The Women and the Boatman

by Mark Gajewski

  “I have,” Nykara replied.

  The census had been my suggestion. Such an accounting would never have occurred to Ma–ee. To give me credit for the idea wouldn’t have either.

  Nykara pulled a few sherds of pottery inked with wavy lines and swirls from a leather pouch dangling from his waist. “There are roughly two hundred farms within fifty miles of Nekhen, a handful more to the north than to the south. About sixteen hundred people live on those farms, give or take, three times as many children as adults. There are four times that many residents in Nekhen itself and the twenty hamlets beholden to you, as well as Nekheb, of course.”

  “Over eight thousand total,” I said. Ma–ee didn’t have the ability to manipulate numbers.

  “The largest concentration anywhere in the valley, from what I’ve seen on my expeditions,” Nykara said.

  “That will be all, Nykara,” Ma–ee said. “You can…”

  “You have more to say,” I interrupted.

  Nykara looked at me, eyes and face betraying no familiarity. “Yes, My Lady. What the numbers mean.”

  “Tell us,” I ordered.

  Nykara consulted a sherd, addressed Ma–ee once again. “Each farm produces enough to feed about 41 people – eight farmers and 33 non–farmers. With your share of the crops you directly support Senebi’s guards and the servants in your household and your officials and their families. In addition, you provide food for festivals and for the farmers who labor on your public projects during the inundation. The rest of the crops are consumed by farmers and their families, with their excess exchanged directly with brewers, potters, metalsmiths, woodcutters, water bearers, herdsmen, donkey drivers, boatmen and the rest for what they need to live.”

  “Anything more?” Ma–ee asked, clearly bored, leaning back in his chair.

  “Only about a quarter of those beholden to you are adults,” Nykara replied. “The rest are children.”

  Ma–ee fiddled with his flail.

  “Which is important because…” I prompted.

  Any other man would have been irritated by Ma–ee’s lack of interest in what he had to say and given up. But Nykara had spent most of his life explaining things to Ma–ee and being ignored. He’d known that would happen today in the audience hall. He wasn’t expecting Ma–ee to pay attention to what he said. He expected I would. His report was a way for him to inform me how serious the crisis threatening Nekhen had become so I could subtly manipulate Ma–ee into taking action to solve it before it worsened.

  “When your farmers’ sons come of age there won’t be enough land near Nekhen for all of them to farm,” Nykara said patiently. “Their first inclination will be to relocate a little farther north and south of where you hold sway and undertake to clear and plant that land. That’ll be very hard work and take several years, because the riverbanks are tangled with brush or are swampy and barely cultivable. So they’ll listen to whispers about how easy it is to farm near the foot of the delta, Ta–mehu, how land there is plentiful and free for the taking.”

  “Rumor? Or fact?” I asked.

  “Fact. Well known, because so many boatmen have seen it for themselves now. So a few farmers will emigrate, and send word back, and soon your people will be leaving Nekhen’s region in droves. That means the amount of food available to you and your people will be fixed at a certain level, the same as it is now.”

  “So?” Ma–ee asked impatiently.

  “Nekhen’s inhabitants have children too. They’ll grow up and start families and have children of their own and your farms will not be able to feed all of them. And so, inevitably, they too will be forced to emigrate to the North, to new hamlets and settlements. Soon only the old and infirm will be left here, and in time Nekhen will decay and cease to exist.”

  “You paint a bleak picture, Nykara,” I interjected. “Do you have a solution? You are, after all, one of Nekhen’s elite men now, thanks to Ma–ee.” It never hurt to stroke my man’s ego. “You have a stake in our settlement’s survival.”

  “I’d set farmers to figuring out how to make their farms larger – how to better utilize the river’s water to expand them all the way to the desert’s edge – to in effect create more cultivable land on existing farms, perhaps even grow more than one crop each year. I’d set craftsmen to seeking new sources of raw materials on the nearby desert plateaus – if there are to be more craftsmen, they’ll need materials in ever increasing amounts. I’d start sending trade expeditions more often to north and south to obtain materials, and into the deserts. I’d start thinking about the new huts that must be constructed for the increased population, and the new breweries and potteries and the rest – will they be located up the slope towards the upper settlement, or along the river? And what about wood, which every industry and household needs, and which grows scarcer with each passing year? All of these must be addressed together – farm, supply, people, housing – or there will be chaos in this valley.”

