City of the Dead

papers, and Ineny stood irresolute. It had been ten minutes since the house servant had shown him in. He wondered if he should sit in his familiar seat, but for some reason it looked less inviting, less safe than it had before. Despite himself he felt like a stranger in the room.
    There was nothing odd in Ay’s manner when he entered, and Ineny felt reassured.
    ‘Please sit down,’ said the old man, motioning to Ineny’s chair and taking his own seat. He reached for the jar of wine which stood with beakers on the table and poured it himself. Conscious of the honour, Ineny drew himself up ¡n his seat. He had not deserved such a fate, but his conscience was already encouraging him to think of his act of treachery as an aberration. That was why the gods had made it fail.
    ‘Thank you, lord,’ he said, standing to accept the proffered cup. Holding it, he remained standing. Something in Ay’s expression held him.
    ‘Drink,’ said Ay. ‘To my future.’
    Ineny continued to stand, holding the cup. In the far recesses of his stomach, his instinct told him to beware; but there was nothing he could do. There was a movement in the room and he shifted his gaze slightly to see that two of Ay’s body servants had entered. Ay sat back, looking at him with faintly amused detachment, the corners of his lips curling upwards almost imperceptibly. One of the men came forward and bent over Ay, whispering to him. Ay nodded, pleased. He looked at Ineny indulgently.
    ‘Drink,’ he said.
    There was no escape. Perhaps it was nothing after all. He raised the beaker, and then, seized with recklessness, drained it.
    For a moment nothing happened. He looked at Ay and even registered the change in the old man’s expression. In these last moments of his life he realised that Ay knew. But how?
    Then a pain came into his head like a bronze chisel, driven into the centre of the forehead and easing it apart. At the same time there was an overpowering revulsion of the stomach, though when he retched nothing but bitter air rose to his mouth. At that moment the light of the rising sun burst into the room, filling it, it seemed to Ineny, with a white brilliance which blotted everything else out; every detail, every person; and which grew greater and greater in power, until it was the only thing in the universe, and he was one with it.

ELEVEN

    ‘What has happened to your face?’
    Ankhsenpaamun was fascinated, but also concerned. Huy rejoiced at this. It meant that she was beginning to see him as her route to survival. If anything happened to him, she would suffer. Her little hand came up to touch the broken cheek. Her fingertips felt cool and kind.
    ‘I was attacked,’ replied Huy. He had not yet returned to his house and the intense activity of the past days had worn him out. The fight with Kenamun seemed to have happened weeks ago.
    ‘Attacked?’ Immediately, her tone became imperious. Nobody was going to forget who she was, and he had spoken too abruptly, without respect. There was something else: someone had dared to molest one of her people. In her heart, had Huy become one of her family?
    ‘Please do not ask me now,’ he said, more humbly. ‘I have a favour to beg.’
    ‘Yes?’
    He picked his words carefully. ‘Now that the great god Amun has decreed that your grandfather should be heir to Nebkheprure Tutankhamun, the burial of the god-king is assured, and we must leave the city.’
    She looked at him acutely. ‘Don’t confuse me with your formality. The real reason we must go is because, although Horemheb has lost the Golden Chair for now, he has not given up.’
    ‘Yes, Lady.’
    She smiled. ‘I thought so. My heart tells me things, now that the king is dead. I begin to live for myself more, and for the pharaoh that I carry.’
    ‘May he sit on the Golden Chair.’
    ‘Or may she do so.’
    Huy nodded. ‘Of course. But it is rare.’
    ‘But it has happened. Makare Hatshepsut was pharaoh in her time.’
    ‘Are we not back to an old contention?’
    She smiled again. ‘I am content to leave, if I have Ay’s assurance that the succession will pass to the child in my birth-cave.’
    ‘I am sure that he will give it. I guarantee it.’
    ‘But can I trust you?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Huy, though his heart was hollow. How polluted man’s thinking had become, when deceit had to be used to guarantee the safety of the innocent. Trust, duty, hope - these were concepts that man should never have had — he was not up to