The Buried Pyramid (Imhotep Book 2)

by Jerry Dubs

  They were walking in the plaza of Iunu where a wide canal flowed past a tall obelisk covered in electrum. Each end of the canal disappeared into stone archways built into the plaza walls.

  Seeing her brother stare at the archways, Hetephernebti nodded toward the more distant opening and said, “That tunnel is to the east, where Re rises. The canal leads to the temple. The other wanders back to the river. During the festival, Re appears on his solar barge pulled by acolytes. He travels down the canal to the obelisk.

  “It is a wonderful celebration, brother. The plaza is filled with pilgrims and musicians and acrobats. The walls of the plaza are lined with merchants selling jewelry, amulets, linens, and perfumes and stands of food provided by our temple. You should attend the next one.”

  “I will,” he promised as he guided her to a bench near the plaza wall by a bakery shop, its open doorway shielded by an awning made of palm fronds. The aroma of freshly baked bread swirled through the air. Mingled with it was the yeasty smell of brewing beer. Djoser inhaled deeply and smiled.

  “I remember drinking beer from father’s cup. It was so light and sweet. He never let me drink too much, he never let me have my own cup. But later, in the barracks, when the men drank I was given all I wanted, but I never let it take me to the gods.”

  They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes until Djoser slapped his knees and got to his feet. “That aroma is too inviting. Would you like some bread, sister? Some beer?”

  “Some water would be good,” she answered and watched her younger brother as he disappeared into the shadows beneath the bakery awning.

  Although she enjoyed having him back in her life, she feared that in his ambition he would try to pull her away from the serenity of temple life. She saw that the confident energy of his childhood had been remolded by his determination to seek revenge for their father’s killing. And it was clear to her that Djoser’s Nubian friends were really part of a secret army he was bringing piece by piece into the Two Lands. Now he was going to work with the governors of the Lower House, forging an even larger army from the militias in the northern nomes.

  Once he had gathered and trained his army there would be conflict and the fate of the Two Lands would lie in the balance. Djoser had told her that he was sure the gods would favor him just as they had favored Horus over Seth, but she had seen the ruthlessness of General Babaef’s men and she didn’t share her brother’s certainty.

  “Here, sister,” Djoser said as he emerged from the bakery and offered Hetephernebti a narrow clay pot filled with water. As she sat on the bench and sipped, he stood beside her and lifted a cup of beer to his mouth. Arching his back, he tilted his head and drank deeply.

  Hetephernebti saw the band of stomach muscles contract as he stretched, his broad chest tight and strong. His legs, short, as their father’s had been, were thick and muscled.

  He has grown into a powerful man, in body and spirit, she thought.

  He finished his drink and lowered the cup. With his other hand he wiped his mouth and seeing Hetephernebti watching him, Djoser smiled at her. Innocence, happiness and unbridled confidence radiated from his face. With a secret thrill Hetephernebti was reminded of the moment when she was sinking beneath the waters of Iteru and Re’s face had appeared to her.

  Djoser saw a sense of wonder illuminate her face. He smiled broader, changing his grin into the open smile of their childhood. Sitting beside her on the bench, Djoser took her hand.

  “I’ve changed, dear sister, and so have you. The woman who was dwelling inside the girl has emerged. You are beautiful and self-possessed. Re has never had such a faithful and devoted servant. And I am no longer the little boy who teased you in the garden, the child who played at being a soldier.

  “I am a man now, Hetephernebti. I have been a husband and a father. I was leader of my village and then of other villages banded together to defend against the raiders from Kush.

  “And more than that, the gods speak to me. Not just the vision from the Terraces of Turquoise when our father was killed, but they show me the future. I see Hemon the Dwarf, General Babaef and Nebka for what they are, merely reeds in the river, swaying to the dance of the current.”

  “And you?” she asked, knowing the answer.

  Smiling his simple, confident smile he said, “I am Horus, riding the solar wind.”

  He lifted the cup once more and drained the beer.

  “But enough about gods, tell me about Inetkawes,” he said, his smile changing once again, now mischievous and playful.

