The horses continued along the path, and a short distance on, an etched, stone-face, pillared terrace took precedence over the garden. The limestone-lined ramp-way drew closer, and Shabaka allowed the horses to canter on.
“Why?” Neti asked, clasping the front cordon.
“It’s easier for them to get up the ramp.”
The ramp opened onto a wide stone-paved courtyard, and Shabaka, after having checked the horses, looked back, frowning at the difference.
“You expected another garden?” Neti asked, looking at his expression as he slowed the horses to a walk.
“Yes.”
“This is the court of the funerary gods. Turn right here,” Neti said, “I have to visit the Temple of Hator.”
“Hator?” he wearily questioned.
“The divine priestess of necropsy.”
Shabaka looked at her and then nodded, guiding the horses toward the temple situated in the far corner. As they approached, he could make out various carved pillars—several had the heads of gods carved on them.
“You can stop here,” Neti said, as they came to the entranceway.
Once the chariot halted, she selected one of her satchels and got down from the chariot. “You can wait here,” she said, and then turned toward the entrance. She had just disappeared through the entranceway when Moses caught up with Shabaka.
“Where is she going?” he asked, as they came to a standstill next to him.
“To the temple,” Shabaka replied.
“Alone?” Moses asked in disbelief.
Shabaka visibly jerked at that and threw his horses’ reins at Moses, before jumping from the chariot. His heart pounded in remembrance at what had happened the last time she had accompanied him to a temple complex; a memory that was not appeased when he entered the doorway to find yet another hepisite hall. His pace increased, as he moved along the numerous inscribed pillars. Glancing either way as he progressed, he eased his stride when he saw her at the doorway to the temple, her head inclined as she recited some chant he had never heard before.
Neti removed her shoes and then proceeded to wash her hands and feet. She dried them with a furnished cloth, before extracting something from her satchel. She then placed the satchel on the ground next to her sandals and entered the temple.
Shabaka slowly neared the entranceway and halted just beyond it, not wanting to disturb her. He watched as she knelt before the altar. Inclining her head, she again started with a chant, however, she was too far away for him to make out the words. She then rose and systematically placed several small pouches on the altar.
Movement to the side drew his attention, and he swung around to face the on-comer, his heart thudding in his chest. He took in the robed man, who came to stand before him.
The man’s stance was firm, as he glowered at Shabaka, demanding, “Who are you? And how dare you disturb the tranquility of the temple of Hator?”
Shabaka was taken aback by the man’s harsh tones, and for a moment, he had to think whether he had remembered to put on his colors.
The man looked him over, before again demanding, “Well!”
“I am here with a friend,” Shabaka said, pointing to the doorway.
The priest’s eyes narrowed as he looked over Shabaka. If there was any reaction to the colors he wore the man did not show it. His gaze lowered more, finally landing on the sandals and satchel next to Shabaka’s feet. The man moved to look into the chamber, his eyes for a moment distending.
The man removed his own sandals, also washing his hands and feet before entering the temple.
Shabaka watched as the man approached Neti and was tempted to follow him inside, especially when the priest placed his hands on Neti’s shoulders, causing her to look up at him. The man’s actions had Shabaka’s entire body stiffen, and although he could not see her eyes, the calm posture in her body was enough to calm him, if only slightly. Neti rose from her position and spoke with the man, and Shabaka watched as they turned and moved toward him.
On exiting, Neti reached for her sandals and put them on, then took hold of her satchel before turning to Shabaka, “Shabaka, I would like you to meet Histaw, he is Bakenho’s assistant. He will accompany us to the chambers on the third terrace.”
They returned through the hepisite hall and rejoined Moses and the guard, where Shabaka told Moses of the arrangements and then sent them ahead with the chariots, opting to walk with Neti and the priest to the ramp-way.
Moses handed the guard both sets of reins as Shabaka, Neti and Histaw arrived, and fell into step next to Shabaka as they started up the steep incline. The slower pace allowed them to take in the various inscriptions made in the limestone.
The ramp-way opened into a columned hall, each column festooned with hieroglyphs, and both Shabaka and Moses turned to look about them as they progressed. A multitude of entranceways lined the hall, their chambers carved deep into the mountainside, each with its own symbol etched into the lintel above the doorway.
“What is this?” Moses asked no one in particular, the awe in his voice evident.
“This is the court of Amun and the royal cult,” Neti answered, as they continued toward the farthest doorway.
An elderly man, in long white robes, approached them, and both Neti and Histaw knelt, lowering their heads. Shabaka and Moses followed the action, although Shabaka was reluctant to lower his gaze and watched as the man also lowered his head before speaking, “Rise, my young ones.”
“Honorable priest Bakenho of Amun,” Neti spoke, “I bid you good day.”
“Esteemed daughter of Neagain, you have served your goddess well. Word has reached me of your deeds and the assistance you extended to our pharaoh,” the priest gruffly spoke. As they rose from their positions, Shabaka saw Neti stiffen some at that.
“It is my duty to assist our god–king in any way I am capable,” Neti stiffly replied.
