Ramose and the Tomb Robbers

by Carole Wilkinson

  “Daylight!” he said.

  It was only a chink of light, but it was dazzling. Ramose stumbled up the steps. Hapu followed him. At the top, Mery disappeared through a small hole. There was a rectangular slab covering the shaft. Ramose and Hapu pushed at the slab. It didn’t move. They could hear noises on the other side. The sound of someone moving rocks off the slab. The boys pushed again. The slab lifted a little, less than a finger-width. Someone pushed a stout piece of wood through the gap. With the help from above, the boys managed to lift the slab far enough so they could clamber out.

  The light was blinding. Ramose couldn’t open his eyes. A hand grabbed him and pulled him along. He stumbled forward. The ground began to slope down steeply. Ramose could hear the faint trickle of water. The glare softened and his skin grew cool. He knew they were somewhere shaded from the sun. He could see an image swimming in front of his eyes: a dark circle framed with red and green, and in the middle of it a bright white curve. It was Karoya’s smiling face.

  11

  RETURN TO THE RIVER

  Karoya’s face wasn’t smiling for long. “A temple guard discovered that the pyramid has been broken into,” she said. “The temple workers are searching for thieves. We can’t stay here.”

  “But we aren’t tomb robbers,” said Hapu.

  “We’re strangers with no reason to be here,” said Ramose. “It would be hard to convince them.”

  The boys both took a deep drink of water from the waterbag that Karoya offered them. Ramose stroked Mery who purred loudly as if she was very pleased with herself. After the time of darkness, the cat’s sandy stripes seemed bright and beautiful. Her green eyes were like jewels. She stepped into Karoya’s lap, circled round and settled down to sleep.

  “I don’t want to ever hear you complaining about Mery again, Hapu,” Karoya said.

  “I won’t. Never,” said Hapu as he swallowed the last of the water.

  “We have to get away from this place as soon as possible,” Ramose said.

  “We’ll have to wait till night and then go back to the river.” Karoya was anxious that they would be caught again.

  “How can we travel by boat to Memphis?” asked Hapu. “We haven’t got any gold.”

  “Yes we have.” Karoya held up Ramose’s bag. “I found the tomb robbers’ hiding place.”

  Ramose opened his bag. Inside were the remaining rings of gold, his scribal tools, his cloak and his heart scarab. After Mery had emerged from the bag spitting and scratching, the robbers hadn’t looked in it again.

  Karoya produced bread and figs from her own bag. Ramose and Hapu ate hungrily. As his eyes slowly got used to light again, Ramose began to look around. They were in a marshy hollow where a small stream flowed. An outcrop of rock shaded them from the sun and, more importantly, kept them from being seen. Ramose couldn’t believe how his luck had changed in the last couple of hours.

  “We must get back to the river,” he said. “I have to see my father.”

  They waited until the sun was setting before they started off again. Ramose watched the yellow disc sink behind the old pharaoh’s pyramid, wishing it hadn’t disappeared so quickly.

  “Can’t we sleep?” asked Hapu. “I’m so tired.”

  “We have to get as far away from here as we can,” said Karoya. “Then you can rest.”

  Ramose couldn’t remember anything about his journey from the river to the pyramid, but Karoya seemed to know where she was going, even in the dark. He was happy to let her lead.

  After walking for an hour or so, Ramose could go no further.

  “We have to rest, Karoya,” he said.

  Hapu groaned and slumped to the ground. Karoya found an empty grain store where they could sleep and they crawled inside. Ramose was asleep in seconds.

  The next day, they decided they were far enough away from the pyramid to risk walking in daylight. They travelled through rough swampy ground and saw no one. By midday they were back on the banks of the river.

  “We’ll have to find a village,” Ramose said. “There won’t be any boats stopping here in the middle of nowhere.”

  They rested a while and then headed north along the river’s edge. They reached a small village in the late afternoon. The villagers were finishing their work in the fields and walking back to a huddle of mud brick houses. A few simple reed boats were tied up to a wooden mooring platform. Ramose inquired about a boat, while Hapu and Karoya went in search of food.

