“Anything else?” Aboo asked.
Dedi was surprisingly calm at my litany of significant issues.
“The most important. We have no idea what goods the people who live at Badari want. The objects Nekhen’s craftsmen make are tailored to the hamlets and settlements in the stretch of valley between Abu and Tjeni and Nubt. That’s why our trade expeditions are so profitable.”
“If the people at Badari don’t want what we make the trip will be a waste of time,” Rawer snorted derisively.
“You’d counsel against this trip, Nykara?” Aboo asked, glancing sideways at Dedi.
“I would,” Rawer piped up. “It’s too risky, Uncle, as you’ve already determined.”
“On the contrary – in your place I’d jump at the chance to send an expedition to Badari,” I replied.
Aboo looked surprised. “Why? You’ve given me a substantial list of drawbacks.”
“You didn’t ask Nykara about the advantages,” Abar pointed out.
I wasn’t surprised she was coming to my aid. She always examined issues from multiple perspectives. No doubt she was in favor of the trip if she was inserting herself into the discussion. She’d fully embraced Dedi’s vision for Nekhen’s future. How could we expand our influence if we stayed in the same section of the valley?
“What if the Badarians consider our trade goods unique and they’re worth even more there than they are where we usually trade?” I asked. “In that case we’ll have never made such a profitable journey. In the worst case – that we have nothing the Badarians want – we’ll have learned what they do want for our next voyage. We’ll still be able to trade our goods in familiar settlements on the way home, turn a profit. To me, that alone is reason enough to go to Badari.”
“A reasonable argument,” Aboo admitted.
Rawer looked daggers at me. I’d shown him up again.
“There’s another reason to go,” Dedi interjected. “The most important of all.”
“Which is?” Aboo asked.
“Something we discussed many years ago. The chance to make Nekhen the dominant settlement along the river.” Dedi stood, began to pace back and forth on the dais. “This valley is like a long rope, and we’re near its southern end. Tjeni and Nubt lie between us and the sea. Once they grow large enough they’ll be able to block us from trading farther north – bottle us up, so to speak. If we want Badari’s goods we’ll have to obtain them from Tjeni – after they mark them up and make them more expensive. If we want to send our goods to Badari the Tjenians will take them from us and carry them north themselves, siphoning off a share. But if we make Badari our trading partner now, while Nubt and Tjeni are weak, Nekhen will become the southern trade destination every settlement and hamlet between here and Badari will know by name. They’ll bypass Tjeni and Nubt to deal directly with us. That’s not even taking into account settlements that may lie farther to the north, in the delta or along the shores of the Wadjet Wer. This is an opportunity for Nekhen to establish a foothold in the North. If we succeed we’ll grow even larger in the decades to come. The growth of Tjeni and Nubt will be stunted. In time, they may even fade away.” Dedi resumed his seat, his eyes flashing.
Aboo pondered for a long time, his brow knit. He had no desire to expand Nekhen’s influence in the valley. Abar knew it. Dedi knew it. I knew it. Though Aboo didn’t know we all knew. Aboo had never admitted it to Dedi. In fact, he’d promised to support Dedi’s ambitions the day Dedi yielded rule to him. Would he finally admit his opposition now? Or would he go along with Dedi’s plan in order to maintain the fiction he shared Dedi’s dream? Aboo roused himself. “What you say, Dedi and Nykara, may well be true, but I still find the drawbacks outweigh the potential rewards. Badari is too much rumor and too little fact. And there’s one obvious drawback you didn’t mention, Nykara. I don’t blame you – I wouldn’t have in your position either. Frankly, Dedi, you’re too old to be traipsing off into the unknown on little more than a whim. I can’t afford to lose you on some futile quest. Nekhen can’t afford to lose you. For now, you must be content to trade in the section of the valley we know well.”
Aboo had found an excuse to deny Dedi, instead of manfully admitting he didn’t support his ambitions for Nekhen. A cowardly response.
Dedi bowed his head, crushed. He’d dreamed of Badari far longer than I’d been alive. I sympathized with him.
“You’re making a mistake, Father,” Abar said, rising and facing him. “You, too, Grandfather, for not fighting harder for this trip.”
“It’s not your place to lecture your elders, Cousin!” Rawer exclaimed.
