Khu: A Tale of Ancient Egypt

by Jocelyn Murray

  The king was seated under the large canopy amidships, facing the prow, when Khu joined him from inside the cabin, lying behind a linen curtain. He and Nakhti passed the time on the river by playing endless rounds of the board game senet.

  “How are you feeling?” the king asked, as Khu sat beside him under the canopy.

  “He is feeling very well, undoubtedly,” Nakhti answered on his behalf, as he followed Khu out of the cabin to stand by his father’s other side. “And he should feel well, for he has beaten me every time!” Nakhti laughed.

  “You told me not to let you win, brother,” Khu raised an eyebrow Nakhti’s way as he cast him a sidelong glance, a half smile playing about his lips.

  “So I did,” Nakhti admitted with a nod, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “Yes, well, I did not mean for you to be merciless!”

  “It is just a game of luck,” Mentuhotep waved his hand dismissively. He turned his gaze back to the river, feeling the ship sluice through the water as they moved steadily south. Two men stood on the steering platform of the helm at the stern behind them, where they manned the tillers guiding the ship, keeping it on course.

  “If that were indeed true, Father, I would be doomed,” Nakhti said. “It is more than luck. Much more.”

  “You are doomed anyway!” Khu laughed, but then caught himself so as not to strain his ribs. “You take too long to move your pieces off the board.”

  “That is because you trap them!”

  “You should not overthink things,” Khu cautioned. “You make your intentions obvious that way.”

  “Only to you, brother, only to you. You see things which others do not,” Nakhti said in a tone of admiration that was devoid of any envy.

  “All the squares on the board look the same,” Mentuhotep interrupted, in one of his philosophical moods, stroking the smooth line of his jaw. “The trick is knowing which are safe, and which are dangerous. Things are not always what they seem. You never know what danger lurks around the corner.”

  The side curtains on the canopy were tied back, and Mentuhotep was watching the wildlife near the riverbank. A float of crocodiles sunned themselves near the marches where a great egret waded through the shallower waters of the riverbank, searching for food. The bird’s white plumage shone brilliant in the sun, as it moved around a green-mossed boulder jutting out of the water. It paused to eye the crocodiles calmly before jabbing its yellow bill into the water to catch a fish.

  But there was an odd stillness to the air.

  The northerly winds that usually filled the sails, pushing the vessels south on the great river, did not blow today, so that the ship’s sail remained furled and stowed away, while oarsmen propelled the ship onward in shifts. And although the morning had dawned cool and moist with fog, it was warm and dry now.

  “Look!” someone shouted, pointing to a dark, ominous cloud clinging to the southeastern horizon.

  Some of the oarsmen stopped rowing to take a better look. Mentuhotep, Nakhti and Khu stood up, as Qeb joined them from the ship’s stern, to watch the growing cloud obscure the rocky hills of the desert. It was engulfing the blue sky, as it spread in an upward and outward motion.

  “Sandstorm approaching!” Khu said in alarm, turning to look at his father. “Father, it’s a sandstorm!”

  “By Seth and all his minions,” Mentuhotep cursed under his breath, touching the amulet hanging around his neck. “Of all times and places,” he blew out his breath in a long sigh.

  “We should have waited longer in Abdju, Father,” Nakhti said, a hint of fear in his voice.

  “Or left sooner,” Khu added.

  But no one replied.

  Khu had not been fit to travel anywhere, and his bones were only beginning to mend. There was no way they could have foreseen this. It was completely unpredictable.

  Nakhti cast a sidelong glance at his brother, but remained tightlipped. Khu looked at him and saw his own anxiety reflected in Nakhti’s dark eyes.

  “It always appears without warning,” Qeb said. His face betrayed nothing, but Khu could tell that he too was upset. Although his eyes appeared aloof, Khu felt the tension within him.

  “How far are we from Gebtu?” the king asked. But even as the question was uttered, he already knew the answer.

