by Jerry Dubs
“What Imhotep said is correct,” Akila said. “They should protect and pad the blister and let it heal. However, if it is swollen, you can relieve their pain.”
Hapu closed her fingers around Akila’s hand and said, “Teach me.”
A Suspect
Bata had met Amtes a dozen years ago during one of Imhotep’s visits to Hetephernebti.
They had nodded hello to each other in the market and then smiled in surprise when they had passed each other in the hallways of the Temple of Re. Later that evening, when Bata had taken Imhotep’s kilt, Meryt’s sheath and his own loincloth to a washroom, he found Amtes cleaning Hetephernebti’s gown and cape, both bleached startlingly white, as were most of the priestess’ clothing.
The washroom was a medium sized room with a wide sluice running through it. Several jars of castor oil mixed with natron stood near the wall where the water entered the room.
Amtes had poured some of the natron laden oil into a deep bowl and was carefully, but forcefully kneading Hetephernebti’s gown. A wide, wooden paddle, its end bleached from many uses, lay on the floor beside her.
Like Bata, Amtes had been naked, her own kilt already washed and hanging over a wooden drying frame. Looking about the room, Bata had found a second bowl, set it beside the sluice and poured some detergent into it. Then he had knelt by it and begun to soak Imhotep’s kilt in the clear sluice water.
“I wondered who would wash Imhotep’s clothing,” Amtes had said. “I expected to find his linens waiting here for me.”
In her early twenties, Amtes was old for a washerwoman, the task was usually given to initiates. She had paused and wiped sweat from her forehead with her right forearm. “My uncle was washer to King Djoser,” she had said.
“Mitry?” Bata had said as he squeezed water from Imhotep’s kilt and then dropped it into the detergent.
Smiling, Amtes had nodded.
“Do you mind if I use the paddle?” Bata had asked, reaching for the wooden tool. He examined the wide end for splinters and then pushed Imhotep’s kilt to the bottom of the deep bowl. Slowly he swirled the linen, careful not to press it against the side of the bowl.
“You knew Mitry?” Amtes had asked. She lifted Hetephernebti’s round cape from the bowl and laid it in the running water of the sluice. On her knees, she leaned into the water, pressing the cape to squeeze the natron from it.
“A little,” Bata had said. “I was a guard for Prince Teti and sometimes I ran clothing to Mitry. I remember he had strong shoulders and his hands were bleached white, even his fingernails. And he used hot water. There was always a kettle and a fire in the washroom. And the fumes,” Bata had begun to laugh, remembering more of his brief visits to Mitry’s laundry.
“From the dirty clothing?” Amtes had asked, looking over her shoulder at Bata.
“No, no, from his detergent. I don’t know where he got his natron or what he mixed with it, but it made my eyes water.”
He had pulled his wet hand from the detergent bowl and rubbed his fingers together. “This is very soft.”
They had worked in silence for a few minutes, focused on their respective tasks, and then they had begun to talk, taking turns telling of their home villages and how they had come to end up at this moment in the wash room of the Temple of Re.
“You remind me of my brother,” Amtes had said after Bata had explained a new recipe that he had created to season roasted goose.
Working the linen of Imhotep’s kilt, Bata had tilted his head in question.
“He is very gentle and sometimes he does women’s work.” She had paused a moment to see if Bata was offended. “I like him very much,” she added with a smile.
“Thank you,” Bata had answered.
Before he could say more, Amtes began to talk, her voice hesitant now, like a baby bird cautiously waving its wings at it approached the edge of its nest for its first flight.
“I miss Metjen. I miss his humor and I miss comforting him from his pain. He has had a very hard life, because of how he is. I don’t know who he has to talk with now that I am away,” she said, raising her eyes to Bata.
“Does he have a friend?” Bata asked, saying the word 'friend' gently.
Amtes nodded. “I think so, but he never said so. He has to be so careful.”
Bata had nodded, his thoughts turning inward to his own celibate life. He had chosen to devote himself to Imhotep and Meryt, becoming part of their family, helping to raise Tjau as his own son and Maya as his daughter, children he would never have.
