Out of the Black Land

Chapter Nine

Mutnodjme

Nefertiti thought for a long time, and she did not tell me what she thought. But she had cast aside her cloth when she came into her own rooms, and as she lay naked across her bed on the reed mat I saw one hand stray to her nipple and roll it gently, a self-caress full of sorrow. She had never been a ‘woman of a hundred lovers’ even when she had played with our cousin, her first lover, in the stooks of cut hay. She had told me that he had pleased her and that she loved him, but Divine Father Ay had plans for Nefertiti—‘the beautiful one who is come’—most saleable of daughters. Our cousin was sent away to the army and later we heard that he had been killed in a border skirmish somewhere south in Kush.

I wondered suddenly about Horemheb, the captain, who had known his way to her bathing pool and bed-chamber when I had fallen into the Nile and nearly been eaten. Had he lain down in her arms as well? But Horemheb was also away on the borders, and in any case he was young and strong. He was not an old man.

Nefertiti sighed. She rubbed her temples as though her head hurt. Then she moved to the window, where she could catch the last glimpse of Amen-Re sinking over the edge of the world to traverse the Tuat, the twelve hours of night and the battle with the monster Apep of Teacher Khons’ story.

‘Lord Amen, you who know the hearts of all creatures, tell me what to do!’ she exclaimed. ‘I must conceive, my womb is hollow, it aches for a child. To do so I must lie with another man.’

‘He’s a god,’ I said, and she started at the unexpected voice, though she knew that I was there. ‘The Pharaoh is the avatar of the Lord Amen-Re; Teacher Khons said so. You aren’t lying with a man, but with a God.’

I realised, too late, that I had succeeded in arguing my sister into doing what I least wanted her to do, and bit my lip. For Nefertiti was smiling at me. She took me into her scented embrace and kissed me, and then turned me around by the shoulders.

‘Most intelligent little scribe! Go tell the Queen Tiye that I will do as she advises, as long as my lord knows and approves.’

I went, but I still didn’t like it.

I don’t know what the Great Royal Wife Tiye said to her Royal Son that evening, but she did speak to him; I saw him come and go from her apartments. I watched as the Queen’s maids cleared the corridor with a great tumult, screaming that there was a snake and that no one should come near until the snake-catcher could remove it.

Then I saw the King’s door open, and the old man came out into the empty hallway. He moved easily, though it was clear from the drooping of belly over his cloth and the laxity of the flesh at his throat and armpit, not to mention the white hair, that he was very old. His face was all lines, around his mouth, across his brow. He was scented with the rarest of oils and his hands, as he reached down to pat my shoulder, were long fingered and very clean with close cut nails. He wore only one ring, his coronation ring of the beetle Khephri who is Amen-Re at noon. I knew that he had been a soldier in his youth. There was a lateral scar across his chest where a spear had slashed him in the battle in Nubia. A battle which had decided him against any more wars, or so they said. So he must have once been young and strong and brave, like Horemheb.

He saw me and smiled, his understanding, intelligent smile.

‘Well, little maiden, we meet again.’

This was true and I saw no need to comment, but he held out his hand and I took it, kneeling as I was required to do when addressed by a god.

He lifted me to my feet and said, ‘Tell me, Mutnodjme, is this with your will?’

His dark eyes were very kind but exceptionally sharp and I could not lie to him.

‘No, Lord,’ I wriggled with embarrassment.

‘Is it with the lady’s will?’

‘Yes, Lord,’ I replied. His face, which had been troubled, cleared.

‘Then show the way,’ he said, and I led him to my sister’s door. She opened it and he went in. I went too, as was required, and was immediately ordered by my sister to stand outside the door and keep watch in case anyone defied the Queen’s diversionary viper and came this way. Affronted, I did so, and only heard a little of what went on inside.

I heard her say to him, ‘Lord, has my husband agreed?’ and heard the soft voice of the King say, ‘Lady, he has,’ and then I heard the creak of the bed-strings as Nefertiti lay down. I could picture her, spreadeagled for a sacrifice; but there was no other sound but conversation too quiet for my ears for a long time; no other creaks.

