Secret of the Prince's Tomb Page 3
Patrick nodded. “Is there a better idea?”
There wasn’t. Tabitha squeezed into the large pot.
Beth was surprised that Tabitha fit. Beth stood behind the pot, and Patrick stood in front of it. They both put the poles on their shoulders. They lifted the pot and carried it.
They passed by many slaves. They passed by many Egyptian guards with whips. The Egyptians never looked at Patrick and Beth.
It was working!
Beth groaned. “Patrick, this is getting really heavy,” she said.
“We’ll slow down,” he said.
Patrick was breathing heavily now. Sweat poured down his head, his neck, and his back.
Suddenly, Beth’s foot hit a rock. She stumbled. The pot dropped. It cracked in half. Tabitha spilled out onto the dirt.
The noise caused heads to turn. An Egyptian guard saw the whole thing. He stomped over to them.
He said, “What’s going on here?”
7
The Cell
Beth and Patrick stood silent.
Tabitha didn’t say a word either. She sat on the sand. She looked scared.
The Egyptian looked first at Patrick and Beth. Then he scowled at the broken pot and the poles. He slowly shook his head.
“Back to work,” he said to Tabitha. She looked helplessly at the cousins. Then she ran off.
The guard grabbed Beth and Patrick by the shoulders. He said, “You two are coming with me.”
“Where are you taking us?” Patrick asked.
The guard grunted and pushed the cousins toward a wooden cart. It had two oxen hitched to the front.
The Egyptian motioned for Patrick and Beth to climb into the back of the cart. He grabbed a rope from inside the cart. He tied the cousins’ wrists together. The knots were tight. Then he looped the rope through the slats on the side of the cart.
“This will hold you,” he said. He walked to the front of the cart and climbed on. He picked up a stick with a whip at the end.
Crack! The guard snapped the whip in the air. “Yah!” he said.
One of the oxen snorted. Then the animals jerked the cart forward.
Patrick and Beth looked at each other. There was nothing to say.
They passed palms, rocks, statues, and ponds covered with blue lotus flowers. After a long time, they reached the front of a building. The guard stopped the cart.
Beth nodded toward the marketplace next to the building. “We’re back again,” she said.
The guard untied the rope from the cart. Then he used the rope to lead the cousins inside by their wrists.
The building was dark and smelled damp and sweaty. Patrick was glad to be out of the sun. The three of them walked down a long staircase. A door with metal bars was at the bottom.
It was a prison cell.
“No!” Beth cried. She pulled back.
The guard pushed her toward the door. “You were attempting to help a slave escape,” he said.
He opened the cell door with a key. He roughly pushed the cousins inside.
Beth fell to her knees on wet straw.
Patrick stumbled and fell against a stone wall. Before he could turn around, he heard a bang! and then a clank.
“Tell Lateef we’re here!” Patrick called out.
The guard walked away.
Patrick and Beth were locked in.
“So they’re throwing children into prison now?” came a voice from the corner of the cell.
Beth gasped. Patrick whirled around.
An old man with a white beard came forward. His face was wrinkled. He looked as if he had been in the bathtub too long. His legs were as skinny as water pipes.
“My name is Malachi,” the old man said. “Why are you here?”
Beth answered, “We tried to help a friend.”
“A Habiru?” he asked.
Patrick nodded.
“Helping the Habiru is an easy way to get into trouble. That is why I’m in here,” Malachi said.
“What did you do?” Patrick asked.
“I’m a teacher,” Malachi said. “I taught the Habiru to read and to know their history.”
“You were thrown into prison for teaching?” Patrick asked.
“The Egyptians didn’t like my kind of teaching,” Malachi said. “It gave the Habiru hope. Where there is hope, there is strength.”
“How do you give them hope?” Beth asked.
“By reminding them of their past,” Malachi said. “And the way God has blessed them since the beginning.”
Malachi gestured to the cell. “This very prison cell is part of Habiru history.”
“I don’t see a lot of hope here,” Patrick said.
“How is it part of their history?” Beth asked.
“A Habiru man named Zaphenat-Pa’aneah was once imprisoned here,” Malachi said.
“Zaf … ” Beth said. “Who?”
Malachi shook his head. “You don’t know of the great vizier?” he asked.
“What’s a vi-ZEER?” Patrick asked.
Malachi looked startled. “What are they teaching children these days?” he asked. He shook his head. “Do you understand these pictures?” Malachi pointed to drawings on the wall.
“Those are hieroglyphics,” Beth said. “Like the ones in here.” She pulled the book out of her tunic. She opened the pages.
Malachi hurried to look at the book. “Where did you get that parchment?” Malachi asked. His fingers felt the pages. “The papyrus is so thin.”
“Um … well … ” Beth said, “this is a special parchment.”
The old man flipped through some of the pages. Then he stopped. “Here it is,” he said, pointing at a drawing on a page.
Beth and Patrick looked at the drawing.
Beside the drawing was written the word vizier. The picture was an oval with three images inside it. The first image was a bird. Then there was a man standing. The last image was a man sitting down. He was holding what looked like a flag.
