An Evil Spirit Out of the West

Chapter 17

Oh, it was all true. Nefertiti was beauty itself but in the City of the Aten she proved the truth that beauty has its own terror. Physically she changed. Her face became leaner and harder, the cheekbones more pronounced, her head constantly tilted back, the gaze from those seductive eyes more imperious. She lost her laughter, that streak of girlish impishness and love of mystery. She seemed to live in a blaze of light and assumed the aura of an unapproachable goddess, as if she wished to merge with her husband in both appearance and power. She began to wear the Nubian bag wig which left the nape of her neck exposed, two plaits hanging down either side, imitating the hairstyle of the warriors in her retinue. She wore the flowing, gorgeous robes of a queen but she often manifested herself in a bleak narrow kilt like that of a soldier, though longer, falling to her ankles. The Hathor crown with its horns and plumes was put aside for a small feathered blue crown, very similar to the Imperial War Crown of Egypt. In paintings and carvings Nefertiti was now often depicted as smiting an enemy, adopting the stylistic ritual of a triumphant Pharaoh meting out justice to his enemies. In all things she appeared as a female soldier, a war goddess.

At the same time Akhenaten began to dress in floral attire, perfume-drenched wigs and the light flowing robes of a woman. This transfer of robes and roles was like the meeting of two forces. Would it be a true mingling, I wondered. Or would one absorb the other? If Akhenaten saw himself as the Incarnation of the Aten, what role could be, would be, assigned to Nefertiti? Would they see themselves as the male and female expression of the Godhead, or would he resent it?

The imperial harem at the City of the Aten with its concubines and Royal Ornaments expanded to include noblewomen from different parts of the Empire and those kingdoms who expressed their loyalty by despatching their fairest princesses for the pleasure of Egypt’s Pharaoh. Nevertheless Nefertiti still ruled Akhenaten’s heart, or so it seemed. Perhaps I was the only one to sense an underlying friction, an impatience on his part with Nefertiti who, at the City of the Aten, provided him with two more daughters but not the son he craved for, the future bearer of his life-giving seed. Sometimes Akhenaten spoke to me alone, not about affairs of state or the security of the city, but reminiscences about the past when he was the Veiled One, living, as he put it, ‘in complete holiness and purity’. I wondered if he yearned for those days. Was he resenting the growing power and strength of Nefertiti, who had failed to produce a beloved son? Queen Tiye’s influence had certainly declined. Since the death of the Magnificent One she had lost that aura of power, of ruthless will, as if the accession of her second son and the building of the City of the Aten was the realisation of a dream. I suspect she, too, recognised that all was not well. During ceremonies and processions the tension between the royal couple was sometimes apparent, as if my master wanted to be by himself before the Aten, unwilling and unable to share his divine status with anyone.

In his talks with me he would speak of those cherished memories when he, and no one else, walked the Way to the One.

‘I never,’ he declared defiantly, ‘adored another god,’ and then as a veiled attack upon his mother, his wife and the entire Akhmin gang, ‘nor did I dance, sing, or profane myself before false idols like that of Min at Akhmin.’

Such moods passed. He’d assume that trancelike state, the result of Nefertiti’s potions and powders. At other times, when I was summoned to his chamber or into his gardens, he’d sit withdrawn, unshaven, bleary-eyed as if he had been drinking heavily. Once, when I was waiting, kicking my heels in an antechamber, I heard the sound of raised voices from the imperial bedroom, a heated discussion about the liturgy to be used in a forthcoming ceremony at the sun altar. On another occasion I was summoned to the imperial residence. Akhenaten, heavy-eyed, face drawn, sat in the glorious Green Room staring out over the garden.

‘Well,’ he demanded as I knelt and nosed the ground, ‘I have waited long enough. Your spy in Akhmin — what does he report?’

‘Your Majesty,’ I remained kneeling. ‘What spy? What report?’

‘You know full well,’ Akhenaten shouted threateningly.

I lifted my head. Spots of anger coloured his sallow face, those strange eyes gleamed, dark wells of anger. He seemed on the verge of hitting me.

‘You know what?’ He stared at me, mouth sagging. ‘I am sorry, Baboon,’ he stammered. ‘I made a mistake,’ and summarily dismissed me.

