Nile Builder: The Architect from the East

Chapter 116: Chapter 10: Entered into the Code — The Four Statutes Become Law of the Land

The lamps of the Bureau were lit before the sky was.

Today was the first day of entering the four laws into the code. The pharaoh had decreed: not one character may be wrong.

Tia laid the four rolls of law out on the table in a row, unrolled them all, and pressed their four corners down with paperweights. Her charcoal pencil moved over the ruled lines of the tables, stroke by stroke. Asaf sat across from her, reading from the original draft, line by line. Wherever his reading reached, Tia’s pencil followed.

”The Regulation for the Building of Ever-Normal Granaries Throughout the Land — Article seven, the choosing of the granary site.” Asaf read. ”High, dry ground; clear of water, near the road.”

”Correct.” Tia said.

”Article eleven, the system of damp-proofing. The foundation raised three inches, crushed stone one foot at the wall foot.”

”Correct.”

The two of them went through it, character by character. When the flame of the oil lamp jumped, the two shadows on the wall jumped with it. The four rolls were read from night to dawn, and from dawn to past noon.

Kes went in and out, adding lamp oil and changing the cooling water. Once, he stood by the table and listened a while, and said: ”These words — I have read them on the peace boards in Thebes.”

”Which line did you read?” Tia asked.

”No levies in the busy season.” Kes said. ”A-He reads it under the board every day. I heard it and heard it, and I remembered it.”

”Remembering is good.” Tia said. ”From now on, when you raise granaries and houses in the south, you must remember every word of these four laws.”

”I will remember.” Kes said. ”Word by word.”

Lu Zhu was not at the table. He was crouched by the well platform in the courtyard, proofreading a bundle of technical detailed rules spread on the blue stone slabs, page by page. These detailed rules traveled with the laws: the measures of the granaries, the thickness of the walls, the slanting of the windows, the layout of the medical points, the method of the wage rates. The law governs the ”should or should not”; the detailed rules govern the ”how to do.” Neither one may be left vague.

”Teacher,” Hapy came over with a bowl of water, ”you have been crouching half the day.”

”There are a few places in the detailed rules,” Lu Zhu did not raise his head; his fingertip tapped lightly on the edge of a drawing, ”that must be changed.”

”Changed to what?”

”Mery gathered the figures of the real work on the road.” Lu Zhu said. ”The granaries of the north — half an inch added to the wall, a straw curtain at the door; the granaries by the river — the door follows the road. These were worked out by the sun itself, and they cannot live only in the manual. They must be written into the detailed rules.”

”Write them in.” Hapy said. ”I will grind the ink.”

In the afternoon, the Royal Steward came with two code clerks.

The Steward carried a roll of yellow silk in his sleeve — the pharaoh’s spoken decree: in all the matters of the codifying, the Bureau and the royal code clerks proofread together. When the proofreading is done, one original and three copies; the original goes into the palace, and the copies go out to the counties and prefectures.

Of the two code clerks, one was old and one was young. The old one’s hand was steady, and the young one’s eye was sharp. They copied the four rolls again, neatly and properly. But when the copying reached the seventh clause of the Decree Abolishing the Forced Conscription of Craftsmen in the Busy Season, the tip of Tia’s pencil suddenly stopped.

”Stop.”

”Ma’am?” The young clerk looked up.

”’Paid labor in the idle season, every requisition on the books’—” Tia pointed at the page. ”The character for ’paid’ — it is missing.”

The young clerk leaned over to look, and his face went white. That line, he had copied half a page of it, and in a slip of the brush, he had carried the character past and left only a blank.

”Copy it again.” Tia said. ”This page — copy it again.”

”Yes . . .” The young clerk’s voice went hollow. ℴ𝒗ⅇ𝑙.

”Do not be afraid.” the Steward said. ”The error is on the paper, and the correction is on the paper. The pharaoh has said, not one character may be wrong. What you copy on this page is not characters. It is the spring plowing of several million people of all Egypt.”

”I will copy it again.” The young clerk bit his lip, took the sheet down, spread out a fresh one, and copied again, stroke by stroke.

This time, he copied slowly. Every stroke went down as if carved with a knife.

In the five days before the codifying, the lamps of the Bureau burned every night until dawn.

On the third day of proofreading, Tia proposed adding one article to the detailed rules of the corvée decree.

”The rule the merchant house just set — material for the projects is supplied only to those who hire at the rates.” she said. ”This rule should be written in. Written in the state’s own words. From now on, whoever again uses unpaid labor — not only will the merchant house’s boats not touch his dock, the state’s material will not be supplied to him either.”

”Write it in.” Asaf said. ”The rule Meru set on the dock can stand. And a rule that can stand belongs in the code.”

”Then who verifies it?” Tia asked.

”The merchant house supplies material: first the manifest, then the material.” Asaf said. ”The project uses labor: first the wage account, then the material manifest. If the two do not match, the material does not go out. This article too, write it in.”

”Writing.” Tia set down the brush.

The words had not died when Meru arrived. He had come to deliver the sample material manifests, and caught exactly this passage. He set the samples on the table and knocked his pipe on the threshold: ”With this rule in the code, my merchant house’s boats will sit hard and high at whatever dock they come to.”

”Your boats should have sat hard all along.” Lu Zhu said. ”Carrying grain, carrying material, carrying medicine — which of these is not carrying on people’s lives?”

