by Paul Doherty
Prenhoe, the youngest scribe, looked expectantly across at the judge. Amerotke was his kinsman and Prenhoe both admired and envied him. In his thirty-fifth year, Amerotke had risen to be chief judge in the Hall of Two Truths. A shrewd man, a courtier born and bred, Amerotke had won a reputation for justice and integrity. He looked younger than his years. His head was shaven, apart from one lock of gleaming black hair which, plaited with gold and red, hung down over his right ear. His body was sinewy and lithe as an athlete’s and his white, red-bordered robe fitted him elegantly. Prenhoe, on the other hand, felt uncomfortable. He wanted to take his gown off, go out and bathe in the sacred pool, wash away the sweat. Thankfully, the case before them was reaching its climax. Amerotke had warned Prenhoe that this would be a dark day. Judgement of death would have to be pronounced, both here and elsewhere.
Amerotke moved on the cushions. The light caught the gold pectoral of Ma’at which hung on a gold chain round his neck. Amerotke fingered this and stared angrily at the prisoner kneeling bound before him. He looked to the right where a middle-aged man and woman stood together, arms round each other, the tears streaming down their faces. Further along stood the group of witnesses, huddled between two pillars. Amerotke breathed in. He looked to the top of the pillars as if to scrutinise the dark-red paste of the capitals carved in the shape of a lotus. All was ready. At the end of the hall, just inside the door of truth, the police waited, dressed in leather kilts and bronze helmets, armed with club and shield. Their commander, the chief of the temple police, stood with them – a stubby, thickset, balding man, a distant cousin of the chief judge.
‘Is there anything else left to be said?’ Amerotke raised his hand.
‘There is nothing, my lord,’ the chief scribe replied, bending low over his table. ‘The case has been heard. The witnesses examined. The oaths sworn.’
‘Is there any one of you,’ Amerotke studied the line of scribes, ‘who, in the presence of the lady Ma’ at, can say anything as to why sentence of death should not be passed?’
The scribes remained tight-lipped. Some shook their heads, Prenhoe most vigorously. His kinsman caught his eye and smiled faintly. Amerotke placed his hands on the canopied boxes which stood on either side of him. These, built out of sycamore and acacia, and veneered with strips of silver, contained small shrines to Ma’at. Prenhoe breathed in. Judgement was to be delivered.
‘Bathret!’ Amerotke leaned forward and stared directly at the prisoner. ‘Lift your head!’
The prisoner did.
‘I will now deliver my judgement. Here, in the presence of the gods of Egypt. May the lord Thoth and the lady Ma’at be my witnesses. You are a wicked, evil man! What you did was an abomination in the eyes of all. A terrible stench in the nostrils of the gods! You worked in the Necropolis, the City of the Dead. Your task was to prepare the corpses of those who died for burial, to assist in the rites of purification so the Ka of the dead might travel on into the divine halls of judgement. Great trust was placed in you. You abused that trust.’ Amerotke pointed to the man and woman on his right, now weeping loudly. ‘Their only daughter died of a fever. Her corpse was given to you. You abused it, using her poor body for your own pleasures. Members of your own guild caught you in the act of sex with the corpse of this young woman. A vile and blasphemous act! Only by handing you over to the Pharaoh’s justice,’ Amerotke stared down at the huddle of purifiers and embalmers, ‘have they escaped the full judgement of the law!’ Amerotke clapped his hands, the rings flashing in the light. ‘Now this is my sentence. You are to be taken to the Red Lands south of the city. No one will accompany you except the guardians of this court. A grave will be dug. You will be lowered in and imprisoned. You are to be buried alive!’ Amerotke clapped his hands again. ‘Let the judgement be recorded and carried out immediately!’
The prisoner writhed and screamed, shouting obscenities at Amerotke even as the police seized him and thrust him out of the Hall of Two Truths. Amerotke waved forward the group of embalmers as well as the grieving parents. The men were frightened, pale-faced and wary-eyed in the presence of this judge and his terrible sentence. They fell to their knees, hands outstretched.
‘Mercy, lord!’ their shaven-headed leader begged, fleshy jowls quivering. ‘Mercy and forgiveness!’
