Orphan of the Sun (15 page)

It was Heria, the mother of Ramose.

Dumbfounded, Meryt went back through the courtyard and into the chapel. If it were not for the smell of incense that still hung in the air and the fresh offering that lay on the altar, she would almost have thought she'd imagined it. But the figs were plump and ripe, and the loaves were freshly baked. There had been no one else on the pathway, and in any case the tombs of both Paneb and Heria's own families were further round to the north of the cemetery.

So Heria was making offerings to Peshedu. Why? Why? After all that had happened over the last few weeks, Meryt felt a sudden rush of rage. She leapt at the altar, snatched up Heria's loaves and flung them out into the courtyard with all her strength.

‘How dare you! How
dare
you!' she cried, shaking with fury, and reached for a fig. She hurled it after the loaves and it landed on the rocky ground with a little thud, its skin splitting open to reveal the rich red flesh within. It looked like a raw, gaping wound, and at the sight of it Meryt's rage disappeared as
quickly as it had erupted. She raised a hand to her mouth in terror at what she had done and walked slowly outside.

‘I'm so sorry,' she murmured, picking up the broken fruit, and tenderly brushing off the white dust that now coated it. She carried it reverently back into the chapel and laid it on the altar once more, then did the same with the loaves of bread. Kneeling down, she began to rock slowly to and fro, tears streaming down her face. ‘Forgive me, forgive me,' she wept. ‘I didn't mean to do it. Father, forgive me. The fig is not so badly damaged and I would bring you another if I could. Please forgive me.'

At last she grew quiet again and sat still, trying to work out what Heria's visits might mean. There was no family connection that Meryt was aware of. Tia and Senmut had little to do with Heria and Paneb – or at least until recently. The proposal from Ramose had changed things a little, but as Meryt thought about it, the more the whole situation seemed strange. She had never known Ramose well. Men of the village were usually much more forward with their courtships, and many couples became lovers before living together in marriage. But Ramose had barely spoken to Meryt in the past, and his proposal had come via Senmut.

There was one obvious explanation for this.
He only wants to marry me because he can't get anyone else
, Meryt thought to herself resentfully. And she was supposed to feel grateful because she was an orphan
who was lucky to be living in the village at all.

But that didn't make sense of the other things that had happened: Heria's visit to their house, Heria's offerings to Peshedu … Ramose might be a dull-witted son, but surely most mothers were not involved so deeply in their sons' affairs? Tia had said as much to Nauna on the roof when Meryt had overheard them talking. And even if it were for the sake of her son's marriage, making offerings to a girl's dead father was taking things a little far.

Gazing at the food upon the altar, Meryt suddenly felt the gnawing pangs of hunger. Apart from the dates that she had found along the riverside, she had eaten nothing that day, and very little the day before. The smell of the ripe fig reached her nostrils and her mouth watered. A fig and some fresh bread … But she had damaged the offering enough already. Whatever its purpose, she would not desecrate it further. She pushed away the temptation and scrambled to her feet.

Meryt made her way towards the western gate. She decided to visit Kenna. Her cheeks flushed at the thought of speaking to him again, but he was still her friend; he was bound to find her something to eat.

To her disappointment, he wasn't in.

‘He is taking food to his brother in the Place of Beauty,' his mother told her. She and Kenna's aunts stared at her curiously, and Meryt retreated hastily to the street.

Her stomach rumbled, and she wondered whether
to visit Dedi instead. But somehow, the idea of telling her friend that she was hungry was too humiliating. She wandered through the village, uncertain what to do.

She stood at the north gate, then walked out of the village. A group of men were lying in the shade not far off, taking their midday break. They had been employed to dig a great pit in the hope of hitting water, which would make life in the village easier; but they had found none after months of digging. Rumour had it they would soon be told to give up. Averting her gaze from their grins, Meryt turned around and soon found herself at the start of the little track that led to Teti's house under the north-western cliffs. She stopped. She barely knew the
rekhet
. Could she really return so soon? She had said ‘come back later', hadn't she? Well, it was later now – not much later, but she had nowhere else to go.

