Suti and the Broken Staff

by Jerry Dubs

  “But you can’t swim,” Pairy said.

  “I knew that if I was in the water the captain would do everything he could to save me,” I said, although the idea had just come to me — I had jumped into the water without thought.

  Other hands gripped me now, and I was dragged from the river’s grip and onto the boat.

  ***

  “He’s bleeding,” Turo said as he, Pairy, and I knelt beside the boy.

  “He isn’t breathing,” I said. “Roll him onto his side.”

  Turo slid his hands beneath the wet body, and together we rolled the boy onto his side.

  Water trickled from his mouth and he gasped. The gasp turned into a moan, and the boy’s hand sought his stomach.

  “They took my ivory,” he said, eyes suddenly opening wide as if waking from a nightmare.

  “Captain Wennefer,” I said as I placed a hand over the boy’s hand and felt the warmth of blood seeping through his fingers, “can you find a dry linen for me?”

  I leaned close to the boy’s face. “Who stabbed you?”

  “The men who stole my ivory.”

  “Do you know their names?” I asked.

  The boy closed his eyes.

  “Here,” Wennefer said, reaching a hand over my shoulder to hand me a linen rag.

  “It’s too late,” Pairy said softly.

  I looked at Pairy sharply. Taking the cloth, I lifted the boy’s hand and pressed the linen to the bleeding wound. “He isn’t bleeding as much,” I told Pairy.

  “It’s because all the blood has already left him,” Turo said, nodding at the black puddle on the boat deck.

  With one hand holding the compress in place, I touched the boy’s slack face. “Who would stab you?”

  The boy’s throat moved. I leaned to bring an ear to the boy’s mouth.

  With a final breath, the boy whispered, “Medjay.”

  “Medjay?” I repeated, staring at the boy’s mouth, which had gone slack.

  “Kebu?” Pairy said immediately.

  Wennefer looked at Pairy and asked, “Who is Kebu?”

  “It wasn’t Kebu,” I said, my face still pressed close to the boy, hoping to hear the boy draw another breath.

  “Who else could it have been?” Pairy asked.

  “Who is this Kebu?” Wennefer asked again. “I know that name.”

  “He said ‘The men stole my ivory,’ not ‘a man stole my ivory,’” I told Pairy, raising my head from the boy’s face. The boy’s eyes, tight with pain a moment ago, were staring vacantly into the night sky. I extended a finger toward the boy’s right eye and touched the glistening orb.

  I heard Pairy gasp, but the boy didn’t flinch from my touch.

  Pressing my forehead against the boy’s, I said, “I’m sorry I didn’t ask your name.”

  I Report a Murder

  Helped by two of the sailors, Pairy and Turo carried the boy’s body to the army barracks while I ran through the empty dark streets to the governor’s palace.

  Inside the palace entrance I was stopped by guards who refused to accept that someone so young could be an envoy of the royal court. My protestations grew louder and the guards grew angrier. I was saved from another beating by the appearance of a stoop-shouldered man who, even at that late hour, was clean shaven, his eyes highlighted by kohl and his skin gleaming from oil.

  The guards bowed and murmured apologies as the man stopped and stared at me.

  “Who are you?” he said, his voice clipped at the effort he was making to curb his irritation.

  I composed myself. “I am Suti, Keeper of the Words of Lord Amenhotep, Overseer of the Double House of Pharaoh Thutmose — long life!” I said, trying to deliver the words with the calm, courtly intonation Userhet had used when announcing me in Gaza.

  The man crossed his arms and tilted his head as his eyes traveled from my face, not enhanced by any makeup, to my chest, which boasted no necklaces, to my arms, unencumbered by bands of gold or silver. I knew that the only perfume that clung to me was the light, rotting scent of the river.

  His eyes paused only when they reached the Thoth-embroidered hem of my wet shendyt.

  “A scribe,” he said, raising an eyebrow in question.

  “To Lord Amenhotep,” I said. “But who I am does not matter. We found a boy floating in the river. He has been attacked. I need to talk to the governor.”

  As I spoke, the man shook his head violently, as if shaking water from his face. “It most certainly does matter who you are,” he said, as if explaining to a child why one must lower one’s eyes when royalty passes.

