The Mummifier´s Daughter - A Novel in Ancient Egypt

by Burns, Nathaniel

  Suten Anu also sat down and pulled out the papyrus scroll from beneath his cloak. There was a beneficiary still missing, but Suten Anu had no intention of waiting for the man, as he already knew what he stood to gain. He unrolled the scroll before drawing everyone’s attention and started to read through the details. Most of the text was requisite legal jargon that dealt with the payments of debts, her parents’ funeral arrangements, and the completion of any bodies still in need of anointing and wrapping. Asim was charged with this.

  Suten Anu then halted for a moment, glancing about the room, drawing in a deep breath. His heart pounded in his chest as he looked down at the remaining words on the scroll.

  “To our daughter, I leave the tools of my trade, so that she can continue the family tradition on receiving her certification. In the event of our death preceding that of her marriage, or a suitable engagement, we are bound by the agreement undertaken with Ma-Nefer that she is to become his wife, as a guarantee or compensation for the payment of goods provided, or payment of debts still owing to him,” Suten Anu halted when everyone gasped.

  “What!” Neti exclaimed in utter disbelief. “My parents would not have done that,” she protested, looking towards Suten Anu, “There has to be some kind of a mistake.”

  “I’m afraid not, your father had me oversee the arrangement,” the elderly scribe maintained.

  “But I cannot marry him!” she retorted. “How can this be?”

  “Ma-Nefer demanded a security on goods your father ordered, and your father had none to offer. Ma-Nefer was also not interested in your home, so he insisted that your father place you up as a security. At the time, there was no reason to believe that your father would not make the payments, or indeed that he would die before you were married or engaged, and the goods were needed for your father’s practice,” Suten Anu explained.

  “So I am to marry him?” she asked, shaking her head. “I cannot marry that man, who has the face of a toad and the manners of a pig. He is cruel, malicious. There is nothing to love or honor. I could not even like him if my life depended upon it.”

  “There are alternative provisions made,” Suten Anu countered. “However, they may not be feasible.”

  “Death and eternal damnation would be better than marrying that man,” Neti complained. The room was silent, with Thoth and the others rendered speechless.

  Just then the door burst open, with Ma-Nefer taking up almost the entirety of its width.

  “You,” the man proclaimed, pointing at Thoth, “get me a chair.”

  Thoth leapt up from where he was sitting, collected a chair and cautiously approached his owner, placing the chair for him to sit.

  Ma-Nefer, however, struck Thoth on the side of his already bruised face, proclaiming, “You are away from your post, I will see to you later.” He took a seat, the wood creaking under the strain.

  “It is not yet working time,” one of those present spoke quietly, causing Ma-Nefer to turn toward him as he boomed, “You want to tell me what to do with my property?” The man shook his head in response and Ma-Nefer continued angrily, “It is already enough that you have started without me.”

  “We were just finishing,” Suten Anu replied, rolling up the papyrus scroll.

  “Oh well then, they know,” the man said rising from his chair, “I will be gracious, in that I will allow for the settlement of the estate, before disclosing on what is mine,” he looked around the room before glaring at Neti, and stating, “This place had better be fit for habitation by then. I intend to lease it out.” He turned from the others and marched toward the door. “Come, you useless piece of flesh,” he barked at Thoth, “get going.” Thoth jolted forward and through the doorway, with Ma-Nefer following in his wake.

  The door remained open after the man’s departure, with everyone gawking in disbelief, before turning their attention towards Neti. Her heart pounded in her chest, the bile rising from her stomach at the thought. —I would rather die — she thought, turning to Suten Anu, and asking, “What are the alternatives?”

  Suten Anu did not even unroll the scroll as he turned to look at her, “In the event of your marriage prior to the death of your parents, whatever outstanding funds would have been payable by you and your husband.”

  “But I am not married, and therefore it does not apply,” Neti quickly dismissed.

  “The other was that in the event of you already being licensed, you would have the option to pay back whatever amount is outstanding, and as such buy your way out of the marriage.”

