House of Two Pharaohs, page 16
Qar whimpered as Assis picked him up by his throat and slammed him back against the clay bricks of the alleyway wall. Terror flooded Zahra. A man as large as Assis could choke the life from her brother in an instant.
Without a second thought, she raced forward, snatching her own blade from the folds of her dress as she moved. Leaping on to Assis’ back, she thrust her knife into his neck, then stabbed again and again in a frenzy of fury and desperation. The barbarian’s warm blood showered over her as he stumbled and fell, his huge frame crashing to the filthy flagstones.
But still he would not die.
Assis knew that the Duat awaited him, but that did not mean he had to make the journey alone. Even as he fell, he had his hand in the neck of Zahra’s dress, ripping the cloth, pulling her half over his shoulder, so that on impact her forehead cracked resoundingly against the stone of the street. Her eyelids fluttered beneath a deluge of searing pain.
‘Who are you?’ Assis hissed, the blood spurting from the wounds she had stabbed into his neck, bubbling from his torn nose. His hands were in Zahra’s hair now, jerking her head up, ready to smash her face into the flagstones.
Her awareness returning, Zahra brought her knife up and rammed it into Assis’s eye socket in one swift movement. She heard his eyeball pop and felt the bone of his skull break behind the needle-sharp point, heard the breath leave his body as the blade did its work.
Only when she was sure that the barbarian was dead did Zahra allow herself to take her hands from the haft of her knife. Then she stood slowly, her breath ragged from exertion and shock. She was covered in Assis’s blood, her dress ripped to the waist.
She looked for Qar, expecting him to thank her for saving his life. Instead, his face was twisted with fury. ‘My brother?’ she asked as she reached for him.
‘I am not a coward,’ he raged, twisting away from her bloodied hand. ‘I was supposed to kill him. I am the one who will fulfil Father’s vision.’
Turning, he raced out of the alleyway, leaving Zahra alone with the remains of their father’s murderer.
• • •
A
scream from the crowd shattered the silence as the raised dagger gleamed bright in the sunlight.
In the centre of the sun-drenched forum, an elegantly dressed man with a tuft of black hair on his chin sucked on a pomegranate. The man looked around with the lazy air of someone ambling purposelessly through the streets. Although he must have heard the gasps of the onlookers, he remained oblivious to the figure that loomed behind him with the raised knife. Dressed in a flapping shroud, with a thick scarf pulled over his face to hide his identity, the knifeman slashed his blade through the air above his intended victim’s head, drawing more screams from the crowd.
Taking the pomegranate away from his moist lips, the man studied it, frowning. He rubbed his throat and bent over to spit a mouthful of juice into the dust.
As he straightened up, the knifeman’s dagger swept down into his ribs, and this time the screams reverberated off the whitewashed buildings surrounding the square.
The victim crashed to the ground, dead, the pomegranate rolling from his fingers and coming to a halt at the lip of the stage. Once again, silence fell over the onlookers.
As he scanned the faces of the crowd, Taita smiled. They were mesmerised.
‘What is the point of this charade?’ Piay asked, bemused.
‘A simple test to begin the competition. To weed out those who should go no further, for their sakes more than ours.’
Taita glanced at the ten contestants who stood in a crescent, studying the scene before them. They had been at the palace for five days now, and there was no doubt in Taita’s mind that at least one of them had been sent by the Shuyet. It was time to narrow the field.
‘Simple, this certainly is,’ Piay muttered. ‘I do not understand how this will reveal much of anything.’
Taita smiled and stepped out in front of the Council of Elders.
‘The first challenge has been laid at your feet,’ Taita exclaimed, pointing at the fallen man. ‘This wealthy merchant has been murdered. But who was it who killed him? The truth must be uncovered. The principle of Ma’at must always hold. Today we have our own Council of Investigators . . .’ Taita swept his hand towards the contestants. ‘They will question witnesses and sift the evidence.’
As Taita returned to his place beside Piay, the square reverberated, as the onlookers turned to one another to discuss what they had witnessed.
