The Mourning Period Ends

Day 17 of month Tekh in Akhet, the season of the inundation

Everybody groaned and moaned in this heat. The house was unbearably warm. Isis and Mutnofret spent the days under the shade of a vast sycamore with water-soaked cloths hanging from its branches. These cooled the air somewhat.

In the mornings, the women took care of stitching and darning tasks. Occasionally, Isis had the weaving loom brought outside, and Mutnofret spun flax into exquisitely fine threads. Nakhtmin entertained them with stories he read to them, and sometimes he told fairy tales from his homeland.

Around noon the high temperatures arrested all life. Even flies seemed to doze through the hottest hours. That time of the day, their humming sounded as lazy as Nakhtmin felt. After an extensive rest, Mutnofret liked to set up her senet board game and did so today as well.

Nakhtmin admired the ivory chest with the grid of thirty squares engraved in the lid. He opened the drawer in the box and took out the pawns. As usual, Mutnofret picked the light-colored ones, while he played the dark ones—a hint at his darker skin, he assumed. She demanded the first throw of the counting plates, shuffled the four ivory slabs in both hands and threw them into the air. Spellbound, she gazed at the result, and Nakhtmin sighed. All pieces lay white side up, and once again she scored five of five possible points. The other side of the plates was red. Depending on how many whites the players cast, as many fields they could move their gaming pieces. And four whites up meant five moves. With all plates showing red, the player had to miss the turn, a situation Nakhtmin was all too familiar with. Sometimes it felt like the counting plates obeyed their owner.

Mutnofret picked one of her pawns and moved it five fields forward, while her tongue poked out from between her lips. Now it was his turn, and he cast a three.

More and more figures conquered the board and soon Mutnofret announced, “Ha! I beat you!” With a flick of her hand, she swept his front pawn from the board.

“You just wait and see, I’ll get my revenge.” He cast a five and chuckled with joy. “See, I told you.”

“You scoundrel!”

“That’s how the game works.” He laughed, then quickly ducked because she threw the counting plates at him.

The longer they played, the more pieces made it to the finish line. Now they both only had one piece in the race.

He grinned at Mutnofret. “Let’s see who’s the lucky one.” He cast, closed his eyes and prayed silently. Please, no three!

“Aaaah-haha,” she shrieked with delight.

He opened his eyes. Of course: three. With a sour face, he moved to the field House of Water, so close to the finish—but whoever landed on this one had to go back to field fifteen, the House of Resurrection. Groaning, he moved his pawn to the middle of the board.

Mutnofret, too, shut her eyes as she cast, and now it was Nakhtmin’s turn to laugh. She also ended up in the House of Water, and since he already sat in the House of Resurrection, she had to move all the way back to the start. Then serendipity abandoned him. Three times he had to miss a turn, while she caught up with her pawn. Next he cast one. He hardly dared watch her throw. Of course, she beat him—once again. It simply was no fun playing senet with her. Far too often she cast the perfect number, while bad luck seemed to stick to him.

He preferred playing mehen, a game where strategy and tactics counted. But since he was much better at it than Mutnofret, she’d banned the game to the darkest corner of her chest. Nakhtmin sighed. One could learn a lot by studying mehen, but she lacked the necessary patience.

Day 4 of month Menkhet in Akhet, season of the inundation

The seventy-day period of mourning in the house of the Amun prophet had dragged for Nakhtmin. Today it ended with the elaborate funeral procession taking Hetepet’s mummy—now transfigured into an akh—to her tomb in the city of the dead. He couldn’t attend the ceremonious ritual since only family members were allowed to accompany her on this last journey to her final resting place. For the first time in over sixty days he wasn’t with his charge, and time stretched even more.

To make himself useful, he settled in a shady spot in the garden with ink stone, writing palette and papyrus, and wrote down what they’d found out so far. This should help him sort his tangled thoughts and decide how to proceed. First, he scribbled the names of the two young women who had definitely fallen prey to the wanted killer. For the names of the two possible victims, whom Hori had reported, he used a different color: Ankhes and Bastet. When he first read Hori’s message about these suspicious cases, he couldn’t place the names right away, and Ameny only knew Bastet’s family. She was the daughter of Thotnakht, the king’s first scribe.

