The Poisoner of Ptah

by P. C. Doherty

  ‘Why did he lie?’ Nadif spoke up. ‘He could have slipped back to that mansion and killed his wife; perhaps Meryet is correct. The grounds of the House of the Golden Vine should be searched thoroughly for her corpse.’

  Amerotke nodded. ‘Shufoy, tomorrow morning send a messenger to Asural, captain of my temple guard. Tell him to take a detachment of men out to the House of the Golden Vine. The gardens are to be scrupulously searched. They are looking for a shallow grave concealing the corpse of a woman.’

  ‘You’ll find her corpse.’ Norfret spoke up, her voice clear and carrying.

  Amerotke smiled at his wife. ‘What makes you say that?’

  Norfret tapped the side of her head. ‘A woman’s logic. Look, Lord Judge, if I was unhappy here…’ She fluttered her eyelids. ‘Let us say you were the most difficult man to live with, a lecher, a womaniser; why should that make me leave the luxury of this mansion to go wandering the streets of some city? There were other courses of action open to Ipuye’s first wife. My dear, I doubt very much if any woman would leave such a beautiful house. I know the Golden Vine, I’d simply fight back. I doubt if Patuna ever left at all.’

  Amerotke smiled to himself. He hadn’t thought of that. He had simply accepted the logical conclusion that if a woman was unhappy, she would leave. Indeed, never once had Maben or the others indicated that there were other alternatives open to Patuna.

  ‘Do what I ask, Shufoy,’ he murmured. ‘Tomorrow morning tell Asural also to take some labourers and gardeners from the temple. They must, literally, leave no stone unturned.’

  ‘And so we come to the poisonings, Lord Judge.’

  ‘Yes, yes, we do, Nadif. What do we know? About fifty years ago, the author of the Ari Sapu became an expert, skilled in poisons. He dealt out sudden brutal death in Thebes. According to tradition he was apprehended, tried and buried alive. Legends claims his tomb lies somewhere in the temple grounds, which also contain the Books of Doom, the Ari Sapu. Whether that is true or not, we don’t really know. Nevertheless, about four years ago the Rekhet emerges and citizens are murdered. This is where I really want your help, Nadif. Who were the victims? What did they have in common?’

  ‘I can only tell what you know already, Lord Judge. The victims came from every class, though most of them were merchants, nobles and officials. One thing they did have in common was that they, or someone related to them, had recently visited the Temple of Ptah.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ Norfret asked.

  ‘During my enquiries I asked to see the records of all the various temple chapels and shrines. I soon recognised how the names of visitors were also the names of the Rekhet’s victims. Of course, the temple authorities suspected something was wrong. Lord Ani often met with me to discuss the matter. Eventually he informed me that he’d been approached by a group of priest physicians led by Userbati. They maintained they were certain the Rekhet was a member of the temple hierarchy but they had yet to find firm evidence.’ Nadif spread his hands. ‘The rest you know. Userbati and his colleagues held a supper party at which they ate or drank some poison and died violent deaths. I was called to the temple. I viewed their corpses, then searched Userbati’s dwelling, where I found references to the killer. We invaded his chamber in the temple, found powders and potions, as well as considerable wealth, and started searching for him. Lord Ani told us that the suspect was friendly with the heset Hutepa. We questioned her…’ Nadif paused, as if listening to the bullfrogs croaking through the darkness. ‘She told us that the Rekhet had fled into Thebes, hiding in a house near the coppersmiths’ quarter. We arrested him there. Due to the influence of the temple, he was given a choice: he could go on public trial and plead his innocence, or he could admit his guilt and throw himself on Pharaoh’s mercy. He chose the latter and was dispatched to the prison oasis.’

  ‘You are sure you arrested the right man?’ Amerotke asked.

  ‘I think so,’ Nadif replied slowly. ‘The Rekhet remained quiet, assured, very calm. He gave no details; after a while he confessed and would say no more. I had my doubts, but there again, there was Userbati’s reference to him in a document, the powders and potions found in his chamber, not to mention the curse he’d written out. More importantly,’ Nadif continued, ‘once he was arrested, the poisonings stopped.’

  ‘Did he confess to discovering the Ari Sapu?’

  ‘No, when asked that, he simply replied that there were many treatises on poison.’

  ‘And how did he murder his victims?’

