The New Kingdom, page 10
Never in all his years had Hui experienced a celebration like this. They were not a wealthy family by the standards of Lord Bakari, though Khawy’s work brought with it a good living for Lahun and they resided in the grandest villa in the city. But somehow Isetnofret had worked her magic to conjure up this breathtaking display.
Perhaps it was magic, Hui thought, and Seth had rewarded her.
Hui lowered himself onto a cushion, overcome by the whirl of scents and sounds and sights. He glimpsed Ipwet peeking through the arch to the courtyard. She smiled and waved, ducking back into the dark before their mother saw her.
Someone slipped in next to him. It was Qen. The scent of sandalwood arose from the unguents he had massaged into his skin.
‘Brother,’ Hui began, but Qen held up a hand to silence him.
‘No more sour words,’ he said. ‘You are right. We are kin and we must put any disagreements behind us. You know me well. I am quick to anger and I hold a grudge for too long. But Mother has convinced me that I need to rise above my petty annoyances for the sake of our family. Will you accept my apologies, delivered from my heart?’
Hui felt relief that their simmering argument would no longer cast a pall over the day. But he knew he could never escape the memory of Kyky’s death, nor what he felt whenever he saw his brother’s eyes meet with Isetnofret’s.
‘Of course. This is a celebration for all of us, and we all shall benefit. Let’s speak no more of what’s gone. What lies in days yet to come is more important.’
A slave filled their cups with spiced red wine and they clinked them together.
A crystal-clear tone rang through the hall and everyone fell silent. Hui knew that, at his father’s command, one of the slaves had taken the silver hammer and struck the cymbal hanging at the foot of the stairs. All eyes turned to the entrance, and a moment later Lord Bakari strode in, his hands folded behind his back. His chin was pushed up and he looked ahead through half-closed eyes. Khawy followed, one pace behind the visitor’s right shoulder.
‘Honoured guest,’ his father said. ‘Let me show you the wonder that has blessed this house.’
He led the way along the edge of the table to the dais at the end. Though Lord Bakari liked to feign disinterest, Hui watched his eyes widen as he approached the Ka Stone. He paused in front of the relic and his hands appeared to tremble.
Hui marvelled at the response. So many seemed deeply touched by their encounter with the Ka Stone, feeling its power worm into their minds and hearts. Though he had sensed something the first time he had come across it, he was sure, since then he had not been moved in its presence.
But Bakari was gripped. He stared at the stone without blinking, almost as if he was sleepwalking, and then his lips opened. A moment later, words in a language Hui couldn’t recognize rolled out, in a voice that did not sound like the aristocrat. It was deeper, guttural, and in a rhythm that almost became a chant.
Hui shivered. Looking around, he saw all the guests were rapt, eyes wide.
Once the chant had ebbed, silence hung in the air for a long moment. Then Lord Bakari dropped to one knee and bowed his head in supplication.
All remained quiet as he muttered a prayer. When he stood, his face was flushed with delight, and he looked from Khawy to everyone sitting around the table.
‘This is a wondrous thing,’ he intoned. ‘Remember this night well, for you have been blessed with an experience that you may never see again in your lifetime.’
‘I am happy that you are pleased,’ Khawy said with a bow.
‘I am more than pleased. This is all that you promised. And Pharaoh himself will be pleased at your service. Have no doubt, you will be rewarded for this.’
A tremor ran round the room. This was high praise indeed, and Hui felt a tide of love that Khawy had been recognized, and that he had played some part in that.
And yet he couldn’t understand what Lord Bakari had seen in that pitted black rock that proved to him it was as they had said. It seemed that the story told about that stone had a power of its own, and Bakari could not risk ignoring something that was purported to hold the power of the gods. And that was all that mattered.
‘The gods have sent us such gifts before,’ the lord said. His face was lit with awe as he stared at the Ka Stone. ‘On very rare occasions, their munificence was bestowed in fire from the heavens, and where the flames struck was found a stone like this one. Our records tells us of each one, preserved for the glory of the pharaoh, and of the great powers they held within them.’
