Prince in Exile (10 page)

At the end of the shift there was a feast to celebrate the completion of the tomb and to thank the workers for their hard work. Extra food was released from the tomb stores and special bread and cakes were baked. There was to be a holiday as well. Instead of the usual two days break, the workers had four days before they had to report back to duty at the Great Place.

Ramose and Hapu walked wearily up the path. When they reached the top of the hill, they could see the village below them. Usually there was no sign of activity and the mud brick village could easily have been mistaken for part of the landscape. Now people were running around between the village and the dusty mud brick building which stood outside the village walls. The building had been half-finished the whole time Ramose had been in the valley.

In their absence, it had been hastily transformed into a royal residence. Its walls were now finished. The end wall had darker patches where the fresh mud bricks hadn’t quite dried. The other walls were being whitewashed. Men were clearing rocks from around the building and levelling a path branching off from the one that came down the opposite hill from the city. Other men were erecting two gold-tipped flagpoles just like the ones that circled the palace on the banks of the Nile. A dozen donkeys stood outside the building. People hurried back and forth unloading piles of furniture and food from the donkeys’ backs.

Karoya was waiting at the village gate for them.

“You’ve heard the news I suppose?” she asked as they approached.

“About Pharaoh’s visit?” said Hapu. “Of course we’ve heard. We had to get the prince’s tomb ready for inspection.”

“The donkeys have been coming and going all day. I’ve never seen such things. Look at that furniture!”

Chairs and low tables were being carried into the residence. Each item was painted in bright colours or inlaid with gold and turquoise and lapis lazuli. There were also three gold-painted couches carved in the shape of animals: a lion, a leopard, a gazelle.

Karoya looked at Ramose. He hadn’t said a word. She knew what this meant for him.

Hapu was chatting on, unaware. “We had a feast in the Valley, with wine and sweet cakes,” he said. “Didn’t you save a cake for Karoya, Ramose?”

Ramose nodded and pulled a linen package from his bag and handed it to Karoya. She unwrapped the present and smiled. It was a cake in the shape of a cat.

“What will we do for four days?” Hapu asked as they walked into the village.

“I have a few ideas,” said Ramose.

The next morning the scene outside the village hardly seemed to have changed. More donkeys were arriving laden with goods for the royal residence. Ramose and his friends were all called on to help with the work. Holiday or not, everyone had to make sure everything was ready for Pharaoh.

In the afternoon, ignoring the heat of the sun, the entire population of the village gathered outside to welcome their pharaoh. Few of them had ever seen him before. They waited and waited. Ramose stood nervously among the crowd. They waited some more.

“Why have you brought your palette and pen?” asked Hapu.

“I might be needed to record something,” said Ramose vaguely.

Karoya guessed he had a plan, but she didn’t know what it was.

Eventually a party of about twenty people on foot appeared over the rim of the valley.

“There are so many of them,” said Karoya who was standing upon a rock so she could get a better view. “I wonder which one of them is Pharaoh?”

Hapu laughed.

“None of them. They’re all servants, musicians, dancers, cooks.”

Two covered chairs appeared on the path. They were draped with white cloth edged in gold and carried on poles by more servants.

“That’s Pharaoh,” said Hapu.

“But he’s covered up. I won’t be able to see him,” said Karoya disappointed.

“You’ll be in his presence, that’s enough.”

“Who is in the other covered box?” asked Karoya, craning her neck still hoping to get a glimpse.

“I don’t know,” said Ramose. “Probably Queen Mutnofret.”

Ramose knew that if he was going to act, it had to be now. While his friends were peering at the royal procession, he moved towards the workers who were frantically carrying in the last of the food supplies. Four donkeys were still waiting patiently as they were unloaded. The gateway to the royal residence was guarded by two men armed with daggers. Ramose walked up to the donkeys and whacked one of them on the rump. The startled animal took off at great speed, trampling through a pile of vegetables. The other donkeys galloped after it.

