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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
List of Characters
Historical Note
Map
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Also by P. C. Doherty
Copyright
From Martin Zealander, with love, to his sister Ruth Robbins who sadly passed away on 8 December 2004, aged 45.
List of Characters
THE HOUSE OF PHARAOH
Hatusu:
Pharaoh-Queen of the XVIII dynasty
Senenmut:
lover of Hatusu: Grand Vizier or First Minister, a former stonemason and architect
Valu:
the ‘Eyes and Ears’ of Pharaoh: royal prosecutor
Omendap:
Commander-in-Chief of Egypt’s armies
THE HALL OF TWO TRUTHS
Amerotke:
Chief Judge of Egypt
Prenhoe:
Amerotke’s kinsman, senior scribe in the Hall of Two Truths
Asural:
Captain of the Temple Guard of the Temple of Ma’at in which the Hall of Two Truths stands
Shufoy:
a dwarf, Amerotke’s manservant and confidant
Norfret:
Amerotke’s wife
Ahmase and Curfay:
Amerotke’s sons
THE TEMPLE OF PTAH
Ani:
High Priest
Maben:
Assistant High Priest
Hinqui:
Assistant High Priest
Minnakht:
Chief Scribe
Hutepa:
a heset
THE HOUSE OF THE GOLDEN VINE
Ipuye:
merchant
Patuna:
Ipuye’s first wife
Khiat:
Ipuye’s second wife
Maben:
Ipuye’s brother-in-law
Meryet:
Ipuye’s sister-in-law through Patuna
Hotep:
Kushite, captain of Ipuye’s bodyguard
Saneb:
Kushite: member of Ipuye’s bodyguard
THE UNDERWORLD OF THEBES
Churat:
‘The Eater of Vile Things’: gang leader
Skullface:
one of the Churat’s standard-bearers
Bluetooth:
a member of the Amemets, a guild of assassins in Thebes
The Vulture:
a member of the Amemets
The Gerh:
Lady of the dark
THE LIBYANS
Naratousha:
leading chieftain
Themeu:
Naratousha’s kinsman
OTHER CHARACTERS
Nadif:
standard-bearer in the Medjay, the Theban police
Huaneka
widow of the author of the Ari Sapu – the Books of Doom
HISTORICAL NOTE
The first dynasty of ancient Egypt was established about 3100 BC. Between that date and the rise of the New Kingdom (1550 BC) Egypt went through a number of radical transformations which witnessed the building of the pyramids, the creation of cities along the Nile, the union of Upper and Lower Egypt and the development of the Egyptians’ religion around Ra, the Sun God, and the cult of Osiris and Isis. Egypt had to resist foreign invasion, particularly by the Hyksos, Asiatic raiders who cruelly devastated the kingdom.
By 1470 BC, Egypt, pacified and united under Pharaoh Tuthmosis II, was on the verge of a new and glorious ascendancy. The pharaohs had moved their capital to Thebes; burial in the pyramids was replaced by the development of the Necropolis on the west bank of the Nile as well as the exploitation of the Valley of the Kings as a royal mausoleum.
I have, to clarify matters, used Greek names for cities, etc., e.g. Thebes and Memphis, rather than their archaic Egyptian names. The place name Sakkara has been used to describe the entire pyramid complex around Memphis and Giza. I have also employed the shorter version for the pharaoh queen: i.e. Hatusu rather than Hatshepsut. Tuthmosis II died in 1479 BC and, after a period of confusion, Hatusu held power for the next twenty-two years. During this period Egypt became an imperial power and the richest state in the world.
Egyptian religion was also being developed, principally the cult of Osiris, killed by his brother Seth but resurrected by his loving wife Isis, who gave birth to their son, Horus. These rites must be placed against the background of the Egyptians’ worship of the Sun God and their desire to create a unity in their religious practices. They had a deep sense of awe for all living things: animals and plants, streams and rivers were all regarded as holy, while Pharaoh, their ruler, was worshipped as the incarnation of the divine will.
