by Jerry Dubs
“But no sterile operating rooms or equipment and no antibiotics,” he said.
Akila sighed and looked back toward the bow of the boat.
“So what do we do?” Akila asked herself.
***
“Pharaoh Hatshepsut, long life!” Imhotep said as he stepped into the shade of the tent a few minutes later.
The ruler of the Two Lands sat on cushions on the raised wooden deck. She wore a colorfully striped robe, a gift from Queen Ati of Ta Netjer and a jangle of bracelets on her right arm, which was raised to her jaw. When she looked up at Imhotep it was with eyes that were red-rimmed beneath the black kohl liner.
“Remove the tooth,” she mumbled.
Imhotep nodded and tilted his head at the deck beside her, asking permission to sit.
When she closed her eyes in pain he decided she had given him permission, so he knelt beside her and gathered his thoughts. After a moment he said, “Pharaoh Hatshepsut, neither Akila nor I are doctors of the mouth. We would be placing you in danger if we tried to remove your tooth.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You are a god from before time. Your name is known to all. They say you are Thoth. They say you are the son of Ptah. They say you can transform into an ibis. They say you can bring sleep to those who cannot rest. You, yourself, admit that you raised the mountain of stones for King Djoser.”
Imhotep lowered his head. He was used to being accused of possessing miraculous powers and found that he was unable or unwilling to dispel the myths that had grown about him.
“You can remove a tooth,” she said.
His face still turned downward, Imhotep flushed as he remembered King Sekhemkhet’s son Nebmakhet who had died under his care. When the boy had died Imhotep had been banished from the palace and soon found himself powerless to save his own son, Tjau.
The memory of Tjau tugged at the memory of his lost wife, Meryt, and soon his thoughts turned to his daughter, Maya, and his grandson, Neferhotep. At the thought of Neferhotep, the nightmarish feeling of doom flashed through him. He felt his stomach turn and shook his head to chase away what he hoped were illusory fears.
“You shake your head,” Pharaoh Hatshepsut said into the silence.
Imhotep looked up, forcing himself back to reality.
Both history and Akila agreed that Hatshepsut lived for another seven years. Imhotep had presented her lover and architect Senenmut with plans for her magnificent mortuary temple that had yet to be built. The story of this voyage would be – was – inscribed on the walls of the temple. They recorded the number of ships, the type of fish they encountered in the Great Green, the ivory, baboon skins and even the number of myrrh trees that were brought back from the Land of Punt.
Myrrh trees.
Imhotep’s eyes darted toward the opening of the tent and the cluttered deck of the ship.
Standing, he bowed his head to Pharaoh Hatshepsut and said, “I will heal your tooth.”
***
“No,” Akila said, crossing her arms to end the conversation.
“We know she survives this voyage,” Imhotep said, speaking in English as they leaned on the stern platform.
“No, we don’t. History records a successful voyage, but there is no mention that she was on it. We talked about this on the way to the land of Punt, Tim. You said it yourself, we might have changed history.”
Imhotep smiled in agreement. “I know, Akila. I know that I said that anything could happen. We aren’t just acting out roles, I agree.”
“But?” she interjected.
“I’ve been thinking about it, about all this,” he opened his arms to embrace the ship, the Two Lands, his strange journey from the modern world to the ancient past.
“You know how when you look back at small decisions, choices you made, stopping at a coffee shop and meeting someone, taking a different exit from a highway and, well, how everything can change?”
“Yes,” she said. “It looks like predetermination when you look back at the course of life, but that’s because you wouldn’t be in a place to observe those events if you hadn’t lived through them.”
“I know, whatever point we are at in life could only have been reached because of all those little choices and coincidences. I get it,” he said. “But there’s something larger.”
“Larger?” she asked.
