The Field of Reeds (Imhotep Book 4)

by Jerry Dubs

  ***

  The soldier led them down a hallway to a storeroom.

  The side and back walls were lined with wooden shelves that began below a wide window, little more than a hand’s width high. The upper shelves were crowded with pots, jars and dust. Wooden crates filled the lower shelves. All of them were rough-hewn and unpainted.

  Governor Seni saw a spider scuttle along a triangular web in a corner and shook his head.

  There were no lighted lamps or wafting incense.

  How, he wondered, thinking of the dangerous walk through the slums, do people live in such squalor?

  “I’ll bring him back in a minute,” Minmose said to Mahu, his eyes darting to Mahu’s uncle. Then he looked back at Mahu, his eyes filled with questions.

  “I am the governor of Ta-Seti,” Seni said, squaring his shoulders and trying to look down on the taller man.

  Minmose blinked heavily and gave Seni a small nod of his head.

  “Greetings, Governor of Ta-Seti. Welcome to the barracks of the maryannu. As you may have heard, Pharaoh Thutmose rides with us.” He studied Seni for a moment, his tongue reaching out and drawing in his upper lip as he thought. He started to speak, caught himself and then said, “I’ll bring the commander back here.”

  He gave Seni a second nod and then turned away.

  Uneager to breathe in the stale air of the barracks, Seni took a shallow breath and closed his eyes.

  I have traveled so far, waited so long. I can mingle with these soldiers if they can get me close to Pharaoh Hatshepsut.

  He smiled as he thought of leaving this life for the Field of Reeds where Mut-Nofret would be waiting for him.

  They would be young again, just entering life. They would be strong and smooth and filled with energy. He would brush his lips against hers and feel her skin pressed to his.

  “He is the one?”

  Governor Seni opened his eyes. The angry man from the table was standing inside the doorway.

  ***

  Pawura led Mahu and Seni down the hallways and out a back door of the barracks, then across a dark courtyard to a long, low building that smelled of horses.

  “Put down the torch,” Pawura told Mahu. “The stable is filled with wheat stalks.” He nodded toward a water bucket.

  Mahu pushed the burning end of the torch into the water and subconsciously touched his belt where he usually carried his knife.

  Seeing his movement, Pawura smiled. “There are fifty charioteers in the barracks. If we wanted to kill you, you would already be dead.”

  He turned to enter the stable. “Come with me. The horses will let me know if anyone approaches.”

  They walked past a long line of horses that pawed at the ground and snorted, then slowly settled back to sleep as the three men passed.

  At the far end of the stable moonlight fell into an open-roofed room. The walls were covered with leather straps, bridles, and wooden-handled whips. Several stools were scattered about the room. Pawura pulled three of them into a semicircle and motioned for the others to sit.

  After studying Governor Seni for a moment, he turned to Mahu and said, “Minmose said you can be trusted.”

  “We grew up together. We were going to join the army together, but I married, so I chose the police force.”

  “Minmose said your uncle knows Pharaoh Hatshepsut.”

  Mahu nodded and turned to Seni who stood and brushed his hands across the front of his robe. “I am here because I can help you, captain of the young heroes. I have been governor of Ta-Seti since Hatshepsut was a child. I knew her father and her brothers.”

  “Pharaoh Hatshepsut,” Pawura reminded him.

  Seni lowered his head in apology. “Of course, Pharaoh Hatshepsut, long life!”

  He swallowed a frown and said, “Ta-Seti is the southern gateway to the Two Lands. It is a place where rumors go to die. And it is a place where the whispers of the lands beyond Kemet gain voice.” Seni started to pace. He loved to hear his voice and at this moment, he knew that it was guided by his ka.

  It would create a net to ensnare this rough soldier.

  “The breath of the Two Lands exhales and I hear it. The sighs of the foreign lands follow the great river Iteru and they sing to me.

  “These are not pronouncements from the palace or priestly proclamations. No! These are the innermost thoughts of the ka of the Two Lands itself. And they tell me this: Hatshepsut is not the child of Amun! Yes, she is the daughter of Thutmose the first and royal blood courses through her. And, yes, she married the son of Thutmose and his great wife Mut-Nofret, which gave him claim to the throne.