  “I have not yet received my license,” Neti replied dejectedly. “We only recently applied for it.”

  “Of that I am aware,” Suten Anu replied. “I will stall proceedings as much as I can, in the hope that it is granted. However, your father’s estate was not large, and therefore there cannot be many reasons for delay.”

  “I understand,” Neti dejectedly replied.

  “It’s time for me to go to my office now, Neti. You must stay focused on what needs to be done.” Neti nodded her head in response, before seeing out her guests.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Neti closed the door after her last guest’s departure. Turning her back she braced herself against it as a disconsolate sigh escaped her lips, causing her shoulders to sag slightly. Her hands clenched into fists as she fought against the heavy sensation that once again came to settle over her heart. Her stomach grumbled lowly, reminding her that she had not eaten anything since the day before, the events of the previous evening having robbed her of her appetite.

  Gathering her verve she righted herself and made for the kitchen, only to falter on entering it, uncertain of the food stores available. Her mother had always seen to their meals, had always ensured that there was enough grain and vegetables in the house. Although proficient in cooking, Neti had never needed to manage the kitchen.

  She looked over the room, her gaze landing on the pottery jar next to the oven, the one in which her mother always stored extra flatbread, and made for it. Opening the lid, she reached into it, relieved when her hand came into contact with some bread. She drew out a piece and closed the jar again, turning to the storage area in search of some fruit, at the same time confirming the grain level. She would have to go to the market place soon, a chore she had never been partial to. Just the thought of the milling bodies, the looks and insults habitually flung her way was enough to put her off it entirely. With a slight shake of the head she placed the bread and figs on a plate before reaching for a goblet, filling it with beer. She then settled on the woven mat, crossing her legs and placing her plate on her lap like she had as a child, and started on her meal.

  Her mind started processing everything she needed to do, while chewing on her bread, a heavy sigh escaping her at the thought of cleaning her parents’ bloodstained room. She shook her head as the heavy sensation over her heart intensified.

  Once done she cleaned her plate and goblet, and returned them to their respective places, before returning to the main living area and onto her parents’ bedroom. She steeled herself by drawing in a deep breath before entering the bloody room, her stomach churning markedly, leaving her to wonder if it had been such a good idea to have breakfast before starting. However, she knew that very little ever got done on an empty stomach.

  The sight of their blood no longer turned her stomach as much as it had the night before. The years assisting her father had desensitized her to such things. The red mud-brick walls, where the sprayed blood had been absorbed, were stained a darker shade of brown. She looked at the walls as she stepped further into the room, knowing that they would take time to scrape and repair.

  She looked about the room, indecisive of where to start, when her gaze landed on the bed and the blood-soaked sheets. She gave a slight shake of the head at the thought of burning them, knowing, however, that the blood would not wash out of the cotton fibers. She moved forward, reaching for the sheets, when her movement suddenly faltered, remembering her father informing her of a small
purse he held in case of emergencies. She stepped a little away from the bed, trying to remember where he had told her he put it.

  She knelt beside the bed and reached under it, feeling if there was anything there. Her hand brushed against a coarse cloth stuck into the ropes that laced from side to side of the wooden framework. She gripped it and pulled. It came loose fairly easily, the jangling of coins confirming that it was the purse her father kept. Holding it in her hand, she sat back on her haunches perplexedly looking at it, unable now to understand why the murderer had not searched the house for valuables. Everyone knew that people hid money in the rope mattresses of their beds. —Why did he not even search?—Neti wondered, before opening the purse to look inside. There was a small number of coins, enough to tide her over for a while.

  She closed the small pouch before rising from her place and glancing at the other side of the bed, knowing her mother’s jewelry was kept in the clothes chest. She moved over to it, lifting the top and moving the wigs and dresses aside as she picked up the wooden jewelry box. Lifting the lid to ascertain the contents, her brow furrowed when everything appeared to be there. Their presence confirmed that whoever had entered their home had been intent on killing her parents for whatever reason, not on theft. She placed the coins in the jewelry box, before leaving their room.

