by Jerry Dubs
“Leave us, brother,” Sabef said softly, but he kept his bow drawn, the arrow pointed at his fellow Nubian.
From behind the bend, a voice called for Taharqa. He kept his eyes on Djoser and Sabef and then slowly he turned his shoulders, moving his aim from Sabef to Djoser.
“I am sorry,” Taharqa said. “The general sent us.”
He loosed an arrow.
The Wisdom of Thoth
Hetephernebti was frustrated.
More than a month had passed since Djoser had left Waset with the king’s army, marching across the desert to a strange land. He told her that after dragging the ships across the desert he would board one of the flat-bottom boats to cross the Great Green. Once across the narrow sea he would climb jagged red mountains to the mines where the beautiful turquoise gems were taken from the earth.
While she stayed home.
As she waited for sleep each night, she imagined Djoser in an underground chamber where torch light reflected from glimmering green gems. She pictured her brother walking through the watery light and reaching up to pluck sparkling jewels from the red stone. And outside the mine, she envisioned towering, rocky mountains with dramatic valleys and above them fierce hawks circling and shrieking while high above them all Re sailed majestically across the sky.
She had tried to discover everything she could about the mysterious Terraces of Turquoise, but her mother knew nothing about the land and there were few other people to ask because the palace was nearly deserted. Everyone connected to the army was away and many of the scribes and palace guards left during the time of the flood to visit their families.
It was frustrating; she knew that there had to be someone who knew something about the Terraces of Turquoise, but she didn’t know who. What she wanted was to talk to someone who had been there, to share, even remotely, the adventures her brother was having.
But Ipwet, the young girl who served her, had never even visited another village or embarked on the great River Iteru. Ipwet viewed a trip to the village market as an exotic adventure.
Although Menathap, Hetephernebti’s mother, knew everything about the palace and the gardens and the weavers and the linen shops, she had no interest beyond that.
Wakare the ancient, stoop-shouldered scribe who guarded admittance to Nebka’s offices, treated her as a child who should be off playing with a pet ferret or learning how to cook. But he was better than Kanakht, her father’s chamberlain, who didn’t even talk to her. Every time she saw him he was clutching a rolled papyrus in his hand and stalking hurriedly through the hallways. He didn’t nod at her when she greeted him; she was invisible to him.
And she never caught more than a distant glimpse of her half-brother Nebka.
Which was another frustration.
She was determined to learn more about what Nebka did, but every time she tried to visit her half brother Wakare turned her away.
“Nebka is too busy,” he said in his voice like crackling papyrus.
“Nebka can’t be bothered now, little bird,” he said, shaking his tight, mummified face.
“Nebka is meeting with messengers from the delta,” he croaked, dust falling from his scaly head.
“Nebka is visiting the granaries,” he said, holding up a skeletal hand to shoo her away.
Each time Wakare turned her away, Hetephernebti took the scrap of information he divulged when making excuses and she tried to weave those small clues into some kind of understanding. She deduced that Nebka was involved in planning how much grain should be stored and that he oversaw the tax collectors. She thought he was responsible for finding the salt and wheat and oils to pay the scribes and messengers and even the soldiers.
But how he did these things remained unclear except that it involved talking to many people and sending many messages.
It was all very frustrating.
And, she had failed the onion test again; her body was still not open to bearing children. Although she was disappointed, she had begun to admit to herself that part of her was relieved.
She loved her mother and, until recently Hetephernebti had been sure that she wanted the life her mother lived. She would be queen of the Two Lands and go to banquets and wear beautiful robes. She would walk her gardens and travel Iteru in her own gold-painted barge. She would have children, giving birth to the future ruler of the Two Lands.
But left alone with her thoughts this past month, Hetephernebti had begun to realize that she wanted a different life.
Menhatap knew which foods the king enjoyed, she knew which musicians entertained him best. She knew how to dress for banquets or visits to the temples. The turn of her wrist, the angle at which she held her head, the widening of her eyes, the upturn of her smile, every expression and movement was graceful, controlled and regal.
