Orphan of the Sun (27 page)

She took a deep breath. It would be best to come straight to the point. ‘Hello. Is Nofret there, or at the embalmers' workshops?' she asked.

‘Nofret?' Userkaf's wife looked at her askance. ‘The servant?'

Meryt nodded. ‘We are friends,' she hazarded. ‘I would like to speak to her.'

Userkaf's wife pursed her lips. ‘I can't spare her at the moment.'

‘It would not be for long.' Meryt gave her a pleading look, and saw the flicker of a response in the older woman's eyes.

‘It had better not be. She must be back in time to help me cook.' Userkaf's wife turned away, and called back into the house. ‘Nofret!'

Meryt waited by the big water jars that stood outside the house. As ever, neighbours peered out of their houses, drawn by the sound of voices. She
ignored them, trying to think through what she was going to say to the servant girl.
I have nothing to lose
, Nofret had said. She was prepared to risk everything for her master. But why? There could be only one possible reason …

She stirred as Nofret's face appeared in the doorway.

‘What are you doing here?' demanded the servant girl.

‘I need to speak to you,' said Meryt. ‘Come quickly. Your mistress said you could leave your work for a while.'

Nofret looked annoyed. ‘You make trouble for me, Meryt-Re,' she said.

‘Not as much as you make for yourself,' Meryt retorted. 'I am trying to help you. Come, before your time is up.'

Reluctantly, Nofret followed Meryt as she walked the short distance to the village gate and along the winding southern path.

‘Let's climb up towards the Great Place,' said Meryt. ‘Then we can sit and look down on the village.'

‘If we must,' said Nofret ungraciously. ‘But it is hard work climbing up there. I don't know why we can't just sit alongside the path.'

Meryt ignored her. She had already turned up the steep, rocky path that led around the Peak of the West and over the cliffs to the great valley of the kings' tombs that lay beyond. As she did so, she looked down at the panorama that began to unfold below – the sprawling western cemetery, the
cramped houses and the village temple-chapels at the northern end. When she could just see the massive mortuary temples and the River Nile too, she stopped, and looked back to see Nofret labouring up the path behind her.

They stood in silence, getting their breath back. Then Meryt made a sweeping gesture with her arm, taking in everything that lay before them.

‘This is my home,' she said. ‘This village. I have always lived here.'

Nofret remained quiet, as Meryt thought she might.

‘I hope to stay here, one way or another,' Meryt carried on. ‘And I hope that in some small way I shall help to keep our lives governed by truth and justice, the principles of
maat
.'

‘Why, good for you, Meryt-Re,' said Nofret in a cynical tone. ‘What a happy future you have laid out before you.'

Meryt turned towards the other girl. ‘The strange thing is …' she said slowly, ‘I have a clearer picture of your future than I do of mine.'

Nofret tried to mask her startled look. ‘And what future is that, Meryt-Re?' she asked.

‘You think you have it all worked out,' said Meryt. ‘Stealing the amulets, telling me that story about Kha. But you haven't done it all for nothing. Userkaf has offered you a reward, hasn't he? He even gave you gifts to keep you happy in the meantime.'

Nofret's mouth closed into a stubborn line. She said nothing.

‘Of course he did,' reasoned Meryt. ‘As you said, you had nothing to lose – and everything to gain. And I know what that
everything
is to you, Nofret. It's your freedom.'

The words hit their mark and Nofret's mouth dropped open. ‘How do you know?' she cried.

Meryt gave a little shrug. ‘This does not take any special magic to work out,' she said. ‘Why else would you risk your life with such defiance?'

At last, Nofret's guard was broken. Her eyes flashed in pride and anger. ‘Yes!' she shouted. ‘And that freedom is now very close, so do not provoke me, Meryt-Re!'

‘I am not provoking you,' said Meryt. ‘I told you. I want to help, that's all.'

Nofret snorted. ‘I suppose you are going to say that I would be better off remaining a slave in your beloved village,' she said scornfully. ‘I know what freedom means. It might mean hardship and poverty but it will be of my own choosing – and that is what I prefer.'

Meryt shook her head. However wonderful freedom might seem, a person still had to eat. ‘What has he offered you, exactly?' she asked.

