City of Dreams

FOUR

It was a slow process, needing the kind of patience he did not have, but at least Huy was spared the tedium of the cutters, whose sole job was to trim the reeds to a regular length, about the same as a man’s forearm. The next step was for the peelers to strip the reeds of their rind, cutting it off with sharp double-bladed knives made of flint. These two tasks completed, the exposed pith was cut into narrow strips like ribbons, which were then placed side by side on a large, perfectly-flat slab of limestone which was kept permanently damp by boys scattering water on it, ever-moving fingers flicking across from earthenware pots.

The slices were perfectly aligned, and then a second layer was placed across them at right angles. Huy’s job was to tamp this second layer down on to the first. With two other men he worked his way rhythmically across the sheet, beating the second layer gently with rounded mallets until the starches produced from the pith welded all the strips together to form a sheet, the size of the stone, of white papyrus. Once the process was completed, older boys, apprentice papermakers, came and dislodged the sheet, taking it away to the drying trestles, where it had to be carefully watched and removed after it had dried but before it began to turn yellow in the sun. In another part of the factory, the sheets were glued together to make large rolls, or cut into smaller pieces for letters and shorter documents.

Huy had taken the job after ten days of waiting hopefully for word from Merymose. Then, the emptiness of his purse and the bareness of his kitchen had forced him to find work of any kind. Confronting Nubenehem with his problem, she had introduced him to another customer of the City of Dreams, an elderly papermaster with flaccid skin and a bald pate ringed with long, dank hair. This man, who told Huy that he only went to the place to drink, never having had a problem when it came to finding a girl, was looking urgently for somebody to work on his paperbeating team as one of his men had died suddenly from river fever. Huy knew something about papyrus, having spent most of his life writing on it, and had managed to convince the man that he knew how to make it, without giving away too much of his true background. He had been taken on.

At first, as he worked, he had reminisced pleasantly to himself about the smells and the texture of paper and ink, and about the pleasure of opening a new roll of papyrus, laid out as far as there was need on soft leather spread over a wooden writing desk; then mixing the ink powder with water, and the nervous moment of dipping the brush to make the first signs – to load the brush just so, in order that the ink would be absorbed by the paper before it could run down it. He remembered the floggings which, when he was a student, had followed the botching of a papyrus. Now, after thirty days at this backbreaking and endless task, he realised why. But his fellow workers were happy and prosperous. Demand for their product was unceasing, and their labour was steady and safe.

Its dullness stifled Huy’s heart, and he began to question the sense of feeding his belly at the expense of his mind, though such noble sentiments could hardly be his to indulge. He thought of Merymose, and wondered how he was progressing, with time running out as the embalmers pressed on with their task. He had not returned to see Taheb, partly out of pride, partly out of uncertainty. At their last meeting a line had been reached, and despite the urgings of his senses at the time, he was not sure that they wanted to cross it. At the same time he was puzzled by her silence, after such friendliness. Was she thinking as he was? Was each of them waiting for the other to make the next move?

Ten more days were to pass before the longed for interruption to Huy’s humdrum existence occurred. For some time now he had not been aware of being followed, and he knew, too, that no one had searched his house in his absence. Every day when he left for work, he would leave objects such as a scroll or a limestone flake, or his kohl-pot, a certain measured distance from the edge of the table on which they lay, and from each other. However carefully the house might have been searched, those distances would have changed. They never did. Huy put it all down to his regular job. Perhaps the authorities thought that he had finally knuckled under. It occurred to him that a full belly was not all he had his tedious employment to thank for.

One evening, however, as the never-failing north wind freshened, rustling the tops of the dom palms as he walked back to the harbour quarter, he had the impression that someone was dogging his steps. To make sure, he altered his usual route, ducking down alleys no wider than a donkey’s girth, slipping across little squares where five ways met. The streets of the harbour quarter were quite unlike the regular, broad thoroughfares of the rest of the city. This part of town had grown up organically, defying and outgrowing any order the town planners may once have tried to impose, and Huy knew it intimately. Yet he was unable to shake off his pursuer. Finally he gave up the attempt, and took the most direct way back to his house. He was almost there when he heard the sound of running feet behind him, and turned to see Merymose coming towards him.

‘Thank you for the guided tour,’ said the Medjay. He looked tired and drawn, but his mouth was still a determined line.