In the mornings in the garden with Ipwet, Hetephernebti practiced moving like her mother. She taught herself how to tilt her head as Menhatap did, how to raise a single eyebrow, how to gracefully extend her hand, how to carefully laugh, revealing just a flash of teeth.
She didn’t do everything well, but she knew that with practice she would be better.
But it was a role, she would be training herself to act, not to live.
And Hetephernebti was sure that there was a difference.
She had seen a harpist lose herself within the music she was playing. Just last week at the marketplace she had watched a man and a woman argue over the price of a goose, each of them focused entirely on that moment, oblivious to the people around them. Even Kanakht, hurrying through the hallways lost in thought, was being Kanakht, not just playing the part of chamberlain.
But Hetephernebti always felt disconnected, always conscious of her thoughts and her actions. The only time she lost herself, realizing it only later when she emerged from within, was when she thought about the gods.
The only light in the gloom that had settled over her was when Waja-Hur, the ancient priest of Thoth had arrived in Waset a week ago to visit his old friend Kanakht.
After Hetephernebti had watched the bent old priest enter Kanakht’s chambers, she had paced the hallway outside determined to intercept the man who was regarded as the wisest and most knowledgeable person in all of the Two Lands.
He would be able to tell her about the Terrace of Turquoise. He would be able to explain to her what Nebka did. He would even be able to tell her what she should do. After all, everyone said that Waja-Hur was not just a priest of Thoth, but that the god spoke through him.
Sighing as she saw servants take food into the chamber, Hetephernebti decided to wait outside in the garden. Sitting in her favorite spot by a tall willow tree and the garden’s pond, she fell into a reverie, thinking about Djoser’s adventures, her own future and wondering what part the gods played in all of this.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the rich voice of Waja-Hur. “My, my, Hetephernebti, you have become a woman.”
Gray stubble showed through his scalp and he walked slowly, leaning on a sturdy stick, its cap carved into the shape of a baboon’s head, but his eyes were full of life and his voice, a baritone renowned for the spell it cast over the throngs who came to the celebrations he conducted, was warm and comforting.
Hetephernebti stood and bowed to the priest. “Waja-Hur, I am so happy to see you.”
He smiled and sat on the stone bench. As she sat beside him, he took her hand.
“You were lost in thought, my Princess. I seldom see such concentration.” He looked into her eyes and added, “and such melancholy.”
Hetephernebti smiled and shook her head. “Not melancholy, dear Waja-Hur. Confusion.”
“Ah,” he said. “A young, beautiful woman who is confused. About?”
She shrugged. “Everything.”
When Waja-Hur didn’t respond, she surprised herself by speaking her heart instead of her thoughts. “I want to please my mother.” He nodded, a kind smile on his face.
“I want to marry and have children.”
Still
he waited, his hand warm on hers.
Suddenly Hetephernebti felt tears in her eyes. “But I am afraid, Waja-Hur. I’m afraid to have children. And I’m afraid that I won’t be a good mother.” Her voice cracked as she bowed her head and said, “I don’t think the gods want me to be a mother. I think they want me to serve them in their temples, not on the birthing blocks. But I don’t know if what I think is real or just the fears of a child or simply a longing born of my dreams.”
She pulled her hand away from him and wiped her tears, embarrassed at revealing herself and afraid that she had offended him.
“Sometimes the gods themselves don’t know what they want,” Waja-Hur whispered to her. “Or what is best.”
They shared a moment of silence and then the priest said, “Long ago, Hetephernebti, Re forbade Nut from having children. Do you know this story?”
Hetephernebti did, but she wanted to hear it from his mouth, so she shook her head.
Waja-Hur smiled to himself and said, “You are too polite to say that you know the story, but I’ll tell you anyway, little bird.” He raised a worn hand and gently patted her shoulder.
