Suti and the Broken Staff

by Jerry Dubs

  Watching how the chariots bounced and how the horses had to step carefully over the rocks, I wondered why Wah would have chosen to drive his chariot across such a rocky field.

  I looked skyward, orienting myself to the path of Re. Standing here on the road, I saw that Re would have risen from beyond the boulders. In the morning, his light would have blinded a person looking toward the boulders, and it would have cast shadows from those rocks, shrouding the trees in darkness.

  I lowered my head and wondered: Why was Wah on this road instead of the road that leads from the Aruna Pass toward Gaza?

  I could only imagine that Lord Imhotep and the charioteers — from a distance too great to see clearly — had seen someone turn up this road. Wah was dispatched to make sure the stranger was not a scout from the king of Kadesh.

  Closing my eyes, I crossed my arms behind my back and gripped my forearms — a stance Lord Imhotep had taught me when he saw that my restless hands sometimes distracted my thoughts. I felt Re’s heat on my face, I felt it rise from the rocks below me, I felt it swirl around me, enveloping me.

  A light breeze caressed my back. It curled up over my shoulders and whispered in my ears. I knew it was the breath of Thoth and that it carried truth. There were no words, just a murmur, but it brought understanding.

  When I opened my eyes, I saw that the charioteers had disappeared beyond the boulders. I was alone on the road. As Wah had been.

  I looked toward the boulders. With the charioteers out of sight, I saw no reason to leave the road to cross the field of stones to the boulders. Then Shu stirred a breeze that raised a small whirlwind of dust at my feet. The whirlwind lost form and the dust danced like smoke.

  I understood: Smoke from a campfire had drawn Wah to the boulders.

  I walked toward the boulders, moving quietly as Wah must have moved. I squinted my eyes as Wah would have to shield himself from Re’s glare. When I did, the trees that skirted the boulders suddenly became a forest of shadows.

  Reaching the trees, I paused a moment to let my eyes adjust to the shadows.

  I was hidden from Re’s comforting gaze now, and I felt vulnerable. A desert lion could be crouching on the hidden tree limbs and I would not see it. Neither would Wah.

  Thoth whispered to me again and I dropped to a crouch.

  Looking at my feet I saw darker shadows on the stones. I picked one up and sniffed. It smelled of iron and death. Now I saw a splash of blood on the stones and, leading off to the edge of the boulders, a trail of overturned rocks, their exposed bellies stained with blood.

  I followed the trail, turned past the last of the boulders, and saw the charioteers gathered in a tight circle. Beyond the tangle of their legs I saw a body.

  Edging close to Pairy, I asked, “Was he attacked from behind?”

  Pairy nodded.

  “Can you check his shoulders?” I asked Anun who was kneeling by Wah. When he looked at me questioningly, I said, “Are they torn and scraped?”

  Anun lifted one of Wah’s shoulders and then looked back at me quickly.

  “I found blood beneath a tree,” I explained, pointing beyond the boulders. “There was a wide trail of blood leading from there.”

  Anun stood, a frown on his face, and walked toward me.

  ***

  Lord Imhotep told me once that people are either curious or they are afraid.

  I did not understand.

  Lowering himself to sit on the unstacked section of a pillar — I had been tying strings on pegs hammered into the ground to align the pillars in the temple he and Senenmut were carving from the red sandstone cliff west of Waset — he said, “Imagine that you are standing alone on a road. Looking up the road you see a man approach. He is backlit by the sky and you cannot see him clearly. I believe that you would be either curious about the man or you would be afraid of him.”

  I remember looking at the man-god with unsure eyes.

  Seeing my doubt, he said, “You think that you could be both. You are right. But eventually one emotion would win. If curiosity won, you would stand your ground and meet the man. If fear overtook you, you would turn and walk away, avoiding the man.”

  He leaned forward and picked up a handful of sand — an action that he took at great cost, for everyone knew of Lord Imhotep’s dislike of sand. He allowed the sand to drizzle from his closed fist. “Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives,” he said in a strange, distant voice. Then he laughed, but it was a sad laugh, the kind of sound one makes when one realizes that the gods have played a trick on him.

