Khu felt Neferu looking at him, but every time he glanced back she would turn away. And although she was physically attractive, her brows were often drawn, and her mouth taut with pride, which lent her features a hardened and brittle edge.
Neferu feared Khu. It was not just his strange eyes that unnerved her either. Now that Tem had claimed Khu as her son, Neferu was afraid that Khu might usurp her own son’s position as heir to the throne. This was ridiculous, of course, for nothing could take the child’s future crown from him but death. Although her fears were unfounded, her jealousy and ambition clouded her judgment and good sense. She did not want anyone or anything to thwart her child’s future as king. And for all her motherly instincts, she could not help seeing Khu as a constant threat since his arrival to the palace compound.
The rest of the royal family, nobility, officials and palace servants followed behind the king and his main wives, their heads bowed with grief. They were headed to the rock-carved royal tombs that waited in the desert by the side of a cliff on the western bank of the Nile across from Thebes.
The mortuary temple shone almost white under the desert sun. Though still under construction, its pillared halls and columned hypostyle rose like a palace for the dead, where it was believed that the sun would carry the deceased to the Underworld. The walls would later bear hieroglyphic texts and high relief images of the king in various scenes of his life, along with the principle gods of Thebes, including the god Amun. Once completed, artisans would also paint the inscriptions in vivid pigments befitting of the monarch’s eminence.
Khu watched the paid mourners weeping and throwing dust over their heads in a flamboyant display of sorrow. Some flung themselves onto the ground, waving their arms miserably through the sand, while others threw their heads back toward the sky, wailing loudly in various tones of violent and distressing cries and exclamations that filled the air with their lamentations. But the sadness was palpable, especially as Henhenet had been young, and her death unexpected. There is nothing more painful than the untimely death of someone young and dear to the heart. The harrowing grief surges from a bottomless well of sorrow, drowning the mourner in a torrent of agonizing pain; an exquisite pain that continues to afflict the mourner with heartache and loneliness long after the deceased is buried and gone.
Khu glanced up at Mentuhotep who remained stoic at his side. The king had shaved off his beard and head once again, now that the prescribed seventy days of mourning before the funeral ceremony had passed. On top of his smooth scalp he wore the formal conical-shaped Hedjet White Crown of Upper Egypt. He did not carry the crook and flail at this funeral—scepters symbolizing his power as shepherd and protector of his people, and his position as leader and inflictor of justice, respectively. But he did have his ritual golden sekhem—another scepter symbolic of his authority, and he held it in front of him as he walked. Black kohl lined his lids in the traditional fashion, elongating his brown eyes, and lending his face an intriguing aspect.
The king was not a handsome man. But he had a jovial sense of humor and a quick wit that enlivened his otherwise plain features into something attractive. Mentuhotep was a deep and complex man with a great love for his children and Egypt. He was highly respected by his officers, advisors, and others in his court. And he was known to be fair, kind and honest throughout his dominion. He was a warrior with the heart of a lion who stopped at nothing to protect his kingdom. And his greatest ambition was to reunify the lands of Upper and Lower Egypt under his rule.
Mentuhotep glanced down at Khu. He could feel the boy’s jeweled eyes studying him. The child’s piercing gaze distracted the king momentarily from the funeral, and his thoughts turned to the day when he first met the boy. His chief wife Tem had brought the child before him shortly after the death of Henhenet and her unborn child.
“Lord King,” Tem had bowed to Mentuhotep as she held Khu’s small hand possessively within her own.
They were in the main pavilion of the palace where the king conducted most of the kingdom’s official matters. The bright pillared hall was pierced by several rectangular windows running along the tops of the walls, and light flooded the airy space which was kept cool from the sun by several rooms surrounding the pavilion on all sides, buffering it from Egypt’s heat. The high ceiling also allowed the room’s warmth to rise above and exit through the windows which were presently unshuttered by the reed mats used to close them. The king was seated on a bronze carved armchair resting atop a dais in the center of the room. Two advisors stood at either of his sides, their impassive faces avoiding Khu’s gaze.