‘It was you? I’d have thought you’d have made a better job of it.’

‘I wanted you to know someone was following you, so that I could be sure you’d lead me a dance. That was the only way I could check that no one else was on your tail.’

‘Why?’

‘I’ll tell you inside. I shouldn’t be here, and I certainly shouldn’t be talking to you, but I have no option.’

Once seated in Huy’s living room, Merymose relaxed, but only a little, and he could not remain in his chair long, but kept getting up and pacing the narrow space between the front door and the rear wall.

‘First of all, I should explain why you heard no more from me after you came to see Iritnefert’s body. Somebody must have reported the meeting, because I was summoned to the priest-administrator’s room at the palace the next day for a tongue lashing. Something along the lines of loss of professional dignity, enlisting the aid of socially undesirable persons in official business. I was lucky to keep the case.’

‘Have you made any progress?’

‘I haven’t been allowed to move. I wasn’t able to talk to Ipuky myself. I wonder if that would have helped. All I have been able to find out is that he was a remote father. After the mother’s departure, he lost interest in the girl, turned over her upbringing to one of the house matrons. She was severe, used to have Iritnefert whipped for the slightest misconduct. The girl grew up without love.’

‘That is much.’

‘That is all. There is no clue to follow. And now I am no longer in charge.’

Huy looked at him. ‘Who is?’

‘Kenamun.’

Huy knew the man by sight and reputation. In temperament he was not unlike Surere, a career official who had dedicated himself to climbing to the top of the power structure, though he had chosen the priesthood as his channel. He was as inflexible in his allegiance to Amun and the old gods as Surere was to the Aten, and during the reign of Akhenaten he had fled to the oasis of Kharga to escape death. His loyalty had stood him in good stead after the restoration, and he was now a commissioner of police for religious conformity – a post which did not prevent him from working in any other area which Horemheb, through the king, saw fit to appoint him to.

‘When did this happen?’

‘Yesterday.’

‘Do you know why?’

Merymose sighed. ‘There has been another killing. They begin to think that it is the work of a demon. But how? There is no violence. Not a mark on the body.’

‘Who was she?’

‘The youngest daughter of Reni, the Chief Scribe.’

‘How old was she?’

‘She would have been fourteen at the time of the Opet festival.’

Huy looked grim. ‘And how was she found?’

‘The middle sister found her by the pool in their garden. The family also live in the palace compound. She was naked, laid out with as much care as if Anubis himself had done it.’

‘Did you see her yourself?’

‘Yes. Reni ordered that the body shouldn’t be touched and sent a servant directly to me. I should have reported it first, but I thought I could always plead urgency if I was disciplined again, and I couldn’t take the risk of being denied access.’

‘Did you talk to Reni?’

‘Yes. He’s an intelligent man, but his heart was darkened by his daughter’s death, and there was nothing he could tell me. His house is large, and his children are old enough to be free, though all still live under his roof. He and his Chief Wife dined alone at sunset, then he went to his office to work. He didn’t see any of the children that evening, except the oldest girl, who is eighteen and unmarried, and acts as his secretary. The middle sister discovered the body when she came home at about the sixth hour of night.’

‘How many children are there?’

‘Two surviving daughters, and two sons.’

‘When did he summon you?’

‘Soon after. I went immediately, as I said.’ Merymose looked troubled. ‘I reported the killing as soon as I left them, leaving a man there and asking them to touch nothing; that was about the ninth hour. Then I waited for orders. At about the second hour of day I was told that Kenamun would be leading the investigation. Of both killings.’

‘With the same time limit they gave you?’

The Medjay smiled wearily. ‘That threat has now been lifted. Even they can see that there must be a connection between the deaths.’

Huy did not reply. He knew Reni well, as he was the only scribe who had held high office both under Akhenaten and the new regime. It was certain that he had bought his freedom by betraying former colleagues. He had been farsighted enough to recant before Akhenaten’s death, making a discreet escape from the City of the Horizon by barge at night with his family. Once he had arrived at the Southern Capital, he had proclaimed his loyalty to the old gods loudly and publicly, disowning the Aten and throwing himself on the mercy of the priests of Amun, who even then were growing bold as the revolutionary pharaoh lost his grip both on reality and his empire.

