by Jerry Dubs
Imhotep had smiled and said, “Cause and effect.”
“Yes, yes! Exactly.” Pentu had agreed. Then he had hugged Imhotep and kissed his cheeks. “I am so happy that you are here and that you are everything Bata said that you were.”
Smiling at the memory of the encounter, Imhotep turned to see Senenmut waiting just inside the open air of the garden.
The royal architect was dressed informally. Wearing a tied loincloth and bareheaded, the holder of forty royal titles looked like a working man.
“Come, come, Senenmut,” Imhotep said, stepping forward and waving an arm to beckon Senenmut forward. Waving to the papyrus-strewn table, he said, “I need your help.”
Senenmut raised his eyebrows and said, “With your Djeser-Djeseru?”
Before Imhotep could answer, Pentu entered the room awkwardly carrying a tray of food, a clay pot of beer balanced on the crook of his right arm.
Forgetting his staff, Imhotep limped across the room and took the beer pot from Pentu.
“I told the slaves to spend the day at the market or the river or wherever they want,” Pentu said with a self-deprecating laugh. “Not my wisest decision. Perhaps I should have given only half of them the day off.”
“A holiday for slaves?” Senenmut said.
“Perhaps we could call them servants,” Imhotep suggested, cradling the beer pot in both arms as he limped to the table.
“I doubt that would be enough to satisfy Akila,” Pentu said matter-of-factly as he balanced a corner of the tray on the edge of the table with one hand and, with the other, stacked papyrus sheets to make room for the food.
“Ah,” Senenmut said, “of course, Akila.”
He hurried to the table and helped Pentu gather the papyrus sheets. “She is helping Sitre organize a schedule for her slaves – although she insists that they be called aides. She also insists that they work fewer hours and have time to pursue their own interests.”
He paused as he looked at one of Imhotep’s drawings, a front view of the future temple of Hatshepsut.
“This is incredible,” Senenmut said.
“Thank you, Senenmut. But this is just the skeleton of an idea. I need your help, or rather, I think we can collaborate.” He dipped a cup into the beer pot and offered it to Senenmut. “Actually, all I remember is the facade of the temple.”
He turned to fill a cup for Pentu. “This is the honey beer, isn’t it?” he said sniffing at the pot.
“Almost the last of it,” Pentu said. “I’ll need to have the slaves, I mean servants ... ” He paused as he accepted a cup of beer from Imhotep. “How exactly will that work?”
Imhotep dipped a third cup into the pot and said, “I don’t know. Meryt managed our household. I suspect it will mean freeing them, paying them a living wage, scheduling working hours. I’m sure that Akila will work it out.”
He sipped the beer and then sighed. “Bata was a magician.”
Pentu nodded agreement and held his cup in the air to salute Bata’s memory.
In the brief silence that followed, Imhotep said, “Pentu, Senenmut, I don’t mean to make light of it. What Akila says is true. Slavery is wrong. I hope you will support her efforts.”
Pentu nodded, but said, “There are many questions with it, Lord Imhotep. These slaves are prisoners, captured in war. If they had not been made slaves, they would have been killed, or, if left alive in their homeland, they could have fomented another rebellion, which would have led to our sons being killed.”
Imhotep looked into his beer cup. He had never been a politician, never wrestled with matters of state. He believed that slavery was wrong, it seemed an obvious truth. Yet there were shades. Citizens unable to leave their country, were they slaves? Poorly paid workers unable to leave their jobs, were they living in servitude? Children born into poverty, never educated and able to perform only menial tasks or to live on public welfare, were they truly free?
Akila had been a political activist. He knew that she would have not just the moral compass, but clear ideas and practical steps. He would trust her and help her.
“I’m sorry, Lord Imhotep,” Pentu said, tearing apart a loaf of bread. “We can talk politics another time.”
“Yes, we must,” Imhotep agreed as Senenmut said, “This truly is sublime.”
He was holding the sketch that Imhotep had drawn from memory of the front view of Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s temple. “Instead of dominating the landscape as the pyramids do, it shines from it, like a gemstone from a golden ring. What a fabulous idea!”
He looked from the drawing to Imhotep, his face flush with admiration.
