by Anton Gill
‘Do you mean – ?’
‘I am not sure if they are lovers. Perhaps they were once. That is not strange. I do know that he is as much in Nesptah’s house as he is here.’
‘And do you know what Nesptah thinks of it? Does he suspect?’
Ankhsi looked into herself. ‘You must form your own judgment of Nesptah. He may be a man above the feelings of the common heart – or below them. But I am convinced he can control demons, and that Takhana shares his skill.’
‘And uses it to control your husband?’ Senseneb, too late. allowed a smile to form on her lips. Intuition of evil, yes – but real demons?
Ankhsi saw the grin and said angrily: ‘I knew how you would react. You show no respect! You accept that in sleep the heart can travel far, using the dream-body to travel in?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then why cannot you accept demons? The truth is that you are afraid to accept them. They are too uncomfortable a truth for you.’
Senseneb looked at Ankhsi and was astonished at the vigour of her rage. It was as if she were actually shaking the bars of a cage. But was Meroe the prison, or was the prison created out of her own heart? She had mentioned both – the question was, would she get out of one only to find herself still caught in the other? She had been brave for too long; she had never had time to grieve for her royal husband; she had been in constant terror for her son; she was alone in a place she loathed among people who were strangers to her and whom she did not wish to call her friends. In such surroundings was it so unlikely that the scales of Meat had tilted within her?
And yet Samut had befriended her and won her trust. Rather as he had won Senseneb’s. She would have to talk to Huy about Samut. She knew he had gone to talk with the merchant that day.
‘They are all against me here but Samut,’ Ankhsi said. ‘And I must count on you and Huy at least not to turn from me, if you will not actively help me. But if you help me your reward will be great. The Aten will rise and the suns of Ay and Horemheb will set. I will reign for my son as Hatshepsut reigned for hers, and when he is of age, who knows, perhaps I shall continue to reign with him. There will be peace in the Black Land and harmony in the world at the centre of which it sits.’
And who will lead your army, thought Senseneb; for you will need one? And who will run your country, for you will need a greater man than Samut as your chief minister? In their rivalry Horemheb and Ay used their complementary talents to balance the scales of Meat over the Black Land. It was a fragile stability – you could even call it a spectral stability; but it was as a rock compared to what she foresaw.
Before leaving she tried to draw the conversation back to easier subjects, but there were none – and she knew she had been wrong to try. They had not touched on the possibility, despite the guard which stood five men strong at each door of the mansion and twenty strong at each of the town’s two gates, of someone trying to attack them again. They had not referred to the physical fact of Ankhsi’s imprisonment, for she could not leave the mansion. Ankhsi had given Senseneb no clue about how soon she and Samut would be ready to move into action, though from her tone Senseneb could deduce that it would be soon.
She hastened her leave-taking and, ignoring the coolness with which she was dismissed, hurried through the corridors of the house, down the stairs, and out into the sunny courtyard. She had not yet attuned herself to the intensity of the heat in this part of the Black Land, and drew her shawl over her head to shade it.
The shadows were long as she stepped into the street and immediately she hesitated. She had stayed longer than she had intended and the streets were deserted. Involuntarily, Ankhsi’s words about demons came into her mind. For a moment she wavered at the gate. The House of Healing was closer than home, but the way to it led through a network of narrow streets running between high blank walls. The way to her own house lay almost all along one of the wide straight roads which subdivided the town, where there was a greater chance of other people being about, and where she could even hire a rickshaw or a litter. She reflected that she could have done this from the mansion, but the gate had closed behind her now and she was reluctant to knock at it again – there was something tense and unfriendly about Ankhsi’s attendants – unless her own imagination was painting pictures that were too busy for her heart.
On impulse she decided to make her way to the House of Healing. There she would be able to find a companion to accompany her home, or send someone for Huy or Hapu. As she set off, she remembered that it was the Tenth Day, and that in consequence most people would be in their houses resting. But there was always work to be done at the House of Healing.
She set off fast, keeping to the middle of the street and taking the corners wide. As she walked, the impression fixed in her heart by what Ankshi had said about demons grew greater. She quickened her pace and tried to control the rising sense of panic within her, forcing herself to stop once to ensure that she was only imagining the sound of footsteps behind her. The route she took was familiar to her and yet twice she took a wrong turn, ending up once with something amounting to terror in a dead–end alley; but she was able to retrace her steps without incident.
The sides of the streets were in deep shadow and the cool of evening was spreading across the town as she arrived at the open square onto which the House of Healing faced. It was with a great sense of relief that she saw its familiar façade, and even two or three figures moving in and out of its main door.
On the opposite side of the square a narrow alley led away towards the harbour. A short way along it there was a recess for a door which opened into a builder’s yard. The doorway commanded a view of the House of Healing, and here Henka had spent the entire passage of the Seqtet boat, unable to follow his quarry into the heavily guarded quarter where the Commander's mansion was, but praying that she would return here before starting for home. He was no longer able to content himself with watching her.