  ***

  Djoser stayed in Iunu for two weeks. In the mornings he talked with Re-Khu about the gods and visited Hetephernebti to exchange memories of their childhood and to discuss his plans. Day by day they rewove the past, her stories and his intertwining to create a shared past.

  Afternoons and evenings were devoted to courting Inetkawes.

  Hetephernebti saw them together frequently – flashes of movement as they laughingly chased each other through the temple hallways like a pair of desert antelope fawns, slow-moving shadows walking hand in hand by the tree-lined river bank, still silhouettes sitting with their backs against the temple wall, heads bowed to each other as they talked.

  Inetkawes came to Hetephernebti’s chambers less frequently, but when she did appear, it seemed to Hetephernebti that the girl had changed into a woman, glowing, happy, with a song on her lips and a lightness to her step.

  Arriving earlier than usual one morning, Inetkawes filled Hetephernebti’s water basin and then quietly sat on a bench as her mother washed. Taking a towel, Inetkawes stood beside Hetephernebti and dried her mother’s arms and back. Hetephernebti turned her head and watched Inetkawes, clearly the girl’s mind was full of thoughts.

  “You are Hetephernebti, daughter of King Kha-Sekhemwy and wife of King Nebka,” Inetkawes said after a moment.

  “I was. Now I am Ipwet, priestess to Re.”

  “Yes,” Inetkawes said hesitantly. “But if you are the king’s wife then I am the daughter of King Nebka.”

  Hetephernebti bit her bottom lip. When Djoser had told Hetephernebti that he was going to tell Inetkawes his real identity, he had suggested that Hetephernebti should let the girl continue to regard her as her mother.

  “You raised her, you loved her, you were her mother, you are her mother,” Djoser had told her. “In Ta-Seti if a child’s parents die, another family takes in the child. They raise it and love it. They are the parents just as you are Inetkawes’ mother.”

  Her heart had swelled when Djoser said those words, welcoming Inetkawes to their small family. And so she had decided that she had been and would remain the girl’s mother. When they were two priestesses living in a temple on the outskirts of the Two Lands, the lie seemed small. But now, with Djoser having declared that he would marry Inetkawes and retake the throne, Hetephernebti worried that the girl’s parentage did matter; King Nebka knew that he was not Inetkawes’ father.

  “Is that why Djoser is interested in me, because I am the daughter of the king?” Inetkawes asked now in a small, fearful voice.

  Hetephernebti started to assure Inetkawes that Djoser’s attentions were directed at Inetkawes, the woman, not Inetkawes, princess of the Two Lands, but she began to wonder about his suggestion that Inetkawes be allowed to believe she was Hetephernebti’s daughter. Was it for her benefit, or did he want his marriage to Inetkawes to legitimize his claim to the throne – the son of King Kha-Sekhemwy married to the daughter of King Nebka?

  She closed her eyes and pictured Djoser’s face, his innocent, open smile, his confident eyes. Without bidding, his face slowly changed into that of their father – narrower, sterner, his eyes calculating and hard. She thought of the death of Djoser’s wife and daughter, the vision he had of their father’s assassination, the iron will and endless patience he must have to plan a slow, invisible invasion of the Two Lands, his belief that he was not just visited by the god Horus, but that the god lived within him.

  It h
as been so long, she thought, I really don’t know him.

  “Mother?”

  “What do you see in his eyes?” Hetephernebti asked, avoiding an answer.

  “They frighten me,” Inetkawes said.

  “Frighten?”

  Inetkawes sighed and leaned against the washing table. “I’ve never seen anyone like him. When we talk his eyes see the thoughts in my heart before I do. I tell him dreams and fears that I didn’t even know I had. I look at his face and I want his eyes to stay on mine forever.” She rubbed her arms and looked shyly at her mother. “I feel a thrill sweep up my arms, down my chest and into my ka.”

  “That doesn’t sound like fear,” Hetephernebti said, surprised to hear envy in her voice. She had felt a similar excitement when she worshipped Re and the heat and love from the god washed over her, but she had never felt it with a man and she never dreamed of being able to return the embrace.

