9

MEN WAS ALREADY WAITING outside, muffled in his cloak. “I have spoken to Shesira,” he said as he started down the path. “If anyone comes to take Takhuru away, she is to be hidden inside the granary and the soldiers must be allowed to search without hindrance. What a damnable business this is!” I caught up with him and grasped his arm.

“Master, I do not think we should take the skiff,” I said. “Paiis will have rightly presumed what our next move will be. His men will be watching your gate and Nesiamun’s also, and he may even have soldiers lingering about the palace entrances. We should slip out through the rear wall and proceed behind the estates. Put a couple of well-swaddled servants in the skiff and tell them to row to Nesiamun’s watersteps, but slowly. Of course, they should not speak.”

“Good. Wait here,” he breathed, and was gone. Before long he returned with Setau and a house servant, both wearing full-length cloaks. “Keep your faces in shadow until you are well away from the watersteps,” he told them. “When you reach Nesiamun’s steps, tie up but stay in the boat for a while and pretend to debate your next action. Kaha and I need time. We do not know for sure, but we believe that General Paiis’s men are watching both establishments.” He clapped them warmly on the shoulder and turned away and I followed him into the darkness.

Once at the rear of the gardens we used the lip of the well that was set hard against the perimeter wall to hoist ourselves up and over into the littered alley behind. It ran in a rough curve, in one direction back towards the narrow bottleneck of the Lake’s entrance and in the other to the huge compound where the army lived and drilled. Many noble estates backed onto it to left and right but it was not used for traffic. It was choked with the offal and rubbish tossed over the walls by lazy kitchen servants, and inhabited by feral cats. We turned left, for Nesiamun lived close to the neck of the Lake and not far from the factories in his charge.

We met no one. Slinking along in the shadow of the succeeding estate walls, stumbling over unnameable refuse, our progress was slow. We perceived it to be less rapid than it really was, for each wall seemed to stretch away blackly forever, elongated in the tepid moonlight, and the pocked ground beneath our sandals was vague. But at last Men came to a halt, his hand on the mud brick. “I think this is it,” he whispered. “I lost count somewhere. Surely that is the branch of the big acacia tree Nesiamun will not let his gardener fell. Kaha, climb on my shoulders. You will have to find Nesiamun. I am too old to go scrambling over walls.”

I placed my precious bundle at the foot of the wall and removed my sandals. Men bent over, and balancing myself with one hand on the bricks, I hoisted myself up. I could just reach the branch that overhung the top of the wall. Heaving on it, I peered gingerly down into the garden. There was no movement as far as I could see. The tightly winding paths showed as dull grey ribbons weaving indistinctly through the motionless tangled shadows of shrubs and trees. I would have to be quick. Fighting the protest of muscles long unused, I managed to ease my knee onto the lip of the wall. My chin grazed the rough brickwork. With a kick I rolled and fell tumbling into the sparse grass on the other side.

I wanted to lie for a moment and catch my breath but I did not dare. Getting to my feet, I crouched and ran to the nearest cover, then I began to creep towards the house. It was not long before I saw the first soldier. He was stationed beside the path, leaning against a tree and looking towards the dark bulk of buildings. It was not difficult to work my way around behind him, but I was in terror lest I stumble on another one. I stayed away from the entrance. I was certain that several men would be sitting under the pillars and more would be dispersed between the water and Nesiamun’s gate. No one would be able to leave unobserved by the main way.

At last I was touching the wall of the house itself, on the opposite side to the entrance. How was I to get in? A trained man could get onto the roof and perhaps wriggle through a windcatcher but the limit of my exercise had been a vigorous swim once a day and I was not equal to such a task. There were stairs from the roof into Takhuru’s quarters, I remembered, but to use them I had to get to them. Closing my eyes, I succumbed to a momentary fit of despair. If I paced the house walls and found no way in, I would return to my Master, acknowledge defeat, and we would attempt to be admitted to the palace without Nesiamun’s authority.

But as I slid around the corner, a pattern of weak light met me. It was coming from a waist-high window. Its reed mat had been lowered and the light seeped sullenly between the slats. I waited, eyes straining into the darkness beyond the reach of that light, but I could discern no human shape. Taking a chance, I crawled to the edge of the window and set my eye to one of the slits. I was looking into Nesiamun’s office, a large room the limits of which were lost in gloom. Facing me and close enough to reach in and touch was his desk.