‘I read your heart,’ said Merymose. ‘Do you read mine?’

‘The connection is too slender.’ But Huy’s thoughts raced. The daughters of two high officials, both of whom had survived the change of regime – both of whom, depending on your point of view, could be seen to have betrayed Akhenaten. ‘In any case,’ he continued, ‘I do not see how I can help you. You said yourself that you are taking a risk by meeting me.’

Merymose paused before replying, and when he did so he was awkward. ‘I do not know why I even trust you, but I have no men trained to use their hearts in the way you are able to as a gift of Ptah. You seem to know your craft instinctively.’

‘Taheb must have been very warm in her praise.’

‘I have listened to you twice now myself.’ Merymose stood up and made for the door. ‘Look out for me first. I will go if no one is there.’

‘You cannot make a habit of coming here.’

‘I will ask Kenamun if we can engage you – professionally. He is more broad minded than the priest-administrator; and he wants to succeed in this. How much better to engage someone to help who cannot claim official credit for himself when the matter is solved.’

‘You give me little encouragement.’

‘You will be paid, Huy. In any case, you were not born just to make paper.’

‘I don’t know what I was born to do. I don’t know that it matters.’

‘Perhaps your true profession has found you. It is something that happens.’

Huy paused before replying. ‘I have a question for you.’

‘Yes?’

‘What did you do during the Great Criminal’s reign?’ If he was going to work with Merymose, they both had to reach a position of trust.

Merymose’s face hardened, and it was a long time before he answered.

‘I was in the garrison at Byblos. When Aziru sent his Khabiris against us, finally, we had been under siege for three years. In that time the Great Criminal sent us not even one reply to our requests for help. We were starving and reduced by disease. Typhus. Have you ever seen the effect of that? It was a far cry from the golden court of the City of the Horizon.’ For a moment he paused, the bitter lines around his mouth deepening. Then he continued.

‘When the Khabiri attacked we were powerless against them. They are desert raiders. They slaughtered the men and the children, and took away the women. As I was an officer, they devised a special treat for me: they raped my wife and my ten-year-old daughter in front of me, three of them to each, sticking their penises into each of the gateways. Then they used their spears on them. They threw me from the battlements into the sea, but the rocks were merciless and did not kill me, though I have never longed for death so much as I did then. But a man must wait until Osiris calls him.’ Merymose fell silent again.

‘My Ka decided that I must live. I swam down the coast, carried by the current. When I got ashore I stole a small fishing boat and sailed it to the Delta. I joined the Medjays in the south, and served at Napata, before they posted me here.’

Huy cast around for something to say, and found nothing. When he did, it was awkward and inappropriate: ‘You must hate us.’

‘I hate no one. You cannot hate when you have died inside.’

After Merymose had gone, Huy closed up the house and walked down to the City of Dreams.

‘Do you never sleep?’ he said to Nubenehem, who was rooted to her couch in her half-reclining posture. There was a jar of thick yellow palm wine on the table beside her.

‘Never when there is a living to be made,’ she grinned. ‘What do you want?’

‘You mentioned a girl you said was my type.’

‘Little Nefi? You’re out of luck. She hasn’t been back.’

‘Did you give her work?’

‘She was keen, but had no experience. To be frank I was going to give her to you to break in.’ Nubenehem offered Huy the jar but he waved it away.

‘Tell me what she looked like.’

‘I did. Young. Innocent. Puppy fat on her cheeks. Plump young body. Very willing to show it off, she was. I wouldn’t have minded turning her over myself.’

‘Did you?’

Nubenehem’s look became less friendly. ‘No. These days I stick to less exhausting pleasures.’ She indicated the wine jar.

‘Why?’

‘No reason.’

‘Like to watch some of that, would you, women together?’ Huy paused. ‘I am going to describe a girl to you. As exactly as I can. You tell me if that’s the girl I missed.’

Summoning up as many details as he could remember, and trying to breathe life into her, Huy described Iritnefert.

‘That’s her,’ said Nubenehem. ‘So you found her after all. What was she doing? Working the docks?’

He was about to leave when the bead curtain was drawn aside and Kafy stood there. She looked at him resentfully. ‘Well, well. Don’t I know you from somewhere?’

