Prince in Exile

by Carole Wilkinson

  It probably wasn’t a real likeness of his mother. The man who had drawn the outline for the sculptor would never have seen her. Ramose couldn’t remember what she looked like. He held a lamp up to the image of his mother’s face. It was beautiful. Calm and smiling. One elegant hand was resting on the shoulder of the child on her lap. Another sculptor, who was working on the hieroglyphs, had finished his work on the other carving. He came over and started to carve the names of the family members. He was a skilled craftsman. Following the outlines painted on the walls, he carved the shapes with smooth assured strokes. The hastily drawn outlines were transformed into neat three-dimensional hieroglyphs, each one a small work of art.

  Ramose looked closer. Next to the image of his mother the sculptor had carved the hieroglyphs for Mutnofret.

  “Stop!” Ramose reached out and grabbed hold of the sculptor’s hand.

  “What do you think you’re doing, stripling?” said the sculptor.

  “You’ve made a mistake,” said Ramose angrily.

  The sculptor turned to look at the new apprentice scribe, surprised by the tone of his voice. “What are you talking about?”

  “Mutnofret is only a lesser queen. The name of the Great Royal Wife was Ahmose. You’ve carved the wrong name.”

  “We’re in a hurry,” the sculptor said, going back to his carving. “I haven’t got time to redo it.”

  “You have to change it,” shouted Ramose as he prised the chisel from the sculptor’s hand.

  Hapu looked over to see his new friend grappling with the sculptor. He ran across to restrain Ramose before he got hurt in the scuffle.

  “Calm down, Ramose. Does it matter if it’s the wrong queen?”

  “Yes it does matter. It matters a lot. Mutnofret isn’t Prince Ramose’s mother. It has to be changed.”

  Ramose stopped struggling and Hapu released his hold. As soon as he was free, Ramose lunged at the sculpture and with the chisel attacked the name of the hated queen. He gouged the first two hieroglyphs from the wall before the startled tomb workers realised what he was doing and wrestled him to the floor. Ramose fell hard and cried out in pain as his unhealed ribs hit the stone floor.

  Hapu pushed through the knot of men around his friend and knelt at his side.

  “He’s still recovering from an accident,” Hapu pointed to the gash on the side of Ramose’s head. “He fell. It’s affected his judgement a little.”

  “A lot, I’d say,” said the sculptor looking at the damage done to his work.

  The foreman came into the burial chamber.

  “What’s all the noise about?”

  “This new apprentice scribe is gouging holes in the walls.”

  “It was wrong,” said Ramose holding his chest. “I just wanted the queen’s name to be right. You told me to check for mistakes.”

  “I didn’t tell you to gouge holes anywhere.”

  The men looked at the apprentice scribe and shook their heads as they went back to their work. Ramose took a stone flake and a pen from his bag. He wrote his mother’s name on it as neatly as he could.

  “This is the real queen’s name,” he said, handing it to the sculptor.

  “Plaster over the damage,” said the foreman, “and recarve the queen’s name.” He turned to Ramose. “You,” he said angrily. “Go and check the painted hieroglyphs on the other walls, that’s what you’re here to do.”

  Ramose and Hapu ate their midday meal out in the valley. “You must like getting into trouble,” Hapu said with a wry smile.

  “Of course I don’t.”

  “You wouldn’t think so,” said Hapu through a mouthful of dried fish. “We’ve only been here for one morning and you’ve already upset half the team and been fined a sack of grain for damaging the tomb.”

  Ramose dipped bread into his lentil soup, and ate it without commenting.

  “You’re a strange person.” Hapu looked at Ramose, trying to work out his new friend.

  “What’s strange about me?”

  “You climb mountains by yourself, you attack tomb carvings, you have a slave for a friend.”

  “I have good reasons for all of those things.”

  “I’m sure you do, but I don’t know what they are.”

  “I can’t explain.”

  “Perhaps it’s because you come from the south.”

  “Maybe.” Ramose was keen to change the topic of conversation. “Do you miss your friends?” he asked Hapu.

