by Anton Gill
Huy thanked him, thinking inwardly that by that time a determined man-or men or demons, for who knew? – could have covered much distance. Khons was still large enough to give illumination to travel by.
He toyed with the paper in his hands and looked out across the pond, the water shimmering in the moonlight as the fish within it nosed the surface. How had they avoided the cats, he thought irrelevantly, and then, just as suddenly, his heart twisted on the agony he felt for Senseneb. Why could he not see who had done it? Might it have been local tribesmen? But why? If there was a rebellion, was it not focused behind Samut – if Samut was to be believed? And why choose to abduct Senseneb anyway? They had only just arrived in Meroe and no one knew them. Of course, Senseneb was physician to the Governor’s wife. He shook his head and stood up impatiently. Of what consequence was that?
He paced the terrace. Might the abduction – if that was what had happened – he could not even be sure of that – be connected with the attempts on Ankhsi’s life? If only he were not so completely in the dark!
He cried out to her through the night, signalling her with his heart as they had done when they first met. But no answering call came.
Then his eye fell on the piece of papyrus between his fingers. What was he thinking of? Hastily, he returned to the bench, broke the twist of reed away from it, and uncurled the paper.
He recognised Ay’s handwriting at once.
He looked at the contents by the light of a rush lamp. The instructions were clear: Ay was calling off a killing. Though half the sheet was missing, and the blood and dirt on it made the characters hard to decipher, as he read it became clear to Huy that the murders which had been ordered were those of Senseneb and himself.
More calmly than he would have thought possible, he rolled the fragment of papyrus up again, tying it carefully again with the same twist of reed which he had picked up from the bench. Immediately, thoughts started to clutter his heart: Ay’s agent could not have been Hapu – even Huy, who liked to look under the smallest stone, could not accept that possibility. Which meant that the paper must have belonged to his Hapu’s killer and – Huy supposed – Senseneb’s abductor. For somewhere within him he felt that she was not killed. Not yet. He did not know how much time he had to save her, but all reason suggested that if the man who had killed Hapu had wished to kill Senseneb, he would have done so then and there. But then another thought occurred to him. He might have taken her to the River. To give her body to the crocodiles would have been to grant her an honourable departure. But no! The thing would have been too difficult, too risky. It would have needed a man with a bull’s strength. He clung to the hope, perhaps more than to the instinct, that his wife was still alive. Another thought occurred to him and he returned to the paper, unrolling it again. It was cut cleanly in half. Did that mean it was cut deliberately?
Huy pondered this. If the man had been carrying half a papyrus that was cleanly cut, it followed that the countermanding order would be confirmed only if the matching half was sent. Had it been? Was that why they had not found Senseneb’s body? But in that case, why attack her at all? And why was he still living?
Dawn was making lines of primrose and lilac in the sky as Samut appeared. He looked as close to being dishevelled as such a man would ever come, and his eyes showed that he had not slept. He sat down next the Huy and placed a hand on his shoulder.
‘I have sent word to the Governor,’ he said, ‘and he is already detailing troops. There will be a reward too. Senseneb is loved here.’
‘And the River?’ asked Huy.
‘I have put out two of my ships already, and Tascherit will see to it that two of Nesptah’s boats will go out as well. A falcon-ship patrol upriver will be alerted, as will one downriver.’
‘Thank you,’ said Huy. ‘I am in your debt.’
Samut looked at him. ‘Do not think like that. It is not a question of doing this as a favour.’
Huy hesitated before asking, ‘Has there been any news from the River?’
Samut read his heart, and squeezed his shoulder before standing up. ‘They have found nothing in the River. It flows slowly at this time of year. It is unlikely that she is there.’
Huy closed his eyes in relief.
‘Come,’ said Samut. ‘It is time you ate.’
‘No.’
‘You are cold. You must eat. You have much to do.’
