The Sacred Scarab

by Gill Harvey

  ‘Hmm. I thought Weni was doing his inspection here,’ said the assistant. ‘No matter. He must be in the next tent. That’s where the bodies are wrapped.’

  Hopi followed him to the final tent. If possible, the smell here was even stronger, but at least it was easier to bear. The tent was filled with vats of different oils and resins, perfumes and spices, all used to anoint the bodies as they were wrapped. In one corner stood a huge pile of ready-woven linen; a boy sat cross-legged, cutting it into strips. Two men were examining a fully wrapped body laid out on the table. The assistant approached them.

  ‘This boy has come with amulets from Menna,’ he said.

  ‘Ah, good,’ said one of the men. He stepped away from the body and greeted Hopi. ‘I am Weni, the chief embalmer. And this is Hetep, the lector priest, who sanctifies all that happens here.’

  ‘I am honoured to meet you.’ Hopi fetched out Menna’s wooden box. ‘These are the amulets.’

  Weni accepted the box and handed it to Hetep. They both closed their eyes for a second. Hopi stared at them, then saw that Hetep’s lips were moving. The lector priest was murmuring a spell. With the box in the palm of one hand, he moved the other to hover over it, and began chanting the spell more loudly. Hopi felt awed and incredibly lucky to witness something so sacred.

  The spell came to an end. ‘May the gods judge his heart light and free of burden,’ Hetep finished, and opened his eyes.

  ‘There. Thank you, Hopi. Your task is done.’ Weni took the box from the priest’s hands, then disappeared behind a linen curtain that Hopi hadn’t noticed before. As the fabric swung to one side, he caught a glimpse of an area crammed with statues, caskets and coffins. A mask of Anubis seemed to look straight at him and, instinctively, he took a step back. This was a holy place.

  Weni emerged from behind the curtain. ‘I will escort you back to the entrance,’ he said. ‘Come.’

  Hopi walked out into the sunshine. It was a relief; the air had been hot and oppressive inside. He glanced towards the river and saw that a man was walking up from the jetty. Weni saw him, too, and stopped.

  ‘You have better news for me this time, I hope?’ said the embalmer.

  The man looked embarrassed. ‘I’m leaving the day after tomorrow,’ he said.

  ‘That’s very late. You should be leaving sooner,’ said Weni, clearly frustrated. ‘So when will you return?’

  The man shifted from one foot to the other. ‘I can’t say. The river is unpredictable . . .’

  Hopi stared at him. His face was oddly familiar.

  ‘That’s strange,’ said Weni, his voice hard. ‘It was perfectly reliable before.’

  ‘Yes, yes, indeed it is strange.’ The man nodded.

  ‘And you’re a liar,’ said the embalmer. ‘I want to make one thing clear: if we don’t receive a shipment of natron by the end of next week, I shall seek another supplier. Do you understand?’

  At the mention of the word shipment, something slipped into place. Of course: this was one of the men that Hopi had seen in the grounds of Abana’s mansion only the night before.

  ‘But –’ began the man.

  ‘No buts. My word on this is final,’ snapped Weni.

  ‘I understand,’ said the man. ‘You will receive your natron, Weni.’ He turned and walked back towards the Nile, his head bowed.

  Weni watched him go, his face clouded with anger. ‘We cannot work without natron,’ he said. ‘This man is holding us to ransom.’

  Hopi was intrigued. ‘I’m sorry to hear it.’

  Weni shook his head. ‘Meanwhile, we must suffer this loathsome stench.’

  ‘You mean, it’s not usually like this?’ Hopi asked.

  ‘There’s always a certain odour,’ admitted Weni. ‘But it’s worse at the moment because we can’t use a deeper layer of natron. The bodies are barely covered. Some . . .’ He shook his head, then spoke more briskly. ‘Well, that’s not your concern. I must take you to the entrance.’

  Weni marched purposefully through the second tent. Hopi darted glances to the left and right, sizing up the bodies that lay on either side of him. Now that Weni had pointed it out, he could make out their forms more easily than he might have expected. Hopi set out for Menna’s house, his thoughts buzzing.

  .

  The atmosphere was tense. Mut and Isis sat playing with Ramose and Kha at the far end of the courtyard, keeping the two boys out of the adults’ way. After their row the night before, Paneb and Nefert were barely speaking to each other; Paneb stayed on the roof, Nefert on the first floor, while Sheri and Kia performed the household chores methodically.

