Egyptian Diary Read online

  This Is the Journal of Nakht of Esna in the Eighth Year of King Hatshepsut

  Nakht’s World

  Glossary

  Sources

  YESTERDAY I begged from Father the new roll on which I now set down these words. I want to write down everything that happens, that I might forget nothing. For our lives are about to change, and very soon. The god Khnum has smiled upon us and blessed us with extreme good luck! My uncle’s uncle (a man I have never met) has written to us. He is a scribe in the great city of Memphis. He discovered that lesser officials have been cutting the taxes of farmers who bribed them. To reward him for his honesty and cleverness, the king has given him great power. Now this man summons Father to work for him in Memphis. Father will still be a scribe, as he is now, but his work will be much more important. So in a month, we leave our little house in dusty, dull Esna and take the boat to the city. Our journey will take ten days or more. Father left this morning, so I have a holiday from his lessons, but he will teach me again to be a scribe when we join him in Memphis.

  My older sister, Tamyt, says that moving down the river to a grand house bores her. However, I do not believe her, for she has begun to act very grand among her friends. She also braids flowers in her hair as if she is a princess.

  I must stop now, for my brush wears out. Tomorrow I will make a new one, and I will have more to write about our new life.

  Nineteenth day of the first month of the season of Flood

  This morning, the star Sopdet reappeared at dawn, marking the start of the New Year. Officially it is the first proper day of the flood season. However, the great river changed its color to green ten days ago, and this is always a sign that the flood has begun.

  Twentieth day

  We have so little time to prepare for our journey! I spent this morning packing with Tamyt and Mother. There is room on the boat only for food, the clothes we need for the trip, our most valued possessions, and just one servant. We will take Ahmose; Neshi will pack what remains and bring it when he follows later.

  Twenty-fourth day

  This afternoon, we went to the seamstress, for Mother says our old tunics will look out of place in the smart city. She will have new clothes too and must now get used to wearing leather shoes! She has two pairs: both hurt her feet, and she kicks them off as soon as she steps into the house. But in Memphis (Tamyt tells me), only poor people and servants wear shoes made of reed.

  Last day

  Today we began our journey to Memphis. We wanted to leave before the sun rose, when it was still cool, but Myt delayed us. She was nowhere to be seen when we were ready to go, though we looked in every room. We eventually found her hiding behind a bundle of mats, her ears back and her tail beating the air. To calm her, we gave her some beer and coaxed her into a basket for the journey.

  Then we set off. Neshi carried our luggage to the jetty with help from some of our neighbors. Ahmose went on ahead to tell the boatmen we were delayed. Our friends in the town delayed us even longer. All came out to wish us a good trip. They gave us honey cakes, beer, and fruit from their orchards: “Just in case you get hungry,” they said. By the time we reached the river, we had enough food for half the trip!

  The current was flowing so quickly that we loaded and boarded our boat with some trouble, but at last we were under way. Pulling on their oars, our boatmen moved us to the center of the stream, where the water is deepest and the flow strongest. In just a few moments, we were around the bend in the river, and the crowd waving from the jetty vanished behind the hills. When will we see our friends again?

  Second day of the second month of Flood

  Yesterday I wrote nothing, for there was so much to see. And now that I have time to write, I find it is not as easy on water as it is on land: the scroll wobbles in my lap! We passed through Thebes just before noon yesterday. Its City of the Dead, where the great kings of Egypt are buried, stands on the left bank. It was impossible to see any of the tombs, but near the river there are beautiful gardens. Beyond them, new buildings line the bank. The sun sparkled so brilliantly off their white painted walls that I could gaze at them for only a moment before covering my eyes.

  When we drew closer, it was my nose I had to protect, for on the other side of the river, a stinking jumble of buildings fills the valley. The edges of the city are not so bad, for there are many fine houses and gardens. But in its center, it looks as if someone took twenty towns like Esna and threw them together in a heap. Some houses are stacked one on top of another, two or even three high. People swarmed over everything — even the water itself — like flies on a dead dog! They stood in small boats so close together that our ship was surrounded. Each boatman had something to sell. They shouted so loudly that I took my hand from my nose to cover my ears.

  To escape, our captain yelled to our boatmen, and they leaned hard on their oars. Soon we had left behind the glittering City of the Dead and the stinking town of the living.

  After being on the boat all day, I felt sticky, hot, and tired when at last we moored. As soon as we had tied up, one of our boatmen went off hunting. By the time a fire was burning, he had returned with enough duck and fish to make a meal for us all. We slept aboard the boat and men from the local village guarded us. They sat up all night warming themselves by the flames of a brushwood fire.

  Third day

  Our boat is not the fastest on the water nor the slowest. We pass lumbering barges, laden with huge blocks of stone, on their way to build fine temples. But we could never keep pace with the slim boats of the king’s messengers. They race past us, pushed not only by the current but also by teams of boatmen at their oars.

  Eleventh day

  Our country is like the long thin stem of a lotus plant. We have been sailing down it for ten days, yet in all that time the river valley was no wider than an hour’s walk — often much less.

  Yesterday, though, the river valley widened on the left bank, until the fields stretched so far I could no longer see the desert.

