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**Kull** · November 16, 2002, 19:49

Nile Valley: The Lion Hunter

It is the dawn of recorded history, and throughout the world great changes are afoot. But along the banks of a great river, utterly oblivious to "world events", living moment-to-moment and aware only of the information brought in by his senses, a young hunter spots the spoor of a great lion, and - heart quickening - follows the trail as it leads beyond the river valley and into the Western Desert.

Two suns pass, ten, hundreds and more, and all evidence of their passage has disappeared from that spot. The unchanging cycle continues at that place, until one day something unusual occurs. At the edge of that river - the eternal Nile - two buzzards tear at the desiccated flesh of some unlucky animal. But their feast, such as it is, ends suddenly as they sense danger and ponderously launch into the air, seeking refuge in the sky. And at that moment, down from the hills, around a bend in the trail, strides forth a man of grim visage. Is he old? Young? It's impossible to say. And to the buzzards circling overhead, only this much is certain: The man walks with purpose, his eyes are fixed on the horizon to the north, and he wears a cloak of lion-skin.

**Kull** · November 16, 2002, 19:50

Memphis: Dark Traveler's Tales

In tiny mud-brick huts on the banks of the river Nile, a small group of people has come together and formed the little village of Memphis. For thousands of years people such as this have lived in harmony with the land, their agrarian lives governed by the clockwork precision of the annual rise and fall of the life-giving river. But over the past few seasons an air of doubt, even a gnawing undertone of fear, has begun to permeate the minds of the villagers. Traders come, as they always have, but now they bring more than just their wares. Whether boisterous or sly, these men can always be counted upon to brag of the quality of their cloth, the perfection of their pottery, the sweet deliciousness of their fruits, and always they have stories of the strange outside world. But now there are darker tales - those told when business is done and men lounge about a campfire in the hushed quiet of the night.

On one late autumn evening, after a large number of tongue-loosening millet beers, an earthenware peddler from the Delta shared a troubling story. "About twenty suns ago, a band of thugs from the Libyan desert took over a small village just south of here. They killed the headman, took some of the girls and now demand regular support from the farmers. It's a shocking thing, men who won't work and live off the backs of others!" Many of the Memphis villagers gazed at one another, shaking their heads in dismay. A village elder soon gave voice to the unspoken thoughts of all. "What is the world coming to?" he wondered, "What kind of men would attack simple farmers, who seek only to care for their families and live in peace with their neighbors?" The resulting silence was finally broken by a deep voice, brandishing a thick Babylonian accent and a slight alcohol-induced slur. "That's bad enough, but there's worse to come". The barrel-chested merchant with the long heavy beard was an oddity in these parts - foreigners being few and far between in the Nile region. "I've seen similar things in other towns, particularly in the far northeastern land of Canaan. Many of the villages there built walls and trained their men to fight with spears. And that'll deal with these roving bands of criminals, I assure you!" He laughed then, loudly, with the deep satisfying sound of one who's been an eyewitness to evil getting it's just desserts. But his next words were stunning.

"There is something else you need to know. In both my homeland of Babylonia and the nation of Assyria to the north, far greater changes are taking place. Towns themselves are warring - one against another. If that wasn't bad enough, the most violent and powerful headmen are calling themselves "kings" and assuming rule over the defeated towns! These kings gather men from all their subject lands and group them together as an "army" - a group of warriors far larger than anything a single town or city can oppose!" The Babylonian paused for a great quaff of the local Brew, and - perhaps thinking that it's not a good idea to scare the customers - changed the subject. "So, how's the harvest look this year?", he asked the nearest elder. They spoke quietly of grain yields, storage jars, and rodent pests, but the remaining villagers and merchants had been stunned into silence. Most had never seen a man killed in anger, and suddenly - unlooked for - they had learned something terrible. That great evil was loose in the world and that men existed who would happily snuff out human lives in numbers beyond imagining!

It is a quiet band that leaves the flickering fire, returning to their simple mud dwellings, each containing all these men hold precious in the world. The stars gaze down just as on other nights, but this time they look upon a community whose world has turned upside down.

