House of Scorpion Read online

  The emmer in the fields was ankle-high; both north and south as far as I could see farmers and their wives and children were moving up and down the rows with wooden hoes, clearing out weeds. Ahead of us, a dozen large wooden boats were drawn up at wooden quays along the western riverbank. The standard amidships each identified the ruler it belonged to. The largest of all was currently being rowed through a narrow channel between the riverbank and a small island that stretched the length of Nekhen in the middle of the river. Dozens of small reed fishing punts were drawn up at the island’s edge. That’s apparently where Nekhen had its fishery.

  “Scorpion’s boat is magnificent!” Heket exclaimed.

  I’d never seen one so fine – wooden, its bow and stern sweeping high, each shaped like a stalk of papyrus, painted yellow and green. A dozen oarsmen on each side were churning the water, angling the boat towards the quay; I noted bundles of long palm fronds affixed inside the bow, no doubt having been used on the journey to catch the prevailing wind out of the north and help move the vessel against the river’s strong southern current. Red linen pennants fluttered at bow and stern. An ebony pole holding a golden scorpion, Tjeni’s standard, rose beside the leather-topped pavilion that occupied the center of the boat. It was accompanied by two more standards – a jackal and a falcon. I assumed the pavilion was where King Scorpion and his party had taken refuge from the relentless sun during their journey, just as Nebetah and Sabu and Father and Pentu and Baki and the rest of Nubt’s important elites had during our trip. I’d kept my distance from Sabu the entire week it had taken us to reach Nekhen. Everyone believed his lie, backed by Baki, that Hetshet had been killed by a crocodile. Father was listless these days, weighed down by grief. Sabu was very publicly grieving, feigning what I knew was false sorrow for having become Father’s designated heir due to tragedy. He was a hypocrite of the highest order. How I was going to avenge Hetshet’s murder I hadn’t a clue. But I was going to even if I died trying.

  Khab and his wife and son and several of Nekhen’s elites were standing on the quay, waiting, and we joined them. The boat nudged the quay and came to a stop. Crewmen secured the vessel to mooring posts with ropes, then lowered a gangplank. Perhaps a dozen men and girls moved from under the pavilion to the railing. Some were clearly royals, some elites, a few servants. The first man down the gangplank was obviously Scorpion, for he wore a bulbous white leather crown and carried an ivory scepter in his hand and had a lion’s tail affixed to the rear of his belt. A girl followed, holding a sunshade over his head. I studied Scorpion closely, on the chance Sabu was right and he might someday rule Nubt. The king was taller than the rest of his companions, muscular, athletic looking. I guessed him to be a little over forty. His kilt was blindingly white. A wide pectoral of gold beads lay against his broad chest, and gold armbands circled his biceps. He was the most handsome man I’d ever seen, his dark eyes piercing and seeming to miss nothing. If he wasn’t more than two decades older than me I’d be interested. An aura of command emanated from him. No one would take him for anything but a king. No wonder Sabu feared him.

  “Greetings, Majesty,” Khab said without bowing.

  If the lack of respect bothered Scorpion he didn’t show it. “Khab. My condolences on the death of your grandfather, King Khayu.”

  Khab was in his early thirties. I’d learned from Heket that he’d been waiting a long time to take Khayu’s place. He’d beat out half a dozen of his older brothers and cousins who’d had the same ambition. Khab was nearly as tall as Scorpion, with almost as commanding a presence. While his kilt wasn’t as fine as Scorpion’s his jewelry was even better. Not surprising – since a time beyond memory Nekhen’s craftsmen had created the finest objects for elites anywhere in the valley. Even Nubt’s elites craved them.

  “Thank you, Majesty. This is my wife, Ini.”

  She was dressed as ostentatiously as her husband. She was no beauty; I assumed Khab had married her to gain political advantage.

  “My son, Kama.”

  “Don’t you have two sons, Khab?” Scorpion asked, scanning the quay.

  “My eldest died last week.”

  “I didn’t know. I’m sorry for your loss, Khab, Ini.”

  “Thank you,” Ini said.

