“I’m going to set up competing posts of my own – run by Dagi and Pabasa and their assistants. They’re the ones with relationships in the settlements. Everything will continue to function as it has.”
Hemaka squinted at me. “What will I get in return for Amenia’s pottery?”
“Double the previous amount of wine and other goods, of your choosing.”
It was an overly generous offer, one Hemaka couldn’t possibly refuse.
“I want your pledge you won’t join Amenia to anyone else before I have a reasonable chance to become an elite,” I said. “I want your pledge the day I do she’ll be mine.”
Hemaka laughed lasciviously. “You must want her badly, to give so much for her.”
“Do we have a deal?” I asked brusquely. I glanced at Amenia, saw hope and love in her eyes.
“We do,” Hemaka said. He pointed his finger at me. “But I’m not a patient man, Nykara. We’ll reassess this deal after your trip to Maadi – four months from now, I believe you’ve committed to. If I discover you’ve exaggerated what you’ve promised to deliver our deal will be off. Or if it becomes clear to me you’ll never become an elite. Understood?”
“Completely.”
I returned to my smithy a happy man, the image of Amenia’s joyous relieved smile before my eyes. My only regret was I hadn’t gotten to witness Hemaka’s announcement of our new arrangement to Sanakht and Nekauba.
***
At dawn, two months to the day later, I launched my new wood boat on its shakedown cruise. It was a third smaller than the cargo boat I’d built for Dedi, of necessity. I lacked the time and resources to make a larger one. I’d designed it to be crewed by only nine men – me to steer and eight oarsmen. They’d continuously rotate; only six would row at a given time to keep everyone relatively fresh.
On board were copper tools destined for several hamlets south of Nekhen. Delivering them was a good excuse to shake out the kinks in the boat before launching my first expedition to Maadi two days from now. I’d brought the last load of Amenia’s pottery down from the upper terrace yesterday; even now the jars and pots were being crammed full of the trade items I’d accumulated this past year. Tomorrow, if all went well today, my crew would load everything on the boat.
I shouted a command. One of my men untied the bow from the mooring post along the riverbank. I’d selected a spot half a mile downstream from Dedi’s boatyard for what passed for mine, at the northern boundary of Nekhen. Two more men waded into the water and rotated the bow into the channel, then scrambled aboard, dripping wet. Six oarsmen poled the boat away from the bank, then took their seats and began to row. I steered us towards the center of the channel, setting a course that would skirt the southern end of the island and take us to the middle of the river.
Amenia was standing next to me in the stern. She loved to travel by boat. She’d gone with me many times the past few years, always to nearby destinations. I’d even taught her to steer, at her insistence. She was smiling joyfully, her eyes shining. Her skin was golden in the early morning light, her long hair and skirt whipping about in the strong wind out of the north blowing against the mass of palm fronds I’d erected in the bow, helping us make progress against the current. Within an hour the wind would heat and speed up – for fifty straight days at this time of year it swept hard and hot across the entire land, enveloping the valley in a dusty haze. I planned to be back at Nekhen in time to avoid the worst of it. Amenia was wearing the talisman and the falcon anklet and she’d painted falcons on her arms and legs – she’d blessed the boat before we boarded, putting it under the protection of the falcon god. She was going to bless it again the morning I set out for Maadi; my entire future – and Amenia’s – was riding on that expedition and I wanted all the divine help I could get. I’d even painted an image of the falcon god on each side of the bow. No one had ever decorated a boat that way before.
The men rowed hard. Drops of water sparkled in the air as their oars rhythmically rose and dipped. These particular oarsmen had once been Dedi’s best; they’d abandoned Rawer and come to work for me the instant I’d asked. All were as eager as I to set out for Maadi. I’d never known a true boatman yet who didn’t love an adventure. All of the men had gone there with me before.
Amenia put her hand on the steering oar. “I love to feel the river’s power,” she said enviously.
I laughed. “Don’t worry. You’ll get to steer on the way back.”
“I’ll hold you to it.”
