Queen of the Heavens (2 page)

“I see that Tuya is up and about,” the overseer said.

“She seems quite healthy,” Mother replied.

“Everyone was worried about you, Tuya. Stay well.”

“I will,” I said as I skipped down the path behind Mother and Father.

As we approached the gate to the Temple of Ptah, a young man dressed in a loin cloth and shorn of hair from head to toe greeted us.

“May I be of assistance?” he inquired.

“We need to speak to someone about our daughter. She tells a strange story of encountering gods and goddesses and we need advice from a priest,” Father answered.

“You are a solider,” the young man observed.

“An officer of the Royal Guard.”

The young man’s posture straightened. My father’s duties apparently impressed him.

“I’m but a novice,” the young man said. “Wait here, and I’ll inquire about whether someone can meet with you.”

The novice disappeared through the temple gate. For a while we thought he had forgotten about us, but eventually he returned.

“The
Sem
Priest has agreed to see you,” the novice said. “It is he who has the authority to interpret messages from the divine.”

The young man escorted us through the gate into a rectangular courtyard where we were surrounded by walls covered with brightly colored paintings of gods and goddesses, of Pharaohs smiting enemies and leading grand processions, and of queens dressed in their finest raiment. Never had I seen such magnificent artistry. The novice led us through the courtyard to a passageway with columns adorned in breathtaking colors, and into a room where an old priest with a face as wrinkled as a date sat on a high-backed chair with feet carved in the form of lions’ paws. His long kilt stretched nearly to the floor, and he wore a leopard skin cloak to signify his stature. Frankincense burned in the corner of the room beneath a small statue of Ptah. The smell of frankincense came even from the walls. It must have been burned in this room each day for perhaps a thousand years.

“I’m told you have questions about your daughter,” the priest said to Father as we stood before him in a patch of sunlight that poured through an opening in the stone roof.

“Yes,” Father responded. “For three days Tuya lay in her bed in a death-like state. Yesterday she awoke with tales that seemed unbelievable to us, yet she swears they are true.”

“What were these tales?” the priest asked.

“She told us of meeting Sekhmet, Isis and Thoth, and other gods and goddesses.”

The priest raised his eyebrows, or what would have been his eyebrows, for like his head they were shaven, too.

“Is this so, Tuya?” the priest inquired.

“Yes,” I answered. “I was in a very beautiful place.”

“What did these gods and goddesses look like?”

“Sekhmet had the head of a lioness and Thoth the head of a bird with a long beak, like the ones by the riverbank.”

“An ibis?” the priest asked.

“I think that’s what they’re called.”

“What else?”

“There was another man with a beak, but not as long. He looked like one of the birds that eat the other birds.”

“Horus, perhaps, with the head of a falcon. What did Isis look like?”

“She was beautiful and very kind. She had long horns and a circle on her head.”

“A crown of antelope horns holding the sun disk.”

“A man with the head of a crocodile played with me.”

“Sobek. He helps women to bear children.”

“There was another man with the head of a dog. He had a long nose and pointy ears.”

“Not a dog but a jackal, Tuya,” the priest said. “This was Anubis. He presides over the embalming of the dead.” The priest looked at Father. “Do you have statues of these gods and goddesses in your home?”

“We do of Thoth and Isis and Sekhmet, but not the others.”

“A beautiful woman with a great feather on her head talked to me, too,” I added. “She said her name was Maat.”

“What else did she say?” the priest asked.

“She told me never to allow evil into my heart. She said that someday my heart would be weighed against her feather and that it must not weigh more or it would be eaten by a demon.”

Surprise registered on the old priest’s face. “Have you told Tuya of Osiris’ Judgment?” he asked my parents.

“Not I,” Father answered.

“Nor I,” Mother said.

“Have your friends or their mothers and fathers ever spoken to you about The Judgment?” the priest asked me.

“The Judgment? What’s that?”

The priest sat silently with his chin on his chest. After some moments, he raised his head and spoke. “These are more than the musings of a clever child. Tuya may have known about a few of the divine beings because of the statues in your home and visits with her young friends, but not of Maat and her role in The Judgment. Not at her age. How long did you say she lay as if in death?”

