I was shocked by Scorpion’s reaction. He sat rigidly, unsure of his own pronouncements. “And, you, Kagemni. Have the wet nurse killed!” Scorpion watched the shock spread over his friend’s face. “Immediately, before this night is out!”
“But, Scorpion,” I protested, stepping forward toward him. “The Prince’s illness is not her fault. He… he improves every day. She sustains him.”
Scorpion stood up, a full head taller than me and raised his hand to stop me from approaching him. It was a moment I shall never forget, as when a father finally comes to realize that his son has grown to complete independence and that the relationship will never again be the same. Scorpion opened his mouth as if to explain his action to me, but turned instead to Kagemni. “And you, Kagemni, what do you say? Give me your valued counsel,” he said pointedly.
Kagemni forced his gaze to stay upon the King. “I will do as you command, Scorpion… now, as always.” With that he placed his right forearm roughly across his chest to salute his King. “I… I can see your point. If a hand becomes putrid from a battle wound we cut off the damned arm to prevent death. But… but in this matter, I would follow Anhotek’s advice. He is the most powerful shaman in all Kem.” Kagemni knew instantly he had spoken too much. He did not have to wait long for Scorpion’s rejoinder.
“Oh, yes, powerful, indeed,” Scorpion answered so softly, we simultaneously turned our heads to hear him. Suddenly, Scorpion spun around to face Kagemni, his finger pointing directly at my face.
“Why hasn’t mighty Anhotek used his power to heal the Prince from these… these cursed shakes?” Kagemni shifted uncomfortably. Scorpion sat down, exhausted and for a moment no one spoke. “Well, Anhotek, do you have an answer?”
It was futile to explain anything to Scorpion at this moment. But, to not answer him would be to court his ire, already inflamed by alcohol and disappointment.
“It boils down to one matter, King Scorpion, Wearer of the White Crown, ruler of all Upper Kem,” I answered very deliberately, giving him time to assume his role as leader. “Queen Neith-hotpu was too young and too small to carry a baby to birth. When you first saw her in Nekhen, I thought… we all thought she was the most beautiful young woman we had ever seen, her slender body, her beautiful face, her gentle manner. But, when you asked my opinion about placing your seed in her, I told you that she needed another two years for her body to ripen. She had barely started her monthly cycle.”
Scorpion started to rise in protest. “And,” I continued, “your side of the family has large men, such as yourself. Your own mother, Scorpion… your own mother died weeks after your birth.” With that, I walked to the nearest bench and sat down heavily.
“When I had to cut the Queen to save the baby, a part of my ka was surely ripped from my own body and now accompanies her on her journey through the underworld. I… I have… not been the same since. Every night when I awake to pace my quarters, I think, ‘What could you have done differently, Anhotek? How could you have saved your beloved Queen?’ And, I swear by Ra that I do not have an answer that satisfies me, let alone you, Scorpion. I tried everything I could, but in the end… in the end… it was not good enough.” We each stared at the floor, pondering our own roles in the Queen’s life and death.
“You did your best,” Scorpion finally said. “You know that my strengths are on the battlefield, not in diplomacy.” I acknowledged Scorpion’s gesture to me with a nod of my head.
“Ignore my instructions about the wet nurse,” he said, turning first to Kagemni. “But, be forewarned,” he added. “If the child worsens, I will hold her responsible. Watch her carefully, Anhotek. Evil magic may lurk about.”
I put down my staff, pulled a chair opposite Scorpion and sat down. I drew a deep, relaxing breath, planting the seed for Scorpion to do the same, which he soon did.
“Well, what do you think of Mersyankh?” Scorpion asked.
“On the face of it, the marriage makes sense,” I offered, sidestepping my true impressions of Mersyankh.
“But?”
“We know nothing of this Ihy, and little of your future bride, although some of the things I do know about him I am hesitant to repeat without confirmation from others I trust.” Soon enough I would need to deal with why my network of informers had not gathered even a rumor of such monumental plans. “We also do not know what the Royal family in Dep believes they will gain from the alliance, other than stopping our superior forces from defeating them.”
