The Field of Reeds (Imhotep Book 4)

by Jerry Dubs

  Directly in front of Imhotep was a low bed.

  It was empty.

  With weary surety, Imhotep knew where his grandson had gone.

  Gripping his walking staff angrily, Imhotep turned and left the room.

  Neferhotep could be at the stables with his horses. He could be with Amenhotep making final plans for tomorrow’s departure. He could be out in the wadi with the army bidding farewell to friends.

  But not wearing the scent of flowers and spices.

  Imhotep’s heart told him where his grandson had gone.

  He hurried down the corridor, through the columned chamber and past the dark hallway that led to the sanctuary of Ptah. Finally, he turned into the narrow hall that led to Queen Menwi’s room.

  Slowing now, Imhotep fought to control himself.

  In the darkness he saw a man standing at attention outside Queen Menwi’s room.

  Imhotep breathed a sigh of relief. His grandson was taking a final shift guarding the queen. Before he could whisper ‘hello,’ Imhotep saw that the soldier was thicker in the chest, his legs shorter than Neferhotep’s.

  “Lord Imhotep!” the soldier said loudly, moving to block the doorway.

  Angry now, Imhotep raised his walking staff to strike the soldier. Knowing the dreadful heka of Imhotep’s snake-snarled staff, the soldier quickly stepped to the side.

  Hurrying into the room, Imhotep saw Queen Menwi and Neferhotep standing by the window, their backs to him.

  As the queen turned to him, she slowly slid a hand away from the front of Neferhotep’s kilt. His grandson stayed turned away from Imhotep, his hands busy straightening the waist of his shendyt.

  “Grandfather,” he said over his shoulder, his voice thick with excitement.

  “Lord Imhotep,” Queen Menwi said calmly. “I am not accustomed to members of the court bursting into my room. Even father Ptah arrives more politely.”

  Imhotep blinked. She was a different woman. The frightened child who had turned to him for help had blossomed into a confident queen, unafraid to face down the god Imhotep, unembarrassed to be caught with her hand caressing her lover.

  Good, Imhotep thought. She will need all of her courage.

  “Queen Menwi, long life,” Imhotep said, forcing his voice to be calm and even. “Commander Neferhotep,” he said, bowing his head to the couple.

  He watched them a moment and then stepped toward them. He was happy to see that Neferhotep felt enough embarrassment that he was unable to meet his eyes. However, Queen Menwi raised her chin and her eyes grew cold with confrontation as he approached.

  “Queen Menwi, I have only love for you and for the House of Thutmose and for the Two Lands.” He smiled reassuringly. “And for the gods who walk the Two Lands.”

  Within two steps of her, he stopped walking. He gripped his staff with both hands. He brought the staff in front of himself, so that she could see the carved snakeheads and remember the stories of his magical power.

  “This temple, where the god has so favored you, is filled with not just the spirit of Ptah, but also of his companion gods. For example, Horus, whose ka dwells within your husband. And those gods walk where they want to walk, when they choose to walk.

  “Tonight I entered your chamber unannounced. I ask forgiveness, Queen Menwi. Another night Ptah might visit. Or Horus himself. They would not seek forgiveness, Queen Menwi.”

  He turned to Neferhotep. “When I was in Ta Netjer, Pharaoh Hatshepsut passed judgment on a court official who had betrayed her. The man was placed in a wooden coffin built so that he could sit upright, his head exposed through a hole atop the box, his two arms hanging outside the box through holes on either side, separated so that he could not touch himself.

  “He was kept in the box and fed. Sitting there, day after day, he was eaten alive by maggots that grew in the waste that began to fill the box. It took him two months to die, his screams interrupted only by his moans when he passed out from the pain.”

  “Did you come here to tell us frightening stories, Lord Imhotep?” Queen Menwi asked, in a voice that, Imhotep was gratified to see, cracked with fear.

  “No,” Imhotep said, his voice soft now. He sighed, trying to redirect his anger. “In the desert, Re throws his heat on the unbending sand of Neb’s back. The sand cannot absorb all the heat and the heat rises from the desert. You’ve seen it,” he said, looking at Neferhotep, “those waves in the air.

