House of illusions, p.36
House of Illusions, page 36
When we re-entered the throne room, the huge lamps about the walls had been lit and the fanbearers did not return. The judges took their seats looking listless and tired. The accused, too, seemed weary. The day had begun early for everyone. Only the Prince and the Overseer appeared fresh. They conferred briefly before the Overseer strode to his table. He motioned to Kamen. “King’s Son Pentauru, otherwise known as Officer Kamen, will you now rise and accuse the prisoners on the matter of the second charge.”
So Kamen in his turn bowed to the Prince and the Overseer and began his share of our story, his voice ringing out strong and clear. I listened attentively as he spoke of our first meeting when he and his Herald put in at Aswat and he undertook the responsibility of my manuscript not knowing that I was his mother. He did not falter when he described how he had taken it to General Paiis, his superior, and how shortly thereafter he had been commissioned to return to Aswat with orders to arrest me but his suspicions regarding the man accompanying him had grown as he proceeded further south. His words regarding the attempt on our lives and how he had killed the assassin and we had buried him under the floor of my hut were steady.
This is my son, I thought with a rush of wonder and pride. This intelligent, able, upright young man is flesh of my flesh. Who would have thought that the gods would grant me such a gift? I felt gratitude towards Men, sitting on Kamen’s other side with his arms folded and his head down as he also absorbed Kamen’s tale. He had been a good father to my son, and Shesira a worthy mother, raising him with a greater discretion than he would have received if he and I had remained in the harem. Kamen had learned selfreliance, modesty, an interior discipline that even now I myself could not lay claim to, and I knew that if I had been responsible for his rearing, young and selfish as I was, I could not have inculcated those things in him.
If I closed my eyes, I could hear faint echoes of his royal father’s tones as his recitation of the facts drew to a close, and I had already noted, as surely all in the room had noted, the striking physical similarity between the Prince listening on the dais and his earnestly gesticulating half-brother. The blood of a god coursed through Kamen’s veins. If the King had signed a marriage contract with me as I had begged him to do in a frenzy of desperation, the prospect of incarceration in the harem for the rest of my life driving me to the inevitable humiliation I had suffered in the presence of many of his watching ministers, then my son would have been fully royal and entitled to all the riches and deference the Prince enjoyed. He might even have been named the Horus-in-the-Nest, the Heir. Firmly I quashed the thought that had begun to curl inside me like thin smoke. You really are an ungrateful and greedy woman, Thu, I chided myself. Will you ever stop wanting everything?
14
AFTER KAMEN HAD SAT DOWN, with a smile for me and a low word to his adoptive father, Men himself and Nesiamun rose in their turn and spoke briefly of their involvement. It had been slight and they soon fell silent. When they had finished, there was a general loosening throughout the room. Men yawned and stretched surreptitiously and the judges fell to whispering among themselves. But the moment did not last long. The Overseer called for order. “The evidence has been heard,” he said. “The time for condemnation is at hand. His Highness will speak.” Ramses stirred. He leaned forward, his face blank.
“Stand up, Paiis,” he said. Paiis’s head swivelled in his direction. An expression of puzzlement flitted across his face, a mere twinge of surprise, before he obeyed. The protocol of a court proceeding required that after the evidence was presented the judges, who had been acquainted with it before the case was heard, would rise one by one and immediately give their verdict. It would be left to whatever dignitary was presiding to decide on and pronounce the sentence. Ramses flicked a hand over the line of men beneath him. “Look at them, General,” he commanded. “What do you see?” Paiis cleared his throat. He had taken up a soldier’s stance, legs apart and hands behind his back, but now his fingers were creeping towards his jewel-studded belt.
“I see my judges, Highness,” he replied, his voice husky from disuse. Ramses smiled grimly.
