by Jerry Dubs
Slowly, Kebu began re-entering life in the Two Lands.
“This house,” one of the sailors said and they lowered the litter.
Helping Kebu to his feet, they approached the open doorway and one of them called, “Mahu the policeman!”
A narrow-shouldered girl wearing a dirty kilt came to the doorway holding a damp rag.
“We are here to see Mahu the policeman,” one of the sailors said. He nodded toward Kebu who was standing unsteadily between two of the men.
Ruyu looked from the sailors to Kebu, who wondered if the girl was a hallucination, perhaps one of the baboons transformed to a person. He blinked his eyes, waiting for the girl to open her mouth and cry like one of the panicked bushbabies.
But the girl just shook her head.
The sailors looked at each other and then at Kebu whose legs began to buckle. As he slowly slid to his knees, two sailors grabbed his arms to arrest his fall. His face level with the servant girl’s face, Kebu looked at her sadly and said, “Governor Seni.”
The girl shook her head again and pointed down the street.
“Do you know where Governor Seni is?” one of the sailors asked.
When the girl nodded, the sailor grabbed her arm and said, “Show us.”
***
Mahu had left Governor Seni with Pawura in the charioteers’ barracks. The following morning, a rough looking man had appeared at Mahu’s house driving a chariot. He had asked for Governor Seni’s clothing and a wooden box that the governor had requested.
Eager to rid his house of any trace of his traitorous uncle, Mahu had bundled together more things than the charioteer had been able to carry easily. Ruyu had been sent along, sitting on the floor of the chariot, her arms wrapped around the bundle of clothing, the wooden box, an ornate knife and a leather pouch tied shut with a gold-threaded thong.
She had sat cross-legged, watching out the open back of the chariot as the homes gave way to a wide avenue lined with graceful palms and larger homes with high white walls around them.
Now she led the sailors and the sickly looking man along the same path, pointing to the right by the crooked palm tree that leaned over the street, waving them past the twin black dogs that had chased the chariot, directing them around the well where the charioteer had stopped to drink.
The houses were farther apart here, the smell of cook fires replaced with the fragrance of jasmine and lotus and chrysanthemums. She paused by two homes, comparing the two of them before settling on the house on the right which had a blue and white striped canopy above a dining area on its roof.
The sailor, who seemed less grumpy to her now, leaned down and said, “You are sure.”
She nodded gravely.
“What is your name?” the sailor asked.
“Ruyu.”
“You are a smart girl, Ruyu. May Hathor guard your steps.”
Ruyu blushed and bowed her head as she had seen Thuya do.
The sailors lowered the litter and pulled Kebu to his feet. “Governor Seni is here,” one of them told him, wrapping arms around his waist to support him.
Kebu’s eyes were wet with tears. The jostling ride had irritated the wound in his thigh and the gash, which had never healed, was now home to a knotted, gnashing ache. Kebu felt as if his ka was being drawn out through the ugly wound.
He stood unsteadily and, as two of the men steadied him, he bent down and unwrapped his injured thigh. A rotting stench rose from the gash which was hideously knotted and, unless he was dreaming again, the knots were moving.
The sailors dragged him through the gateway, past a small garden where the flutter of birds mixed with the trickle of water that fed a small pond. Beneath a low sycamore tree, an old man sat on the bench. Two servants stood by him with a pot of wine and a basket of grapes.
“Who are you?” the man shouted at the soldiers.
“We are from Ta-Seti,” the sailor answered. “We have been sent to find Governor Seni.”
The old man stood and approached the sailors. A small smile crossed his face as he studied them. The smile slid into a tight frown when he saw Kebu and the shoulder scars that marked him as a Medjay warrior.
“Who is this?” he asked tensely.
“He is a Medjay warrior named Kebu. He has a message for Governor Seni,” the sailor said.
“I am Governor Seni,” the old man said, drawing his shoulders back.
Kebu, his head lolling, a string of drool hanging from his open mouth, turned to the old man.
