The Curse of Anubis - A Mystery in Ancient Egypt (The Mummifier's Daughter Series Book 3)

by Nathaniel Burns

  “It shall be my honor to accompany and assist you in this task,” Asphelta said, standing at full attention.

  “Why is it that you are here at the dockside?” Shabaka asked.

  “There have been several attempts by itinerants on the morning bark. Our presence here is to ensure that the cargo reaches the villages and temples intact. Just past the pier are several more guards.”

  “There has been an increase in pilfering?” Shabaka asked, as they moved along the pier.

  “Yes, we have seen an increase of assaults and tomb raids.”

  “Have things changed since the appointment of the new mayor in Thebes?”

  “Not so much on this side. Deir-el-Medina has its own council that deals with the workers’ complaints. It is only with important matters or complaints that the mayor’s council is sought.”

  They shifted, as the first men conveying goods passed them. “They will take some time to offload, one of the water carts from the palace will also be down soon,” Asphelta said, gesturing for them to precede him to the others. The waiting guards also bowed in greeting, before helping the men to load the waiting drays.

  The sun was approaching its zenith, when a number of the fully laden carts, creaking under their burden, edged along the well-trodden path toward the village. Moses looked in awe as they passed the temples of bygone pharaohs, and one of the guards pointed out the rear side of the Ramesseum. There Moses stood for several moments looking at the massive porticos, complete with individual Osride statues of Ramesses, depicting the pharaoh wrapped in a shroud with his arms crossed over his chest while holding his scepters, being summoned to rebirth in a new life. “It is even better than the plans,” Moses gasped in awe.

  “The scribes are working on the wall depicting the Battle of Kadesh,” Asphelta said, as they moved on. “They installed the colossus of Ramesses several moons ago. It stands nearly a hundred and twenty cubits high.”

  Moses turned to Shabaka and enthused, “I have to see that.”

  “When we have time,” Shabaka replied.

  The sun was lowering on the horizon before the red, mud-brick walls of the workers’ village came into view, “Had we been expecting you, I would have commissioned a chariot,” Asphelta said, when they once again passed the water-skin between them.

  “It was not planned,” Shabaka replied, asking, “Why is the city so far from the river?”

  “I’m not sure; possibly to be closer to the workers’ workplace, but then they have a way-camp up in the hills, also . . . I’m not certain. There is a channel of water close to the city, but this time of the season it is no more than a muddy bog.”

  “How close are we to the desert?” Moses asked in turn.

  “The desert starts here,” Asphelta said, indicating the side of the road. “The cultivated land is the only area outside the desert, and every cubit is needed to provide for the village and various temples occupants.”

  “What can you tell me about the city?” Shabaka asked, noticing Moses’s inspection of the sand along the road.

  “There is not all that much to tell,” Asphelta nonchalantly replied.

  “I have never been there, so anything is useful.”

  “I see,” Asphelta stated. “As you know, the village is a working village. There are about a hundred people in it at any given moment. Its occupancy during festivals is about a hundred and seventy. There are four tomb worker teams. Two attend to the Valley of the Queens; the other two attend to the Valley of the Kings. The population dropped some after the completion of the Ramesseum.”

  “Illegal activity?” Shabaka asked.

  “In the village, we deal mostly with disputes regarding outstanding payments, theft or adultery. There are only two beer houses, and the village women are less receptive of prostitutes. With many of the men away for days, it makes for some entertaining moments.”

  “Surely most of the men are married?” Moses asked.

  “Yes, most are, with their families living in the village. However, there are younger workers, whose eyes roam. It is not uncommon for the workers to attempt to attract the attentions of the younger wives or daughters, while their husbands and fathers are away. The villagers are a highly skilled group of people, who are closely knit. They do not welcome outsiders, which is why vagabonds do not frequent here. Some traders deal at times, but they never stay long. We face greater challenges away from the village, along the trade routes and around the tombs.”

  “We would like to visit the beer houses,” Shabaka said, “The man we are seeking often frequents them.”

  “The beer houses do not open every night, but you are fortunate in that one of the away teams returns tonight. The workers will be seeking some reprieve and the company of others, especially the unmarried men. What does this man look like?”

  Shabaka thought for several moments as how best to describe Ma-Nefer—other than as a cruel, selfish, self-centered, thief and murderer. “He’s fat and has a rude and overbearing manner.”

  “I do not know of any fat men in the village—other than the head scribe.”

  Shabaka turned to Moses lifting one brow.

  “But then I could be wrong, I only recently returned from the desert myself,” Asphelta concluded, gesturing for them to follow him. “Come this way,” Asphelta said, as the goods wagon turned to the side of the outer wall, while only a water dray continued through the entranceway of the city. “I will take you to our captain.”

  Shabaka looked about them, as they moved along the narrowing road. Unlike Thebes, the houses were built to form one long street, with doorways on either side. Small windows near the roof allowed light to penetrate what would otherwise be dark homes. Most had wooden doors, many with distinct markings identifying the owners. The mud-brick and stone walls were warm to touch, and at a distance, they shimmered from the heat radiating off them. Although less humid than Thebes, the air was far more oppressive.

