House of Illusions (42 page)

“Do you have evidence of the Keeper’s permission or that of His Highness?” he enquired. For answer Isis passed me the Prince’s scroll and I handed it to him. He read it carefully then made as if to tuck it into his belt but I forestalled him.

“I would like to keep it,” I said firmly. “In the event of any trouble resulting from my visit it is the proof that the Prince allows me to be here.” I was no stranger to the perfidy of royalty and had no intention of trusting solely in Ramses’ goodwill. The captain raised his eyebrows but after a slight hesitation handed the scroll to Isis.

“My trust in you is greater than yours in our Prince,” he commented acidly. “Your servant must remain outside. You already know that my soldier and I must accompany you.” I nodded. He turned to the door, untied the rope holding it closed, and pushed it open. My heart had begun to race but I willed it to slow. Straightening my shoulders, I walked inside, the men with me, and the captain closed the door behind us.

One narrow shaft of white daylight arrowed down from a slit window cut high in the far wall, just below the ceiling. It diffused softly through the room where its immediate ray did not touch, but my first impression was one of dimness after the brilliance of the morning outside. A woman was sitting cross-legged on the floor directly beneath the spear of sunshine, her head bent over something she was sewing. I thought at first that it was Hunro herself, but as she scrambled to her feet, linen in hand, and bowed, I saw that she was a servant. My glance barely grazed her, scanning the indistinct recesses beyond. Then someone stirred and I half-turned as Hunro took form out of the greyness and stepped before me.

She had changed. In the brief moment while we regarded each other I noted, with a mixture of satisfaction and dismay, how the long lines of her dancer’s body had lost their definition and become perilously curved. Her mouth, once generous with laughter and full of opinion, was now grooved with a mild peevishness and the skin that had once reflected flawlessly her exuberant restlessness had an unhealthy, sallow tinge. She was still beautiful but her beauty had become a thing without edge, without that sharp, bright sparkle I had envied so much. “The years have not been kind to either of us, Hunro,” I blurted. Her eyes narrowed and she smiled slowly, coldly.

“Well, well,” she said. “It is Thu, the woman who has achieved the impossible and returned from the dead. If I had known I was to be so honoured, I would have had myself kohled and hennaed. Your sojourn in the grave has obviously improved neither your appearance nor your disposition, for in spite of the coddling you have received from whatever cosmetician assigned to you, you still resemble a desiccated corpse under your paint.” One corner of her mouth rose in a sneer. “As for your disposition, you still have the manners of a peasant. No noblewoman would demean herself by entering my cell merely to gloat over my fate. I presume that is why you have invited yourself here.”

“You are right,” I said steadily. “But I am not here only to gloat, for no final verdict on your fate or mine has yet been pronounced, Hunro. I wanted to stand before the woman who lied to me, who betrayed the trust and friendship I thought was offered to me, and who showed her contempt for me in the end by turning her back. I do not think that those are the qualities of a true noblewoman.” Her eyes darkened and her tongue appeared, running slowly along her upper lip.

“I will not stoop to excuses,” she said. “Nor will you trick me into discussions or recriminations concerning the past, not with these men present to record every word I say. You have stood before me. Now go.”

I hesitated, wishing now that I had not come, feeling ashamed of my base greed for such a petty little revenge. The light, perfidious phantom that had flitted mockingly through my dreams no longer existed. In its place I found a bitter, defeated woman under whose defiance lurked a cloud of fear. Where was the carefree dancer? “What happened to you, Hunro?” I asked her. “Why did you stop dancing?” She glanced down at her body with an involuntary expression of distaste which she immediately controlled.

“Because I realized suddenly that I could not dance my way out of the harem,” she answered dully. “Ramses refused to let me go, and then there was nothing more.” She looked up into my face. “When I was young, it seemed so much more wonderful to be the concubine of Pharaoh than the wife of a mere nobleman. I did not see into my future. I did not know.”

“Neither did I,” I whispered, and as I spoke, it came to me that my life, no matter how hard, had been more fortunate than hers. I had sinned and yet been given my freedom, but Hunro would not escape the consequences of her guilt so easily. “Forgive me for coming here, Hunro,” I said forthrightly. “Even though I know you planned to kill me and probably still would if given the chance, it was a cruel thing for me to do.” She took a step towards me, fists clenched.

“Oh how magnanimous you are,” she said in a low voice that nevertheless trembled with scorn. “How gracious. How kind. The victorious Thu condescends to her fallen enemy. Save your pity. You are right. Ramses should have let you die. I disliked you from the moment you darkened the door of my cell all those years ago and I think no better of you now. Leave me alone!” She flung away from me in a clumsy parody of her former grace, walking through the brief illumination of the column of white light before disappearing into the shadowed corner, and I turned obediently to the door. One of the soldiers pulled it open for me and I went past him.

On the threshold I paused, taking deep breaths of the pure, hot air and letting the sun beat on my upturned face. Isis came hurrying with the sunshade raised and I felt the captain’s hand on my elbow, impelling me gently away from the cell’s entrance. Nodding my thanks, I set off across the grass of the courtyard, all at once aware of my parched throat and an ache of tension between my shoulder blades. There was a glory in my flexing knees, a consciousness of solemn privilege in the movement. I did not dare to look back.

I spent the remaining week before news came from the Prince in an indolent haze punctuated by bouts of shame regarding Hunro that alternated with a sense of the implacability of Ma’at. Justice would be served on her, on all of them, in spite of their efforts to pervert Ma’at’s course to their own ends. The great cosmic balance in which truth, judgement and the bond between celestial and earthly government were held would be reasserted in Egypt. My sentence was over. Ma’at had ground me down and spat me out, chastened but free. Now it was rolling over the conspirators, and my shallow pity for Hunro did not extend to the others. I hoped that the weight of Ma’at would crush them entirely. Except, perhaps, Hui. Always my thoughts returned to him, and when they did I wrenched my mind back to whatever was solidly before me—food or wine or the feel of hands massaging my feet. All was in the hands of the agents of Ma’at, our Pharaoh and his son, and the matter would be adjudicated, stored in temple archives, and ultimately forgotten.