  “However, Thutmose the second passed his seed through his great wife Isis. And when Thutmose the second rested from his life, his son, Thutmose the third, our own great pharaoh, the god incarnate who rides with you young heroes, was ordained to sit on the throne.”

  Seni paused.

  “This is all known,” he said, looking about the stable for something to drink.

  Pawura stood and went to the wall. He took down a water skin and handed it to Seni, who studied it for a moment and then took a drink. “Water!” he said, spitting it to the ground. “Have you no beer or wine?”

  Pawura ignored the question. He stepped close to Seni and growled, “How does this help me? Do I look like Thoth, eager to hear the recital of bloodlines?”

  Seni stared for a moment, regathering his thoughts.

  “Hatshepsut, pardon me, Pharaoh Hatshepsut is of royal blood. She is honorable. She wants what is best for the Two Lands,” Seni said, the false words of praise tasting like stale beer in his mouth. “When she was regent for our Thutmose,”

  “Pharaoh Thutmose!” Pawura said.

  “Forgive me, Pharaoh Thutmose. When she acted as regent for Pharaoh Thutmose the third, she did so in good conscience. However, Seth whispered to her at night and he seduced her. The snout-nosed god of chaos persuaded her to usurp the throne. She knows this. The traders who come to Ta-Seti know this. The boatman who brought me here knows this.

  “We all know this.

  “But she has forgotten.”

  Seni stepped close to Pawura. “But I have not. And she knows me. She knows that I am a keeper of the ka of the Two Lands. If I can gain a few minutes alone with her, I can remind her of her place and I am sure that I can convince her to relinquish her improper hold on the throne.”

  Pawura laughed. “You would talk Pharaoh Hatshepsut from the throne?”

  “I have a way with words, commander. All I ask is an audience with her. She has refused me twice. And why? Because she knows the great truth I carry and she does not want to hear it.

  “Help me. Get me close enough to Pharaoh Hatshepsut to tell her the truth that is known throughout the Two Lands. The truth that you know in your own heart. Give me a chance to say the words that Ma’at would say. The words that will open Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s heart to the knowledge of the gods.

  “She will see the glory of Pharaoh Thutmose and she will yield to it.”

  When Seni stopped there was silence in the stable. Mahu stood with his mouth open, mesmerized by his uncle’s audacity. Although he wore a frown, Pawura’s eyes were wide with eagerness, already imagining Pharaoh Thutmose sitting alone on the throne, wearing the double crown of the Two Lands.

  Seni saw the light in Pawura’s eyes and he knew that he had reached the man’s heart.

  He will help me. He will get me within an arm’s reach of Hatshepsut and then I will plunge a knife into her heart. Perhaps the soldier or Hatshepsut’s guards would kill me, perhaps not. I hope so, for I am eager to join Mut-Nofret.

  While Seni watched his words ensnare the soldier, Pawura studied the ancient, irreverent man and realized that he could use Seni as a weapon. Not a killing weapon, but a feint.

  He could use this pompous man to gain access to Pharaoh Hatshepsut. Once Seni had had his say, Pawura would step in and kill Pharaoh Hatshepsut. He pictured himself placing a knife in Seni’s hand and then, gripping the ol
d man’s fist, he would drive the knife into Pharaoh Hatshepsut.

  Onlookers would see him trying to stop Seni. And then he would quickly kill Seni and claim that the man from Ta-Seti had assassinated Pharaoh Hatshepsut.

  I will be the young hero who killed the assassin of Pharaoh Hatshepsut.

  And Pharaoh Thutmose will sit on the throne alone.

  Pawura suddenly smiled at a new thought.

  After I kill this man, I will take his hand for Pharaoh Thutmose.

  Pawura's promise

  “You are a policeman,” Pawura said, turning to Mahu.

  Mahu nodded, his eyes touching Pawura’s and then sliding away. The soldiers’ fearful shouts in the barracks, Minmose’s questioning eyes as he examined Seni, Pawura’s zealous loyalty to Pharaoh Thutmose, and Seni’s oily lies — they all crawled over his skin.

  He felt as if a scorpion were perched on his shoulder.

