by Gill Harvey
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.’ The old man pointed in the direction of the limestone cliffs. ‘Our tomb is small, nestled among the cliffs there. I must check that the seals have not been tampered with, and say some prayers in the chapel. Just give me a moment.’
Hopi waited, feeling disappointed. So he wouldn’t see inside the tomb at all. He had been very near here before, with his younger sister Isis, when the troupe had visited the village of the tomb-builders. Then they had seen inside a plundered royal tomb, but the idea of seeing this one was different. It was still in use, waiting to receive new occupants; one day, Menna himself would lie there.
At last, Menna rose to his feet and began to plod steadily towards the cemetery. He made his way surely among the chapels – some grand, some modest – until he reached one of the smallest, tucked close to the face of the rocks. They entered. It was peaceful, painted with beautiful scenes of the afterlife, and Menna looked visibly relieved to see the tomb’s sealed door.
‘It is safe,’ he muttered, and heaved a big sigh. ‘So this is not the problem.’
Hopi frowned. ‘There’s a problem? What do you mean?’
Menna put a hand on his shoulder. ‘My brother is lying in natron. He will soon be wrapped and placed here. But something is not right. Not right.’ He shook his head. ‘There will be trouble before his burial is through.’
‘How do you know?’ Hopi was baffled. He stared around the little chapel. He couldn’t see anything wrong.
But the old man was praying, his eyes closed, muttering ancient supplications under his breath. Hopi waited until he finished. When he opened his eyes again, Menna bowed his head.
‘When I delivered his body to the embalmers’ workshops, I sensed it,’ he said, and turned towards the doorway.
Hopi walked silently by Menna’s side as they made their way back to the ferry. He knew better than to ask questions; Menna would never explain anything until he was ready. And when they eventually reached Waset once more, the sun was dipping in the west, throwing long shadows along the streets. It was time to go home.
.
To Hopi’s surprise, the house was quiet. He paused in the hallway, listening. He could hear the murmur of adult voices on the first floor: the sisters – Nefert, Sheri, Kia . . . and Paneb, Nefert’s husband. Isis and Mut were usually bouncing around, but there was no sign of them. Hopi walked through to the courtyard. The two girls sat there, looking subdued, with Mut’s brothers. Isis was stirring a big pot of freshly brewed beer.
‘What happened?’ demanded Hopi, spotting Mut’s leg.
‘I tripped,’ said Mut miserably. ‘The stupid grain delivery boys left a box jutting out in the storeroom.’
‘Did the doctor do that?’ asked Hopi, nodding at the bandages.
‘Yes. He says I have to rest it completely.’
Hopi looked at Isis. He had a good idea how upset she must be. She’d put so much into this festival – every night she was exhausted from practising. And it would be bad news for the whole family if they couldn’t perform.
‘I’ll ask Menna if there’s an ointment we can put on it,’ he offered.
Mut pulled a face. ‘Yuck!’ she exclaimed. ‘I don’t want a snake-bite potion, Hopi! The doctor said we just have to wait.’
‘I was only trying to help,’ muttered Hopi. His stomach rumbled. ‘Is there anything to eat? Some bread or something?’
Isis shook her head. ‘All the bread’s gone into the beer. Have a look in the storeroom.’
Hopi nodded glumly. He hadn’t expected anything better. With all the preparations for the festival, mealtimes had become very erratic. He entered the house again and peered into the storeroom. Bags of grain weren’t any use when you were hungry. He opened the box of dates and stuffed one into his mouth. Then he reached for a ripe fig from the fruit store. But, as he did so, he heard a noise. He stood still for a moment, listening. There it was again – someone was knocking on the door. It was an odd time for visitors. Frowning, Hopi went to see who it was.
A gaunt-looking man stood on the street outside. Hopi stared at him. He was dressed in the coarse linen worn mostly by peasants, and his hands were rough and grimy.
‘Greetings,’ said the man, his voice low and shaky. ‘May the gods be with you. Is this the house of Paneb, son of Amenakht?’
‘Well . . . yes,’ said Hopi. He couldn’t imagine what a peasant wanted with Paneb.
The man shifted from one foot to the other. He cast his eyes to the ground, then looked up at Hopi again. ‘He is here?’
