by Jerry Dubs
“He didn’t know the battle would end so quickly,” I said.
“He wants his wife and her soon-to-be-delivered son with him,” Tjaneni said, ignoring the excuse I offered for Pharaoh Thutmose.
I shrugged. “Who could see into the empty heart of the king of Kadesh? Who could know that the coward would flee and the battle would end in a single day?”
Tjaneni withheld agreement. He believes that Pharaoh Thutmose is infallible.
“He sent Kebu to find them,” Tjaneni said.
“Kebu?” I said, puzzled: why would a Medjay warrior, even one as trusted as Kebu, be sent to retrieve the queen?
Then I nodded understanding.
Like myself, Kebu is a protégé of Lord Imhotep. Pharaoh Thutmose must have chosen Kebu to fetch Queen Menwi so that he could also tell Lord Imhotep that Imhotep’s grandson, Neferhotep, had been killed.
And so, with a heart weighted with my pharaoh’s worries, I stood on the mountain the day after the battle and thanked Geb for displaying his strange stone bones to distract my attention from the disgraceful greed of our soldiers, from the death of Neferhotep and from the absence of Queen Menwi.
***
I remember that I found an exceedingly strange rock.
It was white and it appeared that an army of ants had been trapped within it.
The rock was smooth, although not as smooth as the flat, fragile, glistening black rock I had found earlier. The black markings on this stone were randomly placed and of different sizes. I ran my thumb over the rock surface, but I couldn’t tell if the black markings were raised, like the scales of a fish, or if they were part of the rock, like spots on a horse.
Resting my weight on my heels, I held the rock up to the light to see if the black marks cast shadows. Suddenly I heard loose rocks slide behind me, and a small shadow blocked the light.
The shadow changed into a boy, his head shaved except for the right side where a sidelock was gathered in a short tail.
Despite my displeasure at having my exploration of the mountain interrupted, I smiled.
I like children. Perhaps because I never had childhood friends. My parents died before they could give me a brother or a sister. My earliest memories are of following ancient Nakht about the royal palace, climbing the steps to the roof, sitting beneath the night sky and placing dots on papyrus to chart the movement of the stars.
I had no playmates except the apprentices of Nakht, who were older than I and seldom talked to me, except to criticize my star charts. We never played hide-and-seek in the gardens or chased each other around the palm trees that lined the river or … I don’t know what other games children played when they were not in public.
I never slung a carefree arm around a friend’s neck. I never bumped foreheads with a friend as we shared a secret joke, or splashed water on each other at river’s edge.
I never knew any children.
Still, I like them.
“Are you Suti, the scribe?” the boy asked in a hesitant, high-pitched voice.
“Yes,” I answered, “I am Suti, scribe to Lord Amenhotep. Who are you?”
“I am Ahmose,” the boy said.
“Ahmose,” I said, giving the name respect.
You could create an entire army from men and boys named after Ahmose, great-great-grandfather to our Pharaoh Thutmose. It was, as every child knows, Pharaoh Ahmose who drove the arrogant Hyksos from our land. I wondered if, once word of this great victory reached the Two Lands, every pregnant woman would name her child Thutmose.
I stood and wiped my free hand on my shendyt. Still, the hand I offered Ahmose was dirty. Looking down I saw that my kilt, pristine and white when I tied it around my waist this morning, was now the same color as the ground beneath my feet.
Thankfully, Ahmose was too pleased at being offered a hand to be offended by its gritty covering. He offered me his arm, and we gripped each other’s forearms as men of equal standing.
“Well, Ahmose, how can I help you?” I asked.
“Lord Amenhotep sent me,” the boy said shyly.
Watching him lower his eyes, I smiled. He was just a messenger, seldom acknowledged.
I remembered when I had been only eight floods old and Lord Imhotep had stopped to speak to me. I had expected a scolding — why else would a living god stop to talk to a child? — but instead he talked to me as an equal, listening to my responses and nodding respectfully.
That conversation had changed my life.
