by Jerry Dubs
“I will get it,” Panehesy said. “No one will think anything of me wandering the halls at night.”
I Escape Kerma
Panehesy returned with my leather bag a few minutes later.
After checking that it still contained my small pouch of gems and silver deben, I lifted a crumbling leaf from the bag.
“What is that?” Bintanath asked.
“I am not sure,” I said, turning to look at the bloody rags that I had cut from Mahu’s kilt to make a bandage. I picked up the wrapping and cut a clean piece from it. Taking the splinter from the leaf, I said, “I found it in a dead man’s wound.”
“We should hurry,” Panehesy said. “We are not far from Re’s return.”
Leaving Bintanath’s chambers, we followed Panehesy down a narrow hallway. Soon the stone floor gave way to hard-packed dirt.
“They bring the food through here,” Bintanath said over her shoulder.
Panehesy waved a hand in the air. “All the supplies. New linens, furniture, oil for the lamps…”
“I bring my own oils in,” Bintanath interrupted. “Some I buy here in the market, but most of them are shipped from Waset. I learned…”
“Here,” Panehesy said, turning and touching the masseuse’s arm. He held a finger to his mouth and leaned an ear against the wooden door.
I turned my uninjured ear toward the door and then frowned, thinking: I should keep my good ear pointed behind me.
Turning my head, I closed my eyes and focused on my hearing. I heard footsteps, heavy, muffled, louder and closer than possible. Panic scrapped over my heart and I drew in air to shout a warning.
Then I stopped; the pounding footsteps were only phantoms rushing into my nearly severed ear.
Testing the thought, I cupped my hand over my uninjured ear. The pounding sound grew louder.
I worried: Will my hearing ever be trustworthy? Then a new thought wove through the phantom footsteps: Perhaps, because my ear was nearly severed, it is hearing footsteps created in Khert-Neter.
I jumped when I felt a hand on my arm.
“Suti,” Bintanath said, her eyes worried, “Panehesy said we can go.”
***
We followed a worn path along the exterior wall of the garden to the edge of the palace grounds. Standing there a moment, we listened again for the sound of following footsteps. Then, moving from shadow to shadow, we stole through the quiet streets of Kerma to the outskirts of the open market.
“Many nights there are Medjay warriors here,” Panehesy said, staring into the shadows along the sides of the market. “They used to be here every night. Then they got braver and started taking ivory from the boats during the day.”
“How long has this been happening?” I asked, my eyes turning toward river, hoping to see the familiar shapes of Pairy and Turo.
“Five floods,” Panehesy said, pointing to a space between two canopies. “They usually come through there,” he said. He turned to Bintanath. “Sometimes, when my wrist is aching so much that it wakes me, I come down and lie on the pier to dangle my hand in the river. Hapi’s waters soothe it.”
“You are lucky that Sobek hasn’t snatched your hand from you,” Bintanath scolded.
“Over there,” I said, pointing across the market toward a boat that was bobbing in the water, its movements betraying the presence of someone onboard.
“I don’t see anyone in the shadows,” Panehesy said. He turned to Bintanath. “We are right in doing this?” he asked.
“Yes, Panehesy. We should have left long ago,” she said.
“Together?” he said.
“Together,” Bintanath agreed, brushing her shoulder against her old friend.
***
“Who are they?” Kebu asked, as I led Panehesy and Bintanath onboard the same small boat that had brought us upriver.
“Scribe, is it true?” Pairy asked, stepping to my side. Gripping my arms, he studied the bandage wrapped around my head.
“Did the police chief torture you?” Turo asked, pushing his way to my side.
“They are my friends,” I said, answering Kebu’s question. “They are coming with us.”
Turning to the charioteers, I smiled, my heart warmed by the concern and anger in their voices. “Yes, Mahu tortured me. But Kebu saved me, and now we must hurry away from here. Can you and Turo handle oars as easily as the reins of a chariot?” I asked.
