The Assassins of Isis

by P. C. Doherty

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Lady Thena apologised. ‘Just sometimes, on a day like this, the memories come back.’

  ‘Paser is our son.’ Impuki tried to lighten the conversation. ‘We have adopted him. He has proved his skill and his expertise. I have offered him to Pharaoh and she has shown her face to him and smiled her favour.’

  ‘I follow in the shadow of the great master.’ Paser leaned over and grasped Impuki’s shoulder, then laughed nervously and got to his feet. ‘My lord Amerotke.’ Impuki and Lady Thena also got up. ‘Do you wish a guide to take you around the temple?’

  ‘No, no,’ the judge replied. ‘If I can be allowed to wander as I wish?’

  Impuki stretched out a hand. ‘On one condition, that you will not leave the precincts or enter the great courtyards by yourself.’

  Amerotke grasped his hand and promised that he would not. He sat and watched all three walk away, Paser in the middle, holding the hands of his adopted mother and father.

  ‘I don’t think they liked your questions.’ Shufoy had taken from his wallet the piece of black rock he had shown Amerotke the day before. ‘In fact, Master, I don’t think they like you!’

  Amerotke chewed his lip and watched the three go through a porticoed entrance into the temple buildings.

  ‘I just wonder,’ he answered, ‘as I always do when I meet priests, do they really believe what they preach? The lady Thena is understandably bitter.’

  ‘Could they be killers?’

  ‘We are all killers, Shufoy, priests, judges, healers; we kill each other in our thoughts. It’s just that some of us act on those thoughts.’ He got to his feet, brushing away the crumbs. ‘And that’s why we are here. Four temple girls have disappeared. Lord Impuki is probably correct, their corpses may be buried here. Mafdet, the captain of the guard, was murdered, whilst the lady Nethba believes her father was gently helped into the Eternal West across the Far Horizon.’

  ‘You don’t believe that, do you?’ Shufoy got up, holding his parasol like a staff of office; he slipped the black rock back into his pocket.

  ‘No, I don’t,’ Amerotke agreed. ‘He died of natural causes. I just wonder why a lady of such intelligence should even contemplate the idea that her father was murdered in a place like this. But come, Shufoy, the last time I walked these temple grounds,’ he grinned down at the dwarf, ‘I wasn’t even as tall as you!’

  They strolled across the grass away from the trees. Amerotke found the curtain wall which the assassins must have crossed and studied it carefully, noticing how sometimes it was screened by trees and bushes, cypress, palms and even smaller orchards. He followed it as far as he could until he reached the wall separating the private gardens of the temple from the courtyard beyond.

  ‘They must have crossed this,’ he explained.

  ‘Why not the one on the far side?’ Shufoy asked.

  ‘Too far away,’ Amerotke explained. ‘I haven’t studied the plan of the temple, but this wall gives access to both Mafdet’s dwelling place and the guest house. There are groves and orchards where one could hide at night.’

  He pointed at the temple guards, who lounged in the shade or strolled about.

  ‘They carry torches, easily seen, yet a traitor must have given those assassins some information. I just wonder who?’

  They left the gardens and entered a large paved courtyard with two-storey buildings on three sides, the limestone gleaming white. A fountain stood in the middle of the courtyard, carved in the shape of a huge fish standing on its tail, throwing up fountains of water through its mouth. In the pool below lotus blossoms floated; the white had opened their petals to the sun but the blue, hiding just beneath the surface, would only flower at night. The courtyard smelt fragrantly of flowers. Amerotke also caught the sharp smell of herbs, peppermint, persea, mandrake and fleabane. He stopped a servant and asked him about the buildings. The man glimpsed Amerotke’s ring of office and hastened to oblige. The long building on the far side was the House of Twilight, he said. ‘The other two,’ he added, ‘are the storerooms and treatment chambers. Would you like me to show you?’

  Amerotke shook his head. He crossed the yard, Shufoy striding behind him, banging the parasol on the pavement. If the dwarf had his way he would have acted as herald, but as Amerotke quietly pointed out, this was a place of healing, and silence was an excellent physician.

