Walking into my father’s mud-brick palace, I saw my brother standing in the middle of a plaza. Not stopping to think why he was surrounded by guards, I ran toward him. “Rudiju!” I said. Rudiju was my favorite person in the palace because he always used to play games with me when we were little. He and I would spend hours playing hide-and-seek, or we would play Senet together. Sometimes he would let me win, but Rudiju was always much better at it than I was. He has a good mind for strategy games. Rudiju’s squinty eyes swung toward me. A worry line creased his forehead. This was surprising; my brother is usually carefree. I walked toward his open arms. We have always been very close, and show our affection openly. Because of this, no one will accuse me of being jealous about my brother being the Pharaoh’s first heir or suspect me of an assassination plot. When I was three feet from my brother, a guard stopped me by taking my arm. Bowing, the guard said, “You are not to speak to him.” “What?” “The prince Rudiju is to be held on trial. No one is to speak to him,” the guard explained. Then, embarrassed at addressing a princess, he resumed his position at the door. I was baffled. What could Rudiju, my beloved brother and future Pharaoh of the Land of Egypt, have done? I could not think of anything that might connect him with a crime. Rudiju would sooner sell himself into slavery than break the law. Jumping to my feet, I saw a glimmer of light, a woman with a bird’s head Still pondering what might have happened, I turned a corridor and entered into the women’s lounge on my right. It was empty and silent, and I was thankful. I was a young girl, and not allowed in the lounge if older women were present, though I had been in it before because I was a princess. As I sank into a chair, a deep feminine voice behind me asked, “Do you always sit in the presence of gods?” Jumping to my feet, I saw a glimmer of light, a woman with a bird’s head. “Isis,” I breathed, bowing. “I am sorry, I did not see you.” “It is wise to be watchful, young princess.” I looked at my feet with embarrassment. A crocodile walked past them. With a little scream, I jumped backwards, landing on the chair with my legs beneath me. “You did not see me, either,” the croc said. “Sobek?” I asked. The large croc nodded, his reptilian eyes strangely wise. “I am honored,” I said, finally remembering my manners. “It is a great privilege to be visited by gods.” “You may get used to being visited by us,” Isis said. “You are important to the future of Egypt.” I bowed my head. “I beg your pardon, great lady,” I said, “but I do not see how. My brother Rudiju is my father’s heir, and he is ready to become a great king.” “I believe Rudiju is ready,” agreed Isis. “But being ready does not mean he will get his chance.” All this time, my attention had been focused on Isis, but now Sobek spoke. “We must take our leave now. Remember us, because we shall be prominent in your life. We are, after all, gods.” With a wink and a grin from Sobek, and a nod from Isis, they disappeared. I sank into the chair for the second time, my thoughts back on Rudiju. What could my brother have done? Then, my meeting with the two gods sank in. I was left thinking, what did Isis mean, “being ready does not mean he will get his chance”? * * * Rudiju’s was held two days later. It took place in a giant plaza on which a stage had been erected. The vizier, my father’s right-hand man, ran the trial. Because it was an important trial, Father was there to make the final judgment about the accused. I was present, as were all the nobles and some of the peasants of the capital of our dearly loved Egypt. Before the trial, I learned that my brother was in trouble because he was caught with a wounded cat. This was a great sin in Egypt, because cats are sacred to the goddess Bastet, whom we worship. Since my brother was trying to enter the palace with a wounded cat and had not made any move to heal it or at least make it more comfortable, Rudiju was breaking the most sacred law in the city. His excuse was that he had wanted to bring the cat to me as a gift and had not known that it was hurt. I believed him, but my father thought that if his son wasn’t punished for breaking the law, Rudiju would not be a trusted Pharaoh. Since he thought that Rudiju was useless once he couldn’t be a Pharaoh, my father sentenced the normal punishment for abusing a cat. Rudiju’s execution date was to be exactly a week from the trial. He chose to commit suicide rather then go through the embarrassment of an execution. I think this was partly Father’s judgment, too. Rudiju, my beloved brother, was dead within three days. For weeks after Rudiju’s death, I wandered the palace aimlessly, remembering Rudiju. How he would talk to me when our parents were busy, how he would play games with me. Now he was dead, because of me. I had killed my brother. If he had not tried to get a cat for me, he would be alive to laugh at my jokes, or to sit in his favorite chair and think, or to learn to write … My thoughts went in circles, and I was often in tears. One day I had another visit from Sobek. I had been crying softly for about an hour on my bed when I saw a crocodile’s
Mythology
The Thief of Bubastis
