Chapter 2
"Then the Lord said to Moses, 'Stretch out your hand toward heaven, that there may be darkness over the land of Egypt, darkness which may even me felt. So Moses stretch out his hand toward heaven, and there was thick darkness in all the land of Egypt three days."
-Exodus 10: 21-22
The 19th Dynasty of Egypt, ca.1279 B.C
She felt only detachment at the defeated slump of his shoulders. Her husband, warrior king and great expansionist, carried a look about him that was one of vulnerability, confusion, and betrayal. Moses had returned, she heard, bringing with him the power of the Hebrew God, and the clashes with Ramses had resulted in the heavens spewing immeasurable and mighty epidemics that Egypt had never seen before. She did not know; Seti I had treated her with the respect due a royal member, but it was her husband and half-brother, the successor to Seti I at age 24 who sentenced her to an existence of silence. Imhotep' s betrayal and Anck-su-namun's treachery had not been forgotten when Ramses had ascended his throne, casting the Egyptian court in a doubtful light, threatening to throw the 19th Dynasty prematurely into another intermediate period. All until Ramses, her brave half-brother, then Viceroy to Seti, quelled revolts again and again in Nubia, in Punt, in Aswan and ruled united Egypt with an expansionist policy under an ambitious agenda.
Nefertiri glided silently under the cool stone floors of the palace; with each passing colossal pillar bringing her nearer to the person she was supposed to pay all her allegiance to, body, soul and spirit. The papyrus fields along the Nile soothed the eyes. Reeds of green and browns, farmers who stood knee-deep in the marshes of the Nile were small figures from the palace, with backs bent, solidly tanned. The lushness of the Egyptian court had lost its novelty. She remembered as a child, her infatuation with the empire that her father was running, chariot races that frequented the dusty streets below, gold medallions freely given out to those who dared challenge and triumph over royal members of the court.
She was fragranced and clean, readied by countless servants whose roving hands accounted for every stray strand of hair and every mark on her face. She readjusted the diadem of beads and gold that encircled her head to hang midway down her back, pushed her shoulders back and tilted her chin, as if these external actions would strengthen her fretful disposition. The netting of gold she wore was covered by translucent cloth; she did not wish to fully take on the appearance her nemesis.
But it was the gait of Anck-su-namun that she imitated as she entered Ramses' court of gold. Confident and unsmiling, it was the pacing of a woman who exuded sensuality with half-lidded eyes. So long ago, she thought, when she spied her father's concubine striding haughtily into his chamber to meet Imhotep. What happened after that had traumatised her for years to come.
Song'khat jai'tu naaya chet'tha Nefertiri.
Come to me, my crown jewel Nefertiri.
He beckoned her with an imperious hand, his experienced eye trained on her athletic form and olive skin. Adorned with gold and translucent sheaths, the heavy swirl of rosewood, balsams, and majoram as her shadow, there stood his royal wife, the worshipped opulence of Egypt, if not in the boudoir, at least in public sphere of his rule.
She went to him, keeping her kohl-lined eyes cast downward in barely veiled her growing contempt of him. Seated on the throne of Seti I, a portrait of gold, greens, browns and blacks. Fearsome Medjai warriors with tattooed faces, chests and arms stood unmoving, hair cropped close and short, lined his walls, few other extraordinary concubines seated beneath him, luxuriating in the gentle breeze that large feathers in the hands of servants provided.
The prophet has already threatened us with death of our infants come sundown, he spat.
Fear's grip on her throat and midsection tightened swiftly, making her want to bowl over. But her impassioned mask did not drop and she stood blinking, raising her head slowly.
Be not afraid Nefertiri, the time has come for the gods to spar. Egypt is yet in its finest hour. That prophet who invokes the name of the Hebrew God knows not of what he speaks and of what he calls down on our mightier powers.
Ramses II left his throne then and descended, taking up her hands that were anointed with myrrh and spice. He too, was perfumed and kohl-lined, brown skin that was darkened by the sun glinted under firelight; wrinkles etched in his face had only appeared in the past few months.
My exquisite Queen, will you allow me in your bedchamber tonight? He spoke unhesitatingly, a voice that embodied all that was Egypt, calling her in essence a worthy mate of the rich and pregnant land Egypt herself.
The cycle of ripening has not been completed, my King.
She knew of the reproach that she would find in his eyes. What impudence it was to think that a pharaoh might conquer vast lands and build breath-taking statues but not conquer his own wife's wilful heart.
Head bowed, her body followed as she left the presence of Ramses, but not before he caught sight of the exchange of glances that took place between her and his bodyguard. She was only one who was allowed to do so, as she was told. No one left the presence of the King without his permission except for her. The great Ramses cuckolded by his chief queen, yet granting her many privileges that many other wives did not dare ask for. While his passion for her burned brightly, hers had flamed only briefly, withered into handfuls of ashes that now lay at his feet. Had he wished to recapture her it would have been all too easy; she would be his again, only in body but not in mind and spirit, he knew. Forcibly, once, she was bound in his bed, passive and unmoving, but not before he backhanded her into bodily submission. He knew of her lover, her devotion to him that surely surpassed that of whatever he might have hoped, and yet he still anticipated that she would tire of him one day and return to his bed.
Once, she was proud to have been his chosen chief queen.
Nefertiri gives me immortality with a kiss; I know now, that this is love, he had said all too long ago.