”The words of carrying on lives cannot be said by me alone.” Meru said. ”They must be said for me by the black words on the white pages of the code.”

On the fourth day of proofreading, Shafi came carrying a volume of the medical accounts. She checked the detailed rules of the medical house ordinance against her own ”account of the war,” article by article: the medicine cabinet raised half a foot, the dry and the damp kept apart, narrow windows slantwise across, the medical account posted, the examination of physicians belonging to the guild. Checking to the end, she said: ”One article is missing.”

”Which one?”

”The medicine grain enters the granary account.” Shafi said. ”Old Sun of Thebes said it — porridge is the medicine on the outside. The medical point’s food grain travels through the Ever-Normal Granary’s account. If this article is not written in, then in a year of famine, the medical point is the first to run out of grain.”

”Write it.” Tia said. ”Medicine and grain were never meant to be divided into two households.”

Shafi’s characters, neat and proper, settled into that empty line.

On the day the original was copied out, Tia proofread the four rolls against the drafts three more times. After the three times, she said: ”It is done. Not one character off.”

”You have worked hard.” Lu Zhu said.

”Not hard.” Tia rubbed her wrist, and the charcoal pencil turned a circle between her fingers. ”These four rolls, I have copied them more times than I can count. But every time, the characters under the brush feel heavier than the time before.”

”Because inside the characters,” Asaf said, ”there are people’s lives.”

”There are.” Tia said. ”The granary keeper’s keys, the craftsman’s chisel, the medicine boy’s scale, and the people in the fields at the spring plowing. All of them are in these characters.”

Before the codifying, there was one thing more — gathering the roots of the four laws into one place.

The place was called the State Construction Archive. It was a row of stone rooms on the east side of the palace city, kept especially for the storing of construction records. Four years ago, the temple’s optical and acoustical materials had been stored inside it. Now, the shelves were to gain four more things: the drawing volumes of the Ever-Normal Granaries, the house-pattern drawings of the dwellings, the layout drawings of the medical houses, and the volume Mery had written, The Simple Manual for the Building and Keeping of Ever-Normal Granaries.

On the day of the archiving, everyone came. Kamon carried a roll of the house-pattern drawings, Meru held the merchant house’s sample manifests, Shafi carried the sample volume of the medical accounts — and one by one, they handed them to the old keeper of the archive. The old keeper received them, registered them one by one, wrapped them in oilcloth, and tied the cord knots. Tying, he said: ”Things entering this storehouse must be guarded against the damp, against the insects, and against the damp rising from the ground. All of it is done by the Ever-Normal Granary’s rules.”

”Keeping the damp out of a storehouse,” Mery was not there, and Lu Zhu said it for him, ”is the same principle as keeping it out of a granary. Raised, ventilated, half a foot from the wall.”

”All raised.” the old keeper said. ”The Chief Builder may set his heart at rest. Not one sheet of paper has ever been spoiled in this storehouse. This shelf now holds the way of building of all Egypt.”

”It is still far short.” Lu Zhu said. ”This is only a beginning.”

”The beginning is the hardest.” Kamon said. ”Once begun, from now on it is one generation stacking on the next.”

”Stack, then.” Lu Zhu said. ”Stack until the day these shelves can hold no more. That is when it will have come into its own.”

He walked past the rows of wooden shelves, and suddenly stopped. At the deepest part of the shelves lay a few rolls of old records, gone grey with dust — ancient construction manuscripts gathered in earlier years, and a few pages of astrological fragments.

”These,” he asked the old keeper, ”has no one ever touched them?”

”No one.” the old keeper said. ”The Chief Builder once said, every sheet and page in this storehouse has its use. We only guard them. We do not move them.”

”Guard them, then.” Lu Zhu said. His fingertip touched lightly on the cord knots of the old records, once, and drew back.

When he turned, he heard his own footsteps in the empty stone room, one, and one, and one.

On the third day before the codifying, a new matter rose in the court.

The old noble stepped out, saying that he had no objection to the codifying, only that, for the court’s sake, he would recommend a few men.

”The granaries need keepers, and the medical points need managers.” the old noble said. ”With the new laws just standing, if all the posts go to new hands, and a mishap comes out, it will wound the dignity of the law of the land. This servant’s household has several seasoned bookkeepers and stewards, literate and able, who are willing to share the court’s burdens.”

The hall went still for a moment.

Tia stepped out: ”The gentleman’s recommendation is a good thing. But the law is written plain — the granary keepers must pass the examination, and the physicians must pass the examination. Let the recommended men take the examination first. Those who pass, not one of them is unused; those who do not pass, not one of them is used.”

”Examine what?” The old noble frowned.

”The keeper is examined on the accounts; the physician on the medicine.” Tia said. ”This is the very system of the new laws. Recommendations are no harm — but the ones who cannot pass, as before, are not used.”

The old noble’s face darkened: ”Is Miss Tia, then . . . not trusting this old servant’s men?”

”I trust them.” Tia said. ”And it is exactly because I trust them that they must be examined. The ones who come out of the examination can stand straight wherever they go.”

”You!”

The oily noble helped from the side: ”The men the gentleman recommends are old hands of decades in his household. One word of ’examine’ chills the hearts of old hands.”

”Chills the heart?” Asaf stepped out. ”The examination set in the law tests one granary of one county’s grain, and the lives of one village. Chilling whose heart is a lesser thing than getting one granary of grain wrong, or missing one village’s people.”