On the eighth day following my visit to Hunro, as I was sitting unclad and damp on my couch after my bath and waiting for Isis to bring my meal, the bright morning light was cut off by a tall figure who entered and bowed. Amunnakht was smiling. With an exclamation I grabbed up a discarded cloak and came to my feet, fumbling to wrap it around me in my excitement. “The news is good, isn’t it Amunnakht?” I said breathlessly. “It is good?” He inclined his head and went on smiling in his usual urbane way.

“It is good,” he agreed smoothly. “The Prince has asked me to tell you that a body was recovered from under the floor of your hut in Aswat. It had dried somewhat. It was brought to Pi-Ramses buried in sand so that it would not deteriorate further. It was examined by the palace physician to determine whether or not the wounds inflicted on it were as you and Kamen described and by three generals and several officers from various divisions.” He paused, for effect I was sure, and I could see that the mighty Keeper of the Door was as ecstatic beneath his calm exterior as I was.

“Well?” I prompted him, my bare toes curling in anticipation. “Do not tease me, Amunnakht!”

“Several of the officers recognized the man as a Libu mercenary. Some years ago he was attached to the Division of Amun. When his time of indenture was over, he did not renew it. His general believes that he then went west, back to his Libu tribe, after letting it be known that he was available for hire as an assassin. Paiis obviously took note of his offer for any future use.” He bowed again. “It seems that you will be pardoned for leaving your exile, Thu, and Paiis and the others will be put on trial for conspiracy to commit treason against a god.”

“Then I may leave the harem? I may see my son?” He shook his head.

“No. You will be required to give evidence before the judges and so will Kamen. The Prince has decreed that you and he are not to confer with each other over this case. Besides, whether you like it or not you are still a royal concubine and as such you belong here until Pharaoh dies and his Heir revises the harem lists. You might like to know that the accused have all been brought within the palace compound and have been incarcerated in the barracks cells.” He paused. “General Paiis is occupying the same room that held you seventeen years ago.” I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Oh thank you Wepwawet, greatest of greatest,” I murmured in a wave of powerful relief that rendered me temporarily weak. Then Amunnakht’s words pierced my euphoria and I opened my eyes. “All the accused?” I demanded. “All of them?”

“No.” Amunnakht had sobered. “The Seer cannot be found. Only the gods know where he is.” I stared at him, perplexed yet somehow not surprised at his words, and spread my hands.

“What happens now, Amunnakht?”

“Now we wait. All the servants of the accused are being questioned. When the Prince is ready he will summon the judges, the accused and the accusers.”

“But I thought that according to law the accused may not be present at a trial!” Amunnakht’s blue-draped shoulders lifted in a shrug.

“His Majesty wishes an exception to be made. These are important people, Thu, and the charge is grave.”

“I was not important enough to be present at my condemning,” I remarked bitterly, and Amunnakht folded his arms and looked at me with disapproval.

“Nevertheless the rendering was just and your punishment deserved,” he said sternly. “Self-pity does not suit you, Thu, not now. Will you stay a child forever? The King wishes to see you.” I blinked.

“He does? Oh, Keeper, I have hoped … prayed … How is he? Is he well enough to receive me? What shall I wear?”

“You will decide on something appropriate,” Amunnakht said. “I must be about my duties. Enjoy your triumph, Thu. The King’s health is precarious. One day he rallies and the next he takes to his bed. You will not be given much warning of when you are to be summoned. I see that Isis is here with your food. Be well.” He was gone. Light burst about my feet only to be cut off again as my servant entered with a tray. Seeing my face, she stood still.

“You have had a satisfactory visit from the Keeper?” she enquired. Pulling the cloak about me calmly, I backed to the edge of the couch and sat. All at once the full import of Amunnakht’s message fell upon me. I felt it swirling dizzily about my head, brushing my heart so that it began to race, fingering my limbs so that they trembled. “Yes, Isis, most satisfactory,” I managed through chattering teeth. “But I am suddenly cold. I will eat outside in the sunshine.” At once she was concerned.

“Are you ill, Thu?” she wanted to know. “Shall I send for a physician?” My teeth were still chittering against each other and I explored, bemused, the violence of my reaction. Seventeen years of tension and anguish were being spewed forth and the process was beyond my control.

“No. It will pass,” I gasped. “Take out the cushions and the canopy, Isis. Everything is all right.”

But Hui, I thought. Hui. Wherever you are, in whatever anonymous place you have found refuge, you are the missing link in the chain of events that are surely leading to my vindication. If you cannot be found, then I cannot be completely healed from the wounds you inflicted on the child that I was. Unless you stand before me in the flesh and ask for my forgiveness for using and deceiving me, as I shall plead with the King for his pardon, I shall never be free of the gnawing worm of revenge. And that, above all else, is what I truly desire. I am tired of the anger and bitterness that are eating my heart away.

13

THE SUMMONS CAME
three days later. I had spent the time as quietly as possible once the peculiar fit that had seized me was over, but I did not sleep well. In spite of my efforts to calm my thoughts they revolved anxiously around my audience with Ramses. How should I behave? What should I say? What would he say? I was as insecure at the prospect of this long-desired opportunity as I had been the first time Hui had taken me into the royal presence. My agitation became so great that I sent to one of the harem physicians for an infusion of poppy. The drug dulled my apprehension, but it still throbbed numbly under the somnolence induced by the draught.