Amerotke stepped into the gloomy embalmers' chamber under the Temple of Anubis. Lamps glowed, high, narrow windows allowed in shafts of sunlight, though these did little to lift the dark, oppressive atmosphere. Against the far wall a huge granite statue of Anubis loomed through the billowing smoke. The air smelt of salt and natron, as well as the spices which the embalmers used to fill the corpses. Above the statue Amerotke made out the inscription: 'BEWARE! RESPECT THIS GOD! HE LOVES THE TRUTH AND DETESTS LIES AS AN ABOMINATION!'

The sombre chamber was in marked contrast to the lavishly decorated Halls of Waiting and Appearance Amerotke had just passed through, where brilliant paintings glowed like rich jewels on snow-white walls. Or the pleasant gardens, the paradises of the temple, where cool ornamental pools and lakes shimmered under the shade of acacia and sycamore trees.

At any other time Amerotke would have found his visit a delightful experience, except for the howling of those dogs, the so-called sacred pack, in their deep pit at the far end of the temple. The place was busy. Priests passed in incense-shrouded processions; querulous petitioners queued; scholars scurried about, hunchbacked from poring over their books in the House of Life. This death chamber was a totally different world. The judge peered through the murk. He could make out the figures of the embalmers bending over the corpses sprawled on their stone slabs. One of these was a woman's; the embalmers were busy over a second, tutting and complaining at the mangled, torn flesh.

A figure emerged from the darkness. Amerotke recognised the burly outline, shaven head and strong, broad face of Senenmut: a man of infinite talent, the power behind the throne. The soft-skinned, carefully painted courtiers sniggered behind their hands at Lord Senenmut; they regarded him as an upstart, and that was what he was. A builder, turned soldier, turned politician; the court wits lisped the jibe 'Stonemason' – at least behind their fingers. On this occasion, despite his status, Senenmut looked like one, in his simple linen robe, devoid of any pendants, rings or insignia, the sweat glistening on his muscular shoulders. Amerotke strode forward. He was about to bow but Senenmut stretched out his hand for him to clasp. The judge did so.

'Follow me!' Senenmut ordered.

They walked across the embalming room and into a bare stone chamber. A few stools around a table, earthenware jars on shelves against the wall. It reeked of salt and putrefaction. Crude graffiti on the walls depicted a number of lewd sexual scenes. The cowled figure studying these turned. On recognising Hatusu, Amerotke should have genuflected but she shook her head. A simple robe covered her from neck to ankle, a linen shawl hiding her hair. She was the Imperial Pharaoh-Queen, the Lord of the Two Lands, the Wearer of the Double Crown, the Atef and the Nenes, the imperial cloak. However, apart from bracelets and anklets, Hatusu wore no royal insignia. She gestured at the graffiti as they sat down.

'The human heart,' she grinned, 'well, at least the male, very rarely changes. My lord Senenmut, any lover who adopted such postures would be left with a sore neck or back. Wouldn't you agree?'

Senenmut coughed and glanced away. Hatusu laughed behind her green-tinged fingernails.

'We will dispense with ceremony,' she said, sitting down. 'I like it here. No one can hear us.' She glanced at Amerotke. 'And how is my Chief Judge of Thebes?'

'To look on your face is pleasure enough.'

'I am sure it is, but let's be blunt! I am not supposed to be here.'

'And neither am I,' replied Amerotke. 'So, we are all not supposed to be here. Anyway, what are we not supposed to be here to talk about?'

'That's my Amerotke: blunt but still a trifle stuffy!'

Hatusu waved away a buzzing fly. She waited for Senenmut to serve wine and join them.

'There are three corpses outside,' she began. 'The priest Nemrath, the singing girl and what's left of Sinuhe the traveller. The heralds may have told you some of what's happened. By the way, where are they?'

'They left me in the antechamber but, yes, they told me what had happened.'

'Right!' Hatusu made herself comfortable and sipped at the chilled white wine. 'I won't bore you with repetition. Somewhere in this temple are the four envoys from Tushratta. Their names are Wanef, Hunro, Mensu and Snefru. Well, that's the Egyptian version of their names. Now, all four are powerful Mitanni. The three men represent some of the most prominent warrior clans in Tushratta's kingdom. They do not like me, they do not like Egypt but they are forced to make a peace treaty.'

'And the woman?' Amerotke asked.

'Yes, she's raised a few eyebrows.' Hatusu laughed. 'In fact, that's the problem. Tushratta has to bend the knee before a Pharaoh-Queen; he doesn't like it. Wanef is his half-sister. It takes a woman to know a woman. I suspect that's the thinking behind her presence here.'

'And more?' Senenmut broke in.

'My lord Senenmut,' Hatusu purred, 'as always, is correct. Wanef is Tushratta's principal adviser. She's cunning, quick and ruthless. She wants peace. She wants the borders opened, trade resumed, a military alliance and the betrothal of Tushratta's daughter to my kinsman. She's a good-looking girl so our boy can't object.'

'And what else do they want?' Amerotke asked.

'Well.' She tapped the table. 'Officially, they want the return of the corpse of Benia. My father had more concubines than a bird has feathers. Benia was Tushratta's kinswoman, much loved and respected.'

'But she's dead and buried?'

'Oh yes, but they want her mummified corpse brought from my father's tomb so they can take it back to their royal mausoleums in the Mitanni capital.'

'But no one knows where your father's tomb is.'

'I do.' She smiled.

'Then there's no problem?'

The smile disappeared from Hatusu's face.

'I don't know,' she murmured. 'I won't say much except I heard rumours about Benia's death.' She gestured with her hand. 'Enough for now: the Mitanni also want Sinuhe the traveller's manuscript.'

'I've heard of him.'

'So has all Thebes. A navigator, a wanderer. Sinuhe's memory was a treasure house of knowledge: sea routes, trade routes, paths across the desert, the whereabouts of water wells and oases.'

'And?'

'Sinuhe's corpse, or what was left of it, was fished out of the Nile. According to neighbours, Sinuhe left his house yesterday morning clutching a leather bag. A fisherman saw him going down to the ruined Temple of Bes. Later in the day Sinuhe was found dead, his manuscript gone.'

'Could the Mitanni be responsible?'

'Perhaps. Then there's the Glory of Anubis, stolen from its shrine.'

Hatusu got to her feet and stretched elegantly. She smiled and winked at Senenmut.

'Finally, there's what's happening here at Anubis. A dancing girl was found dead in one of the pavilions. Two of the temple flock, and some of the fish in the sacred ponds, have also been poisoned.'

'If these deaths didn't begin,' Amerotke replied, 'until the Mitanni arrived, then it must be them. Until the peace treaty is sealed, Egypt and the Mitanni are still at war.'

'I know. I know.' Hatusu sat down. 'Tushratta's out with his chariot squadrons at the Oasis of Palms. He will not come to us, we will not go to him, not until the peace is sealed.'

'But why should the Mitanni do all this?' Senenmut wondered.

'As you say, Divine One,' Amerotke declared, 'Tushratta does not want to bend the knee and kiss the feet of a woman.'

'I am Pharaoh.'

'In my eyes, yes,' Amerotke replied. 'But Tushratta might like to cause a little chaos. A few deaths, the theft of the Glory of Anubis; whilst the Mitanni would love to lay their hands on Sinuhe's document. They, too, have merchants eager to learn the quickest and safest routes to the land of Punt or further down the gulf. Perhaps they even dream of sending a fleet across the Great Green.'

He caught Senenmut's puzzlement.

'But you don't believe that, my lord, do you? Why should they commit murder in Thebes? And what's the use of sealing a peace treaty with Egypt, if we discover that the Glory of Anubis is in their possession? And would the Mitanni stoop to blasphemy and sacrilege? They worship the dog god: their priests might draw the line at such a sacrilege.'

'Yes, but the Mitanni would love to make us a laughing-stock,' Senenmut replied. 'Both the assassin and the thief could be someone in the temple wishing to humiliate us in the eyes of the Mitanni and everyone else. Or it could be someone in the pay of Tushratta with the same purpose in mind.'

'Traitors?' Amerotke queried.

'Politics is like the Nile.' Hatusu spoke up. 'It hides many things. You've met our two heralds, Weni and Mareb. Weni is our official envoy, our mediator with Tushratta. We know that he has been bribed and bought by Tushratta and Wanef. Oh no.' She raised her eyebrows. 'Don't look so surprised. Weni's treason is at our request. He is faithful and loyal enough but the Mitanni think they have a spy in our midst and that's the way we want it. Now Princess Wanef reports back to Tushratta. To put it bluntly, one of her messengers met with a slight accident and our escorting chariot corps was ready to help.'

'You had a glimpse of the correspondence he carried?'

Hatusu just smiled.

'We thought we were being clever,' Senenmut declared drily. 'Now it seems there is another traitor in Thebes. A person they call the Hyaena: that's the only reference Wanef's letter made.'