Huy looked inwards. He was having to turn for help in the direction he least wanted to. But what other course of action was there, and did he have any control over it? As things stood, he did not know how to begin to look for Senseneb. A blanket search might help, but it would do little if she had been taken by one who knew how to hide; and if her abductor felt threatened he might act without thought.
Long before dawn broke, long before the woman had awakened after the blow he had dealt her, Henka had tied the little boat up in the rushes. The wind had dropped and it had taken much of his strength to row upstream for the distance he judged to be safe, to the abandoned fishermen’s cave in the sandy rock he had discovered and prepared as a refuge. He was tired and his wound hurt him. Carefully, he reached down to touch it. It was raw, but Hapu’s knife had been sharp and the wound was clean. Here at least he would be safe enough to light a fire to heat water, and he could make bandages from torn strips of the woman’s dress. But he had done the job messily. He should have been patient. Now, there might not be a chance to go back and finish the scribe.
He looked at her as she lay beside him in the cave, reaching out and, to his own surprise, almost hesitantly touching the contours of her face, before daring to stroke her cheek clumsily with his fingers. He saw how filthy he was, and realised that he would disgust her. But she would have to get used to it. After a while living rough, she would have to get used to herself in the same state.
Had he hit her too hard? It had been difficult to judge the blow exactly enough in the hurry and the poor light. She still seemed to be in a deep sleep.
He shook her, gently at first, then harder. There was no reaction at first; then he was relieved to see her frown and groan. He had found a couple of earthenware bowls in the boat, and he went the short distance to the River to fetch water in one of them.
When he returned, she was awake, but still lying on her back, looking at the roof of the cave, her eyebrows knit in concentration, a bewildered expression on her face.
He knelt down beside her.
‘I have brought you water,’ he said.
She flinched at his voice, startled, looking in his direction but not at him.
‘You are safe,’ he said. ‘I hit you and killed your servant.’
She opened he mouth to speak, but no words came. She was remembering, he could see that. She clawed at the ground with her fingers and pushed herself away from him, towards the wall of the cave.
He tried to look reassuring, but saw no answering change of expression in her eyes. He held the bowl of water towards her.
‘You can wash,’ he said. ‘I will not harm you. I – ’ he stumbled after words – ‘I want to take care of you. It is why I took you.’
The impact of the cave wall on her back seemed to shock her. Her mouth opened and closed but no sound came from her lips beyond a quiet scream. She supported herself with one arm and with her free hand she pushed at the air as if trying to hold back some force that was pressing down on her.
Henka watched, dumbfounded. All his training, living rough, killing silently, doing without, accommodating loneliness, seeing himself in his heart as a tough man, a cedar tree, a rock, had not prepared him for this. And the more she panicked, the more his manhood rose and he desired her. He looked down at his loins and grasped himself, bringing his penis out as if to show her a gift, and yet still hesitant – almost, if he could have defined the word in his heart, shy.
‘Look! This is for you!’ His blood was pounding in his head. He stood outside himself and saw the two of them as if in a picture.
Still the qui
et screaming went on. Her torn dress had ridden high over her thighs. His throat was dry, but still he hovered over her, did not lunge.
At last she spoke. It was a tiny voice, a child’s voice.
‘Who are you?’
He sank back on his knees. ‘I am Henka. I was sent by Ay to kill you, but I will not.’ He reached out again to stroke her face. The muscles of her cheek blanched as he touched it.
‘Do you not remember me?’
‘Yes.’ The pain and panic in her voice made something shudder within him.
‘We are together now. I will not harm you. But you must accept me.’ He moved towards her. Perhaps he had better just take her, like any other woman. Then she would come round.
Still uttering her unnerving cry, she squeezed her body into the corner of the cave, her knees drawn up, her arms against her body, hands spread wide, protecting her. Through them he could see her mouth open, see the beautiful white teeth. She was an aristocrat, better than anything he had ever had before. But she would come round. Besides, he was getting angry now. He reached forward and tore at her dress, lunging at her breasts with his mouth.
