by Nick Drake
The chamber reminded me of a child’s fantasy of a room in which to play and dream. There were hundreds of toys, in wooden boxes, on shelves, or stored in woven baskets. Some were very old and frail, as if they had belonged to generations of children, but most were fairly new, especially commissioned no doubt: inlaid spinning tops; collections of marbles; a game box with an elegant senet board on the top, and a drawer for the ebony and ivory playing pieces, the whole object resting upon elegant ebony legs and runners. There were also many wooden and pottery animals, with moving jaws and limbs, including a cat with a string through its jaw, a collection of carved locusts with wings that worked intricately in exact imitation of the real thing, a horse on wheels, and a painted pecking bird with a wide tail, beautifully balanced on its rounded breast, the perfect colours muted with long handling. Here were chubby ivory dwarfs set on a wide base with strings that could make them dance from side to side. And by the sleeping couch, with its blue glass headrest, gilded and inscribed with a spell of protection, was a single carved monkey with a round, grinning, almost human face, and long moving limbs for swinging from imaginary tree to tree. Also paint palettes with indentations crammed with pigments. In amongst the toy animals were hunting sticks, and bows and arrows, and a silver trumpet with a golden mouthpiece. And in gilded cages along the far wall of the room, many bright, tiny birds rustled and fluttered delicately against the thin bars of their elaborate wooden palaces, complete with tiny chambers, towers and pools.
‘Where is the King’s monkey?’ I asked.
‘It is with the King. That creature gives him great comfort,’ Ankhesenamun replied. And then, as if to explain the King’s childishness, she continued: ‘It has taken me years to encourage the King in our plan, and tomorrow is its fulfilment. Somehow he must find his courage, despite this. Somehow I must help him to do so.’
We both gazed around the chamber and its bizarre contents.
‘He cares about these toys more than he cares about all the riches in the world,’ she offered quietly, and without much hope in her voice.
‘Perhaps there’s a good reason for that,’ I replied.
‘There is a reason, and I understand it. These are the treasures of his lost childhood. But it is time to put away such things. There is too much at stake.’
‘Perhaps our childhoods are buried inside all of us. Perhaps they set the pattern for our futures,’ I suggested.
‘In that case I am doomed by mine,’ she said without self-pity.
‘Perhaps not, for you are aware of it,’ I said.
She glanced at me warily.
‘You never talk like a Medjay.’
‘I talk too much. I am famous for it.’
She almost smiled.
‘And you love your wife and your children,’ she replied, oddly.
‘Yes I do. I can say that, for certain,’ I replied, in truth.
‘But that is your vulnerability.’
I was taken aback by the observation.
‘How so?’
‘It means you can be destroyed through others. I have been taught one thing: to have care for no one, for if I care for someone I know they will be condemned by my love.’
‘That is survival, not life. And also, it disallows the love of the other. Perhaps you have no right to do that. Or no right to make that decision for them,’ I said.
‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘But in my world it is a necessity. The fact that I wish it were not so cannot alter the fact.’
She was now moving about the chamber, anxiously.
‘Now it is I who talk nonsense. Why do I say such things when I am with you?’ she continued.
‘I am honoured by your honesty,’ I replied, carefully.
She gave me a long, long look, as if assessing the polite equivocation of my reply, but said nothing more.
‘May I ask you a question?’ I said.
‘Of course you may. I hope I am not a suspect,’ she said, half smiling.
‘Whoever is leaving these objects can move about within the royal quarters with relative ease. How else could these things be left? So I need to know who could have access to this chamber. Obviously his chamber-men and women, and his wet nurse…’
‘Maia? Yes. She performs all the most intimate tasks for the King. She despises me, of course. She blames my mother for everything, and she thinks because I might have benefited from crimes committed before I was born, I should pay for them now.’
‘She is only a servant,’ I observed.
‘She whispers her hatred into the ear of the King. She is closer than a mother to him.’
