“Eben,” I said to Disenk as we walked. “A foreign name.” Disenk sniffed.
“Her mother is Maxyes or Peleset, I forget which,” she commented disdainfully, “and her father is a palace guard. She is common and brainless.” I scrambled onto the litter.
“You did not tell me about her.” Disenk looked down on me with an expression of distaste.
“She is beneath your consideration.”
I wondered, as I was lifted and we set off, whether Disenk regarded me secretly with the same contempt since my background was similar to the unfortunate Eben’s. I hoped not, but then decided that I did not care. Much as I liked her, the opinion of a servant was becoming less and less important to me.
We were carried through the city, a cavalcade of colourful privilege, while the Herald called a warning and the guards cleared a way for us, and we alighted at the far end of the vast paved concourse that lay before Amun’s mighty first pylon. The sphinx-lined square was black with people craning to catch a glimpse of Pharaoh. As I stood and looked about I saw him and drew in a quick breath.
Surrounded by his ministers and acolytes he was about to enter the temple. Ast was beside him, a tiny, glittering vision of blood and precedent, but my glance did not rest on her. It became fixed on Ramses. In the relative privacy of the royal bedchamber I was slowly becoming used to the mountain of distasteful flesh that encased him. Its weight and feel, though no longer repulsive, could not yet be disregarded as I hoped it would with the passage of time. But here, in the shimmering, merciless glare of light reflecting off the white surface of the concourse, it was transformed into the physical manifestation of kingly power. Regal and imposing, the huge body radiated the authority of a god. He was clad in a pleated knee-length kilt, its triangular starched apron encrusted with carnelian scarabs that glinted dully as he moved. From his belt hung the bull’s tail, curving over his ample buttocks and brushing the ground, a reminder of his uniqueness as the Mighty Bull of Ma’at. His massive chest was almost invisible under a great pectoral of blue and green faience ankhs held towards his face by kneeling goddesses of gold. Gold gripped his arms, the wide bracelets mounding the skin, and jasper ankhs on spears of gold hung from his ears. On his head was the khepresh crown, the rich, dark blue of its lapis curves emphasized by the dozens of golden studs that covered it. Above his high forehead the royal serpent Uraeus reared, Wazt, Lady of Spells, prepared to spit venom at any who approached with treason in their hearts. I saw his chubby hand, now transformed into a symbol of perfect pharaonic command, on fire with jewels as it rose and gestured imperiously. A horn blared. The divine pair moved in under the pylon and out of my sight.
I felt very small and insignificant as I joined the select crowd who followed after, passing my sandals to Disenk before the holy precinct enveloped me. The floor of the outer court was warm and gritty under the soles of my feet. My lover is a god, I thought distinctly, with surprise, as if the knowledge was coming to me for the first time. My lover is divine omnipotence. Who then am I, with my insulting, secret contempt for him, my sacrilegious, private belittling of his shortcomings? My presumptuous judgements were worth less than nothing, the tiny bleat of an anonymous mouse in the granaries of my lord. Humbled, I went through the customary obeisances and prayers while the doors to the roofed inner court were opened and Ramses and Ast approached the sanctuary. But my fervent reflections ceased as a group of men came out from behind one of the vast pillars and joined the King.
The High Priest and First Prophet of Amun, Usermaarenakht, was easy to recognize, but not because he resembled the cunning embodiment of evil I had built up in my mind. In fact he was disappointingly ordinary to look at, just a middle-aged man of pleasant face and dignified bearing, a shaft of sunlight from one of the clerestory windows striking his shaven skull and making his spotless priestly linen glow. He wore the distinctive mark of Amun’s Chief Prophet, the leopard skin, which clung to his back, its paws clutching his shoulders, its head lolling lifelessly on his right breast. To me it seemed as though the creature had him in its control. Its embrace was greedy, predatory. His companions were obviously the Second and Third Prophets, with their similarly closely shaved heads, their sashes of sacerdotal office and their white staffs. The High Priest bowed, somewhat perfunctorily I thought, to Ramses, and opened the sanctuary doors. A gush of fragrant incense poured out and I caught a brief glimpse of the God seated on his granite throne, his body encased in gold, his double plumes rising high above his noble brow, before Pharaoh and Usermaarenakht went in and the doors were quickly closed behind them. A chair was brought for Queen Ast. Chanting began, and dancers with systra tinkling in their hands filed into the inner court.