“So, what do you recommend?” Scorpion pressed, pouring himself a cup of water from the intricately carved alabaster pitcher. He quaffed its entire contents in one gulp.
“Give us some time to gather more information. I will personally see to it that my informants…”
“Spies, Anhotek. Why not call them what they are?”
“Some are indeed spies, Scorpion. But fewer than you might imagine. Much information can be gathered by more subtle means, subtleties that are best left to my guidance.”
“As opposed to my brutish mentality?” Scorpion laughed sarcastically.
“A man needs to hone his strengths and gather about him those whom he can trust to fortify his weaknesses. On the battlefield I would be useless as a swordsman. In matters of administration and statecraft you rely on my strengths. The gods have provided many opportunities in our Land to use our gifts to keep ma’at strong.”
Scorpion fingered the smoothly carved surface of his water cup. “What you think of this Ihy? He is quite something, is he not?”
I read Scorpion’s body and there seemed to be no subterfuge present. That meant that Ihy had already made headway with him. It felt like I was fording Mother Nile, balanced on the tops of a few small rocks, with flood waters raging all around me.
“He possesses powerful magic,” I said, choosing my words carefully.
“So I have heard,” Scorpion replied. “I have not had occasion to see it as of yet, but I have heard that his people shake in fear of it.”
“And that is the very problem with powerful magic, Scorpion. Sometimes a person has no idea it is being worked, while all along the spider weaves its web, ensnaring its unsuspecting victim.”
Scorpion stared at me. His eyes followed the crook of my nose upward, studying the deeply etched lines of my forehead.
“What are you saying, Anhotek? That I am under some sort of spell?”
“Perhaps,” I whispered with such solemnity it made the hairs of Scorpion’s arms stand on end. “And, as it has always been, the victim is the last one to know it.” We sat thus in silence for many minutes, listening to the sounds of the servants preparing the evening meal.
“Scorpion,” I interrupted softly, “we must deal with the matter of the Prince’s name. Until the Naming ceremony his ka will not settle in his body. We have waited far too long already.”
“Were Horus’ wings truly spread at the Prince’s birth?”
“Without a doubt, Scorpion. It was a powerful omen. As surely as I sit here now, the beat of Horus’ wings breathed life into the infant.”
“So I have heard. And you, Kagemni?”
Kagemni considered my words. “To deny such an omen could unleash a damned disaster on us.”
“Fine, then. Since Horus willed him to survive, we will call him Meni, the enduring one,” Scorpion said in his most officious tone. “Meni,” he repeated. “Make it so, Anhotek.”
“I will, by your authority,” I answered.
“I am tired beyond measure,” Scorpion sighed. “Kagemni, take your leave and get some well deserved rest.”
As soon as Kagemni left, Scorpion turned to me. “You probably think poorly of me this minute, old teacher. But, the boy’s condition, frankly… it sickens me,” he said, turning away from me. “I wish it weren’t so, but these shakes… I… I have seen them on the battlefield when a man’s head is bashed with a mace. It appalls me above all other wounds. A… a powerful man, a worthy opponent, lying there helpless, staring at the sky as if he cannot see, all
his limbs shaking, until…”
“Scorpion, people react differently to illness. The gods have given us shamans the ability to treat torments of the body that others cannot bear to witness. Do not feel shame in this. No one but the two of us shall ever know how you presently feel.
“The boy will improve,” I added. “You will have occasion to be proud of him as the years go by.”
Scorpion slowly turned his head toward me. There are times when the evening desert winds blow so cold they chill a man’s very soul. That is how I felt when Scorpion looked at me then, as if his cold stare confirmed the lie that we both knew I had just told.
Scroll Three
Tremors
The warm, gentle breezes that swept down the river valley caressed my skin. The sails of our boats billowed until, like the stomach of a man at the end of a great feast, they ballooned greatly and could fit no more. We had been sailing downriver for four days in two large reed boats from Scorpion’s fleet, moving gracefully amidst the rhythmic groans of the ropes pulling against the reed bundles and the periodic thump of our sails filling with wind.
