Nefertiti (15 page)

What could I say to her? There was no purpose in telling her that in my experience violence was buried deep within each one of us, a potential written into our very bones, something we shared even with the gods.

'I don't know what will become of us if the Queen too is dead,' she continued. 'If someone would murder the Queen herself, then what will they do to us? What good would we be to anyone? Who would want us? We would be nothing more than pale reflections of the dead. We will be spirits trapped in life.'

'I do not think the Queen is dead,' I said. 'I believe she lives.'

'May the gods prove you right.' She sounded relieved to hear my words. She turned my hand over in hers so that the palm faced upwards. 'I think I see something here.'

I felt myself seizing up inside. I cannot abide the nonsense of fortune-telling and horoscopes, all that silly business of spells and potions and mumbo-jumbo. Seeing patterns and meanings where none exist. It goes against my training and my instincts.

She must have sensed this at once, for she smiled and said, 'Don't worry, I am not going to tell your fortune like a market-place prophetess. All I want is to say what I feel. That you are a good man. That you want to get home.'

I felt like a piece of faience that has suddenly been caught by sunlight. Ridiculous. The white statue of Nefertiti, still meditating on the black pool at her feet, ignored us. 'May she protect you on your journey,' she said, quietly, as if she knew already that I would have to travel into much darker places before I could finally, if ever, reach that longed-for place that seemed to recede with every step and every day.

'I won't forget you,' I said.

She smiled ruefully, then opened the doorway back into the main Harem building. I stepped through it. The ghost of her scent stayed with me for a moment, then disappeared.

19

Khety was waiting for me on the other side. I asked him to take me to the house of Nakht, the noble. We arrived there without being seen. The street, in the south suburb, was shadowy and silent, the dark villas and estates secure and hidden behind their high walls. The air was thick with heat. Nothing stirred. I knocked quietly on the door. Quickly, it was unlocked, and Nakht's kind face, not the porter's, appeared. He looked tremendously relieved.

'It's the middle of the night and you open your own door,' I said.

He gestured for us to enter, and we passed through into the sanctuary of his house without speaking.

We sat in his garden, around a single lamp. The scents of strange flowers hung richly in the warm night air.

'Can anyone observe us?' I asked.

'No. I built this place for privacy.'

The walls were high, and the frogs around the pool talked louder than we did. He poured some wine.

'I'm honoured to offer you some sanctuary.' 'It will just be for one night.'

He inclined his head. 'So you survived Mahu's hunt. Apparently you were the intended duck.'

'Is my demise the talk of the town?'

'It is indeed. It has contributed to the feeling that no-one is in control any more. First Nefertiti. Then the young Medjay officer. Now you. Everyone is convinced she has been murdered. And the city is obviously still unprepared for this ill-conceived Festival. The entourages are arriving to find unfinished accommodations, inadequate supplies and a King without a Queen. It all seems to be escalating into chaos.'

'Someone is in control of this, but it is not Akhenaten,' I said.

'Nor is it Mahu, if that is what you are thinking. Whatever else he is, he's famous for his loyalty, and he's not so stupid as to have you killed at his own party.'

'So who, then?'

Nakht shook his head. 'I don't know. But you must be getting warm to earn this kind of attention.'

'I feel I'm getting nowhere at all, and time is dripping away fast. Before long the basin will be empty and dry.'

'We know the dead girl's identity, and we know some of what happened that night,' said Khety, encouragingly.

'Who would want Nefertiti dead?' I asked Nakht. 'Who would want to destabilize everything? Ramose?'

'I cannot see that. Ramose stands at the heart of the new order. He admires the Queen, and it seems to me he prefers dealing with her than with the King because she has a more pragmatic understanding of the affairs of the Great Estate than he does. He's obsessed with his grand design, and his new religion.'

I gazed into the fast-dwindling shallows of my wine. 'What about within the old Priesthood? The Amun faction? What kind of power could they have here?'

'The whole point of the city was to create a capital apart from them and their power-bases in Thebes and Memphis,' Nakht said, refilling my goblet.

'But surely they still have their powers? Akhenaten can ban them, but he can't destroy whole families, whole generations. They won't give it all up without a struggle.'

