I was returned to shore, my belly full, wine in my head, my finger still throbbing. I turned back to look at the great ship. Ay seemed like a mirage: vividly there, but gone when looked at from the wrong angle. Was he a figure of infinite power, or some magician’s trick of smoke and mirrors?
It was mid-afternoon now, and the sun, remorseless above the simmering cooking pot of the city’s landscape, did nothing to clarify my state of mind. Nor did the crowds, overheated and overwhelmed, that now packed the harbour and the city’s ways. Something was blurring the atmosphere of the place. After the hours on the ship, on the flowing water, and the lost time in jail, I felt heavy and weary, as if dry land was pulling me down. I felt like I wanted to wash and then sleep in the dark.
But I had to see Nefertiti. Not because I wanted to carry Ay’s message-although I wanted to see its effect upon her-but because I needed to see if Khety had managed to reach the Queen’s fort; and also because I had things to say. Things to tell her. Shards of story. I knew she could put them together better than I, if she chose.
I made my way to the necropolis. No sign of the cat. I approached the chapel for the second time, checking to make sure I was not observed, and entered its little precinct of stone and shadow. In the flat afternoon glare it seemed less mysterious, less convincing. In the sanctuary, the offering bowls had been kicked away. The hieroglyphs had been defaced. My name was scored out. So now someone knew about this place.
I examined the narrow gap through which on that night I had entered the Otherworld. But it was now sealed up. There was no way in. How, then, could I reach her? And why had this place been vandalized? It was obviously deliberate. Was she preventing me from reaching her again? I was furious. What did she want of me?
I went first to the pig sty, and rooted about like a fool for the trap door while the pigs sniffed at me. But the door refused to open. Suddenly I had the sense of being watched. I glanced up and down the alleyway-empty. It was oddly quiet, though. Someone could have trailed me, and stepped back into the shadow of a doorway. No other choice, then: I almost ran to the Great River, taking a zigzag route through the streets and ways, moving through crowds then slipping into a side passage, then doubling back. I kept glancing over my shoulder; I felt in my bones I was right, yet no-one seemed intent upon pursuing me. I scanned the crowds, but they all seemed occupied with other plans. Perhaps the unreality of the city was finally influencing my mind. Still, I could think of several people who would benefit from trailing me now and I could afford to take no risks, not with so much at stake.
I pretended to be moving in a northerly direction towards the Aten temples, and joined the throng on the Royal Road. Then I took a side turning to the east and, using the advantages of the grid pattern of construction, turned right and right again, doubling back upon myself, checking at each corner that no-one seemed to be following, then slipping through the crowds again on the Royal Road and heading west, through the warren of streets to the docks.
I chartered the worst kept and least noticeable skiff, kicking the old boatman out of his afternoon sleep. He rubbed his eyes, and began to row. I looked back across the crowded dock. Many people were observing the water. Many other boats were setting out. None seemed to be following me.
We crossed in silence. The man glanced at me curiously once, then pretended to concentrate on the river. The traffic was busy, and we passed in and out of the bigger ships, the slow ferries, the flotillas of pleasure-boats, and a small herd of water-buffalo struggling across, their heads held up above the waterline.
He left me on the far side. Suddenly the simple quietness of the world returned to me: a few birds, some children playing at the water’s edge, the occasional calls of women working in the fields. No other boats were approaching or landing here. The sun, slowly descending towards the western cliffs, guided me towards the general area where the fort lay.
I set off between the fields of emmer and barley. How immaculate they were, tended to perfection over all time as if the fields themselves were worshipped gods. At one point a group of men riding donkeys appeared ahead of me, but we nodded and continued without attending much to one another. The track between the fields reached a wider path, and I followed it north, along the axis of the river’s course, through a tiny settlement where the people still lived in the same low, dark mud shacks with their animals as they had done since time began. Everyone, including the babies and the old men reclining on their low benches, stopped to watch me pass. I felt as if I had stepped down from the sky. These were the working poor who had possibly, probably, never even crossed the Great River to the city. To them it was a kind of fable.
Then I was back again among the fields and date palms, and the sounds of early evening. Where was this place? Eventually, sweating and frustrated, I found myself standing at the boundary between the Black Land and the Red. Behind me the verdant yellows, viridians and spring greens of the cultivated world; one step in front of me began the stony dereliction that surrounds us. A flat, forsaken plain extended to a continuous wavering line of crumbly red cliffs. The Red Land continued beyond them, eternal, unseen, sacred, to the end of the world.
And there, up to my right, stood the building, its squat walls giving no sign of the life within. Of course there were no doors and no windows, but I had assumed I would be able to call, or find some means of access. I stood in the shadow of the east wall and, feeling like an angry fool, called out. No answer came. I called again. Just the mocking reply of a bird in the trees some distance behind me.
What else could I do? I circled the building but there was no way in. The mud-brick crumbled under my fingers when I tried to grip it and lift myself up. I kicked the futile stones at my feet. Damn her. Enough. It was time to take my chances, forget this charade, and go home. I would charter a boat and get out of the city as fast as possible. Enough.
