by Jerry Dubs
Akila tore a piece of bread from a brown loaf. She examined it for sand and, before putting it in her mouth, she said, “Huy knows the truth.”
Imhotep shrugged. “She will keep the secret. To do otherwise would disturb ma’at. And she wants to keep her position.”
“So you believe this will work, but you are still looking for the Tomb of Kanakht and a way to get back to the modern world,” Akila said.
Imhotep nodded.
“Useramen has organized a ‘mining’ exploration led by Ahmose. I’ve told Puimre that there are magical weapons in the tomb that will help Pharaoh Thutmose overcome the armies of the King of Kadesh. I told him that once I get those weapons I’ll present them to Pharaoh Thutmose as a gift from Ptah.”
Akila shook her head and looked sadly at Imhotep.
“I know. It looks as if I’ve lost my moral compass,” he said.
Imhotep sighed and said, “We both know that there is no historical documentation or evidence about Imhotep’s death. We know why. I didn’t die back under King Djoser’s reign. Who would look for evidence a thousand years after the Step Pyramid? So if I leave the ancient world now, it doesn’t change anything, it doesn’t disrupt any historical timeline.
“And we know that Pharaoh Thutmose defeats the King of Kadesh. My disappearance won’t affect that. This unborn child of Menwi and Neferhotep, there isn’t any history attached to it. We can all leave and nothing changes.
“If I can persuade, OK, if I can trick Thutmose and Puimre into letting me save my grandson, Menwi and their child, I think that outweighs a few deceptions. Deceptions that don’t harm anyone.”
“Do you know Kant’s argument about lying to a murderer who asks if his intended victim is hiding in your house?” Akila asked.
Imhotep shook his head. “I’m guessing he is opposed to it.”
“I don’t remember all the subtleties, but I think the conclusion is that there is a difference between the legal and the ethical ramifications of lying. But either way, the liar has responsibility for what happens,” Akila said.
“All I am worried about is saving my family. I’ll take responsibility for that,” Imhotep said.
“You can’t know what all the repercussions will be,” Akila said softly.
“So I should let Neferhotep die? I should let my great-grandchild die? Because I know that those are the repercussions if I tell Thutmose the truth. Look,” Imhotep said, calming himself, “I’m just trying to give Puimre and Thutmose a different way of looking at things. A way to accept what has happened without anyone being punished, without anyone dying.”
Akila lowered her head.
“We all see the world differently,” Imhotep said. “I’m not saying what I want to do is right in any absolute sense of right and wrong. It is the only way I can think of to avoid unnecessary deaths.”
“I know,” Akila said, putting aside her fear of unknowable changes in time.
“I love you, Tim. We will create this reality and try to save Neferhotep, Menwi, and their child. I’m with you.”
“I know,” he said, raising her hand to his mouth and kissing it.
She leaned closer and put her hands on his cheeks. She kissed him softly, lovingly.
Unbidden, the memory of an old story uncoiled in her mind. In it a time traveler found his way onto the Titanic. Trying to save the ship, he distracted the pilot and changed the course of the unsinkable ship. Instead of saving the ship, the time traveler’s actions redirected it toward its fatal encounter with an iceberg.
Settling back in her chair, she looked at her troubled husband and wondered what unexpected consequences his actions would have.
Imhotep speaks
“First Priest Puimre,” Imhotep said a month later as he leaned toward the heavy priest who sat on a cushioned bench his servants had repositioned in the morning shade of a palm tree by the garden pond, “I came to say goodbye. I should return within the month. Akila will stay here to attend Queen Menwi.”
First Priest Puimre turned away as he reached out for a golden cup filled with beer. He sniffed at the beer, smiled, and then took a long drink. He handed the cup back to the servant and said, “Leave us.”
The servant backed away and melted into the shadows of the temple halls.
First Priest Puimre laid his left arm across the top of his protruding belly and, propping his right elbow on his left wrist, he leaned his chin against his curled fist. Squinting, he looked up at Imhotep, studying the man-god who walked the Temple of Ptah as if it were his own home.
