by Anton Gill
Believing that it would be best to get the thing over with, he leant forward, and pushed the letter to Huy, together with those from Ay to Tascherit, across the table to him. Then he picked up his cup and sat back, trying to look as relaxed as possible to cover the trepidation he felt.
Before he had read three lines of Ay’s letter, an overwhelming heaviness overcame Huy’s heart. So, the old man was so desperate for an heir that he had decided to get one on his granddaughter – she was young enough for many attempts, had proved that she could make healthy babies in her birth cave, and with her as its mother the child would be doubly sure of the legitimacy of its claim – Horemheb would be out of the competition. And Ay had decided that Huy was the man to do his horsetrading for him. Inwardly, Huy smiled bitterly. It did all make sense. He was a friend of Ankhsi’s – she owed him her life; he was in Meroe – and what did Ay care if everyone there thought he had been sent to achieve this end in the first place? His eye fell on Kenna’s leather wallet. He would have bet a hundred khar of good wheat grain that it contained the second half of Ay’s other letter – the one to the man the pharaoh had ordered to kill him. How like Ay! To keep his choices open just in case.
But Ay had miscalculated this time. Huy almost laughed aloud – though it would have been a joyless laugh – at the thought of how Ankhsi would receive his request.
But Ay was Pharaoh. He owned the Black Land and all that was in it. There was no refusing him.
Would this letter trigger her rebellion, ready or not?
He looked across at Kenna, who was eyeing him nervously. How must Kenna feel? He would certainly know the contents of the letter. And coming here, without any escort, unannounced, unofficially. It was unheard of, for such a senior civil servant!
‘You will be rewarded generously,’ said Kenna, leaning forward. Still he could read no expression in Huy’s eyes.
‘Ay asks much.’
Kenna spread his hands. ‘It is not beyond you.’
‘What? to separate two people who own each other? To split up a family?’
Kenna looked at him. ‘Your misfortune has made you sentimental. Besides, Tascherit will be allowed to keep the boy. He is of no consequence.’
‘I do not wish to return to the Southern Capital.’
‘You do not have a choice. Which of us does? And there would be no living for you here after you have achieved this. Look! You can see yourself that everyone here will think you were sent for this purpose.’
‘What about these letters? And your arrival will have been noted.’
‘Those are details people do not see,’ said Kenna with contempt. ‘That is why they are so easy to govern.’
Huy lowered his eyes. He had no choice, in Kenna’s understanding; but in truth an alternative was open to him: that of siding with Samut and Ankhsi. Why should he not? Why should he do service to a pharaoh who had wanted him dead – crushed like any other minor irritation no longer to be tolerated, its possible usefulness gone, or outweighed by the convenience of its disappearance? Ay had allowed him to leave the Southern Capital only because he had no further use for him; then he had worried that, out of his sight, Huy could not be trusted. So he had commissioned his death – and that of the innocent Senseneb, since Ay did not like loose ends. But then Ay had thought again, there was a use for the little scribe! So he had sent this creature on his errand.
‘The other letters are for Tascherit,’ explained Kenna, not liking Huy’s silence. ‘They explain the situation. Tascherit will understand. It is in the interests of the state, and besides he owes his position to the king. Ay is gracious to be so sensitive to the feelings of his subjects. Such a thing would not have happened in Nebmare Amenophis’ day.’
Huy stood up, knocking the table to one side. He grabbed Kenna by the ornate collar he was wearing, tearing it, and yanked him to his feet, at the same time digging into his wallet with his free hand. He pulled out the contents and threw Kenna back into his chair.
‘You spawn of Seth,’ said Kenna, breathing hard. ‘You will suffer for that.’
‘Oh?’ said Huy. ‘I did not think you were here officially.’
Kenna inspected the wreck of his collar.
‘You do not know how much power I have,’ he said.
‘I do,’ replied Huy. ‘But I do not care.’
Kenna looked at him. ‘You are mad. Your khou has left you.’
