House of Illusions (50 page)

On the fourth day a Herald came with a scroll, and standing in the centre of the courtyard he proclaimed that the criminals Mersura, Panauk and Pentu had carried out the sentence imposed on them. There was no mention of Paiis or Hunro. I felt nothing as the sonorous words rolled from cell to cell, only a slight lifting of a weight I had not known was there, and after the man had gone to call the news in the next courtyard, I went to the pool just outside the harem precinct, stripped, and lowering myself into it, I swam up and down until my limbs shook from the effort.

Afterwards I lay in the grass to let the sun dry my body, feeling the heat burn through the droplets of water and into my flesh, the light almost insupportable even through my closed eyelids. The air was fiery in my lungs. Alive, I breathed. Alive, alive. What bliss to be alive! When I could bear it no more, I rolled into the shade of the nearest tree and sprawled naked and uncaring in a kind of ecstasy.

On the fifth day another Herald entered the courtyard, but this time his message was for me. I was sitting just outside my door enjoying a pot of beer, having been freshly painted and dressed, when he halted and bowed, glancing about to make sure that no one was within hearing. “Lady Thu,” he said in a low voice. “The Prince has received a plea from the prisoner Hunro. She has asked to see you. As you know, nobles condemned to take their own lives are allowed to request whatever is reasonable be it fine wine or delicacies or final visits from their loved ones. The Prince does not command you to fulfil Hunro’s desire. He merely acquaints you with it and gives you his full permission to do what you will. You may refuse if you wish.”

“But what can she possibly want of me?” I asked, puzzled and uneasy. “There has been no love lost between us. I cannot comfort her. Is her brother not with her?”

“He attends her every evening and stays until dawn. Hunro is unable to sleep. She is unable to do … anything.”

“Oh no,” I murmured, the breeze that had been pleasant a moment ago now making me shiver. “No. That I cannot do. Will not do! How dare she presume! Does she still think that I am no better than the murderer they made of me? Does she still regard me with so much disdain?” The hurt was immediate and I wanted to cry. I would never be free of the taint of guilt, never. I might enjoy forgetfulness for a while, perhaps even a semblance of wholeness, but the stigma would always be there like an invisible brand. Murderess.

The Herald waited without comment as I buried my face in my hands, struggling to regain control of myself. When I did, I spoke without looking at him. “Tell His Highness that I will wait on Hunro,” I said unsteadily. “Tell him to send me an escort this afternoon.” After all, I thought bitterly as I watched him walk away, that is what murderers do. They murder. Hunro is lucky to have such an accomplished murderer on hand. I rubbed at the tiny bumps on my cold arms. Oh gods, I prayed, help me not to beat at Hunro with vicious words when her distress must already be past all describing.

An hour after noon a soldier came, and together we walked through the palace gardens and out behind the servants’ quarters to the huge, dusty expanse of the army’s training grounds. Isis held the sunshade over my head, its shadow a thin pool around my feet in the full glare of midday. On the far side, shimmering in the haze, the barracks lay in neat rows with the stables adjoining them. I could discern a few soldiers lounging in the shade of the buildings but there was no other activity. It was the time of the afternoon sleep and the churned earth between us lay hot and empty.

The prison cells backed onto the rear wall of the servants’ domain. I remembered them well. In spite of myself, my eyes were drawn to the one I had occupied, the one that now held Paiis. Two guards flanked its door but I could see no movement behind the grill. My escort led me to the adjoining room, and at his nod, one of the soldiers on duty began to untie the thick knot that kept its door closed. I waited, suddenly overcome with the fear that Paiis might choose this moment to fall on his sword or cut his own throat, that I should hear the scuffles and cries of his last agony, but the knot was unravelled and the door pulled open without incident. I turned to Isis. “Wait for me over there, in the shade of that tree,” I said. “Do not stand out here in the sun.” Then I followed my escort inside.

The smell hit me at once, a foetid combination of urine, sweat and terror so powerful that for one desperate moment my guard was my jailor and I was a young concubine again, about to be condemned to death. The door rasped shut behind us. I did not need to examine my surroundings. There was nothing much to see. A dressed couch with an open tiring box full of sheaths at its foot, a table containing a lamp and several rather pretty cosmetic pots and jars, a rush carpet covering the dirt floor and edged by several sets of sandals. Hunro’s possessions seemed garish and frivolous in this stinking, hopeless ante-room to eternity. Gathering my scattered wits, I looked about for her.

