His body had been pierced in five places, including his nose. Into each piercing, a ring or, where necessary, a bolt and ring had been inserted and a chain attached to each ring. He was pulled by a guard tugging roughly on the chain attached to his nose ring; the guard also held the chains attached to the other piercings. Two were through the palms of his hands, two through the flesh of his thighs.
The only part of his body which was clean was his upper chest, where Henite had tattooed him the evening before. The symbols which she had indelibly marked on his skin were still not clearly visible due to the still seeping scars. In a few days no one would be in any doubt this man was a traitor. Once in the cage Barratarna was turned around to face the rear of the cart. The guard jumped out still holding the chains. The rear door of the cage was designed with horizontal bars so the unfortunate miscreant could be clearly visible. The door was closed; each of the chains was threaded through carefully positioned rings and fixed to a second ring.
Everything was carefully measured and designed. When the cart and its pitiful cargo was on the move, the chains would be fixed where they were now, forcing him to remain standing. At night, each chain would be released, fixed to the first ring it had been passed through. The prisoner could lie down on his back to rest. If rest was possible through the pain he would remain in for the weeks, or months, of his homeward journey.
The interrogation techniques of the Palace guards had been sufficient to easily identify which of the aides was the Hittani scribe. He would continue to carry out his duties, of reporting to Barratarna’s new paymasters, without ever being allowed to leave Waset. The wording of new messages would be agreed precisely between Haqwaset and Mahu with Huy’s help. The elderly scrivener would also ensure there was no alteration, or different emphasis, put into the reports which might give an indication to their recipients, that there was something amiss. They would receive reports weekly as they had ordered. The first, to say how Barratarna was being well received in Waset and had been imposed upon to stay until after the Beautiful Festival of the Valley. This would give the opportunity for Haqwaset, Mahu and Meri-Bess to start the process of moving charioteers, infantry troops and archers from one encampment to the next. Such staged movement of soldiers, along a line, meant the reinforcements would have no more than a week’s march before arriving in Naharina.
This expedition of seven hundred troops could not be compared to the armies which had to be amassed by Kamose or Ahmose and marched at speed to fight the heqa-khasut and remove them from their seats of power in the Delta. Nor was it like the glorious triumphant march of twenty thousand men moving steadfastly under Thutmose III to Megiddo for the finest victory in history.
No, these soldiers could take their time, march at a reasonable pace, treating the journey as fitness and training exercises. They would exchange duties with the soldiers in the garrison, resting while the fresh group headed on toward the next suitable garrison and so on. The route taken by the troops accompanying Barratarna was, at least for the first part, the same as Djoser.
Heading north and following the river, they would first pass into the fifth Sepat, skirting the town of Gebt with its ancient Temple to the Goddess Mim. Through Nebyat and onto Iunet in the sixth Sepat; the end of the road for Djoser, not so for the former envoy. Through Iunet with its Hathor Temple, he would move on to the garrison of Hut-Sekhum. The troops would then escort him through Abdju and Tjeny moving ever north to the next garrison change at Qis.
At each town Barratarna would be paraded through the streets with two sheneb players trumpeting his arrival. Town residents invited to throw rotting fruit, vegetables or anything else they wished at the treacherous foreigner. If he was lucky something edible might land in the cart for him to eat, many times it would not. The soldiers had been instructed Barratarna was to arrive, in Naharina, alive. It didn’t matter if he was close to death. His size would ensure he wouldn’t quickly starve to death, so the orders were to give him two cups of water a day but only something to eat if nothing edible was thrown at him for more than three days.
Relentlessly, without compassion, vilified and spat upon, he was moved ever onward. Once out of Waset the commander of the troops decided to split his forces. The wagon containing Barratarna was slowing down the main force so he decided to ‘volunteer’ a small group of particularly unpleasant soldiers to stay with the wagon at the rear of the column. The main body would forge ahead at marching speed. The commander didn’t enjoy the sight or smell of the prisoner and wanted to put a distance between himself and ‘it’ as he referred to the once grandiose envoy.
