by Jerry Dubs
Riding together in a four-wheeled chariot, Imhotep and Akila bounced along the road, smiling at the impossible reality of their surroundings. She put a hand on Imhotep’s arm and, looking at the passing trees, nodding at the crowds lining the path, and then tilting her head toward the line of chariots ahead of them, she said, “I’ve never felt so alive.”
Gritting his teeth at the dust that hung in the air and the pinches of pain that buckled his knee at each jolt, Imhotep nodded, hoping that she didn’t see his discomfort. “It is an experience,” he said.
Peering ahead, he watched the masts of the ships. The most distant mast seemed to have stopped and he allowed himself a smile. Perhaps they had reached the canal.
Gripping the side of the chariot tightly, he twisted to look behind him. A long line of litters followed them, the wealthy and nobles who preferred sitting to standing in a bouncing chariot. Up ahead were more chariots, including, at the lead, one driven by his grandson Neferhotep and carrying his daughter Maya, now disguised as Pharaoh Hatshepsut.
Imhotep squinted, but couldn’t see far enough in the dust to see them. He twisted back again to look at the line of litters. One of them, he knew, contained Hatshepsut. That litter would set down by the fifth ship and while attention was turned toward the ceremonies – more prayers from Hapuseneb and the other priests, the sacrifice of seven oxen and final words of blessing from ‘Pharaoh Hatshepsut’ – the real ruler and four soldiers would board the ship.
There were no cabins on the ships, but a linen awning had been strung at the stern of each ship. Pharaoh Hatshepsut would hide there until the ship had been pulled out of sight of Waset. Senenmut had proposed that she travel with the long donkey caravan that would accompany the ships on the hundred-mile trip through the eastern desert, but she had insisted on riding on a ship.
“I rode chariots with my father and I have walked beside donkeys the length of the river,” she had said.
And so she would ride on a ship. With Akila’s help Imhotep had drawn a map of the Red Sea that showed the body of water being pinched by the strait of Bab el Mandeb and then widening into the Gulf of Aden. He had drawn what he remembered as the shape of the horn of Africa, guessing that Ta Netjer lay somewhere on that wide peninsula.
Studying the map, Pharaoh Hatshepsut had asked, “How long?”
He had turned to Admiral Ahmose who had looked back at him with eyebrows raised in expectation. Akila had not been able to recall how long the expedition took, so Imhotep had answered, “I don’t know.”
“But I succeed?”
He nodded. “Of that I am sure.”
“With only five ships and no army?”
He had nodded again. “With five ships and no army.”
She had grunted and then turned to Ahmose. “I want half of the rowers to be soldiers. And train the sailors to fight, also.”
- 0 -
The chariots slowed to a stop and the litter bearers set down their burdens. Moving past a double ring of soldiers, the wealthy, the nobility, and members of the royal court filled a large open area along the canal by the lead ship.
The men who had pulled the sledges splashed across the water to the far side out of sight of the celebration. Resting there, they drank beer and shook the cramps from their legs and arms.
‘Pharaoh Hatshepsut,’ Senenmut, Nehsy, and Hapuseneb had boarded the lead ship and were standing on a temporary platform erected across the benches where the rowers would sit once the vessel reached the Great Green and began the long journey beyond the known world.
As the crowd beyond the perimeter of soldiers jostled for better views, Hapuseneb raised his staff overhead and began to shout.
“Welcome! My sweet daughter, my favorite, the King of Upper and Lower Egypt, Ma’at-ka-re, who makes my beautiful monuments, who purifies the seat of the great gathering of gods for my dwelling, as a memorial of her love.
“Thou art the king, taking possession of the Two Lands, Khnemet-Amon, Hatshepsut, great in oblations, pure in food-offerings. Thou satisfiest my heart at all times; I have given thee all life and satisfaction from me, all stability from me, all health from me, all joy from me, I have given to thee all lands and all countries, wherein thy heart is glad. I have long intended them for thee, and the aeons shall behold them until those myriads of years of usefulness which I have thought to spend.”
