Khu: A Tale of Ancient Egypt

by Jocelyn Murray

  “Khu…”

  The voice again. Beautiful, melodic and sweet like a juicy ripened fig. He walked in those amber fields searching for the voice that called to him, wading through the lush crop that was ready for the harvest. The sun warmed his skin as he ran his hands over the tall stalks whose bearded spikes tickled his belly like fur.

  “Khu…”

  The boy stirred, leaving the amber fields behind. He moaned softly in his sleep as he sought the voice that beckoned him once again. Then slowly he opened his eyes with the effort of one who had lain ill for days. At first his vision was blurred with sleep. But the figure sitting by his side came into focus as he blinked and sighed from the low reed mat serving as his bed. The mat was stretched over a wood frame, and covered with a thin woolen mattress and linen sheet. His head was supported by a wooden headrest and cushioned by a small pillow.

  “Khu…” the woman smiled when the boy finally fixed his gaze upon her. “You are Khu,” she stated with a proud upward tilt of her chin. “Protected One,” she continued. “My protected one.”

  The boy did not reply at first. He believed himself to be dreaming still. He did not recognize the beautiful woman with the melodic voice. Nor was he familiar with his opulent surroundings. He had been born to a simple peasant family who lived in one of the many mud-brick dwellings that were clustered together by the fields where they toiled. His village had been attacked by raiders who wreaked havoc throughout the northern region under one of the pretenders who had claimed the throne of Lower Egypt. All of the villagers had been slaughtered including his family. Only he had escaped.

  But he remembered none of this.

  All memory of his family and village had been swept from his mind, including his name. The traumatic events had left him without any recollection of his identity or past. All that remained were bits and pieces of elusive information, vague situations or feelings that were triggered by unrelated occurrences.

  “You are Khu, child. That is your name now. Khu,” the woman repeated. “And you are my son now,” she said in a softer tone as she stroked the long plaited sidelock of hair that lay on the small cushion by his shoulder. “Son of Tem. Tem Salih-et, She Who is Righteous, King’s Beloved, and Queen of Upper Egypt.”

  The boy only nodded. He did not know what to say to the woman sitting before him. He had never seen a noble, let alone a queen. Her title did not really mean much to him at all. He felt strangely removed from everything as though nothing were real.

  Tem had a serene expression on her lovely face, making her natural beauty radiate from within her. Her dark straight hair was cut to frame her oval face, and just brushed the tops of her shoulders as was the custom for women at that time. A thin gold band encircled the top of her head, from which hung an amulet carved of lapis lazuli that rested on her forehead. She wore a long white belted linen tunic dress that was wrapped about her slender body and gathered over one shoulder.

  Tem was queen and principle wife of King Nebhepetre Mentuhotep II—Lord of the White Crown and Ruler of Upper Egypt. Her royal blood had descended from a long line of kings, just like her husband Mentuhotep. Like most noble marriages, theirs had been a dynastic alliance to secure their bloodlines and continue the royal succession. Tem was already related to the king. She was his half-sister. But she had never born him any children.

  Tem had tried to conceive a child but had failed again and again. She had tried all the prescribed herbs and potions that were believed to help increase fertility. She had also consulted with the priests of several temples and made many offerings to the gods on behalf of this special intention, especially to Hathor and Thoueris who oversaw fertility and childbirth, as well as to Amun who was patron of Thebes. Hathor was the ancient cow-goddess whose nurturing character imbued the milk of life into all things worthy. Tem had prayed most fervently to her—patron of all women—pleading before the statue that bore the headdress of cow horns with a moon-disk between them. But none of the gods had listened, and the herbs had only made Tem’s skin break out in an unsightly rash. Nothing had helped. And feeling defeated, she had finally given up on the dream of ever becoming a mother. Her womb was as barren and dry as the desert surrounding Egypt, east and west of the Nile.

  But that did not matter anymore.

  “Mesi,” Tem called her servant over.

  The boy did not even recognize the young woman who had first found him in the reeds seven days before, shortly after the fever had started. He had been desperately ill, and the trauma of his ordeal, and the shock of his torment had left him feeble and teetering on the edge of a great precipice overlooking an abyss.

