by Jerry Dubs
“Yes, Pharaoh Thutmose.”
“Take me to her.”
***
Pharaoh Thutmose, Imhotep, and Maya passed through the pylon’s gateway to find Neferhotep, bloodied but conscious, pinned against the temple wall by two of the charioteers. Pentu, his nose bleeding, was sprawled against the wall between the other two guards.
“Pharaoh Thutmose,” Imhotep said, “the injured men are my grandson, commander of the palace guard, and his father, Pentu, royal physician and husband of Maya. Pawura deceived Neferhotep so that he could take Neferhotep’s place leading the guards today. Please have the soldiers release him.”
Without waiting for Pharaoh Thutmose’s response, Imhotep walked quickly to Neferhotep. One of the soldiers who was holding Neferhotep touched his hand to his sword. “Stay back, old man,” he said, shoving Imhotep away.
Still feeling the rush of adrenaline from seeing Maya near death, Imhotep lost his temper. He grabbed his walking staff with both hands and swung it viciously at the man’s elbow. The staff cracked against the man’s arm. The guard shouted in pain and dropped his sword. Quickly changing his grip, Imhotep slammed the blunt end of the staff on the soldier’s bare toes.
The man shouted again and fell.
Shocked by the attack, the two soldiers who were standing by Pentu rushed Imhotep, slamming him against the wall. As they did, Neferhotep broke free and picked up the sword the first soldier had dropped.
Gripping it with both hands, he raised the sword overhead.
“Back away,” he said, his head turning from the two men to the third soldier who had helped to restrain him.
“Lower your sword,” a quiet commanding voice said from behind Neferhotep.
Turning, he saw Pharaoh Thutmose standing beside Maya, whose robe was splattered with blood. He immediately dropped his sword and knelt. The two men holding Imhotep let him loose and knelt also.
Turning, Imhotep saw Neferhotep’s fear. “She is not injured,” he reassured his grandson.
Then he walked over to the soldier he had attacked. The three center toes on the man’s foot were bleeding, the toes themselves angled oddly away from the foot. He leaned close and said quietly, “Hear me now! I whisper in Thoth’s ear. I dine with Horus. You must never raise your hand to me again.”
Straightening, Imhotep turned to see Pentu had pushed himself from the ground and was standing beside Maya, holding her hands and leaning close to comfort her.
Turning to Neferhotep, Imhotep said, “Are you well enough to drive a chariot?”
***
But it was Pharaoh Thutmose who took the reins of the chariot that had brought Neferhotep, Pentu, and Imhotep to the temple.
Before he mounted the chariot, Imhotep turned to his daughter and opened his arms. Pulling her close he kissed the top of her head. “I love you, Maya,” he said through tears he had fought to keep at bay.
She nodded, her face pressing hard against his chest as her arms held him tight.
“I thought I was going to die, father. First, Governor Seni, and then that soldier, Pawura.” She pulled back and looked up into her father’s face. When he had slipped back into her life from the distant past he had been unchanged from the last moment she had seen him — twenty years in her past, only a few weeks in his.
But now, looking into his eyes, she saw sadness. The death of her mother had nestled in his ka like a sleeping viper.
Yet he had stalked into the sanctum as a god. He had confronted Pawura and his khopesh with nothing more than his ka and his courage. And then he had overpowered a young soldier.
Perhaps, she thought, nestling into his arms, he is a god.
***
The energy of the horses traveled through the twin leather reins into Pharaoh Thutmose’s arms. The pounding of the horses’ hooves, the bouncing of the chariot itself, the rush of the wind, the heightened awareness brought on from the temple encounters — they all lent him energy.
The Two Lands itself was singing his praise and that glory swept through his ka, bringing it into ma’at with Amun and Re and Horus.
Although he had spent the night in contemplation, secretly sealed in Amun’s sanctuary, Amun had remained as silent as Ptah had in Men-Nefer.
Yet in the morning he had revealed all.
The god had permitted Maya to bathe him. He had saved her from Governor Seni. Clearly she was held in Amun’s favor.
