As I’d planned, we were going to sneak by in the darkness to try to avoid discovery.
“It’s one of the three largest settlements in the valley, though nowhere near as large as Nekhen. It’s at the very eastern end of this long paw of land we’ve been traveling alongside all day. Nubt’s wealthy. They call it the ‘golden settlement’ because there are gold mines in the eastern desert nearby. Caravans bring goods here from the Eastern Sea – there’s a track through a wadi from the water all the way across the desert.”
“Have you seen the Eastern Sea?” Keminub asked.
“Not yet. But someday,” I told her.
“I’ve been to the Wadjet Wer many times,” Bakist informed her.
“And I’ve been once.” I smiled at Bakist.
“I’d like to see that too,” Keminub said.
“Then perhaps you shall,” I replied. She seemed to have her mother’s adventurous spirit. “Nubt’s leading men control trade. When they die they’re buried in a fine cemetery with large tombs, though they’re underground and don’t have halls and above–ground structures like at Nekhen.”
“Are the Nubtians like us?”
“Their pottery is similar, and their enterprises. They raise emmer and the other crops we grow. Their god is different, of course.”
Keminub hesitated for a moment. “Does Nubt have an oval court?”
Obviously, the memory of what had happened to her family in Nekhen’s was still fresh, and terrifying. “Not like ours. It’s just a clear patch of ground, like Nekhen’s used to be before you were born. Tjeni also has one.”
She shivered. “Does Maadi?”
“No,” Bakist assured her, gently stroking Keminub’s hair. “It doesn’t have a ruler like Ma–ee, either.”
Keminub sighed in relief.
We tied up a few miles downstream from Nubt for the night, then resumed our journey at dawn. The river swung back due west just north of our camping place and we traveled in that direction all day. We landed a few hours before sunset, perhaps twenty–five miles or so beyond Nubt, then, after darkness, reembarked and passed Hiw, setting up camp a little downstream. The next morning, a few miles past the point where the river began to arrow due north again, we encountered Abdju, a collection of separate hamlets located close to each other that considered themselves part of the same entity, much as Nekhen had in the time of the patriarchs. The valley was dominated there by rugged dark striated cliffs rising abruptly some eight hundred feet above the lush green fields of the western plain eight or nine miles back from the river, forming a great bay four miles across. The cliffs were pierced in places by arid valleys winding through the plateau of the high desert. The bottom third of most of the cliffs was covered with slopes of talus and loose sand. The hamlets themselves spread across the plain some six miles west of the river, between the cultivation, which was far wider than at Nekhen, and the cliffs, linked to the river by a narrow canal. We continued downriver past Abdju by daylight. We were unavoidably going to cause a stir in nearby Tjeni, so there was no sense trying to keep our presence secret anymore.
I moored my boat at Tjeni in late afternoon. I sent a fisherman I encountered at the landing place to summon Dagi. While I waited, Bakist and Amenia joined me a little back from the riverbank, in a grove of acacia trees. The shade felt good after the hot sun.
Dagi arrived a few minutes later. He caught sight of me, then everyone with me, then my boat packed with refugees. “What are you doing here?”
“You remember Hemaka?” I asked.
“Of course. The potter who took over for Teti.”
“He conspired against Ma–ee and got caught. Ma–ee rounded him and his whole family up and announced he was going to execute them. I helped them escape. They’re on my boat. Ma–ee’s on our trail.”
“Abar?”
“She stayed in Nekhen. She’s going to try to outlast Ma–ee and set everything to rights through Shery.”
Dagi pondered for a moment. “That could be decades from now. What does this mean for everything we’ve been working towards?”
“No more trade between Tjeni and Nekhen while Ma–ee lives, for starters,” I replied. “I destroyed his entire fleet before I left, to slow pursuit. So no boats will be coming from there to here. Get word to Pabasa. The two of you need to turn your attention towards each other and the eastern and western deserts until Abar contacts you and tells you otherwise. The South no longer exists as far as you’re concerned, as a trading partner. Keep working to influence Tjeni from within, as we planned, so once Abar fixes Nekhen we can move forward once again.”
