The Egyptian (52 page)

No one in the palace mourned the death of the Queen or the fate of her sorcerers. Only Princess Baketaton approached her mother’s body, and as she laid her beautiful hands upon those dark ones, she said, “Your husband did ill, Mother, in letting the people tear your black sorcerers in pieces.”

She also said to me, “These magicians were in no way wicked, and they did not willingly dwell here. They longed to return to their jungles and their straw huts. They should not have been punished for my mother’s deeds.”

Such was my meeting with Princess Baketaton. She spoke with me, and I was impressed by her proud bearing and her lovely head. She asked after Horemheb and spoke sneeringly of him.

“Horemheb is of low birth, and his speech is rough, but if he took a wife, he might breed a great race. Can you tell me, Sinuhe, why he has not done so?”

I said to her, “You are not the first to ask this, royal Baketaton, and for your beauty’s sake I will tell you what I have never dared tell anyone. When as a boy Horemheb came to the palace, he chanced to see the moon. Since then he has been unable to look on any woman to break the jar with her. How is it with you, Baketaton? No tree can bloom eternally; it must also bear. As a physician I should rejoice to see your belly swell in fruitfulness.”

She tossed her head proudly and said, “You know very well, Sinuhe, that my blood is too sacred to be mingled even with the purest blood of Egypt. Better it would have been for my brother to take me to wife, in accordance with tradition, and I should doubtless long ago have borne him a son. Were the power mine, I should have Horemheb’s eyes put out, so degrading is it to think that he has dared to raise his eyes to the moon. Frankly, Sinuhe, the very thought of men repels me, for their touch is coarse and their hard limbs can bruise a fragile woman. I believe the pleasure they give us is greatly overrated.”

But her eyes began to glitter with excitement, and she breathed hard as she spoke. Perceiving that such talk gave her intense pleasure, I said, “I have seen my friend Horemheb burst a strong copper ring on his arm, merely by bracing his muscles. His limbs are long and graceful, and his chest resounds like a drum when he strikes it with his fists in anger. The court ladies pursue him like cats, and he can do what he likes with anyone.”

Princess Baketaton looked at me. Her painted mouth quivered, and her eyes blazed as she exclaimed wrathfully, “Sinuhe, your words are exceedingly repugnant to me, and I do not know why you plague me with this Horemheb. He was born with dung between the toes, and even his name revolts me. Why must you talk thus in the presence of the dead?”

I did not care to remind her who had first turned the conversation to Horemheb. I feigned repentance and said, “Oh, Baketaton, remain a flowering tree, for your body grows no older and you will blossom for many years to come. Had your mother no trusted lady-in-waiting who could mourn by her body until the House of Death sends to fetch it? I would weep myself, but I am a physician and my tears ran dry long ago in the continued presence of death. Life is a day of heat, and death perhaps a cool night. Life is a shallow bay, Baketaton, and death the clear, deep water.”

She said, “Speak not of death, Sinuhe, for life is still sweet to me. It is shameful that there is no one to mourn beside my mother. I may not weep, for it is inconsistent with my dignity, but I will send for some court lady to weep with you, Sinuhe.”

I jested with her.

“Divine Baketaton, your beauty has stirred me, and your speech has fed my fire with oil. Send me some old hag, that I be not tempted to seduce her, and so bring disgrace upon a house of mourning.”

She shook her head in rebuke.

“Sinuhe, Sinuhe! Have you no shame at all? Even if you do not fear the gods—for this is reported of you—you should feel respect for death.”

Being a woman, she was not offended at my words and went away to fetch a lady of the court to weep by the bier until the porters from the House of Death should arrive.

I had had reason for my godless talk and now waited impatiently for the arrival of a mourner. She came, and she was older and uglier than I had dared to hope. The widows of Taia’s late husband still lived in the women’s house, and also Pharaoh Akhnaton’s wives, with the wet nurses and the ladies-in-waiting.

This old woman was named Mehunefer, and her face showed me that she loved men and wine. As her duty required, she began to weep and sob and tear her hair beside the dead queen.

I fetched wine, and after she had been mourning for some time, she consented to taste it. As a physician I assured her that it would sustain her in her great sorrow. Then I began to lay seige to her and to praise her former beauty. I spoke also of children and of Pharaoh Akhnaton’s little daughters.