”Stop the arguing, all of you.” The pharaoh spoke. ”The recommendations — granted. The examination — also granted.” He paused. ”Those who pass are used, and those who do not pass are not used. These six words are the rule from now on. Whoever recommends the men, their vouchers follow the men. If a mishap comes out, the recommender bears it together.”

”Pharaoh . . .” The old noble still wanted to speak.

”One thing more,” the pharaoh said, ”these six words also go into the code.”

The old noble opened his mouth, and in the end swallowed the words back.

When the court rose, his steps were heavier than usual.

”Sir,” the tall thin man came up beside him, ”this examination . . .”

”Examination.” The old noble laughed coldly. ”Pass it once — can they pass it ten times? A hundred granaries, a hundred medical points — where will they find that many examination papers?” He paused. ”Wait. Wait for the moment when they do not have enough hands.”

”High wisdom, sir.”

”Wisdom, nothing.” the old noble said. ”I have seen it clearly. The war in this court is over. The wars to come will be fought at the gates of the granaries, at the doors of the medical points, at the field heads of the spring plowing.” He looked back once at the palace gate. ”Our people must move there.”

Two days before the codifying, a group of craftsmen came to the square outside the palace gate.

It was Kamon, leading the guild’s people, to raise a stele.

The stele had been decreed by the pharaoh. On its face were to be carved twelve characters — no levies in the busy season, paid labor in the idle season, every requisition on the books. On its back, the names of the four laws. The site, Lu Zhu had set it himself: the north edge of the square, its back to the palace wall, its face to the long street.

”This stele,” Lu Zhu crouched beside the marked pit, scooped up a handful of earth, and kneaded it, ”must stand a hundred years, a thousand years. So the base must be more particular than the characters.”

”Particular how?” Kamon asked.

”First, look at the earth.” Lu Zhu said. ”This square is tamped earth, and the rains are many. Winter freezes and spring thaws, and the ground heaves. A stele set on it stands well the first two years — and leans by the tenth.” He crumbled the earth in his palm. ”And so, dig a pit first. Three feet deep. Bed it with crushed stone, then a layer of lime earth mixed with straw binding, tamped three passes. When it is tamped firm, then raise the base.”

”A three-foot-deep base.” Kamon said. ”This stele will be a nail, driven into the ground of the new capital.”

”Right.” Lu Zhu said. ”For the law to stand, the earth under its feet must stand first.”

”And the drainage.” Kamon crouched, pointing around the stele base. ”As you said, slope it on all four sides, and let the water run to the low ground. No water pooling at the stele’s root, and the characters will not crack.”

”Do it so.” Lu Zhu said. ”Your guild’s handiwork — I set my heart at ease with it.”

The carver was the oldest stonemason of the guild. He had carved steles all his life — carved the gods’ names for the temples, carved the achievements for the royal tombs. This time, he was carving twelve characters of the law of the land. He carved very slowly. The chisel came down, stroke, stroke, and the stone dust fell rustling. When the carving reached the four characters ”no levies in the busy season,” his hand stopped for a moment.

”What is it?” Kamon asked.

”Nothing.” the old stonemason said. ”I have carved characters more than half my life, and this is the first time I have felt the breath of living people under my chisel.” He paused, and brought the chisel down once more. ”These four characters must be carved into the heart of the stone.”

”This chisel of yours,” Kamon said, ”must be passed on from now on. Let the apprentices see what a chisel that carves characters for the people under heaven looks like.”

”Pass it on.” the old stonemason said. ”The craft of carving characters, and the law inside the characters — passed on together.”

On the day the stele was finished, the Royal Steward came to inspect it. He walked three circles around it, then crouched and felt the slope of the base, and said: ”The base pools no water, and the characters will not crack. Passed.”

”Passed.” Kamon said. ”This stele, from now on, is the third treasure of the new capital.”

”Which three?” someone asked.

”One, the drawings in the Construction Archive.” Kamon said. ”Two, the righteous-merchant plaque on the dock.” He paused, and patted the stele. ”Three, it. The law stele outside the palace gate. The drawings are the root, the plaque is the road, and the stele is the bone.”

On the day the stele stood, the people outside the palace gate gathered three rings deep.

Those who could read read it out, character by character. When the reading reached ”no levies in the busy season,” someone in the crowd shouted approval. The old flatbread seller carried his steamer right to the foot of the stele: ”With this stele standing here, whoever wants to press men again — let him first look at what is written on it!”

”Look at the stele!” The whole square shouted.

The children squeezed to the very front and reached out their small hands to feel the carved grooves. One child touched the character ”farm” and turned to his father: ”Father, is this the character from our field?”

”It is.” his father said. ”That very character. From now on, it stands here, and when your father plows in the spring, no one will come to take him.”

”Then it must stand firm!” the child said. ”I will come and look at it every day!”

”Look.” his father smiled. ”Every day.”

Kes was in the crowd too. He walked three circles around the stele, and suddenly took out his board and traced the names of the four laws on the stele’s back, stroke by stroke.

”What is the tracing for?” someone beside him asked.

”To carry back.” Kes said. ”So the people of the south can know these characters too.”

The great ceremony of the codifying was set for the first good day after the snow melted.

That day, the sun rose early and laid the rooftops of the new capital in gold.