Unbelieving, I heard Nefertiti laugh, a light laugh as though there was no great responsibility on her. Then I heard wine being poured. There was an interval, and then I heard her giggle, a giggle which broke into a soft gasp. Still the tell-tale strings made no noise. What was she doing? Was the old King impotent as well as the young?

Then the gasp broke into a strange cry. It was repeated on a rising note, like a bird’s voice. At last I heard the bed respond to another body being added to it. The bird-voice went on until it broke and silence fell. Then more speech, more conversation, more wine. I began to think I was going to sit outside my sister’s door all night, and wondered how long the snake-panic would keep everyone away.

At last I heard a man groan, over the rising notes.

A span of time later, the door opened, and the king came out, smiled at me, and walked away. I went into the room.

There was a scent of the herb unefer—the holy plant, which exudes a pearly sap which women call ‘seed-of-Horus’—in the air; and such a strong atmosphere of mating that I paused at the portal, overawed. Finally I shook myself roughly, had I not a right to be there?—and walked in. Nefertiti was lying asleep on her bed. I threw a light cloth over her. The cool air of the night was stirring her hair across her face, and she sneezed and almost woke, then rolled on her back, her thighs open. She was slick with perspiration and utterly relaxed, and she was smiling.

I began to think that I had underestimated both the king and the love of men, and lay down on my mat to think about it. I had not got very far before I too fell asleep.

She made no verbal report to my mother the next day, but smiled at her like Hathor herself; and Tey said, almost gently, ‘I wish you joy, daughter.’

Tey ordered Khons, Mutnodjme and Merope to join the Great Royal Wife as she accompanied her Divine Spouse, Akhnamen, to the office of the Great Royal Scribe to inspect the plans for a new city. I was delighted. I had liked the young man who had brought us our teacher. Khons, too was pleased.

‘The Lord Akhnamen is building a great city at Amarna, on the other bank of the river,’ he informed us. ‘Now, my pupils, do not disgrace me before my master. Keep the questions until later and I will answer them as well as I can. Do you hear me, Lady Mutnodjme?’

‘Yes, teacher,’ I agreed. I had discovered that Khons would give me a better answer in private than I could hope for in public and I had never shocked him with any comment or request. In any case I was still thinking about what I had heard in the apartments of the Queen Nefertiti the night before.

She had seemed so different this morning, so relaxed, so beautiful; as if the old man had given her a great gift, had loosened some tight thread within her weave which had been distorting the whole human garment. There was something in this matter of human love that I did not understand, but I was determined to find it out. Mother Tey, when asked, had told me flatly that I would not know what it meant until I too lay with a man, and that was at least a year or two away, if ever, and then only if I was exceptionally lucky.

We were passing through the hall of the tribute bearers when Merope cried ‘Kriti! There are the men and women of my island!’ and we halted to survey the copper-skinned warriors, bearing cow-hide shaped ingots of copper on their muscular shoulders. Around their loins was a fringed garment; otherwise they were bare and very beautiful, with long elaborately curled ebony ringlets.

‘Indeed, Lady Merope, they are the men of your island,’ agreed Khons. ‘But we cannot linger, we will come and look at them again,’ and he took the hand of the now-disconsolate Great Royal Wife and led her on after the guards and maidens who were escorting the King and Queen.

Merope was struggling to hold back tears. To distract her, I began to whisper to her; I thought it might comfort her to hear of the excellent results obtained by my sister and the pleasure she could expect from the love of the king, even though he was old. I kept my voice low and mentioned no names, because one never knows who is listening in a palace. Merope listened and forgot to cry.

Khons, who also may have caught what I was saying, looked away and did not comment.

Nefertiti and the King were close together. His arm was around her waist and he was smiling at her as though he thoroughly approved of her lying down with his father. This was strange, but presumably it had been explained to him by the alarming red-headed woman his mother, and he had accepted it.

