by Paul Doherty
Senenmut and Hatusu were squatting like children by the side of the lake trying to catch the fish, heads together, laughing and giggling. Hatusu looked up and smiled. She was clothed simply in a transparent linen gown. A short, oil-drenched wig covered her head, a little paint enhanced her eyes, her feet were bare. Senenmut was dressed in a small white kilt, his upper torso gleaming with water where Hatusu had been splashing him.
‘Amerotke!’ Hatusu scrambled to her feet. She ran round the lake and grasped the judge’s hand. ‘Have you been sulking? Why didn’t you come to the royal circle?’ She stood on tiptoe, staring impishly into his eyes. ‘Don’t you love me any more?’
‘I’ve been to see Peay,’ Amerotke replied. ‘Divine Pharaoh, your husband and half-brother was already dead, wasn’t he, when the snake bit him?’
Hatusu let go of his hands and stepped back.
‘Do you like coloured fish, Amerotke? Come! Take off your sandals.’
‘My feet are dirty.’ Amerotke was confused by Hatusu’s response. He glanced over her shoulder at Senenmut, who was staring grimly at him.
‘Oh, don’t worry about him,’ Hatusu whispered. She joined her hands together. ‘We are one flesh, one soul, one heart, one mind.’
Amerotke saw the passion in her eyes.
‘You want me to find the truth,’ he replied. ‘But I cannot find it, your highness, if you do not trust me.’
Hatusu crouched down and undid the clasp on his sandals.
‘Come, bathe your feet.’
Amerotke felt slightly ridiculous. He sat on the edge of the lake, his feet in the cool water, Hatusu on his right, Senenmut on his left. She splashed her feet. Amerotke found it unreal. She was the lioness, the woman who had dealt out judgement to her enemies, both at home and abroad. Now she sat like a young girl waiting to tell a story.
‘I loved Tuthmosis,’ she began. ‘He was kind, weak and sickly but his heart was good. He had the falling sickness and claimed to see visions. He found it difficult sometimes, Amerotke, to believe in all the strange gods of Egypt, to worship a crocodile, and he wondered why should the lord Amun-Ra have the head of a stupid ram? He would question the wise men. He wasn’t an atheist but he was searching for something else.’ She sighed. ‘He marched north against the sea people. At the same time he received a letter from Neroupe, the keeper of the pyramids near Sakkara. Tuthmosis apparently went there on his return. Neroupe had died but he’d left secret instructions with Tuthmosis on how to enter certain tunnels which would take him to the lost library of Cheops, the great Pharaoh who had lived hundreds of years ago.’
Hatusu paused, dabbing at the sweat on her neck.
‘He wrote to me after he had visited the pyramid. I destroyed the letter but it contained a few lines. How he would return to Thebes and issue judgements on behalf of the one God against the false idols in our temples.’ She shrugged. ‘I paid little attention to Tuthmosis the mystic.’ She took a deep breath, splashing her toes in the water. ‘I just looked forward to his return. The rest of his officials arrived back in Thebes to prepare for Tuthmosis’ grand entrance.’ She paused.
‘Tell him all,’ Senenmut urged. ‘Tell him about the blackmailing letters.’
‘While waiting,’ Hatusu continued quickly, ‘I began to receive messages, small scrolls of papyrus written in a clerkly hand.’ She shook her head. ‘They were blackmail.’
‘Blackmail!’ Amerotke exclaimed.
Hatusu turned and pressed her finger against his lip; her nail, painted a crimson red, dug deeply into the skin.
‘What I tell you must never be told to anyone, Amerotke. When I was a child, my mother Ahmose took me aside and told me I was divinely conceived by the god Amun-Ra, who visited her chamber.’ She touched the side of her wig, pressing a strand, squeezing the perfumed oil out. ‘I was a child, my mother was so wrapped up in the gods and their doings, I thought it was a fable. These blackmail letters took up the story. They claimed how my mother had been unfaithful to my father and had lain with a priest from the temple of Amun-Ra. I was not of Pharaoh’s bloodline but a bastard, illegitimate, a blasphemy. I was instructed to do everything I was ordered to or face the consequences. I had no choice. The blackmailer claimed to have evidence to prove his story.’