“Relax, child, I have no reason to scold you, you have brought great recognition to our work and as such should not fear any retribution from the temple of Amun.”
“I was not aware that any would be forthcoming,” Neti calmly replied, although her heart was racing.
“If not, why your haste to visit the temple of Hator?”
“I came only to pray for the ka of those I have embalmed since my last visit.”
The priest nodded in acceptance, before speaking, “The guard of the pharaoh has placed a body in my care. I believe that you are to inspect it,” the priest said, lifting one brow.
Neti tilted her head in acknowledgment.
“Aside from this request, I received instruction that we were to keep it separated from the others. At first I had not thought this true, as it is a long way for you to travel to see a mere tomb worker,” Bakenho shifted his gaze to Moses and Shabaka, noting the colors on their sashes, “However, your presence and that of your companions, speaks for itself.”
“Yes, high priest.”
“Well, come then, child. I will give you what you need to fulfill your obligations to our pharaoh.”
“Thank you,” Neti replied, and stood back to allow the elderly priest to lead them to the farthest chamber.
Shabaka, stunned by Neti’s behavior, followed somewhat hesitantly.
They entered a chamber, and by reflex Shabaka mumbled the verse he had heard Neti mumble so often, in perfect timing with her, causing the priest to turn and look in his direction.
“I see you have taught your companions to respect the peace of the dead.”
“Yes, high priest. The younger man is training with me.”
Bakenho looked at Moses, glancing over him before turning to Neti, angrily retorting, “You are not allowed to train an embalmer, especially not one of Hebrew origin.”
“No, my honorable high priest, he is not with me to train as an embalmer. Our pharaoh requested that I teach him of the dead and what their bodies reveal.”
“I see,” Bakenho said. His tone had altered some; however, it still caused an uneasy
sensation to crawl along Shabaka’s spine.
They were led through another doorway into one of the deeper chambers, where a linen cloth covered the body that lay on the platform.
“We have placed him here with some natron, as this is the coolest chamber. But, as you know, it does not prevent the body from moldering.”
“Thank you,” Neti said, as she moved from them toward the platform.
Grasping one end of the linen cloth, she pulled it from the body and cringed some at its condition. The body was already badly bloated and in need of preparation. She walked around the platform before turning her gaze to Moses, “You will take notes.”
Moses nodded and stepped forward, breathing carefully as he approached the body. Neti smiled some, knowing it took some time to get accustomed to the smell of the dead—even more so when the body was bloated. For a moment, she thought that she should introduce him to the effects that the blue oil of vitriol had on human blood. Every embalmer was taught the process, which had been developed to determine the identity of desecrated or beheaded corpses.
Neti turned to Bakenho, “Could we have a papyrus scroll and quill?”
“I will send for them,” the priest said, and then turned toward Histaw, instructing him to collect the requested goods.
Neti returned her attention to the body, sweeping most of the natron from around the body into one of the nearby pots. Once done, she started to straighten the body, carefully pulling the limbs into alignment.
Histaw returned with the writing materials, just as Neti finished, and handed them to Moses, who extended his hand toward the man.
Neti turned to look toward the high priest, “I am certain there are more important matters to attend to, high priest,” she calmly, respectfully spoke, her heart thudding in her throat.
“That is for me to decide,” Bakenho calmly replied.
A cold flush overcame her as she returned her attention to the body before her, knowing that if he found her actions inappropriate he could revoke her license—also knowing that several of the procedures she needed to perform, he could object to, if he chose. She drew in a deep breath and cringed some at the stench that filled her senses, before turning her gaze toward Moses; the action enough for him to step closer and to start scribbling.
“What is he doing?” Bakenho calmly asked.
“Noting down the date, name and length of this man,” Neti said, making her way toward the supply shelf.
“His name is Rawler,” Shabaka added, which had Moses scribbling anew.
Neti perused the contents of the shelf, before selecting a series of flint knives and returning to the platform. She meticulously cut away the man’s worn clothing and brushed any remaining natron from his body, before returning to the shelf to take up the palm wine. She gently washed the body and listed her findings to Moses, who noted the most important.
Moving back to the shelf, she picked up a smaller flint knife and returned to the man’s head. Then she carefully went about shaving his head, taking care along the wound’s sides.
“What was your assessment at the site?” she asked Moses, as she took a closer look at the wound, gently pressing at the edges.
“That it was the blow to the head that killed him,” Moses replied.
“You assessment was correct; the blow was not only hard enough to break through the skin, it has also fractured the bone beneath,” she said, before turning to look at him, “Did you see anything that could have been used?”
Moses shook his head, causing Neti to turn her attention toward Shabaka, “I will need to go to the site once we are done here.”
Shabaka nodded in response, and she again turned her attention toward the body. Picking up the palm wine, she spoke, “Shabaka, could you bring me the two bowls over there,” pointing toward two earthenware bowls on the shelf.
Shabaka collected the two bowls and came to stand next to her. Neti took one and placed it next to the head, and then pointed lower down, below the wound, “Hold that one there.”
