by Jerry Dubs
“No one. Except Useramen, he knows all that happens within the temple walls.”
She sat on the edge of the bed, so near to Neferhotep that their knees touched.
“She should be able to eat bread, freshly baked, warm still,” she said, offering him the basket. “No meat or fruit. No wine, but perhaps a little beer.”
Neferhotep nodded.
“She will be well, Commander Neferhotep.”
Neferhotep looked at Menwi’s pale face and thought of all the reasons that she would not be well.
“She has been cloistered here in the House of the Soul of Ptah,” Huy said slowly, laying a warm hand on Neferhotep’s arm, her eyes trying to push her thoughts into his. “No man has entered here. However, the ka of Ptah dwells here. The stones, the columns, the garden, the pond ... Ptah gives life to it all.”
His eyes on Queen Menwi, Neferhotep didn’t hear Huy’s words, all was lost in his worries about what would happen to Queen Menwi and their child. He bowed his head as his worries flooded through him. Eyes darting behind closed lids, he tried to find a way to save his love.
Standing abruptly, he gave the basket of bread back to Huy.
“I must send a message,” he said. “Please stay with Menwi.” He started walking to the doorway. Pausing, he turned back to her. “I will speak to First Priest Puimre about the doctors and the magicians.”
Leaving
“I want to go away,” Imhotep told Akila.
Sitting on a bench in the palace garden in Waset, Akila rubbed her fingers across the hem stitching of her linen gown and looked at Imhotep’s back.
Surrounded by trees, flowers, and shrubs, they couldn’t see the walls of the courtyard or the distant pylons of the temples or the tall obelisks or the swirl of colors in the market. Birds called to each other as they flew among the heavy, green canopy that blocked the sound of distant footsteps on the hard dirt of the streets.
“To Men-Nefer?” she asked.
Standing by a willow, Imhotep raised a hand and gripped one of the slippery, green limbs. He looked across the garden lake, large enough to contain the small fleet that they had taken seven years earlier to Ta Netjer.
Near him lotus blossoms gathered sunlight and tall papyrus reeds reached skyward from the still water by the bank. A fish jumped from the water to feed on hovering insects. It landed heavily, slapping the water. A heron stalking the pond’s edge fluttered its white wings as it looked up at the sound, then it returned to feeding.
Imhotep saw none of it, his eyes were looking beyond the garden, his ears were tuned to an inner dialogue.
“No, somewhere beyond the Two Lands. What else is out there? I mean civilized.”
“You mean where they have beer?” Akila asked, trying to lighten the dark mood that had perched on him like a vulture during Maya’s illness and that now had taken root, its claws of grief and regret dug deep.
He turned, looked over his shoulder at her and sighed, his eyes sad. Then he turned fully, dug his staff into the soft ground and stepped toward her. “I’m serious, Akila. I’m tired of all this. The heat, the ever-lasting sunshine ... ”
“The sand,” she offered.
“And now Thutmose is building his army. Have you heard the songs the men sing? They are eager to destroy the hundred thousand men of the King of Kadesh and to rape his women and to make his children slaves.”
She nodded.
“And Thutmose thinks that I’m a god and that keeping me near him will help destroy the King of Kadesh. I’m his good luck charm.”
“There is no mention of Imhotep in the records of the battle of Megiddo,” she said.
“Good, then I can leave. We can leave,” he said. “It won’t change anything.” He looked down at her on the bench, his eyes moving to the small space beside her. She slid across to give him room. Then, as he sat, she leaned toward him to rest her head on his shoulder.
“So where can we go? Greece? Can we meet Plato or Aristotle? Or Rome? Have they started yet? Have they grown past Romulus and Remus? I know there is civilization in China, but I don’t think I could manage that trip. I’m not young anymore. And going deeper into Africa scares me. Snakes and lions. I probably saw too many Tarzan movies when I was a kid. Did you ever see the one where they crisscrossed trees, tied captives to them and then cut the bent trees loose? It was black and white and they didn’t show anything except the captives struggling and then the screams and the natives dancing happily.
“I was just a kid and it was horrifying.”
