Imhotep (37 page)

When
he thought about it too much, his brain curled up in the fetal position and
surrendered.

But
now he worried that if King Djoser didn’t make the offering history recorded
that some other fundamental shift would happen and the future that had unfurled
to his time would be changed.  For better or worse, he had no way of
knowing, but suddenly he felt the weight of the unborn lives, all waiting for
their chance to live.

One of
them was Addy.  One of them was him.

The
future had to follow the path it had followed or else he wouldn’t be here.

Although
the thought made sense as it crossed his mind, it became elusive and slippery
when he tried to examine it.  Still it left him with a hollow, aching
fear.  King Djoser had to make the right offering.

And
Imhotep knew that only he could make it happen.

“Speak,
Imhotep.”

He
looked up at King Djoser who was leaning on the table with one hand, his other
hand playing with the engraved handle of the knife he had used as a pointer.

“King
Djoser,” Imhotep said slowly, trying to organize his thoughts.  “The river
will rise only if Khnum is satisfied.  The water comes from beyond Nubia,
many days' journey south through a forest so thick with trees that you must cut
your way through.  That land is the land of Khnum.

“He is
a god, King Djoser.  A gift that would satisfy a man, a governor or a
priest is a small thing to a god.  All of the Two Lands is yours. 
All of the Two Lands is dry, the river has not risen for seven years.  You
must be more than generous to Khnum.  You are not only making an offering
to the god, you are acting to save the Two Lands.”

King
Djoser crossed his arms. 

“What
would you have me offer Khnum?”

Imhotep
looked at the maps and saw that they didn’t begin to cover the expanse of land
history said King Djoser gave the temple.  He remembered the sensation of
freedom he had felt when he entered the Two Lands, the feeling of belonging
here that had swept through him as he tended to Prince Teti, and the fullness
of spirit that came over him when he had been with Meryt.

As he
thought of it, the feeling returned to him, filling him with the moment and the
possibilities it held, showing him the pathways that opened up from this
pivotal instant. 

Giving
in to the impulse that swept through him now, he stepped to the table and
brushed the maps to the floor. 

He
stood straight and, looking at King Djoser, recited the words he remembered
from the stele.

“King
Djoser, you must give to Khnum the lands from the river to the mountains of
dawn on the east side of the river and as far as the mountains of dusk on the
west side.  All the land, all the wealth, all the settlements, all the
farmers, from the island south as far as an oxen can plow in twelve days.”

King
Djoser moved with incredible speed, driving the blade of the silver knife deep
into the table.

“You
do not know what you ask,” he said, his voice seething.

“And
more, King Djoser,” Imhotep said, keeping his voice level and calm.  “Give
to Khnum a tenth of the riches that flow from Nubia through here and into the
Two Lands.  A tenth of the game and the fishes, of all the wealth found
within the offering.”

“Who
are you,” King Djoser asked, “to demand such an offering?”

“Not
for me, King Djoser.  For Khnum.  For the waters of the River
Iteru.  For the life of the Two Lands.  Only a great offering such as
this will satisfy Khnum.”

King
Djoser wrenched the knife from the table.  He flipped it into the air and
caught it as he paced, walking the length of the table and then turning
back. 

“If I
refuse,” he said to himself, “and the river does not rise, then the Two Lands
will cry out for justice and the gods will know my greed has betrayed
Kemet.  If I refuse and the river does rise, then the Two Lands will be
blessed, but the gods will still know of my avarice.”

He
turned to Imhotep.  “Words are powerful, Imhotep.  Have you met Tama,
the priestess of Ma’at?  She believes that words unleash all action. 

“You
have said the words.  But it is I who must give them life.”

He
brought his arm back and in a quick motion brought it forward again, throwing
the knife across the room.  The light from the torches danced on the
polished silver like a strobe light as the knife twirled silently toward a
carved wooden pillar.  It struck with a heavy thud, embedding itself deep
in the wood. 

“I
must give your words life,” King Djoser repeated, “or kill them.”

Imhotep
bowed his head and waited.

“Repeat
these words to no one, Imhotep.  We will talk tomorrow.”

K
ing Djoser sent for Imhotep late the
following afternoon.

The
anger that was visible the night before was gone now, replaced by the serenity
Imhotep had come to expect from the king.

“Let
us walk, Imhotep,” King Djoser said.  He led him out of the temple toward the
river.  They walked in silence, heading toward the western edge of the
island.

“Meryt
is recovering from her illness?” King Djoser asked.

Imhotep
was surprised to hear the king asking about Meryt.  “Yes, King
Djoser.  She is better every day.”

“Is
she carrying your child yet?”

Imhotep
stopped short.

“No,
no, I haven’t heard any rumors,” King Djoser said with a wry smile.  “It
is just that she is of age and it would not be unexpected.”

They
walked on in silence until they reached the island’s edge.  The sun had
turned almost a blood red as it lowered itself toward the western desert. 
The ragged peaks of the distant mountains were silhouetted by the red glow.

“Are
you a god as some have said?” King Djoser asked.

Imhotep
shook his head. 

“I am
just a man.  I have come from a distant place and I bring knowledge that
others here do not have.  But I am a man.”

“Do
you believe that I am a god?”

“I am
not sure I understand what that means here,” Imhotep answered.

“Are
gods different in your land?” King Djoser asked.

“I
don’t think we have any gods,” Imhotep answered.

“What
is a god?” King Djoser said, turning back to face the river.  “I
understand you have seen Djefi and were at To-She for The Cutting Out of
Sobek’s Tongue.  Djefi keeps a crocodile that represents the god
Sobek.  Is the crocodile a god?  At times he is a vessel for the
god’s ka, his spirit.  But the rest of the time, Imhotep, I think he is
just a crocodile.

