“Be careful of their tails!” Katep had warned.
I didn’t need his reminder.
My father had been distraught the morning he’d discovered Katep’s empty bed. “Why did he leave without bidding farewell? There was no need for him to go. He could have learned the art of embalming from me.”
I gave my father a dark look. “Am I not your helper? Is my work not good enough? Katep was never interested in learning to embalm. Besides, it’s not his fault he had to leave. It’s the fault of a crocodile!”
“Hush! Hold your tongue! To be eaten by the most sacred crocodile, Sobek, is the greatest honor.”
“I’d rather die without honor.”
He shook his head. “Kara! Kara! You’re too headstrong. It’ll get you into trouble yet. You need a mother to groom you in the ways of women. You must learn to think before you speak.”
“But—!”
“Enough!”
I understood my father’s anger and hurt. We both missed Katep more than we could say. The house was quieter with him gone. Our meals were taken in silence opposite his empty place. The day Katep left, my father inscribed these words above the arch that led to the crocodile pit:
To be devoured by the crocodile god, Sobek, is to be possessed forever by divinity.
Now, as I passed under those words, shivery bumps came up on my arms. They weren’t a comfort. I had no desire to be eaten by a crocodile.
I stood ready to heave the goat into the pit when I suddenly realized that when Katep had left, he’d snapped the thread between us—the thread that I thought could never be broken.
2
DAZZLING ATEN
I woke before the water of the Great River stole blue from the sky. Out on the roof terrace, the stars were turning pale in the east. The chilly air brought goose bumps to my arms. I touched the moonstone of the amulet at my throat—three times for good luck—then felt for the seven knots tied in my plaited papyrus bangle and whispered the prayers that would invoke each knot to tie up any evil that might be lurking and keep Katep safe.
My hands moved from amulet to knots without thinking. They were rituals done as easily as breathing or brushing a fly from my face.
The embers in the clay oven were still warm enough to stir into life. I lay down two loaves that had been proving overnight and dragged the embers around them. Soon the smell of warm barley dough rose up into the air.
Then I crept downstairs past my father’s sleeping chamber and past Katep’s empty corner and stepped outside into the courtyard. It was shadowy and silent. Even the fish in the reflecting pool still slept. The air was heavy with the perfume of figs and ripening dates. I slipped two figs into my girdle bag and then began sweeping the entrance to the courtyard with a mimosa branch to ward off plagues from entering our home that day.
I took two leather buckets and strode down to the river to fetch my father’s bathing water. The water buffalo were moving restlessly in their byre, pushing and nosing one another in their eagerness to get at the fresh clumps of sedge. Their horns stood out like dark lyres against the pale sky.
Some mornings a warm desert wind played music on those lyres. A strange, enchanting song that came from a far-distant place. A sound that made my feet want to dance and swirl away over the sand dunes. Today there was no wind. Just an early chill that made the skin of the buckets stiff as I carried them down to the river’s edge.
The floods were coming. I could tell. Every day the water was pushing higher and higher and the small islands were disappearing. Thoth, the god of wisdom and truth, was weighing sunshine and darkness. Soon the day would come when they would balance equally on the scales. And then sunshine would tip heavier.
Each morning as the light crept in from the east, I searched for the tiny sliver of the First Moon. Now this morning it was there—floating just above the edge of the earth. A transparent shaving, as fine as a single thread of spun flax. Finer than a nail paring. I touched the moonstone amulet and invoked Hathor, goddess of the moon, helper of women, to protect me.
The First Moon marked the day of Ritual. And this would be my first Ritual without Katep. The crocodiles would have to be brought down to the stone pool in the river to be cleansed of evil. My father would select one as a sacrifice to Sobek. Then I’d have to prevent it from returning along the passageway that led back to the pit.
The water was smooth, silent, and cold around my ankles. I searched for the telltale signs of bubbles rising up to make sure no wild river crocodile was lurking below the surface. Then I waded in and checked the stone wall of the pool for gaps. It was a bad omen to allow a sacred crocodile to escape.