‘He was one of yours,’ Amerotke declared tonelessly. ‘Compensation has to be paid.’
‘It will be, lord. In gold and silver, finely cut,’ he wheedled. ‘With the assay mark clear and distinct.’
Amerotke gazed hard at him. The judge’s large, dark eyes seemed to bore into the man’s soul.
‘There is more?’ the leader of the embalmers wailed.
Amerotke just stared, his hand on the pectoral of Ma’at.
‘What more can we do?’ Another embalmer spoke up.
Amerotke’s eyes shifted.
‘There is a lot more,’ the leader hastily intervened. He was sharp enough to see the look of distaste in the chief judge’s eyes. ‘We will build a tomb. With galleries, chapels, chambers and storerooms for this delightful family who have suffered so much.’
Amerotke looked at the victim’s parents; he heard a grumble of dissent among the embalmers.
‘Is there any objection?’ Amerotke asked. ‘Is there any of you who wishes to join your companion out in the Red Lands?’
‘No, my lord,’ one of the embalmers declared. He spoke honestly, his gaze never wavered. ‘What he did was an abomination. I do not ask for compassion for ourselves, but to be imprisoned in the hot earth? To let the soil fill your mouth and eyes? To die a rotting death with only the howls of the hyenas as a hymn to your soul which is about to go out across the desert of death?’
‘You ask for compassion?’ Amerotke said.
‘I do, my lord. I humble myself in the dust before you, that man was my cousin.’
Amerotke looked at the grieving parents. ‘Nothing can avenge the insult to your daughter,’ he declared. ‘But you accept the compensation offered?’
The parents nodded, the husband putting his arm around his wife’s shoulders.
‘And you want compassion to be shown?’
‘For the sake of our daughter’s soul,’ the man replied, ‘my lord, death will be sufficient.’
‘So it will be recorded,’ Amerotke said, beckoning one of the couriers who stood behind the scribes. ‘Tell those who take the prisoner how it is the judgement of the court that the miscreant be allowed poison before he is buried.’
The courier hastened out. Amerotke got to his feet, a sign that the session was finished.
‘The judgement of the court is known,’ he pronounced. ‘These matters are finished.’
The embalmers backed out, bowing and scraping, grateful that they themselves had not been included in any punishment. Amerotke clasped the hands of the parents, saying they were to return and inform him immediately if the compensation was not paid in full. He then walked into the small antechamber which served as his private chapel to the lady Ma’at. He knelt before the sacred cupboard, sprinkled incense on the flickering flame and composed his thoughts. He was glad the matter was finished. He was satisfied that the embalmer had acted on his own and that justice had been done. The case had scandalised Thebes, and had also done great damage to the guild of embalmers, so his judgement might restore the balance. He closed his eyes and prayed for wisdom. Other matters awaited him. He heard footsteps behind him.
‘My lord, we should go!’
Amerotke sighed and got to his feet. The chief of the temple police stood in the doorway, staff of office in one hand, the other on the hilt of his sword. Amerotke hid a smile. Whatever the weather, however hot and humid it became in the law courts, Asural always insisted on wearing his bronze corselet, leather kilt and plumed helmet now held under his arm. Nevertheless, although fussy and sometimes argumentative, the chief was a man who could not be bought or bribed.
Asural spoke. ‘It will soon be time.’ He grinned, the creases of fat almost hiding his
eyes. ‘I welcome your judgement. It will teach those rogues across the river a lesson they’ll never forget.’
He stood aside to let the chief judge back into the hall but then gripped him by the elbow. Amerotke smiled. Asural loved to do that, to show everyone present how the chief judge and himself were not only colleagues but firm friends.
‘I wish I could make headway on the other matter,’ Asural grumbled.
‘More robberies?’ Amerotke asked.
The chief of police nodded. ‘So clever, so cunning,’ he declared. ‘The tombs are always sealed. Yet, whenever they are opened to receive another dead body, something is always found missing. They say it’s demons. For how can flesh and blood pass through thick, mud-brick walls?’
‘And what do these demons take?’ Amerotke asked.
‘Necklaces, statuettes, rings, small boxes, bowls and vases.’
‘But nothing large?’
‘No.’ The chief of police shook his head.
