by Jerry Dubs
He had shaken his head in awe. “What a wonderful power is in your hands, Imhotep. If I could go back into my past and warn my father, so many things would be different. But I wouldn’t know they are different because I would have lived a different life and would have nothing to compare my new life to.
“Of course, you would know that my pyramid is smaller because you have lived in your world and saw the larger pyramid. But if you change my pyramid no one in that future would know because they would never have seen the higher pyramid because it will not have been built. Even you, in that future time would not know that you had failed to build what had once been built.”
He had paused and cocked his head. “No one has ever had thoughts like these before, have they, Imhotep? There hasn’t been another like you. I wonder what other thoughts have gone unthought?”
He had stooped and grabbed a handful of sand. Letting it trickle from his closed fist, he had watched the grains tumble straight down to the desert where they hid themselves among the uncountable sands of the desert.
Imhotep had stared across the complex toward the rubble of stones where the pyramid would be built. He had tried to picture the pyramid standing there. In his artist’s eye he had superimposed the majestic lines of the monument over the stones.
“I could build four levels,” he had said to himself. “Then I can extend the mastabas, using the four-tiered pyramid as a foundation and as an internal buttress for the additional levels.”
Staring at the open desert he had envisioned a four-level monument rising, then a second pyramid enclosing it, hiding the smaller pyramid. He had nodded to himself, picturing the way it could work, how the interior pyramid could support the larger structure.
If it all is clad with limestone when the foundation is complete, no one would see the trick, he had thought.
“I need to go,” he had said to Djoser.
Djoser had watched his strange architect walk across the desert. “Six levels! I want six levels,” he had called after him and then laughed.
Djoser had stood alone in the desert. Staring at the area that was leveled for his tomb, he had thought about the temples and pillars, the sarcophagus where his body would rest, the four canopic jars that would hold his lungs, liver, stomach and intestines, how Ma’at would weigh his heart and pronounce judgment on him.
And then he would join his father and mother and the gods.
Stooping, he had scooped another handful of sand. He had imagined each grain was an hour of his life. The sand had trickled away, falling to the desert and disappearing.
A stone monument as large and ever-lasting as Imhotep had drawn would ensure Djoser’s immortality, both in the Eternal Field of Reeds and here in the Two Lands, both now and far into the reaches of the future.
My name will be known forever, Djoser had thought with a smile.
Horus Released and Reborn
Along the north side of the Step Pyramid in the serdab, a small, enclosed chamber with two eye holes drilled into the stone blocks, King Djoser waited to observe his funeral.
His left hand rested unmoving on his long heb-sed robe just above his knee. His right arm crossed his chest, his clenched fist held over his heart. The pointed tails of the royal nemes head cloth rested on the thick coils of a formal wig. The wig itself lay behind his ears so that he could hear the prayers and chants and cries of his mourners. His mouth was turned down in a slight frown below crystal eyes set in his broad, noble face of limestone.
Animated by his ka, which had been called to the stone by the prayers and magical spells of the priests, Djoser’s statue was washed by the wailing of the mourners, the delicate notes of harp strings and the hollow rattle of the sistrums. The scent of the flowers carried by his ten surviving wives, the acrid smoke from the incense bowls carried by temple acolytes and the spicy aromas from a feast laid out in the northern temple wafted over the sun-heated stone.
Late in the afternoon, following public ceremonies in Ineb-Hedj, the royal funeral procession had entered the burial complex through the one true doorway in the southern edge of Paneb’s imposing wall. Passing through the welcome shade of the stone forest, its forty pillars capped with a stone roof, the mourners entered the southern chapel.
Djoser’s body, mummified and wrapped in spotless linen cloth, lay in a brightly painted wooden casket carved in his shape. His face, serene, confident and regal, was painted on the lid. The casket, placed on a dais in the small temple, was attended by priests from throughout the Two Lands, by his son Teti and his bodyguard, by his surviving wives and by his sister Hetephernetbti, who was escorted by Imhotep.
