by Anton Gill
Huy knew that she was really gone, but he cast around desperately to left and right. He went up to the nearest stallholder, a plump dark man who smelled of the spices he sold.
‘The woman who runs that stall,’ said Huy. ‘Have you seen her?’
‘No. I don’t know where she’s gone. You’ve got to have eyes everywhere in this crowd.’ He scratched his head. ‘It’s odd she didn’t ask me to keep a lookout for her stuff though. Thieves on a day like this are like flies on a dead mule.’
Huy had already left him, threading between people towards the house where he’d left Nofretka and Heby not an hour earlier. Impatiently he made his way up the narrow steps to the second floor, aware that Psaro was still somewhere behind him but too driven by his thoughts to pay him any heed.
The door of the room was open and Huy was through it and standing by the table before it occurred to him that he might have been walking into a trap. But the place was empty – and he could sense the emptiness of the room beyond, from which Heby had emerged, even before he went to check it. It was a small cubicle with a narrow bed against one wall and a cabinet which contained a broken oil-lamp and a twist of cloth containing roast sunflower seeds. The larger room, into which enough moonlight spilled for him to see everything clearly, was as they had left it. The wine and the cups still stood on the table. The stools were in their places. There was not the least sign of a struggle.
‘Perhaps they simply left after us,’ said Psaro nervously. His voice had lost much of its confidence.
‘In that case the stallholder would still be there,’ Huy snapped back. Whoever it was had moved extremely fast. But he had been the means of leading them to his son. Had Heby and Nofretka measured the risk? Or had Heby assumed that his father would know what precautions to take? Well, it was done now. The questions to be answered were: where had they been taken, and where were the books?
He looked round the room again, willing there to be something which would convey a message to him. But there was nothing, not even a scuff mark on the floor. There was still wine in Heby’s cup, and in the flask. Huy looked at it but felt no desire to drink. A cold hand was tightening round his heart. Had he found his son only to lose him again immediately? How could the gods play so cruelly with him?
‘What shall we do?’ asked Psaro. Was it a trick of the light or did there seem to be a pathetic expression on his face?
‘What can we do?’ replied Huy. ‘We must go back.’
Another question had formed in his heart: what would he tell Aahmes?
*
The next day dawned bright, cold and clear. The light was so pure that a man could see clearly to the eastern horizon, and on it, a sharp white speck undulating between the green of the sea and the blue of the sky, the first sail appeared. As if by arrangement, the sun, the great red chariot of Ra, rose gigantically behind it.
By the time the watchman who had made the first sighting had hurried to Kamose with his news and received the ten shat of silver which the governor had promised as a reward, other sails had joined the first, and, shimmering in the haze that rose from the sea as the sun mounted the sky, grew larger with surprising speed as the north wind blew the ships towards the city. Before long, the coloured pennons at the mastheads could be distinguished, but by that time everyone knew that it was the General’s flotilla of falcon-ships. Horemheb was returning.
Most of the city streamed out to the military jetty by the encampment where the falcon-ships would dock. A stage had been erected and decked with flowers and shells, and on it waited Kamose, Userhet and the senior staff of the civilian and military administration. Now the ships were well in sight, and those on shore could see the people on the decks. The wind had slewed round and the sails fluttered impotently, but the sea was calm and they were close enough now for the captains to order the oars out. Even so, it took a long time for the ships to draw alongside the jetty, and by that time the sun was high in the sky and those waiting on the wooden stage were sweating despite the broad linen awning edged with gold over their heads.
Horemheb’s flagship bumped against the jetty first, and the jetty swayed at its weight. Five sailors swarmed ashore to catch the ropes thrown from fore and aft by their fellows, and made fast to the heavy bollards set into the jetty, after which they ran midships to guide the gangplank that was being run out, and to arrange the golden cloth that was spread on it for the General to walk on. Then, preceded by two officers in the white, blue and gold collars and kilts of the imperial guard, and followed by ten more, Horemheb disembarked.
