The Women and the Boatman

by Mark Gajewski

  “Certainly. Pabasa, you’re welcome to stay with my family until you’re settled,” Oonesh offered.

  I didn’t even bother looking towards Rennefer to gauge her delight. Oonesh was clearly aware of the attraction between his daughter and Pabasa, and obviously not opposed to it. He seemed to actually be encouraging it. He was pragmatic enough to see as beneficial a relationship between his daughter and my best friend that would thereby tie him closely to me and Nekhen. A fitting use for his daughter.

  A harried–looking man hurried up to Oonesh, his feet kicking up the dust. He halted, bowed low. “It’s time, Excellency.”

  Oonesh stood, shook his head. “Some dispute or other always needs resolving.”

  Rennefer dashed into the house, returned a moment later with a tall head covering made of red leather, low in front, sweeping upward in back. She placed it on her father’s head, straightened it.

  “A symbol of my authority,” he told us. “We call it a crown.”

  “Our ruler wears plumes,” I said.

  Oonesh turned to Rennefer. “Keep their cups filled with beer.” He addressed me. “I’ll visit you at your boat tomorrow, Nykara, as soon as my caravan arrives. We’ll make those trades we discussed.” He headed off towards the center of the settlement, accompanied by his assistant.

  “We’re trading?” Pabasa asked as Rennefer filled a cup for him with beer. “We’re not saving all our goods for Badari?”

  Rennefer took the seat her father had vacated, beside Pabasa.

  “We’re diversifying our cargo somewhat. We may have stumbled on a new market for Amenia’s decorated pottery. If things go well tomorrow, it might be one of your primary products once you’re running your post.” That discovery made me particularly happy, for Amenia would be able to pursue making her pottery full time in the future, even if my mission to Badari failed. I could hardly wait to tell her.

  ***

  “This trip’s an absolute disaster!” Dagi exclaimed. “First we nearly wrecked the boat at Nubt. We practically limped all the way here to Badari. And for what? To waste our time visiting hamlets that have nothing worth trading?”

  “There are less than a quarter as many people on this twenty–mile stretch of river than are beholden to Aboo back home,” Pabasa said in disgust. “Whatever it might have been in the time of Dedi’s legends, it isn’t anymore.”

  The three of us were sitting atop a high promontory stabbing westward from the base of the plateau edging the east side of the river valley. Directly behind us were dozens of huts made of sticks and matting, scattered in small groups across the surface of the promontory. It overlooked a wadi cutting eastward into the plateau. More huts were clustered fifty feet below us at the promontory’s base, just past the half–mile wide cultivated plain paralleling the river. That plain was green with calf–high emmer and barley. The limestone plateau at our backs swept in an arc from south to north, its face sheer, rising above a terrace cut by water–worn gullies and the wadi, forming many spurs and promontories similar to the one we were sitting atop that also jutted into the cultivated plain. Smoke rose from many hearths behind and below us. Both the upper and lower sections of Badari were crawling with men and women and children going about their daily business. The sound of barking dogs carried from the portion of the plain where cattle and sheep and goats were grazing. To one side of us many large clay bins were set into the ground, no doubt for communal storage of grain, accompanied by a plethora of omnipresent cats. The western shore of the river opposite Badari was a swampy brushy tangle, clearly unsettled and uncultivated. Shadows outlined crevices wherever sunlight hadn’t yet penetrated the face of the western plateau. The river was wide here, shining silver. A few reed boats bobbed along the riverbank, fishermen’s punts.

  The entire nearby region was similar to the portion at Badari. The floodplain was about half a mile wide, with gentle spurs running out from the cliffs of the high limestone plateau, all cut by shallow depressions similar to wadis. Most people lived in hamlets up under the cliffs, at the foot of talus slopes. We’d stopped three days ago at the first one we’d encountered, Hemamiah. It lay on the far side of a cultivated strip atop a low spur perhaps forty yards wide by fifty long. The people who resided there had had nothing worth trading. We’d talked one of the natives into guiding us to Badari; he’d named the hamlets for us as we passed. Tjebu, the first, had been typical, small and unimpressive, a collection of huts housing a couple of families. A few hours later, three weeks to the day after leaving Nekhen, we finally reached Badari. We quickly determined there was nothing in the settlement of any value to us. I’d spent most of yesterday repatching my damaged boat and considering what to do next. I’d summoned Dagi and Pabasa after breakfast to discuss our options.

