Suti and the Broken Staff

by Jerry Dubs

  “My father was a hunter,” Pairy said. “I was good with a bow. I like horses, but I’d rather be an archer and let someone else drive the chariot.”

  “You’re good with the horses,” Turo said.

  Pairy nodded. “I can make them do what I want, but I’m not like you. The horses and I are always having an argument. They dance for you.”

  “Maybe,” Turo agreed proudly.

  ***

  I remember listening to their conversation as if it were a lesson.

  I had never exchanged banter or small talk with others my age and I was curious about its purpose. My conversations had always taken the form of instruction. I viewed my interactions with Nakht and Lord Amenhotep and Lord Imhotep as like the meeting of the giant stone blocks that were aligned to build the great pyramids. They were accurate and purposeful and tightly arranged. Those great blocks are so well cut and stacked that mortar is not needed. But in lesser buildings — homes, market stalls, breweries, bakeries, the mud bricks are held together with mortar. It eases the closeness of the bricks and hides the imperfect fit of the roughly formed bricks. I learned that small talk is the mortar that eases the nearness of people. The gods, perfectly formed, have no need of it.

  (I hungered for it.)

  ***

  Before Turo could find a compliment to return, Huy nodded toward a small house.

  “Maia!” Huy called, leaning into the doorway and listening for a response.

  A tall woman with fleshy shoulders and breasts that rivaled Ahset’s ducked through the doorway and stepped into the afternoon heat. She was holding a nursing infant to one of her swollen breasts.

  “Hello, Huy,” she said, her eyes moving rapidly to take in the three of us. “Mouse isn’t here. She took the children to the market.”

  “That’s okay, Maia. I want you meet my friend Suti,” Huy said, nodding to me.

  “Does he need a wet-nurse?” Maia asked.

  “Hello, Maia,” I said, “No, I don’t need a wet-nurse.” I nodded at the baby, its legs fleshy with rolls of fat. “It looks like you are an excellent wet-nurse,” I said.

  “He is a hungry boy,” Maia said, smiling down at the infant.

  “Does he have a name?” I asked. “I am a scribe and I can take the name to Thoth.”

  She shook her head. “Not yet.” She caressed the thin hair on the child’s head. “Mouse has lost four babies,” she said in explanation.

  I nodded. It was not unusual for women to wait to name their children until they were sure that the child would survive its first years.

  “When he is named, send word to me through Huy, and I will have it inscribed on Thoth’s rolls,” I said.

  Maia looked confused. “Were you sent here by Lord Useramen?”

  “No, Maia,” I said. “I am a friend of Ahset.”

  “Oh,” Maia said, her face brightening. “Of course. You are the generous scribe. She told me about you.”

  “Good,” I said, “then you know that I can be trusted.”

  “She said that you brought down a tavern wall,” Maia said, pursing her lips as she looked at my thin arms.

  “It was an accident,” I said. “The wall was not very well built. I am not as strong as a Medjay. You know how strong they are, don’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “The Medjay who brought you here was named Kebu,” I said, watching her face to see if the name was familiar. She nodded as if the name were not new to her.

  “Do you see this mark on my neck?” I asked, touching a finger to the burn scar.

  I stretched my neck to display the hand-shaped scar as Maia leaned forward to examine it.

  “Kebu saved me from a burning man who was trying to kill me. I know that he has saved others. There was the infant, of course…,” I said, as if I knew that there was a child.

  “He told you about the infant?” Maia asked. “He told me not to tell the secret to anyone. I promised.”

  “You should not break your promise,” I said. “That is important. But it is not a secret between us, if I already know about it,” I said, trying to hold her eyes so that she would not see surprise or confusion that I was sure was crossing the faces of my charioteers.

  “I want to inscribe the name of the infant in the halls of the temple of Thoth, but I want to make sure that I do not err. Tell me that name that you remember,” I said.

  Maia nodded. “She called him a strange name. It sounded like ‘Tim.’ And then other times she called him Imhotep,” Maia said.

