The Archivist
by Robin Ballard
Copyright 2011 Robin Ballard
Smashwords Edition
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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For Martin
Special thanks to Lucy Ulrich, Carsten Knigge, and the Egyptology Department at the University Basel.
Table of Contents
Chapter 5 : A Plan Takes Shape
Chapter 9 : The House of Books
Chapter 10 : The God of Wisdom
Chapter 13 : Strife and Reunion
Chapter 16 : Those Beyond the Year
Month of the One Who Tips the Scales
Chapter 17 : The New Year's Feast
Chapter 18 : A Magician's Spell
Chapter 19 : The Boy of Silver
Chapter 21 : To Have and Have Not
Chapter 25 : An Unwelcome Invitation
Chapter 27 : The House of Life
Chapter 28 : That Which Is Seen and Heard
Chapter 29 : In Search of Demons
Chapter 30 : Weighing of the Hearts
Chapter 31 : The Ba Speaks Again
Chapter 32 : Of Faith and Friendship
“Fill not your heart with a brother,
Know not a friend,
Nor make for yourself intimates,
For nothing is to be gained from them.
When you lie down at night,
let your heart be watchful over you;
For a man has no people, in the day of evil.
I gave to the beggar, I nourished the orphan;
I admitted the insignificant as well as him
who was great of account.
But it was he who ate my bread who conspired against me,
He, to whom I gave my hand, aroused fear therein;
They who put on my fine linen behaved like worthless louts,
They who anointed themselves with my myrrh
made my way slippery,
It was after the evening meal, night had come.
I took an hour of heart’s ease.
Lying upon my couch, I relaxed;
My heart began to follow slumber.
Behold, weapons were flourished,
Council was held against me,
While I was like a serpent of the desert.
I awoke to fight utterly alone…”
–– The Teachings Of King Amunemhet I For His Son Senworsret
I was being pulled, not uncomfortably, but with definite speed. Whatever was drawing me was doing so with a sense of urgency. I had been sitting comfortably on my roof terrace gazing in the direction of the great desert where the snakes have wings and travel on four legs leaving trails of fire in their wake, contemplating the subtle shade of pink just above the sandy horizon, when I disintegrated. Just like that. My form was gone.
No hands or fingers to feel with, no eyes to see, no breath to call out in surprise. I was moving through one substance and then another, clay, limestone, petrified wood, minerals and sand. I was scattered, my whole severed into many, like a flock of birds, twisting and undulating in flight as one beneath the earth, set on an unknown course not of my choosing. The sensation of it seemed familiar. It was coming back to me; I think it was the layer of shale, which tickled my memory. I had traveled this way before.
When I burst forth, all resistance giving way, my being congealed and my senses returned. I was soaring up into the night sky, the full moon almost blinding me, a fierce wind battering my delicate state. I was on the other side –– that was clear –– the smell of it waking powerful memories: river mud, soggy reeds, cornflowers, and hippopotamus. It was glorious. I could have clung to that moment forever, trapped in the scents of a life lost, but then I saw the great ibis.
I had been waiting for this moment for years, for my master to reveal himself to me again. I had not forgotten my calling to serve him. As my heart filled with awe taking in his presence, his striking white feathers gleaming in the moonlight, his long beak poised in an arch, the stars reflecting in his deep, all-seeing, black eyes, his wings outstretched, beating vigorously against the elements, I could not help feeling that something was wrong.
And then time stopped, the ibis and I remaining separate from the temporal world. The suddenness of the silence was disconcerting, but it allowed me to take in the scene I was confronted with, the whirling sand, the cacophony of palm fronds battering against one another, and the howl of a hot wind, all of which distracted me. Below, the wide glossy swath of the Nile became a solid mass and on it, caught on a shoal, was a small wooden boat. A boy was falling overboard. He was caught in mid-air, one foot breaking the surface of the water. His hands were tied, a rather curious fact, since in theory no one can bind their his own hands. Someone had done this to him.
I focused on his face. His expression was tense, his mouth thin, his eyes half closed in anticipation of his impending impact. Despite the oddity of the moment, I knew who the boy was. I met him in a dream not long before. Brief as our encounter was, it had left me feeling proud.
A grandson. My daughter, Sepedet’s boy.
As soon as I realized this, the wind resumed. The boat jerked along the shoal and drifted on. The boy dropped into the flowing water with a splash. A man’s voice rang out across the distance. If I had had a body the sound of that voice would have sent a shiver up my spine. It belonged to a man who was not to be trifled with. The boy was in danger. Descending quickly, I searched the water’s surface, sure that my grandson was heading for the shore.
I heard another splash. Someone dove from the boat. The boy came up for air and disappeared. I thought for a moment I had lost him and then I spied him coming up within a clump of reeds. I joined him there unnoticed. He shivered with fear, his eyes wide, searching. A man’s form slowly took shape before us. The moonlight played on his wet skin, his profile and features etched indelibly in my memory. A feeling of betrayal returned, a flash of fear and sorrow. I shrank into the reeds forgetting that I was already dead.
What was I now but a mere shadow, helpless against this fiend? I could not beat him with my fists. I could not yell to distract him from the boy, who trembled in the water within his reach. I caught sight of the ibis. My master had brought me here for a reason. I had to act, but I wondered what interest Thoth had in the boy. Why was he here? What had happened during my absence from the world of the living?
My master answered. He filled my heart and the story unfolded before me.
