Egypt

by Nick Drake

  ‘Everyone knows the opium crop is grown in the badlands between Egypt and the Hittite Empire. So perhaps Canaan? Amurru? Qadesh?’ I said, thinking of the territories that Egypt had struggled to control during the long stalemate of the Hittite wars.

  ‘I will repeat to you one word, which I hear, coming down to me from far, far away.’

  He beckoned me closer.

  ‘Obsidian. It is—’

  ‘I know what obsidian is. It is the material of looking glasses, and our sharpest knives.’ I interrupted.

  Then I remembered the masterful butchery of the decapitations. What if the killer had used an obsidian knife?

  ‘Obsidian is a name,’ he said quietly. I looked at him, hoping for more.

  The man stood up. Something in his gaunt face had suddenly changed. He was dangerous again.

  ‘You should go now. But I will be watching you. So don’t think you can just walk away from this. Do your part. Or else I will show you what happened to our boys could happen to you, too.’

  And with that, he screwed up the papyrus with the black star, grinned and swallowed it. And then swiftly he turned, and slashed his knife across the throat of Dedu, the waiting Nubian boy. Dedu gurgled on his own blood, and then his body collapsed at my feet.

  The Nubian wiped his knife over my cheeks so that the hot blood trickled down.

  ‘You are already deep in blood. Remember that.’

  11

  I had never seen Nakht lost for speech. I had just finished recounting the facts of Khety’s death. He embraced me lightly, and patted me on the shoulder–which surprised me, for he was not given to displays of emotion or intimacy, and he rarely tolerated physical contact. We stood like that, uncertainly, for a moment, and then moved apart, awkwardly. We were in the reception chamber on the first floor of the mansion. It gave on to the courtyard, where his caged birds trilled and water trickled along the crisscross of stone channels that fed the plants.

  ‘At the times when we most need language to express our feelings, it fails us,’ he said.

  ‘Silence is fine,’ I replied, curtly. ‘What is there to say?’

  He glanced at me, but I was in no mood to apologize or modify my behaviour. He went to a tray, and poured us wine into two handsome goblets. He offered me a place on the inlaid couch, and we sat.

  ‘I suspect you are intent upon some sort of revenge, in response to this dreadful tragedy?’

  ‘And?’ I said.

  ‘Let me counsel you. In moments such as this, we are inclined to allow the animal aspect of our natures to take control. It is a mistake.’

  ‘Why?’ I demanded.

  ‘Because revenge can destroy a man as surely as the plague. It seems like a god, so pure and true, and full of its sense of justice and entitlement. But it is truly a monster. It feeds perpetually upon its own pain, and upon any pain it can find. And it can never be satisfied until everything has been destroyed utterly.’

  ‘And how would you know?’ I snapped.

  There was a nasty moment of silence between us. His topaz eyes gazed at me, detached. Sometimes arguing with him was like trying to punch water. It made no difference. And he knew I wanted a fight, and he was not going to give it to me.

  ‘Death makes us strangers to ourselves,’ he offered, by way of reconciliation.

  He rose, and walked away, to look out of the doorway at the beautiful private world of his home.

  ‘You are right, of course; I know little of grief. I have been fortunate in that respect. Fate has been kind to me. One cannot trust it, of course. We are all vulnerable to misfortune,’ he said.

  ‘This was not misfortune. It was murder. And I’m going to track them down and then—’

  ‘Yes, and then what?’ Nakht interrupted, sitting down beside me again. ‘I suppose you thought I would support and encourage you in your righteous revenge? Now that tragedy has struck you personally, in an instant you forget all your values, and indulge yourself in the barbarity of blood,’ he continued, gazing at me, unblinking, with his hawk’s eyes.

  I had had enough. I drained the wine, then rose and walked to the door, to leave. He followed me, and gently placed his hand on my shoulder to stop me.

  ‘Please sit down, my friend. I’m truly sorry for your loss. I understand. You are trying to make his death into something meaningful. That is right and proper. But you must focus your anger and grief better.’

  ‘How?’ I said, desperately.

