Nefertiti rr-1

by Nick Drake

  The sun had now disappeared over the river, over the Red Land.

  ‘So what has all this to do with her vanishing?’

  Khety went quiet.

  ‘Don’t be enigmatic, it’s annoying.’

  ‘Sometimes it’s dangerous to speak.’

  I waited.

  ‘Two reasons. One, timing. The Festival is pointless without her. Two, she’s far more loved and admired than him. I sometimes think the only reason everyone goes along with the new religion is because they believe in her far more than they believe in the worship of the Aten. Even people who have nothing but negative things to say about everything that’s happening have to admit that she’s an astonishing person. There’s never been anyone like her. But that in itself is a problem. Some people see her as a threat.’

  I took a sip of wine. ‘Who?’

  ‘People who have something to lose by her power, and something to gain by her death.’

  ‘Disappearance. Why did you say death?’

  He looked disconcerted. ‘Sorry, disappearance. Everyone thinks she’s been murdered.’

  ‘Rule one: assume nothing. Just look at what is and isn’t there. Deduce accordingly. Who would profit from such a situation, from the uncertainty?’

  ‘There’s not just one candidate, there are many. In the new military, in the old Priesthoods of Karnak and Heliopolis, in the Harem, within the new bureaucracy, even’-he moved closer-‘in the royal family itself. Apparently the inner circles of the court are rife with people saying even the Queen Mother has resented her beauty and her influence-things she herself lost a long time ago.’

  We paused and looked at the suddenly darkening sky. He had spoken well, and everything he said had confirmed my worst fear: that indeed I was now caught up at the centre of a mystery as delicately complex as a spider’s web that could destroy not only my life, but the life of the country. I suddenly felt a dark nest of serpents stir inside my stomach, and a voice in my head told me it was impossible, that I would never find her, that I could perish here and never see Tanefert and the children again. I tried to breathe myself calmly back to the task in hand. Concentrate. Concentrate. Use what you know. Do the job. Think. Think it through.

  ‘Remember, Khety, there is no body. A murderer wishes only to hurt, punish and kill. A death is a death. It is an accomplished fact. This situation is different. A disappearance is far more complex. Its achievement is instability. Whoever has done this has introduced tremendous uncertainty and turbulence into a settled equation. And there is nothing worse for those in authority. They find themselves fighting illusions. And illusions are very powerful.’

  Khety looked impressed. ‘So how do we proceed?’

  ‘There is a pattern to all this; we just have to learn to read its signs, to connect the clues. Her disappearance is our starting point. It is what we know we know. We do not know why, or how. We do not know where she is, or whether she lives. We must find out. And how do you think we should do that?’

  ‘Umm…’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, have they given me a monkey as an assistant?’

  He flushed with embarrassment, but his eyes glittered with anger. Good. A reaction.

  ‘If you have lost something, what is the first question you ask yourself?’

  ‘Where was the last place I had it?’

  ‘So…’

  ‘So we must discover the last place, the last time, the last person. And trace her backwards and forwards from there. So you want me to-’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘A name will be on your desk first thing in the morning.’

  After a while I smiled. ‘Khety, you are becoming a wiser man with every passing drop of this fine wine.’

  His anger dissipated a little. I refilled his cup.

  ‘No-one ever just disappears,’ I continued, ‘as if they had stepped out of their sandals and up into thin air. There are always clues. Human beings cannot help but leave traces. We will find and read these traces. We will track her footsteps in the dust of this world, and discover her and bring her safely home. We have no choice.’

  We bade farewell at the crossroads where the Royal Road met the way back to my office. Khety saluted, then stepped towards the Medjay headquarters, no doubt to report everything to Mahu with the confident fluency of the inexperienced drinker. But perhaps I was too harsh. He had been candid with me, more than was strictly required. I could not trust him, nevertheless I liked him well enough. And he would be a useful guide to this strange world.

  10

  I woke early like a condemned man to the naivety of birdsong. I could not believe I was still here, and that I had committed myself and my family to this madness. I wanted Tanefert lying next to me. I wanted to hear the girls talking to each other next door, in their room. But the room was an empty box. Would that I could turn back the river that carried me here.

  Khety and Tjenry arrived together. Tjenry carried breakfast, a jug of beer and a basket of bread rolls which he put down in front of me. Khety looked pleased with himself. He carefully placed a papyrus document on my desk. On it was written a girl’s name: Senet.

  ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘Nefertiti’s maid. The last person to see her, as far as I can discover. She reported her disappearance.’

  ‘Good. Let’s go.’

  ‘But we don’t have an appointment.’

  ‘Why do we need an appointment to speak to the Queen’s maid?’

  ‘Because it’s how things are done, it’s etiquette. She’s not just anyone. Her family-’

  ‘Look, Khety, in Thebes, I just turn up. I decide who I want to talk to, when, where and how. I go out into the streets, I talk to people who work, who have lives one can understand more or less at a glance; they talk before they’ve had a chance to work out their story properly. I know the way of things. I know how to find the people I need to find. I ask them questions. I get the answers.’