  “There’s a farmer taking grain to Memphis,” said Ramose when he returned to his friends. “But he isn’t leaving till the day after tomorrow.”

  “Did he want to know who we were?”

  Ramose nodded. “I told him the same story, we’re apprentices sent to work in a temple in Memphis. Karoya is our slave. I said we’d argued with the captain of the naval boat we were on and been left behind to make our own way.”

  “Did he believe you?”

  “I think so.”

  They sat down by the river’s edge within sight of the place where the boats were moored. Karoya laid out the fish, lentils and fruit that she and Hapu had bought from a kindly woman. She gathered dry reeds and animal dung and made a small fire in the sand. She pulled the cooking pot from her bag. Ramose smiled. Through all their adventures, Karoya hadn’t lost any of her things.

  “The people are friendly in this village,” said Karoya. “We can wait. Hapu, put some water in the pot.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” grumbled Hapu as he picked up the pot and took it to the water’s edge. “How come you never ask Ramose to do your errands for you?”

  Karoya opened her mouth to reply, when a sudden cry interrupted the argument.

  “There they are!”

  Ramose whipped round. The farmer he had spoken to was pointing at them. Behind him was a man dressed in the robes of a high priest.

  “They’re tomb robbers,” shouted the farmer. An angry crowd of villagers and temple workers gathered and started to surge in their direction.

  Hapu dropped the pot in the river and ran back to Ramose and Karoya. “Now what do we do?”

  Ramose didn’t know what to do. Karoya gathered up Mery and their food, ready to run.

  “Don’t run,” said Hapu. “We can explain.”

  The villagers surrounded them and grabbed hold of Ramose.

  “We’re not tomb robbers,” he said.

  “Search his bag,” said the high priest as he arrived, out of breath.

  The farmer snatched Ramose’s bag. He pulled out the gold rings and Ramose’s ebony palette. The gold, ivory and turquoise glinted in the sunlight. The growing crowd muttered angrily.

  “He is a thief!”

  “That’s my palette,” said Ramose. “I’m a scribe.”

  “You’re not old enough to be a scribe,” said the high priest, “and what sort of apprentice scribe has a palette inlaid with gold and ivory? You must have stolen it from the tomb.”

  The priest pulled a linen bundle from Ramose’s bag. He undid the wrappings and stared at the lapis lazuli scarab that lay in his hand.

  “That’s his,” cried Hapu. “It belongs to him. He’s not a tomb robber, he’s not even an apprentice scribe, he’s—”

  “Shut up, Hapu,” said Ramose.

  The priest searched Ramose. He found the papyrus which was still tucked in the belt of his kilt. As he pulled it out, a shower of beads fell to the ground, released from a fold in his kilt where they’d been caught since the old pharaoh’s collar had broken. The old woman who Karoya had bought the food from fell to her knees and picked up the beads.

  “Turquoise and gold,” she said turning to Karoya accusingly. Her face was no longer kindly.

  “What more proof do you want?” shouted a villager. “Look at that. Beads from a royal neck.”

  The priest was studying the papyrus. “This could be coded instructions for how to find the pharaoh’s tomb inside the pyramid.”

  The crowd was surging forward, ready to grab the thieve
s. The priest was looking at Karoya.

  “What’s the slave girl got in that basket?”

  He grabbed hold of the basket. Karoya refused to let it out of her grasp. Others grabbed her arms and she was forced to let go. The priest opened it and Mery sprung out hissing and spitting like a demon. She sunk her claws into the priest’s chest and snarled in his face. The priest leapt backwards and dropped the heart scarab. The startled cat took one look at the angry people around her and leapt into the river. The villager holding Ramose loosened his grip.

  “Look!” he said, pointing downstream.

  The villagers and the high priest looked down the river. So did Ramose. A huge barge was sailing majestically into view. This was not a rough village boat, it was skilfully made from cedar wood. The prow and the stern turned up and were carved into the shape of papyrus stalks in flower. The boat was travelling south, so a white linen sail was billowing from a mast. Ramose wasn’t looking at the structure of the boat though. He was already very familiar with it.

