by Paul Doherty
I reached the Sign of the Ankh, a pleasure-house and beer-shop which catered for the casket-, coffin-and basketmakers. On that particular evening it was deserted inside, although its small courtyard was full of bully-boys in their leather kilts, baldrics and thick marching sandals, lounging round a cracked fountain. They looked up as I entered but no one rose to challenge me. The entrance to the shop was also guarded. Inside, the low-ceilinged room, reeking of sawdust and burned oil, was brightly lit. A row of barrels and baskets were stacked at one end. Sobeck sat on a pile of cushions under a shuttered window. Others of his gang stood or squatted, deliberately shrouded by the shifting shadows. Sobeck smiled as I entered, put down the puppy he was playing with and rose to greet me. His eyes, however, were still on the door.
‘You did well, my friend,’ he said, then called: ‘Was he followed?’
The dwarf replied in a guttural tongue I could not understand.
‘Apparently you were,’ Sobeck clasped my hand, ‘but we lost him.’ He sat down and gestured at the cushions piled at the base of a wooden column. I took the dagger from my sash and squatted down. A jar of beer was thrust into my hand. Sobeck cleared the platters from the small table which separated us. The puppy, unsteady on its legs, stumbled over, licked my knee, sniffed at the basket and curled up beside me. Sobeck raised his goblet in a toast. I replied but didn’t sip.
‘It’s not poisoned,’ Sobeck laughed.
He picked up my cup, took a generous sip and handed it back. He looked better than the last time; his face was not so lean, though fresh scars marked his cheeks and upper right arm. His kilt was of good quality, as was the shawl which draped his shoulders and the sandals on his feet. Rings and bracelets glittered on his fingers, wrists and arms flashed like fire. His head and face were cleanly shaved, gleaming with oil; his eyes were the same, like those of a hungry hunting cat. He kept his dagger close by.
‘You are well, Mahu, Chief of Police?’
‘I am not Ch—’
‘You soon will be. I heard your aunt laughing about it, that’s how I know.’
‘The night you visited her?’
Sobeck grinned behind his hand. He ordered dishes of catfish with plump, fresh lettuce and slices of lush pomegranate. A beggar girl served us. Sobeck took the dishes and divided the food between us.
‘Well?’ He chewed noisily. ‘What do you want?’
I finished my food, opened the basket and took out the sealed alabaster jar full of flies buzzing over a lump of honey. I placed it on the table before him. Sobeck stopped chewing. ‘Is this a gift?’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘For killing your aunt?’ Sobeck pulled a face. ‘It was easy enough. She was arrogant, and thought the soldiers camped in the gardens outside her house would be protection enough. She apparently liked to be alone. Anyway, her neck snapped like a twig. Now you bring me a jar of honey and some buzzing flies?’
I opened my wallet and placed three precious stones on the table.
‘I want you to take the jar of flies to the embalmers and ask them to place it next to the head of Isithia’s corpse. She never could stand flies.’
Sobeck smiled. ‘And? There are three stones here.’
‘You are to bribe the embalmers to remove her heart and its protective scarab before they wrap the corpse in its bandages. I want my aunt’s soul to wander the Underworld.’
‘I didn’t think you believed in it?’
‘I am a calculating man, Sobeck. Just in case.’
Sobeck tapped the third diamond. ‘And?’
‘Isithia’s house will be deserted. I want it burned to the ground, it and everything in it – but do not harm the willow tree in the orchard beyond.’
‘A fire?’ Sobeck glanced up at the ceiling. ‘That will take oil, not to mention desperate men.’
I placed a fourth diamond on the table.
Sobeck swept it up in his hand. ‘You must have hated her.’
‘She made me what I am.’
‘And what are you, Mahu?’
‘As the tree is planted, so it grows.’
‘So what do you want?’ Sobeck’s voice was barely above a whisper. ‘What do you really want, Mahu, friend of princes, confidant and counsellor, soon to be Chief of Police?’
For a moment he looked like the boy I used to play with in the Kap, running wild through the trees or hiding from Weni. I felt tearful but the tears didn’t come. ‘What about this Chief of Police thing?’ I asked.
‘Your aunt told me as I came up the steps. She thought I was her manservant. She kept repeating it as if savouring a joke. “My little Mahu,” she laughed. “The ugly Baboon, Chief of Police. Well, I never!”’
