The Forest of Myrrh (Imhotep Book 3)

by Jerry Dubs

  Frustrated, he shook his head. “This is too much talk, too much time.”

  “We will do as you say,” Imhotep said.

  - 0 -

  They reached the boat’s hiding place without being seen and were uncovering it when they heard a shout.

  Imhotep looked up. Three men were standing down the road, too far away for him to see their faces. They were pointing in Imhotep’s direction and then turning to wave over their shoulders.

  “Help us, Lord Imhotep,” Weneg said as he bent low to push the boat toward the water. Akila and Hapu were helping him as he pushed against the wooden hull.

  The boat Weneg had found was smaller than the one Imhotep and Bata had been on, but its keel had sunk into the soft bank of the river. Imhotep bent beside Akila and pushed on the boat, but he kept looking over his shoulder.

  The men were still where he had first seen them, but they had been joined by another group. As he watched, a bead of sweat fell into his eyes. Straightening to wipe his face he heard a sucking sound as the boat rose from the mud.

  “Tim!” Akila said urgently, “help push!”

  He looked at her, saw the boat sliding slowly toward the river and then looked back down the street. The men were in a huddle and as he watched, one of them started running toward them. The others immediately followed.

  “They’re coming,” Imhotep said.

  “Tim!” Akila repeated.

  He stepped into the soft mud and bent to push the boat, but as he reached for it, the boat jerked free of the muck and began a smooth slide to the water. It had low sides, a single mast, two long poles, and a pair of stubby oars. One of the poles slid off the boat as it bounced.

  As the bow of the boat splashed into the water, Imhotep bent to pick up the fallen pole.

  Straightening, he glanced down the road. The men were close enough that he could hear their pounding footsteps. Limping forward, Imhotep pushed at the stern of the boat with his foot while Akila and Hapu, on their knees, pushed it toward the water. Weneg had waded into the water and was pulling on the boat.

  The women rose to their feet as the stern of the boat reached the water.

  “Tim, come on,” Akila said, tugging at Imhotep’s arm.

  The men were closer now, close enough that he could hear their ragged breathing. Some wore loincloths, others wore short, dirty kilts. Most of the men had clubs, a few carried spears.

  None have bows, he thought.

  Akila tugged on him again and Imhotep stumbled after her, his feet sinking into the soft mud of the river bank. Looking up he saw that Weneg was waist deep in the water, still pulling the boat after him.

  Hapu and Akila waded into the water and pushed on the boat.

  The men were close enough now that Imhotep could see their faces. Some were young, younger than Tjau had been when he had asked Imhotep’s permission to join the army. Others were older, their legs and chests thin with age. The men in the kilts, Imhotep realized, were in their twenties, their chests muscled. They were the few trained soldiers who were leading the rebellion.

  Walking backward, his face on the men as he backpedaled to the water, he tripped. Dropping the pole to keep his balance, he twisted and drove his staff into the muddy river bottom. Suddenly he felt hands on him as Akila and Hapu grabbed his arms and tugged him into the boat.

  His arm scraped across the side of the boat as he rolled onto the deck.

  “My staff,” he said as he lost his grip on the walking stick.

  Hapu leaned over the boat, grabbed the staff and tugged it free of the mud. As she fell back onto the deck the boat rocked as Weneg climbed onto it. He grabbed the remaining pole and pushed it into the river to drive the boat forward.

  “Lord Imhotep,” he shouted, “grab an oar.”

  Holding the staff in his hand, Imhotep turned to crawl toward the middle of the small boat. Suddenly the boat rocked. Turning, Imhotep saw that one of the soldiers had run into the river and had grabbed the stern wall.

  Hapu turned toward the man, raised her knife into the air and screamed as she brought it down on his fingers. The soldier screamed as he lost his balance and fell, bleeding, into the water.

  Dragging himself to the side of the boat, Imhotep laid his staff on the deck and picked up an oar. He tied it to the oarlock and before he could lean forward to begin a stroke, the boat rocked again.

