Amerotke continued to write. If the escaped convict, understandably, wanted to remain hidden, why approach him, Chief Judge in the Hall of Two Truths? On reflection, apart from the knife to Amerotke’s neck, more as a precaution than a threat, the Rekhet had not menaced, but simply asked Amerotke to watch and reflect. On the other hand, he’d dealt ruthlessly with two of the Churat’s killers: they had posed a threat; Amerotke hadn’t. The judge paused, pen raised. Indeed, he’d forgotten about that, the warning whistle at which the Rekhet had disappeared. Did he have an accomplice? The temple girl? Was there one Rekhet or two, or even a group like the Amemets, the guild of assassins in the city? Had only one of this gang been arrested? Amerotke shook his head. Was the poisoning of the three scribes simply an act of revenge, nothing to do with Pharaoh’s policies? Yet if so, why were the Libyans involved? Indeed, the Libyans seemed to be very knowledgeable and active in all these matters. Were they being given privileged information?
Amerotke felt he was going round in circles. He rose and watched the moths dancing frenetically above the lamp flame. Outside a night bird shrieked, to be answered by the dull roar of hippopotami along the river. Amerotke smiled. He felt like one of the moths, involved in a dance that made no sense. He returned to his writing. One mystery followed another. The librarian’s death, the burning of those records. Why was the librarian killed and the manuscripts destroyed when the originals were held by Maben in those heavy carved chests? Who else had discovered the location of Huaneka’s tomb, the hidden place of the Ari Sapu? Maben controlled that chest, yet he’d cooperated fully as if he had nothing to hide.
Amerotke walked to the window and stared out at the small garden pool glistening in the light of the full moon. He beat a fist against his thigh. Ipuye … How had that rich, lecherous merchant died? Everyone was certain that no one had entered the enclosure around the lotus pool, whilst Nadif had established that the wine taken in wasn’t tainted. But how could two vigorous human beings be drowned without the alarm being raised? Was it, in fact, a most unfortunate coincidence? However, the murder of Ipuye’s first wife Patuna certainly was not an accident. That poor woman had been lured to a desolate part of her garden and had her head staved in. Had Ipuye slipped back to his own house and burnt that wedding collarette and bracelet either before or after he killed his wife? Why would a wealthy merchant do that? Surely he would not bloody his hands but hire someone else to do it?
Amerotke slumped down on to the high-backed chair. If he could make no progress here, perhaps he should concentrate on the items on the edge of all these mysteries: like Assistant High Priest Hinqui. What was the cause of his illness? Was it a contagion, or had he been poisoned? Amerotke put his face in his hands. Other small things had, during the day, pricked his suspicions, but like the fireflies out in the garden, they flared bright yet proved illusive. The judge yawned, his eyes grew heavy and he slipped into a deep sleep.
He was woken just before dawn by an anxious-looking Shufoy, swathed in a heavy robe, the hood pulled over his head.
‘Master, master?’ Shufoy pushed his disfigured face close. ‘Master, you should have gone to bed!’
Amerotke shook himself awake. Shufoy hastened across the chamber and brought over a quilted linen robe. Amerotke rose and put this round his shoulders whilst Shufoy busied himself extinguishing those oil lamps which had not gone out during the night.
‘What is the matter?’ Amerotke asked.
‘You have visitors, master, you’d best see for yourself.’
Outside, the eerie, grey-tinged light that separates the night from daybreak persisted. A mist curled between the trees. Amerotke gazed up at the sky, which was dark except for the first few flashes and ribbons of light. Shufoy ran before him like a conspirator, urging him on, fluttering his hand and pointing down the pathway towards the porter’s lodge. Amerotke hurried after him, then paused. A war chariot pulled by two sleek horses stood at the side of the path. This was no ornamental carriage: its harness was gleaming black leather whilst the chariot itself boasted no embossed decoration of electrum or gold. A group of Nubians squatted on the grassy lawn sharing a wine skin; nearby were two figures in the long open robes of charioteers, hoods pulled over their heads.
‘What is this?’ Amerotke exclaimed. ‘Who are you?’ He followed Shufoy down the path, but instead of coming to meet him, the two figures withdrew into the trees. Amerotke paused. Should he go back to the house, rouse his servants, fetch a sword or club?
‘Come, master,’ Shufoy called. ‘You must come.’