Gathering his breath, Hapuseneb opened his arms to embrace the five ships that set in the calm canal waters. Then he pointed his staff to the east and announced, “I have given to thee all Ta Netjer as far as the lands of the gods of God’s-Land.”
He brought the staff in front of him and then pounded its tip on the wooden platform.
He raised the staff again and as it struck the platform a second time a thunderous, hollow boom swelled over the crowd. Heads turned, the crowd parted and Imhotep could see a circle of drummers, who had been hidden by the soldiers. The men stood beside drums made of hollowed tree trunks, the bottoms open, the tops covered by tightly stretched leather.
Hapuseneb raised his staff, the drummers raised their heavy sticks. Hapuseneb lowered his staff and the drummers beat out another note, and then another and now the space between the drumbeats was filled with a high, wailing siren as a line of white-robed singers entered the circle of drums. A line of men formed a ring around the drummers, clapping their hands to the beat of the drums which ceased now as a chorus of double flute players began to play.
As the music swelled over the crowd, they began to chant with the singers, and the voices and music of the ancient world swirled about Imhotep and Akila, who found themselves clapping with the rhythm.
Now the heavy drums began to pound again and the soldiers pushed a pathway clear to reveal a series of pits. Torches were thrown into them and as the flames leaped, seven oxen were led into the drum circle.
Twenty-one priests followed the oxen, seven of them carried heavy blades, the other fourteen carried bowls of smoking incense.
The drums stopped, the singers began a slow song of praise as the priests placed the incense on the ground beneath the oxen’s heads. Rising, the priests stood, one on each side of the heads of the oxen and held onto their ribbon-festooned horns while the seven priest who carried the huge knives knelt by the necks of the huge beasts.
The oxen snorted and pawed but the incense seemed to calm them, or perhaps, Imhotep thought, it simply confused them.
“Oh, no,” Akila murmured as the drummers paused, their sticks raised in the air and the kneeling priests cocked their elbows to give force to the blow they prepared to give. All eyes turned to Hapuseneb. He raised his staff, paused for the smallest moment, then lowered it.
The drummers pounded a deep note, the oxen arched their necks in response and the kneeling priests cut the animals’ exposed throats. Blood poured out onto the ground, mixing its metal stench with the burning incense. The crowd screamed, the drummers and clappers began a fast, rising beat, the singers resumed their chant and the sacrificed oxen collapsed onto their buckled forelegs and died.
And Amun was pleased.
Yuya
Yuya was nearly seven feet tall, with legs as thick as young palm trees and heavy arms as strong as a boa constrictor. With water glistening on his obsidian skin as he climbed from the river, he looked like a god emerging from the underworld.
His head was bare except for a tight gathering of hair that fell midway down his muscled back, a vast canvas of skin that was rippled with decorative scars. His heavy lips rested in a grin, a tight smile that never left his face whether he was taking pleasure with a woman or choking the life from an enemy.
Yuya had never known fear, had never felt the need to frown. Men obeyed his orders, or they died. Women serviced him, apprehensive over the size of his manhood, but unwilling to deny him.
Bending over, he picked up a leather sack of fist-sized stones and strapped it around his waist. Then he retrieved a war club, knotted and scarred from use. Raising the huge club easily, he res
ted it on his shoulder and then started up the path to Kerma and the governor’s palace.
Seni had sent for him.
Yuya was commander of the Medjays, the elite soldiers of Ta-Seti. While the Medjay were famous for their skill as archers, Yuya disdained the bow. His hands were too huge and strong. He broke gut strings or he snapped bows or he fumbled trying to nock an arrow. It was so much easier to reach into his sack and throw a rock.
He had a powerful and accurate arm; he had stunned a lion once, the magnificent animal had stood shaking its head while Yuya had run to it and broken its back with his war club. The pelt, with the uninjured, startled head intact, hung from the door of his hut.
- 0 -
“Yuya is here, Governor,” Sabestet said as he entered the reception room in Seni’s palace.
Before Governor Seni could answer, the light in the room dimmed as Yuya entered the doorway. The giant brushed past Sabestet and approached Seni who was sitting on his throne, a pot of beer resting on his lap.
