“Why did you defend that particular farmer?” Bakist asked.
I steeled myself. I hoped she’d understand and not be threatened by my reason. Though how could she not? “The farmer’s name is Yuny. He’s joined to Amenia’s cousin Peseshet.” I took a deep breath. “Amenia lives on that farm, Bakist. When I saw her two little girls clinging to her skirt and crying I just reacted.”
Bakist leaned against me, wrapped her arm around my waist. “I’m glad you did.”
“How can you be glad?” I asked. “I just cost us everything.”
“Maybe. But Ma–ee’s thugs haven’t shown up yet to throw us out. Besides, I told you before we were joined I didn’t begrudge your love for Amenia. She was part of your life. I said I didn’t want you to forget that, or her.”
I kissed Bakist’s brow.
“How long has it been since you’ve seen her?” she asked.
“Three years. Since the night I killed Sanakht.”
“How was she?”
“I’ve never seen such squalor,” I admitted. “All the farmers are suffering because of these bad inundations, but Yuny seems to have compounded that by being a particularly bad farmer. His hut was shabby. I assume Amenia and her daughters live in the lean–to attached to it. Yuny probably resented Hemaka sending her family to live with him and did what he could to make her suffer.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“If I’d sought her out after I killed Sanakht I could at least have taken her somewhere else in the valley, where she’d have had a chance for a fresh start,” I said. “But she didn’t want anything to do with me so I abandoned her to her fate. Seeing her girls made me realize I’d made a mistake. Whatever the issues were between Amenia and me, those children were innocent victims. They shouldn’t have had to pay the price. I made them fatherless. I should have looked out for them.” I placed my hand on Bakist’s stomach. “And today, I should have looked out for you. I’m sorry, Bakist. Sometimes I’m too impulsive for my own good.”
“What’s done is done,” she said practically. “Time to make a plan. It’s not the end of the world for us, Nykara. We can return to Maadi.”
“I suppose we won’t be turned away like the other immigrants,” I said. “Your father will take us in.”
“Or we could start fresh, on our own,” Bakist said. “Remember that time in Farkha, when you and Papa and Itu and I talked about Maadi’s future? How it would never grow any larger because it was turning immigrants away?”
“Or course.”
“You told Papa he should start an estate in the delta and supply his own foodstuffs and expand his workforce. He laughed it off, said he wasn’t a farmer.”
“Shortsighted.”
“Especially when Setau was turning farmers away at the harbor. Nykara, we could start an estate in the delta – on that turtleback where we camped on the way to Farkha. Don’t you remember sitting with me under the stars, picturing a farm and pottery and brewery and smithy and boatyard?”
“I do,” I said, beginning to catch her excitement.
“We could start an estate, supply Maadi, use your boats to carry Papa’s goods between Farkha and Maadi, trade along the coast and south into the river valley. Just like we talked about with Abar – we could recreate Nekhen on a smaller scale in the delta. We could found a Southern colony.” She put her hand atop the one of mine still on her stomach. “We could create a legacy for our child. Can’t you picture our house at the very end of the ridge, sitting in front of it every evening, watching the sun set over the delta, our children playing at our feet? Let’s do it, Nykara!”
“Heth will go with us,” I said.
“He’d better – we’ll need someone to look after our estate while the two of us are traveling the Wadjet Wer, trading.”
“We’ll likely be able to talk my best men and their families into going too. We’ll have oarsmen enough to take all my boats – we’ll start life in the North with an entire fleet at our disposal.” I stood up, began to pace. “We’ll have to prepare in secret – tell no one so Ma–ee won’t try to stop us from going. We’ll have to assemble supplies enough to tide us over until our first harvest.”
“I can take care of that,” Bakist said. She looked up at me. “What about Abar? I think we should ask her to go with us. She deserves to be free of Ma–ee, especially after what he did today. He’ll only get worse. She might finally buy in to becoming a presence in the North.”
“If she comes with us Ma–ee will chase us,” I said with certainty.
“Any pursuit will be half–hearted,” Bakist scoffed. “Senebi will have to use whichever of your boatmen we leave behind. They’ll have no incentive to catch us. They might create delays just to spite him. Which of your men doesn’t hate him?”