  “Lady,” Mesi replied as she handed a small copper cup to the woman sitting by the boy’s side. The dark liquid released a small wisp of steam that melted away into the air. Mesi bowed her head as she withdrew to one side of the room. She was pleased to see Khu awake.

  “Drink,” Tem instructed the boy as she placed one hand behind his head in support. “Small sips, child.”

  Khu put his lips to the cup and drank. The warm liquid made him cough at first, and he pulled away. But Tem encouraged him again to sip the diluted wine concoction mixed with coriander, garlic and willow. It had been sweetened with a little honey but it still tasted bad. He drank it obediently nevertheless. He rested his head again and watched Tem as she handed the cup back to Mesi.

  Then their eyes met. Khu recognized the look of wonder in Tem’s eyes as she stared at him. Many others had regarded him the same way, before averting their gazes and touching an amulet that hung around their necks or rested inside a pocket. They were the eyes of a cat, at least in color, but far more intriguing. There was something strangely riveting about his gaze. It was as if he could see right through a person. Right into the very soul. But what made it most unsettling was that he seemed to know what lay hidden within the heart. Something about the way he stared, left no doubt that he could truly see what was there.

  And he did.

  Khu had been born with a special gift, not unlike his jewel-toned eyes that held people spellbound. He had the gift of discernment. With a simple glance he knew if someone were telling the truth when they spoke. He might not know what they were thinking, but he could tell if they were being honest or if they were lying. It was his purity of heart that allowed him to see into the soul and know if that person were true or false.

  Tem regarded the boy quietly with a tilt of her head. She knew that he was special. Like Mesi, Tem also believed him to be the one described in the Prophecy of Neferti.

  The ancient prophesy had predicted a time of chaos where Egypt’s unification would disintegrate under a succession of ephemeral dynasties, then be restored once again in unity and prosperity. A new kingdom would be established after a series of war campaigns were mounted to defeat enemies of Egypt. It was believed that one especially righteous warrior who was pure of heart and unwavering in loyalty, would rise to lead these campaigns to victory under the guidance of the king. This warrior was described as having eyes of gold, just like Khu. Tem narrowed her eyes a little in thoughtful consideration as she looked into those eyes now. They were like warm limpid pools where one could easily get lost.

  The sound of children running and playing could be heard from somewhere else in the palace. They were the happy sounds of innocence, delightful squeals full of the energetic joy of life. The smell of fresh baked bread wafted through the air, mingling with the fragrance of the lotus flowers that floated in a deep earthen dish resting on a small table in the corner of the room. The walls were painted in flower motifs of scrolling vines and bindweed creeping about bunches of irises, chrysanthemums and jasmine. A rectangular window was cut high into the wall, over which hung a reed mat to keep out the dust, heat and flies. Sunlight pierced the mat in long thin shafts that made crisscross patterns on the floor which was inlaid with large blocks of colorful stone cut into geometric shapes.

  A gray cat wandered into the room, momentarily distracting the queen from her musin
gs, and she motioned to the animal with her hand. It was one of the many pets living with the nobles in the sprawling palace compound. The cat rubbed itself along Tem’s leg, and then offered the queen his head. She scratched his silky fur, running her hand over his smooth back, and he purred loudly. Khu shifted in his bed to glance at the animal that sniffed at the boy curiously, before eliciting more caresses and then wandering out of the room.

  Tem’s attention turned back to Khu, and she placed one of her own hands over the boy’s, marveling at his perfection. She had surmised what had happened to the boy after her servants had brought him to her with his bloodied clothing. It was not uncommon for robbers to attack villages, both in the northern and southern areas that lay beyond the present jurisdiction of Mentuhotep II. Asiatic nomads had attacked Lower Egypt sporadically, entering through the Delta’s intricate waterways and causing much unrest. People from Kush had also plagued Egypt from the southern lands when they were not maintaining a grudging peace. The Kushites sometimes posed a troublesome threat to the many mines and resources that enriched Egypt from the south. But it was the lawless bands of domestic renegades whose contemptible ways betrayed a seditiousness and disloyalty to everything in sight, that caused the most problems. They preyed most heavily upon the smaller settlements and townships in the Nile Valley that lacked the protection and backing of a king and his administration. Those bands were like the hyena that ran in bloodthirsty clans, stealing, ravaging and snatching spoils after laying waste to those places they visited.