The dreadful, almost noiseless scream intensified. She kicked and pushed at him with her hands and feet, but she was like something in a dream, with no focused power. There was something in her that made him shiver, fall back, look at her more closely. Still her eyes stared wildly, emptily.
‘Please!’ she said in the child’s voice. ‘I cannot see you! It is dark!’
After two days they had found nothing. In his powerlessness and confusion, Huy had forgotten everything else; but life in Meroe continued at its usual pace. The people of the town went to work, put out their boats on the River, continued to load and unload boats in the harbour, to patrol the desert, to trade and bargain. Huy alone had taken one step outside the normal course of life. He visited Ankhsi, but Tascherit remained firm in his desire to keep her and Imuthes shut in the mansion, at least until this last mystery had been solved – for might not Senseneb’s abductor be in some way connected with the attempts on his wife? The suspicion seemed reasonable to Huy, who in any case was in no position to pursue his investigation on Ankhsi’s behalf. He knew he must talk to her obliquely, to see if he could get at the truth behind Takhana’s accusation that the former queen had arranged the third attack herself; and he knew that had to see Takhana again, to reinforce his own impression of her. Someone was lying and he had to find out who. But he did not feel strong enough for either encounter yet, and he had to find Senseneb first. The thought almost became a hope that she had been taken in order to throw him off a scent, or at least to delay him – but in such a case would it have been necessary to murder Hapu so brutally? The man had been tough, but he was old; it would have been enough for a strong man to knock him unconscious.
He rebuked himself for having ever decided to come to Meroe. The worst of it was that at bottom he was not a man to sit still and await whatever fate brought. In the event, he did not have to wait long.
It was on the morning of the third day that the falcon-ship carrying Kenna from the Southern Capital put into the harbour. His arrival had not been announced, and there was no-one to greet him as he disembarked. Even so, he glanced hastily up and down the quay. There was a handful of soldiers, and a booth for the scribes who logged the loading and unloading of goods, but no other officials were to be seen. Kenna had considered what to do on arrival during his voyage down, when river-sickness allowed him leisure to think. Now, the thought of an inn staffed by the odd people who chose to live in this godforsaken part of the country appealed to him not at all. He looked around him. The place was clean and wealthy. Perhaps he had misjudged it. It was evidently not the provincial hole he had dreaded finding.
But he had a message for Huy, and it seemed logical that he should go to his colleague’s house. Huy would have him as a guest once he understood what his task for Ay was to be. As for Henka, well, at least if was with Huy, Kenna could try to ensure that Henka did not carry out his orders until the revocation of them had been delivered. He had not yet thought of a way to make contact with Ay’s ape, as Kenna privately thought of the killer-servant, but Henka knew him and would doubtless find out that he had arrived in town. Henka was not stupid, and might even associate his arrival with the cancellation of his mission. The other problem was how Huy would take the news brought him in Ay’s letter; but that was hardly Kenna’s problem. In any case, even Huy could not refuse a direct command from the pharaoh.
He was travelling with only one body-servant to carry his pack, although there were two Medjays with the ship that had brought him and would wait in the harbour to carry him back. He did not reckon to remain more than two days. He was grateful for the presence of the ship. It was his link with the Southern Capital.
It was a simple matter to get directions to Huy’s house, and a visitor from the Capital raised no eyebrows. Under orders from Ay, Kenna had worn ordinary clothes and could have been a former colleague or a friend making a private visit. Kenna did not doubt that someone would report his arrival to the Military Governor, but he did not imagine that much would be made of it. It was not unusual for people attached to the court to travel on falcon-ships for private reasons from time to time, and the captain of his vessel had official letters for Tascherit which would explain his presence in Meroe. Ay thought of most things. Another falcon-ship, disguised as a merchantman, was lying at Kerma ready to come down and collect Huy and Ankhsi as soon as word was sent.