‘But her love for the King is unquestioned…’ I said.
‘She is famous for her loyalty and her love. It is all she has,’ she replied, almost casually, as she wandered about the room.
‘So who else could come in here?’
She picked up the monkey figure, and regarded it coolly.
‘Well, me, of course…But I rarely enter this chamber. I would have no reason to come in here. I do not wish to play with toys. I have encouraged him in other directions.’
She put the monkey back down.
‘And in any case, I can hardly be a suspect, since I asked you to investigate in the first place. Or does it sometimes happen that the very person who initiated the investigation, also turns out to be the guilty party?’
‘Sometimes. I imagine in your position, others will make of your situation what they will. After all, they might say, for example, that you wanted your husband crippled with fear, in order to assume power for yourself.’
Her eyes turned suddenly lightless, like a pool when the sun departs.
‘People speculate, they love it. I can do nothing about that. But my husband and I are bound to each other by much more than mutual necessity. We have a deep bond of history. He is all I have left of that history. And I would never harm him, for, apart from anything, that would hardly enhance my own security. We are necessary to each other. To each other’s survival and future. But we also share a deep care and affection…’ She ran her carefully manicured fingernails across the fretwork of one of the birdcages, tapping gently, so that the bird within regarded her with one eye, then flitted away as far as it could.
Then she turned back to me. Her eyes glistened.
‘I feel danger in everything, in the walls, in the shadows; the fear is like millions of ants in my mind, in my hair. See how my hands tremble, all the time?’
She held them out, and gazed at them as if they were disloyal. Then she summoned back her confidence.
‘Tomorrow will be a life-changing day for all of us. I wish you to attend us at the ceremony.’
‘Only priests are allowed within the temple itself,’ I reminded her.
‘Priests are only men in the right clothing. If you shave your head and dress in white linen, you will pass for a priest. Who would know you were not?’ she said, cheering up at the thought. ‘Sometimes you have the face of a priest. You look like a man who has seen mysteries.’
I was about to reply, when Khay reappeared. He bowed ostentatiously.
‘The lords of the royal domain have left. Full of threats and indignation, I might add.’
‘That is their way, and it will pass,’ replied Ankhesenamun.
Khay bowed again.
‘Rahotep will accompany us to the inauguration tomorrow,’ she continued. ‘He will need to be dressed appropriately, so that his presence causes no disturbance to protocol.’
‘Very well,’ he said, in the dry tone of someone who is only obeying orders.
‘I wish to meet the King’s physician,’ I said, suddenly.
‘Pentu attends the King,’ replied Khay.
‘I am sure he will spare Rahotep a few moments of his time. Ask him as a favour from me,’ said Ankhesenamun.
Khay bowed once more.
‘I must go to the King now. There is so much to be accomplished, and so little time,’ she replied.
Then she added quietly: ‘Can you
remain here, in the royal quarters, tonight? The thought of your presence would be a comfort to me.’
I remembered the appointment with Khety.
‘Alas, I must return to the city. I have another line of inquiry that I must pursue tonight. It is imperative, I’m afraid.’
She gazed at me.
‘Poor Rahotep. You are trying to live two lives at once. You will attend us in the morning.’
I bowed, and when I looked up again, she had disappeared.
19
Pentu was pacing backwards and forwards, his hands clenched behind his back, his angular, haughty face desiccated with tension. As soon as I entered, and the curtain was drawn behind us, he efficiently assessed me, as if I were an annoying patient.
‘Why do you need to see me?’
‘I appreciate you are busy. How is the King?’
He glanced at Khay, who nodded, indicating he should reply.
‘He has suffered an attack of anxiety. It is not the first time. His mind is sensitive, and easily affected. This will pass.’
‘And how do you treat him?’
‘I contended with the affliction by reciting the effective prayer of protection by Horus against the night demons.’
‘And was it effective?’
His brow furrowed and his tone implied this was none of my business.
