The Mask of Ra

by Paul Doherty

  Atum: ‘the complete one’, creator of God: one of the oldest gods of Egypt.

  CHAPTER 15

  Amerotke pushed back the headrest of his bed and lay flat down. He gently freed his other arm. Norfret stirred. Her beautiful kohl-ringed eyes fluttered, her perfume-drenched body turned, as she murmured something and smiled in her sleep. Amerotke lay listening to her breathing. He stared at the frieze painted so cleverly along the far bedroom wall: two leopards playing a ball game like children did in the marketplace while a hare acted as umpire.

  Amerotke closed his eyes. It had been two weeks since he had escaped from that terrible pit in the pyramids at Sakkara. Once he had reached the imperial fleet, washing off the dust and bathing the scratches, he’d quickly changed. Sethos, sharp as ever, had recognised something was wrong. During the morning meal, held in the stern of the royal galley, he had gazed quizzically at him. Amerotke had just shaken his head and refused to talk. He decided not to tell anyone about what had happened.

  The royal fleet had reached Thebes and been greeted by a frenzy of celebration. The quayside was thronged, the Avenue of the Sphinxes packed with citizens and visitors from elsewhere.

  ‘Life, prosperity and health!’ the crowd had roared as Hatusu, garbed in Pharaoh’s robes, had been borne on a palanquin into the city.

  ‘She has stretched out her hands!

  She has shattered the enemy!’

  the priests sang.

  ‘The earth in its length and breadth,

  westerners and easterners are subject to you!

  You have trampled all countries, your heart is glad!

  The beauty of Amun is in your face!

  The glory of Horus in your golden flesh!

  Heart of the fire! Light of light!

  Glory of Amun-Ra!’

  Hatusu had stared implacably before her as auxiliaries, coal-black Negroes, helped the royal bodyguard to keep back the crowds. Huge ostrich plumes had wafted costly perfumes round the divine presence. Hatusu had sat immobile, her gold-sandalled feet resting on the helmeted crown of the King of Mitanni.

  The procession had coiled its way through the decorated streets of Thebes. Amerotke had walked before her; behind Hatusu moved his own squadron of chariots, a long, glittering line with burnished harness; horses, adorned with victory plumes, pulled carts full of booty. After these trudged columns of bedraggled, dusty prisoners of war.

  The great bronze door of the temple had been opened. The priestesses, shaking their sistra, came down to greet their new Pharaoh. Incense, holy water, garlands of beautiful flowers were scattered all around the palanquin. Hatusu had swept up the steps, burned incense to Amun-Ra and then sacrificed more of the prisoners.

  Amerotke had been pleased to get away. Norfret, his sons, Asural, Prenhoe and Shufoy had been waiting for him in his small chapel near the Hall of Two Truths. An ecstatic homecoming! Nights of celebrations, parties and feasting had followed. Amerotke’s stomach found this hard to digest after the harsh rations of the camp. Norfret had been ecstatic, exhausting him night after night, her beautiful, golden body twisting beneath him. Amerotke had found it all a dream. His body still ached from the rigours of the campaign. His dreams were plagued by that terrible charge of the Mitanni, the carnage of battle, that chamber of the hanged beneath the pyramid; the severed head of the chapel priest whom he had found near the entrance to the pyramid.

  Amerotke turned over. He had felt guilty at Meneloto’s death and his own escape. But what could he have done?

  Shufoy had told him all that had happened during his absence. Amerotke had half-listened. He didn’t really care. He was home. The horrors were behind him. All of Thebes was talking about Hatusu’s accession to the throne. The boy Pharaoh, never truly crowned, had been gently moved sideways, relegated to the rank of a prince, left to play in the royal nursery. Amerotke had stayed clear of the intrigue. His mind kept going back to that inscription in that awful chamber beneath the pyramid. He now knew what Tuthmosis had discovered, why Amenhotep had lost his faith. If it was true, there were no gods. The priests of Egypt had led their people down narrow alleyways away from the truth. Amerotke hadn’t found the message so shocking. Hadn’t he always been a heretic, cynical about the elaborate temple ritual of Thebes? He’d always been suspicious of the worship of a crocodile or a cat. His veneration of Ma’at was different. Statue and temple ritual aside, the truth did exist; it had to be served and closely followed.