  Inside, the House of Twilight was an elegant yet busy place. The floor was of polished wood, the walls limewashed and decorated with motifs, prayers and scenes celebrating Isis. A small antechamber led into the main office of the physician-priest-in-charge, who rose to greet Amerotke. He explained that the small chambers on the ground floor were for the more seriously ill patients, whilst in the long room above rested the acts of mercy.

  ‘The what?’ Amerotke asked.

  ‘The acts of mercy.’ The face of the priest broke into a smile. ‘Have you forgotten, my lord Amerotke? Any man or woman suffering from any ailment—as long as it isn’t an infectious fever—who reaches the great statue of Isis in the Courtyard of Flowers and asks for our help cannot be refused.’

  Amerotke nodded in understanding. He had forgotten the custom, yet it was a popular one, much used by the poor of Thebes desperate for healing.

  The old priest took them along the ground-floor passageway. They passed narrow chambers, each containing a bed shrouded in linen drapes with a small table and stool beside it. Every room was the same, the walls and floor scrupulously scrubbed with a herbal wash so strong it covered any smell, above each bed a large open window to allow in light and fresh air. The young acoloytes of the temple were busy here, tending to the various ailments, though their guide quietly explained how those in the House of Twilight had very little prospect of recovery. Next he took them upstairs to the Long Chamber, a high-ceilinged room with windows above a row of cot beds on either side. Each bed was divided from its neighbours by a small table, on top of which was the same statue, Isis suckling the infant Horus. The floor was so well polished it gleamed and caught their reflection. The walls were whitewashed, and the only decoration under the black-beamed roof was quotations from hymns to Isis. A scribe squatted before a table at either end of the room. Despite the cleanliness and light, the smell of oil and herbs, Amerotke realised he was in a chamber of death. The people in the beds were hidden from him by thick linen drapes to protect them from dust and flies. Every so often a young page boy, dressed only in a loincloth, would process slowly up and down the room carrying a pink-tinged ostrich fan soaked in perfume to sweeten the air. There were no visitors here. Amerotke glimpsed one or two faces lying in the beds, old men and women with straggly hair, their skin covered in the black spots of old age.

  As he walked slowly through the room, Amerotke became convinced that Lady Nethba’s father could not possibly have been murdered in a place like this. He had reached the end of the room and was about to turn away when he stopped in surprise as his name was called. He glanced quickly around. He had just passed a bed where the linen curtains were pulled back. The old man within had lifted his head, pushing away the quilted headrest. He had a pointed face, a toothless mouth, sunken cheeks, yet there was something vaguely familiar about those smiling eyes.

  ‘Great Judge, don’t you remember me?’

  Amerotke walked to the bed and sat down. The effort of raising himself had been too much for the old man. He turned slightly to grasp Amerotke’s hand, his fingers almost skeletal, the skin dry and hot.

  ‘Amerotke?’

  The judge nodded.

  ‘I am Imer.’

  Amerotke closed his eyes.

  ‘Don’t you remember, the woodcutter? At your grandfather’s house, to the north of Thebes? I used to slice the wood; I made you a toy sword and brought you a wooden chariot.’

  Amerotke caught his breath. He couldn’t believe it! He recalled Imer; even then he had been an old man.

  ‘Past my eightieth year now.’ Imer licked dry lips.

  ‘How did you reco
gnise me?’ the judge asked.

  ‘Just your walk, your face.’ Imer smiled. ‘I saw you come down the room, you swing your hands slightly in front of you; and your eyes, I always said you had gentle eyes. I’ve heard the stories. How you entered the House of Life and became a great judge. I used to tell people I knew you but they never believed me.’

  ‘Your illness?’ Amerotke asked.

  ‘Old age,’ Imer cackled. ‘Nothing but old age.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’ Amerotke looked over his shoulder at the physician-priest, who shook his head imperceptibly.

  ‘There is one thing.’

  Amerotke looked down at the old man. ‘I’m not bringing you a woman, Imer; you were always one for the girls!’

  Imer laughed, which ended in a fit of coughing.

  ‘I would like a deep-bowled cup of wine,’ the old man whispered. ‘Served by a temple girl. I mean a really deep bowl, and a piece of rich semolina cake, then I will go into the Far West a happy man.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ Amerotke kissed the old man on the top of his head, rose to his feet and walked away. At the doorway he turned.