My dutiful, if dimwitted assistants sat on either side of me, their fine linen tunics belying their common origins. All seemed right in the Two Lands, everything balanced, ma’at strong. Mother Nile flowed endlessly to The Great Green, while Ra beamed down upon us. Both elemental forces brought good fortune to our land. I felt as happy as I could ever hope to be.
The greenery of Mother Nile’s reeds and rushes, and the fields of barley and emmer wheat far beyond them, passed by along the banks. The endless cycle of the seasons forced its rhythm upon the people in this borderland between Upper and Lower Kem. I watched for telltale signs of discontent among the poor farmers, as they toiled at the difficult tasks that sustained them.
The pungent mix of desert dust, manure from the fields, and the smells of the mighty river itself hung in the air, thick enough to see, so that each syrupy breath was full of promise and peril. Periodically a farmer, or a group of women washing clothes, would catch sight of our boat, flying King Scorpion’s pennant, and wave to us. They strained to see if they might catch a glimpse of royalty. They only saw an old shaman, surrounded by two young boys and a filthy captain. Our companion boat held a troop of tired soldiers.
“Do you have the medicines?” I asked dark-skinned Panehsy, who sat on his haunches, his pronounced bodily odors wafting up when the wind chanced to cast in my direction.
“They are safe, Anhotek,” he responded, while patting the large leather bag that hung down from his bony shoulder. “Safe as they were when you asked an hour ago.”
I was amused by the boy’s impertinent response, although I dared not show it, for he was surely simple enough to misinterpret a kind gesture. But I did notice that Surero, my second assistant and of late Panehsy’s partner in crime, shot a sideways glance at him and tried to suppress a giggle. Being a dwarf, Surero’s laugh had a throaty, high-pitched sound. I rapped my staff lightly on the side of Surero’s head, which put a quick end to their belief that they had bested me. Over the years of instructing young men, I found it often effective for the offender to watch the effect of his thoughtless actions on his accomplices. In that manner the wayward youth has two opportunities to gain the moral I wish to teach; once by having him witness my punishment of his friend and yet again when his friend later repays him his debt.
At the point where a small tributary fanned out from the river’s main channel, the head of a mother hippopotamus surfaced, its bulbous eyes watching us warily. A calf floated close by its side. I muttered a silent prayer, cursing one of the many forces of chaos that stood at the edge of ma’at, constantly threatening us. How often had I been summoned to the river’s edge to minister to a child who had come between a mother and her calf as they grazed on land near the shore? In another moment the winds carried us safely past them, praised be Ra.
So far the collecting trip for medicines that I might employ to alleviate the Prince’s illness had been disappointing, despite the pitiful herbs that Panehsy carried in his bag. Crushed ibex horns! Dried crocodile dung mixed with fly excrement! It amazed me how backward some of our own shamans and healers were.
At my command, the captain sailed directly to the Delta lands, where Mother Nile splits into five rivers before branching out further like a fan to distribute its life sustaining waters to the marshland and its people until it, and we riding its life force, reached Wadj-wer, The Great Green. From there I planned for us to sail east, hugging the coast of Wadj-wer for several more days, to reach the land where I hoped to finally find the medicines I needed to treat the young Prince Meni, may his name be blessed by the gods.
We were north of Dashur, still far from where the Nile splits and two full days journey south of the coastal city of Dep, the capital of Lower Kem, when Surero pointed to a procession of large boats rowing against the current on the far side of the river. The boats were made entirely of wood, a precious commodity in Upper Kem. But the people of the marshlands imported wood regularly from Satjet and Babylon. The bare masts and the oars protruding from the decks gave the impression of a group of malnourished men, their ribs protruding from hunger. From high up on their masts flew a banner with the image of the sacred bull, the emblem of the King of Dep.
Set upon the deck of the middle boat was a Royal carrying chair. From the attendants milling around the curtained chair, I felt certain that I was witnessing Mersyankh’s wedding procession south to Scorpion’s palace in Tjeni. I had prayed to the gods that they might see fit to delay her arrival.
