The Spitting Cobra (6 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

Hopi left the party long before it was over. The villagers were growing ever more boisterous, and few of them were interested in talking to a shy young stranger. Besides, he wanted to think.
Serqet. Meretseger
. New names, new gods, in a village full of mystery and knowledge . . . Its atmosphere filled him with longing. Tonight, even watching Isis made him feel miserable, for it reminded him of his own uselessness. He wandered the streets of the village, gazing up at the stars, until at last he grew tired and headed to the house of Khonsu to sink down on one of the beds.

When he woke, it was still dark in the little room. Sounds of breathing surrounded him; Isis, Mut and Heria must have crept in during the night. Quietly, he got up and went out to the courtyard, and found some water by the first glimmers of dawn. Refreshed, he left the house and gazed up at the mountain.

‘Meretseger,’ he whispered.
She who loves silence.
He had arranged to meet Seti again that morning, but not until the sun had advanced a little. There was time. For an instant, he thought of Rahotep’s warning:
Do not follow strangers who may lead you into trouble.
But he wasn’t following anyone; he was going to explore the mountainside for himself.

The path was steep. In places, it wound through narrow crevices; in others, it led dangerously close to the edge of the limestone cliffs. Sometimes, Hopi’s dragging right leg caught on stones and pebbles, which rattled and clattered down behind him. Each time it happened he stopped, his heart pounding. But today, no one called out.

Soon, a magnificent view of the village began to unfold. Hopi stepped off the path and found himself a place to sit, overlooking the valley with its temples. He could just see the narrow sliver of the Nile in the distance.

He stiffened. Voices. Somewhere above, along the stony path. Hurriedly, he looked for a place to hide, and pressed himself against the ledge where he sat. He held his breath.

There was a boy. ‘I d-d-don’t want to die,’ he hiccupped, his voice jarred by sobs and the speed at which they were marching down the path.

‘Don’t be stupid.’ A mature man’s voice, gruff and impatient.

‘It’s c-c-cursed,’ wailed the boy. ‘The goddess will k-kill us.’

Hopi tried to peer up, but he could see nothing. There was just the slap of sandals, very close now.

‘It’s not cursed. The first one was badly made and in the wrong place, that’s all. I should have seen to it myself.’

‘I don’t want to go there again –’

‘You’ll do as you’re told.’

The footsteps passed. A couple of limestone pebbles rolled past Hopi’s shoulder. He peered out, and caught a glimpse of a young, anxious boy, and an older man whose face was familiar. He’d been at the party the night before, talking to Nakht. But that didn’t mean much.
Everyone
had spoken to Nakht.

The pair moved on beyond a high boulder and down a steep section of path. Then they were gone. Hopi eased himself away from the ledge carefully, and listened. Nothing, no one else. He waited until there was total silence before setting off.

The sun had risen higher now, and was glancing off the rocks. Hopi hurried down the path, past the village tomb-chapels, and spotted Seti waiting for him by the cemetery gate. He saw at once that the painter was angry.

‘Where d’you think you’ve been?’ Seti demanded.

‘Sorry,’ said Hopi. ‘I woke up early, so I went for a walk, that’s all.’

‘You can’t do that,’ said Seti. ‘You can’t just
go for a walk
. Not here. I told you that yesterday.’

.

‘Breakfast time!’ Heria’s voice broke into Isis’s sleep. She turned over, trying not to hear it.

‘Isis! Wake up!’ It was Mut this time, and she couldn’t ignore it.

She sat up and looked at the bed where her brother had been lying asleep the night before. It was empty. ‘Where’s Hopi?’ she demanded.

Mut was sitting on the floor. She pulled a face. ‘How should we know?’

Heria had prepared a bowl of dates and figs, and a little pile of flatbreads. ‘It’s yesterday’s bread,’ she said, ‘but I’ve warmed it up on the embers in the oven.’ She handed both Mut and Isis a piece, then bit into one herself. ‘Does Hopi often go off on his own?’ she asked.

‘Well . . . I suppose so,’ said Isis, rubbing her eyes.

