city, south of the desert altars. It must be late morning, for the shadows had gone and all was hazy with heat and overwhelming light. I felt very weak and tired. Ay handed me a little water jar, and I drank slowly as the carriage moved away along one of the Medjay paths. Servants ran beside us holding shades against the light. I think he had a profound aversion to the sun. We sat in silence. I found myself unable to think, only to feel the strange adjacency of these two worlds, the one buried deep, the other open to Ra and the light of day, and me passing between them, fortunately in the right direction.
‘How long have I been imprisoned?’ I asked Ay.
‘Today is the eve of the Festival,’ he replied calmly.
‘And what news of my assistant, Khety?’
‘I know nothing of this man,’ said Ay dismissively.
That was the one piece of good news. Perhaps he had escaped.
The carrying chair took us to the border of the city, and soon we were passing through the ways of the central city, where the people were going about their daily acts and affairs so absurdly unconscious of the atrocities being committed on their fellow humans nearby. For a city in so much sun, I saw dark shadows everywhere. Parennefer had described the place as an enchantment, but now it seemed a mockery, an appalling delusion. Ay looked out at the spectacle, occasionally glancing up at building work in progress, at the many teams of artisans and workmen moving about anxiously and hurriedly on the high walls, trying to make the place look as finished as possible in time for the Festival. He seemed sceptical. He noticed me glancing at him.
‘Do you believe they will finish in time for the ceremonies?’ I asked.
He replied in his quiet voice: ‘This is a fools’ paradise, made of mud and straw, and soon it will crumble and collapse back into the base matter from which it is constructed.’
We passed the Small Aten Temple and the Great Palace, and continued along the Royal Road until we arrived at the harbour. I had not stopped, at any point, to consider my position. Here I was in the company of this man of enormous power, having been saved from the loving attention of Mahu and his gang; but of what nature was this new company? What did Ay want from me? He had freed me from one trap, but was I entering another? No guards accompanied us; I could simply have stepped out of the carrying chair and walked away up the street. But then what? I felt that he would be able to locate me anywhere.
He gestured to me to board a reed boat. I saw anchored out on the water his magnificent ship. So, this was our destination: his floating palace, a movable estate of power. I boarded the reed boat, as he knew I would.
37
The ship seemed to hang in the water by its own immutable laws, a self-contained creation of stateliness. The streamers had been removed, the Priests and the orchestra had gone, and now, as I stood on the main deck, it gave above all a sense of power, clarity and grace. Ay moved swiftly into the shade of the portico, gesturing for me to follow. ‘The physician will examine your injuries,’ he said. ‘Then we will dine.’
Instantly, serving men came forward to guide me to a room with a low bed, made up with fresh linen. They indicated that they wished me to undress so that they could wash me, but I refused. I wanted to wash my own wounds, even though my finger was throbbing horribly. I managed to get myself out of my old clothes and slowly cleaned the cuts, the sores on my wrists and ankles, and the sweat and dirt from my face and neck. Mahu and his guards had cut me up: bruises and knife lacerations criss-crossed on my inner thighs, and under my arms. Then, as I was drying myself, there was a knock at the door, and a man of middle age, wearing an understated but costly tunic, entered. He had a strange, empty face. His lips were thin. He reminded me of an abandoned house.
‘I am the chief of physicians to God’s Father,’ he said in a voice that was almost colourless. ‘I will need to examine you now.’ I experienced a reluctance to allow him to touch me. He saw this. ‘It is necessary.’ I nodded.
He placed his hands upon me at different points; then his fingers quickly probed the cuts and wounds, squeezing at the broken skin to test for infection or vile fluids. When he lifted my hand to observe the broken finger, taking it between his own to test it by moving it about, the pain was horrible and I flinched. He did not seem to notice. He just nodded, as if this confirmed the obvious conclusion that the finger was truly broken.
He opened a small chest, which I noticed contained jars of minerals, herbs, honey, fat and bile. Next to them were vessels for the mixing and storage of essences and oils, and then an array of surgical instruments; sharp hooks, long probes, cupping vessels and vicious-looking forceps hanging from hooks. It was precise and highly ordered; a small working laboratory. How similar such instruments were, I realized, to those used in the processes of embalming and mummification. I remembered the Chamber of Purification. I remembered Tjenry and his glass eyes. I remembered the canopic jar and its appalling contents. I noticed a statue of Thoth, god of knowledge and writing, in his baboon form looking down at us both from a niche. Guardian of the deceased in the Otherworld.
‘I see you are interested in alchemy,’ I said.
He closed the chest and turned around. ‘It is a way of knowledge,’ he replied. ‘Transmutation. The purification from base substance of eternal truth.’
‘By what means?’
‘By fire.’ He looked at me with his desolate eyes. ‘Turn to face the wall, please.’ He handed me a dish.
‘What is this for?’ I asked.
He did not reply. I turned away. I felt him laying out my fingers on a board, the broken one tender and crooked to one side.
‘I have heard of a substance, known only to the alchemists; a water that wets not and yet burns everything.’
Suddenly an intense pain exploded in my little finger, shooting up my arm. I vomited into the dish he had given me. When I came back to my senses he was already binding the finger in the splints. Now the pain was gone, replaced by a thrumming ache.
‘Your finger is reset. It will take time to heal.’
He busied himself with returning his room to its state of meticulous order.
‘As Chief of Physicians you must have access to the Books of Thoth?’ I asked.
After a short silence he said: ‘You could know nothing of such matters.’
‘The Books are spoken of as compendiums of secrets and hidden powers.’
‘Power is hidden in everything,’ he replied. ‘There is great power in this knowledge. And also great danger to those who are not correctly initiated into its secrets and responsibilities.’
We stared at each other. He waited to see whether I would try again. Then he nodded discreetly and departed, shutting the door silently behind him.
I was taken to the state room, with its gold chairs, long benches and Hittite wall hangings, and left alone to wait. Two trays on stands had been set-crisp linen, precious metal dishes, alabaster goblets almost pellucid in the polished light entering through the cabin windows. I was starving, and the prospect of a fine feast, however tense the occasion, set my stomach grumbling.
I was just pondering the glorious objects around me when I felt a drift of air, and there was Ay. We sat beside the trays, the two of us attended by a silent servant who was able to serve us perfectly and to maintain an air of not really being there. He brought us many dishes, including a fish cooked in a package of papyrus with the addition of white wine, herbs and nuts-a thing I would never have imagined.
‘The fish is considered a poor man’s meal,’ Ay said, ‘but correctly prepared it is delicate and makes meat seem crude. After all, it comes from the heart of the Great River, which gives us all life.’
‘And carries away our rubbish and our dead dogs.’
‘Do you see it that way?’ He thought about it, then shook his head, dismissing my comment. ‘The fish is an impressive creature. It lives in a different element. It remains silent and pure. It has its secrets but cannot speak of them.’
He delicately peeled the tail, spine and head away from his fish, and placed them on another dish. I followed suit, more messily. The two greasy heads lay on their sides as if listening intently to our conversation. Ay ate a few
