by Diana Ballew
Even as the surgeon desperately tried to sew the large wound closed, he suspected it was already too late. The girl lifted her lids and looked upon her babes with a glowing smile before closing her eyes on a sigh.
When the surgeon had finished his work he handed the older woman a bottle that contained an elixir infused with special herbs, and a jar of salve.
“If she survives the night, give her a spoonful of the drink at sunrise and sunset. Make her sip as much water as she will take. Rub the salve onto her wound … and it probably wouldn’t hurt to rub some into the scars on her face and back. If she does not get a fever, she might live to see her babes grow.”
The woman thanked the surgeon and gave him a basket of freshly-baked bread. “As agreed, my husband will deliver bread to your home every week until the Festival of Opet.”
Part II
Chapter 12
The Road to Thebes, 18 years later
C 1462 BCE
“Why do we have to go to Thebes, Khay?” Tetisheri complained as she stumbled along the dry road behind her brother. The sun burned so hot it baked her skin until she felt like one of the flat breads her mother had once cooked.
“We go because we must, Teti. If we are to survive, I must find work. Otherwise we will both starve. Pharaoh is building his new mortuary temple, so I’m sure to find a place among the stonecutters. Perhaps you can find work there also — or a husband,” he said, then turned back and grinned at his sister.
She kicked out at him but Khay feinted easily.
“I will marry no man,” she announced.
“Why not, you silly girl? A husband would buy your food and keep you clothed. You could have babies.”
“Don’t call me a silly girl, Khay — I’m the same age as you. I am a woman.” She crossed her arms under her breasts, emulating their mother’s sternest pose.
Of course, she looked nothing like their adoptive mother. Tiy had already lived many years when she rescued their birth mother, Sara, who she found abandoned and near death by the river. Tiy had been fat and bent where Tetisheri was small but straight as one of Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s famed obelisks. According to Tiy, she was the image of Sara when she’d first found her, identical in every way, except for the scars that marred her mother’s exceptional face.
Khay sniggered as he waited for his sister to catch up. “You’re not a woman, Teti. A woman would see sense and marry the strongest, wealthiest man she could find so she could spend her life at leisure instead of working until her fingers are callused and her skin looks like a crocodile’s.” He looked down at his own hands, realizing that as a temple builder, he’d endure worse than mere calluses; many lost fingers and toes fashioning or hauling the great stone blocks.
He glanced up as Teti drew alongside and frowned at her. “Did you learn nothing from our parents?”
Tetisheri pouted, knowing Khay would never understand. She wanted more for her life than to bake bread like their parents. Even more important, she wanted to somehow find their real father — the man who had sired them. She needed to know who he was and why he’d abandoned their birth mother to be whipped and beaten and left to die wrapped in a blanket at the river’s edge where Sobek could have claimed her. It angered her to think he could be so cruel — and if she did find him … well, she didn’t know what she would do. Yet. But she knew she’d seek vengeance for the mother she’d never truly known. Over the years she had quizzed Tiy for even the smallest scrap of information about where and how they had found Sara. She knew the place where they'd found her and had seen the rug she’d been wrapped in.
From the moment Tetisheri could first remember, her birth mother had been like an empty sarcophagus. And in all the years since, she had never once uttered a word or shown any sign that there was life behind those haunted eyes. Sara stared out into the distance as if seeing a past about which she could not speak. Even as she cooked and washed, her eyes remained focused far away, her scarred face unremitting in its sadness. Tetisheri just hoped that the brewer would take good care of Sara as he had promised.
Looking ahead at Khay’s back she saw nothing of her birth mother in him. Logic told her, then, that Khay must resemble their father, for he was tall where Sara was tiny, and his tawny eyes were the color of a lion’s, while her own were a curious greenish-gray with a dark ring around her iris — a color that Tiy claimed she had never, in her life, seen in another but their birth mother. So if she were to find this man who had so cruelly abandoned their mother, she knew she must look to find a man resembling her brother.
“Don’t dawdle, Teti,” Khay admonished.
She sighed; again he’d moved ten paces ahead.