Amerotke looked across the lake. A black-tipped hoopoe had frightened away a gold-feathered songbird and was greedily pecking at the ground. He recalled Senenmut’s declarations before the soldiers after the great victory over the Mitanni.
‘You know all this?’
‘Yes,’ Senenmut replied. ‘I decided to turn it on its head. If the divine Hatusu was divinely conceived then why hide it in the dark? Why not proclaim it to the world?’ He smiled. ‘It apparently worked. Since our return to Thebes, the divine lady has received no further letters.’
‘I want vengeance!’ Hatusu broke in. Her face had changed, eyes grown larger, the skin drawn tight over her high cheekbones. ‘I want to see that blackmailer hang by his hands from a cross! His body given to the dogs so that his Ka never reaches the far horizon.’ Her nails dug into Amerotke’s leg.
‘And the divine Tuthmosis?’ he asked.
‘He died of a seizure. A terrible fit before the statue of Amun-Ra. The excitement had proved too much for him. He fell to the ground. All he said was: “Hatusu, it’s only a mask!” He died a short while later. I moved his body to the royal mourning chamber. I stayed with the corpse. Others came in, members of the royal circle, I don’t know how or who but I became hungry. When I turned for some food on a tray inside the door, I found a small black bag. Inside was a note. The threats were explicit. I was to follow the order carefully.’ She sighed. ‘The bag contained a fork, the ivory prongs tipped with poison.’
‘Like a snake’s mouth?’ Amerotke asked.
Hatusu nodded. ‘I was to dig the prong into my dead husband’s leg, just above the heel. I did so. To all intents and purposes it looked like a snake bite. The skin was discoloured, the poison seeped deep. I then burned this weapon and the note that came with it.’ She flailed her hands. ‘Even then I knew something could go wrong. My husband’s blood had stopped flowing, the poison did not move, but what could I do? Before my husband returned to Thebes, I was terrified the blackmailer would whisper in his ear, destroy my position. After all I had not given him a son. Once Tuthmosis died, I was even more vulnerable. I had to face the opposition of Rahimere and the others. If the blackmailer began to publicise such rumours throughout Thebes, how long would I have lasted?’
‘And Meneloto?’ Amerotke asked.
‘Two days after my husband died I received another letter. By then I had heard about his tomb being desecrated and the portents seen on his return to Thebes. I had no choice. A viper had been found on board the royal barque: I was to press charges against Meneloto and mention nothing about Sakkara.’
‘And the deaths of the others?’
‘We know nothing of these,’ Senenmut intervened.
‘What could I do?’ Hatusu asked. ‘I was being taunted about my parentage. I had to face the opposition of Rahimere. I was sent north to lose a battle yet the gods have vindicated me.’ She lifted her head. ‘My mother was correct. I am divinely conceived. I am the beloved of Amun-Ra!’
‘And the perpetrators?’ Amerotke asked.
‘Rahimere. Sethos has some evidence, a little. He may have been responsible for Amenhotep’s death and that of Ipuwer.’ She turned and smiled. ‘But we don’t need that any more.’ She pushed her face closer, her breath fragrant. ‘We have been through the seized records of the Mitanni. Rahimere was in secret communication with King Tushratta. So, go tell him that, Amerotke! Let him confess. Die he will, though he can still choose the way he travels to the fields of the blessed!’
Ma’at: the goddess of truth.
CHAPTER 16
Amerotke entered the dark passageways of the House of Death beneath the temple of Ma’at. Guards, their faces masked, stood beneath spluttering pitch torches. A gaoler lifted the woo
den bars and kicked the door open. Rahimere’s cell was small, a hole at the top of the whitewashed wall providing some light and air. The former Vizier was almost unrecognisable. He had bruises high on his cheeks, his sallow face was grey and unshaven though his eyes still gleamed with malice. He did not bother to rise from the green matting bed but squatted there, hitching up the dirty loin cloth around his waist.
‘You’ve come to mock?’
‘I’ve come to question.’
‘About what?’
‘The deaths of Ipuwer, Amenhotep, the murderous assault on General Omendap and the blackmailing of the Queen.’ Amerotke could have bitten his tongue.
Rahimere curled his legs. ‘Blackmail! Of our divine Pharaoh?’
‘And the murders,’ Amerotke stammered. He still felt slightly shaken, disconcerted after his meeting with Hatusu and Senenmut.
