Death Comes as the End

by Agatha Christie

  ‘There is an evil of the heart, Imhotep, that does not show in the face.’

  ‘You mean that one of our servants, or a slave–’

  ‘No servant and no slave, Imhotep.’

  ‘One of ourselves? Or else–do you mean Hori or Kameni? But Hori is one of the family, he has proved himself faithful and trustworthy. And Kameni–he is a stranger, true, but he is of our blood and he has proved his devotion by his zeal in my service. Moreover he came to me only this morning and urged that I should consent to his marriage with Renisenb.’

  ‘Oh, he did, did he?’ Esa showed interest. ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘What could I say?’ Imhotep was fretful. ‘Is this a time to talk of marriage? I said as much to him.’

  ‘And what did he say to that?’

  ‘He said that in his opinion this was the time to talk of marriage. He said that Renisenb was not safe in this house.’

  ‘I wonder,’ said Esa. ‘I very much wonder…Is she? I thought she was–and Hori thought so–but now…’

  Imhotep went on.

  ‘Can one have marriages and funeral ceremonies going on side by side? It is not decent. The whole Nome would talk about it.’

  ‘This is no time for convention,’ said Esa. ‘Especially since it would seem that the embalmers’ men are with us permanently. All this must be a blessing to Ipi and Montu–the firm must be doing exceptionally well.’

  ‘They have put their charges up by ten per cent!’ Imhotep was momentarily diverted. ‘Iniquitous! They say that labour is more expensive.’

  ‘They should give us a cut rate price for quantity!’ Esa smiled grimly at her joke.

  ‘My dear mother,’ Imhotep looked at her in horror. ‘This is not a jest.’

  ‘All life is a jest, Imhotep–and it is death who laughs last. Do you not hear it at every feast? Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow you die? Well, that is very true for us here–it is a question only of whose death will come tomorrow.’

  ‘What you say is terrible–terrible! What can be done?’

  ‘Trust no one,’ said Esa. ‘That is the first, the most vital thing.’ She repeated with emphasis: ‘Trust no one.’

  Henet began to sob.

  ‘Why do you look at me…I’m sure if anyone is worthy of trust, I am. I’ve proved it over all these years. Don’t listen to her, Imhotep.’

  ‘There, there, my good Henet–naturally I trust you. I know only too well your true and devoted heart.’

  ‘You know nothing,’ said Esa. ‘None of us know anything. That is our danger.’

  ‘You accused me,’ whined Henet.

  ‘I cannot accuse. I have neither knowledge nor proof–only suspicion.’

  Imhotep looked up sharply.

  ‘You have suspicion–of whom?’

  Esa said slowly: ‘I have suspected once–and twice–and a third time. I will be honest, I suspected first Ipy–but Ipy is dead, so that suspicion was false. Then I suspected another person–but, on the very day of Ipy’s death, yet a third idea came to me…’

  She paused.

  ‘Are Hori and Kameni in the house? Send for them here–yes, and Renisenb too from the kitchen. And Kait and Yahmose. I have something to say and all the house should hear it.’

  II

  Esa looked round at the assembled family. She met Yahmose’s grave and gentle glance, Kameni’s ready smile, the frightened inquiry in Renisenb’s eyes, the placid incurious glance of Kait, the quiet inscrutability of Hori’s thoughtful gaze, the irritable fear of Imhotep’s twitching face and the avid curiosity and–yes–pleasure in Henet’s eyes.

  She thought: ‘Their faces tell me nothing. They show only the outward emotion. Yet surely, if I am right, there must be some betrayal.’

  Aloud she said: ‘I have something to say to you all–but first I will speak only to Henet–here in front of all of you.’

  Henet’s expression changed–the avidity and the pleasure went out of it. She looked frightened. Her voice rose in a shrill protest.

  ‘You suspect me, Esa. I knew it! You will make a case against me and how am I, a poor woman with no great wits, to defend myself? I shall be condemned–condemned unheard.’

  ‘Not unheard,’ said Esa with irony and saw Hori smile.

  Henet went on, her voice growing more and more hysterical.

