Nykara
Nothing displayed more visibly the wealth and power and status of Nekhen’s past rulers than the cemetery atop the south terrace looming over the upper and lower settlements. Its location and structures, even those so old they’d fallen into ruin, advertised our rulers’ deaths, made clear they’d been more important than the rest of us – even the elites – and somehow, it seemed to me, gave them a presence among those of us who still lived in the valley below. In a very real sense, the dead rulers’ graves kept them alive in our minds, kept them part of our community, made them practically immortal.
Aboo’s tomb complex was currently rising on the heights. Although he was in good health and in no danger of dying anytime soon – he was still a couple of years shy of forty – he was following a tradition adhered to by many of his predecessors. Depy, for example, had erected his complex half a decade prior to his death. Burial pits and funerary structures and grave goods were so important no ruler had entrusted them to his successor for at least the past century. In Aboo’s case, since Rawer was officially in line to succeed him – something regularly confirmed by Aboo but not fully accepted by the elites, who were still seeking to position themselves to join with one of Aboo’s daughters and be named his heir instead – no one had been shocked when Aboo announced he was going to begin construction of his eternal home. Most of us assumed otherwise Rawer would dump Aboo’s body into a hastily–dug unmarked hole in the ground where he’d soon be forgotten. Surprisingly, Aboo had put Rawer in charge of the project. Rawer had practically begged him for the chance, according to Abar. He was obviously trying to make Aboo his ally in a quest to reclaim Dedi’s fleet from me. For once, Rawer had delivered, at least on the preliminary phase of the project. If a task had something to do with ruling or its trappings he was actually motivated to work hard.
Because the entire valley was currently covered by the inundation, a great number of idled farmers had been available to labor on Aboo’s complex for the past three months. Even the majority of Nekhen’s specialized craftsmen had been involved, loaned by Dedi. Along with me. I suspected Dedi had sent me mostly to keep an eye on Rawer. A week ago I’d come up with a solution to a tricky problem he hadn’t been able to figure out himself. In a few minutes my solution would be put to the test.
I was standing beside the mud–plastered reed fence edging the cemetery, waiting for the procession headed our way from the lower settlement. Today Aboo was going to perform what he called a foundation ceremony for his tomb complex – in effect, consecrate it – and almost everyone from the nearby valley would participate. There’d never been such a ceremony before. It was Rawer’s idea, Abar reported, an opportunity to display Aboo’s might and power, to illustrate he was the most important man in our region and everyone owed their prosperity to him. No complex in this cemetery would be as magnificent as Aboo’s and Rawer wanted to show it off – or more likely, to publicly take credit for designing it.
I turned and quickly scanned the terrace. Two dozen men were milling about to one side, restlessly waiting to play their upcoming roles. Beyond them was the weathered reed and wood building standing next to Depy’s grave. The remains of a couple more small buildings, all ancient and collapsed upon themselves, were randomly scattered amidst perhaps thirty low mounds or graves so ancient the ground had sunk and formed pits. This cemetery was obviously old, but from now on it would be grand. And much changed from how it had looked just a few months ago. Rawer had leveled three of the more recent funerary halls standing beside dead rulers’ graves to make space for Aboo’s multi–building complex. He’d disassembled two and burned down a third, the hall that had belonged to Pipi’s ancestor. The posts supporting its roof had been carved from limestone, not wood; they lay now in a scorched pile to one side. Pipi was not going to be pleased when he discovered what Rawer had done.
I turned. The entire valley was visible from my vantage point. Just beyond the fence the wadi’s side plunged abruptly to the path winding through its heart. The island across from the boatyard was a narrow sliver, all but its crest submerged by the river. The river stretched all the way across the valley now, many times wider than normal, from the very edge of Nekhen to the base of the plateau in the east – muddy, turbulent, running fast, more than twenty feet higher than normal. I focused on the temporary location of the boatyard along the edge of the rise east of the oval court. Any other day men would be crawling like ants over a number of reed boats either being constructed or repaired on that dry section of land. It was, with high water running swiftly, a dangerous time for navigation, so boatmen were engaged in tasks that didn’t require traveling the river. Today, of course, they were taking part in Aboo’s ceremony.