  Thebes had been much safer than its northern neighbors. King Mentuhotep II had done a fine job at protecting his own people from such vile atrocities, and had thus enjoyed a more peaceful reign so far. But it was still in the early years of his rule, and nothing was guaranteed, especially while Egypt remained a divided kingdom.

  “Rest now, child,” Tem whispered as she began stroking his head and plaited sidelock of hair once again. “Close your eyes and rest Khu, my son. My beautiful boy.”

  Khu closed his sleepy eyes as the drink he had finished sipping coursed through his blood and relaxed him, his thick dark lashes grazing the tops of his cheeks. His features were perfectly proportioned and Tem marveled at his beauty once again.

  She wondered about the family he left behind, and a profound sadness filled her soul for the mother who must have loved him deeply. He would never see her again. But he would know a mother’s love—her love. And despite the sadness of his circumstances, Tem could not help feeling secretly relieved that Khu did not remember any of his past. She did not want him to suffer from it, nor did she want anyone trying to claim him and take him away from her.

  Tem smiled and exhaled a small sigh of satisfaction when she saw that Khu had fallen asleep once again. Gone was the ashen pallor in his complexion from those first few days when he appeared to teeter precariously on the edge of death. His smooth skin was regaining some of its natural healthy color as he improved.

  Tem had been by his bedside constantly from the moment her servants had brought him to her. With Mesi’s help, she herself had taken upon the task of carefully washing the blood and filth from his body, then anointing his skin with perfumed oils which were delicately scented with flowers, to protect him from Egypt’s arid climate. She had watched and waited anxiously as he struggled under the fever’s terrible power which left him very weak, and had placed cool herbal compresses made with willow leaves over his forehead and on the sides of his neck below his ears. She loved him already as her own son—as the child she could never bear. And she wanted to keep him for herself.

  Yes, Tem thought to herself with a mother’s conviction as she watched Khu lying on the linen sheet. Khu belonged to her now. It did not matter anymore that she had not been able to conceive a child of her own, because she had him now. He was her son now. And he would be raised and educated right alongside with the other noble children of the palace. Perhaps even her husband Mentuhotep II would claim him as a son as well. He already had an infant heir by Neferu, who was his second major wife. It had been determined that Neferu’s son would succeed Mentuhotep to the throne as ruler someday after Tem had failed to conceive a child herself. This had been decreed before Mentuhotep’s third wife, Henhenet, had died in childbirth.

  Henhenet’s death and that of her unborn child, had occurred recently just before Khu had been found in the reeds. She had been expecting her first child with Mentuhotep when the double tragedy struck, casting a mournful pall over the palace. Although the pregnancy had been relatively easy, the birth had been a nightmare. Her labor had lasted days on end, while she was attended by women and nurses who were skilled in the birthing process. She had spent her final days in a special confinement pavilion within the palace, which was reserved for the baby’s birth, and dedicated to the goddesses Hathor, Thoueris and Isis in hopes that they would oversee the birth and protect both mother and child. Numerous amulets carved from jasper, lapis lazuli, malachite, and carnelian encircled the cushioned reed mat where she lay. A curved ivory wand engraved with deities had been placed on her swollen belly for protection, while statues and effigies of gods stared out from their platforms around the room, ready to ward off any evil spirits that might be lurking within.

  Every so often Henhenet would be assisted into a squatting position so that she could push through the contractions. But try as she might, the baby did not budge. She was also given special potions to drink that were believed to aid in the birth of a child, while scented unctions had been massaged liberally onto her belly. But nothing had helped. The baby was blocked by the placenta within her womb. After days of struggling, with the women chanting every known prayer and incantation, and burning incense and scattering flowers over the floor, Henhenet had finally died.

