It is two nights since my daughter Khuyb fixed me with her beady stare and told me I was unkind to my wife’s mother. Does she not know that all men are unkind to their wife’s mother, and in turn are treated unkindly? It is not a matter of respect. It is a truth of nature that this must take place. And how would she know anyway, were it not for the stories that her mother tells. And of course young Imhotep has taken her side and argued against me in this matter. But I see how he passes a glance at Khuyb and I know that he argues more to please her than to say what he truly believes. This also is a truth of nature, that young men will do such things when seeking the favour of young women. And so on we go. But I must start my story again, for Imhotep is looking at me with dark eyes and, should Khuyb return, there is no doubt that she would also plague me. Again, this is a truth of nature. Enough! Enough! cries Imhotep. And so we begin.
When our Pharaoh appeared before us in his chariot of gold we fell to our knees as one and paid homage. Even the Centurions knelt, one hand upon their spears. The sun was hot on our backs as we knelt in the sand, the black flies thick across our shoulders. We knelt silently for what seemed a long time until the Pharaoh spoke. His voice was soft, like the reeds along the Nile, and we could but barely hear his words. He spoke of a visit from the Gods. How Ra and Osiris had come to him as he slept, waking him and walking with him in the gardens of his palace. He spoke of their words to him, words that told him of the great Lion of the Sands, the mythical Beast from the west that would come to Egypt to test it in its time of prosperity. They spoke of battles, of death, of glory, of the capture of the mighty Lion of the Sands, and of its transport to the distant land of Gond.
I could not turn my eyes from the Pharaoh as he spoke. It is the truth that I had never seen such finery. The golden head-dress that rose high above his head yet touched his shoulders, its crown marked with crossed sceptres of a crook and a flail, its edges tipped with the deep blue of lapis lazuli, the sceptre of gold and onyx that he held high, the burnished gold of the chariot, the gold and black trappings of the harness, the gleaming white of the horses, their heads topped with white feathers. It is also the truth that I, like all those around me, was dazzled and awed at the sight.
The Pharaoh gave praise to the army. He said we had defeated the Beast, but that it should not be destroyed. The Gods had ordained that it be captured and transported to the land of Gond. He said the land of Gond was beyond the Pillars of Hercules, far beyond the sea, and that a band of fearless warriors must perform this task. What did the Pharaoh mean? Capture? Transport? I heard men around me muttering. These were questions that would be answered before night fell. But the Pharaoh said no more. We watched as his chariot and those of his generals swept from the field of battle, their passing marked by a cloud of dust. We did not doubt that they would await the outcome of the battle from the comfort of their tents, at ease in the shade, with sweet tea and cakes and the fans of the courtiers.
The dust from the Pharaoh’s chariots had barely settled when we heard the creak and rattle of much larger vehicles, the crack of the wagoneer’s lash, and the bellow of the oxen. As we watched, a score of huge wagons moved slowly to the side of our formations. The wagons were low and many cubits in length, perhaps five score, and had many wheels. Each wheel was wide and heavy so that it might easily cross the desert sand, and each had many strong spokes as if to support a mighty weight. All the wagons were made of the wood of the Tamarix tree, that from the land of the Mittani, and known for its great strength. The wagons were pulled by teams of oxen, a score to each wagon. On each wagon stood a cage of cured leather and bronze, more than enough to give each man in the army a new sword and armour for his whole body. Each cage was as large as my father’s house, made of strong bars of bronze, as thick as a man’s arm, bound with painted knots of cured leather at the joints.
I remember my thoughts when I saw these cages of leather and bronze. They were great in size, much greater than the Beast, but would they have the strength to tame its savagery? Would the bars hold against its might? And how were we to place the Beast within each cage? I looked to my friend Naguib but Naguib just grinned and lifted his shoulders. I knew that he did not care. Naguib was always one to accept whatever may come. To my credit I must say that I tried to be as Naguib, many times. But, as is often my want, my mind would move to solve a problem before it became so. Such is my nature and never could I change it. For this even my father would scold me.