Plucking up her courage, Meryt stepped down the path and sized up the little row of houses. It was difficult to guess which one belonged to Teti, and she peered at the whitewashed walls trying to pick up clues. A young boy of about four emerged from one, and smiled up at her innocently. Meryt smiled back and crouched down to his level.

‘Do you know which house is Teti's?' she asked him.

The boy grinned at her and pointed to one of the houses. Meryt thanked him, then approached the house and knocked gently on the door. Now that she
was here, she felt doubly nervous. Perhaps Teti was asleep, and would not take kindly to being woken. Perhaps the
rekhet
had not expected her to return until at least the evening …

But Teti's face, when it appeared, was warm and welcoming. ‘Meryt! What brings you back so quickly? Come in.'

Meryt followed her through the cool mud-brick rooms, casting quick glances around as they went. The whole house was filled with the scent of incense, herbs and aromatic flowers, and there were pots and bowls in every nook and cranny. Teti led her through to the courtyard at the back and turned around.

‘Is everything well with you, Meryt? I didn't expect you until the sun had lost its heat.'

The
rekhet
's voice was searching, and Meryt shrugged awkwardly. ‘There are problems at home,' she admitted. ‘I'm sorry I couldn't wait until later.' Her eyes strayed to some loaves of bread that lay in the corner, and her stomach grumbled loudly.

‘Why, you are hungry, Meryt! Sit down. I will bring you something to eat.'

Meryt smiled weakly and sat where Teti had indicated, on an area of neat reed matting in the shade. The
rekhet
said nothing more. She stoked up her oven and disappeared into her cellar for a moment, re-emerging with a pot half-full of food that Meryt guessed was a leftover stew of some kind. She eyed it hungrily as Teti placed it on top of the oven and gave it a stir.

‘Can I help?' she offered.

Teti smiled and shook her head. ‘It won't take long,' she said, reaching down into the mouth of the cellar. She brought out a cucumber and a bunch of coriander. After dicing the cucumber, she placed it in a little bowl, then began to chop the coriander. Her fingers worked quickly, and Meryt watched her deft movements with pleasure. ‘I didn't expect you to give me a meal,' she said awkwardly. ‘Thank you, Teti.'

‘Life is full of the unexpected. We'll talk once you've eaten,' the
rekhet
replied, placing the salad by Meryt's side. She stood and spooned some of the stew into a bowl. It was made mainly of fava beans and lentils, heavily flavoured with onions and garlic, and Meryt accepted it gratefully. She tore a chunk of bread from the loaf that Teti offered her and began to eat.

It seemed as though nothing had ever tasted so delicious. The stew was infused with other, more subtle flavours, and Teti's bread was unusually soft. Meryt savoured each mouthful until she finally wiped her bowl clean.

‘More?' Teti's eyes were smiling as she reached for Meryt's bowl.

‘Just a little,' said Meryt guiltily. ‘I'm sorry …'

‘Don't worry. Eat,' Teti ordered her, returning the bowl with another generous spoonful of the stew. ‘I'm glad to see someone enjoying my cooking so much.'

Meryt grinned, her heart warmed by both the food and the welcome. When she at last laid down the bowl, she felt as though a burden had already been lifted from her shoulders – though she could not say exactly why that should be.

‘Now,' said Teti, sitting down beside her. ‘You are going to tell me what has happened that has left you hungry and with no one to turn to. Does your cousin Baki have something to do with this, by any chance?'

Meryt nodded. ‘My uncle is angry with me,' she said. ‘He sent me out of the house.'

‘And why did he do that? Because Baki is sick?'

‘It wasn't my fault,' Meryt blurted anxiously.

Teti smiled. ‘I didn't assume it was. Just tell me what happened.'

Meryt bowed her head, wondering where to start. She took a deep breath. ‘Last year, I foresaw that a neighbour's child would be still-born,' she said. ‘There has been trouble ever since. Nes the grain-grinder and all the neighbours like to gossip. People talk of Sekhmet …'

She looked up to see how Teti was reacting, and saw that she was listening intently.

‘My cousin Baki likes to torment me,' Meryt carried on. ‘He has always hated me and this stupid rumour has played right into his hands. He poisons my uncle against me whenever he gets the chance, saying that I curse him and place the hand of Sekhmet upon him. Now my uncle fears and hates me too.'

