by Jerry Dubs
Although shadows shrouded the slow moving river and the narrow line of palm trees that huddled beside it, the electrum clad tips of the distant obelisks in the temple of Amun glowed as Re pulled himself above the horizon.
Below Imhotep and Akila, the residents of Waset crowded onto the wide, stone causeway that led from the river to the broad, ramp-entrance of the terrace. Shuffling from foot to foot, exchanging whispers, they waited in darkness leavened by circles of wavering light that danced above oil lamps set between the resting paws of the double row of sphinx statues.
The sky grew lighter and birds stirred to life in the forest of myrrh trees planted on either side of the causeway. The hungry cries of waking infants began to punctuate the murmuring undertone of the crowded causeway. As the babies woke, their mothers kissed them and then held their hungry mouths to their breasts, just as Isis had suckled Horus.
Holding their children, the women closed their eyes in thanks and turned their thoughts to the mother goddess they had come to praise, for today was the winter solstice. And this year it was doubly blessed with both the feast of Isis and the dedication of the mortuary temple of Pharaoh Hatshepsut.
Now, Re’s light touched the topmost edge of the western cliff behind the temple, tinting the sandstone pink. The reflected light fell on the thousands of people who had crossed the river in darkness and walked the stone walkway to the foot of the temple.
Facing east, Imhotep and Akila raised their hands to shield their eyes from the rising sun and, squinting, they turned away from the approaching light.
Beneath their feet, twin rows of inscribed columns supported the terrace.
The story of Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s expedition to Ta Netjer was described in a series of paintings Imhotep had drawn on the columns and walls on the southern colonnade.
A relief on the northern colonnade showed ram-headed Khnum shaping Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s ka. Another showed the goddess Hathor presenting the infant Hatshepsut to the great god Amun, a third depicted the god blessing Hatshepsut, establishing her right to rule the Two Lands.
Above them, the upper terrace held a rectangular courtyard enclosed by a double series of columns. The back wall of the courtyard was notched with a series of recesses. Senenmut stood in one of the recesses just to the left of the center opening, which led to a hallway. The short, narrow passage opened into the inner sanctuary which comprised three rooms.
Pharaoh Thutmose, third of the name, waited in the darkness of the first vaulted chamber, where the air was cloudy with the smoke of burning myrrh.
Re’s fingers slid down the cliff face, bringing life to the painted lintels above the top terrace. Then, on this holiest of days, Re directed his gaze directly into the inner sanctum and his blazing glory exploded into the gloom.
Pharaoh Thutmose closed his eyes, smiled, and murmured a welcoming prayer. He welcomed not just Re, but also Horus, the god whose spirit filled his body today.
On this one day alone of all the days of the year, Re was allowed to enter the inner sanctuary and, as his light entered the deepest chamber, Pharaoh Hatshepsut stepped forward from the darkness within.
Dressed in a dark red sheath that ended just below her heavy breasts, she wore a wide, beaded necklace of lapis lazuli, gold, silver and turquoise. She carried a lotus staff in her right hand and a polished stone ankh in her left. Instead of the double crown of the Two Lands, she wore a small, blue, wooden throne strapped to her head. For today she was not Ma’at-Ka-Re, Foremost of Noble Ladies, she was the goddess Isis, mother of Horus.
She reached the side of her stepson, who took her hand, and together they walked through the now brightly lit hallway.
As Isis and Horus passed through the central court, Senenmut fell in behind them, his eyes filled with pride and adoration as he watched his beloved Pharaoh Hatshepsut walk the grounds of the temple he had built to immortalize her.
Waiting priests emerged from the shadows of the columns as the rulers walked through the central courtyard. Some of the priests were bare-chested, some wore the skins of leopards, others covered themselves in bleached robes, one was covered with blue mud. They each carried symbols of their office and wore necklaces adorned with tokens of the gods the represented.
The priestess of Ma’at carried a tall white ostrich feather in her hair; the high priest of Sobek wore a necklace made of crocodile teeth. A stone statuette of a misshapen dwarf hung from the neck of the priest of Bes. A lion’s mane encircled the neck of the priest of Sekhmet and a cape of white ibis feathers fluttered from the shoulders of the Voice of Thoth.
