by Jerry Dubs
The man-god had grunted softly as he rested a knee on the ground.
“Do you understand what you are doing?” Lord Imhotep had asked me.
I remember furrowing my eyebrows in question. I had thought: Of course, I know what I am doing. Thankfully, I did not speak those arrogant words aloud, Instead, I had nodded and waited for Lord Imhotep to stand and walk away.
Instead, the man-god had reached out a hand and placed it on my shoulder.
“Tell me,” Lord Imhotep had said, and so began my apprenticeship to the man-god who had taught the ancients to draw the magical symbols that captured the sounds and ideas of speech, who had trained the first men to heal the sick, who had raised the improbable mountain of stones for the long-dead King Djoser.
***
Standing now with the broken staff of Lord Imhotep in my hand, I gripped the wooden snakes in my fist and imagined the power that the snakes must have acquired from accompanying each step of the man-god.
Fed by the broken staff’s heka, my ka whispered: He was slain.
Dread crept from the staff. Traveling up my arm, the heavy fear sank its teeth into my flesh. But, in addition to pain, the fear brought knowledge.
I thought: Lord Imhotep would never part with this. There must have been a great battle.
My eyes closed, my fingers tried to coax the secrets of the past from the broken staff. As my fingers slid over the snakes, I imagined Lord Imhotep, his wife Akila, and pregnant Queen Menwi attacked by the vengeful charioteer Thanuny.
Eyes closed, the chill of the fading night drawing through me, I tightened my grip on the broken staff and urged my memory to recreate the sands of Yehem and to reveal the secrets hidden there: Thanuny of the strange sandal … the chariots abandoned in the woods … the wide, fleeing tracks from the queen’s chariot.
I lost myself to my thoughts as I imagined the fight that must have taken place, that had led to this broken staff. I envisioned Lord Imhotep using his staff to block a sword. I saw the sword crash through the heavy wood, breaking the staff. And then…
***
“He was like this when we found him under the tree,” I heard Turo say.
“More dead than alive,” Pairy said.
“His ka is visiting Khert-Neter,” Turo said.
“Or Duat,” I heard Pairy’s worried words.
“We should wake him. We must leave,” Pairy said.
“Scribe Suti,” Turo said, gripping my arm and shaking it gently. “We have to go.”
Opening my eyes, I left the glade outside Yehem and found myself in the thinning darkness where a river slapped at rocks and the smell of blood rose from the ground.
“Where is Kebu?” I asked, as more memories of the night returned.
“I haven’t seen Kebu,” Turo said. “He held the boat while we escaped, but then he was gone.”
“He was here,” I said. “He fought with the giant. He saved my life.”
“Do you think the giant killed him?” Turo asked.
I shook my head. “No, he must have survived; his body isn’t here.”
Turo nodded and gently touched my arm. “We must go, Suti.” he said.
I looked past him. Bintanath and Pairy were walking north along the river. The charioteer was carrying a body across his broad shoulders.
“Panehesy?” I asked, although I knew the answer.
“His head was bashed,” Turo said. “We’ll take his body to a temple.”
I bowed my head, thinking that I was responsible for his death. I would take his name to the temple of Thoth and I would say the prayers and cast the spells so his ka would survive Duat.
There was nothing more I could do for him.
I took a final look at the wound in the dead Medjay’s back, gripped the broken staff of Lord Imhotep in my hand and turned to follow Turo north toward the safety of the Two Lands.
I Build A ladder of thoughts
An hour later, Turo tapped Pairy’s arm and said, “I’ll take him now.”
Pairy, his face and chest running with sweat, stopped walking and twisted to slide Panehesy’s body from his shoulders to Turo’s waiting arms. Bintanath joined them, her hands cupping Panehesy’s lifeless head as Pairy helped Turo adjust the dead man’s weight on his shoulders.
With a grunt, Turo bounced on his toes and shrugged his shoulders to settle the body. Then, nodding to himself, he began to walk north, his steps veering away from the water, which continued to creep inland from its overwhelmed banks.
