Out of the Black Land - By Kerry Greenwood Page 0,9

and paint. ‘Do what you can, Meryt.’

‘Sit down,’ said the young woman. ‘What’s your name, Scribe? I’m Meryt the Nubian. Where does it hurt?’

‘Only my heart,’ I said as I sat down on the stone bench. She took my hand and her warm fingers found my pulse.

‘The voice of your heart says that you are healthy,’ she said gravely. Her skin was soot-black and her eyes twinkled. ‘But drink this while I clean your face and re-apply your kohl.’

I drank obediently as she washed my face with precise strokes of a wad of damp linen and re-drew my eyes. She passed a red-ochre brush gently across my cheeks to restore the bloom of health. The drink was a warm compound of wine, honey and herbs, and it went down smoothly, not offending my already over-worked insides.

‘You have left someone you love to come to Pharaoh’s service,’ she remarked. ‘That is hard. But you will flourish in the regard of the Pharaoh, be happy, and come to your lover again.’

‘How do you know?’ I asked.

‘I am a Nubian and we have some skill in foretelling though I am no oracle. But I know,’ she said firmly.

For some reason I was greatly cheered.

‘There are many people in the palace today, is it always like this?’ I asked, as she straightened my earrings and flicked dust off my wig.

‘It’s the coronation of the great Royal Wife Nefertiti,’ she replied, laughing. ‘Where have you been?’

‘His Majesty took me yesterday from the School of Scribes to be his personal scribe,’ I told her. I felt her draw back in shock, and then she came and knelt before me, her forehead on my sandal.

‘I did not know, Lord, pardon!’ she whispered.

‘Meryt, get up,’ I tugged at her shoulder. ‘Why are you bowing to me?’

‘You are the Royal Scribe,’ she said, looking up from her crouch. ‘You rank higher than almost anyone in the kingdom, except those of royal blood or the priests of Amen-Re.’

‘In that case I order you to stand up,’ I was astounded and I needed more information. ‘This can’t be,’ I said.

‘Lord, if that is your position, then that is your rank.’

‘I don’t believe it,’ I protested.

‘If you will take some advice,’ ventured Meryt in a whisper, ‘beware the envy of others. Have your food tasted and search your rooms for serpents and your bed for scorpions. I am the lowliest of Pharaoh’s slaves, but I know this much; there will be much murmuring at this appointment. No one will say anything to you, Lord, but they will be very angry. The person who was expecting to be royal scribe was the old man the Lord Nebamenet. He has expanded his household on the understanding that he would be awarded the post.’

‘If this is true, Meryt, will you come to me and keep the serpents away?’ I asked entirely on impulse. She looked away.

‘Master, I am unworthy,’ she murmured conventionally, which meant ‘yes’.

Thus I acquired my first slave, for it was true—I had been elevated to one of the highest posts in the Kingdom, and with much more justice than Meryt I felt like saying, ‘Lord, I am unworthy’.

The chamberlain took me into the first hall, where the common people come to speak to officials and those badly treated can appeal to Pharaoh their father. It was decorated with stiff lotuses and stiff papyrus heads, the symbols of Upper and Lower Egypt. A slave was sweeping the stone floor, another was sprinkling jasmine-water, and clearly something was about to happen. The soldiers at the gate had lined up in a long double row, light gleaming off their heavy belts and helmets. The wind carried to me the jingling of their accoutrements. The Chamberlain, muttering something about inconvenience, took me through the Audience Chamber and into the palace behind, and we stood at a window looking down into the hall.

‘The Great Royal Wife Nefertiti was crowned not an hour ago,’ he said under his breath. ‘Both Kings may they live! will be here soon. They will show the new Queen to the people, then come along this corridor into the feasting hall. There the Lord Akhnamen has ordered that you should meet him. Now I really should…’

‘Wait, Lord,’ I grasped him by the arm. ‘The slave Meryt said that I had been given one of the highest offices in the kingdom. She was, of course, wrong?’

‘Nubians, they talk too much. Yes boy, I mean, my Lord, you are ranked higher than almost any, and