  “Yes, yes,” Ma–ee said, waving his hand dismissively. “I will consider what you’ve told me, Nykara. Step back.”

  You’ll ignore everything Nykara just told you. Ma–ee disgusted me. Nykara joined the other men. You truly should have been ruler, Nykara, My Love. You envision what Ma–ee is too blind to see. What I envision as well.

  “Now I’d like to discuss…” Ma–ee began.

  “What’s the status of Ma–ee’s grain, Aspelta?” I interrupted.

  “He and I will go over that later,” Ma–ee snapped.

  “I want to hear it now,” I insisted.

  “And I said…”

  I leaned close. “Do you really want the elites to see us arguing?” I whispered.

  Ma–ee didn’t. He glared at me for a moment. “Your report, Aspelta,” he demanded.

  Aspelta swallowed hard. “My Lord, once I thresh the grain Nykara collected the granaries will be less than half–full,” he said hesitantly. “Three poor inundations in a row have taken a toll.”

  “I assume there will be enough foodstuffs to feed everyone I support until the next harvest,” Ma–ee said.

  Aspelta hesitated again.

  I didn’t blame him. Bringing bad news to Ma–ee never turned out well for the bearer.

  “Only if none of the idled farmers works on your tomb complex during the next inundation, so you don’t have to feed them or their families. Even then, you may have to ration the amount of emmer and barley you give to the men you directly support.”

  Worried glances passed between the elites. If there wasn’t enough emmer to fill Ma–ee’s granaries, would there be enough for farmers to exchange with them for goods and services? Did they and their families and workers also face the prospect of starvation?

  “Unacceptable!” Ma–ee thundered, suddenly roused. As usual, he was quick to react when one of the pet projects he used to illustrate his might and authority was affected. He practically jumped from his chair. His crook and flail clattered to the floor at his feet. “I will not delay my tomb, Aspelta!” He bent and picked up his crook, pointed it at the elites. “Three poor inundations in a row! Three poor harvests! Four in the course of six years!”

  As if they were to blame, when in fact Ma–ee was responsible. All of us in the valley were at the mercy of the river and the annual flood it brought to replenish our fields; we counted on Ma–ee to control it and so far he hadn’t. According to Tentopet, many in Nekhen were now openly speaking of a connection between the beginning of the era of poor floods and Ma–ee driving Amenia out of the settlement. They were questioning if she’d really done anything worth being exiled for. They believed the falcon god had abandoned Nekhen because Ma–ee had persecuted his priestess unfairly. Hemaka, Tentopet had told me, had ordered his potters to initially spread and then keep that charge alive.

  Sweat was pouring down Aspelta’s face. He was still rooted in place, several steps in front of the rest of the men. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else in the world but there.

  Nykara moved to
Aspelta’s side. “How can I help?” he asked Ma–ee.

  The others still stood like so many sheep, waiting for orders. Not surprisingly. I’d been right about Ma–ee all along – he was no leader and an unfit ruler. Since replacing Father he’d made every decision concerning Nekhen himself, without consulting anyone – and taking anyone to task if they volunteered information. Now, whatever advice the men in this room might have for him they were unwilling to share – if they were even thinking for themselves anymore. Except Nykara. He was always prepared to do whatever needed to be done for Nekhen. He alone didn’t fear Ma–ee’s wrath.

  “Perhaps you’d like me to take my boats to Abu and Tjeni and Nubt and try to trade for emmer and barley,” he prompted.

  As he’d done on his own after the first poor inundation of Ma–ee’s rule. Which Ma–ee had never discovered.

  “Do you think those settlements are better provisioned than us?” Senebi scoffed. “Aren’t they at the mercy of the same river we are?”

  “Perhaps Maadi, then?” Nykara asked evenly.

  Senebi got angry whenever Nykara didn’t lose his temper at his snide comments. Senebi’s face began turning red.

