by Jerry Dubs
She breathed deeply, her chest shaking in fear. In the back of her mind she was surprised to still be alive. She thought of Yunet and in her memory she saw again the ugly, chipped knife drive into Yunet’s stomach, she saw the surprised look on Yunet’s face and then the sudden slacking of the muscles as her heart stopped.
After Siamun had overpowered Diane, he had ripped away her kilt to rape her. She had fought as hard as she could, twisting and trying to get a knee between his legs.
Eventually he had clamped both her wrists in one hand and stretched them over her head. Then he had put the knife against her face and threatened to cut her if she continued to fight. In a flash she remembered Brian’s battered body on the stone chair and she had known that Siamun would show her no mercy.
“Fuck you,” she had answered and had spit in his face.
She had screamed as the knife cut her, but her legs had stayed clamped shut. As he had fought to pry her legs open, she had gotten a hand free and clawed at him, raking open his face. She had seen the back of his hand draw back and then rush toward her and then all was blackness.
Now she raised her head and felt it suddenly jerk backward as Siamun pulled on a rope he had tied around her neck.
She reached up and grabbed at the rope, but Siamun pulled it tighter.
“Come on,” he said. “We have someone to meet.”
As they came up the wadi, Diane felt an overwhelming sense of deja-vu. When they rounded the last turn and saw the opening of the tomb that she and Brian had walked out of a few months ago, her knees buckled and she fell to the sand.
Siamun swung his leg around the camel’s neck and slid down to the ground. He stooped over to pick up the rope that hung from Diane’s neck. He was tempted to pull it and drag her across the sand by her neck.
The three-day journey had been exhausting. He had never believed that a woman could be so stubborn and so willing to die. He had beaten her, cut her and threatened her, but she refused to surrender. He had taken her as she lay unconscious after a beating, but it was less satisfying than using his own hand.
She continued to try to escape, even though there was nowhere for her to go and no chance of her getting away from him. The first few times he had knocked her down, but then he had to wait until she was able to walk again. Eventually he had tied her up and draped her over the camel, but even there she fought and twisted until she had fallen from the beast.
It would have been so much easier to kill her.
Siamun saw movement near the entrance of the tomb. He pulled his knife from his belt as he saw a person emerge from the dark opening.
It was Bakr.
He came toward Siamun, his eyes moving from back and forth between him and Diane.
“Where is Djefi?” Siamun asked.
“He is in Ineb-Hedj. I am to get him when you arrive.” He looked at Diane, his face filled with pity. He started to ask Siamun what he had done to her and where Yunet was, but his tongue brushed against the opening where his teeth had been and he held his questions.
“I’ll get Djefi. He asked that you wait here.”
Siamun shrugged and tugged on the rope, heading for the dark shade of the tomb.
Return to Ineb-Hedj
Because it did not lie along the river, To-She had fewer visitors than Ineb-Hedj, Waset, Khmunu and most other villages in The Two Lands.
Still rumors did drift along the canal to the oasis.
The guards who had been at Kom Ombo with Siamun had been unusually quiet about what had happened there, but wild rumors arose, fed by their silence. When Djefi returned, an air of desperation followed him into To-She.
Bakr and his other most trusted guards left with Djefi the morning Bakr had found him tied up in Yunet’s hut. They left quickly, taking to boats and pushing hard against the weak current that came up the canal.
They left behind rumors of the debacle of the dedication. Neswy heard whispers of torture and of Siamun’s re-enactment of the cutting out of the tongue of Sobek. He knew better than believe everything he heard, but he also knew that there usually was a kernel of truth in the tales.
He leaned against a palm tree at the edge of the village and looked down the pathway that Yunet and Diane had taken. He had been overjoyed to see Siamun head into the desert, but he knew that even The Two Lands were not vast enough to hide Yunet from Siamun forever.
If there was a whiff of truth to the rumors, then it was possible that Djefi was in disfavor with King Djoser. Neswy didn’t know anyone associated with the royal family; the only two people he knew who had actually spoken with the king were Djefi and Yunet.
Still, Yunet was out there and Siamun was on her trail. He hadn’t gone with them because he would have slowed them. But his staying at To-She would be no help. So he shouldered a small sack of food and followed after Yunet, headed for the great highway of the River Iteru.
In a few days he could smell the change in the air that followed the stronger flowing river, and his spirits had grown lighter. He had seen no signs of violence along the path and so he believed that Yunet and Diane had safely traveled this far.
Ineb-Hedj lay several more days north along the river. There was a good chance the women would reach it safely. From there they could follow more frequently used trails that would lead them north to the delta and Iunu where Hetephernebti lived.
He sat on the riverbank to ease his aching leg, resting for a few minutes before trying to walk a little farther before daylight left.
Up river he saw movement. Two boats were heading south, their sails raised as the wind pushed them against the current. A third boat was near them, but its sails were down, so he knew that it was following the river, heading north.
Neswy watched the third boat grow larger as it approached. It began to veer cross current toward the canal opening.
Unsure exactly what he would say, Neswy stood and waved his arms at the boat.
