by Jerry Dubs
Now, instead of the friendly nickers his own horses offered when he approached, these strange horses, backed away from him, pawing the ground. He saw the way some of them hobbled and how others turned their heads strangely to watch him, proof that one of their eyes had been blinded by the sand.
His heart grew heavy thinking of the fear and pain they must have endured, and he wondered what had happened to his own horses.
“Water,” he said. He turned to his men. “Go back to the buried army and bring water skins and leather. We need bridles.”
As his men ran off, Pawura turned to the frightened horses. Hands held loosely at his sides, he slowly walked forward, softly singing a wordless song of comfort.
The horses snorted and backed away.
Pawura stopped moving, knelt and waited. He closed his eyes and pictured the horses cautiously advancing to him.
It didn’t take long.
After just a few halting breaths, the closest horse stepped nearer and blew a huff of air through its wide nostrils. Pawura smiled. The sound was one he heard his own horses make when he came to feed them.
***
Three broken chariots stood on the plain in front of Pharaoh Thutmose.
“The long shaft will be impossible to repair,” he said as he got on his hands and knees and looked under the first chariot on which one of the wheels was missing one of the angled pair of spokes. “The spokes, too.”
Beside him Menena nodded agreement.
“But we can move wheels from one chariot to another, yes?” Pharaoh Thutmose asked, slapping the wooden rim as he stood.
“I think so,” Menena said. He turned to one of the other charioteers, a man named Aperel, whose weathered and wrinkled skin looked like dried leather.
“Yes, Lord Pharaoh, we can pull a wheel from a chariot and put it on another,” Aperel said in a voice that was much younger than his face. “But there are a few things to inspect.”
“Aperel helped to build his own chariot,” Menena said to Pharaoh Thutmose as the charioteer knelt by the chariot and pointed beneath it.
“These lashings,” Aperel said, “if they are worn, the wheel could come off the axle.” He lay on his back and pushed himself under the chariot. “As you saw, Pharaoh Thutmose, replacing the pole will be difficult. Each is cut a little differently. Here,” he pointed beneath the chariot floor at the axle, “where the shaft enters the axle. These bindings are crucial. If they pull lose, the horses will be dragging the pole by itself.”
Pharaoh Thutmose knelt beside Aperel to look at the undercarriage.
“I want you to oversee this, Aperel. Just as Isis collected the forty parts of Osiris and put him back together, we will resurrect our chariots. There are seventeen of us. I want nine good chariots.”
“Yes, Pharaoh Thutmose,” Aperel said, sliding out from beneath the chariot.
“If you need fresh leather straps, take them from the Hittite chariots,” Pharaoh Thutmose said, tilting his head toward the vast burial ground of the Hittite army. “If you need to, cut fresh ones from the dead horses, or from the Hittites themselves.”
***
Using patience, water skins and gentle words, Pawura coaxed twenty horses close enough to place a rope around their heads and lead them toward the plain.
As they walked past the buried army, the horses began to snort and pull at the ropes.
“They smell death,” Pawura said, turning to look at the bizarre landscape.
Mounds of earth filled the plain. Some mounds, where chariots had collided before overturning under the sandstorm’s hammer blows, were large with spears, broken bows, frozen legs of horses, and outstretched hands rising from the earth.
An entire army is buried here, Pawura thought. Pharaoh Thutmose has conquered an entire army with twenty-five chariots! But he had taken no spoils, nothing to commemorate this victory.
Pawura handed the ropes of the horses he was leading to one of the charioteers and turned toward the buried army.
“Take the horses to Pharaoh Thutmose,” he said, pulling his khopesh sword from his waist. “I will join you there.”
***
His own electrum-plated chariot, which had shielded him and Menena from the storm, was broken beyond repair. But enough of the other chariots had been made whole that Pharaoh Thutmose and his men had discovered unexpected reserves of energy as they spliced together leather straps, retied harness lashings, and wiped dirt and sand from the axles of the scavenged chariots.