“For three days,” Father answered.

“Was she strong and alert when she awoke?”

“It was as if nothing had happened to her.”

“I believe your daughter’s
ba
left her body and traveled to the realm of the Neters,” the priest declared. “This is not unheard of. The souls of other people, some here at this temple, have done so as well but only after years of chanting, meditating and the casting of spells. Your daughter has been blessed.”

“What should we do?” Father asked.

“We will take Tuya into the temple and teach her our ways. Your daughter should learn of the Neters and devote her life to them.”

“You mean take her from our home?” Father inquired.

“Yes,” the priest answered.

“No!” I shouted, as I turned to Mother, terrified at the thought of being torn from my parents.

Mother held me tightly. “Don’t allow them to do this,” she beseeched Father. “Tuya is our only child.”

Father remained calm. “I agree with my wife. If we had other children, perhaps, but our daughter is our greatest treasure. We thank you for your offer but she’ll remain with us.”

“As you wish,” the priest said, “but Tuya is a special child who should be taught about the gods and goddesses and how best to serve them.”

“I’m not without means,” Father said. “I’ll see that this is done.”

“Good. I’ll send a woman from the temple to your house to teach your daughter about the Neters.”

“We’ll be honored to have her in our presence. I’ll send food to the temple in gratitude.”

“I sense that Tuya is very special, indeed,” the priest continued. “Find a scribe as well to teach her hieroglyphs so she might read the sacred texts. Isis, Anubis, Thoth, Horus and Maat are all present at The Judgment. The Neters invited Tuya into their realm for a reason. Don’t neglect your duty to them or to your daughter.”

“We will not. I promise you,” Father said. “Ruia and I will make certain our daughter learns of the gods.”

I calmed down quickly from the fright that I might be snatched from my parents, and soon began thinking of the future. I always prayed with great devotion, and I relished the idea of learning more about the Neters. The prospect of learning how to read and write excited me as well for few girls were ever taught to do so.

As we followed the novice back through the courtyard to the temple gate my heart opened and I was flooded with joy; the destiny which would make me different from other women was beginning to unfold.

II

Father and Mother wasted no time in keeping their word to the priest. Two days after our visit to the temple an old man came to our house.

“This is Pentu the scribe,” Mother said to me. “He will teach you how to read and write.”

The old man had but a few brown teeth left in him and hardly any hair. Age had twisted and contorted his body so severely that it caused me anguish just to look at him.

“Good morning,” I said, forcing myself to smile at this wretched creature. He scowled at me as if I were a petty annoyance, like a fly buzzing around his head.

“Pentu will come here every other day. You will obey him as you would me,” Mother said.

“Yes, Mother,” I replied, with hesitation, troubled by the thought of having to spend so much time with this frightful being.

“Come with me,” Pentu grumbled.

I followed him past the lotus pond in front of the house to a corner of the garden. He sat cross-legged on the ground against an acacia tree, which provided support for his aged back and protection from the sun.

“Sit as I do in front of me, and make certain your back is straight,” the scribe instructed.

I quickly complied. Pentu fumbled through a sack he had been carrying and pulled out two long wooden boxes. One of them he gave to me.

“This contains your reed brushes and ink. Cherish them, for they are as important to a scribe as a sword or spear is to a soldier.” He fumbled through the bag again and tossed before me three flat pieces of stone. “You will practice on these
ostraca
, which can be washed and used again. Perhaps someday you will be worthy enough to write on papyrus.”

“When will that be?” I asked, excited at the prospect of being so accomplished.

“Quiet,” the old scribe snapped. “You will speak only when I ask you questions. I taught your father. He was a good student who always listened, and I’m teaching you only as a favor to him. A girl learning how to read and write. I never heard of such nonsense.”

My first impulse was to run away from this dreadful man if only to spite him, but I knew Mother would punish me if I did. Besides, I wanted to learn what he had to teach me.
I’ll show him,
I said to myself.
I’ll be better at reading and writing than any of the boys he ever taught, even better than Father.