  The river is now dark red, which the boatmen say is the blood of Osiris, god of the dead. However, it looks just like mud to me.

  Twelfth day

  Today (at last) we came in sight of Memphis. Tamyt spotted it before me; she pointed and shouted, “Look! the White Walls!” I saw at once why this was the city’s old name. Its walls are almost as high as date palms and shine brighter than the feathers of an ibis. Beyond and to the left of the city are the famous pyramids of Saqqara. Before Father left, I made him promise he would take us to see them, as well as Khufu’s pyramid at Giza — which is even bigger, and only half a day’s travel across the edge of the desert. When we neared the dockside, a boy waved to us, and the boatmen threw him the mooring rope. As soon as he had tied it fast, he ran to fetch Father, who led us into the city.

  Fourteenth day

  Our new house on the edge of the city is much bigger than our home at Esna, and I like it much better. It stands in a garden, shaded by tall date palms. Although the desert is just outside the garden wall, trees can grow because the house is built on land only a little above the river. Their roots reach down to drink the river water.

  Our front door opens in a very unusual way. A bolt keeps the door shut, and the only way to draw it back is to slide a specially shaped stick into a hole in the door and lift it. Without the stick, nobody can enter the house.

  The house has many rooms, the grandest of which is a hall, with four tall tree trunks holding up the ceiling. There are no doors or windows on the side that faces the hot noon sun; most are on the other side to catch the cool wind when it blows. There are wind vents in the roof too.

  Best of all, though, I have my OWN BEDROOM, so I do not have to share with Tamyt anymore. My wall is painted with a hunting scene. />
  Sixteenth day

  Yesterday, carpenters brought a bed for me. It is made of a web of woven cords, which are soft to lie upon. At the end of the day, I crept between the cool linen sheets and lay down.

  Yet no matter which way I lay, sleep did not come. I thought perhaps I had offended the sun god, Amun-Re, and I tried moving the bed so that my head faced the rising sun. Eventually I gave up and put my old mat and headrest on the floor as I am used to, and instantly fell asleep!

  Twenty-fifth day

  Today I tasted ox meat. When we lived in Esna, the priests would sometimes give us parts of an ox they had sacrificed to please the gods. But it was always the heart (which was disgusting) or the tail (which I did not want to eat, for I knew where it had hung). However, now that Father is more important, he can barter for the leg of an ox. It was delicious, and made more so by our new cook, who boiled it in a stew with figs.

  Third day of the third month of Flood

  Tomorrow I start my studies again, but not with Father. Here at Memphis, there is a school for scribes, where I must learn with other boys. To mark the start of school, Tamyt gave me a new palette. My old one was of cheap wood, but this is carved from fine stone. It has two blocks of ink to mix into a paste with water, so now I can write in both black and red. As soon as she gave it to me, I took a new reed and chewed the end thoroughly into a fine brush, which I am using to write these words.

  Fifth day

  The school is on the other side of town, so I have a long walk to reach it. We study all morning beneath a huge tree, but by noon it becomes too hot to work even in this shade, and our classes end.

  I had hoped that studying with other boys would be more interesting, but I was wrong. It’s EVEN WORSE! Most of the exercises we do are EXACTLY the same as those I did with Father in Esna a year past.

  We even study in the same way. Today our teacher chanted that rhyme from Kemit about how wonderful it is to be a scribe:

  “Be a scribe, for he controls everyone;

  He who works in writing pays no taxes . . .”

  and so on. We had to chant it back to him — just as I did at home — then copy it down.

  A few things are new: we are learning not only the everyday kind of writing but also the old hieroglyphic picture letters that are needed for temple walls and grand public inscriptions.

  There is another different thing. At home I used to write on broken pieces of pottery, just as Father did for quick notes not worth a square of papyrus. But at school, we use slivers of stone instead. When they are full, we scrape off the writing and use them again.

  I have made a friend at school: Ptahmay, whom everyone just calls May. He is the same age as me, but more cunning: he has helped me escape a beating once already.

  Twelfth day

  This afternoon we all went to the temple to see the Nilometer and celebrate the festival of Hapy, the river god.

  Since it is an important festival, the Controller of Granaries was there. This man has clean, smooth hands and a big belly, so it was clear that he does not really measure out the grain, for it would keep him fit and make him very dusty. Father grinned when I said this to him. He told me that the Controller is in charge of all the granaries around Memphis and much else as well. I judged him to be VERY important, for he wears not only a pleated shirt that matches his kilt but also bracelets, a fancy wig, a large ring, and a gold collar.

  The flood has reached its greatest height — it came within ten steps of the Nilometer. This staircase has grooves cut into its steps to measure the water level exactly. With this knowledge, the Controller of Granaries can estimate how great the harvest will be (for the wetter the mud, the more grain grows) and so set the taxes for next year.

  I threw a pebble into the water of the Nilometer to see the ripples, but the splash was louder than I thought possible. When we got home, I was beaten for my lack of respect for Hapy.

