The Sacred Scarab (6 page)

Then he thought of the peasant and his stories about Abana. Right now, his own family was performing in that villain’s house. Hopi felt anger rising again. Farmers’ lives were difficult enough – they toiled under the hot sun for most of the year, and when they had finished sowing, they were put to work on the king’s building projects, or made to repair the irrigation canals. Unscrupulous tax collectors had no right to make their lives any harder! The injustice of it made Hopi clench his fists in fury.

It was dark now, the bulk of the mountains only just visible against the western sky. Twinkling oil lamps lit the homes of Waset, giving a faint glow to the town. Hopi got to his feet and limped across the roof with his bowl.

‘Boy.’

Hopi jumped. He peered down the stairs, and could just make out Sinuhe standing at the bottom. His heart swelled, thinking of how the peasant had suffered. ‘Can I get anything for you?’ he asked.

‘I wish to speak with you.’ Sinuhe’s voice was grave.

‘Of course. I’ll just put this in the courtyard.’

Hopi made his way down the stairs and out to the back of the house. The peasant followed him, staying close as Hopi tipped some water into the empty bowl. He lit an oil lamp and carried it through to the front room with Sinuhe still at his heels.

‘Who are you?’ demanded Sinuhe, as soon as they had sat down.

Hopi was taken aback. ‘Who? I’m Hopi.’

‘I’ve heard your name spoken already,’ said the peasant. ‘What I mean is this: who
are
you? What are you doing in this house?’

Hopi stared at him for a moment. This wasn’t what he’d been expecting. ‘I’m the brother of Isis,’ he said eventually. ‘Isis is a dancer. She works with the troupe alongside Paneb’s daughter Mut.’

Sinuhe ignored this information. ‘I see how you steal from my cousin.’

Hopi’s mouth dropped open. ‘
Steal?
’ he echoed. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I see how you help yourself to food.’ The peasant’s eyes were flashing; he seemed genuinely angry. Hopi wasn’t sure how to react.

‘I live here,’ he said. ‘I’m allowed to help myself to food. If you think I make no contribution –’

‘I think you’re a lazy good-for-nothing. I see how you come and go as you please. I see how you spend your days in idleness. I see what you are.’ Sinuhe’s lips became flecked with foam as he spat his words out at Hopi.

Hopi sat very still. The peasant was clearly raving, but his words were frightening, too.

Stay calm
, he told himself.
He’s just a poor peasant.

‘I . . . I bring . . .’ The words came out weak and quavery, and he had to clear his throat. ‘I bring an income to this house, sir,’ he carried on. Saying it out loud made him braver. ‘It’s not very much yet, but it will be more when I’ve finished my apprenticeship. I’m a trainee priest of Serqet and the people of Waset reward me for what I do.’

But Sinuhe wasn’t listening. ‘He never understood hardship,’ he mumbled. He folded his gnarled hands together. ‘I knew this was what I would find. Waste and idleness. Decadence and ruin . . .’

Hopi decided he’d had enough. He had wanted to help this man, and instead he was listening to insults. He got up and left the room, leaving the oil lamp to Sinuhe.

.

Isis woke to the sound of voices. Nefert . . . Paneb . . . Sheri, perhaps . . . the voices rose and fell. Then they grew louder, and she opened her eyes. Morning light was filtering into the room.

‘I don’t think it’s fair on her.’ That was Sheri.

‘She managed perfectly well last night,’ responded Paneb. ‘We wouldn’t ask her to do it otherwise. I don’t like to make her work against her will, but this problem lies heavily upon me, Sheri. It will do her no harm.’

With a start, Isis realised that the adults were talking about
her
. She lay stiffly under her linen cover, listening.

‘But there are other ways,’ insisted Sheri. ‘This problem is between you and your cousin. It has nothing to do with Isis. It isn’t right to make use of her like this.’

‘Sister, you don’t understand –’

‘If I
was
your sister, I might,’ Sheri snapped back. ‘But as your sister-in-law, I can’t even be sure he is kin.’

