The Assassins of Isis

by P. C. Doherty

  All three gazed back in shocked horror. Lady Thena’s fingers went to her lips; her eyes had a glazed look. Paser could only stare in astonishment.

  ‘This cannot be true!’ Lord Impuki lifted his hands.

  ‘It is true,’ Amerotke insisted. ‘If I gave the date of the raid by the Libyans on the oasis, you would find it took place during the same period of time the four girls were abducted. One girl would be handed over as surety, the other three as the rest of the reward. It could easily be done. Mafdet was a soldier. He could flatter these girls, meet them in some lonely part of the temple and give them a drugged drink, or force them to take it. This could happen at any time, late in the afternoon or early evening. The girls fell into a deep sleep. The Sebaus came at night over the walls; they had maps of this temple and certainly would have sent messengers in. Once away from the temple,’ Amerotke shrugged, ‘who could stop them?’

  ‘Those poor girls.’

  ‘It’s a common enough practice,’ Paser agreed. ‘Even in Egypt women are kidnapped for the brothels or houses of pleasure. I know something of the Libyans, the way their clans are organised; if they are short of women, a temple virgin would be considered more precious than gold.’

  ‘But how would Mafdet choose his victims?’ Impuki asked.

  ‘I met the temple girls,’ Amerotke smiled, ‘and I’ve met young women of similar status. Their heads are full of romantic dreams. Mafdet would be like a lion that has chosen its prey; he would take her away from the rest, then strike.’

  ‘But someone would have to come into this temple. Arrangements would have to be made about where and when,’ Paser pointed out.

  ‘Do you know a former soldier called Djed?’ Amerotke’s question was greeted with blank surprise. ‘He used to visit his father here in the House of Twilight.’

  ‘We could check the records,’ Impuki murmured, still not recovered from the shock. ‘As you know, Lord Amerotke, many veterans come here either for healing or just to die. I never saw Mafdet meet anybody.’

  ‘So now we come to Mafdet’s murder,’ Amerotke continued. ‘There are two possibilities: that he was murdered by the Sebaus because he betrayed them, threatened to, or even tried blackmail. But that wouldn’t make sense; to betray his masters would be to betray himself, which would mean hideous execution.’

  ‘And the second possibility?’ Lady Thena asked.

  ‘That Mafdet was murdered by someone else, as an act of revenge, a punishment for his hideous crimes. But if that’s the case, why did the Sebaus come here to burn his house?’

  ‘What makes you think.’ Lady Thena asked, ‘that Mafdet drugged those girls before abducting them?’

  ‘Didn’t you tell me certain powders had been taken, the juice of the poppy?’

  ‘So it was Mafdet!’

  ‘Yes, Lady Thena.’

  ‘Let us return to Mafdet’s murder.’ Paser spoke briskly. He paused, cleaning his teeth with his tongue. ‘If he was murdered as an act of revenge for abducting those temple girls, his assassin must have discovered his crime and decided to carry out sentence. But if that was someone in the temple, surely they would have discovered the crime long before the fourth girl disappeared? And even if they discovered it afterwards, why not just report Mafdet to the authorities? Why take judgement into their own hands?’

  Amerotke gazed at this intelligent young priest’s face and nodded in agreement.

  ‘I can see why you have been promoted high in the temple hierarchy, Lord Paser. I hadn’t thought of that. When I told you the news about the fate of those four girls you were shocked, as any right-minded person would be. What you are saying is that Mafdet was executed for other reasons, which in turn takes me back to the first possibility, that his death was the work of the Sebaus.’

  ‘A good conclusion,’ Lord Impuki observed. ‘From what I gather, these Sebaus are ruthless; they used Mafdet and decided to dispose of him. A dead man cannot speak, be it lies or the truth.’

  Amerotke was forced to agree. He finished his wine and rose to his feet, bowing towards his hosts.

  ‘There are other matters,’ he declared. ‘I have my guards outside, but I would like to stay in the temple and speak with you again tomorrow.’

  Lord Impuki graciously offered the guest house and Amerotke accepted.

