Imhotep

by Jerry Dubs

  They had walked just a few hours the first day, trailing Siamun and the other hunters, never actually seeing them, but heading in the same direction. When they had reached some rocks, Neswy had asked Brian to stop and set him down in the little shade the boulders cast.

  They had rested there until the sun was almost down, and then resumed the trek, Neswy using the stars to keep them on track. When Brian tired, they stopped, lying in the lee of a large dune, covering themselves with the stiffening hide to shield themselves from the sun.

  The second night, Brian thought Neswy would die.

  The old man had talked constantly in Brian’s ear, nudging him to the right or left if Brian wandered off course. Brian recognized the non-stop chatter as the way Neswy distracted himself from the pain of his shattered knee. As the night wore on, Neswy grew quiet and then started to moan.

  When the moaning became constant, Brian stopped.

  “Neswy?” he said softly.

  Neswy groaned in answer.

  Brian looked down at Neswy’s right knee. Blood had dried over the open wound. The joint was swollen and his lower leg, although held in the makeshift splint, looked a little twisted. Red streaks ran from the knee up his thigh.

  “Stop?” he asked in Egyptian.

  “No,” Neswy answered. He lifted his head from Brian’s shoulder and pointed into the sky. He counted slowly, pointing at a line of three stars. He laid his head back on Brian’s shoulder and softly murmured, “home.”

  Brian studied the sky. He saw the row of brighter stars, the lowest seeming to be the most distant, pointing in the direction he was facing. He looked at the stars surrounding the three, trying to memorize the pattern.

  They just looked like a bunch of flickering points.

  “Goddamn Siamun. I’ll kill you, you motherfucker,” he said quietly.

  Four men were rowing hard, their backs glistening with sweat, as the boat passed Kanakht’s barge on the canal that led to To-She.

  Awakened from a nap by the sound of the men grunting as the boat splashed by, heading away from To-She, Kanakht caught only a blurry glimpse of the figure who sat in the boat’s stern, unprotected from the sun, arms and legs crossed, a dark scowl on his face.

  The boat swept by without the man looking up.

  In the old days, Kanakht thought, when Djoser’s father, King Kha-sekhemwy sat on the throne of The Two Lands, a traveler passing someone along the River Iteru would never have been so rude. News and greetings would have been exchanged, food and drinks offered, and politely refused.

  If someone had passed by like this, the king would have sent a fast boat from his armada to bring the offender back and beat sense into him. He would have carried the reminder to be polite on his broken back the rest of his life. Order was maintained under King Kha-sekhemwy, both within The Two Lands and beyond the borders, where the king’s armies watched over Kemet.

  Kanakht looked across the canal, past the low trees that lined the waterway, off to the golden red desert that lay beyond, that always lay beyond, isolating and protecting The Two Lands. Things are so different since Kha-sekhemwy has gone on to his life in Khert-Neter.

  At times, Kanakht thought it would be good to give up this burden and to follow him to the after world, to join his ancestors, to awake each morning to music and beautiful women, to never feel tired or sad again.

  That time may not be so far off, although old Waja-Hur seems to have taken up permanent residence here in The Two Lands, he thought. But there is so much to do. Not only has Djoser offended the gods bringing year after year of famine to The Two Lands, but he seems ignorant of the very ways of governing Kemet.

  Kha-sekhemwy led his armies and kept the land strong. He gave Kanakht authority to watch over the land, to manage the buildings and the granaries, to collect the tributes from foreign lands and the taxes from within Kemet. He trusted me.

  But Djoser ignores the health of the land. His army has grown weak. Instead he looks over my shoulder, always asking why this is done and why that is done? Do I need to maintain homes in so many cities? Why do the governors of the twelve nomes write to me instead of to him?

  Kanakht sighed deeply, caught himself doing it and scolded himself.

  There is no time for weakness. I will be in To-She by evening. I’ll meet with Djefi and see what this fat priest has been thinking since we last talked.