It was a glorious day. The sky overhead was deep blue, already growing hazy over the desert plateaus to east and west. The riverbanks were green, lush with patches of reed and papyrus, lined with palms and acacia and willows. We passed the last of the farms that directly supplied Nekhen, encountered swampy tangled brush on the uncleared plain. A mile or so later we passed the first hamlet, a cluster of small huts housing no more than half a dozen families, with its own small collection of farms. Every hamlet was similar throughout the entire region under Nekhen’s sway, both north and south.
Once we’d made our southernmost deliveries we began drifting north with the current, towards home. Everyone but Amenia and me lounged on the deck; there was no need to row, only steer. She manned the oar; I sat next to her and mostly watched her as she intently scanned the river ahead and maneuvered the craft. I never tired of looking at her. At times like this, when she was doing something she loved, she seemed to be lit by an inner glow. I found her then to be extraordinarily compelling. We landed at midday at Nekheb, directly across the river from Nekhen, our final stop.
I jumped into knee–deep water, then lifted Amenia from the boat and carried her a couple of steps to dry land so she wouldn’t get wet. I set her down. One of the crewmen tossed me a heavy leather pouch full of copper tools. It made a muffled metallic clank as I caught it. I slung it over my shoulder, then led Amenia up a well–trod path away from the river. Behind us my men disembarked and went to rest and eat in the shade of a grove of palms.
Nekheb was an ancient settlement, largest in the area besides Nekhen, though only a fraction of its size. Its huts topped a sandbank perhaps a hundred yards from the river at the mouth of a wadi leading into the eastern desert and Seni’s gold mine and quarries. Its standard stood in the center of its huts, a tall pole topped with a vulture, Nekheb’s god. Stone chips crunched under our feet as we walked towards the hamlet.
“They must have worked stone at Nekheb for thousands of years, for there to be so much debris,” I noted.
We made our delivery, ate a leisurely meal in the shade with Nekheb’s patriarch.
“You bear the talisman,” he noted, gazing at Amenia.
“It is my fate.”
“Nekheb’s ancient stories tell of your ancestress, Tiaa. She united this entire region behind Nekhen’s ruler at a time when all the hamlets were independent, ruled by their own patriarchs,” he said. “The stories claim she selected a man who wasn’t in the line of succession in order to rally the valley to your settlement.”
“That’s what my family’s stories say too,” Amenia replied.
“My ancestor was the first patriarch from outside Nekhen to support her choice.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“A point of pride for us. Perhaps that will happen again – an unexpected selection,” the patriarch said. “Rawer is certainly no Aboo – or Dedi.”
“Perhaps. If the falcon god wills it,” Amenia said noncommittally.
“Are you like your ancestor, a man of reason?” I asked the patriarch.
“I am when Nekhbet, our vulture goddess, prompts me.”
That set me to thinking. In the old stories, it had indeed been men from outside Nekhen who’d supported the man chosen by Tiaa and ensured he’d be allowed to rule. Seated beside me was a patriarch from outside our settlement who was clearly unimpressed with Rawer and the thought of pledging fealty to him someday. I made a mental note to speak to Abar about him – we’d never discussed building a
base of supporters for her from the surrounding valley. That was a way to get around Nekhen’s elites, assuming at least some of them would align themselves with Rawer now that Abar was joined to him. Or, rather, have Amenia speak to Abar. Now that I’d been removed from the boatyard I wasn’t able to converse with Abar anymore. Even Amenia only got a hurried whisper or two with her during festivals; apparently, Rawer was keeping Abar incommunicado in her father’s house, which he’d settled into.
“Would you like to explore some of the rock etchings on this side of the river?” I asked Amenia after we’d taken our leave of the patriarch.
“I would.”
We headed into one of the wadis slicing into the desert from the eastern end of Nekheb. After a long hot walk we came to a sheer rock face on its north side. On it was etched a boat with a high curved bow and a low stern with a thick clubbed end. Amidships were two pavilions, the front one with a domed roof and the rear one more or less rectangular in shape.
“See how the boat is superimposed over these two stylized giraffes?” I asked.
