“Come closer, child,” Mentuhotep waved Khu closer, and the boy stepped up on the dais by the throne. The king draped an arm about Khu’s waist, drawing him closer so that they could speak out of earshot from the men standing trial. “Now tell me why you think this man is guilty,” he said in a low voice. “I cannot just condemn him. What if you are wrong? It is shameful to wrongly accuse the innocent,” he explained. “We will all be judged upon our deaths, and our hearts weighed against the feather of maat.”
Khu listened patiently to the king’s advice, his expression unreadable. He knew that Mentuhotep sought to do the right thing, and he loved and respected his father for this. He was well aware of the arduous journey that the spirit went through as it traveled through the Underworld on its way to the Afterlife. It was a path rife with danger and monsters ready to consume wicked souls. After crossing a wide river and passing through narrow beast-guarded gates, the spirit would stand trial before Osiris in the Hall of Two Truths. Once there, Anubis would weigh the heart of the spirit against a feather of maat on the scales of justice, the verdict of which would be recorded by the ibis-headed god Thoth. If they weighed the same, the spirit would pass on to the glorious Field of Reeds. But if the heart out-weighed the feather, it would be devoured by the crocodile-headed, soul-eating demon Ammit, after which it would be forever condemned to a second and eternal death and damnation.
The two village men glanced at Khu and Tem. They wondered why they were here, and what the king was telling the boy with the strange eyes. They were both very nervous, knowing that the outcome of this trial would forever change their lives.
“Khu?” Mentuhotep prompted. He was waiting for the boy’s response.
Khu looked into the king’s eyes and simply said, “If you go into the first man’s house, you will find something of value hidden there that does not belong to him; something he had stolen from the other man’s family, and then hidden in his own home. It will be the evidence you seek.”
And that is exactly what had happened.
A stolen carnelian charm carved into a kheper scarab beetle was discovered after Mentuhotep had the guilty man’s home searched. The king questioned the innocent man and found that the charm did indeed belong to his family. It had been stolen the previous year, and hidden within a jewelry box belonging to the first man’s wife.
The first man was found guilty and publically beaten by the guards. He and his entire family were immediately exiled from the village, and made to leave without taking their things. Their home and belongings were given to the innocent man in recompense for all the damages he had suffered.
After that, Mentuhotep learned to trust Khu’s instincts, and began to rely more and more on Khu’s gift to help him as he presided over important matters.
Shouting distracted the king from his reverie as he turned to see his younger sons wrestling on the sandy ground. They had been pole sparring when one of them hit another a bit too hard. A fight ensued, drawing the rest of the boys into a tangle of striking limbs and insults mingling with the dust.
“Coward!” shouted one of the boys as he punched another in the chest.
“You are the coward!” another yelled back. “And you smell like a donkey!”
“Sniveling swine!” a third was kicking a boy on the ground.
“Diseased goat!” another shouted.
“You hit like a girl!” the first lashed out.
Then the sounds of their individual voices were lost in the general cacophony of the fight.
Mentuhotep’s eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up. For a moment he wondered what unholy world the squabbling and shrieking mass had come from. Only Khu and Nakhti watched in amusement. Then the king glanced at Qeb. The trainer shook his head slowly while muttering something under his breath. He looked like he had had enough for the day, as he stood with his muscled arms hanging limply by his sides. It had been a long day in the company of the rambunctious boys whose temperaments sometimes got the better of him.
“That is enough for today, Qeb,” the king said with a wave of his hand. “Let them be.”
The boys ceased their wrestling at the sound of their father’s voice. And when they went to drink some of the heqet from the jugs waiting under the shade of a tent by their older brothers, Nakhti doused them with the drink, laughing as he poured it over their shaved heads.
“That is to cool your hot tempers,” he told them with a grin.
They shrieked and giggled as the liquid soaked them and dripped down their single plaited sidelocks, forgetting their warrior’s training as they reverted to their childish ways.
Servants collected the fighting accoutrements and other materials used for the day’s training as the king took Qeb aside for a private word.
