Read The Assassins of Isis Online
Authors: P. C. Doherty
The Assassins of Isis (21 page)
âThat's why I think he is guilty. Heby is consumed with lust for his master's wife. Like all assassins he is arrogant. He thought that eventually it could be proved that General Suten had taken that sack full of snakes up himself. If he could prove that he never went on to the roof, and if he could prove, as Menna did, that General Suten was thinking of confronting his own fears, then it was only a matter of time before the court reached the same conclusion.' Valu jabbed the judge with a finger. âTo answer your question bluntly: no one would dare say they knew beforehand that General Suten had bought a sack of snakes, it would have caused consternation. How could they know such a thing if the general was acting secretly? If they did know, surely they would have intervened and asked him why?'
âI agree,' Amerotke conceded. âHeby made one mistake, Hefau, and for that he will pay.'
Lord Valu bowed and left. He had hardly gone when there was another knock on the door and Lord Impuki entered. The High Priest was not so friendly as before.
âYour dwarf Shufoy said you wanted to see me?'
âYes, I do, there are certain questionsâ'
âI must return to the temple.' The High Priest clutched the folds of his robe, half turning to Paser, who was standing solemn-faced behind him. âWe have urgent business, but if you visit us there â¦'
âThen you must go,' Amerotke agreed. âBut I should have words with you. I need your answers to certain questions.'
The High Priest shrugged and turned away as Shufoy led General Omendap in. Amerotke slammed the door shut and gestured at his guest to sit.
âGeneral Omendap, I appreciate you are busyâ'
âWhat do you want, Amerotke?' The general's round face looked rather haggard, his deep-set eyes red-rimmed, and the usually smooth chin betrayed an untidy stubble. âI have been out on manoeuvres in the Red Lands; all entrances to the Valley of the Kings and Queens are now guarded. The Divine One is insistent that there should be no more robberies.'
âDo you know who the Sebaus are?'
âI've heard the rumours.'
âDo you also know they are former soldiers?'
âYou have proof?' Omendap retorted. âI see what path you are following. Former soldiers are often looked after by their officers.'
âI have enough proof for that,' Amerotke answered quietly. âYou and your staff look after former comrades, veterans who have served the Divine One well.'
âYou know the times and seasons, Amerotke. I am Chief Scribe of the Army. I am pestered day and night for favours. Secure this man a post, a pension for another, a gift for a third.'
âWould former soldiers know about the tombs in the Valley of the Kings? Their secret entrances? The treasures they contain?'
âPerhaps.' Omendap wiped the sweat from his brow and plucked at a loose thread on his gown. âI have such knowledge, as do some of my officers. Soldiers guard the funeral processions, members of the Sacred Band accompany the corpses of the Great Ones to their last resting places. But such information is also known to priests, judges and even Lord Valu. After all, prisoners are used to dig the tunnels and carve the entrances.'
âAfter which they are silenced,' Amerotke replied grimly.
âDo you have a list of the soldiers and veterans you've helped?'
âDo you have a list of the soldiers and veterans you've helped?'
Omendap shook his head. âIt would take a year and a day to collect. I'll answer your question boldly. Let me give you an example. Mafdet, the captain of the guard at the Temple of Isis, was a good soldier. He served with me and others, so I secured him the post there. However, I do that in cities up and down the Nile, and sometimes I pass such requests to my brother officers. You are talking about hundreds of petitions.'
Amerotke poured himself a beaker of water. He offered one to Omendap, but the general shook his head.
âWhat is it you really want, Amerotke?' Omendap gestured to the door. âYou have one visitor after another. Why me?'
Amerotke stared at the wall behind the general's head. âI slept little last night,' he confessed. âSo my temper is short and my speech blunt. Once again I went through the records about these robberies. I recalled a reference being made by the dead woman Sithia to a man called the Shardana; he was a former soldier, definitely a Sebaus, a tomb robber, though he was indicted and punished for another crime. He killed a man and was sentenced to one of the prison oases. Now, if he was still alive, I would have him brought back, but according to Lord Valu, the prison oasis was attacked by Libyans, its guards and all those held there massacred.'
âYes, yes, I heard about that.' Omendap rubbed his brow. âIt was strange.'
âWhy?' Amerotke snapped.
âPrison oases contain nothing, some weapons, a few supplies. You know how it is, Amerotke, the prisoners can move about but they are kept chained. Their only food and water is in that oasis. If they try to escape the desert will kill them; that is if they are not captured or tortured by Libyans, sand-dwellers or desert wanderers.'
