“I say!” Edgar Raven, his hat tipped over his eyes, sat upright in indignation.
The sailors paid no attention. They stowed the awning and leaped towards the masts at the front and back of the dahabiya.
Hattie stood up and gripped the railing as Rais Abdallah took his place at the front of the dahabiya. The steersman, Osman, moved to his post. Sailors deftly unwound ropes and, pulling heartily on them, dragged the two flaccid sails up the masts. The sails began to belly, to fill. Even Amal put her book aside and took an interest.
“The wind?” Hattie ventured to Omar Shaydi. “The wind is favourable?”
“Yes. Now the wind is favourable.”
Ropes splashed into the water as men on the dock freed the Hetepheres from her moorings. They seized long poles and began to push her away from the dock. The dahabiya slid sideways, curved around as her sails filled tighter and tighter until they strained at their ropes, and moved gracefully away from the bank and into the centre of the great river.
Hattie clutched at her hat as the breeze caught them and swept them along. They passed the feluccas and picked up speed, mats of water weed swishing against them.
Great-uncle Sisyphus, Great-aunt Iphigenia, Amal and the Ravens remained in their chairs on the upper deck, watching the banks of the river flow by at increasing speed. But Hattie ran up and down, leaning over the railing, gazing up at the straining sails, envying the steersman his control of the dahabiya.
“It’s wonderful!” she cried to the rais. “Wonderful!” The sailors, intent on their tasks, grinned widely at her.
Soon the dahabiyas at Boulak were far behind them. On the bank, now, crowded Old Cairo, the spires of small mosques and the bushy heads of date palms silhouetted against a white, heat-filled sky. Far in the distance Hattie could see hills with deep quarries gouged into them. The faint outlines of the three great pyramids of Giza slid by.
Then there were more pyramids, smaller and strangely shaped. “Saqqara,” said Omar Shaydi. “We will go there tomorrow. There will be pyramids. Tombs. The sarcophaguses of sacred bulls.”
Edwina Raven tutted impatiently. Now that they’d actually left, she seemed to be implying, it would suit her far better if they just kept going.
The dahabiya continued up the river. They were away from the city now, passing small mudbrick villages surrounded by palm trees, and green fields that stretched to the very water’s edge. The fields extended only a mile or so away from the river. Beyond that was arid desert. The whole life of Egypt, Hattie could see, was dependent on the river.
Fellahin wearing long cotton robes, gathered at the river’s edge to collect water, straightened up to watch as they passed. White birds with long, slender legs stood on outcrops of rock and stirred anxiously as they approached, then thundered into the sky with a flapping and clapping of urgent wings.
At one point, their swift progress stopped. The Hetepheres slowed, slowed further, then halted with a jerk. Tea cups skittered to the edges of tables. The rais shouted.
“Sandbar,” said Omar Shaydi.
“Does this happen often?” Edgar Raven asked, retrieving his hat, which had fallen from his knee and was perilously close to the edge of the deck.
“The river moves constantly,” said Omar Shaydi. “Our lookout, on this occasion, has failed in his job. The rais is displeased.”
The mortified lookout appeared to have been given the major responsibility for getting the Hetepheres underway again. Several sailors gathered at the front of the boat, carrying long poles, then slid over the edge of the boat into the water. They stood on the sandbar, up to their waists in water.
“But – crocodiles!” protested Hattie.
Omar Shaydi pointed upwards. Another sailor had scrambled part of the way up the forward mast and was keeping watch. “It is to be hoped he is better at his job than our previous lookout,” murmured Omar Shaydi. Just in case, Hattie kept a lookout herself, too. But soon she was distracted.
From nowhere, fellahin had assembled on the bank. Men and women and children pointed, stared, chattered and laughed. Hattie waved to them, and some of the children waved back.
“We are an entertainment,” observed Omar Shaydi.
In the water, the sailors heaved and pushed with their long poles, but the Hetepheres remained stuck. Impatiently, Rais Abdallah waved to the men on the bank, then fumbled at his belt and enticingly held something up.
“A few piastres,” said Omar Shaydi. “That will do it.”
