House of Illusions (13 page)

On the second day I went to see Takhuru. She pouted less at my news than I had supposed she might, and was warmer in her embrace than I had expected, probably because she was bubbling with excitement over what she called “our mystery.” With Takhuru, bubbling meant being slightly flushed and moving with a little less formal precision than usual. I watched her, amused and, I must confess, mildly aroused, but I was not sorry to leave her. The responsibilities of my other world were beginning to weigh on my mind and I hoped that the mercenary would prove to be a more congenial travelling companion than the peevish Herald.

After my watch on the third evening I inspected every cubit of the boat I had selected, opened every sack of flour, picked through the baskets of fruit, and made sure that the jugs of beer were still sealed. Army regulations required such a scrutiny, though it was often unnecessary. As for weapons, I would be providing my own and so, I presumed, would the mercenary. We would be sailing with a cook as well as six rowers, all chosen by me, for the pull upriver would be hard. The flood was at its height and the current flowing strongly north towards the Delta. I had thought, before my first assignment south, that sitting on a boat for hours, watching Egypt glide by, would be delightful. So it was, for the first day. Then it had become boring, increasingly so with no congenial conversation to while away the time. Surely a mercenary, inhabiting the outer desert of Egyptian society, would prove cheerful and unpretentious.

I spent several hours in the beer house with Akhebset, wending my way home a little unsteadily under a full moon riding high in the placid sky, and expected to go straight to bed, but a yawning Setau rose from the mat beside my couch as I let myself into my room. “Here,” he said, holding out a scroll. “This came for you some hours ago. I thought I should wait up for you in case it requires an immediate response.” I took it and broke Takhuru’s family seal, unrolling it carefully. “Dearest brother, come at once if you can,” it read. “I have amazing news for you. I will be at home until sunset but then I must go to a feast at my uncle’s estate.” The characters were crudely drawn, the lines of glyphs uneven, and I realized that the words had not been dictated to a scribe but laboriously written by Takhuru herself. This concerned something she did not want her father to know about. It could only mean that she had carried out her promise and rifled his office. What had she found? “Amazing news” the scroll said. Amazing indeed if it had prompted her to struggle with a task she hated, namely putting pen to papyrus. Takhuru did not like to read, and wrote nothing at all in spite of the benefits of a better education than most girls received.

I let the scroll curl in on itself and stared unseeingly at my servant, standing patiently by the couch. My first instinct was to rush out of the house but I checked it. Even if I did so the night was half-spent. I did not relish the prospect of trying to wake her without rousing her household and besides, I was due to leave Pi-Ramses at dawn. Reluctantly discretion prevailed. Whatever she had discovered could wait until I returned. Had I not waited sixteen years already? Patience, my teacher used to say, is a virtue worthy of cultivation if one wishes to achieve an estimable maturity. At that moment I cared nothing for estimation or even maturity, but I did not want to begin my assignment in an exhausted condition or worse be caught by Nesiamun’s Steward trying to scale his walls. I handed the scroll back to Setau.

“Burn this,” I said, “and in the morning send to Takhuru. Tell her that I received it but too late to call on her regarding its contents. I will visit her the moment I return from the south. Thank you for waiting up for me.” He nodded and took the papyrus.

“Very well, Kamen. I’ve set out your kit for tomorrow and I’ll be leaving for my home in the afternoon, but I’ll be back in about a week. I wish you success.” He let himself out quietly, and when he had gone I fell into a beer-saturated slumber.

However, I was at the General’s watersteps just before dawn, my mind determinedly clear of all but my duty. One by one my sailors arrived, greeted me amiably, and went about their business. The cook and his assistant were already on board. I stood at the foot of the ramp as my surroundings gradually took on life and colour and the birds in the bushes clustering to either side began to pipe drowsily.

At length, to my surprise, I saw the General himself come swinging down the path from the house and emerge under his pylon. Just behind him a slightly shorter figure strode. He was cloaked and hooded in folds of brown wool. I was briefly reminded of the Seer until the General halted and the man, with a short bow to Paiis, slipped in front of me to ascend the ramp and disappear into the cabin. His sinewy ankles were a darker brown than his garb and a thin silver chain was wound around one of them. His feet were bare. The hand that had appeared to push back his hood slightly as he stepped onto the ramp was also the rich brown, almost black, of skin that is perpetually exposed to the sun. I caught the flash of a silver thumb ring before the sleeve of the cloak hid the fingers once more. Somehow I doubted whether this passenger would be more friendly than my last commission and I turned dismally to my superior. “Good morning, General,” I said as I saluted. For answer he handed me a scroll.

“The confirmation of your instructions, Officer Kamen,” he told me. “In the unlikely event that you encounter some emergency it will enable you to appropriate whatever supplies or transportation you might need.” Such authorization was customary and I nodded, tucking the scroll into my belt.

“I presume that the mercenary also has written instructions,” I commented. “What division is he from?”

“No division at present,” Paiis answered. “He has been seconded to me alone. He cannot read, therefore his instructions were verbal. Nevertheless you will obey him implicitly.”

“But, my General,” I protested hotly, “in any situation of impending danger requiring a decision it is surely my duty …” He cut me off with a swift, almost savage gesture.

“Not this time, Kamen,” he said deliberately. “This time you are an escort, not captain of guards. If all goes well, you will have no decisions to make. In the event that something does go wrong, you will obey him without question.” Seeing my expression he clapped a commiserative hand on my shoulder. “This is no reflection on your competence,” he tried to assure me. “In truth, it is in fact a confirmation of my faith in your ability. I look forward to your report when you return.”

