The Weryt

Day 20 of month Khenti-khet in Shemu, season of the harvest

A ferry already waited at the quay. In this season, with the water level at its lowest, crossing the Nile didn’t take long—not long enough for Hori. Ruefully, he watched the magnificent metropolis shrink. It hurt to think he’d likely never walk the streets of Itj-tawy again, never inhale its scents once more.

The weryt had its own pier a short distance downstream of the capital. Usually the dead arrived here, but today Hori was rudely pushed onto the planks made of gnarly wood. The Medjay dragged him to the gate and pounded against it. Soon a bald man peered through the hatch in the door.

“Only the dead get access. What do you want, guards of the pharaoh?”

“We bring someone, who is dead to the living. His majesty—life, prosperity and health—sentenced this man to serve in the House of Death for the rest of his life.”

The man’s eyebrows arched. “Really? How unusual. Do you have the written verdict with you?”

One of the two Medjay pulled a roll of papyrus from his shendyt and handed it over. The gate guardian skimmed the lines with a speed giving away the skilled scribe.

“So be it. He may enter the hall of the dead.” Releasing an eerie cackle, he pushed the hatch shut.

The gate opened, and rough hands shoved Hori through. Inside, the scent of decomposition hung heavy and sweet in the air. Fortunately, he’d grown used to the smell of festering wounds, or else he might have felt nauseous now.

“I’ll take you straight to Hut-Nefer, the mer-ut. He doesn’t like it if he isn’t informed. Come to think of it, he doesn’t like changes either. I’m Kheper, by the way, one of the utu.”

“Hori. My name is Hori.” Curious, he glanced around. The weryt and its staff inspired numerous myths and legends although nobody knew what was going on behind its walls. Nobody wanted to take a closer look. Enough to know that the bodies of the dead were prepared for eternity. The rituals and conjurations, the magic and dark forces at work here—better to stay far away. After only a few steps, they reached an expansive courtyard almost completely occupied by a pavilion made of rush mats. Only a narrow path allowed them passage. Despite the open air, the stench seemed more suffocating here. He heard trickling water and murmuring voices from behind the rush mats.

“That’s the ibu, the place of purification,” Kheper explained. When Hori darted him a questioning look, the man added, “Inside, the dead are being washed. I guess that’s going to be one of your tasks.”

After quite some time, they reached the other end of the courtyard and stepped into the shade of another building. By now, Hori hardly noticed the smell anymore. They walked down a corridor past several doors until Kheper stopped in front of one. Somebody had painted the word mer-ut, head of embalmers, in black ink onto the wood. His companion knocked. A few moments later, Hori found himself face to face with Hut-Nefer, his highest-ranking superior from today on.

Like Kheper’s, the man’s head was shaven as well. At first sight, he appeared ageless, but the moment his face became animated, a web of fine lines revealed he must have lived a few decades. Kheper explained the situation and handed over the papyrus. Hut-Nefer skimmed the content and waved Kheper away. When he fixed a strict gaze on him, Hori quickly bowed and stretched out his hands at knee level.

“Well, well. Hm, hm,” the mer-ut issued. “So, you’re Hori and you’ve been sent here to make amends for a crime you committed. The king’s request is most extraordinary. When he informed me of his plans, I made the consequences for you very clear to him. You should know: who enters the weryt leaves as a mummy. The utu are born and raised here. We are trained in these halls and stay until death claims us too. Even the lector priests come from here. Our art is the most secret in the Two Lands. Only a few outsiders were allowed to learn it. Since we are procurators of the highest mysteries, we need to remain secluded lest knowledge be passed to the unworthy.”

While listening to this lengthy lecture, Hori let his gaze sweep over the room with its whitewashed walls and plain furniture. Now he nodded in resignation. “I know, noble mer-ut. I can never leave the weryt. That’s how the pharaoh—life, prosperity and health—ruled in his wisdom and benevolence.”

“Well, I wonder, though, why you stand here in front of me, Hori, instead of breaking your back in a quarry like other criminals do. Naturally I’m also concerned for the safety of my people with a criminal among us.”

Hori felt like Hut-Nefer’s penetrating gaze reached to the bottom of his heart, while he recounted how the accident happened.

The old man clicked his tongue. “You’re a physician? You can read and write? And we’re supposed to use you as a servant…” Thoughtfully, he placed his chin in his hands. “We’ll see. Kheper will show you your quarters.”

Hori took a deep breath. The mer-ut seemed less strict than he’d feared. He must have managed to convince him he wasn’t a bad person. On stiff legs he left the room and stepped into the corridor. The mer-ut called for Kheper but didn’t keep him for long. When the bald embalmer returned, he led Hori away.