I could not, in fact, imagine someone not accepting anything explained to them by Queen Tiye, who would have kept explaining until there was no alternative but to agree. Not that she would have overborne his will if he had been strongly opposed, but he had not been. I reasoned that he was not sexed, so why should he bother that his father was, and why should he grudge his spouse, whom he certainly seemed to love, such pleasure as the Divine Amenhotep could provide?

And there was no doubt that he had provided it. The arrangement was that Nefertiti should lie with the King every second night for a month. She told me that she was longing for the next time.

It was a puzzle.

Ptah-hotep

I woke the next morning with Meryt asleep beside me. Her coarse black hair strayed across my face and made me sneeze, and I awoke with such a feeling of pleasurable languor that I embraced her again for the pure luxury of touching a warm breathing living creature.

She murmured, and her half-asleep hand slid down my body, found and clasped the phallus, which was erect as it usually was at that hour. She made a complicated movement which entwined our legs and I was inside that female vessel, so soft and wet and strong. Four or five strokes, not more, and I was seeding her again. She was a little disappointed, I think, but she merely held me close and said nothing.

‘Well, Master, what of the love of women?’ she asked, disengaging our bodies and kneeling up to find her cloth, kissing my mouth in passing.

‘It is very fine,’ I said truthfully. I did not love Meryt as I loved my heart’s friend Kheperren, who reported that he was well, enjoying great favour from the captain Horemheb, and missing me beyond endurance. I did not yearn towards her as I yearned towards Kheperren. But I was delighted to find that I was potent with women and she pleased me in a purely animal way. I wondered how her other masters had used her. I asked.

‘Most do not desire black flesh, so I was not raped. When the house-steward bought me I was warranted virgin, though I was not. My people have a great feast at which all virgin girls are required to lie down with the King. Since that was my father I lay under my uncle, who was heavy. He did not hurt me but he did not please me, either. If you wish, Master, I will teach you the art of pleasing women. Then, if you marry, your wife will be happy.’

‘What we have done is not pleasing to you?’ I asked, getting off my bed.

‘Not precisely, Master, though it was not unpleasant. Some men have the skill of making a woman scream with joy; they are the ones surrounded by adoring maidens begging for their attentions.’

‘Like the Lord Amenhotep may he live?’ I sluiced my body down with cool water and dried my male parts with a linen towel. My phallus was a little reddened, but not sore.

‘Yes, he is the master of love-making, it is well-known,’ agreed Meryt. ‘I will show you the caresses women use amongst themselves to give each other pleasure, after they have done their duty by harsh, unfeeling men. Then your wife will adore you and never murmur against you.’

‘I would like to please you,’ I said, overcome with a rush of pure gratitude to this generous Nubian, who had awarded me her loyalty as well as her body.

‘Then you shall,’ she said, giving me a quick kiss. ‘Now, I must order your household, for the Royal Architect is coming, even Imhotep himself, to show the King Akhnamen may he live the plans of a new city he is intending to build. I have drawn more wine from the kitchen, and we should serve them some food. Hani and Tani can attend. Is that according to your will, Master?’

‘It is,’ I replied, and she went away.

My clerks were grinning at me. Did everyone know what I had been doing? I adopted my most serious manner and they grinned even more. Khety whispered to me, ‘Well done, lord!’ and I was within a finger-span of clipping his ears, as my own master might have done to an impertinent student.

However, it did mean that the palace gossips would have a new morsel on which to mumble their jaws. Man-loving Ptah-hotep has lain with his Nubian—well, well. I could easily bear the imputation that I cared only for black women. That would only mean that I was a commoner and had commoner’s tastes. And I am a commoner, and I do have common tastes. My most dangerous secret would be safe; but there must be something for such persons to know about the great, and I was happy if they knew that.

