Nefertiti (12 page)

I commanded Khety to return to the Medjay headquarters to report the murder, while I waited. I needed time alone, before the shouting and the noise. I needed to think, even though my mind was emptier and more haunted than the Red Land. The images of what had been done to this promising young man stopped every thought in its tracks.

I watched the street wake up. An old man shuffled out of his dark doorway carrying a jug of water, which he poured tenderly around the roots of a sapling that had taken root in the earth. He seemed to have all the time in the world to accomplish his task. Then he picked up some of the broken rubbish from around the tree and threw it further into the street, and shuffled back into the darkness of his accommodation. Then the sun came up, and more people appeared, leaving their homes and going about their daily business.

Rage swept through me then - at m
yself for having let this young
man die, at the waste of life, at the disgusting futility of this city, at the refined cruelty that had committed this crime. I knew, of course, that this act was aimed at me. It was as purposeful as the arrow on the boat. Whoever committed the crime wanted me to know they knew everything I was doing. They wanted me to know I was being watched closely. Also, they wanted me to know they could inflict worse things upon me if they so chose. There was something mocking in it, taunting. They were slowly and meticulously destroying the ground of authority under my feet. Soon I would be marooned on a tiny island of complete uncertainty. I had come to the city to investigate a missing person. Now I was investigating murders as well.

Mahu arrived, of course. He barely acknowledged me as he entered the chamber. When he came out, he inflicted the best of his fury on me. It was shaming, of course, in front of the other men, but I felt strangely immune. The facts of Tjenry's death made his noise and anger irrelevant and futile. Then he was gone again, with dire warnings and threats. He would inform Akhenaten. I hardly cared. I wanted to track down and trap this man, or woman. I had my own private revenge to drive me now. I needed to know what kind of human being could do such a thing to another. Was this person a monster, or did he or she have a heart and soul, blood and emotions, like the rest of us?

When everyone had gone, Khety and I sat together for a little while, not speaking.

'This is the worst thing I've seen in my life,' said Khety eventually.

'We've had two barbaric murders in the space of a few days. There's no reason to suppose they will stop here. There's every reason to suppose they are directly connected to our investigation. We're being followed.'

He nodded. 'And they're leaving no clues.'

'That's not exactly right. The manner of the deaths is telling a story. We have to work out what it is. And the next step is to trace the dead girl. I have an idea. We should ask in the artisans' village.'

'Why do you say that?'

'Because if she was a person of importance, her disappearance would have been noticed, maybe reported, by now. Someone in the city might have connected her to the murder victim. And we need to stop off on the way. I need to see the maid, Senet.'

The house was quiet when we arrived. The guards admitted us and we waited for Senet to appear. She bowed low to me. 'Can we go somewhere private?'

She showed us into an antecha
mber. As before, she was immacu
lately dressed, her hair covered, her hands in the little yellow gloves.

'I want to show you something. Please don't say anything. Just nod if you recognize it. Yes?'

She nodded. I opened my hand and showed her the scarab. Horror, rather than sorrow, descended on her face. Her hands trembled with shock.

'It is not quite what you think.' Her big eyes lifted, suddenly hopeful.

'Why did you not tell me the truth?'

'About what?' she asked breathlessly.

'That this scarab was missing from the Queen's jewellery?'

She tried to think quickly. 'Forgive me, but I did not know who you were. I mean, who you truly were.'

'You mean you did not know whether I could be trusted? As a Medjay?'

She nodded, grateful that I had said what she could not.

'I need to know if you have anything to say about this scarab.'

She looked at it. 'Please tell me, how did you come by it?'

'Someone else was wearing it. Another woman.'

She looked astonished. 'How could that possibly be?' she said, turning it over in her hands.

'I don't know. But I will tell you this. The woman who was wearing this once looked very like the Queen.'

She struggled to take in what I was saying. 'Once?'

'She is dead. I cannot identify her. Do you have anything you wish to tell me now?'

She suddenly looked away. 'This place is full of darkness.' She spoke the words with a new passion. 'Meaning?'

