But who ruled Nekhen and how and when was outside my control. That was ultimately for Dedi and Aboo and Rawer to figure out.
I swept my eyes around the preparation area. To the right was a large circular mud–walled granary full of emmer, a smaller one of barley, a large flat space covered by jars brimming with river water, the ground below them muddy, and reed baskets overflowing with dates and other wild fruits. Dozens of cats were sleeping in the shade cast by the granaries; they congregated wherever grain was stored in Nekhen, drawn by rodents. Close by us several men were preparing the mixture that was to be brewed, crushing emmer on grinding stones and mixing the rough flour with smaller quantities of barley similarly prepared. Men, and Abar’s second cousin Wehemka, were carrying earthenware jars full of water into the brewery and dumping them into the vats – Pipi’s brewery had sixteen of them, and each held at least twenty gallons. Wehemka had given me a tour the third time I’d brought Inetkawes home. We’d never be friends, but he at least treated me cordially whenever I encountered him, out of gratitude, for he truly loved his sister. More men were carrying baskets of the carefully measured emmer mixture into the brewery to add to the liquid.
“How do emmer and water turn into beer?” I asked Inetkawes.
“It’s a two–day process,” she explained. “Today we’ll cook the mash we just prepared that the men are dumping into the vats. After a few hours at high heat, we’ll let the liquid slowly cool. Tomorrow morning workmen will drain it from the cooking vats and sieve it and transfer it to the fermentation vats.” She pointed to sixteen very large earthenware vats buried nearly to their rims in deep holes under another frame canopied with palm fronds. “The day after that we’ll distribute the beer.”
The ground around the fermentation vats was literally covered with empty pottery jars, except for a narrow footpath winding among them. Workers were squatting beside each vat, filling those jars with cloudy beer, handing them to other workers who were sealing them with mud and impressing the seal with a distinctive mark to indicate the beer had been produced in Pipi’s brewery. Some of the jars were being loaded into baskets on the backs of donkeys; some were being handed directly to women who were waiting in a long line.
“The jars have many different marks,” I observed.
“Every potter has his own,” Wenher confirmed. “Father needs so many jars he gets them from every potter in the lower settlement, though most come from Teti’s. It’s the only way to keep track of who made what.”
Each woman was exchanging a round stone about half the size of her palm for her jar of beer. “What are the stones for?”
“When a farmer brings us a load of emmer after the harvest to store in our granary, Father gives him a certain number of stones to match the value of the emmer,” Wenher said. “Father will use that emmer to brew that farmer’s daily beer – with a portion set aside for Father to support our family and his workers. Over the course of the following year, the farmer’s woman or daughter comes to the brewery each day and exchanges one of the stones for a jar. That’s how both Father and the farmer know they’ve struck a fair bargain with each other – Father received enough grain, the farmer enough beer. It’s the same with everyone else in the settlement who supplies Father with something in exchange for his beer.”
“That must be how Dedi tracks shipments on his boats,” I speculated. “I’ve noticed similar marks on jars and containers we’ve carried to nearby hamlets. He hasn’t taught me about that yet.”
“Because all you’ll ever do is work on boats,” Rawer said disparagingly. “You don’t need to know about such things.”
“There are far worse livelihoods than building boats,” I replied evenly. I turned back to Inetkawes. “We’ll be taking empty pottery jars and containers to Abu. We’ll exchange them for stone for the ceremonial grounds, and maybe some elephant ivory and ostrich feathers.”
“Don’t they make their own pottery at Abu?” Inetkawes asked.
“No. Dedi says Abu’s not like here. It’s very small – there aren’t pottery works or a brewery or a linen–maker – no workshops at all. Each family makes whatever it needs for itself. So it’s easier for them to exchange their stone for our pottery than make pottery themselves. Teti and a few others mass–produce vast quantities of rough pottery here at Nekhen, so exchanging our excess is an easy way for us to grow our wealth. They don’t have a fleet at Abu either, so they can’t bring stone here and take pottery back. Maybe this trip will restart regular trade with the people at the cataract. It stopped when desert raiders killed Shery.”
