It was Sekhmet who came out to find me. She was sniffing, and patting away at her face with her robe. But she sat down next to me, curled her legs elegantly beneath her, and leaned into my side. I put my arm around her.
‘I’m sorry, that was a horrible thing to say,’ she said quietly.
‘It was the truth. I trust you to tell me the truth.’
She nodded wisely, as if her head were just a little bit too heavy with thinking these days.
‘Why did that man take Amenmose away?’
‘Because he wanted very badly to hurt me. And he wanted to show me he could take one of the most important things in the world away from me.’
‘Why would anyone do such a thing?’
‘I don’t think I know. Perhaps I will never know.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘He’s dead.’
She nodded, and thought about that, but she didn’t say anything more, and so we sat together, listening to the noisy chaos of life in the street, watching as the sun rose higher, dispelling the shadows, and listening to the sounds of the girls starting to prepare the meal in the kitchen, arguing and laughing again together.
51
Once I knew my family was safe, I visited the palace one more time, and made my final report. I felt sick to the heart at the thought of re-entering that domain of shadows. But Ankhesenamun desperately needed to know what I had discovered about Horemheb-about how he was financing the new army, and about his commissioning of Sobek. These things would be crucial weapons in her negotiations. She could use that information against the general, intimating that she knew everything, and could reveal her knowledge, and so expose him and replace him. She would have the power to negotiate a truce between herself, Ay and Horemheb. She, Khay and Simut had gazed at me in astonishment as I explained everything. And once they had questioned me to their own satisfaction, I had excused myself. I had said I needed time alone with my family, to recover from everything that had happened. I bowed, stepped backwards, and then, without permission, turned away. I sincerely hoped I would never again be required to set foot in those hushed chambers.
Over the next days, a steady, sweltering heat settled on the land. The sun blazed remorselessly down, driving even the shadows into hiding; and the city stirred with prognostications and mirages and rumours. Horemheb’s ships, carrying several of his Memphis divisions, had arrived, to a clamour of alarm, and they remained anchored near the harbour on the east bank; at any moment a raid or an occupation was feared, but day after day nothing happened. The constant heat and the inconstancy of the future made daily life difficult and insubstantial, and yet still people carried on with their ordinary business of work, and eating, and sleeping. But by night the curfew was imposed more strictly than ever, and as I sat upon my roof with Thoth, unable to sleep, looking up at the stars, drinking too much wine, listening to the guard dogs and the stray dogs barking furiously at each other, and thinking about everything and nothing, I felt like the last man alive under the moon.
Sometimes I stared across the chaotic shambles of rooftops in the direction of the Malkata Palace, far away across the city. I imagined all the tensions and power struggles that must still be taking place there, while Tutankhamun’s body underwent the final Days of Purification, in preparation for his burial. I thought of Horemheb on his ship of state still floating in the harbour, Khay drinking wine in his office, and Ay alone in his perfect chambers, clutching his fist to the endless pain in his jaw. And I thought of Ankhesenamun pacing her lamplit apartments, thinking of ways to win the board game of politics, and ensure the future of her unborn children. And I saw myself, mulling and drinking in the dark, and talking more to Thoth than to anyone else, perhaps because he had been with me through everything. He alone understood. And he could never speak.
And then one evening, soon after sunset, I heard someone knocking. When I opened the gate I saw a chariot there, and an accompanying troop of palace guards like a vision in my chaotic street. Faces up and down the lane gawped in awe at the apparition. I somehow expected Khay’s bony, gloomy features to greet me. But the face that peered cautiously at me was Ankhesenamun’s. She was carefully wrapped in the disguise of a linen robe.
‘I see I have astounded you. May I enter?’ she said, uncomfortably.
I had imagined I would refuse to have anything more to do with any of these people and their palace intrigues. But I found I could not close the door in her face. I nodded, and she stepped gingerly down from the carriage in her gold sandals of excellent quality-far too good for this street-and under the disguise of a sunshade quickly entered the modest accommodation of my home.
Tanefert was in the kitchen. As we passed through towards the reception room, where we almost never sit, she saw who it was, and suddenly seemed to be caught in a trance. Then she remembered herself, and bowed low.
‘Life, prosperity and health to your majesty,’ she said quietly.
‘I hope you will forgive this unexpected visit; it is rude of me to arrive uninvited,’ said the Queen.
Tanefert nodded through her amazement. The two women took each other in carefully.
‘Please, go to the reception room. I will bring refreshments,’ said Tanefert.
We settled on the benches, in an awkward silence. Ankhesenamun looked about her at the ordinary room.
‘I never thanked you for everything you did for me. I know you paid a very high price for your loyalty. It was much too high, in the end. Perhaps you will accept this as some compensation, however inadequate.’
She handed me a leather bag. I slipped it open and drew out a gold Collar of Honour. It was a beautiful and valuable object, of superb quality and craftsmanship, and I would be able to support the family for years on its value. I nodded and slipped it back inside the bag, feeling none of the things I should, perhaps, have felt on receiving such a treasure.
‘Thank you.’
Silence followed. I could hear Tanefert in the kitchen, preparing the tray.
‘The gift is an excuse. The truth is I have wanted to see you every day, and I have refrained from calling for you. I could not bring myself to do so,’ she offered. ‘I realize how greatly I have come to depend upon you.’
‘And yet here you are,’ I replied, perhaps too harshly.
‘Yes. Here I am. I have often imagined you in your home, with your family. I should like to meet them. Would that be possible?’
The girls were in any case alert to all visitors and the opportunity to meet them, and had gathered in the kitchen where I could hear them urgently questioning their mother about the identity of the unexpected stranger. I brought them in. To their credit, they approached, wide-eyed, and fell to their knees, bowing in perfect style.
Ankhesenamun thanked them, and asked them to stand up and introduce themselves. Then my father entered. He sank awkwardly to his painful knees like an old elephant, in wonder at this extraordinary guest. Tanefert returned with Amenmose in her arms.
He was sleepy, rubbing his eyes.
‘May I hold him?’ asked Ankhesenamun.
My wife passed her the child, and the Queen of the Two Lands held him cautiously, gently gazing down at his face, which stared up at hers, doubtfully. She laughed at his timorous expression.
‘He is not sure of me,’ she said.
But then the boy honoured her by responding to her laugh with his best grin, and her own face lit up, reflecting the delight of the moment.
‘It is a great gift to have children,’ she said, quietly, and held him for a long moment before returning him reluctantly to his mother.
I persuaded the girls to leave us, and they did so, enjoying the business of bowing over and over as they moved backwards, bumping into each other in their enthusiasm, out of the room. Then we were alone again.
‘I imagine you are not here simply to pay me, and to meet my children.’
‘No. I have a kind of invitation for you. But it is also an appeal.’
‘And what is that?’
