Imhotep Read online

  With the boat tied off at both prow and stern, a crewman placed a wide gangplank from the boat to the dock. Two young men steadied an immensely fat man dressed in a white robe with a leopard skin, the sign of a priest, draped over his wide, round shoulders, as he stepped onto the plank. Paneb saw that the plank was wide enough for the escorts to stay beside the priest as he stepped awkwardly from the bobbing boat.

  From his right, he heard one of the chair carriers sigh at the sight of the heavy priest and another wondered aloud if his pole was strong enough. “That’s what your wife wonders every night, isn’t it, eh, Marhu?” another carrier asked. The others laughed quietly.

  Paneb pretended he hadn't heard them.

  Paneb had never met Djefi, but he had heard about him. Although high priest, Djefi was young enough to be mistaken for an acolyte. But he was said to be as savage as the crocodile god he worshiped. There were rumors of accidents that happened to those who stood in his way, including the man who had been high priest before him.

  It was hard to reconcile that fearsome reputation with the man who was already sweating and panting after walking from the boat to the sedan chair. Wobbling flesh hung from his arms. Three layers of chins rolled back from his flushed face and buried a silver strand that held an amulet around his neck. Folds of fat pushed against the front of his linen robe. Even though his eyes were heavily lined with green kohl, they looked small, pushed back into his heavy cheeks.

  The young bodyguards lowered him into the chair. Then they ran back to the boat and retrieved short ceremonial spears.

  Djefi sat breathing heavily and looking around as if he were confused.

  Paneb went to the sedan and knelt so he would not be looking down at Djefi when he talked to him. “First Prophet of the Great Netjer Sobek, I am Paneb, chief artist of Saqqara.”

  Djefi’s head turned slowly to him. He held a linen cloth in his left hand and dabbed at his face with it as he studied Paneb for a full minute.

  When he spoke, his voice was high pitched and squeaky, as if a small boy was being held captive inside his great quivering bulk. “Good for you, Paneb. Why am I still sitting beside this boiling river when I have tomb scrawlings to inspect?”

  “Forgive me, First Prophet,” Paneb said. He stood and backed away from the sedan chair and nodded to the carriers.

  Paneb and Ahmes walked quickly to the street to lead the way for the carriers. They waited until the young guards returned to the sedan. Then the carriers silently counted together before hoisting Djefi off the ground and then, after another count, smoothly up to their shoulders.

  The guards took their position in front of the sedan and the procession moved into the shady streets of Ineb-Hedj.

  In a few minutes they reached the edge of the city and passed beyond the white walls that gave it its name. They walked briskly through the green fields that surrounded the city and then, abruptly, the desert began.

  Paneb could see that Ahmes was trying hard to maintain decorum, but the boy’s eyes were full of questions. The carriers started to breath deeper and louder as they carried Djefi through the soft sand. One of them broke wind loudly and Ahmes almost laughed out loud, but a stern look from Paneb stopped him.

  The priest had covered his face with the sweaty linen cloth.

  As they neared the tomb, the wadi narrowed at a sharp bend and there was no room for the sedan to be carried safely through the rock-strewn gully. The carriers stopped and waited for instructions.

  “Are we there?” Djefi asked, raising the damp cloth from his face.

  Paneb returned to the sedan.

  “No, First Prophet. But the wadi is too narrow for the men to carry you farther. The tomb is just ahead, around this narrow bend.”

  “Am I to walk?”

  “It is just a few paces.”

  “Why hasn’t the path been widened? Do you expect King Djoser to soil his feet if he visits Kanakht’s eternal home?”

  Paneb wasn’t sure how to respond. He was chief artist, responsible for the tomb drawings and paintings, not the engineer who directed the digging of the tomb.

  “Kanakht, you will pay for this,” Djefi quietly, his eyes raised in the distance as he thought of the absent vizier. Then he turned his attention to the carriers. “ Am I supposed to leap from the sedan? Lower me!” he commanded in his high-pitched voice.

  The bodyguards hurried to his side and pulled him to his feet.

  He shook them away and looked crossly around the wadi. “Well?” he asked.