'So.' Amerotke cradled the earthenware cup between his hands. 'The Mitanni are here to negotiate. They want peace. They think they've bribed Weni to be their traitor when, in fact, he's nothing of the sort. However, the Mitanni have a real spy, a man they call the Hyaena, a scavenger. Could Weni and the Hyaena be one and the same?'

'It's possible,' Senenmut replied.

'Or someone else, here in the temple. What we don't know,' Hatusu continued, 'is what Tushratta is plotting. A tangle of mysteries, eh, my lord Amerotke? Now, I want Sinuhe's manuscript and the Glory of Anubis back in our possession. I also want to know who the assassin is here at Anubis. You will join Lord Senenmut in the negotiations. Keep an eye on everyone.'

Amerotke gestured round the dark, gloomy chamber.

'Have I been told the full truth? Divine One, your mind can curl like a serpent...'

'You are not a toy,' Hatusu soothed. She lowered her head and looked at him coquettishly. 'Don't you trust me, my lord Amerotke?' She shook her head. 'This is no game. It is as I've described it. All I want is the Glory of Anubis, Sinuhe's manuscript back in my hands and Tushratta's envoys kissing my sandalled foot. I must not be made to look a fool in the eyes of Thebes and all of Egypt. I don't want Tushratta raising his head and grinning at me slyly. And, above all...' She paused.

'What?' Amerotke asked bluntly.

'Those who accompany Wanef do not want peace. I don't want some heinous murders to cause them to clutch their robes and scuttle away, proclaiming Mitanni envoys are not sacred or respected in Thebes.'

'Could it come to that?' Amerotke asked.

'If given a chance, Wanef's companions might seize it.' Hatusu got to her feet. 'But the envoys are waiting and, as I said, I'm not here.' She pointed to the far door. 'The Maryannou,' she referred to the royal bodyguard, 'are waiting.'

Hatusu stretched out her hand. Amerotke had no choice but to kneel and kiss the green-tinged fingernails. She stroked him gently on the face.

'You are not a toy or a dog, Amerotke: in this matter you are the Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh.'

Then she was gone.

Amerotke got to his feet. Senenmut grinned and clapped him on the shoulder.

'We have another hour yet. Do you wish to view the dead?'

Amerotke agreed and followed the Vizier out of the chamber. They first inspected the corpse of the dancing girl. The embalmers had already been busy, removing her internal organs and placing them in sealed canopic jars, though they had yet to draw the brains out through the nose. The table looked like a flesher's stall. Amerotke, so used to death, found it difficult not to flinch.

'She'll be buried by the temple,' Senenmut whispered. 'She died in the service of the god.'

The young woman had undoubtedly been very comely. She had a pretty face and a full, ripe body, narrow-waisted with the long, muscular legs of a dancer. Now the embalmers had reduced her beauty to nothing. Amerotke felt a pang of sadness. Such loveliness and youth snuffed out like an oil lamp.

'What was the cause of death?' Amerotke asked.

The bald-headed, long-nosed physician shook his head.

'The eyeballs were slightly protruding.' He pulled back one eyelid then tapped the chin. 'The mouth and throat were very dry as if she had drunk some fiery liquid. She'd undoubtedly frothed at the lips.' He picked up an arm and let it fall. 'The muscles are rigid as if she died in shock or was bitten by a snake, a truly venomous one.'

'Did you find any wound?'

The physician shook his head.

'Nothing at all. Spots and cuts but I could find the same on your body, mine or Lord Senenmut's.'

'But a young woman like this wouldn't die of a seizure?'

'She may have done. Her belly,' the physician continued in a bored tone of voice, 'contained nothing strange: bread, roast meat and a cup of wine she drank some time before she was killed. The food was already digested.'

'What makes you think it was poison?' Amerotke demanded.

'Because I can think of nothing else,' the physician snapped. 'The liver and spleen were slightly enlarged and there was discoloration of the internal organs. I understand the young woman's corpse lay there all night. It is sometimes difficult to distinguish between the effects of death and its cause.'

'If it was a poison,' Amerotke insisted.

The physician pursed his lips and spread his hands.

'My lord, there are poisons so powerful they can strike like fire.'

'Is that possible here?' Amerotke asked.

'All things are possible, my lord.'

Senenmut led them over to the second slab, on which the priest Nemrath had been laid. A short, plump man, body slightly pale, glistening fat, a bull-like neck. The embalmers had yet to begin on him. The cause of death was obvious from the deep, dark purple stain under his left breast.

'Did you find anything else?' Amerotke asked. 'I mean, you know the circumstances.' He gestured with his fingers. 'Nemrath was young, powerful?'

'There is no sign of violence,' the physician replied. 'No scratches.' He picked up the dead man's hand and let it fall. 'The fingernails are not broken nor do they contain anything. No cuts or marks on the body.'

He paused as one of the embalming priests went up to the statue of Anubis and, hands extended, began to chant a ritual hymn to the dead.

Amerotke turned. His foot slipped on some oil, his hand grazed the ice-cold flesh of the dead priest. Senenmut grasped Amerotke by the arm.

'Careful, my lord!'

The physician, once the priest had finished the hymn, sniffed and picked up a sharp, hard-boned knife.

'Nemrath was killed with one blow from this to the heart.' The old eyes of the physician creased into a smile. 'I know about the theft but there is little mystery about Nemrath's death.'

Amerotke took the knife and studied its black handle, carved in the shape of a snarling jackal. The blade was long, its edges serrated.

'How could someone get close enough to use this?'

The physician shrugged.

'Was Nemrath drugged?'

'Impossible. True, we have yet to remove the stomach. But, according to the evidence, he ate and drank nothing before he was killed.'

'Sexual activity?'

The physician chuckled.

'Nemrath was well endowed. According to the rite, he had to abstain from sexual contact for at least three days before he began his ritual.'

'And did he?' Amerotke asked.

'Please accept my word.' The physician smiled. 'Nemrath was celibate, certainly on the day and night before he died.' The physician scratched his balding head and looked at Amerotke shamefacedly. 'I know you to be the Lord of the Hall of Two Truths but even this murder will tax your wit.'

He came round the table and plucked Amerotke by the gown, leading him away as if Senenmut was an eavesdropper.

'It is all over Thebes,' he whispered. 'I've been to the chapel: no secret passages, no forced door, the sacred pool was not disturbed. Yet Nemrath is dead and the Glory of Anubis gone.'

Amerotke stared at the billowing smoke. Throughout the physicians' chatter, Senenmut had remained passive, a dark, brooding presence. Amerotke wondered what was really happening in the Temple of Anubis. He stared at the far wall. Some painter had depicted the paths into the Duat, the Underworld: different galleries, some leading nowhere, the rest twisting and turning, like a child's puzzle, or a snake in a maze which has to find its way out. He was now in a maze, but who was leading whom? Had the Mitanni stolen the Glory of Anubis, so as to provoke Hatusu? Had someone in the temple stolen it for profit? Or to embarrass the Divine Hatusu? After all, the Pharaoh-Queen was barely tolerated by the priests of Thebes. Or was it more sophisticated? True, Egypt wanted peace with the Mitanni but Hatusu was also a spider, an actress who wore many masks. The same was true of Senenmut. Had they stolen the Glory of Anubis? Were they looking for a pretext for war?

'You are puzzled, my lord Amerotke.'

Senenmut was watching him, sly-eyed. Was he smiling? Amerotke recalled Hatusu. Were these two princes, the Pharaoh and her lover, engaged in some devious game?

'I am confused,' the judge replied. 'However, I am only beginning. One thing I assure you, my lord Senenmut: I will find the Glory of Anubis; its thief, and his villainy, will be proclaimed to all of Egypt.'

He was disappointed. Senenmut's face did not betray any emotion.

'The third victim,' Amerotke demanded.

This time the physician handed each of them a piece of cloth to cover their noses and mouths. Amerotke soon found the reason why. Sinuhe the traveller's corpse was mangled and torn. Chunks of flesh had been plucked from the face and torso. A hand was missing, the fingers of one hand reduced to lumps of flesh.

'May Osiris, foremost of the Westerners, show him compassion!' the physician intoned as he took away the corpse's veil.

'Those who found him,' Senenmut explained, 'noticed the crocodiles thrashing in the Nile and had to drive them off. They did their best.'

'Was he dead before he entered the water?' Amerotke asked.

'I think so,' the physician replied. 'Though I can find no bruise or blow.'

'He must have been,' Senenmut added. 'Sinuhe was clever. He knew the danger from crocodiles.'

Amerotke stared at the remains. Despite the perfumed cloth, he caught the stench of putrefaction. The embalmers would do their best but they could do little to remedy the damage done by the beasts of the Nile. Amerotke lowered the cloth. He was about to leave, go back into the small chamber, when he glimpsed what must have been the remains of Sinuhe's clothing, piled beneath the table. He crouched down and inspected these carefully. He rubbed the torn and bloodstained linen between his fingers and inspected the expensive reed sandals.

