THE PLEASURE BARGE OF THI, THE QUEEN-MOTHER
During his reign, Pharaoh Amenhotep, the Magnificent, had set aside or
infringed upon many an established precedent or custom. It almost seemed
as if he had thus sought to prove to his subjects his utter infatuation
for Thi, the Syrian, his second wife.
For the late Pharaoh had done nothing without Thi’s cooperation. Though
of common extraction, her name and titles had appeared upon all state
documents beside his own. This was at once a new and a radical innovation.
Amenhotep’s infatuation for the beautiful Thi had produced, among many
other marvels, a vast pleasure lake, an artificial body of water, which
now stretched its placid reaches on three sides of the villa-palace of
the former monarch. This villa was now occupied by Thi and the new
Pharaoh, her son.
About the banks of the broad lake waved feathery acacia, sweet scented
mimosa, marsh flowers, and tall papyrus plants. Upon its pellucid waters
rested white and blue lotus flowers. Great cranes, pink and white
flamingos and pure white ibises pecked leisurely among the lily pads or
spread their wings to dry in the rays of the late afternoon sun.
A sheltered landing-stage opened on a causeway whose granite flagging
led up to the door of the palace, the Per-aoh or “Great House” as both
the palace and its august master were called. To the left of this
causeway stood a small building set apart by the art-loving Pharaoh for
experiments in glass and fayence. To the right lay the series of rooms
reserved to Auta, the Royal Sculptor, and his pupils. Counted among the
latter were the then reigning Pharaoh, Akhten-aton, and Noferith, his
wife.
Akhten-aton has a great admiration for his valiant ancestor Thothmes,
third of the name. He counted among his most prized possessions a gold
goblet said to have been designed and fashioned by the hand of that
gifted Pharaoh.
All Egyptians knew how well the hand of the great “Conqueror of Asia” had
wielded the curved sword of Amen, and with what marvelous results alike
for the enrichment of Egypt and for the prestige of her name. Few had
ever guessed that Thothmes’ rare moments of relaxation had been spent in
the studio of his Chief Goldsmith.
To-day, Akhten-noferu, the “pleasure barge” of the Queen, was drawn up
beside the landing-stage in anticipation of Thi’s arrival.
Less than a hundred cubits in length, its cedar beams were covered
throughout with thin plates of pure gold. Its linen sail was ornamented
with squares of blue and red. The blades of the light cedar oars were
tipped with silver; the two great steering-oars were entirely sheathed
in the same bright metal. A portrait head of the late Pharaoh was carved
upon the handle of each of the steering-oars. Two elongated eyes at the
prow of the barge were inlaid with alabaster and deep Babylonian lazuli.
The name of the vessel appeared inlaid in pale green emerald from Suan in
the south. In the after part of the vessel a low dais was covered with
red and blue checkered tapestry, to match the great sail.
With half-suppressed giggles of excitement and whispered jests, the
“sailors” now appeared. Noisily trooping down the causeway they took
their places at the oar benches, as their leader indicated. Their
leader, Princess Sesen, was as amusingly disguised as her “sailors,” the
handmaidens of the Queen-Mother herself.
Queen Thi now appeared. As her short figure passed from the dark
shadows of the passage into the glare of day, two ebony black Nubians
dropped in an arch above her large and profusely curled wig, a pair of
ostrich-feather sunshades dyed in brilliant tones of red and blue. The
servants fell prostrate at sight of her and so remained, muttering wishes
for “long life and health,” until she was safely seated upon her gilded
cedar chair, and a cushion placed at her feet by little Ata, youngest of
her maidens.
At her approach the “sailors” had been silenced by a warning gesture from
the Princess.
Suddenly the momentary decorum of these little maids was interrupted by a
wailing cry from one of their number, who, without apparent reason, burst
into a violent fit of weeping.
For a few moments she was unable to explain the reason of her distress.
But finally, her sisters gathered that her turquoise pendant had slipped
from her neck and fallen into the water. This pendant, a gift from the
Princess herself, the tearful little maiden vowed she must have. She
could not row, she would not row, until it was found.
After much delay her fears were somewhat allayed by the Chief Eunuch, who
promised to send for Enana, the Magician. Enana’s incantations would soon
bring to the surface her missing jewel. He promised that she would find
it awaiting her when the barge returned to the landing-stage. Thus, in
part reassured, little Thutu dried her eyes and again bent over her oar
in anticipation of the signal to start.
A trumpeter in the prow blew a shrill note upon his long instrument (a
new importation from Syria), a group of singing women from the temple
of Sekhmet burst into song; Rahotep, the Chief Eunuch, clapped his fat
hands; the ropes were cast off, and the forty maidens dipped their light
cedar oars in the placid waters. The barge “Beauties of the Sun Disc”
drew out slowly into the dancing waters of the lake.
Seated in the shadow of the great checkered sail, Queen Thi smiled her
appreciation of the novel surprise which her maidens had prepared for
her. As the vessel drew out through the nodding lotus flowers Kema’s
flute made soft music which seemed to mingle with the pearling ripples of
the waters. Kema, it seems, played the flute so well that the cranes and
water-fowl often lit upon the sides of the barge to hear him.
Queen Thi was not aware that novel entertainments such as this had been
customary with the Egyptian court from days immemorial. She was now to
hear of just such a method of distraction as had been practiced under
the great Egyptian monarch Senefru, who had lived, died and been laid to
rest, high up in his colossal pyramid, some twenty centuries before her
time.
For Sianekh, the story-teller, suddenly appeared and seated herself
upon the deck in front of the Queen’s chair. As was her custom, she
neglected both the prostration and the formulæ of greeting. Sianekh was
a privileged character at Court, a favorite with the late King, both on
account of her inexhaustible fund of stories and because of the fact that
Pepi, her husband, had lost his life while defending his royal master
from the attack of a wounded lion.