Nefertiti’s sun, however, burned as brightly and fiercely as ever though she must have sensed her husband’s disappointment at the lack of a male heir. After the birth of her sixth daughter, in year nine of Akhenaten’s reign, she held a celebration in the garden below the Green Room. The children of the Kap were invited. It was like the old days: tables were stacked with platters of every food imaginable and delicious wine had been specially imported from Buto in the Delta. Akhenaten laughed and chatted to Ay. Nefertiti sat, serenely accepting compliments when Pentju, full of wine, cracked a joke about the sex of a child being the gift of the gods. Nefertiti heard him.

‘What?’ she screamed.

The festivities fell silent. Nefertiti sprang from the chair, clutching her walking stick, carved with the signs of the Aten. The birth of her last child had been a painful process, leaving her weak but, strengthened by her fury, she walked along the line of guests and glowered down at Pentju.

‘Scorpion man!’ she hissed. ‘What do you say about gods, when there is only one! And this gift? Are you saying I am not blessed by the One? He has provided me with six beautiful daughters. Have I failed because there is no prince, no forked child?’

Guests on either side hastily withdrew. Pentju, quivering with fright, hurriedly made obeisance.

‘Divine One,’ he pleaded, ‘I made a joke …’

‘A joke! Am I a joke?’ And, before anyone could stop her, Nefertiti rained blows down on Pentju’s bent back. He scrambled away. In the confusion his robes became tangled while his loincloth slipped, exposing bare buttocks. Nefertiti, screaming with laughter, lashed out at these. The rest of the guests gazed on in horror. Nefertiti swung her stick as if it was a war-club. Pentju, screaming, tried to crawl away but was trapped in his robe. Akhenaten glowered sullenly. Tiye sat, face in hands. Ay looked frightened. Rameses lowered his face to hide his snigger. Tables and platters were sent tumbling. Blood appeared on the grass. I sprang to my feet, pulled Pentju away and crouched down telling him to recover his dignity and flee. I glanced up. Nefertiti stood before me, eyes full of fury, those delicious lips curled in a snarl.

‘Your Majesty,’ I pleaded. The cane came down but I caught it. Nefertiti, chewing her lips, glared at me. She tried to pull the stick away, I held it fast. Her anger began to fade as if she became aware of where she was and what she had done.

‘Baboon?’ she shouted. ‘Scuttle off! Tell the scorpion man he is banished for ever from my presence. He can look after the family monkey, the Mitanni girl. I am never to see him again!’

I released the stick. Nefertiti swept away and the celebrations ended.

I wished, I hoped, the Beautiful One would send for me. I dreamed we’d meet in some cool garden. She would explain, excuse herself, ask me to act as intermediary with Pentju, but it never happened. Nefertiti made an enemy that day as well as a hideous mistake in alienating Pentju and, may the gods forgive me, for not consulting with me. Instead, I had to listen to the chatter and gossip about the incident, but that was Mahu’s role in Akhenaten’s paradise.

No threat lurked in the City of the Aten or, at least, I thought it didn’t. The troops, both on the land and river approaches, not to mention my swarm of mercenaries, saw to that. Djarka, as my lieutenant, pursued the occasional felon. I was supposed to hunt down what Akhenaten called those ‘Criminals of the Heart’, who did not worship the Aten in the spirit of truth. Yet what was I supposed to do? Arrest an old priest who cried for the beauty of Osiris and kept his shrine in a cupboard in his house? Flog a woman who begged Isis for a happy childbirth? Fine some poor worker who could not understand how he would fare after death without the protection of the Lord Anubis? Such reports came into my office; I didn’t need wood for the brazier. I enjoyed watching these reports burn. My boys in the mercenary corps also understood: they were so suspicious they worshipped every god, just in case. Djarka proved to be an able lieutenant, a true scribe, a just man with a genuine compassion for the poor, some of whom were his own people. He rarely commented on Akhenaten though, when I informed him about Nefertiti and her uncontrollable fury, he looked sad and commented that visions can go wrong, how dreams can turn to dust and that, perhaps, the One had yet to truly manifest himself.