Mutnofret, though, recognized the name Ankhes right away and told him, “She was one of the court ladies with the Great Royal Wife. Now I remember. She was found in the palace gardens by a lake. Rumors said she’d drowned. The queen was heartbroken since she liked the girl very much. If I remember correctly, she was an orphan, daughter of a provincial prince and the pharaoh’s ward.”

Nakhtmin wondered whether they should first investigate these two cases to see if they really were part of the series or start their search at Merit-Neith’s house. The papyrus gradually filled with his musings. Still, they knew far too little, particularly about the murder weapon. When Hori told him about the thin wound and the blossom-shaped bruise, he couldn’t think of a weapon causing such an injury. Mostly, the blossom challenged his imagination. A deadly flower? He wrote the words down. A bee with its sting popped up in his mind, and he doodled the sign for the king’s title. He of the Sedge and the Bee. The insect symbolized Lower Egypt. Could that be relevant?

Noises in the house signaled the return of Ameny and his family. He glanced up. This last day of mourning was the hardest to bear. He wouldn’t bother either Ameny or Mutnofret with his presence. Instead he copied his notes, not even omitting his absurdly meandering thoughts. Maybe they’d spark new ideas if someone else read them. This evening, he’d deposit the scroll for Hori.

The morning after the funeral, Mutnofret announced she wanted to resume her social life. Her decision to visit the palace first answered Nakhtmin’s question where to start his inquiries. His hands turned clammy with excitement. He, the boy from Upper Egypt, visiting the royal family!

The Great Royal Wife Khenemetneferhedjet was called Sherit, the younger, to distinguish her from Senusret’s mother of the same name, called Weret, the elder. Together with her children and the second wife of the king, Nofrethenut, Sherit occupied her own wing of the women’s house. She was several years older than Mutnofret, while the second wife was closer to her age and a good friend.

The queens passed their time in the sweeping gardens of the palace, and that’s where the servants led the two guests. Mutnofret introduced Nakhtmin as her personal physician, then seemed to completely forget about him while talking with the ladies. He felt so out of place, he didn’t dare get involved in conversation. For a while, he leisurely strolled through the park before he settled under a solar sail with a good view of his charge chatting with the pharaoh’s second wife under a tree at some distance. The tinkling voices of the two ladies lulled him and his eyelids drooped.

A warm voice startled him. The Great Royal Wife stood before him. “A personal physician is a wonderful idea. Maybe I should convince my husband to employ one as well. Losing her sister must have devastated Mutnofret.”

“Your majesty…” Nakhtmin stammered. Holy rays of Ra, he couldn’t just have a chat with the Great Royal Wife! Where was Mutnofret when he needed her? She knew how to move in these circles. Then he realized what a chance this was, and he overcame his shyness. “I heard you, too, recently lost someone dear to your heart though not a family member?”

Sherit gathered her garment and settled beside him on the lawn. “Ankhes, yes.” She sighed. “She was the last living relative from the house of the nomarch of Elephantine. I was planning to wed her to a good husband.”

“Oh, I heard she was your maid…”

A wistful smile played around the queen’s lips. “Maid, confident, younger sister—a little of everything. She was my husband’s ward as well. I’d have loved to see her married to a worthy man so her princely line would live on. A real shame she drowned. I miss her.”

“She drowned? Strange. Was Ankhes alone in the garden? And was she found in the water or at the edge? How did that happen?” Nakhtmin bit his tongue, realizing he’d veered off into a rather unexpected direction. Fortunately, the queen didn’t seem surprised.

“It happened on a day like this one when it was too hot inside. Ankhes had been withdrawn for a few days already, as if she harbored a secret. I think she might have fallen in love.”

“Indeed? Do you know who could have won her affection?”

