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oil, flared vigorously. Mafdet used this to light other lamps before returning to the bathroom, where he washed his hands and face in a bowl of herb-strewn water and wiped himself clean with a napkin. During the day he had a servant to tend him, but at night he liked to be by himself. He had business to do, plans to make, money to count. He thought of High Priest Impuki and smiled, baring his teeth like a dog. ‘My lord Impuki this, my lord Impuki that!’ he hissed. ‘Well, my lord Impuki,’ he filled a beer jug and sipped appreciatively, enjoying the harsh tang of the brew, ‘perhaps I know more than you think.’ He recalled the High Priest’s angry face and his instruction to search the grounds. Mafdet sat down on a stool and laughed softly to himself. He would do nothing of the sort. If the temple gardens were to be searched it would be during the day. He had no intention of jumping to the High Priest’s every whim and wish.

    Mafdet finished his beer. He felt tired and sleepy. He recalled what Impuki had said about the temple girls, and smiled quietly to himself. As he thought of a certain heset’s golden body squirming beneath him, his eyes grew heavy and he promised himself a short sleep before resuming his drinking. He put the beer cup down and went and lay on the long couch which served as his bed. For a while he drifted in and out of sleep. Memories came and went: of the chaos caused by Rahimere’s fall, followed by service out in the Red Lands; of sleeping with one eye open, ever ready for those Libyan marauders to come slipping out of the darkness. Ah well, that was all over; now a life of comfort beckoned. Mafdet fell asleep.
    He was slapped awake brutally, startled by a cup of cold water thrown into his face. He lurched forward, only to discover that his hands were bound above his head whilst his legs were held fast by cords which bit into his ankles. He tried to speak, but the linen cloth stuffed into his mouth made him gag and fight for breath. Mafdet turned his head. Was this some sort of nightmare? Yet he was in his own house; the oil lamp still glowed. He glimpsed a movement, and a shadow detached itself from the darkness and came towards him. Mafdet gazed in terror as the head came into view, the face hidden behind a jackal mask. The intruder was cloaked in black, and the sinister features of that mask, the glittering eyes, cruel snout and sprouting ears, reminded Mafdet of the city executioner. He shook his head, trying to understand who this terrifying figure could be, and why it was here.
    â€˜Mafdet.’ The voice was low and throaty. The Captain of the Guard couldn’t decide if it was female or male. ‘Mafdet, you have sinned against the Goddess.’
    Mafdet shook his head and strained with all his might against the cords around his wrists and ankles, but they were tightly bound and the cords held. He struggled, trying to lift his body, but it was impossible.

    â€˜Do you remember, Mafdet?’ The voice came like an echo in a dream. ‘Do you know what happens to those who commit sacrilege against the Goddess?’ Mafdet could only stare at this monstrosity from the Underworld. ‘You have to be punished, Mafdet.’
    The Captain of the Temple Guard felt his tunic being raised. He tried to scream as his loincloth was wrenched away, and his body convulsed in agony as the knife, pressed against his genitals, thrust deep.

BEHEN: ancient Egyptian, ‘murderous’

    CHAPTER 2
    The Hall of Two Truths in the Temple of Ma’at at the heart of the Waset—Thebes, the City of the Sceptre—lay silent. So expectant was the crowd gathered at the back and along the sides of the hall that they forgot to stare round. They did not admire its painted pillars and columns of dark green and light blue with gold lotus leaves carved around the base and silver acanthi at the top. Nor were the spectators distracted by the marble floor, polished