She hated Khu. She hated him because she feared and envied him. She wanted the same bond for Sankhkare and the king. And although she would not admit it to herself, she also hated him because he was everything that she wanted her own son to be. Her hatred possessed a depth and complexity that would take nothing short of a feat of supernatural proportions to dispel.
And that is precisely what finally happened.
It was during the festival of Heb Nefer en Inet—the Beautiful Feast of the Valley—that Neferu experienced a dramatic change of heart. Khu was nine years old at that time. The annual celebration took place during the second month of Shemu—the Season of Harvest—and saw much feasting and rejoicing throughout the kingdom of Thebes.
A shrine bearing the statue of the god Amun was transported with great pomp and circumstance in a procession led by the temple priests out of the Temple of Amun. The golden shrine was covered in finely woven linen dyed in brilliant hues of turquoise and purple, to hide it from the public’s eyes. It was carried on a sacred barque by a procession of priests draped in animal skins, who followed after a slew of fan-bearers, singers and musicians.
The great Temple of Amun dominated the temple complex in Thebes, for the god Amun was king of the gods and creation, and one of the chief deities in all Egypt, especially in the Upper Lands where he was honored with his wife Mut and their son Khonsu as part of the Theban Triad. The temple’s limestone architecture reflected white under a dazzling sun. Two obelisks stood like sentinels before the grand pylon which rose formidably toward the blue sky.
The procession of priests stepped out of the towering entrance and walked down the Avenue of Sphinxes in the presence of the many people who had been granted time off from work in order to participate in the important festivities. The priests made their way beyond the temple complex, through the village streets, and onto a gilded barge floating over the Nile. This was followed by a flotilla of smaller boats carrying people and a profusion of flowers and choice offerings of food and drink including bread, meat, spiced honey cakes, dates, figs, melons, wine and heqet that had been brewed especially strong for the joyous occasion.
People throughout the region cheerfully greeted the god with incense, music and dancing. They saluted him with joyful hymns, prostrating themselves in adoration and gratitude as the sacred icon of Amun passed before them. Amun’s statue was transported to the various mortuary temples and tomb chapels housing the remains of their beloved dead on the Nile’s west bank, before returning back on the barge and over the land as the sun crossed the sky on its daily voyage over the earth. It was a time of rejuvenation, jubilation, and thanksgiving for the bounty bestowed upon the land and the people. It was also a time of remembrance when people honored and paid tribute to the dead.
“Amun! Amun!” many called out as they flung themselves on the ground to bow low before the passing shrine.
“Adoration to thee! Ruler of gods, life-giver to the lands!”
“Amun! Beloved sovereign of sovereigns!” others cried in the grip of ecstasy intensified by the sweet incense and potent heqet inebriating the people.
Khu and Nakhti were among the large group of children that cheered, clapped and danced in tune to the music filling the perfumed air.
By this time, the late afternoon’s setting sun blazed with a crimson fire over the revelers who had been celebrating since the early morning, and its warmth heightened the effects of the heqet that flowed freely among the people. The long day’s festivities had continued on the east bank of the Nile after all the religious ceremonies had been completed. People rejoiced throughout the village, by the riverbank, and in front of the temple complex long after the golden shrine had been returned to its home within the great temple’s sanctuary.
A crowd of wealthier revelers including the high officials and their families, the nobility, and the royal family and their friends had withdrawn from the streets and temple complex to celebrate on the lavish palace grounds whose pillared halls and lush courtyards spread out like an oasis of earthly delights. Everything had been decorated for the feast, so that garlands of fresh flowers and vines encircled the columns and hung from the buildings in colorful displays. There were tables laden with platters of food, earthen jars brimming with heqet, and clay amphoras filled with red wine that was kept for special feast days.
People bedecked themselves in their finest garments, makeup, and jewelry made of gold with precious gems including garnets, carnelian and lapis lazuli. Women wore perfumed wax cones over their festival wigs so that the sweet oil ran over their shoulders as it melted, enveloping them in its fragrance. Even the beasts in the private palace stables were adorned with wreaths for the special occasion, and given extra helpings of fodder.
People were laughing and swaying by the musicians, their heads spinning as they gave themselves over to the elation suffusing the air. Professional musicians played an assortment of instruments including harps, flutes and lyres, while nimble dancers performed acrobatics as part of the festival amusements.
It was then that Khu noticed little Sankhkare toddling over by a pond.
The pond was one of the many pools kept in the lush palace gardens that grew with an abundance of date palms, fruit trees, and flowering plants surrounding the spacious living quarters. It was strewn with lotus flowers and miniature floating oil lamps whose flames imbued the murky water with an emerald glow. Sankhkare was alone, and had somehow escaped the watchful eyes of his mother and nursemaid. And free of their restrictive attentions, he scuttled happily away before anyone could notice.
