Magic of the Nile Read online

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  “Are you ready for this?” Sahure asked as he entered her chamber bright and early the next morning.

  Tyema swallowed hard and nodded. “As ready as I can be, with nothing to compare the experience to. After the planning meeting day before yesterday with Pharaoh, I’m sure our little celebrations back in Ta’sobeksef don’t begin to compare to what’s going to happen.”

  He nodded but allowed the comment to pass. “How’s your voice today? Ready to sing?”

  She shrugged. “Yes, I practiced in the garden for a short time, at dawn, asking Sobek to bless the day and make the crocodile obey my will. The animals always do, but today would be an especially bad time for the gift to leave me.”

  He stepped aside so Renebti and one of the queen’s own maids, on loan to Tyema for the morning, could adjust her wig and place the golden sun orb and plumes on her head. Tyema stood still under their ministrations. “I’m only sorry I had to wear the ceremonial dress through Thebes on the first day,” she said. “I’m sure the other celebrants will be much more gloriously attired, and I feel I’m not going to do enough to honor Sobek.”

  “I’ve brought you something to address the issue.” Sahure gestured for the servant who had followed him into the room to come forward.

  The man placed a large black-and-red woven basket on the table close to Tyema and stepped back.

  Puzzled but intrigued, she looked from Sahure to the basket, puzzled. “For me?”

  He nodded.

  She walked carefully to the table, so as not to disturb her headdress, and lifted the cover from the basket, gasping as she saw what was inside. “Wherever did you get such a marvel?” she asked, lifting a shimmering cloak from the container and allowing the folds to fall open. The cloak was a rich, dark blue in color, made of some sturdy fabric she didn’t recognize. Iridescent feathers had been sewn in a collar at the neckline and in a deep border at the hem. The unadorned areas of fabric were worked with gold thread in a pattern repeating the natural shape of the green, aqua and dark purple feathers. Still clutching the cloak, she said, “It’s amazing.”

  “I rescued some prisoners from the enemy when we retook the oasis. As it happened, they were kidnapped royalty from a tribe dwelling far south of the Nile’s birthplace.” Sahure took the cloak from her and draped it over her shoulders, where the fabric, gold thread, and feathers gleamed in the morning light, seeming to glow. He fastened the golden bracelets attached to the cloak at her wrists and upper arms, creating a dramatic silhouette. “Their king was so grateful to have his son and the others arrive home unharmed, he sent me this cloak as a gift. Couriers delivered the basket to me at the oasis just before I was summoned back to Thebes so I brought the cloak home, hoping I might have a chance to present it to you. I’d left it at my family’s estate outside the city, with the rest of my gear and belongings. My errand yesterday was driving out to fetch this so you could have it today. You like it?”

  “I’ve never seen anything so gorgeous.” Tyema rubbed her chin on the downy soft feathers at the neckline and stroked along the grain of the rows of larger feathers ornamenting the opening of the cloak. “But should I have it? Should it perhaps have gone to the queen?”

  Sahure leaned close, so only she could hear his words. “The gift was to me, personally, not to Egypt. And I’ll give it to you or no one.”

  Blinking back tears, afraid to ruin her elegant eye makeup, she said, “Sobek isn’t a god of the sky.”

  “But you sing like a bird on his behalf,” Sahure answered.

  “It’s so beautiful, Aunt Ema,” her niece said, touching the feathers delicately.

  Tyema kissed Sahure lightly on the cheek and squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”

  He just nodded, stepping aside to let her precede him. “We’d better go. It won’t do for you to arrive after Pharaoh.”

  “Oh no,” she said with a gasp, speeding up her pace.

  “I was teasing.” He laughed, slowing her down again. “Edekh will ensure Pharaoh doesn’t appear until the entire procession is in readiness, don’t worry. He’s the master of protocol and excels at the task, as he does with everything in his purview.”

  The procession was lined up alongside the palace, partly, Tyema supposed, because she had to bring the crocodile from the pond and get him to climb onto his litter. As Sahure escorted her along the line of marchers, she was impressed at how orderly and matter of fact the marchers were. The acrobats behind the heralds who led off the parade were doing flips and tumbles to warm up and she watched with delight as a truly spectacular series of tumbling runs played out.

