by Jerry Dubs
Now the shouting of the crowd changed into cheering and songs.
A chariot rolled into the courtyard, its wheels flashing in the sun, the two white horses slowing to a proud walk, their heads nodding below feathered headdresses. Although too distant for Menwi to see the charioteer’s face, her ka told her that it was Neferhotep.
The chariot rolled at a stately pace through the crowd. The cheering and prayers grew louder as it approached a round dais in the center of the courtyard. Menwi could see now that Neferhotep was the driver and beside him stood the goddess Isis.
She wore a tight red sheath held by two narrow straps. The gown supported her breasts and clung to her stomach, hips and legs, ending just above her bare feet. She wore a long wig of black hair, its ends weighted with golden beads.
As gods did, she carried an ankh in one hand, a was-scepter in the other. A flash of jealousy swept through Menwi when she saw that Neferhotep had an arm around the goddess, steadying her as the chariot slowed to a stop by the dais.
The crowd surged around the chariot, reaching out to touch the horses, the body of the chariot, the gown of the goddess. From the entrance came the sound of heavy drums and the crowd turned as a double line of white robed priests entered, carrying a litter occupied by a widemouthed green urn, its sides wrapped with funeral linen.
A line of young girls followed the priests, their feet landing softly on the courtyard stones as they danced to the rhythm of the drums and sang a light chant.
As the last of the girls entered the courtyard, Menwi looked back to see Neferhotep standing beside the goddess on the central dais. Bare chested and dressed in his white shendyt, the charioteer stood at attention, his eyes surveying the crowd, flashing swiftly across the platform where Menwi stood holding her breath.
His eyes rested on her for a moment and she was certain that his head bowed to her briefly. She blinked and breathed and saw that the priests had lowered the litter they had been carrying beside the goddess and formed a circle around the urn. The young girls, Menwi saw now that they wore ostrich feathers in their hair, formed a wider circle around the dais and the urn.
The crowd took up their song now, and Menwi found herself mouthing the words, joining the communion with the goddess.
Awake, awake, awake, awake in peace, Lady of Peace.
Rise thou in peace, rise thou in beauty.
Goddess of Life, beautiful in heaven, heaven is in peace.
Earth is in peace.
Oh, Goddess, daughter of Nut, daughter of Geb, beloved of Osiris, goddess rich in names!
All praise to you. All praise to you.
I adore you. I adore you. Lady Isis!
As the song ended the goddess turned her back to Neferhotep and he raised a silver knife. Merti gasped and reached for Menwi’s hand. Sunlight glinted on the sharp blade as the knife moved slowly downward. As the celebrants cheered, Neferhotep cut through the two straps that held the red gown in place. The linen slid over the goddess’ stomach, clung briefly to her hips, and then fell to her feet leaving her naked.
Neferhotep extended a hand to the goddess and helped her from the dais. She walked to the resting litter and raised her hands over her head.
Four of the priests stepped to the urn, dipped their hands in and approached the goddess with cupped hands.
“It is the seed of Osiris, made from the wheat that grew from his body,” Puimre explained as the priests began to coat the goddess with the brown paste.
The priests chanted the names of Isis and of her father and mother as they worked. The drums continued a languid beat, the young priestesses sang and Isis, arms overhead as the priests applied the seed of Osiris, began a song of celebration.
The words were lost to the drums and the chants, but the notes of the song rose through the air, coloring the clamor like incense drifting through a temple.
Suddenly the drums stopped, the crowd fell silent and only the sweet song of Isis could be heard. The priests stepped back from the goddess who was now the color of freshly turned soil, ready for seed. The priests turned toward the double gateway and Menwi saw a single figure walk through the gates.
Arms, torso and legs wrapped in linen, the man’s face, hands and feet were painted a deep green. Ostrich feathers rose beside the tapering cone of his tall, white Atef crown and he walked with crossed arms, one hand holding a blue and gold striped crook, the other a matching flail. A wide, red belt wrapped his waist, the tails hanging to his knees.
