Amerotke walked through the marketplace. Shufoy trailed behind, softly singing a love song.

'Flee her my heart and hurry!

I know only too well, this love of hers!

I will not wait for her to catch my tunic.

Or let her cool hands calm the ardour of my soul!'

'A lovely song.' Amerotke swung his cane and glanced back at the woebegone Shufoy. 'Are you singing about the heset?'

'Ladies in general,' Shufoy replied mournfully. 'They are like butterflies in the garden of my heart. I have given them the best years of my life. In the morning,' he continued sonorously, 'a man's hopes are water, but by evening, they have turned to dust and the bowl is cracked.'

Shufoy stopped and wiped a tear from his eye. Amerotke solemnly promised himself not to smile or laugh. There was nothing more lugubrious than Shufoy in love.

'Come on, little man,' he urged kindly. 'A jug of beer on the cool of the roof, some sweet cakes, a bowl of fruit and I'll let you sing one of your songs. Why all this?' He gazed down at the dwarf. 'Why this sudden absorption with love, Shufoy? Is it because your friend has been married?'

'A man without a woman is a body without a soul: Prenhoe warned me about this. He had a dream two nights ago: I was riding on the back of a dancing girl. She took me down to the Nile but then turned into a hippopotamus...'

Amerotke burst out laughing, so loudly that the traders and vendors, preparing their goods for the night market, looked up in wonder at this judge in his white robes and sacred purple-edged sandals, and his deformed companion. Amerotke moved his cane and grasped Shufoy's hand.

'Come on, my little Bes. The day is done and so are we. Don't be so mournful. We are all for the dark.'

'I'm glad to be free of that temple.' Shufoy fairly skipped at his master's show of friendliness. 'It's a sombre place. I don't like those Mitanni or the guards with their jackal insignia. It truly is a place of ghosts.'

'Ghosts?' Amerotke paused. 'Why ghosts, Shufoy?'

'That's what some of the guards told me. Anubis has been glimpsed walking his temple: his sandals are black, a war kilt of the same colour, his face covered by a huge jackal mask edged with gold.'

'They've drunk too much,' Amerotke snapped.

'Well, that's what they told me,' Shufoy repeated plaintively.

Amerotke walked on. Despite nightfall the market was still busy. Barbers shaved customers under trees. Soldiers, off duty, grew noisy and clamorous as they searched for a pleasure house. They kept well away from the police: these carried thick cudgels and patrolled the streets round the temples, eager to crush any sign of disturbance. The fleshers' stalls were empty, the meat being either sold or destroyed as putrid. Beggars ran up offering to fan away flies; Shufoy bellowed back that that was his task. All the denizens of the waterfront had swarmed into the city looking for easy pickings. Beggars and thieves, conjurors and tricksters; a group of drunken musicians, who had spent too much time in the wine shop, played a raucous din to the delight of the passers-by. These refused to throw any gifts but stood jeering at the musicians' frantic efforts. Amerotke kept his head down and clasped Shufoy's hand more tightly. The little man had a tendency to wander off, particularly to watch the travelling physicians, those hucksters who claimed to possess magical skills and offered exotic potions to cure a whole range of ailments.

'You've given up medicine?' Amerotke asked.

'Too many traders in the marketplace,' Shufoy retorted. He held out his parasol as if it was Pharaoh's sceptre. 'The gods are calling me to a new trade.'

'And what is that?' Amerotke asked.

'A love poet.'

Amerotke chewed his lip.

'A seller of poems and potions,' Shufoy continued. 'No, Master, don't laugh. I teem like a well: an eternal spring bubbles inside me ready to gush out songs and poems which will enrapture the heart.'

'Norfret is not going to believe this,' Amerotke whispered. 'Come on, Shufoy!'

They hurried down towards the city gates: two huge pillars dominated by soaring towers. The gates themselves had been locked and barred. The watchman on duty recognised Amerotke and let him through a postern door on to the basalt-paved causeway which ran along the Nile. To his right Amerotke glimpsed the river, glinting in the pale light of the moon; fishing smacks, still busy, darted like beetles across its surface. Lanterns winked. The breeze carried the shouts and cries of the fishermen mixed with the splash and gurgle of the water, the constant croaking of the frogs, and the call of birds which, now and again, would rise and soar gracefully along the banks of the Nile.

'Those boats should be careful,' Shufoy muttered. 'The hippopotamus does not like being disturbed. Where there are fishermen, the hippopotamus always appears and the crocodiles are not far behind.'

Amerotke gestured at the mud-packed hovels they were now passing through.

'The people are poor, Shufoy. Their only trade is to provide fresh fish for the morning's market.'

They continued on past night traders streaming into the city. Others were going to meetings, banquets and parties. The highway was packed with the rich and the poor: wealthy merchants on their donkeys or palanquins, the poor clustered together like a gaggle of geese. At last the crowds thinned. They left the jumbled maze of mean, one-storeyed tenements, the air acrid with the smell of cooking fish, cheap beer and sour bread. The Valley of the Unclean, people called it: a maze of slums built by the workers who flocked to the city. Eventually they were out in the open countryside. Across the Nile the lights of the Necropolis winked and fluttered. Sounds faded. Shufoy returned to muttering a love poem. Amerotke let his hands slip, lost in his own reverie about the day's happenings. Only when Shufoy gently tapped him on the wrist did Amerotke become aware of the footsteps behind. He turned quickly, grasping his cane. Five or six figures stood there, grotesque shapes in the darkness.

'What is it, stranger?' Amerotke called out. 'Are you following me or do you wish to pass?'

'We want nothing of the sort, Lord Amerotke.'

The judge breathed in to calm his panic. Time and again Norfret had warned him against these walks home at night, insisting he had a retinue or at least Asural to guard him. Amerotke always refused; now he wished he had a sword. Shufoy had moved away. The little man put down his parasol. He opened his bag and took out a jagged Caananite dagger.

'We mean you no harm.' The voice was soft. 'My lord Amerotke, we are the Children of the Nile.'

The judge relaxed. 'Then come forward.'

They did so. Amerotke stifled his unease. He had heard of the Children of the Nile: a guild responsible for feeding the sacred crocodiles and drawing what they could from the river. They lived in their own small sanctuary a few miles to the south and worshipped Sekhmet the Destroyer, the goddess in the shape of a lioness. The Nile gave these creatures sustenance and profit. Accusations were also levelled that sometimes they lured craft on to the treacherous sandbanks. They deliberately wrecked them, seizing their goods and sacrificing those who survived as offerings to their own dreadful goddess. They always dressed in untreated animal skins and so were classed as uncleans. Each wore upon their head a helmet or hat shaped in the form of an ibis, a crocodile, a hippopotamus, a snake: all those creatures who lived along the banks of the Nile. The leader was small and fat. He took off his makeshift scorpion helmet. One eye was half closed, nothing more than a small, milky pool; a glaring scar cut across his face. He reeked of sweat and that fishy odour so common to the mud of the Nile. His companions stayed further back. The man bowed.

'My lord Amerotke.'

'It is night,' the judge replied. 'You can find me in the Hall of Two Truths.'

'Or the Temple of Anubis,' came the reply.

'What do you know of my doings?' Amerotke snapped.

'My lord, don't be angry.' The man tried to smile, his good eye screwed up.

'Get to the point!' Shufoy growled.

'Hush, little man, we mean no danger. How could people like us threaten the great Amerotke? You know why we are here,' he continued hurriedly. 'We are unclean. We are forbidden to enter holy places. However, we have information to sell, or rather give you free of charge.'

'Tell me what you have. I will make sure gifts are left in your sanctuary.'

'Two things, my lord. Sinuhe the traveller? We took his body out of the Nile. I'd met Sinuhe before. He told us fascinating tales, claimed to have seen where the Nile originates at the centre of the earth. Sinuhe did not care about the way he dressed. Now the crocodiles have turned his corpse to a bloody mess, but did you notice, my lord, that he was wearing his best robe and a fine pair of sandals?'

Amerotke recalled the bloodstained garment he had glimpsed in the embalming room.

'And secondly?'

'The morning Sinuhe was killed, one of my companions glimpsed what he thought was the god Anubis near the old Temple of Bes.'

'Gods don't walk,' Amerotke retorted.

'Perhaps not a god,' the man replied. 'Perhaps a priest of Anubis dressed in a long leather kilt and a black mask?'

He turned to one of his companions and chattered in the high-pitched lingua franca of the waterfront.

'I heard that.' Shufoy spoke up. 'He said it wasn't Anubis.'

The leader stepped closer.

'Little man, you have no nose but ears sharp enough. You are correct. My companion says that he has been out to the Oasis of Palms.' He grinned through the darkness. 'Well, close enough: the Mitanni priests wear such masks.'

'Is there anything else?' Amerotke asked.

The fellow shook his head.

'As I've said,' Amerotke declared, 'you will have your reward by tomorrow evening. May the goddess look favourably on you!'

His strange visitors disappeared into the darkness.

'What do we have here, Shufoy?' Amerotke asked. 'Sinuhe dressing up to meet someone important? A Mitanni nobleman? Or noblewoman?' he added. 'And why the mask?'

'To hide his or her face, Master. It is easy to confuse. Anyone would think it was a priest from the Temple of Anubis.'

Amerotke rubbed his arms as a cold breeze caught his slight sweat. The meeting had startled him: he realised how tired and hungry he had become. He grasped Shufoy by the hand and walked into the darkness.

Lights appeared. They passed the high walls of other stately mansions, their polished, wooden gates locked and barred for the evening. This was a pleasant, lush area, near enough to the Nile, but safely protected against any flooding. At last they reached Amerotke's house. Shufoy hammered on the gates, loudly demanding entrance. A side door swung open and Amerotke stepped into his own private paradise of flower-filled gardens, vineyards, beehives and shady trees.