“I plan to take Khu and Nakhti with us on our next expedition south,” he said.
Qeb looked away for a while, his expression guarded as he pondered the king’s intentions. Perspiration beaded his smooth dark skin that gleamed like burnished bronze under the hot sun. He ran a hand over his smooth ebony scalp in an absent-minded gesture. His densely-coiled, wooly hair was kept shaved, so that it never grew beyond a stubble, and only when an expedition or other important matter kept him from shaving every day.
Qeb had been with Mentuhotep for many years, since before the king ascended to the throne. He had been captured in a raid when he was just a boy down in the land of Kush from where he had originated. Like many of the captured Kushites, Qeb had been assimilated into the Theban royal army where he had honed his fighting skills under the tutelage of other warriors. He had fought many times alongside Mentuhotep in the years since then, and had proven himself to be a formidable soldier of steadfast loyalty.
Qeb had earned the illustrious, hard-won title of Military Chancellor in Mentuhotep’s army at the beginning of the king’s reign, and was highly respected by all the king’s soldiers. Although Qeb had men working for him who assisted with all the boys’ training, there were some things he preferred to oversee himself. It was this hands-on approach that earned him great respect. He was never one to dictate to others what he would not do himself, whatever the circumstances might entail.
Qeb watched Khu and Nakhti as they led the smaller boys back to the palace. The two boys had lost their long plaited sidelocks when they had reached adolescence, and their shaved heads shone golden under the sun. Qeb worked his jaw a little, crossing his long arms over his broad chest as he thought of the boys he had been training for years. He knew they were talented and that they would prove themselves fine warriors someday. He just did not wish to see that day come too soon.
This would not be the first expedition in which the two boys had accompanied their father. But previous missions were mainly administrative in purpose, where the king visited the various settlements in his kingdom in order to meet with the officials overseeing them, discuss local matters and concerns, and to collect the taxes that he was owed as their regent.
It was important for Khu and Nakhti to accompany their father since one day they too would be given the responsibility of governmental positions, overseeing settlements or perhaps even becoming commanders in Mentuhotep’s elite army. Whatever they ended up doing required training. These responsibilities had to be earned in accordance to their abilities. The king was not one to grant favors lightly. He wanted people he could trust and depend on in positions of power. Those positions required a great deal of diplomacy—a skill which was learned and subsequently honed into a fine art.
But this mission was a little different.
The king was planning to go to the land of Kush. All his expeditions to Kush were handled with great care because of the threat of encountering conflict. Mentuhotep never knew how a journey to Kush would result, and Qeb felt a little apprehensive about letting the boys go. Perhaps it was his own foolish sentimentality. He loved them as sons.
“The Kushites…” Qeb began uncertainly in his deep, accented voice. It was strange to be talking of his own people this
way. Yet they were not his people anymore. He barely even remembered his parents. He considered himself a Theban and an Egyptian. Many former Kushites were Egyptians now. They did not see themselves as anything else.
“Yes,” Mentuhotep nodded, “I know.” The king could see Qeb’s doubts on his face, almost reading his mind.
“They cannot be trusted,” Qeb said.
“And how long has it been since we’ve encountered any conflict with them?”
“Several years.”
Mentuhotep turned to watch a hoopoe-lark land on a spiny shrub. It perched there for a moment before turning its head and jumping to the ground, where it ran a few paces on long legs. Then it stopped to probe its curved bill and dig for an insect in the ground. The dark markings on its pretty face resembled the kohl-drawn lines adorning the people’s eyes.
“No, they cannot be trusted,” Mentuhotep agreed as he looked back at his military chancellor, “but they are also predictable. Gold makes men predictable.”
“Hmm…” Qeb intoned dubiously, his mouth set into a hard line.
The king could see Qeb’s concern and hesitation carved into the handsome line of his brow. “I was not much older than they when I became king,” he said, glancing at the boys while standing alongside his loyal soldier who was also his friend. “Battle makes men of boys,” the king continued. “You yourself know that more than anyone.”