Once the mourners were in place, Nimaasted, high priest of Thoth, began to pray over the sound of chanting singers and a chorus of wailing from the thousands of farmers, bureaucrats, soldiers, merchants, fishermen, bakers, scribes, rope makers, butchers, gem cutters, weavers, fishsellers and other villagers who had followed the procession along the recently drained canal to the plateau of Saqqara and now were standing in the desert sun outside the funeral grounds.
Poised by the wooden casket, Nimaasted raised an obsidian adz, its cutting edge split into two flat halves that curved away from the center split. Symbolically placing the black adz at the mouth of the casket portrait, he intoned,
“My mouth is opened by Ptah, my mouth’s bonds are loosed by Horus.
“Thoth has come fully equipped with spells, he looses the bonds of Seth from my mouth.
“Atum has given me my hands, they are placed as guardians.
“My mouth is given to me, my mouth is opened by Ptah, with that chisel of metal with which he opened the mouth of the gods.
“I am Sekhmet-Wadjet who dwells in the west of heaven, I am Hor-Netjerikhet, Divine of Body, I am Nub-Re, Golden One of Re, I am Netjerikhetnebu, King of the Two Lands.”
Finishing the ceremony of the opening of the mouth, Nimaasted led the funeral procession from the chapel through a channel formed by an honor guard of soldiers, their spears pointed downward, the tips buried in the sand. They followed the pathway to the eastern Heb Sed court where Djoser’s reign would continue to be celebrated every ten years.
To the sound of ritualistic chanting and the rhythmic rattle of sistrums, they walked on to the northern side of the pyramid. As they passed the serdab from which Djoser’s ka was observing them, the mourners nodded and bowed their heads to their departed king.
The procession entered the northern mortuary temple where a banquet was laid for the mourners. As they ate and drank, priests for the dozens of minor gods took turns telling how each god would joyously welcome Djoser to Khert-Neter and embrace him as a brother. Some evoked spells to protect Djoser during the monumental battle he would need to fight to gain entrance to Khert-Neter. Others recounted the good deeds Djoser had accomplished during his life, beseeching Ma’at to find his heart lighter than a feather.
Soon Kagemni, priest of Osiris, took his place behind the painted coffin. From the village of Abdju which was just north of Waset, Kagemni was short and wide-shouldered, resembling the dead king in stature. His face was also similar to Djoser’s, his eyes set wide below a broad forehead, his cheekbones strong and high.
He was twenty-three-years old and thought to be one of Djoser’s many unacknowledged children. He held his hands in the air just above the coffin and looked down at the face painted on the wood. In a voice that was eerily like Djoser’s he said, “Rise up, O Djoser!
“Take your head, collect your bones, gather your limbs, shake the earth from your flesh!
“Take your bread that rots not, your beer that sours not, stand at the gates that bar the common people!
“The gatekeeper comes out to you, he grasps your hand, takes you into heaven, to your father Geb.
“He rejoices at your coming, gives you his hands, kisses you, caresses you, sets you before the spirits, the imperishable stars.
“The hidden ones worship you, the great ones surround you, the watchers wait on you,
“Barley is threshed for you, emmer is reaped for you,
“Your monthly feasts are made with it, your half-month feasts are made with it,
“As ordered done for you by Geb, your father, rise up, O Djoser, you shall not die!”
***
Re began to slide behind the far western mountains as the mourners formed a double line behind Djoser’s coffin and followed it into the heart of the pyramid.
Imhotep paused at the entrance. Noticing his hesitation and, always expecting a vision from her old friend, Hetephernebti asked, “What is it, Imhotep, do you see something?”
Beside him a young boy, one of many torchbearers, looked eagerly at Imhotep’s face. Everyone in the Two Lands knew that Djoser was king and everyone also knew that Imhotep was the king’s left arm, his all-seeing eye, the keeper and protector of his eternal ka.
