“Jenu, do you know how far it is to the river?” he asked.
The others fell silent.
“A long way,” said the old woman.
“How many days on foot?” Ramose asked.
“Many days,” replied the old woman.
Ramose could tell she was being unhelpful on purpose. He knew he had to ask her the question he had been avoiding. He poked at the embers of the fire, sending out sparks that singed Mery’s fur and made her leap up. The cat settled down again, this time in Jenu’s lap. Mery had grown fond of the old woman who gave her milk and meat.
“Jenu,” said Ramose at last. “Can you see my future?”
She beckoned Ramose. He got up and sat next to the old woman. She took his hand in hers. He could feel the calluses on her palms. Her long, claw-like fingernails scraped his skin. Her face changed. The smiling grandmother face disappeared and was replaced by a stern-faced mask. Jenu’s white unseeing eyes changed too. They lost their sightless look and Ramose felt as if she could see right into his soul. A single gust of wind arose out of the perfectly still night. A distant hyena chose that moment to howl.
“Some things I see. Others are unclear.”
“Tell me what you see.”
“You must give me something first. Something dear to you.”
Ramose reached for his bag. He only had one thing to give. He pulled out his heart scarab, stroked its cool surface and put the blue jewel in Jenu’s hand.
The old woman felt the stone with her crooked fingers and shook her head.
“Not this,” she said. “I have no need of this.”
“It’s the only valuable thing I have.”
“You have to give something that I need,” replied the old woman.
“You seem to have all you need. I have nothing else to give you.”
The old woman’s white eyes narrowed. “You have friendship.”
“If you want my friendship, you have it already,” said Ramose.
The old woman shook her head. “But you will leave and I will only have the memory of friendship.”
“Are you saying you want me to stay?” asked Ramose.
“Not you. You have a journey to finish. You have friends. I have no one.”
Ramose looked at Karoya and Hapu in alarm, finally understanding what the old woman wanted.
They were staring back at him wide-eyed.
“I can’t give you my friends,” said Ramose. “They aren’t mine to give.”
“The slave girl is yours to give, if you choose.”
“No,” Ramose cried, his voice rising in fear and anger. “I don’t own her. She’s free to go wherever she wishes.”
“Is she?”
Ramose knew that Karoya was actually the pharaoh’s property.
“She is useful to you now,” continued Jenu. “But if you find what you are seeking, then what will become of her?”
“I’ll take care of her.” Ramose snatched his hand away. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to know my future.”
“The choice is yours,” said Jenu.
“Why can’t you just tell him?” asked Hapu.
“It is the way of the oracle. She will not see clearly unless Ramose gives me something of his that I need.”
Mery stirred in the old woman’s lap. The cat stood up, turned around twice then settled down again.
“What about Mery?” asked Karoya.
“No, Karoya,” said Ramose. “Mery is yours. Jenu wants something of mine.”
Karoya turned to the old woman. “Would the cat be a suitable gift?” she asked. “She is a good friend.”
The old woman thought for a moment and then nodded.
“I don’t want to hear about my future,” said Ramose angrily. “I don’t believe in oracles. I know what I have to do. I don’t need an oracle to tell me.”
“The oracle’s knowledge is important,” said the old woman. “Without it you might fail.”
“I give Mery to you, Ramose,” said Karoya. Mery slept in the old woman’s lap, unaware that she was the centre of attention. “She is yours now.”
“No!”
“The gods have brought us here, Ramose,” said Hapu. “Perhaps it was for a reason. Listen to what Jenu has to say.”
“Let her tell your future instead,” Ramose said. “Or yours, Karoya.”
“No, Ramose,” said Karoya. “My future has been bound with yours since I chose to follow you and not go where the pharaoh sent me. Take Mery. I give her to you.”
Ramose looked from Karoya to the old woman.
“Are you sure, Karoya?”
“I’m sure.”
“Will you give the cat to me, Ramose?” asked the old woman.
Ramose nodded. “Yes.”
“The oracle accepts your gift,” said Jenu. She spoke as if the oracle was another person.
The old woman reached out for Ramose’s hand again. Ramose glared at the old woman, but placed his hand in hers.
“Ask the oracle what you want to know.”
There was so much he wanted to know, Ramose hardly knew where to begin. “Will I see my father again before he dies?”
“Yes.”
“Will I achieve my goal?”
“Yes.”
“Will I—”
“You can ask only one more question of the oracle.”
“Why didn’t you say that before?” snapped Ramose. “This isn’t a game.”
“The oracle doesn’t like to give up her knowledge.”
Ramose had so many questions. If he were to become the pharaoh, would he be happy? Would he be a good pharaoh? Would Vizier Wersu still want him dead? Ramose thought for a moment. He had to word his last question carefully.
“Does the oracle see anything in my future that I need to know?”
The old woman smiled a small, grim smile. “The oracle has a warning for you.”
“What is it?”
“The blue lotus can hide a bee in its petals.”
Ramose opened his mouth to say something. The old woman held up her hand to stop him.
“A perfect jewel will stay buried in the earth, yet the maid at the millstone holds it out in her hand.”