'Now, why is that?' he murmured.

'Why is what?' Senenmut asked, crouching down beside him.

'Was Sinuhe a rich man?' Amerotke asked.

'No, like all travellers, his wealth came from his stories.'

'You have made enquiries?' Amerotke asked. 'Did anyone see him leave this morning?'

'He lived by himself, down by the waterfront. We do know he left early for the Temple of Bes.'

'So, we know he was going to meet somebody,' Amerotke declared. 'Now, Sinuhe was a man who cared little for status; that's the mark of these travellers. They claim to have seen everything and are impressed by nothing. Now look at this, Lord Senenmut.'

Amerotke dragged the remains of the sandals and clothing towards them.

'Sinuhe was not a rich man, but this morning, he decided to dress in his gauffered robe and best sandals. I'm sure when his possessions were searched...'

'His house is sealed and guarded,' Senenmut interrupted.

'I will search it,' Amerotke declared. 'We'll find he had other, less fitting robes and sandals.'

Amerotke pushed the bundle away and got to his feet. He thanked the physician and his helpers and left the chamber.

'What are you implying?' Senenmut asked, closing the door behind them.

Amerotke tapped a finger against his teeth, looking up at the light streaming through the windows.

'Sinuhe cared for no one. So, why did he dress in his best robe and sandals to go to a ruined temple?'

'To meet someone powerful?' Senenmut asked.

'But Sinuhe didn't want to impress anyone,' Amerotke continued. 'So, why should he care? Now, his papyrus book has gone. Yes?'

Senenmut nodded.

'So.' Amerotke sat on a stool and put his face in his hands. 'We have this famous traveller, dressing up, leaving his house early in the morning. He took his precious manuscript to the temple, a place he would know. He must have met his murderer but we don't know who. Sinuhe was killed, his body fed to the crocodiles and the murderer escaped with his manuscript.' Amerotke took his hands away from his face. 'Now, if Sinuhe was meeting a Theban, he wouldn't have dressed the way he did. So he was meeting a foreigner, someone he had to impress. Someone he didn't want to be seen near his house.'

'The Mitanni?' Senenmut asked.

'Possibly. It makes sense. They wanted Sinuhe's manuscript. They'd also love the opportunity to mock Hatusu.'

'And the other deaths?'

'A mystery,' Amerotke confessed. 'The dancing girl was certainly poisoned, but how and why?' He shrugged.

'And Nemrath?'

'Yes.' Amerotke sighed. 'That is a real mystery.

Someone got into that chamber, crossed the sacred pool, stabbed him, took the sacred amethyst and left without opening the door. The temple guards report nothing untoward. No sign of resistance from Nemrath, a powerful young priest.' Amerotke raised his hands in mock supplication. 'Are the Mitanni waiting for us?'

'In a little while,' Senenmut replied, 'they will gather in the Hall of Words.'

'Then let us see where Nemrath died.'

Snefru the Mitanni envoy finished his wine and lay down on the bed. He loosened his clothing, pulling the white gauze sheets over to protect himself against the buzzing flies. He shivered: for some strange reason he felt as if he was shrouding his own body. Was it a premonition? Snefru stared up at the ceiling. The beer had worked its effect; his body felt slightly flushed. He would sleep for a while, calm his mind. He thought of the negotiations and tried to control his anger.

'We shouldn't be here,' he whispered, his voice low and guttural.

If he had his way, Snefru would ride out to the Oasis of Palms and demand an audience with King Tushratta. Snefru was a warrior, a royal commander. True, the bitch Hatusu had smashed their army but had they to bend the knee so quickly? Bow so low? How old was the wench? Not yet twenty summers, proclaiming herself to be the Pharaoh god. He recalled the violent arguments in Tushratta's council. The King's saturnine face, those deep-set eyes, that slightly twisted nose, the mean mouth which could issue vile insults and berate them. And, of course, always Wanef. Was she Tushratta's lover? Had he adopted the Egyptian custom and lain with her in his inner chamber? Snefru resented her commitment to peace with Egypt. Like many others, Snefru belonged to the Mitanni war party. They argued how they should close their borders with Egypt, lick their wounds, raise a new army and attack. Tushratta had shaken his head.

'It would take years,' he declared. 'Our treasury is empty, the army is demoralised. Not a family, not a clan amongst the Mitanni but have lost two or three of their menfolk. We need to make peace, restore trade, get our prisoners returned.'

Tushratta, supported by Wanef, had argued eloquently: at last he'd got his way. The King, surrounded by his council, had sealed a pact. They had gone into their temple before the jackal god, a much fiercer, more warlike figure than the one worshipped by the Egyptians. Their priests, clothed in the skins of dogs, faces and bodies daubed with blood, had the victims prepared: two maidens and a young man. Each had been stretched out on the stone. Snefru had watched the high priest slash their throats, fill the sacred bowls with blood.

Perhaps the sacrifice had worked. Egypt would be discomfited. Here, in the Temple of Anubis, hadn't the sacred amethyst been stolen? Weren't there rumours that the manuscript of the famous Sinuhe the traveller, who had visited Mitanni territory, had also gone missing? Snefru closed his eyes and dozed. He dreamt again of the Hall of Sacrifice; its flickering torch lamps. He heard a sound and opened his eyes and stared in terror. Was he seeing a vision? He glimpsed the jackal mask, the black corselet which hid the top part of his vision's body. Snefru rubbed his eyes. Was the god visiting him? He tried to rise but somehow the sheets were tangled round his legs. The jackal head was bending over him; a knife pricked his throat.

'Lie back!' The voice sounded hollow.

Snefru did so, and death came quickly.

Anubis embalmed the murdered Osiris' body.


The Temple of Anubis was busy, packed with worshippers. Priests were filling the flower bowls with hyacinths and lotus blossoms. Others were preparing for the late afternoon rituals: censers poured out incense smoke which curled along the galleries and corridors. Senenmut walked through in his nondescript clothes, the cowl of his robe pulled up to hide his features; Amerotke no longer wore the insignia of office. They left the temple by a side door and entered the well-watered gardens. Amerotke paused at the ominous baying from the sacred dog pack.

'I could not live with that for long,' he remarked.

Senenmut shaded his eyes against the sun.

'I know what you mean, but they were a gift for the god from some tribes south of the cataracts. Every so often,' he grinned, 'some strange creature appears out of the jungle, the forest lands to the south.' He patted Amerotke on the shoulder. 'And brings gifts for our temples.'

'Do you believe in any gods?' Amerotke asked, following him along the path.

'Like you, my lord judge,' Senenmut called back, 'I believe in the Power of Egypt and the Glory of Pharaoh!'

'And the advancement of my lord Senenmut,' Amerotke added.

Hatusu's First Minister just grinned over his shoulder.

They continued on, bypassing the inner and outer halls, and reached the centre of the temple around the sanctuary. The light was dimmed along its dark corridors and galleries. Very few people were allowed to wander here, even more so after the sacrilegious theft of the sacred amethyst. Temple guards in full armour stood at corners and in doorways. Amerotke and Senenmut crossed an open courtyard into the mysterious portals and the Glory of Anubis Chapel. It lay to the side of the temple, along a gallery which could be viewed from either end. The chapel's heavy Lebanese cedar door had been repaired, but one look at its close-set timber planking, copper hinges and bronze lock and Amerotke realised that it had been forced.

'To prise open a door like this,' he murmured, 'would rouse the entire temple.'

The captain of the guard, Tetiky, came up; he stood a little way off, one hand grasping the hilt of his sword. He looked suspiciously at them and would have intervened if Senenmut had not curtly informed him to mind his own business.

Amerotke examined the door and the side walls as well as those at the front and back of the side chapel. He could see no crack, no opening, nothing to resolve the mystery.

'The smallest mouse couldn't get in!' he exclaimed.

He crouched down and tried to stare under the door but it fitted snugly into its surrounding lintel at both bottom and top.

At Senenmut's insistence, Tetiky unlocked the door and swung it back. Immediately inside was a long glistening pool about three yards long and the same across. Senenmut snapped his fingers and Tetiky brought a cedarwood plank which served as a bridge. He positioned this carefully so they could gingerly cross. Amerotke stared around: the chamber had dark recesses; there were no windows or ceiling vents. The chapel was gloomy and smelt thickly of incense and wild flowers. Amerotke stood whilst the lamps were lit. He looked back at the sacred pool. He'd heard of similar obstacles or traps in other temples: no one could enter or leave without help. It would prevent someone from blundering in. The vigil priest, or anyone else entering, would need the assistance of that makeshift bridge.

