Imhotep (40 page)

And
she had seen the guard Siamun left behind, standing by a pillar, keeping watch.

Although
she was petrified of Siamun and his guards, she swore to herself that if Brian
survived this night, she would somehow find a way to save him.

A
fter Siamun had cut out his tongue, the
other men had held a red-hot iron to the stump to cauterize it.  The pain
from the knife had been nearly overwhelming.  The pain of the iron, the taste
of his own burning flesh and the sure knowledge that he was going to die had
released Brian.

As his
body slumped, exhausted and brutally abused, his consciousness seemed to
rise.  The smell of burning flesh was with him, but he was somewhere else,
high above them, looking down, seeing everything through a haze.

So
this is death,
he
thought.

He
felt the throbbing pain in his mouth, but his mind was on Tama.  He heard
her voice, felt her skin and saw her quick, sure smile.  He saw her face,
her eyes, and her mouth, and then he saw only darkness.

“T
ake him to the hut,” Siamun said. 
“Let Sobek get hungrier.  Tomorrow night we will rub him with fish oil and
leave no other food out for the crocodile.”

He
laughed and walked away.  The two guards untied Brian and carried him, his
legs dragging behind him as they crossed the courtyard.

Pahket
ducked back into her hut as they went by.  She saw that their faces were
drawn; they didn’t share Siamun’s enthusiasm for torture.

D
iane drank her courage from a clay pot the
next day, alternating between tears of sorrow and tears of rage.  She
started drinking beer at breakfast and continued until she passed out.

“You
can’t just decide to have someone killed.  You don’t just cut out
someone’s tongue.  You can’t just tie them up and leave them for a
crocodile to eat.  That just doesn’t happen.”

Diane
said the words, she shouted the words, but she knew it was happening.  And
she knew that there was nothing she could do.

She
had allowed herself to use her anger at Brian as an excuse: an excuse to ignore
him, an excuse to experiment with Yunet, an excuse to pretend that this was all
some sort of exotic adventure, that it wasn’t real.

All
her life, she realized, she had allowed others to make her decisions.  She
had learned to manipulate men, and women, too.  But in the end, she had
let others decide, so that she was never to blame.  If a restaurant was
bad, it wasn’t her fault, her date had picked it.  If a concert sucked, it
wasn’t her fault. 

There
was always someone else to blame.

And
now Brian, poor, sweet Brian, is paying the price,
she thought. 
I could have stayed
with him at To-She.  I could have insisted they go to the Caribbean for a
trip instead of this god-forsaken, barbaric land.
 

Could
have, should have.

Cursing
her weakness, she finished another pot of beer and passed out as night crept
into the temple grounds.

B
rian didn’t know why he was still alive.

He
thought he had died last night.  All day as he sat hunched in pain,
quivering with the sharp pangs that came in wave after wave over his face, his
mouth, his shoulder, he wished he were dead.

And
then he remembered Siamun.

If
there were any way he could be free, even for a moment, he would find a way to
kill Siamun.  He thought of Tim, traveling with the king, of Tama and
Hetephernebti.  If I can get free and find them, then something will be
done, he thought. 
No,
he thought,
if I get free, I’ll kill him
myself.

But
when he tried to picture himself with his hands around Siamun’s throat, he
realized that he barely had the strength to raise his arms.  He needed to
escape, to recover and then …

He
closed his eyes and tried to picture Tama.

Then
it was night and they came to take him again to the stone chair.

P
ahket watched his struggle to walk across the
courtyard.

They
tied him in the chair, cut the head from a dead fish and smeared in on his legs
and lap and then left.  Siamun returned to his hut, one of the guards
following after him.  The other guard walked to a pillar and leaned
against it, his eyes on Brian.

She
didn’t know how long it would take for the crocodile to come out of the well,
so as soon as Siamun had entered his hut, she walked out into the courtyard.

The
guard straightened up as he saw her.

“Go
back to your bed, Pahket, you shouldn’t be here.”

“Why?”
she asked, looking over at Brian.

“It’s
dangerous.”

“I saw
what happened last night,” she said.  “He doesn’t look too dangerous.” She
nodded toward Brian.

The
guard shook his head.  “No, he’s not dangerous.  It’s Sobek. 
He’s loose.  You’re not safe out here.”

She
drew closer to him. 

“I’m
safe if I’m with you,” she said, stopping and then turning her back to him,
looking back at Brian.  She knew that the guard would be looking at her,
wondering if he should take her, if she would cry out or if she came here
because she wanted him.