Jenu still held her hand in the air.
“Trust the crocodile and bow down before the frog.”
Ramose waited, expecting more. But the hard mask of the old woman’s face melted away and she changed back into a smiling grandmother again.
“Is that it?” Ramose cried.
Jenu nodded. “The oracle’s words are truth.” She looked limp and drained.
“But, they’re just riddles. What do they mean?”
“That’s for you to discover. The oracle has been generous. She doesn’t often say so much.”
Ramose felt cheated, as if the old woman had tricked him. He took his reed mat and unrolled it away from the others. He curled up in the smelly goat-hair coat that the nomads had given him. He didn’t want to speak to anybody.
5
ABYDOS
The next day, Ramose woke with a sense of urgency. He had dreamt he’d seen his father walking in the palace gardens. In the dream Ramose had called out to him, but Pharaoh couldn’t hear him. Ramose had tried to get closer to him, but whichever way he turned there was a wall or a pond or a row of tall plants in his way. Ramose knew he had to leave the oasis. He had delayed for too long. “I’m walking to Thebes,” he told his friends. “I have to leave immediately.”
“You don’t know how far it is to the river,” said Karoya. “You may not be able to carry enough food and water to get you there.’
“It’s too risky,” complained Hapu.
“I have to go,” said Ramose. “You two stay here and wait for the next nomads to come along.”
Ramose didn’t like to admit it, but the oracle’s words had affected him strongly. He still didn’t know what they meant, but whatever his destiny was, he had to face it. He had wandered from his path. He had wasted valuable time. He had to get t
o Thebes as soon as possible. He had to see his father.
He asked Jenu if he could have some leather for a waterskin. She nodded and cut him a length of goat hide from her stock. She showed him how to make the bag with the hairy side facing in. She also gave him a supply of dried goat meat and cheese. Ramose mended his sandals and his nomad coat. By the time he had finished his preparations, it was too late in the day to start his journey.
“We’re not staying behind,” said Karoya as the sun started to get low in the sky. “We’re coming with you.”
“You don’t have to,” said Ramose. “Stay here.”
“And then what would we do?” asked Hapu.
Ramose looked at his friends. Since the day they had chosen to follow him instead of going to the place that had been allotted to them, their destinies were tied up with his.
Hapu looked at the pool of water unhappily. “I think it would be better if we all waited here until other nomads come. But if you want to leave now, I’ll come too.”
“I’ll be grateful for your company.”
They left before sunrise the next morning. Jenu bade them all goodbye.
“The gods will be with you,” said the old woman. “They won’t abandon you.”
Karoya said goodbye to Mery with tears in her eyes. Jenu clutched Mery to her in case she tried to follow them.
“The cat will keep me warm at night,” Jenu said happily.
Earlier, Ramose had offered to come back and give her as much gold as she wanted once he had achieved his goal, if she gave the cat back. The old woman had refused.
The three friends loaded themselves up with food and water and walked out into the desert. The sun rose in front of them. They walked towards it in single file, keeping space between them. No one felt like talking.
In the heat of midday, they stopped and made a shelter from the hot sun with a length of goat-hair cloth and some sticks that Jenu had given them. They ate a light meal, drank a little water and slept until the worst of the heat had passed.
When they woke, they walked until two or three hours after the sun had set, then ate cold meat and cheese. They slept again and then walked in the darkness before dawn. They spoke little, not wanting to waste precious energy on idle talk.
Ramose wasn’t sure that they would make it to the river. He wasn’t convinced that he had a future just because a blind nomad woman had told him so. He kept walking.
Ramose glanced at Karoya. She had hardly spoken since they had left the oasis. Once or twice he had seen her wipe away some tears. He knew what a great sacrifice she had made for him. Karoya loved Mery dearly. The cat had been the only thing that was truly hers and she had given it away for his sake. All he’d got in return for her sacrifice were a few meaningless words from the oracle. He hoped one day he’d be able to repay her.
The routine was the same the next day and the next. Ramose didn’t tire; he just grew stronger and stronger. He began to feel like the desert would never stop and that didn’t matter because he knew he could walk forever. He was very surprised, therefore, when at mid-morning on the fifth day a large temple gradually rose up over the horizon, bright and shimmering in the heat haze. He recognised it immediately. It was a place he had visited before.
Abydos was a big town, not as big as Thebes, but big nonetheless. It had sprung up around the Temple of Osiris. The people who lived in the town all worked at the temple. Those who didn’t have jobs within the temple buildings worked outside the walls producing food for the workers and for offerings to Osiris.
“We shouldn’t have here,” hissed Karoya.
“We had to. We’ve run out of food.”
Ramose hoped that in such a big town they might not attract as much attention as they had in the villages along the Nile. He was wrong. He hadn’t realised how foreign they looked. They were still wearing the heavy clothing made from dark, hairy cloth given to them by the nomads. They hadn’t bathed properly in weeks. Ramose had no idea what his hair looked like, but Hapu’s was a tangled mess.
The temple workers in their white linen kilts and tunics looked spotlessly clean. They all smelled of perfumed oils and incense. Everyone who passed Ramose and his friends stepped around them so that they didn’t get too close to the foul-smelling foreigners.