HEMHEM-I: ancient Egyptian, ‘battle cry’
CHAPTER 10
As Amerotke stepped in amongst the trees, the two charioteers pulled back their hoods. Amerotke stopped in amazement. Lord Senenmut and the Divine One Hatusu stood there smiling at him. He went to kneel, but Hatusu snapped her fingers and beckoned him closer. He had never seen her like this before, face unpainted, cropped hair combed back, yet she was no less beautiful. Her skin was translucent, unblemished, her blue eyes fierce and hard in their stare, lips compressed in a tight line as if anxious or angry about something.
‘Your Excellencies,’ Amerotke’s voice was tinged with sarcasm, ‘you are truly unexpected, but come, come into my house.’
He led them back up into his writing chamber. Shufoy brought stools and asked if they wished to eat or drink. Both Senenmut and Hatusu shook their heads. Amerotke told Shufoy to close the doors and, helped by Senenmut, they put back the lattice window covers, closing the shutters. Hatusu, seated in Amerotke’s chair, watched and nodded.
‘It’s best,’ she murmured. ‘We came in secret and what we have to say,’ she glanced warningly at Shufoy, ‘must remain secret.’ She nodded at Senenmut.
‘Lord Judge, do you know the house called the Mansion of Horus the Red-Eye?’
‘Of course I do.’ Amerotke sat down on a stool. ‘A lonely place not far from here. It stands in its own grounds protected by a high curtain wall. It gets its name from a statue of the god on a pillar on either side of the gateway. I often pass it. It once belonged, so I believe, to the royal house.’
‘It still does,’ Hatusu replied, ‘and we use it for this secret purpose or that. Lord Judge, last night a unit of the Maryannou arrested the Rekhet in Thebes and now have him imprisoned there.’ She laughed at Amerotke’s astonishment. ‘I am telling you stories, Lord Judge. Let me start at the beginning. We received the message you sent us through Standard-Bearer Nadif, how the Libyans have approached the Churat and hired the services of the Amemets. Oh, by the way,’ Hatusu smiled, ‘I have accepted the Churat’s terms in return for the help he gave. Well, the Libyans came to Thebes to seal a peace treaty, but they also seem very eager to capture the Rekhet. Now everyone in the royal circle, each member of my council, distrusts the Libyans. They have insisted on this peace treaty and appear scrupulously intent on preserving its terms: no attacks upon our merchants or traders, on our garrisons in various oases, no raiding the villages along the Nile. That is all pleasing to us. At the same time the Libyans seem keen to develop their trade with the mines along the Horus Road in Sinai. We believe there is something else. They have constantly reiterated that they had no hand in those poisonings on the temple forecourt. They seem eager to prove themselves innocent of any deviousness or trickery, but, in a word, I don’t trust them. Why, I ask, do Naratousha and his colleagues seem so intent on capturing the Rekhet? What is he to them? Did he escape from that prison oasis with their help? Is that how he so safely reached Thebes?’
‘There is something else,’ Senenmut added. ‘The Divine One said that there have been no raids, no murderous activity by the Libyans, except in one matter. The day before yesterday a chariot squadron was sent out to patrol the western Redlands. It was led by a hot-headed officer eager to prove himself. He may have gone further than he should, but to cut a long story short, Amerotke, his squadron has not returned. We have sent out scouts and spies but they’ve found no trace of it, no remains, be it chariot
or horse or human, whilst sand-dwellers and desert wanderers report nothing amiss. I simply do not believe that a chariot squadron can disappear into the desert haze as if it has gone across the Far Horizon. Now, for sake of argument, let us say that squadron was wiped out. Only the Libyans have the military might to achieve that. Only they have the means to completely hide corpses, chariots, horses…’
‘You believe our troops discovered something startling and were massacred?’
‘Yes,’ replied Senenmut. ‘They must have been ambushed, either out in the open desert or at an oasis, but so far we’ve discovered nothing.’
‘And have you really captured the Rekhet?’ Amerotke asked.