In the light of the flickering lamps, Amerotke could now distinguish the dark shapes in the chamber: the naos, its doors open; the black and gold statue of Anubis staring out. Around it the sacred plates, cups, incense boats, holy water stoups, cushions and prayer mats. The walls were painted cunningly in red and gold, depicting the jackal god Anubis weighing the souls of the dead against the feather of truth. Amerotke walked towards the statue of Anubis. It was painted black and gold; the eyes were green emeralds. On its chest was a small enclave where the amethyst had been placed. Amerotke examined this carefully.

'The statue has been kept out,' the captain of the guard declared. 'The high priest says it cannot be enclosed in its tabernacle until the jewel is returned!'

Amerotke ignored him and walked back to the cushions. He glimpsed the bloodstains. The chamber was still polluted and would be until this mystery was resolved. Amerotke studied the high walls, marble floor, the unbroken ceiling and heavy door. This is a mystery, he thought; how could any man enter such a place, kill a priest and steal such a treasure? He glanced at Senenmut.

'There is no secret gallery?'

'None,' Senenmut replied. 'However, my lord, this mystery will wait; the Mitanni will not!'

Amerotke washed his hands and face, rubbing in some perfumed oil, in one of the side-chambers. Senenmut did the same, garbing himself in more ostentatious robes.

'I still look like a stonemason,' Senenmut joked. 'But at least I won't smell like one!'

He then led Amerotke up the stairs into the splendid Hall of Words set aside for the negotiations. Hatusu had undoubtedly chosen it. The hall was elegant, pillars along each side. Large open windows allowed in the light and sweet scents from the garden; however, the eye-catching wall paintings were its main attraction. On the left, the great victories of Tuthmosis II, Hatusu's late half-brother and husband, painted in a brilliant array of colours: Pharaoh leading his armies in his war chariot, the double crowns of Egypt on his head, over his back his shield, the royal bow pulled taut ready to mete out death. On the other wall Hatusu had ordered a series of equally vivid paintings, celebrating her great victory the previous year against Tushratta. Amerotke glanced quickly at them. They had nothing in common with his experiences of battle: the thunder of the chariots, the screams and crash of arms, blood spilling, men hacking and clawing at each other; dust clouds billowing; the vultures, wings extended, floating down like black ghosts to gobble on the blood and gore.

Amerotke felt Senenmut's slight nudge and broke from his reverie. Three people were waiting at the head of the long, polished acacia-wood table; the two heralds, Weni and Mareb, stood slightly to one side. Senenmut and Amerotke walked up the hall. The Mitanni waited just a few seconds before going down to meet them. They were dressed in the Egyptian style, though their linen robes were coloured and embroidered. The two men, Hunro and Mensu, had their hair closely cropped; large, thickset faces; the small jewels fixed in their ear lobes contrasted strangely with the peculiar tattoos along each arm. Apart from the copper bracelets, the type used by bowmen, they carried no arms. They clasped Amerotke's hand and spoke in the tongue common to all nations, the lingua franca of the marketplace.

The woman approached last: she was different. In many ways she was an older version of Hatusu, smaller, more plump, high cheekbones, cat-like, heavy-lidded eyes. Amerotke didn't know if her lips were twisted into a smile or a smirk. Once beautiful, he reflected, Princess Wanef looked as if she had the cunning of a reptile. She was dressed elegantly in a long white robe, a necklace of precious stones round her sinuous throat with jewelled earrings to match. She wore black leather wrist guards and Amerotke recalled how, according to Senenmut, this princess loved to drive chariots. A strong face, devoid of any paint or cosmetics: her hair was shaved and the wig she wore was oiled and braided with red and gold twine. She didn't stand on ceremony but, once Senenmut had made the introductions, grasped Amerotke's hand.

'Who has not heard of the Lord Amerotke?'

She raised her eyebrows. Amerotke didn't know whether it was an invitation to laugh at himself or with her.

'You are surprised at my knowledge of your tongue?'

Amerotke shook his head. He could see that she wasn't finished.

'Nevertheless, I am surprised that you are here! Why should the Divine Hatusu's Chief Judge in the Hall of Two Truths be involved in drawing up a treaty? You are not a scribe from the House of Peace? You command no regiment?'

'You know why he is here,' Senenmut answered. 'Princess Wanef, we cannot stand here for the rest of the day exchanging pleasantries. My lord Amerotke is to help me with certain matters.'

'You mean the deaths?' Wanef retorted. 'The dancing girl, the priest Nemrath and, I understand from your embalmers, the mangled remains of Sinuhe the traveller. A perplexing time,' she continued, her hard black eyes never leaving Amerotke's face. She paused, putting her head to one side at the distant howling of a dog. 'I know they are sacred,' she murmured. 'But I do wish I could sleep elsewhere.'

Hunro, standing on her left, his coarsened face twisted into a scowl, spoke quickly in the harsh Mitanni tongue. He jabbed his fingers at the floor. Mensu would have joined in but Wanef brought her hands together as if in prayer and glared at each of them. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply.

'My companions wish the negotiations to continue.' She sighed. 'They cannot understand the delay. They are also concerned at these deaths; the theft of the jewel. We understand too,' she opened her eyes and glanced at Senenmut, 'that some of the fish pools have been poisoned whilst sheep from the flocks of Anubis have been mysteriously killed.'

'Animal fatalities,' Senenmut replied. 'We have the matter in hand.'

'But are we safe?' Hunro broke in.

'You are safer here than you are in your own cities.' Senenmut's voice was almost a drawl. 'And, if you agree to Divine Hatusu's terms, you and your cities will be safer yet.'

Senenmut gestured at the table. They took their seats. Clerks and scribes appeared with manuscripts, maps, ink horns, pallets and pens. One map in particular was laid before Senenmut, detailing the Horus road across the Sinai desert. The negotiations proceeded. Wanef was obviously the diplomat, the skilled envoy, whilst Hunro and Mensu were deeply opposed to any peace. Amerotke studied both men carefully. He noticed the recently healed scars along their necks and shoulders, the usual place for soldiers to be wounded when defending their lines against Hatusu's charioteers. Amerotke recalled the bloody massacre following the battle. These warriors must have lost companions, family, kin in that terrible rout. It must be hard for them to come and beg a peace, especially from a woman. Nevertheless, Wanef's authority was undisputed. She kept both her companions silent as she and Senenmut argued over border posts, patrols, licences to travel, taxes which could be imported and exported, the use of oases and water wells. Senenmut's replies were clear and simple. Hatusu and Egypt laid sovereign claim to Sinai. Mensu became agitated and whispered in Wanef's ear. She made a cutting movement with her hand.

'My lord Snefru has not arrived,' she explained. 'We need his expertise.'

Senenmut snapped his fingers at Mareb.

'You and Weni,' he ordered, 'go to his chamber. Perhaps my lord Snefru took some wine and has fallen asleep? Rouse him, do so gently, and bring him here.'

The two heralds hurried off. Senenmut declared they should pause a while. Servants brought in wine, grapes, bread, different cheeses and dishes of roast goose. Senenmut acted the efficient envoy, filling the silences with chatter and petty gossip.

'You'd best come quickly.'

Amerotke whirled round. Mareb was in the doorway; he'd thrust aside the guard. Amerotke sensed his fear; the young man had lost his foppish pose.

'What is it?' Senenmut snapped.

'Lord Snefru, we cannot rouse him. The servants have not seen him since he retired shortly after noon.'

Hunro and Mensu sprang to their feet, as did Wanef. Senenmut ordered Mareb to alert the temple guard. They hurried from the chamber along corridors out across the edge of a pool where ibis and flamingo birds stood bright in the afternoon sun. The Mitanni had been given one of the temple mansions: a two-storeyed building with a flat roof, its square windows screened with gaily decorated shutters. The interior was cool as the building was ringed by shady trees, the windows and doors positioned to catch every breeze. Downstairs were kitchens and a dining room. Snefru's chamber was on the second floor, near the stairs leading up to the flat roof; its door was of hardened acacia. Weni stood outside, shuffling from foot to foot. Now and again he'd tap on the door. Wanef pushed her way forward.

'Are you sure he is in there?'

'Yes, my lady.' One of the temple guards came clattering down the steps. 'I was on guard downstairs when Lord Snefru came in. He took a bowl of grapes and a jug of wine. He said he wanted to sleep for a while; he went up the stairs and never came down.'

'Has anyone else entered the house?' Wanef demanded.

The guard, a mercenary from one of the auxiliary corps, shrugged; he cared little for these strangers or their doings in the temple.

'I am paid to guard,' he replied. 'I search the floor for snakes and scorpions. The house is busy. People come and go. I noticed nothing amiss.'

Amerotke pounded on the door.

'Why were you on the roof?' Senenmut asked.

'I went to see if the shutters were open; they are not,' the soldier replied.