Seni tilted his head to a pair of backless chairs that had been tied together to create a seat for Yuya. On a table beside it was an entire roasted goose, a platter of fish, a loaf of bread and several pots of beer.
“Greetings, Captain Yuya,” Seni said, hiding the uneasiness he always felt around Yuya.
“Governor Seni,” Yuya said, his voice a rumble, like stones tumbling in a landslide. He sat slowly on the chairs, testing their strength before committing his weight.
Seni waved his hand at the food and waited until Yuya tore a leg from the goose and began to eat. “Pharaoh Hatshepsut is sending several ships to Ta Netjer,” Seni said. Yuya tore off a chunk of meat with his teeth and started to chew.
“I believe that she ... ” Seni started to say, then he stopped. Yuya paused his chewing and stared at Seni for a moment. Then he belched and reached for a pot of beer.
When he had first encountered Yuya, after getting over the shock of his size and strength, and the impossible length and girth of his penis – Seni had wondered where the man found a woman who could accommodate it or if he was forced to mate with oxen – Seni had mistaken the giant’s silences for introspection. But as he got to know the man, he had realized that Yuya had fewer thoughts than a rock.
All of his thoughts must go to controlling that impossibly huge body, Seni had concluded.
And so he kept his conversations with Yuya simple and direct. He gave him clear, easily understood orders and motivated him with equally clear promises of whatever Yuya wanted that day ... slaves, women, gold, food.
“I want you to go to Ta Netjer,” Seni said now.
Yuya picked up a loaf of bread and tore it in half. Nodding his understanding, he started to chew on the bread.
“Take some men with you. When you get there, hide until five boats arrive.” Seni leaned forward, trying see if Yuya was listening. The giant held up a hand with finger splayed. Good, he can count to five, Seni thought.
“One of the ships will have officials from Waset on it. You’ll know which ones they are because they will be better dressed. Kill them.”
Yuya was looking at the food. “I don’t see any onions. I like onions.” He looked up at Sabestet who quickly turned and hurried from the room.
“Kill officials from Waset,” Yuya said, turning his head slowly back to Seni.
Seni smiled and nodded.
“For me?”
“Yes, of course, Captain Yuya. What is it that you need?”
“I want a giraffe.”
Seni blinked. “A giraffe?”
Yuya nodded. “They have spots like a leopard and they are as tall as a tree, with long long necks.”
“Yes, I know ... ” Seni stopped himself. “Yes, you shall have a giraffe.”
“And one of those little people. There is a tribe of them somewhere upriver. I want one.”
“A pygmy?”
Yuya nodded, then he started to laugh, bread crumbs falling from his mouth. “I want to make him ride the giraffe. I always wanted to see that.”
Seni managed a polite laugh. “Yes, that would be perfect. I will get you a pygmy and a giraffe.”
“And I will kill everyone with a clean robe,” Yuya said.
Seni raised his hand. He had forgotten to add one instruction. Ty, treasurer of the Lower House, was a nephew of Mut-Nofret. He had sent Seni messages about the canal and later confirmed Seni’s suspicion that Pharaoh Hatshepsut planned to open a direct trading route with Ta Netjer. If she was successful, there would be no more caravans through Kerma, no more bribes from merchants. Seni’s life would wind to an end in a land of no consequence.
Ty should be spared, Seni thought.
He looked at Yuya, the giant had lost interest in him and was staring at the doorway, waiting for Sabestet to return with onions. Frowning, Seni reminded himself that with Yuya he was wielding a blunt instrument.
He would have to sacrifice Ty to gain revenge on Hatshepsut.
“Yes,” he said to Yuya, “kill everyone with a clean robe.”
Ty
Ty sat at the edge of the campsite and rubbed his feet.
After just one day of walking his feet ached and the muscles at the top of his legs were knotted. Even his back was stiff.
How do soldiers survive? But they are used to marching and fighting. They are little more than animals, strong backs and soft minds, he told himself. They fight with knives and clubs, I use words and ideas.
He arched his back and smiled at the relief it brought and at the thought that he, too, was a soldier, fighting with his own weapons to restore ma’at.