  More of the soldiers had run into the water and were trying to pull themselves onto the boat. Hapu and Akila were slashing at them with their knives. Beside him Weneg was pushing on the pole trying to get the boat into deeper water.

  Another man screamed as Hapu’s knife cut through his arm. As she leaned back to regain her balance, a man grabbed at her waist and another man jumped to reach her knife arm. Imhotep let go of the oar and picked up his staff.

  Scuttling forward, he poked at the man who clutched Hapu’s arm. The staff struck the man’s cheekbone and the tip slid up to his eye. Imhotep felt a sickening crunch as the staff poked into the man’s face. The soldier cried out and, letting go of Hapu, fell into the water, which was starting to swirl with blood.

  The man who held Hapu’s waist suddenly screamed and fell away from her. Imhotep looked at Akila, but she was turned away, her head bent as she bit the hand of another man who had grabbed her knife arm.

  The man raised his other arm and punched at Akila’s face. Imhotep heard the sound of bone on bone and Akila’s head twisted away from the blow, blood trailing the movement. Enraged, Imhotep slid toward the man and swung his staff at the man’s head. The blow glanced off the man’s shoulder. The man opened his mouth to shout and suddenly he was gone.

  There were shouts now from the other men, shouts of warning and cries of pain. Looking at the water, Imhotep saw that the ripples of the boat’s lazy wake were cut by dark bronze scales and menacingly powerful snouts.

  Weneg laughed loudly and then shouted, “Get your arms into the boat and stay away from the sides.”

  Akila and Hapu staggered away from the stern of the boat and sat beside Imhotep.

  While Weneg pushed the boat deeper into the river, the water behind them rippled and turned red as the crocodiles took the remaining soldiers.

  Sailing Southward

  By midafternoon Imhotep’s rowing began to slow and Weneg caught Hapu’s eye. He tilted his head at Imhotep and Hapu nodded.

  Getting up from her seat at the stern of the boat she stepped lightly to Imhotep and knelt beside him.

  “Let me row for a little,” she said.

  Imhotep started to shake his head but then realized how tired he was. Standing slowly he leaned against the short mast and gave Hapu room to take his place. Weneg arrested his stroke while Hapu positioned herself, then, smiling at her, he leaned forward and waited until she followed his lead. He adjusted his rhythm to match hers and the boat skipped briskly forward.

  Above them the sail, tied in place after they had escaped the crocodile frenzy at Khmunu, curved tautly as the southern wind helped push them toward Waset. They kept to the middle of the wide river, far enough from the shore that rocks couldn’t be thrown at them, far enough that a spear would be unlikely to reach them.

  Not trusting his balance, Imhotep sank to his hands and knees and crawled to the stern where Akila sat. As he reached Akila he noticed dried blood in the deep notches in the gunwale made when Hapu had chopped off the soldier’s fingers. Leaning over the side of the low boat he cupped water in his hand and started to wash away the blood.

  Finished, he looked at Akila. Her left eye was blackened and below it a small, butterfly bandage covered a tear in her cheek. Seeing him look at her she shook her head. “It is nothing.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “It will leave a small mark, but I’m fine.”

  “No,” he said. “I mean I’m sorry about all of this.” He nodded downriver toward the death they had left behind them.

  She sighed and shrugged, then, changing the subject, she nodded toward his kilt-covered
hip. “I didn’t realize before that your birthmark is shaped like a hieroglyph.”

  Unthinking, he put his hand on his hip.

  “You were sleeping on your side this morning on the roof,” she said. “It looks like a reed, one of the symbols of your name.”

  He shrugged. “I guess it depends on which way you look at it.”

  She stared at him a moment and then said, “I guess that’s true about everything.”

  - 0 -

  An hour later, Akila relieved Hapu and Weneg turned down Imhotep’s offer to take his place.

  Joining Imhotep by the stern of the boat, Hapu carried one of the travel sacks. She sat cross-legged and searched inside the bag. Bringing out a handful of dates, she held her hand out to Imhotep, who took a few, and then she started to eat.

