Khu: A Tale of Ancient Egypt (32 page)

More than once Odji regretted leaving Thebes. Nothing but trouble had followed him since his departure, and he was starting to believe the boatman’s accusations.

It was too late to turn back now. Too late to go back and face the Theban ruler who would surely know how he had betrayed him by abandoning his post to flee to the king’s archenemy; too late to reclaim his old life of tranquility.

But he did not miss it.

Even in the thick of the storm, with its blinding and suffocating walls of dust, which sent the branches of the palm trees flailing like the arms of drowning men in the river, he still would not have returned to Thebes, if he had been given the choice. Only once when the winds were howling like Seth himself, and he was shivering on the floor of a cave with a fever despite the choking heat, did a terrible despair assail him. But it was short-lived, as he closed his eyes burning from the fever, to let his mind replay one of his sadistic fantasies that would never come to pass.

By the time they arrived in Zawty, the sandstorm had blown through its course, and was now behind them.
The boatman himself had disappeared shortly before Odji had been detained, on a pretext of having work to do. He wanted to put as much distance between himself and the ill-fated gatekeeper so that his bad luck would no longer infect him. Being on territory that was sympathetic to the Nen-nesian ruler, the boatman also feared for his own life and did not wish to be associated with anything, nor anyone, from Thebes. As far as he was concerned, their partnership had ended once Odji left Thebes.

This was only the beginning of Odji’s demise.
What made matters worse for him was that the two thieves who had been caught during the failed robbery attempt in Thebes years back had since been residing in Zawty, and had immediately recognized Odji. When they saw the gatekeeper’s cold and haughty gaze, they had gone to report him at once to the authorities in Zawty, claiming he was a spy for Mentuhotep. They had never forgotten the pain and humiliation of being caught and publically flogged at the pillar. And they wanted revenge.

There was nothing cold and haughty in
Odji’s eyes now.

J
ust fear.

Fear shone
in his gaze as he stared, wide-eyed, at the small assembly of officials whose features were devoid of any warmth or compassion. Fear sent the tiny hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as he tried to keep his bound hands from trembling. Fear made his heart pound hard against his ribcage, and his breathing labored as he stuttered and stumbled over his words that sounded hollow and deceptive even to himself. It was ill luck to be caught now, shortly after Khety’s disastrous uprising had disgraced and humiliated the Nen-nesian king and all his supporters.

After several days of
interrogation by the officials in Zawty, the ruler of Lower Egypt had come forth to question the gatekeeper himself. Khety was in a foul temper which seemed to sully the very air around him. All his personal failings, all the bitter grief from his past, and all the deficiencies in his dynasty were under tremendous public scrutiny, and the strain of this pressure deepened the fissures that weakened his kingdom.

“Speak up
when you are spoken to!” Khety shouted at Odji, rising from his seat to pace in front of the smaller disheveled man who was mumbling inaudible responses.

Odji had not shaved during
his journey, and he was filthy. The stubble growing on his head and face was peppered with thinning white hair. He looked and smelled like a vagabond, and the king wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“So this is what Thebes
dispatches to pursue us?” he questioned derisively, waving an imperious hand through the air at Odji. “This is your king’s best weapon?” He clenched his jaw, stopping suddenly in his tracks to turn and face the gatekeeper. “A cockroach,” he hissed, pointing at the cowering man. “You are nothing but a cockroach!”

“I am not a spy
for King Mentuhotep,” Odji defended himself in a feeble voice, keeping his gaze lowered in deference to the king.

“Shut up!” Khety spat. “You are
not a spy?” he narrowed his eyes in irritation. “Then you must be a traitor. You are a miserable excuse for a man, and these two men have sworn by the gods that you are indeed a spy. You are Theban, and you work for Mentuhotep!” He said Mentuhotep’s name with a scowl, as though the very word made him ill.

Khety stopped his pacing to close his eyes and take a deep breath in an attempt to regain his composure.
He rubbed his jaw and the back of his neck in irritation. He thought of everything Odji had said in his own defense, including his claim to have been secretly communicating with Mdjai—a low-ranking official—who died in the insurrection at Abdju. He thought of the accusations leveled against the bedraggled man; accusations that he was a spy for the Theban king, which Odji continued to deny. But no matter how much Khety weighed the evidence, studying it from every angle, it did not bode well for the gatekeeper. Every which way he looked at the testimony, it pointed to Odji’s guilt.

Khety
turned his icy gaze back to the gatekeeper, exhaling before he spoke. “It would be better for you to be a spy, than a dog who betrayed his master,” he spoke slowly, lowering his tone in emphasis, and pointing a finger at the smaller man. “There is nothing more despicable and loathsome than an unfaithful, traitorous dog. He is a dishonorable, vile creature, and cannot be trusted.” Khety waited a moment for the words to sink in. “Did you hear me?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. “There is no honor in betrayal.”

Odji kept his gaze lowered as his mind raced in a panic. He feared for his life. He feared the men who accused him, and he feared the rule
r of Lower Egypt whose hardened heart bore no patience for that which was contemptible, even where his enemies were concerned. And as a thousand afflictions assailed Odji from within his tortured mind, Ankhtifi stepped silently forward to join the tribunal before him. Odji did not see Khety’s enforcer at first. He was too wrapped up in the darkness of his own agony to notice him.

“You will go back to Thebes,” Khety said
, after a moment of deliberation. The king had turned to convene with the officials and Ankhtifi in private, speaking with them in hushed tones before facing the accused once again.

Odji did not know what to think. Had he heard correctly? Would he actually be set free? He dared to raise his eyes and glance at the King who stared back at him with
loathing.

“
L-Lord K-King?” Odji asked in a shaky voice.