  He clapped his hands to shake off the sand and then wiped them meticulously on his kilt.

  “My mother loved that show,” he said as he cleaned his hands, talking to himself with words of nonsense as he sometimes did.

  “It was curiosity that brought me here, Suti,” he said, using his great wooden staff to push himself to his feet. “Curiosity leads us to knowledge. Fear leads to regret. Always favor curiosity over fear.”

  ***

  As Anun approached me, I wondered if he was curious about my knowledge or if he was fearful that my words had diminished his leadership in the eyes of the charioteers.

  I glanced at his sword. I didn’t fear for my life — I was scribe to Lord Amenhotep, after all — but I had seen soldiers hit each other with the flat side of the sword or pummel them with the blunt end of the handle. I didn’t wish to experience either.

  Curiosity helped me stand my ground, with my head steady and my eyes welcoming. (Although my legs did tremble, it was because of cramps caused by having stood so long in the rocking chariot, I told myself.)

  Anun stopped and cocked his head at me. A small smile overpowered his frown.

  “Neferhotep told me about you,” he said now, his voice clear and calm. “He said that his grandfather had taught you the magic of seeing what is hidden to others. What else have you seen?”

  Lowering my head, I silently promised to donate some of my best stones (not the red-speckled black stone, though) to the temple of Thoth to thank Lord Imhotep for his words and to ease Neferhotep’s passage through Duat.

  Then, called to me by my thoughts, Thoth spoke to me. I raised my face to Anun and offered him the words Thoth formed in my mouth. “Queen Menwi and Lord Imhotep left the Aruna Pass early yesterday morning. As they approached the crossroads, they saw someone turn back down this road.

  “Wah was sent to make sure that it wasn’t a scout from the king of Kadesh or some other danger.” I turned and pointed past the boulders to the road. “It was morning and this campfire wouldn’t be visible from beyond the boulders, so the intruder used green wood, to make smoke, and attract Wah.”

  Pairy ran over to the circle of stones that marked the campfire. Beside it lay a heap of green branches. He kicked the branches angrily and then looked at me with a touch of respect in his eyes.

  “Wah followed the smoke,” I said, seeing as clearly as a temple painting. “The sun was in his eyes and he couldn’t see the assassin waiting in the trees.” I pointed to the tree tops that rose above the boulders. “The assassin attacked him there and dragged him back here.”

  “Why?’ Anun asked.

  I lowered my head, waiting for Thoth’s whisper.

  When the god remained silent, I stepped close to Wah’s body to search for an answer.

  “Not to steal from him: he was a soldier, not a merchant,” I said, thinking aloud.

  I looked at Wah’s slack face. His eyes were closed, and, aside from the dried blood caked over his ear and the sad grimace of his mouth, the face could have been of a man enjoying a nap. He wore a necklace made of a leather cord with a small silver amulet. I knelt beside him and lifted the amulet. It was the head of a bull.

  “Bakha,” Anun said from behind me.

  I nodded. Of course Wah would ask Montu, taking the form of an enraged bull, to give him courage.

  I laid the amulet on Wah’s chest. Still searching for answers, I saw a swath of light skin on
his right biceps.

  Anun saw where I was looking.

  “He wore an armband.” He turned to show me his arm and the wide gold arm band that encircled his biceps, identifying him as a member of the maryannu and someone trustworthy enough to approach our ruler.

  Or his wife.

  I stood as Anun and I shared the same thought: Queen Menwi was in danger.

  “Ahmose, Meryre,” Anun said, nodding at two of the charioteers. “Tie Wah’s body to the floor of the chariot that was left here, then tow the chariot with you. Pairy, Aperia,” he raised his voice, “mount up, I want to get to Yehem.”

  As I turned to follow Pairy to his chariot, Anun grabbed my arm. Then he shouted to Pairy, “Grab the water skins from the floor of my chariot. The scribe will ride with me.”

