City of the Dead

TWELVE

Ay stood alone in his work room, watching the sun go down and dusk gather around the temple of Amun. The high priest would arrange for the god to show his approval of the succession to the people two days later. Soon after that, Ay would be alone in the Southern Capital. Little Ankhsi would be gone, and General Horemheb would be leading five falcon ships and five more regiments to the Delta, where he would take overall command of the northern army. Among the soldiers accompanying him, Ay had placed Kenna and four other men he knew he could trust. Horemheb had agreed to the proposal that he go north with surprising ease, and Ay was not such a fool as to think that he would not take advantage of the army if he could.

But it was better to have him there than intriguing here. The longer the general stayed in the Southern Capital, the more Ay risked having his authority undermined. Once he was out of the way, it would be easier to pursue his diplomatic links with the Land of the Twin Rivers, with Mitanni, and with the peoples to the south of the Black Land. Ay planned to raise an army which would be able to stand against anything Horemheb could throw at him, if their conflict ever pitched the empire into civil war. But he hoped it would not come to that. Perhaps Horemheb would fall under a Hittite spear. Whatever else he was, he was a brave man, and always joined battle at the head of his troops. And if the Hittites could not do it, then an arrow fired by Kenna might do the job. Ay was the last person to deny Horemheb an honourable death and a state funeral, provided he could succeed in sending him to the Fields of Aarru; and a simple assassination would be so much less costly than a civil war.

There was also the question of his succession to be settled. Ay had finally abandoned the idea of ever marrying Ankhsenpaamun – which was why he was letting her go so easily. A daughter of the Great Criminal was not, after all, going to get the unreserved blessing of the powerful priesthood. His thoughts were turning to a princess from one of the lands to the north-east. The world was changing. The Black Land could no longer stand alone and supreme. Survival lay in the realisation of that.

It had grown dark outside, and the heat caressed his face, cocooning him, soothing him. He luxuriated in the quiet that follows victory. He thought about the little boat Taheb had supplied, tied up now at the southern quay. Soon Ankhsi would be embarking, and at dawn, before he had even awoken, perhaps, she would be gone. He had sent men ahead to Napata to watch her, but he doubted if she would trouble him again.

He would keep his promises about the funerals. He regretted that there was not time to give Tutankhamun a magnificent one, for such a thing would unquestionably be to his credit. But his right to perform the Opening of the Mouth was inalienable now. Horaha, too, would be buried according to his dignity. Ay feared the dead. He was too close to them not to.

As for little Setepenra, she, too, would go gloriously to Osiris. There was no doubt that Horemheb would be deceived into thinking that she was the queen: he wanted the queen dead, and he would not look for deceit in something which was to his advantage. Soon after dawn, a body servant would discover her. Kenna would be sent to investigate officially, and Merinakhte would pronounce that she had died of grief for her departed husband.

Ay breathed in the night air appreciatively. It was all perfect.

Senseneb was ready. She tried to breathe calmly, but she could not be still. She looked round the house which had been her home for so long for a last time, and brought her father into her heart. She ached, but the thought of what lay ahead did not permit her to dwell on her departure from all that she knew and, foolishly thinking it would never change, had learned to trust.

Hapu would take her to the harbour quarter. When he slung her two bags over his shoulder and opened the door, the night air entered. It was like the life beyond beckoning, and she could not stop her tears.

‘Wait.’

She needed an excuse to delay a moment longer. Once she was with Huy, once she was on her way, it would be all right. But it was this moment between home and travel that was hard to bridge. She looked round the room.

She had no intention of taking Merinakhte’s gift with her, and had told Hapu to return it to him as soon as she was safely gone; but now she turned to the blue jar on the shelf. Mermaids’ milk. Its scent had been beautiful. Perhaps she should put a little on. She wanted to be as attractive as possible for Huy. It would be their last night together for a time whose length she could not guess at. Glancing at Hapu, she crossed the room and picked up the jar. She uncapped it and the delicious odour once again met her nostrils. She placed it on the table and took off her rings.

‘There isn’t much time,’ said Hapu. Tears were in his eyes too.

‘I’ll hurry.’ She would just smooth a little of the cream on her cheeks and neck, she thought, as she put her rings down.

Suddenly one of the two cats that formed part of Horaha’s little zoo, a large tabby with a white bib, darted in from outside. He leapt on to the table, and, head and tail held high, walked towards Senseneb, purring. He was distracted by the perfume jar, sniffing at it daintily with his sensitive nose. Then, with a decided movement, he knocked it over. The thick white liquid inside spilled onto the table. The cat leapt to the floor and vanished.

Senseneb had righted the jar before she noticed that the spilt ointment was burning into the wood. She watched it in horror. Her heart would not accept what she saw. She was brought back by Hapu’s voice, speaking evenly.

‘I’ll kill him,’ he said. ‘Now, you must come.’

