by Gill Harvey
She ducked down out of view behind the roof wall, thinking furiously. What could Abana want now? He surely didn’t expect Isis to dance for him again? No . . . of course. Isis went cold. She could hear the tax collector’s voice: she must be silenced. A man like him meant what he said.
Pressing herself against the wall, she tried to hear what was going on down in the street below. There was nothing at first. Then she heard Yuya’s voice, loud and clear.
‘Dancers? Oh no, not around here. You’ve come to the wrong part of town.’
The guard’s voice was low, and Isis couldn’t hear his reply.
‘Of course I’m sure!’ Yuya’s laugh pealed out, giggly and flirtatious. ‘I’ve lived on this street all my life. I know everyone.’
The man’s voice murmured again.
‘I’d love to show you, but I have to deliver this flagon of beer.’ Yuya sounded genuinely sorrowful, and Isis sent silent thanks to her friend. ‘I’ll get into big trouble if I don’t. If you go straight to the river and along to the quarter by the temple, I’m sure someone will help you. You ask around there.’
It was perfect. At least two other dance and music troupes lived that way. The guard would have to find them all before he came back here. Silence fell, but she waited a little longer.
‘Isis!’ hissed Yuya’s voice.
Isis peeped over the wall. ‘Has he gone?’
‘Yes. Who is he?’ Yuya’s face was avid with curiosity.
‘Wait there.’ Isis ran across the roof and down the stairs. She scanned the street carefully before stepping outside. ‘Thank you a million times, Yuya!’ she exclaimed, hugging her.
‘It was nothing,’ said her friend, laughing. ‘But whatever’s going on? You look scared, Isis,’ she added more seriously.
‘I am scared,’ said Isis. ‘And I have to go and find Hopi, before it’s too late.’ She looked at Yuya beseechingly. ‘Please don’t tell anyone we live here, if they ask. I think I may have put the whole family in danger.’
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Hopi walked to Menna’s house deep in thought. He wasn’t looking forward to telling his tutor about the scarab, but the sooner he got it over with, the better. Maybe he should offer to repay him in some way – but how, for something so precious? Its magic was surely irreplaceable.
He found the old man in front of his shrine, sitting on his knees with his head bowed. Hopi stood in the doorway quietly, not wishing to disturb him. After a few moments Menna rose.
‘Good morning, Hopi,’ he said.
‘Good morning, master,’ said Hopi.
He followed Menna outside and took a deep breath. The moment had come.
‘I have things to tell you, Menna,’ he said.
The old man raised an eyebrow. ‘Indeed? Let’s take our usual seat in the courtyard. You can tell me there.’
Hopi’s mouth was drying up. As they settled down on to the mats, he found that he couldn’t bring himself to confess straight away. ‘I’ve dis-discovered the second half of the cycle,’ he stuttered. ‘The cycle of the scarabs.’
‘Good, good,’ said Menna. ‘You’ve seen it?’
‘Not exactly,’ admitted Hopi. ‘But I’ve found out what happens, and I’ve reflected on its meaning.’
‘To reflect is the most important thing,’ said Menna. ‘Tell me what you have learned, Hopi.’
‘Well, the scarab is a symbol of life,’ said Hopi, ‘because it creates life from nothing but the ground. I think, I think . . .’ He struggled to order his thoughts. ‘I think perhaps there are things that we can’t fight against. Life will renew itself, regardless of what we might do.’ He dried up. Menna was drawing in the earth of the courtyard with his stick.
‘Go on,’ said the old man.
‘That’s all,’ said Hopi. ‘But I wish it were true of stone scarabs as well as real ones.’
‘Now you’re speaking in riddles,’ said Menna.
‘I have something to confess.’ Hopi bowed his head. ‘Forgive me, Menna, for I’ve lost the heart scarab that you entrusted to me. Weni’s messenger came to tell me that it wasn’t in the box.’
There. He had said it. He waited for the old man’s wrath to explode. But to his surprise, Menna placed a hand on his arm.
‘Wait,’ he said.
Menna got to his feet and disappeared inside the house while Hopi waited anxiously. When he returned, Menna had a little smile on his face.
‘Open your hand,’ he instructed.
