A short while later, Neti led the awestruck girl into the palace kitchen; they halted at the entrance and took in the bustling activity.
“No, not this crate,” she heard a familiar voice say, looking about the room until she located Neferronpet. He was standing to the side next to one of the scribes, a series of crates behind them.
A number of the cooks were conscientiously preparing different foodstuffs, stirring contents and stoking fires while others moved crates of ingredients about. A multitude of mouthwatering scents filled the air, and Neti looked about for someone she knew.
She glanced at the girl next to her, noticing the girl’s astonished look, and another look that she had seen before: hunger.
Neti recognized the servant girl from earlier that morning and grasped her arm as she passed. “Kheti, what’s going on?”
“We’re preparing the food for the royal barge,” the servant answered before shifting her gaze to the girl next to her. “Who’s this?”
“A girl I bumped into on the road. The pot containing her meal fell. You don’t think you could arrange something for her to eat, do you?”
The servant girl looked about, almost uncertain. “You can tell them it is by my request, and I’ll speak with Ramesses if there is a problem.
The servant girl nodded. “I will see what we can do.”
“Good,” Neti said, indicating for the girl to go with the servant. The girl looked at her uncertainly, and Neti added soothingly, “I will come fetch you later.”
The girl moved hesitantly toward Kheti, and Neti asked, “What is Neferronpet doing here?”
“He’s overseeing the supplies for the bark, making sure only the best foodstuffs are loaded.” The latter statement she added with an edge to her voice.
“But certainly that is to be expected?” Neti reasoned.
“Yes, Khay used to do it, but Khay was not as faddy.”
“He’s probably being overzealous; this is his first time,” Neti replied, watching as Neferronpet lifted an urn, checking it over before placing it back in the crate and nodding.
Her words caused Kheti to nod, looking at the girl. “Come, let’s go see if we can find you something. I know there is some flatbread that will come out soon enough. You young ones love flatbread.”
Neti left the kitchens, only to be accosted by one of the runners. “The pharaoh has sent me to fetch you,” the young boy panted.
Neti nodded and followed the boy as he led her through a series of passages. She recognized the way and thought he was leading her to the training yards. He turned off to the side, however, and led her past the courtyard and through another passageway.
Neti looked around her, taking in the stone pillar fitted with heavy metal rings, dark dots mottling its surface, and shuddered. She knew they had entered the flaying yard, and her skin twitched at the realization that this was where offenders were flogged into compliance or confession, whichever was required.
The runner led her toward another passage at the end of the dusty yard, and upon entering she could hear a multitude of voices, both male and female, objecting to their treatment. The smell of blood and old sweat lingered in the air, and for a moment she wondered whether this was where Pa-Nasi had been escorted after their arrival.
She followed the runner as they passed a group of dirt-streaked people tied to rings on the wall. Many of them had lash marks on their bodies, some fresh and weeping. Not one even chanced a glance her way as they passed. She swallowed against her desire to be ill and stepped through another doorway. At one side of the room stood a group of people, held there by a group of palace guards. Ramesses and a man Neti recognized as the senior palace guard, though they had not been introduced, glared at them.
“My Lord,” the young messenger said, kneeling before Ramesses.
Ramesses turned toward the boy and then lifted his gaze to Neti; she could see the anger burning in the depths of his eyes. “You may go, Rhalid,” Ramesses said, dismissing the boy, his tone sharp. The boy nodded and rose from his position, then left the room as Ramesses said, “We’re just waiting for Moses, then we will start.”
A few moments later there was a sound at the doorway, and Neti gasped when she took in the sight of Moses. His lighter skin tone rendered his bruises more obvious. Some of them were already an odd yellowish-green in color. His face was not as swollen as Shabaka’s, but she could easily discern from his movements that his entire body was sore.
Neti turned to Ramesses and firmly requested, “My Lord, could I speak with Moses for a moment?”
