felt as if only a short time had passed since we left our barge washing against the west bank. All of the Tjaru labourers had reunited to find work at the king’s quarries. It gave the only honest rewards for drift workers like us.
Our sandaled feet had been enduring the rocky terrain for some time. I peered towards the stark simplicity of the western ridge, nothing but stone and sand. Behind us, Ra was pressed against the breast of the deep blue desert sky. The heat was becoming intolerable. Sweat had saturated my entire body, cutting into every crevice of my limbs like lacerating blades. I shaded my eyes against the wind-driven sand and intense glare with the only possession I owned - a simple reed mat given to me by my uncle. My eyes were still swollen by the sadness of the past night. I held very little hope for Tawri and me. Thrown into total desolation, buried in the wastelands, I was banished silently without a trace. How could she possibly find me now? My heart was bleeding and there was nothing I could do to ease the pain and suffering. I wished that death would strike me down for no mortal should live to bear such pain. It seems that young hearts are quick to ache, especially mine.
Just then a bellow of nauseating odour flooded my senses. I lowered the reed mat from my eyes and my revulsion increased a thousandfold.
I heard a voice declare. “Behold, the enemies of the king!” An arm pointed from the front line of hardened men. I saw a linear collection of gruesome relics, foreign soldiers and deserters alike impaled through the gaps between their ribs. Their rotting corpses sagged high on giant spears, naked to dishonour them. I stared with horrified eyes, my hand plastered over my face. Never had I tasted such gore in the air … it was depet mewt nen, the taste of death. We had been intentionally led on the path of the condemned ones to demonstrate the type of punishment awaiting disloyal hearts. I could see clearly where the staff had pierced through their lifeless torsos - I could see dried, lumps of dark bloodstains on their dried vermin-infested bodies. The sound of a thousand flying insects hummed around our ears like a swarm of locusts as we distracted their gory feast. As we walked through the shadows of death the merciless rays of Ra flashed upon us in violent bursts. His power grew stronger as the moments passed. I wished for death but not in the like of which I had seen that day. Just as my feet carried me past the final decaying victim of war I felt nauseous, my eyesight blurred. I could feel my stomach regurgitating in revolt. There was a large boulder sitting heavily in the ground towards my left. Immediately I felt a bitter sting in my throat and without any further hesitation, I sprinted towards it. As soon as I threw my self over the mound my mouth issued a spray of partially digested bread and fowl, saturating as well as discolouring the dry, sandy ground. My belly had emptied every precious nourishment it held to maintain my strength. As expected, Men was there beside me as a dedicated guardian to comfort his sickened boy.
“I will be fine.” My throat emanated a final retch. I cautiously stood up to prevent another potential episode. To my advantage, the wind was sweeping from the west supplementing our nostrils with dry but fresh desert air. The valley of death was finally behind us. I dared not look back.
Men threw an arm around my shoulder and hauled me towards the advancing line. “Come boy, or they will leave us here rotting with the corpses.” We carried on in silence. No one uttered a word, not even a whisper. The only sound was of our scraping sandals against the stone and sand.
Before long our ears caught the distant chimes of hammered chisels. Their sharp tones issued a welcome to our arrival. Ahead, a small stone quarry gradually came into view and we collectively sighed in relief. It appeared as a large out of place gap in the valley, exposing layers of dust and rock crafted into symmetry, perhaps two or three men deep with the occasional awkward wooden scaffold hinging on an edge. The embankment on the western side of the quarry that bordered between the Nile valley and the great western desert we called a-deshret. To the far northern side, I could see a small marshy oasis with a handful of scattered shrubs surrounded by a harsh desert boundary.
There were about 100 men slaving hard in the heat and glare, all of them coated white in fine dust. They appeared like desert nomads or mythological stone creatures birthed from the womb of the terrain. This, as it seemed, was our bitter destiny.
“Beu, beu!” A strong saluting voice called out. Men dropped his supporting arm off me and I quickly managed to sustain my own weight, for any weakened souls would surely be sent on their own way. His name was Neshi, a prudent and watchful observer of workers who carefully assessed his newly arrived work stock like any other overseer would. He walked around us studying our physical state - after all he was responsible for the quality and quantity of work produced at the quarry. King Ahmose’s building project had strict demands and had to be satisfied flawlessly. It was necessary for Neshi and other overseers in similar quarries to produce the building materials on time otherwise demotion would be their ultimate fate.
Neshi had a reputation as a strict but reliable overseer and regularly produced above quota. He was a man in his late thirties or early forties, strong and well-fed. A dusty white kilt tied with a sash suspended under his potbelly while a striped headdress waved gently over his pleased complexion.
“I am content with what the gods have brought me today.” The acoustics between the rocks enhanced his gratified tone, sounding more like a satisfied slave merchant. “Tell me my friends, how many of you have worked with stone?” His eager eyes roamed avidly as four in numbers slowly stepped out from the line. “Tell me, how many of you have mined for stone?” The line of men diminished, only a few of us remained unqualified. Neshi strolled up to us, grinning. “Fear not my friends, there is enough work here for everyone. Someone has to carry the raw load.” He forced a laugh, slapped Men on his broad shoulder then carried on. My uncle was beginning to dislike his new superior but remained silent. “Stonecutters and stone workers, you will be given your tools. At the end of your working day, you will give them to me for appraisal. The wear on your tools will be deducted from your pay.” Neshi casually strolled between the separated group of workers, shining with excessive self-confidence. He continued his lecture. “You will rest when Ra is at his highest … and when Ra sets. Work hard and you will be rewarded.” Then his tone hardened like coarse stone. “Work not and you will find your dirty hide crawling back to where you came from.” The overseer gave a cynical smile before ending his noble announcement. “Respect my orders and there will be no quarrel between us!” He began his descent towards the quarry, waving his arm in the air. “Come!” As Neshi led the way we followed like a fretful flock of sheep following a shepherd.
“I have met his type before,” Men mumbled, sounding bothered. “Such are inspired by the voice of their own authority … unworthy of anything else other than ordering peasants to satisfy their every whim.” Men found it difficult to work under the clutches of such an ambitious fool, especially when he himself had held a similar rank not so long ago. He knew that honest, hard-working labour was achieved by the respect and goodwill of the overseer and not by pathetic gestures of intimidation. I too began to dislike Neshi for that. “Fear not Itef for we will not lay waste in this forsaken place.” His protest did not go unheard as I saw others before us acknowledge him with a few simple nods.
We came to a halt at the edge of the quarry pit. The chorus of copper chisels grew louder as men below us pounded them hard into the stone with mallets made of hardwood. The air in the trenches was thick with dust. It was unfortunate for those men who had to endure such atrocious conditions but the finest quality of limestone lay hidden in the depths of the rocky earth. It is said that those who spend much time labouring in such pits die young - their blood turns to sand and their breath gives in. It is also said that even their ba turns dusty white.
We saw the first group of men descend into the pit on narrow wooden ladders, their saddened faces slowly blurred away in the chalky mist while others were ordered to perform their duties near a rubble of crudely worked stone blocks. They came from the belly of the pit where the bloodied and bruised