Bakari folded his hands behind his back and prowled around the Ka Stone.
‘It has been said that the first of these great gifts was the Benben Stone. It was kept in the net benben, the House of the Benben, in a shrine to Atum in the innermost sanctuary of the temple in Heliopolis. A part of the mound on which Atum sat when he created all there is and all there ever will be. Some said it was a doorway between heaven and earth.’
The guests realized they truly were in the presence of the glory of the gods.
‘Some of these stones bleed a life force when placed in the white heart of a furnace,’ Bakari mused, almost to himself. ‘A skilled smith can shape that blood into objects of great strength – a dagger, perhaps, or an amulet. They are said to be unbreakable.’
Lord Bakari turned to the guests.
‘We have not had such a gift from the gods in many a season. This can only be a portent, a herald of a new age, when Egypt shall rise like a phoenix from the struggles of recent years. I will take the Ka Stone to the king on the morrow, with my recommendation for the rewards to be bestowed upon the governor, and upon Lahun. Now, let me hear the tale of the adventure that brought this treasure into our hands.’
Khawy held out a hand to Hui. He steeled himself and stood, tugging Qen to his feet as well.
‘My Lord Bakari,’ Hui began, ‘this is a tale unlike any other.’
In a clear voice that rang to the corners of the hall, Hui told of how he had heard of the Ka Stone, of the desert wanderers who had first found it, and how he had hatched his plan to steal it from the Shrikes, who had wanted this source of wonder for their own benefit. He drew out the tension of the trek across the wastes under cover of the night, and how they crept past the guard and into the heart of the camp. His speech must have been good, for he saw some of the men there grow pale in the flickering candlelight. And when he described the shock of the discovery of the cobra, one woman cried out.
He wrung tears from those guests with his account of how Kyky had sacrificed himself to save Qen’s life – and here his mouth grew as dry as the desert sands. He described the flight to the Nile, and their escape amongst the reeds when the crocodiles attacked, and the rapt audience broke into spontaneous cheers and clapping.
Hui made sure to include Qen’s involvement, gilding his actions and inflating his courage. In the middle of his tale, he glanced at Isetnofret and she was smiling and nodding.
When he was finished, he bowed and sat back on his cushion. He tugged Qen down beside him, and this time it was Lord Bakari’s turn to clap.
‘What a tale!’ their guest boomed, clearly moved. ‘What courage. I will recount this story when I present the Ka Stone to the priests on Elephantine Island, and you can be sure it will spread far and wide.’
The guests cheered again and proposed toasts to the great fortune that had been bestowed upon the family of Khawy. Hui watch the elation glow in his father’s and mother’s faces as Lord Bakari spoke at length about the possibilities that lay ahead for the family: the riches, the high standing – they might even be invited to the court of the pharaoh himself – and the years of plenty in the future. Hui felt a giddy exhilaration. In his wildest dreams he had never imagined such great fortune, and his dreams had been wild indeed. His father was right when he said all their lives would now be elevated.
Khawy guided Lord Bakari to his place at the head of the table, and the feast began. Slaves circled, bringing more overflowing bowls and pouring wine into cups from constantly refreshed pitchers. Whatever the cost, it was well spent if the flush in Bakari’s face was anything to go by, an investment that would be recouped tenfold.
Relaxing on his cushion, Hui let the tension drain from him. He had done his work, and he had not tripped over his feet or his mouth, as he had feared. He watched his father drink yet another cup of wine. His eyes had started to glaze, but his smile was bright.
When the feasting was over, the entertainment began. The dancers came first, the most beautiful women Isetnofret had found. They were naked apart from ribbons tied around their waists and menit-necklaces. They swayed their hips and breasts as they whirled in a sinuous line around the table, beaded necklaces rattling. Tumblers bounded around the hall and jugglers dazzled, flipping flaming brands to each other.
While a master storyteller entranced with his wordplay and a poet recited an epic account of Egypt’s glorious history, Hui watched Isetnofret and Qen slip away from the table. He wondered what they were planning, but he did not want his suspicions to ruin such a joyous night. All was well. All would be well.