“I understand.”
“I wish one of my supply boats was either here or at Nubt right now,” I said. “Then you and Pabasa could commandeer it and use it to exchange goods between your settlements. But it’s donkeys overland from now on, I’m afraid. Once I firmly establish myself in the North I may be able to restart trade between Tjeni and Maadi. But that could be many years from now, if at all.”
“You’re settling there?” Dagi asked.
“Some of us in Maadi, some in the delta,” I replied. “We have a long way to go, as you can attest. We’re almost out of food. I need you to resupply my boat for the rest of the journey.”
“Consider it done,” Dagi replied.
***
Early one morning, not long after our departure from Tjeni, as I sat in the stern alone, steering, Keminub approached, her face solemn.
“Nekauba says you killed our father.”
I was surprised Nekauba had waited this long to paint me as a villain. I’d taken responsibility for Sanakht’s death the night of the rescue, though Keminub had likely been too frightened for my words to register. Nekauba wasn’t man enough to carry out the threat he’d made the first night of our trip, so he was turning a child against me to exact his revenge. He was watching me from across the vessel. He was smirking.
“It’s true. I did,” I said gently.
“Why?” Her eyes were wide.
“What has your mother told you about your father?” I asked. What Amenia had already explained had to guide my answer.
“Mama said he was a grave robber. She said he stole from her Great–grandmother. Mama says he got caught while he was robbing a grave and got killed.”
“That’s true,” I said. “I’m sorry to say I’m the one who caught him. I just wanted to talk him out of doing it again…” – I wasn’t about to mention Amenia’s involvement – “…but things got out of hand and we started fighting and I killed him.” I pointed to my scar. “He did this to me. I’m very sorry, Keminub. I wish I hadn’t done it.”
“I don’t remember him very well,” she said reflectively. “I was only four when he died. Mama says he wanted sons. He ignored Peksater and me.”
“Still, if I hadn’t… if I hadn’t done what I did you wouldn’t have lost your home in the upper settlement,” I said. “I’m sorry for that too.”
“I liked living on the farm much better,” Keminub confided. “I loved to swim in the river and run around in the fields. Mama says she liked that too. She was much happier there. And besides…” – she leaned close, whispered – “Uncle Hemaka’s mean to all of us. And so is Nekauba. I don’t like either of them at all.”
A few nights later, after everyone else had returned to the boat to sleep and Amenia was cleaning up what remained of the meal we’d eaten on the riverbank – she was steadily recovering from her injuries – I gingerly approached her. I hadn’t sought her out and tried to talk to her alone since we’d left Nekhen. I’d have left her alone now if I had another option to get us out of an approaching predicament. But I didn’t.
“Amenia?”
“Yes.” She didn’t look up.
“I need your help.”
She continued gathering and cleaning dishes. “Go on.”
“In a few days we’ll reach a very dangerous twenty–mile long stretch of river. There aren’t any banks there – just high sheer rock walls rising
from the very edge of the water on east and west. The channel is constricted and choked with eddies and swirls. They’re always difficult to navigate, but they’ll be worse because of the inundation. Too much water will be trying to go through too narrow a channel. On top of that, the wind off the desert will be accelerated by the rock walls and will race upriver. It’ll be in our faces. The gusts will be strong enough to drive the boat into the cliffs. The wind will be so relentless the current won’t help us make progress northward. We won’t be able to drift. We’ll have to row.”
“You want me pulling at an oar? Is that it?” Amenia flexed her back. “I’ll try. I don’t know how long I’ll last.”
She hadn’t come close to fully recovering from her beating. The reminder made me feel awful. “No, Amenia. I’m the strongest and only experienced oarsman on this boat. I’ll have to row. So will every other man. The rest of the women too. But someone has to steer. You’re the only one besides me and Bakist who knows how. And in her condition Bakist simply doesn’t have the strength to do it.”
Amenia paused, a jar in one hand, glanced at me sideways for an instant. “I haven’t steered a boat in years.”
