The Hippopotamus Marsh (31 page)

The encounter left Si-Amun with a feeling of vague anxiety. Kill Mersu but choose to live yourself, his inner self demanded. Tani is changing and who but you has noticed? The family needs you. Weset needs you! He groaned, an admission of the temptation, and a moment later found himself outside Mersu’s cell.

The guard saluted. Si-Amun smiled at him. “A quiet night, soldier?” he enquired. The man’s spear butt hit the floor with a tiny thud.

“Indeed, it is, Prince,” he replied.

“And the prisoner?”

“He ate soup and bread two hours ago. General Hor-Aha came at sunset to make sure all was well and Uni sent a bundle of reeds so that the prisoner need not be idle.” In spite of his state of mind Si-Amun chuckled at the mental picture of the proud steward sitting on his floor, waist deep in reeds.

“Good. I am going in. You are to stay at your post and not respond to anything you hear within. Do you understand?” The man nodded.

“I am my lord’s servant.” Si-Amun laid a hand lightly on his shoulder and went inside.

The guard closed the door behind him and at the sound an aura of unreality folded itself around Si-Amun. Bending,
he set the alabaster jar on the gritty floor beside him, feeling as though each muscle was responding solemnly to the dictates of an obscure religious rite fraught with mystery. As he straightened, he would not have been surprised to find himself garbed in priestly linens and hooded with the ceremonial mask of Set. He resisted an impulse to touch his face.

Mersu was lying on the couch, legs crossed, arms behind his head. In one corner of the ill-lighted room lay a disordered pile of reeds. The remains of the steward’s simple meal lay on a tray on the floor. At the sound of the door he had looked up, and seeing who it was had begun to rise. Now he stood, hands loose at his sides, and Si-Amun, watching him closely, saw uncertainty for the first time blossom on the inscrutable face as Mersu saw the knife. This time Si-Amun did pass his fingers in front of his eyes, sure that he would feel Set’s grey, furred snout and sharp fangs, for at Mersu’s expression a thrill of exultation shook him, the cold excitement of the executioner. “Yes,” he said, his voice coming flat and controlled. “I have decided not to put you or myself through the tension of a trial, Mersu. You did not think I had the courage, did you? This is your judgement,” he indicated the knife, “and that,” he pointed to the jar, “is mine. If by some chance you should pass the Weighing of the Heart, you need not expect to be welcomed into the presence of Osiris, for I have written a scroll for my family, and when it is read your body will not be embalmed. Neither, perhaps, will mine.” Mersu had blanched. Si-Amun saw him back up until the couch was behind his knees, its edge supporting him. “Will your name survive anywhere?” he went on. “Will the Setiu god Sutekh
perhaps rescue you and reward you for your loyalty to his minion Apepa?” He was becoming vindictive, the bitter gall in his soul rising in a fume of hatred to his tongue, but he was royal, he was a Prince, and with super-human effort he reminded himself that Mersu was not to blame for his own lack of virtue. “Do you wish to speak before I kill you?” Mersu swallowed, licked his lips, then seemed to gather strength. His face remained as grey as a corpse’s but he was standing straighter.

“There is nothing to say,” he croaked. “Perhaps it is better this way, Prince. I am saved the humiliation of a public execution and you the shame and censure of your family. As for the fate of my ka, well, the gods of Egypt are no longer as powerful as the Setiu deities. I shall survive.” He managed a shrug, a gesture that was meant to be one of bravado but that struck Si-Amun with its pathos. “I would not be good at weaving reed mats in any case.” He closed his mouth and fixed his eyes on Si-Amun.

For a moment they stared at each other and it seemed to Si-Amun that in the silence the steward was gaining confidence, returning to his insolent self and weakening him, Si-Amun, in the process. The exultation was draining away, leaving him shivering with confused resolve and softening will. He knew that if he did not strike soon, he would slink away, forever dishonoured. The ivory hilt was warm against his palm.

Changing his grip he strode forward. Mersu watched him come. Only the rigid cords of his neck and the spasm of a muscle by his mouth betrayed his mounting terror. Si-Amun took a quick, deep breath, and plunged the dagger into Mersu’s stomach. With a grunt the steward’s hands
went to the weapon, folding in agony around the blade. Blood drenched his kilt and began to run down his legs. Si-Amun felt it, warm and wet, on his own fingers. “That is for me,” he whispered. Mersu’s eyes were round with shock. Bracing himself against the steward’s chest Si-Amun hauled the knife free, grasped Mersu by the back of the neck, and pushed the stained bronze under his ear and into his skull. Mersu twitched and fell to the floor. “And that is for my father,” Si-Amun gasped.

