Six hundred years have passed since the last story, scarcely a season in Egyptian history, but enough to bring us into the Hellenic period. Egypt’s civilization has continued to decline until much of its past remains a mystery to many, except perhaps a privileged few in the priesthood. Egypt’s past was held in awe by the new civilizations growing around the Mediterranean, not least the Greeks, whose thirst for knowledge took explorers to the boundaries of the known world. The greatest of these was Herodotus, the father of history. Born in Halicarnassus in Asia Minor in about 484 BC, he was in his mid-30s when he travelled through Egypt, exploring as far south as Aswan. By now Egypt was under Persian control but the country’s life and tradition continued in much the same way as before. Herodotus is an ideal detective because of his inquiring mind and because, as an outsider, he would take nothing for granted.
Mary Reed and Eric Mayer have written a number of historical whodunnits, and are best known for their series featuring John the Eunuch set during the early years of the Byzantine empire. In addition to several short stories he has appeared in the novels, One for Sorrow(1999), Two for Joy (2000), Three for a Letter (2001), with others planned.
During my travels in Egypt there transpired certain events I would have judged too fantastic to believe, let alone recount in my History, had I not myself participated in them.
It would not be fitting to identify the large village I was visiting at the time, except to say that its inhabitants worship the crocodile. Do not think that the place may be easily discovered from this practice. The scaled god Sobek is sacred to many living along the River Nile. Strange, perhaps, but then the Egyptians are a people whose men crouch to make water while the women stand, or so I have been informed.
As it turned out, the religious procession I had returned to the village to see did not, unfortunately, rival the sacred celebrations of such great centres as Heliopolis or Bubastis. It was brief enough. Shortly after night fell, a number of bald-headed priests dressed in plain linen robes and papyrus sandals bore several mummified crocodiles on elaborately carved wooden litters from the temple to the Nile and then returned the same way, there being only one wide dirt road that did not meander off into some closed way. Certain of these priests chanted prayers, while others jingled sistra and villagers sang loudly, the sound of their rhythmic clapping echoing off mud brick house walls and up into a starry vault which seems of a greater height in those regions than anywhere else in the world.
In truth, however, I believe the onlookers’ enthusiasm arose more from consumption of festive barley beer than from their observation of the pious spectacle. From the little I could discern through the thick, smoky veil laid over the proceedings by the priest’s few torches, the sacred mummies were rather shabby specimens, even if one could believe the remarkable antiquity the head priest Zemti had attributed to them on my first visit, which I did not.
The most interesting sight was the temple’s one living sacred crocodile, borne along in a cage on a donkey cart. But the beast lay so motionless as to resemble a mummy itself and the glittering baubles decorating its leathery body made the creature appear more ludicrous than ferocious. Disappointed, I started back to my lodgings but found my path barred by a man I had not seen before. His aspect was made remarkable by the extreme length of his hair. The gauntness of his features, starkly highlighted by the terracotta lamp he carried, gave his face a passing resemblance to the features of an unwrapped mummy.
“You are Herodotus, are you not?” he asked. “The traveller to whom even our priests reveal their deepest secrets?”
I advised the stranger that he was correct, at least regarding my identity.
“You must help me. I have lost my wife!” was his astonishing reply.
I did not take his meaning at first. Then I recalled that the Egyptians, contrary race that they are, do not cut their hair to signify bereavement but rather allow it to grow. Yet, as I began my commiserations, I noticed that he had not grown a beard, as was also customary in his country when mourning a loved one.
“I am not certain what you mean by lost,” I therefore said instead. “For your scalp proclaims one thing, your chin another.”
The man smiled, his sunken eyes glittering like torchlight reflected from the bottom of a well. “It is just as they say, you overlook nothing! My appearance is thus because there is a part of me which believes Tahamet still lives in this world while another believes she has passed into the next.”
Amasis, for that was his name, began to recount his story as we walked back along the road where the heavy odour of incense hung in the still night air, not quite masking the loamy presence of the unseen river behind us.
Before long I interrupted his account. “You say that anyone whose life is claimed by the Nile, whether by drowning or by the attack of crocodiles, must be treated as more than human and further that such a person may only be buried by your priests? But if your wife suffered such a fate and the rites were properly carried out, why do you seek my assistance?”
