Bindings

Day 3 of month Ka-her-ka in Peret, season of the emergence

Hori spent another long, exhausting day with the bandagers. He still couldn’t fathom why he should learn this step of the mummification process as well since they, who diligently wrapped the corpses limb for limb in linen, made up their own group. They didn’t mingle with the other utu, and Hori sensed a kind of rivalry between the different departments. He wasn’t even allowed to try his hand at bandaging a body. Instead, he was supposed to tear old rags, which were collected by people for their mummy bindings, in strips.

With linen being expensive and precious, even wealthy households collected well-worn clothes and threadbare fabric in baskets to be used as part of their bandages. Hori ripped off strips in different widths and rolled them up with care. He needed to mark beginning and end of each piece. For the mummies of noble people, each digit was wrapped individually; while for those who couldn’t afford this expensive procedure, each hand and foot was wrapped in one go. The bandagers performed their tasks in a rather artistic way, and the more bindings they added, the more the deceased’s mummy resembled a cocoon, in places even with colorful patterns worked into it. Sometimes Hori received colored linen to process: red, yellow and blue. The dead lay on special racks, where only the head, bottom and feet touched the wood, while the rest of the corpse was poised. After the long drying period, the bodies were so stiff and light this was simple to achieve for easy access to the respective parts.

During the lengthy act of wrapping, the lector priests recited spells from the book of the dead. One priest wearing the mask of Anubis, the god of the dead, supervised the proceedings to make sure no part of the ritual was neglected. The bandagers worked in teams of two, one man wrapping the linen around body parts and the other handing him what he needed as well as picking out amulets and fixing them in the right spots. Some of these magic tokens were sewed on, while the man simply placed others on the bindings and held them until they were fixed by the linen. There were little figurines, signs of life, Horus eyes, djed pillars symbolizing eternity and much more. Each of the magic tokens protected the deceased in its own way. With bandaging finished, the body was wrapped in a linen shroud ready for the sarcophagus.

The previously removed entrails, now dried as well, were also wrapped up and placed into special jugs. Some were of clay, the more precious ones of stone or alabaster. Each organ had its own guardian deity watching over it, Hori learned. The human-headed Imsety protected the liver; Hapi with the baboon head guarded the lungs, jackal-headed Duamutef the stomach. The intestines were in the care of Qebehsenuef with the falcon head. The plugs for the canopic jars were often modeled in the shapes of the four heads of the guardian deities.

Soon Hori grew bored with observing the wrapping procedure. At first, he’d tried hard to keep up with the nimble moves of the bandagers’ fingers, but soon gave up and turned his attention to his mind-numbing task. That gave him time to ponder more interesting questions, except his thoughts went in circles like the linen he rolled up. Had the Medjay discovered a clue to the identity of Nebet-Het’s murderer? Had Nakhtmin found out something in the tavern? For days now, he’d received no news. Could he still be angry? It drove Hori nuts not to know what was happening across the river. He didn’t even get the chance to examine the dead barmaid since Kheper assigned him to the bandagers on the very day she was brought to the House of Death. Likely he wouldn’t have found out anything new examining her body. Still—it would have comforted him to get at least somewhat tied in with the investigation. Huh, tied in! He cast a disgusted glance at the bent backs of the men. He felt tied with mummy bindings.

The cool night air brushing over Hori’s wet body felt pleasant after the stifling humidity at the bandagers’, where the scent of resin and oil dazed all senses. The short bath in the canal had refreshed him. Sand stuck to his bare feet, but his body would dry fast. Hope for news made him speed up. Maybe his friend was even waiting for him? Although he didn’t really expect it, he whispered, “Are you there?”

“Yes, over here.”

Nakhtmin’s voice startled him, but soon his heartbeat changed from startled turmoil to a happy dance. He wasn’t alone anymore! Speechless, he embraced his friend.

“How did you know I was waiting for you?”

“I didn’t, but hoped you would be. You can’t imagine how slowly the days pass when you’re so isolated from everything. Come on, tell me the news. Did you go to the Golden Ibis?”

“Yes, on two evenings, but I couldn’t find out anything yet. I have to be careful. If I’m too keen while sounding out the patrons, the sleazy innkeeper will catch on, and who knows, he might think this information valuable to Nebit and therefore worth another reward. After all, the fellow might recognize me.”

“And it might be a dead end anyway.”

“Quite possible. At least I’ve found out this Khonsu treated his daughter worse than a peasant his donkey. The poor thing always had to be in attendance and wait on the guests. Some of the regulars went so far as to say she’s better off now she’s left the world of the living.”

“Poor thing, indeed.” Hori sighed. He hadn’t done the girl any favor when he tried to save her. Without his interference, she might still be alive. He voiced his thought.

