by Jerry Dubs
Imhotep raised his hand to stop Neferhotep’s answer.
“Pharaoh Thutmose has returned. The commander of his charioteers has taken Maya to the Temple of Amun. And Maya wants you,” he turned to Pentu, “to come to the temple to see her one last time.”
He pounded his walking stick on the floor in anger and, turning, began running to the garden.
“Neferhotep, Pentu” he shouted over his shoulder. “We must get to the Temple of Amun immediately!”
***
Wearing white sandals and a newly woven linen robe, its threads as thin as spider silk, Maya entered the side courtyard that opened to the sanctuary of Amun. Her face and mind composed, she carried a reed basket that held white, red, blue, and green rolls of linen.
Hapuseneb waited by the entrance, his aged face a blank mask in the darkness of the hallway. He bowed his head as Maya approached and backed away to give her entrance to the inner sanctum.
The air in the small, red-granite room was dense, as if compressed by the thick stone walls and heavy wooden door. It was scented with spicy aromas that rose from the trays of food offerings. It was clouded with black smoke that rose from oil lamps that sat atop four short pedestals that lined the narrow, central walkway. And it was acrid from incense burning in six shallow brass bowls that sat around the dais that held the god.
The side and rear walls of the room contained recesses where priests would stand to attend Amun before he was brought from his sanctuary during his annual festival. There were no windows in the room and the four lamps gave off little light, yet the face of Amun seemed to glow with life.
Made of bronze, Amun sat on a gold-gilded wooden throne that was equipped with handles that the priests used to carry him during processions. Silver bands encircled each of his biceps and the tall, double crown of the Two Lands sat upon his head.
“Lord of truth, father of the gods, maker of men, creator of all animals, Lord of things that are, creator of the staff of life,” Maya greeted Amun as she approached the dais. She repeated the ritual phrase four times and then set the basket of linens by the god’s feet.
The priests had left behind a silver bowl and two white linen cloths. She moistened one of the cloths, stepping up to the dais, looked into the god’s placid face and began to bathe him.
As Maya worked, a pair of curious eyes watched from the deepest recess at the rear of the sanctuary.
Pharaoh Thutmose had spent the night sealed in the room with his spiritual father. Now he watched in amazement as Amun allowed the woman who was impersonating Pharaoh Hatshepsut, the god’s true daughter, to serve him.
He thought of Maya’s father Imhotep, rumored to be divine himself.
Perhaps she truly is the daughter of a god.
He watched Maya’s serene smile as she finished bathing the statue and began to dry him with the second linen. When he was dried, Maya picked up the blue linen, the color of the skies over the Two Lands, and, from his hidden recess, Pharaoh Thutmose began to silently mouth the names of Amun.
The prayers and rituals, the incense and the holy statues, all were woven into Pharaoh Thutmose’s soul, and watching Maya devoutly care for Amun, he felt his ka open to the woman, as Amun’s heart must have opened to her.
***
Looking up at the sound of footsteps, Governor Seni saw Pawura turn into the central courtyard.
He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring a spasm of pain in his side and a wave of dizziness. He had become used to sudden pains, inconstant bowels, restless nights and tiredness; the advance of decay, the end of days, they lay on him like a second skin.
He focused on Pawura to keep the room from spinning. One last task, he told himself as he moved his hand to the handle of the knife in his belt.
“Come,” Pawura said. “She is alone in the sanctuary.”
He pulled on Governor Seni’s arm and hurried him through the courtyard.
***
The horses’ hooves kicked up sand and dirt. Sprayed stones bounced from the front of the chariot and the rising cloud of dust swirled past the sides of the chariot joining twin plumes that roiled from behind the two six-spoked wheels.
His walking staff wedged under his arm, Imhotep used both hands to hold onto the bouncing chariot. Crowded in behind him, Pentu encircled his father-in-law with his arms as he held onto the chariot. Beside them, Neferhotep, his legs bent to absorb the movement of the chariot, held the reins with one hand and raised his short whip overhead.
