The Sacred Scarab (8 page)

‘What was that?’ he heard.

‘What?’

‘I saw something moving in the shadows there . . .’

He’d been spotted. His heart thumping, Hopi backed away from the veranda, then tore through the gardens to the place where he’d climbed the wall. With a surge of energy, he leaped at it, bounding up with a strength he didn’t know he possessed. Wriggling to the top, he threw one leg over, then hurled his body after it. He landed badly, crashing on to the ground, and almost yelped in pain.

But he couldn’t stop. He scrambled to his feet. Wincing with every step, he half-ran, half-hobbled up the road and dived behind a limestone statue that stood at the entrance to the next house. Gasping for breath, he peered around it. The guards had come out and were staring up the road. One of them approached, and Hopi ducked back, trying to quieten his breathing. The guard stopped before reaching him, calling back to his companion.

‘Can’t see anything here.’

‘Leave it, then. Could have been a jackal.’

Hopi closed his eyes in relief as the guard’s steps retreated back to the gate. He shifted his weight, trying to breathe through his nose. Agonising pains were shooting up his bad leg. He rubbed it, wondering whether to wait for Isis. He had no idea how long he had spent digging footholds in the wall, or investigating the grain store. Perhaps she had already left. Eventually he could bear the uncertainty no longer. Limping heavily, he began to hobble home.

.

Nefert was silent as they made their way back through the streets of Waset. Isis could still feel her anger smouldering beneath her tight-lipped features. She was intensely grateful that her guardian had defended her so fiercely, but she longed to speak to Hopi. The moment they arrived back, she ran through the house looking for him. Sinuhe was in the front room. Sheri, Kia, Mut and the boys were up on the roof. But her brother was nowhere to be seen.

She ran down from the roof, past the first-floor practice room, and stopped. She could hear angry voices.

‘You just walked out?’ Paneb sounded incredulous.

‘
Of course
we walked out.’ Nefert was clearly still furious.

‘She’s old enough to cope with a bit of solo dancing.’

‘Not for a man like that! I won’t stand for it, Paneb. Just think if it had been Mut.’ Nefert’s voice shook with rage. Isis felt relieved; she knew now that Nefert would defend her to the end.

‘We have to find a solution to this.’ There was something desperate in Paneb’s tone.

‘He’s your cousin –
you
find a solution! As if I don’t feel betrayed enough.’ Nefert quavered as though she were close to tears.

‘How have I ever betrayed you?’ It was Paneb’s turn to sound outraged. ‘I’ve been constant for all these years, I’ve found the troupe work and success beyond your wildest hopes.’

‘You lied to me from the outset! You are not what you seem.’ Nefert was clearly crying now.

Paneb seemed to think for a moment. ‘Is it so terrible that my cousin is a peasant?’ he asked. His voice was quieter, but there was no more warmth in it. He seemed hard and distant.

Isis was horrified. She had heard Nefert and Paneb quarrel before, but never like this. And it was all because of Sinuhe. How had one man managed to create such havoc in their household?

‘I no longer care who he is, or what he’s doing here,’ said Nefert. ‘I just want him to leave.’

‘He says the gods have sent him,’ said Paneb. ‘He was given a sign.’

‘And you’re content to listen to the riddles of a simpleton!’ shouted Nefert. ‘Sort it out, Paneb, or who knows what will befall us!’

Isis couldn’t bear to hear any more. She slipped back down to the courtyard and sat there in the dark, the words of the argument rattling around her head. What a dreadful evening it had been . . . she could still feel the oily grip of Abana’s hands on her shoulders, and see the mockery in his eyes when they’d left. She wanted very badly to talk to Hopi.

‘Isis.’

She looked up, and saw her brother standing in the doorway to the courtyard. ‘Hopi! There you are!’ Isis got up and rushed into his arms.

Hopi hopped over the threshold. ‘Isis, you’re back already . . . Ow!’ He grimaced as he put his foot down.

‘You’re hurt!’ exclaimed Isis. ‘What happened?’

‘I was trying to escape,’ said Hopi. He told her about the grain store he had found, and how he had almost been caught. ‘I fell as I landed,’ he finished. ‘It’s nothing – I’ll be all right. I just need some of Mut’s balm.’

‘I’ll get it.’ Isis ran to fetch it, then squatted down next to him, dipping her fingers in the balm. ‘There. Does that help?’

‘Ow,’ Hopi winced as Isis rubbed a bit too hard. ‘Yes, a bit. So why are you back so early? What happened?’

In a low voice, Isis described everything that had happened, from her horrible evening with Abana to the row between Nefert and Paneb. As she expected, Hopi was furious about the tax collector.

‘We’ll pay him back, Isis. We will,’ he vowed.

Isis finished dabbing the balm, and looked up. ‘It’s fine. Nefert stood up for me and we left straight away.’ She sighed. ‘I’m more worried about her row with Paneb. Sinuhe is causing us a lot of problems, Hopi.’

Hopi nodded. ‘We’ll soon work out why, Isis,’ he promised. ‘Once I’ve delivered Menna’s amulets, I’ll make it my business to find out.’

.

CHAPTER SIX

In spite of his painful leg, Hopi was determined to make Menna’s delivery as quickly as possible the next morning. The workshops were towards the temples of Ipet-Isut, not far from the grand houses of people like Abana; the difference was that they were hidden away along the riverbank, out of public view. Embalming was a gruesome business, and people didn’t like getting too close to it.

Towering palm trees marked the site of the workshops, and Hopi hobbled to the entrance. He found a pair of guards half asleep under a tree, and shook one of them awake.

‘I have a delivery,’ Hopi told him. ‘I’m the apprentice of Menna, priest of Serqet. He has sent a letter for the head embalmer.’ He delved into his bag and brought out a little papyrus scroll.

