The Double Crown. Marié Heese. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Marié Heese
Издательство: Ingram
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Жанр произведения: Историческая литература
Год издания: 0
isbn: 9780798153577
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although at that time my elder brother Amenmose was still alive, yet I felt in my bones that such a destiny would be mine.

      Early the next morning I went out into the palace garden and encountered one of the Syrian deputation sitting on a bench in front of the fish pond, staring despondently into its depths. He must have been a young man, but to my eyes then he seemed quite old. He had a curly beard and curly locks and his brown eyes were bloodshot.

      “Good morning,” I said.

      He groaned. “A good morning it is not,” he responded. He spoke our tongue passably well and he had a pleasant voice, although it came thickly from his throat. “I looked too deeply into the wine jar and I am paying the price for it.”

      “Why then are you up so early?” I enquired. “When my brother Amenmose has drunk too much, I think he sleeps until the afternoon.”

      “I am not up early,” he said, “I am still up late. I mean, I have not been to sleep as yet. We caroused all night and then we began to gamble and I lost.” He rubbed his face blearily. “Somehow, someone seems to have stuffed a lambswool sock into my mouth,” he complained. “One that was not recently well washed.”

      “Nor were you,” I said.

      He looked affronted. “You are remarkably pert, for a child,” he said, regarding me with more attention. “Ah, the little princess.” He leaned back lazily. “The little princess with the golden eyes. If I give you a bracelet, as golden as your eyes, will you send it to me by messenger when you are come of age?”

      “Why should I do that?”

      “Because I think we might have more to say to each other in a few years’ time,” he said. The expression in his eyes was one that later I would learn to recognise, but at that time it was new to me. It disturbed me somewhat and yet I liked it.

      “When I come of age, I shall be Pharaoh,” I said. I had not meant to speak my dream but it slipped out.

      He laughed, then groaned and held his head. “Beware of what you desire, my dear,” he said. “You might achieve it. Besides, you have a brother, do you not?”

      I dropped my eyes. Of course I did not wish my brother harm. “I am younger than he,” I muttered. “One does not know …”

      “I shall send you the bracelet,” he promised, with a grin.

      He did so later that day. He knew who I was but I did not know him; when the slave brought the bracelet, of beautifully chased gold, in a little cedarwood box, he told me that it was a gift from the prince. He was the youngest scion of the royal house of the Mitanni in Syria. I had not thought that a prince could smell so. Yet I had liked him and I kept the bracelet. I have it still.

      Here endeth the third scroll. EMBLEEM.jpg

      THE FOURTH SCROLL

      The reign of Thutmose I year 15

      When I was eleven, Inet’s prediction came true: I was called to serve my father as the God’s Wife of Amen. I was also Divine Adoratrice; this position can only be held by one who is unmarried and pure. I took enormous pride in my task. I had to be present during the daily temple rituals, so that I knew and understood them. I helped my father destroy by burning the names of Egypt’s enemies, a ritual that gave me great satisfaction. I led groups of priests to the temple pool to be purified. I learned the dances that kept the God in a state of arousal. Young though I was, I was assisting my father the Pharaoh, as he explained, to guarantee the eternally recurring recreation of the world through the life-giving powers of the God. And a thrilling experience it was for a girl child who otherwise might have been restricted to the palace schoolroom, or learning to spin flax.

      I also accompanied my father on some of his trips around the Black Land, for my mother, the Queen Ahmose, may she live, had much to do in the harem and was at times not well. I remember the first official journey that my royal father and I made together. Up to that day I had never travelled very far from the harem palace where I grew up, and I was very excited. We would be sailing to Heliopolis, to visit the priests at the temples there, and I would have a role in the rites.

      We were to travel by boat, but although it was an official journey it was not a royal progress and the way would not be lined with cheering crowds. The boat would not be the exquisitely decorated solar barque on which the Pharaoh sailed during the major festivals. It was a large, comfortable vessel, though, with a high bow and stern, and a dais packed with soft cushions and shaded from the harsh sun by a colourful canopy. Slaves stood to attention with fans to keep us cool, and of course the royal guard would attend on us. Several smaller boats bearing bureaucrats and servants sailed with us, and the kitchen boat, from which delectable aromas wafted across the water, was never far behind.

      This was the first time I met Senenmut. He was the scribe chosen to accompany us. At that time, when I was eleven years of age, he was a young man of eighteen. He was deferential, as was only right, but he did not seem overawed at the company in which he found himself, for he had a natural dignity and carried himself with assurance.

      I liked his looks at once; he was taller than most men, with broad shoulders and a strong nose. His dark eyes under thick brows regarded the world with a slightly amused expression. I tried to observe him indirectly, with sidelong glances, and I noted that he had elegant hands with long fingers that were not stained with ink as a scribe’s hands so often are. His hair was thick and dark and he wore it long; when the sun caught it, it had blue-black gleams. It looked as if it would be soft to the touch. I would like to run my hands through it, I thought.

      He helped me onto the dais with a firm grip, and when I looked up to thank him, he actually winked at me. Well! A scribe with some audacity, I thought, feeling my cheeks grow warm. I lifted my chin and pretended to ignore him.

      Once we had taken our seats in the shade, the King my father removed the crown of Lower Egypt that he had worn while being borne to the quay in his sedan chair, and which he would wear again when being met at Heliopolis. I saw that he had but little of his own hair left and the remaining tufts were grey. His dark eyes could still pierce one with a hawk-like glare, but the kohl he wore (as most adults do to help deflect the sharp rays of the sun) could not hide the surrounding folds and lines, and he looked – I must write this down, for I am bound to write the truth – like a leathery, tired ex-soldier with a stiff hip and a soft belly that overhung his studded belt. Clearly his teeth pained him, for he rubbed his jaw and sighed.

      I was saddened by this view of my royal father. I knew that he had been a great general and a renowned warrior, about whose achievements on the battlefield many admiring tales were told. Always he had seemed to me to be a person of great stature and dignity, a person invested with authority and not a little mystery. But I took comfort from the reflection that his royal Ka would surely maintain its force even as his earthly body became diminished.

      We would be sailing with the current, but against the wind, which almost always blows from the north. However, there was very little wind that morning, so the rowers would not have as hard a task as they would have done had the wind been strong. High on the bow a tall Nubian stood, keeping time for the rowers with a large brass gong; the rowers chanted a rhythmic song as they bent to their oars. As usual the river was busy. Other gongs from similar boats could be heard across the water. Shouts and orders echoed. Light boats woven of reeds slipped between the heavier barges carrying large cargoes of materials and food and the fine boats similar to ours that would be bearing persons of status.

      We had set forth early but already the day was warm; the sky was a cloudless blue reflected in the water slipping by. My father was resting with his eyes shut; he seemed to have dropped off to sleep. For a moment I wondered whether he still breathed, but then a gentle snore reassured me. But I was far from sleep and I sat upright next to Senenmut the scribe, imitating his scribe’s pose with the folded knees. Ah yes, time was when I could sit like that for a long time and then jump up and run.

      I was fascinated by the bustling river traffic. Between the smaller boats some large ships were