Pharaoh (10 page)

The servant came out again as they reached the top of the stairs. She seemed surprised to see them, and annoyed too.

‘I told you…’ she began.

Suddenly Nitho’s voice was the Oracle’s again, full of calmness and authority. ‘The Goddess sent us. We have come to save the Queen.’

‘To save her?’ The servant hesitated. ‘I am sorry,’ she said at last. ‘My orders are to admit no one.’

‘Not even the people who will save your queen?’ demanded Nitho.

‘Tell Her Majesty that the Sumerian Trader would speak to her,’ said the Trader quietly, ‘that we have come to give her the breath she struggles for.’

‘I don’t know…’ began the woman.

‘Please do it,’ said Nitho calmly.

The servant shrugged. ‘I will try,’ she said at last. ‘But I don’t know if anyone will listen.’

She left, and they waited under the colonnades. The scent of spices was thicker here and the air was greasy with
smoke. The whole palace must be burning sacrifices for the Queen’s recovery, thought Narmer.

‘Well, Trader? Why do you interrupt our grief?’

The servant was back, bowing so low that her face touched the tiled floor. Two male servants, with bare feet and leopard-skin loincloths, prostrated themselves too. But none of them had spoken those words; it was another woman, who now walked slowly towards the travellers.

She was the fattest woman Narmer had ever seen, and one of the tallest too. Her flesh rolled as she walked. Her bare breasts were like the buckets that the gardeners at Thinis used to water their leeks. Narmer tried not to stare at them. Her ankle bracelets would have made a belt for anyone else. There were rings on her toes, and her heels and hands were decorated with swirls of red and orange. Her hair was long and thin, and a strange bright orange as well, piled onto her head and kept in place by another band of gold.

The woman glared at Nitho and the Trader.

‘Well, Trader?’ she demanded again, in strangely accented Sumerian. ‘Why do you demand to see my royal niece at a time like this?’

Nitho bowed low, and so did the Trader. Narmer hurriedly copied them. This must be the Queen’s aunt, he realised.

‘We come to serve the Queen,’ said the Trader, his face still towards the floor.

‘So I have been told.’

Narmer felt, rather than saw, the Queen’s aunt stare haughtily down at them. Did this woman really want to
save her niece? Perhaps she would rather see her niece dead, and herself in power.

But then the woman said, ‘Her Majesty had a dream that someone would come across the sea to save her. It was a true dream, she thought. I have told Her Majesty that you are here. She wants to see you. I advised against it. The last thing she needs is strangers bothering her. But while she lives, her word is law. Come.’

The royal aunt walked in front, her fat buttocks wobbling under her kilt, with the cat stalking on her lead beside her, as though Bast had decided that cats were royalty too. Perhaps they
were
in Punt, thought Narmer, remembering how the servant had bowed to Bast. Through colonnades with courtyards on each side, each adorned with different flowers or fruits or fountains, and each as perfect as the last. Polished stone shone under their feet.

Narmer had thought the palace at Thinis was the most beautiful building in the world. But it was like a goatskin tent compared with this.

What sort of woman commanded beauty like this? he wondered, as he forced his leg to keep up with the others. Surely she must be lovely too.

‘What’s she like?’ he whispered to Nitho.

‘Shh. You mean the Queen?’

‘Yes. Is she as beautiful as her palace?’

Nitho blushed, so her scars showed white against her face. ‘She is a great woman, and a wise queen.’

‘But is she beautiful?’

‘Shh!’ said Nitho again. She sounded angry. ‘We’re nearly there!’

A pair of wooden doors rose before them, the biggest and most ornately carved that Narmer had ever seen. He had seen doors before, of course—both the town and palace walls at home had outside doors that could be shut to keep out enemies. But he had never seen doors used inside, simply for privacy.

Two sentries stood on either side—women, not men, dressed in leopard-skin skirts, with two spears in either hand. They bowed to the aunt, nodded respectfully to Nitho, then unbolted the doors and pushed them open. The cat entered first, then Nitho, with the Trader and Narmer behind. The Queen’s aunt hesitated in the doorway, then turned and left them, as though to say:
Whatever happens now has nothing to do with me!

The massive doors closed behind her. Narmer hardly noticed. He was staring at the Queen.

She sat propped up by cushions on a throne, much more magnificent than the one back home. And this one was covered in gold.

