Orphan of the Sun (8 page)

There was little chance to escape from home for the next two days. The whole household became a hive of activity as preparations were made for Baki's ritual feast. Meryt gathered that her cousin would undergo his ritual with five other boys of a similar age in the forecourt of the chapel of Amen-Re, and that Senmut had offered his home as a place of celebration for the men of all five families in the evening.

Meryt knew that the boys themselves would be in
no fit state for feasting. Circumcision was an extremely painful ritual and their wounds would take time to heal. Apart from Baki, they would all go home to be looked after by their mothers or other womenfolk, and as such, the event would be a very male affair.

On the morning of the ritual itself, Meryt was left in charge of baking bread and cakes while Tia and Nauna prepared vegetables in the back room. Henut and Mose hung around the courtyard, getting in the way of both Meryt and Nes, the Nubian servant girl who had been brought in to grind a new batch of grain.

Baki wandered around the house with a cocky smile on his face, occasionally joining his younger brother and sister as they played around Meryt's feet. ‘You will have to wait on me at the feast tonight,' he said to Meryt, grabbing a chunk of freshly baked bread. ‘I'll be a man. You'll have to do as I say.'

‘I'm waiting on the guests. Tia will look after you,' Meryt told him, unwilling to be drawn into an argument. She took a bowl of freshly ground wheat from Nes and added a little salt and honey.

‘I'll be at the feast too. I won't need looking after,' boasted Baki. ‘Father's gone to buy wine. He says I can drink as much as I please after the ritual. I won't feel any pain.'

Meryt shrugged. She knew that there were also ointments that would reduce the pain a little, but
nothing could take it away entirely. ‘If you say so.'

‘Do you doubt me?' Baki demanded. He ripped his bread apart and took a bite.

Meryt looked at him. How could he be so arrogant? ‘Take care that you don't anger the gods,' she warned him. ‘They may give you greater pain than you're expecting.'

‘You would say that,' replied Baki. ‘And I suppose you'll make sure they do, with one of your curses.'

‘Baki!' Meryt glared at her cousin. She knew he was taunting her, but the words were too painful to ignore. ‘I do not curse
anyone
, do you hear me? You should mind what you say. You know as well as I do that words of power shouldn't be trifled with.'

Baki laughed gleefully. ‘“Words of power shouldn't be trifled with”,' he mimicked, then stuck out his tongue. ‘Save your lessons for your new husband, Meryt. I'm sure Ramose will lap them up.'

Meryt felt cut to the core. Quickly, she glanced around at Henut, Mose and Nes the servant girl. Henut was happily feeding scraps of bread to the goat. Nes was bent over the corn, still grinding methodically. But Mose was listening, his eyes wide as he took in every word. She felt so angry with Baki that she wanted to strike him.

Before she had the chance, they heard Senmut's voice calling Baki.

‘Ah! There you are.' Senmut appeared in the doorway, a cheerful smile on his face. ‘Are you ready for your ritual, Baki? We have to go in a minute.' He
handed Meryt a flagon of wine. ‘Keep that somewhere cool and give me four of the best loaves. We shall make offerings to Ptah and Amen-Re before the ceremony.'

Meryt did as he said, handing two each to Senmut and Baki. Tia appeared next to Senmut, her face drawn and anxious. She embraced her oldest son, and gave his black side-lock a final caress. Meryt could see the fear in her eyes, and felt a wave of sympathy for her aunt in spite of her anger with Baki.

‘Take this,' she heard Tia whisper, pressing an object into Baki's hand. ‘I have pronounced many spells over it. May it protect you and deliver you from suffering.'

Baki opened his hand, and Meryt caught a glimpse of what lay on his palm. It was Tia's favourite amulet, an
udjat
eye of Horus made of faience, glazed a deep cobalt blue.

The household immediately seemed more peaceful once the men had gone. Meryt made a big batch of flat loaves, placing the shaped lumps of dough on the outside surface of the little domed oven. They were the easiest kind of loaf to make, for when they were cooked, they simply dropped to the floor. The emmer wheat cakes were trickier. They had to be cooked on the inside of the oven and watched carefully, and Meryt was pleased when they came out round and golden.

Tia brought in a big bowl of onions, garlic, leeks,
peas and beans, and began gutting the ducks. The mothers of the other five boys arrived one by one, bringing gifts to add to the feast. As Tia sat with Mose, making a note of them all on an ostracon, Meryt took the opportunity to escape to the roof.