Taita was pleased that the crowd was enjoying the entertainment he had provided for them. While it was not his primary purpose to enlighten the citizens of Memphis, the common people, Taita knew, had only a vague sense of how justice was administered across the land, and they would never have had the opportunity to witness it first hand. The deliberations of the scribes and priests were never made public. Only the sentences were announced, often in this very square. In this competition, however, they could see with their own eyes how Pharaoh’s justice was administered.
Taita clapped his hands, and a witness stepped forward to undergo interrogation by the contestants. This man was supposed to be the physician who had examined the remains of the victim. He carried a rolled papyrus parchment, tucked under his left arm, and a jar of salve in his left hand, while in his right he swung a charm to ward off evil spirits.
One by one the contestants asked the physician their questions. Anticipating that some would mumble, Taita had arranged for a scribe to be on hand to repeat their words in a booming voice, so everyone gathered there could hear.
Piay seemed just as engaged as the other onlookers, listening intently and weighing every word spoken by the succession of witnesses: the dead man’s wife, his father, a ruffian from the Guild of Thieves and a rival merchant.
When the interrogations were complete, Taita leaned over to Piay with a smile. ‘Do you know who did it?’
Piay looked at him scornfully. ‘It is not a mystery. The other merchant wielded the knife. He admitted the weapon was his, and there was blood found on his discarded tunic. His rival must have wanted to take over the trade route to the east and the steady supply of Syrian silk that was the foundation of his wealth.’
Just as Taita opened his mouth to reply, Piay held up a finger and continued confidently: ‘But, knowing you as I do, the most obvious perpetrator is unlikely to be the real killer.’
‘A valid supposition,’ Taita said, his eyes twinkling. ‘Let us see what the contestants will say.’ He clapped his hands, and the crowd hushed. ‘Now let us see who amongst our candidates can accurately discern who killed the merchant, so Pharaoh’s justice can be carried out!’
Each contestant announced the name of the suspect they considered most likely to be the guilty party. Three named the rival merchant, but the remaining seven claimed the man’s wife was the one who killed him.
Taita gestured to Hori, the youngest of the competitors, indicating for him to step forward and explain his reasoning.
The youth spoke with a nervous quiver in his voice. ‘I believe the rival merchant to be the killer. He had cause, and admitted to possessing both the murder weapon and the cloak with blood on it.’
‘Thank you.’ Taita smiled at Hori, before inviting the next contestant to speak.
‘How did you reach your answer?’ Taita asked Asim, the desert wanderer.
‘Lord High Chancellor,’ Asim began, ‘there is no doubt at all that his rival wielded the dagger, hoping to slay this man so he could lay claim to great riches, as Hori has suggested.’
‘Go on,’ Taita encouraged.
‘But the rival did not kill the victim, for he had already been killed.’
Taita smiled and nodded. ‘Please, explain your reasoning.’
Asim bowed again. ‘The physician noted that the dead man’s lips had turned blue, and his mouth and throat were swollen. This tells me that he was poisoned, perhaps using the very fruit we saw him eating. And the pomegranate was given to him by his wife, so she said. With her testimony, she demonstrated to us that she had no love left for her husband. He was a cruel man who beat her. And so it is my belief that it was the wife who killed the merchant, to free herself from a life of misery.’
‘You have discerned quite correctly,’ Taita replied with a smile.
As the crowd applauded, Asim beamed. Behind him, the other contestants who had been correct in their deductions congratulated one another, and Taita was pleased to see the Memphian Sadiki and the woman Gyasi included in their number.
The three contestants who had answered incorrectly slumped their shoulders and looked at their feet.
Stepping forward, Piay raised one hand in the air and announced: ‘Rei of Lahun, Akir of Djanet and Hori of Gurob, your time in this contest has come to an end.’
