by Anton Gill
Huy wondered whether the nervousness simply sprang from Pemou’s dislike at having to deal with this dubious character. A former resident of Akhetaten, the City of the Horizon, would not be desirable company for an ambitious man, no matter how small fry.
‘I’d just like to ask you one or two questions which have occurred to me since I read the cargo lists.’
Pemou looked around the empty room, as if expecting to surprise an eavesdropper lurking in a comer.
‘Have you permission to be here?’
Huy looked into the shifty eyes but failed to hold them. What was the man thinking? He knew that, if out of danger, Amotju was certainly nowhere near recovered. Was the man considering that for the time being, at least, he should switch his loyalty to the acting-manager, Taheb?
‘Not written down.’
‘There should be something —’
‘Come on!’ Huy almost went on to say, ‘We’re colleagues.’ But he bit the words back; he no longer had the right to make that claim. ‘This has absolutely nothing to do with your accounts of the cargo,’ Huy continued, carefully, he hoped. He had no wish to make enemies where there was no need.
‘I should think not! If I thought for a moment that you doubted —’
Huy held up a hand to soothe him. ‘I want to know who saw the cargo before you did.’
Pemou nibbled his pen, looking down.
‘Did anyone?’
A quick look up. ‘Where is all this leading?’
‘Nowhere. It’s simply a question of confirming that no one tampered with the cargo after you’d made the inventory.’
‘That man Intef was guilty!’ Pemou spat suddenly. ‘What’s the world coming to, when the police turn to crime? We have to be protected against such people!’
‘That isn’t an issue at all,’ lied Huy. ‘Amotju simply wants me to confirm that no one else took advantage of the confusion to help themselves to some of what was left on board. And he has complete faith in your probity, or he wouldn’t have sent me to ask you about it directly like this.’
Huy hoped that no one would check on this string of lies, but he could see already that it had done the trick. The combination of Amotju’s name mentioned with authority, and the judicious praise of himself, apparently reflecting Amotju’s honest opinion of him, made Pemou positively swell with pride. He stood up importantly, trying not to smile, and adjusted the folds of his kilt, faultlessly tucked beneath a nascent potbelly, round and smooth as an earthenware jar.
‘Let me see…’ But Huy knew that this wasn’t playing for time; this was making the most of the importance of the moment.
‘Of course there was the skeleton crew which went down to collect the barge, but they were under strict supervision from the moment they left here until the moment they brought Glory-of-Ra back. I made the inventory almost immediately…I know! Ani, the old captain. He went aboard almost as soon as she docked and the crew had disembarked. I remember because I was working late, as I frequently do.’ He paused to let this facet of his diligence sparkle for a moment. ‘And I noticed them pass.’
‘Them?’
‘Yes. I knew it was Ani because of the crutch, of course. He still had quite a lot of difficulty in walking. It’s remarkable how quickly —’
‘Who was with him?’ Huy tried to continue to sound politely interested, and to keep the excitement out of his voice.
‘Two body-servants. Big men.’
‘Did you notice from which household?’
Pemou looked surprised: ‘Why, Amotju’s.’
Huy breathed deeply: ‘And did you see them again?’
‘No. They must have still been on the boat when I left. It was very late.’
‘Wasn’t a watchman posted?’
‘Yes, but why should he have had any reason to —’
‘Where is he now?’
Pemou looked uncomfortable. ‘The fact is —’
‘Yes?’
Pemou looked like a child whose sandcastle on the banks of the River had just been flattened by the tread of a clumsy heifer. ‘He disappeared soon afterwards. Hasn’t been seen since, in fact. He hadn’t been with us long, in any case, and we just thought he’d gone after a better job elsewhere.’
Huy looked thunderous. ‘Was Amotju informed of this?’ Pemou trembled. ‘I don’t know…On account of his disappearance — Amotju’s, I mean — and his illness…In any case, the watchman wasn’t my responsibility, or something would certainly have been reported.’