I returned by the same route, but as I set foot upon the path I heard something up ahead. Even the birds in the trees seemed to have quietened. A brief wind rustled through the dry heads of the barley. The hair on the back of my neck prickled. I quickly dropped down and scurried into the barley field. Before long I could make out the sound of marching feet and wheels upon rough ground. A troop of soldiers appeared and passed close by me, followed by a chariot, bumping precariously on the track, carrying two Medjay officers. They were unmistakably heading for the square fort.
Keeping low in the barley, I scurried in the opposite direction, skirting around the village. The evening light had arrived now. The village seemed deserted. Everyone must be hiding inside. When I reached the edge of the river I spotted further along the strand a military ferry roped to the trees, a few guards set about it. Before me the Great River ran ever strongly. The city’s buildings were gilded, and beyond them, in the distance, the eastern cliffs were lit bright red. How would I cross? And once I had crossed, where would I start to search for Nefertiti?
Then I noticed, paddling as if to stay still against the current, keeping almost hidden among the moving shadows near the water’s edge, another skiff. The boatman seemed to be examining the shoreline. I crouched back into the trees. There was something familiar about the outline and the movements of the figure in the boat. I peered more closely, but the figure moved in and out of view. If he was an enemy, why would he be working so hard to stay unseen, and why would he be here?
I picked up a pebble and cast it carefully in the direction of the skiff. A moment of silence, during which it seemed to me the guards’ voices lulled, and then a faint splash. I saw the figure in the boat turn quickly towards the source of the noise, and then peer into the dark fringe where I was hidden. He paddled closer, but not close enough. I threw another pebble. It landed nearer the shore. Immediately he followed the sound. Because we were on the western shore, the trees cast a long shadow across the edge of the water, even while the city was still lit up. But I believed now I recognized the shape of the figure’s head.
I waited for the guards to resume their conversation. When I heard the murmur of their voices, I ran, crouching, across the narrow strand towards the skiff. I was right: it was Khety. I jumped in behind him as quietly as possible. He did not smile, just raised his finger to his lips and allowed the skiff to slide away with the current, away from the soldiers.
When we were at a safe enough distance, we turned to each other, our minds crowded with questions. The most pressing of which I voiced.
‘Where is she?’
‘I’ll take you to her. But first I have to know what happened with Ay.’ ‘How do you know about that?’
‘You were taken to the ship. You talked?’
Khety had never used this tone of urgency with me before.
‘I’ll tell her what happened.’
‘You have to tell me first. Or I cannot take you to her.’
His expression was determined. This was not the unconfidently confident young man I had met just days before. He had assumed a new authority.
‘She doesn’t trust me now?’
He shook his head-direct and honest.
‘You know I was captured? By Mahu?’
‘Yes. And we thought that was the end. But then we learned you were freed. By Ay. This could only mean-’
‘What? That I betrayed her? That I have been working for Ay all this time? Is that what you think? After all we have been through?’ It is hard to be furious in a small boat on open water. ‘Take me to her. Now.’
He looked at me, made his decision and nodded. He deftly turned the skiff and guided us across the strong currents of the river. The evening wind was ragged, blustery and hot-a different wind, not the cool of the northern breeze but something born of the south and its remote deserts. A nearly full moon had now risen above the city. Strange shadows of long, hazy clouds were being drawn like dirty veils across her face. The city’s white facades stood out here and there above the darkness of the trees.
We made our crossing of the jittery dark waters leaving a confused wake, and sailed directly to a jetty of new stone where little tongues of black and blue water lapped agitatedly. The steps led to a place I already knew. A wide stone terrace under a marvellous vine that made it a secret place, quiet and free of the rising wind. And a beautiful chair, set near the water, so that the occupant could sit watching, thinking. I remembered the feel of the missing woman’s figure in its shapes and contours. And there Nefertiti sat, real now, her fingers thoughtfully stroking the carved lion’s paws at the end of the chair’s arms, her mind seemingly as cool as a goblet of water.
I stepped out of the boat. The cat dropped casually down, stretched elegantly, walked over to me and wound herself around my legs.
‘She still likes you.’ Her voice carried a light trill of tension.
‘She has faith. She believes in me.’
‘It is in her nature.’
I said nothing. Khety, who had disappeared for a moment, brought another chair, then retired, perhaps to stand guard. I sat down opposite her, the cat purring in my lap.
‘So, where do we start?’ I said.
‘With the truth?’
‘You think I am here to lie to you?’
‘Why not tell me your story? Then I will see whether or not I believe it.’
‘More stories.’
She said nothing.
‘I went looking for plots and conspiracies. I found men with reasons to want you to disappear for ever, and some of the same men with reasons to want you back. I found out about the golden feathers of the Society of Ashes. Does that mean anything to you?’
She shrugged. ‘It’s the kind of name men give to something they take too seriously.’
‘Your brother-in-law told me the golden feather opens invisible doors. He seemed excited by it.’
‘You see? Men love their riddles and codes and strange seals. It makes them feel clever and important.’