“It is true that the head priest told me that Tahamet was found in the River,” Amasis answered, “but as I was just telling you, in keeping with custom I was not allowed to touch her body or approach it closely. However, I have good reason to suspect that the woman they buried was not my beloved.”
We reached the end of the road but rather than continuing on to the temple causeway we walked out into the desert. Soon I felt sand shifting beneath my sandals and after a while I made out the indistinct shapes of a squat structure hemmed in by thorny acacia trees.
A torch flared luridly and a figure bearing a lance emerged from between pillars at the front of the low building and challenged us. Amasis quickly trotted forwards and conferred with the guard in an animated fashion.
Finally he called out. “Our friend here knows your reputation for scholarship, Herodotus. Though few are given the privilege, he will permit us to enter the tomb of those whom the River has taken.”
Never one to refuse an invitation to visit a forbidden place, I quickly followed Amasis inside. The accommodating guard gave me a wide grin as I went by.
“When you write about these adventures, be certain to mention the name of Montuherkhepeshef,” he said.
It is remarkable how often men and women seem to consider ink a better preservative even than natron, aromatic spices and linen wrappings, and just as remarkable what they will offer in return for fame. I remember the men and try to forget the women and their blandishments.
The single chamber to which the guard allowed us admittance was however too commonplace to bear description other than that it was stone-walled with small drifts of sand piled in its corners. The walls were obviously very thick, being punctuated by deep niches holding uncoffined mummies. However, the trembling light of a lamp on a pedestal gave the sacred place an underwater appearance, reminding me that each person resting so peacefully around us had suffered an especially horrible death beneath the Nile’s suffocating torrent or in the crushing jaws of a crocodile. Perhaps, I surmised, that was why their bodies had not been interred in the more usual fashion. Since they had already been buried once in the sacred waters of the Nile, it might well have been considered blasphemous to bury them a second time under the sands.
“Here is the one said to be Tahamet.” Amasis reached into a niche and before I could caution him pulled its resident towards him and began to tear at the linen wrappings. He let out a groan. A quick glance revealed the reason for his distress. The embalmer’s arts could not conceal the fact that most of the deceased’s face had been destroyed. There was no doubt it had been the work of a crocodile.
“I see none of the trinkets I gave her.” Amasis’ voice verged on a sob. “She deserved adornment fit for a queen. Her hair was lapis-lazuli, her fingers lotus blossoms. I was happy to indulge her. She loved necklaces, hairpins and ivory combs and other such dainty things but she was especially fond of a pair of earrings I had specially made for her. They’re yellow topaz in the form of acacia blossoms, and she was wearing them the day she disappeared. Not that the priests can be relied upon to leave such valuables with the deceased, blasphemous though that sounds.”
I asked him what had made him suspicious about the head priest’s insistence that this was the body of his wife.
“The circumstances.” He moved his attention further down the neatly swathed figure and I prayed the guard would not suddenly decide to enter the chamber. “For some time, as a safety precaution I’ve had my servant Mose follow her about the village. On that day, he swears that she entered the temple at dusk and never emerged.”
“How can he be certain?” I asked.
“The temple complex has only one gateway and Mose is a very patient and observant man. Furthermore, he’s exceptionally loyal to Tahamet. As you can imagine, when she did not return home that evening, I became extremely alarmed. I searched the streets but she was gone. At dawn I went to the governor, useless lout that he is, and demanded he investigate immediately.”
He continued speaking as he freed what remained of an arm which even in the lamp’s fitful light displayed further ravages of the ferocious creature this strange people worshipped. “Not two days later this half-consumed body was found in the river. But it’s certainly not my Tahamet, Herodotus. She had a pale patch on the back of her right hand where she burnt it while cooking me a duck last year. Look closely and you’ll see there’s nothing like that here.”
Grabbing the now revealed thin arm by the elbow he shook it, causing the dead hand to beckon me. I stepped away, willing to take him at his word.
Because I am always interested in discovering a fascinating tale to recount (and, I will admit, also from simple curiosity) the next morning I visited the temple where Amasis said his wife had last been seen.
