Imhotep (17 page)

A
s they walked along the canal edge, Tim
tried to observe her without drawing attention to himself.  She seemed to
be enjoying herself, drinking wine and allowing the strikingly beautiful woman
with the pink flower tiara to feed her fruit and bread from a tray held by a
young boy.

She
reclined on a low wooden divan, her head resting on the lap of her companion
who was idly caressing Diane’s bare shoulders.  The black woman drank from
a golden goblet and occasionally helped Diane raise her head to drink from it
also.

They
were watching an elderly harp player who played for them, accompanied by two
young girls who sang softly while rattling sistrums.  From the looks on
their faces, Tim guessed that the heat and wine and soothing music would soon
have them asleep.

There
was no sign of Brian.

Near
the women, the fat priest Djefi sat in a cushioned chair, eating and drinking
steadily.  A line of boys carried jars of beer and platters of food to
him.  Although he had an eye on the musicians, Tim thought the priest
looked preoccupied by something, casting glances at Diane and then looking off
into the distance.  Whatever was bothering the priest of Sobek, it didn’t
seem to interfere with his drinking.

Tim
remembered tomb paintings of religious festivals.  In addition to the
priests and the musicians, they often showed nobles actually throwing up from
drinking so much.  It was clear that the party around him was heading in
that direction.

“Tim,”
Ahmes said.  “There.”

He
nodded toward the island in the center of the canal where the gleaming statue
of Re sat on its barge.

At
first Tim didn’t see what Ahmes meant, then the boy looked pointedly at the
edge of the island and Tim saw it:  A walkway, submerged just below the
water line, led from the island across the canal to the courtyard.  The
walkway was painted blue so that it was almost invisible.

He
remembered now how Hetephernebti had seemed to walk across the water at the
beginning of the ceremony.

His
attention was drawn from the walkway by loud voices just behind him and
Ahmes.  Two men, fueled by beer and full bellies, were arguing over a
small black statue of Horus.  Tim couldn’t understand their slurred words,
but from their tone, he knew where it was heading.

The
crowd around them began to edge away, forming a circle.  The men threw off
their kilts and began to circle each other.  Instead of trying to stop the
fight, the crowd began to cheer them on.  They had no weapons, and judging
from their sluggish movements, Tim doubted that they would be able to do each
other too much harm.

Ahmes
edged closer to the opening of the circle to watch the men.  Tim thought
to pull him away, but he saw that other young boys were at the front of the
crowd, eager to see the excitement.

The
men continued to circle both of them talking loudly.  Tim didn’t
understand them, but assumed it was the same kind of trash talk he would have
heard back in the twenty-first century.

Suddenly
one of the men rushed the other, his arms wide to grab him.  The other
man, shorter and stockier, tried to dodge him, but moved too slowly.  They
collided and fell to the ground.  Tim heard the air rush from them as they
landed.

There
was no movement from the two men for a moment and Tim was surprised to feel
disappointment that the fight was already over.  Then the stocky man
farted loudly, bringing a laugh from the crowd.  He pushed up on his
skinny opponent and swung a leg up into the air for leverage.

With a
loud snort and more breaking of wind, he managed to push the skinny man off to
the side and began to swivel slowly around him.  The thinner man, his legs
spread wide for balance, pushed hard, but was slowly losing the struggle to
remain on top.

Now
the crowd began to shout at the fighters.  The muscles on the heavier
man’s neck pulled tight as he pushed hard.  The thinner man, fighting to
keep his vanishing advantage, tried to dig his toes into the hard dirt. 

The
heavier man grunted and pushed hard, edging sideways in the dirt.  The
thinner man, pushing down, suddenly found himself staring at the empty ground
as the other fighter swiveled on top of him.

The
thinner man fell face down in the dust as the stocky man swung on top and
straddled him.  The winner sat on the other man’s bare buttocks and
bounced up and down, his arms in the air, and shouted his happiness as he
celebrated his victory.

Some
in the crowd cheered, others laughed.  A few waved their hands in
disappointment at the short match and turned to walk away.

The
winner stood and extended his hand to the loser, helping him up from the
ground.  Another man stepped out of the crowd with a jar of beer and
handed it to the winner, who passed it along to his opponent with a comment
that Tim couldn’t hear.  They both laughed and walked over to where their
kilts lay on the ground.

As
they walked away Tim thought about a bar fight he had seen while he was in
college, six years ago and five thousand years in the future.

There
had been so much more anger and frustration in that fight.  This had been
a wrestling match, intense and strenuous, but the point had been to master
someone, not hurt them.  The fight he had seen in college had started as
an argument over a spilled drink and ended with a man sprawled unconscious in
the gravel parking lot behind the bar.  The men had started with the same
circling and verbal taunting.  But instead of wrestling, they had turned
their fists on each other.

