Imhotep

by Jerry Dubs

  The generals would come to him, followed by slaves carrying the wealth of their land. Kemet would be powerful and feared.

  By the light of a hundred flickering torches, a banquet would be spread before Djefi. The finest beers and wines, platters of roasted oxen and geese, fish and lamb would be set for him. He could almost smell the aromas and almost taste the perfectly seasoned foods, enough to make Sobek regrow his tongue!

  Servants would wait on him, holding his wine cup, feeding him figs and wiping his lips for him.

  Yes, he would sit upon the throne of the Two Lands and upon his lap would sit a young boy, a beautiful innocent thing. He would stroke the soft skin of the young boy’s shoulders unbent by work, not yet dried and toughened by sun, so soft and smooth. And the boy would nestle against him and touch him, reminding him of his own lost childhood.

  Djefi unconsciously emitted a soft sigh.

  The carriers reached the door of Waja-Hur’s room and slowly lowered the sedan chair to the ground. Two of them came to Djefi and helped him from the low seat, hearing his bowels loudly belching as he stood up, a sound they had come to expect from him. They averted their eyes from the other carriers, who would be making faces at the noise and odor.

  Djefi, oblivious to it all, held a satisfied smile on his face as he waddled through the doorway of Waja-Hur’s room to meet again with Kanakht and the aging priest.

  He was pleased to see three chairs in the room.

  Waja-Hur stood by one of them, his hands twitching slightly as they rested on its straight wooden back. Kanakht, his posture formal and erect as always, stood beside his old friend, talking softly. They both turned as Djefi’s shadow led him into the small room.

  “You’ve been here before, haven’t you?” Waja-Hur asked.

  Kanakht came around from behind the chair, his arms spread wide in welcome. “Djefi, how goes the progress on your temple? And the training of Sobek?” he added softly as he hugged Djefi in greeting.

  Djefi allowed the awkward embrace and then sat in one of the chairs.

  He nodded his head in appreciation as a servant appeared with a jar of beer. After taking a long drink he looked up at Kanakht.

  “The temple will be ready, as will Sobek.” He took another long drink and, seeing no linen cloths, wiped his mouth on his arm. “The beer is good, Waja-Hur, or Kanakht,” he added when he saw the confusion on Waja-Hur’s face.

  Kanakht stepped in smoothly.

  “Waja-Hur is focusing his attention elsewhere, Djefi. But he will attend the dedication of your temple at Kom Ombo and he remains as convinced as ever that the Two Lands are not in balance.”

  He patted Waja-Hur softly on the back, “Isn’t that so, old friend?” Waja-Hur looked up at him, seemingly startled to see him.

  “Kanakht,” he said as if recognizing him for the first time.

  “I was just telling First Prophet Djefi about your concerns. That the Two Lands must be brought back into balance,” he prompted.

  Waja-Hur nodded fiercely.

  “Just as each man’s spirit must be balanced, so must the Two Lands.” His voice came alive. “It was always so. It always will be so. There is a time for work and a time for rest. We must honor the gods and we must honor the land, and even ourselves. Balance! We must strive and we must know our place. The gods have given us the land, the sun, the water, the strength, the knowledge. When all are in harmony, then Kemet thrives.”

  The old man paused as if out of breath, then he gulped in more air. Little white flecks of spittle clung to his lower lip. He looked around the room confused and grew silent.

  Kanakht said to Djefi, “Tell me about Sobek.”

  Disconcerted by the old man’s ramblings, Djefi turned to talk instead to Kanakht.

  “At the dedication, there will be one chair for the king. Everyone else will stand. Sobek will be led from his lair, guided by two acolytes, each of them holding a leash. If a leash should break, or if one of the boys should stumble and drop one, then Sobek will be free to do what he pleases.” Djefi arched his eyebrows knowingly and sipped from his beer.

  “And what will Sobek do, Djefi.”

  “He will attack whoever is sitting in the chair, of course. He will show his fierce displeasure with the king. He may tear off his leg; he may drag him screaming into his lair, he may devour him on the spot. He will do…”

  Kanakht interrupted him. “How do we know he will do that?”

