mouth.
Merope was walking behind me, holding on to my shoulder, for she was as blind as a bat in the dark. I reached up and took her hand and she impudently brushed my nipple in passing, trying to make me laugh. I did not laugh, but pinched her earlobe hard to warn her that this initiation was to be taken very seriously, with the solemnity that my sister Nefertiti was exhibiting as we walked along a complicated corridor in the darkness.
Some little light leaked down through joins from the soldier’s torches above, and I could in any case feel that there were many doorways on either side. The openings breathed vacancy and cooler air. Nefertiti was confident and led the way, her hand in mine, and Merope and I followed after, oppressed by darkness and no longer in the mood for tricks.
We came into a small round chamber where I struck my shins on a large pot of water and bit back a curse.
‘You must strip and wash,’ said Nefertiti. ‘Did either of you lie with a man last night?’
‘No,’ said Merope. I nodded, realised I could not be seen, and said, ‘I did not lie with a man last night.’ Of course, I had lain with my sister Merope, but that probably did not count.
We were required to strip naked and bathe very thoroughly with laundryman’s oatmeal and lye. This stung the skin but certainly rendered it clean. Our clothes were left behind, our jewellery and all our goods.
Nefertiti did not know, and I did not tell her, that the insignia of the Goddess Isis was tattooed on my scalp. It had been done when I came to the temple, when my head was shaved of the lock of childhood, and the hair had long since grown. I had a distinct feeling that being permanently marked with something which effectively meant, ‘This woman belongs to Isis’ might not be the advantage it was meant to be, and in fact might mitigate against my survival.
Breathing an inaudible prayer to my Lady Isis to assure her that I had not forgotten her worship, I followed the naked Merope out of the chamber into what seemed to be a large underground room and thence into a tunnel.
We emerged into the open. I heard water running. A channel of some sort was near. Nefertiti led me and we walked into water. It was only shin deep but it was a surprise. Merope clutched my hand as if she were frightened. I smelt spices and dust. Then I heard voices—women’s voices—chanting in harmony:
Hail, bird of fire.
Hail, fire-feathered, emerald-eyed,
Hail thou who nesteth in spices!
I was through the channel and hauled my sister Merope up behind me. There was a grey predawn light in the sky and we could now see, though at that hour all faces are ghastly and haggard and all colours are absent.
We were in a courtyard, roofed over except for the open space at the end where there was a Benben pillar, a stele with a rounded top; the perch for the Phoenix when she flew into Egypt. This was open to the sky. Each doorway had a channel in front of it so that no one could enter without walking through what was presumably sacred or blessed water. Thus purified, one could approach the worship of the Phoenix.
We were naked, more naked than I can recall being, for I had no jewellery, no sandals, and I felt as though a protective layer of skin had been removed by the lye. Merope crossed one arm on her breasts and shivered, though it was not cold. I held her other hand in mine as Nefertiti brought us forward to face a choir of women, all robed in red and gold robes of great richness and weight.
I could discern the red and gold; the sun was rising. Nefertiti shivered with pleasure as the chorus sang:
Hail, most excellent lady,
Avatar of the fire-wing,
Lady of splendour!
And Nefertiti cried:
This is the worship of the Phoenix,
She who bears her own self inside her,
She who is unique,
For there is only one Phoenix, ever, Self-created, self-generating, lady of fire!
The women, raising their arms, cried:
She comes, she comes
Behold the Phoenix!
Merope and I cried out in amazement. I saw the Firebird, a huge creature, bigger than every bird that flew. In the new sunlight she shone like metal. I could not look at her. And still the women chanted:
She is coloured like the pomegranate,
like the wild poppy;
her wings are gold,
and the rainbow has