Egypt Read Online Free

contempt has replaced respect for dignity, labour and integrity. Greed is our king, and corruption is his servant.’
    Everyone turned in astonishment to stare at me, because the angry, bitter voice was mine. Nakht stared at me with a remarkably unfriendly detachment. Everyone else clearly thought I was mad and would be instantly dismissed; a servant dares to speak! But someone was slowly clapping. It was Hor.
    â€˜I remember you, sir; you are that Medjay Seeker of Mysteries who used to write poetry in his innocent youth.’
    â€˜I am Rahotep,’ I replied.
    â€˜There is truth in what you say. Truth is a dangerous muse. One dies for the truth.’
    He plucked a silver goblet of wine from a tray, and thrust it into my hand.
    â€˜To the truth! And much good it may do us,’ he cried sarcastically, and drank the toast. Then he nodded at me, and walked away, quickly followed by the other guests.
    â€˜To the truth,’ I muttered, and drank from the goblet. I was in for another shock. The wine was superbly rich, with a dark, melancholy beauty. Such were the pleasures of wealth.
    When I looked up I saw Nakht was staring oddly at me, but then he turned his back and began to talk to another guest.

3
    I should have hurried home through the dark streets, with the bag of leftovers for the family. At the end of the night, Nakht had pointedly said nothing about my outburst. As he handed me my small payment of gold, and the parcel of food and wine, he simply ordered me to accompany him to an important meeting, tomorrow, at noon, in a tone that would brook no discussion. I was about to try to apologize, in my clumsy fashion, but he bade me a brief goodnight, and swiftly shut the door.
    The evening had left me in a foul temper. The last thing I needed was to vent my anger on my wife and children. So, taking Thoth by the leash, I headed to a backstreet tavern, an old haunt where I went when I wanted to think, undisturbed. I ordered a small jug of wine, and chose a rickety stool in the corner, where the shadows could keep me company, and no one would approach me. Thoth settled down by my feet. In any case, by this late hour the place was emptying out; the only other drinkers were workmen and labourers. Their exhausted faces looked drawn in the guttering light from the oil lamps; they gripped their drinking bowls with work-damaged hands twisted like claws to the habits of their labours. When the wine arrived in its jug, it tasted exactly how I felt: cheap, crude and bitter.
    I took the papyrus out, unfolded it, and pondered the black star. All gangs have their own signs and symbols. They define their identity, and differentiate themselves from their rivals, by gestures, articles of clothing, and codes of language and behaviour–nicknames, complicated handshakes, ‘knock three times’ types of things. One gang identified themselves by leaving a crisscross slashed across the faces of their victims. Probably this black star was just another such sign, made up for effect. But as I sat there in the shadows with my cheap wine, I couldn’t help feeling it suggested something darker and stranger. I told myself to get a grip. I was giving it too much credence; this was almost certainly nothing more than the work of a lunatic with a taste for fancy symbolism.
    Suddenly I realized someone was watching me.
    â€˜What have you got there?’
    It was my old associate, Khety. We had worked together for years, he as my assistant, until promotion had offered him other avenues of advancement, and my unofficial demotion made it necessary for him to move on without me. I’d watched him rise rapidly through the ranks. A strange, slightly uncomfortable distance had grown up between us that neither had attempted to cross for some time. And yet now, suddenly, here he was. He still looked strikingly young–his hair still black, his open face lively, and from the look of him he was still as fit and lithe as a hunting