House of Scorpion

by Mark Gajewski

  “You could have done it, Iry. You could have built on the trading agreements and turned them into far more. You could have been king in the North. But not a single ruler in a single settlement can stand Lagus. They’ll never pledge him fealty.”

  ***

  We reached the vicinity of Farkha at mid-afternoon the third day after leaving Sety’s estate. A narrow channel twice the width of our boat, fringed with reeds, split from the river there and wound more or less easterly. Our captain steered us into it. Oarsmen seated themselves along the sides of the boat and took up their oars and started rowing for the first time on the journey. We didn’t have the current behind us any longer.

  “We’ll follow this channel for about a mile,” Sety told Lagus and Mekatre. “It sweeps around the northern edge of Farkha’s three turtlebacks.”

  I was familiar with Farkha; I’d visited along with Sety before I’d seized control of Ineb-hedj.

  The waterway was shallow, but its depth more than adequate for our vessel. The surrounding floodplain had been planted with barley a month or so ago and the grain was already knee-high. We passed a small camp along the southern bank comprised of a half-dozen rude huts set on a patch of dry land amidst reeds. Women were bending over cookfires; children were running wild, playing. Herds of cattle and sheep were not far distant, watched over by ragged-looking men and older boys.

  “Barbarians from the western desert,” Sety informed my brothers. He pointed in the direction from which we’d come. “They drive their flocks across the delta after the grass greens here. Then they swim their animals across this branch of the river and graze them on these plains all summer. They return to their homes after the rainy season when there’s grass along the trail.”

  “Does Heby trade with them?” Lagus asked.

  Heby ruled Farkha, and though he didn’t call himself a king for all intents and purposes he was one. He was respected throughout the delta and the North. He’d visited me several times at Ineb-hedj.

  “Wine, ostrich feathers, animal pelts for the most part. Goods from the west arrive here. The trailhead for those from the east is at the other end of Farkha.”

  North of the channel spread a vast tangled marsh interspersed with winding streams and pools of water, alive with countless birds.

  “The delta’s wet and broken all the way to the sea – it’s nine miles from here to the coast,” Sety said. “Impassable on foot and difficult by fishing punt. Large vessels can’t navigate through the tangles.”

  Farkha occupied three adjacent turtlebacks about eighteen feet higher than the surrounding plains, though it appeared they’d barely be above water level during the inundation. The turtlebacks were more than a quarter mile long end to end, comprising a narrow island in the midst of swamp and water. The oarsmen poled us towards a quay at the base of the easternmost, at the far end of the island.

  The largest mud-brick building I’d ever seen dominated the western turtleback, larger than any of Ineb-hedj’s warehouses. A caravan of laden donkeys was being unloaded in front of it; porters were carrying containers inside.

  “That’s the distribution center,” I told my brothers.

  Sety nodded. “Many goods from or destined for Sakan and Ineb-hedj get routed through that building.”

  I caught sight of many open-air work areas on the central turtleback, some with thick clay platforms, some with fireplaces and ovens. There were a considerable number of huts and sunscreens as well. I heard muted hammering, stone against stone. Smoke spiraled skyward from a multitude of fires. By contrast, the eastern turtleback was covered with huts.

  A woman was waiting for us at the end of a quay. Nebta, Heby’s daughter. I’d first met her at King Khab’s coronation at Nekhen, and again when I visited Farkha. She’d attended my party celebrating the new year in Ineb-hedj. Nebta was in her early twenties. Beautiful. Hair long, skirt brilliant white, neck and wrists and waist draped with gold and precious stones. Nebta spotted Mekatre and smiled ravishingly.

  “She seems anxious to see you, Brother,” Lagus observed.

  “We met in Nekhen,” Mekatre said, smiling back at her.

  I recalled overhearing the two of them at the base of the outcrop when I was with Matia. “Met” wasn’t exactly the term I’d have used.

  “She’s not married yet, in case you’re wondering,” Sety told Mekatre.

  “That’s surprising. A woman like her…”

  “She talked Heby into letting her choose her husband herself.”