Djarka and I became magistrates rather than police, adjudicating on a wide range of civil matters, domestic disputes and property rights. I grew to enjoy entering other people’s lives, savouring the very ordinariness and yet intrigued by their complex relationships, their virtues and vices. Sometimes, to get away, we’d take Karnak out into the Red Lands. We’d choose the bed of a valley or wadi where moisture encouraged the growth of sparse grass and whose deep sides would prevent flight to right or left then, we’d set up two nets halfway down the valley with food and water placed between. The animals would slip through the first net, in which gaps had been deliberately left and, whistling up Karnak, we’d spring the trap. I enjoyed the hunt, a welcome break from the etiquette and protocol of Akhenaten’s court.

At the end of the ninth year of Akhenaten’s reign, just after what Rameses sarcastically termed ‘the beating of the buttocks’, Djarka fell in love with a beautiful girl called Nekmet, the only daughter of a very wealthy cook who had opened his own luxurious eating-house in the southern suburbs of the city.

I’ll tell the story of how it happened. Nekmet must have been about twenty summers old. Her father Makhre had worked in both Memphis and Thebes, gaining a reputation as a chef who, in the words of Djarka ‘could make the plainest bread taste sweet’. Naturally I became a guest in Makhre’s house, Djarka sitting alongside me, all hungry for the lustrous-eyed Nekmet rather than the dishes her father’s servants would bring. Makhre nursed a great ambition to work in the palace kitchens, so I arranged that. Akhenaten was delighted: Makhre was summoned into the royal presence and rewarded with pots of perfume, a gold necklace and bangle. Djarka spent more and more time with his daughter. I was sad yet happy. If Djarka married, I realised how much I would miss him. The man had become part of me, he’d tried to fill the empty spaces in my soul. I often wondered if I should follow suit, marry some pleasant girl and settle down. True, I had my fair share of lady friends except that, when I lay in the dark and the oil lamps glowed, I’d only see Nefertiti’s face, view her body, smell her scent. No, I had been conceived in pain, born in mistrust and lived loveless as a child. My sins are always before me. I have killed, I have lied, I have betrayed — but one sin I shall not, cannot, commit: I will not look at another person and say ‘I love you’ and know full well it is a lie. So, instead, I went back to my watching and listening, playing the judge, attending the court, mumbling the prayers and singing the hymns and, whenever possible, going out into the Red Lands.

By the spring of year ten of Akhenaten’s reign, the other children of the Kap joined me on such occasions and, the more we went out, the less we hunted. Instead we’d gather at some distant oasis, cook food, and drink wine; Horemheb and Rameses, Huy, Pentju, myself and even Maya, even though he complained how the dust stained his robes whilst the heat made his face-paint run. The only absentee was Meryre. Our High Priest was now caught up in his own holiness, lost in the vision of the Aten, Akhenaten’s dog, constantly at his feet, ever ready to serve and please. We didn’t want him there because we recognised the true reason we met. We were conspirators without a conspiracy, traitors not yet guilty of treason, grumblers who could do nothing about our grievances.

One auspicious day in that same spring, we were all gathered at the oasis, exhausted after a short hunt. Maya had mysteriously disappeared from the City of Aten two days previously. Speculation was rife on his whereabouts, though Maya was often absent, travelling to Thebes to check the granaries and treasure-houses of the temple. We’d lit a fire. Horemheb had gutted the quails and Rameses was roasting them over the fire. We sat around sipping the wine and chatting about our early days in the Kap. On that particular occasion Djarka was with us, serving as our guard; it was he who raised the alarm. We went to the edge of the oasis and glanced out through the heat haze. A cloud of dust appeared.

‘Chariots,’ Horemheb declared.

Djarka ran to collect his bow whilst we looked for our weapons. ‘No, it’s only one,’ he called out. We relaxed as the chariot became more visible and I glimpsed Maya standing, his resplendent robes fluttering in the breeze. I made out the leather helmet, baldric and kilt of his driver. The chariot came thundering on, hooves drumming the ground, the horses’ plumed heads rising and falling, the dust swirling out towards us. Sobeck, who had overcome his earlier difficulties, skilfully turned the horses round, executing those sensational zig-zag turnings which the professional charioteer loves so much before turning them back and reining them in only a few yards from our party. Maya climbed down, Sobeck followed. He grasped Maya’s hand and walked towards us, taking off his helmet. He grinned at the gasps. Horemheb was the first to recognise him. ‘I thought you were dead in the Red Lands,’ Rameses barked, glancing out of the corner of his eye at me, ‘though we had our suspicions.’