Shufoy and the porter began taunting each other. Amerotke walked ahead. Everything was in order. Oil lamps lit, the summer house closed. Lights and flowers had been laid before the garden god Khem. He went down the avenue of acacia trees and up into the main house fronted by painted columns. The entrance hallway smelt sweetly of the polish rubbed into the rich cedar beams. Small jugs of myrrh, frankincense and sandalwood were placed in corners. Shufoy, who had caught his master up, now bellowed that Lord Amerotke was at home. Servants brought jugs and basins. Amerotke sat on a stool and washed his face, hands and feet, cleansing his mouth with cool white wine. The door opened at the far end. Norfret swept in, her sloe eyes sparkling with pleasure. She wore a white gauze robe with an embroidered shawl across her shoulders. She was barefoot and the necklace which she had tied round her neck suddenly came off and clattered to the floor. She scooped this up, and came and bent over her husband. She kissed him on the brow, her eyes dancing with mischief, those lovely lips parting in a smile.

'All hail to Pharoah's judge!' she whispered. 'The wisest man in Thebes!'

He took her face between his hands and kissed her on the lips.

'All hail to Norfret, goddess of perfumed flattery!'

Ahmose and Curfay bounded into the room. They shouted hello then remembered their manners, made their obeisances, grabbed Shufoy and ran out.

For a while confusion reigned. Servants bustled in and out. Norfret tried to tell Amerotke how Ahmose's fever had abruptly subsided, that one of the dogs had got into the fish pond, whilst she couldn't make sense of the honey steward's accounts. At last, however, they were alone on the roof of the house, reclining on couches, a table of food between them. Norfret loved to sit here at night. She was fascinated by the stars and often described to Amerotke how different ones moved. Tonight, however, she was more insistent on learning about the Mitanni at the Temple of Anubis.

'I have heard stories,' she fluttered her eyelids mockingly, 'how Mitanni priestesses are skilled in love. They are taught all the arts from the moment their courses begin. I heard how a visitor to the Mitanni capital died of pleasure...'

'Stories,' Amerotke scoffed. 'The Mitanni may well be great lovers but they are also formidable warriors: they like killing and bloodshed.' He leaned across and stroked her cheek with his fingers. 'If they attacked Thebes, sacked it and captured you, it would not be pleasant.'

Norfret shivered and pulled the shawl close about her.

'They wouldn't take me!' she hissed. 'Come, come, my lord judge, you are no longer in court. You are confused? Puzzled? A woman's wit, a wife's wisdom?' she teased.

Amerotke leaned back on the head of the couch.

'The Temple of Anubis,' he began, 'is now a place of death.'

'Explain!' Norfret urged.

'First, we have a series of unexplained, mysterious deaths: some animals and fish have been poisoned, though its cause is unknown. A dancing girl was also found dead in one of the garden pavilions. There's no sign of her drinking or eating poison but the physician, and I think he's an astute man, points to the rigidity of her muscles and believes some noxious potion was administered. But how, why and by whom remains an enigma. Then we have one of the Mitanni delegation, Lord Snefru. He retires to his chamber, the door and windows are locked and shuttered. When the former is forced, Snefru is found dead; same symptoms as the heset, but the source of the poison and how the murder was committed remain a mystery.'

He paused and stared out towards the city. Despite the river mist, its lights twinkled and glinted through the darkness.

'And you have no idea why these deaths have occurred?'

'None. We also have two other incidents. You have heard of Sinuhe the traveller?'

'Of course! A great teller of tales.'

'Apparently he visited the derelict Temple of Bes further down the Nile. He was killed, his body thrown into the river. The corpse was savaged by crocodiles before the Children of the Nile pulled it out. We know Sinuhe had a papyrus book which described his journeys. A veritable source of paths across the desert. That would be very useful to the merchants of Thebes or to our House of Silver. The treasury is always eager to exploit unknown trade routes; to plot caravan paths across the desert or send a fleet across the Great Green and discover new spices, fresh sources of silver, gold and precious jewels.'

'And Divine Pharaoh?'

Amerotke caught the tinge of sarcasm in Norfret's expression. His wife was always deferential but she had her own ideas about the self-proclaimed ruler of Egypt. Norfret was always wary when Amerotke was summoned to her presence.

'She's a woman,' Norfret insisted. 'True, a Pharaoh, a god; the incarnation of Horus; the emanation of the god Ra, but she's still a woman. I suspect the Divine Hatusu uses her charm and looks as much as she does the power of Amun.'

Amerotke smiled across at his wife.

'The Divine Hatusu would love such a manuscript. She has the priests under her heel, the armies eating out of one hand.'

'And she would love to have the merchants eating out of the other,' Norfret laughed. 'Continue.'

'Sinuhe was definitely going to meet someone important. A man who cared little for courtesies, he had donned his best robe and sandals.'

'But it must also have been someone he didn't want others to see,' Norfret added. 'That's why he chose to meet him or her in such a desolate spot.'

'Correct, light of my life.' Amerotke smiled. 'And whoever met Sinuhe killed him. The Children of the Nile claim that someone dressed like Anubis, in a black leather war kilt and mask, was seen near the temple. Sinuhe was a courteous but tough character. He would not have given up his life lightly. Yet he is dead and his manuscript gone.'

'And the Glory of Anubis?' Norfret asked. 'I have heard the rumours.'

'Now, there's a true mystery...'

Amerotke picked up the cup of wine and sipped at it.

'...which would delight my sons. The Glory of Anubis is a brilliant amethyst, kept in a side chapel of the temple. There are no secret entrances. The door is secure, a pit of water prevents anyone blundering in. A guardian priest locks himself in at night. Another sits on vigil outside; he is served by a handmaid of the god. The temple precincts are patrolled by the captain of the guard. Nothing amiss happens, but the following morning, the door has to be forced. The guardian priest is found stabbed and the Glory of Anubis gone.'

'Are all three crimes connected?' Norfret asked.

'Perhaps, perhaps not.' Amerotke tapped the wine cup against his teeth. 'It's possible,' he continued, 'that the Mitanni were behind it all. They are led by a woman as wily as a mongoose. I am not too sure the Mitanni want peace or war. One of them could be trying to create chaos so their King Tushratta withdraws and the peace negotiations collapse. Yet how and why that person is committing these murders is a mystery. I mean, the death of Lord Snefru fits into a logical argument. But why a poor dancing girl? What danger can a heset at the Temple of Anubis pose?'

'You could twist it round.'

Norfret turned on her side. She moved an alabaster jar of oil so she could see her husband's face more clearly.

'Perhaps the murders were committed by the Divine Hatusu, or at least on her orders? She could wish to cause chaos. Perhaps she wants Tushratta to withdraw and provide her with a pretext for more war and glory.'

'That's possible,' Amerotke agreed. 'If Wanef is a mongoose, the Divine Hatusu is just as cunning.'

'Senenmut?' Norfret asked.

Amerotke shook his head.

'No, no, the man is honourable. He has the physical strength and stamina to kill; he can be wily, but the peace is a good idea. It was he who persuaded the Divine Hatusu...'

'In the council chamber or in bed?'

Amerotke grinned. He was about to answer when he heard one of the boys cry. Shufoy came to the bottom of the steps and said it was only Curfay in his sleep.

'It could be the Divine Hatusu,' Amerotke continued. 'But the Mitanni are more likely candidates. They could be killing to cause chaos as well as to give a pretext for withdrawing. They then add insult to injury by stealing the Glory of Anubis and Sinuhe's manuscript.'

'I would agree with that.' Norfret filled her cup. 'You told me they worship a dog god. The masked man seen near the Nile could be one of them. They'd love to seize Sinuhe's manuscript and have the Glory of Anubis decorate one of their temples, but, if that was the case,' she concluded, 'it would mean that the Mitanni possessed some way to get into that side chapel.'

Amerotke stared up at the sky. He was convinced that he had met the killers of Nemrath, those who had stolen the amethyst: Khety, Ita or Tetiky? Had they been bribed by the Mitanni delegation? Were they given secret help to commit murder and sacrilege? Was that why Sinuhe went out to the Temple of Bes? He wouldn't want a Mitanni near his house: that might explain the masked figure glimpsed near the ruins. Amerotke beat his fist against his thigh.

'There is little logic to any of these events.'

Norfret swung her legs off the couch. She came over and sat beside him.

'The key to the chapel, where was it kept?'

'There is only one key. When the door was forced, it was still on the dead priest's girdle.'

Norfret smiled and edged her way along the couch. She ran her finger down Amerotke's face, tracing its contours.

'You are going to brood, aren't you? You are going to sit here until the sky becomes bright and the Divine Amun's breath ushers in the morning.' She slipped her hand down his robe. 'Or, there again, you could come into my court. We can discuss other things.'

Amerotke kissed her on the lips.

'Are you trying to bribe me?'

'Why, my lord judge.' Norfret fluttered her eyelids. Amerotke drew her closer. He kissed her fragrant-scented cheek.

'There is no need,' he whispered.

'In which case,' Norfret made herself more comfortable, 'court is in session!'

Weni the herald had also enjoyed himself that evening: a young dancing girl had visited his chamber. They had taken food and wine, after which Weni had danced with her. Now she was gone and he had received a summons. Weni put on a cloak, pulling the hood over his head. He looked round the untidy chamber and, once again, splashed water over his hot face. He had drunk too much wine and the heset girl's exertions had exhausted him, but he had to go. He picked up the small sycamore twig pushed under his door, together with the leaf from the tamarind tree, the agreed signs to meet in the usual place. He heard the sound of the horn proclaiming the beginning of the third watch of the night: the temple and its gardens would now be silent.

Weni opened the door and went out along the passageway. The mansion he shared with Mareb and various scribes sent from the House of Peace lay silent. He paused at Mareb's door and pushed it open. The other herald lay fast asleep in his bed, clothing and sandals tossed on the floor. Weni grinned to himself and slipped out down the stairs. The old porter at the bottom opened his rheumy eyes.

'You are going out late, Master,' he croaked.

'I can't sleep,' Weni replied.