He shifted his bundle of belongings to his other shoulder. “We must reach Thebes by nightfall — they say thieves and murderers travel this road while Osiris rides through the underworld. Better we are safe in an outlying village if not in the city itself. So hurry.”
Tetisheri jogged the short distance to her brother, then purposely stomped on his foot. “Your legs are too long, Khay. You know I must take two steps for each of yours — and still you walk so fast that I must run to keep up! And it is so hot—” she brushed her brow, then blinked furiously as beads of sweat trickled into her eyes, blinding her. “Can we not stop by the river to wash our faces and bathe our feet?”
Khay gazed over at the river’s edge. The reeds were very high and thick, a perfect place for Sobek to lie in wait. He did not want to have to rescue his sister from the crocodiles, no matter how strong she believed he was.
He shook his head. “Not here, Teti, it’s too dangerous. Perhaps around the bend there will be a better place—” His words were interrupted by a sudden, thunderous sound. Horses, galloping horses, were bearing down on them from the direction of Thebes. Though still obscured by a cluster of palm trees, Khay knew they were close. Out in the open, he saw no place that they could hide, and he dare not chance the reeds — he just prayed it wasn’t the band of robbers the old shoemaker had warned him about when they’d stopped for water at the last village.
Dust flew as three horses careened around the stand of palms, clouding their riders’ identities. They reined in and halted twenty paces away. A sudden gust of wind caught the cloud and whipped it away. When the air cleared, Khay could see that the lead horse bore the unmistakable signs of royalty.
As the horses approached at a walk, Khay reasoned the man astride the great white beast could not possibly be Pharaoh; he was too young — only about five years older than Khay himself, and he knew Pharaoh had seen some fifty years, at least. More likely he was one of Pharaoh’s many sons, or perhaps an emissary.
The lead horse snorted and tossed its head as his rider drew to a halt.
Without a word, the man slid from the horse’s back and approached, stopping directly in front of Khay with his chest thrust forward and his fists propped on his hips. He was of the same height as Khay, and under the paint on the man’s face, Khay noted that his eyes were a similar color to his own.
The man circled him slowly, as if appraising a fine beast.
“What is your name? Why do you journey to Thebes?”
Khay waited until the man stopped moving before he spoke. “My name is Khay, son of Sef and Tiy, from a village near Abydos. My parents have joined the afterlife, so I come to Thebes to seek work.”
“Did your parents not leave you a home and work when they passed?”
Khay frowned. “Yes, they did, a small baker’s shop. But the need for bread in our village is now small — many of the people have moved away to help in the building of Pharaoh’s temples. I thought it best to do the same.”
The man before him nodded and began to circle Khay again. “Yes, my father has great need of builders for his temples.” He stopped alongside Khay and looked up at one of his companions. “What say you, Ramose, is he so like me that we could use him?”
The one he called Ramose slid from his horse and mimicked his leader’s footsteps, making clucking sound
s and muttering beneath his breath. “Yes, he is very like you.”
The leader did one last circuit then stood directly in front of Khay. “Would you like to become a warrior in Pharaoh’s guard, Khay?”
Khay’s head rose sharply. “A warrior? I have never trained with weapons — I know nothing of being a warrior.”
“Ah, but skill with weapons can be learned. You look strong. And Pharaoh’s guard is well paid. Here,” he removed a thin band of etched gold from his smallest finger and placed it in Khay’s hand. “Take this to a man named Besenmut; you’ll find him at the garrison at the eastern side of the king’s palace. Tell him Amunhotep sent you.”
He turned his golden gaze on Tetisheri for the first time since he’d dismounted and backed up a step in response.
“He will find lodgings for your wife, also.”
Khay began to laugh. “Teti is not my wife — she is my sister. I aim to find her a husband in Theb—”
“No!” Tetisheri cried, ignoring the horsemen completely. “I told you, Khay, I do not want to become any man’s wife. If that is your reason for coming to Thebes I shall turn around and go back to Abydos.” She spun about, hoisted her belongings higher in her arms, and started back in the direction of their home.
