‘Now tell me of you, Tahar. What of your homeland? Terms of trade.’
As they spiralled ever downward Tahar filled the empty tunnel with his words. He spoke of a land beyond Kiya’s imagination—a place of endless plains rich with grasses that nourished goats, sheep and cattle, and strong, passionate people who travelled with their herds. He described a sky so thick with clouds that they blocked Ra’s rays, where freezing rain floated down from the sky and blanketed the land in an ashen white cloak.
Tahar described his intrepid father and his cautious mother, and the terrible storm that had left him an orphan at the edge of the desert. He told her of the kindness of the Meshwesh Libu, and the wonder he had felt as he’d discovered the desert for himself.
‘The people who live in a place often do not see it,’ explained Tahar. ‘It is sometimes only the foreigner who can truly grasp its beauty.’
Kiya thought of the endless mounds of amber sand they had traversed. The Big Sandy was desolate and deadly, but to Kiya’s eyes it had also been beautiful—an ocean of gentle, undulating waves frozen in time. Tahar was right. If the Big Sandy had seemed a marvel, how might the steppes of Tahar’s homeland seem?
‘I should like to discover your homeland for myself,’ said Kiya.
‘I should like to rediscover it with you.’
They had arrived at the end of the tunnel. They passed through the hidden entrance and resettled the secret stone. Together, they kicked their feet in the dust of the flat staging area and studied a splinter of sunlight that had entered via a crack at the entrance. What lay beyond that crack was their salvation...or perhaps their death.
‘Whether in this life or the next,’ said Tahar, ‘let us make the journey together.’
He pulled Kiya into his arms and gave her a long, deep kiss. Then he pushed back the stone.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
‘Touched by the Gods,’ said a familiar voice, ‘both of you.’
A shaft of light poured into the tomb and Imhoter’s tall, slim figure took shape amidst the brightness.
‘I did not even need to knock.’
Kiya shrieked with joy. She ran into the priest’s embrace.
‘Did I not teach you anything about decorum, young Hathor?’ he asked, taking her into his arms.
She lingered in his embrace for as long as he would allow. He was alive. Imhoter was alive! She had shouted at the Gods, taunted them, even doubted their existence, but in this moment she thanked them with all her heart.
‘Well met, dear Imhoter,’ said Kiya. ‘Very well met indeed.’
The old priest’s robe had been ripped. Its ragged edge no longer skirted the ground and its lotus-white folds were marred with stains of filth. Half-moons of sagging skin had appeared beneath his eyes, and he carried his shoulders in a tired slump.
He found a seat upon a boulder near the entrance. ‘It was a long night.’
‘We feared Chief Bandir had taken the city,’ Kiya said.
‘He tried,’ said Imhoter. ‘His army attacked in the night, but the people of Memphis gathered around the perimeter of the wall—women and men alike. Some wielded weapons—spears and arrows and the like. Others used pottery shards and stones. I have never seen the people of Khemet display such unity or such bravery. They fought off the Libu horde valiantly.’
‘It was your warning that saved them,’ observed Kiya.
‘Nay, it was you, dear girl,’ Imhoter said, searching Kiya’s eyes.
‘What do you mean?’
‘They fought in your name.’
‘What?’
‘Hathor the Brave, they call you now.’ Imhoter’s eyes sparkled.
‘I don’t understand. The King wants me dead.’
‘So do the highborns—but there are so few of them.’ He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Commoners vastly outnumber highborns—a small fact that Khemetian Kings tend to forget.’ Imhoter rubbed his ancient hand over his sweat-stained forehead. ‘When word spread that you had escaped, the commoners of Memphis rejoiced. They were astounded by the valour you displayed upon your wedding day. Some say you acted out of honour, but most believe you acted out of...love.’ Imhoter stole a glance at Tahar. ‘I tend to agree with most.’
Kiya smiled. The mysterious old man had been right all along. It was love that triumphed—whether in the minds of a people or in the depths of a street orphan’s heart.
Imhoter stood. ‘I bring one last bit of news,’ he said, almost offhandedly. ‘In the small hours of the morning, as Bandir’s army dispersed, the Great River began to rise.’
