Eye of the Moon

by Dianne Hofmeyr

  They stood around a second body on another slab. I pressed my eye closer to the gap.

  It was a boy. A leopard-skin cloak covered one shoulder and a jeweled broad collar rested across his chest. In the strange greenish light his face seemed bruised but handsome. There was no bowl beneath his head and no slash across his stomach, so I knew the embalming process hadn’t begun yet.

  An Anubis-headed priest bent over and put an ear to the boy’s chest. As he glanced up, the painted eyes seemed to stare directly at me. I jumped back and held my breath. I couldn’t risk his catching the glint of my eye at the peephole. I pressed my ear against it instead.

  A muffled voice reached me. “His heartbeat is weak. But he still lives.”

  It was my father’s voice. I couldn’t stop myself from peeping. Yes, I could tell by the gold crocodile bracelets on his upper arms—it was him.

  Another jackal-headed priest nodded slowly. By the leopard cloak he wore, I knew he was the highest of the high priests—Wosret, who had fetched us in the royal barge. “The poison wasn’t strong enough!” His voice rasped with annoyance.

  Poison? I listened hard.

  “You’ll have to help him to the Underworld with a small puncture directly into the heart. Nothing more than the thinnest of needles.”

  “I can’t do that!” My father sounded agitated.

  “Why not?”

  “I’ll be judged when I enter the Hall of Truths. When Anubis holds the scales, my heart will measure heavily against the ostrich feather of Maat. My soul will be cursed forever. Puncturing someone’s heart is an act of murder.”

  Murder? My father, a murderer? I swallowed hard and pressed my eye to the spy hole again.

  My father was looking down at the boy on the slab. “I can’t allow his heart to be punctured.”

  The Anubis figures—all except my father—clustered together. The masks made their heads look clumsy. Every movement they made was slower than normal. They were whispering and nodding to one another.

  The highest of high priests turned from them. He held his head up so that he could look directly at my father through the tiny peepholes below the snout of his mask. “It’s been decided. You won’t be judged for doing something that is right for Egypt. We can’t allow him to live. He’s weak. Egypt has no place for a weak king. His brother, Amenhotep the Younger, must be king. We can’t allow rivalry between the brothers. Now that Queen Tiy is dead, this is the moment for Prince Tuthmosis to die as well.”

  What? Tuthmosis! My hands flew to my throat. The boy was the royal crown prince! I held my breath and felt my heart pounding. What would my father answer?

  “Tuthmosis is not weak. He walks with a limp, through no fault of his own. It was an accident. You know that!”

  Wosret stood with his jackal head thrown back. He appeared to be looking down his snout at my father. “No country wants a disfigured pharaoh. His death is right for Egypt. We do this for the love of his brother, Amenhotep, the boy king.”

  My father shook his head slowly and deliberately. “Amenhotep is as young as the moon. He’s not the king. He can’t be king. On this slab is the rightful king. The real king.”

  Wosret flourished his hand. I half expected to see leopard claws showing in place of fingers. “Amenhotep was named after his father. He was the favorite son before his father died. He’s young, but it’s not Amenhotep who will rule . . . it’s us! After her husband died, Queen Tiy meddled too often in the affairs of the Temple of Karnak. We can’t have that. Amenhotep, the new king, will rule under our guidance.”

  The group of jackals standing behind Wosret nodded their agreement.

  “Thebes is a viper’s nest. It’s time for change,” Wosret snapped when my father didn’t respond.

  “But not by killing.” Now my father sounded impatient.

  Wosret shook his head like a dog trying to get rid of a pesky fly. “I am the highest of high priests. I won’t take interference with my plans.”

  There was an intense silence. Despite the heat I felt shivery.

  “Surely . . .”

  Wosret lowered his head. It seemed as if an animal growl might come from his throat. “Henuka, we can’t have dissension. My way is the only way!”

  “What do you imply?” My father’s words were sharp.

  “If you disagree with Tuthmosis’s death, you’ll have to drink the Cup.”

  “The Cup!” I heard my father’s startled intake of breath.