‘Yes, he’s here,’ said Hopi. The man was making him uncomfortable. ‘Who should I say you are? I’ll go and get –’
‘No!’ the peasant almost shouted. ‘Wait . . . wait a moment.’ He looked at the ground again, as though composing his thoughts. Then he looked up again with something like determination in his eyes. ‘Please let me come in. I do not wish to greet my cousin on the street.’
‘Cousin!’
‘You may tell Paneb that his cousin Sinuhe needs to speak with him.’
‘Of . . . of course,’ said Hopi hurriedly, taken aback. He opened the door wider. ‘Come and sit in the front room. I’ll fetch him for you.’
Sinuhe stepped inside, his eyes wide and curious, as though he had never been to the house before. Hopi led him into the room that the family reserved for guests.
‘Wait here,’ he said, and made his way upstairs to the room where the adults were talking.
‘There’s a man here,’ he announced. He looked at Paneb. ‘He says he’s a relative – your cousin Sinuhe.’
Silence fell. The women looked at each other, then at Paneb, their expression stunned. But, if anything, Paneb looked even more surprised.
‘Who is this man?’ Nefert demanded.
‘I . . . I can explain,’ said Paneb. But, as he got to his feet, Hopi saw that his eyes said something else. Perhaps he could explain, but he certainly didn’t want to.
.
CHAPTER TWO
Isis heard Hopi talking.
‘We’ve got a visitor,’ she said, scrambling to her feet. She handed the stirring spoon to Ramose. ‘I’ll go and see who it is.’
Hopi had already disappeared up the stairs. Tiptoeing forward, Isis peeked into the guest room and saw a man sitting with his head bowed. His skin was a deep, deep brown from long hours working in the sun, and his kilt was shabbier than anything Paneb or Hopi would wear. His toenails were deeply ingrained, not with the dust of Waset, but with the rich black earth of the surrounding farmland.
Paneb came jumping down the stairs two at a time, and Isis shrank back, out of the way. Nefert, Kia and Sheri followed more slowly, with Hopi limping behind them. Isis met her brother’s gaze and, together, they sidled up to the doorway to watch.
Sinuhe stood up as Paneb entered. ‘Cousin Paneb,’ he murmured, ‘may the gods be with you. It is too long since we last met.’
‘Cousin Sinuhe,’ Paneb responded. ‘It has indeed been a long time. What brings you into Waset? Are you and your family well?’
‘We are quite well, thank you,’ said Sinuhe. ‘For that, at least, we can be grateful.’ He hesitated. He looked at the three beautiful women standing behind Paneb, then around the front room with its murals, wooden chairs and caskets. ‘I see that you, too, are well, cousin. The gods have blessed you.’
Paneb’s face hardened. ‘Yes. We are fortunate, cousin Sinuhe,’ he said. ‘But make no mistake: it is the result of hard work.’
‘No doubt,’ Sinuhe responded. ‘I did not come to suggest –’
‘Good. Pray, tell us why you have come,’ Paneb interrupted him. ‘Only something of the greatest importance can have brought you here.’ He gestured at the chairs. ‘Please sit.’
The peasant lowered himself back down. ‘The gods have given me a sign. You must understand – it is they who have sent me, cousin Paneb.’
Paneb looked at him shrewdly. ‘You’ve come begging, haven’t you?’
‘No!’ The word burst from the peasant’s lips. Then his confidence seemed to waver. His gaze slid away, down to the ground. ‘Well, we are desperate, cousin, but I would not have come if the gods had not willed it.’
Isis stared at him, fascinated. He seemed humble but proud, respectful but angry, all at the same time.
‘Go on,’ said Paneb, his voice relenting a little. ‘Explain yourself. What has befallen you?’
Sinuhe straightened his back again. ‘As you know, our farmland is south of Waset,’ he said. ‘We grow emmer wheat. Each year, the tax collectors come and measure the fields to decide how big our harvest will be. Then they tell us how much we must pay in tax.’
Isis had heard that the king’s stores were piled high with the best grain in the country, but she’d never quite realised how it got there.
‘The tax collectors often demand more than they should,’ said Sinuhe. ‘We are used to that. We are used to them shifting the boundaries, then moving them back again when it suits them. But this year . . .’ he trailed off.
