by Jerry Dubs
“I had a vision,” Djoser had said. “We have to hurry.”
Then Djoser had picked up his own bow and arrows and started walking to the faint trail that led from the mountain top.
Sabef quickly bounced to his feet and sadly blinked away his dream. He didn’t think that Djoser’s vision could have been much better than his own dream. But he was charged with protecting the prince and there had been an urgency in Djoser’s movements that convinced Sabef that the boy had been visited by a powerful vision.
Although there was little moonlight, the stars were bright and the sky was free of clouds. Sabef could easily see the faint path and the rocks that lined it. He followed the light scuffling sound of pebbles rolling across rocks and soft grunts as Djoser, out of sight ahead of him, jogged down the mountain.
From the sounds it was clear that Djoser was in a hurry; Sabef took longer strides.
He liked the prince. When he first met the boy and learned that the eleven-year-old prince was commanding his own company, Sabef expected Djoser to be an arrogant royal, convinced that the accident of his birth made him better than others.
And while Djoser was certainly confident, the boy was eager to learn, quick to praise others and happy to listen, actually listen, to advice. And although he was friendly and approachable, Djoser projected the air of a commander. He issued few orders but there was an expectation that they would be followed and, Sabef and his fellow Nubians had learned that Djoser’s commands invariably were reasonable and right and necessary.
And so he bounded down the mountain side, willingly following Djoser’s lead.
***
As Re’s barge emerged at the far edge of the eastern desert Djoser and Sabef found themselves moving across nearly flat land. Soon the dirt and pebbles beneath their feet changed to sand and they had descended the mountain.
Sabef unslung the water skin and offered it to Djoser, who nodded for Sabef to quench his thirst first. Then Djoser took the skin and, noticing its light weight, took a small sip and spoke for the first time since they had hurried off the mountain top. “I had a vision, Sabef, that I was Horus. I saw Seth trick Osiris and kill him. I saw Isis rescue her husband’s body and bring his spirit back to life.”
It was a mighty vision, but nothing more than a child’s dream of the gods, Sabef thought.
“Then I found myself flying here,” Djoser pointed to the sky above them where the mountains climbed out from the desert. “I flew this way,” Djoser pointed south along the range, “until I came to my father’s camp. Everyone was dead, Sabef. I saw King Kha-Sekhemwy among them.”
Sabef opened his mouth to console Djoser, but the prince continued, his eyes looking along the foot of the mountains. “The vision of Isis was a dream, I know that. But it came at the same time as a vision of my own father’s death. I don’t know if the dream of my father dying was truly a vision or if I was seeing something that has already happened or if it was my fears taking life or if it was a premonition.”
A chill settled over Sabef. He had often wondered the same thing about the pronouncements shaman made of their dreams. How did they know if the words they heard were from the gods or if they were their own thoughts rearranged? He thought it was incredible to hear such wisdom from someone so young as Djoser.
“It doesn’t matter,” Djoser said now, as much to himself as to Sabef. “We must find my father and warn him if there is time. If he is safe and my vision was a premonition then we will be there to help him. If it was just a dream, then I will be reassured.”
Djoser looked from the mountains to his companion. His eyes told Sabef that he understood how things would have changed if King Kha-Sekhemwy was dead. There was no need to say the words.
Sabef nodded and Djoser turned and began a steady, distance-eating jog.
***
They ran in silence, each consumed by his own thoughts.
Djoser revisited his vision, playing the scenes over in his mind, distancing himself from the emotion. He couldn’t change what had happened, he could only hope that the vision had been a warning.
Sabef worried about the heat from the camp fire he had seen earlier. It could have been sand-dwellers. They wouldn’t be a threat to the army, of even a single company of the army, but the king’s hunting party was small. Or the fire could have come from a detachment sent from the army to find the king, perhaps a messenger. But Sabef couldn’t imagine what could have happened that would cause General Babaef to send men after the king.