“Quick,” shouted Ramose to the guards. “Catch those animals. Pharaoh approaches. He’ll be here in a matter of minutes.”

The guards obediently ran after the donkeys. Ramose pulled out his scribe’s palette and a stone flake and pretended to jot down some notes. He picked up a basket of onions and walked in through the gate.

His plan was hazy. He didn’t want to present himself to his father in a crowd of people. It would be a shock, after all his father thought he was dead. What he wanted to do was hide somewhere and go to his father when he was alone in his private chamber. The courtyard was a frenzy of last minute activity. Ramose strode through it and into the residence as if he belonged there. He did belong there.

People were rushing around inside as well. Ramose marched down the corridor purposefully, carrying his palette and with a reed pen pushed behind his ear. No one questioned him.

Two chambers had been prepared. One was full of women arranging mirrors, cosmetics and draperies around a bed. He glimpsed the golden animal-shaped couches. The chamber opposite had a larger bed with a carved wooden canopy and a beautiful gilt chair decorated with carved lions’ heads and with winged serpents as armrests. Ramose entered the room. Light from the lowering sun slanted in through grilles in the ceiling and lit up the rich fabric on the bed. He sniffed the cool air, which was sweet with frankincense. Off the main room was a smaller room with a white alabaster bath sunk into the floor. Large clay water jars, almost as tall as Ramose, stood next to the bath. The jars were full of fresh water to pour over Pharaoh. It was Nile water carried all the way up from the river valley.

The voices and running feet in the residence suddenly fell silent. Ramose knew the royal procession had arrived. He stayed in the bathing room and waited. His heart was beating so loud that it seemed to fill the silent room. He was going to see his father. He only had to wait a few minutes, but it seemed like a long, long time. Then he heard a deep voice rasp out orders in the outer chamber.

“Where is my clean clothing? Bring me some wine at once.”

The voice was familiar. It was a voice he’d known all his life. But it wasn’t his father’s. It was the impatient, angry voice of Vizier Wersu.

“I want to get out of these dirty clothes and wash off the dust from this wretched place.”

Ramose looked around. There was nowhere to hide. He heard servants rush in with the vizier’s clothes chest. He heard footsteps approaching. Ramose knew that if the vizier saw him he would be dead before the end of day. He had no choice. There was only one place to hide. Ramose hoisted himself up and into one of the huge water jars. The cold water took his breath away. As he lowered his body into the jar, the water overflowed onto the white stone floor. The water level was right at the lip of the jar. Ramose’s head was still in full view. The footsteps grew louder. Ramose closed his eyes and ducked his head under the water. With his head tipped back, he could just manage to hold his nose above the surface.

The vizier came into the room. From under the water, Ramose could hear the distorted sounds of his crocodile voice shouting at the servants. Even though there was two finger-widths of clay between them, Ramose felt exposed. He’d always had the feeling that Wersu could see through walls. He was terrified that the vizier would discover him. He closed his eyes.

All the time he’d been in the desert, Ramose had dreamt of immersing his body in the waters of the Nile, of feeling its coolness and smelling the humid air around it. This wasn’t what he’d had in mind. He felt trapped. He tried to imagine that he was floating in the Nile instead. That he wasn’t cramped in a water jar like a mummy in a coffin. He sucked long deep breaths of air through his nose to calm him. I am in the river, he told himself. I am drifting in the river among lotus flowers and fish. Hopefully the servants would use the other jar to get water to bathe the vizier.

Ramose could hear footsteps echoing hollowly outside the jar. A dull clunk of something banging against the clay made him jump. He opened his eyes. A hand swam into view above him holding a large copper dipper. Ramose took a deep breath and pulled his head right under the water, crouching down inside the jar. The dipper plunged into the water above his head. It seemed to take an age for it to fill and then to be lifted out again. Finally it disappeared from sight. Ramose raised his head.