The procession came into view, strung out along the wadi path, slowly climbing towards the cemetery, those in the rear walking through the rolling dust raised by those in front of them. Aboo was leading the way with Amenia at his side, the long white plumes affixed to his brow bobbing with every step. Rawer and Abar and her three younger sisters – ranging in age from five to three – were a step behind. The youngest, Nubemshant, was clutching the hand of her wetnurse. Those eight were following three servants carrying slender ribbon– and feather–bedecked poles topped with images of Bat and the falcon god and the elephant that was Aboo’s personal symbol. Several donkeys were dragging a wood sled behind Abar and Rawer and the children; upon it lay a mysterious shape draped in linen. I was one of the few who knew it was a life–size statue of Aboo created by the stone carvers in Padiu’s workshop. Nothing as large had ever been carved from stone before anywhere in the valley; setting it in place was why I was involved in today’s ceremony. Behind the sled came Nekhen’s and the valley’s most prominent men, flanked by servants holding tall standards topped by images of the gods worshiped in the various hamlets and by the elite families, then a long line of servants bearing containers full of offerings, resting them on heads or shoulders. A host of farmers and craftsmen and laborers and their women and children were trailing them, interspersed with swirling dancers and women beating small drums and shaking rattles and wielding ivory clappers and singing. Today was a festive occasion for everyone who acknowledged Aboo as their ruler.
This ceremony was an opportunity for all of us to inspect the first phase of Aboo’s tomb complex. When finished years from now it would be the focal point of the cemetery. No ruler had ever raised multiple funerary halls, a wood superstructure over his tomb, an offering chapel, and a fence – until now. Workmen had spent the last several months digging shallow trenches where the walls of the mud–plastered wood and reed structures would stand, and postholes at each structure’s four corners for the wood columns that would support its roof. The last stand of tall sycamore trees in Nekhen’s area, the only ones remaining after construction of the oval court, would soon be harvested to make those columns. The tomb portion of the complex would consist of an offering chapel and a burial pit; the latter, already fully excavated, would be topped by a large wood and reed building. Both would be surrounded by a red–painted rectangular wall, its long sides on the north and south, the north pierced by an entry gate. North of that walled compound would be a small pillared hall; east of it, aligned with the east side of the tomb compound, would be another, larger pillared hall. Behind it, even farther east, would be a very large pillared hall, with a final pillared hall, nearly as large, running the length of the tomb compound’s south side. Each building would be plastered and brightly painted on the outside. All of them would serve some facet of what Aboo was calling his funerary cult, for he intended, unlike his predecessors, that offerings would be regularly made to him and to the gods in his name after he was dead. That was another of Rawer’s ideas. Both Aboo and Rawer were counting on Amenia, as the falcon god’s priestess, to see those ongoing offerings were made, and her descendants after her.
I signaled and the cemetery workers moved into position for the ceremony. I took mine beside the future offering chapel where four mounds of r
itually clean white sand lay beside its four excavated postholes. One of my tasks today would be to follow Aboo and Amenia and cover with sand each foundation deposit after Amenia blessed it and Aboo dropped it into a hole. The music grew louder. The standard bearers exited the wadi path and entered the cemetery through its gate. Then Aboo and Amenia appeared. A leopard skin was draped over Aboo’s shoulders, his kilt was immaculately white, and he wore a necklace of gold and garnet beads. A bull’s tail dangled at the back of his belt, the sign of his authority over the natural world. In his hands he held his crook and flail, symbols of his office. Amenia was dressed simply, in a white linen skirt, with the talisman dangling around her neck and her long hair pulled forward over her right shoulder. Her arms and legs were painted with images of the falcon god in malachite. I noted a thin circlet of gold around her brow, bearing the images of three falcons. I’d never seen it before.
