Land of Rameses

Day 2

1450 B.C.

PERUNEFER, EGYPT

Ra, the Egyptian god of the sun, had just finished his journey in the day-boat across the surface of the sky Nut, and was switching to his night-boat to sail through the Akhet that separated day from night and into Naunet, the sky of the Duat, or underworld, before being reborn at dawn the next morning remarkably back in the east. At least that is what Amenhotep had been taught to believe. The priests had drilled into his mind the concept of the world as a bubble. And why shouldn't he believe it? Geb, the god who represented the flat surface of the earth (in fact, was the earth itself) separated these two worlds. The world below Geb was the world of the dead. And the world above Geb was the world of the living – Amenhotep’s world – and he was about to be the Horus, the living Pharaoh of this world.

Menkheperre, the throne name of his father, the third Thutmoses of this regal family, was soon to become the Osiris, the dead Pharaoh of the world under Geb. One day Amenhotep knew that he too would become the Osiris just as his father was about to do. Then Amenhotep’s son, also named Amenhotep of whom he was very proud, would be the new Horus (or living Pharaoh). That was the way of life. That was balance. That was Ma’at. It was what kept order in the world. And Amenhotep determined to keep it that way. He was determined to be as great a king as his father was.

...Amenhotep looked out through a window. His mind was wandering uncharacteristically tonight. Perhaps it was the tense excitement of the moment. He was not excited that his father was dying, of course, but because of the idea that he would soon rule – alone. In a matter of hours (perhaps less) he would be a living god! That thought was intoxicating and he liked it. He liked it a lot!

The cool breeze of the crystalline night tickled his cheek as he heard footsteps behind him. It was time. Menkheperre was about to board the barque and pass into the next world. But first, he had something he wanted to tell his son. Amenhotep had expected this and was ready when his father’s butler approached in a bowed position.

Together their footsteps made padded “thaps” on the granite floor of the hallway as the men moved determinedly toward the bed chamber of Thutmoses. Amenhotep didn’t even notice the wrinkled shapes of humanity that held the torches that lit his way. He didn’t notice because he didn’t care. They were slaves; elderly slaves who weren’t good for much else but to hold torches. He would have had them all killed the moment they could no longer work at other useful duties, but his father had enjoyed using them in this way and, well, he didn’t have to pay them as he would have Egyptian servants. Amenhotep didn’t care that they had to stand for long hours on end. He didn’t care about the pain and suffering this caused them. They were tools and if they didn’t do their job they would be disposed of and others brought in to replace them. After all, there were plenty of them.

The elegantly carved gold-leafed wooden doors swung back as the hands of the courtiers softly pushed against them. They hardly made a sound in their sockets. The room was dark. Only a single light near the bed illumined anything. The bedsteads were in the shape of the goddess Hathor, in bovine form, one on each side of the bed so that it looked like twin cows extremely gaunt, were holding him up. Thutmoses lay in his bed – too still. It was unnatural but expected. Female servants slowly fanned him with long poles topped by ostrich feathers. Everything that could be embossed with gold was. Gold was the skin of the gods and Menkheperre was a god on earth – at least for a few more minutes.

The translucent drapes undulated in a living way as breaths of air from the fans caressed them. These were drawn aside as Amenhotep approached. He didn’t see the servants who did this, he never did. They were little better than slaves and not worth even a look. He stood for a moment at the foot of his father’s bed. Such a glorious man. Such an inglorious end. He wished for something more dramatic, more memorable for himself.

Amenhotep determined that his father would receive all that his rank demanded, he would see to that. The world should know and remember his father. He promised himself this.

“…is that….you……….my, son….?”

At this Amenhotep moved with purpose toward the head of the man he admired, yes, even loved. He hadn’t thought of it before, but he did love his father, sort of. “It is I, father.”

Thutmoses motioned feebly with his hands at the servants. He was a hard man who had lived a hard life. It was almost painful to look at him now. The servants obeyed without words, each backing away and disappearing into the darkness. The only light that remained was from an oil-stand shaped as a cobra wound around a pole about waste high at the head of the bed. Eerie shadows were thrown on the floor and against the filmy linen that hung about, still undulating. “Sit down…son…..I have something…to tell………you.” “Father, perhaps you should – ”

“Tell you…that I…….I am……….proud…of you. I am. I am….dying. You…are now…..Nesut-Bity, Aakheperure,” his voice began to gain strength as he proclaimed the prenomen, or throne name of his son, the second Amenhotep, now King of Upper and Lower Egypt, Aakheperure. This would be Amenhotep’s official name used to refer to him in written texts. “You will rule in the strength and might of Ra, Amenhotep. You are now the Horus, I, the Osiris. You will rule Tawi, I the Duat. Together we will maintain….” at this his voice faltered again, “…Ma’at.”

Amenhotep moved instinctively toward his father but caught himself as Thutmoses began to speak again. “I have complete…confidence…….in you. You…….are capable to follow me.” His father often spoke in this looping way. It had the effect of throwing off a listener if the listener wasn't careful but did serve to produce numerous nuanced meanings, which had political advantages.

Thutmoses continued, momentarily stronger again, “Our family is strong. Strength is our power. Power to rule. A rule that was taken from us for a time, by her. Her who made a slave……to be a god….” his voice trailed off. Amenhotep thought for a moment that his father was falling into a delirium. Her? Her who? What slave?

Thutmoses’ eyes were beginning to glaze over. This was it. He was passing into the next world. “Keep watch……..,” the thin raspy voice quickly losing strength mumbled, “….for…….Ra…………….moses.”