The Poisoner of Ptah

by P. C. Doherty

‘You are sure it is the lady Patuna?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Lady Meryet, on the morning you found Patuna’s collarette burnt, the wedding bracelet lying beside it, you believed your sister was still alive. Why?’

  ‘I saw her the previous evening.’

  ‘And her mood?’ Amerotke asked.

  ‘Quiet and rather withdrawn,’ Maben replied. ‘She did not dine with us, I remember that. Just after dusk she said she felt unwell so she retired early; that was the last time Lady Meryet or I saw her alive.’

  ‘What puzzles me,’ Amerotke declared, ‘is that if Lady Patuna was murdered here in this lonely part of the garden, why was the collarette half burnt, and the bracelet left with that scrap of poetry?’

  ‘I wondered about that,’ Meryet replied slowly. ‘Perhaps she was going to run away, my lord Amerotke. Divorce Ipuye. Distance herself. Perhaps she met somebody here who could help her.’

  ‘And who do you think that could be?’ Amerotke asked.

  Meryet closed her eyes, then opened them, staring full at the judge. ‘I cannot say,’ she whispered.

  ‘You don’t really believe that, do you?’ Amerotke asked.

  Meryet shook her head.

  ‘You believe that Lord Ipuye, who indeed had not travelled to Memphis but simply to his pleasures in nearby Thebes, slipped back into this garden, met your sister and killed her.’ Amerotke wetted his lips. ‘There’s one thing we have not fully discussed: the poem, yes?’

  Meryet, between sobs, nodded quickly.

  ‘It was in your sister’s hand but could have been written at any time. The murderer left it with the half-burnt collarette and bracelet to deepen the impression that Patuna was unhappy and had decided to flee both her marriage and her home.’ Amerotke recalled what Norfret had said, ‘Though on reflection,’ he continued, ‘that was a harsh decision for a wealthy lady of Thebes, surely?’

  His question was greeted with silence.

  ‘Now tell me,’ he insisted. ‘Lord Maben, Lady Meryet, you never met your sister again after that evening before she disappeared?’

  Both chorused their agreement.

  ‘You, Lady Meryet, always claimed she had been murdered and you have been proved correct. You also believe the assassin was her now dead husband.’ Amerotke stared down at the ground, conceding to himself that there was a certain logic to that. ‘I’ve asked this before.’ He lifted his head. ‘Patuna was unhappy?’

  ‘Of course she was!’ Meryet replied. ‘Ipuye’s womanising, the whores, the courtesans – you’ve been to his pleasure chamber, Lord Amerotke – my sister had to live with that. When he went away on his so-called business journeys, we all knew he wasn’t telling the truth.’

  ‘If you suspected she was murdered,’ Shufoy spoke up, ‘why didn’t you search these gardens yourself?’

  ‘I did,’ Meryet replied, ‘but I never thought anyone would put my sister’s corpse in a pile of dirt and rubbish! I did wonder whether Patuna might have gone into the city to reason with Ipuye and that that was where she was killed.’

  ‘But of course Ipuye,’ Amerotke countered, ‘who cannot take part in this debate, thought differently. He believed his wife had been killed by the Rekhet. Why would he think that? Why should some lady in a mansion outside Thebes attract the attention of such a subtle assassin?’

  ‘But we’ve told you,’ Meryet replied. ‘Ipuye’s womanising. I’m sure it wasn’t just whores and courtesans of the city, the Silken Ones, but others! Someone who really believed Ipuye had promised her marriage once Patuna was dead.’

  ‘So,’ Amerotke placed his cup down on the acacia-wood table and spread his hands, ‘Patuna disappeared. Ipuye believed she might have been removed by a rival, the half-burnt collarette and bracelet, the poetry simply a device to mislead. Did he ever make accusations against anyone?’

  Both Meryet and Maben shook their heads.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Amerotke persisted.

  ‘I believe Ipuye,’ Meryet replied slowly, ‘was embarrassed about Patuna’s disappearance, or pretended to be, hence the great drama about the Rekhet being involved and the reward being posted. It was to cover his own filthy deeds.’

  ‘Why do you say embarrassed?’ Shufoy asked.

  ‘Embarrassed because his wife knew about his womanising. Someone else, like me, may have wondered what truly happened to Patuna, whether Ipuye had a hand in her disappearance.’