  ‘I have done nothing–I am innocent…Imhotep, my dearest master, save me…’ She flung herself down and clasped him round the knees. Imhotep began to splutter indignantly, meanwhile patting Henet’s head.

  ‘Really, Esa, I protest–this is disgraceful…’

  Esa cut him short.

  ‘I have made no accusation–I do not accuse without proof. I ask only that Henet shall explain to us here the meaning of certain things she has said.’

  ‘I have said nothing–nothing at all…’

  ‘Oh yes, you have,’ said Esa. ‘There are words I heard with my own ears–and my ears are sharp even if my eyes are dim. You said that you knew something about Hori. Now what is it that you know about Hori?’

  Hori looked slightly surprised.

  ‘Yes, Henet,’ he said. ‘What do you know about me? Let us have it.’

  Henet sat back on her haunches and wiped her eyes. She looked sullen and defiant.

  ‘I know nothing,’ she said. ‘What should I know?’

  ‘That is what we are waiting for you to tell us,’ said Hori. Henet shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘I was just talking. I meant nothing.’

  Esa said: ‘I will repeat to you your own words. You said that we all despised you, but that you knew a lot of what was going on in this house–and that you saw more than many clever people saw.

  ‘And then you said this–that when Hori met you, he looked at you as though you didn’t exist, as though he saw something behind you–something that wasn’t there.’

  ‘He always looks like that,’ said Henet sullenly. ‘I might be an insect, the way he looks at me–something that practically doesn’t matter.’

  Esa said slowly:

  ‘That phrase has remained in my mind–something behind–something that wasn’t there. Henet said, “He should have looked at me.” And she went on to speak of Satipy–yes, of Satipy–and of how Satipy was clever, but where was Satipy now?…’

  Esa looked round.

  ‘Does that mean nothing to any of you? Think of Satipy–Satipy who is dead…And remember one should look at a person–not at something that isn’t there…’

  There was a moment’s dead silence and then Henet screamed. It was a high, thin scream–a scream, it would seem, of sheer terror. She cried out incoherently:

  ‘I didn’t–save me–master, don’t let her…I’ve said nothing–nothing.’

  Imhotep’s pent up rage burst out.

  ‘This is unpardonable,’ he roared. ‘I will not have this poor woman terrified and accused. What have you against her? By your own words, nothing at all.’

  Yahmose joined in without his usual timidity.

  ‘My father is right. If you have a definite accusation to bring against Henet, bring it.’

  ‘I do not accuse her,’ said Esa slowly.

  She leaned on her stick. Her figure seemed to have shrunk. She spoke slowly and heavily.

  Yahmose turned with authority to Henet.

  ‘Esa is not accusing you of causing the evils that have happened, but if I understand her rightly, she thinks that you have certain knowledge which you are withholding. Therefore, Henet, if there is anything you know, about Hori or another, now is the time to speak. Here, before us all. Speak. What knowledge have you?’

  Henet shook her head.

  ‘None.’

  ‘Be very sure of what you are saying, Henet. Knowledge is dangerous.’

  ‘I know nothing. I swear it. I swear it by the Nine Gods of the Ennead, by the Goddess Maat, by Ra himself.’

  Henet was trembling. Her voice had none of its usual whining affected quality. It sounded awed and sincere.
>
  Esa gave a deep sigh. Her figure bent forward. She murmured:

  ‘Help me back to my room.’

  Hori and Renisenb came quickly to her.

  Esa said: ‘Not you, Renisenb. I will have Hori.’

  She leaned on him as he helped her from the room towards her own quarters. Glancing up at him she saw his face was stern and unhappy.

  She murmured: ‘Well, Hori?’

  ‘You have been unwise, Esa, very unwise.’

  ‘I had to know.’

  ‘Yes–but you have taken a terrible risk.’

  ‘I see. So you too think the same?’

  ‘I have thought so for some time, but there is no proof–no shadow of proof. And even now, Esa, you have no proof. It is all in your mind.’

  ‘It is enough that I know.’

  ‘It may be too much.’

  ‘What do you mean? Oh yes, of course.’

  ‘Guard yourself, Esa. From now on you are in danger.’

  ‘We must try and act quickly.’

