Chapter 9
The Copper Mines ~ continued from Chapter 9 | I Dig Up Buried Souls
The old Egyptian, his eyes blinded, huddled in the corner rocking back and forth until dawn. The next day the face painter came to the little stone apothecary.
“Do not worry about me,” said the old nurse pushing the face painter away.
He pointed at the bandages wrapped around his face. “I am old and only blind to things I cannot fathom.”
He pushed the face painter towards David’s limp and motionless body.
“Him.” He trundled over to the boy. “He must know of the Book of Going Forth by Day.”
The face painter looked quizzically at the young boy and then at the nurse.
“My old friend, Nebemakhet,” she said.
“Old friend, please, no questions.” He stumbled and held onto the table. “No questions.”
The woman sighed and went about her work.
First she placed a large chest on a stone slab near David’s body. The face painter slowly began to take out the contents of the chest with its 30 small compartments and the jars of granite and basalt, each covered in leather and with a pronounced lip for pouring.
She made white and black face paint from galena as well as green from malachite. Red ochre was ground and mixed with water.
The face painter took a drop of her finest oil pressed from the fruit of balanites and almond oil and began to mix them together.
“So,” she remarked. “Another soul to save?”
“He is special,” the old nurse said. “He is a king.”
She continued grinding her mixtures. “He does not look like one.”
“Ah, yes, those who cannot see.”
He sniffed the air. “I smell irises, roses and cinnamon.”
“Very good, then we soak them in oil.” She stopped and looked at the small container of paste that Nebemakhet had been using to clean David’s body.
“Old fool.”
She threw his paste out the door and into the dust and dirt of the day. She picked out a small container of clay mixed with olive oil and almonds, which smelled like perfume.
“Clean your king with this, old man.”
The face painter filled a wash basin with natron and salts.
“Keep this full and clean him with this.”
She looked down on David’s bruised and burnt body.
“He needs honey and I will make an ointment from red ochre, kohl and sycamore juice to help with the burns.”
Nebemakhet smiled and was choked with emotion.
“Dua Netjer en ok!” he said.
“You’re welcome,” she said as she touched her old friend’s shoulder.
“He is under my protection,” he said.
The face painter began to grind red ochre with water for David’s lips and cheeks.
“Yellow and orange for fingernails?” the old man asked.
“Yes, I will mix the henna.”
The face painter spent another two hours working on David’s body and face and carefully and methodically changed the desert rat into the boy king.
“There,” she said as she took a drop of rose oil and placed it gently on David’s forehead.
She stood back and looked at the boy.
“He is beautiful,” she whispered. “Like a king.”
“Bring me to him.” The old nurse stumbled toward David.
He touched David’s hand. “Yes, my boy, all will be well.”
“But he will die here,” the face painter touched her friend’s shoulder again. “Here in the mines the weak die and the strong hang on by only a thread.”
“He will overcome.”
“No, he will die here.”
The boy king was silent. His red hair was cut short and angled back from his face; his lips were full, his eyes beautiful, his skin glowed and he smiled a radiant smile that filled the small, stone room.
“He is not for this world,” the face painter said.
“He does not fear such things,” the old nurse said. “He will be a copper miner, a true artisan.”
“What?” said the face painter as she looked at her friend. “Are you mad? Look around you, the sulfur rises in the air and we choke on it.”
She began putting away her lotions and jars. “This place is death.”
“He will survive.”
The face painter quietly put down her jars and looked at the old nurse. “How many men come into your little stone hospital?”
“None.”
“And why not?”
“Because they are dead.”
The face painter shrugged her shoulders.
“And so maybe he is strong. He will become a dark, dirty face with wild eyes and a broken back, an animal that just survives. Maybe he has workers who rally around his strength but they will die also. He doesn’t belong here.”
“He will become a copper miner,” the old nurse said.
“He will become dead like the rest of these poor souls.”
The face painter closed her chest with its leather straps.
“Who will protect him?”
She used her weight and bent slightly to tighten the last strap.
“No, it’s better if you both come to Memphis with me. The horse and wagon will take us all.”
The blind man’s shoulders slumped.
“But…”
“The boy king comes,” she said as she looked at the opening of the infirmary. “Bring the horses around,” she yelled.
Continue reading… Chapter 9 | Know Your Master
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