by Joan Grant
Some days later we came to a village where there was much grumbling among the people. This was found to be due to the arrogance of the headman, so my father deprived him of his office and appointed another in his stead.
When we asked him how he decided which man to give the office to, he told us, “It seemed that three men had equal claims, until I saw their gardens. In one garden the plants sprang strongly from the earth; but in the other two, the plants were wilting from lack of water, although the river flowed within fifty cubits of them. A man whose plants wilt within reach of water must be both lazy and a fool; and he shows ingratitude to the Weather-goddess under whose protection are all things that grow from the soil. A man is greater than the cow, whose milk he drinks; and the cow is greater than the pasture: yet, lowly as the pasture seems, if that should perish, then all the links in the chain of life that leads from it would perish also. So remember this, and in gratitude succour all growing things.”
Sometimes, when we had anchored for the night, Neyah and I used to fish from the stern of the barge. We had bronze hooks, baited with mud-worms or lumps of putrid meat. Once Neyah caught a large eel, and a sailor said it was the spirit of one who had died on purpose in the river. We didn’t believe him, but Neyah cut the line and lost the hook, and the eel fell back into the water like a long silver snake.
But what we liked best was when we went with Father to shoot wild-fowl in the reeds at sunset. His long arrows went much further than ours. I have seen him fly an arrow through the outstretched neck of a fast-flying swan.
We stayed at Abidwa, which was the royal city in the time of the Meniss, for five days. I got very tired of being there after the first two days, for I had to spend all my time with girls and women. They sat up very straight in their best clothes and talked about buildings and new embroideries for dresses. There was one girl, she was the chief noble’s daughter, who was like a very rich doll, the kind that is too good to play with. I said to Neyah, “Do you think she’s a real person underneath?”
And he said, “She’s only behaving like this because she keeps on remembering you are Pharaoh’s daughter.”
“Do you think, if I put a lizard in her bed, she would forget who I am, and be more use to play with?”
And he got quite angry and said, “If you go putting lizards in people’s beds I won’t have you as my co-ruler.”
“Well, if you get cross with me I shan’t have you as my co-ruler.” And we nearly had a quarrel, but just in time Neyah remembered something funny he wanted to tell me. “In the house where I’m staying, instead of lying down in a bath in the floor and having people to rub you with oil afterwards, you have to go into a little room, like a box without a lid, and suddenly somebody pours water over you from the other side of the wall. It’s not a very good idea, because it’s always either too hot or too cold.”
The day we left Abidwa, there was a procession down to the river. Father led the way in a chariot, standing in it alone; and after him came Neyah and I in a double chariot with two horses.
The north winds were strong, so the oarsmen rested in the shade of the curving sail; and in four days we reached Nekht-an, the chief city of the South. It had been founded by Na-mer, who before the Two Lands were united had subjugated the King of the North for ten years. He called this city Nekht-an, ‘the place that shall be remembered for its power’. It was in rivalry to this that the capital of the North was called Iss-an, ‘the place that shall be remembered for its wisdom’.
The country here is very different from that nearer the Delta. After several days we came to a place where the river runs between rocky hills; here there is a great quarry of red granite, which had been discovered three years before because of a dream of my father’s. In his dream he had remembered that hundreds of years before he had been a vizier under Na-mer, and that it was here that the stone for the King’s sarcophagus was quarried. As the dream was fragmentary, my father authorized a priest of Anubis to search his records, so that this place might be found again. And so, three years before our present journey, my father returned to this same quarry that he had last seen in the reign of Na-mer. And he caused this place to be called Za-an, ‘the place of the memory of Za’.
I had never before seen stone of this colour. A block of it was being cut for a statue of my father and my mother, which was to be set up in the Temple of Atet in the Royal City.
Then we came to the First Cataract, which the sailors call ‘The Hill of Angry Water’. We stayed here three days for the ceremony of the official birth of ‘The Gentle Slope of Smooth Water’, a canal, where in future boats could pass up and down the river without danger from the cataract.
When we arrived the canal was dry. Part of it was cut out of the rock, but in some places the walls were of dressed stone. There was a path on each side of it for the teams of oxen that would draw the boats upstream, and at the top of the cutting two great pillars of stone still joined the solid rock; from them ran deepcut grooves, filled with grease, in which slid heavy stones attached to ropes thicker than a man’s arm. These ropes passed round the pillars and were tied to a boat going downstream; as the heavy stones were drawn up, so would the boat quietly descend. This method was only used when the river was high, or when boats were so heavily laden that they would be swamped if they did not ride smoothly.
The head of the canal was closed by a wall of heavy timbers, in front of which were hundreds of bags filled with sand, each with a long rope attached to it.
Most of the timbers had been removed before the day of the ceremony. Five thousand workmen waited by the ropes, and at Pharaoh’s signal they pulled away the bags of sand that held back the water, which then plunged down the canal. And while some of the river went onward to dash itself upon the rocks of its customary channel, the rest of it glided smoothly upon this gentle hill of stone, until at last the sliding silver joined the quiet waters below the fall.
