In five days we reached the Wadj-wer port village of Ahnpet, there to provision ourselves with supplies. My young assistants, as well as the captain himself, had never before seen Wadj-wer and were immediately taken with its emerald beauty. They were captivated by the ebb and flow of water that, unlike Mother Nile, rose to cover the shore, then receded within hours, repeating itself continually during our stay. The captain spent many hours discussing this strange phenomenon with the farmers and fishermen of Ahnpet.
As we prepared to leave, the captain became more and more agitated. The local fishermen had filled him with stories of sea monsters and Wadj-wer’s unpredictable storms that swallowed boats whole, never to be seen again. Rather than shaming him back to his senses, I used his fear to enable us to make greater haste without insulting his pride. That night, to his relief, I enlisted his promise to wait for us and learn as much as he could about Wadj-wer’s mysteries, while we hired a local fisherman to take us along the coast.
We sailed toward the east as soon as Ra appeared in the sky and I had performed the requisite blessings. Whether through my intercession or by the plans of the gods themselves, we found favorable winds, but also high swells, that carried us to the port city of Rafiah in only a few days time. My young apprentices and a few of the soldiers became terribly water sick, turning a shade of green that the captain of our vessel swore he had never before seen. But, shortly after they felt the solid footing of earth under their feet, they regained their composure. As young men will do, Panehsy and Surero soon resumed their ceaseless banter and insults aimed at each other and anyone else they could think of. Listening to their mirth, I felt hopeful that I would find a cure for Meni.
In Rafiah’s bustling harbor I arranged for a small caravan to take us inland, there to meet with a shaman who was well known for his treatment of the holy illness. His people were more prone to this peculiar disease and the desert tribes respected him as a great healer. In two days journey, we were in his village.
“Anhotek!” Kittar the Healer greeted me as if I were his brother returning from a long journey. He hugged me in the custom of his people, first laying his cheek on one side of my face, then the other. “Welcome. My house is your house, my food, your food, my daughters yours to serve you,” he said, winking.
Kittar was more youthful than his reputation would have led me to believe. He was also more jovial than I had anticipated, for if there is one thing all healers have in common, it is a profound sadness concerning our limitations to effect a cure in those who come to us pox-stricken, legless, blind or mad. Yet, once I saw him treat his people, I knew that he was blessed by his gods. His tent was crowded day and night and more people walked away from his treatments better for it than worse.
For a full day after our arrival I only watched and assisted him, not wanting to offend him by suggesting treatments known to me. But, toward the end of the second day, a boy knocking on the door of manhood appeared out of the desert with his father. They had no sooner arrived than the boy fell down in the sand in front of Kittar’s tent and shook so violently I feared that he would tear his limbs from his body. Kittar gently cradled the boy’s head and waited until the shaking subsided. Then he brought the boy into his large tent, where a bed was always ready for anyone who was in need of his ministrations.
From his goatskin bag, Kittar removed a jar containing a dried herb such as I had never seen before. He crushed it further in his pestle and added various ingredients, before calling the boy’s father to his side.
“Take this mixture, Jerrel, and administer it to the boy every day, after his morning meal. Be diligent about this, my dear friend, for the boy’s illness is made all the worse by his impending manhood. If you do not give it to him faithfully every day, he may have the shakes without end one day, such that he will pass from this world.”
When the father and son left later that evening, I approached Kittar without hesitation. “What is this herb that you gave the boy?” I asked. “It is a treatment for this very condition that I seek.”
“So I have heard, Anhotek, for when news is bad it travels on the lightest of breezes.” We were as one heart.
“There is a plant that grows at the edges of fields that are disturbed by cultivation. I have an abundance of it right now which I am happy to share with you. The leaves are similar to the tomato plant that we so favor, but the fruits of this plant are but tiny red berries and are deadly when more than a few are eaten.”
From a corner of his tent, Kittar brought out a small, coarse pottery jar that was sealed with beeswax. “I will tell you how to prepare the potion for the shakes,” he continued. “However, you will need to find the right dose for the Prince, for I have found that I must vary the dose depending on how large the person is and whether they have an active or quiet spirit.” With that, Kittar opened the jar to reveal a powder the color of the very sand beneath our feet, but nearly as fine as talc. “The contents of this jar will last you for a long time, since the Prince is yet an infant.”
Kittar showed me how to prepare the ingredients that would calm the Prince and prevent the royal illness. Kittar assured me that he would always keep a supply on hand for my messengers to retrieve from him, for he was sure that he would need to seek out my counsel at some future time, such is the way with shamans. Before I left I gave him a special preparation that would keep wounds from festering, which he much appreciated.
Throughout the inland journey, I was sure we were not followed, for the path is desolate indeed and a spy would surely have been noticed. But, on the return to the crowded harbor of Rafiah, I noticed that the man with the limp was aboard a neighboring vessel. When our ship was at the mouth of the harbor I saw his smaller and faster boat take off from its mooring.
