House of Scorpion

by Mark Gajewski

  “We can’t afford to take any chances. The rest of the trip we need to stay near Father and keep everyone else away from him – especially his guards.”

  “I’ll attend him in the pavilion,” Heria said. “Weret too. I’ll fill her in.”

  We immediately split up, Lagus and Mekatre moving to opposite ends of the pavilion, me remaining near the center, Heria inside with Father. I fingered the handle of my knife constantly to make sure it was tucked into my belt. I prayed I wouldn’t be called on to defend Father; I’d been found sorely lacking in my fight with Iynefer and I was in no shape to engage in another.

  At times during the day Father brooded. At times he stalked the deck beneath the pavilion, furious, throwing things. At times he and Sety engaged in heated conversation. Finally, he sent Sety away and spent the rest of the journey in silence, all four days of it, attended by my sisters. He barely looked up when we passed Nubt.

  Sety joined me then. “The next time we see these walls I assume we’ll be attacking them.” He unrolled a long wide strip of leather and took out a piece of charcoal and sketched the walls and its approaches so we’d be able to remember what they looked like. The next three days, from Nubt to Hiw, a small settlement that marked the southern end of Father’s realm, Sety marked the position of every hamlet and settlement, and every likely camping site for an invading army, on a second strip. “If we’re going to war we need to be prepared,” he said.

  We landed at Tjeni around sunset six days after leaving Nekhen. I’d become more suspicious about Father’s guards with each passing mile. Instead of returning to the per’aa with the rest of the royals I trailed at a distance several guards as they headed to their huts through Tjeni’s narrow crowded lanes, trying to be inconspicuous, pressing my back against the sides of huts to let laden donkeys pass, disturbing an occasional cat, dodging running children and women carrying jars of water on heads or shoulders. I’d never been in the commoners’ section of Tjeni – nor outside the per’aa or the sacred court or the area where elites lived or the street that led from the per’aa to the river for that matter. The lanes were crowded and loud and raucous and dusty and the smells intense. Smoke drifted skyward from cookfires in the rear of huts. Children dashed back and forth, chasing each other, laughing, screeching. Women called to them from their doorways in irritated voices. Men wore kilts and women skirts of coarse linen, most ragged and threadbare and filthy. The younger children wore nothing. I realized I stood out in my finery, so I bent and grabbed handfuls of dust and rubbed them into my kilt. That helped a little, but not significantly. For the first time in my life I wondered what common people thought about me and the royals and elites when they saw us at ceremonies in the sacred court or passing through Tjeni on our way to the per’aa or quays. I truly understood for the first time how the special objects given out by kings set we elites apart and made commoners feel inadequate by comparison. Walking down the lane I didn’t see any gold or precious stones dangling from necks, or fine ivory pins in women’s hair, or bracelets or anklets or armbands, or even decent linen. I remembered Matia telling me about spending time on a farm and doing chores, for which I’d disparaged her. She, at least, had an idea about how most people in the valley lived. I didn’t. As I stepped aside to allow a large group to pass I wondered for the first time why commoners were obedient to Father. There were so few royals and elites that if commoners chose to rise against us we wouldn’t be able to defeat them. But I supposed that since the days of the patriarchs the people of the valley had been totally obedient to their rulers. To challenge one had always been unthinkable. And so we who ruled were safe. The only men elites had to worry about were other elites.

  The guards I was following entered several adjoining huts just as the sun set, plunging the lane into darkness. I was grateful for that; I didn’t stand out as much. Apparently the guards all lived in the same area of Tjeni, which made sense. None of their huts had windows. A reed mat was rolled up and tied above every lintel, allowing what breeze there was to flow into each hut. Oil lamps flickered to life one by one as I waited, casting numerous rectangles of light into the lane. I casually asked a passing boy which hut was Iynefer’s. He pointed it out to me. I seated myself at the base of a nearby hut and peered around its corner at Iynefer’s.

