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  Praise for Pauline Gedge

  “Gedge excels at setting the scene and subtly evoking a sense of the period as she tells a timeless story of greed, love, and revenge.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “Gedge makes the past so accessible. You can imagine walking between the pillars into a magnificent hall and watching it come alive with the smell of the fresh paint on the frescoes.”

  —The Globe and Mail

  “Gedge vividly renders the exotic, sensuous world of ancient Memphis, the domestic rituals of bathing and dressing, the social ambience of superstition and spells.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Gedge has such a terrific feel for ancient Egypt that the reader merrily suspends disbelief and hangs on for the ride.”

  —Calgary Herald

  “Her richly colourful descriptions … hit the reader with photographic clarity.”

  —The Ottawa Sun

  “Gedge has brought Egypt alive, not just the dry and sandy Egypt we know from archaeology, but the day-today workings of what was one of the greatest and most beautiful kingdoms in the history of the world.”

  —Quill & Quire

  “Each volume is a carefully devised segment, with its own distinct flavour and texture. When put together, then the skill and workmanship of the whole undertaking stand out clearly. The trilogy is one of Pauline Gedge’s most appealing works.”

  —Edmonton Journal

  “Gedge … has the magical ability to earn a reader’s suspension of disbelief.”

  —Toronto Star

  “Pauline Gedge’s strengths—imagination, ingenuity in plotting, and convincing characterization—are here in abundance.”

  —Books in Canada

  “Gedge draws another vivid picture of Ancient Egypt and skillfully weaves her dramatic tale of intrigue, treachery, and manipulation. Her historical novels have the ability to bring a period fully before us; it is possible to feel the heat and experience the pageantry she so ably describes.”

  —The Shuswap Sun

  “Pauline Gedge’s knowledge of Egyptian history is both extensive and intimate, and has enabled her to produce an entire society of the time of Ramses II with admirable vitality. She has a sharp eye for the salient detail, and an evocative way with landscape and interiors. She can produce a mood and suggest an atmosphere … A very good story well told, and it engrosses the reader from the first page to the last.”

  —The Globe and Mail

  PENGUIN CANADA

  SCROLL OF SAQQARA

  PAULINE GEDGE is the award-winning and bestselling author of eleven previous novels, eight of which are inspired by Egyptian history. Her first, Child of the Morning, won the Alberta Search-for-a-New Novelist Competition. In France, her second novel, The Eagle and the Raven, received the Jean Boujassy award from the Société des Gens des Lettres, and The Twelfth Transforming, the second of her Egyptian novels, won the Writers Guild of Alberta Best Novel of the Year Award. Her books have sold more than 250,000 copies in Canada alone; worldwide, they have sold more than six million copies and have been translated into eighteen languages. Pauline Gedge lives in Alberta.

  ALSO BY PAULINE GEDGE

  Child of the Morning

  The Eagle and the Raven

  Stargate

  The Twelfth Transforming

  The Covenant

  House of Dreams

  House of Illusions

  The Hippopotamus Marsh:

  Lords of the Two Lands, Volume One

  The Oasis: Lords of the Two Lands, Volume Two

  The Horus Road: Lords of the Two Lands, Volume Three

  The Twice Born

  SCROLL OF

  SAQQARA

  PAULINE

  GEDGE

  PENGUIN CANADA

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3 (a division of Pearson Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.

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  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)

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  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  First published in a Viking Canada hardcover by Penguin Group (Canada), a division of Pearson Canada Inc., 1990

  Published in Penguin Canada paperback by Penguin Group (Canada), a division of Pearson Canada Inc., 1991

  Published in this edition, 2007

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 (OPM)

  Copyright © Pauline Gedge, 1990

  Map drawn by Johnathan Gladstone / j.b. geographics

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  Publisher’s note: This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Manufactured in the U.S.A.

