by Overton, Max
Abrim offered his companion a black look and lifted his arms again. He intoned the prayer to Atum once more, and then added in pleas to the other gods and goddesses--Shu, Tefnut, Geb, Nut, Asar, Auset, Nebt-Het, and Set. As he spoke, he poured the wine upon the sand and sprinkled the grain, and as he spoke Set's name, a hot breeze from the desert lifted their robes and set them flapping. The horses' eyes rolled and they stamped, whickering softly.
"The god speaks," Hakkan whispered, looking about fearfully.
"Not clearly enough," Gershon muttered. "How is it helpful?"
"Nut is the goddess of direction," Dahvin said. "Invoke her--quickly Abrim, while the gods are looking our way."
"Nut, goddess of the night who lays out the principle directions for our guidance, guide us now. We seek the golden scarab of Atum. It was lost by our leader Scarab, your servant. Guide us to it that we might find it and return it to her."
The four men stood still in the gathering silence and waited. After a few minutes, Hakkan coughed softly.
"How does Nut reveal herself?"
"I do not know," Abrim said. "I have heard Scarab talk of a line in the rock, and I have seen a star fall from heaven in response to her invocation."
"There is no rock hereabouts and it is daytime," Gershon said.
"Then we must look for another sign."
"There is a hawk above us," Dahvin said.
The others looked up. "It is circling and indicates no direction."
"There is a beetle," Hakkan said, pointing to the ground nearby. They watched as the black insect ran over the sand and disappeared under a small rock. Hakkan strode over to the rock and lifted it, grimacing as no golden scarab magically appeared.
"Perhaps the goddess did not hear us," Abrim said. "We should try again."
"We already poured out all our wine," Gershon grumbled.
"There!" Dahvin cried. "See the hawk, it is diving."
The hawk was indeed stooping, descending to the north and west. Its flight cut across the distant road at an angle, and went beyond it to a low hillock.
Abrim looked at the others. "We have our sign. Nut has spoken."
They mounted their horses and rode straight for the far hillock, following the flight of the hawk. Dahvin led them over the road, yelling and pointing with excitement, and the others pounded after him. Ahead loomed the hillock and as they drew near they saw a fluttering movement.
"There! There!" Dahvin cried. "It is the hawk, and it has found the golden scarab." He leapt off his horse and leapt over boulders, scrambling up the hillside, his companions right behind him.
The hawk hunched over its prey and uttered a screech of rage, and then, as the men approached, took flight and flapping strongly, sought the safety of the heights.
Dahvin stood panting where the hawk had been. "It is only a coney," he said, his voice bitter with disappointment. "The hawk was not a sign."
The other men poked around the hillside, kicking aside stones in the hope that what they sought was there after all, but the hillock was as barren as the surrounding desert. Abrim sat down and looked back the way they had come, back to the Taanach-Gubla road.
"How could the golden scarab be out here?" Abrim asked. "She was on the road when she lost it."
"You saw the hawk," Hakkan said. "It flew here."
"Yes it did, but we had to cross the road to get here. Perhaps the hawk was Nut's sign for direction but not distance."
"What are you saying?" Gershon demanded.
"What if Nut was showing us the part of the road where she lost it?"
The other men looked back to the road, and after a few moments, nodded.
"Back to the road."
A few minutes later they dismounted again.
"This is where we crossed, but is it exactly in line?" Dahvin asked.
"Spread out, Gershon and Dahvin on the other side, Hakkan and I will scour this side. Start here and work out in both directions for a hundred paces, and then return."
"What about the horses?" Hakkan asked. "Shall I lead them away again?"
"No, we need them on hand in case we have to escape."
The four men tethered their horses and started slowly along the road sides, examining every hand span of ground outward for ten paces. It was painstaking work and the sun crept higher as they drew apart, until one after another, they reached a hundred paces and turned back, searching the ground again.
They met back at the horses an hour later in the full heat of the sun. Disappointment was evident on every face.
