Death Comes as the End

by Agatha Christie

  ‘Ah well, Imhotep, there is at least one woman less now!’

  ‘Yes, indeed. My poor Yahmose! All the same, Esa–I feel that–er–it may be all for the best. Satipy bore healthy children, it is true, but she was in many ways a most unsatisfactory wife. Yahmose, of course, gave in to her far too much. Well, well, all that is over now. I must say that I have been much pleased with Yahmose’s behaviour of late. He seems much more self-reliant–less timid–and his judgement on several points has been excellent–quite excellent…’

  ‘He was always a good, obedient boy.’

  ‘Yes, yes–but inclined to be slow and somewhat afraid of responsibility.’

  Esa said drily: ‘Responsibility is a thing you have never allowed him to have!’

  ‘Well, all that will be changed now. I am arranging a deed of association and partnership. It will be signed in a few days’ time. I am associating with myself all my three sons.’

  ‘Surely not Ipy?’

  ‘He would be hurt to be left out. Such a dear, warmhearted lad.’

  ‘There is certainly nothing slow about him,’ observed Esa.

  ‘As you say. And Sobek too–I have been displeased with him in the past, but he has really turned over a new leaf of late. He no longer idles his time away, and he defers more to my judgement and to that of Yahmose.’

  ‘This is indeed a hymn of praise,’ said Esa. ‘Well, Imhotep, I must say that I think you are doing the right thing. It was bad policy to make your sons discontented. But I still think that Ipy is too young for what you propose. It is ridiculous to give a boy of that age a definite position. What hold will you have over him?’

  ‘There is something in that, certainly.’ Imhotep looked thoughtful.

  Then he roused himself.

  ‘I must go. There are a thousand things to see to. The embalmers are here–there are all the arrangements to make for Satipy’s burial. These deaths are costly–very costly. And following so quickly one upon the other!’

  ‘Oh well,’ said Esa consolingly, ‘we’ll hope this is the last of them–until my time comes!’

  ‘You will live many years yet, I hope, my dear mother.’

  ‘I’m sure you hope so,’ said Esa with a grin. ‘No economy over me, if you please! It wouldn’t look well! I shall want a good deal of equipment to amuse me in the other world. Plenty of food and drink and a lot of models of slaves–a richly ornamented gaming board, perfume sets and cosmetics, and I insist on the most expensive canopic jars–the alabaster ones.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course.’ Imhotep changed his position nervously from one foot to the other. ‘Naturally all respect will be paid when the sad day comes. I must confess that I feel rather differently about Satipy. One does not want a scandal, but really, in the circumstances–’

  Imhotep did not finish his sentence but hurried away.

  Esa smiled sardonically as she realized that that one phrase ‘in the circumstances’ was the nearest Imhotep would ever get towards admitting that an accident did not fully describe the way his valued concubine met her death.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  FIRST MONTH OF SUMMER 25TH DAY

  With the return of the members of the family from the Nomarch’s court, the deed of association duly ratified, a general spirit of hilarity was felt. The exception was undoubtedly Ipy who had, at the last moment, been excluded from participation on the ground of his extreme youth. He was sullen in consequence and purposefully absented himself from the house.

  Imhotep, in excellent spirits, called for a pitcher of wine to be brought out on to the porch where it was placed in the big wine stand.

  ‘You shall drink, my son,’ he declared, clapping Yahmose on the shoulder. ‘Forget for the moment your sorrow in bereavement. Let us think only of the good days that are to come.’

  Imhotep, Yahmose, Sobek and Hori drank the toast. Then word was brought that an ox had been stolen, and all four men went hurriedly off to investigate the matter.

  When Yahmose re-entered the courtyard, an hour later, he was tired and hot. He went to where the wine jar still stood in the stand. He dipped a bronze cup into it and sat down on the porch, gently sipping the wine. A little later Sobek came striding in and exclaimed with pleasure.

  ‘Ha,’ he said. ‘Now for more wine! Let us drink to our future which is at last well assured. Undoubtedly this is a joyful day for us, Yahmose!’

  Yahmose agreed.

  ‘Yes, indeed. It will make life easier in every way.’