“Arise, She Who is Righteous,” the king had addressed Tem by her formal title. This had been a good and promising sign, and it had bolstered Tem’s confidence. It was a sign of respect, and meant that the king was open and willing to listen to what she had to say.
Tem had already approached the king informally about Khu a few days before, telling him how the child had been discovered hiding in the reeds, and how she strongly suspected he had escaped death at the hands of raiders in one of the northern territories. She had also told him about the boy’s eyes, and how she believed him to be the one mentioned in the prophesies.
Mentuhotep observed the child standing patiently by Tem’s side. He knew that his wife had already bonded with the boy, and that she would do anything in her power to keep him for herself. He saw the anxiety in his wife’s face. Her darting eyes kept blinking, and her thin frame was tense and drawn.
He thought of all the things Tem had told him about Khu. And then he thought about that which she had not said—about how much she wanted to be Khu’s mother; about how long she had suffered the curse of a barren womb; about how she desperately longed to care for a child of her very own, and now that the opportunity presented itself, she wished to grab hold of it with every fiber of her being.
Tem did not believe in coincidences. She believed Khu’s arrival had somehow been ordained by the gods, and she had said so to her husband. Whatever happened to the boy, whatever violence he had witnessed or atrocities he endured, it was not for naught. Something good would come from this. After all, new life is birthed in the anguish of blood. The gods would take that spilled blood, and fashion something better and stronger from the puddle that soaked the ground. And nourished by the fertile fluid of life, the little sapling would grow larger and stronger until a grove spread over the plains, and a new unified land emerged from the darkness.
Mentuhotep’s heart went out to his wife. Her anxiety made her look small and young. But the boy stood calmly by Tem’s side, unruffled by the proceedings. Something about the child moved the king, stirring the fatherly instincts deep within his core. And although Tem had begun to speak on behalf of Khu, humbly asking for the king’s protection and guardianship, her voice seemed to grow distant as Mentuhotep lost himself in the boy’s crystalline gaze.
Slowly the king stood from his throne and stepped down from the dais on which it rested, coming to stand before the child. He had moved carefully so as not to frighten the boy. But Khu was not afraid. He could see inside the soul of the ruler. Compassion, kindness and curiosity emanated from deep within the sorrowful heart of the king, who was grieving for Henhenet and his infant child’s deaths.
“Son,” Mentuhotep had stated clearly so that the scribes in the room would carefully record these proceedings with accuracy, “whose given name is Khu Salih—He Who is Protected and Righteous—and who from this day forth will be known as Khu Salih Nebhepetre—Pleased is the Lord Re with He Who is Protected and Righteous. And who will also be known as flesh of my flesh, and blood of my blood.”
The scribes were scribbling frantically, bent over the table where they worked, jotting down every word exiting the king’s mouth.
The advisors stood with their backs unnaturally straight in an awkward attempt to hide their surprise. Their wide eyes finally landed on Khu and they could not seem to move from there. They were riveted to their spots as they watched the king officially accept
the boy as his own son. Once the formalities had been inscribed on the papyrus scrolls, nothing but death itself could undo or break the bonds made on that auspicious day.
Tem beamed as she lifted Khu’s small hand and placed it within the hand of Mentuhotep, his father. She finally felt complete. The yearning that had claimed her soul for years had finally been fulfilled. And closing her eyes she exhaled all the anxiety which had left her tense and afraid up until this moment. It is done, she thought with relief as she nodded and bowed low before the king with tremendous gratitude before the formal blessings were bestowed upon the boy.
It is done.
Mentuhotep was well aware of the Prophesy of Neferti, and could not help believing Khu was indeed truly the One. Perhaps this belief was due to the superstitions to which Mentuhotep clung. Perhaps it was due to his long-reaching ambitions to reunify the broken lands. Or perhaps it was the king’s own painful grief which made him want to believe this. His heartache left him a little vulnerable, and he felt a deep longing to reach out and grasp at hope. And the boy—Khu—embodied the hope he craved in the days following the loss that distressed him.