He had, he considered, tortured himself for long enough. Hesitation was not part of his heart, and his khou had struggled with it impatiently. But he had never had the problem of making up his own heart before – in the ten floods since he had given himself up to Ay he had willingly forgotten how to. It was painful to draw on the cloak of responsibility again, but now he had done so, he would make his training in Ay’s service work for himself alone.
It seemed to him that his life had been leading to this point. Up until now, he had wandered aimlessly through each day, with an eye neither for the Sun nor the River, seeking his safety in Not Knowing. Now this woman had given him a fixed point. He did not know where he would go from here, but he knew that it would have to be with her or not at all. He did not think about difficulties, he did not think about her as a person with a Name and a heart who would not agree – without doubt she would not agree to go with him. Had he not seen her exchange words with the scribe? Had that not been what decided him? And now Seth the Great of Strength, Lord of Metals, had guided him to her. Today he must strike. His heart told him that great things were stirring in the city, and he must take her before they swept his opportunity away from him. His hardest struggle had been with Ay’s orders; but he had overcome them too. He would never see his benefactor again. He would travel far to the south with the woman, where they would never be followed. He knew how to live alone and she would have to depend on him for life. Only first he must secure her and destroy the scribe.
Senseneb reached the door of the House of Healing with relief, leaning on one of its great potbellied portal columns to collect herself. As she crossed the courtyard to the central hall beyond it, she arranged her thoughts in her heart, meaning above all to persuade Huy to leave, whatever the consequences, making no matter what excuse. Coming to Meroe had been a mistake. Let the madmen here sort out their own tortuous fates. She withdrew the shawl from her head and tidied her hair.
There were only a few people in the central hall, which had a mournful air in the fading light, though the high west-facing windows wer
e still steeped in gold. Two old women sat on the floor in grey-blue dresses and headscarves that covered all of their bodies but their faces, their knees drawn up under their gaunt chins. There was a woman of the south with a baby whose head was too large for its body. Its eyes were huge, and its belly as round as a melon, though its arms and legs were little more than twisted wires. Senseneb had not seen such an illness before, and watched with professional interest as the mother, whose own long body was spare and bony, languidly used one large hand as a fan to keep the flies out of her child’s eyes.
She looked around for someone she knew, and was about to walk further into the House when Hapu approached her through the dusty sunlight. His anxious look was the same that he had always worn, even when as a girl she had stayed too long by the River watching the egrets and been late home to dinner.
‘Lady,’ he greeted her gravely. Respectfully, as always; but letting her know that she had given him anxiety.
‘I have been attending Ankhesenamun.’
‘So they have told me. But you have been long away. I decided to come and wait for you here. Psaro watches our house.’
‘Good.’ She paused. ‘I am glad to see you, Hapu.’
The old man’s features relaxed. How many floods might he have seen? Her father had seen fifty. Hapu must be the same age. She realised how truly relieved she was to see him with a sudden rush and actually put a hand out to his shoulder to support herself. She noticed that he was carrying a short bronze stabbing sword and an oil lamp, and she was thankful for his foresight.
‘It is the sun,’ she said, perhaps not entirely without truth, for though it was low in the sky it still had power and she had walked too fast.
‘Sit down and rest,’ he told her. Gratefully, she obeyed him, and allowed him to bring her water. As she drank it, her breathing became more regular again, and her blood returned to its regular place in the metu , leaving her head where she had felt it pumping, and returning to her heart, which slowed, the hollow feeling leaving it at last.
‘Are you better?’ asked Hapu, leaning over her.
‘Yes,’ she said,
‘Then we must go back to the house. Do you wish to be carried?’
She considered the idea. ‘No,’ she said at last, ‘I will walk. It will be better for me, and if I feel unwell again, I will have you with me.’
‘It is good.’ Hapu came as near as he ever did to a smile.
‘It is good indeed,’ she replied, smiling at him, feeling safe, like a child returned to its parent.
It would be all right now.
They had been longer in the House of Healing than she had thought, and the Septet boat had left the sky in the west as they made their way across the by now deserted square. The silence in the streets was absolute, though from behind the occasional wall they could hear laughter or conversation, or the cries of children. It was approaching the time of the night meal, and smells of cooking were everywhere in the air. As it was the rest day, many people were celebrating by roasting meat.
Henka watched them from his hiding-place and counted ten before he set off after them. He had not reckoned on Hapu as Senseneb’s escort, though he had imagined that she would not be alone on her journey home. He clenched the handle of his bronze sword under his cloak and let his heart make its plan. He could only strike if there was a chance – if more than five men stood against him, he would have to wait for another opportunity. He was taut with trepidation because he was aware that she knew – if only indistinctly – that someone was watching her. She had not yet told the scribe, he was equally sure of that, but it would not be long before she did, and then they would be truly armed against him. It was possible that he had already delayed too long. He was the victim of a passion that he did not understand, but he could at least seek refuge in doing the job that he could do so well. Making no more sound than the shadows which he used for cover, he stalked his prey with the concentration of a falcon.
Pausing in a little square just above the harbour quarter, Hapu said, ‘If we take the street opposite it will save time. Otherwise we must cross down by the quays.’
