House of illusions, p.35
House of Illusions, page 35
When I looked at Hunro, the rage within me became tempered with a little of the pity and shame I had felt when I had confronted her in her cell. She was rigid but composed, her back straight, her tiny feet together in their delicate sandals. Her hand rested in the hand of the man sitting next to her and I realized after a moment of puzzlement that it was her brother Banemus, the General who had spent most of his life commanding Egypt’s southern garrisons and holdings in Nubia. Burly and weatherbeaten, yet I remembered his open, frank face and how I had warmed to him on the one occasion he had been in Hui’s house. I do not want to see him die, I thought. Surely he cannot share the full load of guilt with Hui and Paiis. He has been away from the centre of their machinations for too long. As for the others, Mersura, Panauk, Pentu, I hardly noticed them. They meant nothing to me and I did not spare them one thought.
A waiting silence filled the hall. Someone cleared his throat. Someone else’s bracelets clinked loudly. Then the little door slid open for the last time that morning and an official came swiftly out, bowed low to the Prince, and stepping off the dais, went to stand in the centre of the floor. He wore a long blue and white kilt and a wide white sash across one shoulder. His shaved skull was bare. Behind him a scribe carried a thick stack of papyrus and a servant a collapsible table which he set up before the official. The pile of paper was placed on it. The scribe sank cross-legged beside it and the servant glided away.
The official turned to the dais and bowed again. The Prince raised one beringed finger. My heartbeat quickened. “In the name of Amun Greatest of Greatest, King of all gods, and by the divine authority of Ramses User-Ma’at-Ra, Meri-Amun, Heq-On, Lord of Tanis, Mighty Bull, Beloved of Ma’at, Stabilizer of the Lands, Lord of the Shrines of Nekhbet and Uatchet, Mighty One of Festivals like Ta-Tenen, the Horus of Gold, Mighty One of Years, Protector of Egypt, Vanquisher of Foreign Lands, Victor over the Sati, Subduer of the Libu and Enlarger of Egypt, I declare this Court of Examination in session,” the official half-chanted. “I am the Overseer of Protocol. This trial will be presided over by His Highness the Prince Ramses, the Horus-in-the-Nest, by the command of Pharaoh, who has dictated the following statement.”
The scribe at his feet had laid his palette ready across his knees, opened his ink, and selected a brush. He waited. The Overseer of Protocol selected a papyrus sheet and read from it in the same sonorous voice. “I, Ramses User-Ma’at-Ra, Beloved of Ma’at and upholder of the feather of justice, charge the judges in this case to behave with impartiality to all stations of men brought into the Court of Examination. Be assured of the guilt of the accused before condemning them. But remember that as for all that they have done, their deeds are upon their own heads whereas I am privileged and immune unto eternity since I am among the righteous kings who are in the presence of Amun-Ra, King of the Gods, and in the presence of Osiris, Ruler of Eternity.”
What a curious statement, I thought. What is Ramses trying to justify himself for? Displaying faulty judgement for elevating these men to positions of power in the first place? Doing little more than casting a desultory eye over their movements in the years since my list was placed in his hands when a more vigorous investigation might have freed me from exile sooner? They were words of excuse no god would use and they unsettled me. The Overseer was continuing. “Nevertheless, if they are found to be guilty of the crime of which they are accused, it is my desire that they should not be executed but die by their own hands.”
I knew that such a sentence was customary for those of noble rank, but I could not help wondering whether in commanding them to kill themselves Ramses was indulging in a moment of wholly ungodlike vengeful spite. Although he had been a great warrior in his early days, defeating the host of tribes who had attempted to invade Egypt, he had been unable to wholly wrest the power that should have been his within Egypt itself from the greedy hands of the Amun priests. Thus in his impotence he had occupied the throne uneasily, being forced to defer often to the richer and more influential High Priest of Amun, and the strain of such unremitting diplomacy had taken its toll. He trusted few men, and it occurred to me that in turning so deliberately to bite the royal hand which had fed them unstintingly, Paiis and the others had sunk their teeth into the one existing wound guaranteed to cause the King the most pain. Ingratitude. I glanced at Paiis. He was twisting his foot to and fro and watching the light glint on the jewels of his sandal.
