The Field of Reeds (Imhotep Book 4)

by Jerry Dubs

  The soldiers who stood by the entrance shifted their weight as they watched the public display of affection. Everyone knew of the god Imhotep, his fearsome powers and his healing heka. And although they knew that Neferhotep was Imhotep’s grandson, they expected him to kneel before the god, not to be embraced by him.

  Unconsciously they drew themselves into more rigid stances, proud to be commanded by one who was intimate with the god who could call fire from the sky.

  When Imhotep finally released Neferhotep, Akila held her arms out to him. Tears of relief in his eyes, Neferhotep took her hands as she stepped close and kissed his cheeks.

  When he had sent for Imhotep and Akila, Neferhotep had prayed that they would find a way to help him, but the prayers had had been empty hopes. Now, feeling their skin on his, seeing the love in their eyes, he felt his worries dissolve.

  All will be well.

  ***

  Neferhotep escorted them to the audience hall, a large chamber that opened from the columned interior courtyard.

  As they walked past the brightly painted columns, clusters of curious acolytes emerged from the shadows to see the god Imhotep. Coveys of slow-moving priests, backs stiff, heads held erect, darted their eyes at the threesome, and servants carrying buckets of sloshing water paused in their work to look at the spectacle.

  Torch smoke mingled with incense clouds that rose from bowls placed along the walkway. Imhotep looked up at the high, deep blue ceiling, its expanse covered with rows of five-pointed stars. Pausing, he looked at a column that showed the god Ptah blessing Pharaoh Thutmose.

  The gods here are real, as real as this smoke, as real as the cries of a hawk, as real as the heat of the sun. Perhaps … he thought, a glimmer of an idea rising in his mind.

  ***

  After paying their respects to First Priest Puimre and promising to return to dine with him, Imhotep and Akila asked Neferhotep to take them to Queen Menwi.

  They found her sitting with her sister, surrounded by a cluster of servants, who quickly backed away to the edges of the chamber when Neferhotep, Akila, and Imhotep entered.

  As Neferhotep knelt before the queens, Imhotep and Akila stopped and bowed their heads.

  “Queen Menwi, long life! Queen Merti, long life!” They said in unison.

  The young girls nodded, accepting the greeting.

  Imhotep studied them for a moment.

  They wore white gowns, the material so fine it was translucent. Instead of the heavy, long black wigs that were the style of the royal court, the girls had chosen to keep their own dark brown hair, which fell in curls to their shoulders. Their lips were stained with red ochre, their eyes shielded by dark green kohl, yet beneath the Egyptian makeup, the girls retained their foreign look.

  The cheekbones were more narrow, their lips less full, their eyes rounded, their noses thinner.

  Merti, her face still that of a girl, was pretty, but Menwi was beautiful, Imhotep thought. Her skin was luminous beneath a light sheen of oil. Her eyes, although slightly cautious, were openly assessing him with intelligence and curiosity.

  As he watched her, her eyes moved from him to Neferhotep, and as they slid to his grandson, the queen’s eyes changed. One didn’t need to be a god with the power to observe a person’s ka, to see the love that shone from her eyes. It was evident in her slightly parted lips, in her quickened breathing, in the flush of color that came to her face.

  Imhotep lowered his eyes.

  He heard Akila sigh softly. She had seen it as well.

  Realizing that the room had grown quiet, Imhotep looked to see that the two queens were watching him expectantly.

  He blinked, assumed the air of a worldly god and tapped his staff against the stone floor. Then he turned to the servants and tilted his head toward the doorway. Without seeking approval from the queens, the young girls ran from the room.

  As their small footsteps faded, Imhotep approached the sisters.

  “Queen Merti,” he said to the younger girl, “Pharaoh Thutmose sends his greetings. He looks forward to the time when he can enjoy your company.”

  The girl nodded.

  “Queen Menwi,” he said, turning to the older sister. “I am happy to see you well.”

  She lifted her chin, cast her eyes at Neferhotep and swallowed heavily. “Thank you, Lord Imhotep. Father Ptah has taken me to his heart and I am better now.”

  Imhotep bent forward, bringing his face close to her.