By 1470 BC the Egyptian civilisation expressed its richness in religion, ritual, architecture, dress, education and the pursuit of the good life. Soldiers, priests and scribes dominated this civilisation and their sophistication is expressed in the terms they used to describe both themselves and their culture. For example, Pharaoh was ‘the Golden Hawk’; the treasury was ‘the House of Silver’; a time of war was ‘the Season of the Hyaena’; a royal palace was ‘the House of a Million Years’. Despite the country’s breathtaking, dazzling civilisation, however, Egyptian politics, both at home and abroad, could be violent and bloody. The royal throne was always the centre of intrigue, jealousy and bitter rivalry. It was on to this political platform, in 1479 BC, that the young Hatusu emerged.
By 1478 BC Hatusu had confounded her critics and opponents, both at home and abroad. She had won a great victory in the north against the Mitanni and purged the royal circle of any opposition led by the Grand Vizier Rahimere. A remarkable young woman, Hatusu was supported by her wily and cunning lover Senenmut, also her First Minister. She was determined that all sections of Egyptian society accept her as Pharaoh Queen of Egypt.
In foreign policy Hatusu had to face three great threats. The first was from the Libyans who prowled the western desert. The second was from the southern province of Kush, a source of great riches. Kush was ever ready to rebel against a weak or distracted pharaoh. A third source of danger were the tribes generally classed as ‘the Sea People’, who prowled the Middle Sea. Egypt had to defend the delta in the north, and the long river Nile, which was the life blood of Egypt; if that was cut or cities along it seized, a major threat was posed. Successive pharaohs were always determined to confront such dangerous threats whenever they emerged …
TCHETHU-I: ancient Egyptian, ‘prison’
PROLOGUE
‘Pay now devotion to the god with the face of a dog and the brow of a man. He who feeds on the slain, who keeps guard on the shore by the Lake of Fire, who devours the bodies of the dead, who tears out hearts and yet remains invisible.’ The strident voice of the prison chaplain paused. ‘Let us seek him who drinks the blood of the dead, who supplies the blocks with slaughter and lives on intestines. Let us remember him who herds the doomed to their death, stabs their bodies and smashes their skulls. Curs
es on them whose bodies are cut to pieces, spirit and souls severed from their shadows, driven far away, their skulls battered in, hearts plucked out.’ The chaplain’s voice echoed through the heat-laden air like the sound of a trumpet; it beat upon the high palisade, returning to ring through the enclosure of the Oasis of Bitter Bread, a hellish hole surrounded by burning sands a hundred miles out in the Redlands west of Thebes.
The prison chaplain, clad only in a loincloth, stirred restlessly on the makeshift wooden platform erected in the middle of the enclosure, the only shade against the burning sun a thin awning of striped cloth which drooped inertly in the heat. He paused, glancing quickly to his right then to his left at the Guardian of Shadows, the prison keeper and his standard-bearer, squatting on reed mats either side of him. He blew out a breath, hoping to cool the sweat on his face, and stared across at the execution stake, which soared at least five yards high. From it the dying prisoner hung head down, blood pouring from his wounds. The chaplain fingered the bracelet specially smeared in the hair, fat, gall and excrement of an ibex and prayed for release against the oppressive heat. He wondered when the prisoner would die, when the fiery sun would dip and the cool night breezes rise. Not for the time he deeply regretted his own indiscretions, the theft of sacred scarabs from the sanctuary of his temple back in Thebes. Such disgrace had led to his exile as a prison priest in this boiling antechamber of the Underworld. He just wanted to escape the fierce heat as the hapless prisoner hanging before him had tried to do. Escape brought no hope, not from the Oasis of Bitter Bread, where fiends roamed and the power of Seth the Destroyer was all-pervasive. The condemned man had been recaptured, then whipped and lacerated before being hung upside down in full view of the prisoners and their guards, a dire warning to all. The Oasis of Bitter Bread was their world, guarded by all the monsters of the Am-duat, the Underworld, and to escape meant certain death.
The unfortunate prisoner now swayed lightly, arms and head hanging down; the leather thongs around his ankles rippled, causing the victim to bounce eerily up and down. The chaplain continued his chant a little faster, fingering the al-haggar-al-hurra, the white cat’s-eye stone which he wore on a cord around his neck for protection against nightmares. He stared around the compound, at the reed-topped huts, the palm trees clustered around the precious waterhole, the guards in their leather kilts and baldrics, shaven heads protected against the sun by striped headdresses. The prisoners, some forty in number, were not so fortunate. Clad only in loincloths, they had all been manacled to goree sticks fashioned from tree branches. These were forked at one end and fastened around the prisoners’ necks by a strip of leather.