  I couldn’t imagine she’d saved herself for Mekatre. They’d met five years ago and the chance of them ever meeting again had been miniscule. But women had done stranger things.

  Our vessel bumped against the quay and crewmen secured us with ropes to mooring posts. We disembarked.

  Nebta bowed. Her necklace swung away from her chest, gold and carnelian glittering in the sunlight. “Majesties. Sety’s messenger alerted us you were coming. Papa’s waiting for you at home. I’ve come to fetch you.”

  “A very pleasant surprise,” Mekatre said, moving to her side.

  She gazed up at him adoringly. “Very, Majesty.”

  Maybe she had saved herself. Or was merely prepared to take advantage of unexpected opportunity. We fell in behind the two of them.

  “Tell us about Farkha,” Lagus ordered Nebta as we strode up the slope towards the crest of the turtleback.

  “Most people live on this easternmost hill,” she replied over her shoulder. “It’s where we’ve buried our dead, too, for as long as anyone can remember. The workshops where we make our trade goods are on the central turtleback. Our distribution center and the shrine where we worship our gods are on the westernmost. South of us are barley fields.” As we reached the crest Nebta pointed out a line of clay storage pits. “For grain,” she said.

  We stepped into a narrow lane and passed closely-spaced rectangular wattle-and-daub huts. Small attached pens mostly held pigs.

  “All of Farkha’s buildings are arranged in rows and aligned in the same direction,” Lagus noted. “Lanes wind every which way in Ineb-hedj.”

  “And Tjeni,” Mekatre added.

  “Farkha was planned this way from the beginning,” Sety interjected.

  Nebta pointed. “See that waist-high mud-brick wall to the west? That’s the end of the residential section and the beginning of the workshop section. We in Farkha keep our living and business areas separate for the most part.”

  “Your distribution center seems busy, Nebta,” I said.

  “It’ll be busier in a few days. We’re expecting a caravan transporting wine.”

  “Are you involved in trading?” Mekatre asked.

  “I help Papa,” Nebta replied. “You don’t think I just sit around all day looking pretty, do you?”

  “I don’t see how you could help looking pretty,” Mekatre replied.

  “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls,” she said flippantly.

  He did, actually, in my experience.

  Moments later we stopped in front of what was by far Farkha’s finest house.

  Heby was waiting for us beside the door, dressed as befit a ruler. “Welcome to my home, Majesties.”

  A reed mat was rolled up and fastened to the lintel, admitting light and air. We went inside. The roof was supported by a number of posts on each side and down the middle of the structure. There was an opening in the roof in the rear to let smoke from the cookfire escape. The floor was entirely covered with elegantly-woven colorful reed mats. There was a room where Heby and Nebta apparently slept, another for their servants, an area for preparing food, and a main room. Scattered on a number of low benches made of dried mud were wine jars decorated with ropes of clay winding around their sides, and ledge-handled jars full of olive oil, and lemon-shaped and globular jars containing a variety of items. There were a few copper fishhooks and axes atop a container. The house was primitive compared to Father’s per’aa.

  Bowls with lit linen wicks floating in oil had been str
ategically placed around the room to provide light. The bowls were all decorated with zigzag patterns familiar to me from my time on Ineb-hedj’s quays. We settled in the main room with cups of wine and discussed the state of the delta with Heby. Meanwhile, Nebta oversaw serving girls who were preparing a meal at the rear of the house. They used elegant knives made of pale flint and copper to slice everything.

  We supped on dried fish and bread and fruit.

  “Farmers cultivate barley here,” Heby told us as we dipped into various bowls. “They raise cattle and goats and sheep, breed them, occasionally trade their excess. Most people in the settlement keep a few pigs. We fish. We hunt the animals that roam the delta – rhinos, aurochs, antelope, hares, wild boars, jackals, giraffes. But mostly our hunters go after hippos to protect our crops – they can destroy a field of grain in a few hours. Our craftsmen carve their tusks and bones.”

  Mekatre scanned the room. “I assume all these ivory figures came from Farkha’s workshops?”