At first light, Tia swung the wicker trunk onto her shoulder again. Inside it were the four rolls copied as the originals. From the Bureau to the palace gate, she walked very slowly. More than four years ago, she had carried this trunk out of Thebes, fleeing; now, she carried it into the royal palace. The same road, the same person — and the weight of the trunk heavier than on any trip before.

In the palace, the pharaoh had mounted the hall early. The civil and military officials of the court stood in two long rows. The conservatives had come too — their faces even, no sorrow and no joy to be read. At the center of the hall stood a long table. On it lay four rolls of yellow silk — the four laws, copied as the originals.

The pharaoh walked down from the jade steps to the long table. He reached out his hand and felt the four rolls, one by one. When he had felt them all, he said: ”Honored assembly. These four rolls are the four laws that were deliberated in this hall, fought over under heaven, and pressed with the handprints of fifty thousand and more.” He paused. ”Today, they enter the code.”

The hall was so quiet you could hear the wind outside.

”Steward,” the pharaoh said, ”set the seal.”

The Royal Steward carried the pharaoh’s golden seal forward and set it on the head of each of the four rolls, one by one. The seal came down with a crack — light, and ringing.

”From this day,” the pharaoh said, ”these four laws are the law of Egypt. For a thousand years and ten thousand more, not one character changed.”

”The king is sage!” The whole hall cried it like a mountain.

The cry rolled through the hall and flew over the palace wall. Outside the palace gate, the people kneeling on the ground heard it, and raised their heads, one by one.

”It is done.” the old flatbread seller murmured. ”All four of them. Done.”

After the codifying came the commendations.

The pharaoh returned to the head of the hall and granted them, one by one.

The first: the Civil Affairs Bureau was established. Asaf was made its Director, and Tia its Chief Scribe, holding the office together. The pharaoh said: ”These four laws were drafted by you. From now on, guarding them and mending them are your duty too.”

”This servant receives the decree.” Asaf stepped out and bowed. When he straightened, his fingertips touched lightly, inside his robe, the little mud seal that had followed him half his life.

”One thing more,” the pharaoh said, ”the first duty of the Civil Affairs Bureau is to re-register the officials of all the counties and prefectures by the new law. Who keeps the granary, who keeps the houses, who keeps the medical point — one household, one register, not one stroke out of order.”

”This servant will present the register sample within three days.” Tia said.

The second: Mery was made Chief Consultant for the Building of Grain Storage Throughout the Land, holding the grain affairs of north and south. The man was still in the south, and the decree reached him first.

”Mery, in this half year,” the pharaoh said, ”has walked half of Egypt. The granary keepers he has trained are quicker than the bookkeepers I have seen in the palace. This consultant’s post is turned into a standing office, set beside the Chief Construction Bureau.”

In the hall, some nodded quietly. The ones who nodded were mostly the county officials who had studied under Mery.

The third: the masons’ guild received a bronze plaque by imperial grant, with seven characters carved on it — ”THE GENERAL GUILD OF CRAFTSMEN OF ALL THE LAND.” Kamon came forward to receive it. He held the plaque, and his hands were steady, but his voice caught a little: ”This plaque is not mine alone. It is the craftsmen’s of all the land. From now on, whoever looks down on craftsmen — let him look at this plaque first.”

”Well said.” the pharaoh said.

”This servant has one word more.” Kamon said. ”This servant wants no office and no salary. I ask only one thing — the guild’s work of house-mending in the countryside must not be cut off. The first batch of thirty villages is done. After it, there are three hundred more, and three thousand.”

”It will not be cut off.” the pharaoh said. ”I give you my decree.”

The guild’s craftsmen at the tail of the hall heard the words, and straightened their backs, every one. An old master quietly wiped the corner of his eye with his sleeve.

”Our guild,” he said in a low voice to the man beside him, ”today has carved its name into the history of the land.”

”Carved in.” the craftsman beside him said. ”Carved in together with the plaque.”

The fourth: Imset received the name of ”Chief Examiner of the Medical Houses.” The examination of all the physicians under heaven belonged to him and the medical guild. Imset stepped forward and said only one thing: ”This servant wants no office and no salary. The power of examination — this servant takes it up, on behalf of the sick under heaven.”

”It is written in the medical house law,” the pharaoh said, ”that what should be held by whom is held by whom. You hold it.”

The fifth: Meru received the ”Righteous Merchant” plaque, and the merchant house formally took up the office of supplying the state’s material. Meru knocked his pipe and said: ”Half a life in trade, and this is the first time the palace has written a plaque for me. This plaque, I will hang it on the dock of the new capital.”

”Hang it.” the pharaoh said. ”Let the boats passing back and forth all look at it.”

”This servant has one matter more.” Meru said. ”From now on, the merchant house’s boats carry the state’s goods first. And the state’s manifests — first supply the granaries, then the houses, then the medical points.”

”That rule,” the pharaoh said, ”is worth more than the plaque.”

The sixth: Hapy was made Quarry Supervisor, holding the labor and material of the quarries. Hapy, his face red, said: ”I . . . I will first make the new capital’s material manifests clear.”

”Make them clear.” the pharaoh said. ”Only when the manifests are clear is the labor not spent in vain.”

A few officials in the hall who had come from the craftsmen laughed lightly at Hapy’s honest words. Not laughing at him — liking him.