I looked about for Ast-Amasareth but saw Eben instead. The girl was leaning against a servant, her hands under her large belly, her expression strained. Sweat had beaded in her cleavage. I looked away with uncharacteristic pity, suddenly and fervently glad that our positions were not reversed. Ast-Amasareth’s words came back to me and I vowed that I would do my best not to become pregnant with Ramses’ child. Under no circumstances would I give the King an excuse to supplant me.
Whatever rites the King was performing took a very long time and I was both bored and very thirsty by the time the horns barked again and he reappeared. As he paused for the Lady of the Two Lands to compose herself at his elbow, his kohled eyes travelled the company and came to rest on me. His hennaed lips curved in an unselfconscious smile. Ast had followed his gaze. I saw no recognition on her face but the dainty features settled into a mask of dislike. She whispered something to Ramses that wiped the smile from his face and together they processed out into the glare of the day and the roaring horde of expectant city-dwellers.
I had presumed to spend the rest of the day in my own quarters but a Herald accosted me as I left my litter and was walking under the leafy shade of the clustering trees to the entrance of the harem.
“Concubine Thu,” he said without preamble. “Pharaoh has commanded your presence at his feast this evening to honour the departing High Priest of Amun. Prepare yourself accordingly. You will be summoned at sundown.” He turned on his heel with the arrogance of all Heralds, who spend their lives conveying the orders of others, and I swung excitedly to Disenk.
“I must have something new to wear, something startling,” I said as we passed the harem guards and paced the narrow, walled-in path to our courtyard. “I do not want to be elegant, Disenk, I want to be noticed!” Her tight little nostrils pinched.
“Elegance is to be preferred,” she said firmly. “You do not want to cause the attention given to a common dancer or a superior whore. We may do something different with the cosmetics, Thu, but I strongly advise a decorous mode of dress.” She was right of course. My plans did not include finding myself immobilized in the futureless mode of such women. Therefore at sunset I was waiting in my cell, garbed in a white, gold-bordered sheath with a high neckline and broad shoulder straps. One necklace lay against my collarbone and in its centre was one finely wrought likeness of the goddess Hathor with her benignly smiling face and gentle cow’s horns curving towards my throat. One bracelet encircled my wrist. One scarab ring sat on my right hand. The wig that touched my shoulders was straight and very simple. The circlet cutting across my forehead held no adornment at all. But above the thick black kohl around my eyes Disenk had painted my eyelids with gold and sprinkled them with gold dust. The lobes of my ears were also gold, and though my palms and the soles of my feet were hennaed, my mouth felt heavy with more gold. Gold dust clung to my arms, my feet, the hollow of my throat, where the saffron-scented oil gripped it, so that when I came at last to look myself up and down in the copper mirror the effect was remarkable. My clothing was as modest as could be, yet my face and body glittered tauntingly with the promise of something exotic, mysterious, subtly sexual.
I thanked my magician profusely, tasting the metallic strangeness of the gold on my lips, and she smiled coolly and nodded. She was to accompany me t
o taste my food and drink and serve me, and for that I was relieved. I was feeling once again the momentousness of an occasion I saw as yet another test and I wondered whether the whole of my life would be like this, one new experience to be conquered after another. Inwardly I blessed Hui for providing me with the accoutrements I needed and I wished for a fleeting moment that I was going to enter Pharaoh’s banqueting hall on his firm, slightly daunting arm.