  ‘When he went to his Place of Pleasure in Thebes,’ Amerotke asked, ‘did anyone ever accompany him?’

  ‘No,’ Maben replied, ‘he went alone.’

  Amerotke gestured at Hotep. ‘So you were hired after Patuna’s disappearance?’

  ‘No, Lord Judge, before. The rest of the bodyguards were hired because Lord Ipuye considered himself vulnerable.’

  ‘Was Ipuye frightened of the Rekhet striking at him as, he alleged, the criminal had at Patuna?’

  ‘Correct, Lord Judge.’ The Kushite’s face remained impassive.

  ‘And he issued special instructions, didn’t he?’ Amerotke pointed at Meryet. ‘He’d only eat and drink what you prepared?’

  ‘Yes, that’s true, though he allowed Maben and Hotep to handle his food and drink as well. He trusted all three of us.’

  ‘And on the day Ipuye died, what happened then?’

  ‘Well, I was in the temple,’ Maben replied. ‘Lady Meryet was my guest. We left shortly before noon.’

  ‘And Ipuye?’ Amerotke asked.

  ‘He and the lady Khiat,’ Maben replied, ‘remained in their chambers. Ipuye had declared the night before that he would enjoy what he called a day of ease—’

  ‘Oh by the way,’ Amerotke intervened, ‘even though he was married to Khiat, he still went back to his Place of Pleasure?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I think he did,’ Maben replied.

  ‘And did he eat or drink that day, Lady Meryet?’

  ‘No,’ Maben replied quickly. ‘In fact, although Ipuye insisted that only Meryet prepare his food and drink, on that particular day he said he would tend to himself.’

  ‘So you left for the Temple of Ptah,’ Amerotke declared, ‘and you didn’t return until the early evening, after the tragedy had occurred?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘And you, Hotep, what happened then? You were captain of your master’s guard.’

  ‘He rose late in the day,’ Hotep replied slowly. ‘I was waiting in the coolness of the portico. I heard him call my name so I went into the house. He and the lady Khiat had brought down napkins and towels; they were clothed in light robes, reed sandals on their feet.’

  ‘And then what?’ Amerotke asked. ‘Did they eat or drink?’

  ‘No. My master and the lady Khiat had stayed in their chambers during the morning; they said it was cooler. The lady Khiat took in bread, fruit and a little wine, but that was early in the day. I asked Lord Ipuye if he wanted to eat or drink. He replied no. The lady Khiat would take across a jug of wine and two cups to the enclosure.’

  ‘Then what?’

  Hotep pulled a face. ‘Lord Judge, they left the house. I followed them. As soon as Lord Ipuye and Lady Khiat entered the enclosure, my men took up their positions amongst the trees. It wasn’t an onerous duty.’ Hotep smiled thinly.

  ‘And did you hear or see anything untoward?’ Amerotke asked.

  ‘No, my lord. One of the guards, Saneb, who was on duty near the gate, heard some splashing later on, that’s all.’

  ‘Fetch Saneb.’

  ‘You’ve met him already,’ Hotep declared.

  ‘I’d like to speak to him again.’ Amerotke sipped at his juice and bit into some soft bread. The day was now fading. He had done enough watching and listening; now he needed time to reflect as well as relax.

  Hotep returned with Saneb. Amerotke filled a goblet with fruit juice and offered it to the Kushite, who bowed in thanksgiving, took it and drank greedily.

  ‘Saneb, on the day your master died, you were on guard in the trees
near the enclosure gate.’

  The young Kushite nodded vigorously.

  ‘You were distant from your companions?’

  ‘Yes.’ The Kushite swallowed hard. ‘It was hot, Lord Judge. We knew our master was enjoying himself; so did we. I sat in the shade of a tree, dozed and listened, but I saw or heard nothing untoward except some splashing.’

  ‘Tell me,’ Amerotke thumbed the side of his face, ‘if the Rekhet was caught and sentenced, why did Lord Ipuye still need a Kushite guard?’

  Maben looked swiftly at Hotep, who gestured at him to reply.

  ‘Lord Ipuye had business rivals,’ Maben declared slowly.

  ‘Oh, tell the truth,’ Meryet snapped.

  ‘Ipuye pretended that he’d been frightened by the Rekhet,’ Maben replied, ‘by his wife’s disappearance. But I’ll be blunt. He had business rivals, men who did not like the way he seduced their womenfolk. I suspect that was the real reason. He was frightened they might retaliate, hence he increased his guard.’