  ‘Do not indulge yourself in a self-pitying, self-gratifying revenge. More than likely you would simply end up dead as well. And think, too, about the cost of your actions to those who love you dearly. I, for one, could not bear to lose you,’ he said.

  I remained standing, silent, baffled by the chaos of my feelings and the pain that found me everywhere.

  Nakht calmly led me back to the couch, and I sat down again, like a child.

  ‘There is another way to think about this as well,’ he added.

  ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘You are lucky indeed to have had such a friend, to mourn his loss so deeply. Would he want you to indulge yourself in this display of blame and revenge? I doubt it,’ he said.

  I didn’t want to modify the intensity of my bitterness. I didn’t want to listen to these philosophical arguments. He saw my frustration, and continued: ‘I hope that were I to die, you would do the same for me. You would make my death meaningful by remembering me. By taking me to the tomb in honour and love. That is what the dead ask of their friends,’ he said.

  As we sat together, in the sunlight that slanted into the room, I thought about his words. For a moment, it even seemed possible. I swore then that if I returned to Thebes alive, I would lay Khety to rest in his tomb with my own hands, with all the rites. But first I would have my revenge.

  ‘When do we leave for the Hittite capital?’ I asked.

  Nakht glanced at me warily.

  ‘Under the circumstances, I doubt you are fully equipped to deal with the severe demands of the mission,’ he said.

  But I had to persuade him of my fitness to undertake the quest. It now offered me an exceptional chance to investigate the start of the opium trade in the north, and then to trace it back to Thebes, and perhaps to ‘Obsidian’ himself. Something told me I would never find him if I stayed in the city. I would have to track him in the sands of the wastelands beyond Egypt’s borders. But I would find him.

  ‘Only yesterday the Queen commanded me to attend you as your bodyguard, and I will obey. You also gave me strong inducements and incentives. And you promised me my family would be safe in your house. Is it not better that I leave Thebes? If I stayed, I would have no peace until I found Khety’s killer.’

  His topaz eyes considered me.

  ‘Our mission is of vital national importance. Nothing can be allowed to compromise the achievement of our goals,’ he said. ‘I will not tolerate anything less than your complete commitment. If at any time I consider your emotional state to be a problem, I will send you home immediately. No one is irreplaceable. Not even you. Is that understood?’

  ‘I understand,’ I replied.

  I felt a shadow pass between us. For a long moment I thought he was going to refuse me. But then he rose and embraced me formally, briefly, and without great warmth.

  ‘Then you had better tell Tanefert and the children. We leave tomorrow.’

  I walked up the lane to the gate of my house. I nodded respectfully to the little statuette of the household God in his niche, and for once asked for his blessing. Inside, the girls were sitting together on the floor, Sekhmet working on a papyrus roll, studying medicine, writing fluidly, the others trying to copy her with their own brushes. As soon as I walked in they ran over, and threw themselves around me, crying for Khety. Tanefert must have told them. I smoothed their hair, and dried their tears.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said.

  They nodded, and sniffed, and it was a relief to comfort them and share their sorrow.

&
nbsp; ‘Come, let us eat dinner together,’ I said.

  I made an effort to talk, and not to fall into the silence of grief about Khety’s death. While the girls cleaned the dishes in the yard, I beckoned Tanefert into our sleeping room. The girls looked at us curiously, knowing something was up, so I waved them away, and drew the curtain across to give us some privacy. Tanefert assumed I needed to talk to her about Khety.

  ‘How are you, my love?’ she asked, putting her arms around me.

  I kissed her. She gazed at my face. And then she pulled away slightly.

  ‘Something else has happened, hasn’t it?’ she asked.

  I hesitated. I had to speak now.

  ‘I have been dismissed from the Medjay.’

  Her expression darkened with despair, and she put her face into her hands.

  ‘Oh no…’

  ‘But I’ve had a new offer of work. It’s a very good offer,’ I began, placing the little bag of gold in her hands.

  She fixed me with one of her famous stares.

