Eye of the Moon (3 page)

   
2
   
DAZZLING ATEN

I
woke before the water of the Great River stole blue from the sky. Out on the roof terrace, the stars were turning pale in the east. The chilly air brought goose bumps to my arms. I touched the moonstone of the amulet at my throat—three times for good luck—then felt for the seven knots tied in my plaited papyrus bangle and whispered the prayers that would invoke each knot to tie up any evil that might be lurking and keep Katep safe.

My hands moved from amulet to knots without thinking. They were rituals done as easily as breathing or brushing a fly from my face.

The embers in the clay oven were still warm enough to stir into life. I lay down two loaves that had been proving overnight and dragged the embers around them. Soon the smell of warm barley dough rose up into the air.

Then I crept downstairs past my father's sleeping chamber and past Katep's empty corner and stepped outside into the courtyard. It was shadowy and silent. Even the fish in the reflecting pool still slept. The air was heavy with the perfume of figs and ripening dates. I slipped two figs into my girdle bag and then began sweeping the entrance to the courtyard with a mimosa branch to ward off plagues from entering our home that day.

I took two leather buckets and strode down to the river to fetch my father's bathing water. The water buffalo were moving restlessly in their byre, pushing and nosing one another in their eagerness to get at the fresh clumps of sedge. Their horns stood out like dark lyres against the pale sky.

Some mornings a warm desert wind played music
on those lyres. A strange, enchanting song that came from a far-distant place. A sound that made my feet want to dance and swirl away over the sand dunes. Today there was no wind. Just an early chill that made the skin of the buckets stiff as I carried them down to the river's edge.

The floods were coming. I could tell. Every day the water was pushing higher and higher and the small islands were disappearing. Thoth, the god of wisdom and truth, was weighing sunshine and darkness. Soon the day would come when they would balance equally on the scales. And then sunshine would tip heavier.

Each morning as the light crept in from the east, I searched for the tiny sliver of the First Moon. Now this morning it was there—floating just above the edge of the earth. A transparent shaving, as fine as a single thread of spun flax. Finer than a nail paring. I touched the moonstone amulet and invoked Hathor, goddess of the moon, helper of women, to protect me.

The First Moon marked the day of Ritual. And this would be my first Ritual without Katep. The crocodiles would have to be brought down to the
stone pool in the river to be cleansed of evil. My father would select one as a sacrifice to Sobek. Then I'd have to prevent it from returning along the passageway that led back to the pit.

The water was smooth, silent, and cold around my ankles. I searched for the telltale signs of bubbles rising up to make sure no wild river crocodile was lurking below the surface. Then I waded in and checked the stone wall of the pool for gaps. It was a bad omen to allow a sacred crocodile to escape.

It was still too early to slide back the stone that opened the passageway. The crocodiles in the pit wouldn't stir themselves until they'd been warmed by the sun. I'd purposely not fed them since giving them the she-goat. Getting them down to the water would be easy. Getting them back to the pit would be difficult. The village children would have to bang cymbals and beat sticks against the walls to urge them on.

“Remember . . . leave a slaughtered goat in the pit,” Katep had instructed. “One that's just beginning to rot. The smell of rotting meat brings them out of the water, like flies to a dung heap!”

Now the sweet perfume of lotus lilies drifted across the water. The warmth of the rising sun was
drawing up their buds from beneath the water. I watched as their blue petals began opening to reveal brilliant golden hearts. Each evening the lilies closed again and sank back into the dark water, trapping the scent of the golden hearts between their petals again.

This morning I was first at the river. None of the other village girls had arrived. There was a legend that whoever was early enough would be greeted by the most handsome god of all. He was Nefertem, god of the blue lotus and god of the sunrise, who brought the sun into the sky. It was said he'd rise from the river with a lotus on his head and carry the girl away.

But no god appeared this morning, and even if he had, I'm not sure I'd have gone with him.

I filled my buckets and picked some lilies to perfume my father's bathing water, then squeezed the water from the edge of my wrap and turned to walk back. There was a smell of wood smoke. I could hear babies crying and dogs yapping and squabbling over bones at the rubbish heaps. Women coming toward me were singing as they walked to the fields.

Suddenly they were pointing toward the river. “Look! Look!”

My breath caught as I turned.

A huge boat was floating silently across the water. It wasn't the usual barge that collected tithes for the temple granaries—the one that came piled with sacks of grain for my father to store so he could feed the villagers in times of need. Nor was it the barge that brought jars of oil or bolts of linen for the temple storerooms.

This boat seemed to have risen straight from the depths of the river, like some strange exotic water lily, unfurling as the warmth of the sun touched it—its hull carved and patterned in brilliant carnelian, turquoise, and blue, its gold embellishments dazzling the eye.

It slid forward as if propelled by some inner force, glistening and glinting in the early-morning air like an apparition. It was Ra's golden boat, come straight from the Underworld.