“That’s why I’m asking now. You’ll have a few days to practice and for me to prepare you for what’s ahead. If you don’t think you can do it I’ll have to train someone else. Probably Aat or Nebet. No other woman on the boat will even speak to me.”
Amenia stacked the last of her dishes. “I will, of course.” She rose, picked up her dishes, then returned to the boat.
Amenia spent the next three days with me in the stern, practicing. At first we were both formal, awkward, unsure how to act around each other. Too much had happened for us to slip into what had once been an accustomed familiarity. When our eyes met we both looked away quickly; when our hands brushed against each other on the steering oar we jerked them back as if they’d touched live coals. But gradually, as I focused on teaching and Amenia on learning, we began to act more naturally towards each other. I taught Amenia again what I’d taught her years before – to understand the current, to evaluate what the surface revealed about what lay beneath, to take into account the wind, to become one with the boat and sense its moods. As we traveled, and each evening, I told her in detail about the stretch of river she’d have to navigate, the places where it eddied, how to handle wind gusts, how to avoid running into the rock walls. Bakist sat with the two of us on the boat and around the campfire; she’d steered the passage multiple times with my assistance, though never during an inundation, and thus was familiar with that stretch of river. Once Amenia took over from me Bakist would sit in the bow, alerting Amenia to potential danger, directing her around it. Amenia eventually regained her former proficiency, as I’d expected. She’d always been smart, with a knack for the task.
Keminub and Peksater hovered around us in the stern the whole time Amenia was practicing. In truth, it was Keminub who dispelled most of the awkwardness between Amenia and me. She cheerfully asked questions of us both almost non–stop and seemed as interested in learning to navigate as her mother. She wasn’t shy about seizing the steering oar whenever Amenia paused to eat or rest, with my help, of course – the steering oar was far too heavy for one as young as her to maneuver alone. Sometimes she and her sister played at our feet. I couldn’t help thinking this was how my life was supposed to have been – me and Amenia and our children, on a river together, happy, content. I’d thrown away that opportunity by killing Sanakht. But I’d gained a different one, with Bakist. Someday soon it would be her and me and our first child on this very boat. I was eagerly looking forward to that.
Part of the day, while Amenia was steering and Bakist was assisting, I taught the men and women to row properly – Peseshet, Aat, Kapes and Nebet would have to spell the men occasionally. Nebtint, with an infant at her breast, watched the young children then and would on the day we actually navigated the canyon. We practiced during the heat of the day, to give everyone’s muscles a taste of what was to come, to toughen their hands, to prepare them. I too manned an oar – I alone would row the entire time once we reached the danger point. We were a mismatched crew and it took some time for me to arrange everyone so we weren’t working against each other. From beginning to end the grumbling and complaining never ceased. I ignored it. I prayed to the god of the inundation to be merciful, for despite my best efforts I simply couldn’t get everyone to row in unison. We passed through the Badari region and its plethora of small hamlets. Amenia pointed out ones she recognized from Ipu’s ancient stories, as I originally had from Dedi’s – Hemamiah, Mostagedda, Matmar, Badari, Sauty. Two days after leaving that region behind, an hour after sunrise, the cliffs closed in on the river and we entered the canyon.
The wind was fierce and in our faces. Amenia took the steering oar from me and Bakist moved to the bow and I grabbed hold of an oar on the right side of the boat. The rest of the first shift of oarsmen took their places. Nebtint took charge of Peksater and Neby and Keminub, keeping them out of the way in the middle of the boat. I’d informed everyone days before of the stakes – we had to get through this canyon before nightfall, for there was no place to tie up between its start and end. If we didn’t make it we’d be smashed on the rocks in the dark, and likely none of us would survive.
