Orphan of the Sun (3 page)

‘I don't think so,' said Mose gravely. ‘I think she meant it.'

Meryt bit into the pomegranate to break its skin, then peeled off a piece to reveal the juicy red fruit.

‘I want first bit!' demanded Henut.

Meryt handed her a small section, and Henut took it eagerly, soon happily lost in breaking off the tiny segments, chomping them one by one, and spitting out the seeds.

‘Why is Peshedu angry with Mama?' asked Mose.

Meryt felt uneasy. Mose's clear, childlike question echoed the niggling uncertainty in her own mind. ‘I don't know, Mose,' she said. ‘Maybe he isn't. Not really.'

Mose threw a date stone over the side of the roof. ‘He makes her unhappy,' he commented. ‘I don't like Mama being unhappy.'

Meryt was momentarily lost for words. She looked up as Tia came up the steps, her footsteps slow and subdued. Her unborn child was growing bigger and she seemed to tire more easily each day. She
walked over to the mat and sat down next to them, pulling Henut to her and wrapping her arms around her. Henut wriggled and fed her a piece of pomegranate.

Tia laughed and chewed it, then spat out the seed.

Meryt met her eyes and smiled. ‘Have things calmed down?' she asked quietly.

Tia nodded. ‘Every wife has a mother-in-law to bear,' she said with a grimace.

But not a dead brother
, thought Meryt.
You shouldn't have him to bear too
. She looked at Mose, who had quietly sidled up to Tia and was sitting with his head resting on her arm. It was difficult to read his expression, and Meryt decided to say nothing about Peshedu. She scrambled to her feet, suddenly feeling the need to escape.

‘I'll be back to help later,' she said. ‘I won't be long.'

Meryt-Re walked quickly to the south gate, where a member of the Medjay police force stood guard at the village wall. He was half asleep, and ignored her as she went past. She soon turned off the path and started up a stony track. The last heat of the sun hit her as she left the shade of the houses, and she followed the track slowly, past the entrances to disused tombs and up the hill that hid Set Maat from the Nile valley. With the tombs behind her, she picked her way carefully over the crumbling limestone to the top.

There, she had a view in all directions. She sat and hugged her knees, facing the River Nile that glittered in the distance to the east. The annual Nile flood had long since receded, leaving behind a rich layer of black silt that was chequered with irrigation channels. It was now the season of
peret
, the ‘time of emergence', in which crops were sown and the first shoots poked up their heads. And so, on either side of the river, there was a band of fresh, bright green; but where there was no irrigation, the crops stopped abruptly. After that, there was only desert, where nothing could grow.

She watched as a line of men trudged towards Set Maat, driving donkeys before them that were laden with flagons of water from the river. Without the water-carriers, life in the village could not exist. This was a strange, barren place, a dry desert valley overshadowed by towering limestone cliffs. The cliffs offered a little shade, but otherwise the village had no protection from the scorching Egyptian sun.

Meryt closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun until she felt beads of sweat pricking on her forehead. She loved to do this, for it reminded her of the blessing within her own name:
Beloved of Re
. She imagined the sun-god travelling across the sky in his barque, having once more defeated Apep, the monster of darkness. She smiled, basking in warmth.

The sound of scrambling feet on the rocks made her open her eyes again. She sat still, wondering who
could be coming up this lonely track. While Meryt came here often, she rarely encountered anyone else along the way. It was her own special retreat.

She stared as a small figure came into view, head bowed, muttering under her breath.

‘Nofret!' called Meryt.

The girl jumped in fright, and stopped. She was perhaps a year younger than Meryt, but seemed younger still. She was a servant girl and had arrived in the village three years earlier, purchased by one of the workmen. Meryt did not know her well, but she saw her often enough, and she had noticed that the younger girl had been looking miserable lately. She had a furtive look, and Meryt had sometimes seen her curled up on her own in shady places.

‘How are you?' asked Meryt.

