by Anton Gill
He hurried on and arrived at the River’s edge before the short dusk was over. Every day the water was rising, and now its colour was turning from green to red. But the level was not increasing as fast as expected. Huy came upon an area where several large flat rocks shelved down to the water. Here, despite the lateness of the hour, there was a hubbub of excited activity. Among a cloud of buzzing flies, seven or eight vultures hopped and flapped, shaking their naked red necks and then dipping and bobbing to feed again on what looked like an irregularly shaped small black hillock, half in and half out of the water. As he approached, the wind brought the stench to Huy’s nostrils and his stomach churned, but he made himself press on. The large birds regarded him with irritation and suspicion, but they did not retreat. As he drew close, one dropped its head and came up again quickly, a long strip of red flesh dangling from its beak.
There were two bodies, thrown untidily together so that they were twisted round each other. Both faces were turned upwards, and Huy could see that the eyes had already gone — pecked away first so that the birds could probe through the holes they had made and fish with their naked heads for the brain beyond. One now had its head buried ostrich-like in one body. A second was poking and pecking its way towards meat through the anus of the other corpse.
One of the men had been killed by a sword thrust from behind. The other, more badly cut about, had put up a fight. Huy didn’t recognise the body, though there was enough of the face left to make recognition still possible.
The first man was older and heavily built. Drawn in death, the face retained its stubborn strength, and in the gathering darkness the sightless hollows that had held his eyes still seemed to concentrate power. His hunched back raised his supine body slightly, so that the head had fallen back, and the club foot was twisted inwards. A vulture, staggering along at that end of the rock, lost its balance momentarily and to steady itself grasped the foot firmly with its claw.
ELEVEN
There were fifteen barges, spread out across the entire breadth of the widening River, sailing upstream in delta formation. At the centre of the ‘V’ was the golden royal barge, its ornate prow thrusting through the red water, pushing it aside. The north wind blew steadily behind the boat, filling the golden-tasselled sail. The rowers had an easy time, but their shipmates on the consort barges had to strain to keep up.
The smaller barges which formed the escort were all merchantmen converted, for the purpose of this journey, into warships: their decks were cleared and each carried a contingent of marines equipped and financed by the boat’s owner. The royal flagship, the king’s own chief boat after the royal barge, sailed at the apex of the flotilla, and third from it on the eastern wing of the ‘V’ was Splendour-of-Amun. Taheb stood amidships on the starboard side, looking across to the royal barge, where she could see the boy-king seated under a white linen awning, cooled by peacock-feather fans wielded by massive Nubian body-servants. His skin was a light copper colour, and his body spindly and slightly stooped. His face bore a strong resemblance to Akhenaten’s, though the eyes, even at this distance, were harder.
Taheb considered the years ahead which would bridge the gap between now and the young king’s majority. Any battles for power, she concluded, would be won and lost in the first months, in the court — as she called it in her mind — of Horemheb. What the king would do to curb the general’s powers when he attained his majority at thirteen, she had no idea. In a staggeringly short space of time, the general had not only dissociated himself completely from the old regime and the cult of Aten, but had collected a more impressive array of titles than had ever been bestowed upon any commoner in the history of the Black Land. Taheb knew to which star she needed to attach her chariot. Horemheb was now Greatest of the Great, Mightiest of the Mighty, Great Lord of the People, King’s Messenger at the Head of his Army to the south and north, Chosen of the King, Presider Over the Two Lands, and General of Generals.
It was a pity, she thought, that she had not been able to secure a place on the royal barge itself; but there was adequate compensation in the placing of Splendour-of-Amun in the flotilla. The barge held the highest position of any not owned by a noble, and this despite Amotju’s absence. Her thoughts raged in frustration at her husband. How weak he was! But if she were to be able to pursue her own ambitions, she would need him for a time yet. Perhaps the scribe, Huy, would have good news for her at last; that would be some compensation, for her patience was running out, and she had hoped that the battle with Rekhmire would be over before the arrival of the king.
On the jetties and quays on either side of the River at the Southern Capital, great crowds glittered in clothing of white and gold. As soon as the ships came within view, music struck up, and despite the distance still to cover, the water carried to them the sounds of the instruments, dominated by the chakachakachaka of the sistra.
The king was standing now, and, clearly excited, ran forward to the prow of his barge, followed by two of his attendants carrying broad fans to shade him. They persuaded him to return to his seat, and busied themselves in placing the pschent upon his head — the red-and-white double crown of the unified Black Land.
It took another hour to dock, and it was an hour after that before Taheb thought it in order to withdraw. She had managed to catch the king’s eye twice, and to exchange smiles: something which in theory was forbidden, but the king was young, and she was determined to impress her face on his memory if she could. Horemheb had been there, but at this public reception his stern face would give nothing away, and he refused to meet any eye but the king’s, who for his part returned his gaze with an odd expression, partly of fear and partly in appraisal, as if he were looking at a strong horse which needed breaking — but which could throw him and kill him in the exercise.
