The Field of Reeds (Imhotep Book 4)

by Jerry Dubs

  She rested her hands on her lap and held her back regally straight as two servants leaned over her to apply dark green kohl above her eyes. Impatient and nervous, Maya reached past one of the servants to pick up a delicate blue ceramic ring, its face carved to represent Re’s solar barque.

  As she moved, her head turned slightly and a wooden makeup stick poked her eye. Her hand flailed and knocked the ring from the table. There was a sharp, splintering crack as the ring shattered on the stone floor. Maya brought her hand to her eye with a cry and the servant girls quickly backed away, fearful of what they had done.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Maya said, dropping to her knees to pick up the pieces of the broken ring.

  Suddenly, she remembered that Pharaoh Hatshepsut would never get on her knees in front of servants. She quickly reseated herself, rubbing her injured eye. As the servants waited silently, their mouths gaping, Maya realized that she was smearing the just applied kohl, something else Pharaoh Hatshepsut would never do.

  “Leave, just leave,” she said in frustration, knowing even as she spoke that the girls would interpret her outburst as anger and they would worry about what punishment would follow.

  She rose and started to call after them, realized that would be yet another action that Pharaoh Hatshepsut would never take, and slumped back to her stool.

  She breathed deeply, trying to tame her fear and frustration.

  Each morning that began with Pharaoh Hatshepsut still away on her improbable trek to Ta Netjer, Maya felt her danger increase, like the rising waters of the flood that encroached slowly on the land, but soon overwhelmed all that stood before it.

  Senenmut was nervous, too.

  Although he spent his days constructing detailed models from the drawings of Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s mortuary temple that Imhotep had given him, he was constantly distracted. He left his workshop hourly, coming to the palace with sawdust on his hands, crumbs of clay clinging to his robe and stains of paint on his hands, something the fastidious holder of more than forty royal titles had never done before.

  To reduce the chance of Maya’s ruse being discovered, she and Senenmut had decided that ‘Pharaoh Hatshepsut’ would receive fewer and fewer visitors. Royal decrees were read in public by Senenmut with ‘Pharaoh Hatshepsut’ sitting in distant shadows.

  Only Pentu, Maya’s husband, seemed immune from the stress.

  He and Sitre spent their time working on the collection of medical cures that Akila had helped them start. He rose eagerly each morning, worked in his office at their home, which Maya had not seen since Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s departure, and still had energy to visit the palace as Re descended, to spend the quiet evening hours with his wife.

  Maya frowned sadly as she thought of her husband; instead of greeting him with open arms and a cheerful smile, she offered him only worries and tears. He took her in his arms, not to laugh and to make love, but to calm her and to reassure her that soon Pharaoh Hatshepsut would return.

  Maya felt her lower lip begin to quiver. She stared at her reflection and willed herself to stay strong.

  She saw a movement in the mirror and turned quickly to see her son enter the room.

  “Where are your servants?” he asked, his eyes darting about the dressing room. “You should never be left alone, mother.”

  “Yes, commander,” she said with a reassuring smile, putting her hand on her son’s arm to reassure him, happy to transfer her worries to his young, confident back.

  Glancing at the distant doorway he leaned close and softly kissed her cheek. “I am serious, mother,” he whispered. “Pharaoh Hatshepsut is never, ever alone.”

  He straightened. “I have come to request a favor, Pharaoh Hatshepsut.”

  Maya smiled.

  “I spoke with Pawura, commander of the maryannu.” Neferhotep started to talk more quickly, his words driven by excitement. “He proposed, I mean, we thought it would be useful if he and I traded places. He could attend you and lead the palace guard. I could train with the charioteers.”

  “Not now,” Maya said, her tone a question, not an answer. “Not with,” she looked about the room, “not with things unsettled.”

  “But this is the perfect time, mother,” Neferhotep said, his voice an urgent whisper.

  “I know you want to join the maryannu,” Maya said. “We can talk about this when Pharaoh Hatshepsut returns.”

  Neferhotep suppressed a sigh. “Mother,” he said finally, “We don’t know when Pharaoh Hatshepsut will return, or if she will.”

