The Field of Reeds (Imhotep Book 4)

by Jerry Dubs

  Imhotep glanced at her and shrugged. “I’d rather ride on the ship with Maya,” he said, ignoring her question.

  “I know,” Akila said. “But Pharaoh Thutmose wants you beside Queen Satiah. He trusts your heka ... ” she said with a sad smile.

  He shook his head in resignation. There was no argument to be made against Pharaoh Thutmose’s beliefs. Or anyone’s beliefs, he thought, trying to be fair, despite his weariness. And this arrangement is better, he told himself. Maya is in better hands under Akila’s care.

  Pausing when they reached the river they heard heavy footsteps behind them.

  “The litters,” Akila said as they turned to look back toward the city.

  “Neferhotep said he will be taking the minor wives away tonight,” Imhotep said.

  Akila nodded; she had been with Imhotep when he had talked with his grandson. She knew that Imhotep was aware that he was repeating himself, saying words now to ease the tension.

  “Pharaoh Thutmose doesn’t want to give the city the impression that he’s abandoning them,” Imhotep said, shifting his weight off his right leg.

  Before Akila could agree, the lead litter emerged from the darkness. Pentu was walking beside it, one hand passing through the curtain to hold hands with Maya. Looking up he saw Imhotep and Akila. Smiling, he raised his other hand in greeting.

  “He’s a good man,” Imhotep said, his heart moved as he watched Pentu put aside his own pain to care for Maya.

  “He is,” Akila agreed, taking Imhotep’s hand. “Maya and her mother both chose well.”

  ***

  That night while the boats bearing Maya and Queen Satiah settled beside the docks in Iunet, Neferhotep stood by the palace gates in Waset, one hand holding the reins of his chariot horses.

  Two ornate litters waited by the entrance, their painted curtains hanging unmoving in the still night. The eight men who would carry Merti and Menwi to the river stood quietly, their heads bowed, the usual banter of the carriers lost in the dark solemnness of the night; Pharaoh Thutmose, third of the name, was sending his wives away from the capital.

  Light blossomed from the dark palace entrance as torchbearers arrived. They formed a double line from the entrance to the litters. Once they were in place, a double line of palace guards took their places along the stone pathway.

  Ancient Hapuseneb, first priest of Amun, emerged from the palace trailed by eight acolytes, their cupped hands carrying alabaster bowls of smoking incense.

  Draped in double leopard skins that hung over his shoulders, Hapuseneb carried a long was scepter, its forked tip ending just above turquoise and gold ankle bracelets. His generous shendyt, the linen threads interlaced with golden ones, glowed from the torchlight.

  Chanting enchantments, Hapuseneb led the acolytes around the litters, tapping his was scepter against the wooden handles and the linen curtains.

  As the procession passed Neferhotep, a cloud of incense swirled toward him, and his horses chuffed and shook their heads. Neferhotep stepped back and put a hand on the closest horse. Petting it, he whispered soothingly and leaned to touch his forehead against the horse to calm it.

  The circuit completed, Hapuseneb stopped at the palace entrance.

  Servant girls carrying small carved and painted boxes of perfumes, oils, and kohl emerged from the palace. Unsure where to go, the girls started to gather in a cluster.

  Hapuseneb narrowed his eyes at the ungraceful confusion.

  Releasing the reins of his horses, Neferhotep stepped into the light and touched the nearest servant girl’s arm. Motioning with his head Neferhotep led the girls out of the circle of light.

  “Wait here,” he told them softly. “After the queens are settled in their litters, I will have men help you to the boats.

  One of the girls looked up at him with frightened eyes. “I’ve never been out of Waset,” she said, her voice cracking.

  Neferhotep squatted beside her.

  “What is your name?” he asked in the same voice he had used earlier with his frightened horse.

  “Beket,” she answered, gulping back a sob.

  “Have you ever ridden on a chariot?”

  She shook her head, her eyes cautious.

  “Well, Beket, tonight I will let you ride with me in my chariot. My name is Neferhotep. My men are escorting the queens to Men-Nefer and the temple of Ptah. It is my duty to make sure the queens are safe and well cared for.”

