Qa'a (The First Dynasty Book 3) Page 5

  “And then?” Khenti asked, walking to his mother’s side.

  “And then his headaches began. I told him to relax, to refresh himself in Mother Nile’s sweet waters, to walk in the desert as he always liked to do. But he waved me off. Then his stomach ached.”

  “Did he ask for help?”

  “Your father? If not for my insisting he would never…” A tear ran from the Queen’s eye and she turned back to the comfort of Mother Nile. “I called for his healer, Seini…”

  “That old buzzard? He could hardly see anymore!”

  “He was old, Khenti, but wise in his own ways. Your father trusted him.” Khenti turned his back to Mother Nile, leaned against the rail and crossed his arms over his chest. The Queen waited patiently.

  “Seini treated him, but by then he was too far gone. Seini said it was from food that had putrefied, but…” The Queen hesitated.

  “But, what?” Khenti asked, grasping his mother’s forearm.

  “I know little of medicines or spells. Yet I have seen illnesses and even death from putrified food and they do not look like your father’s illness. Yet Seini said the illness appears differently in people. Khenemet agreed.”

  “Khenemet?”

  “Yes. Seini was not a Horus priest, so Khenemet insisted that he have a say in the King’s care. That is his right. He prayed fervently and after a ten-day he said he received a message that Horus needed your father’s help in the Afterworld.” For a long moment both were silent. Khenti ran his hand along the rail, it’s Lebanon cedar wood made smooth over the years by his parents’ hands.

  “Now that we speak of Khenemet and matters of religion, there is one request that I would make of you, Khenti.” The Queen waited until Khenti again faced her. “Before you ascend as Horus’ brother, I wish for us to pay a visit to the Head Priestess of the Temple of Isis here in Inabu-hedj.”

  Khenti looked surprised. “And why do you request that?”

  The Queen appeared nervous. She opened her mouth to speak, then changed her mind. “You hesitate,” Khenti noted.

  “Yes, I do, for there are things that are difficult for a woman to explain to a man, and you are now a man, my son, and soon to be crowned King of the Two Lands and brother of Horus. I am not so good at these matters. I ask as your mother that you make this temple visit. Besides, Irisi is a good woman and a natural leader. She would be a good person for you to know.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?” the Queen responded, confused.

  “Why would she be a good person for me to know?”

  “Well, she would be able to offer you a woman’s point of view to… to help you in your rule.”

  “But, you yourself have pointed out that father kept you sheltered from matters of state. To rule Kem is the province of a man and his advisors.”

  “Yes, Khenti, but as ruler you oversee the welfare of men, women and children. And of women and children, women know best.” Khenti leaned back, his elbows on the railing, silent. “Besides, I would like us to offer prayers and sacrifices to Isis for your father’s care in the Afterworld.”

  Khenti stood and paced thoughtfully. “I will do this for you, mother, and for father. Will you arrange it for us?” With that Khenti made his obeisances to the Queen and left.

  After relating these events to me several days later to record in his scrolls, Khenti abruptly stopped and turned to me. “The time of my ascension is near at hand, dear teacher. We must assemble my advisors. Tell me, Merkha, who would you recommend I have serve me?”

  “I hope you will excuse me, Khenti, but I thought you and Khenemet and Buikkhu have discussed this already.” The Prince rested his chin on his thumbs and stared at me for the longest time.

  “Khenemet has made certain suggestions and, of course, Buikkhu agreed. But I was looking for other names, ones from people I know and can trust. I thought it advisable to ask you, for you know my failings, and hence my needs, better than anyone.”

  “I would gladly offer you such advice,” I said, making a note on a scrap of papyrus. “I will confer with Khenemet and get back to you shortly.”

  “But, I am asking you now, Merkha, not shortly.” I hesitated, not certain how to handle this situation. “I understand that you feel as if you must serve two masters, but it is I who will soon be King, not Khenemet.”

  “Yet in matters of the spirit I have sworn to obey my superiors, and the Chief Priest above them all.” Despite the dry heat I found myself sweating from this most uncomfortable conversation. Khenti had been changed by his military training and I felt his determination clearly now.

  The Prince stood and slowly paced to the portico, placing his hands upon the brown mud-brick railing. Mother Nile ran swiftly below, its current creating a pleasant hissing sound as it flowed among the reeds. Ra shined brightly upon the Prince’s pleated white linen kilt and the glint from Khenti’s gold armband flashed in my eyes. Finally he turned and walked back to the chair, leaning on its uprights.

  “Listen carefully, Merkha, for we will not have this conversation again. You must decide where your deepest allegiance lies. I will never willingly cause you to betray your religious oaths, but if I have learned anything it is that a King needs his own eyes and ears and trustworthy advice. I do not ask you to disobey Khenemet on matters of religion, although I remind you that in a few days’ time I will be Horus’ brother, while Khenemet remains his servant. I simply ask that in matters of Kem’s governance you give me your best advice, based on your own keen eyes and ears, and without Khenemet’s oversight.” The Prince paused. “Do we understand each other, Merkha? Can you swear that to me?”