He opened the door. The night air was cold but full of the fragrance of the gardens: the smell of flowers, sandalwood and myrrh from the sacrifices; roasting meats from the kitchens. Weni slipped across the grass. In the far distance echoed the howling of a dog. The moon hung like a silver-white disc. Birds fluttered and chirped in the trees. From the sacred pool came the incessant croaking of the frogs. Now and again Weni stopped to make sure he wasn't being followed. He went deeper into the gardens, past vineyards, orchards, trellises, into a small copse of sycamore and tamarind trees. He squatted down and waited. Time passed. Weni became impatient. He was about to move when a pebble danced in front of him.

'Are you there?' Weni called into the shadows.

'Of course I am here! I was here before you ever came!'

'Then why the wait?'

'I had to make sure you weren't followed. You wouldn't betray me, Weni, would you? These Egyptians are suspicious. The Glory of Anubis is gone, whilst those dreadful deaths...'

Weni strained his ears. Whoever was talking was disguising their voice. He couldn't distinguish whether it was male or female, Egyptian or foreign.

'Now.' The voice turned conversational. 'We had a bargain, Weni, remember? Have you put Sinuhe's treasure somewhere safe?'

Weni swallowed hard; his mouth went dry.

'Crafty Weni,' came the purring voice. 'To whom are you going to sell such a treasure? The Egyptians or the Mitanni? Mind you, Nubian and Libyan merchants are also busy in the marketplace. They'd pay a good price.'

'Ah, the manuscript!' Weni exclaimed.

'I do admire your family tomb, Weni.'

'What has that got to do with it?' Weni stuttered. 'My wife is buried there.'

'And that's where the manuscript is, isn't it? Who'd ever think of searching a family tomb?'

'Stop taunting me.'

'Weni! Weni! Who really employs you now? You're half Mitanni, aren't you? Do you work for the Divine Hatusu or Tushratta? Oh, I know you are supposed to be a spy. Shall I tell you a secret? I think Weni works for no one but himself.' A soft chuckle followed. 'But don't forget, Weni: I know all your little secrets! About your wife. Her lover's corpse still mouldering under its slab in the Temple of Bes. The other accidental deaths. Your relationship with the Crocodile Man. Your treacheries and betrayals. Nor must we forget the Glory of Anubis. I'll be coming for that soon! You're nothing but a whore, Weni, up for the highest bidder.'

'I can lay my hands on the amethyst,' Weni retorted, 'faster than you think.'

'Oh, we don't want it yet! And how about secrets, Weni? What has the stonemason Senenmut told you? What are the Egyptians' real intentions? War or peace?'

'I don't know. You are confusing me. First the manuscript and now all this...'

'Hush now.'

Weni froze.

'Did you hear that?' the voice urged.

'I should leave.' Weni backed away.

'No, no, tonight we will reach an agreement. Look,' the voice continued earnestly. 'We will move from here. I feel uncomfortable.'

'Where to?' Weni asked.

'Near the dog pit. A large holm oak on the edge of some waste ground. It's deserted: I'll introduce myself again, then we'll do business.'

'But the guards?' Weni asked.

'Don't worry,' the voice purred. 'Count to one hundred then follow me, but not before.'

'What happens if I withdraw?'

Weni was now frightened. He felt tired, slightly drunk; a deep unease at what was happening.

'How can you withdraw, Weni? You are involved in Sinuhe's death and the theft of his manuscript, not to mention the Glory of Anubis and the other murders. I can prove it all. If Divine Hatusu realises you're not to be trusted, who can you go to? And if I tell the Mitanni who you really are, what comfort would you find there? No, I'll be waiting for you near the holm oak.'

Weni, shivering with fear, heard a slight movement. He began to count. Now and again he stumbled, but eventually he finished and made his way across the temple grounds. Here and there torches had been lit. The nearer he approached the holm oak, the louder grew the baying of the dogs. Weni shivered. He wanted treasure for his tomb: that was how this game had begun. His secret visitor had approached him just after the Mitanni had arrived. Weni had been terrified by how much his mysterious contact knew about his secret dealings. He had no choice but to agree to his terms, and there again, the bribe had been so attractive.

Weni reached the holm oak, its great branches stretching out like the tentacles of an enormous spider. He jumped at a scurrying in the nearby undergrowth. He looked round: from where he stood, he could see the gate to the dog pit. The animals themselves had gone strangely quiet. Weni also glimpsed the pools glinting in the moonlight. He turned away, then paused in terror. Pools? There had been no rain! He looked again. It seemed as if someone had been slopping water from the gate to where he stood. Weni took a step forward, crouched and touched the dampness. He brought his hand to his nose and sniffed. It wasn't water, it was blood! He heard the sacred pack howl, this time much closer. Weni started to his feet. A dog had appeared. He could see its black shape in the moonlight. Others were grouped round it. Where were the guards? The Dog Master? The animals shouldn't be free! As if in a nightmare, the lead dog charged towards him. Weni broke from his fear and fled into the darkness, pursued by the howling, snarling dogs of Anubis.

Anubis is painted in a symbolic black, which could, perhaps, represent rebirth.


The carnage at the Temple of Anubis shocked Amerotke. Asural and Prenhoe had woken him just before dawn with terrifying stories about how the sacred pack had broken loose. Amerotke quickly completed his ablutions, dressed and, with a grumbling Shufoy, hastened into the city. The Dog Master was already there, pale-faced with fright. The temple grounds were full of archers, expert bowmen from the Cobra squadron of the Ibis regiment. Senenmut, angry-faced and tight-lipped, was directing affairs. The Vizier grasped Amerotke by the elbow and took him into a portico.

'You are going to see something, my lord, which will make you think the Season of the Hyaena has returned.'

He led Amerotke across the gardens and paradises. Under a cedar tree lay blood-soaked bundles, corpses, sheets covering them. Amerotke flinched when he saw a severed hand lying nearby. Corpses of the dogs also littered the gardens. Close up they looked just as fierce, even in death: pierced by arrows, their throats slit for good measure, pools of blood snaked out of their now silent, snarling jaws.

'May the gods bless us all,' Amerotke muttered.

Senenmut waved at the sprawling corpse of a dog.

'You'll find the like all over the temple grounds. Two of the beasts even got out into the city. The archers are still hunting them.'

'What happened?'

Amerotke paused as Mareb came hurrying over, face unshaven, his body wrapped in a robe tied with a piece of cord: he was no longer the elegant herald.

'What news of the Mitanni?' Senenmut asked.

'They are sheltering in their quarters. They are insistent that they return to the Oasis of Palms and consult with King Tushratta. They claim they are not safe here.'

'The dogs didn't attack them, did they?' Amerotke asked.

'No, they were safe enough,' Mareb replied. 'But Wanef pointed out how it is their custom to rise just before dawn and make sacrifice in one of the groves.'

'But that didn't happen, did it?'

Mareb shook his head.

'The incident occurred during the third quarter of the night.' He smiled ruefully. 'But I can see their point. If they had been out, there would have been no survivors. They think the ambush was planned for them.'

'Does this mean the end of negotiations?' Amerotke asked.

Senenmut shook his head.

'No, I suspect they are as mystified as we are. We'll let them go out to the oasis. Well,' Senenmut gestured at the herald to draw closer, 'you've spoken to the Dog Master?'

'According to him everything was secure. The door to the pit was bolted and locked. One guard was left: from what I can gather he, too, was killed, his key taken and the door unlocked.'

'How would the dogs know the gate was open?' Amerotke demanded.

'Oh, it's quite simple. Apparently the guard's corpse was placed in the gateway. Moreover, a bowl of blood, taken from one of the sanctuaries, was used to soak the ground around the gate.'

'Of course,' Senenmut interrupted. 'The dogs smelt the blood and came seeking its source.'

'How many people were killed?' Amerotke asked.

'A number: two dancing girls had fallen asleep in one of the pavilions. They heard the commotion and were unfortunate enough to leave. Some guards in the outer precincts also didn't get away in time.'

Senenmut led them back to the bundle of corpses and quickly pulled back a sheet. Amerotke turned away, hand to his mouth. He could just make out Weni's features but the face and body were hideously mangled. Senenmut threw the sheet back over the body. They waited whilst Mareb retreated to be sick: the herald returned, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

'Let's examine the dog pit.'

They found the gate locked and heavily guarded. The captain of the Cobra squadron had his men fanned out around it, arrows notched to their bows. A crestfallen Dog Master sat beneath the holm oak. He got up and came sheepishly forward.

'How many dogs were killed?' Senenmut demanded.

'They were a pack of thirty-four with some cubs. Sixteen have been killed; two were injured and I have cut their throats.'

'They are quiet now,' Amerotke declared.

'I put a potion in their drinking-water.' The Dog Master shrugged. 'They have hunted and they have eaten; they will sleep for the rest of the day. My lord Senenmut, the temple will demand compensation.'

'How did it happen?' Amerotke asked.

'From the little I know,' the Dog Master rubbed red-rimmed eyes, 'someone came down and killed the guard: there's not much left of him either.'

'Was he vigilant? Could he have made a mistake?'

'No, he was a good man, a very good soldier,' the Dog Master replied. 'I can't understand it: there are no arrow wounds in what's left of his body and it would take a good archer to shoot through the night. Whilst, at close quarters...' His voice trailed off.

'He could have held his own?' Amerotke finished the sentence.

'Yes, he wasn't some sleepy-eyed recruit. He was well paid for his task.'

'Continue,' Senenmut demanded.

'The assassin then took the key from the guard's belt.' He pointed to the gate. 'He unlocked it and dragged the guard inside.' The Dog Master indicated the russet stains on the pebble-hard ground. 'He then took a wineskin or jug full of blood, and left a trail from the gate to this holm oak.'

'Wouldn't that be highly dangerous for the assassin?'

'No, my lord Amerotke, it would take some time for the dogs to be roused by the smell of blood. They would be curious, cautious. Have you ever seen a pack preparing for the hunt? They go through a dance, a ritual. However, once the leader gave the signal, there was no stopping them. They poured out through the temple grounds. The screams and their barking roused me and others but there was little we could do. An urgent message was dispatched to the nearest garrison commander. The archers came with infantry holding torches; those dogs are only frightened of fire. The rest you know.'

