Ani had lost his arrogance; fingers to his face, the High Priest was lost in his own thoughts.
‘Lord Judge!’ Minnakht bleated.
‘My lord Minnakht,’ Amerotke echoed back sarcastically. ‘You are responsible by your own admission for these eyes paints, so concerned—’
‘I’m not concerned, I’m confused.’
‘No, Minnakht, you are worried. And so we come to the second death: that of Hutepa.’ Amerotke turned. ‘My lord Maben, you hold the keys to the muniment chest. Did Minnakht ever ask to borrow them?’
‘Yes, yes, he did.’ Maben, plump face all startled, nodded vigorously. ‘On a few occasions.’
‘You supplied Hutepa with the temple lists, didn’t you, Minnakht? You allowed her to keep and study them. You were intrigued by her line of enquiry. She was following the same path you’d taken when you studied the life of the author of the Ari Sapu.’
‘You had no right to do that!’ Ani broke in, his face all aquiver. ‘A temple girl allowed access to the sacred muniments. Why?’
‘Oh, I think I understand why,’ Amerotke declared. ‘Hutepa was a beautiful young temple girl. You, my lord Minnakht, are a widower.’
‘I’m a bachelor.’
‘No, we’ll come to that,’ Amerotke smiled, ‘in a little while. Hutepa sold her favours to you and in return borrowed certain manuscripts.’
‘What proof do you have of that? This is all nonsense.’
‘No, it’s the truth,’ Amerotke retorted. ‘You allowed her access, she borrowed what she wanted and you watched and waited.’
‘What are you implying?’ Minnakht’s question was tinged with anxiety.
‘Listen!’ Amerotke looked towards the back of the court. Only Asural and his guards remained there, but outside he could hear the clamour of people discussing the judge’s strange actions. To his left, the lines of scribes under the open window overlooking the temple gardens were also astonished. Some had even stopped writing and were staring open-mouthed at the drama being played out before them. ‘Everyone listen!’
The scribes’ heads went down, pens clutched more tightly.
‘My lord Minnakht, I will lay a formal indictment against you and then you can respond. Your reply will be carefully noted, but, I assure you of this, you will go on trial for your life. If you are found guilty you will suffer the most excruciating death.’ Amerotke deliberately let his threat hang in the air. ‘Fifty years ago,’ he began, ‘a priest physician at the Temple of Ptah, the author of the Ari Sapu, made a great study of poisons and perpetrated hideous killings throughout this city. He was caught and executed but he left a family. His widow probably became a lonely recluse, but they also had a son, a young boy. Minnakht, I suspect that boy was you. Your mother was a broken woman. She wanted to hide and, above all, protect you, so she gave you to some good family, a couple without a child. I am sure the temple records, if you haven’t destroyed them, will prove that.’
Amerotke saw Ani nodding as if he too knew something.
‘Your mother died and was buried out in the Valley of the Forgotten. One thing her husband had left, which the authorities failed to seize, was the Books of Doom, the Ari Sapu.’ Amerotke paused. Minnakht made no attempt to reject what he said. Instead the Chief Scribe was listening intently, lips moving soundlessly. Amerotke wondered if some sickness of heart was masked by that amiable face. ‘The years passed. The family who fostered you probably knew of your links with the Temple of Ptah, so you entered its service. You found out about your past, but of course the sweetness of youth can act as balm for many a pain. You told me you were a bachelor, Minnakht. According to the temple records I’ve studied, you once made a votive funeral offering for a wife and child. I suspect your young wife died soon after your marriage, probably before or during childbirth. Is that what tipped your heart into darkness? The death of your wife and baby child? I suspect you are no believer in any god. You are in deep pain over what happened to your father, your mother, your own wife and child. Middle age adds bitterness to all our grievances. You once told me you’d been assistant high priest. I wonder about your disappointment when Lord Ani here became high priest then appointed his own nephews as assistants. You felt disgraced and humiliated at being moved to a lesser post. Are you ambitious, Minnakht? Is that something else burning within you? Were you insulted at being removed from your post but hid it behind that smiling face? Did you come to hate the Temple of Ptah and all it stood for; the House of the Great Healer? For you it was the House of Deep Wounds. You went to the temple records; in fact you knew them well, for as assistant high priest you held the key to that muniments chest. You mentioned a legend about the author of the Ari Sapu being buried alive in the Temple of Ptah. You probably searched for any evidence of that. You found none so you scrutinised the records to find out about your mother and discovered her tomb in the Valley of the Forgotten. You visited that place, found the Books of Doom and removed them, but you also found certain artefacts, children’s toys which she had asked to be buried with her as a memorial of you. You overlooked one.’ Amerotke’s voice became soft. ‘A wooden giraffe with a piece of string so the head could be moved.’