  She placed the box on the stool before moving the small table that housed the Senet game, bending to move the floor covering it stood on, and revealing a small dug out. She lifted the wooden cover before placing the jewelry box in the hole. She then closed it up again and returned the table to its place, resetting the Senet pieces.

  Neti returned to the bedroom, going to the side of the bed, this time gripping the sheets and pulling them from the bed and bunching them together, before turning from the room and leaving the house.

  The people walking along the street looked at her disdainfully. Many followed her progress, some having moved to the other side of the road as she approached. She made her way to the city’s midden. The smoke was already rising from the burning pits as men went about reducing the city’s waste to ash for the masons to use in their mud-bricks.

  The men were lugging some rubbish into the pit when Neti arrived. She approached them and they made no attempt to halt her progress, some even moving out of the way to allow her access. She stopped at the pit’s edge, where she first dropped the bundle of linen to the ground, before tugging each item out separately and dropping it into the pit.

  She watched as the fabric first darkened from the heat, before the flames licked at it. The smoke lifting from the material set her into a trance as the white fabric was consumed…

  “Come Neti, bring me that bolt of cloth, and I will make you a slip.” Her mother’s voice sounded in her mind. She had been six, and finally old enough for clothes. She had watched as her mother measured and cut the fabric, drawing it together. She knew her mother was good at making clothes. Many of the women often came to her for slips and sashes, and Neti had pleaded for her own, wishing the time could pass quicker, until she was considered old enough for clothes…

  “Come Neti, it is time to go!” Her mother spoke up walking towards the door. Neti saw the bundle of fabric and knew her mother was going to do the laundry. She jumped up from the floor, where she had been drawing with a stick in the sand – practicing the symbols Suten Anu had shown her. She ran ahead, skipping and singing as they walked down to the river. She always picked flowers while her mother did the washing.

  “Throw those away my dear. They are evil,” her mother firmly stated.

  “But they are so beautiful,” Neti said, looking at the off-pink flowers she held.

  “They are the flowers of the purple death berry. They are evil. Leave them be, and go wash your hands. We have to collect herbs for your father,” her mother said firmly. Neti looked at the flowers before dropping them on the ground.

  “You see that plant there, with the yellow flowers?” Her mother said, pointing to the plant in question, “That is the one we give to women who have trouble with milk for their babies.”

  “But all women have milk for their babies,” an older Neti replied.

  “Yes dear, but some do not have enough, and the baby becomes weak.”

  “What about that one, mamma?”

  “The white one?” her mother asked, looking in the direction Neti was pointing. “Yes, that is also a good plant. You use the leaves and twigs from it. We grind them into a paste to put on angry wounds,” her mother added.

  “And that one? You always put it in our food.”

  “That one makes your skin beautiful.”

  Neti, coming back from her memories to the present, swallowed against the burning sensation in the back of her eyes, fighting back the tears as the flames devoured the fabric. “No my girl, roll it the other way. The little pockets must be on the outside.”

  “Why do you put pockets on daddy’s bandages? None of the other embalmers do it.”

  “It keeps the amulets in place when he wraps them, so that they don’t fall out when the body is moved,” her mother calmly answered her.

  “Then why don’t the others do it as well?” Neti asked, looking towards her mother, who was working on a new bed cover for her parents’ bed.

  “Because they make their own bandages and it takes time,” her mother replied, before going back to work.

  Neti felt the hot tears run down her cheeks, the flames engulfing that same bed cover. She swallowed repeatedly, fighting to keep the sobs down. Turning to look about her, she noticed the men staring in her direction. She turned and ran to the only place she had ever felt safe from others, home.

  She burst into the house, looking about the room before dropping sobbing to the ground. — How could they? How could they leave me here on my own? To that man, no he’s not a man he’s a pig! — Neti picked up a small pot and flung it across the room. It struck the far wall, shattering into pieces. —I refuse to marry him. I will not. You were supposed to be at my wedding, mamma. You were going to make my dress. This is not fair! This is not right! You were going to help me with my children. Why did you go? Why did you leave? — Neti’s shoulders drooped, then started shaking as she allowed the sobs to escape, unchecked.

