The Forest of Myrrh (Imhotep Book 3)

by Jerry Dubs

  Kewab nodded, “Yes, Lord Imhotep.”

  “Turn around,” Imhotep ordered and then he rubbed oil on the young soldier’s back. Finished, he rewrapped the jar and offered it to Kewab. “Take it home and give it to her.”

  - 0 -

  He found Meryt sitting with Dedi on a bench beside a tamarisk tree at the back of their home. Imhotep considered the tree more a weed than a tree because its branches weren’t high enough or full enough to give shade, but Meryt liked its delicate leaves and pink blossoms.

  Dedi, Taki’s oldest daughter, was as close to Meryt as a sister. Only a few years younger than Meryt, Dedi had inherited both her mother’s girth and her unfailing good nature.

  “Imhotep,” Meryt said, slowly rising from the bench. She was wearing a simple sheath held in place with two straps over her shoulders. Used to seeing her naked except for a short kilt or loincloth, Imhotep paused a moment before quickly stepping to her and taking her gently in his arms.

  She hugged him fiercely. “I won’t break,” she said with a light laugh.

  As Imhotep held her, she said, “Akila said I needed to wear this to keep my wound clean. She keeps it wrapped and puts honey on it every day. I think she wants to make me sweeter for you.”

  She pulled back and looked up into his face, smiling and looking younger than he remembered. “It is working. I am healing and I do feel stronger every day.” Playfully she put her forearm to Imhotep’s mouth. “Taste me,” she said. “Do you think the honey is making me sweeter?”

  Imhotep kissed her arm and then blushed as Dedi started to laugh. “Her nipples are probably sweeter, Lord Imhotep,” she said.

  Imhotep closed his eyes as Meryt joined in Dedi’s laughter. Squeezing his arm, Meryt said, “Come, dear husband. Sit with us.”

  “Only if Dedi promises to behave,” he joked.

  “Where is the fun in that?” Dedi said, breaking into laughter again.

  As Imhotep settled on the bench beside Meryt, she said, “We were planning to go to the market. Taki and Dedi bring me food every day. They think I look too small. She threatened to bring me balls of dough and fatten me up like a goose.”

  Imhotep laughed and, looking over Meryt’s shoulder, he winked at Dedi.

  “Don’t make her too big,” he said. “I can barely handle her as she is.”

  “You handle me quite easily,” Meryt said unabashedly, and Imhotep closed his eyes again. He had never gotten used to how casually, openly and frequently Meryt and her friends talked of sex.

  Enjoying Imhotep’s embarrassment, Dedi said, “Tell me, Meryt. Does he take you standing? Meres did that all the time. He would lift me and sit me on ... ”

  “Thank you, Dedi,” Imhotep interrupted.

  “Do you know what he did the other night?” Dedi said, as unstoppable as her mother. “He fell asleep!”

  “I’m sure he was very tired,” Meryt reassured her.

  Dedi laughed. “Not so tired that he didn’t try to ride me three times.”

  “No!” Meryt said, turning to face Dedi, but leaving a comforting hand on Imhotep’s arm.

  Hoping to derail the conversation, Imhotep said, “Where are Maya and Akila?”

  “Maya went with Akila and Hapu. They are by the river, by the market that is upstream, by the large sycamore,” Meryt said.

  “I suppose Imhotep must divide his time between you and Akila now,” Dedi told Meryt, refusing to relinquish the thread of her favorite topic. “I hope you get him first. He is getting old and might not ... ”

  Shaking his head, Imhotep hurried away to find Akila and Hapu.

  - 0 -

  As he walked the dusty streets of Ineb-Hedj, he realized that he should have taken time to refresh himself. The jasmine oil was being overpowered by the sour odor of dried sweat and, rubbing a hand over his head, he felt the scratch of stubble.

  Looking down at his loincloth, he was relieved to see that it was more white than gray. He wasn’t wearing any sandals, they seemed to collect and store sand, and he had never gotten used to the feel of sand on his toes.

