“No. Maybe he lied. Maybe she fled to one of the settlements downriver – Nubt or Tjeni, perhaps.”
“Or not. Maybe she’s hiding right under our noses, biding her time, hatching some kind of plot along with her uncle. She certainly has reason, Senebi. You shouldn’t have questioned her about Sanakht so… enthusiastically. Have your men keep their eyes open,” Ma–ee ordered. “I want her found.”
He nodded. “As you wish.”
I assumed Hemaka had lied about Amenia. I wouldn’t put it past him. How could she have disappeared without a trace if she was still anywhere in our region?
“Something about Sanakht’s death still bothers me,” Ma–ee said pensively. “His body was found in the cemetery not far from a desecrated grave, stabbed to death. There were signs of a fierce struggle. But no one has come forward to take credit for stopping his heinous crime in the act. There’s more to Sanakht’s death than a simple grave robbery gone wrong.”
“That men dare to rob graves at all is a sign of chaos and a threat to your rule,” Senebi told Ma–ee.
“After what I did to Sanakht’s body – dismemberment, burning – there haven’t been any robberies since,” Ma–ee said.
“And yet Hemaka speaks openly against you. Who knows what conspiracies remain hidden from your sight, what is whispered in the darkness? And by whom? There are far more intelligent men in Nekhen than Hemaka. Nykara, for instance…”
“Prove Nykara is involved in a conspiracy, Senebi, or speak of him no more,” I bristled. “I won’t have a dog like you dragging his name through the mud.” The only conspiracy Nykara had ever been involved in was mine.
“Perhaps Nykara is without guilt, as you say,” Senebi told me soothingly. “But others aren’t. And I fear those who plot in the darkness more than I do those who speak by light of day. They are more apt to try to overthrow our ruler.”
“Such a thing has never been done!” Ma–ee exclaimed.
“A ruler’s never been accompanied everywhere by a phalanx of personal guardsmen, or demanded so much of the valley’s surplus, or executed servants without cause either,” I reminded him. “Are you really surprised you have opposition?”
“What can we do about it?” Ma–ee asked Senebi.
“I’ll increase the number of my guards, to better protect you and your family,” Senebi replied.
“That doesn’t address the problem driving this dissension – lack of foodstuffs,” I pointed out.
“Then, Ma–ee, if the raids you just ordered acquire less grain than we expect, send armed men into territory not beholden to you. Take the grain grown there by force,” Senebi advised.
“Are you out of your mind?” I almost shouted at Senebi. I addressed Ma–ee. “That’ll take many additional men. You’ll have to feed and house and clothe them and supply them with weapons and other essentials we don’t have. Whoever you take grain from will fight back. We’ll have to defend Nekhen from them. More men. More food. More housing. More weapons. We may even have to construct a wall around the settlement. Who’s going to do that? How are you going to pay for it?”
“I could simply announce the gods have given me all the land in the valley, that the people merely occupy it by the graciousness of my heart,” Ma–ee replied. “Then I can tell farmers their crops are mine, and I’ll apportion to them the little they need to live on and take the rest for myself. It’ll be the opposite of what’s done now. Instead of me depending on the elites and the common people, they’ll all depend on me.”
“No one in Nekhen will object,” Senebi said. “As Nykara pointed out, they are the bulk of the population beholden to you.”
“You expect the people will believe the dozens of gods worshiped in this section of the valley got together and yielded it to you? A better claim would be the falcon god did. He’s the only universal god every settlement and hamlet recognizes. But why would he? As you pointed out, his priestess is nowhere to be found. Because you personally drove her away.”
Ma–ee stiffened.
“Why would the people believe the falcon god has spoken to you instead of Amenia, anyway?” I shook my head. “They’d laugh at you.”
“If I might make a suggestion?” Senebi asked.
Ma–ee nodded.
