Read Online Out of the Black Land by Kerry Greenwood - Free Book Online
Authors: Kerry Greenwood
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not abashed in the presence of the Master of Scribes. He was as different from the slave as possible; male, scholarly, sharp; but the look which they both directed at me before they considered each other again was identical; a slightly exasperated affection, which I did not deserve. Meryt I had taken from her position and placed in danger of her life. The Master of Scribes would now share her peril.
When Ammemmes spoke it was clear that some sort of agreement had been reached without need of words. He laid one veined hand on Meryt’s decorated head in token of approval and asked ‘Well, maiden, do you approve of your change in fortunes?’
‘Yes, lord,’ she said in her strong, liquid voice. ‘The Great Royal Scribe honours this humble person with his trust.’
‘He must be guarded and protected, Meryt the Nubian, for his foes ring him around like an embattled lion.’
‘Lord, they will have my life first,’ declared Meryt.
‘And mine,’ said Ammemmes in his precise scholar’s tone.
I did not know what to say. Meryt, making up her mind, kissed Ammemmes’ ringed hand, and he patted her cheek. Then she got up and poured more wine.
‘Now, Ptah-hotep, what advice do you require?’
I was suddenly flooded by a strong sense of my own bottomless ignorance.
‘Master, I haven’t paid any attention to the situation of the Court. I know nothing. Tell me anything and it will add to my knowledge.’
‘Hmm. Well, you have been appointed to a situation far above your merits by the co-regent Akhnamen, whose motives are obscure. He is Heir to Amenhotep the third may he live and that King, though robust, is over fifty and must die. Then the Heir will rule alone, an alarming prospect. You must consolidate your position while Amenhotep may he live forever is alive. As Akhnamen’s appointee you cannot directly consult the King, which is a pity, because he is justly famed for his wisdom. The only other Heir is the Lady Sitamen, who is healthy a woman, it is said, but has not borne a child; and the Great Royal Wife is pregnant and due to deliver, if Isis is kind, soon.
‘Medical opinion says that the co-regent is not expected to live a long life, but that does not solve our immediate problem. The person who was expecting the appointment may have sent you the scorpion; he must be curbed, you cannot spend all your life watching your back. Even your admirable Nubian must sleep sometimes.
‘You sent Kheperren away, boy, that took courage and I am proud of you. That should preserve his life. Now, who should you appoint as your second in command?’ He thought about it, drank some more wine, and stared absently at the papyrus heads painted around the cup.
‘Who is the least favourite scribe in the palace?’ I asked. Ammemmes was silent for a moment, then barked a short laugh.
‘Mentu, by the crocodiles of Sobek, Mentu is the perfect choice!’ He laughed again. ‘Mentu belongs to one of the best families, a relative of the co-regent Akhnamen’s new wife Nefertiti; a cousin, I believe, of Divine Father Ay. Mentu trained as a scribe after a fashion. He is boisterous, lazy and incompetent and Akhnamen finds him vastly attractive, being everything that Pharaoh is not. Mentu wishes to do nothing except race chariots and drink in the houses of ill repute by the river. No one can speak against his appointment, because Lord Akhnamen favours him. No one would want him to succeed, because he is immoral and stupid. Excellent. If you cannot have an efficient and devoted second, Ptah-hotep, there is a lot to be said for an idiot who pickled whatever brains he was born with in lowbgeh palm wine years ago.’ Ammemmes rubbed his dry palms together with a whispering sound.
‘I will appoint him immediately,’ I said. I was beginning to feel a little better. I began to think that I might live out the day.
‘Now, as to the staff—I think that you may as well have boys. You’ll need a sensible man to watch over them, but most of your work could
When Ammemmes spoke it was clear that some sort of agreement had been reached without need of words. He laid one veined hand on Meryt’s decorated head in token of approval and asked ‘Well, maiden, do you approve of your change in fortunes?’
‘Yes, lord,’ she said in her strong, liquid voice. ‘The Great Royal Scribe honours this humble person with his trust.’
‘He must be guarded and protected, Meryt the Nubian, for his foes ring him around like an embattled lion.’
‘Lord, they will have my life first,’ declared Meryt.
‘And mine,’ said Ammemmes in his precise scholar’s tone.
I did not know what to say. Meryt, making up her mind, kissed Ammemmes’ ringed hand, and he patted her cheek. Then she got up and poured more wine.
‘Now, Ptah-hotep, what advice do you require?’
I was suddenly flooded by a strong sense of my own bottomless ignorance.
‘Master, I haven’t paid any attention to the situation of the Court. I know nothing. Tell me anything and it will add to my knowledge.’
‘Hmm. Well, you have been appointed to a situation far above your merits by the co-regent Akhnamen, whose motives are obscure. He is Heir to Amenhotep the third may he live and that King, though robust, is over fifty and must die. Then the Heir will rule alone, an alarming prospect. You must consolidate your position while Amenhotep may he live forever is alive. As Akhnamen’s appointee you cannot directly consult the King, which is a pity, because he is justly famed for his wisdom. The only other Heir is the Lady Sitamen, who is healthy a woman, it is said, but has not borne a child; and the Great Royal Wife is pregnant and due to deliver, if Isis is kind, soon.
‘Medical opinion says that the co-regent is not expected to live a long life, but that does not solve our immediate problem. The person who was expecting the appointment may have sent you the scorpion; he must be curbed, you cannot spend all your life watching your back. Even your admirable Nubian must sleep sometimes.
‘You sent Kheperren away, boy, that took courage and I am proud of you. That should preserve his life. Now, who should you appoint as your second in command?’ He thought about it, drank some more wine, and stared absently at the papyrus heads painted around the cup.
‘Who is the least favourite scribe in the palace?’ I asked. Ammemmes was silent for a moment, then barked a short laugh.
‘Mentu, by the crocodiles of Sobek, Mentu is the perfect choice!’ He laughed again. ‘Mentu belongs to one of the best families, a relative of the co-regent Akhnamen’s new wife Nefertiti; a cousin, I believe, of Divine Father Ay. Mentu trained as a scribe after a fashion. He is boisterous, lazy and incompetent and Akhnamen finds him vastly attractive, being everything that Pharaoh is not. Mentu wishes to do nothing except race chariots and drink in the houses of ill repute by the river. No one can speak against his appointment, because Lord Akhnamen favours him. No one would want him to succeed, because he is immoral and stupid. Excellent. If you cannot have an efficient and devoted second, Ptah-hotep, there is a lot to be said for an idiot who pickled whatever brains he was born with in lowbgeh palm wine years ago.’ Ammemmes rubbed his dry palms together with a whispering sound.
‘I will appoint him immediately,’ I said. I was beginning to feel a little better. I began to think that I might live out the day.
‘Now, as to the staff—I think that you may as well have boys. You’ll need a sensible man to watch over them, but most of your work could
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