The Women and the Boatman

by Mark Gajewski

  Tentopet was waiting for us and she snatched the boys up in her arms and lugged them to a corner where several shallow basins of water waited. She ignored their protests and forced them to scrub their filthy hands and faces clean. I laughed out loud watching her wrangle them. I grieved for Tentopet having lost three children in childbirth, but I was glad she had mine to compensate. She was as much a mother to them as I was. They both loved her very much.

  Nubemshant entered and greeted me and sat on the floor beside me. She was closely followed by serving girls laden with bowls and jars and platters. They laid them out in a circle and departed. Tentopet and Shery and Shepseska joined us. My boys plunged in immediately.

  “How was the boat?” Tentopet asked, selecting a piece of melon from a bowl.

  “I got to steer!” Shepseska proclaimed proudly.

  “I got to steer us to shore,” Shery boasted. “That’s much harder.”

  “Someday you’ll both captain your own boats,” Tentopet assured them. “I’ll be very proud of you both then.” She looked at me and smiled.

  Tentopet was my friend and confidant. Ma–ee would be furious if he ever discovered how she’d kept me informed about and connected to the outside world the years he’d kept me locked away in his house, about the messages she’d passed to others – her brother and Nykara, in particular – on my behalf, before Ma–ee had given up his foolishness and let me wander Nekhen freely once again. Tentopet had a way of being unobtrusive whenever Ma–ee was around, demure, eyes downcast, never drawing attention to herself. I wasn’t sure Ma–ee even knew her name, despite the six years she’d served us. Her man, Hatiay, had died several years ago, a month or so before she’d given birth to her last stillborn child; his body had been discovered badly decomposed in a tangle of marshland a mile downstream from Nekhen. Ma–ee had proclaimed Hatiay’s death the result of a hunting accident; I strongly suspected some farmer he’d harassed on Ma–ee’s behalf had laid in wait and murdered him. An unsolved, unpunished murder would have made Ma–ee look weak, thus Ma–ee’s cover–up. I’d seen to it Tentopet remained unjoined thereafter, as she’d desired.

  Usually we three women chatted non–stop during the meal. Tonight I was mostly silent. After listening to Nykara’s report about potential conspiracies I was worried about the impetus the consecutive poor inundations might be giving Ma–ee’s rivals, not for his sake, but for my boys’. I couldn’t help ponder Bakist’s idea either – that it would be easier to unify a region in the North than in the South. The idea was attractive, but the North was a mystery to me. The South was my heritage. Abandoning Nekhen would be like abandoning Grandfather’s dream, and Ankhmare’s, and mine. I wasn’t yet prepared to do something so drastic. But I wasn’t ready to reject the idea out of hand, either.

  “My Lady. Pardon me. Please. You have to come.” The plea was urgent.

  I swung around towards the entrance of my room. Nebet was just inside, Amenia’s cousin, one of Ma–ee’s hostage–servants who’d been so helpful during Shepseska’s birth and after. She was extremely agitated, breathing hard, eyes frightened. She turned, glanced fearfully over her shoulder towards the front of the house.

  “Slow down. Take a breath, Nebet. What’s happening?” I asked.

  “My father’s in the audience hall. He’s arguing with Ma–ee and Senebi.”

  “Hemaka?” A key individual in the rumored conspiracy against Ma–ee? What was going on? Elites never appeared unannounced in my house. They came only when summoned. “Tentopet, Nubemshant – keep the boys in my room. Nebet – come with me.”

  We dashed the length of the house towards the audience hall, dodging girls who were moving in both directions along the corridor, Nebet barely keeping up with me despite her much longer legs. The closer we got the louder the voices became. The argument was heated. A dozen serving girls were gathered on either side of the entrance to the hall, crouched down, eavesdropping intently.

  “Leave!” I hissed.

  Startled, they scattered.

  Nebet and I stationed ourselves to the right of the entrance, me in front, her behind. Every word uttered in the hall was perfectly clear. That was lucky, for I dared not peer through the entrance for fear I’d be discovered. Discovery would likely terminate the discussion and I wanted to know exactly what was going on.

  “You have to honor your promise!”

