by Gill, Anton
‘When did this happen?’
‘The message came by carrier pigeon yesterday, soon after the sun had passed his zenith. I have sent a courier north to find out more, but we sent another pigeon back with orders to put the princess’s body on a falcon ship and bring it here. My people will meet it some way downriver of the city, and bring it here after dark. I hope now you will learn to trust me, Huy. I think I have repaid my debt to you.’
Huy looked inwards. If Setepenra’s death had indeed been an accident, it could not have happened at a better time. The girl was Akhenaten’s sixth daughter, two years younger than Ankhsenpaamun, and in face and body very similar to her sister.
‘What about your other granddaughter in the Northern Capital?’
Ay looked at him narrowly. ‘What reservations do you have now?’ He broke off to smile thinly. ‘I was wrong to offer you the archives. I should have suggested Kenamun’s job; but I think you’d be too good at it for comfort.’ He paused to answer an enquiry from one of the order-issuing secretaries, and then drew Huy apart from the throng of people to stand by a large window opening to a view of the great temple of Amun.
‘The princess Neferneferura will soon be leaving the Black Land. For a long time I have been in negotiations, through the vizir of the Northern Capital, with King Burraburiash of the Land of the Twin Rivers. An alliance with them now will be a bulwark against the Hittites. Now the princess is going to marry the king’s son.’
‘So, all Akhenaten’s surviving daughters will be accounted for.’
‘None of us likes loose ends,’ said Ay lightly, and without waiting for an answer, returned to the centre of the room. ‘By the way,’ he said over his shoulder and indicating one of the secretaries. ‘This is Kenna. You will be liaising with him from now on.’ The secretary, an intelligent man of thirty, with close-cropped hair, looked up unsmilingly at Huy and nodded an abrupt greeting.
Ay kept his word. He even managed to provide an excuse for Senseneb to leave the doctors’ compound and come to the palace without arousing the suspicions of Merinakhte, by summoning her to consult with him about the arrangements for her father’s burial, which would take place soon after the king’s. As chief physician, he would be buried in a place of honour on the fringes of the valley. The body of the little princess was brought secretly to a ground-floor room of Ay’s palace and there Senseneb applied what little make-up and hair dye was necessary to turn the dead girl into her sister’s double. Once dressed in a set of the queen’s robes, the transformation was complete. Keeping it from Ankhsenpaamun was a problem which the queen solved herself, saying that she did not want to see the body which would be left in her place, or know the identity of its owner. She would offer prayers for the safe passage of its soul to Thoth and Osiris, and to Isis and Nephthys.
‘How is your wound?’ asked Senseneb, when they were together at his house.
‘Sore.’
She smiled, touching it. ‘The stitches should stay in three more days, but I think you have healed enough for me to take them out before I leave.’ Her voice trailed off as she spoke the last words.
‘Have courage.’
She looked at him, taking his hand. ‘I am trying. But my heart tells me I will never see you again.’
‘I will follow as soon as I am sure Ay is not planning to send anyone after you.’
‘He gave his word.’
Huy smiled.
‘Has a boat been arranged?’
‘A light sailing barge of Taheb’s fleet with papyrus from the Delta is taking you. The papyrus will be delivered at Soleb, but the captain has orders to take you on to Napata.’
‘Can he be trusted?’
‘The boatowner can. She is loyal to the queen. As for the captain, there is gold for him to collect in Napata - for his personal use.’
Senseneb smiled sadly. ‘The last thing I shall ever want again when this is over is adventure.’
Huy was silent, then looked at her seriously. ‘There is something else.’
‘Yes?’ The gravity of his voice scared her.
‘If, when you get to Napata, for any reason you do not feel safe, you must take the queen with you and travel on to Meroe. No one from the Southern Capital would follow you that far, and there are people in the far south who are still loyal to the line of Akhenaten. They will protect his daughter.’