“You make a good point.”
“We should take Amenia and her daughters too,” Bakist said.
“Would that really be a good idea?” I asked.
“Could you live with yourself, knowingly abandoning her – them – a second time? Papa will take Amenia in. He’ll set up a pottery works for her. He’ll grow rich. She’ll be well taken care of.”
I took Bakist in my arms. “You never fail to amaze me. You’re so spectacularly wonderful. You have the biggest heart I’ve ever seen.”
“Nearly as big as my belly,” she laughed.
***
Amenia
***
I had no idea why Uncle Hemaka had summoned me this evening to sit with him inside what Yuny laughably called a hut. The structure was nothing more than a bunch of untrimmed branches laid across each other in a rude rectangle and held in place by dried mud, roofed over with palm fronds, and those with large gaps between them. Yuny had slapped it together a few days after Nykara interfered with Senebi’s guards who’d been confiscating our containers of emmer. Senebi had returned the next day with a squad of men, looted everything inside Yuny’s hut and my attached lean–to, then burned them both to the ground. I’d watched the destruction from a hiding place along the riverbank along with my girls. The odor of the hut’s charred remains still permeated the area. Yuny, of course, blamed me for what had happened. If I hadn’t been on his farm, he said, Nykara wouldn’t have interfered and all he would have lost was his grain. He’d conveniently forgotten he’d struck one of the guards and they were about to make him pay for that when Nykara showed up and rescued him from them.
Yuny had never invited me inside his living quarters before, nor had my cousin Peseshet, out of fear of his reaction. They shared their quarters with their children and grandchild. Their son Ibi was twenty now and joined; his woman Nebtint mostly cared for their baby and wove linen and cooked. Their daughter Aat was nineteen and desperately hoping to be joined to a man soon so she could escape her father, though he was dragging his feet because he didn’t want to lose her as a laborer in his field. Yuny was still angry after all these years that Uncle Hemaka had stashed me away on his farm, despite the vast amount of work I did daily. I avoided him as much as possible when I wasn’t working under his direct supervision. I usually spent my evenings at a secluded spot on the riverbank with my daughters, bathing and talking and passing on the ancient family stories and singing and praying to the falcon god and playing games before we retired to the lean–to where we slept. Even more puzzling tonight was Uncle’s presence; he hadn’t visited the farm even once since he’d delivered me here.
Peseshet and the rest of the family were missing. Hemaka had ordered them to stay with Auntie in the upper settlement tonight. My girls were already fast asleep in our lean–to. Uncle and Yuny and Nekauba were sitting close to several bowls of oil with burning linen wicks providing a dim flickering light. I was sitting in the corner, my back against the rough wall, out of their way. Occasionally Uncle Hemaka rose and peered impatiently out of the hut’s entrance. He was waiting for someone.
Nekauba eyed me salaciously. I was glad I was mostly in shadow. I hated the way he always swept his eyes over my body. He�
��d never given up his obsession with me – not after his joining to Kapes, not even while Sanakht was alive. Those years I’d gone out of my way not to be caught alone with him; the times I’d failed he’d taken liberties that had left me feeling violated and dirty. That he’d craved me back then even more than he’d feared his father’s reaction if he’d been caught with me had been sobering. He’d visited Yuny’s farm often after Sanakht’s death, always to see me. He assured me each time Uncle Hemaka would soon let him have me. Kapes, of course, was the stumbling block. She was, after all, Uncle’s daughter, and Uncle wasn’t about to cast her aside for no good reason. I was surprised she hadn’t already had a deadly accident of some kind, freeing Nekauba to join with me. I wouldn’t put anything past that snake. He was more vicious and ruthless now than he’d ever been.
Teti stepped through the opening. He gazed momentarily at the men huddled inside. Uncle rose and greeted him and invited him to sit. Wordlessly, Teti did. Pointedly, he selected a spot as far away from Uncle as he could get in the crowded space. There was no love lost between the two.
