Imhotep

by Jerry Dubs

  A priestess, dressed in an ankle-length gown of the sheerest linen, seemed to float by, the crowd opening a path for her and the two little girls who walked in front of her strewing flower petals on the ground. She was followed by an acrobat who turned somersaults and walked on his hands.

  “Father,” Ahmes said, tugging at Paneb’s arm. “Did you see the priestess?”

  Paneb turned to look where his son was pointing.

  “You’ll see plenty more of them tomorrow,” Jarha said.

  Paneb and Ahmes looked at the graceful figure as she disappeared in the crowd. Then they looked at each other and smiled.

  Even though the pilgrims left their camp outside Iunu before dawn the following day, when they reached the central plaza they found a crowd already gathering. Torches lined the walls of the plaza and the central canal casting flickering light over the sleepy faces of the pilgrims.

  In the center of the plaza, the electrum-covered obelisk gathered and reflected light from the torches, gleaming with an otherworldly brightness. Some of the crowd knelt facing the obelisk, reciting prayers to the sun god. Others stood in small groups talking and laughing, a few were already by the beer jars.

  Standing by Paneb, Tim searched the crowd for Diane and Brian. He hoped that Brian’s height and Diane’s red hair would make them easy to spot, even if they were dressed in native kilts as he was.

  Paneb noticed Tim scanning the crowd. He pointed toward an open area across the canal from them, near the obelisk where several white-garbed girls stood with palm branches in their hands.

  “Djefi will be there,” he said.

  He shrugged in response to Tim’s unspoken question. “I asked Jarha.”

  Young girls wearing garlands of flowers and the white robes of Re's priestesses began to walk along the walls of the plaza extinguishing the torches. Others attended to the torches along the canal, leaving lit only the circular stand of torches around the base of the obelisk.

  The plaza hushed into near darkness.

  “There is Djefi,” Paneb said quietly, nudging Tim and pointing across the canal.

  An extremely fat man sat on a chair that had been carried out to the canal. Beside him stood a strikingly beautiful Egyptian woman. She wore a white sheath with a single strap over her right shoulder. Pink flowers formed a crown around dark braided hair that fell to her shoulders.

  And beside her, holding her hand, was Diane.

  She was dressed as an Egyptian with a thin linen dress and white sandals. She wore the same make-up as the woman beside her, but her bright red hair stood out even in the dim morning light.

  As Tim wondered how he would make contact with her and where Brian was, a dry rattling sound began to steal across the plaza as two lines of priestesses, twisting sistrums in their hands, appeared at the opening of the canal.

  Everyone turned toward the sound, which now was joined by lyrical chanting. The priestesses walked along the canal until they lined the length of it. Then they knelt and continued to softly sing praises to Re. Some of devout in the crowd joined in the song.

  Two men, wearing masks shaped into the head of a ram, complete with curled horns, emerged from the covered causeway, walking in the waist-deep water of the canal. Gold colored ropes draped over their wide shoulders were attached to a barge, which they pulled from the darkness. As the barge came into view, sunlight broke over the horizon lighting the plaza with a rosy glow.

  Some of the crowd cheered, others began to sing louder. Tim saw that Taki and Dedi had their eyes closed, their faces turned toward the rising sun as they sang the words of Re’s litany. Hapu had been hoisted to her father’s shoulders. She was wide-eyed, taking in the spectacle, as was Ahmes, who stood between Tim and Paneb. Even Jarha was quiet, his eyes agleam as he watched the progression.

  The barge held three young girls, each with a golden tray of flower petals. They tossed small handfuls of the petals from the barge, some of them landing in the water, others reaching the banks of the canal where young boys and girls darted forward to grab them.

  In the center of the barge stood a polished wooden platform supporting a golden statue of Re, seated on a throne, his hands in his lap, a golden disk encircling his ram’s head.

  Standing behind the god, her hands raised in a protective stance, stood a tall priestess. Her silhouette glowed beneath a transparent pleated gown. As the barge came closer, Tim saw that her skin was covered with powdered gold.