Huy left him considering means of rebuilding his sandcastle.
Although it was still early in the new season, the waters of the River were already noticeably higher and the sides of the ships were beginning to rise like wooden walls along the edges of the quays. The sun seemed to take longer in his daily journey from birth to death, and to hover at his central station high in the sky above their heads for what seemed an interminable time. Many now dispensed with their wigs in the daytime, wearing a white linen headdress instead, and no women of any quality were to be seen in the streets before evening. The city lay in torpor, like a ghost town. The fields, too, lay empty, waiting to be flooded by Hapy, bringing his riches of silt and water to the parched soil; and everyone moved to the high ground. Soon, the Dog Star would rise, and the new year would begin. Huy disliked the summer, and looked forward to the activity and relative coolness of Peret, the season of Coming Forth.
He found Ani aboard ship. The Glory-of-Ra was almost completely restored, owing to the number of men who could at present be drafted from labouring on the land to shipbuilding. It was the tenth day, the last day of the week, and work was slackening off in preparation for the Day of Rest. Huy was glad to have found Ani, and found him alone.
Ani was expansive, showed Huy proudly round the barge, poured wine, and would not be hurried. He behaved like a man in a very secure position, and through his conversation wove a thread which warned Huy that his own status in Amotju’s household was by no means as certain. Huy noticed that the wine was from Dakhla. Not the sort you’d expect a bargemaster to serve. He drank sparingly. Ani noticed this, but did not stint himself.
‘Well, you’d better ask me what you came to ask me,’ he said, finally, when he could procrastinate no more.
‘I want to know what you thought of Intef.’
Ani paused before replying. ‘It was good to see him squirm at his trial.’
‘Do you think it was a fair trial?’
‘Thirty of my men drowned or were killed. We only recovered five to bury. I saw him on the bank, watching.’
‘He wasn’t alone.’
A gesture of impatience. ‘His men were nothing! Instruments! They won’t be clever enough to escape the investigation Horemheb’s set up.’
That was true. Three other policemen had been brought to trial since Intef’s execution. Two had been found guilty, and had had their noses and right hands cut off. The body of Intef still hung on its stake. The rising waters of the River had reached his waist, and soon the crocodiles would finish him.
‘I know what you went through.’
‘Do you, now?’ Ani’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. Bloody little pernickety scribe, he was really saying. What do you know?
‘Don’t you worry that Intef’s friends won’t avenge him?’
‘Against whom? The law? He had a fair trial. If he was stupid enough to hide booty in his own stables…’
‘Then he’d also have been stupid enough to tell someone close. Do you think he was that stupid?’
‘What are you saying?’
‘How did you get the gold into his house?’
There was a pause; then Ani spread his hands. ‘Trade secret.’
‘It can’t be hard to get a light boat up to Esna, and there’d be enough willing hands to help, if they knew the man had stood by and let sailors die.’
‘You said yourself Intef was guilty. There were so many witnesses, after all. You said all that was needed was conclusive proof, to clinch it. I p
rovided that. It was just a matter of giving justice a helping hand.’
Huy sighed inwardly. The milk was spilt, and Intef was gone.
‘The man had it coming. How many other attacks like that do you think he’d planned?’ Ani went on, justifying himself and beginning to bluster. Huy toyed with the idea of suggesting to him that Intef hadn’t been the mastermind, that there was probably someone else whom he might have led them to; but there seemed to be no point.
‘That’s the trouble with you people,’ Ani was saying. ‘You want to do everything by the book. Well, thank the gods that there’s still room for some natural justice. I couldn’t have borne to see a man like him go free.’
‘Can’t you just tell me who helped you?’
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘I’m curious.’
‘That’s not a good enough reason.’
‘Tell me anyway. Did Amotju?’
‘No,’ said Ani, knowing that Huy could check such a thing, not knowing that Amotju had effectively dispensed with Huy’s services. ‘But friends. Powerful friends.’ There was more than a note of warning in his voice as he spoke.
