Eye of the Moon (4 page)

   
3
   
ANUBIS,
JACKAL OF
THE UNDERWORLD

T
he smell in the small antechamber next to the embalming chamber was vile—sickly sweet with undertones of rotting. Even the juniper oil burning in a chafing dish and the cones of perfumed wax could not mask it.

It was a smell I knew well. A stench of rotting entrails, gut, and stomach gases.

The room was small and hot. There was no opening for air save a slot no wider than a hand, quite high
up and recessed deep into the thick stone. I felt my stomach heave. I fought the urge to vomit by tying the mask of linen tighter over my nose and mouth and leaned over the chafing dish to inhale the tang of the juniper smoke.

Next to me, the slimy lumps of bloodied organs lay in bowls ready to be washed with palm oil and immersed in special herb solutions. Next to them, the canopic jars were waiting. In the dimness of the antechamber, eyes glowed like hungry creatures waiting to be fed—the four sons of Horus: Hapi, the baboon with yellow amber eyes, waiting for the lungs; Duamutef, the jackal with red carnelian eyes, waiting for the stomach; Qebehsenuef, the falcon with green verdite eyes, waiting for the intestines; and Imsety, the man with blue lapis lazuli eyes, waiting for the liver.

All the organs lay there in the bowls, except for the heart. The heart, being the seat of wisdom, was left in the body. I knew the powerful spells that would be read to implore the heart not to be separated from the body in the afterlife.

My father's instruments lay on the stone ledge still bloody from their work—the hook he'd inserted
through the nose to dislodge the brain tissue, the flint knife he'd used to slice open the abdomen, the wooden adze he had used to scrape out the lungs, stomach, intestines, and liver. He would have cleansed the cavity with palm wine and stuffed it with bruised myrrh, cassia, pounded cloves, and salt to dry the body out.

I pressed my cheek against the cold stone wall and waited. Unexpectedly, I noticed a small gap between the stones. By its worn edges I knew someone had peered through this spy hole before. I could see right into the sacred
wabet
chamber, where the embalming was in process. I pressed my eye closer.

The body of a woman lay on a stone slab, surrounded by shaved-headed priests in linen tunics. My father wasn't among them.

The slab was carved in the shape of a lion and sloped in such a way that the woman's feet were higher than the rest of her body. She lay with her long neck hanging over the edge, completely naked, her limbs long and graceful even without fine linen and jewels. She seemed more like a sleeping princess who might wake and bid her guardians out of her way. Yet the bloody cut glowing like a red garnet necklace across her lower stomach showed she was truly dead.

My mouth went dry. This was no ordinary person. Not with that red flaming hair. It hung in a cascade of brilliant auburn that almost swept the floor. Thick and wavy and textured, as if it had seen hours and hours of brushing with oils.

Beneath the woman's tilted head was a stone basin. I knew the last liquid of her brain would slowly be dripping into it from a hole made at the base of her skull.

I could see her earlobes had two holes each. The double piercing of royalty. And there was a ridge on her forehead as if something heavy had rested there.

There was no mistaking that profile and that hair. It was Queen Tiy! The most beautiful queen ever to rule Egypt. She wore the royal vulture crown with its golden discs of the sun god Amun. The most exalted woman in Egypt now lay dead before my eyes.

I'd seen her float past on her barge, wearing robes as translucent as a dragonfly's wings, thinner than gossamer, embellished with dazzling gold sequins, her narrow waist accentuated with broad beaded belts, her long neck hung with necklaces of multiple rows of shimmering beads and gold amulets, sunlight catching stones of every hue on bracelets, armbands,
and rings, two tall white ostrich plumes set with gold sun disks on her head making her taller than anyone around her, with the wings of the vulture goddess sweeping back from her face.

Now I was standing closer to her than I'd ever dreamed.

The priests were walking around her body, making incantations and sprinkling it with white powder. The body would rot quickly in the heat. The salt was to prevent this. I knew the body would lie in salt for forty days until all moisture was drawn from it. Afterward it would be anointed with resin and juniper oil and beeswax. Then it would be wrapped in linen with the heart amulet and other precious amulets between the bindings.

Finally, before being laid in her sarcophagus, there'd be the Opening of the Mouth ceremony. Queen Tiy's mouth and eyes would be touched with an adze. Her spirit would then be able to reenter her body and breathe life back into it for her journey into the afterlife.

The entire ritual took seventy days. The same length of time that Sophet, the Dog Star, the brightest of all stars, vanished from the sky. After seventy
nights, when Sophet crept back, the Great River would begin to flood and bring down its life-giving black earth. The same time was needed for Queen Tiy to be reborn. After seventy days she'd make her journey into the Underworld.

But now in the gloom of the chamber, my eye picked up a group of figures standing as a pack of jackals on upright legs. They wore terra-cotta masks with pointed ears, fierce-painted eyes, and the sharp snouts of Anubis. They stood nodding their sinister heads and bowing awkwardly as they tried to see out of tiny holes cut into the terra-cotta.

They stood around a second body on another slab. I pressed my eye closer to the gap.

It was a boy. A leopard-skin cloak covered one shoulder and a jeweled broad collar rested across his chest. In the strange greenish light his face seemed bruised but handsome. There was no bowl beneath his head and no slash across his stomach, so I knew the embalming process hadn't begun yet.

