Year of the Hyenas (33 page)

In the cellar,
Nenry
waited, refusing to look at her while they tied her hands and feet to a
chair facing a workbench on which the evidence of her black magic was
neatly laid out. Seeing her husband and servants so aloof and
judgmental, Merytra began to struggle against her bonds, raging that
they must unloose her at once—that she would tell her uncle—that Nenry
would lose his position—that she would sell the servants to a brothel!

They allowed
her to
scream and rage until she was spent. It was their impassivity that
finally stopped her. She became quiet, and no longer pulled at her ties.

“How could you
do this
to me?” Nenry asked. “Didn’t I provide for you? Didn’t I give you all
that you cherished?” He stared at the terrible wax doll he held in his
hand, skewered with a golden needle. Then his eyes fell upon the baby’s
corpse. Seeing the pitiful child, its belly ripped open and stuffed
with the awful charms, he moaned softly.

“Let me go,
you fool,”
Merytra blustered. “When my great-uncle hears how you ruined the spell—”

With a cry
Nenry
lunged at her, striking her so viciously across the mouth that blood
trickled down her chin.

“You’ve ruined
me,”
Nenry said savagely. “I am destroyed.”

“Trust you to
get it
wrong.” Her voice was suddenly pleading. “Don’t you see I worked the
magic to protect you?”

Nenry merely
shook his
head, gesturing toward the baby’s desiccated, red-painted corpse. “This
child—is it ours?”

She rolled her
eyes at
his stupidity. “Of course not. How could I hide a pregnancy even from
you? I bought the child from a prostitute at the city gate. She was
going to leave it there anyway. I held my hand over its mouth, until
it—”

She was cut
short by
her husband’s muffled wail. Nenry raised his hand; only the purest
self-restraint kept him from striking her again. He held out the waxen
figure to her instead, saying, “And this—it’s me, isn’t it? You’ve
cursed me to my death.”

“Calm down,
Nenry. I
swear it isn’t you.”

“Who then?”

“It’s your
brother, of
course. That’s his hair in the wax. Who else could it be?”

“Semerket?”

She spoke in
an
offended manner. “I had to do something. He was involving you in things
he shouldn’t—and you know it. When I tell you whose idea the curses
were, you’ll thank me for what I’ve done. The very highest in this land
want your brother dead, and all his friends. Do you think I’d let that
happen to you? I’ve worked too hard to lose everything because of your
gullibility.”

“But who could
possibly want him dead?” Nenry asked scornfully.

“The seeress
of
Sekhmet, that’s who. And her magic is the most powerful in all Egypt.”

“Who—?” He had
never
heard of such a person before.

“Don’t tell me
you
don’t know who she is! You, who even labored in Sekhmet’s temple once.
Well, that doesn’t surprise me, you’ve always had your head buried in
the sand—”

“Who?”
He raised his hand
again.

Her words were
rapid.
“She is the king’s great wife—Queen Tiya!”

Nenry had
sense enough
to believe her. In a kind of daze he told his valet to get his cloak
and walking stick ready. He was going across to Western Thebes, he told
them. “He must be warned,” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone
else.

But his wife
laughed
jeeringly when he said this. “Better to stay at home, you fool. There’s
nothing you can do for him. It’s too late. Great-uncle told me himself.
The lioness goes abroad today. Today your precious brother dies!”

From the shelf
where
the knives were kept for the slaughter of fowl and the filleting of
fish, he took a long carving knife, and handed it to Keeya.

“Keep sharp
watch on
her,” he said. “If she tries to escape, or begins to rave, or utters a
curse—slit her throat.”

Keeya did not
flinch.
Then, strangely, she embraced him. “The gods go with you, my lord. Now
go save your brother, for you are both good men.” She kissed his cheek.

The last thing
he saw
as he left the cellar was Keeya standing before his wife, the long,
bronze knife gleaming in her hand. Once outside his house, Nenry ran.
All the way to the docks he kept repeating his brother’s name like a
talisman, calling on all the gods he knew.

“Semerket—!”
He said
the name aloud, and in it was every prayer he could muster.

THE FLEET OFpleasure barques had
departed Djamet at midmorning, sailing down the temple canal to the
Nile. At the river the boats turned south, and the sailors hoisted
small square sails to catch the winds blowing sharply from the desert.
The rowers stowed their oars then, allowing the brightly painted craft
to sail before the breezes.

