by Jerry Dubs
Nimaasted looked sadly toward the darkened doorway of Waja-Hur’s room. “He is communing more with the gods than with us lately.”
Brian looked over his shoulder at the three small boats. The dusky red western sky silhouetted their thin masts. On the far bank of the river, a cluster of palm trees edged along the water, backlit by the setting sun. Beyond them the land rose slightly before leveling off and turning dry as the narrow strip of fertile land gave way to dry sand.
He admired action: the grace of a gymnast, the power of a racehorse, the guts and desperation of a boxer, but there was something so serene and foreign in the view he saw here that he felt an unexpected swelling in his chest and he sighed deeply.
Watching him, Pahket caught the melancholy of his expression, but misunderstood it. Earlier she had seen Brian talking with Diane, using their private language, their voices quiet. It seemed to her that Brian had been pleading, the tone of his voice urgent. Diane hadn’t said much in return. Her arms had been crossed and she seldom looked into Brian’s face as he talked.
Now Diane had walked ahead with Yunet, following Djefi’s sedan chair toward the Temple of Ma’at. All of the attendants and boatman were following, Brian and Pahket among them.
When Djefi had returned from his visit to the temples this afternoon, he had called Brian to his boat and told him that they all were going to attend a ceremony at the Temple of Ma’at. Tomorrow, Djefi had told Brian, he would be given a boat and would be free to return to his country, to visit other temples, to go where he wanted. He was, of course, welcome to remain a guest of Sobek.
Brian had asked if Diane could go with him.
I have no power over her. She is a guest and may do as she likes, Djefi had answered.
Then Brian had talked with Diane and his happiness at Djefi’s news had crashed head on against her cold anger at him.
“What will you do, Netjer Brian?” Pahket had asked him later. “Are you leaving Kemet?”
He had shrugged and given her a small smile. “I have to find someone, Pahket. He is here, or at a town called Waset. Tomorrow I will look for him. Can you come with me?”
“I will ask,” she had answered, her heart swelling with happiness.
Now they were walking with the boatmen up the small incline that led away from the water toward the temple complex.
Pahket had never been away from To-She before. She found the trip, the excitement of seeing new places, even the motion of the river, which was so different from the sluggish canal at To-She, almost overwhelming. Change, she found, was disturbing.
Even the land here was different. The soil was sandier and there were fewer trees and less grass along the river. The buildings were more scorched by the sun. The path they were following into the temple complex was hard packed and hurt her bare feet.
The path soon turned into a broad avenue. A few of the torches that lined it had been lit as the evening faded. When they reached the Temple of Ma’at, Pahket was mildly disappointed because the complex looked smaller than the temple at To-She.
But as they came closer, she saw that it was more finely made. There were no visible seams in the stone columns and the painted symbols and hieroglyphics were bright and beautifully drawn.
She stopped at the doorway to admire a painting of the goddess Ma’at. She was a beautiful woman dressed in a sheer linen robe, a purple belt gathering the transparent material at the waist, its loose ends falling to her knees. Her black hair was trimmed with golden beads and a narrow gold headband secured a white ostrich feather that rose high above her head.
It was this feather, the symbol of truth and order, which a person’s heart was weighed against when he died. If the heart was free of sins and as light as the feather, then the owner was maa-kheru - true of word - and was admitted to the green fields of Khert-Neter. If the heart weighed down its side of the scale, it was fed to Ammut, a demon with a crocodile’s head, the front half of her body that of a lion’s, the rear half that of a hippopotamus. If Ammut ate the heart, the owner experienced the death of death and was no more.
Flickering torches lit the way as they walked through the temple, emerging at the far end into an amphitheater along the side of a reflecting pool.
Djefi’s sedan had been brought to the front row and he was being helped onto a stone bench covered with pillows. Pahket saw Diane and Yunet sitting on a bench near him, a tall man in priestly robes leaning over to talk with them. When the man straightened, he scanned the amphitheater, stopping when he was looking directly at Brian. He bent down again to speak to Diane and Yunet, and then he left them to walk up the steps toward Brian and Pahket.
