The Spitting Cobra (8 page)

Isis and Hopi stood with their heads bowed. ‘Sorry, Nefert,’ murmured Isis. ‘We got lost.’

‘But what were you doing up there in the first place? That’s what I want to know!’ Nefert’s anger wasn’t spent yet. ‘If it was anything to do with this dreadful obsession with reptiles . . .’ She shook her head in anger and disgust. ‘Well, was it?’

Hopi bit his lip. He had been on the verge of saying they were looking for snakes. Now he thought better of it. ‘We were just exploring,’ he said. ‘We went up to look at the view.’

‘A likely story.’ Nefert folded her arms. ‘Now I want to make something clear. Paneb and I have offered you both a home for almost a year. For the most part, I’m pleased with your progress, Isis. But last night I was not impressed. You weren’t concentrating at all.’

Isis felt her heart plummet. So Nefert had seen her mistake, after all.

‘Making mistakes is simply not acceptable. We are a professional troupe. And just look at you now! You’re covered in scrapes and grazes, yet you know very well that you’re performing again tomorrow night. What sort of dancer gets herself into such a mess?’

Nefert paused, letting her words sink in. Then she carried on, lowering her voice. ‘We can’t afford to keep you for nothing. If you are not going to take your dancing seriously, you may have to move elsewhere. Especially as I’m not sure I want a snake-lover in the household.’

It was horrible. Isis felt her knees tremble in shock. She looked appealingly at Paneb, but his eyes were trained on the ground. He and Nefert must have discussed this. He wouldn’t allow his wife to say things she didn’t mean.

Hopi put an arm around his sister’s shoulders. ‘Isis is a talented dancer,’ he said. ‘Don’t punish her because of me. I have already promised that I will never bring a snake to the house again.’

Paneb raised his eyes and regarded them both calmly. ‘You are always quick to defend your sister, Hopi,’ he said. ‘This is only natural, and good. But you must remember that we have our concerns about you. You must not lead Isis astray.’

Isis wanted to protest. It all felt so unfair. Nefert and Paneb had no idea what was happening right under their noses. What were a few cuts and grazes and a harmless snake or two compared to the robbery of a royal tomb? She opened her mouth to speak, but Hopi immediately squeezed her shoulder hard, in warning. She closed her mouth again: there was nothing she could do.

.

Hopi felt exhausted, but he couldn’t sleep. It had been a miserable evening. He and Isis had had to sit quietly, on their best behaviour, in the house of Amen-Kha, the boring draughtsman who was hosting Nefert and Paneb. Now they were back in the house of Khonsu, getting an early night in preparation for the second party.

Hopi lay on his back and stared upwards, but it wasn’t the ceiling he saw. There were too many other images in his mind’s eye: Seti and the cobra; Rahotep with his warning and strange talk of Serqet; Isis with her tale of Tiya and her beautiful gold bracelet. And the tomb . . . the ransacked tomb, left in disarray with its precious objects stripped clean. None of it made any sense.

And then there was the family. Hopi’s heart filled with anger and dread. Would he and Isis really have to return to the life they’d known before? Limping around with nothing but a begging bowl?

The girls were already asleep. Hopi turned on his side and curled into a ball. At last he drifted off.

It seemed only minutes before something was waking him up.

‘Hopi!’

He opened his eyes. A young boy was shaking his shoulder, panic written over his face.

‘Seti is calling for you!’

Hopi sat up. He saw, to his astonishment, that it was already dawn. ‘Seti?’

‘He’s been attacked by a snake!’ jabbered the boy. ‘I heard him screaming on the mountain so I ran up and he was calling for you. “The visitor! Hopi the visitor!” he was screaming. I didn’t know who you were, but someone told me you were staying here.’

Hopi didn’t need to hear any more. With a sick feeling in his stomach, he knew exactly what had happened. As the girls stirred and muttered in their sleep, he leaped up, ran to the courtyard and grabbed the first full flagon he could find.

