Orphan of the Sun (5 page)

‘You know what he's like,' said Kenna, with a
shrug. ‘He's always done things differently. He's ambitious, and makes friends in high places. He probably knows the chief embalmer or something.'

It was true. Userkaf was a vibrant character in the village, a draughtsman by trade but an unlikely one: his flamboyant behaviour was at odds with the fine concentration and precision required in his work. He was fond of wine and beer and was always first to appear at parties. Rumour had it that he was fond of other men's wives too, but that was harder to prove.

‘But she looks so nervous all the time,' commented Meryt. ‘She's been miserable for weeks.'

‘You would be too,' said Kenna. ‘The embalmers' workshops are gruesome places. They're filled with the stench of flesh and natron and sickly incense and balms. It's a messy business.'

Meryt-Re wasn't convinced. There was no need for the girl to be so miserable, just because of her workplace. ‘Well, perhaps,' she agreed, doubtfully. ‘But if that's the problem, her step should lighten when she leaves.'

The sun was rising higher in the sky. Its heat was intensifying, so Meryt and Kenna clambered back on to the donkey and trotted up to Set Maat before the fish could begin to rot. There, they went to their separate homes.

The smell of burning incense greeted Meryt as soon as she stepped inside: the smell of an offering in the first room. Tia was there, alone, burning incense before the bust of Peshedu. She jumped when she
heard Meryt, and turned guiltily.

‘I'm just …' she started, then trailed off, swinging the burner nervously.

Meryt moved into the room and squatted by her aunt. ‘Is Peshedu troubling you?' she asked.

Tia nodded. ‘It was he who burnt the bread yesterday,' she told Meryt. ‘I had only left it for the usual amount of time. I am trying to appease him. Baki has his ritual next weekend – I should hate there to be any trouble.'

Meryt frowned. Much as she hated Baki, she could not see any reason why Peshedu should interfere with his rite of passage to manhood. ‘Why would my father make trouble for Baki?' she asked. ‘I thought he was a good man. You have always told me he was.'

‘Oh!' said Tia hurriedly. ‘You need not fear about that. Peshedu
was
a good man. I loved him so much – he could not have been a better brother to me. He …' she trailed off again, her voice trembling. She stood, and gained control of herself. ‘We just need to keep him happy, that's all,' she said firmly. ‘When I neglect him, he quickly reminds me of his presence.'

The subject was clearly closed. Tia went out to the courtyard and Meryt followed her, puzzled. Her aunt sat down at the loom and started to weave, an expression of determined concentration on her face. Meryt picked up a handful of flax strands from the pile in the corner of the courtyard. She sat down next to Tia and began to tease them into thread with the
spindle. The two worked in silence for a while.

‘Where is everyone?' asked Meryt, when she grew bored.

‘Henut is sleeping,' Tia answered her. ‘Mose went with Nauna to deliver the kilts to Harmose's wife. They'll be back later.'

Weaving and sewing provided the family with extra income, and, like Dedi's mother, Wab, Harmose the doctor could easily afford an extra kilt or two. Meryt enjoyed joining in with the whole process, for it made her feel less of a burden on the household.

‘Senmut has gone to work,' continued Tia. ‘He has taken Baki with him. They are staying over at the tomb huts until the weekend. Senmut wants to make sure that Baki is ready for the ritual.'

Meryt nodded, and concentrated on the spinning, thinking of Baki. The ritual he would undergo was welcomed and dreaded in equal measure by boys of his age. Their side-lock was shaved off, to allow a full head of hair to grow in its place; but far more painful was circumcision, the removal of the foreskin, an operation carried out by a priest of Amen-Re. Meryt shuddered to think of it. She was glad that girls did not have to suffer anything similar – apart from childbirth, of course.

She worked steadily for an hour, then she and Tia ate some bread and lay down in the cool of the back room to sleep through the midday heat. Before doing so, Meryt went and fetched her ostracon, and laid it next to her head.

Tia looked at it curiously. ‘What's that?' she asked.

