The Double Crown: Secret Writings of the Female Pharaoh by Marié Heese

with green malachite. There would be time enough for that later, she said. Yet she had tied a wax perfume cone on top of my head just like the other ladies had and I felt very grown-up. During the course of the evening it melted gradually, keeping me cool and scented with myrrh.
    It was hot and noisy in the dining hall. I was given a gilded, richly decorated chair to sit on, just like the rest of the adults and their guests, a deputation from Syria who had brought tribute and gifts and all manner of things to barter.
    The dinner went on and on. Female servants kept bringing more dishes piled high with delicacies, piping hot from the kitchen, where (I knew because I loved to go there) the chief cook sweated and shouted and swore and threw things at his minions. At the tables, though, all was decorous. I enjoyed the tender veal and the freshly baked wheat cakes, dripping with honey, and I had a slice of sweet melon afterwards. Naturally the adults ate far more – joints of roast beef studded with garlic, fat roasted ducks stuffed with herbs, rich goose livers pounded to a paste, steamed green beans, lentils and carrots, fig puree, cheese and dates. And of course, plenty of wine that had been cooled in earthenware jars. How could people eat and drink so much, I wondered.
    I remember all these things so clearly because it was the first time, but also and mainly because of the blind bard. He was a member of a group of musicians, most of whom were girls; they played on double pipes and lutes and shook tambourines; the smallest rhythmically thumped a drum and several were expert at clicking the menat. But the bard, whose bald head shone in the lamplight like polished cedarwood and whose eyes gleamed milky white like pearls, played on a small portable harp and his music could have charmed the dead out of their tombs.
    His first song was merry to begin with, ending, however, on a plaintive note. His fingers on the strings were gnarled, but the sound was like water over rocks, like the wind in the trees.
“ Weave chains of blooms to give to your beloved,
Rejoice, rejoice in the days of youth.
Be happy, breathe in sweet scents.
Keep your loved one ever near,
Do not stop the music,
Do not stop the dance,
Bid farewell to all care!
Pick delights like flowers in the fields.
For soon, too soon the time will come
When to that land of silence
You and your love will both be gone.”
    The bearded Syrians in their gaudy robes were becoming very merry and did not take kindly to the sad, haunting quality of the last lines. “Give us a song of great deeds,” their leader shouted, banging on the table with his fist.
    “Aye,” chorused his fellows, who had already looked deep into the wine jar. “A song of great deeds!”
    The blind bard inclined his head, swept his knotted fingers deftly across the singing strings, and said, in his deep voice: “I sing The Song of the Godlike Ruler .”
    The rowdy Syrians cheered. Soon the power of his music had charmed them into stillness, and they listened even as I did.
“Hearken to the Song of the Godlike Ruler.
His Majesty came forth as the Avenger.
For the enemies of Ma’at were many
And the Black Land suffered, aye it suffered much.
His Majesty came forth as the Destroyer.
He smote the adversaries of righteousness,
He washed in their blood,
He bathed in their gore.
He cut off their heads like ducks.”
    This was far more to the taste of the Syrians, who cheered and then settled down again.
“His Majesty drove back the fiends of Seth.
He triumphed over all the foul fiends.
Aye, he was victorious over his foes.
He fixed his southern boundary-stone,
He fixed his northern one like heaven,
He governed unto the eastern deserts.”
    Now the rest of the musicians joined in, in a swelling chorus.
“His Majesty came forth as Atum.
He crushed iniquity.
He repaired what he had found ruined.
He restored the boundaries of the towns.
He rebuilt the temples of the gods.
His Majesty restored Ma’at,
And all the