About the Author
Richard Johnson was born in post war London, England. Although his formative years were in London, he completed his Tertiary education in Melbourne, Australia. He spent most of his life as a teacher and later as a private businessman in Australia and England.
He now regards himself to be in semi-retirement and lives in the small village of Alacan, San Fabian in Northern Luzon, Philippines. Business commitments however, make it necessary for him to spend four months a year in Cairns, North Queensland.
Meek was conceived over a period of more than ten years. It only became possible to find the time for him to write it once he settled in to the relative quiet of Alacan. Unfortunately, recent socio/political developments have come to a point where some aspects of the story appear more feasible.
Richard Johnson
MEEK
Olympia Publishers
London
www.olympiapublishers.com
OLYMPIA E-BOOK EDITION
Copyright © Richard Johnson 2017
The right of Richard Johnson be identified as author of
this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All Rights Reserved
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prosecution and civil claims for damage.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is
available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978-1-84897-717-4 (PAPERBACK)
(Olympia Publishers is part of Ashwell Publishing Ltd)
This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places and incidents originate from the writer’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
First published in 2017
Olympia Publishers
60 Cannon Street
London
EC4N 6NP
Dedication
Dedicated to Sir David Attenborough, my childhood hero and an inspirational role model in my life.
Also The Mirriwinni Hotel, North Queensland, where there was inspiration in every cold glass of beer.
PART ONE : GENESIS.
CHAPTER ONE
723 BC
“Recognise the motives of the corrupt.” Such are the quotes from the Wisdom of the Elders. It was one of those moments you always knew would come; inevitable, but not pleasant. Utet raised his eyes from his prone position on the polished marble floor and saw the beautifully worked leather sandals before him. ‘This is it,” he thought. “Stay calm, I am prepared for this.”
“Lift your head, I wish to see your eyes when you lie to me.” The voice was soft but firm.
Utet did as he was commanded; the two guards took their feet from his back and stood motionless beside him. He looked into the chief counsellor’s eyes. Utet felt no fear; a sense of destiny was taking over his consciousness.
“You have come far, boy, your clothes tell me a story of hard travel and at least five days of effort and that your origin was one of the western desert towns. True?”
“Yes, My Lord.” It had been nearly seven days but Utet was trained to neither lie nor provide excess information in these circumstances.
“You were apprehended at the home of a proven conspirator against the Pharaoh who has been given his reward for his treachery. What was your reason for being there?”
“Khaba was known to me years ago. I hoped to find a bed and a meal there, My Lord. I am shocked to hear he has been executed for conspiracy and knew nothing of these events until informed by the guards.” This was all true.
“What is your purpose in coming here?”
“I seek supplies for my family’s business, I am charged with purchasing tools and raw materials to take back to our village, My Lord.”
“You are a member of ‘The Guilds’ then? Just as the criminal Khaba was.”
“Yes, I am a member of the guilds, My Lord, and have served the Pharaoh all my life when called to do so, just as the rest of our members have for more than 200 years. Our skills are at My Lord’s service.”
This reply was carefully phrased in order to remind the high counsellor of the guilds’ value in the construction projects so loved by the successive rulers of Egypt. The guilds had kept a monopoly on the knowledge gained through constant experimentation, and had traded knowledge with the peoples of the east with whom they had long established contacts. The peoples to the north-east were now encroaching on the Nile Delta and were seen as enemies, but contact was still being made by the guild. The concerns of the pharaohs were not the priority of the guild elders. This latter fact was not something of general knowledge and could spell destruction if discovered.
“As a result, your ilk has received protection, has prospered and increased in number. How many are you numbered?”
Now Utet had a sense of the purpose and direction of the questioning. “There are eighteen guild members in my village, My Lord.” He neglected to mention the twenty-seven students permanently living and studying at the school.
“How many villages are there that are home to your members?”
“We do not attempt to maintain contact with all guild members once they have left our village. We teach them and once they have the necessary skills they return to their own village, or move on to a new one. Khaba was one such person.” This was partial truth only and an evasion. Members went to great pains to keep the transfer of gained knowledge and skills flowing between them but occasionally, as in Khaba’s case, the links became strained, usually due to fear of discovery. The high counsellor was not so easily fooled.
“Again I ask, how many villages?” His tone was still soft, all his senses tuned to receive a lie.
“I have visited only two other schools in my life, My Lord, as I am still only nineteen. I am told there are a few others.” A few others was actually thirty-seven, a total of 772 members and in excess of 2500 students, all of whom gave allegiance to the guild, not the Pharaoh. These facts were secretly documented by the elders in his own village. These numbers alone would bring the wrath of the Pharaoh on them as they would be seen for what they are, a threat to his power. The fact that all members, their families and students took an oath of pacifism would count for nothing.