  “A boy has been killed,” I insisted.

  The man nodded. “You may report that to the police chief,” he said. One of the guards snorted a light laugh, which the older man ignored.

  “But if you want to speak to the governor, you must make yourself respectable. When I was last in Waset — and yes, young scribe, I have been to Waset — people dressed appropriately. They addressed each other with respect, and they addressed each other by name, Scribe Suti.”

  He stopped speaking, pursed his lips and waited for me to ask.

  (Lord Imhotep and Lord Senenmut trained me to build. I understood the need to construct a wall with the bricks of the same size. I appreciated that the bricks must be aligned properly. I knew that the bricks must be made with the same proportions of stone and sand and mud. These details mattered. And I understood that manners and etiquette provided structure to our social life. And yet, and yet … I have never been more frustrated than I was at that moment when the social structures were used as a wall instead of a bridge.)

  I lowered my head and apologized. “Forgive me. My manners must have been washed away by the river. I am a scribe, a servant of Thoth, and so, dear sir, I ask your name.”

  “I am Minmose, chamberlain to Governor Nehi,” he answered, raising his chin in pride.

  “Thank you, Lord Minmose. I will inscribe your name on Thoth’s rolls when I return to Waset,” I said. I waited, hoping that the salve of humility I had applied would soothe his injured pride.

  He made me wait a moment and then told the guards, “Escort him to Bintanath.”

  ***

  The guards led me through narrow hallways to a back room where they left me by a dimly lit doorway.

  I smelled an oil lamp burning and saw weak light falling on the stone floor by the doorway. Leaning into the room, I saw an older woman sitting on the edge of a low bed. She had crossed one leg up over the knee of the other leg and was massaging the raised foot.

  She had not heard us approach and had not turned toward the doorway.

  Feeling awkward at watching her without her knowledge, I cleared my throat and said, “Mistress Bintanath?”

  The woman turned to me. Her eyes assessed me and then — apparently noticing the stitching of my shendyt — she began to lower herself from the bed to kneel.

  “No, no,” I said. “Please, do not kneel, Mistress Bintanath. My name is Suti. I am a scribe, nothing more. I was sent to you by Lord Minmose. He said that you could help me prepare for an audience with the governor.”

  When she looked at me in confusion, I said, “Please, Mistress Bintanath, I need a clean shendyt and makeup and oils and perfume. Lord Minmose said that you could help me. You see, I need to speak with Governor Nehi, and Minmose refuses me an audience until I am properly cleaned and dressed.”

  I lowered my head and added in a whisper, “Apparently, protocol is more important to Minmose than life and death.”

  “Someone has died?” Bintanath asked.

  “A boy was killed,” I said.

  “A friend?” Bintanath asked.

  I shook my head. “I don’t even know his name. I cannot speak to Thoth on his behalf.” I gathered my breath. “I am sorry to trouble you, Mistress Bintanath. But I would like to speak to Governor Nehi as soon as I can and I need…”

  Bintanath nodded. “Yes, of course. Lord Suti.”

  “I am only a scribe, Mistress Bi
ntanath. Call me Suti.”

  Bintanath bowed her head slightly. “If you will come with me, Suti. I will take you to the barber…”

  I wiped a hand across my head and felt the stubble there. I drew a deep breath to release an angry sigh at the prospect of additional delay and then caught myself. If a barber, a bath, and fresh clothing were necessary to gain an audience with the governor, then I would submit.

  As I extended a hand to Bintanath, asking her to lead me to the barber, I hoped that Turo and Pairy were getting a quicker response from the army commander.

  ***

  Two decans later, I was shaved, oiled, and dressed once more in my own kilt, freshly washed and pressed, its creases sharply defined by being pressed between a heated flat rock and a second rock carved into a smooth cylinder. The kilt still carried the heat of the pressing when Bintanath handed it to me, her eyes approving the sheen of scented oil on my freshly scraped head.

  Minmose raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips as I was ushered into his office on the other side of the palace. I greeted him properly and waited with bowed head as he left his desk and beckoned me to follow him.

  He led me through a windowed hallway to an arched doorway that opened to a wide, well-lit room.

