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CHAPTER FOUR

Hopi stopped halfway down the barren hillside. There was no sign of Hat-Neb or Nebo; there was only Tutmose, beckoning to the crew. Hopi watched as the tug drew steadily closer. The barge was much too heavy to come to shore, so instead it was being anchored, and the tug cut loose. The twelve rowers were landing alone.

Hopi scrambled down the last stretch of hillside, ducked behind a few scrubby trees near the riverbank and crept along towards the rowers, who were pulling the tug into the shallows. He could hear them talking among themselves.

‘This is the perfect opportunity,’ said one. ‘A quiet stretch of river. No one will ever know.’

‘Yes,’ agreed someone else. ‘But we’ll have to be quick.’

Another sounded more uneasy. ‘I don’t like the look of the crew,’ he said. ‘Who are they? They’re not Egyptian.’

‘That’s a good thing,’ said their leader. ‘Who cares about them?’

They moved off up the bank. Peering through the shrubs, Hopi saw that Tutmose had led the crew to meet them. The two groups stopped, facing each other.

‘Greetings, Senmut,’ said Tutmose. ‘This is an unexpected encounter.’

‘Greetings,’ said the man. ‘Unexpected! Yes indeed. What a stroke of luck!’

‘Ah, now there I cannot agree with you,’ said Tutmose. ‘I can guess what you have in mind, but this is neither the time nor the place.’

Senmut snorted. ‘It is the ideal time and the ideal place!’

‘Believe me,’ said Tutmose, ‘these men have been promised a fortune when we get to Djeba. They will not let you pass. You are making a mistake.’

‘Enough talk!’ cried one of the rowers. ‘Let’s just get on with it! Come on, men!’

There was a flash of metal as the rowers drew axes and daggers. Just as quickly, Hat-Neb’s crew drew daggers, too. The two groups of men eyed each other, their bodies tense. Suddenly, one of the rowers leaped forward. Tutmose, unarmed, scuttled out of the way. The rower lunged with his axe, and slashed the arm of one of Hat-Neb’s crew. The man gave a cry of rage as blood spurted out, and thrust his dagger wildly. All the men began to howl – great bloodthirsty yells – and threw themselves into battle.

Hopi was horrified. He had never seen anything like it. They would all kill each other! Already, blood was flowing. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. What could he do? What could he do? He felt rooted to the spot, nothing but a useless cripple!

Then he had an idea. He ripped open his linen bag and pulled the lid off his basket, reached inside and grasped the viper behind its neck. Then he half-limped, half-ran out from behind the bushes.

‘Stop this!’ he screamed. ‘Stop this violence! Or I will release this creature upon you!’

One by one, the men caught sight of the viper and recoiled in terror.

‘A snake!’ cried the rowers. ‘A viper! It is Apep himself!’

Hat-Neb’s crew called and jabbered to each other in their own language, backing away from Hopi, who waved the snake high in the air above his head.

‘I am a priest of Serqet!’ he cried, hardly knowing what he was saying. ‘The goddess will punish you! Shame, shame on you all!’

The men on both sides cowered, their eyes great pools of fear. Some of them began to groan, gripping the wounds they had received, blood seeping through their fingers. Then Tutmose, who had been skulking behind the crew, stepped forward and stood next to Hopi.

‘The boy is right!’ he said. ‘See how the gods have come among us. The fighting must stop!’ He turned to the rowers and raised his arms in the air. ‘Return to your barge!’ he ordered them. ‘I told you that this is neither the time nor the place. Now you see that the gods agree with me!’

Senmut, their leader, gazed at Hopi. ‘We can fight a crew of men,’ he said, with awe in his voice, ‘but we cannot fight the gods.’

Hopi was still holding the snake up high. Now, he lowered it slowly, and realised that he was shaking. He looked at the snake, with its cold yellow eyes, and silently thanked it. The man who had started the fighting stepped forward. He had a wound on his upper arm, from which blood was trickling, but he didn’t seem to feel it.