Tim
had stood paralyzed among the small crowd that watched.  He had wanted to
stop the fight, but both men were larger than he was and he had been afraid
that he would become a target.  The crowd itself had had a blood fever
about it, eager to see serious violence.

Egged
on by the crowd, the men had swung white-knuckled fists at each other until
one’s wild hook caught the other in his throat.  The man had clutched his
neck and fallen to his knees unable to breathe.  The other had circled
behind and kicked him in the kidneys, sending him sprawling over the
stones.  Then he had stood over him and kicked and kicked, lifting the
loser’s inert body off the ground over and over until the crowd turned away in
disgust.

Tim
thought about road rage, school shootings, drive-by shootings and other violence
from his time when strangers unleashed their anger and pain on people they
didn’t know.

Are
people more violent in my time or are there just better weapons and more
opportunities?  More tension?  More frustration?

He
thought about the horrors of the Inquisition and the evolution of torture, the
advances in weapons from sharper, harder metals to gunpowder and guns and on to
nuclear bombs and chemical warfare.  There was a steady increase in the
destruction man was willing and able to inflict.  But there were advances
in medicine and agriculture, too.  And a greater awareness of the needs of
people throughout the world, and even of the pain suffered by some
animals.  The cute ones, he thought.

The
advances in the ability to kill are just the normal march of progress that also
led to new ways to help and save people.  And no doubt, he thought, there
are people alive here in the distant past, who would welcome the ability to
overcome their enemies more thoroughly.

The
pace of life here is slower and people aren’t taught to measure their worth by
the size of their television screen or their four-wheel-drive.  Lives
aren’t driven by clocks, and multitasking doesn’t exist.  There’s no need
for it.  Although their lives are simple and they don’t have much compared
to people from my time, he thought, this life seems like a vacation.

He was
left with a central question: Are people less violent here in the past, or are
there simply fewer irritations and less need to vent tension and frustration?

He
looked around at the crowd with different eyes.

This
wasn’t a romantic fantasyland that he had wandered into.  These were real
people, capable of as much love and as much violence as his neighbors back
home.  They felt hunger, they grew old, and they died, usually in fewer
than forty years.  They started their adult lives early with marriage,
work and childbirth, and while they didn’t face the frustrations of corporate
America, they were subject to the whims of the king and depended on the annual
harvest for survival.

Right
now, he knew, the harvest was uncertain.

He
didn’t know about King Djoser.

T
im waited all day for the right time to
cross the canal.

If
Brian had been with Diane, he would have gone to the edge of the canal and
waved a greeting, calling out in English, as soon as he had seen them. 
But he was worried about Brian’s absence. 

Paneb
had told him that Djefi was mean and vicious.  Was Brian being held
hostage?  Had he been hurt?

Tim
wanted to talk to Diane privately and find out.  They could make a plan,
meet somewhere, go back to the tomb and return to their lives.  At least,
they could.  Tim wasn’t sure if he wanted to return, there was nothing
waiting for him in the future but memories.

Djefi,
however, was only half the problem.  The black woman never left Diane’s
side, and Diane seemed happy with all the attention.  She smiled when the
woman caressed her, ate from her hand and snuggled up against her to nap when
the afternoon heat started to press against them.

A
s the early evening light began to lose
its strength, the festival caught a second wind.

Many
of the pilgrims had taken a nap.  They were awake now and ready to be
entertained.

The
ram-masked men returned, untied the barge and pulled it around the far side of
the stone island to continue its trip.  The twelve pairs of torches that
lined the canal from the central island to the far wall, where the barge would
leave, were lit.  Hetephernebti returned, accompanied by her coterie of
young girls, all dressed in white gowns.  Three elderly harp players set
up on the far side of the canal by the nobles and a line of priestesses holding
sacred sistrums lined the second half of the waterway.

Hetephernebti
had washed away her glittering gold covering.  Backlit by the setting sun,
her elegant form was a dark silhouette sheathed in a translucent gown trimmed
with bands of deep gold and dark red.  Accompanied by the strumming harps
and the dry rattle of the sistrums, she began a song of praise to Re as the
ram-masked men began to pull the god and his barge slowly down the canal toward
the western exit. 

The
eastern side of the electrum obelisk was dark now, the torches on that side
unlit.  The hieroglyphic etchings on the northern and southern sides were
caught in shadows cast by the flickering torches.  As Tim saw them he felt
a disturbing wave of dejavu and flashed back to the ceremony he had imagined
beneath the Step Pyramid.