  Amerotke wondered if he should go back but he recalled that falling masonry. He closed his eyes. The chamber was a fitting resting place for the Amemets. Let their spirits guard it. He would pay sacrifice for Meneloto. But to whom? The stone gods of Egypt?

  He heard a sound in the corridor outside and pushed back the sheets. He slipped on a robe and sandals, washed his hands and face in the scented water and went downstairs. The servants had not yet risen. The sun was only beginning to come up and he caught the distant notes of the sun heralds drifting in from the city. He went out into the garden, where the breeze was still cool. Shufoy sat a short distance away under a sycamore tree. Amerotke slipped his sandals off and walked quietly over. The dwarf heard him and turned hastily, his hand going to cover the precious objects laid out on the blanket. Amerotke crouched down.

  ‘Where are these from, Shufoy?’

  ‘I bought them,’ came the quick reply. ‘A man has to trade from dawn to dusk to earn a crust of bread.’

  ‘I am sure he has,’ Amerotke replied drily.

  Shufoy shuffled closer, his quick, bright eyes studying his master.

  ‘You’ve changed, lord, since your return.’

  ‘I saw things: horrors!’

  Shufoy nodded. ‘They will go, master. In the end all things die.’

  Amerotke sifted among the precious objects.

  ‘You’re becoming a wealthy man.’

  ‘When the army left Thebes, master, all panic broke out. People were selling as fast as they could.’

  Amerotke noticed a small gold cup. He picked it up. Around the rim was a scene depicting Osiris weighing a soul, Ma’at kneeling beside him. Beneath this was inscribed the regnal year of Hatusu’s father, Pharaoh Tuthmosis I; beside the divine seal, the name of its long-dead owner, a scribe from the House of Silver.

  ‘Where did you get this?’ Amerotke asked, his interest quickened.

  Shufoy looked guarded. ‘I was taking it back to the city to sell, master.’

  ‘This is a funeral cup,’ Amerotke insisted. ‘Especially made for this scribe, small enough to contain a little wine to be placed in a tomb.’ His hand shot out and he grabbed Shufoy’s shoulder.

  ‘Master, I swear on your children’s lives, I bought it from a merchant in Thebes! A seller of cups and precious dishes. The price could not be resisted.’

  ‘It’s stolen!’ Amerotke declared. ‘And you know it is, Shufoy. This has been taken from a tomb!’ He took the four corners of the blanket and wrapped them up, ignoring Shufoy’s pleas and groans. ‘Go into the city,’ he ordered. ‘To the Hall of Two Truths. Collect Asural and some of his burly lads. Then, visit the stall-holders, I don’t care what it takes, I just want the name of the man they bought these from. Shufoy, this cup could have come from my father’s grave. What is yours is yours, but what happens if the news leaked out that Shufoy, the great scorpionman, was involved in tomb robbing?’

  A short while later Shufoy left the house armed with sword and sack, grumbling under his breath and muttering every proverb he knew. Amerotke was pleased at his discovery. He felt more alert. He washed and changed, ate some fruit and was in the garden when his visitor arrived just before noon.

  Lord Sethos came striding across the grass: he seemed unchanged by the campaign along the Nile. He had taken part in the fighting and been confirmed by Hatusu in his place of honour though his resentment at Senenmut was growing. He sat down on a garden seat.

  ‘Life, health and prosperity!’ he wished Amerotke.

  Amerotke poured a small m
ug of beer and brought it over. Sethos sipped at this and studied the ornamental lake as if fascinated by the ibis perched daintily on its edge.

  ‘Turbulent days, my lord Amerotke?’ He took the lotus flower out of his sash and twirled it. ‘Her majesty gave this to me this morning. A mark of favour.’ He sniffed at the flower and put it on the bench beside him. ‘You did not attend the meeting of the royal circle?’ Sethos looked across at the garden where the vine dressers were moving down the trellises inspecting the stems.

  ‘I am still exhausted,’ Amerotke replied.

  ‘Rahimere, Bayletos and the others have been arrested,’ Sethos announced. ‘Members of my police seized them last night just as they left the royal palace.’

  ‘On what charge?’

  ‘High treason.’