“Babylon,” Akila said. “I think Babylon is flourishing now. We could get there by land and it isn’t too distant. Of course, we’ll have to wait until Thutmose clears the way by defeating the King of Kadesh.”
“I don’t know anything about Babylonia. No wait, they have the hanging gardens, right?” Imhotep said, tilting his head to rest on Akila’s. “That might be nice.”
“It would,” she agreed. “And who knows, maybe you’ll turn out to be Hammurabi.”
She felt Imhotep shake his head. “I think he had a beard. I can’t grow a beard.”
“There might be some civilization in Greece, but I’m pretty sure that we’re a thousand years before Plato,” she said.
Imhotep turned his face to kiss the side of Akila’s head. “Thank you for humoring me,” he said.
“Maybe Crete,” she said.
“Crete? I don’t know anything about Crete either. I guess I should have paid more attention to seventh grade history.”
“Sure you do,” Akila said, rubbing her hand on his arm. “Kiss my head again. I like that.”
He kissed her again, raising a hand to caress her face as he did.
“The maze of the Minotaur,” Akila said.
“That was Crete?” he said.
“Maybe you built the maze. Maybe you are King Minos.”
He kissed her head again. “I don’t think so, Akila. I always felt at home here, despite the sand. Like this was where I belong.”
She closed her eyes and wondered if she should talk to him now about her theory, why his DNA was so similar to others in the ancient land.
“Lord Imhotep,” a voice called softly.
Akila raised her head slowly as Imhotep turned toward the messenger.
“Pharaoh Thutmose, long life!, will allow your presence.”
Imhotep nodded and the messenger backed away.
“I wonder what this is about,” Imhotep said, pushing himself to his feet. He stretched, pulling his shoulders back, feeling the ache in his muscles, hearing quiet, satisfying popping sounds in his neck and spine. Then he lifted his walking staff. “Maybe I’ll ask Thutmose to make me envoy to Crete. How hard can it be to build a maze? I feel lost most of the time, anyhow.”
***
Pharaoh Thutmose, third of the name, stood by his throne which was occupied by Queen Satiah, her arms cradling their three-month-old son. Leaning over his wife, Pharaoh Thutmose touched the soft black hair on his son’s head as the boy suckled his mother.
Marveling at the details of his son’s body — the fingers so small yet strong, the eyelashes impossibly delicate, the legs short and churning — Pharaoh Thutmose thought of the power of the gods, the magic of creator Ptah, the heka of his own god, Imhotep.
He peered into his son’s dark brown eyes. Which god will guide your ka?
His back to the audience hall, he saw Queen Satiah’s eyes flicker away from him. Then he heard the sound of Imhotep’s walking staff on the stone floor. Smiling to himself, Pharaoh Thutmose kissed his son’s head and then turned to greet his obedient god.
“Pharaoh Thutmose, long life!” Imhotep said, stopping as Pharaoh Thutmose turned to him. Pausing beside Imhotep, Akila echoed his greeting.
“Lord Imhotep. Lady Akila,” Pharaoh Thutmose said as he stepped down from the throne’s dais. “I was pleased to hear that your daughter was greeted by the gods in the Field of Reeds. We miss her, but look forward to her eternal company.”
“Th
ank you, Pharaoh Thutmose, long life!” Akila said when she saw that Imhotep was reluctant to answer.
Imhotep suddenly became aware of bird-like movement on the floor by the pillar closest to the throne. Leaning forward he saw Tjaneni sitting cross-legged, his wooden board on his lap, a sheet of papyrus partially covered with writing.
Aware of the pause in the conversation, Tjaneni looked up and saw Imhotep watching him. He smiled at his mentor and then looked back to Pharaoh Thutmose.
“We are grateful that you helped my son into the world,” Pharaoh Thutmose said, stepping down from the dais. “And for keeping Queen Satiah safe from the wasting illness.”
Imhotep nodded. “Have you named your son?” he asked, aware of the importance of names and of the king’s belief that Imhotep was an incarnation of Thoth.
“Amenemhat,” Pharaoh Thutmose said.
“Amenemhat,” Imhotep repeated. He looked at Tjaneni. “Bring his cartouche to me,” he asked.
Pharaoh Thutmose looked at his wife, his eyes brimming with pride.