Minnakht put his face in his hands, rocking himself backwards and forwards.
‘You seized the Books of Doom, brought them back to the Temple of Ptah and planned your reign of terror. However, to have a book of recipes is one thing, but like any good cook, you needed the ingredients. You visited the herb markets and traded with the scorpion men. You were prudent. However, when Standard-Bearer Nadif took your description to the herb quarter of Thebes, people recognised it: “the smiling man”. You were careful, but there again, what did you have to fear? There’s no crime in buying certain plants, herbs, powders, but of course you used your father’s knowledge to mix them. You became skilled in the use of poisons and began to test them. Everyone in Thebes wondered how you could dispense poisons here and there.’ Amerotke shook his head. ‘What need for that? In the temple precincts are stelae holy to the God Man Ptah over which holy water trickles. Visitors, many of them prosperous pilgrims, drink from that, collect it in their bottles and take it home. You poisoned it, though not all the time.’ Amerotke paused at Ani’s exclamation of disgust. He noticed how Hinqui and Maben had moved their cushions slightly away from Minnakht. All three were now staring in horror at their colleague. ‘You enjoyed that, didn’t you?’ Amerokte continued. ‘It was so easy: all you had to do was poison the water supply feeding the stelae. One day this small fountain, one day another; sometimes you’d leave it for a week and then return. You’d stand there and watch your victims drink or bottle their death. Did you ever follow your victims home to measure the time? You are fascinated by time, aren’t you, Minnakht? When I visited your chamber I noticed the water clocks, the hour candles. You are an expert not only in poison but in the actual time those potions take to wreak havoc on their victims. No one suspected Minnakht, the genial-faced Chief of Scribes, friend to everyone, ally to each, until Userbati became suspicious. He was the scribe in charge of the water supply to the temple. He began to wonder whether that was the source of the poisonings. The secretive, ambitious Userbati kept that information to himself. After all, he would win great glory and recognition as the priest physician who trapped and caught the Rekhet.’ Again Ani nodded. ‘Of course, he would voice his concerns to Lord Ani but without telling him very much.’
The High Priest nodded again at this. Amerotke picked up the flail and pointed it at Minnakht.
‘You decided to act. Userbati summoned guests, a few select friends to dinner. One of these was Qennu. You chose him as your catspaw and arranged for him not to attend that fatal dinner. You were responsible for the urgent message for him to visit the House of Twilight, where, of course, there was no one waiting. No one had sent for him. Meanwhile you entered the temple kitchens and poisoned the dishes prepared for Userbati and his friends. You also busied yourself in Qennu’s chamber, hiding potions, powders and precious met
als there. Later you visited Userbati’s quarters and left that curse, a document pointing the finger of suspicion at Qennu. This unfortunate man was your next victim. He was accused and had no other choice but to throw himself on Pharaoh’s mercy, confess to crimes he hadn’t committed and be exiled to that prison oasis. Now that the Rekhet was ostensibly arrested and confined, the deaths had to stop, otherwise suspicions would have been raised that the wrong man had been arrested. However, Minnakht, this is where your evil heart becomes more obvious. You’d grown to love killing. You’d become so skilled in the use of powders and potions that you found it difficult to resist, and yet what could you do? If more deaths occurred, Qennu would be brought back and a proper investigation carried out. So, what happened?’
Amerotke paused, putting down the flail before continuing.
