Imhotep (18 page)

He was
inside the exit tunnel.  The canal stretched away toward the lighter area
outside.  He heard the woman still shouting and saw shadows hurrying
across the island to the other side of the canal.

He
closed his eyes to help them adjust to the darkness.

When
he opened them he saw that someone was standing back from the canal in the
darker shadows by the tunnel wall.

“I saw
you,” she said.

Tim
stood still, unsure what to say.  The canal ran flush against the other
side of the tunnel.  A narrow footpath ran along the side where he
stood.  He wondered where it would lead.

“Yesterday,
by the river.  Early in the morning,” she said.

With a
start Tim realized who she was.

“Help
me,” he said quietly.  “Help me leave.” He looked back out the tunnel and
saw torches bobbing closer to the canal entrance.

The
girl followed his gaze and saw the guards coming closer.  “Give me those,”
she said, pointing to his boxer briefs.

“What?”
Tim said.

“Hurry,”
she said.

Although
Tim didn’t know that word, he understood the urgency in her voice and heard the
footsteps behind them drawing closer to the canal opening.  In the
darkness of the tunnel he slid the wet boxer briefs off and handed them to her.

She
turned and ran down the path away from the plaza.  Tim leaned back against
the wall, trying to make himself less visible.

In a
few seconds she returned.  “Follow me,” she said.  She reached out
her hand and took his.  Pulling him gently she led the way down the path
and turned into a narrow opening that left the main trail.

“I am Meryt. 
You talk strangely,” she said.

“I am
Tim,” he said as she led him along a winding garden path to the back of the
temple complex.

“W
hat thief?  What are you talking
about?” Djefi squeaked in his high-pitched voice.  He had struggled to his
feet, but was not fully awake.  He didn’t understand what Yunet was
talking about and why men were running around the nearly deserted plaza
carrying torches.  He felt his stomach gurgle as another flush of
half-digested food and wine prepared to spew its way out of his stomach.

“Another
netjer,” Yunet said quietly.

She
was speaking slowly, separating her words carefully.  She did that
sometimes when Djefi made her explain something a second time.

“What
do you mean?” he said, looking around for a serving boy.

“He
spoke their language.  He named Brian.”

Suddenly
Djefi fell to his hands and knees and threw up.  Yunet turned away. 
She understood communing with the gods and she enjoyed the feeling of oneness
she experienced when she had drunk enough of the sacred wine.  But she
never threw it up again.  One did that only if they continued to drink
more than they needed. 

But
Djefi is a man of excesses, she thought.  Like all men.

“Boy!”
Djefi shouted weakly.

A
servant boy ran up to him, sized up his bulk and quickly waved for another boy
to join them.

“More
wine.  And bread.  Much more bread!  And help me to a chair.”

Yunet
looked around the plaza.  The guards had followed the wall around the
entire courtyard without finding the intruder.  Two had entered the narrow
tunnel entrance by the western wall.  They hadn’t returned yet.

“We
were sleeping,” Yunet told Djefi, speaking slowly again.  “I heard someone
approach.  He knelt by Diane and talked to her in that strange language
they use.  She answered him, then she got sick and fell back asleep. 
I asked him who he was, but he refused to answer.  Then he ran away. 
I grabbed his kilt, but it came loose.”

“Was
he big like the other one?” Djefi asked.

She
shook her head. 

“He
looked like an Egyptian.  He was dressed like a common worker.” She held
up the torn kilt.  “But he wore something else.”

Djefi
waved his hand at her comment.  He was more interested in what the
stranger had said.

“Wake
Diane.”

Yunet
didn’t want to disturb the goddess, she was so delicate and innocent lying
there as everyone around her shouted and ran.  Such serenity and
calmness!  But she knew that Djefi wouldn’t be satisfied until he had
asked her about the stranger.

H
etephernebti was sad.

People
were so consumed by their fears and ambitions, their desires.  They were
so busy planning and plotting their lives that they failed to live them. 
Each waking moment was a gift from Re.  His warmth and blessing were given
every day to everyone: poor, strong, crippled, farmers, builders, merchants,
women, children, young and old.

All he
asks in return is for us to live, fully alive and aware.  He brings light
and life to all.  We can surely take his energy and use it to live. 
It should be so simple.

Djefi
and his small entourage were almost vibrating with anger and distrust. 
Just
look at him, fat, sweating, angry.  How can he live like that?
 