“We can row as well,” Panehesy said, setting his wooden desk in the center of the boat near a ceramic bowl that held the glowing coals of a fire. He picked his way to one of the four seats along the side of the boat and settled himself. Binanath set her basket of oils beside Panehesy’s portable desk and followed her friend, settling on the narrow bench on the other side of the boat.
Kebu jumped to the pier and untied one of the two restraining ropes. He tossed the rope onto the boat, untied the second line and returned to the boat.
Pairy and Turo took seats opposite each other. Swiveling the oars in their rope oarlocks, they dipped the flat blades into the water.
“Take the tiller,” Kebu told me. “When we near the center of the river, push it to your right. The boat will swing around to your left. Before it is completely turned, bring the tiller back to center.”
Moving to the center of the boat, Kebu told Panehesy to move to the same side as Bintanath. Taking the empty seat, Kebu placed his oar in the shallow, cupped opening on the gunwale, and checked the rope that secured the oar.
Leaning over the side of the boat, he pushed against the pier.
The boat slid away from shore.
“Everyone,” he said, “place your feet against the brace on the deck in front of you. Now push the oar handle down in front of your knees. Now, raise the handle straight up,” he said. “As high as your chest. Feel it enter the water. Now, push with your feet and pull the oar toward your chest.”
Panehesy’s oar skidded across the top of the water, sending a wide spray over me.
Pairy, shorter than the others, pushed back with his strong legs, discovered that his oar had not buried itself in the water, and fell backwards from his seat. The oar clattered against the side of the boat, and. Pairy’s head landed against Bintanath’s knee. The masseuse reached down and cupped the charioteer’s head in one strong hand and helped him back to his seat.
“Sorry,” Pairy mumbled.
The uneven rowing swung the boat to its left. The hull struck the pier, and I felt the rudder vibrate.
I looked at Kebu. The warrior’s eyes were shut, his lips moving in prayer.
“Again,” I said. “Lift the oars ... bend forward ... plant the oar ... push with your feet … pull the oar.”
The boat lurched forward.
“Lift …bend … plant … push … pull,” I said, making the words into a slow chant. Feeling the river nudge the boat sideways, I angled the rudder to keep us moving toward the center of the river.
“Lift …bend … plant … push … pull,” I repeated, turning my head to look back at the market. Torches were emerging from the shadows.
Seeing the pursuers, I forgot to chant and the boat turned sharply upriver. I looked back to the crew. Only Kebu had continued to row.
Pushing the tiller to bring the boat around, I said, “Lift …bend … plant … push … pull.”
Shouts filled the air now.
Worried that arrows would join the shouts, I felt my shoulders tighten.
The boat slid farther into the river.
“We are near the center, Suti,” Kebu said. “Turn us downstream.”
Chanting, eyes on the ripples of the river as they probed the side of the boat, I pushed on the tiller.
The boat turned toward Waset, the distant shouting lost its strength, and I began to believe that I would see Queen Merti once more.
***
Once the boat turned to follow the river’s flow, I realized that it was outpacing my vision, sliding into darkness that hid the future.
I glanced at the eas
tern sky, wondering how many hours remained before Re would appear to light our way. I searched for the stars that would tell me the hour, but the trees along the riverbank blocked my view.
“Panehesy,” I called, “go to the front of the boat and watch for rocks.”
The older scribe nodded, but looked to Kebu first.
“Go ahead,” Kebu said. “Turo, move to the same side as Pairy. Bintanath, come over and sit in front of me.”
As Panehesy sat at the bow, I said, “If you see a rock, raise a hand to show me which way to turn.”
The rowers rearranged themselves and I began a slower chant to match the speed of the boat to my ability to turn it away from danger.
As they settled into a rhythm, I glanced back and wondered if Medjay warriors were pursuing us.
I Pray to Hapi
A bird brushed past my shoulder.
We had traveled the river through the day, and now, with Re leaving once more, I stood half asleep and exhausted by the tiller. I blinked in surprise when, instead of swerving skyward, the bird slammed into the deck. Turning to see if the bird was injured, I felt my heart begin to race.