When Ahmose raised his eyes, they glowed with such admiration that I felt blood rush to my face.
“What decan is it?” I asked, glancing at the sky, to give myself time to recover my composure.
Ahmose shook his head. “I don’t know the hour,” he said.
“It doesn’t matter; we can’t ask Re to turn around, can we?” I said, offering a smile.
Ahmose looked confused. His eyes darted anxiously to the sky as if he believed that I did have the power to send Re back toward the eastern horizon. When he looked back at me, his eyes drifted to the rock I was holding. Seeing that my joke had failed, I knelt beside him and offered him the strange rock.
“Have you ever seen a rock like this?” I asked.
“I don’t think so,” he said.
“Neither have I,” I said with a light laugh. I took the rock from Ahmose, who was holding it without interest, and placed it in my leather bag, which was filled too full to tie shut.
Ahmose looked at me in confusion. Another attempt to amuse him had failed.
Waving at the mountain, I said, “All of this is Geb. You know about Geb, don’t you?”
Ahmose nodded.
“There are mountains deep in Deshret.” I waved a hand toward the mountain to indicate the far-off Red Desert. “There are others across the Great Green, where we mine turquoise. There are quarries far upriver where we take stones from deep in Geb’s belly to build temples. But in none of these places can you find stones such as this.”
“Why not?” Ahmose asked.
“Exactly!” I exclaimed joyfully. “Why not?” I raised my eyebrows with great exaggeration.
Ahmose lowered his head. “I don’t know,” he said sadly.
I gave up; my humor and his walked upon different legs.
(Over the years I have discovered that my humor often walks alone. Still, I find myself taking it for frequent strolls. Only Queen Merti …)
Standing, I clapped a hand on his shoulder to cheer him. “Neither do I,” I admitted, hoping to show Ahmose that admitting ignorance was not weakness — another lesson from Lord Imhotep.
I looked past Ahmose to the field of stones that covered the mountainside. I knew the army would lay siege to Megiddo. We would be here for months.
I would have plenty of time to explore this corner of Geb’s mysteries.
Draping an arm across Ahmose’s shoulders, I said, “Let’s go see what Lord Amenhotep wants.”
I Meet Lord Amenhotep
Even though my master’s tent was surrounded by the entire Egyptian army, there were two guards standing by the tent entrance.
The men looked uneasy, shifting their weight from foot to foot and casting glances toward the neighing of horses and the clatter of spears against shields that signaled the awakening of our great army, which was preparing to encircle Megiddo, the first step in the upcoming siege.
From the mountainside, I had seen that the plain that stretched from our camp to Megiddo was littered with overturned chariots, stiff-legged horse carcasses, and scattered sparkles of bejeweled or gold-encased weapons, shields and chariots abandoned by the enemy.
I wondered if the guards were upset because they had been ordered to stay in camp while their comrades would be scouring the battlefield for treasures.
I looked down at my own collection of treasures. The strap from the bag was looped around my neck allowing the bag of rocks to hang in front of me at waist level. With my hands cupped under the bag to support its weight, I was walking with the wide wa
ddle of someone who had just disembarked from a sea voyage.
As I approached the tent entrance, the guards shuffled to bar my passage.
I stopped and lifted the bag to loosen the pressure of the strap. Ducking my head, I backed out of the loop, like a horse withdrawing its noble head from a harness. With the bag of rocks no longer supported by my neck, the weight pulled me downward. I bent awkwardly and dropped the bag on the ground.
Straightening, I said, “I am Lord Amenhotep’s scribe, Suti. He sent for me.”
The guards looked at each other and then back at me. Their eyes fell to my filthy kilt.
“Oh,” I said, understanding. I looked at my chest and arms; they were covered with rivulets of dirt formed by sweat. I couldn’t stand before Lord Amenhotep in a dirty shendyt looking like an unwashed brick maker.
I untied the belt of my shendyt and removed it. Looking at its underside, I saw that it was relatively clean. Cupping the cloth in my hands, I wiped my face and then brushed it over my arms and chest. Bending, I cleaned my legs as well as I could.