  “Not much. Weni isn’t really my friend. He’s a troublemaker.”

  “Like me.”

  “No, not like you. Weni’s mean. He likes to hurt people. You don’t get into trouble on purpose.” Hapu laughed. “You’re not mean, you’re just not very smart.”

  Ramose laughed too. A few weeks ago, if anyone had made fun of him in that way, he would have been angry. Now he didn’t mind.

  “Come on, you boys,” said the foreman as he passed by them in a hurry. “Time to get back to work. A messenger just came up from the city. There’s going to be a royal visit.”

  “The pharaoh?” asked Hapu. “He’s coming here?”

  “That’s right, Pharaoh himself, may he have long life, health and prosperity. He’ll be here in a few days to see how his tomb’s progressing. Half our team will have to go down to the village to get his residence in shape.”

  “Will he be coming to inspect the prince’s tomb as well?” asked Ramose.

  “Yes, and we have orders to finish it before he does.”

  Ramose’s heart started thudding. He didn’t have to worry about how he could get into the palace to see his father. His father was coming to him. This was Ramose’s chance. He could see his father and let him know that he was still alive.

  12

  ROYAL VISIT

  The tomb workers spent the next nine days working very long hours to get the tomb finished. There wasn’t really enough time, but they did their best to have the tomb as close to finished as they could. Ramose was grateful to them for this, even though it wasn’t him that was going to be buried there. He checked the texts on the walls carefully. The peasant boy who was to be buried there in his place deserved to find his way safely through the underworld.

  At the end of the shift there was a feast to celebrate the completion of the tomb and to thank the workers for their hard work. Extra food was released from the tomb stores and special bread and cakes were baked. There was to be a holiday as well. Instead of the usual two days break, the workers had four days before they had to report back to duty at the Great Place.

  Ramose and Hapu walked wearily up the path. When they reached the top of the hill, they could see the village below them. Usually there was no sign of activity and the mud brick village could easily have been mistaken for part of the landscape. Now people were running around between the village and the dusty mud brick building which stood outside the village walls. The building had been half-finished the whole time Ramose had been in the valley.

  In their absence, it had been hastily transformed into a royal residence. Its walls were now finished. The end wall had darker patches where the fresh mud bricks hadn’t quite dried. The other walls were being whitewashed. Men were clearing rocks from around the building and levelling a path branching off from the one that came down the opposite hill from the city. Other men were erecting two gold-tipped flagpoles just like the ones that circled the palace on the banks of the Nile. A dozen donkeys stood outside the building. People hurried back and forth unloading piles of furniture and food from the donkeys’ backs.

  Karoya was waiting at the village gate for them.

  “You’ve heard the news I suppose?” she asked as they approached.

  “About Pharaoh’s visit?” said Hapu. “Of course we’ve heard. We had to get the prince’s tomb ready for inspection.”

  “The donkeys have been coming and going all day. I’ve never seen such things. Look at that furniture!”

  Chairs and low tables were being carried into the residence. Eac
h item was painted in bright colours or inlaid with gold and turquoise and lapis lazuli. There were also three gold-painted couches carved in the shape of animals: a lion, a leopard, a gazelle.

  Karoya looked at Ramose. He hadn’t said a word. She knew what this meant for him.

  Hapu was chatting on, unaware. “We had a feast in the Valley, with wine and sweet cakes,” he said. “Didn’t you save a cake for Karoya, Ramose?”

  Ramose nodded and pulled a linen package from his bag and handed it to Karoya. She unwrapped the present and smiled. It was a cake in the shape of a cat.

  “What will we do for four days?” Hapu asked as they walked into the village.

  “I have a few ideas,” said Ramose.

  The next morning the scene outside the village hardly seemed to have changed. More donkeys were arriving laden with goods for the royal residence. Ramose and his friends were all called on to help with the work. Holiday or not, everyone had to make sure everything was ready for Pharaoh.

  In the afternoon, ignoring the heat of the sun, the entire population of the village gathered outside to welcome their pharaoh. Few of them had ever seen him before. They waited and waited. Ramose stood nervously among the crowd. They waited some more.

