by Jerry Dubs
“Scribe,” Turo said, laying a hand on my arm. “We are not tomb robbers. We have found the body of Ahmose. We heard Paser’s tale. He won’t return to rob the tomb; his legs were barely able to bring him this far while Pairy and I were holding him.”
I heard Turo’s words and still the secrets of the sand called me.
“If we open the tomb,” Turo said, “we will be violating the protections placed on it when it was sealed. Even if it was opened once, the enchantments are still in force. I don’t want any more weight on my heart, Suti,” he said. “And you don’t want your heart heavy. You want your ka to reach Khert-Neter. That is where her ka will be.”
His words pulled my eyes from the sand.
I turned to him, anger and fear rising in my heart.
“Suti,” he said, his voice soft, “some men train a horse by breaking its will. Some men fear the horse’s heavy hooves or its biting teeth. I don’t know why, but when I approach a horse, I can read its eyes and I know if it has fear or hunger or anger in its heart. It is as clear to my eyes as reading the night sky is to yours.
“You told us that we all have different gifts, different training. I know that I can never be a scribe. I know that I could never become the archer that Pairy is. But I can read a person’s heart, Suti. I know that yours is pure and noble and filled with gentleness. I know also that it is claimed by another.”
I tried to make my face into a stone mask, to hide my heart from this charioteer.
“Pairy believes you desire the young girl who serves Queen Merti. But I see only kindness in your eyes when you are with the girl. But your eyes are filled with excitement and hope after you speak of her mistress,” he said.
I looked away at the sand.
I wondered who else could read my secrets. And I realized that unearthing the Tomb of Ipy would add another heavy secret to my heart.
“I will never speak of this again, Suti,” Turo said. “You saved me when I wanted to rest from life. You have given me a reason to live and you have unburdened my heart. My ka is forever in your debt.”
I reached out a hand and touched the shoulder of this wise charioteer. For once, my tongue rested and I nodded my head.
“I don’t see him,” Pairy said, returning from the darkness. “The Rat has run away.” He nodded toward the half-unearthed body. “What are we going to do with him?”
“Rebury him and his secret,” I said.
I See beyond Ma’at
The next morning, while the priests bathed and fed Ptah, I slipped through the empty temple halls to Lord Useramen’s office.
I found him perched behind his desk, his round owl eyes staring across the room to the window that opened onto the temple garden and the sacred pond.
“Ah, Scribe Suti,’ he said, turning toward me as if he had expected my arrival. “I heard that you had returned to Men-Nefer.”
“Greetings, Lord Useramen,” I said. I bowed and waited by the doorway for him to wave me forward.
He studied me a minute, his brow furrowed as if he were reading a poorly drawn line of hieroglyphs.
“Do you have news?” he asked, waving me into his office.
I approached his desk. It was covered, as always, with sheets of papyrus, the many letters and inventories and requests that passed through his hands.
“Lord Useramen,” I said, “I talked with a man named Paser yesterday.”
He tilted his head in question.
“You sent a wet-nurse to his wife,” I said.
Lord Useramen stared at me a moment, and then, standing, he walked to the window, turning his back to me.
“Paser was the companion of your cousin Ahmose, who was asked to search for the Tomb of Ipy,” I said, feeling my heart lift as I unburdened it. “Ahmose found the tomb, but he lost his life.”
“As I feared,” Lord Useramen said, the words spoken for his own ears. “We shouldn’t have meddled.”
I waited, letting the silence draw the words from him.
He turned back to face me and said, “Some time ago, back before this war started, your master wrote to me. He said that Lord Imhotep sought a tomb. There was a weapon there that would aid our war against the king of Kadesh. I couldn’t refuse Lord Amenhotep. Nor could I refuse Lord Imhotep. Nor could I ignore the chance to aid the war. I contacted my cousin’s husband, who has a reputation for finding things.”
“But you did not believe Lord Imhotep sought a weapon,” I said.
