A Trail Through Time (The Chronicles of St Mary's) (4 page)

I realised, too late, I was waving my arms around.

Leon was regarding me with a small smile.

‘What are you laughing at?’

‘Memories.’

I let that go.

‘Well, I’ve no doubt he came to a bad end. Is that what you want to see?’

‘Oh, no. No. I’m hoping we’ll see him before all of this kicks off. We know that in the third year of his reign, he celebrates the Heb Sed Festival. It’s usually held in the thirtieth year of a Pharaoh’s reign, but being Akhenaten, he had to be different.’

‘So – a festival.’

‘Yes.’

‘A happy time.’

‘Yes.’

‘No one attacks? No plagues? No earthquakes? The river will not run red with blood?’

‘Probably not.’

‘Don’t sound so disappointed.’

My conscience smote me with something the same size and density as a politician’s expenses claim. Was I being selfish? If the Time Police caught us, it would be the end of everything. He’d lose his pod. Maybe his life. All that risk just to see the heretic Pharaoh and his beautiful wife.

I turned to him and he smiled down at me. ‘I’m already looking forward to it.’

We landed in a small palm grove on the banks of the Nile. There was no point in checking the proximities – the place was full of people, all picking their way around irrigation ditches or splashing through small, soggy fields, all heading for the festival and a sight of their Pharaoh.

We’d ripped up the sleeping module, taken lengths of material, folded them in half, cut a hole for our heads, and belted them firmly with another torn strip. Once again, we were wearing our bedding. We looked nearly authentic until Leon donned his trainers and I found an old pair of non-Egyptian flip-flops. Still, we weren’t bad.

‘Bet you didn’t think to pick up my make-up when we left.’

‘Strangely, no.’

I tutted. ‘Can you find me some soot, please?’

He actually found some, reappearing minutes later with a smooth, soot-stained stone from an old cooking fire and a complacent smirk. I mixed a paste of soot and water and applied it around his eyes.

He wasn’t happy.

‘Relax,’ I said. ‘No one’s impugning your masculinity. All Egyptians wear make-up. Especially on the eyes. It wards off evil spirits and infections. You’ll attract far more attention without it, believe me. Of course, for a complete picture, we should be shaving our heads.’

‘What for?’

‘Lice.’

‘Where on earth have you brought me?’

‘And that reminds me, if you cut yourself at all, tell me at once. Before you start to fester.’

‘This eye stuff tickles.’

‘I’m so sorry. I’ll stop at once. Heaven forbid you should undergo any sort of discomfort.’

‘You can’t leave me with one black eye and one pink eye.’

‘You underestimate me.’

He sighed.

‘Actually, it suits you. You should consider it for everyday use.’

‘Just … get on with it, will you.’

I did my own eyes and we were set to go.

It was hot. Wonderful, glorious, bright, warm sunshine. Thank you, Aten. I began to see Akhenaten’s point of view.

We’d argued – sorry, had a discussion – over whether to activate the camouflage system or not. Whether the uproar caused by an Egyptian inadvertently walking into an invisible pod would be a greater or lesser risk than it being discovered by the Time Police.

‘Who must be at least two jumps behind us,’ I said. ‘We’ve got the Central Asian steppes between us and them.’

‘Mmm,’ he said, absently. ‘You’re right. We’ll leave it visible. If we have to leave in a hurry – and all past evidence indicates we will – then we’ll need to find it quickly.’

Not quite as reassuring as I could have hoped, but in my impatience to see the Heretic, I let it pass. I hopped from foot to foot as he made a slight adjustment to his tunic. ‘Yes, yes. You look very pretty.’

‘How’s your chest?’

‘What chest?’ I said, because everyone knows if you ignore persistent, throbbing pain then it goes away. Like toothache. And small children. And overdrafts.

We exited the pod to find ourselves face to face with a small donkey enjoying the shade. He showed no signs of alarm, merely shifting his weight and regarding us placidly, his ears drooping in the heat. I hoped for a similar reaction from the locals.

Inundation had already occurred and the waters were retreating, although not far enough for planting to take place yet. The ground was still sodden. Walking was difficult and large balls of mud soon attached themselves to our footwear. In the end, we took off our shoes and went barefoot. The feel of warm, thick, Egyptian mud oozing through my toes was actually quite pleasant. The air smelled rich and loamy. Large patches of standing water reflected the sky. There were frogs everywhere. In Biblical quantities.

