The Mammoth Book of Egyptian Whodunnits

by Mike Ashley

  When I expressed my surprise at Amasis’ claim that his wife had entered but not emerged from the temple Zemti shrugged.

  “He’s been saying the same for weeks to anyone who will listen,” he replied. “Apparently he bases this astonishing statement on the word of Mose, that servant of his. However, I can assure you that Mose is a disreputable fellow, overly devoted to barley beer and therefore completely unreliable.”

  “It seems Amasis asked Governor Haphimen for assistance in finding Tahamet?”

  The priest’s brow furrowed briefly. “Indeed he did,” he agreed. “Naturally, the governor ordered the temple searched and thus he also can personally confirm that there is no trace of her here.”

  I mentioned the temple’s single gateway and the high walls around it. Zemti confirmed my suspicions as to the reason for the particular form of construction.

  “A single entrance is easiest to guard,” he pointed out. “We store many objects of great value, both worldly and spiritual. I have no doubt that Haphimen’s search was as much a pretext for him to take note of what we hold here as to assist Amasis.”

  He paused and then added, “By the way, when you come to write this all down, please ensure your public realizes that women are not allowed to enter the temple itself but may only come as far as the courtyard of the sacred pool.”

  I would have considered this courtyard to be part of the temple but on reflection supposed that priests may draw the line between sacred and profane areas wherever they please. That was my thought as I left to go to the home of the governor.

  Governor Haphimen thrust his hand into one of a row of wide-mouthed pottery jars fastened horizontally to the low wall edging the sunbaked flat roof of his home. He extracted a plump pigeon. “You will stay for the evening meal?”

  The man insisted on being addressed by the title of governor, notwithstanding the fact he had no right to demand such treatment. It was, however, entirely in character for the sort of man I judged him to be, for was not his wig glossier than any I had seen in the small settlement, the kohl around his eyes applied more heavily, his wife the most beautiful woman in the village? Fortunately he had not noticed his wife had found me a far more congenial conversationalist than he during my initial visit months before.

  Or perhaps he had, for when I declined his offer he did not appear too disappointed at losing the opportunity to later boast of being host to a famous traveller such as myself.

  “As to Amasis,” he said, “despite the fact that his extraordinary claim is based solely upon the word of a most unreliable servant, I did what I could for him despite our dispute. After all, a governor must carry out his duties regardless of personal animosities. Indeed, if the priests had not known of the woman’s disappearance by reason of my inquiries they would probably not have been able to identify the body found a day or so later. The River claims many and they do not always examine the deceased too closely, as you can imagine. Amasis should be grateful to me, for now at least he knows what happened to his wife. Not all men are so fortunate.”

  At this strange remark I wondered uncomfortably if Haphimen was more observant than I had first thought.

  Glancing away, I could see the Nile stretching toward the horizon in both directions. At this time of year it resembled a newly fed snake, sluggish and harmless.

  “So you and Amasis have still not resolved your dispute over the farmland?”

  The pigeon he was holding cooed softly. Haphimen grasped its head and twisted it quickly. The neck broke with a delicate crack. “He insists that I want what is his but I only wish to obtain what is rightfully mine. Even so, I repeat, I did what I could for him then and there is nothing more I can do for him now.”

  We made our way downstairs into a room whose geometrically patterned wall-hangings, small rosewood tables and carved wooden chests were illuminated by sunlight streaming through high, securely barred windows.

  I asked Haphimen if he thought the missing woman might be concealed somewhere in the temple.

  “Absolutely not,” he replied. “I ordered the place searched thoroughly and I can assure you that even the tiniest cranny was not neglected. She isn’t there.”

  “Zemti appears to believe you had other reasons for ordering a search,” I observed.

  Haphimen absently stroked the feathers of the dead bird he held. “The temple’s wealth is also the village’s fortune, Herodotus. We must be always vigilant. There have been instances where scoundrels have made off with such treasures by means of secret entrances and the like.”