It was a fine afternoon, the sun a magnificent disk in a light blue sky. The wind blew gently upon the skin and filled out the thick linen sail of a trader’s vessel. It was one of many larger boats traveling along the Nile. Its wooden frame rode low in the water, weighted down by its cargo. Its deck was a jumble of goods, which varied at each port.
Wedged between stacked bales of dried herbs and a pile of aromatic logs sat a boy and an old woman whose knobby fingers were busy with a tangled ball of twine. The boy was ten, but small for his age. His scalp was smooth, having been freshly shaved, only his eyebrows and lashes giving an indication that he had dark brown hair that matched the color of his eyes. His skin was deep in tint, and his chest was as bare as his legs, which were crossed before him on the warm worn deck. The only clothing he wore was a coarsely woven loincloth held in place by a knot.
His gaze was fixed on the passing scenery; date palm groves and wide open fields, their earth rutted by the plow and dotted with farmers sewing seed. Small herds of cattle were being driven down to the muddy banks of the river to drink and look for tender grass. But the boy did not take in what he saw. He was brooding. In his hand was a papyrus scroll, the cause of his discontent. With a grudging sigh he unrolled it, as he had many times over the past few days, and read the neatly formed hieroglyphs, which determined his future, and were indeed the reason he was on this trip at all.
Year 9, 3rd month of Planting
Salutations Sepedet, daughter of Osirankh,
I, Ani, being teacher, priest, and a member of the High Council of Temple Construction in Amun’s House in Thebes, request the presence of your son, Ahmose, at the temple’s school. His subjects will include mathematics and written works, the duration of his studies will depend on his aptitude. His room and board will be provided; all he need bring is his desire to learn.
Regards,
Teacher Ani
P.S. It is expected that Ahmose arrive in a timely manner.
The boy’s grip tightened, crinkling the papyrus. The old woman looked up from her twine and scowled.
“Ahmose, put that away now, before you damage it, or worse lose it to the river.”
“And what if it were lost?” the boy asked, tempted by the image of the scroll bitten to bits by a hungry perch.
“You would still be going,” the old woman said, snatching it from him.
“But why can’t Senu go? He’s older –– he should be the one, not me.”
“Your father needs your brother on the farm.”
“But he also needs me.”
“Yes, of course he does.” But somehow the old woman’s words did not sound as if she meant them. “Do not forget, Ahmose, that Senu cannot read or write; only you and your mother can do that.”
“Then my mother should go!”
“Really, you are being absurd.”
“Reading and writing –– I don’t need them to plow the soil and harvest grain.”
“That is why your brother will be doing that. Besides, I know that you like to read and are quick to learn –– your mother has told me.”
Ahmose looked away from her and pretended great interest in a lone crocodile sunning itself on the far shore. He could not deny it. He liked reading well enough, but not when it made him different from the others. It was fine with his little sister. She had always looked up to him. She took an interest in the glyphs and called Ahmose a magician because he could understand what, for her, remained a mystery. But he did not like it when it set him apart from his brother. Senu and their father were close. They worked the farm while Ahmose had his lessons.
He had memorized passages and copied texts. He had been introduced to the works of the masters, whose writings inspired thought. His mind would return to those passages at night when he lay next to his brother, who slept. A force existed in the written word. Ahmose did not quite understand it, but it attracted him nonetheless. He did not share his curiosity with anyone, not even his mother, who was his teacher.
The captain, a swarthy man with powerful hands, called to the sailors. He stood at the back of the boat and, gripping the steering oar, pulled it towards himself. The boat rocked heavily to one side; the sound of something large coming loose in the hold caused some one to swear below deck. Ahmose lost sight of the crocodile as the boat tacked and he felt the surge of movement when their square sail caught the wind.
“It might be hard for you to understand now,” the old woman continued, righting herself, “but the priests of Amun’s House are powerful men. If they ask a small boy like you from the countryside to go to their school then we must do as they ask. It would not be in our best interests to refuse. Think of how such an education could help your family. At the end of your studies you will be a scribe. Do not think only of the here and now –– think of your future. Your financial rewards could be great.”
“And what if I fail!” the boy answered, his voice raised, his soft eyes looking moist.
“You will not fail! You come from a lineage of ––,” she stopped, her mouth open in mid-sentence.
“Lineage of what?” asked the boy, turning to her.
“Of –– of people ––,” she said, looking flustered. “People who were –– persistent.”
“What?”
“Well, yes, we go on. That’s right –– you do not get my age by giving up. Now listen, everything will be fine. I will be in Thebes to set things straight. You will not be alone.” She rolled up the scroll and placed it carefully inside her travel basket. “Oh, this reminds me: I have to ask the captain if he would act as a courier for your mother’s letters. I heard the sailors talking and they said that they travel this route monthly.”
“What letters?” Ahmose asked, straightening up.
His great-aunt Ini patted her gray hair into place and got to her feet. “Did she not tell you? Your mother wants to write to you while you are away –– tell you about the goings on at the farm –– so you will not be lonely.”
“Oh.”
“Listen, while I am gone work on that twine some more. I want to use it to hang up your sheet so we can have some shade. I am turning much too brown sitting in the open sun all day.”
Ini’s skin was always brown. Brown and leathery. Ahmose took up the twine and picked at it absently, watching his great-aunt dip behind a bale of fragrant bark. As soon as she was gone he remembered the bag of dried figs his mother had packed for their trip up the Nile. His great-aunt would not notice that a few were missing –– there were so many and his stomach growled at the thought of them.