  His eyes found hers and held them. Expecting to see guile, he saw only fear.

  “I am happy that Ptah has blessed you,” he said kindly. “Pharaoh Thutmose has sent me to help you. So take comfort, Queen Menwi. Akila and I will do what Pharaoh Thutmose asks. We will help you and all will be well.”

  Straightening, he smiled down at her.

  “Neferhotep and I will leave you with Akila now. She is as great a healer as Sekhmet or Thoth or Taweret. You can trust her.” Without turning, he spoke to Neferhotep. “Tell her, grandson.”

  “Yes, Queen Menwi, you can open your heart to Lady Akila.”

  ***

  Imhotep forced himself to hold his tongue as he and Neferhotep walked to the charioteer’s quarters.

  His first thought was to scold his grandson, to make him aware of the extreme danger he had invited into his life when he took Menwi into his arms. But it was obvious from Neferhotep’s initial nervousness that he knew what he had done.

  An artist by nature, an architect from experience, Imhotep fell into the way of thinking that he had used all his life. He would create a blank slate, dig to a solid foundation. Then he would create a reality. In this case, he needed to fashion a reality that would withstand Pharaoh Thutmose’s suspicions and allow his grandson to live.

  Neferhotep’s chambers comprised a small antechamber, a common room and, off to the right, his bedroom. The common room held several chairs, a work table by a window that opened onto the central garden, and a longer table that held several baskets.

  Imhotep walked to the window and looked into the garden, much smaller than the garden of the palace at Waset. Benches formed a small amphitheater that faced a low stage where ritual reenactments would be performed. To the rear of the amphitheater palm trees surrounded a sacred pond that could be entered by a sloping, paved ramp.

  “It was there,” Neferhotep said, coming to stand beside his grandfather. He knew that his grandfather could see the future and the past. He was looking now, Neferhotep believed, into the past, at the night Neferhotep had been with Menwi.

  “It was the last night of the days upon the year,” Neferhotep said, beginning his confession.

  ***

  Akila sat on the bed by Queen Menwi and put her hands in her lap. She saw that Queen Menwi was fighting against the urge to withdraw from her, to scoot to the far edge of the narrow bed.

  “You were ill?” she asked.

  Queen Menwi nodded.

  “What form did the illness take?”

  Queen Menwi shrugged.

  Akila stifled a sigh. She thought back to her years at the campus in Helwan, the college girls who had come to her for help after they had spent a night with a boy. They had been so reluctant to explain what had happened, to admit that they had surrendered to the universal urge to love. Sexuality was more relaxed, less shameful here in ancient Egypt, but not, she reminded herself, in this case where surrendering to illicit love was a capital crime.

  “Queen Menwi,” she said gently, “was your stomach upset? Did you have a fever? Did your bones hurt? Was your breath foul? Tell me what troubled you.”

  “I could not eat,” she said finally.

  “You were unable to eat, or did the food come back out after you had eaten?”

  “It came out.”

  “But that has passed?”

  Queen Menwi nodded.

  “Very good. Was this every time you ate, or more often in the morning?”

  Before Queen Menwi answered, her eyes shifted to the doorway. Turning, Akil
a saw an elderly woman standing with a woven basket cupped in her arms. She wore a linen robe, not quite shabby, but not new.

  The woman bowed her head and said, “Greetings Queen Menwi, long life!” She stepped into the chamber and looked quizzically at Akila, who remained seated on the bed.

  “I am Huy,” the woman said. “I have been caring for Queen Menwi. Once we were able to chase the priests and magicians away, she improved dramatically. Happily, you seem to be neither.”

  “I am Akila.”

  Huy shook her head.

  “I am a physician.”

  Huy frowned slightly and approached the bed. Akila saw that the basket she carried contained fresh bread and some roasted meat. She sniffed, inhaling the yeasty aroma of the bread, but no seasonings from the meat.

  “Her stomach is much better, physician Akila, but not ready for spicy food.” She cocked her head and looked anew at Akila. “Lady Akila, I have heard that name. You are the god Imhotep’s hemet, yes?” She looked around the room. “Is he here? I would love to meet him.”