Something in his tone shivered through me and I glanced at him quickly. He was smiling with what I supposed was meant to be the fatherly concern of a superior for a promising junior, but behind it, behind the sallow skin and dark-circled eyes, the face that bore the marks of yet another night of dissipation, was a curious withdrawing. His eyes left mine, lowering and then sliding to where the sailors sat waiting, oars shipped, and the helmsman was sniffing the morning air from his perch on the prow, one arm slung over the high arch of the rudder. “You had better cast off,” he finished abruptly. “It will be a long, hard pull to your destination with the flood at the full. May the soles of your feet be firm.” His voice cracked and he coughed, then laughed shortly. I saluted once more but to his receding back, for his head had gone down and he had turned quickly on his heel and was walking away.

I also turned, and at my movement the helmsman straightened and the sailors bent, ready to pull in the ramp as I came on board. Still I hesitated. It was not too late to change my mind. A sudden griping in the belly, a swift attack of fever. I could send to one of my subordinates who would be only too glad to leave the tedium of guard duty on the General’s door in exchange for two weeks on the river. But then what? An awkward apology to Paiis? A scroll handed to my training master—“Kamen cannot be trusted to carry out his duty without question and has therefore been dismissed from my employ. He should be demoted to the ranks until such time as …” The sun was growing hot on my shoulders and I could feel a trickle of sweat break out on my scalp. I did not think that the strengthening warmth of the day was entirely responsible. With an inward wrench of surrender I ran up the ramp, waved to the servant to let go the mooring ropes, and shouted “Under way!” to the helmsman.

An awning had been attached to the rear of the shuttered cabin and I settled under its shade while our craft swung away from the General’s watersteps and the sailors prepared to negotiate the channel that would take us through the Waters of Avaris and from thence south on the flood-swollen Nile. On impulse I rapped on the wall of the cabin. “You might wish to come out and enjoy the river breezes,” I called, but there was no reply. Well, I thought, signalling to the cook’s assistant to bring me water, if you prefer to swelter in that dark place you’re welcome. I turned my attention to the slowly unfolding panorama of the city and the cool liquid sliding down my throat.

5

AT ANY OTHER TIME
of the year the journey to Aswat would have taken approximately eight days, but we were slowed by the height of the flood and by the restrictions General Paiis had set. The Delta, and the succession of heavily populated smaller cities soon gave way to towns and then long stretches of deserted fields drowned in placid water that mirrored an equally peaceful blue sky. Sometimes we were forced to tie up early because the further miles offered little privacy and I had been warned not to stop in sight of any village or farm. Sometimes the river growth was lush and dense, but the river flowed without providing us the shelter of a small bay. It was heavy work for the sailors, pulling against the strong north-flowing current, and our ponderous progress exaggerated my own increasing boredom and a growing uneasiness that I could not dispel.

The first three days set the pattern of our confinement. After putting in at some lonely spot just after nightfall the cook and his assistant would light the brazier and prepare a meal for everyone. I would eat with the others but the mercenary was served in the cabin. Afterwards I would leave the boat, and taking a little natron, I would wash myself in the river. By the time I returned, the brazier would have been extinguished and the litter of the meal cleared away. The sailors would gather under the prow to talk or gamble and I would pace the deck, my eyes on the dusky bank or the moon-soaked surface of the river, until I was ready to sleep. By then the sailors were already rolled in their blankets, dark humps together, and I too would lay out my pallet, place my dagger under the cushion I used for a pillow, and gaze at the stars until my eyelids grew heavy.

I knew that the mercenary came out during the dark hours. I heard him once. The door to the cabin creaked gently, and the soft thud of his naked feet came to my drowsy ears through the planking of the deck. I was instantly alert but took care not to move. Next there was a quiet splash, and then for a long time, nothing. I was just sinking into unconsciousness again when he climbed back onto the deck, and this time I opened my eyes. He was padding to the cabin, water pooling around him as he went, both hands wringing out his hair in a spatter of barely visible droplets. He coiled to open the door and for just a moment he seemed to resemble something inhuman, sleek and feral, before he slipped inside and the illusion was gone. I presumed that he too was washing away the sweat and grime of the day, but the thought did not make me feel any kinship with him.

He continued to remain hidden during the interminable hours of daylight while I sat or lay under the awning with nothing but a thin layer of wood between us, but I became more and more uncomfortably aware of his presence as we floated south. It was as though his aura, powerful and mysterious, soaked through the walls of the cabin and began to penetrate me, invading my mind, intensifying that vague anxiety with which I grappled until it was betrayed in a physical restlessness. Occasionally he cleared his throat or moved about, but even the sounds he made seemed secretive. I wanted to order the awning taken down and re-erected under the prow, but the rest of the men had taken that place for their own and besides, such an act would be admitting to myself that my apprehension was fast becoming a most unflattering fear. If he had come out once in sunlight, if he had rapped on the wall and spoken one word, I believed that the impression he had given would be gone, but he remained invisible as the days flowed on and only appeared, briefly and stealthily, to immerse himself in the Nile when the darkness could cloak him.

I began to sleep more lightly, waking sometimes even before that small creak betrayed him and watching tensely, through half-closed lids, as he crept naked to the side of the boat and lowered himself over with an ease that I unwillingly envied. I was well muscled and very fit, but he, at least twice my age as far as I could judge, moved with a control and a suppleness that spoke of years of physical discipline. Again I wondered where Paiis had found him and why he was being wasted on such a dull and routine assignment as the arrest of a peasant woman. I thought that he was probably a desert tribesman. For many hentis the Medjay, the desert police, had been recruited from among the people who wandered the sandy wastes with their flocks and herds, for even Egyptians could not endure the many months of hardship needed to patrol our arid western border with the Libu. But I did not think that this man had come from the ranks of the Medjay, or if he had, that he had been recruited for long. The wildness of the desert still clung to him.