She stopped, slightly out of breath. She had never voiced this openly before.

‘And how do you feel about Baki?' asked Teti softly.

Meryt swallowed. She couldn't deny the truth. ‘The dream – I didn't … I've never …' she began, her lip trembling. Then she took a deep breath. ‘I have come to hate him in return,' she blurted. ‘But I have never wished him harm.'

Teti nodded and smiled knowingly, then stood up. ‘There is something I want to show you,' she said. ‘Wait here.'

Meryt wiped her hands on her dress. They were sweating and she could feel her pulse ringing in her ears. Why had she admitted so much? She kicked herself. No good could come of unleashing her feelings in this way. If you named something, you gave it life; by naming so much hatred, who could say what powers might be unleashed? She thought of Nofret and the amulets and felt as though she were walking on deep banks of Nile mud, slippery and treacherous, into which she might fall, and at any time be devoured by the crocodiles …

She looked up as Teti returned with a roll of papyrus manuscripts under her arm, and frowned in bewilderment. ‘I can't read very much,' she said. ‘I haven't had any schooling. I just know what my cousin Mose has taught me.'

‘Don't worry,' said Teti. ‘You could learn, if you wanted to. For now I shall read what you cannot
read yourself.' She settled down on the mats and began to unfurl the papyri. ‘These belonged to my ancestor Ken-her-khepeshef,' she said. ‘He was a scribe, and a man of great learning. I have inherited his library and it has taught me a great deal.'

Meryt watched, feeling nervous, as the
rekhet
picked out one particular papyrus. What was Teti going to say about Baki? She hadn't commented yet. Perhaps the script contained curses for those who hated their cousins – or worse.

‘This is the
Dream Book
,' Teti told her. ‘You are a dreamer, Meryt. It is a gift. You must learn to harness it, and use it for good.'

‘But everyone has dreams,' protested Meryt.

Teti cocked her head on one side. ‘Not in this way,' she said. ‘There is more to it for you.'

‘What do you mean? I have only told you about one dream. How can you possibly know?' cried Meryt, growing frightened. ‘I didn't want to dream about Baki!'

‘No, of course not,' said Teti. ‘At the moment, it is your dreams that have power over you. But I see that you can reverse this, so that you have power over them and interpret them, if you choose.'

Meryt stared at her. She didn't understand. ‘Can't anyone do this?' she whispered.

Teti shook her head. ‘No, Meryt. They can't. People have dreams that they take to other people for interpretation. Some people have access to the
Dream Book
. But few people dream on behalf of others,
or have the awareness that I can see in you.' She opened out the
Dream Book
papyrus and ran down the text with her finger. ‘Here,' she said. ‘This is the list of unlucky dreams:
If a man sees himself in a dream being bitten by a dog – bad. He has been touched by magic
.'

Meryt squinted at the papyrus. She had heard of the
Dream Book
before but she had never seen a copy, and it would not have been much good to her even if she had. Her cousin Mose had only taught her simple hieroglyphs – how to spell the names of some of the gods, and how to spell her own name – and this papyrus was not written in hieroglyphs at all. It was written in the flowing text of scribes and she couldn't read a word of it.

She swallowed. ‘I didn't see myself in the dream,' she said. ‘Or at least, it wasn't me that was bitten.'

‘Exactly,' said Teti. ‘You saw your cousin, and now he has fallen sick.'

Meryt got up, her heart full of fear. ‘It wasn't my doing,' she cried out.

Teti looked up at her, her face serious. ‘You cannot run away from this, Meryt,' she said. ‘It is part of you. Everything will be fine as long as you learn to understand it.'

‘No!' Meryt didn't want to hear it. She backed away.

Teti shook her head regretfully and began to roll up the papyrus. For the first time since their meeting on the path, Meryt felt afraid of Teti. She knew little
about this woman. Dedi's family had turned to her occasionally, but Senmut and Tia preferred to ask for advice from the gods, or the oracle as a last resort. She edged away from her towards the door.

Teti got to her feet and stared down into Meryt's eyes. She suddenly seemed taller, more imposing, and Meryt began to tremble.