“Faster!” Imhotep gasped. “If I fall off, just keep going. You must get to the temple and save Maya!”
I let an assassin take my place guarding Mother, Neferhotep thought, his face tight with anger. I let my ambition blind me to danger. Her death is on my hands.
He glanced at his grandfather.
Imhotep had been broken when Bata and I rescued him from the courtyard in Abu. Now he is commanding and fearless. His ka, Neferhotep thought, shines through his body like a flame.
***
On her toes, Maya stretched her arms to drape the final linen cloth around the shoulders of Amun. Her attention on arranging the folds of the cloth, she didn’t hear the shuffling sounds of the old priest who had entered the sanctuary.
She arranged the white linen across Amun’s chest, carefully tucking it beneath his false beard and then, stepping back, she saw the man moving slowly down the short, lamp-lit walkway.
Startled at first, she relaxed when she recognized him as the old priest she had seen in the courtyard earlier.
“Pharaoh Hatshepsut,” the man said, his voice a mixture of age and anger.
The edge of his voice cut through her and the calm that had enveloped her in the god’s presence flew from her like a desert gazelle frightened by a lion.
The priest smiled and asked, “You do not remember me?”
***
Neferhotep guided the chariot through the wide temple doors and into the outer courtyard.
“Hiya!” he shouted, urging the horses past rows of watching sphinxes. The few priests in the stone-paved courtyard shouted and waved their arms; horses and chariots were not allowed to enter the temple.
Nearing the narrow door of the first pylon, Neferhotep reined the horses to a stop beside the resting litter that had brought Maya to the temple.
“Hurry, I’ll catch up,” Imhotep shouted as Neferhotep and Pentu jumped from the chariot.
As they ran through the doorway Imhotep, leaning on his staff, stepped to the ground.
Imhotep glanced back in the chariot, looking for a weapon, but there was nothing there. Frowning, he turned away and hurried after his grandson and son-in-law.
***
Maya looked about the room, searching for escape, or a weapon.
From his hidden alcove, Pharaoh Thutmose watched, wondering what Amun had ordained.
“You remember Mut-Nofret, I am sure,” the priest said. “She was my lover before your father took her from me.”
“Who are you?” Maya said, trying to find command to strengthen her voice.
The man laughed. “You don’t remember me! I am Seni, Governor of Ta-Seti. I am he who was injured by your father. I am he who conspired to destroy the house of Thutmose. I am he who sent the Medjay warriors to Abu. Oh, yes,” he said when she saw Maya stiffen at the memory of the attack at Abu when she, Hapu, and Bata had first stepped through the time portal. “I had your brothers killed. Your mother and you should have died then.”
He stepped closer and Maya saw that he was reaching for a knife that was tucked into his belt.
“Flood upon flood has passed, Hatshepsut,” Seni said, turning his head to spit on the floor after saying her name. He pulled the knife from his belt. “The years have fled, but I have remained. I have called upon the gods of darkness to curse your father. He wanders Duat, blind and lost. They will curse your name, too.”
As Maya’s eyes rested on a bronze bowl of burning incense, a voice came from behind Amun.
“You dare to enter my
sanctuary? You dare to call upon foreign gods to curse my son?”
Seni turned to the voice and as he turned Maya bent and grabbed the incense bowl. The hot metal burned her hands and she screamed as she twisted her grip to throw the burning coals.
Hearing her scream, Seni turned, bringing his face around as the burning incense fell on him. The shallow bronze bowl struck him next as he shouted and raised his hands to his burning eyes. Staggering, he stepped forward swinging his arm blindly, hoping to bury the knife in Maya’s body.
His foot unexpectedly landed half on the edge of the dais and he lost his balance. Falling forward, his head struck the bent knee of Amun. His skull bounced from the metal statue to the sharp edge of the dais.
Maya heard a sharp crack, and then blood began to flood the floor.
***
Waiting in the hallway, Pawura heard the loud voices, the scream that ended abruptly, and the heavy thud of a falling body.
It is done.
