by Jerry Dubs
But as he grew meaner, he also grew fat. He ate huge helpings at meals and drank his belly full of beer whenever he could. He became derelict in his duties at the temple.
By his thirteenth year, Djefi had become a different person. His legs were so fat they rubbed together when he walked. Fat hung from his sides over his hips, his breasts were larger than a nursemaid’s. His throat was hidden behind three folds of flesh. His physical transformation was matched by the changes within.
He had never realized the enlightenment that had been at his fingertips that night in the garden. But he had come to his own understanding: Sobek had dangled paradise in front of him for a moment and then allowed it to be taken away. Sobek was a cruel god.
The lessons of that night and the endless nights with his stepfather were well learned: Life was cruelty and one had to take what one wanted before someone else did.
Djefi decided he wanted to be First Prophet. Then he would interpret Sobek’s teachings and the people would learn to obey his word.
He told Siamun his dream and Siamun, aware of the changes within his only friend, knew better than to laugh. He knew that although Djefi looked like a fat fool, within he was capable of as much cruelty as Sobek.
As he became grotesque, his stepfather tired of abusing him physically. Left alone at last, Djefi told Siamun about his stepfather and together they plotted ways for him to get his revenge.
When Yunet turned five years old, Djefi saw a chance. He made sure his stepfather overheard him talking to Siamun about Yunet, praising her untouched, smooth skin and innocent beauty. Finally, Sesostris told Djefi to bring his little sister to the temple that night. Siamun looked at his friend, wondering what reaction the order would bring. He didn't expect to see a secret smile in Djefi's eyes.
As the boys walked to fetch Yunet, Djefi told Siamun his plan.
He had picked a spot in the enclosed garden where four trees formed a large square. A rope was tied around the trunk of each tree. They would bring Yunet back and take her to the garden and tell her that Sesostris wanted to see her.
Then they would tell Sesostris that Yunet had run into the garden to get away from them and that they were afraid to go in there because of the crocodiles. That would inflame and enrage the priest. They would follow Sesostris to the garden, overpower him and bind his arms and legs to the separate trees.
The plan worked as Djefi hoped.
When the boys followed the angry priest into the garden, Siamun ducked forward and slashed at the back of Sesostris’ ankle with a chipped stone knife he had stolen from his father. The slash cut his tendon and Sesostris grabbed at his injured leg and fell.
Djefi carried a fist-sized rock. He fell on his stepfather now, his weight knocking the man’s breath out of him, and began to smash the rock against Sesostris’ head. He did it calmly, waiting between each blow to see if the man had lost consciousness. Djefi wanted him helpless, not dead.
Once he was unconscious, Djefi and Siamun dragged Sesostris to the trees and ropes.
While Siamun tied Sesostris, Djefi talked to his little sister. “He was going to do mean things to you, little sister.”
“What things?” she asked, her eyes wide as she watched Siamun wrap ropes around Sesostris’s arms.
“I’ll tell you when you are bigger. I promise. Just remember, tonight I saved you. I will always save you.” He hugged her and felt her warm, sisterly hug in return.
“You must not tell anyone, Yunet. Or I will get in trouble. Now, Siamun and I will punish Sesostris and then we will send him away from To-She forever so he can never harm you. When you hear that he is gone, you must act surprised. Can you do that?”
She nodded her head solemnly. She watched fascinated as Siamun gagged the priest. “Will you hurt him?” she asked.
“We will be as kind to him as he has been to us,” he answered.
“He was never kind to me. Was he ever kind to you?” she said.
“Go now, little sister. Remember to be surprised.”
After she had gone, Djefi checked the bindings and the gag.
“Thank you, Siamun,” he said solemnly, his eyes looking hungrily at his helpless stepfather, tied face-down on the garden’s moist soil. He turned and walked to one of the trees and retrieved a spear he had hidden there.
Siamun watched him and then lifted a hand to show his nicked stone knife. He knelt beside Sesostris and raised his hand to stab him.
“No,” Djefi said, his voice squeaking.