  “Hetephernebti,” Paneb whispered.

  The barge slowly advanced to the central obelisk; two boys trailed it lighting the torches on either side of the canal as it passed. When it reached the central island, the two ram-headed men tied the golden ropes to posts at the base of the obelisk, and then walked to the back of the barge to steady it as Hetephernebti walked from the barge to the obelisk.

  Young boys carried smoldering trays of incense through the crowd and the daylight grew brighter as the sun climbed over the low courtyard walls.

  Suddenly the background hum of the sistrums stopped and Hetephernebti began to sing in a beautiful, clear soprano voice that floated over the crowd as light and warm as sunlight. Even the beer drinkers stopped and watched as she stood before the sacred ark and sang.

  “Homage to thee, O thou who risest in the horizon as Re, thou restest upon law unchangeable and unalterable. Thou passest over the sky, and every face watcheth thee and thy course, for thou hast been hidden from their gaze.

  “Thou dost show thyself at dawn and at eventide day by day. The Sektet boat, wherein is the Majesty, goeth forth with light; thy beams are upon all faces; the number of red and yellow rays cannot be known, nor can thy bright beams be told. The lands of the gods, and the lands of Punt must be seen, ere that which is hidden in thee may be measured.

  “Alone and by thyself thou dost manifest thyself when thou comest into being above Nu. May I advance, even as thou dost advance; may I never cease to go forward as thou never ceasest to go forward, even though it be for a moment; for with strides thou dost in one little moment pass over the spaces which would need millions and millions of years for men to pass over; this thou doest and then thou dost sink to rest.

  “Thou puttest an end to the hours of the night, and thou dost count them, even thou; thou endest them in thine own appointed season, and the earth becometh light. Thou settest thyself therefore before thy handiwork in the likeness of Re when thou risest on the horizon.”

  There was a moment of solemn quietness and then the young priestesses began to shake their sistrums again and the crowd joined in their chant: “Praise to you, oh Re, great of power.”

  As the chanting grew in strength, Hetephernebti walked across the surface of the water, leaving the island for the courtyard. As she approached the crowd, the people fell to their knees. Gently she reached down and touched them, raising them back to their feet, all the while softly singing the litany of Re.

  To Tim’s modern eye she seemed like a combination of a rock star, a super model and the pope. When little children clung to her legs, she smiled and stopped, stooping down to kiss them. Young men were torn between desire and reverence; older men smiled as if at a favorite daughter’s wedding, tears running from their eyes. Girls in the crowd wanted to grow up to be the beautiful Hetephernebti, women adored her purity, her undisguised gentleness and power.

  As she walked the perimeter of the crowd, unhurried and peaceful, but moving steadily, Tim saw men carry baskets from the courtyard entranceways. Some of the baskets were piled with roasted oxen and duck. Other baskets were filled with chickpeas, lettuce, onions and other vegetables, others with heaps of freshly baked bread.

  The aroma of the food began to overtake the scent of the incense and as Hetephernebti, her circuit complete, returned to the obelisk, the chanting ended and the crowd grew quiet.

  “Welcome to the House of Re,” Hetephernebti said.

  “Enjoy his blessings!”

  As Jarha tugged on Paneb’s arm and nodded toward the tables where
jars of beer stood waiting. Tim leaned down and quietly asked Ahmes, “Come with me?”

  Paneb nodded his approval.

  “Take care of him,” he said.

  Tim and Ahmes looked at each other unsure who was to take care of whom. When they realized that they both had the same question in mind, they began to laugh. Paneb saw what they were laughing at.

  “I was talking to both of you,” he said, smiling at the idea of his son taking care of Tim. Although Tim had denied being a god, Paneb saw the way Tim could do anything and the way he understood and looked beyond things. If he’s not a god, Paneb thought, he still is more than a man.