  “And I never want the feeling to end and when he leaves me I can’t wait to see him again,” Inetkawes continued.

  Hetephernebti opened her arms to her daughter. Pulling her close, she whispered, “You have given him your heart, Inetkawes. Your trust must follow your heart. Give it to him also.”

  As she held Inetkawes and felt the warmth of the girl’s body, the rising and falling of her breath and the grip of her hands, the chamber suddenly lightened. Turning her head, Hetephernebti saw Re’s golden rays streaming through the window bringing light and warmth and approval.

  Then sensing movement, she looked across the room to the doorway.

  Djoser stood there, his bare chest crossed by the strap of a traveling bag, his gleaming kilt replaced by a Nubian loincloth. The light entering the window at a low angle fell on Djoser encircling him with a glowing aura and for a dizzying moment it seemed to Hetephernebti that her brother had arrived riding on the waves of Re’s light.

  The Secret Army

  After saying goodbye to Hetephernebti and Inetkawes, Djoser went upriver accompanied by twenty Nubian archers. Newly arrived from Ta-Seti, his companions ranged in age from fifteen to twenty-five, most of them still in their teens, all of them looking for adventure.

  Before leaving Ta-Seti a year ago Djoser and his Nubian brother-in-law Iry-mat had developed a plan to secretly move an army of Nubians into the Two Lands.

  Iry-mat, who lived in the village of Buhen, just below the second cataract, would travel the river, going south as far as Kerma beyond the third cataract at the very border of the land of Kush, to recruit young men.

  Each month Djoser would send one of his lieutenants from the Two Lands to Iry-mat. He would carry news from Djoser and then return to the Two Lands with the men Iry-mat had recruited.

  And so, once Djoser had spent time in the Two Lands and decided that his plan could work, a small, steady stream of Nubian warriors and archers loyal to Djoser had been sent to him.

  Djoser was taking the latest arrivals to Ineb-Hedj, the capital of White Wall where Sabef was training Hemon the Dwarf’s militia. Half of the newly arrived Nubians would stay in Ineb-Hedj where they would take the place of some of the more seasoned Nubians. Djoser would take the remaining mixture of experienced Nubians and fresh recruits to the city of Khem in the second nome where he planned to begin training another militia.

  Arriving in Ineb-Hedj, Djoser was pleased to see the progress Sabef had made with the militia. The men assembled quickly, took up attack lines with precision and launched flight after flight of arrows with intimidating speed. Although the archers were less accurate than the Nubians, Djoser knew that the sight of the sky dark with whistling arrows would intimidate even seasoned soldiers.

  On the third day of his visit, Djoser was joined at breakfast by Hemon the Dwarf.

  “Good morning, Hemwy,” Hemon said as he emerged from the shadows of a stand of sycamore trees where Djoser was enjoying a respite from the sun. Sitting cross-legged beneath one of the trees, a woven basket with bread and dates beside him, Djoser, who was calculating how many months it would take him to train and assemble an army from all of the twenty nomes, took a moment to realize that he was the ‘Hemwy’ whom Hemon was greeting.

  He returned the loaf of bread to the basket and started to stand to greet the governor but Hemon raised a hand and shook his head.

  “Please, Hemwy, don’t let me interrupt your breakfast.”

  Djoser resumed his seat and held out a hand to his basket. “Join me, Lord Hemon. It is, after all, your food.”

  Hemon chuckled, a low rumbling laugh that rolled unexpectedly from his small throat. He was wearing a white loincloth, his round belly pushing against the belt. Brushing sand from his hands he leaned over the basket and lifted out a cluster of dates.

  Holding the fruit he leaned against the tree beside Djoser. His small hands deftly examined the dates before putting them in his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully, considering how to begin his conversation.

  They ate together in silence for a moment and then Hemon said, “Sabef, I like him.”

  Djoser nodded. “He is a good friend and a marksman with his bow.”

  “And very discreet,” Hemon said. “He seems to know our language until I ask him about you. Then suddenly the language of the Two Lands becomes incomprehensible.”

  Hemon belched lightly. “I do love dates,” he said. “Medhu, the governor before me, loved duck. I think he could have eaten roasted duck every day.” Hemon chuckled at the memory. “I could never get him to understand.”