  She nodded understanding.

  “I will protect you, too, Beket.”

  “Truly?”

  “Truly,” he said with a smile. “That is my job. I protect people.”

  ***

  Freshly bathed and not yet dressed, Menhet stood by her bedroom window allowing the warm air from the palace garden to wash over her.

  She had never known true warmth in Alalakh, not the warmth of an Egyptian night. She had never known what it was to be clean, free of the dust of the red plains of Canaan, free of the sooty motes floating from wood fires, free of the scrape of coarse gowns, free of the stares of naked hunger from the soldiers of the palace.

  Raising her head, she inhaled the blossomed air of the garden. Through half-closed eyes she looked at the sweep of green trees, the stately movement of herons by the water, the water itself, a calm, refreshing oasis.

  Smiling, she looked down and swept a hand over the tight swelling of her breasts, the small curves of her stomach. She had been willing to give this to a clan chief, to lie beneath a sweating, hairy, grunting barbarian. And now she was preparing to lie instead with the man who ruled the center of the universe. He was commanding and handsome and powerful.

  I will bear him so many sons! She thought with a rush of determination.

  She heard a slight rustle behind her as her servants entered the room.

  Smiling in anticipation, she turned to nod at the servants who had come to dress her, to anoint her with perfumed oil, to gently apply green malachite kohl to her eyes, to color her lips with ochre. She paused a moment, to savor the apprehension on the servants’ faces as they awaited her command.

  Then she stepped forward, ready to be prepared for her first night with her husband, Pharaoh Thutmose, third of the name.

  ***

  Three days had passed since Neferhotep had stepped aboard his ship to escort Menwi and Merti away from Pharaoh Thutmose; three days of guarding every step, every glance, every thought.

  Tonight his will had broken.

  As he lay on his swaying bed, his rebellious thoughts turned to pleasure. And now, he lost himself in the delight of dreaming of Menwi’s skin, softer than petals of a lotus blossom, smoother than the finest alabaster. The hand of his ka across her shoulder following the small bones beneath her flesh and the muscles that gave her life.

  Down her arm, his fingertips barely touching her skin; the bridge between them a point of pleasure that blossomed and swept through him.

  Her hand was on his chest, her fingers dragging flames across his skin.

  Eyes looking into each other, they drew closer. He felt her breath on him.

  “Commander,” a voice whispered.

  Neferhotep moaned.

  “Commander,” the voice louder now.

  Neferhotep sat up and looked around quickly, one hand seeking his knife, the other pulling at the linen of his shendyt to cover his excitement.

  “There is someone at the dock,” the man said.

  Neferhotep shook his head, chasing away the dream. Then he closed his eyes for a moment, hoping for a last sight of the impossible pleasure that had been so near.

  “Someone is waving a torch,” the man said, sitting back on his haunches.

  Fully, reluctantly awake, Neferhotep leaned toward Ebana, the captain of the ship. “Where are we?” he asked, getting to his feet.

  “Iunet,” Ebana said.

  “Maya,” Neferhotep said quickly, his excitement forgotten.

  “Bring me close to the dock.” He looked toward the midship cabin where Menwi
slept. “Don’t wake anyone.”

  ***

  We aren’t moving, Menwi thought as she woke in her cabin.

  Sitting upright, she put her hands on the edge of the pillowed bed frame and pushed herself to her feet. The boat was swaying, but there was no rhythm to it. It didn’t surge ahead as it did when the men were rowing.

  She smiled to herself. Already I have become an expert in the motions of a boat.

  Then she remembered the dream that had left her in such a happy mood.

  Nighttime in the palace garden. Soft light draping itself across the trees leaving pockets of secret, sheltering shadows. Neferhotep standing in those shadows, his face composed, watchful and intent.

  His eyes sought her as she leaned from the window of her room.

  Seeing him, she stepped through the window, leaving behind the harem room.