  “They make the beer different here. They add fruit to some of it. And they have wine, made from grapes,” Jarha said to Paneb as he led him away.

  “I know all about wine. I’ve even drawn nobles drinking it.”

  “Ahh, but now you can drink it, Paneb. You’ll draw it so much better, eh?”

  At first Tim and Ahmes just walked among the crowd, taking in the sight of so many people in one place and the sounds of a crowd. Looking at Ahmes, Tim remembered his own excitement as a boy when his parents took him to a small carnival that passed through town.

  They stopped to watch a juggler tossing small gleaming balls that represented Re. The crowd formed a circle to give him room, and as he finished, three acrobats somersaulted into the clearing.

  When they had finished, Tim leaned down to talk to Ahmes.

  “I want to cross the water. Help me find a path.”

  Ahmes looked at him questioningly. Priests and nobles had their own gathering place on the other side of the canal that divided the courtyard, apart from the commoners. Each side was supplied with food and drink. There wasn’t any reason for either side to cross the canal.

  But Tim had seen Hetephernebti on both sides of the water, so he knew there had to be a dry way across. And that was where Diane was.

  As they walked along the canal edge, Tim tried to observe her without drawing attention to himself. She seemed to be enjoying herself, drinking wine and allowing the strikingly beautiful woman with the pink flower tiara to feed her fruit and bread from a tray held by a young boy.

  She reclined on a low wooden divan, her head resting on the lap of her companion who was idly caressing Diane’s bare shoulders. The black woman drank from a golden goblet and occasionally helped Diane raise her head to drink from it also.

  They were watching an elderly harp player who played for them, accompanied by two young girls who sang softly while rattling sistrums. From the looks on their faces, Tim guessed that the heat and wine and soothing music would soon have them asleep.

  There was no sign of Brian.

  Near the women, the fat priest Djefi sat in a cushioned chair, eating and drinking steadily. A line of boys carried jars of beer and platters of food to him. Although he had an eye on the musicians, Tim thought the priest looked preoccupied by something, casting glances at Diane and then looking off into the distance. Whatever was bothering the priest of Sobek, it didn’t seem to interfere with his drinking.

  Tim remembered tomb paintings of religious festivals. In addition to the priests and the musicians, they often showed nobles actually throwing up from drinking so much. It was clear that the party around him was heading in that direction.

  “Tim,” Ahmes said. “There.”

  He nodded toward the island in the center of the canal where the gleaming statue of Re sat on its barge.

  At first Tim didn’t see what Ahmes meant, then the boy looked pointedly at the edge of the island and Tim saw it: A walkway, submerged just below the water line, led from the island across the canal to the courtyard. The walkway was painted blue so that it was almost invisible.

  He remembered now how Hetephernebti had seemed to walk across the water at the beginning of the ceremony.

  His attention was drawn from the walkway by loud voices just behind him and Ahmes. Two men, fueled by beer and full bellies, were arguing over a small black statute of Horus. Tim couldn’t understand their slurred words, but from their tone, he knew where it was heading.

  The crowd around them began to edge away, forming a circle. The men threw off their kilts and began to circle each other. Instead of trying to stop the fight, the crowd began to cheer them on. They had no weapons, and judging from their sluggish movements, Tim doubted that they would be able to do each other too much harm.

  Ahmes edged closer to the opening of the circle to watch the men. Tim thought to pull him away, but saw that other young boys were at the front of the crowd, eager to see the excitement.

  The men continued to circle both of them talking loudly. Tim didn’t understand them, but assumed it was the same kind of trash talk he would have heard back in the twenty-first century.

  Suddenly one of the men rushed the other, his arms wide to grab him. The other man, short and stockier, tried to dodge him, but moved too slowly. They collided and fell to the ground. Tim heard the air rush from them as they landed.

  There was no movement from the two men for a moment and Tim was surprised to feel disappointment that the fight was already over. Then the stocky man farted loudly, bringing a laugh from the crowd. He pushed up on his skinny opponent and swung a leg up into the air for leverage.