  I was too scared even to blink now as I waited for Wosret’s answer. He looked directly at my father and nodded, his jackal ears tipping up and down. “It’s your duty for the love of Egypt to drink the Cup. Your soul will travel through the Underworld in peace then.” He spoke in a deep, flat voice, with a dismissive wave of his hand as if this were a small procedure to be quickly done with.

  The Underworld? Suddenly I understood. My father was going to be forced to drink poison! They were going to kill him. All because he was protecting Tuthmosis. My mouth went dry. My knees turned as wobbly as the time I’d climbed too high in the mimosa tree. My head felt light and strange as I clutched the stone shelf against the wall.

  Wosret spoke firmly, as if explaining something to an unruly jackal pup. “Your soul will travel through the Underworld at peace. Anubis will weigh your heart against Maat’s ostrich feather and find your heart light with your good deed. Thoth, the scribe of truth and wisdom, will record you as a man of honor. A man to be trusted. A man who has died for his country.”

  I stuffed my fist into my mouth to prevent myself from crying out. No! He’s not to die! He’s truthful and honest. My father needs no judging.

  In the light of the oil lamp I could see sweat gleaming on my father’s bare shoulders. He bowed his jackal head so that his snout almost reached his chest. “I have no wish to die.”

  “Ah, yes . . .” Wosret spoke appreciatively, as if he were about to sip the finest Syrah wine and was holding the glass thoughtfully up to the light before making a judgment. “But I’m the highest of the high priests. Let me be the judge of when you should die. You’ve done your work well as administrator of Sobek’s temple. We’ll be sorry to lose you.”

  Lose him? You’re not losing him. You’re killing him! I wanted to shout.

  “Then why?” My father’s voice cut abruptly through the silence.

  Wosret shrugged. “It’s quite simple. You’re not in agreement with us. This is an opportunity to die an honorable death. Kill Tuthmosis and then drink the Cup.”

  The silence was broken only by the steady drip of liquid falling from the back of the queen’s skull into the bowl below.

  “Come on, Henuka! Be reasonable! Your journey will be pleasant. You’ll accompany the great Queen Tiy, as well as her son Tuthmosis. I can arrange for your burial chamber to be near theirs, right next to King Amenhotep’s chamber. It’s an honor to be chosen. Don’t make me use force. Remember, I am the Most Powerful One!”

  My father bowed again. “That fact does not escape me! But as a priest so long in service of the dead king, and now his wife, Queen Tiy, it would be more of an honor to be able to continue with the embalming of Queen Tiy. Afterward, if it’s your wish, I’ll offer myself to the divine crocodile, Sobek, at the temple where I’ve served her.”

  I shuddered. What? Was I, as keeper of the sacred crocodiles, going to have to lead my father into the crocodile pit and watch them devour him? Impossible! I was numb with fright.

  Wosret answered smoothly. “To die for Sobek won’t suit. It’ll take too long.”

  My father glanced at him. “In my experience, death by a crocodile is quick and fatal. It’s never long!”

  “It is not the method I object to, but the time it’ll take to arrange for your return to the Temple of Sobek. Don’t you see? The less that is known of your dissension, the more honorable your death will appear. We’ll announce that you were so overcome by the death of both Queen Tiy and her son that you took your own life.”

  The thought made me
light-headed. I was definitely going to faint.

  “Grant me one favor.”

  Wosret sighed. “We’re wasting precious time discussing this, when we should be getting on with it. Well . . . what is it?”

  “Allow me to complete the embalming of Queen Tiy. It should not be entrusted to a lesser embalmer.”

  For a moment Wosret seemed to hesitate. He made a delicate vault of his hands, each fingertip touching the opposite one, in a mock gesture of thoughtfulness. The garnet in the massive ring on his right hand was a bubble of blood in the lamplight. His silence held complete power in the chamber. But he knew my father was right. He bowed his head and sighed as if with great generosity.

  “Very well. The favor is granted. But you’re not to leave the embalming complex for the entire seventy days. The other high priests will fetch the necessary liquids and ointments and oils from the temple. And when the ritual is complete . . .”

  My father knelt and touched his jackal head three times to the floor so that I heard the hollow sound of the terra-cotta ears knocking against the stone. “So be it.”

