“I’m surprised you have so much ivory,” Lagus said.
“Hippos are Farkha’s curse and blessing,” Minmose said, shaking his head. “They’re a terrible nuisance. They go after our farmers’ crops almost from the moment they’re planted. Hunters guard our fields throughout the growing season and bring me vast quantities of bone from their kills. Hippo tusk is the most prized portion.” He indicated a very large earthenware jar filled to the rim with water. Dozens of tusks were submerged inside. “We have to soften ivory before we carve it. Otherwise it cracks.”
We walked around the shop, peering over the backs of craftsmen. Some were true masters, producing beautiful objects, some much less talented. The latter were working on carvings of wildlife – lions, dogs, scorpions, falcons, geese, fish, even model boats. The masters were creating human figurines – women, men, a considerable number of dwarfs.
“What are these holes in the dwarves for?” Lagus asked.
“So they can be suspended with twine.”
Lagus stopped beside a man carving a figure with a bird’s head, lion’s body, wings, and human hands.
“That’s a griffin,” Minmose explained. “It’s a god worshipped in the North. We’ll send it to Sakan to be bartered.”
“I’ve seen copies made by craftsmen in the South,” Lagus said.
One craftsman was working on cylinder seals, luxury items similar to ones that had been made by Nekhen’s craftsmen for generations. The craftsman was decorating one seal with an ostrich; one with a gazelle was lying to one side.
“These represent Farkha’s gods,” Nebta said.
“I watched Nekhen’s craftsmen carve ivory when we attended King Khab’s coronation,” I said. “Farkha’s figures are about four inches tall. Nekhen’s are as much as sixteen. They don’t stand on bases, like yours, and all their female figures are naked, not wearing dresses like some of yours are.”
“I guess craftsmen in the North and South see the world differently,” Heby said.
I left the workshop convinced that Farkha’s ivory craftsmen would be more than capable of creating ivory labels for trade goods once Tamit’s system was implemented here.
“What in the world?” Lagus exclaimed in the next workshop.
We all gathered around. Lagus was right to be astounded.
A craftsman was using small gold rivets to attach thin gold plates to a two-foot-long wooden core in the shape of a man. The head and chest and torso and arms were complete, the hips and legs still in work. The eyes were of lapis lazuli, the eyebrows ebony. The ears were large, the fingers detailed. A three-strand necklace of limestone beads was draped around the neck. A large round stone, carnelian, dominated the bottom strand.
“I commissioned it for your father,” Heby told me. “I hope to present it to him in person – either here in Farkha, if he’ll pay us a visit, or in Tjeni, if he invites me.”
“I’ll try to convince Father to come here once we defeat Nubt, Heby,” I said. “He’ll enjoy seeing the North.”
Heby led us through the rest of the settlement to the very end of the western turtleback. Men were passing into and out of the mud-brick distribution center.
“Heby’s ancestor Nabaru built this,” Sety said. “He was the father of my ancestor Nykara’s first wife. He had interests in both Farkha and Maadi. Heby’s family has traded in this building for more than two centuries.”
“Originally it was partly used to store goods and food, partly to house workers and their families,” Heby told us. “But now we receive and process goods from Sakan and the upper valley here, and send them on to their proper destinations.”
“In a sense, it’s the nerve center of the delta,” Sety said.
***
We stepped from Heby’s home at dawn the next morning to begin our journey to Sakan. Surprisingly, neither Mekatre nor Nebta had been present for the morning meal. Surprising, at least until both joined us beside the donkey caravan. Nebta was quite disheveled. She and Mekatre both looked tired.
“I’ve taken Nebta to wife,” Mekatre announced.
She wrapped her arm around his waist possessively.
I was shocked he’d chosen to settle down with Nebta after such a short acquaintance. Given his proclivities, being tied to one woman was very much out of character. Neither the haste nor the woman made sense to me. I wondered if he’d told her about his host of children with elites and commoners. I wondered if she’d have cared, or if the lure of being married to a king’s son outweighed any drawbacks.
Concern flashed across Lagus’ face. “Father will have your head!”
