by Jerry Dubs
He sighed, and I saw tears form in his eyes.
“I have been blessed to know such wonderful people. That’s why I choose to believe in Khert-Neter,” he said. “I know that Imhotep had no patience for ideas that were not founded on facts. But, Suti, what a shame it would be if these wonderful spirits — Bata, Imhotep, Akila, my Maya, my Neferhotep — should exist for only a few years and then — what? — vanish like rising smoke? It breaks my heart.
“We have so few years, Suti. I know your future lies before you, long and mysterious as a winding river road, but all too soon you will find that your feet are approaching the end of the road.”
My thoughts flew to Queen Merti.
How I longed to be by her side and to travel that long road at her side. We could honor her oath; we could respect her vow to Pharaoh Thutmose. We could caress each other with words and glances.
(But would we — like Ma’at with her scales — weigh the certain pleasure of the moment against an uncertain afterlife? I knew which side of the scale I would favor. Then I felt shame at my selfishness. How could I endanger Queen Merti’s immortal ka with my desires? No, I told myself, I must always be strong. After all, I told myself, my greatest desire is for her happiness. My strength would flow from that desire.)
Pentu had stopped speaking to me while my thoughts had flown ahead to the palace roof and the meeting I would have tonight with Queen Merti.
“I’m sorry, Suti,” Pentu said. “Old men too often talk of the past with regret. Although while we live those moments, we certainly believe we have chosen the right path.”
He stood now and pulled his shoulders back.
“You haven’t told me what you told Pharaoh Thutmose, so I assume that you presented Thoth’s words in confidence. I certainly understand keeping secrets,” he said, a smile on his face. He leaned forward and touched the broken staff.
“Imhotep would never leave his staff behind, unless he no longer had need of it.” Shaking his head, Pentu said, “Keep it, Suti. Perhaps you will find the other half.”
Then he said, “If you find it, remember, Lord Imhotep never liked sand.”
***
Re released his grip on the palace garden, and the shadows, no longer distinct, began to blend together.
Standing in the gentle darkness, waiting for a sign from Ipu, I felt a tingle around my injured ear, as if ants were biting me. The bandage Pentu had wrapped around my head was secure, so I chose to imagine that the feeling was the flesh reattaching my ear to my head. Lowering my hand, I touched my throat. After examining the burn scars, Pentu had told me that they would fade over time, but that it would always look as if an unseen hand was at my throat.
Remembering that the fiery mark had persuaded Pharaoh Thutmose that I was a Bennu bird, I wondered if the scar had lain beneath my skin all my life and had needed the touch of the dying Medjay to reveal itself.
A bird rustled the leaves overhead as it settled into its nest.
The bird shook its wings again, this time with a snake-like hissing sound.
Looking up through the leaves of the tree, I saw Ipu staring at me, her lips curved in an impatient frown.
***
Queen Merti had changed.
She sat on a stool as she had the last time I had met her on the roof, but instead of resting upon a bare wooden seat, she sat now on a cushion embroidered with threads of silver and gold.
Her beautiful eyes, always honest and open, were hidden now behind swaths of green kohl and accented with dark lines painted where her delicate eyebrows had once graced her wide forehead.
Her cheeks, once alive with her breath and radiant with her smile, were drawn now, as if life had drained from within, and they were tinted with the pink of roses, adding false color to the beautiful sand color of her skin.
Her wrists were weighted with silver bracelets. Her head was covered with a formal black wig, the tips of the woven strands ending in golden caps. A red-dyed strand of linen wound about her head, announcing to me that I was no longer in the presence of a young girl, far from her homeland.
No! I was standing now before the incarnation of Isis, great wife of Osiris, mother of Horus, queen of Khert-Neter.
Without thought, I sank to my knees and bowed my head.
I heard an indistinct whisper, and then Ipu said, “You may rise, Scribe Suti.”
Raising my head, I saw that Ipu was standing beside Queen Merti, her head tilted toward the queen.
