‘It occurs to me I should apologize for my outburst at your party,’ I offered, reluctantly.
‘You spoke out of turn, if not out of character,’ he observed, while continuing to run swiftly through the cursive script on his papyrus. ‘You seemed furious about something which is, after all, common knowledge. It was quite inappropriate.’
I shrugged, suddenly feeling like a moody schoolboy before the cool power of a teacher.
‘My tolerance for the easy talk of the elite has all but vanished,’ I replied.
‘So now in your wise middle age you think of yourself as the magnificent, embittered sage of truth.’ He looked up, scanning my face.
‘Believe me, I see myself very differently,’ I replied, perhaps a little stiffly.
He almost smiled.
‘My old friend. I know you see the reality of the streets, and the miseries of the people, and that is a valuable perspective. But remember the world of the wealthy, the priests and the nobles also suffers from dangerous tribulations. The two are not mutually exclusive. Much is at stake for everyone these days. We are all bewildered and tormented by the question of the succession. The future seems very uncertain, and that in itself creates conditions of dangerous unrest.’
‘But while everyone’s talking and moaning, the world we thought we knew and believed in is being destroyed all around us,’ I said.
Nakht glanced at me somewhat impatiently, and then wrote rapidly with his reed pen, the cursive characters forming fluently in black ink. I envied him his great skill in writing. My own has never been better than clumsy and awkward.
‘And you think you are the only person to notice this, I suppose? And I suppose you also have a proposal to save us all from the abyss of disaster which you foresee? I suppose you know how to solve the problem of the succession? I suppose you know how to balance the vital authority of the royal family against the landed interests and powers of the priesthood and the nobility, and how to protect both against the vaulting ambitions of the army under General Horemheb? Or would you prefer just to stand and watch everything fall apart, and then say, “See? What did I tell you?”’
He could be so frustrating at times, because his rhetoric could quickly trap me into absurdity. And also because he was often right. But I wasn’t ready to let this go just yet.
‘You’re right, of course. But you and your noble friends all sit in your lovely villas, in your clean, fancy clothes, in your fine jewellery, writing your poems and going about your love affairs, and playing your games of politics. You have no idea of what’s going on out there, just the wrong side of your villa walls. The rule of law is toothless, it’s powerless. The day before yesterday I saw five young Nubian street kids, just low-level opium dealers…’ I said.
‘And?’
‘And someone had very efficiently and mercilessly cut off their young, foolish heads.’
He looked up at me with his topaz eyes.
‘What would you have me say?’
‘Do you remember my old assistant, Khety?’ I asked.
He nodded.
‘Of course.’
‘He came to see me. We talked. At first I thought it was just the usual gang warfare. But he’s been investigating. And he’s discovered a few things that worry me,’ I said.
‘Such as?’
Nakht put down his reed pen. I thought I noticed a glint of interest in his eyes now.
‘Such as there’s a new supply of opium. Suddenly it’s widely available. It’s high quality. The price is undercutting the usual gang families, who are being wiped out.’
‘And is that such a bad thing? Those gang families are extremely destabilizing for the city…’ he said.
‘That’s what everyone’s saying. But I want to know: who are these new gangsters who kill with impunity and skill? How much power do they desire? Are they the new lawmen of this city?’
‘How would I know?’ he answered.
His airiness suddenly annoyed me. We had known each other a long time. He could at least relax a little with me, of all people.
‘You’re the royal envoy. You’re at the heart of power. You know everything.’
He observed me with his strange, dispassionate eyes. I could never tell what he was really thinking.
‘I have not seen that expression on your face for a long time,’ he said, almost amused.
‘What expression?’
‘The one where you look like a cat watching a bird. Fascinated. Compelled, despite yourself.’
‘Well, it matters…’ I replied.
‘Indeed. So what do you propose?’ he asked.
‘Khety asked me to join him in a new investigation. Find out who this new gang are.’
‘And what did you say?’
‘I said I would think about it,’ I said.
He thought for a moment.
‘You should be careful. It sounds extremely dangerous,’ he replied.
And he seemed about to say more, but we were interrupted by a call from the captain. We were now crossing the slightly stagnant, unnaturally silent waters of the Birket Habu, the vast artificial lake in front of the Malkata Palace complex, and approaching the long stone quay where those on government or diplomatic business alighted. Beyond lay the royal quarters with their pools and pleasure lake, the vast labyrinth of government offices, and the huge underworld of kitchens, bakeries, granaries, storehouses and stables that served this city within a city.
Nakht rolled up his official documents, straightened his linens, hoisted his standard, and prepared to disembark.
‘Whatever happens now, please trust me,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘And no more careless talk. At the party it was relatively harmless. Here it would be insubordination.’
And then he stepped lightly from the boat on to the stones of the palace quay.
6
I waited outside the Audience Hall, in a long corridor where officers, administrators and priests in their white linen robes came and went, self-important and whispering in the awful hush that seemed to hold the whole labyrinth of the palace in its thrall. In order to reach this hallowed place, we had been ushered through chamber after chamber, stateroom after stateroom, each one ever-more glorious, ornately decorated and filled with ever-more important dignitaries, Priests and Officers, who had bowed and watched us like jackals as we continued on our progress to the heart of the Palace. The sense of gloom was unrelieved by the glorious paintings covering the floor, the walls, and even the ceiling. Elegant fish swam beneath my feet. Wild ducks rose up from the papyrus reed beds of the Great River. The painted water was clean and the painted flowers were perfect. It all seemed like wishful thinking.
With nothing to do but wait, I drifted back to a reverie of one of the last times I had entered this palace. I had returned from the royal hunt with the corpse of Tutankhamun, who had been killed in a hunting accident. For this, I had incurred Ay’s wrath, and his unending enmity. And Ankhesenamun, the King’s young wife, the daughter of Nefertiti, had known at once that her own destiny was changed for ever. Instead of the new enlightenment which she and Tutankhamun had intended to bring to the empire, she had been forced to marry the vicious old Vizier, Ay. She had had to acquiesce to his ascension to absolute power in order to prevent an even worse outcome: a military coup by General Horemheb. And now, with Ay’s impending death, it seemed that that great disaster had only been postponed, and would soon be upon us.
As I was pondering these matters, footsteps approached. I looked up to see a friendly face. It was Simut, Commander of the Palace Guard. A Nubian, he was statuesque and broad-shouldered, and possessed a face of burnished integrity. We had been together with King Tutankhamun when he had died.
‘Have you put on weight?’ he asked, assessing me.
‘Probably,’ I said. ‘I wish I could say the same of you. You always look so absurdly fit and healthy.’
He laughed quietly and invited me to sit on one of the gilded benches near by.