Nesiamun himself sat behind it. A scroll was open before him and his hands rested on its edges but he was not reading. He was gazing straight ahead. Carefully I scanned what I could of his surroundings. He appeared to be alone. I heard the distant murmur of voices from far beyond the invisible inner door. I tapped on the edge of the window. “My Lord,” I called softly. He stirred. I pushed the mat aside. “My Lord it is I, Kaha. Can you hear me?” To his credit he did not start. Quickly he left his chair and came around the desk.

“Kaha?” he said. “What are you doing skulking in the garden? Go around to the entrance.”

“I cannot,” I explained quickly. “Your house is being watched by the General’s men so that no one may leave. Kamen has been arrested for kidnapping your daughter. The General persuaded Prince Ramses to issue the order. We must go at once to the palace, for Paiis will murder Kamen and then seek his mother at his leisure if the Prince does not stop it. We cannot wait until the morning.” He grasped the situation at once. His gaze sharpened.

“Where is Men?”

“He is waiting for us beyond your wall. His house is also under observation. He begs you to come now.” For answer he bent down. I saw that he was tying on his sandals, and in another moment he had stepped out his window and was standing beside me.

Without speaking again, I led him back the way I had come, motioning him into silence as we circumvented the soldier by the path. We reached the big acacia without incident, but here he looked up at the looming height of his wall. “I cannot climb that,” he said brusquely. “Wait.” The shadows swallowed him and I squatted uneasily, suddenly desperate to be away from this place, but soon he returned, dragging a ladder. I rushed to help him set it in place and held it while he climbed, then I followed him, hauling the ladder up and letting it down on the other side so we could descend. Men rose from the pool of darkness where he had been sitting and the two men greeted each other soberly. I picked up my cloak and the bag.

“We had better hurry,” Men said. “Sooner or later they will discover that we have slipped their net.” The words sent an ominous shiver down my spine. We turned and began to retrace our steps.

Like wraiths we slipped past Men’s estate and went on. Occasionally the strains of music drifted to us over the walls we walked beside. Sometimes we were assailed by the laughter and din of a feast that soon faded to be replaced by the rustle of overhanging branches and the furtive scratching of the cats that lived in that forgotten strip of the city. But at last we had passed the final estate before the huge royal and military compound began and we turned in towards the centre of the city.

By unspoken consent we took a circuitous route that led us beside the temple of Ra and into the anonymity of the night crowds. Lamplight flared out at us as we moved past the open doors of beer houses or flickered from the stalls of merchants eager to attract those citizens who loitered happily, enjoying the balmy night. But at the road that ran right, to the temple of Ptah, Nesiamun stopped.

“This is no good,” he said. “We cannot hope to enter the palace complex by any back way. Every entrance, small and large, is heavily guarded and even if we could by some miracle bypass the royal mercenaries, we would be challenged again and again before we reached the Prince. Nor do we know where exactly he is. The palace is too much of a maze to go wandering about in without direction, and time is fleeing by. I think we should attempt the main entrance and I will bully the guards into taking us straight to where we want to go. If Paiis’s soldiers are also hanging about there, they will have to explain to Pharaoh’s men just why I should not be given admittance. I brought this.” He extracted a scroll from the loose folds of his tunic. “It is the Prince’s agreement to my request for an audience. It will secure us a successful hearing at the gates at any rate.”

“Very well,” Men agreed. “I am frightened for my son, Nesiamun. Every moment that passes is a moment in which I see his death. If Paiis triumphs, I will never forgive myself for dismissing Kamen’s distress in so cowardly a way.”

Nesiamun smiled coldly. “And Takhuru will never forgive me,” he added. “Come then. We must head for the water.”

It took us another hour to thread our way through the confusion of city streets and alleys until we found ourselves suddenly on a great green lawn dotted with palms. At its edge the Lake of the Residence lay, rippling darkly. To our left reared the mighty wall that completely surrounded the whole palace complex, but it was broken some way ahead by the tree-lined canal upon which the royal barges were tethered and up which the diplomatic commerce of the world flowed towards our God. The canal ended in a flight of broad, three-sided watersteps of marble that led up onto a wide paved court and beyond that the vast pylon that signalled the entrance to the holy domain itself.