“She hadn’t confided in me yet.” Sherit’s lips formed a tight line and Nakhtmin guessed the girl’s behavior had disappointed or annoyed her. “She left on her own, and I suspected she was going to see her lover.”

Nakhtmin’s ears pricked. The queen must have had good reasons for such an assumption. So the girl likely had arranged to meet someone.

“Obviously, she remained alone or else the accident couldn’t have happened,” she continued. “At dusk I sent the king’s servants to search for her, and they found her at the edge of the small lake on the other end of the garden, hidden in the reeds.”

“That must have been a horrible blow for you. The bodies of drowned people are so awful to look at. The foam at the mouth—”

“Not at all! No, she was…” The queen’s eyes filled with tears. “She looked surprised. Her eyes seemed to look at me in wonder, and her mouth was slightly open. No foam.”

“Then she probably didn’t drown,” Nakhtmin muttered.

“What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

“Oh, nothing. I’m really sorry about Ankhes. Who would you have selected as her husband?”

“I had one of the vizier’s sons in mind or maybe the son of the first prophet of Amun. All very promising young men.”

The last words of the king’s wife resonated with something inside Nakhtmin, but he couldn’t identify what that might be. As soon as he thought he might have grasped the fleeting notion, it was gone. To his relief, Sherit didn’t notice his absent-mindedness. She too seemed lost in memories. Soon after, the laughing and babbling flock of children and young women headed their way, and the moment of privacy passed.

Around noon Mutnofret wanted to leave and Nakhtmin was more than happy to oblige. The nightly excursion across the river took its toll. With the rising waters, it had become far more difficult to get news to Hori. Now, he longed for the solitude of his room. After a nap, he might be able to see what was lurking under the surface of his mind.

“I saw you talking to Sherit,” Mutnofret said. Curiosity rang in her voice. Of course she’d want to know if he found out something.

Nakhtmin cast a cautious gaze around. Out here on the street, he’d rather not reveal his gathered knowledge. “Yes,” he said. “But I’d prefer to tell you and your father at the same time. It’s too dangerous here and I’m too tired to report twice.”

“Dangerous, dangerous. Oh yes, I can see the walls murmuring the news to anyone passing by. There’s nobody around.” Her objection sounded like that of a stubborn child.

Nakhtmin sighed. “Don’t tell me you’ve never stood at the edge of your garden and listened to the voice of people beyond the wall, like little girls love to do?” With satisfaction, he registered first her throat turning crimson, then her face.

“Bumptious goblin!”

He’d have loved to retaliate with a similar term of endearment but restrained himself. At least he’d gotten to her. Mutnofret could be tiresome, and he didn’t quite trust her. In her obstinacy, she’d already slipped away once. She treated the investigation like a game. Yes, like when we play senet and all of us are her pawns, which she can place according to her wishes or sweep from the board. Except real life doesn’t work like that. One of these days her brashness is going to get her in major trouble.

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

Ameny took a deep breath. “The king’s ward—what a foolhardy miscreant!”

“If Ankhes really fell prey to the same killer. Unfortunately, she’s lying in her sarcophagus now and we’ll never be able to prove it.”

“Unless we can draw a confession from the culprit.”

Both men looked up in surprise. Nakhtmin had completely forgotten Mutnofret’s presence since she’d remained unusually silent until now. “Before we can get a confession, we’ll have to find and arrest him,” he grumbled.

“I don’t like you being dragged into this investigation, child. Leave it to Nakhtmin. Today, he learned much without your help.”

“But I like it. It’s more exciting than my normal life.”

The anguished father groaned. “If you don’t stay in the background, I’ll revoke my permission. Then Nakhtmin won’t accompany you as your personal gua…doctor any longer. And I won’t let you out of the house on your own until this villain has been caught. That’s my last word in this matter.”

“Father!”

Shocked, Nakhtmin looked from Mutnofret to the Amun prophet. If the spoiled brat didn’t get a grip, he’d lose access to the big houses. Father and daughter locked eyes and fought a silent battle.

