Qa'a (The First Dynasty Book 3)

by Lester Picker

  “He does not have it yet,” I responded. “But, he will. I have set that process in motion by whispering in the King’s ear.”

  “You carry the hidden staff of your ancestor, Bakht, with pride, my son,” Itafe said, a slight smile on his heavily wrinkled face. “You are the son of the son of the son of Menetnashte, borne from the loins of Nubiti, the true heir of the Double Crown.” I felt a swelling of pride from Itafe’s recognition, but also from my role in honoring the tattered legacy of my ancestors.

  “Whether or not Mume survives to rule, the very fact that we even have that option is due to you, my son, for you are the one who brought us the information that Nafre was given herbs to prevent her from becoming pregnant, which we were then able to rectify.” The others nodded their approval.

  “The question before us tonight is whether to move plans forward regarding Banafrit. How say you?”

  Four of my brothers weighed in with their suggestion that we move forward. The fifth stood. “Honestly, I am not… I have never been certain of this path. Will this propel us toward chaos from which we will never recover? If we fail, will Qa’a wreak revenge upon us and gut the Delta’s lifeblood? Will we lose what little we already have?”

  “What do we have if we do not have our pride?” I countered. “Our fathers and grandfathers before us have worked secretly for the day when the gods line up good fortune in our favor. Now appears to me to be that time, although much planning remains to be done. I am for moving forward, for if not now when will the time be right? We owe it to our children and grandchildren to make sure our culture does not disappear.”

  Itafe sat up straight and removed his dagger from his belt. “It is time to vote,” he said. “Time passes and we have heard enough talk. As always, if you agree to move forward, then place your dagger in the ground, pointed toward Apep, so that we may draw strength from him. If you disagree, then lay your knife on the ground.”

  Every man drew his knife from his belt. We looked right and left toward our neighbors. In a moment we had our answer. Six black-handled knives stood embedded in the sandy soil, like the erect scales on Apep’s body. We would now move forward with our dangerous plan, not knowing whether the gods would favor our cause or not. As for me, I shook with fear over the future of the Two Lands.

  SCROLL TWENTY-FIVE

  The Cabal

  Urshte

  It was time for the King’s Festival of the Tail, and even I had to agree that the time had come. By now the King had reigned for sixteen years. He had ascended to the throne at age sixteen, so this regnal year was most propitious.

  Not that I was happy about the intervening two years since I had met with my brothers along the shores of Dep. Our plans had moved steadily forward for a while, but then events conspired to sidetrack them. Key people became ill or injured, Royal plans changed at the last moment, or messages were frustratingly delayed. And then there was Mother Nile’s intervention. For three years now the floods were minimal and the granaries were devoid of even one spare grain of wheat or seed. Qa’a had given priority to the nomes of Upper Kem, so that dissension in the Delta was high.

  In the time that passed Nomti was given the highest honor in the Two Lands, the King’s gold armband. Inscribed with Qa’a’s cartouche, it signified to all who bore witness to it that Nomti was most highly esteemed. Now only three men in the Two Lands could claim such exalted status: Khenemet, as Chief Horus Priest, Buikkhu as Vizier, and Nomti as Minister of Relations with Foreigners. As I had hoped and worked toward, Nomti was now Qa’a’s most trusted advisor.

  Throughout the Land of the Lotus, excitement built each day as the big event approached, for in their lifetimes only the very old had ever experienced a Festival of the Tail, when the King’s power would be renewed by Horus himself and stability would prevail for the remainder of the King’s life. The celebration would last for a full ten-day and all would benefit, from the lowliest rekhi to the nobles in the Royal Court. People prayed that the event would enable Qa’a to appeal to Horus and the lesser gods to restore Mother Nile’s floods. Hope was high.

  As for me the festival would be a bittersweet affair, for while Nomti was now well positioned next to the King’s right arm, Qa’a’s grip upon the Land of the Papyrus was tighter than ever and my people strained under his oppressive yoke. Khenemet’s judges administered harsh rulings upon the people of Lower Kem whenever they protested their treatment in Horus’ courts. Taxes were exacted under threat of death and little of that treasure came back to the Lower Kemians in the form of better roads, new granaries, or needed administrative buildings. Yet there was little I could do until the time was right.

  Nomti, on the other hand, was jubilant, for upon him fell many of the details of the festival. While Buikkhu took care of the religious aspects, Nomti took charge of the logistics, from feeding hundreds of people every day, to creating business opportunities for the visiting dignitaries. Much of that burden fell on me, for Nomti was often away supervising the canal, which was not easy for him since the cave-in. He still limped from his broken leg bone and suffered sharp pains in his side when he breathed deeply.