In a tense silence we walked towards the court. A gorgeously arrayed litter, glittering in the light of the torches held by slaves, sat on the paving. It was empty, its silk curtains looped back, and its bearers stood in a knot, talking desultorily. They barely glanced at us as we approached and then passed them. Several barges were being tethered at the watersteps. Ramps clattered against the stone and across them flowed a crowd of laughing people. They dispersed around us, enveloping me briefly in a cloud of perfume and a dazzle of jewels, before trickling in under the pylon. Many of them called to Nesiamun, asking him why he was not dressed for the feast and where his wife was. The phalanx of guards protecting the entrance glanced over them keenly and then drew back.

Men grasped my arm and moved closer to Nesiamun who had fallen into step with one of the revellers and was engaging him in earnest conversation. The loud company hemmed us in. Then the shadow of the pylon passed over us and we were within the palace grounds. “If there is feasting tonight, the Prince will not be in his quarters,” Men said hurriedly. “Nor will he like being disturbed.”

“It is still early,” Nesiamun replied. “Too early for him to go to the banqueting hall. We will try to see him before he leaves his rooms.”

We had come to a place where the paved way split into three, each path running through trees and bordered by grass. Ahead, at the end of the central way, a row of columns reared, like four vast tongues of red flame in the light of the torches clustered at their bases. “The public reception hall,” Nesiamun said tersely. We approached them, still a part of the cheerful throng, but we did not sweep under them. Nesiamun led us left in front of them, across the springing turf, but did not join with the left-hand path. “That leads to the harem,” he said. “We must go between the harem and palace walls.” He had brought us to a small gate beside the pillars where two guards in the blue and white imperial livery stood and warily watched us approach. One held out a leather-clad arm and we halted.

“If you are for the feast, you have come the wrong way,” he said. “Go back to the main entrance.” Nesiamun peremptorily held out his scroll.

“I am the Overseer of the Faience Factories,” he replied. “I have been granted an audience with Prince Ramses.” The man unrolled the scroll and read it quickly.

“Your audience is for tomorrow morning,” he announced firmly. “The Prince entertains tonight. Come back at the appointed time.” Nesiamun took back the scroll.

“The matter to be discussed with the Prince is very urgent,” he pressed. “It has become more so since His Highness agreed to see me. It will not wait.”

“Everyone wants the Prince’s immediate attention,” the soldier snapped. “If you were a minister or a general I would let you through, but what important business can the Overseer of the Faience Factories have at this time of day? I am sorry.” Nesiamun stepped close to him.

“You do your job well,” he said forcefully, “and for that the Prince should be grateful. But if you refuse us entry you will be even more sorry. At least send for a Herald. If you do not I will summon one myself.” The man did not back away, but after a moment he spoke to his fellow.

“You may leave your post,” he said. “Go and find a Herald.” With a creak of leather and a clack of brass studding the soldier vanished into the night beyond the gate. None of us moved, but I could feel my master’s tense impatience. He was breathing heavily, his thumbs hooked into his belt, and every so often he glanced over his shoulder to where more shimmering, torch-lit celebrants paraded towards the public entrance in a burst of happy noise. Nesiamun seemed calm but only, I think, in order to impress the officer barring our way. I knew that at the first sign of hesitancy we would be dismissed.

But we did not have long to wait. The guard resumed his place before the gate and the Herald saluted. “It is the Noble Nesiamun, is it not?” he said pleasantly. “I understand that you wish to have a message conveyed to His Highness. You are on the list of audiences for tomorrow you know.”

“I know, but this will not wait,” Nesiamun replied. “Go to the Prince and tell him that I am no longer concerned solely with the fate of my daughter. The life of a royal son is also at stake. My companion, Men the merchant, and his scribe, Kaha, will bear witness to the second matter. We beg for a few words with him at once.” The Herald had been well trained. His expression did not change to either curiosity or doubt. He bowed again.

“I will speak to His Highness,” he said. “He is still in his quarters but is about to leave for the feast.” He strode away and the three of us drew back a little from the gate. Presently the two guards struck up a conversation with each other and ignored us. The path behind was quiet at last. Only single lights moved along it as an occasional servant hurried on his errands. I felt a wave of fatigue and my master’s face in the dimness looked haggard. Was Kamen still alive? In the wash of my sudden exhaustion I did not believe so, and saw all this effort as futile.

The Herald did not come back for some time but when he did he nodded to the soldiers who stood aside from the gate. “I will take you to the Prince,” he said, “but I have been commanded to caution you. If you are misrepresenting a case, you will be in peril of His Highness’s extreme displeasure.” His words should have warned me, but I was so relieved to be walking through the gate on his heels that I paid them no heed.

