I awakened. From the dim light I knew it was nearly dawn. I’d never felt so peaceful and hopeful and fulfilled my entire life. The falcon god had sent me a dream, just like Great–grandmother had promised. Its meaning was obvious. Nykara and I would be joined. We’d have a family. We’d raise our children in the delta. That had to be the place in my dream, based on how Nykara had described it to me. Whether we’d migrate there from Nekhen willingly, or flee, as Tiaa and Ankhmare had fled Badari, was impossible to say. I wagered flight, from Uncle. But why or where didn’t matter. Only that Nykara and I would be together. I was unbelievably happy. I couldn’t wait to tell him.
I slipped from under the linen sheet on the pallet I shared with my cousins, crawled to the empty one close by that Great–grandmother had died on a few hours ago. I sat on it, drew my knees to my chest. I missed her so much. I replayed my dream, over and over. I was surprised the falcon god had sent it to me so soon after I’d received the talisman. I was surprised it hadn’t been about Nekhen’s next ruler. Because it hadn’t, I was going to have to choose. The fate of Nekhen and the entire valley was now in my hands, not the god’s. Before, that had been a possibility; now it was a fact. The choice was obvious – Abar. She was Aboo’s only direct heir. To succeed him was her right. I’d studied her closely for several years, gotten to know her. She was qualified to rule. She was smart, she was visionary, she was compassionate. No elite man, particularly Rawer, came close to matching her drive or ability. She was the only person worthy of leading our settlement. She’d be an excellent ruler.
Then I recalled Great–grandmother’s funeral feast and how Abar had looked so longingly at Nykara. She loved him. What would happen if I told Abar I was going to confirm her? For all I knew my decision about her future was all she was waiting for to join with Nykara and take him away from me. As ruler, she could choose a commoner as her partner. Dedi had already promised her to Nykara. Would she go to Dedi and ask him to join them right away? Could Nykara say no if Dedi insisted? Nykara was in love with me, but was he strong enough to resist Abar if she turned her considerable charms on him? Abar was not a woman easily denied once her heart was set on something. Great–grandmother claimed the falcon god’s dreams always came true. By rights, Nykara was mine, not Abar’s. But what was there to keep Abar from sabotaging my dream?
Abar and I had grown close the past two years as she taught me about Nekhen. I considered her my friend. She’d told me I was hers. But were we, really? Or was our friendship merely a ruse, a way for her to keep me close, a means of convincing me to select her as our next ruler? Would she push me aside once she got what she wanted from me? Because once I told her I’d selected her I couldn’t take it back.
I wondered if I had a responsibility to tell Abar or anyone else I’d dreamed. Great–grandmother had never said I did. She’d kept her dream about me secret for nearly two decades. I knew from the ancient stories Tiaa had kept her dream secret from some, but not others. She’d only revealed what she’d had to in order to make her dream come true. Were Tiaa and Great–grandmother models for me to follow?
Two things were clear. First, I was going to confirm Abar as Nekhen’s next ruler, because I had to choose the person who was best for Nekhen and it was her. Second, the falcon god had promised Nykara to me. The two were intrinsically bound together. But revealing my decision to Abar might cost me Nykara, depending on what Abar did with the information. What would happen if I kept her guessing? What if I never told her I’d dreamed? I could indefinitely give her and everyone else the impression I was still waiting for one. Certainly, obfuscating would be cruel. Abar would suffer every day I delayed. The threat of joining with Rawer or some elite she couldn’t stand would continue to hang over her head. I knew how that felt, from being promised to Nekauba. But if I told Abar my decision, and she took Nykara away from me, I’d suffer too. If I decided to keep her guessing, when should I tell her? The very moment I called her forth in the oval court to confirm her, if Aboo died before she was joined to anyone? As soon as she was joined to an elite, if her father was still alive, and she was no longer a danger to me? As soon as Nykara was safely joined to me?
What about Aboo? If I told him, he could throw his support to Abar and take steps to ensure she succeeded him. But would he? Or would he be unable to reconcile himself to a female ruler, even his own daughter? The elites would surely resist; would he stand up to them?