  ‘I’m getting tired of slaving for this cousin of ours.’ Kia spoke almost under her breath, as she stirred a pot of lentil soup.

  Isis knew she wasn’t meant to hear. She carried on weaving a straw man for Kha, careful not to look over at Kia. But she did sneak a look at Mut, and saw that her dance partner was listening, too.

  ‘It can’t be for much longer.’ Sheri was pummelling a fresh batch of dough.

  ‘I’m not so sure. Now that we’ve failed with Abana, we’ll never get rid of him.’

  Sheri sighed. ‘I agree it would help if he was a little more grateful for what we do.’

  ‘Grateful!’ Kia snorted. ‘He doesn’t know the meaning of the word. Never says a word of thanks for the food we serve, never smiles. Treats us like servants, or worse.’

  ‘I know. But we have to make allowances, Kia. After all he’s been through –’

  ‘Make allowances!’ Kia was working herself into a rage. ‘I don’t see why. He’s shown up here, claiming he’s kin, taking every last scrap he’s given and more. How do we know who he is? He’s –’

  ‘I know, I know. Hush, hush,’ Sheri murmured. ‘We know he’s kin, sister. Paneb wouldn’t lie about that.’

  ‘Well, more’s the pity,’ muttered Kia.

  Isis and Mut raised eyebrows at each other. Even Ramose was beginning to prick up his ears. Only Kha remained oblivious, solemnly handing Isis pieces of straw to weave into his straw man.

  The two women fell silent. Isis finished the straw man and handed it to Kha, who clasped it in delight, then promptly began to pick at the straw, tearing it apart. She eased him off her lap and stood up. Mut looked at her questioningly, but she skipped away without saying anything. Her heart beating a little faster, she went inside, then moved forward along the shadows of the corridor until she could just peek inside the front room.

  Sinuhe was in there, as usual. Isis studied him. The peasant was looking at something in his hand, examining it closely. Isis craned her neck, but she couldn’t see what it was. She took another step. The peasant was turning the object over in his hands, murmuring to himself. Then he clutched it and brought his hand up to his chest. His eyes were closed. Isis shifted, and her foot brushed a wisp of dry straw on the floor. Sinuhe’s eyes flew open.

  ‘Who’s there?’

  Isis took a deep breath, ignoring the pungent smell that seemed to get richer each day, and stepped inside the room.

  ‘It’s Isis,’ she said, sitting down beside him. She paused. ‘What were you looking at, in your hand?’

  Sinuhe’s fist tightened against his chest. ‘You were spying!’

  ‘No, no, not really,’ said Isis. ‘I just . . .’ She trailed off as the peasant leaned forward, bringing his face close to hers. Isis could see the black pores in his skin, and smell the onions and lentils on his breath. He was frightening, but somehow fascinating, too. She recoiled and scrambled to her feet.

  ‘You little brat,’ he growled.

  ‘I was only asking,’ said Isis, backing off towards the door. ‘I didn’t see anything.’

  Sinuhe shook his clenched fist at her. ‘The gods will punish you!’

  Isis was shocked. That was a terrible thing to say! The image of Sinuhe eavesdropping at the top of the stairs flashed into her mind. ‘So what happens when you spy on people?’ she cried. ‘Don’t the gods care about that?’


  Sinuhe glared at her. But, for some reason, he had nothing more to say. Isis backed into the corridor, watching his face. She couldn’t work out what his expression meant at first. But then, as he swallowed and gulped, his nostrils flaring, she realised that it was fear.

  .

  Hopi let himself into the old priest’s courtyard. It was deserted, so he flopped down on the mats.

  ‘Is that you, Hopi?’ Menna’s face appeared in the doorway. ‘You’ve taken the amulets to Weni?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hopi, rubbing his leg, which had become worse on the way back.

  ‘Good, good. You had no problems, then?’

  Hopi looked up at his tutor. ‘Me? No, no. I hurt my leg last night, that’s all. But you were right to sense something at the embalmers. They do have a problem.’

  Menna sat down, giving Hopi his full attention. ‘Do they indeed? Tell me.’

