An Evil Spirit Out of the West (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF Page A

their pointed snouts and ears picked out in brilliant gold, rich red ruby eyes glowing in the sunlight as if these creatures were about to rise in snarling anger. I recalled Seth the Saluki hound and glanced away. We pushed through the throng towards the great pylon or entrance to the temple. This was flanked by two huge statues of Anubis the Lord God of the Necropolis, the Master of the Death Chamber. For a young boy who had never seen the like before, it was an awesome spectacle. Above the gateways soared flagpoles, their red and green streamers dancing in the breeze. Crowds of worshippers, many of them carrying small reed baskets of food, were also pouring through to pay their devotions. The heady aroma of food made me realise I had not eaten. In outright defiance, I stopped and cried out that I was hungry. I could tell by my aunt’s face that she was prepared to argue but her servants were similarly famished so she agreed to stop by a small booth. A few debens of copper bought trays of mahloka , its green leaves crushed and mixed with onion, garlic and strips of roast duck, followed by pots of bean soup and eggs cooked long and slowly so as to be melting soft and creamy in the middle. We squatted under an awning and ate, my aunt chattering to Api. As we were eating, another servant took me across to read the inscription of the mighty war Pharaoh Tuthmosis III:
    I made those who rebel hurl themselves under my
sandals.
They heard my roaring and withdrew into caves.
I trampled on the Libyans and the vile Kushites.
    Oh yes, I remember that day so well! A shabby fortune-teller, a wizened man, eyes yellowing in a weather-beaten face, sidled up to curse my aunt in a language I could not understand. My aunt jumped to her feet and replied just as fiercely. I didn’t understand, but a servant later whispered that the fortune-teller had cursed my aunt with the Seven Arrows of Sekhmet the Destroyer Goddess.
    ‘Why?’ I asked.
    The servant pulled a face, cupping a hand over his mouth to whisper, ‘He claimed she has no soul.’
    I don’t know what really happened but, if I had a piece of silver, I would have rewarded that fortune-teller.
    We finished our meal. Sounds from beyond the pylon drifted down – not the singing of choirs or the humming prayer of priests, or the sweet music of the harpist and lyre-players, but hideous screams. Curious, we hurried up to the gateway and into the great temple forecourt. I stood astonished at the sight. Executions were rarely carried out near holy places but on this day, the Magnificent One had made an exception. Kushite mercenaries, members of my father’s regiment, were dealing out punishment against the last of his killers. The temple forecourt had been cleared, its visitors marshalled into one long column stretching up to the great copper-plated, cedarwood doors. At the far side of the forecourt a stake had been driven into the ground and the thief, impaled through the rectum, writhed in his death agonies. A herald, armed with a conch horn, oblivious to the blood-drenched ground and the hideous screams, loudly proclaimed the penalty for plundering tombs and murdering Pharaoh’s servants. Two other robbers, stripped naked, were being basted with animal fat. More members of my father’s regiment, seasoned warriors in their leather kilts, baldrics and striped bright head-dresses, were preparing great leather sacks held with cord. These last remaining assassins from the tomb-robbing gang were to be bound in the sacks, taken to the great river and thrown into a crocodile pool.
    My aunt seemed impervious to the hideous death agonies and the dreadful scenes. Beating the air with her fly whisk she approached an officer, a standard-bearer of the Chariot Squadron. In a hoarse voice she explained who we were. Immediately we were surrounded by soldiers and priests – a strange contrast of soft skin and sloe eyes with the tough and grimy war veterans, eyes red-rimmed from tiredness and desert