by Jerry Dubs
The governors of the nomes, angry that the king had taken their men to work on his temples, had hidden part of the diminished harvest from the tax collectors. King Nebka found himself unable to pay the workers he had taken from the fields, so he demanded a larger share of the harvest.
Djoser had been amazed. Geese sellers in the marketplace knew what had happened, bakers, weavers and butchers, they all understood what had happened. Only the king seemed oblivious to what he had done.
When the taxes had been increased, the governors had balked at paying a larger share of their smaller harvest. And so General Babaef had led the army into the nomes to persuade the governors to pay the taxes. While the army was threatening the governors, sand-dwellers and other bandits became more disruptive along the trade routes that led to the Two Lands.
With fewer goods to trade, the merchants began to charge more for copper and gems from Sinai, for gold from Ta-Seti, for cedar from Byblos, and for myrrh and frankincense from Punt. Ivory, ostrich feathers and leopard skins became scarce.
Housewives, merchants, priests, quarry workers, boatmen, farmers, butchers, weavers, all were pinched by the economy and then taxed more heavily by irate governors who were under threat from General Babaef.
Throughout the Upper House Djoser had seen pinched, angry faces, tight fists and everywhere the hard-packed trails of infantry on the move. But even in the barracks there was discontent; enlistments were lengthened, pay was delayed, rations reduced, marches longer and more frequent and, more demoralizing than everything else, the soldiers were seen by their friends and families as oppressors rather than protectors.
Traveling with a dozen Nubians under the guise of seeking trading partners, Djoser saw the change in his country. He felt the pain of the hungry and the fear of the poor and the resignation of the aged and the ill. He saw the grim faces of the tax collectors and the anger of the soldiers and he knew that the Two Lands had become a festering sore that ached to be lanced.
The greed of King Nebka and the heavy fist of General Babaef had unbalanced ma’at. They thrived while the people suffered.
Djoser wondered why the priests were not rebelling, why they weren’t calling on the gods to restore balance to the Two Lands. But he knew the answer. Many of the priests danced with the king. As long as they supported him and reminded the people that the gods wanted Nebka to rule, they enjoyed the bounty of the king’s treasury.
From the Land of the Arch, the southernmost nome, to Upper Viper, with its shrines to Anubis, downriver to White Wall and on into the delta he saw the same festering anger and discontent.
He felt the land itself call to him and in his dreams Ptah, creator of the world, spoke to him. Straight-backed and bearded, holding the divine scepter of Ma’at, Ptah told Djoser that he must restore balance to the Two Lands.
Hemon the dwarf
White Wall was the first nome of the Lower House of the Two Lands. Sitting just south of the mouth of the delta, the province guarded the entry to the twenty nomes of the Lower House. And Hemon the Dwarf was its governor.
Hemon was the son of Djeho, chief scribe for Hemon’s predecessor, Governor Medhu.
As a child Hemon had the run of the palace, where the quick-witted boy learned several things. He learned that he could never athletically compete with other boys; they were all faster, stronger and bigger. He learned that he was adept with a brush and ink pot; his small hands could draw hieroglyphs, the stately gift from the god Thoth, better than his father. He learned that even more than hieroglyphs he loved the fluid hieratic script that his father used to record the laws, to write letters for Governor Medhu and to take inventory of the grain and cattle and ducks and geese of White Wall.
And he learned that he loved the governor’s daughter Bunefer, an equally quick-witted child with an unfortunate red birthmark high on her neck that resembled the head and long-curving snout of the evil Sha, who represented chaos. On seeing the discolored skin, her superstitious father declared her unmarriageable and began plotting which temple he would send her to, although he doubted any would have her.
As Hemon grew more distant from the other boys, jealous of their laughing play and hurt by their taunting, he began to accompany his father on his visits to the warehouses and granaries of White Wall. Sitting alone in the shadowy storage chambers, Hemon discovered his special talent. He could count, estimate, and add without error and he remembered every tally: reed bundles, oil jars, beer pots, sacks of wheat, baskets of onions, herds of goats or cows, even strings of fish.