**Kull** · November 16, 2002, 19:51

Memphis: The Old Merchant's Tale

Long after the Egyptian villagers had shuffled off to bed, a grizzled old merchant poked at the fire and smiled softly. With a tongue now thoroughly loosened, the Babylonian couldn't help himself, "Out with it old man! If that's a joke you're thinking of, we want to hear it!" Several other merchants slapped the sands to signify agreement, and after a pause the smiling man responded. "I may have a few years on you, bearded one, but my hand is quick and this staff can instill respect quicker than you think!" Noting the light tone, the Babylonian bowed his head in mock submission and returned a smile of his own. "I believe you old father, so spare me the lesson and share your tale with us!"

"Well, it's not a humorous story, but one of war, much like yours. I simply smiled at the poor innocence of our good Memphians - alas the world has many nasty surprises in store for them, I fear! So....you know of the seafarers? Those who serve Minos?", he began. The big Mesopotamian nodded affirmatively, and raised a jar of beer in salute. "Yes, by the gods - and their wine even more!" Nodding, the old man toasted back. "I spoke with one in Canaan a few seasons ago, and he had a tale from the distant north. It seems that two towns shared power on a great peninsula, and the two kings bore a deep mutual enmity. The greater of the two, Agamemnon, sent a pair of armies to assault his enemy. One was the usual group of citizen skirmishers, fleet of foot but poorly armed. The other - and this I've never seen and can scarcely credit - was composed entirely of mounted horsemen! This new innovation was unknown to his enemy, and thus the Achaean King was confident of victory. His plan called for the skirmishers to attack one part of the town, drawing the full attention of the enemy, at which time the mounted army would sweep in from the rear and complete the conquest. But it was not to be! The king’s drunken nephew Athos led the horsemen, and the fool and his men became lost in the hill country. Thus when the poor foot troops launched their attack, they did so alone and outnumbered. At first the battle went ill for them, but when all appeared lost, the king's brother Menelaus came to the fore. He spied the enemy king, engaged him in single combat, and at the last, slew him with a great thrust of his spear. At this the enemy lost heart and surrendered themselves as slaves! They say that scarcely a tenth of the Achaeans were left standing, so it was truly a great and awesome victory!"

The old man finished with a flourish, and the listening merchants - ever appreciative of a fine tale well told - hooted their approval. Inspired, the Babylonian leaned forward and launched into a totally improbable story involving Assyrians and onager-drawn contraptions called "chariots" (the old merchant rolled his eyes at the very thought of so unlikely a device) while the fires flickered and more beer was poured, and the night flowed on as smoothly as the Nile.

**Kull** · November 16, 2002, 19:52

Memphis: The War Leader

To the average villager Memphis is a satisfying place to live, so long as you don't mind having a life without secrets. As with every village in every land, not only have you lived with these people all your life, you're related to them too. Fortunately for the gene pool, Memphis is an important crossroads, the gateway between the Delta and the Nile valley. So men with the bravery and fortitude to risk travel in the dangerous ancient world were not uncommon - and they found more than a few women who were bored with the norms of village life. Over the millennia these men and women left behind a significant gift - children with a genetic predisposition for bravery and risk-taking.

On the morning after the men of Memphis first learned of kings and armies and mass killings, the word had spread to every corner of the town. All agreed that something had to be done, and everyone had a different plan for doing it. "Let's pack up and move so far south that these "kings" will never find us!" "No, we must build walls and prepare our defenses!" "Why not kill all visitors? That way no one will know we are here!" "We could ally with the village down south, ask one of the Libyans to be our King and combine our forces into an army!" For every idea there was a counter-argument, and the debate swayed back and forth throughout the days that followed.

Like most villages of its time, Memphis was "governed" by a council of elders. In times of difficulty they could and did appoint a single headman who would organize the town to fend off predators and unruly visitors or help recuperate from natural disasters like floods and locusts. In past crises, headmen were appointed based on wealth or social status - but that would not serve to deter an invader. No, something different was called for now, and it fell to Merneptah, the oldest of the elders, a tottering ancient of 60 summers, to suggest the solution. "We need a man of war, so lets hold a contest. He who is strongest, bravest, and handiest with a weapon is the one best able to train our young men and - may Ra forgive us - lead them into battle." Once suggested, the solution seemed only too obvious and was immediately adopted by unanimous acclaim. A series of physical tests was agreed upon, and the contest set for the following day.

