“Is the audience hall one of Aboo’s signs?” I asked.
Farmers idled by the last inundation had partially erected a great hall east of the ceremonial grounds, almost sixty–five feet wide and twenty–five feet long. It would be the largest enclosed space in Nekhen when it was finished. A bed of clean white sand hauled from nearly a mile away had been laid out, ritually blessed by Ipu, then covered with a smooth clay floor. Five rows of ten tall thick sycamore support posts rose now like a branchless forest from that floor. During the next inundation the walls and roof would be constructed of wood and reeds. The walls would be plastered with mud and painted inside and out. Once complete, Aboo would use the hall to address the elites and render judgment on those who came to petition him. It was attached to the northern end of his house, which had an unobstructed view of the cultivated fields and river beyond. Aboo had built his house immediately after succeeding Dedi. It was quite large, partly of necessity due to Aboo’s growing family, partly to display his power and wealth. I’d never been inside and didn’t expect I ever would. A common worker like me had no business in such a habitation. Even if I somehow managed to enter I was sure Abar would immediately throw me out. My mother’s death hadn’t softened her attitude towards me.
Dedi nodded. “The audience hall is a particularly visible and powerful sign.”
“How does the stone we’re going to bring back from the cataract fit into Aboo’s plans?” I asked.
Dedi pointed towards Nekhen’s ceremonial grounds on the crest of the slight rise ahead of us and a bit to our left. “Aboo is going to turn those open grounds into a magnificent enclosed court.”
I had a clear view of the large flat oval and its hard–packed dirt surface and the large rectangular sunscreen from under which Aboo presided. I noted the carved wood falcon was missing from atop the tall wood pole, still wrapped with colorful ribbons and decorated with feathers, at the far end of the oval.
“Aboo’s going to erect a three–step stone dais beneath the sunscreen. His seat will be much higher than it is now when he presides in the future,” Dedi explained. “He’s going to surround the oval with a tall reed fence. He’s going to create an entrance flanked with four tall poles, each of which will fly a colorful linen banner. When he’s done, the oval will be a more fit place in which to honor our gods – a sacred gathering place. And it will be a symbol of his power, visible from every part of Nekhen, a constant reminder of his authority over us.”
“I understand. But I wish we were going to Tjeni or Nubt instead. I’d rather see fine settlements than a small hamlet beside a cataract.”
Dedi laughed and put his hand on my unburdened shoulder. “You’re young, Nykara. Unless I’ve misjudged your capabilities you’ll have plenty of chances to visit them both.”
That cheered me. We continued on, me ecstatic, Rawer sulking. Directly beyond the ceremonial grounds and workshops we encountered a plethora of huts. Vacant now, they’d be occupied by farmers and their families during the upcoming inundation, for farm huts on the low–lying cultivated plain were annually washed away by the river’s rising waters. During the months farmers resided in Nekhen they spent their time working on public projects assigned them by Aboo. I assumed improving the ceremonial grounds would be the major project once the audience hall was finished, both this year and several more. Aboo’s plan sounded ambitious.
We entered the lower settlement. In truth, it was more a collection of villages than a unified settlement. The men who worked for the various elites all lived in close proximity to each other – herders together, brewers together, hunters, potters, water carriers, the rest. The narrow haphazardly–arranged dusty lanes were lined with small huts and larger structures set a little apart from each other, their walls and roofs made of mud–plastered reeds, the roofs supported by wood posts. Many huts showed signs of having been enlarged to accommodate additional generations of a family. Small pens were attached to the outside of some, each containing a pig or goat or lamb or two, as well as geese, kept for both meat and eggs. Nearly every house had a small vegetable garden in its yard.