She wondered.

“A
thief in the night.  This is not the hospitality one expects,” he said
sulkily.  His tiny voice, so odd for his size, was petulant, like a little
boy who has been denied the last sweet cake.

Hetephernebti
nodded.  “Please find First Prophet Djefi a comfortable seat,” she said to
a serving girl.  She looked at Yunet who stood slightly behind the
quivering priest.  With her dark flashing eyes and tightly pressed lips,
it was obvious to Hetephernebti that it was Yunet who was bringing the charge.

The
servant brought a chair for Djefi, who ungainly plopped into it.

“Now,
First Prophet, what has the thief taken?”

Djefi
squirmed in his seat.  He held out a hand to Yunet who put the torn kilt
into it.

“He
left this behind,” he said.

She
nodded gravely as if leaving a torn kilt behind were a high offense.

“I
hope you were not harmed by the dropping of his kilt,” she said.

Djefi
stared at her, aware that she was mocking him.

“He
didn’t leave it, it was taken by force,” he said indignantly.

Hetephernebti
kept her expression impassive.

“And
your guards found this,” Djefi held up the still damp boxer-briefs.  “He
was wearing it.  It was found at the pathway that leads to the area where
the pilgrims are encamped.  I suggest you have the encampment searched.”

Hetephernebti
shook her head. 

“They
are my guests.  No one was injured.  Show me the injury if there was
one.  If not, then I will not search the pilgrims.  The celebration
is a time of peace and harmony, not distrust.”

“Perhaps
in Iunu you don’t find it alarming when a stranger attacks a group of sleeping
pilgrims, your guests,” Djefi said.

“Dear
Djefi,” she answered.  “I am not making light of this.  But truly,
there was no harm done, except that this man was disrobed unexpectedly. 
You are intact.  I am sorry that your slumbers were interrupted.”

“He
spoke a foreign tongue,” Yunet said.

“Foreign?”

“Unheard
of before.”

“Why,
I wonder, did he approach you?” Hetephernebti looked at Diane, standing just
behind Yunet.  Djefi had not trusted leaving her unattended.

Hetephernebti
knew much more than Djefi suspected she knew, but she wanted to see how the
priest would answer, what secrets he was willing to keep.

“It is
your temple,” Djefi answered.  “I don’t know why people do things here.”

Hetephernebti
nodded thoughtfully, trying to show Djefi that she took his fears seriously.

“I’ll
ask the guards to look for him.  I am very sorry your rest was
interrupted.  I am sure that when I place myself in your hospitality next
month, I will be more secure.”

T
im’s first meeting with Meryt had been
entirely by chance.

Shortly
after Tim had emerged from the tomb and had begun to live with Paneb’s family,
Hetephernebti began to hear rumors of a god walking among men in the city of
Ineb-Hedj.  Although she had stayed in Iunu to prepare for the Feast of Re
in his Barge, she had sent two young priests to the city to track down the
rumors and the netjer who had chosen to live among them.

The
priests sent word to her that they had missed him because the god had departed
Ineb-Hedj to travel to Iunu for the feast.  So Hetephernebti sent Meryt
and two other priestesses out each day to meet pilgrims from Ineb-Hedj and to
see if there was a strange god among them.

When
Meryt had seen Tim’s underclothing as he waded across the river, she had known
that he was the stranger.  When she heard him speak with his awkward
accent, she was sure.

Hetephernebti
had asked Meryt to watch the strange god during the festival and to help him
with anything he needed.  And so Meryt had been watching from the tunnel
as Tim stealthily crossed the hidden footbridge to talk with Diane.  She
had seen him dive into the water and swim to the tunnel entrance and she had
planted his boxer-briefs farther up the trail to confuse the pursuing guards.

After
she and Tim had entered the temple grounds, she had asked how she could help
him.  He had told her about Diane and Brian, saying that they had come
from a distant land.  He had said that Djefi had taken Brian and Diane to
To-She and that he wanted to find and help them.

When
Tim fell asleep, exhausted from the excitement of the day, Meryt had met with
Hetephernebti, telling the high priestess what she had seen at the plaza and
everything Tim had told her.

