Scroll of Saqqara(14)
The canal had widened into a vast pool and their craft was negotiating through a port jammed with vessels of every size and description being loaded and unloaded, while sailors gathered on the quays to gamble and small boys called to one another or dove into the churning water for the trinkets the idle would throw.
But soon the mêlée began to fade. Amun-is-Lord slowed as it approached the lake of the Residence, Pharaoh’s private domain, and the soldiers guarding its entrance challenged Khaemwaset’s men. Then they were through the narrow space left by the vigilant, armed boats and were floating past the southern wall that solidly protected Ramses’ privacy and on, under the shade of more vibrant orchards, to the gleaming, slick marble watersteps against which Pharaoh’s barge, aglitter with gold and electrum, rocked. Three other craft were tied to the white-and-blue poles. Khaemwaset’s captain let out a string of commands, and Amun-is-Lord bumped discreetly into its place.
Nubnofret let out a sigh of relief. The noise of the city was a subdued background hum, and only the lyrical songs of birds disturbed the sacred peace. “I hope there are litters waiting for us,” she remarked, rising with her customary fluid grace, gathering her linens about her and bending out of the cabin. Hori and Khaemwaset followed. Already the two other boats were tethered and Khaemwaset’s guards had spread out on the watersteps and were standing at attention. At the top of the steps a small delegation waited, and as the family walked along the ramp that had been run out, the members went to the ground in prostration. Seti, Vizier of the South, a man of elegance and dignity, bowed low, the crisply pleated ends of his calf-length white kilt brushing the hot stone “Welcome once again to the House of Ramses Great in Victories, Highness,” he smiled. He was carrying his gold papyrus-topped Staff of Office. Gold bracelets tinkled on his wrists as he rose, and his carefully manicured, strong hands were alive with the glint of gold and carnelian. Khaemwaset met his steady brown eyes and smiled back. “It is good to see you again, Seti,” he replied, while Hori and Nubnofret were receiving renewed homage from the Vizier’s entourage of scribes, heralds and runners, and behind them all the ramp was withdrawn. “I trust all is well with the King of Kings?”
Seti inclined his black-ringleted head. “Your father is well, and eager to see you. Your suite has been swept and refurbished, Prince, and I am sure that you are tired after your journey.” He gestured, and with a flurry of activity three litters moved forward. “Pharaoh has set aside tomorrow morning for discussions with you in regard to the marriage contract, and he does not require you to be present this evening at dinner, although you are of course free to eat with him if you choose. If you do not choose, and if you are not too fatigued, he begs you to evaluate the tax estimates for the coming year that have just come in, and the percentages to be distributed to Amun and Set.”
Khaemwaset nodded, secretly irritated. His father had placed the bulk of the government in his hands. Why did he not simply let him get on with it and not keep trying to subtly nudge him toward certain emphases like a child being trained to acquire self-discipline? Khaemwaset signalled, his litter was lowered, and he swung himself into the silken cushions. “Very well,” he said as his bearers lifted him. “Send me Suty, Paser the High Priest of Amun, and Piay an hour after dinner. Do not bother with a scribe. I will use Penbuy. Greet my father and tell him I will dine alone tonight.” Curtly he gave a command to Ib, waiting quietly with the rest of his servants “The noon meal as soon as possible and prepare it yourself,” he said. “Then I will rest.” Seti and the rest of the crowd stepped away. The guards ringed the three litters, and Ramose walked ahead and began to call the warning, “The Great Prince Khaemwaset of Memphis approaches. Down on your faces!”
Khaemwaset sat back, trying to quell his annoyance at his father’s manipulations, his selfish desire to be back in his office in Memphis, his impatience with everything that separated him from his slowly growing academic preoccupations. I am turning into an irascible old man, he told himself, hearing the sounds of marching feet and the sudden harsh bark of a commander from beyond the north wall of the precinct, where the huge military barracks and training ground ran down to the Lake of the Residence. There was a time when the demands of the palace and temple were important to me, when I gladly put my duty to my father before all else, but now they are irksome and I wish only to be allowed to labour over my legacy to Egypt, my crypt for the holy Apis bulls and my larger duty of restoration, without interference from that wily old man. Why? He moved restlessly, seeing but not seeing the idle groups of white-clad courtiers in their transparent linens go down before his progress like wind-shaken boughs of blossom, dappled in shade from the clustering trees before Pharaoh’s mighty House. There was no answer to his private question, and it only served to intensify his nervous mood. The words “getting old” revolved sardonically in his mind.