  “I’m not sure Pabasa would agree the trip’s been a total disaster,” I teased. “Rennefer seemed awfully disappointed when we left Nubt.”

  “Just trying to play my part, as Abar requested,” he replied with false gallantry.

  “I hope I get as lucky at Tjeni,” Dagi interjected.

  “Too bad you don’t have my winning personality.”

  Dagi punched Pabasa on the arm.

  “Anyway, what now?” Pabasa asked. “Are we going home?”

  “That’s one option,” I replied non–committally. “If we do, the expedition won’t be a total loss. We can trade everything we brought with us at Tjeni and Hiw and Nubt and Inerty.”

  “And we’ll be able to report there’s nothing worthwhile in the North,” Pabasa added.

  “We won’t know that for sure unless we keep going north,” I countered.

  “You’re actually considering pressing on?” Pabasa asked.

  “I am.”

  “Are you crazy, Nykara?” Dagi asked. “There may not be any more settlements.”

  “Dedi’s tales mention Merimda, on the westernmost branch of the river, several days south of the Wadjet Wer,” I said.

  “Probably no different than Badari,” Dagi pointed out. He spat. “If it still exists.”

  “Whoever lives there might not want what we have to trade,” Pabasa added.

  “Our boat could fall apart. It barely made it this far. We have no idea how much farther it is to the Wadjet Wer. We have no idea what hazards lie ahead,” Dagi said.

  I gazed over the valley. Everything my friends had said was true. Returning home was our safest option. No one would fault us for turning back after reaching Badari. That the settlement might not be worth visiting had been a calculated risk. I took that back – Rawer would find fault, perhaps even use the results of the expedition to convince Aboo to overrule Dedi and replace me as overseer. I pictured Dedi’s face as I reported I’d failed, that his dream of expanding Nekhen’s presence, finding new status items for Nekhen’s elites, spreading our culture and gods and way of life to the far North was, for all practical purposes, dead. Then I pictured Abar. She had big ambitions. She was counting on me to help her achieve them. I couldn’t if I was a common boatman again. So I had to remain an overseer. To do that I had to make this expedition a success. Anything less was unacceptable. What would Dedi and Abar do in my position? There was no question. They’d be bold.

  “We’re going north,” I announced decisively.

  My friends knew me well enough not to question my decision.

  “Then we’d best get back to the boat and finish our repairs,” Pabasa said resignedly, sighing heavily.

  “And pray to the falcon god you’re not making a horrible mistake,” Dagi added.

  ***

  Three weeks after leaving Badari one of my men spotted a decent–sized settlement in the distance, on the east bank, the first we’d encountered in the North. I whispered a prayer to the falcon god there’d be something there worth trading. Otherwise, I’d have just made the biggest mistake of my life – one that might cost Abar and Dedi and me everything.

  The trip beyond Badari had been fraught with difficulty. We’d had to stop twice more to
repair damage to my boat. Both times we’d taken on water, but the buoyancy of the reeds had kept us afloat long enough to reach the riverbank. Fortunately, we hadn’t lost any trade goods, and there were plenty of materials available to make repairs. Those incidents were, however, proof that taking a reed boat on such a long journey was dangerous, if not foolhardy. I wasn’t the only one on board wondering if we’d make it home.

  For the past day the character of the valley had been changing. The plateaus which had so narrowly hemmed in the river all the way from Nekhen had slowly moved farther back to east and west and decreased in height. Small farms had appeared, all close beside each other. I’d noted cattle grazing, and sheep and goats, and even pigs in small pens beside farm huts. The region appeared very similar to Nekhen’s. And then one of the oarsmen had spotted a cluster of houses and cried out.

