Out of the Black Land - By Kerry Greenwood Page 0,173

He was soft-spoken, serious, ready to take advice, but decided in his own mind.

I wondered how many scars the Amarna regime had left on his mind and soul. He showed no signs of them, except that he paused occasionally if the name of the god Amen-Re was mentioned, as though he was still not altogether sure that he could mention the god, or as if he had been mispronounced.

He was sitting with the Great Royal Wife Ankhesenamen on chairs of state, decorated with gold and silver and lapis lazuli. They made a pretty picture and I rested my eyes on them.

Ptah-hotep was lounging at my right, Horemheb at my left, and I was comfortably full and slightly merry, when the Pharaoh Tutankhnamen called to me, ‘Come, Aunt, and play the song game!’

‘Ask of the scented rush, what say you?’ I replied. ‘I am the scent of his hair.’

‘Ask of the lotus-pod, what say you?’ responded the Lord of the Two Thrones, looking at his sister and wife. ‘My curve is her breast.’

Ankhesenamen stroked the smooth shoulder of her little brother and husband and replied readily, ‘Ask of the palm tree, what say you? I am his strong back.’

‘Ask of the lion, what say you?’ Ptah-hotep put in, pouring more wine for Kheperren and leaning over to kiss his wrist,’ I am the strength of his love.’

Ankhesenamen kissed Tutankhamen full on the mouth. I realised suddenly that this was no mere mating for dynastic reasons, but a true, if sisterly, love. She was always fussing over the boy-king, massaging him with scented oil and making him take strengthening potions. He was a little abashed still by his royalty, but he was growing into majesty just as his father Amenhotep-Osiris had done. The realm was in safe hands.

Horemheb growled into his cup, ‘I wish he’d allow me to give him more guards.’

His train of thought was similar to mine. So much hung on this life, and although the boy was strong and healthy, he had been frail as a child and a lot depended on one human life. Humans were so very fragile, mortal, and easily snuffed out.

‘There is no one here who wishes him ill,’ I whispered into the general’s ear.

He shook his head like an annoyed bull so that the blue beads clicked together. ‘There is always someone who wishes Pharaoh, may he live, ill,’ he objected.

And of course he was right. But they looked so beautiful and so secure, the older sister and the younger brother, now abandoning the song game for simpler riddles. Ankhesenamen never displayed what I suspected was superior wit and learning in front of his majesty. She also must have spent her childhood in terror. I was delighted to see them, after such suffering, so happy with each other.

And Egypt was flourishing.

‘Aunt, Aunt,’ called Tutankhamen. ‘What says the wood? My arms are folded.’

‘I can’t guess,’ I said, and he beamed.

‘A shut door,’ he announced.

***

Another feast, another meeting found Horemheb and General Khaemdua, Ptah-hotep, Kheperren and me, and Divine Father Ay all sitting in the outer room of the Pharaoh’s audience chamber. We were anxious about news from the borders, and Divine Father Ay was anxious, though with an air of strange complacency, about Ptah-hotep’s allegations—backed by a pile of scrolls—of his thefts from various temples.

‘Daughter,’ Ay beckoned to me and I went to stand next to him. I knew that the protocol required me to kneel when speaking to a parent but Ay had long ago forfeited any respect, at least from me.

‘Father?’ I disliked him even more than usual when he was exuding this greasy benevolence.

‘Are you happy with your husband?’

‘Yes, Father,’ I said warily.

‘Then you would grieve if he should put you away?’

‘That will not happen, Father.’

‘You have not borne a child for him,’ insinuated Ay, sliding a hand up to my thigh. His fingers curled inwards and might have touched my inner parts if I had not stepped aside.

I could not believe that he was suggesting what I thought he was suggesting.

‘He is content, Father,’ I said firmly. ‘Ask him yourself if you do not believe me.’

I moved away from him to Horemheb’s chair. His big hand dropped to my shoulder, caressing my neck under the long court wig.

‘Tell me later,’ he grunted, though I doubted that I would.

We were ordered inside and Tutankhamen came in with his Great Royal Wife. I listened as he dealt efficiently with the requisitions for the army, the call up of some thousand soldiers, the pleas