  He looked worried. ‘May I speak?’

  ‘Only very quickly.’

  Tjenry grinned. Khety ignored him.

  ‘The capital is a very formal kind of place. There is always hierarchy to respect; etiquette, procedure, propriety. Even the simplest request for an audience or a meeting can take days to administrate and negotiate. People are very…sensitive, and demand to have their status respected and acknowledged. It’s all very finely balanced, and if you get it wrong and upset people, it makes things very…difficult.’

  I couldn’t believe this. ‘Khety, do you remember what we talked about last night? Do you realize how little time we have? We have ten-no, nine, as of now-days. At most. If we wait at these invisible doors, knocking politely and saying, “Please may we come in, please grant us a moment of your precious time, please may we acknowledge your high status, please may my assistant Khety kiss your honourable arse,” we’re never going to survive. And besides, we have authorities. From Akhenaten.’

  I unrolled the papyrus, with its royal symbols-his two names written within the cartouches-and showed him.

  Tjenry was impressed.

  We walked out into the early morning and Khety showed me a ramshackle chariot that he had procured for the purpose of driving me from place to place.

  ‘Sorry, sir, this is all that’s available.’

  ‘So much for honour and status,’ I said.

  We drove off, Tjenry following in another chariot that was in an even worse condition. There were still fine traces of night coolness in the air and in the freshness of the light. The twittering of thousands of birds, the already dazzling brightness of the buildings, the way the first light awoke among little things-in the blades of the grasses, in the leaves, in the running waters-helped restore my heart to the belief that perhaps after all I could solve this mystery and return to my family.

  Khety drove us at speed away from the central city, along the wide Royal Road and then off on a spur which soon turned into a sinuous and beautiful pathway beside the river, beneath an avenue of mature palm trees.r />
  ‘Were these trees already here when the city was built?’ I asked.

  ‘No, sir. They came by barge, and were planted to the design.’

  I shook my head in wonder at the strangeness of things in our time: fully grown trees planted in the desert.

  ‘And Senet-tell me about her.’

  ‘She is the Queen’s maid.’

  ‘More, please.’

  ‘She has the Queen’s trust.’

  ‘Is that rare?’

  ‘I do not know. I expect so.’

  ‘And this is the Queen’s private residence?’

  ‘Yes. She likes a less formal environment than the House of the King. She raises the children here. It is quite unusual.’

  We drove on past vegetable gardens with their sparkling irrigation channels, and recently established orchards. The sun had now risen above the eastern cliffs and was immediately hot on our faces. The long shadows were banished. Thousands of nameless workers toiled at the black earth to produce food for the city, directing with their adzes the flow of water through the channels that ran alongside the fields. Thousands more builders and artisans laboured on the new constructions, their skin and hair permanently blanched with dust, the beat of the work drum as constant in their ears as a heartbeat.

  Finally we arrived at the gate of the Queen’s Palace. To my surprise it was a house set behind a high mud-brick enclosure, though of unusual, extensive proportions; not a palace in the sense of colonnades and high walls decorated with hieroglyphs and statues, but a place of elegant, human scale and design. Long, low roofs were arranged at different levels, with open spaces between to allow for the circulation of air, the high entry of light and the continually evolving presence of shade.

  I told Tjenry to wait outside. He was not pleased, so I explained: ‘I don’t want to overwhelm the girl with Medjay officers. She’ll be too frightened to speak.’ He shrugged, nodded, and found a place to lounge in the shade.

  The entrance was guarded, but when Khety and I approached flourishing the authority they unbarred the way and we passed through into a courtyard floored with alabaster, and with narrow, shallow runnels of water spreading outwards from a central fountain where a pure nub of water pulsed endlessly. The way the light played off the water encouraged sensations of pleasure. For the first time since I arrived in the city I felt almost relaxed. I instantly responded by tensing up again: a seeker’s reflex. Nothing is more dangerous than relaxation.

  We were led into the house by a girl dressed in white linen, like all the girls who appeared and then vanished as we made our way through a series of rooms and courtyards. Each room flowed into the next in a way that allowed for variety, juxtaposition, the interplay of inner and outer spaces, of brick and wood, light and shade, giving the highly unusual sense that the two worlds of the house and nature were happily co-existing. The long roofs were cantilevered to provide canopies above terraces, and I could not tell how such constructions were kept apparently floating in space. I noticed children’s toys, papyri and drawing materials scattered around, collections of beautiful objects on tables, and varieties of plants gathered together in shady corners.

  We were bidden to wait in a room with two long benches. Then a young woman entered and introduced herself. I expect such girls to be no more than suitably average in their beauty, the better to offset whatever claims their mistresses have to such a thing themselves. But this girl was slim, elegant and sophisticated. She wore her hair under a headscarf. I liked her at once. She had a warmth and sincerity that I found I did not wish to mistrust. And her affection for her mistress was obvious. As was her nervousness during the interview.