‘So, we have demons who are only interested in small, precious items? Nothing large or cumbersome?’
The chief of police studied Amerotke’s face for any hint of a smile.
‘I don’t think it’s demons,’ the judge observed. ‘But some very cunning thief. Prenhoe!’ he called across.
The scribe, clustered with his colleagues, chattering now the case was finished, sprang to his feet. He waddled across, trying to hide the ink stain on his gown.
‘Yes, Amerotke … I mean, my lord.’
‘Find out the name of that embalmer who spoke and asked for mercy, he may be of help. The answer to this grave robbing,’ Amerotke continued, ‘lies in precise knowledge of which tombs contain what. Someone in the Necropolis will have to help us.’
‘Yes, my lord, and the other case … ?’ Prenhoe looked expectant.
‘All is ready,’ Amerotke replied. ‘I just wish I didn’t have to sit in judgement.’
He stared across at a statue of Ma’at. Three months ago, he thought, Pharaoh Tuthmosis had returned from his victories only to die suddenly before the statue of Amun-Ra. His death had caused consternation both in the court and the city. People whispered and rumour ran thick and rife. His son, who bore the same name, was only a child of seven, while his widowed Queen, Hatusu, was unskilled in government. There was talk of a regency, of power being vested in the Grand Vizier Rahimere. Of course, the Pharaoh’s sudden death had had to be investigated. A royal physician had been summoned. On the heels of the royal corpse he had found the bite of a viper. Everyone then recalled how weak and frail the Pharaoh had looked as he had been borne on his palanquin along the Sacred Way. The only time his sacred foot had ever touched the ground was when he left his throne on board the royal barge. A search had been made and a viper found, curled up beneath the royal dais. No foul play had been suspected but the finger of accusation had been pointed at Meneloto, the captain of the Pharaoh’s guard. He had been accused of negligence, of failing in his duties, and been committed to trial before Amerotke in the Hall of Two Truths.
‘What time is it now?’ Amerotke asked, breaking from his reverie.
Prenhoe went and examined the water clock above a small ornamental pool in the far corner of the hall.
‘The eleventh hour!’ he called out. ‘We have three hours!’
‘There is the other matter,’ the chief of police insisted.
The murmur among the scribes grew. As Amerotke looked round two grotesque figures came striding up the hall. They wore red and gold kilts, black studded belts criss-crossed their bare chests; the jackal mask of Anubis hid their faces, and in their hands they carried the silver-tipped wands of office. Amerotke touched the pectoral of Ma’at and prayed for courage. The two emissaries of the lord executioner bowed.
‘All is prepared!’ The voice behind the mask was deep and hollow.
‘Sentence is to be carried out!’ the other echoed.
‘I know, I know,’ Amerotke replied. ‘And I must witness it.’ He gestured with his hand. ‘Then let it be done!’
Horus, son of Osiris and Isis, often depicted as a hawk or as a young man with a hawk’s face.
CHAPTER 2
Preceded by the masked assistants of the lord executioner, Amerotke, accompanied by Asural and Prenhoe, left the precincts of the temple. They crossed a small courtyard and went down into the House of Darkness, that labyrinth of dungeons and cells beneath the temple of Ma’at. At the bottom of the steps Amerotke raised his hands and allowed the mute servant to pour sacred water over them. The chief judge then turned the pectoral of Ma’ at to face inwards on his chest, as if to hide the eyes of the goddess from what was about to happen.
They went down a long passageway, the black, obsidian stone gleaming in the light of oil lamps placed in niches in the walls. Amerotke always felt a chill of fear whenever he entered this antechamber of death. Usually, the sentence of the courts decreed that, if a prisoner had been condemned to take poison, he or she would be provided with the luxury of being accompanied back to their own house or sometimes could even swallow it in the court itself. This case was quite different.
The condemned man had killed his wife and her lover and, before he left, tipped some oil lamps over, turning the opulent house of a senior officer in the Egyptian army into a blazing inferno which had consumed other surrounding buildings, including his own servants’ quarters. Beside the murder victims, seven other charred corpses had been dragged from the ruins. Amerotke had to remember that. If a body was destroyed then the funeral rites could not be carried out. The Ka of the dead people would be denied entry into the afterlife: a case of blasphemous sacrilege as well as murder.