Kiya felt her knees unlock. She found a seat in the place where Imhoter rested. ‘Pray, dear Imhoter, what did you say?’
‘The River swells,’ Imhoter said, a tiny grin dancing at the edges of his mouth. ‘The drought is over.’
‘But how can you be certain?’
‘I checked the King’s river steps this morning. Three steps are already submerged. You were right all along, oh, Mother of the Flood. Hapi is late, but it has finally come,’ Imhoter said.
Kiya locked eyes with Tahar. ‘It was the man you see before you who predicted it,’ Kiya told Imhoter. ‘He taught me to read the signs.’
Imhoter regarded Tahar. ‘Is that so? Hem, it seems we Blacklanders have much to learn from the people of the Red.’
‘And the King? Does he still seek our heads?’ asked Kiya.
‘The King has been humbled. He has expressed his contrition to me, and realised that he was mistaken to condemn you. Soon he will want you back.’ Imhoter glanced out at the dry plain. ‘I fear he seeks you already, though he will not find you. Come. Your means of escape awaits.’
They passed through the workers’ entrance and the figure of a familiar-looking beast came into view. ‘It cannot be!’ said Kiya. ‘Meemoo?’
‘Did I not promise I would take care of your beast?’ said Imhoter. He stroked the horse’s long neck. ‘And it is as well, for he is the only donkey I have ever met large enough to bear me without complaint.’
‘He is not a donkey at all, dear Imhoter,’ explained Kiya, kissing Meemoo on the snout. ‘He is a horse—a beast from the Land of the Grass.’
‘He will do just fine,’ said Tahar, stroking Meemoo’s long mane. ‘Thank you, Imhoter.’
‘I am afraid I have been unclear,’ said Imhoter. ‘This...um...horse, as you call him, is not your means of escape. By the looks of him I would guess that he is as old as I am.’ Imhoter placed his foot in a stirrup and hoisted himself into the saddle. He held out his hand to Kiya and helped her do the same. ‘Come, Tahar,’ he said, holding out a helping hand. ‘We are to the River.’
Tahar flashed Imhoter a sly grin, then broke into a run. ‘Catch me if you can!’ he shouted as his long legs carried him towards the Great River.
Without any encouragement Meemoo burst into a trot, and in less than an hour they were standing before a small sailing boat, bobbing in the shallows of the Great River.
‘Behold your escape vessel,’ announced Imhoter.
The boat was not large. The rectangular cabin that defined its deck was scarcely as big as a goose’s coop. Behind it a mast stretched upwards, lifting a small square sail into the air. Before it two sets of oars rested in their positions near the bow, and the prow was carved into the traditional face of a hedgehog.
‘It is magnificent,’ Tahar said, his eyes filling with tears.
‘It is the smallest boat in the King’s Fleet,’ Imhoter said, winking. ‘He will not miss it.’
As they climbed aboard the vessel Kiya observed that it was extremely well made. Short, well-dressed planks had been fitted together expertly to form the sturdy hull, which was further stabilised by the strong cross-planks of the deck.
The cabin itself was made of a combination of wood and tightly woven pa
pyrus, and a small, ornately carved door guarded its entrance.
Imhoter stepped halfway through the door and stretched out his arm to Kiya. ‘Come, let me show you something,’ he said.
Inside, a richly decorated space similar to the one Kiya had shared with the King was spread before them. Thick, lush carpets covered the floors, and exquisite embroideries adorned the walls. A large, deeply padded bed, abundant with pillows, crowded the far corner.
Tahar stole a conspiratorial glance at Kiya, then addressed the priest.
‘I am without words, Holy Imhoter,’ he said. ‘This is a debt I...we...can never repay.’ He pulled Kiya beside him.
‘You have already paid it,’ said Imhoter. The priest handed the lovers two goblets of water, which they drank heartily. ‘It was your ability to read the signs of the flood that helped lift Khemet’s despair,’ Imhoter continued. ‘It was your love that inspired Hathor the Brave. But here is what I wish for you to see.’ Imhoter pointed to a large wooden box on the floor. He opened the lid to reveal hundreds of gold ingots—a king’s treasure. ‘This is for you, my dear,’ he said. ‘It is my gift to you.’