At last with feigned simplicity I asked, “Is it true that the Queen Mother was the only one of immortal Pharaoh’s wives to bear him a son?”

Mehunefer shot a terrified glance at the dead woman and shook her head to silence me. I plied her once more with fair and flattering words, spoke of her hair and clothes and jewels, and also of her eyes and lips. At last she altogether forgot her weeping and gazed at me enchanted.

A woman will always accept such talk, however false she knows it to be. The older and uglier she is the more readily will she do so, because she desires to believe it. Thus we became good friends. When the porters from the House of Death came and carried away the body, she invited me to her room with much solicitude and drank more wine with me. Gradually her tongue loosened; she stroked my cheeks, called me a handsome boy, and recounted to me a quantity of palace gossip of the most shameless order, to inflame me.

She nuzzled at my shoulders and ears, but I held her from me and said, “The great Queen Taia was clever at tying reeds, was she not? Did she not fashion little boats of them and send them down the river by night?”

These words of mine severely startled her, and she demanded how I knew it. But the wine distorted her judgment, and being desirous of displaying her knowledge, she said, “I know more than you! I know that at least three newborn boys floated away downstream like the children of the very poor. Before the coming of Eie, the old witch feared the gods and was loath to soil her hands with blood. It was Eie who taught her how to administer poison, so that Princess Tadukhipa of Mitanni died while she was yet weeping and calling for her son and would have fled from the palace to seek him.”

“O fair Mehunefer!” said I, stroking her heavy, painted cheeks. “You take advantage of my youth and inexperience and stuff me with tales that have no truth in them. The Princess of Mitanni bore no son. If she did, then when did the birth occur?”

“You are far from being young and inexperienced, Sinuhe the physician!” she sniggered. “On the contrary, your hands are sly and false, and falsest of all is your tongue, which spits brazen lies into my face. Yet such lies are sweet to an old woman’s ears, and I cannot choose but tell you of the Princess of Mitanni, who might have become the royal consort. Know then, Sinuhe, that Princess Tadukhipa was but a little girl when she arrived at the women’s house of Pharaoh Amenhotep. She played with dolls and grew up in the women’s house, just like that other little princess who was married to Akhnaton and who also died. Pharaoh Amenhotep did not possess her but loved her as a child and played with her and gave her toys of gold.

“But Tadukhipa grew to womanhood, and at fourteen her limbs were delicate and slender, her skin was ashen fair like the skin of all Mitannian women, and there was a distant gaze in her dark eyes. Then Pharaoh fulfilled his duty to her as he fulfilled it joyfully with many women despite Taia’s intrigues, for in such matters a man is difficult to restrain until the roots of his tree are dried up. Thus a seed began to sprout for Tadukhipa, and after a little while for Taia also, who rejoiced, for she had already given Pharaoh a daughter—namely, this haughty Baketaton.”

She fortified her tongue with wine and continued garrulously, “It is well known that Taia’s seed was native to Heliopolis, but it is as well not to speak of that. She endured great anguish during the period of Tadukhipa’s pregnancy and did what she could to procure a miscarriage-as she did with many others in the women’s house—with the help of her Negro sorcerers. Within the last few years she had sent two newborn boys down the river, but these were of less account, being the sons of minor wives who feared Taia greatly; she gave them many presents and reconciled them to finding girl babies beside them instead of boys. But the Princess of Mitanni was a more dangerous rival, for she was of royal blood and had powerful friends; she hoped to become the royal consort in place of Taia if only she might bear a son. Yet so great was Taia’s influence and so fierce became her disposition as the seed ripened within her that no one dared oppose her. Moreover Eie, whom she had brought with her from Heliopolis, stood at her side.

“When the Princess’ time was come, her friends were sent away and the Negro sorcerers surrounded her—to ‘ease her pains’ they said. When she begged to see her son, they showed a dead girl-baby. But she did not believe what Taia told her, and I, Mehunefer, know that the child she bore was a son, that he lived, and that during the same night he was set to drift down the river in a reed boat.”

I laughed loudly and asked, “How should you, of all people, know that, fair Mehunefer?”