Paneb fell silent. Isis rolled on her side and peeped out from under her sheet. The three adults were at the top of the steps on the roof, their voices drifting down to where she lay. She threw back the cover and sat up. Mut and the boys were nowhere to be seen; they must be down in the courtyard already. Isis crept closer to the steps.

‘I wish I could explain,’ said Paneb. ‘But all I can say is that there’s no doubt. He is my cousin, and I am obliged to help him.’

‘Very well,’ said Sheri. ‘We can give him some grain. But what more can he possibly expect after all these years?’

Paneb gave a heavy sigh. ‘I’m afraid it’s not quite so simple,’ he said. ‘A gift of grain will not be enough to satisfy him. He has vowed to remain here until I fulfil my responsibilities.’

‘
Fulfil your responsibilities?
’ Now it was Nefert’s turn to sound incredulous. ‘Whatever is that supposed to mean? You haven’t told me this, Paneb.’

‘Sinuhe spoke to me this morning,’ said Paneb.

Isis tiptoed a little further up the steps. Now she could just see the three adults sitting cross-legged on the roof.

‘And what did he say?’ demanded Nefert.

‘He pointed out that we support strangers: we give them shelter and food. He says that if we can do that, we should do more to support our own kin.’

‘Support
strangers
?’ exclaimed Sheri.

‘Hopi and Isis.’

Isis caught her breath.

‘But Isis
works
for us,’ protested Sheri. ‘She earns her keep, and she wouldn’t be here without Hopi. Even Hopi brings us all he can.’

‘
I
know that,’ said Paneb. ‘But it is not so straightforward in the eyes of my cousin. The ties of blood run deep, Sheri. I have to do my best by Sinuhe. Surely you can see that?’

With a sinking heart, Isis realised the truth. For some reason, Paneb had to prove his loyalty to Sinuhe. He had to show that his cousin meant as much as the ‘strangers’ who lived under his roof. And that meant one thing: Isis would have to return to the tax collector’s house to perform that evening.

.

When Hopi arrived at Menna’s house, the old man was sitting in a patch of morning sun in the courtyard, his eyes closed. Hopi approached him softly.

‘Good morning, Menna.’

Menna looked up. ‘Hopi. I’ve been expecting you.’

Hopi sat down next to his tutor. ‘I did as you told me to yesterday,’ he said. ‘I went out into the fields to find some scarabs.’

A little smile curled Menna’s lips. ‘I hope you enjoyed yourself.’

‘Well, it was interesting.’

‘Tell me what you saw.’ Menna closed his eyes again, waiting for Hopi to speak.

Hopi thought for a moment. He watched the sunlight play over the old man’s skin, taking in the lines like birds’ feet that surrounded his eyes, the deep hollows under his cheekbones, the ridges that furrowed his brow. He remembered what Menna had said on his way to the family tomb:
there are some lessons that only the gods can teach
. . . Did these words have anything to do with scarabs?

Menna opened one eye and raised an eyebrow. ‘Well?’ he asked.

Hopi came out of his reverie. He described all that he had seen: the mound of donkey dung, the scurrying scarabs, their perfect spheres and their journey to their burrows. When he had finished, Menna nodded slowly.

‘Very good,’ he said. ‘Very good. You’ve seen the first half of the cycle. But it seems you did not see the second.’

‘The second?’ Hopi was puzzled.

Menna reached for the little casket that was sitting by his side – the same one that he had opened the day before. ‘The first half of the scarab’s cycle shows dedication and labour. In the second half, the hard work is over,’ Menna told him. ‘All that remains is magic.’

Hopi thought back to the scarabs. He hadn’t seen anything very magical about them. ‘No, I don’t think I saw that,’ he said honestly.

‘No matter. You will, all in good time.’

