Night-time Assault

Day 6 of month Ka-her-ka in Peret, season of the emergence

Nakhtmin paddled as if the crocodile god Sobek were on his heels. The moon had slipped behind a bulk of clouds, and he couldn’t even see the water’s surface. The paddle sank in with a slight splash each time. He could only hope he was heading for the jetty of Ameny’s estate. “Can you tell if we’re going in the right direction? How much farther to the riverbank?” The wind still blew in strong flurries, and he feared they might have drifted off course.

“I can’t see my hand in front of my face. Oh gods, what a dark night!”

Nakhtmin’s shoulder muscles ached with the strain. The distance had never felt this long before. At last the wind carried the rustling of reeds to them. It sounded very close. They’d almost reached the waterfront—but where exactly? The torch he always kept burning at the pier when he crossed the river had likely died. “Can you feel the jetty?”

The boat rocked heavily when Ameny shifted his weight. “The current drives us north, the wind south. I’m afraid the wind was stronger this time. We need to search farther downstream.”

Nakhtmin paddled against the wind. For a brief moment, the cloud cover split and allowed moonlight to shine through.

“There, our pier!” Ameny called. “Just a small stretch downstream now.”

And it turned dark again. Nakhtmin hoped he was heading straight for the small jetty. With a crackling noise the bulrush boat hit one of the stilts rammed into the water.

“Ouch.” Ameny cursed. “Got my finger jammed. Hold on, I’ll find the rope.”

The boat careened as the prophet rose to his feet. Nakhtmin rowed gently so they wouldn’t drift away. Then he hit the paddle against something hard. The noise sounded like wood on wood. What? Another boat was tied to the jetty. “Ameny, this isn’t your pier.”

“Sure it is. Ours is the smallest far and wide. I’ve got it. That’s our rope.”

“But there’s another boat moored.” Nakhtmin froze, then shouted, “Quick, Ameny! It’s Nebit’s boat.”

The prophet leapt onto the planks, grabbed Nakhtmin’s hand and pulled him up with such force, he thought he was flying. They hurried into the dark garden. Several times Nakhtmin tripped over obstacles and fell. Ameny didn’t fare better since he kept releasing muffled curses. Where was the house? Like the night before, he lost his orientation, simply followed the sound of Ameny’s steps. He obviously knew his own property well enough to find his way to the house even in such a gloomy night.

A gust of wind and a thud as if an open door slammed shut. As usual, he and the prophet had left through the door to the garden in Nakhtmin’s chamber; they’d closed that door but couldn’t bolt it. An unlocked door—an invitation to the killer. Nakhtmin cursed their carelessness. But who would have thought Nebit might sneak into the house at night? Of course! He groaned. Mutnofret was never alone. Either a family member or he kept her company. Nebit had to come up with a new method to murder her. What a stroke of luck for him to find an open door. As if the villain smelled it. Could he have watched them pull away from the jetty and seized his chance?

Another clatter sounded. Nakhtmin headed for the noise. He heard Ameny breathe heavily next to him. “He’s in the house,” he whispered.

He slowed and groped forward although he was agonizingly aware of the passage of time. Then his fingers touched the rough wall of the house. There, a door. But which one? It was closed. The next door kept slamming against the frame. Nakhtmin opened it and slipped into the room, which had to be his. He felt for the board holding the lamp, flint stone and cinder.

Nothing. No shelf.

Faint noises told him Ameny had found his way into the house. “This isn’t my room,” he murmured.

“What?”

“Let’s find the lamp board. We need light.”

While he groped the wall left of the door, Ameny felt along the other side.

“I’ve got it,” the prophet said after a short while.

Nakhtmin heard him beat the flint stones against each other and saw the sparks fly. The typical smell spread through the room. If this wasn’t his chamber, whose was it? No breathing disturbed the silence, no rustling of linen. Nobody slept in here. He dreaded what the lamp’s light would unveil. They were too late.

At long last, a spark caught and lit the cinder. Gently Ameny blew at the flame and held the wick to it. “We’re in Penu’s chamber!”

Nakhtmin had never been in the small room where the mouse-faced servant lived. He recognized the lanky man’s frame on the cot and felt for a pulse. “He’s dead.”

In the dancing light of the lamp, Ameny’s features resembled a distorted mask of horror. “The killer has struck already. To my daughter, quick!”