‘No.’
‘Give back those letters!’
But Huy had sat down again, holding the papers firmly in his hand, and sorted through them until he found the one he wanted. He dropped the others and then, keeping his eye fixed on Kenna, unrolled the papyrus and spread it on the table, weighing one corner down with his cup. He blinked in the sunlight. The wine and the sudden burst of violence had done him no good. From the fold of his own kilt he produced the bloodstained scrap of writing found near Hapu’s body. He laid it on the table as well, spreading it out with his hands. When he had fitted the two halves together, he read the complete message; but it told him no more than he already knew.
Kenna slumped in his chair. Then leant forward and poured himself more wine. Psaro had come out of the house at the noise of the shouting, but the two attendants had remained stock still throughout the scuffle. Noticing nothing wrong, Psaro excused himself and withdrew.
‘Will you tell me about this?’ asked Huy.
Kenna thought wildly. ‘It was never my doing. That rescinds the order.’
‘And we know why, don’t we?’
Kenna groaned. Inside himself, he reflected that he had had it in his heart to ask Huy to help him locate Henka, so that he could deliver the message that would have been the scribe’s salvation, and Huy would have been none the wiser. How perfect a little scheme that had seemed! Now he was cornered.
‘Whom is it for?’ asked Huy.
Kenna thought, How has he got the sister piece of the letter? What had happened to Henka? Was this whole thing a trap?
‘Whom is it for?’ repeated Huy, half rising, with more urgency in his voice.
‘I don’t know – I – ’ Kenna collapsed. He drank some wine. ‘His name is Henka. He works for Ay. He relieves Ay of people who are a problem to him.’
Huy looked inwards. He had no inkling of the existence of such a man. Ay was cleverer than he had given him credit for.
‘Describe him.’
Kenna did so, and Huy immediately saw the man who had joined the boat at Kerma, the man who had distressed Senseneb in Napata, and whom they had last seen disembarking here in Meroe. He remembered how he had looked at Senseneb.
‘Where did you get the sister-piece?’ asked Kenna.
There was no reason not to tell him, and Huy did so. Afterwards they both sat in silence. Kenna looked worried. Huy reflected that at least now he knew who had Senseneb.
‘He has flouted the king’s command,’ said Kenna at last. ‘He was to... to fulfil his original orders only after Khons had ridden his full course through the sky – and then only if he had not heard from me personally before then. It was Henka who insisted on this letter – the king wrote it for him. It was the only way to make sure. The man is like a dog to Ay. But Khons’ course is not yet run. His orders were to wait.’
Perhaps, thought Huy, he waited as long as he could bear to. He closed his eyes, trying once more to reach Senseneb through his heart. But there was nothing.
Chapter Ten
‘What is the king’s chief scribe doing here?’ he asked, returning to the point which was nagging him.
‘It is a private visit to Huy. Kenna has seen you, his captain has handed over the letters from the king, and they are routine letters. There is nothing to fear.’ She looked at him reassuringly.
‘But why such a senior official?’
‘Be honoured. It is a sign of how important the king thinks we are in the south. This is the source of much of his gold. Why should he not send a senior official?’
‘The Viceroy in Napata would be the on
e to come.’
‘Perhaps Ay does not entirely trust the Viceroy.’
They exchanged a smile, stroked each other. Then his expression grew serious again.
‘He is coming back soon.’
‘I know. We have known it for long.’
‘It may be tomorrow.’
He adjusted his position in the bed, nestling closer to her breasts, feeling snug, like a child against its mother. She lay on her back, one arm protectively round him, her eyes bright as she stared into the darkness.
‘He has never been a jealous man,’ she said.
‘But it will make matters more difficult for us.’ He shifted uneasily again.
‘Not really. He needs us. We are part of his plan. He will not do anything to shake it.’
‘I wonder if we are in truth as indispensable as you believe.’