They had pulled the chariots into a double line, the center shafts and double harnesses lying in front of them, pointing eastward toward civilization.
The men were eating dried fish they had recovered from one of the Hittite storage bags, drinking from the water skins and complaining that if the Hittites had been real soldiers they would have had skins of wine or beer.
Pharaoh Thutmose sat apart from the men, resting on the floor of one of the chariots, his face turned toward the western horizon.
He saw that Re would soon begin his nightly journey through the underworld, and Pharaoh Thutmose’s thoughts turned toward the dark journey he and his men were taking.
They had barely survived the wrath of Shu. They had been left naked and abandoned in the plains of devastation Shu had left behind. Their chariots were buried, their horses gone.
Yes, they had prayed to the gods, but they had torn skin from their hands digging up the chariots. They had bent their backs to exhaustion recovering water skins and weapons. They had cobbled together broken chariots.
The gods had spared them, but it had been a harsh mercy.
And they had fought to survive.
Pharaoh Thutmose shielded his eyes as he looked upon Re, fiery, distant, ever-powerful. Then he glanced at his weary men, flesh and blood, bodies battered, but their spirits indomitable.
They are the young heroes, he thought with a smile.
Closing his eyes, Pharaoh Thutmose wondered if the gods looked upon them with awe.
His thoughts began to edge closer to a view of the world that was far different from the clean piety that Hapuseneb had taught in the temple of Amun. Curious to see where his musing would lead, Pharaoh Thutmose frowned when his thoughts were interrupted by shouts.
Looking up he saw a line of slow walking horses being led through the dusky light. Unconsciously counting the men, he saw that one was missing.
Standing, his heart fearful that his thoughts had angered the gods, he waited for his men and his horses.
Soon he saw that Pawura was missing.
Before the men were near enough for him to ask what had happened, he saw a figure run up behind the line of horses. As he drew closer, Pharaoh Thutmose saw it was Pawura, and he was dragging two heavy sacks.
Pharaoh Thutmose clenched his jaw in anger; despite his order, Pawura had looted the Hittite graves.
The men had heard the order. He could not permit Pawura’s disobedience to go unpunished.
The men and horses were nearer now, the men exchanging greetings and laughter with their companions. Pawura walked quickly past them, dragging the two sacks. His face was aglow with excitement as he reached Pharaoh Thutmose.
Kneeling, he bowed his head.
Then he opened one of the sacks and emptied the contents at Pharaoh Thutmose’s feet and the young ruler saw the treasures that Pawura had claimed.
His voice filled with love, Pawura said, “I have brought you hands.”
Kebu and the Baboons
Kebu didn’t like the jungle anymore. He didn’t like the brown grasslands beside the jungle and he didn’t like the dun-colored rocks that rose in the distance.
His leg wound was still festering.
He was growing weaker and he was worried that he had lost his way.
In the mornings he kept the sun behind him. In the afternoons he walked toward it, so he was fairly certain that he was heading toward the great river Iteru which would lead him back to Kerma and his home.
But late mornings and
early afternoons when Re was almost directly overhead, he drifted. Although he corrected his course as the day wore on, he was certain that he had wandered north or south. He hoped that the river didn’t bend away from its course. If it did he might wander past it and never find his way home.
The problem, he thought as he waded through the tall grass along the edge of the forest, was that the tree line itself wandered. Yet he was reluctant to leave its shelter. The shade was comforting, the trees provided a hiding place and the green sheltered his eyes.
But the jungle was full of danger: snakes, spiders, thorns, and more predators than he wanted to imagine. He had found a heavy, straight branch and scraped one end into a point, but he knew that it would do little more than irritate a determined lion or leopard.
He skirted a large rock, found himself under the shade of a tall tree with heavy branches and leaned against its trunk.
A drop of sweat fell on his arm.
He wiped his face, but it was dry.