Once he was ready, she poured a measure of the wine along the wound. She placed the palm wine to the side and collected the other bowl and exchanged it with Shabaka, using that over the wound again.
Again exchanging bowls, she pressed the sides of the wound before again pouring the wine over it. Taking the bowl from him, she smiled in thanks before placing it farther down on the platform.
Neti picked up the smaller flint knife and carefully undermined the skin around the wound, before finally pulling it from the skull. Stepping back, she cleaned her hands in the bowl set out for that purpose and dried them, before taking the quill and scroll from Moses. Reading through his notes, “You can add that his life force also ran from him through the wound,” she said, stepping closer to the body. The quill scraped over the paper as she drew the wound, stopping only when she dipped the quill into the ink. She carefully noted the various protrusions that were visible.
“He was struck from behind,” she finally said, “There were either two of them, with one maintaining his attention allowing the other to administer the blow. Or he was looking at something and was caught by surprise.”
“Which is most likely?” Shabaka asked.
“That I can only establish once I’ve seen where it happened,” she said, before handing the scroll back to Moses, who waved his hand over the ink sketch.
“Any idea what he was hit with?” Shabaka asked.
“Whatever it was, it was about a shou wide. The depression is slightly larger, but not enough for it to be a telfoud. The object was hard, possibly metal. I would look at the workers’ tools first. It was a hard blow.”
“There was only one?” Shabaka asked.
“Yes, there are no other marks. It takes a considerable amount of force to break the bone. Whoever did this was strong and wanted him dead, not just injured.”
“Then we are definitely dealing with a murder,” Shabaka said, looking toward the body.
Neti nodded, “There are no signs of struggle. He has no bruises from a fight and his skin shows no angered areas.”
Neti picked up the bowl containing the palm wine and carefully drained the contents from it. She checked the sediment, before shaking her head. “There is nothing here to contradict my findings.”
“I now understand why the pharaoh has acknowledged you,” Bakenho spoke, causing Neti to turn toward him in alarm, having forgotten the priest’s presence.
The man stepped forward and looked at the wound Neti had uncovered, nodding his head in what appeared to be approval. “Never before have our skills been used in such a manner, but I can see how it helps to find those responsible,” he said, stepping back to look at her. “When word first came that you were desecrating corpses, I did not believe it. I knew your father well, and he would not have trained you to do such things. And although what you do is contrary to our practice, it is not desecration as much as necessary procedure to assist the pharaoh’s prefect,” Bakenho said, turning to look at Shabaka, and then looking toward Moses. “You have taken care to ensure that those who assist you understand our practices around the dead and respect their peace—something several of our own seem to disregard at times.”
“You have had complaints?” Neti hesitantly asked.
“I have had some accusations cited against you, although they are not from embalmers in your immediate acquaintance. From what I have seen, their accusations possibly stem from envy, be it for your knowledge or your position and acclaim,” Bakenho said, indicating to the colors in her sash. “Many covet such acknowledgment for themselves.” He then turned his attention toward Moses. “He has not been with you long, and already I can see his training. He does not doubt your words and can discuss his findings. It is the mark of a true teacher, one who encourages their students to discuss what they see. Your father was like that. I will no longer detain you; I can see you have matters to attend to. I will have one of the others embalm this man’s body.”
5
THEY RETU
RNED TO THE CHARIOTS, with Shabaka taking the reins from the guard before concernedly asking Neti, as she got onto the platform, “Could he have taken away your license?”
“Yes,” Neti plainly replied. Shabaka looked at her in disbelief, causing her to add, “We are to prepare the bodies for burial, not seek the reasons for their death. The validation of their death and the purity of their ka are to be decided by the gods.”
“I see,” Shabaka said, before signaling for the horses to move off.
They fell silent, with the chariot jolting as it descended the ramp-way into the garden. “I should like to return here,” Shabaka said, looking about him, however, not checking the horses.
“I soon will be.”
The statement had Shabaka turn to look at her, a heavy sensation pressed down on his heart at the certainty in her voice.
Neti looked at him, tipping her head some, before clarifying her statement, “I come here to celebrate the festival of the valley with the other embalmers.”
“But you are part of the royal party this year,” Shabaka countered, knowing that he too was to participate in the festival’s proceedings.
“That does not change my participation in the festivities here.”
“I see,” Shabaka said, turning his attention back to the horses.
They made their way along the uneven and juddering mountain path, with the horses sweating profusely when they drew to a halt outside Ramesses’s tomb. The sun had already passed its zenith, and Neti looked about the cliff face, admiring the large obelisks that had been carved with hieroglyphics into the stone. She was not new to the valley, having in the past accompanied her father to assist with the workers, who were either bitten by snakes or struck by scorpions, most often at the way-camp.
They dismounted from the chariot, and Shabaka smiled at the young Nubian who stepped forward to take the reins from him.
A robust man approached them, wearing the colors of the medjay. “I see you have collected your friend.” Neti’s brow furrowed at the man’s emphasis of the word and turned to look at Shabaka.
The Curse of Anubis - A Mystery in Ancient Egypt (The Mummifier's Daughter Series Book 3) Page 5