Sobeck took the gazelle skin of water I offered. He passed it first to Maya then wetted his own face and chest, before lifting it to his lips, gulping fiercely. He hadn’t changed much; his face was a little leaner, there were a few more scars on his chest and arms. Maya stood beside him, a dazzling smile on his face.

‘Well?’ Sobeck squinted up at the sun. ‘Am I friend or foe? Will you keep me in the sun like Akhenaten does his envoys or invite me into the shade for that delicious-smelling quail and a cup of wine?’

‘I could take your head!’ Rameses taunted. ‘There is still a reward on it.’

‘No, Rameses.’ Sobeck pushed the stopper back into the waterskin. ‘You could try to take my head, and you’d be dead within a heartbeat of doing so.’

‘I was only joking,’ Rameses sneered.

‘I was not.’ Sobeck threw the waterskin at him. ‘Well?’ He spread his hands. ‘Friend or foe?’

‘Always a friend.’ Horemheb walked forward to clasp Sobeck’s hand, the rest followed. When it was my turn, Sobeck pulled me close and kissed me on either cheek.

‘You do keep strange company, Mahu,’ he whispered. ‘I miss you in Thebes.’

His perfumed sweat tickled my nostrils. Then he turned to crack a joke with Djarka and examine his bow. We all settled down, squatting round the fire, sharing out the meat and wine.

‘I thought it best,’ Maya declared, picking like some young lady at his meat. ‘I thought it best if Sobeck — well, if we met him again. I have told him about Meryre.’

‘Once a holy man always a holy man,’ Sobeck commented.

For a while, we all reminisced about the House of Residence, the different scribes, the night Horemheb lost his dwarf. Sobeck mentioned Weni and offered a silent toast in which we all joined.

‘You know he was murdered, don’t you?’ Sobeck glanced at me. ‘You and I, Mahu, we know that Weni was murdered.’

‘I thought it was strange,’ Huy commented, ‘that an old soldier couldn’t take his drink and was drowned in a pool.’

‘Akhenaten killed him,’ Sobeck continued evenly, ‘probably with the blessing of his mother.’

‘Just as God’s Father Hotep tried to kill us all,’ I added.

‘What?’

I had not told the group about my earlier suspicions or Hotep’s final confession, but now I did so: Horemheb and Rameses corroborated certain parts of my story.

‘Well, well, well.’ Sobeck drained his wine cup and, grabbing the wineskin, refilled it.

‘Why have you come here, Sobeck?’ Rameses, of course, was the first to look for another reason. ‘You haven’t come to see our pretty faces and wish us well.’

‘And what are you doing?’ Horemheb asked.

Sobeck evaded the questions, loosely describing himself as a merchant with a finger in every dish: how he had come out at Maya’s insistence and wasn’t it good for the children of the Kap to be reunited? For a while he parried our questions and teased us back. When the meal was over he squatted more comfortably, sucking noisily on a slice of the melon.

‘Are you sure you can all be trusted?’ he asked.

‘If one of us was a traitor,’ Horemheb replied, ‘we’d know by now.’

‘There’s deep unease in Thebes,’ Sobeck continued.

‘We know that,’ Huy replied, ‘in Thebes, Memphis, Abydos, the Delta, not to mention war breaking out amongst our allies in Canaan. Hittites are massing troops along the border. They have realised Egypt is not as ardent as she formerly was in protecting her interests across Sinai.’

‘Well, there’s definitely unrest in Thebes,’ Sobeck declared, ‘and something else, too. Mahu, have you ever heard of the Sekhmets?’

‘Yes, yes,’ I replied, racking my memory. ‘They’ve committed a number of murders in Thebes and elsewhere. Professional assassins, their usual weapon is a knife or poison though they have been known to kill from afar with bow and arrow or arrange some suspicious accident. They always leave their mark.’ I lifted my hand. ‘A small amulet with the Lion-headed Sekhmet, the Devouress, the Destroyer.’

‘Well,’ Sobeck commented, picking up another slice of melon, ‘I have acquaintances in Thebes — how can I put it, men and women who would prefer not to meet Mahu and his police.’ He paused at the laughter. ‘They listen to the whispers and the gossip. Now, according to them, someone was looking for the Sekhmets. Apparently,’ he smiled at me, ‘and I tell the truth, somehow in Thebes a message can be left for this group of assassins.’