  Qeb shook his head. “Too far. The storm will be here long before then. We will not make it in time. It is too late for that.”

  Other men touched their amulets, as the magnitude of the danger they faced grew more apparent. Some were shouting between the ships, to warn the others in the fleet of the approaching storm. But everyone had seen it by now.

  The great, billowing cloud crept steadily their way. More men stopped whatever they had been doing, to shield their eyes from the sun’s glare on the river, and stare at the approaching storm. It scoured the land over which it blew, like a tsunami of sand, gathering more sand and dust into its fierce embrace.

  Mentuhotep glanced around at the empty land beyond the riverbank. No settlements waited nearby. The land here was barren, dry and deserted, except for the wild trees, plants and shrubbery growing just beyond the marshes. There was no place to dock their ships or pull them ashore, and if they remained on the river, their lives would be at risk, and the fleet would be heavily damaged or even destroyed.

  The king knew that the storm would delay their journey. He knew that this thwarted all his plans regarding Gebtu and Thebes, but that did not matter now. All that mattered was their safety. They had to find a place to shelter themselves and their ships.

  “There is an inlet beyond the next turn, isn’t there?” Mentuhotep pointed. “Just past the bend, on the west bank of the river. An inlet that leads to a cove.”

  “Can we make it in time, Father?” Nakhti asked.

  “We must try. We have no choice. We cannot stay here in the open. It’s too exposed, too dangerous,” the king replied.

  “Yes, we should be better off there,” Qeb agreed. He left the king’s side to go speak with the ship’s head coxswain.

  “It is Seth, you know,” Nakhti spoke softly to Khu, keeping his gaze focused on the southern sky. “Some say it is his way of punishing the people.” His voice was low, as if he instinctively wanted to keep the god of darkness, chaos and storms from hearing his blasphemous words.

  “Then he does it often,” Khu said, knowing sandstorms were a common phenomenon to the region. “What better way to smite us than through the power of the elements?”

  “They are inescapable,” Nakhti agreed.

  Khu raised a hand to the onyx, winged scarab beetle hanging around his neck, and his thoughts turned to his mother Tem. “I hope they are alright,” he mumbled.

  “Who?”

  “Our mothers, in Thebes. The storm must have hit them already.”

  “They will be fine,” Nakhti assured him. “At least they have shelter. We are the ones in trouble.”

  “Ready to row!” the coxswain shouted, after he and Qeb quickly discussed their plans.

  The oarsmen had already positioned themselves to propel the ship ahead. The fleet behind them was doing the same, as instructions were shouted and directions were given over the water between the ships.

  “Power on!” the coxswain yelled, encouraging the men to muster all their strength.

  They squared their blades and began rowing on command, pulling on the oars with all their might. They were maneuvering the flat-bottomed ship toward the western bank, keeping a safe distance from the boulders rising prominently by the river’s marshes, and the rocks hiding just below the water’s surface, whose light gray color glinted in the sun. The rest of the ships in the fleet followed behind, their oars biting through the river, as they attempted to find safety.

  The dust cloud crept closer, hugging the ground menacingly, as it approached from the southeastern desert region. It looked like a wall moving in slow motion. It was jaundiced, the color of a pale yellowish brown.

  “Pull! Harder, pull!” the coxswain urged.

&
nbsp; Then the wind began to blow.

  It moaned softly at first as a beguiling breeze, gently ruffling the branches of trees. It was pleasant enough, but very warm. Everyone knew it was a deceiving breeze, for they had experienced these storms in previous years, and knew that it would get stronger and more forceful as the dark cloud neared, growing to threatening proportions and engulfing everything in its path.

  “I think Seth wishes to remind us of his power,” Nakhti told Khu above the wind, turning the conversation back to the feared god who was associated with the desert and storms.

  The boys stood on deck, watching the events with wide eyes, adrenaline spiking their blood.

  “Perhaps it is his way of exacting revenge on a people who shun him,” Khu said, almost pitying the hated god in his lonesome existence.