She turned to look down at him. ‘You are too meek. You represent the authority of the king. My husband needs you for that. Why do you think he arranged your marriage to Ankhsi? And I am his wife. He needs to present the people with an image of stability. Besides, why should he waste energy on us? His gain is our gain; he knows that and therefore he knows that we will not betray him in what matters to him. It is afterwards that we must beware. But afterwards... what is there to prevent us from taking what he has won?’
Now he sat up, worried. ‘You are too ambitious. We do not know his strength. What if the people are loyal to him?’
‘The people are loyal to a leader. They do not make the decisions that create leaders. They accept, and follow orders.’ She leant over and kissed him lingeringly. ‘Let us enjoy each other without fear. We both married to get more power. Soon we will be able to take it all and do away with the encumbrances of Nesptah and Ankhsi.’ She slid her thigh along the inside of his leg, burying her mouth in his neck. He took her by the armpits and lifted her onto him. Her hair fell over his face like warm rain as she guided him into her.
But his heart dwelt on what she had said, and he knew that it would take more than her words to make him brave. He still had his secret. She had never suspected that Imuthes was not his own child. So that he was not as completely in his sister’s power as she believed him to be – and he had his safeguard if everything fell into ruin.
They had been lovers since he was twelve and she thirteen. For ten years there had been a closeness, he thought, hardly rivalled by Isis and Osiris; but now increasingly he felt oppressed by her. Perhaps it would be the gods’ will that he could be rid of this burden.
She was licking his face, kneading his shoulders with her nails. He breathed through his mouth to avoid the smell of her, but made love to her as attentively as he could bear to. He felt suffocated. What had started as a design to bring them both together forever had gone sour as he had withdrawn from it within himself; yet he still felt her domination. The only escape was to betray her and it was too late now to do that without betraying himself. He could only hope that an opportunity would arise to allow him to stop the machinery of their plot and bring about his own salvation. Until then, he had no choice but to play for time.
‘I am yours, Tascherit,’ she said.
‘I am yours, Takhana,’ he replied.
The mine sprawled like a scar across the desert at the edge of an oasis which fed it. It was a vast excavation, and its edges were lost in the shimmering heat of the air as they surveyed it from beneath a canopy on top of a small artificial hill raised above it. Everywhere, shining black backs were bent in labour. Men were bringing the rocks forth to the women who ground them in massive mortars before handing the fine rubble over to their sisters at basalt tables where the stuff was washed to separate the gold from the sand. Children, covered in dust, with calloused hands and old faces, emerged from the narrowest shafts bearing rocks as big as themselves which they dumped on litters to be carried to the crushers.
‘Gold is a river,’ Nesptah told Huy. ‘It feeds the state as surely as water feeds the land.’
Huy watched the scene grimly. His heart dwelt on Senseneb, but days had passed since her disappearance, and although the search was kept up, only three boats were patrolling the River for her now; one from Nesptah’s fleet, one from Samut's, and the falcon-ship which would soon take Kenna back to the Southern Capital. It began to look as if Huy must accept her death. Kenna had delayed his departure, hoping that in solving the mystery of what had happened to Huy’s wife, the fate of Henka would also be revealed; but he could only delay for a short time longer. He had sent messages back to the Southern Capital, but he was beginning to dread making his report in person.
Nesptah's arrival back amidst great flurry and activity at the harbour – the Viceroy himself could scarcely have received a greater welcome – had given Huy the excuse to put off visiting Ankhesenamun with Ay’s proposal – but as he watched the tired and dirty mineworkers sweating out another day of their lives, he knew that he could not defer much longer. Kenna expected to have something to say to Ay on that front and he was becoming impatient.
Huy watched Nesptah as he gave orders to one of the senior overseers. Though the foremen carried whips, he had not seen one in use, and the energy the workers put into their job looked voluntary. Nesptah himself was a large, plump man, as befitted his status, and he wore his head and body shaved as befitted his rank as an honorary administrator-priest of the district. He wore the looser robes of the local people, but his were of fine wool and byssus – cloths out of the reach even of many in the upper circle of Southern Capital society.
