by Gill, Anton
‘Yes.’
The king was lying a short way off, face down. His arms we're spread out as if he was embracing Geb.’
‘How had he died?’
‘The back of the skull was smashed in.’
Huy was silent for a moment, trying to visualise the scene. But the only pictures his heart brought to him were of the wind swirling the sand into lonely, wild spirals in an empty grey void.
‘Not even the trackers could find any trace of the cattle they were supposed to be after,’ said Nehesy.
‘What about the one who’d found them in the first place? Had he come back?’
‘No one’s seen him since.’
‘How long had he been with you?’
‘I don’t know. Half a year, perhaps. But you know these country people. He probably saw the accident, got frightened, and ran off into the desert. You can live out there indefinitely if you know how. My guess is that he joined a ship bound for Punt. It’s happened before, when people get scared enough.’
‘And Sherybin?’
Nehesy thought. ‘At least a year. He was young, but he was a good charioteer. That is why I let him drive the king.’
‘They got on well?’
‘They were like brothers.’
The dogs had lost interest in their master now, and had gone to lie down around the edges of their pen. Two rested their heads on their paws. The others still kept a watchful eye, between yawns.
‘Where is the chariot now?’ asked Huy.
Nehesy looked at him in surprise. ‘Horemheb kept it.’
Huy looked at him. ‘But not the horses?’
‘No; they are back in the stables here.’
‘How did he react to your story?’
‘He was satisfied.’ Nehesy said this challengingly, as if Huy should take warning from it.
‘May I see the horses?’
Nehesy spread his hands. ‘Of course.’
They walked out of the animal house and into the bright sunlight. The steeds were quiet now, standing in the scant shade afforded by the palm trees planted for the purpose in their corral. Nehesy undid the gate and led Huy towards them. At the smell of an approaching stranger, they stamped uneasily, and one flattened its ears; but Nehesy’s presence reassured them.
‘Which did he drive?’ asked Huy.
‘These two,’ replied the huntsman, stroking the necks of a pair of sturdy animals which stood side by side. Huy, a townsman by nature and inclination, had not had much to do with horses, but the expensive and exotic beasts fascinated him. He approached them shyly, delighted by their gentleness, and the friendliness with which they responded to the touch of his hand. He looked carefully over their flanks and their trembling thighs, where on one a muscle twitched. Their tails flicked restlessly at angrily buzzing flies. There was not a mark on either horse.
Huy straightened. ‘I don’t know anything about these animals,’ he said. ‘But if the harness had snapped — if the chariot had overturned while they were still in the traces, mightn’t there have been some breaking of the skin, or at least a burn mark?’
Nehesy looked at him.
Much later Huy sat in the sun, tired, letting its heat warm him like a lizard. Immobile as one, he let his heart sort out the events of the day.
It had not all been as successful as his meeting with Nehesy. The huntsman, believing him to be performing some kind of official duty, had indicated where he could find the chariot, but not mentioned that it was impounded. From the guards . Huy learnt that this was so because there would be a judicial inquiry into the death, and on asking what the origin of the inquiry was, was not surprised to hear that it stemmed from Horemheb’s office. In itself that was not unusual, Huy told himself; but he was more determined than ever to look at the chariot.
As he had suspected, he could find no way to see either body. Both by now were in the initial stages of embalming, and he knew that they would be covered in the white natron salt which dried them, taking out the oil and water which in life fuel a man, but which in death rot him. The Medjay guard which was placed around the stable within the royal complex at the palace where the chariot was kept, and also the embalmers1 shed, seemed heavier than Huy thought necessary, but under Horemheb the Black Land had become a place where the leaders’ strength made itself felt. In the scant years of the reign of Tutankhamun, the old power of the king, which was absolute, but remote and benign, like the sun, had been replaced by something unsure of itself, less godlike; a power that needed to stress its presence by shows of force, by creating an unvoiced threat to any who would question it. If Akhenaten had broken the shackles by which the gods held the people in thrall, Huy thought, he had also sacrificed their innocence. By encouraging man to think for himself, he had obliged leaders to forge more terrible chains from now on, to control their subjects. A pessimist might think that only Ay’s presence had reined in Horemheb’s great ambitions; but perhaps Ay’s own ambition had grown beyond its natural bounds as he, born a commoner, saw the Golden Chair as a closer possibility.