The pharaoh turned his eyes to the tail of the hall: ”One more person. Shafi.”

Shafi had not expected to be named, and looked first at her teacher. Imset nodded to her, faintly.

”Her medical account,” the pharaoh said, ”has entered the code. ’The account of the war, the method that saved the world’ — eight characters, written in the book. The person is small, but the account is a great account.” He paused. ”I grant her a title — Officer of Medicine Storage. From now on, how the medicine storehouses of the land keep their stores follows her sample.”

”This servant . . .” Shafi’s voice was light. ”This servant will raise the medicine cabinets another half inch higher.”

Someone in the hall laughed. The laughter was all goodwill.

A few more grants were to be sent out: the commendations for Thebes — for Nefer, for the chief officiant, for Old Sun and their people; the commendations for the northern border — for Horenheb and for Seb, going north with the merchant caravan’s boats.

”For Thebes,” the pharaoh said, ”one share for each, not one left out. In those four months, inside the city and out, no one hid.” He paused. ”For the north, I have written with my own hand the four characters ’SECONDING WITH MERIT.’ With Horenheb’s temper, gold would please him less than these four characters.”

In the hall, the conservatives did not speak a word from beginning to end. The old noble’s eyes were half closed, as if listening and as if not. Only when the word ”examination” came did his eyelids twitch once.

When the granting was done, the pharaoh rested his eyes on Lu Zhu.

”Chief Builder.” he said. ”It is your turn.”

Lu Zhu stepped out and bowed.

”I have thought a long time,” the pharaoh said, ”about what to grant you. An office — you could hold it: half the new capital was raised by you. Wealth — you should have it: all four laws carry your hand.” He paused. ”I enfeoff you Grand Minister of Construction. Ten thousand taels of gold. One mansion. And three hundred mu of fields outside the city.”

A light stir ran through the hall.

Ten thousand taels of gold. A mansion. Three hundred mu of fields. This was a thick grant, rare since the founding of the dynasty.

Lu Zhu did not move.

”This servant does not want it.” he said.

The hall went quiet.

”You do not want it?” the pharaoh asked.

”I do not want it.” Lu Zhu said. ”An office — this servant cannot hold it. I am a builder. A man who builds cannot sit in the hall, and cannot govern people. Gold — this servant has no use for it. My hands are stained with nothing but charcoal dust and lime; touch gold with them, and I can no longer draw. A mansion — I have the courtyard of the Bureau, and it is enough to hold my drawings. Fields — I do not know how to farm.”

He paused, and raised his head: ”This servant asks only three things.”

”Speak.”

”First, let the technical records of building be printed and spread under heaven. So that whoever under heaven wants to learn can learn.”

”Granted.”

”Second, set up a craft school in the Bureau. To teach craftsmen, to teach granary keepers, to teach medicine boys. This servant wants to take a few apprentices, and pass the handcraft on.”

”Granted.”

”Third,” Lu Zhu said, ”the ten thousand taels of gold — this servant does not want them. Let them be turned into the fuel and rice money of the craft school. Only when the apprentices can eat can they sit still to study.”

The hall went quiet again.

The pharaoh looked at him for a long time. Then the pharaoh smiled.

”I have seen officials who refuse office,” the pharaoh said, ”but never one who pushes away gold.” He paused. ”But thinking on it — what you push away is gold. What you ask for is the craftsmen of Egypt for decades and centuries to come. In this trade, I do not lose.” He raised his voice. ”All three, granted. Ten thousand taels of gold, into the craft school. And besides—”

He walked to the edge of the jade steps and said: ”One office, I will still keep for you. The Chief Builder is not an office. It is a duty that works for all Egypt. Go on holding it.”

”This servant accepts.” Lu Zhu said.

”One thing more,” the pharaoh said, ”the two characters ’the Virtuous’ — I do not give them lightly. Today, I give them to you. All under heaven should know: only the man who does a great thing and wants no office for it deserves these two characters.”

The old noble’s eyelids twitched again.

Outside the hall, the word traveled fast.

”Lord Lu Zhu refused the office, and refused the gold!”

”Refused?”

”Refused! He asked only three things — to print the books, to open the school, and to turn the ten thousand taels of gold into the apprentices’ fuel and rice money!”

The people outside the palace gate were first stunned, and then the pot exploded. The old flatbread seller lifted a tray of breads: ”A man like this is the only kind fit to build our houses!” He paused, and shouted toward the palace, ”Lord Lu! The houses you built — we live in them with settled hearts!”

”Settled hearts!” The whole square took it up.

An old man wiped his face and said: ”I have lived more than sixty years. I have seen officials who want money, and officials who want land. This is the first time I have seen one who gives the gold away for the apprentices to eat.” He sighed. ”Of such men, even one is too few.”

The squad leader of the palace gate was on duty that day. He had stood at the palace gate half his life, and had seen his fill of the granting inside: grants of gold, grants of land, grants of rank. Today’s scene, he watched the longest. When his shift ended, he said to his fellow: ”I have guarded the palace gate so many years, and this is the first time I have seen an official inside push gold out.” He paused. ”From now on, when Lord Lu passes the gate, I do not search him. The man — I know him.”

On the worksites, the three thousand men got the word, and the work-chants ran especially loud. A craftsman said: ”From now on, can we enter the craft school too?” The foreman said: ”You can! Lord Lu said it — whoever under heaven wants to learn, they teach!”

