Lauren Haney: Place of Darkness

“Now tell me what you believe they’ve been doing. And get on with it!” Ptahhotep’s smile made a lie of his pretended impatience. “Do you wish Amonked’s wife to send servants out in the dead of night, fearing him attacked by ruffians?”

Amonked, seated beside the physician on a low stool beneath the portico, appeared unworried by the possibility.

“Menna was a cousin to Pairi and Humay. The fishermen have been robbing tombs since they were children-or so the mayor of western Waset believes-and Menna probably went with them as often as he could.” He took a sip of the deep red wine, which smelled of fresh grapes, and smacked his lips in approval. “An uncle who dwelt in one of the local villages used them to crawl through holes too small for a man.”

“When the uncle died, they struck out on their own.” Bak dropped onto the earthen floor beside his father. “Thanks to his years of instruction, they knew the types of tombs most likely to contain riches and where best to locate them. They found enough treasure to satisfy them, but as their market was local, they had to break up all objects of worth and melt down the gold. Which decreased their gain considerably.”

“Pieces of value would be suspect throughout the land of Kemet,” Ptahhotep agreed, “especially when offered by mere fishermen.”

Amonked plucked a small salted fish from a bowl beside his feet. Tracker, lying a pace or so away, opened an eye but scorned the contents so temptingly set before him. “They could easily have made an honest living on the river, but chose also to defy the lady Maat. Why they pursued so dangerous a path is beyond me.”

Bak, caught with his mouth full, swallowed. “The same could be said of Menna, who’d been schooled to read and write and entered the army at an early age. He had every opportunity to lead an honest and honorable life, but chose instead a quest for riches.”

“Perhaps thieving was in their blood,” the physician said, looking thoughtful.

“One never knows of course, but Menna, at least, might’ve turned his back on a life of crime if the lord Set hadn’t smiled upon him.” Amonked took a sip of wine, added, “He served as scribe to several envoys to various city states at the eastern end of the Great Green Sea, and there he met men who coveted the baubles of the noble and royal personages of Kemet.”

“Potential customers,” Ptahhotep commented.

Nodding, Bak said, “About six years ago he came back to Waset. He was posted initially in the garrison, serving as one of several scribes in the commandant’s office.” His tone turned dry, cynical. “Again the lord Set favored him. His first assignment was to organize the older files and take them to the hall of records for storage in the archives. He immediately recognized the possibilities and ingratiated himself with the chief archivist. Within a short time he learned how to search the records and was given free rein to do so.”

Ptahhotep picked up a large, cylindrical jar with a tall, thin neck and refilled their drinking bowls. “So he had available to him the same documents Kaemwaset and Hori found.”

“Others as well.” Amonked released a long, unhappy sigh.

“We’ve no idea how many scrolls he destroyed.”

The physician’s mouth tightened. “Any man who would do such a thing. .”

Bak laid a hand on his father’s shoulder, quieting him.

“Thanks to a document he found a little over four years ago, they located a royal sepulcher, the ultimate goal of every tomb robber in the land of Kemet. This was the final resting place of Nebhepetre Montuhotep’s Great Royal Wife Neferu, which is in the valley where Djeser Djeseru is presently being built.” He glanced at Hori and Kasaya, approaching the house through the gathering darkness, cutting short the call of a night bird. “The sepulcher had long ago been rifled, its contents stolen or destroyed, but they found a few pieces of jewelry hidden in a cleverly concealed niche. Very valuable pieces. Never before had they entered a royal tomb, and this made them hungry for more royal trinkets.”

“The pieces we found in Buhen came from her tomb,”

Hori said, plopping down beside the dog and rubbing the top of its head vigorously with a knuckle. A low growl warned against such rough treatment and the youth snatched his hand away.

“At that time, the valley was a lonely and empty place.

They had it to themselves much of the time.” Amonked ate a fish, washed it down with wine. “Thinking Neferu’s tomb a good omen, pointing to further riches in the area around her husband’s temple, they dug and dug again. They found and rifled several tombs beneath the valley floor and in the surrounding hillsides, but none were royal. According to the men who questioned them, Humay bragged of walking into and out of the sepulchers in the light of day with no one the wiser.”

“Suddenly, Senenmut descended upon the valley,” Bak said, breaking into a smile. “He claimed it for Maatkare Hatshepsut and she announced her plan to build her memorial temple there. Surveys were taken, foundation deposits laid.

Huts were built and men were not only raising a temple during the day, but were dwelling there at night.”

Amonked chuckled. “By that time they’d begun to use the honey jars to smuggle the jewelry more safely out of Kemet.

And they’d learned to hold back pieces, thereby increasing the value by keeping the supply lower than the demand.”

Eyeing the burned shed at the end of the paddock, Bak thoroughly enjoyed the thought of Menna, Pairi, and Humay standing on the rim of the cliff, looking down upon workmen swarming over the site like ants on an anthill. “Can you imagine how they felt, realizing they’d built up a demand for the stolen jewelry but lost their best source? They must’ve been furious.”

He popped a fish into his mouth, chewed, swallowed. “To make matters worse as far as they were concerned, Menna found a document that mentioned the tombs of six Royal Ornaments, valued women of the harem, located somewhere in the temple of Nebhepetre Montuhotep. Tombs that if found intact would contain priceless items of jewelry. He and his cousins itched to seek them out, to lay hands on their contents, but they had no reason to visit the valley, no excuse to walk the pavement of the ruined temple.”

“Once again a whimsical god intervened,” Amonked said.

“The lord Set, I’ll wager.”

Bak’s good humor faded. “About three years ago Menna learned that the officer in charge of the cemetery guards was to be replaced. As with the chief archivist, he befriended the officer who would make the appointment. He was given the task.”

“Is that when they came up with the idea of the malign 282

Lauren Haney

spirit?” Kasaya asked, dropping down beside Hori. His hands gave off the tangy smell of the poultice.

“Soon after, yes.” Bak took a couple more fish from the bowl, ate them, and took a sip of wine to wash away the salty taste. “If they were to find those tombs, they had to keep the workmen away from the old temple. They could do nothing during the daylight hours, but during the dangerous hours of night, when vicious animals are known to prowl the land and the shades of the dead return. . Well, what better way than to frighten them?”

“The malign spirit was a brilliant idea,” Ptahhotep said.

“Utterly heartless, but brilliant.”

“You know the rest,” Bak said. “The accidents, the injuries, the deaths. We’ve no way of knowing which of the three did the most damage to man and temple, but Humay admitted they all pretended to be the malign spirit and they all brought about the accidents. He verified my guess that Imen played a lesser role, more a watchman than a partici-pant. Certainly Menna stood at the head, thinking, planning, but all were equally to blame.”