Thin columns of smoke rose from cookfires, from either inside homes or just outside. The lanes were crowded with men and women and children, all dodging donkeys heavily laden with pots and jars carried in baskets or nets slung over the beasts’ backs. Those men with the darkest skin were herdsmen; those with lighter craftsmen who spent most of their time out of the sun. Nearly every child was bald, except for a sidelock falling from the crown of the head to the shoulder. Almost all the men and women had long hair, either braided or plaited. A few had short cropped hair, one man with red, a single woman with blonde. Nearly everyone else’s was black or brown or auburn, some straight, some wavy. One man’s toupee was slightly askew; a few children were laughing at him from the shade beside a hut. Most of the adults were in their twenties or early thirties, only a handful in their forties. Everyone we met greeted Dedi and stepped aside to let us pass; no man in Nekhen was more well–known or respected, not even Aboo.
Dedi moved briskly down the lane in the direction opposite the ceremonial grounds with Rawer and me in his wake.
The industrial quarter, our destination, was straight ahead. Thick plumes of smoke drifted skyward from a warren of structures – one large and several small breweries and potteries, the two carpentry workshops belonging to Dedi, and the grain processing grounds where the annual harvest was threshed and the ruler’s portion stored in large clay bins administered by Aboo’s overseer Aspelta – the industries requiring lots of space. Dedi entered the lane bisecting the quarter. The rhythmic pounding of stone on wood gradually grew in volume. We arrived at the compound of Pediese, fragrant with a variety of scents. Pediese was in charge of Dedi’s craftsmen who worked with wood.
Pediese’s large mud–plastered reed house occupied the left side of the compound. To its right was a long structure, an open–sided rectangular wood frame thickly roofed with palm fronds to provide shade. Men were sitting inside it, some pounding pieces of wood together with stone hammers, some using flint saws on sections of tree trunks affixed lengthwise to long sturdy poles. A few men were heating glue in a pot over a fire; Pediese’s most skilled craftsmen were using already–melted glue to fasten bits of wood together to make a chair. Just outside the shaded structure were large piles of charcoal and tinder to feed the fire, and trunks of acacia and tamarisk and willow trees, some trimmed, some not.
Djefatsen, Pediese’s oldest daughter and, at age fifteen, a year younger than her brother, my best friend Pabasa, was on her knees in the shade at one end of the house, grinding emmer on a flat black rectangular stone using a stone quern. Her hair was long and wavy and curled at the ends and swayed as she moved. I noted a bit of ribbon bound around her brow, keeping her hair more or less from falling into her eyes as she lunged forward and backward with her weight on the quern. She was wearing only a white skirt she’d hiked up over her knees and she saw Rawer and me and raised up and smiled and waved. Rawer immediately dashed to her and plopped down at her side. Even though Djefatsen knew Rawer was promised to Abar she didn’t seem to mind his attention. He clearly didn’t mind she was only a craftsman’s daughter. I’d inadvertently overheard a conversation between Abar and Rawer a few minutes after Dedi had relinquished rule to Aboo last year – I’d been sitting on the riverbank, mulling over what had just happened, when they’d suddenly settled themselves a few steps away and engaged in an animated conversation before I could slip away. Rawer had promised Abar he wouldn’t play around with elite girls anymore. He’d technically kept his promise ever since – by shifting his attentions to commoners. Abar was in the dark about his continuing proclivity for pretty girls because she had nothing to do with commoners and wasn’t aware of their gossip concerning Rawer.
Pediese noticed Dedi and rushed to greet him, bowing low.
Dedi indicated the oars I was carrying. “I’m off to Abu in a few days. I need these repaired.”
“You haven�
�t gone there since Shery was slain,” Pediese said, surprised.
“More than half a decade. Well past time,” Dedi replied.
“Take the oars to Pabasa,” Pediese ordered me, giving my shoulder an affectionate squeeze.
I’d met Pabasa ten years ago when I was running an errand for Dedi, and we’d been friends ever since. His parents, Pediese and Khensa, treated me as one of their own. I carried the oars to the workshop on the right side of the compound and found Pabasa. I set my burden down, flexed my shoulders. It felt good to be divested of the weight. Pabasa greeted me gladly and told one of his father’s workmen to take the oars. Then we found seats in a corner of the structure, out of everyone’s way. Dedi and Pediese were already sitting in the shade next to the house directly across from me. Khensa was pouring them cups of beer. Djefatsen had given up grinding grain and was sitting back on her haunches; Rawer was leaning close, grasping her elbow with his hand, whispering something in her ear. She was blushing.