The river was running fast, surging hard and relentlessly against the cliffs both east and west, sending white spray skyward. The swirling wind carried it back onto us. In moments we were completely drenched, as was everything on deck. The wind gusts were atrocious, sometimes stopping us dead in the water despite our best efforts. Birds swooped at us from nests high up in the rock walls, taunting us with their graceful movements and shrill cries. Bakist continuously shouted directions to Amenia. Whenever she spotted a particularly dangerous eddy or swirl she called to me for guidance and I twisted around and scanned the river and told Amenia what to do. Whenever we reached a stretch where the current was more powerful than the wind I called a rest; the others were not used to such hard physical labor. I rotated oarsmen often so no one person had to row an inordinate amount of time. Keminub brought water non–stop to those of us who were rowing to slake our thirsts and dump over our heads to cool us. The moment an oarsmen was released from duty he or she sprawled on the deck, gasping for breath, sweating profusely.
That day was endless, the fear and exertion almost unbearable. A few times we were caught in powerful eddies; once or twice we were nearly dashed against the rocks. Somehow we always recovered just in time. One of the falcons riding the updrafts over our heads must have been Amenia’s god, protecting us, for there was no other explanation for our salvation. At times Amenia gripped her falcon talisman in her hand, moving her lips in silent prayer. On the infrequent stretches where we were able to simply drift for a few minutes I took the steering oar and Amenia joined Bakist tending to blistered palms and aching muscles. Throughout the ordeal Amenia carried on bravely, though the strain was evident on her face. She was drenched with sweat from wrestling the heavy steering oar and the responsibility she bore for so many lives. No matter what we encountered, though, she kept her head and never once panicked. I was proud of her for that. Bakist, too. More than once her quick thinking helped Amenia navigate around a dangerous spot.
About midday, without any warning, we hit the largest eddy I’d ever had the bad luck to encounter. The boat plunged into a short deep trough, almost like it was headed down the slope of one of the plateaus lining the river. Water swept over and across the forward section of the deck. Its force knocked Aat and Kapes off their seats. Only a quick grab of Aat’s wrist by Heth kept her from tumbling overboard. I saw some of our precious containers of food swirling down the river, a critical loss. Then the boat bucked and creaked and the bow rose and we were on a flat stretch again.
“Keminub!” Amenia screamed.
Her head was bobbing amidst the debris. She’d been carrying a jar of water to the oarsmen; she’d been washed overboard. Instinctively, I let go of my oar and do
ve over the side of the boat. I surfaced to more screams. Keminub was so light the current was carrying her north more rapidly than the boat was moving. I swam desperately towards her. Between the wind and the eddies and the current I was having a hard time catching up. She went under, came back up. Fortunately, she wasn’t panicking. She’d told me once how much she’d liked to swim in the river when she lived at Yuny’s farm. That experience was coming in handy now. Though I doubted she’d ever been in the river during the inundation.
It seemed like a lifetime, but it couldn’t have been more than a minute or two before I reached her. I grabbed hold, tread water.
“Climb onto my back, Little Fish. Link your hands together around my neck. Don’t let go for anything,” I ordered. The current continued to sweep us north. Keminub was so slight her weight wasn’t a problem for me. I swiveled. The boat was behind us, in disarray. Everyone was crouched along one side watching Keminub and me. Amenia was still in the stern, trying to steer towards me, but every single oarsman except Heth had abandoned his or her post. Out of control now, the boat had turned and was nearly perpendicular to the current and the wind was angling it directly towards the western cliffs. Then Bakist picked up a coil of rope and began storming about the deck. She literally beat Hemaka and Nekauba back to their seats. She was screaming at the others too, though the sound was drowned out by the roar of the river. Yuny and Ibi took up oars, then Aat. They flailed at the water ineffectively. Bakist screamed some more and wielded her rope and the oarsmen returned to a rough semblance of unison. The boat began to straighten out, then move north again.
Meanwhile, Keminub and I were drifting ever farther ahead of it. The river was pounding hard against cliffs looming much too near. We had to keep our distance from them; if the current drove us too close we’d be caught by eddies and dashed to bits against the rough rock.
“Hold on,” I called over my shoulder. I began to swim directly towards the center of the channel with all my might, still carried north by the current, but not as rapidly as before.
The Women and the Boatman Page 79
