The Buried Pyramid (Imhotep Book 2)

by Jerry Dubs

  One by one, Djoser and Sabef chased the vultures from the bodies to identify the men until they found King Kha-Sekhemwy. He was on his back, the side of his head caved in. The vultures had started on the bloodied head, tearing away the skin and prying the broken skull away from the brains.

  Sabef and Djoser chased the vultures away and carried the king’s body across the sand to the edge of the mountain range.

  “I don’t know how to get him back to the Two Lands,” Djoser said. “He must be sanctified and prepared for his life in Khert-Neter.” His mouth was set in a straight line as he and Sabef stood over the king’s body.

  They interred King Kha-Sekhemwy at the edge of the mountains, digging the grave as deep as they could in the hard ground and piling a monument of rocks over his body to protect it from scavengers.

  “I will come back for you, father,” Djoser said when they had finished.

  Then he turned from the grave and looked to the mountains. He had put aside his grief and was dealing now with the tasks he set for himself.

  He must survive.

  He must return to the Two Lands.

  He must avenge his father’s murder.

  And so in the morning Djoser and Sabef began their trek through the western mountains to the Great Green and, across it, to Ta-Seti, Land of the Bow.

  Ma'at Destroyed

  Two weeks later, as the floodwaters continued their brown, swirling passage through the Two Lands, Hetephernebti awoke to strange sounds.

  When the moon was full, she often heard frogs from the garden ponds and near dawn the geese would begin their daily clamoring to be fed. Sometimes a pigeon would be startled awake and Hetephernebti would hear the feathery clap of its wings as it took to the air and once she thought she heard the almost silent swoosh of an owl as it hunted.

  But the sound that awakened her was none of these.

  She raised her head from the wooden sleeping block on her narrow bed. A lighter gray rectangle marked the window that overlooked the garden, so it was still night but she had no idea if she had slept for minutes or hours.

  There it was again, footsteps, hurried, scuffling footsteps.

  Her heart leapt. The army had returned!

  King Kha-Sekhemwy had taken the Egyptian army east to Sinai as soon as he was satisfied that the inundation had begun. For the three months when the water poured into Kemet turning the river into a wide, slow-moving lake, there was little work for the farmers so King Kha-Sekhemwy timed his expedition to begin at the start of the flood season allowing him to add the idle farmers to his army.

  For two months the enlarged army visited the gem mines, rebuilt the frontier outposts and subdued encroaching desert tribes, reminding the world that trading with the Two Lands was safe. Then when Peret, the planting season, approached King Kha-Sekhemwy would send the farmers back to plant emmer wheat, barley, flax, chickpeas, leeks, melons, cucumbers and all the other vegetables and grains that filled the belly of the Two Lands.

  As sleep left her, Hetephernebti realized that the planting season hadn’t arrived yet, so the farmers wouldn’t have returned. There had been no rumors of any other visitors.

  So, she wondered, who is here?

  She walked to the doorway of her bedchamber and poked her head into the hall.

  The noises were coming from the right, down the hallway toward her mother’s quarters. After a moment the sound of voices echoed up the hallway and then, suddenly a scream scratched its way along the stone walls.

  Hetephernebti jumped at the sound.

  She was sure it was her mother. She had heard Menathap cry aloud while giving birth, but that had been a different sound, a roar of determination. This cry was heart-rending.

  As Hetephernebti started to run down the hall, heavy footsteps came toward her. Two men turned the corner of the hallway. Bare-chested, they carried the short spears and wore the blue-edged kilts of the house guards.

  “What is happening?” she asked as a long, wailing scream echoed down the corridor.

  “Nothing, Hetephernebti,” the taller of the two men said as he slowed to a stop in front of her. His companion glanced at him, but didn’t speak as he halted in front of Hetephernebti and crossed his arms.

  “Someone is screaming! It sounds like Mother!” Hetephernebti said, looking past the men.

  “It is nothing,” the taller man repeated.