'People are animals, don't you think? The Queen says most people have good hearts. But I see their faces when they smile, when they say clever things, when they laugh at others' misfortune. I think the tongue is the monster in us all.'

'Why would you think that?'

'Because words have more power to wound and kill than knives.' I left the thought to rest between us. 'Tell me more about this scarab.'

She held the thing in her delicate palm, tilting it this way and that. 'I see the possibility of new life. Proclaimed in eternal gold. The scarab beetle, least of all life forms, constantly renewing itself. Resurrection from the basest things of this world. I see the sun, from whom comes all creation, pushed back into new life in the claws of the beetle. I see the mystery of Ra's power contained in the dot at its centre. Like a child in the womb. I see a woman, the complete equal of the sun god in all things. I see this worn as a sign of hope. I feel it lying on warm skin, over a good heart.'

Suddenly she buckled, as if from a bolt of dreadful grief, and sobbed, her body racked with overwhelming emotion. Khety and I looked at each other, surprised. Then her agony passed, and she calmed herself. The little lapping sounds of the river meeting the terrace stones filled in the gap of silence between us. She waited for me to respond, her head bowed.

You have spoken well,' I said. 'Nothing will be forgotten.'

I turned to leave but her hand reached out before I passed through the doorway.

'What about the children? I am sure they are miserable without their mother.'

'Where are they?'

'They've been taken to their grandmother.'

Her look of anxiety told me all I needed to know about what she thought of that arrangement.

'I will need to talk to them all. Do you want me to carry a message when I see them?'

'Please tell them I am here waiting at home for them.'

16

The artisans' village lay to the east of the central city. We drove as far as we could along the track. Ra, in all his glory - far too much glory for me - beat down mercilessly from his zenith. There was no relief anywhere. All shadows had retreated into their objects. Khety raised the parasol to protect our heads, and we drove on sharing the minimal relief of the shaky little circle of shade.

Various other tracks crossed our paths, radiating out into the eastern desert, some leading to the desert altars, others to the rock tombs and the security stations. Fatigued young men stood like shadow sticks at crossing points, and I could see, from time to time, tiny figures standing sentry at the border points of the city's shimmering territory - as much, it seemed, to keep the people in as to prevent incursions from the superstitious spirits and barbarians of the Red Land.

I pointed them out to Khety.

'The worst job of all,' he said. 'They're out there through the day

with nothing more than a thin reed hu
t for shade. They're also guard
ing the tombs being cut into the higher levels of the hills.' He pointed up at the distant cliffs, white and red and grey, and I shaded my eyes in an attempt to see. They seemed uninhabited to me. 'They're working some way into the rock now. It's actually hotter the deeper you go.' 'How many tombs are being built?'

'I don't know. Many, I think. People who can afford it are putting a lot of their wealth into the projects.'

'So they must think it's worth the investment? They must think they're going to stay here and be buried here?'

'Yes, but also they need to be seen to think that.'

Such are the worries of wealth. This obsession with the dream of the afterlife sometimes strikes me as ridiculous. We will all vanish in the great light of the sun like flood water from a field, leaving nothing of ourselves but our children. And they in turn will vanish from life. I know how cynical I seem to others when I am like this. Tjenry's death had put me in this dark frame of mind. I remembered a verse of an old poem:

What of their places now?

The walls have crumbled

Their places are no more

As if they had never been.

It was not yet the hour of rest, and we had a little time to kill before the workers returned for their midday meal. The tension of Tjenry's death was still deep in my bones, and I knew action was the only remedy, so I decided to look at the boundary stones along the city's eastern edge.

Khety was reluctant. 'Don't you think it's too hot to go clambering up there?'