  Shufoy, still filling his mouth with spiced meat, got grudgingly to his feet. A servant led them out across the silent perfumed gardens to the guest house. Amerotke’s guards followed, their officer explaining that they would stay outside with men at every window and door. Amerotke thanked him and was about to go in when he heard his name called. Paser came hastening through the darkness, a servant hurrying beside him carrying a torch.

  ‘My lord, the business of the court, General Suten? Is that manservant guilty?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Oh, it’s just that we know him. He and Chief Scribe Menna often accompanied General Suten to the temple when he came for treatment or visited our library.’

  ‘That is why I want to stay here.’ Amerotke smiled. ‘Tomorrow morning I wish to visit your House of Books. I want to check the records and see what manuscripts General Suten demanded. You have records for the Valley of the Kings?’

  ‘A few,’ Paser agreed.

  ‘Then I would be grateful if you had them ready. Goodnight.’ The judge stretched out his hand. Paser grasped it, and Amerotke, smiling to himself, opened the door and went up to his chamber.

  ‘You seem very pleased.’ Shufoy squatted on the floor examining a figurine of the household god Bes. He gazed across at his master, who had taken off his sandals and lay on the bed staring up at the cedarwood ceiling. ‘I know you are pleased,’ Shufoy continued, ‘you are trying to hide a smile. You certainly made those people jump.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to make them jump,’ Amerotke replied. ‘Lord Impuki and the others are good people, their hearts are pure and they try to speak with true voice, but they are hiding something.’

  ‘What?’ Shufoy asked.

  Amerotke sighed and pulled himself up. ‘Mafdet was a sinner and a criminal. I would wager my life that he was a member of the Sebaus and abducted those four girls; he stole the powders and drugged them. So why should the Sebaus murder him so barbarously and burn his house? At the same time, as Paser ingeniously explained, if he was murdered as an act of revenge for the abduction for those girls, why would someone do that? They would simply have had to report him to the Divine House, produce the evidence, allow Lord Valu and his interrogators loose on him and Mafdet would have died screaming on a stake.’

  ‘So he was killed for another reason?’

  ‘Precisely, my little friend. Mafdet was guilty of another crime which we haven’t discovered.’

  ‘So why did the Sebaus return to burn his house?’

  ‘Do you remember Djed? And his secret treasure trove?’

  ‘Ah, of course.’ Shufoy got to his feet, dancing with excitement. ‘The Sebaus returned to destroy any evidence, anything Mafdet might have hidden away. Tell me, Master, could the Sebaus be controlled by the Temple of Isis?’

  ‘Possibly; many former soldiers come here. Yet Lord Paser foiled their attack, and we actually captured a Sebaus because of him.’

  ‘But Paser might have known he wouldn’t talk.’ Shufoy gestured with his hands. ‘And the Khetra, whoever he is, made sure of that.’

  ‘All things are possible,’ Amerotke replied, lying back on the bed. ‘The Temple of Isis may be the heart of the Sebaus: they control former soldiers, Mafdet worked here, Mafdet died here, whilst the temple archives might hold the secrets of the Valley of the Kings.’

  Shufoy squatted back down again. ‘What if, Master, what if Lord Impuki is the Khetra? What if he instructed Mafdet to abduct those girls and then decided to silence him?’

  ‘All things are possible,’ Amerotke repeated. ‘I follow your logic, Shufoy, but I have a feeling, a deep suspicion, that Mafdet was killed for another reason, though I don’t k
now what. There was undoubtedly bad blood between him and Lord Impuki, though all the High Priest will say is that he just disliked the man. There’s got to be something else … Now, Shufoy, I am tired.’

  Amerotke stared up at the polished panels on the ceiling and tried to remember a prayer, a song for the family that his father had taught him, but he had only reached the second line when he fell deeply asleep.

  The following morning he and Shufoy washed, dressed, and broke their fast on the temple lawns. They had hardly finished when Paser came over, greeted them and offered to take them to the House of Books. As he led them away from the guest house and across the temple grounds he explained how he had been excused from the early-morning ceremonies. Amerotke could hear the faint sound of the choirs intoning their morning hymn to the rising sun and the Great Mother. The fresh air was spiced with the tang of blood from the sacrifices and the heavy gusts of incense seeping through the windows of the sanctuaries.