  “That’s definitely Father,” Nebet whispered.

  “What promise? To make you an elite? I did,” Ma–ee insisted.

  “No. To be your chief counselor. Instead of Senebi.”

  “I don’t recall any such promise,” Ma–ee said lightly.

  “You certainly can’t prove it.”

  That was Senebi.

  Hemaka laughed mirthlessly. “My nephew Nekauba overheard us, Ma–ee. He was hiding in the shadows the night we made our bargain. He’s a sneak. And he has a big mouth. He’ll back me if I accuse you publicly.”

  “Even if it’s true, do you think the elites will care who counsels Ma–ee?” Senebi asked. “Me, you, an elephant…”

  “They’ll care when Nekauba tells them you burned down Teti’s pottery works,” Hemaka charged.

  Amenia’s suspicion had been correct.

  “You’re the one who benefited,” Ma–ee reminded Hemaka. “The elites will want to know why you didn’t help Teti rebuild instead of swooping in to take his place if you were so concerned for his welfare.”

  “I could just as easily claim you started the fire yourself, Hemaka,” Senebi interjected. “Everyone would believe it – a second–rate potter desperate to become an elite, destroying his rival.”

  Hemaka was losing whatever argument he’d come here to make. So far, Ma–ee and Senebi had countered every one of his charges. If Hemaka had any sense at all he’d shut his mouth this instant and go away. Irritating Ma–ee and Senebi, which was all he’d appeared to have done at this point, was one thing – turning them into bitter enemies by keeping on would have consequences. I sensed Hemaka was too stubborn to admit defeat. He was going to stay on the attack. He was an idiot.

  “Nekauba knows about the bargain you made that ruined Amenia’s life, too,” Hemaka continued, desperation creeping into his voice. He appeared to be shooting every bit of ammunition he had in hopes of hitting something. “The people love her. They’ll take her part over yours.”

  “Loved her. Not any more. She’s linked in their minds to your criminal brother,” Ma–ee asserted.

  “You’re dead wrong,” Hemaka insisted. “I have Amenia stashed away, safe. I can use her against you any time I like.”

  “The day Amenia steps foot in Nekhen again I’ll slay your daughter,” Ma–ee threatened. “Her name is Nebet, I believe. She’s one of my serving girls.”

  Nebet gasped.

  “Go ahead. I could care less,” Hemaka rejoined. “Daughters are just game pieces. Sometimes you have to sacrifice one to advance.”

  I turned around. Nebet was standing stock still, shocked. Then she began shaking with silent sobs, a hand over her mouth, overcome by her father’s callousness. I took her in my arms. She pressed her cheek against mine. It was wet with tears. Men were such monsters! Hemaka was as cold–blooded as Ma–ee, cavalier with his own daughter’s life. He’d broken her heart.

  “Be content with what you have, Hemaka,” Senebi said menacingly. “I’ve told you before – fires can burn out of control. You should worry less about me and more about your pottery works.”

  “You should worry about your reputation!” Hemaka said scathingly. “If I hadn’t stopped you, you would have beaten the falcon god’s priestess to force her to confess to a crime you knew she hadn’t committed. As it was, you took great pleasure in humiliating her publicly. Is it any wonder we’ve had two bad inundations since then? The god is punishing you for what you did to Amenia and we’re suffering for it. And as for Amenia, no matter what you claim she’s beloved. Do you have any idea how many people she’s healed and comforted in this set
tlement?”

  “They might have loved her once,” Senebi retorted. “But, as Ma–ee said, not any more. Her man, your brother, was a grave–robber. You’re associated with that despicable act and so is she. And, may I remind you, the killer’s accomplice was never found. Easy enough to make the case it was you.”

  “Enough of this!” Ma–ee ordered. He was not a patient man and he’d reached his limit. “What do you want, Hemaka?”

  “Much more wealth, for starters. When I was Nykara’s partner I had the best of everything in massive quantities. You’ve skimped on what you’ve given me from Nekhen’s workshops since you became ruler.”

  “What else?”

  “Name me first among the elites. Senebi can continue overseeing his thugs. But let me oversee Senebi.”