  Djefi showed his annoyance at the question. He was no longer the back-country priest he had been when Kanakht had first recruited him. He had been to Waset, he had seen the fruits of power, he had ordered a new temple to be built and it was being built - his word was iron!

  Once Sobek attacks King Djoser, once the pathway to the throne was open, although Kanakht may think he will walk that path, Siamun and I will have something to say about that, Djefi thought.

  He put his annoyance aside and decided to give Kanakht a glimpse of who really held the power.

  “Do you know that your man Nimaasted failed to deal with the outlander named Brian?”

  Kanakht nodded. “I know. This Brian was aided by someone - someone from one of your boats,” he turned the weakness back to Djefi.

  “No,” Djefi answered quickly. “By another outlander! This Imhotep who is now by the king’s side - in your place - he is the one. But Brian was foolish enough to go to Kom Ombo, to the temple I am building. There he was caught. He is the one who sits on the king’s chair, teaching Sobek, offering himself to the great god so that Sobek will have a hunger for whoever sits in that chair!”

  For a moment Kanakht imagined the terror Brian must be going through, then he steeled himself and put the feeling aside. What was one man’s life compared to the greater good his sacrifice would bring to the Two Lands?

  He nodded his head at Djefi. “Excellent!” he said. “You have found a way to solve your problem and at the same time create a powerful force. You have gifts I did not see before.”

  Djefi emptied his beer and motioned for the servant to refill his cup. He belched loudly and smiled at the hearty sound.

  As Kanakht turned away to hide his smile, a shadow darkened the doorway. He looked up to see Hetephernebti standing there, Tama by her side, looking like a small, younger version of the priestess of Re.

  “Greetings, dear Hetephernebti, greetings Tama,” Kanakht said, wondering if the women had been lingering outside the doorway long.

  As she always seemed to, Hetephernebti anticipated his question.

  “I told your guards that there was shade and food to be had in the courtyard, Kanakht. What need to guard us in the temple of Thoth? Only outlanders need to have fear here in Khmunu.”

  Djefi looked into his cup of beer. He didn’t like Hetephernebti, liked her even less since her haughty attitude weeks ago when his party had been attacked by the outlander now called Imhotep. Once your brother is gone, I’ll put you in your proper place, he thought.

  Kanakht shook his head. “I’m sorry, dear Hetephernebti, but I think you have heard rumors. It is the outlanders who bring fear to Khmunu. One of them attacked and killed a temple acolyte a few weeks ago. A man named Brian. I’m sure you have heard of it.”

  He turned to Tama. “You were here. I'm sure that you’ve heard of this Brian.”

  Tama stepped into the crowded hut. “Yes, I’ve heard of him. In fact, I have talked with him. He says that Nimaasted and three others attacked him. I believe him.”

  “He is an outlaw, Tama. He is dangerous. Or should I say, that he was dangerous?”

  Djefi chuckled and broke wind loudly. “I don’t think danger is one of his attributes any more,” he said in his squeaky voice.

  Tama and Hetephernebti waited for him to continue, but it was Kanakht who spoke.

  “He was captured at Kom Ombo. Djefi is holding him for me until after the ceremony here. Then I’ll journey to Kom Ombo; I’m heading there for the dedication of Sobek’s new temple. Once there I’ll dispense justice to th
is outlander.”

  “Be careful of the ‘justice’ you administer, vizier,” Tama said. “A final justice waits for us all. Keep your heart light.”

  “Thank you, Tama. Advice is always welcome, especially on matter of ma’at. But, I believe that sometimes strong measures must be taken when the balance is disturbed. I think the gods understand.”

  Tama was about to answer when she saw Waja-Hur begin to sway. She hurried to him and steadied him.

  “Little father,” she said, leading him around to the front of the chair and helping him to sit. She knelt by him and looked up at his aged face. “Waja-Hur, have you eaten today?”

  He looked at her, his eyes watery and confused.

  Hetephernebti left the hut quickly. “I’ll find him food,” she said over her shoulder.

  Kanakht knelt beside Tama at Waja-Hur’s side.