It was a short distance to the stairs that hugged the outside wall of the Throne Room and ran up to the Prince’s spacious apartments. We were led across the grass, followed the palace wall, and turned around a corner. Another two soldiers stood by the bottom step but the Herald did not pause, and we followed him up the stairs. At the top was a landing and a tall double door on which the Herald knocked. It was opened and a dull light seeped out. We went through, and I found myself at one end of a dark passage that ran away to my left. Directly in front of me were more closed doors. The Herald knocked again and a sharp, authoritative voice bade him enter. The light that poured out this time was steady and strong and the three of us moved, blinking, into its radiance. “The Noble Nesiamun,” the Herald announced and left us, closing the doors behind him.

In the moment before I bent, with the others, into an obeisance, I scanned the room. It was large and elegant. The walls glowed deep blue and a delicate beige, the colours of Egypt’s desert so finely depicted here, and I remembered that the Prince had always loved the simplicity of our horizons and often went out alone into the sand to think or meditate or hunt. This predilection had set him apart from both his sociable brothers and those at court who had tried to plumb his mind to determine which political party he favoured in the days when his father had not declared an Heir and the ministers and powermongers scrambled to make themselves agreeable to all the royal sons.

This Ramses had wisely and modestly kept his counsel, expressing only his love for his father and his country while his brothers actively played for the throne. Hui had told me years ago that the Prince’s seeming self-effacement and kindness hid an ambition as fiery as his brothers’, but he was more clever and patient in his manipulations to gain his goal, winning men and women to his personality. If that was so, he had finally succeeded, for he was now Pharaoh’s Heir and right hand, ruling Egypt for a father whose health was failing and who would soon leave Egypt to sail in the Heavenly Barque. Whatever dreams for Egypt’s future he had he still kept to himself, but it was said that he was showing a cautious interest in the hitherto neglected army that would flower when his father died.

His furniture was also simple and expensively elegant, the chairs of gold-chased cedar, the brazier in the corner polished bronze, the triple shrine containing the images of Amun, Mut and Khonsu of gold inlaid with faience, carnelian and lapis lazuli. Lamps were everywhere, on the cluttered desk, the few small tables, standing in the corners. A scribe sat cross-legged by the desk, his palette across his knees, watching us impassively as we straightened from our reverence.

But I had no eyes for him or indeed for the Prince, for there was another man in the room, sprawled indolently on one of the dainty chairs. He came to his feet slowly with a familiar grace that sent shock bolting through me. I heard Men give a strangled grunt. My heart began to pound as I waited for the Prince to speak and release us from our desperate silence.

Paiis looked us over with a half-smile on his painted lips. “I greet you, Nesiamun,” the Prince said mildly. “I was to have the pleasure of a meeting with you tomorrow but the Herald garbled some nonsense about a royal son in danger and you hanging on my gate. On General Paiis’s recommendation I have already issued a warrant for the arrest of your son, Men, on a charge of kidnapping your daughter, Nesiamun, and it is only a matter of time before Paiis’s men wring from him the location of the girl, so I cannot imagine why you are here together but state your business quickly. I am hungry.”

“On the matter of the kidnapping, Highness,” Nesiamun began, “the General acted precipitously. My daughter has been a guest in the house of Men without my permission and I beg you to rescind the warrant at once. The whole thing was a misunderstanding.”

“Is that so?” the Prince broke in. “Then why is the whole force of the Pi-Ramses police combing the city for her?”

“I requested their assistance when Takhuru went missing from her home,” Nesiamun replied evenly. “I did not know she was with her betrothed. She had left without a word. I am angry with her.”

“No doubt.” The finely feathered royal eyebrows rose. “So your son, Men, is to be blamed for nothing more than an excess of love?” He turned to Paiis who was standing with braceletted arms folded. “The young man was also temporarily missing, was he not? He did not appear to take his watch on your estate?”

“That is correct, Highness,” Paiis said smoothly. “He has proved himself to be completely untrustworthy. In the end I traced him back to his father’s house, where he was holding the Lady Takhuru. Men did not know that she was there.”

“You bastard!” Men shouted. “It is all a lie! All of it! Where is my son? Is he still alive?”

“Why in the name of all the gods would he not be alive?” the Prince asked irritatedly. “And you.” He pointed at me. “I do not know you. What are you doing here?” There was a sudden hush. Paiis was openly smiling at us but his eyes were on me and they were cold.

My moment had come. Taking a deep breath, I severed myself finally and utterly from my past.