The priests followed Pharaoh Hatshepsut and Pharaoh Thutmose through the courtyard past the double line of columns. They matched their stately pace to the line of sunlight that Re dragged across the stone courtyard erasing the night’s darkness.
As they approached the entrance of the second terrace, the priests fanned out through the columns, staying hidden from the crowd gathered on the lower terrace and spilling from the wide causeway below it.
Now Re rose higher and light flooded the pillars of the second terrace.
Pharaoh Hatshepsut, one hand gripping the lotus staff, the other holding the symbol of life everlasting, stepped into the light. As Isis, she raised her arms to welcome Re.
All was still for a moment and then from the causeway came the sound of prayers. The chanting became louder, swelling from the low causeway to the pillared terraces. It filled the courtyards and pounded against the cliff face behind the temple. The red rocks of the desert sent the prayers back to the assembly, the sound muted by the land.
The chant and its echo formed a beat and counterbeat, the living heart of the Two Lands. Huge drums hidden in the columns of the lowest colonnade joined the rhythm, leading the prayers into a faster chant. Louder and faster, the prayers roared from the full throat of the Two Lands and washed over the goddess Isis who stood before them.
Raising her voice to join the prayers, Pharaoh Hatshepsut felt her ka swell with the glory and greatness of the Two Lands.
A land where gods and goddesses walked.
Three sisters
Far to the north, at the edge of civilization, King Idrimi sat lost in thought.
With eyes too large and round for his narrow face, he carried a permanent expression of bewilderment. His heavy lips, which never found enough joy to curl into a smile nor sufficient anger to turn into a frown, formed a worrisome fence between his wide, fleshy nose and his thick, square-shaped beard.
Sitting in the gloom of his small palace in Alalakh, at the very northern edge of Canaan, he followed his thoughts south along the coast.
Four days’ walk south lay Ugarit, where the Egyptians occupied a low-walled fort, an irritating reminder of the powerful empire’s archers, charioteers, and spear carriers who lived far beyond the southern horizon. Walking south for a full week, a trade caravan would reach Byblos; a second week would bring them to Tyre and a third week to Joppa, each city home to another garrison of soldiers from the Two Lands.
Yet, even in Joppa, home of yet another garrison, the Egyptians were only a distant worry; it would take another month of travel to enter the heart of the Two Lands and another to march up the River Iteru to Waset.
The Egyptians, with their ten thousand gold-gilded chariots, their colorfully plumed horses, their gleaming swords and countless arrows, were a powerful threat, but so very, very distant.
King Durusha of Kadesh was much nearer.
Although King Durusha did not command thousands of charioteers, he could reach Alalakh in three days. And he was ruthlessly ambitious.
Idrimi sighed.
A year shy of thirty-five, Idrimi was tired of fighting and fleeing.
Twenty years ago, when hair had begun to sprout on his cheeks, Idrimi had run away from his home to escape the death that had taken his older brother when he had become a man. Their father, Yamhad, king of Emah, wanted young sons available to take his place, but not older sons who showed interest in the throne.
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br /> Idrimi had found refuge with the Habiru, a nomadic band of migrants and outlaws who hid among the hills near Carchemish. Accepted by the filthy wanderers who welcomed a strong back, he ate their food and soon bedded Alisha, daughter of Semuna, the toothless mystic who called himself their king.
After seven years Idrimi could stand it no longer.
He was tired of relieving himself in bushes, he was tired of the coarse food and coarser manners. He was tired of turning his head to avoid his wife’s fetid breath as he fathered daughter after daughter. He was tired of Semuna’s wild dreams, and he sensed that Semuna was growing tired of him as well.
Creeping into his drunken father-in-law’s tent one night he straddled the old man, slid his hands under his heavy beard and pressed his thumbs against Semuna’s throat until he heard a series of cracks and the king wheezed a final, gasping breath.
