The Poisoner of Ptah

by P. C. Doherty

‘You are Overseer of the Books?’ Amerotke leaned so close he could smell the slight oily fragrance of the librarian. ‘I’m asking you a question, sir. I do not want to bring Lord Senenmut down here or summon you into my court and put you on oath over the Sacred Books. So I want you to answer my question. Hutepa came here? Yes?’

  The librarian nodded vigorously, eager to get rid of this inquisitive judge.

  ‘And she asked you for archives you’d usually deny to a heset?’

  ‘Histories,’ the librarian conceded. He informed Amerotke in halting sentences how Hutepa was a constant visitor to the library. She had inveigled her way in with her winsome ways and asked to study histories and chronicles of the temple.

  In the end Amerotke was satisfied. He thanked the librarian and, followed by Nadif and Shufoy, left the House of Books. They stood under the shade of a cluster of ageing holm oaks which looked as if they had been growing since the beginning of time.

  ‘What was that about, master?’ Shufoy asked.

  ‘What was it about?’ Amerotke retorted. ‘I suspect Hutepa spent most of her time searching for the identity of the author of the Ari Sapu, who worked here fifty years ago and wreaked such terrible damage. And this is the paradox.’ He put one hand on Shufoy’s shoulder, the other on Nadif’s. ‘According to you, Nadif, Hutepa actually directed you to where the Rekhet was hiding and you arrested him. However, she then spends considerable time studying the history of this temple as well as that of the author of the Ari Sapu. The mystery then deepens. Yesterday evening a man entered her room, slept in her bed; possibly her killer. So on the one hand we have Hutepa the traitor betraying the priest physician to you. On the other, Hutepa spent a great deal of her time, perhaps even trading her favours, to gain access to temple archives to discover the truth about the Ari Sapu. She then entertains the escaped prisoner only to be murdered by him. It’s a riddle of contradictions and doesn’t make sense.’

  Amerotke left the shade of the trees and stood for a while easing the tension of his neck in the warmth of the sun.

  ‘Where to now, master?’ Shufoy called.

  ‘Home,’ Amerotke replied. He smiled at Nadif. ‘I want to walk amongst lapis lazuli, paddle my feet in water and see what happens…’

  * * *

  Amenuefer, captain of the Glory of Sobeck, a cohort of the premier squadron of the Pride of Amun, had grown abruptly wary. He had, on his own initiative, decided to take his unit deeper into the western desert to establish if the peace the Libyans wanted was genuine. He and his superiors had discussed that very fact after evening sacrifice in their regimental chapel the previous day. They had squatted in the small garden courtyard, feasting on strips of well-cooked goose, leavened bread and dishes of vegetables. His superiors had unanimously agreed that the death of the three scribes during the peace ceremony at the Temple of Ptah was a judgement from the gods on an agreement that should never have been sealed in the first place. Amenuefer’s colonel had slurped his wine, tapped the side of his fleshy nose and confided that General Omendap, commander-in-chief of Pharaoh’s armies, had his own suspicions but what was the use? The Divine One’s heart was fixed on peace, whilst Grand Vizier Senenmut was of a similar mind. No one in the mess had dared joke about when and how Lord Senenmut had provided such advice to the Divine One; that was a matter best left alone. However, Amenuefer had listened and reflected very carefully. If peace was established, where was the prospect of glory? Of promotion? Of winning the Golden Bees of bravery or the Silver Collar of Valour? Accordingly, he had decided to swing out along the hard shell of the desert edge and go further than his orders allowed. He’d discover what was truly happening beyond the Tuthmosis Line, the border defined by Hatusu’s dead husband as the first direct sphere of Egyptian influence.

  Amenuefer had led his twelve chariots deeper into the western desert. In fact, he’d really made the decision before he left the barracks, ordering the lightest six-spoked chariots, the strongest horses and twice the amount of provisions: black bread that could be softened in water, dried meat, and extra gazelle skins of water. He had not been disappointed. Something very intriguing was happening. At first they’d discovered the vast tracts of rocky desert quiet and empty until they began to intercept the traders: caravans moving across the desert to the north or the borders of the Great Green, merchants of every nation with their strange dress and outlandish ways. Amenuefer had questioned them and they’d replied how they’d been bartering with the mines in the eastern desert along the Horus Road in Sinai so that their panniers and baskets were crammed with uncut gold, silver and precious stones, items they’d bought with skins and other goods. Amenuefer, as he proceeded further beyond the Tuthmosis Line, had met similar caravans, bands of traders, groups of merchants all intent on reaching the Oasis of Khannu; this lay deep in Libyan territory, bestriding the main trade route to the Libyans’ principal harbour on the Great Green. Amenuefer had never seen such trade before or men so keen to reach their destination. The single traders and solitary merchants provoked no suspicion. However, amongst the larger groups he had detected Libyans dressed in the striped robes of desert wanderers and sand-dwellers and, by their bearing and attitude, obviously soldiers.