“Hold off work on your tomb complex for just one year. Hunt more often. Hold additional festivals. Use what grain’s left to supply food for the people at them. Trust the god of the inundation will provide a good flood next year. Turn this apparent time of despair into an opportunity to make everyone in the valley even more dependent on your generosity.” Senebi’s eyes narrowed. “And let me and my men distribute the daily rations of grain from now on. I assure you, none of them will gossip about the quantity remaining in the granaries. Or give out too much.”
Ma–ee nodded. “Make it so, Senebi. As you say, all we need is a good inundation to turn everything around. Then everyone will forget about our current situation. I will sacrifice generously to the god of the inundation at the next festival a few months from now and trust in him to send us the flood we need.” His eyes met Senebi’s. “But if the next inundation is a poor one I’ll need someone to blame it on so the people won’t turn on me.”
“I’ll find you a scapegoat,” Senebi promised.
***
Nykara
***
I steered my boat close to shore two miles north of Nekhen. A couple of oarsmen jumped overboard into the shallows and scampered to dry land and tied both bow and stern to the trunks of palm trees. Two more lowered a gangplank. Ten armed men descended, carrying empty earthenware jars and reed baskets and leather pouches. Some headed towards farms a little north of our landing place and others south. Senebi led those going north personally. He was immensely enjoying these raids. So far we’d conducted five today. I settled in the shade with my back against one of the palms to await the men’s return from their missions.
We’d been at it since dawn. Our first stop had been farther north on our assigned stretch of the river; we were working our way back towards Nekhen now. The deck of my boat was half–full with foodstuffs we’d already gathered. Senebi’s guards were both brutal and efficient – we’d left a trail of bloodied farmers and crying women and children in our wake, deprived of what little food they’d set aside for themselves to stave off starvation. Senebi’s definition of “excess” food seemed to encompass every bit he discovered. After the second farm I’d remained with my boat. I’d seen as much of Ma–ee’s “rule” up close as I could stomach.
Angry shouts came from the nearest farm hut, followed by a woman’s piercing scream. Not surprisingly, the farmer was not yielding his excess willingly. I didn’t fault him for that. I pictured how the confrontation between him and Senebi’s guards would escalate, what they’d do to him in front of his children. With a sigh I rose. Maybe I could keep the farmer from getting a beating, at least, help him preserve a bit of his dignity.
The farm was like every other in the valley, large enough to support six or perhaps eight people and a couple dozen more employed by one of the elites. Long and narrow, it stretched straight back from the river all the way to the edge of Nekhen’s lower settlement. Based on the stubble and plant waste, I suspected the farmer grew emmer and onions and lentils and a few other vegetables. His thatched hut, small and half–falling down, stood some distance from the river. I’d never seen one in such awful shape. On prosperous farms a pig or two was kept in a pen; this farm had none. It looked poorer than most. I passed the refuse pit near the hut. From the number of perch and catfish bones piled there I assumed the farmer fished a great deal to supplement his family’s diet.
There was a swirl of activity on the open ground in front of the hut. One of Senebi’s guards had pinned the farmer’s arms behind him. A second guard was at the farmer’s side, flint knife drawn. A third was holding his hand to his own nose, trying to stem the flow of blood. An older woman, and a young man and two women who appeared to be in their late teens or early twe
nties, were watching the confrontation from just outside the hut, terrified. One of the women held an infant protectively in her arms. Two younger girls, one five or so, the other perhaps two years older, were clinging to their mother’s skirt a little apart from the others, crying.
A guard emerged from inside the hut, raised a basket triumphantly. “Found where he hid it!” he exclaimed. “There’s more inside.”
“What am I supposed to live on?” the farmer shouted, trying to jerk free. “There’s barely enough for my family! And I have to support hers too!” He spat in the direction of the woman and girls.
With a start I recognized her. “Amenia?”
“Nykara?”
The farmer stopped struggling. Everyone in his family eyed me warily. The guards looked at me uncertainly. The one holding the farmer didn’t release him.
