Khu: A Tale of Ancient Egypt by Jocelyn Murray

No sadness, no remorse, no sorrow. Because he was dead inside.
    T ogether he and his mother had gone outside to find his father’s body.
    At least his father had died with his eyes closed.
     
     
    Mentuhotep’s father, King Nakhtnebtepnefer Intef III, was king at the time when Odji’s father died. He was a kind man who allowed Odji and his mother to continue living on the palace compound where his mother worked as a servant. They had moved out of the caretaker’s lodge and into the smaller servants’ quarters. Odji gladly abandoned his studies after that. A scribe was not something he aspired to.
    Odji did odd jobs for several years until he commenced his guard training. When he was old enough, he began working as gatekeeper, where he remained through the rest of Intef’s reign, and Mentuhotep after him. Yet his job as gatekeeper—though honorable—had never been good enough as far as he was concerned, for some people are born restless and can find no satisfaction in life. Odji was not going to sit around and wait for a change that would never come. He refused to accept things as they were.
    So he began to plot something new to bring about that change for himself.
     
     
    Odji had a friend named Mdjai who lived north of Thebes in the district of Abdju, which was an important religious site of many temples. Mdjai had boasted about his life as an official, and how he oversaw one of the district’s smaller villages of craftsmen and laborers. Although he answered to a noble, the people of the village answered to him.
    Odji wanted the same arrangement for himself. It would be far more exciting than what he did now. He was able to read and write, and believed that these skills made him worthy of a higher occupation.
    Odji had never taken a wife, nor did he have any children. He did not care for those sentimental things, nor did he have time for the burdens accompanying such mundane and tedious bonds. All he wanted was power; a power to wield according to his own will.
    “I am responsible for settling petty conflicts among the villagers,” Mdjai had said.
    “You are their judge?” Odji asked interestedly , when he had seen the man at one of the many festivals celebrated throughout Egypt.
    “Yes. Their first judge. They bring their cases before me and I listen to their complaints. Then I arbitrate in their disputes.”
    “And if they are unhappy with the ruling?”
    “They can petition to have their case heard by the temple priests.”
     
    Odji liked that very much. It would certainly be more interesting than what he did now. He wanted the respect and fear that would be shown him as an official overseeing a village of his own. He wanted the deference of a people subjected to his authority. He got a secret thrill from other people’s fear. It made him feel powerful, and flooded his veins with a kind of decadent exhilaration. Just thinking of it made his skin prickle with anticipation.
    He closed his eyes as he indulged in one of the fantasies which helped him get through the day-to-day routine in his dull existence. In his mind’s eye he saw people begging for mercy before him. Their pathetic pleas gave him a titillating rush as he grabbed a whip to inflict a merciless punishment upon their backs. Odji swallowed and opened his eyes, tamping down the excitement that made his heart beat faster.
    It would not be long now.
    Odji had been biding his time and working out a new plan. He had made an arrangement with his friend Mdjai, where they would secretly exchange information so that Odji would keep him abreast of Mentuhotep’s business affairs. Mdjai knew important officials who were interested in having inside knowledge about Mentuhotep. The Theban king had rivals who would pay well for this information.
    After their agreement, Odji sent messages to Mdjai in Abdju every so often by way of the boatman who had come down the Nile on that blundered robbery attempt several years before. He was paid for this information