Swinging his arms to ease the ache from his shoulders, Pairy adjusted his steps to walk beside me. “Will Abu be flooded?” he asked.
I looked at the roiling river and then lowered my head as I tried to remember how high the island of Abu rose from the river.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “The temple is dedicated to Hapi. I don’t think the god would wash away his own temple.”
“I remember seeing walls around the temple,” Turo said, trying to reassure himself. “You are probably right. It should be OK.”
***
As Re burned his way across the morning sky, we walked quietly, each lost in his own thoughts, each of us casting uneasy glances at the river, watching for Medjay boats and measuring the growing strength of the water.
When Pairy and Turo next exchanged Panehesy’s corpse, I took time to wash the blood and dirt from myself. Taking stock of my injuries, I found only an egg-sized swelling on my forehead and a bloody scrape on my cheek.
As we resumed our walk, I began to build a ladder of thoughts, testing each rung for truth, hoping that when I climbed the ladder I would find Queen Menwi.
I thought:
Lord Imhotep and Queen Menwi accompanied the army to the pass of Aruna; I saw them there.
I know that they had reached Yehem; I saw their chariots there.
I know that Thanuny was in Yehem; I found his sandal there.
I know that Thanuny served Queen Satiah.
I know that Lord Imhotep killed Thanuny — the wound in Thanuny’s’ back was the same as the wound in Kyky’s back. Both had been made by Lord Imhotep’s staff.
I know that only one chariot left Yehem, I saw the tracks.
Suddenly I stopped walking.
It was unlikely that Lord Imhotep, Akila, Queen Menwi, Kebu had all left Yehem. The four of them would not have fit on one chariot, and, even if Imhotep was wounded and unable to drive a chariot, Kebu would have tied a second chariot to the rear of the one he drove, as the charioteers had done with Wah’s chariot.
My mind flew downriver to the glade where the chariots had been abandoned. I saw the well and the campfire and the chariots, sitting empty amid the trees. Thanuny’s ravaged body had lain nearby.
I realized: Thanuny’s body was a distraction, both for scavengers and for anyone looking for the queen.
I closed my eyes and pictured the glade and the abandoned chariots. They had been left in the woods not just to hide them, but to hide a deeper secret.
I believed I knew that secret.
As sadness swept over me, a voice said, “Suti.”
Shaking my head to return my thoughts to my body, I saw that Bintanath was walking beside me now. “If I help, do you think we could take a turn carrying Panehesy? I want to help,” she said.
“Of course,” I said, raising a hand to touch her arm. “And we will soon reach Abu, Bintanath. The priests there will be able to prepare him for Khert-Neter.”
She gave me an empty smile and, ducking her head, left my side to return to walk beside the body of the older scribe, who, I realized now, must have been more than just an old friend. My eyes welled at the thought of the deaths that had been caused by my search.
As I watched Bintanath lovingly touch the dead man’s head, I saw movement on the road in front of us. A farmer was approaching, an unburdened donkey walking by his side.
I Create Ma’at
My tongue sought the pebble.
Nudging it toward my lips, I lifted a hand from the c
hariot rail and took the stone from my mouth. Turning away from Pairy, who was driving the chariot across the uneven ground that lay inland from the river road, which was now hidden behind the slow-moving, brown lake created by the flooding river, I dropped the pebble.
Waset was on the horizon.
***
Five days had passed since we had found the farmer. With the donkey carrying Panehesy’s body, we reached Abu the following morning. Unperturbed by the annual flood, the priests there ferried us to the island temple.
The priests of Hapi were not embalmers, but they promised to preserve Panehesy’s body in a bath of natron until the river crested and they could transport it to priests of Thoth downriver at Edfu. Bintanath had stayed with Panehesy’s body.
The charioteers and I left the next morning.
At Kom Ombo, we sheltered with the priests of Sobek, spending a restless night worrying that the crocodile god, emboldened by the torrent, would enter our sleeping quarters.
