Every two or three ten-days we received word from Nomti, through Urshte’s messengers, of the successes and failures of the project, which was unusual in itself, for architects and engineers were used to keeping bad news from their Overseers and especially from the King. In this way month after month passed. The palace remained a hub of activity. Messengers came and went, Buikkhu brought requisitions to the King for his approval, and crises with supplies, bandits or myriad other matters constantly had to be dealt with.
Before I even realized it, Shomu was upon us, with its suffocating heat. Suddenly the pace within the palace and, indeed, throughout Kem slowed. Just moving the one hundred cubits from the palace to one of the administration buildings took so much effort, people had to make a conscious effort to do so. Messengers napped on the palace floors after delivering their scrolls. Servants’ eyelids drooped with fatigue.
The Horus physicians were busy morning and night administering to those who became ill during the pestilences of Shomu. Biting insects, the sloughed off scales of Apep’s snakelike body, crawled out from the slime of the Underworld to menace us at night, so that even a good night’s sleep eluded us. Bodily sicknesses also soon spread so that one could not walk through the marketplaces without hearing coughing, sneezing, retching and moans of the dying elderly and infants.
Thus I thought nothing of it when I visited with Amisi, Banafrit and Akhom one early morning before the heat of the day turned into a furnace. While Banafrit played with her doll, teasing her cat with it, Akhom slept fitfully in Amisi’s lap. I noticed at once that Akhom’s face was flushed. He breathed fitfully and a yellowish discharge ran from his nose. Amisi reported that he had slept most of the previous day. As soon as I left, I stopped by Buikkhu’s room.
“How long has he had this condition?” Buikkhu asked.
“The Queen reports perhaps two days.”
“Why did she not call me in immediately?” Buikkhu exploded. “I cautioned her months ago about the plagues of Shomu.” He began to pack his medical bag. Within minutes he brushed by me on his way to the Queen’s chambers.
By the end of the day, word had spread within the Royal family that Akhom was being treated by Buikkhu. In a ten-day’s time Khenemet sent other physicians from Nekhen to aid him and to help prevent the illness from spreading within the palace. Three times a day one of the physicians would examine the child and help administer the medicines and magical incantations that were required. Although Akhom resisted their ministrations, his energy did not last long and he eventually swallowed the dark, foul brews. Yet, despite their treatments, Akhom steadily grew worse.
Qa’a kept a close watch on Akhom’s condition, for none could doubt the close bond that existed between father and son, nor father and daughter, too. During Buikkhu’s treatments, Qa’a would often break away from meetings to hold the Prince to calm him.
“Why cannot you do more to help him?” Qa’a pleaded with Buikkhu. “You have the best physicians in Kem here in the palace.”
Buikkhu sighed. He looked haggard from spending days and nights supervising the Prince’s care, while also tending to his other duties. “We do all we can, Master, but there are some things that even the best medicine cannot fight. The gods ordain that Akhom battle this menace. In their wisdom they may see this as an opportunity to strengthen his ba.”
“Don’t sling that dung at me, Buikkhu! The poor boy suffers. He can hardly breathe. He burns with fever. My heart aches whenever I see him.”
Buikkhu remained silent for a long time. “I see the pain in your heart, my King. There is yet one thing we can do and I will begin this immediately, if you will allow it.”
“Name it. Anything to save him from these torments.”
“I have already called in the chanters from Nekhen. They arrived yesterday.”
“Chanters?”
“They are holy priests from Nekhen,” I answered. “They channel prayers to the gods in the Afterworld, seeking their dispensation, creating a connection between mortal men and the heavens so that they will agree to forego bringing Akhom there until his life is well lived.”
“Has this been tried before?”
“Oh, yes, Master. I have never told you this tale, but when the holy Anhotek was deathly ill the chanters brought him back to life so that he might live out the rest of his years in service to King Narmer, may his name be blessed for all eternity.”
“So you are telling me this will work?”
Khenemet cleared his throat. “No, we cannot say with assurance that this will work. The chanters can only open the channel and plead your case. It is in the hands of the gods to make the decision.” Khenemet waited for his cautious appraisal to register with Qa’a. “There is a role that you may wish to play.”
Qa’a perked up. “Of course! Anything I can do I will do gladly. Tell me.”
That night, after Ra golden orb left the heavens, a solemn assembly stood in the King’s bedroom, awaiting the arrival of the Queen and Prince. Candles were lit around the room. A brazier burned incenses known only to the Horus priests since time began. The smell was acrid, yet not unpleasant and the smoke formed a haze that hung in the room, despite the gentle, cool breezes now blowing in from the desert.
A line of priests, the chanters, stood in a semi-circle around the bed. When the Queen entered, holding the listless Prince in her arms, the chanting began, so softly at first one might have mistaken it for the breezes whistling through the ivy that covered the portico. Buikkhu motioned for the Queen to come to the bed and to lay down on her side with Akhom next to her. Then the King entered and Buikkhu bade him to do the same on the other side of Akhom, so that the Prince was now cradled in the protective embrace of his loving parents.