  Scorpion turned slightly. “These are my sons – Lagus, Mekatre, Iry.”

  The latter two were in their late teens, Lagus perhaps early twenties. Lagus gazed at everyone on the quay with disdain, as if he was better than us. Mekatre smiled pleasantly, especially at we girls; he looked friendly and approachable. He was nearly as handsome as his father and equally muscled and athletic, a man any woman would find hard to resist. Including me. Iry hung back. He looked more serious than either of his brothers, and exceedingly ordinary. If I’d encountered him in a crowd I wouldn’t have taken him for a royal. Lagus and Mekatre were dressed as finely as King Scorpion and draped with gold jewelry. Iry was unadorned. The brothers all bowed to Khab.

  “My daughters, Weret and Heria.”

  Both barely women. Both beautiful. Both had long black hair, unbound, that hung to their waists. Their eyes were outlined with green malachite. Their linen skirts were the finest I’d ever seen, opaque, hemmed with gold thread. They both wore magnificent necklaces and numerous bracelets and gold anklets inlaid with carnelian. They also bowed to Khab.

  “My advisors, Minnefer and Perneb and Sety.”

  All three men were in their early thirties and obviously elites. Unlike the others, Sety’s only adornment was a falcon-shaped talisman made of some mysterious substance, hanging from a simple chain around his neck. He caught sight of me and instantly froze and stared, as if he’d just recognized me. But I’d never seen him before. That could only mean that he was attracted to me. Most men were, and just as quickly. I was used to Sety’s reaction. It disgusted me. I turned away and ignored him.

  “Will you sleep on your boat, or would you like rooms in my per’aa, King Scorpion?” Khab asked.

  “My vessel. Who’s come for your coronation?”

  “A number of rulers from the delta, none powerful enough to be called kings. Heby of Farkha. Raherka of Maadi. On of Iunu. Itjet of Samara. Khered of Djedet. Rama of Minshat. Several elites from a place called Ptah’s Settlement – it doesn’t have a ruler, if you can believe it. And one actual king, Ny-Hor of Pe and Dep, and his heir Antef. Took them forty days to get here.”

  “How did the delta rulers know about your coronation?” Scorpion asked.

  “I sent word to the North three months ago when Grandfather fell ill. It was clear he wouldn’t survive. Anyway, King Ika of Nubt and his heir Sabu are here too.” Khab spotted me. “In fact, there are two of Ika’s daughters. My daughter Heket’s going to show them around Nekhen. Perhaps your daughters would like to go with them. The kings and rulers and their elites are waiting to meet with you and me in my audience hall.”

  King Scorpion and his advisors and his two oldest sons joined Khab and they headed in the direction of Nekhen. Weret and Heria joined us, trailed closely by Iry.

  Heket regarded him with irritation. “Are you a king’s daughter?”

  “Majesty, my father charged me with looking after my younger sisters while we’re in Nekhen,” Iry told her politely.

  “Hmph. You may attend us,” Heket said haughtily.

  In the day since we’d met I’d learned that Heket had a very high opinion of herself, and that she considered herself the most important king’s daughter at this gathering. According to her an ancestor, Ma-ee, had been the first ruler in the valley to proclaim himself equal to the gods and worthy of worship, a claim all kings had subsequently adopted. She seemed to think that connection made her worthy of worship too. Technically, Heket wouldn’t be a king’s daughter until her father was crowned in a week, but there was no point getting into an argument with her about her self-proclaimed exalted status. Once this tour was over I was going to avoid her the rest of my stay in Nekhen.

  “How about if we dispense with ‘majesty’ s
ince we’re all royals,” I suggested. “Less confusing that way.”

  Heket nodded, reluctantly. She obviously liked the trappings of status.

  “Heket, do you know where the tomb of one of Nekhen’s ancient rulers, Dedi, is located?” Iry asked.

  She gave him an odd look.

  I thought it a curious request too.

  “I do.”

  “Can you take us to see it?”

  Heket shrugged. We followed her along the path through the cultivated strip towards the settlement, the path barely wide enough for two to walk abreast. I found myself trailing the group, next to Iry.