‘How did she know?’
‘I never stopped to ask. In fact, it was only afterwards I reflected on what she had said.’
‘You saw no letter on the table, no documents?’
‘I was there to exact my revenge, not to steal things. I’ll do that before I burn the house down.’ Sobeck pushed a piece of fish into his mouth. His eyes were no longer so hard. ‘Oh, you’ll become Chief of Police, Mahu, don’t worry about that. We are in the time of waiting, aren’t we? The old Pharaoh is dying and the Grotesque waits like a cat hiding in the bushes ready to pounce: he and his two red-haired relatives, the Akhmin gang. They are already making their presence felt.’ He leaned over and filled my cup. ‘It’s our business, Mahu, to watch things: to keep our ear close to the door and listen to the rumours and whispers. Who has been sent here? Who has been sent there? Which officer is in charge of that district? Why are certain regiments despatched upriver, and others brought closer to the city? Why is Ay so insistent on hiring mercenaries?’ He caught my surprise and smiled. ‘Oh yes, he’s supposed to be strengthening the garrison of Akhmin: the numbers have grown so large you’d think the Hyksos had returned. Sooner or later, perhaps sooner than later, Ay will appoint a certain General,’ he waved his hand, ‘the next Mayor of Thebes.’
‘And the new post?’ I added. ‘Chief of Police?’
‘That’s my clever Baboon, Mahu! Ay can’t do it all in one sweep. It’s like drawing a picture: a brush-stroke here, a brush-stroke there, not yet completed, not even formed, but the artist knows what he intends. So, Mahu, Baboon of the South, my question still stands. What do you really want? Is it power? Do you like being close to Ay and his gang?’
‘I want to be part of something,’ I replied, ‘to please and be pleased.’
‘To love and be loved?’
‘Sobeck, sarcasm doesn’t suit you.’
‘But the Princess Nefertiti does you. Is that the real reason, Mahu? Is that why you love the palace?’
‘Why are you here?’ I retorted brusquely.
‘I’ll come to that by and by. Do you know,’ Sobeck picked up the dagger and moved it from hand to hand, ‘I really do like you, Mahu, more than anyone. I’ll never forget I owe you my life. If you hadn’t sent me that message, I would have sent you one. When you are Chief of Police, you and I can do business together.’
‘You already seem to have a lot of partners.’ I gazed around at the men half-concealed in the shadows. ‘Business partners?’ I queried. ‘Where is the Ape?’
Sobeck shouted into the darkness for a basket to be brought. It was dirty and stained with blood which had seeped through the meshes. The little puppy beside me stirred so I stroked it gently. Sobeck placed the gruesome basket on the table, took off the lid and drew out the severed head with its half-closed eyes, jutting mouth and jaw, the neck of fraying black flesh. He placed it gently back. ‘The Ape or what’s left of him. He tried to betray me. You’ve heard of the Hyenas, Mahu?’
Of course I had. The Hyenas were the violent gangs who swarmed through the slums of Thebes and the squalid streets of the Necropolis. Sobeck ordered the basket to be taken away and traced the scar on his face.
‘I also owe you for the treasure you sent me. It has helped me to make a few adjustments to my life.’
‘You c
ontrol the gangs?’ I asked.
‘Almost,’ he replied. ‘But by next year I will be able to say yes. I learned a lot at that prison oasis, even more on the journey back. Pharaoh has order in his kingdom, I shall have order in mine. The tomb-robbers, the pimps, the smugglers, the traders in flesh, the scorpion men, the unemployed, the mercenaries and discharged soldiers will all know their places in my little world, and if they don’t – well, they don’t deserve to be here. I’ll have my House of Silver and my troops. Whatever you ask, Mahu, from my kingdom you shall have.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘As simple as that.’
‘But you couldn’t find the man who followed me?’ I taunted.
‘No.’ Sobeck smiled thinly. ‘We still make mistakes, Mahu. It’s just like being in the House of Instruction. Learning doesn’t come like a meal on a platter. So,’ he lifted his cup again, ‘let’s toast the past and the future.’
‘Have you met Maya?’ I asked.
Sobeck shook his head. ‘He’s the only one I leave alone. I don’t know why, but one day I will renew my acquaintance. He doesn’t know I am alive.’
I didn’t answer.