  I took out this journal as a way to make her understand that I wished to make a permanent record of her words. I find this action often has a usefully intimidating effect during interviews. She sat with her hands, in fine yellow gloves, folded in her lap, and waited.

  ‘You know why we are here?’

  ‘I do. And I wish to be helpful.’

  ‘Then you must tell me all the things that might seem important, but also all the things that might not.’

  ‘I will do my best.’

  ‘So, let us start. You reported the Queen missing?’

  She nodded. ‘She was gone from her room when I went to dress her. The bed had not been slept in.’

  ‘Tell me about your relationship with the Queen.’

  ‘I am her maid-servant. My name is Senet. She chose me as a young girl to live with her. To help with her clothes, her dressing. To look after the children. To bring her the things she needed. To listen to her.’

  ‘So she talked to you? Of private matters?’

  ‘Sometimes. But my memory is poor.’

  She glanced quickly at Khety, and I understood her. It would be wrong and dangerous for her to break the Queen’s confidence in his presence.

  ‘Let us think back to the days before her disappearance. Can you do that? Tell me everything.’

  ‘My Lady is always happy. Every day. But I believe I noticed recently that she was worried about something. Her mind was busy.’

  ‘She is the Queen. Of course her mind is busy.’

  Khety’s interjection was unexpected by both of us. In fact, even he seemed surprised that he had spoken.

  ‘It is more efficient if I conduct this interview without interruption,’ I said to him.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  But I could sense the ripple of tension in his body, as if his ears were laid back now like a dog.

  ‘Do you have any idea why she was worried?’ I continued, turning my attention back to Senet.

  ‘Setepenra, the youngest princess, is teething, and not sleeping well. I know it is unusual, but you see she nurses the children herself.’

  Senet looked at me in a way I could not quite interpret. Did she really think the Queen could have no other concerns? Or was she simply unwilling even to begin to refer to what they might be?

  ‘She loves the children?’

  ‘Very much. They are her life.’

  ‘So she would not leave them alone much?’

  ‘No, no. She hated to leave them. They cannot understand what is happening…’

  For the first time, her eyes betrayed a depth of emotion, the beginning of tears.

  ‘And now, please, would you think back to the last time you saw the Queen.’

  ‘It was seven nights ago. The children were put to bed. Then she went and sat out on the terrace that overlooks the river and the setting sun. She often does this. I saw her, sitting, thinking.’

  ‘How do you know she was thinking?’

  ‘I brought her out a shawl. She had nothing in her hands, not a text, nor a papyrus and brush. She was just staring out across the water. The sun had gone down. There was little to see. It was getting dark. When I offered her the shawl and some lit lamps, she jumped as if she was afraid. Then she held my hand for a moment. I noticed her face. It was tense, strained. I asked if there was anything I could do for her. She just looked at me, slowly shook her head, and turned away. I asked her to come inside, for it seemed wrong to stay alone out there. She did so, holding a lamp, and made her way to her bedroom. That was the last time I saw her, walking down the passage to her room in a circle of lamplight.’

  We all sat still for a moment.

  ‘So you did not accompany her to her room?’

  ‘No. She did not wish it.’

  ‘She spoke to you?’

  ‘No. I simply understood her.’

  ‘Can you be sure she returned to her room?’

  ‘No, I cannot.’

  She was becoming more anxious now.

  ‘And who else was in the house at this time?’

  ‘The children, their nurse, and I suppose the other staff: the cooks, the maids, the night guards.’

  ‘At what time do the guards change duty?’

  ‘At sunset and sunrise.’

  I took a moment to think through what to do next.

  ‘We need
to retrace her last steps. Can you take us to the terrace, and then along the route to her bedroom?’

  ‘Is that allowed?’

  ‘It is.’

  She led us to a wide stone terrace with steps leading down to the water’s edge, protected from the sun and from the possibility of scrutiny by a marvellous vine. A chair was placed under this sunshade, facing out to the waters and the opposite shore. No real construction had taken place there: just extensive fields, a few hamlets, and beyond that the Red Land shimmering in the distance. In the haze on the border, I could see just one significant building, a low tower or fort lonely in the heat, like a mirage. The water lapped, grey and green, against the salty glitter of the as yet unworn stone.

  In the silence I calmed myself in order to absorb everything. Then I took a risk and sat down directly in the chair. Her chair. Khety looked nervous at this breaking of taboo, and the girl seemed genuinely upset. I felt around the edges of the cushion with my fingers. Nothing. I wanted to feel the shape of this vanished woman in the contours of the chair, as if a message, a clue, or some form of connection between us might be discovered in this way. What happened was I felt too big, too clumsy. I could not conform my body to the natural flowing shape of the chair. I sat still a moment longer, my fingers on the arms where her own fingers would have lain. I touched wood carved into the likeness of the paws, unclawed, of a lion. The grain was soft beneath my fingertips. The fresh paint was smooth. I imagined her staring out across the river, into the inscrutable light. And thinking, thinking, her mind as clear as cool water.