  I’d almost given up hope of detecting further treason when one of the guards who was normally stationed in Father’s audience hall, Kanefer, exited his hut and strolled to Iynefer’s three doors down. He stopped in the shadow at the side of Iynefer’s door. He looked up and down the lane, then called to someone inside in a low voice. After a moment Kanefer went into the hut, untying the mat over the lintel and dropping it in place behind him. I glimpsed the figure of a woman before he did. I hoped the visit wasn’t a sign that Kanefer was a traitor. I hoped Kanefer was merely informing Iynefer’s wife that she was now a widow, and why. It wouldn’t be easy news for her to hear. Half an hour later the hut went dark. Kanefer lifted the mat and poked his head out of the doorway. He looked both ways down the lane again, then gestured. A woman and two young boys exited the hut, leather pouches slung over their shoulders. They were going somewhere. Kanefer led them quickly to the door of his hut and spoke in a low distinct voice. That hut went dark. A woman and a girl hurried into the street, also carrying pouches. Kanefer lowered the mat to cover his doorway. The woman handed him an extra pouch. Unfortunately, I’d been correct. Sabu owned another of Father’s bodyguards.

  I followed the group for quite a ways through unfamiliar winding lanes until they passed from the settlement and onto a dusty path that led across the cultivation to the section of riverbank where Tjeni’s fishermen lived. The moon was rising in the east, low against the horizon, colored red by the dust stirred up by the day’s wind. Before long the plain would be bathed in somewhat less light than the night of the attack on Heria. I saw fires glimmering among a cluster of huts, close beside a line of swaying palm trees that topped the riverbank, dark shapes against the silvered river beyond. Dozens of reed punts bobbed at the edge of the river, secured to tree trunks. Means of escape.

  Kanefer led the women and children into a small grove of willow trees, a shadowed hiding place. I hunkered down not far away, watching. A few minutes later he emerged and headed towards the huts. I assumed he was going to engage a fisherman to help him escape Tjeni and make his way to Nubt.

  I’d seen enough. Keeping low to the ground, I retraced my steps through the cultivation. As soon as I reached the street that led from the quays to the per’aa I began to run, dodging the few pedestrians who were still out and about. I ran with one hand tightly clutching my left side; pain stabbed my ribs with every step. I pulled up at the per’aa’s entrance, sweating, breathing hard. Half a dozen guards were on duty.

  “Come with me! Quickly!” I ordered.

  All knew me. They dared not disobey. I led them back to the river, at first quickly, then cautiously as we neared the end of the cultivation. I stopped within sight of the fishermen’s huts, turned to address them.

  “Kanefer and his family and Iynefer’s are huddled beneath those willows,” I said in a low voice. “Kanefer’s in league with Nubt. Take him and the women and children prisoner. I want them all alive.”

  “Understood,” said the chief guard. He whispered instructions. The guards split up, slowly and methodically encircling the hiding place at a distance. I remained on the path.

  When everyone was in place the chief rose. “Come out, Kanefer! You’re surrounded.”

  I heard frightened voices beneath the willows, a sudden commotion. A figure broke from the trees, running towards the river. The coward! Kanefer had abandoned his family to try to save his life. Two guards tackled him. The rest moved into the willows. A few moments later the guards herded everyone to me. Kanefer’s hands were tied behind him. The women were crying. The children were wailing. I stared at Kanefer for a moment, disgusted, then turned and led the entire group back to the per’aa.

  ***

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nbsp; At midday Father used his mace to execute my captives in Tjeni’s sacred court – first the three children, then the two wives, and finally Kanefer. Father did it in front of my brothers and sisters and the elites and as many lapwings as could be crammed inside the court. That morning workmen had set six tall wooden gibbets into the ground just outside, each topped with a wooden scorpion. After the executions, Father ordered the bodies of the traitors hung from the crosspieces as a warning of the fate awaiting anyone else who decided to betray Tjeni. As I followed him back to the per’aa I reflected that this was how kings ensured the loyalty of their subjects – by fear and unflinching justice. I’d seen Father execute criminals before in the court, but never so many at one time, and never any who hadn’t themselves been guilty of a crime. But Father had just sent a message that anyone who betrayed him was risking not just his life but the lives of everyone he loved. Given the inevitable war between Tjeni and Nubt, it was a message that needed to be delivered as forcefully as Father had.

