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Chapter 48 - Judgment in the Temple’s Shadow

In the days that followed, I visited her regularly. Sometimes only briefly — to ask if she needed anything, if she had enough food and water, if little Nakht was well. Other times I helped carry wood or grain. I never stayed long, but Neseret always greeted me with a smile, and it was clear she had grown used to my presence.

Weeks later, she told me herself:

"Amenemhet, I thought after that night I might be carrying another child. But nothing came. Maybe it wasn't meant to be."

I looked at her and nodded. "Perhaps. But still — if you ever need anything, I'll come. I promised you that."

She smiled, though there was a faint glimmer of disappointment in her eyes. She had hoped fate might give her something she once lost. But now she knew it would be only her and Nakht.

---

During this time, I spent more hours with Menophis, the steward, and with a soldier named Karem.

Karem was young, strong, and ambitious. Even during the festival I had noticed he held himself apart, drinking less than the others, watching everything around him. His judgment was quick, and his hands knew how to carry a spear as well as to help with ordinary work.

One day, when Menophis and I were inspecting the granaries, I saw Karem helping older men carry sacks. It wasn't his duty — he was a soldier, not a laborer — but he worked without complaint, simply because it needed to be done.

"That's a good man," said Menophis as we left. "If he keeps this up, he'll soon earn promotion."

He was right. A few weeks later, word came from the palace — Karem was to be given command of a small unit. It was a great honor for a man his age.

---

That day I spoke to him myself.

"Karem," I said, when we met at the training ground. "You're skilled. You have both strength and sense. That is not common."

He flushed a little but stepped closer. "I only do what must be done, sir."

"Sir?" I smiled. "I'm not your master. I am only a counselor. But you… you could become more than just a soldier."

He looked at me, confused, so I went on:

"I want you with me. I will teach you. Not only how to fight, but how to think. I need someone who, one day, can carry more than just a blade."

Karem hesitated a moment, then bowed deeply. "If you guide me, I will follow."

And so he became my pupil.

---

From that day, we spent much time together. In the mornings, he trained with his unit. In the afternoons, he came to me. I taught him how to count stores, read simple signs, plan how to place men to guard the city gates. Karem learned quickly.

One evening he told me: "I never thought I'd do these things. I always thought I'd only fight. But now I see there are more ways to serve Egypt."

I nodded. "Exactly. And if you learn to think, you won't only follow orders. One day you'll give them. And your men will trust you, because they'll see you know more than they do."

His eyes lit up. From that day, I knew I had someone by my side I could rely on.

---

Meanwhile, I never neglected Neseret. Even with more duties, I always found time to go to her house. Sometimes I brought her a little grain from the stores, sometimes just water. She always laughed when I came.

"You're the only man who cares, even when you don't have to," she said once.

I looked at her and replied: "Maybe because I know what it means to have no one."

Her eyes softened for a moment, but she said no more.

---

And so time passed. The people of the city grew used to me. I was no longer the man they pointed at. I was a counselor, a man who worked with the steward, and now someone raising a soldier with a future.

The palace was noisy those days. Servants carried full baskets of grain, scribes recorded stock on clay tablets, and soldiers guarded the gates with new discipline. None of this was by chance. These were all changes I had put my hand into — reforms I had suggested, and Sobekneferu wanted them tested in practice.

That morning Menophis, the steward, came to me with a papyrus.

"Amenemhet," he said, "the queen summons you to the courtyard today. She wants to hear the reports about the grain stores. Not only from me, but from you as well."

I nodded. "I understand."

We both knew this would not be only about grain. Sobekneferu was wise. She wanted to see if I could defend my ideas before the whole court. And I knew Heri would be there — the priest who had already tried more than once to discredit my work.

---

The courtyard was full. Columns cast long shadows, the sun beat down on the stone floor where courtiers stood. Sobekneferu sat on the throne, a simple crown on her head, a scepter in her hands. She was not just a ruler — she radiated authority that left no one in doubt.

Menophis bowed and spoke first.