To my right, the Nile glittered in the sunlight, bounded by muddy fields and the odd shaduf. If I turned my head I could see the desert and then the mountains beyond, hazy in the heat. I could even see where the fertile black land met the red desert land. The transition was quite abrupt. Washed linen was draped over bushes and hanging from tree branches. The ancient Egyptians were a very clean people. In front of us, dazzling in the bright sunshine, lay hundred-gated Thebes, the Egyptian capital.

I’ve been to Egypt, Greece, and Turkey, either working on archaeological sites or as a tourist visiting the ruins, and it always comes as a shock to see the buildings as they are meant to be seen. Intact. New. The crisp stonework un-eroded by the winds of time and painted in dazzlingly bright colours. I saw red, ochre, black, green, and, everywhere, that wonderful lapis-lazuli blue.

This was Egypt and so every flat wall had some sort of mural or depiction painted upon it and the combination of paint and carving was spectacular. Vivid images leaped from the walls. Giant Pharaohs trampled their fallen enemies. Horse-drawn chariots flew across the desert plain. Hunters stalked their prey through giant beds of papyrus. The gods walked among us. Jackal-headed Anubis, weighing the hearts of the dead against a feather and finding them wanting. Sobek, the crocodile-headed god, graciously accepting offerings from his acolytes. The magic eye of Horus was everywhere, watching over the city and its inhabitants.

We didn’t enter the main part of the city. The festival would be held in the temple of Gem-pa-Aten. They didn’t allow the peasants into the sacred enclosure, but the wide gates were thrown open and we had a good view. Akhenaten wanted everyone to witness this ceremony. His first step to dismantling the power of the god, Amun-Re, and his over-mighty priests.

I wriggled and squirmed my way through the garlic-smelling populace until we had a reasonable view.

The festival was obviously well into its ten-day cycle. Looking at the markers carefully placed around the open court, I suspected this was the day Akhenaten symbolically paced out the length and breadth of his kingdom; to assert his power and dedicate his land to the Aten. Around the courtyard, portable shrines contained other gods, invited to witness the ceremony. They all had their own retinues of priests, but Aten took precedence. No one looked very happy.

We had to wait some time. Ceremonies don’t always go according to plan. Someone would have lost a sacred wreath or an important official would have gone missing, but it wasn’t a problem because there was so much to look at.

It wasn’t just the buildings that were adorned. Wealthy Egyptians, standing under sunshades manhandled by sweating slaves, wore wonderful golden jewellery, heavy with turquoise and lapis lazuli. Even the poorer people wore cheap beads and feathers. Their appearance was very important to them. Rich and poor alike always wanted to present themselves as young and beautiful, which made Akhenaten’s strange depictions of himself even more baffling. I couldn’t wait to see how accurate they were.

Hundreds, maybe thousands, of people waited quietly outside the temple for a glimpse of their Pharaoh. Their god on earth.

Actually, they were waiting very quietly. There was no buzz of anticipation. No craning of necks from people anxious for what might be their only sight of the Pharaoh in their entire lifetime. I dropped back down off tiptoe and glanced up at Leon, who was looking thoughtful.

He said quietly, ‘I don’t like the feel of this. Is there any chance of violence?’

‘I don’t think so. They’re not happy, but it will be years before rebellion actually occurs. They’re not a spontaneous people.’

We stood patiently under the warm sun. It wasn’t unpleasant. I looked around me. People looked well fed and reasonably content. Egypt was prosperous and, for the next couple of years, relatively stable. If we were looking for a long-term refuge, there were worse places to settle. I resolved to mention it to Leon when we had a moment to discuss it.

The sun was dropping in the sky when, finally, the horns sounded, and Akhenaten and Nefertiti made their appearance from the temple.

The crowd cheered but not with wild enthusiasm.

I jumped about a little. I was actually witnessing the first stages of one of the most remarkable events in Egypt’s long history. Akhenaten’s doomed attempts at monotheism and modernisation. I craned my neck to see him. I absolutely had to know what he looked like.