  Older children ran about playing, their scantly clothed bodies darkly tanned from the sun, while the younger ones remained close to their mothers, who appeared in doorways with urns to collect water from the dray. A multitude of scents filled the air, mostly those of broiling meat and flatbread, which set Shabaka’s stomach rumbling, a not-so-subtle reminder that they had yet to eat.

  Several of the younger women stopped to look them over before passing by, with the elder women visibly hostile, an attitude that seemed to improve on the recognition of their sashes, with many becoming somewhat amiable.

  The road veered to the left, and just before reaching a small square, from which a wider path led to the right, Asphelta went into a doorway, turning to see if they were following, and said, “Tomorrow there will be a market there,” indicating the area to their right. “The goods that came with you this morning will be traded. Come, the captain is this way.”

  Shabaka and Moses followed him through a doorway into a large vestibule. A large, stoutly muscled Nubian sat at a platform, reading a scroll, only to look up as Asphelta addressed him. “Captain Kabu,” Asphelta waited to gain the man’s attention and gestured toward Moses and Shabaka, “I present the Royal Prince Shabaka, prefect of Thebes, and his assistant, Moses.”

  The captain rose from his seat, warmly greeting, “my prince,” placing his hands together and bowing his head.

  “Thank you, Captain Kabu,” Shabaka replied, “Speak freely.”

  “How may we assist you?”

  “We will need accommodations for this evening.”

  The captain looked at him in shock, “My prince, we do not have suitable accommodations befitting your stature.” Just then, several other guards appeared from the doorway beyond, bowing in acknowledgment to Shabaka.

  “You are to address me as prefect, or Shabaka, and accommodations in the barracks will suffice, we do not intend to stay long.”

  “My prince, please, let us find you more suitable accommodations.”

  “The barracks will be fine,” Shabaka said, “I will need an
escort for the evening; if possible, Asphelta, as he has been very resourceful to me so far.”

  “By all means, take him,” the captain said. “Are you here to inspect the preparations for the pharaoh’s visit to the valleys?”

  “No, we are looking for a thief and conspirator against our pharaoh.” At his words, the men in the room visibly straightened to their full height. “He is believed to be here. I was not aware that the pharaoh would be visiting the city during the festival, however, it makes it even more pertinent that we find him.”

  “We will help in any way we can,” the captain replied, and the guards nodded in agreement.

  3

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Shabaka and Moses had just settled on one of the grass mats in the commune area of the barracks, when Moses pulled out the cloth-covered parcel that Yani had given him. Opening it, he handed Shabaka a piece of flatbread and then took one for himself, before covering the remainder and placing it in his satchel.

  “You sure you’re not just attracted to her for her cooking? Shabaka jested, after having broken off a piece of the flavored flatbread.

  “There is that as well,” Moses countered. “But she has a good heart, even with everything she has been through.”

  “She’s told you?” Shabaka asked, somewhat taken aback.

  “No, but I’ve heard enough of Ma-Nefer and seen enough from others like him to know that she had a bad start. She’s happy with Neti. Said she doesn’t feel like a slave when Neti speaks to her.”

  “I doubt Neti has it in her to treat anyone like that.”

  “This is why you are so drawn to her. She is, in many ways, like you.”

  Shabaka scowled in response, only to have Moses counter, “Fine, I’ll step back. But I still think you’re a fool for not doing more about it.”

  “I’m concerned enough that she is in Thebes, alone, especially because it appears that Ma-Nefer is not here and possibly never has been.”

  “We still have the workers’ way-camp to investigate. Asphelta said he would take us this morning. Besides, chances are we were too late, and both of them have since moved on. You saw last night how unwelcoming the villagers are of strangers, and someone would have seen him, if he was here,” Moses said, before breaking off another piece of flatbread.

  “That is what concerns me the most. No one has seen him, or anyone who looks like him.”

  Just then, Captain Kabu and Asphelta entered the room. “Prefect Shabaka, forgive us the intrusion, but we have a situation,” the captain said, coming to a halt just off the mat.

  Both Moses and Shabaka turned to look at the man, as he spoke, “I know you would not have intruded were not important.”

  The captain nodded in response, “We have just now received word that a right-side worker, Rawler, was this morning discovered in the pharaoh’s tomb.”

  Shabaka frowned at that, for it was only to be expected that a tomb worker would be found in a tomb.

  The captain, noticing Shabaka’s confusion, clarified, “It appears that he has been murdered.”

  Shabaka and Moses looked at each other, with Shabaka raising his brow, “When was this?”

  “It must have happened some time during the evening, one of his team members said he was due to return to the village with them last night.”

  “And they were not concerned when he did not travel with them?” Shabaka asked.

  “When these men come back, they do not so much care for whom they travel with,” Asphelta said. “They only wish to get back to the village. Those not ready when they leave must travel back on their own.”

  Shabaka looked at Moses and felt his heart sink. They did not have time for a murder investigation, and the death of one of the pharaoh’s tomb workers warranted an investigation. Moses shrugged his shoulders, to which Shabaka nodded and turned his attention back to the captain, “Was his body intact?”

  “What do you mean by that?” the captain asked, perplexed.

