Kingmaker And The Scribe

Chapter 4

4

I am a man now. My new wife and I make our preparations for travel to the city of the pharaoh where Ibiaw has already made a home with his wife and child.

The last eight years, since the time of the serpent, have flown by like a hunting falcon arrowing after its prey. Promises I believed as a boy, such as the one Ibiaw made about apprenticing me to assist him, but in the space between then and their next visit to our village, I had come to believe the promise was only the vague rambling of youth, easily forgotten. Ibiaw, however, insists the proposal is carved into our hearts, solid as symbols carved in stone.

“See here,” Ibiaw tells me on their first trip back. He points to the dark discoloration on his calf. “The poison of your cobra sprayed my leg.” He strokes the skin.

“I remember seeing a rash that day as we sat beside the water. It was strange, that serpent,” I tell him.

Ibiaw nods once in acknowledgment.

“The beast wore a hood in the sacred color of the Pharaoh,” I go on.

“Yes, strange. The venom caused a rash that became worse in the night after we left, and it woke me from a strange vision.”

“A vision?” I ask.

“Yes, but…” he frowns, “the memory of strangeness remained when I woke, but details of the dream were lost in the day.”

My friend’s eyes are focused on the horizon, but what he sees are not the rocky hills. I am not sure why, but I do not tell him that I, too, had a vision as I swam between the living and the underworld.

Ibiaw’s gaze returns to me, and he smiles. “I have not forgotten, my friend, that we are bonded by the fang. You the bitten, I the one who saved the boy.”

“I have not forgotten either,” I say, laughing. The idea of traveling beyond the village of my birth is never far from my mind as I gather the barley for my mother and sisters to grind into a mash for beer. In the years between then and now, my mother has given birth to a son and daughter and buried another infant under the dry sand.

At some point, my father must have talked to Ibiaw’s father about apprenticing me to him because he tells me after one of their visits, “My son, there are more than enough hands here to brew beer. When it is time, go. The gods have set your destiny on a different path, and you must follow it.”

My parents had betrothed me when I came of age. My wife’s name is Chara, which means happiness. The name is fitting; she has long dark hair in a thick braid down her back and her spirit is gay, no matter the chore. Her scent is that of the sun and the sea when I come to her in the night.

Her family brews the thick beer as my own family does. Her mother, a disagreeable woman, warns Chara that I will bring her unhappiness and misery for taking her away from our village, but Chara and I have talked long about it, and she is as eager as I am.

We gather up our few household goods and the supplies Chara will need for making beer: honey, dried herbs, grinding stones, pots, and bread starter. We load our possessions onto one of the supply boats that sail up and down the river. Our families gather to send us off; my family stoic, Chara’s mother weeping her unhappiness. It is not so far, a long day’s journey on the water, but she warns we will never return. With a flap of unspooling sails and a push from the shore, we are underway.

“Look, a crocodile,” Chara exclaims as we sail past the reeds that grow along the bank.

I watch her occasionally place her hand on her belly as we travel and wonder if she will soon have news about our family. When she lifts her eyes to me, I smile and put an arm around her waist. Again, I give thanks to the gods that my parents selected a bride who both lifts my heart and is brave enough to join me in this new life.

Finally, we arrive at the city where Ibiaw and his family live. We gaze in wonder at the palace of the pharaoh. A tall wall surrounds it, as the gods and their family live apart from the citizens, but their presence is absolute. It is, of course, not the royal family but the ruling class, tasked by the pharaoh, that governs the people. The current leader is the one who has charged Ibiaw and his family with the construction of the canals that route water in the dry seasons. Ibiaw and his father also design the homes and buildings of the upper and ruling classes. As we walk, I wonder what delights hide behind the walls of the royal compound.

“Ah, my friend arrives,” exclaims Ibiaw when we finally make our way to his home. The evening has turned by the time we find it, the sun escaping to its home and the moon rising. We are both hungry and exhausted.

“We have prepared a meal. Please join us,” Ibiaw says.

He calls a servant to take away our possessions and bring cloths and a jar of cool water. We gladly wash the journey from our faces and hands and join Ibiaw and his wife, Eboni.

Eboni is from the south, lovely with dark skin and tight curls that she wears atop her head. We dine on fish seasoned with leeks, lentils, and dates. Chara takes a sip of her beer and nods her approval. It is cool and sweet with added honey and welcome after a hot day on the water.

Later, we are shown the sleeping alcove where our provisions await. We push the sleeping mats together so that we can sleep close. Chara falls into sleep quickly; at least I think she does. It takes me longer, replaying the day and all the strange new sights of the city. Just before sleep takes me, Chara stirs.

“Audax, my husband,” she whispers. I turn to face her. “I believe I am with child.”

Joy fills my heart although I have guessed this might be true. “A son,” I say in awe.

“A daughter,” she predicts, and I can hear the tease in her voice.

Our lives soon take on their rhythms. We move into an abandoned hut, and I repair a wall with bricks made of mud and straw. Chara assists Eboni in the making of beer: grinding the barley to make bread and then crumbling the bread and adding herbs, honey, and yeast to ferment the mash. She is now large with child and tires easily. Her time is near, and we ready a place in our home for the infant.

I watch my wife and her new friend move in tandem as they gossip over their tasks and am happy they have become friends.

It is hard but exciting, this new work with my friend and his old father. My mind, so used to the duties of my old life, strain to learn the math used to lay out the grid of waterways. This, of course, is a seasonal task for after the rains fill the river and it overflows the banks. Still, I learn quickly and soon can tally the progress of the work.

I record illustrations and measurements of the canals, the names of the villagers who oversee the work, and the rate of water flow on a scroll of papyrus. As we travel up and down the big river to the different communities, I realize how different is each village’s culture and citizens. Here, they fish, there they raise sheep and goats, in another place I observe men and women toiling in the fields.