*
Djoser’s journey to Iunet was uneventful. Travelling alone meant he had nothing to do but think. The more he thought about the possible outcomes of this journey, the more terrible he believed the outcome would be. As he moved along, he found himself praying to each god whose Temple or roadside shrine he passed. Having spent his life detailing the Book of the Dead on the walls of tombs, he was well versed in the names of all the gods of the region. He knew their various incarnations and signs.
Along the road, the main deities were the ram headed Amun, his consort the vulture mother goddess Mut, and their son, Khonsu, the moon god. There were shrines and Temples to Montu the hawkish god of War, whose power had strengthened Thutmose at the battle of Megiddo and the Bull god, Buchis, the life force of Montu. The crocodile god Sobek had a strong following, many believing he was married to Hathor. Djoser knew by heart the prayers needed to draw power from each of the gods. His prayers and hymns may not do him any good but at least it was practice for his ba on his journey in the underworld where he would meet with Anubis. He would continue, meeting the demons who required a special message to be passed. He shivered at the thought. Djoser knew the appropriate incantations to make to each of them and now he practiced them, out loud.
‘I know all you keepers of the gateways to the lands of Osiris, I know you and your watchers and your heralds, for I am as Osiris, I have all the power of the creator and call upon each of you to let me pass and not follow my steps beyond your gates.
‘Guardian of the first gate, your name is he of the downward face who takes many forms, Eavesdropper is your watcher and he of the sad voice is your herald, permit my passing, for I have with me your offerings, the heart and head of a red bull, together with its haunch and hoof, here are the jars of blood and scent and loaves. Here are the casks of beer, the sacks of wheat, jugs of milk taken from a white cow, fresh herbs and oil, green eye paint and incense for burning. All these I leave with you if you let me pass, if you struggle I will smite you for I have the power over you which you cannot defeat, so stand aside and guard my passage through to Osiris.
‘Second gate keeper, he who stretches out his brow, is your name, one with the vigilant face is your warden and the burning one your herald.’ Djoser then repeated the offerings and the order, to allow safe passage, for each of the seven gates with the demons being known by their names, he who eats his own excrement; Noisy and Repulsive of face; Worm eater; Bread Stealer with violent voice and slaughterer of enemies. Their wardens are named, alert of face; Awake of heart; Devourer; the one who brings fear and he of the high voice. The heralds: the one who curses; stern of face who turns back the aggressive crocodile, burning face with violent voice; violent of face belonging to the sky and the repeller of enemies.
His voice was firm, never faltering, as it must be on the path to the real gates in the underworld. Although better prepared than most to face the deathly journey awaiting him, he was afraid. He didn’t want to die.
From the Book of the Dead, his thoughts moved onto the Amduat, the nightly passage of the sun god Ra through the underworld, in the hours between sundown and sunrise. He knew the passage of the hours.
‘Greetings Akhet, my first hour has begun, away from the light and into the sacred horizon. Then onward, to you, rich and fertile watery worlds, ‘Wernes’ and ‘Waters of Osiris’, I
will travel through you for two hours. Then I must abandon the water and pass my hour on sand through the treacherous and winding paths of Sokar’s domain. Snaking my way towards the tomb of Osiris, arriving there in the fifth hour of my journey. Here, I will greet the two protective kites, goddesses Isis and Nephthys perched high on the pyramidic tomb, beneath which lies the hidden lake of fire.
‘My journey is nearly half way through, now I must begin my rejuvenation. Let my ka unite with the all-powerful ba of Osiris within the circle formed by the mehen serpent. Thus armed and ready I can face my greatest danger, fail and the world will lose the sun forever, succeed and I will rise in glory once more. Apep, prepare yourself. There is no use hiding from me, I am empowered with the magic of Isis, I have the strength of Set and his companion Serqet, I will succeed and pass from the tomb and beyond the sandy realm of Sokar once more re-entering the waters in the ninth hour of my journey.