“I’m going with Dedi on an expedition,” I announced proudly.
“No! Really? Where to?”
“Abu. At the cataract.”
“Why you?”
“You mean, why not Rawer?” I laughed. “Because he’s too lazy. Rawer may come from a line of boatmen, but he’s no boat man. He has no desire to travel and no inclination to work on boats. I’ve learned how to do every task required to build and repair and operate a boat, and I understand how boats are designed and why. Rawer’s only good for rowing. I’m much better at that than him.”
“You actually want to row to Abu? You want to pull at oars all day long for weeks?”
“It’s not so bad. We’ll have enough men to row in shifts. And we’ll set bunches of palm fronds in the bow so the wind can help drive us upstream.”
Pabasa shook his head, glanced at his sister. “Rawer’s the smart one, staying behind. Who wants to leave Nekhen anyway?”
“I do,” I said fervently.
“Why?”
“I want to see what the rest of the valley’s like.”
“From what I hear there’s no settlement as fine as Nekhen anywhere. What’s the point of traveling if all you’ll see are farms and hamlets and empty plains?”
Pabasa might be my best friend, but he had no imagination. He was like almost everyone I knew – content to labor at the same old task day after day, not knowing or caring about anything in the valley beyond what their eyes could see of it. Only Dedi was the exception. Maybe that’s why he’d continued to take an interest in me after my mother died, because he sensed I was like him. I sighed. There was no sense in arguing with Pabasa about his beliefs. I changed the subject. “We’re off to Pipi’s next, to arrange beer for the voyage.”
“Aw… you’ll get to see Abar. She walked by here an hour ago on the way to his brewery. She helps Inetkawes with her chores sometimes. Inetkawes’ mother is Aboo’s cousin, you know.”
“It drives Rawer crazy that Abar’s around Inetkawes’ brother Wehemka so often,” I confided.
“Funny, isn’t it? Rawer thinks Abar plays around with boys because he does with girls,” Pabasa said. “But she’s not like him at all.”
“Rawer will probably punish Wehemka, justified or not, once he succeeds Aboo and becomes ruler, assuming Ibetina continues to produce girls,” I said.
Pabasa lowered his voice. “Rawer may have a rude awakening when Aboo dies,” he said confidentially. “I’ve overheard Father talking with the overseers of some of the other workshops. They said anytime in the past when a ruler died without an heir the elites selected one of their own to succeed him. Many elites don’t consider a nephew, like Rawer, to actually be in the line of succession. Only a son or brother counts, they say. So there may be a fight among the elites to take Aboo’s place.”
I shook my head. “I’ll bet Teti will come out on top if that happens. Everyone knows the potters’ influence has been growing ever since they started making their rough pottery so cheaply and in mass quantities a few generations ago. Nearly as many pots are exchanged in the surrounding hamlets now as beer. They’ll be the primary product for long–distance trade once Dedi restarts it.”
“I wish something would happen to Rawer. Then Abar would be up for grabs,” Pabasa said cheerfully, practically licking his lips. “Every boy in Nekhen might have a chance to join with her, not just the elites. Even me.”
I laughed. “You’re deluding yourself, Pabasa. Girls like her don’t know boys like us exist.”
“You’d like to be with Abar just as much as I would. Admit it!” Pabasa said. “She’s gorgeous.”
