Khu: A Tale of Ancient Egypt (29 page)

“
Almost there!” the coxswain shouted. “Pull! Pull!”

The moving wall crept closer and closer, and the sky turned a pinkish-red. Some of the men were shouting to make themselves heard above the wind that was blowing stronger now. The coxswain kept guiding the rowers, and the men steeled themselves against the approaching tempest.

There was no place to hide.

“Harder! Pull!”

They had to get off the river. They had to dock their ships to keep them from being
destroyed by the whirling gales which would sandblast everything in sight. And they had to shelter themselves from the onslaught which would skin them alive, cutting their hands and faces, blinding their eyes, and clogging their noses and mouths.

The temperature was
rising still, as though the god Seth himself were blowing his hot breath over Egypt. Soon it would be intolerable.

The wind rumbled louder as a reddish haze thickened the air.

They were nearing the mouth of the inlet.

“Nearing the turn!
Slow it down! Easy on the turn!”

The starboard rowers checked their blades, as the port rowers
managed a tight turn around a sandbank edging the mouth of the inlet’s narrow opening.

Mentuhotep closed his eyes momentarily in relief, after his ship made the dangerous turn without harm. He had been praying
silently to Amun to guide them to safety. He turned around to check on the rest of his fleet, and saw them following behind as his ship led the way.

“Take it all the way in!” Mentuhotep commanded the rowers himself from the steering platform, at the rear of the ship.
“All the way in to the cove!”

One by one, the ships entered the inlet. The men pulled at the oars, taking the ships
all the way to the large cove waiting inside.

“
Make room for the rest,” the king directed. “Align the ships tightly, or there won’t be enough room!”

The men wasted no time in securing the ships together, to keep them from thrashing about in the storm. The smaller ones were dragged ashore, and bound together with reed ropes so that they would not be blown away. The sails were unfurled and draped over the decks, before being tied down like tarps, so that they would have something to shield them from the blasting assault as they huddled underneath. But it was blowing strongly already, making it difficult to tie them securely.

Anything worth saving was stowed away. Men grabbed their cloaks,
pulling them over their heads and wrapping them about their faces in protection.

The temperature kept climbing as the darkness approached. Dust entered their noses, coating their throats, and stinging their sinuses with its dryness. Khu’s eyes
were watering and his tongue felt parched, but he did not care. He wanted his father’s fleet to survive this tempest. He watched the men scrambling to get under the sails.

“Go inside the cabin!” the king
told Khu and Nakhti. “You will be better protected there, go! And cover yourselves well!”

The boys left to do as their father told them. And while the cabin was small, there was plenty of room for them and several more men. The king and Qeb would join them after they saw to the safety of their men.

Mentuhotep and Qeb stood by the head coxswain, guiding the men to safety. Those who did not fit under the sail huddled together, hiding within the thin layers of their own cloaks.

The
reddish haze thickened into a dark brown, as the monstrous cloud engulfed the sky. The wind thundered as though the gates of the Netherworld had been thrown open, releasing all manner of ills to ravage the land.

In an instant, day turned to night as the land was plunged into darkness
, and the cloud blocked the sun.

P
alm trees beyond the cove and riverbank were caught up in the storm, bending low with the force of the wind that ravaged the land like a hurricane. Their branches blew about wildly, many of which were torn right off their trunks, and scattered about by the driving wind.

The m
en braced themselves for what would be several hours of suffocating wind. They hunkered down, bowing their heads against the wind, shutting their eyes tightly and clasping the fabric of headdresses about themselves. They grabbed onto their amulets, praying to the gods for mercy and protection.

There was nothing they could do; nothing
anyone in the sandstorm’s path could do but ride it out, bearing the brunt of the storm with patience and courage. They were caught in a battle of the elements—a battle they attributed to the gods—and they prayed silently as they waited, closing their eyes and listening with forbearance to the howling gale as it thrashed about like an unruly child throwing a tantrum, leaving a trail of wreckage behind.

When people
in the various settlements and villages lying in the storm’s path first noticed it approaching, they immediately abandoned their work to hurry home. Young children were pulled inside their mud-brick homes, and the doors shut behind them before cloth was wedged tightly through the gaps. The children’s faces looked bewildered, unaware of the danger heading their way.

The wall of dust came without warning. Villages looked
as though they had been deserted after people rushed through the narrow streets to find shelter from the assault. Even the wild animals disappeared to burrow in dens, hide in holes or shallow caves, creep inside abandoned ruins, or take cover among the monuments and temples providing shelter from the tempest.

Some
people sheltered their pets and animals before the oppressive winds arrived to blind and suffocate them. Shepherds led their herds of sheep or goats back to stables in the villages, tapping some of the beasts on the rump with a stick to get them to move faster. Oxen and donkeys were safely corralled in stalls along with domesticated fowl and pigs.

People
closed doors, covered amphorae and jars with coarsely spun linen cloth and tarps, and pulled reed mats over the windows to keep out the sand that would still find a way inside, even within the smallest crevices.

Those
nomadic traders who were treading the long desert route from Gebtu to the Sea of Reeds, scrambled off the ancient riverbed to hide in caves and quarries, pulling cloaks over their heads, or wrapping long headdresses about their faces so that they would not inhale the stifling dust.

After the storm had subsided, villages everywhere were strewn with all sorts of debris once the winds had finally died down. Broken pottery was scattered like pebbles; linen clothin
g
that had been hung out to dry in the morning, and then forgotten in the mayhem, had flown about in the wind like leaves. Some of the reed mats covering the windows were torn away by the wind, and had soared through the air like kites during the storm. Branches ripped off trees, littering the streets, rooftops and fields.

