Shadow of the Sun (The Shadow Saga) (55 page)

A line of Hathor priestesses greeted me by lowering their hands and dropping to their knees.

“Your Highness,” said one priestess. “We hope your trip was pleasurable.”

A younger priestess draped a chain of flowers about my neck while another handed me a glass of juice. When the barge arrived with the rest of my class, the priestesses made a fuss over Ra-Awab. They chattered and giggled as they ran their fingers through Archollos’ wet, golden hair.

My muscles tensed. Why did they waste time fawning over our boys as if they had never seen young males before. Sarawat and Keshtuat must have felt the same because they fumed and crossed their arms, implying they didn’t appreciate being ignored. Finally, we walked toward the massive stone pylon. In the distance rose the Great Temple of Hathor. I felt the sacred feminine energy swirl about it. My interest piqued. What lessons of mystery would be in store for us? The boys received too much attention from the priestesses who touched their faces and squeezed their biceps. Smenkhkare greeted a handsome young man who he knew from Thebes. Rennutet trudged along, her head down, holding her belly, displaying an essence of deep shame. My heart ached for her.

“Greetings,” I said to her. “How do you feel?”

Rennutet sighed. “Tired and fat.”

“Do you need to rest?”

“I should not be a Neophyte. It is far too difficult. They should have just dismissed me.”

I nudged her. “Because you can still hold the light,” I said.

She stomped her foot. “But there is no reason for me to be here.”

“We have to take initiations in all the temples along the Nile. My Grand Djedti told me so.”

“You have not heard about Denderah?” I shrugged. “The temple is dedicated to Hathor, the cow-eared deity of music and love.”

“You are too young. You should not be here either. You should have let me west back at Heliopolis.” She started to cry. “I do not feel well.”

“I could not let you die.” My lip quivered. “You are my only friend.”

“Oh, Merit-Aten.” Tears filled her eyes and she hugged me.

I began to understand what she meant as we entered through the guarded doors. In the reception hall, massive stone pillars held up the starry sky painted upon the ceiling. Leaning against those pillars, at least one hundred naked women in seductive poses greeted all passersby.

When we entered, these beauties with oiled, curvaceous bodies flirted with my class. Through the carnal atmosphere, musky Kyphi incense plumed upward and rhythmic drums pulsated.

A Nubian girl with dramatic cheekbones and bone-white teeth touched Smenkhkare’s face and chest and put his hand to her sex. “Greetings, beautiful boy.”

“Handsome one, come to your love,” said a tall woman with breasts the size of ripe melons as she pressed them against Archollos and stroked his groin.

I could not believe it. These women threw themselves at my classmates like rutting goats, even though we had taken vows of chastity. Didn’t these foolish seductresses understand that Neophytes had no interest in their nubile bodies, all perfumed and made ready for copulation?

“I wager you are a very big boy,” said a ravishing woman with copper braids tipped with real gold beads and a golden chain about her waist to Ra-Awab.

“Lovely,” said a woman with light curly hair and blue eyes,” as she touched my face. “Let me give you pleasure.” Her smile was alluring but I brushed her hand away.

We should have been ushered in through another entrance. Sarawat, Keshtuat, Tadushet and Rennutet looked appalled by the bombardment of hot bodies enveloping us. Strong feminine essences mixed with incense and expensive oils like aphrodisiacs. Hands caressed us and we struggled to move through this thickening crowd. How dare they touch the Per Aat in-waiting. I would complain.

Finally, we emerged into another room and Smenkhkare looked at me with concern.

“Your Highness,” he said. “I hope this did not disturb you.”

“Who are those women?” I asked after Sarawat and Keshtuat joined us.

“They are the Maidens of Amem, the Mistresses of Fertility, known as the Priestesses of Love,” replied Smenkhkare with a smirk.

Through a darkened hallway came an elder woman whose beauty had dimmed like the late august sun. She wore dark blue robes and walked with authority.

“Hail to you, Neophytes of Aten and Heliopolis. I bid you welcome to our Temple of Denderah. I am the Hathor High Priestess and The Mistress of Eternity.”

We greeted her when Ra-Awab, Archollos and the rest pushed through the sea of hands.

“Do they please you?” the priestess asked the boys, whose euphoria expressed all.

“Very much,” said Archollos as he flashed an engaging smile. I wanted to punch his arm for pretending to be enamored with those carnal women.

“You will find that the Maidens of Amem will be most suitable teachers for your initiations into the Rituals of Divine Essence. You will learn to use your potency to achieve states of higher consciousness and to control your basal urges and shift that energy upward,” said the High Priestess. “Of all your initiations in the Nile temples, I can assure you these will be the most pleasurable.”

“How can we partake in these initiations and keep our purity and chastity?” I asked.

