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CHAPTER TWO

Isis heard Hopi talking.

‘We’ve got a visitor,’ she said, scrambling to her feet. She handed the stirring spoon to Ramose. ‘I’ll go and see who it is.’

Hopi had already disappeared up the stairs. Tiptoeing forward, Isis peeked into the guest room and saw a man sitting with his head bowed. His skin was a deep, deep brown from long hours working in the sun, and his kilt was shabbier than anything Paneb or Hopi would wear. His toenails were deeply ingrained, not with the dust of Waset, but with the rich black earth of the surrounding farmland.

Paneb came jumping down the stairs two at a time, and Isis shrank back, out of the way. Nefert, Kia and Sheri followed more slowly, with Hopi limping behind them. Isis met her brother’s gaze and, together, they sidled up to the doorway to watch.

Sinuhe stood up as Paneb entered. ‘Cousin Paneb,’ he murmured, ‘may the gods be with you. It is too long since we last met.’

‘Cousin Sinuhe,’ Paneb responded. ‘It has indeed been a long time. What brings you into Waset? Are you and your family well?’

‘We are quite well, thank you,’ said Sinuhe. ‘For that, at least, we can be grateful.’ He hesitated. He looked at the three beautiful women standing behind Paneb, then around the front room with its murals, wooden chairs and caskets. ‘I see that you, too, are well, cousin. The gods have blessed you.’

Paneb’s face hardened. ‘Yes. We are fortunate, cousin Sinuhe,’ he said. ‘But make no mistake: it is the result of hard work.’

‘No doubt,’ Sinuhe responded. ‘I did not come to suggest –’

‘Good. Pray, tell us why you have come,’ Paneb interrupted him. ‘Only something of the greatest importance can have brought you here.’ He gestured at the chairs. ‘Please sit.’

The peasant lowered himself back down. ‘The gods have given me a sign. You must understand – it is they who have sent me, cousin Paneb.’

Paneb looked at him shrewdly. ‘You’ve come begging, haven’t you?’

‘No!’ The word burst from the peasant’s lips. Then his confidence seemed to waver. His gaze slid away, down to the ground. ‘Well, we are desperate, cousin, but I would not have come if the gods had not willed it.’

Isis stared at him, fascinated. He seemed humble but proud, respectful but angry, all at the same time.

‘Go on,’ said Paneb, his voice relenting a little. ‘Explain yourself. What has befallen you?’

Sinuhe straightened his back again. ‘As you know, our farmland is south of Waset,’ he said. ‘We grow emmer wheat. Each year, the tax collectors come and measure the fields to decide how big our harvest will be. Then they tell us how much we must pay in tax.’

Isis had heard that the king’s stores were piled high with the best grain in the country, but she’d never quite realised how it got there.

‘The tax collectors often demand more than they should,’ said Sinuhe. ‘We are used to that. We are used to them shifting the boundaries, then moving them back again when it suits them. But this year . . .’ he trailed off.

‘What has happened?’ Paneb asked quietly.

Sinuhe clasped and unclasped his hands, and took a few shallow, gulping breaths. ‘A plague,’ he whispered. ‘A plague of mice.’

The room went still.

‘We thought we were lucky,’ Sinuhe carried on. ‘We had a bumper crop – we even harvested early, earlier than all our neighbours. The stores of grain were waiting for Abana and his men, and then –’

‘Abana?’ Paneb interrupted. ‘I know that name.’

‘He is the new chief tax collector. They say he has come from the north.’

Paneb seemed to stiffen, but he said nothing.

‘Tell us about the mice,’ prompted Sheri.

Sinuhe’s hands began to tremble. ‘During the time that our grain was stored, they multiplied,’ he said. ‘But we didn’t even notice them until it was too late. They were hidden in the depths of the store, breeding and feeding . . . feasting.’

‘How much of the crop was lost?’

‘We managed to salvage some of it.’ He shook his head. ‘But, in fact, this was our greatest misfortune.’

Paneb looked puzzled. ‘How?’

‘We hoped that the tax collectors would be reasonable. But when they saw that we had some grain, they demanded the full amount of tax. We protested, but there was nothing we could do. They took everything – our whole crop.’

Silence fell. Paneb stroked his chin. Isis could tell that the story disturbed him deeply but, at the same time, she saw doubt on his face.

‘And what is it that you want me to do, cousin?’ he asked eventually.

‘Cousin Paneb, you are a man of Waset,’ said Sinuhe. ‘You are wealthy, with many connections. Give me some of your grain to tide us over. And, I beg you, use your influence to bring us justice.’

Paneb looked genuinely astonished. ‘Wealthy?’ he echoed. ‘This is madness. We are not rich! We are performers – we never know from one week to the next where our food is coming from.’