The sun flashed on the gold of his head-dress, a high one surmounted by feathers which made the General seem even taller than he was. He was leaner and browner than many remembered him, and he strode onto the jetty with the confidence of one who has come into possession of a kingdom. His manner was meant to be noticed, and there was a murmur in the crowd which reflected awe and disquiet. A single horseman rode furiously from the encampment in the direction of the city, and it was certain that news of the General’s arrival, and the manner of it, would be on its way to the Southern Capital even before the General had arrived in the City of the Sea.
In the crowd near the stage stood Menuhotep and Aahmes. Both watched the proceedings with little attention; both were thinking of Heby. As the troops poured from the ships and lined up in the great open square of the encampment, they looked for him among them, knowing their search to be vain, but persisting in it nonetheless.
Towards the back of the stage, Senofer and Meten watched expressionlessly as Horemheb greeted Kamose and Userhet. Atirma and Hemet, dressed in white and gold, stood to one side. Cheruiri flitted soundlessly, discreetly between the groups, organising and orchestrating the greetings and the speeches. Huy, inwardly trembling with impatience that it should all be over, watched unseen from the crowd. He had not spoken to Aahmes. He wanted to have some answers before he did so, though he knew that he was also deliberately putting off a confrontation which would be painful. And he himself dared not accept what his heart told him: that his son was probably dead.
But there remained a faint hope. Throughout the proceedings, which continued until well after the sun had passed into the Seqtet boat, the scribe kept a close eye on Cheruiri, so close indeed that at times the courtier sensed it, and looked uneasily into the crowd, though he did not see Huy. At last the ceremonies were at an end, and the chariots with their plumed horses were drawn up at the front of the caravan of richly decorated litters which were to convey the dignitaries back to the governor’s mansion and the victory feast which would last, for some of the guests, for the next three days and nights.
It took an hour for the crowd to disperse, and another hour for the procession to reach the governor’s mansion and unload its cargo of guests. It wasn’t easy even then to corner Cheruiri, but Huy managed it at last in a corridor which ran behind the great courtyard of the mansion where the principal members of the party were dining.
‘Cheruiri,’ said the scribe in a voice harsh enough to stop the courtier in his tracks.
‘Huy. It has been long. You must forgive me but this is a bad time to talk.’
‘But you will talk,’ said Huy, who was in no mood to be polite. He grabbed Cheruiri’s tunic and dragged him into a small ante-room, where he shoved him against the wall.
‘What’s going on?’ said the courtier, glancing behind the scribe as if to see if he could dart past him to freedom.
‘I have seen Heby,’ said Huy.
‘What?’
‘Don’t pretend innocence. Heby told me about you. You have made a fool of me, Cheruiri. If you still want to go to the Southern Capital, you had better start helping me.’
Cheruiri started to draw himself up, but then his face dropped and his whole body sagged with it. Suddenly he looked very tired.
‘Heby sent for you?’ he asked.
‘Through Nofretka.’
‘I could not tell you about him. I had given him my word.’
‘I re
spect that,’ said Huy. ‘But you can tell me where he is now.’ He was only half hoping that Cheruiri would know, so he was prepared for the blank look which came across the courtier’s face now.
‘I don’t know. He must have told you that I never knew where he was living.’
‘You provided him with clothes.’
‘I left them with a stallholder at one of the southern quarter markets.’
‘Did you know about Nofretka?’
‘Yes. He told me. I took messages to her from him.’
‘Who else knew?’
‘I don’t know. I am certain Duaf did not. But Meten must have had an idea. What has happened?’
Briefly, Huy told him the events of the previous night. After he had finished, Cheruiri was silent for a long time.
‘If you were followed then it is possible that whoever did so was able to alert his masters before Heby could get away. But Heby is clever and you should not give up hope. What concerns me most is that Nofretka should have disappeared too. She should have been among the guests today. Kamose has already remarked on it. But there has been too much to do today for her absence to have drawn any other comment.’