Senenmut went back downstairs, gesturing at Amerotke to join him. They brought up a wooden bench, told the Mitanni to stand aside and pounded on the door. It buckled and flew back on its leather hinges. The chamber inside was dark and musty. Amerotke could see the faint outline of a man lying on the bed. Mareb hurried to open the shutters. Amerotke looked at the corpse and groaned. Snefru had been murdered. The body was strangely twisted, tense, the hands up, a frothy trickle seeping out of the corner of the gaping mouth; his eyes were wide open.

'It's as if he's been frightened to death,' Senenmut murmured.

Amerotke felt the corpse. The muscles were hard, rigid.

The rest of the Mitanni delegation entered. Hunro and Mensu stared at the corpse. They showed no compassion or grief but started talking to each other in their guttural dialect. Wanef intervened. Hunro, the more aggressive, snarled back, gesturing at the corpse. Wanef looked quickly at Amerotke; was the glance baleful or cunning? the judge wondered. She opened her wallet, took out a ring, put it on her finger and gestured at her two companions to follow her out.

'She carries Tushratta's personal seal,' Senenmut murmured, once they'd left.

'They show little grief,' Amerotke observed.

Senenmut went and knelt by the corpse, touching the sharp-boned face, the rigid jaw.

'There's no love lost between the Mitanni,' he replied. 'Their kingdom is a federation of powerful tribes. Tushratta is the most cunning and most able, that's why he's King. None of the men like Wanef; she likes none of them. Hunro and Mensu don't like each other. Tushratta is as cunning as a jackal. He knows they won't betray him, they are too busy watching each other. Well, is this murder?'

Weni, standing in the doorway, remained silent, as did Mareb, leaning against the windowsill. Amerotke turned the corpse over.

'It's very similar,' he declared, 'to what we saw in the embalming chamber: the muscles are hard, the body rigid, whilst I can detect no obvious wound.'

He pointed to a small red mark on the neck and others on the side, as well as small cuts to the chest.

'Scratches and flea bites,' he murmured.

He lifted the man's robe and noticed how it had been loosened. On the table on the other side of the chamber the wine cup was empty; only the grape stalks remained.

'Snefru apparently came in here,' Amerotke observed. 'He drank the wine, ate the grapes and closed the shutters. They were closed, Mareb?'

The herald agreed: he pulled one shutter over and tapped its wooden clasp.

'Closed and locked,' he replied.

'He then lay down on the bed, to sleep or rest.'

Amerotke moved to the window and stared at the shutters.

'He loosened his robes to let himself relax. Why should he do that, Mareb?'

'To catch the coolness, my lord.'

'Of course,' Amerotke replied. 'He'd had a busy morning. It's now the heat of the day. He drank wine and lay down on the bed.'

'But he should have kept the shutters open?' Senenmut queried.

'Yes, my lord, he should have done,' Amerotke agreed.

'When we forced the door, the room was sweltering hot. Why should a man escaping the midday heat block out the afternoon breezes?'

'Perhaps he wanted silence,' Senenmut declared.

'But the Temple of Anubis is not a rowdy marketplace!'

'Perhaps he wanted to be alone,' Senenmut replied. 'Or he may have been frightened. After all, the door was locked and bolted.'

'Yes, yes, it was.'

Amerotke walked back to the bed. It was a simple affair fashioned out of reeds with an ornamental headrest and transparent linen sheets to keep the bed free of fleas and insects.

'How did he die?'

Amerotke turned.

Wanef and the other Mitanni now stood in the doorway.

'My companions think he was murdered!'

She walked languidly into the chamber. She still wore the official ring.

'My companions say it's murder,' she repeated, 'and feel they are not safe here.'

'Then you are free to leave,' Senenmut retorted. 'But if you do, you are not only implying that Lord Snefru was murdered but that somehow the Divine Hatusu was responsible. That would be taken as blasphemy as well as a lie!'

Wanef raised her hands in a gesture of peace. The jewel on the ring was carved in the shape of a dog's head.

'My lord Amerotke.' She hardly turned her head, but watched Senenmut. 'Do you think it was murder?'

'It could have been a seizure,' he replied. 'Lord Snefru may have been bitten by a snake.'

He ignored Wanef's snort of derision.

'What do you really think?' she insisted.

Amerotke was about to reply when the physician from the embalming room, followed by his assistant, hurried in. He winked at Amerotke, nodded quickly at the rest and went across to the bed. He took a sharp knife from his assistant and summarily cut Snefru's robes.

'Well, well, well!' He pulled back the clothing and looked down. 'A fine specimen of a man; a warrior. Note the strength in the arms and calves. The face is composed enough but there was some violence.'

Wanef was about to angrily intervene but he waved his hand.

'Peace, peace!' he murmured. 'My lady,' he protested as Wanef approached the bed, 'I would be grateful if you would stand out of the light. And you too, sir.' He gestured at Mareb, who was still leaning against the windowsill. The physician turned the corpse over. 'Slightly clammy,' he continued as if lecturing a group of scholars in the House of Life. 'The muscles are hard. Putrefaction has not set in but it will do so soon. The belly is slightly swollen and distended.'

He examined the buttocks, turned the corpse over and studied the groin.

'He died of a seizure?' Wanef asked.

'He no more died of a seizure than he did flying through the air!' the physician snapped.

'Are you sure?' Amerotke asked.

'My lord judge.' The physician looked at him sternly. 'You know the world of law, I know medicine. There is no mark of violence: he was found lying on the bed?'

Amerotke nodded.

'So, very like the ones we've got below.' The physician pulled the linen sheets back.

'Poison?' Amerotke asked, glancing fearfully at Senenmut.

'I am afraid so, my lord.'

The physician bent over the corpse, opened its mouth and ran his finger along the dead man's teeth. He sniffed at the parted lips.

'He'd drunk and eaten.' He wiped his fingers on the damp cloth the assistant carried. 'But I can smell nothing untoward. Poison, taken by the mouth, usually stains the gums and the soft part of the throat. No such stain can be detected. I cannot see how else he died. I've said poison but I would have to study the entire corpse.'

'We don't want an Egyptian cutting Snefru as if he was a piece of offal,' Mensu growled.

'It's necessary,' Wanef disagreed. 'The body won't keep; it will have to be prepared.'

For a while confusion reigned as the physician called in more assistants waiting in the gallery outside. The corpse was taken out on a makeshift bier. Senenmut closed the door behind them and turned to face the rest.

'My lord Amerotke, you are Chief Judge in the Hall of Two Truths in Thebes.' He ignored Hunro's snort of derision. 'What do you think this is?'

'Well, Snefru didn't die of a seizure. There's no visible wound on the body. Therefore it must be poison. ' Amerotke pointed to the platter and jug, around which flies now hovered. 'That could be poisoned but I doubt it.'

'How do you know that?' Mensu sneered.

'Because this is Thebes in Egypt. Snefru was a foreigner whose country, only a short time ago, was at war with Egypt. I wager he would be very careful what he ate or drank.'

Wanef, seated on a stool just inside the doorway, looked discomfited.

'It's true,' Amerotke insisted. 'You don't trust us, we don't trust you. If you attend an official banquet you watch what people eat or drink. You have tasters. Yes?'

Wanef nodded.

'And if you want refreshment like Lord Snefru did, you'd go down to the temple kitchens and personally organise your food. Correct?'

Again Wanef nodded.

'So.'

Amerotke got to his feet, walked to the window and stared down at the gardens bathed in glorious sunlight. Butterflies and bees were busy. The air was heavy with the fragrance from the exotic plants the temple had imported from Lebanon and Canaan. He listened to the sound of a chariot from a distant courtyard. On the breeze came the chanting from one of the small chapels and that dreadful baying from the dog pit. He recalled the man he had sentenced to death early that morning. He must go out and meet the Dog Master; at least look at this sacred pack.

Senenmut coughed as a sign he was getting impatient.

'I think it's murder,' Amerotke began. 'Before Snefru came up here he went to the temple kitchens to collect wine and food. He ate and drank. Now, for a man wanting to rest in the cool of the day, he should have left the shutters open but he didn't. However, that may not be too extraordinary.'

Amerotke walked over and gestured at the flies buzzing above the wine cup.

'Perhaps he found these an irritation. Anyway, Snefru finished his small meal and lay down on the bed. Weni and Mareb come up with a summons to join our meeting. He does not respond.' Amerotke went across and stared at the door. 'This was locked on the inside.' He gestured at the key twisted in the lock. 'No one came up here. Snefru allowed no one in. Yet he was murdered.'

'The assassin could have come through the window,' Mensu insisted.

Amerotke went across and studied the windowsill but could see no trace of any entry. He closed the shutters and brought down the wooden clasps into their sockets.

'When we came into the room,' Mareb spoke up quickly, 'it was definitely closed. You saw, I had to open it.'

Amerotke agreed. He rubbed his thumbnail round his teeth and shrugged.

'Even if we established how the assassin entered,' Wanef declared, 'how could he poison Snefru without the alarm being raised? Snefru was a warrior; he'd resist.'