Immediately, men from the bank entered the river, swam a few strokes, and joined the sailors on the sandbar. Little boys followed them, happily jumping and splashing and getting in everyone’s way. The sailors and villagers heaved, the Hetepheres gave a small shudder and then slid back into the channel.
The people on the bank cheered, the rais leaned down and passed coins, and the sailors swam wildly to rejoin the Hetepheres. And then they were off again. The crowd on the bank went on their way, and the scenery flowed serenely past once more.
As the sun lowered in the sky and the light turned dusty and golden, Rais Abdallah gave orders. The Hetepheres turned towards the bank.
“We anchor here for the night,” Omar Shaydi announced. Though the sun had not yet disappeared, the temperature was already dropping abruptly. The sun sank lower and lower, a glowing orange ball, until it paused, as if balancing on the top of the distant hills. Hattie watched, breathless, as it slid slowly behind them: half a sun, a quarter of a sun, a tiny orange sliver of sun – and then gone. The sky flushed suddenly with rosy pink, then as the light continued to fade, it turned to pale blue, darker blue, then an inky blue-grey. One by one, tiny points of light appeared: shivering stars.
“It’s – very beautiful,” Edwina Raven said grudgingly. She sounded, Hattie thought, as if she’d have preferred the scenery to be utterly ugly.
“It is indeed,” Great-aunt Iphigenia sighed. “I’m so glad you appreciate it, my dear.”
Edwina Raven had the grace to appear somewhat shamefaced.
The cook served dinner in the dining room. At the front of the dahabiya, the sailors had set a small stove going and they were gathered around it, cooking something in a large clay pot.
“What do they eat?” Hattie asked Amal.
Amal shrugged. “It’s probably a kind of bread, a dried bread. They cook it with beans.”
“Is it good?”
Amal regarded her with amusement. “I would not know. It is peasant food. I have never eaten it.”
“Could I try it? Would they let me join them?”
Amal was totally taken aback. “No. They would be embarrassed. They would not understand. Far better not to ask. It is – unsuitable.”
“Oh. Well, anyway,” said Hattie valiantly, “it smells good.”
“You’d better tell the cook his dinner smells good too,” laughed Great-aunt Iphigenia. “Or he’ll be disappointed.”
There was no problem with that. The dinner was excellent, though Hattie tried to avoid thinking about the fate of the chickens that had supplied it. Compliments were sent to the cook, who appeared briefly at the door of the dining room to receive them, smiling widely.
They settled down for the evening in the saloon. Suddenly, a sound came out of the night. A soft rhythm, a beat, a drumming. “What’s that?” Hattie stood up. “It sounds close.”
“It’s the sailors.” Omar Shaydi halted his talk about plans for the next day.
“May I see?” Hattie was already halfway out the door. Omar Shaydi stood aside for her. Amal followed slowly.
At the front of the dahabiya, where they had gathered to cook their dinner, the sailors now sat in a circle. Two held small drums. One had a tambourine, another, a small stringed instrument that might, Hattie thought, have been made from a coconut. The drums continued the soft beat that had caught Hattie’s attention, and the tambourine joined in with a gentle rattle. The sailor with the stringed instrument lifted his bow. And the other sailors sang, starting with a long, high
note that they held and held, until Hattie thought they must have no breath at all left in their bodies, before dropping down to join in the rhythm of the drums. It was unearthly. It was eerie. It was wonderful.
“What is the song about?” Hattie whispered to Omar Shaydi.
“It is about the river,” he replied. “About the river, and about work, and about how good it is to sit and rest after the day is done.”
The songs went on and on. Hattie could still hear the singing as she lay in her bunk, much later. The songs blended with the flow of the river against the hull of the dahabiya; they ebbed and flowed, rose and sank. She thought of the day that had passed. She thought of the day to come. They would explore Saqqara, Omar Shaydi had said. There would be pyramids and tombs, and sarcophaguses of sacred bulls. There would be Amal, of course, and she knew Amal’s opinions about history and temples and tombs, but surely she could be avoided. The music rose, and died, and rose again and Hattie listened until, finally, she heard nothing more.
Hattie had fallen asleep to the sound of the Nile tickling itself against the hull of the Hetepheres, and the songs of sailors. She woke to voices arguing and a braying sound, as if a smallish animal, somewhere, was in deep anguish. She leaped up and put her head out of her cabin window. On the bank beside the Hetepheres at least thirty donkeys and the same number of men and boys were pushing and shoving, each determined to be the first to speak to Omar Shaydi, who was standing on the deck surveying them.