All of the wealth of White Wall was tallied and stored in his ungainly head.
One day Governor Medhu, who had heard of Hemon’s talent over and over again from his unmarriageable daughter, happened upon the thirteen-year-old boy by a warehouse where sacks of emmer wheat were being stored.
Deciding to have some fun with the boy, Governor Medhu asked, “How many sacks?”
“Seventy-five.” Hemon glanced at a line of carts waiting to be unloaded. “Probably another seventy-five waiting to be stored. So, one hundred-fifty all together.”
“Very good,” Governor Medhu said, humoring the boy and wondering if seventy five and seventy five truly added to one hundred-fifty.
“One hundred-fifty is good, but last year was better. And the year before better still. The number of goats that are inventoried is dwindling also. Which is strange, Lord Medhu, because when I visit the market I see more geese and goats than last year and there is no shortage of bread.”
The boy made a small movement that might have been a shrug and cast his eyes at the governor as a fisherman looks to the water when casting a net.
Governor Medhu had no idea what the boy was talking about, so he simply said, “That’s very good.” He looked at the line of men carrying sacks of wheat. It seemed like a lot of wheat to him, but the boy seemed concerned.
The boy’s serious face gave Governor Medhu pause and so he asked, “What about cattle? Fish?”
“We don’t inventory fish, but the market stalls are well stocked with catfish, eels, tilapia, perch and mullet. There are fewer small cattle – three stalls with goats and two with sheep. Last year there were four of each. The only large cattle are those in your farm, Lord Medhu.”
Governor Medhu laughed and patted the boy’s head. He wasn’t sure what it all meant, but he liked that all of the large cattle were in his fields.
“The inundation was as rich as last year,” Hemon continued, stiffening under the condescending pat.
“Yes, it was glorious,” Governor Medhu said emptily as he watched the workers carrying the sacks of grain. Their faces were dusty, their arms covered with sweat. It made him thirsty.
Hemon stifled a snort. He didn’t think it was glorious. It was clear to him that the governor’s treasury was being shortchanged. Farmers were keeping more of the wheat to themselves. As many goats and sheep as always were being traded and sold, but away from the marketplace so that the governor’s tax assessors wouldn’t see and count them.
What angered Hemon was that this was happening at a time when King Nebka had increased the amount of goods he wanted transferred to the royal storehouses.
It was obvious to Hemon that if the peasants gave the governor less and if the king took more then the governor would have less. Was it possible that Governor Medhu didn’t see that?
The governor had slipped and fallen while getting into a boat two years ago and walked now with a cane. Checking to be sure that the governor was not about to pat his head again, Hemon looked up at him. He held out his hand and said, “May I borrow your walking stick, Governor Medhu?”
“What?” Governor Medhu answered.
Hemon stifled another snort. “Your walking stick, lord. I would like to show you something.”
“With my stick?” Governor Medhu said. Then seeing the dwarf’s outstretched hand he shifted his weight and gave him the cane.
Hemon quickly scuffed smooth an area in the sand in front of them. He drew a line starti
ng high on his left and angling downward. Then he drew a second line starting below the first and angling upward until it crossed the first line.
“Very nice,” Governor Medhu said, wishing he hadn’t started an idle conversation with the little man. Now he was going to have to compliment his simple drawings and no doubt Bunefer would want to hear all about it and he had no idea exactly what the dwarf was trying to tell him.
Hemon shook his head. Nedes, the toothless, one-eyed goose seller had more wits about her than the governor did. Knowing that he was taking a mental inventory whenever he visited her stall, she tried to distract Hemon by filling his ears with family gossip.