“I was younger than they, by a few seasons I think,” Qeb stared unblinkingly ahead, his face grave.
“You were,” the king nodded, “and that is why you turned out the way you did.”
Qeb looked at Mentuhotep, his face unreadable. He was going to say something but then thought better of it and held his tongue. He would never disrespect his ruler, regardless of their years together and the casual air of their friendship. Mentuhotep was still his sovereign.
“They are ready,” Qeb finally admitted with a resolute face. He worried for them.
“Good,” Mentuhotep looked satisfied. It was time to involve his eldest sons more considerably in his business and military affairs.
The peace that had reigned in the early part of Mentuhotep’s rule was fading fast. He had squelched several small uprisings over the past years, but more were expected. It had been a tumultuous time in Egypt with the kingdoms divided. Skirmishes, political unrest, disorder and hardship stemmed from the power struggles in the North, where various would-be kings had fought to claim the throne of Lower Egypt, which stood on a foundation riddled with uncertainty, treachery and greed. Those power struggles left the region of the Nile Delta weak and open to invasion from the Sea Peoples and the Hyksos, as well as the many thieves that preyed on the Nile Valley’s weaker settlements like fleas on a dog.
The king glanced in Khu’s direction as his son walked away with the rest of his boys in the group. Mentuhotep recalled being told that when Khu was first found hiding in the reeds, his clothing had been bloodied. He had been covered in blood and filth—blood that was not his own. Khu had been protected by the gods, or he too would have died in the terrible massacre he had escaped. He was the chosen one from the prophesies. Mentuhotep believed that now. But the king had to plan his moves in accordance with the gods. After all, he himself was a god-king—son of many gods in one physical form that was a simple extension of his divinity. He was Horus, Ptah, and son of Re, to name a few.
Mentuhotep planned to make special offerings in the temple of the god Amun, as he often did. As patron of Thebes and king of the gods, Amun was especially honored throughout the upper lands of Egypt. All of creation was attributed to him, and his hidden spirit manifested itself in all living things. Amun was also believed to guide imperial fighting expeditions. And with a resurgent of uprisings, every prayer and blessing would be needed to lead the king’s army to a triumph he had wanted since first acceding to the throne.
FIVE
Odji the gatekeeper waited until long after the king had departed before allowing himself a sly and sinister grin. He had watched Mentuhotep and his retinue of officials, advisors and delegates prepare for their journey, and he was waiting until Mentuhotep left so he could have a clandestine meeting.
Mentuhotep had boarded a ship on the Nile that would take him to the mines waiting in the southern territories of Egypt in Kush. A fleet of smaller boats followed the monarch’s vessel with supplies including grain, linen and papyrus that would be traded with the Kushites, along with a number of weapons to arm the king’s men in case things did not go as planned.
These trading expeditions could take a dangerous turn without warning. People of Kush had long proved to be capricious neighbors who could easily turn antagonistic. And yet the ranks of Mentuhotep’s army and those of his predecessors had swelled with Kushite mercenaries over the years. The Kushites were highly skilled archers and had passed their expertise on to the Egyptian warriors. Their skills were so renowned that the Egyptians referred to Kush as Ta-Seti—“Land of the Bow.”
Odji was glad that the king had taken his eldest sons along with him, especially Khu. He distrusted Khu. The rumors he had heard about Khu’s gift made him nervous. Odji was certain that that had been the reason why the robbery he had planned years earlier had failed. Why else would it have turned out badly when it had been practically foolproof? The rumors had to be true.
The two men who had been caught had indeed kept their mouths shut, luckily. Odji had kept his distance so that they would not accuse him of being an accomplice. It would have meant his death if they had indicted and convicted him, since treason was punishable by death. The men had less to lose because they were not in the king’s service. They had been flogged at the pillar as the punishment decreed, and then let go. They were fortunate they had not yet stolen anything when they were apprehended, or their punishment would have been more severe. Trespassing with the intent to steal was more than enough to earn them the penalty they received.
