Dreamers (47 page)

dear sister. Forgive my mistake.”

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363

The old man bowed and shuffled off, grumbling under

his breath.

“Hold this inconvenience entirely against me,” Mutem-

wiya called, her voice echoing down the hall, “but do not

forget this night.”

For three weeks Pharaoh’s party traveled down the course

of the Nile. A broad savannah of grassland stretched before

their chariots, blown by the hot wind and browned by the

sizzling sun. The great trees Narmer had promised rose like

a protective backdrop to the east and west.

One afternoon, just after the sun boat had reached its zenith,

living gray mountains appeared on the horizon. “There!” Narmer

lifted his arm and pointed. “See there, my king! Elephants!”

Like solid rocks in the plain, the great gray forms moved

along the fringes of forest at a slow and steady pace. Thou-

sands of them, large and small, strolled beside springing herds

of antelope and gazelle with the haughtiness of a superior race.

“Let us stop and make camp.” Pharaoh lifted his hand to

signal the other charioteers. “We shall unload our supplies and

ready our bows. Not a moment is to be wasted.”

Narmer slapped his reins and turned his horse. From Nubian

slaves he had heard bloodcurdling stories about the surprising

might and power of the elephant. One man could never bring

down a bull, the slaves said, not even ten men. But Pharaoh,

trusting in his divinity, might be tempted to risk everything.

And his and Mutemwiya’s hands would remain free of

blood and blame.

“Give the horses drink,” Narmer called to the warriors who

were chattering like magpies. “Tighten and secure the traces.

We ride in an hour.”

Pharaoh dismounted and stood in a delighted trance as he

studied the lumbering giants.

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“May the gods be praised,” Narmer called, “to have deliv-

ered such a goodly number of the elephants into our hands. I

know Queen Tuya will be pleased to have an ivory carving

for her chambers.”

“Yes, yes indeed,” Pharaoh murmured, his eyes alight. He

gestured to his quiver-bearer. “Check my arrows and mark

each with my motif. I will know which man’s arrow kills one

of these beasts.”

“Which motif should I use, my king?” the servant asked.

Pharaoh’s lips curved in a smile. “A lotus blossom.”

After the provisions and tents had been dumped by the

river’s edge, Narmer, Pharaoh and a handful of the best hunters

mounted their chariots. Pharaoh rode with only his chariot

driver beside him, choosing to handle his own bow and arrow

like a true sportsman. Narmer dismissed both his charioteer

and his quiver-bearer with a single glance. “Get away, fools,”

he said, adjusting his leather gloves as he prepared to assume

the reins. “I will not hunt. I ride only to guard Pharaoh.”

The slaves backed away. Pharaoh’s driver slapped his reins

across his horses’ backs and turned the royal chariot toward

the herd of elephants. The giants moved slowly, feeding them-

selves from the foliage they had ripped from towering trees.

Stout branches lay broken and scattered over the ground,

evidence of the animals’ great strength.

Narmer smothered a smile. An older king would have sent

his men in to gather the trophy. But Tuthmosis possessed the

stubborn courage of youth.

Pharaoh advanced to within a moment’s ride of the animals

and halted his chariot. The herd, unsettled by his approach,

moved about, the females gathering the young into the midst

of the herd, then turning outward to guard their offspring. The

mammoth bull, however, grazed as if nothing had happened.

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Not until Pharaoh’s horse broke the silence with a nervous

whinny did the bull lift his head and turn to face the divine

ruler of the Two Kingdoms.

The creature’s great, leathery ears spread and seemed to

block out the sky. His tusks, broad yellow shafts, extended

from his bewhiskered head, as solid as the pillars in Pharaoh’s

throne room.

Narmer called up to the king. “Imagine what the crown

prince will say when he sees those tusks!”

Pharaoh gestured for his driver to wheel the chariot to the

left. As the horses moved forward in a gentle trot, the old bull

turned, keeping his eye on the intruder, and Narmer held tight

to his reins. The other hunters dispersed to stalk other prey,

leaving this bull to the divine king.

The chariot circled its quarry, leading the bull, then cut

between the cows and the bull so the male was singled out

from the herd. Pharaoh lifted his bow and notched a barbed

arrow. He pulled and aimed, his muscles shining golden in

the sun. As the elephant wheeled to turn again, Pharaoh let

the arrow fly.

The missile lodged in the great bull’s side and the beast let

out a blood-chilling squeal. Narmer’s horses shied at the

sound and trembled in their traces, requiring all his strength

to hold them steady. Pharaoh’s team lurched forward. Quick

as a gazelle, the bull snorted and charged with surprising

speed. Narmer smiled when he saw Pharaoh’s jaw. The chariot

driver’s face froze as the vehicle turned and raced away from

the raging anger behind them.

Narmer tightened his hands on the reins as Pharaoh drew

the mad beast nearer. As the king’s chariot bounced over the

uneven ground, Pharaoh lifted his bow and notched another

arrow, but seemed to realize he was leading the bull toward

Narmer. He yelled to the driver and the chariot swerved, draw-

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ing the bull to the east, but not before passing close enough for

Narmer to see a look of deadly concentration on the king’s face.

Pharaoh lifted his bow, took careful aim and told his driver

to swerve again. The slave did so, this time to the north, and

in the instant the bull’s flank was exposed, the king released

his arrow. The bronze-pointed barb went in behind the ani-

mal’s shoulder and buried itself in the folds of gray skin.

The bull bellowed again in rage and pain, but he did not

stop his charge or lessen his speed. As his leathery ears

slapped against his shoulders, he pressed forward, bridging

the gap between the king’s chariot and those swordlike tusks.

“For the love of Osiris, run, you beast!” Narmer whispered.