Hopi held it out, palm upwards.
‘Is this what’s on your mind?’ asked Menna, placing something cool and rounded on to it.
Hopi looked at the object and gasped. It was the green jasper heart scarab, its gold casing glinting in the sun. ‘How? Yes!’ He looked up at his master. ‘You had it all the time?’ Now he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry in relief. Was it all a mistake, or a trick? ‘This has troubled me deeply, Menna!’
‘And that is only right,’ said the old priest soothingly. ‘Don’t be angry, Hopi. Let me explain.’
Hopi stared down at the scarab, turning it over and over in his hands. ‘But we have risked so much to find it,’ he muttered. ‘Isis has risked most of all.’
Menna looked at him kindly. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Hopi. I didn’t foresee that you would be given the blame. I knew that you wouldn’t open the box, and that you’d deliver it safely. This was a test for Weni, not for you.’
A test? So it was a trick! Hopi struggled to conceal his feelings. He was furious, however wise Menna might be.
‘Before you came to me with news of the natron, I was trying to uncover the problem I had sensed at the embalmers’ workshops,’ Menna carried on. ‘I wondered if Weni was at fault. I wanted to be sure that he was still carrying out his duties. If he noted all the amulets properly, he would know at once that one was missing. But would he care? Once the body was wrapped, I would never know that my brother lacked his most important amulet.’
Hopi listened. But what about us? he wanted to shout. What about Isis?
‘So this has shown me that Weni is honest,’ Menna finished. ‘It’s the problem of the natron that must be resolved –’
He stopped. His words had been interrupted by someone outside.
‘Hopi! Let me in!’
Hopi recognised his sister’s voice instantly. ‘It’s Isis,’ he said, as once again she hammered on the courtyard door.
.
Isis continued to bang on the door. This time, she heard Menna’s voice.
‘Enter!’
She burst through the door and saw Hopi sitting with his tutor on the mats.
‘Abana’s guard has come looking for me!’ she managed to say, gasping for breath.
Hopi stared at her. ‘To dance again, you mean?’
‘No!’ She gulped for air, then ran and flung herself down next to her brother. ‘I think it’s because of what I told him.’
‘What you told him? Who, the guard?’
‘No, no, Abana,’ cried Isis. ‘I told him we knew about his grain store and how he steals from all the peasants, and he said I had to be silenced. He said he would deal with me, Hopi. Deal with me some other way.’ She began to sob.
‘Hush, Isis. Calm down.’ Hopi put an arm around her. ‘Don’t panic.’
Isis hiccuped and dried her eyes. ‘But we have to do something.’
‘What’s all this, Hopi?’ asked Menna. ‘Is she speaking of Abana the tax collector?’
Hopi nodded. ‘Yes. You’ve heard of him?’
‘Of course.’ Menna looked grave. ‘What is this about his grain store?’
‘Hopi found it when I went to perform,’ said Isis. ‘Then last night we had to go back. Abana nearly caught me and I told him everything we know . . .’
Menna looked to Hopi for explanation. ‘And what do you know?’
‘The grain store in his grounds is vast,’ said Hopi. ‘I mean, really vast. Much too big to house his personal supply. We think it holds grain that he has stolen
.’
‘Such is the way of tax collectors,’ said Menna. ‘But I had heard that Abana is worse than most. Now I know it’s true. What else have you discovered?’
‘The rest isn’t clear,’ said Hopi. ‘I saw a man near Abana’s grain store, and I heard him say something about shipments. Then I saw him again at the embalmers’ workshops. Weni told me who he is. Menna, he’s the supplier of natron. He’s the one who’s letting them down!’
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CHAPTER NINE
Menna began to pace slowly up and down the courtyard.
‘Very interesting,’ he said. ‘Well, it’s clear enough what’s happening. This man you’ve seen is a trader. He takes Abana’s grain north and brings the natron south. That way, he profits from both.’
Hopi thought it over carefully. It was all beginning to make sense. ‘So he sells the grain, then collects natron for the embalmers,’ he said. ‘So why are the embalmers going short?’
‘Trading grain – especially stolen grain – must take time,’ replied Menna. ‘To cover his tracks, Abana probably sells it in small batches. It could take several days to get rid of a whole cargo.’
