by Jerry Dubs
He is staring at me, Ty thought unreasonably.
In a dying spasm the eyes on the severed head blinked, rolled upward and then down again. The mouth opened once, like a dying fish, and then was still.
Ty stared at the eyes, certain that the man’s ka was staring back at him.
Suddenly his knees turned to water and Ty fell to the ground.
- 0 -
In their hut, guarded by six sailors, angry that they were missing the execution of the Medjay, Akila and Imhotep lay in the darkness holding each other and listening to the collective gasp that came from the crowd when the first Medjay died.
Imhotep had applied myrrh resin to the deeper scratches on Akila’s back and arms and together they had determined that her shoulder would carry a dark bruise for a time, but that the bones beneath were undamaged.
Remembering how emotionally shattered Diane had been all those years ago when he had first come to the ancient world, Imhotep worried about Akila’s reaction to what she had just endured.
Akila stiffened again when she heard the crowd gasp at the second killing.
“We are safe,” Imhotep said softly, a hand gently rubbing her back as they lay face-to-face atop a bed of leaves covered with linen.
In answer, Akila rolled away and stared into the darkness.
“During the demonstrations in Cairo,” she said softly after a moment, “the police attacked us. They wore helmets with face masks and gloves and protective armor. They carried shields and had guns and batons, clubs really. We were armed with rocks, chunks of cement. And righteous indignation.”
Imhotep raised himself on an elbow and, reaching to her dark form, he lay his hand on her shoulder, making connection as she spoke.
“There was this feeling that, because we were right, somehow we would win. It was silly, dangerous. Flowers and slogans never defeat guns, and the story of David and Goliath is nothing but false bravado,” she said, her voice a monotone of anger.
She sniffed and then continued, “I remember looking at photographs and videos later and wondering about those policemen hidden in their helmets. How they could do what they did to unarmed protesters. Didn’t they realize that they were being used by the men in power, that they were nothing more than pawns of people who held them in contempt?”
Imhotep squeezed her shoulder and waited as she processed what had happened.
“This was so different. There was this animal urgency. We, Queen Ati and Pharaoh Hatshepsut and I, we were fighting a specific person, not a faceless government. This was life or death. There was no mask, no political agenda. Oh, I know that someone sent him, but he wanted to kill us. It was personal, direct.”
Imhotep felt her shiver beneath his hand.
“It was elemental. It was primal.” Her voice changed from anger to shame. “I never felt so engaged in something, so alive.”
Her shoulders began to shake and her voice wavered as she said, “I was so afraid and so angry and I so wanted him dead. I don’t like what I’ve become and I’m worried, Tim, I’m worried that this is who I really am. That stripped of all the niceties of civilization, that this is what I am. That I ... ”
“That you are a survivor,” Imhotep interrupted. “You were attacked. You wanted to live. You did exactly what you had to do.”
“But what I felt ... ”
“You felt what was necessary to get yourself through it,” he assured her. “You weren’t taking advantage of someone to make money, you weren’t manipulating someone’s emotions, you weren’t lying or being dishonest. You weren’t calculating, Akila, you were surviving. You did what was needed.”
She was silent for a moment and then said softly, “Afterward, it was such a rush. I shouldn’t have felt so good. A man was dead.”
“A man who tried to kill you. The rush was a celebration of your survival, not his defeat.”
She nodded, tears silently sliding down her face as she stared into the darkness.
Exiled
In the morning, Akila and Imhotep emerged from their hut, their eyes encircled by dark fatigue. Glancing toward the clearing where the executions had taken place they saw that the ground there was a moving, pecking, cawing murder of crows, ravens and white seabirds fighting over the bodies.
Imhotep took Akila’s hand and tugged her away, leading her to the water’s edge so they could bathe.
They took turns washing and rinsing each other, their backs toward the village where there was a sudden clatter of wings and angry screeching from the birds. Glancing over his shoulder, Imhotep saw several warriors dragging the bodies toward the edge of the forest on the western side of the village.
