by Anton Gill
Huy awoke trembling, and for eternal seconds the dream remained with him, the cold wet surrounding him belonging to the narrow cave of the creature’s throat. Then he moved, cautiously, and felt the bandages tight around his chest were sodden with sweat. He felt his bedlinen also soaked through. He tasted the velvet night with his lips, and found comfort there. Opening his eyes, he saw the distant gods of the night riding far away in the sky, at giddying heights above the clouds in their shimmering chariots of electrum and gold.
He sat up, removing his neckrest from beside him carefully so as not to awaken Aset, who lay curled up next to him, turned towards him, one hand under her face, sleeping as a child sleeps, her own neckrest abandoned in favour of a bundled-together sheet. He climbed down from the sleeping-platform and walked to the window. The relief at having escaped from the dream overwhelmed him. He had told no one of his encounter with Set; could not believe that it had been anything more than a charade — and yet, why? Who was he to say that there were not gods and demons who walked among men? If Akhenaten had been right, and the only god was that expressed in the sun’s light, why had people rejected him? Was he wrong, or was it simply that people preferred the dark ways to the light? Perhaps people themselves were creatures of darkness.
He looked back towards the bed. Sensing herself alone, Aset had turned in her sleep and lay on her back, the sheet thrown off, one leg stretched out and the other bent and spread to the side. She looked terribly vulnerable. Huy considered, reluctantly now, that he would have to discuss the matter of leaving again. He had exercised extreme care in his comings and goings, and in all his meetings with Amotju. Apart from members of Amotju’s and Aset’s households, no one knew where he was. He had contacted Rekhmire’s office, to be told (to his relief) that he was not required for the post. Indeed, they had looked up his background and he had been issued with a sharp warning not to solicit work which had been forbidden to him. This was another relief. Had he been so minded, Rekhmire could have had his nose slit for such presumptuousness.
But if he wanted to delve further, he would have to be free to do so; and he could not take the risk of Aset or her house being put in danger.
He did not yet feel he could trust sleep again; it was not impossible for gods to come to men in dreams. He crossed the room to a table set against the far wall, and poured himself a beaker of red beer from a jug set next to a bowl of yellow figs. It was too dark to read, he did not want to disturb Aset by lighting a lamp, and he did not want to be alone in another room either. He took the beer back to the window and sipped it, looking out at the River, black and silver beyond the huddle of the town. The silence was absolute, and not even a watchman’s fire glowed on the distant quays.
Aset stirred again, and shivered. He went to spread the sheets back over her. As he did so, she awoke. The trust in her eyes as she looked at him was almost more than he could bear.
‘Are you awake?’ she asked him sleepily.
‘Yes.’
‘Can’t you sleep?’
‘I had a dream.’
‘It must have been a nightmare.’
‘I have forgotten it already.’
‘Then you must sleep again.’
‘Not yet.’
‘There is nothing you can do tonight.’
He sat on the bed. ‘I am trying to think around what Ani said. He said there were Medjays watching the attack.’
‘Then they will never be found. The police may look for the pirates, but not for their own people. If there were Medjays, it wouldn’t be the first time that the police had turned a blind eye to a crime in order to get a cut.’
‘Who do you think was behind the attack?’
She raised herself on one elbow, took his beaker of beer and drank from it. ‘No one. River pirates exist.’
‘This had the makings of a naval attack.’
‘They have grown bold,’ she replied fiercely. ‘There has been no order on the River for years. General Horemheb has not taken power before time.’
Huy preferred to ignore her last remark. It struck a discordant note which he didn’t want to admit into their relationship. ‘Nothing to do with Rekhmire?’
‘Amotju swears that Rekhmire is behind it, of course.’
‘And you disagree.’
She looked impatient. ‘It is possible; but Amotju is obsessed by that man. Of course they are rivals; but I do not think that my brother would take it so seriously if it were simply a rivalry for power. That he well understands. At present he is in the grip of something he does not understand, and cannot control.’
‘And what is that?’
