Ptah-hotep, because you are young and because I selected you instead of an old man with whom that same High Priest had an understanding.
‘My father the Divine Amenhotep says that the priests of Amen-Re are becoming too bold, too powerful and too rich. I am minded to mend this situation, but not yet. I am thinking of a new city.’
‘A new city, Lord?’ I was following his train of thought as well as I could, but logic was not helping. I decided to just follow this fascinating breeze wherever it went.
‘I will speak of it again. I have been given permission by my father to move from Thebes to a new place, clean, unstained by other worship. On the left bank of the river, at Amarna,’ he said, waiting for my shocked reaction.
The left bank was reserved for Houses of Eternity, the cities of the dead, but I made no comment. If Pharaoh wanted to build a city in a tomb, who was I to argue? I nodded. The King rose.
‘Attend on me early in the morning tomorrow,’ he ordered. We all flung ourselves to the floor again, and he was gone.
Anubis, by the door, gave a faint growl and a long considering sniff. The King had, indeed, smelt powerfully of spikenard, and perhaps that offended my hound’s sensitive nose.
We had barely recovered from the royal visit when another Divine Personage deigned to enter and we were back on the floor again. Fortunately Meryt had ordered it swept and sprinkled or I might have betrayed my dignity with a sneeze.
‘Rise, rise,’ said a slightly impatient female voice, and I came up nose-to-hem with the Chantress of the Temple of Neith, the Princess Sitamen, only daughter of Amenhotep and also his wife.
‘You are Ptah-hotep,’ she observed, motioning to Meryt to bring her a chair. ‘Go on with your work, honoured scribes, I do not wish to interrupt you more than I must.’
Hanufer and Khety collected their wits, closed their mouths, which had gaped, and withdrew to the inner room. I was alone with one of the most powerful women in the Kingdom, and one of the most beautiful.
The Princess Sitamen was slim and strong, with wide shoulders and long legs. It was said that she did not wish to wed at all, and had accepted a marriage with her father with relief, as she could not thereafter be pressured to accept another mate. She loved to run, ride, dance and swim, lived with her maidens in seclusion, and was seldom seen at palace functions or feasts. Her charities were legendary. She had endowed a school of priestesses for the temple of the Divine Huntress Neith, sister of Isis, out of her own fortune, telling her ladies, ‘Melt down a few thousand bracelets, I do not wish to wear anything more decorative than my skin.’ Or so it was said. She certainly wore nothing more than a scant cloth, no jewellery except her badges of rank, and plain sandals such as common people wear.
And her own skin was very decorative. She glowed with health, though she was bronzed with weather, unlike the pale ladies of the palace.
‘I am here on my mother’s errand,’ she began briskly. ‘Her labour began an hour ago, but she does not forget promises. I need a scribe for the Royal Daughter Mutnodjme and a little Great Royal Wife called Merope, a barbarian princess. My mother suggests a young man, because they are both inquisitive and mischievous maidens, and would disconcert anyone older. Unless you can think of an older man who has a flexible mind?’
‘I have never met one,’ I confessed. ‘I am honoured by the Great Royal Lady’s trust. I will find her a suitable scribe. I will appoint someone, or I will come myself.’
‘Good.’ She had discharged her errand but she did not seem to be thinking of leaving. Her maidens had arranged themselves around her on the floor and Meryt had already sent a slave to fetch more wine and cold water. In future we would have to keep a greater store of provisions in the office. There was room enough in the empty rooms at the back.
‘I saw that my brother was with you,’ she
‘My father the Divine Amenhotep says that the priests of Amen-Re are becoming too bold, too powerful and too rich. I am minded to mend this situation, but not yet. I am thinking of a new city.’
‘A new city, Lord?’ I was following his train of thought as well as I could, but logic was not helping. I decided to just follow this fascinating breeze wherever it went.
‘I will speak of it again. I have been given permission by my father to move from Thebes to a new place, clean, unstained by other worship. On the left bank of the river, at Amarna,’ he said, waiting for my shocked reaction.
The left bank was reserved for Houses of Eternity, the cities of the dead, but I made no comment. If Pharaoh wanted to build a city in a tomb, who was I to argue? I nodded. The King rose.
‘Attend on me early in the morning tomorrow,’ he ordered. We all flung ourselves to the floor again, and he was gone.
Anubis, by the door, gave a faint growl and a long considering sniff. The King had, indeed, smelt powerfully of spikenard, and perhaps that offended my hound’s sensitive nose.
We had barely recovered from the royal visit when another Divine Personage deigned to enter and we were back on the floor again. Fortunately Meryt had ordered it swept and sprinkled or I might have betrayed my dignity with a sneeze.
‘Rise, rise,’ said a slightly impatient female voice, and I came up nose-to-hem with the Chantress of the Temple of Neith, the Princess Sitamen, only daughter of Amenhotep and also his wife.
‘You are Ptah-hotep,’ she observed, motioning to Meryt to bring her a chair. ‘Go on with your work, honoured scribes, I do not wish to interrupt you more than I must.’
Hanufer and Khety collected their wits, closed their mouths, which had gaped, and withdrew to the inner room. I was alone with one of the most powerful women in the Kingdom, and one of the most beautiful.
The Princess Sitamen was slim and strong, with wide shoulders and long legs. It was said that she did not wish to wed at all, and had accepted a marriage with her father with relief, as she could not thereafter be pressured to accept another mate. She loved to run, ride, dance and swim, lived with her maidens in seclusion, and was seldom seen at palace functions or feasts. Her charities were legendary. She had endowed a school of priestesses for the temple of the Divine Huntress Neith, sister of Isis, out of her own fortune, telling her ladies, ‘Melt down a few thousand bracelets, I do not wish to wear anything more decorative than my skin.’ Or so it was said. She certainly wore nothing more than a scant cloth, no jewellery except her badges of rank, and plain sandals such as common people wear.
And her own skin was very decorative. She glowed with health, though she was bronzed with weather, unlike the pale ladies of the palace.
‘I am here on my mother’s errand,’ she began briskly. ‘Her labour began an hour ago, but she does not forget promises. I need a scribe for the Royal Daughter Mutnodjme and a little Great Royal Wife called Merope, a barbarian princess. My mother suggests a young man, because they are both inquisitive and mischievous maidens, and would disconcert anyone older. Unless you can think of an older man who has a flexible mind?’
‘I have never met one,’ I confessed. ‘I am honoured by the Great Royal Lady’s trust. I will find her a suitable scribe. I will appoint someone, or I will come myself.’
‘Good.’ She had discharged her errand but she did not seem to be thinking of leaving. Her maidens had arranged themselves around her on the floor and Meryt had already sent a slave to fetch more wine and cold water. In future we would have to keep a greater store of provisions in the office. There was room enough in the empty rooms at the back.
‘I saw that my brother was with you,’ she
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