  Hetephernebti camped just outside To-She, close enough to gather water easily, but far enough from the crocodile-filled lake to feel safe.

  A large tent housed the priestess and her attendants. The few others who had accompanied her on the trip upriver from Iunu slept outdoors beneath awnings. Meryt, as a wbt-priest, normally would have stayed in the tent with Hetephernebti, but instead she went with Tim to find a shaded spot for their camp.

  He had told her about Diane and Brian, how he had followed them from his country to Saqqara and Ineb-Hedj, where he had learned that they had gone with Djefi to To-She. He told her that they were lost and he had come to help them find their way home.

  Now that he was in To-She, he was eager to find them.

  “Djefi is angry with you. He is dangerous, Netjer Tim,” she said.

  Tim nodded, remembering how Yunet had tried to restrain him at Iunu when he spoke with Diane. Meryt had told him that Djefi had demanded that Hetephernebti search the camp for him and how he had accused him of being a thief.

  “I am with you and Hetephernebti,” he said. “She will protect me.”

  Meryt shook her head, completely serious for once. “We are in To-She, Netjer Tim. Hetephernebti cannot protect you here. If Djefi finds you and takes you, we can do nothing. Nothing, Netjer Tim, nothing.”

  Tim was silent for a minute. He knew that Hetephernebti was King Djoser’s sister and he had assumed that the relationship would give her some kind of power over Djefi. He knew that they had traveled with a small party, just the priestess, her immediate attendants, a few boatmen, who would double as guards, and himself.

  Hetephernebti doesn’t need a large guard to protect herself, she is the king’s sister, after all, but her power here at To-She will be limited by the small number of guards in her group, he thought. He shook his head. He wasn’t used to thinking of life in terms of naked power.

  Where’s Jim Kamin when I need him, he thought, remembering the security official at the American Embassy.

  He realized Meryt was watching him, waiting for him to decide what he wanted to do. He had no idea what that would be.

  “Netjer Tim,” she said, “I know people who live here. Let me visit them and find out about Brian and Diane. When we know more, then we can decide how to help them.”

  He nodded agreement.

  She saw him looking at the palm trees and the people walking through the grove headed toward the center of the settlement.

  Meryt shook her head. “Please stay here, or visit with Hetephernebti.”

  “Why?” he asked. “Don’t I look like everyone? Don’t I talk like everyone?”

  She smiled, the expression making her face young again, and Tim wondered how old she was. He hadn’t asked her, unsure if women five thousand years ago were as sensitive of their ages as they were in his time.

  Her body was slim, her breasts small. He guessed she was no more than sixteen, perhaps as young as thirteen, a thought that made him feel guilty when she flirted with him.

  Although he knew that women in ancient Egypt married in their early teens, he couldn’t help but think of Jerry Lee Lewis and his twelve-year-old cousin. He knew it was simply a cultural difference that women, and men, married later and later in life as living became more complex.

  She seems so mature, so much older, he thought.

  And I’m rationalizing.

  “No, Netjer Tim, you look and talk like a god. You will fool no one.”

  “I’m not a god,” he said. “A god would not listen to you. I will.”

  She reached up and touched him softly on his bare shoulder.

&
nbsp; “I will not be long.”

  She turned and walked toward the village. He watched her, admiring her shape and the way she moved. He realized what he was doing and turned away, ashamed and angry with himself.

  He pulled his backpack from the small pile of possessions they had brought with them. Digging out his notebook, he settled against the palm tree and opened to a blank page.

  “Addy, I’m at a place called To-She, where the crocodile god Sobek was worshiped. I’m traveling with a priestess of the god Re. We’ve come here for some sort of festival, but I’m really here to see if I can finally meet up with Brian and talk to Diane when she’s not drunk. Oh, and I’m traveling with a girl who’s been helping me. She reminds me of you.”

  He paused and looked at the last sentence. He had written it without thinking. He wondered if it was true or if he was rationalizing again.