  ‘Again he was enigmatic, pointing out that he had confessed and had little more to add.’

  ‘And Hutepa?’

  ‘She protested her innocence. She’d assisted us in the Rekhet’s arrest; there was no reason to believe she was involved.’

  ‘Did the Rekhet have any family?’

  Nadif shrugged.

  ‘And his escape?’ Amerotke asked. ‘How was that managed?’

  ‘Sheer daring, cunning and courage: he apparently wandered off into the desert and was captured by sand-dwellers who’d also captured an Egyptian merchant. The sand-dwellers were jubilant; as you know, they sell their prisoners as slaves for great profit. This band were most unfortunate. They encountered an Egyptian chariot squadron out on the edge of the desert, the squadron attacked and the sand-dwellers resisted. In the mêlée the merchant was killed. The quick-witted Rekhet took his identity, so when the Egyptians questioned him they thought they were talking to a merchant whom they’d liberated rather than an escaped prisoner. When they returned to Thebes, of course the Rekhet disappeared. It was quite some time before the Mayor of Thebes realised the full truth of the situation, but by then, what could be done?’

  ‘You have a description of the Rekhet?’

  ‘Yes,’ Nadif laughed, ‘one which would fit half of Thebes: medium height, black hair, pleasant faced, but of course he is now probably disguised behind shaggy hair and a bushy beard. Lord Judge, I cannot provide you with a worthwhile description.’

  ‘Nor can you give me any solution,’ Amerotke replied testily. ‘The Rekhet is back in Thebes. We suspect he visited Hutepa, possibly made love to her, then killed her, but why such cruel callousness? I cannot make sense of that, nor of Hutepa searching for the whereabouts of the tomb of the widow of the author of the Ari Sapu. Oh, by the way, that is another place we must visit, and very soon. Yet now,’ Amerotke continued, ‘we’re faced with the Rekhet’s return. Was he responsible for the deaths of those three scribes? They drank the same wine from the same bowl as the Libyans, who suffered no ill effects; the Egyptian envoys drank and, a short while later, all three fell ill and died in hideous circumstances…’

  * * *

  In the Silver Acacia Chamber which lay at the heart of the small imperial palace in the Temple of Ptah, Hatusu and Senenmut sat together like children, dabbling their feet in the Pool of Purity which the architect had cunningly fashioned at the centre of the chamber on the ground floor of the palace. The room was built so that three of its walls overlooked a rich garden filled with flowers, trees and shrubs from all parts of the empire. The perfume from the banked flowers drifted through the open window, filling the chamber with an exotic scent. In a pool of lanternlight in the garden, an orchestra of Mitanni musicians, a gift from a client king, heightened the rapture with melodious tunes on the lyre, harp and lute. Hatusu listened intently as she studied one of the small golden carp twisting and turning away from her painted toenails. She startled as a brilliantly plumaged bird fluttered through one of the windows, wings flapping frantically as it swooped, rose, turned and fled back into the starlit night.

  ‘Hush now.’ Senenmut pressed callused fingers against her smooth thigh. ‘Sweeter than the honeycomb are thee,’ he smiled, quoting from a poem. ‘And your thoughts?’

  ‘Murder!’ Hatusu snapped. ‘Murder and chaos on that temple forecourt. Naratousha grinning behind his hands, revelling in Egypt’s discomfort.’

  ‘He could be the one responsible,’ Senenm
ut declared.

  ‘I doubt it.’ Hatusu splashed her feet noisily, then laughed. ‘I feel like a little girl,’ she murmured, ‘having a temper fit because my father wouldn’t see me. Of course this,’ her lovely face hardened, ‘is more serious. The murder of three scribes is Amerotke’s business; the Libyans are ours.’ She withdrew her feet.

  ‘Why don’t we eat?’ Senenmut pointed to the dais in the far corner where everything was readied for the evening meal.

  ‘In a while.’ Hatusu was determined on her own thoughts. ‘Why do the Libyans want peace? They’ve suffered no military setback. Until recently their tribes wandered the western desert, pillaging, plundering and robbing as long as they thought they’d escape unscathed.’ She put her feet back in the water. ‘We have agreed to respect their camps, merchants and traders. They have not asked us to withdraw our chariot patrols or small garrisons at certain oases. None of our troops have reported anything, and your spies…?’