Nakht nodded and looked off into the dark foliage of his garden. 'I was one of them myself. Yet now I'm here. There were many of us who chose the pragmatic way of conversion to the Aten. But it was more than pragmatism. The Amun Priesthood was not of course just a Priesthood, although they venerated the god, kept the rituals and managed the festivals. As you know, they controlled vast commercial interests too. They owned a great deal of the land and its riches. Their commercial and political interests clashed repeatedly with those of the royal household. It was inevitable that at some point one or the other would have to make a bold move for absolute supremacy. Now, I have my private doubts about the Great House and their melodramas, but' -he smiled quietly - 'in the end I thought how much more interesting it would be to see what would happen when Akhenaten committed us to his enlightenment. Perhaps, after all, it will be to the greater benefit of many people. It has opened many doors previously shut in the faces of talented but non-elite men. It has brought the business of worship out of the carefully preserved secrecy of the temples and into the light of day for all to see. And there is something about it, in its finest forms, which tells people not to be afraid to live. Let's not forget, the Amun families are generally repulsive. They take their supremacy for granted. It was a special pleasure to see the shock and amazement on their arrogant faces as Akhenaten and Nefertiti stripped away their powers and riches. Welcome to the human race!'

He looked unembarrassed by this confession.

'But of course in converting to the Aten you also managed to preserve your own fortune,' I said.

He smiled. 'I can't see the purpose of destroying my life and the work of my ancestors just to prove a point, especially since it was a point I disagreed with. It was a way of converting their efforts into something new, something more generous. I wanted to explore the new possibilities. Do you think I was wrong?'

'No, I think you did the necessary thing.'

'Not the
right
thing, then.'

'I am wary of the words "right" and "wrong". We use them far too easily to judge things which we have no competence to judge. And I could not say that the things I have seen here in Akhetaten are
right.
People are people: avaricious, ambitious, strutting, careless. That doesn't change.'

He nodded. 'Certainly. The way is difficult. Things get messy and complicated as soon as they descend from the realm of the ideal into the chaos of the human. There are many people here who harbour serious doubts about what has happened lately. They see idealism changing into fanaticism. There are the same old self-serving struggles for personal power. But to return to the Amun question, it is quite likely they are here too, under the guise of conversion, perhaps waiting for their instructions, waiting for the opportunity to bring down the new regime.'

I drank some more wine. And then a name popped into my head. 'And Horemheb?'

Nakht sat up. 'Now that's a name to reckon with.'

'We met some young guards who seemed to be completely infatuated with him.'

'I'm not surprised. He seems to have come from nowhere, built himself a brilliant career, married the Queen's mad sister, and is now clearing a path for himself up the military tree by galvanizing the whole force.'

'Who is this mad sister?'

'Mutnodjmet. She has a palace role as lady-in-waiting, but she has always been kept away from the court. Something happened when she was a child, they say, and she has suffered from black depressions, hysterias.'

'And he married her?'

Nakht nodded. 'He must be very hungry for something. I can't imagine it was a match made from the necessities of the heart.' 'And he will be coming here?' 'I believe in the next day or so. And also Ay.' 'Who is Ay?'

'He is a courtier who rarely appears in public. As far as I know, his titles do not extend beyond Master of the Horse. But he is the King's uncle, and it seems the King listens to him.'

'So, the jackals are gathering.'

20

The early sunlight under the still curtain, and the sound of people stirring and talking beyond it, did little to contradict a feeling of deep unease as I woke, as if after a bad dream. I needed to move, to challenge it with activity, so I dressed hurriedly, splashing my face and hands with water to bring the reality of the new day a little closer. I smoothed my hair into some appearance of order. My mouth was as sour as tainted milk. I rinsed it out. I was hungry. And I needed to piss.

'Did you sleep well?' asked Nakht, who was waiting for me along with Khety.

'Fine. Apart from some strange dreams.'

'What dream isn't strange? That's the point of them. Should we consult a Compendium of Shadows and interpret them?' I shook my head. He smiled. 'What are your plans now?' he asked.

'Given the level of my unpopularity in the city at this point, the likelihood that the story of my apparent death will only protect me for

a short while longer, and the cruel fact that the days are passing fast, I've decided to request an audience with Akhenaten. I think it's time to bring him up to date. Besides, I can't do my job if I have to run around the city in disguise.'

Nakht shook his head, thinking. 'There is to be a public ceremony honouring Meryra today. He is to be named High Priest of the Aten. Akhenaten may be too busy to see you.'

'High Priest? I thought Akhenaten was the High and indeed the only Priest of the Aten? I thought that was the whole point?'

Yes, it's interesting he has felt it necessary just now to elect a deputy. Meryra is totally obedient. And totally ruthless. Plus, he is the chief opponent of Ramose, who has been encouraging a more con-servative approach to the government of the Great Estate for some time now. Meryra will support Akhenaten against Ramose. All religion now is about politics.'

Khety had been listening with a look of profound anxiety. 'But even if you get in, what are you going to say to Akhenaten? We're no closer to solving the mystery.'

'I'm going to tell him the truth.'

