THE GOD'S WIFE by Lynn Voedisch Read Free Book Online Page B

automaton, an empty human being.
    #
    Neferet stood in a doorway overlooking the main square of Wast’s temple of Karnak. For as far as her eyes could see, people stood shoulder to shoulder, an ocean of tanned skin and white linen. Everyone had turned out for the Opet festival, when Amun came out for a sail — his effigy in a royal barque — down the mile and half to Luxor Temple.
    She tilted her head, feeling the full weight of her wig and feathered crown pressing on her scalp. The braids were wound with gold thread and her circlet was of the much-coveted electrum — gold fused with silver. Around her neck was an intricate pectoral of the god Hor-heb in his guise as a falcon. Around her shoulders over her linen sheath, she wore the leopard skin of a high priestess. She marveled at how she had adapted in one short week to the exalted rank of God’s Wife of Amun. Today was the feast of the god she served, and all was ready for a solemn and lavish ritual toting of the covered statue of Amun throughout the crowd. Then the priests placed the idol in the Great River for a sail northward. She knew she’d be the object of much curiosity. Mindful of Maya’s unfortunate fate, Neferet hired several thick bodyguards to escort her in the promenade to the city square.
    Out there, somewhere, stood her father, the Pharaoh Herakhty. Since her first blood, when she was sent to live in the harem — the women’s quarters — with all the other female royals, she had seen him perhaps five times. Never a showy, affectionate father, he had trouble even giving her a hug. But today, she would present herself next to him on the royal platform as God’s Wife of Amun, the most important woman in Kemet. Would he welcome her with a sparkle in his eye, as he so often did when she was a child? Or had she now become too powerful, a distant threat?
    No matter, the people were calling for her, so she pulled back from the cool shade of the arched doorway and nodded to her bodyguards. The procession would begin. She gathered up her ceremonial staff, slipped on her golden sandals and they moved forward to join the priests holding the litter that bore the icon of Amun, the god of mystery.
    Along the royal road, a roar went up as the first priests exited the temple door. Behind them reclined Amun in his boat, held aloft on the shoulders of the younger, stronger priests. Then came Neferet and the high priest, Nebhotep. The crowd yelled and whooped as if it were one collective wave of positive energy. Every face tried to get closer to scrutinize the sacred Amun statue, but it was an impossible task. Amun had been draped in his entirety in rich cloth, embroidered with the finest thread. Not even a peephole remained for the gawkers. The younger priests launched the boat in the water and began to pull the sacred vessel toward Luxor Temple. The rest of the temple retinue and Neferet would make the trip on foot along the mile of ram-headed sphinxes.
    The crowd threw flowers to Neferet. She caught a few blue lotus blossoms and held them to her chest, waving with her staff to the well-wishers. She drank in faces in the crowd: exuberant, agape, laughing, young and ancient. Then two eyes broke Neferet out of her delirious dream. Zayem. She tried to look away, but Zayem was street-side with the privileged few who enjoyed the best view of the parade.
    He took a step forward and moved in step with the procession, right behind Neferet. No one stopped him, for he was Meryt’s son, Neferet’s half-brother from Meryt’s previous marriage. As the royal stepson, he had as much place in the ceremony as anyone in the kingdom.
    “You’re looking lovely, sister,” came the voice just over her shoulder. He leaned much too close to her, but she could hardly shake him off.
    “I should have expected to see you here. What favors will you ask my father this time?”
    She still remembered their childhood days in the priests’ school. Zayem, always taking, never sharing, bullying