And so it was that on a quiet October morning a stranger wandered up the South road and entered Memphis. You couldn't say he went unnoticed - not many men are clothed in lionskin - but most of the townsfolk were absent, gathered noisily to the north for the War Leader contest. If the stranger noticed the unusual silence, he gave no sign. Ignoring the few dogs and children that followed curiously in his wake, the stranger walked to the village center and helped himself to several long draughts from the local well. Oblivious to his surroundings the visitor set aside his great spear, removed the lion cloak and washed away his dust and grime. His ablutions complete, the man gathered his possessions and began to stride quickly towards the East road - which is when it happened - the feel of something tugging upon his lion's tail! Sometimes it is the smallest of events that have the largest repercussions, and so it was here.

For the first time emotions played across the face of the stranger - first anger, and then turning, consternation and finally, amusement. For there stood a small boy with two tiny fists wrapped firmly about the tail, legs splayed wide in a vain attempt to slow him down. But stop he did, and as the boy's lips moved and one hand pointed frantically to the north, the stranger bent down to listen and his face changed yet again. From bemusement to thoughtfulness, and finally - almost regretfully - the steely determination of before. But this time it is different - there seems a greater sense of purpose - and it grows stronger as he gazes north - seeming to hear for the first time the distant voices of the clamoring crowd. From a pocket in his cloak, the man pulls forth a lion's tooth and gifts it to the awestruck child. Then turning once more he heads north - towards a suddenly revealed destiny - followed by the excited shouts of children and the frantic barking of their dogs.

**Kull** · November 16, 2002, 19:53

Memphis: Two Summers Later

If you had left Memphis two summers ago, had received no news from home, and returned suddenly and without warning - the changes would leave you gasping for breath. As the homesick traveler approaches from the North, he would first be startled to discover the existence of actual roads! No longer simple tracks the new roads are wide enough for 10 men to walk abreast, and so smooth that a blind man can journey along without fear of stumbling. The handiwork of large crews of laborers, these roads are a thing new to Egypt. Although short in distance, they already lead southwest along the Nile to Memphis, and from there cross to the West Bank and point South. Clearly the movement of men and animals will be greatly aided by these structures, and even the most wooden-headed can foresee the day when they knit Egypt together as sinews bind bone.

As for the town itself....well! No longer a sleepy market village, Memphis has tripled in size and stands on the cusp of transformation from town to city. A strong wall surrounds it, a palace - small but unmistakable - dominates the city center, homes are larger (some even with courtyards and a second floor!), and there are uniformed men-at-arms drilling on the extensive palace grounds. Most visible of all is the tenor and tone of the inhabitants - they are hard working and confident, with big dreams of grand things to come. And if you ask them "Why? How? What drives this transformation?", one and all will point to their leader, the Nomarch Ra-a-Memfes (The God Ra comes to Memphis). "He came from the desert in our time of Questioning - truly a Gift from the Gods - and brought with him a plan for Greatness. He does not share the details of this vision - of that we can but guess - yet only a fool would doubt one who has taken us so far so quickly."

The changes are remarkable but as he gazes at the tumult around him, the returning villager would surely hark back to a simpler time - now lost forever to the world - when men were happy with smaller dreams....of wife, children, a good harvest, and quiet evenings with fast friends and strong millet beer.

**Kull** · November 16, 2002, 19:53

Saqqara: The Conquest

As dawn breaks, the commander of the 1st Skirmishers gazes through the papyrus reeds at the sleepy village. Only a few suns south of Memphis it seems to belong to a different era. This is a dispirited place, hopeless and dirty - clearly suffering from the lawless rule of it's Libyan overlords. Sekmut shakes his head ruefully, pondering the strange vicissitudes of fate. "Three summers ago I was the headman of Memphis - appointed to handle the rat crisis - and if these Libyan bandits had invaded our village instead of this one...." The forlorn look of the last village headman's skull, still sitting atop a pole, is all the answer he needs. Last night, discussing the campaign with Ra-a-Memfes, thoughts of the old man's grim end added passion to Sekmut's plea for this assignment.

