Out of the Black Land by Kerry Greenwood

Author:Kerry Greenwood
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Historical, General
ISBN: 9781615954391
Publisher: Poisoned Pen Press
Published: 2013-02-05T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

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That strange possession, that pouring into the human vessel of the spirit of the gods, had never happened to me before, though I recognised it from the description of a priestess of Isis who had lain down with Osiris-priest one night of Tybi and had risen forever changed.

It was so strong that it felt as though Ptah-hotep had been branded on my body. For days after that Isis and Osiris mating I could feel the phallus inside me, the hip bones butting the inside of my thighs, the sense that I was inside him and he was inside me. After much thought I concluded that it had been the gods, seeking a place where they could meet and mate, and my lover Ptah-hotep and I had been willing receptacles for their divine lust. I was honoured, though bruised.

The day of the sed festival dawned fresh and clear. I clothed myself in a long robe, hoping to escape the notice of the others, though I was wasting my effort. They all knew. Widow-Queen Tiye told me solemnly not to watch the worship of Aten from the window this morning, as it was patent that I was not ritually clean. I was not. But I felt exalted, raised high, pure. I wondered if my lord felt the same.

I could see him, standing by the King Akhnaten, outwardly collected and calm as he always was; inwardly worried about the festival, the organisation, the weather—would a sandstorm blow today of all days when everyone was required to be outside?

I came away from the window as ordered, but not before I knew that I had just seen into another human’s heart. I knew what Ptah-hotep was thinking. Not exactly as to this matter and that, but what he was worrying about.

This was new, and I did not know what to make of it.

Merope relayed the sight to me as I sat on the floor, nursing the mortally sick child of my sister Nefertiti, the little Princess Setepenre. As my dear Kritian talked, life gently left the little body and it slowly cooled. I had seen many babies die—some fathers do not even see a child under two years old, because in a bad season more than half of them will perish—but her little body was so light and her life had been so brief that I wept quietly as Merope told me of the festival.

‘The king is out in the courtyard, wearing a loincloth. Now he is surrendering his crown to your father, who is dressed in his leopard’s skin. He looks indescribable. He can hardly move under the weight of his decorations. Now the king is running, it’s a pity you can’t see this,’ she broke off to laugh. ‘He’s come to the eastern corner and bowed to it and is being splashed with water. Now he is running to the west, and there is a priest with a torch for fire. Now to the north, for earth; and now the south, for air; but he’s slowing down—will he make it? Yes, he’s back before Father Ay.

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