Behind another door lay an even larger courtyard than the one with the purification tent. Here the houses of the utu, the embalmers, and their families stood squeezed together. The whole setup reminded Hori of a small town behind walls without exits. No gate led to the river, and he wondered how the inhabitants obtained water. Likely they had a well somewhere.

Kheper pointed out some larger houses with small gardens further away from the others. “The head of the embalmers lives there, and the heriu-heb, the lector priests. You’re lucky one of the smaller houses isn’t occupied. Doesn’t happen often. The owner recently died and left no sons, who could claim it. His only daughter lives in her husband’s house.”

Hori felt blessed indeed. He’d expected to share communal housing with other servants. He stumbled after Kheper, crossing streets and rounding corners, and soon lost orientation. The walls surrounding the weryt blocked his view at landmarks that might give him a sense of direction. So it felt like they’d walked much farther than they probably had until they reached a square. Small children played in the dust. Hori’s eyes widened. They actually played funeral procession! This truly was a different world.

Here, he also spotted the shadoof with a large pole—weight on one end, rope and bucket on the other—balanced on a crossbeam. Work seemed to be over for the day. From all directions men and women hurried toward the square. Many headed for a larger building.

“What’s happening there? Is that a meeting place?” Hori asked.

“That’s our ibu,” Kheper explained. Judging by his grin, he’d cracked a popular joke among embalmers. In response to Hori’s questioning look, he added, “After work we need to wash off any residue of the dead. Just as important is shaving all the hair on our bodies every day, because evil spirits might take hold on them otherwise. You’ll be able to give your wig a break. Only when we’re thoroughly cleaned do we enter our houses.”

Hori nodded. “Cleanliness is important. Physicians also need to take care. The demons of diseases hide in dirt.”

“You’re a doctor?” Kheper darted him a puzzled glance.

“No, not anymore,” Hori replied. “From today on, I’m only the lowliest servant in the weryt.”

Kheper winked at him. “What happens in the weryt, stays in the weryt. Even the pharaoh—life, prosperity and health—knows nothing about it. Your knowledge might come in handy since we don’t have a physician here.”

Hori laughed. Maybe life behind these walls wouldn’t be as bad as he’d feared. “What do you do when one of you falls sick or gets injured?”

“Of course we have priests here. They know their incantations.”

While Hori had respect for magical amulets, magic alone rarely cured the ailing in his experience. He furrowed his brow.

“And some of our women are well versed in the use of medicinal plants,” Kheper added. “We get along. Still, to have a doctor within our walls… Ah, there we are. This is your house.”

Like most buildings in Kemet, his new home was built of adobe. In the utu’s settlement, where space was limited, they’d even erected two-story houses. On the ground floor weren’t the usual airing slits in the walls. Probably because no breeze could enter anyway, but the smell of decay would penetrate. Only the top floor, closer to the rim of the surrounding wall, had some. As common, a ladder allowed access to the roof, where people slept, cooked and ate for the major part of the year.

He followed Kheper through the low door into the almost pitch-dark interior of the ground floor. Gradually, he recognized jars and boxes holding provisions. One of the jugs seemed to contain beer. A privy had been built into another corner. Back home servants emptied the low buckets filled halfway with sand. Here he wouldn’t enjoy such luxury. “Where do I get rid of the refuse?” he asked Kheper.

“Glad you’re asking, because that would have been one of your tasks if the mer-ut hadn’t decided to make better use of your talents. Excrement and rubbish are collected at the square in large baskets. Once a day they are laden on donkeys. Servants from outside the weryt receive the animals at the gate and lead them to a pit in the desert where the waste is disposed of, like everywhere else.”

“Ah.” Hori certainly appreciated using his skills in other areas. In these halls, plenty of stinking dirt would accumulate. Not a task he’d have enjoyed.

He climbed up the ladder through a hatchway to the upper floor. Here he found a cot and chest for clothing, but he climbed higher to the roof, wondering if he’d see the Nile from up there—or at least the skyline of the capital. Everything was so foreign to him, he’d soon long for freedom. “Do you never feel the urge to get out of here?” he asked.

Kheper stuck his head through the hatch, looking puzzled. “Here’s my life, my family, my home. Why should anyone want to leave the weryt? We have everything, suffer no want—unlike many other people in Kemet, because the pharaoh generously caters to us.”

Hori rose onto his toes and craned his neck, but beyond the wall he could only see the red mountains of the western desert or the endless blue sky. Thick black smoke rose from one building of the embalming workshop. What did they burn there? “But there’s so much to discover beyond these walls. Were you never curious?”

Kheper settled onto the rush mat spread in the shadow of an awning. “Sure, when I was much younger. But we children of the weryt know exactly what we need to preserve and protect. What’s in the weryt, stays in the weryt. Nobody can leave because the secrets need to be kept here.”

Hori sighed. If only he could content himself with such a drab outlook on life.