Huy returned her gaze. Her eyes remained hard, but he knew it was an act. Her body was inviting him. He knew that it was an invitation he would accept. He took a step towards her. Nubenehem held out her hand. ‘Pay first,’ she said.

The corridor beyond the bead curtain was long and dingy, lit every three or four paces by an oil lamp in a niche. Innumerable nights of such light had made the walls smoky. Muted sounds, and, once, a cry of pain, came from behind the closed doors that led off it on either side.

‘Here we are,’ said Kafy, stopping at a door which was open. The room beyond was cosy, lit by three lamps and heavy with dark blue drapery. Kafy slipped her hand under his kilt and closed it round his penis, smiling, pulling him into the room by it. He would not have liked to guess her age, had never seen her in anything other than half-light, and knew nothing about her beyond the fact that she came from a village to the north which, she had told him, stood in the shadow of the pyramid of Saqqara.

‘Where have you been?’ She asked.

‘Nowhere.’

‘Have you tired of me?’

‘No.’ He stopped her, taking her hands in his.

‘What is it?’ Her eyes stopped acting.

‘One question.’

She looked resigned. ‘You never stop working, do you?’

‘There was a man here a few days ago. I saw him talking to Nubenehem. Well dressed, and perhaps elderly. I thought I knew him.’

‘I didn’t see him.’

‘I think he had come for some sort of show. He paid well.’

Kafy’s eyes lit up for a moment, and then shut him out. ‘You’d better ask Nubenehem.’

‘I did. She wouldn’t tell me.’

She smiled. ‘I’d help you if I could.’ But her eyes were not smiling.

He knew he would get no more out of her, just as he knew she was getting impatient. He reached for her, pulling away the tight linen shift to expose a taut brown body with generous, firm breasts. Merymose’s story had made him want to lose himself. He could not have stayed in his empty house.

She unknotted his kilt and sank to her knees, knowing how he liked to begin. ‘It’s been a long time; too long,’ she smiled, slipping him into her mouth. As she bent forward, he saw that her left shoulder was disfigured by a terrible bruise.

* * *

A malevolent demon was standing on his head. It had buried its adze in his fontanelle, and was working the thing backwards and forwards methodically to split open his skull. Meanwhile two stonemasons inside his brain were using claw chisels to cut their way out through his eyes. He tried to sit up, but the most cautious movement threw his tormentors into a mania of activity and his stomach hurled a messy bile into his mouth. There was another taste. Figs.

Huy forced himself into a sitting position by degrees and brought the empty jar of fig liquor into vision. The raging optimism which it had instilled in him last night, under whose influence he had finally escaped from Merymose’s story, was now replaced by a simple whimpering plea to whatever god listened to self-pitying hangover sufferers just to let him be all right again, his own man, as soon as possible. The only thing he was thankful for was that it was the eleventh day, the rest day. His binge would not have cost him his work.

Having at last managed to hold himself upright for five minutes without feeling the need to vomit, he started to order his heart. At first all that would come into it were moralising precepts about drink which he remembered from having to copy them as exercises when he was a student: I am told you go from street to street where everything stinks to the gods of alcohol. Alcohol will turn men away from you and send your soul to hell; you will be like a ship with a broken rudder, like a temple without its god, like a house without bread…Whoever wrote that had never had unpleasant memories to drown, thought Huy, or been confronted with truths too horrible to face. On the other hand, when you resurfaced, there were the memories and the truths still; they had not gone away, and the only difference was that one was now less equipped to deal with them than before. That was what made men go on drinking, Huy supposed. A constant retreat; putting your senses to sleep rather than facing and destroying the cause of your distress. He wondered if Merymose ever drank heavily. Huy doubted it.

His head sang with pain and his stomach heeled over as he stood up, his hand flailing for the back of a chair to support him. Having got this far, he allowed himself another minute or so before confronting the thousand-day journey which separated him from the bathroom. Then, forcing himself to breathe regularly, he set off.

Later, having bathed and, if not eaten, at least drunk some herb tea, he felt that he might, after all, survive. He chewed coriander seeds to sweeten his breath and, feeling ready to face the world, had decided to put on his newest, cleanest kilt, with the leather sandals and the one headdress left from more prosperous days. He would try to gain access to the palace, if not to the houses of Ipuky and Reni. He did not hold out much hope that Merymose would persuade Kenamun to engage him, but there was no harm in familiarising himself with the terrain in advance if he could.

