Khu: A Tale of Ancient Egypt

by Jocelyn Murray

  If Ankhtifi were indeed planning something, he would not be alone. Someone else would be coordinating it. Someone stronger and more powerful than the chieftain of Nekhen.

  “So there is someone else involved,” Khu said, almost reading the king’s mind. “Someone smarter.”

  The king nodded to Khu before turning to stare again out over the water lapping the sides of the ship as they glided through the river.

  A half-moon spilled its light from the sky onto the dark water, glossing its surface so it appeared like a thin layer of pewter floating on top. It was quiet, but Mentuhotep knew the stillness was deceptive. For a world of night creatures had awakened with the setting of the sun-god Re’s fiery Mandjet solar boat. A world that crept out in the darkness after the day was done. A world whose beasts—great and small—breathed and hunted and killed and devoured their unwary prey.

  The king was very much aware that he was part of that world, and he wanted to tread carefully through the realm whose thin line separating predator from prey was smudged in the darkness of men’s false hearts.

  Mentuhotep turned his thoughts to Sudi, who had left already. Part of him feared for the man’s life. He might have been sending him into the den of a wolf, but he was sly, quick and cunning enough to slip away before being caught. At least that is what Mentuhotep hoped.

  Sudi would be sailing on a skiff with two more men, posing as fishermen with nets, and floating along the muddy waters that would take them to Abdju, the cult center of Osiris. Once arriving, they would roam through the town, and among its inhabitants and many visiting pilgrims and merchants, discretely asking questions, prodding people to speak with the assistance of a subtle yet well-placed comment, and listening with every one of their senses to all that was said, and more importantly, to what was left unsaid.

  They would wander through the town like the numerous cats living there, roaming inconspicuously among the tombs, temples and townspeople to wait, watch and witness anything they might report back to their king, whose hackles were now raised, and whose ears were now perked in suspicion like a fox on the prowl. The king smelled a hint of treachery on the breeze ruffling the branches, whispering through reeds, and moving over the Nile’s surface as it flowed around a bend of trees whose trunks were gnarled and knotted as they bore the weight of their heavy branches and leaves.

  Sometimes a fox’s quarry requires some digging to unearth it from its shelter, perhaps even a trick or two to lure or flush it out of hiding. But once exposed, the king planned to trap and crush any traitors, much like the fox crushing the thin bones of his victim with teeth made sharper by a fierce and impassioned hunger.

  NINE

  Sudi watched from the shadow of a stone column in an arcade, as several priests carried the portable gilded barque holding the cult-statue of the god Osiris on their shoulders. The god of the dead and Afterlife was made of gold, and stood with his legs wrapped in mummified burial fashion as he held the crook and flail in arms crossing over his chest. His serene face had a long, slender, black-painted beard on a chin that jutted proudly, while his head was crowned by the tall, white conical-shaped Atef crown with two ostrich feathers on the sides. The feathers of his crown symbolized the maat concept of universal order, truth and justice against which the souls of the dead were weighed and subsequently judged.

  But only the priests saw the magnificent god-statue, for he was shielded from the common people’s eyes by a curtain woven from the finest linen. The priests bore the heavy weight of the god on the gilded barque, which was decorated with hieroglyphs carved in relief, as they exited the Temple of Osiris in Abdju.

  It was the Festival of Osiris.

  The annual feast drew many pilgrims from all over Egypt, as well as those people seeking to profit from the throngs and festivities filling the crowded streets with excitement. Today was the culmination of a celebration that had commenced eight days before with much prayer and chanting to the god who gave life to the floodplains through the fertile fields’ vegetation. People craned their necks to get a glimpse of the venerated god as the reenactment of his burial took place. The procession would take Osiris from the inner sanctuary of the temple, beyond the sacrificial rooms, through the hypostyle hall, colonnaded courtyard, and out through the pylon’s massive entrance guarded by two colossal stone figures of Osiris. All the civil servants and courtiers of Abdju waited in the Avenue of Sphinxes leading up to the temple’s grand pylon, while the masses of people stood beyond the guarded walkway and its surrounding gardens, which were graced with fountains sparkling in the morning light.