First Priest Puimre was used to men who cowered, men who threw their eyes to the ground when he looked at them. Instead, Imhotep looked back, his head tilted slightly, a patient smile resting on his mouth.
“Do you know who the father is?” He hadn’t planned to be so direct, but Imhotep’s comfort disturbed First Priest Puimre.
Imhotep raised his eyebrows and then nodding toward the bench, took a seat beside the priest. He lowered himself slowly, keeping weight on his walking staff. Seated, he pushed his shoulders back and took a deep breath. Then turning to First Priest Puimre, he said, “No man had lain with her before she entered the Two Lands. Pharaoh Thutmose, long life!, had not called her to his bed before she was entrusted to your care.”
First Priest Puimre snorted. “So you are saying that someone here, someone in my temple sneaked into her room and took her.”
Imhotep filled his voice with awe. “Not at all, First Priest Puimre. Quite the opposite.
“When I walk the hallways of Hut-ka-Ptah, I feel the eyes of Father Ptah watching my ka. My every breath is filled with dust from the god’s potter’s wheel. When I sit amid the columns I see his beautiful form move across the stones.”
Imhotep raised his walking staff and pointed to the pond where morning mist wavered over the water. “Here, in his garden, his wet breath rises from the water.”
Lowering his staff, Imhotep leaned toward First Priest Puimre. “Has Queen Menwi walked these halls? Yes! Has she bathed in Ptah’s pool? Yes! Does Ptah visit her at night? Has he embraced her and blessed her? Who can doubt it? The proof lies within her, First Priest Puimre.
“Untouched by man, she carries what can only be the child of Ptah.
“I would not stand before Pharaoh Thutmose, long life!, and claim otherwise. I would never question the safety and the sanctity of the queen’s womb when she was under your protection, First Priest Puimre.”
His rehearsed speech finished, Imhotep stood, pounding his walking staff on the ground.
He moved so that his back was to the sun and First Priest Puimre had to raise his hand to block the light as he looked up at Imhotep.
“I leave shortly,” Imhotep said. “As I said, Akila will stay here to care for Queen Menwi. I will take news of the god’s blessing to Pharaoh Thutmose. Should I add your voice to mine?”
Re’s light splashed against Imhotep’s back and washed over him, painting a bright halo around his shadowed face. Squinting into the shadows, First Priest Puimre felt his eyes tire, as he had tired of searching for the truth.
He had sent Useramen to check on the queen at odd hours ... early morning, midafternoon, in the dark hours when even Khonsu slept.
But Useramen had never found the queen alone. Her sister slept in the room with her, a change Imhotep had insisted on. Akila sat with her when the potter visited. Neferhotep visited often, but always with Imhotep or with a second guard.
First Priest Puimre was certain that the precautions had been placed too late; the seed had already been planted. He had prayed to Ptah, but the god had been silent.
Puimre had decided that there were only two possibilities: either he had failed Pharaoh Thutmose or Father Ptah has blessed Queen Menwi.
It was an easy decision.
Now he was sure that the god Imhotep would support him.
“Yes, Imhotep,” he said now. “I will write to Pharaoh Thutmose, long life!, and tell him that Father Ptah has blessed his house.”
***
Long, night shadows fell from palm trees. Angling across the still water of the garden pond, the shadows draped themselves over the uneven banks. The shadow of an owl, its heavy wings spread to silently float overhead, rose over the edge of the pond, disappeared among the trees and then silently scaled the temple wall.
Another shadow emerged from a window, stole across the sandy ground and paused by the dark rectangle that cut into the wall of Queen Menwi’s room.
Lying awake, Queen Menwi saw the shadow pass and smiled.
She turned to look at her little sister. Merti was turned on her side, her face to the wall. Arching her neck Menwi looked toward the doorway. Distant torch light flickered in the hall, but no looming shadows approached.
Curling into the room ahead of him his scent found Queen Menwi and excited an urgent desire. She wanted his hands on her arms, his lips on hers, his weight against her. Although Neferhotep made no sound as he entered the room, she was sure that she could hear the air make way for him, the stones greet him, the bed whisper to him, her ka sing a welcome.