  As he ate, Imhotep wondered what he should say to Hapu. He had seen desperation and fear in Akila’s face when they had fought the soldiers. But Hapu had looked different. Closing his eyes now, he pictured the intensity that had filled her face. With a start he realized it was the same look that he had seen in Hetephernebti’s face during prayer and in Meryt’s face when they made love.

  It was animal ferocity, a passionate embrace of the moment. He wondered if he showed the same abandonment when he painted or if he was too self-aware to lose himself so completely.

  Lost in his thoughts, he gazed unseeing at the eastern shore of the river. The sky was deep and cloudless. The trees, illuminated by the harsh afternoon sun, struggled to keep their color. The sandy bank, the swaying reeds and the river, its current so slow it seemed solid enough to walk on, slid past him.

  Hapu nudged his arm with her elbow. Slowly he turned to her, accepted more dates and ate without tasting them as he stared across the water.

  - 0 -

  Badari was empty. So was Tahta, one of the few villages on the west bank of the river, and so they rowed on.

  As evening crept in, Weneg nodded his head at Hapu, who was rowing with him, and looked to the western bank. A slight depression marked a gully that cut into the river bank. As Hapu looked, a man rose from his knees by the river. He was broad shouldered and held a bow. To Hapu’s relief, she saw he was wearing a soldier’s kilt.

  “Untie the sail, Lord Imhotep,” Weneg said as he pulled harder on his oar and the boat began to turn to the river bank.

  The boat turned broadside to the current and Hapu began to row with Weneg. Feet spread to keep his balance, Imhotep untied the cords that held the bottom of the sail in place. Freed, the sail began to flap in the wind as the boat lurched toward shore.

  - 0 -

  Three men waded into the water and helped Weneg pull the boat ashore. Then they led them up the gully and over a small rise to an encampment.

  An older soldier, lean, but with heavily muscled arms, approached them.

  “Lord Imhotep,” the soldier said, bowing his head. “I am Captain Djedefptah. Kewab said I should watch for you.”

  “Is he here?” Imhotep asked, looking over the small encampment.

  “Lord Imhotep?” called a familiar voice. Looking toward the voice, Imhotep saw Bata lying on the sand near a small camp fire.

  As Imhotep started to walk toward Bata, Djedefptah put out an arm to stop him. Angrily Imhotep turned to the soldier, but he saw only concern on the man’s face.

  Djedefptah leaned close and whispered, “Before Kewab contined south with your wife and daughter, he put Bata ashore here. He left your friend behind because he was worried that he wouldn’t survive the journey. I am sorry.”

  Imhotep nodded his understanding and said, “Thank you, Djedefptah.” Then, waving to Akila and Hapu to join him, he hurried to Bata.

  - 0 -

  “Bata,” Imhotep said, kneeling slowly by his friend.

  “Lord Imhotep,” Bata answered, rising to his elbows with a grimace, “I knew that I would see you again.” Forcing a smile as he looked up at Akila and Hapu he said, “Hello, sisters. I knew that Imhotep would find you.”

  “We found him,” Hapu said, smiling back and sitting beside Bata.

  Akila looked at him carefully, a professional smile on her face. Then she knelt behind him and gently laid a hand on his bare shoulder.

  “What do you need, what can I do?” Imhotep asked her.

  “Could you get them to boil some water and to find some clean bandages?” she asked.

  Cupping his hand behind Bata’s head, Imhotep leaned forward and kissed his friend’s forehead. “Akila will heal you,” he said softly.

  Walking to Djedefptah, he heard the confident voice of Akila as she instructed Hapu and reassured Bata that he would be well.

  “Captain Djedefptah, could you have someone boil water and find clean linens?” Imhotep said as he approached the young soldier. Looking past him he saw Weneg sitting by some men, gesturing as he ate, describing, Imhotep assumed, the crocodile attack.

  After Djedefptah ordered a man to prepare the water and find clean bandages, Imhotep said, “You say that Kewab continued south. To Waset?”

  Djedefptah shook his head. “I don’t know, Lord Imhotep. King Huni’s army grows smaller every day. The militias from the Lower House deserted while we were in the desert. Then as we began moving south, more men fled. Some are afraid, some want to protect their families.