As the days passed, they stopped at the merchant harbors while the captain traded his goods. The old woman bartered for the small luxury of fresh food, but mostly she and the boy ate their own supplies. It was not long, though, before the dried figs had mysteriously disappeared, the once freshly baked bread was drier than sand and the salty fish the old woman pressed on the boy at every meal became intolerable.
When on the sixth morning aboard the ship Ahmose woke, he caught the smell of smoke over the Nile. He crawled from under the sheet’s protection, his head still heavy with sleep. Along the western shore several large fires burned, but they were not roasting slabs of meat, or boiling pots of thick porridge –– of which Ahmose had been dreaming; they were bubbling inedible substances. Near-naked men worked the bellows in the vast shipyards, where the frames of boats of various sizes perched on land. The old woman stirred next to Ahmose and, sitting up, she pulled her shawl over her hunched shoulders.
“We have arrived. This is Thebes,” she announced.
The captain tacked, and the boat heeled. The sail swung aside, opening up a magnificent view. Ahmose felt his heart skip a beat, his thoughts of breakfast quickly disappearing. Buildings clustered densely along the river’s edge, stretched out endlessly as far as Ahmose could see. Beyond them, the sun rose from the eastern hills; the city’s pale walls were marked by the stark shadows of morning. Something caught Ahmose’s eye: two points of gold shone between the fluttering flags atop a massive gate.
“That is Amun’s House,” she said. “I asked the captain to let us disembark near the temple harbor and now he has missed his chance. Too much traffic.”
Laden merchant vessels from the south descended on the city. Ferries full of people bobbed across the river. Reed skiffs and other small crafts loaded with fish or produce gathered, and some came alongside to barter their wares.
“Never mind, we will just have to walk back. Now, Ahmose, come away from the edge of the boat. Stop looking at that vegetable seller –– you are only exciting him. We do not need any lettuce. He can keep his beans, too.” His great-aunt pulled her travel basket close to her and began to pick through its contents. “You need to get ready. You certainly cannot show up at the school wearing that,” she said, pointing to his loincloth.
“What do you mean? I always wear this.”
“Not any more. Put this on,” and she passed him a tunic and kilt.
In addition to her other work, Ahmose’s mother wove cloth on her loom, which she usually sold at market. When she learned that Ahmose was going to school in Thebes she had quickly gone to work and made him new clothes. When he unfolded the tunic and pulled it over his head he smelled her scent on the cloth, but it did not bring him ease. He felt strange wearing so much clothing. It was as if he were playing at being someone else, and he wondered how anyone was supposed to walk normally with so much cloth flapping around his knees. He looked to his great-aunt hoping to hear words of disapproval, but she instead handed him a pair of sandals.
“Oh no –– I don’t need those!” Ahmose said, drawing back from them as if they were poisonous.
“Of course you need them! In the city it is best to present oneself in a more refined manner. Now stand still so I can put on the kohl,” and with deft hands and a firm grip she painted two thin black lines along each of his eyes.
With the sailors on the lookout, the captain skillfully navigated without mishap through the chaotic mass of boats towards the waterfront. Ahmose wondered where they would dock, for there appeared not to be one slip left. But the other traders, seeing the vessel coming toward them at a sound speed, scrambled to save their livelihood and made way.
“Do not forget to bring the letters you have promised to deliver. I am making more than a fair trade for your services!” Ahmose’s great-aunt said to the captain after the boat was tied up.
The swarthy captain crossed his massive arms over his chest. “But I have agreed to transport these letters free of charge.”
“Free of charge? Think of what this could mean for you –– the words you can place on your grave: ‘Here lies a trader. Let him prosper in the afterlife, for he conveyed the words of a distant mother to the heart of her lonely son.’ The gods will look kindly on you –– that is surely payment enough!”
She called for the sailors to make way and with their travel baskets in hand, the boy and the old woman disembarked.
Stepping off the gangplank of the trader’s boat Ahmose and his great-aunt were swept up in the crowds on the docks. Porters, bowed from the weight of heavy packs, jostled by them and they had to dodge a throng of women carrying jugs of water on their heads. The air was thick with the sounds of voices and animals, and the pungent smell of produce. The bartering between the traders and the city’s merchants was fierce –– if not indecent –– and Ahmose felt his cheeks flush.
“Close your ears,” he heard his great-aunt Ini say ahead of him. “And keep your basket close. People’s hands tend to wander.”
Ahmose pulled his basket up under his chin and, unable to see where they were heading, followed in his great-aunt’s wake. The crowd thinned as they climbed a steep road leaving the hustle and noise behind them. When they reached the top of the high riverbank Ahmose paused for a moment, letting his basket drop back down to his side. His legs lurched as if he were still on the trader’s boat and he caught a last glimpse of the docks before entering the narrow streets of the city.
Stray cats pawed at garbage and were chased away by a pack of hungry dogs. A policeman poked his stick at a man sleeping off his drink. Mothers unbolted their wooden slat doors to sweep the sand from their homes and their children wiped their eyes. The smell of cooking fires wafted through the air and the sound of chatter came from within the walled yards.
His great-aunt’s limp did not stop her from setting a good pace and Ahmose could already feel a blister on his foot where his new sandals rubbed. They walked on, turning right at one crossing and left at the next. Then, without warning, in the middle of the street, the old woman slowed to a stop.
“Thebes has not changed,” she murmured, staring at a large prosperous house. “I should not have come this way…”
The carved wooden door opened, and the old woman hissed, turning her gray head away. Ahmose watched a big man with a black-braided wig leave the house. He wore a broad leather collar around his thick neck and a lengthy kilt and jacket reaching to his ankles.