Our captain was indeed jubilant upon our return, swearing that the Wadj-wer was no place for god-fearing men. He had hired twelve rowers for the journey upriver, experienced men who were happy for the money. For the next few days, our captain smiled uncontrollably, praising Mother Nile’s virtues, breathing in the muddy scent of her banks and quaffing its pure waters. Being back on the river brought me much contentment, too, and I eagerly looked forward to trying the new potion on Prince Meni.
As dusk fell on our fifth day, we approached the area of Dashur once again and as I gazed upstream I noted that a boat flying Scorpion’s pennant was anchored in the middle of the river. As we approached, the captain hailed us.
“Anhotek, is it really you?” a man standing on the deck called once we were alongside. “I have waited these many days for your return and began to think that the Wadj-wer had swallowed you and your boat.” I recognized Butehamon, one of Kagemni’s trusted officers, a sailor who ferried men and supplies for Scorpion’s army. Helping me on board, he motioned me to be silent and ordered the captain to sail to the west bank and there to await us.
No sooner had the boat cast off then Butehamon said to me: “Ask not any questions, dear Anhotek, for I would be unable to answer them anyway… except to spread rumors.” He set out for the east bank and I was left to wonder what was of such import that Kagemni would send an emissary after me.
We reached shore after dark and Butehamon accompanied me up a steep hill to a small temple overlooking the river. The moon had risen and cast long shadows through the mud brick arches. “In the temple another of Kagemni’s officers will tell you what has transpired in Tjeni during your absence. I will wait for you here.”
Inside, the temple was no larger than ten square cubits, with a small altar and offerings of food that now lay scattered about by wild animals. The moonlight silhouetted a man with one arm, so I knew at once who it was that Kagemni had sent. That knowledge chilled my body.
“Anhotek, it is g-g-good to see you again, although I wish it were under b-better circumstances,” Ineni said with great effort. I returned his embrace with little enthusiasm, so concerned was I about the message he bore.
“These are difficult times in the royal compound. Kagemni has sent me
to g-give you advance word, l-l-lest you be surprised by recent events.” It was hard to read Ineni’s face and body language in the darkness, but his stuttering, more pronounced than usual, told me all I needed to know about his agitation.
“Ihy reported he saw your ship on their w-w-way upriver. On their second or third day in Tjeni, Prince Meni took ill with a runny nose and high fever. Hemamiya claimed his illness w-w-was brought to Tjeni by Mersyankh’s swamp dwellers.”
“To the point,” I chastised Ineni, for my hairs stood on end with foreboding, worried about what tragedy would have caused Kagemni to resort to such subterfuge.
“The… the illness caused the Prince to have many seizures. Ihy and Mersyankh b-brought the incident directly b-b-b-before Scorpion. Mersyankh told the King that in Lower Kem they would have drowned a child with the Prince’s illness. They… they persuaded him to have the w-w-wet nurse killed.”
The significance of this act was unmistakable. Ihy had usurped my role as counsel to the King. The fact that Scorpion allowed this manner of intercession was an unforeseen and dangerous turn of events.
“What about Hemamiya?” I asked.
“She fears for her life, Anhotek. She fears she w-w-will be the next to be sacrificed. Her love of the Queen, may Ra protect her ka, and her hatred of the King are w-w-well known. She secretly appealed to Kagemni to send me here. Kagemni w-w-worries himself about w-what happens in the Royal court.”
“Is there more?” I inquired.
Ineni hesitated. “If… if I may express my b-beliefs to you, Anhotek… you who has healed my b-b-battle w-w-wounds, who cut off my arm to save my very life. I, too, see the King’s w-weaknesses in managing the court.” It was difficult for Ineni, a loyal warrior, to express such a thought.
“You know that I w-would not hesitate to give my life for Scorpion in b-b-battle,” he said, raising the small stump of his arm. “I w-would follow his orders, no matter how wrong-headed they might at first appear, for I do not fear death any more than any soldier. Yet, as surely as Scorpion is a great w-warrior, he knows not about managing the affairs of state. Your presence is sorely missed, Anhotek and we w-wish you back speedily b-before all of Upper Kem becomes but a province of Dep.”
And so I learned that night of the changes that had already occurred in Scorpion’s court and of the enemy troops that were massing on our borders. Change was in the winds and not merely the gradual changes that shape our life’s journey. Meni’s tremors were like harbingers of the tremors that periodically shake the very ground itself and wreak havoc on entire nations. The spirits of the gods once again roamed the Two Lands, as they had in the ancient times, and only a fool would predict what was their fancy. I trembled in fear all that night, but it was only the beginning, only the beginning of many fearful nights, as I was soon to learn.
The Dagger of Isis (The First Dynasty Book 2) Page 44