Odji remembered how Khu had been staring at him after the night’s foiled events. It was as if the boy had known. Odji exhaled in disgust as the memory sent a wave of repugnance through him. But how could he have known? He was just a child, and one of unknown origins. He had also been asleep in the palace, tucked away in a room behind several walls, gardens and spaces that kept him safe, secure and sequestered, far from the scene of the attempted crime.
Khu’s eerie catlike eyes had been fixed on Odji with a piercing force. It had made Odji feel like a despicable cockroach hiding in the rich grain he had planned to steal. But the boy never said a word—not to him, and not to anyone else. Whatever knowledge he might have possessed had remained locked away behind his peculiar gaze. And thankfully, Mentuhotep was none the wiser.
“Bothersome boy,” Odji mumbled aloud as he shook his head disdainfully in irritation. It was hard enough to arrange the details required for such an undertaking, without the boy thwarting his schemes.
But not this time.
Khu was gone. They were not due back for the course of a moon. It all depended on how things would go for them in Kush, naturally. But having the boy gone gave Odji a greater sense of freedom. At least for what he had been planning this time.
Odji had lived comfortably in his position as gatekeeper of the wall surrounding the palace grounds. He had two subordinate assistants with whom he alternated shifts in guarding the gated entrance to the sprawling compound. It was an easy job, and a respected position that afforded him a pleasant life. But it was not enough. He wanted a position of greater power, and he wanted control over his own domain.
Odji had risen from humble beginnings due to his father’s natural gardening ability to coax almost anything from the ground. His father had worked as a peasant in the fields before transferring to the palace gardens. His talents had been noticed by the palace officials who subsequently sent their own gardeners to him for advice before finally employing him to work in the royal compound. The nobles there took great pleasure in the gardens flourishing on the edge of the fertile floodplains. Fruit
groves, vegetable gardens, herbs and spices, ponds surrounded by abundant grasses and colorful flower beds, and many varieties of shade trees thrived among the rows of columns hung with grapevines. They were lush and life-giving, especially given their proximity to the merciless dry desert lying east of the floodplain.
Nevertheless, Odji had felt nothing but shame for his father who would come home each evening covered in dirt. And rather than admiring the man who worked hard to carve out a living for himself and his family, Odji despised him. His father reminded him of the swine covered in mud. They were filthy creatures, and were banned from religious ceremonies because they were regarded as unclean.
“Father, you are dirty,” Odji once complained when he was a child.
His father’s fingernails were always encrusted with soil, no matter how much time he spent washing his hands. Odji did not wish for anyone to see his father this way. It was disgraceful and embarrassing, especially in a society that valued purity and cleanliness. But Odji’s father just laughed at his son’s repugnance.
“Better to be dirty and blameless, than clean with a filthy heart,” his father replied wisely. “There is no shame in work, Odji. Even those who spend their days cleaning the dung from the animal pens are doing honorable work,” his father spoke around a mouthful of bread, and paused to wash it down with a long gulp of heqet. “And this soil that you detest is what grows the food we eat. It is the fertile black land of life.”
“But I detest it on you, Father. You smell bad! And everything you touch gets dirty!” Odji raised his voice to his father before running outside and up the narrow staircase leading to the rooftop.
They lived in a caretaker’s lodge next to the servants’ quarters on the palace grounds. Although Odji was the son of a gardener, he had been granted special permission to attend school with the children of the upper classes, where he was taught to read and write. He proved to be a bright child with talent, and his parents encouraged him in his lessons. They had wanted him to become a scribe because the work opportunities would be plentiful and lucrative. But Odji was lazy and found the work tedious. He did not want to invest the time and effort in learning something he did not like. He also felt inadequate. Every day that he studied with the other boys, he was reminded of his own humble position, not from anything they would do or say, but from his own inferiority complex. He was selfish, ungrateful and vain. And he blamed his own shortcomings on his father.
Khu: A Tale of Ancient Egypt Page 7