An Anubis-headed priest bent over and put an ear to the boy's chest. As he glanced up, the painted eyes seemed to stare directly at me. I jumped back
and held my breath. I couldn't risk his catching the glint of my eye at the peephole. I pressed my ear against it instead.

A muffled voice reached me. “His heartbeat is weak. But he still lives.”

It was my father's voice. I couldn't stop myself from peeping. Yes, I could tell by the gold crocodile bracelets on his upper arms—it was him.

Another jackal-headed priest nodded slowly. By the leopard cloak he wore, I knew he was the highest of the high priests—Wosret, who had fetched us in the royal barge. “The poison wasn't strong enough!” His voice rasped with annoyance.

Poison?
I listened hard.

“You'll have to help him to the Underworld with a small puncture directly into the heart. Nothing more than the thinnest of needles.”

“I can't do that!” My father sounded agitated.

“Why not?”

“I'll be judged when I enter the Hall of Truths. When Anubis holds the scales, my heart will measure heavily against the ostrich feather of Maat. My soul will be cursed forever. Puncturing someone's heart is an act of murder.”

Murder?
My father, a murderer? I swallowed hard and pressed my eye to the spy hole again.

My father was looking down at the boy on the slab. “I can't allow his heart to be punctured.”

The Anubis figures—all except my father—clustered together. The masks made their heads look clumsy. Every movement they made was slower than normal. They were whispering and nodding to one another.

The highest of high priests turned from them. He held his head up so that he could look directly at my father through the tiny peepholes below the snout of his mask. “It's been decided. You won't be judged for doing something that is right for Egypt. We can't allow him to live. He's weak. Egypt has no place for a weak king. His brother, Amenhotep the Younger,
must
be king. We can't allow rivalry between the brothers. Now that Queen Tiy is dead, this is the moment for Prince Tuthmosis to die as well.”

What?
Tuthmosis!
My hands flew to my throat. The boy was the royal crown prince! I held my breath and felt my heart pounding. What would my father answer?

“Tuthmosis is
not
weak. He walks with a limp,
through no fault of his own. It was an accident. You know that!”

Wosret stood with his jackal head thrown back. He appeared to be looking down his snout at my father. “No country wants a disfigured pharaoh. His death is right for Egypt. We do this for the love of his brother, Amenhotep, the boy king.”

My father shook his head slowly and deliberately. “Amenhotep is as young as the moon. He's
not
the king. He
can't
be king. On this slab is the rightful king. The
real
king.”

Wosret flourished his hand. I half expected to see leopard claws showing in place of fingers. “Amenhotep was named after his father. He was the favorite son before his father died. He's young, but it's not Amenhotep who will rule . . . it's
us
! After her husband died, Queen Tiy meddled too often in the affairs of the Temple of Karnak. We can't have that. Amenhotep, the new king, will rule under our guidance.”

The group of jackals standing behind Wosret nodded their agreement.

“Thebes is a viper's nest. It's time for change,” Wosret snapped when my father didn't respond.

“But not by killing.” Now my father sounded impatient.

Wosret shook his head like a dog trying to get rid of a pesky fly. “I am the highest of high priests. I won't take interference with my plans.”

There was an intense silence. Despite the heat I felt shivery.

“Surely . . .”

Wosret lowered his head. It seemed as if an animal growl might come from his throat. “Henuka, we can't have dissension. My way is the
only
way!”

“What do you imply?” My father's words were sharp.

“If you disagree with Tuthmosis's death, you'll have to drink the Cup.”

“The Cup!” I heard my father's startled intake of breath.

I was too scared even to blink now as I waited for Wosret's answer. He looked directly at my father and nodded, his jackal ears tipping up and down. “It's your duty for the love of Egypt to drink the Cup. Your soul will travel through the Underworld in peace then.” He spoke in a deep, flat voice, with
a dismissive wave of his hand as if this were a small procedure to be quickly done with.

The Underworld?
Suddenly I understood. My father was going to be forced to drink
poison
! They were going to
kill
him. All because he was protecting Tuthmosis. My mouth went dry. My knees turned as wobbly as the time I'd climbed too high in the mimosa tree. My head felt light and strange as I clutched the stone shelf against the wall.

Wosret spoke firmly, as if explaining something to an unruly jackal pup. “Your soul will travel through the Underworld at peace. Anubis will weigh your heart against Maat's ostrich feather and find your heart light with your good deed. Thoth, the scribe of truth and wisdom, will record you as a man of honor. A man to be trusted. A man who has died for his country.”

I stuffed my fist into my mouth to prevent myself from crying out.
No! He's not to die! He's truthful and honest. My father needs no judging.

In the light of the oil lamp I could see sweat gleaming on my father's bare shoulders. He bowed his jackal head so that his snout almost reached his chest. “I have no wish to die.”

“Ah, yes . . .” Wosret spoke appreciatively, as if he were about to sip the finest Syrah wine and was holding the glass thoughtfully up to the light before making a judgment. “But I'm the highest of the high priests. Let me be the judge of when you should die. You've done your work well as administrator of Sobek's temple. We'll be sorry to lose you.”

Lose him? You're not
losing
him. You're
killing
him!
I wanted to shout.