The sandstorm posed a greater risk than the obvious damages to property; much greater than the scattered debris and painful scraping and stinging
of skin and faces.

The dust cloud was a
n unhealthy and dangerous blend of sand and soil, containing mold and fungal spores, some of which were lethal. Pollen, germs and all sorts of bacteria that was hazardous to inhale, were also thrown into the toxic mix. Many people got very sick after the storm, some of whom eventually died in the ensuing infection from the illness following the inhalation of the deadly airborne concoction.

Hours passed before the wind
s stopped raging. Hours of blinding, suffocating dust, sand and wind that swept across the land, painting everything in dark fuzzy shades. The silt-like matter penetrated every crevice, coating every surface including floors, walls, furniture, linens, jars, amphorae, dishes, food and drink. It adhered to people’s skin, sticking to their pores, stinging their eyes, nasal and sinus cavities, and was even encrusted under their fingernails. There was no getting rid of it.

The wind eventually slowed down to a rumble, and then to a sighing breeze before it ceased to blow.

As soon as things quieted down Mentuhotep prepared to assess the damages. The sails were unfastened and removed from the decks of the ships before being furled and stowed away. Men emerged with their heads and faces covered in linen which had turned a filthy brown.
They kept their faces—noses and mouths especially—well shielded from the thick dust coating the air.

Khu and Nakhti withdrew from the cabin where they had remained during the storm. The boys stepped out into the late afternoon,
their faces covered with cloth as they surveyed the strange ominous world around them. The wind had completely died down, and a leprous light bled through the dust hanging in the air like fog.

An eerie hu
sh blanketed the land and river, stifling the usual bustling sounds of nature. No birds were seen in the sky or stalking through the marshes. Even the insects buzzing and swarming in the heat of the day remained unseen.

The w
orld was painted in sepia tones from soft browns and yellows, to a grayish orange. But what struck them most was the sun. It hung low in the sky like a huge reddish sphere from which light seeped like blood. It was striking eerie and very beautiful. 

“Re…” Nakhti uttered with his eyes on the sun. The boys felt a sense of reverence and awe as they stared at the heavy sun in the sky, their thoughts following the sun-god Re who appeared to have put an end to Seth’s raging sandstorm, if only for the time being.

There was something haunting about the landscape beyond the cove, whose desert hills were obscured by the orange dust. Trees drooped with limp branches hanging dejectedly like defeated soldiers after battle. The stillness was palpable ominous and heavy, and seemed to cast everything under a spell where time had simply ceased.

It was a world suspended in a haze.

Men appeared on the deck with their faces wrapped against the dust that was everywhere, as they went to assess the damages on their ships. It was no use cleaning anything, for all it would do is stir up more of the dust which coated the air like mist.

“It is always this way after the winds cease,” Nakhti said, recalling sandstorms of previous years.
The headdress covering his face filtered out the dust. But he coughed a little despite the protection it afforded.

The boys took in everything around them. It had all been completely transformed in the course of a few hours. Despite the dirt and debris, it was strangely beautiful.

Khu’s thoughts turned to his mother Tem again, but he knew she was alright. He would have felt her distress if something had happened, even from this distance.

Most of the ships in Mentuhotep’s fleet had survived the storm, but a
couple had not. The winds had torn apart two of the older vessels, and the debris had been scattered or swept away by the winds. No one was hurt fortunately, at least not beyond the expected scrapes, dryness, and inevitable coughing resulting from the contamination they breathed. The men who were on the older ships had disembarked at the first sign of trouble. They grabbed a few supplies and climbed aboard other ships in the cove where there was room.

Mentuhotep’s army was
forced to spend that first night in the cove before leaving in the morning for Gebtu. Visibility had been drastically reduced, with the dense haze making it impossible to see much beyond ten paces.

Once they had arrived in Gebtu, efforts
to repair any damages to the fleet were undertaken immediately. The ships were pulled onto the low bank of the port, and the ropes lashing the thick planks together were retied or replaced. Seams between the planks were recaulked with reeds where necessary. The men had also refreshed themselves and their provisions, readying to depart again as soon as safely possible.

“And it is just beginning,” Mentuhotep later said once they were
settled in the lavish home of an official in Gebtu, who was a relative of the king. “Yes, the sandstorm is only beginning,” the king repeated with a note of irritation, of the oppressive winds that would blow for several hours every few days, over the course of about fifty days.

The storm would later—in subsequent millennia—be known in Egypt as the
khamaseen
. But Mentuhotep had no intention of waiting fifty days in Gebtu for it to run its course. He wanted to return home soon.              

“If we do not depart between the gales, we will be stuck here for a long while,” Mentuhotep
continued. “Gebtu is not that far from home. We should be able to arrive safely before the winds start blowing again,” he touched a hand to the amulet around his neck to avert the evil eye. “If the gods will it,” he added hastily.

“Will it be safe to travel the river?” Nakhti asked, after finishing an infusion he had been given to help sooth his dry throat.

“Safe enough,” Qeb answered on the king’s behalf. “We got here safely from the cove, did we not?” The Kushite warrior was standing off to one side of the room with his arms crossed over his chest. He was not pleased with the delay either, and felt tense and agitated. “Thebes is not that much farther. We should be able to leave soon since it does not blow every day,” he reminded them.