Kysen ran stealthily and silently to the temple as the chilly night air whipped around him. His black hair and dark clothing let him blend into the night, and his blue eyes scanned the road ahead of him. The buildings of Bubastis were dark, the people sound asleep, dreaming of the festival just four days away. But Kysen could not think of the festival. He had to think about survival. It seemed to him like just yesterday when his father grew ill. The expert carpenter could no longer work, and they did not have enough money to support the two of them. Kysen had to steal for them to live. So far, he had been stealing little things: bracelets, scarabs, and even a small sculpture. Unfortunately, that wasn’t enough. So tonight he was going for something that would sell for hundreds of deben, deben that would pay for a doctor. That item was the necklace of Bastet. I’m only twelve, Kysen thought to himself ruefully, and I’m stealing from the gods. * * * Maya’s eleventh birthday, about a full moon ago, was not a happy one. It was the day her mother died. Her father, Khay, was so depressed that he locked himself in his room for much of each day and prayed to Osiris, god of the dead. Even when Khay was not praying, he paid almost no attention to Maya and burst into tears all the time. “Bastet,” whispered Maya, kneeling “please make my father better . . .” Of course Maya was very sad, but not as sad as her father, who had been married for thirty years. So Maya decided that he needed help. One night, when Khay had been crying more than usual, Maya crept out of their large house and walked quickly to the temple of Bastet, which was nearby. Cats, which were sacred to Bastet, ran everywhere in the temple, and green candles, Bastet’s sacred color, flickered in their holders. Maya walked down a long hallway, with the cats rubbing against her legs. Ever since she was little, cats seemed to like her. That was what made her go to Bastet’s temple instead of praying to another god. Soon she saw the statue of Bastet. The god of happiness was portrayed as a large, black cat. It had golden earrings, a scarab carved on its chest, and a beautiful silver necklace hanging from its neck. “Bastet,” whispered Maya, kneeling, “please make my father better . . .” Her prayer was interrupted by a chorus of hisses. Maya whirled around and saw a boy, little older than her, kicking away the cats. “Who are you?” she called to him suspiciously. She didn’t like the fact that he was wearing all black clothing. The boy had been so preoccupied with the cats that he hadn’t noticed her at first. He froze and turned to Maya, his blue eyes full of surprise. Kysen realized that she could report him to the priest and he could be killed. Without thinking, his mind a flood of panic, Kysen leapt at the girl and knocked her to the stone floor. She blacked out. Then the young thief wrenched the necklace off the statue and ran into the black night faster than he ever had. * * * Sunlight streamed through the temple doors and with it came Pure One Rahotep, the priest of Bubastis. He saw the unconscious girl on the floor and the bare neck of the statue. “Bring water,” he commanded a servant, and walked through the cats to Maya. The servant returned with a bowl full of water. “Here you are, sir,” he said. Rahotep took the bowl and dumped the water over Maya’s head unceremoniously. Her eyes flickered open, and she mumbled, “Where am I?” “In the temple of Bastet where you stole her necklace last night, you fool!” he answered harshly. This shook Maya fully awake, and she stood up. Then she remembered what had happened the night before. “But it wasn’t me! It must have been that boy. He came in and knocked me out,” Maya argued. “You have no proof of that,” said Rahotep, “and no one but you was here this morning. Therefore, you must have stolen the necklace. And stealing from the gods can only be punished by execution. “But there is an alternative. If you can return Bastet’s necklace to me before sunset tonight, I will spare you. I’ll bet you hid it somewhere. Oh, and don’t try to escape: soldiers are posted at every gate.” Then he and his servant turned and left. Maya collapsed into tears: the boy was long gone, and she was going to die at sunset. * * * The work of a thief was never over. Kysen had done the hardest part, but he still had to find a foreign merchant who would buy the necklace (if the merchant was from Bubastis, he would recognize it), get a good price for it, and pay a doctor to help his father. Most importantly, the soldiers could not capture him. That would mean both he and his father, who would never get a doctor, would die. People were everywhere in the marketplace of Bubastis. They were trading, shouting, laughing, and thieving. Hiding the necklace under his cloak, Kysen hurried through the crowd to the stalls of the merchants. They called their wares into the crowd, claiming that they had the lowest prices in all of Egypt. Most of them Kysen recognized; they were the local merchants. But there were some others, too, from Cairo and other Egyptian cities. Kysen read the signs: Food, Fabric, Toys. None of those merchants would buy Bastet’s necklace. Finally, Kysen came to a merchant who had no customers. His sign read: Jewelry, Riches, and Other Oddities. Kysen eagerly stepped forward. “Hello there, son!” cried the merchant cheerily. “I’m Osorkon. Who are you?” “Kysen,” answered Kysen, but instantly regretted it. If Osorkon recognized the necklace, he could tell the
The Tale of Tawret