”Then I will go!” Several young fellows raised their work tallies on the spot.

The boatmen at the dock carried the word the whole length of the river. A boatman said: ”From now on, this new capital — the righteous-merchant plaque hangs on the dock, the law stele stands outside the palace gate, and inside the Bureau, a school opens that takes no money. This city has more and more to look forward to.”

”Look forward!” The whole river took it up.

In the medical points outside the city, the patients got the word too. An old man on a stick, hearing the three words ”refused the gold,” slowly set down his medicine bowl: ”The physicians I have seen, some take double fees; the officials I have seen, some reach out their hands for land. Today I hear of one who gives ten thousand taels of gold away for the apprentices to eat.” He paused. ”A man like this should live to a hundred.”

”Live to a hundred.” The waiting patients said together.

Imset was changing a child’s dressing. His hands did not stop, and he said lightly: ”The fees will not rise. The medicine prices will not rise. Lu Zhu gives away gold; we give away medicine.” What he spoke of was the board newly hung at the medical point’s door — the poor are seen first, and the account is settled after.

In the guild’s branch hall, the lamps lit early that evening.

The craftsmen stood around the bronze plaque, not yet hung, and no one dared touch it first. A young one asked: ”Master, this plaque — is it truly given to us?”

”It is.” the old master said. ”By imperial grant. From now on, wherever we go, at the mention of these seven characters, our backs stand straight.”

”Then we,” the young one said, ”must polish the handiwork all the brighter.”

”Polish it.” the old master said. ”The brighter the plaque, the brighter the chisel.”

After the court rose, the pharaoh did not rest.

He invited Lu Zhu, Asaf, and Tia into the inner hall.

”Today’s grants,” the pharaoh said, ”were for the eyes of the world. But how the laws walk from now on — that, I want to hear from you in plain truth.”

”Then this servant will speak plain truth.” Lu Zhu said. ”The laws have stood, but the people are not enough. The granaries: three hundred in three years, and each granary needs one keeper and a crew of granary craftsmen. The houses: a million rooms to be mended in ten years, and each village must keep its own village master. The medical points: a hundred next year, and each point needs one physician and one medicine boy.” He paused. ”The account, this servant has worked it. The people in all Egypt who know these crafts, added together, do not reach three tenths of what is needed.”

”And so you want the school.” the pharaoh said.

”Yes.” Lu Zhu said. ”The granary school has opened in Thebes. The physicians’ examinations, the guild is running. But it is still slow. This servant wants to open the craft school in the Bureau, and have every place send the people who are willing to learn. Study one, and one is made. Made one, and one is scattered out.”

”And the books?” the pharaoh asked. ”What books do you want printed?”

”Books in plain words.” Lu Zhu said. ”Like the volume Mery wrote, The Simple Manual for the Building and Keeping of Ever-Normal Granaries — no quoting the classics, no citing the canons, only plain words: how a site is read, how a wall is laid, how the damp is kept out, how the account is kept. So that the people who farm the land can all read and understand. One volume of such books printed does more than raising ten granaries. A granary stands where it stands, and tends only that place; a book travels out, and granaries can be raised anywhere.”

”Well said.” the pharaoh said. ”The granary is the solid, and the book is the living. The solid tends the present; the living tends the hundred years.”

”That is this servant’s thought too.” Lu Zhu said.

”Good.” the pharaoh said. ”I give you one decree more: the counties and prefectures — whoever is willing to study, send them to the new capital. When they have studied and return home, they are used by their measure.”

”This servant thanks the pharaoh.” Lu Zhu said.

”The spring plowing,” the pharaoh turned to Asaf, ”what do you make of it?”

”This is the first year.” Asaf said. ”No levies in the busy season — the fields of all Egypt must all have people to farm them. This servant has already ordered the counties and prefectures to set up the wage accounts and field registers of the spring plowing ahead of time. The idle-season works are put off until after the spring plowing. The official granaries’ grain goes first to the food rations of the spring plowing.”

”And whoever still presses men in secret?” the pharaoh asked.

”The law has the punishment.” Asaf said. ”Whoever presses, his official cap. Whoever shields, his mud seal.”

”Good.” the pharaoh said. ”That is the word I want. The first year after the law stands, it must not be soft. If it is soft in the first year, it will not stand for ten years after.”

”It will not be soft.” Tia said. ”This servant will verify the wage accounts of the counties and prefectures, one by one. One false entry found, one report made.”

”Report.” the pharaoh said. ”Report to me.”

”One matter more.” Asaf said. ”On the northern border — the trade road was already rough through last winter. The horse bandits cut it once, and the Hittites have been watching all along. This servant thinks, while the codifying is here, to check the stored grain, material, and medicine of the north line once more, and press the stores full ahead of time. If the north changes, the trade road cuts the buying and selling first — but what must not be cut is the border wall.”

”Check it.” the pharaoh said. ”Check it by the accounts of the war. The grain behind the border wall may only be more than needed, never less.”

”This servant will see to it at once.” Asaf said.

Lu Zhu listened, his fingertips tapping lightly on his knee. He said nothing, but his heart understood: this peace had not come easily, and keeping it was harder still. The laws had stood, but the wars on every side were far from fought to their end.