“They reused the rock face,” Amenia said. “I wonder how many years passed between the etching and re–etching?” She studied the animals closely. “They’re exactly like ones I’ve seen on the heights overlooking Nekhen. I suppose the same people may have made both of them. Great–grandmother thought giraffes like this are symbolically carrying the sun across the sky. I wonder if whoever etched this image intended to imply the boat was carrying the sun too.”
“If they etched boats, no doubt they had the means to cross the river.”
We moved farther up the wadi. We encountered two more sickle–shaped boats, both with two pavilions. Two bulls were superimposed over them. Above the second, smaller boat was an unfinished third. Around the largest boat were several more animals.
“I wonder why they reused the rock faces, when there are so many untouched ones available?” Amenia asked.
“Maybe they were etched to honor the gods in some way, and beliefs changed over time,” I speculated. “There are, after all, dozens of vultures scratched on rocks all over this area. The vulture represents Nekheb’s god now.”
“Do you suppose a Barbary sheep represented Nekheb’s original god?” Amenia queried. She pointed. “That rock over there contains quite a few, even one being chased by two dogs. And a couple of bows. And some abstract arrangements of dots and elaborate notched rows – I count close to two dozen separate elements.”
“Perhaps the drawings were used in hunting rituals,” I suggested. “As you well know hunters paint the animals they’re going to hunt on themselves, or carry some part of the animal with them, to give them its power.”
“I guess we’ll never be sure,” Amenia sighed. “But I’m going to start using some of the images I’ve seen today on my decorated pottery. I remember one of Great–grandmother’s tales about Tiaa doing that very thing, tailoring her decorated pottery to reflect the beliefs of the settlements where it was traded. Maybe it’ll be more valuable to people at Nekheb if it’s painted with images of their god.”
“That’s an excellent idea.”
We climbed to the heights on the north side of the wadi, then stopped to rest. The river ran straight as an arrow far below us, silver, powerful, lined with green strips on both sides, then desert plateaus. I swept my gaze across Nekheb, then the long island near the western shore, then Nekhen’s lower settlement, then the wadi path climbing towards the upper terrace. Amenia had never seen our settlement from this perspective; she was clearly taken with the view. I focused on Dedi’s – Rawer’s – boatyard, the columns of smoke rising from my own smithy, the oval court. My eyes were drawn to Aboo’s fine home. Even now, I supposed, Abar was inside with Rawer, both of them probably presiding with Aboo in the attached audience hall. Now that they were joined, according to what I’d heard, most of the elites had grudgingly accepted Rawer would someday rule them. I’d also heard rumors a few holdouts were more determined than ever to keep that from happening, Pipi and Teti in particular. Now that they had no chance of joining their sons to Abar and gaining rule through her they were prepared to argue succession did not pass through her or her sisters. It was only a matter of time, I suspected, before they’d increase their efforts to bribe Amenia to select them when the time came, the only possible way around Rawer now. We’d discussed that a few times.
“Do you miss your old life, operating the fleet?” Amenia asked.
“Surprisingly, no,” I replied. “The boatyard isn’t the same with Dedi gone. Besides, what I love is being on the river, steering my boat, exchanging goods, as we’re doing today. All the rest – the fleet, the scheduling, overseeing craftsmen and boatmen – I did because Dedi asked me. I can be quite content the rest of my life building my own boats, traveling the river, trading, pursuing Dedi’s quest. As long as I’m with you.”
Amenia blushed. “Thank you for speaking to Uncle Hemaka and keeping him from joining me to an elite,” she said. “I know you gave up a lot of your wealth to do it.”
“What do I care for wealth, without you to share it?” I asked. “With luck, I’ll be able to stall Hemaka until you name Abar ruler. After that she’ll protect you from him.”
“I feel so bad for Abar,” Amenia said softly. “Rawer makes her miserable. She told me at the last festival.”
“I try not to think about the two of them together,” I admitted. “It’s got to be hard for her, living under Rawer’s thumb, biding her time.”