  A while later Neti gathered herself off the floor, feeling weak and spent, before returning to the kitchen, dragging her heels as she made for the corner where her father had kept all the tools.

  She selected the scraper and returned to their bedroom, feebly setting about scraping the walls, chipping away the blood infused plaster. It was one of the skills her father had taught her, having always believed that, “Those who have many skills, have naught trouble that could be solved.”

  A few hours later she swept up the scrapings and placed them in a large pottery jar. She added the broken shards of the pot she had earlier thrown, following which she swung the heavy jar up onto her shoulder and returned to the dump to empty out the jar before making for the masons’ area.

  “What do you want, witch?” one man asked, disdainfully looking her over.

  “I need some mud for the walls of my home,” Neti said firmly, meeting the man’s stare.

  “Be off with you, we don’t want the likes of you here,” the man snarled, waving a hand dismissively at her.

  “Yes, we have no wish to be cursed,” one of the others spat, before they all turned from her to continue their work. All but a younger man, who looked her over, “Is it true that you talk to the dead?” he asked, inclining his head slightly.

  Neti drew in a deep breath before answering, “No. I do not speak to the dead. If I could I would ask my parents who killed them,” she bitingly returned, and then started to turn from him. “I do not have time for this. I’ll go find some building mud elsewhere.”

  “Then why do they call you to look at the bodies?” the young man asked, causing Neti to turn her head to look at him.

  “Why do you ask?” she questioned, somewhat irritated.

  “I just want
to know why everyone seems so scared of you. To me you just look like a girl.”

  Neti turned to regard him, tilting her head slightly, before nodding her head. “They call me because I understand bodies, how long they have been dead, what could have caused their deaths, and if they have been moved after having died. It helps the guard find those who murdered them, if they were murdered.”

  “So you do not hear anyone speak to you?” he asked, causing Neti’s heart to start pounding. She had had so many mocking sessions start like that.

  “No,” she firmly answered.

  “Here,” the young man said, indicating to her to hold her jar out.

  Neti did as he asked, and he filled it with some of the muddy mixture.

  “Why?” Neti asked, confused, looking at the contents.

  “You’re nothing but a woman who has learnt about the dead. There is nothing scary in that,” the young mason remarked, “so there is no reason why I cannot help you.”

  Neti looked at him, and nodded her head in response. “I will bring you some bread and fruit once I have been to the market.”

  “Thank you,” the man replied, acknowledging her.

  Neti staggered home under the heavy weight of the jar and went to work on the walls before scrubbing the wooden furniture and finally sweeping the floor with a reed broom. Once done, she looked over the room, her heart still heavy as she resolved to make new linen for the bed. She turned from the room, her body feeling hot and sticky. The dirt had ingrained itself between her clothes and skin, left her feeling itchy and irritable. She looked down at her wrap, noting the stains and dirt streaks on it, knowing she would have to wash it, and returned to her room. Drawing out another slip from her clothes chest, she looked it over before gathering up her bath necessities and making her way down to the river.

  Neti returned home and hung the recently washed slip up to dry, scrutinizing it in the light and then sighing, not understanding how her mother had always managed to get their clothes clean. She swallowed against the lump that formed in her throat, and the sudden ache in the back of it that followed. Fighting against her tears, instead she returned inside and moved the Senet game, drawing the jewelry box from its confines, and then sat at the table. She pulled out the coins, placing them to one side, and then carefully unpacked the jewelry, going over each piece before feeling her brow furrow when she noticed her mother’s favorite amulet was missing. She went through the contents once again, trying to remember if it had been around her mother’s neck the previous evening, but failing to do so. She shook her head at the thought that the murderer could have taken it, knowing that to one with such intentions, a purity of heart amulet would be worthless.