‘Why do you ask?' responded Nofret warily.

‘I wondered if something was troubling you,' suggested Meryt. ‘You don't smile the way you used to.'

Nofret stared at her. ‘You don't know anything,' she said defensively, backing away a few steps.

‘No. Only that you are unhappy,' said Meryt. ‘I am curious, that's all.'

Nofret seemed confused by Meryt's words, and then she backed away further. ‘There's nothing wrong,' she muttered. ‘I'm fine.'

Meryt-Re shrugged. ‘If you say so,' she said.

She looked out towards the Nile again, over the grand mortuary temples. Their brilliant colours were beginning to glow in the late-afternoon sun, and she
shaded her eyes. Nofret still stood nearby, watching her. Meryt turned and looked at her again.

‘Have you come to sit up here too? Or are you going somewhere?' she asked, wondering what the younger girl was after.

Nofret seemed flustered by the question. ‘I'm going … yes, I just came here to sit.'

Uneasily, she perched on a rock, and the two girls lapsed into silence.
She's lying
, Meryt-Re said to herself.
But I can't think why
.

The sun sank lower, and Meryt-Re turned around to face the limestone cliffs that overshadowed the village. They shifted in colour throughout the day, starting golden-pink in the light of dawn, changing to shimmering yellows and whites in the heat of the day, and developing deep orange-gold shadows as the sun moved round behind them to the west. The pattern never changed, except that in winter a few wispy clouds sometimes stretched themselves out across the sky. Rarer still, they released a sprinkling of rain, but the drops dried almost before they hit the ground.

Meryt-Re had heard of other lands where the clouds formed black and angry battalions and the rain lashed the ground in fury, but this might not be true. Who could believe the words of the travelling traders? They were too fond of the tales they told. She gazed as the shadows inched across the valley and imagined water from the sky upon her face.
How strange, how wonderful!

She stood up and smiled at Nofret, who still sat watching her, waiting … for what? For Meryt-Re to go, she was sure.

‘Are you coming back down?' asked Meryt.

Nofret shifted on her rock, looking guilty. ‘No – no. I'm going to stay and sit for a while.'

Meryt-Re shrugged, smiling, and set off down the track, humming to herself. She reached the disused cemetery again. The ancestors lying here dated from a time that was all but forgotten – from the era of the village founders, the deified king Amenhotep I and his mother Ahmes Nefertari. The mud-brick chapels that stood over the tombs were falling into disrepair, and some had even been dismantled by the villagers for their bricks. Meryt-Re ducked behind one of them, and peered back up the hillside.

She could just see the top of Nofret's head, sitting where Meryt had left her. Then the servant girl stood up, and Meryt flattened herself against the chapel wall, expecting her to soon pass by on the track. She waited. After a few minutes, there were no footsteps and Meryt peered out again. She frowned in surprise. Nofret had disappeared.

So Nofret was heading away from the village via the winding hilltop track that few people used. It was growing late. The sun would soon set. The servant girl was a funny little thing, but this behaviour was odd, all the same. She shouldn't be leaving the village at this hour, especially not by herself. And
wherever she was going, she didn't want Meryt-Re to know about it.

But Meryt-Re knew only too well that nothing could remain a secret in Set Maat for long …

Chapter Two

With the shadows lengthening, Meryt made her way back home reluctantly. Senmut and Baki would be home for the evening meal, and the chances were very high that Baki would have stirred up trouble. Nauna's mood would still be ugly; Tia would be nervous and jumpy. But there was nowhere else to go, and besides, she had promised to do her share of the chores.

‘Meryt-Re, come here,' Senmut ordered her, as soon as she stepped inside. ‘I want to speak to you.'

Meryt followed him into the front room, but not before catching a glimpse of Baki in the courtyard. He grinned at her and pulled a face.

‘What is it, Uncle?' she asked, dread rising inside her as she registered the anger in his eyes.