  A terrible sadness befell the palace. All joyful anticipation for the birth of a new baby was replaced by a bitter mourning for the loss of both mother and child. Funeral preparations for the deceased were undertaken immediately, and the king ceased shaving his head and face in order to grow hair as an outward display of his grief during the embalming period until the funeral ceremony would be held.

  Tem was sad for the loss of Henhenet and her unborn child. The woman had been like a younger sister to her. Mentuhotep was also distraught. Although he had children by a number of lesser wives, the loss was heartbreaking, for the heart’s capacity to love is infinite. Death was a constant risk when it came to new life, especially in a time when the mortality rate for infants and mothers in childbirth was high. Their deaths were a grim reminder of the transience of this world, and the importance of readying for the Afterlife.

  The finding of Khu could not have come at a better time, thought Tem, as she bent down to gently kiss the sleeping boy on the forehead. For a few seconds she watched his chest rise and fall with the quiet rhythm of his breathing. Then she got up from his bedside and walked over to the room’s entryway, pausing to turn and glance at Khu once more before leaving.

  The children of the palace were deeply loved and cherished, she acknowledged to herself. How could Mentuhotep not accept Khu as his own son? Particularly after the painful loss of Henhenet and her child. Khu would be a balm on the king’s wounded heart. Yes, she nodded to herself, one more child would be a blessing.

  Especially this child.

  TWO

  Morning dawned bright over the funeral procession snaking its way across the shimmering Nile on a barge. Unlike some parts of the great far-reaching river whose murky waters were a dirty brown, the water here shone blue as the vast blue sea lying north of the Nile Delta, and into which the great river disgorged its branched veins. It mirrored the brilliant sky above, a placid reflection of the heavens. Its smooth glassy surface belied a current which made the barge seem to glide effortlessly across.

  From stem to stern, the graceful boat stretched long and slender with chiseled beast heads mounted on the ends which rose high above the deck, facing inwards to the vessel’s occupants. A black stone representation of Anubis carved
entirely of jet, sat on top of the canopy shading the coffins of the deceased. The jackal-headed god was depicted in full animal form. His lithe reclining body supported a long-snouted head with perked ears alert to any possible danger as he protected the spirits of the dead, while leading them safely to the Afterlife.

  Once crossing to the river’s west bank, the procession continued past the verdant floodplains, and on to the dry sandy desert waiting beyond, where an ox-drawn sledge hauled the mummified remains of Henhenet and her infant child. The baby had been a girl. More than seventy days had passed since their deaths, during which the priests had washed, anointed and preserved their individual bodies with mixtures of spices, salts and resins, before wrapping them in the finest linen.

  The great ox lumbered steadily forward, harnessed to the heavy cargo it pulled under a warming sun. Loud wailing from professional mourners mingled with the noble family’s cries as they followed the shaven-headed priests leading the group in somber dignity—their leopard-skin cloaks draped over a single shoulder, and their long staffs in hand as they chanted solemn ritual intonations and wafted sweet incense through the air. The perfumed wisps of smoke mingled with the cloud of dust rising in the wake of the mourners, so that the long procession was enveloped in an aromatic haze.

  Tem took her place beside Mentuhotep with Khu by her side. Neferu walked on the king’s other side with her infant heir to the throne. The king’s second major wife held her baby close, as the child’s nursemaid walked a pace behind, ready to take the babe from her mistress at a moment’s notice. But Neferu did not relinquish the infant. She held him closely to her chest, wrapped in a long linen cloth which had been fashioned into a sling. It was tied across one shoulder and around her back. The movement of the procession had lulled the child to sleep.

  Neferu kept looking at the sleeping babe worriedly, and casting surreptitious glances Khu’s way. She distrusted Khu. As mother of the heir to Upper Egypt’s throne, Neferu took her place in the royal palace quite seriously. And in a time when infant mortality was high, she cared for the child with all the protectiveness of a whole pride of lions guarding their young. Small amulets were tied to the infant’s limbs, and spells were chanted daily for his protection.