  Nakhti shot a glance at his brother. “He should be shunned. He is enemy to all the gods. Look,” Nakhti swept a hand indicating the storm, “he is responsible for this. All he does is wreak havoc and destruction wherever he goes.”

  Seth’s penchant for chaos and destruction earned him the title of Red God—like the red, harsh, unforgiving desert that was his domain. His peculiar animal-headed human form was intimidating, with a downward-curving snout, long donkey-like ears, large elongated eyes, and a forked tail. Jealousy and envy possessed and drove him to an all-consuming rage that seemed to stop at nothing. But Khu still regarded the god with a trace of pity, for hate engenders loneliness and despair.

  “Faster! Pull! Pull!” the coxswain yelled.

  “May Amun and Mut help us!” someone shouted, at which most of the men, excluding the rowers, touched nervous hands to their amulets once again.

  “Father…” Khu placed a hand on the king’s taut shoulder. “It’s getting closer…” Khu wished he could do something to help. He felt useless with his torso bandaged up. But even if he had not been injured, there was nothing he could have done anyway.

  The king did not move. He stared at the approaching sandstorm with his eyes narrowed against the rising winds, willing it to slow down.

  They were directly in the storm’s path. There was no avoiding it. No getting away from the sand cloud that would tumble over them like a giant wave.

  “We will make it,” the king replied through clenched teeth, the lines between his brows deepening. “With Amun’s help we will make it.”

  “Pull ahead!” the coxswain shouted. “We are nearing the bend!”

  Mentuhotep barely breathed as he stood at the ship’s prow. A small muscle in his neck twitched as his body tensed from anxiety. He kept glancing between the dust cloud and the river ahead of them. He looked at the oarsmen rowing with all their might. Sweat poured down their faces, chests and backs, but they kept rowing. They knew their lives depended on it. They knew their sovereign relied on their unfailing efforts. And they knew that if something were to happen—something disastrous—that the very fate of Upper Egypt would be at stake.

  It was a race against time.

  “Nearing the bend!” shouted the coxswain. “Easy on the turn!”

  The starboard rowers checked their blades momentarily as the ship curved around the western bend.

  Little more than a few thorny trees, scraggly doum palms, and thin grasses grew beyond the shoreline by the river.

  “Pick it up again! Pull!” the coxswain encouraged as the ship followed the river’s curve near the western bank.

  “Over there,” the king pointed ahead. “The inlet should be there, just beyond that outcrop.” He had joined Qeb and the coxswain on the steering platform, where the tillers were manned.

  “Yes, we are almost there,” Qeb nodded.

  The rowers pulled hard on the oars. Their muscles burned and their eyes stung as sweat ran down their faces and into their eyes. But they did not falter, not for a moment. Adrenaline flooded their veins, and kept them going strong.

  “Almost there!” the coxswain shouted. “Pull! Pull!”

  The moving wall crept closer and closer, and the sky turned a pinkish-red. Some of the men were shouting to make themselves heard above the wind that was blowing stronger now. The coxswain kept guiding the rowers, and the men steeled themselves against the approaching tempest.

  There was no place to hide.

  “Harder! Pull!”

  They had to get off the river. They had to dock their ships to keep them from being destroyed by the whirling gales which would sandblast everything in sight. And they had to shelter themselves from the onslaught which would skin them alive, cutting their hands and faces, blinding their eyes, and clogging their noses and mouths.

  The temperature was rising still, as though the god Seth himself were blowing his hot breath over Egypt. Soon it would be intolerable.

  The wind rumbled louder as a reddish haze thickened the air.

  They were nearing the mouth of the inlet.

  “Nearing the turn! Slow it down! Easy on the turn!”

  The starboard rowers checked their blades, as the port rowers managed a tight turn around a sandbank edging the mouth of the inlet’s narrow opening.