Its exterior walls were constructed of the same modest mud-brick as the village houses but here the mud symbolized the marriage of sky and land. As soon as I passed between the unimpressive stone pylons flanking the temple gateway and into the open courtyard beyond, I was approached by a man of such girth that he resembled one of those lumbering beasts the Egyptians call river-horses.
It was Nahkt, attendant to the Sacred One. I had made his acquaintance on my first visit.
“Herodotus! Have you penned your account of our temple and its holy occupant yet?” He gestured towards the large, serene pool in the centre of the courtyard. “I’m sorry to say, however, that the Sacred One has not yet appeared today. He is still resting after last night’s exertions.”
I explained I had come to speak to the head priest, Zemti. Nahkt chattered breathlessly as he led me through the pillared Hall of the Crocodiles, where the Sacred One’s predecessors – the mummified participants in the previous evening’s festivities – now again rested on their high pedestals, awaiting worshippers.
After passing though a series of ever smaller and darker chambers, all filled with a thick fog of sickly-sweet incense, I was ushered into the presence of Zemti, who was entirely naked and seated on a three-legged stool beside a stone basin, shaving his legs. He put down his bronze razor and greeted me warmly as Nahkt waddled away.
“I trust you’ve been enjoying your visit, Herodotus? Wasn’t our procession everything I promised? The villagers say they’ve never seen its equal.”
It seemed to me that the villagers obviously did not venture far abroad but tactfully I did not say so.
“Is shaving some ordeal your beliefs require?” I inquired instead.
I could see there was not a hair anywhere on his body, which was considerably fairer of skin than those of his fellow countrymen, many of whom I had seen labouring in the fields, equally naked. Zemti stood to pull on a tunic lying on a sandalwood chest beside him. Several spots of blood immediately bloomed on the white linen garment, revealing where his skin had been cut.
He sighed. “I have to find a keener razor. I imagine this one is as old as the temple. I did mention the great antiquity of the temple during your last visit, didn’t I? But to answer your question. Priests must constantly be on guard against uncleanliness, Herodotus. We bathe four times a day, you know. Were lice to be on us as we perform our sacred rituals, it would be an intolerable insult to Sobek.”
He dabbed at a small cut on his chin and I offered him the cloth I carry at my belt for similar purposes.
“No, no.” He recoiled from it. “It’s nothing.”
To me there was something incongruous about this fervour for cleanliness in a place where the choking miasma of incense did not entirely disguise the odours emanating from the embalming chambers. But then, other races do not necessarily think as we Hellenes and often attach fanciful notions to the commonest of events. Their priests, for example, cannot bear to so much as glance at a certain type of pulse they regard as grossly unclean, nor will they permit swineherds to set foot in holy places, the pig being considered an abomination.
Tucking the cloth back into my belt I couldn’t help but wonder if Zemti had flinched away from my offer because he realized that during my travels I have on occasion been both unclean and unchaste, devourer of pig meat and romantic adventurer that I am.
I questioned him concerning Tahamet. Zemti looked distressed. “A terrible tragedy indeed. Amasis is naturally distraught. He keeps insisting her body wasn’t hers and that she was hidden somewhere in the temple. We were not offended, of course, knowing only too well that at times grief deprives men of reason and they grasp at whatever they want to believe. I tried to tell him it would be best to be content that the River had chosen her, but he would not be consoled.”
When I expressed my surprise at Amasis’ claim that his wife had entered but not emerged from the temple Zemti shrugged.
“He’s been saying the same for weeks to anyone who will listen,” he replied. “Apparently he bases this astonishing statement on the word of Mose, that servant of his. However, I can assure you that Mose is a disreputable fellow, overly devoted to barley beer and therefore completely unreliable.”
“It seems Amasis asked Governor Haphimen for assistance in finding Tahamet?”
The priest’s brow furrowed briefly. “Indeed he did,” he agreed. “Naturally, the governor ordered the temple searched and thus he also can personally confirm that there is no trace of her here.”
I mentioned the temple’s single gateway and the high walls around it. Zemti confirmed my suspicions as to the reason for the particular form of construction.
“A single entrance is easiest to guard,” he pointed out. “We store many objects of great value, both worldly and spiritual. I have no doubt that Haphimen’s search was as much a pretext for him to take note of what we hold here as to assist Amasis.”