‘Take me to him,’ he instructed the boy. ‘Hurry, and help me carry this!’

They half-ran, half-hobbled out into the early morning sun and headed straight for the cemetery gate. Hopi could already hear Seti’s screams, echoing against the rocks. He was not the only one. The households near the gate had been aroused, and people were hurrying out to find the source of the commotion.

‘Call Rahotep!’ someone cried.

Hopi and the boy carried the flagon between them, gasping for breath as they climbed up between the chapel courtyards. Seti was staggering towards them from the mountain path, blinded, his screams a terrible sound.

‘Lie down!’ Hopi shouted. ‘Lie down and put your head back!’

Seti slumped to the ground, scraping at his eyes with his hands. They were hardly visible. The flesh around them had swollen horribly, and Hopi caught a glimpse of whites that had turned to fiery scarlet.

‘Keep your hands away!’ he instructed. He splashed the contents of the flagon into Seti’s face, then stared in dismay. It wasn’t a water flagon. It was beer! Too bad: it was all he had. He kept sloshing the fluid into Seti’s eyes as the painter tossed and turned his head, spluttering as beer went up his nose.

Hopi kept going. ‘Keep
still
!’ he ordered desperately.

His arms were aching from the weight of the flagon, but Hopi knew he had to use all the beer he had. He had to flood Seti’s eyes with it until there was nothing left. When the last drop had gone, he looked around at the crowd that had gathered, staring at the scene open-mouthed.

Seti had stopped screaming, but now he was weeping, tears pouring down his face from between the swollen slits.

‘Can you see anything?’ asked Hopi.

‘No . . . no . . . she has blinded me . . . Meretseger has blinded me!’ Seti wailed.

There were murmurs in the crowd:

‘She has spoken. Blindness is always her vengeance. This is how she makes herself heard.’

‘Who is this boy? Where is Rahotep?’

‘He is coming. He is on his way.’

Hopi studied Seti’s face, feeling anguish inside. He could guess exactly what had happened. Seti had returned to the spot where they had found the cobra, and waited for it to reappear. He had looked at it in defiance of Hopi’s advice. And now, he might never see again.

The anger of Meretseger was indeed terrible.

.

CHAPTER SIX

‘Rahotep is coming!’

A cry went up at the cemetery gate. Hopi was baffled. Rahotep was the man he’d met at the party. What had he got to do with this? The crowd parted to make way for the priest of Serqet. Rahotep hurried up, bleary-eyed, and surveyed the scene. A clamour of voices told him what had happened, as Hopi waited by Seti’s side.

‘Meretseger has spoken!’ people shouted.

‘The goddess has punished him!’

‘He is blinded!’

‘The Peak of the West has been angered!’

Rahotep took in Seti’s bloated face and eyes, his drenched tunic and the empty flagon at Hopi’s feet. He looked at Hopi. ‘Did you do this?’ he demanded, gesturing at the sticky fluid everywhere.

‘Yes,’ said Hopi. ‘I know this snake – it is a cobra, the one that spits. I thought I had brought water to throw into his eyes, but beer is better than nothing.’

Rahotep knelt down by Seti’s side. Gently, he prised each eye open in turn, as Seti yelped in pain. Then he stood up and addressed the crowd. ‘Take him to my home!’ he ordered. ‘He needs herbs and magic. Hurry!’

Village boys rushed forward to grab Seti’s arms and legs. They hoisted him up on to their shoulders and set off, jogging him down through the cemetery and towards the gate with most of the villagers in tow. Hopi stayed where he was, and watched them go.

Rahotep also stood still. ‘Who told you about this cobra that spits?’ he asked.

Hopi shrugged. ‘No one. I’ve seen them before, that’s all.’

‘So who taught you what to do?’

‘I have no teacher. All I knew was that Seti had venom in his eyes and that it must be washed out.’