When Imhotep had started building the Step Pyramid no one in the Two Lands had any comprehension of what he was doing. It was a tomb, they understood that. An eternal home for the king, they understood that. But a four-sided stone mountain rising from the desert, a giant staircase for Djoser’s ka to use to mount to the heavens? These were words that held no meaning for the people of the Two Lands.
When the foundation of the first mastaba was laid, rumors began to spread of the tomb’s size. In the markets, the old women shook their heads and laughed. Such stories! How could such a thing be built?
When the initial four-level pyramid was completed and the farmers returned to their homes after their months of work on the project, they told fabulous tales, unbelievable stories about stones cut into perfect cubes, larger than two men with their arms outstretched. They looked to the desert and to the river’s palm trees, but there was nothing large enough to use for comparison. Some men paced off the length of one of the pyramid’s sides and waving their arms they called to their neighbors who saw the men’s waving arms before they heard their shouts.
And the old women shook their heads. Such a thing was not possible. Men always return with tall tales. We are people, not gods.
Then Imhotep began to expand the northern and western steps. He added to the eastern and southern slopes, bringing the new walls out away from the four-step pyramid. The steps rose again, braced against the off-center inner pyramid. The new structure rose over the first pyramid, wider and deeper and more squat. Then a fifth step was added, then a sixth.
And the old women went to Saqqara and saw for themselves and they said such a thing was not possible, unless Djoser truly was a god as he said. And Imhotep, too, others whispered.
It was Imhotep, after all, who caused this stone mountain to rise, they said. Old men remembered that it was Imhotep who had healed Teti’s shattered arm twelve years ago. Others said that in Khmunu Imhotep had taken his dead wife to the Temple of Ma’at where he had brought her back to life. And in Abu it was he who had persuaded Hapi to bring the flood all those years ago. Heads close together, the villagers whispered, have you noticed that his skin is lighter, his lips thinner? Others, who claimed to have touched his robe as he passed, said that they had heard him talk in the language of the gods.
Djoser had heard the whispers, but never spoke against them. Perhaps, he had thought, Imhotep is more than just a man from another world, another time. Perhaps he is a god. But he is my god!
Now, at the entrance to the grand tomb Imhotep had built, the torch-bearer watched him closely. Would the great Imhotep cast a spell? Would he foretell the future? Would his face magically change into that of a baboon like Thoth or a hawk or a lion?
Was a miracle about to happen?
But Imhotep only shook his head and smiled at Hetephernebti.
“It is nothing. I was just remembering the first time I saw this chamber. This very scene. I was standing over there. It was night and I was all alone in a far distant time,” he said, nodding toward the entrance. “I imagined this procession, the flickering torches, the gowns and headdresses. I smelled the incense, felt the dignity and gravity, heard the chants and prayers.”
He started walking, taking Hetephernebti’s hand in his. The torchbearer hurried to catch up with them. Had he just heard a vision? He tried to replay the conversation in his mind. It made no sense.
Imhotep leaned close to Hetephernebti and smiled. “It struck me just now that I might have seen myself and I was trying to remember.”
Hetephernebti sighed. She loved Imhotep. He was a devoted husband to her dear friend Meryt. He had been an unfailingly trustworthy confidante to Djoser and without doubt he was a seer whose visions had proved infallible. But he often made no sense to her.
They moved to the central gallery.
The pallbearers, Nubians from Djoser’s personal guard, two of them sons of Sabef, who had returned to his native Ta-Seti before Inhotep had come to the Two Lands, carefully placed the casket on a ridged bridge made of electrum-covered beams.
Below the wooden supports an open shaft fell a hundred and fifty feet to the underground tomb chamber where an uncovered, red-granite sarcophagus awaited King Djoser’s body.
As the casket settled onto the platform, all of the torches waved, their flames dancing and jerking toward the casket as if Djoser was inhaling the last air from the Two Lands. Even though Imhotep knew that the torches were responding to a draft from the mortuary workers opening tunnels deep underground, he still felt a wave of excitement.