“Re, the most powerful of the gods, the life of us all, was a jealous god, Hetephernebti. He didn’t want to share his power,” Waja-Hur raised a hand to wave at the trees and earth and sky. “He didn’t want to share any of this. So when he heard that the sky goddess was pregnant he cursed her and said that she could not have children. Not today, nor tomorrow, nor any day of the year.”
Waja-Hur shifted on the bench and looked beyond the garden. Turning his head to look at Hetephernebti, he said, “I saw your mother this morning. Although she is as beautiful as ever, her face was pale and I thought her stomach was a little swollen. I think she is with child.”
A thrill of happiness ran through Hetephernebti. There was no greater joy for a woman than to find herself filling with another life. Then a murmur of guilt intruded. The news of her mother’s pregnancy somehow confirmed her own suspicion — she did not want to have a child.
What is wrong with me, she thought. She looked up at Waja-Hur and saw that the old man was studying her, his eyebrows drawn together and his lips pursed in question.
But he only smiled and, returning to his story, he said, “Nut was distraught. Remember this was long, long ago, Hetephernebti. There were twelve months, as there are now. And each month had thirty days, as they do now. Nut was forbidden from giving birth on any of those three hundred and sixty days. Oh, she wept, she tore her gown, she cried to Geb and she pleaded with Re.
“But the gods, they are stubborn, Hetephernebti. Re ignored her pleas.
“Thoth saw Nut’s pain. He decided that Re was wrong and he decided to intervene. Of course, Thoth couldn’t countermand Re’s curse, but he found a way around it.”
Waja-Hur chuckled. “Thoth, my princess, is not just wise, he is tricky. He challenged Khonsu to play senet. Khonsu is childish and, as you can see by watching him change every night, he is inconstant, full of light one night, half full another, then nothing but a sliver. He is very indecisive.”
Waja-Hur leaned close to Hetephernebti and whispered. “And not a very good senet player,” Leaning back he laughed a sudden carefree laugh.
“Thoth beat Khonsu and then beat him again and again. Five times Thoth won and then Khonsu knocked over the senet board and pouted. The contest was over, but Thoth demanded a prize. He took the only thing Khonsu has, light. Thoth took enough light to create a day for each game that he had won, five new days.
“And that is why we have the Days Upon The Year.
“Now, because these were new days, because they were created after Re’s curse, Nut, bless her fertile womb, was able to give birth. And she did. Osiris, Isis, Seth, Nephythys and Horus the Elder. Where would we be without Osiris and Isis?” He leaned to her and whispered conspiratorially, “We might have gotten along without Seth.”
Then he laughed again.
“I don’t understand, Waja-Hur,” Hetephernebti said. “Am I supposed to be like Nut and have children? Is that what you mean?”
He stopped smiling and shook his head.
“No, little bird. I’m sorry I wasn’t clear. You see, sometimes the gods themselves are confused and don’t know what they want or even, what is right! Nut was determined to have her children. Re, out of jealousy, not wisdom or love, said she could not. Thoth, seeing that Re was acting in a mean spirit, upsetting ma’at with his selfishness, and seeing Nut’s determination and love, decided to help her realize her dream.
“What I think you should do, Hetephernebti, is determine what you want. Make sure it is from love, that is the way of ma’at. Make sure it is not selfish, because that is the way to discord. Then find a way to do it, even if it means stealing light from the moon itself.”
He struggled to his feet.
“I am getting old, Hetephernebti. My legs get angry with me sometimes, my back grows stiff, my eyes are losing their focus, but my heart won’t stop. I must do what my heart tells me.”
She stood beside him and Waja-Hur surprised her by leaning close and kissing her forehead. With his face close to her, he spoke so softly that the words seemed to speak directly from his ba to hers.
“Do what your heart tells you is true, my princess, and Thoth will help.”
A wake of vultures
In the wadi at the edge of the Terraces of Turquoise time stood still.
Sabef watched Taharqa’s eyes. Taharqa’s fingers held the nock of his arrow against his tightly drawn bowstring. Djoser stood beside Sabef, his chest barely moving as he waited for his future to unfold.