“I will give the Prince a medicine to help him in this journey. He may toss and turn at first, but as the chanting progresses, he will calm and lie quietly. What you both must do is to hold onto him, so his ka is not lost in the ether of Nun. Your prayers will also help. Are you ready?” Both King and Queen nodded.
Buikkhu walked to a table at the edge of the room and poured a black liquid into a small cup. He added another, lighter liquid and stirred the two together, along with some honey. Then he returned to the bed. “Here, my Queen, give this to the Prince, a little bit at a time.”
Qa’a sat up and held his son while the Queen gave Akhom his medicine. The poor Prince was so lethargic, she had to tilt his head back to get him to swallow. After several attempts, the cup was empty, although some of the black liquid ran from the Prince’s lips when he lay back down. In a moment or two the Prince became agitated. He made sucking noises with his lips and tongue as if he were trying to nurse. His arms twitched and he kicked his legs restlessly. The Queen brushed his sidelock with her hand and whispered to him. In a few more moments he settled down and appeared to be fast asleep.
Now the chanters began to hum in harmonies that went up and down in volume. At times the high voices predominated, at other times the deepest voices. Soon, those of us not chanting closed our eyes and could feel the sensation of being on a boat, rising and falling on the gentle waves.
“His ka enters the Afterworld now,” Buikkhu whispered to the King and Queen after a time. “Guard him carefully. Hold him tight, for the gods now argue over his fate. The chants give the Prince a sound to connect him to this world and they also let the gods know that we are present. They will also feel your hands upon him and weigh that in their decision.” The Queen’s eyes were open wide in fright. The King responded by tightening his grip on his tiny son’s arm. Buikkhu spread his arms over the three, his fingers arranged in a Horus priest blessing.
Throughout the night, the chanters continued their vigil. Some would leave for a few minutes and when they returned others would take their leave, but at no point did the chanting stop. One melody would go on for what seemed like an hour, before merging and transforming into another, so that I felt like I had not heard anything but the latest melody all the night long. There was not a
thought in my heart that I was aware of, just the pure sounds of the chanters’ harmonies.
The hour before Ra was to rise again in our sky, as I stood near the bed in a trance, with the King and Queen fast asleep, their hands still on their son, a strange thing happened. I opened my eyes to find Buikkhu looking directly at me, as if he had gently awakened me just with his stare. I instantly knew that something was wrong. I glanced down to see the Prince’s limbs shaking. Amisi awoke next and gasped. Qa’a now awoke, confused, and looked around to get his bearings.
“Oh, no!” he shouted out in pain. “What is happening Buikkhu?” The Queen began to whimper in fear, mopping the Prince’s cold brow with her hand. The King grabbed Akhom and drew him close to his body. In a moment Akhom’s body lay limp in the King’s arms and the color drained from his body. There was the slightest twitter in his eyelids and then it was over.
“The Prince’s ka has left his body,” Buikkhu said softly. “The tremors must have been King Narmer’s way of telling us he needed him in the Afterworld. I am sorry, but only the gods know what is best for us mortals.” Buikkhu bowed his head. The chanters abruptly stopped and all bowed low to their King.
The Queen immediately began to wail, pulling at her hair and coming away with tufts. She tore at her gown in mourning.
“No!” Qa’a shouted. “It cannot be. He is my heir. He is not dead. Look, he is merely asleep. He must build my mastaba and bury me when it comes my time.” Qa’a shook his son gently, as if to wake him.
Buikkhu leaned over and pried the lifeless body from Qa’a’s arms. A chanter brought over a shroud and Buikkhu wrapped the Prince in it as Qa’a watched, paralyzed with grief, his eyes blinking uncomprehendingly. Buikkhu handed the child to a priest, who left the room. The sounds of wailing began to course through the corridors. The Queen’s own wailing became louder. As if shaken from a bad dream, the King came to his senses, threw his legs over the side of the bed and wrapped his arms around his wife. Together they rocked until the Queen’s sobs subsided, if only a little.
The chanters quietly filed out of the room. One of Buikkhu’s apprentices handed his mentor a silver cup and Buikkhu knelt by the Queen’s side. “Here, my Queen, you must drink this.” He reached out his hand toward Amisi. She looked up with her red and swollen eyes at her husband, who nodded his ascent. She cradled the cup in her hands, stared into its depths, and anticipating the sweet relief it might bring from her agonies, she drank it in one gulp.
“Thank you,” she whispered to Buikkhu. Qa’a took her in his arms again and as she breathed in her entire body shook with crying spasms. Yet in a few moments, Buikkhu’s potion worked its magic and she was fast asleep. Qa’a laid her down in the bed and placed a light linen sheet over her legs.
Now it was just the three of us alone in the King’s bedchamber. Ra’s light began to fill the sky, casting a golden light onto clouds scattered over Mother Nile. Qa’a slumped into a chair and wept. “I do not understand this, Buikkhu. Why? Why would the gods take the future leader of Kem?”