So it was that Kenna climbed out of the litter outside the gate-entrance to Huy’s house in confident heart. His letters were secure in the leather pouch attached to the belt around his kilt. He looked forward to a bath and the first change of clothes of the day. He was completely unprepared for the reception that awaited him.
Huy’s first emotion on seeing Kenna was relief, but the arrival of Ay’s chief scribe so soon after he had discovered the pharaoh’s letter made him suspicious. What possible business had the man here? To see if the job had been done? And yet Kenna had come to him openly. He had not gone to the Governor’s mansion, and virtually his first words, before Huy had offered him the welcoming bread, beer and salt which a guest must take before anything at all is discussed, had been to stress the private nature of the visit. So heavy had the emphasis been on ‘private’ that Huy had immediately interpreted it as ‘secret’.
The scribe reflected on Kenna’s words while Psaro conducted the latter into the house to wash, shave and change, and other attendants busied about making rooms ready for the guest and his servant. Huy called for wine and sat on the terrace, fondling the ears of one of the dogs while the other jealously nuzzled his hand. By the time Kenna had joined him, Huy had decided what to tell him and what to omit.
Kenna heard the news of Senseneb’s disappearance with concern, but his only inward source of genuine agitation was the thought that Huy would be too upset by it properly to fulfil Ay’s orders. Women played only a small role in Kenna’s life. He had two wives to run his household for him, but it remained his household and they were part of it. He knew Huy to be less career-minded than he was, but he remained suspicious that the man had hidden ambitions, or a method of operation too subtle to be immediately recognisable. He was therefore inclined to be on his guard.
‘What is being done?’ he asked.
Huy told him.
‘That is good. We must hope that the gods bring this terrible business to a swift and happy conclusion,’ he said, looking at Huy. Huy’s face was unreadable. Kenna paused for a moment. He did not know what questions to ask. Ay had briefed him to sound Huy out about the situation in Meroe, but these new circumstances blocked any attempt to do so under the guise of small talk. Certainly the town looked richer than it should be, but he could report that back himself. Ay would be pleased to discover an untapped source of taxation, and Kenna foresaw an investigation that would uncomfortably involve the Viceroy of Napata.
For the rest, he had letters from Ay to
Tascherit for Huy to use in negotiating Ankhsi’s release and return to the Southern Capital.
‘Your cup is empty,’ said Huy, filling it for him. He poured another cupful for himself, though it was too early in the day for him to be drinking wine.
Kenna drank, then pursed his lips and readjusted his position in his chair like one who is about to talk business. Huy watched him as his bony, ivory-coloured fingers untied the thong which bound his leather pouch. Kenna looked through its contents before carefully withdrawing those destined for Huy. He glanced at the second half of the letter which had to be delivered to Henka, and a thought occurred to him, but for the present he put it aside.
‘The pharaoh Kheperkeprure Ay – may life, prosperity and health be his! – sends you greeting,’ he began formally, placing the papers neatly on the low table which stood between them.
‘Forgive me,’ said Huy.
‘Yes?’
‘You are here on business from Ay to me?’
‘Yes.’ Kenna was irritated by the informal way in which Huy spoke of the king.
Huy sat back. ‘But I am no longer in his service.’
Kenna shook his head. ‘No one is ever out of the king’s service.’
‘It is odd that he should send to me and not to the Military Governor.’
Kenna was grateful that Huy had given him such an easy opening. He looked at his former colleague keenly. There was a grey shadow under each eye and the cheeks were puffy; but the eyes were bright and the scribe’s body was already thinner than it had been in the Southern Capital. However badly affected Huy was by the loss of his woman, Kenna concluded coldly, he would not die of it.
‘I am sorry to bring you such business at a time of personal distress, but no one can foresee what the gods have drawn for us,’ said Kenna, retreating into formality. ‘It is for you to undertake a negotiation on behalf of the king with the Military Governor.’