‘First, you became aware that Hutepa was also interested in the very manuscripts you had studied. She had betrayed Qennu at his request so as to protect herself. She was convinced of her lover’s innocence. She had a keen mind, and followed the same path as you had, Minnakht. Did you discover this and cultivate her friendship to establish how much she knew? You certainly obtained those manuscripts for her, in return for what, sexual favours?’ Amerotke ignored Qennu’s agitated stirring on the cushions. ‘Of course you had already been out to the Valley of the Forgotten. What could a temple girl do by herself out in the rocky, searing hot Valley of the Forgotten? More importantly, the Ari Sapu were firmly in your possession. Second, Minnakht, you became hungry again; your appetite for death had only been whetted. Third, you wanted revenge, certainly against what you regarded as the House of Deep Wounds, the Temple of Ptah, the scene of so much sorrow for you and your family. What better time to indulge your deep vitriol than the peace negotiations with the Libyans and the preparations for the sealing of the great treaty at the Temple of Ptah? Finally, you had unfinished business with Ipuye, the prosperous merchant, the one who had posted a reward for your capture. How dare he do that? He too would feel your revenge. You’d already sent him poisoned wine, but then you decided on more subtle mischief. Once again you asked for the keys to the muniments room. Amongst those documents are grants by Ipuye of monies and other gifts to the Temple of Ptah. They would bear his seal. You simply removed one and sent it to the Libyans using Ipuye’s name, promising they would see Egypt publicly humiliated. In return you asked them to help liberate the Rekhet from the prison oasis.’
‘Why should I do that?’ Minnakht burst out. He had been kneeling for most of Amerotke’s speech with his face in his hands, lost in his own private thoughts. ‘Why should I want him freed?’
‘Because of what you were planning; because you needed him back so that you could continue dealing out death. Of course, nothing works out as you plan, does it, Minnakht? Qennu escaped and managed not only to reach Thebes, but also to acquire very valuable information about the Libyans. You couldn’t care if he lived or died; the Rekhet had escaped so the poisonings could recommence. You arranged the deaths of those three scribes, and it was so easily done. I have spoken to Gerh, the Lady of the Dark, and she informed me that where the skin is thinner, around the eyes or the lips, poison can be more quickly absorbed. Those temple scribes were going to perform a public ceremony out in the open. They would need protection against the glare of the sun, the wind and the dust. Moreover, as part of the ritual they would have to dress appropriately, and that would mean deep kohl rings around their eyes. They would apply it generously, rub it deep into the skin. You knew exactly how long it would take for that poison to work. After all, you are Master of the Ritual, the one who planned the ceremony, yes?’
Ani and Hinqui were nodding vigorously at this. Maben still sat shocked.
‘You replaced the harmless pots with others bearing a deadly poison, one that you had tested and measured. With all your skill in potions and calculating the time, you knew exactly how long it would take for the poison to be absorbed by the skin, enter the body and strike at the heart. Many poisons are like wine, aren’t they, Minnakht? You drink two or three cups then you feel the effects: first the beneficial, followed by those not so beneficial, the sore head, the dry throat. Your poison did the same. Only Ma’at knows what concoction it was. At first those scribes would feel nothing, but then at the appointed time, the one who had anointed himself first would begin to feel the symptoms, followed by the others. I don’t think you could specifically state when the poison would manifest itself. Nevertheless, you calculated that all three would die during a public part of the ceremony, and all three did.’ Amerotke paused as Ani raised a hand.
‘Did he plan it for the wine-drinking ceremony?’
‘He hoped for that,’ Amerotke replied. ‘The Gerh pointed out that the three scribes had been fasting: a generous mouthful of wine would stir the stomach, make the lifeblood course more swiftly. Who knows?’ he shrugged. ‘Only the Ari Sapu will tell us – was it a poison that became virulent when mixed with wine? I cannot say, except that the wine-drinking appears to have been a catalyst for the poisoning of all three. And now,’ he turned slightly, ‘we come to Hinqui. Usually most priests, after they have anointed their eyes, wash their hands. I suspect that that morning one of them didn’t. You, Hinqui, grasped that scribe’s hands when he was jerking on the temple floor. I sent Shufoy to ask you that and you confirmed it. You picked up slight traces of a powerful poison, and later, either through raising your fingers to your lips or by touching food, you digested some of that malevolence. Even a faint trace would cause your sickness.’