Yes, but you can't just go in there and say, "Oh, and by the way, your loyal chief of police Mahu, who wields almost as much power as you do, wants my skin for a donkey's nosebag." Besides, if Mahu finds out you've made accusations he'll be after me. He'd kill me.'

'Well, he tried that already.'

'No, sir, he tried to kill
you.
He'd kill me, and then he'd kill my family. And we don't even know for sure it was him.'

He had a point. 'Khety, I'm not so stupid as to turn up in Akhenaten's court with no evidence making wild accusations with no ascertainable connection to the mystery, which will only alert the very people we want to keep out of this. What we need to do is give him some kind of progress report to make him feel like we're getting some-where, even if we aren't. Then, having bought some time and some renewal of my authority, we need his permission to interview the Queen Mother and the princesses.'

'Tiy? What do you want to see her for?'

'Because I need to get to the heart of this strange family. I want to find out what she knows.'

'She's said to be vile. They say she has gold teeth and her breath rots fruit.'

'Nevertheless, she is the mother-in-law to the missing woman, and as such she has a, let's say, particular point of view on all this. And we can hold our breath for as long as required.'

Nakht grinned. Your friend is right, she's an evil bitch. Give her my fondest regards.'

The ways were busy with officials going to work. Carts and kiosks sold honey-cakes, bread in a variety of shapes, and beer. Most people ate and drank as they walked, already too busy, like us now, to spare the time for a proper breakfast. Khety bought some honey-bread with figs, which was wonderful, and beer, and we consumed it all like hungry dogs round the back of a building, along a side street where only labourers passed. No-one took any notice of us, preoccupied as they were with the appalling prospect of another long day of hard labour under the all-powerful sun.

Food always cheers me. It is a weakness. I wish I were the kind of man who can survive for days and nights without a single mouthful, thinking of nothing but truth and beauty. But I am not. I like to eat, as well and as often as possible. Even after a funeral, I look forward to the feast. Tanefert's cooking is adequate, but mine, I have to say, is superior. I go about it like a mystery, tracking down unusual condiments and assessing the mysterious complexities of flavour for the constituent, and sometimes surprising, elements. I take pride in knowing where in the market and among the maze of shops to buy the richest meats, the freshest herbs, the best honey. My favourite dish is leg of gazelle marinaded in red wine, with figs. I wish I could prepare it now. My old life, in which I cook gazelle while the girls prepare the beans, Tanefert talks to my mother over wine, and my father dozes or plays with the girls, seems like a lost world.

As we ate, the pain of absence flashed through my bones. To take my mind off it, I asked Khety how and where we could find Akhenaten.

'It depends,' he replied. 'Some mornings he undertakes a progress with the sun from the North Palace along the Royal Road, before the people. He worships at the Aten Temple, usually the Small. Then he receives officials and makes decisions of policy, and conducts audiences and hears petitions — '

'With what sort of people?'

'All kinds. Civil servants, provincial governors, representatives from the councils of judges, army commanders . . . everyone, right up to the northern and southern viziers.'

'And then?'

'And then he might distribute Collars of Honour at the Window of Appearances. In fact not many people know this, but there are two windows: the main one on the bridge, which he uses for the bigger audiences, and a smaller, less well-known one within the Great Palace, where he meets dignitaries, foreign ambassadors and envoys.'

'Extraordinary. And if he doesn't undertake the progress?'

'Well, he usually does, but if he doesn't then no-one knows where he stays. There are palaces and residences throughout the city, and as far as anyone knows he moves among them for security. But probably the North Palace by the river; it's surrounded by the highest walls, and almost no-one from the administration ever goes there. They say it has a great artificial lake for fish and birds, and a sanctuary park for all the animals of the kingdom. They say he spends his free time there, among the living creatures, at the centre of the world.'

Khety cast me a quick glance to see what I thought of that.

'The things people say,' I said, and smiled in a general kind of way. We still could not trust each other with regard to heresy.

We hurried through the crowds to a point where a side passage opened out on to the Royal Road, and chose a good vantage spot to observe whatever happened next.

'At what hour does he usually proceed?'

'Always the same time, unless it's a Festival day. He chooses to greet the sun in private, and then proceeds when it has risen to the height of the ninth hour. So the light is exactly right. And after his audiences, at the twelfth hour, Ra will be directly overhead, and he proceeds to the court of the Great House. The ceremony for Meryra will probably take place between those hours.'

'So if we wait here, and he feels like it, he will pass?'

Khety nodded. 'Of course, it will be unusual for the Queen to be absent. She drives her own chariot. Sometim
es the princesses accom
pany them in their own small chariots. People seem to love it. The family. Perhaps today he will not come.'

