“There’s bread soaked in beer for you. I didn’t want you to dry out, but like I said, no jars till you act right.”
“You should let us out onto the deck right now before you make the god Set madder. He can be frightful.”
“And I saved you a chunk of oryx meat in there.”
“You better listen, Menes. The god Set has taken the form of this goat.”
Menes laughed. “You think a god would appear as a small nanny? Look at her. Just eat, all right?”
Kepi sighed in defeat as Menes shut the lid. She didn’t bother to push up against it. She sat on the bottom of the basket and looked around. Gradually her eyes adjusted to what little light there was.
Just then the nanny squatted her rear and emitted a steamy, smelly, noisy stream of urine.
Babu gave a little scream of surprise.
“You are a very bad man, Menes,” shouted Kepi, pressing herself to the side away from the nanny. But she knew he couldn’t hear her. She put her mouth to the hole in the basket. “You are a very bad man, Menes,” she shouted again.
Babu pulled her hair.
“You have to find a better way of saying you’re hungry,” mumbled Kepi.
Baaa! Naaaa! Naaaa!
“So, little nanny, you got stolen, too.” She pulled Babu off her head and set him on the basket bottom, holding him there with her left hand. With her right hand, she grabbed a goat teat and tugged, so the milk squirted in Babu’s face. Babu snorted. Kepi pushed him closer. “Open your mouth.” She squirted him again. This time she heard soft slurpy sounds.
“Honey for dessert.” Kepi fed Babu the honey. Then she ate her own beer-soaked bread. She crawled around, trying to find a dry place to stretch out.
The nanny nosed her and nibbled on the hem of her dress.
“Stop it. I love this dress.”
The nanny stamped and gave a high-pitched sneeze.
Kepi sat straight up. That goat sneezed! Sneezing was the mark of the gods’ oracles. “Can you tell the future?”
The nanny walked around the basket bottom, stepping over Kepi and Babu. Finally she plopped down on Kepi’s legs.
“All right,” said Kepi. “You’re no oracle. You’re an ordinary goat, and you don’t want to sleep in your mess. We don’t either, right, Babu? But you can’t sleep on me.”
The nanny didn’t budge. Babu chattered his teeth from his spot on her chest. Kepi realized that she was talking to a goat and a baby baboon as though they were people. But somehow it helped. It made her feel less alone.
“Go to sleep,” said Kepi. “Both of you. It’s night, and the boat won’t get moving again till morning. And they won’t open the lid till we’re back out on the open river. So just sleep. We’ll all be happier if we sleep through it.” She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the soothing lights in the skies that usually put her to sleep. But she couldn’t do it. So she sang. She started with the songs of the workers in the fields. Those were the ones she knew best, for she’d heard them all her life. Then she went on to the love songs that Nanu had taught her. Nanu had learned them from her friend’s big sister. This was good; Kepi felt like Nanu was in the basket with her, singing silently.
Finally she fell silent herself.
That was when the little grinding noise started. Kepi knew instantly what it was; she’d spent a lot of time around goats. “Do you have to chew your cud in your sleep?” The nanny kept grinding. Babu whimpered. He was asleep, Kepi was sure, but he whimpered anyway. Kepi opened her eyes and stared into the dark. “At least we’re not starving,” she whispered to no one.
Chapter 14
Stories
Sunlight slanted in through the open lid and woke them. Menes looked in.
Kepi sat up and pushed the nanny off her. She glared up at Menes.
“What, no cheery morning greeting from you?” asked Menes.
“The nanny took care of her needs in the basket.”
“I can smell that.”
“So you have to let us out. All three of us.”
“Can’t do it. You’ve got to stay out of sight. We’re stopping awhile to trade here. Then at midday, we’ll cross the river to Nekheb to trade there.”
“I thought this town was Nekheb.”
“No, this is Nekhen.”
“Towns shouldn’t have names that differ by only one sound.”
Menes smiled. “They’re both the home of the goddess Nekhbet. Anyway, Nekheb is only a little farther north on the east bank. It’s got the best pottery in this part of Egypt, and this part of Egypt has the best pottery in the country. If you weren’t such a little troublemaker, you could come with me and see the huge kilns and even choose which pots we should trade for. I would let you swim in their sacred lake. Too bad you’re so silly.”