Finished, I examined the shendyt.
I had thought to turn it inside-out and so present the clean side before Lord Amenhotep. But now both sides were equally covered in dirt and sweat.
I bowed my head for a moment; then, looking up at the guards, I said, “I cannot go to Lord Amenhotep unclothed. Yet I cannot wear this shendyt before him. It is filthy.”
The guards nodded agreement.
“Yet, I am called to him,” I said. “And so I must appear before him, and I must be clothed.”
The solution was obvious to me.
When Nakht had taught me the positions and meaning of the stars, he had explained that everyone in the Two Lands sees the stars. But they look at them without thought. They do not see the secret meaning of the constellations, or understand how their slow movements foretell the thrust of Re’s morning light. But I, armed with knowledge of the stars, could see what others could not.
I felt that way now as I stood before the unthinking guards.
They saw, but they did not understand. Well, Lord Amenhotep could not wait for their understanding.
“May I borrow one of your kilts? It is the only solution,” I said.
The guards looked at me as if I had spoken in one of the strange languages one hears in the markets of Men-Nefer.
Not wishing to irritate them, I smiled as if ashamed. Then I explained, “If I take the time to return to my tent, then I will make my master wait. When he asks why I have made him wait, I will tell him that my kilt was dirty. He will ask why I did not borrow a clean kilt from one of the guards. I will say that I tried, but they refused. Then he will call you to enter his tent and explain why you thought it more important to make him wait than to lend me a kilt.”
One of the guards raised his chin toward the other, who, apparently of lesser rank, began to untie the belt of his shendyt.
I offered him my dirty kilt as I took his clean one, but he shook his head, preferring to stand naked rather than wrap my filthy linen around him. It was just as well — his waist was larger than mine. I do not believe the belt of my shendyt would have reached around him.
As I tied his kilt, I nodded toward my bag, which was sitting at their feet.
“Pick out one of the rocks for yourself as a reward. Not the black one with red spots, though,” I said as I turned to enter Lord Amenhotep’s tent. “Or the one with the colors,” I added over my shoulder.
***
Lord Amenhotep’s tent was supported by a thick center pole and four shorter poles arranged in a square. The tent itself was made of broad, alternating swatches of blue and white linen that filtered the sunlight and turned it a pale cerulean blue.
As I entered the tent, I was struck by the way that tinted light played upon my arms, washing them so that they looked as if they were underwater. The guard’s kilt, so painfully white outside, was now the color of a pale cloud.
“This is marvelous, Lord Amenhotep,” I said, extending my arms and admiring the new color.
My master was sitting at his field desk, his head bent over sheets of papyrus. Looking up at the sound of my voice, his eyes rested on the dark blue trim of my shendyt.
“When were you assigned to guard duty?” Lord Amenhotep asked, his head shaking slightly in what I chose to regard as amusement.
“I was on the mountainside and my shendyt got dirty,” I said. “One of your guards lent me his.” I glanced at the royal colors on the hem. Then I said, “I thought it represented a promotion.”
A smile graced my master’s face for a second as his eyes darted to the tent opening.
Then, clearing his throat, Lord Amenhotep looked back to my face. “I need your help, Suti.”
“Yes, Lord Amenhotep,” I said walking to his desk. A papyrus map lay on the desk, its corners held in place by small alabaster statues of Horus.
I had seen the map before, but the statuettes were new. I had seen amulets made of golden alabaster so pure that light passed through them as easily as it passes through a handful of water. Other pieces of alabaster were cloudy with white smoke. Some contained rivulets the color of dried blood. The statuettes standing on my master’s desk looked like honey turned to stone.
Without thought, my hand went to the nearest statuette.
“The map, dear Suti,” Amenhotep said softly.
“Of the battlefield, the Aruna Pass, the roads leading south to Yehem and on toward Gaza,” I said, my fingers softly rubbing Horus’s hawk head. “Yes, Lord Amenhotep, we looked at this map yesterday when you sent scouts along the roads to find pastures.”