  What? So be it! Why didn’t he fight for his life? I pulled away from the spy hole and threw myself back against the wall. A bowl of entrails tipped from the shelf. The terra-cotta shattered. Queen Tiy’s intestines lay at my feet on the floor among the shards.

  There was a moment of complete silence. I held my breath. Then a voice hissed, “What was that?”

  Suddenly the door from the wabet chamber was flung open. Two priests rushed in, grabbed me by the shoulders, and pushed me forward into the presence of Wosret. “She’s been spying. And the queen’s entrails have been defiled.”

  I couldn’t see my father’s eyes through the peepholes in his mask. I spun around to face the highest of high priests. “I heard everything. I know your plot. You’re asking my father to be a murderer. And because he won’t agree, you want to kill him as well.”

  “Isikara . . . keep silent! I beg you.”

  Wosret turned to my father. “A feisty girl, this daughter of yours.”

  He walked slowly around me, looking me up and down with his dreadful jackal face. I clenched my jaw and stood up straighter with my arms at my sides, defying him to attempt to scare me with his yellow jackal eyes and sharp jackal grin. I wouldn’t flinch.

  “Yes . . . a fine girl. It seems a waste to make her drink the poison cup as well.” He nodded his head toward my father. “Not so, Henuka?”

  My father kept silent. I could feel him willing me to be silent as well.

  “You do not scare me, sir!” I spit the words at him.

  “Ah, polite, too!” Wosret bowed his jackal head at me. “Yes. It’d be a waste for someone so polite and pretty to die so young.”

  My father made no reply.

  “But there are other options.” The highest of high priests grabbed my arms and pulled them behind me while his dark obsidian lizard eyes flicked over me.

  I tried to twist free. I wanted to bite his hands but could not reach them. Instead I spit. The glob lay glistening at his feet.

  He pulled me around to face him. “What? You’ve already defiled Queen Tiy’s entrails and now you defile the floor of the wabet chamber. Holy ground, already ritually washed. Ground that we brush our footsteps from when we leave. Defiled by a slip of a girl!”

  “She’s young and thoughtless.” I could hear the note of begging in my father’s voice.

  Wosret stared at me from beneath his jackal snout. “The poison cup is too kind. Perhaps she’s better suited to being a slave. Slavery will soon pacify her reckless spirit. Slavery will teach her how to behave. It will soon whip her into shape.”

  The way he said the word “whip” sent a shiver down my back. And already he spoke of me in the third person—as if I were an object and not a person.

  I narrowed my eyes. There was no stopping me. “I’ll be no one’s slave. Least of all yours! I would rather kill myself first.”

  “That you may have to do,” his voice rasped back at me.

  4

  THE OPENING OF

  THE MOUTH

  The sound of footsteps echoed down the stone passageway as the priests left the wabet chamber. Then a clang of metal shuddered through the walls as the door that led to the temple was bolted shut.

  I spun around to face my father. “You knew, didn’t you? You knew about the poison.”

  My father thrust off his terra-cotta mask. In the gloom his face was pale. He lifted his finger to his lips, then swung open the door to the antechamber and glanced around quickly to make sure no one had remained hidden.

  He turned swiftly. “Kara . . . listen carefully! They’ve gone back to the temple but only for the ritual of collecting oils. You must do exactly what I tell you. There’s no time for argument now. You must escape.”

  “How, if they’ve bolted the door?”

  My father put his hands on my shoulders and gripped me firmly. “I said listen! If you don’t want to be a slave, listen to me. There’s a secret doorway from this wabet chamber into a passage. It’ll lead you out of here. It’s your only chance. But you must take the boy with you.”

  “You mean the prince? Tuthmosis?” I glanced at his body.

  My father nodded. “He’s not truly poisoned. As soon as I suspected the murder plot, I prepared another potion for him to drink—one that merely put him into a deep sleep. I planned to fool the high priests. But I was forced to speak out. I had to prevent Wosret from puncturing Tuthmosis’s heart. The needle would truly have killed him.”