Huy gave up. This was an alley with a wall across the end. He would have to retrace his steps.
The gangplank ran almost horizontally from deck to quay, so high had the River now risen, and Huy crossed it thoughtfully after he had bidden Ani an uneasy farewell. He was fond of the captain, and entirely sympathised with his motives, though he would never have followed the same course of action.
He smiled inwardly at himself. He had never seen himself as a man of action at all, rather one who preferred safety, sensual pleasures, and the maintenance of a status quo — as long as it was one with which he could square his conscience. And yet here he was, rummaging in other people’s lives, maybe attracting enemies of his own who were as yet perfect strangers to him.
Behind him, the sun nudged the rim of the horizon, and the glittering on the River turned first golden, then copper, then red. He looked at the stones ahead of him, golden too, and at his shadow, lengthening with every step he took, its jagged outline faithfully reflecting each ripple and minor gulley of stone his movement threw it across. He imagined another kind of quiet life: the one the farmers still had, but which he feared the politicians and the power-hungry had cast away for ever as they had discovered the strength of their own personalities. The farmers were still the possessions of the pharaoh — of the sun and of the River; they had no time for more than their work, no desire beyond their food and their lovemaking, and above all, no notion of themselves as individuals, which, Huy was beginning to realise, was the root of unhappiness. When had feeling emerged from soothing numbness? Had it been there when Menes united the Black Land, two thousand years earlier?
But even the farmers were not immune from fear, and Huy had heard of murders among them.
As evening brought respite from the heat of the day, so people began to spill on to the streets, and shops and booths opened. Making his way back to Aset’s, Huy felt more comfortable in the midst of the throng. Just having people around kept gloomier thoughts at bay. Practically, too, it was easier to ensure one’s anonymity in a crowd.
On the other hand, it was far more difficult to ascertain whether or not one was being followed, and Huy had little experience in such matters, allowing himself to be guided by instinct and the strong motivation that Aset should be protected from any evil aimed at him, or likely to befall him. This time his guides let him down.
He had turned down an alley between the blank walls of two large houses, which linked two main streets. It was a long alley and it incorporated two sharp bends. Turning the corner of one of these, he was confronted by three men, all southerners, in Medjay kilts, blocking his path.
‘Huy, the former scribe?’
‘You know I am.’
‘Come with us.’ The officer who spoke stood on the left of the trio. He had a quiet, almost tired voice, but it carried an edge which expected no argument. Huy glanced from one to the other of the Medjays. They seemed to be carrying no weapons, but to run or to fight would be useless. Huy bowed his head. The first man turned on his heel without another word and started to walk away. Huy fell into step behind, as the other two took up their positions after him. The little procession didn’t have far to go. They had almost reached the main street when they stopped at a small archway Huy had not noticed before. He was ushered through it, and then they took hold of his arms and marched him down a corridor to the left, finally pushing him into a surprisingly large room.
It had high windows and its walls were of plain mud-brick. It was oppressively hot. The rough wooden door was closed behind him, and a bolt slotted across the outside.
Huy sat down on a clay bench built into the wall and looked at the windows. You could reach them if you stretched up fully, but even if you could pull yourself up to them, they would be too small to climb through — and even then there was no guarantee that they didn’t give on to an internal courtyard.
Time passed in utter silence. Wiping the sweat from his shoulders, Huy paced the room. He knew they were leaving him to stew, but that knowledge didn’t help much. Sooner or later, he told himself, they would come and deal with him. That knowledge didn’t help much either.
Finally there was a sound of heavy footfalls in the corridor outside. He tried to deduce the number of people from the sound, but it was impossible because of the deadening effect of the mud-brick. He stood well back from the door and faced it as he heard the bolt drawn.