The two-year-old heir to the throne was holding a date in his chubby little hand. He had been gnawing at it while creeping closer to the pond’s edge which was fringed with purple fountain grass, foxtail, flowering rushes, and bur reeds. Getting down on his hands and knees, he stuffed the date into his mouth, leaned forward, and stretched out his arm over the water. The spiked bluish petals of the lotus blossoms had not yet closed for the night, and their fragrance was intoxicating. Sankhkare tried to reach one of these delicate beauties when he slipped and disappeared beneath the dark water without a sound.
A bolt of anguish shot through Khu in that instant.
Khu was standing about twelve paces away from the pond. He had been clapping his hands in time to the rhythm of a tune along with a large group of children when he flinched suddenly, forcing him to turn and look for the little boy he had just seen wandering toward the pond moments before. He knew something was terribly wrong. His heart was beating like the wings of a scattering of heron who had been startled while wading through the river marshes.
Sankhkare was gone.
A rippling in the water’s surface was all that remained after the pond swallowed him up without so much as a splash. But Khu knew he was in trouble. He felt the child’s distress as strongly as though it had been he who had been engulfed by the turbid water.
“Sankhkare!” Neferu cried out, scanning the area about her.
Her son had simply vanished. He had been sitting on the ground nearby a moment ago, playing with a wooden toy cat, and the clay pieces of a stone board game. Neferu saw the circular playing pieces strewn haphazardly about, while the toy cat lay abandoned on its side. But the little boy was nowhere in sight.
Neferu thrust her cup of wine into the hand of a servant, and got up to leave the group of women with whom she had been chatting. She searched wide-eyed for the little boy who meant the world to her.
“Where is Sankhkare?” she asked in a panicked pitch of the nursemaid who was looking bewildered herself. “WHERE IS HE?” she yelled as she grasped the nurse by the shoulders and shook her hard.
“I… I-I don’t know, my lady,” the woman stuttered, her eyes filled with fear. “He was just here.”
Khu ran over to the pond, catching Neferu’s eye. She stopped to stare at him in confusion as he jumped into the water without hesitation.
“Khu!” someone yelled from the crowd after he leaped into the water.
&nb
sp; The musicians stopped playing their instruments, and people everywhere turned to see what was happening.
Khu ducked under the pond’s surface and grabbed Sankhkare by an arm, pulling him up out of its depths. By now everyone had stopped dancing to gather round the pond and watch as Khu lifted the small boy out of the water, and lay him down on the dry ground next to the grasses.
Sankhkare was not breathing.
The little boy’s face was ashen as he lay unconscious on his back, eliciting a loud gasp from the crowd whose eyes were now riveted to the scene. And climbing rapidly out of the water, Khu turned the boy on his side and struck him firmly on the back. Then he shoved his finger in the boy’s mouth and pulled out the partially eaten date that had gotten lodged in Sankhkare’s throat when he fell into the pond.
“Sankhkare!” Neferu ran to her son, crouching down on the ground beside him, her eyes wide with the panic that drove her to the edge of madness as the realization of what had just happened dawned on her with a jarring impact.
The little prince began to cough, gasping as he gulped for air. Then he cried inconsolably as the shock of the accident wore off, and the seriousness of the events struck him with dread.
“Sankhkare… Sankhkare…” Neferu whispered as she held her son closely, rocking him back and forth to sooth the frightened child and calm her own frayed nerves. “It is alright now, my child… my sweet child,” she cooed lovingly to her boy.
“He will be fine,” Khu said in a low voice.
Neferu looked up suddenly as though she had forgotten Khu was there. She said nothing at first, but stared at him with wide eyes filled with emotion. “Thank you,” she mouthed to Khu as hot tears streamed down her face. For a moment she just closed her eyes tightly and buried her head in her son’s chest, as a tumult of emotions assailed her. Then she lifted her head. “Thank you, Khu… thank you, thank you, thank you,” she repeated again and again as she locked eyes with Khu while scooping Sankhkare up closer to embrace him.
Khu blinked his eyes with a slow nod to Neferu in acknowledgment. He reached out to caress the little boy’s shaven head, and the plaited sidelock of hair that was dripping water from the pond. That was when Neferu placed her own hand on top of Khu’s. She squeezed it with all the emotions overwhelming her for the tragedy that had so nearly happened, and for what Khu had done to avert it.
Khu turned his golden gaze on Neferu, looking her in the eyes with gratitude for the kindness she was showing him for the very first time. And from that day on, the ice that had previously clogged her veins and frozen her heart, melted away.
And all the hate, fear and envy were replaced by a reverential blend of wonder and admiration for the boy who saved her son’s life.
***
Mentuhotep regarded Khu and Nakhti with a faraway look in his eyes, as a servant handed each of the boys clean linen cloths to wipe away the sweat and dirt from their faces.
The boys had spent the first part of their day in their schooling lessons as was customary for male children of the nobility and wealthier classes. Temple priests and scribes tutored boys in reading, writing, mathematics and medicine, along with a limited amount of geography, history and foreign phrases where applicable, so that they were well acquainted with governmental and temple procedures. While all pupils were taught to read and write, the other subjects were only reserved for those who would require them in their future careers, be it as government officials, priests, doctors or scribes, among the various occupations.