“Osiris,” Puimre whispered, his voice hollow with awe.
The crowd shuffled toward the god, then backed away, fearful of the resurrected lord of the afterlife. Head held stiff, arms unmoving, the god approached Isis, who had lowered her arms from the sky and now held them out toward her husband.
By his chariot, Neferhotep held the reins and watched the immortal procession.
Osiris reached his wife, accepted her embrace and then took one of her hands in his. As the crowd began to sing, he led her to Neferhotep’s chariot. Together they mounted the chariot and Neferhotep began to lead them slowly toward the entrance to the temple’s inner sanctum.
As Isis and Osiris disappeared into the sacred darkness, the crowd’s soft singing erupted into shouts of joy, relieved that the eternal god had been reborn and reunited with his devoted wife.
As Menwi watched the sunlight lose its grip on the golden chariot she felt a tear fall from her eye. The love of the gods is eternal. Pharaoh Thutmose is also the god Horus. And he is my husband.
It is my sacred duty to be a devoted wife.
It is the will of the gods.
But, she thought with undying hope, the gods have set apart these five days to allow themselves to live outside the laws of Amun and of Re and, yes, even of Horus.
That which is hidden by moonlight
Eight boys and eight girls, their bodies covered in ashes, entered the pillared chamber of the Temple of Ptah the following night, the last of the five days upon the year. Accompanied by torch-bearing priests, they paused at each step to tilt their heads back and cry to the night sky.
“The hawks of Nebt-het,” Puimre said solemnly, his face red in the torch light as he sat by the double doors that led to the exterior courtyard.
The keening of the mourners swirled around tall pillars painted with bands of hieroglyphs and with portraits of the god Ptah welcoming, blessing, and protecting Pharaoh Thutmose. The thin cries rose to the high ceiling where white stars seemed to move across the deep blue belly of Nut. As soon as the echoes of the sad song were swallowed by the temple air, the chorus paused their walk to cry again.
Standing beside the seated priest, Merti and Menwi reached for each other’s hands.
The hawks of Nebt-het took another step, paused, and cried again.
Now the priests of Neb-het, fifth child of Geb and Nut, appeared carrying a gold-gilded litter. The goddess knelt upon the litter in a nest of linen, embalming swathes. Dressed in a red gown like the one her sister Isis had worn, Nebt-het wore a crown shaped like the tight walls of a house topped by a woven basket. From her arms hung falcon feathers and from each corner of the litter rose wisps from burning frankincense.
“Mother Nebt-het,” Puimre said, his voice reverent, “can appear in the sky whenever and wherever she wants. You look up and see a blue sky, then there is a whirl of darkness and she appears.”
Turning his eyes slowly from the approaching procession he looked up at Menwi.
“Your father was wise to give you to Pharaoh Thutmose. You are safe here in the Two Lands.” He looked at the goddess. “Mother Nebt-het can annihilate an army with her breath.”
Merti squeezed her sister’s hand and looked up at Menwi. “Is it true?” her eyes asked.
Menwi returned the squeeze. Leaning toward Merti, she kissed her sister’s forehead. “You heard,” she said softly, “we are safe here.”
***
After the goddess had passed them, Puimre led the sisters to the outer courtyard.
&nbs
p; Taking their place on the low platform that overlooked the open plaza, the sisters saw that the crowd tonight was the largest of the five days of celebration and, unlike the previous crowds, this one had no children and few women.
The walls of the courtyard were lined with canopies sheltering tables filled with pots of beer and wine. A large, circular dais had been erected in the center of the courtyard and the goddess had taken her place in its center, standing with her arms outstretched, her head tilted back as she uttered a long, keening wail.
As she called, the double doors of the courtyard opened and a line of soldiers carrying torches in one hand and short spears in the other jogged into the courtyard. They quickly formed a narrow passage to the dais. The crowd began to cheer and push toward the dais as six chariots entered the courtyard. Each chariot dragged behind it a second chariot on which a limp figure sat, its legs dangling over the back of the chariot.