“Oh, Hori, we can’t help everyone. You told me about a stonemason with a crushed finger, whom you treated during your exam. You had to send him back to his dangerous job, just as we release all our patients to the lives they’ve led before, good or bad. If you’d managed to tear the girl from her father’s clutches, where would she have found shelter and protection? With you at your father’s house?”

Hori had to admit his friend was right. Thinking of his father constricted his throat. “Have you…I mean, have you met my father lately? Did he talk about me?” He sensed more than he saw Nakhtmin shake his head. And why should the treasurer speak with Nakhtmin even if he ran into him? He probably had no idea who his son’s friends were. For his father and the rest of the world he was dead.

“I need to report something else though.” Nakhtmin breathed hard and fast. “Mutnofret and Shepses are promised to each other.”

“What?” In his shock Hori had raised his voice, and its echo bounced off the rocks. He murmured the next question, “How could this happen? And why did Ameny acquiesce all of a sudden?” Poor Nakhtmin, he thought. How bitter this must taste for him.

Nakhtmin told him about Mutnofret’s secret correspondence with the vizier’s son and how the family couldn’t do anything but deal with the consequences—make the best of it or rather avoid the worst.

“Gods, the girl has courage.” Thinking how she’d have his poor friend under her thumb when they finally acknowledged their feelings for each other, he chuckled. Only then did the full extent of the situation hit him. If she married Shepses, she couldn’t have a relationship with Nakhtmin.

His thoughtless amusement certainly warranted Nakhtmin’s indignant reaction. “That’s not funny. I don’t know what you’re cackling about. Quite the contrary, it’s awfully dangerous. In two days, Nebit will host a large banquet to celebrate their engagement although he wasn’t too excited about his son’s choice of bride. Of course he didn’t show it openly, but you know how he is.”

Hori recalled how amiable the vizier could act, while his eyes said something else. Nothing in his household might be as it seemed at first glance. He grunted his consent. “Mutnofret was really brave to provide you this chance you’ve been desperate for. Don’t be too hard on her.”

This time Nakhtmin cackled. “Oh, we were hard on her. You can’t imagine how docile the young lady can be when led with a strict hand. I hardly recognize her anymore. Maybe she only realized now what she’s set in motion—and what consequences her thoughtlessness might have for her whole life.”

Hori pondered this in his heart. Maybe it wouldn’t be Mutnofret keeping the upper hand in their relationship after all. It dawned on him that these two wouldn’t cut each other any slack. Well, there were more important matters than their chances of surviving as a couple. “If all works out as you hope, she won’t have to marry him. Once the murderer is unmasked, the honor of Nebit’s family should be so damaged nobody would hold it against Mutnofret if she revoked her promise of marriage.”

“Yeah, once, when, if…” Nakhtmin raked his fingers through his wig. The stubbly hair on his scalp, which must have grown back since the morning shave, made a scraping noise. “But what are we going to do if we can’t identify him in time, Hori? Or even worse: what if we find him, but he isn’t a member of the vizier’s family?”

He hadn’t even considered this possibility. It could be, but— “Not likely. The blossom on the handle of Shepses’s tools must be unique. I don’t know any other doctor ordering such ornate instruments. Too expensive. As you well know, needles and hooks break or bend too easily and need to be replaced fairly often. Not even the king’s personal physician would squander his resources like that.”

Nakhtmin paced. Sand scrunched under his sandals. “A doctor at the House of Life could have snatched his puncture needle. Remember how Shepses had sought his pleasure with Mutnofret in the god’s garden. Anyone could have sneaked in and stolen one of his instruments.” Nakhtmin’s voice rang with despair. He stopped right in front of Hori, pale moonlight shining on his face.

“Quite possible, however, there’s something else connecting all murders with Shepses’s family. Each victim had a relationship with one of the vizier’s sons.”

“But not with stuttering Hotep.”

“Right, Hotep—why do I keep forgetting him?”

“Perhaps because Hotep doesn’t have a tongue as smooth as those of his brothers? Perhaps because his own family tends to forget about him too?”

“The forgotten son…” That sounded all too familiar to Hori. He could well imagine how Hotep felt, always in the shadows of his older brothers. But he couldn’t imagine committing such crimes out of hatred for his family. However, Hotep also had to suffer being mocked for his speech impediment, particularly by young girls, he guessed. He envisioned the brides of Hotep’s brothers visiting the household, trying to chat with the young man, laughing at his ineptness, his failure. Yes, it was possible. “I’d keep a close eye on Hotep,” he said. “Currently, he seems most suspicious to me, and he might have a strong motivation to kill the women.” He explained his reasoning to Nakhtmin.