‘Well,’ Senenmut continued, ‘according to our own spies, those who work for the House of Secrets, the Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh, well-known Amemets have been seen in the city. I suspect, Lord Judge, that your house is under their close inspection; the royal palace certainly is. One of our spies reported that the postern gate, the Door of Chariotry, was being watched by Bluetooth, an Amemet well known to the House of Secrets. We then devised our plan. We decided to act as if we had captured the Rekhet. One of our mercenaries, a Syrian, was sent into the city to lodge in some shabby house and to act when he was arrested as if he were the Rekhet. He was supplied with a sack of small jars containing innocent powder and water. A detachment of the Maryannou was dispatched to arrest him. Our mercenary acted the part and was brought back to the palace.’
‘And of course the Amemets now know all about it?’
‘Yes,’ Hatusu declared, her voice loud and carrying. ‘Bluetooth saw the Rekhet, as he thinks, being hustled into the palace. Later on today he will see him escorted by a small cohort of soldiers to the House of Horus the Red-Eye. He will also see you enter that house.’ Hatusu’s glance fell away and her voice became more uncertain. ‘Lord Judge, I ask a great deal of you. The Amemets will soon realise that the Rekhet is in the House of Horus the Red-Eye, guarded only by a small escort, being questioned by Lord Amerotke.’
The judge closed his eyes. He knew what Hatusu was going to ask.
‘The Amemets never attack by day.’ Senenmut picked up the narrative. ‘They are too prudent and cautious. Tonight, however, I believe they will attack the House of Horus the Red-Eye in force. They are determined to lay their hands on the Rekhet and snatch him away, for which the Libyans will pay them a very high price.’
‘But that’s extremely dangerous!’ Shufoy’s voice was almost a squeak. ‘The Amemets will kill my master.’
‘There are two reasons we ask this,’ Senenmut continued evenly. ‘First, the Amemets are a pestilence; this will be a unique opportunity to wipe them out!’
‘How?’ Amerotke asked.
Senenmut shook a hand. ‘No, listen. Second, if the Amemets do attack, that’s the final proof that the Rekhet knows something very important. It will confirm our deep suspicions that something startling, dangerous to Egypt, is happening out in the western desert.’
‘And then what?’ Amerotke asked.
‘If necessary,’ Hatusu replied, ‘I shall offer full amnesty and pardon to the Rekhet, provided he surrenders himself to Pharaoh’s justice so we can discover what he knows.’
‘You referred to the Amemets being massacred,’ Amerotke declared, ‘and yet on the other hand you talk of a small escort of soldiers…’
‘Ah,’ Hatusu grinned, ‘what the Amemets do not know is that much earlier today I sent out couriers, secret messengers to the garrisons around Thebes. Since the early hours of this morning, long before the moon began to set, crack troops, Maryannou, Nakhtu-aa, Syrian archers, Kushites, men we can really trust, have been filtered out to make their way stealthily to the House of Horus the Red-Eye. They are under the command of General Omendap. When the Amemets attack tonight, and I suspect they will, they will be ambushed and killed.’
‘And so will my master,’ Shufoy repeated, ‘and me!’
‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’ Amerotke asked.
Senenmut’s face remained the same, stony and impassive; Hatusu, though, was slightly nervous.
‘To be honest, Lord Judge, this Rekhet troubles me. I am beginning to doubt whether we know the truth at all about this man. The night before last he struck at us in the very heart of the temple.’ Hatusu briefly described the poisoning of a servant outside her chamber.
‘Amerotke,’ Senenmut spoke up once Hatusu had finished, ‘we are uncertain about the Libyans. Were they responsible for the temple poisonings? Are they responsible for the attempt on us? Who is behind this wickedness? Moreover, why didn’t the Rekhet flee to Memphis or somewhere else? Why come back to Thebes and resume the same evil trail that led to his capture and imprisonment in the first place?’
‘And you, Lord Judge,’ Hatusu’s voice was harsh, ‘have you discovered anything to resolve these mysteries?’
Amerotke shook his head.
‘And will you do what I ask?’
Amerotke stared at the floor. ‘I will,’ he replied, ‘on two conditions. First, that my wife is not told about what is going to happen.’ He turned and winked at Shufoy. ‘Second, little friend, you cannot come. You must stay here and look after the Lady Norfret and my sons. Don’t worry, I will be well protected. If the Amemets attack, perhaps we might learn something we don’t know.’
‘Finally,’ Senenmut gestured around, ‘we are here for a purpose. We came in disguise to deceive not only the Amemets but also the traitor who is sitting close to our councils. You do realise we nurture one, Amerotke?’