  He had come to pass Seni off to Minmose’s friend and to get the frightening uncle out of his house. He hadn’t thought what would happen beyond that.

  Who could take seriously the ravings of an old man who had suddenly appeared from the edge of the empire?

  ***

  Two nights ago he had met his friend Minmose after his long shift. They met when their schedules allowed, sitting together, drinking beers and complaining about their jobs, their lives, their relatives.

  Minmose had missed the expedition into Sinai because he had broken his wrist when a wheel had worked loose on his chariot. Ruefully he had told Mahu about the maryannu’s miraculous victory over the Hittites.

  “The men returned with fire in their eyes, Mahu,” Minmose had said, jealously. “They had a great victory and they worship Pharaoh Thutmose. He is a god.” Leaning forward, beer cup in hand, Minmose had said, “And there are whispers.”

  “Whispers?” Mahu raised his cup to catch the eye of the heavyset woman who had inherited the tavern when her husband had died. The man had accidentally cut his hand. The wound had turned red and then the redness, like slow moving snakes, had slithered up his arm. Heat followed it, nestling in his head and soon he was unable to rise from his bed.

  There were no sons, only a wife, her arms as thick as legs, her legs as thick as tree trunks. Her dark eyes were always sad, weighed down by skin that hung from them, and she constantly unleashed long, heavy sighs.

  The woman’s sadness was a physical presence, and Minmose and Mahu often talked about finding a different tavern, but the beer was excellent and the woman charged little for it.

  The woman saw Mahu’s upraised cup, nodded, and turned to shout at a servant boy.

  “They want to follow Pharaoh Thutmose.” Minmose leaned even closer. “And only him.”

  “What about General Pen-Nebheket?”

  Minmose had slapped the side of his friend’s head. “No, idiot. Pharaoh Thutmose already rules Pen-Nebheket.”

  The boy arrived, his arms wrapped around a heavy clay pot filled with beer. Mahu dipped his cup into it and, after picking out a dead fly that swirled at the surface, he took a deep drink.

  Mahu was a good policeman. There were set procedures and rules. The people of the Two Lands followed the law, they adhered to ma’at. There were bar fights, jealous husbands, an occasional theft, but the infractions had all happened before and there were well-established steps to follow.

  The army of the Two Lands obeyed General Pen-Nebheket. He, in turn, followed the orders of Pharaoh Thutmose. Pharaoh Thutmose ...

  Mahu had shaken his head when he realized that Minmose was suggesting that the young heroes wanted to remove Pharaoh Hatshepsut from her half of the two-seated throne.

  “Yes, Mahu, you understand. These are dangerous times.”

  Then it had been Mahu’s turn to amaze his friend. He had put down his cup and said, “My uncle, the governor of Ta-Seti, arrived the other night. If you think the whispers of drunken soldiers is worrisome, let me tell you what Governor Seni said.”

  ***

  Now, huddled in the tack room of the stables of the maryannu, Mahu found himself being pulled into a plot to kill Pharaoh Hatshepsut. Even though his uncle had spoken of using words to drag Pharaoh Hatshepsut from her throne, Mahu knew that he really wanted to spill her blood.

  He saw the same blood lust in Pawura’s eyes that he had heard in his uncle’s voice. They would use each other, and they would use him to satisfy their thirst.

  Silently, he called on cobra-headed Meretseger, to help keep this plot secret.

  “Mahu?” Pawura said.

  “Yes, I am a policeman.”

  “Then you know her schedule, when she leaves the palace,” Pawura said.

  Mahu nodded. “She leaves very little, except to worship at the temple of Amun.”

  “Who escorts her?”

  “The palace guards.”

  “I know that, I mean, who among the guards?”

  Mahu lowered his head as he thought.

  There had been a change a few months ago, not long after the mysterious Imhotep had arrived. Word had spread through the city that the unimposing man was the Imhotep, the god from before the time of the pyramids who had taught Thoth to write and who had shown Taweret how to aid in birthing and who had given Amenhotep the heka of healing.

  The strange man-god had immediately been accepted into the royal court and soon ... yes, it was the young charioteer, the son of Maya, the keeper of the wardrobe. They claimed that she carried the blood of the god Imhotep.