“Iry got away with choosing his wife, Brother. So can I,” Mekatre told Lagus defiantly.
That remained to be seen. I’d “gotten away” because Father considered Tamit to be an exceptional woman. Had she been ordinary he’d have ordered me to leave her behind at Ineb-hedj, pregnant or not. I didn’t doubt that if Father decided to arrange a political marriage for Mekatre at some point in the future he’d order him to set Nebta aside. Probably not something Mekatre had warned Nebta about either.
“Minnefer will back me up,” Mekatre added with assurance. “He’ll explain the advantages to Father.”
Advantages. That word made it instantly clear to me why Mekatre had taken this particular bride. It was part of his strategy to be named king after Father. There was no other explanation. I suspected he’d remembered his fling with Nebta at Nekhen and had come with us to Farkha for the express purpose of making her his wife. Father hadn’t originally intended for Mekatre to be part of my expedition; he’d fought to be included. Mekatre’s marriage had just tied Father’s house to the most important family and settlement in the delta. Tjeni’s elites would have to seriously consider that connection when it came time to pick Father’s successor.
Based on the look crossing Lagus’ face, he also understood exactly what Mekatre had done, and why. If he hadn’t known it before he did now – his younger brother was his unabashed rival for Father’s throne.
As opposed to me, still positioning myself in secret. And taking another giant step backwards. Mekatre had just given himself a significant advantage over me. The new alliance he’d just forged was flashy, attention-getting, unlike my work, which was far more important to Tjeni’s future than a Northern bride but easily taken for granted.
Heby was absolutely delighted. He congratulated Mekatre and Nebta profusely. And why not? Unexpectedly, his family had just been tied to the most powerful king in the valley. His prospects could only improve from now on.
“I’ll keep your wife safe until you return, Majesty,” Heby assured Mekatre.
“I’ll hold you to it.” Mekatre kissed Nebta goodbye, then swung up on his donkey. He smiled at Lagus triumphantly.
***
At first our journey north to Sakan was pleasant – except for the friction between Lagus and Mekatre. Our caravan followed a well-worn trail through shoulder-high reeds and grass for half a day until we reached the easternmost branch of the river at a small settlement named Minshat. Its ruler, Rama, entertained us for the half day it took to ferry our beasts across, for the river was too deep to ford. The trail led us north from Minshat towards the sea along the riverbank through plains green and growing. Before long I smelled salt in the air. We camped the second night at the fringe of the desert. The following morning began the unpleasant stretch of the journey. We trod a well-worn track, lined with shards of broken discarded water jars, across an endless expanse of sand and dirt and sparse clumps of grass and desiccated shrubs, baking beneath a relentless sun. We set out each day before dawn, rested in whatever shade was available in the scorching midday heat, traveled again from late afternoon until a few hours after dark, our guide following stone cairns set up for that very purpose. At regular intervals spaced to accommodate the distance a donkey could travel in a day we encountered either small wells or stations comprised of massive clay jars filled with water. Fodder, too, was stored with the water. The route had been i
n use for centuries and so was constantly maintained to facilitate trade.
We finally neared our destination after an endless hot dusty week. Lagus and Mekatre had barely spoken to each other. But both had cornered me several times, angling for my support. By that I assumed they were each backed by a nearly equal number of elites and were looking to me to sway undecideds to their side after Father’s death. They were going to be surprised when I made a play for the throne myself, though if Father died tomorrow I’d have no chance of displacing either of them. I was counting on Father living a very long time so I could gradually wean elite support away from my brothers to me. Mekatre, brimming with confidence thanks to his marriage, had talked up Farkha’s importance to me and how he’d just aligned it and the North with our house. Lagus, sullen, had railed bitterly that Nebta wasn’t even a king’s daughter, that she’d barely be considered elite in Tjeni, that her lack of status shouldn’t elevate Mekatre. I’d listened patiently and consolingly to each, collecting and storing away bits of information I could someday use against them to benefit my own ambitions.