  “You know that Waja-Hur believes as we do, Tama,” he said quietly. “There is an unbalance in the land. I know that you and Hetephernebti are good friends. I am her friend, too. And yours. But she is blinded by love for her brother. He is not a god. You know it in your heart.

  “King Djoser’s actions offend the gods,” Kanakht continued “The result is famine, unrest, unhappiness. Change is coming, Tama. Brian disappeared when you did. We both know it was not coincidence. Now he has been caught and will be punished.

  “I do not think it is an accident that Brian and this pretender, who Djoser has chosen to name Imhotep, arrived here at this time by accident. The gods are testing Kemet. They are showing us how unbalanced The Two Lands have become.

  “I am not a priest, Tama, but I am vizier. The Two Lands are my heart and I will preserve them. No matter what it takes. Be sure of that. Change is coming. Be careful where you stand. You are with us, Tama, or you are against us.”

  The young priestess kept her eyes on her friend Waja-Hur. His eyes were unfocused, his breathing shallow. A sheen of sweat had appeared on his skin.

  “I don’t know what you see through your eyes, Kanakht. I have walked The Two Lands. The people are hungry, yes, that is true. But they are hungry for food, not power. They want to fill their bellies, not their. . .” She turned to him now.

  He expected to see anger in her eyes, or fear. Instead he saw confidence and honesty. “You are older than I and more experienced,” she said. “But please listen to me, Kanakht. I do not seek power, I do not want rewards. I am Ma’at. I seek the truth.

  “This is truly The Two Lands, but in a different way. There are those, like you and I, who live a life of ease. I do not sew or cook. Your hands have not seen hard work in the years I have known you. We do not work the land, we do not bake the bread or brew the beer, yet our bellies are never empty and our skin is always oiled.

  “No wait, hear me out,” she said as he scowled and started to speak.

  “We are needed. I am not suggesting that we are not. Without your guidance, our granaries would never be filled or maintained, our borders would not be secure. Djefi, Waja-Hur, Hetephernebti and I, the gods we represent give the land order and give the people a framework in which to live their lives.

  “But, Kanakht, without the other half of the Two Lands, without the farmers and the bakers and the pressers of oil and the butchers and the fishermen, without them, you and I would be hungry. We would die. We may think that they need us, but we need them more.

  “This change you say is coming, it may be no more than changing kohl, no more than fresh linens. What means so much to us may be meaningless to the people who fill The Two Lands.

  “They follow King Djoser now. They followed his father before him and they will follow Prince Teti once he becomes king. But what they really follow is their bellies and their hearts. When they awake each day they answer to their own needs, their hungers, their aches, and their desires. It matters not to them who sits on the throne of The Two Lands.”

  Kanakht leaned closer to her, his face drawn tight with anger.

  “You think the people have no will?” he asked. “You think the army is only strong arms and willing backs? Ask King Djoser, ask Hetephernebti. You live in your world of truth and ideals, Tama. The world I live in is colored with half-truths, with ambition, with unrealized dreams and desires. The people in my world, Tama, in the real world, they want more than a full belly. And they see that King Djoser cannot give them even that.”

  Tama looked at Waja-Hur, his face pale, his eyes distant, his breathing more regular now, but still shallow.

  “Kanakht,” she said, gathering her thoughts, “What you say is true. I know that. But it is only part of our world. I search for truth, the truth that lies beneath all. The world you live in, with King Djoser, with the generals, with the governors of the nomes is a small, small part of The Two Lands.

  “I agree that part of The Two Lands is filled with ambition and a hunger that would devour all of Kemet. And that is why Waja-Hur’s words, as old as they are, are true. The balance must be maintained. I don’t believe the people of the Two Lands would rise up against King Djoser, or against whoever sits on the throne, but if disorder is sown, if the balance is struck down, then it is possible that more than one person will seek to restore it.

  “If the disorder is too great, the people may choose to follow a different leader than the one you would put on the throne.”

  Suddenly Djefi spoke, his voice high pitched, but held in control.

  “Ah, but they will follow a king the gods put on the throne.”

  Tama and Kanakht turned to look at the fat priest, whose presence they had forgotten.

