Amerotke smiled. âThe truth, Shufoy? The dead don't leave, they are all around us and try to speak.'
Shufoy pulled a face at this enigmatic response.
âAnd General Suten's tomb?'
âI went to look for something but didn't find it, and yet I found something else.'
Amerotke turned to the side table beside him and took down the dead general's memoirs. Using the light from the window behind him, he once again read the passage he had marked. He turned the pages of the folio carefully, and now and again put the book down and returned to his writing desk, where he was listing everything he had learnt.
The day drew on. Amerotke was thinking about going into the garden when his steward knocked on the door and ushered in Standard-Bearer Nadif and his rather awestruck subordinate. Amerotke had met this policeman before. He appreciated Nadif's sense of duty and had a deep respect for his allegiance to the law and his sharpness in the conscientious discharge of his duty. Nadif still bore himself like a soldier; he stood as if he was on the parade ground, his face all stern, eyes staring, holding his staff like a spearman waiting to salute his colonel.
âNadif, Nadif.' Amerotke patted him on the shoulder. âThis is not the time or the place for ceremony, for you or your companion.'
âThis is my nephew, my lord, a new recruit in the Medjay. I'm trying to teach him some skills.'
Amerotke smiled at the note of irritation in Nadif's voice. Shufoy was fascinated by the sack the nephew carried. He caught the clink and wondered what valuables it contained. Amerotke, however, was keen that Nadif lose the stiff formality of the parade ground. More cushions were brought, beer jugs were filled, whilst the judge insisted that both Nadif and his nephew bathe their hands and faces and dry themselves with perfumed cloths before they discussed the reason for their visit. Nadif was very grateful; he quietly prayed his nephew would behave himself.
âMy lord,' he began, âI thought I would write you a report but I changed my mind. Nephew, empty the sack.'
The recruit hastened to obey. Amerotke stared as the trinkets fell out, though he seemed more fascinated by the way the nephew threw the sack to the ground.
âDo that again,' he ordered. âFill the sack and empty it out again.'
The nephew hurried to obey. He was still overawed at meeting this powerful judge, with his quiet voice and sharp dark eyes, yet his uncle had told him that if Amerotke ordered him to stand on his head he must do so. The sack was refilled and emptied again, then Amerotke asked Shufoy to do the same thing. He sat for a while holding the bracelet, moving it from hand to hand.
âMy lord,' Nadif leaned forward, âshall I tell you where I found this?'
âYes, yes, do so.'
Nadif began his report, haltingly at first but gaining confidence as Amerotke nodded or grunted with pleasure. The standard-bearer described his meeting with Apep, what he had found in the undergrowth when the funeral procession passed, how he had discovered the murdered guard as well as what he had just recently observed.
Amerotke heard him out, sitting as if fascinated by a painting on the far wall. Nadif followed his gaze. The fresco showed the goddess Hathor receiving the sacrifice of harvesters.
âMy lord, are you pleased?' Nadif asked.
âShufoy, I want you to take our guests out into the garden. You are on duty?'
âTill sunset, my lord.'
âNo, no, I want you to stay here tonight as my guests. I will have certain tasks for you to do. Now, go with Shufoy, he will look after you, you deserve a good meal. I have some light white wine a merchant brought from the vineyards in the Delta; it is cool and refreshing on a hot day. Perhaps you would like to swim in the pool?'
Nadif could see the judge was distracted but hastened
to obey. Shufoy was also eager to interrogate these new arrivals; he was particularly interested in questioning Nadif about whether, in his patrols, he had ever found a piece of that hard black rock.
Amerotke waited until they had left, then returned to his writing desk. At last everything was making sense, the mist was lifting and the truth about these hideous murders and sinister affairs was growing clearer. He must have sat for about an hour, writing hastily, until the cramp in his back and arms forced him to rise and join the others outside. Nadif, his belly full of good wine and spiced duck, would have jumped to his feet, but Amerotke waved him to keep still and squatted down before him.
âWhat you have done, officer, is excellent.' Nadif blushed with pleasure. âI shall remember your name and, rest assured, Pharaoh will turn her face to you and smile at you. You will receive the red gloves of favour and the necklace of honour.' Nadif was now beside himself with happiness. âBut listen, this is what we must do, there are preparations to make.'