Maybe the Queen had been beautiful, once. But now she was as thin as a desert mouse, and very frail. Even her hair was faded, rusty instead of black, and her eyes were shadowed. Worst of all was the giant lump that disfigured her neck, like a small monkey clamped under her flesh.

‘Greetings, Trader, and Nitho,’ said the Queen in passable Sumerian. Her voice was thin and husky. ‘It is good to see old friends again.’

‘I would like to say it is good to see you, Your Majesty,’ said the Trader. ‘But not as you are now. Would you permit me to look at the growth on your neck?’

The Queen laughed, but even that was hoarse and breathless. ‘No “O glorious Queen, your radiant beauty shakes the world.” Just “Can I take a look at your lump?” You used to be so good at flattery.’

‘I am not sure Your Majesty has time for compliments,’ said the Trader bluntly.

‘I think you are right.’ The Queen had to gasp for air even to finish her words. ‘I dreamed of you, you know. I dreamed you’d save me. Approach me, then. I give you permission to touch my throat.’

The Trader bowed, then stepped forward and ran his hands over the Queen’s neck. ‘How fast has it grown?’

‘It’s doubled this last moon.’

‘If it grows much more it will stop your breathing entirely,’ said the Trader flatly, sitting back on his heels in front of her.

‘I know.’ She paused. ‘Well? You told the servant you had come to save me. Are you going to do it?’

The Trader regarded her for a moment. ‘Your Majesty, in all honesty, I do not know if I can help you.’

‘You can’t remove the lump?’

‘Yes. I can do that. But I do not know if you will be alive afterwards.’

The Queen reached out and touched his hand. ‘From one old friend to another,’ she said hoarsely, ‘please help me. When I heard that you had come I felt hope leap like a spring hare in my heart.’

The Trader didn’t move. He seemed to be thinking. Finally he said, ‘If you die after I’ve touched you I will be killed too, even if you give orders that I’m not to be harmed.
I’d risk that myself—from one friend to another, as you said. But I can’t risk it for the children.’ He gestured to Nitho and Narmer. ‘Give them and my porters provisions and a threeday start back to Sumer. Then I will cut away the growth.’

‘Thank you, old friend—’ began the Queen, just as Nitho broke in.

‘No!’

The Queen stared. She had probably never been interrupted before, Narmer supposed. Then she smiled.

‘No?’

‘No,’ repeated Nitho. ‘If my master stays, I stay. He is my friend as well as my master. I won’t leave without him.’

‘And as one new friend to another new friend,’ said Narmer, ‘I’m not leaving without Nitho. Or my master.’

‘You see how they rule me?’ said the Trader. ‘An old man should be given respect, not arguments.’

‘I’m not arguing,’ said Nitho. ‘I’m telling you, that’s all.’

‘
Mmrrow
,’ said Bast. For a moment Narmer wondered if she was refusing to leave too. Then he realised that she had found a leopard kitten in a basket of cushions by the throne, and was mewing at it curiously.

But the noise had lightened the moment. The Trader stood up. ‘When?’ he asked.

‘Now,’ said the Queen quietly. ‘Before I have time to be afraid.’

The Queen summoned her Council—the oldest women of each of Punt’s main families—while the Trader made his preparations. Sharp obsidian knives were brought, bandages of linen scraped thin and smooth, an obsidian needle
threaded with catgut. A wash of desert lavender and wormwood, a pot of honey, another pot of the ointment they had given to the People of the Sand…

‘May I help too?’ asked Narmer quietly, as Nitho and the Trader discussed which of the knives had the thinnest, sharpest blade.

The Trader pulled the catgut to make sure it had no tears or weak points. ‘Will you faint at the sight of blood?’

‘No!’

‘Then you can help,’ he agreed—then added, as Narmer’s eyes lit up, ‘by keeping the cat out of the way as we work.’

‘But…’ Narmer stopped. He had been going to say that he could do more than hold a wildcat. But could he? He knew nothing of healing. At least he would be with them as they worked.

The women of the Council had finished arguing—it seemed that each of them was quite confident enough to argue with a queen. But even though Narmer couldn’t understand their speech, their tone and gestures made it clear that none seemed really opposed to the operation. Probably, thought Narmer, they were secretly glad that strangers were attempting it, and the matter had been taken out of their hands.

At last the women left. The doors were closed. The Trader had refused to have any witnesses. ‘If she lives we will be heroes. If she dies we will be killed,’ he said. ‘No number of witnesses to say that we did our best will make any difference—except maybe to jolt my hand at the wrong moment.’

