Orphan of the Sun (6 page)

Tia was working away on the loom once more, while Nauna had returned and had taken Meryt's place with the flax and spindle. Their row of the day before appeared to have simmered down, and Tia smiled as Meryt entered.

‘This will soon be big enough for a kilt,' she said, indicating the cloth on the loom. ‘Then I'll be able to make Henut a winter dress.'

‘Dress for me?' piped up Henut, who was in the process of smearing charcoal all over her podgy body. ‘A pretty one?'

‘Yes, a pretty one,' Tia smiled at her.

Such an everyday scene made Meryt feel more at ease, as though the strange events of the last two days were somehow unreal. ‘I'll take over, if you like,' she said to Nauna. ‘You can take a break.'

Nauna nodded, and got to her feet. ‘Don't tangle the thread,' she said gruffly, handing the spindle to Meryt.

‘Of course not,' Meryt replied politely, used to Nauna's ungraciousness. The fact was that Nauna's eyesight was not as sharp as it had once been, and if anyone tangled the thread, she did – but it didn't do to point out such things. Nauna's wrath was best left unkindled.

Meryt sat cross-legged and lost herself in the work, letting thoughts of recent events wash over her. She thought again of her dream, and her encounter with Ramose … she relived the memory of his chubby body and his gasp of surprise as she ran into him. She wondered if she should tell Tia, but then decided against it. She would stick to her resolve, and wait for further guidance. She bent over the spindle.

The evening was drawing in when Meryt heard the sound of wailing go up, somewhere in the
south-west of the village. She sat upright and listened. There was no mistaking it: the piercing cry of a mother and her friends and family as death visited a household. It was an all-too-familiar sound in Set Maat, but this time Meryt knew with certainty where it was coming from. It was as though a voice spoke clearly in her head:
Tanefru's newborn has died
.

She put down the spindle and hurried out of the house, making her way to Dedi's home. As she drew near, it became clear that she was right. A crowd of women had gathered around the house next door, and from inside came the shrieking and moaning of the newly bereaved. Dedi and her mother, Wab, would be somewhere among them, Meryt was sure.

She spotted Dedi just inside Tanefru's house, and went to her side. Together they joined in the chorus of stricken wailing that filled the house and the street outside. Meryt clutched the amulet around her neck and wept. It was easy to find tears for another villager's loss, for everyone had experienced similar pain at some stage. Meryt wept for her parents, the neighbour's stillborn whose death she had foreseen, and her own predicament as much as for Tanefru's tragedy.

Darkness came and the wailing slackened off. It would rise again, formally, once the child was wrapped and taken to the family tomb for burial; then, if they could afford it, Tanefru's family might even employ professional mourners to give a
resounding farewell. But for now, the sorrowing friends and neighbours went to their respective families to see to their needs, and to eat.

Meryt and Dedi went back to Dedi's home and sat in the front room. Dedi went and fetched a lamp from the courtyard, and the two girls sat in silence.

‘You were right,' said Dedi, after a while. ‘The gods required the newborn's life.'

Meryt nodded, uncertain what to say.

‘You see these things,' said Dedi, in a low voice, staring at her friend. ‘Are you not afraid of such a gift? Does it not come from Sekhmet?'

Meryt shook her head vehemently. The idea that people might come to see her as different because of a few casual words filled her with fear. ‘Believe me, Dedi, I am just like anyone else. When I need help I turn to our goddess Ahmes Nefertari, or to Hathor. I wish no one any harm.'

Dedi smiled gently. ‘I believe you,' she said. ‘I know you well enough. But others may not always be so ready to understand. You must be careful what you say.'

The wick sputtered in the oil, and Meryt watched in silence as Dedi tweaked it with a pair of copper tongs. Dedi sighed.

‘The truth is I sometimes wish you could see more. There is trouble up at the tombs. My brother Ahmose took a consignment of lamp wicks over there today, and says that Father is having problems with the men. They are becoming restless and rebellious.'

‘Why?' asked Meryt. ‘I have heard nothing of the sort from my uncle.'

‘There's no reason why you should. Sennedjem's gang has no problems, as far as I know,' said Dedi. ‘Only Father's men are unhappy.'

