by Jerry Dubs
“He didn’t leave it, it was taken by force,” he said indignantly.
Hetephernebti kept her expression impassive.
“And your guards found this,” Djefi held up the still damp boxer-briefs. “He was wearing it. It was found at the pathway that leads to area where the pilgrims are encamped. I suggest you have the encampment searched.”
Hetephernebti shook her head.
“They are my guests. No one was injured. Show me the injury if there was one. If not, then I will not search the pilgrims. The celebration is a time of peace and harmony, not distrust.”
“Perhaps in Iunu you don’t find it alarming when a stranger attacks a group of sleeping pilgrims, your guests,” Djefi said.
“Dear Djefi,” she answered. “I am not making light of this. But truly, there was no harm done, except that this man was disrobed unexpectedly. You are intact. I am sorry that your slumbers were interrupted.”
“He spoke a foreign tongue,” Yunet said.
“Foreign?”
“Unheard of before.”
“Why, I wonder, did he approach you?” Hetephernebti looked at Diane, standing just behind Yunet. Djefi had not trusted leaving her unattended.
Hetephernebti knew much more than Djefi suspected she knew, but she wanted to see how the priest would answer, what secrets he was willing to keep.
“It is your temple,” Djefi answered. “I don’t know why people do things here.”
Hetephernebti nodded thoughtfully, trying to show Djefi that she took his fears seriously.
“I’ll ask the guards to look for him. I am very sorry your rest was interrupted. I am sure that when I place myself in your hospitality next month, I will be more secure.”
Tim’s first meeting with Meryt had been entirely by chance.
Shortly after Tim had emerged from the tomb and had begun to live with Paneb’s family, Hetephernebti began to hear rumors of a god walking among men in the city of Ineb-Hedj. Although she had stayed in Iunu to prepare for the Feast of Re in His Barge, she had sent two young priests to the city to track down the rumors and the netjer who had chosen to live among them.
The priests sent word to her that they had missed him because the god had departed Ineb-Hedj to travel to Iunu for the feast. So Hetephernebti sent Meryt and two other priestesses out each day to meet pilgrims from Ineb-Hedj and to see if there was a strange god among them.
When Meryt had seen Tim’s underclothing as he waded across the river, she had known that he was the stranger. When she heard him speak with his awkward accent, she was sure.
Hetephernebti had asked Meryt to watch the strange god during the festival and to help him with anything he needed. And so Meryt had been watching from the tunnel as Tim stealthily crossed the hidden footbridge to talk with Diane. She had seen him dive into the water and swim to the tunnel entrance and she had planted his boxer-briefs farther up the trail to confuse the pursuing guards.
After she and Tim had entered the temple grounds, she had asked how she could help him. He had told her about Diane and Brian, saying that they had come from a distant land. He had said that Djefi had taken Brian and Diane to To-She and that he wanted to find and help them.
When Tim fell asleep, exhausted from the excitement of the day, Meryt had met with Hetephernebti, telling the high priestess what she had seen at the plaza and everything Tim had told her.
Hetephernebti was King Djoser's sister. Although she lacked his ruthlessness, she had his political sense. She knew that although knowledge wasn’t always power, it was often the difference between life and death. And so she gathered information, collecting facts and rumors, even keeping track of the travels of other priests and members of Djoser’s royal circle.
The long famine that had afflicted the Two Lands since her brother had declared himself divine was not life threatening, even in the worst years there was enough food to survive. But not enough to flourish.
The feast she had just provided had nearly drained her supplies. She and her overseer of the temple granaries knew how depleted the surplus was, but she refused to allow the diminishing stocks to affect her.
Re would provide!
The farmers and the townspeople had food every day. True, the supplies of wheat were diminished and there was less barley for beer, but there were fish in the river and ducks and geese along its banks.
The discontent, Hetephernebti knew, was coming from those closer to Djoser: the priests, the governors of the nomes, even members of her brother’s royal court. During times of plenty they lived nearly as well as the king. But now, even though there was less throughout the land, Djoser insisted that the tributes sent to the royal house remain the same. And rightly so, she thought. Were he to expect less it would be an admission that the country was diminished.
However, the governors and mayors, who were closer to the people, received less in taxation and knew that they could not raise taxes without protests from the landowners on whom they depended. And so they were caught in a squeeze: They received less but Djoser expected them to contribute as much to the royal granaries.
There had been more travel along the great river Iteru than usual this season. Priests and officials were visiting each other so often Hetephernebti wondered how they had time to fulfill their duties. She knew that they were not being more sociable; they were comparing notes on the mood of the people, perhaps even plotting.
She knew that Djefi had traveled to Waset at the same time that Kanakht had gone there to visit Waja-Hur. Now Djefi was keeping secrets about two strange visitors, perhaps gods themselves, perhaps assassins from a foreign land, unafraid to plunge a knife into a divine body.
She couldn’t interrogate Djefi or those who were with him, but she did have one of the strangers with her now. Was he a god, as some claimed, or something else?
Abandoned
Growing up, Brian believed everyone thought he was stupid.
