The haunting music and the endless booming of the drum continued unabated.
When the body cavity was empty, two long-robed women approached the table, each carrying a tall clay amphora. One poured a dark liquid from her amphora into the cavity—Gideon caught the scent of wine—and the priests used linen cloths soaked in the same perfumed liquid to wash out the inside of the corpse. With more rolls of white linen, they carefully dried the body cavity, then proceeded to cleanse and wash the corpse with scented water from the second jar. The two women removed the amphorae, then returned with a series of bowls heaped with dried, ground spices of various bright colors, which the priests used to dust the inside of the body.
They then performed the same process on the heart, washing it with wine and carefully covering it with spices.
A priest now held the heart skyward; the music ceased; and in the resulting silence the priest intoned a prayer. He wrapped the heart in a linen sheet and placed it back in the chest cavity. Two men carrying long, coffin-like boxes came over and set the boxes down on either side of the corpse.
As the music swelled once again, all four priests removed the box lids to expose a white, crystallized substance. Using brass trowels, they first shoveled the loose material into the corpse, packing it well, then piled it over and around the body, heaping it up and pressing it firmly in place until the dead chief was entirely covered with a snowy heap of crystals.
Finally, with great deliberation, the four priests went around the table, washing the internal organs with wine and packing them in more of the white crystals. The music died away, the head priest offered another long prayer, and the ceremony came to an end just as the sun sank below the surrounding cliffs.
Imogen leaned toward Gideon. “What you just saw,” she said, her voice trembling with excitement, “was the ancient Egyptian ritual of mummification. That white stuff is natron. What an incredible thing to witness in the twenty-first century.”
In that moment a harsh voice from above split the air. The entire crowd looked toward it. Gideon frowned; this interruption was clearly not part of the ceremony. There, standing on top of the ridge at the head of the valley, flanked by a band of heavily armed warriors, was Mugdol, astride a camel. He made his way slowly down the path, his warriors following, and came to a stop on a small rise about twenty feet from the assembly. Lillaya spoke sharply, but he overrode her with a gesture and a sneer of disrespect. There was a murmur of displeasure from the assembled multitudes, but Blackbeard’s forces stepped forward, raising their spears and daggers menacingly, and the voices subsided.
Mugdol opened his powerful arms wide, as if to embrace the tribe, and silence fell. He began to speak, slowly, distinctly, in a powerful voice that echoed the length of the valley, shaking his weapons as he did so.
“What’s he saying?” Gideon asked Imogen.
“I think he’s telling them he’s the rightful chief; that Garza’s a usurper, an outsider.”
“Uh-oh.”
Mugdol continued to speak and gesture, finally pointing a powerful arm at Garza, accusatory finger trembling with rage. The crone shouted again and a restlessness gripped the crowd. Now Jelena cried out sharply to Garza, and the cry was taken up by some—but not all—of the assembly.
“Jelena is urging Garza to stand up to Mugdol on her father’s behalf,” said Imogen. “Most of the villagers want him to as well. But a few…seem to agree with Mugdol.”
Gideon looked at Garza. He was still standing in the forefront of the procession, Jelena at his side, confusion and anger on his face.
More shouts as those near Garza surged around him protectively. Blackbeard dismounted, drew his dagger, and came forward menacingly.
“He’s announcing that he’s the chief now,” Imogen explained to Gideon.
The hubbub grew. Some people drew their daggers as if to block Blackbeard’s path. Garza seemed paralyzed, as if uncertain how to respond to this development. Some in the crowd, led by Lillaya and Jelena, were now calling to Garza, clearly urging him to meet the challenge.
But Gideon knew that Mugdol and his men were too heavily armed. It would be suicide. He caught Garza’s eye and shook his head. No, no, no.
That did it. Garza brusquely turned away and made a backhanded gesture of dismissal at everyone, Blackbeard and the villagers alike. He strode away, the crowd parting, and climbed the trail out of the valley.
With a great laugh of contempt, Mugdol waved his dagger at Garza’s retreating form, shouting insults. His warriors followed suit, shaking their spears and jeering. Garza ignored it and vanished over the ridge. His sudden disappearance seemed to demoralize the assembled multitudes. Voices were raised in surprise and bewilderment. Jelena looked stricken.
Mugdol raised his hands again. “Ti saji pinishti en ouroh! Empear moshi alla heamsi!”
“I am now the Father,” Imogen translated. “Death to the coward usurper.”
As Mugdol continued the harangue, his warriors fanned out to contain the restless crowd. It was looking ugly—very ugly.
“I’ve seen enough,” said Gideon, grasping Imogen by the arm and hurrying her along through the seething crowd. “We need to find Garza and get the hell out of here—before our heads really do end up on spikes.”
38
BEYOND THE CROWD they broke into a jog, trying to catch up with Garza on the trail, but he had either outpaced them or gone via some other route, and as deep twilight settled over the valley they arrived at an empty encampment.
They headed directly to their tent, and there Gideon paused.
“Are the supplies ready?” Imogen asked.
“The saddles are outside the tent, and I gathered the last of the saddlebags just before the ceremony.”
“Good. You assemble everything while I grab the camels.”
“And Garza?”
“He knows what this means. He’ll show up.”
She went off while Gideon went into the back of the tent, to the corner where he’d been stealthily assembling getaway supplies. He threw back a coverlet, exposing goatskins he’d filled with water the day before, along with some dried meat and dates in leather sacks. He carried the waterskins and food to a sheltered area outside the tent, then fetched the three crossbows and all the bolts they had fashioned. Imogen was right: whatever was happening in the Home of the Dead wasn’t going to last long. Violence was brewing. They had to be gone before the populace returned.
Suddenly Garza appeared at the tent, exhausted and covered with dust.
“Where have you been?”
“I…I had to think. This is so sudden. We were planning to wait a week—”
“The time for waiting is over. Imogen’s getting the camels. Help me with the last of these supplies.”
A strange look came over Garza’s face. “Gideon, you saw those people—they don’t want Blackbeard to lead them. He’s a tyrant!”
“None of our business.”
“Yes, but…” Garza seemed reluctant to say more. “What if Jelena—and that hulking bastard…?” His voice trailed off.
Gideon could hardly believe this. What a time for Garza to grow a conscience, he thought. “Now that she’s been married, Blackbeard isn’t going to bother her. Besides, she’s the daughter of the dead chief. She’s still a princess.”