by Jerry Dubs
“Father Ptah looked upon the devotion of the Two Lands and upon the bright glow of your righteous ka, my lord. And he longed to set foot on Geb’s back once more. He ached to feel the fiery heat of Re on his face. He longed to rest his weary feet in the waters of Iteru. He yearned to breathe air cleansed by the red sands of Desheret and sanctified by the million glowing incense burners in the temples of the Two Lands.
“Hands warmed from turning unformed clay on his potter’s wheel, he sat silently in his sacred chambers, And, through the stone and the smoke of incense he heard the sweet chant of Queen Menwi as she prayed to bear a prince for you.
“Moved by her devotion, Ptah granted her wish, Pharaoh Thutmose.”
I paused a moment, waiting to hear if the ruler objected to my words.
Then I stepped forward and picked up the strange sandal. Holding the sandal with arms extended, I displayed its strange toe box to Pharaoh Thutmose.
“There was a man named Thanuny, my lord. He offended Lord Imhotep many years ago. Struck by the magical staff of the man-god, Thanuny lost some of his toes, He wore this sandal to hide his deformity. But an ember of anger lived within his ka. With each awkward step he took, the ember of his anger flared.
“This man, Lord Pharaoh, became a guard to your great wife, Queen Satiah, may she rise with strength in Khert-Neter.”
Although already composed as stone, I saw Pharaoh Thutmose’s face turn harder, and I knew that he was aware that Thanuny had served Queen Satiah. I wondered about the rumors that Pharaoh Thutmose had held the linen noose that had dragged the queen from life.
Those hands, I knew, would not hesitate to take my life as well.
“The god’s child grew within Queen Menwi,” I continued. “Each soft beat of its quickening heart drew Ptah closer and closer to the Two Lands. His great ka filled the temple in Men-Nefer. You were there, Pharaoh Thutmose, you felt his presence. His breath filled the gardens and the halls,” I said.
I held out my open arms, inviting Pharaoh Thutmose to share the vision that danced in my inner eyes.
“Sitting at the potter’s wheel, Queen Menwi swelled with his child. The sight of the queen and her child brought pleasure to Ptah’s heart. And he began to long to hold his child.
“The gods are selfish, my lord. Remember Sekhmet’s bloodlust, and Seth’s ambition. And so, even as you protected Queen Menwi, even as you accepted the child of the god and made ready to welcome him as your own child, Ptah decided to take the child as his own.
“Your divine ka sensed this, my lord, for you took Queen Menwi with you to Megiddo, away from the House of Ptah. Then her time of giving birth arrived and Lord Imhotep, seeing her need, took her away from the heat of the desert, from the threat of enemy soldiers, from the sting of scorpions.”
Pharaoh Thutmose nodded agreement and I realized that the words Thoth had fed my tongue were true.
I wondered what else the god would reveal.
I wondered what Pharaoh Thutmose would allow to be revealed.
He stood now and took a single step toward me
I was suddenly aware that we were alone.
Bending, I picked up the broken staff.
“Lord Imhotep knew that Ptah was jealous of you, my lord. He knew that Father Ptah wanted to cradle his unborn son in his clay-flecked arms. Ptah’s power was diminished in the foreign land of Canaan; his magic weakened by the presence of foreign gods.
“Now, as you know, Lord Imhotep is not of the Two Lands. And while he is not as powerful as father Ptah, Lord Imhotep’s power was not lessened when he left the Two Lands. He believed that he could protect your child from father Ptah.
“And he would have, Pharaoh Thutmose,” I said, my voice filled with certainty.
I bowed my head, wondering at my words and listening to the hurried breathing of Pharaoh Thutmose. Then, looking up slowly, I wrapped my hand about the strange sandal. The touch of the traitor’s sandal was repugnant and anger swept over me.
“Yes,” I said, my voice rising, “Lord Imhotep would have prevailed. He would have protected your wife and your son. But Thanuny intervened.”
Turning, I threw the sandal into the darkness.
Looking at the throne, I saw Pharaoh Thutmose reach back to the stand beside his throne. He gripped the flail with its weighted strands of gold. With knuckles white in fury, he held the flail at his side, and he waited and watched me.