âYou are not aware why that prison oasis was attacked?'
âI've told you, no idea whatsoever.'
Amerotke ran a thumb round his lips. âDo we have any high-ranking Libyans in our prison camps?'
âI don't know.' Omendap closed his eyes. âMost prisoners of war are used as slaves in the quarries; they barely survive a year. Ah yes.' He held up a hand. âThere is one, we never learnt his name, we simply called him the Libyan. He was a chieftain, we caught him raiding villages along the Nile. Usually he would have been killed immediately.'
âWhy wasn't he sent to the quarries?'
âBecause he was one of their high-ranking noblemen. He would only have started trouble; it wouldn't be the first time a gang of slaves broke out. We also held him as a hostage. One day they might capture one of our officers, and we would trade him, man for man. He is kept in the Oasis of Bitter Grass, about sixty miles into the eastern Red Lands.'
âI've heard of it.' Amerotke got to his feet. âGeneral Omendap, I want a favour, your best chariot squadron. Twenty chariots in all, each chariot carrying two men. I want to visit this Libyan.'
âWhy?' Omendap got to his feet too.
âI want to ask him a question. Why did his people attack a prison oasis when there was little hope of gain?'
âHe might be dead.' Omendap scratched his chin. âNo, no, on second thoughts, he'll be alive. The Keeper there would have told me.' He clasped Amerotke's hands. âThe squadron will be ready within the hour.'
Â
Later that day, just as the heat of the sun began to cool, the Ptah squadron of the Horus regiment left its barracks on the outskirts of eastern Thebes, following the rutted trackway into the desert lands. Omendap had chosen well. The Ptah squadron was the fastest and most experienced; their horses, bloodied in war, were arrogant and fast, with their arched necks, flared nostrils and laid-back ears. The
carriages they pulled, with their curved wooden sides and thin rails, were sheathed in gold and electrum. They were built of imported elm, birch and tamarisk, and the six spoked wheels placed at the back gave them that lightness and mobility which was the terror of Egypt's enemies. A glorious sight, the harness of the horses gleaming, the plumes and streamers displaying the black and gold colours of their regiment. Amerotke and Shufoy had been given their own chariot, the horses of which had the blue and gold plumes of the Great House dancing between their ears and tassels of the same colour tied to the leather straps.
carriages they pulled, with their curved wooden sides and thin rails, were sheathed in gold and electrum. They were built of imported elm, birch and tamarisk, and the six spoked wheels placed at the back gave them that lightness and mobility which was the terror of Egypt's enemies. A glorious sight, the harness of the horses gleaming, the plumes and streamers displaying the black and gold colours of their regiment. Amerotke and Shufoy had been given their own chariot, the horses of which had the blue and gold plumes of the Great House dancing between their ears and tassels of the same colour tied to the leather straps.
At first the squadron moved through a haze of dust, across a pebble-strewn plain. As the sun began to sink and the cool wind soothed the sweat, the chariots began to fan out, moving in a swift line across the desert, eager to take advantage of the freshness before the darkness came rushing in. Each chariot was armed with a javelin pouch as well as quivers for arrows. Shufoy, standing beside Amerotke, gripped the reinforced bow with all his strength. The officers of the squadron were all veterans, men used to desert warfare and the rapid change in the hideous weather conditions which prevailed in the Red Lands. They drank sparsely from their leather water carriers and filled their stomachs from the bags of hard rations slung on hooks just inside the chariots.
To begin with Amerotke found it strange to be away from the noise and clamour of the city, nothing but the blue, red-shot sky above him and the barren plain around. He showed Shufoy how to wear a mask across his face soaked in water and bitter lemon to provide sure protection against the whirling dust and stinging insects. Now and again they would pause at a water hole to rest their horses and seek some shade under a cluster of dusty palms. The soldiers asked no questions; their standard-bearer had been told to escort this important personage and that was what they would do. When Shufoy approached to draw them
into conversation they just smiled, shook their heads and turned away.
into conversation they just smiled, shook their heads and turned away.
Their journey continued. They were not in the desert proper but on that rocky, sandy plain which divided the Nile from the whirling sands of the Red Lands. At first it felt as though the wilderness around them was deserted, but as the sun set and the blackness fell like a blanket, it became alive with the roar of the night prowlers. The standard-bearer insisted on travelling as far and as fast as they could, but as the stars came out above them, he called a halt at the entrance to a rocky gully. Amerotke helped the squadron set up a night camp. They arranged the chariots in a protective ring, with the horses in the centre, well away from sudden attack by lion or hyaena. Camp fires were lit, guards posted, and the huntsmen in the squadron managed to bring back some fresh meat. They were full of stories about a pride of lions lurking very close by, roused by the smell of cooking and the sweet odour of horse flesh. The meat was shared out along with the watered wine.