Imhotep had already arrived. He was a thin fussy youth with grand ideas, especially about his own station. He had slapped Hani, the clumsier of the twins, for approaching too close in serving him wine; and Hani, shocked, had spilled a full cup into the imperious architect’s lap. Meryt was mopping him, but the cloth would have to be pounded in lye before it could be worn again. Hani was crying, Tani was comforting Hani, and their brother Teti was glaring and picking up the shattered remains of one of my best wine-cups. I reminded myself that I outranked all of them.

‘Hani, stop crying; it was an honest accident; I’m not angry. Go and help Meryt set out the feast. Tani, get some more wine. Teti, finish cleaning the floor and accompany Hani.

‘My lord Imhotep, do not be distressed. My slaves are not used to being struck, I would be obliged if you do not do so again. Come into my quarters and I will be honoured to give you my finest cloth to replace the one you are wearing.’

Imhotep, knowing that he was in the wrong—one is not supposed to strike slaves, it reveals one as a man with no self-control—came with me and selected a cloth I had inherited along with my office. It was almost solid with gold embroidery and he was welcome to it. He stripped off the wine-stained one and dropped it on the floor.

‘I should not have slapped your Nubian, lord, forgive my hastiness. But the King Akhnamen may he live is going to look at my plans and by Thoth who is our protector, I’m so scared,’ he said frankly. I looked on him with immediate approval.

‘I know how you feel,’ I told him. ‘But we shall make a good production of this. Meryt has the feast ready. The wine is the best. Tani and Hani shall serve it, and they will catch the King’s attention, being identical twins.’

‘Yes, where did you get them?’ he asked as we left my sleeping chamber.

‘From the temple of Khnum, which is selling some of its surplus prisoners. They are relatives of Meryt, my housekeeper.’

‘And as long as you sleep with their sister, they will be loyal,’ he commented. ‘A wise precaution, my lord.’

‘Now, what plans have you and how can we display them to their best advantage?’ I asked, passing over the comment about Meryt. That aspect of our relationship had not occurred to me.

‘I have drawn a big map, perhaps that should go on the wall,’ he said, fussing again.

It took a long discussion before we decided that Tani and Hani should hold up the large drawing, providing an amusing reflective effect; while Teti served the wine; and Khety, Hanufer and Bakhenmut answered any questions about the office which it might please the Lord of the Two Thrones to ask. Meryt would meanwhile take charge of Khons, the barbarian princess and the Lady Mutnodjme and answer their questions, preferably out of earshot.

Then they came, the King and Queen may they live, and their attendants. When the Great Royal Wife Nefertiti came in, accompanied by the inquisitive Lady Mutnodjme and the Kritian princess, I knew instantly that the expression on her face matched my own. The Queen had lain in love as I had myself. Her body, as mine, was feeling loose, comforted, warm. She glanced at me briefly, and whatever she saw in my countenance made her shy, because she lowered fringed eyelids and looked away.

This caused me a moment of intense puzzlement. Had some God endowed the Lord Akhnamen with potency? It was well known that he was unmanned by disease.

I had to store my astonishment for later consideration, as my royal guests were tasting the tidbits prepared for their delectation, and Imhotep was beginning to explain to the King Akhnamen all about the new city of the sun at Amarna.

‘In the centre of the city will be the palace and temple, as you have ordered, Great Lord,’ began Imhotep, his voice shaking with nerves. The strange profile inclined. The King was interested. I looked at the drawing, flanked by two solemn Nubian faces. The palace and the temple were one; strange, but not impossible. The buildings were laid out in a huge court, the palace on three sides and the temple on the other.

‘And here, Lord of the Two Lands, is the Window of Appearances that you ordered. It commands the whole square. From it all people will be able to see you and your Queen Nefertiti may she live. If this is what you require?’ asked Imhotep.

I could understand his uncertainty. This was a very odd request. Women in the Black Land were free and visible, of course. Only barbarians who are ashamed of their own brutality and have peculiar ideas about how the world works, hide their women away in stifling tents in the desert lest other men should see and covet them. Indeed in this same dynasty a queen had made herself into a king; the Divine Lady Hatshepsut, who had declared herself Pharaoh and reigned alone for thirty years.

