Authors: Pauline Gedge
The air here was hazed with fragrant incense. Aahmesnefertari, who loved the smell, inhaled appreciatively as she peered through it to the open doors of the sanctuary beyond. Amun smiled enigmatically back at her, his hands on his knees, his feet hidden in flowers, a wreath of blossoms resting against his smooth chest. It was a rare privilege to see him. Hidden from impious eyes in the dim security of his sanctuary for most of the year, ruling through his priests and oracles, he was a benignly invisible presence to most of his subjects.
Aahmes-nefertari knelt, and together with Tetisheri and Aahotep, prostrated herself before him. As they rose, Aahotep stumbled and fell, a small, quiet movement that went virtually unnoticed under the tinkle of the finger cymbals and the rattle of the systra held by the temple singers. By the time Aahmes-nefertari had noticed her mother’s distress, a young man had darted out from the ranks of priests ranged just outside the sanctuary and had dropped to his own knees beside her. “Pretend that you are making a second reverence, Majesty,” Aahmes-nefertari heard him say. “That way you will transform a blunder into a mark of deep respect and the god will bless you for it.” Aahotep was obviously too shaken to disobey. He joined her in her obeisance and unobtrusively helped her to rise with a hand under her elbow. Aahmes-nefertari expected her to shake him off with a quiet reprimand but she did no more than nod once without looking at him and he resumed his place with his fellows.
Two chairs with a stool between them had been set before the sanctuary, facing the men and women filling the inner court. Behind the chairs were the priests and to either side the holy singers and dancers were ranged. Aahmesnefertari would have liked to turn around and scan the crowd, but she did not dare and indeed she would scarcely have had time, for Amunmose was approaching from one of the anterooms lining the court, accompanied by his incense-laden acolytes. He was wearing the leopard skin denoting his exalted position draped over one shoulder and his staff of holy office was in one hand. Following him was Ahmose in a plain white kilt, his feet bare, his head covered by a square of knotted white linen. Then came three priests, each solemnly bearing a box. The singers burst into harmony. Regally the High Priest led Ahmose to one of the chairs and bowed.
Ahmose did not sit. For a moment his gaze travelled across the assembly, met his wife’s eyes, and acknowledged her with a grin that flashed out and was gone so quickly that Aahmes-nefertari wondered if she had imagined it. He held up a hand and immediately the singing stopped. There was a breathless hush. “Favoured ones of Egypt,” Ahmose called, his voice echoing to the stone ceiling. “Today I succeed my brother as Lord of the Two Lands and Beloved of Amun. From henceforth, the first day of summer will mark the Anniversary of my Appearing as the god’s Divine Incarnation here on earth. I pledge to uphold the laws of Ma’at, reward those who serve me well, and punish justly those who do not. I take to myself the kingship of Egypt as the legitimate inheritor of my ancestors’ right to rule. Aahotep, come here.” His mother stepped forward, and gently taking her arm he swung her to face the gathering. “This is the price of treachery,” he said, pointing at her sheath, “and it was exacted ruthlessly by this woman, herself the wife of a King without a crown. Can any deny the claims of the house of Tao in the presence of such courage and nobility? Mark this well, and ponder what you see.” Aahmes-nefertari felt a tug on her own sheath and glanced down to see Ahmose-onkh.
“Why is Grandmother wearing a dirty sheath?” he whispered fiercely. “Is Father giving her a reprimand?” Aahmesnefertari pressed a finger to his hot little mouth.
“Not now,” she whispered back. “I will explain later.”
“I too am a King without a crown,” Ahmose was saying. “The sacred Regalia—the hedjet, the deshret, the atef, the heka and the nekhakha—lie in blasphemous foreign hands. Even the Lady of Flame and the Lady of Dread are in the north. But I will rescue the White Nefer and the Red, the atef and the sceptre and the flail, and when I do there will be a fitting coronation here, before Amun, in the midst of his city.” He had released Aahotep but she had not moved. She continued to stand, straight and pale, the brown splashes on her foul linen sending out both a warning and a testimony. “Today I will only take the nemes, a symbol of concord with my people,” Ahmose went on. “And I will accept new sandals in order to walk the new path the god has decreed for me. But let there be no mistake. Power does not reside in the Double Crown but in the person of the god who wears it. Let us continue. Bring stools for my mother and grandmother.”