The next morning Hori woke with stiff muscles. At home he’d slept on a thick sack of straw, and even the prison cot had been softer. The rush mat on the hard stone roof offered little comfort. The bed in the second floor promised more snugness, but it was far too hot this time of the year to sleep inside. In this walled village no breeze came through the north-facing window slits. The headrest hadn’t fit with his body either, so he’d been lying awake for long hours, staring into the night sky. At least some luxury. He could have easily faced far worse a punishment—without the freedom to pick his sleeping place.

Why did the king devise such an unusual verdict? To satisfy both his highest officials equally? How much hassle would it have been to find a new vizier? Nebit had bribed the witnesses—the innkeeper Khonsu, his friends Weni and Nakhtmin, as well as Hotep. Hori ground his teeth even now. It had been so blatant that the pharaoh couldn’t possibly still trust the second most powerful man in the Two Lands. Nebit had already been his father’s vizier. Maybe reasons unknown to Hori had played a role in his leniency. Possibly Senusret couldn’t afford to remove the man from his staff because he knew some secrets. He rolled onto the other side.

Senusret was still young but ruler of the Two Lands. He had nothing to fear except divine judgment. Hadn’t he threatened to burn Hotep’s tongue with a scorching poker?

Weni’s betrayal rankled. What had Nebit offered the young doctor to make him lie to the judges and risk eternal life? With Nakhtmin it was far easier to guess. His friend hardly had enough to live, not to mention buying a place suitable for a physician. During his studies in the House of Life he’d at least enjoyed free accommodation, but now he’d likely have to return to his native Khent-min if he couldn’t gather some wealth quickly. Still, Hori felt deeply disappointed by the boy from Upper Egypt even though he came around to saying the truth pretty fast. Nebit must have baited him with an excellent offer. Hopefully, the almost-traitor would get in serious trouble with Nebit. Only fair!

As far as Hori could tell, the pharaoh did notice some witnesses had lied. Nevertheless he avoided a clear statement as to which party he believed. If he’d acquitted Hori—as would have been common in the case of an accident—he’d have alienated Nebit by openly showing he didn’t trust his vizier. How would his father have reacted if the sentence had been lifelong labor in the quarries? Hori wanted to think he’d have protested and thrown his full weight into the argument. Now, the treasurer’s son was one of the utu instead of a murderer.

Not even the verdict was clear. How did they phrase it? Guilty of causing Neferib’s death, but not intentionally or with malicious purpose. The king knew a death sentence would have offended Maat, Hori told himself. He’d recognized his innocence. The thought stirred hope. Maybe someday he’d leave these walls behind. But why had the pharaoh chosen this particular punishment? That moment he remembered his oath to dedicate his life to the goddess Maat if he survived. He snorted a laugh. Pondering the question if such an existence could be called life, he rose to face the new day.

Hori had barely finished his meager breakfast of grain porridge and beer when a knock sounded on his door. Kheper picked him up and took him to the ibu.

“First, you’ll learn how to wash the deceased. I’ll show you today. The mer-ut said to reveal all secrets to you as if you were born in the weryt.” He lifted the rush mat covering the tent’s entrance.

Large parts of the interior still lay in the shadows of the surrounding wall. In the twilight, Hori saw a long, very broad corridor with a narrow water canal running along its center. The tent’s ceiling of coarsely woven linen allowed some light and air to penetrate but protected against direct sun, so it remained pleasantly cool inside. There had to be a clever airing system too since a constant breeze blew around his legs. Left and right of the center aisle, mats separated individual chambers with stone tables. Kheper led him into one of them.

“The deceased are placed on these tables to be washed. See, they are slightly tilted so the liquid can drain.”

“You mean the water used for washing?”

“That—and all bodily fluids.”

“Oh,” Hori said. He hadn’t known that a body oozed fluids after death, but then dead animals were also drained of blood. He circled the table and noticed another canal at the lower end, which pointed away from the corridor.

Kheper must have been watching him since he said, “Yes, that’s the sewer. The water for cleansing has to be pure though. You’ll fetch that from the canal in the center aisle. All demons and dirt need to be washed off the dead to prepare them for their journey into eternity.”

“Where do you get the water from?”

“From the divine Nile. We branched off the channel.” Kheper picked up two jugs leaning against the table and handed them to Hori. “Here, fill these. In a moment, we’ll get the first deceased.”

As if on cue, men carrying bodies covered in linen entered the tent and laid them into the various chambers.

Staggering under the water’s weight, Hori returned to his chamber to find a body on their table as well. Kheper pulled back the linen. Hori sucked in air. A young woman barely older than himself and so beautiful! Still, she lay here, the thread of life chopped before it could be woven into colorful fabric. “What could have caused her death?” he stammered.

Kheper unveiled the rest of the body and showed Hori a ribbon with an ivory label on the girl’s wrist. “Merit-Neith,” he read. “Daughter of Tutu.”