“I am Nimaasted, servant of Thoth,” he said, stopping in front of Brian and bowing his head lightly. “You are Brian?”
Brian nodded in return.
“Djefi said you are his guest. Welcome to the Temple of Ma’at.”
“Thank you,” Brian answered.
Nimaasted nodded once more and then was gone.
Two rows behind Brian and Pahket, the boatmen sat together. Dagi and Karem had watched Nimaasted approach and speak to Brian.
“Who was that?” Dagi asked.
Karem shook his head.
Dagi turned to the other boatmen. “Anybody know who that was?”
“That was, ahh, I can’t remember his name, but I remember his look, he’s the overseer of the embalmers,” one of the boatmen answered. “He came to our boat a couple years back when one of the rowers stood up, shouted his mother’s name and fell over dead. Remember that? We had just made a run up from Waset, following the current. We weren’t working all that hard.”
“I remember that,” another said. “It was hot that day.”
“Not that hot,” the first man answered.
“Hot enough,” the other countered.
There was a murmuring along the row as the other boatmen began to recall the death.
“Aren’t the embalmers under Thoth,” Dagi asked Karem, “not Ma’at?”
Karem thought for a moment. “Or Anubis,” he answered.
“Anubis doesn’t have a temple here,” Dagi said.
“I don’t know,” Karem said.
“Either way,” Dagi said, “it isn’t Ma’at. Ma’at doesn’t have embalmers.”
Karem looked at his friend.
“We need to watch Brian,” Dagi said. “I don’t trust Djefi. He sent him into the desert with Siamun and now he’s being friendly? And an embalmer is stopping to talk to him?”
“I’m not on the same boat,” Karem said.
Dagi nodded. “That’s strange, too. You should be. I think Djefi moved you to a different boat because Brian saved your little Kiya.”
Karem nodded, then he said, “I don’t understand.”
“Djefi knows Brian saved Kiya, so he knows that you’ll help Brian in return, see? So he separates you. But there’s no reason for him to do that unless he’s planning something.”
Karem shook his head. “Look, I don’t like Djefi either, but I think you’re still mad because . . .” he left the sentence unfinished.
Dagi looked at his friend. “Keep an eye on Brian. I’ll do the same.”
Pahket had explained the idea of ma’at to Brian, both the ideal and the goddess who represented it, so he was prepared to follow the enactment of the weighing of the heart. He wasn’t prepared for Tama, the woman who was high priestess for the goddess Ma’at.
Tama had been high priestess of Ma’at for most of her thirty-one years. She had entered temple life as a child, given up by her family to live with the aged woman who was high priestess of Ma’at at the time. Chosen for her beauty and intelligence, Tama had been trained to observe the truth, to see past appearances and to accept what she saw, whether she agreed with it or not.
That vision of the world granted her a serenity that was reflected in her calm features.
The influence of the nearby Temple of Thoth and Waja-Hur’s constant reminder that balance was important had played a part i
n her life, too. She interpreted balance as a middle path to be followed in all things: diet, exercise, speech, study, sleep, even worship of the gods.
Brian didn’t see all this when she emerged from the darkness to play her part in the ritual re-enactment of the weighing the king’s heart.
He saw a supremely confident woman, whose assurance was reflected in her strong, melodic voice. He saw a radiantly beautiful woman, whose diet and exercise kept her body remarkably fit and strong, even for a culture in which hard work was a daily part of life. He saw a woman whose flashing eyes and ready smile revealed an intelligence and acceptance that drew admirers.
The ceremony passed, but he saw only Tama. At some point a bent old man was led to her, accompanied by a boy carrying a large scale. The man carried papyrus and ink to record the results of the weighing of the heart. But all Brian saw was Tama, stepping forward and extending her hand to welcome and help the old man.