Although I wondered if I would feel the bite of the golden flail, my mouth continued to yield to Thoth’s truth. Without aligning themselves in my mind, the god’s words formed and flowed from my throat as true and light and honest as notes from the hands of a harpist.
***
Hear me!
There is truth in words when they flow without thought. That is why wine reveals truth. That is why anger reveals truth. Our ba, spirit of our short-lived body, holds the reins to our tongue. But when the ba is drunk or distracted, then the true face of our ka appears.
There are other moments — when our ba merges with the ba of one we love, I suspect — that the ka sings its own song. And in the case of a few, the ba and ka live in harmony.
They must be madmen or gods.
For myself, my ba is an ever-vigilant watchman. Only at night, when others’ ears and eyes are no longer attending, does my ka whisper to me. And its words are fearful.
But on that long-ago day when I stood before Pharaoh Thutmose, righteousness flooded my ka, and I opened myself to the song of Thoth and spoke his words.
I was so very young.
***
Back straight, chest proud, I looked at the living god who ruled the Two Lands, who could strike me dead with the flick of an eye, and I said, “Father Ptah came for his child as Lord Imhotep and Queen Menwi rested in a glade at the crossroads of Yehem. Lord Imhotep carried this staff in hand. With his great heka he called to life the snakes carved on this wood.”
My hands vibrated with power as the magic imbued in the Lord Imhotep’s staff awakened.
“The snakes raised their heads to protect your child, as Isis protects children, as Wadjet protects your divine body,” I said, my voice soaring into the darkness of the blue-painted ceiling.
“Lord Imhotep and Father Ptah began a great battle — I saw their tracks, Pharaoh Thutmose. I saw the dragging of sand. I saw wood charred as Lord Imhotep called fire from the sky to protect your wife and child.
“They fought as Horus and Seth fought, raging over the land and the water and the sky. And then Thanuny appeared. But what harm can a mortal do when gods fight? Ptah and Lord Imhotep ignored the crippled man. But Thanuny was filled with lust for revenge, and the lust gave him strength.
“Sneaking up behind Lord Imhotep, he struck Lord Imhotep’s staff and broke it in two. The blow shattered the magic and stilled the snakes.”
I dropped the staff to the floor. The wood clattered on the stone, tapping out a hollow dirge.
As we looked at the broken staff, I raised my hands and opened my palms to the sky, calling on the gods to witness the truth of my story.
“And still Lord Imhotep fought,” I said, my eyes seeing the great battle, my heart beating to the sound of the clattering staff and to the heavy, hesitant footsteps of Lord Imhotep. “Although wounded and dying, Lord Imhotep turned on Thanuny and drove this staff into him. He thrust it with such force that it expelled the ka from Thanuny’s evil body. I saw the wound, my lord. I pressed my fingers into the wound and I withdrew from it splinters from this very staff.”
Pharaoh Thutmose gasped. Dropping the golden flail to the floor, he stepped from the dais.
He approached me and, extending a hand, he took the broken staff from me. He slid his hand along the carved snakes, feeling the power that lay within them. As his fingers came to rest on the splintered end, he saw that the inner wood was stained with blood and he knew that I spoke the truth.
“When Lord Imhotep turned to fight Thanuny, Father Ptah attacked,” I said, my words a dirge.
&nbs
p; “He struck Lord Imhotep and he lifted Queen Menwi, whose pure beauty, whose sincere devotion, whose prayers for a worthy child for the throne of the Two Lands, had endeared her to Father Ptah’s heart. He lifted her and the prince within her and he carried them away to Khert-Neter.
“She did not die, Pharaoh Thutmose. She did not endure pain. Your child, your son, was borne away by Father Ptah and awaits you in Khert-Neter with your father and his father and his father before him.”
I stopped speaking and looked to my ruler.
With one hand clenching the broken staff and the other balled into a fist, Pharaoh Thutmose was staring skyward, his face running with tears. He looked down at me now, and I saw that a fiery joy danced in Pharaoh Thutmose’s eyes.
