‘That just about covers everything,’ Khety said, staring out from our new vantage point.
We sat down together under our little shade and looked back across the wide and shallow plain. In the far distance we could just make out the river glittering through the trees and the city baked white and dry along its lush green banks. It looked unreal, a mirage. The temple banners hung down utterly lifeless in the midday stillness. The new fields-barley, wheat, vegetables-were a mosaic of greens and yellows inlaid into the dusty black of the fertile land. On the far side of the river, beyond the cultivations of the western shore, the dazzling delusions of the Red Land shimmered. I shaded my eyes, but there was nothing to make out there.
I asked Khety, ‘Do you like it here?’
He gazed out over the landscape. ‘I’m lucky. I’ve a good position. We’re secure enough. We look after each other. And we’ve bought some land.’
‘Do you have a big family?’
‘I have a wife. We live with my father and my grandparents.’
‘But no children yet?’
‘We’re trying. But so far…’ He trailed off. ‘I need a son. If I can’t father a son, we can’t continue our family’s relationship with Mahu and the Medjay. It’s the only way we can survive. My wife believes in charms and spells. She goes to some unqualified doctor who makes her believe that a concoction of flower-distillation and bat-shit, a full moon and a few offerings is going to bring us a boy. She even says the root of the problem is me.’ He scowled and shook his head. ‘Mahu offered to recommend us to the Doctor of the Palace. Someone who really knows about these things. But we feared the indebtedness.’
I decided to meet him as an equal in this new frankness. ‘I have three girls. Tanefert, my wife, went crazy before Sekhmet was born. We were so nervous, worrying over every sign. She’s not especially superstitious, but one night I found her pissing into two containers, one with wheat, one with barley. I said, “What are you doing?” and she said, “I’m going to see which one will grow, and then we’ll know whether we’re having a boy or a girl.” Neither of them really grew, although she swore the barley was taller, so we expected a boy. Then Sekhmet arrived, yelling and beautiful and entirely herself.’
I heard a shout. Two young guards were looking up at us from below the rocks. We clambered carefully down. Both were young, maybe seventeen, both obviously bored out of their minds with nothing to do all day, every day, but throw stones, dream about sex and wait for the end of their endless shifts.
‘What are you doing up there?’
I showed them my authorizations. They squinted at them. Illiterate.
‘We’re Medjay,’ said Khety.
They backed off immediately. We walked back with them along the track to their tiny hut where they sat or slept on a reed mat. It seemed an inadequate thing next to the mighty claims of the boundary stone. They propped their weapons-two crude spears-against the door. There was a barrel of water, a jar of oil, a pile of onions and a torn but fresh barley loaf on a shelf.
They asked where I was from. When I told them I was from Thebes, one of them said, ‘One day I’m going to go there. Take my chances. I’ve heard it’s great. Things happening. Parties. Festivals. Plenty of work. Nightlife…’ The other shifted on his feet, unsure, unwilling to meet our eyes.
‘It’s a great place,’ I said. ‘But it’s hard. Watch yourself when you get there.’
‘We’re going anyway. Anything to get away from this miserable hole.’ The quieter one looked alarmed by his friend’s candour. His friend, emboldened, continued. ‘We’re going to join the new army.’
This was news to me. What new army?
‘There’s only one army,’ I said carefully. ‘The King’s army.’
‘There’s a new man rising up the ranks. He sees things differently. He’s going to make things happen.’
‘And what is this new man’s name?’
‘Horemheb,’ he said, with respect and even a touch of awe.
Then a faint call came from the next border post; the boys raised their hands in salute and yelled back. We left them there, with a brief farewell, and drove back towards the village.
‘Have you heard of this Horemheb?’ I asked Khety.
He shrugged. ‘The Great Changes have opened up many new routes to power for men from the non-elite families. I’ve heard his name; he married the sister of the Queen.’
This was new information. A new army man who had married ambitiously into the royal family.
‘So he will be attending the Festival?’
‘He would be obliged to.’
I thought about all this as we rattled our way over the broken stones.
‘And where is the Queen’s sister?’
‘No idea. They say she’s a bit strange.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I heard that once she cried for a year. And she rarely speaks.’
‘But he married her anyway.’
Khety shrugged again. It seemed to be his habitual response to the way of the world.
In contrast to the sophistication and enormous scope of the central city, the artisans’ accommodation was stark, functional and hurriedly constructed. There were several crude altars and little chapels built around the outside of the thick mud enclosure walls, among pig sties, stables and outhouses; domestic life carried on regardless in these chapels, with animals feeding in them and women cooking bread in ovens.
Khety and I entered through the gate. The houses seemed more or less identicaclass="underline" a small forecourt ran along the front of each dwelling, full of animals and storage jars, and beyond that was a higher, airy central room, with smaller rooms at the back. The architects of these repetitive shacks had failed to add stairs to the roof, so the occupants had built their own crazy zigzags using bits of old cast-off timber wherever they could find access. As in Thebes, the roofs were a vital part of the house. They were covered with trellises and vines, and fruits and vegetables were laid out in the sun to dry.
The houses ran in parallels, creating narrow lanes made narrower by piles of goods and materials and junk. Pigs, dogs, cats and children ran about under our feet, women yelled across at each other, a few sellers called their wares. Itinerants in stinking rags, cripples with rotten limbs and the hopelessly workless sat on their haunches in the shadows. We struggled to make our way between pack-mules and herds of men. The contrast with the classy green suburbs was overpowering, and I confess I felt at home for the first time in days. It was good to be back among the business, chaos and mess of normal life, and away from those highly considered and artificial precincts of power.
A few well-directed questions from Khety led us to the door of the Overseer. I knocked on the lintel and peered into the dark of the interior. A rough-looking giant, his tough face bristling with harsh stubble, glanced up from his table.
‘Can’t I even eat my lunch in peace? What the hell do you want?’
I stepped into the low, hot room and introduced myself. He grunted, and reluctantly invited me to sit down on the low bench.
‘Don’t stand watching while I’m eating. It’s rude.’
Khety remained outside the doorway.
I sat down and looked him over. He was a typical builder made good: paunch resting on a powerful frame, gold collar around a thick neck, big hands that had worked hard all their life, broken, blocky nails packed into strong, stubby fingers, adorned with more cheap gold, that tore into the bread with need not pleasure. He ate continuously, mechanically, using all five fingers, feeding himself like an animal. Behind him, a woman’s and a girl’s face peered from behind a curtain that separated the room from the kitchen yard. When I glanced in their direction they looked intently at me, like stray cats, then vanished.
I showed him my authority. He could read it, as could many of these artisans, for they had to understand plans and building instructions, and carve hieroglyphics. He touched the royal seal and grunted, suspicious and, although he disguised it, alarmed.