The sudden sight of a Libyan stumbling from a shabby hut shakes Sekmut from his reverie. Have they been discovered? But no, the man is still drunk from his nightly excess and collapses to his knees, retching into the field. It's also his last earthly memory as Sekmut leaps to his feet, waves his men forward, and dispatches the Libyan with a club stroke to the skull. In minutes it's over - with most of the Libyans dead, and the villagers cowering fearfully before Sekmut and his men. But soon the downtrodden farmers realize that these are fellow Egyptians who haven't come to loot and pillage.

At the behest of Sekmut the elders gather in the village center, and there he presents them with the Nomarch Deal. "Egypt can no longer exist as a nation of individual towns and villages. The Nomarch of Memphis welcomes you now as the first new member of our confederation. You will receive the protection of our armies and the freedom to work unhindered in your homes and fields, but in return we expect taxes and men for our armies and work crews." The elders realize this "offer" can't be refused, and quickly accept. "At least it's better than the Libyans", grumbles one elder - but most are genuinely happy.

That night during the Feast of Liberation, Nomarch Ra-a-Memfes wins over the last of the uncertain inhabitants with a surprising proclamation. "As of tomorrow we will tear down every hut in this village and build in it's place a town worthy of inclusion in the Memphis Nome!" And thus is born the city of Saqqara!

**Kull** · November 16, 2002, 19:54

Nile Valley: Commander's Council

The men of the 1st Skirmishers sigh with pleasure as they wade through the cool, shallow waters. Behind them to the North lies the rising new town of Saqqara, close enough for workmen's chants and the occasional bellow of an irascible overseer to carry above the burbling sounds of the river. As for these Warriors, their journey takes them across a short tributary of the Nile, where waters flow swiftly and steadily west into the thirsty depression that forms the Great Lake of Faiyum. Someday that land will become a bountiful addition to the growing Nome, but the minds of these men are on the task at hand - a rapid southerly march along the West Bank of the Nile.

The 1st Skirmishers are veterans now, hardened by training and their first taste of blood. The men travel in triple file at a slow trot, carrying few provisions and their lightweight arms - clubs, spears, slings - but mostly bows & arrows. They have a new leader now - a small, wiry little man called Unas. As Sekmut's former lieutenant he's not unfamiliar to the warriors, but their real confidence comes from the man who matches Unas stride for stride - the Nomarch himself, Ra-a-Memfes. Unas and the rest are glad for his presence, because this assignment is a perilous one. Ahead lie two communities. The northernmost is a small village, little more than a collection of huts peopled by simple farmers - but the other is a real town with Warriors and a Nomarch of it's own.

At the close of planting season several suns ago, Ra-a-Memfes had summoned a Commanders Council to discuss the coming campaign. A new band of warriors - the 2nd Skirmishers - had completed their training in Memphis and Sekmut was given their command. His orders were to lead the troops Northeast along the largest branch of the Nile, searching for a crossing into the Delta. Unas and the Nomarch had the real challenge - dealing with the small confederation of towns south of Saqqara. Eventually they might grow to rival the power of the Memphis Nome, and this could not and would not be permitted. The time to strike is now!

**Kull** · November 16, 2002, 19:55

Dahshur: Clash of the Nomarchs

And so it was that after two suns of steady, relentless jogging the 1st Skirmishers are finally able to camp within sight of the smaller village, there to pass a tense and restless night. But fires are not lit and voices remain hushed, and thus the sudden appearance of armed men in their midst comes as a complete surprise to the villagers next morning. Presented with the same "Nomarch Deal" as the Saqqarans, the people remain silent until finally one man stands to speak for all. Hezi's recent election as Village Headman had seemed such a blessing at the time - his wife and children thrilled at the opportunity for a greater share of the upcoming harvest - but now he feels only the heavy weight of doom upon his shoulders. "It's an easy thing for you to promise aid, Nomarch of the North, but you live far from this land. Besides, we have already pledged our service to the Nomarch Mekret - upon pain of death! For he is a man of foul temper and has an army of his own. Do you hear? Those cocks crow in his town! Please, we beg of you - leave swiftly while you yet may!"

