“But what if a potter refused to obey the ruler, just because he was a brewer?” I asked.
“Somewhere along the line Nekhen’s ruler began to be seen as separate from the specialty he had come from, just as the head brewer or the head potter had become separate from the early family groups,” Dedi replied. “The other elite men gave him the authority to deal with new settlers, to punish those who had committed crimes, to resolve disputes – in short, to represent everyone in Nekhen to the outside world and to decide the fate of everyone who lived here. He reassigned land after the inundation and placed the boundary stones on every farm. He performed the burial rites in the cemeteries.”
“The sacrificing?”
“Yes. Killing and dismemberment reinforced the ruler’s authority over both living and dead. When I was just a boy my father – Nekhen’s ruler at the time – ordered that the few sacred rites still performed in the cemeteries be moved to the heart of our community, the ceremonial grounds.”
“Rawer says your brother Depy was Nekhen’s mightiest ruler.”
“Pipi would argue it was his ancestor, due to the magnificence of his funerary complex on the heights overlooking our settlement. But Depy was indeed the mightiest, at least until I yielded to Aboo,” Dedi said. “A very long time ago one of my grandfather’s father’s friends, a brewer as it happened, realized the one need everyone in Nekhen had in common no matter their industry was transportation – every craftsman needed to obtain raw materials from someone and needed to deliver their finished products to someone. So he began slowly accumulating the donkeys kept by individual families, taking over care of the beasts and making deliveries on behalf of their original owners. He and his descendants gradually assembled the donkeys into one great herd to carry goods for everyone. People willing gave up their individual beasts – caring for them was time consuming and expensive. In return, everyone set aside part of what they grew or made as payment for him. He became wealthy. He increased that wealth by launching trade caravans into the eastern and western deserts. My grandfather, Teta, similarly assembled most of the boats in the nearby valley into a fleet, carrying goods for everyone on water. He too became wealthy, increasing his wealth by trading with local hamlets. My father, Gehes, joined with a woman named Bunefer. Her father, Taharqa, owned the donkey herd. Thereafter, Gehes and Taharqa controlled everything that moved on both land and water for miles up and down the valley. They became indispensable to everyone, and so when the ruler – a brewer, Pipi’s ancestor – died without a male heir, my father was chosen to succeed him, with Taharqa’s support.” Dedi squinted at a falcon circling high over our heads. “You see, Nykara, by establishing their separate transportation networks at Nekhen, and then operating them as one, Teta and Gehes and Taharqa brought order to chaos. Controlling chaos is what we expect our ruler to do, without fail. Otherwise, he won’t last. As you know, we’re at the mercy of the world – of the height of the inundation, of the rains, of the heat, of the wild animals who roam the plains and desert. Over time, as the transportation network stabilized, our daily lives became ever more orderly and predictable. So when Gehes died after a decade as our ruler, my brother Depy, his oldest son, was selected to succeed him. Depy served Nekhen for nineteen years.”
“Was he a good ruler?”
Dedi smiled. “Depy saved Nekhen from famine many times. Whenever the inundation was low he sent men up and down the valley with donkeys and boats to collect excess grain from individual farmers who were beholden to him, using it to feed those who lived in the upper and lower settlements. And my brother was the first to use the valley’s excess grain and foodstuffs to employ nearly all the farmers idled by the inundation in a significant way. He set them to work on public projects, such as improvements to the ceremonial ground, and erecting his tomb complex in the cemetery atop the plateau, and building granaries to store emmer and barley against years of famine. Though granaries administered by the ruler had been in existence at Nekhen for hundreds of years, Depy built many more of them, and much larger.”
“And you succeeded your brother as ruler,” I said. “If Shery hadn’t died you’d still be leading Nekhen.”
“I would.” Dedi sighed. “His death was a tragedy, as you can certainly attest.”
I watched the river flow past for a good long while, reflecting on my father. I still missed him. “Is Aboo a good ruler?” I asked after a time.