Sensenseb’s head swam. She did not want to go to Meroe. All her big city instincts rose up against it. At least Napata was still recognisably a Black Land town, belonging to the southern part of the empire. Meroe was at its farthest limits. It was further from the Southern Capital than the Great Green was to the north. Privately she made up her mind that the danger would have to be very great to make her retreat so far, and she doubted if Ankhsenpaamun would be eager to go either; but she said nothing. Her heart told her that she was embarking on an adventure so mad that she would regret it for the rest of her life.
‘When do we leave?’ she asked, knowing that it was too late to back out now.
‘Dawn.’
‘So soon?’
‘Yes.’
‘But what about us?’
‘There is no time. Princess Setepenra’s body will be taken to the royal palace today. The queen will remain there until tonight, when she will board the boat at the southern quay. You must return to your house, tell Hapu, pack what you need, and as soon as it is dark, come back to me here. Today you must behave as if it were any ordinary day.’
‘When shall I come tonight?’
‘As soon as it is safe.’
She looked at him. ‘But if I am not leaving until dawn, how will we pass the time?’
‘Sealing the knot,’ said Huy, and kissed her.
As the sun passed from his matet to his seqtet boat, Senseneb’s apprehension gave place to excitement. She had packed a leather satchel with Hapu’s help, and found that she needed very little, though she wondered how much the queen would be taking, and decided then that a little more than what she needed would do.
Her Ka went on ahead of her, and she began to wonder what the house in Napata would be like. She had not seen it since childhood, and she thought about the couple who had always been its caretakers. She had sent a letter to warn them of her arrival with a friend. They would not recognise the queen. How would they react when they saw her, Senseneb, grown up? What questions about her life would they ask? Would she dare tell them that her husband would be joining them later — or would that be a hopeful lie to tempt the anger of the gods? She came to realise that her only regret was that Huy was not leaving with her. Leaving the Southern Capital, she came to realise, was not a matter of regret at all.
She had just given orders to Hapu about the disposal of her father’s little menagerie, which she was certainly not leaving to the mercy of Merinakhte, when the doctor himself arrived. Her heart beat so fast that her chest hurt, her stomach felt hollow and her head flew; but since he appeared to notice nothing she assumed that she had herself under control.
Merinakhte had dressed up. He had rubbed ochre into his cheeks, and lined his eyes with kohl. He wore a pleated over-kilt in a lattice pattern, knotted at the side, with a fringed sash and a decorated apron which fell below the knee. His tunic had open, pleated sleeves.
‘Where are you going?’ she asked.
He smiled ruefully. ‘I am glad you’ve noticed that I made an effort. I’m not going anywhere. I have come to apologise. What I said to you was cruel. I beg your forgiveness and ask you to accept this gift.’
She looked at his grey eyes carefully, but they were without expression. She noticed with alarm that he was looking round the room into which Hapu had led him. Would he see signs of her departure?
‘I would have come sooner but your gate has always been locked. Have you been away?’
‘No — just busy.’
‘Here.’ He held out a glass jar, worked in a blue-and-white pattern of interwoven ribbons. Its base and top were chased gold, the base sculpted into
waves and the top in the form of a sea-beast, riding more waves and carrying a trumpet-shell. it is from Kheftyu. An ointment perfume made of mermaids’ milk.’
She must not antagonise him. The jar was heavy. The glass it was made of must be very thick. She lifted the lid, and released a delightful odour.
‘Don’t use it now,’ he said, hurriedly, it would be a pity to waste it.’
A faint warning sounded in her heart, but she dismissed it as part of the revulsion he had always engendered in her. And yet now he seemed a new man — perfectly sincere. Was it possible that his divided Ka had begun to find a way towards unity?
‘Thank you,’ was all she said.
To her relief, he turned to go. ‘I must be at the House of Healing. I wanted to make my peace with you.’
‘You have.’
‘Good.’ He hesitated. ‘My offer stands. The love bond is there for me.’
‘I am sorry.’
He bowed his head. ‘Well, if you change your mind...’ He left the sentence hanging. ‘There may come a time when you will be glad to.’