‘And someone has hired them?’ I asked. ‘But not for work in Thebes?’

‘Mahu, your genius always astounds me. According to the little I know, the Sekhmets, if they have been hired, are to do their bloody work in the City of the Aten.’ He sighed. ‘Which means two or possibly three things. Either they have marked down one of you, all of you — or someone else in the Royal Circle.’

‘Or they could just strike direct at the heart of the court,’ I declared. ‘Pharaoh himself and his Queen.’ I ignored Pentju’s muttered remarks.

‘But who has hired them?’ Rameses demanded. ‘Thebes, every city of Egypt, is full of assassins but they have to be hired.’

‘The priests of Amun,’ Sobeck replied, ‘don’t take too kindly to having their gods cast down, their treasuries plundered, their temples deserted.’

‘But why the Sekhmets?’ Rameses insisted.

‘They are successful,’ I grinned at Sobeck. ‘They are the sort of people you should take care of.’

‘They’re respectable.’ Sobeck sipped from his wine-cup. ‘People who, apparently, can move easily up and down the Nile, priests or merchants, envoys from some of the other kingdoms; they could be anybody.’

‘And you care for us so much,’ Rameses taunted, ‘that you have travelled all the way from Thebes just to tell us this?’

‘No, Rameses. I arrived at a military outpost last night.’

‘Where you have further acquaintances?’

‘That’s right, Horemheb. A number of army officers are guests at my table. How do you think I was able to ride that chariot?’

‘I thought your good friend Maya …?’ Rameses’ words faltered at Sobeck’s cold, hard look.

‘I’ll tell you why I came here.’ Sobeck made himself more comfortable. ‘Maya has told me about your little trips out here to the desert. You should be more careful.’ He stared around. ‘Is this all the great warriors of the Children of the Kap can bring down, a few quail? Ay must be suspicious. An entire day out in the Red Lands to eat roasted meat — or to plot treason?’

‘Continue.’ I raised my hand to fend off Rameses’ retort.

‘You come out here to talk like all of Egypt’s talking. Some are already ahead of you, plotting what to do next. They call Akhenaten the Great Heretic, insane.’ He gestured at Horemheb. ‘You know they do! The staff officers, the military command. Hasn’t there been unrest amongst the garrison at Memphis?’

Horemheb bit back his reply.

‘I know what you talk about,’ Sobeck continued. ‘Each of you must lie in your beds at night and wonder what will happen next. Have you ever wondered what will really happen next? Have you ever speculated about what will happen if Akhenaten dies? He has no male heir, no Crown Prince. Do you think the generals of Egypt, the high priests, are going to allow this nonsense of the Aten to continue for ever and a day? Can’t you see the storm coming, Rameses? One day Akhenaten will go beyond his beloved far horizon. Many of Egypt wish he was there already and ask the gods to speed him on his way. Now tell me.’ Sobeck flicked the rim of his cup with his fingernail. ‘No one dares to raise a hand against the sacred flesh of Pharaoh. Well, at least not publicly, openly. However, Akhenaten may see himself as a god but one day he is going to die! How, we don’t know! The question you must ask yourselves is how long will those who supported him, who sat at table with him, survive?’

I watched Rameses’ face. He glanced quickly at Horemheb, a sharp furtive glance but it spoke eloquently. Both these ambitious soldiers had already discussed this. I could tell from the faces of the rest that it was also a matter close to their hearts.

‘Mahu?’ Horemheb prompted.

‘There are two problems,’ I replied slowly. ‘The first … well, the first is the immediate future: the protection of Akhenaten against the Sekhmets or anyone else.’

‘And the second?’ Rameses asked.

‘You know full well,’ I murmured, getting to my feet. I picked up my cloak and shook out the sand and dirt. ‘We must all start thinking about the future.’

‘The future may well take care of itself.’ Pentju smiled at me and winked.

At the time I thought he was being cynical. Yet, on reflection, Pentju’s words contained the first powerful seeds of Akhenaten’s downfall and destruction.

When I returned to the City of Aten, Djarka and I became busy, going through the police archives in the House of Secrets: these were all contained in sealed jars, arranged according to regnal years. None of the scribes were to be told what we were searching for or the reason for it.

