to take second place to Amun in his own city, he led his two visitors towards the priests’ quarters that flanked the temple proper, and settled them down in a pleasant, light chamber with goblets of cooling white wine.
Anhai then told them that she intended to found a healing sanctuary on the island of Sehel in the name of Imhotep, and had come to the threshold of the House of Ptah to learn what she could about father and son.
Hapuseneb lay back in his leather chair with his long legs stretched out before him, sipping his wine and listening, watching the faces of both his companions. Ptah-mes was very excited about the idea of the sanctuary and generously offered any help he could towards its establishment.
“Thank you, my lord. The Pharaoh herself is making arrangements for the construction of the physical building—but it would be a great help if, while I am here, I could have access to your library of texts and wisdom books."
Ptah-mes nodded at once.
“Of course,” he said enthusiastically. “If I were a younger man I would gladly join you on your island.” He looked across at Hapuseneb, for the first time with a smile. “Sometimes we get lost under the burdens of our office and long for a simpler time when we were closer to our god."
Hapuseneb stood up.
“Speaking of the burdens of office,” he said, but gave no indication that he agreed with the sentiment pronounced by Ptah-mes. “I must be going.” He then looked at Anhai, who had also risen at once to her feet. “I trust you will visit me at the Temple of Amun-Ra one day while you are here,” he said formally. “The King of kings is also a great healer and would be glad to be associated with your project."
“I had not heard that Amun was a healer,” Ptah-mes said sharply. “I always thought him more of a warrior. Did he not lead the great Aa-kheper-ka-Ra and his father and grandfather into battle?"
“The Hidden One is the breath of life,” Hapuseneb said drily. “He has many aspects."
“It will be a simple sanctuary, my lords,” Anhai said hastily. “All gods will be welcome, but Imhotep himself will preside.” She told them that she had been inspired by a vision of Imhotep himself, but not that she believed she was the actual daughter of the great sage reborn.
“All gods will bless your work, my child,” Ptah-mes said quietly. “I am sure of it. And none will want to change the mandate you have been given.” He looked hard at Hapuseneb, who smiled and took his leave with a slight, almost mocking bow. It amused him that the priests of the other gods of the Two Lands were so nervous of his power.
When he had left, shown out by a servant summoned by Ptah-mes, the old man turned to Anhai.
“Come,” he said, “I will introduce you at once to the Keeper of the Records and the Priest of the House of Life. I hope,” and here the old man hesitated, “I hope you will be able to run your sanctuary without any undue interference."
Anhai guessed what he meant. She smiled.
“My little sanctuary will not be big and important enough to attract any ‘undue interference',” she said.
“Healing sanctuaries attract rich gifts and donations, and others might desire to share in the wealth."
“I have seen what such wealth can do,” she said. “I'll be careful to take only the bare minimum we need for the proper running of it—no more. There will be no wealth to entice the predators."
“You will refuse to accept rich gifts?"
“I will suggest they are given where they are more needed, in our name, if that is the only way the donor will be satisfied."
He looked at her with respect. She was a young woman, with foreign blood in her veins, but she had extraordinary strength. He could believe that she would run the place as she said she would. Good fortune to her! He had been idealistic like that when he was young, but had forgotten those ideals more often than not since he had grown comfortable as High Priest of Ptah.
* * * *
When Hapuseneb and Anhai next met there were angry words spoken between them. She had underestimated his personal loyalty to Hatshepsut, and he was very angry that she had jeopardised the future of the Two Lands for the sake of a passing romance.
“Amenemheb and Neferure are not children,” she said sharply.
“Amenemheb certainly is not, and the very fact that he has encouraged this to go on shows his irresponsible, possibly treasonable attitude to the throne. And you know as well as I do that Neferure is no more than a sweet and vulnerable child."
“She is of marriageable age. Her mother considers her capable of being Pharaoh."
Hapuseneb rose from his chair and strode about the room.
“I thought you had more sense than this,” he said. “Why are you deliberately shutting your mind to the very real danger of the situation?"
“From what Neferure says”—Anhai's voice sounded a little less confident—“Amenemheb is a nobleman who has a brilliant career ahead of him. I can't see that he would be so unsuitable."
“He has a brilliant career in the army—as Men-kheper-Ra's right hand, not as a rival to the prince! Can you not see how this will affect Men-kheper-Ra?"
“He doesn't care for Neferure. I've seen how he looks at her."
“What has caring got to do with it? This is power. This is politics."
“Well, I think it is shameful that Neferure has no choice in the matter and her happiness is to be sacrificed for power, for politics!"
