drink and flowers, the finest produced in the land of Kemet. Sacrificial cattle, four prime black steers, stood near the northern tower of the pylon gate through which royalty and god would enter the sacred precinct. Facing the cattle across the processional route, priests held squawking geese and ducks by their wings, these also destined for sacrifice.
Slipping behind the row of royal guards who lined both sides of the processional way joining the landing stage to the sacred precinct, Bak and Amonked wove a path through the spectators to a spot not far from the live food offerings.
No sooner had they positioned themselves behind a pair of guards than Amonked went on with their conversation as if it had not been interrupted. “Pahure’s thoughts were bent and twisted, his goals far out of reach.”
“We all know Menkheperre Thutmose is raising men above their stations when they’ve proven themselves to be competent,” Bak said. “I suspect the steward was extremely capable.”
“In the regiments Thutmose commands, he can do what he wishes, but my cousin is more traditional in her selection of men who rise to lofty positions.”
Bak noted Amonked’s use of the familiar name Thutmose rather than the full, more formal Menkheperre Thutmose.
He knew the Storekeeper of Amon held a special place of trust in Maatkare Hatshepsut’s heart. What place, he won dered, did he hold in the heart of her youthful co-ruler? The thought was torn asunder by the approach of the standard bearers.
Bak thanked the lord Amon for the swift progress of the procession. The faintest of breezes sporadically stirred the pennants rising above the pylons, but could not compete with the hot breath of the lord Re reaching down upon the earth, turning the crowded area in front of the sacred precinct into a kiln.
The standard-bearers came close, each holding high the golden symbol of a god or location significant to Maatkare
Hatshepsut and her domain. Bak was surprised to see Neter mose walking among them, representing Tjeny, the city from which had originated, according to tradition, the first sovereign of Kemet. The aide’s eyes flitted toward Bak and
Amonked, he tilted his head slightly in recognition, and strode on.
“I’m amazed Pentu remembered to send someone with the standard,” Bak said. “The last I saw of him, he was so upset with Taharet’s betrayal, her decision to help her sister at his expense, that he was thinking of nothing but the loss of his happy marriage.”
“He didn’t remember.” Amonked tucked the square of linen under his belt. “I told Netermose to join the pro cession. I didn’t wish to make public the dissension within the governor’s household.” He looked about to speak further, hesitated, then said, “I sorrow for mistress Meret, as you must.”
“I do. I can’t help but think her a good woman, one who closed her eyes to the lady Maat and chose a wrong path to aid the dream of another.”
“The vizier will judge her guilty.”
“Yes.”
Neither man wanted to voice the punishment she would no doubt face: death by her own hand. Poison.
“What of mistress Taharet?” Bak asked.
“If Pentu speaks for her, she’ll probably be allowed her freedom, but I doubt she’ll ever again be welcome in Waset.
Certainly not in the royal house.”
“Will he speak for her?”
“He’s very angry now. How he’ll feel in a day or two, I can’t begin to guess.”
As the standard-bearers passed through the pylon gate into the sacred precinct, the priests followed them across the court, shaking water onto the pathway and filling the air with a strong, musky smell. Before they could get too far ahead, a trumpeter blasted a long, shrill note. Maatkare Hatshepsut and Menkheperre Thutmose, flanked by their fan bearers, strode up the stairs and onto the processional way.
The spectators in front of Ipet-isut roared their approbation.
As the priests passed on by and the royal pair walked closer, Bak could see them clearly. He spoke without think ing. “Each time I see Maatkare Hatshepsut, she looks more like her brother, her deceased husband Ahkheperenre Thut mose.”
“She does, doesn’t she?” Amonked said, eyeing her with a fond smile. “She’s never been beautiful-the family nose and protruding teeth have prevented that-and now she’s al most as plump as he was. Too much rich food, too much comfort and ease.”
She could not have heard them speaking but, almost as if she had, her eyes came to rest on Amonked. Her cousin bowed his head in obeisance. Her eyes shifted briefly to
Bak, and with no change of expression whatsoever, she strode on. He understood her well enough. As long as she failed to acknowledge his presence he did not exist, and no matter how great his accomplishment she did not have to re ward him with the gold of honor.
Menkheperre Thutmose, his bearing as regal as that of his aunt, looked their way. If Bak had not known better, he would have said the young man was trying hard not to laugh.
Focusing again on the path ahead, he walked with his co ruler through the towered gate and into the sacred precinct.
“Do our sovereigns know of the flock that came close to disrupting the procession?”
“I was among the spectators when the last animal, the ram, was led away. The standard-bearers were not ten paces away. They and all who walked behind them had to have seen the chaos ahead and the haste with which the guards and spectators re-formed along the processional way.”
“Maatkare Hatshepsut must’ve been furious.”
Amonked gave him a bland smile. “A rumor has begun to circulate through Waset. The lord Amon, her heavenly fa ther, took the form of a ram and joined the procession to help bring to justice the man who stole ritual items from the sacred precinct and slew two men within its walls.”
Bak forbade himself to laugh. Maatkare Hatshepsut was most adept at turning all that occurred, good and bad, to her advantage.
Saying no more, they watched the lord Amon, invisible within his covered shrine, carried high on the shoulders of the priests bearing the sacred barque. In a cloud of incense, they strode across the court and vanished behind their sover eigns through the pylon gate that rose before Ipet-isut.
The deity had returned to his earthly home, marking the end of the Beautiful Feast of Opet.