Hopi frowned. ‘But if it takes so long, why doesn’t the trader hurry up? He told Weni that he wasn’t leaving until tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow? But that’s the day of the festival!’ cried Isis. ‘Everyone will be celebrating!’
‘Of course!’ exclaimed Hopi. ‘Moving a cargo of grain down to the river is a big job. But tomorrow everyone will be on the other side, on the west bank. No one will notice the grain being loaded.’
Silence fell for a moment.
‘But, Hopi, what are we going to do?’ demanded Isis. ‘Abana’s guard is looking for us right now. It won’t take him long to come back. What do you think he wants? What will he do to us?’
Hopi didn’t know what to say. Abana was powerful enough to do anything, but would he really chase after a dance troupe because they knew about his stolen grain?
‘Abana’s powerful, but he’s not stupid,’ said Menna quietly. ‘He won’t want to draw too much attention to himself. Today the king will be arriving from his palace in the north.’
‘So what did the guard come for?’ asked Hopi.
‘I imagine the plan is to buy your silence. That, at least, will be his first resort,’ said Menna. ‘He will no doubt combine it with threats.’
‘But we’d never let him bribe us!’ exclaimed Hopi.
‘Paneb might do it for Sinuhe,’ said Isis.
Hopi was horrified. ‘He couldn’t! That would mean protecting the man who’s stolen Sinuhe’s grain!’ he said.
‘Yes, but Sinuhe wants repayment,’ said Isis. ‘This could be Paneb’s way of getting it for him.’
‘We need time,’ said Menna, breaking through their discussion. ‘We must consider the best way to deal with this. Isis, you should go and give your family warning. Persuade them to resist Abana, if they can.’ He turned to Hopi. ‘Meanwhile, you and I have thinking to do.’
.
Isis ran back through the busy streets, where anticipation about the festival was growing. Women were busy trading the garlands that everyone would wear; boys were dragging great bundles of palm fronds to hand out for people to wave; girls were carrying baskets of lotus flowers and sweet-smelling herbs. The excitement was infectious, in spite of all that was happening.
We’re going to see the king, Isis thought as she ran. We’re going to see the king . . .
She arrived back at her own street and scanned it carefully for Abana’s guard. There was no sign of him as yet, so Isis dived into the house.
‘Nefert! Paneb!’ she called, heading straight for the courtyard.
There was no one there but the two young boys, playing with their toys as usual. Music floated down the stairs; practice had begun. Isis ran to the practice room on the first floor and found the three women in the middle of a melody, while Mut sat on the floor carefully unwrapping the bandage around her ankle.
‘Mut! Have you tried walking yet?’ For a second, Isis forgot what she had come for.
Mut grinned. ‘Yes, I can put my weight on it, I think,’ she said. ‘But I haven’t tried dancing yet. I want to get this thing off first.’
Isis crouched down at once to help her dance partner take off the bandage. Then she helped Mut to her feet as the three women came to the end of their piece.
Nefert looked stern. ‘Wherever have you been, Isis?’ she demanded crossly. ‘You know it’s the festival tomorrow. We’re very behind as it is.’
Suddenly, Isis realised that if anyone would stand up to Abana, Nefert would.
‘Nefert, please don’t be angry,’ she pleaded. ‘I had to go and find Hopi. One of Abana’s guards came looking for me – I saw him on the street.’
At the mention of the tax collector, Nefert’s lips tightened. ‘What did he want?’
Isis bit her lip. ‘Well, I can’t be sure. I got Yuya to send him in the wrong direction.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But Hopi found Abana’s stolen grain and . . . and I told Abana that we knew about it.’
‘Stolen grain? You told Abana – but how . . .’
‘Hopi found a big storehouse in the grounds of his mansion. And then we had to go back to look for something,’ Isis explained desperately. ‘Abana nearly caught me, and I blurted out what I knew. Please, Nefert, we have to do something – Menna thinks he’ll try to buy our silence with a bribe but that he might threaten us, too.’