There was movement across the camp. Looking up he saw several soldiers and a gathering of slaves heading toward the fifth boat. He picked up a pot of beer and took a long drink, his eyes watching the men.
The slaves were dragging something and the soldiers walking beside them were formally dressed; the setting sun tinting their white kilts and washing their sharp-edged khopesh swords with blood-red light. The soldiers formed two parallel lines leading to the side of the ship, which lay softly on the water like a sleeping duck.
The slaves stopped and then raised one end of the object they had been dragging. Ty saw that it was a wide gangplank. Slowly the men lowered the far end of it to the ship and then two of them ran up the sliding walkway and tied it fast to the ship. Six soldiers followed them and stood at the edge of the ship, their faces turned toward the awning that covered the raised platform at the bow of the ship, where the pilot would stand once the ship was seaborne.
A figure emerged from the shadows and Ty paused, the beer pot touching his mouth. He leaned forward, straining to see through the fading light. The person moved between the lines of soldiers, took an outstretched hand from the leader of the guards and stepped onto the gangplank.
Ty sipped at his beer and watched. As the figure moved clear of the line of soldiers he saw that it was a woman wearing a white gown that flowed to her ankles. She took another step and he saw a flash of yellow from a bracelet on her arm and a glitter of red and blue from a wide necklace.
Another step and he forgot the pot at his mouth. Warm, yeasty beer trickled down his throat and he started to cough, for walking down the gangplank was the Truth of the Ka of Re, Foremost of the Noble Ladies, Great House of the Two Lands, Pharaoh Hatshepsut – the woman who reigned as a man, the abomination he was sworn to destroy.
Someone slapped his back and he jerked his head away from the sight of Pharaoh Hatshepsut to see the grinning face of Nehsy.
“Quite a surprise, isn’t it,” Nehsy said, squatting beside Ty who continued to cough, tears coming to his eyes from the effort. “I advised against it, but I must admit, I find it reassuring to think of her traveling with us.”
“But,” Ty sputtered between coughs, “I saw her ride away from the dedication ceremony. She is in Waset.”
Nehsy laughed lightly and shook his head. “No, Pharaoh Hatshepsut decided to travel with us, and so she is.”
“Bu
t, but, she is in danger,” Ty sputtered, trying to make sense of what he saw.
Nehsy looked around the empty desert. Shadows had begun to settle over the eastern horizon and soon the glow of the campfire would be the only light beneath the stars. But moving among the circle of fires were dozens of soldiers.
“I don’t think there is much danger here, except perhaps from the food. I doubt that the army cooks will be able to match the palace cooks. But remember, Pharaoh Hatshepsut rode at her father’s side, both in Sinai and in Ta-Seti.”
He shook his head and patted Ty’s back. “No, I think the greatest danger here is that my back will grow stiff sleeping on a bed of sand.” He laughed and, rising, walked off toward Pharaoh Hatshepsut, who was talking now with Admiral Ahmose.
Ty stared at Pharaoh Hatshepsut and thought, I must get word to Governor Seni.
Messengers
Bek inspected his war chariot one last time.
Kneeling by one of the six-spoked wheels, he ran his finger along the outer rim, pausing at each indentation where the leather lashings bound an outer wooden tire to the wheel. Shielded by the indentations, the leather was smooth and intact.
Leaning lower, he reached behind the wheel to feel the dried cow gut that held the spokes to the axle block. Reaching farther he pulled at the rawhide lashings that held the center pole to the axle.
Satisfied, he moved to the back of the chariot body where he leaned forward and pressed both hands against the woven rawhide floor. Finding it firm he stepped up on it and, flexing his knees, his bounced his weight against it.
Nodding to himself, he stepped down and checked the lashings that held the twin quivers to each side of the chariot body. His bow and a gathering of arrows filled the long quiver on the right side. The quiver on the left side was filled with rolls of papyrus, messages from Pharaoh Hatshepsut to Senenmut and to other members of the court in Waset. There also were letters from Imhotep to his daughter, from Nehsy to his wife and even one from Ty to Menna, scribe of the fields.