  My mind swirled as I recalled Pentu’s words: “A god can be slain, but he cannot die.” And then I thought of the story he had told of the worm with legs changing into a butterfly. He had not been speaking of his house, he had been telling me the great secret: The god’s ka moved from his aging body to that of the infant!

  “She probably called him the strange name as she nursed him. A pet name,” I suggested.

  Maia shook her head. “No, she didn’t nurse. She was too old,” she said.

  “Of course.” I smiled as my heart turned cold. It had been Lord Imhotep’s aged hemet, Akila, in the chariot, not Queen Menwi. What had happened to the mother?

  As my thoughts wrestled with the news, my mouth said, “I know that Akila has heka, I didn’t know if she could call on Isis to help her nurse.”

  “Akila? Was that her name?” Maia said. “They were careful to not say their names. But she sometimes whispered to the baby at night. That is how I heard the name Imhotep. I remember her petting the boy’s head and telling him that she had always loved him, as if she had known his ka before it entered the infant’s body.”

  “Her name is Akila,” I said, my confidence and fear growing. “She wears a silver ring in her lip.”

  Maia nodded. Sighing, she seemed to relax. “It is true, you do know the secrets.”

  “Yes, Maia, I do,” I said, the rungs of my ladder of truth growing with each revelation.

  As I wondered whether Maia knew what had happened to Akila and the infant once they arrived in Men-Nefer, I heard a scuffling sound behind me. Turning I saw Pairy and Turo begin to run, one of them down one side the of the hut, the other running past me around the other side.

  Soon a man raised his voice in protest.

  ***

  “Let me go. I didn’t do anything,” the man said as he was dragged from behind the house.

  Pairy held one of the man’s arms, Turo the other. The man hanging from their grip had a narrow face, with a thin mouth beneath a prominent nose.

  “Rat,” Maia said.

  “You can’t just grab someone,” the man named Rat said.

  I looked at the charioteers.

  “He was eavesdropping, hiding over there,” Pairy said. “When he saw that we saw him, he started running away.”

  I asked Maia. “Do you know him?”

  “He is the father of this child,” she said, looking down at the infant she was holding.

  “Hello,” I said, trying to calm the man. “What is your name? Is it truly Rat?”

  “My name is Paser,” he said, his eyes moving over me, trying to determine if I was someone he should fear. “You aren’t a soldier. Are you one of Lord Useramen’s lackeys?” he said.

  ***

  Lord Imhotep taught me the strength of words. Although using the right word is important and speaking the truth is always important, the power of words is the affect they have on the person hearing the words.

  This seems obvious, and yet it is a truth many people fail to see. They believe the power is from the loudness of the word, as if shouting gives them strength. But the power lies in how the words are received.

  For example:

  A general tells an archer to shoot an arrow at you. You have not been harmed.

  The archer hears the words and agrees to follow the order. Your death is imminent.

  Or…

  A general tells an archer to shoot an arrow at you. You have not been harmed.

  The archer does not
hear the words, or decides to ignore them. You are saved.

  And so, it was not the general’s words, but the archer accepting and acting on those words that led to your death.

  Do you see?

  I know that this is true.

  I witnessed the training of soldiers. They are taught to respond to orders immediately. Without thought.

  For it is that moment of thought and reflection that allows the listener to weigh the words of others; to accept them, or to challenge them, or reject them.

  Lord Imhotep and Lord Senenmut took great care to train me to evaluate the words I hear.

  I would be a most terrible soldier.

  However, I am not easily insulted.

  ***

  “He is no one’s lackey,” Pairy said, taking the words as an insult. He accented his response by slapping Paser’s face.

  As Pairy raised his hand to strike Paser a second time, I touched Pairy’s shoulder and shook my head.

  “What business do you have with Lord Useramen, that you wonder if I am his lackey?” I asked, feeling that I was Neith-as-a-spider once more and that I was tugging on one of her silken strands.