The rest of the day was taken up with various tasks. Amerotke bathed in the pool and slept for a while until it was early evening. Then he dispatched a guard to take a message to the palace, and instructed Nadif to go to the Temple of Isis.
âYou are to tell Lord Impuki and his household,' he declared, âthat they are to present themselves in the Hall of Two Truths by the ninth hour. If they are not there, they will be arrested. Oh, then visit Chief Scribe Menna. Tell him this business is being brought to an end. I want him there as a witness.'
Nadif nodded excitedly.
âShufoy,' Amerotke gestured to his manservant, âI want you to take a letter to General Omendap, and once that's done, go to the house of Lord Valu; you will find him preening himself in his garden. Tell him that he too must
be at the court by the ninth hour, and he is to bring the snake man Hefau with him. Once you have left Lord Valu's house, seek out Captain Asural; I have a letter for him as well. Oh, by the way,' he turned back to Nadif, âtell Lord Impuki I want him to bring the temple records of all those who've come into his sanctuary looking for healing or help.' Amerotke waited until both had left, then turned to Nadif's nephew. âYou too, sir,' he smiled, âhave a role to play. I want you to bring that sack down to the court tomorrow and do exactly what I say. For the rest, enjoy yourself here.'
Amerotke returned to his writing office. He felt relieved, at peace. Once the messages were delivered he would face no more danger this night. He was eager to finish a business which would end in hideous deaths. He wrote out his line of attack like a general planning a battle. He had dug the trap, but was it deep enough? Would he snare the very people who had been hunting him?
Â
The court of the Hall of Two Truths had been closed to all spectators. Fully armed guards wearing the masks of Amun ranged along the steps outside and thronged the central courtyard. Their standard-bearer was under strict instructions: no one was to be admitted. Inside the court Amerotke did not sit in the Chair of Judgement; that was now occupied by Hatusu, beloved of Ra, the Glory of Amun, Pharoah Queen, Lord of the Two Lands. She had swept into the court garbed in exquisite robes, a jaguar-skin sash around her slim waist, her gold-dusted feet sheathed in sandals of silver adorned with diamonds, her hands hidden by the Red Gloves of Majesty. She had risen before dawn and the Keeper of the Royal Oils, the Imperial Perfumer, the Holder of Pharoah's Sandals and Robes, the Keeper of her Cabinet and a host of sloe-eyed maids had clustered about to prepare her to show her face to the people. She had bathed in a rose-drenched pool, then allowed her maids to delicately paint her face, draw the dark green lines of
kohl beneath her flawless eyes, carmine her full lips and slip the earrings of mother-of-pearl into her soft fleshy lobes. She had adorned her head with a thick braided wig drenched in perfumed oil and was dressed in the finest linen. The vulture pectoral on her chest glittered and sparkled, her wrists were decorated with bracelets of pure gold, rings displaying the most precious stones gleamed on her fingers, and her nails were painted a deep purple. Over her shoulders hung the Nenes, the Coat of Glory, a vivid display of eye-catching colour, so brilliant it seemed as if a million beautiful butterflies had gathered on a sea of lovely flowers. Around her forehead was the imperial circlet, displaying the swollen-throated Uraeus, ruby-red eyes in its lunging head. This was the female cobra of Egypt, representing the power of Pharaoh, ready to burn millions in defence of the Kingdom of the Two Lands.
Hatusu likened herself to a cobra; she was swollen with fury and eager for vengeance. She had studied the lists of treasure stolen from the royal tombs and screamed with fury at the reports from her ambassadors that some of this was now in the palaces of petty princelings in Canaan. Such passion concealed her own deep-rooted fears. She had eagerly read Amerotke's letter of the previous day and laughed with delight when she realised that her saluki hound, as she called Amerotke, had found its quarry. She had decided that she herself would sit in judgement and had swept along the thoroughfares, the Avenues of the Sphinx, Lion and Ram, not in a palanquin but in the imperial chariot of glory, drawn by war-horses with their heads and flanks adorned with imperial plumes and streamers. The carriage she'd stood in was of beaten gold, a glorious chariot on its red-rimmed leather wheels displaying the full panoply of battle with its jewelled javelin case and gold-sheathed arrow quiver.