She thought she loved him, her younger brother who fought valiantly and had fathered two sons by the time he was 22. And she, the protector of Seti's bracelet, saw herself a fitting partner for the then-Viceroy and Prince Ramses.
But nothing had prepared her for the passion that was to overwhelm her when a man, a Medjai, her husband's bodyguard had carried her limp body into her chamber when she collapsed from exhaustion after the strenuous sword fight she had with Ramses' other obscure concubine - Enheduana-Rai, the swordswoman who spoke little, the aloof and most mysterious of all the concubines, with features that told of another origin.
She felt bereft of love in Ramses' presence; she had been impulsive in the days of her youth and thought she loved many men much, but in hindsight, she felt she knew nothing of love except that it was the constant object of her attention, one that possessed and blinded her, dashing her against the walls, forcing and stretching her, finally, exhausted in the filthy steps that the builders of the pyramids surely took.
She had barred him from her bed ever since their first child, a daughter, was stillborn. His second concubine had borne him instead the coveted male heir, strong and kicking, while his other wives had also given him strong sons. There was no need of her to provide any for him, although she knew he wished it, and his possession of her, like the way he possessed his states, would be complete.
The love for him that existed no longer had found its place in another. Dreams of the regal queen and the king had now been improvised, showed her that her place was only to be found at the side of a certain Medjai, a forbidden place where she was free to explore her liaisons with him.
The essence of Ra finally touched her people again; she murmured whispers of thanksgiving unto the brilliance that they all took for granted, stretching out her hands in silent greeting to Ra, letting its rays smooth its fingers down her bare arms, imbuing her skin, reminding her spirit of its life-giving nature. Three days had she lain in terror, in pitch blackness and cold, warming herself in the arms of her forbidden lover, none of them comprehending the unrelenting pestilences that had been hailed upon them. With great tenderness she fingered the gold strands in the single plait of her lover, the man whom she esteemed far more than her royal husband, the man which whom she called husband in spirit, the man with whom she now knew would make an excellent father. Nefertiri inhaled the pleasure that came from fleeting moments with her Medjai protector, recognising herself as a woman who was simply satisfied by a man who loved her desperately as she did him.
But it was borrowed time, she knew that instinctively; it would not be long before Ramses' patience ran out for he wanted to possess his queen again, even if it meant a mere physical possession. Djosyn, her fair Medjai warrior-scribe, so precious to her with his brown-goldenish cropped hair and light eyes that sometimes resembled the twilight sky, sometimes the Theban dusk.
She remembered the night after he had carried to her chambers after the duel she had with Enheduana-Rai; he had told her that he was to keep strict watch over the hours of her repose, the amount of sustenance that she was to consume. She had laughed then, scoffed at him and told him proudly that no Medjai had any power over her; they were merely ineffective bodyguards of the helpless Seti, and now the worthless decorations of the omnipotent Ramses. Nefertiri, the protector of the Scorpion bracelet, was capable of defending herself and taking care of her own exhausted and broken body.
Quietly accepting her need for liberty, Djosyn had stood at the periphery of her personal chambers, watching her motions by the day and her slumber by the night. Many times she tossed in her sleep, tender words of regret spilling from her lips that meant only for the ears of her stillborn child. Djosyn heard; the warrior-scribe's heart had contorted in shared grief; he knew the pain of losing family; his only other trusted Medjai brother was Aretas, another warrior-scribe who also lacked the institution of the family.
She had awoken one night, eyes hollow and dry, requesting for Sekhti. It seemed fitting that the journey on the barge to the western shores of Egypt must be undertaken - they would weigh her heart against a feather in the Underworld, she had told him; and only there would she mate with delirium.
It was his panic that had driven him to counsel her frantically otherwise - his duty demanded that she was safe from harm; she was Ramses' opulence and pride. The commodity of a queen, she had spat in reply.
But truth be told, he did not know if his heart allowed him to release a woman whose beauty to him had grown infinitely. You would deny me delirium, Medjai, she had asked him scathingly. Nei, nei, he had urgently cried out. Let me alleviate your pain, beloved Queen; from tonight there will only be sweetness.
That night as Nefertiri slept, unresisting, with his body as her covering, wrapped in his gentleness she did not know Medjai possessed.
Life had not come back from Sekhti; it was regained in his arms. She turned now, and faced him.
I am afraid, Djosyn. You heard what the Pharaoh said about the coming deaths of infants.
His hands moved over her belly in a protective gesture. I am helpless against forces that are greater than us Nefertiri.
She glanced at the tattoo emblazoned on his forearms and the ones that were carved onto his chest. The Protectors of the ancients and of the eternal.
You know that what I now carry in me, we love it beyond measure, she told him in despair.
But what we have for now, is to be savoured with the most voracious of tongues, no?
Yes, yes, it is, Djosyn.
He hummed an olden tune then, far more ancient than any of the dynasties that Egypt boasted; he said he had learned the lores of the ancients, and in his fascination committed to memory all of their songs. And in their song that he sang in low tones, she found a comfort that erased the turmoil of the weeks.
Is my heart not softened by your love-longing for me?
My heart is glad beyond all measure.
I will not tear myself away,
My heart is glad beyond measure.
I rise up rejoicing in the morning,
Your nearness means to me health and strength.
My heart is glad beyond all measure.
