Khu went into shock after that.
He lost all track of time as a strange numbness crept over him. It might have been minutes or hours that he lay under the sheet drenched in the blood of his mother and sister. He was curled into a ball with his knees drawn up under his chin, and his arms wrapped tightly about them. He rocked back and forth in the darkness, bracing himself against the trembling that assailed his body. With every passing moment, his mind retreated further and further away from the terrible violence which threatened his life and sanity.
He remembered nothing after that.
Nothing of the massacre that changed his life in one cruel and merciless instant. Nothing of the way he crawled out from the sheet and stared, transfixed, at the lifeless bodies of his mother and sister, in whose blood he was soaked. Nothing of the way he crept soundlessly like a cat in the shadows through the village whose occupants now lay dead. Nothing of the way he climbed aboard a raft, and pushed away from the river’s muddy bank with an oar, to glide silently along the still waters of the Nile. He floated on the river, putting more and more distance between him and the ravaged village, before finally falling asleep from exhaustion.
Only the traitorous moon watched from the black sky, along with a solitary jackal that paused from his feeding on a fish he had caught in the shallow water by the riverbank. The jackal froze with the fish in his mouth, blood dripping down his chin, to stare with glowing eyes at the boy who was drifting through the death-defiled night.
EIGHT
“Higher, aim HIGHER,” Qeb enunciated the word in his deep, accented voice while gently lifting Nakhti’s arm supporting the bow whose string was pulled taut. “Good, now watch your stances.” He was circling both Khu and Nakhti as they practiced their archery skills from the ship’s bow. “Balance, BALANCE. Straight, but not stiff,” their trainer alternately raised and lowered his voice, his long muscled arms crossed over his chest as he watched the boys closely.
They were aiming the bronze-tipped points of their goose-fledged arrows toward a thicket in the marshes where wild geese were feeding by the egret and heron picking their way through the tall grasses on long spindly legs. A heron thrust its sharp dagger-like beak into the opaque water, plucking out a green frog wading nearby, and swallowed it whole in one gulp before disappearing behind the reeds.
No clouds marred the wide blue sky stretching as far as the eye could see. They had gotten up early to hone their archery skills and to hunt for the wild birds foraging in the cool morning before the midday sun burned too hot. The mist which had settled over the Nile’s bank had thinned and pulled away like long tentacles drawn back into the dense wetlands bordering the river.
The boys pulled the bowstrings tighter until they were touching their noses and mouths, their elbows poised slightly above their shoulders. They anchored their drawing hands against their cheeks, brows drawn in concentration, as they aimed at the wild geese pecking at small insects and fish by the reeds along the riverbank. All the muscles in their backs were as taut as the bowstrings upon which the arrows were nocked. Then they released the strings, loosing the arrows as their bodies absorbed the recoil of the effort.
The arrows shot silently through the air, hitting their targets as the startled geese flailed wildly, trying in vain to escape certain death. The commotion alarmed the egret and heron, and flushed out some quail, snipe and other smaller birds hiding in the shrubbery. A bunch of feathers broke free of the wild flutter of wings, and rose softly through the air, as the birds flapped anxiously before settling back in the marshes that afforded them refuge.
The boys hooted, proud of their success, and clapped each other on the back.
Qeb looked satisfied but did not smile. It was enough to cheer the boys. He sent them off on a small reed boat to collect the birds which would be eaten that night, along with the fish caught that day.
Khu and Nakhti would often hunt with their bows and arrows to help feed the men on board. Mentuhotep sometimes participated in the hunt, which was a favorite pastime for him and other nobility, and something in which he indulged whenever he could at home. The boys practiced their fighting skills daily aboard the ship. They were at least as good as any of the best men in Mentuhotep’s army.
But they had never fought in battle.
They had never killed a man. They had never sought cover from a barrage of arrows raining down a storm of fire and death from above. They had never seen the madness in a man’s eyes as he charged with the rage of a ferocious wild boar with daggers poised to gouge like tusks. They had never smelled the rank fear of a man loosening his bowels in the face of death, or vomiting bile as he choked on terror and his own blood.
