The New Kingdom, page 8
‘Say again,’ he said.
The rider summoned up what little reserves he had, and this time Hui heard.
‘The Hyksos are coming.’
Hui hailed four of the strongest men to carry the wounded stranger into the city. When they reached the house of the physician, Pakhom, Hui commanded one of the bearers to fetch his father and they hauled the injured man inside. Pakhom was a big, shaven-headed man, his belly hanging over his kilt. To Hui, he always seemed as if he had a toothache.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ the physician demanded.
‘This visitor was attacked on his way to Lahun,’ Hui said. ‘He needs your help to save his life.’
Pakhom stared.
‘My father will pay you.’
Grudgingly, Pakhom waved a hand towards the back of the room. The bearers lugged the bloody victim to where the physician worked his magic, a dark room lined with shelves overflowing with jars and flasks, phials and rolls of papyrus. In the centre was a cracked and stained table. Once the rider had been lowered onto it, Qen herded the babbling helpers out and shut the door.
‘Help him,’ Hui said, adding, ‘He has information that may be vital to all our safety.’
‘Sword strokes, by the look of it,’ Qen whispered. ‘It’s a miracle he’s survived this long.’
All Hui could think of was the rider’s desperate warning. If the Hyksos were considering an attack on Lahun, they would need to marshal their defences immediately, drafting in every able-bodied man to fight. It would be a bloody battle. There were no skilled warriors there, only tradesmen and farmers and smooth-skinned wealthy merchants. They relied on the pharaoh’s army for defence – and the Hyksos were renowned as some of the fiercest fighting men in all the world.
The door swung open and his father strode in.
‘Why have you disturbed me?’ Khawy asked with a note of irritation.
‘You must hear what this stranger has to say,’ Hui replied. ‘You will thank me when you do.’
Once he’d recounted the rider’s words, he watched the lines on his father’s face deepen like the marks of a chisel in a stone.
‘Why would they risk an attack on Lahun?’ he said, as if trying to convince himself. ‘Even with their horses and their bows, the walls of the city are strong.’
‘They could try to starve us out,’ Qen ventured.
‘Not before Pharaoh sent his army to crush them.’ Khawy rubbed his chin, turning over the strategic possibilities. ‘Do whatever you can to save him,’ he said to Pakhom. ‘I would hear what he has to say.’
The physician was already moving around his patient, examining the wounds and identifying the most severe. Once he was done, Pakhom held out both arms wide beside the patient, closed his eyes and pushed his head back.
‘I call upon Heka, the god of magic and medicine,’ he intoned. He shifted to the wounded man’s head and adopted the same position. ‘And I call upon Sobek to help heal these wounds.’ The physician stepped to the patient’s other side. ‘And I call on Seth,’ he continued, ‘the great God of the Desert who watches over us all, to protect the soul of this poor individual, and to provide his great strength to bring life back to these failing limbs.’
On hearing Seth’s name, Hui studied the physician as he hunched over the victim and wondered if he was one of the hooded figures who had joined Isetnofret at the ritual near the pyramid.
Pakhom snatched a papyrus from one of the shelves. When he unfurled it, Hui peered over his shoulder. It was one of the medical texts, written by doctors for other doctors, and it made little sense to the uninitiated. These were normally kept in that part of the temple called the Per-Ankh, the House of Life, but a physician of Pakhom’s standing would have his own copies to refer to at his home or when he visited the sick in their villas.
Pakhom then poured a cup of beer from a pitcher and began to crumble dried herbs into it before adding a mysterious golden liquid.
‘This will strengthen his heart,’ the physician said. ‘It is weak. He has lost so much blood.’ He held the cup to his patient’s dry lips and poured a little into his mouth.
Pakhom set the cup aside, opened a mahogany box carved with images of snakes and pulled out an amulet made of polished stone. The image of a scarab had been engraved in the shiny surface. The talisman hung on a silver chain, and the physician slipped it over the patient’s head.
‘This will protect him from any ghosts or demons that may try to suck his soul out of his body.’