I hadn’t seen Amenia since the night I’d taken Sanakht’s life. I’d rushed away from her then, certain she must hate me for killing him when we’d only come to talk him out of further thievery. Things had gone terribly wrong and I’d had to kill him so he wouldn’t kill me. But that wasn’t what Amenia believed had happened. The look in her eyes as she knelt beside Sanakht’s body convinced me she thought I’d executed him so I could have her. I still remembered his last words – “your lover killed me” – her horrified cry – “I wish you hadn’t killed Sanakht.” What I’d done had opened a chasm between us, immense, unbridgeable. I’d never intended to kill. I’d never intended to cause her such distress and anguish, make her children fatherless, place the burden of being their sole support on her. I’d decided on the spot never to see her again, to sacrifice the love I bore her, to leave her in peace so she’d never have to be reminded by my presence of what I’d done to her that night. How could she look at me without the scar whitely slicing across my chest and abdomen reminding her I’d murdered her man? And, anyway, if I’d tried to be with Amenia, Ma–ee would surely have come to suspect me of being Sanakht’s killer. Senebi would have either beaten a confession out of Amenia or killed her. I didn’t want her to endure that.
I’d heard a rumor months after Ma–ee decapitated and burned Sanakht that Amenia had gone to live on a farm; I’d never tried to find out which one. For all I knew it was far from Nekhen. She knew where I lived and worked; I assumed if she was ever ready to forgive me or simply wanted to confront me about what I’d done she’d contact me. But she never had. For all I knew she’d joined with another man – that was in fact likely. Most young women in Nekhen who lost their man did. But in all these years I’d never stopped thinking about her, even after I’d joined with Bakist. She’d been such a large part of my life for so long. She still haunted my dreams. My heart went out to her now. Her skirt was threadbare, skin darkened by constant exposure to the sun, hands calloused by hard labor. Her hair seemed lighter too; so much time outside had brought out more of the gold. Amenia was thinner than I remembered, her body hardened. But an inner strength seemed to emanate from her, a calmness, a sense of purpose even greater than she’d had before. And she was still beautiful to me. How I missed that curly hair tumbling over her right shoulder nearly to her waist, shining in the sun, those eyes dark and mysterious and filled with pride and dignity. I still loved her, even though I’d moved on from her. I closed the distance between us. “Do you live here?”
“It’s my cousin’s farm.”
“Peseshet? And Yuny?”
“You remember their names.” She looked at the basket of grain the guard had in his hands. “If they take that we’ll starve. Please…”
I scanned the farm and hut again, noted its poor condition. I beckoned the chief guard to me and we moved a little to one side. “Order your man to put the emmer back. He didn’t find anything when he searched the hut.”
“But if Ma–ee learns…” the guard protested.
If Ma–ee learns he’ll take the fleet and my smithy from me and Bakist and I will have nothing. He warned me. But I was willing to accept the consequences for helping Amenia. “I’ll deal with Ma–ee. Your name will never be mentioned. But he doesn’t have to know. Does he?”
The guard hesitated.
“Will Ma–ee really miss a few baskets of emmer?”
“I suppose not.” The guard turned to his companion. “Release him. Put the basket down. On to the next farm.”
The guard released Yuny with a push. The one with the bloody nose spat in his face. Then they all turned in a group, several grumbling, and followed their leader along a well–worn path towards the next farm south.
“See the trouble you’ve caused me?” Yuny shouted angrily at Amenia the moment they were gone. He looked like he wanted to strike her. He took a look at me and picked up the basket instead, carried it into his house. Peseshet and the others followed after, clearly cowed. Amenia’s girls remained at her side, still crying. They’d grown considerably since I’d seen them last. They looked even more like their mother than they had then.
Amenia broke from them, came to me hesitantly, eyes downcast. “Thank you so much, Nykara. You’ve saved my daughters and cousins.”
I didn’t blame her for not looking at me. I’d killed her man and deprived her children of a father and cost her a home in the upper settlement. That she and her girls lived on this farm, in these conditions, so far removed from what she’d grown up in, was my fault. Guilt washed over me. “This has been your home these past years?” I asked, not knowing what else to say. I wanted to fall to my knees, to beg her forgiveness for what I’d done to her, but I’d waited too long. An apology now would be hollow and meaningless, after how she’d clearly suffered.