Yes! Thi’s obese and indolent husband, the late Pharaoh, had once been
inordinately fond of lion-hunting. One hundred and two lions he had
killed with his own arrows. One had gone down upon the very expedition
so fatal to his chariot-driver, Pepi. But it was the last animal of that
great hunt which had sent Sianekh’s husband to the Valley of Shadows.
Pharaoh never forgot Pepi’s sacrifice. Pepi’s tomb never lacked its
offerings of beer, wine and milk, flesh and fowl or of fresh white linens
for the rewrapping of his mummy.
Sianekh, the story-teller, slipped from the sleeve of her loose white
mantle a small ebony wand tipped with electrum.
Without preamble she commenced a tale of King Senefru’s days, a tale of
the epoch of those gods of old, the pyramid-builders.
In her monotonous singsong she told how the good king, tired with the
cares of state and oppressed by the great heat of noonday, sought a cool
spot in which to rest, and found it not. How his son flew upstream in the
fleetest royal barge in search of a famous magician. How he found him
fishing in the Nile without a hook, and finally persuaded him to come to
his father’s court.
She told of the wonders performed there by the aged seer. Of wine
turned to honey. Of bees which went into a little hive only to emerge
as brilliantly colored birds resembling those of distant Punt. Of the
goose’s head which he restored to its body so that it sprang once more to
its feet and rushed cackling and hissing from their midst.
Finally she told of Senefru’s pleasure-barge, of the little maidens who
rowed it and of one of their number who dropped her pendant into the
water, even as had Thutu, and of the magician of old who parted the
waters and descended dryshod to the finding of the pendant.
“But see, O Queen. Enough of the doings of the ancients. There is the
tablet to the faithful Nakht, a hero of our own day and generation.”
Sianekh pointed to a tall shaft which rose high above the bank. “That
tall shaft marks the stake where Nakht met his death. The story goes that
Isis, only daughter of the Vizier Rames, made an appointment to meet
the son of Nakht at this spot. Yonder inlet was filled to overflowing
with the waters of the inundation. But Nakht, son of Nakht, rather than
abandon his tryst, let the swirling waters of the inundation flow over
his devoted head. Isis threw herself into the waters with him. To this
date lovers hang garlands about the shaft and breathe a prayer to Hathor
for sons and daughters like Nakht and Isis.”
As Sianekh rose to her feet the Queen thanked her and presented her
with a pair of gold earrings which she unfastened from her own ears, an
unheard of honor, and one which even the story-teller appreciated.
The Eunuchs showed their approbation by loud cries of affected
astonishment, for the stories were not new to them. But the little
maidens, who had rested on their oars during the recital, showed their
keen delight in the tales by frequent “oh’s” and “ah’s” of astonishment
and approval scattered throughout the telling.
On the barge the hours slipped by unnoted. To Yakab the Chancellor, who
now anxiously awaited the return of the Queen, each minute seemed an
hour.
Yakab had hurried off to acquaint the Queen of Bhanar’s plight, and to
beg her to come to the assistance of one of her unfortunate country-women.
Hour after hour Yakab was compelled to sit beneath the striped awning
which fronted the palace door. Hour after hour he pretended to listen to
the doorkeeper’s account of his exploits amidst the Nubian goldfields,
in the arid Turquoise Country, among the hills of Mitanni or beyond the
Great Bend of the Euphrates.
Pentaur, the Doorkeeper, had served three successive Pharaohs. Already
was he popularly supposed to have exceeded the one hundred and ten years
customarily prayed for by all pious Egyptians. Yet, Pentaur seemed to
have the key to some mysterious _hekau_-charm, which kept his well-worn
teeth in his head, his deep-set eyes clear and his head erect. Though
Pentaur walked with a jackal-headed cane, it was from choice, and not
necessity.
Like all men, Pentaur had his failings. Next to the somewhat colored
recital of his own travels and successes, Pentaur loved to recount the
exploits, narrow escapes and journeyings of his famous ancestor and
namesake, Pentaur, companion and histographer of that greatest of all
Pharaohs, Thothmes the Great. As he listened, perforce, to this garrulous
descendant of Pentaur, Yakab wondered if it had indeed been the fiery
Thothmes who had crushed Nubia and the whole of Asia, or whether the
first Pentaur had not in point of fact been the true instrument of
Pharaoh’s worldwide successes.
Yet, much of what the Doorkeeper said of his ancestor was true. Was not
Pentaur the Historian’s account of Pharaoh’s exploits written in good
hieroglyphic and graphically pictured upon the walls of Amen’s temple
nearby? Indeed, Pentaur, the Doorkeeper, had good cause for his pride of
ancestry.
The weary Yakab was on the point of relinquishing his long vigil when the
notes of a trumpet announced the return of the royal barge. Soon after
Pentaur sent in Yakab’s crumpled note to the Queen-Mother’s apartment.
Once the acknowledgment was in his hands, Yakab picked up his long staff
and rose to depart. As his gaunt form passed beneath the outer pylon,
Pentaur motioned him back to the ebony stool. Pentaur considered Yakab an
excellent conversationalist, for the reason, perhaps, that Pentaur’s flow
of anecdote had not once been interrupted.
But Yakab smilingly shook his head. He could not resist following up
his heart-felt expressions of farewell with a sarcastic prayer for the
repose of the souls of Pentaur’s ancestry, as far as he could recall it,
commencing with Den, one of the valiant “Followers of Horus” of the days
of the gods.
Yakab feared that he had failed a member of his race. He had been too
late. Yakab loved riches; Yakab loved power. But, above all else, Yakab
loved his home, his family, his people. And was not Bhanar one of his
people?
That night Yakab could not sleep.