The Women and the Boatman

by Mark Gajewski

  After the last of us made our pledges, Ma–ee established for the leaders of each enterprise the amount of raw materials and finished goods and foodstuffs he would require from now on to support his household and his workshops. The amount was considerably higher than Aboo had set for the same purpose, for Aboo hadn’t had the plethora of guards to take care of that Ma–ee did, and Ma–ee’s dependents were all apparently going to live in luxury. After dealing with the elites, Ma–ee detailed the donations he required from farmers and others to offer to the gods, and the amount and types of foodstuffs to guard against famine.

  “And now, I will select from among the youth gathered in this court those who will serve me in my house,” Ma–ee announced.

  The crowd fell silent, remembering how Ma–ee had brutally executed Aboo’s servants the day before. It might be an honor to be selected to serve our ruler, but it was clearly going to be a death sentence too. Commoners were used to subjugation and deprivation, but everyone Ma–ee picked today would be condemned to a life of fear as well. Although, given Ma–ee’s age, the servants he selected today would probably be replaced long before his death. Ma–ee wouldn’t surround himself with wrinkled age when he could have a constant supply of fresh beauty. The successors of today’s servants would be slaughtered to attend him in the Afterlife, not these.

  There were a few cries from parents as names were called, some of fear, some of pride. In each case the boy or girl wound their way to the empty space before the platform, a few briskly, most uncertainly. None would ever return home again; their new lives would start immediately after this ceremony. Ma–ee selected thirty servants, twenty–three of them girls, all between ages nine and eighteen. Nebet, Hemaka’s youngest daughter and Amenia’s cousin, just turned eighteen, was among them. After the first few selections a pattern emerged – Ma–ee was choosing a child from each of Nekhen’s elite families and the most important of the leading families who resided in the larger hamlets in the valley. Grimly, I realized those children were more than servants; they were hostages in case their fathers ever tried to depose Ma–ee. It was a master stroke by Ma–ee to eliminate opposition, one that vastly increased his power. By seizing control over the children of the valley’s leaders he was positioning himself to dictate what everyone in our region did. He was even more ruthless and cunning than I’d supposed.

  And then the ceremony was done. I turned the lion cubs over to their permanent keepers and returned to the boatyard. I had no desire to attend Rawer’s – Ma–ee’s – confirmation feast. A day that had started with hope and promise, one I’d looked forward to for years as the fulfillment of a dream, had ended in disaster. I could only guess what Abar was feeling after devoting so much of her life to pursuit of the position Ma–ee now held and sacrificing her happiness in the attempt. As for Amenia, her betrayal was beyond comprehension. How could I have been so wrong about her?

  The next morning, very early, I got to work in the boatyard putting to rights what Ma–ee and Senebi had undone.

  3442 BC

  Amenia

  To my surprise, I spotted my cousin Nebet anxiously pacing outside the entrance to Ma–ee’s audience hall. Two of Senebi’s guards had unceremoniously marched me there down the wadi path all the way from Sanakht’s house in the upper settlement. “Ma–ee’s orders” had been their sole explanation. They hadn’t cared I was less than a month from giving birth to my second child; they’d practically prodded me along with their lances. I was breathing hard and dripping sweat. Nebet was nineteen now, one of the hostages Ma–ee had taken the day I confirmed him as ruler a year ago. Neither she nor any other hostage had been allowed to visit with family members since being forced into Aboo’s service. Nebet dashed to me, embraced me.

  “Thank the gods you’ve come, Amenia!” she said fervently.

  I glanced at the guards who flanked me. “I didn’t have any choice. Why am I here?”

  “It’s Abar. She’s in trouble. I convinced Ma–ee to send for you.”

  I stiffened. “You shouldn’t have, Nebet. Abar doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

  She’d once been my friend and co–conspirator. No longer. We hadn’t spoken since the day I’d betrayed her by choosing Ma–ee as our next ruler. She hadn’t even acknowledged my presence during subsequent ceremonies in the oval court when I’d shared the dais with her and Ma–ee. I didn’t blame her. I should have confirmed her. Ma–ee was an even more horrible ruler than I’d imagined in my wildest dreams. Abar had set a plan in motion to succeed her father, followed it step by step for years, had rule within her grasp – and then I’d snatched it from her. Every line of her body when we were near each other screamed her utter hatred for me.