A hush fell across the hall as Isetnofret suddenly appeared in the space set aside for the entertainment. Hui gasped. His mother was transformed. She was wearing a crimson sheath dress that hugged every curve, and in one hand she gripped an ankh and in the other a staff of papyrus.
‘Isis!’ Hui murmured, entranced.
Isetnofret clapped her hands and three others made their entrance. The first was a beautiful young woman in an ochre dress, with a hawk’s wings spreading out from her back. That was Nephthys, Isis’ sister. The second was a muscular man wearing a mask carved into the beast-head of Seth. Hui suddenly remembered his terrifying dream on the night of his mother’s ritual. Seth turned slowly, surveying the room, and the guests bowed their heads in fear as his gaze swept over them.
Hui started when he saw the third performer. Behind the green make-up of Osiris was his brother Qen. He was wearing the tall, white Atef crown with ostrich feathers curling from each side, and in his hands he held the crook and the flail.
‘Let the performance begin,’ Isetnofret announced.
As the four players took their positions, a voice boomed as if from the gods themselves, ‘Here then is the story of Osiris and Isis, Nephthys and Seth, the children of Geb, of the earth, and Nut, of the sky.’
The disembodied voice of the gods echoed around the hall and the guests smiled at the artifice. Isetnofret would have hidden the speaker behind the screen at the rear of the hall.
Qen walked to the centre of the floor and held out his arms. He seemed to be staring directly at Hui.
‘And here is Osiris,’ the actor said, ‘lord of the dead and of rebirth, lord of the afterlife, who brings new life each year to the fertile valley of Mother Nile. He is the righteous king, and he bestows his blessings upon all righteous kings.’
Isetnofret swayed forward and rested one hand on Qen’s shoulder.
‘And here is his sister-wife Isis.’
The guests were rapt. They knew what was to come. This story was told to them from the moment they were lifted from their cradle. It was beloved by all, a soothing tale in the confusion of this mortal existence.
The performances of Isetnofret and Qen were powerful. How long had they been rehearsing in secret? Hui wondered. The guests gasped in horror when Seth murdered his brother Osiris, and choked back sobs as Isis and Nephthys fell into mourning. They were engrossed as the two sisters searched for the body of their dead brother, and they cheered when the remains were found, and when the player returned to the stage to show Isis pouring new life into him.
Qen rose from the floor, throwing his arms wide once more, reborn.
Hui felt his skin grow clammy when he realized what was to come. Isetnofret pushed Qen down and climbed astride him, riding him as Isis impregnated herself with her brother-husband’s seed. Hui looked away, swallowing the acid that had risen in his throat. No one else there seemed concerned by the sight of a mother in congress with her son – why would they? This was only two actors playing a part. But Hui felt it strike to the very heart of him.
When he next looked up, the act was over. A slave handed Isetnofret a babe, and his mother raised the child above her head. This was Horus, the son she had conceived with her brother.
The guests cheered as the players took their bows. Hui waved his goblet to be filled by a slave, and drained the wine in one swallow.
The players wandered away to take off their make-up and costumes, while men around the table strode up one by one to clap Hui on the shoulder and tell him what astonishing times lay ahead for his family. And it was all down to him. His heart swelled, as much for what this would mean for his father as for the praise that was being showered upon his head. Good times would come, and he had brought them here to Khawy’s house.
Qen sauntered back, wiping the last of the green make-up from his face. His eyes sparkled and he seemed buoyed by the performance.
‘You did well, brother,’ Hui said, ‘as did . . . As did . . .’ He choked on the words for a moment. ‘As did Mother. You both captured the imagination of everyone here.’
Qen slipped into his seat.
‘There will be some heads hurting tomorrow,’ he said.
‘Father still has work to do,’ Hui replied. ‘He should watch himself.’
He caught Khawy’s eye, who nodded in return.
It was time.
Khawy lurched over and clapped his hands on his sons’ shoulders, leaning in to whisper with a blast of fruity breath, ‘Lord Bakari has filled his belly with wine. As have I.’ He tapped his forehead. ‘But I have kept a clear mind.’