He paused and then added, “By the way, when you come to write this all down, please ensure your public realizes that women are not allowed to enter the temple itself but may only come as far as the courtyard of the sacred pool.”
I would have considered this courtyard to be part of the temple but on reflection supposed that priests may draw the line between sacred and profane areas wherever they please. That was my thought as I left to go to the home of the governor.
Governor Haphimen thrust his hand into one of a row of wide-mouthed pottery jars fastened horizontally to the low wall edging the sunbaked flat roof of his home. He extracted a plump pigeon. “You will stay for the evening meal?”
The man insisted on being addressed by the title of governor, notwithstanding the fact he had no right to demand such treatment. It was, however, entirely in character for the sort of man I judged him to be, for was not his wig glossier than any I had seen in the small settlement, the kohl around his eyes applied more heavily, his wife the most beautiful woman in the village? Fortunately he had not noticed his wife had found me a far more congenial conversationalist than he during my initial visit months before.
Or perhaps he had, for when I declined his offer he did not appear too disappointed at losing the opportunity to later boast of being host to a famous traveller such as myself.
“As to Amasis,” he said, “despite the fact that his extraordinary claim is based solely upon the word of a most unreliable servant, I did what I could for him despite our dispute. After all, a governor must carry out his duties regardless of personal animosities. Indeed, if the priests had not known of the woman’s disappearance by reason of my inquiries they would probably not have been able to identify the body found a day or so later. The River claims many and they do not always examine the deceased too closely, as you can imagine. Amasis should be grateful to me, for now at least he knows what happened to his wife. Not all men are so fortunate.”
At this strange remark I wondered uncomfortably if Haphimen was more observant than I had first thought.
Glancing away, I could see the Nile stretching toward the horizon in both directions. At this time of year it resembled a newly fed snake, sluggish and harmless.
“So you and Amasis have still not resolved your dispute over the farmland?”
The pigeon he was holding cooed softly. Haphimen grasped its head and twisted it quickly. The neck broke with a delicate crack. “He insists that I want what is his but I only wish to obtain what is rightfully mine. Even so, I repeat, I did what I could for him then and there is nothing more I can do for him now.”
We made our way downstairs into a room whose geometrically patterned wall-hangings, small rosewood tables and carved wooden chests were illuminated by sunlight streaming through high, securely barred windows.
I asked Haphimen if he thought the missing woman might be concealed somewhere in the temple.
“Absolutely not,” he replied. “I ordered the place searched thoroughly and I can assure you that even the tiniest cranny was not neglected. She isn’t there.”
“Zemti appears to believe you had other reasons for ordering a search,” I observed.
Haphimen absently stroked the feathers of the dead bird he held. “The temple’s wealth is also the village’s fortune, Herodotus. We must be always vigilant. There have been instances where scoundrels have made off with such treasures by means of secret entrances and the like.”
His statement was true enough, for as I have related elsewhere in my History I was told of a builder who designed a treasury whose wall incorporated a removable stone used for just such a nefarious purpose.
“But was it not unusual for Tahamet to go walking abroad unaccompanied?”
Haphimen glared at me with kohl-elongated eyes that were, in fact small and unremarkable. “You begin to sound like Amasis. Why shouldn’t she visit the temple by herself, or anywhere else she wished for that matter? That is the way of our country. You Hellenes certainly have some strange notions at times.”
He glanced down at the pigeon’s limp body and his lips pursed, as if he had only just realized he had killed the bird. “Still, Tahamet was a striking woman,” he went on, “and a most charming conversationalist. I can certainly understand how even a fool like Amasis is overwrought at losing such a treasure.”
“As you say. However, I was wondering rather whether it was safe for her to go out alone,” I replied patiently. “Amasis mentioned he thought she needed a guard.”
Haphimen grunted. “Perhaps so. You’ll have to excuse me, Herodotus. I must deliver this morsel to my cook. However, I will say that Amasis was always a very suspicious sort, as should be obvious from his conversation with you. As for safety – well, you can easily judge for yourself what danger lurks in our few streets just by strolling around.”