‘We shall go,’ he said gruffly. ‘But you must know the truth, Tutmose. This matter cannot rest.’

‘I know,’ said Tutmose. ‘Believe me, I know.’

The man turned and started walking back towards the tug. ‘And if that motley crew of yours think they’ll get a fortune in Djeba, they are even more foolish than they look!’ he shouted over his shoulder.

.

The sun on the yellow rocks was blinding.

‘It’s hot,’ croaked Hat-Neb. ‘So hot. I can’t bear it . . . can’t bear it.’

Isis was worried. Hat-Neb really seemed to be suffering. Yes, it was hot – but it was always hot in the afternoon.

‘It’s a pity we didn’t bring any water,’ said Sheri. ‘But I suppose we had to leave in too much of a hurry for that.’ She stepped forward and wiped Hat-Neb’s brow with the loose end of her gown.

Nebo was still gazing out towards the river. The shouting had stopped. There was just the baking heat of the desert, and Hat-Neb’s gasps and groans. Isis wondered if Hopi had seen what had happened. She desperately hoped he was safe.

At last, Nebo moved. ‘We go,’ he said.

But Isis wasn’t sure that Hat-Neb could move. He seemed to have half-melted, half-slumped into the rock. Bravely, she took his arm.

‘It’s not far,’ she whispered.

She felt the weight of him as Hat-Neb struggled upright, and smelt the pungent odour of his sweat. Yet his skin was strangely cold and clammy for someone so hot. Nebo took his arm on the other side, and the group set out. Hat-Neb walked with his eyes almost closed, leaning heavily on his fan-bearer’s arm.

He is sick, thought Isis, but he’s too proud to admit to it. He needs a doctor.

Everything seemed upside down. Tutmose the doctor had gone off with the crew, while Nebo the fighter had stayed here with them. Shouldn’t it have been the other way round?

.

The rowers limped back to their tug boat, leaving a trail of blood behind them. None of them seemed mortally wounded, but all the same Hopi couldn’t help wondering how they would manage to row their boat away.

He turned to Tutmose, and realised that the crew were rooted to the spot, staring at him. Of course: he was still holding the viper.

‘I’d better let it loose,’ he said.

Tutmose shook his head vehemently. ‘I can’t allow that.’

‘But the men are afraid,’ said Hopi.

‘Don’t you see?’ Tutmose raised his hand towards the sky. ‘This is no mere viper! As far as these men are concerned, the gods themselves came among us!’

Hopi looked down at the snake. He had meant to show it to Tutmose, of course. But he had hoped they could keep it a secret. Now that the crew knew all about it, things were very different. Someone might be tempted to disturb it. It might strike. A bite from a horned viper might not kill a strong man, but it would make him very sick. Without Menna’s spells and potions close by, Hopi wasn’t sure he could offer treatment.

‘You must keep it,’ hissed Tutmose into his ear, ‘or the men will cease to believe that the gods have saved them.’

Hopi looked at the faces of the men. None of them seemed to know what to do. Even their leader, Kerem, looked confused.

‘This is the meaning of power,’ Tutmose told Hopi. ‘It is knowing that others fear you. As a priest, this is a lesson you must learn. Let us keep the snake with us. We may yet need it again.’

His words puzzled Hopi. What did he mean, need it again? He didn’t want power over the men. Nevertheless, the snake may have saved several lives. The thought gave him a strange sense of pride. Slowly, he walked back to the place where he had dropped his bag, and lowered the snake into his papyrus basket.

Tutmose turned to Kerem. ‘You must return to the boat,’ he told him. ‘The gods of Egypt rose up to protect you. Make sure your men understand this. And let them know that we have a great and powerful priest on board.’ He paused. ‘But say nothing of the snake to Hat-Neb and Nebo. Let them think that you fought for them bravely. I am sure you understand why.’

‘I understand,’ said Kerem. ‘I will tell the men.’

Then Tutmose turned to Hopi. ‘There, young priest,’ he said. ‘The crew will say nothing, and it would be best for everyone if we do the same, don’t you think?’