But I did not have to worry. I was soon to find that the Pharaoh’s courtiers and generals had planned well, that our triumph was assured, that our destruction of all but a score of the terrible Beasts was to take place that very day, their blood and ours spilled for the Gods, the last of the Beasts carried off in the bronze cages, my fate and that of my friends already ordained. In my life it I have seen this many times, that few men of power may decide the lot of the many, and in doing so, give assurance that such things are for the betterment of all. It has ever been so.
* * *
But our rest was short lived. Soon our drums again began to beat and the Centurions ran to and fro in front of our lines, shouting and pointing their spears down the valley. It was time. There were still ten score of Beasts in the shadows at the head of the valley. But this time we must not kill them all. At battle’s end some Beasts must remain alive. For we must fill the cages. The Pharaoh had spoken.
We watched as the cohorts on each side of our formation began to run along the sides of the valley, the Centurions leading, the drums pounding. The cohorts moved forward until a long line of men, five deep, stretched the length of the walls of the short valley. We heard distant shouts and saw the long lines kneel, their spears falling forward and creating a wall of death. Then the drums ceased and our Centurions appeared shouting and ordering the spear carriers to the sides, leaving the archers and slingsmen exposed. Around me men muttered and looked around. What was this plan? We were ordered to kneel in the sand and set our spears. But the archers and slingsmen were unprotected. Then the wagons began to move forward and all became clear.
All the wagoneers were Nubian, their skins gleaming black under the desert sun, their kurbaj of plaited hide from the horned beasts of the south, their bodies clothed in leather armour. More than ten men attended each wagon. Many carried drums, some carried long pikes. We watched as the giant black men drew the wagons into a line on the floor of the valley, turning the oxen until they faced away from the Beasts. When each wagon was halted those Nubians with pikes leapt forward and drove huge stakes into the desert sand. They lashed each stake to the sides of the wagons with long strands of plaited hemp, each as thick as a man’s arm. When each wagon was secured, long heavy pieces of timber were brought forward and laid each against the wagon bed so as to make a path that someone or something might pass. Two Nubians ran along the timber path and swung open the wide doors of the bronze cages and lashed each with thick strands of hemp. The cohorts lined each side of the valley, a wall of spears to guide the Beasts to their cages. But how I asked myself as I stood, shoulder to shoulder with Naguib? How would we drive the Beast from its shelter in the rocks? That also was soon to be answered.
The Centurions shouted again and the archers and slingsmen moved forward, forming lines across the front of the wagons. There was more shouting from our rear then two score of men ran forward carrying firepots and sheaves of arrows, their long barbs wrapped in rags dipped in tar. They ran through the lines of archers, passing arrows to the archers and driving long stakes into the sand, each topped with a burning torch. From these the archers would light their arrows. It was then that drums again began to beat, the noise rising behind us like a desert storm. I felt the fear rise in my throat as the air throbbed. At the end of the valley I could see the Beasts moving in the shadows and I felt their fear. There could be only one victor, and as I looked at the wall of death, the cages and the ranks of archers, their arrows burning bright in the sun, I knew that the Beast was doomed. But I knew also that more men wou
ld die for the Pharaoh’s dream.
The sky filled with flaming arrows and there was a mighty roar from the cohorts. We felt the earth shake as the Beast screamed, then the air was again aflame with whispering death, waves of arrows falling upon the Beasts, spearing into the hides of the larger Beasts and piercing those of the younger. We watched as the Beasts milled, the elders circling, screaming, knowing that they must protect the young. But knowing, too, that they must go forth and kill the enemy. Another whisper, as of the hiss of the asp, and a thousand shafts flew to the Beasts, dark smoke like ribbons in the sky. More Beasts fell and the air broke with the screaming of the wounded animals. The rocks and shadows seemed to burn and flicker with flame and movement as the Beasts sought shelter for themselves and their young. But there was no shelter. Everywhere the Beasts turned the flaming barbs fell, piercing skin and eye. And burning, always burning.
