Read Online Out of the Black Land by Kerry Greenwood - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kerry Greenwood
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suitable payment will be made to the Master of Scribes for the trouble of beating knowledge into a new collection of illiterate dirty boys.’
‘For yourself, Master? I have great wealth, it appears.’
‘For myself? A grant for the school for the acquisition of old manuscripts that will please Snefru’s heart. And you could order the sacred lake cleared of weed.’
‘I could do that,’ I agreed, wondering how.
‘Now, with your leave, I must go. I will instruct your staff suitably, and you will send news to Mentu of the honour of his appointment. Farewell, Ptah-hotep.’ He kissed me in familiar fashion, then knelt before I could forestall him and kissed my sandal, whispering something to my ankles. His voice was urgent and soft, so that I had to strain my ears to catch it.
‘Ptah-hotep, beware of the High Priest of Amen-Re. He will call for you soon. Tread as carefully with him as if you were walking barefoot through a field of serpents. He’s the most powerful man in the kingdom.’ My Master then rose, with Meryt’s assistance, and left.
I sank down on the floor, cross legged, to write out the appointments for the names he had given me. But before I began, I wrote a draft on my Tashery vineyard for one hundred jars of the best vintage to be sent every year to Ammemmes, Master of Scribes in the Residence of the Pharaoh at Thebes in the 28th year of the reign of Amenhotep III and the first of his co-regent Akhnamen, Lords of the Lands of Upper and Lower Egypt, Shining in Thebes, Enduring in Kingship, Establishers of Laws, Lords of Strength and Mighty of Valour, may they live.
Chapter Five
Mutnodjme
We opened the basket and it was full of treasures. Nefertiti exclaimed as we spread out cloth worth half a Nome—finest gauze, the sort which we call ‘woven air,’ which takes a skilled spinner and weaver half a season to make and for which barbarian kings pay their weight in silver.
My mother doubled and redoubled a length and found that even folded ten times it would still go through a finger ring. It was beyond price.
Under it were well-made lengths of printed material, a handful of silver bracelets and jewellery made by some Theban craftsman, delicate beaten gold and small bright stones. There were also several heavy arm-rings.
In the midst of this a nurse was announced and came in pushing a reluctant miserable child before her. This, it appeared, was my new companion.
She had hair the same silvery brown as sycamore bark and eyes like good beer. She was dressed in a tunic of strange fashion, covering her shoulders instead of knotting around the waist. Her skin was milk white, like the Great Queen Tiye.
‘This is the Lady Merope the Klepht, Princess of Kriti in the Islanded Sea, Royal Wife of Amenhotep may he live. On the orders of Queen Tiye, Favourite of the Two Lands, she is to be the companion of your daughter the lady Mutnodjme,’ said the nurse, gesturing to a slave who was carrying a clothes-case and a basket to set them down. The basket yowled and something struggled within it, almost tipping it over.
‘Please send my thanks to the Great Royal Lady and convey our understanding of her condescension,’ said Tey.
The Lady Merope looked into my face with her strange brown eyes. I put out my hand and she took it. Her palm was damp with sweat. I could see that she was lonely and frightened and her loneliness matched my own. I smiled. So did she.
‘Where is Kriti?’ I asked. ‘And why are you a Royal Wife?’
‘I was sent as wife to the Pharaoh to seal a treaty, I mean, to the Lord Amenhotep may he live to ensure peace between Kriti and the Black Land,’ she corrected herself hastily.
I was shocked. Egyptian princesses are never sent to another country, for in them resides the succession. Merope was continuing, ‘And I will lie with the King when I am old enough, that is after my woman-blood begins. But now all I do is teach a slave how to speak the language of my home and learn Egyptian and wait. The
‘For yourself, Master? I have great wealth, it appears.’
‘For myself? A grant for the school for the acquisition of old manuscripts that will please Snefru’s heart. And you could order the sacred lake cleared of weed.’
‘I could do that,’ I agreed, wondering how.
‘Now, with your leave, I must go. I will instruct your staff suitably, and you will send news to Mentu of the honour of his appointment. Farewell, Ptah-hotep.’ He kissed me in familiar fashion, then knelt before I could forestall him and kissed my sandal, whispering something to my ankles. His voice was urgent and soft, so that I had to strain my ears to catch it.
‘Ptah-hotep, beware of the High Priest of Amen-Re. He will call for you soon. Tread as carefully with him as if you were walking barefoot through a field of serpents. He’s the most powerful man in the kingdom.’ My Master then rose, with Meryt’s assistance, and left.
I sank down on the floor, cross legged, to write out the appointments for the names he had given me. But before I began, I wrote a draft on my Tashery vineyard for one hundred jars of the best vintage to be sent every year to Ammemmes, Master of Scribes in the Residence of the Pharaoh at Thebes in the 28th year of the reign of Amenhotep III and the first of his co-regent Akhnamen, Lords of the Lands of Upper and Lower Egypt, Shining in Thebes, Enduring in Kingship, Establishers of Laws, Lords of Strength and Mighty of Valour, may they live.
Chapter Five
Mutnodjme
We opened the basket and it was full of treasures. Nefertiti exclaimed as we spread out cloth worth half a Nome—finest gauze, the sort which we call ‘woven air,’ which takes a skilled spinner and weaver half a season to make and for which barbarian kings pay their weight in silver.
My mother doubled and redoubled a length and found that even folded ten times it would still go through a finger ring. It was beyond price.
Under it were well-made lengths of printed material, a handful of silver bracelets and jewellery made by some Theban craftsman, delicate beaten gold and small bright stones. There were also several heavy arm-rings.
In the midst of this a nurse was announced and came in pushing a reluctant miserable child before her. This, it appeared, was my new companion.
She had hair the same silvery brown as sycamore bark and eyes like good beer. She was dressed in a tunic of strange fashion, covering her shoulders instead of knotting around the waist. Her skin was milk white, like the Great Queen Tiye.
‘This is the Lady Merope the Klepht, Princess of Kriti in the Islanded Sea, Royal Wife of Amenhotep may he live. On the orders of Queen Tiye, Favourite of the Two Lands, she is to be the companion of your daughter the lady Mutnodjme,’ said the nurse, gesturing to a slave who was carrying a clothes-case and a basket to set them down. The basket yowled and something struggled within it, almost tipping it over.
‘Please send my thanks to the Great Royal Lady and convey our understanding of her condescension,’ said Tey.
The Lady Merope looked into my face with her strange brown eyes. I put out my hand and she took it. Her palm was damp with sweat. I could see that she was lonely and frightened and her loneliness matched my own. I smiled. So did she.
‘Where is Kriti?’ I asked. ‘And why are you a Royal Wife?’
‘I was sent as wife to the Pharaoh to seal a treaty, I mean, to the Lord Amenhotep may he live to ensure peace between Kriti and the Black Land,’ she corrected herself hastily.
I was shocked. Egyptian princesses are never sent to another country, for in them resides the succession. Merope was continuing, ‘And I will lie with the King when I am old enough, that is after my woman-blood begins. But now all I do is teach a slave how to speak the language of my home and learn Egyptian and wait. The
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