The winding, narrow street on which Haphimen’s house stood harboured nothing more dangerous than a knot of sun-browned, naked children who paused in their play to gape at my long tunic and full beard. It is a common enough event. I have travelled to the ends of the earth in search of wonders but, if the truth be told, in many places I am more of a wonder to the inhabitants than they are to me.
When I approached Amasis’ house I noticed several lintels set in its dark wall but, strange to relate, they were at foot level. As I subsequently learned, strong desert winds oft times blew stinging clouds of sand into the village, forming huge drifts that raised the ground above the height of the lower rooms. New dwellings would then be built using the original houses as foundations, although where drifting was less severe the owners simply constructed higher floors in ground level rooms, inserting new doors and windows at appropriate points.
I mention this unrelated matter to demonstrate that such oddities are the sorts of mysteries I am able to solve simply by observation or by conversing with those who are better informed.
Explaining the disappearance of persons, however, is not something at which I am skilled. Amasis had looked at me eagerly when he answered my knock, but his expression darkened with sorrow when I informed him I had learned nothing further concerning his wife.
He invited me to enter his house but I explained I was only there to ask where Mose resided. “Are you certain you can believe Mose’s story?” I went on. “After all, both the governor and Zemti declared most emphatically that what your servant says cannot be trusted.”
“Haphimen will say whatever Zemti orders him to say,” replied Amasis curtly. “The governor may be nothing more than a common thief with pretensions, but he knows who wields power here. As for Zemti . . . it was in his temple that Tahamet vanished and it was he who lied to me about the identity of the unfortunate woman found in the River.”
“Could it be possible that your judgment is clouded by grief?” I suggested as delicately as I could. “And, forgive me, but perhaps might it also have been affected by your dispute with Haphimen?”
“You may call it a dispute, Herodotus, but I call it attempted theft. However, after you have spoken with Mose you will better be able to judge his trustworthiness for yourself.”
I paused before leaving. Even standing at the outer doorway I could see that Amasis’ furnishings were, if anything, even more lavish than those displayed in the governor’s home.
Amasis noticed the direction of my gaze. “Yes, I filled our house with beautiful things,” he said sorrowfully. “There was never an itinerant furniture-maker passing through the village who did not receive a commission for something beautiful for my beloved. I know many criticized my indulging her so, sir. But I have always taken note of the wisdom of Ptah-Hotep, who advised keeping a wife well contented so that the chains that hold her to you will be pleasing in their nature and thus doubly binding.”
While the trusted servant who had been discreetly guarding the missing wife recounted his tale, I wondered if Tahamet had found marriage to Amasis a pleasing chain.
Mose and I were seated on stools in the small walled courtyard behind Mose’s home, a single story house at the end of a narrow, twisting alley of similar dwellings.
He confirmed he had followed her for weeks. Where? Just to the usual places women went. To the market, the temple, to friends’ homes. No, she had never noticed him attending at her heels.
“But if she had been threatened, then she would immediately have discovered I was nearby and her attackers would have thought Sobek himself had sprung upon them!”
The statement elicited a muffled laugh from Mose’s wife, who was tending her cooking pots in the corner of the cramped courtyard that served for their kitchen.
Mose bit down hard on the withered piece of dried fish he was eating. He was, perhaps, darker and stockier than average, with bright eyes and slow speech.
“Where did Tahamet go on the day she disappeared?”
“She first called on a woman who’s sewing garments for her. Then she went to the governor’s house. She’s an old friend of his wife’s, you see. The governor wouldn’t like it if he knew they still visited each other, what with his feud with my employer,” Mose replied, “and I think he must have been at home because Tahamet didn’t go into the house this time.” He took a drink from the jug of beer beside his stool.
I declined his offer of similar refreshment. “She proceeded from there to the temple?”
“No. She went to the market. She never leaves the governor’s house without visiting the market.”
“Do you remember what she purchased?”
Mose frowned. “Not very well. Nothing important. Vegetables, I think. Then she went to the temple. She usually stopped there to leave an offering for the Sacred One before returning home. Pious? Yes, she was pious indeed but to tell the truth I think the tame crocodile also amused her.”
“I understand you remained outside at the temple gate all night, waiting for her?”
He nodded his head vigorously.
