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  Sokkwi, the gang supervisor, had his back to me when I reached the top. Several others clustered around him, bent to something on the stone. Chisels and drills lay scattered about.

  “What is it? What’s happened?” The dry heat had stolen my breath, and the words panted out.

  They broke apart to reveal a laborer, no more than eighteen years, on the ground, one leg pinned by a block half set in place. The boy’s eyes locked onto mine, as if to beg for mercy. “Move the stone!” I shouted to Sokkwi.

  He scratched his chin. “It’s no good. The stone’s been dropped. We have nothing to—”

  I jumped into the space open for the next stone, gripped the rising joint of the block that pinned the boy and yelled to a worker, larger than most. “You there! Help me slide this stone!”

  He bent to thrust a shoulder against the stone. We strained against it like locusts pushing against a mountain. Sokkwi laid a hand upon my shoulder.

  I rested a moment, and he inclined his head to the boy’s leg. Flesh had been torn down to muscle and bone. I reached for something to steady myself, but there was nothing at this height. The sight of blood, a weakness I had known since my youth, threatened to overcome me. I felt a warmth in my face and neck. I breathed slowly through my nose. No good for the men to see you swoon.

  I knelt and placed a hand on the boy’s head, then spoke to Sokkwi. “How did this happen?”

  He shrugged. “First time on the line.” He worked at something in his teeth with his tongue. “Doesn’t know the angles, I suppose.” Another shrug.

  “What was he doing at the top then?” I searched the work area and the ramp below me again for Mentu. Anger churned my stomach.

  The supervisor sighed and picked at his teeth with a fingernail. “Don’t ask me. I make sure the blocks climb those ramps and settle into place. That is all I do.”

  How had Mentu allowed this disaster? Justice, truth, and divine order—the ma’at—made Egypt great and made a man great. I did not like to see ma’at disturbed.

  On the ramp a woman pushed past the workers, shoving them aside in her haste to reach the top. She gained the flat area where we stood and paused, her breath huffing out in dry gasps. In her hands she held two jars, brimming with enough barley beer to allow the boy to feel fierce anger rather than beg for his own death. The surgeon came behind, readying his saw. The boy had a chance at life if the leg ended in a stump. Allowed to fester, the injury would surely kill him.

  I masked my faintness with my anger and spun away.

  “Mentu!” My yell carried past the lines below me, down into the desert below, perhaps to the quarry beyond. He should never have allowed such an inexperienced boy to place stones. Where had he been this morning when the gangs formed teams?

  The men nearby were silent, but the work down on the plateau continued, heedless of the boy’s pain. The rhythmic ring of chisel on quarry stone punctuated the collective grunts of the quarry men, their chorus drifting across the desert, but Mentu did not answer the call.

  Was he still in his bed? Mentu and I had spent last evening pouring wine and reminiscing late into the night about the days of our youth. Some of them anyway. Always one story never retold.

  Another scream behind me. That woman had best get to pouring the barley beer. I could do nothing more here. I moved through the line of men, noting their nods of approval for the effort I’d made on behalf of one of their own.

  When I reached the base and turned back toward the flattopped basalt-black stone where I conferred with Khons and Ded’e, I saw that another had joined them. My brother.

  I slowed my steps to allow that part of my heart to harden like mud bricks in the sun, then pushed forward.

  They laughed together as I approached, the easy laugh of men comfortable with one another. My older brother leaned against the stone, his arms crossed in front of him. He stood upright when he saw me.

  “Ahmose,” I said with a slight nod. “What brings you to the site?”

  His smile turned to a smirk. “Just wanted to see how the project proceeds.”

  “Hmm.” I focused my attention once more on the plans. The wind grabbed at the edges of the papyrus, and I used a stone cubit rod, thicker than my thumb, to weight it. “The three of us must recalculate stone transfer rates—”

  “Khons seems to believe your changes are going to sink the project,” Ahmose said. He smiled, his perfect teeth gleaming against his dark skin.