  Paser hurried ahead, taking them along a colonnaded walk and across more gardens, fragrant, delicious places with rich vines, their swollen purple grapes hanging from trellises fixed to high posts. They passed the great pool of purity, shaded by palm trees, and through an orchard of fig trees where temple acolytes were using trained baboons to bring the fruit down from the overhanging branches. Occasionally the gardens would give way to small meadows where sacred flocks grazed. They passed other buildings, storehouses, slaughter sheds, not stopping until they reached a stone wall guarded by sentries which led them into the library courtyard.

  The lintels and pillars of the great cedar door leading into the House of Books were covered in brilliantly coloured hieroglyphs and paintings depicting scribes and scholars, reading and writing, or in debate with their teachers. Paser unlocked the doors and led them into a small antechamber with a floor of Lebanese wood. Light was provided by spacious windows and specially capped alabaster jars placed in niches. The House of Books, a long narrow room, was on the second floor. The sycamore shutters were thrown open but the windows were barred and protected by a wire mesh to deter thieves. The walls on either side were covered with exquisitely carved racks, pigeon holes and shelves to hold the sacred manuscripts. Down the centre of the room stretched a line of tables, with cushions before them so scholars could squat to read and write. Each table bore a writing tray with pens and jars of blue, red and green ink. The smell of gum, resin, parchment and scrubbed leather seeped everywhere.

  A young lector priest came out of a side chamber.

  ‘Divine Father.’ He bowed towards Paser.

  ‘The library is empty?’

  ‘Of course, Divine Father.’

  Paser gestured towards Amerotke.

  ‘Could you tell the lord judge what manuscripts General Suten studied? Do you have them assembled?’

  The lector priest nodded, his smooth round face eager to please. ‘My lord judge,’ he continued quickly, ‘General Suten was a great soldier. He was always eager to read the chronicles and history of Egypt: the great exploits and achievements of its army, as well as the campaign both he and his father fought in.’

  ‘So General Suten’s father was also a soldier?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ the acolyte priest gabbled, ‘and very proud of him.’

  ‘What else did he read?’ Amerotke asked. ‘Tell me what he asked for when he came here.’

  ‘He would look at military records.’ The Keeper of the Books was puzzled, and stared at Paser. ‘He would always insist on coming up here alone; his valet and scribe had to stay in the hall below.’

  ‘Do you have any records of the Valley of the Kings?’ Amerotke asked. ‘If I was a thief, a robber, and I wished to break into the tombs of the great ones …’

  ‘My lord, my lord,’ the Keeper of the Books became agitated, fingers fluttering like the wings of a bird, ‘we have some records, but …’

  Amerotke pointed to a table. ‘Then bring them here, as well as anything General Suten studied.’

  The lector priest hurried off. Shufoy wandered over to one of the windows, whilst Paser went to sit in the high-backed chair just within the doorway. Amerotke squatted down. The lector priest, eager to please this grim-faced judge, hurried up with baskets of manuscripts and papyri. At first Amerotke felt excited, sure he was on the verge of discovering something, yet the more he read, the deeper the disappointment grew. The lector priest was correct. Suten’s manuscripts were nothing more than temple histories and chronicles, whilst the records of the Valley of the Kings were merely lists of funereal goods and the various liturgies used in the burial of the great ones. He sharply demanded of the Keeper of the Books if there were further documents. The lector priest, highly nervous, shook his head. Amerotke hid his disappointment. If he had found records providing detailed information regarding the Valley of the Kings or the Valley of the Queens, his vague suspicions about Lord Impuki would have hardened. There was nothing.