But things had not been so easy for Khu, despite the king’s formal acceptance. In the very beginning—when he was first claimed by Tem—most people had regarded the boy with tremendous distrust. People often cast suspicious glances his way, then whispered behind his back, their narrowed eyes watchful as they touched a talisman or invoked one of their gods in an effort to ward off any possible curse or evil from befalling them. Besides Neferu, Mentuhotep’s other wives had also stared at the boy with wariness. Many of the noble women in the palace had also warned their young children against Khu.
“Do not look him in the eyes,” they cautioned. “Avert your gaze and touch the pendant,” they instructed uneasily, referring to the Wedjat Eye of Horus, or the kheper scarab beetle amulets hanging around their necks for protection. “And may Isis protect you from all harm,” they prayed, breathing three times over the heads of their children in an effort to ward away evil.
People had no way of knowing they were wrong to fear him. They had never seen a child—or any person for that matter—with eyes like Khu’s. Yet despite their unwarranted suspicions, there had been something calming about his demeanor. Even at such a tender age—he had only been alive for almost seven seasons of the Inundation—his character emanated a strength and wisdom well beyond his years. And his strange and penetrating eyes seemed to heighten the gifts within him. Like the great Sphinx reclining near the pyramid-tombs of Lower Egypt on the western bank of the Nile, Khu was an enigma.
Khu, Mentuhotep mouthed silently to the boy holding his gaze as they continued with the funeral. Mentuhotep blinked in a deliberate manner with the slightest nod in the child’s direction.
Khu acknowledged the king’s kindly gesture and the corners of his small mouth upturned into a faint smile. It was then that the boy slipped his hand into that of the king’s.
Mentuhotep grasped it firmly within his own warm hand, before turning his attention back to the procession.
Tem was consoled by their burgeoning affection and she smiled to herself, while Neferu’s eyes widened, and she clenched her jaw, tamping down a surge of jealousy which burned at the sight of their new bond.
Servants followed the ox-drawn sledge, carrying some of the smaller items that would be buried with the mother and child, along with the larger things resting in crates behind the two sarcophagi. They were things believed to be necessary in the Afterlife such as food and drink, toiletry items, clothing, musical instruments, furniture and jewelry. Small carved human figurines called ushabti were included to serve them faithfully in the Afterlife, so that Henhenet could continue living in the luxurious and pampered lifestyle to which she had been accustomed here. There were even toys for the tiny child who lay in her own little sarcophagus. They would be buried together within the king’s own temple-tomb, so they could all meet once again in the Afterlife.
The procession entered a courtyard and proceeded up a ramp to a terrace, then up a second ramp leading to the inner chambers of the beautiful temple, finally arriving to Henhenet’s tomb. All work on the sprawling tomb-temple complex had been redirected to Henhenet’s tomb so it could be completed within a timely manner. The construction of her burial chamber had only recently been finished. It was a small room adjoining what would eventually become the king’s larger burial chambers.