A clutch of children had come to the opening and were standing around the severed heads that lay still on the ground. One of the taller children held a stick that he used to poke at one of the heads. The other children laughed, and then one of them ran forward, touched a head and ran back.
Turning away from the sight, Imhotep looked past Akila’s gleaming back to the water beyond. Off to the right the five ships from the Two Lands floated in the water. One of the ships bobbed gently as sailors aboard it moved about, taking position at the rowing benches.
As he watched the ship slowly began to move toward shore.
- 0 -
Overwhelmed and feeling alienated, they ate alone in their hut, picking at bread and fruit and then, hearing the sound of wood being cut and the swoosh of fallen leaves being dragged, Imhotep said, “It sounds like they are rebuilding the village.”
Lost in her thoughts, Akila nodded.
Imhotep picked up his staff, planted it in the ground and worked his way to his feet.
“I should go see if there is anything I can do to help,” he said, hoping she would offer to accompany him. When she stayed silent, he said, “I thought I’d check on Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s arm. And Queen Ati’s wounds.”
Akila looked up at him and smiled a tired smile. “I’ll be fine, Tim, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m not going to sit in our tent and cry.”
He hesitated and she said, “Really, you don’t have to stay here with me.”
Smiling he said conspiratorially, “Actually, I was hoping you would come along. I feel like such a fraud being the royal physician when you are available.”
She stared at him.
“And did you notice that one of the ships is moving? We should find out what’s going on,” he said holding out a hand to her.
“You aren’t going to leave me alone, are you?” she said, her voice lighter now. “You’re worried that I’ll sit here and brood.”
Seeing her mood begin to lighten, he nodded and said, “I’m afraid you’ll get those worry lines on your forehead.”
Then, kneeling beside her, he took her hand and said, “Akila, you’ve been through a terrifying experience and I know that you are strong and that you’ll cope. I understand that what happened didn’t happen around you that it happened to you, inside you. If you want to stay here and digest it, I understand, really, I do. And I’ll stay here with you as long as you want. But I won't leave you alone. I'll sit silently, but I won't go away.”
She squeezed his hand and said, “No, you’re right. I should go do something and let my mind distance itself from the experience a little.”
Pulling herself to her feet, arching her back, smiling at the relief as the muscles unclenched, she linked arms with Imhotep and they ducked out of the tent.
As they emerged from the tent they saw the ship being tied to the wooden posts on the pier. Two sailors jumped off the ship and then leaned toward the boat to take the arms of a third person and pull him off the boat.
“Is that Ty?” Akila said, her hand raised over her eyes to shield herself from the glare of the sun that was lying low over the water.
“I think so. Is he bound?” Imhotep asked, staring at the ship.
They stood and watched as Ty was escorted down the short pier to the rocky shore. With a sailor holding each arm, he was forcefully
led toward the middle of the camp of the Two Lands.
Imhotep and Akila turned in the same direction and walked parallel to the group, too distant to hear them speak, but near enough to see that the man in the middle was indeed Ty and that he was restrained.
- 0 -
A crude throne had been built during the night. A pathway covered with palm leaves led from Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s hut to a rectangular clearing that had been raked smooth. The throne, a rough wooden chair, its legs decorated with shells, the seat and back covered with leopard skins, sat at the eastern edge of the clearing. To its left were two lower chairs, one covered with a giraffe skin, the other with swaths of blue linen.
A half-dozen soldiers, the survivors from the previous night’s battle, milled about the rectangle. They carried spears and in their belts were the khopesh swords of the Two Lands.
As Imhotep and Akila followed, the sailors led Ty into the center of the clearing and forced him to his knees a few feet in front of the throne.
“What’s going on?” Akila asked Imhotep, who shook his head.
“I’m not sure,” Imhotep answered.
As Ty, his head down, waited in the clearing, drums began to sound and, looking toward the sound, Imhotep and Akila saw King Parahu and Queen Ati making their way between partially built huts toward the clearing.