Ramesses looked at her and then at Moses before he replied, “Certainly. This lot will not be going anywhere.” He had not even finished speaking before several of the detainees contended with his words. His voice was seething as he added, quickly cutting them short, “Other than the whipping post for opposing my instructions.”
The entire room fell silent instantaneously; even the guards became more erect. The atmosphere became loaded as Neti walked toward Moses, whispering, “How are you?”
“I’m all right,” he said.
“I have eyes.”
“I’m sore,” he confessed, “but it is sufferable. They were after Shabaka.”
Neti nodded. “Do you think you can identify anyone you spoke with last night? I would like to lessen the number of people we have to question.”
“There was only a handful Shabaka spoke to,” Moses said, looking over the group.
“Any of the women?” Neti asked.
“There was one who approached him, I don’t know if she spoke with him.” Moses fell silent, his gaze dropping as he thought, and Neti found her heart thudding harder in her chest, her body becoming irritable. Then Moses shook his head. “No, he did not talk to her; he brushed her off.”
Neti released the breath she had not even been aware she’d been holding. “We can let them leave, then.”
Moses looked at her, his head tilting, before he spoke. “They will be sent to wait in the flaying yard.” Neti swallowed. Moses continued. “Anyone unwilling to talk will be made to watch a flogging.”
Neti looked at the group of onlookers before asking, “How many of them do you think will be flogged?”
“As many as it takes to get the information out of them,” Moses replied.
Neti took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. “You ready?”
Moses nodded, and together they turned toward the room, with Moses moving stiffly as they approached Ramesses.
“My Lord, the women can wait outside,” Neti said as she stood before the group of people. “Moses will identify those they spoke with last night. They are the ones we will start with.”
Ramesses nodded, to which the senior palace guard turned to the women and commanded, “You heard her, move out!”
Neti waited while the women vacated the room, taking the time to peruse each of the remaining men. They all appeared strained. However, she was looking for obvious signs of unease.
Once the women had left, Moses stepped forward and looked over the men, indicating some of the men to move to the opposite side of the room. He stood before a burly man who confidently gazed down at him, hard.
“He was at the docks.” At Moses’ words, a couple of guards stepped forward and grabbed the man, who fought against their hold. He was dealt a hard blow to the back of the head by one of the guards and stumbled to the ground.
Ramesses stepped forward, looking down at the man, his voice cold and hard as he spoke. “Tie him to the post and flog him once he is coherent. Twenty lashes to start, and ensure each one draws blood.”
Neti swallowed and watched as the guards dragged the man from the room while the remaining detainees shifted uncomfortably.
Moses continued his inspection and then pointed at the group of men. “They can wait outside as well.”
This time the group seemed more reluctant to move, but the guards pushed them out.
Neti stood next to Moses and asked quietly, “Is Ghalil here?”
Moses nodded and indicated the man who stood next to the Hebrew trader.
“I’ll speak with Ghalil first,” Neti said, indicating the man, who jolted in shock at the mention of his name.
A guard moved toward him and indicated for the man to precede him, then led him through another doorway. Ramesses, Neti, and Moses followed. On entering the room, Neti gestured toward the floor, inviting the man to sit down.
The man just looked at her in disbelief before defiantly replying, “I don’t sit on the ground. I’m not a child.”
Neti took a deep breath and shrugged her shoulders. She indicated Moses. “Do you recognize this man?”
Ghalil did not even look at Moses as he answered. “Yes, he was with the prefect; they asked me about some scorpions. I told him to meet me at the quay, but they never showed.”
Ramesses harshly proclaimed, “You sent them into a trap!”
“The waterfront was crawling with guards when I got there. How could it have been a trap?” the man countered, looking between Neti and Moses and wincing before tentatively asking, “Where’s the prefect?”
Neti saw Ramesses clench his fists, so she quickly answered, drawing the man’s attention to her instead. “He’s unavailable. We’re trying to establish what happened at the quay.”