  Soft, cool, and welcoming, the ground greeted her hesitant step. Extending a hand to maintain her balance, she brushed against a low tree branch. There was a soft flutter and then a hoopoe called to her, its breathy notes singing to her ka. The bird spread its striped crown of feathers, tilted its head and cooed again, the sound opening her heart.

  Neferhotep approached shyly, hesitantly. She opened her arms to him. He opened his arms to her. The warmth of his skin on hers. The soft breath of the night mingling with her sighs. A gentle rocking as they embraced.

  Closing her eyes, she wrapped her arms around herself, feeling once more the warmth of her dream. She smiled at the memory and opened her eyes as an unexpected rocking motion disturbed her waking dream.

  The boat rocked sharply again and she heard the sound of bare feet on wood.

  Going to the doorway of her cabin, she saw that Neferhotep had just boarded the boat. Head bowed, he was speaking softly to Captain Ebana. The captain nodded and moved to the boatmen and silently gave them orders. Standing, the men picked up the long-handled oars and began to move the boat away from the dock.

  As Neferhotep turned away from the captain, she saw his face. His eyes were haunted, his jaw moving without sound. He felt her eyes on him and looked up. As he did, he raised a hand and pushed the heel of it across his eyes.

  “Commander Neferhotep?” she said, stepping from her cabin.

  He stopped moving. “Yes, Queen Menwi?”

  “What happened?”

  “We stopped at Iunet,” he said. “But we are moving again.”

  She took another step toward him and saw kohl smeared beneath red eyes. Without thought, she took his hand. “What happened?” she repeated.

  “I went ashore to say farewell to my mother,” he said.

  “Farewell?”

  “She will soon rest from life,” he said softly.

  “We must wait here. You should be with her,” Menwi said, her fingers tightening their grip on his hand.

  They both looked down at their hands.

  “I am ordered to take you and your sister to Men-Nefer, to the Temple of Ptah,” Neferhotep said awkwardly, his eyes still on their hands.

  “But I am your queen,” Menwi said, her thumb moving softly across the back of his hand. “Can I not order you to stay here?” she said. She looked down at their touching hands. Then raising her eyes to meet his, she said softly, “You could stay with your mother until she rests.” Her eyes spoke to him, “You could do what your heart desires.”

  Neferhotep felt his blood race and his chest refused to rise and fall. Hoarsely, he whispered, “I must do what Pharaoh Thutmose commands.”

  Menwi withdrew her hand.

  “I am sorry, Commander Neferhotep,” Menwi said, her eyes searching his. She backed away a step and suddenly Khonsu’s light flooded her face and Neferhotep saw the love of Isis radiating from her eyes.

  “I do not want to take you away from your ma’at,” she said. “If your heart allows, we can stay here with your mother. If your heart insists, we will follow the orders of my husband. I only want what you want.”

  Realm of the Gods

  There is too much light, Menwi thought, raising a hand to shield her eyes as the boat slid into a white cloud that rested on the river three days after leaving from Iunet.

  Mist swirled over the prow, curled around Neferhotep’s legs and then drifted toward Menwi’s cabin. Fascinated, she extended her arm and watched the cloud cover her hand.

  A disembodied voice said, “It is water turning itself into air.” Turning she saw Neferhotep’s face emerge from the vaporous shroud. “Imhotep explained it to me. It is common in his land.”

  Waving fingers through the mist, Menwi felt its cooling moisture.

  “His land?” she asked, looking from her hand to Neferhotep.

  “Yes,” Neferhotep said, kneeling by her cabin door. “He is from another place. A different time, too.”

  The mist grew thicker, the bright motes nearly obscuring Neferhotep’s face.

  We are passing through this cloud to a different place, Menwi thought.

  “He is from the distant past, from before the pyramids were built, and he is also from the future, where there are buildings taller than the pyramids and chariots that fly through the air.”

  As he spoke, Menwi watched his mouth, saw his tongue and lips, the flash of his teeth. His words fought through the fog, but when they reached her their meaning was lost to the mist.

  We are passing into the realm of the gods, she thought.

  Anything can happen.

