Suti and the Broken Staff

by Jerry Dubs

  I assumed that he had rescued her.

  Now I wondered: Did he kidnap her?

  ***

  After we enter Gaza, I told Anun that I had to report to the commissioner. Insisting that a messenger from the court needed a guard, he ordered Pairy to accompany me,

  Disinterested palace guards left us in a small side anteroom where we waited for at least a decan, which Pairy told me was beyond the limit a charioteer could wait for a beer.

  With the charioteer growing increasingly restless, I was relieved when I heard the approach of footsteps, their patter accented by the click of wood on stone. I grew excited, expecting to see Lord Imhotep. Instead, a straight-backed man with a small belly arrived. Instead of carrying the snake staff of Lord Imhotep, he carried a gold-painted staff, its cap carved as a wolf.

  “I am Userhet, High Steward of Canaan,” he said as he entered the room. “I was told that you are messengers from Pharaoh Thutmose — long life!”

  To replace my leather pouch — which was sitting in Megiddo with my rock collection — I had cut away the bottom third of the quiver I had taken from the abandoned chariot. Using leather strips cut from the piece I had removed I had sewn the bottom together to make a pouch. I opened it now and, reaching carefully to avoid the jagged splinter, I retrieved the rolled papyrus that carried the sacred scarab beetle.

  Userhet reached for the letter, but I pulled it away.

  “I can only show you the seal,” I said. “The letter is intended for Lord Useramen in Men-Nefer. But you see now, that I represent Lord Amenhotep and Pharaoh Thutmose. I need to speak to the commissioner.”

  Userhet sniffed that the commissioner scheduled appointments a week in advance.

  Before I could answer, Pairy said that a week earlier we had been busy fighting the king of Kadesh.

  I was proud that he said “we.”

  Userhet sniffed in response.

  (I remember wondering if the salt from the sea air had affected his nose, or if he hoped to gain some insight into our thoughts by inhaling our words, or if he was hoping that we would interpret the action as approval — or disapproval — and spare him the need to make a decision. Years later, I learned that Userhet had been a street urchin who had been in many fights, the result of which was a nose that was broken so many times that it had shuffled back and forth on his face before settling at last back at the center. However, its wanderings had damaged it so that it was given to frequent discharges.)

  While I pondered Userhet’s nose, Pairy took offense at the High Steward’s prevarication. Gripping the handle of his knife, Pairy said, “Should I show you what fighting the enemies of the Two Lands looks like?”

  Before Userhet could sniff again, I said that I had news from the battle and that Commissioner Pakhura would be the first to hear of the great victory.

  Userhet looked from Pairy’s knife to my appeasing smile and said he would take us to the commissioner.

  ***

  When the doors to the audience hall swung open, I saw that Commissioner Pakhura had adopted the Canaanite fashion of wearing a beard and allowing his black hair to fall in ringlets to his shoulders. He wore a long brown gown that, falling over his heavy chest and heavier belly, looked like cascading boulders.

  He sat on a throne at the far end of the audience hall. Four girls stood behind him. Two held long-handled fans, their round ends woven from dried palm branches. A third girl stood beside a stand that supported a jar and a silver cup. A fourth servant stood with a linen cloth draped over her folded arms.

  Guards lined both sides of the halls, their hands gripping short spears whose bronze tips sparkled in the light thrown by torches that lined the wall.

  I smiled at the display; the commissioner sat on a palace throne while our ruler — whose ka was that of the god Horus — strode the battlefield of Megiddo, his own hands carrying weapons, his own bravery more a shield than any leather or wood or metal.

  (In later years, I saw Pharaoh Thutmose surrounded by much pomp, his own chest glittering with jewels and gold, his ears drowned with the praise of sycophants, his nostrils filled with the wispy threads of incense and the cloying perfumes of his courtiers. Yet I never saw him more godlike than when he stood bare-chested beneath a foreign sky.)

  ***

  And so we entered the audience hall, passing through tall, ornately carved doors.

  I noticed that the lions carved along the bottom edge of the doors had square manes, unlike any I had seen in temple carvings.