  Amerotke nodded understandingly. ‘Now, going back to the day Ipuye died: Saneb, you entered the gate and saw the bodies floating face down in the pool?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I did.’

  ‘And you sent for Hotep?’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘And what happened then?’

  ‘I jumped into the pool,’ Hotep replied.

  ‘And Saneb, did you help?’

  ‘Yes, I did. We carried both bodies out of the water into the sun pavilion.’

  ‘Tell me now, Saneb,’ Amerotke lifted a hand, ‘and I want you to think very carefully. When you lifted the corpses out, were they warm or were they cold? I know they’d been in cool water, but did you think they had just died, or been dead for some time?’

  Saneb screwed up his face in concentration. ‘I have handled corpses before,’ he declared. ‘I’ve seen several out in the Redlands.’

  ‘Of course you have,’ Amerotke replied.

  ‘The bodies were supple. I remember the water was cold, as was the flesh of both Lord Ipuye and his wife. Yes, they were definitely cold.’

  Amerotke nodded. ‘Thank you.’ He pushed away the table and rose to his feet. ‘I thank you for your answers,’ he gestured at the table, ‘and for the refreshments. Now we must leave.’

  * * *

  The Amemet called Bluetooth, a leading member of a guild of assassins in Thebes, sat in the shadow of the beer tent awning. He clutched his chipped cup as he watched the postern gate commonly called the Door of Chariotry in the imperial Palace of the Eternal Sun. His masters had given him this task because he had once been a member of the Nakhtu-aa, a veteran adorned with the Golden Bees of bravery and the Silver Collar of courage. However, that had been before the unfortunate incident over the Tedjen’s daughter, not to mention the mysterious disappearance of the contents of the regimental strong box, as well as those missing cups from the squadron’s refectory.

  Ah well, Bluetooth reflected, I still have life, unlike poor Skullface. More importantly, Bluetooth possessed detailed knowledge about imperial garrisons, the reason why he had been chosen to watch, observe and report on any military activity out of the ordinary. His masters had told him that the Divine One and her lover, Chief Minister Senenmut, were residing at the Palace of the Sun. If they decided on any such military action, this was where it would begin. To be certain, other Amemets were spying on various houses throughout the city. Kennut, or the Ape, watched the House of the Golden Vine; Thesti, or Beak, the comfortable house of his former colleague Standard-Bearer Nadif; Tebb, or Scratches, because of his nasty but constant habit of scratching between his legs, the stately mansion of Amerotke the Judge; whilst Girt, the Mole, lurked outside the Temple of Ma’at. They all had their orders, ‘to observe and act on anything untoward’.

  Bluetooth chewed on his tongue and sipped more of the beer. He was about to order a fresh cup when the Door of Chariotry was flung open and a corps of imperial Maryannou, Braves of the King, came hurrying out. The men were armed for a fight. They carried long, rectangular ochre-coloured shields with the head of Amun emblazoned in blue on their front. Each man also carried a short stabbing spear, with a curved sword and a club hanging from the embroidered war belt around his waist. The soldiers’ heads were protected by the imperial blue and gold striped headdresses, their groins and upper thighs by thick, embroidered leather kilts, whilst their stout marching boots showed they intended to cross rough terrain. About forty in number, they moved purposefully, scattering the crowd before them.

  Bluetooth made his decision. He dropped his beer cup and trotted after them. The unit moved down streets past booths laden with all kinds of goods in their multicoloured variety. Confectioners, trying to take advantage of the afternoon crowds, held out their sweets. Cooks offered spiced strips of goose. Oil traders shouted for custom as they stood behind their range of sandstone jars. The drinkers outside the beer shops and wine tents sampling cups such as ‘The Star of the Morning’ and ‘The Glory of Kush’ forgot their thirst and scattered. A dog collector straining at the leashes of bassets, salukis and jackal dogs scampered hastily out of the soldiers’ path. Bluetooth, gasping for breath, followed the unit down alleyways so narrow, the walls so high, they were no more than darkened tunnels. The house fronts on either side were like secret faces with only a few windows set high in the wall. Mounds of refuse, carts, donkeys, barrows, yapping dogs, naked children and screaming women proved no obstacle to the Maryannou. Bluetooth paused for breath then hurried on, knocking away a whining pie-dog and scattering a gang of hunchbacked dwarfs. He was certain the imperial troops were on a special mission. He turned a corner and abruptly stopped. The soldiers had dived through a low darkened doorway. Bluetooth, standing in the shadows, heard screams, yells, crashing and clattering, then the Maryannou emerged dragging a black-haired man, his face, darkened by the sun, half hidden by a shaggy beard and moustache.