Hatusu had driven the chariot herself; Senenmut, in the full dress uniform of an imperial general, standing beside
her. She drove slowly but majestically, ranks of Syrian archers and Menfyt veterans from the Sacred Band holding back the crowds. Priests swinging thuribles went before her, purifying the air with sacred smoke, whilst imperial pages scattered rose petals beneath the hoofs and wheels of her chariot. No music, however, accompanied her, no songs of praise or chanting temple dancers. Instead, on either side of the chariot strode members of the Royal Circle carrying huge flabella, ostrich-plumed fans dyed a light pink and soaked in perfume so as to keep away the dirt and fleas from the sacred flesh. The true music was the ominous tramp of the units from the Sacred Band who followed the chariot: the Maryannou and the Nakhtu-aa, the Braves of the King and the Strong-Arm Boys. They were her bodyguard, bound by the most sacred oaths to live and die for their Divine Mistress. Every so often the sombre silence would be shattered by the shrill blasts of war trumpets so that those ahead knew the Divine One was coming. Pharaoh was showing her power. Secretly she was determined to inflict hideous vengeance on those who had dared to try and bring her name down to the dust. Despite Lord Senenmut's attempts to pacify her, she had sworn terrifying oaths to reduce the malefactors to dirt under her sandals, carrion for the devourers, sent into the darkness with no blessing, no prayer, no incense or song.
At the Temple of Ma'at Hatusu had walked imperiously up the steps, turning neither to the left nor the right. Now she sat like a statue grasping the flail and rod, her feet resting on a footstool. On a smaller chair to her right sat the sword of her justice, Amerotke, dressed in his robes of office. On her left, squatting on a cushion, was Lord Senenmut, ever ready to whisper advice.
The court had been cleared, the bar lifted; not even the scribes were present, only lines of archers, arrows notched to their bows. Across the hall were those Amerotke had
summoned: Lord Valu, looking distinctively nervous before he bowed his head; next to him Hefau, then Chief Scribe Menna, Lady Lupherna and Standard-Bearer Nadif. After a short gap were Lord Impuki, Paser and the Lady Thena. Once summoned, they hastily knelt and bowed, foreheads against the hard floor as they nosed the ground before their dreaded ruler. Hatusu kept them waiting as a royal herald proclaimed her titles, and when he had finished, a royal chapel priest, crouching before the Chair of Judgement, intoned the longest prayer Amerotke had ever heard. The judge sat rigidly still. He was prepared; he just hoped that the traps he had laid were cunning and subtle enough to trick the murderous children of the red-haired Seth. He breathed in deeply, savouring Hatusu's most delicious perfume. At last the priest ended his prayer. Hatusu lifted a finger.
âRouse yourselves,' the herald declared in a ringing voice, âand look upon the face of Beauty. The Divine One has not hidden herself but, like her father Ra, now sees all that is before her. Look,' he intoned, âand wonder! Marvel at the wisdom of the Dazzling One, holy in thought, sacred in speech.' The herald paused. âYou may lift your heads and enjoy her face.'
They did so. Amerotke glimpsed a variety of expressions: relief, fear, awe and glances of calculated cunning. He remained silent during this ceremony; the ponderous words, the ringing phrases were all part of his trap. It wasn't just an empty, sterile show; he wanted to frighten some of these people, induce fear so that a word or a sentence hastily spoken, without reflection, might reveal the truth.
The silence in the hall grew oppressive. Hatusu, Amerotke's fellow conspirator, never moved; trained in the strict protocol of the court, she kept her face impassive. She knew she was there not only to see justice done but to help this most cunning of judges. Lady Lupherna started to cry, head
down, shoulders shaking, whilst Lady Thena put her face in her hands.
âYou may begin.' Hatusu's voice cut like a whiplash. âMake known the truth.'
Amerotke glanced down at the floor, shuffling his feet, praying to the Goddess to guide his thoughts and sharpen his tongue.