The Field of Reeds (Imhotep Book 4)

by Jerry Dubs

  “We practiced harnessing the horses last night. Once we emerge onto the plains the archers will provide a shield for us to harness the horses, but I want it done quickly,” Neferhotep told his grandfather. “We do it every day, but never in a rush. I never saw so many tangled reins.” He tried to laugh, but found he had no air.

  “I don’t know if this is the right path,” Imhotep said, answering the question he knew that Neferhotep wanted to ask.

  “But Pharaoh Thutmose will be victorious?” Neferhotep asked quietly.

  Imhotep nodded. There was no reason to sow doubt before the battle.

  “Do I survive?”

  Imhotep nodded again. “Neferhotep,” he said, turning to his grandson and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Pharaoh Thutmose will win this battle. You will be brave. No arrows will find you, your blood will not be spilled. Your hand will be sure, your eye will be keen. The army will take many hands and gather much plunder. The King of Kadesh will flee in fear.”

  He felt the muscles of Neferhotep’s arm stop their quivering dance.

  “Grandson,” he said, leaning closer, “when the battle is won, once you are satisfied that the Two Lands is safe and you have done your duty, you must slip away.

  “Akila and I will take Queen Menwi back to Gaza and then to Men-Nefer. We will wait for you at the temple of Ptah. You must come quickly, outpacing any messengers from Pharaoh Thutmose.

  “Once you are with us, I will take us to a place of safety. A place where you and Menwi and your child can be together and safe.”

  He saw that Neferhotep’s eyes had wandered, watching the charioteers and their horses.

  “Do you hear me, Neferhotep?”

  “Yes, grandfather. We will win, I will come to Men-Nefer and we will all be safe.”

  ***

  “How are we going to slip away?” Akila asked in English as she and Imhotep helped Queen Menwi onto their chariot.

  “I thought he would let us stay here and once the army was out of sight, we would go south,” Imhotep said. “But he wants his wife to see his bravery and to observe his great victory.

  “Who takes their pregnant wife to watch men kill each other?” Imhotep asked, pounding his walking staff against the ground. “There must be a way,” he grumbled, stepping into the chariot.

  Akila handed him the reins and, seized by a sudden fear, she whispered, “Do you think he suspects? Are we taking her to the battlefield so she can join the dead?”

  ***

  Raising his arms overhead Thanuny felt the muscles in his back stretch. They pulled tight and then released. He groaned in delight and, forgetting his foot, he tried to raise himself onto his toes to prolong the stretch.

  Pain rolled into his right foot and he stumbled to his side. The movement woke the snake and it hissed inside his leg. Thanuny cursed and hopped on his left leg. Pain drove the light from his eyes and, in the darkness, he saw Imhotep’s angry face from the morning seven years ago when he had glared into Thanuny’s eyes before crushing his staff against Thanuny’s foot.

  He cursed again, calling on Seth to strike Imhotep dead, on Anubis to find heaviness in Imhotep’s heart, on Ma’at to judge him unworthy, and on Ammut to devour his beating, black heart.

  When the pain subsided, he harnessed the horses with eager hands and mounted his chariot.

  The army was just ahead in Yehem and the battle with the King of Kadesh was drawing near. Raising his whip hand, Thanuny slapped the horses and braced himself as the chariot began to roll.

  Soon, he told himself.

  Unharnessed

  “Soon, Montu. Conserve your strength,” Pharaoh Thutmose whispered as he untied the leather harness freeing his horse from the chariot’s shaft.

  He handed the bridle reins to a waiting servant and then walked around Montu to release Anubis from his harness. As his practiced hands untied the harness straps, the rest of the charioteers at the mouth of the pass worked in near silence to release their horses from the chariots.

  It was midafternoon and the rest of the army of the Two Lands had already entered the narrow pass. The mountains had swallowed the infantry except for a rear guard who would follow the charioteers, who would be defenseless as they carried their chariots.

  Kebu’s archers had followed the infantry, the men, unencumbered with heavy weapons, had jogged up the trail on silent feet. Now the charioteers were lined up before the mountains’ opening, unharnessing their horses.