“Do you indeed?” he snapped. “Then how fortunate you are, General. Unhappily I must tell you that your eyes are deceiving you. Shall I clarify your vision? It will give me great pleasure to do so. Or perhaps you would like to assert that I am the one under the influence of a mirage while your sight remains clear. Well?” The room was no longer full of drowsiness. The silence was breathless with anticipation. I looked in complete confusion from the Prince to the judges and then at Paiis. What was happening? Paiis’s fingers were now twined tightly around his belt. He had gone very pale. One blue-painted eyelid twitched briefly.
Suddenly the Prince came to his feet. “Speak, you cur!” he shouted. “Whine and cringe while you explain how you can see ten judges while I can only discern four! Shall I name the phantoms of my mirage or shall you?” Paiis licked his lips. The henna had worn off them as the day had progressed. Now they were a sickly white. The judges were sitting like ten wooden dolls, staring at him stiffly.
“I do not understand, Highness,” Paiis managed. The Prince gave an exclamation of disgust.
“Egypt has poured her blessings into your hands,” he said, “and in return for her trust you have done your best to pervert her heart and render her impotent. Ma’at cannot survive in a country bereft of justice, and justice cannot survive in a country where judges can be corrupted. Or Generals. Do you agree?”
Judges corrupted. “… not all impartial I believe …” Nesiamun had said. My perplexity began to resolve itself. No wonder Paiis had looked so smugly confident. A decision of six against four would have meant that he could leave the court a free man. But how had Prince Ramses known? Paiis was saying nothing. “I wish to add another charge to the two already levied,” Ramses went on. “That during the time of your house arrest you secretly invited to your estate two of the men you knew to have been appointed to judge you. You offered them food and drink. You offered them gold if they would find you innocent following these proceedings. They agreed. You used another judge, one chosen from among the ranks of the army, to extend your invitation. Stand up, Hora.” The young Standard Bearer got to his feet, his expression solemn. Turning, he prostrated himself before Ramses. “You have incurred the extreme displeasure of the God by not reporting the General’s intention before the judges entered his house,” Ramses said harshly. “For that, you are relieved of your position as Standard Bearer and your military commission is revoked. However, you were honourable enough to report the General’s contemptible ploy to the Overseer of Protocol, therefore you will suffer no physical punishment. Leave this room.” Hora came to his feet.
“I did wrong, Highness,” he said in a low voice. “I am sorry. I thank you for a clemency I do not deserve.” He backed down the hall and as he passed me I thought, Yes, you are being spared because you are like me. You betrayed the betrayers. The doors swung open and closed again behind him.
I looked at Paiis. He had regained his former stance. His chin was up and he was gazing fixedly at a point on the wall above my head. He must have known that his attempt to subvert the court was in itself a grave crime and its discovery, added to the already existing charges, would confirm his guilt and make his sentence inevitable. But his self-control had faltered only momentarily and he had recovered it in a way I could not help admiring. Ramses spoke again.
“Pabesat, judge and Royal Councillor, May, judge and Royal Scribe of the Chancery, on your feet,” he said. “Do you have anything to say to this court?” The two men struggled up, and turning to the dais, fell on their knees. As one of them, it was May I think, bent over to place his forehead on the floor, he broke out in a gush of nervous sweat that drenched his long kilt and dripped audibly on the tiles. The shape of his buttocks could be discerned through the now sopping linen clinging to them. Both men were breathing loudly.
“Have mercy on us, Lord!” one of them burst out. “We were weak. The General is a powerful man against whom no accusation of wrongdoing has ever been made. He persuaded us that the case had been brought by a jealous and vengeful woman who wished to destroy him.”
“But you read the evidence,” Ramses objected coldly. “You heard the words of the officials who examined the body of the assassin this same General hired. Your love of gold was greater than your love of the truth. You are little better than the man who deluded you. Because you abandoned the instructions given to you, I command that you should be taken at once to a place of seclusion and there your noses and ears are to be struck from your bodies. Captain!” A soldier detached himself from the shadows, and signalling to others, came forward.
May began to flail about on the floor, sobbing, “No! No! It was not our fault! Mercy, Prince!” but Pabesat rose and stood shaking, his hands clenching the folds of his garment. The soldiers took hold of them impassively. They were forced to lift May from the ground and carry him out of the hall. His wails echoed briefly against the roof, and then he and the sounds of his terror were gone.