'We must await the physician's report,' Amerotke replied. 'But somehow, and it is a mystery, Snefru was poisoned in this chamber.' He picked up the wine cup and bowl and thrust them into Weni's hand.

'Take these down to the physician. Ask him to study them carefully. He is to report back to me.'

'So.' Wanef got to her feet. 'We don't really know how Lord Snefru died. We don't know who's responsible...'

'And, above all, we don't know why,' Amerotke added.

He studied the Mitanni princess's sly face. Amerotke believed he had the truth of her two companions. He could find similar men amongst the leading officers of the Egyptian army; brave warriors, strenuous in battle, unaccustomed to negotiating, especially with a Pharaoh-Queen who had so ruthlessly smashed their military might. Snefru had probably been no different, but this one, with her sly, narrow face and those strange mocking eyes...

'Are you upset?' he asked abruptly.

'Upset?' Wanef grimaced. 'Lord Snefru was no kin of mine but he was a warrior, one of Tushratta's favourites. Along,' she hastened to add, 'with my two companions here.'

'Did he want peace with us?' Amerotke insisted.

'That is none of your business. He was an envoy...'

Amerotke took a step forward.

'My lady, I regret his death, but this is Egypt. You were quick to point the finger though we don't truly know who the murderer is.'

Mareb the herald coughed. 'My lord,' he interrupted.

'This is not the council chamber,' Wanef retorted; she smiled at Amerotke. 'Let my lord judge speak. Are you implying that one of us could be responsible for Lord Snefru's death?'

'That's a lie,' Mensu shouted, his hand falling to where his sword should have been.

'Don't be so impetuous,' Amerotke warned. 'We may all be as innocent of this man's death as anyone, but if you want the truth, I must ask questions.'

'Then ask them.' Wanef sat back on the stool, gesturing with her hand for the two nobles to be silent.

'Were there any differences between you?' Amerotke asked.

Wanef looked at Mensu and Hunro and shook her head.

'So he was your friend,' Amerotke insisted.

'He was a Mitanni,' Hunro declared. 'A leader of a clan.'

'Was there any blood feud between you?'

Again the shake of the head.

'If you must look for differences,' Wanef said quietly, 'not all Mitanni want peace with Egypt.'

'Did Snefru?'

'I have answered your question, Lord Amerotke.'

Again the judge caught the slyness in her eyes and voice.

'Snefru will be mourned by me, his kinsmen and members of his clan.'

Amerotke had his answer: there was apparently no love lost between these three and the dead man.

'I suggest,' Senenmut came forward, 'that we adjourn the meeting for today. My lord Amerotke will take up residence here in the Temple of Anubis. Chambers will be prepared for you and your servants.' He opened the door. 'My lady...'

Wanef bowed courteously to Amerotke and, followed by her two companions, left the chamber.

Senenmut glanced across at Mareb.

'What you hear today is not for discussion.'

'Of course, my lord, I am a herald.'

Senenmut breathed out; his heavy face was lined with concern. He leaned against the door, beating his fingers against his side.

'Are the Mitanni killing each other?' he asked.

'Impossible,' Mareb interrupted. 'My lord, no one has been up here. Nobody except Egyptians.'

'Then who?'

Senenmut opened the door; he used it to shield his face from Mareb.

'My lord Amerotke, you have walked this path before. The shadow of Seth the killer lies over this temple!'

'Aye,' Amerotke said, finishing his sentence. 'And undoubtedly he will kill again!'

Senenmut closed the door. Amerotke stared at its latch. Strange, he reflected, how all the mysteries which had confronted him, or at least a greater part, involved doors and locks. The theft of the amethyst; Snefru's murder; that strange conversation with Belet in the cookshop. Was there a common thread? he wondered. Nothing which had happened was due to chance. Was this all part of one great strategy to confuse and confound Egypt? And would he make the mistake of separating one incident from another and so fail to penetrate the mind of the person responsible for it all?

Anubis is supposed to have devised the method of wrapping the body in bandages and shown what embalming oils were to be used.


The physician pulled the veils of gauze over Snefru's corpse. Amerotke had waited hours to speak to him. Outside in the gardens, the sun was beginning to dip, the heat of the day was dying and the priests of Anubis were preparing for their evening's sacrifice. The song of the hesets, as they danced in front of the procession, echoed through the temple.

'Oh, Anubis, we petition you.

Hail to you, Lord of Death!

Lord Anubis, the great!

Lord to the very limits!

Foremost in the Barque of Millions!

Master of the dead.

The Weigher of Souls!

Your glory...'

'His glory is missing,' the physician remarked sourly. He waved away the assistant waiting to continue the embalming process. 'The god is displeased with us,' the physician continued.

He plucked Amerotke by the elbow and led him into a small recess packed high with pots and jars. He offered Amerotke the only stool whilst he sat on a corner of the table.

'What do you think?' Amerotke asked. 'I mean,' he added hastily, 'about the Glory of Anubis?'

The physician's wrinkled face turned more sour.

'I have worked here, my lord, since I was a boy, in the House of Light then the House of Scribes. The Glory was a great asset to this temple. No one knows where it came from. They say it was part of a great rock which fell from the sky.'

'Well, it certainly hasn't gone back there!'

The physician shrugged. He leaned down and tightened a thong on his sandal.

'Some people,' he murmured, 'claim the god has taken it himself.'

'I doubt that, and so do you.'

'Yes, my lord Amerotke, I do. It has been stolen and the gossips blame the Mitanni. Snefru's death will only make it worse.'

'Why is that?' Amerotke asked.

'The gossips will allege the Mitanni stole the Glory and are being punished for it.'

'And how was Snefru punished?' Amerotke asked.

'I just don't know: the wine and grapes were not poisoned. There are small scratches and cuts all over Snefru's corpse, but that's the same for any of us: flea bites, scratches, old wounds.'

'He was poisoned?'

'Yes, my lord Amerotke, I think he was, but what the potion was, and how it was administered, remains a mystery.'

The physician went over and closed the small wooden door, then came back.

'In my youth I studied many things. Poison was one of them. Some poisons can kill by being smeared on the skin, or inflict death if breathed in. Some can be administered through the ear. Some are slow-acting: days, weeks, even months. Others can kill,' he snapped his fingers, 'like an oil lamp being doused. No one has fully classified the poisons which are available: the asp, the snake, plants, even certain fruits of the earth...'

'And that's only half the problem, isn't it?' Amerotke interrupted. 'Snefru was powerfully built, a warrior. He wouldn't just lie and allow someone to kill him. He'd protest, struggle, scream, lash out. Yet none of these happened.'

Amerotke got to his feet. He clasped the physician's bony shoulder and squeezed it gently.

'Divine Father, I am grateful for what you have done. I'd be even more grateful if you'd tell me anything you discover.'

'Where are you going?' the physician asked.

Amerotke smiled over his shoulder.

'I don't think the lord Anubis came in and took his own amethyst from the mysterious portal. You don't believe that, neither do I! I am going to catch that thief.'

Amerotke opened the door, walked through the embalming room and up the steps. The shadows were now lengthening. The air was thick with the scent of roasting flesh and incense. Priests and scholars strolled in the small paradises, enjoying the cool of the evening. Amerotke paused at the baying of the dogs.

'Master?'

Amerotke started. Shufoy appeared from behind a bush, parasol in one hand, a small leather bag in the other. He grinned like the dwarf god Bes.

'I've been waiting,' he declared mournfully. 'Master, my heart has been pining for the sight of your face.'

Amerotke crouched down and wiped the crumbs from either side of Shufoy's mouth.

'And you've also been eating sweet cake and dates and drunk more charou wine than is good for you.'

Shufoy swayed slightly on his feet and blinked.

'I've been waiting, Master.'

'Of course you have.' Amerotke got up.

'Are we going home tonight?' Shufoy asked. 'I am lonely, Master.'

A dancing girl abruptly appeared, a thin robe round her bare shoulders. She came from behind the same bush Shufoy had. Her oil-drenched wig was slightly askew, the dark kohl-rings round her eyes runny and her carmine-painted lips slightly smudged.

'I've lost it!' She ignored Amerotke. She tapped her wrist. 'I've lost my bracelet!'

Shufoy tried to move her away.

'It probably fell off behind the bush!' he slurred.

Amerotke, laughing to himself, walked off in the direction of the dog pit. Behind him rose the dancing girl's exclamations and Shufoy's protestations. Eventually the little man caught up with him.

'I was just very lonely, Master, and she was so agreeable. I gave her a small cube of copper to make another bracelet.'

Amerotke looked down at him.

'And you watched her dance?'

'That's right, Master. As the poet says: "The heart becomes lonely, especially in the evening when the soul takes wing..."'

'Thank you, Shufoy,' Amerotke interrupted.

'Where are we going?'

'To see some dogs.'