‘You have been threatening Baki,' said Senmut in a low, furious voice. ‘You have been speaking the unthinkable in my house. What kind of person brings curses into the house that shelters her?'

‘I didn't mean what I said, Uncle,' said Meryt. ‘I didn't curse him. I was just teasing. Baki heard you talking about Ramose –'

‘Yes! Ramose! There is only one answer, Meryt,' shouted Senmut. ‘You will marry him and leave my household in peace!'

Meryt felt her insides go cold. ‘You promised me time, Uncle,' she managed to say. ‘Please give me that. Baki is a troublemaker …'

Senmut's face darkened further. Meryt began to tremble. Any minute now, her uncle would snap, and strike her.

‘Baki is my son,' he thundered. ‘You will not speak of him like that, and you will show him the respect that is due to him. Do you hear?'

Senmut turned his back and paced the room for a moment. ‘And I will speak to Paneb and Heria in the morning. The arrangements with Ramose will be made. The sooner the better.'

‘I will not marry Ramose against the will of the goddess!' gasped Meryt, clutching at straws. ‘You cannot make me do that, Uncle!'

Senmut spun around and faced her. He stared at her. ‘Which goddess?' he demanded.

‘Our goddess Ahmes Nefertari,' stammered Meryt, holding Senmut's gaze despite the thumping of her heart. ‘She knows the life of the village, doesn't she? I must ask her if this is her will.'

Senmut looked at Meryt warily, and smoothed his hands over his kilt. His eyebrows were furrowed in a scowl, but Meryt detected something other than anger in his black eyes. She realised with a jolt that it was fear.

‘Consult the goddess then,' he muttered. ‘Keep further harm from our family.'

Meryt thought quickly. Ahmes Nefertari was not a vengeful goddess but, with her son Amenhotep, she was an arbiter of justice. Meryt did not want to bring fear or judgement into the house. She would do better to consult the goddess Hathor, who was concerned with matters of love and happiness and had never been known to pour wrath on the villagers.

‘I will consult Hathor instead, if you prefer,' she offered.

To Meryt's relief, Senmut's features softened. ‘Very well. Very well.' He nodded in satisfaction before raising his voice again. ‘But be sure to understand that this cannot go on, Meryt. You will respect my son and respect our household. There will be no ill deeds under my roof.'

‘Thank you, Uncle,' said Meryt. ‘I will do as you say.'

She darted out of the room and went through to the courtyard, where the rest of the family were gathered. She ignored Baki, who was capering around in glee, and sat down next to Tia to help her chop vegetables. Naunakht was gutting three fish, throwing their innards to the two pet cats that appeared out of the shadows to beg. She was clearly still irritable, and snapped at little Henut for getting under her feet. Henut retreated to Tia, glaring resentfully at the older woman, until her attention strayed to the cats and she chased after them, giggling.

‘How much longer?' asked Senmut, appearing in the doorway. ‘I'm as hungry as Ammut the devourer.'

‘About an hour,' said Tia. ‘Maybe less.' She shot a nervous glance at Nauna, who nodded briefly.

Senmut stepped into the courtyard and picked up a jar of beer and a strainer. ‘Pass me a cup, Baki.'

Baki obliged, and held it for his father as he poured out the gloopy ale. The strainer soon filled with residue – lumps of soggy barley bread – which Senmut fed to the family goat. He took the cup from Baki and swigged noisily, then noticed the pile of blackened loaves in the corner. ‘What happened to the bread?' he asked.

Meryt saw Tia flinch. She raised her head. ‘I burnt it,' she admitted miserably, her shoulders hunched and tense.

But despite Nauna's constant complaints, Senmut was not given to chiding his wife. It was one of his better qualities. He bent and touched her arm. ‘These things happen,' he said. ‘And we are lucky that it happened at a good time. We don't need to make any offerings or gifts tomorrow. Or the day after.'

But Meryt saw that guilt was still etched on Tia's face, all the same.