  The gods had favored Ahmose with beauty, charm, and a pleasing manner that made him well loved among the court. But I had been blessed with a strong mind and a stronger will. And I was grand vizier.

  I lifted my eyes once more to the pyramid rising in perfect symmetry against the blue sky, and the thousands of men at my command. “The Horizon of Khufu will look down upon your children’s grandchildren, Ahmose,” I said. I leaned over my charts and braced my fingertips on the stone. “When you have long since sailed to the west, still it will stand.”

  He bent beside me, his breath in my ear. “You always did believe you could do anything. Get away with anything.”

  The animosity in his voice stiffened my shoulders.

  “Khons, Ded’e, if you will.” I gestured to the charts. Khons snorted and clomped to my side. And Ded’e draped his forearms across the papyrus.

  “It must be gratifying,” Ahmose whispered, “to command men so much more experienced than yourself.”

  I turned on him, my smile tight. “And it must be disheartening to see your younger brother excel while you languish in a job bestowed only out of pity—”

  A boy appeared, sparing me the indignity of exchanging blows with my brother. His sidelock identified him as a young prince, and I recognized him as the youngest of Henutsen, one of Khufu’s lesser wives.

  “His Majesty Khufu, the king, Horus,” the boy said, “the strong bull, beloved by the goddess of truth—”

  “Yes, yes. Life, Health, Strength!” I barked. “What does Khufu want?” I was in no mood for the string of titles.

  The boy’s eyes widened and he dragged a foot through the sand. “My father commands the immediate presence of Grand Vizier Hemiunu before the throne.”

  “Did he give a reason?”

  The prince pulled on his lower lip. “He is very angry today.”

  “Very well.” I waved him off and turned to Khons and Ded’e, rubbing the tension from my forehead. “We will continue later.”

  The two overseers made their escape before Ahmose and I had a chance to go at it again. I flicked a glance in his direction, then rolled up my charts, keeping my breathing even.

  Behind me Ahmose said, “Perhaps Khufu has finally seen his error in appointing you vizier.” Like a sharp poke in the kidneys when our mother wasn’t watching.

  “Excuse me, Ahmose.” I pushed past him, my hands full of charts. “I have an important meeting.”

  TWO

  I grabbed my cherp, the staff that had been given by Khufu as a symbol of my position, and tramped to the Great House to appease whatever new concern had overtaken Khufu. I planned to search for Mentu after seeing the king, and fumed at the disruption to the order of my day.

  The King of Upper and Lower Egypt, Wearer of the Double Crown, Throne of the Two Countries, is a man who requires careful handling. Many years have passed since we were all princes in the house of Sneferu, Khufu’s father. In those days, my noble father was brother and grand vizier to Sneferu, and Khufu and I divided the hours between our lessons and mischief-making. My best friend and overseer of constructions, the missing Mentu, was also one of our circle, as was my brother Ahmose. The years had made men of three of us, and a god of the fourth.

  I entered the Great Hall of Pillars and paused at the back, inhaling the calming myrrh and frankincense that perfumed the room. I moved to the small shrine and poured a libation to Atum.

  Twelve pillars stood between the king and myself, two rows of six and each thick enough that two men could not encircle them with their arms.
Their carved reliefs, brightly painted, reached all the way to the ceiling, far above my head, and ended in fluted capitals reminiscent of lotus flowers. At the room’s front, Pharaoh shone forth from his throne under the canopy. I stood and studied Khufu’s interaction with the superintendent of the treasury to ascertain his mood. Pharaoh lounged across his throne, one arm draped over the carved sphinx armrest, idly twirling his jewelhandled flail. The superintendent bowed, then kissed the thick carpet at Khufu’s feet.

  Imperious mood today. Ground-kissing was usually undertaken at one’s entrance, not exit.

  The treasurer whirled and fled, nearly tripping over the scribe who sat cross-legged near the throne, papyri and ink on his lap.

  “Ah, Hemiunu, you arrive at last!” Khufu waved me in.