  Maya looked up from the polished silver mirror. “Don’t say that, Neferhotep. Don’t ever say that.”

  “Mother,” Neferhotep said, kneeling by his mother, “I hope that no intruder will ever enter the palace, yet I train my men daily and we keep our khopesh swords sharp and at hand. We cannot plan on hopes or wishes.”

  He touched her arm, wondering if it was his imagination or if she had grown frailer in the last six months. “We must look at the world as it is, not as we hope it to be.”

  Rising, he kissed his mother’s cheek and then crossed to the window that led to a balcony overlooking the vast garden. Blue and white lotus blossoms floated in the water of a huge artificial pond surrounded by clusters of palm trees whose broad, tapering leaves cast emerald shadows on the grass beneath them.

  It is, he thought, so perfect.

  So predictable.

  He heard the scrape of the legs of his mother’s chair as she rose and walked to join him beside the window.

  The garden’s sweet fragrance wafting through the window greeted Maya as she touched her son’s shoulders.

  He looks so much like Tjau, she thought, recalling her lost brother. He was so eager to join the army.

  Her fingers kneaded the muscles in Neferhotep’s shoulders, so broad and strong, so different from the fragile, soft skinned infant she had held in wonder twenty years ago.

  Tjau had grown, left home to join the army, and died when Maya was still a child. Shortly after, she had fled the temple of Abu in Bata’s arms, leaving her mother and father behind. She had never seen her mother again.

  She had become a wife and a mother. Twenty years had passed before Bata had been able to open the time portal and rescue Imhotep. But her mother had died in the distant past.

  Tears threatened Maya’s makeup again.

  Love arrives as strong and overwhelming as the annual flood and then, like the receding river, it slips away, no matter how eagerly the arms embrace or how desperately the heart loves.

  She had not been able to hold on to her brother or to her mother or to Bata.

  She looked lovingly at her son. She wanted to hold him forever and she wanted to set him free to live his dreams.

  When Pharaoh Hatshepsut returns, she told herself, I will ask her to assign him to the young heroes.

  She smiled to herself and gave Neferhotep’s shoulders a squeeze.

  “Pharaoh Thutmose is returning,” Neferhotep said softly breaking the news.

  Maya gasped and backed away as if she had been slapped.

  “I just learned of it, from Pawura,” Neferhotep said, turning to plead with his mother. “That is why I want to let him lead the palace guard now, just for one or two days. Once Pharaoh Thutmose arrives, or when Pharaoh Hatshepsut returns, it will be more difficult. And, this will give Pawura practice, mother. He has ridden with Pharaoh Thutmose, but he has not served him in a royal position and that is his dream.

  “Leading the palace guard for you will give him an opportunity to learn the proper protocol, what to wear, how to speak ... all the things that come naturally to me because I was raised here. In return,” Neferhotep spoke quickly, his words attacking his mother’s defenses like a fleet of chariots, “I will practice with the young heroes. He said I can teach them how I drive the chariot and shoot at the same time.”

  Shaking her head, Maya backed away from Neferhotep.

  “He will know,” she murmured, thinking of Pharaoh Thutmose.

&n
bsp; “That is another reason, mother. The timing is auspicious, as if the gods arranged it. Pawura will learn to know you. With him on your side, speaking for you, we will be able to expect ... ”

  “Expect what, Neferhotep? That Pharaoh Thutmose will kill me quickly rather than torturing me to a slow death for usurping the throne?”

  “You haven’t usurped the throne, mother. You haven’t done anything wrong. You were following Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s command. Senenmut will speak for you. We can add Pawura’s voice. He has ridden with Pharaoh Thutmose.”

  Maya turned toward the window. The palm fronds brushing against each other seemed to be fighting now. Birds that fluttered from branch to branch were harbingers of chaos. Re’s harsh light was driving through the leaves, illuminating all the hidden corners of the garden, revealing all the secrets.

  Panic rose in Maya. She turned to Neferhotep and, shaking her head, the tears flowing now, she clutched his arms.

  “Pharaoh Hatshepsut must return before Pharaoh Thutmose or else we are lost.”