Hattie threw on a dressing gown and ran up on deck. “What is happening?”
Omar Shaydi glanced down at her. “Our transport to Saqqara today. I sent a message to the village for their best donkeys and leaders. It appears there is some competition.”
“Donkeys? We’re going to ride donkeys to Saqqara?” Hattie had no idea they were to ride donkeys. She was delighted.
“Unless you prefer to walk?”
“Oh no! Can I have that little fat white one? How will you ever choose which ones?”
“I think I will let the owners sort it out to their own satisfaction. By the time we have had breakfast, I believe it will all be resolved.”
This proved to be the case. When breakfast was over and their party assembled on deck, ready to start out, only fourteen donkeys and seven men and boys remained. Hattie was happy to see that the little white donkey was still present.
“One donkey for each of us,” said Omar Shaydi. “One for each donkey leader.” He turned to Great-aunt Iphigenia. “Miss Hattie likes the small white donkey. Have you any preference, my lady?”
“None at all,” Great-aunt Iphigenia assured him. “I’m sure your choice is excellent.”
“Then each leader will assist you to mount.”
Amal hung back, reluctant, until her father gestured to her. Then she rolled her eyes and resignedly walked up to the nearest donkey.
The Ravens regarded their donkeys with some misgivings. “How far is it to Saqqara?” Edwina asked.
“Too far to walk, Miss Edwina,” Omar Shaydi assured her. “And the day will become hot. Have you a parasol?”
The Ravens reluctantly climbed onto their donkeys. Hattie had to suppress a giggle, and she noted that Amal, beneath her black scarf, was smiling as well. Edgar Raven’s long black-trousered legs hung down until his boots almost scraped the ground. He looked most undignified, and he knew it. He cast a dark glance at Hattie.
They set off, the donkeys walking sedately through the village, where eyes peered out at them from every doorway, dogs barked, and small boys ran along behind them. Tall, square pigeon towers stood in between the huts, with white pigeons fluttering in and out of them and circling above the riders’ heads.
Soon they were riding along a flat, dusty road raised a little above the villagers’ fields, where fellahin drove oxen pulling ploughs and women squatted to do their washing at the edge of ditches. A boy with a flock of scrawny goats pulled his charges to the side of the road and stared as they passed. They turned onto another, smaller road, towards the desert. Suddenly the green fields they had been riding through were no more. Their way lay between mounds of bare earth.
“The remains of the city of Memphis,” said Great-uncle Sisyphus. “Once it was great and powerful, the capital of Egypt during the Old Kingdom. But now there is little left.”
Ahead, Hattie could see low cliffs with the black openings of empty tombs gaping in them like toothless mouths. The green, cultivated fields were far behind them, and everything was brown. But such browns! Cream, rust, yellow, ochre, all blended in a rich palette of colour. The shapes of pyramids and ruined buildings grew before them. “What are these?” Hattie wanted to know. She wanted to know everything about this miraculous place!
“Tombs. Pyramids. Temples. The resting places of pharaohs and nobles and sacred animals,” Great-uncle Sisyphus told her. “Saqqara is the necropolis – the place of the dead – of ancient Memphis.”
“Like – a cemetery? But it’s enormous!” Hattie marvelled.
“It is. It was used for hundreds and hundreds of years. It would take days, weeks, to see everything here,” said Great-aunt Iphigenia. She sighed. “We have but a day. Still – we will do our best!”
They had paused to let the donkeys rest before they tackled a long slope of sand leading up to the pyramids and tombs.
“Look down,” Great-aunt Iphigenia went on. “What can you see on the ground?”
Hattie looked. Under her donkey’s hoofs, she saw fragments of pottery, small pieces of white, bleached bone, shreds of stained linen fabric. “All from the tombs you see in the cliffs,” said Great-aunt Iphigenia. “Plundered tombs, their contents scattered and lost.”
“You mean,” said Edgar Raven, gazing down, “you mean much of this, um, debris, is from mummies, pulled from the tombs and destroyed?”