'I can understand,' Amerotke turned to Mareb, 'how the two hesets and the guards were caught out in the open, but what was Weni doing wandering the grounds in the early hours of the morning?'

'I asked the porter,' the herald replied. 'Weni apparently entertained himself last night. Perhaps he drank too much and went for a walk to clear his mind?'

'Did you hear him go?'

'I think I did,' Mareb retorted. 'I was lying on my bed half asleep. The door opened as if Weni was checking on me, then he left.'

'Why should he do that?' Amerotke demanded.

Mareb shook his head. Amerotke thanked both of them; he and Senenmut walked away. The sun was now strengthening. The temple grounds were busy with servants removing the corpses, clearing up the mess. The daily ritual had been disturbed: no singing from the mysterious portals or odour of sacrifice on the morning breeze. Amerotke and Senenmut entered by a side door and sat in a cool corridor.

'Everyone is going to be furious.' Senenmut groaned. 'The Divine Hatusu, Wanef, Tushratta, the temple high priests. The Divine One will demand an explanation.'

'Divine Pharaoh will have to exercise patience, my lord Senenmut.'

'You have made no progress in these matters?'

'None whatsoever. Except to confirm that the priest Khety, the assistant Ita and Tetiky, captain of the guard, are suspects in the theft of the Glory of Anubis. But let's leave that for a while. Why were the dogs released?'

'To cause confusion? To frighten the Mitanni?'

'True,' Amerotke replied. 'But why was Weni down in the gardens? Do you know?'

Amerotke stared across at a red and green painting of Pharaoh in his chariot.

'I suspect Weni was invited down to the garden to meet his killer.'

'Why?' Amerotke asked.

'I can only speculate. Weni was the Divine Hatusu's herald. Yes? Though he persuaded the Mitanni that he was really their man in peace and war: in other words a traitor. Perhaps someone discovered he was not.'

'And so they killed him,' Amerotke declared.

'They?' Senenmut asked.

'I don't know how many killers there might be,' Amerotke replied. 'Whatever, Weni was lured out into the temple grounds: the dogs were released to kill him as well as cause chaos.'

Senenmut was about to reply when the door opened. Wanef, Hunro and Mensu came in. They had taken their time: dressed in exquisite robes, their faces carefully oiled, as if they wished to demonstrate that they had not been disturbed by the previous night's happenings. Senenmut and Amerotke got to their feet.

'My lord Senenmut.' Wanef smiled with her lips but her eyes remained hard. 'I do not wish to discuss what has happened but, you will agree, this state of affairs cannot continue. We wish to return to the Oasis of Palms. We must report to King Tushratta and ask his advice.'

'Are you withdrawing from the negotiations?'

'No, my lord, I do not wish to repeat myself. We must consult, whilst King Tushratta will demand proof of Egypt's continuing good will in this matter.' Her eyes moved to Amerotke.

'And to show our good faith, as well as to guarantee that we tell the truth,' Senenmut touched Amerotke's arm lightly, 'my lord Amerotke and the herald Mareb will go with you.'

Wanef gave the slightest of bows.

'Agreed. Do give the Divine Hatusu our deepest condolences on the death of her herald Weni. We mourn the death of a man who shared our blood.' She smiled thinly. 'He was such a busy little man!'

'What are you implying?' Senenmut asked.

'We wonder why a herald,' Mensu spoke up, 'should be wandering the gardens of Anubis in the dead of night.'

Senenmut shrugged.

'An unfortunate accident,' he murmured. 'The dog pit will be closely guarded: it shall not happen again.'

Wanef and the Mitanni left. Amerotke leaned against a pillar.

'I am a judge in the Hall of Two Truths, not an envoy from the House of Peace.'

'You must go to the Oasis of Palms,' Senenmut demanded. 'We need to send a person we trust and someone whom Tushratta knows we trust. You have a quick eye and a sharp mind. Perhaps you can discover something. You will go?'

Amerotke sighed and agreed.

'The Mitanni are nervous,' Senenmut explained. 'They do not want our chariot squadrons near them. They will regard you as a sacred envoy; you will be safe.'

'Weni was half Mitanni?' Amerotke asked.

'Yes, I think so, on his mother's side.'

'He had a chamber here in the temple?'

'Oh yes, and a house in the city.'

'In which case I shall not waste your time any longer.' Amerotke bowed and left.

Shufoy, Prenhoe and Asural were waiting in the shadow of one of the pylons near the main entrance to the temple. He collected them and, taking directions from a servant, they made their way across the gardens to the small mansion where Weni had an upstairs chamber. The door was unlocked. Amerotke went inside. Shufoy opened a window and they began their search.

'What are we looking for, Master?'

'The truth, whatever that is.'

He paused at a knock on the door. Senenmut came in.

'My lord,' Amerotke exclaimed. 'We've talked enough!'

'Yes, but I was thinking of the Glory of Anubis. Should we have the priest Khety and the others arrested?'

'On what charge?' Amerotke retorted. 'Not a shred of evidence links them to the theft. No, my lord, leave them for a while.'

Senenmut left and they continued their searches.

'Weni did drink a lot last night,' Shufoy remarked, pointing to a wine jug. He picked up an armlet. 'And he had company.'

Prenhoe was looking beneath the bed.

'Last night I dreamt that an eagle was carrying me across the Red Lands...'

'Thank you, Prenhoe,' Amerotke snapped. 'Never mind your eagle, is there anything there?'

Prenhoe brought out a small sycamore coffer and a mud-encrusted bundle. Amerotke took the coffer, put it on the bed and opened it. It contained seals carried by an envoy: the royal cartouche of Hatusu which would allow a herald to pass or establish his authority. Amerotke picked up another one, oval-shaped, coloured green, with an armed scorpion on one side, a snake on the other.

'This is not Egyptian, is it?'

He passed it to Asural.

'It's Mitanni,' Asural confirmed.

Amerotke emptied the rest of the contents out on to the bed and saw a dagger.

'Quick!' he urged Prenhoe. 'Seek out my lord Senenmut, anyone in authority. I want to see the dagger used to kill the priest Nemrath.'

Prenhoe hurried off. Amerotke sifted through the rest: rings, bracelets, pieces of papyri, but there was nothing remarkable about them. He picked up the dagger and studied its Canaanite blade, the dog-shaped handle. Prenhoe returned with the knife which had killed Nemrath; Amerotke realised they were a pair.

'What's the matter?'

Amerotke weighed the daggers in his hands.

'Shufoy, you know the marketplace. Daggers such as these are often sold in pairs?'

'Oh yes, you can buy a set. Sometimes three or four, even more.'

Amerotke threw the knives back on the bed.

'I'm wrong about Khety and the rest. According to the evidence, the herald Weni was involved in the theft of the Glory of Anubis. This dagger matches the one which killed Nemrath.'

He undid the mud-stained bundle Prenhoe had also drawn from beneath the bed. He took out a pair of sandals. They were the type soldiers used, thick, with an anklet guard and thongs. Amerotke was more fascinated with the mud on the sole along the side. He sniffed and put the sandals on the floor.

'Asural, have a look at those. Where do you think their wearer has been?'

The captain of the temple guard studied them carefully.

'Nile mud,' he declared.

'Very well.' Amerotke sat down. 'Shufoy, go into the marketplace. Take this dagger and see if you can find the merchant selling them. Asural, Prenhoe, go to the keeper of the records. I want you to discover where Weni's house is. If necessary, take the door off its hinges, search it from cellar to roof. Now, later today, herald Mareb will escort me out to the Oasis of Palms. Shufoy, no, don't question me! You can't come! You will inform the lady Norfret where I will be and that I shall be safe. I would be grateful if you would go and return as quickly as possible.'

Once his companions had left, Amerotke breathed a sigh of relief and closed the door. His legs hurt with the tension of what had happened, a dull ache flared in his neck: he felt listless and hoped he hadn't contracted Ahmose's fever.

'Or is it my imagination?' Amerotke murmured to the empty room. Norfret was forever teasing him about the way his mind turned and twisted like a bird falling from the sky.

He should be back in his court, but cases would have to either wait or be referred to a lesser court, or another judge. Amerotke tried to ignore his own aches and pains. What have all these mysteries in common? he reflected. A missing amethyst. The death of a dancing girl. Dead fish and animals in the Temple of Anubis. The murder of Lord Snefru. The destruction of Weni the herald. The discovery of evidence which showed that Weni was, perhaps, not what he claimed, or even what he pretended to be.

If I can only find a connection, Amerotke thought. He lay down on the bed, turning on his back. He tried to make sense of all that was happening. What would he say to Tushratta? Why was Wanef insistent on returning to her king? Was it just a diplomatic gesture? Amerotke's eyes grew heavy and he drifted into a deep sleep. Asural and Prenhoe woke him, both leaning over him anxiously.

'We thought something had happened,' the captain of the temple guard declared.

Amerotke sat up, rubbing his eyes.

'How long have you been gone?'

'At least two hours, and we found what you wanted.'

Asural emptied the contents of a leather bag on the floor. Amerotke started excitedly. A black and gold Anubis mask; a leather war kilt and a small satchel, battered and used. Asural dug inside and handed over a piece of papyrus.

'Read the inscription.'

Amerotke realised the papyrus was old, rather dry, the sort used by scribes for documents. It contained strange hieroglyphics, doodles and marks. Amerotke recognised the word Sinuhe.

'Anything else?'

Asural pulled a face. 'Isn't that enough?'

'What would Weni need with an Anubis mask and a black leather war kilt?' Prenhoe asked. 'Wasn't a figure dressed like that seen near the ruins of Bes when Sinuhe was killed?'

'It makes sense,' Amerotke agreed. 'Weni used the mask and the kilt. He could be taken for either an Egyptian or a Mitanni. He must have invited Sinuhe out to that lonely spot and murdered him. This bag belongs to Sinuhe, but his manuscript...'

Asural shook his head.

'Nothing: no sign of it whatsoever. A strange one, Weni, his house contained very little.'

'He was a herald,' Amerotke replied. 'Constantly travelling.'