“Tutu is an official at the king’s harem,” Hori blurted. “I know her! That is…I knew her. How awful.” He recalled the jaunty young woman flirting with the young courtiers at the last royal banquet. With him too and…Shepses. Without learning her name, he wouldn’t have recognized her. “Death has changed her features so much,” he said.

“Only the breath of life makes us human. Now you’ve discovered one of the secrets we harbor here. For the dead to live on in the hereafter, life needs to be breathed into them again. Unfortunately, many of those brought to us have died too young. The gods don’t distinguish between young and old, high or lowly, beautiful or ugly.” Kheper sighed. “They take us whenever they like. You’ll get used to that. I’ll leave you alone with young Merit-Neith now, but don’t you get any ideas!”

“What do you mean, ideas?”

Kheper giggled. “Some young deceased still have enough allure for one or the other utu. It has happened…”

Understanding the hint, Hori grimaced. “Don’t worry. I’ll treat Merit-Neith with respect. By the time you return, she’ll be cleansed and free of bodily fluids—hers and mine.”

Cackling, Kheper sauntered off.

Hori studied the laid-out, naked corpse. Nothing hinted at the cause of her death. He touched the back of her skull and neck for hidden injuries no physician in the Two Lands could heal, but to no avail. Her abdomen seemed normal too, no bloating or caving in. He spotted no parasites, only something like a raw insect’s sting under her left breast. As a physician he was stumped.

Carefully, he pulled the linen out from under her. Kheper hadn’t exaggerated. Already excrement leaked. He wrapped it in the cloth, which he put aside. Then he set about washing her. First he removed the coarse dirt and feces, then poured water over the whole body of the young woman and washed her thoroughly with a sponge, spared no crack or crevasse. Three times he repeated the procedure until Kheper returned and handed him a bowl containing a gray, granular substance.

“That’s potash. We make it ourselves in the workshops. Rub it onto the clean body to draw the remaining fluids so it won’t rot.” He held out a leather bag. “Put your hand in that or the potash will draw your juices too. In the future, if you need more potash, you’ll find it in a large tub at the entrance.”

Hori nodded. “And when I’m done, do I need to do something else with the girl’s corpse?”

“No, you’ll signal to the embalmer at the potash barrel. The cleansed body will be taken away and the next one brought to you.”

Again Hori took extra care with Merit-Neith. Not only was she the first dead he’d treated, he’d known her and wanted to exercise painstaking diligence with her. Finally he signaled and the body was carried away. His next corpse was a man in his prime, who’d obviously died of an injury. Seeing how poorly the compound fracture had been set, Hori wrinkled his nose. This man’s doctor had been a botcher, or the dead had meant to save the expenses and asked a relative to take care of it. Although patients were treated in the House of Life even if they couldn’t afford a gift in return, Hori knew many were too proud to ask for free treatment.

He washed two more corpses before the day’s work ended. Together with Kheper and other utu, he headed toward the cleansing hall for the living, where he scrubbed off dirt and stench. Everything was well organized. Large baskets contained clean desert sand to rub over their bodies. In another room, they could wash with fresh, clean Nile water, channeled into the tent via another canal. The wastewater flowed gurgling into a hole in the ground.

Hori felt the strain of hard, physical work and was very hungry. If only he could sit down at his parents’ table now and savor a warm roast. Instead, only the same porridge of grain he had for breakfast awaited him, with onions and beans mixed in. To his surprise and joy, he found fresh bread wrapped in linen cloth, fish and a bowl of dates in his pantry. Did he have Kheper to thank for that? While the fish cooked over the small fireplace on the roof, he devoured the bread and washed it down with a jug of beer. Tired as he was, he didn’t bother to sieve the barley brew and simply swallowed some of the grains. That night he had no trouble falling asleep and quickly found himself in a dream.

Sounds and colors swirled around him. He spun to the beat of music in the large hall of the palace. Behind a column stood Merit-Neith, and she waved at him. Laughing, he pulled her into his arms and danced with her. Boisterous steps took them into the garden, where a heavy odor hung in the air. It was very humid, and Merit-Neith undressed. He too stripped off his shendyt. Her laughter lured him to a lake. They frolicked in the cold water.

“I’m very clean now,” she said and smiled seductively.

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her but her lips were cold and waxen. His erection throbbed and he spread her thighs. Again and again, he thrust into her until he realized she lay lifeless in his arms. Had he killed her?

The Medjay stormed into the garden and dragged him away.

Covered in sweat, he jerked awake. A cool breeze drifted over him and left him shivering despite the warmth. He’d ejaculated in his sleep. Did that mean he’d defiled a dead woman? Heat burned in his face and Kheper’s cackle echoed in his ears. But the main question remained unanswered: How did Merit-Neith die?