It was still too early to slide back the stone that opened the passageway. The crocodiles in the pit wouldn’t stir themselves until they’d been warmed by the sun. I’d purposely not fed them since giving them the she-goat. Getting them down to the water would be easy. Getting them back to the pit would be difficult. The village children would have to bang cymbals and beat sticks against the walls to urge them on.
“Remember . . . leave a slaughtered goat in the pit,” Katep had instructed. “One that’s just beginning to rot. The smell of rotting meat brings them out of the water, like flies to a dung heap!”
Now the sweet perfume of lotus lilies drifted across the water. The warmth of the rising sun was drawing up their buds from beneath the water. I watched as their blue petals began opening to reveal brilliant golden hearts. Each evening the lilies closed again and sank back into the dark water, trapping the scent of the golden hearts between their petals again.
This morning I was first at the river. None of the other village girls had arrived. There was a legend that whoever was early enough would be greeted by the most handsome god of all. He was Nefertem, god of the blue lotus and god of the sunrise, who brought the sun into the sky. It was said he’d rise from the river with a lotus on his head and carry the girl away.
But no god appeared this morning, and even if he had, I’m not sure I’d have gone with him.
I filled my buckets and picked some lilies to perfume my father’s bathing water, then squeezed the water from the edge of my wrap and turned to walk back. There was a smell of wood smoke. I could hear babies crying and dogs yapping and squabbling over bones at the rubbish heaps. Women coming toward me were singing as they walked to the fields.
Suddenly they were pointing toward the river. “Look! Look!”
My breath caught as I turned.
A huge boat was floating silently across the water. It wasn’t the usual barge that collected tithes for the temple granaries—the one that came piled with sacks of grain for my father to store so he could feed the villagers in times of need. Nor was it the barge that brought jars of oil or bolts of linen for the temple storerooms.
This boat seemed to have risen straight from the depths of the river, like some strange exotic water lily, unfurling as the warmth of the sun touched it—its hull carved and patterned in brilliant carnelian, turquoise, and blue, its gold embellishments dazzling the eye.
It slid forward as if propelled by some inner force, glistening and glinting in the early-morning air like an apparition. It was Ra’s golden boat, come straight from the Underworld.
Then I heard the beat of oars. Against the sunlight I saw the outline of oarsmen and saw the sprays of water beads flung like jewels from their paddles.
It was a real boat with at least twenty on board and a huge dark red sail embellished with the Double Crown of Egypt. As it came closer, I saw the Eye of Horus decorating its bow and its name written in hieratic script beneath.
Dazzling Aten.
“Queen Tiy’s barge,” someone whispered.
I held my breath, expecting to catch sight of her on the golden throne under the red canopy with the wings of her gold vulture crown sweeping the air. Why was she out on the river so early?
But as the barge came closer, I saw it was a man who sat there. By his elaborate dress and spangled leopard skin, I knew he was the
highest of high priests, Wosret—the Most Powerful One.
The barge came straight toward the temple jetty. Village boys were shoving and pushing and squabbling to reach out and catch the ropes. The captain stood bare-chested in the prow, wearing a short linen wrap. A gingery beard jutted from his face like a tangled bush and met with the nest of hair on his chest. He wore no wig, and his equally matted red hair fell to his shoulders like a wild cloak and was tied at his forehead with a white band.
All were wearing the same headbands. The white headbands of mourning.
The women began whispering.
“Someone has died.”
“But who? And why has he come?”
“Yes. Why him?”
“What can be so important?”
“Must’ve been someone really important; otherwise the highest of high priests wouldn’t have come here.”
I whispered a quick prayer to Hathor—not only goddess of the moon, but also the goddess who carries the souls of the dead to the West.
Servants stepped off the boat and beat cymbals to ward off evil spirits as the highest of high priests was carried ashore in a golden sedan chair encrusted with lapis lazuli and turquoise and jewels of rainbow hue. The sand in his pathway was swept with a date-palm leaf and sprinkled with precious oils as he was set down.
The women fell to their knees.