“What
about Re?  So distant, so painful to look at.  Eternal, unchanging,
giver of life.  Hetephernebti has no doubts that the fiery circle is the
great god Re, and my sister is a very smart woman, Imhotep.  Very wise.

“There
is a difference, I think between the embodiment of the god and the spirit of
the god.  Am I a god?  I cannot crush a rock with my hand or bring a
dead person back to life.  But I believe that my spirit is a god’s
spirit.  I truly believe that, Imhotep.  I believe that Kemet
deserves nothing less than a god as ruler.  I am the ruler.  When I
die, whoever takes the throne will be filled with the godlike spirit that rules
Kemet, the very ka that lives inside me.

“I can
make mistakes.  This body is a man’s, after all.  But the ka, the
essence of what I am, that, Imhotep, is godlike.  It must be.”

They
stood by the riverbank, listening to the water slowly pass.

“And
so I will give this gift to Khnum.  I will give it gladly and
freely.  Khnum is my father, creator of the Two Lands and I am giving to
him what is already his.  If this pleases him and he brings the water,
then all will be well.”

He
looked at Imhotep, his face just inches away from his adviser’s face. 
“And all will be well, will it not, Imhotep?”

K
ing Djoser announced the gift and the
additional expansion of the Temple of Khnum and then settled in on the island,
refusing to leave until the waters began to rise.

Imhotep,
as much a captive now as Bata, waited with the king and his guard.  To
keep the young soldiers from boredom, Sekhmire sent a hunting party into the
western desert.  The boatmen were allowed to go to their homes on leave,
but were ordered to return within a month or sooner if the waters began to
rise.

The
days settled into a routine of exploring the island, swimming in the river and
waiting for the water to rise.  As much as he enjoyed the time with Meryt
and the luxury of the leisure, Imhotep remained on edge, worried that he
remembered the translation of the stele correctly, wondering if history
correctly recorded that the famine ended after seven years and fearful of what
King Djoser’s reaction would be if the flood was meager again.

His
concern only increased one morning when Sekhmire arrived after breakfast and
asked him to walk with him.

Imhotep
had quickly learned that ‘going for a walk’ meant important matters needed to
be discussed away from others’ ears.  He had also learned that small talk
in ancient Egypt never started with the weather.  It didn’t rain, there
was no change in temperature; there was nothing to talk about.  The only
change was in the level of the river.  Until recently, that had never been
a concern because it always rose and fell at the same time each year.

Instead,
conversation often opened with questions about one’s family: parents, children,
and spouses, whatever was at hand.

“Meryt
looks well,” Sekhmire said as they started down the gentle incline from the
temple to the river.

“Thank
you,” Imhotep answered.  “She is well.  And your son and wife? 
Is there news?”

Sekhmire
smiled a smile of genuine pleasure.  “Siptah got into a fight with a
neighbor boy who is two years older. Siptah has a black eye, but the other boy
ran home crying to his mother.  He shouldn’t fight, but if he does, I am
happy that he won.  His mother will punish him, of course.  Gently, I
hope.”

“He
will be a soldier?”

Sekhmire
nodded, but his eyes were distant.  “I always thought my sons would be
soldiers.  There is honor there and Kemet needs strong hands.  I was
chosen for the guard of the king.  Now I command it, and there is no
higher honor.  But I wonder sometimes what lies beyond our borders, beyond
the cataracts.

“When
King Djoser said that the temple, my father’s temple, would receive a tenth of
all the wealth that comes from Nubia and beyond, I began to wonder what Nubia
would look like.  King Djoser told me that you said there is a land beyond
Nubia where there are so many trees that you have to cut a path through them.

“Is
that true?”

Imhotep
nodded.  “Kemet is a beautiful land and the river is life itself. 
The land that I come from has small mountains that are covered with trees and
grass.  It has higher mountains, so high that the tops are cold and
covered with ice.  There are valleys so deep that it takes a full day to
climb out of one.  There are fields of grain, so wide and long that it
takes days to cross them.”

“Is
there gold?”

“Not
as much as here, or in Nubia.”

Sekhmire
squatted by the river and picked up some gravel.  He played with the small
pebbles, pouring them from one hand to another.  Imhotep sat beside him,
waiting for him to come to his point.

“They
say you see the future,” Sekhmire finally said.  He turned to look at
Imhotep.

“Some
of it,” he answered.  “I know more about what will happen five thousand
years from now than what will happen tomorrow.”

“How?”

“The
country I come from is five thousand years in the future.  I don’t know how
it happened that I am here and I am not certain how I can get back.  Or
that I want to go back.”

Sekhmire
looked down at the stones in his hand.  “What you say is hard to
understand.  It has never happened before.  Some people would say it
has not happened now.  Some people would say that you are from a land that
we do not know and that you tell us things because your king wants to take
control of the Two Lands.”

Imhotep
nodded his head at what Sekhmire said.

“That
would make more sense.  But it isn’t true.  What have I done,
Sekhmire?  I have tried to help Prince Teti, I have told King Djoser what
I know. I am telling you the truth now, even though it sounds impossible.”

Sekhmire
weighed his words.  “Why did you tell King Djoser to make such a huge gift
to the Temple of Khnum? 

“You
know that it is my father’s temple.  Do you think you can buy my
allegiance to King Djoser this way?” He said the words quietly, but Imhotep
heard an underlying anger in his voice.

When
he had recited the words of the stele to King Djoser, Imhotep hadn't known that
Sekhmire's father was priest of the temple here. When he learned of the
relationship, he knew Sekhmire would be suspicious. He knew he had to persuade
the guard's leader that he was sincere.