‘Then it is indeed a gift,’ murmured Rahotep. Hopi frowned, wondering what he meant, but the priest was already striding down the mountain. ‘Come to my home later today,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Any of the villagers will tell you where it is.’

.

Isis, Mut and Heria rushed out of the house just in time to see Seti being carried along the street with a crowd of villagers running after him.

‘What’s happened?’ cried Heria.

A chorus of excited voices answered her:
The revenge of Meretseger! The goddess had blinded him! A massive, terrible cobra with venom in its tongue! The visitor Hopi with a flagon of beer
. . . a web of garbled stories spilled out.

Heria burst into tears. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she sobbed. ‘First Tiya and now Seti. And on the day of Baki’s party! Why is the goddess so angry? Why?’

Isis put an arm around her. She didn’t know what to say.

‘We must go to Baki’s house,’ hiccupped Heria. ‘This is a sign. Surely he will have to cancel his party tonight.’

Cancel the party! Isis was dismayed. If it didn’t go ahead, the dance troupe had no reason to stay. They would have to leave and head back to Waset. But she and Hopi had only just discovered the tunnel – and the royal tomb! They couldn’t possibly just go without getting to the root of it all.

‘We must wait for Hopi,’ Isis said. ‘I want to hear what happened from him.’

They found Hopi limping down from the cemetery. He told them everything that had happened. ‘But I don’t know why everyone called for Rahotep,’ he finished.

‘Rahotep?’ said Heria. ‘Of course they called for him. He’s Seti’s only hope.’ And her tears welled up again.

The others looked at each other blankly.

‘Why?’ asked Mut.

‘You don’t know?’ Heria sniffed. ‘The priest of Serqet heals the bites of snakes and scorpions. Now come, we must hurry.’ And she led them off towards the house of Baki.

Isis, Mut and Hopi trailed after her. Isis was trying to piece together everything she had heard. Wasn’t Rahotep the man that Hopi had met at the party? The one who had warned him against exploring the mountain?

They arrived at Baki’s house only to find a guard posted outside. News of Seti’s misfortune had travelled fast, and Heria was not the only one to realise what it might mean. Everyone wanted to know whether Baki’s party would go ahead, and the guard’s job was to turn people away.

‘Baki is meeting with some of the elders now. They will speak to the village later,’ was all he would say.

‘So my father Khonsu is there!’ exclaimed Heria.

The guard nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Then I want to see him,’ demanded Heria. ‘Tell him I’m here with a group of our guests. They need to know what is happening, surely you can see that?’

The guard hesitated. He disappeared inside for a few moments, then came back and opened the door wider. ‘You can go in,’ he said.

Isis, Mut and Hopi followed Heria into the house. She stopped outside the front room and stood respectfully in the doorway to speak to her father. Isis and Hopi both edged closer to peer over her shoulder. Inside the room, four of the village elders sat around in a circle. Isis knew two of them – Nakht, the foreman who had held the last party, and Heria’s father Khonsu, the chief scribe. Then there was a man she guessed must be Baki, and another with his back to them. There was a young servant, too, serving them sweet pastries.

‘Heria. You should not be here,’ said Khonsu. ‘But as you are, I have a job for you. You must deliver a message.’

‘Yes, Father,’ said Heria. ‘Who to?’

‘When the goddess strikes, we must listen,’ said Nakht, his voice grave. ‘We dare not anger her further. You must tell our visitors that tonight’s party cannot go ahead.’

‘Go at once,’ said Baki, dismissing them with a wave of his hand. ‘Leave us. We have many things to discuss.’

Isis felt her heart sink. So it was true. They would have to go back to Waset, without solving any of the mysteries. Nefert and Paneb would be disappointed, too, because they would be paid for only one party. A ripple of fear passed through her as she remembered Nefert’s words:
We can’t afford to keep you for nothing . . .
The less work they had, the less they would want to keep a dancer who made mistakes.