“Kebu!” I shouted, seeing that the bird was the feathered end of an arrow. Vibrating from its forceful arrival, the arrow stood angled from the deck near Panehesy’s squatting legs.
Kebu came to his feet, one hand gripping the bow that he had stowed beneath his seat, the other nocking an arrow. Turning to the stern of the boat, he drew the bow, sighted over my shoulder and loosed the arrow before I thought to duck.
I crouched below the low gunwale and watched another arrow fly past me. The arrow glanced off the deck and skipped to the bow where it clattered to a stop.
Keeping a hand on the tiller, I looked over my shoulder. A single boat was in the water behind us. Although it was too distant for me to see the people on the boat clearly, the arrows announced their intention.
“Pairy, take my seat in front of Bintanath. Panehesy, take Pairy’s seat,” Kebu shouted as he released another arrow.
Hiding behind the wooden shaft of the tiller, I glanced at the sky. Re was beginning to dip behind the western horizon, the nose of his solar barque no more than a finger’s width from the gates of Duat. We had rowed through the day, hoping to outpace any pursuers. We had planned to find a safe place to rest before darkness arrived, making the river too dangerous to navigate.
“Lift …bend … plant … push … pull,” I chanted now, hoping to keep my crew — two charioteers, a scribe, and a masseuse — focused on rowing.
Kebu grunted.
I looked up, fearing that I would see the fletching of an enemy arrow standing from the warrior’s chest. Instead I saw Kebu’s face relax as he lowered his bow.
“They will fall back,” he said. “They weren’t expecting an archer to be on this boat. And I have the wind at my back. I don’t need to walk my fingers as low on the string.”
I nodded as if I understood. “Did you hit one of them?” I asked.
“Yes,” Kebu said. He watched the distant boat a moment and then turned back to the rowing benches. Walking to the front of the boat, he tugged free the arrow that was embedded in the deck and picked up the second arrow. After inspecting them for damage, he slid them into his quiver.
“Panehesy, return to the bow to watch for rocks. Pairy, you can return to your seat,” he said, stowing his bow and arrows beneath his bench and lifting the handle of the oar.
“Suti!” he called.
Crouched, my head swiveling to allow me to watch Panehesy and to look at the boat that trailed us, I began my chant again: “Lift …bend … plant … push … pull.”
“They will be counting arrows,” Kebu said, between strokes.
“Lift …bend … plant … push … pull,” I chanted.
“Suti, tell me if they draw closer,” Kebu said.
The rowers bent their backs and the boat began to slide more quickly through the water.
I glanced at the sky. Re was half hidden now. The air would lose its light soon, and Panehesy would not be able to see rocks lurking beneath the river’s surface.
I thought: We need to put ashore.
I looked over my shoulder. The Medjay warriors had fallen back, but they were maintaining a constant distance now.
I thought: If we put ashore, they will put ashore and outrun us. So we need to stay on the water and travel through the night. They might hesitate to follow us in the darkness.
I sighed.
We faced either the Medjay arrows or the risk of navigating the river at night.
I cast my thought in search of a reality in which we would survive.
Looking to shore in hopes of finding a village, I suddenly realized that the boat was moving faster and that it was riding higher on the water.
As I strained to see what had changed, Re gathered his light and swept into Duat, leaving behind a darkness draped over the river like a shroud.
In the darkness, I heard water crashing against rocks.
***
“How can we be at the cataract?” I shouted at Kebu. “It took us two days to reach Kerma from the cataract.”
“We are traveling with the current,” Kebu answered. “We are moving much faster.”
“Panehesy,” I shouted, my voice fighting the roar of the river, “can you see?”
“Not really,” Panehesy said. “Just the white of the water where it hits the rocks.”
“Turo, Pairy,” I shouted, standing on my toes and hoping that my young eyes would see farther into the darkness than Panehesy’s, “can you turn in your seats and watch for rocks?”