.

All was quiet back on the shore. The camp had been packed away. Isis looked up at the boat deck and saw that the crew were already on board. She felt a sudden stab of panic about Hopi. What if he hadn’t come back?

Painfully, gasping with every step, Hat-Neb climbed up the boat ladder. Isis followed just behind him, anxious to see if her brother was on board. But the first thing she saw was blood. Blood on men’s arms and faces. Drips of blood across the deck of the boat. Blood on the tip of a dagger that a man still held in his hand. She went cold.

No one spoke as Hat-Neb staggered across the deck, his eyes glazed. He barely seemed to notice the crew or their injuries. He made straight for the cool shade of the cabin without a backward glance. Isis looked around, horrified. Tutmose was working hard, bandaging wounds with swathes of linen. And then she saw Hopi, carrying some fresh bandages from the cabin.

‘You’re safe!’ she exclaimed, rushing across the deck to greet him.

‘Yes, I’m fine.’ Hopi bent down to give Tutmose the bandages.

As he straightened up again, Isis pulled him to one side. ‘So what happened?’ she whispered.

‘The boat was attacked,’ said Hopi. ‘But it’s all over now.’

‘But who were they? Did you see what happened?’ insisted Isis.

Her brother wouldn’t give her an answer. ‘Keep your voice down, Isis,’ he muttered, glancing around the deck.

Isis felt hurt. She was usually the first person that Hopi would talk to. She pursed her lips. ‘Hat-Neb was very sick in the desert,’ she announced in a loud voice. ‘Tutmose should go and see to him at once.’

Tutmose turned around from bandaging a man’s arm, piercing Isis with his dark, beady eyes. ‘And who are you to say what I should or should not do?’

‘These men are not as important as Hat-Neb,’ retorted Isis.

‘That’s hardly for you to say,’ snapped Tutmose.

The man gave a yelp of pain as the bandage shifted, and Tutmose turned back to his patient. Isis looked at Hopi, and saw that she had made him angry again.

Oh no, she thought. And all because of that sneaky, horrible doctor!

It was unbearable. She spun on her heel and ran into the cabin.

Inside, Hat-Neb was spreadeagled on his cushions. Sheri and Kia were wiping his forehead while Mut hovered, looking helpless.

‘Food,’ he gasped. ‘I need food.’ He gestured towards one of the cabin caskets. ‘Honey pastries. Dates. Dried figs. Something sweet.’

Kia opened the casket. Isis and Mut peered inside. It was stuffed with the finest dried fruits and delicacies. Kia lifted out a honey-coated pastry and placed it in a bowl with a handful of fat, golden dates. Hat-Neb reached for them in relief and ate hungrily, closing his eyes with pleasure.

‘Wine,’ he murmured.

Sheri reached for the flagon that rested in one corner, and poured Hat-Neb a gobletful. He downed the wine in just a few gulps, and held out the goblet for more.

‘Much better,’ he announced, smacking his lips. ‘Now, Nebo, where’s Tutmose?’

Isis was pleased. The doctor would have to see to Hat-Neb now. After a few moments, the flap of the cabin swung open, and Tutmose stepped in.

Hat-Neb grunted. ‘I await your report.’

‘Indeed,’ nodded Tutmose. ‘None are too badly hurt. But I hear that you were taken unwell in the desert. The heat, perhaps. Is this true?’

‘Me?’ Hat-Neb looked offended. ‘I grew up in the desert. The gods made me strong as an ox. I can cope with it perfectly well.’

A faint smile curved the doctor’s thin lips, and he slid a mean look at Isis. ‘I am glad to hear it.’

Isis felt her cheeks flush. But she was puzzled, too. It was clear that Hat-Neb was sick, however hard he tried to deny it. Yet surely Tutmose could see the truth. What kind of a doctor was he if he couldn’t?

Hat-Neb sat up and belched, then reached for another date. ‘Bunch of troublemakers, was it? Anyone you know?’