  A long hoarse cry came from deep within Ma–ee’s complex.

  “Abar’s been in labor for two days,” Nebet said in a scared voice. “Her room’s full of women from all over the valley Ma–ee’s called in to help. They haven’t. No one knows what to do. She’s getting weaker by the hour. She’s going to die, Amenia. You’re her only hope.” Nebet reached out, touched my swollen belly. “How much longer?”

  “A month. Maybe less.”

  “What if it was you? Wouldn’t you want her to help you if she was a healer?”

  I squared my shoulders. The falcon god had given me the gift of healing. It wasn’t something to be exercised only when convenient for me. So I’d offer to help. If Abar rejected me, that was her right and I’d respect it. “Take me to her.”

  I followed Nebet into the audience hall. I recalled the first time I’d been here, assisting Great–grandmother, discussing with Abar who should be confirmed as Aboo’s successor. And there, standing next to the entrance into the private quarters, was the least qualified of the candidates we’d talked about that day – Ma–ee. I cringed, just seeing him. I couldn’t stand being in his presence. In the oval court this past year we’d exchanged only the words required of us by ritual. Otherwise, an icy silence. I’d never forgive him for what he’d done to force me to confirm him as ruler. It had been unconscionable. I believed he feared some day everyone would find out and condemn him. Because of that fear I was a threat to him. I knew he wanted to remove me from public view. His conundrum was I’d have to do something truly awful in order for him to take action against me, since I was the falcon god’s priestess. Even he didn’t have the courage to act arbitrarily when a god was involved. Too many people in the valley wouldn’t stand for that. Short of Ma–ee murdering me some dark night, there was nothing he could do to keep me from being a thorn in his side for the rest of my life. As feeble as that was, it was all the revenge I’d ever get for the things he’d done to me.

  Another cry, louder now since it was not muffled by as great a distance. Abar was suffering greatly.

  “I’ve come to help Abar, as you ordered,” I said.

  “She’s not your priority,” Ma–ee said. He seized my arm roughly. “Don’t you dare let my child die!”

  Abar’s life meant nothing to him. Likely he’d be glad if she died so he’d be free to join with one of Nekhen’s elite women and thereby strengthen his position as ruler. “Or what?” I jerked my arm free, rested my hand on my belly. “You’ll kill my child?”

  “Why not?” he asked cavalierly.

  Ma–ee had ruined my life. He’d deprived me of Nykara. He was responsible for me being Sanakht’s woman. He’d turned Nekhen into a place of fear. He was threatening my unborn child. But Abar wasn’t to blame for his actions. I didn’t hold her responsible for his reprehensible behavior. I pushed past him out of the audience hall and into the private quarters.

  Nebet quickly led me past a food preparation area and through a large space crowded with women who should have been working on household crafts but weren’t and down a long corridor lined on both sides with rooms where the residents of the house obviously slept. Several of Senebi’s thugs were standing guard before a room at the end of the corridor, no doubt Ma–ee’s. But for the most part everything was a
blur. Too many extraneous details for me to sort out.

  “That’s the nursery,” Nebet said, pointing to a room on the left just before Ma–ee’s. “That’s where we’ve set up the birth bower.”

  Another agonized dragged–out cry. I hurried into the room.

  More than a dozen women were crowded into the relatively small space, most old and, presumably, experienced assisting at births. The room was lit with a few guttering bowls of oil. Only the hint of a breeze blew through the single window. Protective charms were scattered everywhere. Two girls about Nebet’s age, fellow hostage–servants, were holding Abar up on the birthing bricks, their necks under her armpits, their hands supporting the undersides of her thighs. Abar was naked, drenched in sweat, her hair tangled and matted, head hanging, so spent she couldn’t squat without assistance. Abar’s two oldest sisters, Hunur and Nefertkau, aged ten and nine respectively, were vigorously cooling her with ostrich feather fans. Both looked helpless and scared. The women were milling about, arguing loudly amongst themselves about what to try next. No one seemed to be in charge. Pandemonium reigned.

