By a couple of hours before sunset the reed mats were covered with a variety of pots, bowls, flat plates, and jars with flat or rounded bases. Aya had constructed twice objects as many as her daughters combined, but they were still learning and she’d been making vessels for nearly two decades. She sat back, surveyed the day’s work, took a deep satisfied breath. Once fired, she’d keep the pots made by her girls for her family’s use, for they were still too rough and primitive to trade. But the beauty of Aya’s vessels would enable her to obtain many necessities in exchange to tide her and the girls over long after the inundation festival.
If occurred to Aya that if Hannu dropped his demand that Meru recognize him as his patriarch then she might find herself joined to Meru at the festival. If so, the pottery jars she’d made today might be the last she’d ever construct. Qen was right about one thing – Meru placed no stock in beauty and would likely prevent her from wasting her time on such an activity in the future. Aya’s fingers found the falcon talisman around her throat. She whispered a prayer to the god that her father would stand firm, that Meru too would not give in, that Hannu would order Meru to lead his band away from the lake and leave her and her family in peace. Otherwise, to remain free, Aya was going to have to overthrow her father and hope that Paser would not give her to Meru. That, she thought uneasily, was not going to be easy to do.
5439 BC: Ta–she – Akhet (Flood)
Aya and Semat sat with their legs doubled under in the shade of palm trees on the peninsula, a few feet from the water, overlooking the inlet and facing the camp, Aya at one end of a loom, Semat opposite. Today they were going to weave flax into linen. Hemetre sat close by, next to a pile of long strands of yarn. Neither of the barbarian women had woven linen before; Aya had taken it upon herself to teach them at their request. They expected they’d need that skill once they were joined to men in her band and settled for good at the lake. So far, neither Hannu nor Meru had told anyone that those joinings were at risk of not taking place. Aya was finding it hard to face Hemetre every day, knowing what she knew about the dispute between the patriarchs. Hemetre truly loved Iuput, and he loved her. As things now stood, their love was going to be an unfortunate casualty of Hannu and Meru’s feud.
Aya was four months pregnant now. That had barely slowed her down; after bearing five children she’d learned to compensate for her changing body. Two weeks ago she and Semat and Hemetre had waded into the flax patch beside the lake one sunny afternoon. She’d shown them how to pull up the blue–flowered plants by the roots, then, days later, after the stems had rotted and dried, how to process them, separating the fibers into long strands with small sharp pieces of flint. The fibers had as usual been hard and brittle, but Aya was gifted with the ability to spin them into pliable strong threads using clay spindles, a gift honed by years of practice, and so soon had a great pile of long threads. Aya had been patient with the two women, ensuring both grasped the basics – important, since, once Meru led them away from the lake after the inundation festival, they’d be on their own – if Meru even allowed them to continue to make linen.
“We’re going to use the linen we weave today to make loincloths,” Aya informed the women. “After we turn these strands of yarn into a length of linen, we’ll remove it from the loom and spread it on the ground so the sun can bleach it white. That’ll take a couple of days. Then we’ll wash it in the lake several times – linen grows brighter and stronger with each washing. Finally, we’ll cut the linen to size with flint knives, then sew it into garments using bone awls and needles.”
Just a few minutes earlier Aya had finished setting up the loom’s frame – two lengths of wood parallel to each other, six feet apart, their ends resting on foot–tall flat–topped chunks of stone that elevated the frame above the ground. Now, Hemetre selected a long strand from the pile beside her and lifted it. Aya grasped one end and Semat the other.
“These are called warp beams,” Aya told Semat, resting her hand on the length of wood before her and indicating the one by Semat’s knees. “Tie your end of the yarn to the beam in front of you. I’ll do the same with mine. Thus, this will be a warp thread. We’ll tie hundreds of them today. Get them as close to each other as possible.”
“And then?”
“We’ll weave in the weft threads. They’ll be perpendicular to the warp threads.” Aya pointed to a long thin wooden pole. “That’s called the stand. Hemetre, you’ll insert it between the warp threads, alternating so that the first thread is on top of the stand, the second below it, the third on top, and so on until the farthest–most thread. The stand will create a gap so that we can lace the weft threads between the warp threads. When a weft thread is all the way through you’ll push the stand towards the warp beam to tighten it, then pull the stand back a bit so we can weave in the next weft thread.” Aya pointed to the pile of yarn beside Hemetre. “When all those are gone we’ll have a rectangle of linen.”
They set to work, Aya’s fingers flying, Semat’s moving more slowly. Occasionally, in the hours that followed, waiting for Semat to catch up, Aya paused and swept her eyes over the inlet. It was a perfect day, warm but not overly hot. Birds called, flitting through trees and swaying atop tall reeds at the peninsula’s edge. The sun danced silver on the water. On the ridge overlooking the far shore spirals of smoke rose from cookfires before the huts of her camp. Women and girls bent over those fires, preparing meals for their families. The men, she knew, were out fishing or hunting, for Qen’s boats were missing from their usual mooring spot. Near the marsh, in the stubble–covered field, she saw cattle grazing. She supposed a few boys were watching the animals. There was little to fear from predators so close to camp, freeing up the men for other work.