  ***

  “We were celebrating the goddess Nebt-het. I was on guard, protecting the queens. The celebrants were drinking, of course. They began to put fire to everything that would burn. I escorted First Priest Puimre and the queens from the courtyard to the temple.”

  Imhotep closed his eyes. He had witnessed countless festivals in the Two Lands. They were raw, powerful celebrations and the worshipers and priests drank to find communion with the gods. He had met Meryt at the Feast of Re in His Barge. He had lost his son on the Night that Neith Went Forth.

  “Queen Menwi felt ill. She had been drinking and it disagreed with her. After I secured the First Priest and the queens, she asked me to stay with her. Then she asked me to take her to the sacred pond.

  “It was the night when things hidden by moonlight are revealed. It was the last of the Days Upon The Year, Lord Imhotep. The days that were created ... ”

  Imhotep held up his hand. “I know why the days were created, Neferhotep. I understand the attraction of dark revelations. I understand, Neferhotep.” He turned from the window to his grandson.

  “You were with her?”

  Neferhotep nodded. “Yes, grandfather.”

  “Who knows?”

  “No one, grandfather. No one.”

  ***

  “Imhotep is with Neferhotep,” Akila said. She stood beside Huy. “You have told me that your name is Huy, but not who you are or why you are here.”

  Huy set her basket on the bed beside Queen Menwi. She nodded to the girl. “This will stay in your stomach, Queen Menwi. And the meat will help you regain your strength.” She chuckled lightly. “You will need it.” She leaned forward and patted Queen Menwi’s head.

  Then she turned to Akila.

  “I am a midwife and a friend of Useramen. He told me about the queen’s illness and I recognized the symptoms.”

  Akila crossed her arms and waited.

  “I used her water on emmer and barley seeds. The barley sprouted. She is carrying a boy,” Huy said.

  Akila looked from Huy to Queen Menwi.

  “Who knows?”

  “No one, except Useramen and her guardian Neferhotep,” Huy said, “unless she has told someone.”

  Akila looked at the girl.

  Her eyes filled with tears, her bottom lip quivered as Queen Menwi shook her head.

  ***

  “She said no one knows except Useramen and Neferhotep,” Akila said as she and Imhotep walked hand in hand through the temple garden.

  Imhotep smiled. “Neferhotep believes that no one knows.”

  “But Useramen and Huy know,” Akila said.

  “And Useramen has written to Amenhotep. And I suspect that Useramen might have told Puimre,” Imhotep said.

  “Would Puimre have written to Pharaoh Thutmose?” Akila asked.

  Imhotep shook his head. “No. If he had, I’m sure that Tjaneni would have told Amenhotep.”

  “So we should probably add Tjaneni to the list of people who know that Menwi is pregnant,” Akila said.

  Imhotep followed the edge of the pond, walking carefully on wide stones that lined the water. Pausing, he stabbed at the water with his staff to measure its depth. Slipping off his sandals he stepped down into the knee deep water and sat on a stone.

  “That isn’t too many. And I trust them all. Except Puimre. I just don’t know him. But,” Imhotep said as he worked through the politics of the Two Lands, “I would guess that Puimre would be reluctant to admit that pharaoh was betrayed in his temple. What about Huy?”

  “She’s a midwife,” Akila said. “I’m sure she has heard and seen more secrets revealed than a confessional priest. She seems to have Menwi’s health in her heart.”

  Akila sat beside Imhotep.

  “Huy suggested that it is possible that the god Ptah impregnated Menwi. She said that gods frequently impregnate virgins who happen to live near a temple filled with young priests.”

  Imhotep shook his head.

  Akila stirred the pond water with her feet. Laying a hand on Imhotep’s leg, she said, “You are a god, you know. You and Ptah could have a talk. You could let Puimre know that Ptah claims paternity. If the two of you vouch for it ... a living god and the First Priest of Ptah singing the same song ... ” She kicked at the water, sending a spray of droplets that fell creating a circles of ripples that swept through each other.

  “It worked for Hatshepsut,” she said.

  Imhotep watched the ripples run through each other creating geometric patterns that grew more and more complicated.