Even from across the river, we could hear the sounds of the beatmaster urging the rowers on, raining curses on them that would have embarrassed Anubis. A man mounted on the bow of the lead boat yelled ahead to clear the way of fishermen and ferryboats. I was left with the terrible feeling of helplessness that most of my countrymen must feel every day of their existence, the inability to gauge the direction of things, to detect undercurrents and then to control them to achieve one’s goals.
Soon, the procession was but a tiny speck, like toy boats that we used to play with as carefree boys growing up at the river’s edge in Nekhen. Then we rounded a bend in the river and the procession disappeared from view and with that an unease began to grow in my stomach, so deep it made me taste bitter bile. Here I was, drifting further and further away from Tjeni, from the whirling dust storm that had become the Royal court, while Mersyankh and Ihy, those evil forces from the underworld, may their names be cursed, hastened back to Tjeni. Yet, there was nothing I could do. The future of Kem depended on the Prince surviving his childhood.
Another group of farmers had stopped to wave at our small procession and it was then that I noticed a slightly built man who watched us from behind the group at the shore. He did not wave, but stared for the briefest of moments, then continued on in the same direction as our boat. Under other circumstances it would not have attracted my attention, but he walked with a pronounced limp. My mind searched for a reason for its discomfort and it was then that I realized I had seen him a full day past, near a town we had stopped at to provision our boats. I remembered that he squatted on a hill overlooking Mother Nile and when he stood to walk away, he stumbled slightly, attracting my attention.
I looked down to see both Panehsy and Surero staring at me expectantly. “What?” I asked, snapping back to the unfortunate reality of having to care for these two misfits, born with dung between their toes.
“I just wished you to know that I still had the medicines,” Panehsy said with a straight face. His comment hung in the air for a full moment, before I realized what he had said. His subtle humor was more of a surprise to me than his disrespect. By then he had started to giggle. I rapped him, too, a good solid blow to the side of his head, but he was quick enough to partially block it with his hand, a happenstance that did not displease me. At his core, he was a good boy, with solid values taught him by his poor farmer parents. He would get my point. If there was one thing I would
not tolerate, it was to be held responsible for raising youth like so many I saw in Nekhen and Tjeni today. Far too many were arrogant, thinking they know more than their elders, even bordering on disrespect. Yet, what could we expect? So many of their parents today were absorbed in their pottery and basketry and brewery businesses to the point that they neglected the moral education of their offspring.
We continued our sail north, all the while my fears about the spies Mersyankh and Ihy were purchasing within our Court pushing me ever inward. We took the eastern-most fork of the Nile, passing through the marshlands of the Delta, where I could once again observe the daily occupations of its lowly people.
The farmers of Lower Kem eked out an existence with the most primitive tools imaginable. They rarely used copper adze blades or axe heads or the newer farming implements. On those occasions when we stopped to replenish our supplies, we would be delayed by the admiration these people gave to even our simplest wares. They would call their friends or family members to admire the thin, elegant jars made by the professional potters in Nekhen, some with decorations inscribed, others topped with a black band formed by inverting the pot in the ashes of the kiln in its final stages of firing. By contrast, the Delta dwellers had only heavy, ungainly creations that broke easily and looked as if they were made by simple-minded children.
I thought again of the man I had seen along the shore and wondered if it could be that Mersyankh and Ihy would dare to have me followed. Was I was wrong to suspect the man? We sailed leisurely, and boats passed us frequently throughout the day. It was unlikely that someone would be leapfrogging us on foot just to observe our activities.
On the fourth day of our journey a disturbing event occurred. We were solidly in the land of Lower Kem, when I noticed a single, smoky fire on a hill on the east bank of the river. That appeared to me to be unusual, for potters usually clustered their fires together in places where the winds proved constant. It was at this point that the mighty river took a sharp bend toward the west. Once we passed the spot where the fire blazed, I happened to look back. The smoke that had been rising steadily from the fire had mysteriously stopped. Then, suddenly, the smoke rose again in one great puff. Yet again did this happen and I shot a glance toward the west bank directly in front of us. There I saw a blinding flash of light from a mirror. My blood ran cold.
The Dagger of Isis (The First Dynasty Book 2) Page 43