Khety blinked hard before speaking again
, his jaw set. “Yes, you will go back,” he repeated. “You will go back to Thebes where you belong,” he nodded slowly as his eyes filled with a cold malevolence which made Odji shudder. “It will be a gift,” he said in a show of mock-benevolence as he looked down his nose at the defendant. “A gift from me to your ruler.”

But Odji said nothing in his confusion. His eyes darted
from Khety, to the officials surrounding him, and finally to Ankhtifi.

Ankhtifi
took a step closer to Odji, regarding the smaller man with dark sunken eyes. The tic in his jaw made one side of his mouth twitch upwards involuntarily, as though he were trying to suppress a snarl. The limp from his leg wound did little to alter his menacing appearance, even making him seem less human than before. He still moved with a lethal grace, stooping and swaying in a sinuous arch as he neared the gatekeeper. Odji stared at the taller man with hope and puzzlement as he wondered if he was about to be set free. But then Ankhtifi’s hand shifted to grip the hilt of a weapon hanging discretely under his kilt.

T
hat was when Odji knew he was doomed.

Odji fell to his knees
as the certainty of his impending death plunged him into desolation and despair. He was so choked up with fear and anguish, he could not even speak. He only uttered a low and pathetic cry before Ankhtifi withdrew his weapon to separate Odji’s soul from his body, sending him to the Hall of Two Truths and eternal death and damnation where the gaping jaws of the demon Ammit waited with salivating relish to devour the blackened heart of Odji’s spirit, which far outweighed the feather of
maat
on the scales of justice. His blackened heart—despite being shriveled with decay—weighed heavier than all the immense stone blocks used to build the Great Pyramid of Khufu on the west bank of the Nile in Lower Egypt.

About seven years passed since the revolt in Abdju and the events following it; seven long years of battles and skirmishes that thwarted Mentuhotep’s dream of unification. The Kushites had gotten wind of King Khety’s attack, and jumped on the opportunity to stake their own claim on Upper Egypt’s throne. Like the hyenas scavenging the plains, they smelled blood. They saw an opening in Mentuhotep’s tightly held reign, and they took advantage of the prospect for themselves.

The ensuing skirmishes kept the Theban king occupied
in the following years, so that his plans to push his forces north and defeat Khety once and for all had been delayed. Just when he had squelched one of the Kushites’ sly attacks, another battle would follow.

Khu and Nakhti had
fully grown by that time. Khu stood almost a head taller than Mentuhotep, and his sinewy frame had filled out into a solid mass of lean muscle. Although Nakhti was shorter than Khu, he was thickset and strong. The boys had become the men that the Seven Hathors had decreed for them at birth, and they made their father proud. Each was assigned to a battalion where they led men into battle against the Kushites and other enemies which tried to undermine Mentuhotep’s authority. The numerous battles they faced stole the last remnants of their boyish looks, earning them a few more scars in the process.

Mentuhotep’s army grew into a formidable war machine during this time. Armories produced mass amounts of
weapons to arm the warriors: from bows and arrows, spears and shields, to scimitars, axes and daggers used in close combat by the troops that were drafted from settlements and villages across the land. Those soldiers in reserve were called to duty, while officers of the army prepared their men—from the toughest disciplined troops, to the lowliest peasants and field hands—to mobilize for battle.

As battles were fought and won, the spo
ils of war were dedicated to Amun in gratitude for his assistance, and in supplication for his continued protection. Captive soldiers were conscripted into Mentuhotep’s army, swelling the ranks of his forces, while their women, children and cattle were likewise confiscated as spoils of war, and assimilated into life within Upper Egypt.

King Khety had his hands full with problems of his own. Asiatic nomads had infiltrated Lower Egypt
through the Nile Delta, where they had arrived battle-ready and menacing with plunder on their minds. His forces were stretched thin by these sporadic assaults which left the already weakened lands in further ruin. But what Khety lacked in manpower, he made up for in his ability to gain support and convince others of his cause. With persistence and unrelenting tenacity, he managed to replace many of the men he had lost in the battle at Abdju, strengthening his army once again.

It was Khety who had sent word to the Kushites, encouraging them to attack the Theban king
shortly after the insurrection at Abdju. He promised them land in Upper Egypt if they helped him to overthrow Mentuhotep. And while the attacks had thwarted Mentuhotep’s immediate plans, they did not really weaken him. His army still managed to grow stronger, his forces multiplied, and his resolve to reunify the divided kingdoms was as unwavering as ever.

It was after the last of the Kushite forces had been defeated
, and a grudging peace treaty had been established, that Mentuhotep assembled his vast army and headed north on the Nile. His fleet of ships had more than doubled in the years since the revolt at Abdju. Sudi and a host of other spies had been keeping him abreast of Khety’s whereabouts so that he always knew of the Nen-nesian ruler’s activities.

Mentuhotep
stared out over the water’s surface that shone brilliant and blue under the sun. It was the Season of Growth—
Peret
—long after the annual flood waters had receded, and the crops had all been planted in the fields. Although this was the coldest of the year’s three seasons, the weather was still clear and pleasant during the day, with temperatures dipping more sharply at night.

Mentuhotep
was on the lead ship of his fleet, standing by the prow which rose in a graceful line before jutting out straight over the water, where the bronze sculpted head of a lion crushing a human skull had been mounted. The ship’s single mast stood bare as its sail remained tightly furled while oarsmen gripped the oar handles and pulled on their shafts so the wooden blades sliced through the water in unison. They had left Thebes nine days before, and made a brief stop at Gebtu, and then sojourned in Abdju and again in Ipu where they waited another day for the rest of the ships in his fleet to join them before finally heading for Nen-nesu, where he believed Khety was staying with his army. Khu and Nakhti accompanied Mentuhotep, Qeb and several other generals in leading the fleet of warships north. Their own men followed behind in several ships under the guidance of the officers who served them.