Could I even afford to tell Nykara? It’d ease his mind to know we’d eventually be together. He didn’t trust Uncle to give me to him any more than I did. But even if I swore Nykara to secrecy, would he keep my decision about Abar to himself? What if he loved Abar as she loved him? Would he tell her and join with her as Dedi wanted? What if he revealed my dream to Abar inadvertently?
My head was spinning. I’d expected the falcon god’s dream to provide clarity. If anything, I was more confused than ever. Too many possibilities, too many outcomes – many detrimental to me – if I so much as hinted I’d dreamed. One thing was crystal clear – the only way for me to remain in control of my future, to prevent Abar or Aboo or the elites from sabotaging it, was to keep my dream to myself as long as possible. Secrecy was the only leverage I had.
I lay down on Great–grandmother’s pallet and clutched the talisman in my hand. I wished I could talk to her, ask her advice. But I’d never be able to again. I was on my own now. I hoped the falcon god wouldn’t hold my decision against me, that he wouldn’t consider me selfish for using my dream to benefit myself. I hoped he wouldn’t someday make me pay a price for having done it.
***
One month exactly after Great–grandmother’s death I set off down the wadi path from the upper settlement towards the river. Abar had sent word she’d be making mats today. The handful of times the past two years I’d been able to get away from the pottery works the same day as her we’d used mat–making as a pretext so she could educate me about Nekhen and the valley. That’s how we’d become friends – though I wasn’t entirely sure anymore we actually were. My dream had made me suspicious about her motives. I was glad she’d sent word; we had much to talk about since the change in my circumstances.
I paused at the western edge of the cultivated strip, got my bearings. The riverbank was about a half–mile straight ahead, shaded by a long line of palm trees. I didn’t need to use the path leading in that direction today since Nekhen’s fields had been harvested a week ago and my footsteps wouldn’t damage any crops. I hurried on. Emerging from ankle–high stubble on the far side of the field I encountered several large groups of chattering and singing and laughing girls gathered beneath the palms, spread out for a quarter of a mile along the riverbank. Just beyond the palms was the river itself, with an extensive patch of tall reeds and rushes at its edge. For the most part, daughters of potters were sitting with daughters of potters – my usual group – brewers with brewers, those of each enterprise with others like themselves. The group I was bound for today for the very first time was different, the daughters of elite men, a traditional group reaching back beyond their grandmothers’ grandmothers time. Because I was now the falcon god’s representative I was going to be allowed to make mats with them from now on. That meant Abar and I could finally be seen together in public without anyone thinking we were conspiring, instead of waiting until the others girls in our respective groups left and then sneaking off to a hidden spot to talk as we usually did.
I called to my new acquaintances and most shouted greetings – Herneith, daughter of Teti, the elite potter from the lower settlement and my uncles’ chief rival; Inetkawes, the brewer Pipi’s daughter; Artakama, whose family supplied Nekhen with fish; Neith, whose father Salitis owned vast herds of cattle and goats and sheep; Semat, whose father Hori supplied everyone with water; half a dozen more. Wenher, Inetkawes’ sister, glared at me jealously. I knew her father, Pipi, had been trying to finalize an arrangement with Aboo for nearly a year, and I knew all the details of his proposal. Wenher wasn’t taking the d
elay in her expected joining to Nykara well. She considered me to be treading on her turf.
Abar had brought a jar of wine, from which the girls were already drinking. Aside from our riverside sessions, Abar and I had only talked extensively three times since Great–grandmother told Abar she had as much right to rule as Rawer, during the afterbirth rituals when her sisters were born. Now that I actually bore the talisman and the power to confirm Aboo’s successor was mine, I supposed she’d be anxious to know if I’d decided who that was going to be. To her credit, she’d never asked me even once towards whom I was leaning since she’d started teaching me about Nekhen and the valley. I couldn’t say the same for Rawer and many of the elites. They’d been subtly or overtly questioning me about what I was going to do almost non–stop the past month. I was already sick and tired of their attentions.