“I can’t build this,” Imhotep said, moving closer to Senenmut. “I struggled for years trying to figure out the weight distribution of King Djoser’s pyramid. Thankfully, he had infinite patience.”
“Not Hatshepsut’s strongest trait,” Senenmut said absently, his eyes studying Imhotep’s sketch.
Stifling a laugh, Pentu choked on his beer and started to cough.
“Oh, you know it is true,” Senenmut said, glancing at Pentu. “She is wonderful and I love her dearly and Amun knows that she is the ka of the Two Lands. She loves it more than life itself. But, when she wants something ... ”
He pointed at the sketch. “Are the columns the same color as the cliff? If there is enough space, the shadows would make them stand out and give it a subtle depth. Oh, I can see it as if it were standing in front of me.”
Imhotep draped an arm about Senenmut’s shoulders.
“This is the temple that you will build for her. The idea is my gift to you. The completed temple will be your gift to her. I have seen this, Senenmut. It will happen. It did happen, so it will happen.”
“I cannot take credit for your idea,” Senenmut said, looking up at Imhotep.
“This beer is excellent,” Imhotep said. He turned to Pentu and said, “I had beer flavored with honey in my home land. I suggested it to Bata. He found the right kind of honey, I didn’t know that there were different kinds. He discovered the correct proportions of water and bread and honey. He learned when to add the honey and how long to brew the beer. So whose beer is this? I think it is Bata’s. I think we would all give him credit.”
He turned back to Senenmut and raised his beer cup.
“To your temple, Senenmut! To Djeser-Djeseru!”
Ta Netjer
“She wants to go to Ta Netjer,” Pentu told Imhotep as they walked to the palace a week later.
Following a street that ran parallel with the river, close enough that they could smell the water, they were passing the main market, which was larger, busier and noisier than Imhotep remembered.
Imhotep stopped and leaned on his staff as he studied the tree line. He turned to his right and saw a stack of wooden cages with pigeons in them. Behind the cages lay a row of shops, their fronts shaded by awnings. He frowned and continued turning, looking at the roof line, studying the angles that the streets took away from the plaza. Shaking his head he completed the circle and smiled sheepishly at Pentu.
He held his staff up to Pentu and said, “I bought this staff here, just a few months ago, in my life. Right here, in this market. Well, actually along the fringe of it, under a tree.” He stepped toward the river.
Shaking his head, he said, “I can’t place it. The trees are different, the buildings are different.”
Pentu smiled sympathetically and said, “The pyramids are ancient to us, Lord Imhotep. I cannot imagine that much here would be the same for you.” He crossed his arms and cocked his head as he studied Imhotep. “I have tried to place myself in your skin, imagining myself living in another time, or several other times, as Bata said you did.”
Resigned to feeling out of place, Imhotep pushed his staff against the ground and resumed his walk to the palace. “It has been strange, Pentu, but I have never been alone. When I first returned to my land, Akila was there to help me. The second time, a wonderful companion named Ahmes went with me and helped me survive. My frie
nds and my family have been my life. The rest,” he gestured to the trees, buildings, and the marketplace, “the rest has been scenery.”
He stopped walking and turned to Pentu.
“No, that isn’t right. This is all much more than scenery. That was wrong.” He looked about the marketplace, saw the weave of colors and heard the clamor of laughter and gossip and bartering while overhead crows cawed as they chased each other from tree to tree.
“There is so much here. Everywhere. Meryt was attuned to it, she was a fish in the water, part of life. I, I think I stand by the bank and watch it flow.”
“But the tomb of King Djoser,” Pentu said, reaching out and touching Imhotep’s shoulder. “You haven’t just watched life, my friend. You have built a wonder, you have had a wife, you have raised children, you have been among friends who were willing to give their lives for you. Why, you have influenced people for generations after you.”
Imhotep smiled thanks at his new friend.
“Even here, away from all you have ever known, you have turned strangers into friends. Your daughter worships you, Pharaoh Hatshepsut admires you, my own Neferhotep is convinced you are a god – and I find myself reluctant to argue with him – Senenmut considers you an inspiration, Hapu reveres you, and Akila,” he laughed to ease the mood, “why she tolerates you.”
