‘Tiy? What do you want to see her for?’
‘Because I need to get to the heart of this strange family. I want to find out what she knows.’
‘She’s said to be vile. They say she has gold teeth and her breath rots fruit.’
‘Nevertheless, she is the mother-in-law to the missing woman, and as such she has a, let’s say, particular point of view on all this. And we can hold our breath for as long as required.’
Nakht grinned. ‘Your friend is right, she’s an evil bitch. Give her my fondest regards.’
The ways were busy with officials going to work. Carts and kiosks sold honey-cakes, bread in a variety of shapes, and beer. Most people ate and drank as they walked, already too busy, like us now, to spare the time for a proper breakfast. Khety bought some honey-bread with figs, which was wonderful, and beer, and we consumed it all like hungry dogs round the back of a building, along a side street where only labourers passed. No-one took any notice of us, preoccupied as they were with the appalling prospect of another long day of hard labour under the all-powerful sun.
Food always cheers me. It is a weakness. I wish I were the kind of man who can survive for days and nights without a single mouthful, thinking of nothing but truth and beauty. But I am not. I like to eat, as well and as often as possible. Even after a funeral, I look forward to the feast. Tanefert’s cooking is adequate, but mine, I have to say, is superior. I go about it like a mystery, tracking down unusual condiments and assessing the mysterious complexities of flavour for the constituent, and sometimes surprising, elements. I take pride in knowing where in the market and among the maze of shops to buy the richest meats, the freshest herbs, the best honey. My favourite dish is leg of gazelle marinaded in red wine, with figs. I wish I could prepare it now. My old life, in which I cook gazelle while the girls prepare the beans, Tanefert talks to my mother over wine, and my father dozes or plays with the girls, seems like a lost world.
As we ate, the pain of absence flashed through my bones. To take my mind off it, I asked Khety how and where we could find Akhenaten.
‘It depends,’ he replied. ‘Some mornings he undertakes a progress with the sun from the North Palace along the Royal Road, before the people. He worships at the Aten Temple, usually the Small. Then he receives officials and makes decisions of policy, and conducts audiences and hears petitions-’
‘With what sort of people?’
‘All kinds. Civil servants, provincial governors, representatives from the councils of judges, army commanders…everyone, right up to the northern and southern viziers.’
‘And then?’
‘And then he might distribute Collars of Honour at the Window of Appearances. In fact not many people know this, but there are two windows: the main one on the bridge, which he uses for the bigger audiences, and a smaller, less well-known one within the Great Palace, where he meets dignitaries, foreign ambassadors and envoys.’
‘Extraordinary. And if he doesn’t undertake the progress?’
‘Well, he usually does, but if he doesn’t then no-one knows where he stays. There are palaces and residences throughout the city, and as far as anyone knows he moves among them for security. But probably the North Palace by the river; it’s surrounded by the highest walls, and almost no-one from the administration ever goes there. They say it has a great artificial lake for fish and birds, and a sanctuary park for all the animals of the kingdom. They say he spends his free time there, among the living creatures, at the centre of the world.’
Khety cast me a quick glance to see what I thought of that.
‘The things people say,’ I said, and smiled in a general kind of way. We still could not trust each other with regard to heresy.
We hurried through the crowds to a point where a side passage opened out on to the Royal Road, and chose a good vantage spot to observe whatever happened next.
‘At what hour does he usually proceed?’
‘Always the same time, unless it’s a Festival day. He chooses to greet the sun in private, and then proceeds when it has risen to the height of the ninth hour. So the light is exactly right. And after his audiences, at the twelfth hour, Ra will be directly overhead, and he proceeds to the court of the Great House. The ceremony for Meryra will probably take place between those hours.’
‘So if we wait here, and he feels like it, he will pass?’
Khety nodded. ‘Of course, it will be unusual for the Queen to be absent. She drives her own chariot. Sometimes the princesses accompany them in their own small chariots. People seem to love it. The family. Perhaps today he will not come.’
So we waited. Ra rose in his blinding chariot at his own speed, far too slow for me, higher into the ever-blue sky. I passed the frustrating time observing the people going about their apparently vital business, and dreaming casually about food. Then, finally, up along the Royal Road, we heard a rumbling, a commotion of activity. Anyone walking on the road was quickly pushed aside as an advance guard, blasting loudly on their trumpets, cleared a path-although in fact almost no-one was standing anywhere near. Rather, as if by a conjuring hand, crowds of people appeared from the side streets, jostling and pushing to take up positions as close as possible, calling, crying out enthusiastically, extending their hands imploringly towards the chariot which now came into view, protected before and after by running footsoldiers. As Akhenaten himself passed in pure white, crowned, on the high dais of his carriage, motionless and unresponsive among the roar and music of the occasion, the cries rose to a pitch of frenzy and the reaching hands became more urgent. He did indeed look like the King of the World. Yet I remembered the man I had met in private, wincing with pain.
The level of security prominently displayed by this parade of power was high. Nubian, Syrian and Libyan archers held longbows, their arrows pointed at the rooflines or down into the adoring crowds. Bare-chested soldiers wore military kilts and carried ox-hide shields and axes, all polished and dazzling. At the turn into the Great Palace, phalanxes of guards created an impenetrable fence between Akhenaten and the people. The retinue turned quickly under the pylons and vanished into the court, and the armed guards fell in swiftly to protect the entrance. It was an impressive, carefully drilled, perfectly executed display of might-no motley, casual recruits here. And as soon as the King had passed, the gates were shut tight, and silence returned. But what Khety had said was true: people noticed the Queen’s absence. Meaningful glances, comments whispered into companions’ ears, responded to with questioning looks or nods of agreement.
At least we had found him. I made my way through the throng, and Khety followed, trying to keep up. We walked along the perimeter wall of the palace. There seemed to be no other entrances, but finally, around the back, we found one: a small doorway, a trade and staff entry and exit, with a little window set into the wall beside it. A porter was barely contained within, as in a box outgrown by its bulging contents.
‘Let us pass.’
The porter slowly turned his head, as solid, battered and implacable as a rock, to consider me.
‘It’s important. Here are my authorities.’
I pressed the papyri to the bars on the window. He motioned me to pass them through, which I did, and he read them slowly, breathing heavily, his finger leading his frustratingly slow progress.
‘You have full authorities. And yet you want to enter the palace through my door.’
‘Yes.’