Approaching Edfu two days later, we discovered that the river had washed into an ancient wadi, creating a long, deep lake. The flood forced us to detour so far to the east that we had to camp in the empty desert, adding another day to our journey.
With Waset now in view, Pairy allowed the horses to ease to a walk.
“We made it,” he said, his words colored with surprise and relief.
I turned at the sound of Turo’s horses slowing to a walk beside them.
“The war might be over by now,” Turo said. “I wonder if the army is back in Waset.”
I thought: Pharaoh Thutmose might be in Waset.
What will I tell him?
***
Re had retreated behind the western mountains. The night air, heavy with moisture released by the rising river, dabbed a sheen on the guards who stood before the wooden doorways of the audience hall of Pharaoh Thutmose, third of the name.
I stood before the guards wearing a blazing white shendyt, its hem embroidered with an alternating pattern of the ibis head of the god Thoth and the floating ostrich feather that represented Ma’at. My head was freshly shaved and anointed with oil infused with the attar of roses. I carried the broken staff of Lord Imhotep, its intact end wrapped with a leather strap that opened to a loop which I draped across my chest. The strap overlapped a smaller leather strand that held the weathered pouch that contained the one strange sandal and the splinters I had pulled from the corpse of Thanuny in Yehem.
The double doors parted, and two guards stepped toward me.
I saw at a glance that they had not accompanied the ruler to Megiddo — their faces did not carry the weathered determination of the soldiers who had marched into the foreign plains of Canaan. Instead these guards looked worried, their eyes tight from anxiety.
The men motioned with their heads that I should enter the audience hall. Stepping between them, I suddenly felt more exposed and unprotected than when I had been thrown about by the river.
The distant side walls were shrouded in enough shadows that I could see only that they were painted with figures. Hunters, gods, dancers, animals, flowers, warriors? — I couldn’t tell.
As my feet began to take me down the wide walkway to the distant throne, I looked down and saw that I was walking upon the painted figures of dead enemy soldiers. I gasped and abruptly stopped. As I bent to study the paintings, the two guards grabbed my arms firmly and propelled me forward.
Approaching the raised throne, I saw that Pharaoh Thutmose had changed.
I had last seen the ruler of the Two Lands as a soldier in Megiddo. Standing in his gilded war chariot, he had worn his tight-fitting red war crown. He had been bare-chested, his arms encircled by gold bands. One hand had held a bow, the other the double reins of his war horses.
With confidence, he had looked across the plains of Megiddo, and, with a voice filled with righteousness, he had ordered his men to attack the cowardly king of Kadesh.
He had been a god.
The man who sat on the throne in front of me, although dressed as a god, carried the worn face of an exhausted man.
Yes, his shoulders, supporting the wide arc of a jeweled pectoral, had grown wider. Yes, his oval-shaped head was crowned with the sekhemti: the white, cone-shaped hedjet crown rising from the protective red nest created by the deshert crown. Yes, his arms were banded with wide rings of gold and silver and turquoise. Yes, his left hand gripped the blue-and-gold-banded heqa shepherd’s crook, and his right held the nekhakha flail, its three strands of gold beads draped over his knuckles.
But the royal trappings lay on him like a shroud, hiding his vitality beneath gilded glitter.
Drawing near the throne, I saw that creases lurked beneath the blue kohl that lined his eyes. Ah, those eyes! They had shone with excitement and power and confidence when he rode the plains of Megiddo. Now, they were hard stones, reminding me of the gems that serve as eyes in the statues of the gods.
They caught light, they reflected light, but they revealed nothing of what lay beneath.
I could not read this god’s eyes.
The guards brought me to a stop, and, with a slight downward pressure on my arms, they informed me that I must kneel.
As I bent my knees, I felt them weaken from fear. I fell to my hands and knees, and, head down, I tried to control my heart, which had decided now to race with the fury of Pairy’s whip-goaded horses.
