Orphan of the Sun, page 4
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.
Tia was working away on the loom once more, while Nauna had returned and had taken Meryt’s place with the flax and spindle. Their row of the day before appeared to have simmered down, and Tia smiled as Meryt entered.
‘This will soon be big enough for a kilt,’ she said, indicating the cloth on the loom. ‘Then I’ll be able to make Henut a winter dress.’
‘Dress for me?’ piped up Henut, who was in the process of smearing charcoal all over her podgy body. ‘A pretty one?’
‘Yes, a pretty one,’ Tia smiled at her.
Such an everyday scene made Meryt feel more at ease, as though the strange events of the last two days were somehow unreal. ‘I’ll take over, if you like,’ she said to Nauna. ‘You can take a break.’
Nauna nodded, and got to her feet. ‘Don’t tangle the thread,’ she said gruffly, handing the spindle to Meryt.
‘Of course not,’ Meryt replied politely, used to Nauna’s ungraciousness. The fact was that Nauna’s eyesight was not as sharp as it had once been, and if anyone tangled the thread, she did – but it didn’t do to point out such things. Nauna’s wrath was best left unkindled.
Meryt sat cross-legged and lost herself in the work, letting thoughts of recent events wash over her. She thought again of her dream, and her encounter with Ramose … she relived the memory of his chubby body and his gasp of surprise as she ran into him. She wondered if she should tell Tia, but then decided against it. She would stick to her resolve, and wait for further guidance. She bent over the spindle.
The evening was drawing in when Meryt heard the sound of wailing go up, somewhere in the south-west of the village. She sat upright and listened. There was no mistaking it: the piercing cry of a mother and her friends and family as death visited a household. It was an all-too-familiar sound in Set Maat, but this time Meryt knew with certainty where it was coming from. It was as though a voice spoke clearly in her head: Tanefru’s newborn has died.
She put down the spindle and hurried out of the house, making her way to Dedi’s home. As she drew near, it became clear that she was right. A crowd of women had gathered around the house next door, and from inside came the shrieking and moaning of the newly bereaved. Dedi and her mother, Wab, would be somewhere among them, Meryt was sure.
She spotted Dedi just inside Tanefru’s house, and went to her side. Together they joined in the chorus of stricken wailing that filled the house and the street outside. Meryt clutched the amulet around her neck and wept. It was easy to find tears for another villager’s loss, for everyone had experienced similar pain at some stage. Meryt wept for her parents, the neighbour’s stillborn whose death she had foreseen, and her own predicament as much as for Tanefru’s tragedy.
Darkness came and the wailing slackened off. It would rise again, formally, once the child was wrapped and taken to the family tomb for burial; then, if they could afford it, Tanefru’s family might even employ professional mourners to give a resounding farewell. But for now, the sorrowing friends and neighbours went to their respective families to see to their needs, and to eat.
Meryt and Dedi went back to Dedi’s home and sat in the front room. Dedi went and fetched a lamp from the courtyard, and the two girls sat in silence.
‘You were right,’ said Dedi, after a while. ‘The gods required the newborn’s life.’
Meryt nodded, uncertain what to say.
‘You see these things,’ said Dedi, in a low voice, staring at her friend. ‘Are you not afraid of such a gift? Does it not come from Sekhmet?’
Meryt shook her head vehemently. The idea that people might come to see her as different because of a few casual words filled her with fear. ‘Believe me, Dedi, I am just like anyone else. When I need help I turn to our goddess Ahmes Nefertari, or to Hathor. I wish no one any harm.’
Dedi smiled gently. ‘I believe you,’ she said. ‘I know you well enough. But others may not always be so ready to understand. You must be careful what you say.’
The wick sputtered in the oil, and Meryt watched in silence as Dedi tweaked it with a pair of copper tongs. Dedi sighed.
‘The truth is I sometimes wish you could see more. There is trouble up at the tombs. My brother Ahmose took a consignment of lamp wicks over there today, and says that Father is having problems with the men. They are becoming restless and rebellious.’
‘Why?’ asked Meryt. ‘I have heard nothing of the sort from my uncle.’
‘There’s no reason why you should. Sennedjem’s gang has no problems, as far as I know,’ said Dedi. ‘Only Father’s men are unhappy.’