And then Pawura had arrived, his heart confused and black with ambition. Was he sent by Seth or one of the foreign gods — Molech or Anat? Had they crept into Pawura’s ka when they were in Sinai?
The words of Imhotep had thundered through the temple, Pharaoh Thutmose thought. He refuses to claim divinity, but he strode into the sanctuary like a god. He was fearless before Pawura. And with the charioteers in the courtyard.
But it had been my words that entered Pawura’s ka. My words redirected his hand. His hand.
He glanced at Imhotep, who stood beside him, his ancient face carved from stone, his mouth set in anger, his eyes seeing far beyond the moment. Imhotep had entered Amun’s chamber without fear. His words had halted Pawura’s sword. He had held the screaming soldier’s arm to the red hot iron and saved his life, he had attacked soldiers armed with only his will and staff. And then he had taken his daughter into his arms and comforted her.
We are gods, Pharaoh Thutmose thought proudly as he turned his face to the road. And we bend the world to our will.
***
Pharaoh Thutmose reined the horses to a stop and jumped from the chariot to the road outside the high garden wall of Pentu’s home.
Re, emerging victoriously from the jaws of Apep, was just above the eastern horizon. The high garden wall cast long shadows across an acacia tree. Birds were stirring in the tree’s limbs and, below it, sitting in the double shade of the tree and the wall, rested a bench.
Pharaoh Hatshepsut sat on the bench.
She is growing old, Pharaoh Thutmose thought, contrasting Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s tired face with Maya’s face, which had been flush with energy and excitement.
Pharaoh Hatshepsut rose from her seat as Pharaoh Thutmose and Imhotep approached.
“Dear son,” she said, opening her arms to welcome Pharaoh Thutmose as Imhotep stopped to watch the curious reunion.
As Pharaoh Thutmose approached he saw the exhaustion of her eyes and the unnatural clench of her jaw.
“Mother,” he said formally, returning her brief embrace.
“Two men tried to kill you this morning,” Pharaoh Thutmose said. “But the gods blinded them, sending them to kill another, the woman you placed on the throne in your place.”
“But they failed,” Pharaoh Hatshepsut said. She inclined her head toward the house where Imhotep had disappeared. “Maya is Imhotep’s daughter and he is not mourning.”
They were silent for a moment, each sitting stiffly, their hands resting on their thighs.
“Have you come to do what the assassins failed to do?” Pharaoh Hatshepsut asked, turning her head to look at her stepson, who had turned into a man during his year with the army. A man, she thought, ready and eager to rule.
“Returning from Sinai, I stopped at Men-Nefer and prayed with Ptah. I spent last night cloistered with Amun,” he said.
“Did they speak to you?” Pharaoh Hatshepsut asked.
He answered her question with one of his own. “Is Imhotep a god?”
“Yes,” she answered immediately, surprising herself. “He is not a god like Amun or Ptah or Horus. He cannot change form. He eats, he bleeds, he grows weary. Yet, he has ceaseless strength. He is like a tree or a rock, no, he is like the river, the river of time which he can travel.”
She paused and thought of what she knew of the strange man who had appeared from the time of the earliest pyramids, a time long forgotten by her world. He never said anything that he did not believe or act in a way that contradicted his words.
“He knows his ka,” she said.
Pharaoh Thutmose
nodded. “I am finding my ka, mother. Or it is finding me.”
She smiled, her eyes looking beyond the wall to the eastern sky that was growing brighter. Soon Re would be in full flight and his glory would make the sky too difficult to watch.
“The gods still hold you in their hands,” Pharaoh Thutmose said. “They placed Maya in the temple in your place. They stopped Seni and Pawura from harming her. They led you to Ta Netjer and welcomed you back.”
Pharaoh Hatshepsut turned to her stepson. “I love the gods, Thutmose. I love the Two Lands with all my heart. I love the flow of the river, the songs of the workers, the red of the desert, the green of the trees. And I love you. You are blood of my husband’s blood, blood of my father’s blood.
“I know that your ka is great and that it will fill you and soon you will be Re to my Khonsu. Your glory will overflow like Iteru when it floods. The world will kneel before you and the double crown of the Two Lands will sit on your head alone.”