“I beseech your indulgence, Highness,” I said. “I am Kaha, scribe to my Master, Men. I think that it is my place to begin what will be a long story, but before I do, I ask you if you have ever heard these names repeated all together. The Seer Hui, the Generals Paiis and Banemus, the Royal Butler Paibekamun, the Lady Hunro.” His brows drawn in puzzlement he began to shake his head, then he paused and his expression changed. His face became immobile but his kohled eyes grew alert.

“Yes,” he barked. “Continue.”

So I did. With Thu’s manuscript in my hands I told it all. As I spoke servants entered and left, moving quietly to trim the lamps and lay wine and honey cakes before us. No one ate. Ramses listened intently, betraying nothing of his thoughts as my voice filled the room. Nesiamun and Men stood with lowered heads, wrapped in their own emotions. Paiis watched, eyes narrowed, mouth thin, and I knew that if we did not succeed in convincing the Prince of the truth the General would exact an immediate and ruthless revenge. I was afraid but I struggled on.

Someone came to the door, was admitted, and began to speak, but the Prince raised a jewel-encrusted hand. “Later,” he said, and his attention returned to me. The door closed softly. By the time I had finished my part of the tale, the Royal Scribe was surreptitiously flexing his cramped fingers and the lamps had all been replenished with oil.

Ramses considered me carefully. He pursed his hennaed lips. Then he turned deliberately to the General. “A very interesting story,” he said casually. “Longer and more involved than the tales my nurse used to tell me but absorbing just the same. Paiis, what do you think of it?” Paiis’s broad shoulders lifted in a disdainful shrug.

“It is a marvel of inventiveness woven with a few threads of truth to give it a poisonous sting, Highness,” he replied. “I knew this man when he was in my brother’s employ. Even then he was flighty and garrulous. You are, of course, aware that the woman who tried to murder the One years ago has defied her exile and is free somewhere in the city. It is my belief that she has formed an association with Kaha in order to discredit those who once showed her kindness and by lying, win a pardon. They brewed this fantasy together.”

“And why would he do such a thing?” Ramses folded his arms. He was no longer looking at Paiis. His gaze was on a far corner of the bright room.

“Because he has been in love with her for years,” Paiis answered promptly. “She had a facility for capturing men’s baser emotions and evidently she has not lost it.” A peculiar expression flitted across the Prince’s face, almost a twist of pain.

“I remember her well,” he said, and cleared his throat. “My father’s concubine, to his undoing. I was placed in charge of the investigation into her culpability. No evidence was found to link anyone other than her with the crime.” His eyes left the ceiling and swivelled to fix themselves on me. “Now why was that, if your story is true?” It seemed to me to be a naïve question, but I knew that this Prince was far from stupid. He wanted something put into words.

“Because instead of throwing the pot of poisoned massage oil away, the Butler Paibekamun kept it and gave it to you, Highness, so as to cast the blame on Thu.”

“Thu,” he repeated. “Yes. Gods, she was beautiful! And what was your lie, Scribe Kaha?” I dared to glance at the General. He was standing with his hands behind his back and his legs stiffly apart as though he were on the parade ground disciplining his troops.

“Go on, Kaha,” he said. “Perjure yourself for the sake of a love long since swallowed by the past. Lie for this Aswat peasant.” Anger gripped me for a moment, eclipsing my fear of him.

“I lied once in the past out of loyalty to you and to the Seer,” I retorted hotly. “Out of loyalty, General! But I am a scribe, and still have a reverence for the truth. Do you think it is easy to stand here knowing that I am but a small minnow trying to swim in a river choked with sharks? That I can be eaten while the powerful continue to enjoy the freedom of the water? You will be granted more clemency than I, no matter how heinous your crime!”

“Peace, Kaha,” the Prince put in mildly. “Egyptian justice extends without partiality over both noble and commoner. You have no more to fear from the judges than Paiis.” I went down on one knee.

“Then prove it, Highness!” I cried. “My lie was this. My Master Hui told your investigators that Thu had asked for the arsenic to cure worms in the bowels and he did not suspect that she intended to use it against your father. Yet he told me, with great satisfaction, that he knew how it was to be really used, and he rejoiced that Egypt would be rid of the royal parasite.” I faltered. “Forgive me, Highness, but those were his words. I am trained to remembered accurately such things. When I was asked what I knew of the matter, I repeated the lie of my Master. I also lied in the matter of the whereabouts of my Master on the night your father nearly died. Hui told us all in his household to explain that he had gone to Abydos to consult with the priests of Osiris for a week and had not returned until two days after the murderous attempt. It was not true. He was in his house all the time, and he gave Thu the arsenic with which to poison the Great God during the time he was purported to be away.” I rose.