Pahket
knew that some women were attracted to danger and power.  She hoped the
guard would think she was one of them.

She
felt his hand on her bare shoulder, felt it slide down her back and squeeze her
hard.

“Maybe
I’m not safe with you,” she said without looking at him.

“Maybe
you don’t want to be safe,” he said, turning her around.

She
allowed him to take her, urging him to last longer, to be stronger and rougher.

He was
gasping from the exertion when he finished and then he fell heavily on her,
exhausted and satisfied.

She
slipped out from under him and sat leaning against the pillar, waiting for him
to stir, prepared to coax him into more sex if necessary.  When he began
to snore, she hurried to Brian.  He was awake, watching her.  His
eyes were clearer than she expected.

“Ahket,”
he said, her name sounding strange from his injured mouth.

She
untied him, glancing over her shoulder toward the guard and at the dark well.

Once
he was freed, she helped him to his feet.

“Iamun,”
he said, looking across the courtyard at the hut.

“No,
Brian.  You haven’t the strength.  He’ll kill you.”

Brian
knew she was right; he could barely stand.

She
led him to the outer edge of the courtyard, to the path that led to the
river.  Pahket had planned to just set him free, but she saw he was too
weak to escape on his own. 

She
helped him down the path and then sat him on the riverbank as she pushed one of
the small reed boats into the river.

She
helped him wade out to the boat and using the buoyancy of the water, pushed him
up on the boat.  She crawled on beside him, and with her legs straddling
the narrow boat she began to paddle across the river.

D
jefi imagined himself sitting on the
throne of the Two Lands.

The
walls of the palace would be covered with paintings of himself among the
gods.  Sobek, standing upright, his fierce crocodile snout held open to
display his ferocious teeth, would be foremost among them.

Fear
and strength would be the foundation of Kemet once Djefi was on the
throne.  The armies would no longer just patrol its borders. They would
storm into the land of cedar and gold and precious spices; they would seize
gems and silver.  They would return to the Two Lands with wealth and with slaves,
the just rewards for a land as strong as Kemet!

The
generals would come to him, followed by slaves carrying the wealth of their
land. Kemet would be powerful and feared.

By the
light of a hundred flickering torches, a banquet would be spread before
Djefi.  The finest beers and wines, platters of roasted oxen and geese,
fish and lamb would be set for him.  He could almost smell the aromas and
almost taste the perfectly seasoned foods, enough to make Sobek regrow his
tongue!

Servants
would wait on him, holding his wine cup, feeding him figs and wiping his lips
for him.

Yes,
he would sit upon the throne of the Two Lands and upon his lap would sit a
young boy, a beautiful innocent thing.  He would stroke the soft skin of
the young boy’s shoulders unbent by work, not yet dried and toughened by sun,
so soft and smooth.  And the boy would nestle against him and touch him,
reminding him of his own lost childhood.

Djefi
unconsciously emitted a soft sigh.

The
carriers reached the door of Waja-Hur’s room and slowly lowered the sedan chair
to the ground.  Two of them came to Djefi and helped him from the low
seat, hearing his bowels loudly belching as he stood up, a sound they had come
to expect from him.  They averted their eyes from the other carriers, who
would be making faces at the noise and odor.

Djefi,
oblivious to it all, held a satisfied smile on his face as he waddled through
the doorway of Waja-Hur’s room to meet again with Kanakht and the aging priest.

H
e was pleased to see three chairs in the
room.

Waja-Hur
stood by one of them, his hands twitching slightly as they rested on its
straight wooden back.  Kanakht, his posture formal and erect as always,
stood beside his old friend, talking softly.  They both turned as Djefi’s
shadow led him into the small room.

“You’ve
been here before, haven’t you?” Waja-Hur asked.

Kanakht
came around from behind the chair, his arms spread wide in welcome. 
“Djefi, how goes the progress on your temple?  And the training of Sobek?”
he added softly as he hugged Djefi in greeting.

Djefi
allowed the awkward embrace and then sat in one of the chairs.

He
nodded in appreciation as a servant appeared with a jar of beer.  After
taking a long drink he looked up at Kanakht. 

“The
temple will be ready, as will Sobek.” He took another long drink and, seeing no
linen cloths, wiped his mouth on his arm.  “The beer is good, Waja-Hur, or
Kanakht,” he added when he saw the confusion on Waja-Hur’s face.

Kanakht
stepped in smoothly.