After the meal, Amerotke lay down next to Shufoy, a leather pannier serving as headrest, his war cloak as a blanket. He slept fitfully, aroused now and again by the call of the guards or the heart-shrilling roar of a night creature. Shufoy, however, slept like a babe; Amerotke almost had to kick him awake when the camp was roused and their journey continued.
Â
The heat turned pitiless, the sun becoming a merciless tormentor, the dust whirling like a devil to sting their eyes and cake their lips. As the sun climbed to its midday strength, the squadron reached an oasis, where the standard-bearer agreed with Amerotke that they would wait until the cool of the afternoon. When they resumed their journey, Amerotke felt as if he was a sleepwalker. Shufoy had ceased his chattering and become nothing more than a small dust-covered figure standing beside him clutching the chariot
rail. Amerotke tried to recall his own training, concentrating on the horses, gently coaxing them with the reins, keeping a safe distance behind the chariot in front, trying to ignore the heat and the stinging dust. He was aware of the sun beginning to set; he no longer felt as if he was being buffeted and pushed by some unseen club. He took the mask from his face, eager to catch the cool breeze, and rewarded himself and Shufoy with a drink from the pannikin and mouthfuls of dates. The sun began to slip in a fiery glow, once again changing the colour of the desert so that it was no longer a place of blinding harsh light, but rather sinister, with dark rocks and racing shadows.
rail. Amerotke tried to recall his own training, concentrating on the horses, gently coaxing them with the reins, keeping a safe distance behind the chariot in front, trying to ignore the heat and the stinging dust. He was aware of the sun beginning to set; he no longer felt as if he was being buffeted and pushed by some unseen club. He took the mask from his face, eager to catch the cool breeze, and rewarded himself and Shufoy with a drink from the pannikin and mouthfuls of dates. The sun began to slip in a fiery glow, once again changing the colour of the desert so that it was no longer a place of blinding harsh light, but rather sinister, with dark rocks and racing shadows.
âI'd never be a charioteer,' Shufoy moaned. âI'm too small, and the wind â¦' He clutched his face. âMy scar throbs worse than a toothache.'
Amerotke tried to distract him by pointing up to the vultures circling high in the breezes above them.
âIt can't be far now, Shufoy. Vultures always gather near an oasis; that's where they find their prey.'
A short while later, just as the darkness was closing in, Amerotke heard a shout and the leading chariot came racing back.
âMy lord.' The standard-bearer wiped his face and pointed back the way he had come. âWe are almost there. It means cool water and fresh food.'
The chariot column picked up speed, the horses smelling the water, eager to reach their destination. The oasis came into sight, protected by a high wooden stockade. Amerotke glimpsed its guards under the makeshift shades they had built. The narrow entrance gate was open and a soldier, naked except for a leather kilt, a white cloth over his head, came out to greet them. A short discussion took place, the gate was thrown open again and they entered the Oasis of Bitter Grass.
Amerotke had visited such a stockade before and found this no different. A wooden palisade surrounded the gloomy
oasis, with its springs, palm trees and thick vegetation. Both guards and prisoners lived in makeshift bothies. There was a small paddock for horses and places where meat could be cooked and bread baked. The oasis was clean enough, refuse being taken out and dumped in the desert sand. Nevertheless there was no hiding the grim conditions under which both prisoners and guards lived. The soldiers who served there were mercenaries who would do a three-month duty before returning to the garrisons outside Thebes. The prisoners themselves looked a pathetic group in their ragged garb, manacled to each other at both wrist and ankle. It was hard to distinguish one from another except for the clay tablets hung from cords around their necks which gave their name and number.
oasis, with its springs, palm trees and thick vegetation. Both guards and prisoners lived in makeshift bothies. There was a small paddock for horses and places where meat could be cooked and bread baked. The oasis was clean enough, refuse being taken out and dumped in the desert sand. Nevertheless there was no hiding the grim conditions under which both prisoners and guards lived. The soldiers who served there were mercenaries who would do a three-month duty before returning to the garrisons outside Thebes. The prisoners themselves looked a pathetic group in their ragged garb, manacled to each other at both wrist and ankle. It was hard to distinguish one from another except for the clay tablets hung from cords around their necks which gave their name and number.
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