Kiya stared into the treasure chest, unable to speak. It was enough gold to supply an army.
‘It is my life’s earnings,’ said Imhoter, his brown face all aglow. ‘It is all for you, my Kiya.’
Kiya stared at the priest in disbelief. ‘I am sorry, I do not understand. And how do you know my true name? Dear Imhoter, I am confused.’
‘Hem,’ said Imhoter, shaking his head. ‘Nay, of course you don’t understand—for I have not explained any of it.’ He touched his bony chin. ‘We have precious little time, but I think I should like to tell you a brief story. Perchance you would like to hear it?’ he asked.
‘I love stories,’ said Kiya.
‘That does not surprise me at all,’ said Imhoter, easing onto a cushioned bench. ‘Have you ever heard the story How the Date Palm Got Its Dates?’
‘Of course,’ said Kiya. ‘It was one of my mother’s favourites. I haven’t heard it in a long while.’
Kiya’s mother had told it so often that Kiya had almost grown tired of it. Now, she treasured it more than a hundred sacks of grain.
‘Would you enjoy hearing it again? Come, sit beside me.’ Imhoter patted the soft seat beside him. ‘Indulge an old man.’
Puzzled, Kiya sat upon the bench. Across the cabin, Tahar watched them curiously.
Imhoter traced the leopardskin border of his sleeve. One of the threads had become loose and he twisted it in his fingers nervously. ‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘It has been a long time since I have told this particular tale. I must be sure to tell it well.’
Imhoter cleared his throat and began.
‘There was and there was not, a lion, a leopard and a monkey. The monkey had the most joyful heart. She swung through the trees all day long, laughing and playing. The lion, who was King of the land, admired the monkey, for her endless antics made his own heart lighter. So he took her from the trees and brought her to his den. Without her beloved trees the monkey became sad. Slowly, her laughter faded...
‘One day the leopard visited the cave and met the sad monkey. Being a leopard, he also loved to play in the trees. He understood the monkey as the lion could not. That night, while the lion slept, he helped the monkey escape. All night the leopard and the monkey played together in the trees. They fanned themselves with giant leaves and leaped between the branches. They plucked little brown fruits and made beautiful garlands. At the end of the night they hung the biggest garland from the loveliest tree as a symbol of their joy and love.
‘The next morning they awoke to the lion’s angry roar. He had discovered the leopard and the monkey sleeping in the trees. The lion shook the trees until they both came tumbling out. He bit off the leopard’s ear and brought the monkey back to his den, where he tied a rope around her leg. There she lived in sorrow for the rest of her life. But she never forgot the leopard, nor the beautiful necklace they made together. It hangs in the date palm still. And that is how the date palm got its dates.’
Kiya turned to Imhoter. Her eyes swam in a bath of tears. ‘I am the necklace. And you...you are my father.’
Imhoter stared at Kiya and his eyes glowed with an inner light. ‘You are clever. You understand the story.’
‘But—but why did you never tell me?
‘I was not certain until very recently.’
Kiya felt dizzy, as if the whole boat had begun to spin. ‘When?’
‘On your wedding day, when you told me that you had been born in the royal harem. You are unusually tall, you see, and King Sneferu was quite short. So was your mother.’ Imhoter stood to his full height, bumping his head upon the ceiling of the cabin. ‘I am also tall—do you see?’ He smiled. ‘But it wasn’t until you stood up to the King that I was completely sure. As I watched you tell him to take your life I did not see you, but your mother. She made a similar plea to the deceased King long ago, for she had betrayed him.’
‘By falling in love with you.’
‘Aye.’
‘And he punished you for it,’ Kiya said. By making you a eunuch.
‘Yes.’
‘And Khufu will never let you forget that you betrayed his father.’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought that I had disappointed you beyond measure,’ said Kiya. She took Imhoter’s hands in hers.