“Hold the reed brush like this, straight up and down, with all five fingers,” Pentu ordered.

I followed the old scribe’s instruction, or at least I thought I did.

“No, no! Not like that,” he shouted. “Don’t bend your wrist. That’s better. Now hand me a stone.”

I returned to Pentu the largest of the three
ostraca
. He dipped his brush into the ink in his writing box and drew a half circle. “This is for bread,” he said. Next to it he drew a jagged line. “This means water.” Beside that he drew what looked like a twisted piece of rope. “This is for flax from which we make our linen.” He handed the
ostraca
back to me. “Now copy these as I watch.”

I tried to do so diligently on another stone, but my writing barely approximated that of the scribe’s.

“You must hold the brush straight up and down like I told you to, Tuya, and stop slouching,” Pentu commanded. “Scribes who are careless in the way they sit and the way they hold the brush are careless in the way they write.”

I made the adjustments and gradually my hieroglyphs improved.

Perhaps the old scribe does know something,
I had to admit.

Pentu watched my every move, correcting even the slightest flaw in my form. Finally, after the sun disk had moved halfway across the sky and my hand ached so I could barely hold the brush, he allowed me to stop.

“Practice until I return in two days,” Pentu ordered as he closed his scribe’s box and returned it to his sack. “Hundreds of hieroglyphs have different meanings, and different sounds that combine to make our words. Only people who are diligent can learn them and I won’t waste my time with you if you aren’t diligent,” he said as he trundled off.

What a mean man
, I said to myself. I thought again about spiting him, this time by throwing my writing tools into the lotus pond, then going to the riverbank to play leapfrog and catch the ball with my friends, but I did not.
No. I’ll practice instead and show the old scribe I’m worthy of the knowledge of how to read and write.

For the rest of the day, taking time only to eat and to rest my hand, I sat under the acacia tree practicing my first lesson on hieroglyphs. The next morning I practiced again in the garden until Mother walked over to me, accompanied by a woman.

“This is Maya,” she said. “She is from the temple. The
Sem
Priest sent her. She will teach you of the Neters on the days Pentu isn’t here.”

Maya was taller than Mother and a bit younger, with skin the color of ripened wheat. She wore a pleated black wig, black eye paint, a white skirt and shawl, and a beaded necklace that reached the top of her bare breasts. She was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen, even more beautiful than Mother.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Good morning, Tuya,” she replied, smiling at me.

I was greatly relieved to see Maya smile. While I could endure the nastiness of the scribe every other day I did not want both my teachers to always be angry at me. After Mother left, Maya and I sat down on a stone bench in the shade of a great yew tree beside the lotus pond.

“Are you a priestess?” I asked.

“No. I’m a member of the
khenerit
,” she answered. “We live at the temple. We help honor the Neters by dancing, chanting and playing instruments for them.”

“Is it fun?”

Maya smiled again. “It is a delight. The
Sem
Priest tells me you have met some of the Neters.

“Yes. Mother thought I was dying but I was really in a beautiful place. She was there,” I said as I pointed to a stone amulet attached to Maya’s necklace.

“You mean Sekhmet, the lion goddess?”

“Yes. She was very kind to me, but she looks like she can be very mean.”

“No, Tuya, Sekhmet isn’t mean for she never acts with malice or without reason. She can be kind, as she was to you, but she can be ferocious to others. This is the nature of Sekhmet.”

“Why do you wear her on your neck?”

“She’s the consort of Ptah, and I’m from the Temple of Ptah. You see that I wear his amulet as well.”

“Does Sekhmet eat people?”

“She’s been known to do so. At a time long past, humans revolted against the gods, so the sun god Ra unleashed Sekhmet and she devoured every human she saw.”

“That’s scary,” I said.

“I told you Sekhmet could be ferocious. Soon Ra realized that if not stopped Sekhmet would destroy everyone in the earthly realm, so he concocted a potion of red ochre and beer to resemble blood and had it spread in Sekhmet’s path. She lapped up the potion, became intoxicated and stopped her killing as she entered a realm of bliss.”