‘Of course. I also persuaded the King to drink a curative water. He is much calmer now.’
‘What kind of curative water?’ I asked. He huffed.
‘To be magically efficacious, the water must be passed over a sacred stele and, once it has absorbed the effectiveness of the carving, collected.’
He gazed at me, daring me to question him further.
We paused.
‘Thank you. The world of medicine is unknown to me.’
‘Clearly. Now, if that is all…’ he said, exasperated, making as if to leave, but Khay made soothing gestures, and he stayed.
It was time to make my mark.
‘Let me be plain and to the point. There have now been three successful attempts to infiltrate the very heart of the royal quarters. On each occasion, an object has been left which has threatened the King in ways both physical and, at least in intention, metaphysical. I also have reason to believe whoever is doing this has knowledge of pharmacopoeia—’
‘What are you implying?’ Pentu shouted. ‘Is this man implying that I or my staff are under suspicion?’ He glared at Khay.
‘Forgive me if I spoke carelessly. My reasons are drawn from other things, events outside the palace. But I would say this state of affairs, and the consequences for the King’s state of mind, should be our absolute priority. For if the instigator of all this can do the things he has done so easily, then what else might he not do?’
He and I looked at each other in silence.
‘Why don’t we all sit down?’ suggested Khay, diplomatically, taking advantage of the moment.
So we sat on low benches placed against the wall of the chamber.
‘Firstly, since I have reason to believe this man may indeed be a physician himself, it would be helpful to understand how the palace physicians are organized, and who has direct access to the King,’ I said.
Pentu cleared his throat stiffly.
‘As the Chief Physician of the North and the South, only I have access directly to the King. No other physician may be in his presence unless I am there also. All treatments are authorized and prescribed by me. Of course, we are also charged with the care of the Queen and the other members of the royal family, and with that of all members of the royal quarters, including the servants.’
‘You said other members of the royal family. Who else is there, apart from the Queen?’
He glanced at Khay.
‘I meant by that members of the extended families who serve the King and Queen,’ he replied, with a curious indifference.
‘How many physicians are affiliated to the palace?’
‘All physicians in the Two Lands are under my ultimate authority. There are only a few of us who are fully competent in all aspects of the mysteries, but there are specialists of the eye, either the left or the right, the belly, the teeth, the anus, and the hidden organs, who can be called upon instantly as required.’
‘And as I understand it, there are distinctions between the different professional hierarchies?’
‘Obviously there are distinctions. Don’t you think it is important to discriminate between marketplace bone-setters, and those of us with academic training and knowledge of the books, which qualify us to administer proper healing through plants and magic?’ he hissed.
‘I am intrigued about these books,’ I said.
‘You may be intrigued, but they are secret books, that is the whole point.’
I smiled, pleasantly.
‘I apologize. Is the King receiving any treatment at the moment? Apart from the curative water?’
‘He is strong, physically, and his health is perfect; but I have also prescribed a sleeping potion. He has suffered a severe shock. He must rest before tomorrow. He must not be disturbed. I will sit with him throughout this night.’
Simut had made sure this time the security of the royal quarters made it into a sealed sanctum. At every turn of the corridors, pairs of guards were stationed. And when we arrived at the chamber itself, there were two guards on either side of the door, and two others stationed opposite them. The doors were closed, but Pentu quietly opened them, and gestured for me to look briefly within.
