Orphan of the Sun, page 9
Suddenly the dog had gone and Baki was in front of her, laughing and holding up his hand.
‘It bit me,’ he was saying. ‘Look, see how it bleeds. The dog bit me …’
Meryt woke up in terror. She flung off the sheet and looked around with wild eyes, expecting the creature to jump from the shadows. There was nothing there, and as her sight adjusted to the familiar shapes of the rooftop, she let out a long, slow breath.
With a sure, unerring instinct, Meryt knew that the dream meant something. It was not a random collection of images, drawn from the scenes of the day. She relived the terror of the dog’s breath on her back and the sight of the gaping wound in Baki’s hand.
Surely this had nothing to do with Ramose! She pressed her fingers to her temples, thinking it through. No. There was nothing … Nothing to link it to the stonecutter, or to her father, or to the previous dream that had come to her.
It must be to do with Baki. She lay back down again, staring up at the eastern sky where the first light of dawn was growing. Her cousin lay in the room below, no doubt sleeping peacefully; it was the third day since his ritual and his pain must be less by now, but Meryt was filled with foreboding. After a few minutes, the sky was lighter, and she could stay still no longer. She got up and crept down the stairs to stand in the doorway of the back room.
Baki lay on his back on the bed. Tia had at last been persuaded that he could be left to sleep alone, and she was with the rest of the family in the middle room. In the dim light, Meryt could see that her cousin’s eyelids were flickering. He muttered something, shifting his head to one side, and she tiptoed closer.
It was difficult to tell for sure, but Meryt thought his breath was shallower than it should be. There were two spots of high colour on each of his brown cheeks. With a trembling hand, Meryt reached and touched her cousin’s forehead. It was damp and clammy.
Baki stirred, and Meryt retreated hastily to the door. On seeing her, the goat clambered to its feet in the courtyard and started bleating for food. Meryt fed it some wilted lettuce leaves to keep it quiet, then peeped around the door again. Her cousin slept on.
Meryt returned to the roof to wait for daylight, her heart full of fear. What was happening to Baki? Had she in some way caused it? She pondered her recent thoughts and actions, terrified that she had brought evil into the house despite herself. She knew she had never wished it. She might hate Baki at times, she might fear for her own future, but her love for Tia and the children was too strong for her to ever deliberately cause them grief.
As the first rays of sunlight hit the western cliffs, Meryt crept downstairs once more. Baki was awake. Tia had arisen too, and she was changing the mixture of honey and fat that had to be applied to his wound.
‘Ow! Don’t – let me do it –’ Baki protested, his face drawn in pain.
Meryt watched him as he dipped his fingers in the pot of honey that Tia held out for him. He seemed lively enough; perhaps there was nothing wrong, after all. But as Baki touched his cut, he flinched.
‘The redness has spread,’ he commented anxiously. ‘Mama, it hurts.’
‘More than yesterday?’
‘Yes. Look, it is oozing too.’
‘That is only the badness coming out,’ Tia reassured him, though her voice was worried. ‘Does it hurt too much to apply the dressing?’
Baki gritted his teeth. ‘No, I can do it,’ he muttered, wiping on the honey and reaching for the goose fat. When he had finished, he lay back so that Tia could wrap the wound in lint, and saw Meryt standing in the doorway.
‘What are you staring at?’ he snapped.
‘I am concerned for you, that’s all,’ replied Meryt. She took in the brightness of his eyes and the spots of colour that still stood out on his cheeks, and hesitated, wondering whether to voice her fears. ‘Your cheeks look hot.’
Tia looked at her quickly. ‘Meryt, what do you mean?’
Meryt swallowed, then shrugged as Senmut appeared from the middle room, yawning and stretching.
‘Are you well, Baki?’ he asked, as he walked through to the courtyard.
‘Yes, Father,’ Baki replied. ‘But I still have pain.’
Senmut poured out some water into a bowl and splashed his face and neck. ‘The pain will fade,’ he said, reaching for a linen towel. ‘You’ll be joining me in the tombs next week, you wait and see. Meryt, fetch me a clean loincloth, will you?’
Meryt did as he said. She would be glad when Senmut had left for work, out of the way. With any luck he would be gone for the full eight days and Baki would be well by the time he returned.