“A vizier is like a prince,” Malachi said. “The bird shows that the prince was a protector. The man standing means that a vizier rules over men. The last image is of a man holding a flail. That means royalty.”
“Excuse me,” Beth said. “What is the man holding again?”
“A flail,” Malachi said. “It’s used for harvesting grains.”
“What happened to the Habiru prince?” Patrick asked.
“He died long ago,” Malachi said. “Our new pharaoh has taken the throne by force. He doesn’t know about the great prince. He doesn’t trust the Habiru. He’s afraid they will rise up against him.”
“Will they?” Patrick asked.
The old man shrugged. “I’ve never heard them speak of it,” he said.”They’re happy here.”
“Someone needs to tell the pharaoh right away,” Beth said.
“He has been told. But he won’t listen,” Malachi said. “Meanwhile, the Habiru are losing hope because they are slaves. They don’t remember their past—or their prince.”
Footsteps clopped down the stairs to the prison cell. Beth and Patrick looked up.
The lock rattled, and the door was yanked open. An Egyptian guard stepped in. Following him was Lateef.
“Lateef!” the cousins cried out. They moved toward him.
“This wasn’t part of our plan,” Lateef said with a frown. “The guard informed me you were here.”
“Thank you,” Beth said to the guard.
The guard nodded.
“We saw Tabitha,” Patrick said to Lateef. “She’s a slave.”
Lateef eyed the guard. “Leave us,” the pharaoh’s son said with a wave of his arm. The guard obeyed.
“Where is she?” Lateef asked the cousins.
“She’s working on the canal,” Beth said. “She delivers water.”
“That isn’t so bad,” Lateef said. He looked down sadly. “My father has forbidden me to help the Habiru—even Tabitha.”
“Then what can we do?” Beth asked.
“I cannot help you,” Lateef said. “I will set you free this time. But you can’t help Tabitha or any of the Habiru. If you do, you’ll pay the penalty. Perhaps prison or even death.”
“We understand,” Patrick said. “Thank you for getting us out this time.”
Lateef lifted his head. He looked as if he might cry. He spun around and left the prison cell. The door remained open.
Beth moved toward the old man. “What about you?” she asked.
“I’m not allowed to leave,” Malachi said. “But please, go to the Habiru people. Remind them of their prince.”
“But surely you heard Lateef,” Patrick said.
Beth interrupted him. “We’ll try,” she said.
The cousins said good-bye to Malachi and left the cell.
Outside, Patrick said to Beth, “You said we would try to help the Habiru. Didn’t you listen to Lateef’s warning? If we get caught, we could get locked up again—or killed!”
Beth looked at him. “I still think we have to try.”
“Try to do what?” Patrick asked.
“To give them hope,” she said.
8
The Habiru
The cousins left the prison. They trudged through the marketplace toward the river. Beth was relieved that Patrick led the way.
They passed the same palms and statues and ponds. Only the lotus flowers had changed. They had closed and sunk into the water for the night.
The sun was setting. It was cooler now. Beth worried about what would happen once the sun went down. She knew the desert could be very cold at night.
The cousins finally arrived at the canal work zone. None of the slaves or guards were working.
Nearby, a group of tents had been set up. The tents glowed, lit up by fires inside.
Beth and Patrick went to the closest tent. They asked the people inside where Tabitha’s family lived. The cousins were directed to another tent at the end of a long row.
The tent was large. When the cousins entered, they were faced with a crowd of a dozen people. Everyone turned to them.
Tabitha rushed over to Patrick and Beth.
“God be praised. You’re safe!” Tabitha said. “My family has been praying for you.”
Tabitha introduced Patrick and Beth to her family—brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, and uncles.
Patrick and Beth learned many names. They also heard about everyone’s aches and pains. Some had been enslaved for weeks.
The Habiru’s bodies were sore from the hard labor. Their skin was scorched. A few people were bent over sick. The tent smelled of sweat and blood.
A woman put a wet cloth over a man’s injured knee.
“I won’t survive another day,” one older Habiru man said.
“This has been a horrible day,” Tabitha said. “My brother Ammon was whipped by a guard.”
“We know,” Beth said.
Ammon lay on his side. He was very still. Tabitha rolled up a cloth and gently placed it under his head.
Then Tabitha put a hand to her ear. “Do you hear that?” she asked.
Beth and Patrick listened. People all over the tent city were crying and groaning. The sounds pierced Beth’s heart.
“Our God has forgotten us,” a nearby woman named Miriam said.
“No, He hasn’t,” Beth said to her.
“Don’t be foolish, child,” Miriam said. “Our people are slaves. God has abandoned us.”
“You’re not abandoned,” Beth said. “Don’t you remember what happened before?”
“The prince?” Patrick added.
Everyone in the tent stopped talking or groaning and listened.
“We remember the prince,” Tabitha said. “He was my great-great-great-grandfather.”
“Really?” Patrick asked.
Tabitha nodded. “That’s why my family was able to live in a beautiful home. And why my father has—had—such a good job,” she said.
Miriam shook her head. She said, “We remember the prince. But he was laid inside his tomb long ago. What good is he to us now?”
“His memory reminds you that God watched over you in the past,” Beth said. “And He’s watching over you now.”