Taharqa’s gaze slid from Sabef’s chest to Djoser, redirecting his hands and the sharp point of his arrow to Djoser.
Suddenly the dark centers of Taharqa’s eyes widened and Sabef knew the archer had made a decision. In the instant the realization came to him, he wondered if Djoser would be able to catch the arrow as he had caught the throwing sticks a few days earlier.
And in the time it took for those thoughts to flash across Sabef’s mind, Taharqa’s arrow had flashed past Djoser and buried itself in the body of the dead viper.
Sabef quickly looped his left index finger around the shaft of his arrow in his bow and relaxed the tension in his bowstring. There was no reason to shoot now. If Taharqa had meant to hit Djoser, then the arrow’s shaft would already be embedded in the prince.
He glanced at Djoser, who had lowered his own bow, the arrow still nocked in place, the string still pulled taut.
They watched Taharqa dart past Djoser and pick up his arrow. The dead viper dangled from its shaft. He raised it over his head and then turning, he ran down the wadi, around the rocks toward the other soldiers who were gathered out of view by the waterhole.
“I heard a noise,” he shouted to them. “I thought it might be a goat, but it was just a snake.”
***
Sabef and Djoser squatted by the rocks in silence. After a few minutes they heard the men leave the shelter of the acacia trees. They waited a few minutes more, Sabef wondering why he hadn’t shot his arrow at Taharqa. He told himself that it was because he had read his fellow Nubian’s eyes and body language correctly and not because he had been immobilized by indecision.
He glanced at Djoser. The boy was calm, his face impassive as he watched the rocks that shielded them from view. There was not a hint of fear or recrimination in his gaze.
When he was sure the men had departed, Sabef said, “Why didn’t you shoot your arrow?”
Djoser gave a small shrug as he raised himself. “If I shot him the others would come and there were too many of them,” he said simply. Then he raised his chin. His wide-set eyes were calm, his mouth set in a knowing smile. Sabef saw in Djoser’s boyish face the man he would become ... handsome, confident, determined, filled with a burning, unassailable belief in himself.
“And I felt the wings of Nekhbet enfold me. I knew that nothing would happen to me.”
A radiant intensity fi
lled Djoser’s face and Sabef was reminded of statues and paintings and amulets and carvings on temple walls. Of things immortal.
***
They returned to the waterhole to wait for the soldiers to travel beyond the northern horizon.
“What did he say?” Djoser asked as they sat in the shade. Taharqa had spoken in his native tongue before he shot the snake.
“He said that he was sorry,” Sabef answered, “and that the general had sent them.”
Djoser nodded. “So General Babaef sent the men. And the archer was sorry. My vision was true.” He took a deep breath and then asked, “The archer, do you know him?”
“His name is Taharqa. He comes from a village that is upriver from my home, so I don’t know him well. We traveled here to the Two Lands together,” Sabef said, but the young prince wasn’t listening.
Djoser sat against the rough trunk of a tree, his feet flat on the ground, his bent knees folded high. He had laid his forehead against his knees and was hugging his legs. His shoulders shook gently as he wept.
Sabef looked away, giving Djoser space to grieve.
Standing, the archer walked carefully down the wadi toward the desert. He listened for grunting and shuffling steps and, hearing none, he moved farther forward. The soldiers were black bouncing specks growing smaller as they jogged toward the northern horizon.
Sabef sat on a rock at the edge of the wadi until he heard Djoser approaching.
He was carrying his bow, his face lined with rivulets that the tears had drawn through the dust on his face.
“Let’s go find my father’s body,” Djoser said.
***
They jogged another hour along the edge of the desert before they came to the campsite which was crowded with gray and black vultures tearing at the bodies.
Djoser and Sabef waded into the wake of feeding vultures who shuffled away from them, raising their wide wings in protest but refusing to take flight. Most of the dead men looked as if they had been killed while they slept. One man was lying on his stomach with several arrows in his back and another had crawled to the edge of the campsite before dying.
