Eye of the Sun [Hardcover]

Dianne Hofmeyr (Author)

Book Description

Tuthmosis's brother, Amenhotep, struggles with the priests and his power-hungry young wife, Nefertiti, while Ta Miu, who helped Tuthmosis and Isikara escape in Eye of the Moon, is now maidservant to Nefertiti's rival, Kiya. But Ta Miu disastrously falls for tomb-robber, Samut, and finds herself imprisoned as a result. Meanwhile Tuthmosis and Isikara return from Egypt in secret, sending rumours flying about the prince's intentions. Nefertiti is terrified that he is after her husband's throne, while the High Priest fears his secret will be revealed. Their hiding place betrayed by Samut, Isikara is captured and thrown into prison alongside Ta Miu, whilst Tuthmosis is murdered. But only Ta Miu and Isikara know the truth and unless they can escape from their prison, the guilty will go free...

Editorial Reviews

About the Author

Dianne Hofmeyr grew up next to the sea on the southern tip of Africa. Her travels with notebook and camera through places like Egypt, Tunisia, Senegal, Zimbabwe and just about everywhere in Africa have led to stories that have won the prestigious M-Net Book Prize, the Sanlam Gold for Youth Literature and the Young Africa Award. Di currently lives in Central London.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

1
THE ENCOUNTER

Thebes is the color of chalk—a mixture of sand swirling up from the desert and dust billowing down from the ancient limestone mountains. It sifts down over the city like fine bread flour. And this morning hordes of people with handcarts and donkeys pushing their way through the narrow streets were kicking up even more dust than usual.

I felt a shiver of excitement. This was going to be the best market ever. Traders were coming from far-off Syria with exotic oils, woven cloths, spices, and nuggets of precious stone as large as duck eggs.

It didn’t help that there was no ferryman waiting on the west bank of the Great River. The crowd was restless. Children squalled and mothers scolded. I pulled the rough cloak around my head and hoped no one would recognize me.

When a boat finally came, the crush was so great that an old woman fell from the quayside and disappeared under the water.

“She’s not coming up! Quickly, do something!”

“Perhaps a crocodile’s got her!”

“Oi! You! If a crocodile’s got her, you won’t be coming back either,” someone shouted as a boy teetered on the edge of the ferry, ready to jump in after her.

He dived all the same and came up dragging the woman. They were hauled back onto the ferry. People laughed and teased as they picked off strands of waterweed from the old woman’s hair and tunic.

All this took time. Eventually on the east bank, I was carried along by a surge of people like a bit of debris swept down by the flood. Men, women, large and small, old and young, all mingled with loud shrieks and yelps as carts were overturned, a child fell, and a dog was trodden underfoot. In the midst of this some geese escaped their cages and were honking and hissing and snapping at passing feet.

A pestilence of flies! My tunic hem was dragging in the dirt, and through some fresh donkey droppings as well.

There was a loud curse behind me. “Oi! Mind where you’re going, stupid girl!”

I had barely time to save myself from falling under the wheels of a handcart piled high with onions and leeks, when someone held out a hand to steady me.

“Watch out! They’ll flatten you as quickly as oxen trampling through barley,” he shouted over the noise of the geese. “Come to the side of the road. You’re limping.”

I glanced at the boy as he examined my foot. He looked familiar.

“Your sandals are ridiculous with those upturned tips! No wonder you tripped! You need strong leather sandals on market day!” He pressed around my ankle.

“Ouch! That hurt!” I snapped at him.

“It’s only twisted. But it needs to be bound.”

I pulled away and tried to stand. “I’m fine, thank you!”

“You’re not! Sit down. I’ll bind it for you.”

I looked back at him. Smooth, freshly shaved cheeks. No formal wig. His hair falling in damp tendrils against his neck. “Aren’t you the boy who saved the old woman?”

He shrugged. “Saving old women or princesses, it’s all the same to me!”

“Princesses?”

He raised a dark eyebrow and grinned at me. “Your rough cloak doesn’t fool me. I can see by your fine linen tunic you’re no country girl come to town on market day. You don’t belong here, do you?”

I glanced quickly over my shoulder in case anyone had overheard.

“Don’t look so dismayed. Your secret won’t be told. It’s safe with me.”

“I’m . . .” I left off and brushed his hand from my foot, eager to get away. He jumped up just as abruptly and pulled me against his chest.

“Huh?” I gave him a sharp jab with my elbow. “What do you think you’re doing? Let go of me!”

“I will, as soon as that donkey has passed. You almost got yourself knocked down again. Now sit calmly while I bandage your foot.” He grinned at me. “I know what I’m doing. This isn’t the first time I’ve done this. Trust me.”

He drew a dagger from his girdle, stuck its point into the linen of his tunic, and deftly tore a strip from the hem. Then he removed my sandal and began winding the strip firmly under my foot and around my ankle. I eyed him as he worked. His hands were quick and seemed practiced at bandaging. His forearms were crisscrossed with pale scars, and the fingers of his right hand looked as if they’d once been badly broken. He was about the age of my brother. About fifteen or sixteen.