Meryt was surprised. If the workmen were unhappy, it was usually to do with their conditions or pay – factors that affected both gangs. She could see no reason why Nebnufer should be having more problems than Sennedjem. They were both reasonable foremen and treated their men fairly. Nebnufer was perhaps a little sterner than his counterpart – her uncle Senmut, who worked under Sennedjem, sometimes said that he respected the greater discipline of Nebnufer’s gang.
‘Strange,’ said Meryt. ‘Perhaps there’s a dispute between some of the men. That can make it difficult to work together.’ She thought of Tia and Nauna, always squabbling in the courtyard.
Dedi shook her head. ‘It’s not that. Ahmose says that Father is having difficulty keeping control. He has somehow lost the men’s respect.’
Meryt was shocked. ‘But it is not for them to question him!’ she exclaimed. ‘He was appointed by the vizier. The gods are with him.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Dedi. ‘But sometimes the will of the men is stronger.’
She stood, and fetched another lamp from an alcove. Meryt watched her graceful movements as she lit the wick, unsure what to say. As in affairs of marriage and love, Dedi knew much more than she did about the hierarchies of the workmen and the business of building the tombs. Her own uncle was a man who went to work dutifully and did as he was told; he spoke little of the life he led away from home, so most of what Meryt knew she had learnt from the street, or her friends.
‘Will you eat with us, Meryt?’ Dedi asked, placing the lamp on the floor.
Meryt shook her head, and stood. ‘Thank you. I’ll head back home.’
The household was quiet when Meryt returned. The two children were sleeping in the back room, and there was no sign of Tia or Nauna. Meryt padded softly through to the courtyard and saw that everyone had already eaten. The pot of leftovers from the day before had gone. She heard voices, and realised that Tia and Nauna were on the roof.
Meryt fetched a leek from the store and broke off some bread from a loaf. As she did so, she realised that the two women upstairs were quarrelling. She crept closer to the stairway, and listened.
‘She left the spinning unfinished,’ she heard Nauna say. ‘She’s a lazy good-for-nothing. The sooner she marries, the better.’
Meryt held her breath. They were arguing about her.
‘She has been spinning for most of the day,’ she heard Tia protest. ‘She is always willing to help. She is still young.’
‘I was a wife at her age,’ Nauna retorted, her voice bitter and angry. ‘I had given birth to Senmut. She has been a burden on the household for too long. And Heria is only too anxious to see her son married.’
‘Heria!’ Tia’s voice cracked with scorn. ‘Yes, she wants to see Ramose married. But it is a sad state of affairs when a man cannot make up his own mind about such a matter.’
Pressed up against the wall, Meryt didn’t notice one of the cats enter the courtyard. It jumped on to a stool, clattering a copper pot that was resting against it.
The voices upstairs fell silent.
‘I’ll go and see what it was,’ Meryt heard Tia say, after a pause.
Meryt fled to the back room, and crept under a cover next to Henut. As Tia peered in, she pretended to breathe deeply, and Tia went back to the roof. Meryt threw off the cover and lay silently, thinking. So it was true that Nauna as well as Senmut wished to get rid of her. The words about Heria were more difficult to understand. Ramose was her oldest son. She must surely be proud of him; and surely it was not in her power to make him marry against his will?
For the next few days, Meryt felt as though time were suspended. She dreaded the return of Senmut from the tombs, for then she might be forced to give an answer about Ramose. Her sleep was dreamless and she despaired of receiving a clearer message from the goddess, and puzzled constantly over the one message she was sure she had been given. Its obscurity infuriated her.
The night of the men’s return came all too quickly – and with it, a flurry of energy that had everyone out in the streets. The men had come back in a state of high excitement and the village soon filled with the babble of voices.
‘The kenbet is meeting!’ cried a voice, as Meryt sat on the rooftop, trying to see what was going on. Quickly, she ran downstairs. Senmut and Baki had just arrived home, and were being questioned by Tia and Nauna. The kenbet was the village council, which met once a week to decide on matters of dispute.
‘There is trouble in the other gang,’ Senmut explained. ‘The men are saying that Nebnufer has been pushing them too hard and that the quality of the work is suffering as a result.’ He shrugged. ‘Nebnufer’s gang has always been the more disciplined. I don’t know why it has become a problem now.’
‘But why is the kenbet meeting?’ said Meryt. ‘Can’t the matter wait until the usual time?’
Senmut looked at his niece vaguely, and shrugged. ‘The foremen always want to nip any dispute in the bud. Let them meet. I shall not be going. I’m hungry. I hope there is plenty of food in the courtyard.’