“Can I ask you something?” Aya queried when they stopped to take a break and slake their thirsts.
“Of course,” Semat replied.
“I’ve been wondering for a long time – why does Meru hate Qen so much?” Aya knew Qen’s side of the story, of course, from their discussion when he was building his boat. But she didn’t know Meru’s.
“Meru has never wanted to be second in anything,” Semat replied. “Surely you saw that at the harvest festival.”
Aya had indeed. Though Menna and Khay had between them split the running and swimming races, appropriately impressing Ahaneith and Takhat, Meru had won the archery and wrestling competitions. In fact, he had broken the arm of his final opponent, Kakhent’s son Wetka. Wetka still hadn’t forgiven him for that. Qen, Aya recalled, had been notable by his absence from camp that day. He’d volunteered to watch the animals, Iuput had told her, so that the able–bodied could all participate in the festival. Aya thought he’d volunteered not out of nobility but to try to hide his disability from her people.
“From the time he was young Meru considered himself Qen’s better,” Semat continued. “He was the oldest son of my father’s second wife, you see, and Qen the oldest of father’s first. And so Meru decided when he was still a boy that he should succeed my father as patriarch, because of Qen’s leg. But my father didn’t see it that way. My father loved Qen more than he loved anyone, including me. That’s the root of the problem between Meru and Qen – jealousy.”
“Your father loved Qen most? I thought no one in your band ever had any use for him.”
“A tale spread by Meru. But I wouldn’t be alive if not for Qen.”
“Because he’s supported you since your man’s death?”
Semat shook her head no. “Did Qen tell you how his leg was mangled?”
“He fell into the water while he was fishing. A crocodile bit him. Clumsiness.”
Semat shook her head vehemently. “Qen didn’t fall, Aya. Father and Qen and I were fishing on a raft not far from the riverbank when I stumbled and fell overboard. I was five years old at the time. A crocodile sunning on shore splashed into the river, arrowing straight for me. Father knelt at the edge of the raft, held out his hand. I had hold of it for an instant, then I slipped, went belo
w the surface. When I came up the crocodile was only a few yards away. I thought I was dead. Without hesitating, Qen dove into the water directly between me and the crocodile. He did it to save me, Aya. I can still hear his screams as the beast ripped his leg apart, still see the river turning bright red with his blood…” She paused, as if the image still sickened her. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “Father drove the crocodile away with a bident and pulled Qen back onto the raft. Then Father retrieved me. How Qen survived I’ll never know. The gods must have preserved him for some purpose. That’s the only explanation that makes sense to me. So, Aya, I owe my very life to Qen. He is as he is because of me.” She wiped more tears from her eyes. “He’s never once in all these years blamed me, or cursed his fate, or even complained. He accepted early on what he’d become and made the best of it. That’s why I love him, Aya, and why Father loved him. Qen saved me without regard for himself. He’s twice the man Meru will ever be. By rights he should be our leader. But my people don’t see it.”
Aya fell silent, amazedly pondering what Semat had told her. She’d certainly cast her brother in a new light. Aya was certain that if Meru and Qen’s places were reversed, Meru would have boasted about sacrificing his leg to save his sister – if he’d even had courage enough to have jumped in the river in the first place. But Qen hadn’t even mentioned his heroic act – in fact, he’d downplayed what he’d done when relating his version of the tale to her daughters. He’d been completely selfless – noble even – and he’d kept what he’d done to himself. Aya thought back to her previous conversations with Qen – at Iuput’s campfire, in the field harvesting emmer, and, most importantly, while he was building his boat. She’d been skeptical every time about his intentions, his presumed activities, considered him devious, thought him out to get her and her people. But now, because of Semat’s tale, for the first time Aya believed Qen had told her the truth every time they’d talked. She should have taken him at face value. He was a better man than she’d given him credit for. She should have embraced him as a friend, not kept him at arm’s length like an enemy. Iuput had seen Qen’s worth. She’d been blind to it.
“Is it true, what Qen told me once, that you’d have been joined to Meru if our bands hadn’t met?” Aya asked.
Semat lowered her voice. “A fate I truly dreaded.”
Aya nodded. “As do I.”
Semat placed her hand on Aya’s arm consolingly. “I’m sorry for that.”
“Yes, sorry. That’s what we women usually are,” Aya said softly. “We have no say in our own fates, but must accept our lot.”
“Speaking of which – what kind of man is your father? How will he treat my niece Nofret once they’re joined?”
“Very traditional, usually hard–headed, inclined to use his stick for even the least transgression, extremely insecure about his position as patriarch. He’ll have little or no regard for Nofret’s feelings. She’ll be a possession as far as he’s concerned, as will their children, to be used for his own benefit. In fact, he used me to ensure he’d succeed Kakhent as patriarch of my band.”