Puzzled, he looked at his arm. The sweat drop had rolled away, leaving behind a light, red trail.
A drop landed on his shoulder.
Looking down he saw it was a deep red. The drop of blood wobbled and then began a quick, meandering run down his skin.
Kebu gripped his makeshift spear with both hands and looked above him.
A spotted tail hung from a branch overhead. It twitched languidly, its end slapping against leaves.
Swallowing a surge of fear, Kebu stared at the foliage that hid the rest of the tail.
He heard a soft purring and then a tearing sound. Another drop of blood fell and suddenly another tail flopped limply through the leaves. This one was thinner and brown with a short, knotty tuft of hair at its end.
Kebu scanned the ground, looking for broken limbs or twigs that would snap as he crept away from the feeding leopard.
Although the big cats seldom traveled in groups, unlike lions and jackals, Kebu didn’t want to be near a leopard, even a well-fed one.
Holding his breath, he walked quietly to the grass, scanned the open plain and spotted a steep rock face just ahead. The rocks were piled high, so they would be above the mole rats.
Digging his spear into the ground he limped toward them.
***
Re was still making his way through the western sky when Kebu reached the cliff face.
He climbed a short distance, felt his right leg begin to twitch, and settled against the rocks in a shady spot.
I might die here, he thought as he pulled dirt onto himself to keep off the heat and to camouflage his scent.
The thought had been rustling through his mind, like a dung beetle scavenging amid dried leaves, but he had ignored it, forcing himself to focus on finding edible roots or berries and fresh water. Each step he took, he told himself, was a step closer to Kerma where he would report to Governor Seni and then find comfort and rest.
He raised his head and looked at the cliff face above him. There would be no food nor water there. Closing his eyes, he told himself that after a short rest, when the leopard had a full belly and would be sleeping, he would go back into the jungle and head for the river.
All would be well.
***
He woke with dust in his mouth and strange sounds in his ears.
Digging his heels into the rocks, he pushed himself into an upright sitting position, careful to keep his head below the tops of the rocks around him.
He worked his mouth, trying to swallow, but there was no moisture on his tongue or lips. Looking up he saw that Re had reversed his course and was closer to the morning horizon.
No, he thought, I have slept through the evening and the night.
Straightening his back he peeked over the rocks.
The cliff face was alive with movement. Long-armed, hunch-shouldered baboons sat on impossibly narrow ledges, picked at each other’s long, gray fur, stretched, climbed or stared out across the grassland. Babies climbed over their mothers, tall males stood upright and stretched their arms overhead as they scanned the plain.
Kebu forgot his exhaustion as he watched them. He had seen baboons before, usually on a leash being taken for a walk in the temple of Thoth, but never so many, never wandering free.
It was an army.
As Re’s hand crept down the cliff, the baboons began to climb down the rocks.
Kebu leaned back against the rocks and wondered what he should do.
Were they dangerous? Had they been sent by Thoth to help him?
Suddenly, his stomach gurgled. He pressed a hand against it to quiet the noise. Concentrating, he listened to a hundred padded baboon feet scuffing across the rocks.
The sounds were above him, moving off to his left and down toward the plain. He pulled himself to his knees and risked a look at them. The baboons were moving purposefully, the females with babies clinging to their backs scampering ahead of the larger males. As he watched, one of the males yawned. His nostrils flared into open circles and his lips pulled back to reveal four huge incisors.
Kebu blinked in shock at the fierce maw. Unconsciously, he worked his own mouth, realizing that he would have to unhinge his jaw to open it that wide. He shuddered, thinking of the snake that Yuya had allowed to devour the messenger from Governor Seni.
Now he heard a scratching sound and, looking downhill, he saw that the vanguard of the troop had reached the base of the cliff and were digging in the dirt. More baboons joined in the work and soon Kebu could see them bend to drink from the water holes they had dug.
His tongue brushed across his caked lips and he leaned forward to stand.