'We asked a neighbour.' Prenhoe spoke up. 'He says a strange-looking woman entered Weni's house yesterday morning. He couldn't give a description but he glimpsed an oil-drenched wig, a coloured shawl. The neighbour called out, "Good day". The visitor replied in a rather strange, guttural tongue, as if...'

'Wanef!' Amerotke exclaimed.

'Possibly; the neighbour thought Weni's visitor was foreign.'

'He was a proper chatterbox,' Asural declared. 'I asked about Weni's habits, where he spent his money and time. Apparently Weni's one and only topic of conversation was the fine tomb he'd bought for himself and his dead wife. "Always visiting it," the neighbour declared; constantly buying gifts to adorn it.'

Amerotke got to his feet. He felt more refreshed, clear-minded.

'It would seem,' he said, 'that our Weni definitely worked for himself. Hatusu's herald he may have been, but he was bribed by the Mitanni to steal the Glory of Anubis and Sinuhe's manuscript. At least the evidence points that way.'

Amerotke stood chewing his lip. He had heard of people like Weni who saw the purchase and adornment of a fine tomb as their greatest ambition in life: as well as in death, he thought wryly. The growing wealth of the merchant class, the courtiers, the career soldiers openly manifested itself in the Necropolis, where the embalmers and funeral shops, coffin-makers and casket-carpenters were doing a roaring trade. Such tombs were not only a sign of wealth and status... Amerotke paused in his thoughts and smiled.

'What's the matter, Master?'

'Get your cloaks.' Amerotke walked to the door. 'We are going across to the Necropolis. I know where Weni has hidden Sinuhe's manuscript.'

The Nile quayside was busy when Amerotke and his two companions climbed into the small fishing dhow which plied as a ferry along the Nile. The three-man crew looked their passengers up and down and chattered amongst themselves in the lingua franca of the waterfront.

'Shut up!' Asural bellowed. 'I understand exactly what you are saying. We are not as stupid as we look. We'll pay one piece of copper, and nothing more!'

The three men pulled faces and sardonically waved Amerotke and his two companions to seats. They turned their craft, loosening the sail, heading across a narrow part of the Nile to the small landing quay on the edge of the Necropolis. The heat was now oppressive: flies and mosquitoes thronged in black clouds above the marshy river banks. Now and again flocks of birds would burst out in flashes of colour. The river itself was empty and silent, as fishermen, ferrymen, merchants and travellers sheltered from the noonday heat. The smells were as pungent as ever: salted fish, tar and sulphur and, as they passed midstream, that eerie odour of the City of the Dead, cloying spices tinged with natron salt, glue and resin.

'Going to visit your tombs?' the tiller-man asked. 'That's what I'd like, you know: a nice little tomb for myself and my wife, a place we can plan. Go out there on festivals with my relatives and show them what we've got.' He looked at Amerotke sitting on his left. 'Do you have a tomb, Master?'

'A small one,' Amerotke replied. 'For my parents and elder brother.'

Asural looked up in surprise. Amerotke very rarely referred to his elder brother: some mystery or scandal lost in the mists of time. Amerotke turned away as a sign that he did not want to continue the conversation. The question of the family tomb was a constant cause of debate between him and Norfret. Amerotke believed in the rites, the journey to the Underworld, but as he'd confessed to her, he found the religious symbolism, the absorption with caskets and coffins unsavoury. Powerful Theban nobles and merchants even arranged dinner parties and invited guests to come and inspect their latest caskets. Amerotke shook his head and cleared his mind. He stared up at the warren of streets, the shops and booths now clear of the haze as they approached the quayside. Above the Necropolis soared a reddish outcrop of rock, the Peak of the West, dedicated to the serpent goddess Meretseger, the lover of silence.

'Beware of the goddess of the Western Peak.' Asural murmured his favourite prayer. 'She strikes instantly and without warning.'

'Perhaps not today,' Amerotke quipped back.

The ferry now slowed down, the sail was lowered and the tiller-man expertly brought his craft along the quayside. Amerotke paid a deben of copper, thanked them and climbed ashore. They took the road which wound up into the Necropolis, pausing before the new shrine to Osiris, foremost of the Westerners, the god of the dead. They followed the ritual, muttered a short prayer then climbed deeper into the City of the Dead. Even on a sunlit day it was an eerie experience, with the close-packed dwellings of the embalmers, coffin-makers, chandlers, painters and fashioners of funeral furniture. Through open doors and windows, Amerotke glimpsed the coffins leaning against the walls: shops where customers could choose the best design. Apprentices stood in the doorways with trays of miniature mummy-cases slung round their necks. The air reeked of natron, palm wine, incense, myrrh and cassia; the embalmers used these to pack the corpses once they had been gutted and cleaned.

They left the market, following a path which wound up to the honeycomb of tombs carved out of limestone granite. They stood aside for a funeral cortège to pass. The mummy-case rested on an ox-drawn sledge; the mourners came behind, their wailing and crying almost drowning the prayer of the funeral priests. At last Amerotke reached the office of the Superintendent of Tombs, a fat, portly man who sat in the doorway fanning himself, acknowledging the salutations of passing traders.

'I need to see the tomb of the herald Weni.'

'Do you now?' the fat man purred, not even bothering to look up. 'And who may you be?'

'Amerotke, Chief Judge in the Hall of Two Truths!' Asural snarled. 'And if you do not move your fat arse, you'll be needing a tomb yourself. We are here on the Divine One's instructions.'

The superintendent moved like a lizard scuttling away from a plunging hawk. He jumped up, ran into his office, knelt on a reed carpet and made the most profound obeisance.

'My lord Amerotke,' he wheezed, his plump face wreathed in smiles, his hands going out. 'I did not know, you bear no badge of office. But of course.'

Amerotke opened the small wallet he carried and showed Divine Pharaoh's cartouche. The superintendent almost had a fit. He crawled like a dog on all fours and kissed it, and if Amerotke hadn't stopped him, he would have done the same to the judge's sandals.

'For the love of truth,' Amerotke murmured, 'get to your feet and fetch your records.'

A short while later, the superintendent, scurrying in front, took them up the tomb path. The climb was hard in the full heat of the day and they were soon bathed in sweat. The pathways were deserted.

'It's the heat, you see,' the superintendent wheezed. 'Perhaps Your Excellency could have waited only another hour?' He smiled. 'But of course, Your Excellency cannot wait. I understand.'

Weni's tomb was built on the far side, in a rocky enclave; the huge boulder which sealed the entrance was bonded by the superintendent's mortuary seal.

'Are these tombs guarded?' Amerotke asked as the superintendent broke the seal.

The superintendent pulled out a small whistle and blew a shrill blast. Amerotke stared in surprise. Huge Nubians, armed with bows and arrows, clubs and spears, emerged from different caves above and to either side.

'No one approaches here,' the superintendent declared, 'unless they carry a pass and are recognised.'

He finished breaking the seal. Two Nubians came over and moved the rock, allowing them access into the tomb. It was like many others Amerotke had visited: a small house with adjoining chambers. One room contained mummy-cases, another ornaments, caskets, chests, coffers, pieces of furniture. There were drawings on the wall, ledges for vases; some flowers had been placed there but these had now died.

'Is there something wrong?' the superintendent asked. He took a flaming pitch torch one of the Nubians had brought in. 'Isn't Weni coming to visit the tomb himself?'

'Oh, he'll be visiting,' Amerotke replied, 'and staying for good. Weni is dead.'

'Ah well, he'd paid all his dues.'

'I am sure he had.'

Amerotke gazed round and whistled under his breath. The more he looked the more apparent it became how Weni must have been a very wealthy man. The caskets, boxes, furniture and vases were all of precious materials, most of them thickly gilded with gold or silver. Precious stones winked in the strengthening torchlight.

'It's a treasure house,' Asural whispered.

'More like a robbers' den,' Prenhoe added. 'Where would a herald find such wealth?'

Amerotke grasped the superintendent's shoulder.

'How did Weni account for this?'

'I don't know.' The superintendent's fat face creased into a smile. 'Will it stay here?'

'It's Weni's tomb,' Amerotke replied. 'He will have to answer for whatever crimes he committed in the next life, not this.'

'Your Excellency's wisdom is only matched by his generosity,' the superintendent blubbered. 'What is it you are looking for?'

'Weni came here?'

'Oh yes, this was his house of delight.'

'And he brought gifts?'

'Oh yes, look at the vases.'

'Did he ever bring anyone with him?'

The superintendent grinned slyly. 'Now and again a heset. You know how it is, Your Excellency? A jug of wine...'

'Did he bring anything here recently?'

The superintendent looked around, fingers to his lips.

'Sometimes he sent things with written instructions.'

'Like what? Something in the last few days?' Amerotke demanded. 'A casket, a box?'

The superintendent scuttled away and came back with a sandalwood coffer about a yard long. The lid had been sealed with the sign of the Ibis, a common practice amongst clerks and scribes. Amerotke broke this and, ignoring the superintendent's gasp of concern, opened the coffer. He took out a roll of papyrus and some other sheaves tied together by a piece of string. He looked through these carefully and smiled at the superintendent.

'You can have the coffer; I'll be keeping these.'

'But Your Excellency, this is a tomb. You know the ritual. Nothing can be removed without the owner's consent.'

'Precisely,' Amerotke snapped. 'And Weni did not own these. He stole them from the Divine Hatusu. He may even have committed murder for them. On second thoughts, I'll take the coffer as well. Lord Senenmut will be pleased. Did Weni bring these himself?'

'No, no, a messenger did, a woman.'

'Can you describe her?'

The superintendent spread his hands.

'Your Excellency, so many visitors... I can say no more.'

Amerotke sat down on a stool and stared at the entrance to the tomb. He recalled Belet sitting in the garden of that cookshop talking of a robbery where there would be few guards. Was he referring to the Necropolis? Was Weni's tomb the place the brigands had chosen? Was there some connection between the man who had approached Belet and this mysterious dead herald? Amerotke glanced up at the superintendent.

'Have you noticed anything suspicious?'