  “I don’t have any business with him,” Paser said, spitting blood on the ground.

  “If we take you before Lord Useramen, he would say the same thing?” I asked.

  Paser looked at me with lowered eyebrows. “He had no business with me,” he said sullenly, deciding that there was less danger talking to me than facing Lord Useramen.

  “Then with whom?” I asked, tugging on the spider’s thread.

  “Ahmose,” Paser said, his face suddenly crumpling as tears came to his eyes.

  My first thought was of the street boy named Ahmose and I wondered how the child could be entangled in this web.

  “Ahmose?” I said.

  “Yes, his wife is Lord Useramen’s cousin,” Paser said, lowering his face to wipe the tears against his arm, still held in Pairy’ grip.

  “Ah,” Huy said.

  I turned to the midwife, who touched my arm and drew me away from the others.

  “Lord Useramen must have gone to see this Ahmose. Ahmose and Paser are friends. But why would Lord Useramen secure a wet-nurse for Paser’s wife?” She leaned closer and said, “Lord Useramen is not known for helping the poor.”

  I thought: As payment. Lord Useramen hired Ahmose and Paser to do something.

  I turned back to Paser. “Can you take us to talk with Ahmose?” I asked.

  When the man shook his head, Pairy raised a hand once more.

  I stepped between them to block Pairy’s blow.

  “Why not, Paser?” I asked, using my words to build a bridge to the sad man.

  “Take us,” Pairy said, shaking the man’s arm.

  “Tonight,” Paser said, his eyes darting past me as if looking at days that had passed.

  ***

  Unwilling to let Paser escape our view, we waited at his home for Re to take his light beyond the western hills. Paser’s wife and a brood of children, following her like squawking goslings, arrived with dusk. Thin and weary, the woman looked at her husband with sad eyes — apparently used to seeing him restrained by strangers — and, without protest, agreed to follow Huy to her home.

  After they left, I began to question Paser in earnest. I promised him that if he spoke the truth his heart would be light, and, more importantly, I would not report him to the palace guards. I made certain to have Pairy and Turo sit beside him.

  Paser seemed relieved to unburden himself.

  (Whether it was to lighten his heart or to avoid the fists of the charioteers, I do not know.)

  He said that Ahmose had been ordered by Lord Useramen to help Lord Imhotep find the Tomb of Ipy, an ancient burial chamber hidden beneath the sands of Saqqara. Paser said one morning Ahmose had come to him, displaying a beautifully carved ivory statue of the goddess Ipy in the form of a hippopotamus.

  “Ahmose said he found the tomb. The hippo was the proof!” Paser said, his eyes wide at the memory of the figurine.

  “He said that the night before he had led a Medjay warrior and an old woman carrying an infant to the tomb. The woman ordered the Medjay to break the seal and they entered it,” Paser said. “It was the old woman who broke the spells, not Ahmose.”

  I nodded, my mind picturing the scene. “What happened in the tomb?” I asked.

  “Ahmose said the woman painted a spell over one of the false doorways. It opened, and she and the child passed through it. Then the Medjay and Ahmose left,” Paser said.

  “And then you and Ahmose went back to rob the tomb?” I asked, trying to make the question as gentle as I could. I sought answers, not revenge.

  “But we didn’t take anything,” Paser said.

  “Why not?” I asked, tugging, tugging.

  “The Medjay was there,” Paser said. He closed his eyes as the memory took force. “He and Ahmose started to fight.”

  “And you ran,” I suggested.

  “I never wanted to go into the tomb. It was Ahmose’s idea,” he said.

  “Where is Ahmose?” I asked.

  Paser shrugged his shoulders. “I haven’t seen him since that night.”

  “Take me to the tomb,” I said.

  ***

  Turo and I carried torches in one hand, shovels in the other.

  Pairy held Paser’s arm with one hand. His other hand gripped the handle of a knife.