Holding his spear, he came to his feet and watched the baboons for a few minutes. After they drank, the larger baboons knuckle walked into the high grass and he watched the brown stalks wave as the baboons moved through them.
Soon the remaining baboons, almost all females with children riding on them, moved into the shade and Kebu began to slowly walk toward the water holes.
Most of the baboons ignored him as he walked slowly out of the rocks. A few who were closer to him backed away, their babies peeking at him from their mothers’ shoulders or backs.
Kebu smiled at them and then got on his hands and knees to lap at the water.
Behind him the baboons began to talk with each other, the babies chattering and squealing as they chased each other and the adults grunting and whispering.
His stomach filled with water, Kebu sat on his left side and stretched out his injured leg. The baboons continued to ignore him and Kebu soon began to feel like he was part of this family.
He turned his face to the sun and began to think of resuming his journey. He would walk back to the tree line, find the river and follow it to Iteru. He had been traveling for weeks and he thought that he had to be close to home.
Opening his eyes, he realized that the baboon chatter had become louder. The murmurs and clicks had turned to barks. He looked toward the plain and saw the grass waving as the males began to return to the troop.
As the first emerged, they stopped, standing upright and barking loudly at Kebu. They turned in circles, feinting a charge and then retreating. More baboons stepped out of the grass and joined in the barking. Some of them began to pick up rocks and Kebu suddenly realized that he was not among friends.
He stood, grasping his spear and trying to keep his weight on his good leg.
The baboons screeched and Kebu raised his arms and shouted back at them.
He turned his head looking for the quickest escape route when suddenly the baboons above and behind him began to scream a more frantic, high-pitched call.
Below him the baboons screamed back and then began to rush toward him.
Kebu saw that he would be overwhelmed, and sadness swept over him. Then the baboons were on him. He gripped his spear with both hands and tried to pick a single target from the rushing baboons. Perhaps if he attacked the leader ...
And then they were past him and a different roar filled his head as
a female lion emerged from the grass. She was swatting at one of the baboons with her paws as the baboon rolled and screamed.
Without thought, Kebu staggered toward the lion, shoving his spear forward and shouting.
The lion turned to him, roared once and then turned back and swatted again at the baboon. The moment’s distraction gave the baboon time to get up on its four legs and it quickly ran past Kebu.
The lion turned its massive head at Kebu and growled.
He shouted back at it, stabbing with his spear.
The lion roared again and then, deciding that there were easier meals to be found, it abruptly turned and ran into the grass.
As Kebu breathed deeply in relief something hit his back.
Turning, he raised an arm in defense as a volley of rocks and stones flew toward him, hurled by the baboons he had just saved from the lion. As he shouted at them, the nearest ones bared their fangs and screamed back at him.
Keeping his head down, Kebu turned and hobbled away into the grass.
Men-Nefer
Pharaoh Thutmose III handed the reins to Menena and dismounted from his chariot.
“I will walk,” he said, looking ahead at the yellow glow that rose from beyond the city walls of Men-Nefer, rising to wash against Nut’s black belly.
Beside him Pawura reined his chariot to a stop and jumped to the roadway, a wide, hard-packed path that led to the walls of Men-Nefer, walls that gleamed white by daylight but now were only a dark gray silhouette, backlit by torches and cookfires of the twenty thousand inhabitants of the second largest city of the Two Lands.
Only Waset, with its temples to Amun, Mut, and Khonsu, its royal palace, and its hundred gates was larger and more important.
But Men-Nefer was home to Hut-ka-Ptah, House of the Soul of Ptah, the sprawling, high-walled complex that dominated the center of the city. It was home to the busy port of Peru-Nefer where ships arrived bearing cedar trees from the Levant, oils from islands beyond the Great Green, pottery from Canaan and lapis lazuli from Badakshan. During the day, its streets were filled with the sounds of merchants, of workshops and shipbuilders and warehouses and factories — Thutmose’s electrum-gilded chariot had been built here.