“The gods speak volumes to you,” Pharaoh Thutmose said, curious at her admission.
“It is ma’at. Your father succeeded his father. I will rest from life and you will rule alone.”
Pharaoh Thutmose considered her words a moment, then he said, “The men bring me hands.” She looked at him blankly. “They take hands from the enemy soldiers and bring them to me. And this morning, Pawura cut off his own hand and offered it to me,” he explained.
A chill ran through Pharaoh Hatshepsut at the matter-of-fact tone of his voice.
“Is this ma’at?” he mused.
“I spoke with a Shasu prisoner. He believed that he fought for his gods, as we fight with our gods at our backs. We defeated him, so our gods are stronger. They must be. But I wonder, are all of our actions directed by the gods?
“The gods placed Maya at the temple instead of you. I saw Amun take the life of Seni. I watched Imhotep halt Pawura’s blade with the power of his words. I wonder, did Amun direct me to spend the night with him so that I could witness these miracles?
“I believe that he did. I believe, mother. I believe that the gods guide my actions. I believe they direct my path. I believe that they watch over me. And I believe that they watch over you.
“And so we continue. You under Nekhbet’s protective wing and I discovering Amun’s hidden power. Together, we will guide the Two Lands.
“And I, mother, I will continue to listen for the whispers of the gods.”
Kebu at peace
Kebu woke at dawn.
Blinking his eyes open, he looked about the room, waiting for the lithe shape of a leopard or the heavy forms of baboons to separate themselves from the shadows.
A moment passed, then another, but the only motion was the slow spread of Re’s light sliding across the stone floor after slipping through a tall window near Kebu’s bed.
The Medjay sat, swinging his legs from beneath a light linen sheet. He felt tightness in his right thigh. Looking down, he saw a smooth bandage wrapped around the injury that had housed a nest of spider eggs. Focusing his attention on the leg, he rubbed his hand across the bandage.
The muscle beneath his hand didn’t twitch; there were no strange feelings within.
Smiling in relief, he wiped a hand across his head and realized that the skin was smooth. Someone had shaved him while he had slept.
How long have I slept?
Startled by the discovery that time had slipped past him unnoticed, Kebu stood quickly. The room became liquid, his legs wobbled and he sat heavily, grunting as he landed.
Gripping the wooden frame of the bed tightly, Kebu stared into the distance, waiting for his strength and steadiness to return.
Footsteps approached, one of them accented with a solid clack.
A figure emerged from the shadows, paused in the doorway, and watched him.
Kebu didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know what season it was. He didn’t know who stood across the room, a thick walking staff in his hand, yet the man’s presence seemed to radiate welcoming warmth, like an evening cook fire.
“Kebu,” the man said, coming slowly forward. “Welcome back to the Two Lands.”
He knows who I am, Kebu thought.
The man drew closer and, as the face emerged from the shadows, Kebu felt a vague brush of recognition. The man was old, his head large for his narrow shoulders, his eyes calm and assured. A wide, beaded necklace fell across his chest above a white robe made of fine linen. His hands, Kebu saw, were lined with age, but strong, the fingernails clean and undamaged; not the hands of a worker or a warrior.
Instinctively, Kebu bowed his head.
To his surprise, the man turned and sat beside him.
“How is your leg?”
Keeping his eyes respectfully averted, Kebu said, “I feel no pain.”
“Good,” the man said, “very good.”
Kebu tried to place the accent, but it was neither that of Ta Netjer nor that of any that he had heard among the merchants who passed through Kerma. There was something strangely precise about the words, as if each syllable was carefully measured and delivered as a polished gem, not an unwashed stone.
“I am Imhotep,” the man said, and Kebu felt a thrill of recognition and a shiver of fear.
I have awakened in Duat and the god Imhotep has come to deliver my fate.
“You are in Waset,” Imhotep said, seeing Kebu’s fear and confusion. “You are alive, thanks to Pentu, a royal physician. He is also your host; this is his house.” Imhotep reached over and gripped Kebu’s shoulder. “You will be a good guest, won’t you?”
