The Assassins of Isis by P. C. Doherty

have been sent to the wood but claimed self-defence and said he could produce witnesses. He hired an advocate, one of the most expensive in Thebes, a priest lawyer from the Temple of Thoth.’
    Valu, too, now recalled the case and sat nodding to himself.
    â€˜I sentenced him to life imprisonment out in the Western Red Lands, as far as possible from the Nile.’
    â€˜There were bribes offered,’ Valu added, ‘anonymously, for the man to be released, but his victim was the son of a powerful nobleman.’
    â€˜Now this Shardana,’ Sithia continued, ‘was sent to an oasis a hundred miles west of Thebes. Why not go to the House of War, Lord Amerotke, and ask what happened at the Oasis of Bitter Water?’
    Amerotke tried to rack his memory. The woman’s words recalled certain events, proclamations in the marketplace …
    â€˜The Oasis of Bitter Water was attacked,’ Valu declared. ‘Its small garrison was wiped out by Libyans who killed not only the soldiers but also what they guarded. Not one prisoner escaped. It happened about five months ago. The Divine One sent out a chariot squadron. The Libyans had broken their treaty, they’d promised never to attack such prison oases, and why should they, there is no profit in them.’
    â€˜Shall I tell you why they attacked?’ Sithia was now holding her stomach as if in discomfort. ‘I—’
    â€˜Are you well?’ Amerotke asked.
    â€˜Stomach gripes,’ she gasped. ‘Perhaps the water was too cold. But let me finish. The Oasis of Bitter Water was attacked because the Sebaus paid the Libyans to do so. I don’t know how and I don’t know when, but it shows the length of their arm as well as their power. They wanted the Shardana killed just in case he talked, so they hired the Libyans, one of those wandering tribes, to launch an attack.
They wanted to make sure the Shardana never changed his mind and tried to negotiate for a pardon.’
    Amerotke whistled under his breath. Prison oases were poor, rather desolate places, their small detachment of soldiers usually mercenary sand-dwellers, ruthless fighters. The Libyans would usually leave such places alone as there was little to gain and a great deal to lose.
    â€˜The Sebaus,’ Sithia was clutching her stomach in pain, ‘they show no mercy …’
    Amerotke, alarmed, got to his feet. Sithia was pale-faced, sweat coursing through the dirt on her face.
    â€˜These are not cramps,’ he declared. ‘Lord Valu, quickly, get a physician.’
    But even before the prosecutor had reached the door, Sithia fell to the floor. She opened her mouth to scream but could only gag; she retched, coughing and spluttering. Amerotke tried to hold her but she broke free, legs kicking, lost in her world of pain. Valu was in the passageway shouting for the Keeper of the Chains. Amerotke crossed to the water jug, picked it up and sniffed at the rim; the water was brackish but he smelt something bittersweet. Sithia was now in convulsions, head banging the floor as her body jerked, legs and arms flailing. Guards came into the room but the woman was past any help. The sound from her throat was hideous, eyes popping, mouth gagging as she forced her breath. She gave one final convulsion and lay still. Amerotke felt for a blood pulse in the neck but could find none. He turned the body over, pushing back the hair. Sithia’s face was now relaxed, though death betrayed little of the beauty she had enjoyed in life. Amerotke gazed up at the Keeper of the Chains, the gaolers thronging about him.
    â€˜Who fetched the water? Asural!’ he shouted. The Captain of the Temple Guard, summoned down by the clamour, pushed his way through. Amerotke got to his feet and gestured at the water jug. ‘Have that destroyed, it’s poisoned.’ He glanced across at Valu, but the royal prosecutor,
clutching his own stomach, fled the cell, shouting for the nearest