“Greetings, Queen Merti — long life!” I said, rising to my feet.
Queen Merti turned her head to Ipu and whispered.
Unable to hear her words, I frowned angrily at the bandage that covered my ear. I turned my head to aim my uninjured ear at them, but the whispered exchange remained too soft for me to hear.
Looking back at them, I saw Ipu shake her head, and then, frowning, she bowed in submission. The girl took a small step away from the queen and then looked at her, her eyes questioning. With a small nod, Queen Merti dismissed her.
With a worried face turned to me, Ipu walked toward the stairs that led to the roof. Reaching the opening that led to the palace, Ipu stopped, and, stamping her foot in disapproval, she turned her back to the queen.
“I am not to be alone,” Queen Merti said, the sound of her voice filling my heart with joy, her words sending a thrill through me.
As I searched for an answer, she said, “Pharaoh Thutmose has decided that I am to remain pure.”
“You are pure,” I said quickly. “You heart is light, your ka is pure. Your deeds are unblemished, your words are the essence of ma’at.”
“No,” she said. “Don’t be like that, Suti. We are to be honest with each other. Remember?”
I bowed my head.
“Forgive me,” I said, my words stumbling over my heart. “I saw your royal robe, the red linen band of Isis, the silver on your arms, and I thought that you had changed and that I must be your courtier.”
“What happened to your ear, Suti?” she asked, moving past my apology.
“I tracked Kebu beyond the first cataract to the city of Kerma, Queen Merti. The police chief there was a bandit. He captured me and started to cut off my ears. Kebu saved me.”
“I am sorry, Suti,” she said, her voice breaking.
“No, Queen Merti. I am fine. When the knife began to cut into me, I thought of you. With my love for you filling my heart, there was no room for pain.”
“Love for your queen,” she said softly, firmly.
“Yes, my queen,” I said, reminding myself of the vow I had made to use my love as armor to protect Queen Merti’s ka.
“And your throat? I heard rumors that Re touched you, that you were reborn in fire.”
“I set fire to a giant Medjay. He wrapped a burning hand around my throat.” I offered a smile to lighten my words. I waved a hand. “My injuries are slight, Queen Merti. What did you mean about remaining pure?”
“The gods have tortured my husband,” she said. “They haven’t cut his ear or burned his throat, but they had driven knives into his heart. His son was taken. Queen Satiah followed her son to Khert-Neter. Now my sister has disappeared. I know that you haven’t found her, Suti. Pharaoh Thutmose visited me this afternoon and he told me.”
“No,” I said quickly, “but…”
“I understand, Suti,” she said, her voice sad. “My husband explained it to me.”
I lowered my head. Each time she mentioned her husband, I felt a pain sharper than the pain I had felt when my ear was cut.
I told myself: He is her husband and he is lord of the Two Lands. But the words fell on an angry heart.
“He said that you told him that Father Ptah took my sister. Is that true?” she asked.
I lowered my head, unsure what to say.
She interpreted my movement as agreement.
“My husband said that you told him that she felt no pain. He said that I will see her again when I rest from life. But I must keep my heart light,” Queen M
erti said, speaking to herself more than to me.
“But your heart is light,” I insisted, taking the blame of our single kiss onto my heart alone.
“My husband said that Father Ptah took Queen Menwi and then Amun took Prince Amenemhat. Then Queen Satiah followed her son.”
Queen Merti began to cry and the sound broke my heart. I edged closer to her and hesitantly reached out a hand to comfort her, to comfort myself.
“No,” she said. “Did you not hear me?” she said, her voice breaking. “I am never to touch a man! I am Pharaoh Thutmose’s living offering to the gods. I am to remain at his side, close, but always distant; proof to the gods that he can show restraint; an example and plea to them to leave his other wives and his future children untouched.”
Her words cut into me with greater pain than Mahu’s knife.
I thought: My words have driven Pharaoh Thutmose to do this. Queen Merti will never lie with a man. She will never feel a life grow within her. She will never hold a baby to her breast.