  ‘That, yes, but what can we do? There must be proof.’

  ‘I know.’

  They could say no more. Esa’s little maid came running to her mistress. Hori relinquished her to the girl’s care and turned away. His face was grave and perplexed.

  The little maid chattered and fussed round Esa, but Esa hardly noticed her. She felt old and ill and cold…Once again she saw the intent circle of faces watching her as she spoke.

  Only a look–a momentary flash of fear and understanding–could she have been wrong? Was she so sure of what she had seen? After all, her eyes were dim…

  Yes, she was sure. It was less an expression than the sudden tension of a whole body–a hardening–a rigidity. To one person, and one person only, her rambling words had made sense. That deadly, unerring sense which is truth…

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  SECOND MONTH OF SUMMER 15TH DAY

  ‘Now that the matter is laid before you, Renisenb, what have you to say?’

  Renisenb looked doubtfully from her father to Yahmose. Her head felt dull and bemused.

  ‘I do not know.’ The words fell from her lips tonelessly.

  ‘Under ordinary conditions,’ went on Imhotep, ‘there would be plenty of time for discussion. I have other kinsmen, and we could select and reject until we settled upon the most suitable as a husband for you. But as it is uncertain–yes, life is uncertain.’

  His voice faltered. He went on:

  ‘That is how the matter stands, Renisenb. Death is facing all three of us today. Yahmose, yourself, myself. At which of us will the peril strike next? Therefore it behoves me to put my affairs in order. If anything should happen to Yahmose you, my only daughter, will need a man to stand by your side and share your inheritance and perform such duties of my estate as cannot be administered by a woman. For who knows at what moment I may be taken from you? The trusteeship and guardianship of Sobek’s children I have arranged in my will shall be administered by Hori if Yahmose is no longer alive–also the guardianship of Yahmose’s children–since that is his wish–eh, Yahmose?’

  Yahmose nodded.

  ‘Hori has always been very close to me. He is as one of my own family.’

  ‘Quite, quite,’ said Imhotep. ‘But the fact remains he is not one of the family. Now Kameni is. Therefore, all things considered, he is the best husband available at the moment for Renisenb. So what do you say, Renisenb?’

  ‘I do not know,’ Renisenb repeated again.

  She felt a terrible lassitude.

  ‘He is handsome and pleasing, you will agree?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘But you do not want to marry him?’ Yahmose asked gently.

  Renisenb threw her brother a grateful glance. He was so resolved that she should not be hurried or badgered into doing what she did not want to do.

  ‘I really do not know what I want to do.’ She hurried on: ‘It is stupid, I know, but I am stupid today. It is–it is the strain under which we are living.’

  ‘With Kameni at your side you will feel protected,’ said Imhotep.

  Yahmose asked his father: ‘Have you considered Hori as a possible husband for Renisenb?’

  ‘Well, yes, it is a possibility…’

  ‘His wife died when he was still a young man. Renisenb knows him well and likes him.’

  Renisenb sat in a dream while the two men talked. This was her marriage they were discussing, and Yahmose was trying to help her to choose what she herself wanted, but she felt as lifeless as Teti’s wooden doll.

  Presently she said abruptly, interrupting their speech without even hearing what they were saying:

  ‘I will marry Kameni since you think it is a good thing.’

  Imhotep gave an exclamation of satisfaction and hurried out of the hall. Yahmose came over to his sister. He laid a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Do you want this marriage, Renisenb? Will you be happy?’

  ‘Why should I not be happy? Kameni is handsome and gay and kind.’

  ‘I know.’ Yahmose still looked dissatisfied and doubtful. ‘But your happiness is important, Renisenb. You must not let my father rush you into something you do not want. You know how he is.’

  ‘Oh yes, yes, when he gets an idea into his head we all have to give way to it.’

  ‘Not necessarily.’ Yahmose spoke with firmness. ‘I will not give way here unless you wish it.’

  ‘Oh, Yahmose, you never stand out against our father.’

  ‘But I will in this case. He cannot force me to agree with him and I shall not do so.’

  Renisenb looked up at him. How resolute and determined his usually undecided face was looking!