Imhotep laughed with him now, reaching up with his free hand to squeeze Pentu’s arm.
“You are right, of course. I’ve already been blessed with wonderful new friends.” He turned back to the path again. “Now, where is this Ta Netjer?”
- 0 -
Pentu led Imhotep past the courtyard garden, past the huge reception room where Imhotep had first met Pharaoh Hatshepsut and down a narrow, torch-lit hallway.
“This is part of the old palace, built before Pharaoh Thutmose I. You know, he was a great builder. The huge temple of Amun was built during his reign. Senenmut’s patron, the great Ineni, was its chief architect. He was a cranky old man, but then his head contained all the details of the project. I think he had a pet name for each stone that was rolled into the site,” Pentu said with a light laugh.
They reached a sharply angled turn and Imhotep saw that the torches here had been replaced with oil lamps. Pausing, he heard voices.
Pentu nodded them onward and they entered a long room. One side was lined with narrow windows, the other was filled with a map. Senenmut and Pharaoh Hatshepsut were standing before the map and with them was another man, his hands clasped behind his back as he listened carefully.
Thin framed, he was wearing a short wig of black, tightly knotted curls and a long, formal robe. A double-banded gold necklace supported a small, alabaster ibis, symbol of Thoth, god of wisdom. Bands of dark blue beads encircled both his upper arms and his wrists.
“Lord Imhotep, Pentu,” Senenmut said, turning at the sound of footsteps.
Pharaoh Hatshepsut glanced at them, but her attention was still on the map in front of her.
“You haven’t met Chancellor Nehsy,” Senenmut said as the other man stepped forward. Instead of the formal bow, Imhotep was expecting, Nehsy brought his arms from behind his back and opened them, offering Imhotep an embrace.
“I’ve heard so much about you,” Nehsy said warmly, approaching Imhotep and pulling him into a hug.
Imhotep returned the embrace and then, blushing, said, “My way here has been paved with many kind words.”
“And deeds,” Pharaoh Hatshepsut said, turning from the map. “Bata saved my life. Bata and my dear Sitre, as fierce as she is wise. Each of them told me about you, each said that you had saved their lives.”
Imhotep fought tears as he thought of Bata and Hapu, now known as Sitre, guarding his daughter while they were adrift in a foreign time. Instead of bemoaning their exile from the land and time they had known, they had thrived. And while they were finding footing in a new world, they found the grace to remember and praise those they had lost.
“Thank you,” he managed to say, speaking to Pharaoh Hatshepsut, but thinking of Bata and Hapu.
Seeing his father-in-law’s distress, Pentu swept past him, taking Nehsy’s shoulder and turning him toward the large map. “Lord Imhotep and I were talking about Ta Netjer,” he said, refocusing everyone’s attention to give Imhotep time to compose himself.
“Apparently Ta Netjer was unknown to the ancients,” Pentu said.
Nehsy shook his head. “No, I find that unlikely,” he said. “The ancient temples have gold and gems that must have come from Ta Netjer. And the incenses, they are named in ancient texts, especially myrrh.” He looked at Imhotep, who had blinked back his tears and was staring at the map.
“We called the land below the first cataract Ta-Seti,” Imhotep said.
Nehsy nodded. “Yes, that is a province now, governed by Seni.”
At the edge of his vision, Imhotep saw Pharaoh Hatshepsut turn her head at the mention of Seni’s name.
“In my time,” Imhotep said, “Ta-Seti was known for its bowmen. And King Djoser recruited the best to serve under him. In fact, he had spent some years there, in his youth.” Imhotep paused, realizing that he was talking about ancient events that would hold little interest for anyone now except historians.
“Ta Netjer,” he said, shaking his head as he studied the map. “We had no knowledge of God’s Land. Perhaps we called it by another name.”
He stepped closer to the wall.
The map showed the Nile with major cities marked by a wide, unfilled rectangle, the bottom of it containing a gap in the center, the hieroglyph for house. The cataracts were labeled and near the right edge of the map was a long channel with wavy lines, the modern Red Sea, known to the Two Lands as the Great Green. At the top of the map, the delta was indicated with a fan of wavy lines and beyond it, to the north, was the Mediterranean, more wavy lines, also labeled Great Green.