“I hate Rawer, for what he did to the two of you,” Amenia said angrily. “He lied about Dedi. He lied about Abar. Why did Aboo believe him?”
“He didn’t. But he wanted an easy way out of what was a chaotic and contentious situation, and Rawer gave him one. So he took it and pushed the decision onto you. He’s not a particularly strong ruler. Or man.” I gazed at Amenia. “But thanks to Abar’s sacrifice, you’re still in position to upset Rawer’s carefully laid plans.”
“Believe me, I will, as long as I still have the power to when the time comes,” Amenia vowed, clutching her talisman.
3444 BC
Amenia
“It’s a boy, Abar! You have a son!” I exclaimed.
I held him up, bloody, wonderful, showed him to her. He started squalling. I cradled him in the crook of my arm, touched the talisman to his chest, kissed the top of his head, whispered a prayer of thanks to the falcon god.
Several very pretty young serving girls, apparently recent additions to Rawer’s household – I’d never seen any of them before – eased Abar off the birthing bricks and helped her to lie down on a thick clean pallet covered with a linen sheet. She was naked and drenched with sweat and bloody from her ordeal. I leaned over and placed the infant in her arms.
She stroked him softly, looked up at me with joyful tear–wet eyes. “His name is Shery, after Father’s brother.”
Shery began greedily sucking.
Abar’s half–sisters crowded around her and their new cousin, chattering, laughing, cautiously touching his pink skin. Servants bustled about, some hauling into the bower jars of river water in which acacia seeds had been steeped to bathe Abar, some arranging lengths of linen to dry her off afterwards, some removing bloodied linen and the birthing bricks and the bandages that had held dates mixed with emmer and herbs in place under Abar’s stomach – that concoction had helped free Shery from her womb during the delivery – some preparing food and drink.
I gathered up my container of behen oil and another of saffron powder I’d mixed with beer – I’d massaged both into Abar’s belly to ease her pain during delivery – and a curved wand of hippo ivory carved with images of Bat I’d used to draw protective circles around her. I slipped away to a corner of the birth bower, out of the way, sat down, relieved and exuberant. That’s how I always felt after a birth when both mother and child survived. Far too often that wasn’t the case. I’d prayed to the falcon god to keep Abar safe the whole time I was racing from the upper settlement down to the
riverbank after a breathless Hunur appeared at Uncle’s to tell me it was Abar’s time. I loved Abar and hadn’t wanted anything to happen to her. I’d worried needlessly. Shery’s birth had been one of the quickest and easiest I’d ever attended. I touched the talisman to my lips and whispered a prayer of thanks.
A large crowd was milling about outside the bower. I heard much laughter, the rising and falling of excited voices. Men and women had been gathering ever since Abar headed towards the river a few hours earlier, including Aboo and Rawer and many elites. The elites were surely hoping Abar had given birth to a girl, for that would strengthen their hands against Rawer. Aboo and Rawer, of course, would be hoping for the opposite. A son would solidify Rawer’s claim to succeed Aboo and ensure his line continued to rule after he himself died.
I moved to a water jar and washed the blood from my hands and arms and legs. I’d change into a clean skirt later. The gentle breeze off the river blowing through the palm frond–covered sides of the bower cooled my sweat–drenched body. I’d set the bower up a week ago in a grove of palm trees atop the bank six feet from the river, blessed it, arranged charms to protect mother and child – most particularly the goddesses Bat and Nekhbet – festooned it with greenery and flowers. As I washed I glimpsed the ivory crocodile figurine I’d broken in two, the hippo I’d smashed. That had negated their power and kept Abar and Shery safe. I drew a deep satisfied sigh. The scent of the flowers was refreshing.
After I dried myself I crossed the bower and knelt beside Abar. Shery had finished nursing. Abar’s eyes were fixed on him. She’d never looked so happy and contented.
“I should show Shery to the crowd,” I said softly.
“I know.” Abar kissed the top of his head. “Don’t let Rawer give her to a wetnurse and take her away. I want Shery to myself as long as possible.”
“I promise. Now, get some rest, Abar.”
The Women and the Boatman Page 50