  LIBRARY AND ARCHIVES CANADA CATALOGUING IN PUBLICATION

  Gedge, Pauline, 1945–

  Scroll of Saqqara / Pauline Gedge.

  Originally publ.: Toronto : Viking, 1990.

  ISBN 978-0-14-316744-0

  I. Title.

  PS8563.E33S377 2007 C813’.54 C2007-903374-1

  ISBN-13: 978-0-14-316744-0

  ISBN-10: 0-14-316744-8

  Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Visit the Penguin Group (Canada) website at www.penguin.ca

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  For Bella, with love and deep appreciation

  CHARACTER LIST

  KHAEMWASET’S IMMEDIATE FAMILY

  Khaemwaset: Prince. Fourth son (third surviving son) of the pharaoh Ramses the Second, semi-priest of Ptah, priest of On, magician and doctor. Thirty-seven years old.

  Nubnofret: Princess. Khaemwaset’s wife. Thirty-five years old.

  Hori: Prince Khaemwaset’s second son. Priest of Ptah. Nineteen years old.

  Sheritra: Prince Khaemwaset’s daughter. Fifteen years old. Her name means “Little Sun.”

  KHAEMWASET’S LARGER FAMILY

  Ramses the Second: Pharaoh of Upper and Lower Egypt. Khaemwaset’s father. Sixty-four years old.

  Astnofert: Ramses’ Royal Wife and Queen. Khaemwaset is her second son. Fifty-nine years old.

  Ramses: Crown Prince and Heir Apparent. Astnofert’s first son and Khaemwaset’s older brother. Fort
y-three years old.

  Si-Montu: Prince. Khaemwaset’s older brother. Forty-two years old. Disqualified as prince in line for the throne because he married Ben-Anath, daughter of a Syrian ship’s captain. Head of his father’s vineyard at Memphis.

  Merenptah: Another of Astnofert’s sons. Khaemwaset’s younger brother. Thirty-one years old.

  Bint-Anath: Queen, together with her mother, Astnofert. Khaemwaset’s younger sister. Thirty-six years old.

  Meryet-Amun: Daughter of Ramses the Second’s first wife. Nefertari. A lesser Queen. Twenty-five years old.

  FRIENDS

  Sisenet: A noble of Koptos living in Memphis. Forty-five years old.

  Tbubui: A noblewoman of Koptos. Thirty-five years old.

  Harmin: Her son. Eighteen years old.

  SERVANTS

  Amek: Captain of Khaemwaset’s bodyguard.

  Ib: Khaemwaset’s steward.

  Kasa: Khaemwaset’s body servant.

  Penbuy: Khaemwaset’s scribe.

  Ptah-Seankh: Penbuy’s son and his successor as Khaemwaset’s scribe.

  Sunero: Khaemwaset’s agent at Ninsu in the Fayum.

  Wennufer: High Priest at Abydos and Khaemwaset’s friend.

  Antef: Hori’s male servant and confidant.

  Wernuro: Nubnofret’s female servant.

  Bakmut: Sheritra’s female servant and companion.

  Ashahebsed: Ramses the Second’s cupbearer and old friend.

  Amunmose: Chief Keeper of the Door of Ramses the Second’s Harem in Memphis.

  GLOSSARY OF EGYPTIAN GODS

  Amun—or Amu-Ra. Centre of worship at Thebes in Upper Egypt. Known as “King of the gods.” All pharaohs from the 18th dynasty on were believed to be descended from him.

  Apis—a sacred bull, worshipped both as a symbol of the sun and the essence of Ptah.

  Atum—pre-dynastic sun god of On.

  Bast—cat goddess representing the beneficient, nurturing aspect of the sun.

  Horus—falcon god. Son of Osiris. Each pharaoh incorporated his name in his title.

  Hu—the Tongue of Ptah who spoke everything into being. He was the motive force behind creation.

  Isis—wife of Osiris. When Osiris was slain by Set she gathered up the pieces of his body and reconstituted him by magic.