  ***

  The chariot wheels rolled heavily over the desert road, the center pole creaked against the axle sheath, the horses chuffed with each stride, birds cawed as they swooped over the stagnant canal water beside the desert road and, curled at Bek’s feet, Pharaoh Hatshepsut groaned.

  The midmorning sun was fierce. Re’s fiery fingers were pressing against the back of Bek’s neck and arms, urging him onward. Blinking away sweat, he rolled his shoulders and focused on the uneven road.

  Pharaoh Hatshepsut moaned again and Bek stole a glance at the ruler of the Two Lands, curled into a ball of pain on the floor of his chariot. Swallowing a rising wave of fear, he turned back to the road.

  Imhotep had told him that the best cure for Pharaoh Hatshepsut was to get her back to Waset as quickly as possible. And so he lifted the reins and slapped them against the backs of the two horses that were pulling the chariot through the desert. He would push himself and his horses as hard as he could to get Pharaoh Hatshepsut back to the capital.

  The ride from Saww had been haunted by misfortune and Bek was sure that if he turned in his chariot and looked behind he would see not just the two remaining chariots, but behind them, drawing closer and closer with each ungainly lope, the Seth animal.

  They had left Saww with six chariots. It had taken three days to work through the low, rugged mountain range that lay just inland from the port. It should have taken one, but Imhotep had ordered frequent stops to attend to Pharaoh Hatshepsut.

  Then, after descending the hills, they had lost an entire day rigging and rerigging the leather harness to make sure that the ruler of the Two Lands wouldn’t tumble from the back of the chariot when they drove faster.

  Yesterday, a wheel had cracked on the rear chariot when the driver, blinded by dust thrown from the leading chariots, had let the right wheel dip into a rock-filled gully. Imhotep had ordered the three lead chariots with himself, Akila, and Pharaoh Hatshepsut to continue the journey while the other three drivers stayed behind to replace the broken wheel.

  At the last stop, Bek had realized that they could no longer see the low, coastal mountains.

  Five more days, no more, he told himself, even at this slow pace.

  ***

  Pharaoh Thutmose leaned forward, dipped his oar into the river and, leaning back, pulled hard on the handle. The river pushed back and the boat slid forward, closer to Waset.

  He smiled as he rowed.

  Each day out of the shelter of the temple was a day of discovery. Water had always been cool, cleansing, soft and ephemeral, the breath of Shu married to the sweat of Ipy. He had never thought of it as a powerful force.

  He looked on his years in the temple of Amun as a time when the priests and the gods had been preparing a meal for him. Now he was sitting at the banquet and savoring every dish and each was a revelation.

  To his great joy he had learned that his body was strong. He could run with the fleetest, shoot with the strongest. His eyes, trained to see the subtle actions of the gods, discerned the dreams and fears of every man he encountered, as if he saw past their flesh and observed their ka.

  Everywhere he turned, he saw not just life but the unseen world beyond it.

  He understood that life was direct and simple: A blade cut without hesitation.

  And he understood that life was deep and secret: The hand holding the blade was driven by the man’s ambition, his fear, his hunger, his love, and those in turn were guided by the gods.

  He pulled again on the oar, adding his grunt to the grunts of the other rowers.

  They had embarked just after his morning prayers to Re. Shu’s breath filled their sail and they added their own strength to the journey, pushing against the river Iteru as they worked their way to Waset. At the capital he would visit the temple of his childhood to commune with Amun and speak with High Priest Hapuseneb.

  Then, his ka soothed, Pharaoh Thutmose would visit his stepmother.

  He knew that the soldiers of the Two Lands wanted him to take the throne for his own, but he would do what the gods told him to do.

  How could he do otherwise?

  He would step into the throne room and look upon Pharaoh Hatshepsut. He would listen to her words, he would see her ka and then he would let the gods guide his actions.

  Pentu’s mystery

  A mile away, Maya’s husband lifted the golden statuette of the goddess Sekhmet from the wide window ledge where he had placed her to greet the morning sun. Re’s loving light washed over the solar orb that sat upon his daughter’s head giving the lustrous metal the warmth of living skin.