“What happened to Imhotep?” Pharaoh Thutmose asked, looking at the staff.
“He was filled with shame, my lord. He failed to protect your wife and son. He and his hemet left the Two Lands.”
“Where?” Pharaoh Thutmose asked, his words carrying a knife-edge of anger.
“To his secret land, beyond the reach of even Father Ptah, beyond the unrelenting light of Re, beyond the never-changing back of Geb, perhaps beyond even the belly of Nut,” I said softly, praying that Pentu’s words were true, that Imhotep — who had been slain but had not died — was gone forever from the Two Lands.
Silence swelled into the audience hall as I waited for Pharaoh Thutmose to drive Imhotep’s staff into my belly. Or to praise my courage.
Lifting his eyes from the broken staff, Pharaoh Thutmose looked into my eyes.
“Who knows this truth?” Pharaoh Thutmose asked.
“Only you have heard these words,” I said
Pharaoh Thutmose handed the broken staff to me.
Holding my eyes with his, Pharaoh Thutmose said, “Bury your words. Can you do that? Can you keep them within, unspoken and unwritten?”
“My lord,” I said, “the words flowed through me, but they are not mine. They are from Thoth and they are a gift to you. I no longer possess them.”
“Return to Lord Amenhotep, Scribe Suti,” Pharaoh Thutmose said, extending an arm and resting a hand on my shoulder. “Tell him that you have completed your task. Tell him that I am satisfied.
“When he asks you what you have found, tell him that the gods have revealed a great mystery to you. Tell him that only the gods can repeat the mystery. Tell him, Scribe Suti, that I have sealed your lips as firmly as the lips of that great silent sphinx that guards the pyramids in the western desert.”
I bowed my head and began to step back from the god who ruled the Two Lands.
“And Scribe Suti,” Pharaoh Thutmose said, arresting my steps. “Return to Waset after you have talked with Lord Amenhotep. I would have you near.”
I See My Love, I lose My Love
Outside the audience hall, released from the stony gaze of Pharaoh Thutmose, my steps grew lighter.
Re’s retreating light, softened by river-freshened air, fell through the narrow windows that lined the hall and painted warm rectangles on the stone floor. Turning to stand at one of the windows, I paused to listen to the small sounds of birds playing in the dirt beneath a sycamore tree.
The light warmed me, the songs comforted me, and I felt my heart grow light. I had survived the Medjays. I had survived the cataract. I had found Kebu. The gods had given me a vision of the great fight at Yehem. I could tell Queen Merti what happened to her sister.
But what words would I use? Pharaoh Thutmose had sealed my lips.
I bowed my head in thought. Then I rebalanced my weight and crossed my arms behind me. Turning once more to the window, I closed my eyes and gave myself to my thoughts.
***
“Suti?”
“Suti,” the small voice repeated.
The sounds entered my undamaged ear, but could not find entry to my thoughts, which were retracing the words I had spoken and searching for a way to reassure Queen Merti that her sister was safely held by Ptah.
“Suti,” Ipu said more forcefully, tugging on the strap that held my leather bag.
Shaking my thoughts away, I opened my eyes.
“Ipu,” I said as I untangled my arms and turned from the window. I knelt to bring my face to her level.
“What happened to your head?” she asked, her eyes widening as they focused on my bandage. “You are bleeding.”
I raised a hand to my bandaged ear and felt the damp linen.
“My ear is injured,” I said, reminding myself to visit Pentu after I left the palace. The son-in-law of Imhotep would know the best treatment for a half-severed ear. “But it is a small thing. How are you and how is Queen Merti?”
Her eyes still on my bandage, Ipu said, “We are well.”
“That is good,” I said.
“We heard that you had returned to Waset,” Ipu said.
I nodded, swallowing a smile as I noticed that Ipu was now referring to herself and Queen Merti as one. I wondered if the queen had also adopted palatial speech.
“Just this morning,” I said.
“Is it still your custom to spend nights watching the stars?” Ipu asked, raising her chin to demonstrate that it was nothing more than an innocent question.
“If I can find a ladder,” I said, fighting to keep my voice even despite the singing of my heart.