Aset was surprised. ‘Why, love.’
It was Huy’s turn to be taken aback. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Hasn’t he told you?’
‘What?’
‘If he hasn’t told you, maybe I shouldn’t say.’
Huy took her by the shoulders. ‘Don’t keep me in the dark. Tell me.’
‘I think it would be better if he told you himself.’
‘Then I must know what question to ask.’
She looked at him. ‘Ask him about Mutnefert.’
‘Who is she? A mistress?’
Aset answered the questions with increasing reluctance. ‘The mistress. If she would accept him he would divorce his wife and take her.’
‘Is she married?’
‘She is divorced, or widowed. I do not know and I have not asked. He doesn’t like to discuss her.’
‘Have you met her?’
‘No. I have seen her.’ An edge of resentment seemed to be in Aset’s voice, but Huy did not comment on it.
‘What does she do?’
‘I do not know. She has money. Perhaps there was a settlement, or an inheritance. She lives in the south-eastern quarter.’
Huy spread his hands. ‘And what has this to do with Rekhmire?’
Aset looked at him directly with her dark, dazzling eyes. ‘Mutnefert is his mistress. His recognised mistress.’
Huy stood up. ‘Does he know she has another lover?’
‘Does he know about Amotju, you mean? He may have an idea. She is an independent creature. She may have other lovers too.’ Again there was the note of resentment.
‘Do you disapprove of her?’
‘I have nothing to say. Amotju can do as he pleases.’
‘Is Rekhmire jealous?’
‘You have met him. What he owns, people or goods, he must possess utterly.’
‘Then she doesn’t sound ideal for him.’
‘She represents a challenge. There. Now I have told you everything. You have no need to ask Amotju.’ She said this almost bitterly, in a flat voice, as if she had betrayed her brother.
Huy turned to her. ‘There was no reason for him to keep this from me. Why do you think he did?’
‘He may not have wanted her involved. He is not in command of his heart. She has it.’
‘And is that the real reason he wants Rekhmire brought down?’
Aset was silent for a moment. Then she turned her dark eyes on him again. ‘We have talked enough about her.’ She knelt up in bed and let the sheet fall. ‘Come here.’
Huy awoke to the sound of someone hammering on the gate. Then running feet, as people went to open it. Hasty, breathless words he couldn’t catch, followed by a muffled conversation, which from its tone was urgent. Aset had already risen, and, drawing a pale blue robe around her, she made for the door. Huy heard her voice raised above the others; a terse exchange of questions and answers. Somebody told to wait. In another minute she was back with him.
‘Amotju has gone.’
‘Gone?’
‘He has disappeared.’
The courtyard of Amotju’s house was surrounded by a limestone colonnade, and the ground itself was paved in pure white. A fishpool in the centre was fed by a hidden underground stream, and a vine trained overhead provided a delicious green shade. Huy sat on a bench carved with a design of birds in a fig tree, impatiently
waiting for Amotju’s wife to put in an appearance. At last a rustling of clothes made him turn and rise.
It had been a long time since Huy had seen Taheb, but the years had not changed her. She was tall and slim — almost gaunt, as she had always been, and it was only when you were close to her that you saw that the tautness had gone out of her skin, and the little bitter lines around the corners of her mouth became visible under her make-up. Her movements and her behaviour were as they had always been — impeccable and measured. Not one fold of her dress was out of place, and from her manner Huy might have thought that her husband’s disappearance was no more than a minor irritation — a slight discrepancy in the accounts; something to be ironed out. She wore a light brown wig with blonde plaits figured into it, to go with her light hazel eyes, which now stared at him unblinkingly, without expression or enthusiasm. Huy recalled that anyone who had had a claim on Amotju’s affection, male or female, had always been regarded by Taheb as a potential and unwelcome rival. Too frozen to be able to express the love she felt for him, she had resented anyone with a natural and spontaneous warmth to match his own.
‘Huy. Amotju did not tell me you were here again.’
‘I have only been back a short time.’
‘And are you staying?’