Siamun stayed his hand and looked up. “We mean to kill him, don’t we? After what we have done we have no choice.”
Djefi nodded. “Yes, but much slower. And he must be awake.” He kicked Sesostris in the ribs and listened to him gasp as he awoke.
“Do you mean to stab him with the spear? That will be quicker than my knife,” Siamun argued.
Djefi shook his head.
Raising the spear with both hands, he brought it down sharply on his knee, breaking the shaft. He examined the two broken ends. He kept the one whose end was most splintered and rough. Then kneeling beside his stepfather’s face he said, “Wake up, Sesostris. Remember the nights you took me and I cried and begged you to stop. Remember my tears and screams?” He showed him the splintered end of the spear. “Tonight I will make you sing.”
Sesostris raised his head and tried to shout through the gag. He strained at the ropes and tried to twist away.
Djefi walked around to stand between Sesostris’s spread-eagled legs. With the ragged spear tip he flicked up the short kilt the priest wore. Then he nestled the broken spear end between his stepfather’s parted legs pushed hard.
They had to tear off Sesostris’ kilt and add that to the gag as his screams grew in intensity. And still he was too loud, or so it seemed to their guilty ears. “Siamun, do something,” Djefi said at last, his arms growing weary from the repeated thrusting.
His eyes aglow with an otherworldly light, Siamun squatted beside Sesostris’ head. “Remember the ceremony, Sesostris?” he asked, tearing at the cloth gag.
Sesostris gasped for air as the gag came free. He started to speak, but Siamun jammed the other end of the broken shaft sideways into his open mouth, forcing his jaws open. “Hold this,” he told Djefi.
Then he reached into Sesostris mouth and grabbed his tongue and pulled it out as far as he could. With a quick slice of his knife, he cut it off. As Sesostris gagged on the sudden pain and blood, Siamun held the severed tongue above Sesostris’s eyes.
“The Cutting Out of Sobek’s Tongue,” he said, mimicking Sesostris’ voice. Then he laughed and tossed the tongue across the courtyard.
The smell of blood brought the crocodiles to life.
Siamun’s eyes had danced with light as he recounted the story all those years later, and Yunet had understood for the first time his fear-tinged respect for Djefi.
Although she and Djefi shared a mother, that offered no real security. He had used her once, a five-year-old girl as bait in his trap. What protection would Diane, an outlander have? None.
They would obey Djefi, get as far from his plans at Kom Ombo as they could. Diane would have time to heal. All they had to do was to avoid angering Siamun. That was never easy, she knew. He always seemed to be on the verge of erupting into violence.
She would be careful not to upset him during the trip back to To-She.
Gathering at Kom Ombo
The river looked like a lake, a wide, black, moving, churning lake.
Imhotep leaned against the side of the boat staring at the bowed tops of willow trees, their whip-like limbs floating on the water. The taller date palm trees stood straight, straining to keep their green branches just above the water.
It seemed strange to see the river flooding when there had been no rain. But Imhotep knew that there had been torrents of rain farther south, beyond Nubia and beyond Kush. The pelting rain had swept across the decaying leaves and the rich loamy soil of the rain forests, washing it into the river, which was sur
ging now below the boat.
Meryt was sitting at his feet. It was morning and she had just finished heaving her breakfast over the side of the boat. She had pushed Imhotep away when her stomach first started to quiver.
“Aren’t you tired of watching me be sick?” she had snapped at him. “There’s nothing you can do.”
He had shrugged. “I can be here.”
“I think I can manage . . .” she had started to say and then she had to lean over the side of the boat. He stood beside her, rubbing her back until she was finished. Then she had slumped by his feet.
He was worried about the duration of the morning sickness, but Sekhmire’s wife had assured them that it varied from woman to woman and even from pregnancy to pregnancy. “You will be fine,” Sati had told Meryt before they had left Abu for the short journey to Kom Ombo and the dedication of the new temple to Sobek.