There were two men rowing it, a third stood by the stern holding the tiller. He must have seen Neswy because the boat began to curve toward him. Neswy didn’t recognize the man at the tiller. The rowers had their backs to him as they bent over the oars, but Neswy’s heart leaped as he saw the broad shoulders of the one man. He smiled to himself. He would recognize those shoulders anywhere; he had clung to them for three days.
He waved his arms quicker and shouted the man’s name, “Brian!”
“So they were going to Iunu to find Hetephernebti?” Imhotep asked.
“Yunet said they would ask her for sanctuary.”
Imhotep shook his head. Hetephernebti was the king’s sister and high priestess of Re, but she did not keep armed men at her temple. Her strength and influence came from her integrity and willpower. Would that be enough to protect Diane and Yunet from Djefi? Waja-Hur’s reputation and holiness hadn’t protected him.
If the women get that far, if they are able to elude Siamun, he thought.
Although he had never met Siamun, from what Brian had told him, Siamun was a brutal, murderous thug.
Neswy seemed confident that the women had gotten a good start on their escape from To-She because Siamun had gone into the desert while the women followed the water. But he was just as sure that as each day passed it was more likely that Siamun would turn his search to the river and eventually find them.
“Can you protect them if we find them first?” he asked.
Imhotep nodded. “The king has given me authority. I will place the women under my protection.”
Neswy looked at Imhotep, Bata and Brian. Bata carried a knife and seemed confident. Neswy knew that Brian was strong and brave. But neither of them had seen Siamun since his return from Kom Ombo. He was no longer human. It would take more than these three to protect Yunet and Diane from Siamun.
“Are there others?” Neswy asked.
Imhotep understood what he was asking. Why did he think his authority would be any stronger than Hetephernebti’s?
This land was so different. On the one hand, t
he king’s word was law. On the other, if there was no fist, then the word was meaningless. He carried the king’s word, its presence shown in the menat he wore around his neck. But he lacked the king’s fist. Would Djefi and Siamun obey him knowing that the king’s might was behind him, or would they kill him, feed his body to the crocodiles and deny that they had ever seen him?
He turned to Bata. “Who is governor of this nome?”
Bata shook his head. “Prince Teti only came through here once, to hunt in the delta. We didn’t visit with anyone.”
“I know a family there,” Imhotep thought out loud.
“When we get to Ineb-Hedj, we’ll go to the home of Paneb, the tomb artist. I know where he lives and he will know who we can find in the city to help us.”
He turned to look down river, eager to see the white walls of the city.
Djefi was shocked at how battered Diane was, but in his heart he wasn’t surprised. When he had turned Siamun loose on the women, he had known there would be violence; he had suspected that Yunet would not survive.
Now he hoped Diane had enough spirit left in her to care about living.
But she refused to answer his questions, even as Siamun yanked her head back, gripping her dirty red hair in one fist and placing his knife against her white throat.
Instead she stared back at him defiantly, her eyes aflame with hate.
Although she refused to answer his questions - and Djefi wondered if she really didn’t know how she got here - he wasn’t ready to discard her.
If she didn’t hold the secret to escaping Kemet, then perhaps she could be used to pry it from Imhotep. He put her in Bakr’s care. “Keep her alive, but do not let her escape,” he ordered him.
Bakr reached for Diane’s arm to help her walk, but she twisted away from his touch, falling in the process. As she sat on the ground, Bakr removed the rope from her neck and tossed it aside. He leaned close to her and whispered, “Stay alive, Diane. I will try to help you.”
If she heard him, she gave no sign. But she allowed him to help her to her feet. Bakr led her to a small shelter - four poles and a palm branch roof - that provided a little shade. He helped her sit and then ran for a water skin.
Djefi motioned for one of the guards to bring a stool and follow him into the tomb.
Just inside the tomb entrance, Djefi sat and peered down the dark passageway. The paintings on the walls were more complete than they had been the first time he visited the tomb when the walls had been covered only with gray sketches. But the light faded inside the hallway. The far end was shrouded in darkness.
There is a secret here.
Somehow Brian, Diane and Imhotep had emerged from this tomb. There had to be another doorway, an exit somewhere down the tunnel.
He was fairly certain that the three strangers were not gods. Diane had been beaten and was near death. During the time she had been with him he had seen no sign that she was anything other than a woman like any other. Except now. Threatened with death and after three days with Siamun, she still had the strength to ignore his threats.
Brian had been left to die in the desert, Djefi had assassins sent after him, he had his tongue cut out and Siamun had tried to feed him to a crocodile. His tongue cut out, like the god Sobek. Djefi’s skin began to crawl as he thought about Brian and Diane. After what they had been through, they still were not dead. They were still defiant.
Are they gods after all?
Djefi shook his head. This line of thought was taking him nowhere.
He peered down the dark hallway. Somehow it led to another land, a strange land far from Kemet, far from King Djoser. Did a false door open into this other world? Would a magic enchantment open it? Was there a secret lever to pull?