‘That depends on work.’
She sat down, but did not motion him to do the same. Nor did she offer him anything.
‘What can I do for you?’
‘I am trying to find Amotju.’
‘There is no need for you to trouble yourself. Our people are making enquiries, and if need be we will take it to the police.’
‘What do you think has happened?’
‘Who can say? We are hoping it is not a kidnap for ransom. Amotju is a rich man.’ This was spoken as a challenge. The marriage had been made to unite fortunes; Huy thought it unlikely that Amotju, however great his passion for Mutnefert, would abandon what he had gained through it, as long as Taheb was prepared to go along with a sexless marriage. They had their children, after all; the succession had been assured. There only remained the status quo to maintain.
‘Did he have any enemies?’
‘We all have enemies.’ What business is it of yours, said her eyes, though they refused to meet his, hovering somewhere at the level of his forehead. Huy wondered how much she resented his presence. If Amotju had not told her that his old friend was back in the Southern Capital, did she suspect a reason she was being kept from knowing? A complicity for her to envy?
Huy tried to keep the conversation faltering along for some time longer, in order to introduce more questions; but he soon saw that Taheb had reached the end of her patience and wanted him to go. Besides, the questions that he needed answering were, he knew, ones that he could hardly put to her under the circumstances. Where had Amotju been last night, if he was not at home? And if he had been, at what time before dawn had he left? And to go where?
‘You don’t think this has anything to do with the attack on Glory-of-Ra?’ he asked her, nevertheless.
She gave him a blank stare. ‘Why should it be? An enquiry is in train. That is only natural. Why should kidnapping Amotju stop it?’
‘You mentioned ransom.’
‘The risk is there.’ She had had enough. She rose. ‘Forgive me, Huy; you were my husband’s friend, not mine. I do not welcome former officials of the old regime into my house, nor can I see how our affairs can be any business of yours. I am not certain what prompts all these questions of yours, beyond, I hope, concern for the safety of your friend. But I do not know you well enough to take you into my confidence, nor do I intend to.’
Already missing Aset’s mercurial warmth, Huy, told off for a busybody, left. He rolled the idea around in his head that if Amotju were to die, his fleet would go to his oldest son, now not much younger than the new pharaoh; but until his majority it would be run by Taheb. And if Taheb remarried…He was suddenly very curious to look at the company’s papers and especially the indentures drawn up between Taheb and Amotju, but now that would have to wait. He made his way back across the city to talk to the other woman in his friend’s life.
The contrast in the two houses could not have been greater. Where all at Amotju’s had been cool white stone, here at Mutnefert’s house one felt embraced by a warm, untidy richness. Even the courtyard was spread with rugs which Huy recognised as coming from far to the north-east, with their rich red and indigo dyes, and their curious, subtle, alien designs. Once, far to the south, he had seen elephants, and it seemed to him that Egyptian art was like those great grey beasts; monumental and open. But here, the art reminded him of swift, small, darting animals: ones that would dwell in caves and under shelves of rock. Many colours danced before his eyes, dark and suggestive.
She welcomed him in an inner room whose furniture was draped heavily in the fabrics of Rettenu and Mitanni, while the walls were hung with a lighter material which shimmered, and which was woven in a pattern wholly unfamiliar to Huy. A servant brought in figs and dates on a tray-table, and he was offered black and red beer, and the flame-liquor. Mutnefert sat opposite him on a couch, reclining against cushions, her feet drawn up under her. A tiny monkey with a bare red face and a ruff of bright yellow fur crouched on her knee, and she stroked it idly.
‘I am pleased to meet you at last; though sad at the circumstances. Amotju has spoken of you often.’
‘Then I must try not to disappoint.’ Huy was partly charmed, and partly cautious. He did his best to conceal his surprise that Amotju had mentioned him to his mistress, and wondered what he had said.
‘He told me that you come from the City of the Horizon,’ continued Mutnefert, as if thought-reading. ‘That must be a sad place now.’