Abar fixed Rawer with an icy stare. “Expressing a viewpoint is not ‘lecturing.’ You’d know that if you’d ever attended one of our transportation meetings. It’s expected of participants.”
Aboo raised his hand to silence Rawer. “Why is it a mistake, Daughter?”
“Father, Grandfather, the real danger isn’t that Nubt or Tjeni will block us from trading with Badari some day,” she said passionately. “The danger is one or both of them will align with Badari, export their customs, their way of living, their very gods to the North, make every settlement and hamlet between them and here in their image.”
“Who cares?” Rawer piped up.
“We all should!” Abar snapped. “Nekhen was once a solitary hamlet. Now it’s a mighty settlement, its ruler – you, Father – acknowledged as their own by every hamlet in our region. It’s only natural for that to happen more and more in the centuries to come on an ever larger scale – smaller settlements aligning themselves with larger, smaller regions with larger. So, the question is – do you want Nubt and Tjeni to be aligned with Nekhen, or do you want them to be aligned with Badari? Because if they’re aligned with us, Badari and points north will have no choice in the future but to deal with Nekhen’s ruler on our terms. If not, we’ll face a competitor for control of the valley’s resources who’s as powerful as we are. Who knows what’ll happen to our way of life then?”
“Neither scenario will play out in our lifetimes,” Aboo said.
“Of course not. But we can takes steps right now to circumvent Tjeni or Nubt, so when they do make overtures to Badari they’ll fall on deaf ears,” Abar retorted. “This is our chance to go around them while they’re still inconsequential and develop a strong relationship of our own with Badari. Are you content to let this opportunity pass, Father? I’m not.”
There was fire in Abar’s eyes and her chest was heaving and her cheeks were flushed. I’d never seen her so passionate about anything. I’d never admired her more.
“Abar makes a great deal of sense,” Dedi told Aboo. He smiled at her proudly.
“Maybe. But I still can’t risk you,” Aboo insisted.
“Send Nykara,” Abar said quietly.
My pulse quickened.
“An oarsman?” Rawer scoffed.
“Send Nykara to Badari, Father, to discover the truth of the place,” Abar said crisply. “A small boat. A small crew. A variety of trade goods. Let him find out if the rumors about Badari are true. If not, no great loss. He’ll have spent a couple of months traveling. But if they are, a new and profitable trading destination for Nekhen. A place to, over time, align with us. How can either Tjeni or Nubt stand against us in years to come if we control the river from both south and north?”
I wanted to rush to Abar, sweep her off her feet, swing her around the hall. For obvious reasons I didn’t. “Give me my pick of eight oarsmen,” I said enthusiastically. “I can have a boat ready to leave in four days. I won’t fail Nekhen or you.”
Aboo turned to Dedi, no doubt hoping he’d side with him and not Abar. “Well?”
Dedi appeared reenergized. “Send him. You know Nykara’s capabilities after working with him. If anyone can pull this off, it’s him.”
I kept my eyes locked on Aboo. Now was not the time to be embarrassed by Dedi’s praise. Time to embrace it.
Aboo stared at me for a very long time. His eyes were
fearful, like a trapped animal’s. He didn’t dare admit his true feelings to Dedi. He surrendered. He was, when it came down to it, a weak man. “Go on your expedition, Nykara.”
I cast a grateful glance at Abar. She smiled back.
Rawer crossed his arms over his chest, sulked.
“I should take Dagi and Pabasa with me,” I told Dedi. “They’ll get valuable experience.”
“I agree,” he instantly replied.
“Who are they?” Aboo queried.
“Craftsmen’s sons,” Rawer interjected disdainfully.
“Pabasa is a son of Pediese, who oversees the carpenters,” Abar replied. “Dagi is a nephew of Seni. His father, Padiu, Seni’s youngest brother, is the craftsman in charge of Grandfather’s flint knappers. Pabasa will run the trading post Grandfather’s going to establish at Tjeni. Dagi will operate one at Nubt.”
