Murder in the Palace: A Nikolas of Kydonia Mystery

by Iain Campbell

  “We have three million people. Have your people built monuments such as the Great Pyramids at Giza, the Sphinx or our great temples? Do your kings have palaces as grand as ours? Petty government restrictions? Nobody likes to pay taxes. But you’ve told me that sometimes the rains do not fall and the crops do not grow in your country. Here crop failure is rare and food is plentiful near the river. But even in bad times when the crops fail, if the Great River doesn’t flood, because of our taxes and the food reserves that are part of those taxes, we can feed our people and deal with three or even four years of crop failures before there is famine.

  “The Nile gives Egypt a great gift, but to accept that gift means hard work and a strong administration. Our government builds and maintains granaries that can feed the people in times when the Inundation fails; it undertakes the engineering works to mitigate the effects of a High Nile, where floodwaters can sweep away whole villages; it builds and maintains the temples that allow the kmet to retain the goodwill of the gods. All those things come at a cost. Can your people do any of that? I’m sorry, but I can see little basis for favourable comparison between Greece and Egypt!”

  In response to this diatribe Nikolas raised one eye-brow and said quietly, “Gigantic stone monuments or big palaces don’t necessarily benefit the people who laboured to build them. Yes, granaries are of great benefit. A people who are fat, well-fed and comfortable do not develop or embrace new ideas and new techniques. Those who are hungry do so. I agree that your land has a rich heritage and many accomplishments. Because of the richness of your land you can afford what other peoples would see as extravagant waste – such as your temples and your monuments. We do have magnificent palaces at Knossos and Mycenae and other cities. On the mainland there are also great stone fortresses for defence. Not so on Crete, where we rely on the sea and our ships for protection. You are protected from invasion by the sea to the north and the deserts on all other sides. I do feel privileged to be here and to be able to learn the knowledge that your people have developed over many generations.

  “I acknowledge your civilization and its achievements and your literature – and as you indicated also that of the other ancient civilizations. I also recognize its problems and limitations. The civilization of my people is young and just being created. But in time it also will have a rich and varied heritage. All I was saying is that Egypt is not the fount of all knowledge, nor are all of your ways necessarily the best ways. Now let’s have another cup of beer.”

  The storm blew throughout that night and all the next day.

  Nikolas’ party and the other guests sat cooped up in the common-room slowly sipping beer, each party clustered at one of a dozen rough but well-scrubbed wooden tables. The guards played dice off in one corner, except the duty watchman who sat alone at a table nearby and whose eyes, red-rimmed with irritation from the dust, cast slowly around the room. Several guests and servants joined in the game of dice to pass the time. The guests crunched their way through sand-dusted food and put small plates on top of their cups to try to minimize the dust and sediment in their drinks. Good beer was more important than good food.

  T T T T

  The storm blew itself out near dawn of the second day, but the wind remained obstinate, blowing strongly from the south, making it impossible for the boat to proceed. The women again went off to further explore the bazaar, with Ibana and Bengay as guards. One guard walked ahead and one behind the women, who walked easily side by side and gossiped quietly. “I am afraid that you’ll be disappointed in Pamose,” said Kiya with a wry and hesitant smile. Lorentis coloured and looked enquiringly, tilting her head to one side and raising one eyebrow. They paused at a stall selling fruit drinks

  Lorentis purchased four cups of drink for themselves and their guards. She and Kiya sat at a nearby table provided by the stall; a shade-cloth was stretched overhead and provided welcome protection from the unmerciful sun. Kiya paused, gauging her words carefully.

  “Your eyes reveal your interest in Pamose, who is a most handsome man. But Pamose isn’t interested in ladies, except as friends,” she said. After a pause, and another quizzical look from Lorentis, she continued more directly, blushing a little. “I think he’s more interested in men than in ladies. It’s no accident that he’s sharing a room with Tutu. Pamose is an excellent friend, but if you want more than that, my Lady, I’m afraid you are of the wrong sex!” Lorentis didn’t know whether to smile in disbelief, snap at Kiya for her presumption or rage against the truth of what she was saying. “It’s such a waste,” continued Kiya. “Such a handsome man and, from what I have seen when he has been bathing in the river, with the equipment to satisfy any woman!”