Kebu nodded, sadly returning to the life and duty he thought he had left behind. “Governor Seni,” he said. “I have a message for him.”
Imhotep smiled grimly. “Yes, I know. You delivered it, Kebu. You fulfilled your duty.”
He sighed now and leaned closer to Kebu.
He is so young, Imhotep thought, even younger than Neferhotep.
“Governor Seni plotted against Pharaoh Hatshepsut, Kebu. No, no, you are not in danger,” he added quickly as Kebu’s eyes widened and his back stiffened. “We understand that you were doing your duty. However, Governor Seni was not. He was committing treason. He has died and his body was dragged to the desert and left there for the jackals. No priest spoke for him. His ka will wander Duat forever, unless Ammut takes mercy and devours his heart.”
Imhotep, who did not believe in the gods, felt a wave of hypocrisy lap against him, but he ignored it. He had become accustomed to using words as tools: prying secrets from men, soothing troubled hearts, protecting his family and the land he had come to love.
Now, like Thoth, he wanted to measure Kebu’s heart and, if possible, bring peace to the young warrior.
“You are safe here, Kebu. I will speak for you with Pharaoh Hatshepsut. But first, you must tell me your story.”
Kebu nodded his understanding.
“Very well,” Imhotep said. “Would you like something to eat or drink first?”
Kebu shook his head. He was eager to empty his soul. This god Imhotep would understand.
***
“Truly remarkable,” Imhotep concluded as he finished telling Kebu’s tale to Pentu over breakfast a few hours later.
“Baboons? A troop of them?” Pentu said.
“Yes, and he attacked a lion to save them and then the baboons attacked him! Yet, despite the baboons and the crocodiles and the injury and the spider egg sac in his leg ... ” Imhotep said.
“He continued onward to deliver his message,” Pentu finished.
Imhotep waved his hand toward the pitcher of water. Pentu picked up Imhotep’s silver goblet and refilled it.
“Thank you,” Imhotep said.
“He is like a broken spear that continues its flight,” Pentu said. “Or a wounded gazelle running from a pack of lions or a cornered dog protecting its pups. Amazing tenacity. And loyalty. And what a sense of duty!”
Imhotep picked up a loaf of bread and tore away a corner of it.
<
br /> “Thank you for not having onions on the table,” he said as he surveyed the fruit that filled bowls on the table.
“I’m not that fond of them myself,” Pentu said. “But they are said to help one maintain one’s sexual energy, so I feel it is my duty ... ” he paused and frowned at his father-in-law. “Forgive me, Lord Imhotep. Maya has told me that you don’t consider some topics good conversation.”
“You know,” Imhotep said, ignoring Pentu’s apology, “it is more than survival or instinct. If it was survival alone, Kebu would have stayed in Kerma. But he continued onward, pushing himself, despite his pain and near delirium.
“I saw it in the men who built the pyramid. There is a longing to be part of something larger than ourselves, an eagerness to sublimate our desires and egos to a greater good. I deeply believe that people do things to bring themselves satisfaction, to feed their own self-esteem, but that doesn’t make it less noble, does it?
“I mean even if Mother Teresa was serving the poor because it satisfied her sense of service and made her feel holy, the comfort she brought was unbelievably generous and humane.”
Pentu laughed. “You wandered off again, dear father-in-law. I have no idea who this ‘Mother Teresa’ is. But, I do understand what you mean. If a baker enjoys baking bread, yet earns a kidet of silver for his effort, the bread still tastes as fine.”
Imhotep smiled. “You have a wonderful gift for clarity,” he said, then he grew silent. “We should find something for Kebu. He is a good man,” he said. “I think I’ll speak with Pharaoh Thutmose.”
Section Two
1458 BCE
The 22nd year of the rule
of Pharaoh Hatshepsut
Festival of Isis
In the thin darkness before dawn of the sixth day of the second month of the season of Peret, Imhotep and Akila stood on the second terrace of the mortuary temple of Pharaoh Hatshepsut. Leaning on his walking staff, Imhotep draped his free arm around Akila’s waist as they watched the eastern sky where Re was fighting to free himself from the jaws of the serpent Apep.