Meryt was surprised. If the workmen were unhappy, it was usually to do with their conditions or pay – factors that affected both gangs. She could see no reason why Nebnufer should be having more problems than Sennedjem. They were both reasonable foremen and treated their men fairly. Nebnufer was perhaps a little sterner than his counterpart – her uncle Senmut, who worked under Sennedjem, sometimes said that he respected the greater discipline of Nebnufer's gang.

‘Strange,' said Meryt. ‘Perhaps there's a dispute between some of the men. That can make it difficult to work together.' She thought of Tia and Nauna, always squabbling in the courtyard.

Dedi shook her head. ‘It's not that. Ahmose says that Father is having difficulty keeping control. He has somehow lost the men's respect.'

Meryt was shocked. ‘But it is not for them to question him!' she exclaimed. ‘He was appointed by the vizier. The gods are with him.'

‘Perhaps,' said Dedi. ‘But sometimes the will of the men is stronger.'

She stood, and fetched another lamp from an alcove. Meryt watched her graceful movements as she lit the wick, unsure what to say. As in affairs of
marriage and love, Dedi knew much more than she did about the hierarchies of the workmen and the business of building the tombs. Her own uncle was a man who went to work dutifully and did as he was told; he spoke little of the life he led away from home, so most of what Meryt knew she had learnt from the street, or her friends.

‘Will you eat with us, Meryt?' Dedi asked, placing the lamp on the floor.

Meryt shook her head, and stood. ‘Thank you. I'll head back home.'

The household was quiet when Meryt returned. The two children were sleeping in the back room, and there was no sign of Tia or Nauna. Meryt padded softly through to the courtyard and saw that everyone had already eaten. The pot of leftovers from the day before had gone. She heard voices, and realised that Tia and Nauna were on the roof.

Meryt fetched a leek from the store and broke off some bread from a loaf. As she did so, she realised that the two women upstairs were quarrelling. She crept closer to the stairway, and listened.

‘She left the spinning unfinished,' she heard Nauna say. ‘She's a lazy good-for-nothing. The sooner she marries, the better.'

Meryt held her breath. They were arguing about
her
.

‘She has been spinning for most of the day,' she heard Tia protest. ‘She is always willing to help. She is still young.'

‘I was a wife at her age,' Nauna retorted, her voice bitter and angry. ‘I had given birth to Senmut. She has been a burden on the household for too long. And Heria is only too anxious to see her son married.'

‘Heria!' Tia's voice cracked with scorn. ‘Yes, she wants to see Ramose married. But it is a sad state of affairs when a man cannot make up his own mind about such a matter.'

Pressed up against the wall, Meryt didn't notice one of the cats enter the courtyard. It jumped on to a stool, clattering a copper pot that was resting against it.

The voices upstairs fell silent.

‘I'll go and see what it was,' Meryt heard Tia say, after a pause.

Meryt fled to the back room, and crept under a cover next to Henut. As Tia peered in, she pretended to breathe deeply, and Tia went back to the roof. Meryt threw off the cover and lay silently, thinking. So it was true that Nauna as well as Senmut wished to get rid of her. The words about Heria were more difficult to understand. Ramose was her oldest son. She must surely be proud of him; and surely it was not in her power to make him marry against his will?

For the next few days, Meryt felt as though time were suspended. She dreaded the return of Senmut from the tombs, for then she might be forced to give an answer about Ramose. Her sleep was dreamless and she despaired of receiving a clearer message
from the goddess, and puzzled constantly over the one message she was sure she had been given. Its obscurity infuriated her.

The night of the men's return came all too quickly – and with it, a flurry of energy that had everyone out in the streets. The men had come back in a state of high excitement and the village soon filled with the babble of voices.

‘The
kenbet
is meeting!' cried a voice, as Meryt sat on the rooftop, trying to see what was going on. Quickly, she ran downstairs. Senmut and Baki had just arrived home, and were being questioned by Tia and Nauna. The
kenbet
was the village council, which met once a week to decide on matters of dispute.

‘There is trouble in the other gang,' Senmut explained. ‘The men are saying that Nebnufer has been pushing them too hard and that the quality of the work is suffering as a result.' He shrugged. ‘Nebnufer's gang has always been the more disciplined. I don't know why it has become a problem now.'