The man looked at her before folding his arms.
“Shabaka—sorry, the prefect—spoke with you last night, wanting to secure some scorpions?”
“Yes,” the man replied, nodding, “and I asked him why they did not send the usual guy.”
Neti looked at Ramesses for several moments, gauging his response before returning her attention back to the man, asking, “You have in the past supplied the palace with scorpions?”
“Yes.”
Neti again turned to look at Ramesses. “Is this true, my Lord?”
Ramesses nodded. “We have commissioned scorpions in the past. Khay and Sahure attended to the matter.”
Neti dropped her gaze to the floor, trying to put a face to the name, before gasping, “The treasurer.” She remembered how staunchly he had opposed her diagnoses. She quickly turned her attention back to the man. “When was the last time you supplied scorpions to the palace?”
The man thought for a moment. “Two seasons ago, when they sealed up the gem chamber.”
“Nothing recent?”
“No, that’s why I was willing to negotiate with the prefect. Our Lord here,” indicating Ramesses, “is a good client, and it has been a while since the palace has requested scorpions.”
Just then, the sickening sound of a whip connecting with flesh punctuated the air, followed by an agonizing scream. Neti cringed at the sound and tried to shut it out. She noticed how Ghalil also cringed as the next lash fell. Four lashes later, Neti put up her hands, swallowing fiercely as the man bellowed in agony. Though she knew that he was, in all likelihood, guilty of beating up Shabaka, she found his screams unnerving. She chanced a glance at Ghalil and saw the man shuffle nervously from one foot to the other.
By the tenth lash, the man whimpered, begging them to stop, claiming he had only followed instructions. Neti waited for the next lash to fall, bracing herself for it, but it never came.
One of the guards entered the room and turned to Ramesses. “He is willing to talk.”
Ramesses turned to Neti. “Anything else you want to ask this man?”
Neti looked at the man and shook her head. “Not at the moment.”
Ramesses turned to the guard. “We will be there in a moment.”
Neti stepped out of the room and glanced over at the group of people sitting on the floor, many of whom were hunched over. Ramesses and Neti returned to the courtyard at a pace slow enough for Moses to keep up with them.
As they stepped out into the flaying yard, Neti had to swallow several times at the sight that greeted them. The dark-skinned man was strapped to the pillar, his body quivering, his back marked by perfectly spaced bloody lines. The whip-wielder stood to one side, his whip coiled, awaiting instruction.
The man’s head pushed against the stone pillar, his arms tied around its circumference. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow but harsh.
Neti’s gaze moved to the group of onlookers in the corner, and she took a deep breath. She immediately regretted the action as her senses were filled with the scent of dust, fresh blood, and fear-tainted sweat.
“So, you are ready to talk?” Ramesses started to say, his gaze cold as he looked at the man, who barely managed to nod his head in response.
“Why did you attack my prefect?” Ramesses’ voice was harsh, and even Neti took a step back as he continued. “He is one of your own.”
“I was told to rough him up,” the man replied blearily.
“Told by whom?” Ramesses demanded harshly.
“Someone in the palace.”
At that, Ramesses stepped back and signaled to the whip-wielder to approach. Neti clenched her fists as the whip whizzed through the air, cracking over the man’s back moments later with a gut-wrenching thwack, causing the man to scream in agony.
“Who ordered it?” Ramesses repeated as the whip-wielder recoiled his whip.
The man hissed as he regained his breath. “A messenger from the palace came to see Ghazeb; he brought a sealed note and a bag of coins.”
“And this Ghazeb instructed you to attack my prefect.”
“Yes.”
“What is your name?”
“Vadahar.”
“Well, Vadahar, you will point out this Ghazeb, and you also will identify the messenger who brought you the message.” Ramesses signaled again to the whip-wielder, though the signal differed from the previous one, and Neti cringed as the whip once again took to the air, this time cracking above the man’s head. She saw Vadahar cringe, his entire body shuddering. “Or I will have the whip-wielder break in his newest whip on your back.”