The Overseer of Protocol had handed the King’s charge down to his scribe. At his signal the judges rose to be named. In a loud voice the Overseer identified them one by one, and as he did so, each regained his seat. “Baal-mahar, Royal Butler,” he called. One of the foreigners Nesiamun mentioned, I thought. Syrian perhaps. “Yenini, Royal Butler.” Another foreigner, this one a Libu. “Peloka, Royal Councillor.” This time I had to guess the man’s roots. Lycian, I surmised. “Pabesat, Royal Councillor. May, Royal Scribe of the Chancery. Hora, Royal Standard Bearer.” This one was the younger man with the brisk manner and lively eyes. “Mentu-em-taui, Royal Treasurer. Karo, Royal Fanbearer. Kedenden, Royal Councillor. Pen-rennu, Royal Interpreter.” They were all seated again, ten judges in all. There was a pause while the Overseer bowed to the Prince. Ramses nodded his acceptance of the men on the chairs ranged below him and the Overseer turned back into the room.
The Herald stood. “The accused will kneel,” he intoned. “His Royal Highness will state the charges.” The prisoners did as they were told, Paiis with nonchalance, Hunro clumsily and clearly distressed. When they had touched their foreheads to the floor and were once more upright, Ramses continued. He remained seated, his brown legs crossed, his arms lying loosely along the arms of his throne.
“The Overseer has the formal charges,” he said, “and we all know what they are. I do not need to accuse you individually. You are all indicted for the same offences. The first is one of conspiracy to commit treason by the murder of the King, using an ignorant and misguided girl as your instrument. The second is yet another conspiracy, this time to destroy the evidence, both human and recorded, that threatened to bring you to justice. You are in Egypt, all of you, not in some barbaric backwater, and in Egypt even Pharaoh is not above the law of Ma’at. It saddens me to see such noble blood brought low.”
But he does not look sad, I thought. Only relieved. He must make a public example of Paiis and the rest and do it so finally that in years to come, when he is the one sitting on the Horus Throne, men will remember the price of treason.
“Depositions have been taken from your servants, your families and your friends,” the Prince was concluding. “The judges have read them all, but the Overseer will recount them aloud so that the accusers may note any discrepancies in their contents. You may take your seats.” He nodded once, brusquely. The Overseer selected a sheet of papyrus and took a deep breath.
“The statement of one Disenk,” he said, “cosmetician, of the house of the Lady Kawit in Pi-Ramses, once cosmetician in the house of Hui the Seer.” It was the first time Hui’s name had been mentioned and besides, this was the dainty, snobbish little Disenk’s account of the days when she had taught me how to behave like a noblewoman and had slept outside my door to keep me from straying, but my attention became fixed on Paiis. He was leaning back with his arms folded and he was smiling. That man knows something that we do not, I thought suddenly, and a shiver went through me. He believes that he will be exonerated. Why? Does he know where Hui is? Have they plotted some surprise for us together? Or has he somehow managed to shift all the blame onto Hui’s shoulders, for it seems that Hui is safely out of the reach of this court’s decisions and cannot be questioned? I began to feel a frightened anger. If Paiis was set free, what would happen to Kamen and me? Would Paiis hunt and kill us out of sheer vindictiveness? I believed so. I tried to wrench my mind back to Disenk’s statement and failed.
The reading of the depositions took a long time, and the hall had become close and hot by the time the Overseer, his voice now ragged, placed his hand on the tall pile and said, “These are the words recorded. Does anyone wish to refute them?” There was a heavy, almost drowsy silence. I had not been giving them the attention I should. My thoughts were still revolving around the General. He seemed to sense my discomfiture. When I glanced covertly at him, I found that he was looking at me with an open, impudent stare.
The Overseer repeated his question. No one answered. The Herald came to his feet. “The court will resume in two hours,” he called. “Make your obeisances.” The Prince had also risen and was striding to the rear door accompanied by his entourage. We all bowed. The judges stretched and began chattering to each other. The Herald appeared at my elbow. “Food has been prepared for you in the gardens,” he said quietly. “You may all follow me.”