  There was no one at the temple entrance to welcome Hetephernebti. Nevermind, she thought, I can find my way to Djefi’s chambers.

  She had come alone, walking among the villagers, pausing to talk with some women and their children who were carrying water from the lake to their homes beyond the temple entrance.

  Djefi should have had someone at the canal to greet his guests, she thought. The Cutting Out of Sobek’s Tongue was the major festival for the crocodile god. But To-She was off the river, away from the mainstream and not as many priests and royal officials would be attending.

  Hetephernebti knew that her brother wouldn’t be here. He was in the south, meeting with priests near the first cataract where the river narrowed, tumbling against rocks, pushing its way through the desert into Kemet.

  She knew he would be cajoling, flattering and, if necessary, threatening the priests. He would show them that he was concerned about the meager floods, that he was acting to bring the water and its rich black earth to The Two Lands and that if he failed it was because they had not done enough to persuade their gods to help him.

  As long as he enjoyed the loyalty of Sekhmire and the army, he would sit secure on the throne. But if the priests or the governors or dissatisfied officials of the royal court were able to persuade Sekhmire that King Djoser was not a god and that Kemet would prosper without him on the throne, then his life would be in danger.

  Ah, Teti, she thought, thinking of him by his childhood nickname, I hope you are as persuasive and commanding as you ever were. I pray that Re looks upon you as a brother and gives you his blessing.

  Hetephernebti was mildly surprised to find the hallways of the temple empty. Then she realized that most of the workers would be in the kitchens and bakeries preparing for the beginning of the feast.

  She walked unhurriedly down the hallway that led to Djefi’s chambers. As she got closer she heard voices. She recognized Djefi’s high-pitched voice and the low, stately rumble of Kanakht.

  For a moment she thought to wait outside the doorway, but a priestess of Re does not eavesdrop, she thought.

  She pushed open the wooden door and abruptly the talking stopped.

  “I said I was not to be interrupted,” Djefi shouted. Then he saw that it was Hetephernebti who had entered the room.

  He blanched and stopped talking.

  Kanakht, ever the diplomat, came toward her, his arms extended in greeting. “Hetephernebti, blessed of Re,” he said.

  “Lord Kanakht,” she said, embracing him and feeling that his solid frame had grown thinner in the weeks since she had last seen him.

  He pulled back and looked into her eyes. She saw the same intelligence and strength there she had seen when she was a little girl and he had been adviser to her father. But there was a tiredness there she had never noticed. He broke eye contact first, nervously glancing at Djefi.

  “Greetings, First Prophetess of Re,” Djefi said. “We were just talking… ”

  “About your dear brother,” Kanakht interrupted. “I was telling Djefi that King Djoser could not be here and that he sends his apologies. And me,” he laughed softly.

  “Yes,” Djefi agreed.

  Hetephernebti looked at Djefi. He touched his forehead with a cloth, sopping up the beads of sweat that had appeared.

  Suddenly there was a loud noise from the hallway, a voice shouted something they couldn’t understand and there was the unmistakable sound of a body hitting a stone wall. The wooden doors swung open and a huge man wearing a torn kilt, his skin sunburned, his lips bloodied and cracked, pushed through.

  “Where Siamun?” he demanded in a strangely accented voice.

  Djefi shrank back from the stranger and glanced around looking for help. Hetephernebti waited calmly, looking from Djefi to the stranger.

  The man looked at her, dismissed her with a glance, and did the same with Kanakht.

  He started to shout now in a strange tongue, his voice rising louder and angrier. The only word that Hetephernebti could understand was Siamun’s name. Then the giant sank to his knees, his eyes rolled up into his head and he fell face forward on the floor.

  Cutting Out of Sobek's Tongue

  Brian woke up angry, confused and exhausted. He opened his eyes to a dark room with the sound of scuffling footsteps approaching.

  He didn't know where he was. The last thing he remembered was pushing into Djefi’s chambers, screaming that he wanted to kill Siamun.