Unfazed and undaunted, the king kept shouting directions

to his driver. At each turn of the chariot, Tuthmosis managed

to sink another arrow into the great bull’s ribs. Arrows bristled

from the beast’s side; blood streamed from his flank like tears.

With every trumpeting squeal, a red cloud spurted from the

massive trunk, but still the creature reached for the king in an

agony of fear and anger.

For a moment Narmer thought Pharaoh would escape. His

chariot pulled away from the weakening beast, but the driver,

frightened out of his wits by the bloody apparition off the

chariot’s footplate, veered too sharply at a turn. The chariot

teetered on one wheel for a long moment, then fell on its side.

Screaming in their traces, the horses dragged the splintered

contraption out of the mad bull’s reach, but the human cargo

had spilled.

Goaded by pain and the frenzy of fear, the elephant vented

his anger on the hapless driver, stomping the life out of him.

As Pharaoh rose to his knees, Narmer gripped the rim of

his chariot. If he urged his horses forward, he could draw the

rampaging monster away from his helpless king. But he had

not come on this journey to save Tuthmosis.

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Pharaoh broke into a sprint. Distracted by the flurry of

movement, the bull turned and charged. Narmer watched in

horror as one of the huge tusks gored the king as easily as a

knife slices butter.

The elephant trumpeted in triumph, lifting Pharaoh from

the ground. Narmer’s fingers fluttered as his heart raced. He

had hoped for such an accident, but he had never thought to

witness it.

Despite the heat, cold air brushed across the back of his

neck, and his scalp tingled beneath the heavy hair of his wig.

Oh, Mut, if you could see how the gods have answered our

petitions…

The bull shook Pharaoh the way a puppy shakes a rag toy.

The body slid from the giant tusk and flew into a scrubby

patch of brush as if it had been made of nothing but papyrus

reeds. Narmer continued to watch as the bull shivered and

staggered. A bright flood of blood rushed from his mouth,

then the giant toppled onto its side.

Like a statue, Narmer remained frozen in place. The

alarmed cries of the other hunters finally stirred him to action,

and he slapped his reins and drove toward Pharaoh’s broken

body. A strange, cold excitement inside him threatened to

explode into a fit of laughter, but he arranged his face in lines

of dismay and despair. He was, after all, the captain of

Pharaoh’s guard, and responsible for his life. He must feel

regret, grief and unrelenting guilt.

He did not look at the granite corpse of the elephant, but

hurried to the grassy place where Pharaoh lay. Sweat and

blood had soaked the royal chest and stained the linen kilt; a

dark pool of life seeped into the ground beneath him.

Narmer knelt at the king’s side and rested his hands on his

knees, mindful of the others who watched from a respectful

distance. “Poor Pharaoh,” he murmured.

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At the sound of his voice the king’s eyes flew open. Narmer

jerked backward, nearly losing his balance.

“Narmer,” Tuthmosis said, a death rattle in his throat. The

wounded king lifted a blood-streaked hand. “Carry word to

the queen, Amenhotep now reigns. It is the will of the

Almighty God.”

“Yes, my king,” Narmer replied, staring as the king’s eyes

rolled back into his head. Tuthmosis stiffened and shuddered,

then released his last breath.

Narmer remained by the king’s side until the others forced

him to move away. Later he noted with satisfaction that not

one drop of the king’s blood had stained his hands.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Tuya paused to inhale the delicious scent of the blue lotus

blossoms now growing in the pools of the palace garden.

Yosef and Amenhotep, unaware that she lingered, kept walk-

ing, their hands lifting in emphasis as they debated the

wisdom of the ancient laws.

Watching them, Tuya smiled. Yosef had appeared at her

door each morning for over a month, offering her a bowl of blue

lotus blossoms in the name of the king. As pleasant as the gift

was, Tuya longed far more for the sight of Tuthmosis’s royal

barge on the Nile. Only when she had seen him safe again on

his throne could she believe that her dream had been a mean-

ingless premonition, a toothless lion stalking her in the dark.

A guard stepped into the path before Yosef and saluted. “I

beg Zaphenath-paneah’s and the prince’s pardon,” he said,

bowing. “But a messenger has come from the river. He brings

a message from Narmer and Pharaoh’s hunting party.”

A message from Narmer? Any message should have come

from Pharaoh himself.

A wave of grayness passed over Tuya as Yosef nodded.

“Bring the messenger to me at once. Bid him make haste.”

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Tuya put her hand to her throat and hurried toward the men.

“Yosef,” she called, her voice trembling.

He turned and cast her a warning glance, then placed his

hand on Amenhotep’s shoulder. “We should meet the messen-

ger in the throne room.” He offered a careful smile that said,

Remain calm. Remember your son.

She lowered her hand. Despite the tight place of anxiety

in her heart, she smiled and placed her hands on Amenhotep’s

shoulders. “Live, O Prince, and prosper forever,” she mur-

mured, lowering her forehead to rest on his. “Know that your

father and I love you dearly.”

She might have held him forever, but Yosef cleared his

throat and led the prince toward the throne room.

Everything went silent within her as Tuya heard the forth-

right message: ten days before, while engaged in a brutal

battle with an elephant, Pharaoh Tuthmosis IV died a glorious

and victorious death. His body had been wrapped and was on

its way home with the two tusks of the great elephant that had

set him on his way to paradise.

The message had been witnessed and signed by Narmer,

captain of the king’s guard, who was traveling with Pha-

raoh’s body.

A heavy silence fell over the throne room as Yosef finished

reading the scroll, then Queen Mutemwiya broke into loud,

hiccupping sobs. Her ladies helped her from the room while

the priests hurried to make preparations and engage the pro-

fessional mourners who would weep and wail for the departed

king throughout the next seventy days.