“I have a favor to ask of you, Lord Imhotep,” he said, stepping closer and resting a hand on Imhotep’s shoulder. “I received a letter today from the commander of the maryannu.”
“From Neferhotep?” Imhotep interrupted. Reaching out with his free hand he sought Akila’s hand. She slid closer to him and took his hand.
“He said that the wasting illness has spread to Men-Nefer. He asks that you and Akila come to him.”
“Is he ill?” Imhotep asked.
“No,” Pharaoh Thutmose said. “Queen Menwi is.”
Imhotep felt Pharaoh Thutmose’s hand tighten on his shoulder. “You will save her,” he said. “As you saved Queen Satiah.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Imhotep saw Tjaneni turn his eyes to him and raise his hand, which held a rolled papyrus.
“There is a boat waiting,” Pharaoh Thutmose said. “First Priest Puimre will keep me apprised of your success.”
***
Outside of the audience hall, Imhotep took Akila’s hand and led her down a short hallway.
“Where are we going?” she asked. “You know that he’ll expect us to leave immediately. I’m sure there are litters waiting outside the palace gates.”
“I know,” Imhotep said. He looked up the hallway. “Tjaneni had a papyrus.”
Akila raised her hands to slip them into jacket pockets, laughed to herself at the futility of her old habit, and then crossed her arms instead. They waited silently, each lost in their thoughts; Imhotep remembering the other times a ruler had ‘asked’ him to save a family member, Akila wondering if instead of seeking a different land they should seek a different time.
A few minutes passed and Imhotep, brow furrowed, tapped his walking staff against the stone floor. He shrugged. “Maybe I was mistaken,” he said, although he was sure that he wasn’t.
He lowered his head and listened for footsteps. Then, giving up, he took Akila’s arm and started walking toward the palace entrance.
Raising a hand to his eyes as they emerged into late morning sunshine, Imhotep saw that, as Akila had predicted, two litters were waiting for them. As he squinted against the light, a figure moved from beside one of the litters and approached him.
“Lord Imhotep,” Amenhotep said, stopping by Imhotep and Akila.
“Amenhotep,” Imhotep said, “how did you escape your office?”
Amenhotep smiled, his narrow face looking happy for a moment. Then he swallowed and said, “We are as prepared as we can be, Lord Imhotep. We have reached the point where if you pour more water into a jar, water spills from the other side of the mouth. We are training and getting stronger, but the numbers cannot increase. The quarry of men is empty. As soon as the flood arrives and passes, we will send the men home to plant. When they return the army will move.”
“And Pharaoh Thutmose is patient?”
“He consults the gods and, fortunately, the gods have not set him on edge. And reports from Canaan say that the King of Kadesh is having more trouble gathering his army than we are. Still ... ” he shrugged.
“The temple was easier, wasn’t it?” Imhotep said, gripping his friend’s arm. “Pharaoh Thutmose is fortunate to have you in his service. I know that I was.”
“Thank you, Lord Imhotep,” Amenhotep said, his voice serious and quiet. He nodded toward a sycamore tree by the side of the plaza.
Imhotep and Akila exchanged glances and then followed Amenhotep away from the litters.
“My friend Useramen manages the temple of Ptah in Men-Nefer,” Amenhotep said. When Imhotep shook his head, Amenhotep said, “You wouldn’t know him. He works in the shadow of First Priest Puimre.”
Hearing Amenhotep mention Men-Nefer, Imhotep and Akila grew still.
“I have helped him secure material and builders for the temple,” Amenhotep said. “He has helped me find able-bodied men hiding in the delta. He is a good man and can be trusted.”
Hearing nervousness enter his friend’s voice, Imhotep tilted his head in question. Amenhotep dealt in numbers and calculations. He was an astute judge of strength and ability. He had never had reason to be nervous.
“Go on, Amenhotep,” Imhotep said.
“Useramen sent a message among the scrolls brought to Pharaoh Thutmose. Tjaneni kept it from the official correspondence.”
Imhotep nodded, understanding Tjaneni’s gesture now.
“What was the message?” he asked.
Amenhotep took a deep breath. “Queen Menwi is not ill with the wasting illness,” he said, rushing the words together.