But once Senmut had set off with a group of other workmen for the tombs, Tia took her to one side. ‘What was it you were saying about Baki?’ she asked in a low voice.
Meryt took in her aunt’s drawn, tired features, the deep fear that sat in her eyes, and the dark circles that lay under them. There was no point in making things worse for her, especially as she knew nothing for sure. ‘Don’t worry. I was just being sympathetic,’ she said, with a smile. ‘That was all.’
There was a knock at the door, and Tia went to answer it. Meryt was relieved, as she knew that her aunt would not have time to enquire further. Because it was the start of the week, the king’s servants would arrive one after the other – fishermen with fish, gardeners with vegetables, and the laundrymen to collect the dirty linen.
Tia checked each delivery meticulously and made a careful note of all the linen while Meryt and Nauna baked a fresh batch of bread. The monthly wages of grain were not due for another week and they rationed the flour carefully, for Senmut had exhausted most of their stores to pay for Baki’s feast. Baki himself lay idle, drifting in and out of sleep as the women bustled around him. Meryt glanced at him occasionally, unable to dispel the fear that her dream had evoked. She willed the memory of it to fade, but it remained vivid, plaguing her with anxiety whenever she thought about it.
She was sweeping out the house in the early afternoon when there was a knock on the door, and Kenna’s face appeared. ‘Working hard as usual,’ he commented, coming into the front room. ‘Can you take a break?’
Meryt propped her broom against the wall and they walked though the house. Tia was sitting with Baki, and the children were helping Nauna in the courtyard, so Meryt led her friend up to the roof.
Kenna came straight to the point. ‘Is something wrong?’ he asked bluntly. ‘You don’t seem yourself at the moment. You left in a hurry last night – one minute you were there, and then you’d gone. That’s the second time you’ve done that recently.’
Meryt looked away. You only had eyes for Dedi, she wanted to say, but she knew it wasn’t quite fair. The sight of Ramose had driven her away too. ‘You’re imagining it,’ she stuttered. ‘I told you, I had to come back to care for Baki.’
‘I know you too well, Meryt,’ responded Kenna, looking at her closely. ‘Something is troubling you, I’m sure of it.’
Meryt played with the edge of the reed matting, feeling cornered. Part of her was full of envy as she remembered Kenna’s eyes gazing at Dedi, mingled with dread at the thought of Ramose. Another part was glad that Kenna cared enough to persist with his questioning – he was, and always had been, a friend she could rely on.
‘I have been happier,’ she admitted. ‘These are difficult times.’
‘Difficult? In what way?’ asked Kenna.
Meryt hunted for something to say. ‘I am worried for Nebnufer,’ she said. ‘There is trouble brewing in the village.’
Kenna snorted. ‘What of it?’ he asked dismissively. ‘This is not your concern, Meryt. Though as it happens I have some news on that score.’
‘What?’
‘People are saying that Userkaf only dared to consult the oracle because he is blessed by the gods.’
Meryt gasped. ‘Blessed by the …!’ Her mouth dropped open. ‘But that’s crazy.’ She thought quickly, unable to believe that people were so gullible. ‘If the gods cared so much for him, Amenhotep would have found in his favour,’ she pointed out.
‘Perhaps. But he behaves like a man of power, and he has done well for himself recently. Everything he does seems to bring him greater wealth and influence, whatever the oracle might have said.’
There was a faint edge of awe to Kenna’s voice, and Meryt drew her breath in sharply. ‘Do you think the gods are with him?’ she asked.
Kenna shrugged. ‘I don’t know what I think,’ he said. ‘I wish no harm to come to Nebnufer, of course. Especially for Dedi’s sake. But when a man begins to smell of success, it’s important to respect him. He has some of the gods on his side, at least – and they must be powerful ones.’
With a jolt of fear, Meryt saw that Kenna’s words were true. Her thoughts flashed to Nofret’s amulets and she shivered. Perhaps it was their magic that he was harnessing, after all – perhaps their power could turn people in his favour. It was frightening. Meryt wished she had never encountered the servant girl on the hilltop. Such knowledge was a dangerous thing.