Semerket sat
with Tiya
beneath the wooden canopy of her barque, clad as always in his fringed
kilt and gray woolen cloak. He had never owned the traditional hunting
clothes of white, pleated linen that the courtiers wore. When he had
gone fowl hunting it had not been for sport, but to bag an evening’s
meal.

His thoughts
were
interrupted by a shout from another craft. Prince Pentwere’s boat was
rapidly gaining on them. Semerket noticed that the prince’s inevitable
comrade, the black-skinned Assai, reclined with him beneath the canopy.

“Mother!”
Pentwere
shouted across the water to her. “Fine day for a kill, what?”

Semerket
looked at the
sky, saw the gray rain clouds on the edge of the desert, and wondered
what the Prince could mean. At any moment it seemed that a storm might
engulf them. But at her son’s words, Tiya emitted a laugh of silver,
tinkling bells.

“A splendid
day!” she
said. “You couldn’t have chosen better. The gods are with you,
Pentwere.”

Pentwere
turned his
bright-eyed gaze upon Semerket. “Look, Assai—it’s our friend the clerk!
Do you suppose he’s found more wigs in the desert to show us?”

Assai
sniggered at the
gibe. But his eyes were cold, and he pointedly refused to look directly
into Semerket’s face.

“No wigs,
Highness,”
Semerket replied.

“How goes the
investigation? Have you found the priestess’s murderer yet?”

“Not yet.”

Pentwere and
Assai
looked at one another and broke into raucous laughter. With a look of
disgust, Semerket turned away. He had little patience for spoiled
princelings and their humorless jokes. He studied instead the boats
that made up the hunting party. There were at least thirty or forty
vessels, he surmised, each trimmed in flowers and streamers, the
morning sun glinting on their gilded wooden canopies.

The sun’s
flash off a
gilded stern suddenly smote his eyes. Pharaoh’s gold-trimmed yacht was
pulling next to them. Pentwere and Assai genuflected, and Tiya, too,
inclined her head. Semerket saw on her face a look of… what?
Irritation? Panic? To Semerket’s dismay, the king’s sailors furled the
yacht’s sail so that his boat paced the queen’s.

A raspy voice
called
over the water. “What an unpleasant surprise, madam, to find you here.
Pentwere, you know I wanted no females along.”

It was Pharaoh
himself
who spoke. Glancing over at the prince’s skiff, from his kneeling
position, Semerket saw that Pentwere had gone ashen beneath his
chestnut skin.

“Father—”

“Don’t blame
the boy,
Ramses,” Tiya interrupted her son smoothly, stretching lazily on her
seat beneath the canopy. “I invited myself along. I thought a picnic
among the reeds would suit me.”

“Picnic,
madam? This
is a hunt. Haven’t I created gardens and lakes enough for your picnics?
And who is that with you—your lover?”

It was a
moment before
Semerket realized that Pharaoh was pointing his stick directly at him.
Semerket hid his face, cringing. The last thing he needed at that
particular moment was to be accused of being the great wife’s paramour.

“Don’t be
absurd,
Ramses,” Tiya answered irritably. “Do you think I’d take a peasant as
my lover? Marrying into your family was low enough for me.”

Pharaoh’s pale
eyes
glittered. “Who knows how low you would go, madam.”

“He’s
Semerket,” Tiya
went on in a languid tone, ignoring Ramses. “You remember, surely—he’s
the investigator of the priestess’s murder. Toh appointed him.”

“You there—”
Pharaoh
spoke directly to Semerket. “Raise your head so I can see you.”

Semerket
hauled
himself to his knees.

“Hmmph,” said
Pharaoh
doubtfully. “Toh calls you the terrible truth-teller. Is it true you
called my wife’s brother Pawero an idiot?”

“No, Your
Majesty.”

Pharaoh
frowned.
“That’s what Toh said you called him. Who’s the liar here? Speak up.”

Semerket
sighed
dismally. “I didn’t call him an idiot, Sire. I called him a pea-brained
old pettifogger.”

Pharaoh’s
short
staccato laugh rang out across the river. “Ha! Perfectly true!”

Instantly the
entire
river around them was filled with hoots as courtiers aped Pharaoh’s
harsh laughter. Semerket glanced at the queen from beneath lowered
lashes. She had flushed dark crimson, and Pentwere and Assai were again
staring at Semerket with loathing.