Coming out of the inner hall, the sky had gone dark. The three walked along the palace road, and no one spoke. They had gone far when Tia suddenly said: ”Do you feel that today’s sky is especially high?”

”High.” Asaf said.

”High.” Lu Zhu said. ”With the laws standing, the sky itself stands one measure higher.”

That night, the lamps in the courtyard of the Bureau lit again.

Tia carried the wicker trunk out of the room. The trunk was empty — the four rolls had entered the palace. She sat under the lamp and wiped the four corners of the trunk, slowly, with a cloth corner.

”What is it,” Lu Zhu came over, ”you cannot part with it?”

”A little.” Tia said. ”This trunk has followed us more than four years. It carried the blood accounts of four months, and the drafts of the four laws.” She paused, and patted the trunk lightly. ”Now it is empty. I feel it should rest.”

”It will not rest.” Lu Zhu said. ”An empty trunk holds the new accounts from now on.”

”New accounts?”

”Right.” Lu Zhu said. ”The accounts of the granaries, the accounts of the houses, the accounts of the medical points — and the new accounts of the decades to come.” He looked up at the sky. The sky had stars in it, a bright spread. ”This sky over this place, I have looked at it nearly five years. I still cannot name all its stars. But these few tonight — I will remember them.”

”Teacher,” Hapy called from the colonnade, ”the noodles are ready. Today we eat noodles — Sister Tia said that on the day of the codifying, we must eat one proper meal.”

”Eat noodles.” Lu Zhu said. ”Add an egg.”

That night, the lamps of the Bureau burned late. Under the lamps, someone reckoned the expenses of the craft school, someone drew the plans of the schoolhouse, someone drafted the table of contents of the books to be printed, line by line. On the window paper, the shadows of people came and went, like a roomful of people laying the foundations of tomorrow.

The copies of the code went out the next day.

By water, on the merchant house’s boats; by land, on fast horses. Meru spread out the boat list: ”Thebes — the south line, Shunzi carries it; the West Bank — the west line; the northern border — when the north fleet’s boats are gathered, all together.” He paused. ”Carrying other goods, we can squeeze a little. Carrying the law — one boat carries only the law.”

”Only the law.” the men said. ”This cargo is precious.”

”More precious than gold.” Meru said.

The copy reached the West Bank on the fourth day.

Old Camel received it at the dock. He held the yellow silk, and first bowed deeply toward the direction of the new capital, and only then entered the guild’s courtyard gate.

”Come, all of you.” he said. ”Read the law.”

The guild’s courtyard was packed. Old Camel unrolled the scroll and read it, sentence by sentence. When the reading reached ”no levies in the busy season,” the whole courtyard of craftsmen read it aloud with him. When it reached ”paid labor in the idle season,” several old masters gripped their chisels until their knuckles cracked.

”All heard it clearly?” Old Camel closed the scroll. ”From now on, whoever again makes men work for nothing — this is the proof.”

”The proof!” the craftsmen said.

”This scroll,” Old Camel said, ”the guild copies three times. One hangs in the courtyard, one travels with the work teams into the countryside, and one goes to the new apprentices to memorize. Only the one who has memorized it has truly entered the trade.”

”Memorize!” A half-grown apprentice snatched the word. ”I will be the first to memorize ’no levies in the busy season’!”

On the merchant house’s dock, a half-grown fellow was not idle either. He traced the characters of the code copy into the sand, one by one. He said: ”The characters I know are few. But these four — no levies in the busy season — I have traced them for three nights. From now on, when I escort the boats, if I see a worksite of unpaid labor, I turn and go.”

”Right.” the fellow beside him said. ”The boats do not touch the shore of unpaid labor.”

The copy reached Thebes on the seventh day.

The chief officiant received it at the door of the old temple. He took the yellow silk, and did not hurry inside; he stood on the steps first and raised the scroll high for the whole street to see.

”Look, all of you!” he shouted. ”The four laws have entered the code! From now on, they are the law of the land!”

”The law of the land!” The whole street answered together.

That night, the chief officiant lit a stick of incense before the god. He bowed three times and said: ”God, the laws have entered the code. The days to come are guarded by the law — and I ask you to go on watching over them too.” The incense burned straight, and the smoke went out through the temple door, drifted over the two registration tables, and floated into the night wind.

The peace board was changed again. This time, three characters were written on it — THE LAWS ENTERED THE CODE. A-He stood under the board and read it, character by character: ”The — laws — entered — the code.”

”Read right.” the chief officiant said. ”From now on, read the characters on this board every day. Read them until every child in the city knows these three characters.”

Woser copied the transcript once and hung it on the wall of the granary school. He said to his five apprentices: ”Do you see? What you study now is the law of the land. From now on, whoever asks ’what use is it to study this’ — slap this scroll in front of him.”

”Slap it in front of him!” the apprentices said.

At the porridge shed, Old Sun wiped the rim of the pot three times. He said: ”I have never studied books. But I know this: the law entering the code is the same principle as grain entering the granary — it cannot spoil, and it cannot run.” He paused. ”Today — thick porridge. To the code.”

”To the code!” the porridge drinkers shouted together.

In the Haven, Nefer told the news to the women. A woman asked: ”Entered the code — does that mean it can never be changed back?”

”Never.” Nefer said. ”The pharaoh’s golden seal is on it. From now on, the moment a child is born, the law is there to guard it.”

”Then that is fine.” the women said. ”Only now do these days truly have a bottom under them.”