I heard their movements more than I saw them. Then I realized that the glowing coals in the fire pot were casting more light than the stars.
I wondered: Where is Khonsu?
Thinking of the god and his nightly travels tickled another memory.
“Panehesy!” I called. “What is the date?”
“We have just entered Shemu,” Panehesy answered, his voice turning sad as he understood the reason for my question.
“Why does he care about the date,” Pairy asked Turo.
“He’s a scribe,” Turo said. “They like numbers.”
“He wants to record the date we die,” Pairy said under his breath.
“Ibises? Have they flown?” I asked aloud, looking overhead into Nut’s black belly as if I would be able to see the ungainly birds flying overhead in the darkness.
“The flood!” Bintanath gasped as she too understood the reason.
Pairy and Turo turned from watching the river and stared at Bintanath.
“Yes,” Panehesy shouted to me. “Not as many as last year, but they have returned.”
“The flood,” Bintanath repeated for the charioteers. “The flood begins at the start of Shemu. The arrival of the ibises heralds the flood.”
We all felt it now.
We were no longer in control of the small wooden boat; it had been taken into the grip of the river god Hapi. Emerging from the chaos of Nun, birthplace of the great river, the god was flooding the river with his annual gift of black earth waters that would nourish the fields of the Two Lands.
“Does anyone have any offerings?” I shouted into the growing roar of the river.
“Bintanath, take the tiller,” I said. As soon as the masseuse reached me, I said, “If Panehesy raises a hand, push the tiller toward his hand.”
Not waiting for a response, I ran to the center of the boat. I grabbed my leather bag and pulled from it the pouch of silver and gems.
On my hands and knees, aware that the boat was rocking as much as a chariot now, I crawled to the side of the boat. I dumped the treasures into my hand and, leaning against the gunwale, I said, “Homage to thee, O Hapi, Thou comest in peace to bring life to all of the Two Lands.” I turned to look at Panehesy. “I don’t know any prayers.”
“Call him Lord of the Fishes and of the Birds of the Marshes,” Panehesy offered.
“O great Lord of the
Fishes and of the Birds of the Marshes, thank you for the nourishing milk of the River Iteru,” I said, raising my hands over the turbulent water.
“Ask him to spare us,” Turo shouted.
“Hapi,” Pairy whispered to Turo, “Is he the blue one, with…” He held his hands in front of his chest to indicate breasts.
“Not now,” Turo scolded. “Don’t make him angry.”
“Show us mercy, great Lord Hapi,” I said, opening my hands and dropping the gems and silver into the water.
As the offering disappeared into the water, the boat shuddered.
“He’s taking us in his hands,” Turo shouted.
“My feet are wet,” Pairy said.
The boat shuddered again, the movement accompanied by the crunch of wood splintering against rock.
The movement threw me onto the deck. Rolling, I felt heat on my face, I was lying beside the fire pot. As I pushed myself to my hands and knees, Bintanath’s basket of massage oils slid across the desk and bumped into my hand.
Lifting one of the ceramic jars from the basket, I wondered if Hapi would find the precious oil a satisfactory offering.
“Be careful,” Bintanath shouted. “Some of the oils burn.”
As she spoke, an arrow cut through the air and sliced across my forearm. I dropped the jar against the edge of the fire pot. The jar broke. Most of the oil followed the shards to the deck of the boat, but a narrow trickle rolled along the curved side of the fire pot. Reaching the coals, it flared into flames.
The dancing light caught fire in my memory. Closing my eyes, I conjured up the image of the man-god Imhotep standing on the palace roof and calling fire from the sky.
The boat creaked again as it scraped over submerged rock.
I opened my eyes and, in the continued flare, I saw ahead the trio of standing rocks where I had seen the boys on the journey upriver.
Another arrow struck the deck.
“Put out the fire,” Kebu shouted. “It is a beacon. They are using it as a target.”
“No,” I said, an idea flaming hope to life.