I shall immerse myself in the regenerating liquid, and my eyes shall be restored to glory. My world will be safe for one more day as I enter the eastern horizon to be ready to rise as the new day’s sun and for my glorious passage across the skies, building my strength and preparing myself for the difficult times which will face me in twelve hours’ time. So it has been since the land first grew out of the primal waters and so it shall continue. I start each day as if reborn, I am ageless and my strength grows each day. The night shall never destroy me.’
Courage, strength and determination were the key to Ra’s nightly quest and survival, three attributes Djoser wished, more than anything, he possessed at this moment.
The mind travels in strange ways. Thinking of the Amduat, brought thoughts of his father. He needed to try and keep his mind from the horrors ahead, so he thought of his father and mother. For as long as he could remember they had always been happy together, loving each other and their three children in equal measure. His father had enjoyed telling the story of his golden cubit, particularly after a glass or two of wine.
‘Sit yourself down, Djoser,’ he would say, ‘and I’ll tell you a tale.’
This expression always brought a smile to Merit’s face, together with a raised eyebrow and a quick departure to another part of the house. She had heard all her husband’s stories many, times before.
‘It was shortly after I had finished the work on the King’s tomb. Amenhotep II came with his mother, Merytre-Hatshepsut, and his son, the next King, together with Yuya, his trusted adviser to whom everyone owes a great debt. Even you Djoser, never forget it. Anyway I digress.’
Kha’s wine fuelled stories always digressed but they were still fascinating for the young boy, even as he was approaching manhood. His father was and remained to this day, a master of his profession.
‘A slave to his art,’ Merit liked to say.
The cubit was his father’s most prized possession. Brought out on special occasions or used to mark out measurements on the tombs of other Kings. Kha had worked on the construction and decoration of the tombs for three Kings, and countless nobles. But it was to the Kings he gave extra special attention. Having completed the tomb of Amenhotep II and his son Thutmose IV, Kha was now working on the tomb of the present King, Haqwaset. It was the second tomb to be worked on, the first which lay unfinished on the opposite side of the mountain, abandoned due to unsuitable rock formation deep in the mountain side.
The new tomb, on which Djoser also worked with Kha at times, was in the western valley. The work was nearing its conclusion, but Djoser now believed he would never see it finished. He pictured his father standing in the reflective or oil fuelled light of the tomb, in his sleeveless, knee-length, linen tunic. The gift from his King in his hand, shouting orders, cajoling artists and workers, making sure their work was perfect. Nothing short of perfection would do for a King. Kha would check and recheck every measurement using the gift which had been in the box, given to him so many years ago. His cubit was equally a symbol of rank and a source of pride
The light of the day was fading. Djoser found himself in a small anonymous village. During the time his mind wandered to thoughts of his family and happier times, he felt some respite from the dark depression hanging over him. Now it returned. A few enquiries from people he passed, quickly found him a place to stable his camel, and lodge for the night. Camels were not a common site in the small towns of the Two Lands, people usually saw them only in the distance, being used in trading caravans, laden with goods being brought to, or traded from, the Two Lands by wandering tribesmen and traders. It was rare to see a lone rider on one of these strange creatures.
The children of the town, ever curious, followed Djoser to the stable. Camels are easily pleased. They’ll eat almost anything and so could be fed the same as the horses and donkeys, which were the usual guests in the stables. Water could be brought from the river and a mixture of grains and plants for the beast to eat.
Totally ignoring the laughter and chattering of the children, the camel eased himself down onto his knees. Djoser dismounted. The stable keeper helped loosen the saddle. They didn’t get the beast to stand again so it could be removed. It would be comfortable enough for tonight. The stable keeper directed Djoser to the place where he could eat, drink and sleep. It would not be water and grain for him. Tonight he would eat meat, fresh warm bread and beer, plenty of beer. He needed the effects of the beer to help him sleep. If he drank enough perhaps he wouldn’t dream. Dreams were not friends of Djoser. Even in sleep, if sleep came, there was no peace.
chapter seventeen
Djoser awoke at sunrise and walked down to the river to wash. He had brought fresh clothes with him, but decided not to change until he neared his destination. He wanted to arrive in a reasonable condition and not covered in a day’s worth of sand. His head ached and his stomach churned. The copious quantities of beer he had drunk last night didn’t help, but it was fear making him feel this way. He couldn’t face any breakfast. He would rely on his water jugs and dried dates to sustain him during the day.
