Qa'a (The First Dynasty Book 3) Page 3

“As far as your ceremonial duties go, that is one of the most important functions of the Horus priesthood, at least as far as those ceremonies that derive from Horus’ divine will. We maintain instructions and records for every ceremony that we supervise, in the holy scrolls in the Temple of Nekhen and in the Houses of Life collections throughout the land. The Chief Priest knows every detail of those ceremonies and they are checked and checked again by subordinates before every event, for they must be performed accurately to please the gods and to maintain ma’at in the Two Lands.” Khenti watched me intently.

  “So, you will be coached on the proper procedures before every event. And, a priest will be by your side at those events to whisper in your ear what you must do next.”

  “And… this happened with my father?” Khenti asked, wide-eyed.

  “Oh, yes!” I laughed. “And with his father before him. I suspect even mighty King Narmer, may his name be blessed for all eternity, had Anhotek by his side whispering to him.”

  The Prince smiled and his muscles relaxed. He leaned back in his chair. “Whew. This is a great relief. I did not want to appear a fool before my people.”

  “And the same will be true of your other duties,” I continued. “You will have many advisors around you, priests and generals, supervisors, agricultural advisors, fishermen, and governors from all the nomes. You will listen to their complaints, and their advice, and from that counsel make your decisions. I have served two kings in my life. It will not be as hard as you fear, my Prince.”

  “And my King name?” Khenti asked.

  “Of that I know nothing, nor should I, nor anyone else, except for Khenemet. It must remain a secret until the day of your crowning, for there is evil magic that blows through the land at these unsettled times and we must protect that holy name from the mut spirits.”

  “But has it been chosen for me?” Khenti persisted.

  “Again, I do not know. That is for the wisest members of the priesthood to decide. I do know that they have met on this matter, consulted with me, and studied the scrolls and the signs in the sky carefully. Khenemet lives with the possibilities suggested to him by others. Then he fasts and meditates on it until it sits right in his heart. He will discuss it with you soon enough, my impatient Prince!”

  Khenti looked far more relieved than when I had entered his quarters. “So what of the funeral arrangements?” he asked. “I wish nothing more than for my father to meet Anubis with peace in his heart.”

  “In a moment, dear Prince. But first I have been asked by Khenemet to discuss one other matter with you, and that is your new shaman and Vizier.”

  Khenti turned abruptly to me. “New? But… I thought you were to be my shaman. You have been my tutor ever since I was old enough to talk.”

  “Yes, and I have enjoyed that holy duty beyond measure, dear Khenti, even though you have sometimes been a terror when you have resisted my teachings,” I said, evoking a smile from him. “But for the future I will now be your scribe, recording all that I see and all you will tell me to put down on the holy scrolls of your life, so future generations will see how you have worn the mantle of leadership over our great land.” I knew well that my youthful student was all too suddenly shouldering the weight of leadership. I waited for him to respond.

  “And this shaman?”

  “His name is Buikkhu. I have met him many times in my travels to Nekhen. He is the right-hand of Khenemet and a very capable administrator. He is used to managing details. He will probably bring his underlings with him to organize the temple here to his liking, and yours, of course, in order to serve you best.” Khenti thought on this.

  “Do you trust him?” I could not answer Khenti’s question without thought. “You hesitate,” the Prince observed.

  “Trust is a difficult thing, Khenti. You trust me, certainly, yet why? It is because of how I have acted time and again with you since you were but a toddler. Trust is something that is earned, that is built upon a strong foundation of actions.” I hesitated to gauge Khenti’s reaction, for we rarely spoke of matters of such import.

  “From what I have seen or heard of Buikkhu, he has done all that has been asked of him by Khenemet, otherwise he would not be his right hand. I believe he can be trusted to carry all that is placed upon his shoulders.” I thought that Khenti had accepted my explanation, when suddenly he leaned forward in his chair.

  “That is all fine, but not what I asked, my teacher. What I meant is whether his ba can be trusted.” I was shocked at his question, for although Khenti was a good student, he had never shown signs of having exceptional insight. His time in the desert with the army no doubt had influenced him greatly.

  “Of his character I cannot speak,” I finally managed to say. “I do not know him well enough to judge that. From what I have heard he has a trustworthy ba.”

  “To Khenemet,” Khenti said casually, again surprising me.

  “To Khenemet, yes.” Khenti knitted his brow as if what I had just said was enough. Yet he still seemed unsettled.

  In a few hours, I again entered Khenti’s quarters, this time to announce the arrival of Khenemet. Khenti was dressed in a pleated white kilt with his military leather wrap cutting across his chest, around his neck and across his back, neatly tied to his leather belt. With the scar on his arm from the battle near Shedet, I was proud of how well he presented himself, but also pleased that he understood that the initial impression he made at this important meeting was worthy of his attention.