  Curious, I dropped to a knee to examine the door carvings.

  Behind me, Pairy broke wind loudly as, thinking that we were supposed to kneel, he dropped to a knee.

  Userhet sniffed and pounded his gold staff against the stone floor.

  “Lord Pakhura makes welcome Suti, Keeper of the Words of Lord Amenhotep, Overseer of the Double House of Pharaoh Thutmose — long life!” he announced.

  I stood and turned to face the commissioner, whose face was scrunched in confusion. He turned his head and spoke to the servant girls. The girl who held the linen cloth stepped forward and the commissioner raised his arms overhead. Leaning forward, the girl patted his armpits and then withdrew.

  I waited a moment and then, with a glance at Pairy, I approached the commissioner’s throne.

  “Commissioner Pakhura,” I said. “Thank you for receiving me.”

  The commissioner nodded gravely. “You come from Lord Amenhotep with news of a great victory, I am told.”

  I returned his nod with one made more solemn by my observation that Queen Menwi was not in the audience hall and that Lord Imhotep was not standing by the throne, his heavy, snake-carved staff in hand. I lowered my head for a moment, wondering if I should ask about the missing queen or if would be betraying the master’s confidence.

  What alarm, I wondered, would be raised if news spread that Queen Menwi was missing?

  But how did one search without asking questions?

  I heard Pairy cough.

  Roused from my thoughts, I looked up at the commissioner who said, “The news?” in a worried whisper.

  I was startled by his worry. If the commissioner, sitting here in a walled city, was worried, what fears were circulating throughout the Two Lands?

  And so I became the bearer of the tale of Megiddo.

  I imagined myself brandishing my reed brush, painting words of glory on that pale sky that hung over Gaza, writing with words so strong and truthful that they would fly over the current of the great river Iteru and past the silent white walls of Ineb-Hedj. They would pass through the fire of campsites and spread through the markets more quickly than the scent of roasting ox.

  I pictured priests, standing in the smoke of double incense burners, lifting their arms in praise, confident that the news of Pharaoh Thutmose’s victory would bathe their gods in glory. Dancing girls and gymnasts, their smiles redoubled, would repeat the story of the greatest victory since Pharaoh Ahmose had driven the Hyksos from the Two Lands.

  Standing as tall as I could, I pulled my shoulders back and raised my face to Pakhura. I smiled broadly, hoping that my eyes and face and voice would fill my words with confidence.

  “Our lord, Pharaoh Thutmose, third of the name — long life! — has won a great victory over the wretched King of Kadesh and his cowardly princes!” I said. My voice was thin and high-pitched, but I knew that it carried the joy that I had felt as the battle ended so quickly in a victorious rout.

  I raised my arms, wishing that they were covered in golden bracelets to lend glory to their movement. Speak from your heart to his, I told myself, tell him a great tale.

  “The mighty army of the Two Lands arrayed itself before the walled fortress of Megiddo,” I began. “Our million chariots flashed with gold and silver and bravery. And in the very center, his red war crown above us all, leading us with the ka of Horus radiating from his face, Pharaoh Thutmose — long life! — raised his voice in song to his brother gods.

  “Across the plains were
the million men of the King of Kadesh. Their lines spread from horizon to horizon. Never has such an enemy risen against the Two Lands! The sound of their horses was like the roar of Shu as he sweeps in from the western desert. Yet the men of the Two Lands felt no fear!”

  I lost myself in my memory of the day. My voice sang with wonder at the courage of the men of the Two Lands and the divine power of the god Horus, whose spirit had filled the body of Pharaoh Thutmose. I spoke of the heat and the dust, and of the blood, and of the sound of a million arrows slicing through the air.

  Before me, Pakhura sat enraptured by the story. The fan-bearer forgot to move the air and the line of guards shuffled nearer, drinking in the adventure and wishing that they had been there.

  I heard Pairy’s breathing grow faster as he remembered the race of the chariots, the whirr of the arrows, the screams and the blood.