A large gray hippo waded in the clear, cool Nile River. His name was Akitomen. Akitomen’s wife, Tawret, glided alongside him. The couple both watched their children, Khufem and Maketuman. The kids played happily in the papyrus reeds, Tawret and Akitomen talked while keeping an eye on the kids. Tawret had always been a wonderful hippo mother. Loving, yet stern. During the middle of a discussion about the Nile’s flood, Tawret checked on the kids. She saw a papyrus hunting boat off in the distance. Knowing they might be in the mood for hippo, she warned the others. “Khufem! Maketuman! Hunters!” The family rapidly climbed into the sand-mud structure they lived inside. Back at the boat, the Egyptian men were arguing in fierce, fast Egyptian. “They got away, you moron!” the first man yelled. “It’s your fault! You should have lowered the net at least five seconds earlier!” the second one exclaimed. There was another person on board. She was a young woman, about seventeen in age. Her name was Cleometrapen. Cleometrapen had dark silky hair that cascaded to her waist. She had dark, smooth skin. At a quick glance, she looked like any other mildly attractive servant girl in a plain blue linen dress. Well, except for the golden flute tucked within the folds of her skirt. If you looked closely enough, you could see her eyes: celery green with thick lashes encircling them. One could look even harder and see the swirling specks of blue and purple within the green. But nobody ever did. She was a simple servant, an accessory to take on hunting trips, a person existing solely to cater to whims. No more. Possibly less, but no more. Tawret had always been a wonderful hippo mother. Loving yet stern While the two men were fighting, Cleometrapen took out her flute and put it to her lips, with their perfectly applied red ochre. She began to play. Cleometrapen’s fingers flew on the marble-rimmed holes. She played and played, the sweet, woody notes covering the unpleasant noise of the argument. Attracted to the music, the hippo family glided over. Sadly, the men noticed the hippos and threw their weapons randomly in the water. A weapon was headed straight for Khufem. In a split second, Tawret jumped over. She saved Khufem, but the spear punctured her hide. With a cheer from the men, they hauled Tawret out of the water and onto the boat. Cleometrapen cast an apologetic glance at the hippos as the boat sped off. Khufem, Akitomen, and Maketuman mourned. The Egyptians had bread and vegetables. Why did they need Tawret? Every night, after the children fell asleep, Akitomen would pray to the god Osiris, leader of the underworld. He begged for the gods to return his wife. During the second week, Cleometrapen sat in the servant hutch. It was a very modest place, made of mud brick. Against one wall a bed stood, its headrest a simple stone structure. Against the opposite wall, there was a small table with a piece of bread. Pushed neatly under the table was a stool. This room was just like the servant girl who lived in it. At a quick glance it appeared modest, plain, nothing really special. But, also like Cleometrapen, at a second look you found something very interesting. There was a papyrus basket, complete with a delicate golden lock hidden carefully under the bed. A bit unusual (just like the girl’s celery-green eyes), yet still nothing really special. If one would actually take the locked basket from beneath the bed and snap the fragile lock, they would find a tiny sparkle of light inside. The same thing would happen if you cared to look deeper into Cleometrapen’s eyes. And at this moment, Cleometrapen looked into the sparkle. She saw Ra’s face and began to speak to him. “Ra, this is Isis here.” Yes, you heard that right. Cleometrapen was Isis, visiting her people in the form of a servant girl. “Greetings,” Ra replied in his deep, loud voice. “You must be hushed,” Isis replied. “I have another servant girl living near my hutch.” “Yes,” Ra agreed. “Now why is it you contact me, Isis?” “I have spoken with my husband, Osiris. He has said that river horses of the Nile have begged for their missing family member.” Cleometrapen began her story, making sure to include the fact that it was she who was to blame and the part when Tawret saved her child, Khufem. Isis said all this because she knew that the god and goddess council had decided that a goddess of motherhood and home was needed, and preferably in animal form. Many divine creatures had the head of an animal, but none were pure animal. They felt they needed at least one to represent the non-humans on the earth. “Ra, this is Isis here” Ra listened carefully. He was particularly impressed with the part when Tawret saved her children. He too was thinking exactly what Isis was: animal goddess. However, they would have to consult Osiris. He had Tawret in the Valley of Laru. “We will consider giving her goddess power. Isis, you should talk to your husband, Osiris. He should have input.” “Thank you.” Cleometrapen looked away for a second to hide the basket further, and when she looked back, Ra’s face had left and the spark was plain once more. Following his ritual, Akitomen prayed that evening. Cleometrapen stayed up later than usual waiting. She had the basket in her arms, yet this time it was to be used as a communication with common creatures, not with her fellow gods and goddesses. Khufem and Maketuman went to sleep, and Akitomen knelt on the hard-packed dirt floor. He pleaded for his wife, though at this point he had lost hope. “Will my wife be returned to me, Great Ones?” Akitomen asked. Cleometrapen, sitting on her bed, heard the prayer through her spark. She said one sentence: “She may return, yet not in