  “So – did King Scorpion ask you to look after your sisters because you’re his favorite son?” I wasn’t really interested. I was simply making conversation as all king’s daughters were taught to do.

  “Actually, Matia, Father didn’t ask,” Iry admitted. “One of his advisors, Sety, has been telling me stories about Nekhen my entire life. His ancestors came from here and so did my mother’s.”

  “Was Dedi your ancestor, Iry?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s why you want to see his tomb.”

  “And the rest of Nekhen.”

  “One of my ancestors lived here too, Iry. Pabasa. A trader. Sent from Nekhen to live in Nubt by a ruler’s wife named Abar.”

  “Seriously? That’s incredible, Matia!” Iry said excitedly. “Abar was my ancestress. Her son Shery settled in Tjeni after she died.”

  That truly was amazing. “Our ancestors knew each other hundreds of years ago. And here we are.”

  We reached the end of the cultivation and turned southeast, skirting the edge of the settlement. It wasn’t much to look at – a collection of mud-brick houses and wattle-and-daub huts along a number of narrow winding fairly uncrowded lanes. Many plumes of smoke rose skyward. I assumed the area where the plumes were thickest was some kind of production area, perhaps a bakery or brewery. I guessed Nekhen to be half the size of Nubt. Khab’s per’aa was easy to pick out – mud-brick, substantial, guards flanking its entrance, a standard topped with a falcon on one side.

  “Looking after my sisters is an excuse for me to get to know Nekhen instead of sitting in Khab’s per’aa watching a bunch of kings and rulers trying to impress each other,” Iry said.

  “I understand. When I can’t stand Father’s per’aa I sneak out.”

  “Where do you go?”

  “I visit a farmer’s wife. Khentetka.”

  “A lapwing?”

  “Is that how you refer to commoners in Tjeni, Iry?” I asked somewhat frostily.

  “Don’t you?”

  “Only the lazy and lawbreakers. We royals in Nubt rely on commoners to keep us fed and clothed and supplied with luxuries. They deserve our respect, don’t you think?”

  “My father and brothers would disagree. Frankly, I’ve never given commoners a second thought.”

  Sadly, Iry’s attitude matched that of nearly every elite I knew. “My mother died an hour after I was born, Iry. Khentetka’s mother was my wetnurse. Khentetka’s my milk sister. We grew up together in Father’s per’aa.”

  “So she’s not a common commoner.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Your father doesn’t know you sneak out?”

  “My father doesn’t pay any attention to me at all.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Why?”

  “Any woman bold enough to defy a king can’t be very easy to ignore.”

  Honeyed words. I eyed Iry. “Do you disapprove? That I defy my father?”

  “Not at all.”

  That was, in my experience, a refreshingly unusual attitude. Every man I knew kept his woman on a short leash. I wondered if Iry meant it or if he was just coming on to me and trying to get in my good graces. That had happened plenty of times before.

  “Besides, why would you care if I disapproved?” Iry asked.

  “I wouldn’t.”

  We passed beyond the easternmost end of the settlement.

  “This is it,” Heket said. “Dedi’s tomb.”

  Before us stood a wood-and-reed hall, its outside walls newly plastered and painted with images in black and white and red and yellow and green. Some of the wood was rotten. The hall was clearly old.

  “We celebrate a festival every year in Dedi’s honor,” Heket informed us. “Father ordered this hall replastered and repainted since we’re having so many visitors.”

  “Heria, Weret – Dedi’s our ancestor!” Iry told his sisters. “He died almost two hundred years ago. He ruled Nekhen for over a decade – he called himself Aby, Panther – but ceded the throne to a man named Aboo, husband of his youngest daughter, so he could devote himself to building boats and trading in the southern part of the valley. Dedi took an orphan under his wing, Nykara, and taught him to build and trade. Nykara designed and constructed the first large wooden boat anywhere in the valley and used it to trade all the way from Nekhen to the sea. No reed boat could go that far without falling apart – Nykara’s boat transformed river travel and made every inch of the valley easily accessible. Dedi and Nykara are two of the most important men who’ve ever lived.”

