E-Book, Englisch, 194 Seiten
ISBN: 978-1-5439-4985-8
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
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PROLOGUE I Senmut, Greatest of the Great, Master of All People, Chief of the Whole Land, Councilor of the Right Hand, Steward of the God’s Wife, Steward of the King’s Daughter, Wearer of the Royal Seal, Master of the Palace, Prophet of Amun, Steward of the Estates of Amun, Overseer of the Works of Amun; I Senmut the wise and Senmut the fool put these words to papyrus in hopes that they may shed light on the truth my enemies have sought to obliterate. May whosoever find these words share them so that the ages may know the story of Senmut and Hatshepsut, Maatkare, king of Upper and Lower Egypt. I had spent fifteen years in exile. I found refuge in Gebal,1 a great sea port, but there came a time I began to feel the mortality in my bones, and my stomach and brain began to play malicious tricks on me. An Egyptian cannot die in a land where the dead are buried underground and covered with dirt, or where they are cremated and their ashes sealed in an urn. One must die in the land of his forefathers where he can be properly prepared for his afterlife in the Field of Reeds. Despite the danger, I boarded a trading ship bound for Memphis in the land where I had attained greatness. There is nothing stronger than the lure of home. It is as though the gods are using an invisible force to pull you back into the world from which your forefathers sprang. I have smelled the cedars of Gebal and the fragrant flowers of Punt and I was intoxicated, but even the basest odors emanating from the shores along the Nile are far more alluring. It is the aroma of home. When you have been far away, a moment never passes when you don’t long for the those smells and the relentless heat of the desert sun to bake your skin. You ache to dip your ankles in the cooling waters of the sacred river. You thirst to hear the names of the gods from whom you have sprung intoned once more. As soon as we reached the Nile delta, I knew I was home. At my first view of the river I felt renewed as if my youth had returned. The mingled odors of river mud, of human traffic, wildlife excrement and decay roused in me the life that had been dormant for so long. The moment we docked at Memphis, I felt the urge to run down to the shore and leap into the welcoming waters as I once did as a boy. The legs would not obey the mind. I staggered to the water’s edge and waded in up to my knees. If I had hoped the river would heal me of the afflictions of old age, I was sorely disappointed, but they did soothe my anxiety. Even though I was still a long way from Thebes, I sensed my enemies lurking all about me. I had grown a beard that had turned white and my hair and attire were in the style of the seafarers from Gebal. It was unlikely I would be recognized. Still, I couldn’t help but feel the eyes of my enemies staring at me wherever I went. After spending the night in Memphis, I contracted a crusty ferryman named Bau, and offered him a handful of jewels to take me up river as far as he could. It was more than his usual fare, so he was happy to make a half day’s journey which would allow him to return home by evening. Bau’s skin had turned to coarse leather from his exposure to the sun and the river. He was a friendly sort who shouted greetings and joked with other boatmen who shared the river. It was exhilarating to be in an open boat. I relished the music of the Nile, the gentle sound of the current as it meandered toward the sea, the happy chirping of small birds and the honking of geese. Along the shore some peasants were harvesting their crops while others were fashioning bricks from mud and straw. Their voices carried across the water. From time to time a giant ibis would glide above the water before us, accompanied by the song of a fisherman pulling up his nets. All along the river I spied something familiar, a landmark I recognized, a cluster of huts or a herd of cattle, a peasant woman washing her linen in the river, always something to stir my memory. Suddenly in an old man’s brain the images of childhood reappear. The first spasms of love are rekindled. Every moment of your life, great or mundane, passes before you and around every bend of the river the sights become more familiar. Soon the Nile will flood the land, penetrating deep into the soil, enriching it, and yes, ennobling it. When the water recedes the farmers will plant their seeds into the fertile mud. Soon green sprouts will line the shore and blossom into grains and vegetables and fruits that will grace the tables