She flared up, and wine trickled down her chin from her cup.

“By all the gods! I gathered the reeds with my own hands since Taia was loath to wade into the water while with child.”

Aghast at her words I sprang up, emptied my goblet on the floor, and rubbed the spilled wine into the mat with my foot to show my horror.

Mehunefer grasped my hands, and dragging me down again beside her, she said, “I never meant to tell you that, and I have done myself harm thereby. There is I know not what about you, Sinuhe, that so irresistibly works on me that my heart has no secrets from you. I confess: I cut the reeds, and Taia fashioned a boat of them, for she would not entrust the secret to servants, and she had bound me to her by witchcraft and by my own deeds. I waded out and cut the reeds, which she knotted together in the darkness, laughing to herself and uttering profanities in her delight at thus vanquishing the Princess of Mitanni.

“I soothed my heart by pretending that someone would surely find the child, although I knew this could never be. The babes who drift down the river either perish in the heat of the sun or are snapped up by crocodiles and birds of prey. But the Princess of Mitanni would not be silenced. The color of the dead baby’s skin differed from that of her own; the shape of its head also was different. She would not believe that she had borne it.

The women of Mitanni have skin as smooth as the skin of a fruit, with the color of smoke or pale ash, and their heads are small and beautifuL She began to weep and mourn, and she tore her hair and reviled Taia and the sorcerers until Taia bade them administer a narcotic and gave it out that Tadukhipa had lost her reason because her child was stillborn. After the manner of men, Pharaoh believed Taia rather than Tadukhipa. Thenceforth Tadukhipa began to pine away, and at last she died. Before she died, she attempted several times to fly from the golden house and seek her son, wherefore it was generally supposed that her reason had been darkened.”

I looked at my hands, and they were pale compared with Mehunefer’s monkey paws; the skin was the color of smoke. So intense was my agitation that I put my question in a strangled voice, “Fair Mehunefer, can you tell me when it was that all this came about?”

She stroked the nape of my neck with her swarthy fingers and said in wheedling tones, “Oh, handsome boy, why do you waste precious moments on these bygone things when you might make better use of your time? Since I can refuse you nothing, I will tell you that it happened when the great Pharaoh had reigned for twenty-two years, in the autumn when the waters stood at their highest. Should you wonder at my accuracy, know that Pharaoh Akhnaton was born in the same year, albeit in the following spring, in the sowing season. That is how I remember.”

At her words I froze with horror and could make no defensive movement, nor even felt her wine-wet mouth on my cheeks. She put her arm about me and pressed me to her, calling me her little bull and her dove. I held her at bay with my thoughts in a turmoil, and my whole being revolted against this terrible knowledge. If what she said was true, then the blood of the great Pharaoh ran in my veins. I was Pharaoh Akhnaton’s half-brother and might have been Pharaoh before him had not the guile of Taia overcome my dead mother’s love. I stared before me in sudden understanding of my loneliness: royal blood is ever alone among the people.

But Mehunefer’s importunity brought me to myself. I was forced to exert myself to the utmost to withstand her caresses, which were repugnant to me. I urged her to more wine, that she might become too sodden to remember what she had told me. Then she became altogether abominable, and I was compelled to drug her wine with poppy juice to send her to sleep and so be quit of her.

When at last I left her room in the women’s house, night had fallen, and the guards and servants of the palace pointed at me and tittered among themselves. I fancied this was because I staggered in my gait and my clothes were crumpled. At my house Merit was awaiting me, being uneasy at my long absence and wishing to learn particulars of the Queen’s death. When she saw me, she clapped her hands to her mouth and Muti did the same, and they exchanged looks.

At length Muti said to Merit in a bitter voice, “Have I not told you a thousand times that men are all alike and not to be trusted?”

But I was worn out and desired to be alone with my thoughts, and I said to them angrily, “My day has been wearisome, and I cannot endure your nagging.”

Then Merit’s eyes grew hard and her face dark with anger. Holding a silver mirror before my face she said, “Look at yourself, Sinuhe! I have never forbidden you to take pleasure with strange women, but I could wish you might conceal the matter so as not to wound my heart. You cannot pretend, in your defense, that you were lonely and sorrowful when you left the house today.”