The
uneasy recognition stayed with him, coloring the excitement he felt rising from
the crowd as it joined in Hetephernebti’s chant and the light faded.  The
eastern edge of the plaza was caught in a dusky light.  Dark shadows
shrouded the western wall that encircled the courtyard.  A darker shadow
defined the exit through which Re’s canal would pass.

The
courtyard grew darker as the priestesses extinguished each torch as Re’s barge
passed it. 

Although
the crowd continued to chant the praises of Re, Hetephernebti seemed to have
sunk into a trance.  She stood by the entrance to the tunnel that
represented the netherworld, chanting the forms of Re’s name to help him on his
nighttime journey:  ‘He of the West,’ ‘He Who has Command Over his Cave,’
‘He who Renews the Earth,’ ‘He of the Netherworld.’

Tim
saw dark forms emerge from the ‘netherworld’ entrance, priestesses portraying
gods who would accompany Re through the night and help him in his rebirth
tomorrow morning.

One
figure was a slight girl who held a large ostrich feather, symbol of the
goddess Ma’at, Re’s closest ally.  Another wore a headpiece made of the
horns of a cow with a golden disk rising between them, a sign of the goddess
Hathor.  The goddess Nut, who would swallow Re at night and give birth to
him in the morning, waited with them for the arrival of the barge.

Hetephernebti’s
chanting of Re’s names ended and she began to call out magical spells to help
the god survive his twelve hours in the land beyond life.

As the
next to last pair of torches were extinguished, Tim heard a whispered
excitement course through the crowd.  Along the shadowy walls walked men
carrying bags that seemed alive with movement.  Some small children near
Tim began to whimper and he saw a gleam of anticipation and fear in the eyes of
the adults near him.  He looked around for his friends, but could not see
them.

Re’s
barge slid quietly into the dark opening, the last two torches were
extinguished and Hetephernebti began to wail in mourning at the god’s
passing.  All around him, women and girls joined in the lamentation. 
Caught up in the moment, the older men shuffled their feet and wept silently. 
Young boys, trying to be brave, looked down at the ground but Tim saw their
shoulders shudder as they sobbed.

Suddenly
the crying was interspersed with shrieks, coming from the edges of the plaza,
now dimly lighted by the first of night’s stars.  Tim saw movement as the
pilgrims nearest the walls began to jump and scream.

The
frenzied movement rippled across the plaza, preceded by cries and shouts and
then Tim saw the reason: swarms of scarab beetles, the symbol of Re’s rising
and rebirth, had been released from along the walls.  The heavy-bodied
black beetles scuttled quickly among the pilgrims’ bare feet, climbing over
them as they skittered across the plaza.

The
crowd danced away from the dangerous looking beetles, trying to avoid contact
with the sacred symbols.  After the first rush of adrenaline, the
pilgrims, knowing that the beetles really were harmless, began to laugh and
shout exaggerated warnings to each other.

As the
scarabs disappeared into the shadows, the pilgrims, murmuring their approval of
the ceremony, turned to the food and beer tables that had been refilled.

Tim
looked to the western wall where the barge was now out of sight.  The
torches along the walls and canal were being relit.  Tim saw the
‘goddesses’ at the exit look out over the crowd for a moment before turning to
enter the cave of night.

In the
flickering light, Tim realized that the girl who was holding the ostrich
feather was the same one he had seen smearing the Nile’s mud on herself
yesterday.

T
he crowd grew quiet as they finished
eating and drinking.  Worn from the day’s excitement, the children began
to gather with their parents, and some families filtered away from the plaza
toward their campsites.

On the
other side of the canal, where no scarabs had been released, some of the chairs
had been replaced by low wooden beds.  The nobles and priests, too tired
or drunk to return to their rooms, were lounging there, talking and drinking.

Tim
saw Djefi’s round form slouched in a chair, his feet propped on a
footrest.  His arms hung limply at his side. His head twitched
occasionally as he slept.  Diane and the black woman were lying on a palm
frond-filled mat on the ground.

Servants
moved among the slumbering nobles and priests, gathering empty ceramic jars and
wooden plates.

Paneb
and Ahmes approached Tim as he looked across the canal.  Paneb was walking
stiffly, clearly trying to keep his balance.  One hand rested on Ahmes'
shoulder as they approached.  Tim saw the women waiting near one of the
arched openings in the plaza wall.

“We’re
going back to the camp,” Paneb said slowly and carefully.

Tim
smiled.  Even drunk, Paneb was a considerate host.  He shook his
head.  “Go without me,” Tim said.  “I will be there soon.”

“Do
you know the way, Netjer Tim?” Ahmes asked.  “I can stay with you.”