My father came rushing down the path, already dressed in his temple clothes, a broad gold band around his neck and the gold crocodile bracelets clasping his upper arms. I was pleased I had pleated the linen of his tunic properly and left it under a heavy stone to flatten overnight.
He bowed. “My Lord, Wosret. Most Powerful One!”
The highest of high priests held up his hand and the crowd fell silent. His high cheekbones and strong nose with flaring nostrils gave his face the appearance of carved wood rather than flesh. And his eyes under dark-lined eyebrows looked as if they had been replaced with glass. Jet-black obsidian set in a statue’s face. Lifeless as a lizard’s eyes.
“Henuka, as her majesty Queen Tiy’s trusted priest and embalmer at the Temple of Sobek, I’ve come to fetch you for a special embalming.”
My father bowed. “It must be someone of great importance for you to have come personally, my Lord.”
Wosret’s eyes gave nothing away. “This I cannot yet announce.”
“My daughter is my helper. If the embalming is of great importance, I’ll need her assistance.”
Wosret’s eyes flicked coldly in my direction but moved quickly away again. Despite the sun on my back, I felt a small shiver run through me.
“Then let her hurry. The weather is warm. We mustn’t delay. The bodies will not last.” He snapped his fingers at his servants and they stooped to lift his chair onto their shoulders once again.
Bodies? I wanted to ask, but my father’s look silenced me.
“Never address the high priests personally unless spoken to,” he hissed. “Now, be quick. Collect my instruments and resins of myrrh, hekenu, and nesmen and the bark of cinnamon, cloves, and oils. Bring the Book of Temple Inscriptions, too. Tie and seal the chest with clay so no one will meddle with it. And pack the ceremonial wig box and my pleated linen garments. Be ready to leave immediately.”
I squinted back at him. “What about the crocodiles? The First Moon appeared this morning before sunrise. It’s the day of Ritual and offering to Sobek.”
Wosret turned in his chair as he was being carried and called out over his shoulder, “Do not delay, Henuka.”
My father bowed and smiled, then spoke under his breath. “The Ritual must wait. The demands of the highest of high priests come first. We must attend the embalming and ensure whoever has died has a safe passage to the Underworld.”
“Can it be Queen Tiy?”
“Shh, Kara! Hold your tongue!”
I slid a quick look at the barge with its gleaming embellishments. “But that’s her boat.”
“What of it?”
“Why’s he using her boat?”
“Shh, now! You ask too many questions. Fetch my things. Change into a clean tunic and wash the mud from your feet. Hurry!”
I tossed my head. “I can’t help the mud! I’ve been doing my work.”
“I wish your mother were here. Collect my implements and remember—only speak when you’re spoken to. Be quiet otherwise. Stand up straight. Keep your head bowed. Don’t shrug your shoulders or toss your head if you don’t agree with what’s said. The highest of high priests, Wosret, is truly the Most Powerful One. Don’t be impulsive and say the first thing that comes into your head. Bite back your tongue. Be warned, Kara!”
These words still draw a bitter sigh from me now as I write them. If only I had listened.
3
ANUBIS,
JACKAL OF
THE UNDERWORLD
The smell in the small antechamber next to the embalming chamber was vile—sickly sweet with undertones of rotting. Even the juniper oil burning in a chafing dish and the cones of perfumed wax could not mask it.
It was a smell I knew well. A stench of rotting entrails, gut, and stomach gases.
The room was small and hot. There was no opening for air save a slot no wider than a hand, quite high up and recessed deep into the thick stone. I felt my stomach heave. I fought the urge to vomit by tying the mask of linen tighter over my nose and mouth and leaned over the chafing dish to inhale the tang of the juniper smoke.
Next to me, the slimy lumps of bloodied organs lay in bowls ready to be washed with palm oil and immersed in special herb solutions. Next to them, the canopic jars were waiting. In the dimness of the antechamber, eyes glowed like hungry creatures waiting to be fed—the four sons of Horus: Hapi, the baboon with yellow amber eyes, waiting for the lungs; Duamutef, the jackal with red carnelian eyes, waiting for the stomach; Qebehsenuef, the falcon with green verdite eyes, waiting for the intestines; and Imsety, the man with blue lapis lazuli eyes, waiting for the liver.