They crossed the temple gardens, past granaries, oil and wine presses, the air sweet with their crushed fragrance. Priests, acolytes, hesets and servants sat in the shade of sycamore, acacia and acanthus trees. The sun was slipping fast. A cool breeze had sprung up. Amerotke glimpsed the Mitanni delegation in one of the garden pavilions; they were having an outside meal, probably discussing the events of the day.

'My lord Amerotke.'

He turned. Mareb the herald appeared as if out of nowhere.

'What do you want with my master?' Shufoy, chest out, strutted forward.

'My lord Senenmut,' Mareb ignored the dwarf, who stamped his foot in anger, 'has now left the temple for the House of a Million Years. Your rooms are ready in the Mansion of Stillness.'

'I will go home this evening,' Amerotke replied. 'I must see my wife and children, then I shall return.'

The herald bowed, giving Shufoy a sneering look. The dwarf responded with the most obscene gesture, learnt in the quayside taverns.

'I can't stand heralds,' Shufoy growled. 'They are so pompous.' He ran ahead of his master. 'Make way for the lord Amerotke!' he bellowed. 'Chief Judge in the Hall of Two Truths; friend of Pharaoh, member of the royal circle! He who has received the smile of the Beatific One!'

Amerotke groaned but let Shufoy have his way, ignoring the commotion caused. They left the parkland, crossed sun-parched common ground, through some trees and over a bridge which spanned one of the irrigation canals from the Nile. The great wall of the dog pit soared before them. The breeze carried its fetid, feral stench as well as the occasional yip or howl. The huge wooden copper-reinforced doors to the compound were firmly locked. The guards on either side lowered their spears as Amerotke approached but Shufoy waved them aside. The men relaxed.

'Where is the Dog Master?' Amerotke demanded.

'I am here,' a voice called out from behind the gate.

One of the guards hastened to pull up the bar. The Dog Master emerged dressed in leather skins. In one hand he carried a sharp pointed trident; across his shoulder a coiled leather whip. His hands were bloodied and, for risk of pollution, he kept his distance. He smiled and bowed.

'My lord judge, you do us great honour.'

Amerotke hid his own unease and fear. The stench was almost unbearable, whilst a heart-chilling howling broke out from the darkness beyond the gate: like a chorus of demons threatening to rise up from the underworld. Amerotke felt he was no longer a judge but a little boy, fleeing for his life down the alleyways of Thebes.

'Do you want to see them?' the Dog Master asked.

He went across and cleansed his hands and arms in a barrel of water. He told the guards to check the gates, then led Amerotke around the curtain wall, up some steps and into a watchtower. Shufoy followed. Amerotke stared down. The pit was formed from the cavernous side of a hill. Some trees, a little grass, a few bushes. Amerotke was attracted by the pits and caves in the side of the hill.

'You are safe,' the Dog Master assured him. 'The dogs could never climb the wall so they are allowed to roam as free as they wish.' He gestured with his hand. 'Six to eight acres of land here, some more behind the hill. Nothing but scrubland.'

'Where are the dogs?' Shufoy murmured.

'They have been fed,' the Dog Master replied. 'They are resting.'

'Do you go in there yourself?' Amerotke asked.

'Only so far.' The Dog Master pointed to the pathway inside the gate. 'What we do is take the meat in and throw it. The dogs come out; there is fighting and yapping but every animal has its share.'

'Where do they come from?' Shufoy stared at the caves, fascinated by what they might contain.

'From the jungles and plains beyond the cataract: a gift to the high priest during the time of Tuthmosis II. They are not hyaenas or jackals but a breed of wild dog. Look now.'

A huge dog emerged from a cave and loped down the hill. Others followed. Amerotke felt a chill of fear. They were black as night; squat, snub faces, broad jaws, long stiff ears and curling tails. They moved with the skill of a hunting pack, bodies rippling with muscle; short, glistening fur. Their leader caught a glimpse of the Dog Master and Amerotke and loped towards them. It sat and stared up.

'They are intelligent,' the Dog Master remarked. 'They rely on each other.'

'Are they tame?'

'They are wild,' the Dog Master explained, 'the descendants of the original pack. The temple priests have tried to train them but it's too dangerous. One slip, one sign of weakness, a whiff of blood and they'll attack.'

Amerotke stared down at the dog. Its dark eyes glared back: huge jaws open, its pink tongue lolling. It threw its head back and gave a yip-yip bark to the others around it.

'They have killed,' the Dog Master continued. 'Never trust them. If you went down they'd attack. They can smell fear like they can blood. I have spoken to travellers who have met them before. They are very loyal to the pack and will hunt their quarry for days, even weeks.'

The dogs were now thronging forward. Amerotke's stomach curdled.

'Have they ever escaped?'

'Not in my time,' the Dog Master replied. 'You've seen the gates and they are guarded. I've heard stories about arrogant, drunken noblemen trying their luck. One was stupid enough to take up a challenge.' He blew out his cheeks. 'Afterwards, they found it difficult even to find a little bone.'

Amerotke felt slightly giddy.

'I've seen enough.'

He turned and went down the steps. Shufoy stuck his tongue out at one of the dogs and followed. At the bottom of the steps Amerotke thanked the Dog Master.

'You carried out the sentence of the court?'

'The man is dead, my lord. The dogs didn't leave him long. It was a just verdict. I also killed the rabid dogs who slaughtered his aged uncle and aunt: they must have died a terrible death.'

'All death is terrible,' Amerotke replied. 'I bid you good night.'

He walked back through the grounds, Shufoy trailing behind him.

'Master, I'm tired. I want to go home.'

'Naturally, little one. You've eaten, you've drunk and you've been pleasured. Now you want to curl up and sleep. Well, we still have business.'

Amerotke entered the precincts of the temple. He stopped near a small fountain and purified his face and hands; followed by a protesting Shufoy, he made his way across the sanctuary into the mysterious portals. He summoned an acolyte and explained who he was.

'I want to see Tetiky, captain of the guard, the priest Khety and the priestess Ita. Bring them here now!'

While he was waiting, Amerotke went into the chapel which had contained the Glory of Anubis. The sacred pool still glistened; the bridge across was marked with footprints. The flowers in the vases were dying and gave off a sweet-sour smell. The black obsidian statue looked haunting in the flickering lamplight. Amerotke examined the door and stared around. This was a holy place where the whispers of the gods could be heard; now it had been desecrated by sacrilege and murder. The chamber itself was unpretentious. Amerotke felt the wall and deduced that this must be an ancient part of the temple, probably a small shrine, which had been built around and developed over the years. A sheer rectangle of stone with its shadowy recesses. Amerotke examined these carefully but there was no crack or crevice, not even a vent-hole for incense. It was, in fact, a secure room, the best place to keep the brilliant amethyst. Amerotke went round smacking at the walls. Sometimes these ancient places had secret passageways or tunnels. Amerotke had seen the same in the Temple of Ma'at. He satisfied himself that the room was secure, and carefully re-examined the door. According to Senenmut this had been broken down. It had now been repaired. Amerotke scrutinised the cedar panels and the copper lock but could detect no sign of trickery. He heard footsteps and walked back across the sacred pool.

The captain of the guard came first, dressed in a leather kilt, marching boots up to his ankles, a sword belt slung across one shoulder. He reminded Amerotke of Asural: squat, formidable, with a harsh, fat face. A man born and bred for the military. He saluted Amerotke, hand up, head slightly down, and formally re-introduced himself as Tetiky, captain of the temple guard in the shrine of Anubis. He then stood aside as his two companions crossed the narrow bridge. Khety was dressed in the simple linen robe of a priest: his face was ascetic, with large, protuberant eyes; his lower lip stuck out slightly, as did his ears, which gave his otherwise pleasant features a rather grotesque cast. Ita the priestess was small and svelte, plump shoulders above her linen gown. She wore her own hair down to her shoulders, kept in place by a filet round her head. Sweet, childish features with butterfly eyes, a snub nose and a rather pretty mouth. The anklets and the bracelets on her wrists jangled as she walked. In her haste she hadn't fastened her sandals: she smiled in apology and crouched down to fasten them. All three were plainly nervous as Amerotke stared at them.

'You asked to see us?' Khety broke the silence, his voice rather squeaky. He coughed to clear his throat and shuffled his feet. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands, so he folded his arms and glanced sideways down towards the statue.

'Close the door!' Amerotke ordered.

He sat down, his back against the wall, and made the other three squat opposite in a semi-circle.

'Where is the Glory of Anubis?' he began.

'My lord judge, we don't know.' Ita's voice was soft and soothing.

'Then who will bear responsibility?' Amerotke asked Tetiky.

The captain of the guard scratched his bald pate and looked sheepishly at Amerotke.

'The temple suspects us, my lord. But, there again...' His voice trailed off.

'There again,' Amerotke finished the sentence for him, 'they can't blame you, can they?' He gazed round the chamber. 'This is what it looks like: a rectangle of stone, no vents, no apertures, no secret passageways?'