  ‘Before you ask, Lord Amerotke,’ the old physician declared, ‘Imer is to die; three, four more sunsets, then he will be gone. But you have my promise that before nightfall he will have his bowl of wine and semolina cake,’ he grinned, ‘served by a temple girl.’

  ‘In which case,’ Amerotke grasped the physician’s hand, ‘you are a man of compassion as well as healing – I commend you.’

  He was about to walk away but turned back

  ‘What happens to Imer? I mean, where will he be buried? The funeral rites?’

  ‘The Temple of Isis has its own mausoleum across the Nile. We call it the Divine House of Mercy. Imer will not be laid to rest like a Pharaoh, but he will be sent honourably into the arms of the Divine Father Osiris.’

  Amerotke thanked him and left the House of Twilight. He asked Shufoy to go and sift amongst the ruins of the fire at Mafdet’s house and watched the little man stride away. He himself would take a tour of the great temple complex, though he would keep away from the mortuary, the House of the Dead. He first purified himself, splashing water from a mottled stone container over his hands and face, before visiting the small shrines, the outhouses, the storerooms and granaries of the temple. He skirted the great farm which housed the sacred flocks, visited the House of Silver, where the temple accounts were drawn up and the treasure stored, then on to the House of War, a sprawling, barrack-like building for the troops and armour of the temple. He was truly impressed with the splendour and the wealth. He realised that a man like Impuki possessed all the means to organise robberies from the royal tombs; he had places to store his plunder as well as the authority to dispatch it up the Nile and across Egypt’s borders. He did not suspect Impuki; the High Priest simply represented a whole range of important officials who had the resources and the authority to successfully carry out such blasphemous robberies.

  Amerotke sat for a while under a palm tree, sipping at a cup of fruit juice a servant had brought; the man was carrying a bowl of the delicious-smelling drink around the temple grounds with a string of cups about his neck. As Amerotke sat, he wondered who this Khetra could be, the Watchman who knew the hidden ways into royal tombs and could even command assassins to invade the secret precincts of a temple. He finished his drink and continued his tour. He stayed away from the soaring copper-plated doors of Lebanese cedar which led out to the public concourse. There the pilgrims flocked to pay their devotions and hire a chapel priest to recite prayers for the dead, or a Priest of the Ear to listen to their sins. The hum of noise from beyond the walls was ever present, like that of a great beehive. This was an auspicious day, sacred to the household god Bes, so petitioners were eager to make votive offerings or just come and gawp, to touch the sacred wall paintings or brush against the holy decrees of Pharaoh inscribed in countless stelae throughout the temple. Priests of every kind and status would be swarming about, heads, faces and eyebrows shaved, skin gleaming with oil, garbed in plain linen tunics or the most exquisite gauffered robes.

  Amerotke returned to the gardens, where, from behind a row of stunted flowering bushes, he heard the singing of girlish voices, the clash of tambourines and the rattle of sistra. The garden was bordered by the House of Life, the temple school, and the House of Light, where the temple musicians trained. In the centre of the garden, around a pool of purity, a shimmering rectangle of blue water with flowers floating on top, were the temple hesets. They had finished their music and were gathering around the Lady Thena. The High Priestess sat on a throne-like chair brought out by servants who also held parasols and great ostrich plume fans above her. Amerotke’s arrival was greeted by shrieks and noisy giggling. Lady Thena commanded silence as Amerotke introduced himself. The girls were about to be instructed on how to adorn themselves, and the edge of the tiled pool was littered with bronze mirrors, jars and pots containing cosmetics, face creams, paints for the lips and the eyes. These were cleared away and Amerotke was invited to sit next to Lady Thena.

  The group of girls before him were aged between fourteen and seventeen, all garbed in pleated robes or tight-fitting sheath dresses, their beautiful soft skins coated in gold dust. Some boasted tattoos of Isis on their shoulders and arms; all were decorated with flashing jewellery, their lovely faces almost hidden by thick oiled wigs kept in place by floral fillets. The judge was aware of flashing eyes and gusts of heavy perfume, elegant hands and painted nails. Rather self-consciously he explained why he was here, and as he talked about the disappearance of their colleagues the giggling and smiles disappeared. Lady Thena encouraged the girls to speak but, in fact, they could tell him very little. They knew nothing and could not understand what had happened. The same replies were uttered time and again, slightly above a whisper. Amerotke sensed none of them were lying; there was no attempt to deceive, they were eager to chatter, reluctant to see him go, but the macabre disappearance of the four girls was a complete mystery to them.