  His statement was true enough, for as I have related elsewhere in my History I was told of a builder who designed a treasury whose wall incorporated a removable stone used for just such a nefarious purpose.

  “But was it not unusual for Tahamet to go walking abroad unaccompanied?”

  Haphimen glared at me with kohl-elongated eyes that were, in fact small and unremarkable. “You begin to sound like Amasis. Why shouldn’t she visit the temple by herself, or anywhere else she wished for that matter? That is the way of our country. You Hellenes certainly have some strange notions at times.”

  He glanced down at the pigeon’s limp body and his lips pursed, as if he had only just realized he had killed the bird. “Still, Tahamet was a striking woman,” he went on, “and a most charming conversationalist. I can certainly understand how even a fool like Amasis is overwrought at losing such a treasure.”

  “As you say. However, I was wondering rather whether it was safe for her to go out alone,” I replied patiently. “Amasis mentioned he thought she needed a guard.”

  Haphimen grunted. “Perhaps so. You’ll have to excuse me, Herodotus. I must deliver this morsel to my cook. However, I will say that Amasis was always a very suspicious sort, as should be obvious from his conversation with you. As for safety – well, you can easily judge for yourself what danger lurks in our few streets just by strolling around.”

  The winding, narrow street on which Haphimen’s house stood harboured nothing more dangerous than a knot of sun-browned, naked children who paused in their play to gape at my long tunic and full beard. It is a common enough event. I have travelled to the ends of the earth in search of wonders but, if the truth be told, in many places I am more of a wonder to the inhabitants than they are to me.

  When I approached Amasis’ house I noticed several lintels set in its dark wall but, strange to relate, they were at foot level. As I subsequently learned, strong desert winds oft times blew stinging clouds of sand into the village, forming huge drifts that raised the ground above the height of the lower rooms. New dwellings would then be built using the original houses as foundations, although where drifting was less severe the owners simply constructed higher floors in ground level rooms, inserting new doors and windows at appropriate points.

  I mention this unrelated matter to demonstrate that such oddities are the sorts of mysteries I am able to solve simply by observation or by conversing with those who are better informed.

  Explaining the disappearance of persons, however, is not something at which I am skilled. Amasis had looked at me eagerly when he answered my knock, but his expression darkened with sorrow when I informed him I had learned nothing further concerning his wife.

  He invited me to enter his house but I explained I was only there to ask where Mose resided. “Are you certain you can believe Mose’s story?” I went on. “After all, both the governor and Zemti declared most emphatically that what your servant says cannot be trusted.”

  “Haphimen will say whatever Zemti orders him to say,” replied Amasis curtly. “The governor may be nothing more than a common thief with pretensions, but he knows who wields power here. As for Zemti . . . it was in his temple that Tahamet vanished and it was he who lied to me about the identity of the unfortunate woman found in the River.”

  “Could it be possible that your judgment is clouded by grief?” I suggested as delicately as I could. “And, forgive me, but perhaps might it also have been affected by your
dispute with Haphimen?”

  “You may call it a dispute, Herodotus, but I call it attempted theft. However, after you have spoken with Mose you will better be able to judge his trustworthiness for yourself.”

  I paused before leaving. Even standing at the outer doorway I could see that Amasis’ furnishings were, if anything, even more lavish than those displayed in the governor’s home.

  Amasis noticed the direction of my gaze. “Yes, I filled our house with beautiful things,” he said sorrowfully. “There was never an itinerant furniture-maker passing through the village who did not receive a commission for something beautiful for my beloved. I know many criticized my indulging her so, sir. But I have always taken note of the wisdom of Ptah-Hotep, who advised keeping a wife well contented so that the chains that hold her to you will be pleasing in their nature and thus doubly binding.”

  While the trusted servant who had been discreetly guarding the missing wife recounted his tale, I wondered if Tahamet had found marriage to Amasis a pleasing chain.

  Mose and I were seated on stools in the small walled courtyard behind Mose’s home, a single story house at the end of a narrow, twisting alley of similar dwellings.

