“By all means, do,” Shabaka said, entering into a glowering contest.
“Has section 110 of the book of death been completed?” Neti asked, ending their stare-off.
“No,” the man spat, “They have just started with it.”
Neti breathed a sigh of relief and then turned to Shabaka.
“Why is that important?” he asked,
“The subsection deals with the curse of Anubis. If it has not been completed, then the curse itself would not have been completed.”
“So, we would be safe?” the foreman quickly demanded.
“The innocent are always safe of a curse; the guilty are never safe.”
“Come, we must go,” Shabaka said, “It’s getting late. We still have to travel to the village today. I have arranged accommodation for you with an elderly woman.”
“What about you?” Neti was quick to ask.
“We will be staying at the barracks,” Shabaka replied, “Moses will remain with you for the evening, as we will be going to the beerhouses again.”
“We?” Neti questioned.
“I and Asphelta,” Shabaka said, pointing to one of the guards.
6
THAT EVENING, SHABAKA again entered the first beerhouse. It was more crowded than it had been on his previous visitation, with some of the patrons nodding in greeting.
“Are we still looking for the same guy?” Asphelta asked, coming to stand next to him.
“Yes.”
“I don’t see anyone fitting his description.”
“We might as well move onto the other one.”
“You really think he’s here? No one I’ve spoken to has seen anyone fitting his description.”
“I just want to be certain.”
“I’d rather spend time with your lady friend.” Asphelta casually flung back, causing Shabaka to clench his jaw, his hands curling into fists.
“Let’s go,” Shabaka stiffly replied, causing Asphelta to turn to look at him.
“Oh, I didn’t realize,” Asphelta said, on noticing Shabaka’s stance. “I’m just saying I would rather spend time with her . . .” and then faltered under Shabaka’s glare, “That did not come out right.”
Shabaka simply turned around and left the beerhouse, with Asphelta needing to jog to keep up.
“Why don’t we get a beer?” Asphelta suggested, as they entered the second beerhouse.
“I’m not here for entertainment,” Shabaka said, already scanning the crowd.
“I’ll get one then.”
Shabaka moved farther into the beerhouse. It was the bigger of the two, and unlike the beerhouses in Thebes and Pi-Ramesses, this one served as a gathering place, with many people exchanging stories and catching up on events. It had none of the lively music or prostitutes moving among patrons.
A loud ruckus in the far corner drew his attention, and he looked as two men loudly engaged in a word battle. The first accused the second of failing to make payment on an outstanding debt. The second, in response, challenged him to sue him.
A snigger next to Shabaka drew his attention, “The Kenbet will have their hands full with those two.”
Shabaka proceeded to move through the room and glanced over the occupants, when not too far from him, another argument broke out. One of the men loudly commanded, “Be quiet, you drunken fool!”
“I tell you, it is the truth,” the elderly man slurred, loudly adding, “They are planning to kill heem.”
“What do you know, you old fool?” one of the others jousted the man, several laughing with him.
The man, having sensed that he had everyone’s attention, staggered to his feet, “They go-na kill the pharaoh during the festival.”
“And where did you hear this?” another jousted. The men’s attitude caused Shabaka to frown, for no one seemed to take the matter seriously.
“Heard it with my own ears, I did. Come akhet, we will have a new pharaoh.”
“The spirits been talking to you again, Ghesap?” another taunted him, “We’ve heard this every year: ‘They’re go-na kill heem,’” the man dramatized, with everyone laughing at the impersonation. “You need to go home to your wife and sleep off the beer.”
“I would also drink, if I had his wife,” one of the others piped up, causing several in the room to laugh in agreement.
Asphelta came to stand next to Shabaka, “Don’t concern yourself too much. It’s the same every year.”
“You are not concerned?” Shabaka asked in surprise.
“It’s Ghesap, Aspeth and their crowd. They are harmless. We have this every year before the festival. If it were Nameb and his lot, we would be concerned.”
“You don’t do anything about it?”
“It is the buzz of an irritating fly,” Asphelta replied, “Let’s go. It will only get progressively worse the drunker they become.”
* * *
The following morning, Shabaka met up with Neti outside the city walls, just as the water dray was preparing to leave.
“Where are you going?” he asked, having noticed her one satchel swung over her shoulder.
“I’m going with the dray to collect some clay from the river’s edge,” she calmly replied, turning to look at him.
“Where is Moses?” Shabaka demanded.
“He is coming; he wanted to see the Ramesseum.”
“You’re taking him sightseeing!” Shabaka demanded in disbelief, “We have a murder to tend to.”
“I was actually going to let him go to the Ramesseum while I collected the clay.”
“I will not have you going off on your own,” Shabaka retorted, his entire body stiff.
“I’ll be perfectly fine; Ghtop will be with me,” Neti said, pointing to the driver, “Besides, I did not know if you had any other plans,” Neti countered.
Shabaka remained silent for a moment, to which Neti responded, “See, you have something to do. I’ll be back with the clay later this afternoon.”
“We were supposed to question a man called Nameb,” Shabaka countered.