Huy thought he must have slept deeply, but not for more than an hour. He was not sure that she had at all. At first, after her arrival, she had been bright, even scintillating, and he thought it was excitement. She had only been grave in saying farewell to Hapu, who would not stay but had taken his leave immediately. Then she had removed the stitches from Huy’s face. There had been no pain.

Huy, who lived alone without servants, had prepared a meal of duck and ful himself, but they had eaten and drunk frugally. He looked at Senseneb and wondered what she was keeping back from him.

She kept very still, knees drawn up to her chin, looking inwards. Huy had not disturbed her. He wanted to embrace her, comfort her, and add the strength of his heart to hers, but he knew that she did not want to be touched yet. She would tell him when she was ready. Although it was only the third hour of night, the dawn seemed very close, and the threat of it drove quietness of spirit from them both.

‘It is worse for the queen,’ said Huy, finally. ‘She is all alone.’

Senseneb looked at him. Should she tell him what had happened? She had ordered Hapu not to. There was no point in burdening him with it; he had too much to think about and soon she would be safe. She considered Hapu’s safety more. Once Merinakhte knew he had been thwarted in his vengeance, where his madness would take him? Or did he really believe that once she was deformed she would accept him?

‘I know,’ she said finally, softening, and as they embraced she felt such sweet relief that she wondered at having resisted so long. They did not make love, but this was as great a pleasure as lovemaking, to be wrapped in the happiness of each other’s warmth. He buried his nose and lips in her dark hair, felt the fine contour of her head with them, and kissed her gently. They stayed like that for a long time, while outside all sound ceased. Then he must have slept. Later, the dark panel framed by the window began to grow light, so slowly at first that Huy thought it was a trick of his eyes; but a distant bird on the riverbank cried.

‘Come,’ said Huy.

Dawn is a sad time for parting, he thought, as he picked up Senseneb’s bags and followed her into the silent street. He wondered if there was ever a good time; but the worst was dawn.

They set out on foot and in silence for the southern quay. The only sound was their sandals on the earth. Each felt they should have a multitude of things to say; but neither had a word. It was a relief when they saw the yellow lantern on the boat ahead. A shadow detached itself from the harbour wall and came to meet them, resolving itself into a man.

‘We must leave at once,’ said the captain. ‘The queen and her body servants are aboard.’ He turned to Huy. ‘Lady Taheb is accompanying us.’

‘Does she know I am here?’

‘No.’

‘I will see her when the time does not press.’

The captain nodded.

Huy took Senseneb’s hand.

She looked at him. ‘You think you have all the time in the world, and suddenly it is gone. Goodbye.’

‘Goodbye. Do not linger. I will come to you soon.’

She was crying silently. ‘There is so much danger. Po not die.’

‘No.’

‘I long for you.’

‘I long for you.’

Huy watched her follow the captain up the gangplank to the dark boat which rocked in the red flood water of the River. She did not look back. He watched them cast off, and watched as the wind caught the hoisted sail and drew the sleek ship out into the stream. The River was broad like a sea. He stood there until the boat was just a speck on it.

‘A touching sight,’ said a voice dry as sand and as lonely as the desert behind him. Huy turned to see Merinakhte’s gaunt figure leaning against the corner of a shed. It was almost light now, but there were no other ships drawn up at the southern quay, and they were alone. Merinakhte’s shadow reached from where he stood to the edge of the water.

‘She didn’t use the ointment I sent her to pretty herself up for you.’ The voice carried a detached regret.

‘I don’t understand you,’ said Huy. The doctor was dressed in rather battered finery, and the ochre and kohl on his face had rubbed and run. He looked tired but his eyes were hard. ‘Then perhaps you will understand this!’

The jolt into screaming rage caught Huy off guard, but even for a man of his speed and length of stride, Merinakhte had too great a distance to cover to make his first attack pay, and the bronze surgical scalpels he held in each hand stabbed air. He wheeled round instantly, gulping air, but there was fear in his face now, along with the fury. Unless he killed Huy cleanly and quickly, he had thrown his entire career away by this one action. That was as far as his thoughts ran. He had bidden sanity farewell long ago, and sacrificed ambition to vengeance. Blood swam before his eyes as they focused on his prey. He raised his stabbing arms again, his hands like claws around the hafts of the knives. Huy had turned too, using the two or three seconds before Merinakhte resumed his attack to look desperately around him for a weapon. The quay was bare. There was not even a wooden spar on the ground. If he used his own knife, he would have to close with the doctor, and he did not relish the idea. But he reached behind him and drew it from its sheath at the back of his belt.

The sight of a weapon drawn against him checked Merinakhte’s onslaught and he dropped his arms, hissing. He crouched, circling Huy, looking for an opportunity to dart in and stab before his opponent had a chance to use his knife. Huy backed away. He was between Merinakhte and the water now. The current, even this close to shore, was very fast. Only the strongest swimmer could avoid being swept away.

Then he noticed the rope. It was a heavy ship’s line loosely coiled by the bronze ring to which it was attached. He looked quickly to see if Merinakhte had seen it too, but the doctor’s eyes were fixed on him. Gradually, Huy retreated until he was within reach of the rope. Then he dropped to one knee.