  ‘Very little,’ Senenmut replied. ‘Libyan trade with the Sinai mines has increased but there is no report of the clans massing or organising. Strange,’ he mused, ‘that merchant the sand-dwellers captured along with the escaped Rekhet, whose identity the poisoner later assumed…’

  ‘What about him?’ Hatusu snapped, then sighed. ‘My lord,’ she leaned closer and kissed him lightly on the cheek, ‘I apologise, but the heart becomes tired and the soul weary…’

  ‘He was one of my best spies,’ Senenmut replied, staring down at the water. ‘He knew the desert tongue; he went deeper into the Redlands than any of the others. I wonder if he saw or heard something extraordinary. The Libyans do not concern me for the moment, except just before I came here,’ he gestured with his head towards the door, ‘a squadron commander in the Glory of Amun claimed a chariot patrol hasn’t returned. It was led by one of our glory-seekers, a young captain. I just wonder. At first light, before the brilliant hour, I am going to dispatch two squadrons into the desert to investigate. Perhaps they might find something. What truly concerns me,’ Senenmut withdrew his feet and stood up, ‘is the Sea People. You know their warships have been seen off the delta, packed with men, painted, feathered and armed? Our ships have driven them off but they seem to be massing again, going back across the Great Green to small islands for fresh water before returning. It’s as if they’re probing for a weakness…’

  ‘I’ll give them weakness!’ Hatusu stood up and went across to a beautiful stool carved out of acacia wood, its surface brilliantly cushioned in scarlet and gold. She picked up her robe lying next to it, put it around her and tightly tied the embroidered sash about her waist. ‘Look, my lord,’ she patted her stomach and gestured to where the oil lamps gleamed along the ledges above the eating tables, ‘now we shall eat and drink,’ she smiled mischievously, ‘and who knows?’

  Senenmut was about to engage in this teasing banter when he heard a hideous scream outside, followed by the crash of dishes. He hastened to the door and threw it open; down the painted passageway, a servant lay jerking on the floor, members of the Maryannou and Nakhtu-aa gathered about him. Other servants were screaming and yelling, pointing to a table where platters of food had been laid out in preparation for Pharaoh’s evening meal. Senenmut hurried down, heart beating, sweat prickling his skin.

  ‘Stand aside!’ Officers and servants drew apart, and Senenmut stared in horror at the man jerking and kicking on the floor, mouth frothing. He gestured towards the platters of food. ‘What happened?’

  ‘My lord,’ an officer replied, ‘the cold meats and fruit had been left here, waiting for your summons. One of the servants became hungry.’ He pointed to a dish of roast quail cut into neat pieces and covered with a delicious-looking sauce. ‘We would have tasted the food anyway,’ he continued, ‘but he was so hungry he stole a piece, and paid for it…’

  Senenmut stared down at the man. The hideous strangling sound had stopped; only his legs and feet jerked spasmodically. His face had turned a mottled hue, tongue popping, white saliva dribbling from his mouth. Senenmut pushed aside the officer and stepped around the dying man.

  ‘How?’ he demanded.

  ‘My lord,’ the chief cook came forward, ‘the imperial kitchens are open; we had visitors, traders bringing in supplies…’

  ‘In future,’ Senenmut shouted at the cowed officers, ‘the kitchens are to be guarded! Every jug of wine, every morsel of food prepared for the Divine One must be tasted.’

  * * *

  In the House of Books at the Temple of Ptah the librarian was also preparing for his evening meal. This was the hour of the day he liked most. He could lock the doors and sit here in his own private office: the lamps flaring merrily, a jug of wine, a platter of meat and fresh bread from the temple kitchens ready to enjoy whilst he pored over the delicious scenes of ladies making love in a book some long-dead merchant had bequeathed to the temple. The librarian treasured this manuscript above all others. He found certain scenes particularly delightful. He studied the pictures of cavorting young women, dressed only in oil-drenched black wigs, as they posed on the floor, stools or couches, he moaned with pleasure, hand slipping down to his crotch. He poured a goblet of wine and sipped from it carefully, then removed the linen covering from the platter and began to chew noisily on a piece of cooked quail in its tangy sauce. He was on to his second mouthful, pulling up the roll of papyrus so he could study one scene more closely, when he felt the first stab of discomfort. Others followed, as if his belly was on fire, the pain spreading up through his chest and round to his back. His legs felt as if they had turned to water. He tried to rise but couldn’t. He doubled up in pain, pushing back the cushion, arching, trying to soothe the hideous tension. Even as he did so, he glimpsed the first brand drop through the open window and fall on to a stack of manuscripts. The flames, licking greedily, spread swiftly. The librarian opened his mouth to scream, but he couldn’t breathe. He wanted to escape that pain even as his dying eyes glimpsed an oilskin hurled through the window to turn the entire chamber into a raging furnace.