“And your father?” Inetkawes asked gently.
“Yes. How did you know?”
“I was in the crowd when the barbarians were executed.” She rested her hand on mine for a moment.
“As Abar said, trade will connect us to the people at Abu,” I continued. “They’ll quarry stone, we’ll bring them necessities and transport their products.”
“Grandfather says it was our ability to distribute what our craftsmen made throughout the river valley that made Nekhen great in the first place, Inetkawes,” Abar interjected.
I was surprised she’d been listening to Inetkawes and me talk. “Dedi’s right. Just look at Nekheb, directly across the river from us. They’ve been working stone there for hundreds if not thousands of years. Why do you suppose Nekhen has grown into a settlement while Nekheb has remained a hamlet?”
“Who cares?” Rawer interjected.
Abar regarded him coldly, answered me. “They’ve never expanded to make other products. And we distribute what they make on their behalf. They don’t have a fleet of their own.”
I nodded. “Someday, if all goes according to Dedi’s plan, and Abar’s, the leading men in other hamlets and settlements will become dependent on Nekhen’s luxury products. Then our influence will expand for good beyond our small section of the river valley. It’ll be the culmination of a process that began five hundred years ago, with the first of Dedi’s ancestors who settled at Nekhen, Ankhmare.”
“My ancestor too,” Abar told Wenher and Inetkawes.
“And mine,” Rawer added.
“Do you even know the stories about Ankhmare?” Abar asked him sharply. She was obviously irritated with Rawer. “Do you pay attention when Grandfather tells them?”
“I suppose you do?” Rawer said mockingly. “He drones on and on. I can only listen to him for so long.”
And I can listen to him for hours. “You’re lucky to know so much about your family’s past,” I told Abar.
“I’m surprised you’re not trying to claim Grandfather’s ancestors as your own, after the way your mother seduced him,” Rawer said scathingly.
I almost went after him then. Rawer had no right to insult Mother. But I’d gain nothing by starting a fight with him, even though his accusation was infuriatingly false. Mother hadn’t seduced Dedi into anything. I realized my fists were clenched and forced my hands to relax.
“Abar told me Dedi wants to trade even farther north than Tjeni and Nubt,” Inetkawes said. “Why hasn’t he?”
“He’s been trying to construct a boat robust enough to make it all the way to a place called Badari and back. No one knows for sure how far that is. No one knows what hazards the boat will have to withstand. We’re assembling his second version right now, hoping it’ll make it at least as far as Tjeni. There were problems with the first. Though, after half a millennium, it’s not certain Badari still exists. Hopefully, when Dedi goes, I’ll get to be part of his crew. This trip to Abu is my chance to prove to him I deserve the opportunity.”
“I hope you get to go,” Inetkawes told me sincerely.
“Me too,” Wenher echoed.
“I hope your boat sinks,” Rawer snorted.
“Hurry up!” Wehemka barked from the entrance of the brewery. He appeared none too happy Rawer was sitting beside Abar. He had serious designs on his cousin, as everyone knew. Since he was also Aboo’s nephew he considered his blood claim to be at le
ast as strong as Rawer’s.
“Help me, won’t you Nykara?” Abar asked sweetly. “Inetkawes, sit here in the shade and relax. Wenher, keep her company. We’ll be back soon.”
I could tell Abar had singled me out simply to aggravate Rawer, just like she had the night of the executions and the months afterwards, to use me to pay him back for being so dismissive of her earlier. It worked. He hurriedly rose to his feet. He wasn’t about to let me be alone with her inside the brewery. I chuckled at his insecurity. How could he possibly think Abar was interested in me? Had he been oblivious all the times she’d criticized and made fun of me in his presence at Dedi’s fire? He was projecting his own actions onto her. I picked up a basket of wild fruit the girls had cut into small segments and Rawer picked up a basket of dates. We followed Abar across the yard and entered the brewery. It was dark inside and smelled of smoke and I heard sloshing water and the swish of emmer as men poured both into coarse chest–high earthenware vats. They were arranged in two parallel rows of five in the center section, each blackened on the outside by fire, each with its base set in a pedestal of mud, with a coating of mud applied around its bottom into which sherds of broken pottery had been pressed and covered with more mud.