Hui’s eyes darted around the shadowy room, and he sensed his brother do the same. Everyone knew otherworldly forces tried to prey on the wavering flame of those who were close to death.
Pakhom seemed pleased with his work.
‘Good. Now we can begin.’
Pakhom was both swnw, a trained doctor skilled in all the medical arts, and also a sau, who specialized in the use of magic to help his patients. The two in combination provided the best hope for the sick, and Lahun had benefited from his expertise for many a year. As he watched the physician, Hui marvelled at the dedication Pakhom had to show to maintain his ritual purity, so that the gods would aid him when he called upon them. Bathing five times a day was only one small part of it. The physician also had to obey a list of strict directions to cleanse his body. Only then would he be considered wabau, as untainted as any priest.
Hui eyed another table where the tools of Pakhom’s trade had been laid out. Flint and copper scalpels, a bone saw, clamps, pliers, probes, catheters, scissors, lancets, as well as rolls of linen bandages and a set of scales to weigh his medicines.
Pakhom plucked up the scissors and sliced away his patient’s sodden robe. Selecting the clamps, he pinched them to the wounds where the most blood was flowing. Hui watched the rise and fall of the stranger’s chest. It was slowing, he was sure. He could not be long for this world.
Khawy murmured, ‘Hurry. We need to hear what this poor soul has to say.’
From a jar, Pakhom scooped a handful of sweet-smelling honey and smeared it into a bowl. To this he added a whirl of bitter unguent, white and sticky, and the dust of some small brown seeds which he’d ground up in a mortar. He applied the foul concoction into the gaping wounds. The man cried out and shuddered, but then his eyelids fluttered and a dreamy smile crept across his lips. The physician had sucked the pain out of him, at least for now.
Pakhom said, ‘He will not last the night. Talk to him now, if you will. But make haste. The medicine I have given him will steal his senses soon enough.’
Khawy nodded and bent over the stranger’s face.
‘I am Khawy, the governor of Lahun. Can you hear me?’
The patient licked his lips and gave a nod.
‘What is your name?’
‘Akil.’
‘Tell me what transpired. How did you suffer so?’
‘I was part of a caravan . . . travelling with my wife and son. We had come down from the high hills and were making our way towards Fayuum . . . near the oasis. You know it?’
‘Yes, yes,’ Khawy said, urging the man to continue.
‘We were prepared for bandits. We know the Shrikes roam freely in this part of the land. We had one scout riding ahead. Two others on each flank, hidden from our eyes by the rocks. The first we knew something was amiss was when we saw the vultures circling. As we marched down a gully, we found our lead scout dead. Those scavengers were already feasting on his remains. His head had been cut off and set to one side. The eyes . . . He looked at me as if he was warning me . . .’ Akil’s words drained away.
Hui and Qen exchanged a glance.
‘Shrikes, we thought,’ Akil continued with effort. ‘We would give them our wares and they would leave us alone. That was the plan. But no. The whoops rang out on every side, and then the Hyksos appeared as if from nowhere and fell on us like wolves. Arrows rained down. The screams . . . The cries of my friends . . . We are not fighting men. We had little more than cudgels and stones . . .’ He grimaced. ‘They tore through us. A river of blood ran down those rocks to the plain. My wife . . . My son . . .’ He began to sob.
Khawy rested a comforting hand on the dying man’s arm.
‘What a coward I was,’ Akil croaked. ‘Even as their blades bit into me, I urged my donkey to ride on. I abandoned my friends . . .’
‘There was nothing you could do,’ Khawy said softly. ‘Let your conscience be clear.’
The words seemed to calm the stranger. He added, ‘It was a war band, have no doubt about that. They were armed to the teeth and carried enough supplies to survive for days in the desert. They . . .’
His eyes rolled back to white and his words turned into mumblings.
‘You will get nothing further from him,’ Pakhom said. ‘He is walking with the gods now, on the threshold of the afterlife. I will watch over him until his candle burns out.’
Outside in the stifling heat of the day, Hui walked in silence with his father and brother.