It had been a good life.
Although he had never felt the tender touch of a lover, he had felt loved. Although he had chosen to hide away part of his identity, he was known throughout the Two Lands as Imhotep’s right hand.
But it had also been a difficult life.
He had chosen to let his mind rule his heart and there had been times when his heart had rebelled. There had been times when he had gone away, unable to be in the same house as Imhotep, to be so close to him and unable to let his heart speak. There had been times when he had turned to the beer he brewed, losing himself in its intoxicating oblivion.
But he had persevered and as each year passed he grew stronger, hiding his desire behind a wall of devotion.
Still, it was hard. And sometimes so lonely.
“Bata?” Amtes had said and Bata looked up at the young woman who seemed to see into his heart. She had slid closer to him and was brushing unbidden tears from his face. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to ... ”
Reaching up he had taken her wrist. He had turned her palm to his mouth, kissed it and then put her hand away from his face. Shaking his head in amazement, he looked at Amtes. No one had ever pierced his heart so easily.
“Who are you?” he had whispered.
“I’m Amtes,” she had said with a simplicity that reminded Bata of Meryt.
That evening had marked the beginning of a friendship that had drawn them closer than brother and sister, as emotionally intimate as a husband and wife. Whenever Imhotep visited Hetephernebti, Bata traveled with him, seeking Amtes as soon as they arrived at the temple. He viewed each visit to Iunu as a homecoming when he would be reunited with a kindred spirit.
- 0 -
Now he sat with her in her room of the temple, a basket of bread and a pot of beer on a low stand between them. Instead of exchanging pleasantries and asking about each other’s health, they had immediately started discussing Hetephernebti’s death.
“She never roamed the temple at night,” Amtes said.
“She had to relieve herself sometimes at night, didn’t she?” Bata asked.
Amtes gently kicked a bare foot at Bata’s leg. “Is that what happens when you get old?”
Bata shrugged. “I just wonder if there was a reason for her to be walking about at night.”
Amtes frowned as she thought. Bata saw that the frown lines by her mouth had grown deeper since his last visit, and her eyes looked darker beneath the lines of kohl. He leaned forward and put his hand on her bare leg.
“Are you well, Amtes?”
“My dreams are uneasy,” she said.
Bata moved his hand from her leg to take her hand. “It has been an uneasy time,” he said, squeezing her hand.
Amtes nodded. “I saw a hunchback. He was in the shadows by the trees and he moved deeper into the shadows when he saw me.”
“In your dreams?” Bata asked.
“No, the day before Hetephernebti died.”
“A hunchback,” Bata repeated.
“And Tarset has disappeared.”
“Who is Tarset?”
“A temple girl, one of the initiates. She didn’t come to prayers the morning Hetephernebti was found.”
“Do you think she killed Hetephernebti?” Bata asked, leaning close.
“No, Bata, Tarset didn’t kill Hetephernebti. She is just a girl, a simple girl, and she worshipped Hetephernebti.”
“How big were her hands?” Bata aske
d, reluctant to lose a suspect.
“What?” Amtes said.
“We found a bloody hand print on a broken piece of pottery,” Bata said.
“She was a little girl, her hands were smaller than mine,” Amtes said, holding a hand, fingers splayed, close to Bata’s face.
“What about the hunchback?” Bata said.
“How could I know what size hands he has?” Amtes asked.
“No, I mean, could he have come into the temple?”
“And kill Hetephernebti?”
Bata nodded as he put together a possible story. “Yes, the hunchback could have been mesmerized by Tarset. So he entered the temple at night when all were sleeping and took Tarset. But Hetephernebti heard them and tried to stop him. She would have done that, Hetephernebti was fearless. Maybe she heard Tarset cry when the hunchback was taking her. So she tried to stop them and the hunchback killed her.” Bata looked at Amtes, his eyes squinting as he thought.
“Hunchbacks are brutal,” he said.
“Really?”
“Yes, they aren’t like dwarfs. You can reason with a dwarf. They are like us, only smaller. But hunchbacks ... ” He shook his head sadly.
