Summer Solstice Part 7

"Can you see them?" asked Eratosthenes. "You are taller."

13. Something in the Wine

"I see them both very well. He and the female approach the wine table. He whispers to her. She is to put something in your wine."

"Poison."

"Yes. You are to die by poison. The mind of the female is in a great turmoil. She wants to refuse. But the priest threatens her. Ah, she looks back this way. but she cannot see you. What a strange expression on her face, Eratosthenes. How is one to interpret it?"

"Horror, possibly. She does not really want to kill me. She resists strongly, but I think probably she will make the attempt. From childhood, this is what the temple trained her to do."

"They argue some more. He insists. He says to her, if she fails, servants will bind her mouth and limbs, and carry her in a cart to the temple pool, and the crocodiles will feed. And you will die in any case."

"Pleasant fellow."

"Perhaps you should leave with me, Eratosthenes. As you know, I still seek a bipedal specimen. On my world you need have no fear of a.s.sa.s.sination."

The librarian laughed forlornly. "Don't tempt me, admirable visitor. What are they doing now?"

"Nothing as yet. I am in the mind of the priest. He is thinking about rings on his fingers, and three white powders. a.r.s.enic... strychnine... aconite. a.r.s.enic is tasteless, but takes a while, probably too long for what he wants. Also you might get sick and vomit. Strychnine? A good one. Not much is needed. Acts in a few minutes. Whole body goes into mortal spasm. He's seen a man die, lying flat, resting only on his heels and the back of his skull. But strychnine is bitter. You might taste it and not drink the wine. No, no strychnine for you. It's aconite. The deadliest known poison. It is extracted from a delicate plant that looks like a tiny helmet or hood, and which grows in mountains called the Alps, far to the north of the Roman domains. A crystal the size of a grain of sand can be fatal. You are quickly paralyzed. Your heart stops. Death is quick. Ah, he's moving. He cups his hand over a wine goblet. The cap on his golden ring opens. A powder falls into the wine. He gives the goblet to the girl. He snarls at her, and she moves away. Look sharp, Eratosthenes! Here she comes!"

And there was Ne-tiy, standing before him quietly. "I have brought wine, my lord."

He looked at her in glum silence.

She raised the cup to her own lips.

"No!" he cried. He struck the cup away. It clattered to the floor, splas.h.i.+ng red liquid over carpet and guests, who stared around in dismay. "Sorry!" cried the geometer. "So clumsy of me!" He called a serving man to bring mop and bucket.

Ne-tiy had not moved. "True, my lord, I could not harm you. Yet, what you have done to me just now is a cruel thing. For now I face a very painful death. The wine would have been... like going to sleep."

"Khor, take care of her for a moment." His voice grated harshly in his own ears. "Take her out on the balcony. I'll join you there in a little while." Now, Hor-ent-yotf, you son of river sc.u.m, where are you?

14. The Bargain

He found him quickly. If Hor-ent-yotf was surprised, he didn't show it.

Eratosthenes controlled his voice carefully, as though he were discussing the weather, the cost of grain, or whether the eastern harbor might need dredging this year. "I understand that Ne-tiy has refused to kill me. This despite your direct order. So that now her own life is forfeit. Is this not so?"

"Why should I stand here, talking to a Greek sp.a.w.n of Set? Yet it is so. She failed. She dies."

"Let us bargain, high avenger of Horus." Should he include his own life in the negotiations? No. Too demeaning. Just Ne-tiy. He said, "I will buy her."

"Ah?" The small eyes peered suspiciously at the heretic. "With what?"

"Information. I know the burial site of the boy-pharaoh, Tut-ankh-amun."

The eyes of the priest popped. "You lie! You lie most vilely!"

Eratosthenes smiled. "No. It is so. Tut, son-in-law of that great heretic, Ikhnaton, who decreed the wors.h.i.+p of Aton, the sun, and desecrated all other temples. Ikhnaton, who built Akhetaton, an entire city, devoted to the wors.h.i.+p of Aton..."

"The City of the Criminal!" breathed the priest. "He died. And we destroyed his city. We destroyed everything of his. All-"

"Except the tomb of Tut... who married Ikhnaton's third daughter.''

"Prove it!" hissed Hor-ent-yotf. "Prove you really know!"

"I have seen the records. The report, for example."

"Report? What report?"

"The one written by the captain of pharaoh's guards. He caught the grave robbers in the act of breaking in. He slew them on the spot, reinforced the entrance, and posted a guard."

"Goon."

"I can give you the record of the final funerary banquet, held within the tomb itself. Eight necropolis officials ate five ducks, two plovers, a haunch of mutton. They drank beer and wine, and they swept up all residue with two small brooms, put the debris in a special jar, and buried the jar in a pit outside the tomb. I have seen the jar."

The Avenger of Horus studied the librarian, and his eyes narrowed in a crafty squint. "How much can you tell me about the location?"

"It's in the Necropolis of Thebes, in the Valley of Kings."

"Hm. That's a big place. Specifically-?"

"No specifics as to place until we have an agreement."

"I see. His queen, the vile sp.a.w.n of the criminal pharaoh Ikhnaton?"

"Her name was Ankhesenamun. But she was not buried with the boy king."

"Interesting." The priest hesitated. "But certainly the tomb was re-entered subsequently?"

"No. The entrance was later further sealed, one might say almost by accident. I have verified that the seal is undisturbed."

"The last of the Atonist h.e.l.l-people," muttered the priest. "Pull him out of his death-lair. Burn the infidel mummy. The gold and silver go to the servants of Horus."

"Is it a bargain?"

The holy man hesitated. They both waited for a time in silence.

Eratosthenes sighed. "The excavation will be expensive. A hundred slaves must be rented and housed and fed for several weeks. You will need ready money. I will sign over my Cyrenian estates to you, together with my gold on deposit in local banks."

Hor-ent-yotf still seemed lost in thought.

"If we cannot agree," said the librarian gravely, "I will be forced to take a certain action."

"Oh, really?" The priest's mouth curled. "Exactly what?"

"I will turn over Tut's location to the Council of Antiquities. They will excavate at government expense. There will be great excitement, presaging a revival of Aton-ism."