  I took a deep breath, then approached and inclined my head. Pharaoh wore his usual white skirt with the rounded corners, covered with another of fine pleated gold, but today he had added a broad belt with a metal buckle. His royal cartouche was delicately engraved in hieroglyphs on the buckle. Across his bare chest lay the heavy pectoral, rows of square gold links with precious inlaid turquoise. He was a beautiful sight, my king, my Egypt. He was Horus on earth. And it was my job to protect him, even from himself.

  Khufu sighed dramatically and threw his head back against his throne. The red-and-white-striped nemes framing his face slipped a bit, knocking askew the golden snake that reared at his forehead. The Keeper of the Diadem, whom Khufu kept ever ready for such wardrobe emergencies, hurried forward and straightened the headdress, then backed away, eyes downcast.

  “The priests are angry,” Khufu said. “But the treasurer is happy.” He rubbed his eyes. “Why can I not make everyone happy, Hemi?”

  I studied the carpet beneath his canopy. “It is your role to keep divine order, my king—“

  He fingered the links of the gold pectoral on his chest. “The whole of Egypt is set in motion by my will, Hemi. The taxes are paid to fill my treasury, wars are undertaken to make my name great, buildings are erected in my honor.”

  I nodded, familiar with his need to rehearse these facts.

  “And yet, always there are the old counselors who served my fathers, the generals with their loyal troops, the priesthood with their religious power. I must gratify and placate and watch my back.” He slapped a hand on the armrest. “Does this sound like the duties of a god to you?”

  “Even the gods—”

  “And now this change you have insisted upon. The priests of On are arriving, furious about the dismissal!” Khufu stood and thrust a finger at me. “You could not understand, Hemi. Your men love you. I do not like to anger priests!”

  I leaned against my staff. “This great project you have undertaken, Khufu,” I began in a soothing tone, “greater than even your father dared build, it requires all that the Two Lands can give. To move the center of worship here to Giza has consolidated your power and your wealth in one place—”

  “But to declare myself Ra on earth …” He pointed to one of the pillars, with its carved relief of Amun bestowing favor on the king.

  “Yes. These are the actions of a true god.”

  The meat bearer approached, with a meal of gooseflesh and beef on a golden platter. He set the food on the footstool before Khufu, whispered, “Life, Health, Strength!” and disappeared.

  Khufu collapsed back to his throne.

  It was complicated, our system of worship. Countless gods were assigned to all aspects of Egyptian life, but somehow it brought order to the land. The king would be Ra when he traveled to the west at his death. On earth, he was son of Ra. But to declare himself Ra now, before his death, was to pull support from every corner of Upper and Lower Egypt, brooking no argument. I believed it was necessary for the achievement of our mutual goals.

  “And what of the project?” Khufu asked, tearing off a huge piece of meat. “Perhaps it is too much for you.”

  “If the king would approve plans for the queen’s pyramid …”

  “Is that why people are saying you are behind schedule?”

  “Who has said this?”

  “You know that everyone expected me to name Ahmose vizier,” Khufu said, a slight smile playing at his lips. He popped the meat into his mouth and chewed noisily.

  “Perhaps my brother should stick to collecting taxes and leave the building to me.”

  Khufu laughed. “We are all still little boys, are we not, Hemi?”

  Some of us are.

  As if on cue, Perni-ankhu, the king’s dwarf and cupbearer, scurried into the room with a tall cup of the king’s wine.

  “Ah, here is Perni, to dance for us.” Khufu clapped and took the wine from Perni. “Gladden our hearts, Perni. Hemi here is always much too serious.”

  From a corner of the Great Hall, waiting there mute until summoned, a lyre struck up a lively tune. The dwarf clamped his hands to his waist, beneath his rounded belly, and did a sidestep away from us, then swayed his hips as he walked an unseen line through the pillars down the hall. The music picked up, Khufu laughed, and the dwarf kicked up his heels.

  “He is so amusing, is he not, Hemi?”

  “Of course, my king.”

  “So formal today, Hemi. What is bothering you? Come, sit with me and share my meal.”