  Ma’at—the concept of correct justice, truth and order. Symbolized by a goddess wearing a feather.

  Mut—wife of Amun. Vulture goddess associated with royal women.

  Nut—goddess of the sky.

  Osiris—ancient fertility god worshipped universally in Egypt, particularly by the common people. King of the land of the dead.

  Ptah—creator of the world.

  Ra—god of the sun in its strength.

  Set—god of storms and turbulence. Slayer of Osiris. At certain times in Egyptian history he became the personification of evil. During the reign of Ramses the Second, Set achieved great prominence.

  Shu—god of the air, dividing the earth from the sky.

  Thoth—god of medicine, magic and mathematics. Patron of scribes and inventor of writing. Measurer of time.

  1

  Hail all ye gods of the Temple of the Soul,

  who weigh heaven and earth in the scales,

  who give funerary offerings.

  THE COOL AIR was a welcome shock. Khaemwaset stepped gingerly into the tomb, aware as always that his was the first foot to be placed in the grey sand of the floor since the mourners, themselves long dead, had backed up the stairs before the sweepers and turned in relief to the blazing sun and a hot desert wind many centuries before. In this case, Khaemwaset mused as he carefully trod the narrow passage, the sealing was done over fifteen hentis ago. A thousand years. I am the first living being to breathe this air in a thousand years. “Ib!” he called sharply. “Bring the torches. What are you dreaming about up there?” His steward spoke a soft apology. There was a flurry of small stones which bumped sharply against Khaemwaset’s bare and dusty ankles, and Ib slithered to stand respectfully beside him while slaves moved past with obvious reluctance, carrying the smoking flames.

  “Are you all right, Father?” Hori’s light tenor voice echoed against the dim walls. “Will we need to shore anything up?”

  Khaemwaset cast a swift glance around and shouted back a denial. His initial enthusiasm was quickly turning to a familiar disappointment. His were not, after all, the first feet to tread the sacred floor of this ancient prince’s resting place. As he came out of the short passage and straightened he saw, in the wavering torchlight, the clear and heartbreaking evidences of robbery. Boxes that had contained the dead man’s earthly possessions were strewn about, empty. The jars that had held precious oils and wines of the best vintage of the day were missing, their only vestiges a few pieces of brittle sealing wax and one broken stopper. Furniture lay tumbled almost at Khaemwaset’s feet—a stool of plain design, a carved wooden chair whose legs were strangled ducks, their sightless eyes and flaccid necks holding up a curved seat and a backrest where Hu, the Tongue of Ptah, knelt and smiled, two low dining tables from which the delicate inlay had been stripped, and a bed that had been shoved against one plastered wall in two jagged halves. Only the six shawabtis, motionless and sinister, remained untouched in their niches around the walls. As tall as men, fashioned of black-painted wood, they still waited for the spell that would bring them to life to serve their masters in the next world. All the work had been simple, clean and pleasing in line, elegant yet strong. Khaemwaset thought of his own house, stuffed with the glittering ornate crudeness he so despised but his wife admired as the latest fashion in furniture, and sighed.

  “Penbuy,” he said to his scribe, now hovering discreetly at his elbow, palette and pencase in hand, “you may begin to record what is on the walls. Please be as accurate as possible and remember not to fill in any missing hieroglyphs with your own guesses. Where is the slave with the mirrors?” It is always like driving recalcitrant cattle, he thought as he turned to study the massive granite sarcophagus whose lid was askew. The slaves fear the tombs and even my servants, though they dare not grumble, load themselves with amulets and mutter prayers from the time the seals are broken until the moment when the placatory food offering is left. Well, they need not worry today, his thoughts ran on as he bent to read the inscriptions on the coffin while a slave held a torch. Each third of this day is lucky, for them at any rate. A lucky day for me would be the finding of an untouched tomb crammed with scrolls. He smiled to himself and rose. “Ib, bring down the carpenters and have the furniture repaired and set in the correct places. Have the jars of fresh oil and perfume brought in also. There is nothing of interest here, so we should be on our way home by sunset.” His steward bowed, waiting for the prince to precede him along the suffocating passage and back up the short flight of stairs. Khaemwaset emerged, blinking, beside the pile of rubble his diggers had thrown up in their efforts to uncover the tomb door, and waited for his eyes to adjust to the blinding whiteness of the noonday sun. The sky was a dazzling blue, meeting the pure yellow of an undisturbed and endless desert on his left which shimmered as he gazed.