“It is certain that your word alone will not be sufficient,” Ramses said. “Yet I am not prepared to dismiss this affair out of hand.” He bent and whispered to his scribe. The man rose, bowed, and went out. The Prince turned to Men. “And you,” he said. “What do you have to do with all this?” Men straightened.

“It is quite simple, Highness,” he said. “My son, Kamen, is an adopted child. His real mother is this same Thu and his father is your father. He is your half-brother. Fate brought them together at Aswat. She told him her story, and since then the General has been trying to kill both of them for fear their testimony should carry a combined weight of honesty.” Paiis burst out laughing, yet the sound had no ring of humour and the Prince silenced him with a savage and imperious gesture.

“So that is what happened to Thu’s child,” he said. “I have sometimes wondered but my father has kept his counsel. I repeat my earlier question now to you. What evidence is there for such a foul accusation?”

“If Kamen were here, as he should have been had the General not arrested him,” Men answered, “he would be able to tell you better than I. The General sent your brother south to Aswat as escort for the very man commanded to assassinate him. Kamen began to suspect the man’s true purpose, but he could not be sure until the moment when he attacked Thu. Then Kamen killed him. His body is buried under the floor of Thu’s hut in Aswat. If your Highness will send men there, they will find it as I have said.”

“Paiis,” Ramses said. “Do you have any objection if I do as the merchant has requested?”

“Do not contribute to their fantasy, Highness,” Paiis replied, and for the first time I saw the mask of his selfconfidence slip. A sweat had broken out along his upper lip and he was glancing nervously towards the door. “It is all a total fabrication.”

“That is not an answer.” The Prince pointed at the bag now slung over my shoulder. “What have you brought, Kaha?” I did not want to part with it yet, not until I knew whether or not Paiis would triumph, but now I had no choice. Reluctantly I set it on the floor and opened it.

“Thu has spent the last seventeen years writing an account of her downfall from the time the Seer took her away from Aswat,” I told him. “She gave it to Kamen and begged him to bring it to the attention of Pharaoh as she had begged so many travellers before. She did not know she was speaking to her son. Kamen took it, and like a good officer he went with it to his superior, namely the General. It disappeared. But Thu was clever. She had made a copy.” I lifted it and held it out to him. “Guard it well, Highness. It is a compelling document.” Ramses took it and smiled. The sight sent a chill through me, for all his divine power, all the acuteness of his perception, was gathered in the slow parting of those painted lips.

“You may sit, all of you,” he said. “Take some refreshment while we wait. It seems as though I will not be feasting tonight.” He snapped his fingers and a servant came forward. I did not want to sit. I was too tense. But obediently I folded onto a chair and my two companions did likewise. No one dared to ask what we were waiting for. “You also, Paiis,” the Prince said curtly. “Over there.” He indicated a chair by his desk, and I noticed with a surge of hope that it was the one farthest away from the door. Paiis knew it too. He hesitated briefly, then lowered himself and crossed his legs.

The Prince seemed quite at ease in the silence that followed. He seated himself behind his desk, proceeded to unroll one of the numerous scrolls, and began to read while we watched him anxiously. The servant poured wine for us into silver goblets and passed the honey cakes. We drank a little. Suddenly Ramses said without looking up, “Is my brother still alive, Paiis?”

“But of course, Highness,” Paiis responded with a mild indignation that deceived no one.

“Good,” was the grunted response. The room sank into silence once more.

About an hour passed before the door opened and the scribe came hurrying forward. He was clutching a scroll. Bowing, he approached the desk. The Prince did not stir. “Your pardon, Highness,” the man said, “but the archives were deserted and I had to go in search of the archivist. He was at the feast and was difficult to find in the crowd. Then it took him some time to discover the scroll you requested. But here it is.” Ramses nodded.

“Read it to us,” he said. The scribe unrolled it.