  The footsteps came closer.

  He moved his right arm, making sure it wasn’t tied down.

  He tried to look in the direction of the sound without moving his head. He didn't want the intruder to know he was awake. He knew it wasn’t Pahket, he would have recognized her footsteps. These were softer and more cautious.

  Siamun?

  When he had first arrived here, Brian had noticed how much brighter the night sky was, seemingly packed stars. At the same time the nights were darker because there were no artificial lights, just torches or campfires.

  Apparently there were no windows in this room. Brian couldn't see even the dark outline of whoever was approaching him, even though they were so close now that Brian could hear the person’s breathing.

  The darkness would be as extreme for the other person, Brian realized.

  He sat up quickly and turned, stretching his arms out to grab or stop the attacker. His hands found the intruder's arms, which felt small and only lightly muscled.

  It's a woman or a boy.

  Holding the person tightly, Brian rolled off the bed, pinning the attacker beneath him.

  “Don't hurt me,” the intruder said in almost a whisper.

  “Did Siamun send you?”

  “English.”

  “I don't care if you're English or French or German.”

  “Speaking English.”

  “I am speaking English,” Brian answered. “Oh my God, so are you.”

  He relaxed his grip and reached out to help the intruder to his feet.

  “Are you OK? Who are you?”

  “Not so loud, Brian.”

  “How do you know my name?”

  “Shhhh.” Tim coughed softly and looked over his shoulder. “If I get caught, they'll, well, I don't know what they'll do.”

  There was a light scraping sound and a flair of light as Tim lit a match. The two men studied each other in the flickering light. Tim though that Brian was much more gaunt than the tourist he had watched swagger across the sands at Saqqara. His face was sunburned and his laps scabbed and bloody.

  Brian broke the silence.

  “You look familiar.”

  “My name is Tim Hope. I was at the Step Pyramid when you and Diane went into Kanakht's tomb. I followed you and ended up here.”

  Brian looked worried.

  “Where exactly is here?”

  “Yeah, it's more of when than a where.”

  Brian shook his head.

  Tim leaned closer. “I don't have a lot of time, Brian. Djefi is looking for me. And there is no one here to help us.

  “This is going to sound unbelievable, but when you and Diane went into that tomb and t
hrough that opening in the wall, you went into the past, about five thousand years into it. We’re in ancient, I mean, really ancient Egypt, back before the pyramids, back before the Sphinx, back before Moses, before King Tut, way back...”

  Remembering the hunt and his useless cell phone, Brian nodded his head. It explained everything, but it made no sense at all.

  “I was sitting against the wall at Saqqara when you and Diane went into the tomb. You even looked at me and winked.”

  Brian remembered now, the little guy writing in a notebook.

  “When you didn’t come out of the tomb, I did some checking around. I found your room at the Mena House and waited there, but you never came back. I got in the tomb and followed you here. I’ve been trying to find you for a couple weeks now. I saw Diane last week, but she was too drunk to talk. I’m not sure I can get close enough to talk to her here, she’s always with some woman.”

  “Probably Yunet,” Brian said.

  “So, we have to figure out how to talk to her and then sneak back to Saqqara. Then we get back into the tomb and get back to our time.”

  Brian realized that, now that the adrenaline rush had worn off, he was almost too weak to stand. The last day in the desert had drained him, left him exhausted and shaking. The only thing that had driven him on had been his desire to find and strangle Siamun.

  “I don’t understand,” he said.

  Tim nodded. “I don’t either. I have no idea how to explain it. All I can say is that we’re here, in this now and the only thing I can think of is to get back to the tomb and try to open the wall the other way.”

  No,” Brian said. “I don’t understand about Diane. I don’t understand what you said either, but I don’t know what’s going on with Diane. She got really pissed at me when we were riding camels out in the desert on the way here. Then when we got here, she just ignored me. I haven’t talked to her; I haven’t even seen her. Now you say you saw her and she was drunk?”