  Sudi thought he saw Ankhtifi standing among the officials. But his view was obscured by smoke rising in spiraling plumes from the burning incense, waved by a priest circling the barque carrying the golden god. A priest chanted in prayer as the fragrant incense wafted over the effigy of the god:

  Glory to you, Osiris

  King of the Everlasting

  Homage to you whose names are Manifold

  Holy Protector and Guardian of Eternity

  Who dwells in the Land of the Just

  Mighty are your ways

  Clothed in the Light of Truth

  The procession made its way out of the temple and down the Avenue of Sphinxes. Priestesses shook hooped sistra ceremonial rattles as fan bearers waved their long wooden-handled ostrich-feather fans reverently over the barque. People prostrated themselves in adoration, welcoming the god with hymns of devotion and gratitude. The officials followed behind the priests in observance of the Going Forth of Osiris Ritual commemorating the burial of the god who would be accompanied by his wife Isis and son Horus, whose smaller statues waited at the ancient Tomb of Osiris that once belonged to King Djer from the First Dynasty of the Old Kingdom.

  Sudi followed behind some pilgrims as the procession took them through several of the cemeteries lying west of the temple, where more ritual prayers and chanting brought blessings upon the dead who continued to pay homage to the great god from their otherworldly realm. Those who could afford it dedicated stele stone tablets bearing elaborately carved inscriptions and paintings of scenes in tribute to Osiris, while others placed small offerings of food and flowers they had bought from the village marketplace catering to pilgrims celebrating the special feast. The poorest pilgrims left a small lock of their hair in a symbolic gesture of their subservience before the god to whom they desired to give a part of themselves, and as a sign of their meekness and humility.

  Sudi lost sight of his two companions who were somewhere in the vast crowd. More than ten days had passed since Mentuhotep’s trusted emissary had left the ruler’s side on the evening they had departed Nekhen, after the king had sent him off to spy on Ankhtifi. The three men had gone back to Thebes before setting off for Abdju.

  Odji the gatekeeper had seen them arrive, and had wondered why they had returned so soon without the king. But Sudi had not even glanced his way when he and the other two men entered the royal compound, after leaving their boat in the care of a ferryman by the riverbank. They gathered fishing nets and other supplies, before changing out of their finer kilts to don the simple loin cloth of humble fishermen who worked along the Nile.

  Odji grew instantly suspicious when he saw the three men disguise themselves before they left. He surreptitiously followed them as he tried to eavesdrop on their conversation in hopes of learning what they were up to. But Sudi had kept his mouth shut the entire time as he efficiently went about his work. Only one word had slipped out of the mouth of one of his partners: Abdju. But it had been enough.

  Sudi and his partners had arrived in Abdju disguised as fishermen with a few baskets of fish they had caught in their nets along the way. They sold their catch in the open air market of the village where people traded all sorts of goods during the busy time of the festival.

  Pilgrims flooded the streets excitedly, pausing to look here and there at the many stands laden with food, crafts and offerings made available during the ritual feasts. There were large sac
ks of wheat, barley and lentils sitting on the ground next to baskets of onions, garlic and leeks, as well as crates of melons, cabbages and cucumbers. Tables were piled with varieties of dates, figs, colorful grapes, and raisins, while others were stacked with cheese, dried and salted fish, fowl and other meats. Bunches of herbs and heaps of colorful spices including aniseed, coriander, cinnamon and fennel, filled the air with their enticing fragrance. Jars of oil pressed from flax, sesame and almonds waited on the ground. Pottery, copper goods and all sorts of craft items lured spectators over for a closer look.