  ‘You are always so moderate in your feelings, Yahmose.’

  Sobek laughed as he spoke and dipping a cup in the wine, he tossed it off, smacking his lips as he put it down.

  ‘Let us see now whether my father will be as much of a stick in the mud as ever, or whether I shall be able to convert him to up-to-date methods.’

  ‘I should go slowly if I were you,’ Yahmose counselled. ‘You are always so hotheaded.’

  Sobek smiled at his brother affectionately. He was in high good humour.

  ‘Old slow-and-sure,’ he said, scoffingly.

  Yahmose smiled, not at all put out.

  ‘It is the best way in the end. Besides, my father has been very good to us. We must do nothing to cause him worry.’

  Sobek looked at him curiously.

  ‘You are really fond of our father? You are an affectionate creature, Yahmose! Now I–I care for nobody–for nobody, that is, but Sobek, long life to him!’

  He took another draught of wine.

  ‘Be careful,’ Yahmose said warningly. ‘You have eaten little today. Sometimes, then, when one drinks wine–’

  He broke off with a sudden contortion of the lips.

  ‘What is the matter, Yahmose?’

  ‘Nothing–a sudden pain–I, it is nothing…’

  But he raised a hand to wipe his forehead which was suddenly bedewed with moisture.

  ‘You do not look well.’

  ‘I was quite all right just now.’

  ‘So long as nobody has poisoned the wine.’ Sobek laughed at his own words and stretched out his arm towards the jar. Then, in the very act, his arm stiffened, his body bent forward in a sudden spasm of agony…

  ‘Yahmose,’ he gasped. ‘Yahmose…I–too…’

  Yahmose, slipping forward, was bent double. A half stifled cry came from him.

  Sobek was now contorted with pain. He raised his voice.

  ‘Help. Send for a physician–a physician…’

  Henet came running out of the house.

  ‘You called? What was it that you said? What is it?’

  Her alarmed cries brought others.

  The two brothers were both groaning with pain.

  Yahmose said faintly:

  ‘The wine–poison–send for a physician…’

  Henet uttered a shrill cry:

  ‘More misfortune. In truth this house is accursed. Quick! Hurry! Send to the Temple for the Divine Father Mersu who is a skilled physician of great experience.’

  II

  Imhotep paced up and down the central hall of the hosue. His fine linen robe was soiled and limp, he had neither bathed nor changed. His face was drawn with worry and fear.

  From the back of the house came a low sound of keening and weeping–the women’s contribution to the catastrophe that had overrun the household–Henet’s voice led the mourners.

  From a room at the side, the voice of the physician and priest Mersu was heard raised as he strove over the inert body of Yahmose. Renisenb, stealing quietly out of the women’s quarters into the central hall, was drawn by the sound. Her feet took her to the open doorway and she paused there, feeling a healing balm in the sonorous words that the Priest was reciting.

  ‘Oh Isis, great of magic, loose thou me, release thou me from all things bad, evil and red, from the stroke of a God, from the stroke of a Goddess, from dead man or dead woman, from a male foe, or a female foe who may oppose himself to me…’

  A faint sigh came fluttering from Yahmose’s lips.r />
  In her heart Renisenb joined in the prayer.

  ‘Oh Isis–oh great Isis–save him–save my brother Yahmose–Thou who art great of magic…’

  Thoughts passed confusedly through her mind, raised there by the words of the incantation.

  ‘From all things bad, evil and red…That is what has been the matter with us here in this house–yes, red thoughts, angry thoughts–the anger of a dead woman.’

  She spoke within the confines of her thoughts, directly addressing the person in her mind.

  ‘I was not Yahmose who harmed you, Nofret–and though Satipy was his wife, you cannot hold him responsible for her actions–he never had any control over her–no one had. Satipy who harmed you is dead. Is that not enough? Sobek is dead–Sobek who only spoke against you, yet never actually harmed you. Oh Isis, do not let Yahmose also die–save him from the vengeful hatred of Nofret.’

  Imhotep, pacing distractedly up and down, looked up and saw his daughter and his face relaxed with affection.

  ‘Come here, Renisenb, dear child.’

