Authors: Pauline Gedge
Her sudden desire for seclusion was thwarted, however. As the soldier had predicted, the people of Weset were pouring out of a city that now surrounded the temple and spread in all its tumultuous sprawl to the boundary of the royal precincts. Chattering groups of men, women and children were crowding the path, anxious to be first to take the best positions along the bank, from which they would have a clear view of Ahmose’s flotilla when it hove into sight. It was not a gods’ feast day, Aahmes-nefertari reflected with resignation, but as if by universal agreement no one seemed to be working.
Seeing her come, the noise gradually faltered and died away only to resume excitedly behind her. Knees were bent, foreheads touched the earth as she passed, and in a wave of affection her name was shouted with none of her titles preceding it, as though she were being hailed by friends.
She was about to turn back in sheer frustration, when she heard a commotion some way ahead and, peering beyond the lattice of shade and sunlight cast by the arching arms of the sycamore and flowering acacia, she saw heads lowered and backs bent but not in her direction. She halted, her heart suddenly jumping into her throat. Figures were coming towards her, dappled by moving shadow, their strides confident, their voices deep and commanding as they talked to each other. Around them a roar of acclamation had broken out. “The King! It is His Majesty! Long life to you, Mighty Horus!” Aahmes-nefertari’s heart constricted. Then she was running, past Khabekhnet’s imposing height, dodging the dark column that was Hor-Aha, almost colliding with a startled Ipi, until her outstretched arms closed around her husband and his pectoral was pressing into her cheek.
There was a moment when he was taken aback. She could tell by his slight recoil. Then with a chuckle of delight his own arms encircled her, strong masculine arms, crushing her, enfolding her in safety, protection, making her feel tiny and cherished and entirely one with him. For several long seconds she rested against him, unwilling to move, but in the end he moved her away gently, holding her shoulders and smiling down at her. “Majesty, Second Prophet, my own Aahmes-nefertari,” he said. “What are you doing out here with no attendants save a couple of soldiers?” She smiled back at him widely, stupidly, drinking in the warmth of his dark eyes, the dearly familiar contours of his face, thinner now, more angular, but the same wide jaw and broad brow under the golden band of his winged headdress.
“Ahmose,” she breathed while the men beside him did her reverence. “I could ask the same of you. My household guards are even now lining the garden avenue to salute you as you disembark. Where have you come from? Where are your ships?”
“Oh, I decided to say a quick prayer of thanks to Amun for my victory in the north before I came to the house,” he explained. “There will be a full and formal sacrifice made later, of course, but I wanted my first words here to be to the god. It was good to see Amunmose again. As for the ships, my
Shining in Mennofer
is already right behind us and the Medjay not far away.” Aahmes-nefertari took one step back, already battling the fume of disappointment and offence rising in her. Am I not dearer to you than the Chief Priest? she wanted to shout. Do you not know how I have longed to greet you, spent the hours since your letter imagining how you would fly to me with singleminded purpose, your own mind full of nothing but the desire to see me? Have I not impressed you with my scarlet sheath, my new jewels, the message they are intended to convey? Yet you have not really looked at me! With an effort of the will she linked her arm through his.
“The whole household is in a fever of excitement,” she said with a forced cheerfulness. “Tetisheri took up her station just inside the gates above the watersteps hours ago. Mother went to the temple early with Yuf so that she would be back by the time you arrived. You should have seen her there. She must have decided to take her litter through the city and re-enter the estate by the servants’ entrance. Such a clamour there, too! The kitchen staff began to prepare your feast at dawn!” She found that once she had begun to babble she could not stop. Her mouth opened and closed on words she hardly heard, while inside herself she watched that deadly smoke of resentment gradually thicken. “Hor-Aha,” she called to the General’s bare spine just ahead. “Where is your hair? Did a Setiu sword lop off your braids?” He gave her a tight smile over his shoulder.
“No, Majesty,” he said tonelessly. “I cut them off myself.” It was no explanation and all at once Aahmes-nefertari felt like an idiot. The flow of what was almost hysteria in her abruptly dried up. She clenched her teeth.
The press of citizens fell behind them as they neared the watersteps. Aahmes-nefertari saw her husband’s gaze lifted wonderingly to the top of the new wall as the remaining gate guards came to attention and saluted. “I hope it has been constructed as you wished, Ahmose,” she said. “Its height raised all around our arouras and this gate set in it.” She pointed farther along, but Ahmose had halted and was staring through the nearer aperture where the palace gates would one day hang.