  I elbowed my way through them to Abar. I was recognized. They fell silent.

  Abar looked up, saw who it was. “Leave,” she commanded weakly. “Don’t want your help.”

  “Ma–ee insists,” I replied. I addressed my cousin. “Nebet, get these women out of here. All but Abar’s sisters and Tentopet. Now!” I turned to the girls supporting Abar. “Lay her down on the pallet. I need to examine her.”

  They did, carefully and awkwardly, as the room emptied. The silence was blessed. I could think more clearly now. Abar closed her eyes. She was breathing hard. I gently but firmly felt her abdomen. I realized the baby was facing the wrong direction. That was a deadly serious problem. I’d have to turn it so it could be born. I’d seen Great–grandmother perform the procedure once, a decade ago. The baby had lived. The woman hadn’t.

  I removed my curved wand of hippo ivory, carved with images of Bat, from my leather pouch. I drew a protective circle around Abar, calling on the goddess to help her. I opened a container of behen oil and gently rubbed it on her belly. I set the container aside.

  “I need all of you to hold Abar down now,” I told Nebet and Tentopet and the girls firmly. “Get a grip on her and don’t let go no matter what.”

  They moved into position as I directed, at her shoulders and legs. I leaned forward, touched the talisman to Abar’s belly. “Please…” I prayed to the falcon god.

  I’d never forget her cries of agony as long as I lived, nor the blood, nor the tears streaming down the cheeks of my shocked and overwhelmed assistants. To their credit, not one abandoned her post. When it was done I helped them get Abar back onto the birthing bricks. Ten minutes later I caught her child as he emerged, my arms bloodied to the elbows, and guided him into the world.

  His first squalls brought Ma–ee running.

  “You have another son,” I announced.

  Ma–ee beamed with pride. “His name is Shepseska,” he said.

  Tentopet took the baby from me and carried him to Nubemshant and Nefertkau, who were waiting to wash him and swaddle him in linen.

  “You can go now,” Ma–ee told me abruptly.

  I studied Abar closely. Hunur and Nebet had eased her onto a pallet. She was exhausted, soaked, bloody, her breathing ragged and labored, eyes closed, cheeks drawn, pale. She was in extremely bad shape. None of the women I’d sent to wait in the audience hall had the skills necessary to help her recover from this difficult birth. I didn’t know if I did. Abar was going to have to draw on whatever reserves of strength were left to her and fight hard if she wanted to survive. I didn’t know if she had the will anymore, subjugated as she was to Rawer. But I couldn’t abandon her and leave her to her fate, especially after I’d betrayed her and put her in the position she was in. “Abar needs my help or she’ll die.”

  Ma–ee looked at Abar almost disdainfully, waved his hand. “Stay or go. It’s no concern of mine.” He spun on his heel and left the room.

  Almost immediately a number of serving girls entered, all hostage–daughters of elites. They washed the blood off Abar, dried her, transferred her to a new pallet, covered her with a fine linen sheet, cleaned the room, filled it with flowers, scattered more protective charms. I ordered Tentopet to put an image of Bat at the head of the pallet and an image of Nekhbet at the foot. Abar needed all the help she could get. I seated myself at her side and remained there during the endlessly long hours that followed, administering every herb and potion in my pouch and chanting every prayer Great–grandmother had ever taught me to keep her alive. Abar slept for two days straight. A few times her breathing became so shallow and labored I feared she was about to die, but each time she rallied. Nebet remained with me, and Abar’s half–sisters, taking turns placing a linen cloth dipped in cool water I’d blessed with the talisman on her brow, grabbing snatches of sleep whenever they could. As for me, I had none.

  Abar’s eyes fluttered open early in the afternoon on the second day. She moaned, licked her dry lips.