‘I’m guilty of no murder. Ipuwer’s death?’ Rahimere moved his hands. ‘Why should I kill Ipuwer?’ He leaned forward. ‘Ipuwer liked young girls. I promised him a room full of them but this blackmail?’
Amerotke realised he was wasting his time. He turned back towards the door.
‘You’ll get no evidence on me!’ Rahimere screamed. ‘If that bitch is going to kill me, she’ll have to send her dogs down!’
‘She won’t have to.’ Amerotke paused at the door. ‘They found your letters to the Mitanni King. You know the sentence for treason!’
Slamming the door behind him, Amerotke stormed up the corridor, brushing by the masked guards. The place stank of death! He wanted to get out, to think, to prepare a speech to the divine Hatusu, urging that these deaths, these murders, this blackmail would remain a mystery. He walked into the Hall of Two Truths. The place was deserted. The court would not sit for at least another five days and Amerotke knew that the number of cases awaiting trial would have been swollen by the recent troubles. He leaned against one of the pillars, looking down at the judgement chair, the small polished table and cushions of the scribes: the rolls of judgement. From the courtyard outside came the murmur of conversation, the chatter of scribes, the shouts and cries of the children.
Amerotke walked slowly across and studied one of the frescoes on the wall. The goddess Ma’at, an ostrich plume in her hair, leaned back on her heels before the lord Osiris who held the scales. What judgement would he give here? Amerotke thought. How would he resolve it? He walked back, into his small chapel. Inside the tabernacle stood the statue of Ma’at. The floor had been freshly sanded, the holy water stoups brimmed and someone, probably Prenhoe, had filled the incense burners. Small pots of cassia and frankincense had also been placed about. The chapel looked clean, smelt fragrant; new cushions had been placed before the shrine.
Amerotke knelt and tried to pray for guidance, then realised he hadn’t purified his mouth or hands. Was he becoming like Amenhotep? Images bright as any painting teemed in his mind. The bloody carnage outside the camp; men screaming and writhing; the blood lapping around chariot wheels; the horses pounding, mangling the corpses of the fallen. The screams for mercy. The strong-arm boys sodomising young Mitanni noblemen before smashing their faces into the ground. Hatusu brilliant in her glory; Meneloto at the bottom of those steps, the Amemets, like shadows, around him. And that dread stela of Cheops? Amerotke gazed at the open tabernacle. Was it all false? Was there no one to listen? A shadow came in and knelt behind him. Amerotke looked over his shoulder.
‘I had a dream last night, my lord. I dreamed that I was sitting in a palm tree and then it changed into a sycamore. Beneath its branches you were destroying your clothes.’
Prenhoe’s face looked so intense, he clutched the papyrus scroll so tightly, Amerotke bit back his angry reply.
‘And what does that mean, kinsman?’
‘It means that I will do good. And that you will be released from all evil. Master, I am a good clerk.’
‘Preferment will come.’
‘Master, I am a good clerk,’ Prenhoe repeated. ‘And I copy down faithfully what is said in court. And, while you were away,’ he continued hurriedly, glimpsing the anger in Amerotke’s eyes, ‘I consulted with my colleagues.’
Amerotke sighed. ‘Prenhoe, my mind is …’ He gestured with his hand.
‘Shufoy told me,’ Prenhoe gabbled on. ‘Shufoy told me about your visit to the old snake priest, the one who gave evidence. How he rescued you.’
‘Do not tell the lady Norfret!’ Amerotke interrupted.
‘No, my lord, but I thought you should read this.’ Prenhoe scurried round and undid the papyrus roll. ‘This is what the old priest said. Isn’t it strange?’
Amerotke, crouching down, peered closely because of the poor light.
‘No, no, there.’ Prenhoe jabbed with his finger.
Amerotke read the statement. He blinked and, forgetting all protocol, crouched closer again.
‘I … I …’ He stammered and looked up. ‘What does it mean, kinsman?’
Prenhoe swallowed hard with excitement. ‘I went out to the tombs, to the Necropolis. I went round the Houses of Eternity until I visited those of his parents. His mother was a priestess in the service of the goddess Meretseger.’
‘The snake goddess!’ Amerotke breathed.