He was interrupted in dressing by a knock at the door, and opened it to a man he recognised, one of Taheb’s body servants, an Assyrian who despite years in the Black Land still wore a long oiled black beard in ringlets. He touched his right hand to his forehead, lips and chest, and without a word presented a note to Huy, from Taheb, asking him to come to her immediately.

‘Do you know what this is about?’ he asked the Assyrian.

‘No. But it is urgent. She is waiting for you, and look, she has sent her litter for you.’

By the time Huy arrived at the house he was free of the last traces of the tormentors in his head. He climbed down from the litter and the Assyrian conducted him not to the little courtyard but through the house to an upper room, whose high windows faced north to catch the wind. The room, painted a white so fresh that it seemed pale blue, was cool and soothing. Huy noticed a jug with wine and beakers set on a table made of white, polished wood and inlaid with river-horse ivory and gold. Beyond it, the west wall opened on to a wide balcony shaded by deep eaves supported on slender lotus-columns, which gave a view down across the city to the broad grey sweep of the river, sluggish and low at this time of year, but sacrificing none of its dignity. From here he could see the crowded harbour quarter, the rooftops so close together that they welded in the heat haze into one whole. Beyond them and further south sprawled the larger roofs of the palace compound, the buildings there, as he knew, separated by broad, shady boulevards paved with polished limestone kept regularly watered in case it should become too hot for the feet of the rich.

She did not keep him long. Dressed soberly in a long-sleeved, ankle-length tunic which, though cut loosely, came high up to her neck, she approached him with both hands extended in greeting.

‘I am glad you are here. Have I taken you away from anything?’

‘The Assyrian said you needed to see me urgently.’

‘I thought I had better say that, or you might not come. You smell of corianders. That means you were drinking last night.’

‘Yes. Merymose came to see me. He told me of his past.’ Taheb looked thoughtful. ‘It is a sad story. But was that the only reason?’

‘Something else, too.’

‘Will you tell me?’

‘No. Not now. Forgive me. It is nothing important. Nothing to do with Aset, either.’

She smiled a little sadly. ‘Then I will not be curious, though it runs against my nature.’

‘He wants my help. He has acquired a new chief. A priest called Kenamun.’

‘Ah yes. The martinet.’

‘He has never courted popularity.’

Taheb looked at him in surprise. ‘Oh, but he has – with women.’

‘And has he succeeded?’

‘No.’

‘What do you think of him?’

Taheb looked inwards before replying. ‘He is a difficult man to impress. Not that I have ever tried.’

‘I may have to.’

‘Merymose is a braver man than I thought, if he is going to Kenamun of all people for the help of a former scribe of the Great Criminal!’

Taheb poured wine, which Huy was bound by etiquette to accept, though his heart resisted it. But to his surprise the drink was light, young, and faintly flavoured with honey, together with another taste, so subtle that he could not identify it. When he drank, the liquid flooded through him like sunlight.

‘To life,’ she said, toasting him.

‘To life,’ he replied.

She looked at him enigmatically for a moment, and then said, ‘I have kept you from something. You look furtive.’

He smiled. ‘I was planning to get into the palace.’

‘Then you should have come to me first. They would never let you in alone, even though you are wearing your best clothes. Who were you hoping to pass yourself off as?’ The same words might have been spoken through tight lips by the old Taheb. Now they came out spiced with delicate, ironic humour. Huy found it impossible not to relax.

‘I should have thought,’ he said. He was as sure as he could be of anything that Taheb was an ally to cultivate. Perhaps it was the effect of the enchanted drink, but he suddenly knew that what had made him hesitate before, her social rank, now seemed a ridiculous objection.

‘I know Ipuky through Amotju, and Reni and my father were business associates.’

‘Reni? You know about his daughter, then?’

‘Yes. It is a tragedy. She was so trusting. Who can be doing this? Why?’

‘There does not have to be a reason.’ But Huy looked inwards.

Taheb smiled at him. ‘You might as well ask me your questions, Huy. You are wondering how much I know, and how I know. It is because the rich in this city are in a club – news travels fast between families. It is hard to keep anything private but in this case privacy wasn’t desired. People are frantic. Those with half-grown children are beginning to panic, especially those with girls.’