"How can it not be here?" Dahvin asked.
"We misread the sign," Gershon suggested. "If indeed it was a sign."
"What now then?" Hakkan asked. "We have failed in our mission."
"Once more," Abrim said. "One more search of this stretch, but this time, let us take the opposite sides."
Grumbling, the men did as they were bid. Gershon and Dahvin started on the near side while Hakkan crossed the road and started along it.
"Come on then, Abrim," he called.
Abrim sighed and stoppered the water skin, replacing it on his tethered horse. He started across the road and stopped, staring down.
"Abrim," Hakkan called again.
Gershon stopped and looked back. "What is it?"
"H...here," Abrim stuttered. "Come and see."
The other men ran back, on the road and stared at the dusty ground by Abrim's foot.
"By Geb's Eye," Gershon said. "It cannot be."
"It is," Dahvin said, "But how? Here is my footprint beside it from when I crossed the road, and horses' hooves are all around it. How could we not see it?"
"It is the golden scarab," Abrim said. He picked it up and blew off the dust encrusting the shiny carving. One by one, his companions took its weight in their hands and examined it, nodding as they recognised the features of Scarab's scarab.
"I believe the gods made us and all other passers-by see only a stone. And then when we prayed to them and put faith in Nut's guidance, they removed the scales from our eyes and we saw the truth plainly." Abrim took it back and tucked it safely in his wallet. "Today is the thirty-fifth day. It will take us fifteen days to return to Ineb Hedj. We must make haste, brothers of the Pillar, if we are to return it to the Eye in time."
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* * *
Chapter Eight
"You were not an easy man to live with, you know."
Yahmose lifted his shoulders fractionally. "I loved you."
"I know that, and I loved you too. I gave myself to you, Waenre, unconditionally, body and spirit. We had six beautiful daughters, and I reigned as queen beside you while you indulged your religious fancy and brought Kemet to the brink of ruin."
"And then you turned on me. You and your father. You rebelled against me--your king and your god. Ay would have killed me if you had succeeded."
"But I did not succeed, and I would never have allowed you to be killed," Nefertiti said. "Instead, Horemheb crushed our rebellion and exiled me to the Serabit mines."
"That was seventeen years ago," Merye said. "Have you been here all this time?"
"That is the nature of exile, daughter. A prisoner is sent to Serabit and must earn their living or die." Nefertiti smiled sadly. "When I arrived, I had no skills, just fading beauty. Yet I survived."
"As a washerwoman?"
"Not at first. I was forced to make a living with my body, but thankfully, those days are past. Now I wash the clothes of my former customers." Nefertiti grimaced at her daughter's expression. "Do not judge me too harshly, Meryetaten. It was because of you that I fell to these depths."
"I did nothing."
"My husband marries my daughter, supplanting me on the throne, and I am to blame?"
"She is blameless," Yahmose said tiredly. "I demoted you and placed Merye beside me. I was hurt and angry when you rebelled, but I can see things more clearly now. I was wrong, Nefertiti my queen."
"Yes, you were wrong and I was punished."
Yahmose lifted his head and stared toward his former wife with his blind inflamed eyes. A wry smile twitched his lips. "I think I have been punished too. I could no longer see the face of my god."
"You were blind to so many things," Nefertiti said. "What is one more?"
"What do you mean?"
"You saw nothing but your Aten and glorified him to the exclusion of the other gods. You ignored your wife and family, ran your Kingdoms into debt, and threatened the stability, the Ma'at, of Kemet. You were blind to everything except your god, so it is fitting that now you cannot see his face either."
"You are harsh, mother," Merye said. "He has changed."
"You mean he no longer has servants to cater to his every whim? He must now walk where before he was carried? Eat stale bread and drink water instead of the finest food and wine? Obey where before he commanded? Dress in coarse robes instead of the finest linen? My heart breaks for him."
"That is cruel, mother."