They stopped after two hours when Sabef pointed up a wadi to a copse of acacia trees.
Djoser was reluctant to pause, but he knew that it was foolish to pass by water in the desert so he nodded and turned up the ancient riverbed.
They found a small stream dribbling down the mountain rocks and past a half dozen trees that clung to the thin soil beside the rocks.
Taking shelter under the trees Djoser and Sabef drank from the stream and refilled their water skin.
“I don’t know how far it is to the camp,” Djoser said after a moment.
“We’ll find them,” Sabef reassured him.
Djoser nodded to himself. “I know.” He was squatting beneath a tree, leaning against the trunk. “I just don’t know what we’ll find.” He smiled at Sabef. “I hope my vision was wrong, but I hope that it wasn’t. I want my father to be alive, but I want to believe that what the gods showed me was real.”
“When the shamans predict something and it doesn’t happen, they tell us that we did something to offend the gods,” Sabef said. He shrugged. “Maybe we did. Or maybe the shamans were fooled by the gods.”
“My sister is very serious about the gods,” Djoser said and Sabef wondered if he had said too much. “She would tell you that the shamans were at fault, that they misunderstood the gods.”
“Yes,” Sabef said. “That is what I meant to say.”
Djoser smiled.
“Sabef, you don’t have to guard your words with me. When I gave myself to the Sleeping Chamber last night my ba left me and my body was left behind, helpless. We were alone on the mountain. I trusted you with my life. You can trust me with your thoughts.
“I believe that there are priests in the Two Lands who speak for themselves instead of for the gods,” Djoser continued. “I told Hetephernebti this and she said that if a flute is broken and its notes are not true, it isn’t the musician’s fault. She said that even if a priest isn’t speaking for the god, she can still hear the god’s voice.”
Nodding to himself, Djoser repeated, “My sister is very serious about the gods.”
Sabef wanted to ask Djoser if he was as serious about the gods, but he decided that he would hold his tongue. Even if Djoser said he could trust him.
Djoser rose to his feet and smiled again. “I am also very serious about the gods, Sabef. But I think they have a sense of humor. And I think they sometimes choose a broken flute to see if we can still hear their music.”
He grew sober and added, “But what if we don’t like the song?”
***
Djoser had drifted into a hypnotic jog, his mind empty, his legs and arms moving without thought. Suddenly he felt Sabef’s hand on his arm pulling him to a stop. His unconscious rhythm disturbed, Djoser stumbled to a stop. He looked at the Nubian and saw him pointing into the sky ahead.
A circle of vultures, gray with black edges on their wings, rode the hot drafts ahead of them. As he watched, one of the birds dipped its yellow head and began to descend.
Djoser broke into a faster run.
Sabef shrugged his bow off his shoulder, gripped it in his left hand and ran after Djoser.
Beneath Djoser’s feet the sand felt more like water than earth, giving way instead of granting traction. He leaned forward and pushed harder. Suddenly an arrow flew past him from behind. He dug in his heels and wheeled around toward Sabef who was reshouldering his bow.
Before Djoser could shout at his companion, Sabef raised his hand to his mouth to signal Djoser to b
e quiet. Sabef inclined his head toward the mountains to his right, then he trotted off toward a large boulder that sat at the foot of the incline.
Struggling to contain his anger, Djoser ran to join Sabef.
“Wait here,” the Nubian said. “I need to retrieve my arrow.” He ran to the shaft, picked it up and then danced back toward Djoser, his right foot sweeping the sand behind him.
“There are men ahead,” Sabef whispered, when he had rejoined Djoser.
“My father and the hunting party,” Djoser suggested. “The vultures are circling over the offal they left behind.”
Sabef shrugged.
“Tell me,” Djoser said, his voice impatient now.
“I trust your vision, my Prince. If what you saw was true, then the men coming this way could be the assassins. If it is your father’s hunting party, we will see them in time to rejoin the path and make ourselves known.”