“Toh was right
about
you, I see!” Pharaoh said, smiling gleefully. “After the hunt you shall
sail back to the palace on my yacht, Semerket. Do me good to hear
someone talk sense for once.”

“Why?” Tiya
spoke up.
“You never heed it.”

“That, I
suppose,
madam, is your subtle reference to our disagreement concerning the
succession.”

“It is my
subtle
reference about honoring the promise you made at our marriage.”

“I do what’s
best for
Egypt, madam—not your family.”

Tiya’s eyes
shone, and
she looked about the small fleet as if seeking a face. “Where is the
crown prince? Pentwere specifically invited him along on the hunt. Is
he ill?” Her lips drew into a delicate sneer. “Again?”

“He attends to
Egypt’s
business, madam—which is none of yours.”

Before any
more could
be said between his parents, Pentwere interrupted from his own boat. “I
could help you attend to Egypt’s business, Father. Test me! Set me a
task. Name anything and I’ll do it.” Though he was a man of almost
twenty-five years, his voice at that moment sounded thin and bleating.
“If you’d only give me a chance…”

“What?” said
Ramses
with a slight frown. “And deprive the Thebans of your circus tricks at
festival time? I couldn’t be that cruel. Stick to amusing the crowds,
my son; it’s what you do best.” Pharaoh turned to his coxswain and
pointed ahead. “On!” he commanded. Instantly his sailors let out the
sail. It billowed tightly in the winds, and Pharaoh’s yacht sped
forward. With many shouts, the courtiers again let their boats free.
Queen Tiya’s vessel, being crewed by her ladies, was slow to catch up.

The hunting
fleet
separated in the papyrus marshes. The queen chose a small lagoon far
away from the hunt in which to moor her vessel. She had been silent
after Pharaoh left them on the Nile, fuming to herself, but when her
boat reached the reeds her mood improved and she became talkative,
almost gay. With her own hands she raided the wine stowed at the stern,
and pried the clay seal from a jar. From a gem-encrusted goblet of pure
gold, Tiya treated herself to a long swig.

“Oh,” she
sighed in
contentment, “but that’s good. It’s from my family’s estate. They say
our grapes are as fine as those in Osiris’s own vineyards. Will you
take some?” She poured another splash into the goblet.

Semerket had
tasted
only beer the entire time he had been at the tombmakers’ village, and
the thought of wine was a torment on his tongue. The queen saw him
hesitate, and she withdrew the cup.

“Ah,” she
said, and
her face was gentle, her many-textured voice filled with pity, “but
didn’t my steward Nakht tell me once—what was it? Yes, I remember
now—that you have a problem with wine. He told me how you’d hammer on
his door at all hours of the night, drunken and angry, wanting to take
his wife away from him, in fact.”

“He told you
that?”
Semerket’s voice was low.

She withdrew
the cup.
“I don’t think I shall offer you wine after all. I don’t want to tempt
you to bad behavior.”

At the mention
of
Naia, Semerket’s mood had intractably darkened. He reached for the
goblet. “Nakht has misinformed you,” he said shortly.

She appeared
to
hesitate, but her lips quivered as though she suppressed a smile. Tiya
let him take the golden cup.

Semerket
drank. The
deep crimson flowed over his tongue. Tiya had been correct—the grapes
that had produced this vintage indeed must have been grown in the
heavenly fields of Iaru. He rejoiced in the wine. It was both tranquil
and exultant at the same time, a reminder to him that Egypt had once
been a place of order and respect…. As he drank further he found wisdom
in the wine, too. He held out his goblet to taste of wisdom again, and
again the queen poured.

Her ladies
came from
the stern then. They sat beside him and placed a wreath of flowers
about his head. They drizzled roasted barleycorns over him, and one of
them took up a harp and sang softly. He laughed. “What?” he asked. “Are
you going to sacrifice me?”

But the maids
only
smiled and bade him hush, so as not to disturb the hunters. The morning
passed in the hum of dragonflies, the distant shouts of the courtiers,
and the cries of wild birds. Again he held out the golden goblet and
again it was filled.

As through a
mist,
Semerket saw one of Tiya’s maids run a red signal flag up the mast. A
few moments later, very close by, he heard the sound of oars. He
struggled to peer over the boat’s gunwales. The time for Tiya’s picnic
had arrived, for Ra’s solar barque was almost at its zenith. He heard
the queen call out, “Pentwere! Is everything ready?”