Paneb, the tomb artist! He was here when the strangers arrived. He would know the inside of the tomb and its secrets better than anyone.
“Siamun!” he shouted. “Go into Ineb-Hedj and bring me the artist. His name is Paneb. And bring his helper. I don’t know his name. He’s a young boy. And Siamun,” he added, “don’t harm them. I want to give them a chance to help me first.”
As they disembarked from their boat, Brian grabbed Imhotep’s arm. “Effie’s bow,” he said, pointing to a decorated boat that bobbed in the water near them.
Neswy saw what they were looking at and gasped. “Djefi’s boat,” he said, not knowing that he was repeating what Brian had said.
Imhotep frowned. “He was banished to To-She. He is supposed to stay there until King Djoser visits him. That was clear.”
He pulled Brian aside and spoke softly in English. “There is only one thing here that can interest Djefi - the tomb we all came through. That’s where he’s heading. If he’s left To-She despite the king’s command to stay there its because he’s planning to run away and there’s no place in this land, in this time where he can hide from King Djoser. I don’t know what Diane told him, but he must think that there’s someway for him to get away.
“What can she tell him?”
Imhotep didn’t wait for Brian to answer. “I don’t want Djefi to escape. No, that’s not right. I mean I don’t want him to find that secret panel and get into the tomb where we passed through. Because if he does then people from our time will find their way here. Can you imagine what that would mean? Our time and world are messed up with greed and violence...” he paused when Brian scowled.
“Yes, it’s violent here, too. But imagine Siamun with a machine gun or Djefi with an air force?
“This,” he opened his arms to indicate the world they were in, “is so innocent and clean. If people from our time find it, who knows? Do the Americans storm in here and set up democracy so that five thousand years from now they’ll have a foothold in the Mideast? Do radical Muslims come in and somehow prevent the rise of Christianity? No matter what happened, it would pollute time.”
Brian looked at him puzzled.
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about this a lot. You know King Djoser has named me Imhotep. You know who he was? He built the Step Pyramid. There isn’t anybody here named Imhotep. So, I must be him. And it feels right. I mean, I really think I am Imhotep. I belong here.”
He stared down the river as he collected his thoughts.
“The point is if people could travel back and forth from our time to ancient Egypt, then evidence of it would have shown up. So, however we got here, and I have an idea about that, it just happened for the first time. I think we have to make sure it doesn’t happen again.
“So we have to keep Djefi from getting to our time because once he’s there the people there won’t stop until they figure out how he got there from ancient Egypt.”
He saw that Brian was staring at him in confusion.
“Yeah, I’m rambling and maybe all I really want is to keep this for myself. I mean, to lose myself here.”
He sighed. “I don’t know. What do you think?”
“I whan kill iamun and effie. Anh hep Iane.”
Imhotep turned to Bata.
“We’ll go to Paneb’s house and then see who we can get to help us, who will act in the king’s name.”
Paneb was trying to decide if there was enough light left in the day to go to the tomb.
Taki had been ill this morning.
Last night her brother had brought them the hindquarters of an ibex he had killed. They had roasted it and after their guests had gone, Taki had said that she didn’t feel well.
She had gargled with a garlic mixture and gone to bed, but Paneb had heard her get out of bed several times during the night.
“Should I get the doctor?” he had asked her in the early morning after she had returned from the courtyard where she had thrown up again.
“Not yet,” she had answered weakly.
“I think the meat was bad. It will pass.”
“I don’t know, beloved. I ate it and I am well.”
“You would eat anything. Your belly never gets sick,” she had moaned as she lay back down. “You could do so
mething,” she had added softly. “I have an amulet. It is by the loom, I think. It is small and wrapped with a red string.”
“I’ll get it,” he had said.
Now it was mid afternoon. Taki seemed better and Paneb was restless. The painting was going well and he was eager to complete the hallway and begin work on the other rooms in the tomb.
Standing in the doorway of his home, looking through the courtyard toward the dusty street he saw a savage looking man stop by the outer gate. He was hard muscled and dirty, the expression on his face was angry. When he turned to look into the courtyard, Paneb saw that the man’s one ear was mangled.
He took a step toward the courtyard.
“Are you Paneb, the tomb artist?” he shouted.
Paneb nodded.
“Djefi, First Prophet of Sobek commands you to come to Kanakht’s tomb. Now.”
Paneb saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Ahmes, who had been up on the roof practicing his drawing, was coming down the outside stairs to see what the shouting was about.
“Is he your helper?” The man called.
Paneb nodded, puzzled why the coarse man had been sent to fetch him, rather than a court official.
“Bring him, too. Djefi said so.”
“Who is it?” Taki asked.
“I don’t know,” Paneb answered quietly. “Let me gather my tools and I’ll be right there,” Paneb called to the man.
The man shook his head. “You don’t need them. He said to just bring you and your helper.”
Paneb knew this day would come.
When the gods first had arrived and Djefi had taken them, threatening to feed Ahmes to Sobek if Paneb revealed the existence of the new gods, Paneb had known Djefi would return. He had known the fat priest would want more, he was a man with a boundless appetite.