  “But—”

  “Listen!” he whispered urgently. “Outside in the secret passage is the body of a boy who died last night. I arranged this secretly with the help of a few other priests who discovered Wosret’s plot and support my view. The boy’s body will replace Tuthmosis. The priests will think it’s Tuthmosis lying there. Instead, Tuthmosis will escape with you. Later there’ll be a chance for him to challenge Wosret and reclaim the throne. But not now.”

  “But when the priests return, they’ll notice it isn’t him.”

  “Not immediately in this dim light. His eyes will be closed. And he’ll be wearing the leopard cloak. But you must be quick. Now that you’re involved, the plan is even more urgent.”

  “I’m sorry. . . .”

  My father waved his hand to silence me. “You must hurry, Kara! You must escape. To be a slave to Wosret doesn’t bear thinking about.”

  The walls of the wabet chamber seemed to be closing in on me. I was dizzy trying to keep up with what he was explaining. “You keep saying me. What about you? I can’t leave without you.”

  “I’ll follow. But first, I must arrange the body on the slab. Everything must seem normal when they return. They’ll think we’re next door in the antechamber. Having the other body in place will give you more time to get away.”

  “Let me help you. Then we’ll go together!”

  “No!” he hissed. “It’s too dangerous. I’ll follow as quickly as I can. Don’t worry about me.” He gripped my shoulders and pulled me tight against his chest and then released me just as quickly. “Here . . . take this.” He removed something from the girdle bag at his waist. “My Senet gaming board. Be mindful of its messages. Now quick! Help me move Tuthmosis. I need his leopard cloak and his broad collar as well.”

  I wanted to hold on to my father, but he pushed me away and began pulling Tuthmosis upright. “Quickly! Get hold of him now.” He ripped the cloak from the prince’s shoulders and unclipped the broad collar with its filigree of jewels and gold. “Put your arm about his waist. Get your shoulder beneath his armpit.”

  The weight made me stagger. I leaned up against the wall to steady myself. There was no time to give my father another glance. He went ahead of me and slid away a stone, opening up a shadowy space lit by a small terra-cotta lamp.

  I saw a dark shape lying at the bottom of some stairs. I turned my eyes away so as not to see the face of the peasant boy and concentrated on dragging T
uthmosis down the steps. By the time I steadied him against a wall at the bottom, my father had already scooped up the other boy. He couldn’t bid me a proper farewell. Nor could I reach out to him. We were both weighed down by our burdens.

  He nodded into the distance. “At the fork, don’t take the passage to the right. It leads to the workers’ village. Go left. Take the lamp with you. Hurry! Your life depends on it!”

  What about a lamp for you? I wanted to ask. But he was gone. I heard the grate of stone on stone as the secret door closed firmly behind him. The sound echoed through the dark space ahead and shuddered through the stone floor beneath me.

  Except for the dead weight of Tuthmosis, I was alone.

  The air was hot and heavy with a strange putrid smell. There was a sound of scratching noises. Dark shapes scampered into the murky distance. Eyes caught and reflected in the flickering lamplight like red rubies.

  They were rats! The whole passage was full of them.

  I kicked at a dark shape that scurried by my sandal. Suddenly something flew up at me from out of the darkness. I ducked as it brushed my cheek and skimmed over my head with a high-pitched squeak. A bat!

  I grasped the lamp and held it high with my free hand. Clusters of them hung upside down from the ceiling vault like empty girdle pouches. Too many to count. I was grateful I wasn’t wearing a wig, that my head had been freshly shaved for the embalming ritual. The thought of hooks from their wings snaring me made me shudder.

  “Tuthmosis . . . ?” I bit my lip. Should I be calling him by his name or by his royal title?

  “Tuthmosis, I can’t do this alone. Wake up!” My voice sounded hollow as it echoed into the space. I shook him urgently. But he rested like a stone against my shoulder.

  I began half dragging, half pushing him. His legs buckled and splayed in all directions. He started to shuffle along like a sleepwalker. The ground was mushy and slippery under foot, slick with droppings. Hardly daring to breathe, I dragged him beneath the silent black pouches and prayed he wouldn’t suddenly shout out and disturb them.