“To the Lord of All Life, the Divine Ramses, greetings,” he intoned. “My dearest Master. Five men, including your illustrious son the Prince Ramses, are even now sitting in judgement upon me for a terrible crime. According to law I may not defend myself in their presence but I may petition you, the upholder of Ma’at and supreme arbiter of justice in Egypt, to hear in person the words I wish to speak with regard to the charge against me. Therefore, I beg you, for the love you once bore me, to remember all that we shared and grant me the privilege of one last opportunity to stand in your presence. There are circumstances in this matter that I wish to divulge to you alone. Criminals may make this claim in an effort to avert their fate. But I assure you, my King, that I am more used than guilty. In your great discernment I ask you to ponder these names.”

The scribe paused. As he did so the realization of what I was hearing suddenly broke over me and my breath caught. I had been right in my vague but persistent suspicion that Pharaoh knew who the plotters were, had known all these years, because Thu had told him. In the final extremity of her terror she had whispered the names to a scribe who had dutifully carried them to the King. That was why her life had been spared. Evidence had been lacking, but Ramses, being a merciful God, had given Thu the benefit of his doubt. She had worded her desperate last plea with grace and I had a momentary flush of pride. I had taught her well. I must have made a sound, for the Prince’s head turned towards me.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Paiis. He was no longer lounging back in his chair. He was sitting upright, hands gripping his knees, and he looked pale. The scribe went on reading, listing the names of those who had fired my youthful zeal and imagination and perverted the eager girl from Aswat. Hui the Seer. Paibekamun the High Steward. Mersura the Chancellor. Panauk, Royal Scribe of the Harem. Pentu, Scribe of the Double House of Life. General Banemus and his sister the Lady Hunro. General Paiis. Thu had not placed me or her body servant, Disenk, among the guilty, although she must have deduced at the time the part we both had played in her manipulation. Perhaps she had felt a fleeting sympathy for us as people like herself, commoners without the avenues of potential escape open to those of nobler birth. “I implore Your Majesty to believe that these nobles, among the most powerful in Egypt, do not love you and through me have tried to destroy you. They will try again.” The Prince waved the man to silence.

“Enough,” he said. Rising, he came around the desk and perched on its edge. “That scroll was dictated by Thu of Aswat almost seventeen years ago, three days before she was sentenced to death,” he went on conversationally. “My father read it, and because of it, sent her into exile instead of to the Underworld, a fate better, I think, than she deserved. He is a just King, and would not allow execution as long as there was any doubt as to the guiltiness of the criminal. Later he showed me this scroll. We watched and waited but no further attempts were made on his august life and he began to wonder if she had lied and he should have let her die.”

The royal calf began to swing to and fro, the seeds of jasper and green turquoise sprinkled over his sandals catching the light and glinting at the movement. He spread his hands, hennaed palms up. He might have been expounding on a point of government or a hunting technique, this handsome man with his dark eyes and perfectly fashioned body, but none of us were fooled. He was the Hawk in the Nest, the very understatement of his posture and casual tones only serving to emphasize his invincibility. He was the arbiter of our fate and we all knew it.

“Now this,” Ramses went on. “If I were faced with a lesser crime committed so long ago I should perhaps dismiss the matter, reasoning that time and a slow maturing might render any punishment nonsensical. But treason and attempted regicide cannot be so easily ignored.”

“Highness, there is no proof of either on the part of anyone named in that scroll!” Paiis broke in. “Nothing but words of envy and bitterness!” Ramses swung to him.

“Envy and bitterness?” he repeated. “It may be. But will a human being under the crushing weight of certain death spew forth lies? I do not think so, for he, or she, knows that the Judgement Hall is only a few heartbeats away.” Now he slid from the desk, and leaning against it, folded his arms. “What if Thu told the truth?” he mused. “And Kaha here? What if there are plotters, and these plotters, having failed in their aim, bide their time until a new Pharaoh comes to the throne? And what if they decide that the new Incarnation of the God is not to their liking either, General Paiis? What if they make regicide a habit? No. I cannot ignore this.” He came to his full height and his shoulders went back. He jerked an imperious finger at one of the patient servants. “Bring me one of my Commanders,” he ordered. “And you,” he pointed at another one, “go to the banqueting hall and tell my wife that I will not be eating publicly tonight. Then go to my father, and if he is not sleeping, tell him that I wish to consult him later.” The two men hurried out. Paiis slid to the edge of his chair.

“Your Highness, I am the most senior of your generals here in Pi-Ramses,” he said. “You do not need to send for a Commander. Command me.” The Prince smiled and lifted his wine cup.

“Oh I do not think so, General Paiis,” he said gently. “Not this time.” He drank meditatively, savouring the bouquet, then licked his lips. “Forgive me if my trust in you should temporarily waver.”