Meryt showed her the painting and Tia studied it thoughtfully. ‘It's the goddess Hathor,' explained Meryt. ‘I am consulting her about Ramose.'

Tia nodded, and Meryt realised she did not know her aunt's view on the matter; so her next words came as a surprise. ‘Whatever happens, you will always have a place here – if I can help it,' said Tia quietly.

Meryt was astonished, and touched. She smiled at her aunt. ‘Thank you, Tia,' she murmured. ‘But I know such a thing is out of your hands.'

‘Perhaps not so much as you might think,' said Tia, with a little jut of her jaw. ‘But we shall see.'

They lay down, and Meryt stroked the ostracon gently before dozing off.
Send me a message, my goddess
, she thought, as sleep overcame her.

This time she dreamt. She was looking out through a window to the rocky hillside above the village – the Peak of the West, home of the snake goddess Meretseger. There was a figure standing there, his kilt billowed by a strong, hot wind blowing in from the desert. He turned and toiled up the narrow path that led over the cliffs to the Great Place, his lean body curled against the sand-filled blasts. In her dream Meryt left the window and struggled after him, calling, but the wind whipped away her words and the figure battled on ahead of her. She knew it was her father, Peshedu, but he seemed forever beyond her reach.

She paused to gasp for breath. Then, as she looked up to see how far he had progressed, she saw another figure descending the path in the opposite direction. He was wrapped in a linen shawl to protect him from the wind and sand, but Meryt recognised him nonetheless. It was Ramose.

Her father stopped. The men greeted each other, and they embraced. Then, as Meryt began her pursuit once more, Ramose turned in his tracks and accompanied her father, using his linen shawl to wrap around them both as they hurried on, back to the Great Place …

Meryt woke, her heart pounding. She sat upright and stared at the ostracon. It lay there innocently, giving nothing away. She looked around the room, which was quiet but for Tia's gentle breathing. Her mouth dry, she rose and went out to the courtyard for a drink of water. As she lifted the cup to her lips, she realised that her hand was trembling.

Was this a message? She had no way of knowing, but the dream had been so vivid, unlike the usual jumble of images. If it was, what was Peshedu doing with Ramose? Was her father answering her prayer on behalf of the goddess? Was he trying to say that he approved their marriage? Meryt felt cold and desolate. What other meaning could the dream suggest? Could she really trust the appearance of Peshedu, when Tia was so sure that he was the troublemaker in their household …? Meryt did not wish to believe such a thing of her own father, but now she found
herself hoping it was true.

She decided to head to her favourite spot, up on the limestone hill that overlooked the Nile. She hurried through the village, her head bowed, and didn't see a figure approaching in the opposite direction. She cannoned into him.

‘Meryt-Re!' he exclaimed.

Meryt looked up. ‘Ramose,' she managed to say.

For an instant, their eyes locked and they gazed at each other. Meryt took in his plump, solid frame, his heavy jowls that were furred with two days' stubble, and his dull, doe-like eyes. It was too much. Instinctively, she took flight and ran.

‘Meryt!' Ramose called after her. ‘Wait! I would like to talk to you …'

But Meryt didn't stop. Gasping for breath, she ran until she reached the edge of the village, only slowing to pick her way between the yellow-white boulders of the hillside. She reached the top and flopped down on to a boulder, almost crying with exertion and distress. She buried her head in her lap.

Slowly, she grew calmer. Her fate was not yet sealed. The goddess seemed to have sent her a dream, but its meaning was by no means clear. Her heart lightened as another interpretation occurred to her – that her father had turned Ramose in his tracks, and was taking him away from her … it was so far impossible to say. She must wait. If the goddess had spoken to her once, she would surely do so again.

She sat in the sunlight, throwing limestone
pebbles from one hand to the other, her golden skin lightened by the white dust. It was peaceful here, with a gentle warm wind blowing and the view of the Nile valley stretching out below. It was where she always came if she was troubled. She wished she could stay longer, but she realised that the hour was getting late, and that Tia would be expecting help. She stood up and had just started to descend when a small figure appeared behind her, leaping down the path, scattering stones in front of her.