‘Meryt?’ Kenna looked at her questioningly, then lay down sideways on the matting, leaning his head against his wrist. As he did so, he disturbed her linen pillow and the ostracon of Hathor was nudged from underneath it. He stared at it curiously. ‘What’s this?’ he asked, picking it up.
Meryt snatched at it. ‘Don’t touch that.’
But Kenna was too quick. He rolled out of her way, holding the ostracon at arm’s length. ‘So it’s yours,’ he said, sitting up. ‘You are consulting the goddess Hathor.’
It was mortifying. ‘Give it back!’ demanded Meryt, reaching for it again. It was no use. Kenna’s arms were longer, and she was not going to make things worse by fighting for it.
‘Hathor,’ said Kenna, looking at her strangely. ‘The goddess of love. Is there something you haven’t told me, Meryt?’
Meryt buried her face in her hands. She could hide the secret no longer. In any case, what was the point? He would hear it soon enough from the servants, or on the streets. ‘I have received a proposal of marriage,’ she mumbled.
‘Marriage! Who from?’
‘Ramose. Son of Heria and Paneb.’ She forced herself to look at her friend and found that Kenna was frowning.
‘Is this why you are upset?’ he asked uncertainly. ‘I don’t know Ramose well, but he seems decent enough. This should be a good thing, surely.’
‘A good thing!’ Meryt felt anguished. ‘I don’t want to marry him, Kenna.’
Kenna held Meryt’s ostracon in his hands and fingered it gently. It was difficult to tell what he was thinking. ‘Why not?’ he asked.
Meryt was speechless. She held out her hand for the ostracon. Kenna handed it over, searching her face, but she could still find nothing to say. She was tucking the flake of limestone safely back under the linen pillow when they heard footsteps coming up the stairway. It was Tia, and her face was grave.
‘Is something wrong?’ asked Meryt, instinctively knowing what the answer would be.
‘I need a messenger to go to Senmut,’ said Tia. ‘Would you go for me, Kenna?’
‘Why?’ demanded Meryt. ‘What’s happened?’
‘It’s Baki,’ said her aunt, in a frightened voice. ‘He … he is not well. His wound swells and grows redder and he is beginning to moan in pain.’
Kenna rose to his feet. ‘Of course I’ll go,’ he said. ‘What should I say?’
‘That he must come back at once,’ said Tia, her face pale. ‘Tell him that Baki needs him.’
‘I will take Father’s donkey and bring him back on it,’ said Kenna. ‘Is there anything else I can do?’
Tia shook her head. ‘No. It is good of you to go.’ She smiled briefly. ‘Meryt, I need you to help me.’
The three went back down the stairs. Kenna set off immediately, running off down the street to collect his father’s donkey. It took more than an hour to reach the Great Place on foot, but with the help of the sure-footed animal Senmut would be back before sunset.
As Meryt and Tia returned to Baki’s bedside he leapt up, his eyes wild, and ran into the courtyard.
‘Give me wine!’ he shouted, crashing among the beer flagons and flinging the empty ones to one side. ‘Why is there no wine?’
Little Henut took fright at the sight of her desperate brother and began to howl. One of the flagons glanced the goat’s back legs and it bleated pitifully, while Nauna threw her hands in the air and began her usual tirade at the terrible state of her son’s family. Only Mose made no noise, melting into the background and running lightly on to the roof to escape.
Meryt ran and grasped Baki by the elbow. ‘Baki, there is no more wine. You must rest. You will only make yourself worse.’
He bellowed and tried to throw her off but he was weaker than usual, and Meryt was determined. With Tia helping on his other side, they managed to control him and hold him still until his breathing grew calmer.
‘Baki, you must lie down,’ said Tia in a trembling voice. ‘I will dress your wound again to give you some relief.’
Baki spat on the ground. Meryt could feel the heat surging through his body and her heart quaked with fear. But then the fight went out of him and he allowed them to lead him back inside. Meryt squatted in the courtyard, comforting Henut, while Tia tended his wound. Mose stayed on the roof out of the way, but Henut continued to whimper, her little world shaken by Baki’s outburst. Meryt stroked her hair until Tia called for her once more.