  “You’re out of your mind!” Senebi exclaimed. “Be happy you’re an elite at all, Hemaka. You’re just a potter!”

  “You’re just a bully!”

  “And I’m Nekhen’s ruler!” Ma–ee practically roared. “The elites who count support me completely! Threaten me and you won’t get away with it, Hemaka.”

  “Are you sure?” he queried.

  “I’ve used one of Abar’s half–sisters to tie a prominent elite family to me, and will soon a second. So, Hemaka, the answer to your question is yes. A resounding yes. Now, get out of my sight!”

  Hemaka cursed harshly.

  That was the signal for both Nebet and me to scurry back to the nursery as fast as we could. I’d heard enough. I didn’t want to risk being discovered, for Ma–ee and Senebi to know I knew my man had a rival, and his identity. That knowledge might prove useful someday. At the very least I’d confirmed the rumors Nykara reported about Hemaka were true. If he’d been seen with Pipi, then Pipi was no doubt aligned with him. Guessing Pipi’s motivation for opposing Ma–ee wasn’t difficult, but now I knew for certain Hemaka’s. Ma–ee and Senebi had, inevitably, silenced Hemaka this evening, sent him away dissatisfied. The two of them were probably gloating right now, certain they’d won a victory, but Hemaka was not going to go away quietly. Battle lines had just been drawn. Hemaka wasn’t going to gracefully accept defeat and move on. I had an uneasy feeling Nekhen was suddenly teetering on the brink of something momentous. The question was – could I turn it to my advantage?

  3437 BC

  Abar

  Just as Ma–ee and Shery and Shepseska and I were finishing the morning meal in Ma–ee’s room Senebi entered. The four of us usually broke our fast together. I didn’t enjoy spending time with Ma–ee, but at least our gathering enabled me to keep tabs on what Ma–ee told my boys so I could counteract his foolishness before it took root in their impressionable minds. Senebi bowed to Ma–ee, then to me as an afterthought. I didn’t acknowledge him. I couldn’t stand the toad and he knew it.

  “The men you sent for are waiting in the audience hall,” Senebi announced.

  “I’ll be there presently,” Ma–ee replied, then bit into a chunk of meat.

  Shepseska, five years old now, was sitting on my lap. I kissed the crown of his head, at the base of his sidelock. “Take the boys to the nursery,” I told Tentopet. She always came to Ma–ee’s room with me and stood by unobtrusively until I called on her.

  She scooped Shepseska into the crook of one arm and bent and took hold of Shery’s hand. Increasingly independent, he yanked it away.

  “Come along,” Tentopet clucked, herding him forcefully out of Ma–ee’s room, past the clutch of serving girls lined up along the wall beside the exit who were always standing by at his beck and call.

  “That boy’s going to be hard to control when he’s older,” Ma–ee said affectionately, shaking his head.

  For you, maybe. Not for me. I’d been doing everything in my power to make my sons in my image, not their father’s, ever since they were born. To date I was succeeding. I spent most of my time with them; except for meal time, Ma–ee hardly paid them any attention at all, or at least he hadn’t until Shery had grown strong enough to draw a bow a few months ago. Now he accompanied Ma–ee whenever he went hunting, though he hadn’t yet slain anything himself.

  “Who’s reporting?” I asked Senebi.

  He glanced at Ma–ee, who sighed and nodded.

  “Nykara,” Senebi said in a voice indicating he considered the information none of my concern. He addressed Ma–ee. “He finished collecting your share of grain and other foodstuffs from farms in the valley yesterday. Aspelta is with him.”

  They couldn’t possibly be bringing good news. There hadn’t been a decent inundation for three consecutive years and the emmer stored in the granaries near the oval court to feed Ma–ee’s dependents and fund his public projects was nearly exhausted. I’d cajoled Aspelta, the overseer who worked for Ma–ee and processed farmers’ grain and managed Ma–ee’s share, into confessing weeks ago. If anything was going to provoke the elites into taking action against Ma–ee it was the threat of starvation. Better to know how bad the situation’s become than to guess at it. As usual, I’ll have to figure out how to get us out of this crisis and protect Ma–ee from the elites’ wrath. All he’s good for is hunting and pontificating and throwing his weight around. As much as I hated protecting him, I had to so Shery could succeed him.