  I am accustomed to these shifting moods of Khufu. I have learned to shift with him, in all things to support him. My very life is linked to his. Not only because of the past we share, but because he is my king. Our ritual with the dwarf was familiar. I ever remain the tight-lipped vizier, and Khufu attempts to make me laugh.

  Perni’s dance took on a frenzied beat, and I sat at Khufu’s footstool and pulled off a stringy section of gooseflesh, though it was not the hour I had established for my midday meal. I wished I could escape and track down Mentu.

  Khufu patted my shoulder. “This is better, my friend. Like the old days, when we did not need to think of kingdoms and pyramids, eh?”

  I smiled and looked away. “We have many good memories.”

  “Yes, many stories to be well remembered.”

  The silence between us spoke of one memory, not as good. I shifted my position on the stool.

  Perni’s dance ended with a rolling somersault to the foot of the canopied throne, and the little hunchbacked dwarf popped to his feet with a flourish.

  Khufu pounded my back with a fist. “By Horus, I am going to send Perni home with you one of these days, Hemi, to lighten you up! You could not be so gloomy with Perni in your house!”

  The dwarf bowed and skipped from the room. I followed his exit with my eyes, to the squared-off arch in the center of the east wall. The dwarf disappeared, and someone else took his place.

  “Merit.” Her name slipped from my lips before I could hold it back. My right hand suddenly grew restless, moving from my knee to the back of my neck, then resting uneasy again on my leg.

  She wore a full hairpiece of long curls today, with red-beaded ends, held by a gold headband across her forehead. She needed no adornment. Framed in the arch of the Great Hall, her simple white dress fit narrowly enough to show the curves of her body beneath. The wide straps that reached from her chest to circle her neck were embroidered with red flowers. She had lined her eyes with green malachite and kohl, and they seemed wide enough to peer into a man’s soul.

  Meritates is a childhood friend, too. Only a childhood friend. It is true we shared many conversations, some laughter. Now she is Khufu’s wife, for the good of Egypt.

  Khufu saw her too and returned to his meal. Merit’s eyes roamed my face for a moment, then she glided into the room like the cool Nile spilling over the barren desert. I wondered if Khufu too soaked up her presence like parched sand. Such thoughts are not good for a man in my position. They bring disorder.

  Khufu chewed and swallowed. “Entertain us, Merit. I am feeling restless today.”

  Her eyelids fluttered. “Restless already? Did I not see Perni leave only a moment ago?”

  Khufu tossed ba
ck his cup of wine, then wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “Exactly. He has gone and now we are bored.”

  “You must be feeling better then?” Merit twirled her heavy silver bracelet, encrusted with jeweled butterflies. “Khufu has been alone all afternoon in his private rooms with a headache,” she said to me.

  The king waved a hand. “Yes, I am well. And bored.”

  The meat bearer appeared again, took the empty tray and cup, and bowed away. Merit settled in the high-backed chair beside the throne, very near to the footstool where I sat.

  I stood and moved away.

  “Music,” Khufu said. “We need more music!”

  The lyre began again, a tune that sounded to me like birds alighting on tree limbs.

  “Perhaps someday Hemi will play for us,” Merit said softly, her eyes on mine.

  “Hemi?” Khufu chuckled. “I should not like to hear the noise that would come from this grumpy vizier. No, he is all about numbers and equations and quarry stones, Merit. I do not believe there is a note of melody in him.”

  Merit raised an eyebrow at me, and I retrieved my staff, well worn and comfortable, and leaned on it. I hoped that Khufu would not begin again to accuse me of lacking in my duties. Not now.

  “Do you think I can learn to dance like the dwarf, Hemi?” Khufu asked. He had gotten to his feet and thrust a toe outward, his hands on his hips. “Step, step, step.” He laughed. “Does my talent rival Perni’s?”

  Merit covered her laugh with her fingers, as though Khufu were one of her boys and not a god. “Sit down, Khufu,” she said. “You are being silly.”

  Khufu yanked the nemes from his head and tossed it onto the footstool. “Faster!” he yelled to the lyre, then danced a circle around me. Despite myself, I felt a smile tug at my lips.