THIRTY-FOUR
1336 BCE, Luxor
Yanhamu awoke before dawn, his bones aching with cold. He had dreamed of a hawk that terrorized his village, attacking the women and girls and making them cry out. It took a few moments for him to remember where he was: outside the garrison in the City of a Thousand Gates. After stretching and rubbing his limbs he climbed a tree and, as the sky lightened with morning, he could partially see over the garrison wall.
The whole enclosure was bigger than his village. The buildings inside were mostly two storey and, from what he could see, they formed an L-shape along two sides of the walls. He could hear animal sounds and guessed a third shed, with at least one horse and some buffalo, was hidden beneath the nearest wall.
Still before the sunrise, a cart laden with bread trundled through the gate and two young men unloaded it into a store and left. Soldiers began to emerge and, after a period of relative quiet, began training in the open courtyard, wrestling, some fighting with short sticks and others practising with spears. He saw no sign of any girls.
Yanhamu climbed down from the tree and retraced his steps into the town. There he asked people about the school for dancing girls. With each negative response, his heart sank further and he became convinced his sister was inside the garrison walls.
He returned to his tree and watched the soldiers, hoping to spot his sister or any of the girls he’d seen on board The Heliopolis Black Bull. At one point he saw the man who had taken his sister away—the man with the face like granite. The man shouted and pointed a lot and Yanhamu guessed him to be in charge. He also seemed to have a room to himself—the only part of the building that was three storeys high.
By mid-afternoon, weak with hunger, Yanhamu slipped and almost fell from his perch. He dropped down and headed to the artisan sector looking for work. He swept the floor of a potter’s studio and was rewarded with bread and cheese, a pat on the head, and praise for working so hard. The kind man also insisted Yanhamu clean himself up before he left and gave him a pale blue smock.
Yanhamu explored the workshop area behind the quays. Everywhere was swept clean and organized with each section clearly demarked. In places the air smelled like flowers, not the usual acrid smell of living quarters and animals. He noticed that there were no farm animals in the town except for an area by the quay penned off for cattle.
Over the next three days he worked, returned to the garrison to watch, and spoke to everyone he met. But the answer was always the same. He was told where the palaces were, but there was no dancing school for common folk. He also learned that this was a special time. There was great excitement about the coming festival. Osiris was about to rise into the heavens, signalling the arrival of the inundation. But also, Horus had returned to human form as a boy about Yanhamu’s age. They called him Tutankhaten.
On the second day a warehouseman asked him to run a message. He delivered it quickly and found he was sent on with another message. The second message took him to a bakery where he was given a scrap of bread, for it was always the receiver of the message who paid. Yanhamu was allowed to watch the baking and out of interest followed a laden cart to the warehouse of the first merchant. The man immediately recognized him as the messenger, but Yanhamu was surprised to note that the merchant didn’t know the young man who pushed the cart. In the village, everyone knew everyone.
In the evening he decided to return to the garrison and confront the soldier who had taken Laret away.
The guards eyed him suspiciously as he approached.
Yanhamu did his bow, hands to the knees and then out, which made them laugh. “Are you hungry?” he asked as he straightened.
The men stopped laughing and he could see in their eyes that they were. “I have sweet bread,” he said, and from the blue smock pulled two hand-sized triangles of cake.
The nearest guard reached out. “What do you want in return?”
Yanhamu stepped out of reach. “To speak to the soldier with the granite face who shouts a lot.”
The second guard laughed. “You are out of luck. The captain prefers girls to keep his bed warm. And he has a new girl to do that.”
Yanhamu swallowed. “What’s her name?”
The first guard stepped forward. “The bread first.”
Yanhamu handed over both triangles and the man tossed one to his colleague.
After they had both taken a bite, Yanhamu asked again, “What’s her name?”
“Don’t know,” laughed the nearest guard. “But if the captain’s true to form, we should get a go at her before the next season is out.”
The second grabbed his groin. “Then we can show her how real men do it.”
After they both finished laughing, the first guard said, “Got any more bread?”
“No.”
“Then piss off.”
Yanhamu stood his ground. As both men picked up stones, he said, “Wait. Just tell me when the girls come out. Tell me that and I’ll bring you bread tomorrow.”
The first one said, “You’re a bit young to be sniffing after pretty girls.”
Yanhamu forced a laugh, “Never too young, eh?”
The guard chuckled. “All right, horny boy. Sometimes they are allowed out in the morning before the men get up. Sometimes it’s in the evening.” He looked into Yanhamu’s eyes. “You promise to bring bread?”
Yanhamu nodded.
“They’ll be coming out very soon. Make sure you’re downwind if you want a good sniff.”
The other guard said something lewd, but Yanhamu was already running to his tree. It was barely light enough to see, but when the girls came into the courtyard he heard their voices, subdued and sad.
At the top of his lungs he shouted, “Laret!”
“Yani!”
His heart leapt. It was his sister’s voice, although he couldn’t see which girl had called back.
A commotion ensued, with female screams and shouting men. He thought he saw sticks being used to thrash the girls, round them up, and then they were gone.