He collapsed onto the couch and sat breathing heavily, looking at his hands. Blood encrusted them, and had splashed him to the elbow. His chest was smeared with it and his kilt mired. Mersu lay curled before him, staring sightlessly at his feet. Si-Amun waited for his heart to stop pounding, forcing himself to be aware only of the happening of each second. As it gradually settled he found himself pitying it, and smiled at the idiocy.

The alabaster jar stood where he had placed it an eternity ago. Getting up, he went to it and carried it back to the couch. Kamose will be a better governor than I ever could, he thought as he wrestled with the seal. He cares little for appearances and much for the welfare of the nomes, while I could only ever think of the glories of Het-Uart and a place beside the King. Curse him! Kamose will marry Aahmes-nefertari, that is the way of Ma’at for us, and he will adopt my son. He squeezed his eyes shut against the vision of his wife with the baby beside her, both naked and drowsy in the heat of the afternoon. Then he looked curiously into the jar. A small amount of dark liquid quivered under his gaze. He sniffed it cautiously. It had no odour. Carefully, so that none spilled on his hand,
he lifted it and drank, grimacing as he did so, for it tasted rank and bitter.

Immediately his throat began to burn. Sweat broke out all over his body. With teeth clenched against the fire spreading through his stomach, he replaced the stopper and put the jar on Mersu’s table, then found he could not straighten. He wrapped his arms around himself, rocking and groaning, soon unable to stifle his shrieks as the pain engulfed him. He could not think, but his last emotion was one of an overwhelming loneliness.

Kamose was dreaming. The dream had recurred so many times that even in his sleep he was conscious of a sense of well-being and anticipation. In its opening scene he could be anywhere on the estate—in his quarters, in the garden, by the river, even in the reception hall, but wherever he was, the same sense of pleasurable expectation would steal over him. On this night he dreamed that he was sitting in the garden. It was dusk. Ra had just disappeared into the mouth of Nut and the pool reflected a calm, heavy red sky. Evening was beginning to render the lawn, the flower beds, the shrubs and clustering trees indistinct, and in the house a few lights had begun to shine out. With the irrationality of dreams Kamose found that he could still see quite well. He was on a mat on the verge of the pool, one hand trailing in the warm water. Lotus pads nudged his fingers and their blooms sent out a heady fragrance.

For a while, in the dream, he was content to savour the evening, but then his senses grew alert and the familiar excitement prickled over his scalp and stilled his fingers. He was facing the path that ran through the grape arbour to the watersteps. He knew it was winter, for the lushness
of the growth all around him spoke of an Inundation not long over, yet grapes hung heavy and black from the vines, their clusters dusty and ripe. She is coming, he thought in the dream, his stomach tightening. She is coming. Sometimes she would be walking slowly away from him and he would run to try and catch her. Sometimes she would appear suddenly, always facing away from him, and he would scramble to confront her before the dream faded, but he was always too late. For many months the dream had been wrapping him in its delicious languor but he had never seen more than her back.

Now he looked towards the arbour where the path veered in under the darkness of the vine-hung trellis and yes she was there, standing with one hand raised, about to pluck a grape. Under the transparent white sheath that hung about her ankles her brown body flowed inward to a tight waist and then curved in the gentle slope of two rounded hips. She was tall. Between her shoulder blades the golden counterpoise of a pectoral hung suspended on a silver chain against her satin skin. She held her head erect. Her hair was thick, black and straight, with the sheen of a crow’s feathers in sunlight, and Kamose could see the gold band hung with tiny ankhs that encircled her forehead. Rising above it, just visible, was the back of a cobra. Armbands of electrum set with lapis lazuli gripped her soft upper arms, and the long fingers she held out towards the grapes were heavy with rings.