  For a moment it seemed as if time itself stood still. I noted the Prince’s scar, standing out as a purple slash across his arm. I noted the simple furnishings in his meeting room and thought to myself how quickly those would change to ornamental ones once he ascended to Horus’ throne. But in my heart I also understood that the young man I witnessed before me had indeed learned his lessons well from simply observing his father over the years.

  “Your answer?”

  “I will do this in your service, Khenti,” I felt as if Mother Nile’s current swirled around me in confusing directions. My heart raced, for until this moment I viewed myself as nothing more than a humble teacher, scribe and servant of Horus. Khenti smiled.

  “And so, who might you recommend I seek out for advice?”

  I set down my brush and papyrus on the table, next to my ink. I closed my eyes for a moment and heard Khenti sit down. “I will think on this over the next few days, but for now one name stands out from the rest; Sabef the Elder.”

  Khenti leaned back, his eyebrows raised, and laughed. “Sabef? That old goat? I thought him long dead!”

  “No, he is alive, although not well. He lives here in Inabu-hedj, just a stone’s throw from the palace, in a house built for him by your father’s father.”

  “I remember seeing him totter in from time to time to speak with my father.” Khenti rubbed his chin and smiled. “Do you recall what they talked about?”

  “I do, for it was sometimes me who was sent to fetch him to your father’s throne. Your father would confer with him on matters of rule, especially at times when he was torn by both sides of an argument.”

  “Are you joking? Sabef is ancient. He is bent over like a beggar. What does he know of rule?”

  “Oh, Khenti, you have much to learn if you are to rule the Two Lands,” I said, laughing. “Appearances hide many skills… and deceptions, too. Yes, Sabef is indeed ancient. He remembers King Meryt-Neith herself and attended her funeral. He was a valuable member of King Den’s Royal Council. He advised your grandfather and your father, too. He has seen much in his long life and that is the very reason why he might be valuable to you.”

  I could see in Khenti’s face that he appeared amused by my suggestion. “Khenti, you may consider my suggestion foolish, but if you are serious about asking for my opinions then I suggest you at least weigh them caref
ully. Youth is forever impetuous and full of the belief that old people are stupid, or even worse. Forgive me when I say this, but when you come to that belief you are merely blinded by your own reflection.” I could see in his eyes that my words were having an effect.

  “From what you have told me, from what I see now before me, you are growing into your responsibilities and realizing that your experience falls far short for governing Kem. That is the root of your fear. Therefore you must cast a wide net to bring in those who know of the difficult issues you will face, for I will ask you this; what does a ruler hear? What does he really know? Far less than one would assume, my dear Khenti. Far, far less. He is fed the fodder that others merely wish him to know. So, be careful, my boy. Always watch your step. Always ask yourself what the other has to gain, and usually at your expense.” Khenti was quiet for a while, weighing my words carefully.

  “But these issues I face are new,” he finally replied. “No one has experience with them. My father did not die before, I have not been King before, nothing is the same as it once was.”

  I sighed then, a big sigh, for how does one explain to youth how inexperienced they are, how in their contempt for the aged or the wise they shine their ignorance as brightly as Ra lights up the Two Lands? And yet, they are oblivious to their own stupidity!

  “Khenti, you believe that this is all new, yet the truth is that nothing is new. Nothing.” I paused to gauge Khenti’s reaction. He brows were raised and I had his full attention. “Yes, the details may be different, but the issues are the very same. Kings have died before, leaving young heirs. Meryt-Neith reigned for seventeen years before King Den came of age. For every one of these challenges, men like Sabef have witnessed them and been part of the solution. Situations change, but people do not change, Khenti. Their reactions are similar no matter what the age they live in.”

  Khenti nodded, but said nothing more and we soon ended our conversation with much for him to think over.

  Just a ten-day before his purification rite prior to his ascension, Khenti surprised me by announcing he was to visit the Temple of Isis in Inabu-hedj, explaining that he was fulfilling a request made by Queen Tameri. And so I arranged for carry chairs to escort them from the palace to the hilltop that housed the sprawling temple grounds, lovingly planted with exotic plants from lands far and near and tended by the Temple’s young acolytes. There the Prince and the Queen were greeted by Irisi, the Chief Priestess who, Khenti later confided in me, immediately captured his heart.

  As he stepped down from his carry chair platform, he looked ahead to see a godly vision in a white robe of the sheerest gossamer linen standing proudly before him. The diminutive woman, reaching to Khenti’s chin, stood erect, smiling, her long black hair flowing down her back, held in place by a carved ivory clasp from the land of Kush. Khenti could hardly tell if she wore makeup, for he was so captivated by her deep, kind eyes. She held out her hands, palms raised, and bowed low to the ground, first to the Queen and then to Khenti.