  “The elites have also assembled, as you ordered,” Senebi finished.

  Something was going on if Ma–ee had called everyone important to our residence. Whatever it was couldn’t be good.

  I trailed Ma–ee and Senebi through the house and into the audience hall. Neither wanted me there, but neither had the will to oppose me and risk a scene that might be witnessed by the elites. Arguing with me would make Ma–ee look weak. The hall was far more elaborately decorated now than when Father had presided – Ma–ee was a slave to luxury. The painted linen rectangle with the boat procession to the right of the dais was now matched with one to the left showing Ma–ee hunting and capturing a variety of dangerous beasts. Two wood chairs with soft cushions occupied the raised dais. A few wood stands with lighted bowls of oil were scattered strategically. The hall was bare of other furniture – anyone who appeared before Ma–ee was required to stand. An armed guard stood at attention in each corner, and two flanked the entrance used by those who sought audience. More were interspersed among the wood columns supporting the roof. All of them – Senebi’s men – were richly compensated and thus fiercely loyal to Ma–ee.

  Ma–ee and I took our seats. Two young girls, daughters of Pipi and Salitis respectively, moved behind us and began swishing ostrich–feather fans to keep us cool. Seni’s youngest daughter offered each of us a cup of wine brought back by Nykara on his latest visit to Maadi, a share of the cargo Ma–ee had taken for himself. There was a child from every elite family in the hall today, lined up along one wall. That was unusual. Both of Ma–ee’s lions – cubs no longer – were stretched out to the right of the dais, watched over by several keepers. That too was out of the ordinary.

  Senebi positioned himself to Ma–ee’s right, on the step below the top of the dais. Ma–ee picked up his crook and flail and lay each across his lap, bound several tall white plumes to his brow, then nodded to Senebi. Senebi signaled a guard, who rolled up the mat covering the entrance and affixed it to the lintel. Nykara and Aspelta and several other men, granary officials who worked for Aspelta, entered. Behind them came Nekhen’s elite – the brewer Pipi, the herdsman Salitis, Hemaka, Hori, Harkhebi, Itisen, Raemka, Merenhor. They moved as a group to the front of the room to the section where supplicants stood and bowed respectfully to each of us, all the men halting a few steps behind Nykara and Aspelta.

  As usual, Nykara avoided looking at me and focused his attention on Ma–ee. He always did that in public; only during our weekly meetings to coordinate boats and donkeys, in private, did we converse as friends. Ma–ee knew we met, but he’d decided not to make an issue of it. That was how he usually dealt with anything he found particularly unpleasant.

  “Your report, Nykara,” Ma–ee demanded.<
br />
  Theirs was a fragile relationship. That Nykara had slain the lioness the day of my father’s death was a secret Ma–ee feared Nykara would one day reveal. More importantly, it rankled him Nykara had forced him to give up control of Dedi’s enterprise. I’d figured out as a child the root of Ma–ee’s dislike; Nykara was more competent than him in every way. The fleet ran perfectly now, as opposed to when Ma–ee and Senebi had directly overseen it. Ma–ee was simply eaten up by jealousy of a better man. The fact the wealth generated by Nykara’s smithy inoculated him from any threat Ma–ee might make to take away the fleet again was an additional irritant. Ma–ee still longed to put Nykara in his place, but was impotent, if not afraid, to. Too many of the elites greatly respected Nykara and would rally to him if he was attacked. Ma–ee’s despicable attempt to make Nykara miserable by taking Amenia away had failed; everyone in Nekhen could plainly see how happy Bakist made Nykara.

  “The collection of emmer and barley and other foodstuffs has been completed throughout the valley. The grain has all been delivered to Aspelta’s processing grounds. Once it’s been threshed, he’ll store it in your clay bins near the oval court,” Nykara replied matter–of–factly. “The bins will then be about…”

  “You took the census I ordered?” Ma–ee interrupted. He obviously didn’t want the elites to know how poor the harvest was, that the bins would be less than half–full. Aspelta had given me a heads up late last night. Ma–ee was diverting attention.