Now a second sound cut the air, the sharper clack of drum sticks on hollowed logs. Akila and Imhotep looked to their right and saw Admiral Ahmose leading Pharaoh Hatshepsut from her hut. They were followed by a squad of soldiers led by Captain Djehuty, each of the men armed and carrying shields.
Pharaoh Hatshepsut continued to wear the blue war crown, but she also wore her glorious beaded necklace, the false beard and in her injured, clenched hand, she held a symbolic flail.
Imhotep’s eyes darted from her to the escorting soldiers to the small figure of Ty kneeling in the dirt. He felt Akila’s hand grip his arm. “What has he done?” she asked.
His heart filled with pity for Ty, for he knew the feeling of being made to kneel before a vengeful ruler, Imhotep shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said.
They watched as Pharaoh Hatshepsut, King Parahu and Queen Ati were seated. Pharaoh Hatshepsut gingerly folded her injured arm and rested her hand on her lap. Then she nodded at Admiral Ahmose who walked to Ty.
The young man looked up, his eyes taking in the array of power, looking at the soldiers, at Ahmose and finally settling on Pharaoh Hatshepsut. Suddenly he leaned sideways and brought up a leg to work his way to his feet. The sailors grabbed his shoulders to force him back down, but Pharaoh Hatshepsut raised her flail and nodded.
Admiral Ahmose spoke to the sailors and they allowed Ty to stand.
“I am Ty, son of Anen, Overseer of the Treasury of the Lower House of the Two Lands.” As he spoke, his voice grew courage and he stood straighter, threw out his chest and stared at Pharaoh Hatshepsut.
Admiral Ahmose backed away, subconsciously distancing himself from the prisoner.
“I have maintained ma’at. I have been just.” Ty swallowed hard and took a deep breath and Imhotep saw that the young man was frightened, finding just enough strength to give voice to the speech he must have composed in his mind while on the ship.
“Look at his legs,” Akila whispered. Imhotep saw that they were covered with dark lines along the back of the thigh, where he must have been beaten.
“My mother was sister to Mut-Nofret, Great Wife of Amun, Mother of Thutmose II, whose true rule was usurped by ... ” Ty’s allegation was halted as Admiral Ahmose shouted to him to be quiet and the guards began to beat him.
“Stop!” Pharaoh Hatshepsut commanded.
The guards allowed Ty to regain his feet.
“Royal blood, however diluted and diminished, runs in him. Let him speak,” Pharaoh Hatshepsut said.
Ty spit blood onto the ground and then, sneering at Pharaoh Hatshepsut, he said, “You are the one who has diminished the royal blood. Only a man can sit upon the throne of the Two Lands. Only a man can wear the double crown. It is Horus, not Hathor who rules! You are an ... ” His speech was interrupted again as the sailors began to beat him again.
This time Pharaoh Hatshepsut let it continue for a minute before raising her flail to stop the guards. Then she nodded to Nehsy who was standing beside her. He raised a papyrus and read, “You have confessed to conspiring with Governor Seni to attack She of the Two Ladies, Divine of Appearance, the Soul of Re, Pharaoh Ma’at-Ka-Re.”
Ty opened his mouth to speak, but one of the guards quickly clamped a hand over it while the second wrapped his hands around Ty’s throat.
“Pharaoh Hatshepsut,” Nehsy continued, his voice growing formal as he spoke words with which he disagreed, “has decided to mercifully spare your blood. However, you are no longer a child of the Two Lands. Your ka is outcast. You will live the remainder of your life here, a guest of King Parahu and Queen Ati. When you die your ka will wander Duat for eternity.”
When Nehsy finished, King Parahu stood and looked to his right. The soldiers lining the rectangle shuffled aside and four men entered carrying a low, long wooden box. A hole was cut in the top of the box and a smaller holes was cut into each side.
“It looks like a large coffin,” Akila whispered, distaste and fear in her voice.
The box was set in front of Ty. The lid was removed and the sailors lifted Ty into the box. He struggled for a moment to keep his feet, but they knocked his legs out from under him and he sat hard inside the box.