Suddenly the pain in his leg, aggravated by the jostling ride and the repeated attempts to stand, grew sharper. Moaning, Kebu looked down at the red-edged wound. It was pulsing with a life of its own. As he watched in horror, the edges of the injury peeled open and dozens of freshly hatched spiders emerged from the wound and began to run down Kebu’s leg.
Governor Seni gasped.
The soldiers let go of Kebu and backed away in shock.
Kebu screamed a high wail and fell to the ground.
“Take him away! Take him away!” Seni screamed, sure that the spiders were a message from the gods.
Spiders are harbingers of the Seth beast, Seni told himself. The Two Lands will descend into chaos unless I can lance the wound.
***
The sailors dragged Kebu from the courtyard and put him on the litter.
They understood now why Kebu had to deliver the message in person. The abominable spiders were the message. There was great heka at work here.
But it was a dark magic and, looking at Kebu writhing on the litter, they were sure that the heka was consuming him. It was spreading through the air, crawling along the poles of the litter like unseen spiders.
The sailors started to run, bouncing the litter and then, as Kebu continued to scream, they paused outside the wall of a house. Quickly they lowered the litter and, leaving Kebu alone, began to run back toward the river and the safety of their boat.
***
Pentu sat in his front garden beside a long table covered with papyrus, his notes for the medical text that he, Sitre, and Akila were compiling. He had glanced up a few minutes earlier as a servant girl walked by followed by eight men carrying a litter. The men hadn’t been fashionably dressed and the litter had seemed plain and out of place in this neighborhood.
He had frowned at it then turned his thoughts back to the papyrus notes he was studying. During Akila’s long absence, he and Sitre had nearly completed the collection of cures and medical practices.
Now he was attempting to organize all the information. He had considered arranging it by the part of the body that was affected, by the herbs that were used, by the gods invoked in the charms, by the inscriptions on the amulets and by the common name of the illness.
He picked up his wine cup and, looking down, saw the leafy branches of a short palm tree reflected in the still surface of the dark liquid. He took a sip, allowing the wine to lie on his tongue for a moment before letting it slide deeper into his mouth.
His son, Neferhotep, was growing increasingly anxious because Pharaoh Hatshepsut had been away so long. His wife, Maya, was also growing more and more nervous over rumors that Pharaoh Thutmose was returning. She was sure that he would unmask her deception.
Pentu was nervous, too, but his fears were tempered by the confidence Imhotep had shown before Pharaoh Hatshepsut had secretly departed for Ta Netjer. He trusted his father-in-law. The stories Maya had told him, the tales Sitre had shared and the legends of the god-man all reassured Pentu.
If Imhotep said the expedition would succeed and that there was no record of ill befalling Pharaoh Hatshepsut, then Pentu would trust that his vision was sure.
A scream climbed over the garden wall.
Pentu stood and, running to his gate, saw the litter bearers almost drop the litter they were carrying as they quickly lowered it and ran away.
“Come back here!” Pentu shouted as he ran into the street. The sailors showed him the bottoms of their feet as they picked up their sp
eed, kicking up dust as they ran.
The scream turned into a gurgle.
Pentu glared at the running litter bearers and then hurried to the screaming man. A thin, dark-skinned man was writhing, both hands gripping his right thigh. Pentu knelt by him.
“I am a doctor,” he said reassuringly, gently gripping Kebu’s wrists.
Kebu looked imploringly at Pentu. “The women live,” he said and fainted.
“What women?” Pentu said, leaning close. Then he looked over his shoulder, but the litter bearers were out of sight.
“What women?” Pentu repeated, this time to himself. Then he turned to get servants to help him take the unconscious man to his house.
A Favor
“Hiya!”
Isis and Hathor leaned into their harness collars and Neferhotep’s chariot rolled out of the palace stables and onto the quiet streets of Waset.