Nefert took a deep breath. ‘I’ve seen how this man behaves,’ she said. ‘He won’t try to buy anything. He’s too greedy and cruel for that. Well, Isis, it seems that you and Hopi have brought everything nicely to a head. Who knows, it may even be for the best. We must act quickly. Tell both Paneb and Sinuhe that I want to speak with them at once.’
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‘The first thing to find out is where the loading will take place,’ said Menna. ‘That’s too active a task for me, I’m afraid. It’s up to you, Hopi.’
Hopi nodded. ‘I’ll start at the embalmers’ workshops. They may be able to point me in the right direction.’ He was still holding the heart scarab. He reached for his linen bag and knotted the precious amulet into one corner. ‘I’ll take this to them at the same time.’
‘Very well,’ said Menna. ‘But be careful. If you must ask for help, choose who you speak to wisely.’
‘I will.’ Hopi shouldered his bag and set off.
His leg felt a little better today, and he made his way quickly through the people milling in the streets. At the workshops, he found Weni watching his assistant at work in the second tent, pulling the brain through the nostrils of a new arrival. The stench was worse than ever. It made Hopi feel sick.
‘Weni,’ he called from the entrance.
The embalmer looked up. ‘Good day to you, Hopi. You got my message, then,’ he said, coming over.
‘Yes, I’ve brought the missing scarab,’ said Hopi.
‘Good. Follow me.’ Weni led the way to the third tent, where Hopi handed over the amulet. Weni summoned Hetep, and they went through the same ritual as before.
‘I wonder if you can help me,’ said Hopi, once the transaction was done. ‘It may be of great help to you, too. I need to find the boat belonging to your supplier of natron.’
‘Really?’ Weni looked surprised. ‘What is it to you, young apprentice?’
‘We suspect him of more than delaying your natron,’ said Hopi. ‘If we track him down, we may uncover a great injustice. But first, I must find his boat.’
‘Very interesting,’ said Weni. ‘It would be a great relief to have this problem solved. Come.’ He led Hopi outside and pointed to the jetty. ‘The boat moors there when it brings us the natron. When it leaves, it goes downriver, towards the north. Perhaps that’s where you’ll find it.’
‘Thank you,’ said Hopi. ‘I hope I’ll soon have good news.’
He followed the little path that led down to the wooden jetty, which jutted out well i
nto the river so that a heavy boat could moor. But there was no sign of the boat now. Hopi set off downstream along the shore, thinking. Abana’s house must be further towards the temples of Ipet-Isut – and, of course, away from the river towards the desert. The most direct route from the tax collector’s grain store to the river would surely end close to here.
The riverbank undulated, and Hopi had to wade through a marshy area where reeds and lotus flowers grew in the shallow water. It was difficult to see ahead through the reeds and Hopi made slow progress, parting them carefully as he went. When he emerged on the other side, he immediately knew he had found what he was looking for. There, up ahead, was a flat cargo boat, pulled in to the side of the river.
The boat seemed to be deserted. Its sails were furled on the two big masts, and there was no one on deck. Hopi stepped back among the reeds again, then followed the marshy area inland up a disused irrigation channel. On the bank, a clump of date palms grew, offering shelter both from the sun and prying eyes. But Hopi could see just enough. Standing in the shade were five donkeys tethered together. And piled in a heap next to them were panniers, perfect for carrying sacks of grain.
Hopi wondered what to do. This could be any cargo boat, any group of donkeys, but that was very unlikely. This was a secret, sheltered mooring and it was in the right place. Eventually, he made his decision, and clambered out of the irrigation channel to take a closer look.
‘Hey!’
Hopi was expecting the shout, and stopped. A man had been lying under the palm trees, and now he got up. He brushed himself down and walked over. To Hopi’s relief, it wasn’t the trader himself, but a rough-looking peasant with rotting teeth.
‘What are you doing here?’ demanded the man.
‘I thought it would be a good place for lotus,’ said Hopi. ‘It’s all been picked further down the river, because of the festival.’
The man grinned. ‘That’s girls’ work.’
Hopi pointed to the scars on his leg. ‘Girls’ work is all I can do,’ he said in a humble voice. Keeping his eyes lowered, he nodded towards the donkeys. ‘I expect they’ll be going to the festival, too, won’t they, sir?’