Throughout this discourse the Nomarch utters not a word, his eyes hard and unblinking as they gaze upon the frightened villager. Long after the speech not a sound is uttered or move made and quietly Hezi prays that Ptah and Anubis will bless his journey through the underworld - certain that his life is now forfeit. And then the silence is broken as the lionskin-clad Nomarch offers up a question - along with the barest trace of a smile. "'Pain of Death' is it? The "deal" he offered you? Well so be it. But if perchance the Death in Question is that of Mekret himself - that frees you to enter my service, yes?"

Instantly, without pausing for answer the Nomarch cries, "Warriors! To me!", and sprints toward the nearby town. Around him brave hearts surge forward, none wanting to be last, all suddenly fearful for the life of their leader. Ahead, a lone guard spies the onrushing skirmishers, and briefly shouts out a warning - until arrows still his voice forever. But the alert spreads and throughout the town cries of warning and terror rise up into the clear desert sky. Troops muster quickly, and the White Crown of Mekret is visible, striding amongst his men with fierce words and a stave to encourage the laggards. Within moments the 1st Skirmishers reach the line of warriors and crash in amongst their enemies. Surprised by this sudden and unlooked for battle, sleep still clogging many an eye and mind, Mekret's men stagger backward. Quailing before the onslaught several men turn to flee, but the retreat is stemmed when the first of these is slain in his tracks by the furious Mekret. Quickly realizing that this one man is the key to the battle, Unas fights his way toward Mekret and they furiously spar back and forth, each man giving and receiving frightful blows. Suddenly an arrow flies in through the crowd and pierces the arm of Unas! Without thinking, eyes shifting to seek out this new threat, his guard drops for but a moment.

It is all the opening Mekret needs. With a grim laugh he drives his spear forward to impale the unlucky Unas, who can only grimace before the unstoppable blow. Which is when the great Spear of Ra-a-Memfes crashes down upon that of Mekret, snapping it like a dry reed. Surprised, Mekret turns toward this new threat but it is too late. He sees the weapon is borne by a Lion - thinks "how can this be?" and then falls to the earth senseless as the butt end of the great spear catches him full in the temple. Seeing their leader's White Crown rolling in the dust, his warriors lose all hope and the battle ends almost as suddenly as it began. But this has been a fierce fight and many of the 1st Skirmishers will never again drink with their friends or laugh with their families. To them there remains only the long journey into the West and the hope of life eternal. For those that remain, this first real battle has taught the true cost of war.

But despite these losses, the night brings with it a great feast of celebration. For ever it has been with those who experience loss and the close passage of winged death - even wounded men like Unas will grasp onto life all the harder and taste more sweetly of it's joys. As for the villagers, they gladly accept the Nomarch Deal. To bind them closely to the Memphis Nome, the two villages are combined and become the new town of Dahshur. But for those who bore arms against Ra-a-Memfes, there is only the long trek north toward Memphis and the certainty of execution or slavery. With them go the Nomarch of Memphis, the White Crown, and it's captive owner - the defeated Nomarch Mekret - who trudges North with downcast eyes and the bitter taste of ashes in his mouth.

**Kull** · November 16, 2002, 19:56

Memphis: The Offer

As the light breeze wafts across the palace veranda, it ruffles alike the soft linen hangings and the long dark hair of perfumed dancing girls departing through curtained doorways. The sight is a pleasant one, and the seated men they leave behind are clearly enjoying it. Although separated in age by many a season, they look much alike these two. Taller than most Egyptians, they otherwise have the same dark-hued skin and jet black eyes and hair. What really sets them apart from the mass of Nile dwellers - besides their privileged surroundings - is a distinct, almost visible air of command. It's easy to see that these are men who know what they want and are accustomed to getting it. But there is also a discordant element - the younger man takes the lead in all things, from summoning servants to directing the conversation. He is consummately at ease, while the older one appears strangely wary. This might seem slightly odd to an outsider, but those with intimate knowledge of these two would find the entire circumstance almost unbelievable. For these men who sit together as apparent equals are in fact the Nomarch of Memphis and his defeated, captive enemy, the ex-Nomarch Mekret.