  Paneb bowed and turned to lead the priest to the tomb.

  Djefi was panting heavily before they got through the narrow section of the gully. To Paneb he looked like any other overly successful merchant, but only a man who would happily cheat you in a trade, not a man who would happily feed you to a crocodile.

  His two bodyguards carried their short spears casually by their sides. Aside from the remote threat of a jackal or a desert lion attacking there was little to fear in Kemet. There was no civil unrest and the borders of Kemet had been secured by Kha-sekhemwy, father of Netjerikhet Djoser, King of the Two Lands.

  Djefi was too busy panting to complain as they walked to the tomb. Paneb thought the priest seemed distracted and withdrawn. The guards walked a few steps behind Djefi, talking quietly to each other.

  The wadi twisted left and ended against a sand bank where a limestone outcropping marked the edge of a high table. A tunnel had been dug into the stone. It angled down for a few paces and then leveled out, moving deep under the stone, which rose higher in the distance to form a plateau.

  Paneb stopped by a wooden frame his workers had erected outside the tomb. The top of the frame held palm branches, creating a shaded rest area. Three rough wooden stools were half buried in the sand under the canopy.

  Paneb moved the stools to the side to make room for Djefi to stand in the shade. Then he gave two polished brass disks to Ahmes. The boy hurried off to position the mirrors outside the tunnel entrance to reflect sunlight inside. As Ahmes carried the reflectors to the tunnel, Paneb turned to Djefi to explain what he would see inside the tomb.

  But before he began to speak, he heard Ahmes shout in alarm.

  “Father, someone is in the tomb!” The boy ran through the sand to Paneb’s side.

  Djefi looked curiously at the tomb entrance. The guards looked more attentive, but not alarmed. The tomb was empty; there was nothing to steal. More than likely, someone had used the tunnel as a shelter for the night.

  Paneb was responsible for the tomb until it was given over to Kanakht, and so he touched Ahmes’ shoulder and said, “Wait here, son.”

  He glanced at Djefi to see if the priest was angry, but it seemed that Djefi was still preoccupied by whatever had been on his mind earlier. His guards raised their eyebrows in question. Paneb smiled back reassuringly and turned to walk to the tomb.

  Before he had taken a step, they emerged.

  The god was tall, taller even than Nubian slaves Paneb had seen two years ago when the priest of Khmunu had brought the black giants with him on his way to Iunu for Re’s festival. The goddess had hair the color of a dying fire. Her skin was as white as Taki’s linen.

  The god’s chest was painted with bright yellow and red flowers. His feet were red and black. She wore straw matted on her head. Her legs were covered with blue cloth and a large cat was painted on her white chest.

  Whatever had been on Djefi’s mind earlier vanished when he saw them.

  Brian stood at the tunnel’s exit, his hands on his hips, twisting his shoulders to loosen them after walking hunched over through the low passage. Diane held a hand up to the brim of her straw hat, shielding her eyes as she looked at the men a few yards away.

  “Brian, who are those people?”

  He stopped twisting and started to roll his tight shoulders. “Don’t know, babe. Welcoming committee? Tour guides? Farmers? Ticket takers? Somebody selling souvenirs?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so, Brian. Tw
o of them have spears.”

  “Huh,” he grunted.

  “Maybe they’re javelins and it’s some kind of track meet. Maybe I could get in it. I used to be pretty good with the discus.”

  She looked at him sharply. Even after a year with him, she still got quickly annoyed when he made jokes at inappropriate moments, and being confronted by armed savages was an inappropriate time for humor.

  “Let’s go back inside and go back to the hotel. We have a flight to catch tonight. We shouldn’t have sneaked away from the cab driver. Let’s go back.”

  Brian dropped his chin toward his left shoulder, making the vertebrae crackle. “No,” he half grunted, “It was a Frisbee. I was good with the Frisbee. The discus wasn’t as much fun. Too much spinning before you throw it. Although getting dizzy was fun.” He dropped his head the other way and more vertebrae popped. “Ahhh, that feels good.”

  “Brian,” Diane said quietly, talking out the side of her mouth.