‘I am in your hands,’ said Senseneb, only glad that she was not alone.
‘Then we will take the short cut,’ decided Hapu, preceding her into the sombre well of the street’s opening. She noticed that he first checked that the sword at his belt would draw easily.
The street was narrow and overhung with vines, giving it the appearance of a tunnel.
‘It is too dark,’ said Senseneb.
‘Wait,’ said Hapu. Kneeling, he took from his pouch a small bow-and-string, and after entwining a twig in the string, rubbed it briskly one end down in a small flat notched stone he had also produced, throwing a little kindling around it. from the flame he produced he lit the wick of the oil lamp he carried.
It was while he was bent over it, his concentrating face lit in the reddish-yellow light of the spluttering flame, that Henka struck. He had hardly dared hope for such an easy opportunity. He stepped out of the shadow of the street from which they had emerged into the square, crossed it in three swift paces, his khepesh sword already drawn, and, reaching Hapu, raised it over his neck.
Senseneb did not even have time to cry out, though, as she had noticed before, moments of great crisis unfold slowly. She watched like a dreamer, powerless to move, as Henka raised the sword. She saw its blade flash golden in the light of the lamp.
Hapu reacted in the same instant, jerking his head up to look and pushing his legs upwards, his right hand dropping the flamemaker and moving to the handle of his sword in one movement. But Henka’s sword had already begun its descent. Instead of hitting Hapu on the nape of the neck, as Henka had intended, the blade of the khepesh sliced into Hapu’s upturned face, splitting it open in a clean gash that ran from the left eye to below the right hand corner of the mouth. But part of the cutting edge caught on the bone of the forehead, and the wound was not fatal. Hapu pushed his attacker away, stumbling over the oil lamp on the ground, and drew his own sword. Neither man uttered a sound, but with a swiftness that belied his age and mocked his wound, Hapu lunged forward hard. Henka stepped fast to one side, but not quickly enough to prevent the thrust cutting into his left side. Spinning back on the ball of his right foot, he brought his own weapon down hard high across Hapu’s back as the force of his attack carried him forward. This time the blow fell better, cutting halfway through the base of the neck. Hapu’s head fell forward over his chest and although he continued to run forward for five paces more, he was dead before he fell to the ground.
Still Senseneb could not scream. Nor would her feet run. She did not know how much time had passed but it seemed like many seasons. She had recognised the thickset bargeman from the boat and from Napata the moment Henka had appeared in the lamplight, and at the same moment she had realised that the feeling of being watched had been caused by no demon. Unless this was a demon. Still moving with unearthly speed, the man had sheathed his sword and now came towards her. He seized her round the waist with one huge arm and swung her round to face him. Henka had been living rough and eating fish, half-cooked on the small fires he had dared to light from time to time. The smell of him turned Senseneb’s stomach. Before he could pinion them she raised her hands and drove her fingernails at his eyes, but he pushed her away without letting go of her completely, and let his own hands slip to her wrists. Then he pulled her to him again, and held him against her. Through her skirt she could feel a monstrous erection pushing up against her. His blood was staining her clothes.
‘We must go. You must be silent,’ he said, his face close. Then he let go of her right wrist and with his free hand hit her once, so hard that she thought he must have broken her jaw.
Then there was silence.
Chapter Nine
‘We found nothing. A broken oil-lamp, Hapu’s body and his sword. And this.’ Psaro gave Huy a slip of bloodstained papyrus, still tightly rolled and tied with a twist of reed fibre.
; Huy had waited until the fourth hour of night before he had reluctantly sent Psaro to seek Samut’s aid. He did not like to place himself in the merchant’s debt, but he did not have the men to search the city and if he undertook it alone he was bound to lose valuable time. He knew that in any case Psaro would report to Samut, and that Ankhsi and in consequence the Governor’s household would have to be told of Senseneb’s disappearance. He himself had gone straight to the House of Healing, where he had been told when his wife – how odd that name still sounded – and her servant had left. Huy had searched the streets between there and the Governor’s mansion, though he had not woken the house to tell them then, but doubled back instead down to the harbour quarter, where he had continued his search in vain until the sixth hour.
He had returned to his house to find Psaro already returned with his news. Hapu’s body had been taken to the wabet house directly, since there had been no need of a doctor to tell that his ba had flown from him. Senseneb’s animals, feeling that something was wrong, eschewed sleep and wandered about the garden. The cats were indifferent but uneasy, the geese were restless, but the dogs were disconsolate, and kept turning to look at Huy as he sat, elbows on knees, on a bench on the terrace, sorting through his heart as calmly as he could manage to, looking to see if he could find the person who might have taken her.
‘Nothing else?’ he asked Psaro, for want of anything else to say.
‘No,’ the tall man looked at him sympathetically. It was tacitly understood that as Psaro was on loan to Huy, his first loyalty was to Samut; but Psaro had grown to like his new household and the man and woman who made it.
‘Are they still searching?’
‘Of course. Throughout the town. And as soon as it grows light they will start to search beyond the walls and the garrisons and on the other bank of the River.’