The light settled and a haze of smoke from the torches and the burning incense started to fill the upper reaches of the gallery like a dark cloud. The singers grew quiet, the harpist stopped playing and the sistrums clattered to silence.
Hetephernebti moved to her brother’s coffin.
As she walked she gathered the light to herself until her shimmering white gown seemed to radiate more brightly than the torches around her. Her shoulders rose as she breathed deeply. Imhotep knew that she was entering a trancelike state where she believed that she spoke as Re.
Anticipation filled everyone’s face and the silence deepened as the mourners held their breath awaiting Hetephernebti’s words.
She had closed her eyes and now she slowly opened them, tilted back her head and speaking as Re she said, “Hail in peace! I repeat to you the good deeds which my own heart did for me from within the serpent-coil, in order to silence strife.
“I made the four winds, that every man might breathe in his time.
“I made the great inundation, that the humble might benefit by it like the great.
“I made every man like his fellow; and I did not command that they do wrong. It is their hearts which disobey what I have said.
“I have created the gods from my sweat, and the people from the tears of my eye.”
She paused and looked to Teti who had moved across Djoser’s casket from her.
Built like his father, Teti was heavily muscled and broad-chested. Before entering the pyramid he had donned the double crown of the Two Lands and a broad collar of colorful faience beads. His oiled torso gleamed in the light, as his father’s always had during ceremonies.
From the back he was often mistaken for his father, but his face lacked the symmetry that made Djoser so handsome. His eyes were filled more with animal cunning than forgiving intelligence, his lips often formed a frown when he thought instead of Djoser’s pensive smile and his jaw was narrower, giving him a hungry look.
He waited until the audiences’ eyes followed Hetephernebti’s and settled on him. Then he answered her words for his father.
“I shall sail rightly in my bark, I am lord of eternity in the crossing of the sky.
“I am not afraid in my limbs, for Hu and Hike overthrow for me that evil being.
“I shall see light-land, I shall dwell in it.
“Make way for me, that I may see Nun and Amun! For I am that Akh who passes by the guards.
“I am equipped and effective in opening his portal!”
The ritual response ended and then Teti raised his hand.
“My father is Horus
and Osiris. He is Divine in Body and I am his son. I am Djoser-ti. I am Sekhemkhet, Powerful in Body. I am the Great House of the Two Lands. As my father is Horus, I am Horus. I am Horus born again.”
***
As Teti, now King Sekhemkhet, spoke, Imhotep felt a sense of unease and foreboding creep over him. He took a step back, merging with the host of priests and officials who filled the pyramid’s central chamber.
He felt his consciousness withdraw, curling into itself as if hiding from the future. He closed his eyes to calm himself. He told himself that he was simply feeling uneasy. The air inside the pyramid was being consumed by the torches, dirtied with the gray smoke of a hundred bowls of incense, drained by the breathing of the hundred mourners. It was nothing more.
From a distance he heard Tama, the embodiment of Ma’at, begin to speak.
Fifteen years ago she had been Brian’s lover when the American had been cast adrift in ancient Egypt. She had tried to shield him from the plotting of Djefi, the priest of Sobek, and from Kanakht, the king’s malevolent vizier.
After Brian’s violent slaying she had changed. Abandoning her duties at the temple, she haunted the dusty pathways that led to the small villages and farms.
There were stories of her working in the fields or baking bread or weaving linen. She was said to have scattered the marketplace offerings of a merchant who she believed was charging unfair prices. There were rumors that she had attacked an overzealous tax collector. She was seen in dirty rags, with short, unkempt hair and broken fingernails begging outside a rich man’s house; she had spent a week standing outside a thief’s home, dressed in a shimmering translucent robe mutely holding a feather, the symbol of Ma’at.
Hetephernebti, once her closest friend, told Imhotep that Tama had discovered a different world in Brian’s words and that now the Two Lands were not enough for her curious spirit. Dissatisfied and angry, Tama saw unbalance and discord in the smallest misdeeds and her fury would be unleashed with equal wrath at small iniquities or large injustices.