“Sadly, yes,” said Great-aunt Iphigenia. “Destroyed for the gold and jewels and valuables that tomb robbers believed they would find.”
The Ravens stared at the ground before them, and then up at the openings of the plundered tombs. Hattie could feel them thinking, “All those mummies! What a waste!”
“Our first destination is just before us,” announced Great-uncle Sisyphus. “The Step Pyramid.” He cleared his throat. Hattie knew what that meant. Great-uncle Sisyphus was about to impart information.
“Built for the Pharaoh Zoser in the twenty-seventh century BC,” Great-uncle Sisyphus said. “Even older than the pyramids of Giza. Notable as a total breakaway, a complete innovation, from the tombs that had gone before. What does it look like to you, Hattie?”
Hattie looked ahead. They were approaching a pyramid, but it was a pyramid in layers. Not smooth-sided as the pyramids of Giza had been when they were first built, but in six distinct steps.
“Well, it looks like – steps,” she said.
“Exactly so,” said Great-uncle Sisyphus. “The architect, Imhotep, began with a mastaba, like the usual tombs of the time. We’ll see one of those later today. But he didn’t stop with the mastaba. He added five more layers, one after the other, each a little smaller than the previous one, until he had a building that was unlike any other that had ever been created.”
Hattie thought about that. “Why?” she asked. “Why would Imhotep think of doing that?”
“Who knows?” said Great-uncle Sisyphus cheerfully. “Perhaps he was a genius. Perhaps he just wanted to see what would happen. Perhaps he wanted to touch the stars.”
They could admire the Step Pyramid from outside, but they could not go in. The entrance was blocked; it was dangerous. “Pity. But there you are. So we’ll go on to the tomb of Ti,” said Great-uncle Sisyphus. “Then you’ll see what a mastaba tomb looked like, before Imhotep thought of adding layers and making it a pyramid.”
A mastaba tomb, Hattie found, was a long, flat-topped, low rectangular building. Here, at Ti’s tomb, they could go in, so they dismounted from their donkeys. Hattie was rather glad to have the opportunity of walking about and stretching. The don
key’s clippety-clopping gait was not, she had found, the most comfortable way to ride. She watched Edgar Raven surreptitiously rubbing his lean bottom. Travelling by donkey seemed to suit him even less.
Great-uncle Sisyphus climbed nimbly down from his donkey and seized his walking stick. “Come along! Come along! We have a lot to see today!” Everyone gathered obediently around, though Amal had half-turned away and was gazing back the way they had come. Great-uncle Sisyphus cleared his throat. “This is the tomb of Ti, an official of the Old Kingdom period who served three pharaohs, one after another. He had many titles: Lord of Secrets, Counsellor to the Pharaoh, Overseer of the Pyramids of Abu Sir, even Royal Hairdresser –”
“Hairdresser?” queried Edwina Raven.
“A most important post,” stressed Great-uncle Sisyphus. “He was a very high official indeed. His tomb, however, is most noted for its scenes of family and everyday life in the Old Kingdom period.”
That life, Hattie found, was not very different from the lives she saw lived in Egypt today. There, on the walls of Ti’s tomb, were carved scenes of men ploughing with oxen, women reaping grain, and girls feeding geese. Ti and his family hunted hippopotamus in the marshes, Ti standing on a flat-bottomed boat, his wife beside him and their children sitting at their feet. An unusual activity, perhaps, but such a happy family group, enjoying an outing together. There were scenes of men building boats, women cooking and brewing, musicians and dancers entertaining guests at a banquet. Ti watched over it all, smiling and benevolent.
It reminded Hattie of her lessons with Great-uncle Sisyphus, back at Crumblin Castle. “Great-uncle Sisyphus?” Hattie asked. “Is this what you were telling me about? Is this the Fields of Yaru, the afterlife? Is this where Ti and his family are going to live forever?”
“Why yes, Hattie, you’re quite right,” said Great-uncle Sisyphus. “These carvings and paintings are depicting the way that Ti lived in ancient times, and the way he hoped to live forever.” He paused and inspected a carving of dancers performing at a banquet. “Rather a beautiful way to live, don’t you think?”
The Mummy Smugglers of Crumblin Castle Page 13