‘Who do you think might have set a man to follow me?’
Cheruiri spread his hands. ‘Any one of them. Kamose seems unlikely, as you were working for him; but on the other hand he might in truth have wanted to make sure you were not unearthing any unwelcome facts.’
‘What about the brothers?’
‘They have most to lose.’
‘Do Kamose and the others have any idea what they plan?’
‘I do not think so. Nor does Kamose yet know that the account books are missing. So they cannot have told him.’
‘I never saw them. I have only Heby’s word that he has them.’
‘Why would he tell you he had them if he did not?’
Huy was silent.
‘We must find Nofretka,’ said Cheruiri.
If either of them is still alive, thought Huy.
‘I will help you,’ said Cheruiri. ‘I have never been on anyone’s side but yours and your son’s.’
There was a great shout from the courtyard of the feast: the acrobats from Kheftyu had started their act.
‘I must go,’ said Cheruiri. ‘I will be missed.’
‘We will flush them out,’ said Huy. ‘Whether or not we find my son. Whether or not we find the books.’
Leaving the courtier, he made his way back to his lodging. He was oblivious to the revelry going on around him, and was lost in thoughts about his son. What strange fight for what kind of justice had Heby engaged himself in, that his end seemed to him to justify every means? He seemed to love Nofretka, and she him. How great a role had jealousy to play? Had he really felt secure in leaving her alone in the city while he went off to fight, knowing that her father planned to marry her off to Meten? But of most concern to Huy, and the thing which cast the greatest shadow over his heart, was Heby’s admiration of Horemheb. Justice was one thing. Justice with no regard for circumstances or for mercy was another. Huy had learned that life is a business of compromise, and he knew that Horemheb, despite the image he presented, was no different; but for Heby life was something to be controlled and forced into the correct channels. It was a perilous kind of inflexibility. Huy could only hope that Heby was alive, and would survive to outgrow such dangerous beliefs.
There was no such thing as a universal redeemer, on earth or above the metal vault of heaven. There was only trial and error, and a long blind groping forwards, hopefully in the direction of the truth.
The little guest house seemed dim after the gaudy splendour that had been tacked onto the mansion for the festivities, but there was a smell of roast duck, shemshemet and lentils, which somehow gladdened his heart. His tired body told him it needed feeding, and it told him he needed a drink. Psaro, as if he had read his thoughts, met him with, not a cup of wine or a beaker of beer, but a glass of fig liquor. Huy drank the burning liquid down and felt it spread through the network of rivers in his body, gratefully. Then he became aware that Psaro was watching him carefully.
‘There is no news of Nofretka,’ he said, without waiting to be told.
‘No,’ said Psaro. ‘Nor of Parenefer. Neither has been seen in the house since yesterday. Meten has already given orders that the house be sealed.’
‘Already?’
Psaro looked at him. ‘He sought Kamose’s permission. As a security measure to protect Duaf’s goods. It only means there is a Medjay guard on the place. There is no-one left in the house. I imagine Meten has right of access.’ Huy was again silent.
‘Will you eat?’ asked Psaro.
Huy did so, but he ate automatically and without appetite. The full force of the melancholy which he had been keeping at bay through an attempt at action now broke over him and his body was filled with an aching emptiness. Ancient hopes had been stirred in him, only to be dashed. But if there was anything to be redeemed from this nightmare, it was to fulfil part of Heby’s plan. If his growing fears were correct, Senofer and Meten were guilty of more than slave running and defrauding the state. But there was another fear: that he would discover that his son had been equally guilty. Ipur’s death cast a long shadow; and Duaf’s remained unexplained.
‘It is my fault,’ said Psaro.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Huy, rousing himself.
‘I should never have trusted Parenefer. I overreached myself.’
Huy smiled. ‘You did what you could. No-one could have taken any other precautions. I did not even do what you did. I did not know we would see Heby. I did not think that there would be any danger.’