  “The delta hasn’t suffered as much as us. There was excess grain on my last visit,” Nykara said.

  “So you claim. Where’s your proof?” Senebi snapped. “Going to Maadi’s a fool’s errand. If you go all that way and return months from now with nothing we’ll starve. We must take action now while there’s still time!” He slammed his fist into his palm.

  “Senebi and I have developed a better plan to deal with this crisis,” Ma–ee announced. “We assumed you and Aspelta would bring us bad news today. That’s why I ordered the elites to join us.” Ma–ee had just shifted blame for lack of grain away from himself and onto Nykara. He swept his eyes over the elites. “So, Nykara. I want you to have all of your boats ready to embark at dawn. Raid every farm in the valley that is beholden to me and bring back every bit of their excess foodstuffs.”

  Everyone in the hall was shocked by Ma–ee’s order, including me. We all understood the implications of that order. But none of the elites had the courage to voice an objection to Ma–ee or confront Senebi. Except Nykara.

  “Every farmer has already given the portion owed you,” he argued.

  “Now they owe more!” Senebi said angrily. He looked down at Nykara from his step, though just barely, for he was short and Nykara was tall. “I’ve personally calculated the amount of grain due Ma–ee.”

  That was a joke. Senebi had no more grasp of numbers than Ma–ee did.

  “Based on what you collected, it’s clear to me every farmer has held back a portion of Ma–ee’s share. That’s the true reason for the shortfall, not the height of the last flood.”

  Nykara ignored Senebi. “Ma–ee, consider this move very carefully,” he said as persuasively as he could. “Your people will not stand for it. No ruler has ever done such a thing.”

  “Ma–ee rules Nekhen!” Senebi cried. “Everyone must obey his orders! What will the people do, Nykara? Rise up against him?” He locked his eyes on Nykara, dark with hatred. “Will you rise up against Ma–ee?”

  “Of course not,” Nykara said mildly.

  Nykara knew I was counting on Shery succeeding Ma–ee and setting Nekhen back on course. For that to happen, Ma–ee had to remain Nekhen’s ruler. So, Nykara would never rebel against Ma–ee. I feared he was in the minority. The rumors that behind closed doors some of Nekhen’s elite men – including a couple gathered in this hall – were actively talking of challenging Ma–ee and replacing him had been growing in frequency since the last miserable harvest. I stared at Hemaka. He was the ringleader, not surprising after the way Ma–ee and Senebi had treated him in this very hall less than a year ago. Though removal of a ruler had never been attempted, to my knowledge, it had been Ma–ee’s chief fear since the first day of his rule. He never went about the settlement without a cadre of Senebi’s well–armed guards, who’d earned a reputation for harshly dealing with dissenters. In response to the perceived threats to his rule Ma–ee was emphasizing even more visible displays of his power and wealth – his frequent hunts had already resulted in a menagerie of exotic animals far greater than anyone could remember, he had increased the number of festivals at which he was overly generous with the foodstuffs he’d acquired from those beholden to him – one reason the granaries were nearly exhausted – and he’d continued to employ the idle during the inundation to construct his tomb complex in the cemetery atop the plateau, a complex far more extensive than even Father’s – despite my pleas to delay it until he could truly afford to work on it. Ma–ee went about everywhere with at least one of his lions on a leash and two keepers to control it; both animals were frightening and impressive creatures and awed everyone who crossed their paths.

  “You will obey my command, Nykara!” Ma–ee said stridently. He swept his eyes around the room. “All of you will!”

  “I’m going to station several of my men on every one of your boats, Nykara, to ensure Ma–ee’s order is carried out and to deal with any farmer who resists it,” Senebi snarled.

  Ma–ee regarded Nykara coolly. “Senebi will be personally watching you from the deck of your boat. If you don’t comply fully with my order – by word and deed – I’ll take the fleet from you – this time for good. And I’ll take the smithy too. You’ll have nothing.” He leaned back in his seat, a satisfied smile on his face.