At first it was difficult. I found traces of the Sekhmets during the fourth and fifth years of Akhenaten’s reign when he was Co-regent and still in the Palace of the Aten at Thebes. These references were usually based on police accounts or the information supplied by spies. The Sekhmets were only known by the amulet they left near their victims: these were often quite powerful men — merchants, army officers and, on one occasion, even a chapel priest in the Temple of Horus. According to the evidence, the victims always had enemies but, because professional assassins were used, it was virtually impossible to link the responsibility for the victim’s death to anyone. One police officer investigated the murder of a merchant in the Street of Coppersmiths in eastern Thebes and wrote: ‘Many wanted him dead but, at the time of his murder, all could account for where they were and what they were doing.’

The Sekhmets employed a variety of methods in their assassinations. One victim died whilst on a hunting trip along the Nile. He and his servant were found drifting in their boat. Both had been killed by arrows, shot at close range, the Sekhmet’s amulet casually tossed into the punt, nestling amongst the feathers of some of the birds. I recalled Djarka rescuing me from the jackals. How easy it had been to approach the boat and loose one shaft after another. Other victims died by poisoning. Another missed his footing and fell from a building he was inspecting. In one audacious murder a wealthy stall-holder from the Perfume Quarters of Thebes had gone back into his shop to collect something from his stores. When the customer became impatient and went searching, he found the stall-holder lying among bales of cloth, his throat cut from ear to ear, the Sekhmet amulet clutched in his hand. I made Djarka search more carefully and realised that, between the fifth and tenth year of Akhenaten’s reign, at least according to my records, the Sekhmets had either deliberately gone quiet or moved elsewhere. I continued my own research and was astonished to discover that the Sekhmets were equally busy ten years previously.

‘Fifteen years in all!’ I exclaimed as we sat sharing a bowl of wine in my office. ‘These assassins have been busy for fifteen years! A gap of ten years occurred and then they began again, just before Akhenaten resumed the Co-regency. Why?’

Djarka shook his head. ‘How do we know that they are the same people?’ he mused. ‘Anyone can take the name Sekhmet and buy a bag of cheap amulets.’

‘No, no, no,’ I objected. ‘These are people who seem to be able to move around the city of Thebes. They are very similar to the jackals. They are a family concern. Could they be merchants? A family which moves up and down the Nile?’

‘But someone must be able to contact them?’ Djarka pointed out. ‘Messages have to be left, the victims’ names, the price paid and collected.’

I leaned forward and scratched Karnak lying sleeping at my feet.

‘Somebody,’ I said.

‘Somebody,’ Djarka continued, ‘must be able to act as the middleman.’

Djarka had posed a problem I could not solve.

I sent out messengers to Memphis, Thebes and Abydos. I asked the same question of the police in each city, those who acted as the ‘Ears and Eyes’ of Pharaoh. The response came swiftly. The Sekhmets had been responsible for murders in each of their cities but the different authorities were baffled as to who those assassins could be or how they were approached. None could offer even the slightest clue to their identity or present whereabouts. I became fascinated with the problem. So much so that Akhenaten became interested too, and I received a summons to attend the Royal Circle.

This time the meeting was presided over by Akhenaten himself, Nefertiti sitting alongside. The Pharaoh had returned to his usual good humour; his face was shaved and oiled, eyes and voice sharp as he moved through different items of business. At last, he turned to me, leaning his elbows on the arms of his thronelike chair, those long fingers pressed together to hide his mouth.

‘Mahu, my friend. I understand you have been very busy. Would you like to inform the Royal Circle why my Chief of Police, Overseer of the House of Secrets, works well past sunset? How the oil lamps have been seen glowing even a few hours before dawn, yet here, at the Great House we have received no warning, no information for such labour?’ He clapped his hands together sharply, making Huy jump. Ay sitting on his left held his silence, fingers also to his face to conceal his own expression.

‘Your Majesty.’ I chose my words carefully, determined not to lie. ‘Your Majesty, I have received information that a guild, a group of assassins who call themselves the Sekhmets, have been despatched into the City of the Aten.’

I ignored the gasps and cries of the other members of the Royal Circle.

‘Why were we not informed of this?’ Nefertiti’s voice cut across the babble. ‘Who are these people? Why have they not been arrested? How were they allowed to enter the sacred city?’