  “It’s the royal barge,” he whispered.

  He was staring at the people on board. Standing at the front of the boat with his bony, insect-like hands clasped behind him, his robes fluttering in the breeze, was Vizier Wersu. Sitting in a gilded chair eating grapes and being fanned by two of her servants was his sister, Hatshepsut. She was talking to a woman alongside her who was sipping from a golden goblet. The woman wore an elaborate wig topped by a crown. It was Queen Mutnofret. A young boy dangled a fishing line over the side. Three servants stood by watching him anxiously. It was Prince Tuthmosis, Ramose’s half-brother.

  As the boat glided effortlessly past, the breeze lifted a piece of reed matting that was protecting a cabin in the centre of the boat. An old man was sitting inside on a throne. Ramose gasped. The face was thinner than when he’d seen it last and the lines of age were deeper, but he knew the face well. It was his father. A young man made his way from the stern of the boat with a papyrus scroll under one arm and a palette and brush box in his other hand. He stopped next to the princess and bowed.

  “Keneben!” Ramose called out the name aloud. The villagers were all falling to their knees and calling out blessings to their pharaoh. Ramose ran out into the river. “Hatshepsut! Keneben!” he called, but the breeze carried his words away and neither his sister nor his tutor heard him. Ramose kept wading out into the river, vainly trying to reach the barge. It was as if his whole life was slipping past in front of him. He should have been on the royal barge eating grapes, drinking wine. Instead he was struggling against the river, thin and exhausted, accused of being a thief even though he had nothing but the dirty, torn kilt that he was wearing.

  “Wait,” he called out, wading deeper. He lost his footing and the current of the river carried him away from the barge. He tried to swim towards it, but the barge was too fast, the river too strong. His family disappeared around the next bend in the river. Tears ran down Ramose’s face and mingled with the waters of the Nile.

  A cry from the shore brought Ramose back to his current situation. He remembered his friends. Karoya and Hapu were still on the riverbank. Now that the barge had passed, the villagers were getting to their feet.

  “Karoya, Hapu, jump in the river,” he called. “We have to swim to the other side.”’

  “I can’t swim,” Karoya called out.

  “Yes, you can. I’ll help you.”

  Hapu could see the villagers turning on them again. He grabbed Karoya by the hand and dragged her into the river. Ramose swam towards them. The villagers were following. Hapu threw himself into the water, pulling Karoya with him. He splashed around inexpertly, but managed to stay afloat. Karoya struggled and screamed and lost hold of Hapu’s hand. She disappeared under the water.

  Ramose swam to them and dived under the water. He could see Karoya, her eyes closed, her mouth open, struggling helplessly against the force of the water. He grabbed her under the arms and carried her to the surface. She was still trying to fight the water. She choked in air and water at the same time.

  “Listen to me, Karoya,” Ramose gasped. “We have to get to the other side of the river.”

  Karoya stared wildly at the wide expanse of water between them and the other bank. She shook her head furiously.

  “Look,” he said. “Mery’s doing it.”

  The cat was swimming towards them in wide-eyed terror. “I’ll help you. Just relax and you’ll float, trust me.”

  People were clambering onto one of the reed boats. Ramose started to swim to the middle of the river. He held Karoya under her arms. She started to struggle again.

  “Lie on your back,” Ramose said. “Imagine you’re lying on a soft straw mattress.”

  Ramose kicked out with his feet and felt the current carry them.

  “Close your eyes so that you can’t see the water,” he said.

  Karoya closed her eyes, her body relaxed a bit.

  “Now kick gently.”

  Karoya kicked her legs. Ramose felt her body become more buoyant.

  “See. You’re not sinking. I have hold of you. It’s safer here in the water than on the shore.”

  Mery swam over to Ramose and was trying to clamber up onto him. Karoya’s cooking pot floated into view. Ramose lifted the cat up and put her inside the pot. Mery yowled miserably. Ramose pushed the pot in front of him with one hand while with the other he supported Karoya. He looked around for Hapu who was swimming across the river, splashing and gasping, but making progress. The river was wide. Ramose kept kicking his legs and reassuring Karoya. Eventually they reached the other side. All three crawled ashore, and collapsed on the wet sand. Mery jumped out of the pot and stalked onto the sand and shook herself indignantly.

