Ramose and the Tomb Robbers by Carole Wilkinson

the boat with his bony, insect-like hands clasped behind him, his robes fluttering in the breeze, was Vizier Wersu. Sitting in a gilded chair eating grapes and being fanned by two of her servants was his sister, Hatshepsut. She was talking to a woman alongside her who was sipping from a golden goblet. The woman wore an elaborate wig topped by a crown. It was Queen Mutnofret. A young boy dangled a fishing line over the side. Three servants stood by watching him anxiously. It was Prince Tuthmosis, Ramose’s half-brother.
    As the boat glided effortlessly past, the breeze lifted a piece of reed matting that was protecting a cabin in the centre of the boat. An old man was sitting inside on a throne. Ramose gasped. The face was thinner than when he’d seen it last and the lines of age were deeper, but he knew the face well. It was his father. A young man made his way from the stern of the boat with a papyrus scroll under one arm and a palette and brush box in his other hand. He stopped next to the princess and bowed.
    “Keneben!” Ramose called out the name aloud. The villagers were all falling to their knees and calling out blessings to their pharaoh. Ramose ran out into the river. “Hatshepsut! Keneben!” he called, but the breeze carried his words away and neither his sister nor his tutor heard him. Ramose kept wading out into the river, vainly trying to reach the barge. It was as if his whole life was slipping past in front of him. He should have been on the royal barge eating grapes, drinking wine. Instead he was struggling against the river, thin and exhausted, accused of being a thief even though he had nothing but the dirty, torn kilt that he was wearing.
    “Wait,” he called out, wading deeper. He lost his footing and the current of the river carried him away from the barge. He tried to swim towards it, but the barge was too fast, the river too strong. His family disappeared around the next bend in the river. Tears ran down Ramose’s face and mingled with the waters of the Nile.
    A cry from the shore brought Ramose back to his current situation. He remembered his friends. Karoya and Hapu were still on the riverbank. Now that the barge had passed, the villagers were getting to their feet.
    “Karoya, Hapu, jump in the river,” he called. “We have to swim to the other side.”’
    “I can’t swim,” Karoya called out.
    “Yes, you can. I’ll help you.”
    Hapu could see the villagers turning on them again. He grabbed Karoya by the hand and dragged her into the river. Ramose swam towards them. The villagers were following. Hapu threw himself into the water, pulling Karoya with him. He splashed around inexpertly, but managed to stay afloat. Karoya struggled and screamed and lost hold of Hapu’s hand. She disappeared under the water.
    Ramose swam to them and dived under the water. He could see Karoya, her eyes closed, her mouth open, struggling helplessly against the force of the water. He grabbed her under the arms and carried her to the surface. She was still trying to fight the water. She choked in air and water at the same time.
    “Listen to me, Karoya,” Ramose gasped. “We have to get to the other side of the river.”
    Karoya stared wildly at the wide expanse of water between them and the other bank. She shook her head furiously.
    “Look,” he said. “Mery’s doing it.”
    The cat was swimming towards them in wide-eyed terror. “I’ll help you. Just relax and you’ll float, trust me.”
    People were clambering onto one of the reed boats. Ramose started to swim to the middle of the river. He held Karoya under her arms. She started to struggle again.
    “Lie on your back,” Ramose said. “Imagine you’re lying on a soft straw mattress.”
    Ramose kicked out with his feet and felt the current carry them.
    “Close your eyes so that you can’t see the water,” he said.
    Karoya closed her eyes, her body relaxed a bit.
    “Now kick gently.”
    Karoya kicked her legs. Ramose felt her body become