‘But why is the
kenbet
meeting?' said Meryt. ‘Can't the matter wait until the usual time?'

Senmut looked at his niece vaguely, and shrugged. ‘The foremen always want to nip any dispute in the bud. Let them meet. I shall not be going. I'm hungry. I hope there is plenty of food in the courtyard.'

Meryt thought of Dedi, and her concern for her father. Council meetings were open events that anyone could attend, and she wanted to go – if she could
get away. She caught Tia's eye, and indicated the doorway. Tia gave her a little smile, which Meryt took to be a sign of consent. She slipped away before Baki could realise she was going and cause trouble.

She made her way up the main street to the northern end of the village, where the council meetings were held outside the gate, in the shadow of the village shrines. A crowd had already gathered, awaiting the arrival of the council members, murmuring and gossiping in excitement. Council meetings were always a source of intrigue in the village, for they dealt with all the minor crimes and disputes that cropped up – but a dispute that actually involved a council member was a special treat, and the villagers were coming out in their droves.

There was a hush as the foreman Sennedjem appeared, and made his way through the crowd to the big square of mats laid out for the council to sit on. He was a tall, good-humoured man, generally very well liked; his judgement was respected both in the tombs and back in the village – even if, as Senmut was always pointing out, his approach sometimes lacked discipline.

Sennedjem was quickly followed by Paser, the chief scribe at the tombs, Montu, a police inspector, a draughtsman named Amenakht and Hori, the village scribe who lived close to Meryt. The council members varied, but they nearly always included at least one of the foremen and a senior scribe; recently, Nebnufer and Sennedjem had been sitting on the
council together. So it seemed especially strange to see the five men gather with one of their number missing, and the crowd grew quiet as they settled down on the reed mats.

The hush became even deeper as Nebnufer himself appeared, accompanied by his wife, Wab. He moved forward with his head held high and his step dignified, nodding to friends with a small, grave smile as he passed by. Wab held on to his arm, her beautiful features calm and serene. If either Nebnufer or his wife were concerned about the council proceedings, they were very determined not to show it.

Meryt craned her neck where she stood to see if Dedi had come along to support her father. She saw that she had: she and her two older brothers were following a respectful distance behind. Meryt squeezed forward to be closer to her friend, and managed to catch her attention. Dedi gave a wan, fearful smile, and Meryt could see that she was close to tears.

Nebnufer left Wab at the edge of the mats and joined his fellow council members – but instead of sitting in the centre next to Sennedjem, as he usually did, he sat to one side, on his own. There, he gazed out at the crowd gathered around him, his expression frank and open. He had the air of a man with nothing to hide, and nothing to be ashamed of.

There was a shout and the crowd broke into a curious chatter as Nebnufer's accusers appeared and pushed their way forward. They were three workmen
– a painter and two draughtsmen. One of the draughtsmen led the way, and was clearly the spokesman for the others – a confident, stocky figure. Meryt felt a thrill of apprehension, for this man was none other than Userkaf.

Userkaf raised his hand in greeting to the council. ‘May the gods be with you – life, prosperity, health!' he boomed, in his loudest voice.

Sennedjem bowed his head in acknowledgement. ‘In the name of the gods – life, prosperity, health,' he replied. ‘You have come with a complaint. Let us not wait any longer. Speak, and tell us of your concerns.'

Userkaf stepped forward on to the centre of the square matting and drew himself up tall. He shot a glance at Hori, who had his papyrus brush ready to keep a record of the proceedings.

‘Friends, and members of the council,' he began. ‘We all know each other. We know what is required of us before the king and before our gods. We build resting places for our kings that will last them throughout eternity. It is a heavy burden of responsibility, but one that we all shoulder proudly.'

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. Userkaf waited for this to subside, then continued. ‘I bring to you the charge that foreman Nebnufer is failing us in this task. We work hard under his supervision and direction. We work harder than the men on the other gang, for no greater reward. We have never complained about this. But now, he is pushing us too hard. He cares more for his
own advancement than he does for the quality of our work. He pushes us so that we are forced to rush and not give of our best. He wants our side of the tomb to be finished before that of Sennedjem, so that he may stand in glory – even if the resting place of our god the king is badly executed as a result.'