Nofret hesitated, narrowing her eyes. ‘He has a small piece of land, by the river,' she said. ‘There is a little hut there. I could grow vegetables, and sell what I do not eat in the market.'

‘He has offered you this?' Meryt spoke quietly, for her heart now went out to the servant girl. She saw
the dream in Nofret's eyes – the dream of a life of tranquillity where she could work hard for her own ends, no longer at the mercy of her masters. But for all her fiery defiance, she must be truly desperate to believe that Userkaf would give her such a thing.

Nofret must have seen the sympathy in Meryt's eyes, for her own began to fill with fear. ‘Yes,' she whispered. ‘He promised that if I stole enough of the amulets …' the words died on her lips.

Meryt stood still, and gazed out over the view.

‘What have you seen?' demanded Nofret. ‘What have the gods shown you?'

A thought flashed through Meryt's mind – a memory. She saw Teti, her eyes large and troubled as she tried to offer comfort to the three women who sat huddled in her front room. Meryt knew instinctively that there had been little hope; and now, suddenly, she understood the nature of Teti's work. It meant sharing people's grief as well as their joy, and shouldering their burden with them.

‘The gods showed me the painter Kha,' she said. ‘They showed me that your story was false. But I saw more than that. Kha is loyal to Userkaf, but it will not do him any good. Your master uses people, but he gives nothing in return, for he is driven by ambition and greed.'

Doubt crept across the servant girl's features. ‘But he gave me the shawl and the collar … He promised …'

Meryt looked at her. ‘Think, Nofret.'

The servant's shoulders sagged as the truth of Meryt's words began to dawn on her. It was a harsh realisation, and she seemed to shrink in disappointment and pain. But then her spirit fought back, for a moment. ‘I can threaten to expose him!' she cried.

Meryt nodded. ‘Yes, you can,' she said. ‘But it depends what you hope to achieve. If you think it will be your freedom, you are much mistaken. Userkaf will not take kindly to threats from a servant girl and in any case, you are his thief. Surely you can see what this means?'

This time, Nofret was silent. She looked at the ground and traced a pattern in the dust with the toe of her sandal. Eventually, she looked up. ‘I will not be his slave all my life. I would rather
die
,' she said in a low voice.

Meryt swallowed. What proud, desperate words … but as she looked at the other girl's hunched, scrawny shoulders, Meryt saw the depths of misery that filled her life and realised they were true. She took a deep breath. ‘If you really mean that …' she began.

Nofret's eyes filled with tears, and she began to weep. ‘I do mean it,' she sobbed. ‘He promised. It was my only hope. What else do I have to care about?'

Meryt took a deep breath, and touched her arm. ‘There is something you can do, Nofret,' she said. ‘You do not have to threaten to expose him. You do not have to speak to him at all. But remember what
you have said:
you have nothing to lose
. If you speak the truth before the court, you may find greater mercy at the hands of the vizier than you would at the hands of your master.'

She said the words with hope, but at the same time her heart was cold, for she knew that the penalty for theft was harsh – and for the theft of precious amulets, the court might demand the highest penalty of all. She placed her arms around Nofret's shoulders, and waited for her sobs to subside before guiding her back down the path towards the village.

‘Take time to think,' she murmured as they reached the village. ‘Should you decide to act, do not be afraid. On the day, I do not think you will be alone.'

Nofret disappeared into Userkaf's house without a backward glance. Meryt felt full of sorrow that life could be so cruel, and she wandered back home slowly. She wondered what the servant girl would do; what Kha would do. She had done everything in her power and the matter was now in the hands of the gods. Her fingers closed around her new amulet and she muttered a solemn prayer. ‘May the gods be with us all,' she murmured. ‘And may they be merciful to those who deserve it.'

But as she drew closer her thoughts took a more positive turn, for
home
was such a beautiful word and she now appreciated it more than ever before. She stepped over the threshold with gladness, humming a tune. After briefly touching the bust of her
father in the front room, she walked through to the next.

And there, sitting on the floor next to Tia, was Heria.

‘Oh!' exclaimed Meryt. She stared at the two women – first at Heria, quickly, then at Tia. All at once, she wanted to flee.