“Waja-Hur
is focusing his attention elsewhere, Djefi.  But he will attend the
dedication of your temple at Kom Ombo and he remains as convinced as ever that
the Two Lands are not in balance.”

He
patted Waja-Hur softly on the back, “Isn’t that so, old friend?” Waja-Hur
looked up at him, seemingly startled to see him.

“Kanakht,”
he said as if recognizing him for the first time.

“I was
just telling First Prophet Djefi about your concerns.  That the Two Lands
must be brought back into balance,” he prompted.

Waja-Hur
nodded fiercely. 

“Just
as each man’s spirit must be balanced, so must the Two Lands.” His voice came
alive.  “It was always so.  It always will be so.  There is a
time for work and a time for rest.  We must honor the gods and we must
honor the land, and even ourselves.  Balance!  We must strive and we
must know our place.  The gods have given us the land, the sun, the water,
the strength, the knowledge.  When all are in harmony, then Kemet
thrives.”

The
old man paused as if out of breath, then he gulped in more air.  Little
white flecks of spittle clung to his lower lip.  He looked around the room
confused and grew silent.

Kanakht
said to Djefi, “Tell me about Sobek.”

Disconcerted
by the old man’s ramblings, Djefi turned to talk instead to Kanakht.

“At
the dedication, there will be one chair for the king.  Everyone else will
stand.  Sobek will be led from his lair, guided by two acolytes, each of
them holding a leash.  If a leash should break, or if one of the boys
should stumble and drop one, then Sobek will be free to do what he pleases.”
Djefi arched his eyebrows knowingly and sipped from his beer.

“And
what will Sobek do, Djefi?”

“He
will attack whoever is sitting in the chair, of course.  He will show his
fierce displeasure with the king.  He may tear off his leg; he may drag
him screaming into his lair, he may devour him on the spot.  He will do …
”

Kanakht
interrupted him.  “How do we know he will do that?”

Djefi
showed his annoyance at the question.  He was no longer the back-country
priest he had been when Kanakht had first recruited him.  He had been to
Waset, he had seen the fruits of power, he had ordered a new temple to be built
and it was being built - his word was iron! 

Once
Sobek attacks King Djoser, once the pathway to the throne was open, although
Kanakht may think he will walk that path, Siamun and I will have something to
say about that, Djefi thought.

He put
his annoyance aside and decided to give Kanakht a glimpse of who really held
the power.

“Do
you know that your man Nimaasted failed to deal with the outlander named
Brian?”

Kanakht
nodded.  “I know.  This Brian was aided by someone - someone
from one of your boats,” he turned the weakness back to Djefi.

“No,”
Djefi answered quickly.  “By another outlander!  This Imhotep who is
now by the king’s side - in your place - he is the one.  But
Brian was foolish enough to go to Kom Ombo, to the temple I am building. 
There he was caught.  He is the one who sits on the king’s chair, teaching
Sobek, offering himself to the great god so that Sobek will have a hunger for
whoever sits in that chair!”

For a
moment Kanakht imagined the terror Brian must be going through, then he steeled
himself and put the feeling aside.  What was one man’s life compared to
the greater good his sacrifice would bring to the Two Lands?

He
nodded his head at Djefi.  “Excellent!” he said.  “You have found a
way to solve your problem and at the same time create a powerful force. 
You have gifts I did not see before.”

Djefi
emptied his beer and motioned for the servant to refill his cup.  He
belched loudly and smiled at the hearty sound.

As
Kanakht turned away to hide his smile, a shadow darkened the doorway.  He
looked up to see Hetephernebti standing there, Tama by her side, looking like a
small, younger version of the priestess of Re.

“Greetings,
dear Hetephernebti, greetings Tama,” Kanakht said, wondering if the women had
been lingering outside the doorway long.

As she
always seemed to, Hetephernebti anticipated his question. 

“I
told your guards that there was shade and food to be had in the courtyard,
Kanakht.  What need to guard us in the temple of Thoth?  Only
outlanders need to have fear here in Khmunu.”

Djefi
looked into his cup of beer.  He didn’t like Hetephernebti, liked her even
less since her haughty attitude weeks ago when his party had been attacked by
the outlander now called Imhotep. 

Once
your brother is gone, I’ll put you in your proper place,
he thought.

Kanakht
shook his head.  “I’m sorry, dear Hetephernebti, but I think you have
heard rumors.  It is the outlanders who bring fear to Khmunu.  One of
them attacked and killed a temple acolyte a few weeks ago.  A man named
Brian.  I’m sure you have heard of it.”