  Chanting the goddess’ name, Pentu brought her to his face and kissed the solar orb, feeling the heat Re had given the polished metal.

  He placed the goddess on a table at the foot of his patient’s bed, pulled a stool near and settled himself on it. Eyes alight with curiosity, he leaned forward, eager to examine the mysterious man he had found on the street the previous afternoon.

  He sniffed at the fresh linen bandages wrapped around Kebu’s thigh and nodded happily when he found that the rotting stench of the open wound was gone, replaced by the green smell of crushed acacia leaves.

  Moving his attention down the man’s leg, Pentu softly pinched the skin above the man’s knee. It was thin and loose, telling Pentu that the man had recently and quickly lost weight. The skin blanched under Pentu’s pinch, but quickly turned dark again; the man’s blood flow was strong.

  Nodding to himself, Pentu shifted his attention to his patient’s face. It was cadaverous, the skin drawn tight across his skull, his heavy lips appearing unnaturally large in front of the sunken cheeks. But lying in repose, there was a peacefulness to the curve of the mouth, and the closed eyes were still.

  Pentu laid the underside of his wrist on the man’s forehead. It was warm, but not fiery as it had been.

  Gently, he placed a thumb on the man’s eye and raised the lid. The white of the eye was yellow, the black central pupil was wide, almost hiding the dark brown ring that surrounded it. Pentu waved his other hand across the patient’s field of vision. The eye did not follow it.

  Pentu straightened his back and studied his patient.

  After carrying the man in from the street yesterday, Pentu had cleaned the jagged wound, cutting away gray, dead flesh from the injury and extracting a few small, dead spiders and several gelatinous eggs. He had boiled a goat’s gall bladder, mixed it with yellow ochre and myrrh to make a paste which he had packed into the wound. Then he had covered it with a balm made of crushed acacia leaves, red sodium, honey, and fat.

  There was nothing more Pentu the physician could do.

  If the man’s ka had not begun its journey to the Field of Reeds and if Sekhmet deigned to bless Pentu’s heka, then the man would awake and tell his story.

  Watching the man’s chest rise and fall, Pentu sent his thoughts to unravel the mystery of the man’s appearance on the streets of the wealthiest neighborhood of Wase
t.

  The man was a Medjay warrior, the ritual scarring on his back told Pentu that.

  Despite his injury — and the spider eggs in the open wound were something Pentu had never heard of before — the man had pushed himself, or been pushed to travel a great distance, so there must have been a great reason for him to be in Waset.

  Medjay warriors were from Ta-Seti, far to the south. Pharaoh Thutmose was with the army in the north, so the man hadn’t been sent by Pharaoh Thutmose.

  Before passing out the man had said, ‘The women live.’ Pentu reasoned that there was only one woman whose survival would be so important that a Medjay warrior would push himself to the edge of the Field of Reeds to deliver such a message: Pharaoh Hatshepsut.

  I must send for Senenmut, Pentu told himself.

  He called for a servant, composed a note and sent word to Senenmut to visit with him.

  As the servant ran off, the Medjay warrior suddenly sat up.

  “Yuya is dead!”

  Pentu grabbed the man’s shoulders. “Who is Yuya?”

  “The women killed him,” Kebu said.

  “What women?”

  Kebu blinked twice and looked around the room. “Where is Governor Seni?”

  Pentu waved an arm toward the doorway where a servant waited. The boy, young enough to wear a sidelock, ran to Pentu. “Run to the palace and find my son. Tell Neferhotep to come quickly.”

  As the boy ran away, Pentu felt the Medjay’s shoulders sag. He bent forward to put a supporting arm around the man’s back, saw that his eyes were closed but behind the thin shields of skin his eyes were moving furiously back and forth.

  Suddenly, the soldier’s back stiffened, he cried softly and collapsed.

  Pentu lowered him to the bed and then stood.

  He crossed his arms and lowered his chin as he studied the man.

  Sitre had told him that when Imhotep had trained her he had taught her to look at the small details of the patient, their eyes, the way they carried themselves, the way they clenched or relaxed their hands. But, he had said to also step back, actually move away from the patient and look at the entire person.