I ignored him, took the reins, and we drove on, Khety holding the parasol over my head. After maybe fifteen minutes following the now rough track, we abandoned the chariot and walked on across the dreary land until finally we clambered up some rocks and found ourselves at the foot of a huge new boundary stone carved from the living rock, and flanked by figures of Akhenaten and Nefertiti gazing out over their new land. I was sweating heavily; the linen was drenched on my back. We each took a draught of cool water from the flask Khety had thoughtfully brought with him. Then I began to examine the inscription, and slowly read it out:

Akhetaten in its entirety belongs to my father

the Aten given life perpetually and eternally -

of
the hills, uplands, marshes, new lands, basins, fresh lands, fields,

waters, towns, banks, people, herds, groves

and everything that the Aten my father causes

to pass into existence
perpetually and eternally

'That just about covers everything,' Khety said, staring out from our new vantage point.

We sat down together under our little shade and looked back across the wide and shallow plain. In the far distance we could just make out the river glittering through the trees and the city baked white and dry along its lush green banks. It looked unreal, a mirage. The temple banners hung down utterly lifeless in the midday stillness. The new fields - barley, wheat, vegetables - were a mosaic of greens and yellows inlaid into the dusty black of the fertile land. On the far side of the river, beyond the cultivations of the western shore, the dazzling delusions of the Red Land shimmered. I shaded my eyes, but there was nothing to make out there.

I asked Khety, 'Do you like it here?'

He gazed out over the landscape. 'I'm lucky. I've a good position. We're secure enough. We look after each other. And we've bought some land.'

'Do you have a big family?'

'I have a wife. We live with my father and my grandparents.' 'But no children yet?'

'We're trying. But so far...' He trailed off. 'I need a son. If I can't father a son, we can't continue our family's relationship with Mahu and the Medjay. It's the only way we can survive. My wife believes in charms and spells. She goes to some unqualified doctor who makes her believe that a concoction of flower-distillation and bat-shit, a full moon and a few offerings is going to bring us a boy. She even says the root of the problem is me.' He scowled and shook his head. 'Mahu offered to recommend us to the Doctor of the Palace. Someone who really knows about these things. But we feared the indebtedness.'

I decided to meet him as an equal in this new frankness. 'I have three girls. Tanefert, my wife, went crazy before Sekhmet was born. We were so nervous, worrying over every sign. She's not especially superstitious, but one night I found her pissing into two containers, one with wheat, one with barley. I said, "What are you doing?" and she said, "I'm going to see which one will grow, and then we'll know whether we're having a boy or a girl." Neither of them really grew, although she swore the barley was taller, so we expected a boy. Then Sekhmet arrived, yelling and beautiful and entirely herself.'

I heard a shout. Two young guards were looking up at us from below the rocks. We clambered carefully down. Both were young, maybe seventeen, both obviously bored out of their minds with nothing to do all day, every day, but throw stones, dream about sex and wait for the end of their endless shifts.

'What are you doing up there?'

I showed them my authorizations. They squinted at them. Illiterate.

'We're Medjay,' said Khety.

They backed off immediately. We walked back with them along the track to their tiny hut where they sat or slept on a reed mat. It seemed an inadequate thing next to the mighty claims of the boundary stone. They propped their weapons - two crude spears - against the door. There was a barrel of water, a jar of oil, a pile of onions and a torn but fresh barley loaf on a shelf.

They asked where I was from. When I told them I was from Thebes, one of them said, 'One day I'm going to go there. Take my chances. I've heard it's great. Things happening. Parties. Festivals. Plenty of work. Nightlife...' The other shifted on his feet, unsure, unwilling to meet our eyes.

'It's a great place,' I said. 'But it's hard. Watch yourself when you get there.'

'We're going anyway. Anything to get away from this miserable hole.' The quieter one looked alarmed by his friend's candour. His friend, emboldened, continued. 'We're going to join the new army.'

This was news to me. What new army?

'There's only one army,' I said carefully. 'The King's army.'

'There's a new man rising up the ranks. He sees things differently. He's going to make things happen.'

'And what is this new man's name?'

'Horemheb,' he said, with respect and even a touch of awe.

Then a faint call came from the next border post; the boys raised their hands in salute and yelled back. We left them there, with a brief farewell, and drove back towards the village.

'Have you heard of this Horemheb?' I asked Khety.