She had looked around in vain for Amotju, or Huy; which irritated her, though a carriage had been sent from the house. She was pleased to see that it was the best they owned, and had been decked out in as rich a fabric as she could have wished. The servants who had accompanied it, she noticed, were not her own personal body-servants, from whom she would immediately have sought news of the household; but Amotju’s driver and ox-groom.
At her house, she found Amotju waiting for her in the white limestone courtyard. Even within the short period of their absence from each other, his health had grown considerably better; and she noticed that although the day was relatively well advanced, there was no sign that he had been drinking.
He looked at her so sombrely that the rebuke on her lips for not meeting her at the quay died, and her ill temper was replaced by curiosity. They greeted each other formally, and she noticed an even greater restraint in his manner than she had been aware of formerly. Perhaps it would be simpler if they gave up all pretence that they still had feelings for each other, she reflected, balancing the pros and cons of the new situation coolly. As a divorcee her standing would be adversely affected; but then, so would his. She doubted, however, if his ambition was as strong as hers.
They stood regarding each other, neither of them anxious to be the first to speak. From the inner courtyard, Huy emerged. He, too, looked preoccupied, and though his eyes met hers for a brief instant, they quickly flicked away again. This was new, too, she thought. He had always been frank, at least; now he seemed to have become as shifty as any other Southern Capital intriguer.
‘You look like conspirators,’ she said, finally.
‘Are you tired?’ her husband asked in a strained voice, leaning against the back of a chair.
She looked at him in increased surprise. ‘It has been a long enough journey, but hardly exhausting. Why didn’t you come to meet me? You have missed a chance to be presented to the king. He was expecting you.’
‘The king will have other matters to occupy him very soon. Even now, they are probably telling him whatever version they have dreamt up.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘If you are not too tired,’ Amotju said, — and
could she be mistaken, but was he not speaking sarcastically? —’Huy will tell you what has occurred in your absence.’
He turned on his heel and disappeared into the house. She turned to Huy, fighting to preserve her dignity in the face of this monstrous insult in front of a stranger.
Huy had been looking at the ground; now he looked up, with an expression which might have been sympathy. How dare he presume to sympathise with her? He was lucky to be in their house at all — he should have been in exile. She bridled. She would speak to Horemheb. She would.
‘Rekhmire is dead,’ said Huy.
Every other thought fled from her heart. Her mouth was dry.
‘I do not know how many questions you will have about this. I know that you will not be sorry. I found the bodies of Rekhmire and the spy whom Amotju had placed in his house by the shore on the west bank near the priest’s abandoned tomb. They had been killed at the tomb and dragged to the water’s edge…’
Taheb’s mind was racing. What spy? What had Amotju been doing behind her back?
‘Whoever left them there miscalculated the rise of the flood, or they would have been swept away. As it was, the vultures got them. I raised workers from the nearest encampment and we dragged the bodies clear before the crocodiles arrived.’
‘When — ?’
‘Two days ago. Your timing is good.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘To have returned now. You might have been suspected.’
‘How dare you?’
Huy smiled. ‘Don’t worry. I knew how ambitious you were; but I was sure that you would draw the line at having Rekhmire killed. You must have been frightened after Ani’s death, though.’
Taheb said nothing.
‘I was certain that Ani would never have taken steps to incriminate Intef on his own initiative, despite his boasting, and his strong reasons for doing so. Intef was guilty of piracy no doubt, but there needed to be conclusive proof. Planting the case of gold was your idea. Ani took it from the unloaded cargo and you made sure it was not recorded.’
‘What would you have done?’ she said defiantly. ‘We couldn’t have our barges robbed and not retaliate. There had to be a punishment. You said yourself, the man was guilty.’
‘And who do you think was behind the piracy?’
‘Rekhmire of course.’
‘No.’
‘Then who?’
‘The person who had him killed; the same person who had Ani killed. You are next on the list, though it may be that she will wait until Amotju has divorced you. If you die before, it would do him harm; and she wishes your husband no harm. I think she loves him, or at least wants to possess him. In some people that is one and the same thing. It has been her undoing, but everyone has a weakness that will bring them down in the end. The depth of the fall depends on the height of the ambition.’
Taheb felt her scalp crawl. She had walked straight into a nightmare. What was this squat little ex-scribe talking about — Amotju planning to divorce her? But she had to continue to listen.
‘I am not telling you all this to hurt you; but you are my employer. You asked me to get to the bottom of this. If I had been trained for the job I would have done so sooner; and lives might have been saved.’
‘You had better tell me all you know, then. Wait,’ she added, as another thought struck her. ‘How much have you told Amotju?’
‘Not quite everything.’
‘He is angry with me.’
‘Yes.’
‘You mentioned divorce. Did you plant that poison in his heart?’
‘No. Surely you knew he had been planning it for some time?’
‘But no!’ She was outraged that her husband had managed to deceive her so successfully; but the greater part of her mind was already working on how much of her ambition she could salvage from this mess.
‘That is a domestic problem between you which certainly doesn’t concern me. The killings do. Horemheb has called out every Medjay in the city to seek Rekhmire’s murderers. It will not take him long to establish the identity of the man found with him, and trace him here.’
‘You have said nothing.’