“I am not silly,” shouted Kepi.
Menes lifted an eyebrow. “They make good beads there, too. I just might buy a bead necklace, and if you’re very good, very very good, I might give it to you.”
“Do you really think I want a necklace from you?”
“I never met anyone who cared as little about jewelry as you do.”
This was not true. Kepi loved jewelry. She loved to dance and make music with her jewelry. But she was glad Menes thought she didn’t. She wanted him to know nothing about her.
“Anyway,” said Menes, “here’s honey for the baboon and beer-soaked bread for you.”
“I want lettuce,” said Kepi, mostly just to be difficult.
Menes smiled proudly. “Funny you say that. I’ve got chicory.”
“Chicory isn’t the same thing as lettuce.”
“It’s close enough. You and the goat can share.” He handed Kepi a cloth satchel. “And here.” He lowered in a wooden bucket of river water with a rope. “Keep that goat drinking so her milk doesn’t dry up.” He shut the basket lid.
This day was beginning badly.
After a long while the basket jerked, and Kepi could feel the motion of the boat. “We’re leaving Nekhen,” she said aloud. “We’re going to Nekheb. Maybe we’ll also go to Nekhep and Nekhem and Nekhet. Do you think there really are cities with those names?” She giggled. But then she pressed her lips together in worry. “Sorry, great goddess Nekhbet. If you’re bored enough to be listening to a girl stuck in a basket with a goat and a baboon, please forgive me. I’m not making fun of towns sacred to you. I’m just trying to keep from going crazy inside here.” Kepi clapped her hands to try to clear the air. It didn’t work.
“What shall we do?” she said out loud. “Tell me a story, Babu. Like Father used to do. How about something about the god Babi, with the baboon head? And you, Nanny, lecture me about the gods’ rules. Like Mother used to do. Your lectures had better be about the god Set, since your head is like his. Go on, talk talk talk. Ha!”
Babu burped in his sleep. Nanny chewed her cud.
So Kepi did the talking. She dredged up every story she could, no matter how distant the memory. There were so many of them. And slowly she actually felt better. The stories seemed to hold her up. That must have been how the sun god Ra felt in the very beginning of everything, when there was nothing but the watery chaos called Nu. The god Ra rose up all on his own, just because he wanted to, and he created a hill to stand on, and then the world could begin. The god Ra pulled that hill out of his own mouth. That part of the tale had never made sense to Kepi before, but now it did. It made perfect sense. Kepi had to hold on to the stories. They came out of her mouth; they were her hill to stand on in the middle of this watery chaos. She had to be strong willed, like Ra.
The boat moved smoothly through the water. Ten men rowing at the sides and two more at the steering oars made for a lot of force; even without seeing the land go by, Kepi knew they were moving swiftly. Before long, she felt them slow down. Then came the bump that meant they’d docked.
Chapter 15
Sick
Kepi stood in the basket, looking east out over the river, across the plains, to the distant limestone hills that
ran from north to south as far as she could see. She turned her head west and saw the same thing in the distance. It seemed Egypt had stone walls down both sides, with the tops forming sand-covered plateaus. Every morning those western walls were flushed with sunrise; every evening those eastern walls were flushed with sunset. And all day long they were white white white. Though the sight was monotonous, Kepi loved those walls, for she imagined them working hard, trying to hold back the red desert. It was important to work hard to fight off things that would destroy you. Kepi looked to the walls for courage; her life was a constant fight. And it was only the stories about the gods that kept her sane. She cherished those stories.
Kepi hated living in the prison of this basket. But every day she reminded herself many times that it was worth it. This basket was carrying her to the capital. To the pharaoh.
That, too, would be a fight. No one could expect the pharaoh to just listen sweetly. Adults never seemed to do that. But Kepi would win; she had as strong a will as the god Ra; she would save her family.
She’d lost count of the number of days she’d been on the boat. Was it eight? Nine? It felt so long.
They’d stopped at two more cities.