As it was, I went in alone but for Disenk, and was initially unnoticed. When the summons came, we had followed the servant back through the entrance to the harem in a sweet, warm dusk, cutting across the soft grass to join the main paved way to the palace entrance. It was swarming with guards and guests and we were challenged then allowed to pass. The mighty entrance hall had doors in its right-hand wall and we drifted through them with the throng. The roar of excited voices rose to a din. I found myself in a room so vast that the ceiling was a mere suggestion, so wide that I could barely make out the row of pillars at the far end through which the night breeze was sending puffs of welcome freshness. Hundreds of people milled about, their gossamer linens brushing the garlands of dewy flowers lying on the low dining tables set ready for them. Young servants clad in loincloths slipped among them like sinuous eels, offering necklaces of woven flowers, cones of perfumed grease to be tied on top of their wigs, and cups of wine. One approached me and bowed. I allowed him to attach a cone above my head, and as I was reaching for wine a palace Herald interposed himself between us and nodded briefly. “Concubine Thu?” I returned his nod. “I will show you to your table. Follow please.” To my surprise and delight I had been accorded a place right at the foot of the raised dais where the royal family would dine. “This is very good,” Disenk said complacently as I tried to keep my balance in the crush of hot, anticipant bodies. “Very good indeed. You will be in Pharaoh’s line of vision all night.”
“Doubtless he did not plan it that way,” I murmured back sarcastically, then gripped her hand as a blare of discordant horns sounded with sudden violence. At once a silence fell. The Chief Herald stepped out from the shadows to the left of the dais. His staff thudded against the floor three times and his chest swelled. “Ramses User-Ma’at-Ra Meri-Amun, Heq-On, Lord of Tanis, Great One of Kings, Mighty Bull, Stabiliser of the Lands, Lord of the Shrines of Nekhbet and Uarchet, the Horus of Gold, Victor over the Sati, Subduer of the Libu …” His sonorous voice boomed on, reeling out my lover’s titles. I relinquished Disenk’s palm, dry and cool, of course, although the banqueting hall was stuffy and breathlessly close, and wound my fingers together tensely.
Pharaoh strode across the dais. He had discarded the kilt in favour of a long and flowing white tunic embroidered thickly in silver ankhs that swirled about his jewelled ankles. Behind him came Ast, tiny and doll-like, her many gems now glowing dully in the torch and candle light.
Then I felt the blood fill my face, for Ramses the Prince walked after his mother, kilted and bare-legged, his glorious face framed in a white linen helmet whose wings kissed the alluring curve of his collar-bones. His fine kohled eyes flickered dismissively over the crowded hall as he settled himself onto the cushions at his table but he glanced up and lifted a helping hand to the woman who was sinking beside him. I judged her to be in her late twenties, a slim, vigorous creature with the classical features of the goddess Hathor one saw on temple reliefs, and Hathor’s warmly curving lips. “His wife, the Princess Neferu,” Disenk whispered, seeing the direction of my gaze. Naturally, I thought with a surge of bitter jealousy. A classic Egyptian beauty with a classic Egyptian name. Pure, ancient blood. Nothing less for our Prince. Then I was ashamed, for she divined the intentness of my scrutiny and gave me a fleeting smile. The High Priest of Amun had brought up the rear of the small procession and the echoes of the Herald’s voice were dying away, lost in the invisible gloom of the high ceiling. With a rustle the guests came to life and conversations broke out again.
I lowered myself onto my cushions, Disenk at my knee, and as I did so I realized that I had no interest in Usermaarenakht or his power or his pernicious influence on Pharaoh. I did not really care in what priestly snare my King struggled. Hui’s all-consuming obsession, cold and crippling, held no fascination for me after all. Perhaps it never had. Perhaps I had been flattered by his insistence that only I could save my country, but the idea seemed idiotic now. I was a girl lost in the magnificence of a dream, afloat on an ocean of absorbing fantasy. With all my senses I inhaled my surroundings: the noisy confusion of voices and laughter; the play of yellow light on a myriad of jewels that twinkled in a constant swirl of colours; the flutter and sway of rich linens; the soft glow of kohled eyes and hennaed mouths; the tantalizing odours emanating from the steaming, laden trays of food the servants were bringing, held high over their ribboned heads; and under and over and through it all, weaving mysteriously and quietly, the unremarked but seductive breath of Shu, god of the air, blowing from the night world beyond.