Tia beckoned Meryt to the front room. ‘Baki is calmer now,’ she whispered. ‘I must go to Peshedu’s tomb. It is not enough to make an offering here. I must go and speak to my brother in his own chapel.’
‘Tia, this has nothing to do with my father, surely!’ Meryt stared at her aunt in disbelief. ‘Why would he wish harm to Baki?’
Tia’s eyes pleaded with her. ‘Please, Meryt, just do as I ask. Take care of Baki while I’m gone. Nauna is useless, she has no sympathy for him. I won’t be long.’ She reached into a casket for some incense and a burner. ‘Would you fetch me a loaf and some dates from the courtyard?’ she asked over her shoulder.
As she did so, Meryt remembered the mysterious offering that she had found in the chapel the morning before. ‘Someone else has been offering to Peshedu,’ she told her aunt, handing her the loaf. ‘I went there myself yesterday.’
Tia looked startled. ‘How strange! Are you sure?’
‘At first I thought it must be you,’ said Meryt. ‘But it was not our bread lying there.’
‘No, no. It wasn’t me.’ Tia shoved the loaf and dates hurriedly into a bag. ‘Well, I must go. I want to be back for when Senmut arrives.’ With a brief, worried smile, she kissed Meryt on the cheek and was gone.
Meryt wandered back through the house. The job of looking after Baki was not one she particularly relished, and she was relieved that his eyes were closed as she walked past. She slipped into the courtyard and sat down with her back leaning against the wall of the house – out of sight of her cousin, but close enough to hear his movements.
Nauna and the children were on the roof, and all was quiet for a while. Meryt listened to Baki shifting around on the bed, and watched the goat chewing peacefully in the shade. She thought of Kenna, riding up over the mountain to fetch Senmut, and her cheeks flamed when she remembered what he had said about Ramose. How could he call it ‘a good thing’, even if … even if … She struggled with her thoughts, unwilling to admit what was really in her mind. In the end she could not block it out. How could he say such a thing, even if he didn’t want Meryt himself?
Meryt hugged her knees in frustration. It was all Dedi’s fault. Until her friend had put the idea in her head, she had never thought of Kenna as anything other than a friend. But as soon as Dedi had said such friends can become lovers, she hadn’t been able to get it out of her mind. Now it was there, plaguing her, while Kenna pined not for her but for Dedi. And Ramose? Meryt’s heart filled with rage at the dim-witted stonecutter who had not even had the gumption to propose to her in person.
‘Mama!’ Baki cried out from his bed, and Meryt scrambled to her feet. Baki was sitting up, staring around him, and when he saw Meryt he yelled again. ‘Mama! I want some wine!’
‘Tia’s not here,’ Meryt told him. ‘And there isn’t any wine. I will fetch you some beer.’
She hurried into the courtyard and picked out a fresh flagon of beer, a cup and a strainer. Baki continued to call out. Meryt felt frightened at the harshness of his cries, and clutched the amulet around her neck before returning to her cousin’s bedside. There, she averted her gaze from the glazed, feverish look in his eyes and concentrated on straining the beer. Then, to her relief, she heard footsteps. She guessed that Tia had returned, and looked up with a smile at the doorway.
It was not Tia. It was Senmut, still covered in the white gypsum plaster that was the mark of his trade. Meryt’s smile faded and she handed the cup of beer to Baki. Senmut marched to his son’s bedside and tilted his chin up, studying his face, then placed a hand on his forehead. ‘Where is Tia?’ he demanded.
‘She’ll be back in a minute,’ Meryt told him. ‘She hasn’t gone far. She left me to look after Baki.’
‘Father, I want wine,’ said Baki, his voice hoarse. ‘Meryt won’t give it to me.’
‘There isn’t any!’ protested Meryt.
‘You won’t give it to me,’ her cousin persisted. His breathing was now shallow and irregular and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead.
Meryt just had time to see the dismay on Senmut’s face as it dawned on him that Baki really had fallen sick. Then he turned on her, his expression threatening. ‘I don’t want you caring for my son,’ he told her.
‘But Tia asked …’ Meryt stuttered.
Senmut’s eyes flashed. ‘You heard what I said. Keep away from him, do you hear?’
Meryt’s mouth dropped open. Then she backed away. ‘Yes, Uncle.’