  He confirmed he had followed her for weeks. Where? Just to the usual places women went. To the market, the temple, to friends’ homes. No, she had never noticed him attending at her heels.

  “But if she had been threatened, then she would immediately have discovered I was nearby and her attackers would have thought Sobek himself had sprung upon them!”

  The statement elicited a muffled laugh from Mose’s wife, who was tending her cooking pots in the corner of the cramped courtyard that served for their kitchen.

  Mose bit down hard on the withered piece of dried fish he was eating. He was, perhaps, darker and stockier than average, with bright eyes and slow speech.

  “Where did Tahamet go on the day she disappeared?”

  “She first called on a woman who’s sewing garments for her. Then she went to the governor’s house. She’s an old friend of his wife’s, you see. The governor wouldn’t like it if he knew they still visited each other, what with his feud with my employer,” Mose replied, “and I think he must have been at home because Tahamet didn’t go into the house this time.” He took a drink from the jug of beer beside his stool.

  I declined his offer of similar refreshment. “She proceeded from there to the temple?”

  “No. She went to the market. She never leaves the governor’s house without visiting the market.”

  “Do you remember what she purchased?”

  Mose frowned. “Not very well. Nothing important. Vegetables, I think. Then she went to the temple. She usually stopped there to leave an offering for the Sacred One before returning home. Pious? Yes, she was pious indeed but to tell the truth I think the tame crocodile also amused her.”

  “I understand you remained outside at the temple gate all night, waiting for her?”

  He nodded his head vigorously.

  The pungent odour of boiling leeks wafted from the corner of the courtyard and with it the voice of Mose’s wife. “He wasn’t guarding the woman, sir. Just her virtue. Not that she had any left as anyone but my husband would tell you. Detailing her movements to Amasis was what he was really doing.”

  “Be quiet, Mi! You stupid woman! I’m fortunate to have such a fine man for an employer.” He lifted the jug of beer beside his stool and took an even longer drink.

  “He should never have married that vulgar woman,” said his wife. “Fancied herself a queen, so she did. But the truth of it is, sir, she’d kiss a Hellene on the lips!”

  “Mi!” Mose was obviously shocked and furious at his wife’s malicious outpouring.

  The woman gave her pot of leeks a vigorous stir. “Our visitor needs to know the truth of the matter. Isn’t that so, sir? Tahamet was always an ambitious woman, so she was. Not a fit wife at all. And a dreadful cook. Why, one time she burnt a duck so badly that Amasis threw it at her head. My husband saw that personally.”

  Mose took another gulp from his jug and shook his head. He indicated I should leave. His wife continued muttering to herself as we stepped out into the alley.

  “Forgive her, sir. Amasis engaged Mi to carry out household duties but she kept falling out with Tahamet. Finally there was some sort of ugly argument and, well, Mi no longer works there. Tahamet was really just a simple girl. She grew up here in the village. She’s a cousin of Mi’s, in fact.”

  “So Tahamet must have led a much more comfortable life after she married Amasis?” I asked the garrulous servant.

  “Certainly. It’s true, I will admit, that she always had an eye out for something better. Who wouldn’t, if their family were merely makers of baskets? I used to see her with a young weaver but then Amasis came along, so now she’s risen as high as may be in this village. But she always treated me kindly, sir.”

  As I departed I assured Mose that I understood perfectly, although in fact I can better grasp those ancient battles between the Amazons and Scythians than I am able to fathom the tiresome, petty squabbles that infect domestic daily life, no matter what the country.

  I followed one of many paths leading down to the Nile. Nearer the water the air seemed heavy. Spindly palms towered from the river bank and on the far side of the calm water I could see lush green fields, perhaps the very land over which Amasis and Haphimen were at such odds.

  What had I learned? I believe only what I see with my own eyes even though what I am told is usually far more fascinating. Concerning Tahamet I knew only what I had heard. On the other hand, it was my personal observation that Amasis, Haphimen and Zemti were competing in different ways for what little wealth and power might be wrung from life in this wretched outpost.