H
etephernebti was King Djoser's
sister.  Although she lacked his ruthlessness, she had his political
sense.  She knew that although knowledge wasn’t always power, it was often
the difference between life and death.  And so she gathered information,
collecting facts and rumors, even keeping track of the travels of other priests
and members of Djoser’s royal circle.

The
long famine that had afflicted the Two Lands since her brother had declared
himself divine was not life threatening, even in the worst years there was
enough food to survive.  But not enough to flourish.

The
feast she had just provided had nearly drained her supplies.  She and her
overseer of the temple granaries knew how depleted the surplus was, but she
refused to allow the diminishing stocks to affect her. 

Re
would provide!

The
farmers and the townspeople had food every day.  True, the supplies of
wheat were diminished and there was less barley for beer, but there were fish
in the river and ducks and geese along its banks.

The
discontent, Hetephernebti knew, was coming from those closer to Djoser: the
priests, the governors of the nomes, even members of her brother’s royal
court.  During times of plenty they lived nearly as well as the
king.  But now, even though there was less throughout the land, Djoser
insisted that the tributes sent to the royal house remain the same.  And
rightly so, she thought.  Were he to expect less it would be an admission
that the country was diminished. 

However,
the governors and mayors, who were closer to the people, received less in
taxation and knew that they could not raise taxes without protests from the
landowners on whom they depended.  And so they were caught in a squeeze:
They received less but Djoser expected them to contribute as much to the royal
granaries.

There
had been more travel along the great river Iteru than usual this season. 
Priests and officials were visiting each other so often Hetephernebti wondered
how they had time to fulfill their duties.  She knew that they were not
being more sociable; they were comparing notes on the mood of the people,
perhaps even plotting.

She
knew that Djefi had traveled to Waset at the same time that Kanakht had gone
there to visit Waja-Hur.  Now Djefi was keeping secrets about two strange
visitors, perhaps gods themselves, perhaps assassins from a foreign land,
unafraid to plunge a knife into a divine body.

She
couldn’t interrogate Djefi or those who were with him, but she did have one of
the strangers with her now.  Was he a god, as some claimed, or something
else?

G
rowing up, Brian believed everyone thought
he was stupid.

Always
large for his age, he was constantly outgrowing his comfort, consistently
clumsy, forever apologizing for knocking something over or breaking something
or bumping into someone.

Tired
of apologizing, he had withdrawn.  It was easier to nod his head and just
walk away, listening to the scolding turn into an angry distant buzz. 
After his father abandoned the family, Brian tried to do things for his mother,
but they always came out wrong.  He burned eggs when he tried to make her
a birthday breakfast and she had made him eat them while she told him he was
“stupid, stupid, stupid.” He tried to pry open a stuck window for her and drove
his hand through the glass.  He quit trying.

His
middle school gym teacher was the first to understand.

When
Brian couldn’t throw a softball as hard or as far as the weakest, scrawniest
girl in class, the teacher blew his whistle to quiet Brian’s jeering classmates
and ordered them to run laps if they had so much energy.  Brian had been
mortified.  He expected to be scolded by the teacher now, asked to explain
why he couldn’t do something as elementary as throwing a ball.

But
the teacher didn’t ridicule him.  Instead he asked Brian if he would have
time to help him coach an elementary-school baseball team.

At
first Brian thought it was a joke, some trick to embarrass him further. 
But the teacher seemed sincere and Brian was so hungry for positive attention
that he was willing to risk trusting this stranger.

They
met after school and the teacher began by telling Brian that he was going to
teach him how to instruct the little kids how to throw properly.  Brian
knew that he was really the one being instructed, but he pretended to go along
with the teacher’s charade.

Surprisingly,
the throwing motion came to him naturally and quickly.  His body growth
had slowed and suddenly he could control his long arms and legs.  His
tosses quickly grew stronger and more accurate.  They continued to work
together and by springtime, the gym teacher told him that he should try out for
the baseball team.

The
baseball coach and gym teacher were good friends.  As he had talked less
and less at home and school, Brian had become unconsciously adept at reading
body language.  Now, as he watched the two men talk, he saw that there was
more than friendship between them.  Something in the eyes of the baseball
coach seemed sad when he talked with the gym teacher; the way he stood near him
seemed protective.

Brian
made the team and quickly became a power pitcher, called on for the must-win
games.  The coach stayed late after practices to teach him to hit, and as
his batting became more reliable and powerful he became the team’s third
baseman on days he didn’t pitch.  The gym teacher came to all the games.