Djoser nodded agreement. If the vultures were circling over the bodies of his father and the hunting party, then it meant that they were dead and there was nothing he could do for them. Rushing into the path of the assassins would only get him killed and then he could not avenge his father’s murder.
He closed his eyes for a moment. When Djoser opened them Sabef saw that the young prince had turned his mind away from his grief and anger. His face took on a hard edge as Djoser looked about the foot of the mountain.
“We need to find a place to hide and yet be able to see. They will stop by the water, won’t they?” he asked.
“Yes, my Prince,” Sabef said, amazed again at Djoser’s transformation. The prince seemed able to put aside his fear so that he could focus with a clear mind on the problem at hand. “That’s what I think they will do,” Sabef agreed.
“And until they reach the water, they will be looking to the mountain, searching for green leaves,” Djoser reasoned. “So we should retrace our steps and hide beyond the wadi. Once they have rested and had their fill, they will be sated and more focused on getting back to their camp.”
***
Djoser and Sabef retraced their steps. As they passed the wadi with the acacia trees, Sabef suddenly touched Djoser’s shoulder. They stopped moving and now Djoser could also hear what had caught Sabef’s attention — the shifting, gasping hollow beat of a large group of runners breathing hard as they churned through the sand.
Sabef led Djoser into the wadi where they ran quickly over the hard-packed ground. Beyond the copse of trees they veered off the path to avoid leaving tracks. The sides of the mountain were worn here, creased with rivulets from the rain, scraped by dislodged rocks, but with few places to hide.
The wadi angled to the south as it turned uphill. There was a collection of small boulders here, remains of an ancient rockslide. They ran around it and took cover. Djoser looked up the wadi, but it ran too straight to afford any other hiding place. A dozen yards above them on the slope there was an overhang that offered cover, but Djoser knew that if they tried to climb to it they would be visible to the men who were entering the mouth of the wadi.
“My Prince,” Sabef said in a forced whisper. Standing by the small rockslide he pointed to a narrow cleft.
Djoser took a final look at the terrain above him. Deciding there was no place better to hide, he picked his way to Sabef’s side.
They heard the sound of bare feet on the rough mountain trail. It was clear that there were many more men than had been in King Kha-Sekhemwy’s hunting party. But there was no way to tell from the sounds if the men were a detachment from the king’s army or if they were enemies. Their only guide was Djoser’s dream and so they examined the crevice more closely.
As Sabef crouched to look inside the opening, Djoser tapped his shoulder and motioned for him to move aside. Djoser was smaller and could fit into the opening easier.
Sabef and Djoser locked eyes for a moment. They both knew that there could be snakes, spiders or scorpions sheltering in the crevice. Djoser nodded firmly and Sabef shuffled sideways to give him room.
As Djoser pushed his head and shoulders into the opening rock fragments slid ahead of him and over their sound he heard water sizzling on oven stones and then in the gray darkness he felt more than saw motion to his left. He backed away quickly, pushing with both hands against loose scree.
As he backed out of the tight opening more light slanted into the crevice and in that instant he saw a blur of dun-colored motion as a horned viper uncoiled from its shadowy hiding place
The snake aimed for Djoser's eyes. Unable to use his arms in the confined space, Djoser was helpless. He closed his eyes and twisted his head away from the snake. The viper’s fangs sank into Djoser’s left ear.
Pushing loose stones and dirt into the crevice as he scrambled backward, Djoser gritted his teeth to keep himself from screaming. When he pulled his head from the cleft, the snake kept its fangs buried in the cartilage of his outer ear. Its mottled sand-colored body dangled from the side of his face like a living sidelock.
His arms freed from the confined space, Djoser reached up to the side of his head and gripped the snake close to its head. He squeezed as hard as he could and the viper opened its jaws to strike at Djoser’s hands.
Quickly Djoser pulled the snake away from his face. He felt blood run down the side of his face and a burn beginning to spread from his ear to his jawline.