  Reality

  A bank of clouds as gray as tombstones hid the morning sky. The mourners carried umbrellas. Most were black, but a few were inappropriately colorful; one was decorated with newspaper cartoons.

  Standing beneath a dark green tent, Tim listened to a minister mouth words that Tim no longer believed. Addy’s parents sat in folding chairs by the casket, suspended over the open grave. Addy’s mother raised a shaking hand to her face and lifted her black veil.

  As Tim watched in horror, the rising veil revealed a golden death mask with turquoise eyes and painted shadows of kohl.

  It is a dream, he realized.

  Awake now, he grunted. Maybe this is a dream. All of this. I’m in my apartment. I’m only twenty-five, not nearly sixty. Addy has gone to rescue her girlfriend and I’ve dozed off and imagined this life.

  He twisted and stretched his arm toward the floor. His fingers found the carved wood of his walking staff. It was there. It was firm. It was real.

  Pushing himself upright, he swung his legs to the stone floor, felt it push back against his bare feet. The feeling prompted a memory: A Zen monk is engaged in a philosophical discussion about impermanence with a novice. “What is reality?” the older monk asks. Demonstrating his understanding, the novice picks up a rock. “Is this real or is it merely my idea of reality?” Solemnly, the older monk takes the rock and strikes the novice on the head with it.

  Chuckling ruefully, Imhotep leaned his weight on his walking staff and pushed himself to his feet.

  The Step Pyramid is real, I touched its stones. This tightness in my back is real, I feel it.

  He arched his back, stretching his arms wide, embracing the pain and the reality.

  “You’re awake,” Akila said, entering the room.

  Yawning, he nodded. Then, seeing the look in her eyes, the dread of his dream returned. “Maya?” he asked, knowing the answer.

  Akila nodded and Imhotep felt the weight of the world settle back on his shoulders.

  ***

  Pentu sat on the edge of Maya’s bed, the linen mask that he had worn at Imhotep’s insistence, lay on his knee. He held Maya’s hand with one hand as he leaned forward and caressed her sunken, lifeless cheek.

  Hearing Imhotep and Akila approach, he said, “She has stopped drawing breath. Her ka has rested.”

  Imhotep knelt by Maya’s head.

  She looks old, he thought. He tried to calculate her age. He remembered her birth and Meryt’s laughter as she held her daughter. He remembered taking her through the false door to the modern wor
ld where he had met Akila. He remembered Maya carried in Bata’s arms as his good friend saved her from the army at Abu. And then she had been lost to him, living decades of life while he had sat with Meryt in the bloody dirt of the temple.

  Through the vagaries of time travel, they were now nearly the same age.

  He leaned down and kissed her forehead.

  She lived a full life. She was loved by a devoted husband. She raised a son who loved and respected her. She was honored by Pharaoh Hatshepsut, and had been her friend as well.

  And she was a loving daughter.

  He thought of her childhood laughter, her inquisitive voice, her happy songs.

  She had been so much like her mother.

  A tear fell against his hand and he realized that it had come from him. Now he felt hands grip his shaking shoulders and the warmth of another’s head leaning against him.

  He realized that he was crying, a sad shuffling sob that he couldn’t control, that he had no power to stop.

  Looking at his dead daughter, he thought of the Zen monks and reality and rocks.

  Pain this great must be real.

  He tried to wrap his pain in words, to blunt it with philosophical thoughts. But reality overwhelmed him. He didn’t know of a trick to lure this agony into a cage. It bled into his heart. Suddenly he sat heavily on the floor, his walking stick clattering to the stones.

  Leaning against Maya’s deathbed he surrendered to the pain and the realization that he had lost another person that he loved.

  Akila knelt beside him and wrapped him in a hug. Pentu said soothing words. But Imhotep’s heart was a hardened fist of grief and there was no place for comfort to find purchase.

  ***

  Akila took Imhotep’s free hand as they walked along the river later that day.

  Maya’s body had been given to the priests of Hathor. Experienced in caring for the lifeless bodies of women who had not survived childbirth, the priests were now washing Maya, preparing to transport her body to the temple of Thoth for embalming.