Then in the Royal Barge we passed up this mighty roadway of Pharaoh, to the chanting of the men who had built it.
That night at sunset there was a feast, and all who had worked to make these things come to pass sat down together in companionship; Neyah and I sat beside Father on a lion-skin by one of the many fires. Oxen and gazelles were roasted whole; and there were jars of beer and wine, and platters of cakes and honey and baked fish. The men sang their working songs, in which they tell their picks to split the rock, or the soil to leap into their carrying-baskets; just as the people of the fields sing to their oxen to thresh out the grain. And when the fires burnt low, dawn was already in the sky.
The next morning we returned to the barge, and we journeyed five days upstream to Na-kish.
This garrison, which guards the southern boundary of Kam, is on the west bank of the river. It is irregular in shape, having the semblance of a crouching lion, for it follows the outline of the outcrop of rock on which it is built. The walls, between the six square towers, are faced with baked brick, glazed like pottery, and rise sheer from the natural rock; they are higher than five men standing upon each other’s shoulders, and of the thickness of a tall man when he lies down in sleep. They surround a courtyard, where five hundred cattle and a thousand goats can be driven to safety. Leading up to the entrance is a narrow ramp, with a sheer drop on either side, which three swordsmen could defend against an army. The gateway is approached through a tunnel cut in the rock, which is closed in times of danger by three drop-gates of stone. These are each lifted by twenty raw-hide rope, which run over metal staples to a flat rimless wheel of sixteen spokes, on each of which two men must bear their strength to turn it. In the middle of the main courtyard is a well of sweet water, and round it are the storehouses, in which are kept wine and grain and other food that grows not here; and also arrows and maceheads and the blades of spears.
Na-kish is garrisoned by two thousand soldiers from the north, and eight thousand other soldiers, whose land this is. They are half as high again as other men, or so they seem; their bodies are black as
bitumen and shine like statues of polished ebony. Their heads are shaven except for a tuft of hair on the top of their long skulls; and in their smiling faces their teeth look whiter than ivory or shell. They wear nothing but a breechclout held by a leather thong about their waists. These are our people, and they guard Kam from others of their colour, who are not of their race nor of their hearts, being cruel and treacherous and skilled in sorcery—that food of filth of little evil ones. Also do they guard us against invasion from Punt in the south-east.
The garrison must be strong, for here is stored the tribute that comes from peoples to the south of Kam: the gold and ivory, the precious woods and dyes, copper and silver, and marble of the sky; amethyst and wine-stone and rare plants; awaiting the yearly journey on the new rising river. Then when the river ebbs, the boats return heavy with grain to trade with the people beyond our boundaries.
It is well that gold should be protected by strong walls, for stone and gold are of the same company. And why should a wall of men risk their lives for the youngest things of Earth? Yet if these warriors heard that a child suffered from cruelty, then would they bring retribution with their spears, and, if need be, fight until not one of them was left alive to protect the mighty Laws of Kam.
Neyah told me that when he had grown his strength, it was with these people that he wished to gain his captaincy; he would learn their minds and try to win their hearts, so they would follow him to victory if hostile neighbours challenged us to war.
And I, too, loved these people; and the songs they sang at home about their fires. In their songs were curious harmonies, which stirred the heart like none that I had heard; some would drone like bees as loud as lions, as though a tempest blew on mighty reeds and thunders muttered to a moaning sea.
We stayed there for nine days, and on the tenth day we started downstream on our homeward journey to Men-atet-iss.
CHAPTER SIX
Death of Za Atet
When I was eleven, Kam was invaded by Sardok, King of Zuma, who had come as a guest with treachery in his heart to learn the paths of our country and our strength in war.
His men are yellow-skinned and bearded, their skins greasy, for they eat of unclean food; their bodies are coarse and hairy, fat as a white sow heavy with young. And they know much of evil.
They had a horde of dead slaves, who had been tortured so that in their dying they could be enslaved away from Earth and obey their dark masters. These slaves attacked those of us who in sleep watched over our country. But this availed them not, and from the temple news was brought that the Zumas were upon our north-eastern frontier, in the Narrow Land between the Two Waters.
The northern garrison challenged them. But our chariots were few, for our horses came from Zuma, who would trade us only stallions; and the chariots of Sardok mowed us down as corn falls to the sickle of the harvester.
Then the Zumas poured into our country like a destroying torrent: the fields were laid in waste, and the people of the villages fled from their homes, and they that fled not were engulfed in pain.
Five times the Royal Army under Pharaoh battered against the wall of the invader. Sardok would be driven back, and then more troops would swell the ranks that we had thinned; until the Zumas seemed like a wounded leopard that slinks back to lick its wounds only to launch forth a fiercer fury.