‘I know all about the rest. Pentju’s in love, you know – a lady called Tenbra. He’s infatuated with her, they will be married within the year. I hope she keeps him away from the House of Delight here in the Necropolis, otherwise he will need all his medical skill to cure the ailments he’ll catch.’
‘And Horemheb and Rameses?’
‘Ah, two cheeks of the same arse! Two dirty nostrils in the same nose. My prize bully-boys. Horemheb is a puritan. He looks at a woman and immediately thinks of breeding rather than pleasure. Rameses is the one I watch. Venomous as a viper – he likes inflicting pain. Oh yes, he’s a visitor here, well-known in the House of Delight for his use of the whip, the stick and other petty cruelties. I often wonder if his old friend Horemheb knows about his private pastimes.’ Sobeck straightened his shoulders and stuck his chest out, such a clever imitation of Horemheb that I laughed.
‘Horemheb wants to be a great General, the new Ahmose.’ Sobeck breathed in. ‘He’s of peasant stock from the Delta, born of a young girl who caught the Magnificent One’s eye.’
‘He’s the Divine One’s son?’
‘Might be. Or of one of his courtiers. The Divine One,’ Sobeck’s face turned ugly, ‘could be generous with his Royal Ornaments, only that he had to give, you never took, as I found to my cost. Does he still drink the juice of the poppy?’ Sobeck scratched at his chin.
‘They say,’ he continued, chatting quickly to show off his knowledge, ‘the Magnificent One is more interested in his eldest daughter Sitamun than he is in his wife. But, one day soon, he will die. They will bury him out in that great mausoleum he has built, guarded by those Colossi of red quartzite.’ He leaned across the table. ‘Now that’s one tomb, Mahu, I intend to visit.’
‘You were talking of our companions?’
‘Meryre …’ Sobeck shook his head. ‘Such a pure priest, such a naughty boy: he loves Kushite girls, the fatter the better. He doesn’t pray so much when he’s squealing between mounds of perfumed oiled flesh.’ Sobeck rocked backwards and forwards. ‘Huy is different. Oh, he likes the ladies but it’s wealth he wants, and power! To become a Great One of Pharaoh and rise high in the tree.’
‘You know so much.’
‘Of course I do, Mahu. Where do you think these people hire servants? They come to the marketplace or the Necropolis, this young man, that young woman. These people go home to chatter and gossip. It’s surprising how many people talk as if servants don’t exist. Oh, by the way, you should tell your master to be careful. The great ones of Thebes, not to forget our shaven heads in the Temple of Amun, hate him beyond all understanding.’
‘And what do you know of the Akhmin gang?’
‘Oh, you mean God’s Father Ay and Nefertiti the Great Wife?’ Sobeck whistled through his teeth. ‘They are very close, very close indeed! Ah well.’ He picked up the diamonds he had placed beneath the cushion, took the pouch from his belt and poured them in. ‘Watch the night sky, Mahu, and you’ll see the fire.’
He helped me to my feet.
The puppy also rose, yelping. Sobeck leaned down, grasped it by the nape of the neck and pulled it up.
‘I am still in the dog-skinning business, Mahu! This will be good for the child of some pilgrim.’ The dog yelped again, little legs flailing in the air. ‘An orphan.’ Sobeck placed it back. ‘No one will miss it.’
I leaned down and scooped it up; the puppy licked my hand. ‘I’ll take it.’
‘What?’ Sobeck laughed. ‘Mahu, have you gone sentimental? But you have made a good choice.’
‘I know,’ I replied. ‘It’s a greyhound, isn’t it? They make good watchdogs.’ I held Sobeck’s gaze. ‘And if treated affectionately, will give the utmost loyalty. I don’t give a fig about a puppy. What I am anxious about, Sobeck, is taking a goblet of wine on the roof of my house whilst some silent shadow comes creeping up the stairs.’
Sobeck put his arm round my shoulder, pushing me towards the door. ‘Keep your dog, Mahu. You are going to need all the protection you can get.’
I paused. Again he gave me a squeeze, nails pressing into the fleshy part of my arm.
‘We talked about what we want,’ he whispered. ‘Horemheb’s ambition, Huy’s lust for wealth and power, but your master, the Grotesque, he’s the dangerous one. He wants to be a god.’
‘So does every Pharaoh.’