At last it was too much for those Beasts that remained, perhaps five score. Sweeping their young beside them they attacked, crashing into the line on one side of the valley, tearing men limb from limb and throwing bodies and broken spears into the air like the shattered branches of trees in a storm. The attack was so fierce and the Beast so terrible that the whole line shuddered. Men died by the score, torn apart by the bloodied claws and teeth of the mighty Beast. The roars and screams of dying men joined those of the Beast, the drums pounded, and for a long moment I feared that even now, even when the Beast was all but defeated, still might it destroy us.
Above us, the sun boiled in the sky, again turning our armour to heated plates that burned out skin. Our sandals were slick with heat and rough with sand, and tore the skin from our feet. The air was filled with dust and the screams of men and Beasts, the sky black with the smoke of the burning arrows, and always the drums, pounding, pounding, filling our heads with noise while our hearts filled with fear. How could we not defeat this terrible Beast I asked? Men began to fall back and run and, as the smoke cleared, I saw the line on the right side of the valley fail, men throwing their spears to the ground and running before being cut down in pieces by the mighty Beasts. Our Centurions screamed, running back and forth. But were their shouts enough to hold the line? I looked at Naguib and this time he did not smile. He looked at me, then spat into the sand and steadied his spear with his sandal. I took heart and did the same. If we stood firm we might prevail. If we did not, our death was assured.
I looked to my left and saw that two cohorts stood firm, one on each side of the wagons, but the eyes of my comrades were filled with fear. A shiver of ice ran through my chest. If another cohort failed then the battle was lost. Almost half of our number lay in pieces in the desert sands, their heads and limbs parted from their bodies, their bellies spilling blood and organs. Everywhere was death. No more men could we lose and hope to defeat the Lion of the Sands. The cohort that stood on the left side of the valley had not been attacked by the Beast and its line also stood firm, its bronze spear tips flickering in the sunlight. I heard the drums beat louder again as the Centurions steadied the failed cohorts of the right. I felt my heart lift. We would not succeed in this battle if we did not fight together.
The valley was filled with death. Ten score of Beasts lay dead or dying, but the scattered dead of the army numbered many more, more than that of ten, nay fifteen, cohorts destroyed, their broken bodies in pieces across the sand, their blood already black under the desert sun. The smoke of the flaming arrows burned our eyes so they wept sorely, and the dust was so thick as to hide the running men and the hunting Beasts. In little more than a day our great army had been all but halved, men felled as broken reeds, their souls scattered to the wind, forever trapped in the netherworld. As the smoke and dust cleared I saw that only two score of Beasts remained alive, in equal shares both elder and younger Beasts. The elder Beasts protected the younger animals, holding them in a tight circle on the valley floor, screaming at the surrounding army. We watched as the left line of the army began to wrap itself behind the Beasts, the men moving forward, their spears a wall of death. At the same time the men that remained of the cohorts of the right, still reeling from their destruction, moved forward, roaring and beating spears and shields.
The Beasts reared and screamed, snapping their terrible jaws at the advancing lines, their mighty claws tearing at the sand. But they could do little. Like any elder, they feared to leave the young. The Beasts could do no more than move toward the wagons, all the while snapping and screaming at the enemy before them. The air was filled with the Beasts’ screams and the roaring of the men and I joined my voice with it. The drums rose to a mighty noise, like that of the thunder of the greatest storm and the Beasts, screaming and roaring like demons from the underworld, rushed to the wagons and into the bronze cages, their red eyes blazing, their jaws licked with foam. The giant Nubians leapt forward and the battle was over as the doors of the cages crashed shut. Then a mighty roar came from the men that lived, so loud that the rocks and the valleys shook, as if Osiris and Ra had come forth and cast down lightning. I fell to my knees and, I speak truly, I wept as a child. For I was alive, though many were dead. I felt Naguib’s arm about my shoulders, and I heard the Omar’s whispering behind me. As I looked through the water in my eyes I saw Minkaf drop to his knees in front of us, his face covered in ashes and blood, his long bow across one shoulder. Behind him knelt Isesi, a fiendish grin upon his face, his long stick in one hand, his drum in the other. He nodded and touched my arm. At last, I thought, it is over.