  “Now that is too much!” snapped Lorentis, colouring furiously.

  “Ah, my Lady, there is never too much, take my word!” said Kiya mischievously before letting the topic go and changing the discussion to the relative poorness of choice at the local market in comparison to Memphis.

  That evening, before the evening meal back at the ‘The Lions’ Lair’, Lorentis closely watched Pamose as he diced with the off-duty guards at the table next to where Nikolas and Lorentis were sitting.

  Kiya was still upstairs, having a bath. Lorentis sighed with disappointment. On close inspection it appeared Kiya’s conclusions were correct. The pity was that the only way to test them would be to act in a manner too forward for a lady of her position and future expectations. To flaunt herself and be rejected or ignored would be not just disappointing, but also humiliating. ‘Perhaps things will become clearer as the journey progresses,’ she mused to herself.

  She took her frustration out on Nikolas, who was sitting quietly sipping beer opposite her, his elbows leaning on the clean wooden table. Lorentis had been quietly consuming fermented date-palm wine for the last hour, without noticing how many of the small cups had come and gone. “How does it feel to own a slave like Kiya?” she asked with sudden venom.

  Nikolas’ wits were somewhat befuddled at this point. He’d been sipping beer for most of the afternoon. “Own? Slave? Kiya?” he said in confusion.

  Lorentis’ tone indicated that she was seeking more than a simple conversation. She appeared to be heading into battle with all flags flying. Nikolas drew a deep breath and quickly tried to draw his scattered wits together. “Ah! Kiya!” he muttered.

  “Yes, I think that even you may be able to remember her! The child you take to your bed each night and shamelessly abuse!”

  Nikolas became even more confused. He had no recollection of abusing anybody, let alone children, but that clearly wasn’t the right reply to make. He hoped that Lorentis didn’t have a knife with her, because with the way the conversation was progressing he doubted the guard would be quick enough to intervene. He reverted to the relatively safety of the first question. “Ah! I don’t own Kiya. She’s not my slave.”

  “But you bought her, didn’t you?” trumpeted Lorentis.

  “Ah!” It was amazing how that single word gave a much needed pause to allow urgently thought. “Yes. And no,” he said slowly.

  “How can you answer ‘yes’ and ‘no’ to one question?” Lorentis had got so loud that even the guards in the corner were distracted in their game. All the other guests in the common-room were shamelessly drinking in the conversation. Nikolas made a gesture with his hand, seeking to quieten the storm to at least enough to preserve some privacy even if no dignity on his part.

  “I paid a debt of her father and in return he gave her to me. I didn’t seek this. She’s no slave. She was born free and the actions of her father do not bind her. She’s a valued employee and will be paid at the end of each month, like them all,” he finished lamely.

  “Valued employee!” snarled Lorentis, but in a lower tone. “She works all hours of the day. And all of the night, to judge by your silly grin each morning! I hope you ‘pay’ her what she’s worth!”

  Nikolas still had no idea why he was being subjected to such a venomous, abusive and (above all) public tir
ade. The reason walked towards them. “Is everything alright, Master, Mistress?” asked Pamose anxiously.

  “Absolutely fantastic, thank you kind sir,” snapped Lorentis, before leaning across the table to snarl in Nikolas’ face. “Just remember. Kiya is the best friend I have and if you hurt her, I’ll gut you like a fish!” she reached for a knife on the table. Nikolas quickly pushed back his chair. Pamose easily caught her wrist and removed the knife. Lorentis stormed away sobbing hysterically.

  The other guests turned away from the floor-show and resumed their own conversations. Pamose cleared his throat and asked “What was that about?”

  Nikolas took the easy answer, “Beats the shit out of me! Maybe it’s that time of the month for her. If so, remind me not to be around her next month without at least four guards and full body-armour!”

  Just then Kiya came downstairs. “What’s wrong with Lorentis? What do you do to her?”