Teti still didn’t know Ma–ee had burned his pottery works to the ground, clearing the way for Uncle to become Nekhen’s elite potter in his place. Teti had paid a price simply because Ma–ee had wanted to hurt Nykara by denying me to him. Or, possibly, Ma–ee had vindictively chosen to punish Teti because of the confrontation he’d had with his son Weni over the succession the night of the pre–hunt ritual. Or because he’d learned of the deal Teti had negotiated with Aboo to make Weni Nekhen’s ruler. Teti had a small works now in the lower settlement, a fraction of the size of what he’d once operated, a part of Uncle Hemaka’s enterprise. Teti worked for him, and by all accounts he didn’t like that one bit. He deeply resented Uncle. That he’d come tonight made this meeting even more curious.
Then Pipi poked his head in. He entered at Uncle’s invitation, followed by his son Wehemka. They squeezed into the remaining portion of the circle.
“Go outside and stand watch,” Uncle ordered Yuny. “Warn us if anyone comes.”
Yuny frowned, almost said something, then went outside, letting down the reed mat tied to the lintel, covering the entrance behind him. He was clearly irritated he wasn’t being included in whatever was happening. But why should he be? Uncle had never had any use for Yuny, aside from the food his farm provided for his pottery workers. Yuny’s hut was extremely small and with so many gathered and the only opening closed it immediately became almost unbearably hot and stifling. Sweat started running down my spine.
“Why have you summoned us here in such secrecy, to such squalid surroundings?” Pipi asked, wiping moisture from his brow with the back of his palm.
Yuny surely would have bristled at that description, though it was true. Even before the burning, his hut had been one of the worst farm habitations I’d ever seen. There’d barely been enough space for his family to sleep and store their clothing and containers of food and jars of beer. I counted myself lucky my girls and I lived in the lean–to, out of their way.
“Ma–ee is out of control,” Uncle averred. “His confiscation of farmers’ foodstuffs after the recent harvest is the last straw. Ever since he’s become ruler he’s taken more and more of what is ours. We elites used to receive a fair share of the goods from Maadi and Tjeni and Abu and Nubt – no longer. He takes the best for himself, rewards his closest friends, gives us the crumbs. He’s constantly adding dependents – more servants in his house, more guards for Senebi, more officials to carry out his orders. Every time he adds someone he demands more food and supplies from us so he can take care of them. The justice he renders goes to the highest bidder. The best farm fields go to the highest bidder. He’s set Senebi and his goons on the people who resist him time after time. You saw the burnt remains of Yuny’s hut just outside – that was Senebi’s work, because Yuny resisted when Senebi’s thugs stole his grain. Everyone is terrified of his men. Senebi has grown wealthy with what he’s seized from the helpless on his own initiative. Who knows if Ma–ee knows or cares about that? Who’d report him to Ma–ee anyway? We have to do something.”
“What do you propose?” Teti asked.
Uncle Hemaka swept his eyes around the circle. “We need to remove Ma–ee as Nekhen’s ruler.”
There was a moment of absolute silence. Everyone looked at everyone else, judging reactions. I personally was appalled. Preventing Ma–ee from becoming ruler, as Abar and Nykara and I had once tried, was one thing. Removal was entirely different. Especially since I’d given Ma–ee the sanction of the falcon god.
“How?” Pipi asked.
Uncle turned to me. “Amenia, come sit among us.”
Reluctantly, I moved forward from my corner – I don’t think most of the newcomers had even realized I was present – and squeezed into a tight space where Yuny had been sitting, right between Uncle and Nekauba. Nekauba predictably took advantage of the opportunity to press his body against mine. I tried to make myself as small as possible. His right hand slipped down the middle of my back, rested on my hip. I elbowed him away. He disgusted me. He put his hand right back.
“I’ll order Amenia to claim at Nekhen’s next celebration that the falcon god sent her a dream, revealing he wants a new ruler put in charge of Nekhen. I’ll order her to name one of us.”
You expect me to lie for you, after what you’ve done to me and Nykara? You expect me to risk the wrath of the falcon god for your personal gain? Not likely.
“Why isn’t Nykara here tonight?” Pipi interrupted. “He’s the wealthiest man in Nekhen, and the most influential, except for Ma–ee. Or maybe even more influential. If this conspiracy – which I assume we’re launching – is to succeed, he’s essential. He controls water transportation and copper. Nekhen can’t survive without him. He’s a powerful weapon to have in our arsenal.”