  The settlement occupied a narrow north–south ridge overlooking the east bank of the river, perhaps a quarter–mile wide and eight–tenths long. Numerous wattle–and–daub huts climbed the low ridge’s sides. Two wadis stretched east from the settlement’s boundary, towards the desert. A donkey caravan was approaching through the northernmost, the beasts raising a rolling cloud of dust. Three separate areas dotted with small mounds of sand I took to be cemeteries sprawled south of the settlement. It had a harbor, a widening of the river lined with numerous substantial wood docks, unlike any landing I’d encountered before. I steered towards it.

  “Looks more promising than Badari,” Pabasa said, coming to stand at my side.

  Three boats were already moored. I nosed my vessel into the space beside an unoccupied dock; my men secured it with ropes at bow and stern. The other boats appeared foreign. They were all made of wood. I was envious. I inferred the trees wherever they came from were more suited to being cut into planks than those in the valley. The crews bustling about their decks were dressed differently than mine, most of the men with beards and curly hair. A few eyed my reed boat with disdain. The harbor area was moderately busy. Several dozen sweat–drenched porters were lugging goods in both directions along a wide lane edging the harbor, some into the settlement, some out of it. The cries of overseers mingled with the curses and grunts of porters. Some of the latter were unloading a string of dusty donkeys at the northern end of the harbor.

  A harried–looking man approached my boat, regarded me and my crew suspiciously.

  I stepped from my boat onto the dock.

  “I’m Setau, overseer of the harbor. You’ve come to trade?”

  “I have. This isn’t Merimda, by any chance?”

  He shook his head. “Never heard of it. You’re at Maadi. Where are you from?”

  “Nekhen.”

  “Never heard of it either.”

  “Six week’s journey south.”

  Setau’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a new one.” He swept his hand in an arc. “These other boats are from farther north in the delta or the lands bordering the Wadjet Wer. The donkey caravan, too.”

  “All these traders are foreigners?”

  “Not to us,” Setau replied. “Maadi and the delta and the lands along the sea to the north and east are all part of one vast region. People move constantly within it, settle where they will, when they will. To us, the valley south of Maadi, where you come from, is a foreign land. We have nothing in common with anyone there.”

  I leaned back against the side of my boat. “Maybe I can change that.”

  Setau joined me.

  “As you can see, my deck is crowded with trade goods.”

  “A fairly small boat.”

  “Those in authority where I live wanted to make sure what we’ve heard about settlements in the North is true before risking more.”

  “And?” Setau asked.

  “Hard to tell,” I admitted.

  “I’m sure you’ll find much of interest here.”

  “What can you tell me about Maadi?” I asked.

  Setau settled back. “Maadi is about a hundred years old. The savannahs to east and west started drying out about then, and the people who wandered them settled around here, either in Maadi or on farms in the nearby valley. Perhaps fifty years ago people from the lands along the seacoast began settling in the delta, at Farkha and Minshat and Pe and Dep and a few other small hamlets. They began importing products from their homelands to exchange for this area’s products. Because caravan trails from the eastern and western deserts intersect the river here, almost by default Maadi became a trade depot. It’s where traders exchange the products of the deserts and delta.”

  “How far away is the delta?”

  “Ta–mehu, the flooded land. A couple of miles,” Setau said. “The river splits into branches there and spreads, much like fingers on a hand. There’s nothing but reeds and grass and hillocks as far as the eye can see – no plateaus, no desert, only green and water.”

  “So, Maadi’s the heart of an extensive trade network?” I inferred.

  “It is,” Setau replied. “Boats dock here from a dozen or so delta hamlets and the lands bordering the Wadjet Wer. Donkey caravans skirt the delta as well, after following the coast from the lands in the North. Caravanners use well–worn trails, dotted with regular waterholes and grazing areas. Did you know a single donkey can carry four hundred pounds of goods as far as twelve miles a day?”

  After spending so much time with Abar, coordinating her herds and Dedi’s boats, I actually did.

  “Anyway, two more trails wind through the wadis east of the settlement – one leads to the eastern sea, the other, the more important, to copper mines in the desert.”