  Assembling what was left of his dignity Nikolas snorted, downed the rest of his cup of beer and started up the stairs to go to ‘his’ room for a well deserved lie-down.

  “No need to rush! She’ll wait for you! But make sure you wear an armoured loincloth, to protect the ‘family jewels’!” Pamose called facetiously after him.

  Kiya looked confused at what she’d obviously missed and looked at Pamose querulously. Pamose shrugged and went back to the game in the corner of the room.

  T T T T

  Next morning the wind continued weakly from the south, meaning the Breath of Bubastis remained tied up at the dock. At least the contrary winds allowed Nikolas’ party to see the northbound river traffic, previously delayed by the northerly winds. There were many smaller boats, similar to their own, and occasional giant barges carrying the huge pink granite blocks mined at Aswan down the river to Memphis and the Delta.

  Nikolas walked down to the dock and went up the gangplank onto the Breath of Bubastis. The hulking captain stood on deck supervising some repairs. “Good morning to you Captain Hunnifer! I’ve just come to check the weather and to remind you we still expect to continue the journey with you. I don’t want to be left behind by some misunderstanding. I see the boat is loaded and ready to proceed at a moment’s notice.”

  “I’ll not forget my debt to you,” growled Hunnifer sourly, the lost bet still rankling. “I’ll send word and wait before departing if the wind changes.”

  Nikolas didn’t believe the reassurance but could do little else other than nod his agreement. “Done then!”

  Back at the inn Pamose told the group who were assembled for a late breakfast, “The family of an old army friend of mine has estates nearby and I believe my friend, whose name is Netjerikhet, is currently on leave. I’ve made enquiries and his estate is just to the south of the town and I’ve dispatched a runner with a message asking for an invitation. Netjerikhet’s of an old family and I’m sure the short trip will be worth the effort.”

  In the early afternoon five chariots approached from the south, in line abreast with each trailing a plume of dust in the still air from the wheels and the hooves of the galloping horses. Pamose shouted with glee when he saw his friend Netjerikhet driving one of the chariots; each chariot carried only one driver with no passengers. Netjerikhet leapt from his chariot and grasped Pamose by the right forearm, before clapping him joyfully with a buffet to the shoulder. “You old rascal!” shouted Netjerikhet. “It’s good to see your ugly face again and I see that you’ve recovered from that knife wound to the leg with no ill-effects. Come, you must all join me at the family villa for dinner! A couple of my other friends are here and we can make a party of it!”

  Nikolas and the others gratefully accepted and were soon each hanging on for dear life to the front of the chariot baskets as they bowled along. When they reached the villa it was immediately clear Netjerikhet’s family were people of substance. The villa was a large single-storey building set amongst carefully tended fields with numerous outbuildings for servants, livestock and storage. The workers were busy clearing drainage ditches ready for the imminent onset of the annual Inundation, and threshing and winnowing the last of the recently harvested grain. Other crops such as beans, peas and lentils had been harvested and were being placed in sacks for storage.

  The dining area was outside, a table and chairs set near a large ornamental pool, with running water gushing from one side and large fish swimming lazily in the warm water below large round water-lily leaves. The pool was surrounded by a lush garden with dom-palms, fig trees, sycamore trees and pomegranate trees overhead. Flowering ornamental bushes of mandrake and myrtle and flowering herbaceous borders both pleased the eye and gave a pleasant scent. Torches positioned closely around the table held back the darkness. The smell of citronella floated through the air, keeping away biting insects. The guests were shown inside to bathe properly in copper baths with clean warm water and to dress for the meal.

  Nikolas’ party made no pretense about who they were and Pamose and Lorentis were given the full honours due to their positions.

  However, they made no mention of their mission, and with most of the party being army officers no questions were asked.

  Once inside Nikolas was carefully barbered and shaved by the servants, manicured and pedicured and dressed carefully in an Egyptian kilt. He wore several items of large and intricate gold jewellery, mainly with marine motifs, that he’d brought from Crete, together with the faience pendant given to him by Kiya.