‘But know that we who are gathered here celebrate you nonetheless,’ Taita added, ‘as being amongst the foremost citizens of Lower Egypt, and that Pharaoh, too, will hear your names. From amongst the multitudes who toil beneath the eyes of the gods in this great land of ours, only ten were selected to participate in this contest. Hold your heads high as you depart.’
• • •
T
he howling of jackals echoed from the hills to the west like a hymn of praise to the Lord of the Red Land, the dark god Seth. As Taita listened to the chilling sound, he felt the touch of cold fingers across his heart.
In his long life, Taita had experienced an array of emotions as deep and wide as the Great Green. There was the bottomless pool of grief that had consumed him after the death of his beloved Lostris, and the uninhibited joy that had lifted him on high when Rameses had finally taken the throne as Pharaoh. But Taita had never felt fear – at least, not as other men did. Fear had always been a mystery to him.
Even during the great battles against the Hyksos, when all hope seemed lost, he had felt despair over the destruction that had been visited on the land he loved so much, and over the suffering of its people. But he had never feared for his own life. Not once.
But since Taita had arrived in Memphis, he had felt as if a shadow had been cast over him, chilling him to the bone. Was this what it felt like to be afraid? Or was it Anubis beckoning to him, urging him to abandon the mortal realm once and for all?
He felt it again strongly now, after the trek across the Giza Plateau. The sun rested behind the tip of the Pyramid of Khufu, but even the scorching midday heat could not drive the cold from Taita’s bones. Was it because he was approaching Imhotep’s tomb? Was he meant to abandon those who relied on him, to turn over his responsibilities to Pharaoh and Egypt to another, and to give himself up to the task of preserving the great spells? But what, then, of the Shuyet?
Taita glanced back over his shoulder, to where Piay squatted amongst a cadre of the Blue Crocodile Guard at the base of the great monument.
‘Why did you want to come back here?’ Piay called to him.
Taita weighed his choices. It was time to tell Piay of the spectre that haunted him.
‘Come,’ Taita called back. ‘I’ll tell you.’
The howling of the jackals had become louder, and when the wind swirled it made it seem as though the animals were circling the two men, just out of sight.
Taita straightened up to his full height and walked to the spot where he had sealed the entrance to Imhotep’s tomb with the medu neter.
When Piay arrived at his side, he said: ‘You wish to go back into the tomb to continue your study of the spells? Is that why we have come here?’
‘That is what I want most,’ Taita replied. ‘I am haunted, Piay. Every day, from the moment I awaken, until I close my eyes at night. Beneath this stone is the key to a power that men can barely begin to comprehend. You have felt it yourself, so you know something of what I mean. Down there is the power to unite and protect this great land, to summon the gods to walk amongst men. And it calls to me. Those ancient words call to me. To unravel and absorb their mysteries.’
As he gazed on the tomb’s entrance, Piay could see his master trembling as if with the anticipation of a lost soul returning home after a lifetime away.
‘I was recently visited in a way that I never considered possible before. I encountered my beloved Lostris in the palace garden.’
Piay glanced at him with dismay. ‘The petals of the blue lotus have already cost me one person, who I will never succeed in replacing. I won’t see them deprive me of you, as well.’
‘The ways of the Hyksos do not appeal to me,’ Taita reassured him. ‘And, in truth, I now have no need of the blue lotus. The veil is falling away. The gates to the realm of the gods are opening to me. I can feel the immense power of those spells, the measureless weight of my responsibility to preserve them so they may, in time, preserve Egypt, and the peace that will come with the end of my labours.’
Taita looked up the soaring side of the pyramid, to where Ra’s orb moved imperceptibly across the sky. ‘There is less time than I thought, Piay,’ he continued as the howling of the jackals started up again from beyond the hills. ‘Even as I stand here, I am almost unable to resist the temptation to use the medu neter to unseal the tomb.’
‘You must fight it,’ Piay implored. ‘I need you here, with me.’
‘You must help me, Piay. You must find a way to keep me from Imhotep’s tomb, to make sure that I do not slip and succumb to my desire.’
‘Pharaoh needs you. Great Egypt needs you.’