“But I don’t think hunchbacks like jewelry,” Bata said to himself.
“Jewelry?”
“Yes,” Bata said excitedly. “We found a sky bead covered in blood. That’s what they call them in Ineb-Hedj. It’s a bead that is made from a rock that falls from the sky.”
“I never heard of such a thing,” Amtes said.
“No,” Bata said, “They are very rare. Did Tarset wear jewelry?”
“No, she had no jewelry, Bata.”
“I should look at Hetephernebti’s jewelry,” Bata said. “I will talk to Imhotep.”
- 0 -
“I have wonderful news, the mystery is nearly solved!” Bata said that evening as he ducked through the doorway of the small house where he and Imhotep were staying.
As a member of the royal household, Imhotep could have stayed in the governor’s palace; as a friend of the late Voice of Re he could have stayed in the Temple of Re; but he and Meryt had visited Iunu so often that they had made arrangements to use a small home on the outskirts of the temple grounds.
An elderly woman named Nit, a grand niece of Re-Khu, who had been Voice of Re when Hetephernebti had fled to Iunu many years ago, kept the house for Imhotep, and, when Imhotep wasn’t there, she rented it to pilgrims who visited the temple.
“Good evening, Nit,” Bata said, noticing the slim, old woman sitting cross-legged on the floor against the far wall.
“Imhotep is leaving,” Nit said, shaking her head. “He came here from the palace in a foul mood and has talked of nothing but leaving Iunu.”
“You know I welcome your hospitality,” Imhotep said, getting a snort in reply from Nit.
“He wants to leave tonight,” she said. “I sent for a goat for a feast tomorrow. I asked his friends to visit. We could talk of Hetephernebti, he could tell us about his visit to the Eternal Field of Reeds, we could hear about Meryt’s return from the dead. But, no, Imhotep has to leave.”
“Oh, little mother,” Bata said, kneeling beside Nit, “you know how he worries over Meryt.”
“That is all that is keeping me from pulling his ears,” she said, her anger half real, half feigned.
“She is truly better,” Bata said, gently changing the subject. He leaned closer to Nit and whispered, “Imhotep sent for another god. A woman! She has a ring in her lip, right here.” He touched the corner of his lower lip. “And,” he whispered, “She has a full head of hair, as thick and black as a ferret’s tail.”
Nit’s eyes widened.
“A ring in her lip!”
“Yes,” Bata said, gently pinching Nit’s lower lip. “Right there. And it shines, even in the darkness.”
“It must be magical,” Nit said with certainty.
“Very magical,” he agreed. “I have much more to tell you. But, Nit, since the goat has not arrived, and even if it did it wouldn’t roast itself, perhaps you could find me something else to eat. And,” he leaned even closer and said, “I need to speak to Imhotep secretly. You understand?”
Nit nodded quickly, smiling at Bata, confident that he would tell her everything once Imhotep was out of sight.
Rising, Bata leaned down and helped Nit to her feet.
“Thank you, Bata,” she said. “You are always so kind to me.” She looked at Imhotep from the corner of her eye and left the house.
- 0 -
“I wish I had your patience,” Imhotep said. “You really are wonderful.”
“Thank you, Lord Imhotep.”
“Uh-oh, Lord Imhotep? Now I am worried,” Imhotep said. He smiled wryly and said, “So, you’ve solved the mystery?”
“I have found two more clues. Amtes saw a hunchback the night Hetephernebti died and Tarset disappeared. The same night!”
Imhotep closed his eyes and sighed. He didn’t want to play detective, he wanted to return to Ineb-Hedj. He wanted to send for Kewab and the rowers and leave tonight. He was willing to start walking, bad knee and all, if he had to.
But he knew that he had to follow the king’s orders and he did want to find Hetephernebti’s killer, if there was one. While he didn’t believe in the goddess Ma’at, he did believe that the idea of ma’at – harmony or balance – was essential, both in individual lives and in the lives of nations.