  ‘I am not he!’ the man screamed. ‘I’m no Rekhet!’ He shouted at the crowd for help but these turned away. The prisoner continued to struggle and yell until a soldier hit him, whilst another member of the troop emerged from the doorway holding a sack. He handed this to the unit’s officer, who opened it, searched through its contents and brought out a small stoppered jar. He opened the jar, sniffed at it, then smashed it on the ground, yelling at the prisoner that his guilt was already proven. Bluetooth watched fascinated. The Maryannou broke up the gathering crowd, manacled their prisoner, and pushing him before them made their back to the Palace of the Sun. Bluetooth followed, and watched them march through the Door of Chariotry before slipping away to report to his masters.

  So immersed was Bluetooth in what he had seen and heard that he’d been totally unaware that he, in turn, had been watched and followed. The Listener, the Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh, one of the many imperial spies who swarmed through the city, had taken careful note of Bluetooth’s actions. Once he was sure the Amemet had disappeared into the crowd, he made his own way towards the imperial palace.

  * * *

  Amerotke sat in his kha, his private writing chamber, which jutted out from the back of his house. The lintels and shutters of the windows on all three walls had been removed to allow in the cool, scented night air from the gardens beyond. Lamp jars, carved in the shapes of ducks, quails and geese, presents from Amerotke’s sons, glowed brightly. On his left Amerotke had placed his writing box, and on his right a beaker and jug of cold beer; on a slightly sloping desk before him a piece of papyrus had been stretched out, kept in place by coppery clasps. The parchment gazed blankly back at him. The judge was puzzled and confused; he’d seen and heard so much that day. He wanted to concentrate on one problem, but others came as distractions. He picked up a cobalt-blue ivory-handled fan and wafted his sweaty face. The house lay quiet. He’d kissed the boys good night in their bedchamber. Norfret was probably sitting at her own writing desk studying accounts. Amerotke smiled. His wife was very keen to show the stewards and servants that everything was
scrutinised. Outside the noises of the night rose and fell: the constant whirring of insects which came floating through windows, drawn in by the lamplight. Amerotke could not decide which was more irritating, that or the monotonous croaking of the bullfrogs from the ponds, canals and gardens.

  Amerotke sighed. He was irritable because he was tired, because he could not make any sense of the knotted, twisted problems confronting him. How had those three scribes been murdered? Surely they had not broken their fast? One perhaps, but not all three, and despite what had been said about the way the Libyans had handled the bowl, no such sleight of hand could transform a sacred vessel of wine into a poisoned one. So how had they been killed? Why? By whom? And Hutepa, lying twisted, poisoned in her chamber. Why had that temple girl worked so hard to discover the location of Huaneka’s grave and the possible hiding place of the Ari Sapu, yet not attempted to go out there? Amerotke paused. Was it because she knew the Rekhet had already been there? Indeed, were these maps recent? Had they been drawn up after the Rekhet had been arrested or during his imprisonment? If so, why? Some evidence existed that Hutepa might have been the Rekhet’s lover, but if that was the case, why betray him to Standard-Bearer Nadif only to shelter him four years later, even make love to him? Hutepa would have been very wary, surely, of the man she’d betrayed? She knew the Rekhet was a killer so why risk her own neck? In the end she’d suffered a swift, brutal death, but was the Rekhet responsible for that?

  And the Rekhet himself? According to Nadif, he’d been a priest physician at the Temple of Ptah, but no explanation had been given for why he’d transformed himself into a murderer, or how he’d been able to deal out death to so many. The Churat was perceptive. How were all those potions and powders distributed across Thebes? How were the Rekhet’s many victims chosen? And in the last resort, surely such a man, demonstrating all the cunning of a jackal, would not allow himself to be caught so easily: powders and potions found in his chamber; the suspicions of Userbati alerted. Moreover, few men ever successfully escaped alive from a prison oasis as the Rekhet had! Had he been helped, by Hutepa or someone else? Why were the Libyans so interested in him? Had they assisted him in his escape, but for what? Did the Rekhet have his own devious motives for disrupting the peace treaty?