“Uncle Hemaka sent me here.” Her voice was weary. “Yuny objected. He still does. There’s not enough land to support us all, not with these poor inundations. He hasn’t prospered.” She glanced at the hut. “He blames me.”
“I’m sorry, Amenia.”
“I wish I’d never found those grave goods,” she said plaintively. “If I’d just left well enough alone none of this would have happened.”
She’d still be joined. Her children would have a father. She’d still be leading celebrations and honoring the falcon god. She’d have a good life among the leading men. I wished I hadn’t come to her farm today. I was a murderer. I was responsible for her fall. My being here was awakening memories she’d no doubt put behind her. I had to leave before I caused her any more pain or distress.
“I’m afraid Ma–ee’s just getting started raiding the valley’s farms,” I warned as I prepared to return to my boat. “I won’t be around the next time they come here.” That I knew for sure – I wasn’t ever going to return to Yuny’s farm. That much I could do for Amenia, so she wouldn’t have to be around me and be reminded of what she’d lost. “Tell Yuny to hide well whatever he doesn’t want to lose.”
“I will. I appreciate the warning.” She took another step towards me. “Is it true, Nykara? You’ve joined with a woman? She’s pregnant? Yuny told me.”
“Bakist,” I said. “She’s from Maadi, the daughter of a wine merchant. I met her on my first trip. She was just a child then.” The very month I met you. “We were joined two years ago.”
“Do you have other children?”
“This will be our first.”
Amenia’s eyes searched my face. “Does Bakist make you happy, Nykara?”
“Extremely.” I’d never thought I could love anyone as much as I’d loved Amenia. I’d been so wrong. My love for Bakist was different, of course, probably even more complete. I’d always had to keep Amenia a little at arms length, because of her uncle’s refusal to let us be joined. She’d kept apart from me too, except for the one time she hadn’t, the night before she’d been joined to Sanakht. That wasn’t the case at all with Bakist.
“I’m glad, Nykara,” Amenia said. She clearly meant it.
Just then a few of Senebi’s men appeared a little ways north on the riverbank, arms loaded with overflowing baskets. More men straggled from a grove of palms fro
m the south, making a beeline for my boat.
“I have to go,” I said. “Goodbye, Amenia. I wish you well. Tell Yuny to hide his food.” Then I turned and strode purposefully towards the riverbank. I didn’t look back. I had to make an actual and symbolic break with her. I promised myself I’d never see her again. And then I blinked tears from my eyes.
***
I wearily disembarked from my boat at sunset. Bakist, five months pregnant now, was waiting at the landing for me. Her face was etched with concern. She linked her arm in mine, led me to a secluded spot along the riverbank where we wouldn’t be overheard. We sat. I put an arm around her shoulder and she lay her head against my chest. It had been a long awful day.
“I was with your workers’ families when the boatmen started returning home this afternoon,” she said. “Are the stories they’re telling true? Has Ma–ee really turned on the valley’s farmers?”
“Sadly, yes.” I hadn’t filled her in on what was going to happen today. I hadn’t wanted her to worry.
“Everyone’s up in arms,” Bakist reported. “They’re angry, bitter, disgusted. They all wonder if they’re going to be next. I promised the families who work for you that you won’t let anything happen to them.”
“I’m glad you did. But I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep your promise,” I said.
She sat up, looked at me.
“Why? What happened?”
“Something really bad. Yesterday Ma–ee warned me if I did anything to interfere with Senebi’s raid he’d take the fleet and smithy from me.”
“You interfered.” Bakist said it with certainty.
“Yes. At one farm Senebi’s guards were beating a farmer in front of his family. They found grain in his hut and were taking it. The family was destitute. So I made the guards release the farmer and made them leave the grain. I’m certain the guard will tell Senebi, and he’ll tell Ma–ee. I’ve given Ma–ee the excuse he’s been waiting for to take everything away from me. Us. I’m so sorry, Bakist.”
The Women and the Boatman Page 71