The chariots rolled to a halt and, as the crowd began to shout in anger, the soldiers who had formed the line huddled around the chariots.
“They are the enemies of the Two Lands,” Puimre said, nodding toward the figures slumped on the chariots that had been towed into the courtyard.
The soldiers who had bent over the chariots stood now and, to her relief, Menwi saw that the ‘enemies’ were straw men, dressed as Hittites and held upright by spears driven through their backs.
The soldiers carried the ‘enemies’ through the crowd giving the men there a chance to spit on them and, extending their arms and spreading their fingers, to hurl curses at the ‘enemies.’ Those farther back in the crowd shouted threats at the straw men and then turned to one another and pounded their chests angrily.
The crowd was jostling now, the anger building. As the straw men passed an area, the men turned away, moving quickly to the beer stands and refilling their cups.
The acolytes continued their plaintive cry, but the goddess was singing now, a song of death and threats.
“Do we need to stay?” Merti asked her sister quietly.
“This is the power of the gods of the Two Lands,” Puimre said.
“We are safe, Merti,” Menwi said, looking over her sister’s head, searching the crowd for Neferhotep.
Suddenly, there was a shout from the crowd. Holding the straw figures aloft, the soldiers had arranged themselves in a circle around the goddess. The acolytes continued to wail, but the sound had turned from lamentation to aggression.
The goddess Nebt-het raised a golden cup. She lifted it to her mouth and approached the nearest straw figure. As an acolyte thrust a torch between her and the straw man, the goddess raised her arms and spit. Flames flowed through the night air onto the enemy and he began to burn. The crowd screamed louder and the soldier who was holding the burning man began to run through the plaza, holding the blazing figure overhead.
The goddess approached the second soldier and set him ablaze. The crowd began a chant and Nebt-het breathed fire on a third soldier. Then a fourth, a fifth, and finally the last.
Flames fell from the burning straw men as they were carried through the crowd. Men gathered around them and, pulling their shendyts aside, they pissed on the fallen embers, then turned back to the beer stands, throwing their arms in the air and shouting at their bravery.
Her enemies routed, the goddess stood alone on the dais, her arms upraised, and began a song of victory. The acolytes joined her and the soldiers, their burning victims now dying embers, gathered pots of beer and carried them to the dais for the goddess.
“Now,” Puimre said, lifting his cup of beer, “we commune with the gods.”
***
The queens drank wine, Puimre emptied cup after cup of beer, the celebrants crowded the beer stands, servants hurried through the night to restock the fast-emptying pots, and the soldiers abandoned their duty to join the celebration.
Sitting on the platform, an empty wine cup in her hand, Menwi saw the night dissolve into a dizzying mosaic of movement and song. Khonsu had fled the night and stars were swirling, dancing to sacred songs. The crowd below the platform was a river of movement and noise. Some of the men sang, others had torn torches from the walls and were looking for more ‘enemies’ to set afire.
Merti, who had never had wine before, had thrown up and was holding her stomach. Puimre, a clatter of fallen cups by his chair, continued to drink and belch, his eyes thin lines, his mouth a shifting smile as he mumbled the names of the goddess and of his own god, Ptah.
“I want to go back to my room,” Merti whispered weakly. “Can we go back?”
Before Menwi could answer, Puimre laid a heavy hand on the youngest queen. “There is nothing to fear, little one. Drink! Drink! We stay here until Re returns, shining and victorious. Until then, we drink and we call on the gods. Tonight, if you listen carefully, they speak to us.”
Merti looked up at her sister. Menwi gave her little sister a half smile and shrugged. She wanted to stay here. She wanted the gods to talk to her. She wanted to forget her desires.
Bracing herself on the back of Puimre’s chair, Menwi looked over the courtyard, wondering where Neferhotep was.
Is he safeguarding me with his absence? She wondered. Have the gods already spoken to him? Have they warned him to stay away from me?
The crowd was moving faster now and the shouting was edged with menace. More torches were bobbing above the men who staggered about the plaza.