Amunhotep quickly closed the distance to Tetisheri, halting her progress by manacling her wrist in his long fingers. She stilled, but didn’t turn or look at him.
“Young woman, with your beauty it will be impossible for you not to become a wife. The men of Thebes will clamor at your door.”
She gave a disgusted snort but didn’t look up; instead she glared pointedly down at where he still gripped her wrist. She hadn’t wanted to come to Thebes and didn’t trust these men at all. Just because they bore fancy rings and the horses had rich-looking bridles didn’t mean they were special. And Khay was stupid if he believed this Amunhotep was a prince. Everyone knew that Thebes overflowed with riches. Even servants were rich. Tiy had once told her that the Great Temple had gilded steps, with giant gold statues guarding the entrance. And the tops of the obelisks gleamed a blinding silver under the sun.
Now this stranger held her captive. He was probably one of those robbers Khay had spoken about. She twisted her arm to test his grip but only succeeded in hurting herself more.
“Khay, is your sister always so stubborn?” Amunhotep grinned and raised a brow in Khay’s direction. “I expect she will escape marriage easily if she acts so rudely when a man addresses her.”
Stomping her foot on the sandy roadway, she turned her glare into Amunhotep’s painted face and instantly his grin faded.
“I am NOT rude — I merely do not wish to be manhandled. I don’t care if your sire is Pharaoh, though I doubt it is true,” she said, then snatched her hand away so quickly, he couldn’t help but let her go, “I will do as I choose, and if I choose not to be any man’s wife, I won’t be!”
“She’s a fiery one,” said Ramose with a slight snigger. “She would give you a wild chase, my friend.”
With a chuckle, Amunhotep returned to his horse and caught up the reins. “You could be right, Ramose.”
Tetisheri backed away, appalled at the thought. But the smile returned to Amunhotep’s face, and she could see from his calculating expression that, like some of the young men back in Abydos, he saw her as a thing to be sported with.
Khay stepped between his sister and Amunhotep, standing tall and strong and ready to defend his sister’s honor whether a skilled fighter or not. “With all respect, my sister is a free woman. If you wish to gain her attentions, you do so only with her permission, as I know the law says.”
For a long moment both men studied each other, before Amunhotep nodded. “Quite right, quite right. Take your sister with you when you go to Besenmut. He will find her a place also. Wait for me at the garrison. Ramose, Weni, and I will return before Re reaches the distant plateau.” He pointed in the direction of a ridge off to the west.
Without sparing either of them another word, he gripped his horse’s mane and threw himself up onto its broad, bare back, before urging the horse into a gallop. The other horsemen followed. Dust billowed to shield them momentarily, and Khay wondered whether they were in pursuit of the robbers or merely riding for the sheer enjoyment of it. He smiled inwardly; though he had no ambition to become a warrior, he dearly desired to learn to ride one of Pharaoh’s magnificent horses.
“So, brother—” Tetisheri murmured, “—are you going to do as he says, or shall we find a place among the temple builders?”
Staring back to where the horses had disappeared, he realized that working for Pharaoh’s son probably held more benefit than cracking and hauling stones each day.
“We shall go and visit this Besenmut. If what Amunhotep said is true,” he examined the small ring in his palm, “it might just be the answer for us, Teti.”
He gnawed at the soft flesh of his inner lip and stared thoughtfully toward Thebes. He had envisaged a future of hard physical labor for little reward. This prospect was only slightly different, for he had no idea what sort of work would await him at the garrison of the palace guard.
Still, they had a name of someone who could direct them, which was more than they had known this morning.
The garrison wasn’t difficult to find. It was right where Amunhotep said: alongside the palace. Once they entered the city all they had to do was follow the guards as they left their posts as Re began to set.
Khay dropped his bundle by the main door.
“Stay right here,” he said to Tetisheri once they both stood within the entrance. “I don’t know what to expect. Better you’re in a place where you can escape if there is a need.”
“But why would there be any trouble, Khay? The leader, Amunhotep, gave you his ring — and he didn’t lie, the guard said the garrison commander is named Besenmut.”