‘Where are your children?’

‘I have sent them to my brother in the Northern Capital until you solve this for us.’

‘You have great faith.’

‘If it is not the work of bad gods, you will solve it.’

‘Chance is my only ally.’

‘It is not such a terrible one.’

Their words hung in the air between them. Now they were silent. The atmosphere in the room became palpable, as if it had changed to clear, viscous fluid. It was not unpleasant, and Huy wondered whether it was the effect of the wine. Every pore of his skin felt aware, as sensitive as it did after the luxury of a hot bath. He was standing by the balcony. Taheb put down her wine, stood up, and crossed towards him. She took his beaker away and placed it on the balcony wall. Now her arms rested loosely on his bare shoulders, skin against skin. It burned.

‘It’s funny,’ she murmured. ‘Amotju was so slim and tall, and you are built more like a warrior or a boatman than a scribe.’

‘My nickname at writing school was Bes. What did you put in the wine?’

‘Just a little mandrake fruit. You haven’t been in touch with me for an age, and I have wanted you since I saw you again at dinner. I wanted to be sure of you, you see.’

‘Did you take some?’

‘Of course. It heightens the fun. So they tell me. I have never tried it before.’

‘Then how did you know the right dose?’

She laughed. ‘Do you never stop asking questions? I want to feel you against me.’

Briefly her hands left him, darting behind her neck to undo a clasp. When she brought them away again, the dress fell like a curtain, revealing a strong body, broad shouldered but with slender hips and delicate breasts.

‘Do you like what you see?’

Around him, the air swam gently, and he swam in it, with her, as his kilt, his sandals, his headdress, seemed to fall away. A couch had appeared on the balcony – had it always been there? – and they were lying on it together, though he could not remember moving to it.

She leant against him, their nipples touching, caressing his thighs with hers. Perhaps by magic, her hands were flowing with lotus oil, and with it her firm fingers anointed him.

Supporting her with his right arm, his left hand strayed from her breasts to her thigh, and from there slowly completed the journey to the mouth of the Cave of Sweet Mysteries, lingering long enough to find the little temple of Min and arouse him as she began to gasp for breath, her tongue making passionate sallies into his ear. He turned his face so that their lips could join, making another temple where their tongues embraced, stroking each other, running over teeth. Opening his eyes, he noticed a bloom of perspiration on her bronze shoulder, and slid his mouth over her skin to lick it off. Then he let his head fall to her breasts, taking each as far into his mouth as he could and teasing the nipples with his tongue. He lowered his head further, until he was drinking in the sweetness of her loins with his nose and his lips, kissing and teasing, sucking the tiny proud god who reared at the entrance to the Cave as she sighed and groaned softly far above him. Then she drew him up to her, and lowered her own head to take him in her mouth, her tongue darting out in tender forays at the base of his penis, stroking his belly with her hair as her teeth gently nibbled his manhood. Later she rose too, and their lips and tongues met again, full of sweet tastes.

Their hands were busy with each other, lubricated by the lotus oil, their perspiration and the wine of Min which had entered the mouth of the Cave. She held him firmly, pumping his penis up and down slowly and rhythmically, twisting it slightly as she did so. He bit his lip to curb the god, then buried his mouth in the curve where her neck met her shoulder, smelling her smell, wanting to drown in her.

They floated to the floor. Huy clasped her buttocks, his palms pressing hard against their softness, his fingertips urgently exploring that other cave they protected. With one hand Taheb did the same, while the other guided him into her. They cleaved to each other, lips hard against lips, bodies crushed together, her heels against the small of his back, clinging there as they bucked and dived, soared and plummeted together. For two hours they made love, never leaving each other, even for the brief periods when they lay still, nibbling ears and lips gently; always delaying the splendour until the last possible moment, and always achieving it together, gasping and roaring, moaning and crying, seven times. At last they stopped, lying together, smelling the rich smell, feeling their sweat grow chill on them. Servants came, and wrapped them in soft new sheets together, and carried them to the bed which they had set up in the white room. Then they slept, hour upon hour, folded tightly together.

When he woke, it was to the sensation of her breath cool on his chest. When she woke, her eyes were like fires in the depths of the deepest wells. It was a long time before they spoke. Words had found their place.

They were of secondary importance.