‘I do not have Horemheb’s ear. As far as he is concerned, I no longer exist in this city. After I had led the workmen to the bodies, I disappeared; it was they who reported the matter. But do not worry. We will have delivered up the killer before suspicion can fall on this house.’
Suddenly Taheb knew who it was. ‘Mutnefert.’
Huy sighed. ‘Mutnefert. That is something your husband does not yet know. I will need your help when I tell him, though I do not know whether he will be convinced, or whether the knowledge will affect your lives together. He was divorcing you for her.’
Taheb turned her face away. She felt sick. She wondered whether she cared to hear any more, but she had to know. ‘It isn’t possible,’ she said. ‘No woman would be capable of such crimes.’
Huy smiled. ‘Amotju is angry with you because he knows that you were in collusion with Ani to secure a prosecution of Intef. At first, of course, he was grateful; but as I told him more, his resentment grew. Intef was Mutnefert’s brother. Half-brother, but they were very close. Their father came from Mitanni. He came to the City of the Horizon as part of an embassy to Akhenaten, and stayed. It wasn’t difficult to check records, once I had realised that they had the same background in common, and even looked similar. Amotju loves Mutnefert, or thinks he does.’
‘It is good of you to tell me.’
‘I know these things wound, but you must know the truth to understand.’
‘You do not think I care.’
‘Let me continue. Mutnefert had established herself as the official mistress of Rekhmire before she met your husband. As her own security grew, so she needed Rekhmire less, and grew less tolerant of him. For his part, as he sensed her growing cooler, so his need for her grew. In the end the only way he felt he could keep her was by force. That meant discovering her secret. He knew that her wealth was created, not inherited, and he knew that from him she derived power and position more than material wealth; but it wasn’t until Intef was arrested and executed that he made the connection between her and the piracy. The grave robbing he already suspected. He had a note passed to me anonymously which enabled me to go and witness the breaking open of Ramose’s tomb. Obviously he had learnt early on that I was working for your husband and hoped that my investigation would lead to her, and send her running to him for protection; but he underestimated her. She had posted guards of her own at the perimeters of the tomb, and as she had a taste for the theatrical, she had dressed them as demons. One of them came across me, and surprised me. To add to the effect, which certainly terrified me at the time, he had been daubed with a paste of fish-glue and sulphur — the smell of the underworld, and which is used by shamans in Mitanni. Otherwise, he was just a large, strong man, with a bronze armshield, and wearing a crocodile mask. That ought to have been enough to scare anyone off.’
‘Why didn’t he kill you?’
‘The only deaths that took place were ones Mutnefert thought necessary.’
‘And yet she didn’t draw the line at mocking the gods.’
‘Yes. But she had no belief in them. She told me so herself, not in so many words, but through hints and actions. I think she felt so secure by that time, though, that she could not resist the urge to show off, to court danger — but then, she underestimated me.’
‘What happened to Amotju?’
‘He was getting too close to the truth, and he had engaged me to help him. She was afraid that the path he thought would lead to Rekhmire might lead him — and me — to her. She wanted to frighten him in such a way as to cast blame in the direction of Rekhmire. And as Rekhmire grew more desperate about losing her, so, she hoped, he would become incautious enough to bring about his own downfall. She wanted to be rid of him, but she wanted to draw the teeth of his power too.’
‘But how?’
‘The man from
your household — Amenmose — whom Amotju sent as a spy to Rekhmire. She told me, and she may have told your husband, that he was also reporting to Horemheb; but that was untrue. He was working independently for her, as he had once been in the service of her own late husband. She felt safe enough to tell me that herself. By that time, Rekhmire was getting close to the truth about her operations, and knew, too, that she was having an affair with Amotju. Mutnefert wanted Amotju to flush out his rival fast, before Rekhmire had gathered enough information to blackmail her into staying with him.’ Huy smiled grimly. ‘As soon as you had left for the Northern Capital, she persuaded Amotju to be seen openly with her, knowing that it would bring matters to a head, since Rekhmire would have to react.’
‘How could she have known that I would agree to go?’
‘Amotju had no secrets from her. He was her principal source of information. She knew about the gold shipment from him; she knew the extent of your ambition through him. She knew how to get at me, through him.
‘But as the situation changed, she had to adapt her plans. At first, she tried to throw me off the scent by getting Rekhmire to persuade Horemheb that I was undesirable. Then there came the need to avenge her brother’s death, in which she knew Ani was the main player. The nature of Ani’s death was by way of a warning to me. The cruelty was not gratuitous. I was ready to heed it, but then I had a row with your husband which determined me to stay: the fight had in any case become personal. Amotju told Mutnefert that I had gone to ground somewhere in the city, and she, mistaking Rekhmire’s investigation of her for mine, decided that she needed to find me, to give me one more warning that I couldn’t ignore.’
‘She could have killed you.’
‘I know. I think it was more important to her to defeat me by fear. What had worked with Amotju would work with me. And — forgive me — Amotju was as soft as silt in her hands. When it suited her to convince him that his experience in the underworld had been engineered by Rekhmire in order to persuade him to challenge the priest directly by appearing in public with her, he was more than willing to believe. Wine helped, and you both encouraged his drinking, didn’t you, for the same reason: to keep him malleable.’