Menwi emptied a wine cup, closed her eyes, and tilted her head back. She felt the cup slip from her hand and, eyes still closed, she saw Neferhotep. She felt his strong arms. She felt his skin brush against her and she smelled the sandalwood scent of his oils.
The gods speak!
And then she heard his voice, a hushed, urgent whisper.
“Queen Menwi, Queen Menwi!”
Feeling his breath on her face, she smiled at the strength of her vision.
The gods were taking her now, raising her from the Two Lands to float through Shu to the very belly of Nut. Perhaps to the Field of Reeds.
“First Priest Puimre,” she heard Neferhotep say. “We must go.” And then, “Queen Merti, can you walk?”
Menwi opened her eyes. Brown eyes looked anxiously back into hers. She smiled.
Then they were moving and she heard Neferhotep’s voice, firm and controlled. “Guard our backs. You, gather whoever you can find who isn’t drunk. Let the celebrants burn what they find out here in the courtyard. They can burn the dais and the platform, I don’t care. Just keep them from entering the temple.”
Menwi draped an arm around Neferhotep’s shoulder. They were dismounting the platform now. Air moved across her face and she felt as if she were being transported, not just to safety, but to a safe place beyond the boundaries of the Two Lands, beyond the reach of the gods themselves.
“You, help First Priest Puimre!” Neferhotep said. “No, stay with him! Carry him if you must! I sent others to safeguard the goddess, stay with Puimre. You, carry Queen Merti. Follow me.”
***
Neferhotep carried Menwi into the temple, through the columned courtyard to the hallway that led to her chambers. Pausing, he waited for the soldiers who were helping Puimre and Merti to catch up to him.
“The gods want this,” Menwi whispered, nestling her head against Neferhotep’s chest.
Neferhotep breathed deeply and turned as the others caught up with him.
Useramen appeared in the hallway. He glanced at Neferhotep and Menwi and then turned to the other soldiers. “Bring First Priest Puimre this way,” he said, turning down the hallway.
“You will care for the queens?” he said, pausing and turning back to Neferhotep.
“Yes,” Neferhotep answered. Useramen nodded, his eyes resting briefly on Queen Menwi’s contented expression, seeing her arm around Neferhotep’s neck, her fingers splayed across his bare skin.
Then he turned to lead the soldiers to Puimre’s chambers.
***
As Neferhotep turned sideways to car
ry Menwi safely through the doorway of her room, she stirred and came fully awake.
“This isn’t a dream,” she said uneasily.
“The celebrants were communing with the gods and apparently the gods wanted them to burn everything in the plaza,” Neferhotep said. “I decided that you, Queen Merti, the goddess, and First Priest Puimre would be safer away from the fire.”
He bent to set her on the edge of her bed.
“I will check on your sister,” he said, straightening.
She nodded. As he turned away, she said quietly, “Will you return?”
Her words stopped him and, swallowing heavily, he nodded.
***
Reassured that she was safe, Merti quickly fell asleep, the wine and the lateness of the night draining her energy.
Neferhotep stood by her bedside, watching her mouth curl into a smile as she left the uneasiness of the night behind. Then he glanced out the window. Without the movement of Khonsu it was impossible to know what hour it was.
It feels, he thought, as if the world has moved outside of time.
The thought excited and frightened him.
Bending, he touched the innocent face of Queen Merti, telling her ka that she was now safe within the sanctuary of Ptah. No harm would find her here.
Then he turned to go to the bedchamber of Queen Menwi.
***
She was on her knees by her bed, her head resting on the wooden frame.
She looked up at Neferhotep as he entered her room.
“I don’t know what happened,” she said, embarrassed. “I tried to stand and my legs were not there.”
He knelt beside her. “Did you strike your head?”
She turned, her face so close to his that she could feel the heat of his ba.
“I was going to go to the pond and wash. I thought the water and the air would make me feel better.”
He brushed a hand across her head checking for injuries. She moved beneath his hand, her head nuzzling against him.
