by Nick Drake
‘I wish to meet the King’s physician,’ I said, suddenly.
‘Pentu attends the King,’ replied Khay.
‘I am sure he will spare Rahotep a few moments of his time. Ask him as a favour from me,’ said Ankhesenamun.
Khay bowed once more.
‘I must go to the King now. There is so much to be accomplished, and so little time,’ she replied.
Then she added quietly: ‘Can you remain here, in the royal quarters, tonight? The thought of your presence would be a comfort to me.’
I remembered the appointment with Khety.
‘Alas, I must return to the city. I have another line of inquiry that I must pursue tonight. It is imperative, I’m afraid.’
She gazed at me.
‘Poor Rahotep. You are trying to live two lives at once. You will attend us in the morning.’
I bowed, and when I looked up again, she had disappeared.
19
Pentu was pacing backwards and forwards, his hands clenched behind his back, his angular, haughty face desiccated with tension. As soon as I entered, and the curtain was drawn behind us, he efficiently assessed me, as if I were an annoying patient.
‘Why do you need to see me?’
‘I appreciate you are busy. How is the King?’
He glanced at Khay, who nodded, indicating he should reply.
‘He has suffered an attack of anxiety. It is not the first time. His mind is sensitive, and easily affected. This will pass.’
‘And how do you treat him?’
‘I contended with the affliction by reciting the effective prayer of protection by Horus against the night demons.’
‘And was it effective?’
His brow furrowed and his tone implied this was none of my business.
‘Of course. I also persuaded the King to drink a curative water. He is much calmer now.’
‘What kind of curative water?’ I asked. He huffed.
‘To be magically efficacious, the water must be passed over a sacred stele and, once it has absorbed the effectiveness of the carving, collected.’
He gazed at me, daring me to question him further.
We paused.
‘Thank you. The world of medicine is unknown to me.’
‘Clearly. Now, if that is all…’ he said, exasperated, making as if to leave, but Khay made soothing gestures, and he stayed.
It was time to make my mark.
‘Let me be plain and to the point. There have now been three successful attempts to infiltrate the very heart of the royal quarters. On each occasion, an object has been left which has threatened the King in ways both physical and, at least in intention, metaphysical. I also have reason to believe whoever is doing this has knowledge of pharmacopoeia-’
‘What are you implying?’ Pentu shouted. ‘Is this man implying that I or my staff are under suspicion?’ He glared at Khay.
‘Forgive me if I spoke carelessly. My reasons are drawn from other things, events outside the palace. But I would say this state of affairs, and the consequences for the King’s state of mind, should be our absolute priority. For if the instigator of all this can do the things he has done so easily, then what else might he not do?’
He and I looked at each other in silence.
‘Why don’t we all sit down?’ suggested Khay, diplomatically, taking advantage of the moment.
So we sat on low benches placed against the wall of the chamber.
‘Firstly, since I have reason to believe this man may indeed be a physician himself, it would be helpful to understand how the palace physicians are organized, and who has direct access to the King,’ I said.
Pentu cleared his throat stiffly.
‘As the Chief Physician of the North and the South, only I have access directly to the King. No other physician may be in his presence unless I am there also. All treatments are authorized and prescribed by me. Of course, we are also charged with the care of the Queen and the other members of the royal family, and with that of all members of the royal quarters, including the servants.’
‘You said other members of the royal family. Who else is there, apart from the Queen?’
He glanced at Khay.
‘I meant by that members of the extended families who serve the King and Queen,’ he replied, with a curious indifference.
‘How many physicians are affiliated to the palace?’
‘All physicians in the Two Lands are under my ultimate authority. There are only a few of us who are fully competent in all aspects of the mysteries, but there are specialists of the eye, either the left or the right, the belly, the teeth, the anus, and the hidden organs, who can be called upon instantly as required.’
‘And as I understand it, there are distinctions between the different professional hierarchies?’
‘Obviously there are distinctions. Don’t you think it is important to discriminate between marketplace bone-setters, and those of us with academic training and knowledge of the books, which qualify us to administer proper healing through plants and magic?’ he hissed.
‘I am intrigued about these books,’ I said.
‘You may be intrigued, but they are secret books, that is the whole point.’
I smiled, pleasantly.
‘I apologize. Is the King receiving any treatment at the moment? Apart from the curative water?’
‘He is strong, physically, and his health is perfect; but I have also prescribed a sleeping potion. He has suffered a severe shock. He must rest before tomorrow. He must not be disturbed. I will sit with him throughout this night.’
Simut had made sure this time the security of the royal quarters made it into a sealed sanctum. At every turn of the corridors, pairs of guards were stationed. And when we arrived at the chamber itself, there were two guards on either side of the door, and two others stationed opposite them. The doors were closed, but Pentu quietly opened them, and gestured for me to look briefly within.