Tim
nodded.  “I can find you,” he said.

“Of
course he knows the way,” Paneb said a little too loudly.  “Do you forget
who he is?”

“Are
you sure?” Ahmes asked Tim.

“Yes,
go with your father.  I am fine,” Tim said.

“If
you drink any beer, be careful to look in the jar first.  I saw some kids
putting some of those nasty dung beetles in some of the jars,” Paneb said over
his shoulder as Ahmes led him away.  “I never heard of such a thing. 
Such a waste.  Why if I had done that … ”

His
voice trailed into a low murmur.  Ahmes looked back once and waved at Tim,
who returned the wave.

Once
they were outside the plaza, Tim walked casually to the edge of the canal near
the island.

Behind
him only a few families and stragglers remained, all of them clustered near the
food and beer tables.  Across the canal, he heard only the deep breath and
occasional snort or snore from the nobles.

Looking
carefully into the canal, he found the nearly invisible footbridge just below
the water’s surface.  Cautiously he stepped onto it and crossed to the
island where he found a similar underwater bridge to the other side of the
canal.

Once
on the opposite bank, he crouched and waited for a moment to see if there would
be any reaction from the group of sleepers.  Then he walked quietly to
Diane’s small group.

Djefi
was snoring heavily; Diane and the black woman were entangled, breathing softly
and deeply.

Tim
knelt by Diane and touched her shoulder.

“Diane? 
Don’t be startled.  Are you alright?  Where’s Brian?” he whispered.

She
opened her eyes and looked at him.

“My
name is Tim.  I’m from our time.  I can help you.”

Her
gaze was unfocused and Tim wondered if she was too drunk to understand him.

“I saw
you and Brian enter the tomb. I followed you.  Where’s Brian?  Is he
hurt?”

She
shook her head.  “Who are you?” she asked sleepily, raising herself up on
her elbow.

“My
name is Tim,” he spoke slowly.

“Don’t
know any Tims.  Sorry,” she started to giggle, then suddenly leaned toward
him and vomited.  Then she sank back on the bed and closed her eyes. 
As she lay back, Tim saw that the black woman was awake, watching and
listening.

He
stood slowly to leave and gasped in surprise as the other woman reached across
Diane and grabbed his kilt.

“Who
are you?” she hissed in Egyptian.

“Who
are you?” he answered, straightening up.  He tried to sound important and
godly, but knew that his voice sounded frightened.

“What
do you know of Brian?” she said loudly, her grip tightening on his kilt.

She
spoke too quickly and Tim didn’t understand the question. He looked down at her
hand and said, “No.”

She
pulled tighter as he backed away.  The kilt’s waist tore and the linen
came loose in her hand.  Wearing only his boxer briefs, Tim turned away
from her.

“Stop
him!  Stop the thief!” the woman yelled.  Tim saw Djefi stir and
other shadows began to move.  He ran toward the island, hearing footsteps
following him. 

Afraid
of slipping on the narrow submerged walkway, he ran past it and dove into the
water.  Staying under it, he swam through the darkness toward the opening
in the western wall.

“Where
is the thief?” a temple guard asked as he ran up to stand beside Yunet who was
by the canal, staring into the water.

“Get
me a torch!” she commanded.

“I
don’t see anyone,” the guard said.

“Of
course not, it’s too dark.  He went in there.  Get a torch!” She
watched the water and looked along both banks of the canal, watching to see
where he emerged.

The
guard returned with two companions, each of them carrying small torches, their
flames wavering uncertainly.  There was no movement atop the water or
along the canal.  To Yunet, who had never heard of someone swimming
underwater, the stranger’s disappearance was impossible.

“Get
more guards, search the plaza.”

“What
does he look like?” The first guard asked.

She
looked at him in disgust.  “He’ll be the wet one, you idiot.  Go!”

T
im stayed under the water as long as he
could and then feeling his way along the bank, he rose slowly to the surface,
quickly sucked in fresh air and then swam back toward the bottom of the shallow
canal.

The
water was too dark to see his way, so he swam along the edge, feeling his way
away from the shouting woman.  He focused on swimming and staying near the
bottom of the canal and tried to push away thoughts of spears slashing through
the water or a circle of guards waiting when he broke the surface.

He
didn’t know how far he had swum, but the water seemed darker now.  Bubbles
escaped from his mouth as he released the pressure that was growing in his
lungs.  He hoped they wouldn’t be seen on the surface.

He
pushed his arms out, pulled back again and knew he needed to get some air.

Feeling
the bank on his right side, he floated upward.  He felt his heart beat
fast and hard as he broke the surface and drew air deeply into his lungs.