“Do you know him?” asked Ahmose, but his great-aunt did not answer. He looked to his right and then to his left. She was gone.
“Ini!” he yelled, dashing up the street. Just past an inn, with a large sign painted in the shape of a lotus, he saw his great-aunt waiting for him.
“Why did you run from that man?”
“Do not be silly and try to keep up, will you?
“Try to keep up? I thought I’d lost you!”
Ini turned from him. “Look up and down the road,” she instructed. “Behind us is the Southern Temple and before us the revered house of the goddess Mout, and beyond that the temple of Amun.”
Ahmose had been concentrating so hard on finding her that he had not realized where he stood. Nothing he had ever seen came close to the grandeur of what lay before him and for a moment he forgot all about the painful blister his new sandals had caused. A wide boulevard cut a perfectly straight line through the city. On either side towered hundreds of ram-headed sphinxes carved from stone, their white surfaces glistening in the sun. Each rested on a pedestal, its feline body flat to the stone, paws before it and the face stoically facing forward. Ahmose and his great-aunt walked up the boulevard, passing the high walls enclosing the goddess Mout’s temple, and stopped before the even higher walls of Amun’s House. Ahmose studied the scene carved on the massive pylon gate with some apprehension. Pharaoh was depicted with a raised stick, threatening other, smaller, figures with it. He carried in his hand a netted bag that contained numerous severed hands.
“We cannot enter here,” his great-aunt said. “This gate is reserved for official ceremonies.”
“What are all these people doing here along the walls?”
“As you can see, one of the finest markets in Thebes is here, and then over there are the ear shrines to which many come to make their prayers known to Amun. Ordinary folk are not allowed into the temple. Amun’s sacred statue is kept hidden and pure within the very heart of the temple complex, and only the priests of the highest order, or Pharaoh himself, may approach the god within his sanctuary. Everyone else must make do with his listening ears.”
They continued along the walls until they arrived at another entrance, smaller in size but still grand in Ahmose’s eyes. Ini asked the guards manning the gate the way to the temple school. They directed them down a busy thoroughfare within the temple complex and told them to take the first turn to the left. Priests and lay people strode the streets. They moved with such purpose that Ahmose found it unsettling. It was as if he and Ini were constantly in the way. People definitely moved at a more relaxed pace in the countryside.
“It cannot be far off now. The guard said there would be a Nubian gatekeeper in front. There he is,” she said, pointing to a man whose brown figure was long and sinewy. He wore a short kilt, wide leather wrist cuffs, and a small silver hoop through his left ear lobe. Ahmose noticed with some trepidation that he also carried a spear. The gatekeeper was speaking to a younger man who was similarly dressed, with a monkey perched on his shoulder. When Ahmose and his great-aunt approached, the creature uncurled its yellow tail and bared its sharp pointy teeth. The older of the two asked their business.
“My nephew is a new student,” Ini announced, taking the scroll that granted Ahmose admission to the school from her basket. The Nubian looked closely at the scroll’s writing, but like Ini, he could not read. He had to take her word for it and with a curt, elegant bow he stepped aside.
A few paces inside, directly in front of them, towered a massive slab of grey granite incised with the figure of Thoth, the god of wisdom. Thoth was the patron of the scribes and his reputation was that of truth and integrity. Ini hobbled past, but Ahmose stopped to run his fingers over the smooth carving. Thoth’s body was that of a trim, erect man holding a ledger and pen. His head, though, was that of an ibis.
Continuing around Thoth’s effigy, Ahmose found himself in a large courtyard shaded by trees. His great-aunt studied the two buildings with their wide sandstone stairs leading up to high wooden doors, and the kitchen house that lay between them. Ahmose noticed the whole school was enclosed.
“This is your new home now,” said his great-aunt.
“Home?” Ahmose gulped.
Up until now, it was as if he had merely been taking a trip, as if he and Ini were off on an adventure, just the two of them. But now, standing before the school buildings, hearing the voices of the boys within, it all became real. She was going to leave him. He jerked his hand out of her leathery grip.
“I don’t belong in this place!”
“We have spoken about all this before. Do not be childish ––.”
“Childish! Those men at the gate have spears!”
The old woman’s voice softened. “Of course they do, for your own safety. Do not be angry. You know how dear you are to me. Your time here will go by quickly, you will see. Do not forget that I am in Thebes. I will be at my little sister’s –– you remember the district?”
Ahmose kicked at a tuft of grass and nodded. It was somewhat consoling to know that she would not be too far away, but he kept his head down, not wanting to look at her.
“Now, I almost forgot. Here is your mother’s first letter,” and Ini pressed a narrow papyrus scroll in his hand. “If you do not see me before, then look for me on the first of the month. Let us hope that the captain keeps up his end of the bargain.”
“May I be of help, dear lady?”
Ahmose and his great-aunt turned to see who had spoken. It was an old priest. He carried a staff in his thin hands and leaned upon it. His shaven head was shiny with lightly scented oil, and he wore a simple white kilt and woven sandals whose soles continued up, arching high over his toes. His eyes were round and pleasant and his back slightly curved.
“Thank you, sir,” said Ahmose’s great-aunt. “We are looking for Teacher Ani.”
“Well then, you must look no further. I am Ani and this must be my new pupil. Welcome to the temple school. Ahmose, is it not?”
Ahmose bowed and said it was.