“Menwi,” he said, a sound so soft that she heard it only with her heart. “Imhotep spoke with Puimre. All will be well.”
She opened her arms and pulled him close.
Thanuny
The pain from his missing toes coiled like a snake. Sometimes it was a dull ache, a snake curled on a sun-warmed rock. At other times the pain rode the edge of a knife, a snake stretched tight, striking with bared fangs.
But it never slept.
Thanuny turned his eyes from the deformed foot; after all these years it still made him sick to look at it. The largest toe remained, and the smallest toe. But the three between were missing. Smashed by Imhotep’s staff in the Temple of Amun seven years ago, his toes had become mangled and twisted. Turning black, they had been cut from him to prevent the dark blood from spreading up his leg.
Unable to walk properly, he had been discharged from the maryannu where he had been a runner. Unable to keep his balance, he had been denied even a chance to become a charioteer.
All because of Imhotep and his dark powers.
Thanuny had done no wrong. He had been following Pawura’s orders, restraining Pentu and Neferhotep — how could he have known that the charioteer was the grandson of a god? Imhotep had turned himself invisible and slipped past the guards into the Temple of Amun where he had forced Pawura to cut off his own hand.
Then the old man — how could Thanuny have known that Imhotep was other than what he seemed? — had confronted the guards who held Neferhotep and Pentu captive. When Thanuny resisted, Imhotep had smashed Thanuny’s foot with his magical staff — two snakes turned to wood.
The bite from the snake staff had poisoned his life and planted a snake of pain within.
Discharged from the maryannu himself, one-handed Pawura had become a guard for Pharaoh Thutmose. Not forgetting his loyal friend, Pawura had brought Thanuny into the guard.
And so, seven years later, Thanuny had been with the guards on the palace roof the night Pharaoh Hatshepsut had joined her ancestors in the Field of Reeds. The night that Nut had wept tears of fire. He had been one of the drunken, singing soldiers who had ignored Imhotep’s order to stop celebrating Pharaoh Thutmose’s rise to sole ruler of the Two Lands.
There had been a moment, a delicious instant when Pawura had raised his sword against Neferhotep and Thanuny thought that the way would be clear to kill both Neferhotep and Imhotep.
But, lying helpless on the roof, Imhotep had thrown his magical staff at Pawura. The staff had turned to fire, turning Pawura’s arm to ashes and killing him in a screaming ball of flame. And Thanuny’s hope for revenge had withered.
What hope did he have to avenge himself against a god?
So now he found himself sitting in a forgotten corner of the palace, strapping on a sandal that had a wide leather top to hide his deformity. Re was setting and Thanuny was due to stand guard at the palace entrance through the decans of night.
Standing, he shifted his weight to his heel and felt the pain from his missing toes travel through his foot to his ankle and up his leg. Tonight it was a creeping ache — the snake was resting. Clenching his teeth he waited for his ba to adjust to the pain.
Then he picked up his short spear, shook the pleats of his shendyt and sighed.
***
A messenger intercepted Thanuny near the palace entrance.
“Queen Satiah commands your presence,” the messenger said.
Thanuny paused. “Queen Satiah wants to see me?” he said. “Now?” he asked when the messenger nodded. “But,” Thanuny tilted his head toward the palace entrance.
“Another guard has been posted,” the messenger said and turned to lead Thanuny to the queen’s chambers.
***
Slept with Ptah!
Queen Satiah shook her head. She wanted to laugh at the tale that had crept upriver from Men-Nefer and the chambers of Menwi.
Whore of Canaan!
But Queen Satiah knew that her husband was dedicated to the gods, his unshakable belief in their power shone in his eyes, it fell from the reverent chanting of his lips when he bowed before the statue of Amun each morning. He had almost quivered with excitement when Imhotep had told him that Queen Menwi was carrying Ptah’s child.
The gods are so real to him, she thought. How many times has he told me about Shu protecting his charioteers and burying the Hittites?
Of course the gods intervene at times. Although Bes did little to ease my birthing.