  Djefi’s bodyguards started to edge forward in front of the priest, but he extended his arms to keep them behind him. He took a step forward leaving the shade of the canopy and bowed his head slightly, keeping his eyes on the two gods.

  “Welcome, eternal netjrew,” Djefi said. “I am Djefi, priest of Sobek, son of Set, father of the Nile, honored by all in The Two Lands.”

  Diane looked up and frowned, startled to be addressed and unable to understand a word of his speech.

  Djefi wondered if he had been wrong to speak first and welcome the gods. But it would have been more wrong to stand silently and not make them welcome, he thought.

  Djefi’s movement had brought him out of the shade. He was backlit by the afternoon sun. ”Brian, I can see right through his robe, or whatever. The fat man is practically naked.”

  “Yep,” Brian answered. “But he’s overdressed compared to the naked spear dudes. This must be, like, the World Naked Olympics. You think?”

  Brian turned back to Djefi and raised his right hand, the fingers splayed into a “V” like Spock in the ‘Star Trek’ movies. He couldn’t remember the Vulcan greeting, so he said, “Whatever.”

  Djefi copied the gesture and mimicked the sound in his squeaky voice.

  A wide smile broke over Brian’s face. “You guys forget to get dressed this morning?”

  Djefi studied them for a moment and then reached a decision.

  He didn’t know where they had come from, or if they really were gods. Whatever or whoever they were, they were different and unusual. It was a time of change and unrest in Kemet and perhaps they were a gift from the gods, tools for him to use in the plans he was making with Waja-Hur and Kanakht. He needed to understand how to use this gift. He needed time.

  He waved one of the guards to his side and whispered to him. The guard bowed and then turned away and began to jog back down the wadi toward Ineb-Hedj.

  “Eternal netjrew, I will have you escorted to To-She, home of Sobek.”

  Brian and Diane looked at him blankly.

  Without turning away from the gods, Djefi called Paneb to him.

  “I have sent for camels for our… guests.”

  “Yes, First Prophet of Sobek,” Paneb answered, bowing to Djefi.

  “Perhaps it would be easier for them to understand us if we were to draw pictures, as we do on the tomb walls,” Djefi said.

  “You wish for ink and papyrus, First Prophet?”

  Although he kept his expression composed, muscles in Djefi’s jaw clenched and unclenched. “No, Paneb. You are the artist. Draw a camel in the sand for the guests,” he said quietly.

  Paneb nodded. He looked around for something to use to draw in the sand. He saw the stools and thought of breaking them apart, then he saw the guard, standing apart from them, watching.

  He walked quickly to the guard and borrowed his short spear.

  “Brian, what’s going on?”

  “Don’t know, babe. I think the one naked guy ran off to get something and Boss Hogg here is trying to tell us something, but it sounds like he’s got a mouth full of consonants. He needs to buy a vowel, know what I mean?”

  Paneb approached the gods walking slowly, the point of the spear at the ground. He didn’t want them to think he was attacking them. He didn’t want to find out what a god would do if he felt threatened.

  Kneeling in the sand, Paneb used the shaft of the spear to smooth an expanse of sand. Then, standing, he used the point of the spear to gracefully draw the profile of a camel. He looked at the god and then drew a figure wearing a cap and sitting atop the camel.

  “Looks like we’re going for a ride, babe.”

  “No, we’re going back to the hotel.”

  “Aw, we flew across the entire Atlantic Ocean to get here. Let’s loosen up and have a little fun. We miss the flight to Luxor, big deal. It’s not like the temples down there are going anywhere. They’ll be there tomorrow. Let’s see what old Boss Hogg has in mind. I don’t know where we are, but I’ll bet there aren’t many other tourists here.”

  “And that’s a good thing?”

  Instead of answering, Brian walked up to Paneb and held out his hand for the spear. Paneb was afraid of offending him, but didn’t want to upset Djefi either. He stole a glance at the priest, but got no sign from him.

  Paneb offered the spear to the god and backed away, still bowing.

  Brian walked carefully around the camel sketch and cleared a small space by the head of the figure riding the camel. He stuck his tongue out as he concentrated on drawing. When he finished he stepped back so everyone could see his drawing.