“This line,” Hemon said, pointing to the descending line, “is the amount of grain and goats and honey and bread you are receiving. It is declining. We, I mean, you receive less each year. The other line is the amount of goods you are required to pay King Nebka. It is increasing. The king wants you to give him more each year. At this point,” he pointed to the intersection of the two lines, “the amount of goods you are receiving from the farmers and merchants will become less than what you need to give to the king.”
Governor Medhu laughed uncomfortably. “These are just lines, little Hemon.” He swept them away with his foot. “They are very fine, nice and straight, but meaningless. Only lines in the sand.”
“No, Governor Medhu,” Hemon said, “They mean that in two years you will be unable to give the king what he wants. Then he will send soldiers who will take what he wants and you will have no oil, no beer, no roasted duck, no smoked fish.”
Governor Medhu remembered hearing that there was something magical about dwarfs. The god Bes was a dwarf, of course, and so was Ptah. And he was told there were dwarfs upriver who made excellent jewelry. Some could even dance. He had been to a festival once where there was a dwarf who played a tiny ivory flute. He seemed to remember that one of them had even been a fire eater.
Quite extraordinary! Magical and talented! Perhaps, he thought, it was because everything in a normal-sized person was squashed together inside them making it more powerful.
He wrinkled his forehead and stared down at Hemon. The dwarf had his hands on his hips and his head cocked as he looked up at the governor.
Perhaps my dwarf is a magical dwarf. He looks very sure of himself, Governor Medhu thought. And he looks like he’s waiting for an answer.
“Well,” Governor Medhu said, “We should do something about this. Mustn’t run out of beer.” He chuckled to show that he wasn’t truly concerned about running out of beer.
“What did you have in mind?” he asked Hemon when the dwarf didn’t join in his laughter.
Hemon, who was adept not only at writing and counting, but also at planning and dreaming, had an answer ready.
“Give me oversight of the granaries and the treasury and the farms. I will make sure that the inventories are correct and I will prepare proper reports for King Nebka so that we pay the taxes that we want to pay without emptying the shelves in your storerooms.
“Give me ten men, not brainless walking muscles, but men who can count and write and give me the authority to arrest those who do not cooperate with my census takers.
“And give Bunefer to me to be my wife.”
Governor Medhu started to speak several times, but couldn’t decide which request to address. Hemon was so small, but Governor Medhu didn’t think that he was young; it seemed that he had been scurrying about the palace forever. His voice sounded deep, like a man’s voice, and he seemed very sure of himself. And it would be nice to have Bunefer married ...
While the governor stuttered, Hemon looked into the future and saw himself as governor with a brood of strong, intelligent sons and beautiful, intelligent daughters. He stole a glance at his future father-in-law and said, “In return, Lord Medhu, I will give you a prosperous nome, herds of cattle, pools of beer and wine, relief from the king’s taxpayers and I will build a temple to Sokar to insure your joyful resurrection in Khert-Neter.”
Looking down at the dwarf Governor Medhu raised his hand to pat his head, but something in the dwarf’s face arrested his movement. Instead he smiled and patted his hands together as if clearing dust from them.
“Yes,” he said, “an excellent idea. But, you forgot flocks of ducks. I do enjoy my roasted duck.” Leaning on his cane, he turned and started to walk away. “I think I’ll have one tonight,” he said to himself.
And so Hemon the Dwarf married Bunefer and became overseer of the treasury and the granary and the herds and the farms of White Wall.
Hemon kept his promises to Governor Medhu. The nome flourished. The governor’s platters and cups were never empty and Bunefer gave birth to three sons, large, healthy, intelligent boys. And to Governor Medhu’s delight the temple to Sokar was built with double statues of the governor flanking the entrance to the adyton.
The king’s tax collectors also were pleased.
They looked forward to their visits to White Wall where they were always treated to a daylong banquet with music and dancers. And Hemon gave over his offices to them when they arrived, his ledgers and records open and available for their inspection.