Lord Useramen shrugged his shoulders. No longer were they the feathered shoulders of an owl, now they were only those of a worried man.
“The man could call fire from the sky. What more of a weapon did he need?” Lord Useramen said. “When he and his hemet arrived here, I saw that he was weary. He seemed eager to rest from life. I told myself that the tomb he sought was one he had prepared for himself.”
“Then he disappeared. But Queen Menwi disappeared with him,” I prodded.
He nodded.
“The letter you brought to me from Lord Amenhotep told me that the queen was missing. He asked if I had been successful in finding the Tomb of Ipy. Lord Amenhotep wanted me to place guards on the tomb to make sure that Lord Imhotep would not take Queen Menwi with him.”
“Because she was carrying Lord Imhotep’s great-grandson,” I said.
Lord Useramen nodded.
“Then, when you went to Ahmose, you discovered that he was missing. As was his friend Paser,” I said. “You were too late. You didn’t know where the tomb was, so you couldn’t guard it.”
He walked to me, his head shaking. “I still don’t know, Suti. Did Lord Imhotep go to the tomb? Did he leave the Two Lands? Did he take the queen? I don’t know. It was never my intention to aid Lord Imhotep in taking the queen away,” he said, his words hurrying from his mouth.
“I found Kebu,” I said, hoping to ease the burden Lord Useramen was carrying.
“You did?” he said.
“I did,” I said. “I cannot tell you what Kebu said. Pharaoh Thutmose has sealed my lips. But I can tell you that Pharaoh Thutmose believes that the gods ordained what has happened and he places fault on no one.”
The tension eased from his sunken shoulders.
When he looked back at me, I was gratified to see a different concern fill his eyes. “What of the young queen?” he asked. “Is Queen Menwi safe? And the child?”
I nodded.
“They are in the hands of the gods,” I said.
***
Leaving Lord Useramen, I followed the thick smoke of incense to the naos of the god Ptah, creator of us all.
The stone floor was cold and hard, the wall paintings were flat and lifeless, the shadows that curled against the blue-painted ceiling had lost their mystery. Sitting upon squat stone pillars, the incense burners glowed red beneath a flaking gray coating; the thin smoke they emitted felt foreign as it entered my nostrils.
It seemed to me that the temple had lost its heka, and I wondered if my eyes and ears and nose were sensing it differently or if Ptah had taken leave of his home.
I passed the hallway that led to the temple garden and the sacred pond. My heart tugged at the path, but my curiosity was too great; my feet continued to carry me into the dark heart of the temple.
Soon the walls closed in on me. There were no windows, and the only light came from the hallway behind me.
I walked slower, giving my eyes time to adjust to the darkness.
The hallway narrowed. Reaching out, I could touch both walls as I slowly approached the god’s inner sanctum. My fingers slid along the walls, my feet felt their way forward, and soon my right hand felt a raised ridge.
I stopped and turned toward the right wall. Using both hands, like a man whose eyes have been infested with worms, I examined the wall. Finding the heavy bar that protected the door, I lifted it, slid it to the ground, and pushed open the door.
Two bowls of incense — one on each side of the narrow room — glowed in the naos, infusing the room with a pa
le light that drifted to the ceiling where the smoke formed a gray cloud, its underside moving like restless, living water. The faint light brushed against the underside of the incense cloud and then fell upon the gold-gilded walls, giving them a burnished, yellow glow.
That is what my eyes saw.
But my ka saw only the seated image of Father Ptah.
Ptah, master of justice.
Ptah, the beautiful face.
Ptah, lord of eternity.
Ptah, lord of truth.
(I wondered: Of which truth?)
His face and hands were painted green, or made of malachite. In the dim light, I could not tell.
A nearly transparent linen shroud was draped across his heavy shoulders, thick and muscled from turning the potter’s wheel.
A narrow gold beard hung from his chin beneath heavy lips gathered in a satisfied smile.