Imhotep wanted to smile in relief, but Amenhotep’s nervousness stopped him.
“What is wrong, Amenhotep? What did Useramen tell you?”
“She is with child. And she has been away from the palace too long for the father to be Pharaoh Thutmose. What is more, Tjaneni told me that she has never been called to Pharaoh Thutmose’s chambers.”
Imhotep shook his head sadly. “Who would have been so foolish? Who would have touched the queen? And what was she thinking?”
Suddenly he realized why Amenhotep was so nervous. “Neferhotep!” he said. “He was charged with protecting the queen. He will get the blame for allowing someone near her.”
“He left the queen to come to us when Maya died. Perhaps that was when ... ” Akila said, reassuring Imhotep.
“It won’t matter to Pharaoh Thutmose. It was Neferhotep’s duty to guard the queen.” Imhotep looked to Amenhotep. “But Pharaoh Thutmose doesn’t know Queen Menwi is with child, does he? He thinks that she is ill.”
“Yes, Lord Imhotep.”
Imhotep saw that his friend’s nervousness hadn’t left him. “There is more.”
Amenhotep nodded. “Useramen knows who the father is.”
“No!” Akila said, suddenly understanding Amenhotep’s nervousness.
Imhotep turned to her, saw fear in her eyes and then turned back to Amenhotep. “Who is the father?” he asked, the answer dragging itself into his heart before Amenhotep could answer.
“Useramen is certain that it is Neferhotep,” Amenhotep said softly. Then in a whisper he added, “He saw them together.”
Secrets
“Ineb-Hedj,” Imhotep said as their boat approached the ancient city now known as Men-Nefer. Standing at the prow, he felt the counter-current breeze brush his face and lap at his shendyt. Akila stood beside him, an arm draped around his waist, her thumb hooked under the belt of the linen kilt.
The white walls that had given the city its former name looked taller to Imhotep now and, scrubbed clean of the muddy lines left behind when the annual flood receded, the walls glowed unnaturally bright.
Sound spilled over the city walls, tumbled over the tops of palm trees, rushed over the lower bushes near the river, and rippled across the water: low rumbling from cows, the coarse grind of wooden chariot wheels over stone, the eager calls from sellers in the market, roosters crowing, pigeons cooing, the cry of a circling hawk.
&n
bsp; Imhotep shook his head, a wry smile pushing onto his face.
“It is a city now. When I first arrived it was just a village,” he said pointing to the western bank toward the plateau where the Step Pyramid stood above the wadi that led to the tomb of Kanakht, now called the tomb of Ipy.
He looked at Akila, leaned to her and kissed her. “It was another lifetime,” he said.
He smiled at the thought. “It really was another lifetime. I was Tim Hope. I had just wandered through the false doorway in the tomb of Kanakht and I had no idea that I had traveled through time. That I would become … that I was Imhotep.”
Looking past the city, he reached out and pulled Akila close. He turned his head so that his lips brushed her cheek.
“We should find the tomb, repaint the hieroglyphs above the false door and leave this time, this world,” he whispered against her skin.
She turned her head.
“If Menwi is pregnant and if Useramen knows that Neferhotep is the father, there will be no safe place for them here,” he continued.
“You don’t trust Useramen?” she asked.
“I trust human nature,” Imhotep said. “No secret is safe. If Neferhotep loves Menwi, if she loves him, they won’t be able to hide it. Their eyes will reveal their love. A touch that lingers, a smile that stays too long, a sigh that should not have escaped. Love cannot hide. They will be discovered and then he will be killed. She will be killed. Their child will be killed.”
She rubbed his back.
“So you want to find the tomb and leave this time,” she said.
He nodded. “Babylon, wherever that is, wouldn’t be beyond the rage of Pharaoh Thutmose. They couldn’t hide, even in the maze of the Minotaur.”
***
Alighting from the litters that carried them from the ship to the doors of Hut-ka-Ptah, Imhotep and Akila found Neferhotep waiting for them.
As the charioteer started to kneel, Imhotep stepped to him and took his arm. When Neferhotep paused, Imhotep dropped his walking staff, wrapped his arms around his grandson and hugged him close.
