Qa'a (The First Dynasty Book 3)

by Lester Picker

  “I will reveal all in a moment, but first I ask you, if this was to happen, if Qa’a were no longer King, if chaos was to prevail, what then? Who would be wise enough to lead Kem again to its greatness?”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about, Urshte. Is Qa’a ill? Yet even if he were to pass to the Afterlife, there is Princess Banafrit to take over, or even Mume, if the Horus priests could arrange a suitable regent.”

  “But what if there were a true catastrophe? What if Banafrit traveled to the Afterlife with her father? And what if Mume accompanied them? What then?”

  Irisi gasped. “You… you cannot be leading this discussion to… does such a plot exist? Are you asking me to…?”

  “I am only asking your opinion, Irisi, for I am desperate. I am in need of your wisdom. But to answer your question, yes, a plot does exist, to eliminate both successors to the throne. Such is what we have come to due to Qa’a’s negligence and Khenemet’s evil influence.”

  Irisi’s eyes were wide open in fright. She stared into an abyss in her heart’s eye and what she saw terrified her. “How do you know such things?” she asked coldly.

  “I was sent by Nomti on a trade mission to the Delta and there I found out bit by bit what was afoot. Yet, I am most reluctant to share with you one more piece of the puzzle for fear that it will draw you into the maelstrom of Nun that swirls about me.”

  “Go on, Urshte. I am already at the precipice. As Chief Priestess of Isis I must know if I am to have a role in preventing this.”

  “Khenemet has uncovered a rumor that there are forces in the Delta threatening to kill Princess Banafrit as a way of seeking revenge against Qa’a and to position Mume to succeed Qa’a. Of course this is intolerable to Khenemet, who has separately learned of this plot. But his reaction is to ask me to help find a way to murder Mume if Banafrit is killed.”

  Irisi gasped and tears ran down her cheeks. She looked skyward. “Oh, dear Isis, your holy Kem is in mortal danger.” She leaned forward and placed her face in her hands. I waited a suitable time before speaking.

  “We will obviously do all we can to prevent such tragedies from occurring, Irisi, and I include you in that effort. But here I must ask for your advice and counsel. If the gods structure the play to unfold in a different direction, if they decide to test us with chaos, would you support moving Nomti onto the throne?”

  “Nomti? Surely you joke. He…”

  “I do not joke, sister. He is second to the Vizier and is only one of three to wear the Gold Armband. He is a Minister and is respected by all who do business with him.”

  “That does not qualify him to be King. He has no Royal blood…”

  “And so what to that? Did Scorpion or his father’s father have Royal blood in them? They began this blood line of Kings from nothing, so does that mean it must continue thus forever?

  “No, I will tell you exactly what qualifies Nomti for Kingship. He has a vision for Kem, a vision of the Two Lands living in peace and friendship and prosperity, neither one keeping the other enslaved. He has the respect of many people of high position in Lower Kem. And you already know from Woserit how he respects women, but I will tell you more, Irisi. He yearns for a time when women have yet more rights and privileges.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as settling disputes the same way that Horus priests resolve disputes. Why should not Isis priestesses do the same?” To this Irisi just nodded her head thoughtfully.

  “Nomti has learned the lessons of Meryt-Neith and her exalted rule over the Two Lands. He believes that women should serve as advisors to …”

  “But this talk is folly, Urshte. I know from Woserit that Nomti has no taste for rule or for kissing the backsides of those to whom he would have to…”

  “Which is exactly why I have come to you, sister. For if those in the most powerful positions in the Two Lands will not support him if it comes to that, who will? If the gods somehow maneuver him into position, then he will desperately need our support to ascend to the throne.”

  “The gods, or us, Urshte?”

  “We work only at the gods amusement, Irisi. How do we ever know their true desires? As priest and priestess we understand that. But now I must ask you this question. If somehow it came to pass that we were without a King and no line of succession, which we all pray would never happen, but if it does, would you support him?”

  Irisi stared at me, and through me, as if she had not heard my question. At one point she closed her eyes and moved her lips, seeking an answer from Isis, I am sure.

  “What does Nomti think of this… this possibility?” Now it was my turn to stare at Irisi, for I was at a loss for words.

  “I… we, umm, we have not discussed it.”

  “Are you mad, Urshte? How dare you put me in this position, then,” she said, uncharacteristically raising her voice and standing before me.

  “Who should I have come to for help and advice?” I asked as calmly as I could. “Light-hearted Khenemet? How about that most understanding of priests, my immediate superior Buikkhu? I’m sure you see my point.”

  “Yes, I do, and here is mine. I will give you my answer only once you have spoken with Nomti about this.”

  “But it will take many such conversations to persuade him to this path.”

  “I would hope so, for this is serious business of which we speak. To depose the King has never before happened.”