  Hopi explained that the supplier of natron was letting them down. ‘Weni says they have barely enough to cover the bodies,’ he said. ‘Where does natron come from, Menna? Can’t they get some locally?’

  The priest of Serqet shook his head. ‘The main supply comes from the north. There’s a great valley of it there.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘So this means that my brother’s body is in danger.’

  Hopi thought of the horrible stench of rotting bodies, but he couldn’t possibly tell Menna about that. ‘All the bodies I saw were covered,’ he said.

  ‘Hmm. Even so, this may be what I detected.’ Menna lapsed into silence. ‘Well, thank you, Hopi. Now you must go.’

  ‘Go?’ Hopi’s heart sank. He didn’t feel like moving anywhere – in fact, he’d been hoping that Menna might offer to treat his leg.

  ‘You have work to do,’ Menna said. ‘You haven’t finished with the life of scarabs.’

  ‘Oh . . .’ Hopi almost groaned. The last thing he wanted to do was trek out to the fields again.

  ‘The magical part of their cycle is the most important, Hopi.’ Menna’s voice was almost sharp. ‘That’s what you must come to understand.’

  Hopi’s shoulders sagged, but he nodded. ‘I will do as you say.’

  Menna rose silently, and fetched Hopi a beaker of fresh beer. ‘Drink this before you go.’

  Gratefully, Hopi took the beaker and glugged it down. It was cool and refreshing, and made him feel better. Without too much effort, he got to his feet.

  ‘I’ll return later,’ he told Menna, and stepped out into the street.

  A breeze was blowing from the west, lifting the dust and making it swirl and eddy through the air. Hopi turned his face away from it and began to limp slowly towards the edge of town. But he didn’t get far. A breathless figure appeared, barefoot, running towards him.

  ‘Apprentice of Menna!’ he cried. ‘Is that you?’

  Hopi recognised him at once. He was the boy who had been sitting making linen bandages at the embalmers’ workshops. ‘Yes. Why, what is it?’

  The boy gulped and clutched his side, trying to get his breath back. ‘Something is missing.’

  ‘Missing? You mean –’

  ‘One of the amulets. My master Weni has been through them all. He says that there’s no heart scarab – or if there was one, it’s gone.’ The boy shielded his eyes from a blast of dust.

  Hopi’s mouth went dry. ‘It was there. It was among them, I swear!’

  The boy shook his head. ‘He has examined them twice. I know how careful he is. He sent me to tell you straight away.’

  Panicking, Hopi swung his bag off his shoulder and bent down on one knee to examine its contents, scattering them wildly into the dust. There was very little inside – his papyrus basket, his writing materials, some ostraca – that was all. He turned the bag inside out; nothing more was there. They were still only a few metres from Menna’s house. Horror gripped Hopi at the thought of his tutor finding out, and he grasped the boy’s arm.

  ‘You mustn’t tell Menna,’ he pleaded. ‘Please, don’t betray me. I’ll find it!’

  ‘But I must –’ began the boy, looking doubtful.

  ‘Please,’ Hopi begged him. ‘I’ll be in terrible trouble. I can find it, I know I can.’

  He saw a hint of sympathy appear on the boy’s face. ‘Well . . .’

  ‘You could wait, at least,’ Hopi insisted. ‘Give me a day.’

  The boy relented. ‘All right. I’ll say I couldn’t find you. I’ll give you until this time tomorrow. But that’s all, or I’ll be in trouble myself.’

  .

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Isis grasped her brother’s hands and gazed earnestly into his eyes. ‘He took it, Hopi. Sinuhe. I know he did.’

  Hopi shook his head. ‘You don’t know that, Isis.’

  ‘But it’s obvious! He was listening to us when you told me about the amulets. He heard everything. And then I saw him looking at something today – something he wouldn’t show me, Hopi.’ Isis felt exasperated that her brother wouldn’t listen.

  ‘What would Sinuhe want with a heart scarab?’ asked Hopi.

  ‘All sorts of things! It’s magical and it’s made of gold and jasper. It’s valuable and he’s really poor.’ It was as clear as the waters of the Nile to Isis.

  But Hopi still wasn’t convinced. ‘I just don’t think it’s possible,’ he said. ‘He would have had to steal it while I slept. That means climbing the stairs, coming on to the roof without waking anyone, going through the box in the dark. Don’t you think one of us might have noticed?’

