City of the Dead

the royal palace.

SEVEN

    Queen Ankhsenpaamun was expecting him. She greeted him in a narrow stone hall, hemmed in by massive painted columns, dwarfing mere humans. She wore a pleated dress of dark blue, with a golden headdress and collar. It was as if she had dressed with such severe formality to bolster her from the shock which, from her expression, she already knew she was going to receive.
    She held her hands before her as she approached him, her eyes wide open and shining. He caught her thoughts before she spoke them and there was no need for her to question him. He felt that there was no need for him to tell her, either; but he did, bluntly, briefly. Not adorning the fact or concealing anything. He was past that now.
    When he had told her she was still for long minutes, her face taking on an expression of utter desolation; more, thought Huy, than the half-expected news that he had brought would warrant. She looked as if the world had abandoned her.
    ‘There is other news, too,’ she said finally, in a voice like the desert.
    ‘What?’
    ‘Prince Zannanzash is dead. His whole party and my couriers were ambushed by desert pirates, and killed and robbed. He had only a light guard with him.’
    It was Huy’s turn to be silent. Then he said, ‘How do you know?’
    ‘His father sent me the news. It is a great sadness.’
    ‘Will there be war?’
    ‘No. But the only reason is that King Shuppiluliumash is not ready. He suspects that the pirates were not there by chance. But he does not blame me.’
    ‘How could he?’
    ‘Indeed. My only thought was for peace, and protection for my child. An alliance with the Hittites would have been the salvation of the Black Land.’
    After she had finished speaking she was silent for a while. They stood opposite each other in the bleak stone room, which was cold, and which contained a darkness which even the many oil lamps could not dispel. Her hands went to her stomach, covering it protectively. Her eyes, which had been distant, became hard, and her young face became older.
    ‘What happens now?’ she asked, finally.
    ‘You must leave,’ said Huy.
    ‘When?’ The voice was empty.
    ‘As soon as possible.’
    ‘But not before the entombment?’
    ‘That is at least two months away.’
    ‘I will not leave before the entombment.’
    ‘You must.’
    ‘They have killed the king. You do not understand. They have killed him.’ Her eyes were on fire. ‘I will not allow them to take his name away, to kill his Ka as well.’
    ‘They will not do that.’ Huy wanted to tell her that the one thing Tutankhamun was assured of was a proper funeral. That his death had been anything other than an accident would be something only ever known to two or three people, and the secret would die with them. But he could see from her eyes that there would be no point in producing rational arguments for her now. ‘The king is safe,’ he went on. ‘No one can touch his Ka. He has gone to join the gods. But you are still here. And you carry the succession within you.’
    ‘Are you telling me that I should flee from these people? I amthe queen! I will order their deaths!’
    She had flared up now, and Huy was alarmed at the change in her thinking. As gently as he could, aware of the possibility of eavesdropers in the shadows, he tried to make her see the reality of her situation. That she was a prisoner, and that apart from her body servants no one would obey her. She was still too young to accept the facts he placed before her, but by the time he had finished speaking she had grown up a little more.
    Her face remained sullen, as if she were reluctant to abandon her thoughts of revenge. Huy hoped that he could persuade her to set them aside for the time being at least. He knew that she would never be in a position to avenge her husband; but there was no reason why she should not remain under the illusion if it helped to ensure her safety. In a distant future it might be that her child could claim its due. After all, it had been two decades before Menkheperre Tuthmosis, greatest of pharaohs, had been able to sit unhindered on the Golden Chair.
    The queen accepted his arguments at last, and fuelled with that falsest of elixirs, hope, she agreed to put the safety of her child above the value of her dignity. Huy left her alone in the hall, a tiny mortal surrounded by impossible and vacuous images of grandeur. His only prayer was that the gods would hold her in safety long enough for him to