  Aided by Khonsu’s white face and by the yellow flames of our torches, we followed Paser through a twisting wadi that we entered near the western edge of the city. It was the third decan of night, and the dark desert dunes we were passing seemed poised to fall upon us like the waves that rode the Great Green and fell upon the ships at harbor in Gaza.

  “There were signs,” Paser said, stopping at a divide where the shallow path divided into two trails. He looked around the ground as if searching, but I thought his eyes seemed more interested in seeking an escape route between the two charioteers.

  Pairy must have seen the same evasiveness because he put a second hand on Paser’s arm.

  “Close your eyes,” I suggested. “Try to relive the night you came here with Ahmose.”

  Paser shifted his squinted eyes to me, turning his pointed nose as he did, and I understood how he had acquired the nickname of Rat.

  His eyes flitted from me to the ground and then to the strong hands that gripped his arm.

  “It might have been this way,” he said, pointing his nose to his right.

  We wandered the sand for another hour and I began to suspect that Paser had forgotten the way, when suddenly he stopped walking.

  Pairy said, “What?”

  Looking at Paser, I saw that the man’s face was wet with sweat. His eyes were still, their focus on a low mound of sand that leaned against another sloping hill of sand that fell from the side of the plateau which rose from the desert here.

  I cocked my head to look up, but the top of the plateau was too far above me to see what lay there.

  We had taken so many turns in the darkness that I was not sure if we had moved north, south, or simply west from Men-Nefer.

  “Wait here,” I said.

  I crawled up the sand that lined the side of the wadi. The sand was looser than it looked and I found my hands and feet pushing into it, as if Geb were reluctant to let me scale the sloping wall.

  Before I reached the top of the sand dune, I caught a glimpse of the stepped top of the ancient pyramid that Lord Imhotep had designed during the reign of King Djoser.

  My breath stopped in my throat.

  I was certain that if Lord Imhotep had a secret sanctuary within the Two Lands it would lie here by his great creation.

  I scrambled down the side of the wadi and ran to the small mound of sand. As I began to shovel the sand, Turo joined me, and together we moved the sand.

  ***

  I don’t know how long we dug into the sand of Saqqara.

  My arms grew tired. Sweat rolled fr
om my face. My breathing grew heavy.

  Beside me Turo dug without ceasing.

  At some point Pairy joined us. Kneeling and extending his hands as if hugging the sand, he pulled the dirt away from the mound.

  Suddenly Pairy shouted and I raised my shovel overhead and turned to him, expecting to see that he had unearthed a snake or a scorpion. Instead, I saw a withered hand rising from the sand. Pairy had fallen onto his backside and was scrambling away from the hand.

  I knelt beside the hand and brushed sand from it. The fingernails were cracked, the knuckles large, larger than the joints of a woman’s hand.

  I breathed a sigh of relief and began to pull the sand away from the arm.

  While Pairy paced behind us, muttering about touching yet another dead person, Turo and I unearthed the body of a man.

  He was naked. His skull was broken and his face resembled no one I knew.

  “Is this Ahmose?” I asked, turning to address Paser, but the rat-faced man was not there.

  “Where is he?” I asked.

  Pairy, shaking his arms to shed the memory of touching another dead man, looked around the dark wadi. “I don’t know. He was here, and I guess, I don’t know, Suti. I wanted to help and I didn’t think he would run off into the dark.”

  Shaking the touch of death from his arms, Pairy picked up a torch and ran away from us to find Paser.

  “It must be Ahmose. Who else would it be?” Turo said. “Paser led us here. I don’t think there are dead men buried below each of these sand mounds.”

  I looked at the body and then to the bank of sand that rose behind the dead man.

  I wondered what secrets it held. Did the Tomb of Ipy lie hidden there? Did the tomb contain a passage that led to some distant land that was home to Lord Imhotep? Had Akila carried him there, an infant once more, beginning his life anew?

  Curiosity wrapped its arms about me and pulled me toward the sand.