Nesptah had made himself known to Huy almost as soon as he had arrived. Huy knew that he was prompted by curiosity not hospitality, even though the man appeared in every respect to be the unofficial governor of the town: Huy was just not that important. And the curiosity of powerful men is never idle.
But Huy was curious too, and had accepted the immediate invitation to visit the nearest gold-mine without hesitation, as had Kenna, though the intense heat had obliged the secretary to retire to the relative cool of the boat which had brought them upriver.
‘At least your friend will be able to tell the king how hard we work to fill his strongrooms,’ said Nesptah. Huy had already noticed that however bluff the man pretended to be, his eyes were always humourless and watchful. But that was hardly unusual in such people.
‘Yes.’
‘Will he remain with us long?’
‘No.’
‘He has been here longer already than a person might think the pharaoh could spare him.’
Huy looked at him. ‘I believe he had some business with the Governor.’
‘And with you?’
Huy smiled. ‘We are old friends. When I was in service in the Palace Compound, we saw each other every day. He has kindly stayed to comfort me in my loss.’ Huy blessed his ability to lie easily.
‘I see,’ said Nesptah. He had already offered his words of sympathy over Senseneb, and offered no more now.
‘Of course we understand how urgent is the king’s need for gold. Almost as much as for grain, with the war continuing in the north.’
‘I expect it was something you discussed with the Viceroy in Napata.’
Nesptah glanced at him. ‘Yes.’
‘And you were at the quarries by the second cataract,’ continued Huy. ‘You must travel much.’
‘Enough.’
‘It is a wonder you do not send deputies.’
‘There are some duties I cannot delegate.’
‘Your influence is wide.’
Nesptah bowed briefly at the compliment. Huy hoped he had not dug too hard before, but his senses told him that this man was more than just a bluff local autocrat. He turned his head and peered out over the mine again. He should be on one of the ships, looking for his wife. He should not be able to think about anything else. But now there was a behest of the pharaoh’s to fulfil. He wanted Kenna out of the way and to achieve that he had to have an interview with Ankhsi. He thought in no rational way that he could arm himself for th
at interview, and perhaps gain a better understanding of the former queen, by trying to comprehend the people around her, especially this group around Tascherit – his sister and her husband – for whom Ankhsi bore no love. Possibly then the path would lead him towards the light. He felt too much darkness around him, and he found it suffocating. The thought of Takhana kept coming into his heart: he had heard no more from her, but the memory of their conversation and of what had happened between them was almost too strong. Above all he remembered the kiss she had given him, and despite himself, in his present lonely need for comfort, he longed for another. He looked at Nesptah and could not imagine her with him. They seemed as alien to one another as a crocodile and a hawk. But then, both those animals killed to eat.
‘What do you think of the progress of the war?’ he asked.
‘We will win it,’ said Nesptah. ‘It may take many floods; it may die out and rekindle; but we will win it in the end.’
‘Why are you so sure?’
Nesptah looked at him. ‘Because we can supply the army forever through the River.’
‘Of course.’ With his unrefined looks, it was easy for Huy to play stupid when it suited him.
‘Whoever controls the River, controls the Black Land,’ said Nesptah.
‘Do you think that the country might split?’
‘Into north and south?’
‘Yes.’
‘We will never surrender the north. We must have free access to the Great Green.’
‘But someone in the south... I mean, while the army is away.’
Nesptah looked at him again, lowering his voice warningly. ‘What are you suggesting?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You are lucky your friend Kenna is not here. Ay could have your brains on a spit for such talk.’
Huy considered what the man had said. It seemed that Nesptah had nothing to do with the rebellion planned by Ankhsi and Samut. But how could he not be aware of it? In such a small place? And a man like him would have servants placed to spy for him in every important household.
‘It was just speaking aloud. I have the security of the Black Land foremost in my mind.’