Hapuseneb did not reply to her last impassioned cry. Without even glancing back at her he strode out of the room and slammed the door behind him.
She was hurt and upset, shaken and angry.
The next thing she knew was that Amenemheb was sent off suddenly to Kepel, and Neferure was accompanied back to Waset by Hapuseneb himself. She did not see him again before he left. All her messages were ignored, all her attempts to see him frustrated.
She forced herself to stop thinking about him, and busied herself with learning all she could about Imhotep and Ptah. The memories she had of those ancient days as Imhotep's daughter were so fleeting and incomplete they could not be trusted.
Ptah-mes told her that it was believed Imhotep had written all his wisdom down in one great book, but that no one had ever been able to locate it. There were references to it and quotations from it in many of the old texts, but whether these were handed down by word of mouth from Imhotep's lifetime or actual quotations from a book that was known and read afterwards it was difficult to tell.
“The King's architect, Senmut, has been searching for it for years,” he told her. “If anyone could find it, it would be he."
Anhai smiled. She knew of Senmut's obsession. She was grateful for it because it had taken her to Sehel Island to meet her destiny.
She told Ptah-mes she would like t
o read the texts that quoted from it, and settled down in the House of Life among the papyri and the quiet rustling of the other scribes.
Because of her determination to forget Hapuseneb and prepare herself for the great task Imhotep had set her, she spent longer at her research than perhaps was sensible. When the daylight shafting through the high window slits faded, she lit the lamps and continued alone when the others had left to go to bed.
Late on the third night, the full moon shone directly through one of the windows onto the back of her head. She could feel its light almost like a physical touch. As the shadow her head cast on the scroll she was reading passed, the moon's eerie light illuminated the text. It was as though the focus of her eyes had changed, and images and glyphs that appeared to be important the moment before, now receded and others came into prominence. With the altered emphasis, a different meaning emerged.
The moon moved on and the light returned to normal. Before she could forget what she had seen she wrote it down. Then she looked at what she had written. It now meant nothing to her, but she knew that it could not be meaningless. Djehuti, the moon god, had passed by, the ancient friend of Imhotep, the god of wisdom, of scribes, of healing. It was he who had given her the message, and it would have been pointless for him to do so if he was not intending to give her the key to understand it.
She was suddenly aware of her own weariness. She felt too tired to rise and make her way back to her quarters. With a sigh she put her head down on her arms on the table and dropped off to sleep where she was.
She was not aware that a figure had entered the great hall of records and was standing silently behind her, looking down at her.
When she woke as the first light came streaming through the windows, she was relaxed and refreshed. She had had no dreams that she could remember, and she felt bright, cheerful and ready for anything.
“Senmut will know!” was her first thought.
She left the House of Life and stepped lightly out into the garden. A long streamer of birds floated above her, and she could hear children calling from the priests’ married quarters. Somewhere, far away, someone was singing a hymn to the god of the dawn.
The wounds in her heart had healed, and she was ready for the future.
* * * *
Senmut came north as soon as Anhai's messenger reached him. He was glad to leave Waset. He had taken the opportunity of Hatshepsut's rage at Neferure's escapade to suggest that one way of keeping her safe would be for him to marry her. He had said it lightly, as though he had only just thought of it. When Neferure was a child, everyone had remarked on the beautiful and tender relationship between them, and Hatshepsut knew more than anyone that that relationship was one of the most precious in Neferure's life. If anyone could make Neferure behave sensibly it would be Senmut. She ignored the suggestion of the marriage between them, but suggested at once that he should take the young princess aside and spell out her responsibilities to her.
Since he had first conceived the idea of marriage to Neferure he had been waiting for the opportunity to suggest it to Hatshepsut. He was disappointed that it had not been taken seriously, but not really surprised. The seed of the idea had been sown, however, and he did not give up hope that it might one day take root.
He went to see Neferure in the private chamber to which she had retreated since her unwilling return with Hapuseneb.
At first she refused to see even him, but finally, when he sent in a message written in the secret code they had once agreed to use in times of dire emergency, she allowed him in.
She ran to him at once, as she had always done when she was a child, and he took her on his knee and rocked her gently as he had done then.
He tried to tell her that her passion for Amenemheb would pass and that Pharaoh had to consider what was best for the country as a whole. He tried to tell her that itwas worth giving up her freedom for the priceless privileges she had as royal heir, but his voice carried no conviction.
“When you die,” he said, “as Pharaoh you will become part of the pattern of the imperishable stars. You will look down with your shining eyes and know that you have had, and are having, an influence on everything that happens on earth."