A king appeared, escorted by a woman wearing the long horns of a cow. The king said, “I have done ma’at,” repeating the phrase three times. Brian heard only the delicate rustle of Tama’s sheer robe as she bent to take the king’s heart from the golden bowl he carried.
As Brian watched the ritual, Pahket stole anxious glances at him. She saw where his eyes were directed, she saw him mouth the words that Tama spoke and she knew that this god had found his heart’s desire.
From the shadows of the amphitheater, Nimaasted also watched. He saw the naked hunger in Brian’s face as he watched Tama and Nimaasted knew how he would lure Brian away from the safety of the boat.
Brian was surprised by his attraction to Tama.
He returned to the boat in silence. Pahket gave up talking to him the third time he responded to her by saying “uh-huh.”
He thought about Diane and her refusal to go anywhere with him, ever again. He knew that he hadn’t approached her correctly, angered by her obvious irritation toward him. He wondered if Tim was also here in Khmunu and how he would find him.
But mostly he thought of Tama.
Part of him wanted to get to know her better, to see if she could possibly be everything he imagined. Part of him knew that was impossible. He wanted to carry the memory of what he had seen and imagined with him forever, but he wanted to test that memory against reality so he wouldn’t be living in a fantasy world.
He fell asleep, whispering her name to himself over and over again, like a schoolboy.
He woke to the smiling face of Nimaasted hovering over him.
“Tama,” Nimaasted said gently, as if reading Brian’s mind. He held the white ostrich feather in his hand. “The priestess wishes to see you.”
“What? Why?” Brian woke slowly.
Nimaasted shrugged.
“You can ask her. Come, do not keep her waiting.”
He stood and extended his hand to Brian.
Around them the boatmen slept, some snoring, others moaning and turning on the rough wooden deck. Pahket, having left Brian to himself when they reached the boat, was sleeping under the canopy in the stern, a spot she and Brian usually shared.
Brian quietly followed Nimaasted from the boat, both of them unaware that one of the boatmen was watching.
Dagi waited until Brian and Nimaasted were halfway up the sloping bank before he rose and crept across the deck. He slid quietly into the water so that he wouldn’t present a silhouette against the night sky if someone were watching.
Once on land, he jogged cautiously up the slope. Brian and Nimaasted were just cresting the small incline. Dagi watched them enter the town. Quickly he followed.
Dagi expected Siamun to be lurking in the shadows to attack Brian, completing the unfinished business from the desert. Although he was afraid of Siamun, Dagi’s hatred for Djefi ran deep enough to overcome his fear of Djefi’s thug.
He didn’t know Brian, but he knew that Brian had saved Yunet’s uncle from a slow death in the desert and that he had saved his best friend’s daughter from the jaws of a crocodile.
And so he followed Brian and Nimaasted, angry and fearful at the same time. He tried to stay far enough behind them that they wouldn’t hear his footsteps, but close enough that he could follow whatever turns they made and get to Brian in time to help him, if he needed help.
He thought he saw them slow their pace after a few blocks and so he flattened himself behind a tree in case they turned to look back up the street. The sound of muffled footsteps emerged from the alley just beyond the tree where he was.
He waited for two heartbeats, and then peeked around the tree. Three men were walking quickly and silently toward Nimaasted and Brian. Dagi started walking as fast as he could while staying quiet. As he passed the next intersection, he saw a fist-sized stone on the ground. Stooping, he picked it up.
The three men were less than a block away from Brian when they broke into a run, still trying to be quiet.
Dagi started to run and shouted out a warning at the same time.
Brian stopped and looked back toward the shout. He saw three men running at him. One of the attackers, looking over his own shoulder, saw Dagi running toward them. He turned toward the boatman.
Although his attention was drawn to the men who were running up the street, Brian stayed mindful of Nimaasted. When he saw the priest reach under his robe, Brian leaned quickly into him and pushed against his chest, hooking his foot behind Nimaasted’s ankle. He saw a flash of a knife blade as the priest fell backward drawing his hand from out his robe to catch his fall.