  To his right the plain of Saqqara held the naked pillars, crumbled walls and tumbled masonry of a city of the dead, ruined far back in the depths of time and now possessed of a lonely and solemn beauty, the fine-worked stones all a pale beige, their sharp edges and long, running lines reminding Khaemwaset of some strange inorganic desert growth, as stark and comfortless as the sand itself. The stubbed, terraced pyramid of Pharaoh Unas dominated the desolation. Khaemwaset had inspected it some years before. He would have liked to restore it, to smooth its stepped sides into one pleasing whole, to dress its symmetrical face with white limestone, but the project would have taken too much time, too many slaves and conscripted peasant farmers, and a great deal of gold spent to provide bread, beer and vegetables to the workers. Still, even eroded as it was, it had a mighty presence. Khaemwaset, during his minute investigation of the Great Pharaoh’s monument, h
ad been unable to find any name carved upon its surfaces, so he had provided Unas with renewed power and life by the hands of his own master craftsmen and had, of course, added the inscription “His Majesty has ordered it to be proclaimed that the chief of the masters of the artists, the Setem-priest Khaemwaset, has inscribed the name of the King of Upper and Lower Egypt, Unas, since it was not found on the face of the pyramid, because the Setem-priest Prince Khaemwaset much loved to restore the monuments of the kings of Upper and Lower Egypt.” His Majesty, Khaemwaset reflected as he began to sweat in the heat and his canopy bearer came hurrying to shade him, had not objected to his fourth son’s odd obsession, provided full credit was given to himself, Ramses the Second, User-Ma’at-Ra, Setep-en-Ra, in the matter of permissions and gracious credit to himself, the One Who Caused All to Be. Gratefully Khaemwaset felt the shadow of the canopy settle around him, and together he and his servant walked to the red tents and carpets where the bodyguards were rising to reverence him and his chair was being set in the shade. Beer and a fresh salad were waiting. He collapsed under the tasselled eaves of his tent, took a long drink of the dark, satisfying beer, and watched his son Hori disappear into the dark hole in the ground from which he himself had just come. Presently Hori reappeared and began to supervise the line of servants already carrying tools in their brown arms and clay jars on their shoulders.

  Khaemwaset knew without looking that the eyes of his clustered entourage were also on Hori. He was without a doubt the most beautiful member of the family. He was tall and very straight, with an easy graceful walk and an upright carriage that somehow managed to avoid being either arrogant or aloof. His large, black-lashed eyes were of a translucent quality, so that enthusiasm, humour or any other strong emotion made them glitter. Delicate brown skin was stretched over high cheekbones, and under those compelling eyes were often violet hollows of seeming vulnerability. Hori’s face in repose was youthful, contemplative, but when he smiled it broke into deep grooves of sheer pleasure, lifting him from his nineteen years and making his age suddenly indefinable. His hands were large and capable but also artlessly attractive. He loved mechanical things, and as a child had driven his tutors and nurses to distraction with his questions and his unfortunate habit of taking apart whatever contrivance was to hand. Khaemwaset knew how lucky he was that Hori had also taken to the study of ancient tombs and monuments and, to a lesser degree, the deciphering of inscriptions in stone or in the precious scrolls his father collected. He was the perfect assistant, eager to learn, able to organize, always willing to relieve Khaemwaset himself of many of the burdens on their explorations.