His legs were pulled out in front of him and while two soldiers guarded him, his hands were cut free of the ropes and his arms were roughly pulled through the small side holes of the box. Then the lid was raised and put back in place with his head protruding from the opening in it.
As soldiers held the lid in place, ropes were passed around the box, securing the lid.
When they were finished, they stepped aside.
The box was tightly bound. Ty’s arms extended from the two sides and his head protruded from the wooden lid.
King Parahu nodded his approval and the men lifted the box and carried Ty out of sight.
Imhotep and Akila looked at each other, trying to understand what they had just seen.
“I almost feel sorry for him,” Admiral Ahmose said as he approached Imhotep and Akila.
“Ahmose,” Imhotep said, “What is this about? Did Ty really conspire to kill Pharaoh Hatshepsut?”
“Yes, yes,” Admiral Ahmose said. “Oh, yes, that’s right, you weren’t present for the executions. Well, the Medjays said they had been sent by Governor Seni, at which point Ty simply collapsed. We questioned him closely and he confessed that he sent a letter to Governor Seni telling him that Pharaoh Hatshepsut was traveling with us. You heard the reasons why. His aunt felt that she should have been regent and his family has lost power. Governor Seni, if he is still alive when we return to the Two Lands, will have much to answer for. If he is wise, he will find a way to the Field of Reeds.”
He turned to Akila. “I hope you are feeling well, Lady Akila,” he said. “Pharaoh Hatshepsut said that you saved her life when Yuya had his hands on her throat and that you placed the Knife of Djoser in her hands at the last moment.” He bowed, his eyes beaming with admiration.
“Thank you, I am much better,” Akila said. She stared at the backs of the men who were carrying Ty away. “What will they do to him?”
“Nothing, nothing at all. And everything,” Admiral Ahmose said, shaking his head. “It is most ingenious. They keep him in that crate, unable to touch himself, but able to breathe and drink and eat. Then they feed him, feed him well.” He paused and shook his head again. “How do I say this? He eats, so he must relieve himself. Soon the crate begins to fill with his own waste. He sits in the slop. Of course, it draws flies, which leads to maggots and they will feed on him, devouring him alive while he stews in his own waste.”
He opened his mouth as if to spit, then looked away.
“How long w
ill he survive?” Imhotep asked.
Admiral Ahmose shook his head. “King Parahu said that some have survived for months.” He stared off in the distance, forgot himself and spat and then, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm he said, “I would rather be beheaded.”
Departure
Over the next two weeks as the soldiers of the Two Lands and the warriors of Ta Netjer healed, enclosures were built along the eastern edge of the village and a strange menagerie was brought to fill it: short-horned cattle, their shoulders just reaching the waists of the men; an adolescent giraffe, whose strangely thin legs could have stepped over the wooden fence; a leopard, collared and tethered to a thick post; and three baboons, who soon escaped and were allowed to roam the village.
Near the enclosures three tents began to fill with tribute offered by King Parahu and Queen Ati: bundles of elephant tusks, stacks of ebony logs, sacks of gold dust, obelisk-shaped cones of dried myrrh resin, baskets of agates, jars of perfumes and several rolled panther skins.
“I don’t know how she expects me to get everything on the ships,” Admiral Ahmose told Imhotep one morning as they walked by the corrals where the cattle were crowded along the fence that was shaded by overhanging palm trees. The giraffe stood among them, stretching its neck past the palm tree to tug at a nearly bare sycamore tree.
Admiral Ahmose tugged Imhotep’s arm and pulled him toward one of the tents. Sitting atop a tied bundle of ebony, Admiral Ahmose quietly said, “She wants to take some of the villagers along back, too. She even mentioned having Queen Ati come with us.” He kicked at a crate. “There isn’t room for everything.”
“The ships rode high in the water on the way here,” Imhotep said. “We can load some more goods. And we discovered where to stop ashore for fresh water on the journey here, so we can take less food and water.”
Admiral Ahmose looked at him and they exchanged grim nods, thinking of the soldiers and sailors who had died in the battle with the Medjay. There would be fewer men to board the ships.