Brian turned to the other three men. He saw that one of them had turned and was running away from Brian toward the man who had called out a warning. He couldn’t see the man’s face, but from the size of his muscled shoulders, Brian guessed it was one of the boatmen.
Before he thought it through, Brian began running toward the two attackers who had continued toward him. He knew that he could outrun them and escape, but he couldn’t leave the boatman behind to face the attackers after he had risked his own safety to warn Brian.
He guessed that they would have knives, but he had his speed, his size and his strength.
The two men slowed as they saw him come toward them. Brian didn’t hesitate. He picked the man on his right and charged into him as hard as he could, lowering his shoulder as if barreling into a catcher at home plate.
He felt a sharp pain in his side, but heard the man gasp as his lungs emptied from the collision. Brian felt the crunch of bone as his shoulder slammed into the man’s ribs.
He kept running past the fallen man and headed for the third attacker who was circling the boatman, a knife in his hand. As the attacker turned his head at the sound of Brian’s approaching footsteps, the boatman saw his opportunity and swung a muscled arm at the man’s head. Although the assailant tried to turn away from the blow, Brian heard the rock in the boatman’s hand crack against the attacker’s head. The man staggered and looked up, blood streaming down his face, just as Brian ran past him, his strong right arm outstretched to clothes-line him. He caught the man’s exposed neck with his forearm, knocking him off his feet.
The attacker flew backwards and hit the ground hard, gurgling as he collapsed, clutching his throat.
The boatman shouted “Get down!” and Brian dropped to his hands and knees as Dagi threw the rock past him. The third assailant was only a few steps away, his knife raised overhead as he charged at Brian. He dodged the rock, swerving quickly to his right away from Brian.
The change in direction gave Brian time to come out of his crouch. He squared off to face the assailant who had regained his balance and was just a few feet away, crouching to attack. Dagi picked up the knife from the fallen man and stepped up beside Brian. The attacker looked from the knife in Dagi’s hand to the sheer size of Brian. He turned and ran.
Brian looked up the street to where Nimaasted had fallen and saw that the priest also had disappeared into the night. The man whose ribs Brian had cracked was on his feet, limping away from them.
Dagi
knelt by the other man, whose face was turning white as he gasped and held his battered throat.
“Who sent you?” Dagi asked.
The man shook his head, his eyes wide as he struggled to breathe.
“Djefi?”
The man looked confused by the name.
Brian heard a noise and looked up the street. He thought he saw movement in the doorway of one of the homes. When he looked back down he saw Dagi drawing his knife across the man’s throat.
“No!” he shouted, but it was too late.
Dagi stood, leaving the knife on the ground.
“He tried to kill you,” Dagi said. He pointed to Brian’s side where a slow stream of blood fell from a cut near his hip.
“You can’t come back to the boat,” Dagi said. “I know that Djefi is behind this, even if that dung beetle wasn’t hired by him.”
Brian was thinking the same thing. Hearing noise from up the street now, he drew Dagi into the alley. “Go back to the boat. Protect Diane,” he said.
Dagi nodded and turned to leave.
Brian reached out a huge hand and gripped the boatman’s scarred shoulder. “Thank you. You saved my life,” he said.
Dagi gripped Brian’s strong arm and they looked in each other’s eyes. Then the boatman turned and, staying in the shadows, ran toward the river.
Brian watched him until he was out of sight. Then he looked down at the pain in his side. The wound was a slice, just across his hipbone on his right side.
He took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly through his nose.
Nimaasted would come back with more guards. The attacker who had run away would return, angry and determined. Brian didn’t know anyone in Khmunu, he was injured and, if Dagi was right, Djefi was trying to have him killed.
Everyone he knew was either on Djefi’s boats or back at To-She.
Except Tim.
And he had no idea where he had gone.
He heard footsteps on the hard-packed path and saw light bouncing off the mud walls of the homes as torches were carried down the street.