  It was now the fourth month of Akhet and the King had released the workers a month early from their duties at the canal, although they had little to come home to. Now all was in preparation for the ceremony.

  “Do I have to preen so?” Qa’a asked, frustrated as a group of priests tried to arrange his lion-skin robe in the way Khenemet had instructed. On the back of the robe the priests had sewn a lion’s tail and to all who witnessed it the robe symbolized the divine strength of the King of the Two Lands.

  “It is the way it must be done to please Horus and Ra,” Khenemet said from his chair as he observed the proceedings. “You must look proper for your subjects, too.”

  “My subjects can kiss my tail, if they wish,” Qa’a sneered, holding the thick tail in his hand. “If I had my way I would choose to have nothing to do with the rabble. They come only to get drunk on cheap barley beer at the expense of my treasury.”

  “They come to celebrate with you, with all of us,” Nomti said, smiling. “You are being entirely too negative.”

  “Perhaps I am, my friend, but what of it? That is the prerogative of the King. Besides, they are all a lot of beggars. No matter how much I give them they are always lined up asking for more.”

  As Qa’a was carried to the temple, the crowds, already exceedingly drunk, reacted wildly. The men shouted their blessings and the shrill ululations of the women pierced the air. Bread, honey and cheese were available throughout the route and mobs of rekhi pushed and shoved to grab their share.

  At the temple, Qa’a had insisted on a simple ceremony in the inner sanctum of Horus. Once the bull had been sacrificed, it was removed on a sledge by eight priests, carved up and the sections distributed to waiting braziers set up outside to feed guests. But one item of the bull was reserved for the most important part of the ceremony, the raising if the djed. In the outer room the priests carefully removed the spine of the bull, cleaned it and brought it back to Buikkhu, who examined it, nodded and handed it to Khenemet. Once Khenemet declared it perfect, he raised it to Horus in tribute, then handed it to Qa’a.

  “Here, brother of King Qa’a, is the spine of Osiris, master of the Afterlife. Tell Lord Osiris of its perfection. Tell him King Qa’a honors him, so that there is an unbroken rule from his life here among us to his rule in the Afterlife.”

  As instructed, Qa’a held the djed up high and turned slowly so that all present in that holy space could see his divine connection. Once he completed his turn, Khenemet spoke again.

  “Oh, Horus, we seek your intervention in our affairs. Please speak with Mother Nile and with Hapy to ensure that their life-giving waters once again nourish our people. Keep the Two Lands strong and free from foreign influence. And allow the wisdom of Upper Kem to prevail over the base tendencies of Lower Kem. We praise you, Lord Horus, and ask for your divine guidance.”

  Once the ce
remony was done in the Inner Sanctum, we emerged to raucous celebration outside. Each night, parties were held, sponsored by one or another of the Royal family. At each of these the King and Queen attended and met with visitors from foreign lands, and with businessmen and businesswomen from Kem, who pleaded their cases for contracts and relief from certain taxes.

  The Queen had difficulty keeping up with the festivities, and by mid-evening the King would usually be accompanied by Princess Banafrit, who looked radiant, her long, black hair flowing down her back, kept in place by two ivory combs. The King could frequently be found standing beside her, smiling, proud of her wit and charm. Often Banafrit would break away and could be seen talking and laughing with the King’s sister, Nebi, who herself had grown into a lovely woman. I knew that she awaited Qa’a’s approval of her future husband, a cousin who was an administrator in the King’s weaving workshops.

  I looked forward to the Festival of the Tail for an altogether different reason. As soon as I saw her, I made haste to approach Irisi, who as usual drew to herself a wide range of the people of Inabu-hedj, each looking for her nurturing advice to help heal lifeless marriages, barren wombs, and unappreciative children. I waited until the right moment and squeezed myself between two of her admirers.

  “A word with you?” I asked.

  “Of course, Urshte. Now?” she asked, pointing to a corner of the tent that we were in.

  “No, not here. I wish to speak with you in private.” She stared into my ka so intently, I felt as if I should wrap my robe tighter around me.

  “I understand. Meet me tomorrow after Ra’s rising at my temple.”

  My walk to the Temple of Isis the next morning was unusual. I had to step over people lying in the street, sleeping off their drunkenness, some with pools of their vomit spread out next to them. Broken urns of beer and wine littered the streets. Yet there was no food to be seen, as the rekhi had done a good job of gathering up whatever morsels they could to bolster their meager stores.

  “It sounds serious,” Irisi started as soon as I had entered. She pointed to a chair, next to which a selection of morning meal foods had been arranged.

  “Thank you,” I said, sitting and helping myself to a piece of bread and cheese. “This is excellent.”

  “We make the cheeses ourselves. It is the spices we add that give it that distinct flavor.”

  “Good, very good,” I said, smacking my lips.