In other nomes the tax collectors found sloppy record keeping, scratched off entries and sometimes they discovered a complete second set of records, but Hemon’s records were always clean and concise. The tax collectors suspected that there was a second set of records, but they could never find it because it was kept completely in the dwarf’s head.
The years passed and Governor Medhu grew as fat and sated as one of his well-fed ducks. When he grew infirm he named Hemon as his successor and so twenty-three-year-old Hemon became governor of White Wall.
His first act was to install a double riser beneath the governor’s throne.
***
Djoser stood before that throne looking up into the outsized face of the dwarf who was governor.
“From Ta-Seti?” Hemon asked.
“Yes, Lord Hemon,” Djoser answered. “We arrived in the Two Lands a year ago.”
“Your accent is impeccable.”
Djoser shrugged. He had heard of the quickness of Hemon’s mind and his attention to detail. “We arrived in the Two Lands a year ago,” he repeated. “The words of your language seem to find a home on my tongue. My friends,” he nodded at Sabef and two other Nubians who accompanied him on the visit, “can entertain your ear if you wish, Governor.”
“I’ve heard about you,” Hemon said, staring at Djoser as if he could see into his ka.
“That we offer good ivory?” Djoser held his hand out to Sabef, who unrolled a length of linen to display the long curve of an elephant’s trunk. “That we can bring your merchants gold?” He nodded at another of the Nubians who opened a sack and poured glittering stones into his palm. “Or that we can delight you with myrrh and frankincense?” He turned to the third Nubian who lifted the lid of an ebony box filled with vials and bottles.
Hemon rearranged himself in his chair. He waved a hand to the man with the scents.
Brought the ebony box, he lifted each vial in turn and sniffed at it.
“Really, very good, Hemwy. Excellent,” he said to Djoser, who continued to travel under an alias. He closed the box and offered it back to the Nubian, who shook his head and backed away.
“A gift, Lord Hemon,” Djoser said. “So that you can evaluate the quality of our merchandise.”
Hemon leaned over the side of his chair and placed the box on a stand. “We should dine,” he said when he turned back to Djoser. Seeing that Djoser was alone, he asked, “Where have the others gone?”
“The men who travel with me are not merchants, Governor Hemon. They are soldiers, my bodyguards and escorts. They protect me and the goods I carry.” He shrugged, dismissing the men as something out of his control.
“I certainly need no protection here in your hall and my men prefer to be with other soldiers, rather than with businessmen. When we arrived they saw some of your militia practicing with bows a
nd arrows. We are from Ta-Seti, Land of the Bow, so they were more interested in talking with fellow archers than staying with me.”
Hemon studied Djoser for a moment and then smiled. He thought of the increasing demands of King Nebka’s tax collectors and the rumors he had heard that the king’s army was rife with discontent. Men from White Wall had returned home complaining of the low and irregular pay, the greed of the quartermasters and the ineptitude of the leaders. Hemon didn’t know if the rumors were true, all that mattered was that the rumors existed.
And now before him stood a man who commanded a group of warriors, a man who could train Hemon’s ragged militia to be a force that, if combined with militias from the other nomes in the Lower House, could stand against the king’s army.
This merchant, Hemon thought, doesn’t know it, but he is offering me wealth beyond his imagination.
Hemon’s smile spread from his mouth to his eyes as he calculated what he could accomplish with a military force as well trained as his army of accountants. The only real question he had was if he would need to raise the dais of the royal throne in Waset.
Horus at Rest
“You were right. Hemon was a perfect choice,” Djoser told Hetephernebti after his visit to White Wall. “He is intelligent and ambitious, a dangerous combination. He could hardly contain himself when I told him my Nubian archers were interested in his milita.”
Hetephernebti nodded agreement. “He doesn’t try to hide his ambition. He comes here several times a year. Each visit he stalks the temple looking in every storage room and chamber, pausing as his eyes count everything. He studies the arrival of each governor, comparing the number of attendants they bring with them, how many servants, how many guards. And each year he brings more people with him and offers larger gifts to Re.”