“Gods!” he breathed. “Look at this, Hor-Aha! Time has moved more swiftly here than in the north or I have been under some magic spell from which I have only just awoken! The interior wall that used to divide us from the ancient precincts has gone. I can see my garden. The scaffolding … The stacks of bricks …” He seemed bewildered, one hand coming up to tremble slightly on his wife’s imprisoned forearm.
“Ahmose, you sent me Sebek-nakht to begin these tasks,” Aahmes-nefertari said urgently. “Is it not to your liking? Have we done wrong?” He shook his head.
“No, no!” he exclaimed. “It is wonderful! It is just that my thoughts have been so fully engaged elsewhere, Aahmes-nefertari, and even now I am finding it difficult to drag them away from Het-Uart.” He smiled across at her as they moved on, his whole face alight. “I can hardly wait to discuss it all with the Prince. What other miracles is he achieving?”
“There is the new compound for the divisions you intend to quarter here permanently of course,” Aahmesnefertari reminded him, inwardly stung. And what of me? she thought, humiliated. Have I not stood day after day with Sebek-nakht while we thrashed out the plans for your palace, O King? Did I not accord the Prince every courtesy on your orders, seeing to his every comfort, making myself available to him for your sake? I have grown to like and respect him and he in turn has often incorporated my ideas into his vision. There is no room for you. Shocked at the vindictiveness of her unspoken thought, she was relieved to be distracted by the gate guards who ushered them through into the garden and closed the heavy doors behind them.
Emkhu had followed her command. The household troops were now ranked to either side of the path that led through the lawns, past the pond, and disappeared behind the house, their short kilts dazzling in the sunshine, the strong light glinting off the tips of their spears and the bronze buckles of their sword belts. Their leather sandals and helmets gleamed with oil. They were a magnificent sight and Aahmes-nefertari felt a rush of pride as she scanned them. She heard Khabekhnet call the time-honoured warning, “The King approaches! Down on your faces!” and with one accord the men turned, saluting Ahmose with the cry of “Majesty!” while Emkhu himself came forward, knelt, and kissed Ahmose’s feet. Without thinking, Aahmes-nefertari bade him rise, saw him hesitate, and heard Ahmose’s permission mingle with her own. She bit her lip.
“Majesty, this is Emkhu, our Captain of the Household Guards,” she said carefully. “He comes from Birabi, the village on the western bank behind the cliffs. He and his father fought under Seqenenra. His father was killed.” Ahmose inclined his head.
“You have an impressive array of soldiery there,” he observed kindly. “How many men now guard my house?”
“Thank you, Majesty,” Emkhu replied. “At present Her Majesty commands two hundred troops. One hundred patrol the house and grounds, the gates to front and rear, and the outside perimeter of the wall. One hundred stand down. But all two hundred of them are here to do you homage today.” Ahmose cast a sidelong glance at his wife.
“She does, does she?” he murmured wryly. “But of course she does. I myself gave her that authority. Carry on, Emkhu.” The Captain bowed and shouted and the men turned into the path once more. “They are a fine show, Aahmes-nefertari,” he went on. “You have done well with them. You must teach me all their names and individual skills if they rotate their watches inside the house.” It was the voice and tone of a younger Ahmose, ingenuous and considerate, and in a rush of gratitude Aahmes-nefertari stood on tiptoe and kissed his warm cheek.
She would have spoken, but Tetisheri had emerged from between the stiff lines of soldiery and was walking quickly towards them in a pool of shadow cast by the sunshade Isis was holding over her head. She was smiling. Coming up to Ahmose, she bowed shortly. “Welcome home, Majesty,” she said. “I wanted to be the first member of the family apart from my granddaughter to congratulate you on your great victory over the accursed ones. It will not be long now before Het-Uart throws open its gates and Apepa crawls out to beg for mercy at your feet.” She had begun her speech mildly enough, but it had become more animated as it went on, her fingers stabbing the sparkling air, her eyes flashing. Ahmose burst out laughing. Lifting her off the ground, he crushed her in a hug before setting her unsteadily on her feet again.
“In the midst of so much change you at least have remained the same, Grandmother,” he beamed. “Egypt should proclaim the Djed Pillar a symbol of your unyielding spine instead of Osiris’s. I’m so glad that you can still snarl as fiercely as Sekhmet.”