The King’s temporary bedchamber was lit with oil lamps; they were set in the wall niches, and on the floor, and in even greater numbers around his bed, so that he appeared like a young god in a constellation of lights. The candles were lit to banish the darkness of the world around him, but they looked weak against such threatening, dangerous forces. Ankhesenamun was holding her husband’s hand, and talking quietly to him. I saw the intimacy between them, how she made him feel safe, and secure, and how she was the braver and the more powerful one of the pair. But I still could not imagine how such a delicate couple could, tomorrow, assume authority from demagogues and dictators of ambition such as Ay and Horemheb. However, I knew I would prefer Ankhesenamun’s rule to either of theirs. And I knew she was clever. They had underestimated her. She had watched and learned from their example, and perhaps too she had now learned some of the absolute ruthlessness she would need in order to survive in this labyrinth of monsters. They both looked up for a moment, and saw me framed in the doorway. I bowed my head. Tutankhamun, Lord of the Two Lands, stared at me coldly, then flicked his hand with a gesture of dismissal.
Pentu closed the door in my face.
20
I hurried to meet Khety in the quarter of the town where men go after their hard day’s work in the offices of the bureaucracies. It was long past our arranged meeting time; the only light in the ways and lanes came from the small windows of the houses where oil lamps had been lit. The narrow passageways were full of drunken men, bureaucrats and labourers, some hurrying silently, furtively; others in vociferous groups, calling and shouting to each other as they lurched from place to place. Girls with their breasts displayed, and slim, sly boys, and some who could have been either, threaded through, brushing against the men, and glancing back over their shoulders as they passed into shady doorways that led to the tiny curtained cubicles where they worked their trade. One of them accosted me.
‘I can teach you such pleasures as you cannot imagine,’ she offered, in a worn-out voice.
I found the low, anonymous doorway in a long mud
-brick wall that ran off the main thoroughfare. Past the thick doorkeeper and his thick door, I went down the passageway. Usually these places are a warren of airless, low rooms, their ceilings besmirched with many nights of black tallow smoke, but this one was very different. I found myself in a series of rooms and courtyards. The quality of everything was luxurious: high-quality wall paintings, very good art, and the best tapestries hung on the walls. The place had the rich sheen of success; and it was thronged with fashionable, successful men, their acolytes and female attendants, drinking and talking-roaring with opinion, laughter and contempt over jugs of beer and goblets of wine, and plates piled with excellent food. Faces swam in and out of my vision: a painted woman in expensive robes braying like a mule, her eyes thrilled; an older, red-faced man with his mouth wide open like a baby screaming; and a young man’s tough, greasy, thin profile, hidden in a corner, not talking to anyone, but watching everything, waiting for his opportunity, a hyena at the feast.
On the walls were paintings of copulation: men and women, men and men, men and boys, women and women. Each figure wore a cartoon grin of ecstasy, sketched in a few lines of red and black. Inconceivably massive cocks jutted. Various penetrations occurred. I had seen such things circulated on confiscated satirical papyri, but not reproduced on a larger scale.
Khety was waiting for me. I ordered a jug of wine from the middle-aged servant whose blotched, pallid skin looked as if it had not seen sunlight for many years.
‘I’ve been drinking very, very slowly,’ he said, to remind me how late I was.
‘Top marks for self-discipline, Khety.’
We found a corner, and both turned our backs on the crowds, not wanting our presence to register more than it must-for no Medjay officer walks carelessly into a place like this. There were plenty of rich men, whose businesses were less than orthodox, who would frequent such a place, and perhaps take great pleasure in confronting law-keepers such as Khety and me, in a place where we could count on few friends.
The wine arrived. As I expected it was overpriced and underwhelming. I tried to adjust to the strange adjacency of the two worlds: the Malkata Palace with its silent stone corridors, and its elite characters in their hushed drama of power and betrayal, and this playground of noisy nightlife. I suppose the same things were going on in both places-the nightly demand of male desire, and the supply of satisfactions.
‘Any more leads?’ I said.
‘I’ve been asking around. It’s tough because these kids come from all over the kingdom now. Some of them are slaves or prisoners, while others are just desperate to escape and make their way to the golden streets of the city from whatever fly-infested nowhere they call home. Most come on the promises of a recruiter in their local area, but many are even sold by their own families. Babylonians, Assyrians, Nubians…if they’re lucky they end up in Thebes or Memphis.’
‘Or, if they’re unlucky, somewhere less romantic, a garrison town like Bubastis or Elephantine,’ I said. ‘They don’t last long anywhere. All they’ve got to offer is their beauty and their freshness. But once that’s passed…they’re only fit for the human junk-heap.’
I looked around, and saw in the young faces the damage caused by servicing all these demanding clients, night after night. Desperate, sunny faces smiling too widely, too deliberately, trying too hard to please; pretty girls and pretty boys like living dolls on the knees of the repulsive-looking men who could afford new flesh every week, or once a year. Everyone looked exaggerated and wild. A young woman with ruined eyes walked past us; her nose had been cut off. She looked as if she moved on invisible strings worked by an invisible puppet-master. She drifted away through the crowds.
‘But interestingly, many of them also carry illicit drugs across the borders or downriver as part of the deal. It’s a cheap delivery method. Everyone knows it happens, and individually the amounts are too small to bother with; and the border guards are bribed, or they’ll take a quick fuck as a backhander, and even when the odd few are caught for show, the profit far outweighs the loss.’