The priests took their places before the entrance of the tomb as musicians plucked the haunting notes of a dirge on an arched harp. A single melancholic voice rose from the poignant melody, prompting fresh tears from the mourners, as it invoked the aid of Anubis in judging Henhenet and her daughter with mercy so they might be regarded as worthy of Eternal Life, and granted admission to the Hereafter:
Come, O Anubis, Leader of Souls, Tester of Faith
Come, Guardian of the Scales, Weigher of Hearts
Come to our beloved sister Henhenet Latif-et, She of the Gracious Heart
And to her innocent child, as yet unborn to the earthly realm
Judge them worthy and commend them to the gods
Guide them in their journey
Admit them to the Field of Reeds
Protect them in the Hereafter, in the Eternal Dominion of the Just
For they are pure in heart
Blameless and without reproach
Their souls do rise as a sweet perfume, pleasing to the gods
Rebuffing all malevolence and evil
Come, Mighty Anubis, Protector of the Deceased
As we commend our beloved ones to Thee
Khu bowed his head as the heavy weight of the mourners’ collective grief pressed upon him, and hot tears fell from his eyes. The last rites were held, more prayers were chanted, more incense was burned, and the symbolic Opening of the Mouth ritual took place to reanimate the senses so the deceased could eat, speak, hear and see again in the Afterlife. A forked blade carved of black agate was touched to the mouth, eyes and ears of their coffins to also allow the immortal soul Ka to come and go freely. Then the ceremony was concluded with a formal burial dance and followed by a feast.
And the tomb, which now housed the remains of Henhenet and her child, as well as all those things deemed necessary to their comfort and well-being in the next life, was shut and sealed tightly against the robbers, reprobates and rogues who dwelt in the shadows of the land of the living.
THREE
In the darkest hour of night, a boat glided stealthily over the Nile. A band of thieves pulled their oars through the cool waters that shone like obsidian under the gibbous moon. The dark water sluiced and swirled as the men slowly plowed their oars into the river. They passed a float of crocodiles submerged by the marshes where they were hunting for waterfowl sleeping in nests by the reeds. The beasts watched the boat moving through the night, their yellow reptilian eyes glittering fiercely in the moonlight.
The men were scouting the banks of the river in Thebes, their dark eyes wide and watchful as they hunkered warily within the vessel whose sail was tightly furled. They rounded a bend in the river and drew in their oars as they neared the rocky shore. One of the men stood at the stern and poled the boat forward through the shallow waters.
A pair of great white pelicans flapped their wings in the dense reed beds where their nests were hidden, but then settled back down quietly. A soft chorus of chirping crickets and croaking frogs lent their voices to the night. Then a splash sounded, momentarily startling the men, as an osprey swooped down from the air and plunged feet first into the water where it caught a small fish, gripping the scaled prey with its long dagger-like talons.
“There,” one of the men whispered with a tilt of his head. “The storage houses.” They had arrived close to the village which lay just northeast of Mentuhotep’s palace compound.
“Wait,” another stood up in the boat, his hand raised for them to stop. A rustling among the reeds caught his eye and he pointed to a man stepping out
from a cluster of branches. Then he whistled very softly and the man returned his signal with a wave. “Stop here,” he told the rest of the men in the boat. “We have arrived.”
Among the many mud-brick homes sheltering the people and serving as their workshops, were the granaries where wheat and barley were stored. They were set back from the river within the walled village sitting higher above the floodplain, to protect them from the rising waters of the annual inundation.
The other men turned to look at the silos which housed grain from the fields. More precious than gold was the food that nourished the people. Bread was one of the things crossing all social boundaries. It was a staple in the diets of peasants, priests and princes alike. All the people—from those in the nobility, to the ones toiling at the bottom of the pyramid-structured socio-economy—relied on its sustenance.
The men swallowed against the greed that made them salivate. They were hungry, but not to fill their stomachs. They hoped to steal some of the grain and trade it elsewhere for a profit.
Times had been hard on many of the settlements which eked out a living on the Nile Valley’s floodplains. Although the settlements and villages under Mentuhotep’s authority had not suffered during his reign, many others had. Famine and hunger afflicted the people who toiled in vain under a hot sun which scorched the crops in the fields. Those harvests that had not withered were drowned in the waters which flooded the plains like the hungry tide of the sea washing over the shoreline. Without the carefully constructed canals, ditches and dykes lying useless from disrepair and hardship, the life-giving water of the ancient river could be transformed into a ravenous and unappeasable glutton, destroying all laying in its path during the river’s annual inundation, including the storage houses where the harvested grains were kept.
Khu: A Tale of Ancient Egypt Page 3