Huy had talked to the guards and parted from them on friendly terms, leaving the way open to another approach after his next interview with Ay. Dissatisfied as he was with the means of communication Ay had laid down between them, he awaited the arrival of the old man’s messenger with impatience. But it seemed that Ay was as eager for contact as he was, for his man arrived shortly before dusk, looking furtive, and thus drawing attention to himself, as those do who are thrust without experience into undercover activity. He was a small, sleek man of thirty, with a fat belly, soft shoulders, and a finely oiled and plaited goatee. His black eyes were mistrustful and nervous, and he constantly moistened his lower lip with his tongue.
‘Were you watching for me?’ he asked as Huy opened the door to him.
‘Yes.’
The man’s eyes became even more cautious. ‘Why?’
Huy shrugged. ‘I was expecting you.’
‘You didn’t notice anyone following me?’
‘If there was, I didn’t see him. But he wouldn’t come into the square. He would stay in the cover of one of the streets and see which house you came to from there.’ Huy was amused. The man seemed to shrink into himself.
‘Do they still follow you?’
‘Who?’
The man made a gesture of impatience. ‘The Medjays.’
‘Well, I would have thought you’d know more about that than me.’
‘I work for Ay, not Horemheb,’ replied the man, with more strength of feeling than he had meant to reveal, for seeing Huy’s expression, he moderated his tone, and added, ‘Normally my work is confined to domestic duties, you see. I am unused to this. My name is Ineny.’
‘May the Sun warm you and the River refresh you.’
The formal greeting pleased Ineny, who relaxed.
‘Do not worry,’ Huy continued, it is a long time since the Medjays lost interest in me. I have done little to attract their attention and I suspect that I am thought to be a danger to the state no longer. I imagine that Ay knows this. Of course I shall have to be discreet now.’
‘Yes.’
Do you bring a message for me?’ Huy asked, fetching bread and beer. Ineny drank deeply before replying, looking grateful.
No. Ay sent me for a report.’
How much does he expect me to have found out so soon?’ You have a certain reputation, it seems,’ said Ineny, not without edge.
There is little to tell yet, but I seek another meeting with your master.’
Ineny was doubtful. ‘I am not sure about that. He wants direct contact with you kept to a minimum. I came to you from my house, for example. He gave me a story to tell if I were stopped. That I was consulting you on a matter of my own.’
‘Well, that is quite cunning. But I still need to see him.’
‘I will have to ask. Can’t I —?’
‘No. I need to talk to him directly. Tell him that from what I have learnt it will not be possible to perform his task
unless I have his close co-operation.’
Ineny looked unhappy. ‘You want me to tell him that?’
‘Yes. Do not worry, Ineny. It is my insubordination, not yours.’
‘The messenger is blamed for the news he brings.’
‘All jobs carry their risk.’
Ineny drank more red beer. ‘And you have nothing you can tell me for him now?’
‘No.’
Ineny had to be satisfied with that and left soon after. Once Ay’s messenger was out of the way, Huy departed himself, and set off through the darkening streets on the long walk to the huntsmen’s compound and the stables at the palace.
Nehesy’s heart had begun to work on the possibility that the king might not have died by accident, and he was eager to help.
‘But you must be discreet,’ Huy warned him. ‘Not a word of this to anyone. I am working on the direct orders of the queen, and if my inquiry ceased to be secret — well, I needn't tell you what the consequences would be, either for us or her. Huy hoped that sounded portentous enough to impress the countryman.
‘I want to find out what happened. I won’t do anything that’ll get in the way of that.’ Nehesy’s dignity made Huy ashamed of treating him like a hick.