TWELVE
Ay stood alone in his work room, watching the sun go down and dusk gather around the temple of Amun. The high priest would arrange for the god to show his approval of the succession to the people two days later. Soon after that, Ay would be alone in the Southern Capital. Little Ankhsi would be gone, and General Horemheb would be leading five falcon ships and five more regiments to the Delta, where he would take overall command of the northern army. Among the soldiers accompanying him, Ay had placed Kenna and four other men he knew he could trust. Horemheb had agreed to the proposal that he go north with surprising ease, and Ay was not such a fool as to think that he would not take advantage of the army if he could.
But it was better to have him there than intriguing here. The longer the general stayed in the Southern Capital, the more Ay risked having his authority undermined. Once he was out of the way, it would be easier to pursue his diplomatic links with the Land of the Twin Rivers, with Mitanni, and with the peoples to the south of the Black Land. Ay planned to raise an army which would be able to stand against anything Horemheb could throw at him, if their conflict ever pitched the empire into civil war. But he hoped it would not come to that. Perhaps Horemheb would fall under a Hittite spear. Whatever else he was, he was a brave man, and always joined battle at the head of his troops. And if the Hittites could not do it, then an arrow fired by Kenna might do the job. Ay was the last person to deny Horemheb an honourable death and a state funeral, provided he could succeed in sending him to the Fields of Aarru; and a simple assassination would be so much less costly than a civil war.
There was also the question of his succession to be settled. Ay had finally abandoned the idea of ever marrying Ankhsenpaamun — which was why he was letting her go so easily. A daughter of the Great Criminal was not, after all, going to get the unreserved blessing of the powerful priesthood. His thoughts were turning to a princess from one of the lands to the north-east. The world was changing. The Black Land could no longer stand alone and supreme. Survival lay in the realisation of that.
It had grown dark outside, and the heat caressed his face, cocooning him, soothing him. He luxuriated in the quiet that follows victory. He thought about the little boat Taheb had supplied, tied up now at the southern quay. Soon Ankhsi would be embarking, and at dawn, before he had even awoken, perhaps, she would be gone. He had sent men ahead to Napata to watch her, but he doubted if she would trouble him again.
He would keep his promises about the funerals. He regretted that there was not time to give Tutankhamun a magnificent one, for such a thing would unquestionably be to his credit. But his right to perform the Opening of the Mouth was inalienable now. Horaha, too, would be buried according to his dignity. Ay feared the dead. He was too close to them not to.
As for little Setepenra, she, too, would go gloriously to Osiris. There was no doubt that Horemheb would be deceived into thinking that she was the queen: he wanted the queen dead, and he would not look for deceit in something which was to his advantage. Soon after dawn, a body servant would discover her. Kenna would be sent to investigate officially, and Merinakhte would pronounce that she had died of grief for her departed husband.
Ay breathed in the night air appreciatively. It was all perfect.
* * *
Senseneb was ready. She tried to breathe calmly, but she could not be still. She looked round the house which had been her home for so long for a last time, and brought her father into her heart. She ached, but the thought of what lay ahead did not permit her to dwell on her departure from all that she knew and, foolishly thinking it would never change, had learned to trust.
Hapu would take her to the harbour quarter. When he slung her two bags over his shoulder and opened the door, the night air entered. It was like the life beyond beckoning, and she could not stop her tears.
‘Wait.’
She needed an excuse to delay a moment longer. Once she was with Huy, once she was on her way, it would be all right. But it was this moment between home and travel that was hard to bridge. She looked round the room.
She had no intention of taking Merinakhte’s gift with her, and had told Hapu to return it to him as soon as she was safely gone; but now she turned to the blue jar on the shelf. Mermaids’ milk. Its scent had been beautiful. Perhaps she should put a little on. She wanted to be as attractive as possible for Huy. It would be their last night together for a time whose length she could not guess at. Glancing at Hapu, she crossed the room and picked up the jar. She uncapped it and the delicious odour once again met her nostrils. She placed it on the table and took off her rings.