There were little loaves of bread shaped like frogs, and salty butter and brown, tangy goat cheese. There was quail stuffed with figs and smothered in cucumbers and onions. There were lotus seeds drenched in purple juniper oil and roots of wild sedge crusty with coriander and cumin. Delicate lettuce leaves curled around fronds of parsley and thin spears of celery. Honey and shat cakes abounded, and the wine was sweetened with dates. I had never eaten fare like this before. Disenk, unperturbed, ceremoniously tasted each dish before I placed anything on my tongue, and sipped judiciously at the wine before it slid, red and smooth, down my throat.
The cacophony in the hall increased as the evening progressed. When I had glutted myself and an unobtrusive servant had removed my table, I reclined on one elbow and watched the dais. Pharaoh was deep in conversation with the First Prophet, leaning across his wife who was daintily picking her teeth while her body servant replaced the cone on her head. The Prince’s cone had also shrunk, the melting oil having trickled in a golden stream down his neck and between his hennaed nipples to disappear where the table shadowed his tight belly. His wife had placed a hand on his arm and was leaning close to him, saying something that made him smile and turn to her quickly.
I looked away, only to find Ast-Amasareth’s eyes fixed on me expressionlessly. Her elbows were resting among the wilting flowers on her table and her ringed fingers were folded under her chin. There was nothing drunken in her steady regard, and after staring back at her I nodded. Coolly she returned the gesture.
I felt someone’s hip slide down beside mine and swung round to find Hunro, cup in hand, grinning at me. “You look like an exotic foreign goddess,” she said. “Are you enjoying yourself, Thu? Soon the dancers will appear and I shall join them. There is a troop of acrobats from Keftiu also, and a fire eater.” She drank and then signalled for the cup to be refilled. “Everyone has noticed Ast-Amasareth’s attention fixed on you tonight,” she went on in a low, teasing voice. “Everyone has been taking a good look at you, including Paiis, but as he is here with someone else’s wife and as you belong to Pharaoh he can only lust after you from afar.” She threw back her head and laughed.
There was a crash of cymbals, a patter of light, bare feet, and six dancers ran onto the cleared space in front of the dais. The women were naked, with long black hair that almost brushed their heels. The men were clad in loincloths and had bells around their ankles. Hunro kissed my cheek and rose to greet them and there was a roar from the crowd as she was recognized. Pharaoh waved at her. Even Ast smiled faintly. Drums began to thud out an hypnotic beat and I saw Hunro’s eyes slide lazily shut as her feet found the rhythm.
I too closed my eyes. I did not need to see the slow contortions of the dancers’ bodies to be drawn into the sensuality of the moment. The reverberation of the drums, the wail of the pipes, the frenzied clapping that kept time to the music, surrounded and penetrated me with a completely physical exultation. For a long time I let it carry me, and then the music changed, the cymbals clashed again, and I opened my eyes to see the
dancers disappear and the acrobats come tumbling out.
Prince Ramses had disappeared also, and it was as though the night had come to an abrupt end for me. Ast was yawning behind her hand. Pharaoh was still deep in conversation with the High Priest who had left his cushions and was seated in a huddle beside the King. The guests were screaming their appreciation of the entertainment, their faces flushed with wine, their linens dishevelled, and all at once I felt entirely sober and distanced from the happy stridency around me. I rose a little stiffly and Disenk immediately followed suit but I hardly noticed her as she tugged at my arm. “Thu, we may not leave before the King!” she admonished me. I ignored her and slipped through the swaying bodies, needing the coolness of fresh air on my face. Reaching the mighty pillars through which the night seeped, I passed between them and the guards did not stop me. Pausing on the path I reached up and removed the perfume cone from my head, and rubbing the remaining oil over my arms I let it fall, and looked about me.
The sky was black but ablaze with dustings of stars, and low on the horizon a pale crescent moon lay on its back above the dark bulk of a high wall a long way away. Between the wall and me the blurred masses of thickly clustering trees quivered restlessly, their trunks tall and indistinct, and I could hear the steady music of a fountain somewhere ahead.
House of Dreams Page 31