A strong man, arrogant and proud, Mekret is still stunned by the events of the past few weeks. From Nomarch to bound slave to pampered guest - the rapid changes of fortune are scarcely credible. In fact, almost everything he's experienced has come as one shock piled upon the next. But Mekret is nothing if not clever, and he ticks them off in his head, one by one:
- The Spirit of the enemy troops: Never had Mekret seen soldiers so eager to follow a man into battle, and the contrast with his own army's performance is still a source of deep, burning shame.
- The Cities: Growing so quickly that it seemed to sprout from the desert before his eyes, and filled with the hum of trade and the visible trappings of a wealthy populace, Saqqara left a deep impression upon Mekret - until he viewed the far greater city of Memphis. By comparison, his own towns were a collection of hovels inhabited by sluggards. He had been a mouse, lording it over fleas!
- The Roads: Incredible. The open-country journey from Dahshur to Saqqara was one of four suns, while the greater distance from Saqqara to Memphis - entirely by road - was traveled in a day. A military man at heart, Mekret could only marvel at the advantages such speed would grant to an army.
- The Victory Procession: The most bitter memory of all, and Mekret winced still to think of it. But it was also the event that changed his life completely and forever - and brought him now to this all-but-impossible night. A sharing of bread, beer, and song with his erstwhile enemy.

But before Mekret's mind could delve further into that day of shame and wonder, his thoughts were suddenly returned to the present - for the Nomarch was addressing him. "Let me be quite clear Mekret, for it is important that we do not misunderstand one another. I am not a dissembler, and can barely suffer the presence of men for whom the truth is like wet clay - first taking one shape, and later another. We will not speak of that day in the plaza - but it brought you freely to this table, and now I bid you hear me out. The Memphis Nome is growing, but there are still powers left in Egypt who can match us, and the greatest of these is the Red-Crowned King of the Delta. Already we sniff and circle, he and I, like two lions seeking the same lioness. But to take him, I will need armies led by the very best. Men such as you Mekret. So tonight you hear the rest of my offer: Friendship and the Command of a new Troop of Skirmishers. These young puppies gather now in the fields North of Memphis. Train them, teach them, lead them into battle, and prove your valor to all the doubters - for they are legion. But I am not among that large company, for Ra himself visited me in a dream the night before we first met as enemies. Now dreams can be strange things, and aren't always what they seem - yet this one clearly foretold that you and I shall travel a long road together. The nature of this journey was obscured, but surely it's a path I would not follow were my companion not brave and true."

This was an astounding thing to hear, and Mekret stared in wonder at the Nomarch. His had been a long, hard life, and trust a commodity far rarer than gold. Yet this man he scarcely knew was offering him a place of power and distinction, and the chance to lead men in battle once again! But this time they wouldn't be squabbling over a few mud huts and terrified farmers. No, this was a chance to join a society on the rise, and take his place just a heartbeat from the helm! Every shrine to every God in Memphis was going to receive regular donations from Mekret for the rest of his life, of that he swore. Because there was, after all, only one possible answer. "Yes Nomarch. I will train and lead your armies, and as long as breath passes through these lips, so too will words of praise and thanks." And that night as Mekret entered his guest room in the palace, he smiled all the more. For there he discovered proof positive that the Nomarch was a shrewd and careful observer of men. The perfume, the tilt of the head, that languid gaze - yes, the girl awaiting him was the one he'd been most taken with during the earlier performance. The sight of her was intoxicating, and yet even as the dancer's scanty shift drifted from her shoulders to the floor, Mekret's thoughts were focused far from this room, "I fervently pray to all the Gods above and below to never, EVER, let me underestimate this man again!"

**ChrisiusMaximus** · November 16, 2002, 20:04

Glad to see this has found its way back to the stories forum

**Kull** · November 21, 2002, 18:50

Memphis: "Sacks of Pebbles aren't Good Enough!!"