  “We have many talented craftsmen,” Heby replied. “Always have. Some of these figures have been handed down in my family for generations.”

  “Let me show you, Majesty,” Nebta offered. She rose, and Mekatre with her. They moved to a mud-brick bench along one side of the hut where numerous figures were on display, no doubt to impress visitors such as ourselves with Heby’s wealth. She picked them up, one after another, handed them to Mekatre. He examined each, then set it back in its place.

  “A naked woman with her left arm folded beneath her breasts. A woman dressed in a long robe. A woman carrying an offering bowl, and one with a child in her hand. A boy sitting with bent knees, his fingers in his mouth. A kneeling captive. A dwarf.”

  “I’ve heard of them,” Mekatre said, studying the figure closely. “I’ve never seen one.”

  “I have. When we were at Nekhen,” I said. “One of Heket’s attendants.”

  “Some dwarves must have lived here in the past,” Nebta said, “because here’s a figure of a female dwarf.”

  “What’s this snake with a woman’s face?”

  “My best guess? A goddess. Probably originally made for someone in the North. Not sure how my ancestors ended up with it. This cobra is a goddess for sure – Wadjet, of Pe and Dep.”

  “Why do you have it?” Lagus asked Heby.

  “A craftsman made it a few years ago on commission for King Ny-Hor,” he replied. “But we stopped trading with him, at King Scorpion’s request, before we could deliver it. So I kept it.”

  “Here’s a dog,” Nebta continued. “A model boat.”

  “A scorpion!” Mekatre exclaimed.

  “Would you like to take it to your father?” Heby asked.

  “That’s generous of you,” Mekatre replied. He scanned the bench one last time. “Superb, Nebta!”

  “These figures are why I sent five apprentices from Ineb-hedj to work in Minmose’s ivory workshop,” I said.

  “Whatever for?” Lagus asked. Apparently he had no idea.

  “Ivory figures are Farkha’s specialty,” I replied. “Unlike Ineb-hedj, where the best craftsmen turn ivory into labels. When the apprentices return that’ll change.”

  “What drew settlers here in the first place?” Lagus asked.

  “The trade routes following the coast of the Wadjet Wer terminate at Farkha,” Heby said. “So do trails from the western desert.”

  “Farkha was always as important as Maadi for trade – maybe even more important – though few outsiders realized it,” Sety added.

  “Why?” Mekatre asked.

  “Farkha’s actually more central to this region, more of a crossroads,” Heby said. “People have lived on these turtlebacks for probably five hundred years. The original settlers were native to this area. That changed when Sety’s ancestors established their estate within three day’s journey two hundred years ago. Farmers from Nekhen and the South began moving here. That’s when trade exploded. That’s when the building we use as a distribution center was built on the foundations of what had been several breweries. At first the natives lived side by side with the Southerners. But in the past centuries they’ve been absorbed through intermarriage and acculturation. We’re nearly a carbon copy of the South now. Or so Sety tells me.”

  “Is it true you at Farkha consider yourselves part of the North, not part of the valley?” Mekatre asked.

  “We do. The delta and deserts and seacoast are one vast region,” Heby said. “Your valley is totally separate.”

  “My father explained it to me this way,” Sety said. “Picture a flower – the valley the stem, this region and the North and the western desert the petals. Whoever unifies the valley must control Farkha, because Farkha is the intersection through which considerable of the products of the delta and the North and the deserts must pass. Since Sakan’s founding, Farkha has become even more important. If Ny-Hor ever seized Farkha, he could block all movement of goods by river between Sakan and Tjeni.”

  “Which means Farkha’s as important to eventually unifying the entire valley as Ineb-hedj, Lagus,” I said.