“There is one…,” Ipu began
“By the tree with pink flowers,” I said, “I remember.”
***
Standing outside the garden gate that hid Pentu’s home from view, I touched the wood and thought about the last time I had stood here.
I had expected to enter the garden and find the secret of Lord Imhotep’s disappearance. The wooden gate had exuded mystery. The air had been filled with expectation. The trees blossomed with the magic. The birds sang enchantments.
Now I pushed open the gate and, stepping into the garden, saw the same trees, heard the same birds, and saw the façade of the same house. But they were no longer bathed in mystery; they were only trees and mudbricks and the common chirps and wing flapping of small birds.
Pausing, I wondered if the garden had changed or if I saw it now with different eyes.
I walked to the sheltered bench and sat.
I thought: I am sitting where Lord Imhotep sat. Our bodies are sharing the same space, only at different times.
I closed my eyes, hoping to feel a thrum of energy enter the wooden staff I carried. Or perhaps to inhale the scent of age and divinity that followed Lord Imhotep’s footprints. Or perhaps to hear a whisper of the man-god’s gentle encouraging voice.
But there was only Re’s powerful heat, filtered by overhanging leaves, and the mingled scent of blue lotus blossoms and water lilies floating in the pond and the dry, earthen smell of Geb’s unshaded back.
“Suti!” Pentu called, emerging from his home.
Rising from the bench, I frowned when I saw that Pentu was walking with a cane.
“Oh, don’t frown,” Pentu said, his voice growing stronger as he approached me. “I just twisted my ankle when I slipped into the pond yesterday. I was foolishly trying to … oh, my,” he said, his voice rising in concern, “what happened to your ear?”
“The police chief of Kerma tried to cut it off,” I said
“A police chief?” Pentu said, his eyes darting to the broken staff.
I raised the broken staff. “Kebu saved me.”
Pentu looked toward the garden gate.
“He did not return with me,” I said.
Placing a hand on my shoulder, Pentu leaned close to look at the bloody bandage. “Let’s get you inside. I’ll tend to your wound and get you something to drink. You can tell me what you’ve learned.”
***
Pentu scraped away the half-formed scab and then tortured me with a small needle. Applying a balm of honey leavened with mold scraped from bread, he told me that, although my hearing would not be affected, the top of my ear might droop.
“I have stitched it to your head,
but it might not reattach itself,” he said. He pursed his lips in thought for a moment and then said, “I have seen men wear a leather strap wrapped around their head. After a week, remove the bandage — sooner if it bleeds of course, and then replace the honey and lint ointment. But after a week, you can remove the bandage. Air will help it heal. If the ear has not grown fast to your head, then tie a leather band around your head. Or perhaps a decorated linen cloth. You can use it to hold the top of the ear in place.”
Then he sat beside me and said, “Tell me what happened.”
***
I told him about the dead boy and the ivory theft and Mahu and the Medjay village and how my ear had been cut. I told him how Kebu had rescued me from Mahu and then again from Kyky.
“So Kebu is gone?” Pentu asked.
I nodded, careful to not move my head too quickly and shake my ear loose.
“He will be fine,” Pentu said, staring into the distance. “He is a survivor.” Then he turned to me. “What did you tell Pharaoh Thutmose?”
I shrugged and looked to the floor.
“When I stood before him, I felt Thoth step inside me,” I said. “I spoke, but I didn’t know what the words would be until I heard them.”
Pentu nodded. “Imhotep spoke of that,” he said. “He said that our minds are like passengers riding in a chariot. The chariot is our unthinking body. It goes where it chooses and our minds pretend that they are in control.”
He smiled. “I will miss talking with Imhotep.”
“You will never see him again?” I asked.
“Suti,” Pentu said. “You know that Kebu would never abandon Imhotep.”
“Or the queen?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Kebu is the most loyal person I ever encountered. Except Bata. Dear Bata. He was a fierce warrior. He protected Maya when they first arrived here. He saved Pharaoh Hatshepsut when she was a princess. And every year — for year upon year — he returned to Abu to attempt to rescue Lord Imhotep.”