  Thirteenth day

  School today would have been as dull as usual if not for Thutmose, who had captured a large beetle. He glued one end of a long thread to its tail, and held the other one. We were chanting:

  “Be a scribe, who is free of forced labor,

  and protected from all heavy work. . . .”

  when we all heard a low buzzing above our heads. Looking up, we saw that Thutmose’s beetle had taken wing, but because of the thread, it could fly only in circles. Our teacher, spying the insect, set it free, then beat Thutmose with a hippopotamus-hide whip. The rest of us had to write out ten times on our stones:

  The ear of a boy is on his back,

  for he only listens when he is beaten.

  Twentieth day

  Yesterday evening we heard chanting and wailing and guessed a funeral was passing.

  Tamyt and I climbed on the garden wall to watch. It was a good one — bigger than any I had seen before. At the front of the procession were dancers. Behind them came a crowd of women dressed in pale clothes and covered in dust. They tugged at their hair and yelled in sorrow. (Mother later told me that they are paid to mourn the dead. Tomorrow they will sob just as loudly for another stranger.) Behind them came a great crowd of servants carrying supplies for the tomb. There was enough food and drink for a banquet, as well as great heaps of clothes, many jars, boxes, and even furniture. Tamyt, who has a sharp eye, whispered that some of the furniture looked a little scuffed, and surely the dead man deserved better. The ceremony at the tomb would bring him back to life, she said, and his chair and bed would need to last him for eternity. One man held a palette and brushes, so we guessed a scribe had died. Sure enough, when a priest passed by us carrying a statue of the dead man, it showed him cross-legged with a scroll on his lap, ready to write.

  After this came another priest, wearing a panther skin, and at last the coffin itself, pulled on a sled by oxen. It was VERY grand and painted in brilliant colors. A priestess walked behind it, dressed in feathers as the hawk goddess Isis.

  Seeing a crowd of children running behind the procession, we jumped down and joined them. We would have followed right the way to the tomb at Saqqara too, but we were chased away by a young priest after some of the children joined the chanting like an echo. This was a shame, for I wanted to see if a dead man really does come back to life when the priest carries out the ceremony. For if the dead do live again, why do they seal them in tombs?

  First day of the fourth month of Flood

  The river level is beginning to go down, but if we travel beyond the city walls, we still have to go by boat. It will be some time before the ground is dry enough to walk on.

  Tamyt and I found a reed boat floating at the river’s edge. We made paddles from palm leaves and rowed to an island a little way downstream. We have hidden the boat among reeds and plan to make more voyages together!

  Seventh day

  At school, we began our studies of great building and engineering. First we calculated how to move the huge blocks of stone used to build temples. (I know nothing of this, for Father is concerned more with harvests and crops than with stone blocks.)

  We could find the weight of each block by copying equations that our teacher gave us and replacing his numbers with new ones. In this way, we worked out how much a stone needle would weigh. Then we were asked to calculate how many men would be needed to move it — and how much food and drink to allow them during their work. At least May was able to do these things, but I was not, so I copied what he had written.

  Fifteenth day

  This day a scorpion stung Tamyt. We had returned to our island and Tamyt must have disturbed a stone under which the scorpion was sleeping. The creature, being suddenly awoken, was irritable (as Father is when he awakes after drinking palm wine) and stung her. Luckily it was a black scorpion and she was able to limp home. I have seen a pale one sting a dog: it fell to the ground and could not rise for a day and a night.

  Twenty-third day

  May and I were beaten today because May was no better than I at guessing the weight of
stones. When I copied his work, I also copied his mistakes.

  We learned this morning some of the secrets of the engineer. Our teacher took us out into the fields around the city and asked us, “How would you dig the canal so that the river water reaches as many fields as possible?”

  It was a difficult question and (it’s true) an important one. Little rain falls, and the crops would not grow without water from the river. Though we all puzzled at the problem, none of us could find a solution. Yet the answer, when our teacher told us, is simple. The slope of the canal must be just steep enough for the water to flow away from the river, but no steeper. If it is too steep, the water does not flow far enough and its force washes away the canal sides. But if it is too gentle, the water flows too slowly and weeds grow, blocking the canal.

  As we returned, we stopped to watch a farmer water his field. He kicked a hole in the earth bank of the canal, and when the water had flooded one plot, he plugged the hole with mud. Then he did the same to flood the next plot. The farmer waved at us and shouted, “This is what they call ‘watering with your foot’!”

  This evening Father told us that the tomb of the scribe who was buried last month has been robbed. The thieves stole everything made of gold and other precious objects. To reach the underground burial room, they had to lower themselves down a deep shaft, then burrow through rubble that filled a long tunnel leading to the coffin. It must have taken many nights — and yet the soldiers who guard the City of the Dead noticed nothing!

  Last day of the season of Flood

  At last, I am a scribe! Well, not quite, though I swear by Thoth that I soon shall be! Yesterday, when I returned from my studies, Father sent for me. “You learn much at school,” he told me, “but you will learn even more with me, and besides, you can make yourself useful.” So, beginning tomorrow, I will spend my mornings at school as usual and my afternoons following him, as if I were his shadow. He also plans to arrange for me to follow other scribes so that I can see all the work that they do.