‘Your Majesty.’ I spread my hands. ‘I received this information from my own spies in Thebes. It may be nonsense, empty gossip, idle chatter. Anyone can enter the City of the Aten provided they can prove to be of good standing with business here. The Divine One has proclaimed throughout Egypt that any worshipper of the Aten is most welcome. These Sekhmets have never been caught. We do not possess one clue about their identity. For all I know they could be sitting in this chamber, as a servant out in the corridor or one of the soldiers, even members of your own court.’

‘And even if they are here,’ Huy spoke up in an attempt to assist me, ‘we do not know their true business. They may be here to settle a private grudge or grievance.’ He paused and closed his eyes as he realised his mistake.

‘In other words,’ Ay took his hands from his mouth, ‘what you are saying, my Lord Huy, is that we have assassins in the City of Aten but they may not really pose a threat to the Divine One or his family. But if you say that,’ he continued silkily, ‘you do concede the possibility that these murderers are here as part of some heinous plot to strike at the heart of Egypt.’

Akhenaten’s hand moved to cover Nefertiti’s. For a short while fear flared in his eyes, a fleeting expression which disappeared as he gave vent to his rage. At first he just sat banging his right fist up and down on the arm of his chair. Eventually, he sat back and, with his sandalled foot, kicked away the table before him, sending manuscripts, inkpots, and writing-pads scattering over the gleaming floor. He was not staring at any of us but sat eyes glazed, lips moving as if he was talking to someone we could not see or hear. Nefertiti tried to soothe him but he pulled his hand away. Ay whispered in his ear but Akhenaten made a cutting movement with his hand and sprang to his feet. Immediately we all had to make obeisance, pushing back our cushions, going down to press our foreheads against the cold floor. When I glanced up, both Akhenaten and Nefertiti had left the chamber. We had no choice but to remain kneeling. Akhenaten was absent for at least two hours, yet no one, not even Ay, dared move: meetings of the Royal Circle were not over until Pharaoh decreed it. A worried-looking messenger arrived bursting through the half-open doors behind the throne and Ay hurried out. Horemheb, groaning loudly, sat back on his heels whilst Rameses, in a show of temper, simply pulled his cushions towards him and made himself as comfortable as possible.

At last chamberlains announced the return of the Divine One who, accompanied by Nefertiti and Ay, swept into the chamber. Akhenaten accepted our obeisance and sat down on the throne. He hardly waited for us to take our positions before taking the flail and rod handed to him by Ay and, crossing his arms, issued a decree which would have an effect throughout Egypt: the complete and utter destruction of the cult of Amun. Statues were to be removed and destroyed. All references to the god, be they on a public monument or a private tomb, were to be summarily removed. Anyone who objected or resisted was to be treated as a traitor and dealt with accordingly. The King’s writ would run from the Great Green to beyond the Third Cataract and even across Sinai to any temple, chapel or tomb which carried a prayer, an inscription or a carving to Amun the Silent One of Thebes. We sat in shocked silence listening as Akhenaten’s voice carried through the chamber. When he had finished Akhenaten pointed the flail at Horemheb and Rameses. ‘You are responsible for the implementation of this decree and it is immediate! Mahu, you are to search out the Sekhmets. You are to arrest them. You are to destroy them and anyone connected with them. This is Pharaoh’s speech, this is Pharaoh’s will and our will shall be done!’

Horemheb and Rameses might curse and complain in private but Akhenaten’s decree was written out by scribes and despatched to every village and city throughout the Empire. Horemheb and Rameses were given explicit instructions to move into Thebes and carry out his orders, even if it meant the removal of inscriptions in the Royal Necropolis where the Magnificent One lay buried. Of course, Queen Tiye, Ay and others tried to advise caution and prudence but Akhenaten and Nefertiti were united on this. They believed the Sekhmets had been hired by the priests of Amun so they were determined to cut out that cult, branch and root. Within a year, Akhenaten boasted, Amun would be no more!

Horemheb and Rameses met with little resistance. Their troops, not to mention the mercenaries, were paid directly out of the Royal Treasury. Akhenaten had shown great cunning. He had not struck at the other gods such as Osiris at Abydos or Ptah at Memphis but only Amun of Thebes. The other priests and temples bemoaned such attacks but they were secretly pleased to see the supremacy of the Theban god shattered once and for all, his temples dishonoured, his priesthood scattered. Of course there were riots and disturbances, particularly in Karnak and Luxor, but Horemheb’s Syrian archers and Kushite mercenaries brutally repressed them.