‘Come and sit,' said Tia, giving Meryt a meaningful look. ‘Heria wishes to speak with you.'

Meryt pursed her lips. She was not sure she wanted to hear what Heria had to say. After all, hadn't she almost forced Meryt into a marriage she did not desire?

‘Please,' said Heria. ‘You have nothing to fear.'

Reluctantly, Meryt lowered herself down on to the mats, close to Tia, glowering at the other woman. ‘What do you want with me?' she asked ungraciously. ‘You must know that I am not going to marry your –'

She stopped as Tia nudged her arm in warning. ‘She is here to tell us the truth,' said Tia. ‘I went and fetched her myself.'

Heria looked embarrassed. ‘I only wanted to help,' she said. ‘I hope I can show you that.'

Help?
thought Meryt, frowning.
What kind of help was that?
But she waited for Heria to continue.

‘When your mother Simut died, Peshedu was left on his own, as you know,' Heria carried on. ‘Tia helped to raise you but she soon gave birth to Baki. So Peshedu employed a wet nurse to give you milk and look after you. He was often alone and seeking
company. That is when I got to know him. I had been a widow for two years and I was worried for Ramose, who had no father to guide him. We visited Peshedu at quiet times to avoid the gossip of the neighbours and we grew to love him well. I would have become his wife if … if he had not fallen sick.'

Heria stopped for a moment and wiped her forehead. She had begun her story quickly, but her sentences were gradually growing slower. Meryt threw a glance at Tia, who was listening as intently as she was herself.

‘I was so young myself – fifteen when Baki was born,' said Tia thoughtfully. ‘I never had any idea …'

‘We had decided to keep our love a secret until Meryt was weaned,' Heria told her. ‘I had no milk of my own to offer her but I would have taken her as my daughter later on, just as Peshedu was happy to treat Ramose as his son.'

‘But you were nowhere to be seen once Peshedu fell sick,' said Tia, a hint of accusation in her voice. ‘That was when I needed help most of all. Baki was still no more than a baby and hated being left with Nauna while I cared for Peshedu …'

Heria's eyes flashed defensively. ‘What could I do?' she cried. ‘I feared the worst. I had a son, but no father to care for him or give him an apprenticeship. I could not care for Meryt as well. I needed to find a husband.'

Meryt stared at Heria as the picture of yet another life opened up before her – a life in which she had
been raised by Peshedu and the woman sitting here before her. ‘Ramose would have been my brother!' she stuttered, instinctively leaning closer to Tia.

Heria nodded. ‘I know I let you down, Meryt-Re,' she said. ‘I let your father down too. I chose Paneb the stonecutter to provide a future for my son.' She paused. ‘But I still wanted to help. I did not care for you as a girl, but Ramose could have cared for you as his wife. I even went to Peshedu's tomb to ask for his blessing on you both.'

So that was it. The offerings in the tomb, the proposal of marriage … all the fruit of Heria's love for Peshedu. Meryt bowed her head, wishing for a moment that she had she never been born. All these years, the adults around her had fretted over her care and her future, burdened by guilt.

But then she felt Tia's arm around her shoulder, and heard her aunt speak. ‘The past is the past, Heria,' she said. ‘I too have carried a burden for many years, but I know my brother has forgiven me. Think of this: if you had taken Meryt into your home, I would not have cared for her myself. And that would have been my loss, for she is now a daughter to me. And more than that – a friend.'

Meryt's heart gave a bound. Since returning home, she had known that Tia loved her more than anyone ever had, but it was still wonderful to hear her say it out loud. She looked up at her aunt and wanted to hug her, but did not – for in the doorway stood her uncle Senmut.

She had no idea how long he had been standing there. She wondered if he had heard what had been said, and dreaded his anger. But Tia saw him too, and smiled. ‘Senmut. Come and sit with us. We have been learning more of Peshedu.'

‘And of a woman's foolishness,' said Heria, with a sigh, as Senmut moved forward silently to squat at Tia's side. ‘I am sorry, so sorry. From what Tia has told me, I have caused trouble for us all.'

‘I heard what you have to say,' said Senmut. ‘But what of your son? Is it not time he found a wife?'