They left before dawn, aiming to return soon after first light, before Nehesy would be missed, though as it was the Tenth Day — the Day of Rest — it was unlikely that the huntsman's absence would be noticed at all. The animals would not lack him, for the grooms would give them their morning feed. The dogs, as Nehesy explained with solicitude, were only fed once daily, in the afternoon.
They travelled alone, taking Nehesy’s chariot, an old one, made of acacia wood with a sycamore axle bound in bronze and bronze fittings. Nehesy harnessed a pair of horses to the shaft, and released two of the dogs, Pepi and Ypu, from the pen. They darted out with whines of pleasure at this favouritism, while their fellows rose from sleep and loped a few paces before settling down again. Nehesy rubbed their noses and caressed them under the chin.
‘Won’t they be missed?’ asked Huy.
Nehesy looked at him. ‘By the great god,’ he said, i wouldn’t have your job. What must it be like, looking over your shoulder all the time? I’ve told my wife that I’m taking out a private hunter - we’re not supposed to, but it’s my rest day, and from time to time I let my staff do the same thing — a little extra funds, and quite a few of the palace officials are good customers. And there’s something else too.’
‘Yes?’
Nehesy looked at him, his big wolf’s face opening in a generous grin, it’s not something I expect you to believe, but there are no spies here.’
Regretting it in his heart, Huy indeed did not believe him. The huntsman trundled the chariot out of the compound, the dogs scampering on ahead, looking and running back before darting ahead again, checking that they were on the course intended by their master, for though the palace owned them, they were Nehesy’s animals.
As soon as they were free of the city, they gathered speed, Nehesy showed Huy how to jam his foot under the leather strap fixed to the floor of the chariot, to give him greater stability as they flew across the firm sand, heading south. The dogs, sure of their route now, had run away out of sight.
Unused to this form of transport, Huy braced his feet and grasped the handhold at the front, trying to relax his knees at the occasional impact as the wheels found ripples shaped by the wind in the sand. He felt the breeze in his face and watched the backs of the horses’ heads as they rose and fell, manes streaming. Below them, the ground, grey in the moonlight, was a blur. They continued to rush forward at a speed which seemed to Huy to increase until they were going so fast that he could hardly draw breath. Then Nehesy hauled on the reins, clicking at the horses. They slowed immediately, turning in a broad half-circle before coming to a halt at a place where the remains of a fire were still visible.
‘This is where we camped,’ said Nehesy. ‘You can see the stones we gathered to hold down the corners of the tents.’ He pointed at a number of small cairns set at regular intervals from one another. In four larger piles at the centres of these groups of cairns the tent poles must have been placed.
‘The openings faced north?’ asked Huy.
‘They always do, to catch the wind.’
‘So no one could have watched the king ride off, and then followed him?’
‘Everyone except the king and Sherybin, and that one tracker, was here when we set off after them.’
Huy climbed down. The hard, bright moonlight threw the piles of stone into sharp relief. The chariot stood in the centre of the abandoned camp like a thing from a dream. The horses kept their heads up, alert, and the dogs appeared on the edge of the darkness, keen, eyes flashing silver, their spirits halfway back to their wild ancestors. A lizard scampered under one of the little cairns, and near Huy’s foot a small area of sand heaved and subsided as something below burrowed deeper, sensing danger.
‘Did you use this place many times?’ he asked Nehesy, his voice sounding loud and coarse in the velvet darkness, in the season, once or twice a month.’
‘And just as often recently?’
‘Less so.’
That explained the desolate atmosphere. Unless there was a ghost here. Huy looked at Nehesy but he seemed unmoved by any other presence. Nor were the animals distressed. Perhaps being in the open at night, at this time just before dawn when the legions of Set were at their most powerful, when most men died and when most men were born, when the king under the earth was preparing for his rebirth, all his power drawn into himself - perhaps that was all it was.
But the feeling did not desert Huy as he climbed back into the chariot.
‘Take me to where you found him,’ he said.