The man was truly cowed. It was obvious he wanted Amerotke to leave as quickly as possible.

'Great lord,' he wailed, 'I look after the dead; the living do not concern me!'

Anubis was the patron god of the 17th Nome of Upper Egypt.


The priest Khety and the god's handmaid Ita were making love. She, washed and perfumed, had slipped into the priest's chamber. She'd quickly loosened her robe and crept on to Khety's narrow bed. The priest's joy was complete. Ita was a consummate lover. He had never experienced such pleasure as he did in these secret, furtive meetings. They turned and twisted, confined by the narrow space.

'I will do anything for you,' Khety groaned.

Ita just smiled, rubbing her hands over his body, coaxing him gently. So engrossed were they in their pleasure, they failed to hear the door open. Only the forced cough made Khety push Ita away and stare across the darkened chamber. Only one window, high in the wall, allowed in a sliver of light. This was the old part of the temple. A place of dappled shadows and dark corners. Recesses constantly cold because the sun never penetrated. Ita knelt on the bed, pulling the robe around her. Khety's hand went out to the dagger on the table. He jumped as an arrow smacked into the wall high above him. Ita quietly cursed.

'You should have locked the door!' Khety hissed.

'She was too intent on her pleasure.' The voice was low, muffled, as if the speaker, male or female, wore a sacrificial mask.

'Please don't be anxious. You are only in danger if you leave that bed.'

Khety narrowed his eyes: a sing-song voice; the speaker was deliberately changing his, or her, intonation. Sometimes it was guttural, other times the words slipped smoothly out.

'What is it you want?' Khety demanded.

'Well, I could say I'd like to sit and watch you consummate your pleasure. Ita, you are such a pretty little thing. Both of you are certainly bold enough not to be frightened.'

'Why should we be frightened?' Khety retorted. 'I am a priest, unmarried, and Ita is a handmaid of the god.'

'Yes,' came the dry reply. 'But you are not a god, Khety. You may think you are. Anyway, as I was saying...'

Khety jumped at the twang of a bowstring: another arrow smashed into the wall.

'Just a reminder,' came the soft voice. 'Aren't you frightened of Lord Amerotke, the judge with the hard face and ever-seeing eye?'

'He's a fool,' Khety grumbled. 'He can swagger around and ask his questions. Why should that concern us?'

'But it does concern you. You've just confessed as much. Where is the Glory of Anubis?'

'We did not take it.'

'Didn't you now? Amerotke thinks you did.'

'How do you know that?'

'Just a matter of logic. Nemrath was killed. You were on guard outside the chapel; its door remained locked and Nemrath had the key. Something very strange must have happened. You can appreciate that it's difficult to believe you were not involved.'

'If I was involved,' Khety replied, 'they'd put me under arrest.'

'No, no, they won't do that. You're a priest, you can't be tortured and there's not a shred of real evidence against you. You apparently did nothing wrong. Moreover, if you did steal the Glory of Anubis and tried to sell it...'

'I don't know what you are talking about.'

Khety peered through the darkness. He couldn't recognise that voice: low, high, guttural, smooth, ever-changing in intonation. His mysterious guest had prepared his visit carefully.

'Oh, by the way.' The voice fell to a whisper. 'You've just admitted that the pretty little Ita is also involved.'

Khety closed his eyes. He had made a mistake! Ita had remained silent throughout. If this was any other concubine, she would have exclaimed in surprise.

'Now, as I was saying, you stole the Glory of Anubis. How did you do it?'

Khety remained silent.

'Was it your idea or Weni's?'

'Weni?' Khety asked. 'Who is Weni?'

'Oh, now you are lying. He's the Egyptian herald working for us Mitanni.'

Khety stiffened. Why had the speaker made such an admission?

'The Mitanni want the Glory of Anubis. King Tushratta will take it back to his dark temple. He is humiliated and angry at being forced to sign a peace treaty with a Pharaoh-Queen and kiss her painted toes. Every so often, during the years ahead, Tushratta will soothe his temper. He'll calm the raging in his soul by opening that secret casket and bathing in the beauty of the Glory of Anubis. How he'll laugh, whilst Hatusu can only grind her teeth till the sun freezes over.'

Khety felt his leg biting with cramp. He couldn't help moving. Even as he did, another arrow smacked just above his head.

'I have cramp!' he moaned.

'That's not what I saw a short while ago; a stallion and his mare, yes? The Glory of Anubis. How did you steal it?'

'I cannot, I will not answer that.'

'You must be sad,' the voice purred. 'I mean, Weni's dead. Everyone knows that. They are gossiping about it in the marketplace. So, don't lie to me about who was Weni and where is Weni. Weni has gone to the Far Horizon. I hope he has his answers ready for the gods. What will you do now? How much did Weni offer you?'

Ita was now coming out of her shock and moving restlessly. Her lower lip began to quiver. Khety grabbed her wrist.

'Look,' the voice continued more urgently, 'you have the sacred amethyst. What can you do? Take it down to the marketplace and offer it like a hawker selling a parrot or some pet monkey? Will you take it to the Libyans or the Nubians? You must make a decision.'

'Let us say you are correct.' Khety chose his words carefully. 'Let us say, for sake of argument, that you have been sent by the lord Amerotke to trap me.'

'Pick it up and go back!' the voice ordered. A small seal was thrown into the pool of light.

'Carefully,' the voice insisted.

Khety got up, stretched his legs and picked up the scarab. It wasn't of Egyptian design. Turning it over, Khety recognised the royal seal of Tushratta.

'You could have stolen this.'

'But I didn't. Again.'

This time a clinking leather purse was thrown into the pool of light. Khety picked it up and eagerly undid the twine. He poured the contents into his hand: gleaming miniature ingots of gold, each no bigger than his fingernail. He weighed the cubes in his hand: these were the purest metal.

'There's more,' the voice called out. 'Much more than Weni offered. But not now. Now is unsafe, isn't it, Khety? When it is safe, we'll have a sign: young Ita has a necklace of cornelian with a gold scorpion head in the centre. See how much I watch you? On the day you are prepared to hand it over – and listen carefully, Khety, that day must be when the Mitanni are about to leave Thebes – Ita will appear, wearing her necklace, beside the pool outside the mansion where the Mitanni are staying. You will make sure that the Glory of Anubis is left in this chamber in a small casket. You and Ita will stay away from this chamber for all of that day. When you return, the Glory of Anubis will be gone but both of you will be wealthy beyond your dreams.'

'How do I know that?' Khety snarled.

Another purse was flung into the pool of light.

'More will be left. Think now, Khety. After I disappear, sit with your beloved, sing her a love song. Count your wealth, plan where you are going to flee. Who knows, if you take the Horus road, King Tushratta might welcome you into his kingdom. Please,' the voice urged, 'sit back on the bed.'

Khety hurried to do so. Another arrow smacked into the wall. The door opened and closed, leaving the two lovers sitting on the bed, staring into the darkness.

An hour later Mareb the herald, a slight sheen of sweat glistening on his shoulder, his mind teeming with all he had to do, came hurrying up the stairs. He paused at the top and caught his breath. He was certain that Lord Amerotke had left the temple but he had received the message: an old priest mumbling how Pharaoh's judge wished to see him urgently. Mareb had glimpsed that little mannikin, Shufoy, hurrying across the grounds to the temple. So perhaps the judge had returned? The gallery in front was deserted. The temple servants had swept and polished the wooden floorboards, rubbing in a special perfume, arranging flowers in little copper bowls. Mareb wiped the sweat from his face. He'd be glad when this was all over. Outside he heard a hymn, a mortuary priest declaiming a lament for the dead. Poor Weni, perhaps it was for him. Mareb grinned, went along the gallery and knocked on the door. No answer; again the herald knocked.

'My lord Amerotke!' he called.

He pushed the door open. The room was dark, the shutters closed. His eyes grew accustomed to the gloom. He could make out the bed, its ornate headrest and other items of furniture.

'My lord Amerotke!'

He walked into the chamber. He had gone to open the window when he heard the sound. Something was wrong. The door slammed shut behind him. A pair of powerful hands sent him spinning across the room. He crashed into the bed, knocking the wind out of him. He turned gasping. Mareb had expected this: treachery, treason and intrigue was a herald's lot. Was this a warning? He threw himself towards the dark figure. Still dazed and confused, Mareb didn't realise the man was armed: his assailant's leather war club smacked him in the face, sending arrows of shooting pain through his head. He screamed as the blood spurted out of the cut on the corner of his mouth. Mareb looked around: a dagger, a vase, anything! His shadowy assailant stood silent and menacing.

'Stay where you are, Egyptian herald,' the voice ordered.

'What is it you want?' Mareb gasped. 'Why this?'

'On your knees!' the voice ordered. 'On your knees! Your back towards me.'

Mareb obeyed but panicked. Was his throat going to be cut?

'I am...'

He tried to rise, only to be pushed, sent crashing into a corner of the room. Sounds clattered in the corridor outside.

'Silence!' the voice ordered.

Mareb froze. The door was opening. He recognised the small outline of Shufoy. The mannikin was abruptly seized and hurled across the room like a sack of clothes. Shufoy blundered into a piece of overturned furniture: a cry of pain followed by loud curses. The door was then flung open and the attacker disappeared.

For a while all was confusion. Shufoy moaned and groaned. Mareb's legs ached and the side of his mouth was slightly swollen. He pulled the shutters back. Shufoy stood nursing a sore arm. The mannikin gazed round at the chaos.

'It's lucky I came here,' he declared. 'You have no idea...?'

'None whatsoever,' Mareb replied testily. 'I thought the lord Amerotke wanted to see me. I opened the door.' He smiled and stretched out his hand. Shufoy clasped it. 'But I do thank you for coming. Only the gods know what would have happened if you hadn't.'

'Who delivered this message about the lord Amerotke?'

'An old priest,' Mareb replied. 'And I'm sure that if I searched him out, he'd be too blind or confused to describe who it was.'