He glanced up and caught my look.

I felt my face grow hot.

He smiled with perfect even teeth. “You’re not from Thebes, are you?”

“How do you know?”

“The stupid upturned sandals. The braided style of your wig. Are you Syrian?”

I shook my head.

“Perhaps from Tyre, or Byblos, or even Kadesh. You’re not Nubian.”

I shook my head again.

“From where, then?”

“What’s it to you? You ask too many questions.”

He laughed, released my foot, and stood up quickly. “There. The way is clear now.” He bowed slightly as if giving me permission to leave.

“Clear?” I turned to look at the people brushing past us, almost wishing another trail of donkeys could delay me. “I’m from Mitanni. The people here call it Naharin. But I prefer its real name.”

“From Naharin?”

“Mitanni.”

He inclined his head and smiled. “So you are a princess! A princess sent from Mitanni to Thebes as a gift to the king.”

“I’m not a princess!”

“But you are from the palace?”

I glanced sharply at him. “What makes you say that?”

“Why else are you wearing a peasant’s wrap over a fine linen tunic? You’ve sneaked out and you don’t want anyone to recognize you. But mysterious girls with cat tattoos are easy to recognize.”

“Cat tattoos?” I snatched at my cloak. I’d forgotten the tattoo on my shoulder. A blush crept up my neck. This boy was a flirt. Yet even though I knew he was flirting, I was still charmed.

“I have to hurry,” I said quickly.

“Go, then, Little Cat Girl.”

“That’s not my proper name.”

He smiled and held my eyes. “Beware of carts and donkeys!”

And boys with dark, flirting eyes, I almost blurted out. But he turned before I could say anything and slipped into the crowd and disappeared.

My sandals were nowhere to be seen. Standing barefoot in the dust, I really did feel like a proper country girl. A pestilence of flies! I’d have to walk barefoot through the muck, and my ankle would slow me down. The sun was stinging hot. And now I was late. And Kiya would be impatient for her length of cloth.

“Fine linen, woven with gold thread, with tasseled edges and a pattern of turquoise beads caught into it—is what I want, Ta-Miu,” she’d said.

“How can you be sure I’ll find such cloth?”

“The traders are from Syria. Everything at the market will be wonderful.” She had sighed heavily. “I wish I could go with you.”

“You can’t, and that’s that! It’s too dangerous.”

“I promise to behave. Please, Ta-Miu, let me go.”

But all her flouncing and flopping about on her bed hadn’t convinced me. I couldn’t risk it. Kiya was too impulsive. She’d have drawn attention to us.

When she’d seen that nothing would make me change my mind, she’d pouted and said, “Bring wool cloth as well.”

“Wool? This isn’t the Khabur Mountains, Kiya. We don’t need wool here.”

“It’s not the wool I need but the comfort of it. I miss the feel of it beneath my fingers. Three years in Thebes haven’t cured me of longing for things that remind me of home.”

I had sighed. Sometimes Kiya—Princess Tadukhepa to others, but Kiya always to me—seemed such a child. How would she ever cope with her position as wife to the new king?

By the time I eventually reached the stalls, the market was seething with people. Over the stench of donkey droppings came aromas of sizzling goat meat and perfumed wafts of cinnamon, caraway, coriander, saffron, mint, thyme, and every other conceivable herb and spice. Hawks whirled overhead trying to snap up entrails, and were shooed off by angry stallholders. The hawks’ screeches added confusion to the sound of foreign tongues, donkeys braying, voices arguing over goods, and volleys of slaps and curses as tempers flew and the day grew more and more stifling.

I kept a lookout for the boy. But in the mass of people pushing me this way and that, all I could do was edge my way forward and curse myself for not asking his name. He had come close to guessing mine. Little Cat Girl, he’d called me.

In a city as large as Thebes, I’d probably never lay eyes on him again. Who was to say he was even Theban? He might’ve been passing through for market day and be gone by tomorrow and on his way to another place.

I came to a stall piled high with woven fabric and trimmings, and I rifled through them. When I saw a cloth that I thought would make Kiya happy, I bargained as hard as I could and shrugged off others who tried to grasp it from me. Eventually a small sachet of ten orange carnelians tipped into the trader’s hand did the trick. With the cloth firmly bundled under my arm, I shouldered my way through the crowds and came to a space where I could right my clothing and breathe freely again.

The cloth was woven with a pattern of fine red thread and was hung with tassels but had no beads of turquoise or gold. Not exactly what Kiya had asked for, but perhaps I could sew on som... --This text refers to the Paperback edition.

Product Details

• Hardcover: 336 pages
• Publisher: Simon & Schuster (March 3, 2008)
• Language: English
• ISBN-10: 1416911286
• ISBN-13: 978-1416911289
• Product Dimensions: 5.3 x 7.3 x 1.3 inches
• Shipping Weight: 9.9 ounces
• Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #4,053,900 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)