‘And your daughters?’
Reni folded his hands. ‘They are women.’ Then he caught Taheb’s eye and lowered his own with a slight cough.
He was saved further embarrassment by the rustling approach through the fecundity of his garden of his wife, accompanied by two of the children. They came towards the seated group cautiously but without hesitation – almost as if their entrance had been prearranged.
‘May I present to you those members of my family who are at present – ah – available,’ said Reni. ‘Ankhu is at court, and my oldest girl will still be busy in the archive at the far end of the house.’ Huy wondered whether that eldest daughter, who worked as Reni’s secretary, had helped him destroy the documents he drew up during Akhenaten’s reign, which would have given such priceless ammunition to his enemies, before turning his attention to the newcomers.
Reni’s Chief Wife surprised Huy. She had a neutral, neglected look. Her mourning white was not as dazzling as her husband’s, and the downward turn of her mouth appeared to be the result of permanent, not recent, grief. But her face was intelligent; out of her eyes gazed a heart which acknowledged a wasted lifetime. She should have left him years ago.
Nebamun was probably seventeen, already a man, though his face was still bright and open. Nephthys was dark, and her large features had an open attractiveness due to the personality which animated them. Physically, her looks were like her mother’s; her mother’s face before hope had been dashed out of her life. It was odd that there should be nothing of Reni in the features of either child.
They greeted Taheb with pleasure before turning to Huy with more guarded expressions. He wondered if they had been primed to talk to him, and how far they had been told they could go. He longed for the chance to talk to each of them in private, but saw little hope of it.
Huy found himself unable to know where to begin. Merymose had asked the questions of fact, at a time when they were all too stunned by the event to react other than practically. The questions of theory and of hypothesis seemed wrong now, and looking from face to face, he wondered how much good the answers would do him. To encourage himself as much as anything, he ventured a handful of general questions about Neferukhebit’s activities on the days leading up to her death – questions which resulted in conventional answers, the activities of any rich young girl marking time between the end of her education and the arrival of her husband – for these girls were on the fringes of the royal household, and work – such as Taheb did – was taboo to their class.
Ankhu and Nebamun would have it easier, but for the majority of privileged men work was a nominal activity as they laboured more or less intelligently in the upper ranks of the army, the civil service and the priesthood; most of the graft was done for them at a humbler level. The boy was quieter than his sister, and gave tongue-tied answers. His sister’s death seemed to have affected him more deeply, though he bore himself with a kind of frightened dignity in front of his father.
Talking to Nephthys was a way of getting to know her dead sister by proxy, for she had plenty of spirit, and within her there was a streak of rebellion against her family, particularly her father, though there was no hint of it in any word she spoke. Nephthys was younger than her brother, but seemed older, and more sure of herself. Her independence was further underlined by an impending marriage, news of which she now shared with Taheb. Marriage, though it was to be to a priest, and thus well within her world, represented an escape from her family. Huy wondered what the husband was like. Would Nephthys turn into her mother in time? From what was being said, perhaps that was unlikely. Though the marriage had been arranged, Nephthys would be the man’s first wife, and he was near her own age.
Throughout the interview, Reni kept a Horus eye on proceedings, interrupting, when he felt an irrelevant question had been asked, with the speed and precision of a young judge. It was a relief when a secretary appeared – sent by his oldest daughter – and summoned him away on business that had to be decided that night. He left with reluctance; but his departure did not make conversation any easier. Huy had the impression that a body servant was lurking somewhere within earshot, to report any indiscretions back to Reni, and that everybody knew this.
It had grown dark, and the night, for the season, was unpleasantly close. After a short time, Reni’s wife excused herself, and everyone stood, watching her wend her way through the small jungle, looking lonelier than ever as she went. An awkward pause followed, and Huy, feeling that he had learnt all he could, made no attempt to continue the conversation. He had one question left, and he wanted to put it to one or other of the children alone. He hoped that only one of them would accompany Taheb and himself to the door, and he hoped that person would be Nephthys. Whether Taheb had divined this, he did not know, but as she rose to leave, she linked arms with the girl, and turned towards the gate.
‘Good night,’ Huy said to the boy. ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure your sister can see us to the gate. And thank your parents again.’
‘I will,’ replied Nebamun. There was an appeal in his eyes which Huy could not read.
As he was leaving, the boy seized his elbow, bringing his face close.
‘Where can I find you?’
‘I live in the harbour district. Taheb knows.’
‘All right.’ The strong hand let go of his arm, and Nebamun stepped back.
‘Goodbye,’ he said again, in a clear voice.
‘Goodbye.’
Huy watched him retreat and then followed Taheb and Nephthys, finding them talking softly at the gate. Nephthys, her arms folded, leant on the jamb, her hair softened by a halo of light from the gatekeeper’s lamp. Her clear face betrayed no grief or anxiety at all. The door stood open and beyond it on the pavement was cast the shadow of the Med jay posted to keep watch.
‘Nephthys,’ said Huy, drawing her aside. ‘Where did your sister get the tattoo?’
The girl looked at him in wonder. ‘What tattoo?’ she asked.
‘She had a scorpion tattooed on her shoulder.’
The girl’s eyes became even wider, then she suppressed a laugh. ‘That was just like her. I’m sorry, you must think I have no feelings at all. But I admired her. She was the only one who stood up to him.’ She laughed again. ‘I can’t believe it! He’d have killed her if he’d known.’
‘But didn’t he see the body?’
Nephthys looked at him. ‘I’m certain he hasn’t seen one of us naked, ever. I don’t even know how we got to be born. My poor mother has slept alone as long as I can remember.’
‘What about his other wives?’
‘He doesn’t have any. Nor any concubines. He spends nearly all his time, day and night, with Iryt, my big sister. They have an office at the far end of the south wing.’
‘Why didn’t she join us tonight?’
Nephthys shrugged. ‘She’s always busy. Even we never see her.’ She looked at him. ‘You can draw what conclusions you like from that. I just can’t wait to get out of this house.’
‘Do you hate it so much?’
‘I’d have married a boatman to get out.’
‘Why?’
She was about to answer, but the gatekeeper approached, giving Huy a suspicious look.
‘Time to close up,’ he said sourly.
Nephthys smiled at Huy a little sadly. ‘I’m counting the days. Goodnight.’
They did not talk much in the litter on the way back to Taheb’s house. Huy was wondering how much truth there had been in what Ipuky had said about his sons. Taheb’s skin still crawled from the scribe’s touch.
‘His poor wife,’ she said, finally.
‘It seems he prefers the company of his daughter Iryt.’
‘Sometimes neglect is worse than abuse.’
‘Then she should leave him.’
‘How can she? What would she do? Her only hope is widowhood.’ She was silent for a moment. ‘And now she’s got to bear the death of her daughter. Why do you think Reni said that no one had any reason to suspect a second killing?’ Huy looked thoughtfully out through the curtains of the litter at the night sky, bright in the silence with the light of a million stars.