  A small garden and pond filled a quarter of the room. My eyes followed a willow tree that stood by the water and saw that it rose higher than the walls. The roof had been removed from that part of the room to create the appearance of a courtyard garden. The architect had also created a small waterfall that trickled over rocks that lined and rose to the top of the exterior wall.

  Seeing the waterfall, I wondered how the water was raised to a height that allowed it to fall into the palace room. Before I could walk to the waterfall to examine it, Minmose cleared his throat and announced, “Lord Nehi, Governor of Ta-Seti, Voice of Pharaoh Thutmose, third of the name, I bring you Suti, Keeper of Words to Lord Amenhotep, Overseer of the Double House.”

  Turning slightly to me, Minmose whispered, “You first bow and then approach Governor Nehi until you are within five steps of his desk.”

  As the chamberlain spoke, Governor Nehi rose from his chair, his long robe hanging elegantly from his wide shoulders, and walked around his desk. He extended his arms, his wrists sparkling with jeweled bracelets. “Welcome, Suti, Keeper of Words to Lord Amenhotep, Overseer of the Double House. Welcome to Ta-Seti.” His arms still extended, he flicked a hand to dismiss Minmose, and then he grasped my forearms in welcome.

  “Had I known that someone from the royal court was leaving the heart of the Two Lands to visit this distant province, I would have prepared a banquet. We don’t get visitors from the royal court often enough,” Governor Nehi said, his tone a combination of accusation and apology.

  “Tomorrow, we will feast. Yes! Tomorrow! My cook prepares the best fish. Not like the fish up in the delta. Perch, I think they eat there. And some ugly beast with whiskers. If I remember, they dry them; at least they did on the trip I made to Men-Nefer. They were tough as leather, but without the taste,” he said with a quick smile.

  “We have different fish here. The best fish! You see, we are closer to Hapi’s cave, and he shares his bounty with us.” As the governor spoke, he led me to a trio of chairs that waited beneath a willow tree that grew beside the interior pond.

  “Here, sit, sit. You must be exhausted from your journey. You came from Waset? Through the cataract? So dangerous! The fury of Hapi! But you survived.”

  I sat.

  Although I was flattered by the governor’s enthusiastic welcome, I saw wariness in the man’s eyes. The rapid flood of words reminded me of a morning when I had flushed a covey of quails while exploring a mountainside. The birds had surprised me, taking flight like a shower of sparks from a fire, their clapping wings creating confusion. I wondered if confusion was Governor Nehi’s goal.

  “Yes, Governor Nehi, I was last in Waset,” I said, spacing my words in hope that the governor would rein in his rapid pace.

  “And you were sent here by?”

  “I serve Lord Amenhotep.”

  “Ah-ha, of course, that is right. Lord Amenhotep,” Governor Nehi said, sitting beside me and stretching his legs toward the placid pond. “So Lord Amenhotep, Overseer of the Double House, has sent his scribe to Ta-Seti. I am sure that there is an interesting story here.”

  “Governor Nehi, before I discuss my business,” I said, leaning toward the governor, “I must tell you that a boy was murdered on your wharves last night. I found his body floating in the river.”

  Governor Nehi shook his head. “I don’t think so. I would have been informed immediately. We are a trading city, Scribe Suti. Our docks are our temples. Not actually temples,” he added quickly, “we don’t worship there, of course. But we would never shed blood on them. Bad for business. No, I’m sure you are mistaken.”

  The governor looked at the waterfall a moment and then, turning back to me, he said, “You say you found his body in the river. It could have floated there from farther upriver. There are dangerous places upriver,” Governor Nehi said, drawing his legs under his chair and nodding vigorously.

  “He was alive when we took him from the water, Governor Nehi. He said that he was attacked on his boat by Medjays,” I said.

  “He must have been delirious, Suti,” Governor Nehi said, his voice sad. “One is smashed against rocks. Water fills one’s mouth. One is in pain. One’s ka is struggling to leave the body. I have seen it before. Very sad.

  “Now,” he continued before I could speak, “there are Medjays here, of course. They live with us, well, just south of us. But they are not dangerous. Well, they are dangerous, of course, but to other people, not to us. They are our allies. I am sure that some of them serve in Pharaoh’s army.”