He signalled. Aahmes-nefertari noticed anxiously that Aahotep was trying to hide a limp as they went to him and she heaved a secret sigh of relief when they were all seated. But blood was seeping slowly from beneath Aahotep’s broken toenail and Aahmes-nefertari experienced a surge of the superstitious horror that used to often overtake her. It is a bad omen for the start of Ahmose’s reign, she thought. No one must see it. What shall I do? She had been waved to one of the two chairs and knew she could neither rise nor bend down without drawing attention to herself.
But the same young priest who had come to Aahotep’s rescue before had been watching. Boldly he approached, fell gracefully before her, and while seeming to kiss her feet in an impulse of respectful submission managed to use the hem of his garment to wipe away the drops. Aahotep stared before her grimly, giving no sign, and while he was walking away Aahmes-nefertari saw her pull her feet in under the protection of her own voluminous garb.
Ahmose now sat. The first box was opened and Amunmose withdrew a pair of magnificent sandals that, like Ankhmahor’s dagger, were not meant for any but ceremonial purposes. Covered in gold leaf and encrusted with lapis and jasper, they were slipped reverently onto Ahmose’s feet while a prostrate Amunmose intoned the correct litany and the priests formed the responses. Aahmes-nefertari had time to notice that a startling likeness to Apepa had been painted on their soles before the High Priest stood, waved a censer over Ahmose, and lifted the lid of the second box.
He drew out a pectoral, and with a shock Aahmesnefertari recognized the ornament Kamose had commissioned for himself. There, hanging regally from Amunmose’s fingers, was Heh, god of eternity, kneeling on the heb sign with the notched palm ribs in his hands signifying myriad years, but the cartouche above him had been altered. It no longer encircled Kamose’s name. Nekhbet and Wadjet embraced Ahmose’s name instead. A lump came into Aahmes-nefertari’s throat as the beautiful reminder of all Kamose’s hopes was lowered over her husband’s head. He does not mean it as a triumph over Kamose, she said to herself sadly. For him it is a link with his brother, a promise that all Kamose began will be brought to fruition. But for me it is only heartache.
The last box contained a nemes headdress exquisitely fashioned in stripes of dark blue and gold, its rim a band of plain gold above which the simple facsimile of the uraeus, the vulture Lady of Dread, protectress of the south, and the cobra Lady of Flame, protectress of the north, reared gleaming. With solemn words Amunmose removed the square of linen from Ahmose’s head and replaced it with the nemes, settling the lappets to either side of his neck. It was the last time that the King’s sacred head would be seen naked in public.
Then Ahmose stood and raised his arms. A tide of applause began and swelled to a roar of approval and homage and with one accord the company went to the ground, foreheads against the stone floor. On rising they continued the tumult until at Ahmose’s nod the herald Khabekhnet stepped forward. “Hear the desires of the King!” he called, and rapidly the furore died away. “Firstly His Majesty wishes it to be known that of the five titles which are his prerogative he will take up only the three pertaining to his godhead until Egypt is cleansed. At that time, when he sits upon the Holy Throne with Steps under the weight of the Double Crown, he will be pleased to receive the title of nesw-bit, He of the Sedge and the Bee, and the appellation He of the Two Ladies. Thus, for the time being, he is Uatch-Kheperu Ahmose, Son of the Sun, Horus, the Horus of Gold. The King has spoken.” He paused. “Secondly His Majesty wishes now to place a Queen’s crown upon the head of his beloved Aahmesnefertari, the Beautiful Daughter of the Moon, so that Egypt may do homage to her as God’s Wife and worship her as first among the glories of our land. The King has spoken.”
He retired and Ahmose rose. From beside his chair he took up a fourth box Aahmes-nefertari had not noticed before and opening it he brought out a diadem of gold, a solid cap in the likeness of the goddess Mut whose wings were draped to either side of the head of the wearer and whose claws each gripped a shen-sign, signifying infinity, eternity and protection. Mut’s vulture head reared back, her curved beak sharp, her eyes with their black onyx pupils glittering dangerously. With great care, with the tenderness of love and pride, Ahmose lowered it onto Aahmesnefertari’s wig. “The booty from the treasure ships must be lamentably depleted by now, Majesty,” she murmured as his face came close to hers and he grinned slowly.
“Wickedly so,” he muttered in return. “But there will be much more before I am done. I adore you, my irresistible warrior.” Once again the inner court resounded to loud cheers.