  She ran to him and he put his arms around her.

  ‘Oh, father, what do they say?’

  Imhotep said heavily: ‘They say that in Yahmose’s case there is hope. Sobek–you know?’

  ‘Yes, yes. Have you not heard us wailing?’

  ‘He died at dawn,’ said Imhotep. ‘Sobek, my strong, handsome son.’ His voice faltered and broke.

  ‘Oh it is wicked, cruel–could nothing be done?’

  ‘All was done that could be. Potions forcing him to vomit. Administration of the juice of potent herbs. Sacred amulets were applied and mighty incantations spoken. All was of no avail. Mersu is a skilled physician. If he could not save my son–then it was the will of the Gods that he should not be saved.’

  The priest physician’s voice rose in a final high chant and he came out from the chamber, wiping the perspiration from his forehead.

  ‘Well?’ Imhotep accosted him eagerly.

  The physician said gravely: ‘By the favour of Isis your son will live. He is weak, but the crisis of the poison has passed. The evil influence is on the wane.’

  He went on, slightly altering his tone to a more everyday intonation.

  ‘It is fortunate that Yahmose drank much less of the poisoned wine. He sipped his wine whereas it seems your son Sobek tossed it off at a draught.’

  Imhotep groaned.

  ‘You have there the difference between them. Yahmose timid, cautious and slow in his approach to everything. Even eating and drinking. Sobek, always given to excess, generous, free-handed–alas! imprudent.’

  Then he added sharply:

  ‘And the wine was definitely poisoned?’

  ‘There is no doubt of that, Imhotep. The residue was tested by my young assistants–of the animals treated with it, all died more or less swiftly.’

  ‘And yet I who had drunk the same wine not an hour earlier have felt no ill effects.’

  ‘It was doubtless not poisoned at that time–the poison was added afterwards.’

  Imhotep struck the palm of one hand with his other hand clenched into a fist.

  ‘No one,’ he declared, ‘no one living would dare to poison my sons here under my roof! Such a thing is impossible. No living person, I say!’

  Mersu inclined his head slightly. His face became inscrutable.

  ‘Of that, Imhotep, you are the best judge.’

  Imhotep stood scratching nervously behind his ear.

  ‘There is a tale I would like you to hear,’ he said abruptly.

  He clapped his hands and as a servant ran in, he called:

  ‘Bring the herd boy here.’

  He turned back to Mersu, saying:

  ‘This is a boy whose wits are not of the best. He takes in what people say to him with difficulty and he has not full possession of his faculties. Nevertheless he has eyes and his eye-sight is good, and he is moreover devoted to my son Yahmose who has been gentle with him and kindly to his infirmity.’

  The servant came back, dragging by the hand a thin, almost black-skinned boy, clad in a loin-cloth, with slightly squinting eyes and a frightened, witless face.

  ‘Speak,’ said Imhotep sharply. ‘Repeat what you told me just now.’

  The boy hung his head, his fingers began kneading the cloth round his waist.

  ‘Speak,’ shouted Imhotep.

  Esa came hobbling in, supported by her stick and peering with her dim eyes.

  ‘You are terrifying the child. Here, Renisenb, give him this jujube. There, boy, tell us what you saw.’

  The boy gazed from one to the other of them.

  Esa prompted him.

  ‘It was yesterday, as you passed the door of the courtyard–you saw–what did you see?’

  The boy shook his head, glancing sideways. He murmured:

  ‘Where is my Lord Yahmose?’

  The priest spoke with authority and kindliness:

  ‘It is the wish of your Lord Yahmose that you tell us your tale. Have no fear. No one will hurt you.’

  A gleam of light passed over the boy’s face. ‘My Lord Yahmose has been good to me. I will do what he wishes.’

  He paused. Imhotep seemed about to break out, but a look from the physician restrained him.

  Suddenly the boy spoke, nervously, in a quick gabble, and with a look from side to side as he spoke, as though he was afraid that some unseen presence would overhear him.