Meryt stopped. ‘Nofret!' she greeted her.

Nofret stopped too, and gave a hostile glare. ‘Why do you keep appearing wherever I go?' she hissed. ‘Are you following me?'

Meryt-Re was taken aback. ‘Of course not,' she protested. ‘I came up here anyway. I was just going back.' She hunted for something else to say. ‘I hear you have a job in the royal embalmers' workshops.'

‘And what if I do?' asked Nofret defiantly. She started walking down the path again, and tried to push past Meryt-Re.

‘Don't go,' said Meryt. She reached out to touch the other girl's arm, but Nofret shied away from her. The path was narrow, and she slipped sideways on to a boulder, crying out as she fell.

Something dropped from her hand and Meryt picked it up. It was a small object, with rough linen wrappings that had begun to unravel. Meryt could see clearly what it was. She gasped as Nofret scrambled to her feet and snatched it back from her furiously.

‘Nofret …' exclaimed Meryt, horrified.

She stared at the younger girl and Nofret stared back, fear filling her eyes as she saw Meryt's reaction. The package contained an amulet, a charm for protection from the gods. It was an
udjat
eye, the symbol of the great god Horus who had fought and defeated his evil uncle Seth. Horus had lost an eye in the battle, but it had been restored by Thoth, the ibis-headed god of scribes. Ever since, the
udjat
eye had been a powerful symbol of sacrifice and healing.

But this was no ordinary
udjat
amulet. It was made of pure gold, inlaid with precious lapis lazuli and glass. A priceless object … the sort used by embalmers to protect the body of a high official or even a king, inserted in among the swathes of linen that were wrapped around the body.

Meryt went cold. She felt as though the light of the sun had left them; the shadow of Re's disapproval chilled her heart. Embalmers' amulets were sanctified, destined for the land of the dead.

‘The gods …' breathed Meryt. ‘You are risking the wrath of the gods.'

Nofret's eyes widened in terror. She stared at Meryt-Re, speechless. Then, before Meryt could stop her, she turned and ran headlong down the path.

Chapter Three

Meryt-Re followed Nofret down the path, her mind reeling. Why would anyone risk such a thing? It didn't make sense. She wondered if the loss of the amulet had been noted. It was just about possible that it had not, if it had already been placed among the linen wrappings around a body; but in any case, how could Nofret have accessed a wrapped body, and tampered with it unnoticed? The embalming of kings and officials was a meticulous process, with every stage recorded and every jewel accounted for by stern-faced scribes. But Nofret was only a servant girl …

Then Meryt recalled that Nofret had been heading
away
from the village the night before, as the sun was setting. She must have been going back, once the workers had left. Surely this was not a plan of her own making? Nofret seemed a wary, fearful creature, and had definitely become more so in the last few weeks. Someone had put her up to it, and the obvious culprit was her owner, Userkaf.

There still seemed little sense in such a risky
action. Amulets held great power – especially an
udjat
eye such as this – but it was surely beyond a man like Userkaf to make use of it. In any case, as she and Kenna had discussed only that morning, Userkaf was already popular and well connected. He was never short of offers of beer from his colleagues, and as a draughtsman, his skills were always in demand. He could command high prices for moonlighting for other villagers, for officials elsewhere, in fact for anyone who could afford to have their tomb decorated in the royal style. Userkaf lacked for nothing, and would surely not wish to bring the wrath of either the village or the gods upon his head. He got into enough trouble as it was with his riotous ways!

Meryt slipped back into the village and walked up the main street to her home. Nofret had long since vanished. She remembered with relief that Senmut and Baki were away working in the royal tombs, and that there would be relative peace in the household for a few days. The men were supposed to work an eight-day week with two days' break at the end, but frequently found excuses to make the week shorter, or to return on some kind of pretext halfway through. If Senmut was training Baki, they might actually stay away for as long as they had intended.