  An hour after we returned to the per’aa Father summoned my brothers and me and Sety and Minnefer and Perneb to his audience hall for a council of war. For the first time in my memory he didn’t seat himself on his throne atop the limestone dais, but on the floor in front of it in a circle with the rest of us. We were the only people in the hall; the usual guards were outside, on the other side of a shut door.

  “A few days ago we were on the brink of peaceful unification with Nubt, thanks to Iry,” Father began.

  “Iry? What did he do?” Mekatre interrupted.

  “He overheard Sabu arranging an alliance against me with Antef of Pe and Dep. He turned what he overheard into an opportunity to create an alliance between Tjeni and Nubt. Then he helped Sety and me negotiate it.”

  Lagus and Mekatre stared. I saw the slightest hint of a smile on Sety’s face. Even Minnefer and Perneb looked surprised. They hadn’t known the extent of my involvement.

  “That explains Matia,” Mekatre said disparagingly.

  “Nubt destroyed our alliance,” Father continued. “King Ika and his people are going to pay for attacking Heria – an attack which failed, thanks to Iry. They’re going to pay for inserting their henchmen into the midst of my court. Again, discovered by Iry.” Father looked at me for a moment, pride in his gaze, then his eyes narrowed and he leaned forward and clenched his fist. “We’re going to crush Nubt!”

  “About time!” Mekatre exclaimed.

  Minnefer and Perneb echoed him.

  “As soon as we capture Nubt we should attack Nekhen,” Mekatre said.

  “Why? Isn’t Tjeni powerful enough already?” Lagus asked hesitantly. “Do we really need to dominate the entire South?”

  That’s why I wanted to succeed Father in place of Lagus. He was comfortable with the way things were. He had absolutely no imagination or vision. Unlike me, his ancestors hadn’t been driven to unify the valley. He had no greater purpose in life than sitting Father’s throne and accumulating wealth and women and living in luxury. That wasn’t true for me. Sabu had upended Sety’s dream, eliminated the bloodline of the unifier. By so doing he’d liberated me to pursue kingship and unification with every ounce of my being.

  “A king can’t ever have enough power,” Father lectured, looking askance at Lagus. He turned to Sety. “You know the valley better than anyone. Make us a map.”

  Sety had come to our council prepared. He removed a piece of charcoal from a pouch at his waist and began sketching on the ground in the center of our circle. A long line appeared with a sweeping curve near one end, fanning out in six intermingled lines on the opposite. “This is the foot of the delta,” he began, pointing to the bottom of the fan. “The river splits into six branches here, all of which flow to the sea, though some merge with others and break apart again.”

  “The valley looks like the shaft of an arrow,” Mekatre said. “The delta looks like an arrowhead.”

  “The valley may seem like one vast narrow land to you, Majesty,” Sety said. “It doesn’t to those who live in the delta. They consider the delta and the western desert and the seacoast and the Far North to be one great region, and the upper valley quite another, distinct and unrelated.” He expanded his drawing to encompass the northern lands he’d just mentioned. Then he turned our attention back to the delta. “The three large delta settlements – Maadi, Pe and Dep, and Farkha – were all originally settled by men from the Far North.” He made three dots on his map. “Here, at the delta’s foot, is Maadi, three weeks by boat from Tjeni.” He pointed to a point north of Maadi, well over halfway to the sea. “Farkha commands the second most eastern branch of the river.” He placed his finger at a point where a western branch of the river met the sea. “Pe and Dep are twin settlements that control the entire northwest. Both are about a week’s travel from Maadi.”

  “Where’s your estate, Sety?” I asked.

  Sety made another dot, partway between Maadi and Farkha. “And over here, a little north of Maadi on the river’s westernmost branch, is Iunu.” More dots. “Djedet, Samara, Minshat. The settlements on this northeast-southwest axis follow a river branch. Those on the east-west axis trace a trade route.”

  “What can you tell us about these settlements?” Father asked.

