King Maker

[niankhsekhmet]

King Maker
Author: Tjeti Priest

King Maker. Father of Kings. I serve Imen-Re, He who breathes life into lifelessness. It was my predecessor in the Temple, PaTeri, that blessed Nebertjer, AUS, and helped to place the double crown upon his evil thinking head. Did PaTeri feel anything that day? Did his hands shake or did he feel somehow empty? Was there a portent he might have heeded? How could Our Father Imen have abandoned Kemet that day and deliver us up into the hands of such a serpent? First Prophet PaTeri was a good man, like a grandfather to me when I was a young and troubled boy. I have never forgotten his many acts of kindness or the gentle strength with which he ruled Waset. Had he had no premonition of the dry and destroying winds of Set blowing through Kemet when Nebertjer was ordained our King? I sit in a chair with the heads of leopards carved into the ebon arms and my sandaled feet sit flat upon the cool tiles of my office floor, tiles ornate with lotus bloom and papyrus stem and in places little cats stalk ducks. Papyri lay scattered before me and a small ache lies behind my tired eyes. I have news of a golden statue of Nebertjer being stolen from it's shrine. This an offense, as First Prophet of Imen, I cannot completely ignore, though it more correctly falls in within the jurisdiction of the sepat of the city and its Chief of Police. Perhaps it would be a good occasion to add to the number of Ipet-isut temple guards and the local militia? After all, a crime of that magnitude... I smile to myself grimly. I keep Upper Kemet safe and prosperous by keeping the agents of the King out of our borders. To do that I have to maintain a careful balance of compliance to law and rigorous laws of my own that interfere, whenever possible, with the movements of the King's troops or officials - or those of that slimey servant of Apep, the Vizier Kaptah, may he rot on a stake one day. It creates a certain tension. But still my heart is not resigned to outright treason or to civil war. I cannot say the same for some of the hereditary sepats further north. Their more open insurrection is a buffer between myself and Nebertjer. I try to distract myself, as I often do these days, with my plans for eternity. My tomb is being dug on the West Bank, and I have the plans before me - as well as some sketches from the artisans for the scenes to be depicted on the walls. I had searched far in wide in these troubled times for artists of quality, those that could manage the classical cool lines of our ancient art. I want something, in my vanity, that will be on a footing with the greatest monuments of Amenhotep III or Ramesses II. Not in terms of size obviously - I am no King. And here I sigh, brought back around to the dilemma that plagues me. For what Kemet needed was a King, a real King who would once again bring unity to the Valley of the Hap and prosperity to our people. Even now there were rumors that the Romans coveted our sovereignty and were about to land on our shores, their fearsome barbaric Gaius Julius Caesar might even be in Alexandria already and only a decadent Greek satrap to meet him. More disturbing still was the possibility of famine. The news from the nilometers was not good so far this innundation. Perhaps my honor is just cowardice? Should I hesitate perhaps all will be lost, and why? Because I will not act? But what of Ma'at? My conscience troubles me, and until I resolve these matters, until I feel strong in the will of my Father, I will do no more than hold Upper Egypt in its ancient Majesty. I hold out my hands over the table and turn them, examining them with a strangely objective eye. They are large hands but well made, not clumsy or thick and brutish. Square palms and long strong fingers with round fingertips and an open and expansive span. As I sit, thus absorbed, a soft touch at my shoulders and then small slight hands ran stroking down my biceps to my forearms and then covering my hands. Just tiny hands with delicate pointed fingers, so nimble and capable, so giving of pleasure. I feel her breath upon my neck and the softness of her tender lips. "Hemet nefer*." *beautiful wife

Comments

[webcrowmancer.livejournal.com]

yesssss, nice introspection, actually!!!! Also, as usual, like the art of their civilization, although it may appear at first to be regal and completely bare and grand, the color can be found (often worn away over these past 1000s of years to our eyes) in the lushness of the surrounds.

you make me want to travel to Egypt, and it is a heartsick homesickness, in a way. (never been there, but you're conjuring that emotional response in me)