  I must look and smell like a bum, he thought. He shrugged; he would bathe and shave after he had seen Maya and Akila.

  Lost in his thoughts, he realized that he had passed the path that turned away from town and led to the river. Pausing, he saw that he was only a few steps from a market. He remembered an old man, toothless and nearly blind, who sold staffs from a shady spot at the edge of the market.

  It was midmorning and the square was filled with noise. Geese honked, goats bleated, and a lone ox tethered to a tree snorted but the sounds of the animals had to compete with the chatter and laughter from friends as they greeted each other.

  Imhotep, taller than most Egyptians, looked over the shaved heads and hunched shoulders to get his bearing. Moving cautiously he worked his way through the crowd toward the far side of the square and the twin palms that marked the staff seller’s location.

  Despite the noise, the old man was dozing, a soft, rhythmic snore rolling from his open mouth. Imhotep considered waking him and then decided to first examine the dozen staffs that lay on the ground beside the man.

  Some of the walking sticks were little more than tree branches with the leaves stripped away. Others had carved heads on them, baboons and falcons and one that might have been a lion or perhaps a dog, Imhotep couldn’t tell.

  Bending over the loose bundle of sticks he sorted through them. He decided that what he wanted was something that had some weight to it, something that wouldn’t break like the last one had.

  Picking up the thickest stick, he discovered that its shaft was carved to look like two entwined snakes. He studied it for a moment, trying to recall where he had seen a similar design. A caduceus, he finally remembered, the universal symbol for a doctor.

  The staff was shoulder height. He held it in his right hand and leaned on it. It felt sturdy. Opening his pouch he felt through the contents, searching for the right stone. He pulled his hand from his pouch, opened his fist and saw that he had grabbed three turquoise gemstones. The smallest of them was worth more than the man’s entire collection of staffs.

  Imhotep nudged the sleeping man with his foot.

  The man opened one eye, saw that he was looking at an unwashed, unshaven beggar and waved his hand to shoosh him away.

  “Go away, and leave that staff here,” the man said.

  Imhotep bent to him. “Open your hand, father.”

  The man eyed him suspiciously and then stretched out an open hand. Imhotep poured the three precious stones into his hand.

  - 0 -

  “Father!” Maya called. She scrambled to her feet and ran down the dusty path to Imhotep. He knelt, laid his new staff at his side and opened his arms to her.

  Maya was eight years old now and Imhotep had missed more than half of her life while he had been exiled in modern Egypt. He had been back in the Two Lands for less than a month and treasured every time she called him father.

  She had no sooner wrapped her arms around his neck when she pulled back and said, “You stink!”

  He laughed. “I know, Maya. I just arrived in Ineb-Hedj and couldn’t wait to see you.”

  “Did you see mother?” she asked, squinting her eyes at him.

  He nodded.

  “Did she hug you?”

  He nodded again.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Very sure.”

  “OK,” she said, approaching him with open arms.

  Smiling happily, Imhotep took his daughter in his arms again.

  “We’ve set up a clinic,” Hapu said as Imhotep and Maya joined them.

  “She is the doctor,” Maya said pointing to Akila, “and Hapu is the nurse.”

  “Hello, Imhotep,” Akila said, stepping toward him.

  He held up a hand. “I am told,” he nodded toward Maya, “that I am very stinky.”

  Akila smiled. “I’ve seen you worse,” she said, opening her arms.

  “Thank you,” he
whispered into her ear as he held her. “And you, Akila, you are well?”

  “Well?”

  “Fully recovered from giving your blood.”

  “Yes,” she said, giving him a last squeeze and then backing away. “You do stink, Imhotep.”

  “Cleanliness is most important,” Hapu said, staying a few feet away from Imhotep. “It prevents infections.”

  Laughing, he held his hands out in surrender. “I’ll go bathe immediately.”

  “No, stay a minute,” Akila said, sitting on one of the flat rocks beneath the tree. She was wearing a sheath like Meryt’s, a narrow shapeless tube of linen with two shoulder straps. As she sat Imhotep saw that a triangular patch had been added to the side of the sheath to accommodate her larger breasts. She hadn’t shaved her head, her hair was pulled back into a plaited bun.