  “For a thousand years Maadi has been the most important settlement in the delta, controlling the single river channel that flows south. Not only do all south-bound goods pass through Maadi, but it monopolizes overland trade with the North since it lies at the junction of trails across the eastern and western deserts and the river. Most particularly, Maadi alone has access to copper mined in the Sinai. Along with Farkha, it receives lapis lazuli and wine and olive oil carried by caravan overland or by boat on sea and river. Pe and Dep, being on the seacoast, trades with the Far North by boat. It also trades with barbarians from the western desert and oases. Of the major settlements, Farkha’s most like us, with a partly-Southern population and a familiarity with our customs and way of life. My family’s had a presence in Farkha for two hundred years.” Sety made three large dots in the portion of the map that detailed the southern valley. “Here, a little north of where the river starts to curve to the east, is Tjeni. At the curve’s eastern apex lies Nubt, six days from Tjeni by boat. Nekhen is six days south of Nubt, well past where the river flows back west and then straightens.” He made a multitude of small dots near the three larger and named the hamlets and villages who owed fealty to the three kings. “Finally, this is Abu, at the cataract, four days south of Nekhen. The lands beyond the cataract belong to barbarians.”

  “We know for sure that Sabu created an alliance with Antef at Nekhen,” I said. “King Khab seemed awfully sure of himself after his coronation. I think he was part of Sabu’s alliance too.”

  “But Khab said he’s going to stop trading with Nubt until they stop skimming a share of goods and we open the river to his boats,” Minnefer argued.

  “Possibly to mislead us so we wouldn’t guess he’d joined Sabu’s alliance,” I said.

  “Khab’s not that smart, Iry,” Mekatre said.

  Like he’d know.

  “I agree Nekhen’s involved with Nubt, Majesty,” Sety told Father. “Or soon will be.”

  “Then we need to invade both Nubt and Nekhen,” Mekatre declared.

  “What’s our first step, Majesty?” Minnefer asked Father.

  “Create an army, of course,” Mekatre said forcefully.

  “And a fleet to transport my soldiers,” Father said. “And granaries to store emmer and barley enough to support them. And weapons. Clothing, linen for tents, cooking pots – everything my army will need to march and fight.”

  “Why not just march on Nubt immediately with what men we have available before King Ika can prepare?” Minnefer asked.

  “He’s right. Nubt can’t match us in manpower,” Perneb concurred.

  “We don’t have that many more men than Nubt,” I cautioned.

  “How would you know?” Mekatre challenged.

 
; “Sety and I counted farms and hamlets and settlements as we drifted through the Nubtian heartland on the way home. Plus, Sabu’s prepared to buy mercenaries with Nubt’s gold.”

  “We can’t possibly attack earlier than eight months from now,” Father said firmly.

  “Ridiculous!” Mekatre snapped. “With respect, Father,” he said hurriedly. He’d forgotten himself. No one ever challenged Father.

  “Why do you think it’s ridiculous?” Father asked calmly.

  “Why grant Nubt eight months to prepare for war, Father? Eight months for them to build up their supplies of food and equipment? Eight months for them to buy an army of mercenaries? Eight months for them to arrange another alliance against us?”

  “Our farmers are our soldiers, Brother,” I admonished. “They’re planting their fields right now. They’ll have to tend and harvest them or we’ll starve. We won’t be able to use our farmers against Nubt until the inundation arrives and they’re idled. But how do you propose we get them to Nubt? We don’t have enough boats to transport hundreds of men and their supplies. Even if we did, it’d take weeks to get from Tjeni to Nubt with the river running high and fast against us. So we’ll have to march overland instead. But most of the valley will be flooded. So we’ll have to march across the desert. Meaning we’ll have to carry water for men and beasts, and fodder for donkeys, along with weapons and food and supplies. Once we get to Nubt, be sure that King Ika will barricade himself behind his walls. We won’t be able to besiege him for more than a month or two until we’ll have to withdraw so our soldiers can plant their fields again.”

  “You’re saying eight months is too soon!” Mekatre snapped.

  “That’s the reality, Brother.”

  “Iry’s right, Majesty,” Sety told Father. “Plus, if we throw everything we have at Nubt we risk losing access to the goods of the delta. We risk Tjeni becoming another Nekhen.”

  “Impossible!” Mekatre insisted.