  “Was his heart taken?” Shabaka clarified.

  “There was no mention of something like that. How could you ask such a blasphemous thing?” Asphelta demanded.

  “The man we are looking for had people murdered and their hearts cut out,” Shabaka flatly answered.

  The captain and Asphelta looked at each other in obvious disgust, before the captain turned his attention back to Shabaka, “We have prepared a chariot for you. We will leave when you are ready.”

  Shabaka nodded and rose from the mat, with Moses following his action. “Let us go then,” Shabaka said.

  “Please, finish your meal first,” the captain said, pointing to the piece of flatbread Shabaka still held.

  “I can walk and eat,” Shabaka countered.

  The captain nodded and turned from the room, leading the men through the small, but bustling, market square.

  The captain led them along the broader road toward the opposite side of the village, directly into another building that opened though the outer wall. There were several horses grouped together to the side, their build and size immediately identified them as Nubian in origin. A short distance from them, four well-used chariots stood waiting, each with two horses that were all slightly taller than the pair Shabaka had in Thebes. Confirming what Shabaka had been taught as a child, the medjay had the pick of the crop when it came to Nubian horses. The two brown horses patiently stood, while their handler held their reins.

  “We will show you the way,” the captain said, mounting his own chariot and setting off at a fast pace.

  Shabaka had barely taken hold of the reins before the two horses set off, catching him off guard and almost causing Moses to tumble from the chariot. He pulled on the reins and was immediately relieved to find that the horses were well trained and willingly responded to verbal commands in his native language.

  One of the other drivers slowed and waited for him to catch up, demanding, “Who taught you to steer a chariot? You’re holding us up.”

  “I do not know these roads, nor do I know the horses,” Shabaka firmly countered, and the man looked visibly chided, Shabaka’s tone reminder enough of whom the man was talking to, “And although they are well trained, it will serve no purpose for me to kill myself on the way there.”

  The man nodded, “Forgive me, honorable prince, I have spoken out of turn.”

  Shabaka simply turned from the man and pushed his horses on at a steady pace. It took only a short while for him to become accustomed to handling the pair, and he was impressed at how willingly they threw their weight onto their breastplates to ascend the hill.

  Although the road was wide enough to comfortably accommodate a chariot, it was horribly uneven, with loose stones and rocks scattered across it. The center of the path was hollowed out, causing the horses to alter their stride without warning, as they hurriedly picked their way along the path. The action jarred the chariot even more than the uneven road. So much so, that Shabaka quickly regretted having eaten the flatbread, while Moses gripped the front barricade of the chariot, his knuckles white from the effort to maintain his stance.

  “We should have ridden the horses,’ Shabaka said later, as the path leveled some.

  “Speak for yourself, I cannot ride,” Moses countered, his voice grave.

  “You’ll have to learn then,” Shabaka grunted, as the path once again started to slope.

  They passed the way-camp and continued down the path and into the valley, with the horses already heavily lathered from their effort.

  The group slowed as they entered the valley, with both Shabaka and Moses’s legs trembling when they debarked from the chariots. One of the tomb guards took hold of the horses’ reins, and lowered his head in acknowledgment on recognizing Shabaka.

  Shabaka turned to look at the entrance of the tomb. It was not as grand as he had expected, however, it was also not yet completed. His gaze shifted to the group of men lined up along the stone face, murmuring among themselves. A stout man came toward them, and even without introduction, Shabaka
could deduce that he was the chief foreman. His irritation was perceptible from a distance, long before he started ranting about delays.

  He immediately approached the captain, as he debarked from his chariot, demanding, “What is going on here? My men will fall behind schedule!”

  “I did not realize that the pharaoh would so soon need his tomb,” the captain casually responded, causing Shabaka to snigger at the man’s expression.

  “This is serious!” the man insisted, causing the nearby workers to fall silent, listening instead to the exchange.

  “So is the death of a man,” Shabaka firmly countered.

  The chief workman turned to look at him, his mouth opening in obvious preparation to counter him, however quickly closed again on his recognition of Shabaka’s sash.

  “Where is Rawler’s body, Panep?” the captain asked.

  “He is in the first pillared hall,” Panep answered, turning his attention to the captain.

  “Who found him?” Shabaka asked.

  “The left side’s team leader, Neferhotep,” Panep said, pointing toward an elderly man in the lineup, who stepped forward.

  “Please, take us to him,” Shabaka calmly requested of the old man, and then turned to halt the chief workman as he made to follow, “The rest of you are to remain here.”

  Panep made to object, and Shabaka turned to look at the captain, who nodded in reply.

  Shabaka lowered his head on entering the tomb, feeling somewhat dejected by the fact that he was entering the final resting place for the pharaoh, a man he had come to consider as a second father.

  They turned a sharp left only several cubits into the tomb, which caused Shabaka to hesitate.

  “We had to alter the plans, because of the shale,” Neferhotep said as he continued on to the first staircase. The widely spaced oil lamps along the wall gave just enough light to allow them to see their way, with only the artwork in the immediate vicinity of the lamps visible.

  Shabaka stopped to look at some of the intricate work, before asking, “Did you know this man Rawler well?”