  At night in Hut-ka-Ptah

  That night as lapwings left their nests to feed and doves sang farewell to the light, Imhotep left his room to enter the dark hallways of Hut-ka-Ptah.

  Entering the chamber of pillars he paused to let his eyes adjust to the yellow light from torches that lined the walls of the cavernous room. Shadows danced across the painted walls and pillars, bringing spectral life to the hundred images of Ptah.

  Imhotep tapped his walking staff on the stone floor. The hollow sound of reality was quickly swallowed by the shadows and the mystery of the temple.

  Hello, Father Ptah, he thought.

  Passing rows of columns, he entered the hallway that led to the inner sanctuary. This room was smaller and lit only by the torchlight that seeped through the rectangular doorway behind him and two small windows along the right hand wall.

  Imhotep thought of the night so many years ago when he had entered the Tomb of Kanakht searching for Brian and Diane. He had dropped his flashlight that night and, sitting in the blackness of the tomb, he had imagined the thousands of years of history pushing in on him.

  He heard a light cough. A shadow moved and a pale hand reached out to him. “I am here, Lord Imhotep.”

  Imhotep let the hand take his wrist.

  “Take me to the inner sanctum,” he said into the darkness and the hand tugged him gently forward.

  “This lintel is lower,” the voice said.

  Another memory woke in Imhotep’s mind. He had struck his head on the low lintel in the Tomb of Kanakht. He wondered now if his subconscious was recalling his entrance to the Two Lands in an effort to answer his problem, or if it was only wishful thinking about leaving the Two Lands that brought the images to mind.

  Or just old age, he thought with a mental shrug.

  A shroud covered the darkness as they entered the inner sanctum. Imhotep found himself shuffling his feet cautiously and moving the end of his walking staff in circles in front of his hesitant feet

  “Is this far enough?” the voice asked.

  Imhotep held up a hand to signal silence, saw that he could not see his own hand and then leaned toward the other’s voice. “Please say nothing for a moment. Try to not breathe, also,” he added.

  Then holding his breath Imhotep listened to the night. Satisfied that no one else was breathing in the small room, he released his breath.

  “Thank you
for meeting me, Useramen,” he said. “Is there a bench here?”

  “Yes, Lord Imhotep. Over here,” Useramen said, leading Imhotep a few steps to his right.

  Imhotep felt the stone seat against his legs, turned and lowered himself to the bench.

  “Sit with me,” he said.

  After Useramen had settled, Imhotep said, “Do you know why the gods like the darkness, Useramen? In the darkness we see with our kas, not our eyes. That is why we chant the names of the gods. As we repeat them, the sounds lose their meaning and then the gods can speak to us.” He waved an invisible hand in the darkness. “Incense masks the smells of our bodies and the scent of the gods can enter our noses. The sacred water of the pond embraces us and we do not feel the stones on our feet or the sway of linen on our skin.

  “We must lose ourselves to find the gods.”

  Imhotep imagined Useramen nodding agreement.

  I hope he is a believer, Imhotep thought.

  Of course he is. The gods haven’t begun to fade yet.

  “And the gods do the same,” Imhotep continued. “Take Thoth. You see him as a man with the head of an Ibis. And so he is. Other times a baboon. No matter the form we see, the ka of Thoth is the same. He wears his skin as we wear a shendyt, as Puimre wears the leopard skin.”

  “I understand,” Useramen said.

  “I know you do, Useramen. You are a man of intelligence, a man who has served Ptah all of his life. My friend Amenhotep vouches for your knowledge, your loyalty, and your understanding.”

  Imhotep sat in silence for a moment. He had rehearsed the words he wanted to say, but now they felt forced. As he considered how to proceed, Useramen said, “I saw them, Lord Imhotep.”

  “Yes, Amenhotep told me,” Imhotep said, relieved to have reached the subject of this secret meeting.

  “I know that he is your grandson, but his actions have disturbed ma’at. What they did brings shame on Hut-ka-Ptah,” Useramen said.

  “Have you ever dreamed, Useramen? Not the dream of a child, but a dream that is so real that you wake in a sweat wondering if it truly was a dream.”