All the organs lay there in the bowls, except for the heart. The heart, being the seat of wisdom, was left in the body. I knew the powerful spells that would be read to implore the heart not to be separated from the body in the afterlife.
My father’s instruments lay on the stone ledge still bloody from their work—the hook he’d inserted through the nose to dislodge the brain tissue, the flint knife he’d used to slice open the abdomen, the wooden adze he had used to scrape out the lungs, stomach, intestines, and liver. He would have cleansed the cavity with palm wine and stuffed it with bruised myrrh, cassia, pounded cloves, and salt to dry the body out.
I pressed my cheek against the cold stone wall and waited. Unexpectedly, I noticed a small gap between the stones. By its worn edges I knew someone had peered through this spy hole before. I could see right into the sacred wabet chamber, where the embalming was in process. I pressed my eye closer.
The body of a woman lay on a stone slab, surrounded by shaved-headed priests in linen tunics. My father wasn’t among them.
The slab was carved in the shape of a lion and sloped in such a way that the woman’s feet were higher than the rest of her body. She lay with her long neck hanging over the edge, completely naked, her limbs long and graceful even without fine linen and jewels. She seemed more like a sleeping princess who might wake and bid her guardians out of her way. Yet the bloody cut glowing like a red garnet necklace across her lower stomach showed she was truly dead.
My mouth went dry. This was no ordinary person. Not with that red flaming hair. It hung in a cascade of brilliant auburn that almost swept the floor. Thick and wavy and textured, as if it had seen hours and hours of brushing with oils.
Beneath the woman’s tilted head was a stone basin. I knew the last liquid of her brain would slowly be dripping into it from a hole made at the base of her skull.
I could see her earlobes had two holes each. The double piercing of royalty. And there was a ridge on her forehead as if something heavy had rested there.
Th
ere was no mistaking that profile and that hair. It was Queen Tiy! The most beautiful queen ever to rule Egypt. She wore the royal vulture crown with its golden discs of the sun god Amun. The most exalted woman in Egypt now lay dead before my eyes.
I’d seen her float past on her barge, wearing robes as translucent as a dragonfly’s wings, thinner than gossamer, embellished with dazzling gold sequins, her narrow waist accentuated with broad beaded belts, her long neck hung with necklaces of multiple rows of shimmering beads and gold amulets, sunlight catching stones of every hue on bracelets, armbands, and rings, two tall white ostrich plumes set with gold sun disks on her head making her taller than anyone around her, with the wings of the vulture goddess sweeping back from her face.
Now I was standing closer to her than I’d ever dreamed.
The priests were walking around her body, making incantations and sprinkling it with white powder. The body would rot quickly in the heat. The salt was to prevent this. I knew the body would lie in salt for forty days until all moisture was drawn from it. Afterward it would be anointed with resin and juniper oil and beeswax. Then it would be wrapped in linen with the heart amulet and other precious amulets between the bindings.
Finally, before being laid in her sarcophagus, there’d be the Opening of the Mouth ceremony. Queen Tiy’s mouth and eyes would be touched with an adze. Her spirit would then be able to reenter her body and breathe life back into it for her journey into the afterlife.
The entire ritual took seventy days. The same length of time that Sophet, the Dog Star, the brightest of all stars, vanished from the sky. After seventy nights, when Sophet crept back, the Great River would begin to flood and bring down its life-giving black earth. The same time was needed for Queen Tiy to be reborn. After seventy days she’d make her journey into the Underworld.
But now in the gloom of the chamber, my eye picked up a group of figures standing as a pack of jackals on upright legs. They wore terra-cotta masks with pointed ears, fierce-painted eyes, and the sharp snouts of Anubis. They stood nodding their sinister heads and bowing awkwardly as they tried to see out of tiny holes cut into the terra-cotta.
Eye of the Moon Page 2