Vadahar nodded weakly in reply.
Ramesses turned from the man and looked at Neti, his eyes distending as he exclaimed, “My dear girl, you are pale,” and stepped up to her. “I fear this is a bit much for you. I should have considered that. Come, we will return to the palace; the guards can finish up here. The others can go!” he commanded loudly. He led Neti and Moses back to the palace.
Neti cleared her throat, causing Ramesses to look back at her. “I would like to speak with Sahure and his assistant.”
Ramesses led her back to the throne room and instructed one of the runners to summon the treasurer and his assistant. Once the young boy had hastened off, Ramesses turned to another messenger and said, “Go to the messengers’ hall and tell them I want every palace messenger to gather at the training yard at sunset. Those not present will be lashed.”
The young runner’s eyes distended as he nodded hastily before turning and bolting from the door.
Ramesses settled on his throne and sighed before proclaiming, “I’m getting too old for this.”
Neti looked at Moses, but both remained silent.
Some time later, Sahure and his assistant Djet strode into the hall. The treasurer’s stride faltered somewhat when he noticed Neti.
“My Lord, you called,” the man said, bowing low before Ramesses.
“Yes, Neti-Kerty has some questions for you.”
Sahure turned toward Neti, a scowl lining his brow as he asked, “What would you like to know?”
“Scorpions,” Neti replied, and she saw the man flinch. “Why did you not tell us that you procure these for the palace?”
“It didn’t seem relevant,” he replied calmly.
“A vizier is killed by a scorpion sting, and you do not see it as relevant to inform me that you procure scorpions for the palace,” Neti replied in disbelief. “Yet you vehemently professed that it could not possibly have been a scorpion.”
“Because you would have proclaimed me guilty, just as you are now!” the man quickly flung back.
“I have not said any such thing, though your reluctance seem
s to point that way,” Neti countered.
Sahure glowered at her before exclaiming, “Tell me, then, why would I want to murder a man who is not only loyal to our pharaoh and Egypt but also a good friend of mine?”
“I did not say you wanted or wished him dead,” Neti replied. “I asked you here to inquire about the scorpions you procure,” she stressed.
“Yes, I buy scorpions for the storage areas, as did the treasurer before me and the one before him. This is nothing new. Khay, the high priest, everyone who holds a position of authority knows about this. It is how we discourage ravagers.” As he spoke, the man appeared to grow in size, his face reddening.
Neti held up her hand to calm the man before she spoke. “When last did you procure scorpions?”
Sahure tilted his head and seemed to deflate at the question. “Two seasons ago when we sealed the store.”
“And since then no one has approached Ghalil?”
Sahure shook his head. “No, not with my authority.”
Neti considered his answer, her gaze dropping to the ground, before suddenly lifting her eyes. “When last were any of these scorpions handled?”
Sahure shifted on his feet and looked into the distance, swallowing hard.
“When?” Neti insisted.
Djet replied instead. “One of the gem storage chambers was opened just after you arrived.” Sahure glowered at the man as he continued to talk. “We had scorpion handlers capture all the scorpions that afternoon and place them in a crate in the corner, as we do with all captures. The gems you brought were placed in storage. We released the scorpions and sealed the chamber the next morning.”
“And you did not think to tell either me or Shabaka this!”
“All fifteen of the scorpions were captured and all fifteen of them accounted for when we released them,” Djet continued calmly. “There were guards stationed at the door, and no one other than those with authority could enter.”
Neti nodded at his words. “Who had authority?” she asked, looking pointedly at Sahure.
The man cleared his throat. “Me and Djet, the high priest, Ptahhotep, and his assistant. Khay, Neferronpet. The pharaoh, the queen…” Sahure grew silent for a few moments, thinking, before adding, “and Homer, he was to keep records.”
Princess of Egypt (The Mummifier's Daughter) (Volume 2) Page 13