  Hemon imitated the dead governor’s voice, “It’s only one duck, Hemon.”

  Then, continuing in his own voice, “I would tell him that yes, it is only one duck, but if you eat one duck each day soon you will have eaten a flock and then several flocks and soon you will be out of ducks.”

  Djoser nodded and lifted a jar of water. He offered it to Hemon who took a sip and returned it. Djoser took a long drink and then said, “I was told you were wise, Lord Hemon. We will be careful not to run out of ivory or incense or gold. Or ducks.”

  Hemon shook his head and squatted beside Djoser. Leaning back against the tree, he said, “I don’t know who you really are, Hemwy.

  “You arrived with a guard of twenty men. Now you’ve brought another twenty Nubian archers. I heard from a friend in Abu that twenty more ‘merchants’ entered the Two Lands from Nubia two months ago. They are taking their time traveling down river. Then another twenty entered last month. I’ve made inquiries. Those ‘merchants’ also are traveling slowly and quietly.

  “There might be more, no one has been watching the river for Nubian ‘merchants.’ In a year there will be, what, perhaps three hundred Nubian merchants in the Two Lands? Each of them actually soldiers and archers.

  “So, what I see, Hemwy, is one Nubian at a time, like Medhu’s ducks, but increasing in number instead of dwindling.”

  Djoser tore off a piece of bread and put it in his mouth. A moist air, heavier and, in the morning, more refreshing than the dry winds in Ta-Seti, stirred through the trees. He could hear sounds in the distance – Sabef barking at the men, geese and ducks calling to each other – and above him the leaves of the sycamore brushing against each other.

  He had expected that someone would notice the men – perhaps a fisherman who saw the same boats sailing upstream empty and returning down river settled deeper in the water, filled with men, or a bored guard in Abu or Tepihu or another city along the river would wave to the Nubian piloting the boat and realize it was the same man each time.

  They would tell a wife or brother. They would tell another. Eventually rumors of a Nubian invasion might spring to life, but there were always rumors of something – giant crocodiles approaching, swarms of snakes awakening, a sandstorm blowing scorpions and spiders across the desert, strange, pale men in boats along the coast of the Lower House.

  Even if someone took the rumor of a Nubian invasion seriously they would have to bring it to General Babaef’s attention, not an easy thing to do when the general kept himself aloof f
rom the people.

  Time would pass.

  Then, if General Babaef believed the rumors he would send word to the outposts along the river to verify the Nubian movements himself.

  More time would pass.

  If word returned to General Babaef that there was a steady stream of Nubians entering the Two Lands he would talk to King Nebka.

  More time would pass.

  If the two leaders were alarmed by the Nubians they would have to decide whether to track the already arrived soldiers or to organize a force to march upriver to Ta-Seti.

  More time would pass.

  Too much time.

  Djoser believed that by then he would have an army trained and ready to take the throne ... if he could meld the militias from twenty nomes into one army. And the first step in that was here in White Wall with Hemon’s militia.

  “They have different wheat in Ta-Seti, apparently much more difficult to grind without getting sand in it. Our bread here in the Two Lands is much better,” Djoser said, placing the loaf back in the basket. He turned to look more directly at Hemon.

  “When Sopdet appears in the sky and the floodwaters enter the Two Lands, it begins as a trickle. Unless you are a farmer who depends on the flood or a fisherman who must move his boat to different moorings, you might not notice the change.

  “Slowly, surely the waters rise and Iteru washes away the old, exhausted land and leaves behind the rich black soil that is the Two Lands. If you wanted, you could stand in the river and scream at it to stop. You could gather your family in front of your home, cross your arms imperiously and tell the waters to stay away. But still the waters will rise, Lord Hemon.

  “I think that a wise man would anticipate the flood and he would stay clear of it. Because fighting against it would be useless. And a wiser man would find a way to ride with the flood. I think you are a wiser man.”

  Hemon grunted. “A flood of Nubians? Such a flood that the army of the Two Lands couldn’t resist? I don’t think so.”