‘I am afraid, Piay. For the first time in my life, I am afraid. I thought I could set this task aside and return to it when Egypt had been reunited, but I was wrong. It is happening. I am already changing . . . Becoming something else. Soon, I will not be able to resist. We are running out of time.’
• • •
F
rom his post on the walkway atop the high walls of Memphis, the guard looked out at the plume of dust on the horizon. Its sudden appearance had stirred him from the torpor that had set in as he watched over the comings and goings at the city gate. Since the new nomarch had taken up his post, there had been little trouble. Brigands and thieves had learned to keep well away. The long, dull days were filled with the steady tramp of merchants and the braying of donkeys and mules.
The guard – a fresh recruit of just sixteen years of age – leaned on his spear and watched the plume, trying to decide if it was moving closer, and if it was something that needed his attention. He glanced uncertainly along the walkway, to where his comrades leaned up against the mud bricks, idly flapping palm fronds at the fat flies that buzzed up incessantly from the stinking piles of waste far beneath them.
Squinting into the bright light, the guard decided that the cloud was indeed drawing closer – and more, that it was swirling up from something moving at great speed.
‘Ho!’ he called, waving a hand.
The other guards turned to look at him as he pointed out across the scrub, towards the desert waste.
When they saw the dust cloud, they became instantly animated, leaning over the wall as they shouted news of its coming to the gate guards below.
As it swept closer, a figure emerged from the dust, a man on horseback, leaning forward over his white steed’s neck and riding as if all the terrors of the Duat were close upon his heels.
‘Sound the alarm!’ the captain of the gate guard called.
One of his men snatched up a battered ram’s horn and blared the rousing call.
‘The rider is alone. Is he really any threat?’ the young guard asked, wiping sweat from his eyelids.
‘It is not the rider that concerns me,’ the captain cautioned, ‘but whoever or whatever follows behind him.’
The guards clattered down the steps and forced their way through the stream of travellers making their way into the city. Levelling their spears, they stood in a crescent across the gate, waiting to welcome the new arrival.
The horse thundered closer, and as it emerged from the cloud of dust thrown into the air by its pounding hooves, the young guard saw that the rider was no expert horseman, but rather seemed to be holding on for dear life, his arms wrapped tightly around the animal’s neck.
Once the beast slowed to a halt, facing the line of spear-carriers, the rider slipped off its back on to shaky legs. The guards recognised him beneath the layer of dust that caked his clothing as Hannu, advisor to the nomarch. He hawked up a mouthful of gritty phlegm and spat it onto the ground before wiping the sand from his eyes with the back of his hand.
‘These monstrous beasts, I hate them! Hate them!’ he growled, glancing over his shoulder at the foaming white horse.
Turning back to the guards, Hannu commanded: ‘Now, let me pass. I have urgent business with the nomarch.’
• • •
T
he sweet scent of jasmine drifted on the breeze blowing into the palace from the gardens. In the great feasting hall, Piay was hunched over a slice of melon, juice dribbling down his chin. After a long morning of meetings, he’d seized the opportunity to fill his belly before the next delegation arrived.
From somewhere out in the gardens, a commotion rang out.
‘Piay! Piay!’
It took Piay a moment to recognise that the sound was actually the voice of a man angrily shouting his name.
Gulping down the last of the melon, Piay tossed the rind aside, jumped to his feet and hurried out of the palace. He knew that voice as well as he knew his own.
At the entrance to the palace, Piay looked out along the avenue of sycamore trees and smiled at the filthy cloud of fury sweeping towards him.
‘Piay! Get out here!’ Hannu yelled. ‘Piay!’
When he finally noticed his friend waiting for him, Hannu stopped and scrutinised Piay for a moment, as if recalling the pettiness of their parting.
‘You’re back, then,’ Piay said brusquely, fighting the urge to grin.
Hannu snorted good-naturedly. ‘Aye, well, I couldn’t leave you to fend for yourself for too long, could I?’