  “Those waves of heat create illusions. Someone who is lost might look across the desert and see a shimmering lake of fresh water. They might hurry toward the illusory water in hope of surviving. But the water isn’t there. It is an illusion caused by the heat and by hope.

  “The desert is harsh, and if one gives in to false hopes, the desert will kill.”

  “Another sad story ... ” Queen Menwi started to say until Neferhotep reached out and took her hand.

  “I understand, grandfather,” Neferhotep said. “We understand.”

  Imhotep thought a moment and then said, “Queen Menwi, Neferhotep, I love you both. I want you to be happy. I will do all that I can to help you, to keep you safe. Please help me.”

  ***

  “Anyone could have walked in and found them together,” Imhotep told Akila a few minutes later as he sat on the edge of their bed. “And posting a sentry, how stupid is that? Now another person knows that Neferhotep is secretly visiting the queen.”

  Akila raised herself on her elbows. Half asleep, she heard his words but wasn’t sure that she understood them.

  “Start over,” she said.

  “I caught Menwi and Neferhotep in her room.”

  “Caught them?”

  “She was touching him. Down there,” Imhotep said. “If Puimre had found them or, god forbid, Thutmose ... ”

  He stood abruptly and started to pace. His walking staff lay on the floor and he walked unevenly, swinging his weak leg and resting a hand on it when he shifted his weight.

  “What if we can’t find the tomb?” he asked. “Where else can we go? Maybe we should just steal away in the night. What am I saying? I don’t even know if Queen Menwi would leave. And if she doesn’t, then I’m sure Neferhotep wouldn’t leave.”

  He stopped walking and sat again, straightening his leg and massaging his knee.

  “Maybe there is another portal,” he thought out loud.

  Akila scrunched across the bed to sit beside him. Leaning forward, she pushed her hands beneath his and massaged his knee. “The problem, Tim, is that Men-Nefer is modern Memphis and modern Memphis is gone. There aren’t going to be a lot of choices for alternate time portals.”

  “OK,” Imhotep said. “So we need to find Brian’s tomb. The army will leave soon, and then Ahmose and I will be able to resume our search. We’ll find the tomb, get everything ready. As soon as the war is over and Neferhotep returns, we all leave.

  “We go back to the modern world.”

  Men-Nefer: Departure

  An ox raised its tail as General Djehuty, commander of the army of the Two Lands, approached it. Amenhotep, always aware of his surroundings, grabbed Djehuty’s arm and quickly tugged him away from the beast.

  Stumbling, Djehuty looked angrily at Amenhotep, who answered by nodding at the ox. Djehuty regained his balance and turned to see the ox loose a heavy stream of urine. Even four paces away, Djehuty felt droplets splash from the packed dirt roadway.

  Three boys, young enough to have their hair gathered in sidelocks, stood beneath a nearby palm tree. Clapping hands over their mouths in laughter, they pointed at the ox, which now began to drop muddy piles of dung.

  The stink from the droppings joined the heavy barnyard smell that filled the road outside Men-Nefer. Oxen filled the dusty road from the river, past the city entrance and onward for more than an hour’s walk. Never had so many of the heavy horned beasts been gathered before; the army of the Two Lands was preparing to move.

  Djehuty scowled at the ox shit, scowled at the boys and turned to scowl at Amenhotep,
but the quartermaster had turned away and was waving an arm toward Imhotep.

  A smile filled Imhotep’s face as he caught Djehuty’s eye.

  “At least they aren’t baboons who fling their dung at you,” he said in greeting.

  Djehuty’s scowl deepened as he remembered the baboons that had tormented him on the voyage from Ta-Netjer. Then he laughed and shook his head. “They were horrible, Lord Imhotep. But these oxen won’t be my problem. Your grandson will have the joy of dodging their hills of shit.”

  The boys, hearing the name of the living god, turned their attention from the line of oxen to Imhotep. Leaning their heads together they whispered as one of them pointed at Imhotep’s walking staff. One of the boys pointed a finger into the air and made the sound of an explosion, spreading the fingers of both hands wide.

  Amenhotep saw the boys and smiled to himself.

  It is good, he thought, for the children to believe in the gods.

  “Where is Neferhotep?” Imhotep asked. “I meant to bid farewell this morning but he had already left the temple.”