He shrugged. 'The Great Changes have opened up many new routes to power for men from the non-elite families. I've heard his name; he married the sister of the Queen.'

This was new information. A new army man who had married ambitiously into the royal family.

'So he will be attending the Festival?'

'He would be obliged to.'

I thought about all this as we rattled our way over the broken stones.

'And where is the Queen's sister?' 'No idea. They say she's a bit strange.' 'What do you mean?'

'I heard that once she cried for a year. And she rarely speaks.' 'But he married her anyway.'

Khety shrugged again. It seemed to be his habitual response to the way of the world.

In contrast to the sophistication and enormous scope of the central city, the artisans' accommodation was stark, functional and hurriedly constructed. There were several crude altars and little chapels built around the outside of the thick mud enclosure walls, among pig sties, stables and outhouses; domestic life carried on regardless in these chapels, with animals feeding in them and women cooking bread in ovens.

Khety and I entered through the gate. The houses seemed more or less identical: a small forecourt ran along the front of each dwelling, full of animals and storage jars, and beyond that was a higher, airy central room, with smaller rooms at the back. The architects of these repetitive shacks had failed to add stairs to the roof, so the occupants had built their own crazy zigzags using bits of old cast-off timber wherever they could find access. As in Thebes, the roofs were a vital part of the house. They were covered with trellises and vines, and fruits and vegetables were laid out in the sun to dry.

The houses ran in parallels, creating narrow lanes made narrower by piles of goods and materials and junk. Pigs, dogs, cats and children ran about under our feet, women yelled a
cross at each other, a few sell
ers called their wares. Itinerants in stinking rags, cripples with rotten limbs and the hopelessly workless sat on their haunches in the shadows. We struggled to make our way between pack-mules and herds of men. The contrast with the classy green suburbs was over-powering, and I confess I felt at home for the first time in days. It was good to be back among the business, chaos and mess of normal life, and away from those highly considered and artificial precincts of power.

A few well-directed questions from Khety led us to the door of the Overseer. I knocked on the lintel and peered into the dark of the interior. A rough-looking giant, his tough face bristling with harsh stubble, glanced up from his table.

'Can't I even eat my lunch in peace? What the hell do you want?' I stepped into the low, hot room and introduced myself. He grunted, and reluctantly invited me to sit down on the low bench. 'Don't stand watching while I'm eating. It's rude.' Khety remained outside the doorway.

I sat down and looked him over. He was a typical builder made good: paunch resting on a powerful frame, gold collar around a thick neck, big hands that had worked hard all their life, broken, blocky nails packed into strong, stubby fingers, adorned with more cheap gold, that tore into the bread with need not pl
easure. He ate continu
ously, mechanically, using all five fingers, feeding himself like an animal. Behind him, a woman's and a girl's face peered from behind a curtain that separated the room from the kitchen yard. When I glanced in their direction they looked intently at me, like stray cats, then vanished.

I showed him my authority. He could read it, as could many of these artisans, for they had to understand plans and building instructions, and carve hieroglyphics. He touched the royal seal and grunted, suspicious and, although he disguised it, alarmed.

'What does a person with written authority from the King want in a dump like this?'

'I'm sorry to interrupt your rest but I need your help.'

'I'm just a builder. What kind of help could I give a man like you? Or any of those performing monkeys that pass for our Lords and Masters?'

I liked his courage and his contempt. Something relaxed a little between us.

'I'm looking for someone. A girl. A missing girl.'

He carried on eating voraciously as he spoke. 'So why look here? No-one cares about missing girls, they're glad to be rid of them. Shouldn't you be down in the city?'

'I've a hunch her family might be living here.'

He pushed the bread towards me. 'Hungry?'

I took a piece and ate it slowly. I'd forgotten we'd had no food today.

'Tell me about this missing girl,' he said.

'She would be a young woman. Beautiful. She would have been raised to a position in the city.'

He wiped his hands and face. 'Not much to go on, is it?'

'Someone would miss a girl like her.'

'What colour are her eyes? What kind of face has she got?'

'Her face is missing. Someone beat it off her.'