So we waited. Ra rose in his blinding chariot at his own speed, far too slow for me, higher into the ever-blue sky. I passed the frustrating time observing the people going about their apparently vital business, and dreaming casually about food. Then, finally, up along the Royal Road, we heard a rumbling, a commotion of activity. Anyone walking on the road was quickly pushed aside as an advance guard, blasting loudly on their trumpets, cleared a path - although in fact almost no-one was standing anywhere near. Rather, as if by a conjuring hand, crowds of people appeared from the side streets, jostling and pushing to take up positions as close as possible, calling, crying out enthusiastically, extending their hands imploringly towards the chariot which now came into view, protected before and after by running
foot soldiers
. As Akhenaten himself passed in pure white, crowned, on the high dais of his carriage, motionless and unresponsive among the roar and music of the occasion, the cries rose to a pitch of frenzy and the reaching hands became more urgent. He did indeed look like the King of the World. Yet I remembered the man I had met in private, wincing with pain.

The level of security prominently displayed by this parade of power was high. Nubian, Syrian and Libyan archers held longbows, their arrows pointed at the rooflines or down into the adoring crowds. Bare-chested soldiers wore military kilts and carried ox-hide shields and axes, all polished and dazzling. At the turn into the Great Palace, phalanxes of guards created an impenetrable fence between Akhenaten and the people. The retinue turned quickly under the pylons and vanished into the court, and the armed guards fell in swiftly to protect the entrance. It was an impressive, carefully drilled, perfectly executed display of might - no motley, casual recruits here. And as soon as the King had passed, the gates were shut tight, and silence returned. But what Khety had said was true: people noticed the Queen's absence. Meaningful glances, comments whispered into companions' ears, responded to with questioning looks or nods of agreement.

At least we had found him. I made my way through the throng, and Khety followed, trying to keep up. We walked along the perimeter wall of the palace. There seemed to be no other entrances, but finally, around the back, we found one: a small doorway, a trade and staff entry and exit, with a little window set into the wall beside it. A porter was barely contained within, as in a box outgrown by its bulging contents.

'Let us pass.'

The porter slowly turned his
head, as solid, battered and im
placable as a rock, to consider me.

'It's important. Here are my authorities.'

I pressed the papyri to the bars on the window. He motioned me to pass them through, which I did, and he read them slowly, breathing heavily, his finger leading his frustratingly slow progress.

'You have full authorities. And yet you want to enter the palace through my door.'

'Yes.'

He considered me. 'No.'

Khety pushed his way to the window. 'He's chief detective with the Medjay. I'm assistant to Mahu, chief of police. Stop asking stupid questions and let us in.'

The porter slowly lowered his mas
sive eyebrows again and, breath
ing more heavily now, pushed the authorities back through the grate. I pulled the papers from his sweaty grasp and hurried through the door he had opened.

We walked up some wide steps and found ourselves in a large kitchen yard. Ducks huddled in the dust, and mounds of vegetables lay in corners. We moved through the kitchen offices, past men chopping fast at tables or watching over great pans boiling on open fires, into a servery, and then a high-ceilinged and silent state dining room set with tables and stands. Carrying on with a confidence we had to show but did not feel, we passed through double doors and found ourselves in a vast, high, central-pillared hall. Massive slabs of burnished sunlight lay across the highly polished floors. Doors gave off this hall to many smaller rooms. The silence seemed rich with power. From ducks in a yard to the polished halls of authority in a few moments: such was the strange adjacency of things in this place.

Then through a closed door I heard Akhenaten's voice raised in anger, and a second voice, powerful but quiet, as if calming a child, but with an undertow of menace. I knew the voice, but could not place it. We edged closer to try to overhear the conversation. Akhenaten's voice came again, insistent, demanding, uncompromising; the other sounded like he was asking for something impossible, or something, at least, that Akhenaten could or would not assent to. I just about made out 'challenging my authority
...
public humiliation', then a word I could not catch - 'weakness' perhaps? Then 'intelligence reports indicate . . . opportunity we need to shut down now,' and then a tense silence, as if the conversation was now being whispered. Finally, a door slammed shut.

Khety looked at me. He had heard these fragments too. After a moment or so of total silence the door slammed open again and the magisterial figure of Ramose in fine, impressive clothes swept out. He walked away fast, obviously furious.

Suddenly we were surrounded. Guards appeared from between the columns and threw us down on the ground with excessive force, shouting for us not to move. I heard the footsteps stop, turn and approach me. Ramose's feet halted at my face, which was pressed to the cold stone of the floor. His long feet were blue-veined and gnarled in their gold and leather sandals.