And in every market the sellers were women, the traders and some of the makers, though weaving was still largely a male task and field workers tended to be men, because they were stronger (and according to my mother, closer to the mentality of the ox or horse). The washers of clothes were all men, as the lye they used in removing such stains as the wine soaked into Imhotep’s cloth, was very strong and was thought to affect the fertility of women.

But Great Royal Wives conferred the kingship on their husbands, and took no official role in running the country. What they did unofficially, of course, was not known. Certainly their favour was strongly solicited for mercy or justice.

Great Royal Wife Tiye had sent me a couple of oppressed farmers recently, and on their testimony I had ordered an investigation of the administration of a mismanaged village which might well have escaped notice otherwise. And if the headman of that particular village had done half of what was alleged, he would shortly be examining an executioner’s knife at uncomfortably close quarters.

I had missed some of Imhotep’s speech while lost in thought, though from the smothered yawns from the king’s attendants it had not been gripping. Imhotep was listing the labour he would need to survey the site, and the wording on the boundary stones. No one lived in the area, it was desolate Desaret, red waste, so there were no disputed farmer’s claims to adjudicate. I did wonder where the Royal Lord Akhnamen was going to get his water for the lakes of lotuses which Imhotep had designed. I was answered in the next sentence.

‘And I estimate that it will take three seasons to build the canal,’ said the architect, and sat down.

Tani, who had forgiven the insult to his brother, gave Imhotep a cup of the strong beer which he preferred, and he gulped it down and held out the cup for more.

‘Good,’ said the king. ‘Good. The breadth of your imagination pleases me, Imhotep. Consult with the land registry and with my scribe, here, and draw the labour you need. No slaves; this city will be built by freeborn men.’

‘Lord, they are expensive,’ protested Imhotep. ‘Indentured labour can only be used during Shemu, the harvest season, when no one works in the fields; and then only really for the months of Pakhons, Paoni and the first decan of Ephipi, after which it becomes too hot. And they demand not only the best food—which is in any case wise, as a healthy workforce is more productive—but priests, physicians and an army of cooks and overseers.’

‘Nevertheless, that is my desire,’ said the King softly.

Imhotep took one look at the determined royal countenance and threw himself to the floor, kissing the king’s jewel-encrusted sandals.

‘Lord of the Two Thrones, Master, I will do all that you wish,’ he said, and the king left a measurable pause before he lowered his flail and let it slide across Imhotep’s back.

‘Ptah-hotep,’ he said to me, ignoring the man lying at his feet. ‘You are happy?’

‘Great Royal Lord, I am,’ I replied.

‘Come to me tomorrow, early in the morning,’ he said. His voice was always soft. Nefertiti, the Great Royal Wife, was sitting close beside him. His arm was around her waist and his soft fingers were stroking her bare side, just as though they were lovers. She blushed and nestled closer to him, her slim arms around the bulk of the king. It was most odd, but rather charming.

‘Lord, I will come,’ I agreed, though I had no need to reply. He knew that no one in the palace would oppose any order he cared to make.

‘I am thinking of a hymn, which I will write,’ he said. His elongated eyes glowed with fervour.

‘Lord?’

‘A hymn to the Aten,’ he told me, and with no further word, he rose and left.

Meryt came to me after seeing Imhotep to the door with all his plans and papers.

‘The little princess Mutnodjme has grown,’ she said. ‘She did not ask anything which might be considered impertinent, except about men and women, and I told her what I could. What are you worried about, Master? I think the twig-broom my lord Imhotep’s speech went well and they have eaten a lot of the food.’

Apart from knowing that Imhotep had now been named and would be forever after known in my household as Twig Broom, which suited him perfectly, I was troubled because the king had named a god I had never heard of; and I thought I knew all of them.

‘Khety,’ I said, ‘Have some of this honeyed quail, it’s delicious, and then look up the lists of gods, and find me what it says about the Aten.’