"It is also just," Yahmose said. "I have paid for my former acts and no doubt I will continue to pay. But Nefertiti, my beautiful one, do you have no kind words for a man who loved you--and would love you still?"
Nefertiti laughed bitterly. "You insult me; you cause me to descend into servitude and prostitution and to live out my life in hardship. Then you walk back into my life and expect me to run to you with protestations of love? Are you mad as well as blind, Waenre?"
"I am ashamed," Yahmose admitted, "But when the god calls, must I not answer?"
"You still believe your delusions?"
"Delusions?" Yahmose frowned. "How can you call my belief a delusion? You believed too, Nefertiti."
"I believed for your sake, Waenre. At first, your zeal was inspirational, but then you cast all sense aside, insisting the Aten was yours alone, though plainly the sun shone on everyone. You said no-one else could approach the god; no-one else was blessed by his presence. You were selfish, Waenre, and Kemet turned on you at last, casting Atenism aside. Kemet worships the old gods now. Have you heard? Do you comprehend, Waenre, or have you descended too far into madness?"
"I know, and I also know that my worship of the Aten was misdirected. God is not the disc of the sun, but the disc of the sun reflects god."
"Are we seeing the birth of another delusion, Waenre?"
"It is the truth."
"I do not believe you," Nefertiti said flatly. "Now tell me why you have come here or depart. I have work to do, and if I do not work, I do not eat."
"I came for you. God told me to go to Midian where I learned you still lived. I came here, for why else would god tell me of your existence, unless you were important?"
"And now that you have found me?"
"Come with me," Yahmose said. "Together we can preach the truth of god."
Nefertiti laughed. "Now I know you are mad. What have the gods done for me, any of them, that I should preach to others? Also, I could not leave here even if I wanted. I am exiled, remember? That means I am guarded."
Merye got up and went to the door of the mud and stone dwelling. She looked out and scanned the street. "There is nobody of consequence nearby. A few women and a man, but he is no soldier."
"There is no need to guard me in my home, but should I try to pass the gates or a guard post, I would be turned back."
"You have tried?"
"In the early days. Even if I got past the gates, where could I go? The road is patrolled by soldiers and the desert does not need them."
"Come with us back to Kemet," Merye said. "They scarcely looked at me and father when we came in. You could go out with father, hooded and leading him, and I could openly follow by another gate."
"What have you got to lose?" Yahmose asked. "You are exiled already."
"They will take my livelihood away and force me back to prostitution."
"So you will not try?"
"No."
Yahmose sat back and scratched his long, untidy beard. "Then why has 'I am' led me here?" he muttered.
"What is this 'I am'?"
"The revealed name of my god. He is from eternity to eternity, and I am his servant. I have been born of 'I am', so my name is no longer Waenre, but Yahmose."
"Why should I care?" Nefertiti asked. "You have consigned me to this fate and you can do nothing for me, so go. Just leave and do not look back."
"But my god sent me here for a reason, I am sure of it. I cannot leave until I have fulfilled it."
Nefertiti just shook her head. She got up and took the basket of laundry, the jug of water and the bar of soap out into the street and squatted down, starting to scrub the soiled garments.
Yahmose started to weep, and Merye held him in her arms, comforting him.
"Why, Merye? Why did god send us here?"
"Who can know the mind of god? Perhaps it was just so you could ask forgiveness of your wronged wife."
"I want to make amends."
"You cannot force it on her. Bid her farewell now and let us go back to the Land of Midian."
"No. 'I am' wants me in Serabit. I will stay here until he makes his purpose known."
"Doing what, father? Serabit does not look like a good place to beg. It is too poor. We could go down to Khamsoth though..."
"You can go," Yahmose said resolutely. "I am staying here."
"You cannot stay here; it is not fair to burden her. And if you try to live in the streets they will arrest you or throw you out."
"I will go into the wilderness then, and pray to my god. He will tell me what to do."
"I am not coming with you," Merye said.
"Then stay here and help your mother. I do not need you; God will provide."