The daily lessons lasted several hours from the early morning, and could be long and tedious with much memorization and endless copying of hieroglyphic scripts. The tutors were hard taskmasters, and were quick to correct wayward students with a lash of a rod. By the time the lessons were finished for the day, the boys had a great deal of pent-up energy which they were eager to exhaust in their combative training exercises, under the guidance of Qeb. It was a strict and vigorous routine, both mentally and physically, but one which helped to mold the boys into men.
The king was pleased with his sons’ training and all the progress they had shown over the years. Both of them were intelligent, strong and capable. Khu’s natural aptitude was especially impressive, though one would never guess from his pragmatic and unassuming nature.
Mentuhotep was remembering the time when he first discovered Khu’s special gift.
The king had been attempting to settle a quarrel between two villagers who had come to the palace with some officials. Both of the men were skilled craftsmen, and worked in the village workshops. One of them was a carpenter while the other a metalworker. They lived on the same block and had enjoyed a comfortable living from the talents which had made their skills profitable.
The two men waited quietly before the king. The proceedings took place in a shaded courtyard where the king usually managed the local affairs of his lands and people. The men standing before him had been foes for a long time. The years had engendered a spirit of competition which had degenerated into jealousy and envy. They tried to outdo each other in wealth and status, and the flames of that rivalry were fanned by their family’s petty conflicts, so that their mutual enmity extended between their wives, children, and other relatives.
One of the men had begun stealing from the other several years before. At first it was an act of malice done to spite the other, but as time passed, it deepened into something more wicked. The guilty man sought to disparage the other’s good name. He would sometimes plant evidence to falsely accuse his rival of stealing, and to defame his good character. But nothing had come of it until recently, when the innocent man was found in possession of an amulet hidden in his shop. That amulet belonged to a temple priest. This was a serious crime, for while thieves were not tolerated, and their crimes were met with harsh consequences, stealing from the temple or from one of the temple priests was especially disdained as an egregious offence.
Both men stood with their faces tight and jaws set. It was impossible to tell who was guilty or innocent by looking at them, as both pointed their fingers to each other in accusation.
“For years he has been stealing from my family, Lord King,” the first spoke with his head bowed in humility as he stood before the king who was seated on a throne on top of a raised platform.
Two advisors waited at either side of Mentuhotep, watching the events with the corners of their mouths turned down. Four temple priests were also in attendance, including the man from whom the amulet had been stolen. This case had been tried by priests earlier, but they had not been able to reach a decision on their own, even after praying to the gods for help in their deliberations. And so the villagers had petitioned to take their case before the king, where Mentuhotep would have the final say and judgment on the matter. But no one knew what to make of the testimony. It was one man’s word against another.
“Years?” the king asked.
“Yes, Lord King.”
“That is not true!” the second man spoke emphatically. “He lies!”
“Quiet!” one of the advisors yelled. “Do not speak unless spoken to.”
“You will have your turn to speak,” the other advisor said.
Mentuhotep frowned. He leaned back in his chair and raised an arm to rest his chin on the back of his fisted hand as he thought. “And why have you not complained before this?” he asked the first man.
“I have, Sire, but I did not have proof.”
The second man scowled at that. He shook his head and closed his eyes in a grave attempt to keep silent and wait his turn. He tried to steady the beating of his heart.
The first man was perspiring noticeably, and kept wiping his beaded brow, and then his clammy hands on his kilt, yet it was not that warm. A pleasant breeze carried the scent of roses, narcissus and myrtle flowers blooming in the surrounding gardens beyond the courtyard.
Tem had been watching in silence from the back of the room with Khu by her side. She had already known of Khu’s gift of discernment from comments he would ma
ke, or simply from the way he would look at someone. And although she had tried to convince Mentuhotep before of Khu’s gift, the king had not believed her. He had dutifully listened with the measured tolerance of a lion putting up with the annoying antics of a cub.
The young Khu stood by his mother’s side and observed both men enter the courtyard and present their testimony. But even before either had spoken, he knew who was guilty. He could see into their hearts as clearly as if they had been carrying them in the palms of their hands and presenting them to the king for all to see.
Khu tugged at his mother’s arm and she looked at him. Without saying anything, Khu lifted his chin in the slightest gesture toward the first man presenting his testimony. He was the guilty one.
Tem nodded to her child, and then whispered something to a nearby guard who went to Mentuhotep’s side and relayed the message.
Mentuhotep frowned, and the corners of his mouth fell. How could the child possibly know who was guilty? The king wanted evidence of some kind before passing judgment. He prided himself on being a good and just ruler, following the ethical principles of maat which sought truth, morality, justice and order. He could not simply take the word of a child. Grave consequences would follow, and he had to make sure that the man who was truly guilty got what he deserved. It was how the gods had ordained things, and Mentuhotep was one who believed in living in accordance with divine will. It was the only way to ensure harmony in the world.
“Have them come here,” the king whispered to the guard, referring to Tem and Khu.
Both walked over to the dais, and bowed respectfully before the king.
Khu: A Tale of Ancient Egypt Page 6