“Yes,” he scowled at her. “But that doesn’t mean Amunhotep really was Pharaoh’s son. For all we know those horses could have been stolen — they could have been bandits.”
“Even so, we are just looking for work. How could that cause trouble?”
“We have to be sure,” he stated firmly. “This isn’t Abydos. We can’t trust these people.”
“All right, I will wait here.”
Several big black guards strode in the door, growling and jostling Khay aside as they passed. Tetisheri backed up a step before placing her bundle at her feet alongside Khay’s. Her nose twitched at the pungent combination of wax, men’s sweat, and burnt torch oil that permeated the building. It had hit her the moment she walked in the door — the animal pens back in their village smelled better.
“Be quick, Khay. I don’t like this place.” She huddled by the door in the darkest shadow and kept her head down so as to not draw attention to herself.
Many soldiers passed her by, heading down the hall in the same direction as where Khay had disappeared. She kept her eyes downcast and simply watched the parade of feet and ankles as they hurried in or out.
In the third guardroom down the corridor, Khay stood patiently as he waited for the old man to finish making his marks on the papyrus before him. Khay didn’t understand the writing, although it interested him greatly.
When he finally set aside the thin reed he used to make his markings, the old man glanced up and grinned. He had no hair and was missing one front tooth. “You here to join Pharaoh’s guard, man?”
“I’m looking for Besenmut,” Khay answered.
“I am Besenmut — what is your name and what do you want?” The man rose from the chair and came around the table to loom over Khay. Though considered tall back in his home village, Khay suddenly felt very short indeed. Besenmut stood a full head above him.
“My name is Khay, son of Tiy and Sef of Abydos. I was on the road to Thebes when a horseman bearing royal regalia stopped us and gave me this.” He held out the ring. “He said to find you and say that Amunhotep sent me.”
Besenmut studied Khay for a long moment befor
e he spoke. “Hmmm. So Kheper sent you, huh?”
“Not Kheper,” Khay corrected. “A man named Amunhotep. He claimed to be Pharaoh’s son.”
“Indeed, indeed.” Besenmut murmured. He reached out and measured the width of Khay’s forearm, then looked him up and down, all the while hmming and ahhing to himself. “Yes, indeed.” He glanced up at Khay’s face and snorted — not once, but twice. “Amunhotep is his formal name, Aakheperure his birth name, and Kheper is his military name. His Apiru brother, Mose, calls him Jacob. Yes, indeed,” he repeated as he came to stand before Khay.
Khay didn’t quite know what to make of Besenmut’s words. Perhaps the man was feeble or just trying to confuse him?
“I beg pardon for taking your time, Besenmut. The man must have been mistaken.”
As he turned, Besenmut’s arm shot out to stop him. “Not so fast, young man. Kheper — Amunhotep is rarely mistaken. And though you are younger, you bear a remarkable resemblance. With cosmetics as worn by the nobles, you could easily fool them. Yes, indeed.” He smiled to himself. “Yes, indeed.”
Khay backed away as the implication of the giant man’s words sank in. He didn’t know what Besenmut was planning, but he didn’t like the pictures that were forming in his head.
Besenmut released his arm, but blocked the door and any thought of escape.
“You will need lodgings. And training, of course.” He paced back and forth as he planned and muttered to himself. “Hmmm. Pharaoh will be pleased.”
“Wait a minute.” Khay said, somewhat bewildered. “Is this Amunhotep Pharaoh’s son or is he not?”
“Oh, yes, Pharaoh’s third son and likely co-regent, from Pharaoh’s great wife. She’s been in the afterlife these past, hmmm, maybe twenty years? Murdered, they say. The northern clans caused much trouble back then; still do.” He shook his head sadly. “Terrible time. Yes, indeed, terrible. Pharaoh has grieved ever since.”
He looked Khay up and down once more, and his face broke into a lopsided grin. His missing tooth left a black gap between yellowed teeth. “We should go to Memphis on the new moon and train you with the horses.”