The King’s temporary bedchamber was lit with oil lamps; they were set in the wall niches, and on the floor, and in even greater numbers around his bed, so that he appeared like a young god in a constellation of lights. The candles were lit to banish the darkness of the world around him, but they looked weak against such threatening, dangerous forces. Ankhesenamun was holding her husband’s hand, and talking quietly to him. I saw the intimacy between them, how she made him feel safe, and secure, and how she was the braver and the more powerful one of the pair. But I still could not imagine how such a delicate couple could, tomorrow, assume authority from demagogues and dictators of ambition such as Ay and Horemheb. However, I knew I would prefer Ankhesenamun’s rule to either of theirs. And I knew she was clever. They had underestimated her. She had watched and learned from their example, and perhaps too she had now learned some of the absolute ruthlessness she would need in order to survive in this labyrinth of monsters. They both looked up for a moment, and saw me framed in the doorway. I bowed my head. Tutankhamun, Lord of the Two Lands, stared at me coldly, then flicked his hand with a gesture of dismissal.
Pentu closed the door in my face.
20
I hurried to meet Khety in the quarter of the town where men go after their hard day’s work in the offices of the bureaucracies. It was long past our arranged meeting time; the only light in the ways and lanes came from the small windows of the houses where oil lamps had been lit. The narrow passageways were full of drunken men, bureaucrats and labourers, some hurrying silently, furtively; others in vociferous groups, calling and shouting to each other as they lurched from place to place. Girls with their breasts displayed, and slim, sly boys, and some who could have been either, threaded through, brushing against the men, and glancing back over their shoulders as they passed into shady doorways that led to the tiny curtained cubicles where they worked their trade. One of them accosted me.
‘I can teach you such pleasures as you cannot imagine,’ she offered, in a worn-out voice.
I found the low, anonymous doorway in a long mud-brick wall that ran off the main thoroughfare. Past the thick doorkeeper and his thick door, I went down the passageway. Usually these places are a warren of airless, low rooms, their ceilings besmirched with many nights of black tallow smoke, but this one was very different. I found myself in a series of rooms and courtyards. The quality of everything was luxurious: high-quality wall paintings, very good art, and the best tapestries hung on the walls. The place had
the rich sheen of success; and it was thronged with fashionable, successful men, their acolytes and female attendants, drinking and talking–roaring with opinion, laughter and contempt over jugs of beer and goblets of wine, and plates piled with excellent food. Faces swam in and out of my vision: a painted woman in expensive robes braying like a mule, her eyes thrilled; an older, red-faced man with his mouth wide open like a baby screaming; and a young man’s tough, greasy, thin profile, hidden in a corner, not talking to anyone, but watching everything, waiting for his opportunity, a hyena at the feast.
On the walls were paintings of copulation: men and women, men and men, men and boys, women and women. Each figure wore a cartoon grin of ecstasy, sketched in a few lines of red and black. Inconceivably massive cocks jutted. Various penetrations occurred. I had seen such things circulated on confiscated satirical papyri, but not reproduced on a larger scale.
Khety was waiting for me. I ordered a jug of wine from the middle-aged servant whose blotched, pallid skin looked as if it had not seen sunlight for many years.
‘I’ve been drinking very, very slowly,’ he said, to remind me how late I was.
‘Top marks for self-discipline, Khety.’
We found a corner, and both turned our backs on the crowds, not wanting our presence to register more than it must–for no Medjay officer walks carelessly into a place like this. There were plenty of rich men, whose businesses were less than orthodox, who would frequent such a place, and perhaps take great pleasure in confronting law-keepers such as Khety and me, in a place where we could count on few friends.
The wine arrived. As I expected it was overpriced and underwhelming. I tried to adjust to the strange adjacency of the two worlds: the Malkata Palace with its silent stone corridors, and its elite characters in their hushed drama of power and betrayal, and this playground of noisy nightlife. I suppose the same things were going on in both places–the nightly demand of male desire, and the supply of satisfactions.
‘Any more leads?’ I said.
‘I’ve been asking around. It’s tough because these kids come from all over the kingdom now. Some of them are slaves or prisoners, while others are just desperate to escape and make their way to the golden streets of the city from whatever fly-infested nowhere they call home. Most come on the promises of a recruiter in their local area, but many are even sold by their own families. Babylonians, Assyrians, Nubians…if they’re lucky they end up in Thebes or Memphis.’
