by Anton Gill
‘I must return to the city. It is late.’
‘Of course.’ Userhet watched him carefully, but it was hard to read an expression properly in the flickering light. ‘If there is news of Heby, I will tell you.’
‘Thank you. And I hope I may rely on your help in the matter of Ipur.’
‘If I can, I will help you. But I fear they have struck and fled.’
‘Let us hope they will not return, if that is so.’
‘Let us hope so indeed.’
Huy inclined his head and made his way to where the litter was waiting. The two young soldiers had equipped themselves with torches and preceded Huy, swords drawn, staring wide-eyed into the darkness. Huy welcomed the darkness as a gentle cloak for him to wrap himself in with his thoughts. The murmuring sea soothed him, and he had need of soothing. He did not like what he had heard of his son. A warlike admirer of Horemheb? What would they have to say to each other?
But the likelihood of their meeting seemed remote.
Chapter Four
Ipur’s house was a tall white building in the middle of one side of the harbour square. It rose high, five storeys, each with tall, narrow windows facing the square. The windows were picked out with ochre colouring to look as if they had wooden frames, but the cills and jambs were of soft stone, and the rest of the facade was dressed mud brick, plastered over and whitewashed, though this was besmirched at ground level, and peeling everywhere. The size of the house indicated the wealth and power of its owner; its state of decay either meant that he could not afford its upkeep, or that he was a miser.
Huy struck his stick against the door and immediately heard dogs barking within; but their noise quickly became muffled and was followed by that of bolts being fumbled open. Then the door itself was pulled ajar and a thin face stared out at Huy. A moment later the door was opened wide, for Huy had taken care to wear his full official robes, and had brought the tall and imposing Psaro with him.
The doorkeeper bowed them through an archway and into a small courtyard around the walls of which overgrown plants straggled out of their pots. There was a large recess at one side of the courtyard, barred with a strong wooden gate, and behind it Huy could make out the forms of two monstrous dogs. They stood shoulder to shoulder like statues and watched Huy with cold yellow eyes.
The servant hesitated, looking from Huy and Psaro to the dogs. Clearly he was debating whether to suggest they waited there, or further inside the house. He decided on the latter, and led the way through another archway into a long, low room, which gave onto a terrace overlooking a better-kept garden. He looked at Huy enquiringly.
‘It is Senofer and Meten I have come to see,’ said the scribe. ‘Kamose has informed them of my visit.’
‘Yes,’ said the man. ‘You are the scribe Huy. My wife saw you in the street yesterday and guessed who you must be. Senofer is here. I will tell him you have arrived.’ Returning the way they had come, he paused in the doorway and, looking back, said: ‘Forgive the dogs. They belonged to my master, Ipur. They are unsettled because they know that he is gone.’
‘I forgive them. I have dogs too.’
The doorkeeper’s face relaxed. ‘I am glad. They are good animals.’ A timid look came over the man’s face, as if he were steeling himself to ask a favour.
‘What is it?’ said Huy.
‘Senofer wants to have them killed. I have told him I will look after them.’
‘I will speak to him. But he is the master now.’
‘Yes.’
The man bowed and left them. The scribe looked around the room. It was high-ceilinged and cool, and the frieze around the top of the walls was another with a marine design, except that this time the fish were interspersed with papyrus plants, from whose shelter the painter had caused ducks to fly up. Clearly Ipur had had an interest in the Delta as much as in the Great Green.
A servant came in after a short time bearing a small table on which wine and cakes were precariously balanced. Almost on his heels came a tall man who had perhaps seen twenty cycles of the seasons. Huy noticed how everything about him was elongated. His feet, in white sandals with curled toes, were long and slender, as were his hands, the fingers especially – almost unnaturally – tapering. They looked too fragile to be of any use. The man’s muscles were soft, and his arms and legs hung as it were languidly from his torso. His head was shaven, as was his body – except for his long, dark eyelashes, there was not a hair on it, nor the sign of any growth. Most priests had their bodies shaved every three or four days, but for this man the operation was clearly a daily occurrence. His eyes were violet and devoid of expression. He wore a plain white kilt with a narrow gold belt. He came forward and then stopped abruptly several paces from Huy, his long hands making small, fastidious and meaningless gestures in the air. But he smiled, and his smile was not unfriendly.
‘Your presence honours my house,’ he said. ‘I wish the circumstances of our meeting were happier.’
‘I grieve for your father.’
‘I grieve for your son.’
‘It is about him that I came.’
‘I wish that I could help you,’ Senofer made another small gesture with his elegant hands, and then fiddled with the end of his belt. ‘But I only know that he left for the war. The last time I saw him was at the time that he embarked.’
‘How was he then?’
‘His usual self.’
Huy smiled quietly. ‘I do not know what that means.’
Senofer looked at him in mild surprise, and then the meaning of Huy’s words became clear to him. ‘Of course. I understand. How insensitive of me.’
‘When I last saw him he was a child. Scarcely that yet.’
‘I think you would have been proud of him.’
‘You speak as if he were dead.’