“Come with me, Ahmose, for I see my colleague, Teacher Ramose, coming, which means I am late.”
“In that case, it is time for me to say good-bye,” said the old woman. “You will do well, Ahmose. Take care.”
Ahmose followed his teacher up the wide stairs. When he reached the top, he waved good-bye. His great-aunt Ini waved back and then disappeared behind Thoth’s effigy. With a heavy heart, he placed the letter in his travel basket and passed through the high wooden doors of the Upper House.
Year 9, 3rd month of Planting
Dear Ahmose,
If you are reading this letter then you have arrived in good health and are at the temple school. You are a brave son and I know that it has not been easy for you to leave us for places unknown. At least Ini is with you and she is quite familiar with Thebes. I suppose this is where my story begins. You were born here on the farm. You have not known anything else but the countryside surrounding this small house and the village to which the road leads. But, I am familiar with Thebes and so will you be, too.
Before the god, Khnum, formed you out of clay on his potter’s wheel, things came to pass in that city, events which forced my departure. If they were easy to describe my letter would soon be finished, but the past grows tangled. I have decided the best way of relating to you these events, as time must be observed, is to tell you my story as it happened.
As I write this letter I wear the ebony amulet that was given to me on the day of my birth. As you know it is a carving of the ‘djed’ pillar, the symbol of strength, but what you do not know is that this pendant may be opened. Inside it is a small statue of the moon god, Khonsu. You will not be familiar with his figure for he is a Theban god, the son of Amun. It is uncommon to give such a figure to a newborn female child. Why not the lovely and powerful Isis, or the goddess Mout?
You see, Ahmose, I was my parents’ last hope. It cannot be helped that I possessed the strength the pendant foretold. Perhaps, if I could have known what sorrow my arrival would bring, I would not have greedily swallowed the air that swelled my chest or clutched the breast that was soon to grow cold. My mother’s dying question and the answer she received did not ease her departure to the other side. I was not the son my parents had been praying for, so they did not name me after the moon god. I was born at dawn, and to mark my mother’s death my father named me after the goddess Sepedet whose star is visible above the horizon at daybreak.
I was told that my mother was beautiful and I do not speak of a beauty that comes with love. She was said to be breathtaking in form and manner, an advantageous trait for her profession. She was a musician in the Temple of Mout and it was her voice that brought her fame. She was best known for singing the ballad ‘The Splendid One’. With it she could kindle feelings of passion in even the darkest of hearts.
What I know of my mother I was told by my sisters and servants, but my father could never broach the subject and, even though I wanted to, I never asked. Apparently my father was a changed man after my mother’s death. He was pensive, reclusive and at times cold, and I never knew him to be any other way. I remember wondering as a young girl if, when he looked at me, that he wished I had died that day in my mother’s place, so that he could have continued his life indulged by her love. She would have been able to bridge the gap between him and his daughters. It was not that he did not love us, for I am most certain that he did, but it was as if he wanted to keep us separate, at a distance from himself and his own interests. He was a man of intellect who enjoyed reading and contemplating the classics. His study was his sanctuary, to which he would retreat. At a very young age I watched him there at work; the markings he made with ink and the reed pen fascinating me. I learned to sit very still or he would call for my nanny to take me away.
My father’s name was Osirankh and his title was that of Archivist. He was trained in Amun’s House at the temple school, the same school you attend now. This knowledge should comfort you –– to know that he came before you. You are not breaking new ground, you are following tradition. But of course none of that matters in the beginning, when you do not know anyone and feel ill at ease. Over time it will pass and you will make friends and learn from your teacher. It is important to make a good impression and to work hard. You will be noticed and appreciated. You can only profit from such an effort. As you can guess from my description of your grandfather, and given his nature, he did well at school. After he finished his studies he was asked to become an apprentice at the House of Books, Amun’s vast library.
Ahmose, this is a lot for you to understand. I did not tell you earlier because there was no need, living simply on the farm. But now you have arrived in Thebes –– your very presence honoring your grandfather. I want you to understand his fate and my own. It is not an easy or comforting story, but most of all I do not want for you to believe the gossip or opinions of people who do not know the truth. It was a long time ago. Twelve years, to be exact. Perhaps it has all been forgotten.
Ahmose, keep well. You will have to work hard to keep up with the others. I hope I have trained you well. It also would not hurt to acquaint yourself with the gods of Thebes. They are very powerful. Make your voice known to them. Please give Ini my greeting. Be assured that there will not be a moment when you are not missed.
Your Mother
In the darkness of the morning hours the priests of Amun’s House gather on the roof terrace of the House of Time to watch the sky. When the stars behind the eastern hills fade with the faint glow of dawn the priests send out criers to walk the deserted temple streets, their voices piercing the stillness and rousing the faithful from sleep.
“Rise! Rise to serve Amun!”
Ahmose rolled over on his sleeping mat, his mind pulling out of an annoying dream. He had had the dream before. It started with his arrival at the school. He opened his eyes, listening to the low voices coming from the other rooms. Untangling himself from his sheet, he trod down the hall and outside to the latrines.
Breakfast was served and after the initiates had cleared away the platters Ahmose and the other boys prepared themselves for Teacher Ani’s arrival. Taking out their plaster-coated practice boards, they readied their scribe’s palettes. They inspected their reed pens for splits, filled their vessels with water, moistened their black ink cakes and said a few words to Thoth, the god of wisdom. After the morning lesson the boys ate lunch, after which they enjoyed some free time. Most piled into the courtyard to play. Ahmose though, after helping carry a water pitcher to the kitchen, retreated through the high doors of the Upper House.