She was crouched in the corner, behind the table, and when she saw me she gave a cry and flung herself at me, clutching both my hands and babbling incoherently. She was barefooted and clad only in a filthy, streaked sheath that once had been white. Her hair, unwashed and uncombed, straggled down her back in dishevelled tails. Her fingernails were black with accumulated grime. Whatever vow of dignity she had made to herself when this heavy door had closed behind her had disappeared when her nerve broke, for it was obvious that the collection of face paints, oils and henna had not been used.

“Hunro, where is your servant?” I asked sharply. She stood away a little, trembling, but she did not let go of my fingers.

“I couldn’t bear to have her around,” she half-whispered. “Always asking me, Hunro, will you wear this, Hunro, will you wear that, Hunro, what colour of paint would you like on your eyes, as if I was going to a feast at the palace instead of … of … And insulting me, not using my title. Banemus made me wash and dress. It was stupid. Why should I wash and dress just to die? I sent him away too.” She was speaking increasingly calmly but I could see that the lull was precarious. Madness haunted those wild eyes fixed on my face.

“You sent for me,” I reminded her, careful to keep my voice as steady as possible. “What do you want?” She cast a wary glance at the soldier behind me, and sidled close.

“I can’t do it, Thu,” she muttered. “I can’t. In the night I get so scared and I cry. In the morning I think I can and it will be all right. After all, my ka will go on into the paradise of Osiris and sit under the sacred sycamore tree, won’t it? But then I ask myself, what if there’s no paradise, no tree, no Osiris waiting? What if there’s only oblivion? And the moment when I might be brave passes and I tell myself I will try again the next day. But I only have two days left!” She had begun to wail, letting go my hands to pull at her already tangled hair. “If I don’t do it, they will come in here with swords and hack off my head!”

“Listen to me, Hunro,” I said firmly, though my spirit was quaking at this awful falling-apart. “You have been sentenced to take your life. You must face the fact that you are going to die. You can do it with courage and composure or you can let them dispatch you like a dog, but it will be better if you have yourself cleaned and arrayed like the noblewoman you are and light incense to your totem for the journey you must make. There is no use waiting for a miracle. Rescue will not come. It is life itself fighting in you, a powerful, mindless thing.”

“But rescue came to you!” she shouted. “A miracle happened for you, and you are a murderer, you killed Hentmira and almost finished Pharaoh! I never even touched him! Why do I have to die? It should have been you!”

I could have tried to reason with her, but any word I might have spoken would have only heightened her hysteria, and besides, I had no desire to justify myself before this despairing woman. It would have been cruel and selfish. “Yes, it should have been,” I agreed. “But it wasn’t. I am so sorry, Hunro. Let me order your servant back to tend you, and send for your brother.”

“It sickens me to see you aping your betters,” she sneered. “Order my servant. Send for my brother. Fine words and an educated tongue will never disguise your thick peasant blood!” I turned without another word and walked to the door. My escort reached to open it, but at that she began to scream, “Don’t leave me, Thu! Please! Please! Help me!”

I did not want to help her. I wanted to leave her to her cowardice and dirt and regrets. But I knew that if I stepped through the door, I would not be able to put any of this behind me. Striding back to her, I slapped her sharply on one cheek and then the other, then I put my arms around her as she slumped against me, sobbing. Lowering her onto the couch, I cradled her for a long time until the frenzied note went out of her cries, then I stroked her hair. At last she sat up and looked at me with streaming eyes that no longer flared with unreason. “It is so hard,” she whispered and I nodded.

“I know. But there are the palace physicians, Hunro, and Banemus too. Why have you not asked for help from them?”

“Because I don’t trust them,” she choked. “I have been convicted of treason and blasphemy in plotting to murder Pharaoh. They would take their revenge by giving me a poison that would kill me slowly and painfully.”

“That is nonsense! And Banemus would not do such a thing!”