“As long as I do not growl at you, I suppose,” she grumbled, not unpleased. She fell in beside him, imprisoning his other arm, not bothering to acknowledge Hor-Aha’s presence at all. “I want to know all about the siege and the battles. Everything,” she went on, as the three of them progressed along the path between the rigid soldiers. “Come to my quarters this evening, Ahmose, and tell me all about it.” Her blatant desire to appropriate him was embarrassing and Aahmes-nefertari felt him withdraw from her imperceptibly.
“Tonight I owe to my wife,” he rebuked Tetisheri gently. “But tomorrow I will indeed give you as full an account of my doings in the north as you could wish.” You owe me tonight? Aahmes-nefertari thought with renewed depression. How flattering to consider time spent with me as the paying of a debt! What is wrong with you, my husband?
The path ran on beside the house but the small cavalcade turned in towards the row of pillars that marked the great entrance. Here the servants were gathered to reverence him, Kares and Uni among them. He greeted them all with undiluted pleasure, telling them how happy he was to be among them again and dismissing them with the grave politeness he had always brought to his dealings with them. As they scattered, Aahmes-nefertari crooked a finger at Khunes, who had been standing off to one side. “Majesty, this is my personal scribe, Khunes,” she offered. “He was trained in the temple of Thoth at Aabtu and I found him working for Amunmose. It was Amunmose who recommended him to me and he has proved himself very able.” Her mouth had gone suddenly dry and she swallowed several times. Why am I justifying my work and my choices to him? she wondered. From whence does this urge to placate him come? It has never been a part of our joining before. Ahmose was studying the young man impassively but deliberately, his gaze almost discourteous. Finally and surprisingly, he sighed.
“You are very handsome, Khunes,” he said slowly. “If you perform your duties as favourably as you look, then you must indeed be a paragon of all Thoth’s virtues.” Khunes was obviously nonplussed. He bowed.
“Thank you, Majesty,” he stammered. “As for my physical self I am as the gods saw fit to make me. My skill as a scribe is Her Majesty’s to assess.” Aahmes-nefertari, watching her husband in puzzlement, saw him open his mouth to say something more. But he closed it again, and passing between the lowering pillars he strode into the reception hall.
Several men were clustered at the far end beneath the dais. They turned as he came in, but between him and them Ahmose-onkh and Aahotep hurried forward. Aahmesnefertari had expected her son to take the last few steps towards Ahmose at a run, but the boy retained a certain touching dignity, holding his little head high, his expression suitably solemn, his huge dark eyes ringed in kohl fixed soberly on the King. Gold cord had been plaited into his youth lock and a necklet of golden crescent moons and tiny baboons, symbols of Khons the son of Mut and Amun, rested against his childish collarbones. Coming up to Ahmose he halted, raised his hennaed palms, and performed a deep obeisance. “It is good to see you again, Great Horus my father,” he said, his high, clear voice ringing out into the dusky expanse. “I trust that you are well and that the Setiu are not?” Off to one side Raa was smiling proudly. Aahmesnefertari studied his perfect little face with a lump of pride in her throat. Ahmose made no attempt to embrace his stepson and Aahmes-nefertari secretly applauded her husband’s tact. Instead he bent down and held out his own hand.
“It is good to see you also, my Hawk-in-the-Nest,” he replied. “I am indeed well and the Setiu are not.” A grin hovered on Ahmose-onkh’s face. Taking Ahmose’s fingers, he pressed his mouth to them with a regal flourish then whispered, “Was my letter properly dictated, Father? The bit that I wrote myself—was it correct?”
“It brought me great joy and also much sorrow, Ahmoseonkh,” Ahmose answered. “But you realize that from now on, whenever I am away, I shall expect more messages from you.” The grin broke into full flower.
“Indeed it will be my privilege,” Ahmose-onkh said, and as though the effort of so much formality had exhausted him, he ran to Raa and buried his face in the folds of her sheath.
Aahotep approached him gravely and they embraced without awkwardness, Ahmose closing his eyes and visibly relaxing against her before they broke apart. “You at least have not changed, Mother,” he said to her with evident relief. “You are still the loom on which the pattern of our family’s life is woven and I have dreaded seeing illness or aging in you after long separations.” She smiled faintly, then gave a short laugh.