‘Don’t kill me,’ he pleaded.

With a shriek of triumph Merinahkte charged. Huy seized the rope and flung it towards him. It snaked between his legs and tripped him. He fell forwards heavily, the blades of the scalpels snapping as they hit the quay. Merinakhte had hit the ground heavily, and Huy saw blood burst in the centre of his face as his nose was crushed. He moved in quickly, but Merinakhte was staggering to his feet.

The only thought in Huy’s heart was to kill him; he saw himself seize the man by one wrist and the waistband of his kilt, and hurl him into the river.

But there had been too many deaths. Huy paused. Before Merinakhte could recover he had placed his thumbs behind the doctor’s ears and pressed until the man passed out. Ay’s justice would be harsher than drowning; but Huy was too much of a coward to take another life. He heard shouts, and, looking up, saw three scared young longshoremen approaching. On the ground, a pool of urine spread from Merinakhte’s loins.

Ay took the Golden Chair in the last days of the season of akhet, so that the people would be free to farm as soon as possible after the end of the flood. It coincided with news from the north of great victories by Horemheb over the Hittites, giving the Blacklanders a second reason to rejoice, for the conscripted soldiers would soon be coming home. Horemheb had sent word that there was nothing now that could not be dealt with by regulars.

The High Priest of Amun made much of the good news, coming as it did on the back of the magnificent funerals of Tutankhamun and his queen, for which Ay had revived many more of the old rituals suppressed during the days of the Great Criminal. The priests acclaimed Ay as the bringer of peace and stability to the Black Land at last, and all the portents were that he would live happily and long. The popularity that ten days’ celebration at his expense had brought him was undeniable, and the drinking house talk was of a new marriage, an heir, and a new dynasty, founded on peace as fully as the last had been on war.

‘I never thought I would see this house again,’ said Senseneb, looking round the cramped living room into which the sun shone, making the spiralling dust sparkle.

‘I never thought we would see the Southern Capital again,’ replied Huy, looking at his old home with the eyes of a stranger. Had it only been eighty days since he had left it? And yet even the journey back from Meroe, where they had left the queen in the care of the governor, seemed like a dream.

‘Do you regret leaving here?’

Huy could not answer the question. It was too soon to tell. But he could not disappoint the hope in her voice. In a very short time, Senseneb had taken to life in the country; and he still believed in the love bond between them.

‘No,’ he replied at last. ‘But it is good to return, and to see that Ay kept his word.’

‘Yes. My father’s Ka will be at peace.’

‘Will you go to the doctors’ compound?’

She shook her head. ‘I will see Hapu, but I will not revisit my past. I would be like a ghost returning to a place which everyone it knew has left.’

They fell silent. Huy thought of Merinakhte. Ay had ordered him to be impaled, and Huy had seen the execution. He had bribed the impalers to give the young doctor flame liquor before they killed him. It was an act of mercy he owed his enemy, for he knew that he should have given Merinakhte to the River at the end of their fight. But Merinakhte had refused to drink, twisting his head and lips away from the proffered bottle so violently that in the end the executioners had given up. It had been a bad death.

Huy looked around the room again, to clear his heart, recognising his old possessions – the statues of Horus and Bes, the battered furniture, the papyrus scrolls in their niche. They seemed to belong to someone else now. Perhaps, in a way, they did.

‘What will you do with this house?’ asked Senseneb.

Huy had asked himself that question. The answer depended upon many things. He had the chance of a new life in the south, but something made him reluctant to let go of the old. Was it just natural caution? He would return to Napata now. That was certain. Perhaps there an answer would come to him. It did not matter how long it took, there was no hurry. Ay had even told him he could practise as a scribe again. But now that it was possible at last, discontent stirred in a corner of his heart. He looked inwards at a picture of himself: a provincial scribe, living out his life by the river under the southern sun. It was a restful, calm, uneventful picture.

‘Ipuky, the Master of the Silver Mines, gave me this house. I will talk to him about what to do.’

‘Why do you need someone else’s advice?’

Huy took her hands, but he knew what the house meant to him. Still, he would not deny himself this chance of happiness. Happiness. Another word with no certain meaning. Another idea which constantly slipped around the next corner ahead of you. What had made him like this? Should he ask her to exchange vows when he still had such doubts? She was expecting him to.

He looked at her eyes, caught in the sunlight. Ra in his splendour visiting even this little corner of his world. From the harbour, they could hear a band, and cheering. The festivities were in their last day. The royal barge would soon be leaving with its escort for the new god-king’s state visit to the Northern Capital.

‘Will Kheperkheprure Ay be the father of a dynasty of peace?’ said Senseneb. Her voice showed her concern at the silence between them.

‘I do not know,’ said Huy.

They stood together, foreheads touching, their hands on each others’ shoulders, neither caring, after all, about Ay’s reign, or Horemheb’s victories, or anything else at all, in the world or in the future, except their own destiny.

Huy drew in his breath to ask her the question.