  “Pharaoh Thutmose, long life!” Imhotep said softly as he squeezed his way past the line of chariots, working soldiers, and eager horses.

  “Lord Imhotep,” Pharaoh Thutmose said as he handed the reins of his second horse to his servant. He nodded to the boy who turned and led the horses to the defile.

  “Have you come to help carry my chariot?” Pharaoh Thutmose asked.

  Imhotep raised his staff. “I am sure that there is no shortage of healthier men who would be honored to help you, Pharaoh Thutmose.”

  Pharaoh Thutmose stepped close to Imhotep, his eyes alight with curiosity. “Have you brought me a vision?”

  Imhotep shook his head. “You are Thoth born, my lord. You are Horus, mighty bull. You are the son of Re and the son of Amun. You lead an army that is mightier than any the world has ever seen. You have no need of my visions.”

  “And yet I would have them.”

  Imhotep looked at the narrow gorge that cut through the mountain. The last of the remaining archers formed a restless huddle before the opening which was barely large enough for two men to pass through.

  “Knowing your future would be like entering that dark pathway. You would be confined to a narrow path, uncertain of your footing, fearful of leaving the path. Your future, Pharaoh Thutmose, is vast. I would not limit it with my words. But I will tell you this truth: As long as the sky remains overhead and the earth remains below our feet, your name will be known to all men.”

  Pharaoh Thutmose allowed himself a smile. “Do you know your own future, god-who says-he-is-but-a-man?”

  Imhotep shook his head. “No, my lord. But I do see the near future of Queen Menwi who carries your child.”

  Standing in his god stance with arms straight at his side, Pharaoh Thutmose grew stiffer.

  “My lord,” Imhotep said, his voice low and earnest, “Queen Menwi is near her time. The child will be born in another day or two. Your queen cannot walk through this pass and we cannot carry her through it. I beg you, let me take her back to Gaza. Let her give birth among midwives with wet nurses ready to suckle your son.”

  “Do you truly see this?”

  “Yes, my lord. Her stomach is full, the child is ready.”

  “I would have her with me.”

  “If you insist, my lord, you will have her with you, but it is her first child and the first birth is most difficult. If she walks this path, you will lose her and the child. That,” he said, leaning closer to Pharaoh Thutmose, “is what I see.”

  The last of the archers disappeared into the dark pass and Neferhotep walked along the chariots toward Pharaoh Thutmose and Imhotep.

  Pharaoh Thutmose turned his head and glanced at Neferhotep. “Does he come to escort you and my wife back to Gaza?” Pharaoh Thutmose asked.

  “No, my lord,” Imhotep said, worried by the question.

  “Pharaoh Thutmose, long life!” Neferhotep said, dropping to a knee. “The maryannu are ready to move at your command.”

  Pharaoh Thutmose nodded. Neferhotep rose and turned to Imhotep. “Grandfather,” he said.

  “Neferhotep, I will see you and your victorious charioteers again in a few days.”

  As Neferhotep backed away, Pharaoh Thutmose said, “You may take Queen Menwi to Gaza. Take the escorting guards with you. Wait for me in Gaza.”

  “Thank you, Pharaoh Thutmose. Long life!”

  ***

  “Two of you are to accompany us to Gaza, the other two should join the rear guard,” Imhotep told the bodyguards as he rejoined Akila and Queen Menw
i.

  The four charioteers immediately turned away and began arguing over who would join the army, destroy the King of Kadesh and gain riches from the plunder, and who would be reduced to babysitting the queen in the dull safety of Gaza.

  “You couldn’t shed all of them?” Akila asked in English, crossing her arms as she watched the men walk toward one of the chariots. Their voices increased in volume as they argued. She heard one man shout ‘Arrows!” Another man pointed at their horses and started to describe whose horses were faster. “I’m the oldest,” the third man said and then they began to push at each other.

  “Toss senet sticks!” Imhotep shouted at them, unsure if they heard his words. Then he turned back to Akila. “No, Thutmose wanted them all to come with us. He’ll be caught up in the battle and won’t discover that I sent two of them back until we have escaped.”

