Out of the Black Land (34 page)

It struck me as unfair that I was about to go to my death without once more seeing his face. I had served him to the best of my ability. He could at least look at me as he ordered my death.

‘Ptah-hotep, great honour has come to you,’ said the voice of the King. I saw through wet eyes and blinked, and my tears dropped upon gold.

‘Lord, you have already conferred on me honours beyond my worth,’ I replied in the correct form.

‘I have yet another for you, favoured son of the Lord of the Two Lands,’ he continued. His voice echoed in the great space. I beat down a surge of wild hope.

‘Rise,’ he ordered, and I got to my feet, leaving my palette on the golden floor.

My lord Akhnaten was standing on the dais, looking out into the courtyard.

‘See!’ he cried, flinging up an arm, and I saw men constructing what looked like a bonfire out of logs of sandalwood and acacia. More servants were approaching, carrying armloads of cinnamon bark. I could smell the sweetness of the spices.

‘Lord, I see,’ I replied cautiously. The strange face of the king was almost beautiful, disproportionate and odd but alight with divine purpose. ‘Soon the royal women of my father will depart to their new husbands. Tomorrow the miracle will happen.’

‘Miracle, lord?’ I asked. The feeling of threat had eased a little but I still did not see what he wanted. However, that was often the case.

‘The Phoenix will return,’ he said. ‘My astronomers have confirmed it.’

I bet they had. I seemed to recall that the period of renewal of the Phoenix was more than twelve hundred years, and I also seemed to recall that I had read a scroll no older than five hundred years which stated that the Phoenix had flown to Heliopolis, landing on the altar of the temple of the sun to leave the ball of myrrh and seed which would hatch into itself before it flew off to its palm tree or Bennu pillar to burn in its nest of spices…

My stomach dropped, my breath left me as though I had been speared in the solar plexus. I looked at the bonfire again. It was made of perfumed wood and in it I could discern the Phoenix’s spices, cinnamon and cassia and acacia, sandalwood and cedarwood and whole branches of the frankincense tree. The pile of wood in the courtyard of the temple would have bought the whole produce of a Nome. It probably was the proceeds of the taxes of a Nome. Was this the reason why I had not received any reports? Were all the farmers in Egypt starving so that the King could commit human sacrifice, an unthinkable atrocity, a terrible return to the time before Egypt had gods?

And who was the sacrifice? Was it I?

I wondered how long it would take to burn to death. To destroy the body was to destroy the ka, the spirit-double. There would be no afterlife for me, no explanation of my life to the Divine Judges. I would not persist, I would not live, have flesh, speak again to my loved ones in the Field of Reeds and after they in their turn died they would never be able to find me. I would be nothing. I would burn like a candle and go out like a candle. There would be nothing left of me, Ptah-hotep, who had been diligent and loving, except a handful of ash which would blow away in the wind. The King was not just going to kill me. He was going to obliterate me, make me as nothing.

Made things are unmade
, as Neferti had prophesied.

I was drenched in fear as if I had been in cold water. I had been prepared for death, resigned to it. If the King wished to kill me I could not stop him. But he was not only going to kill my life, but my soul as well.

I was craven, not brave. My bowels loosened and threatened to disgrace me. My knees weakened. I dared not speak, for my voice would quaver. If I unlocked my tongue I knew I would beg; yes, grovel and slaver and beg for my life; offer him my body, anything—as long as he did not slay my soul.

The King withdrew his gaze from the pyre and said, ‘The Phoenix must die so that she may be renewed.’

I did not speak but nodded, dumbly. I slid down into my kneeling position again, the better to implore him for my life when he pronounced his sentence. Huy was beside him, Pannefer on the other side, and they both knew what was coming. They were smug with satisfaction at my downfall and would doubtless dance round my funeral pyre. They knew that he was taking my afterlife as well as my present life. A feeble flicker of hatred and pride kept me conscious, but that was all it could do.

‘You have the honour,’ said the King, beaming down on me, ‘of lighting the fire for the Queen Phoenix Nefertiti, in which she will achieve translation.’

I almost collapsed with relief. He was not going to burn me on that fire of precious woods. He was going to burn the Queen. At that moment the idea seemed to be an excellent one. At least the sacrifice was not Ptah-hotep.

‘Of course, if you refuse, you will take her place,’ said Huy.

The soldiers drew me to my feet. I had to give an answer to the king, who was as pleased as if he were conferring a province on a deserving servant. If I refused I would die and all of me would be destroyed. But I did not assent or refuse. The temple swam before my eyes, the gold tarnished to dark green and then dark red like old blood. I fainted.

I woke in my own bed. For a delirious moment I wondered if I had dreamed the whole scene in the temple. But Mutnodjme and Kheperren were both holding me. I could feel their fear and concern. It was all true and I had to secure what I could before my choice could be made. I sat up.

‘Bring Meryt,’ I ordered, and she came to me, my dear Meryt who had loved me and protected me for many years. She was in tears and I kissed her and she hugged me. Her brothers crowded around the bed on which I lay.

‘Go,’ I ordered. ‘Go now. Do not stop for rest or tears. Before night you should be on the river and on the way home. I cannot thank you, Meryt, for all you have done, not properly. If you want to honour me, Nubian, live well. Prosper. All the blessings I have I load upon your head.’

Meryt kissed my feet and Kheperren motioned to his two soldiers, not Nubians but Klashr, members of the general’s own honour guard. The procession formed with Meryt at the head and her whole household walking behind, small children crying and Teti, Hani and Tani looking back to see the last of Ptah-hotep, who had done at least two good deeds for them. I had taken them out of slavery, and now I was sending them away.

