The Barley Field

Ankh stopped running and clutched his side, he had a stitch that burned sharply. His heart was pounding, his,legs ached. He tried to moderate his sucking in of cool,air into his burning lungs. He didn’t want to be heard, he couldn’t be heard or all would be lost.

He was crouched down under the cover of the tall crop of the field that he had blindly stumbled headlong into in the dark of the night. He listened between his raking gulps of air in and out but he couldn’t hear his pursuers, the only sound was the wind sighing through the surrounding crop. He lifted his head above the ears of ... he felt by fingertips ... barley.

He smiled in recognition, he was hiding in a barley field.

Tilting his head back as far as he possibly could and keeping his profile low, he looked all around in every direction, expecting to see silent, searching soldiers, but he was alone in the barley field.

He wondered exactly where he was, having run blind, full of panic, running for his life, he did knew not where.

Now, he was surrounded by the comfort of the ordinary, barley, not quite ripe, the ears still upright and, unseen in the dark of night, probably still green. All he could see around him was barley.

He stood up, cautiously, extending his field of vision, seeing only by the starlight on this clear, cloudless, moonless night.

Now he was standing he could make out the dark rooftops of a village, it must be his village. That was in one direction and in the other, opposite direction ... he could see the top of the completed pyramid, long destined to be the final resting place of the Pharaoh, king of Egypt, including, as Ankh had just discovered, all his servants and builders, without exception.

Those who knew the hidden chambers and the ways through to the treasures stacked up there, all considered essential for the Pharoah's afterlife, were now entombed, awaiting the day of the awakening, when they would resume their lives of imperial glory or eternal servitude, just as they were when they were alive … the priests said.

Ankh was acutely aware that he no longer had a job in this lifetime. All the King's favourite cats were wrapped and embalmed, their hearts, brains and livers stored in separate jars, awaiting the day that the Gods revived them to serve once more as pets.

Ankh was just a servant, the Head Keeper of the King's Cats. He didn't really need to be there in the Afterlife, did he? So young? He still had a wife and family to go home to. They needed looking after in this life, that was his real job.

Would they pursue him? The Imperial Guard, those that entombed the rest of the guards, the servants, the masons, all the ones who knew too much. Would they remember him? Would they look for him until they find him?

He knew only that he could see his home village, silhouetted dark against the diamond littered sky. His dear wife would welcome him home, Ankh smiled. He would have to work his father's fields, tend the animals as his brothers did, but a hard life above ground was better than being buried in a tomb.

As he walked, he felt again that sharp stitch in his side. He grinned and whistled a tune.

He reached inside and pulled out the last imperial kitten, half her tiny claws clinging onto his flesh, half caught up in his imperial tunic. She miaowed pitifully, begging hungrily for milk.

"Just a few more steps furry one and you can have all the creamy milk you will want, my little princess."