  Mahu closed his eyes as he followed his thoughts. Imhotep, Maya, and the new captain of the guards ... Neferhotep!

  “Neferhotep,” he said, giving voice to the name and feeling an empty sadness as the syllables left his mouth. Giving voice to the name had entangled him in the plot now.

  Pawura cocked his head in thought. “I know that name.” He thrummed his fingers on his thigh.

  “He is the son of Maya, keeper of the wardrobe. He is a charioteer, perhaps ... ” Mahu said.

  “Yes, Neferhotep the charioteer. He wanted to join us. About a year ago. And then orders came from the palace that he had been directed to join the palace guard. And now he is their captain,” Pawura said, his voice distant as his thoughts ran ahead.

  He thought of the Egyptian chariots, so light and fast, overtaking, outrunning, outmaneuvering the Hittites. There was truth there. Speed, surprise, misdirection.

  “Mahu,” Pawura said, “how often does Pharaoh Hatshepsut visit the temple of Amun?”

  “Each week. She goes on the first day of the week after prayers to Re.”

  “And Neferhotep provides the escort.”

  “Yes,” Mahu said.

  “Today is the eighth day. That leaves us three days,” Pawura said to himself. “I must visit Neferhotep. Then secure the temple entrance.” He turned to Seni. “Minmose will take you to his father’s house. I will send for you in four days. You will have your private audience with Pharaoh Hatshepsut. Gather your words, you will have only this one chance.”

  Spiders

  The river swept the boat north toward Waset. Eight sailors took turns rowing, pushing the boat so hard it skimmed across the water, outrunning the current. In the center of the boat, wrapped in shrouds of linen and lying atop a makeshift bed of cushions, Kebu rested.

  At those rare times when he lay awake, he talked with the sailors and they fed him beer and bread and dried fish. At other times, he lapsed into a restless sleep, talking aloud, his words making no sense to the sailors: He talked of baby monkeys that fell from the sky and of stern baboons who flew along a cliff face; he cried out warnings of fire or lions. The fear in his voice made the sailors back away from him, their eyes wide from horror.

  When Kebu tossed with fever, his arms akimbo, his mouth twisted in pain, or when he lay listlessly, his breathing so shallow that they wondered if he was dead, the sailors asked each other what this strange warrior had done, where he had been and what he had seen that had angered the gods so.

  It was clear
to them that Kebu was inhabited by a demon or that his mind had ventured to the Field of Reeds and had returned disorganized and unable to take root again here in the Two Lands. His body was weak; sometimes it radiated heat like Re, sometimes it shook with chills. They could see that it was a temporary vessel.

  The sailors had been ordered to take him to Waset and to help him find the home of a policeman named Mahu where they would find Governor Seni. This man, Sabestet had told them, had a message for the governor, one that only he could deliver.

  The sailors were sure that once that message was delivered, Kebu’s ka would rise from his body and the tortured man would finally rest from this life.

  ***

  They arrived in Waset in midafternoon.

  Kebu had fallen into a feverish sleep, so six of the sailors carried him ashore while two others went into the city to find directions to the home of Mahu the policeman.

  They propped Kebu against a tree, splashed him with water and slapped his face.

  When his eyes opened, they gave him a loaf of bread and watched as he picked at it, his attention wandering as he tried to understand where he was. Fever had robbed his senses and the small voice in his mind assured him that once he stood before Governor Seni and told him that Yuya was dead and that the women had lived, he would find relief.

  He watched a group of men approach carrying a poorly decorated litter. They lowered the litter to the ground beside him and, with two of them lifting under his arms, they hoisted him onto the carrier.

  When the sailors raised the litter, Kebu felt as if they were lifting him in offering to Re, to Nut or to Ptah or to Amun. He smiled at the thought that a young Medjay warrior should be offered to the gods.

  My ka will surely find the Field of Reeds.

  They carried Kebu through the market, past the calls of sellers of fruit and onions and wheat, past the chipping of chisels on wood and the tearing of reeds and the crackle of kilns. Soon they entered a quieter road where palms provided shade and the smells were of cook fires and roasting meat.