He wore the crown of Upper Egypt and a long robe of what might have been golden feathers. I wasn’t close enough to see. Accompanied by his priests, he made an offering on the altar of the Aten. A priest removed this crown and another brought him the crown of Lower Egypt. He made another offering.

The crowd remained respectfully silent.

He turned from the altar and made his way down the steps to the courtyard. At the bottom, he stood quite still, arms outstretched, while attendants moved forwards to remove his robe and crown.

This was it. I was about to see … How deformed was Akhenaten?

Then, suddenly, I sensed a disturbance in the force.

It could be anything. This was not a happy time. Egyptians don’t like change. It might simply be an unhappy, edgy, restless crowd. I tried, unobtrusively, to look around.

Leon grasped my arm. ‘Something’s happening. Either there’s about to be a riot, or our friends have turned up. Either way – time to go.’

I opened my mouth to protest. To beg for another five minutes. Just until he disrobed completely. I couldn’t go until I’d seen …

His grip tightened. ‘Now.’

I dropped back off my toes and nodded.

Hoping it wasn’t disrespectful to leave such a solemn occasion before it was finished, we began to ease backwards out of the crowd. We took our time, moving slowly, pausing every now and then to listen for sounds of pursuit. From anyone.

If the Time Police were around then they were being remarkably discreet. On the other hand, there were vast numbers of soldiers stationed around the area. These were the Medjay, the elite police force, and they didn’t mess about at all. The punishment for pretty well everything is ‘giving on top of the stake’. Impalement. There’s a whole raft of historian kebab jokes that suddenly weren’t that funny.

Then, quite clearly, in the silence, a man shouted, ‘Hey, lady, you dropped something.’

The crowd gasped at such sacrilege. Around the walls, the Medjay began to move, shouldering their way through the people who shrank away from them.

The instinctive thing is to turn towards the person addressing you, especially when they speak to you in your own language. Under cover of pointing out something interesting to me, Leon gripped my arm, pointed to the ceremony, and whispered, ‘There’s going to be trouble. Let’s get out of here before it starts.’

I nodded, eased my weight to my left foot, and craned my neck, as if straining for a better view. People moved around me, adjusting themselves to my new position. Little ripples spreading outwards. I eased again. And again. I wanted to run. I wanted to barge my way through the crowd and somehow gain the shelter of Thebes itself, with its narrow streets and many hiding places. But you don’t do that. You slide, insinuate yourself, smile at your neighbours, ease yourself along, and watch the ceremony and you don’t ever, ever do anything hasty that could attract attention, because that could be fatal.

‘They’re behind us,’ whispered Leon. ‘With luck, these Egyptian soldiers will give them something else to think about.’

I nodded. Shouting hadn’t worked for them. In fact, it had made things worse and now the hunters had become the hunted. At least, so I hoped.

We found ourselves on the fringes of the assembly, where the groups of people were thinner and smaller. Now was the really dangerous time. We had an open area to traverse and at least two sets of policemen to avoid.

And then we had bit of luck. About bloody time. A harassed-looking woman, heavily pregnant, with a screaming child and two other infants clinging to her skirts, emerged from the edge of the crowd. She was desperately trying to hush the toddler whose cries were bouncing off the buildings. She looked hot and embarrassed, turning her head from side to side, looking for something or someone. It didn’t matter. She was struggling with the kicking kid and falling over the other two under her feet. I waved as if I knew her, and before she had a chance to ask who the hell I thought I was, I’d taken the kids’ hands and smiled again. Relieved of part of her burden, she nodded towards an alleyway and heaved the infant higher on her hip. We set off, slowly and openly. And very noisily. I smiled down at the kids, which probably frightened them both to death. Both were naked, as was the custom for small children at the time, and extraordinarily sticky. Their little faces were smeared with honey and snot, bless them. The infant was bellowing like an enraged bull by this time. God knows what was the matter with him. People kept turning to look at us. I crossed my fingers.

The hot sun baked the stones around us. Leon followed silently behind us, protecting our rear, but I still felt horribly exposed as we slowly walked away from the ceremony and whatever was going on behind us.

Finally, she reached a shady doorway, dragged aside a dusty curtain, and snatched her kids back. She could have them with my goodwill – one of them was nearly glued to me – and disappeared inside without a backwards glance.