  Amenuefer now regretted his openness towards them. His questioning of the merchants had been too blunt; perhaps he’d aroused their suspicions. They had certainly aroused his. He had ignored the advice of his standard-bearer and continued to strike west to the Oasis of Plenty, a small but fertile plot with shaded trees, luxurious bushes and long spiked grass sprouting around a well which provided a never-ending supply of sweet water, a welcome relief after the rocky dust and constant glare of the sun. Evening was coming, darkness falling, the sun setting fast in a molten glow that changed the colour of both desert and sky. Already the silence of the day was giving way to the tangled noise of the night: the griping laugh of the jackal, the roar of lions, the coughing bark of the prowlers of the dark attracted to the oasis not only by water but by the sweet smell of food and the plump flesh of horses. Amenuefer was not concerned about these. During the last part of the march, as his chariots became clogged with sand so that they proceeded more slowly, his scouts had reported dark shapes in the rocks and gulleys. In the end they’d arrived safely enough, and the men were now settling for the night, the air full of the smell of sweaty leather, horses, dung and cooking. He’d arranged the chariots into a protective line, a barricade against surprise attack, and sent out scouts, but they’d not yet returned.

  Amenuefer fingered his collarette and wondered if he’d made the right decision. He hoped to return to Thebes with news that would startle his superiors; now he was more concerned whether he’d be allowed to return at all. He looked over his shoulder at the welcoming glow of the fire, his men grouped about laughing and talking amongst themselves, his subordinates moving through the shadowed trees ensuring all was well. They’d caught their captain’s nervousness. Amenuefer cursed. What could the Libyans be plotting, and why were those traders flocking to that oasis? If he could only discover the reason! If he did survive the night, he would not return to Thebes but would strike directly for the oasis of Khannu; perhaps under the semblance of friendship even approach the Libyan City of the Serpents. He stared up at the sky. The sun was slipping down like a coppery coin, the darkness swooping in, the sky turning blue-black, the stars hanging heavy. He heard a sound and looked up. Four figures were scrambling down a rocky face, stumbling towards the oasis. His scouts had returned! He recognised the headdresses, the glittering amulets round their necks. He looked back at the chariots, then, eager for news, walked swiftly towards the approaching figures.

  ‘What news?’ he called. ‘What news?’

  The scouts kept racing towards him. Amenuefer paused. There was something about them … he glimpsed a beard, a moustache. These weren’t … He turned, but all four figures suddenly stopped, their powerful Syrian bows drawn. Arrows whirled through the air; three of them took Amenuefer, one in the neck, the other two in
his back. He staggered towards the oasis but found he couldn’t speak. His breath wouldn’t come, blood thickened at the back of his throat, then he collapsed.

  Now the rest of the Libyans poured in. Armed with shields, spears, sword clubs and maces, they swept like shadows across the sand into the oasis, stabbing and hacking, showing no mercy. The Egyptian chariot squadron, caught by surprise, tried to fight. A few of the officers made a last stand near the waterhole, but just as the sun finally set, every Egyptian lay dead. The Libyan war chief walked through the camp, ensuring that no wounded survived, ordering the neck of each corpse to be hacked, searching the bushes and rocks for any survivors who might have crawled away. There was none.

  The Libyans finished the meal the Egyptians had been preparing and drank their wine. Afterwards the war chief gestured at the corpses.

  ‘Take them out,’ he ordered, ‘deep into the desert. Bury them in the sand, their armour with them.’ He walked over to a chariot. ‘Take all of these. Burn them completely, strip the horses of their harness. Let the Egyptians think this chariot squadron has disappeared from the face of the earth, for in truth, it has…’

  * * *

  ‘It’s a game,’ the judge announced as he smiled at his two sons, Curfay and Ahmase.