Is that how truth worked, he thought? Was there some invisible fire to kindle the mind and soul? He turned and grasped Prenhoe’s face between his hands and kissed him firmly on the forehead. The young scribe coloured with embarrassment.
‘You are my kinsman, Prenhoe, and you are my friend. What you have discovered, I overlooked. What you found, I ignored and, next time I sit in judgement, you shall be my eyes and ears. As far as I am concerned, you can dream to your heart’s content. Now, this is what you must do.’
Amerotke spent most of the day near the Hall of Two Truths. He went out to the lake and purified himself, washing his body and his face in the waters where the ibis had drunk. He dressed in fresh robes which he kept in a small room behind the chapel. He purified his mouth with salt and sprinkled more incense before the goddess. Then he knelt, forehead touching the ground.
‘I have sinned!’ he confessed. ‘I have doubted! Yet, my heart is pure and I wish to look on your face. Let me walk in the truth, let me keep the truth!’
He felt so excited he forgot to eat but, as the sun began to set, he walked out into the temple precincts and bought some strips of goose being cooked by one of the younger priests over a bed of charcoal. He squatted on the ground to eat, and drank a little wine. Across the courtyard Asural had gathered some of the temple police. Prenhoe was there and, just before he left, Shufoy also arrived. He told them to stay there and not to disturb him though he took a knife from Asural which he concealed beneath his robes, and walked back into the shrine. He sat with his back to the wall. The doors of the Naos were closed. He lit the alabaster oil jars so all was ready when Sethos walked in. Amerotke gestured at the cushion opposite.
‘My lord Sethos, I am glad you could come.’
The royal prosecutor squatted down, his lean, sharp face a mask of concern, his eyes watchful. He placed a small writing bag beside him.
‘What did the divine lady have to say?’
‘That Rahimere will go on trial for treason.’
‘But not for murder?’
‘No, my lord Sethos. You will stand trial for that!’
Sethos sat up, his face creased into a smile.
‘Amerotke, Amerotke, has the sun fuddled your wits? Has the heat of battle … ?’
Amerotke pointed to the shrine. ‘She watches you, Sethos. She who is truth knows the darkness in your heart. Sethos, royal prosecutor, eyes and ears of the King. Close friend of divine Pharaoh Tuthmosis who revealed to him all that he had learned in those dark, cavernous chambers beneath the pyramid at Sakkara.’
Sethos did not flinch.
‘Sethos,’ Amerotke continued. ‘High-ranking priest in the Order of Amun-Ra, royal chaplain, formerly a confessor to Queen Ahmose, divine Hatusu’s mother. What happened, Set
hos? Were you chilled by what Tuthmosis told you? How the gods of Egypt were nothing but stone idols, eh? How you were to come back to Thebes and deal out judgement, destroy the shrines, create a new order, dedicated to the One who once walked with men, in the first time, before war broke out? Before the mirror of truth was shattered and all we were left were shards?’ Amerotke leaned forward. ‘You do not object?’
‘A good story is a good story,’ Sethos commented.
‘Tuthmosis told you all. You, Sethos, were sent back to Thebes to prepare for Pharaoh’s arrival, to lay plans for his dealing out of judgement. But your soul was in turmoil. It would be an end to the temple worship, the dispossession of priests, the seizure of treasures. How you must have seethed, frantic at what to do! Perhaps you pretended to listen, to agree, but deep down you plotted revenge. You cast about.’ Amerotke paused. ‘You are the royal prosecutor. You know the dirty depths beneath the city of Thebes. You hired the guild of murderers, the Amemets. You wanted to cause confusion and chaos. You paid them to go across to the Necropolis and desecrate Pharaoh’s tomb but that was more anger than malice. Your mind teemed and turned. You could not control Tuthmosis, his stubbornness was legendary. Ever since a boy he had a cynicism about the priests and the temple worshippers of Thebes. Hatusu was different. She was young, she was vulnerable. She had not produced a living male heir for her husband.’
Sethos breathed in deeply, nostrils flared.
‘If you could not control Tuthmosis then you would control Hatusu and she, uncertain and anxious, rose to the bait.’
‘And what are you going to say next?’ Sethos broke in. ‘That I murdered the divine Tuthmosis in the temple of Amun-Ra?’
‘Oh no, you weren’t in the temple,’ Amerotke replied. ‘You were down at the quayside.’