  Amerotke watched a butterfly, which had somehow come through the wire mesh, flutter like a sparkle of light and move back towards the window. He recalled how, when he was a boy, he used to collect hardened twigs to make a broom. Sometimes he wouldn’t find enough, and that was similar to the problem now. He’d picked up bits and pieces but nothing substantial. He demanded to see the roll of index which listed every manuscript held by the temple library; this too revealed nothing. He left the chamber and walked down into the hallway. Paser came hurrying after him, more than aware that this judge was losing his temper. Amerotke stood in the shadow of the doorway, staring out across the temple gardens. He assured Paser he would be safe enough with his own guards, that he would wander for a while and then leave. He asked the priest to give his thanks to the Keeper of Books, and walked over to the shade of a cluster of palms which grew round a pool, a place of green darkness, cool and refreshing against the broiling morning sun. He sat down on a rock at the edge of the pool and watched the red and silver carp dart amongst the reeds. A pair of grey doves with black collars came and alighted on the far side and began to peck amongst the stones. Somewhere in the branches above sparrows chattered, whilst the distant lowing of the sacred cattle in the slaughter pens echoed ominously. Amerotke recalled the prayer he had tried to recite just before he had fallen asleep, and now intoned it, loud enough for Shufoy to hear, but not audible to the guards who sat amongst the trees chattering to each other.

  If you can hear me in the place where you are,

  Tell the Lady of Eternity, the daughter of Truth,

  About my petition

  I have committed no abomination against you!

  I have not opposed your will over any matter.

  Speak to me then in truth,

  Clear the clouds of my darkness.

  ‘Are you so confused?’ Shufoy whispered.

  ‘I really thought that the House of Books would have yielded something. I thought I was making progress,’ Amerotke replied. ‘But the question remains, who killed Mafdet? Who is the Khetra? Where did that evil Watcher at the Gates obtain his information about the Valley of the Kings? How does he recruit and control the Sebaus?’ He sighed. ‘I still haven’t discovered the truth about General Suten’s death. Shufoy, the wall still rises dark and impassable before me.’

  ‘How will you resolve General Suten’s death?’

  ‘I don’t know. The scales of Ma’at will be used and filled with probabilities, then I shall watch which side will dip. Did Heby murder his master? Or is it more probable that General Suten tried to find a way out of his own terrors?’

  One of the guards laughed, the sound echoing across the grove, and the doves, startled, flew away in a flurry of colour. What, Amerotke wondered, do I do next?

  Nadif, standard-bearer in the Medjay police, was also thinking about General Suten’s death. Armed with his staff of office, a red and black cloth protecting his head and neck against the morning sun, he was striding along the causeway towards General Suten’s mansion. He had left the baboon at home, as the animal had fallen sick
. He paused to clean some dirt from his sandal and flick the dust from his long white kilt, then tightened the embroidered belt around his waist and went to stand under the shade of a sycamore tree. He stared into the distance. He was following the same route he had taken the night the alarm had been raised. Of course, the great thoroughfare was different now, dusty and hot. The city markets had been open for hours and the processions of peasants and traders had long disappeared. They would stay in the city until the day’s business was done and the heat had begun to cool; by then Nadif would have finished his tour of duty. The thoroughfare was empty except for the lonely pedlar striding along, a merchant stringing a pack of animals, and the occasional cart pulled by sluggish oxen. Nadif stood and watched them go. He would never forget the evening General Suten had died, those vicious horned vipers coiling around the corpse. It was no way for a soldier to die! Nadif shaded his eyes against the sun, watching the skiffs along the Nile, the fishermen, armed with their nets or long pointed harpoons, eager to catch a fish or bring down one of the water fowl which nested in the thick reedy banks of the river.

  Nadif had followed what had happened to General Suten’s household with great interest. He had even attended the court when Lord Valu had introduced Hefau, the snake man, who claimed he had met Heby the night before the general died. Nadif unslung his water bottle and crouched with his back to the tree; he took a long sip and shook his head. On that particular evening he had been in charge of this thoroughfare, patrolling it up and down. He was certain no one had come or gone from General Suten’s house, and surely he would remember a character like Hefau, carrying his sack heavy with snakes? If he had come across the river Nadif would have seen his boat, whilst if he had walked along the path, Nadif would have glimpsed him, sooner or later. In fact Nadif was sure the snake man was lying, but why? Hefau was now in the Medjay barracks. Nadif would have loved to question him, but the snake man was under the protection of the court, so the policeman had discussed the matter most closely with his wife. They had argued about it the previous evening whilst they shared a dish of stewed lampreys and a jug of rich dark beer.