"The Nomarch is not happy, no not a bit - not happy AT ALL!" The young slave bustled about the room, a worried look clouding his face, versions of the same refrain repeated again and again, his head shaking back and forth all the while. After two seasons of this behavior, Merneptah scarcely even notices - his old head instead pondering the problem set before him. The Nomarch was correct - the old methods for recording information simply didn't work any more. When Memphis was a small village, it was fine to use a sack of pebbles to represent an equivalent number of wheat sheaves. But the system quickly broke down when applied to the incoming harvests from multiple towns. And you still had to account for jars of beer, racks of dried fish, stacks of pottery - the list went on and on. Even harder to conceive, the Nomarch also wanted to track last summer's produce, and the harvests preceding even THAT! It was enough to make an old man long for simpler times, that was for sure!

But even as the thought arrived, Merneptah banished it. Yes, there was little to keep him busy in those days, but also less reason for the village to keep him alive. One bad harvest and the eldest and infirm could expect to be sacrificed. Oh, there wouldn't be sharp weapons involved, but slow starvation was just as effective. And a house of his own? With a slave - clucking hen though is? No, all things considered, life under the Nomarch was infinitely superior to the "good old days".

"Bah!!" Merneptah spoke aloud, surprising his slave and even himself, "That's enough backward-gazing old man! Think on this matter, think!" Ignoring the strange look from his suddenly silent servant, Merneptah's eyes wandered, as they always did, to his lovely young wife. There before him sat the greatest benefit of the Nomarch's new order. Her family had demanded a stiff bride price, but it was one Merneptah could afford and was glad to pay. No longer did a man have to be young and robust to earn a living, and for that Merneptah gave thanks to the Gods for the thousandth time. She was quite an artist, that little one. Look how she had beaten the wet papyrus into a mat, dried it in the sun, and now drew upon it using a palette of brightly colored clays and charcoal. The lifelike palms appeared to grow beneath her brush, the birds to take wing, even the wheat seemed to wave in the breeze....the....wheat....it truly looked like.....WHEAT!

Stunned, Merneptah let the idea wash over him like a great wave. Every hair on his arms stood on end, while a warm hum rose up and down his spine. OF COURSE! That was the answer. Who needed sacks of pebbles when one could draw the very likeness of the object to be counted! "Five Sheaves of Wheat, Six Jars of Beer, Seven Racks of Fish!" With a great cry Merneptah leaped to his feet, snatched the mat from the grasp of his stunned wife and raced out the door. Ahead lay the palace and Merneptah bounded toward it, his feet moving like those of a man forty summers younger, waving the papyrus like a wild man and all the while shouting joyfully at the top of his lungs, "PICTOGRAPHS! Yes! The answer is PICTOGRAPHS!"

**ChrisiusMaximus** · November 22, 2002, 17:42

Interesting

looking forward to the next part.

**vovan** · November 22, 2002, 17:58

**Kull** · November 26, 2002, 03:00

Nile Delta: The Great Ocean

It was literally inconceivable - that was Ra's honest truth. Sekmut and his men had heard tales of the great Northern Ocean, but the smooth lakes and placid rivers of their experience could not prepare the desert-dwelling Memphians for the reality of this enormous liquid world. Before them - reaching to the horizon - stretched a vast alien vision filled with turbulent clashing waters. Yet even in this chaos Sekmut discerned a pattern, for like giant ripples from some massive stone, the grey waters rolled unceasingly toward shore, there to spend themselves in great explosions of sound and spray. It was deeply humbling, to be sure. But then this entire journey had been a revelation.

At the Commander's Council, Sekmut's orders were explicit - he was to lead the raw troops of the 2nd Skirmishers into the Nile Delta. Somewhere in the steamy lowlands lay the cities of the Red-Crowned King, and their mission was to seek him out. "The time for war is not yet upon us Sekmut", the Nomarch had been quite clear on that. "First we must know every creek, swamp, and hillock in the Delta. Look also for those who would ally with us, and gather information on the peoples and beasts which populate that strange land". Compared with the 1st Skirmishers' mission to Dahshur, this didn't sound too difficult - and at first it wasn't.