Huy tried to read distress or anxiety in the direct gaze of this woman; but she was too sophisticated to let her guard drop until she had sized him up, which was surely what she was doing through the veil of conversation. He found himself thinking of the proposition ascribed to the ancient philosopher Imhotep, that in any relationship one of the couple loves more than the other: that there is consequently a lover and a beloved, that each of us is naturally one or the other, and must find our counterpart. He imagined that Mutnefert was a taker, and realised with surprise that Taheb was a giver. But which did Amotju really need?
He accepted some red beer; he certainly didn’t want anything stronger, and ate a little bread and figs.
‘May I ask you some questions about Amotju? I am trying to find out what has happened to him.’
‘You can ask me anything you like; but don’t you think everyone is getting a little excited a little too early?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He might have gone off — on his own account. I don’t know.’
Huy wondered at this gipsyish way of thinking, and wasn’t sure that he didn’t admire it. ‘I think it is unlikely that he would have told no one. His body-servants are very concerned.’
‘I’m not surprised; but they mustn’t blame themselves. Amotju came here alone last night.’
That at least answered the first question. ‘Does he always come alone when he visits you?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t ask him. But I shouldn’t think so. Last night’s visit was…unplanned.’
Huy hesitated, wondering how to ask his next: ‘Wasn’t that — a risk?’
She looked at him levelly, no doubt wondering how much he knew. ‘Amotju was very careful normally. He needed to talk.’
‘About the attack on Glory-of-Ra.’
‘Yes.’
‘Was he distressed?’
‘He felt that the gods were against him. He wouldn’t say why.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I told him not to be silly.’ She smiled, but the smile was a worried one. ‘When he left, I thought he was going home. Home,’ she repeated, a little sadly. ‘Do you know, we have never spent a complete night together.’
‘When did he leave?’ Huy, picking up some of
her sadness, was embarrassed.
She sighed, sitting up and placing the monkey on the couch next to her. It responded to this treatment with an irritable little chirrup, and looked up at her reproachfully before scampering up the cushions stacked behind her and then dropping to its stomach at the top of the heap.
‘He came late; we had a little to eat, he drank too much wine. Then we went to bed, and he lay in my arms and talked. About very little, really. Then he slept. I think he left two hours before dawn, but it might have been earlier still. I cannot count the hours at night.’
As Huy was leaving she stopped him. ‘Amotju told me about you. That you cannot work as a scribe anymore.’
‘That is true, alas.’
She smiled again, more mischievously this time: ‘Are you training yourself to be a crime-solver, then?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because of the way you put questions. Like a senior Medjay. Only possibly more intelligently. I’ll have to watch my step with you.’
Huy smiled back. ‘No, that is not my ambition. I want to be a scribe again, and live quietly.’
The days that followed brought no news, though the city buzzed with rumour. Amotju had been seen in the Northern Capital; in the Delta; far upriver at Napata. A holy man reported meeting his Khou-spirit, who described where the body was to be found; but a search revealed nothing. Ani, as he recovered from his wound, directed those of Amotju’s sailors who were in port to make what enquiries they could, but no one remembered seeing Amotju board a barge bound upriver or down, and no ferryman had taken him across the River to the Valley. ‘Unless he’d disguised himself,’ said Ani. But there seemed to be no reason for Amotju to want to disappear.
On the eighth day a runner brought Aset a letter. Opening it and reading it in the garden, she looked grave.
‘It is from Taheb,’ she said, looking across at Huy. ‘She wants to meet me with the scribes to discuss the future of the fleet.’
‘She cannot think he is dead yet?’
‘She may not think it; but perhaps she desires it.’
Huy could not believe that either. But in any case the meeting never took place. Later that same day a party of tomb workers found Amotju wandering along the shore of the west bank. He was exhausted and starving. His fine clothes were in rags, and he hardly seemed to know where he was. For a long time he would not speak, though he allowed himself to be washed, tended and dressed. Taheb came into her own, becoming doctor, nurse and mother to him, allowing herself only the minimum of sleep in order to look after him properly.