‘There isn’t much time,’ said Hapu. Tears were in his eyes too.
‘I’ll hurry.’ She would just smooth a little of the cream on her cheeks and neck, she thought, as she put her rings down.
Suddenly one of the two cats that formed part of Horaha’s little zoo, a large tabby with a white bib, darted in from outside. He leapt on to the table, and, head and tail held high, walked towards Senseneb, purring. He was distracted by the perfume jar, sniffing at it daintily with his sensitive nose. Then, with a decided movement, he knocked it over. The thick white liquid inside spilled onto the table. The cat leapt to the floor and vanished.
Senseneb had righted the jar before she noticed that the spilt ointment was burning into the wood. She watched it in horror. Her heart would not accept what she saw. She was brought back by Hapu’s voice, speaking evenly.
‘I’ll kill him,’ he said. ‘Now, you must come.’
Huy thought he must have slept deeply, but not for more than an hour. He was not sure that she had at all. At first, after her arrival, she had been bright, even scintillating, and he thought it was excitement. She had only been grave in saying farewell to Hapu, who would not stay but had taken his leave immediately. Then she had removed the stitches from Huy’s face. There had been no pain.
Huy, who lived alone without servants, had prepared a meal of duck and ful himself, but they had eaten and drunk frugally. He looked at Senseneb and wondered what she was keeping back from him.
She kept very still, knees drawn up to her chin, looking inwards. Huy had not disturbed her. He wanted to embrace her, comfort her, and add the strength of his heart to hers, but he knew that she did not want to be touched yet. She would tell him when she was ready. Although it was only the third hour of night, the dawn seemed very close, and the threat of it drove quietness of spirit from them both.
‘It is worse for the queen,’ said Huy, finally. ‘She is all alone.’
Senseneb looked at him. Should she tell him what had happened? She had ordered Hapu not to. There was no point in burdening him with it; he had too much to think about and soon she would be safe. She considered Hapu’s safety more. Once Merinakhte knew he had been thwarted in his vengeance, where his madness would take him? Or did he really believe that once she was deformed she would accept him?
‘I know,�
�� she said finally, softening, and as they embraced she felt such sweet relief that she wondered at having resisted so long. They did not make love, but this was as great a pleasure as lovemaking, to be wrapped in the happiness of each other’s warmth. He buried his nose and lips in her dark hair, felt the fine contour of her head with them, and kissed her gently. They stayed like that for a long time, while outside all sound ceased. Then he must have slept. Later, the dark panel framed by the window began to grow light, so slowly at first that Huy thought it was a trick of his eyes; but a distant bird on the riverbank cried.
‘Come,’ said Huy.
Dawn is a sad time for parting, he thought, as he picked up Senseneb’s bags and followed her into the silent street. He wondered if there was ever a good time; but the worst was dawn.
They set out on foot and in silence for the southern quay. The only sound was their sandals on the earth. Each felt they should have a multitude of things to say; but neither had a word. It was a relief when they saw the yellow lantern on the boat ahead. A shadow detached itself from the harbour wall and came to meet them, resolving itself into a man.
‘We must leave at once,’ said the captain. ‘The queen and her body servants are aboard.’ He turned to Huy. ‘Lady Taheb is accompanying us.’
‘Does she know I am here?’
‘No.’
‘I will see her when the time does not press.’
The captain nodded.
Huy took Senseneb’s hand.
She looked at him. ‘You think you have all the time in the world, and suddenly it is gone. Goodbye.’
‘Goodbye. Do not linger. I will come to you soon.’
She was crying silently. ‘There is so much danger. Po not die.’
‘No.’
‘I long for you.’
‘I long for you.’
Huy watched her follow the captain up the gangplank to the dark boat which rocked in the red flood water of the River. She did not look back. He watched them cast off, and watched as the wind caught the hoisted sail and drew the sleek ship out into the stream. The River was broad like a sea. He stood there until the boat was just a speck on it.