Amenia was still adjusting to her new role. It had been a year since Ipu’s death and she was in the unenviable position of following in the legendary footsteps of a woman everyone in the valley had revered and respected. Her relatives were jealous of her new–found status and basically ignored her; the friends she’d grown up with and the potters in her uncles’ works were still sorting out whether to treat her familiarly or formally or somewhere in between. Because she was so young, and a woman, and so inexperienced, most people were still trying to figure out how to interact with her. As she was with them. She was sought constantly now by those who had need of healing in both the upper and lower settlements and surrounding valley. She’d assisted Ipu most of her life, and so she knew all the herbs and potions and how to apply them. But it was she, now, who dipped the talisman into a potion before giving it to the patient to drink, or lay it on whatever part of the body ailed, imparting its magic and healing power, or recited the ancient healing chants. She was summoned to assist at births – to call upon the gods to protect the mother from harm, to bless the newborn child as it emerged into the world – and at funerals, to help the dead pass successfully into the next life. She also celebrated beside Aboo at Nekhen’s festivals. She’d trembled noticeably the first time she’d taken the chair to his left atop the dais in the oval court. She told me later she’d been intimidated by the thousands of people staring at her. It was me, standing a few paces away, a friendly face smiling at her encouragingly, that had given her the strength to get through the ceremony. Her celebratory role had gotten progressively easier for her each time since. The best part of being a priestess, she said, was she no longer had to do any chores around Hemaka’s establishment. Her days were occupied now with making her special pottery for Dedi’s trade expeditions and acting as the god’s representative and Nekhen’s healer.
Amenia continued to go about Nekhen with me. I was desperately in love with her. The more I was with her the more I wanted to be with her. She returned my love in equal measure. Some days I was filled with hope, believing my smithy and work as Dedi’s overseer would soon make me wealthy enough Hemaka would let me join with Amenia. Other days I despaired, certain Rawer would find a way to push me aside when Dedi died, in which case Hemaka would give Amenia to a true elite instead. At any rate, the boatmen’s daughters left me alone now, especially on those evenings when Amenia came to sit with me beside Dedi’s fire. That wasn’t true of the elite daughters, however. The fleet and my smithy and the near legendary status I’d achieved as a result of my trip to Maadi – my boatmen loved to tell stories about that journey, and my exploits were becoming more and more fantastical as the months went by – had made me highly desirable. The elite women had become quite a nuisance. Amenia usually became withdrawn in their presence, despite my assurance no other woman posed a threat to her, especially not Wenher, who’d firmly and vocally staked her claim to me despite my protestations. She’d gotten it into her head I was dallying with Amenia simply as a smokescreen to keep anyone from believing I’d agreed to participate in a deal with Pipi and Aboo in exchange for her. Amenia had told me how Wenher had revealed details of that deal to a group of girls one day, and how quick thinking by Abar and her had kept it from being spread any farther. Wenher had ordered more than one woman to stay away from me. She went out of her way to be rude to Amenia. She couldn’t conceive I’d actually want to be joined to a woman she considered a commoner and who was, by her reckoning, not even slightly pretty.
Servants trailed Aboo and Amenia, carrying reed sunshades to keep them cool. More came directly behind Abar and Rawer and her sisters.
Abar was, as always, a vision, stunningly beautiful, her skirt elegant and sheer, her body adorned with gold necklaces and bracelets and anklets, with a girdle around her waist and a gold circlet around her brow. Aside from our regular weekly meetings, the only time we were in each other’s presence was when she came to sit at Dedi’s fire, ostensibly to listen to his stories. We were playing too high–stakes a game now to risk Rawer or anyone else guessing we were plotting against him by being seen alone together. In fact, today I was going to have to concentrate on acting matter–of–factly with Abar when required to be near her by the ceremony, to avoid planting suspicions in Rawer’s mind.
I’d had more contact with Rawer these past months than I’d had in years. He’d been unexpectedly civil; in fact, he’d sought me out to solve the problem of how to set Aboo’s statue in place. Perhaps the fact he sensed this project would make or break him with Aboo had something to do with his attitude towards me, or perhaps he’d finally grown up. But I suspected he had a different motive, one that would benefit him alone. He was probably setting me up to take the blame if anything went wrong with the statue, to divert the failure from himself. Amenia had filled me in on his not–so–subtle attempt to bribe her on the night of Ipu’s burial and so, while giving no sign I was suspicious of Rawer, I didn’t let down my guard around him for even a moment. He’d given Aboo a private tour of the complex yesterday; Aboo had been mightily impressed. Today Rawer was still basking in the glow of it.