  ‘Are you sure, light of my life?’ Norfret, Amerotke’s wife, teased.

  The judge just winked at her and turned away.

  ‘Nadif, Shufoy, we’ll all take part. Now, Shufoy, do what you have to.’

  Amerotke had returned home late in the afternoon. He and Nadif had been greeted by Norfret. They had washed their hands and feet, then eaten and drunk in the shade of the sycamore trees. They’d watched the brilliantly plumaged birds swoop low over the lake of purity, admiring the plants and flowers Amerotke himself had planted. Norfret was full of questions about what had happened in the city. She had heard about the poisonings in the temple and, of course, the escape of the Rekhet was common knowledge. Amerotke had kissed her tenderly and told her to wait. His two sons were growing older; both had a tendency to stand by doors and listen. He didn’t want them frightened or to realise the dangers their father sometimes encountered. Moreover, Amerotke was uneasy. He’d listened very carefully to Maben and Minnakht’s warning. They were correct. If the Rekhet had already approached him, why should he stop there? The judge’s mansion to the north of Thebes was well known and the criminal had more than demonstrated his skill for inflicting sudden, brutal death.

  Once Amerotke and Nadif had rested, they’d organised this game; at least that was how Amerotke described it. Shufoy was now sprinkling lapis lazuli around the tiled edges of the pool, spreading it thickly. When he had finished, Amerotke took off his robe and, dressed in his loincloth, went and walked on the lapis lazuli, feeling it crunch under his feet. Norfret and his two sons joined in enthusiastically, Nadif more reluctantly, while Shufoy danced up and down making Amerotke’s sons laugh even louder. Once Amerotke was satisfied, he then asked everyone to sit on the edge of the pool, feet in the water, to shake and kick to their hearts’ content. For a while the garden echoed to the sounds of laughter and the shouted questions that Amerotke refused to answer. At last he announced that the game would continue. They would dry their feet and ankles with linen cloths, then each would take a small piece of papyrus provided by Shufoy and see if there was any gold dust either on their feet or between their toes.

  Amerotke was intrigued by the conclusions. Everyone, somewhere, had traces of the gold dust on them. Even though they had washed their feet vigorously, it seemed to cling to the very skin, particularly between the toes and in the contours around the ankle. Amerotke, face now serious, experimented again, this time slipping into the pool and walking to and fro. Again, despite vigorous drying, traces of the gold dust remained. He quietly asked Norfret to take the boys away, then he, Nadif and Shufoy retreated to the shade of the sycamore to discuss their findings.

  ‘You are sure, Shufoy,’ Amerotke asked, ‘that the Overseer found no traces of lapis lazuli on the feet or ankles of the two victims?’

  ‘Master, I went and searched myself. Something interesting, master: the Overseer also pointed out that both bodies had been well oiled, in other words—’

  ‘In other words,’ Nadif broke in excitedly, ‘if the skin on the feet and ankles was oiled, the lapis lazuli would stick even more closely. Ipuye and Khiat entered that pavilion, but never went into the pool alive. Shortly after they’d oiled their skin against the sun, the assassin struck.’

  ‘Could the oil have been poisoned?’ Shufoy asked.

  Nadif shook his head. ‘I smelt the jug: nothing! Moreover, remember, I did not detect, nor did the Overseer of the Dead, any trace or symptom of poisoning.’

  Amerotke closed his eyes and tried to recall what he had been told at Ipuye’s house. ‘The guards did not report anything untoward, though they heard voices and a little splashing. Was that when Ipuye and Khiat died?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Nadif said slowly. ‘We now have two reasons to consider their deaths mysterious. First that a vigorous man and a very healthy young woman both drowned in the same pool at the same time without any alarm being raised. Yes?’

  Amerotke nodded.

  ‘Second,’ Nadif continued, ‘if Ipuye and Khiat had walked into the pool and an accident occurred, some traces of the lapis lazuli would have been found on their feet, yet we found nothing at all, which means, Lord Judge, that either Ipuye and Khiat entered the pool and, most remarkably, managed to wash away all traces of the lapis lazuli…’

  Amerotke stared gloomily back.

  ‘Or they were carried to the pool,’ Shufoy declared. ‘In which case they must have been either dead or unconscious before they ever reached the water. Yet there is no mark of violence, no trace of poison, so what is the solution?’