  Ever the master of the moment, Khenemet had obviously also thought carefully about the meeting. He swept in, walking erect, his thin body covered by his leopard skin that draped behind him. His obvious power was accented by the tall staff of carved acacia wood, wine-dark from use, that he always carried. It had been handed down to him through the generations from Meruka, the black shaman who dutifully served King Narmer. Khenemet wore his purple fine linen robe, and a necklace of lions’ teeth given to Meruka by Sisi, his father, a revered shaman in Ta-Sety, our neighbors to the south. His pockmarked, gaunt face gave him his usual severe appearance. He stopped abruptly, flung out his arms and bowed low to the Prince.

  “Welcome to my quarters, Khenemet,” Khenti said, smiling, as he walked across the room to greet the Chief Priest. “It has been a long time since we have met.” The two greeted each other by holding each others’ shoulders tightly. Khenti, for his part, held Khenemet’s gaze, one known far and wide to quickly calculate the measure of a man’s ba. Finally, Khenti broke off and motioned for Khenemet to sit. He waved to his servants and they immediately brought a pitcher of cool water from Mother Nile and a pitcher of fine barley beer, served in alabaster mugs.

  “I can only do so for a short while, Prince Khenti,” Khenemet said, as he leaned over to rest his staff next to his chair. “There is much yet to do to prepare for the funeral. Yet with Horus’ help we will be meeting frequently over the coming days.” Khenti nodded.

  “Here it is, then,” Khenemet continued. “Several things must happen, in a certain order, over the next thirty days. First, your father’s body must be fully prepared for his journey and his meeting with Anubis. Fortunately, due to the work of the mortuary priests… and Merkha’s duties there in the evenings accompanying your father’s mortal body… this is nearly done. Second we must accord your father a Royal funeral that has never before been equaled since the funeral of King Narmer himself, may his name be blessed for all eternity.” At the mention of King Narmer’s name, we each repeated the blessing.

  “Finally, you must properly and quickly ascend to the throne and be crowned King of The Two Lands.” With that, Khenemet leaned back in his chair, satisfied, as if all was understood and agreed upon.” Khenti looked up at me quizzically, standing near to Khenemet, then glanced back to the Chief Priest.

  “And this is what you have taken your valuable time to tell me?” Khenti responded, looking questioningly from one of us to the other. Khenemet hid his reaction behind his stoic face, but I saw his body tense
for a second, registering his surprise, for he anticipated the young Khenti would be far more pliable than his father.

  “Hardly, my Prince,” he said, recovering quickly. “I thought it best to first give you an overview before I delve into the details.” Khenemet hesitated.

  “Good, so I get the general idea of what is to happen. Now on to the details.” With that, Khenti leaned forward in his seat. Khenemet cleared his throat and began.

  “To describe the details, with your permission, I would like to now introduce you to your new shaman, who is much more involved in these events, for I cannot do all that is required in these circumstances alone. I know that Merkha has spoken of him. He is one of my most trusted priests and I know that he will serve you well.” Khenti nodded and Khenemet stood and waved to his assistant, who walked off to get him.

  In a few moments, Buikkhu walked in, his limp slightly more pronounced than usual. I immediately thought that was a brilliant tactic that he had probably rehearsed under Khenemet’s trained eye. Buikkhu was dressed simply in a priestly white tunic. Draped over his right shoulder was a small lion’s skin. He was bald and shaven clean throughout his body, as was the custom for high priests. Under his right arm he carried several scrolls.

  “And this, Prince Khenti, is Buikkhu, one of the finest priests, healers and shamans in the Horus priesthood,” Khenemet began, as Buikkhu bowed low before Khenti. “As your shaman and Vizier, he will serve you faithfully.”

  At that, the Prince stood. “Rise, Buikkhu, for if you are to be my shaman you must not waste time with supplicating yourself with such vigor. But, as far as your serving as my Vizier,” he said turning to Khenemet, “am I not correct in stating that it is only the King who appoints a man to such a lofty position?” For the second time that day, Khenemet was caught off guard.

  “Yes… I mean, of course that is our custom,” Khenemet responded. “It is just that, considering your youth, I thought it would be a service to you to suggest a worthy candidate such as…”

  “Suggest? Of course you may suggest such things to me. In fact I shall always depend on your timely suggestions, I am sure,” the Prince said with a hint of sarcasm that only I could detect. He was relishing his dominion over Khenemet and I immediately realized how much he had learned from just witnessing his father’s actions. But I also detected some of his recently acquired military bravado. “Let us start with Buikkhu being my shaman and, if all goes well, I shall consider his appointment as Vizier.”

  “But… but my Prince, how will you govern without a Vizier to carry out your commands, to… to be sure that the details of your decisions are implemented? There is much for you to do and we cannot waste time, for Kem depends on timely decisions.”

  Khenti was quiet for some time. “You are right, Chief Priest. I will give this much thought, and as soon as it is settled in my heart I will call for you to counsel me.” The Prince then turned to Buikkhu. “Now please give me the details of the funeral.”