“I would rather sleep than eat,” Nesiamun remarked as we left the hall by the main entrance. He fell to talking with Men. I slipped my hand through Kamen’s arm. Before coming to the palace’s public doors, we turned left and soon found ourselves pacing across the banqueting hall, forested with pillars and sunk in an echoing gloom at that time of the day. A faint odour of stale incense filled my nostrils, and then we were passing between the row of columns that served for a wall and out into blinding sunshine.
Ahead of us, beyond the paved path that ran on, I knew, past Pharaoh’s private office to the offices of his ministers, was an expanse of lawn in the centre of which a large fountain spurted water into its stone basin. Beside it an awning had been erected, shading a table laden with dishes. Servants stood waiting to attend us. Kamen pressed my hand and then shook himself free to inspect the fare. I lowered myself onto the cushions scattered about and immediately a servant appeared, bending to pour me wine. Another laid a square of linen across my lap and set a tray of food beside me.
I looked about. Our guards had followed us and had formed a loose circle about the lawn, not, I knew at once, to keep the curious away but to make sure that we had no commerce with anyone else. The accused perhaps? It was more likely that we were not going to be given a chance to bribe or subvert the judges.
Kamen sank onto the grass beside me. “The depositions were interesting,” he said after taking a sip of his wine. “How did the interrogators persuade the servants to tell the truth? It all tallies with your manuscript, Mother, but they lied after you were arrested.”
“Their masters were in positions of strength then,” I answered, fondly watching his strong fingers rifle through the appetizing dishes on the tray. “There was no evidence to endanger them. Today it is different. Kamen, have you noticed the General?” He shot me a speculative glance.
“Yes,” he said shortly. “Paiis has some sort of information of which we are ignorant. I do not like it. And where is the Seer?” My appetite had left me. Draining my cup, I held it up to be refilled.
“Not only is he absent but the Prince made no reference to him at all when he spoke the charges,” I replied. “Surely even if the authorities cannot find him, he should still have been included. Disenk’s and Kaha’s depositions dealt with him of course, but, Kamen, where are Harshira’s words?”
“He has disappeared as well,” Kamen said. “Didn’t you know? I think he and Hui are somewhere safe together.”
“Does Paiis know where they are?” He shrugged.
“Perhaps. But I have the strangest feeling that the Prince knows.” I stared at him in horror and grabbed his arm.
“Gods, Kamen! Has Hui made a secret pact with the Double Crown? Sacrificed Paiis and Paibekamun and Hunro to save himself? Or even …” My fingers tightened around his warm flesh. “Even persuaded the Prince to condemn me also?”
“Now you are being foolish,” he chided me. “Pharaoh has pardoned you. You have served your sentence for your part in the conspiracy. Nothing can harm you now.” I released him and stared out from under the awning at the brilliant early afternoon. I think you are wrong, I said to myself. Hui can, if he chooses. I know this. Paiis is a crude blunderer compared to Hui’s slow, subtle thoughts. Hui has done something. But what?
At Kamen’s urging I choked down a few morsels of the delectable food the palace kitchens had produced for us and then lay back on the cushions, watching the linen roof of the canopy billow in the fitful breeze. Men and Nesiamun were engaged in some discussion involving the export of faience. Their voices and the mundane nature of their conversation were lulling, but I was tense with fear, caught in a formal and ponderous proceeding that must grind to its end and from which I could not escape.
“The Lady Hunro is not as beautiful as you described her in your account of your early days,” Kamen said. He was lying beside me, propped on one elbow, his head resting on his palm. His dark eyes smiled into mine. “I had expected to see a woman slim and willowy as a marsh reed, but there is already an air of old age about her. Has she been ill?”
“Only with disillusionment and regret,” I told him. “The years cannot be kind to a woman whose heart has shrivelled for want of loving.” He looked at me shrewdly.
“Then what strange love has kept you young, O my mother?” he murmured. I had no reply and was saved from having to think of one by the peremptory summons of the Herald. We filed after him back into the Throne Room.