Isis saw disbelief spread across Sinuhe’s face. ‘But . . .’ He gestured around him. ‘Cousin, you say this, and yet you live in ease and comfort.’

Paneb’s face darkened. ‘You think our life is easy?’

‘Try toiling under the sun, cousin.’ Sinuhe’s voice had a bitter edge to it. ‘That is what you –’

‘Enough!’ Paneb’s voice boomed, and the peasant seemed to cower before him.

Isis saw Nefert shoot a glance at her husband. She stood up and smoothed her hands over her white gown. ‘I see you are troubled and tired,’ she said to the stranger. ‘No doubt you are hungry, too. Let us give you something to eat and drink. When you have rested, we can speak of this again.’ She turned around. ‘Isis, go and fetch some beer. Hopi, take some grain from the store and buy fresh bread from a neighbour.’

Paneb gave a little nod of agreement to his wife and the taut features of the peasant softened a little.

‘Thank you,’ he said. He licked his dry, cracked lips. ‘I am very grateful.’

.

Hopi and Isis hurried out of the room, and dived inside the storeroom so that they could speak.

‘What a story!’ gasped Isis. ‘Do you believe him?’

Hopi looked at her in surprise. It had never crossed his mind that Sinuhe might be lying. After their parents had died, he and Isis had known all about poverty and hunger. Perhaps his sister was too young to remember, but he could recognise the symptoms only too well.

‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘He’s telling the truth, Isis. Why wouldn’t he be?’

Isis pursed her lips. ‘Didn’t you see? Paneb doesn’t like him at all.’

‘Perhaps. But that doesn’t mean he’s lying. I believe what he said about the mice and the tax collectors.’

‘Oh, I believe the mice part,’ said Isis. ‘But there’s something funny about him, Hopi. Why hasn’t he seen Paneb for all this time?’

Hopi reached for a little linen bag and scooped some grain from the top of one of the sacks. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘There’s bound to be a good reason.’ He tied a knot in the top of the bag, and poked his sister good-humouredly. ‘You’d better go and get that beer.’

‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘And I must tell Mut what’s happened. She’ll be dying to know.’

Hopi slipped outside on to the street, clutching the bag of grain. It was dark now. Who would have fresh bread for sale at this hour? There wasn’t much call for it in this area anyway – most households made their own. He thought for a moment, then turned right towards the river and knocked on a door near the end of the street. It belonged to their neighbour Meryt-Amun, a local trader who bought and sold cedar wood from Lebanon. His work took him away from home a great deal, and his wife and daughters worked hard in his absence; weaving linen, ironing gowns into beautiful pleats, making exquisite clay-bead collars, and – sometimes – baking bread. They owed Hopi a favour, because his skill with snakes was well known locally and he had recently removed a cobra from their courtyard. It was definitely worth giving them a try.

The eldest daughter Yuya came to the door – a bubbly, lively girl a few years older than Hopi himself.

‘Hopi!’ she said, smiling. ‘Come in.’

‘I can’t stay,’ Hopi told her. ‘I’m in a hurry. Do you have any bread for sale?’

‘Bread!’ Yuya looked askance. ‘It’s an odd time to be buying bread.’

‘I know,’ said Hopi. ‘We have an unexpected visitor.’

At the word unexpected, Yuya’s eyes lit up. ‘Ooooh, is it someone we know?’ She grinned. ‘Come in. I’m in the middle of pleating something, but I’ll see what we’ve got.’

Reluctantly, Hopi followed her inside. He knew he should be getting right back, and once the women began questioning, it would be difficult to get away. They loved nothing better than gossip.

In the courtyard, Meryt-Amun’s wife was busy pounding pomegranates by the light of a couple of oil lamps.

‘Hopi! It’s been too long since you dropped in. Come and have some of this juice, it’s fresh.’

‘Thank you, but I’ve only come –’ he began weakly.

‘They have a visitor,’ announced Yuya. ‘He’s come to buy bread.’

One of Yuya’s sisters appeared, trailing a length of linen, and Hopi found himself surrounded by women.

‘You’re buying bread?’ Meryt-Amun’s wife laughed. ‘At this hour? Can’t your guest wait for the evening meal?’

‘He’s too hungry, I think,’ Hopi said, then instantly regretted it. The women pounced on his words.

‘Too hungry! Whoever is it?’ quizzed Yuya.

‘A relative . . . a cousin . . . I’ve never seen him before.’ Hopi tried to keep it vague, but there was no stopping the women now.

‘Whose relative? Paneb’s? Where has he come from? What does he want?’

The questions came thick and fast, the women all speaking at once, and before he knew it, Hopi had spilled the whole story.