Then all the men of Kam who could hold a spear or swing a mace were called to the standard by my father. And the women of the land yoked the oxen and furrowed the fields; they set the bird-snares and cast the fishing-nets, so that the warriors should not know hunger, and when they returned they should find no famine.
For five months the wings of destruction shadowed Kam, and then it was decided that the whole strength of Kam should be thrown against Sardok in one mighty battle. If he triumphed, then would our country be in darkness, and the Light of our temples would gutter like a candle in the wind.
The day came when all our forces were arrayed against the Zumas, and behind the invader was the sea. News was brought from the temple that the battle had been joined.
That night Kam would know victory or defeat.
I wished I had been born a son to follow my father, like Neyah, to battle; or that I were a priest, that my spirit could be there—even to know defeat would be better than this suspense. Time passed so slowly, each moment seemed like a drop of icy water falling upon my forehead.
Then I remembered that sometimes, when looking on bright water, I had seen visions, vivid as in a true dream. I went to the garden and knelt beside the pool; and I prayed to Ptah of his compassion to clear my eyes. The last rays of the sun were falling on the surface of the water, as on a dark shield. I looked at the light.…
I could see great armies in conflict.…
I could see horses plunging, crushing many beneath their hooves who were not yet beyond their pain. I saw a man whose entrails tripped him as he tried to fight, and another with a spear sticking from his mouth.
I knew that the air was singing with the flights of arrows from Neyah’s archers, and that there was a great noise, a screaming of stallions and the shouting and groans of men; yet I saw only the picture, and all was quiet.
The picture changed.…I saw the chariot of Pharaoh leading the thundering charge; like the prow of a boat he cleaved the Zuma line, and it parted before him like the waves of a storm. Our warriors swept onward, with the Zuma host fleeing before them.…Now they could retreat no further, for behind them was the sea.…But we drove them on until they were engulfed by the waters, even as the rain engulfed the evil ones of the Old Land. This was no war of people against people, but of Light against Darkness, and to the Shadow we show no clemency.
Then I saw my father’s chariot. His standard of the scarlet feather was planted beside it. But it was empty.
Again the scene changed.…
I saw my father—he was smiling. Strange…I could hear.…I heard his voice. He said, “My daughter, tell your mother that, knowing victory, my body died from a spear, and my spirit left it like a wild bird freed from the snare of the fowler. Tell her to sleep early to-night so that we may walk here together, for I have much to say to her. Tell her to grieve not at my freedom, but to share it with me. Tell her that she but steps from her sleeping body to my arms.
“And to Neyah say this:
“Much of rulership have I taught him upon Earth and much will I teach him away from Earth. Tell him to listen to wisdom, whether it be from the lips of an old man or a young hound-boy, for it is not earthly work or earthly years that gives speech that is fruitful to the ear. Tell him to rule as I have tried to rule: sharing his strength with the weak until they become strong; sharing his courage with the frightened ones until they become brave; sharing his honesty with thieving ones until they become true. Tell him to try to be to his people as his own master is to him.
“And to you, my daughter, I say this:
“When you are twelve, go to the Temple of Atet and learn to be one who can say unto the people, ‘I, of my own knowledge, tell you that this is the truth’. Then, when your speech is proven, return and help your brother to guide his people, even as your mother and your father together have guided them.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Freedom Regained
I knew that I should have been like my mother, who would not dim my father’s glory with her tears. But when my sorrow was too heavy to be borne alone, I would go to the temple; and Ney-sey-ra would talk to me of death, until I saw it truly, as a gentle thing. And before the funeral of my father, he said to me, “If you were in a prison, little Sekeeta, and with you there was one you loved, and one day the door of the prison was opened and he was set free, then, although against you there were still bars, you would rejoice that he had regained a freedom that you had both longed for, and you would try to quench the tears of your loneliness with the thought of his joy.
“And if at night, while the world slept, you could fly through the window of your prison and share in his freedom, where
you and your dear companion could be together, and where your eyes, undimmed by the shadows of the prison, could see him while he still held you in arms unshackled by fetters, then you would not shadow your time together by weeping because each day you must return to the four walls that had once enclosed you both.
“When your father was on Earth, you told him of all the things you had done throughout each day; and if you saw him in the evening, you did not sorrow because all through the day he must sit in audience or think upon the guiding of his country. That hour of being with him has now become but a little further from the sunset hour. Sorrow not because you do not hear his footstep at noon, for you have but to draw the curtains of sleep to walk with him.
“We are all travellers upon a long journey, and we pass through many countries. We may find gardens and tranquil rivers where for a time we are happy; yet in our hearts we know that we are exiles and long to return to our true home. When the Overlords of Earth send us forth upon our journey, they judge the span of time of our exile. And when that span is reached, whether it be the hour of a child that outlives its birth, or the day of an old man who for ninety years has watched his body age, then will the traveller see before him the doorway of his home.
CHAPTER EIGHT
