‘He gave his word.’
Huy smiled.
‘Has a boat been arranged?’
‘A light sailing barge of Taheb’s fleet with papyrus from the Delta is taking you. The papyrus will be delivered at Soleb, but the captain has orders to take you on to Napata.’
‘Can he be trusted?’
‘The boatowner can. She is loyal to the queen. As for the captain, there is gold for him to collect in Napata – for his personal use.’
Senseneb smiled sadly. ‘The last thing I shall ever want again when this is over is adventure.’
Huy was silent, then looked at her seriously. ‘There is something else.’
‘Yes?’ The gravity of his voice scared her.
‘If, when you get to Napata, for any reason you do not feel safe, you must take the queen with you and travel on to Meroe. No one from the Southern Capital would follow you that far, and there are people in the far south who are still loyal to the line of Akhenaten. They will protect his daughter.’
Sensenseb’s head swam. She did not want to go to Meroe. All her big city instincts rose up against it. At least Napata was still recognisably a Black Land town, belonging to the southern part of the empire. Meroe was at its farthest limits. It was further from the Southern Capital than the Great Green was to the north. Privately she made up her mind that the danger would have to be very great to make her retreat so far, and she doubted if Ankhsenpaamun would be eager to go either; but she said nothing. Her heart told her that she was embarking on an adventure so mad that she would regret it for the rest of her life.
‘When do we leave?’ she asked, knowing that it was too late to back out now.
‘Dawn.’
‘So soon?’
‘Yes.’
‘But what about us?’
‘There is no time. Princess Setepenra’s body will be taken to the royal palace today. The queen will remain there until tonight, when she will board the boat at the southern quay. You must return to your house, tell Hapu, pack what you need, and as soon as it is dark, come back to me here. Today you must behave as if it were any ordinary day.’
‘When shall I come tonight?’
‘As soon as it is safe.’
She looked at him. ‘But if I am not leaving until dawn, how will we pass the time?’
‘Sealing the knot,’ said Huy, and kissed her.
As the sun passed from his matet to his seqtet boat, Senseneb’s apprehension gave place to excitement. She had packed a leather satchel with Hapu’s help, and found that she needed very little, though she wondered how much the queen would be taking, and decided then that a little more than what she needed would do.
Her Ka went on ahead of her, and she began to wonder what the house in Napata would be like. She had not seen it since childhood, and she thought about the couple who had always been its caretakers. She had sent a letter to warn them of her arrival with a friend. They would not recognise the queen. How would they react when they saw her, Senseneb, grown up? What questions about her life would they ask? Would she dare tell them that her husband would be joining them later – or would that be a hopeful lie to tempt the anger of the gods? She came to realise that her only regret was that Huy was not leaving with her. Leaving the Southern Capital, she came to realise, was not a matter of regret at all.
She had just given orders to Hapu about the disposal of her father’s little menagerie, which she was certainly not leaving to the mercy of Merinakhte, when the doctor himself arrived. Her heart beat so fast that her chest hurt, her stomach felt hollow and her head flew; but since he appeared to notice nothing she assumed that she had herself under control.
Merinakhte had dressed up. He had rubbed ochre into his cheeks, and lined his eyes with kohl. He wore a pleated over-kilt in a lattice pattern, knotted at the side, with a fringed sash and a decorated apron which fell below the knee. His tunic had open, pleated sleeves.
‘Where are you going?’ she asked.
He smiled ruefully. ‘I am glad you’ve noticed that I made an effort. I’m not going anywhere. I have come to apologise. What I said to you was cruel. I beg your forgiveness and ask you to accept this gift.’
She looked at his grey eyes carefully, but they were without expression. She noticed with alarm that he was looking round the room into which Hapu had led him. Would he see signs of her departure?
‘I would have come sooner but your gate has always been locked. Have you been away?’
‘No – just busy.’
‘Here.’ He held out a glass jar, worked in a blue-and-white pattern of interwoven ribbons. Its base and top were chased gold, the base sculpted into waves and the top in the form of a sea-beast, riding more waves and carrying a trumpet-shell. it is from Kheftyu. An ointment perfume made of mermaids’ milk.’
She must not antagonise him. The jar was heavy. The glass it was made of must be very thick. She lifted the lid, and released a delightful odour.
‘Don’t use it now,’ he said, hurriedly, it would be a pity to waste it.’
A faint warning sounded in her heart, but she dismissed it as part of the revulsion he had always engendered in her. And yet now he seemed a new man – perfectly sincere. Was it possible that his divided Ka had begun to find a way towards unity?
‘Thank you,’ was all she said.
To her relief, he turned to go. ‘I must be at the House of Healing. I wanted to make my peace with you.’
‘You have.’
‘Good.’ He hesitated. ‘My offer stands. The love bond is there for me.’
‘I am sorry.’
He bowed his head. ‘Well, if you change your mind…’ He left the sentence hanging. ‘There may come a time when you will be glad to.’
TWELVE
Ay stood alone in his work room, watching the sun go down and dusk gather around the temple of Amun. The high priest would arrange for the god to show his approval of the succession to the people two days later. Soon after that, Ay would be alone in the Southern Capital. Little Ankhsi would be gone, and General Horemheb would be leading five falcon ships and five more regiments to the Delta, where he would take overall command of the northern army. Among the soldiers accompanying him, Ay had placed Kenna and four other men he knew he could trust. Horemheb had agreed to the proposal that he go north with surprising ease, and Ay was not such a fool as to think that he would not take advantage of the army if he could.
But it was better to have him there than intriguing here. The longer the general stayed in the Southern Capital, the more Ay risked having his authority undermined. Once he was out of the way, it would be easier to pursue his diplomatic links with the Land of the Twin Rivers, with Mitanni, and with the peoples to the south of the Black Land. Ay planned to raise an army which would be able to stand against anything Horemheb could throw at him, if their conflict ever pitched the empire into civil war. But he hoped it would not come to that. Perhaps Horemheb would fall under a Hittite spear. Whatever else he was, he was a brave man, and always joined battle at the head of his troops. And if the Hittites could not do it, then an arrow fired by Kenna might do the job. Ay was the last person to deny Horemheb an honourable death and a state funeral, provided he could succeed in sending him to the Fields of Aarru; and a simple assassination would be so much less costly than a civil war.
There was also the question of his succession to be settled. Ay had finally abandoned the idea of ever marrying Ankhsenpaamun – which was why he was letting her go so easily. A daughter of the Great Criminal was not, after all, going to get the unreserved blessing of the powerful priesthood. His thoughts were turning to a princess from one of the lands to the north-east. The world was changing. The Black Land could no longer stand alone and supreme. Survival lay in the realisation of that.