The city ended abruptly. The sheer walls of the houses, elevated on their low hill of centuries of detritus and the rubble of earlier buildings, which protected them from the worst of the annual river floods, gave way immediately to fields which were parched and cracked now, but which would very soon be flooded with the rich black silt which was the life-giving gift of Hapy. The River had risen already, the red sand which gave it its colour at this time of year swirling on its surface as it passed northward on its long journey to the Great Green.
As Huy walked along its shore he startled a flock of egrets which rose white in the sun on silent wings, only mildly irritated by the disturbance, to settle again a handful of paces further on. From this new position they paid no more attention to him.
On the distant west bank it was just possible to make out the dun forms of herons, but only when one of them abandoned its still-as-stone posture to dart at a fish, or rose in unhurried flight to curl above the implacable rocks of the valley beyond. Near the shores, duck and geese swam, scooping the surface of the River for food, and farther downstream, where smooth rocks shelved to the water’s edge, crocodiles basked in the sun, warming themselves for the evening’s hunt. Near them, coots scuttled through the current in nervous teams.
A handful of villages, thatched mud buildings the colour of the land, clutched the ground in tight clusters on either bank, and there was a number of isolated farms which lay closer to the protection of the town. Wrapping his scarf around his head to protect himself from the heat, Huy kicked the dust out of his sandals and set off for the nearest one.
The furious barking of dogs which heralded his approach worried him, but the animals – two large black brutes of a kind he did not recognise – were tied to a hefty stake in the middle of the farmyard. There was no one about, which was not surprising in view of the time of day, so Huy, skirting the buildings – a simple low house flanked by a barn -in order to keep out of the dogs’ range, made his way to the nearest door and knocked. The dogs, aware that further action was impossible, retired to their patch of shade after loping around for a minute, and from there glared at him threateningly before giving up the whole idea, and lowering their heads on to their paws.
The farmer was a brittle stick of a man, the colour of sweet wood and fuddled with sleep. He had been up since four, preparing his land for the coming flood, after which the country would swelter, sweating and harassed by mosquitoes, until Hapy passed on his way and the season of growth could begin. Huy had noticed the complicated system of irrigation ditches and slender canals which linked them, now dry and neglected, as he had left the city, and imagined the activity that would animate this countryside five months later, when the waters would have withdrawn, and planting could begin, following a frenzied cleaning and redigging of the veins and arteries of the country’s body.
Aahetep’s parents’ farm lay further out from the city, but Huy was just able to discern it through the heat haze by squinting in the direction the farmer pointed.
‘But you can’t go now. Look where the sun is,’ said the farmer; and indeed the heat had suspended all life. The birds had disappeared from the shore, the crocodiles had withdrawn into deep shade or slunk into the water, where the tiny blisters made on the surface by their eyes were all that betrayed their presence. The farm dogs had become metamorphosed into low dark rocks.
Huy shook his head. ‘I must.’
‘The heat will be too much.’
‘There is no time to wait. And I think they will not be sleeping.’
‘The parents perhaps. Raia and Tutu have as much to do as we have; but the daughter…’ he broke off. ‘There has been a tragedy.’
‘What sort of tragedy?’ asked Huy.
The farmer regarded him coolly. ‘I thought you city folk knew everything. A death in the family. She’s got their little boy with her.’
‘Can I hire your donkey?’
The walnut face looked at him, and the farmer spat. ‘Not in this heat, you can’t. But have some water before you set out.’
Huy walked slowly, forcing himself not to hurry, knowing that the faster he went, the less chance he stood of making it, though the two farmsteads were not more than a thousand paces apart. He had spread his shawl to cover his back and neck as well as his head, and he had wet it in one of the farmer’s water jars, so that the going was not too bad, though the heat of the soil scorched his feet through his sandals. Long before he reached the other farm his shawl was dry and his lips and mouth were losing their moisture. Squinting against the sun as he approached the other farmhouse, Huy saw a pair of vultures wheeling high and far away to the north east. Specks that vanished and reappeared as they flew in and out of the sunlight. What dying thing out there had caught their attention?
Raia’s dogs raised their heads at his approach and managed an exhausted growl, but allowed him to approach the house door without any other challenge. This farm was larger than the first, and small numbers of livestock were corralled in pens under palm leaf umbrellas about the yard. A slim white pig lay in the corner of one, fast asleep, its ears over its eyes. In another, five geese started up, staring at him with beady, intelligent eyes. It was a long time before anyone answered his knock, but at last the door opened a crack to reveal a pale face framed in ragged, undressed hair. The woman held a small child of about three on one arm.
‘Aahetep?’
‘Who are you?’
‘Huy. A friend of Nehesy.’
Her eyes flickered into life and pain at the mention of her husband’s name, but she must have picked something up from Huy’s tone for no suspicion or enmity appeared in them, and she stood back, opening the door a fraction wider. Closing it behind him, the child staring at him inquisitively, she led the way through an inner courtyard hung about with farm implements to a long low room facing north on the other side of the house. From a gallery half in shadow came the noise of snoring from one end and the rustle of straw as a body resting on it shifted its position in sleep.
‘My parents are there.’
‘I know.’
The child burbled. Fearful that he might speak, or cry out, the girl took him to a small bed set against the wall, where he settled down, though from it he continued to gaze at Huy with the bright, frank eyes of his father. Then she returned to sit opposite her visitor, her own eyes tired, and their expression dull.
‘I am Nehesy’s friend,’ said Huy again.
She shifted her position. ‘He spoke of you.’
‘I s he in trouble?’
‘What have you come for?’
‘To find out what has happened to him.’
An expression of great bitterness crossed her face, which Huy did not understand, if you do not know, you are either a very good friend, or no friend at all.’
‘We were working together. I went to the stables and they told me he had been arrested. So I came here to find out more.’
She continued to look at him bleakly, as if gathering the energy to speak. When she finally did, it was in a low, toneless voice, wrung dry of feeling.
‘Four days ago they came to our house at dawn. Three Medjays. They took my husband away. Then at noon one of the officers returned and told me that Nehesy was being relieved of his duties. I would have to get out of the house by evening. I didn’t know where to go. When something like that happens with things as they are at the moment, none of your friends wants to know you. So I came home here. They knew where I’d gone at the stables so I supposed that sooner or later Nehesy would be released, and would join me – I knew he couldn’t have done any harm – or that I’d be given news. I waited a day and then I went to the city, but no one could tell me anything.’