Then I heard the beat of oars. Against the sunlight I saw the outline of oarsmen and saw the sprays of water beads flung like jewels from their paddles.

It was a
real
boat with at least twenty on board and a huge dark red sail embellished with the Double Crown of Egypt. As it came closer, I saw the Eye of
Horus decorating its bow and its name written in hieratic script beneath.

Dazzling Aten
.

“Queen Tiy's barge,” someone whispered.

I held my breath, expecting to catch sight of her on the golden throne under the red canopy with the wings of her gold vulture crown sweeping the air. Why was she out on the river so early?

But as the barge came closer, I saw it was a man who sat there. By his elaborate dress and spangled leopard skin, I knew he was the highest of high priests, Wosret—the Most Powerful One.

The barge came straight toward the temple jetty. Village boys were shoving and pushing and squabbling to reach out and catch the ropes. The captain stood bare-chested in the prow, wearing a short linen wrap. A gingery beard jutted from his face like a tangled bush and met with the nest of hair on his chest. He wore no wig, and his equally matted red hair fell to his shoulders like a wild cloak and was tied at his forehead with a white band.

All
were wearing the same headbands. The white headbands of mourning.

The women began whispering.

“Someone has died.”

“But who? And why has
he
come?”

“Yes. Why
him
?”

“What can be so important?”

“Must've been someone really important; otherwise the highest of high priests wouldn't have come here.”

I whispered a quick prayer to Hathor—not only goddess of the moon, but also the goddess who carries the souls of the dead to the West.

Servants stepped off the boat and beat cymbals to ward off evil spirits as the highest of high priests was carried ashore in a golden sedan chair encrusted with lapis lazuli and turquoise and jewels of rainbow hue. The sand in his pathway was swept with a date-palm leaf and sprinkled with precious oils as he was set down.

The women fell to their knees.

My father came rushing down the path, already dressed in his temple clothes, a broad gold band around his neck and the gold crocodile bracelets clasping his upper arms. I was pleased I had pleated the linen of his tunic properly and left it under a heavy stone to flatten overnight.

He bowed. “My Lord, Wosret. Most Powerful One!”

The highest of high priests held up his hand and the crowd fell silent. His high cheekbones and strong nose with flaring nostrils gave his face the appearance of carved wood rather than flesh. And his eyes under dark-lined eyebrows looked as if they had been replaced with glass. Jet-black obsidian set in a statue's face. Lifeless as a lizard's eyes.

“Henuka, as her majesty Queen Tiy's trusted priest and embalmer at the Temple of Sobek, I've come to fetch you for a special embalming.”

My father bowed. “It must be someone of great importance for you to have come personally, my Lord.”

Wosret's eyes gave nothing away. “This I cannot yet announce.”

“My daughter is my helper. If the embalming is of great importance, I'll need her assistance.”

Wosret's eyes flicked coldly in my direction but moved quickly away again. Despite the sun on my back, I felt a small shiver run through me.

“Then let her hurry. The weather is warm. We mustn't delay. The bodies will not last.” He snapped
his fingers at his servants and they stooped to lift his chair onto their shoulders once again.

Bodies?
I wanted to ask, but my father's look silenced me.

“Never address the high priests personally unless spoken to,” he hissed. “Now, be quick. Collect my instruments and resins of myrrh, hekenu, and nesmen and the bark of cinnamon, cloves, and oils. Bring the
Book of Temple Inscriptions
, too. Tie and seal the chest with clay so no one will meddle with it. And pack the ceremonial wig box and my pleated linen garments. Be ready to leave immediately.”

I squinted back at him. “What about the crocodiles? The First Moon appeared this morning before sunrise. It's the day of Ritual and offering to Sobek.”

Wosret turned in his chair as he was being carried and called out over his shoulder, “Do not delay, Henuka.”

My father bowed and smiled, then spoke under his breath. “The Ritual must wait. The demands of the highest of high priests come first. We must attend the embalming and ensure whoever has died has a safe passage to the Underworld.”

“Can it be Queen Tiy?”

“Shh, Kara! Hold your tongue!”

I slid a quick look at the barge with its gleaming embellishments. “But that's
her
boat.”

“What of it?”

“Why's
he
using her boat?”

“Shh, now! You ask too many questions. Fetch my things. Change into a clean tunic and wash the mud from your feet. Hurry!”

I tossed my head. “I can't help the mud! I've been doing my work.”

“I wish your mother were here. Collect my implements and remember—only speak when you're spoken to. Be quiet otherwise. Stand up straight. Keep your head bowed. Don't shrug your shoulders or toss your head if you don't agree with what's said. The highest of high priests, Wosret, is truly the Most Powerful One. Don't be impulsive and say the first thing that comes into your head. Bite back your tongue. Be warned, Kara!”

These words still draw a bitter sigh from me now as I write them. If only I had listened.