The western edge of the map was colored with a red wash and left unmarked. There was nothing there, Imhotep knew, except desert and death.
“Here,” Nehsy said, stepping to the wall and pointing at what Imhotep knew as the modern Horn of Africa, “This is where Ta Netjer lies. At least we think so. Gold, incense, naft, ivory, strange animal skins, all of these come to us from Ta Netjer.”
“But through Ta-Seti,” Pentu said, raising his eyebrows as he spoke to Imhotep.
Imhotep stared at the map and tried to understand what Pentu was suggesting.
“He is not a spy,” Pharaoh Hatshepsut said, breaking the silence, “He was trusted by King Djoser.”
“I’m sorry,” Imhotep said, “I don’t understand.” Then he remembered what he himself had advised King Djoser to do so many years ago when the seven-year drought had threatened the Two Lands. He had told King Djoser to give the Temple of Khnum a percentage of all the goods that passed through Abu.
Pharaoh Hatshepsut twitched when the governor’s name was mentioned, Imhotep thought.
As Nehsy started to speak, Imhotep held up his hand.
“Forgive my slowness, Chancellor Nehsy, after King Djoser’s death I was not as involved in governance and I had forgotten all of the, uh, details that are involved. I understand.” He shifted his weight as he composed his thoughts.
“I had a good friend who made my papyrus for me. Very smooth, dried enough, yet supple. It was wonderful papyrus. It held ink, but didn’t blot.” Realizing he was getting sidetracked again, he shook his head.
“He hired a man to gather only the best reeds for him. Now it is only natural that some reeds would fall from a bundle while they are being transported. But my friend found that more and more of the reeds that he had paid for were falling from the bundles and then were finding their way into the storehouse of another merchant. Eventually, he began his own company to harvest reeds. He cut out the middle man and eliminated ‘spillage.’ ”
He stepped to the map and raised his staff. He pointed to Saww, a town along the coast of the Great Green and directly east of Waset. “If you sailed down through
the Great Green, rounded the land here,” he pointed to the horn, “you could reach Ta Netjer directly. If the gold and incense are brought directly here and not through Ta-Seti, there would be less spillage.”
He put the tip of his staff back on the ground and leaned on it, smiling, satisfied that he had discerned their problem with losing revenue to Seni and had been so diplomatic.
He looked at Pentu, who had a surprised smile on his face, to Senenmut, who looked astonished, to Nehsy, whose eyes were lidded as he calculated, to Pharaoh Hatshepsut who had turned her back on him and was studying the map.
“It could work,” Nehsy said to himself. “They would never expect that. No one has ever dared such a voyage.”
Her back to the men, Pharaoh Hatshepsut nodded her head.
Imhotep looked from her to the map and suddenly, remembering his conversation with Akila, he realized what Ta Netjer really was.
“Ta Netjer is the Land of Punt!” he exclaimed. “You are Hatshepsut and you are planning the expedition to the Land of Punt!”
Seeing everyone look at him, Imhotep realized that, in his excitement, he had spoken in English. He waved a hand. “Forgive me. I just realized that you are planning a trading expedition to the Land of Punt.”
“Trading expedition?” Nehsy said. “No, Lord Imhotep, your vision is mistaken. We are planning,” he looked to Pharaoh Hatshepsut for permission to continue.
She nodded and Nehsy said, “We are planning the conquest of Ta Netjer.”
Preparations
“Five ships are not enough!” Admiral Ahmose complained to Imhotep.
Six months had passed since Hatshepsut had declared her intention to conquer Ta Netjer, Land of God, a plan Imhotep continued to push toward a trading expedition instead.
Six busy months.
Imhotep and Senenmut had drawn and revised plans for the mortuary temple and then crossed the river Iteru to search for the best setting for the temple. Akila, Sitre and Pentu had begun to systematically record all of the medical practices in the Two Lands, creating a manual for future generations. Maya had enthusiastically taken over direct management of her household of servants – freed slaves who were now being paid and had responded to the unexpected freedom with loyalty and love for their generous mistress.