Finally Khawy said, ‘We must begin preparing our defences. I will make arrangements. When Lord Bakari arrives, I will ask him to send the army to help defend Lahun. We suspected this day was coming. Once the Hyksos had a foothold in Egypt, it was only a matter of time before they decided to take the whole of the land for their own.’
‘Must we fight them?’ Qen asked.
Khawy eyed him as if he’d gone mad.
‘I have heard tell that any lands they have conquered are prosperous,’ Qen continued. ‘They do not torment the people who surrender to them. In fact, they allow those people to rule—’
‘Vassals,’ Khawy snapped. ‘Would we be slaves in our own land?’
‘Here on the frontier, life has always rested on shifting sands. If it would save the lives of our people from unnecessary battle, would we notice any difference in Lahun if the Hyksos ruled?’ Qen pressed.
‘Hold your tongue.’ Khawy glared at his son. ‘I will hear no more of that treacherous talk. Go to your mother. Tell her I will be delayed. She is making arrangements for Lord Bakari’s visit, and Isetnofret, as always, wishes to impress. I have no time now for talk of feasts or music. Tell her to do as she will.’
Qen sloped off in the direction of the governor’s villa.
‘All will be well, Father,’ Hui said. ‘There could be no better man in charge of Lahun’s defences.’
Khawy’s smile was tight. He nodded, wearily.
‘I will call the council together and we will begin our preparations. Men, we have, but we are short of weapons. The walls are strong, though.’
‘The Hyksos may still not attack. They could be testing our resolve.’
‘This is true,’ Khawy said. ‘But we must hope for the best and prepare for the worst.’ He clapped his son’s arm. ‘I will not allow these preparations to disrupt your celebrations, you have my word on that.’
‘That matters little—’
‘No, it matters a great deal,’ Khawy said firmly. ‘You have brought glory to Lahun, to this family and to me. We have suffered hardship in days past. Your mother’s death . . .’ He blinked away a sudden tear. ‘We will celebrate our joys when we have them. And we will celebrate this wonderful moment in your mother Kiya’s name as well as yours. For as long as you are here, she is, too.’
Khawy marched off without another word. Hui knew he did not want his son to see his emotions. He felt a swell of love for his father. If he could be a fraction of the man that Khawy was, he would have achieved greatness.
Hui trudged down to the Lower City, where the clamour usually made his head ring. Now it was quiet. Groups of men bowed their heads together on every corner, whispering. Eyes darted here and there. As he passed, Hui caught snippets of those conversations. Fear laced their words. Fear of invasion, of war and blood and death.
Reaching the gate, he walked along the inside of the wall, looking up at their defences. He could see how poor they were against a sustained attack. The wall was made of mud bricks, not the stone that protected the great cities along the Nile. Here and there, chunks had crumbled and fallen away. Khawy was always poring over the accounts to see what could be spared to repair the defences. There was never enough.
Hui knew he had some cunning, could talk himself out of difficult situations. But he yearned for some skills that might serve him well if there was a battle for Lahun. He was no fighting man. He’d likely trip over his own sword.
He wandered through the narrow streets to the family home. The villa throbbed with activity. Slaves hurried back and forth with baskets filled with figs and dates. Artisans waited with their scrolls in the cool shade of the reception hall to discuss their ideas with Isetnofret. She would need to outdo her previous feast or lose status in the eyes of her neighbours. She would want to dazzle the senses of Lord Bakari, so that when he returned to Elephantine Island all he would talk about were the wonders of Lahun.
He glimpsed his father briefly. Khawy’s face was pale and drawn as advisers trailed in his wake. They were talking about drafting all able-bodied men and posting more sentries along the wall. Hui could tell his father was not convinced it would be enough.
‘The barbarians may not feel it is yet time to strike,’ one of the advisers was saying.
‘That is true,’ Khawy replied. ‘It may not be this day, or this week, or even this year. But come they will, I am certain of it, and we must be prepared.’
Khawy swept by without a glance at his son. Suddenly Hui heard his name called. Isetnofret strode through the throng towards him. She was wearing a diaphanous robe that revealed the heave of her breasts and clung tightly to her hips.