Wheeling west toward the river, the chariot was a liquid shadow chased by Re as he drove his fiery chariot skyward, turning the eastern horizon the color of rekindled embers.
Neferhotep shifted the reins to his left hand and slowly swung his right arm to loosen his shoulder. Then he switched the reins to his other hand and stretched his left arm as the horses trotted onward, following the path they took each morning.
Neferhotep took a deep breath, welcoming the Two Lands into his body. Exhaling, he smiled at the sight of Isis and Hathor bobbing their bare heads in unison as they pulled the chariot; he found their attentive ears and free flowing manes more beautiful than the ostrich-feather fans that were strapped to their heads during state processions.
The muffled clop of the horses’ hooves on the dirt street, the creak of the central pole where it nestled into the axle, the grind of the leather-cased wheels, the rough feel of the braided reins, the dry whisper of the jostling arrows in his quiver all swirled about Neferhotep and entered his ka.
His chest swelled as he inhaled the aroma of warm bread as his chariot rolled past a bakery. Nearing the river he nodded a greeting to three fishermen carrying folded nets and empty baskets as they walked toward the water. He slowed Isis and Hathor as a dozen goats rounded the corner, their tiny hooves pattering against the hard-packed road.
Turning onto the river road, he raised the reins to slap against the horses’ rumps, then held them aloft when he saw a flock of geese approaching. Three young girls, carrying long switches that they used to herd the geese, laughed and shyly waved to him as he passed.
The Two Lands stirred to life around him, above him, below him, and within him, and Neferhotep lifted his eyes to the slowly brightening sky and laughed with joy.
***
He turned south on the river road.
At the outskirts of Waset he reined Isis and Hathor to a stop and looked for other travelers. With the horses snorting impatiently, he tied a wide leather strap around his waist, secured the reins to it and lifted his bow from the leather thong that held it to the side of the chariot.
With his left hand holding the bow, he gathered the reins in his right hand and then slapped the slack against the rumps of his horses.
“Hiya!”
The horses broke into a trot and Neferhotep leaned back to bring the reins taut, but not so tight that the horses would slow.
“Hiya!” he said louder.
Isis and Hathor began to gallop and the chariot gathered speed, cutting through the still morning air. Neferhotep could feel the wheels grinding over the hard-packed road, the vibrations traveling through his legs to his heart. The hoof beats clapped a staccato rhythm that became his own heartbeat.
Looking ahead, he watched the Two Lands move toward him. Glancing to his right, the trees along the river bank rushed past him. The horses pulled, the chariot rolled, and he felt that the ground and the sky and the breath of Shu all revolved around him and he was the still center of the universe.
“Hiya!” he shouted once more, leaning to his left, the movement dragging the reins across the horses’ backs as the road turned, following a slight bend in the river. The horses responded to his movement and, smiling, Neferhotep reached down and pulled an arrow from the quiver that hung from the right side of the chariot.
Glancing at the fletching, he turned the single fin of dark feathers to the outside and fit the arrow into the bowstring. With his knees and hips holding him steady, he chose a rapidly approaching palm trunk.
With one easy movement Neferhotep pulled the string as he raised the bow. As his right hand grazed his cheek, he looked down the arrow’s shaft, watched the tree slide into view and loosed the arrow.
As soon as the shaft cleared his bow, he bent and pulled a second arrow. He fitted the arrow onto the string as his eyes sought the next target. He raised the bow, pulled, sighted, and released.
Isis and Hathor ran evenly. Neferhotep’s legs held him steady, his arms worked without thought and he rode down the road loosing arrow after arrow. When he had emptied the quiver, he leaned back, pulling on the reins and Isis and Hathor slowed their run.
He untied the reins from his belt and turned the chariot to ride back up the road and retrieve his arrows. To his surprise a chariot was waiting by the last target tree.
“Amazing” the driver called as Neferhotep approached.
The man had a wide chest and muscled shoulders of an archer. He wore a clean, blue-trimmed shendyt. His broad-chested horses wore ostrich-feather plumes on their arrogantly held heads.