The prison chaplain licked his dry lips; aware of the growing frustration of the Guardian, he gabbled his prayer to a finish. Immediately the Guardian rose, grasping his metal-studded mace, and started across the compound to the condemned man. All fell silent; there was nothing but the buzzing of flies, and the occasional dust devil, spurts of sand lifted by the hot wind to sting the eyes and clog the throat. Above them, black wings spread against the deep blue sky; the vultures circled as if Nekhbet, Mistress of the Scavengers, had summoned them to the impending bloody banquet. One of the guards hastened to hold the swaying man still. The Guardian approached, cheap bracelets and finger rings glinting in the light, oil-drenched thighs brushing against each other. He stopped before the prisoner, now held still by the guard, then grunted and drew back the mace. The condemned man whimpered a prayer or plea, but no one cared; even the gods had deserted this place. Only Seth, red-haired and green-eyed, together with his legion of demons, visited the Oasis of Bitter Bread. The Guardian brought the mace down, shattering the prisoner’s skull, the bone cracking like a dusty jug against a rock. The man jerked a little, then hung still, blood and brains soaking the hot sand beneath. A collective moan rose from the prisoners. The Guardian waddled back to the makeshift dais and, taking a ladle of water, splashed his face and wetted his lips, provoking more groans from the watching men and women baking under the relentless sun.
‘Know you,’ the Guardian shouted, pointing at the dead man, ‘the sentence for escape! The Guardians of the Fiery Lake prowl this oasis, Pharaoh’s justice on you, filth under her sandalled feet.’ He paused, relishing the thought. He had never looked upon the face of Hatusu, the She-King, Pharaoh of Egypt, but he’d heard about her beauty and terrifying majesty, as magnificent as an army in battle array. He took another sip of water, aware of the excitement in his loins, the usual effect of any execution, then threw the ladle down.
‘Demons with deadly claws ever ready to slay,’ he continued, his words rolling out across the dusty compound, ‘watch you day and night. The slayers of souls and the boilers of flesh will trap you in so many ways.’ He flung up a hand, pointing to the circling vultures. ‘They watch and they report on any living thing which crawls on the sands beyond. They decide who shall be your executioners, the lions, the hyaenas, the snakes…’ He paused for effect. ‘Or the Libyans, sand-dwellers, desert wanderers … or the followers of Seth, outlaws and bandits who show no mercy. And if they do not dog your heels, the Devil of Thirst, the Demon of Hunger, the Fiend of the Sun, or the Terror of Icy Nights will surely trail your every step. Be warned!’ He gestured at the dead prisoner. ‘No burial rite for him! No help with his journey through the Am-duat, where Apet the Great Snake awaits him. Cut him down! Leave his corpse out on the sands.’ He lifted his hands dramatically, and pointed once again at the vultures. ‘The watchers await their banquet.’
The Guardian slumped down on to the cushions, congratulating himself on a job well done. Two prisoners, trusted ones, hastened across with fans to cool his sweaty face and body. The Guardian grunted with pleasure and slurped another mouthful of water, then he turned to his standard-bearer. ‘The master of prisons will be pleased: no escapes, no mistakes!’ He closed his eyes, which were almost hidden in rolls of fat. He could just imagine the report he would dictate to his superiors in Waset, the City of the Sceptre, Thebes. Perhaps that would secure him promotion. The custody of a greater prison, closer to the city, away from this dunghole, which was at least a week’s march from Thebes. Nevertheless, there were still comforts. The Guardian moaned quietly with pleasure. Tonight he would eat fresh meat brought in by the hunters, spiced quail, and, perhaps, a juicy melon purchased from a passing Kushite merchant. Afterwards he would relax with that female prisoner so desperate to earn his favour.
‘Master?’
He opened his eyes.
‘The prisoners?’ The Guardian’s standard-bearer gestured across the compound.