He passed by the pillared halls; two rooms opposite each other in which the raised ceilings were supported by four columns. Inside, he saw Teacher Ani and his assistant, Guardian Hemwer, finishing their noonday meal, which they ate from a large platter set upon a linen cloth on the floor. Across from them sat Teacher Ramose with Guardian Huy. Ahmose moved down the corridor and pushing the curtain aside, he stepped into the room he shared with two boys named Baal and Kai.
It was small, just big enough for three sleeping mats and a bit of space in which to walk around them. It was larger than the nook Ahmose had slept in with his brother outside the storage room at home and had fewer bugs, too. Here, the ceiling was high, twice as high as their farm house, and at the top of the outer wall there was a narrow window. Below were several earthenware jars of various sizes. Those belonged to his younger roommate, Baal, who was seven, and along the opposite wall was a beautifully carved wooden chest belonging to his other roommate, Kai who was Ahmose’s own age. Inside the chest Kai kept clothes, games, a lamp, stores of food and, sitting on top, was a devotional statue of the god Horus, expertly carved from black granite. Ahmose had already gathered that most of the boys at the temple school were like Kai. Kai’s father held an official position. He was respected and came from the elevated class of scribes.
Ahmose went to the corner where he kept his travel basket. Reaching in, he felt for the slim roll of papyrus and pulled it out. Opening it carefully, his eyes scanned his mother’s writing. He wondered what kind of gossip or untruths she worried that he might hear in Thebes. It was unsettling to learn of this now, but to him the most important question was: why was he here? Why had he been asked to study at the temple school? He wanted to be on the farm, working along side his father like Senu. Their father would not have allowed him to be sent away, as Ahmose had. He preferred Senu and Ahmose knew it. Senu was the lucky one, not he.
Ahmose thought back to the day when Ani’s letter had arrived by messenger and the whole family had been impressed. His mother read it aloud for the others. Ahmose remembered how his father’s strong, calloused hands had reached out, palms up to hold the letter. How he ran his fingers over the glyphs to glean an understanding, though for him the letter remained mute. The swallow, the basket, and the twisted wick did not speak to him, the mystery of the written word a reminder of his place among the peasantry. It was something that had never bothered Ahmose before, but here at the school, he feared that the boys would learn who his father was and of his simple circumstances growing up on a farm.
Ahmose felt slightly sick inside. It was all too confusing. He returned the letter to the bottom of the basket and left the little room. Between two simple wooden doors leading to the guardians’ private chambers was the rectangular box of the house altar. It sat on a low pedestal, next to an offering of nuts in an earthenware bowl and an incense burner, which the guardians lit every morning and evening. Ahmose knelt down and, carefully taking hold of two tiny knobs, he opened the box’s shiny black pitch-painted doors. Inside were the three gods of Thebes: Amun, Mout and Khonsu.
Amun took the form of a well-proportioned man carrying a staff and wearing a tall, twin-plumed headdress. At his side stood a beautiful woman, his wife, the goddess, Mout, and his son, Khonsu, the moon god. Ahmose looked closer and saw that Khonsu held a crook in one hand and the djed pillar in the other.
His mother had written about her amulet of the djed pillar. It was cylindrical in shape. Wide at the bottom, it tapered upwards and flared out again at the top. It was carved from ebony and around the upper half ran four ivory rings. It was an object that he had looked at almost every day of his life, but without knowing that it contained the miniature statue of Khonsu. The thought of it brought back memories of home and the smell of incense, their family altar.
It was a simple wall niche cluttered with images of local farming deities. Among their statuettes were a few painted pictures of Ahmose’s departed relatives. On a smooth piece of limestone with a decorative border, his mother’s parents were depicted. Ahmose remembered that the man in the painting, his grandfather, held a hoe. Ahmose never thought it odd before, coming from what he had believed to be a family of farmers. It must have been part of his mother’s deception.
Ahmose recited a prayer that he had learned in class. When he finished he bowed low to the three gods of Thebes and closed the pitch-painted doors. He wandered back outside again. From the top of the stairs looking down into the courtyard, he noticed Teacher Ani leave with his young note taker, Moses. A commotion pulled his attention from the gate. A wrestling circle had formed over by the Lower House. Someone was yelling, the onlookers jeered, and all of a sudden Ahmose’s roommates Baal and Kai broke through the circle of boys. Kai’s face was thrust upwards and Baal led him by the elbow. Ahmose ran down the stairs and followed them to the shady ground under the large fig tree.
“Do you think it’s broken?” he heard Baal ask.
“It’s only a bloody nose,” Kai answered. “Ahmose, is that you? Come here.”
“What –– what happened?” asked Ahmose coming closer.
“Montu. That’s what’s happened,” answered Baal.
“Montu? I don’t know him. Which one is he?”
“Don’t ask. It’s safer not to know him.”
“There he is,” said Kai and his yellow-brown eyes lined in kohl narrowed at the wrestling circle, where a large youth stood, grinning at them. Ahmose was reminded of a saying his father often quoted: “Keep your distance from a hippopotamus. For at its head are deadly tusks and at its tail, foul dung flies.”
Montu was from the Lower House, big and well fed. His chest was broad and under a thick layer of baby fat was solid, frightening muscle. His jaw was square, his teeth stubby and he gnashed them together in what could be taken for a smile, but was usually the precursor to a beating or some other form of humiliation. Ahmose had observed him baiting others to go to the ring with him. He was an excellent wrestler, in both tactics and technique. Kai was either incredibly foolish or exceedingly brave.