  With a loud snort and more breaking of wind, he managed to push the skinny man off to the side and began to swivel slowly around him. The thin man, his legs spread wide for balance, pushed hard, but was slowly losing the struggle to remain on top.

  Now the crowd began to shout at the fighters. The muscles on the heavier man’s neck pulled tight as he pushed hard. The thinner man, fighting to keep his vanishing advantage, tried to dig his toes into the hard dirt.

  The heavier man grunted and pushed hard, edging sideways in the dirt. The thin man, pushing down, suddenly found himself staring at the empty ground as the other fighter swiveled on top of him.

  The thin man fell face down in the dust as the stocky man swung on top and straddled him. The winner sat on the other man’s bare buttocks and bounced up and down, his arms in the air, and shouted his happiness as he celebrated his victory.

  Some in the crowd cheered, others laughed. A few waved their hands in disappointment at the short match and turned to walk away.

  The winner stood and extended his hand to the loser, helping him up from the ground. Another man stepped out of the crowd with a jar of beer and handed it to the winner, who passed it along to his opponent with a comment that Tim couldn’t hear. They both laughed and walked over to where their kilts lay on the ground.

  As they walked away Tim thought about a bar fight he had seen while he was in college, six years ago and five thousand years in the future.

  There had been so much more anger and frustration in that fight. This had been a wrestling match, intense and strenuous, but the point had been to master someone, not hurt them. The fight he had seen in college had started as an argument over a spilled drink and ended with a man sprawled unconscious in the gravel parking lot behind the bar. The men had started with the same circling and verbal taunting. But instead of wrestling, they had turned their fists on each other.

  Tim had stood paralyzed among the small crowd that watched. He had wanted to stop the fight, but both men were larger than he was and he had been afraid that he would become a target. The crowd itself had had a blood fever about it, eager to see serious violence.

  Egged on by the crowd, the men had swung white-knuckled fists at each other until one’s wild hook caught the other in his throat. The man had clutched his neck and fallen to his knees unable to breathe. The other had circled behind and kicked him in the kidneys, sending him sprawling over the stones. Then he had stood over him and kicked and kicked, lifting the loser’s inert body off the ground over and over until the crowd turned away in disgust.

  Tim thought about road rage, school shootings, drive-by shootings and other violence from his time when strangers unleashed their anger and pain on people they didn’t know.r />
  Are people more violent in my time or are there just better weapons and more opportunities? More tension? More frustration?

  He thought about the horrors of the Inquisition and the evolution of torture, the advances in weapons from sharper, harder metals to gunpowder and guns and on to nuclear bombs and chemical warfare. There was a steady increase in the destruction man was willing and able to inflict. But there were advances in medicine and agriculture, too. And a greater awareness of the needs of people throughout the world, and even of the pain suffered by some animals. The cute ones, he thought.

  The advances in the ability to kill are just the normal march of progress that also led to new ways to help and save people. And no doubt, he thought, there are people alive here in the distant past, who would welcome the ability to overcome their enemies more thoroughly.

  The pace of life here is slower and people aren’t taught to measure their worth by the size of their television screen or their four-wheel-drive. Lives aren’t driven by clocks and multi-tasking doesn’t exist. There’s no need for it. Although their lives are simple and they don’t have much compared to people from my time, he thought, this life seems like a vacation.

  He was left with a central question: Are people less violent here in the past, or are there simply fewer irritations and less need to vent tension and frustration?

  He looked around at the crowd with different eyes.

  This wasn’t a romantic fantasy-land that he had wandered into. These were real people, capable of as much love and as much violence as his neighbors back home. They felt hunger, they grew old, and they died, usually in fewer than forty years. They started their adult lives early with marriage, work and childbirth and while they didn’t face the frustrations of corporate America, they were subject to the whims of the king and depended on the annual harvest for survival.

  Right now, he knew, the harvest was uncertain.

  He didn’t know about King Djoser.