He smiled, happy that Seni had succeeded. Now he would enter the sanctuary, feign outrage, and kill the old man.
Brushing past Hapuseneb, who was leaning against the wall by the sanctuary doorway mouthing prayers, Pawura pulled his khopesh sword from his belt.
***
The guards who had escorted Maya to the temple were gathered in the second courtyard, waiting to escort her back to the palace. Although the men were maryannu, chosen by Pawura for their loyalty, they were unaware of Pawura’s plans.
Hearing shouting now, they looked at each other unsure if they should follow the shouting or stay in the courtyard. They turned as Neferhotep and Pentu ran into the courtyard.
“Follow me,” Neferhotep ordered the men.
Instead, the charioteers grabbed Neferhotep and his father.
“We are not permitted in the temple,” one of them said. “And Pawura said we cannot let anyone pass.”
Neferhotep tore himself from their grasp.
“Pharaoh Hatshepsut is in danger,” he said. He started for the doorway, but the two men who had held him grabbed at him again.
“No! Let me go!” he shouted, striking the closest man’s face. The man fell away and one of the men who was holding Pentu released the physician and joined his comrades, pushing Neferhotep away from the door and into the forest of pillars at the side of the courtyard.
Pentu pushed against the man who was holding him. Bringing his arm up to strike the soldier’s soft neck, Pentu felt a sudden blow to his stomach. He gasped and doubled over. As the soldier began to drag him into the courtyard, the man Neferhotep had knocked down got to his feet and ran into the shadows to help his comrades subdue Neferhotep.
As they disappeared into the forest of pillars, Imhotep entered the courtyard. He heard scuffling off to his right, ignored it and hurried forward toward the inner sanctuary.
***
Khopesh sword in hand, Pawura stopped just inside the sanctuary doorway.
It was darker in here, lit only by weak lamps, but not so dark that he didn’t see that it was Governor Seni who lay on the floor in a spreading puddle of blood, and not Pharaoh Hatshepsut.
The wind-bloated fool had failed.
Looking up from the body, he saw Pharaoh Hatshepsut standing by the statue of Amun. She was holding her hands together and sobbing.
Seeing him, she stepped toward him.
“He tried to kill me,” she said. “How did he get in here? Where were you?”
Looking at Pawura, she saw, not shame at having failed to protect her, but anger.
He is another assassin.
She started to back away, but Pawura reached out and caught her arm.
Struggling to pull away, she beat her burnt hands against the charioteer. Pawura shoved her roughly against a pillar and wrapped a hand around her throat.
“Stop!”
Pawura looked over his shoulder.
An old man holding a thick walking stick had entered the sanctuary.
“I am Imhotep, son of Thoth! I am scribe to the gods and I will strike your name from the papyrus of life if you do not release Pharaoh Hatshepsut!” the man said, walking confidently forward, pounding his heavy staff against the stone floor with each step.
“Stay back,” Pawura said, feeling a serpent of unease uncoil under his skin.
The man kept coming.
“Your ka will wander Duat forever. Your heart will be devoured. Your family will be killed. Your name will be erased forever,” Imhotep said.
Pawura ignored him. Pharaoh Thutmose is a god, too, he thought. He will protect me.
Suddenly, he heard Pharaoh Thutmose’s voice.
“Is this how you serve me?” Pharaoh Thutmose asked, his body magically appearing from behind the god Amun.
Pawura looked from Pharaoh Thutmose to the frightened face of Pharaoh Hatshepsut, so close, so easy to kill.
Behind him Imhotep raised his walking stick in both hands. As he did, he thought of the awful moment in the temple of Abu when he had fought to save himself and Meryt. Instead of saving her, his movement had led to her death.
As he hesitated, Pharaoh Thutmose spoke once more, so softly that only Pawura heard the words, “You would raise your hand against a god, Pawura?”
Pawura looked at his commander, the living god Horus, whom he worshiped above all.
Then turning his face back to Pharaoh Hatshepsut, he said, “I do this for my pharaoh.”
The khopesh blade caught the light reflected from Amun’s face as it swung through the holy air.