The viper, its short, twin horns rising from above its eyes, twisted as it tried to strike Djoser. Sand colored with dark splotches along its body, the snake was as long as Djoser’s arm and as thick as four fingers. Its jaws were spread open and the vertical slits of its eyes were flared open as it struggled to strike at Djoser’s hand.
Djoser grabbed the tail of the viper with his free hand and raised it over his head. Releasing his grip on the viper’s head, he swung the snake hard toward the earth, snapping his wrist to smash the snake’s head against a rock.
Stones sprayed from the impact and rolled down the trail toward the wadi.
Djoser dropped the snake and looked at Sabef. The Nubian was staring past Djoser to the wadi. There was nothing they could do now about the viper’s attack or the sound Djoser had made as he killed it.
They waited in silence hoping that no one had heard them.
Ignoring the blood that flowed freely down his face, Djoser picked up his bow and nocked an arrow. Sabef prepared his weapon and motioned with his head for Djoser to move behind him.
Djoser glared at the Nubian and instead of crouching behind him, he stood beside him. Bloodied, determined and unafraid, he stood with his bow drawn, ready to face his enemy.
“The General Sent Us”
Taharqa was from Napata, a small village far upriver from the first cataract. Like his father and his uncles and his brothers and his cousins, he was an archer. He was accurate, he had to be to feed himself, but he was famous in Napata because of his speed. He could launch ten arrows in the time others could shoot five and he could place seven of those ten arrows in a leaf the size of a child’s hand.
Last night’s raid on a sleeping camp had left him feeling dishonored. He wasn’t upset about killing. He had left his village to join the army of the King of the Two Lands. He would fight and kill and then he would return to his village with gold.
But sleeping men?
That wasn’t fighting.
Yet they had killed them all. Quickly and mercilessly.
It left a sour feeling in his stomach and a sadness that drained his energy. There was a difference between killing in battle, riding the rush of fear and the exhilaration of putting yourself into the hands of the gods. And the feeling afterward when air still came to your lungs and your muscles glowed, that was as powerful as the thrill of the battle.
No, he thought, I won’t murder again, I will kill the enemy, but not defenseless, sleeping men who don’t wish me harm.
He had drifted away from the other soldiers as they rested by the acacia trees. There were three other archers in the squad that had jogged down from th
e mines and attacked the unsuspecting hunting party. He had traded glances with the other archers during the march this morning and their averted eyes told him that they also were ashamed.
Sitting alone, uphill from the small oasis, Taharqa was startled from his thoughts by the sound of gravel tumbling over stones. He looked over his shoulder. The sound had come from beyond the bend where the wadi turned to continue up the mountainside.
He stood and walked toward the sound.
In Napata there were no mountains like this, but in the hills there were small goats. And snakes, of course. Even small leopards.
Without thinking about it, his hands nocked an arrow in place as he walked silently up the wadi. He paused between each step, listening but there was nothing to hear except the murmur of the other men behind him at the waterhole. The sound had probably been nothing more than a desert rat scrambling across loose stones.
He reached the bend in the trail, stepped past it and instinctively raised his bow and drew the string taut.
Sabef and Prince Djoser were standing ten paces away, their bows also drawn.
Taharqa recognized Djoser immediately. He knew Sabef as well; they had traveled together down the river from Ta-Seti to the Two Lands. They were both supposed to be dead, among the victims of last night’s ambush.
But their bodies had not been found at the encampment and Khui, the leader of their attackers, had been angry that none of King Kha-Sekhemwy’s hunting party had been left alive to question about the boy’s absence.
And here he was.
With a hunter’s experience, Taharqa took in the surrounding area. He saw the small crevice and the darker, recently disturbed dirt by its entrance. He saw the dead snake and Djoser’s bloody face, and he immediately understood what had happened.
Djoser and Sabef kept their bows drawn. Neither wanted to alert the rest of the soldiers and they knew that if they killed Taharqa the other men would search unceasingly. And they knew they would be found and killed.