Free Orphan of the Sun by Gill Harvey Page B

died, a shimmering shadow of a girl. Sometimes Meryt wondered if she would suffer the same fate, if she ever tried to give birth. She had heard it said that such things could be passed from mother to daughter. But it was too frightening a thought to dwell on for long.
    Her image of Peshedu was stronger. Tia spoke of him so often that Meryt had a clear picture of him in her mind – a lean, muscular man, not tall, but with a firm jaw and humorous eyes. There was also the bust of him in the front room niche, which Tia had commissioned on his death. It had been made by one of his friends, a fellow-sculptor, who had lovingly recreated his features when he had been struck down by the disease that stole so many men of the village in their prime.
    Meryt re-examined her dream from every angle. Looking through the window to see her father … The hot desert wind, whipping around his linen kilt … The appearance of Ramose, travelling back from the kings’ tombs … None of it made any sense. Somehow, it seemed as though Peshedu held the answer, but how could that be?
    There was only one solution: she would have to ask him personally. Not in the front room, where he had never lived, but in the tomb itself, where his embalmed body lay together with those of his ancestors.
    Meryt-Re drifted restlessly into sleep and woke at dawn. The village was already coming to life in the streets around, but Mose and Henut were still sound asleep. Meryt rose quietly and crept down the stairs. In the dim light, she selected a ripe pomegranate and an untouched loaf of bread from the leftovers of the feast, and picked up the wooden kindling sticks withwhich the family kindled fire. She put them in a little reed basket and added a handful of dry straw. Then she slipped through the house to the front room, where she collected her packet of incense and the burner.
    Baki was at last asleep, with Tia on the floor beside him. She had fallen asleep where she sat, kneeling by the side of the bed with her head resting on her arms. Meryt tiptoed past Senmut and Nauna, both snoring in the middle room, and out into the street.
    Although it was the last day of the weekend, many of the villagers were already awake, taking advantage of the cool light of dawn. As Meryt headed south, workmen on donkeys trotted past her on their way to tend fields in the valley, servant girls walked sleepily towards her to start their monotonous job of grinding the grain, and the more diligent women were sweeping the street outside their houses.
    Suddenly, Meryt stopped. Just up ahead of her, the wiry figure of Nofret appeared from a side alley. Her head was bowed and she turned south towards the gate without seeing Meryt. With a little skip, Meryt hurried after her to catch up.
    She touched the servant girl on the shoulder. ‘Nofret.’
    Nofret spun around, her eyes wide with fear.
    â€˜It’s only me,’ said Meryt gently. ‘I wish you no harm. May I talk to you?’
    The servant girl recoiled from her, her shoulders tense.
    â€˜Please,’ said Meryt. ‘You can trust me, I promise.’
    Nofret said nothing, but fell in beside Meryt as she carried on walking towards the village gate. Once they had passed through it, Meryt stopped.
    â€˜Where are you going?’ she asked. ‘To the embalmers’ workshops?’
    Nofret nodded.
    â€˜Which way? Over the mountain?’ Meryt indicated the route through the eastern cemetery where the two girls had met before. This time, Nofret shook her head.
    â€˜You don’t need to go that way because today you have nothing to hide.’ Meryt’s words were more a statement than a question. The servant girl nodded, and bowed her head.
    Meryt studied her. She knew that the burden of secrecy was a heavy one, and sensed that Nofret might be ready to unload it. ‘Come with me,’ she said gently. ‘Dawn has only just broken. You have plenty of time. I am going to make an offering