  And so it was that for an hour and more Buikkhu briefed the Prince on the events that would unfold over the next ten day. The servants circulated with dates and cheeses and fine breads and beer from the King’s own workshops, all arranged artfully on fine alabaster platters. First Buikkhu explained how the funerary priests had prepared his father’s body. I saw Khenti’s discomfort as Buikkhu described the Jackal priest presiding over the King’s mummification, standing over his father wearing the headdress of Anubis. Buikkhu wisely glossed over the preparation of his father’s body and began to explain the funeral itself. Throughout, the Prince asked questions until he was satisfied with the answers provided or until Buikkhu admitted his lack of knowledge with a promise to find out himself and get back to Khenti. Finally, the Prince stood abruptly and stated that he needed to observe his King’s Guard troops and excused himself, without so much as a nod to Khenemet.

  We all stood and bowed as Khenti left the room. Khenemet stood, scowling toward the passageway that the Prince had just entered. He turned abruptly and with a nod of his head motioned us to follow him. He said not a word as he climbed aboard a carry chair to be taken to the Temple of Horus, his entire body tense with anger.

  SCROLL THREE

  The Yoke Is Lifted

  Merkha

  Buikkhu and I trudged along behind Khenemet’s chair, the streets fogged in midday dust, as crowds of common rekhi dressed in coarse, tattered burlap kilts and dresses made way for us and kissed Khenemet’s feet, asking for prayers of intercession for all manner of woe. Khenemet angrily urged his carriers forward.

  From the temple’s front walls, banners of torn black linen hung. Only a few priests lined up to greet the Chief Priest. Inside there was a buzz of activity. Scribes were busily writing down instructions dictated to them by Head Priests from various temples who knew the proper protocols for the funeral. Messenger priests ran from the room with scrolls to be distributed to far flung parts of Kem. Priestly guards allowed a group of priest initiates carrying sacks of natron salt to pass into the inner sanctum embalming room.

  When we finally reached the Head Priest’s quarters, now commandeered by Khenemet and his staff, Khenemet threw off his robe and began to pace. “May Ra damn him, that impertinent little bastard! Do you believe his arrogance, his… how dare he question my judgment!” I suspected Khenemet would be displeased by Khenti’s newly found bravado, but his reaction was more extreme than I had anticipated. His face was red, the blood in his neck pulsed and his eyes were wide with anger.

  “He is quite a pisser,” Buikkhu added, frowning. “We will have to develop a…”

  “Merkha, what do you know of this?” Khenemet snapped, turning to me. “None of your reports ever indicated anything other than he was submissive and a mediocre student in need of considerable guidance.”

  “As angry as you are, Master, that is how surprised I am. I have seen no indication of this. He has been away in army training and from what I have heard, and now seen, it has changed him. He has also been secluded the past month, conferring with his mother and uncle and his army friends.”

  “It may also be, as it is with many strong fathers,” Buikkhu added, “that when the burden of the yoke is lifted the head straightens. I have seen that happen many times.”

  Khenemet continued pacing, staring at the floor in front of him. Finally, he turned and looked at us quizzically. “Well, what are you two standing around for? Sit, sit! We have much to discuss.” Khenemet picked up a chair from the far side of the room, placed it in front of us and sat down, after which we did. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, then looked directly at us.

  “You both understand what must be done. We cannot tolerate another King like his father. Semerkhet nearly destroyed the Horus priesthood. He diluted our influence by encouraging upstart priesthoods and temples to be built across the land. We naively gave him the ring of power, yet he used it as a collar to strangle us. We hoped the son would be a better choice for King. Now I am concerned.” I noted Buikkhu’s knowing glance at Khenemet, yet I did not want to think that there was any truth to the rumors regarding the King’s brief, but painful death.

  “We will wait until Semerkhet’s journey to the Afterlife is complete. Then we will meet to plan the next stage for the return to power of the Horus priesthood. The walls of the palace are thin, but we must also assume that these very walls are, too,” Khenemet said, adding emphasis with a sweep of his arms. “Breathe not a word to anyone else, not even to another Horus priest. In all our correspondence use Anhotek’s ancient code, may his name be blessed for all eternity. For now there is yet much for us to do for the funeral.

  “By the way, your planning has been excellent so far, Buikkhu. Keep it that way, for no one must suspect anything.” I was hardly certain what Khenemet meant by that last remark, and even less so why I was suddenly being included in their planning. But in a moment we were all on our way.

  As the day of the funeral drew close, the white-walled city of Inabu-hedj grew to more than t
wice its normal size. People crowded the streets so that just walking from the palace to the temple took more than an hour. All our neighboring countries sent large emissaries to show their respect and to meet and curry favor with the future King and his ministers. Bribes were discreetly given to any civil servant who had ties to the Royal Court.

  The rekhi stared openly at the foreign dress that the visiting royalty wore, for although they were used to foreign traders, they rarely saw such colorful costumes, hats, and fashions such as beards with hair woven into braids and adorned with jewels. Some foreign dignitaries wore strange sandals that covered their entire feet and had no openings for their toes.