An Evil Spirit Out of the West (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries) by Paul Doherty Read Free Book Online Page A

spoken to.’ Then he turned to me. The fury had drained from his face; his eyes had a cold, calculating look.
    ‘Well, well,’ he murmured. ‘You are well named Mahu, Baboon of the South.’ He gnawed at his lips. ‘Let the dwarf go.’ Weni’s gaze never left me. ‘We’ll all take a good run down to the water and have a swim. Afterwards you can eat.’
    He strode off, followed by Tuthmosis and his instructors. We just sat down in the dust. I had to, my legs were trembling. A short while later we were taken down to the canal to bathe. No one said anything until we returned. I was standing by my bed drying myself off, more interested in the fragrant smells coming from the portable stove out in the courtyard. Horemheb and Rameses came sidling over. Horemheb held out his hand.
    ‘Baboon of the South, I shall not forget.’
    I clasped his hand and that of Rameses, and that was all Horemheb ever said. I learned two powerful lessons that day: how to win friends and how to survive. From that day on, the petty cruelties stopped and I fashioned my own philosophy. I would not be too bright to attract the teasing of my peers nor too dumb to provoke the anger of my teachers. I would be Mahu, he who lives by himself and walks alone. Horemheb never forgot and, I think, neither did Weni. From that day I felt strangely marked but I took comfort in the proverb I had learned in the schoolroom: Trust neither a brother nor a friend and have no intimate companions for they are worthless. The quotation from the Instructions of King Amenemhat was most appropriate. I had acted on impulse by myself, I had confided in no one either before or after; I had made friends or at least allies without making enemies.
    I became a student skilled in the hieratic and hieroglyphic writing, the preparation of papyrus, and the use of calculations, especially the nilometer. With the rest I studied the glories of Tomery and, of course, theology – the worship of the gods and the cults of the temple. All things centred around Amun-Ra, the silent God of Thebes who, over the years, had become associated with the Sun God and was now the dominant deity of Egypt. We were instructed in the mysteries of the Osirian rites, of the journey through the Underworld, the Am-Duat , as well as the difference between the Ka and the Ba , the soul and the spirit. It all meant nothing to me. The gods were as dry and dusty as the calculations for assessing a kite of gold or a deben of copper. Women, though, were a different matter.
    The years had passed, our bodies had changed. We no longer played skittles, or jump the goose or tug of war, but became more interested in stick fighting, wrestling, boxing – anything to dissipate the energy which seethed within us. Weni, of course, noted the changes and turned a blind eye to our sweaty forays beneath trees and in bushes with kitchen girls and maids, those who crossed our courtyard carrying pots or jars, swaying their hips and glancing sly-eyed at us. Of course Weni tried to give advice, but his attitude on women could be summed up in that proverb he lugubriously repeated: ‘Instructing a woman is like holding a sack of sand whose sides have split open’. Weni’s experiences with women had not been happy ones! He certainly never had the honour, or blood-freezing experience, of meeting women such as Tiye, Nefertiti and Ankhesenamun. I once repeated Weni’s advice to Nefertiti, at which she bubbled with laughter, and pithily replied, ‘You don’t have to instruct a woman, Mahu. She is already knowledgable.’
    One word of advice Weni gave us which Sobeck later ignored to his peril. ‘Have nothing,’ Weni roared at us, one stubby finger punching the air, ‘have nothing to do with the Per Khe Nret , the Royal Harem, whoever they are, wherever they come from! They are the Sacred Ornaments of the Magnificent One!’
    I listened bemused. The Magnificent One was encroaching more and more into our daily lessons, not only his name