These were the things that tore jagged wounds into the soul. The deep and invisible lacerations which bled long after the fires were put out, and the cold ashes were scattered by the wind.
Nothing could undo the red, angry scars disfiguring a man’s soul. Nothing could erase the suppressed images which bore painfully into the mind, and woke him shivering and panicked in a cold sweat during the night. Survival was more than the preservation of life. It was tenacity in the face of ruin, an unbroken resolve in the midst of defeat, a glimmer of hope in the maelstrom, and peace despite the wreckage.
No, the boys had not yet been tested.
But their time would come soon.
Ten days had passed since they left Thebes. Their ship’s narrow prow and stern were painted in bright blue, green and gold, jutting proudly as they cut through the water. It was built long and lean, flaring gently at midship so it could float over shallower water. No keel projected from its flat bottom, whose acacia and tamarisk planks were fastened together and caulked with papyrus. Its wooden mast was tipped with a bronze finial to which the papyrus sail was tied when in use. Its oars were secured on deck when not slicing through the water like knives, from the ropes which served as a fulcrum to hold them in place.
They had sailed past small villages and settlements flourishing along the lush Nile Valley. Date palms grew in a thick expanse, and their branches looked like giant green feathers swaying gently under the sun. There were sycamore and tamarisk trees, and acacias with their large curved canopies bowing down like the protective arms of a mother gathering her children. Carob trees hung with long green and dark purple pods in varying stages of ripeness. And beyond the marshes flanked by the slender papyrus reeds, the land was speckled with flocks of goats, sheep and cattle feeding on the velvety grasses carpeting the smooth and fertile valley.
They had stopped in Swentet just north of the Nile’s first cataract, where some of the best granite quarries were found. Mentuhotep had taken Khu and Nakhti with him and his entourage of officials when he checked on the mines supplying some of the finest stone in all of Egypt. It was these quarries that furnished the rock which was carved into monolithic shrines, statues, obelisks, columns and monuments, among other structures gracing the east and west banks of the life-giving Nile. The mines were also supplying some of the stone which would decorate Mentuhotep’s partially constructed mortuary temple Akh Sut Nebhepetre—Splendid are the places of Nebhepetre—that was cut into the rock of the cliffs, where Henhenet and his infant daughter had been laid to rest. His tomb was the first in a complex of mortuary temple-tombs and shrines which would eventually become known as Deir el-Bahari in the subsequent millennia.
Swentet was also an important garrison town and served as a military training base for Mentuhotep’s soldiers. Many of the men had been recruited from the peasant and laboring classes, and trained from their youth. Others had been captured as children in battles and foreign raids, and trained since boyhood, while others still were mercenaries or foreign prisoners who had been forced into the army to serve the king. Boys from the nobility and upper classes were also enlisted and trained. Mentuhotep’s infantry was adept at fighting on both land and water, in the heat of hand-to-hand combat, or from the warships, galleys and skiffs equipped with brave fighters and a vast stock of weapons.
Like his nemesis Khety in the north, Mentuhotep also had loyal spies and emissaries stationed in various parts of the land along the most important settlements and cult centers on the east and west banks of the Nile.
And he suspected trouble was brewing.
Every so often these things would arise. It was part of the bad blood which had poisoned the land since the great nation of Egypt had split. Part of the venom that had been the blight of both Lower and Upper Egypt, plunging the opposing kingdoms into a period of darkness. It was time to purge that darkness threatening not only Mentuhotep’s throne, but the future of Egypt as a whole. That threat was far closer than the king would have liked. His suspicions had deepened after they visited the township of Nekhen, four days into their journey, where Ankhtifi was chieftain.