I watched them as they marched out of my life, Meryt with Anubis by her side. He had already bitten Hani, and I had to order him to go. He was a good dog, so he obeyed and his obedience snagged my heart. But they had gone. One group settled and safe, for I did not think that even the King would dare to outface General Horemheb, especially not on so unimportant an issue as a few Nubian ex-slaves.

I rose and walked into the outer office. All faces turned to me. I had no need to ask for silence. Menna and Harmose laid down their clay tablets and looked at me. Bakhenmut was terrified, patently anticipating his wife’s reaction to his probable dismissal if my office came down with me. Khety looked shocked, Hanufer worried. Only Mentu was unconcerned. He even attempted to comfort me.

‘Easy got, easy lost,’ he quoted; always his philosophy. ‘Do not be troubled, Ptah-hotep. You can always join the army. That’s where I am going. Horemheb always needs skilled charioteers.’

So, my office did not know the terms of the demon’s choice which the King had thrust upon me. I was glad. If I could manage it, no one would know. I said, ‘There is no need to be concerned. There is no reason for the King to change this office in the slightest. He just wants me.

‘So. tomorrow Bakhenmut, I will appoint you Great Royal Scribe, before I am summoned to the king again. Come to me at dawn for your jewels-of-office. You will, however, I trust, keep the office as it is. Menna and Harmose are here by the will of the old king, as well as the new, and their translations are vital in giving the throne the best advice. Your friends Khety and Hanufer are very skilled. I also remind you how valuable our friend Mentu is when he honours us with his presence. By the way, ask the king, when I am gone, what has become of this year’s tax returns. I believe that giving you the position will preserve all of you from royal attention. Will you accept, Bakhenmut?’

For a long moment, fear warred with ambition in Bakhenmut’s face. The battle was so naked that I wanted to look away. Then he dropped to the floor and kissed my feet, murmuring, ‘Lord, I am unworthy of this honour,’ which meant yes.

‘No more work is to be done today,’ I announced. ‘Go home, all of you. I thank you for your loyalty and your love,’ I added.

I did not know how much more I could stand, so it was good that they were mostly too afraid to approach their doomed master. Bakhenmut left at a run to carry to his wife the good news. The old men bowed and left. Mentu embraced me suddenly and hard, then left without looking back. Khety and Hanufer kissed my hands, murmuring long forgotten prayers which would have condemned them to death if they had been heard.

Then they were gone. The office was empty. I swallowed, thinking that my hearing was at fault, and realised that I was listening to utter silence. No noise of Meryt and her tribe, no babies crying, no sizzle of food cooking. No noise of rustling papyrus or thud of clay tablet into basket. No one left in the office of the Great Royal Scribe Ptah-hotep.

Except two people who would also have to be induced to leave.

The lady Mutnodjme and Kheperren the scribe stood close together, considering me as I was considering them.

‘I love you,’ I said to them. ‘I would not involve you in my ruin. I bid you depart.’

Neither of them moved a muscle.

‘Must I order you?’ I demanded. My control was slipping. I had a dreadful choice to make, such as no man in the Black Land had to make before, and they would not let me make it freely.

‘Order away, ’Hotep,’ said Kheperren. ‘Anubis obeyed, but he’s a dog. It won’t make the slightest difference to us. We aren’t leaving you. How could you think it?’

I knew I would not get anywhere with Kheperren, but I said despairingly to the lady, ‘Mutnodjme, you have only lain with me twice, both times in strange states of mind, you could easily say that I or the night had overpowered you and be free of me.’

‘So I could,’ she replied, unmoved, fists on hips like a peasant. ‘Do you think that I am likely to say that?’

‘You could,’ I encouraged. Her face shut in on itself like a box, concentrating into an expression of complete obstinacy.

‘I won’t,’ she assured me.

‘Now we’ve got that over with,’ Kheperren said easily, ‘Let us bar the doors, eat some of the food which Meryt has left for you, and we can talk about this. We cannot help you if you will not tell us anything, but if that is the case we are quite willing to drink your Tashery vintage and occupy your space. My lady Mutnodjme and I have nothing else to do today,’ he added, and the lady nodded emphatically.

Kheperren knew me very well. He knew that in such company I could not keep silent forever. Forever, in my case, extended until the next morning, when I would have to officiate at…

They sat me down and held a wine cup to my lips and made me drink, and I told them all about it.

Then we began having the argument that I dreaded. I knew that they would not let me face the choice I had to make.

‘It’s simple, Ptah-hotep, we just get you away,’ Kheperren urged for the one hundredth time. ‘You need make no choice except the soldier’s choice not to be there when the arrow lands. General Horemheb is leaving to take the Widow-Queen Tiye’s message to the Mittani soon. We can just go to the camp, hide there, and travel with him. I can teach you the ways of the army and we can be happy.’

‘That seems sensible,’ said Mutnodjme.

‘But what about your sister the Queen?’ I cried. ‘If not I, then another will light that pyre. Do no evil deed in the service of the gods, that’s what they taught me. If I do not die instead of her, then another will light the pyre, and the Royal Wife will die a terrible death!’

‘Better her than you,’ Mutnodjme flatly. She shocked me. Was she so willing to watch her sister immolated? She loved her sister. I said as much.

‘Certainly I love her. But she is the king’s accomplice in the evils of this reign. She rules the House of the Phoenix, and it may be fitting that she is the sacrifice, she may even be eagerly anticipating this end.’ Mutnodjme was thinking, elbow on knee, chin on fist. She sat like a man, legs spread, and stroked where she would have had a beard, thumb moving across her chin.