  Ramose lay on the wet sand, his breath rasping. “My father still lives,” he said.

  “May he have long life and happiness,” gasped Hapu.

  “I saw your sister,” said Karoya. “She is more beautiful than ever.”

  “Did you see the young man on the barge?”

  His friends nodded.

  “That is Keneben, my tutor. It was he who saved my life when the queen tried to poison me. He’s returned from Punt.”

  Ramose looked across the river. Some villagers were rowing towards them in a reed boat.

  “We have to keep moving,” he said.

  “Where will we go?” asked Hapu, struggling to his feet.

  “To the desert. They won’t follow us there.”

  There was no farming on that side of the river. Papyrus reeds grew densely on the river’s edge, beyond that there were wild grasses and acacias. The friends got to their feet and hurried into the undergrowth. They ran as fast as their fading strength would allow. They kept going until it was almost dark. With no irrigation canals to carry the river water inland, the vegetation thinned out quickly and they were soon in the sparsely vegetated land on the edge of the desert.

  Ramose peered back into the dimming light.

  “I don’t think they’ve followed us,” he said. “Egyptians don’t like venturing into the desert.”

  They made a camp. Ramose collected fallen dates. Karoya gathered wild grain. Hapu managed to snare an ibis. Karoya made a fire and they were able to have a small but welcome meal.

  They took stock of their situation. In the rush to get away they had lost most of their things.

  “All we have is the cooking pot, a few deben of copper and a cat,” said Hapu miserably. “Oh, and this.” He pulled something from the belt of his kilt. It was Ramose’s heart scarab. “The priest dropped it when he saw the royal barge.” Hapu examined the jewel. “There’s a chip out of it, but I thought you might still want it.”

  Ramose took the lapis lazuli scarab from his friend with a grateful smile. He fingered the hieroglyphs that spelt out his name.

  “At least I still know who I am,” he said.

  “What are you going to do now, Ramose?” asked Karoya quietly.

  Ramose had been thinking about that as they’d
walked. He knew what he had to do.

  “I’m going to follow my father back to Thebes. To tell him that his true heir lives and that he’s ready to take the throne of Egypt.”

  Hapu shifted uncomfortably. “I sometimes forget that you’re who you are,” he said.

  “You seem eager to tell everybody that we meet,” grumbled Ramose.

  “Yes, but seeing the royal barge and your sister again made me realise you might really be pharaoh one day.”

  “That’s my plan. I’d started to think that it was impossible. Now that I know Father is still alive and that I have friends in the palace, I know it isn’t.”

  Karoya smiled, looking at her ragged friend. “You don’t look much like a pharaoh.”

  “I will one day.”

  “Do we have to go back to Thebes?” groaned Hapu. “We’ve just spent three weeks and risked our lives getting away from Thebes.”

  “That’s where I’m going,” said Ramose. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

  “Of course I’ll come. But how will we get there? They took your gold.”

  “We can walk,” said Karoya.

  “Walk?” Hapu looked at her as if she was suffering from sunstroke.

  “It’ll take a while, but we’ll get there. My people think nothing of walking such distances.”

  “What will we eat? Where will we sleep?”

  “We’ll sleep under the stars as before.”

  “If we keep to the edge of the desert like this, no one will bother us.”

  “We can go back to the river every so often to fish,” said Karoya. “There are dates and wild grains. We won’t go hungry.”

  Ramose smiled at his friends. He’d come a long way since he’d been the spoilt prince in the palace. He could walk to Thebes. He had friends to help him. He also knew that his sister and tutor were waiting for him at the palace. He felt sure he could face whatever his future held.

  “The gods will provide,” said Ramose.

  A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR

  It might seem to us that the ancient Egyptians were a strange lot. They spent a lot of their time thinking about death. They weren’t a solemn or unhappy people though. They believed that when they died they would live on in an afterlife. During their lives they prepared their own tomb, making sure it contained everything they would need in the afterlife.