THE HORUS SCROLLS
A Short Story
By
MARCELLA DENISE SPENCER
Lord Mentuser is rewriting his family history. When complete, he will no longer be a
wealthy Canaanite merchant, he will be heir to the throne in Kham (Egypt), Horus.
MARCELLA DENISE SPENCER graduated from the University of California at Los Angeles with a bachelor’s degree in History. Ms. Spencer seeks to combine her love of ancient African history and fiction.
She is the author of “Revelations,” and “The Scepter and Diadem.” Visit the author online at www.marcellaspencer.com
Waset, Kham
1539 BC
A small sigh escaped the scribe’s lips. By the gods, how much longer? Neb squirmed against the hard stone floor then raised his right thigh and scratched. He had been summoned to this gilded villa - one he had always thought charming - to perform a service that took him away from his evening meal.
Night jasmine grew in spirals around the trees planted in the villa’s front garden. The jasmine’s fragrance scented the front room where gold-threaded tapestries hung on the wall. Blue faience tableware graced a raised square table. It all made for a lovely scene, but for his host’s demeanor. Cold, black eyes watched his every inscription.
A round charger piled high with honey-glazed dates sat on the table, but his host offered no food, only wine.
Seb felt his strength wane and his backside grow numb. Was it the wine? Perhaps I’ve had too much of it. His host reclined against large amber cushions, attired in a multicolored thread cloak and a white kilt. He droned on about his illustrious ancestors, and their noble contributions to the Black Land.
A voice in Seb’s muddled head cried: Lies! All lies!
Seb drew a portrait of Horus, the royal falcon, then circled it with a cartouche. He snickered. The host narrowed his eyes at the scribe. Seb’s hand trembled. The host noticed Seb’s discomfort and offered him a smile. Seb’s head drooped forward, but he was determined to finish this assignment and tried to steady the reed pen. He drew furiously. He felt his
life draining. An eerie silence fell upon the richly furnished room. Neb fell backward. The voice in his head railed. Liar. Murderer.
When Seb’s eyes closed and his body stilled; the host removed the papyrus roll from his hand. He blew on the ink to dry, then read his family’s history, the only account the world would ever see.
***
The next morning, Anubis’ Revenge, the scribe’s cat leaped upon his master’s couch. The feline laid his gray head on the headrest and meowed. He settled down and began to lick his paws; it might be some time before mealtime.
Outside, at the house’s rear, Negasilah squatted on swollen knees. She slid the paddle inside the clay oven and eased the baked bread out. She looked up at the sun. Where is the lad? He should have been home by now. She turned to tell her husband again, but remembered that he had left earlier than usual this morning, fetched by his peers down to the riverbank. Negasilah took a deep breath and returned to her chores. She set the bread aside to cool, then went to feed the goats in the enclosure attached to their two-room home.
By midmorning, Negasilah was wringing her hands. She could not complete any of her morning chores. She would start something, set it aside, and look out in the direction her only son had gone last evening.
When her husband, Ameni returned, Negasilah could bear it no longer. “Let’s go to this man’s home, husband.”
“We cannot go there, Negasilah. He is a noble. Seb is probably sleeping off a late evening. He may have had good wine; you how fond the nobility are of their vineyards.”
“True. But I’d feel a lot better knowing he was still at that villa, only sound asleep.”
Three times husband and wife had this exchange as the day wore on. After the noon meal, Negasilah felt sick with worry. This was not like Seb. If he couldn’t find someone to deliver a message to his parents, then he would’ve wobbled home, tipsy. He would never allow his parents to suffer in this manner.
She cleaned the fish for the evening meal and placed it on top of smoldering embers to smoke. Then she went about the village, asking if anyone has seen her Seb today. No one had. Amenhotep, her sister’s son had seen him when he left the village last night, heading toward Nobleman’s Way. He remembered because he heard Seb whistling. Seb was a good whistler.
Finally, Negasilah persuaded a few friends and neighbors to accompany her to Lord Mentuser’s home. To her surprise, Ameni and a few males followed them. When they arrived at the villa, her husband went forward and knocked on the door. No one answered. “Should I go inside, do you think?”
“No,” Negasilah said. “Where are the servants? Surely, someone must keep a home this size. I think that it is time to fetch the authorities.”
“Agreed. You wait here.” Negasilah nodded her assent.
A crowd had formed in front of the lord’s villa when the police chariot rambled up the road. The officers stopped when Ameni pointed to the villa. “Wait here,” they said. People parted as the officers approached the villa and went inside. Negasilah could hear them calling out.
“Is anyone home?” Minutes passed. The crowd exchanged anxious glances, then the officers came out, without Seb.
They approached Ameni. “No one is home. However, it appears someone had a meal this morning. You must go to your village courthouse and file a missing person’s report.” Negasilah let out a small screech. Ameni took his sobbing wife by the elbow and led her home.