  How reliable was their information? Was Mose more credible? His livelihood depended on Amasis’ continued good will. Mi’s words had the unpleasantness we tend to associate with truth, perhaps because truth so often is unpleasant. But then she had reason to hold a grudge against the missing woman because of the quarrel Mose had revealed.

  Had Mose abandoned his post outside the temple gate at some point and now did not dare admit it? Could the reason for Tahamet’s disappearance be that simple, that she had wandered down to the river in his absence and fallen in? It seemed a far more likely explanation than her walking into a temple and vanishing.

  I swatted at a cloud of flies that swarmed in my face like a spray of wind-blown sand.

  Tahamet interested me. It was quite understandable that a doting husband would praise his wife’s beauty but Haphimen had also described her as striking, while Mi had said she had fancied herself a queen.

  Could such thoughts be dangerous, even in a village? Ambition, the desire to be more than one is, is a perplexing thing. I have seen strangers flock to me, eager for whatever renown or immortality they imagine my writings might grant them. The Egyptians believe cats will run headlong into any fire they see and in my travels I have met a number of men and women like that. Was Tahamet such a person? What strange fire had drawn her to, possibly, a fatal end?

  I had hoped that contemplating the peaceful water of the Nile might serve to calm my thoughts, but instead it seemed to entice them away into fruitless meanderings. Then my concentration was broken completely by a loud splash.

  Looking in the direction of the sound I saw an elongated, crocodilian shape gliding in my direction through the murky shallows. It broke the surface in front of me and I realized, with some relief, that it was only a boy, his arms outstretched as he cut rapidly through the water. Taking a step or two forwards I noted a flat rock, hitherto hidden by bushes, from which another boy was just diving.

  Further contemplation of the mystery would obviously be futile here. I decided I should again visit the place where Tahamet had vanished.

  Nahkt, the Sacred One’s attendant, hailed me as I entered the temple courtyard. “The Sacred One is out warming himself, sir,” he announced. “You are honoured!”


  I followed him to the large sunken pool and squinted over its low wall. The late afternoon sun turned ripples on the water into molten gold. The Sacred One floated there, a half-submerged rough-barked log, regarding us with tiny pig-like eyes.

  I remembered my conversation with Mose. “Nahkt, did you know Tahamet, the wife of Amasis? I am told she often made offerings here.”

  Nahkt gazed down at the crocodile, an expression of affection on his broad face. “I did know her, sir. She used to visit us most days. She liked to watch my friend here – that is, the Sacred One. But now the River has claimed her and she visits us no more. Yet if I may say so, sir, that is how I would choose to go.”

  My gaze was drawn back to the crocodile and its incongruous adornments – fine gold bangles, gem-studded necklaces and the like.

  “Who dared to put such things on this creature?”

  “Haven’t you noticed all the one-armed beggars in the streets?” Nahkt asked and immediately burst into laughter.

  I did not join in his merriment. A particular piece of jewellery had caught my eye. It was one of the Sacred One’s earrings. A yellow topaz acacia flower – Tahamet’s earring.

  Suddenly, with sickening certainty, I knew why Tahamet had disappeared.

  “She was fed to the sacred crocodile,” I stated.

  Nahkt stopped laughing and gaped at me.

  “Tahamet, I mean,” I went on. “She was killed in the temple and her body fed to the Sacred One. I am not accusing you of anything, Nahkt, but have you observed any —” I broke off, for the man’s heavy frame had again begun to shake with amusement.

  “Excuse me, sir, but the very notion of my old friend here devouring so much as a human finger . . . well . . . do you suppose this is merely a common crocodile, hiding in the mud and eating what he can catch? No, sir. The Sacred One dines on milk sweetened with honey, specially prepared grains, even wine. He has no taste for human flesh. Besides . . .”

  To my horror, Nahkt heaved his bulk over the wall and jumped into the pool with an enormous splash. Waist-deep, he waded towards the crocodile, which gave a lazy shake of its tail and swam straight for him.