“How?”
“My father is the oldest of the men in our band, the son of Kakhent’s brother – the rest of the family heads except for Siese are Kakhent’s sons by his first woman. Giving me to Kakhent assured Father’s primacy.”
“Kakhent was your grandfather’s brother? I had no idea.” Semat could not hide her surprise.
“We were joined when I was twelve years old. As a result Kakhent’s sons, half–brothers to my daughters, are also my cousins – and stepsons, though I’m younger than all of them. Anyway, whether my father truly has their loyalty weighs on him. He knows less about farming and herding than Kakhent did, so he’ll have to rely on me when planting and harvesting time arrive. He knows that will make him seem weak. But, frankly, none of Kakhent’s sons knows any more about farming than Father does. I’m the one who’s made sure our crops have prospered. Your brother now knows almost as much as me, after all the discussions we’ve had – though for Qen, planting and such is still mostly theory.”
Semat looked deep into Aya’s eyes. “I think my brother and you are very much alike.”
“Me and Qen?” Aya asked, surprised. “In what way.”
“You’re both outcasts.”
Aya began to protest.
“I’ve seen how the women in your camp look at you, how they’ve treated you since Kakhent’s death, Aya. Their jealousy is obvious. They’re bitter that you outrank them, being so much younger. They can’t wait for you to lose your place, even if it will be to Nofret. I’ve seen how they’re already making you miserable.”
Aya searched Semat’s face, saw the pain that lay beneath the surface. “You speak from experience.”
“I served my father as leading woman in place of my mother after her death. I would have served Qen the same way, had he become patriarch. Since Meru stole Qen’s position I too have been pushed aside. And I’ve had it much easier than you, because my rivals are not older than me.”
***
Aya knelt in front of her hut, braiding Ahaneith’s hair. Aya and her girls and the rest of the band’s women were going to catch fish in the marsh today; with all the bending they were about to do it was best to keep their hair out of their faces. The talisman fastened around Aya’s neck swung back and forth with her movements, flashing as it caught the sun. Finished, she and Ahaneith switched places. Meanwhile, Pageti and Betrest worked on each other at her side. Once done, all four took up empty reed baskets and headed towards the marsh.
For nearly two months the men of both bands had been netting catfish and perch in the deep waters of the lake, using Qen’s boats, dividing the catch equally between their bands. The lake had meanwhile been shrinking in summer’s intense heat. Nearly every morning, it seemed, there was a wide strip of mud where the day before there had been water, and dried cracked earth where the day before there had been a wide strip of mud. So it was all along the margins of the lake. The women now had to walk nearly half a mile past what was normally shoreline just to fill their water jars each day, or to bathe. A week ago the water level had finally dropped so low that the narrow stream that disgorged into the lake from the most extensive marsh on its north shore, the one that lay south of Meru’s camp, had practically stopped flowing. Now it barely trickled, three or four feet wide and a few inches deep. Great numbers of young fish were trapped in the one large pool that remained in the center of the marsh, ready to be harvested.
The pool was crowded when Aya arrived. Every woman and girl from both bands was there. Along with the rest Aya and her daughters waded through the dead and dying reeds into the turbid water, now barely knee–deep. The muddy bottom was cool and squished beneath Aya’s toes. The fish were clearly visible, moving slowly, sluggishly, posing no challenge. Ahaneith bent and plunged her forearm up to the elbow into the water and pulled up a silvery wriggling catfish. Aya held out her basket and Ahaneith dropped the fish in. It flopped about noisily. Normally, Aya would have caught the fish, but in her fifth month of pregnancy it was getting hard for her to bend. Ahaneith moved a few paces and caught another. Throughout the marsh, women were working in similar teams. There was much splashing, and shouting, and singing, and gossiping, for rarely did all the women gather without the men and the catching required little concentration. Soon everyone was drenched. Aya didn’t mind; the day was hot and the water cool. She stood for a time next to Hemetre and Semat, talking with them the whole time. Many hours later, their baskets full, the women parted ways, scampering from the water onto dry land, each headed back to her respective camp.
Once there, Aya joined the rest of her band’s women on the beach alongside the shrunken pool that was all that remained of the inlet, scaling the fish she drew from her basket with the serrated edge of an asparathia shell, cutting off the heads with a sharp flint knife, splitting the bodies in half. The men had constructed long wooden racks above shallow trenches on the beach some days before
under Aya’s watchful eyes, and young girls had filled those trenches with dung and acacia twigs. Now, after the women arranged the fish they’d cleaned on the racks, Aya lit the dung. Girls would keep the fires burning around the clock in shifts for the next few days, replenishing the fuel from nearby stacks of dung and branches, until all the fish had been thoroughly smoked. Then the women would pack the smoked fish in earthenware jars and seal them. The fish wouldn’t last forever, but they would provide food during the inundation when game and plants were scarce at the lake.
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