"Great Pharaoh, as you requested, I have prepared the reports on the grain reserves. This year's harvest is good. Thanks to the new records Amenemhet introduced, we know exactly how much grain we have and where it is stored. Nothing has disappeared that cannot be accounted for."

Sobekneferu nodded. "Good. I want to always have a clear picture. In times when our land grows stronger, we cannot lose a single grain."

Then she turned to me. "And you, Amenemhet. You proposed this system. How do you see it?"

I stepped forward. "Pharaoh, my system is simple. Each storehouse has its own scribe. He records what comes in and what leaves. The scrolls are compared every week, and if the numbers do not match, we immediately know where the problem is. This way, no one can steal or conceal supplies without us noticing."

The hall murmured. Some nodded, others looked uneasy. And then, as expected, Heri spoke up.

"Great Pharaoh," he called out, "we hear fine words, but where are the proofs? If this man is so wise, let him explain the grain that went missing two months ago. Ten baskets from the southeastern storehouse. Nothing was found. And people still whisper that small amounts vanish. What does he say to that?"

Several eyes turned toward me. Sobekneferu remained calm but waited for my answer.

I stepped closer. "It is true that in the old records ten baskets were missing. But if we look at the new ones we have introduced…" I turned to Menophis, "…they show that the grain was not stolen. It was moved to another storehouse because the first was over capacity. The scribe did not record it correctly. That is the difference between the old method and the new."

Menophis nodded. "It is true. We checked everything. The grain is there."

Heri's face darkened. "And what of these 'small amounts' the people talk about?"

I turned to him directly. "Every man who works with the grain receives a small portion as a reward. It is an old custom. When counted properly, nothing is missing. The problem was never the people, but the disorder of the records. That disorder is gone now."

Soldier Karem, standing among the guards, stepped forward and said loudly: "I can confirm this. Before, men would take more than they should, because they knew no one checked. Now they are afraid, because every record is verified. They no longer dare."

The hall fell silent. Heri closed his mouth, for he knew he had no answer to facts.

Sobekneferu smiled. "This is what I want. Not only words, but evidence. I see that your proposals work, Amenemhet."

I bowed. "I strive to serve."

---

But Heri did not give up entirely. "Pharaoh," he spoke again, "perhaps he is right about records. But what does he know of soldiers? Of the discipline of the army? Of battles? That is something else than counting grain. How can an adviser who is no warrior presume to instruct warriors?"

Sobekneferu turned to me. "What do you say to this?"

I slowly raised my head. "I am not a warrior, that is true. But I know what I have seen. I saw men without proper training. Their shields weak, their formation broken. That is why I said they must learn to stand united. Weapons do not decide battles — discipline does."

Heri sneered. "Words. Only words."

Then Karem stepped forward. He raised a shield and placed it on the ground. "I will show you." He called three more soldiers to stand with him. "Before, we held shields each for himself. Gaps were wide. Now he taught us to join them. Look."

The soldiers locked their shields until they formed a wall with no holes. Then the second rank placed their shields above, forming a roof. The hall buzzed with surprise.

Karem called out: "This is what he taught us. When we tried it, spears could not break through. It holds. And we can repeat it with all men."

Sobekneferu leaned forward, satisfaction in her eyes. "This is a new method."

Heri looked lost for words. "Perhaps… but still. That does not mean he understands war."

I turned to him. "Perhaps not. But I know soldiers die when they lack discipline. And I know in war it is no shame to learn something new, if it saves lives."

Sobekneferu raised her hand, silencing the murmurs. "Enough. I see results. And that is all I need. Heri, your questions are heard, but the answers stand against you."

Heri lowered his head, but his eyes burned with hatred. I knew this was not the end of him.

---

After the audience, Menophis, Karem and I met in a side hall. Menophis was smiling. "You did well today. Heri tried to sink you, but he humiliated himself instead."

Karem laughed. "To see his face when we locked the shields — I would pay my whole pay for that moment."

I only smiled faintly. "He will try again. We must be ready."

Menophis nodded. "But today you gained much. The Pharaoh trusts you even more. And that is what matters

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