“Take naps and remember to keep eating small meals, little sister. Lots of them.” Then she had turned to Imhotep. “If you are like my Sekhmire you’ll enjoy one of the changes. She’ll grow larger,” she had held her cupped hands in front of her breasts when she said this.
Imhotep had blushed. He had gotten used to their comfort with nudity; it fit his artist’s view of the world. But he wasn’t sure he would ever get used to their casual sexuality.
“But they will be tender, so be gentle.” Sati had enjoyed his discomfort. He was such a strange man. King Djoser and her Sekhmire thought he really was a god, a god of medicine, a god who could see into the future.
But to her he seemed like a little boy when it came to some things. He did seem to truly care for Meryt, so she welcomed him into their lives. Still it was fun to tease him.
“He is always gentle,” Meryt had said.
“So, are you ready for the trip?” Imhotep had asked, trying to change the subject.
“That’s good,” Sati had said to Meryt, ignoring Imhotep’s comment. “But sometimes...” she had smiled and raised her eyebrows. “But after the sickness passes, and it will, Meryt, I promise, then you can go back to behaving like new lovers.”
Imhotep had tried to interrupt, but Sati hadn’t slowed down.
“When your belly starts to swell, then try either riding him or let him enter you from behind.”
“I’m sure you have some packing to finish,” Imhotep had said. “I know we do.”
“No, we have everything ready,” Meryt had said innocently.
Sati had embraced Meryt and whispered in her ear. “He’s a sweet man. Break him in gently.” Meryt had giggled as Sati let her go.
Imhotep had stepped to Sati and opened his arms to embrace her. She had moved inside his arms to hug him. “She is a treasure,” she had whispered to him. “I know you’ll treat her like one.” She had squeezed him and backed away.
“Sekhmire will journey with King Djoser on his boat. Siptah and I will be traveling with some of the other families. You are welcome to travel with us, Meryt, but I’m sure Imhotep will not leave you out of his sight.”
Meryt had smiled at her. She had become such a good friend, one she never would have met if Hetephernebti hadn’t instructed her to travel with Imhotep when he had first arrived in The Two Lands. How strange the way lives become intertwined, she had thought.
“Yes, Imhotep has asked King Djoser if I could travel on the royal boat with them. I’m sure the king will enjoy having a sick woman with him,” she had said wryly.
“Did you hear what he did?” Sati had said quietly, looking around the small room as if someone could be eavesdropping. “You know that Inetkawes has stayed at Waset, so King Djoser has been without a woman the whole time he has been here.”
She had glanced around conspiratorially. “The king loves Inetkawes very much. She is a beautiful wife, a perfect manager of the royal household. But she is not here.
“So,” she had lowered her voice even more, forcing Meryt and Imhotep to lean close to her, “after the dedication of the land and all those birds flew over the king was in a mood to celebrate.”
She paused as if remembering. “I have never seen so many birds. At first I was frightened, but they were a good omen, and what a sight. They kept coming and coming. I’m sure it is an omen that the flood will be the best in memory. My brother will be worried, he just married last year. They live so close to the river. He’s young and doesn’t remember a real flood. We all warned him, but he wouldn’t listen to anyone. Now their house will be washed away. But they will be fine; my parents will take them in. They have a darling little girl, just three years old, but so smart.
“They live near Edfu, so I’ll be able to stop and visit with them on the way back to Waset. I won’t be stopping at Kom Ombo for the temple dedication,” she had said, moving on from her original thread of conversation.
“Sekhmire said that King Djoser has ordered all the wives and children to stay away from the ceremony. That is so unusual. Sekhmire was very secretive about that.” She had paused and looked suddenly at Imhotep as if expecting him to explain.
When she had seen that he wasn’t going to answer, she had continued. “So I’ll be going on to Waset from here after stopping at Edfu, little sister. Sekhmire said because the river is rising so much and moving so fast, that I will be home in less than a week. You’ll visit when you arrive back at Waset?” she had asked.
Meryt and Imhotep had both nodded, amused smiles on their faces.