Shufoy hobbled off. The downstairs of the small mansion was empty. A servant, moony-eyed and munching on his gums as he tended a flowerpot, could only shake his head. He had seen or heard nothing amiss. Despite the heat of the day, Shufoy went and roused the house servants: water, napkins and unguents were brought. Shufoy tended to his bruises, and those of Mareb.

'For a while,' the little man declared, 'the girls won't look at you, but you'll heal soon enough.'

Mareb thanked him. Shufoy went out and brought back some dried meat, fruit and a little bread. He'd also managed to filch a small jug of wine from the kitchens, and they used this to ease the pain as well as dab at their wounds.

'I could have been a physician, you know,' Shufoy declared proudly. 'I would have specialised as a guardian of the anus.' He searched Mareb's face for any sign of mockery. 'I can recognise every potion. I know all the symptoms, from the swelling of veins...'

'Yes, yes,' Mareb interrupted hastily. 'But Shufoy, why did you come here?'

'Lord Amerotke has gone to the Necropolis,' Shufoy declared sonorously. 'Apparently he wishes to visit Weni the herald's tomb.'

'I didn't know he had one. What on earth does he want to do that for?' Mareb added quickly.

'Whatever.' Shufoy smiled. 'I have news for him about the knives.'

Mareb looked puzzled.

'I found the seller. An old acquaintance of mine: the Crocodile Man. So, if the lord Amerotke isn't here,' Shufoy, full of self-importance, stuck out his chest, 'then perhaps I had best take care of the matter myself.'

'The Crocodile Man?' Mareb whispered.

'No more questions. Our wounds will heal and the day draws on.'

On the way out of the temple Shufoy described the Crocodile Man.

'He was a sailor once, then a fisherman. He doesn't do much business in Thebes because some people regard the crocodile as a god. In season he goes hunting them, out in a flat-bottomed boat, a fat little pig dangling over the edge. The trick is to bring one crocodile into the shallows. Sometimes, of course, he brings in more than one.' Shufoy laughed. 'And has to flee for his life.'

They left the temple complex and made their way through the market. Their bruises and dishevelled looks attracted strange glances but Shufoy had no difficulty in getting through the crowd, laying to his left and his right with his parasol.

'Make way!' he bawled. 'Make way for the lord Amerotke's servant! Clear a path for the messenger of Divine Pharaoh's justice!'

Surprisingly the people obeyed. They were not accosted by the sellers of gazelle meat or those who traded in potions and elixirs to keep away rats and scorpions. Even the aggressive sellers of song birds proved no obstacle for little Shufoy. Mareb couldn't decide whether people gave way because of who he was, who he represented or in deference to his size and appearance. The little man, with his pugnacious, disfigured face, did look like the incarnation of the dwarf god Bes.

The great palaces and houses gave way to meaner, narrower streets and more tawdry tenements. The scents and perfumes of the marketplace were replaced by the odours of oil, fish and tar, all the spicy smells of the waterfront. The quaysides were busy: fishing craft, war galleys, merchantmen and barges full of produce. Soldiers and sailors swaggered about. The Guild of Prostitutes was busy looking for trade, its members dressed in ornately ostentatious wigs, faces gaudily painted; their coloured robes made them look like a group of squawking parakeets. Shufoy, grasping Mareb's hand, made his way round them, down a narrow lane and into a small, ill-lit beer shop. It reeked of leather and tannin because it adjoined a flesher's yard. A man in the corner rose to greet them. He was grotesquely dressed in crocodile skins; narrow-faced and mean-mouthed, his eyes ever watchful. He wore leather wrist guards and his arms and hands were streaked with old scars and cuts.

Shufoy ushered the herald to a stool. As wine and beer were served, Mareb studied the Crocodile Man whilst Shufoy, perched on his own stool, scrutinised Mareb in return. When they had first met, the herald had appeared to be a court fop, rather languid in his ways. Men who worked in the herald corps were usually of noble families, and Mareb was no different. Shufoy could see how Mareb was badly shaken by the assault but there was something else: an ill-concealed fury which the herald betrayed in the tight line of his mouth. A good fighter, Shufoy considered, who wasn't cowed by the fearsome Crocodile Man, busy with his usual trick of frightening all he met.

'I've heard of you.' Mareb put his beer jug down. 'Shufoy says you are a legend along the river. Very few men survive a crocodile attack.'

'Once you know how to deal with them,' the Crocodile Man grinned back, 'and you're careful, they pose no real danger.'

Shufoy would have disagreed. He had once been on a boat with Amerotke which had begun to sink after being attacked by a horde of the marauding river beasts. An experience Shufoy vowed he'd never forget.

'Never mind that.' The dwarf pulled his stool closer. 'We've come to talk about Weni and knives.'

'Weni and knives?' the Crocodile Man mimicked. 'A strange one, Weni.'

He scratched the sweat on the back of his neck and waved at a prostitute who had slipped through the doorway.

'Are you wasting our time?' Mareb asked.

'No, sir, but you could be wasting mine,' the Crocodile Man retorted. 'Nothing moves along the Nile that I don't know about.'

'So, you are a boaster as well.'

Mareb pushed back his stool as a strange creature stepped out of an alcove behind the Crocodile Man.

The newcomer was tall, slender, with a strange girlish face, shaven head and goatee beard. He, too, was dressed in animal skins. He reminded Mareb of the skirmishers, mercenaries who served with the imperial army as scouts and foragers. The herald couldn't decide whether he was fearsome or funny. The man tightly grasped the handle of a dagger, pushed in its sheath, and a similar weapon also hung on a rope round his neck. Mareb decided he was fearsome, with his thin, yellowish face, womanly lips, the gaudy earring hanging from one lobe and that straggling beard.

'Who's this?' Mareb challenged.

'He has no name.' The Crocodile Man smiled. 'Except Shadow. Where I go, he goes. Pretty, isn't he, in a strange sort of way?'

He turned and gestured with his fingers. The man opened his mouth. The Crocodile Man grinned.

'Shufoy has no nose and Shadow has no tongue.' He leaned over and jabbed a finger in Mareb's face. 'You should spend more time along the waterfront. Stranger sights are to be seen there than in the land of Kush.'

Mareb just winked at the bodyguard.

'Why aren't you blunt?' Shufoy protested. 'You agreed to see me. You know about Weni and the daggers!'

'What I know about Weni is worth more than a cup of beer. He is dead, isn't he? We've all heard about what happened at the Temple of Anubis!'

The Crocodile Man's tongue darted in and out like a lizard's.

'I am truly thirsty, Shufoy.'

'Then drink your beer!' he snapped.

The Crocodile Man looked over his shoulder at Shadow.

'Go and amuse yourself with her.'

He nodded across at the whore who stood just within the doorway. Shadow's face broke into a smile. He gestured at the girl, who accompanied him out through the back door of the beer shop.

'Three debens of silver,' the Crocodile Man declared, 'and I'll tell you everything I know.'

'Two debens,' Shufoy replied. 'I also give you the word of Lord Amerotke, Chief Judge in the Hall of Two Truths, that you will not be arrested for complicity in any crime.'

The Crocodile Man swallowed hard, as if he hadn't thought of that.

'Agreed,' he replied throatily. 'So I won't be visited by the police? Dug out of some brothel at the dead of night?'

Shufoy sighed, opened his purse and put two small silver ingots on the table before him.

'You're safe and they are yours.'

'Right!'

The Crocodile Man went to take the pieces of silver but Shufoy smacked his hand away.

'We'll eat your meal first and then we'll pay.'

Shaking his head at such a lack of trust, the Crocodile Man picked up his sack and emptied the contents on the table. The knives clattered out. Shufoy grabbed one and studied the strangely carved bone handle shaped in the form of a jackal or dog's head.

'I bought...' The Crocodile Man coughed.

'You stole,' Shufoy interrupted.

'I borrowed these,' the Crocodile Man grinned, 'from a trader I met in Memphis: the work of some Caananite craftsman. I couldn't sell them there so I brought them to Thebes. I have no licence in the marketplace so I stayed beyond the walls. Weni bought some.'

'You are sure it was Weni?' Mareb interrupted.

'Oh yes, I knew Weni. He wasn't the good little boy you think he was.'

'He was a royal herald.'

'To be perfectly honest, sir,' the Crocodile Man snorted, 'I couldn't care if he was Pharaoh's son and spent his days in the House of a Million Years. No one is ever what they appear to be. Weni bought two knives. He gave me one of those.' He pointed to the silver lying on the table between them. 'And I was very happy.'

'I hope this is good,' Shufoy broke in. 'You've heard of the theft of the Glory of Anubis?'

The smile disappeared from the Crocodile Man's face.

'What are you implying?'

'A knife like this was used to kill Nemrath the guardian priest.'

The Crocodile Man put his hands over his face. When he took them away, all bravado had disappeared. He looked hungrily towards the door, then at the back entrance through which the whore's muffled squeals echoed.

'I wouldn't leave,' Shufoy declared. 'As I said, the meal has only begun.'

'I didn't know that,' the fellow stammered.

'But you've heard it's been stolen?'

'All of Thebes has. You know how priests chatter and gossip?' He snapped his fingers. 'So, that's what Weni meant?'

'Oh, I am sure he did.' Shufoy smiled. 'Keep talking. You know me and I know you. These knives were stolen: that's what you are good at, isn't it, Crocodile Man? You take stolen goods and sell them. I am sure Weni paid you for more than just the knives.'

'Yes, yes, he did. He said he had something to sell, something very precious. No,' the Crocodile Man tapped his forehead, 'he said there were two things. One he wouldn't name; the other was a book, a manuscript.'

'Sinuhe?' Mareb interrupted.

'Who?'

'Sinuhe the traveller.'

'Of course!' The Crocodile Man recovered his poise though he slurped quickly from the beer jug. 'He's gone into the west as well, hasn't he? One last journey? Anyway, Weni chattered on, claiming he wished to sell these goods. I asked to whom. After all, the Mitanni are in Thebes and out at the Oasis of Palms. Weni smiled and shook his head. "Who?" I demanded. "Libyans," Weni replied. "Or the Nubians." I, of course, acted coy and confused.'