Abar and I had taken months to settle on them, after an exhaustive search. Abar had chosen them because of their qualifications, not because they were my friends. Both had fully embraced the opportunity. Dedi had been personally training them for half a year. Both had gone on several trade expeditions to the settlements to our north. But a trip to Badari, with its uncertainties and hardships, would certainly be a fitting test to see if they were ready to function on their own. We’d also identified six others to act as their assistants, three in each settlement. One came from Nekheb, one from a farm a dozen miles south of Nekhen, the rest from Nekhen itself. One was the youngest son of Merenhor, who kept Nekhen supplied with wild game. He was the only elite.
“You’re still fixated on that?” Father asked Grandfather.
“It was Abar’s idea, and yes, I am. Assuming they do well on the trip to Badari, I’ll establish the posts after they get back.”
Father sighed. “You know your business better than me, I suppose.”
As long as Dedi lived the trading posts would flourish. After he died their very existence would be at risk. Aboo would probably ignore them. Assuming he lived a long life, our traders would have time to become entrenched in the North and ensure our culture grew in Tjeni and Nubt. If he died soon and Rawer took over, he’d order our traders home immediately and everything Abar and Dedi and I were working towards would be lost. But that was an issue for another time.
“As far as the trip to Badari – you’ll make the announcement in the conclave tomorrow?” Dedi asked.
“I’ll make sure everyone knows Nykara’s expedition has my support, and all the elites should cooperate with him,” Aboo assured him.
Dedi addressed me. “Nykara, go see Teti the morning after the conclave. Arrange for as many of his large rough earthenware jars as we can squeeze aboard the boat, as you suggested. We’ll pack them to the rim with flint figurines and microdrills and carnelian beads and flint knives and carved ivory objects and stone palettes and whatever else we can fit in. Rawer, you start assembling the trade goods.”
Rawer stared at me darkly. If I’d given the order he’d have ignored it. Still, I was going to have to inspect whatever work he did deign to do.
“I have a suggestion,” Abar said. “Teti’s jars are cheap and ugly and commonplace. But every time Ipu and Amenia attended Ibetina during childbirth they brought special jars with them to hold the sacred water, pottery made in the old styles – black–topped, and red–polished decorated with white images. Amenia makes them in her grandfather’s works, mostly for elite funerals. She recently created a third style – buff colored, decorated in red.”
“You’re suggesting if we use Amenia’s jars instead of Teti’s for transport we might be able to trade them at Badari,” I interrupted. “Increase the value of our cargo without taking up any extra space.”
“Exactly,” Abar said.
Dedi addressed us. “Excellent idea, Granddaughter. Nykara, go visit the upper settlement after the conclave. Arrange for the jars.”
I nodded.
“That’s settled then,” Aboo said.
“Yes. Me to stay in Nekhen and operate my enterprise, Nykara to visit Badari,” Dedi confirmed. “But just this first time. Once Nykara proves the trip is possible I intend to make it myself.”
“Then I’ll prove it can be done,” I vowed.
***
The conclave of men who lived in or near and directly supported Nekhen, all of them beholden to Aboo, started at mid–morning the following day. As usual, it was held soon after the swiftly–flowing river retreated within its normal banks and most of the water had drained from the eastern and western plains, revealing the rich thick mud the inundation had deposited. Every day for the past week Aboo and Abar and a host of assistants had walked the flats adjacent to the river both north and south of Nekhen, surveying those plains. The farmers’ fields varied in size from year to year based on how much mud had been left, and where. Sometimes fields extended farther into the river than the year before, sometimes farther west towards the plateau. Sometimes, if the inundation was poor, less land was covered with fresh soil. Sometimes there were new islands in the river. One of Aboo’s most important responsibilities was to ensure each farmer had enough land to support himself and his family and a portion of those who lived in Nekhen. Aboo and his assistants had made measurements using long ropes knotted at regular intervals, then set boundary stones at all four corners of each field before moving on to the adjoining one. The patriarchs of every hamlet in the region had done the same thing.
I attended the conclave along with Dedi and Rawer and Senebi. Senebi still hated me for succeeding his grandfather as overseer; he’d assumed he’d be named to the position when he came of age. Rawer wouldn’t have minded if Dedi had appointed Senebi, because Rawer didn’t actually want the responsibility – he simply didn’t want me to have the status that went along with being an overseer, or to work for me. At any rate, the leading men of the surrounding hamlets were holding similar conclaves this very week. But the conclave at Nekhen was larger than all the others combined.