Hui felt a spasm of awkwardness. He couldn’t look her in the face after what he’d seen, and he still hadn’t decided how he would be able to continue to live his life around her.
When Isetnofret pulled him into an embrace and held him tight against her, Hui felt awkwardness turn to revulsion, and he prised himself from her grip.
‘This will be a celebration that Lahun will never forget,’ she said, still holding him by the shoulders. ‘A celebration fit for a king. A celebration fit for my wonderful son who has brought glory to this house.’
Hui was relieved that her temper was no longer simmering. The attention that was about to be lavished on her house had lifted her spirits.
‘When you and Qen are presented to Lord Bakari,’ she continued, ‘he will see what greatness lies in Lahun.’ Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were flushed.
‘I will not let you down,’ he replied.
‘Of course not. But you must practise your speech for Lord Bakari this night. You have prepared it?’ She frowned when she saw his discomfort. ‘We can have none of your stuttering words and ill-constructed sentences, Hui. And none of those stories which you think are humorous when all your drunken friends laugh. You need to show respect. You need to praise Pharaoh. But most of all, you must show Lord Bakari that you and Qen are worthy of attention from the highest. That way lies fortune.’
Hui nodded. ‘I will retire to my room and work on my speech now. It will be as enticing as the most beautiful woman and as strong as a bull.’
Isetnofret smiled, but Hui could see from her eyes that she was not convinced.
‘Make sure it is the best it can be. I want to hear it before you present it to Lord Bakari.’ She paused before adding, ‘And make sure Qen is given full credit for his part in bringing the Ka Stone to Lahun. No polishing only yourself until you shine like gold, do you hear?’
As Hui left, he edged past the jugglers and fire-eaters waiting to audition, and the rhymers and storytellers. That night, as he sat in his room, the house was filled with the delicate, soaring notes of the harp, the melodic thrum of the lute, and the beats of many drums, as the players presented compositions for Isetnofret to choose. Then came the harmonies of the chorus, their angelic voices echoing in every part of the villa. Isetnofret would not rest, would not leave a single detail unexamined, to create her perfect celebration.
Pacing the room, Hui poured passion into his speech. He would attempt to do all that Isetnofret had asked of him. Yet it was harder than he had anticipated. His words sounded leaden, and he reworked them time and again in his head until he stopped sounding like some fool who had only just learned how to speak.
As he neared the end of his labours, one of his father’s slaves appeared and summoned him to the main hall. The activity had died down; the players and performers had all departed. Isetnofret waved the last remaining servants away when she saw Hui. Qen lounged on a cushion. Hui felt an uneasy feeling that he had interrupted a private conversation.
‘Are you here to deliver your speech for my approval?’ his mother asked.
‘Father called for me,’ he replied, looking round.
As if in response, Khawy strode in from the direction of his room. He was beaming, and in his outstretched hands he was holding what looked like a neatly folded piece of cloth.
‘For you, my son. A gift to honour you for what you have achieved.’
Hui was surprised. His father had never offered him a gift in such a manner before. Hesitating, he grasped the tightly wrapped bundle and it fell open in his hands.
He gasped when he saw what he had been given. It was a linen robe, beautifully embroidered across the chest with a hawk with outstretched wings in red and gold and blue, and a repeating pattern of colourful squares cascading down each side to the hem. The workmanship was more beautiful than anything Hui had ever seen. It must have cost a small fortune.
‘This is for me?’ Hui said, amazed.
‘You have earned it, my son.’
Hui pressed the robe against his chest and looked down the length. Surely anyone who saw him in that fine garment would have their breath taken away.
‘Do you not think Hui will look magnificent when he is presented to Lord Bakari?’ Khawy said. He looked his son up and down with pride. ‘All eyes will be upon him.’
But the eyes Hui could feel upon him at that moment were as cold as the desert night. Isetnofret’s and Qen’s faces looked like they’d been carved from stone. He was baffled that his father seemed oblivious.