‘All the time,’ said Mut, reaching for a fig. ‘He goes off hunting for snakes and scorpions and horrible things like that.’ She shuddered.

Heria frowned. ‘Does he really?’

Isis felt a tight knot of guilt growing inside. For once, she hardly noticed Mut’s comments. She’d been feeling bad ever since she’d failed to find Hopi the night before. Parties could be difficult for him sometimes. It wasn’t much fun being left on his own while everyone else in the family was performing. And that strange man he’d been talking to . . . who was he? And why had her brother crept out so early in the morning?

‘I should go and find him,’ she said, swinging her legs off the bed.

Mut and Heria stared at her. ‘Don’t be crazy, Isis,’ said Mut. ‘He’ll come back. What’s so different about today?’

It was impossible to say, but Isis stood up. ‘I just have to go,’ she said.

‘But you’ve no idea where he’s gone!’ exclaimed Mut.

Isis hesitated. It was true, but she clutched the amulet around her neck. ‘The gods will show me.’

Heria put down her flatbread. Her face was full of concern. ‘Isis, you can’t go wandering off on your own,’ she said. ‘The village is guarded and full of spies.’

Isis met her gaze. ‘Then Hopi definitely needs me,’ she said.

‘And what am I supposed to tell Mother and Father?’ asked Mut, with a sly gleam in her eye.

‘Don’t tell them anything,’ said Isis. ‘He can’t have gone far.’

There was a brief silence. Then Heria smiled at Isis, understanding in her eyes. ‘Take water with you. Mut and I will wait for you here,’ she said. ‘If anyone comes to the door, I will tell them you’re all still sleeping.’ She placed a slight emphasis on
all
.

Isis smiled back. Mut wouldn’t be running to Nefert and Paneb, thanks to Heria. She slipped on her rough linen day-dress, put her feet in her sandals and slung Heria’s leather water pouch over her shoulder. Then she headed out on to the street, feeling glad, for the second time, that Heria was on her side.

.

Seti led the way up the mountain path. He still seemed to be in a bad mood, and Hopi was puzzled. Why should Seti care that he’d been for a walk on his own? He laboured after the painter, who climbed only a short distance before turning off, as he’d done the day before.

Hopi stopped. Once more, the words of Rahotep echoed in his mind.
Do not follow strangers . . .
He still wasn’t sure what the man had meant, but perhaps it was unwise to follow Seti, after all.

He nodded up at the mountain. ‘I think we’d stand a better chance of finding cobras up there.’

Seti turned to face him. ‘We’re not going that way,’ he said flatly.

‘Why?’ asked Hopi. ‘I mean, I know it’s forbidden, but as far as I can make out, I’m not supposed to leave the village at all. So what’s the difference?’

The young painter folded his arms. ‘You’re being very awkward today.’

Hopi shrugged. ‘I don’t think so. I just don’t know where you’re leading me, that’s all. You say you want to find a cobra, but I think there’s more to it than that.’

Seti stepped closer. Suddenly, his eyes were full of fear. ‘Why would you think that?’ he demanded. ‘What do you know?’

Hopi stepped backwards, shaking his head. ‘Nothing . . . nothing much . . . but Rahotep said –’

‘You’ve spoken to Rahotep!’ Seti sounded anguished. He took another step, and now he seemed almost menacing.

‘I’ve done nothing!’ exclaimed Hopi, backing off further. ‘All I’ve done is try to help you, and I don’t even know what for!’

Seti was clenching and unclenching his fists. He seemed on the verge of losing control, and Hopi watched him carefully. But then he spotted something else, out of the corner of his eye.

It was a cobra.

The cobra’s body was olive brown, with a dark patch on its head, and Hopi knew exactly what that meant. This cobra could spit, right into the eyes of its victim. Cornered on a ledge, its hood fully extended, it was ready to attack.

Hopi stood perfectly still, and averted his eyes.

‘What is –’ began Seti.

‘Don’t look,’ ordered Hopi.