The Queen still reclined on her throne, wearing her crown, but now her eyes were closed. She muttered under
her breath. Praying, thought Narmer. He imagined that the priests in every temple were praying too—or perhaps Punt only had priestesses…

‘Your Majesty, if you would lie on the couch…’ began the Trader.

The Queen opened her eyes. ‘I will die as I live. A queen on my throne. Begin,’ she ordered hoarsely.

Narmer shivered. He had seen warriors face battle, but none had shown such bravery as this.

Nitho held a cup up to her lips. ‘Poppy,’ she said. ‘Enough to dull the pain, but not put you to sleep. The lump is so big it might stop your breathing if you slept.’

The Queen nodded. ‘I no longer sleep,’ she said wryly, ‘just doze, then wake as I begin to choke.’ She made a face at the bitter taste of the poppy.

‘Tell me when the room turns misty,’ said the Trader softly.

They waited. And then the Queen nodded.

Narmer grabbed the cat’s collar and began to scratch her about the ears. He had discovered that she would sit still for any length of time if her ears were scratched. Bast subsided next to him and started to purr.

The Trader placed a towel around the Queen’s neck then picked up the knife. ‘Be as still as you can,’ he whispered.

‘I know.’ The Queen’s voice was drowsy. ‘One slip and I am dead.’

Narmer shuddered. The memory of his own pain and struggle to live was too recent. But at least for him those days had been clouded by sleep.

The Trader began to cut. The Queen gave a strangled noise and her fingers tightened on the throne. But other than that she didn’t move.

Bast’s nostrils twitched at the smell of blood, but she stayed where she was.

It was like a nightmare, impossibly vivid, as though each moment were stretched out to an hour. Blood dripped from the Trader’s hands and onto the towel, but it didn’t spurt, as it did when an animal’s throat was cut. The Trader had cut shallowly, just under the skin, avoiding the deeper veins and arteries.

I remember that smell, thought Narmer. The scent of human blood, so different from the blood of a sheep or deer. He felt helpless, sitting with his arms around the cat. How could the Queen bear it?

Suddenly he understood: the Queen bore all this for Punt, not for herself. For a moment he wished his father could meet this queen.

Then the Trader widened the cut, pulling the loose skin of her throat tight so he could slice more accurately. Nitho took a soft cloth and began to dab the blood away, so the Trader could see where to cut the Queen’s flesh. He frowned in concentration. Sweat rolled down his forehead. Nitho’s brown hands moved swiftly to wipe it away from his eyes with her cloth, leaving a smudge of the Queen’s blood on his cheek.

The Queen made a noise, halfway between a groan and a gasp. Her feet twitched. But by some superhuman effort she kept the rest of herself still.

There was so much blood…The stench of flesh was
everywhere. Bast gave a hiss, her eyes bright, as though the smell excited her.

Something fat and yellow plopped into the bucket by the throne. Narmer gasped.

More blood dripped onto the floor. Nitho handed the Trader the needle and catgut. Her hands trembled slightly, then steadied as she held the edges of the wound together while the Trader stitched. Now his forehead was drenched in sweat.

‘Is she…’ began Narmer.

‘She is still alive,’ said Nitho. ‘But the operation isn’t over yet.’

A spurt of blood hit Nitho’s face and began to drip. Narmer felt the room begin to spin. He felt cold and hot at the same time. His stomach lurched.

Suddenly the bleeding stopped, as though a spring had been plugged by a stone. The Queen’s head slumped forward.

Narmer felt terror grab his chest and squeeze. Was she dead? Had they killed her?

‘Quickly!’ the Trader gasped. Narmer stumbled forward as the Trader beckoned. ‘She’s fainted! Hold her head up or she’ll choke!’

Narmer grasped the lolling head. The Queen’s mouth was open and there was spittle at the corners. Her crown had slipped. Narmer ignored his instinct to straighten it. He glanced down. There was blood everywhere. His fingers were already slippery with it. Nitho’s cloth was soaked, and her arms stained to the elbows. Fresh, bright red blood, and darker blood clots. But there was also a neat line of tiny stitches across the Queen’s neck. And she still breathed.

‘
Mrrow?
’ To Narmer’s horror the cat was nosing at the bucket. Nitho pushed her away with her foot. Bast glared at her, then retreated, peering at the basket where the leopard cub was sleeping through it all.