‘Ah, yes.’ The Guardian mopped his face with a wet cloth. He felt magnanimous. ‘Release them from the yoke, no manacles; a stoup of water, a bowl of bread and dried meat for each one.’
He stared across at the cowed, huddled group of men and women, herded here from all parts of the empire. He searched out that pretty, long-haired Memphite woman. She was gazing longingly across at him. At last she had succumbed!
‘Two stoups of water.’ The Guardian clambered to his feet.
‘Even the Rekhet?’
‘Yes,’ the Guardian smiled, ‘even the Rekhet.’
* * *
The prisoner known as the Rekhet, or Number Ten according to the prison roster, sat by himself on the collection of dry rags that served as his bed in the shadow of the palisade. Glad to be free of that hideous yoke, he lifted the cup of precious water, sipped carefully, then chewed on the piece of dried antelope meat the guards had flung at him. He lifted a hand against the dust and flies ready to cluster around his mouth or coat his cracked fingers, then stared up at the sky. The heat was dying. At last the sun was beginning to slip, the air was cool, the night winds offering some relief. He drew in a deep breath and gagged at the fetid smells. He had to escape! He had witnessed the execution, yet it had not deterred him. Tonight the Guardian would celebrate. The guards would drink until they dropped. He would never have such an opportunity again.
The Rekhet fing
ered the rough placard fastened around his neck bearing his name and his number. He was now known to everyone by that name, as if those crimes he’d been accused of in the court of the Temple of Ptah had, like Hags of the Night, clung to his very soul, following him here to this prison oasis. To be free of his manacles was a rare event, whilst the other prisoners always kept well away from him. It mattered little what he said or did; they believed in his reputation, whatever the truth of the matter. Even these malefactors and brigands regarded him as an evil man. He had scarcely been in the prison compound a month when six prisoners had died. He’d vainly pleaded that the cause of their deaths was foul food or brackish water, but he had still been singled out as responsible, and if it had not been for the prison chaplain, he would have been torn to pieces. In a sense this had been transformed into a blessing. He had been left well alone, and so he could plot. He’d now collected all the things he needed, hidden beneath his collection of rags: a waterskin, reed sandals, some grains of silver, a piece of cloth for his head, a pack of dried meat, a dagger, a piece of flint, some twine, even a crude map. Now he squatted and reflected. He’d not decided who in Thebes was responsible. Hutepa the heset? Or someone else who’d bribed the passing sand-dwellers and desert wanderers to visit this oasis, secretively seek him out and pass these forbidden items on to him? Somebody wanted him to escape, though who it was remained a mystery.
Once again the Rekhet stared up at the sky, longing for night to fall so he could go. No more days in this desolate place of torture with its cruel tedium, the petty brutality of its jailors and the cold ostracism of his fellow prisoners. At night, his dream-soul floated out back to Thebes, to walk in the flowered gardens of the Temple of Ptah, to savour their perfumed breezes, revel in the sheer beauty of the elegant columns washed by the moonlight, the sacredness of the sanctuary, the all-inspiring beauty of the Palace of a Million Years. In his dreams, he visited the library, smelt the fragrance of sandalwood and frankincense, scrubbed papyrus, thick ink and rich leather. In other dreams he sat by the pools of purity and watched the lotuses open. On such soul journeys he passed through the soaring pylons fronting the temple with their gorgeous standard poles, elaborate inscriptions and vivid drawings either side of the huge bronze doors. Other scenes would come swirling in. Heset girls in their gauzelike veils and robes, perfumed, oil-drenched wigs framing pretty faces, beautiful limbs moving sinuously to the clatter of the sistra and the beat of the tambourine. Fresh food piled high on platters, finest wines slopping in jewel-encrusted goblets. But his dreams often turned to nightmares. The arrival of the Medjay at his lodgings, his arrest, the vision of his comrades’ corpses, foully poisoned, sprawled on the floor of that chamber. The horrific accusations had been hurled thick and fast: that he was a professional poisoner responsible not only for these deaths but for many more throughout Thebes. They claimed to have found his secret cabinet of powders and potions. The indictment had been drawn up damning him, leaving him no choice but to either throw himself on the mercy of Pharaoh or face immediate trial and summary execution.
The Poisoner of Ptah Page 1