I looked on my queen with love and shame and guilt.
“I understand,” I said, wondering if words existed that could bring her comfort.
She drew a deep breath.
“Suti,” she said, her voice that of the girl who had leaned close to me in the garden of Men-Nefer and on this very rooftop. “My husband is right. My actions will preserve ma’at. I will protect my older sister. He said that I will be Isis, mother of the Two Lands.”
She stood now, stepping close to me.
“I do not regret our last visit. It means more to me now, knowing that it can never happen again,” she said, her wet eyes bright in the star light. “Your lips will always be the only ones that mine will ever touch, your breath the only breath that I ever will share.”
I fought to breathe, fought to keep my eyes from blurring with tears.
“I wish…,” her mouth said soundlessly.
“Each night in my dreams I will hold…,” I began to answer, but she shook her head.
“We cannot say the words,” Queen Merti said.
As our eyes held each other in a distant embrace, I said, “My ka is yours, my queen. My hands, my heart, my mind, my thoughts. They are yours. They will always obey your command.”
“And we will always be friends?” she said, her words a soft, fearful question.
“Always,” I answered, bowing my head to hide my tears.
***
I stood there on the roof, my ba resigning itself to longing and solitude, until her footsteps disappeared.
I stood there as my desire curled into a thorny nest and died.
I stood there and made a vow that on some distant day the desire I felt for Queen Merti would be permitted, like the Bennu bird, to burst into flames and return to life.
And then, with my heart cradling the love I would carry all my life, I descended to the walled garden.
My First Secret
“I don’t think I’ll ever like boats,” Pairy said as we disembarked in Men-Nefer after five days of sailing downriver from Waset.
“At least there weren’t any rocks,” Turo said as he and Pairy bounced on the balls of their feet, stretching legs that they had seldom used during the voyage. “And we didn’t have to row,” he added, swinging his arms to loosen his shoulders.
With my thoughts lingering on the palace roof, I stamped my feet on the wooden pier, reminding myself that I had not completed my journey. From here I would ride to Megiddo and report to Lord Amenhotep. Only then could I return to Waset and be near Queen Merti again.
Gripping the broken staff of Lord Imhotep that hung from my shoulder, I turned to Pairy and Turo. “I must visit Hut-ka-Ptah. It shouldn’t take long. Will you come with me?”
As the charioteers nodded, I smiled; their easy loyalty soothed my aching heart.
“When we leave here we will be on chariots rather than boats. I’ll find a handful of pebbles,” I said, offering them a smile.
***
It was midafternoon, and, as if he were determined to remind the Two Lands that he was watching over them while the flood waters swirled over the fields and ate the mudbricks of homes built too close to the river, Re was radiating a bright white glare.
It was a heavy heat that wearied the trees. It raised steam from buckets of water. It sent donkeys to the shade and it chased children from the dusty streets.
It made us eager to reach the shade of the temple, and so we leaned into our steps and hurried through the city.
As we approached the tall pylon, the beer seller who had a stand beneath a striped canopy by the side of the road waved to us.
Smelling the beer, the charioteers changed direction, pulling me with them.
A short man with thin arms and a round, vaguely familiar face stood in the canopy shadow. Several wide-mouthed pots sat in a water-filled trough against a back wall made of linen.
“Suti?” he said. “You are Suti, aren’t you?”
“He is scribe to Lord Amenhotep,” Pairy said, stepping protectively in front of me while Turo moved to the side and looked at the pots of beer.
“Yes, I am Suti,” I said.
“I am Tutu, brother of Huy, the midwife,” the beer seller said.
Hearing the midwife’s name, my eyes saw the resemblance in the man’s face. I turned my attention to his eyes and saw the same intelligence and playfulness there that lived within Huy.
Extending an arm in greeting, I said, “Hello, Tutu. I am pleased to meet you. I was hoping to see Huy. Is she in the temple?”
“She is,” he said. “And she is eager to see you as well.”