The donkeys pulling the sled with the statue entered the cemetery. Next came Dedi and Pipi and Teti and Itisen and Harkhebi and Hori and Merenhor and Seni and the rest of the elite men from Nekhen and the other settlements in the valley, and then industry leaders and overseers – Hemaka and Sanakht and Aspelta and their peers, including Heth. I was purposefully watching Pipi; the instant he noticed his ancestor’s funerary hall had been leveled his face flamed red with anger. Standard bearers pressed in behind the leading men. The elite women and children followed. A bevy of female musicians pranced into the cemetery, flowers in their hair, garlands around their necks, beating drums and shaking rattles and striking together ivory clappers and singing. After them came young dancing girls in sheer white skirts or mere girdles, and a host of offering bearers, some carrying single items, some containers. The last to pass through the entrance were common Nekhenians and farmers and hamlet–dwellers. All the elites were dressed in their finest clothing, with jewelry of gold and precious stones, the men with fish–tailed knives tucked in their belts. Their finery and unique symbols emphasized their difference from ordinary laborers and their families, whose clothing was rightfully considered little better than rags by the elites.
Aboo and Amenia reached a shallow rectangular trench representing the location of the outer wall that would someday surround the entire tomb compound. It was obvious, dug half a foot deep and half a foot wide into the reddish soil. They entered the compound at the point where a gate would someday be located, led by the servants with the elephant and Bat and falcon god standards. The rest of the standard bearers arranged themselves in a long line along the length of the trench and just outside it. The dancers and singers gathered to the left of the gate; the elites entered the compound and clustered in small groups around the trench delimiting the foundation of the future offering chapel. Everyone else spread out behind the standard bearers and dancers outside the compound; the crowd was far too large for everyone to fit inside. Those in back craned their necks t
o see over those in front.
Directly in the center of what would someday be the offering chapel was a temporary rectangular platform about ten feet long and five feet high and four feet wide, its walls made of hardened mud, the space between them packed with sand. Buried beneath the sand in the center of the platform, hidden from everyone’s sight, was a stone pedestal where Aboo’s statue would stand. Angling steeply from the ground to the top of the platform was a long ramp of hardened mud. I’d designed and constructed the ramp and platform. We were going to use them to set the statue in place. Assuming my plan worked.
Aboo and Amenia took their places. The donkeys pulled the sled through the gate to the very base of the ramp. Their keepers unhitched them. Some of Nekhen’s brawniest workers took the beasts’ places in front of the sled, as did I. Rawer came forward. He bowed to Aboo. Then, with a flourish, he removed the linen sheet covering the prone statue. Exclamations burst from the crowd, then loud conversation. No one had ever seen anything like it before – a life–sized representation of a ruler.
Amenia stepped next to Rawer. In a loud clear voice she invoked the blessing of the falcon god on the statue, that it might stand for all time so Aboo would be remembered long after his death, and that he himself would live through it forever. Then she removed the talisman from around her neck and touched the statue with it. She smiled at me as she stepped back to Aboo’s side.
One of the workers tied a thick braided rope around the upper part of the statue. Now a host of us took hold of the rope and stepped onto the ramp. Being the largest and strongest man in Nekhen I positioned myself closest to the statue’s head.
“Pull!” barked Rawer.
We strained as one against the rope. Slowly, the statue slid off the sled and onto the ramp and began to inch forward and upward. The statue was heavy and my muscles bulged and before long sweat began trickling into my eyes. Several young girls stationed along the sides of the ramp poured water from jars onto its surface just ahead of the statue, turning the dirt to slick mud so the statue would slide more easily. Inexorably, we dragged it up the ramp, finally stopping when its base was positioned exactly in the center of the raised flat section of the platform, atop the core of packed sand.
The Women and the Boatman Page 39