Inetkawes detached herself from the others and ran to me and launched herself into my arms. I hugged her close and kissed her cheek. I’d happened to be with Nykara six months ago when he’d rescued her for a second time from crocodiles. Ever since we’d been fast friends. At least once a week she visited me at my kiln when I was making pottery, just to talk, for almost everyone except Abar ignored her and she was very lonely. I’d taught her to form basic jars. She was an eager pupil, though not a particularly talented one. Neither of us really cared; we simply enjoyed each other’s company. Today she was wearing a hippo amulet of pink limestone strung on a bit of twine around her neck. I suspected Dagi had made it in his father’s workshop beside the oval court. It looked like his style. He’d been a very talented flint knapper before leaving Nekhen to staff the trading post at Tjeni.
Best not to let anyone think I’d come primarily to see Abar today. “Help me harvest rushes,” I told Inetkawes. “I’m going to make mats for the floor of Auntie’s house.”
I set down my leather pouch, moved to the river, waded in to the depth of my thighs at the edge of the reed patch, soaked my skirt. The water was its normal height, the current strong but not swift. Between now and the start of the inundation in less than five months, though, that would change. First the river’s level would fall and the current slow to a crawl and the water turn warm and brackish. Then, when the inundation reached Nekhen, almost overnight the river would run so fast Dedi’s boats would have to be pulled up on land to keep them out of harm’s way. In fact, this entire reed patch would disappear under as much as twenty feet of water. Only the topmost fronds of palm trees would remain to mark the normal riverbank, which was itself higher than the nearby fields and would be the last land to be submerged.
I selected reeds one by one and cut them just below the waterline with a small flint knife. Then I handed them to Inetkawes, who remained standing on shore. We soon had a substantial pile. I climbed out of the water, my skirt now opaque and dripping and plastered to my legs, though it would quickly dry in the heat. Inetkawes and I both gathered an armload of reeds and lugged them into the shade near the other girls and I set to work. I took two spools of strong thread from my pouch and began wrapping thread from the first spool around the first rush several inches from its end, affixing that rush to the next rush Inetkawes handed me. I then wrapped the opposite ends of the rushes with thread from the second spool. Inetkawes handed me another rush, then another, and before long the first mat was finished. My fingers fairly flew, for I was skilled at my task. These mats were going to replace the worn ones on the floor of our main room and so needed to be sturdy, not fancy. I was an excellent mat maker, so talented I was usually called upon to create the mats laid over the dead in their graves. For those I sewed the rushes together using a copper needle. Since they had to be fresh and flexible enough to exactly conform to the dead person’s body, I made them as close as possible to the actual time of burial. Those mats were so flimsy multiple mats had to be layered atop each other in the grave at right angles to keep them from disintegrating under the weight of the sand shoveled onto the body.
At lunchtime I shared my chunk of bread and an onion and a handful of dates with Inetkawes. We slaked our thirsts with water drawn from the river and some of Abar’s wine. As we ate in the shade I surveyed my surroundings. The wind sighed through the palm fronds over my head, making a pleasant clacking sound. The sun silvered the river as it rhythmically lapped against the shore beside me. Birds trilled from among the palm fronds and the nearby patches of reeds. Some flitted back and forth, brief and indistinct splashes of color. The scent of mud and water pervaded the air. Directly at my feet a few tall white birds fished the shallows in a gap among the reeds, occasionally stabbing the water with long beaks and emerging with small thrashing fish. Not far upstream was the northern tip of the boatyard. Was Nykara eating his midday meal there? Abar was looking that way; was she thinking about him too? A few falcons wheeled high overhead, elegantly riding updrafts. I envied them, that they were free to go when and where they wanted. Ever since Nykara had started filling my head with tales of the valley beyond Nekhen I’d had an almost insatiable urge to travel and see the world for myself. A farmer appeared on the distant east bank and began disassembling the wood frame topped with palm fronds he used as a sunscreen for himself and his family as they cared for their crops. Now that the harvest was complete there was no further use for it, and unless he removed it from the path of the inundation it would eventually be swept away. He and all other farmers would abandon their huts when the river began rising too, moving to temporary camps on higher ground beyond the reach of the water. The farmers on this side of the river who directly supported Nekhen, including my cousin Peseshet and her family, would relocate to temporary quarters in the lower settlement near the oval court. Her man, Yuny, like most idled farmers, would spend the months of inundation working on public projects designated by Aboo. In exchange, Aboo would feed him and my cousin and their children.