Pairy had joined Turo by the beer pots at the back of the shaded shelter. Seeing my eyes turn to the charioteers, Tutu turned to look at them.
“Why don’t you each have a cup of beer?” he said.
As I opened my leather bag to find a piece of silver to pay him, Tutu put a hand on my arm. “I doubt if you’ll have anything small enough to pay for the beer,” he said, his mouth turning to the same wise smile that Huy often displayed.
“We are willing to drink as much as it takes,’ Turo said, bending to pick up a wooden cup.
I retrieved a half deben from the bag and handed it to Tutu.
“Pairy and Turo can wait here while I visit the temple,” I said, turning to go.
“No, no,” Tutu said, taking the piece of silver. “Wait here with them,” he said. “I’ll fetch Huy. She wants to talk with you away from the temple’s ever-listening walls.”
***
“I never thought to ask her where she was from. I only wanted to be sure she had enough milk. She told me she had nursed a newborn infant for a week, and her breasts were tight and full. And they were,” Huy told me after she had joined us beneath the warm shade of her brother’s beer stand.
I shook my head. “Who? Who are you talking about?”
“Maia,” Huy said, then laughed. “I am sorry, Suti. I was so eager to tell you the ending, I forgot to tell the beginning.”
Pairy and Turo, already drinking their third cups of beer — I wondered if I should offer Tutu more payment — shuffled over to stand with us.
Huy raised her head to them and nodded. “You must have strong stomachs to drink my brother’s beer,” she said, winking at them so that her brother did not see.”
“It is wonderful beer!” Pairy said, raising the cup to salute Tutu.
“No doubt the best you’ve had today,” Tutu said, laughing, apparently accustomed to his sister’s gibes.
“The wet-nurse,” I prompted.
“Yes,” Huy said, wiping her mouth with the underside of her arm. “Lord Useramen came to me the day you left. He said his cousin knew of a woman who needed a wet-nurse.”
“I thought Lord Useramen had fathered a child,” Tutu said.
Huy rolled her eyes. “I found a wet-nurse for him; women who have lost infants often come to me. Well, the wet-nurse and Ahset became friends and she told Ahset that she came here from Gaza. I
remember that you told me that you had searched Gaza for news of Queen Menwi, so I went and talked to the wet-nurse. She became very secretive, Suti,” Huy said. “She said she had promised her — whoever ‘her’ is — that she would not talk about ‘her’ or the infant.
“I can take you to her,” Huy said, raising her eyebrows hopefully.
***
Following Huy, we passed tethered goats, sleeping dogs, geese, and playing children as we wound through the narrow dirt streets of the western suburb of Men-Nefer.
Unlike the wide, straight streets of Waset and of the temple neighborhood of Men-Nefer, this path meandered among trees and past clusters of homes grouped around communal cook fires.
“This reminds me of Badari,” Turo said.
“Badari?” Pairy asked, stopping to pet the head of a small, black-spotted goat. The goat ducked its head and snorted. Backing away from the charioteer, the goat planted its two front hooves and lowered its head. “You ram me and you’ll end up being my dinner,” Pairy said, skipping away from the goat.
“They eat anything. You might end up being his dinner,” Turo said with a laugh.
“You’re from Badari?” Pairy said, turning his attention from the goat, which had decided that a fallen piece of palm bark was more interesting than the charioteer’s retreating legs.
“Yes,” Turo said. “My father was a farmer. A neighbor had a son who worked in the stables. He got kicked in the head one day, and the blow knocked his vision from his eyes. So they came by and asked if I would clean stables. I didn’t really want to move horse shit around all day, but the stables were near the army barracks, and there were always girls hanging around there.”
“Not so many in the fields, eh?” Pairy said.
“During harvest, when we all had to work there,” Turo said, “but the rest of the year they found reasons to linger near the barracks.”
“I’m from Tahta,” Pairy said.
“That’s just upriver,” Turo said. “I never went there. I wouldn’t have left Badari, but it turned out that horses listen to me.” He smiled and shrugged. “So I ended up training horses and then…”