The initial journey followed the merchant trail northeast from Memphis, along the east bank of a large branch of the Nile. Here, far from the city, the sights and sounds were typical of those Sekmut had known all his life. A few small, extended-family landholdings dotted the peaceful river valley. Alongside the waters, songbirds darted from reed to bush while herons and ibis stalked invisible amphibious prey. Domestic animals could be seen grazing here and there, but more numerous by far were the wild creatures - predominantly herds of gazelle and wildebeest, and the tawny forms of those who hunted them. The edge of the Delta was just visible in the blue distance across the river, and though the landscape was different - thin forest interspersed with swamp - from here the change seemed gradual. Mind you, Sekmut wasn't doing much sightseeing. His first task - the search for river crossings - had proven frustratingly fruitless. Time and again the wading skirmishers found shallows leading out from the east bank, but none led completely across the Nile. During the last such search Sekmut noticed that across the river a series of nets had been deployed to catch waterfowl. Interest piqued, he focused harder and soon spotted their owner, a young hunter nervously watching the armed men from a hiding spot in the reeds. Hoping for information, Sekmut called him out and soon there began a long distance negotiation - involving a great deal of shouting and the waving of glinting gold - until finally a deal was struck. Swiftly packing his nets into a small satchel, the young man led them along from across the river until at last, on the seventh sun following their departure from Memphis, the 2nd Skirmishers arrived at a spot where the Nile shallowed to a fordable crossing.

In the ensuing face-to-face meeting the young hunter happily accepted a small gold nugget and - greedy for more - offered to guide the troops deeper into the riverine lowlands. Recognizing the importance of local knowledge, Sekmut agreed, whereupon the 2nd Skirmishers entered the Delta and followed their guide northwest along a shallow creek. But within a few hours the real difference between desert valley and swampy delta became apparent. The foliage rose up on all sides, and soon the men were hemmed in by woods and dense thickets of brush. Adding to their misery, insects swarmed up in great stinging clouds, forcing the men to stop and apply a thick coat of mud to their tormented flesh. Travel quickly slowed to a crawl as the soldiers laboriously traversed the sucking mud that led them from one marsh to another. By nightfall the men were exhausted, and their leader knew that something had to be done. In discussion with the young fowler, Sekmut learned that most of those who dwelt in the Delta traveled by means of small papyrus watercraft. Fortunately their guide knew how to construct these boats and it was knowledge he would happily share - for a fee!

"This birdman will take every speck of gold from my pouch before we're through with this accursed place!", thought Sekmut - but ever the pragmatist, he agreed to the terms. Given the ever-present stands of papyrus, building materials were readily available and the next day was spent in the construction of a small fleet of twin-prowed boats. Propelled down the creek by standing men with long poles, the rafts traveled slowly at first as it took a while to master this new skill. But soon the 2nd Skirmishers realized they'd discovered the key to travel in the Delta, as the little boats enabled them to cover 10 times the first day's distance in but a single sun. Also significant - and more immediately dangerous - was the discovery that their small rafts were a target for crocodiles and angry hippopotami. Several men were lost in confrontations with these creatures until Sekmut slowed the pace of their journey and added archers and spearmen to the lead craft. It was near the end of the second day's travel that they exited the mouth of a small river and faced the stupendous sight of the Great Ocean.

There was something hypnotic about the vision, and pulling back from his reverie Sekmut saw that all his men were subject to the spell. Even the fowler stared slack-jawed, as if the surging sea were molten gold. Smiling at this little jest, Sekmut roused his men with a shout, and directed them to pole across the inlet toward the mouth of another creek. The sea was magnificent, but they had yet to find a trace of their quarry - and it was time to resume the search. Perhaps it was an omen, though, for as they left the ocean behind and traveled through a narrow stretch of the new river, soldiers in the lead boat soon spotted a small village surrounded entirely by marsh. It seemed quiet - perhaps even deserted - but Sekmut was wary about the approach since they'd have to leave their boats and advance slowly through the mud. Surprise would not be possible and he could only pray that the inhabitants were friendly. Still, what choice was there?

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Ancient Empires - The Rise of Egypt

Ancient Empires - The Rise of Egypt

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