  “Why not send them all back?” Akila asked. The charioteers had paired off and were wrestling now to the sound of grunts.

  “I thought we could use an escort. Once Menwi gives birth, we’ll find a way to leave Gaza and get back to Men-Nefer. I told Neferhotep he must leave as soon as the battle is over so he can get to Men-Nefer before any messengers arrive from Thutmose.”

  One of the men began to shout as he jumped to his feet after getting the other to slap the ground in defeat.

  “How is Menwi?”

  Akila smiled reassuringly. “I think she will be fine. She has wide hips. She is young. She has not gained too much weight. And I think she believes she really is carrying a god’s son. That will give her strength.”

  “You don’t think she will be difficult about leaving, do you?” Imhotep asked.

  “I don’t know,” Akila said thoughtfully. “I think she really loves Neferhotep. But who wouldn’t want to be Queen of the Two Lands?”

  “Yes, but there are four so far and if Thutmose takes any women captive at Megiddo, he’ll probably increase the number,” Imhotep said.

  “Still, Queen of the Two Lands, even a minor queen,” Akila said, turning away as a second charioteer pounded the ground angrily and the two victors turned to mount their chariots.

  ***

  Thanuny reined his horses to a halt beside the wide, twisting trunk of an olive tree.

  The main road north of Yehem curved slightly to his left and then bent back to continue north. A smaller trail branched off beside the olive tree whose dark green leaves were covered in thick dust.

  Leaning against the side of his chariot, Thanuny lifted a water skin and drank warm water from it. As he wiped his lips with his forearm he looked at the two roads and laughed to himself. One didn’t need to be a Medjay tracker to see which trail the army had taken.

  The road that turned east was smooth enough that he could see the twisting line where a snake had crossed it. The north road was rutted from the passage of four thousand wooden chariot wheels. It was pockmarked from the hooves of four thousand horses. It was scuffed from the sandals of eight thousand archers and infantrymen. It was littered with mounds of horse droppings.

  Thanuny knew that a Medjay tracker could squeeze those droppings and tell how long they had lain in the sun. But he could tell from the silence that the army was far enough ahead that he could safely follow, waiting like a jackal for Imhotep to lag behind.

  Staring at the well-traveled road, he imagined the size of the army that was about to fight the King of Kadesh. He closed his eyes and imagined the wide line of chariots charging across an open plain, the horses’ manes and tails waving in the wind, the tight lines of the archers’ bows, the snakelike hiss of a thousand arrows cutting the air.

  He could hear the shouts of bravery, the pounding of feet as the infantry ran into the melee, the snorting of the horses, the screams of wounded men. And the glitter of armbands stripped from the fallen enemy, the wide nostrils of foreign horses taken captive, the cries of the women taken as slaves.

  He imagined his chariot laden with plunder, a slave girl walking beside it.

  Then he opened his eyes and looked at the road, filled with the empty marks and the waste droppings of an army that he could never join. An army bound for glory that he would never taste.

  He bowed his head and looked at the wide sandal that covered his injured foot, hiding the empty space where his toes had been cut away.

  Im-ho-tep.

  He muttered the three syllables and then spit into the dirt. The man was celebrated as an all-knowing god, Thoth embodied, and yet he didn’t know the harm he had caused.

  Thanuny imagined finding Imhotep unprotected by Pharaoh’s guards. He imagined killing him, watching his blood run into the earth, his ka screaming in pain as it fled the Two Lands.

  No, he told himself, I will cripple him, cut his legs from him and let him live to sit in markets and beg for food.

  Smiling at the thought, Thanuny saw movement far ahead on the northern road. Gathering his reins, he turned east to find a place to hide.

  Tomorrow We Will Fight

  Kebu heard the man behind him gasp for breath.

  Raising a hand to stop the jogging archers, Kebu stopped and turned his head upward to scan the steep mountainside for enemy archers. He turned slowly, searching the jagged line where the mountain scraped the sky, looking for movement and seeing none.

  The heavy breathing behind him had stopped by the time Kebu had turned far enough to see the archer.

  “Min?” Kebu whispered.