  ‘If it were good news, you would not need to talk like this, nor would you bribe me with gold,’ she countered. ‘Where did you get this? And what have you done to earn it?’

  ‘Let me finish,’ I replied. She sighed, and nodded.

  ‘Nakht has offered me work. Not just as a bodyguard. Not only will I be handsomely rewarded with more gold, but he has also promised me something much more important. He will promote me. If we are successful, I will take over Nebamun’s post. I would be Chief of the Medjay.’

  Her eyes were taking everything in, every half-truth, every nuance, every uncertain justification and assertion in my voice.

  ‘Nakht is a very powerful man, but such a promise must carry with it a heavy price,’ she said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So tell me,’ she urged. ‘I can’t stand it when you don’t tell me everything.’

  ‘I must accompany him on a long journey. And I cannot tell you where I am going, or when I will be back.’

  Her eyes were blazing. I thought she was going to slap me.

  ‘You promised me you would never leave us again. You promised!’

  And then she threw the bag of gold down, walked out of the room, and disappeared into the yard.

  I picked up the bag of gold and placed it carefully on the couch. My world had collapsed in a day. I went into the kitchen, where the girls and Amenmose were waiting, agog.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Sekhmet.

  ‘Stop asking questions,’ I snapped, and sat down at the end of the table. Sekhmet was shocked into silence. Amenmose’s lower lip was quivering, a prelude to a drama of tears and recriminations. I whisked him into my lap and kissed his face.

  ‘Come here. Don’t cry. I need you all to help me.’

  My son considered his options, and then nodded, deciding curiosity was better than crying.

  The others gathered closer.

  ‘Your Uncle Nakht and I have to go away on a long journey, and while I’m away I need you to take great care of your mother.’

  The two younger girls instantly set up a howl of grief, begging me not to leave them. Only Sekhmet reacted differently.

  ‘Where are you going, Father?’ she asked.

  ‘I can’t tell you exactly. But we’re going all the way to the northern sea, and then even further north.’

  Her eyes widened.

  ‘If you are going with Uncle Nakht, then you must be going on very important official business,’ she said. ‘Is it to do with the wars?’

  ‘I can’t tell you. But it’s very important and secret. So you must not tell anyone. Do you promise?’ She nodded, her eyes shining, excited to be a conspirator in the great adventure. I put my arm around her, held her close, and kissed her brow.

  ‘Clever girl. I need you to look after your sisters, and your brother, and your mother.’

  She nodded. ‘I’m an adult now, Father. You can rely on me.’

  ‘I know I can.’ I stroked her hair. I adored her self-belief.

  ‘No wonder Mother didn’t take this well,’ she said. ‘You did promise never to go away again.’ And she glanced at me sideways.

  ‘I did promise. And I wouldn’t break that promise unless it was extremely important for me to do so. There is more at stake than I can explain. But I want the world to be safe for you. And that’s why I’m going.’

  ‘I know, Father,’ she replied. ‘I’m just frightened something bad will happen to you. I would want to die, too, if it did.’

  To disguise my sudden distress at her words, I turned quickly back to the other girls, who had easily abandoned their grief as they followed my conversation with Sekhmet.

  ‘Now, the other news is good news. Nakht has invited you all to live in his mansion during the whole time of my journey. How does that sound?’

  While the four of them jumped up and down in enthusiastic joy, and ran around the kitchen in their delight at this prospect of luxurious accommodation, I went outside, and found Tanefert sitting under the fig tree in the dark. I plucked a ripe fruit from the tree, and offered it to her; she ignored me. We sat in silence for a little. I rolled the useless treat in my hand.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ was all I could find to say.

  She scoffed: ‘Sorry is easy. It’s just a word. You’ve already made your mind up. So there’s no point in talking more,’ she said, and rose to walk away from me.

  I reached out and gripped her hand. She struggled to free herself, but I would not let her go.

  ‘You’re hurting me,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t just–walk away. Talk to me,’ I said. I kissed her hand, hoping my feelings would show themselves in this way, when words failed me.