* * *
Merye watched her father walk slowly down the street, his staff tap-tapping along the walls of the houses. He turned the corner and disappeared, and she came and squatted beside her mother. Without saying a word, Nefertiti handed her a coarse linen loincloth and the soap. For an hour, mother and daughter worked side by side until every piece of cloth had been scrubbed and rinsed, then laid out in the hot sun to dry.
"That is all?" Merye asked.
"That is only the first basket. When everything is dry, I will fold it and take it back, collecting another. If I am industrious, I can process six baskets in a day and pay for my food as well as fuel. If you are staying here, we will have to do more."
They worked hard, with a short break for a meal in the hot part of the day, and then again until dusk. Nefertiti was paid a few tokens for her baskets of washing, and with it she went down to the markets and exchanged them for bread and dried fish, onions and dried figs, and a sack of dry dung for her fire. Together, they prepared a simple meal and ate it in the doorway of Nefertiti's house, enjoying their rest in the cool of the evening and watching the stars come out on the darkening body of Nut.
"If a day's hard work buys you just enough food and fuel, how is it that you can afford this house?" Merye asked. "It is better than many in the town."
"I bought it when I was earning a lot more as a whore," Nefertiti said. "Thankfully, I have been able to elevate myself to washerwoman."
"It must have been hard."
Nefertiti nodded. "I was gently raised and knew only one man before I came here--your father. I thought I would die of shame when faced with the prospect of earning my living on my back, but..." she shrugged. "I got used to it, and at least I brought only one more child into the world."
"You did? I have a brother or sister?"
"You had a brother, but he did not live long." Nefertiti said. "It is ironic, but Waenre put me aside because I could not bear him a son, yet I managed to birth one with another man, whereas he remained without a male heir." She looked askance at her daughter. "At least, I assume that to be the case. If you bore him a son, you would still be Queen of Kemet."
"I had a daughter--stillborn. Even if she had lived, father would only have produced another useless girl, so perhaps it is better she perished."
"Girls are n
ot useless. They can always be married off to someone important. That is what my father Ay did when he introduced me to Prince Amenhotep. I became a queen and he became God's father. Now I have become nothing and he has become a god."
"I think your father is dead," Merye said.
Nefertiti considered this information for several minutes. "I cannot say I am sorry. Are you sure of this?"
"It was something we heard at a waterhole a month or so ago. I cannot swear it is true."
"If it is true, you will have people searching for you."
Merye stared. "Why?"
"All my daughters are dead except you. You are the last daughter of a king, so whoever claims the throne will need to marry you to legitimise his claim."
"There is one other--Beketaten, my aunt."
"Is she still alive? I have heard nothing of her for so long."
"Still alive, I think. There was some talk of her opposing Ay."
"She will also be important in dynastic arrangements," Nefertiti said. "Both of you are daughters of kings."
"I was also the wife of a king..." Merye cut her words off abruptly, and looked away into the blackness of the town. Below the glittering star field of Nut's body glimmered a few red-gold cooking fires and the evening breeze brought with it the aromas of cooking and the muted tiredness of the town's inhabitants. "I am sorry, mother. I spoke without thinking."
"It was a long time ago."
Silence grew between them, but it was not a companionable silence. Merye could feel hostility emanating from her mother, despite her neutral tone, and she sought to justify herself.
"I was young and my father was king. How could I refuse him?"
"I was your mother, and queen. How could you insult me so?"
"I did not mean to. The king wanted it and I...I hungered for power. Of course I wanted to become queen. Who would not?"
"Even by marrying your father and being bedded by him? You did not consider that unnatural?"
Merye shrugged. "Nebmaetre Amenhotep did it. Was Waenre Akhenaten less than him?"
"Yes, he was," Nefertiti said sharply. "Furthermore, your father swore an oath that he would take no other woman to his bed."
"He had other wives," Merye replied. "Kiya, for one. If he married her, why should he not also marry me? He was the king. He can do as he pleases."