  Isis thought about it. It was a good argument, she had to admit. ‘So where did it go, then?’

  Hopi sighed. ‘I think I must have dropped it.’

  ‘Dropped it? How?’ Isis stared at him.

  ‘At Abana’s house,’ said Hopi. ‘I had my bag with me the whole time, because I didn’t want to leave it anywhere. I was careful enough when I climbed into the grounds, but on the way back . . .’ He looked over the rooftops, thinking. ‘I had to run for the wall. Then I had to climb really fast and scramble over. I fell when I landed, so that must be when it dropped out.’

  Isis frowned. This argument made even less sense. ‘But how would just one amulet fall out of the box?’ she asked. ‘Wouldn’t they all have tipped out?’

  ‘It was the biggest and heaviest,’ said Hopi. ‘Maybe that’s why.’

  ‘Do you really believe that?’ Isis looked at Hopi. Her brother’s face was miserable. She knew that this was important, and she hated seeing him upset.

  Hopi shrugged. ‘It’s the only time I didn’t take proper care of my bag.’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’ Isis felt her heart quake, because she already had an idea what Hopi would say. And she already knew what she would have to do about it.

  ‘I must go back and look,’ said Hopi.

  She was right. Isis took a deep breath. ‘I’ll come with you,’ she said. ‘I’ll distract the guards at the gate, just in case.’

  Hopi looked appalled. ‘You can’t do that. What if Abana sees you? You could end up in a terrible mess. It’s all right, Isis – I’ll go by myself.’

  ‘No.’ Isis could be very stubborn. ‘You came with me when I had to go back. It’s not your fault that they wouldn’t let you in, is it? You tried your best to check on me. Now it’s my turn to come back with you. It’ll be fine, Hopi. It’s not like we have to go inside. You probably won’t even have to climb the wall.’

  Isis knew that Hopi wouldn’t force her to change her mind – they had always backed each other up in the past. Hopi gripped her arm in thanks, and relented.

  .

  With the Beautiful Festival of the Valley getting closer, the streets of Waset were full of people bustling around in the afternoon sun. Laughter and chatter filled the air. However, Hopi felt anything but cheerful. He was hot, his leg hurt and he couldn’t believe he’d gone and lost something so precious. Now he was going to put Isis in danger, too. He cursed himself inwardly all the way to Abana’s long, dusty road with its spacious mansions.
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  ‘Now look,’ said Hopi, ‘if the guards get difficult, I want you to run. Don’t stop. Don’t worry about me. Just run until you’re safe. Is that clear?’

  Isis pouted. ‘Don’t tell me what to do, Hopi.’

  ‘I’m worried about you. I got us into this.’

  ‘I don’t think you did. I still think Sinuhe took the scarab. But I know you need to be sure.’ Isis touched his arm. ‘Come on, let’s do it before night falls.’

  The wind had dropped and the dust had settled. The sun was beginning to dip; it wouldn’t be long before dusk. All was quiet as they walked along the road and stopped at the limestone statue that Hopi had hidden behind before.

  ‘You go on ahead,’ said Hopi. ‘Start talking to the guards. When you’re there, I’ll find the place where I climbed the wall.’

  Isis nodded. ‘Good luck. I hope you find it.’

  Hopi watched his sister walk off. Guilt washed over him, then he pushed it to the back of his mind. He had to do the job quickly. As Isis knocked on the gate in the distance, he emerged from behind the statue and followed her, keeping close to the wall. It looked very different in the fading light, but he soon found the spot. He scanned the sandy ground where he had fallen. Nothing. He dropped down on to his knees and swept his hands over the area in case the scarab had buried itself somehow. Still nothing. Feeling panicky, Hopi realised he was going to have to check on the other side of the wall after all.

  In a couple of bounds, he had wriggled over the top and scrambled down. He was in. He leaned against the wall, thinking through his actions the night before. In the fig grove, by the grain store and even by the house, he’d been moving very stealthily. He wouldn’t have lost the scarab then. But he’d had to dash to the wall and spring upwards; it was most likely that he’d lost it while climbing. He kneeled down and felt around again. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Frantic now, Hopi extended his search. Perhaps it had flown out of his bag and dropped a little further away. He scrabbled around, turning over pebbles and digging into the sand. It was no use. There was no sign of the scarab on this side of the wall, either.