The first was Ta-senet, where the crew picked up pottery again. Menes said they had to, because Ta-senet was the true home of pottery. The ram-headed god Heka had fashioned the very first humans from the Nile mud there by making pottery figures. In Kepi’s village the old potter still coiled and pinched pots, but his son used the modern potter’s wheel so he could make many more pots quickly. The god Heka made humans long before the potter’s wheel, though. It must have taken him years to make enough humans to start the whole world. Kepi wished she could have seen the god Heka’s kilns; she saw nothing of the cities from inside the basket.
But Menes told her Ta-senet was sacred to the goddess Nit. So Kepi had breathed in hope. She had been telling herself stories about all the gods, but she’d told lots and lots about Nit, in particular, since finding Babu in the first place had happened because of Nit’s click beetle. That meant Kepi felt especially close to the goddess Nit by then, and somehow she was convinced the goddess Nit felt the same way. While the crew did their trading in Ta-senet, Kepi sat within the dark confines of the basket and prayed to Nit, over and over. She’d prayed a lot in her life, but not like this. This was quiet, almost like talking to a dear friend. Please, great goddess Nit, please see me in this basket. Please help me get out of it. Nit didn’t answer, but that didn’t matter. She was listening; that conviction alone made Kepi feel better.
The second town was Inr-ti, nestled between two hills. They picked up even more pottery there, because the town was famous for its black-topped pots, and they stored them in the other big baskets, with long grasses cushioning them. Menes told her that the river made a big turn there, so the water slowed and crocodiles gathered. That’s why Inr-ti was sacred to the crocodile-headed god Sobek. What good news! All the gods were related to each other in one way or another, and the god Sobek was the child of the goddess Nit. Kepi had been thinking about this fact during her long hours in the basket. The click beetle had led her to the crocodile, and the crocodile had killed Babu’s mother, so that’s how Kepi got Babu. As she saw it, the goddess Nit and her son the god Sobek had worked together to give Babu to Kepi. Or if not that, then at least they knew that Babu was with her and they knew what good care Kepi took of Babu. So that had to mean the god Sobek was Kepi’s friend, too. While the crew traded in Inr-ti, Kepi found herself praying quietly again, to Sobek. Please help me when we get to Ineb Hedj. And help me now as we travel. Help me get out of this basket. I feel so sick. I feel sick almost all day long.
On the second night in Inr-ti, Menes told Kepi he had walked past a temple to the goddess Hathor. Kepi’s spirits leaped at that news. Things were getting better and better! Hathor was the goddess of music and dance and moonlight. She was the one with the wonderful tinkling necklace. Kepi had prayed to her once long ago, asking her to make Mother allow her to wear her jewelry into the fields. Hathor hadn’t answered that time. But much later, when Kepi first came into this basket, she had felt Hathor’s moonglow caressing her. She was in a poppy seedpod haze then, to be sure. But still, the glow she felt had to have come from Hathor. Hathor might somehow care about Kepi. So that second night docked at Inr-ti, Kepi hugged her knees to her chest, even the hurt knee, and sang to Hathor. Her songs were prayers in a way, not asking for anything specific, but just a hope for strength. Hathor understood, Kepi was sure.
They were now on their way to the town of Djerty, on the east bank. Menes hadn’t yet told her what god Djerty was sacred to, but as soon as he did, Kepi would pray to him. Even if she couldn’t see any particular connection to him, she’d pray. Prayer made her feel better.
Kepi had figured out the pattern of the crew. They’d travel in daylight, leaving one town early in the morning and arriving at the next by the afternoon. Then they’d dock for the night and trade all the next day, and stay at dock a second night. Then it was on to the next town. What that meant to her was a day with her poking out of the basket from the shoulders up, her face into the blessed wind carrying away the goat stink of the basket, then a night, a day, and another night closed in the basket, the only interruptions being Menes’s ugly head as he handed her food or refilled the water bucket. And Menes’s head was even uglier than it had been, because he’d gotten his hair cut short at Nekhen. He said the barbers there were particularly skilled. The crew must have agreed with him, for all of them had had their hair cut; all of them looked extra ugly.