‘How terrible,’ said the younger daughter. ‘Mice.’ She shuddered.

But Meryt-Amun’s wife had a curious gleam in her eyes. ‘I always wondered where Paneb came from,’ she said. ‘We know all about Nefert, of course. Her family has lived around here for generations. But Paneb . . . hmm. Very interesting, Hopi. Now, let’s see about that bread.’

With two flat loaves tucked under his arm, Hopi hurried home again, chiding himself for letting so much slip. But it had made him think, too. Perhaps Isis was right. Everyone seemed to find Sinuhe’s appearance intriguing . . . maybe there was more to it, after all.

.

‘I want to speak to everyone.’ Paneb’s voice was low. ‘We shall all go up on to the roof, so we can be sure that Sinuhe doesn’t hear.’

‘He’s sound asleep,’ Sheri assured him. ‘I laid a sheet over him. He didn’t stir.’

‘Even so,’ said Paneb. ‘This is a serious matter.’ He looked around the courtyard. ‘Follow me when the chores are done.’

The family was sitting outside in the moonlight, finishing the last of their meal. Ramose and Kha were sleepy, cuddled up to Nefert and Sheri. Isis mopped up the last scraping of lentil stew with some bread and popped it into her mouth. She thought of how Sinuhe had gobbled the bread they’d given him, eating it so fast he’d almost choked.

Paneb lifted Mut into his arms and carried her up the stairs while Isis helped Kia clear the pots and dishes away. Then she headed up to the roof, where Paneb was already sitting, cross-legged, with Mut propped up beside him. The family gathered around.

‘What a day,’ sighed Nefert. ‘First Mut’s ankle, and then this . . . cousin.’ She hesitated over the word cousin, glancing at Sheri and Kia.

Sheri addressed her brother-in-law with gentle curiosity. ‘Paneb,’ she said, ‘you are not a peasant. You have been a man of the town for as long as we have all known you. You have never even visited the fields. How can this man claim to be kin?’

Paneb looked flustered. ‘Everyone has relatives, Sheri.’

‘Why, yes, but –’

‘A family tree can sprout in many directions.’ There was a hint of anger in Paneb’s voice now.

Kia frowned. ‘But that’s not common. And the thought of a mere peasant –’ She broke off, clearly appalled.

‘He’s a relative, and that’s that,’ said Paneb coldly. ‘I’m sorry the thought is so distasteful to you.’

‘We weren’t saying that,’ said Sheri gently. ‘It’s just . . . surprising, that’s all. And of course we must help him. I’m sure we can spare a sack of grain.’

‘One sack of grain will hardly solve his problems.’ Paneb gazed out towards the river, then turned back to his family and took a deep breath. ‘There’s something else that I must tell you. We’ve received another request to perform – at a harvest celebration party tomorrow night.’

Isis felt a pang of alarm. She exchanged a worried look with Mut.

‘Tomorrow! But Mut is injured –’ began Nefert.

‘The request is from Abana, the head of the tax collectors.’

Everyone was shocked into silence for a second.

Then Kia spoke. ‘Surely that’s out of the question.’

‘Is it?’ Paneb looked around. ‘Why?’

‘Paneb, don’t be absurd,’ said Nefert. ‘For one thing, Mut can’t dance for several days. The doctor has totally forbidden it. And for another, whoever Sinuhe may be, he has recently suffered at the hands of this man. How could you think of entering the house of one who has inflicted such pain?’

Isis let out a sigh of relief. She didn’t mind being watched when Mut was close to her, but the thought of dancing alone was awful.

Paneb’s face was grave. ‘I understand the difficulties,’ he said. ‘I’ve been thinking about nothing else all evening. But we can still offer music, and Isis can perform the girls’ old routine. Besides, this may be our opportunity to make contact with Abana. Perhaps we can make him see reason. Perhaps . . . perhaps the gods have willed it this way.’

This was dreadful. Isis looked beseechingly at Nefert. ‘But I can’t dance on my own!’ she burst out.

‘He will pay us handsomely,’ Paneb carried on, almost as though he hadn’t heard her. ‘It will surely be worth our while.’

‘But we all know that this tax collector is a cheat and a swindler.’ Sheri’s voice was hot with indignation.

‘We’ve worked for such people before.’

‘Not when we know those who’ve suffered –’

‘Enough, Sheri. This may help Sinuhe, too.’

Isis couldn’t bear it. ‘But I can’t!’ she wailed.

‘I’m afraid, Isis, that you have little choice.’

When Paneb spoke in that tone of voice, Isis knew that his mind was made up. He had brought them up to the roof to tell them, not to consult them. How could he do this to her? And why was he bending over backwards for this so-called cousin when he’d just appeared out of the blue?