Dedi nodded. “Good enough. What’s it been? A little over a year since I yielded to him? All his life he’s managed the donkey herd well and coordinated effectively with us boatmen to move everyone’s goods throughout the valley. He’s always been the best hunter among us too, from when he was very young. He’s captured and penned in an arm of the wadi an amazing number of wild animals this past year – an elephant, leopards, gazelles, wild cats, crocodiles, hyenas, hippos, giraffes, oryx. He sacrificed the majority of them during our various festivals the past twelve months, to prove his ability to control nature. So far, he’s kept chaos at bay. Nekhen’s remained strong under his leadership.”
“Remember when you explained your vision for a union of Nekhen with the settlements between here and Tjeni, the day you turned rule over to Aboo?” I asked.
“Of course.”
“Abar says we shouldn’t just trade with those settlements to make them dependent on us, as you said. She says we should try to convert their people to our culture and gods and way of life.”
“Interesting. Did she say how?”
“By establishing permanent trading posts in Tjeni and Nubt. According to her, the men assigned to run them should join with local women and raise their children like we raise ours at Nekhen. That would transform the other settlements from within, eventually make them like us. Do you think she’s right?”
“My granddaughter speaks with you about such matters?” Dedi asked mischievously.
“Abar hates me, actually. But she was arguing with Rawer about the future while we were waiting for you at Pipi’s the other day. I just happened to be there.”
“Is that why she kissed you?” he asked.
He’d seen? My face flamed red. “She was trying to make Rawer mad. I served her purpose.”
“Why was she trying to make him mad?”
There were multiple reasons. I hesitated to report the most important, to accuse Rawer and Aboo of merely paying lip service to Dedi’s dream of expanding Nekhen’s influence throughout the valley. Rawer might have lied about Aboo’s intentions. He had a reputation for exaggerating and bending the truth. I had no proof to offer, and besides, since Abar knew, that news should come from her, not me. It was also best if she told Dedi how Rawer intended to ignore her talents and simply treat her as an ornament after they were joined. So I addressed the most straightforward reason. “Rawer was trying to slip away with one of the serving girls when I stopped him. Abar watched it unfold.”
“She gave him a taste of his own medicine.” Dedi chuckled. “Good for her.” He turned serious. “Abar’s absolutely right. Establishing permanent trading posts is a very good idea. That girl does have a head on her shoulders. And we’re the ones who’ll make it happen, Nykara. Boatmen. Trade is indeed the tool to link the settlements in this valley together. The mightiest traders will forge the strongest links – and the mightiest and boldest traders of all live in Nekhen. But we won’t see these three settlements completely united in our lifetimes. It’ll take generations to create so many links and make them unbreakable. Our traders joining with local women will be a good start.”
“Speaking of creating, was my father a good boat builder?” I asked.
“Intef was an excellent craftsman, Nykara. And your grandfather and I learned to build boats together.”
“That’s what I want to do too for the rest of my life – build boats,” I said. “I want to construct a boat of my own someday. Then travel on it the entire length of the river.”
“I’m glad you’re ambitious, Nykara,” Dedi said approvingly. “It sets yo
u apart from the majority of my men. That you aspire to build is good. But learn to design boats too. Learn to steer them. Learn the river – its moods, its features, where best to hunt and fish on a journey to supply your crew. Learn how to lead men. Make the acquaintance of the elite men in every hamlet along the river when you travel. Never stop asking questions, or seeking knowledge. I see potential in you, Nykara. That’s why I’ve brought you on this trip. You can be far more than just a boat builder.”
“I can be like you?”
Dedi smiled. “Yes. Like me.”
One pressing question remained, one I’d wanted to ask him after Mother died but hadn’t, one that had been nagging at me ever since Rawer accused Mother of seducing Dedi. Would I ever have a better chance? “Did you love my mother, Dedi?”