“I know, I know,” Sati had said. “I talk too much. It’s just hard to say good-bye even if it is just for a few weeks. Sekhmire has been very quiet about Kom Ombo and the temple dedication.” She had paused and looked at Imhotep again.
Sati had sighed at his silence.
“You men!” she had said with mock anger. “Well, farewell, Meryt. You’ll be feeling better soon.” She had turned suddenly, as if forcing herself to leave, and walked out of their room without a backward glance.
Imhotep had still been looking at the suddenly empty doorway when Meryt had asked, “What about Kom Ombo?”
I never used to get tired. Now I take naps in the morning and the afternoon. Sometimes it seems as if the sun has just come up and suddenly it is going down. Someone brings me a meal and I set it aside to do something, and then when I look again the meal is eaten and I have onion on my breath.
How do these things happen?
Ah, there is a chair. I can rest just for a moment and then Kanakht will come back. Kanakht was here, I’m sure. Wherever here is.
Waja-Hur walked slowly across the stone-paved courtyard toward the solitary chair. He was almost there when he heard hurried footsteps behind him.
“Wait, Waja-Hur, wait.” It was Kanakht’s voice.
Waja-Hur turned slowly. Kanakht was walking quickly across the courtyard; a fat priest was standing a little way beyond him, looking across the plaza at Waja-Hur. He looked familiar to Waja-Hur.
Kanakht was waving to Waja-Hur, calling the old priest to him. Waja-Hur looked around bewildered and then changed direction to walk back toward his friend. Kanakht stopped and waited for Waja-Hur, his eyes darting behind the priest to watch for movement.
They reached the edge of the courtyard where a low wall defined the perimeter. Waja-Hur nodded. He remembered now. He had stepped over this wall earlier. He had been standing here with Kanakht and the priest. They had been talking about the famine.
Yes, yes, he remembered now. This is the Temple of Sobek. A new one! Tomorrow there will be a dedication. Kanakht and this fat man had asked me to say something. But what was it?
He looked questioningly at Kanakht. “I have forgotten,” he said. “I am sorry.”
Kanakht reached over and touched his shoulder softly. “No matter, old friend. You have forgotten more than I will ever know and still you know more than I will ever know. Come, let us find some shade for you.”
He led Waja-Hur toward a doorway into the temple.
Djefi followed, his face set in anger.
“How can we trust him to say anythi
ng? How can he grant legitimacy to this if he doesn’t even know what is happening?”
Waja-Hur turned to Djefi.
“You have a small voice for such a large man.”
“Djefi,” Kanakht said before the fat priest could respond. “Waja-Hur is revered above all other priests throughout the Two Lands. We need his blessing. When Sobek shows his displeasure with the king, Waja-Hur will pronounce the god’s action as proof that a change is needed to restore the balance to the Two Lands.”
Djefi nodded, his chins shaking and bouncing.
“We’ve been over this, Kanakht. I understand. What I’m saying is how can we depend on him,” he nodded his head toward Waja-Hur’s bony back, “to remember to say anything.”
Kanakht winked at Djefi.
“He doesn’t need to say anything. He just needs to be here. When this is over, Djefi, we will spread the story of what happened. We will say that Waja-Hur gave his blessing. He needs to be here so that it could be true. Once I am on the throne, no one will dispute my memory.”
He wanted to cry in frustration.
As far as he could tell there were only two other people on the entire planet who could read English. One of them was just two miles away, but she was across the river being guarded by a homicidal maniac. Brian had no idea where the other one was. He thought he had sent a message to him, but he hadn’t heard anything back.
He could answer Tama’s questions with nods and shakes of his head, but he had been unable to explain that they were training a crocodile to eat King Djoser.
After several tries he had drawn a crocodile well enough that Tama had figured out what it was. He had pretended to eat, so she got that word. But he was stuck on king. Apparently they didn’t wear pointy round crowns here and they didn’t have any drawings of King Djoser, maybe at one of the temples, but not here in this hut on the edge of Kom Ombo.