  He was leaning forward in his chair, his robe straining against rolls of fat, his small eyes intense and bright.

  “So much talk,” he said. He smiled smugly. “At To-She we do not talk so much. We act. Come to Kom Ombo, Tama. You will see your precious ‘truth’ in action.”

  He leaned back in his chair and looked toward the doorway. Snapping his fingers, he called, “More beer, boy, more beer.”

  The young boy who was standing by the doorway picked up the jar of beer and using both hands, carried it to Djefi and carefully poured more beer into the priest’s cup. As he turned, Hetephernebti entered the hut carrying a round loaf of bread.

  She was followed by Nimaasted.

  Seeing Waja-Hur, the young priest pushed past Hetephernebti and rushed to Waja-Hur’s side. He bent down and cupped Waja-Hur’s face in his hands.

  “Little father,” he said, leaning close to him. He moved his hand down Waja-Hur’s neck to feel the weak pulse there. Waja-Hur rolled his eyes toward Nimaasted and opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

  Nimaasted put an arm under Waja-Hur’s legs and easily lifted the small man. He headed toward the door.

  “Please,” he said over his shoulder, “Come with me, Tama. Go to my room. There is a sack by the altar, it has amulets in it. I will take Waja-Hur to Akhenre, he has treated him before. Bring the amulets to him.”

  Tama turned to Hetephernebti before she left.

  “Waja-Hur has grown weaker since I last saw him. His ka is preparing to leave his body. Akhenre is a good doctor and will help him, but I’m not sure what more can be done,”

  “Go, little sister,” Hetephernebti answered.

  Kanakht and Hetephernebti stood silently for a moment, looking absently out the doorway. Djefi sipped noisily at his beer.

  “You and Tama have been talking,” Kanakht said.

  Hetephernebti didn’t answer.

  “I advised Tama to be careful,” Kanakht continued. “She is a smart woman. I hope she sees the wisdom of my advice.”

  Hetephernebti turned to him now. She glanced at Djefi who sat unmoving on his chair, his eyes fixed on them.

  “I know that you are planning to kill my brother,” she said. Djefi coughed at her openness, but Kanakht merely smiled at her.

  “And I thought Tama was the direct one. You have always been more discreet, Hetephernebti. Much like your brother.”

  “Be careful wh
at you plan,” she said. “If I know of your intentions, you can be sure my brother knows.”

  Kanakht looked away from her, out the door into the fading light.

  He nodded his head.

  “In some few ways King Djoser has been a good king, Hetephernebti. But he has reached too far. We both know it. I think that in some way he welcomes the idea of being tested. He allows it to see if the gods are truly with him, if he truly is one of them. I think he will accept what the gods decide. You would be wise to accept it, too.”

  Hetephernebti raised her chin as she looked at Kanakht.

  “I will fight for my brother,” she said.

  “Then you will lose,” he answered.

  The Eye of Re

  In the days before The Two Lands were united, when the gods still walked along the river banks and made their life in Kemet, Tefnut, also called ‘She-of-Moisture,’ argued with her father, the god Re. Of what, no one remembers.

  Tefnut changed herself into a murderous lion and fled south to Nubia, leaving behind her father and all the other gods.

  Now Tefnut was also known as “The Eye of Re” and “Lady of the Flame,” but most importantly the goddess was “She-of-Moisture.” When she fled Kemet she took with her the green waters of the oases and the clear waters from the wells and the slow-moving water from the canals and irrigation ditches and all the water from the River Iteru.

  And Kemet became dry. Drier than the skin of a camel’s knee, drier than scales of a sloughed snakeskin, drier than a farmers throat after a day of cutting dusty stalks of wheat.

  Kemet sank into chaos, and even Re, in time, felt the loss of his daughter. He called Shu, god of air, filled with divine knowledge; and Thoth, god of scribes, master of words, recorder of knowledge; and he sent them to Nubia to find his angry daughter and to persuade her to return.

  Thoth and Shu disguised themselves as baboons, sacred to the god Thoth, and began their journey. They passed beyond the Two Lands, beyond the first cataract, the second and the third, and on into the land of Nubia. Then beyond Nubia to Begum where they found Tefnut.