  “How about murder?”

  “Do these plots you speak of include murdering Qa’a? My heart cannot grasp this depravity!”

  “Yet you have managed to grasp Khenemet poisoning Semerkhet? Be realistic, Irisi. Qa’a may not have a strong vision for Kem, but he is surely leading it to ruin by lacking one. There are evil forces at work that may bring about terrible shifts in our society. It will take all our efforts to restore ma’at if that happens. All I am saying is that we should be prepared.”

  I could see that my words had found their mark. Irisi again came around her chair and sat quietly. “I can see that you speak from your heart, Urshte. All I can promise is that I will weigh your words as carefully as I have ever done in my life. But I will not give you an answer until you have assured me that Nomti is ready to serve if called upon by Horus to do so.”

  “I can ask no more,” I said, standing. I held out my arms. “Will you say a prayer for us, Irisi?” She clasped my hands in hers and together we bowed our heads as she appealed to Isis to guide our actions. Yet even in the dry heat of the day, her hands were wet from fear.

  SCROLL TWENTY-SIX

  Dung Beetles

  Merkha

  It was the first month of Akhet and all of Kem waited anxiously for the reports from Abu Island on whether Hapy would send Mother Nile a great flood for her people after four dry years. In Inabu-hedj Nomti was busily preparing for workers to leave by ship for the canal project. Khenemet and Buikkhu were finalizing lists of projects for workers needed on road and temple projects throughout the Two Lands. Despite the rising heat Horus priests arrived and departed every day to and from every nome in Kem. Traders from foreign countries made last-minute deals for goods before the arrival of Mother Nile’s flood waters made certain caravan routes impassable.

  Qa’a, however, appeared oblivious to all this activity. He would awaken late in the morning after a night spent drinking and in depraved orgies with young girls that Buikkhu found on his travels and for whom he paid off their rekhi parents with a few debens of gold. Qa’a would stand most mornings on the portico in his bedroom, unshaven, unwashed, a cup of beer in his hand, staring vacantly at Mother Nile.

  At the mid-day meal Buikkhu would usually join us to report on the decisions he had made and to which Qa’a merely nodded his approval with little or no discussion. Then Buikkhu would leave the King to his drinking until, once again, the night’s heavy drinking and perverted sex would begin anew. I had long since given up trying to speak with Qa’a about his evil behaviors for his alcohol-clouded heart would tolerate no lectures
from an old, stooped teacher.

  But it was a mere ten-day later that Qa’a himself raised the matter with me, as I entered his rooms early for our meeting with Buikkhu. The skin around Qa’a’s eyes were dark and his body sagged from some invisible weight he carried. His skirt was creased, as if he had worn it to bed and just awakened. Even at a distance I could smell his foul breath.

  “Are you all right, Master?” I asked, concerned about his welfare.

  He hesitated before answering, as if he struggled to grasp my intent. “All right? I hardly know what that means anymore.” He sipped again from his mug, all the while looking at the mountains far in the distance. “Am I all right?” he again said softly.

  I waited patiently, not wanting to intrude upon his thinking. He swayed slightly and grabbed the railing to steady himself. “Look out there, Merkha. What do you see?”

  I was fearful of responding in a way that might spoil his mood. “I see what you see, Qa’a… mountains, Mother Nile, the blue sky…”

  “And people,” he added. “Farmers, fishermen, miners, builders, even priests, Merkha. All of them here to serve me, Horus’ brother.” I hardly knew how to respond.

  “Yes, of course. We all exist to serve the King, to preserve ma’at.”

  “Yes, of course,” he repeated, draining his beer before immediately refilling it from a pitcher on a nearby table. “You all serve the King, primping him for public display, while all the while he is held prisoner.”

  “Prisoner? I… I do not…”

  “Ha! Do not be so wily with me, Merkha. You know far better than me how this is all done. So many choices… too many! This will happen if you choose this way or that will happen if you make a different choice.

  “What? You stare at me like I am mad, but is it not so, Merkha? Khenemet has his mind made up before he ever presents me with those choices. He lines up the Ministers to his bidding and they pressure me together. The only relief I get from the decisions, the persuasion, the people seeking favors, is here, in this cup!” He held his mug high, spilling some as he did so. He pitifully licked the beer from the back of his hand.

  “And the girls, too, yes even the girls. They are but a fleeting way for me to forget, a few moments of pleasure that I hardly even remember when Ra rises.” With that Qa’a collapsed into a rush chair by the railing. “I cannot battle every moment, Merkha. It exhausts me far more than battle with sword and shield. Old man Sabef was right. I do not govern Kem; Kem governs me.”

  I tried protesting Qa’a’s reasoning, but in another moment Buikkhu strode in, beginning the mid-morning meeting with gloomy news. The measurements at Abu Island showed that the flood this year would be poor at best.