  “What did you learn in Iunu?” she asked in Arabic.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Bata heard that a girl is missing and that a hunchback was seen in the area. There was a bloody hand print on a broken jar in the room where Hetephernebti died, but no one saw or heard anything.”

  “So nothing,” she said.

  He shook his head. “I talked with the new priestess and Bata stayed behind to look for the hunchback and the missing girl. Oh,” he reached into his pouch and pulled out the carefully folded linen that held a copy of the hand print, “and I have our clue.”

  She took the linen from him and opened it. She glanced at the hand print and then looked at Imhotep.

  “I know, this isn’t CSI, but it’s all I have. I’ll show it to King Huni and tell him that ... ” Imhotep looked at the linen. Looking back at Akila, he said, “What happened, Akila, was that twenty years ago a priest was found dead. He was very old and everyone thought that he had died of old age. I found that the bones in his neck had been broken, and so we knew that he had been strangled. The story is part of the myth that has grown around me.”

  She nodded. “I’ve heard some of the stories.”

  “I have to go to Khmunu where Hetephernebti’s body is being prepared. Would you come with me?”

  “To examine her body?” Akila said.

  “Please,” he said.

  - 0 -

  Akila sat at the stern of the boat that was making its way upriver from Ineb-Hedj to Khmunu and the mortuary chambers of the Temple of Thoth. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun. She had considered cutting it short, but decided that she had to either shave it all off or leave it long enough to be pulled away from her neck.

  She had left it long, knowing as she did that it was a measure of her commitment. If I shave my head, she had told herself, then I have decided to stay.

  And that is the question, she had told herself. Do I want to stay here?

  Trailing a hand in the water, her face turned upward to the sun, her eyes closed, she let the gentle sway of the boat lure her into a mindless peace.

  Imhotep sat beside her.

  He was bare-chested, his skin glistening with protective oils. He had decided that he needed to get used to the ancient sun again. So he wore kohl to protect his eyes, oiled his skin and tried to convince himself that he truly was Imhotep and not a misplaced American.

  He stole a glance at Akila, so out of place with her full head of hair, the silver ring in her lip, her body modestly covered in a linen gown. Even though she is an Egyptian, she is much more displaced here in this ancient land, he thought.

  And she is here because of me.

  When he had first arrived in the ancient world twenty-three years ago, he had been overwhelmed by the impossibility of the situation and the strangeness of the society.

  And then he had accepted it.

  He remembered the exact moment.

  He had been commanded by King Djoser to attend to his son Teti, whose arm had been broken and was in danger of being amputated. While attending the boy he had discovered that his limited knowledge of medicine far exceeded that of the royal physician.

  That night, exhausted by the fear of doing something wrong, but exhilarated by the discovery that he could help the boy, he had sat in the lamp-lit chamber he had been given. Meryt, whom he had saved from the wasting disease, was asleep in the room, lying on her side across the chamber.

  He had picked up a pencil – how he missed pencils! – and sketched her bare shoulders and back, the gentle curves of her young body. Accustomed by then to the casual nudity of the Two Lands, he had sketched her unthinkingly, his conscious thought surrendering like mist to the morning sun.

  The next day, sitting by a pool in the palace garden, he had found himself studying her again and thought how young she was. As his modern mind started to assign morality to her age, he shook his head and closed his eyes, trying to align his thoughts with the ancient world.

  When he reopened his eyes everything was changed; the colors of the trees and flowers and stones and Meryt’s skin all seemed richer and more immediate. The light rustle of the leaves, the flapping of a swallow’s wings, the murmur of water trickling across stones to the pond, all surrounded and enfolded him. He felt the heat of the sun, no, now it was Re in his solar boat, and he felt Meryt’s smile on him and he opened his heart to the ancient world and to Meryt.

  In the decades since that moment he had encountered problems and endured pain, but every obstacle had been something he could overcome, something he could solve with his mind and his body because his heart was now grounded in the ancient world. And the ancient world was contained in Meryt’s touch, her glance, her very breath.