‘I have my suspicions. The Libyans seem well versed on the importance of the Rekhet.’
‘I believe,’ Senenmut replied, ‘they have now learnt how the Rekhet assumed the identity of that Memphis merchant who also worked for me, one of my best spies in the western desert—’
‘These matters have been discussed at meetings of the Royal Circle,’ Hatusu intervened, ‘but the only other place we mentioned them was when we met the high priests of Ptah on the very evening the three scribes were poisoned!’ She smiled. ‘Either you, Amerotke, or one of them is a traitor. The room in which we chose to discuss such important issues was safe and sealed against any eavesdropper. It can only mean one or all of three things. Either one of those priests is the Rekhet – I doubt it. Or an associate – a possibility. Or, for his own nefarious reasons, a traitor to Egypt.’ Hatusu rose to her feet. ‘We shall have no more discussions with the priests of Ptah or lodge at their temple till you, Amerotke, solve these mysteries.’
After Hatusu and Senenmut had left, Amerotke prepared himself. The first hours passed like a dream. He joined his family out in the glorious coolness of the garden, acting absent-minded as the day slipped away, playing senet with his sons whilst Norfret talked about the new wig she had bought. Shufoy was sent into the city with a letter for Hinqui. Amerotke instructed him to wait for any reply and say nothing about what he knew. Amerotke then returned to his chamber to pack panniers and bags. He informed Norfret that he was to meet Lord Senenmut on business connected with the House of Secrets. Norfret wasn’t fooled. She recognised something was wrong and watched her husband intently, large dark eyes sorrowful in her beautiful face. During the late afternoon Amerotke collected his possessions, kissed Norfret and told her it was time for him to leave. She simply stared back then accompanied him down to the gate. As he made to go through, she clutched his wrist.
‘My heart’, she whispered the words of a poem, ‘lies heavy, my desire is to be with you in all things.’
‘As you are,’ Amerotke replied fiercely. He kissed her on the lips and slipped between the half-opened gates.
For some strange reason Amerotke felt that once he was free of his house he was vulnerable to all forms of secret violence, deceit and sudden attack, yet his journey to the House of Horus the Red-Eye was no more dangerous than a stroll in the evening air. When he arrived there he found it quiet. He knocked on the main gate and looked around. The pathway behind him was deserte
d except for a beggar scratching vigorously between his legs. When Amerotke caught his eye, the man stopped and stretched out a claw-like hand, voice wheedling for money. Amerotke turned away. The man was a counterfeit, a scorpion man, quite capable of honest labour and earning a wage. Amerotke heard the bolts being drawn and the gates swung open, admitting him into a world of secrets.
The House of Horus the Red-Eye was supposed to be deserted, but the overgrown garden teemed with fighting men, warriors from the crack regiments, sitting in groups, eating spiced meat and drinking from jugs of sugared beer. Amerotke almost had to pinch himself. Was he dreaming? The soldiers were all dressed for war in leather kilts and baldrics, their weapons close at hand, yet an oppressive silence reigned. No hum of conversation betrayed their presence. Amerotke walked past them and up the sloping entrance to the house. Inside, the shabby hall of columns housed the officers, also attired for battle. Amerotke recognised Omendap, Hatusu’s commander-in-chief, a burly, strapping individual, his shaven face and head gleaming with oil. He too was dressed for war, in leather marching boots, stiffened kilt and a breastplate of chain mail, the bronze discs sewn together on the thick linen undergarment beneath. Omendap greeted Amerotke and waved him over to a corner.
‘Lord Judge, the Divine One said you would come. What do you think of our preparations?’
Amerotke gazed round. ‘And the prisoner?’
Omendap walked to the door, put his fingers to his lips and blew a shrill whistle. A short while later four Maryannou, armed to the teeth, brought in a man with black hair and tousled moustache and beard. The judge ordered him to sit on a stool.
‘The Divine One has chosen you,’ Amerotke began, aware of Omendap standing behind him. ‘Tonight the Amemets will come. They will be searching for you. The enemy will be men like yourself, former soldiers. Now whatever happens,’ he looked quickly over his shoulder at Omendap, ‘you must not be taken alive. We shall do our best to protect you.’ He stretched out a hand. The mercenary grasped it and, lifting it, kissed Amerotke’s wrist.
The Poisoner of Ptah Page 18