“You write, I presume?”
“Yes, My Lord.” This in itself was a dangerous answer to a trick question as it threatened the authority of the scribes, a position of power sanctioned by the Pharaoh. “You will write the names of any village you can remember having a guild school or workshop and the names of the master craftsmen.”
The high counsellor clapped his hands and demanded writing utensils, which were placed on a small desk. Utet was now beginning to perspire; the game was not going as well as he had hoped. If he lied he would be quickly found out, if he gave correct information all he named would be in jeopardy. His mind racing, he came to the conclusion that Khaba had indeed died under torture, so how much information the high counsellor had already at his fingertips was uncertain. It was better to continue playing the game to limit the damage. If he was believable they might let him go, which would give him time to warn the prospective victims. He had in effect already demonstrated an affront to the scribes as he was clearly not of their station in life. He wrote as if it was causing him great difficulty as he wanted to look like an amateur. �
��I’m sorry for the poor quality of my writing, My Lord. As you can see, I am not a learned scribe. It has been little more than a hobby for me, and I find it difficult.” He was in fact a skilled scholar, although his speciality was geometry and design. Utet’s skill with a stylus was honoured by his village.
Taking his time, Utet wrote the details of his own village and two others nearby including some actual names. He particularly wrote down those he knew who had died recently. A guard handed the papyrus to the counsellor who read it carefully aloud, observing Utet’s reactions as the names were said with an ominous tone. “Some of these are your own relatives, boy?”
“Yes, My Lord, my entire family has served the gods of this land for hundreds of years. My grandfather is the head of our village, and has personally laboured on many projects for the glory of the gods and the Pharaohs.”
The counsellor looked deeply into Utet’s eyes, The realisation that Utet had been willing to name his own relatives indicated a strong probability that he was telling the truth. He made his decision. “You are free to go about your business, boy. Tell your family to choose its students more carefully. Khaba the traitor refused service in the Pharaoh’s army so he paid the price. Being an artisan no longer excludes anyone from combat, these are troubled times, the security of the nation is paramount. The delta lords make war among themselves, while the Nubians in the south watch and smile, awaiting the chance to move their army north. When young men are summoned from your village to bear arms, they will come or face execution as traitors. Tell them that and also the time to prove their loyalty is very close. Go now.”
“Yes, My Lord , thank you, My Lord.” Utet bowed and, without turning his back, moved slowly towards the entrance. Outside it was late afternoon, the sun would set within an hour. He walked briskly to the nearest inn where he purchased some bread, water, fruit and wine then went back to Khaba’s house. Utet’s mind was racing: the attitude to conscription had changed, and this in turn had dire consequences for the guild. His peripheral vision picked up a shadowy figure following him. The information needed to be taken to the guild’s council quickly. The man following him held back in the deepening shadows. Utet approached the house where his donkey was tethered. He broke into the house which had been ransacked by the Pharoah’s guard. He was looking for tools and any useful devices, also any writing Khaba may have had hidden. Utet then put the food and the few articles of possible interest or value in his saddlebag and led the donkey towards the city gates. Night had fallen by the time he walked away from the gates. The man who had been following him had disappeared half an hour before but now, sitting under a tree, he was waiting and indicating that he wished to talk with Utet. He stopped six metres from the stranger, ready to run if attacked.
“What do you want with me, stranger?” The stranger opened his hand to reveal a piece of polished sandstone with a compass etched into it; the sign of a guild member and therefore friendly. The stranger spoke softly, “You do well to leave immediately, my brother. The guild is no longer protected. Go quickly home, the guards will come to recruit your young men within a few days. The loyalty of the guild is to be tested. Come with me.” He led Utet behind some bushes where a fine horse was tethered. “Leave your donkey and take this horse. Time is precious, my brother. Protect the guild, for it is the hope of humanity. I fear we will not be able to avoid the disaster that is about to fall on these lands.”
“Thank you, brother, for your kindness – what is your name?”
“It is better for me if you do not know it. Ride swiftly, farewell.” Utet transferred his saddlebags, then mounted the horse and sped off into the night. The stranger watched him go, directing a silent prayer at the stars before turning back to the city on foot, leading the donkey by a rope.