  Hetephernebti recognized him as one of the guards who followed Nebka whenever he left the palace.

  “It was just a dream,” the other guard said gently. He was stocky with huge, rolling muscles on his shoulders and arms. Hetephernebti assumed he was one of the group of men who had appeared at the palace shortly after her father had led the army into the eastern desert.

  They were men who hammered rocks from the quarries for the temple King Kha-Sekhemwy was building for Ptah. Nebka had stopped work on the temple when the king had left Waset. The idled men had wandered into Waset where many of them had been recruited for a newly formed company of home-guards that answered directly to Nebka.

  The guards, who were walking side-by-side in the narrow hallway, continued to slowly approach her and Hetephernebti suddenly had the feeling that she was a duckling being herded into a pen.

  “Do they call out the guards now when someone has a bad dream?” she asked angrily, backing away from the men. She was the daughter of King Kha-Sekhemwy, and she was used to being protected and obeyed, not corralled by guards.

  The men drew closer.

  Another scream echoed down the hallway and Hetephernebti ran toward the sound, twisting between the guards. The stocky guard caught her arm with the stone strength of a quarry worker. She tugged once and felt the guard’s fingers relax. Pulling free she ran down the stone corridor.

  “Why did you let her go?” the other guard asked.

  She heard him answer, “It’s her mother,” and then she redoubled her speed.

  She ran around a bend in the hallway, pushing off the cold wall with her hands.

  Another guard stood outside her mother’s room, but his back was to Hetephernebti. She pushed past him into a nightmare.

  In the center of the room Menathap stood bent over, her hands clutching her belly. A pool of blood puddled at her feet and in the center of it was a small, still form.

  Hetephernebti gasped. Her mother doubled over deeper, howled a last sobbing scream and collapsed. The guard ran to her and it was only then that Hetephernebti saw Kanakht standing beside her mother. He knelt beside her and tenderly held her head.

  “Get Hesire,” he shouted at the guard. Then looking up he saw Hetephernebti and behind her at the doorway he saw the two guards she had slipped past. “Get her out of here, back to her room!” he screamed at them.

  Hetphernebti felt rough hands on her arms and suddenly she was lifted from the ground.

  “Mother!” she cried. “What have you done to my mother?”

  She twisted and screamed as the guards carried her out of the room. Her last glimpse of the room was of her mother lying in a pool of blood, Kanakht kneeling beside her and cradling her head, and in the shadows beyond them her half-brother Nebka.

  ***

  Back in her room, the guards stood by the doorway, blocking her exit.

  Hetephernebti saw that the taller guard was clearly frightened. His eyes wandered about the room, never resting on anything as he looked for safety. His head nodded as he appeared to think through what was happening, but his nervous eyes showed that he never reached a conclusion.

  The stocky guard stood quietly, watching Hetephernebti, a sad smile on his face.

  “I don’t know, my lady,” he told her when she demanded to know what had happened. “We were just told to make sure that you are safe and to keep you here.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know.” His voice softened and he said, “I’m sorry about your mother.”

  “What happened? What do you know?” she asked hurriedly.

&nb
sp; He shook his head. “Nothing, just what we saw. I hope that she will recover. I’m sorry about the baby, too.”

  Beside him the tall guard twitched and shifted his feet.

  Suddenly Hetephernebti realized what she had seen. Her mother had lost the baby. Hetephernebti knew that women often lost unborn children but usually it was the first time that they tried to create life, not later after they had given birth several times.

  She began to cry for her mother and for the baby that would never draw breath. Her mother had been confident that the child she was carrying would be a girl. She had even decided on a name: Initkawes. Now the baby was gone.

  Hetephernebti turned and ran to a wooden stand by her bed. She grabbed the statuette of Taweret. Why had the goddess let her mother lose the baby?

  She was tempted to hurl the ceramic figure against the wall.

  What use were the gods when they let such things happen? What would Waja-Hur tell her? How could even he explain this?

  Just then Kanakht appeared behind the guards.