  ‘I’m so frightened,’ she said, after a while. ‘Some days it feels as if the world is falling apart. And I don’t know how to hold it all together for us.’

  ‘Everything will be fine,’ I answered, uselessly.

  ‘What will I tell the children if you never return? What will I tell myself?’

  ‘I will return, I promise you that,’ I said. ‘And then everything will change. Everything will get better again.’

  ‘I know you would only do this if you thought you were doing the best for us all. But sometimes you get obsessed with an idea, and you forget about us. I would much rather have a living husband with no job and no gold than a dead one. I don’t care how much Nakht has offered, your life simply isn’t worth the risk. And I know it must be dangerous, because why else would you have to go?’

  ‘I have no choice,’ I replied. It felt like the most honest thing I had said.

  ‘You always have a choice,’ she insisted. ‘Always. And you shouldn’t make decisions like this, not now, not when you’re grieving. I know you, my husband. You are being driven by rage and guilt. But Khety’s death was not your fault.’

  ‘Yes it was.’

  She looked at me unflinchingly. ‘And so you put your rage and your revenge before your family?’

  She had spoken the truth. I felt the cold blade of guilt slip into my heart. I wanted to tell her I had changed my mind. But something else would not let me. I forced myself to keep going.

  ‘I promise you I will return within three months. And then everything will be well.’

  She was silent for a long moment.

  ‘When must you go?’ she asked, eventually, in a strange voice.

  ‘Tomorrow morning,’ I replied.

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  She was incredulous.

  ‘We are your family. And you have chosen against us. I do not know how I will forgive you.’

  And she walked away into the house, leaving me in the dark. I threw the fig into the shadows.

  Part Two

  This northern boundary is as far as that inverted water which goes downstream in going upstream…

  Tombos stele of Tutmosis I

  12

  Ra rose above the dark horizon, and the Great River instantly caught the glory of the first light on its v
ast, shadowy surface, and glittered into splendid life.

  I stood on the ship’s deck and gazed out at Thebes, waking to another day of heat and work. I looked at the crowded docks; at the high temple walls, and the long, fluttering flags on their poles; at the districts of rich villas; and across the Great River at the Malkata Palace itself, where the Queen would be awake, and perhaps praying to Amun, God of Thebes, the Hidden One, for the success of our venture. I would not see my city again for many months. If we failed, then perhaps I would never return. Strangely, I found I no longer had strong feelings about that turn of events, or rather, I felt numb at the possibility of my own death. I thought of our hieroglyph for the word ‘expedition’: a kneeling man holding a bow, followed by the sign for a boat. I felt like that man, only my weapon was a dagger. I touched its handle; I would keep it tied across my chest at all times, in readiness.

  I looked down the elegant curve of the wooden gunwales that ran the long length of the ship. The Eye of Horus was painted boldly on either side of the prow, offering the protection of the God of the Sky, together with falcons on pedestals. Stylized plants painted in interlocking patterns ran entwined along the length of the hull, together with long, bold lines in red and blue, to the high stern where the Goddess Maat, Keeper of Justice and Harmony, was depicted kneeling with her wings open beneath the helmsman’s platform. The spacious cabin at the centre of the ship was decorated with a chequerboard pattern in black and white. The great timbers of the ship’s keel, ribs and crossbeams and decking were strong and clean. It was a good ship, and along with my dagger, it gave me comfort.

  Nakht and his manservant Minmose were supervising the delivery and placement within the cabin of his sealed travelling trunks, which I assumed contained the tablets of the secret letters from the Queen to the King of the Hittites, as well as diplomatic gifts of gold, and the necessary finances, documents and permissions for our journey. There was suddenly a clatter of hooves on the quay stones, and from out of the dawn shadows a splendid chariot drew up. Nakht hurried ashore to greet the arrival: a tall, dignified foreigner, in an unusual, dark embroidered cloak of fine wool, accompanied by a small contingent of troops. The party hurried on to the ship, and to the privacy of their cabin, as if anxious not to be seen. I understood that, for this was the Hittite ambassador, Hattusa and his retinue, returning with us to their native land.