Two women, barefooted and dressed in simple brown frocks, parted from the crowd in front of Mentuser’s villa and strolled toward the market. Each carried an empty woven papyrus basket. “Negasilah’s head is not so high today I think, now that her livelihood is dead,” said the tallest one.
“That is cruel,” her friend said. “Besides we do not yet know if he is dead.”
“True. Negasilah always thought too well of herself.” The ladies were joined by a third neighbor, who ran toward them with an anxious face.
“It is said that he attended Lord Mentuser,” she said, breathless. “I would’ve liked to see inside Lord Mentuser’s home; I hear everything is lavish.”
“I would not,” said the tall lady. “Especially if that’s the way he treats his guests.” Her neighbors erupted in laughter.
***
In a rough-looking village in Avaris, the round reed homes stood no more than three feet apart from one another. Trash was laid in front of some homes and on the sides of others, where flies hovered above as a black cloud. The stench of human waste and rotten fish pervaded the village.
This morning, males of all ages shuffled in unison toward the quarry, past the papyrus plants growing in the marshes.
Mordecai sniffed. A horrible odor came from the marsh to his left. He watched the line of men before him. None stopped to investigate the smell. When Mordecai passed the marsh’s center, the smell became overpowering. A dead animal?
“Mordecai, stay clear,” said his older brother Malachi.
“What if it’s a tribesman, dead of heat sickness? The authorities must be summoned,” Mordecai said. Malachi came up behind him and peered across his shoulder. “Look, there’s a leg and it’s not an animal’s.”
“Nor a kinsman,” said Malachi. “It’s a Khamite. Come, move away. Let’s get to the quarry and alert the foreman.”
Mordecai’s face registered distaste. Great. I must now speak with that Ahmose. He who thinks that because he oversees two work gangs, he is the Vizier.
Ahmose stood with a foot atop a boulder with his chin tilted up. Through narrowed eyes he watched the Hebrews enter the work site. He prided himself on knowing who was present and absent on sight. If a worker did not arrive for work, and get there on time, Ahmose would show up at his home. More than once, and his colleagues had often bought him beers at the tavern in the evening for doing so, Ahmose had hauled a suspected offender off his sleeping mat, then kicked him in the backside and toward the quarry.
An old man stopped in front of the foreman. “Someone is dead. Back in the marsh.”
“So,” Ahmose said.
The old man moved forward.
Another man passed Ahmose and said. “There is a smell, very bad.”
“You, no doubt.”
Malachi and Mordecai approached. “A dead man lies in the marsh,” Mordecai said.
“So I have heard.”
“He is a Khamite,” Malachi added.
Ahmose raised his whip. “Halt. The pair of you.” Mordecai flashed his brother an accusing look. “Show me where.” The Hebrews turned and fell in behind the overseer. Ahmose stomped toward the marsh. A youngster ran up beside Ahmose, waving his bony arms to get the overseer’s attention. “Yes, I KNOW!”
Malachi and Mordecai watched two Nile police officers wade into the marsh to get a closer look at the body. One held a club to beat off alligators. A chariot drew up carrying a man draped in a leopard skin cloak, the Chief Inspector. He joined the other two officers in the marsh and together they lugged the naked body on to dry ground.
Mordecai took two quiet steps forward. Standing right behind Ahmose, he leaned to the right so he could see and hear the officers’ discussion. The male victim’s face was bloated, his eyes were closed. The Inspector took one of the lad’s hands and prodded the palm and thumb. He nodded in affirmation to his fellow officers.
“A report from Waset… a missing scribe. This lad has roughened skin between his thumbs. A scribe, no doubt.”
The officers stood and headed to the quarry. Ahmose ordered Malachi and Mordecai to stay put. The foreman jogged to catch the officers, his paunchy brown belly heaving. The officers began asking questions of the Hebrews. Panting, Ahmose raised his whip in warning if anyone hesitated, or answered too softly.
“Taskmaster Ahmose, you know this area, do you not?” The lanky Inspector said as they walked back to the marsh.
Ahmose wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Not exactly, Inspector. I only work here.”
The Inspector motioned the Hebrew lads to come forward. “Do you know where the villa is, which the Canaanite merchant, Lord Mentuser, inhabits?”
“We do, sir,” Malachi said.
“Show us.” The Inspector turned on his heels, expecting the Hebrews to follow him. They did, almost running to match his long-legged stride.
Two horse-drawn wagons carrying more police officers entered the area. One veered off toward the marsh to retrieve the body. The other slowed to a trot, trailing the Inspector and the Hebrews toward Mentuser’s villa.
Sycamore trees lined an avenue of two-storied villas. “There, sir.” Malachi pointed to a yellow home with white flowers climbing the walls. The Inspector put his hand in the air, signaling the brothers to halt, and motioned his officers forward. With raised spears two officers in white kilts
ran ahead. The Inspector and a third policeman drew their daggers and sprinted toward the villa; their white headdresses lifted with the wind.
The Hebrews exchanged anxious glances. “I am glad it is a Canaanite, and not one of us,” Malachi said.
“Truth.”