The pungent odour of boiling leeks wafted from the corner of the courtyard and with it the voice of Mose’s wife. “He wasn’t guarding the woman, sir. Just her virtue. Not that she had any left as anyone but my husband would tell you. Detailing her movements to Amasis was what he was really doing.”
“Be quiet, Mi! You stupid woman! I’m fortunate to have such a fine man for an employer.” He lifted the jug of beer beside his stool and took an even longer drink.
“He should never have married that vulgar woman,” said his wife. “Fancied herself a queen, so she did. But the truth of it is, sir, she’d kiss a Hellene on the lips!”
“Mi!” Mose was obviously shocked and furious at his wife’s malicious outpouring.
The woman gave her pot of leeks a vigorous stir. “Our visitor needs to know the truth of the matter. Isn’t that so, sir? Tahamet was always an ambitious woman, so she was. Not a fit wife at all. And a dreadful cook. Why, one time she burnt a duck so badly that Amasis threw it at her head. My husband saw that personally.”
Mose took another gulp from his jug and shook his head. He indicated I should leave. His wife continued muttering to herself as we stepped out into the alley.
“Forgive her, sir. Amasis engaged Mi to carry out household duties but she kept falling out with Tahamet. Finally there was some sort of ugly argument and, well, Mi no longer works there. Tahamet was really just a simple girl. She grew up here in the village. She’s a cousin of Mi’s, in fact.”
“So Tahamet must have led a much more comfortable life after she married Amasis?” I asked the garrulous servant.
“Certainly. It’s true, I will admit, that she always had an eye out for something better. Who wouldn’t, if their family were merely makers of baskets? I used to see her with a young weaver but then Amasis came along, so now she’s risen as high as may be in this village. But she always treated me kindly, sir.”
As I departed I assured Mose that I understood perfectly, although in fact I can better grasp those ancient battles between the Amazons and Scythians than I am able to fathom the tiresome, petty squabbles that infect domestic daily life, no matter what the country.
I followed one of many paths leading down to the Nile. Nearer the water the air seemed heavy. Spindly palms towered from the river bank and on the far side of the calm water I could see lush green fields, perhaps the very land over which Amasis and Haphimen were at such odds.
What had I learned? I believe only what I see with my own eyes even though what I am told is usually far more fascinating. Concerning Tahamet I knew only what I had heard. On the other hand, it was my personal observation that Amasis, Haphimen and Zemti were competing in different ways for what little wealth and power might be wrung from life in this wretched outpost.
How reliable was their information? Was Mose more credible? His livelihood depended on Amasis’ continued good will. Mi’s words had the unpleasantness we tend to associate with truth, perhaps because truth so often is unpleasant. But then she had reason to hold a grudge against the missing woman because of the quarrel Mose had revealed.
Had Mose abandoned his post outside the temple gate at some point and now did not dare admit it? Could the reason for Tahamet’s disappearance be that simple, that she had wandered down to the river in his absence and fallen in? It seemed a far more likely explanation than her walking into a temple and vanishing.
I swatted at a cloud of flies that swarmed in my face like a spray of wind-blown sand.
Tahamet interested me. It was quite understandable that a doting husband would praise his wife’s beauty but Haphimen had also described her as striking, while Mi had said she had fancied herself a queen.
Could such thoughts be dangerous, even in a village? Ambition, the desire to be more than one is, is a perplexing thing. I have seen strangers flock to me, eager for whatever renown or immortality they imagine my writings might grant them. The Egyptians believe cats will run headlong into any fire they see and in my travels I have met a number of men and women like that. Was Tahamet such a person? What strange fire had drawn her to, possibly, a fatal end?
I had hoped that contemplating the peaceful water of the Nile might serve to calm my thoughts, but instead it seemed to entice them away into fruitless meanderings. Then my concentration was broken completely by a loud splash.
Looking in the direction of the sound I saw an elongated, crocodilian shape gliding in my direction through the murky shallows. It broke the surface in front of me and I realized, with some relief, that it was only a boy, his arms outstretched as he cut rapidly through the water. Taking a step or two forwards I noted a flat rock, hitherto hidden by bushes, from which another boy was just diving.
Further contemplation of the mystery would obviously be futile here. I decided I should again visit the place where Tahamet had vanished.