No, she thought, I know what happened in Men-Nefer. The whore opened her legs to someone and this ridiculous story is intended to save her life and to save face for Pharaoh Thutmose.
Seated at her dressing table, she picked up a mirror. Gripping the gold handle, her thumb rested against the painted face of Hathor, whose arching horns held the polished bronze disk.
Pulling a lamp closer, Queen Satiah leaned toward the face that looked back at her.
Her eyes were clear, but, despite the liberal, constant use of kohl there were lines forming at the corners of her eyes and the lids had developed creases. She leaned close and squinted. Pressing her lips tight in disapproval she saw that there were thin rings beneath her eyes as well.
She blinked away the image and leaned away from the mirror.
I have borne two sons. I have seen twenty-five floods. What will these foreign queens look like when they are this age? If they survive that long.
She brought the mirror close again and looked into her eyes.
Pharaoh Thutmose is a god, she told herself. I truly have lain with a god.
Her eyes were unconvinced.
She had felt the strength of Pharaoh Thutmose, she had seen the pleasure in his eyes and heard his moans of delight. She had seen his eyes roll back in his head as he arched his back and called the names of the gods.
The names of the gods.
She sighed.
That is the problem. Pharaoh Thutmose reveres the gods. He is a god, yet he holds Amun and Re and Thoth and, yes, Ptah, far above himself. He believes that this whore from Canaan was blessed by Ptah.
Suddenly she realized: He will elevate Ptah’s child above his own.
Queen Satiah raised the mirror overhead. Holding it there, her hand shaking in anger, she imagined bringing the pointed bronze handle down on the belly of the whore of Canaan to kill her and the baby inside.
Then she raised her other hand, placed it over the shaking hand and calmly returned the mirror to her table.
As she did, she heard shuffling footsteps pause in her doorway. Standing, she turned to see her messenger standing beside the guard whose foot was always hidden.
She nodded to the messenger who bowed and turned away.
The guard fell to both knees and pressed his forehead to the stone floor.
Queen Satiah waited a moment and then said, “Rise, Thanuny.”
She watched him get to his feet, using his short spear to brace
himself when he put weight on his crippled foot.
“You are to be my private guard, Thanuny,” she said.
“Yes, Queen Satiah,” he said.
“There will be other guards,” she said. “Pharaoh Thutmose has decided to safeguard his great wife as war approaches. But you, Thanuny, you are to be my personal guard.”
“Yes, Queen Satiah.”
“You will be protecting not only Pharaoh Thutmose’s great wife, but the Double House as well. Pharaoh Thutmose’s attention is focused on the miserable kings of Canaan.” She flicked a hand, dismissing the hundred thousand rebels. “My attention. Our attention,” she said, smiling at Thanuny, “is on preserving the House of Thutmose. We will maintain ma’at within the Two Lands while my husband restores order in Canaan.”
“Yes, Queen Satiah,” he said, his thoughts diverted for once from the pain that lived in his foot. She was approaching him now and Thanuny, who had seen the queen in the distance many times, saw now how smooth her skin was, how alert her eyes were, how confidently her lips were held.
She stopped, but the air that surrounded her swept toward him carrying with it the scent of roses. Beneath the flowery lightness another scent, earthy and heavy, roiled over him. It called up memories of sweaty couplings with tavern women, of blood spilled on the battlefield, of the pain that lived in his shattered foot.
Fear followed the scent and when he looked up now he saw that her eyes were those of the snake of pain that lived within his broken foot.
The snake stirred, restless and anxious. Thanuny felt its reptilian strength swelling as it surged through his legs and into his chest. Its narrow mouth opened, but instead of a divided tongue, it showed him his own ka, dark and angry.
Imhotep.
His ka whispered the name to him and he saw the old man’s humble face masking an unstoppable arrogance.
Imhotep!
The name filled Thanuny’s chest and he felt anew the pain of the old man’s staff smashing his foot. He saw the anger in the old man’s face when he hurled his staff, flaming brighter than Re himself, across the roof to kill Pawura.