  Amerotke thanked Lady Thena and the heset chorus and left. He walked under a portico and checked the water clock in a great vase emblazoned with the sacred baboons of Thoth. The water level had dropped towards the thirteenth line; it was time that he left. As he returned to the guest house, he crossed a rather dirty courtyard in which the fountain no longer bubbled. The outside walls were decorated with scenes from the divine life of Isis. The paintings were crudely drawn, but they concentrated on one theme: ‘The Battle of the Seeds between Seth, Isis, Osiris and Horus’. In one of the scenes Isis held the severed testicles of Osiris after her husband’s body had been dismembered by his red-haired brother Seth. The same motif of emasculation and castration, of the god’s seed being spilled, occurred in other paintings.

  ‘Mafdet!’ Amerotke exclaimed. The captain of the guard had been cursed by having his heart removed and his testicles severed, a cruel way to die and be damned for ever, yet was the murder an act of revenge or the ritual killing of a soldier who had, perhaps, violated the sacred code of Isis? ‘Or am I being fanciful?’ Amerotke whispered. Castration was a common way of dishonouring an enemy. During his military training he had come across similar grisly scenes out in the Red Lands.

  Deep in thought, Amerotke continued on until he reached the guest house gardens, where Shufoy was waiting for him under the shadow of the great sycamore. The little man ran towards him and thrust a black scarab into his master’s hand. It was burnt and cracked, but Amerotke could still make out the faint outline of the kneeling bowman.

  ‘I found it amongst the ash,’ Shufoy trumpeted. his scarred face all smudged. ‘Because I’m short, I’m nearer to the ground. I have a nose,’ he mocked himself, ‘for scarabs.’

  Amerotke turned the stone over in his hand. It was cracked and burnt from the fire. Had it been accidentally or deliberately dropped by the Sebaus? Had it belonged to Mafdet? Had that veteran been a member of the Sebaus, and his grisly deat
h and the burning of his house an act of revenge by that ruthless gang? Amerotke returned the scarab to Shufoy, who slipped it into his pouch.

  ‘Was Mafdet a member of the Sebaus?’ Shufoy asked.

  ‘Perhaps—’ Amerotke broke off as Paser came out of a porticoed entrance.

  ‘My lord judge, your escort has arrived. The Divine One has ordered, because of the recent attack on you, that you are not to enter the city without a guard.’

  Amerotke and Shufoy quickly proceeded to the small chamber built into the gatehouse of the soaring wall which separated the gardens from the main temple precincts. General Omendap was waiting for them in full battle dress, a leather breastplate covered in shiny mail above a red-fringed white kilt and knee-high marching boots. In the doorway beyond clustered veterans, Braves of the King from the Sacred Band, Egypt’s crack regiment, which guarded the Divine House. Omendap grasped Amerotke’s hand. He was eager to leave, explaining that the Divine One herself had ordered him here to protect Amerotke.

  They waited until Impuki and Lady Thena arrived, then Amerotke made his farewells and left, the Sacred Band, armed with long shields and sharp-edged spears, gathering about him in a protective ring. They crossed the temple courtyard, which was packed with petitioners and pilgrims gathered round the soaring statues or waiting to fill their water jars from the holy fountains. They all stood aside, gaping at the approach of the Sacred Band’s standard-bearer carrying the half-moon banner displaying the insignia of Amun-Ra, a scarlet ram’s head against a golden background. The escort passed through the soaring pylons, down the steep steps and into the heat, dust and smells of the city. The streets and squares thronged with busy crowds. Amerotke glimpsed passing scenes: a barber on his stool underneath a tree shouting for custom, a fruit seller arguing with a cook next to his portable grill. He felt as if he was out in a carriage, protected against everything, rather light-headed now he was in the centre of such noise after the calm of the temple. Shufoy, however, was full of it, skipping ahead like a boy released from school.