Nahkt, the Sacred One’s attendant, hailed me as I entered the temple courtyard. “The Sacred One is out warming himself, sir,” he announced. “You are honoured!”
I followed him to the large sunken pool and squinted over its low wall. The late afternoon sun turned ripples on the water into molten gold. The Sacred One floated there, a half-submerged rough-barked log, regarding us with tiny pig-like eyes.
I remembered my conversation with Mose. “Nahkt, did you know Tahamet, the wife of Amasis? I am told she often made offerings here.”
Nahkt gazed down at the crocodile, an expression of affection on his broad face. “I did know her, sir. She used to visit us most days. She liked to watch my friend here – that is, the Sacred One. But now the River has claimed her and she visits us no more. Yet if I may say so, sir, that is how I would choose to go.”
My gaze was drawn back to the crocodile and its incongruous adornments – fine gold bangles, gem-studded necklaces and the like.
“Who dared to put such things on this creature?”
“Haven’t you noticed all the one-armed beggars in the streets?” Nahkt asked and immediately burst into laughter.
I did not join in his merriment. A particular piece of jewellery had caught my eye. It was one of the Sacred One’s earrings. A yellow topaz acacia flower – Tahamet’s earring.
Suddenly, with sickening certainty, I knew why Tahamet had disappeared.
“She was fed to the sacred crocodile,” I stated.
Nahkt stopped laughing and gaped at me.
“Tahamet, I mean,” I went on. “She was killed in the temple and her body fed to the Sacred One. I am not accusing you of anything, Nahkt, but have you observed any —” I broke off, for the man’s heavy frame had again begun to shake with amusement.
“Excuse me, sir, but the very notion of my old friend here devouring so much as a human finger . . . well . . . do you suppose this is merely a common crocodile, hiding in the mud and eating what he can catch? No, sir. The Sacred One dines on milk sweetened with honey, specially prepared grains, even wine. He has no taste for human flesh. Besides . . .”
To my horror, Nahkt heaved his bulk over the wall and jumped into the pool with an enormous splash. Waist-deep, he waded towards the crocodile, which gave a lazy shake of its tail and swam straight for him.
My voice caught in my throat as I began to call for help. Then I saw that Nahkt had grasped the monster’s jaws and pried them apart, revealing that the ancient Sacred One retained not a single tooth in his elongated snout.
I left the temple shortly thereafter, having decided I would have to inform Amasis that my investigations had ended in failure. I wondered whether I should mention the earring. Were acacia flower earrings such an uncommon ornament? Perhaps it would be kinder not to draw his attention to it, since he had obviously not yet noticed its presence on the sacred crocodile. Yet hadn’t he accused the priests of stealing from the dead? It might well be proof of his claim. Or perhaps leaving it and presumably its mate as an offering was a clever way to dispose of things that would immediately implicate the person found possessing them in a terrible crime. However, on the other hand might it be that that his pious wife had offered them to the Sacred One, considering them worthy of the holy beast because Amasis had commissioned them especially – or as a gesture of derision because she did not?
Yet if Tahamet had indeed been murdered, I could not fathom who might be responsible or for what reason. It appeared to me that Mi’s insinuations were probably correct and that Amasis’ wife had been betraying him. Therefore, despite his claim of being concerned for Tahamet’s safety, I believed that Amasis suspected his wife and that was the real reason he had arranged to have her secretly followed by Mose.
Was her infidelity with his rival, Haphimen? After all, the governor was certainly richer and more powerful than her husband. Could Tahamet have been attracted to Haphimen because of that?
The two boys I had seen at the river raced past me. Dust clung to their wet skin, making them appear as if they had been rolled in wheat flour. They stared back over their thin shoulders at me, dark eyes wide at the sight of a stranger.
I recalled seeing the boys diving into the Nile’s crocodile-infested waters and admired their courage, although it was born of childish lack of fear.
Then, in an instant, I knew my investigation would end in success.
It was growing dark in the Hall of the Crocodiles when I returned with Amasis, Haphimen and several of the governor’s guards. Animated by flickering torchlight, shadows cast by the reptilian mummies appeared to creep stealthily around the pedestals upon which the creatures lay. The eerie sight gave me the distinct sensation that razor-sharp teeth were about to clamp onto my legs and drag me down into oblivion.