“You wrestled that?” Ahmose asked.
“Are you kidding?” said Kai. “He punched me.”
“Only after you called him a lumpy sleeping mat,” added Baal.
“I had to do something,” began Kai. “Baal was wrestling Montu’s roommate, and after Baal had him down in a full body pin, Montu tried to disqualify his win.”
“Bad Montu! He made fun of me,” Baal said. “He called me a person of lowliness and he said he’s glad he shares his room with people of the kem, and not a foreigner.”
Kai picked himself up on his elbows. “Montu can’t get off so easily saying something like that. Baal is in my charge and if Montu insults him, he insults me.” Blood then dribbled down Kai’s face.
“I’ll get some water,” and Baal got up to cross the courtyard to the large water cisterns in front of the kitchen house.
Ahmose was imagining what fun this Montu would have if he found out that his family farmed the black soil of the kem. He did not like what he saw in his mind’s eye. He felt wary of those boys. But what about Baal?
“If he’s not from Egypt, where’s he from?” he asked Kai.
“He’s a Canaanite, from the inhospitable red land of the dsrt, although I’m sure he doesn’t remember much of it. He’s already been here a couple of years now. He’s a prisoner of war, really.”
“A prisoner of war!”
“He was given to the temple as a gift from Pharaoh.”
“But why?”
“That’s what happens if you challenge Pharaoh and lose,” and Kai told him about Baal’s capture. “Baal’s father was a Canaanite prince. He and other Canaanite warlords plotted against Pharaoh’s territorial claims. They wanted to drive out Pharaoh, but his army was too strong. The Canaanites hid inside their city and Pharaoh laid siege, but in the end they surrendered. As a token of peace, the warriors gave Pharaoh chests of treasure and their youngest children. Some went to the royal schools to be educated as Egyptians and others, like Baal, were given to the temples.”
Ahmose looked over at Baal dipping a cup down into the cistern. He was slight, with light skin, green eyes and a side lock of curly reddish-brown hair. Traveling up the Nile on the trader’s boat Ahmose had noticed people in the harbors, the likes of whom he had never encountered in the countryside. They dressed differently, their hair was long and some had beards. These were the Easterners, and Baal was one of them. He had heard stories told in the village of the wars waged by Pharaoh against the Easterners, but the subject was rarely spoken of at home, and when it was, everyone rubbed his or her amulet and said words to protect Senu who was the eldest and the most likely member of their family to be conscripted into the army.
“Kai, do you have a brother?” Ahmose asked.
“No such luck. I have six older sisters,” he said, sitting up, straightening the black bangs of his bob cut. “But you and Baal are my brothers. We have to stick together here at school.”
Baal returned with a cup of water and Ahmose watched him rinse away Kai’s blood. He did not feel like Kai’s brother, or Baal’s for that matter, but he considered Kai’s words carefully. He could not hide in his room forever, but Ahmose would have to watch himself, not to give too much away about where he came from, or give the boys at the temple school anything they could use against him, to demean him like Montu had Baal. Kai might not be so willing to settle all their battles.
Beyond the fig tree, the guardians called for the afternoon lessons to begin. A roar erupted from the courtyard; the sound of the boys’ disappointment at the end of break was hard to miss. Feet trampled this way and that, sandals were left, forgotten, among the grass. As the dust slowly settled, the last of the stragglers departed for their respective houses. Once in the pillared hall, Ahmose picked up his plaster-coated board and instead of sitting off to the side, away from the others, he took a place next to Baal and Kai.
Year 9, 4th month of Planting
Dear Ahmose,
Our fields are green and so far we have not suffered from the pests who in the past have come to feast upon our living. We should not forget to give our many thanks to the gods in offerings. The farmers of western Thebes will do the same for the goddess Renenutet at this time of year. I know this because my mother came from a village in those parts and her sister was named after the goddess, but we just called her Renut.
As girls, my sisters trained at the music school at the temple of Mout. They learned the arts of music and dance, and Merit excelled in voice, just as our mother had. They took me with them for at least a year and acquainted me with the trade, but it was soon discovered that I had no sense of tone. They decided that instead I would learn an instrument, and when that failed, acrobatics. That held my attention the longest, but competition was fierce, and eventually I was sent away from the school.
This left me with a lot of time at home while my sisters were out at the temple of Mout and my father was at the City Archives. I would often go to his study, its smell reminding me of him. I dared, as I was alone, to pull documents from the shelves, open them and study the glyphs that I could not read. As time went on I grew bolder, taking my father’s reed pen, wetting the ink and scribbling on a discarded limestone shard I had picked from the garbage pit. For many months I continued my clandestine activity. I did not understand what I copied from these texts that my father held dear, but I noticed similar groupings of glyphs, and felt a sense of discovery when I ran across a new one. And so it went, my tenth year, until my aunt, Renut, arrived.
She had not come alone: she brought her youngest son Hemwer. She explained that she would not be seeing us for some time as her husband, who served in Pharaoh’s army, was being sent to the northern regions of the Kush where there was now unrest. Although all their sons enjoyed wrestling, spear throwing and the art of the dagger, they did not know what to do about Hemwer. If he went with them my aunt was worried that he might be drafted into the infantry, which would surely bring about his death. As my aunt finished this sentence tears poured from her eyes like the waters of the Nile and she pleaded with my father to take her son into his care.