  “Yes, a Medjay named Kebu is commander of the archers,” I said, watching the governor.

  “Well, there you have it,” Governor Nehi said, stretching his legs once more, but showing no recognition of Kebu’s name.

  “After we took the boy from the river, we found an abandoned boat tied to the docks,” I said. “There was blood on it.”

  “Well, that is something we can check,” Governor Nehi said, raising an arm. Minmose shuffled across the room and stopped by the governor’s chair.

  “Send for Mahu,” Governor Nehi said and waved a hand to dismiss his chamberlain.

  As Minmose bowed and turned away, Governor Nehi said, “Mahu is my police chief. He will know if there has been an accident on the docks.” He raised his eyebrows and continued, “I am sorry that your arrival here was unpleasant, but I am sure that Mahu will clear up this confusion. We will set things right. Now, while we wait for Mahu … you were explaining why Lord Amenhotep sent his scribe to Ta-Seti.”

  “Lord Amenhotep has sent me in search of the Medjay Kebu. Pharaoh Thutmose — long life! — sent Kebu on a mission and he has not returned. I have followed rumors and sightings all along the river. They led me here. I hope to find him here and find out what prevented his return to Pharaoh Thutmose — long life!” I said, careful to observe protocol.

  Governor Nehi turned his attention to the thin, graceful arms of the willow tree. Paler green than the trees that grew along the nearby river, the delicate, draping limbs formed a living curtain.

  I realized: The green curtain was a shield. Just as the insistence on following formal protocol was a shield. And the cataracts — another shield.

  I was separated from the Two Lands by more than distance.

  The governor smiled now, his heavy lips parting to reveal his teeth. Perhaps he meant the smile to show that there was nothing to hide here in Kerma. But I saw that the gods were present here in this distant province; for it was Sobek, fierce crocodile god, whose smile took form on the governor’s face.

  “I will, of course, help in any way I can, Scribe Suti,” Governor Nehi said, his crocodile smile disappearing. “I have not heard of any Medjays arriving here. Perhaps this Kebu was delayed down river and you passed hi
m. Ah!” He rose from his chair at the sound of heavy footsteps. “Mahu is here. We can ask him about Kebu and about the boy. I am sure we will clear up your questions and you can return to the civilized comforts of Waset. But not without first sampling our fish.”

  I stood and turned to greet the police chief.

  Mahu’s face was that of a man in his prime, but his body had begun to turn fleshy. His shoulders and arms were muscled, but the muscles were coated with a layer of fat that pressed tight against his skin. His stomach had begun to swell, pushing over the top of his kilt. His face was hard, but there, too, I saw signs of softness — looseness about his chin and a slight heaviness around his eyes.

  Mahu paused inside the doorway and bowed his head.

  “Ah, Chief Mahu, good morning,” Governor Nehi said. “We have a guest. This is Suti. He is scribe to Lord Amenhotep, who is with our pharaoh — long life! — far off to the north fighting…” He turned to me.

  “Pharaoh Thutmose — long life! — has won a great victory over the King of Kadesh,” I said, wondering if the governor expected me to deliver an elaborate report.

  “Yes, yes,” Governor Nehi interrupted, “the King of Kadesh. That’s what the messenger said. He said that the frightened outlander is hiding in a city surrounded by our army but not yet captured. Yes?”

  Before I could respond, Governor Nehi turned back to the police chief. “Scribe Suti has come to Ta-Seti in search of a missing Medjay warrior named Kebu.”

  “And a murderer,” I added, trying to direct the conversation to the boy I had found in the river.

  “The Medjay is a murderer?” Mahu said, his words hesitant and cautious.

  “Yes,” Governor Nehi spoke over me. “That is what we believe. Scribe Suti has tracked this desperate Medjay the length of the Two Lands. Then as Scribe Suti arrived last night, he found a body.”

  “I found a wounded boy in the river,” I interrupted. “He died shortly after we took him from the water. Before he died he said that he had been attacked by Medjays. And yes, I am searching for a Medjay named Kebu, but that is separate.”