Seti opened his mouth to speak, and began to turn his head.

‘DON’T look!’ shouted Hopi.

Seti’s face went rigid. Hopi’s stern order glued him to the spot. Seconds ticked past.

‘Walk towards me.’

Seti did as he said. One step, two . . . the snake saw its chance. It lowered its guard, slithered down the ledge and disappeared between the rocks.

Hopi relaxed. ‘It’s all right now. It’s gone.’

Seti spun round, scanning the rocks. ‘What’s gone?’

‘A cob—’

‘NO!’ The word burst from Seti like an explosion. ‘We found a cobra and you didn’t let me see it!’

‘But if you’d looked it would have –’

Seti wouldn’t let him finish. He had worked himself into a rage. ‘You have no idea what this means!’ he cried. ‘Meretseger is not your goddess. You didn’t even know who she is, and now you’ve interfered and stood between us. How dare you! How
dare
you!’ He reached out and gave Hopi a shove.

Hopi nearly lost his balance. He staggered back, then turned and began to hobble up the mountain track. ‘Look for cobras yourself!’ he cried. ‘I’m not helping you any more! I want nothing to do with you or your goddess!’

Seti stayed where he was. ‘Go!’ he shouted after Hopi. ‘Go, and see what will become of you! May the mountain swallow you up and the goddess rain down her punishments upon you!’

Hopi struggled on, the words of the curse whirling around in his head.

.

Isis slipped quickly between the chapels of the cemetery, her slight form barely making a sound. She wasn’t worried about being seen. One of her greatest skills was being able to melt into shadows and disappear. She gazed up at the mountain to assess her options. There was a pathway winding up beyond the cemetery, but it looked like a long way round. Apart from that, the cliff directly above the tombs sloped fairly gently, and there were plenty of footholds. Isis was nimble – she’d save time if she went straight up.

The first section was easy. But then came a slab of smooth, sand-blasted rock that was much steeper than it had looked from below. Isis took a deep breath, and dug her fingernails into a little crevice. Scraping her ankles and knees, she hauled herself up. This was harder than she had imagined. The sun was growing hotter, beating down on her head. She looked up.
Not far now
, she told herself.
Not far now . . .

By the time she reached the top of the cliff, Isis was covered in grazes and white limestone dust. Nefert wouldn’t be happy about that, she reflected, but what were a few grazes compared to Hopi’s safety? She brushed herself down and clambered on. Along the way, she crossed the path, which zigzagged off to the right. Perhaps Hopi would have followed it; it might lead to the Great Place itself.

She hesitated for only a second, then took the path and trotted along it quickly, taking little leaps through the gullies and over jutting boulders. Soon she could see the Temples of a Million Years down in the valley and the view beyond them to the Nile. But she didn’t stop. Hopi had to be here somewhere. Isis scanned the horizon constantly, but there was no sign of him. Her anxiety mounting, she began to run, leaping from rock to rock and calling for her brother.

Slowly, the pathway opened out. She was on a ridge, and to the left a vast desert landscape stretched on for ever: endless mountains and gullies, all made of bare, sun-parched rock. A strange sense of awe crept over Isis, and her knees began to tremble. Truly, people did not belong here. This was the Red Land, the land of the wild and dangerous god Seth, where people were carried to the Next World.

Some little huts came into view, and Isis approached them quietly. They seemed deserted. She crept up to them and peered inside. There was no one there, but there were signs of life – bits of leftover bread and a few grapes on a stalk that had been picked almost clean. Isis thought it over. These must be workmen’s huts: this was where the men stayed when they were working on the tombs, to save the long walk back to the village every night.

She left the huts and walked to the edge of the ridge. Down below her was a dry, stony valley, its limestone gullies dotted with little sealed doors. She gasped. They were the doors of tombs. It was the Great Place.

Isis knew at once that Hopi wouldn’t have gone down there. It was a sacred place, protected by the kings’ magic, and her brother would never take such a risk. It was also protected by guards – she noticed one slumped in the shade, and another wandering up and down, listless in the rising heat.