“The mud and sherds insulate the vats from direct contact with the fire,” Abar said.
“What are those?” I asked, pointing to heavy earthenware bars leaning against the base of each vat, all thickly coated with mud.
“Firebars. They ring the vats to provide support and keep them from falling over.”
The packed earth floor of the brewery was white, layered with ash, and my bare feet were quickly coated. I peered into the first vat. My face darkly reflected on the surface of the water. The inside of the vat was covered with shiny black residue.
“Drop in a handful of fruit,” Abar directed, at the same time taking a handful of dates from the basket Rawer was holding and tossing them inside. “The fruit provides the sugar needed to start the fermentation process, and flavors the beer.”
Rawer and I followed Abar to each vat in the central section, then we added our fruit to the three vats in each of the annexes.
Our containers emptied, Abar took them both and headed towards the brewery’s exit. I followed. I was nearly outside when a comely serving girl with an empty basket of her own stepped from the darkness behind one of the vats and partially blocked the way. Rawer grabbed my elbow, stopped me from going around her. He peered towards the exit. Abar was already outside, in the sunlight, strolling towards the sunscreen where Inetkawes and Wenher were waiting.
“Nykara, keep watch,” Rawer directed in a low voice. “Warn me if anyone approaches.”
Rawer seized the girl’s arm. She gave a surprised little yelp, then smiled and wrapped her free arm around his waist possessively. She was definitely used to being alone with Rawer. He started pulling her into the shadows.
“By the gods!” I exclaimed. I ripped the girl’s arm from around Rawer’s waist, pushed her aside.
She cried out.
Rawer cursed and took a swing at me.
I sidestepped him, spun him around, grabbed his right arm, twisted it behind his back and jerked his wrist towards his shoulder blades. I clamped the back of his neck with my free hand.
“Let me go!” Rawer demanded, twisting his body violently, his face turning red.
I tightened my grip, pinned him against the side of the nearest vat with my body. He tried to squirm free but his strength was no match for mine and I outweighed him considerably. “Are you crazy?” I practically shouted in his ear. “You’re going to join with the most magnificent woman in Nekhen and you’re carrying on with a serving girl? It’s horrible the way you chase after commoners like her. Abar deserves better from you.” I yanked Rawer away from the vat. “We’re leaving. Now.” I manhandled him ahead of me down the narrow aisle between the vats, through the exit, into the sunlight, our feet stirring the ash. Then I gave him a mighty shove.
He stumbled, took a few steps, touched his hands to the ground, caught himself, regained his balance, spun to face me, crouched low, snarled. Every worker in the vicinity was staring at us. The serving girl, too. She’d followed us outside.
“Trying to save Abar, are you, just like you supposedly saved Inetkawes? Presumptuous of you, Errand Boy. Yes, my cousin’s magnificent – did you think you’d impress her by calling her that – if she’d heard you? Don’t you think she’s been told that a thousand times by boys and men far better than you?”
My heart was pounding. I took a deep breath. “Stating a fact you seem to have forgotten and are taking for granted,” I said coolly, at the same time wondering why I’d blurted out “magnificent.” I’d have chosen a different word, possibly “important,” if I’d had time to think. Perhaps I was subconsciously seeing Abar in a somewhat different light after she’d expounded upon her vision for Nekhen, especially compared to Rawer’s. Although a wood post would seem magnificent in comparison to Rawer.