  Djefi stepped closer. The guard walked over beside the priest to see the god’s work. Ahmes, overcoming his fear, sidled up beside his father. Djefi looked puzzled at the drawing, Paneb was amused, but kept his expression serious. The guard waited to see what the others would do. Ahmes, without thinking, laughed and clapped his hands.

  Brian turned to the boy and gave him a broad smile and a thumbs up. “One thousand points for the naked, bald kid. Come on, folks, lighten up,” he said to the adults. “It’s a smiley face.”

  Brian carried the spear to the guard. He tugged gently on his arm and said, “Come on.”

  He led the guard a few paces down the wadi, away from the others. The guard looked excited and worried.

  Once they were a safe distance from the other, Brian drew back, raised his forward leg and in a blur of motion stepped forward and smoothly threw the weapon at the bank of the wadi, grunting as he released it. The spear buried itself halfway into the sand.

  Swinging his throwing arm in a circle, Brian walked to the spear. He pulled it out and gave it to the guard, motioning for him to throw it next. The guard stepped toward the bank and threw the spear. The tip entered the sand and the spear wobbled and then fell over.

  Brian retrieved it and walked back to the guard.

  Then he held the spear aloft again and moved his arm through the throwing motion, snapping his wrist forward as he arm extended. “Here, try again, naked spear-chucker dude. Snap the wrist.” Brian demonstrated the motion with his empty hand.

  The guard nodded and tried another throw, snapping his wrist as he released the spear. It hit the sand and the tip disappeared far enough to support the weight of the shaft.

  Brian clapped loudly, startling the guard, who was looking proudly at the spear.

  “Alright,” Brian cheered the guard, “yes, yes, yes. Now,” he said, slapping the guard on the back, “We get your hips into the throw, maybe a big old Luis Tiant leg kick and you’ll be the envy of all the naked spear-chucking dudes.”

  Djefi called the guard to him and spoke quietly.

  The guard immediately ran over, pulled the spear out of the sand and walked down the wadi to watch for the other guard.

  “Uh-oh, looks like Boss Hogg is upset,” Brian said to Diane.

  “Brian!” she scolded, but her lips played into a smile.

  Brian turned to Djefi. “Ok, Boss, where to?”

  Djefi stared
at the huge god, his face tight with the effort to control his anger at being addressed so casually. He had no idea what the god had said, but he understood the tone. Even a god, if he was a god, should show respect to a priest of Sobek, he thought.

  “I am Djefi, first prophet of Sobek, Netjer of Iteru, Father of the Waters,” he said, placing a fist against his chest.

  Brian nodded. He pointed to the priest and said, “You, Djefi.” Then his patted his chest and said. “Me, Tarzan.”

  “Tarzan,” Djefi repeated.

  “Naw, I’m pulling your leg.” he laughed and shook his head. He patted his chest again. “Brian.”

  “Brian,” Djefi said in the same quiet, menacing voice Paneb had heard earlier.

  The artist looked at the powerful, playful god and the short, terrifying priest and wondered which would survive.

  The first guard returned riding one camel and leading two others. He reined the camel to a stop and leaned forward and talked to it. The camel lowered itself to a kneeling position. The guard swung a leg over the camel’s small hump and slid down to the sand. Then he went to each of the other camels and ordered them to kneel.

  Brian walked over to the camels, the first guard trailing after him. He turned back to the tomb and called, “Come on, Diane. It’s camel time.”

  He circled carefully away from the camel’s faces and approached one of them from the side. “You got any double humpers? I was kind of expecting to sit down between the humps, you know?”

  The guard smiled at him.

  “No saddles, huh?”

  Another smile.

  Diane joined him.

  “We are supposed to ride these? I hope they have liability insurance.”

  Brian patted the dusty side of the camel. “Look, the hump isn’t that big, I mean, it’s not pointy or anything. I’m sure they wouldn’t let us on these if it wasn’t safe. Adventure, babe, adventure. Think of the stories we’ll have when we get back home.”

  The first guard came over and stood close to Brian, his back to Djefi.