I was collecting taxes when I received word that King Khufu wished to speak to me.
Tax collecting did not involve my going out and knocking on doors or any such thing. I mainly stood at the steps of the temple and counted duties from various parts of Kemet as they were brought in. We did not employ a true currency system of any sort, so this mainly entailed the receipt of various goods. Foods, mostly, but also finished crafts and precious metals. One of my responsibilities was value assessment—whether, say, two geese equaled a bushel of wheat—and this was a real strength for a man who was familiar with nearly every manual skill known at that time.
Taxes were high that year and food was much more precious than other goods because we were building up a supply. The plan was to use the stored food to feed the farm laborers who were soon to be idle thanks to the floodwaters of the Nile. This was no welfare plan, because then the farmers would be put to a different sort of work altogether—building Khufu’s pyramid. (It was the world’s first public works program, after a fashion.) A lot of labor was needed because Khufu’s pyramid was designed—by him and his priest—to be the biggest thing anybody had ever seen. It had to be to fit that ego of his.
Knowing full well how unusual it was to get called back to the palace—and the message was delivered by two of his guards rather than a runner, which didn’t make me feel much better—I left the temple immediately. (And with no assistants to fall back on, a lot of people were going to be waiting an awfully long time for me to return. This had happened before on occasion, and I never heard one complaint about it. People didn’t mind lines all that much back then. Bet the motor vehicles registry would appreciate that kind of respect.)
I went on foot, which didn’t take long as the temple was right next to the palace, but which invariably got the royals all chatty about the impropriety of it all. Nobody, and I mean nobody, went around on foot if they could afford not to. We all had these chairs to get carried around in. I hated them. I was always expecting somebody in front to trip and send me flying into an ox or something.
I reached Khufu’s antechamber fairly quickly and found him alone but for one solitary slave— Nampheta.
She was kneeling beside his throne, leaning forward and face down in a position of maximum supplication. Khufu, who had been pacing, stood before his small dais and watched me as I entered.
“Lord Vizier,” he greeted.
“My king,” I replied, bowing deeply. I noticed the guards who had escorted me left us alone and shut the doors as they went. Nothing about this looked even a little bit good.
“You have something to tell me, I think.” It wasn’t a question.
I should mention that like many persons of royal blood I have met in my life, underneath it all King Khufu was moderately insecure. I think it’s because so many of them spend their lives trying to aspire to the greatness that is frankly assumed because of their family background, the problem being that blood alone does not guarantee greatness in a man. Deep down inside, most of them realize this. Some overcompensate. Khufu was like that. And he had a lot to compensate for. He was a little man, not terribly bright, and not the slightest bit clever. I often had to go out of my way not to appear too smart so as to avoid his wrath. This was not always so easy.
In this case, I had no idea what he was talking about. “I don’t believe so.”
“No?” he snapped. He glared at me, but soon decided this wasn’t terribly threatening given I was a head taller, so he retreated to his raised throne and sat. I waited for more details.
“You have been plotting against me,” he stated, as though it were a fact. It was complete nonsense. My sense of political intrigue didn’t extend beyond making sure my ass remained securely covered.
“I’ve done nothing of the sort.” My eyes strayed to Nampheta on the floor. She would not look up to me, or move much beyond breathing. What had she been telling him?
“Liar!” he shouted. Sweet Re—the man was angry. “I know about the meetings you have been having with my snake of a half brother! Behind my back! Did you think I would not learn of this treachery?”
“With Khalfu?” Khalfu was the eldest son of Khufu’s father’s second wife. (One needed a chart to keep track, especially since none of them were very creative in the name department.)
“Yes, why don’t you tell me what you were plotting, Lord Vizier?” He had taken my positive identification of his half brother to be a confession of some sort. Again, not the brightest guy in Kemet.
“The last I spoke with Khalfu was last week,” I said. “He requested information on the crop blight in the south. Two provinces had been lax in their duties.”
“Again you lie! Why would Khalfu concern himself with such matters!”
“Because you asked him to look into it, my king.”
He paused in mid-bluster as soon as he realized that yes, he had done exactly that, while I stifled the urge to giggle. He recovered quickly.
“There were other meetings,” he insisted. “Private meetings.”
“When might these have occurred?”
“Suffice it to say I know they have. Unfortunate for you both that I have a witness whose loyalty is far greater than yours.”
Which brought us back to the supine figure by the throne. Nampheta had still not moved a muscle, but she was certainly listening.
“Do you mean the slave on the floor, my king?” I asked mildly.
“She overheard your treachery, Lord Vizier.”
“Did she?” I asked. “Tell me, when did the great Khufu decide that the word of a palace slave was greater than his vizier? Greater than even your own brother’s?”
“My brother is a dog!” he shouted. “And you, vizier, no one knows what you are!”
This was very bad, and it was going to get worse very soon if I didn’t figure out a way to calm him down. Unfortunately, I was getting pissed off myself, although not so much at him. How could Nampheta do this?
“Khufu, she is a slave! What is the matter with you?”
“I have long suspected this from you,” he spat.
“Then you are foolish and paranoid, and listening to lies!”
Oops. Never call a king paranoid. Even when they are.
He leapt to his feet. “Guards!”
The two Cro-Magnons from outside the room came running in, spears at the ready.
“Hold this traitor!” Khufu demanded, pointing at me.
Well, I couldn’t have that. I mean it was already obvious I was in major trouble, but while I didn’t see any ready solution, I could be pretty positive the options would go from few to none as soon as I let Khufu’s palace guards chain me up. Fortunately, he employed only humans. Two of them I could handle.
When the first guard reached me, I grabbed his spear, yanked it over his head and kneed him in the groin. He let go of the spear in time for me to swing it around like a baseball bat and swat down the second guard with a blow to the side of the head, shattering the wood haft and knocking him out. With a quick spinning kick, I broke the nose of the first guard before he had an opportunity to do much more than grab his privates and whimper. He was unconscious by the time he hit the floor.
Khufu was too stunned by my actions to find his voice, which afforded me the time to pick up the half of the broken spear that had a point on the end of it. A quick jump up to the throne and I had the tip pressed up against the front of his throat.
“Sit down, Khufu,” I ordered. He did as I requested, which had to be the first time since he was a whelp that he took orders from anybody.
“Nampheta,” I barked, “get to your feet.”
She rose slowly. Tears were streaming down her face and she looked more terrified than I had ever seen her, which was appropriate. The foolish thing had put both our lives in danger. “Look at me.” Her eyes found their way from her feet up to my face. Frightened indeed. Of me.
This would have been, incidentally, the very best time for Khufu to grab the spear from me as I wasn’t paying him much attention. He didn’t budge. Can’t say I was surprised.
“Why?” I asked her.
She trembled mightily, but couldn’t put to words what had to be a complex stew of emotions. It didn’t