But it was not to be. The Gods watched over us that night as we drank from our wineskins and cavorted and laughed with our friends. While we drank deeply from the cup of life, our hearts light after so much death and horror, the Gods plotted our fates, dicing with our lives in the stars of the heavens, casting our fortunes forth like sand in the wind. We drank and we laughed for we did not know the dangers that awaited us. Our adventure was yet to begin.
* * *
(Here endeth the fifth night of words of Agymah Chahine of Abydos – Agymah has retired to his bed, having shed many tears at these memories - scribed by Imhotep, Son of Shariff, in the City of Memphis. Khuyb has forgiven me but Paser will not speak with me. The ink and papyrus is such that the priests would be joyful.)
Part VI – We Journey to Heliopolis
(Here is written the sixth night of words of Agymah Chahine of Abydos - scribed by Imhotep, Son of Shariff, at the house of Khuyb, Daughter of Agymah, in the City of Memphis on this 10th night in the month of Mesra in the Season of Shemu.)
It is now many days since we have spoken and I have wished it that we could continue my journal. But Imhotep has been busy. He sells goats at the port. And now it is that I know my rank. It is somehow beneath that of the common goat. Yes. A goat. Now I know that where money must change hands it is a difficult choice for a businessman. But a goat? I am not pleased with Imhotep, or his love of goats, though I see that he hides a smile as he writes my words. But that Imhotep is pleased I am sure, for we sit in the house of my daughter, and he now sits close by her side. It may be that she favours him above others. For she is two years widowed and without children. It would be a good thing that she remarry. Her husband was named Reshef, a baker of breads, strong and handsome, struck upon his foot by a scorpion and taken from us in but a day. Reshef was kind to my daughter, and came often to my house bearing breads still hot from the fire of the oven. Much sadness has followed his passing from this life. But that Imhotep should be my son-in-law? I have given no thought to such. My head aches even to talk of it. And now I see that Khuyb is laughing, and also my good wife Eti. I may be an old man but I am not a fool, though sometimes I think they treat me as such. I will ignore them and continue my tale.
Our army had been victorious. The Lion of the Sands had been defeated. And now we would return to our homes and our loved ones. This is what we believed. Alas. It was not to be. For our cohort was selected by the Centurions to accompany the wagons to the port of Heliopolis. While the army marched off across th
e dunes, disappearing early on the first day, we remained with the wagons, hauling our heavy load slowly across the rocks and sand while the oxen strained against their ropes, and the wagons creaked and rattled. Within the bronze cages the mighty Beasts lay quiet as if asleep, the young at their sides. We had captured greater than a score of the Beasts, a score of elders and a half score of young. There were equal numbers of male and female, the males the larger as a camel to a horse.
On that first day I wondered how we would feed this terrible caravan. But our leaders had planned well. With us we herded a large flock of goats, and each day we slew ten of the flock and cast the carcasses into the cages. Of course a single goat could not feed the two and three Beasts in each cage, and so they fasted and began to waste. We had but two hundred goats and the journey was to take almost thirty days. As fortune would have it two oxen died on the journey and we slew two wild camels. These we also fed to the Beasts who ate with great pleasure, growling deep in their throats and tearing off large pieces with their teeth and claws. Even the young were fearsome, standing taller than a man and perhaps of the weight of two or three oxen. I saw that the elders did not eat their fill, instead leaving much for the young, as is always the want of parents when there is little food.
Our journey to Heliopolis held little to interest us. Each day was hot and filled with dust and sand, the skin of our feet rubbed raw in our sandals, the Beasts lying silent in the cages, their eyes sometime flickering red in the evening light, the goats crying piteously as they went to their fate, the oxen pulling their heavy load without complaint. The Nubians were, for the most part, silent. Each day they walked beside the huge wagons, their whips curling across the backs of the oxen as we crested a steep dune, their skin as black and shining as onyx. It seemed that only one Centurion could speak the Nubian tongue and so we had little to say to our black comrades, and their camp was always a bowshot in distance. Minkaf grumbled that they had the airs of courtiers or priests and I must agree it did appear that way.