“I stand rebuked.”

“Pray fervently that a rebuke is all you will receive!” the Prince shouted. Paiis did not seem perturbed. One of his eyebrows twitched. He patted his thighs twice and regained his seat. I unwillingly admired his self-control.

The Commander appeared shortly. He strode to the Prince and made his obeisance, then stood imperturbably to receive his orders. I saw his glance flick briefly in the direction of the General before returning to Ramses’ face. “You are to take twenty men of my own division of Horus,” Ramses told him deliberately. “Escort General Paiis to his estate. He is under house arrest.” The man’s expression did not change, but I saw his blunt fingers curl suddenly against the hilt of his sword. “If more men are necessary to keep him there, then detail them. The General is not to leave his arouras on pain of extreme discipline. You personally are not to leave his side until a search of his holdings is made and the merchant’s son, Kamen, is found there. Kamen is to be treated with respect and brought here, to me, at once. I want a similar detachment to surround the home of the Seer. He also is under house arrest. Send to the harem guards and the Keeper of the Door and tell them that the Lady Hunro is under no circumstances to leave the precinct. The same injunction applies to Chancellor Mersura and the Scribe Panauk. Pentu the Scribe who plies his trade in the Double House of Life must be taken to the prisons of the city for interrogation.”

In singling out Pentu for direct incarceration, Ramses had placed his finger unerringly on a weak link in the chain of conspiracy and he knew it. Pentu, like me, had no recourse to the higher echelons of power and would break under pressure. He had been little more than a messenger for Hui and the others, rarely entering their houses, receiving second hand from the Stewards the words he was to carry. I had seen him no more than twice during my time with Hui, and I did not think that Thu had seen him at all. He was guilty only of keeping his counsel, but he knew more than was safe. The Prince had proved himself capable of a subtle perception, and we had won the first round, Kamen, Thu and I. We had won!

“Send a captain you can trust south into Nubia,” Ramses was continuing crisply. “He is to tell the General Banemus that he too is under arrest and is not to leave his post until a replacement can be found. Then he is to be brought back under guard to Pi-Ramses. I want the members of my division to join the city police in searching for a woman, Thu of Aswat. The police doubtless have a description of her. Or have you got her also, Paiis?” He did not even bother to look at the General.

“No,” was all Paiis said.

“She is to be taken into the harem and guarded carefully. Are your orders clear? Repeat them. And one other thing. Send an officer and men to Aswat. They are to disinter and bring to Pi-Ramses a body that they will probably find under the hut of this same Thu. I will dictate a scroll of authority to be taken south to Nubia and one for the officer who will be in charge of Hui’s house arrest.” The Commander repeated the words, and at the Prince’s dismissal, saluted and left. But he soon returned, and the room filled with soldiers. Paiis did not wait to be handled. He rose.

“You are making a grave mistake, Highness,” he said coolly, and his eyes, as he looked at his superior, were like black glass. Ramses at last faced him directly.

“It may be so,” he said, “and if it is so then you will be exonerated and restored to your position of authority and my trust. If your conscience is clear, you may rest in the knowledge that Ma’at will vindicate you. But I do not think so, my General,” he finished in a whisper. “No, I do not.” For a second I saw the hardness of Paiis’s eyes light with a flash of clean hatred that revealed to me in all its nakedness the envy, ambition and petty arrogance that had consumed him all his life and had brought him to this end. It had not been enough for him that he belonged to one of the oldest and most revered families in Egypt. Paiis wanted to rule. Paiis wanted the throne with the army behind him.

The Prince and his General stared at each other, then Ramses’ shoulders slumped. “Take him to his house,” he said. We watched as the soldiers surrounded Paiis and marched him to the door. I had expected a parting glance or a word of acrimony from him but there was nothing, and in a moment the room seemed empty. The Prince turned to us. “As for you Nesiamun, Men, Kaha, go home,” he said. He looked suddenly very weary. “I will take Thu’s manuscript to my father, and we will read it together. When I have spoken with my brother, I will send him back to his betrothed. Go now.”

“Thank you, Highness,” Men said. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart.” We scrambled up immediately, made our reverences, and walked out into the night. Nesiamun drew in deep breaths of the fragrant air.

“It is good,” he sighed. “But I feel I have aged ten years in these few hours. You were not arrested for your part in it all, Kaha. Perhaps you will be pardoned.”

“Perhaps,” I answered, and followed my Master into the dimness.