  “The temples must do processions often in Thebes,” she said. “I sense little excitement among the celebrants and performers.”

  “Indeed, there are always parades for one thing or another,” he agreed.

  She bowed her head to acknowledge a polite greeting from Lemertet as she walked by the delegation from Sobek’s Theban temple. Visibly grinding his teeth as he sat in his gilded chair beside Lemertet, the florid-faced High Priest stared at her.

  “Jealous of your finery, no doubt,” Sahure said as they paced farther, past the huge effigy of Sobek, ensconced in a cunningly fabricated “boat” of reeds, and then edged around more dancers, busy limbering up.

  “Thanks to you. I’d have made a poor showing in the midst of all this glory on my own.” Tyema took a deep breath, trying to calm the butterflies in her stomach. Once the procession begins, I’ll be fine. This day is all in honor of the god.

  Sahure stopped and swung her to face him. “You shine wherever you are, Ema. Never doubt that. My gift only frames your loveliness. And you’re here for Sobek. “

  For an aching moment she wanted him to kiss her, to let her take comfort in his strong arms, no matter if they were in public, but then a horse whinnied, breaking the spell. Tyema resumed her stately pace to the crocodile pond.

  “Where do they get all these people? Surely the temple of Sobek can’t have such a large staff, not even in Thebes?” she asked after walking by a third troupe of voluptuous dancing women, accompanied by musicians with drums, pipes and small harps.

  “Indeed not.” Sahure laughed. “Most are hired for the occasion. At other times they work in the taverns or at the marketplace. Besides the musicians and heralds who serve Pharaoh, almost everyone you see in the procession who isn’t a priest is here for the deben the temple will dispense later.”

  “How odd.”

  “Not when you think about it. There are many temples here in the capital and a large number of festivals and occasions where pharaoh and other Great Ones must be honored. No one temple could afford to keep this many people on staff. Although some, like the temple of Amun-Re, do have their own company of dancers and keep a high priestess of the dance and a captain of musicians. But even the largest temple hires on additional women to perform for the major festivals.”

  Tyema took a deep breath of the morning air. “I can smell the meats being roasted.”

  “Pharaoh has authorized quite a feast for the people, later today. Gazelle, ibis, oryx, ducks, many kinds of bread, beer will flow like rivers,” Sahure said. “Can you smell the myrrh in the air as well? The priests from the temple will have been adding it to the sacred incense burning on the temple’s braziers since dawn.”

  “Indeed.” Tyema enjoyed the scented air. “These smells are much better than some of the odors assaulting my nose the day we came through Thebes to arrive at the palace.”

  Sahure shrugged. “I can admit a big city has its drawbacks as well as its pleasures.”

  When they reached the pond, Hotepre and his men were waiting, accompanied by the palace zookeeper.

  “They make a fuss over accepting their new crocodile, don’t they, my lady?” Hotepre said with a grin.

  Although she felt a pang of regret for not thinking of it herself, Tyema was glad to see someone— probably the tireless Edekh—had outfitted him in a new kilt and tunic, blue with red trim, and a nemes to
match. He even had new sandals. “Our crocodile is worthy of such attention,” she said. “Shall we get him out of the pond and onto his litter?”

  She was only vaguely conscious of all the bystanders as she, Hotepre and the zookeeper went to the pond, to open the gate. Unsurprisingly the crocodile was waiting close by, lounging in the morning sunlight.

  “Are you ready?” she said to the creature.

  He yawned, displaying a mouth full of jagged teeth, as if to say he wasn’t overly impressed by all the fuss and might prefer to nap, but he did walk forward, past her. Gazing from side to side as he went, the crocodile clambered onto the litter, which had been set down in the middle of the road. He struck a pose.

  “He’s standing exactly like the statue of Sobek in crocodile form the priests will carry ahead of you in the parade,” Sahure laughed. “Did you tell the beast to adopt the matching stance?”

  She shook her head. “No, perhaps the god is giving him orders directly, as well as through me.”

  “And you’re sure the animal will stay still during the parade?” the zookeeper asked her.

  Tyema nodded. “He’s obedient to my will because the Great One Sobek desires things to be done in such fashion today. The crocodile won’t stir till I release him to his new pond.”