Mentuhotep often visited many settlements on his way to Kush. He liked to keep abreast of their activities himself, instead of relying solely on the reports of his viziers. Nekhen had a port that stretched along a section of the Nile which curved inward, forming a natural harbor. It had been paved with large blocks of stone to keep the river from muddying the banks during the Season of Inundation. A few of the barges used to lug the heavy limestone columns and sandstone blocks that were elaborately carved with hieroglyphs, or painted in vivid colors and used in the construction of temples and tombs, had been pulled ashore to keep them from rotting.
“Where is Lord Ankhtifi?” the king asked an administrator who greeted their arrival after they docked at the port.
The man helped manage Ankhtifi’s affairs while the chieftain was away. Mentuhotep had disembarked the ship with Khu, Nakhti, Qeb, and a retinue of officials who usually accompanied Upper Egypt’s monarch on all his administrative visits. The man bowed to the king in a show of subservience that attempted to mask the surprise he felt at Mentuhotep’s question.
“Forgive me, Lord King, but we did not expect you,” he replied after a moment as he gathered his wits about him, hoping to deflect any probing questions from the king. “Lord Ankhtifi is away.”
“Away?” Mentuhotep asked as he stared at the man, before darting Khu a sidelong glance.
Khu was standing next to Nakhti and Qeb. He observed the man quietly, noting the nervousness flowing from him like the steady buzzing of cicadas perched on a tree.
“On some trade matter, Sire, and a pilgrimage,” he hastily added, clearing his throat nervously.
“North or south?” the king asked with narrowed eyes.
The man’s eyebrows shot up before he could reply, betraying his discomfort. He looked anxious. Khu wondered what the man was hiding, and how much he knew of Ankhtifi’s affairs. Khu had heard of Nekhen’s chieftain, though he had never heard of the rumors whispered about him by adversaries in the north. Neither had he ever met him before, at least he did not remember ever meeting him. Khu had no idea that it was Ankhtifi who had led the attack and slaughter on his village, a massacre he had buried far too deeply within the dark recesses of his mind to recall.
“Uh, n-north, Sire,” the man stuttered, blinking rapidly.
He glanced over at Qeb with a frown, wondering about the tall Kushite who managed to look both impassive and intimidating at the same time, before he turned his gaze to Nakhti. But when his eyes arrived to Khu, he drew back involuntarily, touching an amulet as he shuddered from the catlike eyes that stared right back at him. The man was thin with stooped narrow shoulders, bulging eyes, and a long hooked nose whose tip hung by a mouth that reminded Khu of one of the catfish gliding along the bottom of the Nile.
“North,” the king repeated with a nod, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Yes, Lord King. He took linen, pottery and other goods with him.” The man pursed his lips and frowned, then squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, as though silently chastising himself for blurting out more information than necessary. He was fidgety, and kept scratching the skin on one of his elbows.
The king arched his brows, but he said nothing. He knew that linen and pottery were commonly made products in the north. Why would Ankhtifi trade them? It did not make sense, but he did not say so aloud. Ankhtifi never struck him as the type to go on pilgrimages either.
Mentuhotep noted the nervous manner in which the official behaved. The man shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and worked his jaw before speaking again. He seemed to be hiding something.
“Where exactly was he headed?” The king asked with narrowed eyes. “I have some news for him, and wish to share it with him myself,” he fibbed with a forced smile.
The man took the bait and smiled back, “Abdju, Sire. For the Festival of Osiris.”
The last time Mentuhotep had seen Ankhtifi was several years before, and only briefly at that, when the king had sailed down on one of his visits to Swentet. He did not usually stop in Nekhen, but would send an emissary to conduct any official matters on his behalf. But this time he wanted to show Khu and Nakhti the settlement which was known for its crafts. Their jewelers were among the most talented in Upper Egypt, and the king wished to have a beautiful collar necklace made for Khu’s mother Tem, so she could wear it at the next Festival of the Inundation. It would be a gift from Khu as a sign of respect and honor to his mother, and would be presented to her when Khu reached his fifteenth season of the Nile’s flooding, as was the custom for boys who had made it into adulthood. In a time when infant and childhood mortality ran rampant, those children who had reached adulthood often bestowed a token of gratitude to their mothers who had nurtured them through the often hazardous period of youth.