Quiet
and modest, Brian was a natural leader, someone who led by example. 
Knowing what it felt like, he was careful to never mock an infielder who booted
a grounder behind him or an outfielder who threw to the wrong base.  When
he did speak, it was always supportive.

He
made his first group of friends and was determined not to lose them.

When
the gym teacher died the following fall of leukemia, Brian understood the
sadness in the coach’s eyes; he had known that his friend was dying. 
Brian thought about the friendship and loyalty that the coach had shown,
allowing his dying friend to live out his days doing as much as he felt he
could do, living fully until the end.

Through
high school and college Brian grew as a powerful athlete.  He was driven,
willing to work hard to learn new skills.  Because of his size and
strength and talent he was always expected to be a leader.  He took the
role seriously, studying other athletes who were viewed as leaders.  He
copied the quiet, supportive style of those he admired, avoiding the caustic,
screaming styles of others.

And he
always found comfort in losing himself in his team.

H
is team now was a small group of hunters.

The
morning after his audience with Djefi, Pahket had awakened him as usual, but
she had seemed quieter. He hadn’t known enough Egyptian to ask her about her
mood, but he had an uneasy feeling that she was doing something against her
will.

He had
asked about Diane.  She had smiled and nodded, but didn’t tell him
anything.

After
they had eaten, she had led him outside where Siamun and three other men, two
barely out of their teens and the third, an older man, were waiting.  They
each had a leather sling over their shoulder and carried a short spear. 
Siamun also had his knife tucked in his linen belt.  A fifth sling had
lain on the ground.  Brian had pulled it on, surprised by its
weight.  From the sloshing motion he had known that it contained a skin of
water.

“Diane?”
he had asked Siamun.

He had
smiled in answer, but there was no humor in it.

Brian
had turned to Pahket to ask her what to do.  Her head had been down, her
eyes on the ground.

“Go
with him, Netjer Brian.  It is the way to see Diane,” she had said.

Brian
had looked at Siamun and the three other men.  He had been sure that they
were not taking him to see Diane, but he refused to believe that Pahket would
quietly hand him over to an execution squad.  Although he didn’t like
Siamun, he didn’t know what choice he had. He didn't plan to fight four armed
men.

If
Pahket said this was a way for him to see Diane, then he would follow it
through.  He would see this to the end and somehow find her.

They
had seemed restless, eager to leave.  After Brian had picked up the sling,
Siamun spoke in Egyptian, too fast for him to follow.  Then he had turned
and started to walk away, the men following him.

T
hey wound through the village, away from
the canal, headed for the orchard.  On the other side of the grove, they
took an overgrown path that led past a hut Brian hadn’t seen before.

They
came to the edge of the oasis and kept walking.  The trail became less and
less distinct as they left the scrub grass at the edge of To-She and entered
the desert.

He
suspected that Siamun was taking him along trails that normally were not used,
following paths that were steep, terrain that was hard to climb.  But
Brian was used to sports hazing and his twenty-first century diet and
conditioning made him stronger and more durable than Siamun and the hunters.

On the
third day out, they crept up on a water hole where a small herd of antelope was
drinking.

Siamun
paired Brian with Neswy, the oldest man of the group who was always lagging
behind the others, insulted by Siamun for his weakness.  Although Siamun
showed the old man no respect, Brian had seen the others lighten Neswy’s load
when Siamun wasn’t looking, even skimping on their water rations, offering some
to Neswy.

Siamun
placed them behind a boulder along the trail the antelope had followed to reach
the water hole.  Siamun and the others would circle around the herd and
flush them into the ambush.  If the hunt were unsuccessful, it would be
because he and Neswy had failed.  Brian understood that Siamun had put the
weakest, Neswy, and the least experienced, himself, in the most critical
position.  He was setting them up for failure.

Leaning
against the boulder, seeking shade, Neswy looked hopefully at Brian.  He
held his spear in a hand that Brian saw was quivering, either from fatigue or
fear of Siamun.

The
other men slowly circled the water hole, moving slowly, testing the still air
for any movement.  They separated as they went, spacing themselves around
the small herd, leaving the area by the trail open.

Neswy
gripped and regripped his spear, peering around the boulder to see the
antelopes, and then leaning back against the rock, breathed deeply.