Always large for his age, he was constantly outgrowing his comfort, consistently clumsy, forever apologizing for knocking something over or breaking something or bumping into someone.
Tired of apologizing, he had withdrawn. It was easier to nod his head and just walk away, listening to the scolding turn into an angry distant buzz. After his father had abandoned the family, Brian tried to do things for his mother, but they always came out wrong. He burned eggs when he tried to make her a birthday breakfast and she had made him eat them while she told him he was “stupid, stupid, stupid.” He tried to pry open a stuck window for her and drove his hand through the glass. He quit trying.
His middle school gym teacher was the first to understand.
When Brian couldn’t throw a softball as hard or as far as the weakest, scrawniest girl in class, the teacher blew his whistle to quiet Brian’s jeering classmates and ordered them to run laps if they had so much energy. Brian had been mortified. He expected to be scolded by the teacher now, asked to explain why he couldn’t do something so elementary as throwing a ball.
But the teacher didn’t ridicule him. Instead he asked Brian if he would have time to help him coach an elementary-school baseball team.
At first Brian thought it was a joke, some trick to embarrass him further. But the teacher seemed sincere and Brian was so hungry for positive attention that he was willing to risk trusting this stranger.
They met after school and the teacher began by telling Brian that he was going to teach him how to instruct the little kids how to throw properly. Brian knew that he was really the one being instructed, but he pretended to go along with the teacher’s charade.
Surprisingly, the throwing motion came to him naturally and quickly. His body growth had slowed and suddenly he could control his long arms and legs. His tosses quickly grew stronger and more accurate. They continued to work together and by springtime, the gym teacher told him that he should try out for the baseball team.
The baseball coach and gym teacher were good friends. As he had talked less and less at home and school, Brian ha
d become unconsciously adept at reading body language. Now, as he watched the two men talk, he saw that there was more than friendship between them. Something in the eyes of the baseball coach seemed sad when he talked with the gym teacher; the way he stood near him seemed protective.
Brian made the team and quickly became a power pitcher, called on for the must-win games. The coach stayed late after practices to teach him to hit and as his batting became more reliable and powerful he became the team’s third baseman on days he didn’t pitch. The gym teacher came to all the games.
Quiet and modest, Brian was a natural leader, someone who led by example. Knowing what it felt like, he was careful to never mock an infielder who booted a grounder behind him or an outfielder who threw to the wrong base. When he did speak, it was always supportive.
He made his first group of friends and he was determined not to lose them.
When the gym teacher died the following fall of leukemia, Brian understood the sadness in the coach’s eyes; he had known that his friend was dying. Brian thought about the friendship and loyalty that the coach had shown, allowing his dying friend to live out his days doing as much as he felt he could do, living fully until the end.
Through high school and college Brian grew as a powerful athlete. He was driven, willing to work hard to learn new skills. Because of his size and strength and talent he was always expected to be a leader. He took the role seriously, studying other athletes who were viewed as leaders. He copied the quiet, supportive style of those he admired, avoiding the caustic, screaming styles of others.
And he always found comfort in losing himself in his team.
His team now was a small group of hunters.
The morning after his audience with Djefi, Pahket had awakened him as usual, but she had seemed quieter. He hadn’t known enough Egyptian to ask her about her mood, but he had an uneasy feeling that she was doing something against her will.
He had asked about Diane. She had smiled and nodded, but didn’t tell him anything.
After they had eaten, she had led him outside where Siamun and three other men, two barely out of their teens and the third, an older man, were waiting. They each had a leather sling over their shoulder and carried a short spear. Siamun also had his knife tucked in his linen belt. A fifth sling had lain on the ground. Brian had pulled it on, surprised by its weight. From the sloshing motion he had known that it contained a skin of water.
“Diane?” he had asked Siamun.
He had smiled in answer, but there was no humor in it.
Brian had turned to Pahket to ask her what to do. Her head had been down, her eyes on the ground.
“Go with him, Netjer Brian. It is the way to see Diane,” she had said.
Brian had looked at Siamun and the three other men. He had been sure that they were not taking him to see Diane, but he refused to believe that Pahket would quietly hand him over to an execution squad. Although he didn’t like Siamun, he didn’t know what choice he had. He didn't plan to fight four armed men.
If Pahket said this was a way for him to see Diane, then he would follow it through. He would see this to the end and somehow find her.
They had seemed restless, eager to leave. After Brian had picked up the sling, Siamun spoke in Egyptian, too fast for him to follow. Then he had turned and started to walk away, the men following him.
They wound through the village, away from the canal, headed for the orchard. On the other side of the grove, they took an overgrown path that led past a hut Brian hadn’t seen before.
They came to the edge of the oasis and kept walking. The trail became less and less distinct as they left the scrub grass at the edge of To-She and entered the desert.
He suspected that Siamun was taking him along trails that normally were not used, following paths that were steep, terrain that was hard to climb. But Brian was used to sports hazing and his twenty-first century diet and conditioning made him stronger and more durable than Siamun and the hunters.