  “You mine copper?” I asked. That was interesting.

  “Not us. The mines are at the head of an arm of the eastern sea. Place called Timna. Locals smelt the ore. Nomads carry the ingots to us across the desert. Takes them several weeks.”

  “Nekhen’s craftsmen make pendants and beads from chunks travelers occasionally find lying on the ground in the wadis east of the river.”

  “Copper’s abundant in Maadi. We export most of the ingots to locales along the coast. The rest we forge into tools and weapons. They’re much sharper and harder and more durable than stone. In fact, we no longer use stone tools in Maadi.”

  In that instant I knew my gamble to continue north was going to pay off. Even if the Maadians had nothing else worth trading, the opportunity to obtain copper implements would make regular expeditions to Maadi absolutely worthwhile. Replacing stone tools with copper would utterly transform the lives of Nekhen’s workmen.

  “How do I go about trading here?” I asked. “Must I speak with your ruler first and get his permission?”

  “We don’t have a ruler. No single man’s in charge at Maadi,” Setau replied. “All the traders store their goods in common in huts at the north and south ends of the settlement. I’ll take you to both storage areas, let you see what we have to offer. Bring samples of what you have on your boat with you. Later today, after you’ve looked around, I’ll gather Maadi’s traders together so you can show them your wares and arrange whatever deals they’re willing to make.”

  “You’ll facilitate this?”

  Setau smiled. “For a small share of what’s traded.”

  “Naturally,” I replied.

  I swung onto my boat, hurriedly moved about the deck, filled a leather pouch with fish–tailed knives, microdrills, flint and ivory figurines, pendants of gold and precious stones, cosmetic palettes, mudstone, malachite, and a selection of Amenia’s smaller jars and bowls and pots.

  “Stay here and guard everything,” I told Pabasa and Dagi in a low voice as I filled a second pouch. I glanced at the other boats. “These others may not be foreigners to Maadians, but they are to us. I think we may be able to trade here, as long as I have goods to trade.”

  “Count on us,” Pabasa assured me.

  All at once close to a dozen women and girls appeared on the dock beside my vessel, all laden with leather pouches or reed baskets or earthenware jars or other container
s. I glimpsed various types of vegetables and fruits and other foodstuffs. A few women called to me excitedly. I noted a dozen more streaming from between the huts, making a beeline towards my boat.

  “Don’t be alarmed,” Setau laughed. “Happens every time a boat docks. Women quickly harvest whatever’s in their garden and grab any beer and fresh bread that’s about. They assume crews will need to replenish their food supply. They make whatever trades they can directly with the boatmen.”

  “Time to put your skills to use, Pabasa and Dagi,” I said. “Just leave me a few items to trade.”

  I disembarked, pushed through the women, followed Setau into Maadi.

  We trailed a couple of burdened porters who were headed north on a narrow twisting dusty lane climbing the slight rise at the settlement’s center. Oval huts were arranged haphazardly along the lane, all made of wattle–and–daub, most with pens attached containing pigs or goats. The lane was crowded with people, but no one paid any attention to me. Maadians appeared to be used to outsiders.

  At the northern edge of Maadi was a long line of large wattle–and–daub huts. Porters were placing containers they’d carried from the traders’ boats into some of them. Others were filling containers with items from the huts to carry back to the harbor. A few men, obviously traders, stood in small groups, some arguing, some gesturing, some concluding deals and smiling, some stalking off angrily.

  “Most of these huts contain foodstuffs, though not all,” Setau said. He led me to each in turn. “Here’s cooked mutton. Here’s shellfish. Emmer and barley from nearby farms – the excess we don’t need to feed Maadi’s craftsmen. We export these fish bones – they make excellent arrowheads. Flints here, rough pots, spindle whorls for weaving flax, jar stoppers of clay.”

  Nothing in the huts was worth trading for. Our elites were used to the much finer products produced in Nekhen’s workshops. As if reading my mind, Setau announced that huts at the southern edge of Maadi held luxury goods.