'None,' Tetiky confirmed. 'That's why it was used to keep the Glory of Anubis.'

'What did the Glory look like?' Amerotke asked. 'I remember seeing it as a boy, but from a distance, when it was carried in processions round the temple.'

'Brilliant purple, as large as a man's hand. No one has ever seen such an amethyst.'

'And where did it come from?'

'I don't know,' Tetiky answered. 'Its origins lie in the mists of time. Some people say it was part of a huge rock which fell from the skies: a gift from the gods. Others claim it was found in mines hundreds of leagues to the south of the Third Cataract.'

'And some say,' Ita offered, 'the god himself brought it here. A gift to the Divine House.'

'Now it's gone,' Amerotke murmured. 'Tell me, Tetiky, you are a policeman; you've served with the Maijodou, I suppose?' Amerotke referred to the city police.

'Aye, and before that I was a member of the Scorpion brigade in the Isis regiment.'

'So you have been a soldier or a policeman most of your life?'

'Yes, my lord.'

'If I stole a jewel, what could I do with it?'

'Sell it.'

'But to whom?'

'Foreigners like the Mitanni.' Tetiky made a face. 'Perhaps I could try and cut it up but that would take time and energy. Or I could smuggle it down to the merchant quarter in the city. The amethyst is precious: its worth in gold and silver cannot be reckoned.'

'No, of course,' Amerotke agreed. 'But the thief could get a good price. He could live in leisure for the rest of his life. Do any of you,' he continued, 'know how that jewel was stolen?'

A chorus of dissent greeted his words. Amerotke got to his feet, took a bracelet off his wrist and walked down to the statue. He placed the bracelet in the enclave on the breast of the statue of the god and walked back.

'Let us,' he began, 'pretend that bracelet is the Glory of Anubis. I am Nemrath the guardian priest. When would I begin my vigil?'

'At dusk,' Tetiky replied. 'Once the sun dips over the far horizon and the conch horn is blown.'

'And what happens then?'

'I escort the two priests down here,' Tetiky explained. 'I knock on the door. The priest who has completed the day vigil opens it; I swing it back.'

'Excuse me.' Amerotke leaned forward. 'But look at the pool. It must be three yards across. How can the priest open it without the bridge being there?'

Tetiky grinned. 'Come, my lord.'

The captain took him to the edge of the pool. He stepped forward as if walking on water, grasped the handle of the door, then stepped back. Amerotke exclaimed in surprise and crouched down.

'Ingenious,' he murmured.

He hadn't seen this before: a stone plinth near the chapel end of the pool. It was coloured to blend cleverly with the dark green water.

'The priest stands on that,' Tetiky explained. 'It can easily be done. He inserts the key, unlocks the door and steps back. I then place the bridge.' He laughed. 'The plinth is supposed to be a secret, but most of the priests know about it. It's not only for security but to ensure the vigil priest doesn't drink copiously whilst on watch.'

Amerotke nodded.

'So if he did, he would lurch and fall into the pool?'

'It has been known,' Tetiky retorted. 'The remarkable aspect is that the plinth can be stood on by the priests in the chapel but not by someone coming into it. An intruder could try and jump, but the pool's too wide.' He shrugged. 'That's the temple routine. On the night Nemrath died, the day priest opened the door and stepped back. I pushed the bridge across. One priest left and the other entered. I lifted the bridge and swung the door closed, holding it fast whilst Nemrath, on the other side, locked the door, removed the key and began his vigil.'

'And you are sure it was locked?' Amerotke insisted.

'My lord, you have my oath on it. It's part of my duty: I hear the key turn, I try the door. I did the same that night.'

Amerotke led him back to the rest.

'And where would Nemrath keep the key?'

'On a small hook on his girdle,' Tetiky replied.

'And how many keys are there?'

'Just the one.'

Tetiky went across, lifted a cushion and brought the key back to Amerotke. It was a long, thin, intricately carved copper key with the clasps, or teeth, on one end, its handle fashioned in the form of a jackal head.

'The lock is intricately made,' Tetiky explained. 'And its key is finely cut, difficult to replicate.'

'So, Nemrath locked the door,' Amerotke took the key, 'placed the key on his girdle and began his vigil?'

Tetiky agreed.

'And what did you do, Khety?'

'I began my vigil.'

'And you?' Amerotke turned to Ita.

Her eyes creased into a smile.

'I am the handmaid of the god, my lord. Once darkness has fallen, Khety's fast is over. In the second watch I brought him some roast goose, grapes and a jug of beer. On the night Nemrath died, I noticed nothing untoward. I talked for a while with Khety and returned to the kitchen.'

Amerotke glanced at Tetiky.

'I was on duty and did my patrol,' he replied. 'I saw nothing amiss.'

'How many times did you walk past this chapel?' Amerotke asked.

The captain pulled a face.

'Three or four times, in each quarter of the night. It was silent. I glimpsed Ita bringing some food. On one occasion I passed, Khety was awake; on another, he was asleep. Nothing untoward happened. At dawn I brought down the day priests. I followed the ritual and knocked at the door, but there was no answer. I knocked again, shouting Nemrath's name. I thought he may have had a seizure. I called the high priest and members of the guard; the door was forced.'

'How did you force it?'

'We took a bench,' Tetiky told him. 'The lock snapped. We placed the bridge across the pool and entered the chamber.'

'And where was Nemrath?'

'Sprawled against the wall.' Khety pointed to where the cushions lay. 'The dagger was in his chest. I rushed across. He was dead, and the Glory of Anubis,' his voice quavered, 'had gone.'

Amerotke, one hand cupping his mouth, stared down the chapel. He felt tired and confused; he could make no sense of this.

'The door was definitely locked?'

'Of course!' Tetiky snapped.

'And the key?'

'Still on the ring on Nemrath's girdle.'

'You are sure of that?'

'I examined it,' Khety replied. 'And so did Tetiky.'

'And who was present when the door was first forced?'

'The high priest, myself, other guards and priests. Lord Senenmut also came down.'

Amerotke got to his feet. He stared at the black and gold statue of Anubis. His gaze shifted: on the near wall was the famous picture of the god weighing a soul against the feather of truth. Help me, Amerotke prayed. How can a priest be murdered, an amethyst stolen, yet the door was not forced? It remained locked from the inside and the key was still on the dead man's girdle.

Amerotke closed his eyes. He must collect all the evidence. Yet he had done that...

'Khety!' he called out, not turning round. 'Did anyone approach that door during your vigil?'

'No, my lord.'

'Did you ever leave the passageway outside for any reason?'

'Just once.'

'And when was that?'

'When Ita brought down the provisions.' He laughed nervously. 'I had to relieve myself.'

Amerotke turned and walked back.

'And you, Tetiky, you noticed nothing out of the ordinary?'

'I tell you, my lord, I came by here. Khety was at his vigil. On one occasion he was asleep. I saw Ita bring the jug of beer and later return to the kitchen.'

'Khety, you were outside, did you hear any commotion within?'

'I should have done but I heard nothing.'

Amerotke nodded.

'Then I've kept you long enough.'

He dismissed them and waited until the captain of the guard crossed the bridge, closing the door behind them. He crouched down against the wall. There was a tap on the door.

'Come in!'

Shufoy pushed it open.

'Be careful!' Amerotke called out.

'Don't worry, Master.' Shufoy stood grinning on the threshold. 'I've heard of this.'

'And what have you heard elsewhere?'

'Nothing, my lord. The night Nemrath was killed there was no disturbance. Khety never left his post. Ita took him provisions from the kitchen and returned with the empty jug.'

'And what else?'

'Khety and Nemrath were on good terms. Khety is a scholar. He and Ita are also close.'

'And Nemrath?'

'According to rumour, rather lascivious, liked his food and drink.'

'Show me a priest who doesn't.'

Amerotke got to his feet and carefully crossed the sacred pool. He stood in the corridor and stared back into the chamber.

'Who did it, Master?'

'Oh, I know who did it. Khety, Ita and Tetiky. One, two or all of them are involved, but how it was carried out?' Amerotke shook his head. 'Only the god Anubis knows!'

'And what about Belet?' Shufoy demanded. 'He has invited me and Prenhoe to have supper with himself and Seli. He's still anxious, my lord...'

'Have you discovered anything else?'

Shufoy shook his head.

'And neither have I,' Amerotke added drily. 'All I can say, Shufoy, is that a robbery is planned. They needed a locksmith so they chose Belet because he lived with the Rhinoceri. They thought he'd have nothing to lose.'

'A place like Anubis?' Shufoy demanded. 'A robbery has taken place here.'

Amerotke stared across at the door.

'No,' he murmured and lifted a finger. 'Remember what Belet said. How the place chosen had no guards. No, the theft of the Glory of Anubis would need more than a locksmith. It required careful plotting and the cunning of a serpent.'

Anubis is depicted in Egyptian art as either a jackal or a man with a jackal's head.