Over the next four days, he watched and worked out the pattern of activity. He also discovered that these were known as the Hidden Days, the extra days in the calendar that Ra had provided before the rise of Osiris and the start of a new year. During this time, the wealthier people stopped working. They prayed and drank and fornicated.
Between short visits to the garrison, learning their routine, Yanhamu worked incessantly, running messages and helping at the bakery. On the day before the New Year, he delivered the morning bread to the garrison and hatched his plan. The girls exercised at the time of a watch change. The bread was delivered by two boys after the new watch.
The celebrations continued until the morning. As Yanhamu and another baker’s boy walked a donkey pulling the laden bread cart through the dark streets, they saw the remnants of the night’s excesses. Drunken men staggered between buildings and others lay where they had collapsed, either passed out or still praying incoherently to the sky.
The older boy moaned about them delivering too early. Truth was, he’d been up all night and had had too much beer.
“Then go home,” Yanhamu said.
“And deliver on your own?” The other boy was clearly interested.
“I can manage.”
The boy looked him up and down. “I’ll miss out on any tips.”
“I’ll split them with you.”
“I know you are trustworthy, but it’s not fair.”
“It is fair—I want to do this alone.”
The other boy didn’t need to hear more. He scurried off to bed calling, “Thanks. See you tonight, Yanhamu.”
It was a struggle to goad the donkey the final five hundred yards, and he made it to the gate just before the watch changed. Inside, he took his time unloading the bread so that he was about done when the girls appeared. With his heart beating in his throat, he watched as they filed past. And then he saw her.
“Laret!” he whispered.
She looked at
him, but her eyes were hollow and unseeing. Her lip was cut and her cheek glowed with the early stages of bruising.
“I’m getting you out,” he said, and from the cart pulled a spare baker’s cloak. Throwing it around her shoulders, he pulled the hood over her head. Checking that the guards weren’t looking, Yanhamu gripped her arm and pulled her in the direction of the cart. “Walk!” he whispered as he struggled against her indifference. They made it to the cart and he placed her hand on the side and made her grip. He took hold of the donkey’s reins and eased the empty bread cart towards the gate.
Keeping his head down, sure the guards would hear the drumbeat in his chest, he walked through the gate and past them. At that moment, the pealing of a hundred bells began, announcing the start of the New Year worship and parades.
Then one of the guards shouted, “Hey!”
Yanhamu swung around and gaped. Laret had fallen to the floor. He rushed to her side and helped her stand.
The guard shouted, “She better not have the plague.”
Yanhamu grinned. “No, it’s too much bread. Extra poison for you today!” He made a choking sign and then waved. “See you tomorrow.”
The guards laughed.
As soon as they were out of sight, Yanhamu stopped the donkey and checked on his sister. He looked into her empty eyes. “Are you hungry? Can I get you something?” She didn’t reply, and he felt tears prickle his eyes. He sat her in the shade and hugged her long and hard.
He told her he would be a short time while he returned the donkey and cart to the baker. He hurried, all the time wondering what they should do, where he could take Laret so she would get better. He decided to find a temple dedicated to Het and explain that it was his fault for taking the eggs. Laret had nothing to do with it, so he should pay the price, whatever the goddess needed to make amends.
He soon returned to the spot where he’d left his sister and his heart froze.
She was gone.
THIRTY-FIVE
Vanessa was back.
She stood at the door to her uncle’s flat.
It was Sunday evening and Alex had spent the rest of the day reading and making sense of Yanhamu’s story. He was pleased to see her, but he forced his face to stay neutral.
“Can I come in?”
He stepped aside. “I trusted you,” he said.
“I’m sorry.” She came close, reached out as though to touch him but then thought better of it. “One thing though, if you’d known my initial interest you would never have let me close, would you?”
He could smell her musk and tried to hide its impact. Keeping up the act, he kept a serious face and just said, “No.”
“But I’ve got to know you and, aside from the name—”
“The deception.”
She winced. “Apart from that, you’ve gotten to know me. I like you, Alex. I really like you.”
He could hold back no longer and let a smile break through. “I’m glad you’re back.”
She grinned and hugged him. “Me too.”
They sat on the sofa. “So you found the research.”
“It’s amazing.”
“Can I see it?”
“No.”
She looked crestfallen. “Oh, I thought—”
“I destroyed it.” Alex told her about Ellen’s letter and request that he make sure it never fell into the wrong hands. He also told her about the man in the brown suit who had pretended to be a policeman. “That gang are determined to get their hands on the research. I had to erase any evidence. I burned it.”
“Oh my God!” she said. “Does that mean it was simple to remember or have you got some kind of photographic memory you’ve not told me about?”
“I’ve a good memory, but it’s not that good. I checked out what was in the pack, which was quite disjointed and really a collection of her papers as she’d progressed with the research. That’s what I burned. In the briefcase were a couple of secure web addresses and passwords. I’ve been looking at one this afternoon, following the story of a young boy called Yanhamu. From the notes I think he’s the one who becomes a royal scribe called Meryra. During the Eighteenth Dynasty, it seems he recorded what was happening—only it would have been treason to openly write about what he witnessed, so he embedded his records in other documents. In ancient Egypt, word games and double meanings were commonplace, and remember, only the elite could read and write.”