  “Dedi was my ancestor, too,” Heket said. “His grandson Rawer – his throne name was Ma-ee – ruled Nekhen after Aboo.”

  “Another of my ancestors, Ma-ee’s son Shery, settled in Tjeni after his mother’s death,” Iry said. “You and I also share Ma-ee as an ancestor, Heket.”

  “How do you know so much about these people?” I asked Iry, my curiosity piqued. He was actually interesting. Much more interesting than Heket had proven to be so far. I was glad he’d come along.

  “The man I mentioned earlier, Sety? He’s descended from Nykara. In a sense, his family and mine are entwined. Every time Sety visits Tjeni he tells me stories. Has for as long as I can remember. Some of his stories have been handed down in his family for more than a hundred generations, or so he claims. If I remember correctly, his forebears settled in Nekhen more than seven hundred years ago, then left around five centuries later.”

  “Any idea why Dedi wasn’t buried in the ruler’s cemetery atop the terrace?” Heket asked.

  I glanced at the junction of a path that snaked for about a mile up a wide wadi from the settlement to the distant western plateau. Two terraces extended eastward from the base of that plateau, separated from each other by the wadi. Many plumes of smoke were rising from the terrace to the left of the path, and from the long curving base of the plateau itself. Those were likely from pottery kilns taking advantage of the breeze high up. To the right of the wadi path, near its terminus, rose a tall outcrop of rock. The terrace beyond it and to its right was circled by a low wall of mud-plastered reeds, brightly painted with various images. The roofs of many halls similar to Dedi’s were visible over the top of the wall, outlined against the sky. A magnificent setting for a ruler’s cemetery. No one could look in that direction without remembering that rulers lay there. In effect, even though they were dead they were still part of Nekhen.

  “As I said, Dedi constructed boats,” Iry replied. “He probably wanted to be buried near the river. His boatyard must have been close by. According to Sety’s stories, Dedi’s grave lies beneath this hall and is magnificent. Nykara supposedly dug it. He lined the grave’s walls with mud bricks, then plastered them and painted on them images of many boats and animals and even one of Dedi smiting an enemy with a mace.”

  “Speaking of smiting, let’s go see Nekhen’s oval court,” Heket said. “Then I’ll take you to the ruler’s cemetery.”

  She led us northwest, around the other side of the settlement. Before long we stepped onto a deeply-worn hard-packed path that wound towards the plateau in the west that loomed over Nekhen. I spotted a brewery on the north side of the path and we strolled past it. I assumed that, like in Nubt, one of Nekhen’s elites had charge of brewing and kept the entire settlement supplied.

  We followed Heket a short distance west up the path. />
  “These are Nekhen’s ceremonial grounds,” Heket announced.

  I’d learned upon my arrival here that Horus, the falcon god, had been Nekhen’s sole god from time immemorial. Horus was also known at Nubt, even though our primary god was Seth. According to Heket, Seth wasn’t known at Nekhen. I thought that interesting, that Horus was apparently so special.

  The oval court was surrounded by a mud-plastered reed fence that was brightly painted with images in red and yellow and blue and green. Nekhen’s court was far grander than ours at Nubt. Heket led us to its western side. A few columns of smoke were spiraling from fires in front of a row of long narrow huts, all of them backed against the fence, the ends facing us open. Craftsmen were working busily inside every one.

  “These craftsmen produce objects prized by elites and royals throughout the valley,” Heket said proudly. “They also make small items for lapwings to donate to Horus during our festivals. But right now almost everyone’s working on grave goods to accompany my oldest brother to the Afterlife. He died last week.”

  “You haven’t buried him yet?” Iry asked.

  Heket shook her head. “Healers applied a resin concoction to his body right after he died, then wrapped him with resin-soaked linen. He’s resting beneath the sand right now, to preserve him. When the grave goods are done he’ll be exhumed and buried up on the terrace among the rulers. Father’s privilege.”

  “I’m sorry,” Iry said.