  “I was told that King Huni is heading for Abu, his home. He is taking everything from the villages so that the rebels have nothing to eat. We are one of several companies of archers that he stationed along the river. If the rebels try to sail to Abu, we will stop them. Or at least slow them,” he said, nodding toward the small number of men he commanded.

  “Kewab might stop in Waset, but I think he will continue on to Abu,” he said.

  Imhotep nodded. He remembered Abu from his earliest days in the Two Lands. It had been there, at the Temple of Khnum, that he had waited anxiously for the river to flood. And where he had first made love with Meryt.

  Suddenly he was struck with an unsettling sense of déjà vu.

  When he first arrived in the Two Lands, he had traveled upriver while the land was in turmoil. He had been traveling with an injured companion and heading for the same temple.

  A growing disquiet enveloped him and he felt that he was on the verge of an epiphany, that some truth was about to be revealed. Leaving Djedefptah, he walked to edge of the encampment and looked out into the empty desert.

  Re had disappeared, leaving behind a red glow, the first bloodshed from his nightly battle to stay alive, or simply the bending of light through the atmosphere. Same sky, same world, different views, he thought again.

  He closed his eyes, waiting for a revelation, but all he saw was darkness.

  - 0 -

  “He has a fever, but the antibiotics will take care of that. His wounds are deep, but the topical I gave him will close them quickly and cleanly. He will have scars, but he shouldn’t lose any movement,” Akila said that night as she and Imhotep settled in to sleep on reed mats.

  Shaking her head, she added, “People are so cruel. The only reason to injure someone like that is to inflict pain. There isn’t any other reason for it. None.”

  Curling in beside him, her head on his shoulder, she tilted her head up to whisper in his ear. “This world frightens me, Tim. There are no boundaries.”

  Weneg's Confession

  They sailed past Waset, its line of wooden piers empty of boats.

  Continuing upriver, they caught glimpses of archers on dun colored bluffs where the river narrowed as it jogged east. Djedefptah had given them a dark blue pennant to tie to their mast and the archers, seeing King Huni’s flag, raised their bows in one hand and saluted them.

  Weneg, his broad back bent over the oars, raised a hand to wave back at the soldiers. Leaning back as he rowed, he looked at Hapu who was resting with Akila and Bata and nodded.

  As she approached Imhotep, Weneg surprised her by saying, “Take my spot, little sister.”

  Standing, he made room for her and then stoo
d between her and Imhotep and stretched. “Up around the next bend is Edfu,” he said. “It’s my home. I’d like to stop there.”

  - 0 -

  The mud brick homes in Edfu were crowded together, almost as if they were huddling close for protection.

  “I will stay and guard the boat,” Bata said, settling in to lean against a shady sycamore. He sat straight, his side against the tree trunk, a hand holding one of the wicked knives Akila had stolen from the mortuary temple.

  Before Imhotep could protest, Akila put a hand on his arm. “We are far from the rebel army and it will make him feel useful,” she said in English.

  Imhotep glanced at Weneg, who nodded his head and then he went to Bata. “If you see anyone approaching, call. Make a sound like a lion,” he said, a grin following his words.

  Bata shook his head seriously. “I cannot do a lion. Maybe a frog,” he said and then he grunted out a sad-sounding croak.

  “That will be wonderful, Bata. Not only will it alert us, but it will frighten away the enemy,” he said with a laugh.

  Bata smiled back and then leaned his head against the tree trunk and closed his eyes. “This is how they taught us to keep guard when I was a soldier,” he said, opening one eye and then winking at Weneg.

  “We are still taught that way,” Weneg said, shaking his head and smiling.

  - 0 -

  Weneg led them through the empty streets, pausing to looking inside some homes, always backing away and shaking his head. As they neared the eastern edge of the village, he said, “I thought some people might still be here. We are far above Waset.”

  He pointed back at the last house he had checked. “That is where Kaemqed lived. He is the village elder, everyone’s uncle or grandfather,” he said, smiling at Imhotep.