A moment passed and then another.
Head still bent, I heard footsteps retreating and others approaching.
“Rise,” Pharaoh Thutmose commanded.
***
I rose to find Pharaoh Thutmose standing before me.
Already quivering at the nearness of the god, I began to shake as he reached a divine hand toward my throat.
As his fingers traced the burn marks on my neck, he raised a painted eyebrow in question.
“I was attacked by a man whose hands were on fire. The flames branded me,” I said. “I died.”
“But you rose from the fiery death,” Pharaoh Thutmose said, his words soft as a prayer.
I thought: He believes I am a Bennu-bird, brought back to life by Re’s flames.
Pharaoh Thutmose turned and remounted the dais. Sitting, he stared at me.
As I wondered what the god was thinking, he waved his hand as if chasing a fly.
I didn’t know whether he was dismissing me or wanted me to speak.
I decided to speak.
Gathering my courage, I removed the broken staff from my shoulder, and, holding it in both hands, I raised it to show Pharaoh Thutmose. Then I laid the staff on the floor by my feet. Reaching into my bag, I removed the strange sandal, held it for Pharaoh Thutmose to see for a moment, and then laid it on the floor beside the staff.
As I paused to gather my words, I realized that Pharaoh Thutmose and I were alone in the audience hall. Smoke rose from torches along the wall, curling upward to join dark shadows in the corners of the blue-painted ceiling. A light aroma of incense floated on a light breeze that entered the audience hall from a pair of open doorways that opened behind the raised throne.
Turning my eyes to Pharaoh Thutmose, I expected to find that the god had transformed to a hawk. Instead I saw only a man, a man whose eyes were lined not just with kohl, but with sadness.
I remembered the rumor I had heard from the servants who had prepared me for the audience: After the ruler’s son died, his great queen had taken her life to accompany the child’s ka through Duat. But the sad rumor was that Pharaoh Thutmose had watched Queen Satiah rest from life. Perhaps, the servants had whispered, he himself had placed the linen noose around her neck, tightening it with his divine hands to send her to escort their child.
Whatever sadness fed his ka, Pharaoh Thutmose was watching me closely, a circling hawk watching its land-bound prey.
I thought: He is waiting to pounce upon my words.
I thought of Pentu’s belief that ma’at is the common tale that all in the Two Lands accept as truth. Looking at Phara
oh Thutmose’s weary eyes, I decided that I must offer him a story that he could believe, a story that would satisfy his curiosity and provide a balm to the pain that lay on his ka.
A tale that could be true.
***
I took a deep breath.
I imagined that the air I drew had swept upriver from the distant, dusty plains of Megiddo, carrying with it the glory and courage of the soldiers who had fought the king of Kadesh. My nostrils inhaled and tasted the perfume of garden flowers, their sweet scent the embodiment of joy and life, and the deeper, darker rotting stench of the fallen soldiers and of the half-eaten corpse hidden at Yehem.
The air scratched my throat with the war cries of the army of the Two Lands, and it clawed my ba with the cries of Queen Satiah and the millions of women who wept over their lost children or their husbands. Its taste was scorched by the night torches of the palace and burned by the crackling campfires of the army and baked by the grain-sweetened ovens of the Two Lands.
The air — breath of the god Shu, lifting hand that supported Horus in his flights, weightless sea for Re’s solar barque, comforting blanket to Geb — swirled into my chest and gave me the words to soothe the ruler of the Two Lands.
“My lord, Pharaoh Thutmose, King of Upper and Lower Egypt, Golden Horus, while you contested on the plain of Megiddo, a great battle was fought between your father Ptah, lord of eternity, and Lord Imhotep, father of our words and of the herbs and secrets of the healing arts.”
Eyes narrowing in interest, Pharaoh Thutmose slid forward on his seat.
I raised my chin and, although uncertain of my path, I found my tongue dancing from word to word with a certainty that made me understand that wise Thoth had taken control of my breath.