“But Banemus would not know what to ask for.” Her hands were lying in her lap, twining about each other. “I know it is a great deal to ask of you,” she said haltingly. “I do not deserve your kindness. But you are a physician, Thu, and well acquainted with potions. Will you prepare one for me? Something that will put me to sleep without pain so I can just … just drift into death?”

Did she understand the enormity of what she was asking? The dreadful irony of her request? It was almost too much to bear. I really am less to you than the dust beneath your feet, I thought sadly. Nothing more than a tool, an instrument to be used and used again for the same sordid purpose. “I will do this if you will recall your servant and Banemus and a priest, and ready yourself honourably,” I said quietly. “You come of an ancient and noble lineage. Do not betray your ancestors by grovelling before your fate.” I got up and she rose with me, her eyes now feverishly eager, and tried to touch me again but I evaded her.

“I will!” she promised. “Thank you, Thu.”

“Do not thank me,” I replied without looking at her. “To bring death is not a matter for gratitude, you fool. I will send a draught tomorrow evening.” I did not know whether she had heard me or not. I came up to my escort. “Let me out of here,” I whispered. But Hunro must have caught my last words to her, for she called after me, “You will bring it yourself, won’t you, Thu?”

“No,” I managed to reply as the blessed sunlight flooded over me. “That is something I cannot do. Farewell, Hunro.”

The door thudded shut behind me. Across the training ground I saw Isis scramble to her feet, the sunshade in her hand, and start towards me and I had to force myself to stand and wait for her. I wanted to flee, run frantically from Hunro’s pathetic need and my own disease, shut myself in my own safe little room and get drunk on Pharaoh’s good wine.

But as I was poised tensely for flight, there was a stirring in the next cell and a familiar voice said, “I heard Hunro screaming and I thought I recognized your tones, my Lady Thu. How kind of you to visit the condemned.” I closed my eyes. Not now, I thought desperately. Please, not now! Isis had almost reached me and I turned to her swiftly.

“You are a wonderful sight,” Paiis went on softly. “Beautiful and vibrant and quivering with indignation. Do not be cold towards me, Thu. It took you a long time, but you have won. You have defeated me. Can we not share a few last friendly words?” Isis was there. I felt the shadow of the sunshade fall over me and glanced towards Paiis. He was watching me through the bars of his door, the rings on his fingers glittering in the strong light. As I caught his eye, he gave me a smile of singular sweetness.

“It was not a contest,” I said to him tersely. “Not a game. My life was at stake. So was Kamen’s, a young man who guarded your house for you honestly and dutifully. You are a ruthless man. Why should I share words of friendship with you? Where were you when I was left in that cell to die?”

“I was at home getting drunk and regretting the fact that I had never bedded you,” he said promptly. “That is the truth. You are right. I am a worthless piece of refuse best thrown away. I doubt if even the gods will want me, but until they are forced to decide, I eat and drink and summon my musician to play my favourite songs. Will you join me in a cup of wine? A good vintage I assure you, from the vineyards that used to be mine.” To my own astonishment I found myself drifting towards him. Impatiently he gestured to one of his guards and the man began to untie the door.

“You are not obliged to accept, Lady Thu,” my escort reminded me quietly and Paiis cut in, “Oh yes, you are. Only a hard heart would refuse the last request of a dying man.”

“Stay with me,” I said to my soldier, and Paiis stood aside and bowed as I entered, after seventeen years, the cell where I should have died.

He had brought luxurious things in with him. Two cedar chairs inlaid with gold and ivory stood beside each other and in front of them was a low table, also of cedar, topped in grey and white veined marble. A small gold shrine sat on it, the doors open to reveal a delicate statue of Khonsu, chief god of war. A silver-handled censer lay beside the shrine, and the inescapable stench of previous prisoners was overlaid with the scent of myrrh. A tall stand topped with an alabaster lamp fashioned like an open lotus bloom rested in one corner. His couch could hardly be seen for the profusion of thin white linen sheets and cushions on it. A large carpet was underfoot. What little space was left was taken up by several bowls and dishes on which were piled various pastries, sweetmeats, dried fruits glistening with honey, a selection of cold cooked meat, coils of butter and slabs of bread. I picked my way through this profusion to the chair Paiis indicated, and he slid onto its companion, bending to lift a chased silver jug.