  ‘There’s no proof of that.’

  Sethos smirked, his clever, smooth-shaven face creasing into a smile as if savouring some secret joke.

  ‘They will go on trial before you in the Hall of Two Truths.’

  ‘Then I’ll dismiss the charges for lack of evidence.’

  ‘You are bull-headed, Amerotke!’

  ‘Is that the same as not being corrupt? My lady Hatusu knows that there is no evidence of treason against Rahimere. How many have been arrested?’

  ‘About ten in all. Divine Pharaoh,’ Sethos emphasised the word. ‘Divine Pharaoh believes that, if they are not guilty of treason, they are certainly responsible for the deaths of Tuthmosis II, Ipuwer and the chapel priest Amenhotep. She waits for you, my lord Amerotke, to sift the evidence.’

  ‘What do we have?’ Amerotke replied. ‘True, her husband died by snake bite but how or when?’ Amerotke shrugged. ‘I cannot tell. True, someone put a snake into Ipuwer’s writing bag but that could have been anyone in the royal circle. And, as for Amenhotep, he certainly met someone from the royal circle just before he died.’ He paused. ‘How is General Omendap?’

  ‘He’s recovering fast. He says the poisoned flask of wine could have been arranged in Thebes or by someone in the camp. He, too, believes it was Rahimere. If he died the royal army would have become confused and been forced to retreat.’

  ‘But it didn’t, did it?’

  Amerotke rose and filled his own beer cup. He offered a plate of bread and cheese to Sethos, who shook his head.

  ‘What happens, my lord judge,’ Sethos leaned closer, ‘if Hatusu or her Vizier Senenmut, either singly or together, plotted these deaths? You’ve seen how ruthless she is. The troops adore her. They see her as a combination of Sekhmet and Montu.’

  ‘My lord Sethos, you are a priest of Amun-Ra: a chaplain to the divine household as well as royal prosecutor. You are ruthless but does that make you a murderer? There’s something else. Something we’ve missed. Something the divine lady has not told us. I understand Tuthmosis’ mood when he returned to Thebes.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Sethos asked sharply.

  ‘I’m beginning to see a shadowy outline. However, if the assassin is to be caught, the divine lady is to be more truthful and direct. Simply sending me, like a messenger boy, to dig among the rubbish will not unearth the truth. Ah!’

  Amerotke glimpsed Shufoy waddling across the garden. Behind him followed Asural, Prenhoe and a small cohort of temple police. Shufoy bowed to Sethos.

  ‘You have the name?’ Amerotke asked.

  Shufoy pushed a fragment of papyrus into his master’s hand. Amerotke unrolled it and smiled.

  ‘My lord Sethos.’ He got to his feet. ‘I think you should come with me. You’ll find this most interesting. Peay,’ he murmured. He recalled the pompous little physician stamping through the lanes of the Necropolis, carrying his pet monkey. A thought occurred to him.

  ‘My lord!’

  ‘What is it?’

  Prenhoe came forward with a scroll.

  ‘I had a dream last night, my lord. I think you should …’

  ‘Not now!’ Amerotke snapped. ‘Asural, your men are ready?’

  The chief of temple police nodded.

  ‘Good, then let’s make our physician’s visit.’

  Peay was resting in the small garden of his lavish house, which bordered one of the irrigation canals that ran into the Nile.

  Asural did not stand on idle ceremony but kicked the gate open, thrust aside the porter and marched up to the porticoed entrance, Amerotke, Sethos and the others behind him. The physician, all a-tremble, led them inside his sumptuous hallway. The floor leading into Peay’s private chamber was of fragrant cedarwood. Peay waved them to couches and sat on his high-backed chair, rearranging his robes.

  ‘I am greatly honoured,’ he blustered.

  As if summoned, the vervin popped nimbly through the window of the garden carrying the silver-encrusted cup Peay must have been using.

  ‘Ah!’ Amerotke said. ‘Here comes your accomplice.’

  Peay’s face paled. ‘What do you mean?’ he gabbled.

  The monkey jumped into his lap and thrust the cup into the physician’s podgy, trembling fingers.