Ramses slid back onto his chair and crossed his legs. I reached for Kamen’s hand, feeling sick. Three judges had been dismissed, but what of the other three? The Prince lifted a cup that sat by his foot and drank slowly, reflectively. He set it down. Was he marshalling his thoughts or deliberately drawing out the moment? I could not tell. When he spoke, it was quietly, calmly. “Baal-mahar, Yenini, Peloka,” he said. “Leave the seats you are not worthy to fill, and join the scum in whose filth you have wallowed. Do not argue or protest. You saw the birth of the plot against the God, many years ago. You discussed it with the other accused. You suggested ways in which it could be carried out. The fact that you took no active part in its slow unfolding does not excuse you. Paibekamun and Pentu the scribe came and went from the General’s house and the Seer’s house to the palace, sharing such information as you all needed. I shudder to think that all of you had access to my father, and if it had not been for the protection of the other gods, who love him as one of their own, you might have succeeded in warping the course of Egypt’s history and bringing Ma’at into disgrace. Fortunately your servants have proved to be more loyal than you. When questioned and assured that this time there was evidence to support the claim of the Lady Thu, they capitulated.”
I had been in a state of shock until the mention of my name brought me to myself. For all these years I had imagined that I knew all the conspirators, but it seemed that the web Hui and Paiis had spun and cast abroad had drawn in others, even a Royal Councillor. The Prince is a cunning man, I thought with a chill. This trial is very advantageous for him. He is sweeping out the house that will soon be his, and in the process he both lets all Egypt know that treason will bring the inevitable consequence, and assures himself that when he ascends the Horus Throne he is surrounded by loyal ministers.
While these words had been passing through my mind, the men had risen and crossed the floor to stand beside Paiis. They looked dazed, even uncomprehending, and for a moment I pitied them. They had lived in a comfortable safety, doubtless knowing nothing of the new danger confronting them when Kamen returned with me from Aswat. After all, if the Prince was correct, they had not been in the forefront of the plot and Paiis would not have bothered to keep them informed. The order commanding them to serve as judges at this trial must have seemed not only a fine joke to them but also an opportunity to free their compatriot and proceed with their lives. Ramses’ investigation had been too thorough for them, a far more rigorous exercise than one his father would have conducted.
Ramses nodded at the Overseer of Protocol. There were to be no more surprises. Straightening his shoulders, his hands flat on the pile of papyrus on his table, the man repeated the words he had intoned earlier. “The evidence has been heard,” he called. “The time for condemnation is at hand.” He faced the four remaining judges. “Mentu-em-taui, judge and Treasurer, what is your decision?” Mentu-em-taui stood.
“All are guilty,” he said flatly and sat down again.
“Karo, judge and Fanbearer,” the Overseer said. “What is your decision?” Karo rose.
“All are guilty,” he agreed, and resumed his seat. The final two judgements were the same. The scribe on the floor beside the Overseer scratched industriously.
Following this there was a heavy silence. Ramses sat with his chin resting in his palm, staring broodingly at the accused. They stared back at him as if hypnotized, reminding me forcefully of hares trapped in the predatory glare of a cobra. At last he stirred and sighed. “I do not like to do this,” he said. “No, not at all. You are Egypt’s bane, all of you, when once you were Egypt’s young glory. But I must root you out like the poisonous plants you are. May the Feather of Ma’at judge you less harshly.” A tiny sound escaped from Hunro, both gasp and cry. She was holding her brother’s arm with both hands, her eyes riveted on the Prince.
“I want to speak, Highness,” she choked, her voice thin and tinged with panic. “Please, may I speak?”
“It is against court protocol for the accused to have anything to say,” Ramses replied flatly. Hunro came to her feet, arms out and palms uplifted in the ancient gesture of supplication.
“I beg you, Horus-in-the-Nest,” she said brokenly. “A few words. Before death silences me forever.” Ramses thought and then fanned his fingers.