He nodded. “I had this friend who was a physics geek. He was always saying that all the conditions of the universe are just right for us to exist. Like its age ... it has to be old enough to have created metals, but not so old that all the stars are burned out; the amount of oxygen in our atmosphere, the strength of gravity, all these conditions have to be exactly right otherwise ... ”
“We wouldn’t exist so we wouldn’t know about it,” Akila continued for him. “From our point of view, it looks as if the universe was created for us. It’s the anthropic principle.”
“Yes that’s it!” Imhotep said.
Confined by the small boat, he started to pace in a tight circle. “I think it applies to time, also. I mean, it must.”
“What do you mean, Tim?”
“The time portals, the doorways that I went through, that we went through. They weren’t exact, they weren’t precise machines. There weren’t any dials and digital numbers. We inscribed hieroglyphs above them and sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. It was more like a force of nature.
“When I met you the first time, it was the first time for me, in my timeline, but, in your timeline, you had already met me. And because you had, you were prepared to help me, to save Maya’s life.
“And,” he hurried on, “when I came to the Two Lands, I ended up becoming Imhotep because someone had to be there to save Djoser and to build the Step Pyramid, you know, someone was needed to become Imhotep. And then Bata went through the door at Abu, but he was unable to open it to come back through. But, Akila, it finally let him through when he was able to come with a company of men – including my grandson – and save us. When the conditions were right.”
Akila recrossed her arms and stared off the side of the boat. She believed in individual lives, in personal decisions. She thought that Imhotep did, too.
“From my point of view, Akila, and from yours, too, those time portals had to exist for us to be where and when we are.”
When Akila continued to look off in the distance, Imhotep took her arm and said, “Lightning rods.”
She turned back to him.
“Did you ever really think about them?” he asked. “They point up in the air and they attract lightning. I mean, how does that work? The lightning isn’t hanging out in a cloud, looking down and saying, ‘Hmmm, what looks good?’ No, it gets generated where the, well, I don’t really know how, but it gets generated and it shoots down.” He zigzagged a hand through the air. “And it does hit steeples and tall trees and lightning rods. Because they have created an attraction, an electrical field. They have created the right conditions to welcome the lightning.”
“I’m not following, Tim,” Akila said.
“I think the time portals work the same way. There was an Imhotep so history needed an Imhotep. I stepped through the false door and ended up in the time where an Imhotep was needed. For me, the time portals were necessary. For history, for there to be an Imhotep, the time portals were necessary.”
Akila smiled. “Feeling pretty special, Tim?”
Then, remembering his strange DNA, a genomic sequence that belonged to this world rather than to his native time, she suppressed a shiver.
Imhotep laughed. “Yeah, I know. But think, Akila, Brian was needed to save Djoser. And you, you just saved Pharaoh Hatshepsut in the Forest of Myrrh.”
“I understand, Tim. You’re looking at all this as some kind of time-dimensional physics problem.”
“OK,” he agreed with a smile. “That sounds pretty official.”
“So you believe that you and I were drawn to this time and place so we could pull Hatshepsut’s tooth?”
/> “Not exactly,” he said. “How about if we were drawn here because the actions of Imhotep and Akila are needed to make the history of this time possible. The lightning rods of history have drawn us here.”
Akila uncrossed her arms and sighed.
“But I don’t want to pull her tooth,” Imhotep said. “I have a different idea.”
Hatshepsut's tooth
“You want to get Pharaoh Hatshepsut drunk?” Nehsy asked.
Naturally thin, the chancellor of the Two Lands, had lost so much weight on the expedition that the ties of shendyt wrapped about his narrow waist twice. His voice had grown thinner, too, but his eyes were still alert and friendly, although now they were wide in question.
“What is the word for sedate?” Akila asked Imhotep in English.
Imhotep shrugged. “I think drunk will do.” He turned to Nehsy. “Yes, Lord Chancellor, I want to send Pharaoh Hatshepsut to visit the gods.”
Nehsy shook his head. “I’ve never seen her drunk.”
“Wonderful,” Imhotep said, “then it shouldn’t take too much beer.”