“There are dozens of pretty girls in Nekhen, Pabasa, and they’re not mean and unapproachable and utterly full of themselves like Abar,” I replied. “None of them treats me like dirt either, the way Abar does.” I shook my head. “She was actually civil to me for a few months, years ago, when she needed me to make Rawer jealous. Then she decided I threatened her chances of becoming a ruler’s woman and she tossed me aside without a second thought. That position is her obsession. I understand it gives her the best chance to pursue her family’s dream for Nekhen, one I happen to believe in too. But it’s the only thing that matters to her. So go ahead – pursue Abar if you must. I want to be with a woman who loves me, not one who sees me as a steppingstone to something else. Believe me, I have absolutely no interest in Abar.” I lowered my voice, tilted my head towards Rawer. “But can you believe that idiot? Abar’s promised to him. Doesn’t stop him from playing around, though. What do you think Abar would do if she saw Rawer right now, hanging all over your sister? What would she do if she caught him chasing the boatmen’s and craftsmen’s daughters at night? I can’t stand Abar, but she deserves to be treated better than that. Every woman does.” I shook my head in disbelief. “Everything’s been given to Rawer, but he’s squandering it. He’ll inherit the fleet but he’s not making any effort to learn how to operate it. What I could do with it if it was mine! Moving anything by water will be a problem once he takes charge.”
Pabasa snorted again. “No surprise.”
Excited voices carried from a shaded corner of the yard.
“What’s going on over there?” I asked.
“You know the image of the falcon god that tops the pole on the ceremonial grounds?” he asked.
“The one that’s missing?”
“You noticed.”
“Hard not to.”
“The wood cracks every few years due to constant exposure to the sun,” Pabasa said. “Those craftsmen are carving a new one. They’re using the old one as a model. Probably arguing about how to proceed.”
“The grounds are going to be entirely redone,” I informed Pabasa. “That’s why we’re going to Abu – to bring back fine stone for a new structure Aboo’s going to erect in place of the sunscreen.”
Dedi called my name, sharply and loudly, then Rawer’s. I glanced towards the house. Dedi and Pediese were bidding each other goodbye. I rose immediately.
“I have to go, Pabasa. I’ll see you when I get back from Abu.”
Rawer reluctantly tore himself away from Djefatsen and joined Dedi and me.
“Now, to Pipi’s. I need to arrange beer for our trip,” Dedi said.
Pipi’s brewery was a short distance northeast along the same lane we’d been traveling. The lane was crowded with strings of donkeys hauling jars in both directions – some full of beer, their tops sealed with clay, bound either for the riverbank to be loaded onto Dedi’s boats or overland to nearby farms, some empty, on the way to the brewery to be filled. More donkeys were moving in the same direction we were, laden with branches and short acacia logs chopped and sawed by woodcutters to feed the brewery fires, and still more burdened with dripping leather bags of water. We dodged women carrying jars balanced on either a head or shoulder; they no doubt lived close by the brewery and fetched their ration themselves. Pipi produced hundreds of gallons daily, enough to slake the thirst of several thousand Nekhenians and farmers and resid
ents of hamlets up and down the river, all of whom swore allegiance to Aboo.
The amount of beer produced by Pipi would by itself have been enough to rank him among Nekhen’s elite, but his stature went beyond mere wealth. His ancestors had been the settlement’s rulers in the generations immediately before Dedi’s grandfather, Teta. Pipi was joined to Aboo’s cousin, Khentkaus, which loosely linked him to the current ruling family. Everyone in Pipi’s family dressed in finer clothes and adorned themselves with more expensive jewelry than most people in Nekhen. Their house was filled with rare and precious objects that had been imported years ago from settlements in the north on Dedi’s boats. Numerous household servants looked after their needs. Pipi always had a fish–tailed knife tucked into a leather sheath at his waist. Being a commoner, I’d never touched one, not even when my mother was alive and I’d been allowed to participate in elite activities.
We turned into the brewery yard. It was massive and noisy, swarming with workers and donkeys and women who’d come for their households’ daily ration, piled high with supplies and raw materials. Brewing was Nekhen’s largest enterprise, and though Pipi’s brewery was just one of several it dwarfed all the rest combined. To the left of the yard was Pipi’s house, to the right a preparation area, and straight ahead the brewery itself.
The house was among the most magnificent in Nekhen, second in size only to Aboo’s, large, its roof supported by wood posts set in bricks of hardened mud, the walls of mud–plastered reeds, painted red. A verandah roofed with palm fronds ran the length of the side facing us, and on the other was a yard surrounded by a fence of mud–plastered reeds. Pens in the yard held pigs and goats and a small flock of geese.
The Women and the Boatman Page 10