The huntsman turned the chariot again and they headed further south, at a gentler speed this time. As they rode, the sun rose over a great emptiness. Away to the east were low hills, and immediately in front of them a clump of palms showed the location of a small oasis. Otherwise there was nothing, though the horses paced their course as if they were on a road.
They continued for an hour before Nehesy came to a halt.
'It was here,’ he said.
Huy looked around. As far as he could see there was nothing to indicate that the place where they had stopped was different from any other they had passed, or which might have been to come. It crossed Huy’s heart that if a trap had been laid to shut him up, then he had walked straight into it. Had he trusted Nehesy too easily? If the years spent in his new profession had taught him nothing else, it was to trust the most open People least.
'How do you know?’ he asked, looking about him, but not descending from the chariot. Against his back, stuck into the waistband of his kilt under his cloak, he could feel the horn a t of his knife. Whether he would be able to defend himself against Nehesy he did not know.
'I left a marker.’ Nehesy leapt from the chariot and walked over to where a javelin was stuck in the ground. ‘The wind’s blown all the tracks away — it had done that by the time we got here the first time - but I wanted to be sure I’d know the place again.’
‘Had you intended to come back yourself?’
Nehesy paused. ‘I don’t know. I thought it might be useful.’
'It was,’ said Huy, climbing down himself. ‘Did anyone see you leave the javelin?’
‘I didn’t do it secretly, but there was a lot of activity. We were all in a panic. Our hearts had been taken over by the gods.’
‘Where are the king’s weapons?’
‘At the palace.’
‘Do you remember where you found the body lying?’ Nehesy walked and pointed. ‘The chariot was here. The horses stood over there. A good way: fifty or seventy paces. Sherybin was hanging over the edge of the chariot, cut by a wheel.’ He pointed again. ‘And the king lay there.’
‘I see.’ Huy walked round to the chariot they had come on, and ran his thumb along the bronze-bound rim of one of its wheels. ‘This is too
thick to cut a man.’
Nehesy shook his head. ‘This machine is old. The new ones are much faster, and the wheels thinner, made of metal.’ He stamped on the sand, in the dry season, except for a thin covering, most of the desert is hard like a road here. There would be little danger of the wheels sinking in.’
‘And the king’s wound?’
‘I told you. His head was smashed in at the back.’
‘But how?’
Nehesy was exasperated. ‘I don’t understand you.’
‘What smashed it? It can’t have been a rock. There are none here.’
Nehesy looked around, his expression clearing. ‘No…’
‘Then what happened? Could he have struck it on some part of the chariot as he was thrown clear, or was he hit by a horse’s hoof?’
'It’s possible. But a horse is unlikely, because if they’d still been in the shaft, the chariot wouldn’t have capsized.’
‘And if he’d struck the chariot itself?’
‘It’s possible,’ repeated Nehesy, but he looked doubtful again.
‘Why is it unlikely? What is it?’
Nehesy shook his head. ‘He must have hit the shaft somehow - or perhaps the hub of one of the wheels.’
‘Why only that?’
‘Because the body of the chariot is made of electrum — it’s very light. If a man’s head — or a block of wood or stone -anything hard - were to hit it, it would dent and cave in.’
Huy was silent. Somehow, he had to see the chariot. But doubts were turning into certainties now.
The dogs were specks on the desert, two hundred paces away, near the low rise of a dune. They would not respond when Nehesy called them.
‘Let’s go,’ said the huntsman, if they won’t come, they’ve found something.’
They mounted the chariot and drove the short distance. As they came to a halt once more, the horses shook their heads uneasily.
There would have been more of a stink if it had not been for the drying quality of the sand. As it was, the usual sweet stench, which filled your mouth and nostrils like foul rags, driving its long fingers down your throat and into your stomach, was replaced by a strong, musky odour. The dogs had not uncovered much yet — the meat was too bad for them to eat and in any case they were well enough trained to see that this was no food for them. From beneath the sand an arm rose, the fingers crooked except the index, which pointed towards the sky- Nehesy fetched a wooden spade from the chariot, strapped there to dig out bogged wheels, and began to clear away the soft sand of the dune.