He gazed at the river for a very long time, as if dredging up old memories. Then he stirred. “Not at first. I took Tai into my hut after your father was killed, out of pity for the two of you, and because of the debt I owed Intef for saving my life. I was simply trying to be kind. But Tai and I very quickly came to care deeply for each other, despite the difference in our ages. We were both very lonely and we eventually took comfort in each other. That’s something you’ll learn about when you’re older, Nykara, what it’s like to crave the companionship of a good woman.”
I nodded.
“Anyway, yes, by the end we loved each other very much. Our time together was far too short. You’re not of my blood, Nykara, so I can’t acknowledge you as my son, though you were while she still lived. But as Tai lay dying I promised her I’d take care of you as if you were my own. I always will.”
Our journey south lasted a week. Plateaus of sandstone eventually gave way to limestone. Then the valley narrowed, to the point the cliffs reached nearly to the river itself. We stopped for half a day to repair a leak in the hull; I went hunting and stumbled on ancient rock etchings of fish traps on a high flat cliff face. I’d seen similar ones at Nekheb. Visible proof men had been moving about the valley for thousands of years, carrying their cultures with them.
A few hours before we reached the cataract Dedi ordered everyone to see to their weapons. He hadn’t visited Abu since Shery’s death; he had no idea of the reception we’d receive. The possibility of a fight was another reason he’d brought me along; Rawer would have been of little use in a hand–to–hand struggle. As it turned out, fortunately, we were welcomed by the natives. What had happened half a decade ago had been entirely forgotten by them.
Abu was unimpressive – an island, so low in the center it clearly became two islands at the height of the inundation. In fact, Dedi told me, the natives claimed the god of the inundation lived in a cave somewhere in the area. The bank closest to the middle of the river was lined with huge rounded boulders shaped like massive elephants, giving the island its name. There were a few reed huts on strips of river silt between large boulders on the island’s southern end. Most of the inhabitants were fishermen; the rest farmed on the east bank of the river or pastured a few cows there since the island itself was too small and rocky for such pursuits. The valley in the vicinity of Abu was very unlike the area around Nekhen. The desert plateaus loomed high and close over the river, so close on the west, in fact, a nearly solid slope of sand dropped steeply from the crest of the plateau to the reed–fringed riverbank. There was no plain at all upon which to grow crops.
After setting up camp on the east bank, Dedi and I strolled to a vast stretch of granite south of the hamlet, where numerous men were quarrying stone blocks. Some were alternately lighting fires atop a targeted section of rock, then dumping cool water into cracks to split it into large rough blocks. We watched several men shaping a freed rock into a rectangle by striking it over and over with hard rounded stones. Dedi spent about an hour negotiating with an overseer, trading the goods we’d carried south for some of the blocks stacked at one end of the quarry. After, we returned to camp. Dedi told me the Abuians had no cemeteries like we did; they buried their dead in cylindrical sinkholes at the edge of the river. There were a few black–skinned men and women mixed in with the natives; Dedi identified them as Nubians and said they were from the lands south of the cataract. Their pottery was different than ours, and not as fine.
The next morning, while our pottery and trade goods were being unloaded from our boat and limestone blocks up to six feet long were being manhandled aboard, Dedi walked with me to the head of the cataract a mile or so away, following a well–worn trail across hard rock on the east bank. The winding river channel to our left was choked with small boulder–lined islands, along with one very large island. I was glad we weren’t having to row around them. Who knew what might lurk below the river’s surface?
The cataract was impressive. The river roared, constricted between high narrow banks of granite, rushed through channels crammed with rounded boulders, surged whitely over and around them, sent spray high into the air. Dedi told me the cataract extended south for many miles; past it the river became sedate and widened once again, though the plains along its banks were so narrow no one farmed them. I didn’t see how any boat could survive a journey through the cataract, so trade by water beyond it was not possible. And if the valley was as unwelcoming south of the cataract as Dedi claimed, what was the point of going there anyway? It was clear to me Nekhen’s future lay in the North.
3450 BC
Abar
Father and I stepped into the ring of light cast by the fire in front of Grandfather’s hut at the edge of his boatyard.
