If I Was An Egyptian Nobleman

by Brenna (13)

When I wake up in the morning my servants and slaves are already there, waiting to help me dress. I stand up from my couch and nod to them. In a moment, I am dressed in a long loose gown with sleeves. (Though you might think I’m hot, I’m not because the fabric is so thin.) Of course it’s not as simple as a servant’s dress, so I wear a few bracelets on my left wrist and on my right, I wear a strange charm called an amulet. I wear it to postpone my death, for I was born on the 23 of March, a cursed date, meaning my death shall be by the crocodile’s mouth. I wear the image of the city’s god on a necklace around my neck. On my head is a black wig and around my eyes is a ring of black liner. (This helps me seem very handsome.) About my waist is a golden belt I wear to seem important at the Pharaoh’s court. One slave tries to hand me my earrings for parties. (Every Egyptian loves parties!) Since I’m not going to a party, this is ridiculous! This slave is a young boy, a new one I just bought yesterday, and already my paid servant must beat the living daylights out of him. Soon I’m sitting at the table waiting for breakfast. My servant barks to the slaves, “MY MASTER SHOULD NOT HAVE TO WAIT FOR BREAKFAST!” Slaves run here and there trying to set the table before I try using the whip. At last breakfast is ready: fried duck, assorted pastries, dates, figs, and my best wine.

“Your litter awaits.” says one of my burly litter carriers after breakfast. I look out the window at my beautiful litter. It is a small platform with short legs to keep it off the dirty street when I get off. A woman’s litter would be a type of bed, but I am something of a man, so mine has a chair attached to the floor. It is abounding with pillows and cushions and is most comfortable. It has a light canopy over it to keep the sun out of my face and curtains around it in case I’m not showing off and don’t want people to stare (which is rare). As I look past the litter I see a group of young ladies. “Bring me my chariot!” I roar. I want to show off to the ladies. (After all, I am a bachelor.) “Yes, sir.” In a few minutes my outlandish war chariot shows up. Its looks like a giant half-cup pulled by wild mares. Some chariots are made of wood. Mine is solid gold. On the front is a jeweled eagle, a sign of strength. I climb on and hold on tight while my driver takes off down the street. I wave to the people to stand aside as we go.

It doesn’t take long to get to the palace with those horses! In a flash, I’m through the gate. I hand my chariot over to the stable master and walk through the courtyard. “The Pharaoh is already here,” warns one of the guards as I stroll through the door. I am careful not to look at the Pharaoh’s sacred eyes, for if I do his holy power might burn me to the point of death. (To my people, he’s a god.) I walk over to my seat on the Pharaoh’s left with the other six noblemen over there, and on the Pharaoh’s right there are eight more. There are fifteen of us all together. (The Pharaoh could have more if he wanted them.) It’s our job to judge with the Pharaoh and to council him. First, a young man is put forth for his judgement. “Crime?” a booming voice asks. The voice belongs to Herald, the eldest of us all, and probably the most just. “Tomb robbing,” states the accuser. A gasp arises from the assembly. Tomb robbing is the gravest offense in all of Egypt, for if you rob the dead, the dead will haunt you. This young man shall be hung, by law, on the palace walls for all to see. The young man starts shouting in some foreign language as the guard pulls him away. Next, a woman is placed in front of us. “Crime?” booms Herald. “Blasphemy to the gods.” cries the accuser, who happens to be the high priest. This will go on all day. Accusation, judgement. Accusation, judgement. For me, it’s very tiring.

At the end of an exhausting day, I head back home for dinner. Sometimes, when there is a party, I do not have to go home. (I’d get too drunk anyway.) As I get there, all the lights are on, though I am very late. I eat a quick meal: goose, pastries and vegetables with wine. My slaves once again help me undress and I lie down on my couch. My pillow is a curved board on a stand. My day is over. Good night.

(Note from Mama: Spell checker keeps complaining about “judgement”. Research indicates that this is correct spelling if I’m British, but Americans leave out the first ‘e’. I think it looks just all wrong without the ‘e’, so… we’re British today. )