Utet decided to ride until dawn then have a brief sleep before proceeding. In his mind, he imagined the reaction of his father and grandfather to the news. Conscription meant killing others in the name of the Pharaoh. No guild member owed allegiance to anything other than the philosophy and comradeship of the guild. The guild was their life, and, as the stranger had said, “the hope of humanity.” It was a hope built on the belief that the truth of existence and the afterlife was indeed obtainable but hidden in learned and tested knowledge, not in the teachings of the priests and the rituals of the state. In the past, conscription had been avoided because of the Pharaohs desire for buildings to reflect their glory. The pyramids themselves were, however, a tribute to the guilds’ skills and accumulated knowledge. This knowledge was gleaned from whatever sources could be found. The knowledge of the peoples to the east were often purchased as well as their manufactured goods, and as a result a friendly relationship had been forged between them and the guild. The interests and objectives of the guild could never be compatible with those of any state so it was pointless looking for sanctuary in foreign lands, one despot was as bad as another. The very idea of knowledge being curtailed by kings was abhorrent to the guild. It was these attitudes that made them a threat to any Pharaoh.
Utet knew the outline of the plan that had been agreed on in his great-grandfather’s time if ever the guild faced possible annihilation. If this strategy was to be adopted, any time he could gain for the inevitable council meeting would be vital. He had ridden hard for three days now and left the green of the Nile valley behind. In another two hours, when the sun was beginning to set, he would be home. The council would have more than forty-eight hours to decide and act. He had secretly hoped this day would come in his lifetime; now, thanks to the unrest in the Nile Delta, it might happen a lot sooner than he had dreamt possible. Utet felt a wave of excitement that made him tingle with life, but also a sense of foreboding and anxiety for the ones he loved. They would not be expecting him for another five days, his sudden appearance would startle them.
CHAPTER TWO
723 BC
Our choices define us. From The Wisdom of the Elders.
Smoke was snaking towards the setting sun from the evening cooking fires. The dust from his horse’s hooves would signal that someone was approaching and a rider would be sent out to meet him. Utet was tired from the journey but knew there could be no rest until he had reported in full to his father all that had happened. Now, rapidly approaching was a lone rider. To his delight, it was his cousin Ounnefer. Utet reined in his horse and Ounnefer, laughing, threw a small waterbag towards him. Utet took two very large mouthfuls. Ounnefer had soaked the skin bag to keep it cool before leaving.
“Why are you back so soon?”
“There is danger coming, all will be explained soon enough. Ride ahead and tell them to assemble a council as quickly as possible.”
As a quick-witted youth of barely fifteen years, Ounnefer assessed the situation in a second, turned his horse’s head and sped off back to the village. By the time Utet had arrived at the village, more than half the village population had gathered in the market square. The elders were waiting by the well. Utet dismounted and his exhausted horse was led away.
“Welcome. my son. What is this urgent news you have from the city?” asked Hanif, his father. He looked worried. Utet climbed up onto the small stone wall surrounding the well and faced the more than 500 people who had gathered. They all faced him, with concern and apprehension drawn on their faces. He took his time and related faithfully everything that had happened. He did not, however, add his interpretation of events as it was not his place to do so unless requested by the elders.
“Thank you, my son, for your swift return and concise report , rest now. The council will assemble in the hall and we will deliberate on these events immediately.” Hanif then turned to the assembled villagers:
“I request that everyone will gather here in one hour, by which time a pronouncement will be made.” Hanif was in his mid forties. Well respected, he was himself one of the elders, although quite young to hold such a position.
The crowd dispersed noisily back to their homes and a hurried evening meal. The elders, who consisted of t
en men and two women chosen for their intellect and skills, moved into the hall. The hall was an imposing piece of architecture, with an eight-metre-high arched ceiling large enough to hold the entire population of the village, some 800 people. Utet walked wearily to his home where his mother and sister had prepared pitchers of scented water to bathe with and hot food. He fell asleep while eating and was rolled off his seat by the women onto a bed of reeds and blankets.
“The choices we have are as follows. Firstly, we can await the Pharaoh’s men and try to persuade them that we are more valuable to the cause of the Pharaoh if left to practise our crafts in his service in peace. This has been successful in the past.
“Secondly, we can abandon our villages and send out word to scatter our membership among the lands to the south. To take our chances to survive until the impending violence is over, then to reform.
“Thirdly, to carry out the last-resort plan devised long ago. This involves our exodus from Egypt and re-establishment in a far-off land. By so doing, we may stand a chance of gaining freedom to practise our arts and science in peace.”
Utet’s grandfather had spoken on behalf of the elders. He had a fondness for brevity, using points and choices in his speeches. He told his students it restricted the tendency to stray from the subject matter. As usual, he had successfully précised the situation. No one offered a fourth alternative. There was silence as everyone contemplated their futures.
“Who wishes to speak in favour of the first option?” Still silence. “Our discussion pointed to the probability that this option is so fraught with risk as to hardly be worth considering. The threats from the north and south make it unlikely that our skills will be seen as reason to avoid conscription. In fact, we have been told as much.
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