‘Ah yes, Mahu, but the Grotesque is different. He really thinks he is a god, the only god, the God Incarnate. Mark my words, those who look for god in everything end up looking for god in themselves – and usually find it.’ He released his grip and patted me on the shoulder. ‘You are safe to go. No one will trouble you.’
Still wearing Snefru’s coat, I reached the quayside. Ferries were few as darkness had fallen. The river people were reluctant to ply their trade, fearful of pirates and smugglers, not to mention hungry crocodiles or angry hippopotami. However, as soon as I arrived the punt appeared, broad and squat, low in the water. A young man stood in the stern, pole resting against his shoulder. An old man, whom I took to be his father, sat just before the prow carved in the shape of a panther’s head: above this a pitch torch flared whilst a quilted hide of sheepskin covered the rear benches.
‘Fruit,’ the old man called, gesturing, ‘but if you want … ?’
I climbed in, handed over some copper debens and sat in front of the old man. He crouched, red-rimmed eyes smiling, chomping on his gums. From a card round his neck hung an amulet, a jackal’s head. The old man was singing softly under his breath, rocking backwards and forwards. I wondered how much beer he had drunk. The puntsman was skilled enough and the craft moved away, out from the dangers lurking along the reedfilled banks. I clasped the puppy, warm under my cloak, my mind full of thoughts about Sobeck and the hidden threat of his words. The old man chattered, but I didn’t really listen. The dancing torch flame caught my gaze. My eyes grew heavy. I was stupid, I relaxed. The strengthening cold breeze awoke me. When I stirred and glanced up, the old man didn’t look so cheery or welcoming; his was an evil face full of ancient sin. He was staring at me as if I was a bull for the slaughter, squinting to see if I had a pendant beneath my cloak or bracelets on my wrist. I glanced to my left. The punt was now in midriver, further from the bank than it should have been; we were too far out in the blackness, the river running strong. The puppy stirred as it caught my alarm.
‘This is not—!’
I felt the blade touch the back of my head.
‘Now, traveller, be at peace.’ The old man rocked backwards and forwards, chortling with laughter. The boat was moving swiftly; the puntsman must still be at his post so the blade was being held by an assassin – that’s what the sheepskins had concealed. They’d been waiting for me and I had walked into the trap like some brainless hare caught in a hunter’s net.
‘Here?’ the harsh voice grated behind me. �
��One stab, one slash!’
‘Oh no.’ The old man wiped his nose on the back of his hand. ‘Not here, near the crocodile pools: no sign, no trace.’
‘Whatever you were offered,’ I declared, ‘I’ll give you more.’
The old man squinted at me, leaned over and patted me gently on the wrist. ‘It’s not like that,’ he replied sadly. ‘It’s not like that at all.’
‘Who?’ I asked.
‘Ask the Lord Anubis when you meet him.’
‘Why?’
‘Ask him that as well.’
The puppy was now squealing. I gazed across the night-shrouded water. The banks were distant, their fading pricks of light mocked me. Was this Sobeck’s work? No, I reasoned he would have killed me as soon as we met. I made to move, the knife pricked my neck and I winced. A screech owl called, a soul-chilling cry echoed by the roar of a hippopotamus. The water slapped against the boat, the night air was freezing cold. I wanted to be sick but my throat was too dry even to swallow or beg for my life: those cruel old eyes showed no pity. These assassins had been hired for the task and they’d complete it.
‘We will take everything you have.’ Again the pat on my wrist. ‘And if you behave we’ll cut your throat before the crocodiles even know you are in the water. Good,’ the old man sniffed. ‘You are going to be quiet, no crying and weeping, bawling and begging. Listen, I have a poem.’ He hawked and spat. ‘I recite it to all my guests.’ He poked my cloak where the puppy squirmed. ‘You have a dog there?’ He pulled back my robe with the tip of the dagger concealed in his hand. ‘A puppy, how sweet! Well, we’ll kill that, too, as an offering to the River God, to keep us safe. Look at the mist. You have only got one journey,’ he sniggered. ‘We have to make two.’
A bank of mist was drifting across the water, wafted and shifted by the breeze.
‘Now keep that little cur silent.’ The old man preened himself. ‘My poem is important, it’s your death lament.’ He intoned: ‘In the end, all things break down. All flesh drains. All blood dries …’