  “But you did not come here to talk about our cheeses,” Irisi began. “Your eyes tell me that your heart finds something is amiss.”

  “We are both seers, Irisi, although no doubt of different sorts. Something is amiss and has been for some time. I come to you to discuss a delicate matter, one so delicate I must have your guarantee of complete confidence. I can assure you of mine.”

  “So long as it does not present a danger to someone’s life, then, yes, you have my vow of confidence.”

  “I cannot give you that assurance, Irisi, wish though that I could. This is very much a matter of life and death, and of ma’at and chaos.” I saw the shock register on her face, although she did well to try and hide it.

  “You are frightening me with such talk, Urshte.”

  “And I come to you as a frightened Horus priest.” I hoped that my training as a Horus priest and an Apep adept would allow the sincerity of my request to come through and not confuse Irisi with my other motivations.

  She stared at me for a long while. “As of yet we have not forged a close bond, Urshte. Still, I hear from Woserit how you have influenced Nomti to strive for the betterment of Kem. I will trust you in this instance. You have my word that this discussion will be in confidence. But only this discussion, for if I am uncomfortable with what you tell me I will not allow future conversations to be so protected.”

  “I understand. And so I will proceed.” I sat up straight in my chair and took a deep breath. “I must start with some questions, ones that may save us time and which may govern whether or not I wish to take you into my confidence and so spare you conflicting allegiances.”

  “Go on.”

  “What do you think of Qa’a?” Irisi stared at me, not questioningly, but in a way that made me feel as if she probed my heart to her satisfaction.

  “I could hesitate and ask what you mean, but I will not insult you by playing games, Urshte. I can see you are serious, so shall I be.” She stood and walked a few steps, then turned and rested her hands on the back of her chair.

  “Qa’a and I have an uncomfortable relationship. I do not like the way he treats Amisi, nor most women other than his daughter. This puts me in conflict with him on many matters.”

  “But of the Two Lands, how do you feel about his rule?”

  “How can I separate his treatment of the two sexes from his rule of the Two Lands? If you disrespect the creators of life, then you cannot govern a people justly.”

  I sat for a long time absorbing Irisi’s words. “Are you familiar with how he treats Lower Kem?” I ventured.

  “Of course. Our temples serve the women of both lands.”

  “And what do you hear from them?”

  “My priestesses hear that the families of Lower Kem are unhappy.”

  “And does this trouble you?”

  “What are you getting at, Urshte? Everything so far has been a question.”

  “I beg you to bear along with me for a moment or two more. How would you assess the situation in Lower Kem?”

  Again, Irisi took time to answer. “I would say they are unstable. Families are anxious I am told. They are hungry. They do not see the courts of Horus benefitting them. Yet, how is this different from any other time? The Land of the Papyrus has always felt unfairly treated.”

  “That is certainly so, Irisi, but matters are far different today. We do not speak of minor grievances. The people do not feel justly treated. They are taxed far beyond the benefits they receive. They are not listened to or respected. They get the most meager grain and dried fruit rations.”

  “And is this why you have come today, to seek my help in this matter? Why not go to your superior?”

  “You said you would not play games, sister. We both know what a bad influence Khenemet and his puppet, Buikkhu, have been on Qa’a. They have nurtured his hatred of Lower Kem, all to consolidate power in the Horus priesthood.”

  “You speak treason, Urshte. You are a Horus priest of some standing.”

  “Yes, I speak treason, but treason of an order that is counter to Horus’ wishes. Was it not Horus who visited King Narmer and lifted his blindness so that he finally saw all of Kem united under one rule? A rule of justice, of peace and prosperity for all, not just the Land of the Lotus. If being for that vision is being a traitor, then I willingly submit to the sword!” I fell back against my chair. My arms shook.

  For her part, Irisi never lifted her gaze from my eyes. She came around and sat opposite me. “I know not why I still feel reserved, Urshte. Yet I have seen into your heart and it is light. Go on, for you have my confidence. You speak of dark things that need to have the light of Isis shine brightly upon them.”

  “I have come to find out that there are foul things afoot in the lands, matters so foul they could remove the grace of ma’at from us and plunge us into the oblivion of chaos. Qa’a will not face these issues and by so doing he brings us to the very precipice.”

  “Again, I tremble in fear from your words, Urshte. Tell me what you speak of.”

  “I will, sister, and in so doing I pray you will not become poisoned. Yet there is one matter to deal with first.”

  “Go on.”

  “Let us suppose for a moment that the worst comes about and that brother rises up against brother in a war between the Two Lands.”

  “Are you saying that is possible?”

  “Yes, I am saying that.”

  “What could possibly cause that to happen?” Irisi asked, her fingers knotted together, her face drawn into a scowl.