  A sobering truth. Tjeni was vulnerable at two points in the North – Farkha and Ineb-hedj – as opposed to only one – our border with Nubt – in the South. Sety and I had discussed the fact that the farmers Father had sent to the delta in effect gave him a Northern army. But, I realized, if Antef launched an attack anywhere in the delta tomorrow farmers would have to fight back with tools, not proper weapons. I’d entirely neglected to supply a potential theater of war. I vowed to rectify that the moment I returned to Tjeni. I was going to send some of the weapons and supplies I’d stockpiled there to Farkha so I could arm farmers quickly if necessary. I also determined to station a boat or two at Farkha to transport troops, and one of Father’s best leaders to take charge of military affairs. Ineb-hedj was a more natural point for a supply depot than Farkha, but I was leery of putting military supplies in Lagus’ hands. I wasn’t sure how he’d use them. Besides, if Antef launched a war he’d have to strike Farkha first. He couldn’t attack Ineb-hedj with an enemy in his rear.

  “Do you caravan goods in and out of Farkha primarily by donkey?” Lagus asked.

  Heby nodded. “A well-marked trail hugs the coast between the delta and the North, seventy or eighty miles long. There’s a series of water holes along the route, and good grazing. You’ll take it to Sakan. I regularly send loads of fish bones to the Far North for use as arrowheads, objects carved from ivory, cosmetic palettes, freshwater mussel shells coated with mother of pearl, and occasionally beer. My men return with wine and olive oil and almonds, sheep’s wool, goat’s milk and cheese, and flint native to those lands.”

  “Heby also handles cedar logs,” I said. “Father sent an expedition to Jebail, a port in the Far North, for some once. The trees grow on mountain slopes. I sent one of my men, Niay, a few years ago to get logs to construct Ineb-hedj’s fleet.”

  “Logs come by boat,” Heby said. “They’re too long and heavy for beasts to manage.”

  “I noticed many unfamiliar types of pottery as we walked here from the boat, and here in your home,” Mekatre said.

  “We save the jars products are shipped in from the North and reuse them,” Heby replied. “Everyone we trade with has a different style.”

  “Do you ever travel with your caravans?” Lagus asked.

  “On occasion. When I was much younger four of us rowed a small boat to Jebail. Took twenty days. Had two hundred pounds of goods on board. Donkeys are more efficient.”

  ***

  We stayed that night with Heby and awakened early the next morning. After a quick meal we went exploring. We weren’t the only ones up and about; Farkha’s lanes were already crowded. Mekatre walked close beside Nebta, chatting amiably. Almost everyone she passed called out a greeting. A few men recognized me from my prior visit, but no one had the slightest idea who Lagus and Mekatre were.

  We passed through an opening in the wall delimiting Farkha’s economic zone on the central
turtleback. Smoke rose from a number of fires, marking the locations of workshops. There were far fewer of them than in Ineb-hedj, and most were smaller. Still, some of the items made in them were unique and destined for the valley’s elites, I knew, from receiving shipments to pass on to Tjeni when I’d been in charge of Ineb-hedj.

  Almost immediately we encountered a brewery.

  “There used to be dozens, and beer was one of our most important products,” Heby said. “But the breweries were razed so traders could build their distribution compound. Now we brew only enough for our population.”

  The ringing of stone on stone drew our attention.

  “The stone carvers are over there,” Heby announced.

  After a short walk we entered a workshop, wound through piles of hammer stones and others used for grinding and sharpening and polishing.

  “Stone’s precious in the delta,” Heby said. “We used to import it from the Maadi area. Now we obtain it from the western desert. In this workshop they’re mostly reworking worn or damaged tools. They’re too valuable to discard.”

  “What are those small objects being exchanged with the craftsmen?” Lagus asked.

  “Tokens. We use them to keep track of trades.”

  An ancient method, replaced now by my labels and lists everywhere in the valley between Ineb-hedj and Tjeni. I’d have to speak with Tamit about sending one of her scribes to Farkha to implement her labels here. Farkha was too important a distribution point and too important to my strategy of someday uniting the valley to continue using outdated methods of control.

  We moved down the lane to the next workshop. Men were sitting cross-legged beneath a large reed-roofed pavilion, bending forward, staring intently, carefully carving hippo ivory with sharp-edged copper tools.

  I greeted Minmose, the master craftsman.

  “Your apprentices are doing well,” he told me, pointing out the corner where they were working. “One’s exceptional.”