Grandfather, startled, hurriedly rose from his leather stool, followed by the others seated near him – Rawer, Dedi’s aged fleet overseer Ameny – he was perhaps five years younger than Grandfather – Ameny’s grandson Senebi. I couldn’t stand Senebi. He was a lazy surly bully and Rawer’s only friend among the boatmen. He’d attached himself to my cousin years ago solely because he expected to rise in status along with him someday. That was also true of a handful of younger elite sons who ran around with Rawer, whose older brothers would inherit their fathers’ enterprises instead of them. Opportunists all, they too hoped their friendship with Rawer would provide them with future favors.
I spotted Nykara on the far side of the fire. He was standing respectfully, gazing at Father, towering over two pretty girls who flanked him, daughters of Grandfather’s boatmen. The sight disgusted me; why did men always need more than one woman at a time? Nykara obviously had the same voracious appetite as Rawer. Both girls were clearly attracted to Nykara; they were in turns looking at him possessively and at each other cattily. The last time I’d spoken to Nykara had been at my uncle’s brewery two years ago. Rawer had humiliated me in front of him. Then Nykara had humiliated Rawer in front of me. I’d seen Nykara from a distance since then on my regular visits to Grandfather’s fire, though in every case he’d had enough sense to immediately vanish and leave us in peace. Seeing the girls clinging to Nykara reminded me I’d kissed him at the brewery to spite Rawer – perhaps Nykara had been too embarrassed to face me afterwards, which would explain his disappearances. That was atypical – any other boy in Nekhen would have taken that kiss as an invitation for further intimacies, not the slap in Rawer’s face I’d intended it to be. That day Nykara had proven to be far more interesting than any elite boy I knew – which wasn’t saying much. None of them were half as smart as me or worth engaging in conversation. And that went for most of the elite men too, excepting Grandfather but including Father. Anyway, I wondered why Nykara hadn’t already disappeared as usual. He had to dislike being around me as much as I disliked being around him.
“Welcome, Aboo, Granddaughter. Please, sit with us.”
Father took the seat next to Ameny. I sat cross–legged on the ground next to Grandfather, my usual place when I visited. He patted my head for a moment with his gnarled hand and I patted his hand with mine. A trembling young serving girl handed Father a cup of beer. She wasn’t used to seeing Nekhen’s ruler up close. Liquid sloshed over the side as she gave me
a cup. I took a sip, noticed Nykara’s girls were missing. He must have shooed them away while our beer was being poured. I assumed he’d rendezvous with them later. Disgusting.
“What brings you to my fire, Aboo?” Grandfather asked.
Father sighed heavily. “Sanctuary, Dedi. The elites haven’t given me a moment’s peace since Ibetina’s death. They’re all trying to press their daughters on me.”
Ibetina had died a week ago, three agonizing days after giving birth to my third half–sister.
“How is my great–granddaughter?” Grandfather asked solicitously.
“Nubemshant’s thriving,” I replied. “Ipu told me she’s stronger than either Hunur or Nefertkau were when they were born.”
“That, at least, is good news,” Grandfather commiserated.
“I did what Ipu asked,” Father told Grandfather. “But her falcon god didn’t give me a son. As far as I’m concerned, that’s a clear sign my heir already lives.”
My cousin puffed out his chest with importance. Senebi nodded at him. I regarded them both with disdain.
“I’m going to make an announcement at the next festival,” Father continued. “I will not join again – ever. That should get the elites off my back.”
“Your successor?”
“Abar is of my blood, so I will proclaim descent from me passes through her. Then I’ll join her to Rawer, as we arranged years ago, making him my heir indisputably. All this ‘a nephew’s never succeeded a ruler before’ nonsense? Rawer has your blood, Dedi. Through Abar he’ll have mine. He and Abar will control the transportation network. That’s all the leverage he’ll need to ensure the elites fall in line.”
The Women and the Boatman Page 14