“Cursed be Canaan. A servant you shall be to Shem,” Malachi quoted. Mordecai shot him a strange look. “Father Noah placed a curse on Canaan, remember?”
Mordecai let out a sigh. “You spend far too much time reading scholarly work. You are beginning to sound like Grandfather.”
Sandals thumping the ground drew their attention to the villa’s front. Two officers held a small, wiry man between them. Ahmose came forward and planted himself between the arresting officers and the Hebrews. With his chest puffed out, he gave the impression that he led the police to the murderer in their midst.
The Inspector approached Ahmose. “Not a word of this arrest should be uttered at present. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Inspector.” The Inspector speared the boys a hard look. The Hebrews nodded. “This case is still under investigation, and I shall not bear loose tongues. Now, which of you first saw the body?”
“Me,” Ahmose said. Malachi elbowed Mordecai to remain quiet.
“Come along, then. I shall need a formal statement from you.”
“As you wish.” Ahmose climbed inside the chariot alongside the Inspector. The Hebrews watched them depart.
“Well, now, if Ahmose the Great is to receive the glory, I think we should see to the spoils,” Mordecai said.
“I think not, Mordecai.”
“Come on. Let us at least see if there is anything to sell at market. Mother is always in need of more cloths. Grandfather could use papyri, and it would be pleasant to have beef in a meal.”
Malachi stared at him with wide eyes. Mordecai made a motion of rubbing his stomach. Malachi returned his attention to the remaining police vehicle. He watched as they bound the prisoner’s wrists, then latched him to the chariot. The officers climbed inside, then steered the team of horses around and out of the village with Mentuser trotting behind.
The road now clear, the brothers made their way to the villa. Known to be rich, Lord Mentuser owned this villa in Avaris, one in Waset, and another in Canaan. He often dined with the Hyksos king Khamudy and the nobility, many of whom were his relatives.
The Hebrews avoided the ceiling-to-floor windows and kept to the walls, edging from room to room. Mordecai snagged a Lebanese rug, reed pens, papyrus, and an ink palette. While he searched for more treasure, he heard a rustling noise.
Malachi had unrolled a scroll. “Brother, what have you found?” No answer. “Malachi!”
“Quiet.” He read a portion, then rolled the scroll and tucked it underneath his arm.
“Come, Malachi, we have been in here long enough.”
“’Tis your idea.”
“Yes, yes, and you do everything your baby brother tells you to do. Let’s go, for others may have noticed our absence from the quarry. And what if Ahmose was to return and not find us there?” Mordecai pointed to the scroll under his arm. “Is that all you are taking?”
“Yes, it is all we need.”
“What is it?”
“It is our freedom.” A shadow crossed the hallway. The boys jumped back, pressing their bodies to opposite sides of the door frame. A servant carrying a tub of water passed them.
Mordecai still had the word “freedom” in his mind. He stared with apprehension at his brother from across the room. He pointed to Malachi then the scroll.
Malachi nodded. He would leave first. Get the scroll to a safe place. Mordecai would follow, then they would meet at the quarry. They would decide at home what to do next.
***
The Great Sea glimmered like pearls under the early morning sun. On the coast sat Ashkelon; the city’s walls were built upon ramparts fifty feet high. A thriving seaport built by the Philistines, Ashkelon in Canaan has faced the Great Sea since its founding about 3500 BC.
A bare-chested man, dressed in a red and yellow kilt strode through the city’s arched gateway toward the sea. Horse hooves and chariot wheels clamored through the gateway. The man pressed his back against the wall as one chariot roared passed him. He continued, stopping to wait at a middle spot between the archway and the sea, where he could be noticed.
Three Lebanese soldiers punched and jostled each other while swaggering into town. A beefy Turkish man with a red, bulbous nose spoke in hostile tones to a younger companion. A man passed on a donkey laden with wineskins. An ox-driven cart piled high with harvested wheat rolled by. The man sighed and looked up at the sun.
He watched a vendor set up his stall opposite to where he stood. The vendor sat tiny bull calves atop a wooden plank. The bronze figurines represented Baal, the Canaanite god. A patron, with a sack across his shoulders, stopped to browse. He chose the tiniest figurine, then haggled in Akkadian with the merchant for a moment before presenting a small silver coin.
The waiting man ran his hand through his black locks, styled like a mushroom. He squinted his eyes toward the ships in the port and wondered aloud, “Where is Mentuser?”
***
Six weeks after Seb’s murder, on a morning clouded by a recent sandstorm, a crowd formed outside a tiny mud-brick building that served as Avaris’ village court. The public was kept outside due to space. The police dragged Mentuser inside to face his judgment. The crowds, mostly Khamites with a few curious Hebrews watched. Mentuser kept his chin up and a confident gleam in his eye until he heard Negasilah’s screams. “Murderer! You have taken my only son. Why did you do it?” She broke loose from her husband’s restraint and followed him inside, beating his back with her fists. “You Nile crocodile! You filthy sheepherder.” Ameni grabbed her about the waist and pulled her away.