Taking a few deep breaths to calm his nerves, he climbed aboard the seated camel. It turned its head to look at him as he mounted. An imperious, constantly chewing gaze, showing total indifference to its passenger and the fate awaiting him. Djoser found himself saying ‘Good morning,’ then smiled to himself when he was sure the camel replied. It was probably indigestion. The stable keeper was paid his inflated dues, without haggling. Djoser was not in the mood for the game today, the stable keeper was disappointed. All traders regarded bartering as an important part of daily life, part of the enjoyment of the job. Getting the asking price was unstimulating, frustrating.
Using a long stick, Djoser encouraged the animal to rise. He feared he would fall off as the camel stood, hind legs first. He leaned back as he was lurched forward. Soon the beast was upright and Djoser pointed him north, the direction of the current in the river. He tapped the camel’s shoulder with a stick, it moved forward. Djoser bid farewell to the stable keeper, promising the next time they met he would have to argue more for his money. An empty promise. He knew he wouldn’t be passing here again. Djoser fell into the rhythm of the animal’s gait and relaxed. At least he found the ride comfortable. It was the end of the journey he dreaded.
Riding along the road, Djoser was surrounded by constant activity. His senses were assailed from all directions. He loved the harvest season, his favourite time of the year. From the fields, sounds of women singing as they reaped the wheat and barley. Here, the sound of young children, those too young to help in the work, crying, laughing. There, shouting as they played games. Men and boys, with throwing sticks, felling ducks and other fowl in the rushes along the river.
The smell of beer brewing. Bread baking in the ovens of the villages in the same way since time began. Dogs of every description sitting outside of houses or running around aimlessly. One small dog began following the camel, snapping at its heels. The beast’s eyes didn’t divert from the way ahead, the c
hewing didn’t change its tempo, a flick of a leg, a yelp. No more dog following. Djoser was at home in this land, these were his people, these were the sounds, sights and smells of the country he loved.
*
Miles behind him, the horse drawn cart with its desolate cargo was travelling through the same countryside. The same sights and smells were there but Barratarna couldn’t appreciate them. He had to concentrate on staying as still as possible. The rings and bolts which pierced his wretched body, pained constantly. The agony increased if he made any sudden movement. The fixed chains pulled at his flesh and nose. He felt every bone and nerve in his hands. He tried to clasp the wooden bars of the cage, the bronze bolts through the palms made any movement of the fingers agony. He wished this torture could end. The guards accompanying him constantly joked and laughed amongst themselves. He was not used to the company of soldiers, their rough language and callous sense of humour. Their incessant banter about beer and women began to sicken him.
‘Please kill me, please kill me,’ he said to one of the soldiers who came to urinate on him when they stopped for the guards to eat.
‘Is that an overfed pig I hear squeaking? A hippopotamus spawned in shit trying to communicate?’
‘Please kill me, just kill me. I beg you; I simply, quickly, want to die.’
The guard called over to his comrades.
‘It says it wants to die. What do you think?’
Three of the guards who had been sitting in a circle with the others, stood up, walked towards the cart. The rest remained seated, glancing over, not interrupting their conversation. Barratarna feared and hoped for what was coming. One of the three, a big, muscular guard, sniffed constantly, caused by a badly healed broken nose. Grease coursed slowly down his chin. Barratarna despised this man more than any of the others. He had some seniority although he was not an officer. Maybe it was his physical presence and constant snarl which demanded deference. He stood at the back of the cart, surveying the prisoner slowly, up and down. He drew the fingers of his left hand across his lips and then down his chin removing the grease as he did so. All the time never taking his eyes from the chained man. He wiped his hand on his kilt, and removed a short sword from the belt at his side.
The Awakening Aten Page 20