  I was appalled. Ma–ee had just abrogated the agreement with Nykara that had resulted in him succeeding Father. From now on, the fleet and smithy would remain Nykara’s only if he did what Ma–ee wanted. But aside from rebelling and joining the not–so–secret conspiracy against Ma–ee and upsetting my plans, what could Nykara do about it?

  “How many boats do you have?” Senebi asked him.

  “Fifteen.”

  “So, each will visit a dozen farms,” Ma–ee said. “I want every vessel underway at dawn. I want every farm raided before sunset tomorrow. I will not have word of what we’re doing get out in advance so farmers have time to hide foodstuffs from us.” His eyes swept the group again. “Is that understood?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “Good. Hemaka, I want every empty pot and storage jar you own stowed aboard Nykara’s boats at least an hour before dawn.”

  “I don’t have enough for fifteen vessels,” Hemaka protested.

  “Then round up empty reed baskets and leather containers and anything else that will hold foodstuffs from the houses in the upper and lower settlements!” Ma–ee shouted. “Must I think for you?”

  Hemaka’s face reddened and he shrunk from Ma–ee. “As you command,” he replied.

  Ma–ee pointedly signaled Hemaka’s daughter Nebet to ascend the dais and refill his cup with wine. She did, her hands shaking, then quickly resumed her position against the wall. Ma–ee took a long satisfied drink, eyes on Hemaka the whole time.

  His point was clear. He knew which hostage–servant was descended from which elite. If Hemaka failed to meet Ma–ee’s expectations he’d kill Nebet. The reason for the presence of the other hostage–servants in the hall today was now crystal clear. Any elite who opposed today’s directive was risking his child’s life. I assumed they all loved their children. Except for Hemaka, who’d told Ma–ee to his face he didn’t care what happened to Nebet.

  For a half hour more arrangements were made and details ironed out. Then Ma–ee summarily dismissed everyone he’d summoned. I couldn’t shake the feeling Nekhen had just taken a giant step over a cliff and was falling unchecked towards something truly awful. As soon as everyone was gone Senebi personally let down the reed mat tied to the lintel over the entrance so no one from outside could see in.

  “Damn the god of the inundation for withholding the flood again!” Ma–ee cried. He stood and threw his crook with all his might. It splintered against a post halfway across the hall.

  “Cursing the gods will not bring a normal flood
,” I told him calmly.

  He looked daggers at me. He plopped heavily into his chair.

  “My Lord, since this seems to be a day for frankness, what Aspelta told you is well–known throughout Nekhen,” Senebi said. “Everyone is aware of the true state of the granaries.”

  “How?” Ma–ee demanded.

  “The men who work for Aspelta and distribute emmer to women each day talk to them while they’re waiting. News spreads fast. And, according to my spies, people are complaining about you in ever increasing numbers. They’ve started to rally behind Hemaka, as we feared. He’s openly blaming you for the gods’ neglect of us.”

  Ma–ee’s face flamed red with anger. “Why, that ungrateful…”

  “Hemaka rails against you constantly from the safety of the upper settlement,” Senebi said.

  “He’s all talk,” Ma–ee sniffed. “What can a single potter do?”

  “Not much. But don’t forget – his niece Amenia was once promised to Nykara. With Sanakht dead, Hemaka could give her to him at any time.”

  “And in return, if Hemaka asks, Nykara could choke off the flow of goods to and from Nekhen and cause chaos and cripple me,” Ma–ee said thoughtfully.

  “Together Nykara and Hemaka would be a powerful force against you.”

  I laughed out loud. “Such overactive imaginations! Have you forgotten Nykara has a woman, Bakist, who makes him quite happy? He’s not free to join with Amenia. Besides, he’s never once mentioned her to me since she disappeared from Nekhen. He’s never mentioned Hemaka either.”

  “Doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen,” Senebi sniffed. “For all we know, women from the North are used to sharing their men with other women. Or, if Nykara still craves Amenia, why wouldn’t he simply set aside the foreigner and take her? Who’d care?”

  “That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said,” I snapped at Senebi.

  “Have you found out where Hemaka has stashed Amenia?” Ma–ee asked Senebi, ignoring me.