The days when they were out on the center of the river, Menes let her sit on the deck. Sometimes, anyway. It was a relief to look at all the islands in the wide river, with their thick plant growth and singing birds. Now that Kepi’s knee had healed, she could walk around a bit, too. But the man with the half ear always made her get back in the basket before long, and it was taking its toll on her. The anticipation of having to go inside the basket, of being cut off from seeing anything, made her shake. The whole world shrank when she was inside the basket. She could hardly catch her breath.
“I’m sick,” she mumbled.
“Yes,” came a voice from nowhere. “You can’t stay in that festering basket.”
Kepi wiped at her mouth. “Who said that?”
But no one was looking at her.
Chapter 16
Croc
Babu was up on the mast. Whenever Kepi called to him, he clambered down instantly. But she didn’t call him often, because she knew how much he enjoyed perching there. He must have suffered from the long hours closed in the basket even more than Kepi did. She blew him kisses often, even though she knew the wind carried them away before he could catch them. Nanny stood on the deck under him, with a large stack of acacia branches in front of her. She nibbled away at the leaves.
Kepi tipped her head back to see Babu, and she tottered. She felt woozy. She leaned forward, but that meant putting her head into the basket again, and the stench nearly made her faint. Her stomach retched dry. Please help me. Somebody, help me.
Bark! Bark bark bark!
Kepi looked up. It was Babu, barking like mad. Kepi had never heard Babu bark before. It was almost like a dog yap. Even in her weakened state, it alarmed her. It must have alarmed Nanny, too, because she stamped and gave that high-pitched sneeze she always made when she felt jumpy. The combination of bark and sneeze set Kepi on edge; it felt like bad news was coming.
Babu looked ahead and showed his teeth and protruded his lower lip, curling it down and out, so that the pink inside showed. It was a terrible grimace. And Kepi knew immediately that Babu was afraid. She looked in the direction Babu’s head was facing.
Swimming toward the boat was a crocodile. He held himself high in the water, so that his entire length showed, from the tip of his pointed snout to the tip of his tail. He was as long as four men lying in a line! Kepi had never seen a crocodile that long. She had never heard of a crocodile that
long. It was terrifying. But at the same time it seemed magical, mystical. Godlike. Kepi gaped, amazed.
The crocodile slapped his snout on the river surface and blew water in a high fountain out of his nostrils. He roared.
“Croc!” went up the cry among the crew. They quickly rowed toward the far side of the river. That’s how they’d avoided other floating crocodiles this morning. None of them had given chase.
But this one did. And Kepi knew he would. She burned with that knowledge. He veered their way without slowing down. The powerful slow swish of his tail fascinated her. His tail alone could turn over an ordinary boat. She watched in stunned horror.
“He’s coming straight at us!” someone screamed.
The crocodile opened his jaws wide and came fast in a flurry of spray. Kepi couldn’t take her eyes off those long, sharp teeth. It didn’t make sense; she shouldn’t be seeing teeth now. Crocodiles didn’t attack openmouthed like that. They sunned themselves openmouthed. They sat patiently while plovers ate from between their gigantic teeth, always openmouthed. But they didn’t attack openmouthed till the very last few seconds.
Could it really be the god Sobek? But no. Even if Sobek had heard her prayers, gods didn’t show themselves for ordinary people like Kepi. It was just coincidence that the crocodile came right after Kepi had prayed for help.
“Smack him on the head!” shouted one of the men at the steering oars.
Two men ran to the side with oars ready.
But at the last minute, the crocodile dove. Seconds later, the boat was rocked from beneath.
“He’s attacking the hull!”
“Crazy croc!”
Baskets slid from side to side. Babu came hurtling down from the mast and leaped onto Kepi’s head. Nanny clambered onto a box beside Kepi’s basket and stood up on her hind hooves. Kepi caught her forehooves and dragged her into the basket.
If the crocodile kept this up, the boat would come apart. And there were other crocodiles in the water—crocodiles who were definitely not gods, crocodiles who would eat them. Kepi held on to Babu with one hand and Nanny with the other.
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