“You’ve grown,” the charioteer said, stepping from his chariot.
“You remember me?” Neferhotep asked, recognizing the man as Pawura, commander of the maryannu.
“Of course I remember you,” Pawura said, offering his right arm.
Neferhotep took the arm, clasping his hand around Pawura’s forearm, noting the strength in the commander’s arm.
Pawura squeezed Neferhotep’s arm in return, smiling as he did. “You’ve gained strength, Neferhotep, and your archery skills,” he shook his head in admiration. “The maryannu could use you. You would have plenty of chances to loose arrows at the Shasu.”
Neferhotep started to answer, but Pawura held up his hand. “I know, I know, we could have taken you two years ago. And we would have,” he said, lowering his voice, “but we were not allowed.”
Neferhotep frowned.
He had applied to the maryannu almost two years ago, but had been turned down.
“You said I was too small and that I couldn’t control the horses well enough,” Neferhotep said.
Pawura nodded. “That was true, but you weren’t that small and you showed promise. But orders came from the palace that you were needed here.”
Neferhotep had known that his mother hadn’t wanted him to join the charioteers. And, of course, she had the ear of Pharaoh Hatshepsut. So he had been turned down by the maryannu and had joined the palace guard instead. Now, two years later, he was their captain.
“That water has flowed,” Pawura said. “And the gods have led us well, Neferhotep.” He clapped a hand on Neferhotep’s shoulder. Leaning closer, he said, “I need a favor, one that only you can grant.”
Glory and the gods
Back at the stables, Neferhotep wiped down Isis and Hathor, his hands barely feeling the horses’ quivering muscles as his mind wandered the past and wondered about the future.
Neferhotep had been raised in the palace; his mother, Maya, was Keeper of the Wardrobe for Pharaoh Hatshepsut, his father, Pentu, was one of the royal physicians.
But Neferhotep’s strongest childhood memories were not of the gold-gilded throne or the colorfully painted pillars or the aroma of feasts or the sounds of the lutes and whirls of acrobatic dancers. They were of Maya’s guardian, Bata, who loved Neferhotep like a son.
Protective yet playful; an unbending will and a gentle touch; always centered in the moment, yet driven to return to the past, Bata’s presence was as pervasive as the Two Lands.
It was Bata who had saved Princess Hatshepsut when he had first arrived through t
he time portal; Neferhotep had grown up listening to his mother retell the heroic story.
It was Bata who had taught Neferhotep to string and draw a bow, to sharpen and oil the blade of his khopesh, to fight without a weapon and to use a simple staff to defeat an armed opponent.
It was Bata who commanded Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s personal guard and who had persuaded Pentu and Maya to allow Neferhotep to join the guard.
It was Bata who had led Neferhotep and the guards into the past where they had rescued Imhotep and Akila, and it had been Bata who had stayed behind to seal the time portal, exiling himself to the distant past to save his friends.
Bata had been Neferhotep’s hero and Neferhotep had been proud to succeed him as commander of the palace guard. He would always measure himself against Bata.
But palace guards did not journey to distant lands. They did not grip the reins of their horses and lean into the wind as their chariots charged toward strange and exotic enemies. They did not live lives that were sung about at feasts.
Yes, there was gold and beautiful music and thoughtful conversation in the palace.
Yes, decisions were made in Waset that gave order to the empire’s life.
Yes, Waset was the center of the Two Lands.
And, yes, the Two Lands was the center of the world.
There was power in Waset, but there was no glory.
Glory rode on the chariots of the young heroes.
And Pawura had offered Neferhotep a chance to ride with them, a chance to be as brave as Bata, to prove himself worthy of his hero’s memory.
***
Maya wore one of Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s gowns, the blazing linen carefully pulled around her and belted tightly at her waist. Below her waist, a decorative false hem cut across the robe above a second, longer, pleated hem. The sleeves of the gown fell to a wide cuff at her elbow.