‘I am sorry. Is it not better to assume that he is? Surely he must be.’ Senofer hesitated. ‘I do not wish to be cruel; but I too am mourning a near one. It is important to think of them in everlasting bliss, where we shall see them again.’
‘If Heby is dead, I should like to know that he is properly buried. I would not like to think of his ka being without a home, wandering in the desert, forced to drink foul water and eat offal.’
Another, slightly helpless gesture. Senofer’s repertoire of comforting words seemed to have run out already. ‘You must have a statue made.’
‘Yes, the matter is in hand. His mother will see to it.’
‘But you still doubt.’
‘I would like to know that he is dead for sure before I bury him.’
‘It would be for the good of your own heart if you accepted it. If he is alive, where is he?’
‘His mother thinks he is alive.’
‘A woman’s instinct? Or a wishful thought?’ Senofer opened and closed his mouth like a fish, embarrassed, perhaps, that he had said too much. As if to make up for it, he continued, ‘I am a priest. My office permits me to make such statements, even to men of more advanced years and greater seniority. My intention is to help, not to wound.’
‘I am not wounded,’ said Huy, and thought, but neither am I helped. The servant had been hovering with food and drink, and Huy took a little of each, as politeness dictated, though he felt like neither. Senofer did not join him, though both men now seated themselves. A silence fell on them which Huy did nothing to lift. He glanced around the room, looking for – he was not sure what. Perhaps some clue about the character of its owner. But it told him nothing. It could have been a room in a public building; even its atmosphere was neutral.
‘Tell me about your father.’
Senofer spread his hands. ‘Poor man – he did not deserve so violent a death.’
‘Does anyone?’
Senofer glanced at him. ‘A soldier might expect it; a murderer might earn it.’
‘Or one who has engendered hate.’
‘Yes. But that would not apply to Ipur.’
‘Yet he was killed with hatred.’
‘It was a random attack.’
‘But isolated. One would have thought that if a Khabiri commando had entered the town, they would have done more damage before departing.’
‘The damage was enough. Killing the Chief Priest of Amun – can you not picture what that has done to the morale of the people here?’
‘They might feel incensed, but not cast down. The war is almost won. What happened to Ipur is tragic; but we might see it as an act of desperation on the part of the Khabiri.’
‘My father was a mainstay of the community here.’
‘Who is his successor?’
‘That has yet to be decided. Word has been sent to the Northern Capital. In the meantime, it has fallen upon my lowly shoulders to perform his office.’
‘Do you believe it was Khabiri that did it?’
‘Of course. Who else can it have been?’ Senofer was ruffled. ‘I know, Scribe Huy, that Kamose has asked you to look into my father’s death. But I do not know why.’
‘Were they friends?’
‘Insofar as they were leading men of the city.’
‘It does not seem unusual for Kamose to want to know how something happened that affects the security of his town.’
‘If you had not come here looking for Heby, nothing would have been done.’
‘Kamose told me there was a robbery here shortly before your father’s death.’
Senofer spread his hands. ‘Yes. Of no account.’
Huy did not reply for a moment. He wondered instead why this willowy and inoffensive man should not himself be more interested in the fate his father had met. There was a detachment about him that might mean that he bore his father no special love – or it might mean that he bore no special love to anyone. But it was the lack of curiosity that Huy found most striking. He looked into his heart for answers and found none. Senofer seemed as characterless as the rooms he inhabited – what had Ipur been like? He was not going to find out from this son.
‘Is your mother here?’
Senofer stiffened slightly. It was barely noticeable, but Huy sensed the chill that had descended on the room. ‘She has moved to a smaller house. But you may not see her now.’
‘I did not suggest it.’
‘She is grieving. My father’s death aches within her.’
‘I will not intrude on her sadness.’
Senofer waved his hands in the air as if to conjure up a spirit. The violet eyes looked blankly at Huy. ‘My father’s death is a fact. The circumstances of it are clear. I cannot contradict Kamose’s instructions to you, and I would not wish to; but if you will forgive my offering you advice, I would say that you first settle your heart about what has happened to your son. There the mystery, if there is a mystery at all, lies.’
Huy sighed. ‘Perhaps you are right. One starts at shadows. I was born with the curse of curiosity.’
Senofer smiled. ‘That is indeed a curse. With it, you will never be contented.’
‘Perhaps not.’
‘You should try. I speak again as a priest.’
‘I would like to speak to your brother.’
‘He is not here.’
‘He was absent, too, when Heby left the city.’
‘He had business elsewhere. We are very busy with the army here.’
‘Of course. I would like to see the temple fleet.’
‘Why?’
‘I am interested in boats.’
‘Those ships that are not trading are moored at the Quays of Amun. Anyone will direct you to them. If you would like to look on board, I will give you a paper to show to the harbourmaster.’
‘Thank you.’ Huy knew by now that his host was waiting, with less and less patience, for him to depart. And in truth it seemed that he would get little more out of the man. But Senofer was unsettled – was he expecting someone he would prefer Huy not to meet? There seemed little reason for that.
‘I would like to speak to Meten about my son.’
‘You will find him at the merchant Duaf’s house. It is across the square.’
‘But Meten lives here?’