My concerns were the Sekhmets. I quietly passed instructions for all entrances to the palace to be closely guarded. Food and wine served to the Divine One was always to be tasted. Day and night I continued my hunt. One thing I did discover. The Sekhmets had left a trail of destruction in the cities along the Nile except for one place, Akhmin, the home of Nefertiti and Ay and the rest of their tribe. Why was this? Did they come from that city? Were they members of the Akhmin gang? But who? Ay and Nefertiti’s fortunes, not to mention those of the Queen Mother Tiye, were closely bound up with Akhenaten and his great religious vision. Of course, as I reasoned to Djarka, I may have got it wrong. Other cities could report nothing about the Sekhmets. I found it strange, perhaps a mere coincidence, that Akhmin was one of these. I went through police report after police report. A dim picture of the Sekhmets emerged, though sometimes it was more distinct than others.

‘It would seem,’ I confided to Djarka, ‘that the Sekhmets are respectable and wealthy. They move up and down the River Nile with impunity. There may be two of them, possibly man and wife, that’s all I have learned.’

I returned to my searches and in doing so stumbled across something else. I became interested in a family who had moved into the Street of Scribes; they constantly petitioned the Great Writing House for employment at the palace. The group consisted of a man, his wife and their three grown sons. I had the house watched and managed to bribe one of the servants. He eventually told us a different story. The sons in question did not belong to the family but were priest-scribes from the Temple of Amun in Thebes. We raided the house, arrested everyone and went through their documents. Eventually we applied torture, whipping them on their legs and the soles of their feet. One of the younger men broke down and confessed. They had been forced to leave Thebes after the Temple of Amun had been closed and its priestly rank depleted. They had used papyrus and paid forgers to draw up false documents and arrived in the City of Aten eager for employment. Of course I had to submit this report to the Great House. Akhenaten himself, accompanied by Nefertiti and Ay, came down to question the prisoners. In his retinue came Tutu (I’m sure he kept Akhenaten advised of all my doings) and Meryre whose look of smug piety was more offensive than ever.

Akhenaten, fervently supported by Ay, truly believed I had discovered the Sekhmets. Of course, I had found no amulet or any reference to Sekhmet amongst the possessions of these so-called conspirators but Akhenaten refused to listen. The very sight of his enemy, the fact that they had lied, was evidence enough. He brushed aside their protests that they were merely scribe priests of Amun attempting to find fresh work. Ay, too, would not listen to their objections. He regarded the false documents and the small bundle of weapons they had hidden in their house as evidence of their guilt. Akhenaten himself passed sentence. The woman, the wife of the elder priest, was banished to the Red Lands. The four males were taken out into the desert and summarily executed.

Of course I was hailed as the hero of the hour, given fresh Collars of Gold and wine from Akhenaten’s own cellar. My brow was blessed with sacred oil. Akhenaten summoned me formally before the Window of Appearances where Nefertiti showered me with scented rose petals. I did my best to reason with Ay.

‘They were not the Sekhmets,’ I protested. I paced up and down his palatial chapel. ‘They have been conspirators, they may have had malice in their hearts. Only the gods know …’

‘Pardon?’ Ay called out.

I beat my breast. ‘Only the One who sees all things truly knew what was in their hearts, but I do not think they were the Sekhmets.’

‘Why not?’

‘They were too clumsy, too easy to discover. Moreover, they had spent most of their lives in Thebes, yet we know from police reports that the Sekhmets have been busy in Memphis and Abydos.’

‘They lied,’ Ay countered. ‘Assassins always lie to protect themselves. Mahu, be content. Pharaoh has smiled on you. You have won Pharaoh’s favour. The task he assigned you is now finished.’

I stared at that cunning face, those eyes which betrayed nothing. Was it Ay who’d hired the Sekhmets? Was that why he was so eager to pass the blame onto the scribe priests? Ay with his genius for questioning, for weighing everything carefully in his own dark heart. Why had he been so quick to point the finger of accusation? I bowed, quickly left and returned to my searches. I had almost given up hope, decided to let matters be and dismiss Sobeck’s report as idle babble, rootless chatter when, one night, Djarka let slip a remark which made my heart skip a beat. I’d stumbled, quite unexpectedly, on the identity of the Sekhmets.