  - 0 -

  Akila and Imhotep walked beside each other, close enough that he could have reached out and taken her hand.

  She was immersed in examining the town of Khmunu, home of the temples of Thoth and of Ma’at. As they followed the uphill path, the palette changed from hues of green to shades of dun and sandstone. Off to their right, where the village grew more crowded, there was a rising plateau of roofs surrounded by the floppy leaves of palm trees. To their left, nearer the river, there were only a few huts, less sturdy homes, which Imhotep explained were seasonal, expected to be washed away by the flood each year.

  And ahead, past a wide intersection, loomed tall stone walls, the front of the Temple of Thoth.

  “The mortuary temples are across the river,” he said as they walked. “That’s where her body is being prepared. But first,” he motioned ahead with his staff, “we need to pay a courtesy call on Nimaasted.”

  “The priest of Thoth?” she said.

  “Yes. When I arrived here Waja-Hur was priest of Thoth. He must have been eighty years old, truly ancient. Nimaasted was his assistant. I remember thinking that he was probably exhausted by waiting to take Waja-Hur’s place.

  “And then Nimaasted became involved in the plot to kill King Djoser. Like many others he was convinced that King Djoser was presumptuous and irreverent when he declared himself a god.”

  She nodded. During their years together in modern Egypt, Imhotep had told her about his part in foiling the plot to assassinate King Djoser. At the time it had seemed to her that he was talking about dreams, but now, faced with the immediacy of the Two Lands, she felt how real his anxiety must have been.

  There were no police, no sense of imposed order. While many countries, especially the United States, had willingly surrendered freedom for security, here freedom was tempered only by the unspoken constraints of society, and security was maintained by common consent.

  Imhotep told her that there was little theft and few killings.

  “There is no real poverty,” he had said. “I mean, they are all poor by modern American standards, there aren’t any cars, smart phones or flat-screen televisions. But, on the other hand, there aren’t any drugs or ghettos or racial divide. There are different classes, but other than the king, no one has a life that is that much different from others.”

  - 0 -

  They reached the Temple of Thoth.

  In front of the entrance stood two unfinished row
s of columns, each of them thirty feet tall, the tops shaped like unopened lotus blossoms. A dozen workers, wearing dusty loincloths, their ropy arms and tightly muscled chests covered with gritty dust, were rolling large pill-shaped stones toward the columns.

  “They stack them to create the columns,” Imhotep explained. “Then they’ll be covered with plaster to smooth and cover the seams. The plaster is painted white and then the temple artists – I helped to paint some of the scenes at Djoser’s temples – will cover the plaster with portraits of Thoth as a baboon or an ibis. He’ll be pictured blessing the king, he’ll be shown weighing hearts, he’ll be inscribing hieroglyphs.”

  Akila paused and shook her head.

  “I’ve only seen the ruins,” she said, her voice filled with awe. “This is the beginning.”

  She turned to Imhotep, her eyes filled with excitement. Then turning away, she walked quickly to one of the finished columns. Hesitantly, reverently, she put her hands on the stone. Then leaning back she looked up toward the top of the column.

  “It will be much more impressive when it’s finished,” Imhotep said. He pointed to the lotus blossom top. “There will be an entablature, a sort of lintel, that will cross over the whole row and cap each of the pillars. The underside of that will be painted as well.”

  He stepped between two of the columns and turned to wave Akila to join him.

  “This front wall will be torn down. Waja-Hur liked enclosed spaces. Nimaasted did, too. But now he’s getting old and he wants to change the temple to be more open. So the columns will be an entrance to an open courtyard.

  “Inside the courtyard there will be a proper temple with lots of small rooms ... storage rooms, changing rooms for the priests and priestesses, an inner sanctum for Thoth himself, the god, not Nimaasted.”

  Akila looked upward again at the wall before her and then, turning, at the columns behind her.

  “Remember when you first came to the modern world, with Maya, we went by the entrance to the university and I told you that we Egyptians like to stack things?”