  Djehuty pointed away from the river road toward the army barracks.

  “He was there earlier.” He shook his head. “I don’t envy his job. I’ll have experienced sailors manning my ships. But he is marching with cooks and carpenters. And these oxen. The train will be so long you won’t be able to see from one end to the other.” He smiled, proud at the strength of the Two Lands.

  “They will be moving at a slower pace,” Amenhotep said. “Neferhotep will manage them.”

  “I just hope the butchers and cooks keep their hands off the oxen,” Djehuty said. “I suspect I’ll be living on fish until I get to Gaza.”

  Imhotep put a hand on Djehuty’s shoulder. “Fish are full of protein,” he said. When the men looked at him in confusion, he realized that he had said ‘protein’ in English. “They are good for your muscles,” he explained.

  Djehuty shook his head. “Maybe, but I had my fill of them on our expedition. I prefer ox and goose.”

  The men had continued walking and were nearing the river where Djehuty’s supply fleet was waiting, the ships taking turns at the wharfs where they were loaded with spare chariot parts, sheaves of arrows, furniture for Pharaoh Thutmose’s tent, and bags of wheat, chickpeas, and onions.

  Raising a hand to shield his eyes from the morning sun, Imhotep admired the organization that Amenhotep had imposed on the normally chaotic docks. Stacks of supplies were neatly organized with linen flags identifying which ship would carry them. The sailors helped to load the ship and then pushed away with long poles to wait downstream for the rest of the fleet.

  “I wish you a safe voyage,” he said to Djehuty. “And a quick return.”

  Djehuty bowed to Imhotep. “Thank you, Lord Imhotep. Any voyage without baboons will be safe. And quick,” he said.

  Turning to Amenhotep, Imhotep reached out to grasp his friend’s arm. “This is extraordinarily well organized, even for you, Amenhotep. You are a miracle worker.”

  Amenhotep smiled at the praise. “Thank you, Lord Imhotep. Now,” he said, “I must get to the barracks and make sure everything is going well for Neferhotep.”

  “I will walk with you,” Imhotep said. He turned back to Djehuty and held up a hand. “Bon voyage,” he said, a playful gleam in his eyes.

  Djehuty shook his head at the strange words.

  “A blessing,” Imhotep said.

  ***

  “You are in good spirits,” Amenhotep said as he and Imhotep approached the barracks.

  Imhotep thought for a moment. It seemed that Neferhotep’s visit with Queen Menwi last night had gone unnoticed. He would be leaving now so there was no chance that the lovers would be discovered. The army was beginning to decamp from the wadi. He and Ahmose would be able to resume their search for the tomb.

  If all went well, soon he and Akila, Neferhotep and Menwi and their unborn child would leave for the modern world.

  “I am in a good mood, Amenhotep,” he said. He pounded his walking staff against the hard dirt, felt the earth return the force, and smiled. This world, he thought, is real and solid. But soon it will be history.

  He smiled broadly at the play on words and had a sudden dark thought: Whenever I believe things are going well, something happens. He shook the premonition aside. It was no more than a superstition.

  “You had a vision?” Amenhotep asked and Imhotep realized he had been quiet too long and his face must have betrayed his worry.

  An occupational hazard for gods, Imhotep thought, trying to regain his light mood.

  “Yes, Amenhotep. I had a vision of beer,” he said slapping his friend’s back and turning to look ahead at the barracks.

  A cluster of chariots stood unattended by the barracks. The teams of horses pawed the ground impatiently, not used to standing harnessed. They wanted movement, ground flying beneath their feet, air rushing through their manes.

  Beyond the horses a small army of men sat in whatever shade they could find. Their varying builds and casual dress told Imhotep that they were the cooks and carpenters who were part of the first segment of the army to be sent toward war.

  Weaving among the horses, Imhotep and Amenhotep began to hear the shouts of orders, the grunts of men lifting loads, and the eager banter that came from an army uncoiling from rest.

  “Neferhotep will run circles around the slow caravan. Round and round like a leaf in a whirlpool,” a voice called.

  “No,” another countered, “he’ll hitch oxen to his chariot.”

