‘My Lady is always happy. Every day. But I believe I noticed recently that she was worried about something. Her mind was busy.’
‘She is the Queen. Of course her mind is busy.’
Khety’s interjection was unexpected by both of us. In fact, even he seemed surprised that he had spoken.
‘It is more efficient if I conduct this interview without interruption,’ I said to him.
‘Yes, sir.’
But I could sense the ripple of tension in his body, as if his ears were laid back now like a dog.
‘Do you have any idea why she was worried?’ I continued, turning my attention back to Senet.
‘Setepenra, the youngest princess, is teething, and not sleeping well. I know it is unusual, but you see she nurses the children herself.’
Senet looked at me in a way I could not quite interpret. Did she really think the Queen could have no other concerns? Or was she simply unwilling even to begin to refer to what they might be?
‘She loves the children?’
‘Very much. They are her life.’
‘So she would not leave them alone much?’
‘No, no. She hated to leave them. They cannot understand what is happening…’
For the first time, her eyes betrayed a depth of emotion, the beginning of tears.
‘And now, please, would you think back to the last time you saw the Queen.’
‘It was seven nights ago. The children were put to bed. Then she went and sat out on the terrace that overlooks the river and the setting sun. She often does this. I saw her, sitting, thinking.’
‘How do you know she was thinking?’
‘I brought her out a shawl. She had nothing in her hands, not a text, nor a papyrus and brush. She was just staring out across the water. The sun had gone down. There was little to see. It was getting dark. When I offered her the shawl and some lit lamps, she jumped as if she was afraid. Then she held my hand for a moment. I noticed her face. It was tense, strained. I asked if there was anything I could do for her. She just looked at me, slowly shook her head, and turned away. I asked her to come inside, for it seemed wrong to stay alone out there. She did so, holding a lamp, and made her way to her bedroom. That was the last time I saw her, walking down the passage to her room in a circle of lamplight.’
We all sat still for a moment.
‘So you did not accompany her to her room?’
‘No. She did not wish it.’
‘She spoke to you?’
‘No. I simply understood her.’
‘Can you be sure she returned to her room?’
‘No, I cannot.’
She was becoming more anxious now.
‘And who else was in the house at this time?’
‘The children, their nurse, and I suppose the other staff: the cooks, the maids, the night guards.’
‘At what time do the guards change duty?’
‘At sunset and sunrise.’
I took a moment to think through what to do next.
‘We need to retrace her last steps. Can you take us to the terrace, and then along the route to her bedroom?’
‘Is that allowed?’
‘It is.’
She led us to a wide stone terrace with steps leading down to the water’s edge, protected from the sun and from the possibility of scrutiny by a marvellous vine. A chair was placed under this sunshade, facing out to the waters and the opposite shore. No real construction had taken place there: just extensive fields, a few hamlets, and beyond that the Red Land shimmering in the distance. In the haze on the border, I could see just one significant building, a low tower or fort lonely in the heat, like a mirage. The water lapped, grey and green, against the salty glitter of the as yet unworn stone.
In the silence I calmed myself in order to absorb everything. Then I took a risk and sat down directly in the chair. Her chair. Khety looked nervous at this breaking of taboo, and the girl seemed genuinely upset. I felt around the edges of the cushion with my fingers. Nothing. I wanted to feel the shape of this vanished woman in the contours of the chair, as if a message, a clue, or some form of connection between us might be discovered in this way. What happened was I felt too big, too clumsy. I could not conform my body to the natural flowing shape of the chair. I sat still a moment longer, my fingers on the arms where her own fingers would have lain. I touched wood carved into the likeness of the paws, unclawed, of a lion. The grain was soft beneath my fingertips. The fresh paint was smooth. I imagined her staring out across the river, into the inscrutable light. And thinking, thinking, her mind as clear as cool water.
I opened my eyes again and noticed what I had missed before. The fort, if it was a fort, on the opposite shore lay precisely in line with the view from the chair. She had sat here, gazing across the water at the land of the west and a fort. What was going on in her mind?
‘And the way to the bedroom, please.’
The girl led the way, the corridor turning left, then right, then left again. We came to a pair of simple wooden doors. No heraldic symbols above them, no Aten disc, no symbols of royalty. Senet looked at me for permission. I nodded, and she opened it.
The room was a delightful surprise. Unlike the elegance of the rest of the house, here was the private world of a public woman, a living disorder that came as a relief after so much careful taste and refinement. Many chests lined one wall, their lids and compartments open, a vast number of robes and costumes collected there, arranged against each other like choices yet to be made. Chest after chest of sandals, the compartments specially made to accommodate the collection. A large polished bronze mirror sat on a cosmetic chest whose lid was strewn with little alabaster pots and containers of gold and glass: cosmetics, perfumes, eye-paints, ointments and creams. Open drawers revealed slate palettes for mixing, one still bearing the dried traces of ochre and black paste, and teardrop-shaped applicators, enough for a hundred pairs of eyes-enough to satisfy a theatre. Little statues and figurines of gods and goddesses, of animals and beasts. A necklace of flying fish and tiny sea shells in gold on chains of red, green and black beads. And some glorious antique pieces, less garish and elaborate than the work of our time: a winged scarab inlaid with cornelian and lapis; gold finger rings with frogs and cornelian cats on the bezels; bracelets of reclining cats in gold; and a scarab set in gold as a finger ring.
Here was no crime scene. The disorder was natural and likeable, betraying no evidence of struggle or haste. There was nothing inappropriate about it. She had not been taken from here.
‘Is anything missing?’ I asked the girl.
‘I would not dare to look, or to know.’
‘Then please, at my request, make as thorough an inventory as you can. Simply note anything that is not where it should be.’
She turned her attention to the chests, running her eyes and her fingers along the rich and colourful fabrics, her lips moving as if speaking the names of the dresses.
‘One set of clothes is missing,’ Senet announced after a short while. ‘A long gold tunic, gold sandals, linen undershirt. But I remember that was what she was wearing on the last evening.’
So I knew what she was wearing when she disappeared.
‘Now the cosmetic chest, please.’
Her eyes scanned everything on and in it. Her memory must, after all, be exceptional. She seemed to stop for a moment, as if mentally rechecking one of the compartments, her eyes ranging more widely as if looking for something significant; but then she closed it carefully.
‘Everything I remember is here, except what she was wearing on the last night I saw her.’
‘Which was?’
‘A gold necklace.’
‘Anything else?’
‘No.’
I was about to question her further when there was a sudden knocking on the door. Khety opened it. It was Tjenry, alarm on his smooth young face. We made our way out into a courtyard to the side of the house, where I hoped no-one could overhear our conversation.