Brian
approached him, careful to stay low so the antelopes wouldn’t see him. 
When Neswy looked at him, Brian patted his open hand against his chest, and
then shook the spear slightly.  Neswy looked puzzled.

Brian
hit his chest again and mimicked tossing the spear.  Then he motioned for
Neswy to step aside.  Neswy nodded his understanding and moved aside to
make room for Brian.

Brian
listened for a moment, then slid down onto his belly to peer around the
boulder.  The antelopes were still drinking.  Occasionally one would
lift its head, its ears turning to scan for sounds.

He
stood in the shadow of the rock and waited for the others to flush the
game. 

Brian
knew it would be very hard to time a throw as the antelopes went streaking and
leaping past, so he decided to wait until the antelopes were close and then to
step out from behind the rock, shouting to get their attention.  He hoped
they would attempt to veer away from him, presenting him a larger target with a
side view for a frozen moment.

He
wished he could talk to Neswy and ask his advice; the older man certainly had a
store of experience.  It was frustrating to be placed in this
situation.  He wondered if Neswy felt the same way, if he understood that
both of them were being tested.

There
was a subtle shifting in the light as the edge of the sun touched the western
horizon.  With it came shouting as the other three hunters, having crawled
as close as they could to the drinking antelopes, rose up and charged toward
the watering hole.

Brian
listened hard for the sound of the small herd clattering his way.  Their
small hooves made hardly any sound on the soft trail, but he heard the animals
breathing heavily, snorting as they rushed toward him.

A
stillness came over him now, the same focused feeling that enveloped him on
those rare days when as a batter he could see the pitcher’s grip on the
baseball as he whipped his arm forward, when he could see the stitching on the
ball as it spun toward home plate and he knew, positively knew, that he would
swing the bat at the right angle and time and speed to meet the ball squarely.

Nothing
else existed.

He
stepped out from behind the boulder, unafraid and confident.

The
antelopes were much larger than he expected, and moving quickly.  In his
own time, apart from the pace that existed everywhere else in the universe,
Brian saw the eyes on the lead antelope widen as it registered his
presence.  He saw its nostrils flare as it gulped in air.  The hairs
on its ears waved in the breeze it generated during its long leap.

The
antelope’s right shoulder twitched as it started to turn in midair, then it
shuddered again as the animal twisted back to head directly for Brian.

The
others in the herd scattered away, springing off to the north, away from the
trail.

The
lead animal seemed to float now, its head coming low as it aimed its short
spiked horns at Brian.  Its front hooves hit the sandy trail, kicking up a
spray of dirt and sand.  Its front shoulders flexed, the muscles
tightening as it launched itself forward.  The antelope’s back legs hit a
fraction of a second later, and, kicking back, added more speed to its
movement.

Brian
stood his ground, his weight forward on the balls of his feet, his body
relaxed, his mind clear as he waited until the antelope was airborne.  He
could smell the animal now, its earthy, musky scent carrying the heavy sound of
its panting.

Suddenly
it was on him, its horns so close and clear he could see the twisted pattern of
their growth.  He moved now, leaning smoothly, his left knee bending as if
he were leaning away from an inside fastball.

Gripping
his spear with both hands, like a baseball bat, he twisted down and away from
the antelope, swinging the spear parallel to the ground, his wrists snapping it
forward just before the wooden shaft struck the antelope’s oncoming front legs.

The
spear shaft shattered.  The antelope pitched forward, unable to stop its
forward fall.

The
world returned to its normal speed.

Brian
pushed off with his flexed left leg, propelling himself forward as if moving
from a catcher’s stance.  Dust flew up from the trail as the antelope hit
the ground hard, its lungs emptying with a loud grunt.

Neswy
charged out from behind the boulder, his spear raised overhead, both hands
gripping the shaft as he ran toward the fallen animal.  Brian threw
himself at the antelope’s head, determined to keep it still until Neswy could
reach it.

He
wrapped his arms around the animal and heard himself whisper quietly to it, as
if to a frightened colt.  The antelope recovered from its fall and began
to kick and twist, trying to escape his grip.

Neswy
reached them and pushed his spear into the antelope’s ribs, aiming for its
heart.

The
antelope twisted its head violently and bawled out at the pain.  Brian
held tightly, his face turned toward the antelope’s as he kept talking to
it.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered over and over again.