The accused were already in their places. I did not know whether they had been fed or not. The judges were coming in and behind them six servants carrying fans. Taking up their stations, they began to move the air around us, the quivering white ostrich plumes noiseless as they lifted and fell. The Overseer and his scribe paced to the table, the scribe going to the floor and preparing his palette. The soldiers closed the doors and went to stand about the walls. From the back of the dais the Prince came forward, slid into his chair, and acknowledged our reverence absently. His glance went at once to Paiis. His smile held something smug, unpleasant. “Proceed,” he said to the Overseer. The man turned to me.
“Lady Thu,” he said. “Will you now rise and accuse the prisoners on the matter of the first charge.”
I had longed for this moment, longed for it, dreamed of it down all the hard years of my exile. In Wepwawet’s temple, cloth in my hand and painful grit under my bare knees, I had imagined how it would be while I scrubbed at the stone flags. Sometimes in the tiny garden I had managed to scrape out behind my hut, I would pause from my weeding and sit back on my haunches while vivid pictures rolled through my mind: myself creeping into Hui’s bedchamber, knife raised; myself seducing Paiis and then slitting his throat while he slept, satiated beside me; myself with a handful of Hunro’s hair, forcing her to the ground while she screamed and clawed at me.
But after these disturbing scenes, in which, I knew, lay the seeds of madness and a true despair, would come the saner but no less improbable vision of myself standing before Pharaoh and a room full of shadowy people, telling the story of my own seduction and the cold, deliberate plot that had lain behind it. The reality was smaller somehow, less dramatic, but my moment had come. Vindication was at hand. Rising, I bowed to the Prince, lowered my head to the Overseer, and turning towards the judges, I began, “My father was a mercenary …”
I spoke while the afternoon wore away, stopping occasionally to drink the water placed in my hand, pausing when emotion thickened my throat and threatened to undo me. I ceased to see the line of attentive men, the Prince slumped behind them with his eyes fixed on my face, the vague shape of the Overseer to my left. I forgot Kamen, breathing gently beside me. Gradually my words took life, or perhaps my life was lived again through my words, and with them came the images, sharp and clear, infused with fear or joy, uncertainty or surprise, panic or pride. Once more I sat in the desert with Pa-ari and cried out to the gods in my frustration. Once more I stood in the dimness of Hui’s cabin, Nile water dripping from my limbs, my nerve almost failing me. I remembered my first glimpse of Harshira, standing on Hui’s watersteps to bring order out of the chaos of disembarkation after the long voyage from Aswat to Pi-Ramses.
And I told of the darker things, my education at the hands of Kaha and then Hui, all calculated to prepare me for my entrance into the harem, changing my girlish ignorance into a violent prejudice against the King and a disillusionment with government in Egypt that would lead to my attempt on Ramses’ life. I did not spare myself, but neither did I cloak the purposes of the accused who had trained me like a hunting dog to one purpose and who had had no more regard for me than handlers with a valuable living tool.
Only once did I cry. When I described how I obtained the arsenic from Hui, mixed it in the massage oil, and presented it to Hentmira, the girl who had replaced me in Pharaoh’s affections, I could not prevent tears of remorse from spilling over. I did not try to wipe them away. This too was a part of my punishment, this public atoning, the final act to bring healing and wholeness to me. I had known that Hentmira would probably die. I had told myself that her fate was in her own hands, whether she chose to use the oil on Pharaoh or not, an evil argument that now filled me with self-loathing. At the time my hatred and panic had engulfed all else, but over the years of my exile I had come to deeply regret the callousness that had deprived a young woman of any chance to see her own hopes and dreams fulfilled.
I did not tell of my arrest or sentencing. Those things had little to do with the crime. The court knew how everyone from Hui down to his lowest kitchen slave had lied and left me to die alone. Nor did I speak of the Prince’s bargain with me where I should gain a queen’s crown if I kept the Prince’s virtues before his father. That was a private matter. The Prince might even have forgotten all about it. By the time I sat down, trembling and exhausted, I had laid bare the full dimensions of the plot against the throne. My part was over.
Another break was ordered, and as before, we were escorted out into the garden. I was shocked to see that the sun had almost set and the water in the fountain was splashing red. The evening air was cool and sweet with the aroma of unseen flowers. Suddenly I was ravenously hungry, and ate and drank immoderately. It was almost over, all of it. Tomorrow I could begin my life anew.