“Unless you’ve alienated him, Hemaka,” Wehemka said pointedly.
“Everyone knows you promised Amenia to Nykara, then gave her to your brother instead,” Teti added, resting his eyes on me.
“And he was once your partner, but isn’t anymore,” Pipi added.
“Are you afraid of him?” Teti probed. “Is that why he’s not here?”
“I fear no man,” Uncle blustered.
“Really? You betrayed Nykara when you gave Amenia to Sanakht. Your brother turned out to be despicable, a grave robber,” Teti said.
“Nykara will forgive anything he holds against me if I give Amenia to him now,” Uncle said flippantly. “She is, after all, free.”
Nekauba stiffened at my side. If Uncle was going to give me to anyone, he wanted it to be him.
As for me, I wished I really could be with Nykara. I couldn’t. He didn’t want me anymore. All because Uncle Hemaka had given me to Uncle Sanakht. Nykara had killed Sanakht because of me. He hated me now for turning him into a killer. He’d never sought me out since that night in the cemetery, never made a single attempt to contact me. He’d stumbled on me here at Yuny’s farm accidentally; he’d never returned afterwards. There was no more damning proof he no longer loved me. Or maybe there was; he was joined to another woman now, with a child on the way. If these men thought they could draw Nykara into whatever devious plan they were developing it wouldn’t be because he still wanted to be with me.
“Amenia may be free, but Nykara’s not,” Wehemka said. “He has a woman – Bakist. Brought her back from Maadi a few years ago.”
“That’s right,” Pipi said.
“Broke my sister Wenher’s heart,” Wehemka said, squinting at Uncle. “I’m surprised you don’t know.”
“I don’t keep track of Nykara’s personal life,” Uncle spluttered. “Besides, as crazy as he was over Amenia, I’m sure he’ll send his foreign woman back to Maadi in a heartbeat if I offer Amenia to him now.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you’d ever seen Bakist,” Teti interjected. He practically smacked his lips. “Tallest woman in the settlement, long red hair, willowy, curvaceous – at l
east she was before Nykara got her pregnant. She’s just as gorgeous as Abar was at the same age – I wouldn’t mind having a tumble with her myself.”
Nekauba leaned close, whispered in my ear. “Guess I’m all you have left now. Just a matter of time before you’re mine.”
I held my chin high, did not acknowledge him. I’d never surrender myself to Nekauba.
Hemaka straightened. “We need to keep our circle of conspirators small for now,” he argued. “We shouldn’t draw Nykara in unless we’re absolutely sure of him. He meets with Abar regularly, you know – he could warn her what we’re planning, and she could tell Ma–ee, and then we’d all be dead.”
It was a sound point.
Pipi stared at me. “The other problem with your plan, Hemaka, is no one’s seen Amenia at a celebration for years. I doubt anyone would pay attention to anything she has to say. Most people think she was robbing graves along with Sanakht and got away with it.”
“That’s a lie!” I exclaimed, incensed.
Pipi shrugged. “Lie or no, it’s what people think, so it might as well be true.”
I closed my eyes. Sanakht and his greed had cost me everything – Nykara, my reputation, my position as the falcon god’s priestess. The talisman still dangled around my neck, but it was nothing but a useless trinket now, a relic from a different time. My fall was a fitting punishment for turning away from the falcon god and putting my needs before Nekhen’s. I expected I’d keep paying for my rejection of what surely was the god’s will for the rest of my life.
“If we can’t use Amenia to depose Ma–ee we’ll have to kill him,” Teti said. “Even if we could use Amenia he’ll never yield to us quietly.”
“Not just him. His two sons have to die,” Wehemka added.
Cold–blooded. I pictured Abar’s boys. I’d attended her at their births. I’d brought them into the world. Shepseska was alive because of me. He and Shery were the only good things in her life, her light and her joy. I hadn’t seen them in years. I calculated – Shepseska and Shery must be six and eight now. Because of them Wehemka now stood third in the line of succession. He’d gladly wield the death knife himself if given half a chance to get them out of his way. He’d never gotten over how Ma–ee had defeated him and his own conspiracy the day Aboo died. That seemed like such a long time ago. Wehemka still bore a grudge.
The Women and the Boatman Page 72