Raherka was waiting a mile or so from the settlement to welcome us, mounted on a donkey. He looked particularly prosperous. He greeted Sety enthusiastically, then asked after his granddaughter Merit and great-grandson Senebi. Sety passed along messages from both.
“Sakan’s located at the mouth of a wadi just south of the Yarkon River, in a fairly populated region,” Raherka reported. “We’re barely north of the desert. Directly north of Sakan the land’s well-watered and peppered with hamlets and villages. Several small harbors lie a few miles west of us on the coast of the Wadjet Wer. We move goods from them by donkey to the settlement.”
We topped a rise. Sakan came into view atop a low hill surrounded by a mud-brick wall.
“Were all of Sakan’s residents relocated here from the valley?” Lagus asked.
“Except for a few native workers. They helped construct the walls. They have expertise we in the delta don’t. Many hamlets in this region are walled.”
“Are walls really necessary?” Lagus asked.
“Some nearby hamlets are fairly warlike, Majesty. Occasionally, barbarians raid. With the amount of goods we store at Sakan I felt it better to be safe. Plus, if we didn’t have walls it might be perceived as a sign of weakness on our part. Something no one should ever accuse King Scorpion of.”
“The same reason I erected walls at Ineb-hedj,” I noted. I spotted a caravan approaching Sakan from the north, a long one.
“Sakan’s at a crossroads of land routes into Retenu and the Sinai and, of course, the delta and valley,” Raherka said. “From here we control both the mining of copper ore and a significant amount of the surrounding territory. I suppose, after traveling a week to get here, you think we’re fairly isolated from the valley.”
“True,” Lagus said.
“But remember, Majesty – the delta considers itself to be a region separate from the valley, and Sakan has already become a vital part of it. To you Sakan’s an outpost of your father’s holdings, but it’s not an outpost to anyone who trades here. And, again, we’re located in an area with thriving communities. Tel Erani, Amaziya, Lachish, Ptora, Ashqelon to name a few. But Sakan’s going to become the region’s great trade center.”
“You send goods to Farkha and Ineb-hedj,” I added.
Raherka nodded. “I accumulate and send to the valley fine ceramic bottles and cylinder vessels, stone palettes, exquisitely fashioned ripple flaked knives, cylinder seals, wine, pulses, olive oil, asphalt, resins, cedar wood and, of course, copper ingots. Majesties, your father, and you after him, will grow wealthy because of Sakan.”
“Do you keep separate from the natives?” Mekatre asked.
“Ours is the superior culture. They’ve begun to adopt it.”
“Are you close to any large Northern settlements?” Lagus asked.
“Several. Ugarit, a port north of Jebail. Megiddo is somewhat inland, in a valley between mountain ranges. There are many small settlements in the region atop mounds – my understanding is the mounds are earlier settlements on the same sites that were abandoned and fell to ruin.”
We were almost to Sakan’s gate. The path leading inside was already deeply worn and marked with donkey dung. The lanes inside the walls – what I could glimpse of them – seemed to be full of people hurrying in many directions.
“I’ve established a few satellite settlements to supply Sakan with foodstuffs and serve as staging posts to transfer commodities, Majesties,” Raherka said. “I control them from here – En Besor and Tel Ma’ahaz and Taur Ikhbeineh so far, with more to follow. Yes, Sakan’s just the start of Tjenian expansion in this region.”
***
Raherka welcomed us with a banquet that night in his audience hall, clearly patterned after Father’s in Tjeni but considerably smaller; it probably wouldn’t hold more than fifty people at a time. From it, he told us, he issued orders and dispensed justice in Father’s name. Lagus immediately attached himself to Raherka’s granddaughter, Khensuw, the younger sister of Sety’s wife. I recalled seeing them behind the sand dune in Maadi during our visit five years ago. They hadn’t forgotten each other.
Raherka engaged Sety in deep conversation during the meal while Lagus and Mekatre and Khensuw and I ate together, attended by serving girls.
“I’m going to be married soon,” Khensuw announced as she ripped a chunk of bread in two. “Grandfather’s arranged it with the ruler of Jebail.”
“The source of cedar,” I said. “A wealthy settlement.”