Qen frowned, looking from father to brother.
‘What is this?’
‘We need the king to give us what we require to defend ourselves against the Hyksos,’ Khawy replied. ‘Lord Bakari is in two minds about the threat, but I am in no doubt that if those barbarians attack, the streets will run red with blood. All we have built here will be destroyed. Hui suggested we wait until Lord Bakari is in his cups to convince him. It will be easier for him to say yes, then, and harder to go back on his word once the wine-haze clears.’
‘A good plan,’ Qen said under his breath. ‘Well done, brother.’
Khawy went back to where Bakari was nodding along to the lyre-player’s melody. Hui could see his father was exaggerating his drunkenness to put their honoured guest at ease. Khawy leaned down to whisper to Bakari, and the two men slipped away from the table and out of the feasting hall.
‘Let us hope our prayers are answered,’ Hui said.
Qen jumped to his feet. ‘We must leave nothing to chance, brother.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Take more wine! Make sure their cups are overflowing so Lord Bakari does not come to his senses. Wait here.’ Qen hurried off, and a moment later, he returned with a pitcher. ‘Take this.’
‘Why not you?’ Hui complained.
Qen laughed. ‘You are Father’s favourite. He will welcome you. If I walked into his office, he would cuff my ear and send me on my way.’
Hui hesitated. Were Qen’s motives pure? But he was his brother, and all enmity between them had surely been smoothed over. He wanted to show his loyalty. In a drunken haze, Hui grasped the pitcher. Away from the tumult of the celebration, the villa was still, but laughter rumbled from the governor’s office.
‘I brought you more wine.’
Hui raised the pitcher as he stepped in. Bakari and Khawy were both red-faced.
‘See – a good boy!’ Khawy said. ‘The best son a man could wish for.’
‘That is true.’
Bakari sipped from his already brimming cup.
Hui refilled Khawy’s drink and set the pitcher down.
Bakari continued, ‘You are an honour to your family.’
Hui bowed. ‘And you honour me.’
His words were slurred, but he realized the lord was too drunk to notice.
‘Great things will come to this house,’ Bakari said. ‘Great things. You will be recognized above all in Lahun.’
Smiling, Hui edged away, keeping his eyes low. As he stepped out of the office, he heard his father say, ‘Then let us pray we have what it takes to keep the Hyksos at bay. What a tragedy it would be to see this good fortune destroyed by the barbarians.’
‘You believe this attack to be soon?’
‘I have no doubt. The war bands roam closer. Caravans are torn apart. Victims speak of the horrors the Hyksos inflict . . .’
Khawy was already drawing Bakari under his spell. Hui hurried back to the feasting hall.
The tormented cry rang out before Hui had stepped over the threshold into the perfumed atmosphere. The howl had come from the office.
Turning, he raced back the way he had come. Bakari was stumbling towards him with outstretched hands, his face wretched with horror.
‘Help us!’ he yelled. ‘Send for a physician!’
Hui darted past him.
A physician! Khawy must have been taken ill. From Lord Bakari’s demeanour, it must be grave indeed.
‘Great Horus, please help my father,’ Hui muttered. When he entered the office, the prayer twisted into a strangled cry.
Khawy thrashed like a wild beast on the limestone floor. His fingers had curled into claws; his eyes were wide and bulging. Foam bubbled from his mouth where his lips had pulled back from his teeth. The cup Hui had filled lay on its side in a pool of ruby wine.
Hui dropped to his knees, as Khawy continued to writhe in violent convulsions.
‘Father!’ he cried. ‘Father!’
Guests began crowding around the door. They stared, aghast.
‘Khawy has been struck down,’ someone gasped.
‘He convulses! A sickness!’ someone else cried.
‘Please,’ Hui begged, tears stinging his eyes. ‘Fetch Pakhom—’
Khawy began to thrash even more wildly, and Hui flung himself across his father’s chest in an attempt to prevent him from harming himself. But Khawy was filled with a preternatural strength and Hui was flung across the stone floor.