‘That’s more or less what your mother-in-law said. So did Ay.’
I watched her carefully. Something in her eyes flinched at the name-not for the first time. She changed the subject.
‘Mahu got hold of you.’
It wasn’t a question. I held up my finger in its splint. It looked silly.
‘I didn’t talk,’ I said. ‘Well, not much. I told him about the Otherworld and so on, but strangely he didn’t seem to believe me.’
‘He has no imagination.’
‘He does seem to be quite a literal man.’
‘But I am puzzled. How did you escape?’ she asked, returning again to the same point, anxious as a cat trapped in the wrong room.
‘Your friend Ay came and talked to him. Mahu seemed to be persuaded after all that he should brush me down and let me go. Then Ay invited me to lunch, and of course I had to accept. It was quite interesting.’
I wanted that to hang in the air. I wanted her to ask about it.
‘I imagine Mahu tried to hurt you in your heart and soul. I imagine he threatened your family as well as your little finger.’ Her face did not bother to make an expression of sympathy.
‘He’s threatened me with my family before. You know that. And anyway, while I was in the prison I had a bad dream. It was almost worse than anything he could do to me.’
‘Dreams,’ she said quietly. ‘Tell me your dream.’
I looked away, across the river. Why should I tell her anything? But of course, I wanted to tell her everything.
‘I dreamed I was home at last. It had been a long time. I was glad. But everyone was gone. I was too late.’
In the silence that followed I stroked the cat over and over, as if my distress could pass into her but cause no harm. She looked up at me with her calm green eyes. I found I could hardly bear to look up and meet the equally direct gaze of her mistress.
‘It was a dream of fear,’ she said.
‘Yes. Just a dream.’
‘Fear is a strong delusion.’
‘It makes some of us human.’
I was suddenly angry. Who was this woman to tell me about fear? But she was angry too.
‘And do you think I do not suffer fear? Do you think I am not human?’
‘I see fear in your eyes when I mention Ay.’
‘What did he say to you?’ Again, she would not leave this alone, worrying at the question like a cat with a dead bird.
‘He was very reasonable. He asked me to give you a message.’
That stopped her. Now she was on to something. I could sense her hunger, her need to know.
‘Give me the message.’ She said this too quietly.
‘He said he knows you are alive. He knows you will return. His question is, what then? His message is: meet him. He will work with you to restore order.’
She shook her head in disbelief and, somehow, disappointment. The noise in her throat was something between a sob and a tiny lost laugh at something that was never very funny.
‘And you thought it right to bring me this message?’
‘I am no messenger boy. I’m telling you what he said. It sounded reasonable.’
‘You are so naive.’
I killed the anger that leaped into my mouth. I tried another line of enquiry.
‘What power has Ay got over you?’
‘No-one has any power over me,’ she said.
‘I don’t think that’s true. Everyone has someone who frightens them. Their boss or their mother, their sworn enemy or the monster under the bed. I think you’re afraid of him. But the strange thing is, I think he’s afraid of you too.’
‘You think too much,’ she said, quickly.
‘People don’t think enough. That’s the whole problem.’
She stayed silent. I knew I had hit upon some nerve, some thread of truth. Some secret bound them together, I was sure. But she changed the subject again, trying to turn the tide of my questions.
‘So you have found out nothing for sure about the plots against me, and instead you have brought me a foolish message and led them, like a decoy, back to me. It’s as well I anticipated the problems.’
I refused to change course. ‘It’s clear what is happening. Tomorrow is the Festival. Akhenaten is besieged by troubles at home and abroad. These troubles are focused now in the very event with which he hoped to resolve them. Why? Because your absence destroys the illusion he needs to perpetuate. Your return will precipitate enormous changes. This is anticipated by several men, including Ay and Horemheb, both of whom are waiting to see what happens when you do reappear. I imagine they wish to take full advantage of any change of authority. You, having sent me back into the lions’ den, then assume me guilty of betrayal when I return to you with the little information I have been able to glean, at some personal cost to myself. And the interesting thing is, Ay is right. I think you have no idea what happens next.’
I found myself, at the end of this outburst, pacing the terrace. At the door, Khety looked alarmed. The waters of the Great River seemed to be listening carefully for Nefertiti’s reply. Eventually it came, very calmly, concealing everything.
‘You are right,’ she said. ‘I have no idea what happens next. I will make my prayers for an outcome that restores peace and stability to all of us.’ She looked out over the dark waters then, and added, ‘I have one request.’ Her eyes searched for mine. I confess my breath was tight in my chest. ‘Will you accompany me tomorrow, when I make my return? Will you do that for me, despite everything?’
I did not even have to think about it. ‘Yes,’ I said. I wanted to be there.
I realized, as I said this simplest of words, that I wanted to face the uncertain future, with its fears and its dreams, with her, no matter where it would take us. I felt suddenly as if the wide, dark water was flowing under my feet; as if this terrace and all of this strange city, this little world of frail lights and hearts like flickering lanterns, were floating on the blackness, borne along on the currents, the fluent and the turbulent, of the river’s long, deep dream.