  Inspired by his presence, I shouted the battle cries of the Canaanites, and the counter cries of the Egyptians. I told of the snorting of the chariot horses, the rumble of wooden wheels on the hard ground and the deafening pounding of ten thousand leather-clad feet charging toward the enemy.

  I spread my fingers and raised my arms as I described the burning heat that Re poured from the sky and the rain of arrows that fell toward the Egyptians. I told of the twang and pluck of the two thousand bows of the Egyptian archers as they sent their bronze-tipped arrows in reply.

  Stepping toward the commissioner, I opened my arms and told him of Pharaoh Thutmose leading the Egyptian charge. I described the radiance of Pharaoh Thutmose’s golden chariot and the straightness of the ruler’s back as he raised his face to Re and called out the order to charge.

  “The men of the Two Lands sang their battle cries as they followed our living god across the plain,” I said. “Their voices were louder than the pounding of the horses’ hooves, louder than the rattle of the chariots’ wooden wheels when they flew across the rocks and the dirt, louder even than the scream of Shu or the thunderous howling of Seth or the roaring of Sekhmet,” I said, my voice growing louder.

  I looked left and right at the guards who had gathered around me. “And the wretched King of Kadesh and his three hundred princes looked to each other. Their hearts quaked and their stomachs turned weak as they wondered: What have we done? What storm have we called upon ourselves? What will happen to our women and our children?”

  I drew myself tall.

  “They turned and they ran!”

  I laughed, a joyous laugh of surprise and delight.

  “They jumped from their chariots, abandoning them to slow our army. The cowardly King of Kadesh and his three hundred frightened princes ran faster than their horses could have carried them as they fled to the walls of Megiddo. They stripped off their gilded armor, for its weight slowed them. They abandoned their weapons, for they were heavy and awkward and slowed their retreat.

  “Empty-handed, they ran like children to the safety of the fortress.

  “And still the Egyptians came.”

  Pakhura was standing now, his mouth open. I saw that my words had carried the battle to his heart and the commissioner found it too full to contain the excitement. Raising his hands, Pakhura shouted, “Pharaoh Thutmose, long life! Horus-in-life, long life!”

  The guards who now formed a tight cluster around me echoed the cry, and the servants who had crept into the audience hall cried out in joy.

  Turning, taking each of them into my eyes, I saw Pairy looking at me in wonder.

  And I understood.

  Pairy had fought in the battle. He had driven his chariot toward the enemy, but his memories of it were a blur of fear and exhilaration and disbelief.

  Arrows had clattered against wooden shields, but he hadn’t heard them. Dust and stones had churned clouds that he entered, unsure of what he would find in the blinding billow of desert dirt. Chariots had overturned and been dragged across the field. He had ignored them as he leaned into the wind and drove toward the enemy, frightened, angry, filled with the knowledge that he needed to kill the enemy or he would die at their hands.

  Although Pairy had fought the battle, he had never understood its glory until he heard my words.

  As the guards and the servants and the commissioner continued to praise Pharaoh Thutmose and the brave army of the Two Lands, Pairy stepped close and put his hands on my shoulders.

  Tears welled in his eyes. His mouth trembled and then, in a hushed voice, he said, “Your words are like a sword, little scribe. Your thoughts are like arrows.”

  I See a God

  Hours passed as I told and retold the story of Pharaoh Thutmose’s great victory.

  Finally, my belly full and my tongue exhausted, I found myself standing on the stone-paved street in front of the commissioner’s palace staring up at the million stars that floated on Nut’s black belly.

  My practiced eyes found faint Thuban. I turned to face the constant star and then sought Meskhetui, bright star of the foreleg. I raised my right hand, turned it sideways to bring my thumb toward my nose, and pointed my fingers skyward. Holding my eyes steady, I slid my hand to the right until its narrow width obscured Meskhetui.

  I glanced from my hand to my body. My hand had passed almost to my shoulder.

  Re was halfway through his nightly journey through Duat.

  Lowering my hand, I smiled: Reading the night sky always brought Nakht to mind, and I thought of the kindly astronomer as a distant, absent-minded grandfather.