The two assistants stopped at either side of the door, built of reinforced Lebanese wood and strengthened with copper bands. The room inside was black as night, the only light flickering from solitary torches fixed into niches in the wall. Two soldiers, mercenaries from the Shardana corps, stood in the corner, their swords drawn. At the far end of the room, a man squatted on a low reed bed. His nearly naked body gleamed in the torchlight; his only dress was a pair of papyrus sandals and a soiled loin cloth. Beside the bed, dressed in a pleated black kilt edged with gold, stood the lord high executioner. His face, as customary, was covered by a jackal mask made out of boiled leather painted black, the ears, muzzle and mouth tipped with gold.
‘I am here,’ Amerotke announced.
‘You are Amerotke.’ The executioner’s mask muffled his voice and made it sound more ominous. ‘Chief judge in the Hall of Two Truths in the temple of Ma’at.’ The executioner pointed his ceremonial two-headed axe. ‘You are here to see sentence carried out. We only await the divine father, the high priest Sethos.’
Amerotke bowed. He knew the ritual. Sethos was a high priest of Amun, the royal prosecutor, the eyes and ears of Pharaoh. It was his duty to prosecute cases and ensure Pharaoh’s justice was done. Amerotke had often crossed swords with him yet this only hid a deep bond of friendship between the two.
Sethos was a judge and a priest and, like Amerotke, a child of the divine house. He had been raised and educated at the court of Tuthmosis I, that venerable but very cunning Pharaoh who had thrust Egypt’s enemies beyond its borders before he took the eternal journey to the far horizons.
Amerotke tried not to look at the prisoner. If he did glimpse the compassion in Amerotke’s eyes, the prisoner might, as others had, fall on his knees and beg for his life. Nevertheless, judgement was passed and the only person who could lift the sentence was Pharaoh, a mere child of seven. Indeed, according to the whispers there was no Pharaoh. The sudden death of Tuthmosis II had plunged the divine house into chaos and Thebes was full of whispers and gossip.
Amerotke heard footsteps in the passageway outside and turned slightly. Sethos arrived beside him. His head was shaven and oiled, and he was dressed in a pleated white linen robe, his palm-leafed sandals edged with gold. A necklace, brilliant in the light, its emeralds and purple amethysts catching fire, circled his neck. Draped over hi
s shoulder and falling down his back hung the leopardskin coat of a chief priest. A silver earring dangled from the lobe of one of his ears, dancing and shimmering at his every movement.
The lord high executioner went through the usual ritual of greeting. Sethos bowed and replied.
‘I have come to the House of Darkness!’ Sethos’ voice was rich and strong. ‘To see that the sentence of Pharaoh, the beloved of Amun-Ra, the eye of Horus, King of the Two Lands, blessed by Osiris, is carried out.’
He turned and smiled sympathetically at Amerotke. The chief judge simply tightened his lips, a secret understanding, for neither of them relished such occasions.
‘Let the sentence be carried out!’ Sethos declared. ‘In the presence of witnesses!’
The lord high executioner picked up his axe and tapped the condemned man on each shoulder.
‘Do you have anything to say?’
‘Yes.’ The prisoner got to his feet.
Only now did Amerotke see the chains on his wrists and ankles. He shuffled forward, the masked executioners stepping with him while the mercenaries in the corner also stirred as if wary of what the prisoner might do. The condemned man’s thin face broke into a lopsided smile.
‘I mean no offence.’ He bowed to Amerotke. ‘My lord judge, the dispenser of justice.’ The condemned man’s eyes held Amerotke’s. ‘You have reviewed the evidence?’
‘All that was submitted during your trial,’ Amerotke replied. ‘You pretended that you had joined your unit in the desert to the north of Thebes. You claimed that you had left your house to take advantage of the cool of the evening. Your own charioteer took an oath on this.’ Amerotke rubbed the insignia of Ma’at on the rings of his hand. ‘However, whoever broke into your house at the dead of night knew where to go, even though neighbours claimed the building was cloaked in darkness. Only you had that knowledge. Moreover, only someone who knew there was oil in the cellars and dried papyrus reeds in the storage rooms could have caused such a conflagration.’