  “Why have you brought your palette and pen?” asked Hapu.

  “I might be needed to record something,” said Ramose vaguely.

  Karoya guessed he had a plan, but she didn’t know what it was.

  Eventually a party of about twenty people on foot appeared over the rim of the valley.

  “There are so many of them,” said Karoya who was standing upon a rock so she could get a better view. “I wonder which one of them is Pharaoh?”

  Hapu laughed.

  “None of them. They’re all servants, musicians, dancers, cooks.”

  Two covered chairs appeared on the path. They were draped with white cloth edged in gold and carried on poles by more servants.

  “That’s Pharaoh,” said Hapu.

  “But he’s covered up. I won’t be able to see him,” said Karoya disappointed.

  “You’ll be in his presence, that’s enough.”

  “Who is in the other covered box?” asked Karoya, craning her neck still hoping to get a glimpse.

  “I don’t know,” said Ramose. “Probably Queen Mutnofret.”

  Ramose knew that if he was going to act, it had to be now. While his friends were peering at the royal procession, he moved towards the workers who were frantically carrying in the last of the food supplies. Four donkeys were still waiting patiently as they were unloaded. The gateway to the royal residence was guarded by two men armed with daggers. Ramose walked up to the donkeys and whacked one of them on the rump. The startled animal took off at great speed, trampling through a pile of vegetables. The other donkeys galloped after it.

  “Quick,” shouted Ramose to the guards. “Catch those animals. Pharaoh approaches. He’ll be here in a matter of minutes.”

  The guards obediently ran after the donkeys. Ramose pulled out his scribe’s palette and a stone flake and pretended to jot down some notes. He picked up a basket of onions and walked in through the gate.

  His plan was hazy. He didn’t want to present himself to his father in a crowd of people. It would be a shock, after all his father thought he was dead. What he wanted to do was hide somewhere and go to his father when he was alone in his private chamber. The courtyard was a frenzy of last minute activity. Ramose strode through it and into the residence as if he belonged there. He did belong there.

  People were rushing around inside as well. Ramose marched down the corridor purposefully, carrying his palette and with a reed pen pushed behind his ear. No one questioned him.

  Two chambers had been prepared. One was full of women arranging mirrors, cosmetics and draperies around a bed. He glimpsed the golden animal-shaped couches. The chamber opposite had a larger bed with a carved wooden canopy and a beautiful gilt chair decorated with carved lions’ heads and with winged serpents as armrests. Ramose entered the room. Light from the lowering sun slanted in through grilles in the ceiling and lit up the rich fabric on the bed. He sniffed the cool air, which was sweet with frankincense. Off the main room was a smaller room with a white alabaster bath sunk into the floor. Large clay water jars, almost as tall as Ramose, stood next to the bath. The jars were full of fresh water to pour over Pharaoh. It was Nile water carried all the way up from the river valley.

  The voices and running feet in the residence suddenly fell silent. Ramose knew the royal procession had arrived. He stayed in the bathing room and waited. His heart was beating so loud that it seemed to fill the silent room. He was going to see his father. He only had to wait a few minutes, but it seemed like a long, long time. Then he heard a deep voice rasp out orders in the outer chamber.

  “Where is my clean clothing? Bring me some wine at once.”

  The voice was familiar. It was a voice he’d known all his life. But it wasn’t his father’s. It was the impatient, angry voice of Vizier Wersu.

  “I want to get out of these dirty clothes and wash off the dust from this wretched place.”

  Ramose looked around. There was nowhere to hide. He heard servants rush in with the vizier’s clothes chest. He heard footsteps approaching. Ramose knew that if the vizier saw him he would be dead before the end of day. He had no choice. There was only one place to hide. Ramose hoisted himself up and into one of the huge water jars. The cold water took his breath away. As he lowered his body into the jar, the water overflowed onto the white stone floor. The water level was right at the lip of the jar. Ramose’s head was still in full view. The footsteps grew louder. Ramose closed his eyes and ducked his head under the water. With his head tipped back, he could just manage to hold his nose above the surface.