  I Listen to Geb Whisper

  Anun walked his horses across the rocky field to the road. Sensing his eagerness, the horses shook their heads and tugged on the reins he held in his hand. As soon as the horses planted their front hooves on the flat road, they lifted their tails in unison, and each dropped a small mountain of dung balls.

  The unexpected expulsion jolted me from my thoughts about Wah. Suddenly I envisioned an army of scarab beetles hiding in wait behind the rocks, ready to swarm onto the road to capture the dung. I wondered why the god Khepera had invaded my thoughts. Then I remembered that amulets of the scarab beetle are often laid on the hearts of the dead to help counterbalance Ma’at’s feather.

  “They are here to help Wah’s ka pass to Khert-Neter,” I said to myself.

  Anun looked at me.

  “Wah died serving Queen Menwi,” I said. “His ka will pass quickly through Duat to Khert-Neter.”

  “I know,” Anun said, jumping onto his chariot. “Hurry, scribe.”

  I stepped onto Anun’s chariot and gripped the rail with both hands.

  “Keep your legs bent a little,” Anun said. “And hold tight.”

  Then he gently touched the tip of his whip to the horses.

  There was a brief clatter as the horses gathered their feet beneath them. In unison, they leaned forward, pulling on the padded harness straps that encircled their heavy necks and shoulders. And then, stretching out their front legs, they began to walk, rolling their shoulders as if settling the weight of the chariot.

  Anun brushed their rumps with the whip once more, and they broke into a jog.

  Their manes fluttered with each stride, bouncing in rhythm to the clap of their hooves against the dirt road. I heard the chariot wheels grind against Geb’s back, and I saw the plains slide past us.

  I felt proud that I was bearing my weight so well, and I began to imagine that I could become, not a charioteer, but perhaps a scribe who rode with the maryannu, brandishing a reed brush instead of a spear, launching stinging words at the Hittites instead of arrows.

  Anun leaned forward, flicked his wrist and shouted, “Heya!”

  The horses broke into a gallop. The wheels of the chariot began to spin so quickly that the six spokes merged into a solid blur. The chariot began to rock. It lurched forward, seemed to pause, and then jerked forward again, its wheels leaping through the air.

  I bent my knees more, so much more that my head was barely above the top of the chariot rail.

  I bowed my head, closed my eyes, clenched my stomach, and tried to picture the star maps that I had drawn when Nakht and I had sat on the unmoving roof of the palace and admired the million stars of the goddess Nut.

  My stomach emptied itself into my throat. I pressed my lips together and swallowed.

  My daydream of being a young hero ended.

  ***

  I waited until the chariot stopped before I tried to stand.

  Peeking over the top of the chariot wall, I saw a hut, its walls and slanted doorway. A cluster of fallen palm fronds lay by the entrance.

  “This is Yehem, such as it is,” Anun said, He jumped from the chariot and, reins in hand, walked to the horses to calm them.

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it, scribe?” he asked as I stepped to the ground, fighting the urge to lie on my stomach and embrace Geb. “You did well,” he said. “I would probably feel as much discomfort sitting with my legs crossed and recording a meeting,” he said kindly.

  “Thank you,” I said, grateful for his words.

  “Now, let’s see what you find written in the sand and trees here,” he said.

  Yehem was a watering hole with two empty huts and a larger, also abandoned building that had once been a tavern. The residents had fled after our army passed through, claiming all the food, donkeys, and women.

  A small grove of trees clustered about the well, which was on the west side of the road that led south to Gaza.

  As I stretched my shoulders and kicked my legs to loosen the cramped muscles, Anun stroked the mane of one of the horses. The horse made a wet, fluttery sound. Anun turned his head toward me and smiled. “He says he wants some water and some shade.”

  I heard hoofbeats behind me and turned to see Pairy and Aperia, who had fallen behind us and now were racing each other down the narrow road. Anun raised his free hand into the air and waved it in a circle. Without slowing, Pairy and Aperia guided their chariots off the road to circle the three buildings and the wooded area that lay behind them.