‘On the contrary, my dear, you made me as proud as a father could ever be.’
Imhoter squeezed Kiya’s hands and she could see his lips trembling. She stood. She stared into his eyes and saw that they were her eyes. Dark, with golden flecks of light.
‘Father,’ she said, and fell into his arms.
Her heart was overflowing and she began to sob. She was not a parentless street orphan, nor the starving Mute Boy, nor a captive queen. She was not even King Khufu’s half-sister, as she had always believed herself to be. She was not royal at all, in fact. Nay, she was better than that—she was the child of a truly good man.
‘I tried to find you,’ Imhoter said. ‘After the raid on the harem. I looked for years. I begged the Gods...’
‘So much time and I was right at your feet,’ Kiya said. ‘On the streets of Memphis.’
Imhoter faced her. ‘Daughter, can you ever forgive me?’
Kiya let the word sink into her soul. Daughter. It was like music. Daughter. Like the soft rustle of date palm leaves tickled by the breeze. Daughter.
‘Father, there is nothing to forgive.’
Imhoter’s eyes were wells of tears. ‘Now I may journey to the next world, for I am happier than I have ever been or ever shall be,’ he said.
‘Will you not come with us?’ Kiya asked suddenly. ‘Please, join us, Father. We shall see amazing things. We shall measure the size of the world.’
Imhoter gave Kiya a sad smile. ‘But there are only two sets of oars, my dear.’
‘You have given us all your wealth. Why not come with us? Flee this tempestuous realm and find peace at sea...with us.’
Imhoter shook his head. ‘What gives a king’s life more value than a farmer’s, or even a beggar’s?’ he asked wistfully. ‘Your mother asked me that question long ago, and at the time I could not give her a satisfactory answer. Now I know that the answer is nothing. Nothing makes anyone’s life more valuable than another. I must continue to serve the people of Khemet.’ He gave Kiya a deep bow. ‘Besides, I am too old for journeys.’
Imhoter turned towards the small doorway.
‘You must see the world, daughter, then return to Khemet and tell me what you have seen. You know where I will be.’ Imhoter blinked back tears as he embraced Kiya and kissed her on the head.
Kiya followed Imhoter through the cabin door and helped him over the rails and into the shallow water. Imhot
er stared down at his legs.
‘The water was below my knees when we boarded only an hour ago. Now it is above them!’ he exclaimed. He clapped his hands together like a child, then lifted the mooring stake and tossed it onto the deck. ‘Go now—you must escape the King’s reach.’
Moments later Imhoter was sitting high atop Meemoo, standing at the shore of the river. The horse whinnied loudly as Imhoter shouted his goodbyes. ‘Safe travels, blessed ones!’ he called, waving his long arm. ‘May your sails and your bellies always be full!’
Kiya blew him a kiss. She watched and waved until his body became a tiny, distant blur.
Or was that the blur of her tears?
Tahar put his hands around her shoulders. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked softly.
‘Aye. Just glad for the time I had with him.’
‘I know that feeling,’ Tahar said. He sat down beside her. ‘We shall return to Khemet one day.’
‘With many tales to tell?’ Kiya said, brightening.
‘Many tales indeed!’ Tahar said.
He kissed her cheek and stood. His chest might have been the sail itself, filled not with wind but with happiness. He walked about the deck with his arms folded, surveying every inch of the expertly crafted vessel. This will serve us well, his expression seemed to say.
Kiya could feel the force of the Great River’s current carrying them northward, towards the Big Green. After a few moments she saw Tahar’s figure atop the roof of the cabin. He let down the sails, then returned to the deck and took his position at the oars.
‘The breeze is from the north now,’ he said. ‘It does not help us, so I shall.’ And he began to row.
‘Are you going to take us to the lands beyond the Big Green, then?’ Kiya asked.
‘My mother may yet live,’ said Tahar. ‘I should very much like you to meet her.’
‘As would I,’ Kiya said, admiring Tahar’s strong limbs as they bent and flexed with purpose.
She was full of love for this humble, beautiful man.
Enslaved by the Desert Trader Page 22