“Oh!” Neti replied, “I didn’t know.”
Shabaka looked at the dray and then at her, “What do you need the clay for?”
“Moses and I want to try something. We haggled over it last night, but I think it could work.”
“It would be quicker if we went by chariot,” Shabaka said, “I’ll arrange one.”
“We are going directly to the river through the cultivated lands. We’re not going to the dockside,” Neti countered, just as Moses arrived.
“If the dray can negotiate the path, then so too can a chariot.”
“What about the questioning?”
“Nameb should be returning to the workers’ camp today. We can head out to the tomb tomorrow.”
“If we do it later in the day, then I can return the tools we took.”
Moses lifted the pot from the dray and set it down next to her before joining the driver, who thwacked his whip to get the oxen to move. Neti felt a frown form on her brow when Moses again looked over his shoulder, seemingly hesitant to leave.
It took Shabaka a considerable amount of time to secure a chariot, a fact that perturbed Neti, for he’d been strange as of late, distant almost. She looked at her surroundings, sighing in response, before dropping her gaze to the pot, shaking her head, figuring she should have left with Moses and the dray instead.
She was just about to pick up the pot and set off after them when Shabaka arrived with the chariot.
“Is everything all right?” Neti asked, as he gestured to her to hand him the pot.
“Yes, everything is fine. They just had to catch the horses first. The troops went out early this morning. Seems that there are a group of vagrants on the one trade route.”
“Aren’t they going to need the horses?”
“The captain said it was fine, as long as we do not push them too hard,” Shabaka said, extending his hand to her.
Neti climbed into the chariot, making space for the
cumbersome pot. It took up way too much space, forcing her to stand against Shabaka. Shabaka turned the horses to follow the narrower path the wagon had taken and pushed them into a steady trot. It was not long before they caught up and passed the water dray, Moses already having gone his own way.
Neti looked about her as they progressed along the path. Most of the fields had already been harvested, with some goats and oxen grazing the remaining grain stalks. They passed a few youngsters who were gamboling through the field, calling and challenging one another, their skins darkly tanned by the sun.
Neti disembarked from the chariot on reaching the river, her legs aching some from the constant need to shift her weight to maintain her balance. She walked the short distance to the river’s edge, peering into the distance. She knew that they were roughly in line with Thebes, the palm island blocking her view of the city.
Shabaka came to stand next to her, placing the pot on the ground before speaking, “You missing your home already?
“I am home,” Neti said, turning to look at him, “This valley is my home. It does not matter on which bank I am.”
“Then why were you looking that way?”
“I was thinking of Yani, she has no idea how long we will be away this time.”
“I see,” Shabaka replied, before indicating the pot, “Where do you want this?”
“The potter’s wife said the clay is off to the side, that way,” Neti said, pointing farther along the bank, “Believably, the potters are rather possessive of the clay.”
“They don’t mind you taking some?” Shabaka said, falling into step with her.
“What I don’t keep, once we are done, goes to them. I do not plan to make any pots.”
“Did you have to bring such a large pot?”
“We will need a lot of clay.” Halting for a moment, she scanned the bankside, before pointing to an area not far from them. “There,” and then moved toward it.
“You can put the pot down anywhere,” Neti said, moving along the side of the dark pit, partially filled with water.
She moved to the side. Shabaka looked at her in question and saw her pull a long paddle-like scoop from the grass edge.
“You knew that was there,” he said, indicating the paddle.
“Yes, the woman told me where to find it,” Neti replied, returning to him, “She also told me to be on the lookout for jeer. She said they sometimes come to roll in the mud, especially the youngsters.”
“There are jeer here!” Shabaka exclaimed, looking about.
“They mostly remain farther down; it is only on hot afternoons that they come here.”
“You should have told me, I would have brought a spear!” before stretching out his hand. “Here, let me.”
Neti handed him the paddle then turned toward the pit. “She said it is best to scrape from the sides, the bottom does not hold much clay anymore.”
Shabaka nodded before he set to work, grimacing the minute he tried to lift the paddle.
“Stop!” Neti commanded, “You will hurt your arm again. Just wedge it against the edge, like that; I can transfer the clay into the pot with my hands.”
Shabaka looked at his shoulder, “When do you think we can take out these stitches.”
“Not as soon as you’d like,” Neti chirped, adding, “You can scrape again.”
Shabaka again wedged the paddle against the bank, allowing her to transfer the mud. It took several more attempts before the pot was filled, and, once so, Neti looked at it in confusion. “I did not think how we would now move it once it was full.”
“The chariot won’t get in here. We will have to wait for the dray. The animal driver should know what to do.”
“How long will that be?” Neti asked, looking toward the river.
“A while still; oxen do not move as fast as horses.”
“Good,” Neti said, turning to make her way back along the river.
“Why’s that?” Shabaka questioned.
Neti stooped, turned and gestured to her clay-soiled slip. “It means I can bathe and wash my slip. The woman said that the stream near the village has almost dried up, and that there is not much water for bathing.”