  She was to sit in a gilded chair at the back of the litter, visible to all, yet close to her animal. Sahure handed her into the chair, arranging the magnificent cloak in graceful swirls around her. The iridescent feathers shone in the sunlight.

  “Pharaoh comes,” he said.

  While all the time maintaining her concentration on the mental leash she held on the crocodile, Tyema had to see.

  Nat-re-Akhte wore the double crown of Egypt today, and carried the cobalt blue-and-gold crook and flail of power. His kilt was fine linen, pleated, tinted with gold, tied with the elaborate red sash. A leopard skin was draped across one side of the kilt. He wore the magnificent pectoral depicting Horus the Falcon on his chest, gold, coral and turquoise gleaming in the sun. Pharaoh’s cloak was red, trimmed in gold and bearing his cartouche skillfully embroidered, guarded by a falcon on one side and the cobra on the other. The ceremonial braided beard adorned his chin today, although normally he was clean shaven, like most of his male subjects. It was almost painful to behold Pharaoh in all his glory. As he walked along the line of marchers, people knelt and genuflected.

  Tyema’s heart beat faster at the honor of participating in a procession with Pharaoh. My astounding new cloak might be beautiful, but mere feathers can’t outshine a living Great One.

  Paying the crocodile no heed, Nat-re-Akhte stopped for a moment beside her chair. “Are you ready for this, Lady Tyema?”

  “Indeed, my lord. It’s all so much grander than I’d imagined, but the procession pays proper tribute to Sobek. Thank you.” She knew if Pharaoh hadn’t taken a personal interest in this ceremony, things would have been done on a much lesser scale.

  He nodded. “An outstanding cloak, my dear, quite unusual. The priests of the Theban temples will have yet another reason to feel cast into the shade. And so they should.” He didn’t wait for an answer but walked to his own chair, separated from hers by heralds and standard bearers with the insignia of the Nomes of Egypt, the one for Nat-re-Akhte’s home province being foremost. The back of his chair was a glorious gilded rendition of the sun rising over the Nile. Uncut rubies set at the tip of each ray sparkled in the real sun as it rose higher. Six fan bearers took up position on either side of him as the burly litter bearers raised the chair high. In front of him soldiers stood ready to march, carrying his gold encrusted bow, shield and sword, accompanied by two handlers with Pharaoh’s snarling hunting leopards on leashes. Behind him was another miniature boat, elaborately constructed and painted, bearing an effigy of the god Horus, Pharaoh’s personal sponsor among the Great Ones. Depicted in falcon form, the statue was taller than a man, wings outspread, decorated in vibrant multicolored enamel and blue faience, with the head gold plated. Gleaming eyes, one a diamond and the other a yellow stone she couldn’t name, gazed upon the scene. Tyema knew Horus and Sobek maintained a friendly rivalry, so she could find no fault with the parade concluding on a tribute to Horus.

  Pharaoh must have made some sign she missed because suddenly her litter was raised into the air. Tyema clutched the arms of her chair as the eighteen men carrying her and the crocodile adjusted their hold on the ebony poles to achieve maximum stability. She glanced at Sahure for reassurance and he grinned, giving her a raised thumb of support. Far ahead, at the beginning of the procession, she heard the blare of trumpets. From her new position, supported on the shoulders of the massive litter bearers, three men at each corner and on both sides in the middle, she could see movement in the ranks of marchers. She took a deep breath, knowing she had to stay calm to play her part in this pageant, and more importantly, to ensure the crocodile played his. So far the animal stayed locked in his regal pose, watching his surroundings with the deceptively lazy demeanor of his kind. The litter bearers closest to him exuded almost palpable fear, and she wished she’d had time to reassure the men the crocodile was firmly under her control.

  Music began, a somber march supported by the rhythmic pounding of drums and then a moment later, her litter was in motion. As she was carried through the gates of the palace road onto the wide street, the roar of the assembled crowd made her blink. The roadway was lined with excited, expectant people, at least ten deep, come to see the parade and marvel. Tyema stared straight ahead as she’d been instructed by Edekh, although it seemed wrong not to acknowledge the people who’d come to watch. The cheers for Pharaoh were deafening. Nat-re-Akhte was a popular ruler, much beloved. She glanced back once, and saw him sitting straight and unsmiling, the picture of a Great One come to life. She was glad she’d met him in private prior to today, knew what a kind and thoughtful person he was, despite wearing the Two Crowns and being a god walking the earth.