‘What a beautiful world this is,’ I said.
Khety chuckled.
‘It could do with some improvement.’
‘It’s getting worse,’ I said gloomily.
‘You always say that. You wouldn’t know what to say if something good actually happened,’ he replied, with his usual aggravating optimism. ‘You’re more miserable than Thoth, and he’s a dumb animal.’
‘Thoth is not miserable. Nor is he remotely as dumb as most of the two-legged creatures around here. He is thoughtful.’
I drank my wine.
‘Who owns this place?’
He shrugged.
‘Whoever owns most of this quarter of the city. Probably one of the big families, connected with the temples, who no doubt take a big percentage of the profits.’
I nodded. It was well known that the temples’ enormous wealth depended upon varied and very profitable business investments throughout the city and the nomes of the kingdom.
‘And who are we meeting?’
‘The manager. She’s a smart woman.’
‘I’m sure she has a heart of gold.’
We made our way through the braying crowds, past the blind musicians plucking at their instruments, despite the fact that no one was listening, and then slipped down a silent passageway lit by a few oil lamps.
Off this ran other passageways, with elegant curtains concealing spaces big enough for a comfortable mattress. Fat old men retreated into the cubicles to avoid us, and small girls and giggling boys slipped past like silly, ornamental fish. Despite the incense burning everywhere, the air was stale, tinged with human odours: sweat, tainted breath, stale feet and rank armpits. Somewhere someone was panting and groaning, in another cubicle a girl was sweet-talking and giggling, and from another a woman performed, low-pitched and ardent as a court singer. Further off I heard the splash of water, and laughter.
At the end was a door, and outside the door stood two thugs as big and expressionless and ugly as unfinished statues. They searched us wordlessly.
‘Can anyone smell onions?’ I said, catching a whiff of rank breath.
The thug who was patting me down paused for a moment. His face reminded me of a battered cooking-pot. The other thug put a thick, calming hand on his colleague’s broad shoulder, advising him with a wordless shake of the head to ignore my sarcasm. The thug snorted like a bull, then pointed a stubby finger right between my eyes. I smiled and pushed it away. The other guy knocked on the door.
We entered. The room was low and small, but mitigated by a vase of fresh lotus flowers on the table. The manager greeted us politely and distantly. She wore a long auburn wig in the latest style, but her fine, sculpted face was still, almost frozen, as if she had long forgotten the uses of a smile. She offered us stools and cushions. She elegantly arranged herself opposite us, her chin in her hand, and waited for what would come.
‘Please tell me your name.’
‘Takherit,’ she replied, clearly.
So she was Syrian.
‘I am Rahotep.’
She nodded and waited.
‘This is an inquiry, that’s all. You have no personal cause for concern.’
‘I feel none,’ she replied, coolly.
‘We are investigating a series of murders.’
She raised her eyebrows in a little mocking gesture of anticipation.
‘How thrilling.’
‘These slayings have been unusually brutal. No one deserves to die in the way these young people have done. I want to try to stop any more perishing in the same manner,’ I replied.
‘In these dark times people prefer to look away from everything they would rather not see,’ she said, evasively. Her tone was so flat I could not tell whether she spoke with a rich irony, or with none.
‘I want you to understand how serious this is.’
I threw the dead face, with its tarnished crown of black hair, on to the table in front of her.
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Her face remained frozen, but something altered in her gaze; a reaction, at last, to the blunt facts before us. She shook her red hair.
‘Only a monster could do this to a woman.’
‘What he has done is cruel, but it is almost certainly not meaningless. This is not some unpremeditated act of violence or passion. This man kills for reasons and in ways that are meaningful to him, if to no one else. It is a question of discovering the meaning,’ I said.
‘In that case, there are no monsters.’
‘No, only people.’
‘I don’t know if that makes me feel better, or worse,’ she replied.
‘I sympathize,’ I replied. ‘We need to discover who this girl was. We thought she might have worked here.’
‘Perhaps she did. We have many girls who work here.’
‘But have you missed anyone in particular?’
‘Sometimes these kids just vanish. It happens all the time. No one cares what happens to them. There are always more.’
I leaned forward.
‘This girl died a horrible death. The least we can do is call her by her name. She had a snake tattoo on her upper arm. Her landlord told us her name was Neferet.’
She glanced at the face, considered me, and nodded.
‘Then yes, I knew her. She worked here. I didn’t know much about her. You can never believe the stories they tell. But she struck me as one of the more innocent and trusting of the girls. She had a strange, sad smile. It made her even more attractive to some of our clients. She seemed like she belonged to a better world than this one. She claimed she was stolen from her family, who loved her, and one day she was sure they would come for her…’
‘She did not say where she was from?’
‘A farming village north of Memphis, I think. I can’t remember the name.’
‘We can assume she met the killer here. That means he is a client. He is an older man, from the elite class. Educated. Possibly a physician.’
She gazed at me.
‘Do you know how many men like that pay their discreet visits to places like this? And in any case, my workers are instructed never to ask questions about the clients’ personal lives.’