  ‘It was the little donkey–protected by Seth and always up to mischief. I ran after him with my stick. He went past the big gate of the courtyard, and I looked in through the gate at the house. There was no one on the porch, but there was a wine-stand there. And then a woman, a lady of the house, came out upon the porch from the house. She walked to the wine jar and she held out her hands over it and then–and then–she went back into the house, I think. I do not know. For I heard footsteps and turned and saw in the distance my Lord Yahmose coming back from the fields. So I went on seeking the little donkey, and my Lord Yahmose went into the courtyard.’

  ‘And you did not warn him,’ cried Imhotep, angrily. ‘You said nothing.’

  The boy cried out, ‘I did not know anything was wrong. I saw nothing but the lady standing there smiling down as she spread out her hands over the wine jar…I saw nothing…’

  ‘Who was this lady, boy?’ asked the priest.

  With a vacant expression the boy shook his head.

  ‘I do not know. She must have been one of the ladies of the house. I do not know them. I have the herds at the far end of the cultivation. She wore a dress of dyed linen.’

  Renisenb started.

  ‘A servant, perhaps?’ suggested the priest, watching the boy.

  The boy shook his head positively.

  ‘She was not a servant…She had a wig on her head and she wore jewels–a servant does not wear jewels.’

  ‘Jewels?’ demanded Imhotep. ‘What jewels?’

  The boy replied eagerly and confidently as though at last he had overcome his fear and was quite sure of what he was saying.

  ‘Three strings of beads with gold lions hanging from them in front…’

  Esa’s stick clattered to the floor. Imhotep uttered a stifled cry.

  Mersu said threateningly: ‘If you are lying, boy–’

  ‘It is the truth. I swear it is the truth.’ The boy’s voice rose shrill and clear.

  From the side chamber where the ill man lay, Yahmose called feebly: ‘What is all this?’

  The boy darted through the open door and crouched down by the couch on which Yahmose lay.

  ‘Master, they will torture me.’

  ‘No, no.’ Yahmose turned his head with difficulty on the curved, wooden headrest. ‘Do not let the child be hurt. He is simple, but honest. Promise me.’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ said Imhotep. ‘There is no need. It is clear the boy has told all that he knows–and I do not think he is inventing. Be off with you, child, but do not return to the far herds. Stay
near the house so that we can summon you again if we need you.’

  The boy rose to his feet. He bent a reluctant glance upon Yahmose.

  ‘You are ill, Lord Yahmose?’

  Yahmose smiled faintly.

  ‘Have no fear. I am not going to die. Go now–and be obedient to what you have been told.’

  Smiling happily now, the boy went off. The priest examined Yahmose’s eyes and felt the rate at which the blood was coursing under the skin. Then, recommending him to sleep, he went with the others out into the central hall again.

  He said to Imhotep:

  ‘You recognize the description the boy gave?’

  Imhotep nodded. His deep, bronze cheeks showed a sickly plum colour.

  Renisenb said: ‘Only Nofret ever wore a dress of dyed linen. It was a new fashion she brought with her from the cities in the North. But those dresses were buried with her.’

  Imhotep said:

  ‘And the three strings of beads with the lions’ heads in gold were what I gave her. There is no other such ornament in the house. It was costly and unusual. All her jewellery, with the exception of a trumpery string of carnelian beads, was buried with her and is sealed in her tomb.’

  He flung out his arms.

  ‘What persecution–what vindictiveness is this! My concubine whom I treated well, to whom I paid all honour, whom I buried with the proper rites, sparing no expense. I have eaten and drunk with her in friendship–to that all can bear witness. She had had nothing of which to complain–I did indeed more for her than would have been considered right and fitting. I was prepared to favour her to the detriment of my sons who were born to me. Why, then, should she thus come back from the dead to persecute me and my family?’

  Mersu said gravely:

  ‘It seems that it is not against you personally that the dead woman wishes evil. The wine when you drank it was harmless. Who in your family did injury to your dead concubine?’

  ‘A woman who is dead,’ Imhotep answered shortly.

  ‘I see. You mean the wife of your son Yahmose?’

  ‘Yes.’ Imhotep paused, then broke out: ‘But what can be done, Reverend Father? How can we counteract this malice? Oh, evil day when I first took the woman into my house.’