Two reed boats drifted into view near the center of the river, a little apart from but parallel to each other, a weighted net strung between them, each boat being maneuvered by four oarsmen, each with two fishermen intently peering over the side of the craft. Their shouted directions carried across the water. A number of fish were flopping heavily on the decks, the sun flashing off their scales. The fish were enormous. They looked like perch.
Herneith and Artakama and Wenher and Abar and the rest were nearby, tossing small ivory gaming sticks and moving small stone balls across a pattern of squares they’d traced in a patch of dirt, chattering nonstop. I was happy, simply sitting by the river, basking in the warmth, watching them, without Uncle Hemaka or Auntie or Uncle Sanakht or anyone else to order me about. I loved hearing the girls talk, catching glimpses of their lives, each so different and, to my mind, more wonderful than my own.
Talk turned, as it inevitably did whenever girls of any status gathered, to boys.
“Is your father going to make you join with Rawer or not?” Herneith asked Abar pointedly.
“Or will Dedi join you to Nykara?” Artakama queried.
My heart started beating faster. Apparently everyone knew about Dedi’s threat.
“Or someone else?” Semat piped up.
“We’ve heard rumors,” Herneith said.
Herneith was Weni’s sister. He’d probably put her up to asking. According to Nykara, Abar had been flirting with Weni for months, hinting she’d like to join with him in an attempt to nudge Weni’s father into participating in the bidding war for her hand. She was flirting just as intensely with half a dozen others, Nykara said, for the same reason. Abar was on a mission to make sure whatever elite her father joined her to, if it came to that, was one she could control. Nykara obviously had no idea about Abar’s real intention – to rule Nekhen in her own right, independent of any man. I assumed she had a reason for not telling him. It surely wasn’t my place to do it. It occurred to me that, since Abar knew Nykara loved me, and since she was my friend, she didn’t want to put either of us in an uncomfortable or compromising position because of her. I appreciated that. Though that interp
retation of her actions could be far wide of the mark. Maybe she hadn’t told Nykara because she didn’t think he’d support her as ruler in her own right. Or maybe it was because she fully intended to join with him some day. Not knowing which interpretation was true was reason enough for me to be cautious about revealing my dream.
Abar smiled mischievously, her dark eyes twinkling. As always, she was wearing magnificent jewelry made of gold and precious stones, and her skirt was luxurious compared to what the rest of us were wearing. She was the most beautiful woman in all of Nekhen, and perhaps the valley. No wonder so many men desired her. No wonder her flirting was so effective. I never stopped being amazed Nykara had chosen me over her. The slightest glance passed between us now. We both knew I’d ultimately have a say in whether she had to be with Rawer or not. I truly wished I could tell her she wouldn’t have to, to ease her mind, for I couldn’t stand Rawer and I wouldn’t wish him on anyone. Being trapped by what others decided was disheartening, based on my own experience. But easing her mind would cast doubt on my own future with Nykara and drive me crazy. So she’d have to suffer for a while longer, instead of me. The fact I’d been the falcon god’s priestess for less than a month would certainly make the fiction I hadn’t yet received a dream plausible if she ever pressed me about it.
“Grandfather threatened to join me to Nykara just to make Rawer grow up. That’s all,” Abar said.
“In that case, you may be a very old woman before you’re joined,” Neith laughed.
So did the rest. Clearly, all the girls shared Abar’s opinion of her cousin.
Abar giggled.
“If you really expect to be joined to Rawer, why do you flirt with the rest of the elites?” Semat probed.
“Maybe I’m just giving him a taste of his own medicine,” Abar said lightly. Then her eyes suddenly grew hard. “Or are the rumors I’ve heard about Rawer fooling around with some of you inaccurate?”
The Women and the Boatman Page 37