“Only Nebet-Het doesn’t fit,” Nakhtmin argued. “As the innkeeper’s daughter, she wouldn’t have laughed at such a distinguished guest. And she certainly wouldn’t have visited Nebit’s sons for a chat.”

“Right.” Hori sucked in his lower lips, pondering the flaw in his theory. “But he might have killed her for a different reason. No, that shouldn’t exclude him as a suspect. Observe Hotep.”

“I’ll keep an eye on each and every one. If anything happens to Mutnofret…”

Yes, Hori thought, then not only her father would blame him. The worst demons lurked inside his friend.

They were saying their good-byes when Nakhtmin groaned.

“What is it?” Hori asked.

“I’m such an idiot. I totally forgot to tell you something else. It happened before the Netjeryt festival, and afterward other things weighed on our hearts. Maybe it’s not important at all.” Nakhtmin’s voice trailed off.

“Perhaps we’ll only find out later if it’s important or not. At the moment, I think you should tell me anything that seems even slightly relevant. Go on, speak up.” Hori sensed Nakhtmin’s unease and guessed it might have something to do with Ameny’s daughter.

His friend took a deep breath. “Mutnofret visited some girls, and I had to accompany her.”

“Oh.” Hori’s fantasy created amusing pictures even before Nakhtmin began his account of the events. Imagining his friend at the mercy of sharp-tongued ladies was too funny. He chuckled.

“Sure, you go on laughing. I truly made a fool of myself. Mutnofret had fun—and revenge. But wait until you hear what one of them said.”

Curious, Hori listened. “Incredible! Now I understand why Shepses is so successful. Contraceptives!”

“But I don’t know how that knowledge might help us.”

“Well, it presents more motives…” Hori started pacing to clear his thoughts. “An incensed father, an abortion gone wrong…”

“New motives and more suspects than we can count. I doubt it ties in with our murders, but it casts a damning light on Shepses. I’d totally pushed this issue aside with everything else happening.” He told Hori about his encounter with Hunter-Nofret.

Hori snorted with laughter. “Nofriti! Truly one to watch out for. How mean of Mutnofret.” He too had his share of experiences with the seductress. Fortunately, not all women were like that.

Nakhtmin slapped his forehead. “I forgot to tell you something else. About our experiment with the goat.”

“Funny that you should think of a goat when I mention Mutnofret,” Hori teased. Unfortunately it was too dark to watch his friend grimace.

“It was her idea to check if a jab to the heart with such a thin needle kills right away.”

Hori paid close attention now. “Oh, that’s an interesting question, indeed.” Hetepet’s heart—the wound had seemed strange to him as if it had festered for a while. He shook his head. Impossible! The killer couldn’t risk letting his victims run around screaming. Nakhtmin told him about their failed attempt at the young goat’s life, and the whole matter became ever more puzzling.

When Hori described the wound he’d found on the organ, his friend too shook his head. “As a doctor, I’m at a loss. This doesn’t fit with what I know about injuries.”

“Same here. However, neither of us has any experience with how wounds develop inside the body. After your experiment, though, we must assume a puncture needle alone didn’t cause imminent death of the young women. Particularly since the heart of a goat is much smaller than that of a human being.”

“Is that so? How big is a person’s heart? And what exactly does it look like, feel like?”

Shocked, Hori realized he’d said too much. “Stop it, Nakhtmin. I’m violating the rules by leaving the walls of the weryt, but I’m no traitor. The secrets of the weryt—you don’t want to know them. Such knowledge is far too dangerous, for both of us.”

For a while Nakhtmin remained silent, then he said, “I won’t ask again but rely on what you can tell me. Maybe the killer modified the needle somehow to make it deadlier? Dear gods! I’m worried about Mutnofret. What will happen to her if she really has to marry Shepses?”

These words stayed with Hori until he went to bed. Nights had turned too cold to sleep outside, but not much longer and he wouldn’t be able to stand the small room. What would happen to Mutnofret? Although he hadn’t told his friend, he feared a wedding was out of the question. They either found the killer and brought him to justice, or Mutnofret would share her sister’s fate. The girl really took a big risk. Why? Was it simply the thrill of danger or something else that drove her to such fool-hardiness? Did she mean to impress Nakhtmin or seek justice for her sister or…did she truly like Shepses, after all? Of course, Shepses would exploit his position to make advances. No surprise there, but how audacious a method the guy used. Now he wondered if the head of doctors knew what his once-favorite student was up to. Oh, how he’d love to watch Imhotepankh getting the scales plucked from his eyes!

He kicked away the linen sheet that felt far too heavy on his heated body. Still, he found it hard to breathe. Shrouds, mummy wrappings—he was bound. Slowly, he drifted off to sleep.