The Egyptian Official
"It is the tomb makers, the draftsmen, the craftsmen and the sculptors who built my tomb. I gave them beer and bread. I made them to take an oath that they were satisfied."
These are words from Kay, the priest of Khufu written at the entrance of his tomb.
Friends had whispered their fears about her husband. Was it the truth or only rumor? Hept-ra squeezed her hands together. What could she do? Mket was her husband; she had to save him. If the rumors were true, then Akhet would destroy her husband if he could. Would the old Dewan, grandson of the Pharaoh, listen to his complaints about the Recording Scribe?
Slowly, she went up the stairs to the sleeping porch on top of the mud brick house. Her husband stood gazing off over other houses of the workers. The Great Pyramid stood above them all. She could tell Mket had not slept on his bed pallet.
"Please try not to despair, my husband," Hept-ra said, walking to Mket to stand behind him, her arms encircling his waist. "There is no reason for the Dewan to listen to the complaints of Akhet, the new official, when he knows that you have been the best scribe to write the history of the Pyramid of Khufu. There is no need to replace you. The Dewan is old but honest. Truly, he will not listen to Akhet's vile lies about you."
He turned to look at her, his dark eyes softened and his smile gave her warmth to equal the Sun God. He looked at her face, loving her intelligence and her natural beauty.
"I hope that it is so, perhaps it is. If only this new official of the Dewan were like old Manet, he would understand that writing the history of Khufu's temple has been my life for nearly twenty years. It's very important for future generations. This new man can't really believe I would misrepresent the Pharaoh in my reports." Mket said to her. The brilliant sunlight became even stronger highlighting even the corners of the sleeping roof.
"The Dewan knows your fine work. He thinks well of you, even though he has never met you."
"For five years you have been his favorite singer serving him in the all musical duties--have you no influence on that old man? Is he going to ruin my career just because of this unusual alliance with the new man, Akhet?" Mket pulled her to him until her head with its wig of braids momentarily rested against his chest.
"I don't understand Hemiunu's unlikely support of Akhet. I don't believe the Dewan would remove you even if the new official asks it. He wants justice for all the people."
"My beloved Hept-ra; I bless the day we married, and the nights we've shared." He kissed her tenderly, his hand on the small of her back. Hept-ra kissed him back, feeling such a closeness she nearly wept.
"The Pyramid is nearing completion, maybe two or three years at most. We will know today what the new official decides and if the Dewan allows it. If I am replaced, then I must have failed in my duties. I could not stand the dishonor." He paused, his slender fingers tugging his pointed beard. Mket said flatly, "I would rather die."
"Don't say that. Please, the grandson of Khufu is a kind man. As Dewan he has seen that justice is well served and the workers are fairly treated. He wants the best for the people, just as the Pharaoh does." Hept-ra said, trembling. "Mket, I'm convinced it will be in your favor. Hemiunu knows you are honest and would not write falsely of the Pharaoh's statues."
"I know you have told him so many times but the way of the gods is unknown. I must go, and I will see you tonight. It is worthless to worry about the future." Mket let her go reluctantly and prepared to leave.
"Sadly, I must go, too. I must practice my new songs with the temple sisters, as we are preparing for Feast of the Flood. Just as though it were an ordinary day. Oh, Mket, perhaps the Dewan's benevolence will be mine for the asking. He does care for me recording the construction of the Temple of Khufu has been your life's work. You have done nothing wrong, only mark the facts."
I will make this Akhet pay for this, she whispered as she watched her husband walked down the wide street toward the building site. She knew the Dewan could be cruel to those who angered him and weak in face of threats. What did Akhet have that the Dewan wanted? If only her husband would ask for an audience with Hemiunu. What to do, what to do? Tearing at her mind, the thought of Mket's possible death gave her sudden and unexplainable ideas. It was unfair. Who was this new official sent here and making such changes? How could anyone even believe Mket did not write the correct amount of statues being carved for Khufu?
She gathered her offerings, the honey-dipped figs and two loaves of nutmeats into a basket. The thought of the tall Dewan surrounded by supplicating attendants and bare-breasted young women pleased her. She knew her singing would transfix him as always. If the Dewan could be coaxed to repel the avaricious Akeht, her husband would be safe. She would do anything to save Mket.
As she looked at the nutmeats, she had a reckless thought. Even a day of time would help Mket. Unwrapping the nutmeats, she broke one apart and sprinkled a dark powder into the nuts. Stirring gently in an alabaster bowl, she added more honey. She sniffed it; a warm and healthy aroma filled her nostrils. Seeing that her servant had gone into another room, Hept-ra tasted it. A slight bitterness stung her tongue. She smiled inwardly. She rolled the altered nutmeats in a stripped linen cloth.
Gathering her robes and basket, she called out that she would be at the temple until evening. Hurriedly, she followed the same path her husband had just taken. Looking down, she could see his sandal print in the dust of the street--his--his alone--not lost to her among the many other prints
The Dewan himself was in residence, reading a dissertation from a long-dead scribe. A stranger, the new official, she thought, sat nearby. Hept-ra had heard about him from the Dewan's young daughter. The man stood short of stature, yet sinewy with sharp features and forceful black eyes. His goatee seemed sparse when she glanced at it. Since they had not yet met, the man was introduced to her as Akhet. He'd been sent from Memphis and educated in the placement of men and women for the greater wealth of the Pharaoh and the people.
The Dewan said, "Akhet, you will hear Hept-ra sing at Feast of Flood. Her voice is melodious and inspiring."
The new official nodded to her, arrogant and surly. "I have heard of you, Hept-ra. All were fond words. It's a shame that a pretty girl like you has married so young. Why, you could enjoy many other pleasures if you were not so encumbered."
)
