P.D. Doherty

One great book in the mystery genre [and ancient world fiction] is P.D. Doherty's Amerotke series. He wrote other series in other time periods, but his books on the ancient Egyptian judge Amerotke could get anyone interested in reading and history. 

Amerotke is the chief judge of the temple of Ma'at, he becomes the investigator of conspiracies against the 15th-century BC reign of Queen Hatusu. He wrote several: The Mask of Ra (1998), The Horus Killings (1999), The Anubis Slayings (2000), The Slayers of Seth (2001), The Assassins of Isis (2004), The Poisoner of Ptah (2007), The Spies of Sobeck (2008).

His work is great, with poetic descriptions, and very unbiased look at the ancient world. The viewpoints aren't annoyingly modern, and the plots are always interesting--almost as incredible as the locations. 

My favorite is The Poisoner of Ptah, a really exciting one. During a peace treaty ceremony between Egypt and Libya, people involved with the negotiations die in public. The female pharaoh Hatusu [ie. Hatshepsut] asks judge Amerotke to figure out what's going on before war breaks out.

The main characters are very pure, there's no anti-hero stuff. It's often comforting to have characters who are simply good people, regardless of any superficial flaws. The setting, language and descriptions are center stage. This book will make you want to get to a museum--fast. 

The mystery is interesting, and the characters are very realistic with little grey. There are clear moral areas, ie. the good are good, the bad are bad. There isn't the type of layering of quirky characteristics that many authors put in today; this is just a warning if you're used to reading that type of thing.

Here's an excerpt:

The moon, the Khens, the Great Runner of the Dark Sky, rose full and clear. The stars, flowers of hte night, gleamed like precious jewels against a dark velvet background. The night air echoed with the howls of the night prowlers beyond the palisade. The prisoner, however, was not worried. He had studied the star maps at the Temple of Ptah; he had his own illicitly acquired crude diagrams.

And here's a longer one from The Mask of Ra:

Tuthmosis, beloved of Amun-Ra, the Incarnation of Horns, Ruler of the Black Land, King of Upper and Lower Egypt, leaned back in his gold-encrusted throne and stared through the open-sided cabin of his royal barge. He closed his eyes and smiled. He was coming home! They would turn the bend of the river and see Thebes in all its glory. On its eastern banks, the walls, columns and pylons of the city and, on the west, the honeycombed hills of the Necropolis. Tuthmosis spread his gold-sandalled feet as the barge pitched slightly in its change of course; its prow, formed in the shape of a screaming falcon's head, still cut through the river even as the great, broad-brimmed sail billowed slightly but then subsided. Shouts rang out. The sail was lowered and the barge regained speed as the barebacked rowers bent over their oars, heaving under the orders of the steersmen standing in the stern, managing the great rudders. The leading helmsman began a chant, a muted hymn of praise to their Pharaoh:

`He has shattered his enemies, he is lord of the skies.
He has swooped on his foe, great is his name!
Health and length of years will only add to his glory!
He is the golden hawk! He is the king of kings!
The beloved of the gods!'

The chant was taken up by the soldiers and marines who manned the prow watching for any treacherous sand bank. The oars rose and dipped, the sun dazzling the splash of water.

    Tuthmosis, his face impassive under his blue war crown, stared at his soldiers clustered in the stern: Rahimere his Vizier, Sethos, the royalprosecutor, Omendap his general and Bayletos his chief scribe had gone ahead to Thebes. Now, only Meneloto, the captain of the guard, remained. He sat with his officers, discussing their impending return to Thebes, the tasks and onerous duties awaiting them. Above the Pharaoh great, feathery, perfumed ostrich plumes created a scented breeze, waves of coolness as the day was proving hot and the sunlight was strong, despite the silver-embroidered canopy above him. Tuthmosis listened to his glories being expounded but what did they really matter? What did he care? He had visited the Great Pyramid at Sakkara. He had read the secrets on the sacred stela. He had stumbled upon mysteries, yet had he? Had not the word of God simply spoken to him? Had not these mysteries been revealed because he was holy and chosen?

    `Gold are your limbs, lapis lazuli your hands!' The royal poet squatting to the Pharaoh's left echoed the praises of the sailors and oarsmen. `Beautiful of face are you, oh Pharaoh! Mighty of arm! Just and noble in peace! Terrible in war!'

    The recipient of these ornate phrases blinked. What did such flattery matter? Or the treasure hoards contained in the holds of the imperial war galleys which went before and after him as he journeyed along the Nile? Such wealth was passing.

    Pharaoh moved his head. He gazed through the heat haze at the banks on either side where he glimpsed the coloured standards of his squadrons of war chariots which escorted and protected him on his sacred journey to Thebes. Such power was illusory! The weapons of war, his crack regiments, named after the gods, the Horus, the Apis, the Ibis and the Anubis, these were nothing more than dust under heaven. Tuthmosis knew the secret of secrets. He had written as much to his beloved, noble wife Hatusu and, on his return, he would tell her what he had discovered. She would believe him as would his friend the high priest, Sethos, the keeper of the Pharaoh's secrets, the `eyes and ears of the King'. Tuthmosis sighed and put down his insignia, the flail and the crook. He touched the glowing pectoral around his neck and moved his legs, the gold-encrusted kilt clinking at his every movement.