  ‘You are a tomb-robber, aren’t you?’ Amerotke continued. ‘And, being a physician, you know about all the wealthy, the powerful who die in Thebes. You are even invited to the funerals, to join the mourners when they congregate in the tomb. A few weeks later you return with your little friend. You put him into the air vents, and along he’ll go. He’s trained to pick up small, precious objects: a cup, a ring, a porcelain pot, a vase, a necklace, then out he’ll scamper and give them to you.’

  Peay’s mouth sagged. He stared horror-struck.

  ‘Now, I’ve seen you in the Necropolis where you are well known,’ Amerotke continued remorselessly. ‘Your robberies supplement your income. But, how can I put it, in the recent crisis, you realised you might have to flee Thebes so you sold your plunder in the marketplace where my servant bought some of it.’

  Peay went to rise but Amerotke poked him back into the chair.

  ‘What do we do with a grave-robber, eh, my lord Sethos? Crucify him? Hang him? Bury him alive out in the Red Lands? Or perhaps just allow him to take poison in the House of Death?’

  Peay sank to his knees, his hands clasped together, his fat cheeks soaked with tears.

  ‘Please!’ he begged. ‘Mercy, my lords!’

  Amerotke glanced at Sethos who stared back, eyebrows raised.

  ‘Yes, you can beg for mercy,’ Amerotke replied. ‘Because you know it’s available. That nimble brain is already asking, why should the lord Amerotke come to arrest me personally? Why not just send Asural to arrest you in the dead of night? Right, you have one chance of mercy. You may leave Thebes with a horse and cart and whatever that can carry. This house and all its possessions are confiscated, forfeit, its revenues will go to the House of Life in the temple of Amun-Ra.’

  ‘Oh, great kindness!’ Peay observed ruefully.

  ‘On one condition!’ Amerotke snapped. ‘You attended the divine Tuthmosis. Had he been bitten by a snake?’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  Amerotke’s heart sank. He leaned forward and grasped the man’s shoulder. ‘Is that the truth?’

  ‘Yes and no. My lord, he had the marks above his heel. But …’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘The leg was puffy, I suspect …’ Peay’s voice trailed off. ‘I’m frightened!’ he whimpered.

  ‘It’s even more frightening being buried alive in the hot sands of the Red Lands,’ Amerotke reminded him.

  ‘The snake bite was there,’ Peay declared, rubbing his fat cheeks. ‘But the poison hadn’t moved. Divine Pharaoh showed all the symptoms of dying from the falling sickness.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  Peay raised his head. ‘My lord, and this is the truth. It looked as if divine Pharaoh was bitten by the snake after he had died.’

  Sethos and Amerotke walked up the steps leading into the House of a Million Years, which Hatusu had taken for herself, near the great mooring place on the Nile. Artists were decorating the pylons, the
great walls on either side of the gateway, with dramatic scenes from Hatusu’s famous victory in the north. Slaves, under the directions of master masons, were bringing in, on rollers, huge blocks of granite.

  ‘Divine Pharaoh,’ Sethos observed, ‘is going to ensure that we do not forget her victory or her glory! Two obelisks will be put on either side of the doorway. Every inch will proclaim her divine birth and great victories. They will be capped with gold, so the people know that Amun-Ra’s favour rests upon her.’

  Amerotke covered his mouth against the cloud of dust and ran his thumbnail round his lip. He had instructed Asural and Prenhoe to ensure that Peay was out of Thebes before nightfall. Yet he was still angry. If Tuthmosis had been dead when the snake struck, the divine lady must have known this, yet how could he raise such a matter with this magnificent Pharaoh? This warrior Queen intent on glory? He grasped Sethos’ arm.

  ‘I will go alone.’

  Sethos made to object.

  ‘I go alone,’ Amerotke repeated.

  The captain of the royal bodyguard immediately recognised Amerotke, to whom he gave the most reverential bow before leading him through marble corridors into the small pleasure garden Hatusu had now taken for her own use. It was a beautiful green paradise of lush grass, sweet-smelling flowers, shady trees, flower-covered arbours and, in the centre, an ornamental pool of polished marble, the water so clear Amerotke could see every detail of the brilliantly coloured fish. Garishly plumaged birds pecked for seed on the lawns. Gold and silver cages hung from the branches, in which songbirds trilled sweetly in this most opulent of paradises.