Hinqui started to scream abuse at Minnakht. He would have sprung to his feet but Ani pressed him on the shoulders to stay still.
‘You tried to protect yourself,’ Amerotke shouted, ‘by claiming to have been poisoned yourself by the Rekhet…’
‘Not true!’ Minnakht screamed back.
‘It is true,’ Maben declared, shaking himself from his reverie. ‘This is all true! When we collected those three scribes you did go back, I remember that. You returned holding something in a napkin as if you didn’t want to touch it. At the time I didn’t think anything of it. You are correct, Lord Judge! On that evening when Lord Ani came to tell you about the death of Ipuye, those pots were still on the table, but why?’ Maben shook his head. ‘Why should the Chief Scribe of the Temple of Ptah be so concerned about kohl pots? Why do you keep contradicting yourself about leaving them or washing them?’
‘And now we come to Hutepa,’ Amerotke declared. ‘That poor temple girl was delighted to find her lover was freed. He visited her, dirty and dishevelled, and they slept together, made love. Hutepa gave him silver, gold and precious stones so he could wash, change and disguise himself properly. She also told him what she had done about those manuscripts. Of course, she would not tell him the price she had paid. Nevertheless Hutepa, with her sharp wits, probably had suspicions about Minnakht; maybe you were too amiable, too ready to help; perhaps she’d seen something.’ Amerotke’s voice turned harsh. ‘In your eyes Hutepa had to die. She knew too much. She was Qennu’s lover, and her death, perhaps, might also explain how the Rekhet had crept into the temple to poison those scribes. You watched Hutepa. You may even have seen her with Qennu. You slipped into her chamber and poisoned her wine cup. She was agitated and, like anyone who’d been involved in something dangerous, grasped that cup and drank the deadly poison. When she realised her hideous mistake, she wanted to voice her suspicion. Who could have slipped into her chamber? If not her lover, perhaps Minnakht? In her death throes she picked up that wooden clapper found clenched so tightly in her dead hand. The inside of the clapper shows a dancer; closer inspection reveals it to be Min, the Goddess of Dance. In her dying seconds Hutepa was referring to you, Minnakht, by the first part of your name.’
‘And the librarian?’ Ani’s voice grated harshly through the ominous silence of the hall. Amerotke shook his head sadly.
‘I first thought that the person who had killed him had set fire to the records in order to hide the tem
ple lists, but that’s not true. If the fire hadn’t started and the librarian not been murdered, he might be able to tell me how you, Minnakht, were deeply interested in any work on minerals, plants or herbs. In fact I sent Shufoy and Standard-Bearer Nadif to other temples and libraries in the city. My lord Minnakht, you are well known in all of them. Oh, nothing suspicious, just consulting certain books, but always the same books, the same works, the same treatises: the location of certain plants and minerals, the identity of certain snakes or insects. Yet when I questioned you, you told me you had little knowledge of poisons. No, the librarian had to die because he was garrulous; he may have reflected and become curious. You poisoned him, and when he was powerless, set fire to those archives. You have every right to go where you want. When the Divine One lodged at the temple, it was easy for you to slip into the kitchens and sprinkle a deadly potion on a certain dish. Pharaoh might have her tasters, but the chaos caused … What a scandal for the Temple of Ptah! You are, Minnakht, what I called the constant factor. You are free to wander the Temple of Ptah. You have access to manuscripts. You were friendly with Hutepa. And of course, you made one terrible mistake with those pots of eye paints and your deep concern about them. At first I am sure you laughed quietly behind your hand when everybody was suspicious about the wine. The poison was already in those poor scribes long before they were ever offered the sacred bowl.’ Amerotke paused. ‘This is the indictment against you, Minnakht, or at least part of it. Lord Valu, the Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh, Chief Prosecutor in the courts of Pharaoh, will present the full bill of charges against you. I said “part” because Shufoy and Standard-Bearer Nadif, together with the Medjay, are at this moment ransacking your quarters at the Temple of Ptah. I am sure they’ll find more evidence.’
The Poisoner of Ptah Page 24