“And this was Ellen’s research?”
“Absolutely, but it seems to have become much more than that. She referred to two components of the research. One was the story and one was about the ceremonial block. It seems the story explains the block. But, although Ellen was working on it, a large part of the research was by an Egyptian PhD student called Marek Borevsek. He was originally working in Berlin and then moved to Cairo.”
“Berlin? Why Berlin?”
“Berlin Museum contains a vast Egyptian collection. In fact, of the Amarna Letters—almost four hundred clay tablet documents from the period—the majority are in the Berlin Museum. I think they must have met through a forum. He had a big piece of the puzzle with the letters but didn’t know what he was looking for. Until he hooked up with Ellen about the ceremonial block that is.”
“So it is all about that missing block.”
“It seems to be a map.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “If only we could find it. Do you think Ellen hid it? Do you know where it might be?”
“No idea, but I’m not sure I need it.”
“Oh?”
“That’s the other part. There’s another secure site with photos and sketches of the block. Look.”
He opened his laptop and logged onto a site. As he hit enter, he said, “Best that you don’t know the password. If those BMW men…” He didn’t need to finish. She nodded.
“It doesn’t look very special,” she said as he flicked through the site.
“No it doesn’t. You would never guess what its real purpose was.”
“Not about embalming fluids?”
“Marek called it the Map-Stone.”
“It doesn’t look like a map. It’s more like you said, a breeze block.”
Alex agreed. “From the story, Marek believed the scribe hid important documents and religious icons in Tutankhamen’s tomb…” He paused and raised his eyebrows. “After the tomb was closed.”
“You’re saying he broke in?”
“More likely that he gained permission. Marek thinks Meryra was able to enter and have the tomb resealed. That would explain why the royal necropolis seal was dated after the tomb was originally closed.”
“Was it?”
“I discovered that this afternoon.”
Vanessa whistled through her teeth. “You told me that Carnarvon took artefacts. From the professor in Oxford you said it was papyrus… papers. Do you think it was actually this Map-Stone? Do you think he knew it held the secret? And what about them arguing? Did Carter want it?”
“I don’t know, but my guess would be no. Carnarvon expected the Book of the Dead documents, and he said he saw the scrolls. If he’d just found the ceremonial block, I doubt he’d have thought anything of it. As you said, it doesn’t look anything like a map.”
He logged out and closed the laptop. “Are you hungry?”
They ate at a local Lebanese restaurant, the conversation jumping back and forth about what he’d learned. She listened with fascination to the story of the young Yanhamu, who rescued his sister and then lost her.
“It’s hard going,” Alex explained. Marek has translated the tablets but his English isn’t perfect. Plus the sequence isn’t quite right.
“And you said this peasant boy goes on to become a royal scribe of high status. How does he—?”
“I’ve not got that far. I must admit that it seems unlikely. But then again, having secret messages in clay tablets is also amazing.”
She refused another glass of wine. “Not too much tonight,” she said with her crooked smile. �
��One thing I don’t get is why would he hide the story of his youth? Surely it’s the stuff you called treason that he’d have disguised?”
“The early stuff isn’t hidden. Marek thinks it was written by someone else. Someone who wanted to tell his story.”
As they walked back, she said, “There’s one burning question, one thing you’ve been teasing me with.”
“There is?”
“The Map-Stone. It looks like a lump of rock but it’s a map. The question is: can you read it?”
He stopped in the street. “No.”
“But Ellen worked it out?”
“I don’t think so. She and Marek worked out what had happened and what it was, but understanding how to read it…? I’m hoping inspiration will come.”
“What about this Marek guy, can he help?”
“I emailed him this afternoon. But no reply yet.”
Alex took her hand and they walked up to the flat. He opened the door, turned and put his hands on her waist.
“Are you staying tonight?” His question was laced with innuendo.
“Let’s take it slow. I think we need to rebuild our friendship first. And I want you to trust me again.” She kissed him lightly on the lips. “Sleep well. Let’s see what tomorrow brings.”
THIRTY-SIX
Alex couldn’t sleep. He went back on the Map-Stone site and spent hours staring at the photos and drawing what he saw. When he could no longer think, he logged into the other site and read more of the story of the boy Yanhamu, who might have become the scribe Meryra.
1336 BCE, Luxor
Yanhamu began to run through the streets calling Laret’s name. The more he looked, the more panicked he became. Finally, he made himself stop and think. There were few people in the outskirts, and when he asked everyone he met, they shook their heads. They hadn’t seen a girl wandering the streets in a baker’s cloak. Perhaps she’d gone to see the festival, some of them suggested.
The boy headed for the centre of the town, still looking along every road and around every corner. Before he reached the first pylon, the crowds began to gather. He was forced to wait as a procession of priests with flowing white gowns and shaven heads carried the god Amun aloft in a litter. They were followed by musicians with their tinkling bells, and then came the crowds, singing and clapping.
Map of the Dead: A mystery thriller that's a page turner Page 18