  The vizier came into the room. From under the water, Ramose could hear the distorted sounds of his crocodile voice shouting at the servants. Even though there was two finger-widths of clay between them, Ramose felt exposed. He’d always had the feeling that Wersu could see through walls. He was terrified that the vizier would discover him. He closed his eyes.

  All the time he’d been in the desert, Ramose had dreamt of immersing his body in the waters of the Nile, of feeling its coolness and smelling the humid air around it. This wasn’t what he’d had in mind. He felt trapped. He tried to imagine that he was floating in the Nile instead. That he wasn’t cramped in a water jar like a mummy in a coffin. He sucked long deep breaths of air through his nose to calm him. I am in the river, he told himself. I am drifting in the river among lotus flowers and fish. Hopefully the servants would use the other jar to get water to bathe the vizier.

  Ramose could hear footsteps echoing hollowly outside the jar. A dull clunk of something banging against the clay made him jump. He opened his eyes. A hand swam into view above him holding a large copper dipper. Ramose took a deep breath and pulled his head right under the water, crouching down inside the jar. The dipper plunged into the water above his head. It seemed to take an age for it to fill and then to be lifted out again. Finally it disappeared from sight. Ramose raised his head.

  As his nose broke clear of the surface, in his hunger for air, he breathed in water. He spluttered and water filled his mouth and nose. He pushed his head right out of the jar alternately coughing and greedily gulping in air. Fortunately the vizier was facing away from the jar and loudly complaining about the lack of cleansing oils in this makeshift place. His servant was concentrating on pouring the water over the vizier’s head. Neither of them heard or saw Ramose.

  The dipper plunged in another ten or more times, and each time the water level fell until Ramose could crouch in the jar’s depths with his head clear of the water.

  When Vizier Wersu had finished bathing, Ramose waited until the outer chamber was silent again. He climbed out of the jar and dripped into the other room. He slumped down on the gilt chair with the lion head decorations and the winged serpent armrests. Now that he could breathe easy again, he had time t
o feel bitter disappointment. His father wasn’t in the inspection party. Only two rooms had been prepared, this one and the one opposite which was obviously arranged for a woman. He had thought that his ordeal was over, and it wasn’t. His father was as far away as ever. His plan was ruined.

  He heard more footsteps approaching, the crash of a dropped tray and angry muttered words. He didn’t move. He didn’t care if he was discovered in the vizier’s rooms. A face peered around the doorway, a dark face framed by a twist of red and green material. It was Karoya. She slipped into the room noiselessly. There was another crash and Hapu stumbled into the room carrying a large copper platter of jumbled fruit.

  “Your friend is as stealthy as an elephant,” whispered Karoya angrily to Ramose. She glared at Hapu. “I told you not to follow me.”

  Hapu was not normally clumsy, but it was obvious from his face that he was very nervous. “We could be put to death for this,” he said. “What are you doing here, Ramose?”

  “It’s a long story,” sighed Ramose.

  “Get up off that chair! You’ll damage it, dripping on it like that. The gold paint will peel off.”

  Ramose took no notice of him.

  “Pharaoh isn’t here,” said Karoya.

  “I know.”

  There was despair in Ramose’s voice.

  “I don’t understand why you came in here at all,” said Hapu. “It’s just as if you are looking for trouble.”

  “I’m not looking for trouble.”

  “Well let’s get out of here then, before anyone comes.”

  Ramose didn’t move. Karoya grabbed him by the arm.

  “Come on, Ramose,” she said.

  She dragged Ramose to his feet and peered around the doorframe. “There’s no one around.”

  She crept out into the corridor still holding on to Ramose.

  “Bring the tray,” she ordered Hapu. “In case we run into anyone.”

  They had no sooner stepped through the doorway into the corridor than laughter could be heard from someone approaching. A group of women rounded the corner chattering and laughing. They were like a vision, all wearing flowing white gowns and jewellery. The smell of perfume filled the corridor. Karoya froze.