He
turned to Tama.  “You were here.  I'm sure that you’ve heard of this
Brian.”

Tama
stepped into the crowded hut.  “Yes, I’ve heard of him.  In fact, I
have talked with him.  He says that Nimaasted and three others attacked
him.  I believe him.”

“He is
an outlaw, Tama.  He is dangerous.  Or should I say, that he was
dangerous?”

Djefi
chuckled and broke wind loudly.  “I don’t think danger is one of his
attributes any more,” he said in his squeaky voice.

Tama
and Hetephernebti waited for him to continue, but it was Kanakht who
spoke. 

“He
was captured at Kom Ombo.  Djefi is holding him for me until after the
ceremony here.  Then I’ll journey to Kom Ombo; I’m heading there for the
dedication of Sobek’s new temple.  Once there I’ll dispense justice to
this outlander.”

“Be
careful of the ‘justice’ you administer, vizier,” Tama said.  “A final
justice waits for us all.  Keep your heart light.”

“Thank
you, Tama.  Advice is always welcome, especially on matters of
ma’at.  But, I believe that sometimes strong measures must be taken when
the balance is disturbed.  I think the gods understand.”

Tama
was about to answer when she saw Waja-Hur begin to sway.  She hurried to
him and steadied him. 

“Little
father,” she said, leading him around to the front of the chair and helping him
to sit.  She knelt by him and looked up at his aged face.  “Waja-Hur,
have you eaten today?”

He
looked at her, his eyes watery and confused.

Hetephernebti
left the hut quickly.  “I’ll find him food,” she said over her shoulder.

Kanakht
knelt beside Tama at Waja-Hur’s side.

“You
know that Waja-Hur believes as we do, Tama,” he said quietly.  “There is
an unbalance in the land.  I know that you and Hetephernebti are good
friends.  I am her friend, too.  And yours.  But she is blinded
by love for her brother.  He is not a god.  You know it in your
heart.

“King
Djoser’s actions offend the gods,” Kanakht continued “The result is
famine, unrest, unhappiness.  Change is coming, Tama.  Brian
disappeared when you did.  We both know it was not coincidence.  Now
he has been caught and will be punished.

“I do
not think that Brian and this pretender, who Djoser has chosen to name Imhotep,
arrived here at this time by accident.  The gods are testing Kemet. 
They are showing us how unbalanced the Two Lands have become.

“I am
not a priest, Tama, but I am vizier.  The Two Lands are my heart and I
will preserve them.  No matter what it takes.  Be sure of that. 
Change is coming.  Be careful where you stand.  You are with us,
Tama, or you are against us.”

The
young priestess kept her eyes on her friend Waja-Hur.  His eyes were
unfocused, his breathing shallow.  A sheen of sweat had appeared on his
skin.

“I
don’t know what you see through your eyes, Kanakht.  I have walked the Two
Lands.  The people are hungry, yes, that is true.  But they are
hungry for food, not power.  They want to fill their bellies, not their .
. . ” She turned to him now.

He
expected to see anger in her eyes, or fear.  Instead he saw confidence and
honesty.  “You are older than I and more experienced,” she said. 
“But please listen to me, Kanakht.  I do not seek power, I do not want
rewards.  I am Ma’at.  I seek the truth.

“This
is truly the Two Lands, but in a different way.  There are those, like you
and I, who live a life of ease.  I do not sew or cook.  Your hands
have not seen hard work in the years I have known you.  We do not work the
land, we do not bake the bread or brew the beer, yet our bellies are never
empty and our skin is always oiled.

“No
wait, hear me out,” she said as he scowled and started to speak.

“We
are needed.  I am not suggesting that we are not.  Without your
guidance, our granaries would never be filled or maintained, our borders would
not be secure.  Djefi, Waja-Hur, Hetephernebti and I, the gods we
represent give the land order and give the people a framework in which to live
their lives.

“But,
Kanakht, without the other half of the Two Lands, without the farmers and the
bakers and the pressers of oil and the butchers and the fishermen, without
them, you and I would be hungry.  We would die.  We may think that
they need us, but we need them more.

“This
change you say is coming, it may be no more than changing kohl, no more than
fresh linens.  What means so much to us may be meaningless to the people
who fill the Two Lands.

“They
follow King Djoser now.  They followed his father before him and they will
follow Prince Teti once he becomes king.  But what they really follow is
their bellies and their hearts.  When they awake each day they answer to
their own needs, their hungers, their aches, and their desires.  It
matters not to them who sits on the throne of the Two Lands.”