The craft school opened on the ninth day after the codifying.

The schoolhouse was the row of old material sheds east of the Bureau. Kamon took his people and fixed them up in three days: the walls that let the wind through were plastered with straw-bound lime; the holes in the roof were re-laid with new reed mats; the old timber was planed and oiled, and made into a dozen and more long tables. In the courtyard, the leftover mud bricks were built into a sand tray, half a man’s height.

On the day the lessons opened, twenty-some apprentices came. There were those sent by the West Bank guild, those local to the new capital, and those transferred from the granary school of Thebes. The farthest were two half-grown boys from behind the northern border wall, who had walked a dozen and more days with a grain caravan. When they came in the door, the snow-mud of the north was still on their shoes.

”Was the road tiring?” Lu Zhu asked.

”Not tiring.” the older one said. ”My father said, learning a craft is worth more than farming a year. Even if it took a dozen more days of walking, he told me to come.”

”Your father is right.” Lu Zhu said. ”Go in.”

Lu Zhu stood before the long table, and in the first lesson, he taught one thing only.

”The wall.”

With the charcoal pencil, he drew a line on the wall: ”What breaks the houses under heaven? The walls break them. The wall straight, the house steady; the wall leaning, the house fallen. And so, the first thing you must learn is not building houses. It is reading walls.”

He led the apprentices out into the courtyard and pointed at the sand tray half a man’s height: ”From now on, you will work on this — with earth, with bricks, laying one stretch at a time. Lay it straight first, and only then talk of the rest.”

”Kes.” Lu Zhu beckoned toward the gate. ”Come. Show your younger fellow-students one demonstration.”

Kes started, and then smiled. He walked to the sand tray, scooped earth, mixed the straw binding, formed the bricks, and laid the wall. A dozen and more pairs of eyes watched him, and he was unhurried, unflustered, one step of the work at a time. In a quarter of an hour, a stretch of wall two feet long stood up. The lime line was run down it — perfectly straight.

”Do you see?” Lu Zhu said to the apprentices. ”This is what practiced hands are. Practice three years, and your hands will be steadier than your eyes.”

The apprentices looked at one another, their eyes all light.

When the lesson was over, the apprentices crowded around the sand tray and would not scatter. Kes stood at the door, watched a while, and quietly slipped out.

”What is it,” Lu Zhu came out after him, ”you will not stay and listen?”

”Teacher,” Kes said, ”I learned these long ago.” He paused, and looked at the sky to the south. ”I want to go back to Nubia. To set up a school like this for my people.”

”Wait a little longer.” Lu Zhu said. ”Wait for the spring to open. When spring opens, the road is easier.”

”I will wait.” Kes said.

And in the deep mansion of the new capital, one lamp was burning too.

The old noble sat under the lamp, hearing a report. When he had heard it, he set his tea bowl down, slowly.

”Refused the office, refused the gold.” he said. ”Fine. That move is higher than taking any grant.”

”Sir, this . . .”

”You have not seen it clearly.” the old noble said. ”If he took the office and the gold, we could still make something of the word ’greed.’ Now he wants nothing, and the whole name is his alone. From now on, whoever touches him goes against the people’s hearts.”

”Then we . . .”

”The road of recommending men is blocked by the examinations; the road of the name is blocked by this refusal.” The old noble rose and walked to the window. The night outside was heavy black. ”But there is still one road — and it is not us who block him on it. It is heaven.”

”What road?”

”The north.” the old noble said. ”The snow of the northern border is nearly melted through. When the snow melts, the Hittites’ horses will come out of their pens. Then the north will want men, and grain, and material — and these four laws will have to yield the road to the north first.” He paused. ”Wait. Wait for the wind to rise in the north.”

”And the craft school.” the tall thin man said. ”They have opened a school right in the Bureau. This is making their own men. And the men they make will no longer listen to us.”

”Let them make them.” the old noble said. ”Making men takes three years, five years. The north’s wind rises in a matter of months. When the wind comes, we will see which they tend first.” He blew out the lamp.

The room went dark. Outside the window, from far off, came a stroke or two of the night watch drum.

And that very night, a letter truly came from the north.

It was brought into the palace by fast horse. The messenger’s horse ran soaked in sweat, and the man rolled off the horse shouting: ”Urgent report! Urgent report from the northern border!”

The urgent report held one matter only: the Hittite camp had moved. Barely into spring, the Hittites had opened camp ahead of season, and pressed their horse and men thirty li south. The trade road of the northern border was locked by them. Of the roads crossing the border, not one was open.

The pharaoh read the urgent report three times under the lamp.

”What was coming,” he said in a low voice, ”has come.”

He folded the report and pressed it down at the corner of the table. On the table, the four rolls of law, freshly entered into the code, still gave off a faint smell of ink.

The wind of the north was already on the road.

The snow has melted through. The sun over the new capital grows warmer day by day. The stele outside the palace gate stands straight, and its twelve characters are felt over once a day by the small hands of children. But the wind of the north is already on the road — the Hittites’ horses have come out of their pens, and the trade road of the north has been cut into a dead end. The laws have stood — but this world under heaven has never held only laws. The urgent report of the north presses on the pharaoh’s table. And Meru, down on the dock, does not yet know that tomorrow, his merchant house’s boats will run head-on into that wall no one can see.

(End of Chapter 10)

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