As his nose broke clear of the surface, in his hunger for air, he breathed in water. He spluttered and water filled his mouth and nose. He pushed his head right out of the jar alternately coughing and greedily gulping in air. Fortunately the vizier was facing away from the jar and loudly complaining about the lack of cleansing oils in this makeshift place. His servant was concentrating on pouring the water over the vizier’s head. Neither of them heard or saw Ramose.

The dipper plunged in another ten or more times, and each time the water level fell until Ramose could crouch in the jar’s depths with his head clear of the water.

When Vizier Wersu had finished bathing, Ramose waited until the outer chamber was silent again. He climbed out of the jar and dripped into the other room. He slumped down on the gilt chair with the lion head decorations and the winged serpent armrests. Now that he could breathe easy again, he had time to feel bitter disappointment. His father wasn’t in the inspection party. Only two rooms had been prepared, this one and the one opposite which was obviously arranged for a woman. He had thought that his ordeal was over, and it wasn’t. His father was as far away as ever. His plan was ruined.

He heard more footsteps approaching, the crash of a dropped tray and angry muttered words. He didn’t move. He didn’t care if he was discovered in the vizier’s rooms. A face peered around the doorway, a dark face framed by a twist of red and green material. It was Karoya. She slipped into the room noiselessly. There was another crash and Hapu stumbled into the room carrying a large copper platter of jumbled fruit.

“Your friend is as stealthy as an elephant,” whispered Karoya angrily to Ramose. She glared at Hapu. “I told you not to follow me.”

Hapu was not normally clumsy, but it was obvious from his face that he was very nervous. “We could be put to death for this,” he said. “What are you doing here, Ramose?”

“It’s a long story,” sighed Ramose.

“Get up off that chair! You’ll damage it, dripping on it like that. The gold paint will peel off.”

Ramose took no notice of him.

“Pharaoh isn’t here,” said Karoya.

“I know.”

There was despair in Ramose’s voice.

“I don’t understand why you came in here at all,” said Hapu. “It’s just as if you are looking for trouble.”

“I’m not looking for trouble.”

“Well let’s get out of here then, before anyone comes.”

Ramose didn’t move. Karoya grabbed him by the arm.

“Come on, Ramose,” she said.

She dragged Ramose to his feet and peered around the doorframe. “There’s no one around.”

She crept out into the corridor still holding on to Ramose.

“Bring the tray,” she ordered Hapu. “In case we run into anyone.”

They had no sooner stepped through the doorway into the corridor than laughter could be heard from someone approaching. A group of women rounded the corner chattering and laughing. They were like a vision, all wearing flowing white gowns and jewellery. The smell of perfume filled the corridor. Karoya froze.

“Keep walking,” whispered Hapu. “Don’t look at them.”

Karoya did as Hapu said, pulling Ramose behind her. They passed the laughing women with bowed heads and purposeful steps. One of the women spoke just as they passed them.

“I hope they brought some gazelle milk up from the valley,” she said.

Ramose stopped dead and turned towards the woman.

“Hatshepsut!”

“Who calls Princess Hatshepsut’s name?” demanded one of the women.

“Ramose, now what are you doing?” whispered Hapu unable to believe his friend was looking for more trouble. “What’s wrong with you? We were almost out of here.”

Ramose didn’t hear either of them. He was staring at his sister. It was only just over two months since Ramose had seen her, but she had changed in that short time. She had lost her girlishness and become a young woman. He felt a rush of jumbled emotions: love, pride, homesickness. Karoya stood with her mouth open, staring at the beautiful princess.

Hatshepsut had a dazzling white gown that fell from her waist in finely pressed pleats. Around her neck was a deep collar made of gold with thousands of semi-precious stones making up a wonderful design of lotus flowers. She had matching armbands and earrings. She was wearing a wig divided into hundreds of tiny plaits, each one ending in a gold bead in the shape of a cowry shell. On top of it was a gold crown with a rearing snake’s head on it. Her eyes were lined with kohl and her eyelids painted a shimmering green. She looked like a goddess.