“Be brief.” Hunro gulped.
“I plead for my brother Banemus,” she began, and beside her the man looked up sharply. “It is true that in the beginning, many years ago, he heard the treasonous words fall from the mouth of Paiis, and out of his own frustration he acceded to them. He agreed to foment rebellion against your father’s administration among the troops stationed in Nubia once the God was dead, for he believed, as we all did, that Ma’at was wounded under your father’s hand. But he returned to his duties in the south and did nothing further. He would not attend …”
“No, Hunro!” Banemus broke in angrily. He had come to his feet. “I will not let you do this! I have been judged as guilty as you! I will not accept mercy at your hands!”
“If mercy is granted, it will be at my hands, Banemus,” the Prince interjected. “Sit down. Go on, Hunro.” It was impossible to tell from his expression whether or not her plea was moving him.
“He would not attend the meetings we held to air our grievances and further our plans on the few occasions when he came home to Pi-Ramses.” She swallowed, swaying, and I was afraid that she was about to faint. But she rallied, stood straight, and looked defiantly at Ramses. “He is guilty of nothing more than an hour of temporary madness, soon over. He did not want to hear how we crept slowly towards our goal.”
“How is it, then, that his regret at being even temporarily involved did not translate into the loyalty to his King that should have compelled him to report the matter to the Vizier?” Ramses queried drily. “And it is not true that he refused to attend all feasts. The Lady Thu has written and testified that she met him at the house of the Seer.”
“But the plot was not mentioned that night,” Hunro said eagerly. “Thu knew nothing of it then. The men had gathered to assess Thu’s suitability to … to impress your father. Banemus did not know. I swear he did not.”
“Peace, Hunro,” Banemus said, grasping her arm. “Of course I knew. I thought the whole thing foolish, doomed to fizzle out and die like a poorly made fire, but I knew. Do not demean yourself by lying any more.” He pulled her down. She burst into tears and sobbed, laying her head in the hollow of his shoulder. His arm went around her.
Ramses stood. One hand went to the ceremonial dagger at his belt. The other rested on his hip. “Baal-mahar rise,” the Overseer called. The man obeyed.
“Baal-mahar, guilty in this matter, you are to be taken to a place of execution where your head will be severed from your body,” the Prince said, and immediately the Overseer shouted, “Baal-mahar, you have been awarded your punishment.” The Prince turned to Yenini who had already come clumsily to his feet.
“Yenini, guilty in this matter, you are to be taken to a place of execution where your head will be severed from your body.” At once the Overseer called, “Yenini, you have been awarded your punishment.” The same terrible words rang out to Peloka, smiting my ears and beating on my heart.
I have done this. The words formed in my head with dreadful clarity. I have brought death to all these people. It no longer matters whether or not they are guilty. Their plans came to nothing in the end. The King lives. I live. How ironic! But their blood will spurt from their necks and splash the executioner’s legs and puddle the earth outside the row of cells I remember so well, all because I met Kamen one evening in Wepwawet’s temple at Aswat. I shuddered. All these lives. It is just, but will their blood pour onto the scales of the Judgement Hall when my own heart is weighed, and force the balance against me?
I was very tired. The great lamps, tended by soft-footed servants who glided unobtrusively from one to the other, burned steadily in the centre of the wide pools of yellow light they cast. In the darkly gleaming floor, the golden specks of pyrite alternately took fire and dulled as the flames wavered. The ceiling of the vast room was shrouded, and a lake of dimness separated me from the condemned before the opposite wall, as though the sentences of death had already been carried out and I was peering at pale ghosts across the chasm that divided the dead from the living.
Mersura, Panauk, Pentu and Paibekamun were also to die by beheading. They received the judgement listlessly. I could see that the reality of the Prince’s words had not penetrated their own weariness. They craved rest, food. Perhaps their backs were aching and their ankles swelling from a day of enforced idleness. Their bodies knew nothing of the moments that could no longer be squandered on appetite or sensation, and their minds were still closed to the horror of the annihilation looming.