  He stood there, his arms at his side, his face drawn and tired. Hetephernebti saw his eyes and the downturn of his mouth, not the serious frown of a busy man, but the softer, sadder frown of a sorrowful man.

  She burst into tears.

  He touched the shoulder of the stocky guard and nodded his head. The guards quickly left the room.

  Hetephernebti found her legs useless. They buckled and she sat hard on the stone floor.

  Slowly Kanakht crossed the room and knelt beside her. He was wearing a loincloth instead of his usual kilt and she saw now that it was stained a dark brown. Her mother’s blood.

  Before he could speak, Hesire, the palace physician entered the room. He came to them and stood over Hetephernebti. His face was filled with anguish, his kilt was covered in blood.

  So much blood, Hetephernebti thought, and suddenly her thoughts went to the river and the flood of water that was washing over the Two Lands. She felt herself back away from her body, her ba withdrawing from her pain. She had the sense now that she was watching from her bed and from that distance she saw a tall, gangly girl sitting on the floor and she saw Kanakht lean toward the girl and whisper.

  From the bed her ba couldn’t hear the words, only the soft murmur of Kanakht’s voice and the sorrow that flowed from it. She saw her body stiffen and then sag. Hesire knelt beside her and took her hand.

  And then the girl breathed deeply and said, “So my mother is dead?”

  Kanakht and Hesire nodded together. Then they exchanged a glance.

  Hetephernebti felt a strange lightness. It spread from her heart to her stomach, to her hips and legs, and upward through her arms and head.

  This isn’t real, Hetephernebti thought. There is some other explanation for the blood and for their words.

  From a distance, she watched herself extend a hand to Kanakht. The men stood and helped Hetephernebti to her feet. She saw herself standing beside the men and realized that she was almost as tall as they were. She had always pictured herself as a little girl, bigger than Djoser because he was younger, but smaller than the adults around her. That was no longer true.

  Hesire and Kanakht exchanged another questioning look.

  Feeling that she was within a dream, Hetephernebti heard herself say, “There is more, isn’t there? Is it about the child she was carrying?”

  Hesire looked quickly at Kanakht.

  “She was in Menathap’s chamber for a moment,” Kanakht said tersely.

  “Yes, she lost the child,” Hesire said and he looked to Kanakht for guidance.

  Hetephernebti saw his questioning glance. “There can’t be more,” she said, knowing that there was. And her ba slid even farther away leaving Hetephernebti empty and afraid.

  Kanakht put his hand on the small of Hetephernebti’s back and pointed to a chair. She shook her head, she didn’t trust her legs to carry her that far.

  Gripping her hand tighter, Kanakht said, “A messenger from the army arrived tonight. It was his news that frightened your mother.” He paused.

  Hetephernebti felt a chasm open around her.

  Kanakht continued, “The messenger said that your father took a small hunting party into the desert. They were attacked by the desert-dwellers.”

  The words fell on her, driving her closer to the chasm

  “General Babaef said that everyone in the party was killed.”

  Closer to the chasm.

  “Your father, the king, is dead.”

  She teetered on the edge of blackness.

  “Djoser?” she asked, her voice a hesitant whisper.

  Kanakht nodded. “Yes, Djoser also.”

  Blackness engulfed her. In the darkness she saw the Great Green and the red mountains and the faces of her father and her brother. She saw the dark pool of blood at her mother’s feet and she heard her mother’s screams.

  Everyone in her life was gone.

  Ma’at was shattered.

  Ceaselessly forward

  Hetephernebti didn’t sleep.

  The two guards stood by her doorway. At some point they were relieved and new guards took their place but Hetephernebti didn’t notice.

  She sat on her bed and wept. She paced her room and imagined the lifeless faces of her brother and her father. She curled into herself on the floor with her hands over her ears and remembered the cries of her mother as she crumpled onto a blood-stained floor.

  Through the long night she grieved alone. Restrained by their orders and by the social distance between themselves and the daughter of the king, the guards stood silent, averting their eyes and wondering what the future held for them.