“What are we going to do?” said Ramose. “We have no gold for food. We can’t beg on the streets.”
They wandered through Abydos, past the neat houses of the temple workers. Wherever they went, people turned to stare at them. They walked through the metalworkers’ quarter. The sound of hammers and bellows stopped as they passed. It was the same as they walked through the part of the town where the potters worked. The potters’ wheels stopped turning and all eyes followed the strangers.
“We’ll get arrested,” said Hapu.
“What for? We haven’t done anything wrong,” said Ramose.
“Not recently,” said Hapu.
“Egyptians don’t like strangers,” said Karoya. “People will want to know who we are. What are you going to tell them?”
“I’ll think of something,” Ramose answered.
Hapu and Karoya looked at Ramose doubtfully. Ramose actually didn’t have any ideas for a cover story. He was tired of sneaking and hiding, tired of hiding from his enemies. He was ready to face them—the sooner the better. He just had to work out how to go about it.
They found themselves at the foot of the temple walls. The dazzling white walls loomed above them.
“What is your business in Abydos?” demanded a stern voice behind them.
The three friends turned. A man in a perfectly white kilt without a crease stood glaring at them. He had a shaved head which shone in the sunlight. His eyebrows and eyelashes had also been removed. This told Ramose that the man was a priest.
“I’m a scribe,” said Ramose, not knowing what else to say.
The priest was puzzled. From the stranger’s clothing, he was probably expecting Ramose to have the harsh tones and ugly accent of a foreigner. Yet Ramose spoke in perfect Egyptian with the grammar of a scholar.
“You can’t be the scribe we’re expecting,” said the puzzled priest. “You’re far too young.”
The priest was waiting for an answer. Ramose didn’t know what to say.
“No, he’s not,” Hapu said, suddenly. “The scribe had an unfortunate accident.”
Ramose and Karoya looked across at Hapu in surprise.
“Yes,” continued Hapu, “the scribe’s right hand was crushed when a block of stone fell from a sled.”
“How unfortunate,” said the priest, still frowning dubiously at the strangers.
“This is the scribe’s apprentice,” said Hapu.
The priest looked at Ramose’s nomad coat and his worn sandals.
“I am not at all sure that an apprentice can take the role of temple scribe,” he said, scratching his shaved head.
Hapu thought for a moment. “He was an apprentice,” he said. “But now he isn’t. His training is finished.”
The priest peered at Ramose again. Ramose thought that after his recent adventures he must look at least five years older than he actually was.
“He is the cleverest apprentice in memory,” said Hapu, who seemed to be enjoying inventing a new history for Ramose as much as he enjoyed making up stories as they travelled. “The scribe is completely confident that Ramose is skilled enough to take his place.”
The priest looked at Hapu. “And you are…”
“I,” said Hapu, pulling himself to his full height of almost three cubits, “I am Hapu, temple artist and assistant to scribe Ramose.”
The priest was still troubled by the strange clothing of the scribe and his party. “Where are you from? Somewhere in the south, beyond the cataracts?”
“We have come from Kharga Oasis,” continued Hapu. “We were attacked by barbarians on the way. They took all our possessions, even our clothes, and abandoned us in the desert. We’re lucky we survived.”
“What were you
doing in Kharga Oasis?” asked the priest, looking terrified at the thought of being lost in the desert. “I thought you were coming from Thebes.”
“Scribe Ramose had to record some details about a new temple at the oasis,” Hapu told him. “We were attacked as we were returning to the Nile.”
“How terrible. What else can you expect from barbarians, though?” the priest said shaking his head.
While he was out in the desert, Ramose had vowed that when he became pharaoh he would tell Egyptians that nomads were not criminals and barbarians. He’d only been back in Egypt for a few hours and already he had broken his promise and was confirming the same old myths and lies.
“How did you get from Kharga to Abydos?” asked the wide-eyed priest, who, like most Egyptians, would rather have jumped into a pit of snakes than venture into the desert for any reason.
“We walked,” said Ramose simply.
“Praise Amun for protecting you,” said the horrified priest.
“We are very tired and hungry,” said Hapu. “Perhaps you could show us to our quarters and arrange for our servant to fetch us some food.”
Karoya glared at Hapu.
“Yes, immediately,” replied the priest.
The priest led them towards the first pylon of the temple of Osiris. The pylon, a gateway flanked on either side by huge tapering stone towers, was covered with carved images and hieroglyphs. They didn’t enter the temple though. Instead of walking through the pylon, the priest led them around the eastern wall of the temple to a group of simpler, lower buildings where the temple craftsmen lived. They entered one of the houses. Inside it was cool and clean.
“We will need clothes,” Hapu said.
The priest nodded.
“Scribe Ramose will require scribal tools, since his own were stolen,” said Hapu.
The priest looked at Ramose to confirm this. Ramose nodded and smiled weakly. He was beginning to wonder what Hapu was getting them into.
“If your slave girl will follow me,” the priest said. “I will provide her with all that you need.”
Sting of the Scorpion Page 4