  When she stood, Khenti had to turn his eyes away, for her slender body revealed her womanly curves to the extent he feared his response might be beyond his control. As he raised his eyes he saw a double line of white-robed priestesses waiting to greet them and to escort them into the walled temple.

  Walking before them, Irisi began by explaining the layout of the temple grounds, but the Prince hardly listened as he found himself trailing her too closely, inhaling the intoxicating scents of her exotic perfume. Still, Irisi pointed out the dwellings for the priestesses, the training spaces, the cooking and eating facilities and the holy areas reserved for quiet contemplation or praying to the incarnation of Isis in the sanctuary. By now they were in the temple itself and Irisi guided them to a quiet area just outside the sanctuary. Waiting for them were comfortable seats and refreshments. She bade them to sit.

  “May we pray to Isis first?” the Queen asked of Irisi, smiling. Irisi smiled and cocked her head, and Khenti noted the warm bond between the two.

  “Of course,” Irisi responded. “We are here to serve the Horus fledgling who will soon be King, and the Royal Mother, blessings be upon you both.” She raised her hands toward them, then signaled to one of her acolytes. In a moment four women appeared and washed Khenti’s and the Queen’s feet and escorted them to the inner sanctuary, where Irisi awaited them.

  Khenti had never been inside the Temple and was unsure of the protocol. Sensing his unease, Irisi spoke.

  “The spirit of Isis differs from Horus’,” she began, “but instead of long speeches we will just enter and allow her to join with your ka. Remember to be silent, to breathe slowly, to allow her to fully enter your heart. We pray today for your father’s happiness in the Afterworld and for your health.”

  “And wisdom,” the Queen added.

  “And wisdom,” Irisi repeated. “Wisdom for the fledgling who will surely face new crises during his rule.” She then turned and lead them inside.

  Khenti was unprepared for what he saw, for unlike the stern visage of Horus standing erect in his Temple on a nearby hill, Isis kneeled on one knee before him, her arms open, her hands stretched out as if waiting for an embrace. The sculptor had achieved the perfection of her art in the flow and grace of her body, the details of her eyes and fingertips, the warmth of the stone. Indeed, the stone was worn and discolored in places where worshippers had touched the goddess’ representation as they prayed for her intercession. At once Khenti felt the nurturing power of the goddess’ presence and he found he had to resist the urge to embrace her.

  Taking Irisi’s clue, he knelt in the sand before Isis and slowly breathed the sen-sen breaths that he had been taught since youth. It took many minutes for his energy to dissipate, for calmness and emptiness to enter him, but when he surrendered to that inner peace he felt the meditative state flow from Isis into his ka. His heart slowed and with each breath he felt Isis’ warm essence flow into his nostrils, turn over and over in his lungs and breathe back out, so that he soon knew they shared the same breath back and forth. Soon he wandered through the fog of the ether where dwelled the gods of old. Then the fog cleared and before him sat his father, crook and flail in his hands. He looked up to see his father smiling at him. Slowly Semerkhet lifted the crook and flail and stretched out his arms. As he reached out to receive them, he awoke and saw his own arms extended towards Isis. He had no idea of how long his meditation took, but Irisi and his mother kneeled on each side of him, watching. They nodded to each other, and then the two women stood and walked out of the sanctuary.

  Khenti stayed a few minutes more, marveling at the sweetness of his vision. His ba felt light, for he knew now that his father had blessed his rule. As he walked from the sanctuary, he smiled at the waiting priestess and the Queen.

  “I see you have felt the power of the goddess,” his mother offered, to which the Prince only smiled and nodded. Irisi led them back to the area that had the refreshments.

  As they drank fine barley beer from the Chief Priestess’ storerooms, Khenti learned a great deal about the outposts maintained by the Temple, outposts that had spread far and wide since King Meryt-Neith’s time. He asked question after question and toward the end of the visit felt he had acquired a good knowledge of the services the priestesses offered the people of Kem, as well as how sound their treasury was. Yet on other matters, Khenti had a difficult time understanding what it was that Irisi offered.

  “I am not saying that you do not hear what I am saying,” Irisi said at one point. “It is that you do not listen with your heart.”

  At this Khenti bridled. “Irisi, I mean no disrespect, but like all people I listen with my ears, not my heart.”

  “That is obvious,” Irisi responded, with a slight hint of condescension. She immediately realized her error. “What I mean, my Horus fledgling, is that men only listen with their ears. Women, listen with both their ears and heart,” she continued. “For if they listened with only their ears, no child in Kem would be raised properly. Mothers
must understand what a child means, not only what he says. The cries of a baby are not words, yet they tell a mother all she needs to know.”