Miriam snorted and turned away.
“If only the great prince were here for us to see,” Tabitha said.
“Where is his tomb?” Patrick asked. “Why don’t you visit it? That will help you remember.”
“The Egyptians won’t let us near it,” Tabitha’s father said. “They know what remembering him will do for us.”
“They’ve probably taken away the mummy and destroyed it,” another man said. His name was Abner, and he had the injured knee. “They would do that just to show how much they hate us.”
Miriam sighed. “The Egyptians treat the living with disrespect. Why wouldn’t they do the same to the dead?”
“If only we could bring the mummy of the prince here,” Tabitha said. “We could keep it safe. It would inspire our people.”
“How would we do that?” Abner asked. “The tomb is in the necropolis.”
“The what?” Patrick asked.
“Necropolis means ‘city of the dead,’ ” Abner said. “It’s a huge graveyard where the pharaohs and great leaders are buried.”
Beth shivered at the thought.
Patrick asked, “Where is the necropolis exactly?”
“The cliffs,” Tabitha’s father said. “To the west of the tallest pyramid.”
“But it’s guarded,” Miriam said. “The Egyptians believe that whoever opens a tomb will be cursed.”
Beth glanced at Patrick. He looked as if he had an idea.
“Aren’t we already cursed by being slaves?” Tabitha asked.
Tabitha’s family nodded.
“How would a person get inside the tomb?” Patrick asked.
“You must enter the vault and find the wall. There’s a secret panel on the tomb’s door,” Abner said. “It’s low, covered by sand. If you slide open the panel …”
“If you slide open the panel … then what?” Patrick asked.
“No one knows,” Miriam said. “No one has ever gone inside.”
Later that night the cousins lay on the ground to sleep. Beth whispered, “We can’t do it.”
“Yes we can,” Patrick said. “You said you wanted to give these people hope.”
“I meant by talking to them,” Beth said. “Not by looking for mummies with Egyptian curses.”
“I don’t believe in curses,” Patrick said.
“Okay, but are you really going to break into a tomb, steal a mummy, and carry it all the way back to the Habiru camp?” Beth asked.
“I’ve read that mummies aren’t very heavy. They’re just dried bones and some strips of cloth,” Patrick said.
“But it’s disgusting,” Beth said.
“You heard Tabitha,” Patrick said. “It’ll inspire them.”
Beth lay silently and thought about it. The Habiru needed to know that their prince’s body was safe and honored.
Beth sighed deeply. She asked, “How are we going to do it?”
Patrick sat up and smiled at her. “I have no idea,” he said.
9
The City of the Dead
Patrick and Beth hid behind a small hill. They lay on their stomachs and peeked over the hilltop. The morning sun was already baking them.
The vault was a stone’s throw away. It was near a pyramid that was about twenty feet tall.
There was a problem, though. Two guards stood at the vault entrance. They looked stern and unhappy.
“How can we get inside with the guards watching?” Beth asked. “They’ll throw us in prison for good this time.”
Patrick looked thoughtful. “I don’t know,” he said.
“We need a diversion,” Beth said.
“Like what?” Patrick asked.
“Beats me,” she said with a shrug. “Something that will get them away from the door.”
“How about that?�
� Patrick asked, pointing toward the pyramid.
A camel train came around the corner of the pyramid. It looked like the camel train they had seen at the marketplace. Five Egyptian traders were with the animals.
The guards turned to watch. The traders came within hearing distance. They called out to the guards. The guards looked around and then walked toward the traders.
“They must be offering the guards a good deal,” Patrick said.
The vault entrance was now unguarded.
Patrick and Beth sneaked out from behind the hill. They crouched down and quietly headed for the vault entrance.
The door to the tomb was behind three pillars. The pillars held up an arched roof. The cousins hid behind the pillars and glanced at the guards. They were still busy bargaining with the traders.
Patrick tugged at Beth’s sleeve, and they went through the open doorway.
Inside, an oil lamp was the only light. It rested in a hole in the wall. The lamp looked like a bowl filled with water. Patrick lifted it out of the hole.
The passageway in front of them was dark. The lamplight showed spiderwebs crisscrossing the walls.
Beth gulped. “Hold the lamp up,” she said. “I don’t want to be surprised by anything gross.”
Patrick lifted the lamp. Beth could see his face. His expression seemed uneasy.
The hallway had steps leading down to pitch-black darkness.
The cousins slowed.
“Are you sure about this?” Beth asked.
They moved down the stairs.
Beth carefully split the spiderwebs with her hand. She didn’t want anything to creep up on her suddenly. But the lamp was dim. She could see only a few feet ahead.
Suddenly, Beth heard a chilling moan. She gasped.
“Don’t worry,” Patrick said. “It’s the wind. Like air blowing across the top of a glass bottle.”
Beth nodded. But she still didn’t like it.
Patrick and Beth ducked under a beam in the passageway.
“May I have the lamp?” Beth asked.
Patrick handed it to her. She lifted it to light up the hieroglyphics covering the walls and ceiling.
“Wow,” she said.
“Let’s keep moving,” Patrick said.