The Hippopotamus Marsh Read Online Free PDF Page A

under her sensuous flesh. No luxury would ever taint her. The wealth of a Kingdom could be hers and she would remain inviolate.
    And how splendid she would look, he thought as his mouth sought her own, with a wig of golden plaits, the vulture feathers of Mut in gold and lapis lazuli crowning her, her breasts covered in pectorals of jasper and gold! These are not wise thoughts, not sensible, he told himself. Apepa’s Chief Wife wears the Queen’s crown. Desolation swept over him and he groaned and buried his face in his wife’s tumbled hair.
    He slept badly and rose a little before dawn, performing his ablutions carefully before ordering a litter to take him to the temple for the morning’s rites. He was carried along the path by the river and he left the curtains open, enjoying the smell of the morning air, briefly moist and laden with the scent of earth and the greenness of spring. The river was calm and grey, flowing noiselessly. Birds and small unseen animals made the rushes tremble. The light was pale and limpid, but as his bearers turned away from the river, passing the temple watersteps, the sun lifted above the eastern horizon, shimmering gold, and by the time he alighted and began to walk towards the pylon he could feel its warmth on his face.
    The outer court was quiet. A pair of dancers wrapped in linen and talking together in low tones paused and turned to bow to him and he smiled at them, passing into the half-light of the inner court. The High Priest and an acolyte came to greet him through the shafts of new light pouring down from the clerestory windows. Seqenenra sat. The acolyte removed his sandals and washed his feet, then Prince and priest approached the door to the sanctuary beyond. Behind them there came a scuffling and whispering interspersed with the tinkle of the systra as the singers prepared to welcome the god to another day. Seqenenra knelt before the door, prostrated himself, then rose and broke the clay seal. The High Priest pulled away the cord and swung open the door. Immediately the singers burst into song. The systra in their hands beat time to the words of praise.
    Seqenenra and the priest entered the sanctuary. It was dark and stuffy. The lamps left burning beside the great golden figure of Amun had almost gone out. Averting his eyes the priest replenished them, charged the tall copper censers to each side of the figure, and began to remove the wilted flowers and stale food from the night before. Out by the doors, priests were placing fresh food, wine and flowers together with new linen reverentially on the floor. The singing ceased. The music of finger cymbals and drums began and Seqenenra could hear the glide and shuffle of the dancers’ feet as they took the place of the singers, swaying and bending for Amun’s entertainment while his morning ablutions were performed.
    Seqenenra began his duties, taking the gossamer-fine, starched linen from the hands of the High Priest, the food,the scented water for the washing, his own hands moving gently over the massive golden limbs of the god, his voice carrying beyond the small sanctuary as he said the accompanying prayers. This was his god, the totem of his family, his town, the one who had once raised his ancestors to supreme power in Egypt. He deserved the utmost respect.
    When Amun had been washed, clad in fresh linen, and offered the food and wine, the dancers retired. The door was shut. Seqenenra stood looking up into the benignly smiling face and tall golden plumes while the High Priest began the prayers for the day. “O power that quickened the waters of chaos, breathe life into thy son Seqenenra. O power whose eyes brought light to the earth, bring understanding to thy son Seqenenra. O Divine Goose from whose mighty Egg all things were created, spring forth in abundance over thy city of Weset …”
    Seqenenra listened, anguish in his heart. What will I dictate to Apepa, Amun, my Lord? he thought dismally. To what dark end are we