‘What has happened?’ Paneb asked quietly.
Sinuhe clasped and unclasped his hands, and took a few shallow, gulping breaths. ‘A plague,’ he whispered. ‘A plague of mice.’
The room went still.
‘We thought we were lucky,’ Sinuhe carried on. ‘We had a bumper crop – we even harvested early, earlier than all our neighbours. The stores of grain were waiting for Abana and his men, and then –’
‘Abana?’ Paneb interrupted. ‘I know that name.’
‘He is the new chief tax collector. They say he has come from the north.’
Paneb seemed to stiffen, but he said nothing.
‘Tell us about the mice,’ prompted Sheri.
Sinuhe’s hands began to tremble. ‘During the time that our grain was stored, they multiplied,’ he said. ‘But we didn’t even notice them until it was too late. They were hidden in the depths of the store, breeding and feeding . . . feasting.’
‘How much of the crop was lost?’
‘We managed to salvage some of it.’ He shook his head. ‘But, in fact, this was our greatest misfortune.’
Paneb looked puzzled. ‘How?’
‘We hoped that the tax collectors would be reasonable. But when they saw that we had some grain, they demanded the full amount of tax. We protested, but there was nothing we could do. They took everything – our whole crop.’
Silence fell. Paneb stroked his chin. Isis could tell that the story disturbed him deeply but, at the same time, she saw doubt on his face.
‘And what is it that you want me to do, cousin?’ he asked eventually.
‘Cousin Paneb, you are a man of Waset,’ said Sinuhe. ‘You are wealthy, with many connections. Give me some of your grain to tide us over. And, I beg you, use your influence to bring us justice.’
Paneb looked genuinely astonished. ‘Wealthy?’ he echoed. ‘This is madness. We are not rich! We are performers – we never know from one week to the next where our food is coming from.’
Isis saw disbelief spread across Sinuhe’s face. ‘But . . .’ He gestured around him. ‘Cousin, you say this, and yet you live in ease and comfort.’
Paneb’s face darkened. ‘You think our life is easy?’
‘Try toiling under the sun, cousin.’ Sinuhe’s voice had a bitter edge to it. ‘That is what you –’
‘Enough!’ Paneb’s voice boomed, and the peasant seemed to cower before him.
Isis saw Nefert shoot a glance at her husband. She stood up and smoothed her hands over her white gown. ‘I see you are troubled and tired,’ she said to the stranger. ‘No doubt you are hungry, too. Let us give you something to eat and drink. When you have rested, we can speak of this again.’ She turned around. ‘Isis, go and fetch some beer. Hopi, take some grain from the store and buy fresh bread from a neighbour.’
Paneb gave a little nod of agreement to his wife and the taut features of the peasant softened a little.
‘Thank you,’ he said. He licked his dry, cracked lips. ‘I am very grateful.’
.
Hopi and Isis hurried out of the room, and dived inside the storeroom so that they could speak.
‘What a story!’ gasped Isis. ‘Do you believe him?’
Hopi looked at her in surprise. It had never crossed his mind that Sinuhe might be lying. After their parents had died, he and Isis had known all about poverty and hunger. Perhaps his sister was too young to remember, but he could recognise the symptoms only too well.
‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘He’s telling the truth, Isis. Why wouldn’t he be?’
Isis pursed her lips. ‘Didn’t you see? Paneb doesn’t like him at all.’
‘Perhaps. But that doesn’t mean he’s lying. I believe what he said about the mice and the tax collectors.’
‘Oh, I believe the mice part,’ said Isis. ‘But there’s something funny about him, Hopi. Why hasn’t he seen Paneb for all this time?’
Hopi reached for a little linen bag and scooped some grain from the top of one of the sacks. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘There’s bound to be a good reason.’ He tied a knot in the top of the bag, and poked his sister good-humouredly. ‘You’d better go and get that beer.’
‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘And I must tell Mut what’s happened. She’ll be dying to know.’