“I’d rather we use wine,” Akila said. “Higher alcohol content.”
“Of course,” Imhotep said. “Nehsy, could you please find a few jars of wine?”
***
Gray wisps of incense curled through the air inside Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s tent. Two empty wine jars lay overturned by a reed basket that held the roots of a young myrrh tree.
Pharaoh Hatshepsut, her robe covered with two layers of linen, lay on the shifting wooden deck, her mouth open as she snored. Akila and Imhotep knelt by her head. Akila held clean linen cloths; in one hand Imhotep cradled a small wooden bowl containing a few drops of thick myrrh sap. In his other hand he held a short, sharp thorn cut from one of the trees.
“Nothing is sterile,” Akila grumbled as she leaned forward and gently pulled Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s cheek to expose the swollen gum.
“I remember reading, back in the modern world, that children were developing more allergies because their environment was too sterile,” Imhotep said, bending close to Pharaoh Hatshepsut.
“Too many hand wipes is a little different than sticking a twig into an open sore,” Akila said, gently turning Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s head to give Imhotep a better view.
“A twig covered with myrrh resin,” Imhotep said, peering into Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s mouth. “OK,” he said, “what happens when I pierce this? Will pus shoot out, ooze out or will I have to apply some pressure?”
“I don’t know. It depends on how swollen it is. It looked pretty tight.”
“Yeah, it does look pretty tight, Akila. And red.” He glanced at Akila. “OK, I’ll make a tiny little jab. If too much comes out, I’ll turn her head so she doesn’t swallow anything.”
Akila nodded. They had had this conversation twice before entering Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s tent and having her drink wine until she passed out.
“Do you want me ... ” she started to say.
“No,” his answer came quickly. “If anything happens ... ”
They had had this conversation, too.
Akila bit back her argument and nodded.
Slowly, Imhotep guided the thorn into Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s mouth. The tip of the thorn touched the swollen bubble above her broken tooth. Leaning close he increased the pressure. A small drop of blood appeared. Holding his breath, he pushed harder on the thorn, felt the tip move until it struck something solid, the root, the jaw bone, the base of the tooth, he didn’t know.
Pharaoh Hatshepsut moaned and tried to turn her head.
Holding the thorn in place with his right hand, Imhotep grabbed her jaw with his left hand. Akila shifted to place her hands around Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s head while holding her mouth open.
Breathing heavily, Imhotep removed the thorn and reached onto Akila’s lap for one of the linen cloths.
“Help me turn her head,” he said, draping the cloth over his index finger and inserting it into her mouth. “We should have used a wooden block to keep her mouth open,” he said.
Akila released Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s head, quickly rolled one of the cloths and wedged it into Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s mouth, the loop resting against her upper jaw. She rolled another cloth and placed it in Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s mouth, draping it over her tongue.
“Grab the ends of the linen and pull to keep her tongue and lower jaw open. I have the upper jaw,” Akila said, pulling on the ends of the linen.
Imhotep withdrew his hand from Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s mouth, gathered the loose ends of the linen in his left hand and pulled the cloth taut. Satisfied, he put his other hand back into her mouth and pressed against the drained wound.
After silently counting to a hundred, he withdrew his linen covered hand, shifted the cloth to a clean spot and dipped it into the myrrh resin.
Peering inside Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s mouth, he said, “I think the bleeding has stopped.” He pressed the resin coated linen against her gum, closed his eyes and began to silently count again.
Finally, he withdrew his finger. There was a slight pink tinge to the cloth, but no seeping circle of blood.
He and Akila smiled at each other and began to breathe again.
Surviving
“Listen!” Pawura said.
Menena straightened, wiped sand from his eyes and looked at his commander who was standing by the half-uncovered wheel of a Hittite chariot.
“There!” Pawura said, turning away from the Hittite chariot. He pointed toward a small rise at the southern edge of the plain. He looked to Pharaoh Thutmose who was on his knees, pulling sand away from another buried chariot.