At last, she demurely lowered her head. “Fine. I’ll respect your wish.”

Nakhtmin imagined hearing the silent addition, ‘although I think you’re exaggerating.’ She stormed from the room, and he sighed his relief. Maybe they shouldn’t have let her in on their plans, but who knew how difficult she’d have turned out then.

“Now we know more but didn’t really get closer to our goal,” Ameny picked up their discussion.

“Yes. And there’s more. The queen mentioned something that seemed to remind me of something else, except I can’t access whatever that might be. Ever since, I’ve been wracking my mind but it won’t come forward.”

“Maybe it wasn’t important. In any case, you have to stop thinking about it, then the memory will surface.”

“You’re probably right. Before I take a nap, I want to write down everything the queen said. Hori should receive a copy of my notes.”

“Then I’ll leave you to it and talk to my daughter, try to make her understand my reasoning.”

The next day, Nakhtmin had just settled in the shade of the sycamore, under which the ladies of the house liked to spend their afternoons, when one of the servant girls announced a visitor. A young woman with a naked toddler on her hip followed in her wake.

Mutnofret didn’t seem the least bit surprised and introduced her friend as Sati. “She’s Tutu’s daughter and, like me, recently lost her younger sister, Merit-Neith.”

When did she contrive this? Of course, Nakhtmin was happy to meet Sati, and here in the garden he didn’t have to worry about Mutnofret’s safety. Although Sati cast curious glances at him when she lowered the little boy, Mutnofret didn’t introduce him. So he had to do it. After all, he wasn’t a simple servant! “What’s the name of your son?” he asked afterward.

“Sinuhe.”

Nakhtmin raised his eyebrows in astonishment. “You like the Story of Sinuhe?” That was his all-time favorite among the stories they had to transcribe in school.

“Didn’t you know Tutu is a direct descendent of Sinuhe?” Mutnofret asked in a rather condescending tone.

Nakhtmin hated it when she made him feel his ignorance of all things concerning the noble society, reminding him of his lowly origins. To hide his embarrassment, he pulled the boy onto his lap and tickled his burly belly. Squirming and squealing, the little fellow slid onto the mat where Nakhtmin played with him some more. The women only talked about household matters. Did Mutnofret expect him to question her friend, or would she try to get information from her? Of their own accord, his fingers wandered over the boy’s smooth skin. Vigorous and well-nourished, he determined. “You’re lucky to have such a healthy boy,” he said.

Sati beamed. “Yes, I thank the gods.”

“Does your husband also work in the king’s house of women, like your father?”

She nodded and held out her arms. Chortling, Sinuhe crawled to her and curled up on her lap.

“Your sister, she was younger than you, right? Wasn’t she supposed to marry soon?” A rather clumsy change of topic but she didn’t seem to notice anything odd about it. Her smile vanished though.

She stroked her son’s lock of youth and pressed him against her. “She was engaged to Shepses, the vizier’s son.”

“I know Shepses. We attended medical school together,” Nakhtmin offered.

She wrinkled her nose. “Then you must know what a ladies’ man he is. I doubt he would have made her happy. Oh well, that doesn’t matter now.” She wiped at her eyes.

Nakhtmin hated having to stir up her grief again. “Did she catch a fatal disease? Or was it an accident? Such a tragedy at her age. I feel with you.”

Sati’s lips quivered. She buried her face in the child’s tuft although he struggled indignantly.

Mutnofret hissed, “Really, Nakhtmin! You’re such a yokel!”

While Sati wasn’t looking, he pulled a face at Mutnofret. He’d happily leave it to her to drag more out of her friend. He took the child from his mother and set him on his feet while holding one of his hands. On unsteady legs, little Sinuhe explored the flowers with him.

In the evening, Mutnofret told him Sati’s sister had been found lifeless in the garden of her parents’ estate. Like in Hetepet’s case, the doctor they’d called had suspected a heatstroke—not unusual in these temperatures.