  Nebet gently lifted Abar’s head and gave her a sip of water. Then she lay her down again.

  “You have a son,” I told Abar wearily. I motioned to Tentopet.

  She was a few steps away. She carried Shepseska to Abar and placed him in her arms.

  Abar gazed at him tenderly, kissed the top of his head, stroked his cheek and arm and leg. Then she focused on me. She stiffened. The love that had shone for her son fled from her eyes, replaced by hatred and bitterness. “If you expect my thanks you’ll get none,” she said in a voice barely more than a whisper. “Not after what you did. Leave. Now.” She looked at her son again, dismissed me from her mind.

  “I will,” I said. “But please let me explain first. I’m begging you.”

  She gestured and Nebet gave her another sip of water. “Explain what?” Abar asked, her voice stronger now. “You betrayed me. Everyone in Nekhen is paying the price.”

  “I know. Please,” I pleaded. “You’ll never have to see me again after this. I promise.”

  Abar gazed at me coldly. “Everyone out,” she ordered.

  Tentopet and Nebet and half a dozen serving girls exited the room.

  “Well?” Abar asked imperiously when we were alone.

  “Ma–ee kidnapped my daughter, Keminub, the night before the confirmation ceremony,” I said, my eyes locked on hers. “He said he’d kill her if I didn’t confirm him. He’d just executed Aboo’s servants – I knew he’d do it.” I took a deep breath. Tears began streaming down my cheeks, even though I’d promised myself I wouldn’t cry. “So I put my needs above yours and Nekhen’s,” I confessed bitterly. “Ma–ee had already taken Nykara from me. I couldn’t let him take the only piece of Nykara I’d ever have too.”

  Abar stared at me for a long time. “Keminub is Nykara’s child?”

  I nodded. I didn’t trust myself to speak.

  “Does he know?”

  “No. And he never can.” I covered my face with my hands for a moment, composed myself. “I can’t imagine what it would do to him. Promise me you’ll never tell.”

  “I won’t,” Abar said. “He should hear it from you.”

  I returned to the matter at hand. I roughly brushed the tears from my cheeks, rested my hands on my belly. “I’ll never ask you to forgive me for what I did to you, Abar,” I said. “I know you can’t. I betrayed you and it was inexcusable. I only hope some day you’ll come to understand why I did what I did, and not hate me anymore.” I started to rise, to leave as I’d promised.

  Abar weakly grasped my hand with one of hers, stopped me. “Do you think I’d have done differently if it had been one of my children?” Tears began streaming down her cheeks too. “There’s nothing to forgive, Amenia,” she sniffed. She stroked Shepseska with her free hand. “Damn Ma–ee! He did this, not you.” She squeezed my hand tight. “You were my only and dearest friend, Amenia. Along with everything else, he stole our friendship
, our love for each other. But we can get them back, at least. Please, Amenia, will you stay with me?”

  I sobbed, smiled, my eyes blurred with tears. “Yes. As long as you need me.” I bent, kissed her brow. “I’ve missed you so much, Abar.”

  ***

  We sat beside the river a week later in the cool shade of palm trees – me, Abar and Shepseska. Abar had always been a strong woman; she’d recovered more rapidly than I’d thought possible from her ordeal. The baby too was thriving. The afternoon sunlight glinted silver on the water and birds flitted in the tops of the palms and in the patch of reeds to our left, filling the air with their trilling. In the distance three columns of smoke marked Heth’s smithy; the boatyard close to it hummed with activity. Several boats were waiting to land, having made their daily deliveries to hamlets north and south. Strings of donkeys were waiting to transport inland whatever the crewmen had collected. A few fishermen were busy as well, in the middle of the channel between Nekhen and the island, dragging a net between their boats. As usual, a considerable number of people were passing in and out of the workshops of Nykara’s craftsmen close by the smithy, no doubt arranging items to donate in upcoming festivals. Those workshops had replaced the oval court as the liveliest and noisiest section of Nekhen.

  I finished braiding Abar’s hair. Then I poured beer from a jar into a cup and offered it to her.