The guard rubbed his eyes. ‘Can’t read,’ he mumbled, then nudged his colleague. ‘Go and get one of the embalmers. Boy says he’s got a delivery.’

The second guard sleepily got to his feet, and set off towards one of the tents that Hopi could just see between the trees. When he returned, it was with a man whose kilt and hands were stained with dried blood.

‘I am an assistant embalmer. Do you have authorisation to be here?’ the man enquired. Hopi showed him the papyrus scroll. The assistant inspected it and nodded. ‘You are welcome, apprentice of Menna,’ he said. ‘I’ll take you to Weni, the chief embalmer. Follow me.’

Hopi set off after him, curiosity burning. He had always wanted to see this place. Up ahead were three tents. As the assistant led him past the first one, Hopi peered back at it, wondering what was inside.

The assistant spotted his interest and smiled. ‘That’s where we wash the bodies when they first arrive,’ he explained, and carried on towards the second. ‘This tent is where we prepare them for drying and cover them in natron.’

He pushed back a flap and entered. Hopi followed him eagerly, not sure what to expect – and immediately got a surprise. The first thing that hit him was the smell: the heavy stench of dead flesh, thick and choking. The tent was spacious enough – designed, no doubt, so that fresh air could circulate – but nothing could mask that horrible odour. Hopi felt his stomach turn.

The assistant led the way past mounds of natron salt and a stack of canopic jars. Hopi stared at the mounds. They were body-shaped. There were dead people lying buried in the salt, slowly drying out.

‘Hmm. I thought Weni was doing his inspection here,’ said the assistant. ‘No matter. He must be in the next tent. That’s where the bodies are wrapped.’

Hopi followed him to the final tent. If possible, the smell here was even stronger, but at least it was easier to bear. The tent was filled with vats of different oils and resins, perfumes and spices, all used to anoint the bodies as they were wrapped. In one corner stood a huge pile of ready-woven linen; a boy sat cross-legged, cutting it into strips. Two men were examining a fully wrapped body laid out on the table. The assistant approached them.

‘This boy has come with amulets from Menna,’ he said.

‘Ah, good,’ said one of the men. He stepped away from the body and greeted Hopi. ‘I am Weni, the chief embalmer. And this is Hetep, the lector priest, who sanctifies all that happens here.’

‘I am honoured to meet you.’ Hopi fetched out Menna’s wooden box. ‘These are the amulets.’

Weni accepted the box and handed it to Hetep. They both closed their eyes for a second. Hopi stared at them, then saw that Hetep’s lips were moving. The lector priest was murmuring a spell. With the box in the palm of one hand, he moved the other to hover over it, and began chanting the spell more loudly. Hopi felt awed and incredibly lucky to witness something so sacred.

The spell came to an end. ‘May the gods judge his heart light and free of burden,’ Hetep finished, and opened his eyes.

‘There. Thank you, Hopi. Your task is done.’ Weni took the box from the priest’s hands, then disappeared behind a linen curtain that Hopi hadn’t noticed before. As the fabric swung to one side, he caught a glimpse of an area crammed with statues, caskets and coffins. A mask of Anubis seemed to look straight at him and, instinctively, he took a step back. This was a holy place.

Weni emerged from behind the curtain. ‘I will escort you back to the entrance,’ he said. ‘Come.’

Hopi walked out into the sunshine. It was a relief; the air had been hot and oppressive inside. He glanced towards the river and saw that a man was walking up from the jetty. Weni saw him, too, and stopped.

‘You have better news for me this time, I hope?’ said the embalmer.

The man looked embarrassed. ‘I’m leaving the day after tomorrow,’ he said.

‘That’s very late. You should be leaving sooner,’ said Weni, clearly frustrated. ‘So when will you return?’

The man shifted from one foot to the other. ‘I can’t say. The river is unpredictable . . .’

Hopi stared at him. His face was oddly familiar.

‘That’s strange,’ said Weni, his voice hard. ‘It was perfectly reliable before.’

‘Yes, yes, indeed it is strange.’ The man nodded.

‘And you’re a liar,’ said the embalmer. ‘I want to make one thing clear: if we don’t receive a shipment of natron by the end of next week, I shall seek another supplier. Do you understand?’

At the mention of the word
shipment
, something slipped into place. Of course: this was one of the men that Hopi had seen in the grounds of Abana’s mansion only the night before.

‘But –’ began the man.

‘No buts. My word on this is final,’ snapped Weni.

‘I understand,’ said the man. ‘You will receive your natron, Weni.’ He turned and walked back towards the Nile, his head bowed.

Weni watched him go, his face clouded with anger. ‘We cannot work without natron,’ he said. ‘This man is holding us to ransom.’

Hopi was intrigued. ‘I’m sorry to hear it.’

Weni shook his head. ‘Meanwhile, we must suffer this loathsome stench.’

‘You mean, it’s not usually like this?’ Hopi asked.

‘There’s always a certain odour,’ admitted Weni. ‘But it’s worse at the moment because we can’t use a deeper layer of natron. The bodies are barely covered. Some . . .’ He shook his head, then spoke more briskly. ‘Well, that’s not your concern. I must take you to the entrance.’

Weni marched purposefully through the second tent. Hopi darted glances to the left and right, sizing up the bodies that lay on either side of him. Now that Weni had pointed it out, he could make out their forms more easily than he might have expected. Hopi set out for Menna’s house, his thoughts buzzing.

.

The atmosphere was tense. Mut and Isis sat playing with Ramose and Kha at the far end of the courtyard, keeping the two boys out of the adults’ way. After their row the night before, Paneb and Nefert were barely speaking to each other; Paneb stayed on the roof, Nefert on the first floor, while Sheri and Kia performed the household chores methodically.