Scroll of Saqqara(30)

This was different. Fear seeped towards him, sliding invisibly over the shimmering yellow sand like the demonic serpent Epap himself, and once more he was tempted to order the tomb covered over. Instead he rose, tapped Hori on the shoulder and left the pleasant shade of the canopy.

With Hori beside him and Ib and Penbuy behind he soon reached the steps. They were hot under his sandals, though in places the stone was still thickly dark and stained with the damp of centuries. There were five of them. Khaemwaset halted before a small, square rock door, smooth and once plastered white. On its left, rotting brown rope was intricately knotted around metal hooks embedded deep in both door and surrounding stone.

Encrusted over the massive knot was a dry and crumbling ball of mud and wax. Khaemwaset bent closer, aware of Hori’s light breath on his neck. The young man whistled. “The jackal and nine captives!” he exclaimed. “Father, if the tomb had been desecrated and re-sealed the imprint would be a crude imitation of the sign of the House of the Dead, or even simply a chunk of mud. And look at the rope. So ancient that a touch would crumble it away!”

Khaemwaset nodded, his gaze intently travelling the door. There was no sign of a forced entry, although the plaster had flaked away in several areas and was a noxious brown in others. Of course an untouched door did not mean an unrobbed tomb. Thieves had always been ingenious in their efforts to reach the treasures that were buried with the nobility. Suddenly Khaemwaset found himself hoping that the interior was not intact, that more dishonest, foolhardy men than he had drawn the sting of wrath within, had leached the old spells that protected whoever lay waiting in the darkness beyond this mysterious door.

“Prince, I am afraid,” Ib said. “I do not like this place. We have never seen a seal unbroken before. We should not be guilty of the first sin.”

Khaemwaset replied, still studying the rough surface before him. “We are not thieves and desecrators,” he said. “I have never yet committed sacrilege against the dead whom I study. You know that we will re-seal the door, leave many offerings for the ka, pay priests to pray for the owner. We always do.” Now he swung to face his steward. Ib’s eyes were shadowed, his expression grim. “I have never seen you like this before, Ib. What is the matter?” It was not just Ib, Khaemwaset saw. Penbuy was clutching his palette to his naked chest and chewing his lip.

“This time is not like the others, Highness,” Ib blurted. “Last night, in the boat on the way home, I dreamed that I was drinking warm beer. It is a terrible omen. Suffering is going to come upon us.” Khaemwaset wanted to snap at him not to be a fool, but such a dream was indeed a thing to be taken seriously. Ib’s words had unleashed the fear in him again and he tried not to let it show on his face.

“Forgive me, Prince,” Penbuy broke in, “but I also have doubts about this tomb. Today, when I wanted to perform my morning devotions to Thoth, my patron, the incense would not light. I replaced it with fresh grains, thinking that the old ones might be tainted, but nothing I did caused it to heat. Then I was overtaken by a fit of shivering and I could not move for some time.” He came forward, his expression strained. “Pass over this tomb, I beg you! There will be others!”

Khaemwaset’s mood of unease intensified. “Hori?” he said.

Hori smiled. “I slept well and said my prayers in peace,” he answered. “I do not mean to belittle these omens, my friends, but the day is only half over and they could have nothing to do with this tomb at all. Will you turn from a find such as this?” he pressed his father. “Don’t tell me that you also have received warnings.”

Khaemwaset’s mind filled slowly with a vision of the old man, the scroll in his trembling fingers, the torch fire blackening … crisping … Not warnings, he thought. But a premonition, a tremor of apprehension in my ka. “No,” he said slowly, “and of course I will not refuse this gift of the gods. I am an honest man. I do good in Egypt. I will offer the ka of the inhabitant here many precious things in exchange for what we may glean.” He straightened and touched the rope, feeling tiny pieces of it fall into his fingers like fine grit. “Ib, call my master mason and have this door chiselled out.” He pulled hard on the rope and it parted. The seal cracked in two with a tiny sound and fell into the dust at his feet. He stepped back, startled. Ib was bowing silently and retreating up the steps and Hori had his nose to the hot stone, examining the crack between the door and rock. Khaemwaset and Penbuy sat together on a step and waited for the mason and his apprentices.