In the still heat of the early afternoon, sound travelled easily across the village. Meryt leant against the wall and looked out over the rooftops, listening to the bleating of a neighbour's goat. The murmur of voices drifted up from the streets and courtyards, interspersed with spurts of laughter. Now that the working week had ended, the murmuring seemed deeper as more male voices joined in.

She turned at the sound of footsteps. It was Mose, standing uncertainly at the top of the stairway. Meryt held out her arm and the eight year old came to stand next to her.

‘Have you finished writing down all the presents?' Meryt asked him.

Mose nodded. ‘Tuya brought two more ducks. The others brought bread and vegetables.'

‘We won't go hungry then, will we?'

Mose smiled briefly, but he seemed preoccupied. Meryt thought of her exchange with Baki, and felt a stab of fear.

‘Is something troubling you, Mose?' she forced herself to ask.

Mose dug his finger into a little hole he had made in the mud brick. Meryt watched him, seeing from his furrowed brow and pursed lips that his mind was
working furiously. At last, he looked up. ‘When you get married, will you still come and see us?' he asked.

It was like a punch in the stomach. Meryt stared at her little cousin speechlessly for a moment. ‘Who says I'm getting married?' she whispered eventually.

Mose's face brightened. ‘You mean you're not?'

‘I don't want to, no.'

‘But Baki said …'

‘Don't listen to Baki. He was teasing me.' Meryt felt desperate. If everyone assumed she was going to marry Ramose – even the children – there would be little chance of getting out of it.

Mose's calm eyes gazed at her. She could tell he wasn't convinced, but his next words surprised her all the same. ‘You shouldn't have to marry if you don't want to,' he said.

Meryt touched his arm. These days, little escaped the eight year old, and she felt glad that he understood. But the pressure was mounting. Senmut would demand a decision before long.

When Baki returned, it was not on foot but in Senmut's muscular arms. The neighbouring women had left to greet their own menfolk, and Meryt was sitting with Nauna preparing fruit. She watched from the courtyard as her uncle carried her cousin inside and laid him down in the back room. Baki was whimpering, his shorn head making his dark eyes seem all the wider as he stared up at Senmut and Tia
through his pain. Meryt thought of his boasts earlier that day, and shook her head grimly.

Tia knelt beside him and held his hands. ‘May Isis protect you – life, prosperity, health,' Meryt heard her whisper. ‘May your suffering be taken from you. Peshedu, have mercy on my son.'

Senmut left her to it and walked through to the courtyard. He seemed in good spirits, and smiled expansively. ‘How are the preparations going?' he asked. ‘The guests will be arriving soon. Are you ready to serve, Meryt?'

Meryt shook her head, and scrambled to her feet. ‘No, Uncle. I'll get ready now.'

It was a role she hated. Senmut could not afford to buy any servants or to hire them for an evening's revelry. Of course there was Nes, but she was employed by the government only to grind the grain. So whenever Senmut had friends around, he expected his niece to play the part of a hired hand.

Meryt went through to the middle room and opened a wooden casket. She took out a mirror of highly polished bronze, a little pot of kohl and another of red ochre, and a string of cowrie shells. Quickly, she slipped off her linen dress and packed it into the casket. She was slinging the cowrie string around her hips when Senmut came into the room.

‘I'll need my best kilt and wig,' he said. ‘Tia's busy with Baki. Bring them to me when you're ready – I'll be on the roof.'

Meryt nodded, and reached for the kohl pot. With
a little brush, she gave her eyes a thick black outline, trying not to smudge the edges. Then she dabbed some of the red ochre on to her cheeks and reached into the casket once more for a beaded necklace. Last of all, she reached for her wig – a cheap one made of date-palm fibre that she hated, because it made her itch.

In another casket lay Senmut's finest kilt, made of pure white linen and painstakingly ironed into many beautiful pleats by Tia. Next to it lay his wig. Meryt grabbed them both and headed on to the roof, sucking in her cheeks as the cool evening breeze chilled her bare skin.

‘Thank you, Meryt,' said Senmut as she handed him the garments. His mood was still cheerful, and Meryt hoped it would remain that way.

‘Do you need anything else?' she asked.