“Abar’s mine, Nykara! I’ll do whatever I please with her!” Rawer snapped. “You’re nothing to either one of us. The minute we leave this brewery she’ll forget you ever existed. If you want to keep working in Grandfather’s boatyard, mind your own business from now on. And keep your dirty hands off of me! You may be Grandfather’s golden boy, but someday he’ll be dead. I promise you, you’re going to regret what you did today when that happens.”
“So will you,” Abar said from behind me. The commotion had drawn her back to the brewery. I hoped she hadn’t overheard everything Rawer and I had said. Much of it was quite embarrassing, to me. I turned in her direction. She switched her attention from Rawer to me. Her clenched fists were resting on her hips, her brows were knit, her eyes were ablaze with fury and her cheeks red with anger. She’d never looked more beautiful. “I can take care of myself, Boy!” she hissed. “I don’t need you to fight my battles with my cousin!”
“I wasn’t,” I said calmly. “Dedi ordered me to keep Rawer out of trouble. I was just doing my job.”
Abar spun around, flounced towards the sunscreen, head held high, lips pressed tightly together.
After a moment I followed her back across the yard, keeping a safe distance so I wouldn’t irritate her further. Even though I had nothing to be sorry for. I’d simply discharged my duty. So what if I’d angered Abar? Rawer was right – I’d probably never be in her presence again. And she could hardly have a lower opinion of me now than she’d had most of my life anyway. I’d never cared what she thought about me before and I wasn’t about to start today.
Abar took a seat in one corner of the pavilion. At a look from her, Rawer slunk off to another. I resumed my seat next to Inetkawes and Wenher. I glanced at the house, hoping Dedi had reappeared so we could go. He hadn’t.
“What’s the matter with Abar?” Inetkawes asked in a low voice.
“Rawer was about to fool around with one of the serving girls,” I whispered.
“In front of Abar?” Wenher asked, appalled.
“Afraid so.”
“You stopped him?”
“I did.”
“That’s why Rawer’s glaring at you?”
I shrugged. “Dedi would have had my hide if I hadn’t.”
“Why does Abar look like she wants to skin you alive too?”
“For inserting myself in her affairs, I suppose.”
Inetkawes glanced at Rawer. “If you ever have the chance to save him from a clutch of crocodiles – don’t,” she said darkly.
“If you ever have a chance to throw him into one – do,” Wenher added with a smile, leaning so close her hair brushed my shoulder.
The next fifteen minutes were possibly the most uncomfortable of my life. The tension was thick under the sunscreen. I couldn’t stop furtively glancing at Abar. Rawer had insulted and humiliated her, but she was responding with an impressive display of dignity. In her place most girls would be ranting and raving and stalking back and forth like a lunatic, doing battle wi
th Rawer. Would she be behaving in such a measured fashion if she’d known the serving girl was the second he’d been hanging all over today? I had the feeling Abar was mostly upset with me because I’d witnessed what Rawer had done, not because I’d stepped in. Perhaps she’d felt humiliated deep within her hard exterior. Maybe she was human after all. I actually felt somewhat sorry for her. Rawer’s actions had demonstrated quite clearly he expected he could behave any way he wanted with no consequences. Abar was promised to him; as he’d said, she’d be his property someday and he was already treating her as such. That Rawer intended Abar to be subservient to him after their joining was counter to the intention she’d expressed earlier, to rule Nekhen as his equal. He’d disabused her of that notion in no uncertain terms. There was something calculating about Abar now. She was calmly weighing options, figuring out how she was going to make Rawer pay for his treatment of her. I hoped whatever she decided would work.
Flames started dancing, visible through the open entrance of the brewery. Men had lit the wood stacked against the bases of the vats. Soon after, columns of smoke began rising through vents in the brewery roof. Workmen started piling firewood and charcoal beside the stoke holes in order to easily feed fresh fuel into the brewery as necessary to keep the cookfires alive. Those men would be sweating profusely for the next couple of hours.
The Women and the Boatman Page 12