  A short distance away was an assortment of live animals corralled in a pen. They too were traded in the marketplace, or obtained for ritualistic slaughtering in sacrificial offerings.

  The three men had spread out over the sacred city whose tombs, shrines and memorials drew pilgrims from far and wide, seeking to pay homage to the great Osiris who ruled the Underworld.

  Ankhtifi had come ahead of King Khety so he could make good use of the time and opportunity to influence the many local officials and visiting chieftains gathered there from the surrounding smaller settlements. Since he had arrived, he had tried to persuade them to support Khety in his military quest to conquer Upper Egypt and reunite the kingdoms. With their backing, he would then convince the priests, and they in turn would prompt the people to follow along. But it had not gone so easy.

  “What do we have to gain by supporting him?” one asked, crossing his arms over his chest

  “Security, prosperity, wealth,” Ankhtifi said.

  “But we have been doing fine without him,” another objected with a high chin.

  “Speak for yourself,” blurted another. “Times have been very difficult.”

  “And there have been raids too,” another added. “I know of more than one village that was destroyed by raiders.

  “So do I,” the first nodded sternly.

  Ankhtifi said nothing at first. He just let them speak. Many of them were venting their frustrations with the way things were. They wanted to better their lives and improve the status of their settlements. But they were not sure how to go about it, and were wary of supporting someone who might bring about a change for the worse. Change for mere change’s sake could be a very foolish thing.

  “And what about the droughts?” another shook his head, narrowing his eyes. “The river’s flood has been low where we are. Does King Khety have the power to stop the droughts?” His tone was dubious.

  “Can he make our fields yield more grain?” one man challenged derisively, pushing his shoulders back. “Or our cattle more fertile?”

  “What about King Mentuhotep?” Another interrupted, jabbing a finger into the air. “What would he say to your machinations?”

  “If you call a desire to better your lives ‘machinations,’” Ankhtifi retorted coldly. He was making mental notes of those dissidents that might stand in the way of Khety’s plans, and filing their names and faces away in his mind. His jaw started to twitch in frustration, and he began to open and close one of his hands at his side, trying hard to resist the urge to grab the handle of his mace hanging under the layers of his kilt.

  Many of the officials were hesitant at first, but some managed to come around after assurances were made that their support would be repaid tenfold.

  “You will be rewarded with positions of greater power in the reunited kingdoms of Lower and Upper Egypt under King Khety,” Ankhtifi told them.

  The procession had finally arrived at the Tomb of Osiris. Its columned façade rose above the high plateau of the desert, facing east. The lengthening shadows of the late afternoon, silhouetted the stony grandeur against the golden light of the sun, which kept ducking behind puffy clouds scattered in the heavens, like the frothy peaks of waves in the vast blue sea. People watched as the priests disappeared with the god into the tomb’s heavily fortified entrance, where the Mysteries of the Divine Rites would be performed, enabling the spiritual essence ka of Osiris to join that of Isis and Horus, and in their joyous reunion, prosper and make fertile the land of the living.

  The joyful and devout worshippers began chanting along with the priests as they gathered outside the tomb. Priestesses were shaking their sistra rattles along with the musicians who played tambourines, clappers and flutes as they encircled the barque. Other priests wafted incense in copper burners, while fan bearers waved the blessed smoke over the barque with their long wooden-handled ostrich-feather fans.

  Some of the people in the crowd lifted the linen cloth draped on their shoulders and pulled it over their heads in reverence of the moment, joining their voices to the chanting which rose to the heavens like the smoky wisps of incense perfuming the air.

  Arise Osiris, Life-giver to the Land

  Arise god of the earth and Underworld

  Make the river waters flow

  Imbue life in the fields

  Make fertile the black soil

  And the hearts of men

  Arise O Great One

  Father of Horus

  Faithful Husband of Isis

  Arise and prosper in your kingdom of old

  Sudi noticed the serious expression on Ankhtifi’s face as he retreated with a few of the officials back to the town center of Abdju where the evening festivities had already begun. Ankhtifi had hung back and waited with the officials while the rest of the crowd had dispersed. At one point, Sudi could not find Ankhtifi and thought he might have already left. But then the chieftain mysteriously emerged from the tomb, whose entrance was barred from anyone but the high priests laying the god to rest.