Ahmose did not resume his seat as Aahmes-nefertari thought he would. Instead he let the noise continue for a while. Then his ringed hand came up. “I now have a solemn and vital duty to perform,” he said, his voice ringing out over the expectant crowd. “Aahotep, my mother, come and stand before me.” Aahotep left her stool and did as she was bidden. Aahmes-nefertari saw puzzlement in her eyes as she and her son faced one another. She was at least half a head shorter than Ahmose so that when he next spoke, all could see his hennaed mouth over the top of her plain, flat wig. “There are three awards bestowed by a King upon deserving subjects,” he said. “One, the Gold of Favours, is given to any citizen for outstanding loyalty to his King, for devotion to his work for his King, or for excellence in his administrative capacity. The other two, the Gold of Valour and the Gold of Flies, are only conferred on soldiers, whether common or commanding, who have shown exemplary courage in battle. No woman has ever received the Gold of Valour or the Gold of Flies. Of those two, the Gold of Flies is the most rare. In the whole history of Egypt it has only been awarded four times. Today will mark its fifth.” He thrust out a hand and Amunmose laid across it a thin loop of gold from which hung three golden flies. Aahmesnefertari, watching them swing in her husband’s grasp, marvelled at the skill of the jewellers who had given them such a semblance of animation. Their wings were solid, their eyes bulbous. But it was in the crafting of the bodies that the anonymous man had shown his genius. He had grooved them to simulate the stripes of a living fly so that when the wearer moved and breathed they would appear iridescent in the sunlight. “I have caused a stela to be erected here within the sacred precincts,” Ahmose went on. “I will tell you all what it says. ‘Aahotep is one who has accomplished the rites and cared for Egypt. She has looked after Egypt’s troops and she has guarded them. She has brought back the fugitives and collected together the deserters. She has pacified Upper Egypt and expelled the rebels.’ This I dictated to the one who carved the words. Nothing more needs to be said in stone, but you all know that not only did she save my life but she also took part in quelling the uprising among the soldiery. No man is more worthy than this woman to have such an exalted award hung about her neck to rest against the bloody emblem of her bravery. Aahotep, hold up your head. I award you the Gold of Flies and I give you a new title, nebet-ta, Mistress of the Land.”
The necklet fastened with a simple golden hook. Ahmose undid it, reached around his mother and coupled it, giving it a pat before stepping back. Aahotep turned. She seemed dazed. The host erupted into a wild cacophony of yells, calling her name, whistling and shouting, and tears began to slip down her cheeks. Amunmose went to her, and taking her arm he led her back to her stool. Sinking onto it, she looked across at Ahmose, her fingers caressing the exquisite insects. She smiled at him through her tears.
“I am glad that my surprise meets with your approval,” he said. “Now we will continue. Ahmose-onkh, come up here.” Letting go his nurse’s hand, the boy trotted eagerly forward and scrambled up onto his father’s knees.
What a curious mixture of formality and spontaneity this ritual is, Aahmes-nefertari thought, as she watched her son wriggle to find a comfortable spot on Ahmose’s muscled thighs. But it perfectly expresses Ahmose’s character. Kamose would never have done this. For him every chant, every step, every sonorous pronouncement would have been executed according to rigid custom so that the past could flow seamlessly into the present without any taint of potentially perilous innovation. Kamose wanted to restore us to the past, but I am beginning to realize that my husband intends to not only restore but reanimate the structure of Egypt. He has been able to combine tradition with an instinctive talent for the impulse and has lost no dignity in doing so. It is like being married again to an intriguing stranger.
The din was lessening. Ahmose signalled. “Hor-Aha, bring the armbands,” he ordered, and his General shouldered his way through the flock of priests carrying a chest which he opened but kept, going down on one knee beside Ahmose. Aahmes-nefertari shifted so that she could peer into it and saw that it was full of wide silver bracelets. “You will now, all of you, swear allegiance to me, to the God’s Wife, and to the Hawk-in-the-Nest Ahmose-onkh.” Ahmose raised his voice. “Every prince and noble, every governor and administrator. I have not singled you out. I will require the same submissions from each town and city I pass on my way north. I do not intend this rite to be merely a matter of form. Your oath will be regarded as completely binding. First I invite those whose names my herald calls. I have decided to employ five permanent army divisions to be stationed here in Weset. All eleven divisions have new officers, but I will receive the permanent commanders first.” He nodded at Khabekhnet.