Imhotep bellowed his rage.
And blood flew.
Two Gods
Dropping the bloodied sword, Pawura stretched his right hand to Maya’s neck where his left hand still gripped her throat.
Weaving unsteadily, he plucked the hand he had just severed from her neck and held it out to Pharaoh Thutmose. “I give you my hand,” he said and then dropped to the floor.
Imhotep stepped over the fallen charioteer to Maya.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
She held out her burned hands. “Only this,” she said. “I picked up an incense bowl and threw it at that man.” She pointed to Governor Seni’s body.
Pharaoh Thutmose slid from behind the pillar and knelt by Pawura. Picking up the severed hand, he marveled at its warmth and suppleness.
This is what men will do for a god. For me.
Reaching to Pawura’s face, he started to close the unblinking eyes when the charioteer moaned.
“He lives!” Pharaoh Thutmose said.
Imhotep turned from Maya and looked round the room. Bending, he picked up the wet linen cloth. Using the cloth to shield his hands he picked up one of the burning incense bowls and knelt beside Pharaoh Thutmose and Pawura.
He set the bowl on the floor and then picked up Pawura’s bleeding arm. Nodding at the cloth he said, “Please, Pharaoh Thutmose, use the wet cloth to hold the incense bowl steady.” Then, gripping Pawura’s arm tightly, Imhotep pressed the open, bleeding stump into the burning incense.
There was a sharp hissing sound, Pawura screamed and the iron smell of blood mingled with the aroma of myrrh. The charioteer tried to jerk his arm away, but Imhotep leaned over the bowl and held the stump tight against the heat.
Pawura screamed once more and then went limp.
Imhotep held the arm against the coals until the smell of burning flesh rose from the heat. Then he relaxed his grip and sat back on the floor.
He felt Maya kneel beside him.
Turning to her he glanced at her hands. “Do you know if honey is among the offerings brought to Amun?” he asked.
As she turned to look among the offerings, Pharaoh Thutmose stood and looked down at Imhotep.
“Are you truly what you said?” Pharaoh Thutmose asked. “Are you a god?”
Closing his eyes, the words of a John Lennon song came to Imhotep’s mind.
Who on Earth do you think you are?
A superstar? Well right you are.
And we a
ll shine on.
Like the moon and the stars and the sun
Leaning forward, Imhotep picked up his staff. Then he worked himself to his feet and looked into the young eyes of the man who would become the most successful military ruler of the ancient world.
He saw intelligence and honesty. He saw curiosity and confidence. He hoped that Pharaoh Thutmose saw the same qualities in his eyes.
“Pharaoh Thutmose,” he said, “I believe that there are moments when the gods enter our ka and we can act beyond ourselves. We can feel pain for others. We can willingly sacrifice our very lives.
“For that moment, we are gods.”
He looked over Pharaoh Thutmose’s shoulder at the statue of Amun.
“The gods draw us beyond ourselves. They can make us better. But,” he motioned toward Pawura, “sometimes we believe that we act for the gods, but we are acting for our own selfish interest.”
“And you?” Pharaoh Thutmose persisted.
Imhotep smiled.
“We never truly see ourselves, Pharaoh Thutmose. We see our faces reflected in the water or a mirror. We hear the praise of others. We imagine that we are what we want to be. But to truly know ourselves, that is the eternal task. It never ends.”
A cautious man, Pharaoh Thutmose thought. He rubbed his thumb over the hand Pawura had given him.
“Will he live?”
Imhotep began to nod, then stopped. “If you wish it.”
Maya appeared beside him. “There is a pot of honey, father” she said softly.
Imhotep looked at Pharaoh Thutmose, who was studying the severed hand with detachment, and then followed Maya to the honey pot. As he poured honey on her burned hands, he said softly, “Pharaoh Hatshepsut has returned. She is at your home, recovering from an illness. Your nightmare will soon be over, Maya.”
“She has returned?” Pharaoh Thutmose asked.
The hearing of a god, Imhotep thought, just like King Djoser.