“It is not for us to say, Master, for none of us has the wisdom of a god. The gods listened to our intercessions. We have two strong omens already that show me that King Narmer, may he be blessed, had a hand in this.
“You saw the tremors that the Prince had before his ka was taken from his body. Those are the only recorded tremors in the Royal family since Narmer’s youth that I am aware of.” Buikkhu turned to me and I shook my head in agreement. “The clouds in the sky also are an echo of Narmer’s birth under Horus’ wings. It is unmistakable that Narmer sees great things in Akhom’s ka and requires his presence in the Afterworld, perhaps even to save Horus’ life once again from the evil Seth.”
The King shook his head slowly, as if to agree. “Perhaps. Perhaps that is so, Buikkhu. My teacher appears to agree. Yet my poor Akhom, my desert eagle… is it not his right… is… is it not also the right of an eagle to soar?”
SCROLL SIXTEEN
The Canal Runs Dry
Merkha
Were it not for the canal project, I do believe that Qa’a would have been unable to perform the functions of King. The death of the Prince was like a knife through his heart, for he had come to love Akhom as I had never seen him do with any other but Banafrit. The funeral ceremony itself was the saddest event of my life. As one of the honored priests, tears ran down my cheeks when I picked up the tiny coffin to place it in the mastaba. Yet I also knew that Narmer and the entire line of his descendants, would care for the little Prince as their own, until Amisi and Qa’a joined him in the Afterlife.
The King’s listlessness after the funeral began to change when I persuaded him to accompany me to the Temple of Horus to pray to his namesake. He found that first visit comforting, so that I found him in Horus’ inner sanctum often when I arrived for morning prayers. On one particular day, after praying to Horus, the King sat with me in the outer hallway. He seemed pensive, looking out the building toward the town below.
“I feel peace when I am alone with Horus,” he volunteered.
“That is a wonderful thing. I, too, feel peace inside me when I can unburden my heart to him.”
“Yet, I am also angry with him. He did not protect Akhom strongly enough.”
“Of this I am not sure,” I replied. “No mortal could have been more strongly attached that night to this life than was the Prince. I believe that Horus himself was just persuaded to Narmer’s reasoning.”
Qa’a thought long on that comment. “That may be true, my good teacher, but my heart pains over his loss.”
“I see that. We all see that, Master. But there are things you must remember and perhaps that will ease your heart further. First, Akhom is not lost, as you say, but is now happy in the Afterlife, being cared for by his grandfather and his grandfather’s grandfather, all the way back to King Narmer. They will raise him as you and Amisi would have, until your turn comes to join him in the glorious Afterlife.
“And they have brought him there for a purpose, one that you will understand only when he is back at your side. Trust that the gods know best, Master. The gods only give us what they believe we can handle. They believe you strong enough to overcome this disappointment. They are preparing you for a time when your strength of ba will be necessary for a special challenge that you face.”
“And you believe this yourself, Merkha?”
“Oh, yes. Of that I am certain.”
I believe that Qa’a spent the following days thinking and praying over my words, to come to a place in his heart where he could overcome his grief. Yet I did not give myself too much credit for this, for something else did much more to relieve his suffering than my words. In a month more, Akhet was again upon us.
To prepare for Akhet, Khenemet came to Inabu-hedj and held a series of meetings with Qa’a, Buikkhu, Nomti and I. Even prior to Khenemet’s arrival, Nomti and Buikkhu had agreed on how to divide the rekhi workforce. Word was sent out to every Temple in the Two Lands, conscripting a certain quota of men between the ages of fifteen and thirty for either the canal or local projects within each nome. Those selected for the canal received extra rations, enough to support their families.
These discussions threw Qa’a into a flurry of activity, enough to distract him from his grieving. Amisi, on the other hand, was not so fortunate. Aside from caring for Banafrit, she had little else to occupy her time. She appeared gaunt, her slender frame now pitifully thin. Her eyes had lost their luster and she used no makeup nor made any attempt to carry herself erect, so that she looked for all the lands as if she stooped under a heavy burden.
One night I stayed in the palace to complete my notes from a meeting I had recorded between Khenemet and the King. I had just packed my things to return to the Temple, and as I passed the King’s quarters, I saw him standing quietly on his portico. I stopped for an instant, but he was turned sideways to me and I went on my way. Then I heard him beckon me.
Qa’a stood, his hands on the railing, as a cool breeze blew
steadily from the desert. Mother Nile rushed by below us, already swollen with her coming flood waters, the swift flow making a hissing sound as it pushed against the papyrus reeds on her banks. “Beautiful, is she not?” Qa’a asked. Ra’s silver disk cast a bright ribbon of white light across the mighty river, broken up here and there with dark hummocks of mud. “I find it amusing that Mother Nile sustains us, but that at the same time she also nurtures those black muts out there, like the hippopotamus and crocodile. Why is that so, teacher?”
Qa'a (The First Dynasty Book 3) Page 21