‘I do not know what happened to Parenefer. He wanted to help. He was deeply loyal to Nofretka. I felt he had shown me his true heart.’
‘It was a twist of fate. Perhaps something very small. If a child throws a pebble into the River, at a certain time, in a certain way, even that can affect the passage of history. The gods’ hands brush even the ripples on water. We can only await the result. Heby knew what he was doing, he knew the risks he was taking. He wanted to see me, to speak to me, to tell me of his desires and his dreams. I do not know why. I will never know, perhaps, what he truly thought of me when he met me; but it was something he had to do, whatever the cost and whatever the consequences.’
‘You speak as if he were dead.’
‘Yes, I do.’ Huy shifted his weight on the stool where he sat and looked up at his body-servant. ‘I am tired and it seems that I was never anything else.’
He went to bed dreading dreams; but as soon as he had lain down he fell into a sleep as deep as that of one who has entered the Boat of Night.
*
‘She will tell us eventually,’ said Senofer.
‘Eventually may be too late,’ retorted Meten angrily.
‘What do you want? We cannot damage her to get at the truth. She is the only way we have of getting Duaf’s fortune.’
‘She will not marry me now.’
‘If she dies, Duaf’s goods will go to the state. That means Kamose will have control of them, unless we can still bring him down.’
‘How can we do that without the books?’
Senofer tapped his teeth thoughtfully. The brothers had escaped the banquet as soon as they could. They had found it easy to do so but even this had been a mixed blessing. They had not been seated near Horemheb, nor had he once looked towards them. Among the presents and tributes handed out by the General, there was nothing for Ipur’s sons. Even Senofer’s position as his father’s successor had not been confirmed.
‘Kamose is up to something. Do you think he suspects?’
‘He is too stupid.’
‘He is close to Atirma. It was Atirma’s man who led us to Heby. If Atirma hadn’t set a man to shadow Huy, we would never have known. That doesn’t make them stupid. It makes us stupid.’
Meten’s expression darkened. ‘I knew that Heby was alive. I could sense it.’
Senofer’s mouth became a bitter line. ‘In truth I did not know that he meant to betray us.’
‘He would have sold us all to Horemheb.’
‘Why?’
Meten shrugged. ‘He wanted Nofretka. He wanted power.’
Senofer moved across the dark work room, where a solitary oil lamp cast a dim glow. Little in it had changed since Ipur’s death. On the heavy table in the centre of the room stood a flask of wine. Senofer poured himself a cup and drank deeply.
‘We must break Kamose. You must become governor.’
‘That was the plan, dear brother,’ snarled Meten. ‘But how can we achieve it now, without the books?’
‘We will achieve it,’ said Senofer grimly. ‘Heby will not snatch victory from us now. If we cannot plough the furrow we planned, we must cut our way through to our goal another way.’
‘What needs to be done?’
‘Atirma must die. It is less satisfactory than disgracing him, for if he dies, his wife will inherit his property.’
‘But you can still marry her. She is willing to marry you.’
‘Yes. And you must marry Nofretka. Do not worry about her agreement. We will drug her and she need not live long afterwards.’
‘You are mad. We will never do this.’
‘We must! I have not planned this long to lose everything at the end. Duaf intended Nofretka for you. Kamose must sanction it or we will tell Horemheb what really happened to his prisoners-of-war.’
‘We cannot do that without the books,’ Meten reminded him.
‘Kamose does not know they are gone.’
‘But Horemheb will require them.’
‘We need never go to Horemheb. The threat may be enough.’
‘And if Kamose asks to see them?’
Senofer bit his lip. ‘We must go to Nofretka again.’
‘Why are you so sure she knows where they are?’
‘Heby would have told her.’
‘Why?’
‘The only way he can have taken them from Duaf’s work room is with her help. How else would he have got into the house?’ Senofer glared at his brother. ‘You are in truth a fool, Meten. Why did you kill Duaf?’