“This temple is dedicated to the divine feminine. We are worshipped as deities incarnate and devote our lives and bodies to Hathor. We are the most educated and sophisticated women in Khemit, and we were handpicked for our intelligence and beauty. This Temple is the
Place of the Potentiation of Soul
s. We teach men the Ritual of Love, and women come to receive Fertilization rites in the
Rituals of the Seeding of the Cosmic Light.
We also perform the midwifery in the Per Akh to bring new souls into this world,” the High Priestess explained.

“Are you going to train us to be Maidens of Amem?” asked Sarawat.

The High Priestess stifled a laugh “Gracious, no. Many of you do not have the qualifications for that position. No, you will be paired up and you will learn these rituals with your classmates.”

“May we choose our partner?” asked Keshtuat.

“Begin with someone you are comfortable with,” replied the High Priestess. “But, before we get ahead of ourselves, where is Merit-Aten?”

“Here,” I replied, feeling embarrassed at being singled out.

“Yes, Your Highness. I have a special job for you,” she said. “You will be trained in the art of midwifery and spend all your time in the Per Akh.”

“Just me?” I said with indignance. Why did I not get chosen to learn the
Ritual of Love
? I looked over at Archollos just as Sarawat claimed him.

My heart ached. It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t have chosen me anyway.

“May I go with Merit-Aten?” asked Rennutet.

The High Priestess assessed the pregnant girl’s condition and nodded.

“Go to that door and through the courtyard. The rest of you follow me.” Rennutet seemed relieved and we walked toward our new assignment. I couldn’t help but glance back as Sarawat and Archollos embraced.

My throat constricted. Archollos tilted back his head and laughed at some secret she whispered. Just for an instant he caught my eye. I had to hide my face and clench my jaw.

“We are blessed not to have to pair up,” said Rennutet. “I do not want to ever be touched in that way again.”

“Why was I sent to the Per Akh?” I asked.

“You are the daughter of the Per Aat and Pharaoh.”

“My father said I had to be chaste and pure in order to receive the highest Atenic light. If I have to, then what about the others?”

“I am sure your father has a reason,” said Rennutet.

We entered the Per Akh. The smell of myrrh, rose and lotus incense instantly brought back memories of my own birth within these hallowed halls. Each room in the corridor was draped for privacy. Young attendants wearing the blue sheaths of their stations scurried back and forth with towels and herbal teas. Laboring mothers either walked the aisles or squatted upon the bricks waiting to deliver.

An elder woman whose face bore the well-traveled lines like a map met us. “Greetings. You must be my newest attendants. I am the Principal Midwife here at Denderah.” She wore a simple blue sheath, her gray hair tucked behind a blue linen scarf that hung down over the sides of her face, giving her an austere appearance. A golden ankh hung upon a chain, the weight straining her neck like a curved necked Grey Heron.

“This is Rennutet, and I am Merit-Aten.”

“I understand you both completed your initiations at the Temple of Heliopolis. Just like that temple, neither of you will receive any special recognition or treatment,” she said, waving a bony finger at us. “We have work to do here. Day and night, women come to give birth and do not give an owl’s hoot whether you are the daughter of the Per Aat or of a farmer. We deliver eighty babies a day. One thing they all have in common, whether they are rich or poor, is the fear they will not walk out of here alive.”

“They fear westing?” I asked.

“Indeed. Although we are quite skilled, many women will not live. Either the mother or the child will perish before we finish our job. In the worse cases, both west and all we can do is watch. Our pledge is to save the mother’s life first. After all, she may have mouths to feed at home and she can always have more children.”

“I cannot watch someone die,” I protested. “Maybe this is not the right job for me. I should join my classmates.” I squirmed and looked for an escape.

Two male attendants exited the far room carrying a stretcher with a bloated body upon it. My stomach roiled as a trail of red droplets stained the floor from the last expectant mother who didn’t survive. The attendant’s sandals left a scarlet smudge as he walked through it.

Rennutet turned away and protected her belly. Her colors seemed lifeless and gray. Flies buzzed overhead, marking the territory of the newly deceased. My fear welled up. Life was so tenuous. Yet big-bellied women flooded the entrance to make use of the services.

“That one had the swelling disease. You both better forge the mettle within your soul for the strength you will need in losing a patient or two. The sound of a newborn’s cry can melt the hardening of any heart,” said the midwife as she pointed at a new mother who lifted her breast to her healthy newborn.

“How do we start?” asked Rennutet.

“At the bottom,” she replied. “Grab those buckets and clean that room where the woman wested.”

Before I could argue that I’d done enough cleaning for this lifetime, Rennutet pinched my hip, warning me not to make trouble. We picked up the buckets of water. As we scrubbed, my mind wandered back to the Temple of Hathor when I observed a Maiden of Amem with long auburn hair astride a plump nobleman who screamed out the name of Amun.