  Kiya assisted Lorentis in her toilette with the help of four slaves.

  She really couldn’t understand why anybody would need the help of five people to bathe. ‘Perhaps one person to arrange one’s hair,’ she mused. Lorentis was taking her time choosing a suitable dress and wig from the wardrobe of Tenentesamun, Netjerikhet’s sister. Then it was Kiya’s turn to use the bathroom. She found she rated one slave to assist and had to say that some assistance with scrubbing one’s back as well as arranging hair was pleasant. ‘Why have hot unpleasant wigs when you have your own beautiful hair like Lorentis?’ she mused, before deciding that the fashions of nobles were unfathomable.

  Kiya dressed carefully in the new kalasaris dress bought for her by Lorentis, dark blue in colour, thin and flimsy; her long black hair was carefully arranged up, leaving her long neck and her small ears artfully exposed; some jewellery, loaned courtesy of Tenentesamun, adorned her neck, ears and wrists.

  By the time Kiya was ready Lorentis had already joined the gentlemen outside. Kiya walked through the entrance to the eating area, illuminated by flaming yellow torches. She swung her hips artfully as she glided towards the tables, walking barefoot. A pause in conversation greeted her approach as the men eyed her appreciatively. Nikolas was facing the other way and turned to see what the others were looking at. His jaw dropped and he appeared from his expression to have been hit on the head with a large piece of wood.

  ‘Perhaps she may have been worth two cows, after all,’ he mused to himself chauvinistically.

  Lorentis smiled archly. ‘That will do nicely!’ she thought.

  As Kiya joined the group the conversation resumed easily. For the first time since arriving in Egypt several years previously, Nikolas felt a part of this gathering of nobles, swapping insults and lies easily.

  Kiya sat nearby, dealing pleasantly with the attentions of Werienptah, who had already imbibed several jugs of wine. Nikolas leaned across and whispered in her ear “Nice dress!” as he ogled her quite visible breasts with a leer, before returning to a wine-drinking contest with Netjerikhet.

  Pamose was telling a story. “When I was stationed at Buto, out in the wilds of the Delta, the garrison commander was Pekre. His wife, Hatnopher, was a real man-eater. Of course, this caused us all problems. Say no, and you’re in her bad books, get bad-mouthed to the boss all the time and are in charge of the latrine cleaning detail for the next month. Say yes, if you get caught you get sent to the wastes of the Libyan desert with a bad report on your administrative records that makes sure you never get a
good posting again.

  “Whenever the boss had the officers around for a meal, which was once a fortnight, there was always a rush to get the stools farthest away from her. One poor subaltern, called Iuwlot, a good-looking fellow with short curly hair and big soulful eyes, had the misfortune to attract her attention and wasn’t able to get away. The poor fellow was on duty all night in the bedroom and all day was in charge of fatigues or patrols. After a couple of months he had wasted away to just about nothing and had to take sick-leave. Ended up applying for a position at one of the southern forts, I think it was Dabenarti in the Far South, to save what health he had left.”

  Amidst the round of laughter Netjerikhet interjected. “Yes I can see the problem. When I was also in the South, at Armana, we had the opposite problem. The commander Menmire was a lecher. Some of the officers made the mistake of bringing their wives south to join the garrison. Those that were in the least bit presentable soon had it made clear they had to ‘put out’ if they wanted their husbands to get ahead. Very distasteful and affected morale amongst the officers like you would not believe, although the enlisted men found it funny. He finally made the mistake of cornering a recently married young woman in the bath-house. She appears to have led him along for a while and then used a sharp knife to fix the problem by removing his balls. Only problem was it was a permanent fix as the stupid bastard bled to death. The moral of the story is never let an untrained hand undertake surgery!”

  Gasping with laughter and slapping his thigh Pamose said, “And what became of her?”

  “Why nothing, of course,” replied Netjerikhet. “We couldn’t let it be known that the Commander of the troops of the Southern Garrison had no balls! The army officials hushed it all up. I think the husband ended up being transferred shortly afterwards to Edfu.”