“So, Herodotus, thanks to your investigation we will finally discover the truth of the matter.” As he spoke, Amasis glared first at Haphimen and than at Zemti, who had reluctantly agreed to receive our party.
“You may not wish to hear the truth, Amasis.” I spoke quietly but my voice was magnified by the walls of the great stone chamber. “Even though I believe you already knew that your wife was being unfaithful.”
“With Haphimen,” Amasis growled. He stepped towards his rival but one of the guards blocked his way with a lance.
“No. In fact, Tahamet had been drawn to the village’s wealthiest and most powerful man – Zemti.” I pointed at the head priest, whose features betrayed no emotion in the fitful light.
“It was Zemti who murdered her,” I went on, “and I know now how he concealed her body.”
Zemti’s voice was cold. “You may not believe in the might of Sobek, Herodotus, but His wrath will find and strike you down nevertheless. What proof can you offer of this blasphemous lie?”
“The evidence lies in this very hall atop one of these pedestals,” was my reply. “You see, I chanced to observe boys playing in the river today and it later occurred to me that the human form, when the arms are stretched out above the head to dive, resembles the shape of a crocodile. Tahamet’s body was never found because you immediately wrapped it in imitation of a sacred mummy before the governor’s search, which you would surely be expecting. This concealed the crime until later, when you mummified her and placed her in this hall. Perhaps you would point her out to us?”
Zemti paled but said nothing. I glanced towards Haphimen. His face betrayed his struggle to conceal a grim smile. In truth, I was afraid to look in Amasis’ direction, for I did not care to see the visage of a man who has just discovered his beloved had been so mistreated.
“Of course, the governor could order his guards to simply begin unwrapping these mummies until we find the right one,” I finally suggested.
Zemti remained silent but immediately turned and walked past several pedestals, finally placing his hand on a particular mummy.
“I concealed her thus because I did not wish to bring shame upon the temple of Sobek,” he said quietly. “However, I swear that I did not murder her. It’s true that we had a bitter argument. She claimed she could do better for herself by going elsewhere. There was a man, a foreigner, she said, who would take her away, to Memphis or to Thebes perhaps. A Hellene. In my rage I pushed her. She fell into the Sacred One’s pool. I offered her to Sobek’s judgment and walked away. And He let her drown, shallow though the pool is.”
He stopped and I could see he was now trembling uncontrollably. He ran his hand convulsively over his immaculately shaved scalp and spat out the rest of his confession. “You see, Herodotus, I lost my temper when . . . when she said she’d kissed a Hellene on the lips!”
From respect for those involved, I will not describe exactly what we found inside the linen wrappings, except that the limbs of Tahamet’s body had been arranged much as I surmised. Nor can I reveal anything about the identity of the foreigner about whom she had spoken, for this remains unknown. It’s true that I was myself introduced to a number of village women by the governor’s wife during my first visit. However, I recall little about them individually for although they were fascinated by me, they had no interesting tales to relate. And though one or two may have made as if to give me a playful kiss, these were never on the lips, unless, perhaps, by accident.
These things that I have related I saw with my own eyes. However, in closing this account I must include certain information that I received some time later while travelling elsewhere in that strange country.
I can hardly lend credence to what I must now record but it was related to me by a priest of a certain temple in Heliopolis, whose denizens I count as among the most learned in Egypt.
When I questioned him concerning Zemti’s fate, thinking word of such a scandal would surely have reached his ears, this priest told me that he did not know anything about it. However, he added, the inhabitants of the village of which I have written abandoned the worship of Sobek when they learned of Tahamet’s death and its aftermath. Nor, he went on, could he find fault with them, for all unknowingly they had been worshipping not only the sacred crocodile mummies but also the body of a common village woman, and one of no virtue at that.
And as extraordinary as that may seem, there is one last event to recount before my tale is concluded.
In the unrest that resulted, this priest went on, it was discovered that down through the years many of Sobek’s priests had shared Zemti’s worldly appetites. For when all the sacred mummies were removed from the Hall of the Crocodiles, it was discovered that in fact most of the bodies so carefully preserved there were not of crocodiles, but of women.