Two soldiers entered the room quickly, and one of them hit Huy with the thick stick he was carrying, hard enough to make him double up and sink to his knees, winded. In the couple of seconds it took him for his vision to clear he felt a cool breeze and smelt the unmistakable smells of fresh linen and lotus blooms — the smells of power and wealth. Without raising his eyes he could see the golden hem of a long blue kilt, above strong, tanned feet in leather sandals fastened with gold studs. The feet were clean and well cared for, but their soles were hard and their insteps were a lattice of knotted veins. The cool breeze had been caused by their owner’s vigorous entry to the room.
Huy raised his eyes further and quickly, until he found himself looking into a lean, hard face with thin lips and a curved nose above which two piercing black-brown eyes, like a hawk’s, burnt down at him. The eyes met his for an instant before one of the soldiers forced his head down and he was staring at the red baked-mud floor. But his heart was racing. General Horemheb!
‘I know who you are and what your sentence was, Scribe Huy,’ came a hard baritone from somewhere above him. ‘I know your involvement in the case of Intef. I know you have sought work of the kind now forbidden you. You seem to think little of the concession made to you by sparing your life. That I continue to spare it is a mark of my gratitude to you for helping bring Intef to justice. But do not make a habit of it. Leave the law to those qualified and sanctioned to carry it out. I am not unmerciful, but if I find you become even the smallest thorn in my side, I will pluck you out and throw you on the fire.’
Huy felt rather than saw the general give a sign with his hand, and each soldier brought his heavy stick down over his bowed back, striking squarely across the kidneys. His breath gone, Huy squirmed on the floor, panicking as he struggled to get his lungs working. His world shrank to the confines of his body, and he was aware of nothing outside it. When, finally, and with a cascading relief, he managed to get air into himself again, and came to his senses, he found himself alone in the room. He couldn’t decide whether or not the general’s visit had been a dream.
He saw that the door had been left open. Outside, the corridor was deserted. He walked down it confidently, sure that his departure was allowed. He met no one else until he had left the alleyway outside and rejoined the people still walking in the main street outside, though he could tell by the colour of the sky how late it was. Hurrying through the dim light shed by the few shopkeepers’ oil-lamps, he made
his way up through the city to Aset’s house.
She greeted his proposal that he leave with such anger that for a few days he gave in to her persuasion and his own natural disinclination to go. But he could not prevent his heart from brooding on fear for her safety.
‘I am all right if you are with me,’ she said. ‘In any case, if it is Horemheb who knows that you are here, then you are safe too. If he wanted to do you harm, he would do so. Wherever you were, you could not escape him.’
‘But if Horemheb knows, others may know too. The number of servants who know already is too high. Such a large number cannot be trusted.’
‘You are saying that because you want to go.’
‘Believe me, I do not.’
But she continued to sulk until he gave in, and went to soothe her; yet, as hard as he tried, he could not lose himself in her kisses, and she knew it.
‘If this is going to sour our lovemaking, then it is better that we part; but I am not going to let you go,’ said Aset. ‘Not for ever, for I do not really believe that that is what you want.’
‘What do you want?’
‘To be with you always.’
‘Even in the best of worlds I could not ever be your husband,’ said Huy. ‘Married to me, you would carry the stain that I do. Amotju would not advise you to take such action. Your marriage must benefit your family.’
‘Your excuses are as hollow as they sound,’ said Aset. That night, they made love long and lingeringly, gently and cruelly, as the waves of their desire broke over them. In the morning, awakening before dawn, Huy kissed her sleeping face with more tenderness, he thought, than he had ever felt even for Aahmes, even at the height of their love, when he would look down on her sleeping with little Heby next to her. His son would be learning to write by now. He wondered how he was managing, whether his master was as fierce as his own had been; he wondered what Heby looked like. There is an immeasurable difference between three and seven. But now, it seemed to him, he had found someone to fill the void in his heart. If only he could let himself go, and give in to his feelings.
He made his way to his own room. Although it had a bed in it, he used it as an office. He had planned to write down every step in his investigation — but so far he had only succeeded in charting each loose end on a separate sheet of papyrus.