  Nakht had taught me to see the slow movement of the stars and how to find the sacred alignments they created. He had shown me which stars foretold the rising flood, which announced the beginning of another cycle in the endless life of the Two Lands, and which marked the passing hours.

  ***

  Lord Imhotep had known the stars as well.

  Standing beneath the sky of distant Gaza, I remembered that the man-god had once told me a strange thing. He had said that different stars floated in the sky above his land, a country so distant from the Two Lands that the sky itself was alien. If another had said those words, I would have regarded them as smoke that slips into nothingness. But Lord Imhotep spoke not as a seer but as someone who had lived in these distant lands.

  Thinking of his words, I wondered what kind of distant, unknown land Lord Imhotep had meant. How distant could such a place be, and how did one travel there? And I wondered: Had he decided to return to that land? If he and his hemet Akila had returned to their home, that would explain why only one chariot was needed to carry Kebu and Queen Menwi away from Yehem.

  But where, I wondered, are Kebu and Queen Menwi?

  ***

  My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of retching rising from behind the thick branches of a squat ished tree. Turning to the sound, I reached out a hand and passed my fingers across one of the six spearhead-shaped leaves clustered at the end of a branch.

  As I admired the tree, I heard the rasp of a thick throat and then the sound of a man spitting.

  “A minute, scribe,” Pairy gasped from behind the tree. “The last pot of beer was…” His words ended in a gargled cough.

  Turning from the sound, I looked back at the palace, where two guards stood by the tall, narrow entrance. Their faces were turned toward me and I imagined that I could see — even in the darkness of the sixth decan of night — that they were smiling, comforted by my reassurance that their world was safe.

  I raised a hand to them and nodded when they waved back.

  I had told the story of the battle of Megiddo three times to ever-growing crowds. Each time I added details culled from memory and embellishments drawn from my imagination. I was determined to reassure my listeners that the hands of the gods had been with the Egyptian army.

  I wanted them to believe that they were safe.

  I heard scuffling footsteps as Pairy emerged from behind the ished tree. Pausing beside me, Pairy hawked loudly and spit. My charioteer — my young hero — one arm raised to his face as he wiped his mouth with t
he back of his forearm.

  “Sorry, scribe,” Pairy said, lowering his arm and shaking his head quickly. “That last pot of beer was bad.” He smacked his lips in distaste. “You wouldn’t think that you’d get sour beer in the commissioner’s palace.”

  Then, drawing a deep breath and shaking his head, Pairy took my arm and tugged me up the street.

  “We need to find something to wash away that taste. And,” he winked, “I have a promise to keep.”

  And so my drunken charioteer led me into the dark, narrow streets of the poor quarters of Men-Nefer.

  ***

  I usually woke just before Re brought life to the Two Lands, I usually closed my eyes when light trailed Re into the shadows beyond Deshret. And so, walking through the dark streets of Men-Nefer, I was surprised to hear that the night was loud with sound.

  Geese and ducks argued. A donkey scolded them only to be answered by another distant donkey. A woman shouted angrily. Water splashed on hard-packed ground. And ahead, rising over the low roofs of the small homes, echoing off their dusty walls and passing through their open doorways and windows, floated the sound of singing, the rhythmic clap of wood on wood and laughter.

  I looked at Pairy and saw that his eyes, so heavy a few minutes ago, were bright with anticipation.

  “We’re almost there, scribe,” he said, his pace quickening.

  “Where?” I asked, although I knew the answer.

  “Seth’s Cave,” Pairy said. “Like I promised, to complete your education.”

  ***

  The Seth beast’s strangely curved snout poked from a rough-edged hole in the front wall of the mudbrick building where Pairy stopped.

  I had seen drawings of the beast, but never a sculpture of it. Bending, I rubbed a hand over the pitted, wooden surface of the crude carving, and, leaning closer, I sniffed at the wood, trying to determine whether it was taken from the heart of a palm or from one of the wide sycamores that grew along the river bank.