  Their chariot wheels spun swirling clouds of dust into the still air. The brown billows thinned, paused their flight, and then fell back to the ground. As the dust returned to the earth, I turned to look for Anun. He was standing in the shade of a cluster of thick palm trees watching his horses drink from a wooden trough by the well.

  Then I heard the grind of more chariot wheels and the clatter of unhurried horses. Turning once more to look up the road I saw Meryre and Ahmose’s chariots. Meryre’s chariot was followed by the abandoned chariot from the campsite.

  Even though I knew that its shaft was tethered to the back of Meryre’s chariot, I imagined that the empty chariot was being driven by Wah’s bodiless ka. A breeze swept toward me from the chariots. It brushed my ankles, caressed my arms, and whispered to me with Thoth’s empty voice.

  I bowed my head, offering my attention to the god.

  As I did, my eyes found that I was standing upon a series of indentations in Geb’s hard back made by the passage of chariot wheels.

  Uttering thanks to Thoth for his guidance, I dropped to my knees and studied the tracks.

  There were rounded arches stamped into the road by the feet of the horses. There were also straight furrows plowed by chariot wheels. And, I saw, some of the marks overlapped the others.

  I thought: I can read the history of this place in the dirt.

  Backing away from the tracks, I turned and ran to the well, careful to avoid stepping on any of the tracks left by the chariots and the horses.

  “Commander Anun,” I said, “please gather your men here by the well for a few minutes. I want to study the tracks left on the road without new ones being added.”

  Receiving a nod as answer, I turned and ran back to the road.

  I took a position in the road amid a tangle of tracks.

  I relaxed my shoulders, sank my weight into my feet, and folded my arms behind me.

  Counting ten breaths, I focused my attention and then looked at the tracks. With slight shadows defining them, I saw the markings as the fluid priestly writing that we often use instead of formal hieroglyphs.

  Turning my head, I followed first one track and then another. After a moment, it became simple to see where each of our chariots had left the road. I also saw that some of the tracks overlapped the others. And so they could tell me not only their movement but their sequence.

  Lowering myself to my hands and knees, I saw that there were fainter tracks buried beneath those of our chariots. Smiling, I ran to the well.

  “What do you see, scribe?” Anun asked.

  “I’m not sure, commander,” I said, not wishing to raise unreasonable expectations. “There is so much … a few minutes more,” I said.


  The other charioteers were gathered at the well, watering their horses. I saw them watching me with amusement. Running past them, I gathered an armful of fallen palm fronds.

  “Those are big brushes, little scribe,” one of the charioteers said, and the others laughed.

  When I reached the road, I began to mark each track with a palm leaf. I turned the brighter green side of the leaf skyward to mark new tracks, the paler side skyward to mark older tracks. I laid the leaves with the pointed end indicating the direction of the tracks.

  Some of the tracks were so faint that I had to lie on my stomach and press my cheek to the ground to understand them. I saw that one of the chariot wheels left a strange line in its tracks, and one of the horse prints was marred by a round indentation.

  When I finished distributing the leaves, I chose a central spot, assumed my thinking stance, and read the story my palm leaves had written in the dirt. It was simple to imagine the movement of the chariots. But I wanted to understand why they moved as they did, and how much time might have passed.

  And so I stood there while ghostly horses pulled phantom chariots about me. I placed Lord Imhotep in one chariot, Queen Menwi in another — the one with its wheels set farther apart. I rearranged the chariots, I accounted for each chariot, and still something was wrong.

  I had two more chariot tracks than I should have.

  One, I remembered at last, would be Kebu’s chariot.

  But there was another that had arrived by itself, after Queen Menwi’s chariots and before ours.

  Stranger still, only the queen’s chariot had left Yehem.

  I remember standing there, thinking as the shadows lengthened and a chill began to rise from the ground. It lapped at my legs sending shivering unease to my heart.