  The procession wove through Thebes along the path they’d all agreed to, passing the large temples of other Great Ones and coming to a halt in front of the somewhat less impressive building that was Sobek’s. As she arrived at the temple, Tyema saw the marchers who’d gone before her had dispersed to prearranged places beside the building, along the towering pillars inscribed with hieroglyphics extolling the powers of Sobek or in the square in front of the main entrance. Sobek’s cadre of priests had also regrouped, waiting to greet her.

  Pharaoh was carried past her, directly to the stairs, which he alone ascended, so he stood above the crowd. His guards, heralds and attendants fanned out along the steps below him, creating a gorgeous pageantry, which drew the eye upward to the magnificence of Egypt’s ruler.

  Pharaoh raised his arms, nodding his head solemnly to the four corners of the compass, showing the crowd the crook and flail. The cheering cut off abruptly in response to his unspoken command and Tyema heard people whispering as they jockeyed to get a better view, waiting to see what would happen next.

  “People of Thebes, it pleases us to welcome the gift of Sobek to this, his temple,” Nat-re-Akhte said, projecting his voice to the crowd. He pointed the flail at Tyema, her cue to rise and sing.

  Lost in the emotion of the moment, Tyema took a deep breath and launched into the song she’d insisted upon, an old and beautiful hymn to Sobek. She hoped her voice carried to the entire audience but all she could do was honor the god with the strength of her performance and other worries fell away. The applause when she finished was startling to her, but she supposed it must be the Theban custom.

  The First Priest answered her song with one of his own, starting the verse in his own rather reedy voice and then being drowned out by the strong baritone chorus of his under priests, who stood ranked behind him. Lemertet sang the solo.

  Pharaoh ascended the stairs and disappeared alone into the temple. Tyema knew he was going to join them at the pond. She sat down so her litter bearers could carry her and the still quiescent crocodile to their final des
tination of the morning. A much reduced set of marchers accompanied her around the side of the temple, through the gardens, to the pond, followed by an orderly crowd of Theban citizens. She’d been told a line of guards would cut off access once a certain number of lucky commoners had been admitted to the pool area.

  Pharaoh was waiting, seated on his golden chair, held aloft by the seemingly tireless litter bearers.

  As soon as the Theban priests took their places, Tyema’s bearers set her platform down with barely a thump. She descended from her perch, aided by Sahure, and mentally commanded the crocodile to accompany her to the edge of the pond, where the gate had been opened. He walked briskly, long tail sinuously weaving as he went. Hotepre fell in behind her, marching proudly. When they reached the pond, the crocodile suddenly spun, rose to his full height on stubby legs, showing off his rare purple underside, and bellowed.

  Tyema sensed the people behind her falling back in fright, but Sahure stayed close, hand on the hilt of his sword. Hotepre laid a restraining hand on his arm. Tyema stepped forward, spread her hands in a calming gesture and addressed the crocodile. “Be welcomed to your new home, child of Sobek, and dwell here in peace for many years as ruler of this bask.” She sent the animal a firm thought of command, to enter the pond.

  For the space of several heartbeats the crocodile stared at her, its yellow eyes gleaming. No one moved, the crowd was hushed. Tyema felt no fear, knowing herself secure in Sobek’s grace and protected from attack. She just had to persuade this suddenly stubborn animal to go where she wanted him to be. Pointing at the pond with one hand and cupping the other over the largest emerald in her ceremonial pectoral, Tyema sent Sobek a mental plea for assistance. Thunder rumbled above in the clear sky and the waters of the pond trembled, waves racing across its previously undisturbed surface. A blaze of green sparks from the emerald under her hand cascaded down her other arm like liquid lightning and flew to outline the crocodile as another thunderclap split the air. Still ablaze with the illusion of green flames sent by Sobek, the crocodile moved in a rapid circle, demonstrating how fast he could be if he so desired, eliciting screams and gasps from the crowd. He slid and slithered down the embankment, diving into the pond with a small splash.