  A chill prickled Sudi’s spine when he saw Ankhtifi’s face, as he ducked out of the narrow, rectangular opening cut into the rock of the mastaba tomb. A streak of blood was smeared across his cheek. But the chieftain casually wiped it away with the back of his hand as though it were nothing more than perspiration beading his brow. It was not his own blood, Sudi realized, but that of someone else. Two other men followed Ankhtifi out of the tomb, and they joined several officials who had been waiting outside.

  Sudi closed his eyes for a moment and drew a linen cloth about his head to hide his face. He had a very bad feeling about this, but could not risk getting caught by lingering behind. He knew that he would find out whatever had happened inside the tomb soon enough, whether he wanted to or not. So he left the tomb site with the last of the pilgrims so that no one would suspect anything of him.

  Sudi realized that the men who had stayed behind at the tomb site with Ankhtifi, were those whose loyalty sided with King Khety. This included Odji’s friend Mdjai, whose own small village was one of the several nearby settlements under the jurisdiction of Abdju. The rest of the officials had gone back to the town center soon after the chanting and incense had faded away, and the priests had entered the royal necropolis to complete the requisite prayers and ablutions which were part of the Mysteries of the Divine Rites, honoring Osiris in his tomb.

  “Stay as close to Ankhtifi as you possibly can,” Sudi told one of his partners after they had found each other. They had abandoned their fishing pretense days before, and had taken on the guise of simple pilgrims in order to mingle more freely through the crowd.

  “They are planning a revolt,” the other man said, leaning in closer so that no one would overhear them. “Everywhere people are whispering of it. Have you not seen Ankhtifi’s men? Look for yourself.” He angled his chin toward a group of men watching the crowd with somber expressions. “They are not pilgrims.”

  “Warriors,” Sudi whispered with a growing unease. He had noticed them also.

  “And over there,” the other man indicated with his head. “And there… and more by the temple.” Everywhere he looked, Sudi saw the men who had accompanied Ankhtifi to Abdju on his fleet. They were warriors disguised as pilgrims; but nothing could mask the hardness of their features, and proud bearing of their postures, that belied a false humility. Sudi also noticed the daggers strapped to the belts of their kilts, even though the weapons had been conceal
ed under the linen cloth.

  “But where is King Khety?” Sudi asked.

  “Here already. He met with the priests yesterday, but they do not wish to support him. If they cannot remain neutral, they prefer to follow King Mentuhotep.”

  “Ah,” Sudi replied with a slow nod as he began to realize how their enemies would stage the revolt. “I imagine King Khety was not pleased.”

  “Not at all,” the man replied as he swiped at a fly. It was warm outside, and the throng of people and food attracted insects.

  “I would not wish to be in their position right now,” Sudi said of the priests. “I am certain that Khety will not stand for their refusal.”

  “True,” his partner agreed, “he will take the town by force and manipulate the people to help him push south into Thebes. That is why Ankhtifi is here.”

  Both men brooded silently for a while as they stood watching some of the people eating and drinking on the streets by the Temple of Osiris. Tables were laden with free bread and heqet, provided by the officials governing the province in honor of the annual feast. Men, women and children were eagerly participating in the festivities following the long religious ceremonies. Many were laughing happily as the musicians began playing their instruments, and acrobats enlivened the feast with their tricks. Others were passing around jugs of the ceremonial heqet, consuming the bread, or enjoying some of the food they had gotten from the venders in the open market.

  Sudi was studying the throngs of people, trying to locate their third partner whom he had not seen in a few days. He scanned the crowd with his eyes, wondering where the man named Pili had gone.