My sisters and I looked at one another and then inspected this boy more carefully. He was twelve, like my eldest sister, Tuja. His back was strong and straight. His limbs were taut and his skin much darker than our own. His face was unblemished, angular, his nose narrow and his almond-shaped eyes were fixed on a spot on the floor before my father.
My father did not deliberate for long and welcomed Hemwer to his home. Hemwer looked up, his eyes like two dark coals, and speaking in a steady voice said that he was honored. My sister, Merit, sat next to me holding my hand. When she heard this she squeezed it so hard I almost yelped.
My sisters immediately began to dote on him, but I could not. I had this strange feeling whenever he looked at me, the feeling that I was drawn to him as the others were, but it was exactly this that repelled me. Not long after his arrival my father arranged a tutor, so that Hemwer could begin his studies. They sat in Father’s study and my most treasured pastime came to an abrupt end.
At loose ends, I sat just outside the door, my back against the wall, and listened. If the servants came by, I held my finger to my lips to hush them, and so, for a time, I learned just by listening, until I was discovered. I had not heard Hemwer coming –– there had been no break in his conversation with the tutor when he left the study and saw me outside the door.
Sometime later I came across his schoolwork laid out in the shade of the garden under the pergola covered in vines.
“Why don’t you just ask you father if you can join me?” he said on the steps of the pergola, his open arms barring my retreat.
“You might want look at the fourth line again,” I said.
“What?” he answered, his expression suddenly serious. By the time he had picked up the tablet I was gone.
Hemwer must have spoken to my father, for he came to me and said that I might study with Hemwer, as long as I did not make a nuisance of myself. That is how I began my years as a scribe in training, and I could not have been happier.
Ahmose I leave you now. My heart does not find rest when I think of you. Your family sends you and Ini greetings. Tell her that the pottery vendor is asking for one goose! She will know what this means.
Your Mother
Descending the stairs of the Upper House, Ahmose heard his name being called over the shouts of the boys as they played in the courtyard before the afternoon lessons. The voice sounded familiar, and yet foreign in the setting of the school. He looked around, and standing before Thoth’s granite slab with Taharqa watching her closely, was his great-aunt Ini. She looked much smaller and older than he remembered, but he had never thought he would be so happy to see his great-aunt’s sun-baked, wrinkled face and he dodged past the boys to get to her.
“You have grown,” Ini said, touching his head with her hand.
“It’s only been a couple of weeks,” he said casually, as if he had not been counting each day since his arrival at the school.
“I know I am late. I wanted to come earlier, but our friend the captain was held up. Something about a caravan of donkeys wandering off in a sand storm and causing delays. But at least I have it. Here is your mother’s letter.”
Ahmose took it in his hands.
“Let us find a shady spot so you can read it. I am curious to hear the news. I do hope that all has been well since our departure.”
They sat down on the tufted grass and leaned their backs against the cool bricks of the Upper House. Ahmose unrolled Sepedet’s letter and read it silently.
“The grain is growing well,” he related. “They haven’t suffered pests. She said that the pottery vendor is asking for a goose.”
“Good Amun! I hope she will not be taken in by him. He is a demon at the bargaining table –– why I would not give him a sparrow for his wares! The greed of some people is astounding, and I am faced with it every day at my little sister’s house. Before we arrived in Thebes she had just married and it has proved too much for her husband. He has taken to his bed and is like the living dead. He does not eat, or speak –– it is hard for me to tell what my sister ever saw in the man. I told her that she should beware of men who had married once too often. In his case, she is wife number four. I can just imagine what the others were like, by looking at his children.”
His great-aunt then wrung her knobby fingers in despair.
“They have gathered like vultures. They are awaiting his death and give my sister no peace. Thank the gods I have come, and not a moment too soon! But enough about me –– Ahmose, how is it at school? Are you wanting anything?”
“Yes,” answered Ahmose retying the thin reed around his mother’s letter. “I want to go home.”
His great-aunt pursed her lips and they disappeared in the wrinkles of her mouth.
“Haven’t they taught you anything at this school? You are still as foolish as ever.”
“I’m not foolish!” he answered. Ini’s sister lived in Thebes. This place was not foreign to his great-aunt. She must have known everything his mother had written to him –– about his grandfather studying at the temple school and about this Hemwer fellow. If he was foolish it was not his fault –– they had kept things from him.
From the top of the sandstone stairs the guardians called for the boys to their afternoon lessons. The usual scramble ensued as the boys retreated to their houses. Ahmose was just going to tell his great-aunt how he felt when she grabbed him in a vise-like hug.
“Oh, Ahmose. It has been dreadful for me without our family. I have become such a worrier, perhaps it is my old age. It is such a relief to hear that all is well with them. I am not as resilient as I used to be, and the gods know that at my sister’s house I need all my strength to fight that band of thieves. I only hope that Sepedet will not give that scoundrel the goose…”
As his great-aunt prattled on Ahmose realized that the courtyard had grown still and he heard the whoosh of Taharqa, the old gatekeeper, unfurling his mat for his afternoon repose. “I have to go,” he squeaked from between his great-aunt’s deceptively thin arms.
“Well, I don’t want to keep you from your studies,” and she released him. “I will see you soon. Take care, Ahmose.”
He waved to her quickly and dashed across the courtyard and up the sandstone stairs. His guardian stood in the high doorway of the Upper House, his almond-shaped eyes with their black lines of kohl fixed on him with an alarming intensity.