The sound came again and Pawura ran toward Pharaoh Thutmose.
“Pharaoh Thutmose, I heard a horse!” he shouted.
Pharaoh Thutmose straightened his back and carefully wiped the least sandy part of his forearm across his shaved head. Rising to his feet, the young ruler followed Pawura’s outstretched arm and squinted toward the horizon.
A long whinny floated toward them.
“It sounds sad,” Pawura said.
“It sounds alive,” Pharaoh Thutmose said. “Take ten men.” He nodded toward the low hills. “Capture all that you can.”
As Pawura ran off calling names of nine other unlikely survivors of Shu’s rage, Pharaoh Thutmose scanned the plain.
Despite excavating dozens of mounds, some covering chariots, others hiding huddled, dirt-covered corpses of soldiers, the Egyptians had not found any Hittite survivors. Now the morning had turned to afternoon and heat was rolling across the plain.
They could stop their search; it was clear that the gods had crushed the Hittites.
Now Pharaoh Thutmose and the survivors needed to conserve their strength to return to the world. They would need to retrace their steps through the devastation, find the road south to the marshes and on to the ancient city of Men-Nefer, home of the port of Peru-Nefer and the great temple of Hut-ka-Ptah, where they could give thanks for their deliverance.
He and Pawura had calculated the distance, guessing at the time it would take to walk instead of ride in a chariot. The charioteer had been reluctant to say the words, but Pharaoh Thutmose had read in his eyes that Pawura was certain they could never walk that far; they would exhaust their water, they would consume their food, their bodies would grow too weak.
Pharaoh Thutmose refused to believe that Shu, who had raised the land in his breath and buried the Hittite army, would let them perish.
The distant horse whinnied again. Now it was answered by another horse.
Pharaoh Thutmose felt the fiery hand of Re on his back, saw the comforting blue of Nut’s belly above him and he knew that Pawura would find horses. They would unearth eight chariots, sweep the killing earth from their backs and ride back to the Two Lands.
Raising their heads in wonder, the men Pawura had left behind stopped digging as they heard the jubilant voice of their ruler, his arms outstretched, his face alight with joy, as he sang a song of prais
e to the gods.
The men heard his words and they felt his faith. As his song rose to the gods, the men felt their fears lift. They began to believe that they would be delivered.
***
While Pawura and his men jogged to the south in search of surviving horses, Pharaoh Thutmose led Menena and the rest of the charioteers back to their own overturned chariots.
They dug out the least buried chariot, brushed it clean, lifted it to spin its wheels and stood it on end to check the long, curving wooden shaft that led to the harnesses. Satisfied it was usable, Pharaoh Thutmose left two of the men to check the wooden planks that made up the floor of the chariot and led the others to begin digging out another chariot.
Although they worked through the afternoon, they found only five usable chariots. Some of the chariots were beyond repair, their wheels splintered or the curved wooden shaft cracked or the floor boards of the chariot broken.
Pharaoh Thutmose and the charioteers dragged the usable chariots to the edge of the small hillock where the ground was firmer. Then, as they rested and drank, he looked at the skeletal remains of the wrecked chariots and let his mind wander to the gods.
He thought of Re and of Amun. He thought of Ptah and Horus. The gods had lived forever, they had conquered every danger, they had fought and survived.
Osiris most of all, Thutmose thought.
He had been cut into forty-two pieces and spread across the Two Lands.
Thutmose smiled as the glimmer of an answer awoke in his mind.
The answer always lies with the gods.
***
Pawura loved horses.
He loved their smooth skin, their impossibly delicate legs and the muscled shoulders and rounded hips that drove those legs. He loved the strong lines of their faces, the tufts of hair that grew from their ears and the coarse mane hair that Menena braided and decorated with beads.
He loved the way they tossed their heads and the independence that needed to be conquered, not with brutality, but with trust.