  ‘You are good to me, Yahmose,’ she said gratefully. ‘But indeed I am not yielding to compulsion. The old life here, the life I was so pleased to come back to, has passed away. Kameni and I will make a new life together and live as a good brother and sister should.’

  ‘If you are sure–’

  ‘I am sure,’ said Renisenb, and smiling at him affectionately she went out of the hall on to the porch.

  From there she crossed the courtyard. By the edge of the lake Kameni was playing with Teti. Renisenb drew near very quietly and watched them whilst they were still unaware of her approach. Kameni, merry as ever, seemed to be enjoying the game as much as the child did. Renisenb’s heart warmed to him. She thought: ‘He will make a good father to Teti.’

  Then Kameni turned his head and saw her and stood upright with a laugh.

  ‘We have made Teti’s doll a ka-priest,’ he said. ‘And he is making the offerings and attending to the ceremonies at the Tomb.’

  ‘His name is Meriptah,’ said Teti. She was very serious.

  ‘He has two children and a scribe like Hori.’

  Kameni laughed. ‘Teti is very intelligent,’ he said. ‘And she is strong and beautiful too.’

  His eyes went from the child to Renisenb and in their caressing glance Renisenb read the thought of his mind–of the children that she would one day bear him.

  It sent a slight thrill through her–yet at the same time a sudden piercing regret. She would have liked in that moment to have seen in his eyes only her own image. She thought: ‘Why cannot it be only Renisenb he sees?’

  Then the feeling passed and she smiled at him gently.

  ‘My father has spoken to me,’ she said.

  ‘And you consent?’

  She hesitated a moment before she answered:

  ‘I consent.’

  The final word was spoken, that was the end. It was all settled. She wished she did not feel so tired and numb.

  ‘Renisenb?’

  ‘Yes, Kameni.’

  ‘Will you sail with me on the River in a pleasure boat? That is a thing I have always wanted to do with you.’

  Odd that he should say that. The very first moment she had seen him she had thought of a square sail and the River and Khay’s laughing face. And now she had forgotten Khay’s face and in the place
of it, against the sail and the River, it would be Kameni who sat and laughed into her eyes.

  That was death. That was what death did to you. ‘I felt this,’ you said, ‘I felt that’–but you only said it, you did not now feel anything. The dead were dead. There was no such thing as remembrance…

  Yes, but there was Teti. There was life and renewing of life, as the waters of the yearly inundation swept away the old and prepared the soil for the new crops.

  What had Kait said: ‘The women of the household must stand together.’ What was she, after all, but a woman of a household–whether Renisenb or another, what matter…

  Then she heard Kameni’s voice–urgent, a little troubled.

  ‘What are you thinking, Renisenb? You go so far away sometimes…Will you come with me on the River?’

  ‘Yes, Kameni, I will come with you.’

  ‘We will take Teti too.’

  II

  It was like a dream, Renisenb thought–the boat and the sail and Kameni and herself and Teti. They had escaped from death and the fear of death. This was the beginning of new life.

  Kameni spoke and she answered as though in a trance…

  ‘This is my life,’ she thought, ‘there is no escape…’

  Then perplexed: ‘But why do I say to myself “escape”? What place is there to which I could fly?’

  And again there rose before her eyes the little rock chamber beside the Tomb and herself sitting there with one knee drawn up and her chin resting on her hand…

  She thought: ‘But that was something outside life–this is life–and there is no escape now until death…’

  Kameni moored the boat and she stepped ashore. He lifted Teti out. The child clung to him and her hand at his neck broke the string of an amulet he wore. It fell at Renisenb’s feet. She picked it up. It was an Ankh sign of electrum and gold.

  She gave a regretful cry. ‘It is bent. I am sorry. Be careful–’ as Kameni took it from her. ‘It may break.’

  But his strong fingers, bending it still further, snapped it deliberately in two.

  ‘Oh, what have you done?’

  ‘Take half, Renisenb, and I will take the other. It shall be a sign between us–that we are halves of the same whole.’

  He held it out to her, and just as she stretched out her hand to take it, something clicked in her brain and she drew in her breath sharply.