'Of course,' Shufoy murmured. 'Keeping to character as always.'

The mannikin jumped as a rat scuttled across the floor. He sprang to his feet, knocking the stool over. He grasped the empty beer jug.

'What sort of place do you call this?' he bawled at the sleepy-eyed, dishevelled owner. 'Can't you keep the floor safe?'

'You're safe from the rats,' the fellow jeered. 'That's why we have the snakes.'

Shufoy glared at him and retook his seat.

'I hate rats,' he declared, 'whether they have four legs or two.'

'Weni was a rat,' the Crocodile Man agreed, 'and much more dangerous than you think. Now you know me, Shufoy. I know everyone in the city, all the Libyan and Nubian merchants who come here to collect information or to spy.'

'And the safest people for a thief like Weni to approach?'

The Crocodile Man agreed.

'They always carry gold and silver and they can call up more from their envoys in the city. Whatever they buy is loaded on barges and away it goes.' The Crocodile Man whistled between his teeth. 'But the Glory of Anubis?'

'And what did you do?' Mareb asked.

The Crocodile Man pulled a face.

'I made enquiries. I told Weni that I would see what I could do, but I don't know why he bought the knives. Was Sinuhe killed by a knife? Isn't it a small world?' The Crocodile Man chattered on. 'I steal knives, sell some to Weni and he used one to kill fat Nemrath.'

'But you sold them to other people?' Shufoy asked him. 'Do the names Khety and Ita mean anything to you?'

The Crocodile Man shook his head. He paused, listening to the whore's squeals of protests, or joy, from the yard outside.

'Shut up!' he bellowed. 'A man can't think!'

The noise, however, continued unabated.

'I knew Nemrath.' The Crocodile Man jabbed his thumb at the door behind him. 'And so did that whore. Nemrath was as lecherous as a goat on heat. He was well known by the ladies: not a brothel in town which he didn't grace with his presence.'

'Let's go back to Weni,' Shufoy insisted. 'So, he bought the knives and asked if you could dispose of certain property?'

'Agreed.' The Crocodile Man nodded.

'How many of these knives have you sold in Thebes?'

'About a dozen.' The Crocodile Man scooped the knives back into his leather sack.

'To anyone interesting?'

A shake of the head.

'None of the Mitanni delegation?' Shufoy demanded.

'I wouldn't know. Sometimes I'm drunk when I sell them. No one whose face is memorable, except for Weni.'

'But why would Weni do that?' Mareb murmured. 'If the thief used one of those knives to murder Nemrath and steal that amethyst, sooner or later the knife would be traced back to him.'

Shufoy lifted his beer jug and held it up to cool his flushed face.

'I hadn't thought of that,' he remarked crossly. 'But there again, it might take some time before the knife was traced.'

'Of course it would,' the Crocodile Man broke in. 'You don't think I told Weni the truth, do you? I informed him that these knives were on sale all over Thebes. Moreover, just because he bought one doesn't mean he used it.'

Shufoy bellowed across for more beer.

'And you're forgetting one very important thing,' the Crocodile Man added. 'If Weni hadn't died, I wouldn't be sitting here talking to you.'

'The lord Amerotke is not going to be pleased,' Shufoy declared mournfully. 'For if Weni bought the knife then he must have been involved in Nemrath's murder.'

Shufoy paused whilst a fresh jug of beer was brought.

'The rat sends his regards.' The beer shop owner grinned.

Shufoy made an obscene gesture at his retreating back. Shadow appeared in the doorway and went to stand behind his master. The prostitute, all dishevelled, followed sheepishly, her amulets and bracelets jangling noisily. Shufoy grasped her arm as she passed.

'Did you know Nemrath the priest from the Temple of Anubis?'

The prostitute looked pointedly at the beer. Shufoy poured her a cup. She leaned down amidst gusts of perfumed sweat.

'Little man,' she murmured, 'if you can find me a whore in Thebes who didn't know Nemrath, then I'll buy you a drink!' She waddled off.

'You didn't believe me.' The Crocodile Man spoke up petulantly.

'You still haven't earned your silver. We were talking about Weni.'

'So we were, and aren't you in for a surprise?' The Crocodile Man preened himself. 'You've heard of the Amemets?'

'Who hasn't?' the dwarf answered. 'They were a Guild of Assassins who followed the Divine Hatusu's army north, then disappeared.'

'How do you know that?' the Crocodile Man asked.

'Oh, get on with your story!'

'Well, as you know, my dear Shufoy, in Thebes you can buy anything: a knife, an amethyst, a dagger. Well, most things,' he added hastily, seeing the warning look in Shufoy's eyes. 'The lord Amerotke's honesty is well known. You can also hire assassins, not just men from the guild or some cutthroat from the quayside, but people... how can I put it... who carry out a certain task for you. Weni was one of those.'

'He was a herald!' Mareb exclaimed.

'I have answered that,' the Crocodile Man retorted. 'Our very busy Weni carried out a number of murders. Do you know he was married to a Mitanni woman? According to rumour she died of an accident.'

'You're not saying Weni killed her?'

'Oh yes. Weni took her for a boating trip along the Nile. They drank some wine, she went swimming and promptly disappeared. Her corpse was discovered some time later bearing no mark of violence. Weni thought he was safe. However, the very evening he chose for his little boating trip was when I was doing business on the Nile. I'd pulled my craft into the reeds. I saw what really happened. She was asleep and he smothered her with a cushion then tipped her corpse overboard: that's how Weni and I got to know each other.'

'You mean blackmail?' Shufoy interrupted.

'More a business agreement. I pointed out how skilful he was. Weni accepted my proposition. I brought him names, possible victims, and he carried out the task. He liked gardening, did Weni: flowers, trees, plants and, above all, herbs. He was quite an expert on poisons. He wasn't violent.' The Crocodile Man gestured at Shufoy's beer jug. 'How do you know I haven't paid the owner to put poison in that? You wouldn't, till the belly cramps started. I'm only joking,' he smiled. 'As I said, I'd bring the name. Weni would send them a present: food, wine. It's surprising how many people wish to rid themselves of a business rival, their wife's lover or a suitor they've tired of.'

Shufoy sat in disbelief, though he accepted the Crocodile Man was telling the truth. Death took many forms in Thebes: heat stroke, a variety of diseases, accidents on the river, polluted food or drink, a snake bite. How many times had Lord Amerotke wondered, when studying the Roll of the Dead posted outside a temple, which deaths were natural: how many of the victims had been helped over the Far Horizon?

'You could stand trial for murder,' Shufoy accused.

'What murder?' the Crocodile Man replied innocently. 'What name? Where's the corpse? Where's the proof?'

'I have Mareb as a witness.'

'Who'd believe you? I'd say I was joking.'

'So, why are you telling us this?' Shufoy demanded.

The Crocodile Man emphasised his points on his stubby, dirty fingers.

'First, I want your word, Shufoy, that I am safe. Only the gods know, now the pool's been stirred, what dirt will rise to the top. Secondly, I want to be paid. Finally, before Asural grasps my neck, I want to be safely out of Thebes.'

'You are frightened, aren't you?' Shufoy accused.

'Yes, I'm frightened. We are not dealing with the small people along the Nile but the lords in their heavenly mansions. Weni's dead and I will be gone. I don't want to be crucified against the walls of Thebes.'

'So, you think Weni stole the Glory of Anubis?'

'Perhaps.'

'He may have also killed Sinuhe?'

'Perhaps.'

'Was Weni working for anyone?' Shufoy demanded.

The Crocodile Man scratched his cheek and looked wistfully at the door.

'I don't know. Weni was as lonely as a jackal. All he was really bothered about was that tomb in the Necropolis; called himself the Gardener, he did.' The Crocodile Man pulled a face. 'He saw himself as someone who cleaned up, weeded out, imposed order.'

'Before he died,' Shufoy insisted, 'did he tell you anything? Had his mood changed?'

The Crocodile Man picked at his jagged teeth. Outside the tavern a man began to sing a love song:

 'My love is unique, without peer,

 Beautiful above all Egypt's lovely girls.

 Sweet are her lips,

 The line of her neck.

 Her young breasts are full and firm,

 In the bouncing light.

 I will give her some figs.

 Malachite leaves.

 Barks of green jasper.

 A sea breeze from the Great Green.'

Shufoy listened intently. He'd remember those words. He glanced quickly at Mareb. The herald sat as if fascinated by the Crocodile Man. Shufoy felt a slight unease. He looked over his shoulder: the beer shop owner stood barring the door. In the sunlight outside, Shufoy glimpsed shapes; men were lurking there.

'You're safe for the time being, Shufoy.'

The Crocodile Man's eyes came up. For a moment he looked like that terrible beast of the river, with his hard, unblinking eyes.

'I hope we are safe,' Shufoy whispered.

He drew his small knife from its sheath and pricked the Crocodile Man's knee beneath the table.

'You are safe,' the Crocodile Man murmured. He scooped the pieces of silver towards him. 'To answer bluntly, Weni was worried, anxious, but I don't know why: that's all I can say.' He scraped back the stool and stood up.

'My master will ask for the proof.'

'Then let him find it. Do you know the old Temple of Bes where Sinuhe was murdered? Well,' the Crocodile Man leaned over the table, 'in the entrance to the side chapel lies a flagstone; move that and you'll find a corpse.'

'Whose?'

'After Weni murdered his wife, I watched him. I followed him for days. He killed someone else: his wife's lover. He invited him down to the Temple of Bes and struck him behind the head with an axe.' The Crocodile Man smiled. 'He was busy burying him when I introduced myself.' He lifted a hand. 'Now, hush, Shufoy: I will leave you to pay the bill. Wait for a hundred breaths then you are safe to go. My regards to Lord Amerotke.'

Shufoy watched him go.

'What's the matter?' Mareb asked.

'Nothing.' Shufoy shook his head. 'The Crocodile Man's a rogue, it's in his blood. I've known him for years and I've never known him to be so loquacious or helpful.'

[ Anubis: the principal Egyptian God of the Dead. Anubis was the patron of all embalmers ]