Kamose felt faint with desire and something more, for this dream did not have the quality of the tiring and lustful dreams of youth. This unknown woman was the sum of all his longing. She took a grape between thumb and forefinger, turning slightly as she did so, and Kamose held
his breath. Slowly, quietly, he came to his feet and began to creep towards her. The vine swayed as she pulled the grape free and bore it to her mouth. Kamose caught a tantalizing glimpse of her cheek as she did so. He moved carefully, not daring to make a sound. In dreams past he had called to her, stumbled after her, shouting, but at any sound from him she had melted away. So now he resorted to stealth. Her hand had fallen to her side. Kamose saw the silver-shot linen stirring at her touch. With lips parted in concentration, fists clenched, he eased closer. He was almost there. She stood very still as if listening. Now he could smell her perfume. The aura of myrrh around her made him dizzy with delight. He had never been able to get so near to her before. His heart was racing madly as he stopped. His hand went out reaching for her shoulder and for one delirious second his fingers touched her. She was cool and his touch slid over skin like soft oils.

But he felt his wrist gripped and he was no longer in the garden. He was on his back, on his couch in the dimness of a stifling summer night, and someone was bending over him. Aching with loss and full of confusion, he struggled to sit up. “Kamose!” a voice hissed in his ear. “Oh please wake up! I am worried.” He came to a sitting position, trembling. His neck rest had tumbled to the floor and he had been sleeping with his head on the naked mattress. He rubbed his shoulders.

“Tani!” he said in surprise, still struggling to retain the dream, still liquid with his loss. “Whatever is the matter?” She sank down by his knees.

“It’s Si-Amun,” she blurted. “I couldn’t sleep tonight and I was wandering about the house. I met him in the
passage close to Mersu’s cell. He had a knife and a jar in his hands. He admitted that he was going to kill Mersu and I agreed that his reasons were good ones. But the jar …” She clutched at him again in her distress. “I’m frightened, Kamose. He seemed so detached, so cool, but his eyes were strange. It didn’t strike me until a little later. What was in the jar?” Kamose put a soothing hand on her head and swung his legs over the edge of the couch.

“Don’t worry,” he said, though unease was filling him too. “He should not have taken the law into his own hands, even though Mersu deserved to die. It is not easy to kill a man, Tani, not even in the heat of battle. No wonder if Si-Amun looked strange. Wait outside. I will wrap on a kilt and we will find him.”

“Thank you, Kamose. You are a very comforting person.” She left the couch and hurried to the door. Kamose stood up and pulled a kilt from the chest by the wall. Comforting, am I? he thought. Oh Tani, you should see me in my dreams! Si-Amun, I wish you had not lost your head over this business with Mersu. A proper trial and execution would have been more in keeping with Ma’at. Grandmother will have sharp words for you. He joined Tani in the passage.

Night still hung thick in the house and the torches fixed on the walls were guttering. The two of them set off for Si-Amun’s quarters, not far from Kamose’s own. Tani’s hand slipped into his. On the way they passed Ahmose’s door. Ahmose’s guard acknowledged them and they were about to walk on when the door opened and Ahmose’s bleary face appeared. “What is going on?” he said. “I heard the guard salute someone a while ago, and now you two.”

“It must have been Si-Amun,” Tani exclaimed. “Did he come back?” she asked the soldier.

“No, Princess,” he answered. “He spoke to me briefly and went on. I have not seen him since.”

“Well, we will look in his rooms anyway,” Kamose decided. “Come with us, Ahmose.” He did not understand the formless anxiety tugging at him. Ahmose was clutching a sheet. He wound it around his waist.

“Si-Amun has killed Mersu?” he said as they rushed on. “How very odd! He is such a stickler for the right way of doing things. I can hardly believe it!” So he is, Kamose thought with a jolt. Si-Amun, lover of protocol and defender of the rules by which Princes live.

Presently they came to Si-Amun’s door. It was closed. Kamose greeted the guard. “Is my brother within?” he enquired. The man shook his head.

“No, Prince, he is not. He went out about an hour ago. He told me to give you this when my watch was over.” Kamose took the scroll. The anxiety that had been growing in him was now a silent shriek of haste. He wanted to run to Si-Amun wherever he was, but did not know why. The message was not sealed. Kamose unrolled it, and holding it under the light of a torch he quickly read. With a cry he read it again. Then he thrust Tani at the soldier.

“Stay here!” he ordered. “You are not to move, do you understand? Wait for me. Look after her,” he flung back over his shoulder at the guard as he ran down the passage. “Ahmose! Come!”

“What is in the scroll?” Ahmose panted behind him. “This is insane!”