Shabaka jolted at that, his heart racing at the implication. He knew she would bathe in the river, as other Egyptians did. However, he had never been near her to witness this. Just the thought petrified him, for there would be no way to avoid seeing her or his body’s reaction. Grasping, he countered, “But, it is not safe.”
“It is no different from bathing in Thebes,” Neti said, making her way back to the chariot.
Shabaka, already hesitant about the situation, became even more so when she pulled her satchel over her shoulder, “There is a bathing area on that side. You coming?”
“What?!” Shabaka said in shock.
“You might as well join me. Besides, I need someone to be on the lookout for jeer or crocodiles.”
Shabaka knew he should not be perturbed by Neti’s nonchalance about the matter. However, he knew he could not be as calm. He would not be able to hide his body’s response to her state of dress.
A couple of cubits farther up the river, Neti hung her satchel on a branch. Shabaka stiffened when she pulled her wig from her head and removed her colored sash, hanging both with her satchel. “Well, come on,” she goaded, turning for the river. He was somewhat relieved when she entered it still wearing her slip. His ease was quickly shattered when she pulled the sodden fabric from her body, roughly washing it. Once done, she lobbed it at him, hitting him square in the chest, “Come in; the water is nice. Put that on the stones there,” before ducking under the water.
Shabaka looked about nervously, before moving to place her slip on one of the stones. He removed his sash, placing it on the stone along with his short dagger. He looked to see where she was and pulled his thwab over his head, his entire body trembling with awareness. Carefully, he waded into the water and was just past his waist, when she popped up not far from him, giggling—another thing that caught him off guard. He could not remember a time he had seen her so carefree.
She sent a gush of water his way, “See, it’s not so bad.”
“You seem to like playing in the water,” he said, sending a splash of water her way.
“Even as a babe, I loved playing in water. My mother always said I took after a fish.”
Neti again disappeared below the water. He looked around him and the next moment felt her tug at his feet, effectively pulling one from under him and catching him by surprise. She resurfaced, laughing as he failed to remain upright. “Neti!” he called in warning.
“Oh, ease up, have some fun,” she said.
He looked at her, and then chortled, “I’ll get you for that.”
“Just try,” Neti said, already moving off.
Shabaka lunged after her, plunging under the water to catch up, and managed to grab her foot before resurfacing. He pulled her toward him, only remembering their state of dress as her skin brushed against him, and just as quickly, the atmosphere between them changed.
She stopped wiggling to get free, her eyes locking with his, allowing him to pull her closer, until their bodies pressed together, his arousal pushing against her abdomen. His palms cupped either side of her face, their near ebony color a strong contrast against her paler skin. Her breath hitched as he pulled her closer, her eyes drooping. His own closed, feeling her breath against his lips.
A loud, piecing whistle sounded, causing them to jerk apart. From a distance, they could hear the animal driver’s call.
Shabaka drew in a deep breath, pressing his forehead against her, finally groaning from the effort that it took to contain his disappointment. He let her go, husking, “We should go,” while turning from her.
7
SHABAKA HELPED THE DRIVER lug the heavy pot of clay onto the dray, his agitation barely contained. He looked about him, as the man industriously started to fill the water pots, while wondering how long Neti was likely to be.
&n
bsp; Not knowing whether she had a spare slip with her, he hoped there would be enough time for her current one to dry, for he doubted he would be able to contain himself if she were to appear dressed in the wet one. Looking at the man who went about his work, he fought to contain his calm demeanor. For just a few moments longer, that was all he had wanted. Alas, it was not to be. He had no idea as to how things would be between them; however, his body still remembered every curve that had pushed against him, and the heat of her skin. He clenched his hands tightly to contain the building frustration within him.
Several moments later, he caught movement from the corner of his eye and turned toward it. A flush of relief shot through him at her appearance, for she had the foresight to bring a spare slip, carrying the wet one.
The dray owner was about halfway through filling the various pots, when Neti joined them. Her gaze remained low, which immediately caused him concern, for Neti has always been willing to meet his gaze. A band tightened over his chest at the possible reason for it.
“You have already loaded the clay?” she asked on approaching, her voice level, contained, which further frustrated him. Her actions and words did not correlate; her appearance was withdrawn, yet her voice indicated indifference. He could not be indifferent to what had happened between them.
“Yes,” Shabaka flatly answered, and saw her frown at that.
“I’ll go back with the dray. I can’t do much else until the clay reaches the village,” she said, turning her gaze out over the river.
Her words confused him even more, for although there was limited space on the chariot, a reality he had already lived with on several occasions, it had never seemed to bother her. He also knew she was not as comfortable around horses as he was and that the road back was uneven, the latter having caught her unawares on their way there, causing her to bump into him while retaining her foothold.
Therefore, he could only conclude that he possibly could have overstepped a line. It confused him, for there had been no indication from her that his attentions were unwelcome. He looked at her, feeling utterly perplexed, for it made little sense. Then another thought struck him, one that had constantly taunted him during the prevailing days: maybe someone else was vying for her attention.
The Curse of Anubis - A Mystery in Ancient Egypt (The Mummifier's Daughter Series Book 3) Page 7