That was the reason he had willingly abandoned life in the modern world. The divide between the ruling class and the rest of society in the modern world had become ridiculous in every way: housing, food, healthcare, education, leisure time, transportation ... everything.
The imbalance carried over into personal lives. The leisured wealthy had no desire or willingness to curb their appetites or their consumption. The exhausted poor self-medicated themselves with television, drugs, fast food, religion, and even allowed themselves to be persuaded to join political movements that opposed the help that they needed.
Staggering obesity, opulent material displays, greed-driven corporate wars, Las Vegas casino lights glittering over homeless street people, politicians preaching morals and ethics while they violated the rules themselves ... ma’at had fled the modern world.
Or the modern world has exiled ma’at, he thought.
If King Huni’s suspicions were correct, if Hetephernebti had been killed, then finding her killer would help to maintain ma’at for this small moment in time.
“Lord Imhotep, do you see something?” Bata said, wondering if his friend’s long silence was because he was having another vision.
Imhotep opened his eyes and looked at Bata. Shaking his head he smiled and said, “Who is Tarset?”
“She is a temple girl. Very young. I think the hunchback took her. While he was dragging her away, Hetephernebti heard the struggle. She tried to stop them and then the hunchback killed her. They are known to be violent.”
Imhotep rolled to his side to get to his knees. Then he pushed himself to his feet, using a hand against the wall to steady himself. Fighting the urge to help him, Bata waited until Imhotep turned to him before he continued.
“I found the hunchback. His name is Ptah-Shepses and he lives at the edge of the swamp. If we left now we could talk to him tonight, but I think it would be better to wait until morning. They are calmer then. The darkness excites them,” Bata said.
Imhotep nodded as if he understood that everyone knew that darkness excited hunchbacks. He had learned to accept the many superstitions of ancient Egypt. In the modern world there had been just as many superstitions, some seemingly harmless – Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, leprechauns, some horrifyingly serious – the belief in witches that had led to the Salem Witch Trials, the belief in one right god that had led to the Inquisition and countless holy wars, the belief in a race’s superiority that had led to Hitler’s final solution. Sadly, the list seemed endless.
“Did anyone witness this hunchback attack?” Imhotep
asked.
Bata cocked his head and looked at Imhotep. Amtes had seen a hunchback, Hetephernebti was dead and Tarset was missing. What more was needed?
“Very well,” Imhotep said, resigning himself to the inevitable. “Tomorrow we will visit Ptah-Shepses.”
The Hunchback
Re still lingered behind the trees that lined the river Iteru as Imhotep and Bata left Iunu.
Imhotep had filled a small sack with some fruit and day-old bread. And, feeling a fragile weakness in his right leg, he had picked up a broken branch to use as a staff to support his weight when he shifted it to his right leg.
Bata had applauded Imhotep’s decision to carry a staff. “It is not only good for walking, but it can also be a weapon.”
“It isn’t a weapon,” Imhotep had said.
“You can poke someone with it, or hit them on the head,” Bata insisted. “It will be very useful if the hunchback becomes enraged.”
“Why don’t we use his name?”
Bata shrugged, he didn’t get to say hunchback often and he saw one less often. But if Imhotep insisted, he would call the hunchback Ptah-Shepses today.
“I think it is this way,” Bata said, pointing toward a faint path that left the main trail a few minutes walk from the eastern edge of Iunu.
They followed the path, winding among taller and taller trees and thicker thatches of grass. The air, already hot, grew heavy with humidity and cloudy with insects.
“Why would anyone live in a swamp?” Bata said.
Imhotep dropped his staff as he suddenly slapped a huge mosquito that had landed on his left arm. Bending to pick up his staff, he heard a woman shout.
“The ground is too soft there! Go over that way!”
Looking toward the voice, Imhotep saw a short woman, small even by ancient Egyptian standards. Her breasts were flat, empty sacks that lay against her chest. Her arms, holding a bundle of dry twigs on her shoulder, were thin and dirty. Her head was stubbly and her face was filled with swollen red bumps, insect bites, he assumed.
“Hello,” Imhotep called back, waving his free hand. “Thank you.”