‘Yes. The house is large.’
‘Is he at Duaf’s now?’
‘I do not know. He works for Duaf.’
Huy had no more to ask, but he remembered the dogs.
‘Your man tells me you are going to have your father’s dogs destroyed.’
‘That is so.’
‘He wanted me to ask you to spare them.’
‘He is insolent, and it is out of the question. Only my father could control them.’
‘I think he would take care of them himself.’
‘I am sorry, Chief Scribe Huy. The matter does not concern you.’
There was nothing left for Huy to do but take his leave, and, beckoning to Psaro, who had fulfilled his role as attentive but silent servant perfectly, Huy did so. Senofer pressed him to stay, to take more food and drink, but there was no mistaking his relief that the interview was at an end. Huy wondered if the priest thought that the matter was now closed. His attitude certainly seemed to suggest that he did, and Huy found it unnecessary to do or say anything to make him change it. Perhaps it was. Perhaps it was foolish to pursue the matter of Ipur’s death. It had nothing to do with Heby’s disappearance, and the solution of that was Huy’s priority. Ay had not given him unlimited leave of absence, and waiting for him back at the Southern Capital were other demands on him – it was time to resolve his marriage to Senseneb. The easiest and most intelligent thing to do would be to tell Kamose that Ipur’s death indeed appeared to have been the result of a motiveless killing. It irked him though, just as Senofer’s condescension and awkwardness irked him. He wondered if Meten would give him the beginnings of an impression of what the Chief Priest had been like.
Outside in the square he squinted at the brightness of the sunlight, and he strode away from the house with relief. He looked at the other buildings which flanked the square and tried to decide for himself which was Duaf’s. He would have to speak to Duaf as well, he supposed, but he felt no great enthusiasm for the task. He walked across the square to the water’s edge and stood looking across to the horizon. The wind had dropped and there was a stillness on the water. The boats barely moved on it, but looked as if they had been fixed into some solid element, like glass.
‘Where are we going now?’ asked Psaro.
‘Nowhere.’
He recognised one of the ships as Wild Bull, and walked towards its mooring. The men on board were busy, clearly getting ready to sail, though Huy guessed they would wait until later in the day when the wind rose again. He watched them with interest, and could not suppress the wish that he was sailing with them. There was something closed and choking about this town that he did not like. He felt, and he was almost ashamed to acknowledge the emotion, it seemed so childish, something like homesickness. Meeting Aahmes again had increased a sense of loneliness which he had been trying to ignore. Aahmes had become a stranger to him, and he was more than half convinced that Heby would be one too. Did he really want to see his son again? Was he looking hard enough for tracks to pick up, or did his secret heart resist the desire to? He found that he had to make himself turn away from the falcon-ship. He caught Psaro’s eye.
‘Do you wish we were going home too?’
‘Yes.’
‘It will not be long.’
They made their way through the square and back towards the governor’s mansion. Dismissing the servant, Senofer turned from the window where he had been watching them.
‘They are not going to Duaf,’ he said into the emptiness of the room.
‘It is as well,’ replied the young man who now stepped into it.
‘Were you ready to meet them?’
‘You were handling it so well.’ Meten, smaller and darker than Senofer, whose movements were as rapid as his brother’s were languid, crossed the room and poured himself a beaker of red beer.
‘There was nothing to stop you coming in,’ said Senofer, ignor
ing his brother’s sarcasm.
‘You told him I was not here.’
‘When we learnt that he was coming, you did not wish to meet him. I am your older brother. I have shown you forbearance in this.’
‘It was necessary for us to talk first.’
Senofer spread his hands. ‘We have had ample opportunity. He has been in the town two days.’
‘How much do we tell him?’
‘We need tell him nothing.’
Meten drank his beer hastily, impatiently, as if wanting to get it out of the way. He set the empty beaker down clumsily, so that it overbalanced on the table.
‘Why did he have to come here?’
‘He is looking for his son.’
‘Yes.’ Meten looked angrily, impotently about the room. ‘Who could have foreseen that? They have not seen each other for nearly fifteen years. Heby never spoke of him.’
‘There was no reason why he should.’
‘Can he have existed so long in his father’s thoughts? Huy is a senior official. Why does he waste time coming here?’
‘He will not be here long.’
‘What will we do?’
‘There’s no need to do anything. What can he find out?’
‘He may find out what happened to Heby before we do.’
‘Heby is dead.’
‘I wish I shared your confidence.’
Senofer glared at his brother. ‘You start at shadows. Heby was one of us.’
Meten walked over to the window and looked at over the square. On board Wild Bull, the sailors were busying themselves with the great square sail. That almost imperceptible change had come over the day which tells a man that it is beginning to draw to its close. The wind, very faintly, was beginning to stir the air, and after the heat of the day life was returning to the square.
‘Are you sure?’ asked Meten
‘Why should I not be?’
‘I think we should tell Huy how we think our father met his end.’
‘No.’
‘Heby left shortly before Ipur died.’
‘We have been over this. I will not believe it,’ snarled Senofer.
‘You simply want to keep Ipur’s memory sacred.’