He shook his head. ‘No. Go and help Nauna now.' He paused, and smiled. ‘You'll make a good wife, Meryt.'

Meryt stared at him, her throat dry. But Senmut was already wrapping the beautiful kilt around his loins, humming a tune. Before he could say anything else, she turned and ran quickly down the stairs.

The evening drew in swiftly. As the ducks roasted on a fire, Senmut's guests arrived and settled themselves in the middle room. Nauna remained in the courtyard while Meryt ferried to and fro, first serving wine, then dishes piled high with meat and vegetables.

Whenever she passed through the back room, Meryt spared a moment for Tia, who scarcely moved from her son's side. Baki made a poor patient, as Meryt had suspected he might. He writhed on the bed, groaning continuously and making bad-tempered demands for more wine. Tia gave him small swigs, and bathed his forehead with a cool, soothing ointment. Meryt passed her aunt small platefuls of food and begged her to eat, but Tia would not be tempted. She seemed lost in the world of her son's pain and could think of nothing else.

The workmen were unused to drinking wine. On a daily basis they drank beer, and the stronger brew soon began to go to their heads. With each journey through to the middle room, Meryt was greeted with louder gales of laughter; and as their eyes lapped up the sight of her growing body, it became harder to keep her smile in its place. She consoled herself with the tastiest morsels of duck, crisped up on the fire and seasoned with salt, popping them into her mouth surreptitiously as she carried the serving plates through.

At last the men stumbled off into the night. Meryt rescued her dress from the casket and joined Mose and Henut where they lay on the roof, out of the men's way. Henut was already sound asleep, duck fat smeared around her mouth and a peaceful expression on her face.

‘Everyone's gone. You can go down now, if you want,' Meryt whispered to Mose. ‘There's lots more food too, if you're hungry.'

Mose shook his head. ‘I've had enough.' He sat up and looked anxiously at Meryt. ‘Will Baki be all right? Mama seems so worried about him.'

‘Of course he will. He'll be his usual self in a few days.' Meryt's heart went out to the sensitive eight year old, who knew only too well that he would suffer the same fate in a few years' time. All the same, he was right to observe that Tia seemed more worried than she should be. ‘Mama's worried because Baki is her first child, that's all,' she added. ‘Make the most of the peace and quiet. He'll be teasing you again in no time.'

Mose lay back down again, reassured. Meryt fetched a sheet and her precious ostracon before lying down beside him. She gazed at the image of the goddess Hathor, her frustration welling up inside as she mulled over the day's events. Soon Baki would be back on his feet and Senmut would turn all his attention to getting rid of her. Why was nothing becoming clearer? She thought again of her dream – the image of Ramose disappearing over the mountain with her father, Peshedu …

Peshedu. How Meryt wished she had known him – both him and her mother, Simut. Simut had been so young when she died, a shimmering shadow of a girl. Sometimes Meryt wondered if she would suffer the same fate, if she ever tried to give birth. She had heard it said that such things could be passed from mother to daughter. But it was too frightening a thought to dwell on for long.

Her image of Peshedu was stronger. Tia spoke of him so often that Meryt had a clear picture of him in her mind – a lean, muscular man, not tall, but with a firm jaw and humorous eyes. There was also the bust of him in the front room niche, which Tia had commissioned on his death. It had been made by one of his friends, a fellow-sculptor, who had lovingly recreated his features when he had been struck down by the disease that stole so many men of the village in their prime.

Meryt re-examined her dream from every angle. Looking through the window to see her father … The hot desert wind, whipping around his linen kilt … The appearance of Ramose, travelling back from the kings' tombs … None of it made any sense. Somehow, it seemed as though Peshedu held the answer, but how could that be?

There was only one solution: she would have to ask him personally. Not in the front room, where he had never lived, but in the tomb itself, where his embalmed body lay together with those of his ancestors.

Meryt-Re drifted restlessly into sleep and woke at dawn. The village was already coming to life in the streets around, but Mose and Henut were still sound asleep. Meryt rose quietly and crept down the stairs. In the dim light, she selected a ripe pomegranate and an untouched loaf of bread from the leftovers of the feast, and picked up the wooden kindling sticks with
which the family kindled fire. She put them in a little reed basket and added a handful of dry straw. Then she slipped through the house to the front room, where she collected her packet of incense and the burner.