The next morning Idrimi proclaimed himself ruler, took a new, younger wife, and led the ragged band of bandits to Alalakh, where they broke into the ramshackle wooden hut that served as a palace and killed everyone who didn’t kneel or flee.
When the blood had stopped running, Idrimi had proclaimed himself king of Alalakh.
In the thirteen years since, he had created a city at the far northern end of the trade route that snaked through Canaan to feed the ever-hungry heart of the Two Lands.
Alalakh had a growing market. Wanderers from the mountains to the east had settled on the outskirts of the city. The city’s army now had almost a hundred swords. However, Idrimi’s success had attracted the attention of the all-seeing eye of Horus.
“King Idrimi,” Addaya, the Egyptian commissioner for southern Canaan said now, dragging Idrimi’s thoughts back into the small palace, its walls hung with the pelts of wolves killed by shepherds. “Pharaoh Thutmose smiles upon you. This is a joy, a reason to celebrate, not to look into the darkness and worry. When the gods smile upon you, you fall to your knees and thank them. You light a thousand lamps and sing hymns of praise. You kill oxen and feast.”
Idrimi turned his round eyes on the Egyptian envoy.
Although it was unnecessary this far north, away from the blinding sun of the Two Lands, Addaya wore the heavy eye shadow favored by the Egyptians. An ornately beaded necklace covered the top half of his cleanly shaved chest. He also wore the haughty Egyptian smile that reminded everyone of their might.
Suddenly, like an assassin in the night, an idea materialized in Idrimi’s mind.
He could answer the envoy’s demands. He could raise himself in the eyes of the distant overlords. And he could discard the reminders of the years of living under King Semuna.
“Your Lord Pharaoh ... ” he said, straightening on his throne.
“Pharaoh Thutmose, third of the name, Golden Horus, Son of Re,” Addaya corrected him.
Idrimi nodded, attempted to smile, abandoned the effort and simply said, “Yes. Pharaoh Thutmose, third of the name, Golden Horus, Son of Re.” Remembering fantastic tales of this foreign king collecting the hands of his enemies, Idrimi clenched his hands together to keep from waving them dismissively at the envoy. He cleared his throat and continued, “Pharaoh Thutmose wishes me to send him one of my daughters as a sign of our ... ”
“Of your allegiance, you commitment to the glory of the Two Lands. Yes, King Idrimi, if Pharaoh Thutmose accepts your daughter, she will join the House of Thutmose. If she is worthy, the god Amun will visit her and grant her the honor of bearing a son, who would be the physical manifestation of the union between your city and the world that is the Two Lands.”
Idrimi smiled.
“I have three daughters. They are all precious to me. They are the breath of spring on my face, the wash of cool water on my tired eyes.”
“I will inspect them,” Addaya interrupted, “and choose ... ”
“No,” Idrimi interrupted forcefully.
As Addaya opened his mouth to rebuke the upstart, Idrimi held up a hand. “I will give Pharaoh Thutmose, third of the name, all three of my daughters. Blessed be his house!”
***
“Why are we dressing in our court gowns?” twelve-year-old Merti asked her older sister Menwi, who was bent to look into a mirror as she tied a narrow, silver headband around her thick, brown curls.
“I don’t know, little sister,” Menwi said. Although only three years older, Menwi was a surrogate mother to Merti.
The oldest sister, Menhet, was sixteen and considered herself Queen of Alalakh although her father never allowed her into the palace great room except to serve him at meals. She lowered a comb from her hair and huffed at her sisters’ ignorance.
“There must be a court gathering, of course. I expect there will be music and dancing. And Mitanni princes, perhaps some Hittites. I heard that the King of Kadesh has written father. And the commissioner from the Two Lands was here.” She twirled in a slow circle, frowned at the heaviness of her gown, and bit her lower lip.
“We must get finer linen and jewels.” She held a hand at her bare throat. “Father is king. There should be jewels. And servants.” She lowered her heavy eyebrows and looked about the small dressing room she shared with her two sisters.