‘No, I was wrong there – total strangers, I’m glad to say. A maverick crew from the quarries. You know how they make use of criminals.’

‘Yes, yes. And the crew fought them off?’ Hat-Neb was stroking his chin.

‘That’s right. They are fierce fighters.’ Tutmose nodded. ‘Very fierce.’

‘Good, good,’ said Hat-Neb dismissively. ‘Well, that’s that. My back feels in need of a massage. Rub some of those ointments on it, would you?’

.

That evening, camp was in a little date-palm grove set back from the riverbank. It was a cool, dim place with dry palm fronds strewn on the ground and a thick cover of fresh ones overhead. While the crew unloaded, Sheri and Kia disappeared between the trees with Isis and Mut; Tutmose helped Hat-Neb to shore, and led him to rest.

Hopi lingered on the deck for a while, keen to keep in the background. The crew worked slowly. Hopi noticed that they were trying to compensate for the two most badly hurt, who could not carry heavy loads. Nebo appeared on the shore, watching their progress. And then, suddenly, he grabbed one of the injured men.

‘Open your mouth,’ he ordered, making signs to show what he meant.

The man did as he said.

‘You drink wine.’

The man could not speak Egyptian. He said nothing, but pointed to the wound on his shoulder. The rest of the crew stopped working to watch.

Nebo shook the man hard. ‘You steal wine from the hold.’

Kerem tried to intervene. ‘The men are in pain,’ he said. ‘They can’t work without –’

‘You their leader,’ Nebo interrupted him. ‘I show you how you treat men who steal.’ And he landed a heavy punch into the injured man’s stomach.

Hopi was appalled. He stepped into the shadow of the cabin as the man collapsed to his knees, coughing and retching.

‘Get up,’ ordered Nebo. ‘Or I do it again.’

The rest of the crew looked angry and sullen as the man struggled to his feet. Silently, he shouldered the mats that he had been carrying, and staggered off towards the camp.

‘Tell your men to work faster,’ Nebo ordered Kerem. ‘The sun will soon set.’ And he marched through the date palms back to his master.

Hopi felt shaken. He wasn’t at all surprised, but Nebo’s actions had sickened him, just the same. He sat and stared at his hands, trying to forget the way the man had crumpled to the ground.

Hat-Neb drank heavily that night. Hopi noticed the crew watching him with resentment as they ate their meagre rations. Hat-Neb glugged his flagon, pouring goblet after goblet, urging on his performers with whoops and loud applause. Isis and Mut danced and danced, twirling in the firelight, while Sheri and Kia played every tune they knew, then played them all again.

‘Bravo, bravo!’ cried Hat-Neb, as the music at last came to an end. ‘You have entertained us well. As a reward, I will take my daughters hunting. We are approaching some fine marshes. There, we shall catch some fat fowl to roast upon the fire tomorrow night.’ He beamed at Mut and Isis.

Hopi watched him in disgust. He was behaving as though nothing had happened. He offered no encouragement to the crew, who had done their best to save his life. The man was utterly selfish.

It was a relief that the evening was over. As everyone began to prepare for bed, Tutmose came and sat next to Hopi by the fire.

‘Where is the viper?’ he whispered.

‘It’s here,’ replied Hopi, indicating his linen bag.

‘You won’t let it escape, will you?’

Hopi shook his head. ‘No.’

‘Good.’ The doctor smiled. ‘Perhaps you could teach me how to handle it. I have often wondered how it is done.’

‘Not now, surely!’ exclaimed Hopi, looking around anxiously.

Tutmose shook his head. ‘No, no, not now.’ He lowered his voice. ‘But you could show me at dawn, couldn’t you? Before we head to the boat?’

‘I suppose so.’

The doctor looked satisfied. He rose, and disappeared into his shelter. Hopi gazed into the flames, thinking. He didn’t mind showing Tutmose the viper, of course – that was why he had caught it. But the attack had changed things. The crew were very unhappy, and rightly so. How could Hat-Neb and Tutmose carry on like this, as though everything was the same as before?