  Min nodded. “I am sorry, commander. I stepped on something and ... ” the embarrassed archer shrugged an apology. Suddenly, his leg began to quiver and the archer looked up at Kebu in surprise.

  “It was a scorpion, commander,” an archer named Tati said as he stepped up beside Kebu and Min. “I saw it after you passed,” Tati said apologetically to Min. “It is trampled. I did not know that it had stung you. I am sorry, Min.”

  “The pain will pass,” Kebu said. “Find a place off the trail and rest until you feel better.” He looked at Tati. “We must keep moving.” Glancing at Min, who was starting to shuffle off the trail, he added, “I am sorry, Min. We must keep the trail clear.”

  Suddenly, Min’s bow clambered to the ground and he followed his weapon, falling onto his hands and knees. Kebu quickly knelt beside him. “It is only a scorpion sting, Min,” he said. “It will swell and your ankle will be stiff, but in an hour or two it will subside.”

  “No, commander,” Tati whispered into Kebu’s ear. “His father died of a scorpion sting. Mafdet gives his family no protection.”

  Turning to Min, who lay unmoving on the ground, Kebu saw that dark, red lines were streaking up his leg as the scorpion’s evil heka took root.

  “Carry him off the trail,” Kebu said. “We cannot slow the army.”

  Leaning down to Min, Kebu said, “Stay strong, Min. The sounds of our victory will soothe your pain.” Then, stepping back to the trail, he raised his arm and signaled the archers to resume their silent jog.

  ***

  The sky ahead grew wide, telling Kebu that they were nearing the plain.

  He raised a hand to stop the line of archers. Then he pinched together the fingers of his raised hand. The silent signal was repeated down the line and Kebu heard the soft clatter of arrows being drawn from quivers.

  He did the same. Placing the nock of an arrow on his bowstring, he felt the comfort of having a ready weapon and cautiously stepped toward the opening of the defile.

  The sky ahead was bright, the flames of a fire. Kebu thought of his journey through the jungle where the air had felt as heavy as river water. Here Re overpowered Tefnut and the air was dry. Heat rose from rocks as Re scorched sweat from Shu’s bare back.

  He thought briefly of Min, wondering if the archer was the first casualty of the battle, dead without ever feeling his blood sing at the sight of the enemy.

  The thought of the scorpion sting reminded him of the spider that had hidden within his leg eight years ago, and of the god Imhotep who had saved him. Imhotep had given
him life. He had raised him in Pharaoh Thutmose’s favor and Kebu had never found a way to repay the favor.

  Neferhotep, Kebu thought. I can watch Imhotep’s grandson in this battle. Then he smiled. But what need does the grandson of a god have of my protection?

  The air grew brighter, the pass widened, and Kebu saw that his archers had arrived at the mouth of the pass.

  ***

  Neferhotep gripped the shaft of his chariot with his left hand and, watching his footing carefully, stepped over a rock the size of a baboon’s head. Behind him Penhat, one of his runners, walked with outturned legs, both hands gripping the axle of the chariot.

  The chariot was not heavy — one man could bear the weight — but it was awkward; the curve of the long shaft was as limber as the neck of a goose. The axle, set behind the center weight of the cab, tilted the chariot forward so that Neferhotep and Penhat were constantly trading the weight of the chariot with each step.

  Still, they were moving easily and, more importantly, without enemy sightings, through the narrow mountain pass. Word had been whispered down the line that Kebu’s archers had reached the plain and were setting up a protective perimeter.

  His vision blocked by the chariot, Penhat stubbed a foot against the rock and whispered a curse as he hopped to keep his balance.

  Feeling the weight shift, Neferhotep turned his head and raised his free hand to signal Penhat that he was stopping.

  “I am uninjured, commander,” Penhat said in a loud whisper.

  The army had attempted to be silent when the march began but as each hour passed without the scouts observing any enemy archers, they had grown less careful. They were still careful, not bold enough to sing as they marched, but relaxed enough to curse when a rock slid underfoot or a sunning snake surprised them.

  “Let me change hands,” Neferhotep said, carefully setting down the shaft and then moving around to the other side, gripping it with his right hand and lifting it from the ground.