  “As I recall, last year’s was not good either, is that not right?” Qa’a asked. Buikkhu looked at me in disbelief that Qa’a would not be certain of such an important detail and that, in fact, we had not had a decent flood in years. I shrugged.

  “That is true, my Master,” Buikkhu replied. “We had to deplete our grain stores to supply the needs of the people. We fear that if the floods are not ample this year many will die.”

  “All the granaries are depleted?” Qa’a asked.

  Again, Buikkhu’s eyes were wide in disbelief. “Yes, all in the Delta are empty, but we have a few that are half-full in temples in Upper Kem, but we do not share that information with anyone or they might complain.”

  “Complain? What right has anyone to complain? They survive only by my will, right Merkha?” he said sarcastically. Qa’a reached for his mug and took a long drink of his beer. “I will make a proclamation… a public proclamation that the granaries in Lower Kem be depleted first. I want the ones in Nekhen and here in Inabu-hedj to be filled to overflowing so that the canal workers and the Royal family can receive all they desire.”

  “You… are sure of this?”

  “I command it! Make the proclamations and I will place the King’s seal upon them.” And so it was that in his confusion, Qa’a began a process that would affect his reign forever.

  As predicted, the floodwater that Mother Nile brought us was again meager. The Horus priests busied themselves seeking penance from Hapy and imploring Horus to do what he could to appease the river god. Throughout the land farmers, laborers, even skilled craftspeople, flocked to the temples to atone for past sins. But Mother Nile continued to be stingy and the life-giving mud reached to barely half the level it would have been in years of plenty. In many areas only the King’s estates were inundated.

  Immediately, disputes broke out among farmers over property boundaries, for those who farmed at even slightly higher elevations had no fresh soil deposited on their lands for the fourth year in a row. The Horus courts were besieged by these land disputes and cases languished for ten-days and months waiting for a hearing.

  Petty thievery began to appear. Poorer farmers in the dead of night stole rich topsoil from farmers who were blessed with it. Increasingly arguments and fist-fights broke out, until during the fourth day of the third month of Akhet, a terrible event occurred, and one that would set Kem on a course that would change its very history.

  On that day, or more properly that night, when Ra’s disk was barely visible, a group of farmers in the Delta banded together and raided one of the King’s agricultural estates, located on the banks of Mother Nile and thereby rich with newly deposited mud. Planting there had already started and a fuzzy carpet of green had sprouted, portending a good crop of flax needed for food and garments for the Royal family. The workshop employed hundreds of Kemians.

  Fearing such raids, the supervisor of the King’s estate, Ibenre, one of the best in his employ, and a man well-liked by all, had requested a few soldiers to guard its borders simply to dissuade such thievery. Buikkhu complied and a contingent of twenty soldiers were sent. Due to the King’s vast holdings there, the token force was only symbolic, for they were spread out over the entire perimeter of the large estate.

  As the gods would have it, that night Ibenre was riding his donkey along the property line when he saw a group of farmers sneaking onto the land he was sworn to protect. He quickly summoned the two nearest soldiers and they confronted the farmers. What happened next is unclear, but all agreed that at first the farmers merely pressed their grievance and asked to be allowed to retrieve enough soil to cover their gardens, only enough to feed their immediate families.

  When Ibenre refused, citing his holy charge to the King and the Two Lands, the men and women protested in louder and louder voices, eventually hurling insults at Ibenre, the soldiers and the King himself. They pressed forward, according to some, and the soldiers clumsily felled two of the men with thrusts of their swords. Other witnesses claimed that the soldiers charged first. But, as the gods arranged it, both soldiers and Ibenre were killed, along with six of the villagers. What inflamed matters even more was that two of the dead villagers were women.

  That two of the King’s soldiers killed unarmed women sent the village into a fury. In their rage they swarmed onto the King’s estate, burning the workshops and running the supervisors off the property. Soon baskets appeared, and the desperate farmers scraped off the topsoil and carried it back to their fields.

  The remaining soldiers, led by an inexperienced captain, did not know what to do. But sworn to uphold ma’at, the captain ordered his men to stop the thieves. As they chased them down, villagers poured out of their houses, men, women and children. Soon the soldiers found themselves surrounded. As the tense standoff continued, fortunately one of the village elders hobbled down the road. He was able to calm the crowd and the soldiers were allowed to go, so long as they promised to leave the King’s estate.

  “And they left?” Qa’a raged at General Nebibi. “They just ran like the cowards they are?”

  Nebibi hung his head in shame. “They have been disciplined,” was all he could mutter.

  “Disciplined you say? What short of death would qualify in your heart as discipline, Nebibi?” The General sat silently, his breat
hing coarse and labored.