Penu’s room was close to the kitchen. Nakhtmin passed Ameny, who had to protect the flame, and ran along the corridor until he reached the large hall. Hard to believe, but he found his way in the gloom by heart. The lamp light behind him sufficed to let him discern the outlines of obstacles to dodge. He hurried into the hallway leading to the family’s quarters.

Banging and screams. A fight. Nakhtmin burst into Mutnofret’s chamber. A lamp sat on the floor and cast absurdly elongated shadows of two figures onto the wall: Nebit and Mutnofret. The vizier clutched her throat, his right hand ready to stab her, but she held his arm and pushed it up. Faint light reflected on the bronze needle.

Nebit didn’t react to his entrance, had his back to the door, but Mutnofret stared at him, eyes wide with fear. Nakhtmin didn’t think, lunged at the vizier from behind. His hands closed around the killer’s neck. Nebit tore at his fingers, stumbled back. He must have released Mutnofret. Nakhtmin tightened his grip, squeezed harder. The vizier gurgled, pushed against him, forced Nakhtmin to step back until his back hit the wall. Nebit kept pushing against him, tried to slam his skull in Nakhtmin’s face.

Energy draining, Nakhtmin cast a frantic look around for help. Then he saw the needle—still in Nebit’s hand. The man stabbed at anything behind him. The slightest prick to his skin could be deadly. Nakhtmin wriggled to stay out of his reach. His fingers slipped from Nebit’s throat. He saw his end nearing when he heard a thud. The vizier’s body went limb and slumped to the floor. With a clink, the needle dropped from his hand. Nakhtmin gasped.

Mutnofret stood before him, arms dangling, but in one hand she held a heavy vase of alabaster. “I hit him over the head with it…” The container clattered to the ground.

Incredulous, Nakhtmin stared at the slack body of the man they’d tried to convict for so long in vain. His gaze fell on the needle. He quickly kicked the murder weapon out of Nebit’s reach. In shock, his teeth chattered. What a close call! “Ar-re you all right?” His legs hardly obeyed him when he stepped over the vizier’s body.

She flung herself into his arms, and he held her tight. He’d almost lost her! Lifting her chin, he pressed his lips on hers. She responded with passion. A whole life in this embrace, although only a few moments passed.

“Hrr-hm,” sounded from the door. “Shouldn’t we bind Nebit before he awakens?”

For how long had Ameny been standing there?

Mutnofret immediately pulled away from Nakhtmin. “Father!” Sobbing, she sank against his chest.

As if to confirm Ameny’s words, Nebit released a groan.

They had to act fast. “Where do I find a rope?”

Father and daughter didn’t hear him.

He shrugged, tore a strip from his own shendyt and tied Nebit’s hands behind his back. That would do for now. To err on the safe side, he fastened another strip around the man’s ankles. Then he tapped Ameny’s shoulder. “I’ll go fetch the Medjay. The killer shall not tarry under this roof longer than absolutely necessary.” All of a sudden, he felt dizzy. He sat down for a moment… Next to Mutnofret’s bed stood a jar of water and a mug so he poured some.

Ameny pushed Mutnofret down next to him. “First, I think we all need a sip of wine.”

Nakhtmin wanted to laugh, but instead, a sob erupted from his throat. Mutnofret snuggled up against him. He looked at Ameny. What would the priest think of him? That he’d seduced his employer’s daughter? He inched away from her.

A smile spread over Ameny’s face. “Boy,” he said. “After Shepses, I’ll accept any man as husband for my daughter, and you’re not the worst she could have chosen.” With that he left the room.

Had Mutnofret already talked to her father about marrying him? Speechless, he wondered if he’d have any say in this matter. He gazed into her pale face, touched her throat, where Nebit’s hand had gripped her.

His relief that she was unharmed washed away his bout of anger. She lived, and he hadn’t failed her. They embraced each other.

Before dawn, the Medjay arrived and took Nebit away. The vizier had regained consciousness after a while but had remained silent. Still mute, he now stumbled out the door, held by the forces of law and order.

“The Medjay will get the truth out of him,” Ameny remarked.

Nakhtmin hoped he was right. So many questions were still unanswered. Why these murders? Why had Nebit entered through Penu’s chamber and killed the servant? How much did Sitamun know? He gently wrapped an arm around Mutnofret’s shoulders and gingerly pressed her against him.

As if she were fragile! She’d tricked him, established facts. That was so typical. Oh you just wait, mischievous little tease. I won’t make it that easy for you. His heart, however, intoned a song of joy.