  KEFAI: ancient Egyptian, ‘to be uncovered’

  CHAPTER 6

  A short while later, Amerotke, Norfret, Nadif and Shufoy sat down to dine on the roof of the judge’s house. Darkness had fallen like a veil. The stars hung bright like blossoms against the heavens. A full moon in all its glory rode the night sky. Norfret had lit the lamps in their pure alabaster jars; they now sparkled like costly stones. It was a pleasant, refreshing night, with a faint breeze, like the breath of a god, that fanned away the pervasive heat which stifled the breath and soaked the skin. From the garden below rose a cacophony of sound, as nighthawks called and crickets chattered above the croak of bullfrogs. Norfret had prepared a tasty meal, nourishing but light: lamb tajine cooked in onions, olive oil, garlic, cumin and chickpeas. Amerotke had opened a cask from Imit; the wine was cool and delicate on the tongue. He waited until the goblets were full before describing the events of the day. He tried to minimise the danger, but Norfret was too sharp; she fully understood the threat facing her husband, and grew so agitated, she snatched the necklace from round her lovely neck and wiped the perfumed sweat off her throat.

  ‘This is dangerous,’ she whispered. ‘Amerotke, you face a fiend!’

  ‘And fiends can be trapped,’ Amerotke retorted, breathing in the cool night air. He sat for a while, secretly willing that Norfret realise this was a path he must follow. It would bring them preferment, honour and riches, but also great danger.

  ‘I have,’ Shufoy abruptly spoke up, ‘approached the Churat, the Eater of Vile Things in the underworld.’

  Amerotke stared disbelievingly at his dwarfish friend.

  ‘Well,’ Shufoy shrugged, ‘that’s what he calls himself. He wants to meet. He needs to discuss a common problem with you.’

  ‘Shufoy, when did you arrange this?’

  ‘Today,’ Shufoy replied, ‘as I busied myself on my master’s errands.’

  Amerotke nodded understandingly. He was always fascinated by Shufoy’s knowledge of the Am-duat, the seedy, violent underbelly of Thebes.

  ‘The Churat,’ Nadif spoke up, fortified by the wine, ‘is a leader of a guild of assassins as well as a receiver of stolen goods. He is a man
we much suspect though there’s little evidence against him. Anyway, what in the name of Horus does he want?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Shufoy replied. ‘However, while I was scurrying here and there in the Temple of Ptah, I saw one of his standard-bearers, Skullface, skulking in the shadows. He’d been sent in to find out what was happening. I told him as little as possible. Skullface declared that his master sent humble greetings to the Lord Judge and would His Holiness,’ Shufoy laughed at the flattering title, ‘graciously visit him around the fourth hour tomorrow? He asked me to tell you, Lord Judge,’ he continued sarcastically, ‘that he is unable to visit you as he prefers not to leave the Abode of Darkness.’ Shufoy shrugged. ‘I replied that you’d be most pleased to meet him; after all, he may have valuable information. But there again, master,’ he added quickly, ‘if you’d prefer not to go…’

  ‘I will come with you,’ Nadif volunteered. ‘Lord Judge, the Churat is treacherous. Indeed, for a while people considered he might have been the Rekhet.’

  ‘We’ll go tomorrow,’ Amerotke declared. ‘Let’s return to the business in hand. What do we have? Ipuye and Khiat drowned in that pool guarded by mercenaries: no violence, no potions, no intruders. We have two slender strands of evidence: the most remarkable and mysterious coincidence that they drowned at the same time in the same place, as well as the possibility that they did not walk into the pool because no trace of lapis lazuli has yet been found on them.’ Amerotke sipped from his goblet. ‘That’s tenuous, to say the least. The water could have washed it off, especially as both corpses may have been floating there for some time. Ipuye did declare himself the public opponent of the Rekhet, but there is no evidence that their deaths were caused by poison. What else, Shufoy?’

  ‘The business of his first wife,’ the dwarf said between mouthfuls, ‘who simply disappeared.’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ Amerotke squinted through the darkness. ‘The woman simply disappeared, after burning her wedding collarette and marriage bracelet. Meryet believes Ipuye murdered her. At first a rather surprising claim, because Ipuye had left for business at Memphis. However, according to that merchant’s own records, he did not. He stayed in Thebes at what he called his “Place of Pleasure”, a room above a jeweller’s shop in the precious stone market of the city, another place we’ll visit tomorrow.’