Two months ago, I would have fallen to my knees and pressed my forehead to the stone in fear.
Now I stepped forward and rested a hand on one of his golden arms.
It was smooth.
It was solid and powerful.
But it contained no life.
I wondered: Has Ptah withdrawn from me, that I am unable to feel his divine presence?
“I heard that Re left a mark on you,” a voice said from behind me.
“Yes, First Priest Puimre,” I said, my fingers leaving the arm of the god.
The huge priest moved closer. His girth, his heavy breathing, the powerful scent of the oils he wore filled the chamber. He reached out a thick arm and lifted my chin to look at my neck.
He grunted and said, “Did it hurt?”
“I thought I had died,” I said.
First Priest Puimre moved his hand from me and nodded.
“Yet you survived the fire. Reborn like the Bennu-bird,” he said.
I lowered my face in modesty. (Although I was thrilled that the myth of the Bennu- bird had attached itself to my name.)
“Have you learned the truth?” he asked.
“I told Pharaoh Thutmose what I learned,” I said. “He declared it to be true.”
“Hah!” First Priest Puimre said, his heavy lips smacking together in delight. “You were so young and wide-eyed when you arrived here a few weeks ago. You have changed, Scribe Suti.” He reached up and touched the marks on my neck. “Perhaps Re did anoint you with his fire, leaving behind wisdom.”
“The gods leave marks on us all,” I said.
First Priest Puimre laughed again.
“Even speaking like a priest,” he said. Then he turned and left me alone with the silent god.
***
Accepting that Ptah was not going to speak to me, I left his inner sanctum and retraced my steps.
When I reached the opening to the temple garden and sacred pond, I allowed my feet to take me to the stone bench where I had sat with Queen Merti.
Re was still ascending, his warmth inviting the flowers to open their silken petals. Birds sang their welcome and the pond lay unmoving, its sleeping surface perfectly reflecting the sky, the trees that stood on its bank, and the pillars of the temple hallway.
My heart and my thoughts were unsettled, and I thought to stand in my thinking pose, but my legs felt too heavy, my ka too confused and angry.
I tried to understand my anger, but it swirled, a dark wind that shifted and twisted beyond my will.
I knew that Akila had taken Queen Menwi’s child — its breath feeding the ka of Lord Imhotep? — into the Tomb of Ipy, and that Kebu had fled beyond the southern border of the Two Lands. I did not know where Lord Imhotep’s aged body had gone. Nor did I know where Queen Menwi had gone.
I had given Pharaoh Thutmose a story that satisfied him.
Ma’at was preserved.
But my curiosity was not sated.
I did not believe my own words.
Hearing the flap of wings, I turned to see an ibis, its black toes spread beneath outstretched legs, descend to the water at the edge of the pond. I watched Thoth’s messenger, eager to hear his words. He had appeared in Kerma and led me to the ivory. What truth would he reveal now?
His splayed toes touched the water, the small black tips meeting their mirror image and then disappearing beneath the water. He cocked his head, holding his black, curved beak still, and focused his eyes beneath the surface of the pond. Then he ducked his head, darting his beak into the water. When he raised his head, a small fish wriggled in the pinched grip of his beak. The ibis nodded his head and the fish was gone.
There was no message there, simply a bird feeding.
I shook my head at my naïve hope that the gods were watching over me, as if I deserved some special enlightenment.
As I stood to leave, I saw a smooth stone embedded in the ground near the bench. Shaped like a shenu, the elongated circle that sanctifies the symbols that name our rulers, the polished stone carried the carved profile of a seated scribe, one of the symbols of the name of Ptah.
I thought: And the symbol for myself.
I knelt by the stone and traced its surface with a curious finger.
Cold and hard, its surface was a comforting touchstone. It was something real and true.
Moving my fingers to the side of the stone, I pried it free of Geb’s grasp.
The stone turned on its rounded side.