On the third day out, they crept up on a water hole where a small herd of antelope was drinking.
Siamun paired Brian with Neswy, the oldest man of the group who was always lagging behind the others, insulted by Siamun for his weakness. Although Siamun showed the old man no respect, Brian had seen the others lighten Neswy’s load when Siamun wasn’t looking, even skimping on their water rations, offering some to Neswy.
Siamun placed them behind a boulder along the trail the antelope had followed to reach the water hole. Siamun and the others would circle around the herd and flush them into the ambush. If the hunt were unsuccessful, it would be because he and Neswy had failed. Brian understood that Siamun had put the weakest, Neswy, and the least experienced, himself, in the most critical position. He was setting them up for failure.
Leaning against the boulder, seeking shade, Neswy looked hopefully at Brian. He held his spear in a hand that Brian saw was quivering, either from fatigue or fear of Siamun.
The other men slowly circled the water hole, moving slowly, testing the still air for any movement. They separated as they went, spacing themselves around the small herd, leaving the area by the trail open.
Neswy gripped and re-gripped his spear, peering around the boulder to see the antelopes, and then leaning back against the rock, breathed deeply.
Brian approached him, careful to stay low so the antelopes wouldn’t see him. When Neswy looked at him, Brian patted his open hand against his chest, and then shook the spear slightly. Neswy looked puzzled.
Brian hit his chest again and mimicked tossing the spear. Then he motioned for Neswy to step aside. Neswy nodded his understanding and moved aside to make room for Brian.
Brian listened for a moment, then slid down onto his belly to peer around the boulder. The antelopes were still drinking. Occasionally one would lift its head, its ears turning to scan for sounds.
He stood in the shadow of the rock and waited for the others to flush the game.
Brian knew it would be very hard to time a throw as the antelopes went streaking and leaping past, so he decided to wait until the antelopes were close and then to step out from behind the rock, shouting to get their attention. He hoped they would attempt to veer away from him, presenting him a larger target with a side view for a frozen moment.
He wished he could talk to Neswy and ask his advice; the older man certainly had a store of experience. It was frustrating to be placed in this situation. He wondered if Neswy felt the same way, if he understood that both of them were being tested.
There was a subtle shifting in the light as the edge of the sun touched the western horizon. With it came shouting as the other three hunters, having crawled as close as they could to the drinking antelopes, rose up and charged toward the watering hole.
Brian listened hard for the sound of the small herd clattering his way. Their small hooves made hardly any sound on the soft trail, but he heard the animals breathing heavily, snorting as they rushed toward him.
A stillness came over him now, the same focused feeling that enveloped him on those rare days when as a batter he could see the pitcher’s grip on the baseball as he whipped his arm forward, when he could see the stitching on the ball as it spun toward home plate and he knew, positively knew, that he would swing the bat at the right angle and time and speed to meet the ball squarely.
Nothing else existed.
He stepped out from behind the boulder, unafraid and confident.
The antelopes were much larger than he expected, and moving quickly. In his own time, apart from the pace that existed everywhere else in the universe, Brian saw the eyes on the lead antelope widen as it registered his presence. He saw its nostrils flare as it gulped in air. The hairs on its ears waved in the breeze it generated during its long leap.
The antelope’s right shoulder twitched as it started to turn in midair, then it shuddered again as the animal twisted back to head directly for Brian.
The others in the herd scattered away, springing off to the north, away
from the trail.
The lead animal seemed to float now, its head coming low as it aimed its short spiked horns at Brian. Its front hooves hit the sandy trail, kicking up a spray of dirt and sand. Its front shoulders flexed, the muscles tightening as it launched itself forward. The antelope’s back legs hit a fraction of a second later, and kicking back added more speed to its movement.
Brian stood his ground, his weight forward on the balls of is feet, his body relaxed, his mind clear of thought as he waited until the antelope was completely airborne. He could smell the animal now, its earthy, musky scent carrying the heavy sound of its panting.
Suddenly it was on him, its horns so close and clear he could see the twisted pattern of their growth. He moved now, leaning smoothly, his left knee bending as if he were leaning away from an inside fastball.
Gripping his spear with both hands, like a baseball bat, he twisted down and away from the antelope, swinging the spear parallel to the ground, his wrists snapping it forward just before the wooden shaft struck the antelope’s oncoming front legs.
The spear shaft shattered. The antelope pitched forward, unable to stop its forward fall.
The world returned to its normal speed.
Brian pushed off with his flexed left leg, propelling himself forward as if moving from a catcher’s stance. Dust flew up from the trail as the antelope hit the ground hard, its lungs emptying with a loud grunt.
Neswy charged out from behind the boulder, his spear raised overhead, both hands gripping the shaft as he ran toward the fallen animal. Brian threw himself at the antelope’s head, determined to keep it still until Neswy could reach it.
He wrapped his arms around the animal and heard himself whisper quietly to it, as if to a frightened colt. The antelope recovered from its fall and began to kick and twist, trying to escape his grip.
Neswy reached them and pushed his spear into the antelope’s ribs, aiming for its heart.