  * * *

  Amerotke and Standard-Bearer Nadif, accompanied by two burly Medjay, bracelets and rings of office glittering on their right arms and hands, vicious-looking war clubs pushed into their belts, walked through the Lion Gate of Thebes and into the city. The brilliant hour had passed. Already the Breath of Amun, the refreshing dawn breeze, had disappeared. The sun was glaringly strong, the heat already making itself felt. The basalt-paved Avenue of Sphinxes was hot underfoot and a dusty heat haze swirled. Above this the gold- and silver-capped obelisks, temple cornices and malachite-edged gables of the palaces flashed back the light of the sun. Donkeys, strings of pack mules and carts were busy making their way down to the markets. Wine booths and beer tents were open, the air rich with cooking smells. Traders and tinkers with their makeshift stalls were shouting their calls, one eye ever vigilant for the market police. A group of priests garbed in saffron robes, oil gleaming on their shaven heads, hurried down to the river carrying the naos of their god on a reed-plaited punt. They chanted as they hastened along. Every so often they would stop, close their eyes, clap, shake their sistra and ring little handbells before continuing their procession. Through the morning air echoed the blare of temple conch horns, the clash of cymbals and the booming of gongs. A group of Danga dwarfs, dressed in multicoloured rags, staged an impromptu play about Bes the Household God. Their faces hidden by grotesque masks, they jumped up and down much to the delight of a group of children on their way to some school under a tree in a dusty square, who shrieked like a gaggle of geese before being shooed on by their teacher.

  Amerotke and Nadif left the avenue, going down side streets, the blind walls of the houses rearing above them. They passed merchants’ warehouses under heavy guard, full of gold, valuable materials and precious vases, chests and coffers. The gates of some of these were secured by heavy wooden padlocks; others were open so carts could be loaded. The doorways to the adjoining stately merchant mansions were also thrown
open. The mistress of the house was busy in one courtyard directing servants to draw water or help the baker to heap handfuls of grain on to the concave quern in order to grind flour to bake fresh bread for the day. Outside, more servants, armed with tubs, searched the streets for the dung of asses, oxen and sheep, so it could be later ground into a paste, dried in the sun and used for fuel. Doors slammed and opened, voices shouted, whilst in the shadow of all this wealth and business, red-eyed beggars quarrelled over favoured positions for the day’s pleading.

  Amerotke and Nadif eventually reached the jewellers’ quarter, the market of precious stones, and the shop Ipuye had called his ‘Place of Pleasure’. This was situated in a tree-fringed market square packed with booths and shops selling Hittite jewellery, sandalwood and gum from Punt as well as a range of fine linen, coral, gold, silver and precious stones. The owner of the shop was preparing his stall in front of the house. He pretended not to know what Amerotke wanted until Nadif pushed himself forward and whispered a threat. A key to a door was hastily produced and Amerotke and Nadif, accompanied by the Medjay, went up the outside staircase. They unlocked the door and went inside. Amerotke immediately whistled under his breath at the opulence of the room. The ceiling consisted of polished strips of timber which ribbed the painted white plaster. The walls were smooth and covered in a lilac colour on which the artist had described love scenes, men and women in various poses, temple girls servicing the god Min, the Lord of the Dance. The furniture was elegantly exquisite: reed matting covered the floor, and a huge bed stood in one corner, with cushions, small stools and tables crowding an eating area beneath one of the large windows. Nadif opened this, pushing back the shutters to allow in more light and air. Amerotke had seen similar rooms throughout the city, places of pleasure where a merchant could retire to be with his girls, prostitutes, whores or courtesans. The coffers and chests around the room contained precious jugs, goblets and platters. Amerotke realised that Ipuye, when he entertained his visitors, must have bought wine, meats and other delicacies from the local shops.