“One of the scouts returned before daybreak, Suti.” Amenhotep placed a finger on the road that wound east of the mountains before turning southwest to meet the main road. “He discovered the body of Wah…”
“Wah?” I said, the charioteer’s name fresh in my mind. “He was assigned to guard Queen Menwi.” I turned my gaze from the statuette to see Lord Amenhotep studying me curiously.
“I made a copy of General Djehuty’s roster of the maryannu after the battle,” I explained. “I gave Tjaneni lists of the cattle and the goats and the horses and the weapons taken from the Canaanites. I thought we should also have a list of our losses so that we can calculate the number of men we need to feed. Wah’s name was crossed from the list. When I asked if he had been killed, I was told that he had been reassigned to guard the queen. Along with Benia, Turo, and Satnem.”
Nakht told me once that most people have memories that are written in sand, easily erased by wind or water or the simple passing of time. Mine, he said, were carved in stone.
I sidled closer to the table to study the map.
“And Wah was discovered here?” I asked, tapping the map. “It is not the road Lord Imhotep and Queen Menwi would have taken to reach Gaza. Wah would not have traveled that road.” I traced the mountain pass, following the road south past a side road that turned east toward the spot where Wah had been found.
“Wah might have taken this road to return to the army with a message or a warning; it would avoid the narrow pass,” I said, although I didn’t like the taste of the words. “But Wah would not have left Lord Imhotep and Queen Menwi. It makes no sense.”
I lowered my hands and lost myself in thought. Perhaps if I saw the roads, understood what was obscured by trees or hills, what curves in the road would lure someone to take a different route…
“I must go there,” I said.
I saw Lord Amenhotep looking at me with a patient smile.
“I am sorry, Lord Amenhotep, did you say something?” I asked. Sometimes I withdraw from the Two Lands, chasing thoughts through the unseen land that lies behind my closed eyes. Often, when I return from such journeys, I find that people have spoken to me without my hearing their words. Sometimes they have disappeared.
Lord Amenhotep shook his head. “I was just echoing your thoughts, Suti. There is a chariot being readied. And a band of men to accompany you. Anun i
s commanding them.”
He stood and extended his hand, offering me a tightly rolled papyrus. It was tied with two lengths of leather, their knots sealed with wax. The papyrus also carried the seal of a scarab beetle, one of the symbols of the royal cartouche.
“Take this with you, Suti,” he said.
I took the papyrus, handling it carefully to avoid smearing it with dirt.
Then Lord Amenhotep placed his hands on his desk and leaned toward me. Speaking with the voice of an oracle, he said, “I hope that you find Kebu escorting Lord Imhotep and Queen Menwi. I hope that her face is shining with joy and she is holding a new prince to her breast. If you do, burn this.” He nodded at the papyrus. “However, if you do not encounter them, follow their tracks, Suti. Go to Gaza. Go to Men-Nefer. Follow the path they must have taken. When you reach Men-Nefer, go to the temple of Ptah and deliver this letter to Lord Useramen.”
I knew my master. He was a man who looked at the river and saw the currents and the reeds and the quicksilver shadows of fish, not the reflection of the sky. Lord Amenhotep was not a man of hope.
“You do not expect me to find them,” I said, wondering why he believed that.
Lord Amenhotep shrugged. Then he frowned and shook his head. “I had a vision last night, Suti. You know that I believe in what I can touch with my hands, not what my heart feels, but this vision was powerful. It had the strength of flesh and blood.”
My master lowered his eyes to the map. I saw the cords of his neck tighten and his eyes shut themselves away from whatever he saw on his desk.
“The vision has returned?” I asked, feeling suddenly as if the army of ants I had seen in the stone had come to life and a million tiny feet were marching across my arms and back.
“The vision has no power,” Lord Amenhotep said, but his voice was hollow.
He nodded to me and returned to his chair.
“Find them, Suti.”
“I will,” I promised.