“Grandfather says my marriage will strengthen relations between Sakan and the Far North.”
“What’s he like? Your future husband,” Lagus asked.
“Old. Boring. Sickly. But he’ll keep me in style.”
Lagus snorted. “Not as fine as a king would.”
“I suppose King Scorpion will select your wife for you since you’re his heir,” Khensuw said. “A nice political marriage to seal an alliance. Our shared fate.”
Lagus glanced at Mekatre out of the corner of his eye. “I’m going to rule Tjeni and the South and Sakan and Ineb-hedj someday, Khensuw. I’m going to be a king. I intend to forge my own alliances. I intend to pick my own wife.”
Lagus wouldn’t have said that in front of Father. Mekatre’s antics at Farkha had apparently given him courage. Or were driving him to do something desperate in response.
“Do you have a woman in mind, Majesty?” Khensuw asked coyly, sipping her wine, gazing at him through half-closed lids.
“I do indeed,” he replied casually.
“Anyone I might know?”
“You.”
Mekatre, in mid-sip, nearly choked on his wine.
I tried not to laugh. I immediately saw what was going on. Mekatre had taken a wife to tie his fortunes to the North. Lagus was going to do the same thing. The marriages would balance out. Neither would have an advantage over the other. Both would have an advantage over me.
“Me?” Khensuw seemed shocked. And pleased.
“I haven’t forgotten my visit to Maadi. You’re a memorable woman, Khensuw.”
“I haven’t forgotten either, Majesty.” Khensuw’s voice was suddenly sultry.
“I need an heir for when I succeed Father. I’ve waited too long to marry already.”
A legitimate heir, as opposed to the rest.
“Our marriage will tie together Tjeni and the Far North,” Lagus argued, as if already making his case to Father.
“Quite a powerful marriage, Majesty,” Khensuw agreed. Her eyes were shining.
“So… why not?” Lagus asked.
“Why not indeed, Majesty,” she echoed.
Lagus smiled broadly. “I’ll speak to your grandfather, let him know what we’ve decided. You’ll share my bed tonight, Khensuw. You’ll return with me to Ineb-hedj.”
“As you wish, Majesty.”
“Lagus.”
“Lagus.”
Lagus lifted Khensuw�
��s fingers to his lips and kissed them. He addressed Mekatre. “Both brothers with Northern brides! Can you believe it? Both Perneb and Minnefer will be pleased.”
Confirmation that Lagus had Perneb’s backing. Confirmation too that Lagus was not going to give up his position without a fight. Battle lines had just been drawn.
Mekatre downed his wine, fuming. He knew his attempt to gain an advantage over Lagus had failed. Father wouldn’t be happy that both my brothers had taken his prerogative to arrange their marriages into their own hands. Mekatre would have to face Father’s wrath in person when he returned to Tjeni, Lagus from a distance since he’d remain at Ineb-hedj. It occurred to me that Mekatre should be thanking Lagus. Whatever Father did in reaction to the news he’d have to do to both of my brothers equally; in a sense, Lagus was Mekatre’s shield. If Mekatre was smart he’d make sure to plant a child in Nebta before they reached Tjeni. That’d soften Father, as I knew from experience. Being pregnant wouldn’t help Nebta, though. She was going to be treated coldly by Tjeni’s elite daughters for winning Mekatre away from them. She wasn’t going to find the settlement particularly pleasant.
I wondered how both Nebta and Khensuw would react years from now when they learned they hadn’t married a king after all. Assuming I kept their husbands from the throne.
3254 BC: 12th regnal year of Scorpion, King of Tjeni
Shemu (Harvest)
Matia
Baki blocked the entrance to Father’s audience hall. “You’re not welcome here today, Matia. Go home.”
“Says who?”
“Sabu,” Baki snapped.
“He can’t give me orders.” I laughed and pushed past Baki, through the door.
He grabbed at my arm and missed.
I spun around. “You’d dare touch a king’s daughter? Your father’s wife? Remember your place.”
Baki took a step backwards. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said darkly.
House of Scorpion Page 34