Instead of light, smoky oil lamps radiated a gloom that settled in the corners of the dark room whose fur-covered walls were interrupted by only a single narrow window. Menhet felt a tightness enter her head and realized that she was clenching both her fists and her jaws.
Breathing slowly, she forced herself to let go of her anger.
A queen should never look vexed, she reminded herself.
She smiled; if there was a single prince at the court she would attack him like a wolf on a lamb. She would force him into a dark corner, lay him on an uneven, shaking table and ride him, her imagination taking her far, far away from this dark hovel her father called a palace.
Menwi, her hands caressing her little sister’s shoulders, leaned over the girl and kissed her sister’s head. “Don’t worry, Merti.” She glanced at her older sister and felt a wave of sadness sweep over her. Although she had never known anything different, Menhet complained constantly of their coarse clothing, their poor room, their rough food, their lack of jewelry.
There is a hunger in her that will never be satisfied, Menwi thought sadly. Then she bowed her head as Menwi recognized her own hunger. She ached not for jewels or delicate gowns or golden bracelets. She longed for a companion spirit, someone whose touch would lift her soul beyond this life.
***
Menwi realized that something was amiss when the princesses were escorted across the dirt courtyard and directed to separate, covered litters. She was certain that something world-shattering was happening when she saw her father watching them with his face contorted into what Menwi was shocked to see was a smile.
Enclosed in curtained prisons, the three girls were carried past the sounds of angry ducks and the murmur of crowded streets. Soon, Menwi smelled saltwater and one end of the litter tilted to the sound of feet slapping on wooden gangplanks.
Although she should have felt fear, Menwi was filled with excitement.
She was leaving Alalakh.
Sand and memories
Imhotep abandoned his fight against the sand.
It coated his palm fiber sandals and his feet. It had found its way to the creases of his neck and nestled among the webs of his fingers. Sitting with his back propped against the broken wall that once had formed the southern border of King Djoser’s funerary complex, Imhotep was surrounded by Egypt’s desert sand.
Resting his charcoal stick on his shendyt-covered lap, he slapped his hands together like a pair of sand-covered cymbals. Still the grains clung to him.
Shadows slid near.
Looking up, Imhotep smiled as Akila and Maya approached.
Then he turned his attention back to papyrus that lay on a thin wooden lapboard. He added finishing lines to a sketch of his bare feet, crossed at the ankles, sandals dangling loose. In the background of his drawing, desert dunes stretch
ed off to a cloudless western horizon. Off to the east, behind his feet, the still smooth blocks of the Step Pyramid rose, angling off the edge of his papyrus.
Saluting a long-ago memory, he lifted the charcoal to the top left corner of the sketch. In English, he printed, “Addy, this has been a long, strange journey. I’ve met King Djoser and Pharaoh Hatshepsut and Pharaoh Thutmose III. I oversaw the building of the Step Pyramid, went to the Land of Punt (they call it Ta Netjer), and now Senenmut and I have finished Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s mortuary temple — the one that is built into the mountain.
“I was married to a wonderful woman named Meryt. She was a lot like you. I miss her. I miss you both. I have a daughter. Her name is Maya and she is Keeper of the Wardrobe to Pharaoh Hatshepsut. I have a grandson. His name is Neferhotep. He commands the chariots of Pharaoh Thutmose’s army.
“I am married now to Akila. She is a doctor. I am, too. At least the Egyptians view me as one. I am Imhotep. THE Imhotep! We read about me. That is so strange, isn’t it?”
Blowing away charcoal dust that had fallen on the sketch, Imhotep laid a clean linen cloth on the papyrus and rolled it. Looping a short thread around it, he tied it into a loose cylinder and then added it to the others that filled the linen sack that lay on the sand beside him.
Picking up his walking staff, he braced himself against the wall and worked his way to his feet.
It was the twenty-second year of the reign of Pharaoh Hatshepsut, who had just turned fifty, and the ruler was near death.
Closing his eyes, Imhotep waited a moment until the mild dizziness that visited him more and more often passed.
“It seems so strange,” Akila said as she and Maya stopped beside him.
Imhotep raised his eyebrows.