  Mentuhotep closed his eyes momentarily in relief, after his ship made the dangerous turn without harm. He had been praying silently to Amun to guide them to safety. He turned around to check on the rest of his fleet, and saw them following behind as his ship led the way.

  “Take it all the way in!” Mentuhotep commanded the rowers himself from the steering platform, at the rear of the ship. “All the way in to the cove!”

  One by one, the ships entered the inlet. The men pulled at the oars, taking the ships all the way to the large cove waiting inside.

  “Make room for the rest,” the king directed. “Align the ships tightly, or there won’t be enough room!”

  The men wasted no time in securing the ships together, to keep them from thrashing about in the storm. The smaller ones were dragged ashore, and bound together with reed ropes so that they would not be blown away. The sails were unfurled and draped over the decks, before being tied down like tarps, so that they would have something to shield them from the blasting assault as they huddled underneath. But it was blowing strongly already, making it difficult to tie them securely.

  Anything worth saving was stowed away. Men grabbed their cloaks, pulling them over their heads and wrapping them about their faces in protection.

  The temperature kept climbing as the darkness approached. Dust entered their noses, coating their throats, and stinging their sinuses with its dryness. Khu’s eyes were watering and his tongue felt parched, but he did not care. He wanted his father’s fleet to survive this tempest. He watched the men scrambling to get under the sails.

  “Go inside the cabin!” the king told Khu and Nakhti. “You will be better protected there, go! And cover yourselves well!”

  The boys left to do as their father told them. And while the cabin was small, there was plenty of room for them and several more men. The king and Qeb would join them after they saw to the safety of their men.

  Mentuhotep and Qeb stood by the head coxswain, guiding the men to safety. Those who did not fit under the sail huddled together, hiding within the thin layers of their own cloaks.

  The reddish haze thickened into a dark brown, as the monstrous cloud engulfed the sky. The wind thundered as though the gates of the Netherworld had been thrown open, releasing all manner of ills to ravage the land.

  In an instant, day turned to night as the land was plunged into darkness, and the cloud blocked the sun.

  Palm trees beyond the cove and riverbank were caught up in the storm, bending low with the force of the wind that ravaged the land like a hurricane. Their branches blew about wildly, many of which were torn right off their trunks, and scattered about by the driving wind.

  The men braced themselves for what would be several hours of suffocating wind. They hunkered down, bowing their heads against the wind, shutting their eyes tightly and clasping the fabric of headdresses about themselves. They grabbed onto their amulets, p
raying to the gods for mercy and protection.

  There was nothing they could do; nothing anyone in the sandstorm’s path could do but ride it out, bearing the brunt of the storm with patience and courage. They were caught in a battle of the elements—a battle they attributed to the gods—and they prayed silently as they waited, closing their eyes and listening with forbearance to the howling gale as it thrashed about like an unruly child throwing a tantrum, leaving a trail of wreckage behind.

  When people in the various settlements and villages lying in the storm’s path first noticed it approaching, they immediately abandoned their work to hurry home. Young children were pulled inside their mud-brick homes, and the doors shut behind them before cloth was wedged tightly through the gaps. The children’s faces looked bewildered, unaware of the danger heading their way.

  The wall of dust came without warning. Villages looked as though they had been deserted after people rushed through the narrow streets to find shelter from the assault. Even the wild animals disappeared to burrow in dens, hide in holes or shallow caves, creep inside abandoned ruins, or take cover among the monuments and temples providing shelter from the tempest.

  Some people sheltered their pets and animals before the oppressive winds arrived to blind and suffocate them. Shepherds led their herds of sheep or goats back to stables in the villages, tapping some of the beasts on the rump with a stick to get them to move faster. Oxen and donkeys were safely corralled in stalls along with domesticated fowl and pigs.

  People closed doors, covered amphorae and jars with coarsely spun linen cloth and tarps, and pulled reed mats over the windows to keep out the sand that would still find a way inside, even within the smallest crevices.