Mentuhotep had never quite trusted Ankhtifi. He did not know if it was due to the predatory aspect of the man’s canine face, or to the way the man’s dark eyes took in all of his surroundings, or even to the way he spoke with a slow and deliberate articulation. There was something guarded about the chieftain; something both aloof and menacing at the same time which he could not quite identify.
The king was satisfied enough to conduct his affairs through an emissary who would trade goods with the neutral settlement. Because Nekhen was not under Mentuhotep’s rule, the king did not collect any livestock, grain, crops, and finished goods as part of the yearly taxes owed him, as he did from other settlements in his kingdom. But he did exchange goods. Nevertheless, the king liked to keep a close watch on his enigmatic southern neighbor.
Mentuhotep had learned to trust his instincts over the years, even if there was nothing to substantiate the strange and eerie impression raising his hackles and putting him on guard. The chieftain’s absence certainly unnerved him because it came at a time when rumors had begun to circulate about trouble making its way south like a sandstorm from the desert. And the Festival of Osiris would provide the chieftain with the perfect excuse for going to Abdju.
It could not be a coincidence that Ankhtifi was gone. Mentuhotep did not believe in coincidences. He reached up to touch the gold amulet hanging from his neck as he brooded silently for a moment. He was certain the chieftain’s trade expedition had been a ruse, just as his own expedition to Kush was a ploy. He shook his head, relieved that he had decided to stop in Nekhen, yet mentally berating himself for not keeping closer watch over Ankhtifi.
Before they had departed Nekhen, Ankhtifi’s administrator had personally escorted the king and his entourage on a tour of some of the settlement’s finest workshops and most talented artisans. A private meeting had been arranged for Khu to choose the precious gems that would be made into the collar necklace for Tem, and he picked yellow topaz and malachite which had become his mother’s favorite gemstones since she had claimed Khu as her own son. They were the stones that most nearly resembled his eyes.
“Go to Abdju, Sudi,” Mentuhotep later instructed one of his most trusted men after they had spent part of the day in Nekhen, “and see what you can learn. Find out wh
atever you can about Ankhtifi’s visit—the true purpose of his visit.”
The king had been pacing back and forth on the deck of his ship as he spoke to the man who would leave later that night, under cover of darkness.
“He is afraid of something,” Khu later told the king about Ankhtifi’s administrator, when he, Nakhti and Qeb were alone with him, long after they had left Nekhen.
“Afraid of Ankhtifi perhaps,” Qeb interjected.
But Khu knew there had to be more to his fear than that.
“Why would he be afraid of Ankhtifi?” Nakhti wondered aloud.
“Because he is hiding something,” Khu replied as he turned his eyes on the king.
The effect of Khu’s gaze had never lost its uncanny power, and Mentuhotep could not help feeling momentarily transfixed as he looked at his son. He stopped his pacing to stare with his lips slightly parted.
“Father,” Khu distracted the king with a wave of his hand, “Ankhtifi must be planning something.”
But Mentuhotep just turned away to stare out over the Nile as they made their way south to Swentet. It was what he had suspected as well.
“Ankhtifi is a bully,” the king said, inhaling deeply through his nose, and exhaling though his mouth.
The night air was cool, and the breeze smelled of the river, tall grasses, reeds and the rich mud along the bank, with hints of something floral, but its fragrance was lost on the king whose thoughts were preoccupied elsewhere.
Mentuhotep pushed his shoulders back and pressed his lips together into a hard line. “It is not surprising that his administrators fear him,” he nodded slowly. He was remembering the chieftain’s bearing, and how there had been something aggressive in his stance. It was as though Ankhtifi were primed and ready to pounce on anyone who opposed him. There had been something slippery about his administrator too, like an eel slithering through the dark river. “He may be intimidating to some, but he is not that smart. He relies more on his brute strength than his wits.”
Khu: A Tale of Ancient Egypt Page 11