of peasant and merchant and king alike. All will be good in the land. “I’ve been gone many years,” I told Bau. “I’ve heard little of my homeland. What news?” “I only know what I hear, Sir, but there is maat2 in the land. The king is great and has conquered many lands and brought home great treasures. “I’ve heard that much,” I said. He announced proudly, “My son was conscripted for duty and followed the king into battle.” “I hope he survived.” “Indeed he has, Sir, and prospers. He has his own boat now.” Little Thutmose had grown up and asserted his power. The bratty child had turned conqueror. This much I knew from news that had reached Gelba. “And Hatshepsut, the great King Maatkare, what became of her?” “I’m old enough to remember, Master, but no one speaks of her now. The rightful king is on the throne. I suppose she must be dead by now.” “And Senmut?” “Who Master?” “Senmut, the Greatest of the Great.” I took a certain pride in pronouncing my own name and title, but was disturbed by the confused look on the ferryman’s face. “I do not know that name, Sir.” “It’s unimportant,” I replied. “I was merely remembering a name from long ago.” I leaned against the bow and fell asleep with the warm sun caressing my face. We stopped at Lahun in hopes that Bau could find a passenger to take back to Memphis. He introduced me to a ferryman named Nahu who agreed to take me as far as Oau, which would be my last stop before I reached Thebes. He was a kindly man of advanced age, who was generous enough to offer me food and lodging in his humble hut. Sharing beer and bread and a fish soup his wife had prepared for us, we talked well into the night. I asked him the same questions I had asked his fellow ferry man. “Senmut the traitor,” he said when I mentioned my name. “Traitor?” “From what I hear, the king had his head dashed against the rocks and his corpse fed to the crocodiles.” “An ignoble end for one who rose so high,” I replied. “They say,” said Nahu, relishing the opportunity to gossip, “that he was a mere commoner who was born to serve, but took more than he gave and fancied himself higher than the gods themselves. Digested in the belly of a crocodile, he’ll never reside in the Field of Reeds.” I nodded sleepily, “So he got what he deserved.” “Indeed,” replied Nahu with some satisfaction. “And his mistress, the king?” “Dead and buried my lord, but she never was the king.” “Never?” “Thutmose was the true king.” Nahu woke me early in the morning. I roused myself drowsily and joined him before the fire for a meager breakfast of stale bread and dried fish. There was a slight chill in the air as we trudged down to the docks carrying the few belongings I had brought. As we made our way up the river, we came to an ancient temple which faced toward the east so that the morning sun would cast its light on this tribute to a god. Already the building had been abandoned and was giving way to decay. Before long it would crumble and turn to dust. I could not abide the thought of that happening and turned away from the sight of it to view something eternal, the river that was flowing against the progress of the boat. At Oau, I bid my new friend goodbye, and made my way into the town. Oau was a small village built above the flood line. There was a cluster of brick houses, a main street where tradesmen sold their wares, beer houses and brothels in abundance, and a temple of Isis. It reminded me so much of the town I grew up in that I began to weep. After having a meal and drink in a beerhouse, I managed to convince the proprietor with a few trinkets to allow me to sleep in his storeroom. One more leg in my journey remained. The ferryman who would take me to Thebes did not seem to want to engage in conversation. His name was Sinuhe, the same name as the hero of the epic about an exile returning home just as I was. This Sinuhe loved to make coarse insults to passing boatmen who would return his vulgarity with their own vulgar retorts. When he was alone on the river he would amuse himself by singing. One of the songs he sang was the very same my mother used to sing to me. His voice was hoarse and out of tune, but it still brought tears to my eyes. As we neared Thebes, I caught a glimpse of Dsejer-Dsejeru in the distance; my work, my temple and tomb, my tribute to the king. It was starkly beautiful, set against the cliffs that were transfigured to gold by the afternoon sun. I had almost forgotten that it was I and not some god who had transformed the desert so. When I beheld its beauty once more and realized I would never set eyes on it again, the tears flowed once more. Soon it disappeared from view....