  “His wheels will get stuck in their great mounds of shit,” a third said.

  “You can laugh,” Neferhotep said, his voice rising above the laughter, “but my oxen and I will leave before you wake and we will still be traveling when you lay your poor tired heads to sleep. Oxen never tire!”

  “It will take you that long to catch us,” one of the men shouted and more laughter rose from the barracks.

  “Someone else is in good spirits,” Amenhotep said.

  “Young men are never so happy as when they can stop being patient,” Imhotep said. He laughed to himself. When did I stop thinking of myself as a young man?

  “Lord Imhotep! Amenhotep!” Neferhotep pushed his way past his men to greet his grandfather and the quartermaster.

  He embraced Imhotep and then exchanged arm clasps with Amenhotep. He sniffed, stepped back, looked at them, and squinted his eyes as he thought. “Oxen!” he said after a moment.

  Unconsciously, Imhotep and Amenhotep sniffed the air. Their eyes sought each other and then Imhotep shrugged. He had a brief image of his grandson in the modern world, his sense of smell overwhelmed by a stroll through the perfume aisle of a department store or the swirl of aromas from a carnival of food trucks.

  “Grandfather?” Neferhotep said, his voice suddenly serious.

  Imhotep looked at Neferhotep and then at Amenhotep, who nodded. “No, I didn’t have a vision,” Imhotep said, mildly exasperated.

  Every time I pause to think they believe I am looking into the future.

  “I know that a battle nears and everyone wonders what will happen, but I don’t have any ... ” Imhotep held out a hand and wiggled his fingers, “any specific visions. I did tell Pharaoh Thutmose he will win, but that will only happen if the supplies reach Gaza, if the infantry marches there and if the charioteers and archers fight. The army of the Two Lands is better trained and led by better generals,” he nodded to his grandson. “It will prevail.”

  Amenhotep and Neferhotep looked at each other.

  Neferhotep spoke for them, “So there was a vision.”

  Imhotep sighed. “Very well, I had a vision.”

  He stepped to Neferhotep and put an arm around his grandson’s shoulders. “Now I would like a word with one of the generals who will make this vision come true.”

  ***

  Without conversation, Imhotep led his son away from the barracks, away from the river and into the desert.

  “I
only went to her last night to say goodbye, grandfather. Nothing more was intended,” Neferhotep said when they were almost out of sight of the barracks. “It was careless. But we were ... we are in love, grandfather. Why would the gods give us this feeling, bring us together if they did not want us to be with each other?”

  Neferhotep pressed his silent grandfather, “How can one control one’s heart? I cannot train my heart like I train my horses. I am a man, not a beast.”

  Imhotep stopped walking and turned to his grandson.

  “Perhaps you cannot control your heart, Neferhotep. But you can control your actions. When you ride into battle you feel fear. Your heart wants your feet to run the other way. But your mind, your ka, they press you forward.”

  “It is my ka that wants to be with Menwi,” Neferhotep said desperately. “Yes, my arms want to hold her and my lips want to taste her, and my heart aches for her, but the feeling goes beyond that, grandfather. I have never felt this before. It is more than desire. It is more than friendship or kinship. Our kas long to be with each other. Now and in the Field of Reeds.”

  He stopped speaking, his chest heaving, his eyes filled with urgency.

  “I understand,” Imhotep said softly, putting a hand on Neferhotep’s shoulder. He felt the muscles beneath quiver like a taut bowstring. Briefly he wondered if Meryt’s soul had somehow survived the thousands of years from her death to the birth of Addy. Had they been the same ka draped by different bodies?

  He sighed angrily. He allowed the ancient Egyptians to believe that he was a god, but he knew better. He attended their funerals and spoke the words others spoke, but there was no ka. There was no Field of Reeds.

  The magical, magnificent personality that had been Meryt had dissolved when she breathed her last breath. Only his memory of her survived.

  The consciousness that was Meryt formed and expressed itself in a few short years, and I was fortunate to share that time ... that was the miracle.

  The delicate tendrils of her mind, the wash of neurotransmitters, the accumulation of experiences, the turning of her mind’s eye on herself and on the world in which she found herself, these were the marvels and mysteries that created Meryt and that Meryt used to create herself.