Hopi slipped outside on to the street, clutching the bag of grain. It was dark now. Who would have fresh bread for sale at this hour? There wasn’t much call for it in this area anyway – most households made their own. He thought for a moment, then turned right towards the river and knocked on a door near the end of the street. It belonged to their neighbour Meryt-Amun, a local trader who bought and sold cedar wood from Lebanon. His work took him away from home a great deal, and his wife and daughters worked hard in his absence; weaving linen, ironing gowns into beautiful pleats, making exquisite clay-bead collars, and – sometimes – baking bread. They owed Hopi a favour, because his skill with snakes was well known locally and he had recently removed a cobra from their courtyard. It was definitely worth giving them a try.
The eldest daughter Yuya came to the door – a bubbly, lively girl a few years older than Hopi himself.
‘Hopi!’ she said, smiling. ‘Come in.’
‘I can’t stay,’ Hopi told her. ‘I’m in a hurry. Do you have any bread for sale?’
‘Bread!’ Yuya looked askance. ‘It’s an odd time to be buying bread.’
‘I know,’ said Hopi. ‘We have an unexpected visitor.’
At the word unexpected, Yuya’s eyes lit up. ‘Ooooh, is it someone we know?’ She grinned. ‘Come in. I’m in the middle of pleating something, but I’ll see what we’ve got.’
Reluctantly, Hopi followed her inside. He knew he should be getting right back, and once the women began questioning, it would be difficult to get away. They loved nothing better than gossip.
In the courtyard, Meryt-Amun’s wife was busy pounding pomegranates by the light of a couple of oil lamps.
‘Hopi! It’s been too long since you dropped in. Come and have some of this juice, it’s fresh.’
‘Thank you, but I’ve only come –’ he began weakly.
‘They have a visitor,’ announced Yuya. ‘He’s come to buy bread.’
One of Yuya’s sisters appeared, trailing a length of linen, and Hopi found himself surrounded by women.
‘You’re buying bread?’ Meryt-Amun’s wife laughed. ‘At this hour? Can’t your guest wait for the evening meal?’
‘He’s too hungry, I think,’ Hopi said, then instantly regretted it. The women pounced on his words.
‘Too hungry! Whoever is it?’ quizzed Yuya.
‘A relative . . . a cousin . . . I’ve never seen him before.’ Hopi tried to keep it vague, but there was no stopping the women now.
‘Whose relative? Paneb’s? Where has he come from? What does he want?’
The questions came thick and fast, the women all speaking at once, and before he knew it, Hopi had spilled t
he whole story.
‘How terrible,’ said the younger daughter. ‘Mice.’ She shuddered.
But Meryt-Amun’s wife had a curious gleam in her eyes. ‘I always wondered where Paneb came from,’ she said. ‘We know all about Nefert, of course. Her family has lived around here for generations. But Paneb . . . hmm. Very interesting, Hopi. Now, let’s see about that bread.’
With two flat loaves tucked under his arm, Hopi hurried home again, chiding himself for letting so much slip. But it had made him think, too. Perhaps Isis was right. Everyone seemed to find Sinuhe’s appearance intriguing . . . maybe there was more to it, after all.
.
‘I want to speak to everyone.’ Paneb’s voice was low. ‘We shall all go up on to the roof, so we can be sure that Sinuhe doesn’t hear.’
‘He’s sound asleep,’ Sheri assured him. ‘I laid a sheet over him. He didn’t stir.’
‘Even so,’ said Paneb. ‘This is a serious matter.’ He looked around the courtyard. ‘Follow me when the chores are done.’
The family was sitting outside in the moonlight, finishing the last of their meal. Ramose and Kha were sleepy, cuddled up to Nefert and Sheri. Isis mopped up the last scraping of lentil stew with some bread and popped it into her mouth. She thought of how Sinuhe had gobbled the bread they’d given him, eating it so fast he’d almost choked.
Paneb lifted Mut into his arms and carried her up the stairs while Isis helped Kia clear the pots and dishes away. Then she headed up to the roof, where Paneb was already sitting, cross-legged, with Mut propped up beside him. The family gathered around.
‘What a day,’ sighed Nefert. ‘First Mut’s ankle, and then this . . . cousin.’ She hesitated over the word cousin, glancing at Sheri and Kia.
Sheri addressed her brother-in-law with gentle curiosity. ‘Paneb,’ she said, ‘you are not a peasant. You have been a man of the town for as long as we have all known you. You have never even visited the fields. How can this man claim to be kin?’
Paneb looked flustered. ‘Everyone has relatives, Sheri.’