Garden soil clung to the back of the stone. And in the depression beneath the stone I saw the movement of grubs and worms and insects and all the night insects that live beneath the surface.
I let the stone fall to cover the unsightly insects.
Turning, I saw that the ibis had quit feeding. It stood in the concealing water, its dark face turned to me, its black eyes studying me.
Then, finding me uninteresting, it turned away.
My Great Secret
We followed the road north from Men-Nefer.
I took turns, riding with Pairy until our first rest stop each day, then riding with Turo until the next.
The charioteers, eager to return to the army, drove our horses hard. Two days into our journey, we passed the road that turned west toward Gaza and continued north toward Yehem.
We reached Yehem two days later and paused to water the horses.
“We’ll be back in camp this afternoon,” Pairy said.
“Do you think they are finished building the wall around Megiddo?” Turo asked.
“I hope so,” Pairy answered.
“And the ditch,” Turo said.
Pairy nodded. “I’d rather cut trees than dig a moat,” he said. He turned to me. “What about you, Suti?” he asked. “Are you staying with Lord Amenhotep after you give him your report, or are you returning to Waset. To that girl?”
I glanced at Turo and saw a smile cross his face.
“I am staying here,” I said.
“Good! We’ll all be back where we belong,” Pairy said. “Turo and I will be with the maryannu, waiting for the king of Kadesh to get enough courage to face us, and you’ll be with Lord Amenhotep writing things,” he said, his words trailing off as he realized he didn’t know how a scribe spent his day.
“No, I mean I am staying here in Yehem,” I said.
They both looked at me and then looked around the empty road and the small woods.
“When you get to camp, please tell Lord Amenhotep that I will be there tomorrow or the day after,” I said.
“We can’t just leave you here alone,” Turo said.
I smiled. “The king of Kadesh and his army are huddling in fear in Megiddo. The vast army of the Two Lands lies a day’s walk from here. I have water and shade. I am in no danger.”
Seeing their hesitation, I said, “I need some time alone to prepare my words for Lord Amenhotep.” They continued to stare at me. “Just as you sharpen your swords before battle. Or recheck the leather of the harnesses and the soundness of your chariot wheels. My words need my attention.”
“We can wait,” Turo said as Pairy shuffled his feet in disagreement.
“No,” I said. “I need solitude.”
The charioteers exchanged a glance, and then they nodded acceptance.
“However,” I said, a thought entering my mind. “Turo, would you leave your chariot with me?”
“When did you learn to drive a chariot?” Pairy asked.
“I will teach myself tomorrow,” I said.
***
I watched the horses of the departing chariot kick up dust.
Then I watched the dust fall to earth only to reveal a more distant cloud, and through that I heard the clap of the horses’ hooves and the creak of the wooden wheels taking my charioteers away from me.
When they were no longer within reach of my ears or my eyes, I picked up a water skin, a shovel, and the broken staff of Imhotep. Then, taking the reins of the horses, I led them along the edge of the woods. In a few minutes, I saw the entrance where the shrubs had been broken by the passage of the three abandoned chariots.
I pushed through the brown leaves that hung from the broken twigs and brought my chariot into the shade of the woods.
In a few minutes, I found the open area where we had found the chariots. With the chariots no longer here, it was easy to see that they had been placed there, not to hide them, but to conceal a greater secret.
***
Tethering the horses to a tree, I turned to the open space.
Holding the shovel with both hands, I drove the blade into the ground. I noted the resistance of Geb’s belly and then took a small step and drove the shovel downward again. The earth there gave way to my shovel with eagerness. I cupped the dirt in the shovel and raised it from the ground. Then I stepped to my right and repeated my action.
Working methodically, I soon marked the border of a large rectangle of softer earth.
I walked to the chariot. Lifting the water skin, I took a long drink, hoping to wash away my fear as much as my thirst.
Then I returned to the grave and began to dig.
***
A decan passed. Then another.
My arms grew weary, my heart wearier, but my curiosity drove me.