Like all important events in our settlement, the conclave was held in what was now being called the oval court. Aboo had transformed the old ceremonial grounds several years earlier as a symbol of his power, shortly after Dedi and I returned from Abu with our load of stone. Farmers had labored on it while idled during several consecutive inundations. After a long walk from the boatyard across the so–far unplanted mud–covered plain and up a small rise we joined the crowd of men pressing towards the court. It was now surrounded by a tall fence of mud–plastered reeds, its monumental western entrance shaded by a portico formed by two rows of four sycamore posts topped with frames upon which lay a thick roof of crisscrossed palm fronds. That entrance was over forty feet wide and twenty deep. Just inside the court and flanking the entrance towered four thick sycamore poles, harvested from the last grove of tall trees still remaining near Nekhen. Banners of linen, dyed red, fluttered in the light breeze at the top of each. I noted a few sandstone slabs wedged into the holes holding the poles upright to lend them stability. Outside the western wall, south of the grand entrance, stood several reed–walled storage huts. They contained the raw materials used by Dedi’s craftsmen. Their workshops abutted each other in a long row on the north side of the entrance, each backed against the wall. Today every workshop was empty.
I followed Dedi and the rest of the crowd through the entrance. While he and Rawer continued on to join the elite men near Aboo’s shaded stone dais – as Aboo’s nephew and designated successor, Rawer always had a place of honor in Nekhen’s gatherings – I paused for a moment beside one of the poles and scanned my surroundings. The court stretched forty feet across and more than sixty–five feet to both left and right, each of those far ends gracefully and sharply curving to form an oval. The hard–packed dirt surface tilted slightly towards the east, taking advantage of the slope of the rise the court was located upon, so the blood of sacrificed animals would flow into a ditch at the court’s edge instead of pooling in its center. At the north end of the court was a three–step st
one dais upon which rested three leather–bottomed wood chairs, shaded by a large rectangular sunscreen. From that perch Aboo presided. A very deep ditch, into which the carcasses of animals sacrificed during festivals were dragged, hugged the interior base of the wall, except at the monumental entrance. A plethora of weathered white bones from past festivals poked up from inside. In the curve at the south end of the oval was a very tall thin wood pole completely wrapped with colorful ribbons and decorated with feathers and topped with a carved wood falcon, the image of Nekhen’s god. Around the base of the pole was an immense pile of grinding palettes and jars and bowls and flint figurines and bits of bone and ivory, offerings presented to the gods by common men and women during past celebrations. Many of those objects had been made by Dedi’s craftsmen in the nearby workshops specifically for that purpose.
Every inch of the court not needed for today’s ritual activities was packed with farmers and brewers and potters and craftsmen and other workers who were beholden to Aboo and the elites, and their families. I spotted both friends and those who thought they had a chance to win Abar’s hand scattered throughout the crowd – Pabasa and his sister Djefatsen, Dagi and his sister Tentopet, Weni and his sister Herneith, Inetkawes and Wenher and their brother Wehemka. Aboo was moving slowly towards the dais through their midst, nodding to both right and left, occasionally stopping to share a few words with one of the onlookers. He was dressed in a kilt of white linen, with necklaces of carnelian and gold and quartz and ostrich shell beads around his neck, as well as an ivory amulet in the shape of an elephant’s head, its eyes of blue faience, tusks incurving. A bull’s tail dangled at the back of his belt; just as a wild bull symbolized the forces of nature at their most aggressive, the tail represented the triumph of Aboo over nature’s destructive forces. In his hands he carried a crook and flail, ancient implements dating to a time when our herdsmen ancestors used them to control livestock, symbols now of Aboo’s ability to control our world. He wore several white plumes on his head, their shafts affixed to a leather headband. A servant walked a step behind Aboo carrying an incised pear–shaped limestone mace that was another symbol of his office, similar to the one Dedi had used to avenge Shery’s death and my father’s by slaying the desert raiders in this very court when he ruled Nekhen, though inscribed with an elephant, not a panther. Beside the first servant strode another with a was scepter – a long stick with a forked end also used by herdsmen, another symbol of authority.
The Women and the Boatman Page 20