Out of the Black Land - By Kerry Greenwood Page 0,92
as though the sun had struck me.
‘Perhaps we could just read the letter to Akhnaten may he live,’ said Khety.
‘He wants unworked gold,’ I said. ‘That would be possible, though he wants lots and lots of it—the exact term is ‘gold in very great quantities’—and we can manage that too, but what shall we tell Tushratta about Keliya?’
‘He is still in fetters,’ said Khety.
‘I know,’ I replied. ‘He greeted the King in the old manner, and when reproved he argued. I managed to save him from instant death, by getting in between him and the soldiers; but the fact remains that Keliya—Tushratta’s principal envoy and royal son of his body, and heir of the King of Mittani—is in durance in Egypt. What will happen when his father finds out I do not know, and I cannot think of a solution,’ I replied.
Khety put an arm around my waist as I felt myself sag.
‘You are faint,’ he said, heaving my weight up into his arms. I do not remember him carrying me to my apartments, but I do recall requesting very urgently that he send not for the palace physician but for the lady Mutnodjme.
Time passed. I swam up into consciousness to the sound of a sweet voice—Meryt, singing to the small drum; and a sweet smell—not the thick rich fragrances of the palace but a bracing scent from the river.
‘Galbanum, prince of herbs,’ commented a cool female voice a second before I identified it. ‘Lie still, my lord, you are fatigued. Your slaves keep the door.’
‘Who veiled the window?’ I asked, for this was forbidden, as was anything which cut off the sun god from his people.
‘I did, and if asked I will say that the strength of the Disc in his glory is too great for mortal men; and that you, his loyal servant, are prostrated in prayer before the majesty of the Aten,’ she replied.
I lay down again under her firm hand; for that was, indeed, an acceptable answer and I wondered why I had not thought of it before. I saw Meryt pat the lady Mutnodjme in a familiar fashion, as though they were sisters, and Teti’s son brought me a draught of cool herb-flavoured water from a pottery vessel.
‘What happened? I was suddenly without strength, as though all the marrow was gone from my bones,’ I said.
‘The heat of the sun, lord Ptah-hotep. Also you are worried, overworked and underslept. I have permission from the Widow-Queen Tiye Mistress of Egypt to stay with you tonight. She believes that this will preserve your repose. Presently we will have a little supper, and then you will sleep again. Meanwhile little Hani will bathe your forehead and Meryt will sing to you; and I will report on your condition to the Lord Chamberlain Huy, hoping that he has not left an indelibly-greasy stain in your office by his contaminating presence.’
I relaxed into Meryt’s voice and the attention of Hani’s little son, who was very gentle, and wondered why I had not appreciated the lady Mutnodjme when she was a child. Her very presence in my apartments was making me feel stronger. The temple of the unnameable lady had sharpened her tongue and her wits; and the customs of the City of the Sun, seen through her dispassionate eyes, seemed even more ridiculous than I had imagined them.
I heard her voice, reporting my overwhelming devotion to the Chamberlain, heard his feet retreat and the outer door close. Then she returned and asked, ‘Which particular problem were you considering when you collapsed, my lord? We had better solve it, then you will sleep better.’
‘Ask Khety,’ I instructed. ‘Bring him in here and he will tell you about the King of Mittani’s son.’
She did as I bade her, and Khety recited the whole problem and read her the passage in which King Tushratta asked:
Why have you delayed my messenger?
Where is my son and the light of my eyes, Keliya?
Why has he not written to me, and is he well?
I do not understand why you do not tell me what I want to know.
‘And we can’t really tell him what he wants to know, can we?’ I asked.
‘He’s imprisoned, you say, not dead?’
‘Not dead,’ agreed Khety. ‘I go down to the cells and bring him food and assure him that he is not forgotten.’
‘All things can be cured except death; that is what my Mistress Duammerset used to say,’ Mutnodjme was thinking aloud. ‘There is no sentence, no execution order?’