“I don't want that. I don't care about that. I'll give it all up—everything, everything! I don't want a life after death. I want this life, here, now, with Amenemheb!"
“That is easily said, my dear, but later when—"
She climbed off his lap, her face tear-stained and angry.
“You are no better than Hapuseneb and my mother. I'll never forgive Anhai for telling Hapuseneb. Never! And now you too are turning against me."
“Little kitten, you know I am not!"
“You are, and I want you to leave. You and your secret messages! I'll never come to you when you need me, no matter how many codewords you use!"
“Princess..."
“Leave!” she commanded.
He stood looking at her for a moment, and knew that while she was in this mood it would be useless to reason with her.
He left.
* * * *
Anhai impatiently awaited Senmut's arrival.
She had not wasted her time, but her concentration was not as good as it had been. She was sure Senmut would know what the cipher message meant. For some reason she had shown it to no one else, not even Ptah-mes, who had been so kind in extending every help she needed.
She scarcely allowed him time to rest and refresh himself after his journey before she hurried him to the House of Life. She showed him the text she had been reading, and she showed him the glyphs that had been picked out for her. She told him she was afraid that she had misinterpreted the whole incident and that it had all just been a trick played on her by her overtired mind.
Senmut studied what she showed him carefully, his face giving very little away. Then, after what seemed an intolerable length of time, he looked up at her—and she knew by his expression that she had not been mistaken.
“I can't say for sure until I have tested it out,” he said, trying to keep the growing excitement out of his voice. “But I think we might have been told where Imhotep is buried and, with him, his wisdom book."
“But if it is buried with him,” she said, disappointed, “we'll never be able to read it.” She knew with what curses tombs were sealed, and with what anathema tomb robbers were regarded.
Senmut's face had become the face of a stranger, his eyes dark and secretive. She could see that he would do everything in his power to get the book, and face any consequences.
She did not know what to do. She too would give almost anything to read the book, but would she be prepared to rob a tomb?
“But if we were not meant to have it,” she thought, “why were we told where it was?"
She decided to let a night's sleep pass between the problem and her decision. If they were meant to go after it, surely she would be given a sign.
* * * *
That night she tossed and turned as Ra passed cavern after cavern in the Underworld, and the wide striding stars encompassed the heavens.
Just before dawn, clear thoughts came to her as though fed into her mind by someone else. They were meant to read the book, but not to steal it from the tomb. She knew it was possible to leave the body and “spirit travel” because she had seen her parents do it as part of their priestly work. Her mother had drilled into her a hundred times that “the body is the least of our realities". “Don't live in the body alone, or you will waste so much of your potential as a spiritual and eternal being,” she used to say. Suddenly Anhai knew there would be a way to visit the tomb of Imhotep and read the book without desecrating it. She could not wait to tell Senmut.
But when she went to find him at the house of Ptah-mes, she was told that he had not been there the night before, and that no one could tell her where to find him.
Her heart sank, surely she was not too late.
She rushed from place to place where she thought he might be, but no one had see
n him.
By midday she had no doubt that he had gone to find the tomb and that he would not hesitate to enter it and remove the precious book. Anxiously she went back to her private chamber, thinking that she would try to contact him on another level. She took out the little box in which she kept her most precious possessions.
After she arrived in Khemet she discarded just about everything that she had brought with her. She had taken on new clothes and a new identity during the long and hazardous journey over land and over sea. She was deeply scarred by regret for what she had done in her homeland and was desperate to make amends. She knew that the only way she could make some good come out of the death of her mother would be for her to become what her mother had always wanted her to be. The vision of Imhotep was now giving her that opportunity. If his grave was entered and the elaborate system of magical protection broken, she would be responsible yet again for the destruction of something important and good.
She brought out the box with trembling hands. Why was it that even when she was trying to do good she still ended up doing something bad. She should never have told Senmut!
The box contained one of her mother's sacred crystals. For the first time since she had left her distant home, she took it out of its tiny box of yew wood and knew that she had to use it.
Tenderly she lifted it and unwrapped it from its soft nest of dried moss. As the scent of the moss that had grown on the moors of her damp homeland pervaded her nostrils, she swallowed a lump in her throat. Strange, when she was there she had longed to be here, and now she was here, she longed to be there. It was as though she belonged nowhere. Did one ever? she wondered. Was not the sense of homeland, for which people killed, but one of the many false images they clung to to give them bravado against the Unknown?
She shivered. It was beginning. The crystal was speaking to her—or, rather, causing her to hear her own Higher Self, the eternal part of her being, without the usual distortions and distractions of her lesser, temporary self.
Hatshepsut: Daughter of Amun Page 19