Menna lifted the lid of the casket. He brought out the blue faience scarab again and placed it on the mat in front of him. But he didn’t stop there. Next he fetched out an
ankh
, the symbol of life. Then there was another scarab, an
udjat
eye of Horus, a
djed
pillar, more
udjat
eyes
. . . slowly, methodically, he laid them all out until there were twenty-nine amulets spread before them. He reached into the casket one last time and brought out a beautiful scarab of green jasper set in a thin casing of gold, which he set to one side, apart from all the others.

‘These are my brother’s funerary amulets,’ he said. ‘They must be placed among his wrappings.’ He picked up the jasper scarab and turned it over to reveal hieroglyphs carved into the gold. ‘This is his heart scarab, inscribed with a text from the
Book of the Dead
. It is the most important amulet of all, to be placed over his heart.’

Hopi stared at the array of amulets in front of him. He had never been so close to the secrets of the dead before. ‘When will that be?’ he asked. ‘Don’t the embalmers need them?’

‘Indeed they do,’ said Menna. ‘And that is where you come in. I want you to deliver them for me. You must take them to the embalmers’ workshops.’

Hopi’s heart leaped. The workshops were shrouded in secrecy; few people could afford to have their relatives embalmed, and the process their bodies went through was shrouded in magic and ritual. He knew he was being granted a great privilege.

‘Thank you, Menna,’ he said.

Menna began putting the amulets back into the casket. ‘But I have one condition. You must complete your studies of the scarab, for it is the scarab that protects the heart.’

‘Willingly,’ breathed Hopi.

The old priest reached for his stick. With an effort, he got to his feet, and picked up the casket. ‘Now we must make an offering. The amulets must be blessed, and so must you. Only then will you be fit to be the bearer of such power. Come.’

Hopi followed his tutor inside the house. They entered a cool, dim room, where a shrine to the goddess Serqet stood in one corner. All around were the tools of Menna’s trade: strings of onions, herbs, bottles of oil, pieces of dried-out dung.

‘We must make our offering to Anubis,’ said Menna. He brought out a little statue of the jackal-headed god and placed it next to Serqet on her shrine. ‘Kneel down here, Hopi. Let’s pour the god a libation of sweet oil.’

As Hopi kneeled in front of the shrine, Menna fetched a jug of fragranced oil and poured some in front of the statue, murmuring a prayer. He lifted the casket of amulets on to a table nearby. Hopi glanced up and saw that he was transferring them into a smaller wooden box, wrapping each one in scraps of linen for padding. He placed the box on the shrine, murmured more prayers and poured another libation.

‘Now may the gods bless Hopi, he who will be their bearer,’ he intoned, placing his hand on Hopi’s head. Then he reached for the box and placed it in Hopi’s hands. ‘These amulets are now in your care,’ he said. ‘Do not open the box or touch them, for they are destined for the Kingdom of the Dead. Give them only to the chief embalmer Weni. Go early tomorrow. Is that clear?’

.

Mut listened to the news, then jutted out her lip in disappointment. ‘You mean, you’ll be going back to Abana’s without me?’

‘I don’t
want
to do it, Mut!’ cried Isis. ‘I wish you could come with me.’

‘But why does he want you to go back alone?’ persisted Mut. ‘I don’t get it, Isis. Why can’t he wait until it’s the two of us?’

Isis shrugged. ‘How should I know?’

‘I’m just as pretty as you,’ said Mut.

‘You weren’t even there,’ snapped Isis. ‘He doesn’t know whether you’re pretty or not. He doesn’t even know who you
are
.’

She got to her feet and ran up to the roof feeling furious. Mut was impossible when she was in this kind of mood. It was bad enough returning to Abana without her dance partner making life difficult as well. Sometimes she hated living in this house – however hard she and Hopi worked, they would never truly belong. Mut didn’t know how lucky she was.

She paced across the rooftop, waiting for Hopi. She wanted to tell her brother everything. Maybe – just maybe – he would think of a way out of it. At last she spotted him, limping along the street.

‘Hopi!’ she called. ‘Come up here!’

The minute her brother appeared at the top of the stairs, she catapulted herself into his arms.