  Change did not come easily to the Two Lands.

  As dawn began to light the horizon Hetephernebti stood by the window and watched with empty, red-rimmed eyes. Re arrived on Mandjet, his Boat of a Million Years, and out of habit Hetephernebti whispered words of praise.

  “Homage to thee who riseth on the horizon, thou resteth on laws unchangeable and unalterable.” She closed her eyes and thought of Djoser and her mother and her father. Alive and now gone. The lives of the gods might be stable, but her world had descended into chaos.

  She looked again at Re rising.

  Every day the god made his journey across the sky and every night he fought the great serpent Apophis. And he endured. He faced the terrors of the night and he emerged to face another day.

  “May I advance, even as thou dost advance. May I never cease to go forward as thou never ceasest to go forward,” she prayed with trembling lips.

  She rested her hands on the window ledge and held her face to the morning light, opening herself to Re’s power, eager for his blessing and his strength.

  After a moment she heard footsteps.

  Turning, she saw Wakare. The old man was even more bent and aged this morning. He disdained the pomp of the palace, refusing to wear formal kilts or jewelry or makeup. He stood now by her doorway in his ink-stained loincloth, his shaved head a scruffy gray color even in the yellow light of the torch he carried.

  Although Hetephernebti had been angry with his condescending tone when she sought to see Nebka, she saw Wakare differently now. Overworked, loyal to her half-brother, undoubtedly saddened by the death of the king and queen, he was bowed and worn from his years of service. Her heart opened to him.

  And then he opened his mouth.

  “Get dressed,” he said. “You aren’t a little girl to run around like that. Put on some linens and a wig. Make yourself presentable. You’re to be the queen.”

  Then he turned and hobbled away without explaining his words.

  As his torch light faded from the doorway, she heard him scowl, “Out of my way, stupid girl,” and a moment later Ipwet hurried into Hetephernebti’s room.

  The serving girl, nine-years-old and full of energy, curiosity and innocence, was looking over her shoulder as she entered the room. She tripped over her feet and stumbled. She caught herself just before she would have toppled
against Hetephernebti, who was standing frozen in the center of the room.

  “I’m sorry, Nebti,” Ipwet said, using Hetephernebti’s nickname. She started to giggle at her clumsiness and then looking up she saw Hetephernebti’s shocked expression and the red lining of her eyes. Ipwet gasped, “What’s wrong? Why was he here so early? Did something happen?”

  Next to Djoser, Ipwet was Hetephernebti’s closest friend. She had arrived at the palace two years earlier with her older sister, Iput, daughters of a papyrus maker who was fascinated by hippopotami and who had named both of his daughters after the god Ipy. A year ago, with her belly swelling, Iput had left to marry one of the palace guards.

  With Iput gone, Ipwet had turned to Hetephernebti to replace her sister’s affection. They played games, wove wedding rings from strands of hemp, and chased Hetephernebti’s pet ferret, Atet, around the garden. Hetephernebti told Ipwet stories she had learned about the gods and Ipwet told Hetephernebti the gossip she heard from her sister.

  Although she was a servant, trading her work for a secure, hunger-free life in the palace, Ipwet was Hetephernebti’s friend and the little sister she never had. What she lacked in education and worldly knowledge, Ipwet made up in unconditional love.

  Ipwet opened her arms and pulled Hetephernebti into a sisterly embrace. Hugging Ipwet, Hetephernebti rested her cheek on the top of the younger girl’s head. She gave herself to Ipwet’s innocent affection as she added Wakare’s words to the events and news from the night.

  She had resolved to see to her mother’s body, to make sure that she was prepared for her journey to Khert-Neter. It was her duty. And she wanted to know what had happened to her father and to Djoser. It was impossible to believe that the king of the Two Lands could be attacked and killed by simple desert-dwellers. Kanakht didn’t say if their bodies were being brought back to the Two Lands. They had to be, how else could they be prepared for the afterlife?